canvas clutch


etsyfindoftheday | 7.8.17

bag styles by smallworlddreams

i love the neutral color schemes, leather-and-canvas style, and unique patterns at australian etsy shop smallworlddreams! i’d totally carry many of their pieces.

anonymous asked:

Write a Tomarry thing centered around the dinosaur in a dress PLEASE

I fucking love you guys so much you have no idea.

I hope a modern, non-magic au is okay because there’s only so much ridiculousness I can shoe-horn into this.

“Well, what do you think?”

Tom’s eyes flicked upwards from the canvas, meeting brilliant emerald green and quirking lips that fought against widening into a grin. His neighbor, Harry Potter, held the painting in his hands, eyes gleaming with mirth from behind wire-rimmed glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose.

Tom rose a brow, pursing his lips. He meant to say that it was good- even if it was an absolute lie, the thing was horrid- but when he opened his mouth the only word that came out was, “Why?”

Harry struggled to maintain a straight face, lips trembling now with the sheer force it took for him to clamp tight over the bubble of laughter. “It came to me in a dream,” he managed to say in a leveled tone.

‘A dream you had while dying of pneumonia?’ Tom thought, bringing a hand to his chin and cupping his thumb underneath it as the knuckle of his index finger pressed into his mouth. Surely, the delirium of fever mixed with the nebulous presence of death served as the inspiration. Or some rather intense medications. “It’s certainly unique,” was the only criticism he offered of Potter’s painting.

“My therapist suggested painting, and I think she may have unknowingly unleashed the next Rembrandt on the world,” Potter said with mock pride.

He had known the younger man fairly well for him having only recently moved into the flat beside him, intriguing in and of itself since the old and charming building was typically too expensive for someone so young. But he had soon learned that he had inherited a sizable amount of wealth from his parents upon his eighteenth birthday, and had been drawn to the flat by the its superb location within the city and to his university. He was quite sociable, and never hesitated to chat with Tom when he saw the older man in the corridor, no matter how stoic or sour his expression.

And yet, despite his amicable nature, it still seemed odd that he would visit Tom to gift him a painting of a velociraptor in Victorian garb. What sort of impression had Tom given off that made Harry think this was something he might enjoy?

Harry took advantage of Tom’s silence, brushing past him and stepping further into the immaculate flat, chewing his lip as he looked around him, the painting held to his chest. He hummed in thought before his eyes widened, and he strode over to the fireplace, settling the canvas atop the mantle. “You should hang it here. In can be your- what do they call it? A focal point?” he asked, unable to contain himself further as a wide grin split over his face.

Tom pinched his lips into a thin line. The painting looked absolutely absurd among the cool grays and minimal décor of his sitting room. He had exactly one painting on the walls- a somewhat prized collection he had purchased from a gallery opening- that hung above the clean and simple silhouette of a black leather sofa. And even that painting maintained the monochromatic and minimal theme he was drawn to, with the brightest color on the stretched and starched canvas being navy.

This thing was garish- with forest green scales wrapped within a flowing pink gown, the bodice embroidered with multiple colored daises. Ringlets of blonde curls cascading from the head of a dinosaur as its jaw was practically unhinged in a roar.

He’d be damned if that thing ever saw the light of day.

“Well, I should get going then. Enjoy your friend- her name’s Patricia, by the way,” Harry said, practically skipping as he left, closing the door behind him.

Tom sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way to the mantle and removed the painting, looking at it with derision. Technically, it was well done, he begrudgingly admitted. But it was a dinosaur. Dressed like it had waltzed off the screen of a second-rate Disney movie. He would be out of his mind if he left it sitting there any longer.

He tossed it into a closet, deciding to get rid of it properly later.


Tom opened the door on the second knock, causing Harry to startle from the opposite side of it, his hand raised and poised to rap against the wood. “Oh…hello!” he said, rather cheerily as he smiled. “Sorry to bother you-”

“I doubt you really are,” Tom interrupted, gesturing with a wave of his hand to the table behind him, a bag of take out placed upon it.

Harry continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard him. “I thought I heard you out in the halls, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over. My roommate and I have some friends and family over for a game night and I we wondering if you wanted to join us?” he asked.

