copper and amber

Helping Your D-Partner Manage Stress (Pt. 1)

Getting Dex worked up was definitely one of Nursey’s favorite things to do. He was always wound so tight that he seemed a hairsbreadth away from actually combusting when they argued. It was like nature intentionally designed him that way and then made his entire body a warning sign: bright copper hair, bright amber eyes, and a bright tomato-red blush anytime his emotions were above a seven or below a three on a scale from one to ten. Seeing Dex flustered was like an interactive work of performance art, and Nursey honestly couldn’t stand to see such a well designed piece go without an audience.

Seeing Dex worked up constantly and for seemingly no reason, however, was proof that the Devil was real and very much wanted the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team to suffer.

“Dude,” Holster asked, voice pitched low enough to make sure that Dex couldn’t hear him. “How long do you think it’s been since he got, you know, laid?”

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“His hair was the color of a Red Deer’s pelt, having all the colours of red and gold mixed together in tones of copper, cinnamon, auburn, amber, red, roan & rufous”

Jamie Fraser single handedly making Ginger’s at the high end of desirable once again. Be proud!

yuenchien  asked:

ExR + mistaken identity for the 5 things meme? :D

(This is SUPER BELATED, for which I apologize, but thank you so much for your patience! Here is a vaguely-Victorian, definitely-not-canon AU, with ladies!)

1.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire exclaims, a winning smile dashing across her face like a lightning flash. “You’ve surely not stepped from your pedestal to join us in our revelries, caryatid?”

Grantaire’s cheeks are flush with punch and the exertion of dancing, stray threads of hair pulling themselves free from her crown of braids and flowers. Her eyes are overbright, and Enjolras would think her mocking if Grantaire’s delight didn’t sound half so sincere.

“Surely I have,” Enjolras replies, and allows an intimation of a gesture to take in their friends scattered throughout the hall, the bubbles of Joly’s laughter and Bahorel whirling in bold steps across the floor. She has little taste for parties, but it is soft spring and her friends are joyous, and so Enjolras is pleased.

Grantaire huffs a breath of laughter, but her smile softens strangely, and she tilts her cup in Enjolras’ direction, winks insinuatingly, and spins with strange grace on the ball of her foot to go refill her glass.

The young woman sitting near Enjolras, an acquaintance with some faint interest in politics and a serious mein, newly come to the city, lets her eyebrows lift delicately. “Your friend?”

“Hardly that,” Enjolras says, and means it more as a statement of fact than dismissal. She and Grantaire barely know one another, and like one another little – they are not friends, though they have friends in common.

“Ah,” the woman replies, and seems satisfied, as though she heard a disavowal. She smiles as if Enjolras has been charming, but Enjolras feels, abruptly, cruel.

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Nothing too special this week; just a simple jelly sandwich with L'oReal Lilac Coolers, Max Factor Fantasy Fire, and Kleancolor Chunky Copper & Chunky Holo Black. The amber nails are Dragonspell by ALiquidLaquer.

I’ve been wanting to do some crazy Halloween nails, but may not have time due to my more “serious” pursuits.

Speaking of; I’ve seen other nail artists say that people give them a hard time by saying things like “you must have too much time on your hands”. How rude. And it’s not necessarily the case. At least for me, this is the one thing I can sit down to do that just doesn’t matter at all. And that’s why it’s relaxing: it’s totally frivolous, temporary, and in the end you have a cool/pretty design to cheer you up on stressful days. Just a thought.

Wandering Thoughts

Author: dirigible-plvm
Main Characters: Fred Weasley, Draco Malfoy
Pairing: Fred x Reader, Draco x Reader
Warnings: Death
Word count: 815

Plot: Flashbacks of Reader x Fred’s relationship, ordeal in The Battle of Hogwarts and Fred’s death and your life in the future (Draco x Reader).

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One thing I hate about the Panther Delay is that it looks so childish. Fucking pink LEDs and a sharpie drawing? I’m not a thirteen year old girl discovering her sexuality. I play depressing music, so I’m seriously considering making this pedal look the part. This is a quick mock up I made in photoshop. Copper-ish enclosure, amber LEDs. The text reads “Like Echoes We Fade”. So post-rock it shits sad birds. 

