tucking rim

Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Warnings:  Smut
Summary: It’s your wedding night with Bucky but it doesn’t go to plan. 
A/N: Okay so this is based off an ask here and I couldn’t help but drabble it, please let me know what you think! The title is based off the Adele song, you can listen here. 
Word count : 1,058

Everyone had always said it would be the best day of your life. Now, you knew why. The day had been more than magical, every single moment filling your heart with love and happiness. It was the day you married James Buchanan Barnes.

His arm was now wrapped around your waist as you walked the corridor to your honeymoon suite. 

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bi-spoopual  asked:

What about a student going to Snape because they're being bullied?

A/N: Aww sure! I hope you like it (and I’m sorry it took so long!) <3 

Originally posted by nuestramejorhistoria

Looking back, lashing out had probably been a mistake. It wasn’t that you were a very violent person, but recently you’d reduced yourself to more primitive ways of keeping a distance to the bullies who tormented your everyday life. You wished you knew the reason as to why they felt the need to pick on others, and as to why you had to be one of the poor students they had pegged as an ultimate target. You weren’t weak or frail. In fact, you were strong, smart and a generally charming person. Yes, you weren’t afraid to answer various questions in class, and no, you didn’t care if others felt you were boring because you enjoyed reading silently, alone. You were just you. That wasn’t bullying material, was it? You wouldn’t know anymore. All you knew was, that the more the  bullies picked on you the more their words seemed to cling to you, staining you like mud to your shoes after you’ve walked through the courtyard on a rainy September day. Their words rang in your head as you laid in bed, trying to sleep, and when you finally gave in to slumber, you’d relive their actions: A whirl of rough hands pushing and shoving and voices calling you names and commenting on every inch of you. You’d wake up breathing quickly, thinking that it had to stop.

And suddenly during breakfast you’d had an epiphany, or so you’d thought in your tired, wired up state. You were going to have to fight back, get physical; anything to get them to leave you alone. Who cared if you ended up with a few bruises? As long as they finally got what they deserved,  right? And so you wandered into the halls a little too early, making sure to send a, hopefully not too uneasy, glance towards the bullies, their leader, a boy by the name of Morgan Powers, shot an icy blue stare back at you. You attempted not to shiver as you tried to guess what was running through his mind in that moment. Morgan had always taken a liking to the more physical ways of showing his feelings, right from the moment you first met him in your first year, your gut had told you that he wasn’t a nice fella, and quite literally too as he had planted a fist in your abdomen and told you that you were a freaky loner.

You made your way into the hall and tried to get as far as possible, so that no-one would hear.

You didn’t really get very far, though.

“Oi, freak, come ‘ere I wan’ a word” Morgan called after you. You hear the deep, clumsy chuckles of his gang. You sort of already regretted your decision to leave on your own, but here you were. You turned around and faked confidence so well, you almost believed it yourself for a moment. “What do you want, Morgan?” You asked, refusing to use his last name, although it was a tragically well fitting name, it didn’t suit him in your opinion. Morgan smiled slyly, as if he was a genius for seeing the obvious opportunity to catch you alone, without professors hanging around. “Why so aggressive, Y/n?” Morgan asked. “Yeah, why so aggressive?” One of his followers piped up, “Yeah, we just wan’ a word don’ we?” Another added with a dark expression painted on his pudgy face. You held back the urge to make a gagging noise. Morgan stepped forward, causing you to instinctively stepping back, a deep black hole forming inside your stomach, or so it felt as adrenaline kicked in properly. Morgan spoke again:”Now, I think we’ve started this off completely wrong. But i s’pose we don’ all have good manners, huh Freak?” He said, the way he mused his sentence causing burst of chuckles to erupt from Morgans followers. They seemed to form a circle around you already. You took another step back. Your brain was now pleading for you to take the ‘flea’ option. You visualised the blinking neon sign inside your head as you looked around for places to go. Morgan seemed to somehow read your mind, because suddenly his hand gripped tightly onto your wrist, his nails digging into your skin, causing you to breathe out a small whimper. Morgan suddenly changed his rough demeanour to a strangely gentle one, an expression so sugary sweet, you knew instantly that you it couldn’t be trusted. “If you weren’t such a freak I  might actually have thought you were pretty, Freak, it’s such a pity that you’re so pathetic,” Morgan gripped onto your face, you fought against him to no avail, “Look at you, as if you think that a few good answers here and there make you the queen of this school.” Morgan said and the evil glisten in his eyes returned, stronger than ever. You were trying your best not to panic now, breath hitched in your chest. Morgan raised a balled fist in the air, “Perhaps it’s time we taught you your place for good.” he sneered as he got ready to place a blow to your face, you squinted as you prepared yourself for the pain of the impact, holding your breath and closing your eyes.

