wire frame glasses

listen,,, dex gets into a particularly brutal fight at an away game and ends up with a ripped contact lens AND a black eye. he wears old, wire-framed glasses that keep sliding down his nose on the bus ride home, and the blue of the bruise stands out against the red of his hair (and freckles and the amber of his eyes) and he’s biting his lip in concentration while he reads for a class and nursey is Finished™

youtube

@alexanderhamllton found me a video of Lin in wire frame glasses and it’s everything I ever wanted.

miss-weeaboo73  asked:

May I have a ship please? I'm a bisexual girl. I have pixie cut dark brown hair with big dark brown eyes, I also wear rounded wire framed glass and I'm a INFJ Virgo. I'm 5'3, and I think a lot about the human mind and how people work which can lead me to be very worry and stress a lot of the time. I'm kind of mysterious, preferring logic over all. And I'm very sarcastic too! I like to help people with their problems, I'm shy and quiet most of the time.

I ship you with Tim Drake.

Tim thinks a lot, and you think a lot. The two of you think together, and get stressed together. Thus, the two of you would have to help each other calm down. You would have to help Tim more since he doesn’t sleep enough in the first place, so his thoughts rarely stop. 

Since you are a logical person, Tim is fascinated with you. You think the same way he does, and it blows his mind. He is so used to arguing his views to everyone, but with you, he doesn’t have to. It’s a relief for him.

One of the reasons Tim became a superhero was to help people. Therefore, your willingness to help others is a way you two bond. 

A One Iris Man

Iris leaned her head into Barry’s shoulder. “This is nice,” she said softly. “Why did we wait so long to try this?”

Barry pulled her a little closer. “Someone kept insisting we were just friends and then there was some idiot who waited too long to tell how he felt.”

“I bet our Earth-2 counterparts didn’t make things this complicated,” Iris said.

Barry laughed. “I have less game than the geek in wire frame glasses and a bow tie. That’s depressing.”

Keep reading

Edge of Spring

The evening air had grown cold enough to turn the rain into a gentle snowfall. The last of winter’s fury floating softly onto the first grass of spring only to vanish. We stopped under a lamppost as we walked through the park. Our hands clasped together against the breeze. She lifted her face to the sky, closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Her hair danced around her nose, strands becoming trapped behind the wire frames of her narrow glasses. This is when I knew I loved her, standing in a puddle of light, on the edge of spring.

2

richard campbell gansey iii

worn leather, messy white sheets, a perfectly knotted tie, mint leaves, ink smudges, driving with all of the windows down, a jawline that can cut glass, insomnia, the flash of a sword, a lopsided crown, rising with the sun, squared shoulders, firm handshakes, wire-frame glasses, orange juice, orange, bronze, sunshine, the buzz of a bee, libraries, perseverance, eternal summer. -Kat (excelsors)

**Grunge Fashion Aesthetic**

  • my gansey trk aesthetic: rose-gold glinting winter sunrises, barely tied scarves, dark leather gloves, windswept hair, pushing up wire frame glasses, ink-stained fingers, fawn turtle-neck wool sweaters, flushed cheeks and lips, the pig's ice-crusted windscreen, long sweeping coats, mint-sweetened breath misting on frosty air, steaming coffee, brisk aglionby striding, warming blue’s freezing cold hands inside his own
XF Writing Challenge - Sight

1994

“Mulder, have you seen my glasses?” she asks, patting the surface of his desk as she squints over at him. “I knew I should’ve put my contacts in-”

“I don’t know,” he answers, then glances up at her and pauses. “Where did you leave them?”

“I don’t remember! Wouldn’t I be looking there if I did?”

He stands up and she watches his blurry form become slightly clearer as he gets closer. “Let’s retrace your steps. When do you remember having them last?”

“Just a few minutes ago, I was doing paperwork and I-”

She reaches up and pats the top of her head, glaring at him when she feels the wire frames of her glasses. His grinning face comes into focus when she slips them on and she shoves at his arm. “How long were you going to let me look?”

He shrugs, and bites back a smile as she turns away.

The next time she loses her glasses, it’s because he’s wearing them.

“Did you know our prescriptions are relatively the same, Scully?” he asks, pinching the edge of the frames as he looks at the small print on one of his slides. “Must be fate.”

“You don’t even believe in fate,” she says, hands on her hips as she tries to make out his facial features to determine if he’s serious or not. “Do you?”

“Mm,” he answers, nodding vaguely at her, then pulls the glasses off and appears suddenly right in front of her and slides them gently onto her face. The world is suddenly crisp and clear and clean looking and he winks at her now that he knows she’ll see it.

