molded leather

The Barbie Fashionistas Guide

Because I couldn’t find it ANYWHERE ELSE. This is the guide for the names of each Barbie Fashionistas character (post 2015 reboot).

This isn’t a perfect guide. It’s a work in progress. I’m posting both the official and theorized names for the characters and molds. I’ll try to keep the post updated as new dolls are released, so bookmark this if you need it, I guess. Message me if you know the name of a head mold for any of these dolls.

This is a very long post, and not all the images are great quality.

UPDATE!: On January 28, 2016, Mattel released 3 new body types for their fashionistas line.

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Break Part Three

Lance Tucker

Break Part Three

Warnings: sex, unprotected sex, oral, swearing, dry humping

Tags:  @littlevelvethearts@hoepalace@anitavalija@jesslovesfandom@dokuroskull23@angelsdeadromance@potterhead7656@breakingsupernaturlbad101@sebastian-stans-thighs@buckysteetime@sexyvixen7​​ @thatbandchick39@insickopedia@carabarnes13@petals-overdaisies@canadiancoven​ @laurenxyz @hoopluh@cassandralallorona@spiritassassins@kinqshley@lol-you-thought@6ftunderdoublechins​ 


Part One

Part Two

Part Four


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Shouldn’t 5

Characters:  Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary:  Dean acted upon his feelings for the reader then left her.  When he returned, he found her in bed with his brother.  What happens next?

Word Count:  1160

Warnings:  Language

Tags are at the bottom.  As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

Originally posted by supernatural-addiction-hotline

Shouldn’t 5

Sam wakes abruptly when a hand smacks the bare sole of the foot that dangles over the side of the bed. Startled, he props himself up on elbow, assessing the situation quickly. Is there a threat?  Where is his gun? After a moment, he registers Dean standing at the foot of the bed and remembers that (Y/N) is curled up next to him on the mattress.

“Dean? What the f…?” Sam says, pulling back the covers

Dean cuts him off, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m leaving in ten minutes. If you two are coming, you better get your asses in the car.”

“Dean, wait!” Sam shouts as (Y/N) stirs next to him.  

Dean doesn’t stop, marching straight for the door. He slams it behind him with such force that the cheap single paned windows rattle with his wrath.

“Sam, what’s going on?” (Y/N) asks, her eyes still puffy and red from crying last night.  

“Dean’s back,” Sam says, stuffing his things into a bag. “Listen, get your stuff together and meet us at the car. I’m going to to go talk to him.”

(Y/N) nods, her lower lip trembling. Now that Sam is awake enough to sort things out in his mind, he’s pissed off at his brother all over again. How the fuck could he do this to her? Sam reaches over and lifts her chin with his hand. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

She smiles bravely, but Sam can see by the look in her eye that it’s false bravado. With a sigh, he drops his hand and hefts his bag over his shoulder, heading out the door to confront his brother.

———–

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Breaking in your new skates.

I got my Riedell 229 Edge skates in this week! I’m currently working on breaking them in, which made me want to talk about breaking in new skates!

First of all, to those of you with sensitive feet or who are in complete woe about how uncomfortable their new skates are, I want to just say- YES, THIS IS NORMAL, YES IT WILL GET BETTER!

New skates shouldn’t feel like comfortable tennis shoes, if they do- they’re not properly fit. They should be tight when you get them- and yes- even uncomfortably so.

I wear a size 7 ½ shoe, but I wear a size 5 ½ skate.

Your toes might not have much room to wiggle at first- but they should be straight- without the bones feeling like they’re about to break. (You may have numbness and be unable to wiggle your toes)

If you’re getting fitted, go to a shop and have your feet measured to make sure it’s correct. It’s recommended that you’re fitted by a shop-employee or someone who fits skates regularly, doing it yourself isn’t recommended for the first time. 

The leather will be extremely stiff when you get your skates and there are multiple ways to break them in- one way is by baking them. Most skate rinks/shops have an oven or you can try doing it in your own home.

Basically they ‘bake’ the skates and then take them out and put them on your feet so the leather will mold to your foot shape. Will it completely & comfortably mold to your shape? No. But it’s a good start!

