delicate china

the signs as women in game of thrones
  • aries: ygritte // a lover and a fighter, hates to be betrayed but will never show their weakness
  • taurus: brienne of tarth // loyal, easily wounded but bears those wounds to greater purpose
  • gemini: arya stark // enfolds past hurts in different modes of behaviour, tough with a berry-soft core
  • cancer: sansa stark // delicate as bone china with barbs in their teeth, stronger than their milk-soft exterior
  • leo: olenna tyrell // no time or patience for flattery or foolery, fiercely protective, pun master
  • virgo: daenerys targaryen // a strong moral compass that's sometimes wrong, proud and beautiful
  • libra: catelyn stark // fears of loss often lead to mistakes, come to love slowly but it lasts forever
  • scorpio: ellaria sand // slow to gain trust and quick to lose it, hates a liar, afraid to ask for love
  • sagittarius: margaery tyrell // charm without manipulation, sticky-sweetness can earn enemies
  • capricorn: cersei lannister // looks out for the good of those they love to the detriment of others, thinks they know best
  • aquarius: melisandre // an enigma, a little odd but driven to a single goal, loyal to a fault
  • pisces: lyanna stark // looks after those around her, their secrets have secrets, an air of tragedy

My eternal aesthetic for Draco introducing Harry as his boyfriend to his parents, (who had no idea they were dating) is just the four of them sitting in a parlour in Malfoy Manor sipping tea wrapped in awkward silence with a stiff phrase gritted through clenched teeth every few minutes. 

But then, Harry, impatient as always, has enough of that shit and just says something like, ‘’Well, this is…quiet. I would never have guessed Draco is your son what with how loudly he moans in bed.’’

Narcissa gasps. 

Lucius stiffens further. His cheek muscle twitches, but his dead gaze remains unchanged. And then, almost as if his reaction to the words is a couple of seconds late, he squeezes hard around the delicate china cup in his hand which shatters into tiny pieces splattering tea all over his expensive robes and over the Malfoy heirloom white leather sofa.

Lucius is too traumatised to care.

Harry is too amused not to laugh.

A China Rose

Originally posted by fragile-strenght

Summary: Y/N was once an employee at Prince Adams castle along with being his childhood friend but she doesn’t remember. Caught up in the curse, she ends up in Villeneuve where she stands out. But circumstances arrive and she somehow returns to the place she once called home, and a beast she once thought a friend.
A multi-chapter fanfiction.

Authors Note: This is my first ever fanfiction. Please tell me where I can improve (in a nice way) and I hope you enjoy. I will try and update every week. Also REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Anything to distract me from exams.

Chapter 1: Prologue
You were walking, well more realistically sprinting, up the servant’s stairwell, avoiding several maids holding trays of several different types of alcoholic beverages. You had successfully avoided at least ten maids before you went crashing into one head first, involving several orange drinks falling on you, leaving you soaking wet and your white top now spotted orange. The maid simply looked at you in disgust before deliberately pushing you into the wall whilst she quickly picked up the shattered glass. This in turn caused a pile up of at least five maids and they all looked at you with disapproving looks. You were used to them at this point. Most of the maids despised you due to your outward appearance. Mrs Potts had told you on several occasions that you were beautiful and many of the maids envied you for it (that and your supposed strange taste in fashion, but you couldn’t help it if pants were far more practical than skirts). You, had never thought of yourself as beautiful. You were just you, plain and simple and that’s how you liked it. There was also the factor that you actually enjoyed reading. Many of the maids thought it a useless skill but you loved the places a book could take you. You’d visited the great sands of Africa and the jungles of Peru but your favourite place to visit was Verona in Italy. It made you feel at home away from the real world. Back when the Prince’s mother was alive you’d sneak into the library and sit behind the curtains and get lost for several hours before your father found you. Those times don’t occur anymore. You’d been found by the Prince’s father, and the bruises stayed on you for several weeks.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the memory. The group of maids bar one had hurried down the stairs. You looked up to see that it was Plumette who remained. You breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was she the head maid but she was basically an older sister to you, just like you were to Chip. She looked at you eyebrows raised
“Would you care to explain what happened Y/N, or do I not want to know?” she said whilst gesturing to your shirt with her feather duster.
You lifted up your tool box before saying “Lord Dustin’s daughter’s clockwork doll has broken.”
She looked at you, eyes wide (she knew how difficult she could be) before giving you a small nod and rushing down the steps to return to help prepping for the ball that was to take place in two hours. Ugh, the ball. Another stupid dance where the Prince could show of how rich he was.

You were so deep into your thoughts that you hadn’t realised you were now walking along the corridor of the palace where actual lords and ladies could see you. You gripped your toolbox tighter whilst avoiding eye contact with any of the noblewomen that came past. You could hear behind closed doors several young women fussing about their looks clearly trying to impress the Prince.
“Why? He’s nothing special.” You whispered aloud, a scowl etched upon your face.
“Ahoy there sailor. What’s got you under the weather?”
You turned to see your father hurrying up behind you whilst gripping dearly onto an easel, canvas and his bag full of paints and brushes.
“Oh it’s nothing Papa,” you say with a smile, “just a broken doll of the pickiest guest.”
He winces, “Lord Dustin’s daughter?”
“Yup. It’ll be my first with her, and her reputation makes me nervous.”
He pats you on the head, “Don’t worry, you’re the best tinkerer I know, she’ll be lucky to have you repair anything of hers.”
You blush and look down at your feet before looking up at him again, a puzzled expression on your face, “Where are you off to now? I didn’t know you had a new piece to work on.”
“Well I didn’t, until two hours ago.” He lets out a deep sigh, “The Prince has commissioned a piece depicting the ball tonight.”
“Oh,” you let out almost accidentally but you can’t hide your disappointment. You were looking forward to having a few moments with your father tonight while the rest of the castle were occupied.
“Don’t worry I’ll try and be finished before dawn.” He looked down at the wrist clock you made for him only three weeks ago. He kissed you on the forehead before quickly rushing off down the hall towards the ballroom but not before he told you that he loved you.
“I love you too.” You said to a now empty corridor.  
You shook your head and once again begin to rush towards the Lady’s allocated room. When you skidded to a halt outside the large, ornate door, you took a moment to smooth out your shirt and pants (whilst desperately trying to rid them of the orange stains). You tucked a piece of your damp hair back under your headband before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

You had to wait several moments before a thin looking woman in her mid-twenties opened the door. She looked at you questionably, before a high pitched voice from inside the room spoke up.
“Just let them in. I’m in a rush.”
The lady in waiting opened the door to let you through and you gave her a pleasant smile which she returned subtly before rushing to help Lady Helen Dustin place her wig on her head. The wig was far too ornate for your liking with its several unnecessary jewels that were strewn everywhere. You were certain that the wig was far too tall to fit through a doorway. How she was to dance was a mystery to you.
“May I help you? I don’t remember asking for cross dresser to appear in my room. That’s more Lady Emilié’s taste.” she said whilst looking in the mirror, placing far too much rouge on her cheeks.
“Forgive me my lady, but I’m Y/N, the Royal engineer if it were, and I believe you wished for me to fix your doll.” you say, the poison, hopefully very clear.
Her mouth fell agape for a brief moment before signalling to the table at the end of the bed, without looking away from her reflection. You walked over to the table and place your tool box next to what is quite simply the most beautiful doll you have ever seen. You went to get your tweezers before a loud squeak stops you.
The Lady Helen looked at you, appalled, “What on earth do you think you are doing?”
You looked up at her confused. “Fixing your doll, my lady.”
“Not here!” she practically screamed at you, “Down where you people breed.”
You looked at her, holding her gaze before closing your tool box and picking up the China doll. “As you wish, my lady,” you mumbled before walking to the door. You turned back and looked at her once more, “Before I leave, my lady, please might you tell me what is wrong with the doll and what the desired result is to be.”
She looked at you in horror before turning back to the mirror and saying “The arm is stuck. It’s meant to move.”
You nod, curtsy and leave but not before you hear her say to her lady in waiting “I had no idea they hired such strange people in this place.” Their laughter follows you down the corridor.

