spun honey

It Was Nice

Johnny Concert!Au

Request: no request i just wanted to do this, also i originally had names for y/bf/n and y/f/n but decided to remove them and let you all  do that for personalization.

Word count: 789

It was the best time of my life, I casually swayed and sang along with the crowd banging my head to the rhythmic strums of the hardcore, bands guitar. As the lead singer belted his ear-piercing screams I noticed my friends start to slip away from the crowd, I chased after them swiftly dodging through waves of sweaty bodies to inquire about where they were going and why they didn’t include me in their plans.

“Wait up, where are you guys going?”

Y/bf/n spun around whipping her honey brown, loosely spiraled curls around after hearing my voice call for her.

“We were just going to go get something to drink, you seemed really into the show so we didn’t want to bother you,” she responded, as Y/f/n continued to walk towards the lengthy concession lines “do you want us to get you something?”

“Uh sure, get me a coke.”

“Okay.” she calmly retorted and walked away.

The bands set was almost over and the crowd slowly started to die down, I stood by swaying to the calm beat of one of their more mellow songs when I notice a boy in my peripheral. The straight midnight black hair that hung just close enough to cover his eyes was swept to the side as he looked around. The way his eyes drifted over his surroundings said he was lost, but the charming smirk spread across his plump, pink lips said he knew exactly where he was. I was intrigued by his somber demeanor and made it my business to know who he was.

He glanced over at me after noticing my stares walking closer, but not exactly towards me. I did the same. We continued to gravitate in the others direction until we were so close we practically danced circles around each other.

He smiled down at me and yelled “Hey” above the crowd noise


“Uh-h, I’m Johnny.” he muttered.

“Well,” I looked him up and down, “I like your outfit Johnny.” commenting on his, what looked like, well thought out attire.

“Oh these old things, I just threw this on.” he chuckled referring to his worn in, black and white vans, single cuffed brown denim jeans, and black band tee.

“I’m Y/n”

“That’s a nice name Y/n, are you here by yourself?” he asked

“Oh, no my friends went to go get something to drink.”  I answered, “What about you, here by yourself?”

“No, I came with my friends Jaehyun and Mark, but they went to go see another band.”


The two of you spent the rest of the set talking about your stressful journeys to the festival and what other bands you’d seen before this one.

“And the drive here was chaos,” He chuckled recalling earlier events “twenty minutes into the drive here we realized that we forgot our tickets at home, then we couldn’t agree on who to see, and on top of that I’m sure I’ll get lost trying to find them.”

“Well that explains why you got here halfway through the set”

“Yeah.” He looked off behind me, “Uhm… are those your friends?” he asked pointing at very giddy Y/bf/n and Y/f/n who were staring at us, hands clutched together covering their mouths to hide their excitement upon seeing you had made a new friend.

I laughed looking at them “Yes, I guess I should get back to them then.”

“Well it was nice to meet you Y/n”

“You too, good luck with finding your brother.” I shouted back at him while walking towards my friends.

“Hey! Wait!” he shouted after you.

I cocked my head to the side after hearing his voice and was thoroughly startled at the chaste kiss he quickly planted on me. The kiss was fast but passionate and you quickly knew that you wanted more of him.

“So… can i get your number” he shyly glanced to the ground after performing such a bold move

“ Yeah, sure… totally!” you quickly grabbed the phone he pointed at you and entered your number being sure to call yourself so I’d also have his just in case.

 “Well goodbye.” he winked at you before turning to go find his friends

           As soon as I reached my friends, questions were shot at me about the mysterious guy I was with. “Who was that?” “Where is he from?” “What happened?” “How’d you meet him?” “What did you two talk about?”, after the questions stopped I simply told them that he was a nice person that I would never see again and that was that. The delightful day slowly came to an end as my friends and I walked to our car and said goodbye to the festival until next year.

There are bigger fish to fry.

the line is tight as a harp’s string

dipping into nether-heavens

to fish the fish as if they’re notes from god

imagine all of the green hair

a tired choir &symphony composed

of the nether-country’s finest schools

patience, love

at the start of the universe, likely an

eternity of silence

the maestro must then lift his wand

like dipping milk with a ladle

&honey spun around the mouth of

an amber jar

so too a wall of salmon slam into you

i am thinking about your lips
and all the colors you like to paint them
crushed berries and ground coral,
bitten rose petals dripping damascene.
ah, for the tender brutality of beauty!

skin of vanilla and spice-flecked cream
and hair spun of thick dark honey
smelling of strange flowers
born and blooming beneath foreign suns.
a body curved and lush, ripe
as fruit, with hips an upturned bowl to keep it.
the metaphors are all hungry.

in the blue darkness, when the bed
sinks beneath another weight,
i am thinking of your lips
and of parting them with mine, to taste
that golden attar of your bitten roses
to twist it into dark honey between
my fingers, secret and sweet.

you are a thing i could devour
in metaphor and in truth.

She Smelled of Daisies

To my fellow parishioners over at @the-priest-killian-network

Peace be with you. 