“Not so fast, Mr. Powers.” A voice sounded, echoing slightly through the hall which had gone quiet with tenseness. Morgan and his friends turned to see professor Snape standing behind them. Beside Snape, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore were standing, looking at them with disappointed looks on their faces. Morgan let go of your wrist and started his long, very fake, explanations only to be stopped by Dumbledores steady hand stretched out to signal at Morgan that he should spare them his lies.


Now you were sat here, in Snape’s office. You watched the raindrops prickle onto the small window and followed their trails as they glided downwards only to disappear from sight at the bottom of the window. Snape sighed again. You had been there for hours. “Let’s try one more time Miss Y/L/N,”

Snape said folding his hands on his desk, “How long has this been going on for?” He asked, pulling his lips sideways when you didn’t answer, but only gave a small shrug as an answer. “Miss Y/L/N, if you don’t speak, then nothing will be done, is that what you want?” Snape tried to beckon you to speak. You shrugged again.

There was silence for a moment.

“I doubt that Mr. Powers will be as hesitant to speak as you are, Y/N.” Snape stated. You snapped back to looking at your professor. He’d addressed you by your first name, sure that was strange, but there was something else that had made you suddenly look. There was something, some sort of emotion, behind his words. You couldn’t quite place it, but apparently Snape realised that you’d caught onto something. He cleared his throat and shifted a little uncomfortably as he attempted to reattain his cold demeanour. Unknown to you, he had recognised something in the way you had sunken into yourself as Morgan had raised a fist at you. Perhaps he had seen a little bit of his young self in you. Whatever it was, Snape felt the same pity for you, that he often felt for himself when he thought back to his time at Hogwarts. He hated that feeling.

“I don’t doubt that, sir, but I trust that Dumbledore will be able to detect the lies spilling from his mouth.” You answered a little abashed. You couldn’t help but think that perhaps somehow Morgan would convince Dumbledore that you weren’t innocent, and that you somehow deserved the treatment you got. What would happen then?

“You’ve got no reason to worry.” Snape mumbled. You couldn’t help to raise a brow at the sudden tenderness he was showing you. You weren’t exactly well acquainted. He was your professor, and that was all. He was always cold and uncaring, or at least seemingly uncaring. You were slowly coming to the realisation that perhaps that wasn’t the case. Snape drew in a breath “And because of that I think it’s time you start giving me some answers, miss Y/L/N.” Snape concluded and leaned back. You crossed your arms. “I suppose so.” You said quietly.

“How long has it been going on, then?” Snape asked, this time more hopeful in getting an answer.

You sucked in a breath and released it quickly. “For about- well-  for about forever really.” You started, nervously tucking at the rim of your sleeve. “Or I say forever, but,” You looked up into Snape’s dark eyes, he was completely still; listening, you exhaled an apologetic breath as you continued a little shakily “They’ve been bothering me since my first year, they didn’t get too bad until recently.” You explained. Snape made a small sound. “And when you say ‘too bad’ You mean that they got physical?”  Snape asked, trying to get a better idea of all the things he’d missed. You smiled a little “Well, sort of, they never hit me before, but besides that they shoved, pushed, tripped me, you name it.” You said, feeling a little relieved to be able to confess. Snape made another ‘hmm’ noise. “I suppose they didn’t want to do anything that left too much evidence.” You added quickly, letting out a speculation that had been held inside you for as long as you could remember. Snape nodded as the door to his office opened. You turned in your chair and met kind blue eyes belonging to no other than the headmaster. “Professor Dumbledore.” You said in surprise. “Headmaster,” Snape began, but was quickly interrupted by Dumbledore before he could say anything. “There’s no need, Severus, I have spoken to Morgan and Professor McGonagall and I have come to the conclusion,” He turned to look straight into your eyes, “That we’ve owe our student here a serious apology.” He said with a kind smile. Your lips twitched a little. “And of course, I think that it would only be fair to award miss Y/L/N 100 points for withstanding such treatment without faltering once, showing true fierceness.” Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eyes. You looked down as you felt you suddenly had nowhere else to look. You turned to Snape, who formed his lips into something resembling a small smile. “So what if Morgan- erm- mr. Powers bothers me again?” To that Snape regained his usual facade, only adding seriousness to his promise.

“I can assure you, he won’t.”