———————————————————————————————————–

Back in your workshop/bedroom you were admiring the doll. It truly was a marvel. The outside was delicate china, but the inside was a complex machine. A maze of copper cogs. It was beautiful. You had found the problem with the arm joint almost immediately, a loose screw had caused a cog to become bent, preventing it from turning. It was easily fixed and at this point, exactly half an hour before the ball was to commence, you were simply sketching the insides in detail so that you one day might be able to replicate it. You were so entangled in your work that you didn’t see the figure standing in the doorway until they coughed, loudly. You looked up abruptly to see the Prince standing there, his face covered in a ridiculous amount of make-up. You preferred him without it, if you had to choose.
You stand up and fall into an awkward curtsy.
“Your highness.” You mumbled out not looking him in the eye.
He just smirked at you before smugly saying “You have charcoal on your face right there.” He gestured to his own nose.
“And I believe you have something all over your face too.” You pointed out with delight, whilst dramatically waving a hand all over your face.
His smile dropped and immediately turned into a scowl. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners. You have something hideous on your face too, your highness,” you said while taking a ridiculously over the top curtsy. When you stand you look at him pleased that his eyebrows were furrowed with rage.
“And why aren’t you,” you jabbed a finger at him, “upstairs getting ready for yet another one of your balls?”
His scowl disappeared and was once again replaced by a smirk.
“Well, I was in the process of doing so,” he gestured dramatically at his attire, “with the assistance of Cogsworth, but I was ever so rudely interrupted by a certain maid complaining about a supposed Royal engineer.”
“And you came down to tell me what?” you asked, eyebrows raised, “that I was too hostile?”
“Precisely.” He practically snorted out.
“Oh dear.” You said feigning embarrassment, “I was trying so hard to hide it.”
“You know, I should fire you.” He stated, “After all, you don’t do much. But your silly father is the best artist for miles to come so I guess I’m stuck with you.”
Your blood boiled at his comment about your father. “Don’t you dare speak of my father that way!” You practically yelled at him.
He let out a rather large chuckle. “Relax Y/N, I’m joking.”
“Well, I don’t find it funny.” You let out, your tongue dripping with hostility.
“It was rather funny. You should note that you look like a tomato, you’ve gone so red.” The Prince was beside himself.
“Why don’t you go back upstairs where everyone wishes to throw themselves at you?” With that comment you went back to your desk at picked up your pad. “Your highness” you mutter.
“Honestly Y/N enough with the formalities. You know you may call me by my name. One of the few I allow.” He stood in the doorway, for once actually looking like he could be kind.
You simply glared at him and said in the most monotone voice you could muster, “I’ll call you by your name when you start acting like my friend that I knew and less like your father.”
Your comment had its desired effect. The Prince turned immediately away from you and stormed away from your workshop. Satisfied, you looked back down at your sketch pad and once again begin to draw.

It was only a few moments later that you looked up to stare out the small window above your bed. You simply stared before your eyebrows knitted together with concern. A large storm was roaring outside but that was not what concerned you. What concerned you was there was someone outside in it. You stood up and rushed into the corridor and towards the back door of the servant’s quarters. Once outside, you were hit by a large wall of rain but you continued running till you reached the figure. You helped guide them through the rain towards the castle door. After pushing against the wind for several minutes you reached the door, where you hastily bustled the figure inside. Soaking wet, you finally looked properly at the figure to see that it was a beautiful lady in a green velvet dress and with luscious golden curls. She smiled at you as you directed her towards your room. She was somehow miraculously dry, unlike yourself. You were about to let her into your room where she grabbed your arm rather harshly. She looked at you, her green eyes seemingly glowing before stating, “You must leave this castle. Tonight. Gather what you need and leave for the nearest village.”
You were confused as to why you had to leave but the longer you stared into the strange ladies eyes the more convinced you were of the idea of leaving. You nodded at her silently as she let go of your arm. She began to walk away and you went back into your room to begin packing what you would need, but you swore you saw her age rapidly as she began to climb the stairs at the end of the hall.
In your room, you packed away your tools into your toolbox. You packed clothes into your traveling bag and placed your pad, art supplies, your only three books and your trusted tools in it as well. You put on your leather gloves and cloak ready to face the rain storm. Before you left your room you took one last look around and took the clockwork doll into your hands admiring its intricacies. With that you left.

———————————————————————————————————–

You were walking towards the castle gates, down the large carriage path in the gardens. You looked back at the castle to see a large and strange glow coming from the ballroom. Another part of the Prince’s entertainment you thought to yourself. It was not until you heard the screams did you turn around once again and stop walking. The sound was coming from the ballroom.
“Papa!” You thought out loud. You began to scold yourself. Here you were planning on running away, for a reason you couldn’t remember and you forgot to bring Papa with you. You even forgot to tell him you were leaving. You took about five steps back towards the castle when the first carriage came charging towards you. You leapt to the side just in time. Your brows furrowed in confusion when you see that all of the guest carriages were barrelling down the path. As you stood there at the side of the path desperately trying to avoid being squashed by any of the carriages, you caught a glimpse inside one to see Lady Dustin. The fear etched in her face was something to behold. She looked back at the castle, terror gripping her. Her blue eyes briefly met your E/C ones and the message they sent was clear. Run.
You thought of your Papa, how you couldn’t leave him, but every carriage was filled with noblewomen all with the same fear etched upon their faces. You were about to head back towards the castle when a bright, blinding light erupted from the ballroom windows, illuminating the entire gardens and sending an ice cold wind billowing into your face. You were knocked backwards by the strong wind, struggling to stay upwards. When the light dimmed you saw that rain storm that was occurring had now turned into a heavy snowfall. You looked around in both fear and awe. It was June. It never snows in June, at least not here. You stared up at the sky, at the flakes that were slowly settling around you. Then you heard it. An ear splitting roar. A roar of an animal in pain. That was it. What made you run. You ran as hard as you could towards the gates. You glanced back at the castle, where the roar was coming from, and saw a yellow flash. The flash seemed to linger before seemingly forming a glowing barrier that was spreading outwards from the castle. Whatever that glow was, you didn’t want to find out. You ran faster. Faster than you had ever ran before, your father a distance memory. The barrier was charging towards you as you reached the gate. You fumbled trying to pull them open. As they opened, the glow was nearly upon you. You ran through the opening and was pulling the gate shut with your left hand when the glow engulfed it up to your elbow. Your left hand went numb and you closed your eyes prepared for the worst.
It never came.
The golden glow seemed to have stopped at the castle’s perimeter and was slowly stretching upwards forming a glowing dome. You looked up in awe when you felt a sharp pain in your left arm. You stumbled backwards, tearing your eyes away from the magical dome. You forcefully removed your glove to see your hand slowly become paler and smoother. Your hand was becoming heavier and more rigid with each passing second. You looked away in horror. You grabbed your glove and ran from the castle as fast as you could, hoping that the further you got away from that cursed place, the better you’d feel. You practically sprinted through the woods putting a good distance between you at your former home.
After roughly ten minutes of running, sweating and tripping over several roots, your body was begging for a small rest. You sat down under a fairly large tree, wrapping your cloak tightly around you (despite the fact it was no longer snowing). There was still a tingling feeling in your left hand. You cautiously remove your glove once again and you had to stifle a scream. Your hand was made of china, exactly like doll you were fixing for…. for… You couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t you remember? You had just been there in…. Wait where were you?
You clutched your head, why were you forgetting things that just happened. ‘Maybe,’ you thought 'I’m just a little dizzy and tired from running so hard for so long.’
You decided to stay under the tree and try and get your breathing even. You looked around the woods to just see darkness surrounding you. Your head was beginning to throb now, along with your China hand. How long had you had that china hand again? As the throbbing became all you could feel, you felt your eye lids beginning to drop. Black spots appeared in your vision and you fought the urge to regurgitate your last meal. As you slipped into unconsciousness, you fought with every bone in your body to remember your Papa. You weren’t going to stop fighting to remember. As you slumped back against the tree, in a restless sleep, the woman you helped into the castle simply smiled. She knew you were strong. With that she disappeared back into the forest, walking back towards the nearest village where you’d arrive the next afternoon, so she could watch her story unfold.

