seen from China
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seen from Argentina
Their wings puff and ruffle slightly as a bit of a thrill runs through them at the sight of his little heart shaped eyelights. They giggle softly, putting one hand to his chest and the other to their own. Their smile couldn't possibly get any wider
You can feel the hum of his soul through his clothes, a soft fluttering against your hand. Its rhythm matches your heartbeat. Red puts his hand over yours on his chest, pressing it closer.
Snow
Snow — I’ll write a drabble of our characters building a snowman together
“Shut up, it looks great!” Isobel pouted as she continued to sculpt the face of Terry with a ball of snow. Terry, Sue and Isobel were waiting to the rest of the group to join them to get something to drink at the three broomsticks but they decided to spend their time building a snowman as they waited, the girls using Terry as their model.
“It looks like Flich’s face...after getting hit by the whomping willow...” Sue said between laughs as she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Well, if you narrow your eyes and tilt your head...it looks more like Flich’s cat after getting hit by the whomping willow” The girl laughed out loud. “Any how, it doesn’t look like Terry.”
“May I move, please?” said Terry as he tried to stay still for the girls to copy his pose.
“Not until I’m done!” Isobel narrowed her eyes and stomp her foot, making a statement. “this is art, Sue! you just don’t get it.” She said as she shook her head.
Sue chuckled and turned to Terry. “What do you say Terry? Flitch or Mrs. Norris?” Terry snorted and stopped posing for a second as he and Sue laughed along.
i’m going to be making christmas presents this year
Once Upon a December |task pt.1|
Eleanor didn’t know what she thought about anything. She didn’t have many--if any--friends. She was somewhat of a recluse, living in a shack in the middle of a field. The field was surrounded by acres of dense forest. She liked the quiet of it all. Well, now she did.
When she was a little girl, Eleanor lived in a village in the woods. She would come out to the field of wildflowers to play. She would run around and pick flowers to sell in the market. She was happy. Everyone in the village loved Little Ellie, a sweet little seamstress’s daughter. She was always smiling. But, she was a child. And children have tendencies to be greedy.
There was a day, Eleanor was only eleven. She was laying out in the field in her favorite yellow dress, her hair curled with a single pink bow atop her head. She watched the clouds pass, calling out the shapes she could see in the fluff. Soon, she drifted off to sleep. Not for long, but long enough for it to be almost dark when she woke up.
Her little heart dropped, filled with terror as she sat up, searching the dark field for someplace to go. She could barely see past the tree line, the forest so thick. Eleanor ran to a large rock and climbed atop it, scanning the field. Suddenly, she saw an old woman walking through the flowers, a lantern in her hand. Eleanor ran to her. She collapsed against the old lady’s hips, embracing who she thought to be her savior.
“Can I please borrow your lantern?” Eleanor rushed. The old woman lifted it, and Eleanor could see her face. She looked to be hundreds of years old, with matted and wiry grey hair. Eleanor let go of the woman out of fear.
“What a pretty bow,” the lady touched Eleanor’s head, “A pretty, pretty, bow.”
Trying her hardest to be brave, Eleanor swallowed and then asked again, “Could I p-please, ma’am, borrow your light? I need to get home.”
“But if I give you my lantern, how will I see to get home?” the woman said. “How about a deal? You give me your pretty, pretty bow, and I will walk you to your house.”
“It’s my bow,” Eleanor said. “My mother puts it in my hair every day. I like it a lot. I don’t want to give it up.”
“But I don’t have a pretty bow for my hair,” the old woman said, “And you don’t have a light to guide you home. So it seems we both have something the other wants.”
“I don’t want the lamp, I need it,” she didn’t want the old woman to take her home. Mother wouldn’t be happy if she knew Eleanor was out past dark and talking to strangers. “You don’t need a hair bow.”
“A greedy little girl, yes?” the woman cackled. “Stubborn as a mule.”
“I just want to get home to my mother, please!” Eleanor was almost crying. “At least let me light a stick on fire to make a torch. I just want to get home.” it was even darker now. A mean boy that lived in her village told her that once the sun was down, and if you were out in the woods, that you were going to be taken by a witch and made into pie. She didn’t believe him, but that’s all she could think about now. It was the witching hour, and this woman looked like a witch.
“A stubborn, greedy, little mule,” she cackled louder. “Never to find her way home.”
In a panic, Eleanor let out a cry, shoving the woman and grabbing the lantern. She ran as fast as she could to the village, never looking back at at cackling witch.
"Have you heard Marty play before?"
A small chuckle from the scientist. That would’ve been like asking Marty if he’d seen Emmett work on any inventions before.
“Of course. Frequently, as a matter of fact… He often has his guitar with him when he’s over, and will usually be playing it to some extent if he’s not working on anything else. That, and I’ve heard the band play a few times in addition.
He’s remarkably talented.”
\\Closed//
winchesterorangel
Sam had been doing research on an odd string of deaths that came from a sudden change in the weather. He couldn't find any deity or monster that could possibly be behind that and decided to take a break from it. He had gone to get him and Dean food, waiting for the waitress to bring him the brown bag of salad and heart attack inducing beef when he saw a familiar jacket and head of hair walk by outside. He placed money down and took the bag quickly, thanking her before going outside to follow the figure. He walked up and put his hand on his shoulder, dropping the bag of food. Dear God, tell him this isn't another case of Sam meeting soulless!Sam meeting tortured Sam. Maybe it was a shifter. He sure hoped not. "Who the hell are you?" Sam asked.
Swiggity Swangover Yuki's got a Hangover |@apparitionmagnet (CLOSED)
"What... happened last night." Yuki slumped forward in his library desk, unable to study anymore even if he tried, the book that was now under his crossed arms laying open but forgotten. He could remember bits and pieces of things here and there, something about sunglasses... but that was about it. Had this crazy school finally gotten to him? Had he cracked!? The pants thing was bad enough, and after that he had sworn he would never become like the other students... he would remain sane... he wouldn't do anything he'd regret.
Letting out a deep breath the chef rested his forehead in his crossed arms, his nose brushing against the open book. "What is wrong with this school..."