After that- wear them as often as you can. (with blade guards!) Wear them around the house, while you sleep, while you eat– anywhere where you can get away with wearing them will help. 

I spend a lot of time at a coffee shop near my apartment, I decided to bring them with me and wear them while I worked on the computer. 

Does it look weird? Yes, it’s a bit odd- but if you’re spending $100-$600 on skates, you shouldn’t care about that. Just focus on your skates fitting well so they won’t give you foot pain/blisters. 

You can also take a hair dryer at home, put your boots on & heat up the areas that are the most painful. Stretch your foot as much as you can in the boot while you work it over with the hair dryer. 

You might not believe it, but the heat from your feet in the shoes also softens the leather, and you walking around/bending your knees definitely goes a long way when it comes to breaking in your skates.

Finally- skating. When you skate, bend down a lot- do dramatized foot work to really stretch/bend the leather. If after a week or two you’re not seeing any progress- you can always go and have them baked once more- and if there’s a particularly stubborn spot- you can have your local skate shop ‘punch’ the trouble spot. (They basically heat that part of the skate up and press it out with a tool.)

Remember: Don’t leave your skates in a hot car, it’ll deform them. Also don’t get a skate too stiff for your skill level! If you’re a recreational skater and you get a boot that is meant for high-level jumps–  you’ll never preform hard enough in them to break them in! Get a boot for your level. 

When I lace my new skates up to wear them around the house– I barely tighten the first several eyelets- I simply pull the lace through until it’s straight and leave it without pressure. Then when I get to the 2-3 eyelets close to the bend in the ankle, I tighten those pretty tight. I then use the first 2 hooks and leave the other ones empty. 

By doing this, my feet have time to warm up/soften the leather a bit- so I can re-tie them in an hour and make the bottom laces tight with minimal pain– and the top hooks are loose/empty so you can bend your knees easily- and often. 

The ankle is super tight for– you guessed it– support. You can’t walk around in them if the ankle isn’t tight! 


Take frequent breaks when your feet hurt and document any pain you have– by the end of the 2 weeks, if that pain is just as bad as day 1- you might need to try something else (consult your skate shop!) to make that spot more comfortable. 

Best of luck! Now go love your new skates!  ❤


Baby: A retrospective.

I felt the life flow through my metallic body the night I heard my madam burn on the ceiling in the room of her precious baby boy. I wanted to run in, do anything to help, to save those little boys but I was just a car. I heard terrified sobs of the beautiful green eyed child as he ran outside clinging onto his younger brother. Just yesterday, he was sound asleep on my back seat with a tummy full of apple pie. My leather molding to his body, trying to keep him warm and comfortable as I carried the family home.

But when the fire had died down, my master had set the boys down. Little Dean’s sobs vibrating through me, his tears staining the seats.

After years I had learned that I was their home. The only constant other than each other. I often wished I could tell them how proud I was, that their mother would be proud of them. They were doing good. I pushed myself, to help them reach their destination safely, to help them get away, to keep them safe.

It was Dean who stayed. My Dean. I got to watch him become a strong man. The green eyes still the same, he was made to love. He took care of me, kept me in pristine condition- I was always shiny and sparkly. I was envied and I was his. And when little Sammy came back. I was ecstatic, it felt like old times. Except, no more did they have to sneak away to burn fireworks on the Fourth of July. Sammy, he wasn’t so little anymore. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. That’s what I heard, when their voices seeped into my frame.

The night of the accident, I gave myself. No harm should come to my boys. It was a good sacrifice. They were going to save the world. I knew it. Master had died, in order to save Dean. I was broken but I heard it. I heard them speak. Dean couldn’t let me go, he was rebuilding me. Making me whole again, so I could be with them.