Tea Party [Saeran Choi/Reader]

Summary: It’s bad enough that Ray went to the trouble to create and elaborate tea party for you, it’s worse when he wants to feed you.

A/n: i loved him in v’s route, so here’s a little fic. this was inspired partially by a piece of artwork where mc and ray were enjoying tea through the seasons. but, yeah. claps. here were go!


“This was a good choice. Today was a great day to enjoy tea together." 

 You offered your companion a coy smile as you blew at the wisps of steam that coiled in the air from your drink. Undertones of citrus danced on your tongue, meshing well with the full-bodied black tea that filled your mouth. The heat of your beverage singed your tongue and cheeks, nearly prompting you to spit it out yet you resisted. 

 "What’s wrong?” Ray asked, casting you a cautious look that seemed to ease when he noticed you straining a smile as you swallowed your tea. “Oh, you didn’t give the tea enough time to cool down." 

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Dappled (Part Three)

Originally posted by selubaekai

EXO Fanfic: Fantasy AU (Other World Chronicles)
Main Pairing: Female Reader/OC x Oh Sehun

The Other World has been at peace for many years, the Council keeping law and order between the Kinds and Lands. Even Outsiders live threat free. But in a world so vast and varied - can peace ever truly last…?

< Previous | Next > 

You stared out of the window, dressing gown pulled loosely around your body. It was early and the island was quiet. You sighed, leaning forward and resting your palms on the window sill. Tilting your face to the air, you closed your eyes slightly and listened to the soft sounds of your home, where it lay half asleep. Birds in the air, the wind in the grasses, the quiet sound of waves lapping against the distant beach and cliffs.

‘I will find out who did this,’ you said to yourself, opening your eyes and letting them drift along the horizon.

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Stay

Originally posted by lawlliets

(being the second part to Away, and Part 2 of @yehet-sebooty-ohorat​‘s Birthday Spectacular!)


You felt like you had been on the train forever. 

The matter of which baggage was heavier, the bags under your eyes or your small suitcase, was under constant debate as you groggily checked into the hotel beside the train station. You were too tired to be sad, too tired to think straight as you absentmindedly dialed Sehun’s number before falling asleep.  

It only rang once before he picked up.

‘Where are you?’ His voice rang thickly with panic.

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Odd One Out Part 3 - Soulmate AU (Jughead x Reader)

Summary: After partying the night away with Veronica in an attempt to forget all your problems, you wake up the next day with a pounding hangover. It would seem that your problems have caught up with you however, you spent the night in Jughead’s trailer.

Approx. 1250 words

Part 1 here
Part 2 here

He smelt like coffee and mint.

Your head pounded ruthlessly, your skull suddenly feeling like delicate china, cracking as the pressure built up. You moaned as your stomach churned and you tasted bile in your throat. You rolled over onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut more tightly for fear of encountering any kind of light and your head screamed at you, protesting at even the slightest movement, you felt like a corpse. A layer of dehydrated saliva coated your chapped lips, you grimaced at the sensation, and your mouth was as dry as sandpaper. Burying your face in the soft pillows, you inhaled slowly to prevent the resurgence of nausea, breathing in the familiar scent of coffee and mint.

Shit.

You bolted upright in bed and your eyes flew open. The room swirled before becoming stationary again, and you clutched at your head as the pounding worsened. Through squinted eyes, you took in your surroundings slowly, realising with horror that you were in Jughead’s bedroom. You had been here often enough throughout your long friendship, but things were different now, now that you knew you were soulmates. You suddenly felt uncomfortable, now that you were supposed to see Jughead in a romantic light you weren’t entirely sure how to behave around him, and you suspected that waking up in his bed with a hangover wasn’t the best place to start. There was a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table and you downed them willingly, the cool liquid restoring you parched throat. Looking down at yourself, you frowned as you realised that you were still wearing Veronica’s skimpy black dress from the night before, the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke lingered in the air around you, making you want to gag. You noticed that Jughead had laid out a towel and a pile of his clothes for you to change into; you swept them up into your arms gratefully and headed towards the bathroom.

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Pick Your Study Mood

1) The Fashion/Design Student

- Perfectly done up/down hair, silk night clothes or cashmere jumper, fluffy socks, scrawled messy notes and drawings, laptop open for research, expensive pen, frothy coffee in delicate white china cup, perfect manicure, perfectly planned timetable on separate piece of paper, Vogue.com open for breaks.

2) The Carrie Bradshaw

- Wearing something cosy and comfortable, take out coffee or can of coke in ice, box of half eaten Chinese food at side with the chopsticks sticking out, adorned with pearl necklace, at desk with laptop, organised mess, black and white film waiting in another tab for after completion of work.

3) The Hermione Granger

- Glass of water or herbal tea, bowl at side with snacks, lots of open books, sat at a desk in the common room, neat notes with pretty handwriting, leather bound diary, hair thrown up, spearmint scented candle, enjoys ambient noises of her environment or classical music, earl grey tea, highly methodical and leaves no detail to chance. 

4) The Parisian

- Coffee fresh from the coffee shop round the corner, bakery recently collected, blazer with whatever she just went out wearing or pyjamas for comfort, messy hair and perfect makeup, perfectly manicured hands with Chanel nail polish, politics book at side for breaks, leather journal, lined paper and biro, busy and important, thinking about a guy.

