floppy bow

Newt Gets Graves A Kitten

@qed221b @ladyoftheshrimp @fantastic-beasts-smut - I blame ya’ll.

And you especically, QED, for this adorableness right here.

Newt gets Graves a kitten, because he knows how helpful animals are in the healing process and while it’s been a year since Grindelwald, some scars just don’t want to fade away. Those tricky scars of the heart. 

So he gets Graves a kitten. A small, fluffy kitten with blond wisps of hair and eyes too big for its head. Feeble in its youth. Its cries are more chirping than cat-like. He puts a big, floppy bow around its neck - the red ribbon practically bigger than its whole body and giving it the illusion of wings - before quietly slipping into the bedroom they share. 

“This is him,” Newt whispers into the little kitten’s too large ears, lifting him up and out to show him the slender back of the man laying in bed before them - dead asleep. “Now off you go, just like we discussed.”

And then he sets the little beast down and lets it loose. He watches as it determinedly wobbles to the bed, obviously set on a goal. Smiles as it sets its tiny claws into the soft silk of their sheets and climbs the tall rise of their bed. Walks closer to watch as the little fur ball then makes an unsteady beeline for the man in the bed – as though completely aware of what Newt had said to him when walking home with him this morning from the shelter.

He can’t stop himself from laughing when the little beast finally makes it to Graves’ face. It reaches out with a tiny paw and taps his face kindly, as though asking for attention, before finally flat out sitting on the man’s face.

Graves jerks up, eyes wide and hair sticking out in every which way, and blinks first at the now upended little fur ball on his pillow, then at Newt – bewildered and confused from waking. Newt only laughs harder as he watches Graves slowly try to connect the dots, everything moving slowly from sleep. His hands seem impossibly large as he gathers the struggling little kitten up to better study it.

Bright green eyes, blonde fluffy coat, tiny little paws and a soft little chin that it rests atop his knuckles, staring up at him. Newt sees it the moment something melts in Graves – too tired and too early to hide the emotion before Newt can see.

“Do you like him?” Newt asks, bemused as his partner’s eyes rise from over top the little cat to stare at him, baffled and sleepy.

“I don’t understand,” Graves says, and Newt feels another piece of his heart melt for the man currently naked and in his bed, holding a kitten and blinking sleepily at him.

“He’s yours.”

“He’s mine?” Graves repeats.

“Yes,” Newt chuckles.

“You got me a cat?” Graves asks, eyes falling back down on the little kitten.

Newt pauses, suddenly worried that this had been a rash decision. He shouldn’t have surprised his partner with something so big, that required such a commitment, without talking to him first. His thoughts begin to tail spin. His hands tremble as he wrings them.

“I, uh – yes. That is… if you want him?”

Graves just squints at him for a long moment before suddenly collapsing back into the bed again, taking the kitten with him.

“That’s great,” Graves mumbles into his pillow, the kitten tucked happily beneath his chin and purring merrily away. “Kitten Newt won’t leave me alone in my bed at hideously early hours every morning.”

Newt squawked, indignant; a huge and spreading smile on his face despite his affronted tone.

“You’re replacing me?!”

“Technically you replaced yourself.”

“Move over, I’m coming in there.”

“Nope, I have kitten Newt now. There’s no more need for you in my bed,” Graves says, one eye cracking open to catch Newt’s gaze as he smiles, unable to hide his mirth.

“Oh you’re going to get it,” Newt growls as he stalks the bed.

“Not in front of kitten Newt!” Graves gasps, dramatic and scandalized.

Newt crawls onto the bed where he’d normally sleep and gently covers the little kitten’s eyes with one finger, ignoring its plaintive little meow as he leans forward to capture Graves’ lips in a soft, sleepy kiss.

“Thank you,” Graves whispers into his lips after their kiss.

Newt just kisses him again.

