faux lace

“It’s just hair!” Oh really?

Imagine my surprise *sarcasm* when I say Coco put up a picture of herself in cornrows titling it “The Coco Swoop”.

And imagine my surprise *sarcasm*, when I saw her husband (Ice-T ) respond with an oh-so dismissive tweet “It’s just hair”!

Ohhh all of a sudden “It’s just hair”

But it wasn’t “just hair” when black women were trying to get society to understand that weaves and wigs are protective styling options.

It wasn’t “just hair” when we were trying to get people to understand the implications of white supremacy and how that affects the way we see our hair..Because everyone knows that for a lonnnngggg ass time, black hair was seen as a burden and to a certain degree, it still is.

Oh no! It wasn’t “just hair” then. We didn’t get the benefit of that doubt back then. What we did get, was accusations of being sellouts, self-haters, hair-hatted hooligans, bald head scallywags and everything in between.

And whenever black women mentioned that “white girls wear weave too” black males told us, and I quote “well at least the weave matches their own hair texture”. But now I’m seeing white women wearing faux locs, lace fronts, “coco swoops”, “boxer braids” lemonade braids, and black males aren’t calling them self-haters. And let’s be honest, those faux locs and those box braids sure as hell don’t fit European hair textures. I guess it’s a different standard for white women. Wearing hair that doesn’t match our natural texture makes us a self-hating, hair-hatted hooligan that black men don’t want anything to do with because we don’t wear our “real hair” but if a white woman installs the same weave and the same “COCO SWOOP” that black girls have been wearing since Eartha Kitt was a child, it goes from “you’re a self-hater to “it’s just hair”??? Is anyone else seeing a pattern here?

Black Women please wake up!  A thief always has an accomplice. Black female erasure is real. #Tisall



“Dan, I swear to go-“

“I’ll do it if daddy asks nicely.”


genre: smutty smut smut, little fluff at the end if you squint, but it’s mostly smut

warnings: swearing, anal, blowjobs, edging, daddy!kink

word count: 1973

read on ao3!

a/n: after many nights of unmotivated rolling around, i have created this masterpiece! i don’t have much to say other than thank you for following me and being patient because i know i haven’t been writing as much. i definitely want to change that this year, so don’t forget to send me prompts! this fic was beta’ed by the lovely holly (@dark-days-dark-nights-xx) and tom (@theotheristhedoctor).  i hope you enjoy <3

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Bioware Merch I’d Actually Buy
  • sebastian’s crop-top jacket with his fluff collar (unisex or at least with a men’s option, cause fuck yeah need me that)
  • an ACTUAL cullen hoodie, leliana’s jacket style (ANGL) with his sunburst designs and a faux fur-laced collar
  • a men’s fitted dorian jacket, that is similar, but without the giant Inquisitor sign (and maybe has a detachable sleeve)
  • a chargers letterman jacket, where the crisp lines end in “horn” points and the back has the bull’s horns with the words “horns pointing up”
  • a grey warden’s jacket, literally any style other than bioware’s cheap and lame hoodie with logo stamped on chest/back. give me like a faux leather or jean jacket with griffon motifs in cool places (buttons, along the collar, etc.)
  • a sera (maybe crop top) jacket with a red base/waistcoat and plaidweave sleeves, maybe a little cookie motif on the chest and has to have pockets (probably wouldn’t buy for myself, but fuck yeah)
  • literally more scarves, romance scarves, decent scarves, I am a scarf ho seriously it’s my thing
The Novaks: The One Where You Fight Back

Characters: Balthazar, Gabriel, Lucifer, Castiel, Michael x sister!reader

Words: 2000

Warnings: A little bit of blood, minor injury, physical + verbal fight, swearing, fluff. Tagging stuff just to be safe.

A/N: Hello mates. I’m back with another piece of this series. I am going to mix it up with other fics, but I’ve been feeling inspired :) This is based on two of your suggestions, with a few changes. Hopefully it’ll still be recognizable. Read about how the series work and the other part here: The Novaks Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

You walk out of the building that makes you feel like a caged tiger — school — with a sigh, rolling your shoulders back. You’re free for a few hours now until you have to return for another day — if you don’t count the seemingly never ending pile of homework you’ve been given.

Honking breaks through your thoughts along with the chatter of the other students, and your head whip in the direction it’s coming from, your intuition telling you about who it might be.