Suitors and Smells (and sensations)

Alyn Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of freshly ground grains, flour, the crispness of newly chopped wood. Bread baked in a giant stone oven; the ticklish sensation of sugar and powder on the tip of your nose. Kneading. Crafting. The consistent patience of rolling of dough. It is the comfort of spices swirling into gastronomic harmony, of warm soups and hearty meals, of laughter by the fire and communal spirit and the tenderness that comes with family. You take in another breath and -
There is steel and gunpowder and mud and wiremesh; the stench of sweat; of thundering onward and constant pushing to pierce front lines. Chaos. There is running and shouting and desparate need to win - or to save a life - there isn’t much difference now. You can hear roars of artillery, of everlasting marches and screaming, of souls taken apart by violence and blood (- there is just so much blood)

Leo Crawford - you take in a deep breath and know his skin smells of pages upon pages upon pages of knowledge; new and worn and yellowed and earmarked, and somewhat torn because he was reading too fast and wanted to know what happened next. His is the smell of books: leather-bound, hardbound, paperback, pages held inside a ziplock bag because he dropped it in the bath once. Encyclopedias, codals, annotated texts, forgotten tomes with hidden knowledge and secrets whispered from the gods. You take in another breath and -
A hundred bodies shouting at the same time, screaming over one another, a battle of interests and bottom-lines, of insurmountable pride and extreme prejudice. It is the crushing weight of responsibility. You hear the pounding of the gavel and calling people into order but the voice is lost in the cacophony of ideals and principles and money being exchanged by well-meaning hands and well-meaning looks and (how dare you betray your family like this)

Louis Howard - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is dozens of perfumes and fragrances, of flowers in full bloom: dandelions, orchids, and yawning hibiscus and lush bougainvilleas, of woodlands and barks, of afternoons by the lake and its stillness. His is the scent of adoration and delicacy, of holding on to dreams, tempered - but only ever so slightly - of realism and practicality. His is efficiency and managements but with the tenderest of hearts. You take in another breath and -
A musty bedroom, old and sagging wood, metal bars and grime coated windows; soot and dust - so much undisturbed dust - blanketing untouched linen, the bed, the room, the house. Cobwebs serve as curtains and each door creaks the way a child would but the crib had long been empty and the house long abandoned and forgotten and discarded and (you don’t know what being left alone feels like)

Giles Christophe - you take in a deep breath and know his skin is a coating of pastries and cinnamon and the sweetest powdered things sprinkled generously on confectionaries. It is fountains of chocolate, of stacked sugary delicacies that make you cringe in delight, and the slow dripping of honey from the tip of your tongue. It is soft cushions and even softer beds. You take in another breath and -
Melted wax stamped on proclamation and decrees, of harsh words and harsher laws, of meetings held in the middle of the night and the unshakeable feeling of being constantly watched, hairs on the back of your neck standing on the end. It is ambition and hunger and power that comes with negotiating with a knife to your throat - only you can’t see it just yet. Plots, entrapments, and hidden machinations, of secrets sealed with loyalty or fear and (you thought I would never amount to more than this)

Byron Wagner - you take in a deep breath and you smell ink and parchment, hear them being shuffled into order, given and signed and taken away, a constant flurry of things done and to be done. It is the burning candles late into the wee hours of breaking dawn, of hands guiding you and teaching you the way of things. It is cool summer nights spent dreaming upon the stars; it is musk and privilege, silk sheets and luxury. A firm voice telling you it knows better things. You take in another breath and -
The smell of almost rotting meat and flies; nature having its way with untended wounds. The stench of blood, spilled and pooling, and bodies dragged across stone slabs, of chains clasping against gasping throats, of panic and fear. It is submission, of opening yourself up entirely unto forces you cannot comprehend. You hear the gross sobbing and spilling of tears and drool, and absolute compliance to the haunting of ghosts, or else lose whatever it puny thing it is that you cling on and (I have no use for you now)

Albert Bruckhardt - you take in a deep breath and you smell fabric and cotton and tailored suits, and ever so faintly the smell of vegetables and greens, of freshly plucked apples and strawberries, and the diligence that is required to tending gardens and ensuring that all matters are in working order. It is freshly dug earth. It is grease in the cogs of an infinite clockwork, the constant hurrying about. You smell precision and detail and absolute unquestionable loyalty. You take in another breath and -
You smell horses and leather and the distinct human scent that comes when skin touches a burning blade. Whips and swords and bloody morningstars and the smell of the earth, again, except hastily dug to ease the burden hauling corpses. It is rope to your wrists and manacles around your feet. The teeth-gritting sound of sharpening swords and the roughness of hands to your throat and (I told you! I told you! I told you this isn’t so!)

Nico Meier - you take in a deep breath and you smell early mornings and the warm chamomile tea. His is the scent of fresh linen and beddings, of waking up and finding yourself warmed by the tender rays of the sun; of fresh water drawn for a bath, of lathering soap, and oils on smooth skin. It is peeking through a flutter of eyelids, of delicate china, and the way you chew when you know you have a secret. You take in another breath and -
The stink of sewers and muck and sludge and dozens of other things no longer useful co-mingled with people who have been forgotten and forsaken and bear the burden and shame of being born. It is the underbelly of the city. It is unwashed bodies huddled together to keep warm during winter, of longing and  desperation and feverish desire to live just one more day no matter what, to be something to someone or anyone or everyone and (I just wanted someone to really look at me)

Sid -  you take in a deep breath and you smell freshly squeezed lemon garnished on vodka, of old whiskey and scotch on ice. Alcohol tempered by an even head on more even shoulders. It is the smell of sunny days and running on vast and open fields. His is the smell of constant presence, of laughter and inconsequence of any action you take whatsoever. It is throwing the ball so hard and so far and yet knowing that it will come back to you because it always does. You take in another breath and -
It is the smell of chloroform and gasoline, of clandestine meetings over spiked drinks, of leaning in to whisper only the darkest of secrets. It is the binding of wrists and the gag in your mouth and the shadows at the corner of your eyes. Money constantly passing between hands because loyalty is nonexistent. It is the lightning fast jab you can’t quite see, the paranoia of perpetually holding a dagger under your pillow and (I need you to leave me alone)

Robert Branche - you take in a deep breath and you smell a hundred different paints and a hundred different solvents, and a hundred different canvases on display. His is the scent of splashing watercolor, of mixing colors for rainbows, of standing still and taking in the landscape. It is kneeling down on one knee to take each of you hand to kiss tenderly. His is the scent of restlessness and voyage, the gasps of experiencing things for the first time, of constant change and you take in another breath and -
You smell an old, heavy cape that has never seen the rays of the sun. Myrrh smeared upon two hundred seventy bones. It is the smell of rigidness, of unbendable will.  A thousand voices offering a thousand different advice, not even once considering that the ears that hear cannot bear the weight of the world. It is power thrust upon unready hands and (I did it to protect them, to protect you!)

It’s just Suzy and Dan left in the office when the power goes out. It flickers once, twice, and dies. Suzy hears Dan curse from across the office and- it’s not that she’s scared of storms, or the dark, but she wanders closer because it seems like the thing to do. She follows the sound of his voice until she can make out his silhouette in the blackness, and then she clutches at his sleeve, startling him.

She laughs, apologizes, and turns on her phone’s flashlight to give them something to see by.

The storm raging outside is probably some kind of record breaker. Dan takes one look through the window, being lashed by rain, and suggests, “Let’s wait until it dies down.”