Originally posted by namk1

The Mysterious Miranda (Chapter 4)

pairing: lin manuel miranda x reader, daveed diggs x reader

summary: Your cousin Anthony drags you along to one of his neighbor’s infamous parties with his girlfriend, keeping you from a night in. Mr. Miranda, the host, is a mysterious man, but that isn’t the part that gets to you.

warnings: cheating (but i mean you knew that coming into this fic), implied sex at the end (but no smut, just strongly implied)

words: 2784 (i aM SO SORRY I WAS SO INTO THIS)

a/n: so here’s chapter 4 to The Mysterious Miranda, my Great Gatsby AU. I wrote it all in one sitting, i think it’s really cute because it’s pretty much all fluff. Here’s the long awaited (at least for me) date. if you haven’t read the first three parts, do that first! feel free to leave any feedback, and my requests are open. 

part one part two part three part five part six part seven part eight part nine

Wednesday had finally come after far too much waiting in your opinion, yet the entire day seemed to drag along. You had tried to pass time by tidying up the house but when you realized you’d already stress-cleaned the entire manor, you opted to read a romantic novel from your library.

Now, your husband was getting ready to leave for his office party and though you may have sounded pushy, it didn’t much matter to either of you.

“Yes, Daveed, I will be home before midnight. Go, have fun at your party, dear!” You assured him for the third time then wrapped his coat around his shoulders as Daveed walked out the front door to leave, laughing softly.

“I’ll see you tonight, refrain from having too much fun without me.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand before walking out of the house, leaving you to get ready for your date.

You made your way excitedly to the large walk in closet attached to your room and looked through all of your dresses on hangers, settling on a knee length lavender flapper dress with ruffles all around the hem. There was a ribbon tie that sat around your waist once it was on, so you tied it in a floppy bow resting on your hip.

Using a small silver clip to pin one side of your hair back, you slicked it down to make a curve around the right side of your face. After finishing your hair and makeup, you grabbed your lace evening gloves that matched the dress of choice, smiling at the way your fingers wiggled freely.

As if right on cue, your doorbell rang and you rushed down to greet Jasmine at the door. “Oh, darling it’s so great to see you again!” You gushed at your friend, pressing a kiss to both of her cheeks and she returned the gesture.

“You look absolutely ravishing!” She gasped at the sight of you so you spun around in a circle to show off your outfit, giggling loudly.

“Do you reckon Mr. Miranda will like the outfit?” You slipped on your silver shoes with short heels, grabbing a purse before following your best friend out to her car.

“He’ll be speechless, darling.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“You didn’t see it, did you?”

You gave her a confused look before she continued.

“The way he looked at you, it was different from how he looks at other girls. He looked at you like the moon and the stars shone out of your eyes. When he sees you, you’re the only thing he sees.”

That left you with a few things to think about.

The two of you got into her car and within minutes, Jazzy had you flying down the dirt road.

Keep reading

Emergency Fluff!

It’s a working title, LOL!

I wanted to get this out quick to help temper the blow of Episode 1.

Thanks to @dandonish for beta-ing in a pinch today! I hope you enjoy!

Request: Idk if you take request but I just saw the episode and I need something fluffy and light hearted, can you do that please?

Emergency Fluff (Or Shower then bed)

You are rubbing the rough fabric of your towel over your damp hair, trying to dry it as best you can when there is a knock on your door. Draping the towel around your shoulders, you pull your fluffy robe tighter around you and pad barefoot across your living room to the door of your flat. You peek through the small peep-hole and smile as you see a set of sharp cheek bones, dark floppy curls and perfect bow shaped lips. You hurry to undo the locks and open the door.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, smiling as you step aside to allow him in.

“I need a shower and a bed,” Sherlock moans quietly. “Come on.” He steps past you and shrugs off his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Have you not been to bed yet?” you ask, shutting the door behind him.

“No,” he replies, stifling a yawn. “I’ve been up all night, working a case, outside, I might add, in the rain and the cold.” You reach for him, taking his face in your hands, you press your lips to his. He is cold, his lips, his nose. You shiver.

“Bed. Shower.” He repeats. “Though not in that order.” He takes your hand and tugs you back towards your bathroom, which is still foggy and steamy from the shower you just took.

“Sherlock,” you laugh. “I just woke up and I’ve already showered!”

“Y/N, I am far too tired to argue semantics with you,” Sherlock replies. “I’m also very cold and you are the warmest thing I’ve ever known, so if you would please…” he stops and looks down at you.