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Revali from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild made as a commission! The commissioner initially wanted a floppy beanie plush and had given me artistic license on how many accessories to incorporate (they at least wanted the small wings, pants & scarf) and I decided I wanted to try to fit in as many details as I possibly could. This is my first time making a fully clothed character plush and it was quite an experience!

He’s made of Midnight Blue and Snow White minky with velboa legs, feet, & beak and his various accessories & attire are made from fleece, 2 mm felt, faux suede, knits, leather lace, minky, and polymer clay beads along with lots of machine embroidered details. He measures approximately 13.5 inches long / 34 cm with a wingspan of 15 inches / 38 cm.

I personally haven’t played BotW but I adore the Rito designs so much, I was really happy to get to make one!

OOAK plush commission, not for sale.

(Donald Pierce x Reader)

A/N: SO I went to see Logan yesterday and it was sick so I thought I’d write a little Donald Pierce x Reader thang. I can see some serious potential for a part 2 so let me know what y’all think. This contains some major spoilers for Logan and mentions of violence. Enjoy!

Your feet clicked against the stone floor as you entered your kitchen. You’d done this every day for the last four years but today something was different. The plates inside of the cupboard began to rattle as soon as you entered and you gripped the kitchen surface to steady yourself. 

They escaped. They’re free. 

You breathed rapidly trying to still the surge of emotion building inside you. You’d never felt so conflicted - you couldn’t deny that you were glad the children were finally free but by doing so you had betrayed the person that you loved. 

But how could you ever love him? He was a monster. 

The tempestuous feelings inside you built to such a level that the lights around the room began to flicker. The sounds of kettle rapidly switching on and off filled your ears as the currents surged from your body into the kitchen around you. 

You felt as thought you were about to explode when you suddenly heard the front door slam. You stopped instantly - only at the result of decades of schooling yourself to react automatically to company - and the cutlery draw crashed loudly onto the floor.  

‘Baby?’ You heard a thick southern accent drawl from nearby as you released the kitchen counter from your grip and stood stock still. 

Donald appeared before you a moment later. His sunglasses hung loosely in his hand as he squinted at you in the dim light of the kitchen. The fuse must have blown again. 

'Darlin’ are you okay?’

Donald pressed his flesh hand to your cheek, face automatically tightening in concern when he felt how cold and clammy the skin felt underneath. Your little episode had weakened you significantly and constantly suppressing your abilities only allowed you to use them in short bursts anyway. 

'What happened in here?’ Donald gestured towards the floor and for the first time you noticed  cutlery was scattered everywhere from where the draw had fallen. 

'I-I stumbled and pulled it out.’ You murmured avoiding his gaze as he studied your face. Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Donald led you to front room where he help you sit down on the sofa. You instantly flopped down onto your back as he briefly left the room before reappearing with a damp flannel which you were secretly grateful for as a headache began to blossom over your brow. 

'I-I think I’m sick.’ You mumbled again as you scrunched your eyes shut trying to block out the pain. 

'Shh just lie back. I got you.’ Donald spoke softly as he dabbed your brow with the cloth. His metal hand rested on your wrist and you tried to resist springing away from him. You were too uncontrolled right now and you didn’t trust yourself. One wrong move and you could kill him. 

'I’ll take you to get checked out. No offence baby but you look like hell.’ You knew that Donald’s faux-teasing voice was laced with worry underneath. 

'No! No - really. I’ll be fine. I just need rest.’ You steadied your voice as you lay back, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling above you. 

'That’s my girl. Always stubborn.’ Donald chided gently, his hand still resting on your wrist - probably as a subtle way to measure your pulse. Slowly you could feel yourself starting to regain your strength as you focused on emptying your mind of all the feelings that had crowded you earlier. 

'I hate to leave you doll, really - but something’s happened.' 

You knew damn well what had happened but Donald didn’t know that. So you schooled your voice into one of concern as you as you attempted to pry the truth from him. 

'What is it?' 

'Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I’ll have some of the boys set up outside to listen out in case you need me.' 

Great. You thought, knowing full well that it would be highly suspect of you to refuse his protection. 

'Okay love.’ You heard yourself saying, offering him a smile that you silently prayed would appear convincing. Donald seemed satisfied (or distracted) as he leaned forward and kissed you. 

