hottest woman of all time yes

There is a familiar story about a woman from a Bible study group who had decided, after the study on “being refined as silver,” to visit a silversmith. Her purpose was to better understand what this Scripture meant and get a deeper understanding into the ways of God. So, she offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study. 

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities. The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: “He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.” She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that “yes,” he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?

He smiled at her and answered, "Oh, that’s easy, when I see my image in it.

anonymous asked:

Could you write “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” for Royai? Your writing is incredible!! Thank you <3

Thank you so muchh!!! You’re too kind, anon! Sorry this took so long, but here you go!

This prompt is from this list, and my askbox is always open if anyone wants to send me anything!


“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“You and I both know it’s a gun, Colonel.”

Roy looked at Riza as she entered the office, her face drawn in a grimace for having to work overtime alone with Roy, and his smirking at that terrible line, seemingly not even mad about being left with only Riza in the office.

“You’re right, that particular phrase doesn’t tend to work too well on women,” He leaned back in his chair, “You should be the one saying it to me, Lieutenant.”

“I would, sir, if I ever resorted to using such cheesy lines on anyone, which, unfortunately,” Riza dropped her files on Roy’s cluttered desk, “Will be never.”

“Oh come on, Lieutenant, you have to admit some of these are hilarious,” Unfazed by the growing pile of papers on his desk, Roy stood up.

“All of them are terrible,” Riza crossed her arms as the Colonel rounded to the other side of his desk and came to stand in front of her.

“Hey Riza,” He cocked his head to one side, and Riza sighed, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“What, Colonel?”

“If you were a vegetable you’d be a cute-cumber.”

How was it that every pick up line Roy seemed to have just got worse and worse?

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a couch potato. Because you use your work as a pillow instead of actually doing it normally,” Riza couldn’t help but retort. However, instead of discouraging Roy, he seemed to take it as a challenge.

“Hey Riza,” He leaned back onto his desk, and surveyed Riza’s unimpressed face, “Can I follow you home? Cause my parents always told me to follow my dreams.”

“Hayate would go berserk if he thought someone suspicious was following me.”

“If this office is a meat market, you must be the prime rib,” Roy kept smirking, and Riza was immediately overcome with the urge to turn away and leave.

“I’m the only rib here,” Instead, though, she indulged Roy in another comment.

“It’s a good thing I wore gloves today. Otherwise you’d be too hot to handle,” He fired back, and stood up so that he was once again close to her.

“You wear gloves every day. It’s a weird obsession of yours,” Riza waited for him to close the distance between them.

“You wound me, Lieutenant,” Roy clutched at his heart, “But even so, I will only stop loving you when an apple grows from a mango tree on the 30th of February.”

God, the pickup lines just got worse and worse…

But in a dumb way, Roy was kind of adorable telling them. At every single cheesy one-liner, Roy’s grin grew wider, and his eyes lit up brighter. It was almost like he was a teenage nerd again, trying to win her friendship through chemistry puns. Even though Roy may outwardly have a stern, brooding demeanor, in reality he was such an embarrassing dork.

And as much as Riza hated to admit it, this was one of the many reasons she had fallen in love with Roy. Seeing his excitement at terrible chemistry puns and even more terrible pickup lines was endearing in its own, strange way. Honestly, if he wasn’t such a weirdo, Riza didn’t know how their relationship would work out.

“Hey baby, I must be a light switch, cuz every time I see you, you turn me on,” This time, Roy whispered into Riza’s ear, and she almost batted him away, despite actually beginning to enjoy herself.

“Riza, You’re so hot, I bet you could light a candle at 10 paces,” Roy continued, somehow almost telepathically picking up on the fact that Riza, despite her initial protests, liked his stupid jokes. Damn, he knew her too well.

“Colonel, I thought you were the only Flame Alchemist here,” She turned around to him,

“Riza,” His warm breath managed to tickle the hairs on Riza’s neck, “You know what this shirt is made of?”

“100% Amestrian-grown cotton.”

“Boyfriend material.”

Roy wrapped his arms around Riza, and she laughed at first, lamenting the fact that she had fallen in love with such a dork.

Upon hearing the laughter spill from her mouth, Roy pecked her cheek, “There we go! I knew one of these lines would work!”

Riza only laughed harder, “If anything, I’d be less willing to go out with you after listening to that mess! Any weaker woman may have even slapped you in the face for trying to pick her up like that.”

“It’s a good thing I have the strongest woman I know right here in my arms, then,” Roy’s hand ran across her back, the silk of his gloves incredibly smooth against the cotton of her uniform, “Besides, I’d never really use any of those lines on anyone outside. I do have a reputation to uphold as the city’s hottest bachelor and slickest womanizer.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Riza brought her own hands up to twiddle the gold rope hanging from his shoulder epaulet, “But I guess that does raise the question of why you know them all.”

“A long while ago, Hughes threw a book at my head screaming at me to get a wife, and as it turns out, some author had the time to type hundreds of wonderful pickup lines out for me to use.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you seem to have memorized them all,” Riza leaned her head on his shoulder, not caring about the gold stars pressing into her cheek.

Before answering, Roy brought his own head down to rest on hers, “I find them very amusing, Lieutenant, and even though you try to deny it, I know you do to.”

“I do not.”

“There she goes again…” Roy sighed, but Riza could still feel the smile on his lips.