So they do. It’s the first time in a while that Suzy has spent any significant amount of time with Dan, as busy as they both are. She’d forgotten how easily he can make her laugh. They wind up on the grump couch, the only decently comfortable piece of furniture in the whole place, side by side and barely an inch apart, with the lit-up phone sitting on the coffee table and casting pale white light around the room- and they talk. Dan is a great listener, with a way of looking at you like what you’re saying is important, like he’s hanging on every word when other people would be dismissive or distracted. It’s… Comforting, to Suzy, who feels lighter and lighter as the conversation goes on, whose cheeks hurt from smiling as it grows later and later.

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Pater’s Rose 8

So guys, here is Part 8 of Parter’s Rose!!! I hope you will like it!!! 

And I’m so honored that I inspire some people with my writing!!! 

Thank you so much! 

All the love 

E.xx 

I lean exhausted and numb against the window, my eyes red and swollen. I have no tears anymore and my chest is hurting because of the deep desperate sobs which escaped from my empty shell. Halfway through the trip a woman enters my compartment; she carries a little child with her, a girl with dark curls. I smile at her and she nods as she sits down across from me. I examine the new passengers:

The little Miss looks cute in her dark green dress, her long curls falling over her shoulders with such a naturalness that every woman would be jealous. Her skin looks delicate like china; her cheeks have a rose color and her lips have a beautiful curve. Her dark eyes are awake and interested. Her little legs dangle excitedly against the cushion of the seat.

The bow in her hair matches perfectly the color of her dress. She babbles endlessly and her mother nods and smiles. From time to time she points out of the window and I follow her finger too, only to see me in the reflection of the pane. A pale teary face with sad big eyes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Whole

Originally posted by ffondue

Requested: Tommy with the prompt, “I never want to see white walls ever again.”


Thomas Shelby - Whole

He loved the sweet smile that stretched across your lips whilst you tilted your head back, allowing the warmth of the sun to rest upon your cheeks. It felt like a lifetime since you had felt the touch of the sun, the true weather of the outside world. The only environment occupying you having been the sealed concrete room at the hospital, feeling lucky to be greeted with the odd draft from an open door every now and again.

“I never want to see white walls ever again” you sighed, closing your eyes and breathing deeply, the fresh air hitting your senses like a strong dose of opium. Tommy watched you carefully, his eyes were intense as they scanned your features but his heart full and content. He was whole now he had you back.

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Care for Me (Part1)

A slightly crack (maybe), modern/no magic AU of Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy drabble. Wasn’t gonna post it but whatev

Tag List: @xx-thedarklord-xx @drarry0394 (If anyone wants to be added, let me know)

_____

“I just don’t see anyone caring about me.” Draco takes a sip of his tea, turning to glance out the large window on his left. His best friend sat in a booth across from him, scoffing loudly. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Draco whispered curtly, taking another sip of the hot liquid, letting it fill his mouth and burn in an almost-numb way. The peppermint flavour mixed well with the blinding snow outside covering the ground, and he could barely hear the soft sounds of carols playing in the cafe’s speakers.

“I care about you Draco,” Pansy shot out, and he sighed, glancing and giving her a small glare. “I know what you mean though, but I do want to say that.” She nursed her own cup, which surprisingly looked like delicate china (one of the reasons they two of them preferred this place), before she set it down gently onto the matching saucer. “Your mother cares-”

“Pansy,” Draco warned, and she just sighed in response. “I know my mother loves me very dearly, but again, not what I am saying.” He sets his own cup down as well, not too fond of finishing the spiky tasting tea. “I know I shouldn’t be acting so lonely or anything.” He whispered, pursing his lips and bringing a hand to run through his hair. He hated how open he was being right now, but after Pansy just admitted to something serious, he felt that he should give just as she did. “Anyway, I’m glad that you’ve finally found yourself.”

Pansy only smiled softly in response, studying the tea sitting in her teacup. “Yeah,” Was her only response, and Draco sighed, leaning forward and letting a hand reach out and lay on one of Pansy’s own.

“I’d like to meet this girl who has finally tamed that wild heart of yours.” Draco whispered, and watched as Pansy seemed to light up, sitting straighter and looking directly into his eyes. She began to bite her lip uncertainly before sighing, letting it out.

“Her name is Luna. She may seem a bit odd, at first, but she will definitely make an impression.” Pansy stated, seeming somehow nervous with this admission. Draco found her expression odd. Did she think he would recognize the name? It’s not like it’s a very common name-

Draco withdrew his hand, narrowing his eyes at Pansy who seemed to sag slightly, realizing that he recognized the name. “The girl from the Photography class?” Draco whispered, glancing around the cafe quickly before leaning forward and whispering quickly. “Pansy, you have to be kidding. Everyone thinks she is mental.” This caused Pansy to grow angry, and he leaned back and dared to look a bit sheepish.

“Look, she just has a unique way of looking at things.” Pansy whispered angrily toward him, before studying him and sighing out some anger. “Whatever, you were the one who said you wanted to meet her.” Draco bit his own lip this time, studying his best friend before nodding slowly.

“I do. I want to properly meet her.” He admitted, watching as Pansy grew surprised and straightened in her seat.

“Oh. Well. Good.” She blinked slowly, reaching for her tea and taking a sip, glancing out the window. Draco smirked, taking his own cup into his hand, though not drinking it, glancing out the window as well.


=====


Draco sat on a bench, leaning back against the attached table, under a large tree on the outskirts of his college. His book was interesting, or it would be if Pansy wasn’t distracting him with her nervous habits. Her hands were ringing and she kept asking a question every minute. Just because he was about to meet Luna for the first time, properly, and Luna was late. His eyes scanned the words on the page in front of him without really taking them in.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Pansy finally asked, scooting to the edge of her seat and scanning as much as she could of the school grounds that weren’t blocked by a large hill on their right.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Draco lazed out once more, flipping a page for dramatic effect mostly. Pansy shot him a glare he could barely see out of his peripheral, before turning her attention back to the grounds. SNAP. Draco blinked, suddenly blinded, before glancing up and noticing a rather small girl with long blonde hair standing in front of them. Ah, the famous photographer.

“I hope you don’t mind. You just looked like the perfect model of indifference.” The girl replied, smiling softly down at Draco. Pansy jumped up, walking over to wrap her arm around Luna’s waist, smiling down at the girl.

“Are you okay?” Pansy whispered, leaning her head down to nuzzle into the smaller girl, “Did she do something?” Draco glanced away, pretending to not hear the private conversation.

“No, she hasn’t done anything. I’m sorry I was late, my astronomy professor had asked some questions about the positioning of the stars in early December.” Luna admitted, and Draco rolled his eyes. Of course she would be in astronomy. “I assured him that the stars held no ill will for him in this month.” She blinked up to her girlfriend before looking down and directly at Draco. He kept his eyes on his book. Silence ticked by for a moment before he decided they were probably waiting for him to speak.

“Ah, I don’t mind the photo,” Draco admitted lazily, scanning the book with his eyes still, “I’m sure I’ll look absolutely indifferent in it.” He finally closed the book, standing and turning toward the girl. He was about to introduce himself before she laughed, holding her hand out and letting her camera she had been holding hang around her neck.

“Draco, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He reached out, shaking her hand hesitantly. “I have someone I want you to meet.” She said quietly as if she were talking to herself, though he had been addressed in the statement.

“And you’re Luna.” He supplied, feeling a tad out of place. He glanced toward Pansy, who seemed slightly nervous with her arm still wrapped firmly around Luna, but gave her a reassuring smile.