The life seeped back into my body, the moment the key turned in my ignition and his fingers curled around my steering wheel. It felt like nothing had changed. Well, nothing had changed. The important stuff was still there. The Army men in the astray, the Legos in the vents and the carvings. Their names etched into my being. I was theirs, truly theirs. Their baby.

anonymous asked:

i hate endeavor but not even nearly as much as mineta because at least he has a significant role in todoroki's development. also shinsou's my boy and i love him but to be entirely honest i bet why he's so popular is he fits the "draco in leather pants" mold to a T and also he's a sad boy; i'm thinkin thats why people like him. curious tho: if u had to replace mineta with shinsou, the other purple boy, would u?

yeah like at least there’s a point made with endeavor, and his actions are framed as “this is a bad thing bc look how it ruined his family and todoroki’s life this is in no way a good thing” so like that’s find storywise.

and yeah that’s what i get from shinsou fans, and that’s totally cool if that’s the kind of character they like. just not my cup of tea i guess.

and to answer your question: in a heartbeat.

A First Glimpse

Eighth installment of the Castiel imagine series “At First Sight,” requested by a ton of you who are EXTREMELY angry about the last installment’s ending. I suggest reading the other installments (“At First Sight” - “You’re Growing On Me” - “Under His Wing” - “Wandering Thoughts” - “Warrior Of Heaven” - “When You Wake” - “The Ultimatum”) before proceeding here so as not to concuss yourself out of sheer confusion. This has been edited for reposting, just to add some detail. Hope you like it!

(All past and future installments can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page)

It was suggested, by some (here meaning the medical staff) that remaining in captivity for a week more was a wiser option than ripping the intravenous needle from your arm. You were no fool when it came to hospital staff; they fully intended to strap you to your cot and dive into the supposed injury done to your brain. Rather than act as a living, breathing dummy for doctors to poke and prod, you decided to take your leave, but it wasn’t as simple as snatching a bottle of painkillers offered rather reluctantly by a nurse on your way out. You were going to need some help from the professional prison-breakers you knew and loved. Sam Winchester had strolled into your hospital room an hour after you called, handing off a clipboard to a waiting nurse, his hands sliding beneath your triceps to lift you to a standing position. His fingers plugged the minuscule holes in your arms with gauze and medical tape as you tore yourself free from the tubes of medicine and buzzing mechanical sensors, your body contracting in a wince with each extraction. With one final glance at the nurse, you leaned heavily against Sam’s side, his hand slipping around your waist to aid your steps as he crutched you away from your excruciatingly sterile prison cell. There was really nothing she could do to stop you from leaving, especially with the six-foot-four monster hulking at your side, his body wrapped protectively around your own.

Your thoughts were jumbled  by what little medicine remained in your system as you attempted to focus on the seemingly simple task of moving each foot, progressing forward at an annoyingly slow pace. Every few steps would be a stumble, followed bu Sam’s agitated whisper wondering aloud if you really were fit to leave, his worries grating against your eardrums. His once melodic, charming voice was now a rough, calloused sound, and for some strange reason, you couldn’t place it to your irritation for how ragged his voice was. It wasn’t your aggravation that altered his speech. Your feet shuffled along as your human cane guided you out of the hospital’s sliding glass doors, the familiar sight of Dean leaning up against his Impala striking you through with confusion. Were you mistaken in your memories of the crash? If not that, had the doctor been mistaken when he told you you’d been driving when the tuck hydroplaned into you? The sleek exterior of the beloved car was unscathed, unscratched, and the glass was intact… Hell, there were hardly any fingerprints on the thing. Dean propelled himself forward, his body lurching away from the vehicle as he opened the back door for Sam to shuffle you into the car, your body molding into the flawless leather upholstery, seats that had been shredded and crushed by the force of impact so perfectly restored so quickly. Two doors slammed, the interior rocking from the newly accommodated weight of the brothers, the engine roaring to life without fuss. Huh. You could’ve sworn the doctor mentioned being hit somewhere that’d cause a problem with that growling engine. Sam’s passenger side window was unbroken, the door unbuckled. Either Dean was a fast worker, or someone had lied to your doctor. Your fingers trailed over the stitching of the seat, the belt biting into your neck as you squirmed.