Tom leaned against the frame of his door, crossing his arms over his chest as his lips twisted into a crooked smirk. “We?” he asked, knowing it was an embellishment. His roommate- Ron or Rob or something of the sort, he couldn’t really be bothered to remember it- hated him. ‘The blokes a bit funny is all,’ he overheard him say when he didn’t hear Tom leave his flat, approaching behind him.

Of course, he was hardly perturbed by the redhead’s aversion to him. He was never keen on company or making nice with the neighbors, as it were.

Harry shrugged, running a hand through his untidy hair. “Don’t mind Ron. He’s a bit of a prat when he wants to be, but he’s been my best mate for as long as I can remember. His little sister has a thing for you is all, and he’s a bit protective,” he said, looking away sheepishly to glance at the apartment behind Tom.

“Hey,” he said abruptly, frowning as he turned his gaze back to the man in front of him. “What did you do to my painting?”

Tom hesitated for only a second before saying, “I was robbed.”

It was an obvious lie, and he really didn’t even intend to come up with a more believable one. It was a terrible painting, and there was absolutely no shame in him confessing to never wanting to display it.

Harry’s brows rose, disappearing into the ebony locks that fell to brush along the curve of his spectacles. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.

“It was the only thing they took, actually. They were burglars of very particular taste,” he quipped.

Harry laughed, a lopsided smile brightening his face. “Well, perhaps they saw the value in it. Certainly worth more than all the other junk you’ve got in here,” he teased, leaning forward to look pointedly around the flat.

Tom scowled, unfolding his arms to grab hold of the doorknob. “Enjoy your night, Harry. And do tell Ron’s sister I said hello,” he said. The last thing he saw when he closed the door was the smile fall from Harry’s face, looking somewhat crestfallen as the light in his eyes diminished.

He was terribly easy to read, like one of the many, many books lining the shelves that flanked the fireplace. A curious story, however, and Tom could hardly stop the slight smile, the chuckle that vibrated within his throat. He didn’t really care for company or his neighbors, but there was something incredibly delectable about making Harry squirm in discomfort.


Tom slammed his door, huffing in annoyance as he shrugged his jackets onto his arms. He should have known he wouldn’t have a peaceful night. All he wanted was to spend a quiet night in, reading some of the new case studies and research papers he had gotten his hands on with a glass of brandy, but it was simply too much to ask. He was really beginning to grow irate with the familiar tone of a call coming from work- something of a surprise considering his colleagues tended to refer to him as a 'workaholic’.

Though he supposed anyone would be considered a workaholic to that lot, preferring to hover within the realm of mediocrity instead of actually using those brains of theirs for something more productive than gossip. It was hardly a crime to be ambitious, to crave knowledge and authority and influence within a desire field.

He was interrupted by his thoughts as a door opened behind him, a voice calling out after him. “Hey! Tom!” He came to a halt, sighing in impatience as he turned to face Harry, his head poking out from the door to his own flat.

His hair was even more disheveled than usual- an impossible feat, really- and his chin and jaw were coated in short, black stubble. It made him look a bit older, and a bit handsomer if he were being honest. In a rugged sort of way, not at all like Tom’s own polished and well-kept appearance.

“Yes, Harry?” he drawled, lips slipping into a smirk as Harry’s jaw clenched at the sibilant lull of his voice.

“Where are you headed this late at night?” he asked, swallowing thickly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Tom regarded him for a moment. “If you must know, to work. Emergencies hardly wait for appropriate office hours,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He made to turn around again, his head twisted away when Harry stopped him. “Oh good, you can bring it to your office then!”

Tom sighed, closing his eyes in reprieve as he took a deep breath. He really considered just walking away, leaving the younger man behind without even a farewell. After all, there were far more important matters to attend to. Namely, an A&E overfilled with victims of a mass shooting. But he found himself turning back to face Harry, brows knitted. “Bring what to my office?”

Harry ducked back into his apartment for only a second, returning to the corridor with a canvas clutched in his hands. “I made you a new painting! And I thought that perhaps it would be safer in your office at work,” he said, taking several steps until he stood directly before Tom, gripping either side of the painting as he held it in front of his chest.

He practically gasped at the horrendous things, dark blue eyes widening as he skewed his lips in unmasked disgust. Three velociraptors sat around a table, tufts of hair below bonnets. An elaborate spread adorned the table, flowers within a glass vase in the center as trays of biscuits and scones  and a large, floral tea pot sat around it. Long claws emerged from lacy and billowy sleeves as they wrapped around delicate tea cups.

