glossy-skin

greek goddesses
  • Persephone: deep reds, glinting silvers, soft black leather, silken rose petals
  • Hestia: soft warm glow, cotton and lace, summer mornings, honey ginger tea
  • Aphrodite: glossy lips, shimmering skin, acetone, gasping for air
  • Eris: the electric shock you when you brush against someone, burning hair, the shine of stolen gold, matte black
  • Athena: dust clearing after a fight, dried blood, wet ink, the smell of old books
  • Artemis: feral wolves, sibling rivalry, shadows, bones stripped clean by time
  • Hera: grey roots, jewels at her throat, silk and diamonds, loyalty without thought
2

edit request meme: zoya nazyalensky + favourite quote(s) // requested by @havilliardes

she was a powerful squaller and, potentially, a powerful ally. but she’d also been one of the darkling’s favourites, and that certainly made her difficult to trust.

i almost laughed out loud. who was i kidding? i hated even sitting in the same room as her. she looked like a saint. delicate bones, glossy black hair, perfect skin. all she needed was a halo. 

want one?

Amren is Manon

Okay, so I just finished reading both series and I was already speculating what Amren was when I read that SJM had told one of her readers already and they had freaked out. This means that we must already know what sort of creature Amren is without needing much more explanation. I also read that SJM confirmed that ACOTAR and TOG are in the same megaverse, so their separate dimensions can hypothetically be reached through, say, a wyrdgate. 

Therefore, after careful deliberation and mulling over each character, all still fresh in my mind I have come to the conclusion that the best bet for what Amren’s true form is…. Manon.

Keep in mind, this would be Manon thousands of years after the war with Erawan in which she fell through a wyrdgate into the ACOTAR world as the cauldron was creating it. She was then trapped there and ensnared into a Fae body and went berserk, doing enough wrong to get her sent to The Prison. When she escaped, she knew that by now, Dorian and all her friends were probably long dead but never lost hope of returning to her realm. 

There are a couple different points to back up my theory: 

1. The blood drinking (emphasized by her particular love for goat blood which is what she and the Thirteen hunted and ate while in the Ferian Gap) 

2. Her disinterest in other people, especially advances from men as (hopefully) she is still harboring her love for Dorian perhaps and not wanting to bother with the fae of this realm when her heart belongs in another dimension 

3. She can read the Book of Breathings, written in a long forgotten language that everyone had forgotten. However, perhaps with everything in the war, Manon learned to read Wyrdmarks, as it was necessary for winning, and never quite forgot how to decipher it. Though after thousands of years she needed to brush up a bit before being able to read and translate the book. Or it could just be the dialect of Erilea that she has forgotten over the millenniums and must now remember how she had talked, and how she had read, feeling more and more sorry for Elide as she struggled to remember the way words were spelled and how the letters looked because she hadn’t realized how difficult it was to not be able to read.

4. Her automatic softness towards Feyre after she opened up about what happened with her family and what Tamlin had done to her, reminding Amren of a girl, thousands of years ago in another dimension who had also been abused and treated wrongly. So she gave Feyre the amulet to help her without even knowing her more than twenty-four hours. She just couldn’t help herself, there was so much Elide in that thin, Tamlin-wrecked girl that arrived at the House of Wind.

5. The fae body she is trapped in is the exact opposite from Manon’s, “several inches shorter than me [Feyre], her chin-length black hair glossy and straight, her skin tan and smooth and her face - pretty, bordering on plain - was bored’. This is in direct contrast to Manon, who has long, white hair, and a pale complexion, also quoted by Dorian that ‘he’d never seen anyone so beautiful’. Not to mention the eyes, Amren’s silver eyes battling with Manon’s deep gold. Whatever spell trapped her in that body, made her the opposite of what she once was, forcing her to hate this cage not only for the Fae exterior but the lie is portrayed over her once revered beauty. 

6. She joins a court that can fly so that she might once again feel the wind in her hair after so many years under a mountain in the dark. Also reminding her of her Thirteen, cleaved apart before darkness could claim them and away from her Abraxos who is left without a rider for the remainder of his life. But if I go too much into this one I’m gonna cry.

7. The jewelry ties into it somehow, probably. I’m thinking that she went through the wyrdgate using either The Amulet of Orynth or the Eye of Elena and it somehow got lost in transit. She had idly mentioned she was looking for a rare piece of jewelry once to Dorian and he has been buying the rarest pieces he can find for her ever since, knowing it is to somehow help her return. 

I’m not 100% sure where the powers came from, perhaps simply appearing in this realm or coming with the body, maybe gifted to her from Dorian, or honed from millennia in The Prison. Or any other twist SJM wants to play. 

TL/DR Amren is Manon trapped in another dimension, in another body, apart from everyone she loves and has been trying to get back to for the past five thousand years + 

cloud942  asked:

so i love all your art especially your sjm art (tog and acotar)! i recently saw a post on tumblr that talks about why lysandra is actually of asian descent and i cant believe i never realized before cause its true - sjm describes other canonical asian characters like nesryn and thesan with "upturned eyes" (feyre also remarks amren resembles thesan's race) and sjm also describes lysandra with "uptilted eyes". would you ever consider altering your way of drawing her? just curious :)

I saw the post too, and while I am totally supportive of an Asian Lysandra, I still see her as being European. When I read the description of “uptilted eyes” I think of almond eyes rather than Asian eyes. See, people thinking that Asian eyes are uptilted is kind of this western beauty ideal… Asian eyes are as diverse as any other race. You can see here.