But looking at Brianna Randall made him feel slightly breathless.
She carried herself like a queen, not slumping as tall girls so often do. Noting her mother’s straight back and graceful posture, he could see where that particular attribute had come from. But not the remarkable height, the cascade of waist-length red hair, sparked with gold and copper, streaked with amber and cinnamon, curling casually around face and shoulders like a mantle. The eyes, so dark a blue as almost to be black in some lights. Nor that wide, generous mouth, with a full lower lip that invited nibbling kisses and biting passion. Those things must have come from her father.
—  Diana Gabaldon Dragonfly in Amber Page 28-29
I have this fascination with eyes.
I’m enthralled at the different shades,
especially at how they tailor to emotions.
The two pools of tranquil seas
become the midnight skies during thunderstorms
or the jet-black ink of a bleeding pen
when anger grips the heart.
During moments of unbound happiness,
brown isn’t just brown;
rather the eyes melt into a blend of shimmering gold,
celestial copper, and molten amber.
Some have two emerald jewels,
and they sometimes change to a bottle green
or patches of dark moss.
There’s also ebony and velvet,
icy and aquamarine,
honey and chestnut,
jade and sea green.
There’s also the fact that
they’re supposedly windows to the soul.
They reveal what lays beneath our skin and bones.
Nestled in our eyes
are emotions that we often try to hide.
Whether we’re too scared or too battered or too lost,
our eyes betray our minds and our hearts.
—  (NJ.)

@kyluxxury here’s a little modern day marriage AU I’ve been working on. I’ve been traveling in canada and haven’t had the chance to sit down and write you a little something so I hope this is ok! Hope university get’s a little less hectic and you make it through ok!


The first time Kylo Ren laid eyes on him was outside of a dive bar in the middle of a snow storm in January. He was smoking a cigarette and tapping furiously on a Blackberry, wearing a hideous coat and an even uglier scowl on his face. The snowflakes caught on the tips of his copper hair and twinkled amber and green in the neon overtones of the bar sign. Kylo smoothly walked up to the man, glanced down at the cigarette dangling between his frost-nipped lips, and drunkenly slurred, “I’d do anything to be the smoke in your mouth.”

The man stopped his angry tapping and glanced up from his phone with his sharp green eyes narrowed before swiftly punching Kylo in the gut. Kylo doubled over, winded by his surprise more than the pain, and clipped his chin on the pavement as he collapsed into an undignified heap right by the man’s polished boots.

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SYNONYMS FOR YOUR GORGEOUS BROWNER THAN BROWN EYES

amber, hazel, chocolate, coffee, cocoa, nut; brunette; sepia, mahogany, umber, burnt sienna; beige, buff, tan, fawn, camel, café au lait, caramel, chestnut, auburn; walnut, ebony, henna, cinnamon; chestnut, ecru, ginger; bay, bister, copper.