“How long was I out?” you rasped, your voice not yet restored to it’s usual tone, the brothers shooting each other cautious sideways glances, Sam’s hand tightening on his thigh. The action was brief, but nothing could be missed by someone as perceptive as a recently woken comatose patient. Being robbed or your vision gave birth to new levels of observation even hunters didn’t possess. Your eyes targeted every movement with ease, and this one sparked your curiosity. The men remained silent, leaving your question unanswered… a strange practice, especially considering how close you were to both of them. Sam twisted, avoiding eye contact as he passed you a water bottle, your hand reaching shakily for the offering, your motor skills infuriatingly rusty. If you’d been left this damaged, there must have been some sort of collision. Some crash… yet no visible damage to the Impala. You turned your attention to Dean, his hair illuminated by the afternoon sun, his emerald eyes dissecting the road on the way back to the bunker. His skin, from what you had seen, was unscratched, much like the car you so vividly remembered crunching all around you before you woke to the medical staff’s inquiries. “Dean, you doing okay?” His eyes flickered back to you, a second spent acknowledging your voice before returning his attention to the sprawling asphalt, his brow furrowing before he spoke.

“Fit as a fiddle. It wasn’t as bad for me as it was for you, you know. Crashed right into the diver’s side, all I had to deal with were scrapes and bruises,” he grumbled, his hands manipulating the wheel as the car turned onto the road that held that bunker. Maybe the doctor was misinformed. That would explain Dean’s lack of injury, but nothing had arisen yet to explain the impeccable condition of the muscle car. Your eyes adjusted to the rays of sun shattering through the windshield as Dean pulled off the road, parking beside the unassuming brick building that held every supernatural secret known to the men who scribbled them down. Sam was at your side almost as soon as the engine cut off, his hands pulling you from your seat, a much appreciated third leg doing most of your walking for you as Dean spoke over his shoulder, shoving the old brass key into the ancient lock. “Let’s just get you inside, get you healed up and back to work, alright? We need you behind a machete as soon as possible.” The bunker was darker, somehow, wider and higher than you remembered… and it was quiet. Sam lead you down the staircase, carrying you more than allowing you to walk, the balls of your feet barely brushing against the chilled cement stairs, his gait quicker without your effort to walk on your own. Your hand trailed over the wrought iron railing, the smooth, cold surface gliding beneath your skin, your fingers holding to the banister as long as was possible before your arm smacked into your side and Sam was crutching you across the floor. He was lead you to your bedroom, stopping abruptly in the doorway, his body tensing as your eyes scanned over what appeared to have been a small-scale tornado confined by your four walls. Your room was a toppled mess, no corner left untarnished. Your bedside lamp was laying on the floor, the sheets were scrunched and wrinkled, the very ceiling was scorched, beige paint marred by charcoal tendrils resembling brush strokes. Sam moved with a protective haste, yanking you away from the door as he pulled it closed, moving you, instead, towards his bedroom, your exhausted body collapsing atop his crisp comforter, closing your eyes against the world, your ears struggling to ignore the hushed argument of the brothers as they rifled about in your room.

The weeks that followed only managed to scramble your memories further; the Winchesters seemed to dodge your every question, whether it be in regards to Garth or a hunt or the wreck. They spoke with carefully chosen words, their sentence fragments practiced as if they feared you would be harmed by the wrong pairing of phrases. Their movements were stiffer, their eye contact shorter, their faces sporting matching facades. Something had happened after the crash, you knew, something they were dead-set on keeping a secret. Your initial thought was a demon deal, considering how severely you’d been injured, but the brothers shot your assumption into the ground without their usual forced honesty. You couldn’t quite place it, but something within you had altered as well. Your mind was at war with what you knew to be fact; your injuries were healing along your left cheekbone, your left shoulder’s splotchy bruise fading from purple to a yellow stain, yet the truck had collided with your right side… according to your doctor. According to Dean, it’d hit your side of the car. Disregarding the point of collision, the wound was rounded, not spread as it would have been had your face hit the glass or the steering wheel. It was almost as if you’d been struck by fist instead of an automobile, but this was impossible. The vamps you were hunting were easy prey, and none of them had managed to sock you before their heads were rolling on the floor. It didn’t add up. You were spending far too much time thinking on the details of the hospital visit; when you were considered physically stable enough to venture back into your profession, you were relieved to take yourself away from the bunker, praying your sanity would return to you upon leaving the confines of the fortress.