And basically every race have almond eyes, including Asian:

Nesryn I definitely imagine as Asian (actually I think Sarah J Maas described the Southern Continent as being inspired by Mongolia) but, not because of the eye description, it was her skin tone, glossy black straight hair and the fact that she mentions prejudices against her specifically because of the heritage.

 Which is actually another reason why I never saw Lysandra as Asian. Nesryn talks about being attacked and having rocks thrown at her and her family and being treated as a second classcitizen because of her heritage… if we are to fullyacknowledge the racial prejudices in this series, I don’t believe for a second that Lysandra would change her appearance to appear as being from the Southern Continent. That would have been putting herself in direct danger of the racists in Adarlan, and she also mentions changing her appearance to make people more sympathetic to her. She would probably would have received more money as someone who looked like they were from Adarlan than someone from another heritage in a society where rocks are thrown at children simply for looking different.

But all that aside, @helenaveee​ made such a lovely fancast for Lysandra, of Asian heritage, like man she is gorgeous. But, I don’t personally see Lysandra that way and that it fine!

2

She was a powerful Squaller and, potentially, a powerful ally. But she’d also been one of the Darkling’s favorites, and that certainly made her difficult to trust.

I almost laughed out loud. Who was I kidding? I hated even sitting in the same room with her.  She looked like a Saint. Delicate bones, glossy black hair, perfect skin. All she needed was a halo.

More parallels with the anteiku raid arc to come

Sorry but I had to get this idea out of my head ASAP.

E14/V14, Juuzou/Arima, Touka/Kaneki, I don’t think I need to make a list of all the parallels so far and anyway, what I’m interested in is trying to predict the outcome of the next few chapters.

First of all, it’s quite obvious that Touka is not going to die (#plot armor) but there is indeed no way that she and Hina can win against Juuzou and all the other investigators with him (even if Ayato were in time to help). However…

this flashback bothers me. I’m personally convinced that Touka is the one who left them by Shinohara’s bedside (@coromoor explained why she would do that here), but I fail to see the point of Juuzou remembering about these flowers if it’s not supposed to play a role in the confrontation to come, especially…

since he definitely recognized her from somewhere (he says “ah”). 

Of course it might be from that one time in Anteiku, it’s definitely possible, but nothing actually tells us that Juuzou didn’t end up finding out about who brought the flowers over time. After all, who knows, maybe he met her once as she came to bring more flowers? She definitely came more than once, as we know with ch16.

Anyway, my first point is, Juuzou’s memory is significant to the current face-off with Touka and there might be more flashbacks to these flowers if he indeed knows who brought them. 

The second point is, Juuzou is wary of Furuta…

and of the current conflict, and it reached such a level that once he said…

which led to Nakarai and Hanbee speaking about him and wondering…

And this makes me think that, no matter how many times Juuzou was compared to Arima, he’s not ready to go on and on about pretending to agree with the CCG’s current plan when he doesn’t (unlike Arima, whom hardly anyone knew was the OEK before Kaneki).

So, if we’re saying that… 

  • Juuzou knows that Touka brought flowers to Shinohara (hence him recognizing her and remembering about the flowers at the hospital)
  • but that as an investigator and Arima 2.0 he has to kill her because she’s a ghoul 
  • but that he’s despising his current boss and disagreeing with his projects

…then maybe Touka’s (and Hina’s) obvious survival is linked to Juuzou not harming the one who apparently cared about visiting Shinohara from time to time despite being a ghoul, because Juuzou will choose turn against Furuta who’s currently right behind him instead.

And how could this be a parallel with TG ch141/142?

Keep reading

Without A Trace/ 1


Word Count: 1,734

I bit down harshly on my bottom lip as the drop of sweat that had been lingering on my hairline, had finally decided to descend down my face. Talk about timing!

The crew were gathered on one side of the door, ready to knock it down and barge into the apartment we had been tracking for several weeks. This was it. This is what we had all worked for. The red dots from our guns all focused on the centre of the wooden door, none of us really knowing what we hoped would be on the other side. Some of us enjoyed the violence, whereas others prefered to find the main goal whether that’d be money or a dangerous, illegal substance. Anything that meant the job was done right.

Keep reading

Abe Sapien by Elicia Donze. Drawn in PS. Please do not remove captions.

[Caption: A realistic digital painting of Abe Sapien from Hellboy. Portrait is from the waist up and in profile. Abe is humanoid with blue-green tiger shark stripes on his arms and chest, glossy skin like a dolphin’s, large gills on his neck, a fin along his spine, and human hands. His eyes are huge and solid black. The background is black.]

Lighthouse Cove: Night’s Passions & Terrors (Bill Skarsgård)

PART 4

WARNING: This chapter does contain graphic themes. It is the only chapter that will be graphically dark so feel free to skip the third scene if the content is too disturbing for you.

