#their name behind his ear + birth flower + a lipstick mark over his heart where you kissed him… he’s just so <333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[gothsuguru]

Your writing is immaculate 😩😩😩😩

I'm just imagining. Black is the color of my true loves hair's Suguru giving us our first tattoo :3c

I bet it'd be something small but super meaningful to the both of them :3333

THIS IS MAKING ME TEAR UP 😭🩷 THANK YOU SO MUCH I’M SO BEYOND HAPPY YOU ENJOYED THE FIC!!!! AND HEHEHEHEHEHE I WAS THINKING OF THAT TOO!!!! for this fic i’m thinking maybe not a tattoo (yet) but a piercing :’) i think that reader goes in to get their second ear piercing and that’s how suguru gets enamored (i have a whole idea… TRUST ME BESTIE) i was thinking abt the tattoo but i didn’t know what tattoo to use/do so i may do that for a future fic ;)

[notoriousromanticist]

Before Definition

relationships:

10th Doctor/Giacomo Casanova

Giacomo Casanova/11th Doctor

Not native speaker so there might be some grammar/wording mistakes in this article (> _ <) apologies in advance

The original(Chinese) version

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Giacomo Casanova was still holding the chicken in his arms when the man appeared in the impenetrable night. The chicken was not his rightful property: he had stolen it when the old Slovenian lady was not looking. Of course he knew it was wrong to steal, but he was too hungry.

The ribs looming on the sides of his body were shaped like failed specimens of scientists. And, indeed, he was a failure to his parents.

The man bent down and took the poor hen from his hand. Why would he give up precious food with no revolting? Was he scared by the faint odor of the man or bewitched by sweet nothings the man nattered? Casanova couldn’t remember.

Three voices broke that night. His incredibly clear claim: “you owe me a chicken”, the man’s laugh, and the ticks.

Years later, Casanova might forget the weight of the chicken, the man’s comically dishevelled face, even the hunger that came from deep inside his body.

But the ticking, the two regular sound waves that came from the man’s chest were deeply embed in his mind.

He asked, why do you have two different heartbeats?

Because I have two hearts. The man replied.

He cannot recall anymore after this dialogue. His eyelids were crushed by the man’s heartbeats. Then he had a bizarre dream. He dreamed weird old man and a greased chicken.

Such encounter was Casanova’s once upon a time. When it took place, there were still times long for Casanova became Casanova.

It sounds strange, what else could the boy be except Casanova？

Well, the four-syllable surname will be endowed tones of definitions in the future: lover, writer, explorer, libertine or shameless man. In conclusion, the name itself will become a legend, and will cover up all the night tales -- including the night’s tale.

But at this particular time, it was just a meaningless code. A code for a skinny boy who lived in a old Slovenian lady’s house. A code for the boy who always dreaming.

Another tricky truth has to be told in advance: the birth of Casanova -- the defined one -- was not instantaneous. It was a constant motion.

Casanova became himself for the first time in a dusty little room. A stream of nosebleed ran down his lips. Crossing his weedy chest through his collar. Sketching his skeleton. He had a vague sense that something was going to happen.

The older maid spat on the rag, then wipe the dirt off his body, cleaned up the nosebleed. But Casanova thought: what if he had a nosebleed in his head like the teacher said? Isn’t the blood gonna occupy his brain forever?

The just-disappeared smell of blood resurfaced in his horrible image. Then the fishy-like smell was released from the reveries, progressively invaded the limited indoor space. The forbearing odor overcame the foul mark of drool on the tip of his nose, crept permeated his senses.

The maid lifted one of his legs, the bottom of his trousers, felt up slowly. He know that something was coming, something was breaking through the earth. He shivered, either because the maid touched his thigh or because of the smell of blood he imagined.

“Do you want to go on?” She asked.

These words set off a fireball of dynamite. He trembled, got goose pimples as the shards of it crackled in front of his eyes. He gasped, his eyes tinged with excitement and fear. He opened and closed his mouth again and again, suddenly felt as if he had never spoken before. He shouted as he feels the on coming storm, as he breaks free from his prison --

Boom.

Between the maid’s lips, Giacomo Casanova was born for the first time.

He would be born many times. When he dressing blue satin. When the nobility punched him. When he cheated. When he breathed. When he smiled. He became Casanova for million times. He felt the joy of birth every moment.

Everything in the world made him feel alive. He lived by his lover’s bed, by aristocratic gossip, by the moan of a woman’s orgasm, by every golden mutinous dawn.