You found yourself meandering down some small-town main street, your eyes darting from resident to resident, to ‘Missing Dog’ posters stapled to telephone poles and advertisements for teenage babysitters looking for a little extra money. Your feet scuffed against the sidewalks as you made your way down the populated stretch, your eyes searching through the clusters of mothers and toddlers, the whistling of the wind rushing by your ears as you searched for the demonic presence you were assigned to exorcise, a flask of holy water splashing merrily against your hip, the additional weight around your waist adding a sense of confidence to your stride. It was insurance in case you couldn’t tie the thing down before it started swinging. Like pepperspray, it’d keep you safe, and with your health assured, it was almost peaceful searching for the Hell-spawn. The breeze caught your hair, tangling it before your eyes, blinding you momentarily. You stumbled backwards a step, your hand lifting to clear your face when iron fingers closing around your wrist, tugging you into a narrow alleyway before you could even consider fighting the stranger’s hold. Your back collided with crumbling brick, the aged exterior of the alleyway clattering to your feet. You fought forward, but your arms were plastered to the wall above your head in an instant, a sneering, grimy smile slick with saliva set below oily black pools occupying your sight. Wordless, the demon brought his head back with intent to smash his skull against yours, neck craning for the wind-up, veins protruding beneath his pale skin. You flinched to the side, ducking your head into your shoulder, a sickening crunch sounding above you, followed by a sadistic laugh. The hands clenched around your wrists tightened as they pulled you away from the wall, throwing you to the opposite end of the alley, yet another unforgiving brick wall colliding with your spine. A stream of blood poured slowly from the puncture point in the middle of the vessel’s forehead, a shard of rust coloured brick jutting out from the wound. The demon brought his face closer to yours, his acrid breath huffing over your face, reeking of dental decay and of death.

“Well, if it isn’t the angel’s favourite plaything!” he hissed, lips stretching farther upon witnessing your perplexed expression, ducking his head as he laughed. “Gonna play stupid with me, huh? He’s even got holy water on you,” his finger flicked the metal flask through your shirt, the muted clink somehow proving his point. But… angels? You’d never come into contact with any, and you sure as Hell weren’t anyone’s plaything. He brought his gaze to your face once more, grinding his teeth in malice as he inched closer still, thick scarlet blood free-falling from the tip of his nose. “Got a long leash, don’t you? I’m surprised he let you out at a-” His eyes shot open in agony, their gleaming obsidian depths replaced instantaneously with a blinding white light. Your eyes pinched shut instinctively against the glorious glare, shielding the purifying demon from your view. As soon as you moved, the hands about your wrists fell with the body to the asphalt below, your enemy vanquished. When you raised your face to thank your savior, your vision blotched with twin circles of white… but even they could not obscure the masses of… were they gemstones, or were they… feathers blocking out the sun, quills reaching towards you, their tune filling the unknown emptiness in the air with a vaguely familiar song. Your eyes tore away from the splendor, a feat in itself, connecting with the equally intriguing ocean eyes of the man to whom these wings belonged, his lips upturned in a shielded, weary smile, his chest expanding with a single, pained breath before collapsing, his shoulders rolling back, keeping the wings at a formal distance. The action was so… familiar. He was so familiar. Your hand raised to your temple, attempting to crush the sudden rush of searing pain as a thousand forgotten moments ran rampant in your head, your breath shallow as a trillion scenes played against your eyelids. The bunker, the wings, the feathers, the ceiling, the bandages, the branding, the unfinished warding, the fists colliding again and again with your cheekbone as you were questioned about the man’s whereabouts, about your relationship. Ansiel. Sam, Dean, and the angel. You huffed, falling back against the wall, the angel’s face connecting with a name, familiarity, and even love.

There had been no crash.

“Castiel,” you breathed, collapsing to the ground, your vision scorched around the edges with the pain of your found memories, a hand cradling your head seconds before your skull could crack against the pavement now biting into your back. Your vision faded quickly to an inky black, centered around the sapphires of his eyes as they glowed with the reflection of his multifaceted wings, concern, and the suddenly recognizable flame of adoration.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his tender voice becoming increasingly distant as you faded from conscious thought.