1995

Skinner looks over at them expectantly, pausing in his briefing of the team of agents. “Mulder, can you read that report for us?”

“Hold on,” Mulder says, casting around for his glasses and landing on hers.

“God, Scully, you’re blind,” he says loudly as he puts them on. Heads turn.

“Our prescriptions are the same,” she hisses, kicking him lightly under the table. He traps her foot between his ankles and she holds in a gasp, trying to wiggle out, but he crosses his legs and keeps her from escape.

She grips the edges of her chair and tries to keep a pleasant expression on her face as she braces her other foot against his leg, trying to pry them apart. He’s reading the report coolly and evenly, the only voice in the room, and she realizes they’re playing footsie in the middle of an FBI case briefing.

She feels herself go warm, and then even warmer when Mulder places her glasses on her face when he finishes reading.

1996

She falls asleep with her glasses on all the time, in hospital beds, and wakes up to find them folded carefully on the table next to her. Eventually she stops wearing them, because seeing too clearly makes her feel too hopeful. If the world is blurry, it doesn’t seem such a shame to leave it.

When he’s there, though, she thinks it is a shame to not be able to see. But he gets close enough that it doesn’t matter.

She wonders if he knows, if he’s compensating for her. Coming closer to let her see him more clearly.

He kisses her cheek and she thinks that maybe she doesn’t even need to see at all.

“People who have been blinded can use their other senses much more strongly,” she tells him once, closing her eyes. “They can hear better, feel more intensely.”

He squeezes her hand and she feels it all over her aching body.

“That’s kind of kinky,” he says, and she laughs.

Who needs glasses when you can laugh in hospital beds? Who needs much of anything when life is so full even as it draws to a close?

1997

Sometimes, in motel rooms, they’re buzzing with adrenaline or anger or determinstion to solve a case. That’s when she can feel the tenuous tightrope stretched between them, waiting for someone to be brave enough to walk across it. He never wears his glasses then. When he’s angry, his face is bare and it fills that empty space with a red flush and a frustrated squint.

He wears his glasses when he’s sleepy. When they sit quietly in the motel rooms and read case files over and over until the words are painted on the backs of their eyelids and feel their bones sinking through their skin. Then the tightrope is a tidepool, lapping lightly at their edges until they slowly run together.

She looks up from a file to see him lift his glasses and rub his eyes.

“What time is it?” she asks quietly, and he glances at the clock by the bed and groans.

“Two fifteen.”

She lifts her glasses too, copies him. “I should get to my room.”

But the file is rearranging itself the longer she stares at it, the longer it pastes itself onto her visual cortex, and she feels that itch that means something is about to make sense.

It does, when the clock blinks 3:00 at her. She turns triumphantly to tell Mulder but finds him asleep over his file, glasses askew and crushed between his face and the mattress. He looks like a child and she remembers suddenly that she used to fall asleep while reading all the time when she was a girl.

Slowly, slowly, she stands and pads over to the bed. She wiggles his glasses off and realizes that he has not looked so young in a long time.

1998

She’s glad of it, after a few years. That their prescriptions are the same. She likes the idea that their eyes see the world the same way. Of course, he sees magic and conspiracies and she sees formulas and facts, but in the end they see the same things.

She gets shot by a man who sees what no one else does, who she can’t believe she is even seeing, and Mulder reads Tom Sawyer to her while she pretends to be asleep. He pushes up his glasses with his index finger and cleans them on her sheets.

“Why are you always in hospital beds?” he asks, when she has successfully convinced him of her unconsciousness. “You look so small.”

His voice wavers, no longer steady like it always has been, like she has begun to expect and rely on. That tightrope pulls, shivers across the distance between his knee and her side. There is so much to see when she opens her eyes.

anonymous asked:

What are some of your favorite AU's for Murphy?