Giacomo Casanova was a discarded white silk which scattered in the shape of a blooming flower. He was the rotten Adonis, a paper narcissus reddened with fetal blood.

Occasionally, he would dream those two different heartbeats, wondering if the man was real, but he never thought he would come back.

The mansion at the end of main street is flanked by a footpath, which usually picked by the cheaters. Casanova kissed a madam’s fair cheek to goodbye, leaped into the path of her husband’s curses, and collided with the man who owed him a chicken.

The man’s striped shirt was stained with the lip gloss that the lady had left on Casanova’s lips. He looked down with abashed expression, saw the red paint mixed with glitter. Casanova looked at him in amazement: after so much time, so much so that Casanova had been reborn hundreds times, the man were barely old at all.

The old Slovenian woman had fallen into the long sleep on decayed wooden rocking chairs. Emaciated starving boys were shaded as a memory of past. But the man with two hearts didn’t change, like he never left that night.

That night, Casanova thought the man would be back soon. He waited. He dreamed. When the dream elapsed, he waited for once again. As the black sky faded, he realized that he had waited for a dawn, but not for the man.

He noticed it was at exactly 8:00 a.m. This means that before 8 a.m. , Casanova used to eagerly anticipate something -- the chicken, the man or the double heartbeats.

“Hey, ” Casanova said, “you owe me a chicken, remember?”

The man was confused, but then the animal that growled from somewhere else saved him from embarrassing. The man raised an eyebrow, began to be anxious: “This kind of thing later, you help me to find a chicken first. ”

“What --” Before Casanova getting the full sentence, the man took his wrist and dragged him ran off into the much more intense night.

The man -- Doctor said he was looking for a creature that looked like a chicken. Be careful, though, because that creature always appears before the human timeline, so if you see it --

“Like seeing the florescent narcissus before it blossoming?” Casanova said.

“What Metaphor is that? ” Doctor said, with unutterable affection,“You cannot see a burst flower that has not bloomed just like you cannot see things that do not exist yet or will happened in the future -- shamans claimed they can but actually no they were over-confident -- anyway, if your narcissus has not been observed or the wave function has not collapsed, then you can not see it. Plus, the creature does not look like a narcissus. ”

Casanova helped Doctor to find everything he needed -- majority of them was used to repair his device which could determine the creature he want. They said more things to make each other laugh. They went to places together to search for the chicken creature (Casanova insisted it should be called a narcissus).

His last memory of that night was when Doctor grabbed the device and ran towards the roar. Doctor looked back at Casanova, who was leaning against a wall, waving at him and reminded him to pay his debt.

Then Casanova heard screams, but they could not mask the double beating of hearts in the deeper shades.

When the sound of two hearts beating methodically came from profundity of the dim light of night, slowly, Casanova felt that he was experiencing another reborn.

——

“I knew that was the last time I would see him. ” The aging lover ended his story.

“Then why are you waiting?” Edith asked.

“Sometimes people wait but do not expect results, ” Casanova said, “sometimes it’s just a mean of consolidating memories with regret. Waiting itself is the end. ”

His vision blurred, but his eyes were not cloudy. As Casanova’s only audience in his envoi, Edith never took her eyes off the sly grin on the white-haired man’s face.

A frail figure laid on the bed, and the young man, with his usual light step, came up behind her and bent down, lifting Edith’s chin to show her the narrow sky prisoned in the window.

Casanova smiled and whispered near her ear: “Waiting is the meaning. I am the meaning. ”

As tears filled her eyes, Edith could make out the man’s eyelids on the bed shivered, like a weak wink. What she didn’t notice was that, it was exactly 8:00 a.m. when the wink accomplished.

——

As soon as he landed in Venice, Doctor found a pile of tawny feathers on the Tardis floor. He asked the Ponds if they had any contraband on the Tardis but got negative answers. Sullenly, Doctor sat with his legs swinging for a long time, looking at the most common fowl feather on earth.

Chicken feathers. Sometimes, as with all things mysterious, Doctor takes it as complications of time travel. His peripheral vision caught sight of Amy and Rory’s clock on the wall: eight o’clock exactly.

By the sharpness of this moment, he suddenly recalled his debt. Is this what happened to Casanova? Doctor wondered. What did he do? He sure that even the libertine just blinked, the whole Venice would fall into some kind of fanaticism.

Doctor’s last guess was correct, but he missed one thing. He didn’t realize that he’s been regenerated. The searing heat burned his jacket, tie, and striped shirt with lipstick. Now the two beating hearts of that night were the only things that relative to Casanova in this body. Therefore the announcement could be publicize: the Doctor is dead.