Headcanons no one asked for

Jesse McCree- Probably smells like cigar smoke and gun powder, with a hint of whiskey. Sometimes the outdoors, nature or grass. His hat smells of old leather and mold. Depending on if he showers or not his hair will smell like vanilla or smoke and oil.

Soldier: 76- Smells like sweat and leather. When he was younger he smelled like sweat and cheep cologne, sometimes like a fireplace. His hair used to smell like green apples and evergreens.

Junkrat- He smells of burned rubber and smoke, sometimes metal. His hair smells burned and like dirt or mold.

Reaper- Usually smells of smog, rotting corpses, and dried leather. When he was younger and in Blackwatch he smelled like expensive cologne and spices. His hair always smelled like waterfalls and fruit.

thing-you-do-with-that-thing  asked:

First of all congrates Kim. You are awesome and this is so deserved. And so I am gonna say Destiel (cause you turned me into a shipper!) and the word is leatherjacket (two words technically but I am a cheat :P)

Thanks, Karina! So glad I turned you into a shipper! XOXO

Dean knows he shouldn’t be thinking this, but Cas just looks so fucking hot in his leather jacket. Cas can’t walk around with blood all over his trench coat, even if the blood isn’t his own, and Cas insisted that he wouldn’t take a jacket that Dean might want to wear. So Dean dug out his old leather jacket, the one he hasn’t worn in years, and Cas has been walking around in it all day.

And now Dean is lusting after an angel. An angel in a male vessel. And the strange part was how not strange it was. Dean was certain that this wasn’t his fault, Cas was just too attractive. No one would be able to look at Cas and not notice how the leather molded to his broad shoulders, how the bottom of it brushed over the curve of his sculpted ass, how the collar pushed up into that “I look like I just got fucked” hair.

Before he can stop himself, he’s in his own mind, fantasizing about being on his knees and looking up at Cas, tall and powerful and sexy as hell in that jacket. Dean’s jacket.

Because Cas was Dean’s.

It was the exact moment he had that thought that Cas turns around, eyebrow raised and eyes shining, and Dean knows that Cas can hear his thoughts somehow, that he knows.

“Should we go back to the motel, then?” Cas asks.

So many reasons why Dean should say no. But all he can do is stare at the leather surrounding his angel, and nod yes.

3

Fall fashion is all about layering. I love finding the best colors and textures to go with the right outfit. Fall and winter are my favorite time of year. The holidays during the colder months I consider the best and I enjoy watching the seasons change.

I wear a lot of thicker neckties during the colder months. I never dress down and I’m usually wearing an overcoat, blazer, corduroy pants, a sweater and dress shoes. As much as I love wearing ties, I also love wearing shawl-neck cardigans and shawl-neck pullovers. Instead of wearing a scarf, the shawl keeps my neck warm. I like how this item can visibly be seen underneath my blazer and overcoat. Also, when worn, these two items convey a sense of uniform. This sets them apart from wearing just a basic crewneck sweater or cardigan.

One specific item I look forward to wearing before it gets too cold is a mahogany leather tassel loafer from a bespoke shoe brand called Cobbler Union. Cobbler Union believes in creating an affordable luxury product. These are the most comfortable pair of loafers I own. The foot beds have extra padding inside and after a few times wearing them, the leather has molded to my feet. I like shoes that I can easily dress up or down and these are the perfect example of that type of shoe.

your side, worn and warm & my godforsaken inventions (ronan/adam)

notes: i’ve been in a slump for ages, so i thought i’d brush up this wip into something somewhat presentable. we could all use some affectionate ronan and adam (more than) allowing it. it’s fluff. just fluff.

(words: 939)

“You can come in, Lynch.” Adam says, murmured without looking up from his Word History textbook, the shadowed figure in the hall toeing open the door before he has the chance to finish his sentence, almost as though Ronan had anticipated Adam’s invitation the moment before he’d actually offered it, forgetting pretense or propriety before entering Adam’s shabby St. Agnes apartment. 