Harry was grinning in almost manic delight, shoulders shaking with just barely disguised laughter. “Well, do you like it, Tom?” he asked.

Tom pursed his lips, jaw clenching in annoyance. “Actually, if I’m being perfectly honest, Harry, it’s absolute rubbish,” he said, speaking in a voice that was colder than ice, as if his words were venom. The sudden and unexpected malice within them was enough to make the joy slip from Harry, his mouth falling into a frown as green eyes wilted.

“Oh,” Harry said, reeling from the cruelness.

“The only thing that you are worse at than painting- and by a large margin, though that is in no way a compliment to your artistic abilities,” he began, actually struggling to keep the smile from his face as Harry continued to sulk, shoulders slumping. “Is flirting.”

He snapped forward at that, cheeks burning into a bright crimson as he stammered. “I am not flirting!” he lied, eyes darting to the left for a brief second.

Tom chuckled at the obvious tell, taking a step forward so that he loomed over the shorter man. “Oh, but I believe you are, and between you and me, your hands are better left for more…arousing activities than arts and crafts,” he purred, mouth pulling into a smirk as Harry’s eyes widened at the insinuation, his jaw slacking open.

Without another word, Tom turned, striding down the corridor as his neighbor gaped unattractively in his wake.

I want to abandon all my stories and just write this. I want to write a sequel, and a sequel to the sequel, and just never stop writing about the gloriousness of Harry painting awful dinosaur portraits in a terrible attempt to flirt and Tom tearing him down with his suaveness.

Also, I always headcanon Tom as a surgeon in non-magic AU’s (it’s a field that requires a lot of study and determination, can be very rewarding in terms of professional achievements and recognition, and I imagine holding someone’s life in his hand satisfies his God Complex)

Also also, I’m sorry if you’ve sent me a prompt and I haven’t gotten to it yet. I promise I will, but sometimes it takes a bit for the prompt to speak to me, and this one sang at me like a soul singer pouring her heart out.

You and Peter sat on the roof of the mansion, watching the moon to rise to the dark, ink blue sky. You had no specific reason to be up there - you both just enjoyed the relaxing silence of the early autumn night, and the feeling of the cool wind against your skin when you found yourselves unable to sleep.

You were exchanging stories, little truths, talking in quiet voices so nobody would hear you.

“After I met you”, Peter said, his voice rising a little when he chuckled in amusement and his eyes set on you, “I’m always stuffing my pockets with band aids before leaving the house.”


“I don’t know. I guess I just want to be the one to help you and patch you up in case you trip over your feet. You do that quite a bit.”

You laughed. “I give you that.”

It was your turn. You looked down from Peter, down to your arms covered by the sleeves of your shirt. You didn’t see them, but you felt them; you knew where they were, the exact spots of those faded markings of your bitter past, and you could recall the feelings you had hidden behind them like yesterday. You remembered the pain you had buried in your skin along with the blade. You moved your hand to lift your left sleeve, revealing your deepest, best-kept secrets to Peter.

“I don’t have cuts anymore”, you told him in a voice as quiet as a whisper, but you were still smiling, “just scars. They don’t hurt anymore.”

You felt Peter’s eyes keen on you, but you didn’t lift your gaze to meet his. His hand found yours, and he took it, and with gentle strokes he brushed his thumb over your faded scars.

“You used to cut?” he asked, and his voice sounded brittle and his eyes were much darker, sadder, as they counted the marks running up your arm.

“I did”, you answered, “but not anymore. In a few days I’ve been clean for six months. I’m happier now.”

“You are?”


Peter said nothing more, but something still troubled him, you could tell that from the way his brow was furrowed, and you saw it from the way he avoided looking at you directly. You sought after his eyes, hunted down his gaze and locked it down with yours.

“Peter”, you said with emphasis, but still kept the smile on your lips and the tone of your voice as soft as a feather, “I’m much happier now. My life is better… mostly because of this school, and because of you.”