“Fine,” you sigh, unable to keep the smile from your lips. You reach across him, into the shower and turn the water on as hot as it will go. Sherlock’s long fingers undo the buttons on his shirt and it lands on the tiled floor of your bathroom. Next comes his belt and trousers before he ducks behind the striped shower curtain. You disrobe as well and join in seconds later.

He is standing under the almost too hot stream of water, massaging the muscles in his neck. You take in the sight of him, his creamy skin, his toned body, you reach out and touch the purple scar in the middle of his chest, frowning. It’s so striking set against his pale skin and sparse chest hair.

His cold hands come to rest on your hips and he draws you against him. He is still cool to the touch and the contact sends shivers down your spine. You reach up and run your hands through his wet locks, pushing them away from his face. His arms encircle your waist and you gladly give him your body heat.

“Warmer already,” he sighs. “Thank you.” You squint up at him, trying to keep the water from your eyes.

“My pleasure,” You purr, reaching up and kissing him again. “Rough night?”

“Just long,” he groans. “And I don’t enjoy long nights that don’t involve you in my bed.” You giggle and he yawns.

“Are you all out of energy?” you ask, raising one eyebrow. “Because I have a great idea on how to further warm you up.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock says, bending to kiss you again and this time it’s laced with need. “I might have a little bit left in reserves.” He spins you, pressing your back against the tiled wall and hooking your leg up over his hip. He’s hot now, and so are you and for a tired man, he sure has a lot of stamina.

A short while later (he was up all night, after all), he is crawling across your mattress towards your pillows. He collapses in heap and you tug the blankets up around the both of you. It’s so rare that he comes to your flat, the two of you spending most of your time at Baker Street since you started dating last year and you love having him here. He nestles down onto the pillow beside yours and reaches for you, his tall body curling around yours. You smile as the rhythm of his breathing becomes deep and steady. It’s a beautiful morning and you had several things you needed to attend to today, but Sherlock Holmes wants to snuggle you while he sleeps.

mybelladuveen  asked:

Hi, this is for the latest headcanon ask you posted: Sam and Andrew - 8 (Imagining they did, of course!)

In a temporarily-vacant vicarage somewhere in Cornwall, late July or early August, 1945

“Shall I…” Sam begins, and then draws a deep breath and changes tack. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she says. She stands up and puts her book down on the table. “See you upstairs?” she says. The words seem loud in the quiet house.

Andrew’s still for a moment, the book he’s not reading poised in his hands.  “Could I…” He’s pale, and his voice is a little rough. “Could I come help you?”

“All right,” Sam answers.


Andrew’s awkward, but very gentle, unfastening the buttons at her cuffs and untying the floppy bow at the neck of her blouse. Well, he wouldn’t have played with dolls, or dressed any babies, Sam thinks, with a queer clarity.  He unfastens the mismatched button that the bow hid, then spreads her collar-ends apart with both hands. His thumbs rest lightly on her collarbone, then stroke outwards.  Sam’s lips part around a sigh.

“All right, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers.

Another button, and another. The tops of her brassiere show now. It’s not a pretty one, she hasn’t any pretty ones, but Andrew’s touch is reverent on the much-washed cloth. He draws the edges of her blouse apart and, after another cautious look that she answers with a nod, leans in to kiss her bare skin. First below the point of her collarbone, and then below that, and finally just above the brassiere. Sam takes a sharp breath, then brings up a hand to keep Andrew’s head where it is before he can pull back.

“Yes,” she says again. “Please, yes.”

wedding day // a matty healy imagine

word count: 1,410

read part two here

your hair had been curled and pinned down in all the right places. your face looked flawless, thanks to your close friend who was also a makeup artist. you were surrounded by your best friends as you slipped out of your satin robe and into the beautiful white dress that you’d only wear this one day. you couldn’t help but cry and laugh as you looked at yourself in the mirror, overwhelmed with emotion on this day. the dress fit you in all the right places, and you felt like a million bucks. you couldn’t wait for matty to see you.

