Draal’s eyes are a personal fave (the brown rimmed green is so pretty and I want to get better at making it truer to his design), but I love love love painting Vendel’s eyes best. Between the intricate webbing of what I assume are cataracts he has the same starry spots in his eyes that Zeus the owl has and it gives his character a whole new mystical side apart from grouchy grandfather. I hope to do hyper-detailed eyes later on but for now this was a fun exercise.
Warm rays of sunshine tickling your nose and making colorful spots dancing in front of your eyes. Trees in full, rich green. The smell of the first apple blossoms. Warm and slightly damp soil in your hands. Gardener aprons with a lot of patches. Straw hats lavishly decorated with flowers from the garden. Chocolate brown irises with dark green rims and thick, dark eyelashes. Freckles splattered all over your face. Rich meals with your family. Heavy gold jewelry. Deep but mellow voices. Luxurious but comfortable clothes. The comfort you receive from a close family member or friend. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.
43 - falling in love with their best friend’s partner au
A/N: this is rated M because of the smut at the end there. Angsty smut, but smut all the same.
In the three years he’d known her, Sasuke had never seen her look as miserable as she did right now; standing on his front porch in the pouring rain at two in the morning, hair and clothes soaking wet, her green eyes red-rimmed with recently shed tears. She was a wild mess—a picture-perfect embodiment of a brokenhearted girl silently crying out for comfort.
Sasuke couldn’t help but to wordlessly invite her inside just for that.
“Stay here,” he said, when she’d stepped into the threshold of his home and stood feebly in the hall, body wracked with shivers. “I’ll get you a towel.”
Frowning, he quickly left the room to carry on the task. And when he returned a few minutes later, he found much to his surprise that Sakura still hadn’t moved at all. His eyes softened, lips mulling into a thin line. Stepping closer to her, Sasuke reached out to wrap her still shaking form in the thick, dry towel, before decidedly rubbing his hands firmly over the length of her arms, trying to coax her body into generating some warmth.
It was only then that she seemed to snap out of her trance, sad, broken eyes flickering up to meet his gaze.
“We had a fight again,” she spoke, finally, her voice frail and thick with grief. He could see new tears staring to well up. “And I think it’s really bad this time, Sasuke-kun… I don’t think we can come back from this one…”
His heart quickened at that, and he almost swallowed. Letting out a slow, quiet breath, Sasuke squeezed a hand around her shoulder, and jerked his head towards the living room. “Come on—go sit down. I’ll make you some tea. Maybe things won’t seem so bad when you tell me about it.”
He watched as Sakura nodded, pulling the towel closer to herself, before she mutely made her way to his living room, shoulders heavily slumped. Once he was sure she well out of earshot, Sasuke ran a hand over his face and made a sort of self-loathing sound, hands clenching into tight fists.
Why was it that when he heard her essentially say she thought her relationship with his best friend was over, the first thing he felt was a rush of excitement?
(falling in love with his best friend’s girlfriend… he was the worst kind of trash in the world.)
Summary: Things seem to go south once again for the Winchester brothers. You’re left to pick up Dean’s pieces but not before giving
to the person accountable a piece of your mind.
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester
Word count: 1514
Warnings: Season 12 spoilers (If you haven’t watched 12.14, “The Raid” then you should probably do so first), angst.
Author’s Notes: I was supposed to be working on something else, but yesterday’s episodes gave me a lot of feels (as always but that’s another story). This is set right after the fight between Dean and Mary at the beginning of the episode. There is a flashback included in italics.
Hope you like it! <3
You walked into the library, muttering expletives under your breath, only to find Sam
Winchester waiting for you, beer in hand.
Giving him a
half-distracted smile, you mumbled a greeting while he just looked at you,
shaking his head.
“Do I even want to
Sam titled his
head to the left and shot you a perplexed look, his eyes appraising you.
“Let’s just say
that your mum probably isn’t fond of me right now.”
Sam sighed and
brought the green bottle to his lips, drinking.
“You’re right. I
don’t want to know.” He told you when he was done and you nodded and leaned
against the table.