The gardens down by the waterfront was one of his favorite places to have her. It was far enough away from the church that they could make a fair amount of sound without the fear of being caught. There had been a few times - how could there not have been - that they were careless, needing each other in broad daylight with her golden locks shining in the sunlight like a halo around her head. Sometimes it was almost as if God himself was giving his blessing to their union. Yet Killian knew that couldn’t be true because what they were doing was a sin in the eyes of the Lord. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Emma Nolan was an angel sent to him from heaven above and he worshiped her as such.

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Blue Bell


“He looks at her like she puts the stars in the sky”

She arrives at the beginning of Draco’s fourth year.

Saunters in amongst the other Beauxbatons girls, smothered in blue silk and soft mouths and giggles that fluttered in their throats like butterflies. And there had been so many of them; a mirage of powdered cheeks and rouged lips and practiced, purposeful perfection, Renaissance paintings with rounded edges and placated smiles – but it was her that caught Draco’s eye and never quite managed to let go.

Because he knows myths, has ran his fingers over age-old ink that told tales of vengeful gods and spinning wheels, gingerbread houses and maidens dragged beneath the ground and he’s never understood the Trojan war, no, didn’t understand how pretty eyes and a slender fingers could cause bloodshed –

But she feels the weight of his stare against her shoulders. Glances over and meets his eyes.

He thinks about trees falling in an empty forest and whether they make a sound.


He’s in the owlry when he sees her again, tying a green ribbon around a letter addressed to his mother. A coat of snow has been draped over the castle, frost etching patterns against window panes and boots leaving imprints of wherever you go.

Draco’s breath fogs in the air, words catch in his lungs as he turns and sees her, an apparition, a daydream.

A fur collar is brushing against the slope of her jaw, pinned with a diamond brooch that’s ostentatious and spectacular and matches precisely the color of her eyes. “Hello,” she says, words dripping icicle-cold down the notches of his spine.

“Hello,” he replies, because he’s a gentleman, extends his hand and marvels in how much smaller she is than him. How her fingerprints seem to match his despite all reason.

A blush – fine and faint and vaguely reminiscent of the ice dusted roses in his mother’s garden – suffuses the grooves of her cheeks. “You’re,” she starts. Stops. Heart stutters like it’s drowning. “You’re the Malfoy boy, aren’t you?”

And he wonders just how much she’s heard.

Because he’s arrogant and sullen, bratty and petty and widely despised. Because he’s sharp edges and sharper words, the pomegranate that had tricked Persephone and the curse that turned King Midas’ touch to gold. Because he can’t imagine anyone who didn’t benefit from it like him, no, not when his morals have firmly affixed themselves to his last name until he can’t quite tell the difference.

“Yes,” he says, as stiff as a starch collar. His Achilles heel is pulled taut. Then, “How do you know who I am?”

She lowers her eyes. The flutter of her lashes reminds him of the flapping of an owl’s wings against the pale, pale sky. “I asked about you,” she replies, and his heart skips a beat.


He’s in the library, sat at a table in the back beneath color painted windows that cast stories against the floor when under the burden of sunlight, fingers smudged with ink and every word on the page somehow translating to the width of her smile and the depth of her eyes.

A stray parchment – his first attempt at his potions essay – is hanging languorously off the table. Ink is speckled across the fine wood of the table, ink blots that they show you in a therapist’s office and ask, “What do you see?”

Draco’s always preferred the hazy certainty of crystal balls.

And a weight is settling into the chair beside him, the girl, with a textbook in her arms and a question on her mouth and –

“Of course,” he says, pushes his things aside so she has more room. “I could use the company anyhow.”

It’s not exactly true.

He hadn’t been able to concentrate before and now all he can see if the blur of her smile in his peripheral, a striped tie that abides to no house, long fingers and porcelain cheeks and a lock of hair tucked behind her ear.

“I’m going to set this whole school on fire,” she sighs. Giggles at the laugh that rumbles in his chest like a thunder stroke. Sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. Pauses for one heartbeat, two, and says, “Would you like to go for a walk with me? I need a break, I think.”

It doesn’t matter that they’ve been studying for barely ten minutes.

He says yes and can’t help but compare the gossamer in the trees to the way her hair blows in the wind, the gold of the eking sunlight to the apple of her cheeks, the rippling of the lake to how he perceives her to be – everything below the surface.


They settle into a routine by the time Christmas magic is flickering in the air.

He walks her to her classes, helps her with her homework at night. She sits in the stands at his Quidditch practices and loops her arm through his elbow when their footsteps echo against the castle floor. She wears his jacket when it’s cold and they discreetly pass notes during class, pretend that the smudged ink on their palms doesn’t quite communicate how they feel.

She tells him of France – all muted colors and crisp days, flowers blooming like pulses beneath skin and people like dolls dressed for antique stores. Asks him to read his mother’s letters to her when they come and lounges against his lap in the common room.

We’re friends, he tells Blaise, irritation lacing beneath his scalp as he twists his fingers around the handle of his broom. Mud is caking the soles of his boots, sweat congealing at the base of his spine.

And Blaise smirks. Shuts his locker door with a clang. “Sure,” he says, reaches down to unlace his gear. “You might be friends – but I hardly think that’s what you’d like to be.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say to that.


