embellished wall

3

Ok, so this is only a rough play around with placement on the head collar. So please excuse the coloured pins ..and the blue tack! ;)) 

 All of this will have to come back off for actual sewing of the collar first etc before it’s then embellished, but I needed to visualise the workings out before I could do that. Also.. I don’t think I’m so keen on the gold so will possibly change that and maybe some of the bead/pearl colours. 

Anyway, wanted to share with you even though the finished piece will no doubt be quite different?! #alwaysis 

xo

maybe [ch. 1] (newt scamander x reader)

Originally posted by dont-give-a-bother

chapters: 1 2 3

x notes: each segment of this series is going to be short so i can update the story more often and (hopefully) keep a few of you engaged ;u; 

x masterlist: click here!

maybe

Sunlight swirls into sparkling glasses, sinks into champagne, paints passerby's gold. Jazz music clouds the air; couples spin and spiral across the shining floor, heels clicking, cheeks pink, faces grinning.

Y/N leans against the wall, embellished gold columns reaching across skyscraping cream, mind elsewhere as she gazes up- mesmerized by the winking chandelier. She takes a lazy sip of her champagne, savoring the bubbles on her tongue as she shifts her attention to the dancing couples. Watches the ladies’ dresses as they bloom into crystal sewn flowers.

The last of the evening sunlight pours itself across her collar bones, outlines the edges of her hair,  illuminates her delicate necklace and skims across her gown. She takes no notice though, entranced with every turn, every spin, dip, and waltz. A familiar voice steals her attention.

“Y/N,” Queenie says, looking unfairly beautiful in her peach-colored gown, “There’s someone we’d like to introduce to you.” She grins, Jacob on her arm as she leads Y/N across the room.

The music swells as Queenie reaches out to tap a man on the shoulder. 

“Oh, sorry-,” The man says as he hastily turns around, “Queenie, hi, I- um, sorry I seemed to have lost you both before.”

“It’s fine sugar!” She smiles reassuringly, “Newt, this is my old friend Y/N, moved here not too long ago from upstate.”

The man eyes flick from the floor to some place behind Y/N, briefly to her eyes, then back down. He puts his hand out in front of him, nervously clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Y/N smiles slightly, confusion mixed with curiosity as she shakes his hand. “Y/N L/N,” She says, attempting to meet his darting eyes.

“Newt, uh, Newt Scamander,” He says, head ducked still. He looks up momentarily and Y/N is overwhelmed with freckles and the gentleness of his foggy green eyes. Newt blinks and awkwardly lets go of her hand, turning to whisper something to Queenie, “Is she, by chance, well, um-”

“Yes,” Queenie laughs, “She went to Ilvermorny with me.” 

Newt nods, a smile flickering from his cheeks as he nods sharply, awkwardly. He contemplates asking her house but it dissolves at the end of his tongue, instead, he tries, “W-Well, uh,” Queenie gives Newt a look, he ducks his head slightly and continues, “Would you, well, ahem, like to dance?”

Y/N’s cheeks flush in surprise, but she nods nonetheless, carefully placing her hand in his, “I’d love to, thank you.” She says politely, a small smile pulling at the edge of her lips.

p2 comes out tomorrow :o

masterlist  //  request a fic

[its been a while since ive written a fic ;u; hope its going alrighthdhdhdfhfhg]

4

Theatre of Orange

Orange, France

1st century CE

103 m. long and 37 m. high


One of the most iconic parts of this structure is the grand exterior facade, which measures to be 103 meters long and 37 meters high.Originally, there was a wooden roof across the theatre to protect the audience from unfavorable weather conditions. There is evidence on the walls that shows that, at some point, the roof was destroyed in a fire. Although it is relatively sparse in decoration and embellishment, the three story wall gives an overwhelmingly powerful appearance to the entire building. The main three doors on the first level of the facade open directly onto the stage inside the theatre, which can seat from 5,800 up to 7,300.

The stage, which is 61 meters long and raised about one meter from the ground, is backed by a 37 meter high wall whose height has been preserved completely. This wall is vital to the theatre, as it helped to project sound to the large audience. The wall, also known as the scaenae frons, is the only architecturaly decorated surface throughout the entire theatre. It originally was embellished with marble mosaics of many different colors, multiple columns and friezes, and statues placed in niches. The central niche contains a 3.5 meter high statue of the emperor Augustus, although this was most likely a restoration of an original statue of Apollo, the god of music and the arts. The central door, below the niche containing this statue, is called the Royal Door, or valva regia. This door was used only by the most important, principle actors to enter and exit the stage. Above the door was a frieze decorated with centaurs.

other things that make me think of ohc (i’ve been thinking about it a lot lately)

-fairy lights leaving little lights in your eyelids if you stare too long.