“Is Dean still in
Go.” He agreed, nodding. When you were ready to leave, he grabbed your hand in
his huge one and squeezed it. “And thank you. For standing up for us…”
lena gets abducted on the third tuesday of march, just as the sun begins to slip behind the peaks of the national city skyline. she hears the footsteps coming toward her office, assumes it is jess; it is not, oh, it is not, and the masked figures drag her away before she can so much as gasp in a desperate breath
they do not want ransom. they do not want supergirl. no, she is the target. she–the sister of lex–is all they want. (he hurt our families, they say, and she wants to say he hurt mine too)
kara saves her. of course kara saves her, always will. but this time, she does not arrive soon enough. this time, lena’s head is bowed, dripping blood from a cut somewhere on her scalp, when kara’s boots crash against the ground
lena spends four days in the hospital and then twelve in the l-corp labs. in that time, she builds the suit
(kara is worried, she knows. it is not subtle, the way kara looks at her with that crinkled brow, that lip tugged taut between teeth. there is no way to assuage her fears, though, not yet. not when lena feels the same fears too. just wait, she says. i’ll fix it. i’ll fix it)
the suit is green, hints of white rimming the edges. thrusters in the soles of the boots and palms of the gloves. reinforced. safe
that’s what matters: safe. she’ll be safe. she can keep kara safe
“The worst good-byes are the ones without closure. You never forget the last time you saw them and that’s what haunts you the most.” -r.m. drake
laid in bed wide awake at four in the morning his mind drifted to that night he
had called you two months ago. He knew he had made a huge mistake by calling
you but he needed some sort of closure. He just needed to know and now he did.
You were married to some douche and were living that white picket fence life he
would only ever dream of. Little did he know the real reason you left him was
to protect him from the sorrow your death would have caused him.
what it would have been like if you were married to him; if you would bake him
apple pies every Saturday and he’d pick up the kids from soccer or baseball.
He’d be the
one making you happy, the one who you’d greet with a kiss every day when he’d
come home from work. Sadly, that would only ever happen in his imagination. You
were gone and you took everything with you the night you packed your suitcase
two years ago.
Summary: While on vacation, you get a lesson on how to appreciate every moment.
Warnings: Ummm…smut?, getting friendly with a stranger
A/N: I had opened up requests for my 1K celebration and still had a request from @impala-dreamer unwritten, ooops. Sorry it took so long. I have been toying with this idea for months and kept changing it up, so I decided to finally just post it so I’ll stop changing it. Beka’s request was “I just want a sam smut with the color blue and a tight and unusual location. you do the rest.” Well I veered off of this some, but I hope you still like it. I shouldn’t have to clarify this, but for this let’s just assume Jared is single and doesn’t have kids. Thanks to @megansescape for the read over and @arryn-nyx for listening to me talk about writing this but taking forever to actually do so. You both are awesome!
I stroll through the market of Santurce, Puerto Rico enraptured by all of the art surrounding me. All of the colors, smells, and sounds carry me away from all of my personal troubles into a tranquil trance that feels like it’s right where I belong.
I glance into each shop and building I pass by, looking for the one piece of art that I cannot live without. I pause at the doorway to a very small artist shop and find myself glued. Inside is perhaps the most gorgeous man I have ever laid eyes on creating the most sensual piece of art I had seen in many years.
Prompt:this water fight was such a good idea but oops now your shirt is see-through and DAmn you look good –> Companion fic to “First Meeting”
She’d gone running to Sirius’ after a bad fight with her mum since her
own boyfriend was ‘basically in azkaban’ (or so James’ owl had read) for
breaking into a restricted area of the Ministry of Magic on a internship tour.
Sirius was good as a shoulder to lean on when Lily needed to talk to about how
annoying families could be but Lily had wanted nothing more than to see James’
calming stare. As if he read her mind, her boyfriend was standing in front of
her with inquisitive hazel eyes that studied her long skirts and lightly
flowered white shirt.
Even though the shock of seeing him standing there on Sirius’ steps
bold as brass was taking up a large portion of her brain, Lily couldn’t deny
that James Potter looked exactly like Prince Charming at that very moment.
Jamie woke to the sound of stone grinding stone, accompanied with the soft hums of a vaguely familiar tune. Though his eyes were still clouded over from sleep, as well as the darkness of the cabin, he could still see her silhouetted in front of the roaring flames of the fireplace, pestle in hand as she ground indiscernible herbs in a granite mortar. He attempted to sit upright and further his view of her face, glowing golden in the firelight, but he instead put too much weight on his injured leg. A low hiss passed between his teeth as his face contorted with discomfort.
She had appeared by his side in seconds, hands positioned at his back to help him sit comfortably; their eyes had met for just a moment before she turned to his bandages.
