canes corner

I am in new the town and at this school and it entails some disadvantages.

Today during the break time some boys were playing football when the head girl came to us saying it was dangerous to play so close to a group of kids who were in the playground also.

All the rest of the boys, stopped playing and started to walk further but I led the way and complained to the head girl arguing that we were only passing softly the ball, no really playing a game, so there was not risk at all.

She showed herself surprised and angry when I talked back to her, so she ordered me to walk towards a corner of the playground to stay there for the rest of the break, facing to the wall with my hands on my head.

I simply laughed at her and went towards the place my mates were playing now, whilst I saw her, red in anger, rushing to the school building.

A few minutes later, she came back with a note signed by the Headmistress for me. It was clear I was into trouble by then. 

When I entered into the Head’s study she was standing, waiting for me cane in hand.

She simply said:

 "Boy, let me give you an advice that will make your life much easier during your stay in this school.

When a female gives you an order, it’s in your best interest to obey it promptly.“

After that, eighteen hard cuts of her cane, reinforced that message in a clear and lasting way.

Why Polish orthography is important? #5

This time I would like to talk about diacritical marks (znaki diakrytyczne). In Polish we’ve got 9 letters containing diacritics - ą ć ę ł ń ó ś ź ż. Their sounds are different from sounds of the letters a/o c e l n o s z. Now let’s take a look at some examples:

  • łęk - lęk - lek (pommel/cantle - fear - medicine)
  • łaska - laska (grace - chick <woman>/cane)
  • kąt - kat (angle/corner - executioner)
  • piszę - pisze (I am writing; I write - He/She/It is writing; He/She/It writes)

Our most famous sentence which contains the biggest amount of diacritis is:

  • Zażółć gęślą jaźń (literally: Make yellow a goose’s self)

9 diacritics! Grammatically it’s okay but it has no meaning so I’m not able to properly translate it. 

Notes:

  • In the begining I mentioned that “ą” comes from “a/o”. It’s not a mistake, because in Polish we don’t have a nasal a”. Probably during Medieval Period it has changed its sound and right now we read “a” as a nasal “o”. In conclusion this sound should be written as “ǫ” but we decided not to change it - that’s why we’ve got “ą” instead of  “ǫ”.
  • ó” hasn’t got the same sound as “o”, but it has the same sound as “u”. Thought, in some places in Poland you can still hear “ó” as [o] - but only in subdialects.
  • We’ve got two diagraphs containing letters with diacritis - “” and “”.
  • On messenger, SMS etc. we usually don’t use diacritics - sometimes you need to be careful about writing like that and also understanding it. Here we’ve got the most popular example where we omit “ł”:
    - robić łaskę - to do a favour
    - robić laskę - to give a blowjob
  • In colloquial Polish we distinguish diacritis. We’ve got letters:
    - z ogonkiem (literally: with a little tail) - ą ę
    - z kreseczką (literally: with a little mark/line) - ć ł ń ó ś ź
    - z kropeczką (literally: with a little dot) - ż
  • There is a colloquial phrase być ąę - to be pretentious

It’s my last post about Polish orthography - I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone has some interesting facts about Polish orthography and wants me to take a look at it, message me - maybe the topic will be big enough for 6th part of Polish orthography’s posts.

Im in the coffee shop w my wife, theres a blind guy with a cane in the corner my wife goes Oh no my nipple just popped out The fuckin blind guy lifts up his glasses This Mf!!👎👎💯💯👀👀🙈👊👊👊 now im swinging on this Blind Mf!!👌👌😂😂😂
I Have No Idea Why

A/N: This is a request from @tippy06! Specifically a little bit of Spencer smut, in season 5, when he had the long hair and the cane (after he was shot in the knee.) The reader lets slip that she has a “thing” for Spencer with his cane, he finds out and he decides to use it to his advantage. Smutty, but given the word cane, you might assume super smutty. That it is not ;)

                                                ———————

“Wait,” Emily commanded, “How did you get Y/N to tell you that?”

Penelope smirked, sipping at the iced tea she’d just poured. “I might have gotten her pretty drunk the other night and she let it slip. I don’t think she even remembers telling me.”

“Telling you what?” Spencer asked, hobbling into Garcia’s room with his cane. Being shot in the knee really sucked. He couldn’t wait to be rid of it - then he could get back out into the field. Not that he didn’t love Garcia, but he wasn’t meant to be sitting in an office all day.

“Oh, I don’t think I should say,” Penelope laughed. Emily looked away, stifling a laugh, not wanting to spill the beans. “She told me while she was drunk when she came over the other night.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N and I have been dating for more than a year, there’s nothing we don’t know about each other,” Spencer insisted, truly curious about what Penelope and Emily were being so secretive about.