The new captain of the Artemis was standing in the middle of his cabin, eyes closed and completely naked, blissfully scratching his testicles.
“Er,” I said, confronted with this sight. His eyes popped open and his face lit with joy. The next moment, I was enfolded in his embrace, face pressed against the red-gold curls of his chest.
We didn’t say anything for quite some time. I could hear the thrum of footsteps on the deck overhead, the shouts of the crew, ringing with joy at the imminence of escape, and the creak and flap of sails being rigged. The Artemis was coming back to life around us.
My face was warm, tingling from the rasp of his beard. I felt suddenly strange and shy holding him, he naked as a jay and myself as bare under the remnants of Father Fogden’s tattered robe.
The body that pressed against my own with mounting urgency was the same from the neck down, but the face was a stranger’s, a Viking marauder’s. Besides the beard that transformed his face, he smelled unfamiliar, his own sweat overlaid with rancid cooking oil, spilled beer, and the reek of harsh perfume and strange spices.
I let go, and took a step back.
“Shouldn’t you dress?” I asked. “Not that I don’t enjoy the scenery,” I added, blushing despite myself. “I—er…I think I like the beard. Maybe,” I added doubtfully, scrutinizing him.
“I don’t,” he said frankly, scratching his jaw. “I’m crawling wi’ lice, and it itches like a fiend.”
“Eew!” While I was entirely familiar with Pediculus humanus, the common body louse, acquaintance had not endeared me. I rubbed a hand nervously through my own hair, already imagining the prickle of feet on my scalp, as tiny sestets gamboled through the thickets of my curls.
He grinned at me, white teeth startling in the auburn beard.
“Dinna fash yourself, Sassenach,” he assured me. “I’ve already sent for a razor and hot water.”
“Really? It seems rather a pity to shave it off right away.” Despite the lice, I leaned forward to peer at his hirsute adornment. “It’s very like your hair, all different colors. Rather pretty, really.”
I touched it, warily. The hairs were odd; thick and wiry, very curly, in contrast to the soft thick smoothness of the hair on his head. They sprang exuberantly from his skin in a profusion of colors; copper, gold, amber, cinnamon, a roan so deep as almost to be black. Most startling of all was a thick streak of silver that ran from his lower lip to the line of his jaw.
“That’s funny,” I said, tracing it. “You haven’t any white hairs on your head, but you have right here.”
“I have?” He put a hand to his jaw, looking startled, and I suddenly realized that he likely had no idea what he looked like. Then he smiled wryly, and bent to pick up the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
“Aye, well, little wonder if I have; I wonder I’ve not gone white-haired altogether from the things I’ve been through this month.” He paused, eyeing me over the wadded white breeches.
“And speaking of that, Sassenach, as I was saying to ye in the trees—“
“Yes, speaking of that,” I interrupted. “What in the name of God did you do?”
“Oh, the soldiers, ye mean?” He scratched his chin meditatively. “Well, it was simple enough. I told the soldiers that as soon as the ship was launched, we’d gather everyone on deck, and at my signal, they were to fall on the crew and push them into the hold.” A broad grin blossomed through the foliage. “Only Fergus had mentioned it to the crew, ye see; so when each soldier came aboard, two of the crewmen snatched him by the arms while a third gagged him, bound his arms and legs, and took away his weapons. Then we pushed all of them into the hold. That’s all.” He shrugged, modestly nonchalant.
“Right,” I said, exhaling. “And as for just how you happened to be here in the first place…”
At this juncture we were interrupted by a discreet knock on the cabin’s door.
“Mr. Fraser? Er…Captain, I mean?” Maitland’s angular young face peered around the jamb, cautious over a steaming bowl. “Mr. Murphy’s got a galley fire going, and here’s your hot water, with his compliments.”
“Mr. Fraser will do,” Jamie assured him, taking the tray with bowl and razor in one hand. “A less seaworthy captain doesna bear thinking of.” He paused, listening to the thump of feet above our heads.
“Though since I am the captain,” he said slowly, “I suppose that means I shall say when we sail and when we stop?”
“Yes, sir, that’s one thing a captain does,” Maitland said. He added helpfully, “The captain also says when the hands are to have extra rations of food and grog.”
“I see.” The upward curl of Jamie’s mouth was still visible, beard notwithstanding. “Tell me, Maitland—how much d’ye think the hands can drink and still sail the ship?”
“Oh, quite a lot, sir,” Maitland said earnestly. His brow wrinkled in thought. “Maybe—an extra double ration all round?”
Jamie lifted one eyebrow. “Of brandy?”
“Oh, no sir!” Maitland looked shocked. “Grog. If it was to be brandy, only an extra half-ration or they’d be rolling in the bilges.”
“Double grog, then.” Jamie bowed ceremoniously to Maitland, unhampered by the fact that he was still completely unclad. “Make it so, Mr. Maitland. And the ship will not lift anchor until I have finished my supper.”
“Yes, sir!” Maitland bowed back; Jamie’s manners were catching. “And shall I desire the Chinee to attend you directly after the anchor is weighed?”
“Somewhat before that, Mr. Maitland, thank ye kindly.”
Maitland was turning to leave, with a last admiring glance at Jamie’s scars, but I stopped him.
“One more thing, Maitland,” I said.
“Oh, yes, mum?”
“Will you go down to the galley and ask Mr. Murphy to send up a bottle of his strongest vinegar? And then find where the men have put some of my medicines, and fetch them as well?”
His narrow forehead creased in puzzlement, but he nodded obligingly.
“Oh, yes, mum. This directly minute.”