  • Commissioned by @s-e-kwan
  • Fanfic Package + 11,870 words // SFW

          Gems unknown that shone like a halo written in stars, with her silk blonde hair framed her face beautifully with the danced across her shoulders. From the way she held herself, to the lightened steps, and the brush of her fingers across her face, he already noted her grace fluttered past the dust singed at half of the building. The female almost became the embodiment of beauty that cracked before the lens of his eyes; however, all admiration dropped into fragments of dust coated over the books.

In spite of her appearance unfamiliar, the way they became chattered and her name plastered upon printed papers he read thoroughly, it was not too difficult to know who it was. Konami Yui, the aspired model that has hit the society’s eyes in a blaze from her new debut. From what was told, she was suppose to be the model kids dreamed to become, the female that could cause an up rise of the media with the new world. However, to see her in the dusted room of a detective’s work shop became questionable.

“No.” The detective’s voice cleared. “Whatever your petty problems are, you may go to the Reiji to figure them out. I’m not a detective that solves schemes of inadequacy. Goodbye, Konami-san.”

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A Galaxy Far, Far Away → [15/∞] D’Qar

An Outer Rim planet tucked behind the protective asteroid belt of the Ileenium System, D’Qar has a thick forest canopy and plenty of fresh water – the perfect place for a Resistance base. Its location is classified, although was discovered by the First Order after tracking Snap Wexley’s reconnaissance flight. D’Qar is the site of Leia Organa’s last moments with Han Solo – but where Finn reunited with Poe Dameron after thinking him dead.

Ye Ri Drabble Game

Ye Ri + #42
42: “You summoned a demon?”

To say Ye Rim is a bit aloof is an understatement. Usually she has it under control and can function as a normal human being, but other times she completely loses it and nothing can get between her and whatever hairbrained idea she happened to come up with. There have been times where you’ve been pleasantly surprised by the outcome of some of her plans, but those were usually the normal ones that anyone could execute without the need to involve the fire department or hospital. Like little DIYs that she saved from various websites. Sure, the cookies shaped like hearts looked so cute in the picture being perfect shaped and immaculately frosted, while Ye Rim’s look like sad potatoes at best with more of the messy frosting smeared all over her hands than the actually cookies. That is to be expected from most recipes you find online unless you’re worthy of being a candidate on some cooking show.

Though Ye Rim somehow finds a way to make things worse than they need to be while trying to help the situation. The worst of her ideas and the reason you keep all the lighters tucked away in a childproof drawer is because once a recipe called for a culinary torch. You have no idea to this day what she was trying to make. All you remember is waking up to the smoke alarms going crazy and finding Ye Rim standing over a pot that looked more like a mini bonfire with a can of air freshener and a lighter in each hand. You’d managed to put out most of the fire on your own with Ye Rim dumping the rest of a half empty juice bottle on the rest of it. The process of cleaning up the mess and calming the neighbors gave you more of a headache than the fact that your girlfriend nearly set herself on fire.

It seems that she’s become more mindful of the potential consequences for her reckless actions in the past few months, though. You’re honestly rather proud of her. Usually if Ye Rim hasn’t come to bed by this time, around 12AM, you become a bit worried about what it is she’s doing around the house, but these days more often than not she’s reading, cleaning, or watching Netflix somewhere. Hopefully tonight won’t be the exception as you’re already half asleep after finally finishing a drama you’ve been meaning to watch for months. You almost make it to dreamland, but your phone lights up on the nightstand. You consider just ignoring it but curiosity gets the best of you. Somewhat mad at your lack of self control you read the text that lit up the screen. It’s from Ye Ri. The cryptic message has you smacking your forehead. Of all the nights for her to be up fiddling with thing that should never be fiddle with she picks tonight. It’s purely your love for the crazy girl that’s apparently in the living room that has you rolling out of bed. Had it been anyone else you’d probably even write it off as a prank with how outlandish her reason for texting you is. You enter the living room with your eyes closed, as if opening them will stop you from going back to bed.

“You summoned a demon?” You hum sleepily, only half expecting her to confirm your question. When she doesn’t you peek an eye open to take in the sight before you. Ye Rim is looking at you from over the back of the couch and the space between the living room and kitchen is occupied by a large pentagram. The shape is traced out with silver glitter and some of the offerings include Ye Rim’s stuffed animals, but what you focus on is the lit candles that sit at each point of the star. You look up at her in annoyance.