“i don’t want to cry, my makeup looks too perfect,” you laughed as you dabbed at your eyes and hugged a friend standing near by. your bridesmaids giggled as they took pictures of you looking stunning.
“are you ready?” your mom asked you as she dabbed at her eyes as well.
“i couldn’t be more ready to marry him, mom, i’m so excited,” you said in an exasperated voice. as soon as you got a moment to yourself, you checked your phone to see a text from matty himself. “i know we talked about not speaking to each other until the ceremony or whatever but i couldn’t resist sending you this (since it’s technically not speaking?) words can’t describe how happy i am that you chose me to spend your life with. thank you for everything, can’t wait to see your beautiful self today xx.” your heart filled up more than you thought possible as your eyes got dewy once again at the sweet words matty had sent. you just wanted to run down the aisle and get it done. you wanted to be mrs. healy already.

Keep reading

Please 2/3 (requested)

D A L L A S  W I N S T O N imagine

///I’m still a little rusty from not writing at all so please bear with me as I get back into the process of writing! Any tips or constructive critism would be greatly appreciated! This’ll be in 3 parts btw! Stay gold! :)\\

I furrowed my brows looking out the window. Out there was Buck’s car and sitting in it was Dallas Winston, my ex-boyfriend. I think.

“How can he do this?” I cursed under my breath. Every day since I walk out of his room, and his life, he’d be waiting outside the gate trying to come back into mine. “How am I suppose to get to school without being caught by him?”

“You don’t. You have to face him,” my older sister shrugged, giggling. I mugged her and her big, floppy bow on the right side of her head. She was in love. And right now, the thing was if you were in love, you’d have a bow on the right side of your head. Funny how I thought it was the cutest thing ever just a week ago. “I would give ya a ride sis but-”

“Yeah- college. Go away,” I sighed. I let out a long breath and kept glaring through the window. I felt my eyes widened as I saw him waving at me. I regained my self control and turned away from the window.

“Sweetheart,” my dad hollered. “Grab something to eat, will ya?” I trudged back to the kitchen, grabbing a banana. “Good girl,” he muttered.

I smoothed out my skirt and took a deep breath before turning the knob. Operation: Get Passed Dally is now in progress. I looked down avoiding eye contact while breathing in the fresh air. I could hear the car door unlock while he probably stepped out. “He-hey,” I heard him fumble on his words. “How y-ya doing?” I bit my lip as I walked faster, getting past his car. “Y/N, don’t walk away from me. Please.”

I lowered my head and tried to walk even faster but soon enough I tripped. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. I heard a chuckle then footsteps then a hand on my shoulder. “Stop. Please, I don’t need your help,” I hissed, picking up my books.

“I’m sorry,” Dally whispered into my ear. I pushed him away disgusted to hear his voice. I wasn’t really disgusted but I wanted to be. Thinking about how he could whisper into someone else’s ear just made me madder.

“Okay,” I smiled, shrugging. “Bye.”

I stopped because he was in front of me, with his hand on my stomach. “Baby-”

“I’m not your baby,” I laughed.

“Since when?” he scoffed.

“Since you decided it’s okay to be with other people,” I muttered while pushing him out of the way.

“Are you really gonna be like this?” he said following behind me. He was constantly putting his hand on my arm but I kept pushing it away. “Y/N!” I stopped hearing his footsteps behind mine. “You can’t leave me. You love me too, I know it.”

I whipped around, “Love you too? So what? You love me?”


I turned around. Forget it. He can’t even say 3 words to me and he expects to have me back. I felt the tears forming in my eyes out of frustration. How could I have thought he was my Romeo? How could I think I’m anyone’s Juliet?

“I DO!” he shouted. “I’M SORRY ALRIGHT? FUCK!” I heard a bang. I turned around to find Dally on the floor, holding his leg. “Fuck,” I heard him whimper. He put his head against his knee and he looked as if he was crying. Dally never cried.

“Dal?” my voice croaked, curious. He looked away, “Dally..” I wiped away my tears and ran to his side.

I grabbed his head and looked into his icy, blue eyes. They had hints of red around them. I looked at his face and the dark circles under his eyes. His face softened but then he broke out into a grin. “I knew you still love me,” he smiled pulling my face to his.

My eyes widened as our lips touched but they soon closed after they found their place. NO- I pulled away in astonishment. “I-” my nostrils flared.