“Morning,” Jamie murmured snidely as she rolled up the blanket and prodded at the bandage, checking for inflammation. She looked up at him for a brief moment and smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Instead of replying to the greeting, she instead inquired, “How are you feeling?”
“As good as I can be, I suppose. Although I canna complain, since I was the one who slept in a bed.” He remembered when he had first laid down in it, wrapping himself in the soft cotton blankets, the sweet aromas of honey, lavender, and pine filling his nostrils.
Another smile pressed her lips upward, this time causing the corner of her eyes to crinkle slightly. “The floor is a lot more comfortable than you’d like to believe.”
“Och,” he chuckled dismissively. “I’ve slept on the floor many a time, Sassenach.” A small grunt cut him off as she deftly pulled the brittle dressings off of his skin. “And if I can help it, I’d rather ‘void it.”
A moment later, as he watched her finish her ministrations, he murmured, “Ye’re a kind woman, Miss Beauchamp. Wi’ a good touch.”
Her cheeks flushed at his compliment, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly upwards once more. There was something on her mind, and Jamie knew it.
“I’m just thinking of my uncle,” Claire said a few minutes later, after he voiced his concerns. “I miss him… so much.”
A pause. “How long ago, then?”
“It’s been four years, now. There are some times that are harder than others, but… he was the only family I had left. My parents died when I was young, about eight or so, and no matter how hard I try to find them in my mind’s eye, I just can’t. They’ve vanished, almost–like they’ve walked into some vast, misted forest and no matter how hard I try to find them, I just end up with… nothing.” She hadn’t moved her eyes from his leg, but she had stopped messing with the bandages. He saw a lone tear fall from her cheek; it plopped soundlessly onto the blanket. “He’s starting to fade, too.”
Without thinking, he reached for her hand–similarly to the motion he had retracted earlier the previous day–but this time he stuck to it, interlacing their fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her head shook to and fro slowly, as if she was to seize control of her emotions again. Standing abruptly, she picked up her mortar and resumed her work, back turned toward him. He didn’t press her for more information but instead sat patiently, waiting.
Turning her head slightly, she murmured over her shoulder, “Go back to sleep. You’ve had a tiresome few days.”
Later in the day, Jamie had a taste of what Claire’s daily life consisted of: being a travelling healer, she only went to where the need was highest and, given the remoteness of this part of the Highlands, people from all across the MacKenzie and Fraser lands would turn to her for medical assistance. From what she had told him, she had already been settled at the base of Craigh Na Dun for only a week, but had seen well over a hundred patients. A bit slow, at first, but after the speculation of witchcraft died down a bit, more patients began to flock at Claire Beauchamp’s door.
Although she had told him to sleep, he hadn’t; instead, he laid with eyes wide open, watching her as she tended to each patient. How wonderful this woman was, he had realized as he took note of how she treated them. She was respectful, kind, and understanding. If someone was in pain, she would reassure them that everything would be better soon, and within moments, the patient was on their way. The last patient of the day, in particular, had caught Jamie’s eye.
He was a small boy, not much older than eight or nine, with honey-blonde hair and red-rimmed bright green eyes. The boy had lifted his arm to reveal a large gash on his forearm, about half an inch deep. Instead of asking him how he got the injury, or chastising him for not being more careful around sharp objects, Claire took him by the hand and sat him down on a stool. She’d given him sweet rolls to snack on and even slipped in a sip or two of whiskey as she sewed him up, murmuring encouraging words as she did so. Within the hour, the boy was on his way home with instructions from Claire on how his parents need to remove the stitches.
The way that she interacted with the frightened lad made Jamie’s heart flutter in his chest; how exceedingly compassionate and tender she had been as she sewed up the wound, telling the boy stories of witches and wizards and magic. It was clear to him then that she was meant to be not only a healer, but a mother. His thoughts jumped immediately to his own mother, and he could feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Too soon.
“Is something wrong?” Claire asked suddenly, turning from her place at the table to face him. She made her way to him in two strides and sat beside him on the cot, tugging the blankets back from his leg–stopping, however, when Jamie laid a hand on hers.
“It isna my leg,” he said softly.
She looked at him, eyes filled with concern as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, Jamie.”
“My mother…” he paused and took a deep breath. “She’s sick, has been for a few months, now.” A curt nod; eyes, pleading for him to continue. “I was sent away for–ah… for business, ken. And while I was gone, she got worse. Eventually, I made it back to see her, before…”
“Oh, dear.” She reached for his face, then. Her thumb ran across his cheek, wiping away the single tear that had fallen and took him into her arms, allowing him to let himself go. More tears fell from his face and onto the shoulder of her gown, soaking the dark material.
