graphics (lindsay)
This is everything I've made so far. There is not nearly as much as Mary. Some were inspired by fics, some have fic snippets that go with them, some are from fanmixes. I'm posting the fanmix graphics because they are much larger than the ones that went with the mixes.
Nathan & Emily / Simon & April (Cover of Parallels fanmix)
I’m in love with the world,
Through the eyes of a girl,
Who’s still around the morning after.
Darling, the legs aren’t so beautiful, I just know what to do with them.
She remembers the look on his face was so strange, confusion and shock and an ineffable sadness melding together in his eyes as he stood there, framed in the doorway of the kitchen. He was fresh home from work, still wearing his coat and suit and tie, briefcase and leather satchel in either hand. They fell to the floor with a muted thump as he moved towards her. His hands came up to hold her face, but never once touched her, as if he couldn’t trust himself with something that fragile. Then he left, hurrying through the garage to the black sedan parked by the curb and leaving his security detail scrambling to follow.
That was four hours ago and he still hasn’t come home. His things are still lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, her test results crumpled and torn in half, scattered on the counter.
She holds the white gold band between her fingers, staring at the barely there engraving, worn from so many years of slipping and turning over her skin.
Forever & Always.
She presses her lips together, pulling the duvet up to her chest and squeezing it against her body as she fights the inevitable tears. She wonders if after everything they’ve been through, if this is the final straw, if this is what finally breaks them.
From the fic - Scribbled Out Name
Love is the fire in which we burn. (Cover of Burn fanmix)
Sitting across the table, he watches as she leans forward on her elbows, fingers stretching across the table, perilously close to touching his. His hand twitches, anxious and itching to slip his fingers into the empty spaces of hers, to rub his thumb over the skin of her wrist and see if it’s as soft as it looks.
It all seems so crazy now, how he followed her half way across campus in the opposite direction from his next class just to ask her if she liked coffee, because he liked coffee, and maybe they could like it together sometime.
He didn’t know that sometime meant right now, not that he’s complaining.
Her hair curls over her shoulders, falling in soft waves around her face, and it looks as dark as his coffee in the dim light of the café and the hazy green of its neon sign. He remembers how red it seemed as it stuck to her forehead, slick with rain, and how he could see strands of honeyed blonde when she shook it out in the sunlight.
It’s on the tip of his tongue, something he needs to say, maybe about her amazing color changing hair, or her stunning brown eyes. Then she smiles, cheeks perfectly flushed and rosy, like she’s about to laugh or say something utterly brilliant or possibly break his heart in a million pieces, and he forgets. He forgets how to speak, how to breathe, maybe even how to live because right in this moment he can’t imagine doing any of those things without her.
(The Way We Were, part 1)
She leans her elbow on the table and rests her cheek on her fist. Her other hand smoothes over the napkin next to her plate, her fingertips running along the satin edge as she stares placidly at him. He’s still talking, hands waving and fingers pointing as he rambles on about George’s latest public policy debacle. She’s debating whether she should just tell him or keep waiting for him to notice, smirking slightly when he adjusts his glasses and catches her gaze, only to look back down at his plate and pick with his fork at the remains of roast beef.
As suddenly as he looked away he looks back up, hand frozen in midair with his palm up, white gold wedding band shining in the candle light. His mouth snaps shut and he stares at her for a moment. He has the sneaking suspicion that there’s something he’s missing.
She can’t help the way the corner of her mouth quirks or the slight arch of her eyebrow as she watches him watching her. Then his eyes skim over the room, coming to rest on the span of cherry wood between them. He frowns and reaches out to pick up the small yellow book, glancing up at her face before pulling it back and holding it up in front of him.
It’s a poetry book, which itself is hardly unusual for her to have, but then he reads the title and trails over the image on the cover to the author’s name.
Emily Gates
His eyes go wide and his mouth opens in surprise. She smirks, but stays on her side of the table with her head still resting on her hand. A heartbeat later he springs out of his chair and practically runs around the table, pulling her to her feet and into a bone crushing hug.
Her arms wrap around his neck as he buries his face in her neck, whispering how proud he is of her, how talented and amazing she is. He lifts her off her feet and she laughs, squealing with delight when he whirls her around right there in the dining room. When he sets her down, he doesn’t have a chance to ask when or how because her lips are pressing firmly against his and anything he was about to say seems vastly unimportant.