“I’m sorry,” he bit his lip.

mydeepseoul  asked:

Ooooh and maybe 24 with wonho... ;)

FDHSAJKFLHDSJHASKJFHJSD. I have no words for this. Just Wonho, I guess that’s all you need to know. ;) 

24. Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?; Wonho

You had spent a long day at work; all twelve hours of it. You constantly found yourself working overtime since nobody in your sect seemed to be able to do their work in the eight hours allotted per work day—so, being their supervisor, naturally you had to stay behind to clean up the mess they would make throughout the day. You often wondered if any of them even worked, or if they all just came in, did a little work in the morning, and then messed around the rest of the day.

It didn’t really matter—it was the same shit every day. The clock hit seven in the evening before you even thought about leaving. You wondered how long Hoseok had stayed at your place and if he was still there. You meant to give him a call earlier today after having to leave him so abruptly, getting out of bed early this morning to shower and head out to work, but the call slipped your mind.

The clock beeped, entering the number into the time-table at which you had clocked out before you made sure you had everything and pushed through the glass door of the company you worked for, locking it behind you. It would be a long drive home, not living particularly close. It would be a relaxing forty minute drive back to your house. No help tickets, no complaints, no whiny employees; just peace and quiet to yourself.

Eight was near by the time you had pulled into your driveway, throwing the car in park. You grabbed your purse out of the passenger’s seat and stepped out, closing the door and clicking lock on the key fob. You looked through the mail you had picked up, a few days’ worth as you trekked to your front door, blindly shoving the key into the hole to turn it. The door was locked, just the way you left it this morning, meaning Hoseok still had to be there.

Dismissing your mail for a moment, you pushed the door open. Hoseok’s shoes were there right on the inside of the door, his jacket still splayed over the back of the chair close to the entry way. You ambled deep into your home, setting your keys, phone, purse and mail onto the dining room table.

“Hoseok? Honey, are you still here?” you called, but there wasn’t a response. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was cooped up in the bathroom, enjoying a relaxing bath in the tranquility of the emptiness of your house. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Hoseok had spent the night with your more times than you could count—he asked you out a few times, but for some reason you couldn’t find it in yourself to commit. It wasn’t him, it was everybody. You wanted to call yourselves friends with benefits, no strings attached, but you had more strings attached than a marionette.

Your heart was his, he knew. An open relationship is what he would call it. Because of the caution that drew, you knew Hoseok still had some barriers that he held up around you, trying to let you in, but at the same time, trying to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt. You couldn’t blame him; you started out the same way. But the more time you spent with him, the more you fell for him. As much as he tried to hold you at arms distance, he still tried for you, and he tried hard.

You checked the loft, making your rounds of the house to find him, but he wasn’t in there, wasn’t in the kitchen either. You’d be beside yourself if he was still sleeping, but you dared check anyway, turning the handle to your room to silently push the door open. Sure enough, Hoseok lay there fast asleep buried in the covers. You neared him, noting all of his clothes on the floor, including the underwear you were pretty sure he had put back on last night after making mind-numbing love to you.  

The soft fabric of the comforter slithered under your hand as you trailed it up his body, taking a seat on the bed next to him. You leaned over to his ear, pushing some of the hair away from his neck to plant a kiss under his earlobe and then one against the curve of his jaw. He stirred slightly, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest.

“Hoseok, baby, did you just sleep all day?” you asked him. He just nodded and you watched his hands grip at the sheets of your bed. “Is there a reason you’re naked?” you asked him. He thought for a moment, at least that’s what you had guessed as he laid there, motionless, before he shook his head.

“Couldn’t get comfortable,” he finally replied to you in that raspy sleepy voice you adored. Your hand continued to stroke through his hair, pushing it back as he tried to wake himself a little more.

“What’s got you so tired?” you asked him.

“You, of course,” he replied, rolling over to face you, eyes cracking open to give you the look. It was suggestive, but playful as he took the hand you had been stroking his hair with to place on his chest, guiding your sweet touch across his skin.  “You wear me out, baby girl,” he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss the back of your fingers.

“I think there’s more to it than that,” you told him, giving him the look, which was a skeptical one, your head tilting to eye him suspiciously.

“I missed you and it’s my day off. Do you not recall me begging you to stay this morning?” he asked you, almost hurt that you had forgotten, and to think the he didn’t just want to be surrounded by anything and everything that could remind him of you.

