Truthfully I don’t think ianto jones even had a thing for suits, at least not initially. In his attempts at seducing his way into a job he tested a variety of clothing and it was the suit which finally got results. Jack had a thing for (ianto in) suits.
157 notes
·
View notes
I really wish I'd been writing down my first reactions to the GGST OST but my most vivid memory is the first time I heard Let Me Carve Your Way
I couldn't make out the first verse at all so I thought
"Huh! The mixing is little weird on this one, I'll just start over and turn it up a bit."
So I turned my volume all the way up, focusing all my attention on this song to try and make out that first verse.
And I was immediately reduced to atoms by
22 notes
·
View notes
[ @likemosaic | coco // salem ]
Darkness falls before Salem gathers the will to ascend from the subterranean chambers again, leaving Cinder to her fitful and feverish rest. She isn’t certain how long, from mid-morning to the night or whether days might have spilled unnoticed through her fingers while she worked, but the hour must be late enough for even Arthur to have gone to bed. The house is still and almost, almost all asleep.
Save one among her three new… guests. They crowd close to each other in the north gallery: two auras tense but dimmed by slumber and a third scratching fear into the walls. Salem pauses at the top of the stairs with half a mind to wake—Hazel, she supposes, is the one she’d expect to have taken the initiative—to express her displeasure. But practical consideration overrules that small impulse to be petty, and she sets off to the gallery herself.
Cinder had asked to take on an apprentice. One. Perhaps Salem should have clarified that her forbearance wasn’t an open invitation for Cinder to begin collecting, but… well. There is nothing to be done about it now.
She walks the pitch-dark halls in absolute silence, footsteps unerring—even the vestigial habit of discomfort in blindness has long since decayed from her—but her mind still wandering the caverns below. (Silver eyes. Tension passes over her in a wave, hands clenching and unclenching with impotent rage. Guarding his fortress with ever-younger children–)
Enough. What’s done is done.
Jaw tight, Salem prowls into the gallery. Moonlight bleeds through the high windows, stained in bruised and sanguine hues by the colored glass; Cinder’s little accomplices have taken shelter in one of the shadowed alcoves beneath the windows. Terror scabs over the old stones, thorny.
Her lips thin. She folds her arms behind her back as she scrutinizes the rigid lines of the girl’s posture, the two sleeping forms huddled in deeper shadow behind her. “There are,” Salem says at last, flatly, “bedrooms in my house, you realize.”
18 notes
·
View notes