  • punk au: with his hair hidden beneath a beanie, his clothes stinking of smoke, and arms twisted with black ink. there’s danger in his stance and misfortune in his fingertips; life’s been a bitch to the kid and it doesn’t seem to be looking up. he plays with a pair of old wire-framed glasses when he’s bored, and carries a tattered copy of hamlet in his bag. reminders of what could’ve been or what may be, but for now he’s just another criminal in a leather jacket smoking on railroad tracks and learning to forget the broken place that raised him.
  • witch au: potions stacked on book cases and spells scribbled on hands; crystals line windowsills and tarot cards are strewn across the floor. friday nights are seance nights, saturday he reads palms, and sunday he brews. magic seems to soak the air and the loft reeks of sorcery and tricks. a long time ago he would be burned for this, he’d be an outcast and a villain, but here he’s successful and non-witches sure do love to hear about their futures.
  • hades au: kingdom of bones, kingdom of death, kingdom of loneliness. he plays fetch with cerberus in the afternoon while the shades watch, their ghostly hands clapping together in what could be joy as the three-headed dog bounces after the ball. his fingers are stained crimson with pomegranate seeds and his robes have dirt everywhere, persephone is coming home soon and she’ll have his head if there isn’t fresh fruit. sometimes he wonders when he’ll live under the sky and watch the stars at night; the world is more barren around the lifeless, he’s becoming as much a shade as they are. 
  • grounder au: warpaint and revelry; tightened bow string and the scream of battle. he’s a warrior, living and breathing the fight. he saw the sky fall one day, the earth erupting in flames, and people of the stars claiming the land as their own. blood must have blood. and it does. the land is soaked with it, feeding the trees with the corpses of war and nurturing life with death. a sinking feeling captures his days and he wonders if they’re a people out of time.

A little unedited drabble of the beginning of something quite twisted for @hannibalcreative‘s #EattheRare…

~*~*~*~*~

Beyond the two way mirror was the face of Will Graham’s dreams and nightmares – a choked scream given life, damp fingers scrabbling in the dark. The same wolfish face and scarred eyes that had only seemed real to him with a tender hand on the side of his face and a knife slow waltzing in his gut.

He still remembered the muted sound of blood slipping out of his body, like rain across Hannibal’s Italian leather shoes. Hannibal.

The man he saw now had the same face, but that was it. It wasn’t just the white blood spattered shirt he was missing, but the sneer, the haughty precision – it was all gone. Hidden in irresolution and patched tweed.

Will swallowed the knot building in his throat.

The man that Jack wanted him to see was every bit the harried professor with his patched jacket and wire frame glasses. And he was most assuredly not Hannibal Lecter.

Now that Will could concentrate, he could see his hair was darker, more youthful, and falling in his eyes in a way Hannibal would not abide. His suit was form fitting but undeniably shabby. To Will, he most resembled a harried Georgetown professor, not the BAU’s most wanted. His eyes were tear stained, his shoulders shaking.

The mere coldness of the BAU had damaged him.

Poor little wounded bird.

Will startled only when Jack came out of the interrogation room, his mouth pursed to a hard frown.

“He’s not our man. I know that now.”

Will took a breath, licked his dry lips.

“What did he say?”

“That he’s not Hannibal,” said Jack. “He’s a school teacher from Denmark, Will. Everything he said came back clean. And I believe him.”

Will let that sink in. “Then I hope you didn’t break him too bad.”

Jack gave him a sharp look. “He’ll do fine. This isn’t the first time he’s been accused of something he was innocent of. He has an interesting story. The resemblance though, it’s uncanny. How do you explain that?”

They looked into the two way mirror, this time together.

Lucas was still now, the long, lean bones of his shoulders slumped. His hands were clasped together as if in prayer. A surge of anger unraveled inside the void of Will’s stomach, that this stranger would wear Hannibal’s face but not wear his blood…

“They say everyone has a twin out there right?” Jack muttered beside him. “That man there must be Hannibal’s.”

Will frowned, staring into the dim mirror again.

“Let me go in,” he said. Once it was spoken, there was no way to take it back.

Jack tensed. “Will.”

He let his head bow slightly, widening his eyes a fraction before making a show of lowering them to the floor. “Please,” he said. “I need to see.”

Jack exhaled. He laced his fingers behind his back. “Fine. You get five minutes. Just remember, he’s on your watch now. You break it, you buy it.”

Oh, I intend to.

10

TOP 10 Idols With Adorkable Fashion Sense 

10. Collar Shirt - Prince Mak (JJCC) & Chanyeol (EXO)

9. Loose Fit Sweater - IU & Suzy (Miss A)

8. Cuffed Jeans - Woozi (SEVENTEEN) & Hani (EXID)

7. Patterned Sweater - Minho (SHINee) & Kevin (U-Kiss)

6. Paper Boy Cap - Gongchan (B1A4) & P.O (Block B)

5. Long Turtle Neck - Junior (GOT7) & Sehun (EXO)

4. Brief Case Bag - Seolhyun (AOA)

3. Beanie - Jungkook (BTS) & Baekhyun (EXO)

2. Loafers - T.O.P (BIGBANG)

1. Wire Framed Glasses - Henry (Super Junior M)