It was a dark and dreary day at Lighthouse Cove. The skies were a sombre shade of grey and it was awfully cloudy out, not even a sliver of blue showed through.

She sat cross-legged on the sofa, blankets covering her legs, and she clutched a mug full of earl grey in her hands. Her expression was empty as she stared at the wall on the opposite side of the living room, right near the kitchen door. Not once did she look down at her daughter, who played on the floor in front of her.

She took small, tentative sips of the now lukewarm tea. She did not care much for it, but Bill forced the cup into her hands and pleaded that she drink something. In response, she had only nodded robotically.

“Mommy?” Charlotte asked timidly, turning to face her vacant looking mother.

“Mhm?” she hummed emotionlessly, her dull eyes still looking at the cobblestone wall.

Poor, little Charlotte had not the least idea of what was going on. All she could see was that her mother looked much less like her usual self, for she was more detached and distant. Charlotte wanted her mother to hold, cuddle and kiss her like she always did. Tears welled in her green eyes.

“Mommy!” she cried, gaining her mother’s full attention.

What the mother saw broke her heart: glassy eyes and the trembling body of her daughter. Immediately, she broke out of her depressive trance.

“I’m so sorry, Baby!” she apologized, quickly standing from the couch to kneel down before her little girl, “You know I haven’t been feeling well the past few days. I promise I’ll be better soon though, it’s only a cold.”

Her arms wrapped around Charlotte’s shaking body, instantly soothing the girl’s worries. Charlotte’s hugged her mother’s waist tightly, stuffing her face into the crook of her neck.

“Promise?” her daughter whispered, voice muffled by her mother’s skin.

She exhaled deeply, attempting to keep her tears inside. “I promise, Baby. I’ll be better very soon, okay? I love you so much,” she confessed, taking her daughter’s cheeks in her hands and tilting her small head up until she could press a light kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“I love you too,” Charlotte replied.

Her mother gave her a smile which she happily returned. At that moment, Bill walked into the room and announced that dinner was ready.


After promising his daughter he would be back in twenty minutes, Bill took his wife to their bedroom. Once he shut the door, she began to pull off her day clothes, letting her cream knit sweater fall to the floor and leaving her chest exposed to him.

Bill wandered over to her and slid his hands onto her waist, pulling his chest flush against her back. Almost immediately, she flinched at his touch. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, right over her pulse point, and she sighed, finally relaxing into his chest.

“How are you feeling?” he asked lightly, lips hovering by her ear.

Both of his arms enclosed her in his hold and he rested them on her waist, long fingers clasped together.

“Fine,” she said quietly, “I’m just trying to forget.”

He nodded, pressing another kiss to her neck. “You know I would never let anyone hurt you or Charlotte, right? I checked the whole lighthouse and I swear that no one is here. I promise we’re all safe,” he assured her.

She nodded, her cheek flat on his skin, “I know. There is nobody here but us three.”

“You believe that… don’t you?” he wondered, making sure she truly did feel safe.

She nodded before leaning her head back and meeting his pale eyes, “Yes, Bill. I do.”

He smiled. Unclasping his hands, he allowed them to caress her smooth skin, moving up until they fondled her breasts. She softly moaned as he began to squeeze her, eyes shutting and head dipping deeper back into his neck.

“I love you,” she breathlessly whispered, eyes shutting in euphoria.

His impossibly long fingers ran across her warm skin. He kneaded her breasts until she was a moaning mess in his arms.

“I love you so much,” he replied passionately, looking only at her face, which was contorted in pleasure. He loved her more than anything, besides their wonderful daughter, but Charlotte was half of her anyways.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, attempting to stifle her moans, so their daughter would not hear them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her back arched into his touch, wanting to be even closer to him. He hummed at the feeling of her breasts in his large hands, for they fit just perfectly.

She moved a hand to Bill’s hair, weaving it through his brown locks. “Please. I need you now, Bill. We don’t have much time,” she pleaded as his fingers continued their work on her breasts.

He tilted his head down and planted a kiss on her lips before spinning her around to face him. Her hands slipped from his hair when he took a hold of her shoulders and he pushed their desperate bodies back to the queen-sized bed. He took only a few effortless strides to reach the mattress. His lips captured hers as he eased them both onto the layers of sheets, her on the bottom and him on top.

“Please, baby,” she begged, breaking their kiss to look into his eyes. She was so desperate to have him inside of her.

“What would you like me to do?” he wondered, pretending to have no idea what she was asking of him.

Her body craved his affections and with only around fifteen minutes before their daughter would come searching for her father, she needed him now.

“I want you to fuck me, Bill. Right now,” she demanded, eyes heated with a blazing fire.

He smiled, glad to see that her spark was back. “Because you asked so nicely,” he replied nonchalantly, grinning to himself before easing himself inside of her.

She inhaled sharply at the feeling of him stretching her; painful, blissful and breathtaking. For a moment, he stilled inside of her, allowing her to adjust to his size. She wrapped her legs higher up his hips, allowing him to have better access to her then gave him a nod, signalling she wanted more.