“How did you light these?” She could say magic and you’d probably believe her but instead she points to the kitchen counter. On top of the marble sits a strange creature holding a pair of pliers that are still clamped around a mangled part to the child lock and a lighter. You jump up next to Ye Rim in fright. The thing–a demon, you guess–isn’t scary. In fact, it’s borderline cute. It has silvery gray skin and a childlike body with iridescent wings sprouting from its back. It’s eyes are wide and bright blue as it regards the both of you huddle on the couch. It seems much more interested in the way you tuck a whimpering Ye Rim into your chest than the items in its hand, deciding to chuck them to the floor instead.

“What the hell are you?” You blurt out. Ye Rim’s hand shoots up to clamp over your mouth, but the thing on the counter doesn’t seem bother.

“I’m a fae.” It says kindly. You blink. This thing is Ye Rim’s so called demon? The glittery footprints definitely lead from the center of the pentagram to just before the counter, but weren’t demons supposed to be, well, demonic? You ask as much.

“We come in different forms based on phobias. A spider demon for arachnophobes and the likes. Ye Rim didn’t call anyone with a purpose, so I came because I liked her pentagram.” You assume Ye Rim had to mention her name in the summoning process so it seems less weird that this little fae knows her name.

“Well, she’s Ye Rim. I’m [Name]. Who are you?”

“I’m No Mi; your new fae companion!” The tiny fae takes flight to land next to you on the couch. They’re much smaller up close, only coming to just below your knees if you were both to stand. They regard the two of you with hopeful eyes. Ye Rim pokes her head up to smile at them.

“In that case, welcome to the family, No Mi!”

Supernatural Cookbook:

  • Title: Apple Pie




For Pie Dough:

  • 3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (2 ½ cups, non-lattice)
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 2 tablespoons sugar
  • 7 tablespoons all-vegetable shortening, chilled (8 tablespoons, non-lattice)
  • 10 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled, cut into ¼-inch pieces (12 tablespoons, non-lattice)
  • 10 tablespoons ice water (6 to 8 tablespoons, non-lattice)

For Filling:

  • 1 ½ pounds Granny Smith apples (about 3 medium)
  • 2 pounds McIntosh apples (about 4 large)
  • 1 tablespoon juice and 1 teaspoon zest from 1 lemon
  • ¾ cups (5.25 ounces) plus 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
  • ¼ teaspoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon cinnamon
  • ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • ¼ teaspoon ground allspice
  • 1 egg white, beaten lightly


For Pie Dough:

  • Pulse flour, salt and sugar in a food processor fitted with steel bald until combined. Add shortening and process until mixture has texture of coarse sand, about 10 seconds. Scatter butter pieces over flour mixture; cut butter into flour until mixture is pale yellow and resembles coarse crumbs, with butter bits no larger than small peas, about ten 1-second pulses. Turn mixture into medium bowl.
  • Sprinkle 8 tablespoons ice water over mixture. With blade of rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix. Press down on dough with broad side of spatula until dough sticks together, adding up to 2 tablespoons more ice water if it will not come together. Divide dough into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other. (If possible, weigh pieces. They should register 16 ounces and 14 ounces.) Flatten larger piece into a rough 5-inch square and smaller piece into a 4-inch disk; (If for a non-lattice, double crust pie, these pieces should be even in weight and both round) wrap separately in plastic and refrigerator at least 1 hour or up to 2 days before rolling.


  • Adjust oven rack to lowest position and heat rimmed baking sheet and oven to 500°F. Remove one piece of dough from refrigerator (if refrigerated longer than 1 hour, let stand at room temperature until malleable).
  • Roll dough on lightly floured work surface or between two large sheets of plastic wrap to 12-inch disk. Transfer dough to pie plate by rolling dough around rolling pin and unrolling over 9 ½-inch pie plate or by folding dough in quarters, then placing dough point in center of pie plate and unfolding. Working around circumference of pie plate, ease dough into pan corners by gently lifting dough edges with one hand while pressing around pan bottom with other hand. Leave dough that overhangs lip of plate in place; refrigerate dough-lined pie plate.
  • Peel, core and cut apples in half, and in half again width-wise; cut quarters into ¼-inch slices and toss with lemon juice and zest. In a medium bowl, mix ¾ cup sugar, flour, salt and spices. Toss dry ingredients with apples. Turn fruit mixture, including juices, into chilled pie shell and mound slightly in center.
  • Roll out second piece of dough to 12-inch disk and place over filling. Trim top and bottom edges to ½-inch beyond pan lip. Tuck this rim of dough underneath itself so that folded edge is flush with pan lip. Flute edging or press with fork tines to seal. Cut four slits on dough top. If pie dough is very soft, place in freezer for 10 minutes. Brush egg white onto top of crust and sprinkle evenly with remaining 1 tablespoon sugar.
  • Place pie on baking sheet and lower oven temperature to 425°F. Bake until top crust is golden, about 25 minutes. Rotate pie and reduce oven temperature to 375°F; continue baking until juices bubble and crust is deep golden brown, 30-35 minutes longer.
  • Transfer pie to wire rack; cool to room temperature, at least 4 hours.

