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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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REPLIES TO DO: 0/1
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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The king beneath the mountains, the king of cavern stone, the lord of silver fountains, shall come onto his own
The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013)
Dir. Peter Jackson
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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Bly Manor Sketch by  kseniakimlyk
Artist: https://www.deviantart.com/kseniakimlyk
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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Benjamin Evan Ainsworth, Amelie Bea Smith, Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Victoria Pedretti on the set of The Haunting of Bly Manor
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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“People do, don’t they? Mix up love and possession. I don’t think that should be possible. I mean, they’re opposites, really. Love and ownership.”
The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020).
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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@haunting: What are these perfectly splendid children always looking at?
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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“Dead doesn’t mean gone.” The Haunting of Bly Manor (S01E04)
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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FLORA WINGRAVE ICONS
@softwolipa on twitter
click here for more infos!
like or reblog if you save & follow me for more ♡
the haunting of bly manor icons - ep 2
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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coinquinatvs​:
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A brow, touched with hints of grey, arched high - dangerously so, as he took a few moments to look around for any sign of an adult accompanying her; she shouldn’t be talking to him. She shouldn’t really be talking to anyone, especially not on the subway… It didn’t take very long at all for him to realize that she was alone, and that bothered him. It ate at a part of him that he wished had been buried with Will, making it impossible for him to ignore her. ❝ Hmnm. ❞
On the cusp of a soft sigh, he turned his gaze to her - keen, though tired, eyes studying her at length: she was disconcertingly thin. The state of her clothes was telling, to say the very least. They looked clean, but they certainly didn’t fit her, which suggested they’d once belonged to someone else - another child, or other children that had probably been healthier and maybe a little bit taller.. more grown than her.
❝ – Aren’t you just a little too young to be, ❞ He paused, his brows knitting themselves together as he attempted to find the right words. ❝ a housekeeper?? ❞ Jesus, it’d been so long since he’d actually talked to a child that he’d practically forgotten how to. Another question rested at the very tip of his tongue, one that he hadn’t been sure that he should ask… one that he felt he MUST ask now. ❝ Don’t you have someone to take care of you? Someone you should be getting back home to?? ❞ Again, he’d had to choose his words very, VERY carefully, as he’d no desire to upset her.
❝ – Frank, ❞ It felt.. wrong; he hadn’t used his real name in so long now that it was practically foreign. ❝ my name is Frank. ❞ Having introduced himself, albeit it awkwardly, he extended a hand for her to shake if she was so inclined.
“Oh, I’m older than I look,” she assured him, a sage and knowing nod, though she didn’t quantify the remark with any sort of evidence or actual numbers to go with.  Honestly, she still wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been asleep, or how many years she had lived before, or how long had passed since she’d woken up in this strange place.   But she knew that she was, actually, older than she looked.  There was a flicker of doubt, of hesitation and uncertainty at the follow-up question that he’d given, and she scraped her teeth against her bottom  lip briefly.   
This, she’d learned from experience, was where things could get tricky.  It wasn’t as simple as telling grown ups that she was traveling from home, looking for work.  They seemed to frown on that now, though she still wasn’t sure why.   “I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she assured him quickly.   “My mother works nights.”  A practiced lie, one that she’d learned to use from another child at one of the shelters.  She didn’t like lying.  It made her uncomfortable, and her shoulders and legs shifted awkwardly.   “I like to let her sleep.”  
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Frank.  She wondered what it meant.  It had to have some meaning.  Every name did, but it wasn’t one as easily defined -- at least to her -- as one such as her own.   A smile rose, though, a little bit of a prideful one, maybe, pleased as could be at being treated so very close to an equal.   Her own hand extended, happily and eagerly meeting his own, even if it was dwarfed by his.  Her grip was steady and strong, likely far more so than would have been expected given her petite and slender stature.   “I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance, Frank,” she offered, her words sincere, and hinting at a tone that implied she might have thrown in a curtsy for good measure if she’d been standing.
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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twitter: @mundodeseriess
like/reblog this post if you save.
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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coinquinatvs​:  
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❛ You have blood on your clothes. ❜ At least it wasn’t on his hands.. this time, in the most literal sense of the phrase. Metaphorically, and philosophically, however.. they were drenched in it.
Ordinarily, he would’ve foiled all attempts made to garner his attention by acting as though he’d heard nothing whatsoever, but there were two things about the voice that fell on his ear - faint as it had been - that brought him out of his daze and prompted him to tear his gaze away from the spot on the opposite wall for the first time since he’d come aboard: it was small.. and unafraid.