-exhaling in cold winter months and watching your breathe fade in front of you.

-gold embellishments on theatre walls that reflect the light.

-saved ticket stubs from films or theatre performances .
-classical musical that inspires you.

-gazing at the stars above the glow of a city asleep beneath you.

twoparts-deactivated20171113  asked:

sand timer emoji I can't find it !!

  SEND   ⏳    FOR     A     PIECE    OF    MY    MUSES    BACKSTORY.

    One day you make the mistake of visiting Mac’s home.     A ramshackle little house located in the hollow guts of Northern Philly     —     it smells faintly of mildew     &     decaying wood.     No warmth radiates from the concave walls embellished with a torn floral wallpaper     —     it’s industrial     &     cold.     Polluted with cigarette smoke from where Mrs Mac wheezes     &     coughs with each puff she takes from the thin Newport     ‘tween her wrinkled fingers.     This was nothing like the lavishness of the Reynolds estate    ,     complete with a pool that seemed to stretch for miles upon miles of fluid blue.    

    Fear has never felt so visceral like the night you meet Mac’s father for the first time.     His scent is pungent    :     he reeks of city    -    lights     &    gas    ,     &     the success of a well-bid drug deal.     Biting your lip    ,     instinct kicks in    ,     your thoughts teetering towards the nearest exit     -   (  yet your feet remain firmly planted in place.   You look any which way but directly at him    ,     terrified that should you lock eyes he will infiltrate what exists of your then    -    unblemished soul.     Mac speaks graciously of his father    ,     worships him like he does talk of Jesus on The Cross.     It leaves you both appalled     &     aroused    ,     the idea of the uncharted entices you.

    Just outside his bedroom window    ,     you can hear the ominous symphony of dogs barking violently     &     children screaming.     &     something akin to the roar of a gunshot.     You press against Mac’s bedpost    ,     curled into yourself     –     appearing so wildly small.     There is little comfort in the cardboard jail of his bedroom     -     four claustrophobic grey walls     -     nothing like the glory of your king    -    sized mattress back home. 

    He passes you a well-rolled joint    ,     it warms your fingertips     &     the delirium from each puff is a clement    ,     toasty    ,     sensation that travels through your veins like honey     &     turns your muscles to goop.     Giggling     &     high    ,    you do as boys with a teenage sweet tooth will    ,    &     explore the teeming hollows of each other’s mouth. 

    It’s as short    -    lived as it is enchanting.     The door is forced open on its hinges    ,     &     there stands the figure of your nightmares    ,     the tattoed tear ‘neath his eye glimmering in the steamy darkness of the room.     You feel uncomfortable    ,     a cold sweat building along the length of your spine.     You’d rather choke on your own spit than face the wrath of Luther Mcdonald. 
                                You never do return to Mac’s home .

Tucson, you sure as hell know how to do tacos. Tonight I stumbled upon a real hidden gem, Taqueria Juanitos. The outside of the quaint authentic Mexican joint is painted a deep purple while the inside walls are embellished with colorful murals depicting Hispanic culture. Besides the murals, the shop is simple and bare. It wasn’t until I put the first bite of carne asada taco in my mouth that I realized these people could serve this food out of a cardboard box and I would still eat it. Between a friend and I, we silently devoured street style steak tacos, chicken tacos, and ceviche. While taking a break from the taco madness I leaned back, wiped my hot sauce soaked fingers, and came to conclusion that this was much more than infatuation. This was love, taco love.

Taqueria Juanitos 

708 W Grant Rd. 

Tucson, AZ 85705

Happy New Year Mr. Cumberbatch

Another Benedict/Reader Fluff/Smut ficlet! Enjoy! 

You feel Benedict’s intense gaze on you from across the room as you desperately try to focus your attention on your boss- who was talking your ear off at the moment. It was your boss’ annual New Year’s Eve party and you thank your lucky stars that you were finally invited to it. It definitely meant that you were moving on up. After all, this was a very exclusive party.

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