For Lattice Top:

External image

missshortattensionspand  asked:

I don't know if you got my last prompt or if it was too terrible to use lol. But anyway maybe a ficlet about Hasil's first shower and Sally-Ann having to show him how everything works. It doesn't have to be in NSFW but I guess you can take it there if you want.

“Hasil, you want me to wash this shirt for you?” she yelled into the kitchen.

Sally Ann already had two shirts of her own to wash, along with several pairs of underwear, but she had seen his black tank top on the floor and wondered if maybe she should add it to her pile. The moment she picked it up, though, she knew for sure: there was still dried blood all over the front of it, and it was clear he had been wearing it for some time, stained as it was with sweat and dirt and who knows what else. Normally she loved the way Hasil smelled – sweet and smoky, like a wood fire on a cold night – but his shirt was a different story, and she wrinkled her nose a little at its pungency as she stuffed it into the pile of clothes she held in her arms.

“Hmmm?” he asked, emerging into the living room, dressed only in his long underwear. Hasil didn’t seem to mind walking around the house with no clothes on – in fact, there were times he appeared to prefer it – but he also seemed to sense that she would like it if he at least wore something, and on this, as with so many other things, he was more than willing to make her happy.

“I’m gonna wash your shirt,” she said, grinning cheekily. “It’s filthy.”

“Fine by me,” he replied, and then leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thank ya.”

As if suddenly reminded of something, Hasil stretched his arm up in the air and turned his head so he could quickly sniff beneath it.

“May not be th’ only thing ta wash…” he said, looking a little bashful as he turned back towards her. “There ain’t no creek nearby, huh?”

“No, no creek,” she replied, her mind now spinning with delightful images of Hasil wearing absolutely nothing as he splashed around in some backwoods watering hole. “But I think there’s a shower upstairs…”

“Shower? ’s rainin’?”

“No, it’s, uh…” She stopped, unable to contain the grin spreading across her face. “Here, c’mon…” And then she took his hand, tugging him across the living room and up the wooden staircase.

The upstairs bathroom was beautifully old-fashioned – all white tile and chrome fixtures, even if it was all in need of a thorough scrub-down – and along one side there was a large claw-footed bathtub. At some point, though, for the sake of modern convenience, someone had added a freestanding showerhead and a curtain on a looped rod.

She pulled the curtain back and turned the faucet on; it gurgled a little, probably out of disuse, but quickly enough began to pour out a steady stream of water.

“How hot d’you want it?” she asked, turning back towards him as she tested the water with her fingertips.

“Hot?” he repeated, his face a picture of confusion.

“Right,” she said, laughing a little to herself. If he hadn’t known what a shower was, she realized, he probably wouldn’t have known that you could turn it to whatever temperature you wanted. “So, um, I’ll make it mostly warm…” That seemed safe enough, she reasoned: there was no need to traumatize him with scalding hot water.

After adjusting the dials, she pulled the curtain back in place, making sure it was fully tucked inside the rim of the tub, and then she turned the handle and watched as water began to flow upwards and out of the showerhead.

She turned back towards Hasil again, his head now tilted in unabashed curiosity.

“It’s all yours,” she said. Glancing past him, she noticed an unused bar of soap sitting near the sink on top of the counter, and she leaned over to grab it, quickly handing it over to him. “Here… you might want this…” Soap in hand, he stepped towards the shower, momentarily peering behind the thin curtain.

The spray of water was spattering softly against the back of the curtain and she could feel the small room growing warmer as the steam billowed in the air. It got even warmer as he dropped his drawers, giving her a sight of his magnificent bare backside, and then stepped into the tub, tugging the curtain part-way closed behind him.

“Ah, swee’ mercy,” she heard him gasp and cry out. For a moment, she thought he was in pain, as the water came into contact with his fresh bruises, but then she caught the faint line of his shadow against the white curtain, his body turning in place as he sought to fully immerse himself under the spray.