The gentle rolling of his hips sent her over the edge, her eyes closing from the pleasurable stimulation. He rocked himself in and out of her, slowly, so she could feel everything.

His heavy breaths mingled with hers, warming the cool room. The sight of her, eyes closed and back arching into him, only stirred the desire within him; he wanted her to cry out so loud in bliss that he would have to trap her moans with his lips. Seeing her satisfied only intensified how good he felt and god, was he ever going to come hard tonight.

Bill,” she breathed, chest heaving, “I’m going to - god - I’m going to come.”

He sank deeper into her, wanting her high to be intense as possible, and she whimpered at his actions.

“Open your eyes, darling,” he pleaded huskily, “I want to see you.”

The deepness of his voice elicited another moan from deep inside of her. Yet, she opened her eyes and gazed into his pale ones. She held onto his shoulders as her body trembled, so incredibly close to her climax.

His lips crashed onto hers as she came, sealing her cry in his mouth. Her body was shaking and she held onto him tighter than she ever had before.

She was filled with so much bliss that everything else slipped her mind; the strange man from the shower was gone, but Bill, lovely, sweet Bill, was there. He was the one who was making her forget everything but his name, which she breathlessly cried out as he continued to sink into her.

“I love you,” she panted, lips near his ear as he buried his head into the crook of her neck, close to his own orgasm, “I love you so much.”

He cried out into her skin as he came. Her hands moved up and down with his body as he rode out his high, feeling the sheen of sweat that covered his skin.

She could feel his taut muscles loosen as he relaxed and lowered himself down beside her, half of his chest resting on her abdomen. Bill’s head laid just under her collarbone, his jutting cheek pressed into her glossy skin. She held him in her arms as they both calmed their breaths.

“I love you too,” he murmured, gazing up at his wife.

She smiled tiredly, completely exhausted from lack of sleep and now, an amazing round of sex.

He pressed a chaste kiss to her collarbone. “You’re spent, darling. Go to bed. I’ll play with Charlotte for a few hours,” he promised her.

She nodded and slipped her arms from him. He rose off the bed and went to pick up his discarded clothes from the floor. She watched as he changed back into them, black jeans and a navy blue v-neck, from her spot on the bed.

She laid on her back and pulled the woollen sheets over her body.

“Goodnight. I’ll be up in a bit,” he said, giving her a smile before walking to the bedroom door.

The instant he closed the wooden door behind him, her eyes shut.

Not long after, she fell into a deep sleep.


When her eyes dazed open, she saw that it was still pitch black outside; dawn was hours away.

As her began to regain her senses, shaking off the sleepy haze, she noticed how sore her wrists felt. When she went to examine them from her position on her back, she realized that something was holding them in place above her head, restricting all of her arm movements. Her wrists were tightly bound to the iron headboard of the bed with some fabric. Her breathing intensified.

What’s going on?

Fear coursed through her body, she didn’t like feeling trapped. Bill had never tied her up before, this was completely new, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it. In fact, she wanted to be untied now.

She saw an orange glow, most likely one of a candle, through the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. It got brighter and far more orange as she heard Bill’s footsteps heading towards their room. She wondered what he was doing, tying her up like this after telling her to get some rest, and decided this must be some joke.

The wooden door creaked open, casting the golden glow throughout the room.

“Bill?” she called softly.

She saw the candlestick first, a black metal base with a tall, dripping candle attached to it and small flame slightly dipping to the left. Then, the stranger emerged through the door.

She swore her breathing stopped.

The man briefly glanced at the woman tied to the bed before wandering over to the large dresser. He placed the candlestick on top of the rich wood before reaching down to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, the tight, white t-shirt was over his head. Then, he reached down to his sturdy belt, undoing the buckle with his smart fingers.

She watched him with wide eyes, completely frozen with shock. Not a breath, word or scream could escape her body; she was far too terrified to move even an inch.

He easily slid his belt out of the loops on his dark-wash jeans before placing it a drawer along with his shirt. Next was his pants, fly unzipped and denim tugged off his long legs.

Heavy, shaky breaths fell from her lips as her whole body trembled. “Who are you? What are you doing?” she breathed, eyeballing the stranger from the bed with her mouth hung open.

The dark-ginger haired man did not acknowledge her, only continued to strip his clothing from his finely muscles body.

Who are you?”

The man simply placed his clothing into his preferred drawers, back facing her.

“WHO ARE YOU?” she screamed violently.

He glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes staring straight into hers. He did not look pleased.

She swallowed.

The stranger turned around, stark naked, and advanced on her. His expression was the same as the one in the shower, stern and strict, and it sent shivers down her spine. She pulled at her bonds, desperate to rip the fabric and escape the approaching predator. However, her efforts were fruitless; she was not going to get out of the bonds. Yet, she struggled, yanking her hands forward and using all of her might in an attempt to break the chains which held her.

Stop it,” he scolded her, watching as she trashed around on her back, “I am sick of this.”

She cried out as he smacked her, her cheek flushing from the hard force.

No! Stop, please!” she begged hysterically.

The bed dipped as he settled down on top of her, one leg on either side of her.

