mewitti:

Finished! I’ve always related to this phrase… without my glasses, I can’t even read the big “E” at the top of the eye chart at the doctor’s. The flowers on this are saffron and eyebright, both plants that help with vision, and the bat is a lesser long-eared bat. 

I also stuck this on a shirt for those who like to wear cute animals and flaunt their poor eyesight.

find me on the second star to the right

eternalstereksecretsanta:

@hoechness | AO3 – 

Three years after Stiles disappeared from Derek’s life, Derek meets him again in a bar in Persephone.


“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

The voice is like a trigger, turning the rhythm of Derek’s heart into a loud, frenetic drumbeat. Derek knows that voice. He knows how that voice sounds when it’s buzzing with giddy excitement or seething with rage. He remembers when that voice would lure him out of sleep in the early morning and when it anchored him during the full moons his wolf cried out for his family. It’s the voice that never said goodbye.

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5×3 for the Skam kiss prompt?

winterhawkkisses:

631.

Barnes stalks over to him, shoulders and jaw squared, every line of him drawn heavy and crisp.

“Just go with it,” he snaps out, and Clint nods automatically and then rocks backwards as Barnes grabs onto his face with both hands and presses a kiss to his idiot mouth that’s too goddamn startled to ease up a little, get a taste. 

“What?” he asks, and Barnes rests their foreheads together; it probably looks better from a distance, without the angry eyes. 

Barnes doesn’t answer, just kisses him again, and Clint lets instinct take over, tilting his head a little and softening his lips, curving his arm around Barnes’ waist. 

“I mean,” he says, breath just a little short, “not that I don’t appreciate -” 

Barnes has eased a little, a different kind of intensity in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirks into something like a smile before he presses a couple quick blunt kisses to Clint’s mouth rather than listening to him babble. It’s probably a wise choice. Many have made it before. 

“Might’ve put my foot in it with the press,” Bucky says. “Help a fella out?” 

Clint glances over his shoulder at the camera flashes, the endless telescope lenses pointed their way. 

“Just in public, right?” he asks, and Bucky snorts. 

“Where else?”

“Right,” Clint says, over the sinking sensation. “Sure.”