“Well, you knew that already.” Luna mumbled, giggling lightly before shaking her head. “Yes, I think we should have some tea tomorrow.” She nods, as if the decision was made. He furrowed his brow, glancing back at Pansy as she just shrugs in response. “Let’s meet up at the Manor house, they’re serving excellent peppermint tea this time of year.”


=====


So here he was, two days later, sitting in the same booth as he had before, drinking the same tea while listening to the same faded carols, and Draco wondered if he was living the same day on repeat. That was, until Luna walked in and slid into the seat next to Pansy, smiling as she received a peck on the cheek from her girlfriend. Luna waved upward, and Draco glanced over toward the standing body next to the booth. He froze, blinking as he studied the jock in front of him. He had to be a jock, at least, with his rippling muscles straining under his black t-shirt. Though, the man looked awkward, his eyes on the table as Luna introduced the man as ‘Harry Potter.’

Draco’s mind blanked. The Harry Potter? The one that Hogwarts, his college, was repping as football extraordinaire in the papers? Draco stared down into his peppermint tea, the smell filling his lungs as he tried to comprehend this situation. Why was he here? Why did Luna know him?

“Harry, this is Pansy, my girlfriend. And this is Pansy’s best friend Draco.” Luna spoke matter-of-factly, and Draco glanced up, eyeing his best friend across from him. She just shrugged, though had a silly smile on her face that said she knew exactly what had been planned for today.

“It’s nice to meet you Draco.” Harry murmured, and Draco and to forcefully keep his eyes from rolling. Even his voice was perfect. Draco glanced over, noticing the outstretched hand and shaking it awkwardly before replying a little late.

“You as well, Potter.” He watched Harry’s brow furrow slightly at the use of his last name, but Draco didn’t care. It’s not like they could become close friends anyway. Not with who Harry hangs out with. “But I should actually be going. I have a physics test to study for.” Draco stood abruptly, taking a step back so he wasn’t in Harry’s personal space. He glanced over, taking in Pansy’s worried expression before he repressed a sigh and addresses the two ladies. “It was nice seeing you again, Luna. I’ll see you later, Pans.” He began to turn but heard sounds of protest from his best friend.

“Draco, get back here, we haven’t even started.” He glared lightly at his friend, shaking his head slowly.

“I forgot about the test. But I remembered, just now.” Draco stated, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Look, if it’s about me, I can go.” Harry mumbled, and Draco couldn’t suppress his eye roll this time.

“No, Potter. This isn’t about you.” Draco responded, not unkindly, though with a lie. There was no way he was going to let himself befriend the jock, the boy whose friends bullied him daily. “I have a test.” He insisted, glancing down at the table. That, at least, was the truth. After another moment of silence, Draco just spun on his heels and began walking to the exit.

The cold air was welcome on his face as he exited the building, and he breathed in as if he had been strangled inside. He took a few steps before standing still, letting his heart rate settle that he hadn’t realized had spiked. No wonder Hogwarts was repping him in the papers, the boy was fit. Suddenly, the ding from the door behind him clued him into the fact he was followed, and the voice clued him into who it was.

“Draco.” Harry spoke evenly, and Draco slowly turned around to eye the boy. He must be cold, standing outside in his a black t-shirt in the snow. Harry glanced down, looking a bit sheepish, and Draco glanced away as to try to make him feel more comfortable. “Could I, at least, maybe, have your number?” It had to be a trick, there was no way this was-

Draco nodded and watched as Harry seemed to light up slightly, reaching into his pocket and dragging out a square touchscreen phone, navigating to his contacts. When Harry gave a nod, Draco glanced around and spoke his number politely. There was a small pause once it was finished, and Draco was trying to decide whether or not to just walk away or if he should say some kind of farewell again, until his phone vibrated in his pocket. He jumped slightly before realizing it was silly to, digging his phone out and reading the preview for the text: [Hey, it’s Harry] He glanced over, watching as Harry shifted from foot to foot, probably realizing how cold it was the git, and then nodded a farewell as he turned to leave.

Coffee Shop Kisses - Wonwoo

First kiss during a coffee shop date drabble with Wonwoo as requested by @spicadeservesbetter ! Hope you enioy and this is what you wanted ♥ (I would alsonlike to dedicate this to my fave Wonwoo stan @lil-nochu ily XD)

“You’ve been so busy lately, I thought we wouldn’t have a second date,” you confessed to your boyfriend of a month Jeon Wonwoo, holding onto his arm and huddling closer to his body as a brisk chill ran through the air. You suddenly regretted not wearing a thicker coat; it was still winter after all. He smiled softly down at you and wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he possibly could to his warm figure and sighing, watching his breath form white wisps in the winter wind.

“I know,” he murmured, regret tingeing his deep voice as he kept his gaze fixed ahead on the pavement you walked down together. “I’m sorry.”

“No don’t apologize!” you became somewhat frantic, feeling guilty for making him feel bad. “I understand. I’m just glad I can be with you now.” He smiled, eyes crinkling behind his wire glasses in the cutest way as he led you to a quaint little coffee shop situated in the corner of a pretty empty street. “Wow…” a gasp of mingled surprise and awe left your lips as you stepped into the building, the rich aroma of coffee immediately hitting your nostrils and warming all your senses. The interior was all chocolate and a creamy off white, with booths separated by glass dividers occupying most of the main area and smaller wooden tables for two people dotting around the edges by the large windows through which the morning sun shone. There weren’t many people inside and it felt warm and homely, and just being inside made you feel fuzzy and joyful. “It’s so pretty in here,” you hummed, choosing to sit opposite Wonwoo in one of the booths seeing as the sunlight was incredibly bright and would probably blind you. You already had Wonwoo for that. “I can’t believe I’ve never been before.” Wonwoo leant forward, propping his elbows on the varnished oak of the table and resting his chin on his hands, smiling gently at you as you continued to take in the aesthetic of the decor.

”I’m so glad you like it,” he replied in his husky voice, letting out a small huff of laughter as he looked around the establishment somewhat nostalgically. “I used to come here all the time in college. I remember I liked you a lot then too, I used to think to myself that if I ever worked up the courage to ask you on a date I’d bring you here.” His eyes gleamed with the reminiscence and your heart suddenly fluttered - the way he looked so adoringly at you made your cheeks flush hot. You didn’t know he liked you until he finally asked you out sometime last month, when his idol group were awarded a break after promotions. Your friends had called you oblivious, not even trying hiding their frustration but you could never understand why. Until now, as he gazed at you like you hung the stars, like you were all he ever wanted to look at; it seemed this was more than just a crush. A waitress sauntered over, lazy smile spreading over her plump lips as she saw you and Wonwoo exchanging fond looks and shy smiles.

“You guys are so cute!” she lilted, now beaming at you both as she took a small notepad and a pen from the small black apron encircling her thin waist. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” You glanced at Wonwoo and he nodded, knowing you weren’t the best with other people, especially in situations like this.

“Just a regular coffee for me and…” he narrowed his eyes slightly at you; you’d frequented coffee shops together in the past as to study but it had been a while. “A caramel macchiato for the lady.” Attempting to hide the triumphant grin already tugging up the corners of your mouth turned out to be incredibly difficult - he remembered your favourite.

“Is that everything?” At Wonwoo’s nod she scurried back behind the polished bar and set about making your drinks.