The feeling of his naked skin pressed to hers was revolting. She could not think of anything more disgusting and foul than him, the man who had somehow evaded her husband and daughter in the lighthouse, who saved all of his torture for her.

He leaned forward and balanced himself on his elbows, ignoring all of her protests as she writhed underneath him.

“Please don’t,” she whimpered, tears welling in her eyes, “Don’t do this to me.”

His steely eyes seemed to take no notice of her discomfort. Instead, he slipped himself inside of her.

A strangled gasp escaped her lips and she could not form a single word. Her eyes went wide as she felt his length sink into her. She gripped the iron poles so hard that her knuckles went white. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as the stranger began to thrust in and out of her. It didn’t feel real, there was absolutely no way this man could actually be fucking her. This had to be a dream - a nightmare.

It was not.

He straightened his body so he looked colossal over her, then took a hold of her breasts with both of his hands as he rolled his hips against hers.

She finally snapped.

“BILL!” she shrieked, her voice shrill and frantic, “BILL! BILL!”

He crushed her breasts in his hold, grasping them so tightly that a sharp rush of pain elicited a scream from her lips. The stranger continued to fuck her, mercilessly pounding into her.

“BILL!” she wailed, tears pouring out of her eyes so rapidly she couldn’t see clearly, “BI-”

Both of his hands wrapped around her throat and he pressed his fingers against her windpipe, cutting off her breathing entirely. She sputtered and choked, her arms flailing in protest.

Enough,” the stranger growled, blue eyes staring into hers, “I am sick of hearing you scream about him.”

His hands did not loosen on her one bit. Her eyes were wide with terror and she held his harsh gaze.

He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. God, he’s going to kill them too. Not Bill, please not Bill. My baby… no, no, no, not Charlotte.

“If you say his name one more time, I swear, I will gag you tomorrow,” he snarled, “Do you understand?”

Weakly, she gave him a slight nod. His hands slipped off her neck and she gasped abruptly, desperate to fill her lungs with air.

He took no care of her state, continuing to repeatedly sink deep into her.

Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she stilled underneath him, waiting for it all to end.

I’m dreaming. It’s just a terrible dream.

Moments after he came, he slipped out of her, stood, then re-dressed.

He left the room like nothing had ever happened.

She passed out for the second time that night.


A few hours later, after putting Charlotte to bed, Bill wandered back to their bedroom.

Carefully, as to not wake his wife, he opened the wooden door. Only a faint creak broke the complete silence, but she did not stir.

From his spot in the doorframe, he smiled at the sight of his wife peacefully sleeping. She had barely slept in the past couple of days, ever since the shower incident, and it had taken it’s toll on her. He was glad that now, she was finally resting.

Bill changed into grey sweatpants and an oversized black t-shirt before slipping into the bed beside her.

He listened to the soft flutters of breath that escaped her lips and smiled, thinking she was going to be alright.

He fell asleep with a small smile still on his lips.


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Flood my Mornings: Climbing

Anon said: This is a prompt for Bonnie & FMM: since BabyBree is becoming quite the strong minded little lady, can we see her get into some antics at the worst possible time?

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

Fernacre, July, 1951 


JESUS, lass!” Jamie hissed as he lunged to snatch Bree mid-stride and prevent what would have been a flying leap off the picnic table. He forced himself to exhale before setting her onto her feet and asking, “Why in the name of all that is holy and right do ye turn demon the instant we go out in public?”

The demon giggled. 

“Brianna, hear me, it’s no’ a game, this.” He dropped to a crouch before her, trying to keep his already-worn temper in check. “I mean it. NO climbing up upon things, d’ye hear?” 

“Okayyyy!” she trilled, beaming with joy, already turning on her heel. 

“Wait just there, we’re not—” 

But she was already out of reach, scampering off to join a pack of other children headed toward the play-slides. 

“Stay within the yard!” he called after her. “Heaven BLOODY help me,” he groaned under his breath in Gaelic, getting back to his feet and his conversation. “I’m terribly sorry for that wee hooligan, Tom.” 

“It’s alright, bud,” Tom Harper laughed, handing him back his bottle of terrible American beer. “Kids will be kids, no harm done.”

“Perhaps it’s some great test of parenting, to see how well I cope wi’out Claire to hand….or how poorly, as the case might be.”

It was the annual Fernacre employee summer picnic, or as Bree saw it, a battlefield ripe for the carnage her impish soul apparently craved. Scarce an hour the two of them had been there, and she’d already knocked over a pitcher of Lemonade, bitten another child who had bumped into her, squirted tomato sauce all down her front, and managed to get a lollipop stuck in her hair. This was to say nothing of the tantrum on the car ride about not being able to see the clouds (it being a hot, blue day and there being no clouds), and several outbursts of language he was more than grateful Claire had not been present to overhear. Nine days out of ten, Bree’s heartbreaking sweetness outweighed the net destruction (though there was plenty of the latter in any given day, and no mistake); but there would be a full moon brewing in the sky this evening, certainly, for Brianna Fraser had come out IN FORCE. 