After he left you finally allowed your muscles to relax. You could still feel tiny shocks and static in your fingertips but the worst of it was over. You had never been proud of your so-called powers. In fact they were little more than a curse.
You’d been born with the ability to control different energies around you. On the surface it appeared like an incredible gift but it had in fact brought you nothing but anguish. 

You remembered the first time your power had resulted in a death. You glanced down and stared at your hands, the same hands that had tightly gripped at the limp kitten in your arms when you were five years old. You could recall the static sensation of its singed hair on your skin. You didn’t mean to kill it you just didn’t know how to control yourself yet. 

Your parents were not like you -they said you were evil. You father had shook you so violently when he saw that you’d killed the kitten that you panicked and shocked him. As his limp body fell to the floor your mother began to scream, so loudly that it hurt your ears so you silenced her with a single jolt from your fingertips. 

After that you were alone. You were smart enough to know that your home wasn’t home anymore. You spent years traversing the country - trying to stay out of trouble and avoiding the authorities who were desperately searching for a missing child, presumed dead. 

You fled to Mexico when you were 17, a place where there were far less questions about where you’d come from. But you were still lost, drifting from one job to the next one that didn’t require a form of ID as you tried to keep the food in your belly. 

Your ability to control the energy around you was very much a two-way relationship. You naturally found yourself drawn to the cities buzzing with lights and people. You spent three years making your way around Mexico before finally settling in the capital. 

Transigen had captured your attention immediately. The amount of energy spilling from the walls of that place piqued your curiosity and you attempted to investigate what was happening inside, but to no avail. Security was far too tight. The only possible in for you was through employment. And for that you needed a verifiable background. 

So you bided your time. You worked night and day until you’d saved enough money to pay a man to create you a birth certificate and passport. You were now Y/N Y/L/N. You spent hours schooling yourself into the perfect Transigen employee - hardworking, intelligent but also obedient and loyal. You practiced suppressing your powers, reacting to every possible surprise or eventuality. You vowed never to kill anyone again. 

You paid the man extra just to throw in a few relevant medical qualifications, confident that you’d be able to learn as you worked, and before you knew it you’d landed the job. 

You kept a low profile for the first few months of your employment. You were mostly constrained to admin work and knew for the fact that not a single person in there trusted you yet. Slowly you gained the trust of your superiors and were gradually allowed into the lab. 

For a long time you couldn’t understand why the children were being kept like this. A cancer study seemed unlikely and your suspicions continued to grow. It wasn’t until one day when they attempted to restrain one boy who then decapitated the nurse stood next to you did you realise that these were not normal children.  

That day did not stick in your memory for that reason alone - it was also the day you met Donald Pierce. 

The moment he entered the room you had to suppress your abilities harder than you’d ever tried in your life. It didn’t help that he walked right up to, feet splashing in the blood that covered the hospital floor and brought his face right up to yours. 

'Ya hurt?' 

His blue eyes bored into yours as he spoke, his thick southern accent clouding any emotion that might have once been present in his voice like smoke. 

'No.’ Was all you managed in a tight voice, unable to tear your gaze away from his. Donald had stared at you a few seconds longer and for a moment you were sure he knew your secret. But after what felt like a millennium he stepped back. 

'Good. Don’t tell anyone about this.’ He murmured roughly before leaving the room. 

You didn’t know it at the time but that was the beginning of the two of you. Everyone at Transigen thought Donald was the devil incarnate but you could almost see a warped logic to his thinking. You didn’t want more to die because of people like you. But you never, ever, condoned the abuse and neglect that the children received. 

Every day that you worked there was another day where Donald cemented himself in your brain. You loathed yourself for being so hypnotised by his eyes and the way that the sound of his voice made your head swim. These feelings were completely alien to you and yet that didn’t stop you welcoming Donald’s invasion into your personal space, lips twisting into a half smile and revealing that ridiculous gold tooth when he studied you. 

'You’re a smart girl - in fact, I think you’re dangerous.’ Donald drawled one night as you were cleaning up the lab at the end of the day. The words made your blood run cold as your mind began to conjure the idea that he knew. But he simply laughed in the end and brushed your shoulder lightly as he left.  