“So how’s idol life treating you?” you questioned in a soft tone, playing with the tasselled ends of your thick scarf. He pouted slightly, trying not to blush too obviously as he cautiously moved one of the hands from his lap to lace his fingers with yours which sat atop the table.

“It’s nice, living out your dreams and all, but I barely get any time to see you which I hate.” he cocked his head to the side a little, eyes scanning every detail of your now rather pink face as if inspecting you. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to take you out.”

“I had somewhat of a clue,” you smirked, looking down at the table awkwardly before forcing yourself to look him in the eye. The deep brown orbs then looked so enamored yet amused by your timid manner, causing you to scratch the back of your neck bashfully. Breaking the awkward silence the waitress then came back with two steaming drinks and you both thanked her before turning your attention to them, hot and incredibly well made to say yours had a large heart drawn into the foam on top. You took a glimpse of the waitress who smiled proudly at herself before going back to cleaning the already shiny espresso machine. Wonwoo looked up at you, one hand supporting his jaw and the other reaching for the steel pitcher of milk which he slowly poured into the bitter beverage sat before him.

“So,” he coughed lightly, finally breaking the tension between you both as he moved onto shaking the contents of the small sugar packets into his drink. Usually he’d have it black but today he felt like the added sweetness. “Did you end up pursuing writing?” You grimaced a little, watching the thin silvery wisps of steam evaporate from the macchiato.

“Not… quite,” you mumbled thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to make it but at the moment I’m still focusing on studies,”

“I see…” his tone was distracted but his gaze was attentive which was mildly confusing, but you shrugged it off and took a small sip of your coffee, laughing at the foam that decorated your upper lip afterwards. He chuckled before reaching for his own coffee, looping two of his long fingers through the small and delicate china handle of the cup and bringing it to his lips. He blew ever so lightly on the hazelnut coloured surface as to try and cool it before taking a tentative sip, still watching you and listening to you talk. He recoiled immediately after the beverage touched his mouth, setting the cup back down on its saucer with an abruptness that startled you into silence. You frowned at him, concern etched onto your features as you raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice mellifluous and calm as your head tilted to the right. He gasped whilst nodding, furrowing his brows at you with a hopeless smile.

“Yeah sorry I just… wasn’t paying enough attention and burnt my tongue.” he exhaled slowly as you reached over the table and placed a finger on his chin, raising his eyes to yours. Suddenly bold you tried to fend off your smirk, him blinking with wide eyes as he waited for you to speak.

”Do you want me to kiss it better?” you whispered, watching him turn beet red with a somewhat gleeful smile despite still being shy yourself. Nevertheless he took the incentive and leaned in, careful not to upset either of the drinks as he placed one palm flat on the table and the other on your cheek and pulled you closer as to press your lips to his in a sweet and sincere first kiss. It was short yet the butterflies in your stomach lasted even when he pulled away, lips tingling and tasting slightly of coffee still as his lip curled into a bewildered grin.

”You know what? It still hurts.” he grinned with an overexaggerated shrug and laughed lightly, grazing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb as he leaned in to kiss you again.


Hope you like! ♥

-Admin Belle

Last train home: part two | Arthur Shelby

Request: @chrystalcaper asked for part two with Arthur x Reader getting the chance to talk.

Request: @theawkwardpedestrian asked if there could be more Arthur Shelby!

Notes: I think I might need a part three for this…

He walked over and you stood, hands smoothed the creases of your skirt before you offered your name, then your hand to shake.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Arthur.”

All Arthur could think was that you had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen.

He just stood there half dazed as a goofy smile set to his features.

“And you, love.”

He offered his hand to shake before you eyed the crowd of men that stared at you both from the bar. Arthur followed your gaze.

“Don’t mind them, come on, come with me…”

He picked up the delicate china cup that sat on a saucer from the table you’d been sat at. You couldn’t help but smirk as you followed behind him, the cup chattered with the nervous tremble to his hand.

“Who the fucks that, Arthur?”

“Have some fucking respect and mind your own fucking business, John.”

Arthur held the door to the little room of The Garrison for you as you stepped in to sit yourself down. He placed the saucer to the table gently and sat opposite.

“I bet this is strange for you.”

“Why’s that, love?”

“You sat there, instead of here. Me awake and not drooling on you. Oh, God, I didn’t drool, did I?”

“Never.”

You both smiled at each other before you looked down to habitually smooth the creases in your dress. Arthur shuffled his hands beneath him.

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anonymous asked:

Everyone thinks Biker!Bucky is this intimidating hard ass (& while he can be) he's really a big softie. Imagine he's rife with worry when he's in the waiting room while you're having (minor) surgery. The doctors tell him everything went perfectly without a hitch. They realize how much of a softie he is when it comes to you, the relief on his face palpable. When he climbs into bed with you, he treats you more delicately than a china doll

oh he’d be such a mess and when they call out Mr. Barnes the whole waiting room of bikers stand up 

Spinoff Saturday

Gotham Preference: How he kisses you.

I am so ignorant in this area…this is going to be hilarious. Here goes…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

James Gordon:

Originally posted by thomas-shelby

Jim is very serious and has to be because of his career. His job will tend to make him exhausted by the end of the day, most of his kisses will therefore be quick, chaste and absentminded. He will want to curl up on the couch with you and play with your hair, sneaking kisses here and there. Soft, sweet, caring - and most importantly, genuine. Despite his preoccupied mind, you will always know how much Jim loves you, and each kiss is like him reminding you that no matter how much his career absorbs his life, you will always mean the world to him. Jim does, however, have a very playful side. When his mind is not dedicated to work, or when he feels especially alive, he will definitely chase you around the house trying to kiss you. There will be gentle lip biting and lots of giggling. He’s very strong so there won’t be much chance of an escape once he has you in his arms.

Harvey Bullock:

(Here’s a gif of Harvey kissing Jim. Hehe. He lurrrvs him.)

Harvey gets around. There had to be a reason why Fish Mooney associated herself with him - and by that, I don’t only mean through business. Despite his usual brash ways, Harvey is actually a very genuine man; his selfish mask only hides his caring character. His kisses will be gentle and loving. Every day, when he comes home from work, he will gather you in his arms and give you a long, sweet kiss - glad to see you safe and far away from the horrors that plague Gotham. When Harvey does allow himself to love, he loves well and true. He is actually one of the most loyal men you could ever find. His kisses will remind you just how much he loves you, and what he will do to make sure you are safe - which tends to be quite worrisome.

Oswald Cobblepot:

Let’s be honest, Oswald will be really awkward when it comes to kissing. Most of his kisses will be a little shaky, and his intentions will lean more towards showing others he is capable of getting what he wants, and that he can be successful in his endeavours. He will always greet you with a chaste kiss when he isn’t trying to impress others (kind of like the kisses he gives his mother). It will take him a little time to learn how to kiss properly, and how to go about maintaining a romantic relationship.

Alfred Pennyworth:

Originally posted by peteharry

Five words: whenever Master Bruce isn’t around. His kisses will range from fleeting - with a trace of panic whenever Bruce’s footsteps are approaching - to passionate. Whenever he does have the time - and privacy - to kiss you, he will try to make the most of it, for both him and you. But there will of course be instances when Bruce catches you two, no matter how hard Alfred tries to keep it secret and private.