“Really, though, she’ll grow out of it,” Tom said with a veteran’s confidence. “Our Rob was just the same at that age. It’s your first kiddo’s job to put you through the wringer. It’s in their contract and everything!” His wink went suddenly sideways as both brows furrowed over his Sunglasses. “Speaking of which, Claire’s okay, I hope?” 

“Oh, aye, she’s well enough,” Jamie assured him, taking what restorative strength he could from the watery excuse for a draught. “The babe kept her up all through the night, and she didna think she could manage being out the heat, besides.” 

“Don’t blame her one bit.” He wiped sweat from his forehead before adding significantly, “Not long, now, huh?” 

“No,” he grinned back, “not long at all.” 


Earlier that morning

Will you absolutely hate me if I stay in bed today?”

“Of course not, mo nighean donn,” He tucked the covers more securely around her and then stood, looking around to see what he might bring her. 

“Would it be pressing my good luck to beg you to take the monster with you?”

He kissed her, then Ian. “…Which one?” 

“Oh, I’d happily give you BOTH, if I could!” She rubbed her now-still belly ruefully and winced a bit. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, little one, you have got to give Mummy a BREAK when she’s trying to sleep. We can’t keep having these midnight drill parades!”

A whinnying horse galloped into the room and catapulted herself onto the bed next to Claire. “Mum-ma, you comin’?”

“No, lovey,” Claire said, pulling Bree close into a great, warm hug. “Mummy’s going to stay here and take a nap.” 

“Nappin’ isna FUN!” 

“Oh, it’s LOADS of fun for me! But you and Daddy will go and have a lovely time at the picnic, just the two of you.”

Bree grumbled for a minute, then brightened. “Can’see iffee’s ‘wake? If Beeyin’s ‘wake?”

Claire smiled that warm, sweet smile he loved so well. She pulled up the hem of her nightshirt from under the blankets, patiently letting Bree inspect the whole expanse of her with exuberant pats. 

After a few moments, Bree glowered up and whispered in a confidential yell, “I dinna heer’im.”

“I don’t feel him ei—Oh! There he is!” 

Bree shrieked in delight, dissolving into insane giggles as she poked the heaving mass back to and fro. At such a degree of intensity, it was rather like the game Jamie had seen the Fair where you clubbed the stuffed groundhog with a mallet only to have another pop up on the other side. ‘Clubbed’ indeed, for Claire was obliged to grab Bree’s hands and croon, “Gently, Bree, baby, *gently*…” 

After a long, peaceful while, Claire happened to glance up and catch his expression. She was a canny one, his wife, and she gave him a gimlet eye at once. “And just what are you smirking at like a cat in the cream?”

In truth, he WAS grinning, so widely he must have looked positively deranged. “You. are. SO. BIG.”

“You ARSE,” she laughed, managing to land him a kick in the belly even through the blankets.

“Ye ARE! I mean, LOOK!” He came to sit on the edge of the bed and joined Bree in outlining just how massive she was. “Big as a—a—”

“A HOUSE!” Bree finished helpfully, “or A ‘POTTAMUS!” 

“I do hope wee Ian comes out a fair shade more polite and complimentary than YOU lot,” Claire said, splitting a glare between the pair of them. 

“And just think, you’ve *two weeks more,* forbye.”  

One and a half, thank you very much,” she corrected primly.

“But let’s just stop and consider.” He raised a significant brow. “Should wee Ian see fit to bide his time…

“Don’t EVEN suggest it.”

“….It could be THREE weeks more…” He was having trouble speaking normally through the bubbling laughter. “….or even FOUR, until—”

“You wish four more weeks upon me, Jamie Fraser, and I will make you wish otherwise.”

Bree turned her coat in a flash. “Don’ wisp that at Mum-ma, Da.” 

“Oh, verra well, if ye say so,” he said, mock-abashed, with a wink at his wife. Glancing at his watch, he groaned and straightened with a yawn. Claire’s tossing and turning in the night from Ian’s acrobatics hadn’t done him any favors, either.  “Alright, a leannan, let’s see to your clothes and get along to the picnic.”

“You really do delight in seeing me as huge as a beached whale, don’t you?” Claire asked sardonically as Bree scurried from the room, cheering.

“Aye, I do,” he admitted freely, wrapping both his arms around her and nuzzling his nose against hers. “Truly one of the happiest sights I’ve ever seen.” 

In the cave, he had many a time wondered—longingly—what Claire might look like at the time of her full term; and what he had imagined paled in comparison. She was full and lush in every single inch of her. Hair thick and glossy. Skin softly glowing like sunlight on a flower petal. Whisky eyes seeming to sparkle with the same light, heavy with a soft, sleepy happiness. Claire was absolutely exquisite in this height of her bearing, and he would happily spend all his days glorying in the memory of her, this way. 

“I never imagined…” He bent and laid a kiss on her straining navel, reflecting that spending a fair number of those days in good fun and laughter would *also* be greatly rewarding. “…that anyone could get even bigger wi’ child than JENNY.” 

“Bree!” Claire shouted, swatting him with a pillow as he lunged up to kiss her cheeks and neck ferociously, “tell your Da to take his imagination and shove it up his—”

A crash sounded from the other room, followed by a ‘whoops-eeee’, which, in retrospect, had not boded well for the rest of the day


“MISTER FRASER!!!” 