A shudder ran through him, a sob rising in his throat. Her one hand was wrapped around his shoulders, the other on his lower back, tracing circles with her palm. Shushing him, as one would a small child, she reached up and drew some pieces of his hair away from his sticky forehead. “There’s nothing more you could’ve done. Well, besides being there for her.”
“I should ha’ been there with her ev’ry day. Told her that I cared, that I loved her–”
“I’m sure she already knew all of that,” she soothed. He hadn’t realized she was rocking him until then, but he found the movement comforting. The tone of her voice turned from sympathetic to questioning. “Do you not have any other family? Someone that you should be returning to? Someone to care for you?” Despite his unsteadiness, he could hear a slight fall in her voice.
Another sob escaped from between his lips as he realized that Murtagh, Jenny, Ian, wee Jamie–they, too, were gone. No, he thought, notgone. How could something–someone–be gone, when they hadn’t even been born yet? How was he able to still remember them? Wouldn’t all of these memories in his head be, technically, in the future?
“They are gone,” he whimpered, his arms gripping Claire’s shoulders tightly as he sought out the comfort of her warm embrace. “They are truly gone.”
A moment or so later, after he had shed most of his tears into the arm of her gown, she pulled his head from her shoulder. Brushing the curled ends of his hair from his face, she placed both hands on his cheeks and looked straight into his eyes, a golden honey to a bright cerulean, and murmured, “I understand that there are things you don’t want to tell me yet–about where exactly you’re from and how you got to be at my doorstep last night. But I have to ask you to be completely honest with each me from here on out, and I’ll promise you the same.”
He sniffed once, then nodded, hoping she’d proceed.
She did. “What I have to say is rather strange, but…”
A pause. Her hands were still cupping his face; the stark coldness of them, as compared to the warmness he felt just moments before as she held him in her arms, was like the rush of a cold wind on a sweltering hot day. He felt as if he would lean into it as a cat would when being scratched behind the ears. A quirk of the corner of his lips and another nod was his reply, for he felt if he said anything then, it would be completely irrelevant to her statement.
“I can’t help but feel like… we’ve met before.”
“I’ve thought the same thing,” he smiled larger, wrapping his hands around her wrists. “Although I dinna ken the when and where quite yet.”
She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Well, if you do solve the puzzle, be sure to inform me of your results.”
He hadn’t noticed their position until that moment: her thighs on either side of his own, straddling him. Her hands on his face, leaning so close to him that he could feel her breath waft over his face. It smelled like cheese and wine and honey and Claire.
Before he could say anything, however, she had repositioned herself to be standing beside him. She leaned over to redress his wound. When the moment passed, he chastised himself for not kissing her.
Damn you, man, he thought to himself. You’ve known the woman not even a day and you’re already being soppy. You barely know anything about her.
“You’re healing rather nicely,” she sighed, peeling off the last of the bandages. “In a few days time, you can put your weight on the leg.” There was a pause before her next statement, a catch in her throat causing her to cough once uncomfortably. “You should be able to leave in a week’s time.”
The air in the room made it clear: neither of them wanted that.
shit so i fucked up and accidentally posted my unfinished prompt so here’s try #2 (for the 2 anons who requested this)
41. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”
Dinner at the Jones’ household isn’t normally a quiet affair. With Harper now in the first grade and with Paisley’s ever expanding vocabulary, mealtimes were often filled with happy chatter from Jughead’s and Betty’s children.
Harper Emerson Jones, of course, inherited his father’s healthy appetite for food. Never a picky eater, he would guzzle whatever his mother would make for him with a speed that scared Betty (for fear that he would choke) and made Jughead proud.
During Tuesday night, however, Betty noticed something seriously worrying. “Harper, sweetie. You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” Seven-year old Harper merely sighed and continued to push around his lasagne.
Jughead, who was seated to his son’s right, gently nudged his shoulder. “Are you okay little man?” Harper placed his fork down as his lips started to tremble, a sure sign that his tears would soon come next. “You know, whatever it is, you can tell mom and dad, right?” Jughead got up off his chair and kneeled down next to his son, enveloping him in a hug.
Harper, who was sobbing at this point, tried to speak but was mostly incoherent. “Alright, buddy. We can talk in your room.” Jughead said, lifting him into his arms and carrying him out of their dining room. Betty started clean-up Harper’s unfinished plate when she heard their youngest call for her.