Sally Ann stayed for a minute, simply enjoying the sound of him experiencing the pleasure of a warm shower for the first time, but then she decided it might be best to just leave him to it. Downstairs, she set herself to tidying a little, straightening up the living room and bringing used dishes into the kitchen. There was, of course, the pile of clothes she had been intending to wash, so she left them at the bottom of the stairs with the intention of bringing them up to the bathtub to wash once he was finished. There was no washing machine in the house, unfortunately; Naomi had always taken her clothes to the laundromat, which was where she and Sally Ann had spent most of their time together outside of church. Sally Ann had sometimes helped with the folding, the older woman’s hands being so frequently swollen with arthritis, and she recalled the smooth feel of her flat sateen sheets, the fluffy towels still warm from the spin of the dryer.

With a sudden realization, she headed back upstairs and opened up the linen closet in the hallway. All the towels were neatly folded and stacked on narrow shelves, leaving nothing, she now recalled, inside the bathroom except a tiny, worn hand towel near the sink. Knowing Hasil, he probably wouldn’t think twice before using it to dry himself off.

Luckily, the shower was still running, so she grabbed one of the larger towels and went back inside the bathroom, intending simply to leave it on top of the toilet and let him take his time.

“Sally Ann, that you?” he asked over the sound of the water.

“Yeah,” she said. “I was just leavin’ you a towel.”

“Alright,” he replied. “So…uh, how ya turn this thing off, exac’ly?”

“Oh, uh, here,” she said, as she reached in and turned the faucet off entirely. The remaining water spilled into the tub as he pulled the curtain back, revealing a very clean and very naked Hasil Farrell. His skin was pink and flushed with the warmth of the water, the bruises and tattoos arrayed across his chest standing out in stark relief. She was so used to seeing his hair flowing in loose waves across his shoulders that to see it now, wet and flat against his head and straight down his back, brought a peculiar feeling to the bottom of her stomach, and perhaps even somewhere a little lower down. His eyes were half-hooded, his gaze gentle and hard and full of hunger as he looked down at her. For a moment, she let her eyes drop down past his chest, and then she raised them back quickly, feeling her cheeks grow round and warm.

“So… how was it?” she asked, handing the towel over to him.

“‘s fine… very fine.” He smiled as he stepped out of the tub, taking a minute to dry himself off and squeeze out the ends of his hair. He was wrapping the towel around his waist as he looked over at her again. “Thought maybe I migh’ convince ya ta join me nex’ time.”

“Maybe,” she said, moving her hand up so she could trace her fingers against the damp skin above his heart.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, pressing his hand flat against hers and keeping it in place. He leaned down towards her, his lips a shadow across her cheek, her jaw, the quiet sanctuary of her neck. In her chest, she could feel her heart thrumming, fluttering in anticipation. “I’ma hold ya ta that,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes, breathing him in, as soft and clean and new as the morning light.

Anchor :: Chapter 1

It’s up because I have no self control. ENJOY. Special thanks to kuno-chan, which-witch-is-witch, spiritypowers and officialrampion for being especially supportive of this fic.

Rated: T for violence, some language and sexual tension

Chapter 1

The waves lapped against the hull of the ship as a breeze rolled over the water. A man stood with one leg on the wooden railing around the ship, leaning over slightly next to the pulley that hoisted the anchor; the great weight was in the water, leaving only a thick metal chain to show for it. He gazed out on the horizon, squinting to make out the tiny rowboat making its way to his ship. Far beyond that was the Mainland, Port Bosco, with low rolling hills and a bustling marketplace. It was a good thing it was busy: everyone would have been too busy with their errands to notice a particular one of theirs.

“Is the girl there, Captain Kai?” his first mate Yung asked, as the pudgy man joined his side.

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Bloodlines Part 2 | The Ifrit

 As promised, this is a continuation of The Ifrit. If you haven’t had the chance to read it you can get caught up right here:

The Ifrit: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 

Bloodlines: Part 1

Spirits born of their own intent and free will, unless enslaved by another, the Efreet can be either good or evil.

However, they are more frequently depicted as choosing the latter.

The Letter

It had been three months since Dean walked out of the hospital and he was no closer to finding Rim.

With the third trial approaching he had been almost entirely consumed with taking care of his brother. Sam was getting worse; Dean would never admit it but the fainting spell in Colorado scared the hell out of him. He had never seen Sam so sick in all his life and there was nothing he could do about it until this was all over.

With their failed attempt to trap Abbadon they were having a time tracking down another Demon to test the purification spell they had found in the bunker. Dean watched Sam shiver out of the corner of his eye from the adjacent desk in the library. He hadn’t eaten in days and rejected every offer of help.

Sam wasn’t invincible. Whatever they were going to do they had to do it soon or he might not make it to the third trial. Dean refocused his attention to the tabletop littered with information from the archives. He felt his heart lurch as his gaze drifted over a folded and worn letter.