And she was absolutely sure he could feel the same small smile on hers.


All terrible pickup lines are from this website

BUT DID ANYONE NOTICE THIS?!!!! SWANFUCKINGQUEEN HOLDING EACH OTHER!!! WITH MOMMA SNOW AND HENRY!!!
Look at Emma’s face like “I can finally hold my woman in public!”
Snow White all like “oh you guys are holding each other now… Please regina be good to her.”
And Regina is all like “yes snow… I can fucking take care of Emma can you please leave us alone now?”
And finally Henry like “omg I can’t believe it… The two hottest females are both my moms! Yay! Suck on that everyone!”

On Kindness, On Intention, and On Anger in Children’s Writers

“It is not my intention today to hurt anyone. I would never want to cause anyone pain.”

Jane Resh Thomas, a well-respected children’s writer of the 20th century, benefactor of a scholarship on critical analysis, and professor at Hamline University’s Master of Fine Arts in Writing for Children (MFAC) program, began her lecture, “On Kindness: Writing in the Age of Disgruntlement,” this way today.

She then spent just over an hour ardently telling students – students of color, students who are queer, students who are women, students with learning disabilities, students with mental illness, students who have backgrounds she does not know and cannot assume – that those who have been oppressed, those whose essential humanity has been denied, silenced, literally erased from history and society, must grant to their oppressors Kindness and Empathy, Because We Are All Equals.

With all due respect: no, we are not. That’s the goal. That’s the hope. I believe, even right now, in my anger, that it is also Jane’s hope. I believe that Jane believes it is true, even.

But Jane believes in that level playing field because she is granted the privilege of visibility. She is white. She is straight. She because of those privileges, she has had the opportunity to be eminent in her field. Because she has had that privilege, her voice has been heard, and heard with reverberation and influence, echoes of Jane Resh Thomas bouncing in arcs around the field of Children’s Literature to this minute. And beyond.

And that is why I am so angry that she would use that voice to say, Those who have never been heard must still hear me. People whose voices have never been heard because if they speak up, they are in danger, must allow those who put them in danger to hold the megaphone still.

I am angry that I had to listen to someone whose job is to teach me to write with clarity and empathy and resonant word choices say that the word “redneck” is comparable to the word “n******.” I am appalled that she called another professor a c**t to get a laugh. I am appalled that she got it, although I think so much of it was a funereal giggle – that laugh that bubbles up in the face of discomfort and fear of consequences. But there are no funereal jokes.

I am angry that someone whose job is to teach critical analysis argued that the historical significance of the Confederate flag meant that it earned its place to fly simply because it once flew, completely disregarding the historiographical significance that it did not fly over the South Carolina capitol until nearly a century after the Civil War and the cultural and critical implications of its continued and violent use to harm human beings. There was no attempt at the analysis of culture and place here, and that rightful outrage was spoken about like a temper tantrum.

We are children’s writers. Honestly, we need to honor the emotional validity of temper tantrums, too. Even if you don’t want to listen.

I am angry that someone who speaks every semester on writing gently and truthfully about pain placed her own need to feel heard over the pain of others – including the children we all are learning to write for. I am angry that someone with the comfort and privilege of a position of power above us students gave this lecture On High about how others’ pain can be invalid… if we cannot personally feel it. Or rather, if an old, straight, white woman cannot feel it.

“I would never want to hurt another person.”

I have seen Jane speak a number of times now, and I always come away uncomfortable with her ostensible assertion that the nature of pain is that all pain is equal and all pain is transient. Even as she spoke of the Fisher King, with his open wound, she asked for black culture to “get over” slavery. To “move past it.”

In the first lecture of hers that I saw, Jane posited that rape was not a “real” cause of trauma, that those who are strong enough can somehow “use” the experience to learn to be “better people.” Every time I have seen her speak, she asks for the (mandatory, captive) audience to write an exposure piece about their wounds. As though the place for that, for everyone, is always that place, at that time. For those wounds.

Some wounds do not close. The maggots that she talked about infesting the flesh of the burned are made of words and actions and, yes Jane, microaggressions (which are real, by the way). These maggots made of denial of privilege and leveraging of power over the powerless make a feast of all of us… but some more than most. Our, and their, pain runs the deepest and the hottest because those crawling parasites make their way past the bones and into the marrow of our culture’s consciousness. They are why an old white woman can feel that young black students opposed to any lauding of the Confederacy on their campus are “silly.”

They are why so many people in our own community jump down their own throats so far they speak out of their buttholes to defend sexist adult white men against young women calling them “sexist.” They are why people who wish to silence others can claim the word “kindness” and people trying so fucking (yes! fucking!) hard to speak cannot even claim their anger.

I am angry.

I am angry that by making her intentions a disclaimer, we are meant to act like Jane is absolved of her results.

I am angry that my safe place, for the last year, does not feel safe anymore.

But I will say that I think this experience taught our program one very, very valuable lesson about writing with “kindness” that Jane did not intend:

As content creators, as conscientious content creators, our intentions do not matter. Our executions matter. Jane did not set out to hurt people today.

But a lot of people in our community are hurting today.

And a lot of people in our community hurt all the time.

Not all wounds can be cleaned of maggots. Not even by burning them at the hot stove.






EDITORIAL CORRECTION: After speaking with Laura, she clarified that to her, it sounded like Jane said “I’ve been called c***,” not “I’d call you a c***..