“If by begging me to stay you mean made unintelligible grumbling noises and would hardly stop trying to sloppily kiss me enough to let me get into the shower, then I guess so,” you teased him, poking his noise to which he scrunched his face. You leaned down to kiss both of his closed eyes and the bridge of his nose before finally granting him what he had wanted since you got back—a loving kiss against his neglected lips.  

“Get dressed, I’ll make dinner,” you told him and patted his chest before you stood.

He groaned for you to come back, but you just closed the door to give him some privacy. You left to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out produce, meat and some other things, spices out of the cabinet and pans out of the drawer. You had just finished washing the vegetables, rolling up the sleeves on your black dress shirt, when you heard your room door crack open. You paid no mind, making quick work of draining the vegetables and moved them to the cutting board.

Hoseok stood there, leaning against the door frame of your door as he watched you from the back. Your hair had been tied up in a messy bun, stocking covered feet, knee length pencil skirt, apron pulled around you tied with a floppy bow. The chopping of thick veggies brought Hoseok back to earth and he wandered over to you. His hands touched your hips as he stepped to you, pressing into your back. He looked over your shoulder for a moment until his lips were on your neck.

A gentle gasp fell from your lips and your head couldn’t stop from lolling to the side. Your hands shook at the feel of his tongue on your skin causing you to have to set the knife down. You whispered his name, barely falling off your lips without a stutter. He hummed against your skin, swaying you slightly.

“What’s for dinner?” he whispered into your ear.

“Curry chicken,” you replied quietly, barely able to find your voice as his lips continued to trace up your neck. “You can have some, if you behave,” you threatened, but it wasn’t sounding very threatening in your weak voice which turned to a small whimper.

“Do you know how sexy you look in your work clothes? With the stockings and the tight skirt, hair in a messy bun just teasing me, pleading me to take it all off,” he muttered into your skin, nipping the tender flesh of your neck.

“I thought I said behave!” you told him, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as your hands cupped over his.

“I’ll help you make dinner, but when I finish cleaning up, you’re mine,” he growled to you before he disappeared from behind you, almost letting you fall as he shifted to clean the chicken. You were already breathless, just listening to him talk to you. “Plus, you never told me to behave well,” he reminded you, washing his hands as he leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Brat,” you said.

“Love me,” he replied.

“You know I do,” you told him, turning your head to face him only for his lips to brush yours.

Send me a name and a number for the 500 follower sentence prompts!

morninginsp  asked:

Twelve/Clara, Post LC, Clara is on the TARDIS full time and the Doctor has been more affectionate than in the past, but it's not until he takes her inter-galactic ring shopping that she realizes that the proposal in her bedroom for was MARRIAGE; fluff/smut ensues

The market on this planet was the same as the one on the last planet: jewel smiths, goldsmiths, smiths working in metals Clara couldn’t name with tools that ranged from the disturbingly invisible to the alarmingly primitive. The last market had been too flashy, too full of glowing technical things that were half-machine, half-jewelry, and Clara had made a face. The Doctor had snatched her hand– her hand, willingly taken, with his fingers laced through hers to boot– and run with her back to the TARDIS.

She was still in her nightie. Her nightie. Not that anybody seemed to notice or mind. There was no accounting for fashion.

This planet had a more subdued set of craftsmen. Craftspeople. Craftsbeings. There, that was the right word. The Doctor led her by the hand, fingers still twined with hers, through this market to a little shop in the back, where a woman was working with tools right there on a bench.

“I think you’ll like these better,” he said. “And they’re gold, not hypertitanium. Gold is good, I like gold. Handy against Cybermen in a pinch.”

Clara did like them better, though she still wasn’t sure why she had to inspect a lot of gold rings on Christmas morning. The sample the smith held up to them next was wider than many rings were, and had flat planes hammered around it. A dark red jewel of some kind was set into one of the planes, flat. A jewel? Hard to say what it was, because it looked liquid. Not ostentatious. Almost like it was part of the ring.

“Oooh,” Clara said, despite herself.

“That one?”


The Doctor nodded and turned to the smith. “We’ll take a pair of those. And we’d like them engraved. ”

The smith handed the Doctor paper and a pen. The Doctor drew one of his odd circular diagrams on the paper, more carefully than usual. The smith was doing something with her left ring finger, sizing it, but Clara didn’t pay any attention to it, because beside the circular diagram the Doctor had written 25-12-2014. The date.