Rim’s letter.

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Preference #13 - You're Set Up With Him (Requested)

A/N: This was supposed to be “your sister sets you up with him even though you hate him, but eventually you fall in love.” And that was just a little too specific for me to get five scenarios out of, so I played with it a little bit. It’s super long (like 1600+ words long), so enjoy your first preference in about a month!

Harry: Harry Styles doesn’t hate people. Most people weren’t even sure hate was in his vocabulary until you came along. For whatever reason, something about you just…ugh. He doesn’t even have words for the way you get under his skin and set him off. But you’ve got mutual friends who utterly resent the fact that they ever introduced you because all the two of you do is bicker and fight and maybe throw a bottle or two if there’s beer involved. You’re fire and ice, and the result is steam. You’ve been slacking in the dating game lately, and it’s with the hesitant resignation of someone who hasn’t been on a date in three months that you agree to get set-up by Louis. You spend a couple hours picking out the perfect dress and curling your hair. In fact, it takes you so long to get ready that you’re fifteen minutes late and bursting into the restaurant and getting directed to your table. You’ve stripped out of your jacket and slung your purse over chair and have spewed out an apology before you get a chance to check out your date. “There’s no way in hell,” you spit out between gritted teeth. Because sitting in front of you looking just as shocked as you feel is Harry Styles. “Louis,” he mutters under his breath with a shake of his curls. “Should’ve known he’d pull something like this.” “Well,” you say, standing up again, “I think I’m going to leave now.” A pair of long fingers wrap around your wrist, and even his touch sends uncomfortable electric jolts shooting up your arm. “Wait.” “For what, Harry?” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a sleek, black square of plastic. “Lou gave me his card. We might as well use it.” “In that case, might have to order the caviar.” “You hate caviar.”  “For 50 quid an ounce, I’ll love it.” And Harry’s eyes light up green as he chuckles. You’ve never really noticed that light before, but it adds an enticing texture to his face. A dinner without shouting might not be that bad. 

Liam: Your last boyfriend turned out to be a cheating bastard. The boyfriend before that had been stealing from you, and your prom date… Well, turned out he was sleeping with your best friend. Your mess of a dating history spoke for itself, so it didn’t take much for you to agree to a blind date. Your friend has assured you that he’s nice and clever and decent and not like anybody else you’ve ever met. (And, hey, if nothing you’ve done in the past has worked out, why not try something new?) With knocking knees that may or may not be due to the five-inch heels you’ve been thrust into, you step into the tiny Italian restaurant you’d been given directions to. The hostess leads you to a tiny table tucked into a corner, and you’re surprised to find that you’re the first one there. For such an honest, decent, upstanding guy, you figured he’d be Golden-Retriever-on-time. A waiter hands you a menu, and just as you’re about to order the Italian soda you might have been craving all day, there’s a flurry of commotion as a bustling figure slides in with smoothly accented apologies. He unwraps a scarf from around his neck and shakes the snow out of his beanie. “Sorry, work ran late and traffic was a nightmare.” And then you get a good look at his face, and holy shit…that’s Liam Payne. His cheeks are a little red and his nose is painted pink. His hair’s fluffed and ruffled, and the collar of his button-up is slightly askew, but that’s definitely Liam Payne sitting across from you. He extends a hand across the table with a soft smile. “M’ names Liam, Liam Payne. Pleasure to meet you.” There’s a tingle of something slipping between your fingers as your skin makes contact. “Where do you want to start?”

Louis: Oh God, everybody knew about Louis Tomlinson. He’s clever in that mouthy, witty way that makes your head spin a bit with its genius. His presentations at the front of the class are not the most educational, but they are the drollest and they make you smile in the middle of a crappy day. And of course, the funny man doesn’t know the shy girl who’s too scared to open her mouth and say hello. So you watch from the back row with a soft smile when Louis launches into an amusing diatribe about the one time his sister tried to throw a surprise party but ended up scaring him so badly he wound up with a concussion. It just so happens that you’ve got an older sister who knows someone who knows someone who knows someone who’s got some pull with Louis, and well, she’s tired of hearing you wax poems and whine about how clever he is and how handsome he is and how he’s such a great big brother. She’s worked a Christmas miracle, and you’re heading out to dinner and a movie on Saturday night. The unattainable funny man appears at your doorstep at seven pm sharp with a sunflower in one hand and smushy smile on his face. “Hullo. Got this for you.” He extends the flower in your direction, and you hide your blushing face behind the petals. “You didn’t have to…” “Nonsense.” Lou grabs your arm and drags you after him to his car. “A beautiful girl deserves an almost as beautiful flower.” He shakes his head a little and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Wow, that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever said. Seem to lose my tongue a little when you’re turning pink like that. How ‘bout we just go to dinner where I’ve got time to form proper sentences.” His warm fingers squeeze yours as he opens the car door for you before running over to the other side with a subtle skip in his step.