“Well,” she started, glancing down at the cane he was leaning on, “Y/N might have said she thinks your especially attractive with that…something about it.”

He looked between the two, confused, “With what?” Garcia glanced once more at the cane in his hand. He followed her line of vision and landed on his cane. “She likes the cane?” he said baffled.

A blush crept on his face as he stared at the cane, wondering what on earth she could possibly think was sexy about it. He was somewhat embarrassed that Emily and Penelope knew intimate details of his relationship with Y/N, but they’d worked together for so long, there was probably nothing secret between them anymore. “Well,” he started, turning around to walk out the door and lifting his cane from the ground, “I think I might just use this newfound information to my advantage.”

Emily and Penelope screamed in unison, “Too much information!”

                                             ————————-

You finally had the night off with your boyfriend, who was still nursing the gunshot wound to his leg. He was healing nicely and wouldn’t have to use the cane in a couple of weeks. Hiding your face in the refrigerator while you were preparing dinner, you realized you’d miss that cane. There was something about him with it - you could not describe it - that you found wildly attractive. Granted you were dating for a year, but you couldn’t tell him that. It was unexplainable.

As you pulled the lasagna from the oven, you felt a smack on your butt, but it wasn’t from Spencer’s hand. You turned around. “Did you just smack my ass with your cane?” you questioned bewildered.

The corners of his mouth turned up into an enormous smile that spread across his face, “It was calling out to me, and I have this so I figured I’d improvise,” he said, motioning to his cane. You didn’t even want to get super kinky with it, but damn it if you didn’t enjoy that little display of affection.

“You gonna do something about it?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said, sprinkling the parmesan cheese on the lasagna and shaking your ass in his general direction.

He came up behind you, kissing your neck. You reached over to turn the oven off - no need to burn the apartment down while you were getting busy. As if he had read your mind, he maneuvered the cane in front of you, using it to pull you closer to him. You turned around to face him, feeling the cane pushing at your back. “Wanna work up an appetite before dinner?” you asked, raising your eyebrow. Hopefully, he’d keep the cane nearby.

Using the end of the cane, he pushed up the hem of your shirt, exposing your stomach to his wandering hands. “That’s what I was thinking,” he murmured against your neck.

“Sounds great, but let’s go to the couch. You may be almost healed, but I don’t want you screwing up your knee again because we were doin’ it,” you snickered, pulling his face to yours for a deep kiss.

Spencer kept the cane at your back as you slowly made your way over to the couch, seating him first. Disrobing wasn’t necessary, as you were wearing an oversized sweatshirt and underwear and he was only wearing pajama pants. You climbed into his lap and your quick, frenzied kisses became more deep and wanting. As you ground your pelvis down onto him, he once again moved the cane to your back, coaxing you closer to him. Heavy breathing indicated this wasn’t going to last very long on either of your parts, but neither of you seemed to care.

You used your tongue to explore his mouth, simultaneously running your hands through his ever-growing hair. You loved it this length. It was soft and wavy and wonderful. “Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned, trying as best as his injured knee would allow to lift up and meet your grinding motions.

“Don’t hurt yourself, babe,” you said, smiling into his mouth before hungrily taking it again. He deftly removed your sweatshirt, using his cane to flick it all the way across the room and knocking over a lamp. You snorted, throwing your head back, “Only us.”

He moved your panties aside and you placed him at your entrance, sliding him in smoothly, and doing your best to avoid putting pressure on his injured leg. Slow, tantric style would have to wait for another time, this needed to be quick and messy. You moved up and down on his length over and over again, feeling the tightening in your core within minutes. As you were about to come, Spencer placed the cane at the back of your neck and used it to pull you in for a kiss, which all but killed you. “Oh my god, Spence,” you groaned, grinding yourself against him as fast as your body would allow. Shaking uncontrollably, you came together and then melted into each other, kissing once more - completely spent.

“Can I tell you something?” you breathed.

He kissed and sucked at your neck - a weak spot for you- and said, “Of course.”

“You using the cane? Totally got me going. I have no idea why.”

He smiled into your neck, “Yea, so I heard.”

“Heard from who?” you queried, being knocked out of your post-coital calm with that new information. Who in the world could have told him that? You hadn’t said anything to anyone - had you? 

“You might have said so at Penelope’s while you were drunk the other night,” he laughed.

“And she told you?”

“And Emily,” he chuckled.