It was difficult to piece together exactly how you’d arrived at your current destination. You and Donald had now been living together for four years. Four years. The fact was unbelievable even to your own ears but despite everything he showed you love that no one else had. You’d never been welcomed into a home to call your own before, never been held or never even been considered by anyone else until you met him. The last four years had been a conflict for you - how do you convince the man you love to give up his lifelong mission?  

The sound of the front door clicking shut startled you out of your reverie. Several hours had passed since Donald had last left and you found yourself buried under the sheets of your bed now, not realising you’d been lost in thought for so long. All was good, for now, and the energy both in you and around you felt relatively lax. 

You feigned sleep as you listened to Donald climb the stairs and enter the bedroom. He groaned in exhaustion as he undressed, his coat and jeans landing on the floor heavily as he stripped carelessly. 

He climbed into bed next to you and you tensed at the sensation of his cold arms as they wrapped around you. The sensation of his facial hair rough against your neck relaxed you a little - despite everything, you felt at home here when it was quiet. Donald relaxed next to you but you knew he was wide awake. 

'Everything okay?’ You whispered into the darkness as you intertwined your fingers with his. 

'The kids are gone. I don’t know how but they fuckin’ are.' 

His metal hand tightened around yours to the point of pain and you stroked his arm in response, hoping to calm him. 

'You’ll get them back.' 

'How do you know?’ Donald hissed and you tensed your jaw in response as you resisted the urge to snap back. Maybe you shouldn’t have been fucking holding them there in the first place. He didn’t scare you in the slightest but he could be difficult. 

Instead you tried a different tactic. You rolled over and pulled his nude body close to yours, your lips moving over his neck as he hummed in response.
'Because you’re better than they are.' 

Donald’s breath caught in his throat as his metal hand moved up to grip your hair as he kissed you. 

'Damn right.' 

You moved away briefly to take in the sight of him before surging forward and kissing him hungrily. Like your life depended on it. Donald made a noise of surprise but responded in kind. For all you knew this could be the last time. You could no longer sit idly by knowing what was happening.

It was time to act.

Originally posted by onlyasoulthings

Nighttime Sharpens, Heightens Each Sensation

Fandom: POTO
Summary: The Phantom has a secret - the reason he shies away from the gentlest of Christine’s touches, the reason he guards himself from affection, even from those he trusts. He’s just really, really, really…ticklish.
Warnings: Fluff and domestic bliss. Almost angst but quickly turns into a whole nother heaping helping of fluff. Truly raunchy stuff.
Word Count: 1,052

The Phantom had accepted long ago he was born as, and would forever remain, a sensitive creature. Any true artist, creator, and angel had a softer side. The heart often ruled above the head as the arts ensnared every sense.

But that was not the only sensitivity Erik was plagued by.

The first time he came close to letting it slip was when kisses with Christine had become fervent for the first time and her fingers had curled against his neck. Abruptly, he had drawn away, somewhat surprised that his nerves remembered how to be ticklish after spending so many years untouched.

She had questioned him, of course, afraid she had hurt him or offended him in some way. He had only stuttered slightly in his reply, mumbling something about inspiration and rushing over to his organ, pretending to compose.

(He had, incidentally, managed to compose a piece so light and bubbly afterward he was almost ashamed of its likeness to playful glints of daylight dancing on stained glass.)

It had happened again when she had reached forward to smooth some wrinkles in his shirt. Her hands had brushed far too lightly over his sides and he had found it impossible not to twitch and bite back a smile at the sensation.

Since then, the…incidents…had grown more and more frequent. Almost every day, there was an elbow to the ribs, a few nails scratching at the shoulder blades, a squeeze to the sides when they were mid-hug. It was as if she was testing him, trying to prove a theory. Something inside him glowed with anticipation whenever he pondered it.

One day, every passing tickle, every minute poke and prod, culminated into what appeared to be the inevitable inquiry.

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DP Fic Exchange

Here’s my fic for the fic exchange for @rainsart based on this piece (x). I went a little overboard with this one, but I hope you enjoy! ^.^  (Btw, the timeline on this is vague.)


“Danny, stop pacing. You’re going to make a hole in the floor.” Danny was snapped out of his pacing. He turned to Jazz who looked about thirty seconds away from throwing her book at him. Her fingers drummed against the side of the book, as one of her eyes actually twitched in irritation.