His head whipped around so fast he heard his neck crack.

She was on the top rung of the fence separating the yard from the adjacent pasture, and he felt his heart stop as she fell from it headfirst. 

The next moments as he sprinted toward her seemed to pass as slowly as in a dream. He could hear shouts and cries behind him, but he didn’t stop for an instant until he was vaulting over the fence and snatching her up off her back. He didn’t remember what words he may have uttered, or in what language, but a few moments later, he was exhaling in great gasps of relief seeing that she was conscious and not injured, just badly scared with the breath knocked out of her. 

Dazed, she began to cry with great long wails that drove away the two mares that had come to investigate the visitor to their pasture. Thank the Lord she hadn’t chosen the next paddock over, where the true brawlers were kept. 

“You’re alright?” he demanded once more as he got back to the right side of the fence, vaguely aware he was speaking in Gaelic. “You’re not hurt?” 

She coughed and gasped for breath, considered, then showed him, lips trembling, a slightly-red patch on the fleshy part of her palm.

He laid a fervent kiss in her hand—silently praising heaven she hadn’t broken the wrist, for all that she was still crying like a banshee—and then could contain himself no longer. 

“What did I say about climbing?” His teeth were gritted tight and his hands were shaking even as they strove to remain gentle. “AND about wandering off??”

“I din’knowww,” she wailed, hearing his tone and trying to hide her face in his chest. 

“Ye DO know.” He pulled her up and made her look at him. “Brianna Ellen, ye must listen to what I say! Don’t ye understand ye could have gotten very badly hurt? Lass, look at me.”

She was sobbing, now, working herself up into hysterics. “C—can—na—

“Why not?”

“Cause—mad—dit—m—meee—

He went completely still at that. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. 

Help me, Da. 

With gestures and apologetic looks, he shooed the well-meaning onlookers back to their picnic and made for the big oak tree in the opposite corner of the yard. It was well-shaded, and he sat down against the trunk, holding his daughter to his chest as she sobbed against his shoulder. 

Thank God she wasn’t hurt. Thank GOD. 

“Bree, cub?” The walk had calmed him, and he was glad to hear his voice was gentle and soft. “Look at me, aye?” 

After a moment, she glanced timidly up (face red as an apple and covered in liquids of all description) and he smiled at her, stroking her cheek and her hair. “I’m here, a leannan. It’s just me…just Da… I love you.” 

“Love—” she hiccuped through her tears, “—too.” 

He kissed her and held her close for a minute before setting her on his legs facing him and saying gravely, “But ye made me verra afraid today, a chuisle. Ye disobeyed and could have hurt yourself.” 

“I did’nint mean to,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Aye, I ken ye didna mean to get hurt,” he said, gently pulling her fists away from her face, “but ye meant to be climbing the fence, even after I told ye not.” 

“…It was fun, though,” she offered with a shrug, voice tremulously defiant.

“Aye, well…” 

Come on, Da…. How would ye have explained this to me?  

A shrill whinny sounded in the distance, then another, and Jamie glanced around to see the two sorrel foals playing together in the south pasture, teasing and prancing about one another.  

He smiled and felt peace whispering through the grasses. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away. 

“Ye ken, when wee Ian is born, Bree, he’s going to grow up fast. Before long, he’ll be as big as you and running about on his own! And you’ll want your wee brother to be safe, aye?” 

She straightened at that, no longer crying. Bairn safety was no small matter, in her book. She nodded. 

“Say there were something like a great, nasty snake crawling about in the grass about to bite your brother on the foot…..Would ye just stand by and let him be hurt?”

Brianna looked up at him in absolute affront. “NO, I’d kill dat snake!”

He very nearly choked, but managed to keep a moderately straight face. Call upon a Fraser, and a Fraser ye shall get, he supposed;  but he cleared his throat and plunged on, determined to make his point. “But what if wee Ian didna understand the beast was dangerous? What if he went running to the snake because he thought it would be fun to play wi’ it?”

“Well…I jus’tell him not.”

“Aye, just so,” he said, “because we have to protect the people we love, d’ye see?” 

“Uh-huh.” She was staring up at him, rapt but not quite understanding. 

“So when I tell ye not to do things like climb the fence, mo chridhe, it’s only to keep ye safe, to keep ye getting hurt because I love you so. And when the bairn comes, it’ll be your job to keep him safe, too.”

She nodded emphatically. “I’ll do him safe, Da, promise.”

“But that means ye have to keep yourself safe, as well. Elder sisters have to be the best at obeying Mam and Da so the smaller bairns ken what’s the right way of things. Can ye do that?” 

“Aye,” she said at once. “I’ll ‘bey.” 

For precisely sixty seconds out of every hour, he predicted. 

“Hear me, though, Bree: the next time ye disobey like ye did today, I shall have to strap ye. I dinna want to do it, not one bit, but it’s how you’ll learn. Are we understood?

“….What’s s-tuh-rap?” 

“Getting smacked hard on the bottom wi’ a belt.” 

Hard?” she clarified, shocked. 

“Aye, hard enough that it hurts.” 