“Mama, you think Harpie want peas so he feel better?” Betty looked at her precious two-year old, with her blonde hair in a messy pigtail (a valiant attempt by her father), holding up squashed up peas in her left hand.
“Nice try, little missy. You’re not getting out of eating your vegetables.” Betty could only smile as she saw Paisley pout and slowly lower her hand under her high-chair. “And no feeding it to Frenchie.” Harper harrumphed, placing her peas back on her plate, while their year-old brown, golden retriever scampered off knowing that he and his little owner were caught.
Jughead settled Harper on his son’s bed and sat beside him. “You feeling better?” Harper, whose cries now turned to hiccups, slowly nodded his head. “Now, what’s got you down, little man?” He asked as he ran his hand through his son’s hair.
“It’s about Emma.” Harper responded, his head downcast.
“The girl from your class? That Emma?” Harper whispered yes in response. “What happened between you two? just last week you guys were playing like there was no tomorrow?” Jughead asked.
“She-she found a new friend. The-there’s this new kid that came in.” Harper’s tears were making a re-appearance as he stumbled over his words, “And he wanted Emma to be his friend and he wouldn’t let her play with me.” His son hiccuped. “And then, she told me that he had nice eyes ‘cause they reminded her of chocolate, and that my eyes are ugly ‘cause they’re the same colour as frogs and frogs are gross.” Harper started to pout and his voice rose. “My eyes are stupid! I don’t like them anymore! I want eyes like he does so Emma starts playing with me again, daddy!”
Jughead could see the distress on his son’s face and was at a lost on what he should do. He certainly wasn’t expecting to help Harper heal from a heartbreak this soon in his young life. Jughead reached over and grabbed a tissue to wipe the tears off of Harper’s face, rubbing his back in efforts to calm his son down. “Have you tried be-friending this new kid in your class?”
“Yes, but he’s being a meanie.” A dark look casted across his face as he thought of the boy who stole his friend.
“Well, how about your other classmates? Have you tried talking to any of them?”
Harper was silent for a moment before speaking up. “Well there is this other girl; her name’s Ellie. She asked me to play ‘detectives’ with her yesterday.” Harper glanced at his dad before shifting his gaze to his hands.
“There you go, little man. Things are looking up already.” Jughead gave his son an encouraging smile.
“I guess. I still don’t like my eyes though.” Harper lowered his head once again.
Jughead tucked a hand under Harper’s chin in order to see his face. His son’s emerald green eyes still red-rimmed from his crying. “Well, I think they’re the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You wanna know why?”
“Why?” Harper asked curiously.
“Because they’re the same as your mom’s. And one day, you’ll find someone who likes your eyes just the way they are.” Jughead planted a kiss on his son’s head and tucked him under his blanket.
“Will that happen soon, dad?” Harper asked, insecurity laced in his voice.
“You never know, Harp. Sleep tight, okay?” Jughead stood up from the bed and headed towards the door. “Love you, buddy.”
“Love you, dad.”
“Hey, Ellie.” Harper greeted the brown-haired girl as he approached her during recess. She looked up from the book she was reading and gave him a small wave.
“I was wondering if you wanna play ‘detectives’ with me again today.” Harper asked shyly.
Ellie looked at him (for what felt like forever to Harper) before responding, “You’re cute when you’re shy.” He was taken aback by her sudden compliment and was unsure of what to say next. “And I’d love to play together again.” Ellie added as she stood up from her spot under a tree. “Hey, Harper?” She glanced at him, blush quickly forming on her cheeks.
“Has anyone ever told you your eyes are the same colour as frogs?” She asked as they walked together.
Harper’s face fell, feeling another bout of insult coming his way about his green eyes. “Emma did yesterday. She told me that my eyes are gross because of it.”
Ellie suddenly stopped and grabbed Harper’s hand. “Well, I think Emma’s wrong. Frogs are cool, and so are your eyes.” She gave him a bright smile, which he couldn’t help but return, before she let his hand go and ran towards the school’s playground. “Last one there has to be the criminal!”
“You’re on!” Harper laughed as he ran as fast as he could, trying to catch up to his new friend.
natgeotravelVideo by @babaktafreshi The World at Night photography Nothing like a clear desert sunset. See how the Sun shrinks and distorts as its light gets refracted by atmospheric layers. You can even see the blue and green flash (rim) appearing briefly. Captured in Atacama Desert of Chile while filming for the Borderless Sky documentary series.