“Just what d’ye mean to do wi’ the vinegar Sassenach?” Jamie observed me narrowly, as Maitland vanished into the corridor.
“Souse you in it to kill the lice,” I said. “I don’t intend to sleep with a seething nest of vermin.”
“Oh,” he said. He scratched the side of his neck meditatively. “Ye mean to sleep with me, do you?” He glanced at the berth, an uninviting hole in the wall.
“I don’t know where precisely, but yes, I do,” I said firmly. “And I wish you wouldn’t shave your beard just yet,” I added, as he bent to set down the tray he was holding.
“Why not?” He glanced curiously over his shoulder at me, and I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Er…well. It’s a bit…different.”
“Oh, aye?” He stood up and took a step toward me. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he seemed even bigger—and a lot more naked—than he ever had on deck.
The dark blue eyes had slanted into triangles of amusement.
“How, different?” he asked.
“Well, it…um…” I brushed my fingers vaguely past my burning cheeks. “It feels different. When you kiss me. On my…skin.”
His eyes locked on mine. He hadn’t moved, but he seemed much closer.
“Ye have verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Like pearls and opals.” He reached out a finger and very gently traced the line of my jaw. And then my neck, and the wide flair of collarbone and back, and down, in a slow-moving serpentine that brushed the tops of my breasts, hidden in the deep cowl neck of the priest’s robe. “Ye have a lot of verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he added. One eyebrow quirked up. “If that’s what ye were thinking?”
I swallowed and licked my lips, but didn’t look away.
“That’s more or less what I was thinking, yes.”
He took his finger away and glanced at the bowl of steaming water.
“Aye, well. It seems a shame to waste the water. Shall I send it back to Murphy to make soup, or shall I drink it?”
I laughed, both tension and strangeness dissolving at once.
“You shall sit down,” I said, “and wash with it. You smell like a brothel.”
“I expect I do,” he said, scratching. “There’s one upstairs in the tavern where the soldiers go to drink and gamble.” He took up the soap and dropped it in the hot water.
“Upstairs, eh?” I said
“Well, the girls come down, betweentimes,” he explained. “It wouldna be mannerly to stop them sitting on your lap, after all.”
“And your mother brought you up to have nice manners, I expect,” I said, very dryly.
“Upon second thoughts, I think perhaps we shall anchor here for the night,” he said thoughtfully, looking at me.
“Shall we?”
“And sleep ashore, where there’s room.”
“Room for what?” I asked, regarding him with suspicion.
“Well, I have it planned, aye?” He said, sloshing water over his face with both hands.
“You have what planned?” I asked. He snorted and shook the excess water from his beard before replying.
“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face.
“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked…”
“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.”
“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately.
“As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie.
“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?”
“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.”
“I don’t make squeaking noises!”
“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?”
“Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift your skirt and—“ His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel.
“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.
“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.
“It might,” I said, a little faintly. “What am I supposed to be doing while you do this?”
“Well, ye might moan a bit, if ye like, to encourage me, but otherwise, ye just lie still.”
He didn’t sound as though he needed any encouragement whatever. One of his hands was resting on my thigh as he used the other to swab his chest with the damp towel. As he finished, the hand slid behind me, and squeezed.
“My beloved’s arm is under me,” I quoted. “And his hand behind my head. Comfort me with apples, and stay me with flagons, for I am sick of love.”
There was a flash of white teeth in his beard.
“More like grapefruit,” he said, one hand cupping my behind. “Or possibly gourds. Grapefruit are too small.”
“Gourds?” I said indignantly.
“Well, wild gourds get that big sometimes,” he said. “But aye, that’s next.” He squeezed once more, then removed the hand in order to wash the armpit on that side. “I lie upon my back and have ye stretched at length upon me, so that I can get hold of your buttocks and fondle them properly.” He stopped washing to give me a quick example of what he thought proper, and I let out an involuntary gasp.
“Now,” he went on, resuming his ablutions, “should ye wish to kick your legs a bit, or make lewd motions wi’ your hips and pant in my ear at that point in the proceedings, I should have no great objection.”
“I do not pant!”
“Aye, ye do. Now, about your breasts—“
“Oh, I thought you’d forgotten those.”
“Never in life,” he assured me. “No,” he went blithely on, “that’s when I take off your gown, leaving ye in naught but your shift.”
“I’m not wearing a shift.”
“Oh? Well, no matter,” he said, dismissing this. “I meant to suckle ye through the thin cotton, ‘til your nipples stood up hard in my mouth, and then take it off, but it’s no great concern; I’ll manage without. So, allowing for the absence of your shift, I shall attend to your breasts until ye make that wee bleating noise—“
“I don’t—“
“And then,” he said, interrupting, “since ye will, according to the plan, be naked, and—provided I’ve done it right so far—possibly willing as well—“
“Oh, just possibly,” I said. My lips were still tingling from step one.
“—then I shall spread open your thighs, take down my breeks, and —” He paused, waiting.
“And?” I said, obligingly.
The grin widened substantially.
“And we’ll see what sort of noise it is ye don’t make then, Sassenach