Some of that blood was his, but wasn’t something he’d willingly divulge to anyone, let alone a child.. even if that child didn’t exactly seemed bothered by it. ❝ – Haven’t made it home yet, ❞ His initial reply was short - not necessarily terse, but concise - and offered as he made a vague gesture toward either side of the subway car, as if to say that should be obvious. Why else would he be on a subway wearing bloodied clothes if he’d already had the opportunity to change them?? And as for her question… ❝ No, but I don’t need anyone to wash my clothes for me. ❞
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           Her own clothes were worn and faded, a hodge podge of things she’d pilfered from refuse piles or been given at the shelters that she’d found that were well enough to stay at for a night or two -- much longer, though, and those gifts of clothes and food and bed came with questions she couldn’t answer and didn’t want to, even if she could have.   So she wandered, finding little roosts to call home for a few nights, aided by the fact that she could climb (and if she was careful, fly) into places that most people wouldn’t be able to and wouldn’t think to look.  A t-shirt with a faded design that might once have been a brightly colored dinosaur was layered over a long sleeved shirt that was a size or two too large, with a jumper underneath that and a pair of leggings that she’d sewn down to close to proper size, with mismatched layered socks that filled out the space between her feet and the slightly too large bright red galoshes quite nicely and did an excellent job of keeping her feet warm.  She’d modified another pair of socks into fingerless gloves that warmed her hands and were stitched up to the elbows.  All in all -- it might have been an eyesore, but she was warm enough and her clothes were relatively clean.  
    She washed them by hand in the indoor running taps,  and set them out to dry when need be, reverting to dragon form to curl up and sleep comfortably until they were dry enough to wear again.  Cleanliness was important,  it was a matter of appearing presentable and respectable.  “Hmmm.”  
     She studied him with a gaze that was curious and unafraid, lashes narrowing a little as if she was trying, somehow, to ascerrtain the truth behind his words.  It seemed unlikely to her that he did his washing himself, but then, she’d seen quite a lot of things in this city that didn’t make sense to her.   “Are you certain you don’t need help?”  Booted feet swung randomly in the empty space between seat and floor, her feet not quite reaching.   “I could help you.  With the washing.  And the cleaning.  I’d say with the cooking, too but I don’t think I’ve gotten very good at cooking things that most people would eat, anymore.”  It was much easier when she could just set things in the fire and eat them when she wanted.  Humans were much more difficult to feed, and she didn’t quite understand some of the things that they considered food now.  “My name’s Temperance. What’s yours?”
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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@rubiesintherough​ / zia sent a meme.
“You’re scared of them. I can see it in your eyes.”
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           “You see no such thing,” Temperance replied  indignantly, jaw set stubbornly as she refused to quite meet Zia’s gaze, angry mostly at herself for letting the fear she’d felt show through.  She didn’t need anyone to worry about her or look after her -- she was entirely capable of doing that on her own.  “I scared them away just fine.”  
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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@intcthatgoodnight​ / lucy liked for a starter.
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      “Why are you sad, Lucy?”  Temperance asked gently, concerned for her friend, her steps having slowed from the eager run to a more cautious approach as her friend returned to the temporary haven they were sharing.   It looked very much to her like her friend had been crying -- or maybe she was just angry -- sometimes it was very hard to tell the difference between the two with Lucy.  “What happened?”
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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@coinquinatvs​ / frank liked for a starter.
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          “You have blood on your clothes.”  It was a soft, almost conspiratorial whisper, offered by the bright eyed girl to the dark clad figure sat near (ish) to her on the moving box the people called a sub way.  She liked it,  if only because she could sneak aboard and ride around for many hours of the day, watching people and listening to their conversations and their music and study their clothes and their mannerisms and the things they did, and end up back where she started -- eventually.  “I don’t think it’s yours -- do you not have a wife or a mother to wash them for you?”  She didn’t mean to be rude, but it didn’t seem proper to her that someone should walk around wearing other people’s blood on their clothes, even if it couldn’t be entirely seen.  
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dragonfcrged · 3 years
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@deathfound​ liked for a starter.
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       “I don’t like it.”  It was matter of fact, if slightly apologetic, her nose wrinkling a little as she gently pushed the ‘happy meal’ that Cassie had gotten for her back a little on its small tray.    “It smells ... funny,” she concluded.  “I’m sorry.”  It was actually fairly unheard of for her not to like something, especially given as she could eat pretty much anything in existence and gain some nutritional value from it, but the bite that she’d taken out of the hamburger had left a sour taste on her tongue and a vaguely queasy feeling in her tummy.   “It doesn’t taste like food.”
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