You saw tears in his eyes, how the moonlight made them glimmer like stars on the night sky’s canvas. Clutching your hand tighter and pulling it closer to himself, he treasured it against his chest. “I should’ve met you earlier”, he said, more to himself than to you, “so I could have patched you up when you needed it the most…”

Something was burning behind your eyes, but you tried to ignore it, and brushed over it with a smile. You didn’t want to cry. You wanted to smile because you were happy, and you wanted to see Peter smile because there was a reason to. Tears, crying… their time would come, it always did, but now? Right now you wanted to smile while the sadness was still waiting its turn.

“Give yourself a little more credit”, you noted, leaning a bit closer so you could whisper instead. Speaking in your normal voice felt too loud in the quiet night. “You have helped me more than you realize. We met almost seven months ago, and I’ve been clean for six. If you think that’s a coincidence…”

A faint hint of a smile appeared to Peter’s lips to answer yours. “The universe is rarely so lazy.”


Peter looked at you for a good long while, observing your features quietly, not saying anything. You couldn’t read his thoughts, his face and expression didn’t give you anything, but when his smile reappeared, the grave feeling from the bottom of your stomach vanished.

“You’re happy now”, he stated it like a question, to make sure he had understood it right, and you nodded.

“Scout’s honour, I am happy. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He snorted. “As if I’ll ever stop worrying about you.”

“Fine, have it your way”, you said - and then you flashed a wide grin to him, “but if it makes you feel any better, you can patch me up with these.”

You showed Peter the band aids you’d taken from his pocket, and after a brief look at them and at you, he started to laugh his light, sunny laugh that always filled your heart with joy when you heard it. You joined him, and he took the band aids from you, releasing your arm he’d been holding the whole time.

“They’re cute”, you commented when he opened the tiny package, and you saw the corner of his mouth lift as he smirked.

“Cute”, he repeated under his breath, “just like you.”

Someday, I’ll See You Again - Part 2

Someday, I’ll see you again ; Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Setting : End of the third movie up unti ;)

****Requested: Yes

Link to Part 1 : Click Me!

Edmund slung an arm around Y/N as Reepicheep’s boat floated over to Aslan’s country and Caspian decided to stay to rule.
Aslan turned his head to the five children that stood in line, next to each other.
Edmund’s grip tightened on Y/N, who turned her head and looked at her cousin, who looked at Lucy, who glanced at Eustace.
Y/N cleared her throat and took a look at the tall wave infront of her.
Edmund moved in front of her and made her look at him.
“Y/N.” Edmund said in a shaky voice.
“We know what happens now.” Y/N replied.
“M-Maybe you can come with us,” Edmund suggested. “In England.”
“I…” Y/N trailed off and looked at her cousin, who smiled in encouragement.
Y/N took a look at Aslan, who looked at her with a sad smile as he knew she would pick the right decision, although it will hurt her.
“Can’t.” Y/N said and bowed her head.
“Y-Y/N.” Edmund started.
“Ed,” Y/N cut off, putting a hand on Edmund’s cheek. “I’d love to, but I have a family to get back to, and so do you.”
Edmund looked at her and faced Aslan. “We’re not coming back here, aren’t we?”
Aslan nodded solemnly. “You have grown up, dear one. Just like Peter and Susan.”
“Will you be watching over us?” Lucy asked.
“In your world, I have another name. You must know me by it. That is the very reason you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you’ll know me better there.” Aslan explained.
“I’m happy that you did.” Y/N smiled at Aslan, running her fingers over his golden mane.
Aslan let out a small smile.
“Will we meet again?” Y/N’s cousin asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Yes, dear. One day.”
Caspian launched into a tearful monologue about how the Pevensies, Eustace, and Y/N’s cousin were his family.
It was cut short by Lucy, who launched herself at him.
Everyone took turns in hugging him and Aslan.
Edmund ran to Y/N and gave her a small kiss. “Someday, I’ll–”
Y/N smiled and ran her hands through his hair. “Someday, I’ll see you again.”
Edmund gave her a long, passonate kiss before intertwining her hands.
“I’ll wait for you forever if I have to.”
Y/N gave him a small smile before they walked inside the hole in the wave with their companions, taking one last look at her world.
At her friends.
At her husband.

Keep reading


For anon…reader is painter as requested. Enjoy! (Just a reminder, all the gifs I use are found thru Google unless I state otherwise) It’s soooo long!