Nathan & Emily / Simon & April (Cover of Parallels fanmix)
I’m in love with the world,
Through the eyes of a girl,
Who’s still around the morning after.
Darling, the legs aren’t so beautiful, I just know what to do with them.
She remembers the look on his face was so strange, confusion and shock and an ineffable sadness melding together in his eyes as he stood there, framed in the doorway of the kitchen. He was fresh home from work, still wearing his coat and suit and tie, briefcase and leather satchel in either hand. They fell to the floor with a muted thump as he moved towards her. His hands came up to hold her face, but never once touched her, as if he couldn’t trust himself with something that fragile. Then he left, hurrying through the garage to the black sedan parked by the curb and leaving his security detail scrambling to follow.
That was four hours ago and he still hasn’t come home. His things are still lying in the middle of the kitchen floor, her test results crumpled and torn in half, scattered on the counter.
She holds the white gold band between her fingers, staring at the barely there engraving, worn from so many years of slipping and turning over her skin.
Forever & Always.
She presses her lips together, pulling the duvet up to her chest and squeezing it against her body as she fights the inevitable tears. She wonders if after everything they’ve been through, if this is the final straw, if this is what finally breaks them.
From the fic - Scribbled Out Name
Love is the fire in which we burn. (Cover of Burn fanmix)
Sitting across the table, he watches as she leans forward on her elbows, fingers stretching across the table, perilously close to touching his. His hand twitches, anxious and itching to slip his fingers into the empty spaces of hers, to rub his thumb over the skin of her wrist and see if it’s as soft as it looks.
It all seems so crazy now, how he followed her half way across campus in the opposite direction from his next class just to ask her if she liked coffee, because he liked coffee, and maybe they could like it together sometime.
He didn’t know that sometime meant right now, not that he’s complaining.
Her hair curls over her shoulders, falling in soft waves around her face, and it looks as dark as his coffee in the dim light of the café and the hazy green of its neon sign. He remembers how red it seemed as it stuck to her forehead, slick with rain, and how he could see strands of honeyed blonde when she shook it out in the sunlight.
It’s on the tip of his tongue, something he needs to say, maybe about her amazing color changing hair, or her stunning brown eyes. Then she smiles, cheeks perfectly flushed and rosy, like she’s about to laugh or say something utterly brilliant or possibly break his heart in a million pieces, and he forgets. He forgets how to speak, how to breathe, maybe even how to live because right in this moment he can’t imagine doing any of those things without her.
(The Way We Were, part 1)
She leans her elbow on the table and rests her cheek on her fist. Her other hand smoothes over the napkin next to her plate, her fingertips running along the satin edge as she stares placidly at him. He’s still talking, hands waving and fingers pointing as he rambles on about George’s latest public policy debacle. She’s debating whether she should just tell him or keep waiting for him to notice, smirking slightly when he adjusts his glasses and catches her gaze, only to look back down at his plate and pick with his fork at the remains of roast beef.
As suddenly as he looked away he looks back up, hand frozen in midair with his palm up, white gold wedding band shining in the candle light. His mouth snaps shut and he stares at her for a moment. He has the sneaking suspicion that there’s something he’s missing.
She can’t help the way the corner of her mouth quirks or the slight arch of her eyebrow as she watches him watching her. Then his eyes skim over the room, coming to rest on the span of cherry wood between them. He frowns and reaches out to pick up the small yellow book, glancing up at her face before pulling it back and holding it up in front of him.
It’s a poetry book, which itself is hardly unusual for her to have, but then he reads the title and trails over the image on the cover to the author’s name.
Emily Gates
His eyes go wide and his mouth opens in surprise. She smirks, but stays on her side of the table with her head still resting on her hand. A heartbeat later he springs out of his chair and practically runs around the table, pulling her to her feet and into a bone crushing hug.
Her arms wrap around his neck as he buries his face in her neck, whispering how proud he is of her, how talented and amazing she is. He lifts her off her feet and she laughs, squealing with delight when he whirls her around right there in the dining room. When he sets her down, he doesn’t have a chance to ask when or how because her lips are pressing firmly against his and anything he was about to say seems vastly unimportant.