It’s something Adam’s not particularly unused to, but something he wrinkles his nose at because it seems more appropriate than the knowing smile that edges at the corners of his lips, laced with routine fondness.

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The End of Your Myth 1/? by @solitary-sister (Click for ao3) 

Featuring the lovely new pairing she created of Draco/Lee! 


There is nothing familiar here. The people he passes look at him as if he’s the strange one. Stumbling, Draco realizes he is.

But he is capable and a quick learner. Stay off the blacktop road, walk to the right, pause at the curb. The language is familiar, as if he’s been listening to it through a wall. He finds he understands most of the words he catches. Under his breath he tries several himself but his tongue struggles with the foreign sounds.

He thought leaving his armour would make him lighter on his feet, quieter and harder to catch. While this proves to be true, it also leaves him feeling unbearably vulnerable. He longs for the familiar weight of the molded metal, of the leathers worn soft with use.

He is at a loss as to how to find his way back, unable to remember enough of the initial sprint to retrace his steps. Confusion dissapates now slowly as the air grows crisper, thinner, colder. It gives way to panic Draco hasn’t known since his first days in Argos. He was just a boy then.

The shops glow with an unnatural sort of light, harsher than sun or fire. Every time he walks in front of a door swung open he feels heat spilling from inside. He wants to enter, to warm himself but he’s unsure if he is welcome or where he’ll be safest.

He died hating the gods but the moment he sees that man he finds himself thanking them. Draco recognizes him by his body rather than his face, having only gotten the quickest of glances through squinted, sleep feigning eyes. A thick, plaid coat hangs over his slight form but Draco knows it’s him.

Cutting off a pair of pedestrians, Draco presses his filthy hands to the cafe’s glass in earnest. The man rips paper packets and pours the contents into a small, white cup. He raised it to his face and inhales deeply. Holding the position a moment too long, he turns.

Their eyes meet and it is undecided who is more relieved.

First Order Flametrooper - The Force Awakens Exhibit at Star Wars Celebration Anaheim, April 19 2015

Specialized Stormtroopers of the First Order, Flametroopers carry incendiary weapons that can transform any battlefield into an infernal blaze.

Helmet and Armor - molded polyurethane

Undersuit -  cotton lycra

Gussets - molded rubber and cotton lycra

Collar - neoprene and rubber 

Belt - rubber 

Gloves -  molded polyurethane, leather and cotton 

Boots - leather

Backpack & Gun - 3D print with aluminum metal work 

United Cutlery has taken the Honshu fighter to next level with this brand new Aizu Ring Fighter. Combining the power and size of a traditional fighter with the tactical applications of a karambit, the Aizu is one of Honshu’s fiercest designs to date.

  • Razor-sharp 7Cr13 stainless steel blade
  • Non-reflective black anodized finish
  • Ergonomic injection-molded handle
  • Includes leather belt sheath
  • 7 5/8" blade; 13 ½" overall
A place by the water

Summary: Three times Emma thought of asking Killian to move in with her.

Rated M for sexy times and chest hair and scotch tape problems.

No beta on this one,so show me kindness.

xxx

The first time Emma thought about asking him she was standing in her soon to be ex living room in New York, Henry was somewhere in his room fastening over boxes, more of them standing next to the door as they were filling the car -not the bug but the trunk her father had offered to leave to them for the week end.

Killian was however with her, putting some books she had read - did it count as reading when the memories were fake ? She tried not to delve on the subject, afraid to end with nothing but a headache.

It was ridiculous, she thought however, how two lives seemed to crash and fusion into one. How the difference between here and there was so palpable and about to disappear in those boxes. As she watched, Killian wander around her loft, swinging between two boxes and helping Henry to pack, his smile so wide Emma felt her chest tighten. He looked truly ecstatic about all of this - she knew all too well how much he had tensed every time her parents - currently busy with baby Neal- were talking about her life in New York. His hand would close into a fist and his jaw would clench, despite her decision to stay and what happened to them in their little trip in time, he still worried.

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