Steve let out a wide-mouthed, quiet yawn as he entered the kitchen in the Avengers tower. He stretched his limbs before cracking his neck and knuckles. He padded over to the coffee machine eager for his morning brew.

Just as he started the machine, he heard some thuds coming from the living room. Curious, Steve poked his head out of the kitchen. A small, amused smile crept over his features as he noticed you sitting on the ground, canvas strewn all over the glass coffee table.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed a pop-tart box, probably one of Thor’s, that had barely been touched. In your hand was a thin brush as you focused all of your attention onto filling in your sketches. You paused a moment to scratch your head and settle into a slightly new position. You hunched your back over the platform.

A beep alerted Steve that his coffee was done. Smirking, the soldier grabbed a second mug and filled them up. The blond carried the full cups as he made his way to the couch. He sat a few centimeters from where you were hunched over, still on the floor. He craned his neck to get a better view of the painting.

“G’Morning, Y/N,” he greeted.
You jumped slightly, not realizing he had been there.
“Steve!” you yelped. “I thought you went to bed.”
He gave you a humored smile. “Yeah, eight hours ago.”
“Ah crud,” you mumbled realizing you hadn’t left this spot since last night.
He held a mug out to you. “I brought you some coffee.”
You accepted it gratefully. “Thanks. Just what I needed.”

Steve leaned forward, picking up a few of the paintings closest to him. You kept your gaze on the one you had been working on while sipping your coffee. For whatever reason, you felt your painting seemed…off. A package of pop tarts landed next to you. Not but a moment later, you felt Steve pressing his lips to your temple. You blushed slightly, not because of the kiss, he did that all the time. You were just thankful that Steve was watching out for you. Maybe the kiss was a part of it, but no big deal. You opened the pop tarts and picked at the food.

“These are amazing, Y/N,” Steve praised softly.
You shrugged. “Could be better. Actually, the bird one is pretty good.”
He nodded. “The colors contrast quite well. Makes the feathers more seamless.”
You quirked a brow at him. “Do…do you paint too, Stevie?”
Steve chuckled and shook his head. “No. I’m not that artistic.”
“Ah ha! But you are artistic!” You waved your fingers back and forth at him. “C’mon Rogers. Let me take a look since you saw mine.”

Steve licked his lips before smirking. A faint blush bloomed over his cheeks. He set his mug on the table, careful not to touch any of your paintings, and stood up. He walked back into the kitchen and opened a drawer. He pulled out a sketchpad and walked back toward you. You could tell he was nervous by the way he held his book: strong and close. You offered a supportive smile.

“It’s alright, Steve. You can trust me.”
He smirked and handed it to you. “They’re not nearly as good as your paintings-”

Your gasp cut him off. His eyes widened slightly, a bit nervous. You gently smoothed your hand just to the side of Nat’s portrait. It was so life-like you would’ve mistaken it for her had it not been for the lack of coloring. You flipped to the next page to see a portrait of Tony laughing. The next was Clint and Nat drinking a beer on a couch.

“Steve, these are…”
He sighed. “Let me have it.”
“Stunning,” you finished with a grin.

Steve’s eyes lit up as you turned to see a sketch of Thor flying over New York. You noticed a figure on the ground wearing a lab coat. It was Bruce. You continued to flip through the pages.

“’Not that artistic’ you say,” you joked, “I never knew I was always in similar company.”
Steve saw you flipping closer to the last page. “Uh, Y/N, please don-”

You sat straight as you saw a portrait of yourself. Steve had drawn you grinning with the sun behind you with a Captain America shirt. Your eyes were held a mischievous glint that only he could draw. Feeling your cheeks warm, you ducked your head. You handed Steve his pad while heading to your room. He let out a sigh, thinking you were running to hide. He was surprised when you reentered, clutching a canvas to your chest. Your face was a pinkish hue. Steve wordlessly raised an eyebrow in curiosity as you walked closer to him. You handed it to him face down.

The soldier gingerly turned it around to see a painting of himself. He was sitting on a bench while laughing. A hand held onto his stomach. He noticed a picnic blanket on the ground as well. Steve blinked a few times. It took just another blink before he was on his feet kissing you desperately.

You returned it just as fervently.

Want to Request?