 Maybe he shouldn’t have been pacing in the living room, but he was twitchy damn it. 

He huffed  and let his arms flop dramatically on top of the couch. “They’re late,” He bemoaned.

“People can be late.” Faux patience laced her voice.

“Sam isn’t!”

“And Tucker?”

“...Okay, but-”

Jazz slammed her book, making a move to stand up. “Danny,” Oh shit, she had on her mom voice. Danny already straightened his back and crossed his arms over his chest before he even realized what he was doing. It seemed like she was going to go on lecture mode, but she stopped. She stared at him a moment, and after her eyes danced up and down his face, she let out a soft sigh and settled back down in her seat.

“Just, you’re over thinking this,” Jazz finally managed, “Sam had to pick up Tucker and you know how he’s always late for everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knock on that door in the next few minutes, bickering like they always do.”

Danny picked at the end of binder. It fit snuggly against his skin. It felt different from his usual binders, having been made water-proof for days at the pool. Like today. Where his friends were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago to go to the water park.

This would be the first time he went to a waterpark like this. Just in a binder and swim trunks. He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. It wasn’t like his friends really cared, but that small ‘what if’ always danced in the back of his head. It was stupid. He knew it was. But anxiety made you think stupid things that weren’t true, and it sucked.

Danny let out an irritated sigh, glaring at the ground. Where were Sam and Tucker? They could make him stop thinking stupid thoughts.

“Hello? Earth to Danny? You’re not an astronaut yet, little brother, so don’t space out on me.”

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his stupid thoughts. He was about to respond, but then he realized-

-Jazz had punned.

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Late Nights at Pop's - Jughead Jones x Reader

Two teenagers sat in a booth at Pop’s, empty milkshake glasses discarded at the other end of the table. One of them was typing furiously whilst the other watched the world pass by outside.

As she gazed at him affection transformed her features into a smile that no amount of effort could conceal. He was exhausted, she could tell, but even as his eyes grew tired and his shoulders slumped he was determined to write one more word, one more page. Jason Blossom’s murder had consumed his thoughts and sparked a desire in him to write it all down and express the experience in eloquent words and hypnotising sentences. She’d only caught the briefest of glimpses of what he was writing, unable to offer him the praise she was certain he deserved. But now as the hands of the clock approached 11 pm she was determined to get him home and ensure he got a good nights sleep for once in his life. Ever since she’d discovered his living situation she had forced him to come and stay with her, reassuring him of her parents’ love for him and willingness to take care of him.

“Stop staring, it’s rude” He grumbled, eyes never leaving the laptop screen in front of him.

“Is a girl not allowed to admire her gorgeous boyfriend?” Faux innocence laced her words, causing her smile to grow wider as she watched his cheeks turn red from her compliment.

“No.” Was the only answer he gave her as he continued to type.

“Well, I think you’re wrong. I also think we should leave because you’re exhausted”

“Am not”

“Are to” They continued to bicker like children, Pop watching them fondly from the table he was wiping down across the room.

“Please Juggie” She knew he could never say no to her when she pleaded with him. She repeated herself, waiting for the moment his features would soften and he would turn to her with eyes full of love. This didn’t happen, instead, he stubbornly continued to stare at his screen.

“Juggie, baby, pleeease” Despite her use of a pet name which she knew he secretly loved, the growing blush on his cheeks proof of this, he remained still and unwavering. She decided to take action and move if he was unwilling to. She carefully slid out of her side of the booth, walked round the table and shuffled down Jughead’s side. He still refused to look at her but the flicker of amusement on his face assured her that she was making progress. Her arms snaked their way around his slim waist whilst her lips started to litter kisses on his exposed neck. His fingers stilled on the keyboard while she continued to shower him with affection. She knew she had him now but she wanted to tease him a little bit more for keeping her at Pop’s for so long. So, trailing her lips up to his ear, she gently pulled his earlobe between her teeth before whispering in his ear.

“Baby, pleease” With those words Jughead shut his laptop and pulled her face to his, placing a firm kiss on her lips.

“I hate you” He muttered, but it was clear he didn’t mean it, anyone could see that as love clouded his eyes and pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“No, you don’t”

“No I don’t” He picked up his laptop, and as they walked out of the diner he put his arm around her shoulders, amazed by how easily this girl had wound him around her little finger and snuck into his heart.