The dead Timelord saw Casanova’s blink for the last time in 145 years: that was the last time he reborn to Casanova.

“...Oh, I still owe Casanova a chicken.” murmured the Doctor.

But he quickly realized that not only the adventurer had not yet been defined but also the scrawny boy still was a speck of dust in the universe.

In 1580, Doctor called out the defined name before it existing. He saw the florescent narcissus before it blossoming.

End.

[jay-birddie]

heaven on earth// dick grayson x reader

request: none! I just really had the inspiration. though, i should get on to writing the actual requests i still have in my inbox.

pairing: dick grayson x reader

au?: takes places in the 1940′s. for some reason i got that kind of vibe when writing this. 

genre: the good ol’ stuff

a/n: wow author you’re finally puttng out fanfic again after six months.

Also, I used to keep a notebook with daily paragraphs of writing. The first 3 paragraphs are from that notebook. i feel as if i now lack the creative mind I once had in my writing, but i know that in order to become a better writer, i actually have to pick up a writing utensil and let my feelings flow.

A lady, standing there, an angelic glow radiating off her body. 

A man, standing just a few feet away, being pulled towards the light. 

Beams of light reflected off of the crystalline glasses held delicately in her pristined hand. Those hands, trained to hold a grace in their movement, kept the glass so still that even the golden wine within it would remain unmoving as her her head tipped back in open-mouthed laughter.

White satin gloves covered her elegant hands to represent her purity and youth to the rest of the attenders and potential bachelors. The oval pearl earrings clipped onto the lobe of her ear dangled back and forth in time with the movement of her head like a metronome, glittering with the pearlessence of gemstone along with opalescence of the diamonds surrounding it. She had a natural forid tint to her cheeks, and so the need to apply rouge was unnecessary.

Although at her fair age, Dick could notice the crinkles on the outer corners of her eyes that would define themselves later as she aged and mature. It was her constant smile that created his prediction, though it wasn’t a feature that he disliked but appreciated. A faux grin doesn’t cause the outer corners of one’s eyes to crease.  

Her features were so genuine, and it made Dicks heart flutter against his sternum and his cheeks match the color of hers.

He took continuous sips of his champagne only to avoid any gawking he might display, and looked around aimlessly as if he were searching the crowd for the perfect partner. But his eyes had already landed on her, through her eyes did not do the same.

The part of him that wasn’t so entranced wondered which family or organization she belonged to, as he had never seen her there before. She could just be a villain incognito, or a spy for the government, but Dick had to admit that he would spill every secret if she asked.

Her dress was quite magnificent; It was plain, yet so interesting. It was all one piece and the color of pink peonies. The fabric, from bodice to skirt was shiny, as if a shoe shiner polished it. The skirt draped elegantly down past her ankles, covering her feet as she stood there. A lengthy, thin, burgundy ribbon was wrapped once around and tied into a long, drooping bow.

The bodice was the most intriguing part of the entire ensemble: it was fitted at the waist up to the breast, where another thin ribbon of burgundy ran just below her shoulder. On the other side of the ribbon, the fabric scalloped at an upward angle all around her, making it look like her supple body was emerging from a budding flower.       

He tipped the glass back only to find that his previous sip was his last, and his glass and stalling session time had run out.

He set his glass down on the silver platter of a butler swiftly passing by, and took a daring step towards her. But then, he took a step back as soon he saw her eyes on him. They took his breath away, her delicate eyes. The soft glow of the lighting made her features look gentle, and created a twinkle in her orbs.

She smiled at him, and he thought he might faint right then are there. He returned the smile, and before his mind could realize, he continued to walk in her direction. She began to walk as well with a focus that Dick was glad remained on him, and soon their bodies met.

Dick felt his soul being pulled in, and if hers was magnet that attracted him. Her natural, uncovered beauty made her more alluring up close.

“It’s rare that one is invited to a Wayne gala, and I’ve only heard rumors of actually being greeted by the host or his family. It must be my luck that both happen to me, of all people,” she said sweetly. Her finger tapped silently against her glass and swirled the remaining drops of campagne.

“Guess you’ll be able to tell the tale,” Dick responded, shifting his arms to fold behind his back to make him seem more open and confident. He giggled softly, her lips stitched together, nothing compared to what he had seen earlier. “Which organization are you a part of? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before,” Dick quickly added to avoid any and all awkwardness that could occur.