Rising Monarchy [Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes AU] (Part 2)

Originally posted by slayalec

Originally posted by the-way-im-feeling

Part 1

Series Title: Rising Monarchy
Fandom: MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
Characters: Steve Rogers x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark 
Warnings: Extremely AU, mentions of family death
Word Count: 2,145
Short Description: After the murder of both of your parents, you are the only successor to your country: Andorra. For your own safety, you move to Ansonia, the land that you will rule one day with Steven Rogers; so says the engagement your parents arranged when you were only six. But your world is filled with secrets and scandal; always has been. It is no different in Ansonia, and you soon find that the boy you once knew well is a large part of all of the scandals and conflict.

Disclaimer: not my gif

[Y/N] = your name
[L/N] = your last name

When you and Wanda arrived just outside the castle of the Ansonian Court, you could feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach. This had been the Court where you spent a lot of your childhood, along with your fiancé Steve Rogers. It was quite exciting for you to know that you would be seeing him again, as he had been your best friend so many years ago.

“I hope that this feeling remains with you, Lady Y/N,” Wanda told you, a smile gracing her beautiful face as she glanced at you. She had beautiful brown eyes that practically glowed with compassion.

You stopped taking in the castle before you to glance at her. “What feeling?” you inquired, your brows creasing together in confusion.

“Safety.” Wanda elaborated. “You are safe, Lady Y/N. Ansonia will protect you and your country the moment you step through those doors.” She reminded you, and this made you feel even better than you could have imagined.

You both approached the large main double doors of the castle, and they opened for you before your hand could even reach out to take the handle for yourself. Wanda had mentioned that she had your belongings delivered to Ansonian Court the previous day, so they were all aware of your arrival. And you were admired amongst all the European leaders, being Queen at such a young age and fleeing your country to protect your people.

Your arrival had spiked excitement in the castle, and when the doors fully opened for you, hands immediately reached for you. They were ladies-in-waiting, but they were much older than Wanda. She looked as surprised as you must have. “Queen Y/N of Andorra.” The man at the door had announced your arrival loudly, and the Ansonian ladies-in-waiting ushered you and Wanda inside, taking your bags and cloaks, allowing you to walk through the hall freely to an area where there were three people waiting for you.

King and Queen Rogers, the leaders of Ansonia and dear friends of your late parents’ stood before you. And, of course, Prince Steven Rogers. Your eyes caught his, the brilliant blue of his irises identical to those you remembered. But now, he was grown up, and he was very handsome. He had blonde hair that was groomed perfectly, and his clothes were fine and neatly pressed against his tall, muscled body. His stance and posture were perfect, clearly a result of the royal etiquette lessons you too had received when you were young.

Keep reading

NIL DUE / NIL UN 2017 Spring/Summer Collection

Item > Original Price > Item Number

Cosmetic & Fragrance

Bath Salt Geranium > ¥2,500
Bath Salt Cherry Blossoms > ¥2,500
Eau De Toilette Last Heaven > ¥6,500
Eau De Toilette Jackalope > ¥6,500
Room Diffuser Quietude > ¥6,800
Room Diffuser Jackalope > ¥6,800

Clothes & Off Time 

Oversized V Tee Black > ¥5,500
Oversized V Tee White > ¥5,500
Oversized Crew Tee Black > ¥5,500
Oversized Crew Tee White > ¥5,500
Rope Piping Split Wide Pants > ¥7,000
Rope Piping Relax Set Up > ¥10,000
Glitch Feather Relax Set Up > ¥11,000
Side Split Long Knit Cardigan > ¥13,000

Pop-up Store May 2017

Limited Feather Pouch > ¥4,000
Original Shop Bag > Free with a purchase

Pop-up Store August 2017

Leather Cinesco Canvas Clutch Bag > ¥4,500
Leather Masking Canvas Tote Bag > ¥7,500
Round Fringe Towel > ¥8,000
Mug > Free with a purchase over ¥15,000

anonymous asked:

i just read your recent amnesia au and it made me cry it was SO good and i don't know what i'll do if there's not going to be a part two. that was one of the best bellarke au's i've read so thank you, even if it broke me

you’re so sweet, thank you <3 I did end up writing a part two (I’m weak lol)
I hope you like it!

bellarke + amnesia part two 

~ modern au where Clarke gets into an car accident and wakes up with no memory of the past five years ~

( ( part one ) )

wc: 4.2k | read it on ao3

(oh and @prosciuttoe told me to tag her and since she’s my wife, I have to do what she tells me <3)


Clarke wakes up with the kind of headache that only comes after a night spent crying.