“But ye said—” She scrunched up her face and gestured with both hands. “NOT do things to KEEP me of getting hurted….”

A Dhia, Da, he laughed silently, how by all the saints did ye raise three—

“JAMIE!!”

His head snapped up and he saw Marian rushing down from the house, beckoning wildly, with a look of—

“Da—ddy—” Bree gasped out from where she bounced against his shoulder. “Why we runnin’?”

His heart was pounding.

“Because your brother has decided he’s going to arrive early.”  

uninterestingproductions  asked:

I want to give my makeup a dewy finish, but my skin is incredibly dry, how do I do it?

When you’ve got dry skin the first thing you usually want to do is restore radiance and give it that beautiful, glossy finish. Dewy skin looks great, but many brands get it wrong with their dewy skin formulas making skin look more like a shiny disco ball than gorgeous and healthy. I’m known for having super glowy skin in my photos and tutorials!

Prep Your Skin Well

Skin prep is the most important thing in makeup, if your skin doesn’t look great then neither will your makeup. First up prep your skin by cleansing gently (I like to use a micellar water) after cleansing apply a good moisturiser, you want something that provides a lot of hydration, but doesn’t feel super heavy on the skin. I love: Trilogy Very Gentle Moisturising Cream and Crop Natural Hydrating Daily Facial Moisturiser. A primer can also be of huge benefit to you if you are after a dewy finish, try something with light reflecting particles like the Laura Mercier Radiance Foundation Primer. I’ve also created a tutorial showing you how to properly prep your skin for makeup. 

Use the Right Foundation

If you want dewy skin, you want to be using the right foundation. Stay clear of anything that is mattifying or super full coverage and instead opt for something dewy and light. I recommend: Stila Aqua Glow Serum Foundation, Maybelline Fit Me Dewy + Smooth Foundation.

Use a Lot of Creams

If you are using a lot of powders variations of products such as highlighter, bronzer, contour and blush  this could be an issue. If you want your skin to look dewy and glowy you want to be skipping the powder and opting for cream and liquid formulas wherever you can. I swear by the Kevyn Aucoin Creamy Glow Formula, it blends beautifully over foundation and is available in a wide range of blushes, contour and highlight shades. 

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I hope I helped you and if you need anything else feel free to ask.

If any product you use irritates you discontinue use immediately.

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Red: Lust and Wrath

Words: 10,300 (ballpark) 

Rating: M+ (nsfw at the end)

Ship: Natsu + Lucy

LIttle plot: Natsu has been Wrath for years, he controls that angry red fire inside of him, keeping it locked up for not only his safety but everyone that surrounds him. That’s before a newly awoken Lust comes crashing through his window. 




“Lord Dragneel!” Wendy burst into the doors, stunning Natsu who was behind his desk, looking at the scrolls that a servant had delivered a few hours ago. He looked up, his brow crinkling at her gasping breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“Attacker. West. They’ve taken out the entire wing.” She informed him, her bright eyes wide in shock, her shoulders hunched as he stood, brow furrowing at her words.

“Attacker? As in singular?”

She nodded, “We can only spot one. They are approaching the main hall at an alarming velocity.”

A loud crash made Natsu’s head snap towards the windows that were covered by thick, heavy curtains. He walked over slowly, calmly, and pulled them open, raising one eyebrow at the smoke billowing through the courtyard, rubble falling from the surrounding structures surrounding the main part of his mansion.

His head tilted, observing the wreckage before a disruption in the air made him turn around swiftly, grabbing Wendy’s elbow and yanking her to the side. In the next few seconds, a large object crashed through the window, taking the walls along with it. Wendy let out a frightened yelp, huddling closer to Natsu who watched the large mass roll blankly - it happened to be one of the park benches that he had placed outside - a few times before thudding against the wall with a deafening crack.

Power swirled through the air, a threatening taste of his curious stranger and Natsu immediately knew that whoever had visited him, didn’t come here for a friendly chat.

Of course, from the wreckage they had already created, Natsu had deduced that already.

“Wendy. Leave the room. Go attend to the injured and evacuate to the tunnels.”

She didn’t argue, her blind, unyielding faith making her one of his smartest followers. She simply left and Natsu pushed his hands into his pockets, watching as a figure crawled through the hole.

Her hair was long, a shining pale blonde mass of waves, and she wore all black, which seemed to illuminate her pale, glossy skin.

“Welcome to my manor. I assume, by the path you created, you found what you were looking for.”

She turned to him slowly, the sunlight bouncing off her voluptuous curves. Her deep brown eyes gleamed with anger and a sweet, but threatening smile spread across her pink, supple lips.

“I must admit, the two, thick security walls gave me a little trouble but I managed.”

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3

Favorite Female Characters in YA fiction: Genya SafinAlina Starkov & Zoya Nazyalensky (The Grisha Trilogy by Leigh Bardugo)

“I am a doll and a servant. I am a pretty thing and a soldier just the same.” 

“It’s true,” I said softly. “You are stronger, wiser, infinite in experience.” I leaned forward and whispered, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “But I am an apt pupil.

She looked like a saint. Delicate bones, glossy hair, perfect skin. All she needed was a halo.