“I’m not affiliated with any organization. Which reminds me,” she lurched with excitement in recalling a thought, “that what Mr. Wayne’s doing with some of his earnings is the most wholesome act I’ve seen since the late Ms. Ast, bless her sol, put in her will that her manor was to be the new Gotham City Orphanage,” she said.

He studied her for another moment, waiting for her to reveal the reason she was  here. She took in the last sip of her refreshment, filling the gap in the conversation. Dick looked down at his feet as she did so, somehow amused. His head remained downturned as his eyes quickly glanced to the rim of her glass There was no lipstick mark, and Dick realized that her lips were always just that naturally spiked with blood.

“I am a humble journalist,” she said unexpectedly, her voice leaking with pride that the ‘humble’ could not conceal. Dick’s head popped up from the sound of her voice, and his left eyebrow lifted with interest. He remembered talk of women entering the literacy field, but frankly, he had never actually met one. “I write for the Gotham City Gazette.”   

“You must be one hell of a writer,” He commented, prolonging her beaming smile. She thanked him, reaching to make sure not a hair had fallen out of its curled and rolled state. She looked around for a moment, prompting him to do the same.  

“I’m going to search for that butler with the champagne. Would you like another glass?” She asked. Dick had reached his limit of two. Unfortunate, yes, but one particular night taught him how well he could hold his alcohol: barely.

“No, thank you,” He said. She began to turn as he continued, “Although, a dance would do nicely.” The words slipped from Dick’s mouth, and froze her body. He could see her lips creasing as he stood there, waiting for a response with an arched eyebrow and inquiring eyes, his lips parted slightly.  

“No one’s ever asked me to dance.” She blushed, making it look like she rubbed raspberries all over her cheeks. She reversed the half turn, facing towards Dick again and acknowledged her embarrassment by bringing her hands to cup her cheeks to cool them. Dick chuckled at the reaction but was puzzled by what she said.

“Who was that fellow just before me talking to you? He seemed very interested,” he asked.

“Just a very good friend of mine. I’ve know him for my entire life and each time I see him he’s telling me a new story. Though sometimes exaggerated, he is quite humorous.” She was so animated in her speech compared to stuffy people Dick had met at previous galas who had their arms glued behind their back and their bodies stiff as boards. “But yes, I would love to dance, though you’ll have to forgive my feet before I step on one of yours.”

Dick laughed, untying his arms and holding a hand out to finally take hers. he assumed that by now, she had forgotten about her drink. Naked met gloved as she placed her hand in his. The gloves felt new, soft like the petals of budding roses in the spring. Their steps were quick and excited as they rushed along with other couples to the dance floor. Music entered the atmosphere. It was as bright and jumpy as his heart, the allegro tempo of the violins in harmony with the piano.

They set their bodies in place and waited for the cue: Their hands clasped, and Dick thought they fit and molded together perfectly; He placed his arm around her backside, settling his hand in the indent of her side, and he tried to keep the most chaste thoughts running through him; She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and Dick felt a delicate heat flow down to his stomach and birth butterflies.

The music replaced the hushed and nonexistent voices of the dancers as feet began to move. She immediately looked down to hers, though kept in mind the eye contact that needed to be exchanged with a dance partner. Dick could see the anxiety deep within her pupils. He felt sympathetic towards the lady, remembering the first time her attended a Wayne Gala. He was so nervous, the point of his shoe didn’t even step into the ballroom.

“Hey,” he whispered. He would have called her by her name if he had known it. Her head whipped up at the call to attention. “Don’t think about your feet. The music will make them move on their own.”

She nodded slowly, still gazing at him. Like Dick said, her feet maintained in perfect sync with the music. She got excited, pulling a sudden breath of air into her lungs, and her eyes brightening in triumph.

She gained more confidence as the music reached it climax, and Dick lost count of how many successful spins and box-steps they did. But he did keep track of the many times she looked as though love enwrapped her like the film on a piece of candy, so tightly twisted, yet so easy to come undone. He wanted to the be the one to unwrap her on the nights when everything seemed right in the world. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her skin, and get drunk on her heavenly perfume.

Not once did they break eye contact, and Dick knew that anyone who saw their affection would be jealous at the sight, and wish upon a star that they could experience the same feeling.

As the music came to a fade, so did their movements, until her dress sightly grazed passed her ankles at a slowing turn. She removed one hand slowly from shoulder, but Dick could still feel the warmth from her palm and fingers. His arm unlatched from her back, but Dick remembered that he might have more intimate dances with her in the future. Their hands unclasped, but their fingers lingered in touch and their bodies remained close, and their souls molded together perfectly.