Last night, Wells hadn’t asked any questions when Clarke had showed up at his door with a half-empty duffel bag and a face full of tears. He’d just let her in and let her cry on his shoulder until she fell asleep on the couch.

She did the right thing. She knows she did. It wasn’t fair to keep pretending like everything was fine—like everything was the same—when it wasn’t. But sometimes doing the right thing fucking hurts.

This morning, when Clarke gets up, Wells is already in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. She shuffles over and slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes. They feel sticky and dry.

“You okay?” Wells asks, carrying over two cups of coffee and setting one on the table in front of Clarke.

Clarke sighs and wraps a hand around the mug. “Not really.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Clarke takes a sip of coffee. Last night she hadn’t said much, choked by her tears, but talking to Wells might help and even if it doesn’t, he should know what happened.

“I proposed to Bellamy,” Clarke tells the table. “A week before the accident I proposed to him. I was in love with him. I wanted to marry him. And I don’t remember why.” The last sentence comes out as a whisper.

Wells takes her hand and squeezes lightly. Clarke takes a shaky breath.

“It’s not that I don’t understand why I loved Bellamy. He’s smart and kind and he cares so much, but I don’t—I don’t remember the big moments with him,” Clarke pauses, “Or I guess I don’t remember the small ones. I don’t remember waking up in the morning with him. I don’t remember what TV shows we used to watch. I feel like I woke up into a life built by someone else, with this incredible person who loves me, but I didn’t earn any of it. I haven’t done anything to deserve Bellamy’s trust or his love.”

Clarke sighs and presses her forehead to the hard, wood table. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

Wells squeezes her hand, “No, it’s not that, I just still don’t understand. Clarke, you’re remembering things. Not everything at once, not everything right now. But you’re remembering. Why does it sound like you’re giving up?”

Clarke stares at Wells’ hand, the weight of it feels like the most solid thing about her.

Because Clarke’s whole life feels like a dream. Because she keeps expecting to wake up.

Keep reading

(College AU, Art Student!Destiel, ~1000 words)

read it here on AO3

“I want you to paint a portrait of someone in this room,” Miss Mosely had said to the circle of students watching her over their easels. “Pick anyone and paint. I want to see a finished painting by the end of the afternoon.”

Dean sucked in a breath. He knew who he was going to paint, of course. It’d be easy to finish the painting in so short a time, seeing as he’d painted this subject more than once before. He glanced across at Cas, who was frowning at his blank canvas with his eyes narrowed.

“Who ya painting, Dean?” Garth asked.

“Uh, well. Cas is in a good light, over there,” he replied, gesturing carelessly at Cas with his paintbrush. He leaned over to pick up his palette, and started mixing the brown of Cas’ hair.

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Imagine Pietro Maximoff

Imagine sitting comfortably on the sofa opposite Pietro- pulling your body into a ball, surrounded by blankets and clutching some canvas paper. 

“Stop moving!” You muse, releasing the occasional snort that made the man grin. 

“I can’t help it! My жопа is getting numb!” He retorts, bouncing himself on the red cushions. “Would you prefer it if I went like this,” He leans forward and puts his weight on one knee, looking deep out of the window. “Or like this!” Getting up from the sofa, he suddenly appears in front of you, wide eyes and tongue poking out from his kissable lips; making you jump as you look back up from the paper. 

“Don’t push it Maximoff, or I’ll draw something on here that the others will find hilarious!” You giggle, resuming your work. His hair and eyes were your favourite features; the delicate swirls of the pencil crafting his iris hypnotises you; you could lose yourself in them, on paper and in reality. His hair was something else; the enjoyed exploring the shades of his roots and tips, the way it feathered attractively from his scalp. 

God you loved him, you loved him so much.

“Christ, you’re a real life masterpiece.” You whisper, loud enough for him to hear. Pietro’s toothy whites appear again, his dimples accompanying them.

Originally posted by wintersouljaa

“Teach me, teach me so there will be another on paper.” He replies, blue eyes sparkling at you. 

                                                    You loved him.

                                             You loved him so much.