“Oh my god, she’s dead.”

anonymous asked:

ok but in the netflix series matt never folds his cane even though it looks like it's foldable?? like Please Why this is stressing me out, do you have any idea, Help

omg so yes matt definitely does have a collapsible cane that he… seems to mostly leave uncollapsed. he does collapse it occasionally, usually when he’s sitting at a table somewhere, and if i were an actual good person i’d pull out screenshots but i’m not so you’re screwed, i can’t think of a moment he does it in the defenders though

to be fair, lots of people don’t collapse their canes all the time even if they are collapsible. i have a collapsible support cane that i leave open most of the time when i’m at home or if i’m out and using it; i fold it up to travel and for storage if i’m not going to be using it for a while (and i like to keep it in my bike basket or backpack on good mobility days). when i’m at home it makes more sense to lean it up against the corner with my other canes than to fold it up and store it separately. 

avia @patrexes and i were talking while watching the show about how matt leaves his cane uncollapsed when he comes home and just angles it up against the wall; we both do that too with guide canes and support canes respectively. stacks on stacks of canes in the corner by the door. 

only vaguely related, in the comics matt hangs his cane up on a coat rack when he comes home even though it’s collapsible, but we do see him holding it collapsed when he’s in court and when he’s on a bus. i’d like to see more of that in the show, tbf — just matt like. using his cane in versatile ways instead of just exclusively using two-point technique in every context and leaving it mostly uncollapsed 

‘Imagine your OTP’, based on this post by @friendlyneighbourhoodpizzaman

With blind!Dean and waiter!Cas, a little bit of humor, and a lot of fluff. 

The groan of misery that wrestled its way past Castiel’s lips couldn’t be contained, no matter how hard he’d been trying to remain professional.

Nearly one in the morning, and just as the restaurant was about to finally close, of course there was one last group of customers. Normally, Castiel didn’t mind; until he could find someone willing to publish his book, his job as a waiter would have to pay the bills. Long days meant more money, nothing wrong with that.

But seeing as it was past midnight and he’d been on his feet for nearly fourteen hours, he inwardly cursed the family of four, now making themselves at home in one of the booths in the back. Just his luck.

“Put on a smile, Castiel.” Castiel cringed when his manager, Naomi, briskly tapped his shoulder. “We want these nice people to enjoy their meal and visit again.”

Of-freaking-course they did. Castiel forced a smile as he grabbed some of the menus from the counter. He could do this. One more hour, he could make it.

He greeted the family with a polite “welcome to ‘Taste of Heaven’, how are you doing this evening”, then began to hand out the menus. Two for the blonde lady and the dark haired man on the left, clearly a couple, both in their late forties. Two for the boys on the other side of the booth, probably their sons, judging by the way they were bickering like brothers would. One of the boys had shaggy brown hair and looked to be a bit younger than Castiel, eighteen or nineteen perhaps. The other boy -the one with the handsome face and the freckles- appeared to be around Castiel’s age, either in his final year of college, or already graduated like Castiel had last year.

In hindsight, Castiel could’ve avoided the mistake that he was about to make. Being naturally observant, Castiel should’ve noted the dark sunglasses that the older boy was wearing even though it was one in the morning and they were inside. Not to mention the white cane resting in the corner of the booth.

Feeling like the average zombie at the end of an endless apocalypse, Castiel handed the menus to the boys on autopilot. And that’s when his brain caught up, entirely too late.

When the older boy spoke, tone dead serious but not unfriendly, Castiel prayed for the ugly tiled floor to swallow him whole. “Ah… thank you… Yeah, I’ll just… read this.

In that moment, Castiel was less than content with himself. Because how could he have missed this? The boy was blind. Whatever was to blame, whether it was Castiel’s general exhaustion or a recent lack of sleep, he let out a rather hysterical snort at his own stupid error.

“Dean! Don’t be rude.” The blonde woman gently chastised her son, Dean, even though the rest of them seemed highly amused.

Castiel apologized quickly before all but running away, feeling his cheeks burn.

This was awful. Note to self; do not work more hours than your sanity can handle. Ever again.

Keep reading

Chris had been thinking about this for a while now. It had been a few weeks since they had sex for the first time, and it’s just gotten more amazing as times gone on. She knew though that they would eventually have to talk about the elephant in the room.

She cane around the corner, joining him on the couch where he was watching tv. “Alex,” she started. “Can I ask you something?”

The Haunting of Tucker

I wrote this end of April and then completely forgot about it. It’s a sort of alternate/possible history for Tucker, with a handful of headcanons thrown in. So here’s a late (for no particular reason) entry for Phanniemay, Day 13: Childhood

***

“Your grandmother’s been sick for a long time,” his dad said.

Tucker tried to picture Grandmother sick and frail. It was impossible for his seven-year-old mind to conjure. Grandmother, to him, was like a big angry buzzard, ferocious and demanding. She wielded her cane more like a club than a walking aid, and the oxygen tubes she’d started wearing in the last few months made her seem to Tucker like Darth Vader, rasping in regulated breaths like some mechanical beast.