Clara said, “That’s Gallifreyan writing? What does it say?”

“Your name.” He pointed. “And mine. Well, sort of my name.”

Clara’s hand went to her mouth. “You’re buying rings. And engraving them with our names. And the date.”

The Doctor drew himself up proudly. “Didn’t think I was the traditional sort, mm?”

Clara shook her head, hand still over her mouth. If she took her hand away she’d blurt something she didn’t want to blurt. The Doctor still looked happy. As happy as she’d ever seen him, ever, with any of his faces. The one with the floppy hair and the bow-tie and the chin, no matter how often he’d spun around while holding her, hadn’t ever had this expression on his face. It was deep and quiet and glowing. He was now peering at the jewel smith, who’d strapped a loupe to her face and had pulled out a tiny tool that looked like a dentist’s pick, only it had a tip of pure glowing plasma.

How had he decided to do this? Clara reviewed what had happened in her bedroom right before they’d run out to the TARDIS. What exactly had he said. He’d clasped his hands and stood up straight and asked her to come with him. He’d held out his hand, palm-up, and she’d given him her hand in response. She’d given him her hand. Oh. Oh. He’d asked her to– he’d asked her to marry him. And she’d said yes.

Her head went strange and her knees gave out. Clara went down to the floor.

“Clara!” The Doctor dove onto his knees on the floor next to her.

“Hey, you,” she said to him. She was grinning so hard her face almost hurt.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay. More than okay. Totally more than okay.”

His hand was under her elbow, bracing her as she got up. “What happened? Do you need anything?”

“I just– it sort of got to me, yeah? You haven’t even kissed me or anything and here we are–” She pointed at the smith working on the bench.

“Good point,” he said, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Right there in the shop, while the jewel smith smiled at them indulgently. The Doctor, the man who was not the hugging sort, had one hand in her hair and one hand on her waist, and his tongue in her mouth, and oh! That was what it was like to kiss this version of him. He smelled like bay rum and ozone. He needed a shave. Cool fingers on the back of her head. Lean and hard, holding her close, lifting her up on tiptoes. Clara made a sound, a sound she hadn’t made in a long time. The Doctor released her.

“Not here,” he said, and his voice was low and rough and he sounded like she felt. “On the TARDIS. After this. If you’d like.”

His eyes went wide in supplication again. Clara knew exactly what he meant.

“Yeah. I would.”

Article from The West Australian, 24 December 1929


The  secret of preparing a successful holiday wardrobe is to buy discriminately, and not to let clothes run away with one. Generally, one’s clothes depend on the line of one’s activities; the sports girl will look out for appropriate sports kit, while the ardent bather will concentrate on beach clothes. So long as  one looks suitably garbed, quantities of clothes are by no means essential.Too many are as often as not an  encumbrance rather  than an advantage. A good selection of what a year or so ago were called ‘tub’ frocks is ideal. For inexpensiveness, nothing can beat little cotton  voile  dresses They pack well, and the most fastidious soul could not demand  anything fresher or more suitable in appearance. Linen is mother useful  holiday material, since silks,  other than the artificial and cotton mixed variety, in plain colours and discreetly striped at that, look too 'towny’ for the seaside  Besides crepe de chines, chiffons and satin are bad style. Shantung, a fabric with  delightful laundering qualities, is in excellent material for the fashioning of a long, unlined overcoat, which supplies just that required amount of extra warmth to have arms when the sun goes down. Bathing suits, quite reasonable in price are obtainable in all colours in a specially woven wool stockinette which neither stretches nor sags after immersion in the  water. A cretonne, linen or Turkish  towelling coat or wrap, the latter most brilliantly patterned, is the correct  finish. Those who intend spending their holiday on the beach can provide themselves with a dazzling quantity of changes at small cost, and alluring accessories to match are by no means exorbitantly priced. The manufacturers have catered very comprehensively for the girl with small means. The enormous beach hats that were worn originally at Deauville are becoming quite popular at Cottesloe this season, and are very sensible’ and attractive. 

Seaside  Evening  Dress. 