It happens at the Yule Ball.

Snowflakes flutter against an ink-dark sky, orchestra crooning and champions shuffling across the floor like it’s all a game of chess. Queen, King, Bishop, Knight.

Draco’s fingertips are at her elbow bend as he murmurs into her ear, watches as goosebumps arise on her arms from the cold and her laugh is quiet, tinkling like the crystals of the chandeliers. Checkmate, he thinks. Keeps himself from staring at the line of her collarbones and the fullness of her mouth and the way that her dress droops just the slightest because, god, she’s a storm that he thinks he wants to chase but tornadoes always have had a way of swallowing everything in their paths.

“Dance?” he asks, holds her waist and her hand and wonders if her heart, too, is burgeoning an escape.

He whirls her around the glass floor until her cheeks are stained a watercolor pink and he feels dizzy, drunk, like he’s Dionysus and she’s the wine. And it’s all very inescapable, really.  

“It’s too warm in here,” she murmurs, sweat gathering in the pool of her clavicle. Strands of hair frame her face, look impossibly similar to a halo as he leads her outside into the chill and she glances up at the snow dotted sky.

He looks at her.

At the bend of her neck and the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her mouth as she sighs.

He looks at her like she put the stars in the sky, gathered up dragon bones and threw them to the horizon until they were little more than specks against the cosmos.

He looks at her and he can’t quite help it, no, can’t quite help the way his fingers trace the shard of her cheek, heart strings tremble like the string of a lyre in his chest and –

It feels like destiny, when he finally kisses her. Bittersweet and melancholy and sugar spun days, honey sweet summers, the wine he’s been forbidden to touch and the ambrosia of the gods.

He’s fifteen and he thinks that he’s in love.

Let’s talk about Eve. Let’s talk about her nakedness. Let’s talk about how she got tricked by something Adam named, there is power in names. Perhaps if he had called it a rabbit instead of a serpent, none of this would have happened. Let’s talk about how she offered him the fruit.

Let’s talk about Pandora. Let’s talk about how beautiful she was. Let’s talk about how much she loved her husband and how she loved curiosity more. Let’s talk about how she got tricked too. Let’s talk about how she released everything except hope.

Let’s talk about her. Let’s talk about her ocean blue eyes and her honey spun hair and her olive skin. Let’s talk about how she got warned about you. Let’s talk about how you burned her until her flesh evaporated. Let’s talk about how she reformed into a spear that ripped you from your toes to your temples.

Let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about how I didn’t know you were the forbidden fruit or the forbidden pithos or the raging inferno. Let’s talk about how you dressed up in wings and a robe and called yourself an archangel. Let’s talk about your flaming sword of vengeance.

Let’s talk about you now. Let’s talk about how your sword is actually a plastic torch that really, wouldn’t even make a good lightsaber. Let’s talk about your hands. Let’s talk about your legs. Let’s talk about your throat. I thought I knew everything about you, but I missed out something. I forgot to taste the forbidden. I forgot to cut your heart out of your chest and take a bite. I forgot. Let’s talk about that.

—  I think we need to talk, Venetta O.

Colin Firth by Mariano Vivanco

Lick The Icing Off

Violet x Pearl

Rated M for Misuse of cupcakes

Good boyfriends went out and bought their partner a cake for their birthday. Great boyfriends baked their partners a homemade cake for their birthday. But Pearl wasn’t a good boyfriend…nor was Pearl a great boyfriend.

No, she was a drag boyfriend, er, girlfriend, and she was going to give Violet something special to remember this night.

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Blue Pain

I’m not sorry that this is up late cos I am at home and spending time with my lovely family. I wanted to write this about the past, but I know nothing about American history. Literally nothing. Seriously, until I was about…thirteen…I thought you chose your presidents by which candidate looked the most like naturally formed faces in the cliffs. Honestly. 

This is short, and not very good at all. I’m busy. 

Blue Pain

Hannah has seen a princess.

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thithity  asked:

"Wow! You are really short without heels"

Felicity froze at the sound of his voice.

She closed her eyes, counting backwards from ten, really hoping that she was delusional. Or hallucinating. Or dreaming, although she would have to question her sanity if she was spending her sleeping hours dreaming about grocery shopping at nearly one in the morning…

Which led her right back around to why in the hell was he here?

He was her mortal enemy. Alright, that was an exaggeration, but he was pretty close. From the first day she’d started at the law firm of Queen & Queen, she’d known that he was going to be the worst part about this job. You wouldn’t think that a lawyer’s son would have any interest in being part of the family business, much less insinuating himself into her department. Queen & Queen was an international law firm, which meant they had a large need for an IT department that didn’t suck. Enter her.

It was supposed to be just her and small team…

And apparently the devil himself.

Felicity had never met Robert Queen, since he spent most of his time in Russia, but she heard that he was a decent human being; how he spawned the worst human being ever was beyond her.

Almost every other text to her friend Charlotte was about the ‘demon spawn’ that was her immediate boss - he was technically her boss, but he did most of the project work right along with them, which at first had been endearing until she’d gotten to know him.

The name fit.

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