He was wearing his Sunday best, a suit with a real tie instead of a clip-on, that his mother had tightened. She’d pushed away his hand when he’d tried to tug it loose. Grandmother couldn’t abide any sloppiness.

“We’re going in to say goodbye,” Mom added. “So be on your best behavior and try not to make too much noise.”

Then they all paraded into Grandmother’s room, the whole family, Tucker’s mother and father and his uncles and cousins, and a couple of great-aunts, too. The hospital bed was vast and set high on its wheeled rails, like an antiseptic throne. There Grandmother half lay, half sat, in a red quilted dressing gown and with her hair done up flawlessly.

To Tucker, it didn’t seem like Grandmother at all. More like a weird, shriveled creature that had completely replaced her.Her face was grey and slack, as if the muscles couldn’t quite pull the mouth closed or give expression to the meticulously plucked eyebrows. Yet her dark eyes glittered like obsidian in the resinous pits beneath her brow, crackling with fire.

A shaky hand reached out toward him, the youngest. His mother nudged him forward. The grip felt more like the talon of a vulture—cold, leathery, relentless—than the hand of a dying woman.

“Give us a kiss,” the thing on the bed said.

Keep reading

vera-invenire  asked:

Matt/Foggy, 2?

Yay, mistletoe kiss! Pretend I posted it  before Christmas? ;)

+

“It’s festive,” Foggy says, climbing down from the step stool, hammer in hand. “Don’t you want Nelson and Murdock to be festive, Karen?”

Foggy does. Foggy is all about festivity. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

He’s been busy; little bundles of mistletoe are affixed firmly to the crown molding above the main entryway, his and Matt’s office doors, the kitchen doorway, and a few odd corners besides. They’re the real thing, glossy green leaves, waxy white berries, the works.

Karen squints up at his handiwork. “So… I’m guessing the normal rules don’t apply? With Matt?” Her casualness is poorly, poorly, faked, and when Foggy doesn’t respond right away, she adds, fluttering a hand, “I mean….”

“You better ask him. He likes a little danger in his life.” Foggy pitches his voice to reach the shadow he can see through the frosted glass of the office door - not that any pitching is actually necessary. “Don’t you, Matt?”

“Ah, what’s that?” Matt enters, propping his cane in the corner, untwining a scarf. His nose and ears are pink from the cold, and a bruise on his cheek is purpling. A fist? A blunt instrument? The icy sidewalk? Foggy would’ve only considered one of those options, before.

“Mistletoe. You in or out?”

“Oh, in. Sure. Just - give me a tour first?”

Keep reading

2

I’m feeling super springy lately 🌷🌷

✨DETAILS
💫 Morphe 35B Palette matte back (lashline) matte mint green (lower lashline), matte white (browbone), and metallic light pink (lid)
💫 Too Faced Chocolate Bar Palette “Salted Caramel” (crease), “Milk Chocolate”, “Semi Sweet” (outer corner), “Candied Violet” (outer third of lid), and “Champagne Truffle” (lid)
💫 Clinique A Black Honey Affair All About Shadow Palette “Lavender Out Loud” (lower lashline) and “Sugar Cane” (inner corner)
💫 NYX Cottage Cheese Jumbo Pencil (base for lower lashline)
💫 Jordana Best Lash Extreme Lengthening Mascara
💫 Ardell Demi Wispies

6

I was tagged by the wonderful @chronicallybadass for the 6 selfies of 2015 challenge (shhh I know one isn’t technically a selfie). I love that these show a life outside of being ill but you can still see it with little things like the cane in the corner or laying on the floor or the comfy clothes that won’t hurt my skin. It’s interesting. Anyway, thanks for the tag!

I tag: @liebeliebesxx, @theecrohniegrace, @wheelchair-warrior, @karolynprg @heylistencosplay, and @leonstirling if you guys want to do it! (no pressure if not of course)

Red

She is smooth,
dreams are strong.
She takes his hand
and he tags along,
around, all over,
flashlights under
the covers.

She is red, 
all heart,
wouldn’t
hurt a fly, 
but would 
give it honey
when the fruit
runs dry.

She is skipping
through the stars,
all red, lips swollen,
wine-stained -
back arching like a 
candy-cane and 

She takes his hand,
and he tags along -
leaving the house 
with the lights left on. 

One day, one rhyme- Day 399

Along a bumpy dirt track lane
Just past the broken stile
There stands a carved old walking cane
That’s been there quite a while.
No one remembers when it came,
Nobody saw it laid
And in the interim no claim
Of ownerships been made.
I like to think of some old man
Who’d been struggling to stand
Ran into good old Peter Pan
And flew to Neverland!