One always looks forward to a few dances during the holidays. Seaside evening dress is nothing like so formal as that worn in town, and the girl who economises on her day frocks to achieve an elaborate evening toilette is making a great mistake. An evening frock should be worn, by all means, but nothing extreme. Coarse lace, simply made, and patterned chiffon, are excellent materials for holiday dance frocks. Careful packing is essential, even in the excellently designed modern suitcases. Few materials, even  those that are guaranteed uncrushable, shake out without a fold, unless one is extremely generous with layers of tissue paper for each garment. This is a real preventive, and the only sure one as far as I have discovered, against bedraggled luggage. 

Race  Frocks. 

Those who are not going away for their Christmas holidays are thinking of race frocks, particularly for the Perth Cup. Printed chiffon and lace ensembles are to be the smartest thing, and they will  be  accompanied  by wide and drooping hats and sunshades, which are extravagant trifles as alluring as a fan is with an evening  gown. Large posies are ubiquitous, and are an extremely becoming finish to the fashionable collarless neck line. A well-known young society girl has chosen  delicately patterned white and rose chiffon.The frock is made with a semi fitting bodice and  a full circular skirt set into a tight  hip yoke which fastens in front with a floppy bow. The unlined three-quarter coat is bordered with light  fox as are the sleeves, and the neck  line is finished with a scarf collar which  encircles the throat and ties in a bow behind, to match the one on the frock.This ensemble also has its  matching parasol, beautifully shirred, and the crinoline straw hat to be worn with it is trimmed with pink grosgrain ribbons, finishing in bows under the brim. A young  matron  has chosen a delightful cerise and black patterned chiffon, fashioned with an amusing flared cape, set in from the deep yoke.This will be cleverly manipulated by its wearer  and  dispenses with the necessity for a coat. 

Frock  and  Accessories

Another suitable rare toilette comprises a bottle-green and white printed crepe de chine frock, made with a bunch of flat pleats on one side, and a straight bottle green coat, fashioned with a short cape and lined with printed crepe to match.This ensemble was worn with court shoes of bottle green, kid and suede and a matching handbag. Distinguishing accessories of this description are the proper finish to these plainer outfits. Another exquisite ensemble was seen of rose and beige patterned georgette, and plain beige satin georgette.The frock was simply made with three rows of  frills on the bodice and six half-way down the skirt, and was worn beneath a coat of satin georgette  made collarless and with semi-fitting sleeves, but was allowed a touch of frivolity in the quaint bow which was inlet into the yoke at the back. Two loose ends fell from this to the hem. With this toilette, was worn a small beige hat, encircled round the  crown with varnished quills. 

Glittering  Hair

'A Russian Princess in Paris, forced by the war to turn mannequin, does her work extremely well and thoroughly, writes the French correspondent of a London paper. 'The other evening, when she was dressed in all nastintuim shades with jewellery to tone, she carried out the colour scheme so completely that she had her hair coated with glittering  gold dust. She wore one of the new slinky evening gowns  which mould the figure almost to the knee line and there break out into a fussy hem.The material of the dress  was printed georgette, which showed blur red brown, red brown and orange design on a deep cream ground. Drawn lightly over this gown was a short evening coat in red brown panne, which had a shaped hem and wide cuffs of red fox but not a touch of fur on the collar- The sleeves were tight to just below the elbow, but from that down they assumed a leg-o-mutton outline. She wore an exquisite neck lace of gold filigree encrusted with topaz stones, matt white face Powder, carnation  lipstick, and the gilded hair already mentioned!' 

A  group of race frocks are sketched above. The  girl in the left-hand corner is wearing a frock of ecru lace; finished with a cape-like bertha collar of ninon. Her hat is of black silk straw edged with tulle. Printed chiffon in tones of lemon, orange and green is worn by the figure with the sun shade. Banana, a new shade of beige, lace inlet with georgette is used for the gown on the other centre figure. Georgette in tones of mauve and pink makes the pleated figure’s dress, while her hat is of fine black straw with an eye-veil of flesh tulle. Some hats this summer compromise between caps and crinolines by having close-fitting crowns and transparent brims.The hat worn by the girl in printed satin on the extreme right of the sketch is of black felt and black crinoline. It has two camellias, one of rose kid and the other of black felt placed over and under the brim.