He glanced at Tiberius. What was odder, perhaps, was that Ty was looking at him. Emma remembered Ty, years ago, saying, why do people say ‘look at me’ when they mean ‘look at my eyes’? You could be looking at any part of a person, and you’re still looking at them. But he was looking curiously at Kit’s eyes as if they reminded him of something.
Will Keith ever take off his gloves and dumb v-neck? I hope not. Finally got around to coloring this / v \ I love all the paladin sleepover headcanons everyone’s been tagging my art with, keep ‘em coming!
edit: oops…updated the pic because I realized I forgot to color some of shiro’s lines hah.. I was wondering why he looked so dark >>;;
“Yes, losing your heart’s desire is tragic, but gaining your heart’s desire? That’s all you can hope for. This year I wished for love … to immerse myself in someone else and to wake a heart long afraid to feel. My wish was granted and if having that is tragic, then give me tragedy because I wouldn’t give it back for the world.”
A trip down memory lane as Bucky tries to find the right time to tell you how he feels.
Word Count: 2,213
Warnings: Slight angst. Brief smut.
A/N: This is a re-write of a Dean Winchester fic. It’s based on Norah Jones’ “Those Sweet Words.”
Your eyes fluttered opened, your boyfriend’s
face a blur. Yet you could recognize the long, dark hair. You felt him shake
you, hear his voice from afar. Lips upturning, you tried to convey to him just
how happy you were that he was there with you. Yet when your eyes focused on
his, they were full of desperation, of frustration. You wanted to ask him what
was wrong, why did he look so distressed? Yet the darkness swept you up and you
gave in to it.
“Bucky, come on!” You grabbed
his hand, dragging him with you through the throng of people waiting to enter
the stadium. Your favorite band was on tour and were currently in New York City
and you were more than excited to hear them.
“There are too many people,”
said Bucky, grouchy expression prompting a laugh from you.
“Look!” you exclaimed, pointing
at a security guard. “Maybe he can help us find our seats.”
“A plaque on both your houses!” Mercutio yells
drunkenly, as guards escort him out of the Capulets’ garden at 2am. It’s the
third time this week. Why do the two estates look so similar after dark? They could at least be labeled better.