Edward Nygma:

Originally posted by pintasfun

Despite Edward’s eccentric habits, his kisses - though awkward and shaky - will be quite sweet. He will blush more than you ever will and will end up stuttering after the kiss has ended, even if he was the one to instigate it. He will most likely not know what to do with his hands; beyond your closed eyes, he might even be flapping - flailing - his arms around, as if your kiss is going to cause him to fly. The poor man will be nervous, but that just makes his kisses sweeter - because you know just how much they affect him, and therefore how much he adores you.

Harvey Dent:

Originally posted by swan-and-her-captain

You will never know when to expect sweet and caring Harvey, or possessive and a little violent Harvey. One moment he will be kissing you like you’re the most delicate and beautiful China doll in the world, and then the next he will be kissing you with an almost frightening hunger. He will, of course, never hurt you; but the sudden switch between his two characters tends to be a bit alarming. Not that he does not ever make you feel unloved, quite the opposite, actually. But he is someone you should be careful of.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hobbit out!

Originally posted by camrenbicondova

archiveofourown.org
Practical Magic - Daiako (Achrya) - The Hobbit - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Thorin walks into a small restaurant at his nephews’ recomendation. The man behind the counter knows just what he needs to mend his evening.

In which magic is the norm, the world can be ugly, and Bag End remains warm and inviting.

The prompts were ‘witches’ and ‘hot cider’

Keep reading

Cursive Scars

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Requested by an anon: Hi Love! I wanna request something :) So (Y/N) has a detention with umbridge because she said something sassy in class and the detention lasts for hours and after that her hand looks really really bad and she is trying to hide it, but Draco sees it and freaks out. Youre writing is really good:)

A/N- Thank you! <3  And this is rather long…I couldn’t help it. I hate the bitch XD Just…Excuse my sass. Sometimes I just cannot reel it in. 


Gritting your teeth in attempts to keep from shrieking a tangent of profanities to no one in particular though directed at the spirit-sucking, sweetly morbid toad herself, you knock on the door.

After a few moments where you contemplate kicking the doorway to hell open, you hear the infuriating call of, “Enter.” which sends multiple shivers crawling along your spine like spiders up bark.

Stepping cautiously across the threshold, you’re bombarded with an overpowering scent of sickly sweet perfume and Floo Powder. If you’re not thoroughly mistaken, you catch the faint scent of blood mingled in with it all. Naturally, you become more paranoid than when usually in her condescending prescence and keep your hand clasped tightly around your wand.

You barely catch Professor Dumbitch as she perches on her “Throne.” You wonder rather rationally, I might add, where the putrid stack of Children’s bones are…

She blends too well with the pink smothered room and the ghastly sight makes your skin crawl. Observing the delicate plates of china placed perfectly in precision, you can’t help but want to protect the mewling kittens from the devil incarnate. Or better yet, murder the bitch in her sleep. No doubt she sleeps like a troll so it shouldn’t be deemed too difficult, the resemblence is indeed uncanny. 

“Miss (Y/L/N).” Her demeaningly childish voice resounds against the sympathised plates and into your unwilling ears. “Take a seat.” she gestures towards the ordinary seeming, though obviously lethal chair before her desk. “Must I explain the reasoning behind your time here today?” you swallow whatever spiteful cuss you were going to throw at her and “Politely” shake your head. 

“Good.” Her face contorts into one of her infamously grotesque “smiles.”

You shuffle towards the impeccable desk and cautiously sink into the seat. You expect vicious vices to entrap your helpless limbs, but find only your anxiety  increases when nothing happens. 

“You’ll be writing lines today, Miss (Y/L/N). Oh no, I’ve got a special quill for you to use.” you swear you glimpse the sadistic glint in her beetle eyes as she hands it to you.

“What is it you wish for me to write?” you ask through clenched teeth. “I must not sass a teacher?” you mutter daringly under your breath and can’t help a small smirk. 

“For that, Miss (Y/L/N), you’ll not only be spending five hours with me, but another three.” she says while making a pleased sound from the back of her throat. “On the contrary, you’ll be writing “I must not be conceited.”” 

You know full well you would never dream of acting in such a way and every inch of your body begs for justice but you restrain. You think back to Dumbitch’s face when you snapped various comments at her during her class such as, “What do you expect us to do if someone were to attack us?! Whack ‘em over the head with it?!” while shaking the goddamned book in her face or, “When Voldemort attacks, I hope whatever’s shoved so deeply up your arse is removed so you’re able to run. Merlin knows you’ll be defenceless if this is the shit you’re teaching us.” and the like. Her outraged, embarrassed and apoplectic expression is worth any punishment in your opinion.  

You send a smirk her way and lace your fingers around the ebony quill. You clasp the parchment between your fingers and begin writting, “I must not be conceited” repeatedly for hours. 

You knew what was coming next. You weren’t dumb or oblivious. You’d witnessed the heart-wrenching strings of students huddled in corners fruitlessly attempting to reign in their sobs and trying to find answers as to how they’re supposed to tell their parents why they have irrevocable words scarred into their hands. 

“That’ll be enough for today, Miss (Y/L/N). You may leave.” Umbridge says after ours of barely endurable and excruciatingly chronic agony. You shakily ease out of the chair and regain your composure enough to walk towards the door and say, “Have a lovely night, Professor. Sweet Dreams.” before slipping out. 

Stumbling down the winding steps which swim in your vision like enchanted objects. Countless tears pool in your (e/c) eyes but you blantanty refuse to let them fall. The only satisfaction Umbrdge will be receiving is ice for the swelling in her limbs once you’re done with her. 

You calm your breathing as best you can and rush to the Slytherin Common Room where you know your boyfriend Draco is waiting. He can’t discover what has happened to you…he’s part of the Inquisitorial Squad and Merlin knows what will happen to him if he confronts her.

Before you know it you’re whispering the password to the Portrait and trickling into the emerald expanses of luxurious sagacaty of the Common Room. You’re barely two steps in before you’re engulfed in a tight hold.

“Are you alright, love??” Draco asks frantically; breaking away to survey your body for injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” you mumble and attempt to laugh off his concern.

“What did she do to you?” he asks lowly. His cobalt eyes manipulating you into maintaining eye contact.

“Just some lines.” you laugh albeit lugubrious. “No biggie. Come on let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.” you say as you meander your way up the staircase leading to the Boys’ dormitory where you can sleep with Draco. Hell, you need it more than usual tonight. 

Draco’s lean body appears next to you and he interlaces his slender fingers with your (Wand Hand) hand. You cry out in agony as you feel the morbid scar begin to reopen. “Are you okay?! Where are you hurt?!” Draco exclaims.

“N-nothing. I just..stumped my toe, Is all.” you laugh forcefully and attempt to hide your hand behind your back.

Darting his eyes towards your cradled and obscured hand, Draco says quietly, “show me.” 

The pain welling in his eyes is enough to compell you to reluctantly hold it out to him. His breathing becomes shallow as he carefully caresses your hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks lowly though there’s an underlying accusingness and hurt to his tone.

“I-I didn’t want you to do something stupid.” you mumble while avoiding his intense gaze.

He sighs as his arms envelop your waist. “That’s inevitable and you know it, (Y/N).” he chuckles albeit despondent.

“I promise you I’ll never let her hurt you again, I swear it by Salazar.” he mumbles sincerely into your ear.

A single tear trails down your cheek and into his shoulder. “I know.” you whisper.