Niall: You’ve known him for ages, the cliché of diaper buddies and playdate pals who survived primary school. Now you’re braving the wilds of uni together, and he’s the one always going out and meeting people and being the vibrant, center of life that seems to draw people to him. You, on the other hand, tend to hide up in your room in fuzzy socks with a book you’ve been meaning to catch up on and some TV murmuring in the background. You’re shy and nervous around people because, well, Niall really was your only connection to a social life. You’re not very good at making friends and you’re not very good at loud parties even though he’s dragged you out for a decibel-shattering birthday once or twice. The pair of you are mean charades partners and drinking buddies and clever confidants, but it’s no secret he’s always yearned for something more. Drunk, he gets a little handsy with grabby fingers digging into your hips and warm breath fluttering over your neck. But you’re always quick to push him off and remind the swaying blonde that you can’t do this, that you’ve talked about it before and you’re not ready for the whirlwind that’s Niall Horan. But that doesn’t stop your friends from being conniving shits who convince you they’ve got this perfect fellow lined up for you. Oh, he likes to read and he knows how to play Cranium and he’s fluent in Yiddish curse words. What’s not to like? You’ll be fine. Really, you will. So, you slip into your most flattering skinny jeans and a sweater that’s just slack enough to look casual while remaining in style. And just as you’re sliding on a pair of boots and running your fingers through your hair, the doorbell rings and you rush to answer it, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in the pit of your stomach. He’s standing there—hands shoved nervously in his pockets and one of those ridiculous snapbacks slung low over his face. His cheeks are a bit pink, and you know he’s been chewing on his lip. “Heya, Ni.” “Hiya.” “How long have you been planning this?” He smirks. “A while. You gonna let me take you out?” “Well, you’ve put so much effort into orchestrating this, it’d be a shame to let it all go to waste.” “That’s true. I’ve got good stuff planned.” “Lead the way, then.”

Zayn: His parents and your parents are business partners, and they’re looking to make a new merger. And it’s a bit old-fashioned and a little archaic, but your mother and father, well, they’d like you to go out with the lovely Malik boy. You’re expecting a snubby, thick-rimmed glasses, tucked-in polo of a boy who mutters and stutters when you answer the door. But instead, standing before you is something the Greeks would have revered as a god. There should have been statues of his face and the subtle curve of his eyebrows and the soft swoop of his dark hair. And God, he smelled like a man—of aftershave and leather and cigarettes. “I guess we’re doing this, then?” he asks, giving you a subtle look up and down. “It’ll make the parents happy. Might as well.” You were trying to remain casual, desperately attempting to keep forming words and putting one foot in front of the other as you walk down the front steps and into the street where a glittering motorcycle is waiting. “You drive one of these?” “Got a problem with it?” “No, I’ve just never been before.” He chuckles under his breath and hands you a silver helmet. “Put this on, and I’ll show you a good time.” Zayn revs the engine and nods his head to the empty seat behind him. You slip in behind the leather jacket and hesitantly wrap your arms around his waist. “Hold on,” he mutters, and then you’re off with the wind in your face and the traffic melting around you. This boy might be the death of you, but hell if you weren’t going to enjoy the ride.

One day, one rhyme- Day 449

A man went rolling past today,
He didn’t make a sound.
He was a flash of white and grey,
His presence did astound.
He rolled inside a tractor wheel
Tucked tight inside the rim,
He raced along, head over heel
I wish I’d followed him.
And now I sit here pondering
The transport he obtained,
Why choose that mode of traveling?
It’s kept me entertained!


I’ll start with some of my favourite GX81 Chasers.

Mugimaru’s 81 (the one with the HippoSleek side step ) is super rad, 8.0 J F and 8.5 J R SSR with 165/55s all round. Thats a super cool tyre to run because it has allowed him maximum low down (about as much as me with my 195/45s ) yet he can tuck rim a bit more because of the extra profile. The other 81 is Takasaki’s. it’s a very similar setup, 1G-G (GX81-BTMQF) and similar wheel sizing. He is running slightly skinnier wheels which makes it look much less aggressive along with the lack of Side step. I do like the factory front lip on it though, part the reason I got one on my car. Next post I’ll continue on 81 Chasers and some more of my favourites before moving onto Cresta and MARK II.