look. at that. coif

Have you ever considered that Zemo’s plan to flush Bucky out of hiding by having people recognize him on the street would have failed if Bucky has just gotten himself a nice haircut and shaved and maybe tried not to look like the shiftiest sad hobo in Romania

Women’s Work

There is a story going around the interwebs about a pair of professionals who traded their electronic signatures for a few weeks and about how the male then discovered that the female was treated differently and about how hard women have it in the professional world.

It reveals how much trouble women have being taken seriously as experts. On anything. In reading the comments left on this story, I discovered the same sad narrative in nearly every one. Women, strong, intelligent women, were doubted at every step, on a daily basis, because no one believed they could possibly know what they were talking about.

Reading through these stories I thought, well, at least that doesn’t happen to teachers. As women in a traditionally female field, we are less likely to be immediately doubted when we speak, less likely to be dismissed purely because we are female.


Until it hit me.

The whole teaching profession is constantly being asked to see its manager. The whole profession is constantly being doubted. The whole profession is seen as being ill-informed. Teachers are never seen as experts. We are regarded as something between babysitters and lazy, spoiled whiners, who just want our summers off.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Teaching is seen, by in large, as a feminine pursuit. And as such, teachers, while well-educated, well-trained, and well-read, are seen as less PROFESSIONAL and worthy of respect than our counterparts in other fields. When people DO praise teachers it is often with the kind of nostalgic affection reserved for things which are cute and sweet, not with the kind of respect given to others in other, more male dominated fields.

Everyone thinks they know what is best for education. Education policy, education critique, education reform: all are dominated by a kind of condescending man-splaining which would be abhorrent and vilified were it not accepted as the status quo.

Watch the video of the president signing his nomination for Betsy DeVos. He says, “Betsy…education, right?” like it could be any little honorarium he is throwing to any billionaire with a checkbook. Because education doesn’t need to be overseen by an expert. It is just women’s work. Put a nice, grandmotherly looking, well-coiffed lady in charge and it’ll be all good.

And when I have spoken out against this (and I have pretty much not stopped doing so for awhile now) people have pointed out to me that you do not need to have been a teacher to run a the Department of Education.

Really? Why? Because the base assumption is that teachers do not really understand big, important things like running a government bureaucracy. Our only purvey is the classroom, which like the home is to be paid respectful lip service, but not to be seen as a venue for real work.

I have had WOMEN, whom I LOVE, say things to me about educators like, “He is trying to run a company and she is worried about pipe cleaner art. Not really the same thing.”

The whole problem with the way our country talks about teachers is that, by in large, we are seen as a group of women, and therefore, the work we do is not seen to be really that challenging. There are whole books and television shows dedicated to the idea that a man, having excelled in another field, can stop by a classroom for a short period, for the purpose of entertainment or self-gratification, and somehow this is okay. No one thinks this about courtrooms or operating theaters.

I wonder why.


Comb over here and take a look! Ctenophore jellies have hairs carefully coiffed into combs that curve light into its component colors as the jellies course through the planktonic community. 

Q. ok but which is the good anaander and which is the bad one

A. hahahahaaaaaaaaa! no

vetralesbiannyx  asked:

prompt: jimon + childhood friends AU !! always like those, and i always wonder how that would like... impact jace and simon if they had been childhood friends from the start

best friends for a long time is my ultimate weakness <3

“Hey.” Jace says, inviting himself into Simon’s room and sprawling onto his desk chair. “‘Sup?”

Simon’s lying on his bed, earphones half in, and he glares at Jace as hard as he can - which isn’t much, given the fact that his mind is currently drowning in sorrow, and he just wants to curl up and die.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear what happened. You’re here to gloat, aren’t you?” Simon snaps, and Jace shrugs. 

“I told you in fifth grade that that dude was bad news, it’s been seven years since then.” Jace reminds him. He’s looking at Simon’s posters now, not even looking at him as he says, softly, “You didn’t even think about listening to me.” 

“Sorry, yeah,” Simon bites out, “except he was the only one who invited me to prom and unlike you, I don’t have dates just lined up? So I can’t afford to be picky - “

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jace says, exasperated, and Simon sits up in bed, furious, when Jace continues, “You would never let any one of us say that about ourselves, but you can say that about yourself? Anyone would be lucky to have you, Simon, you can’t settle.” 

Simon’s stunned into a furious silence, glaring petulantly at Jace, because Jace is right, and he hates that, hates that Jace knows him almost as well as Clary. And this boy, with his infuriatingly gorgeous body is nice to Simon in his own way, surprisingly sweet, and fuck it’s just not fair and it doesn’t help Simon get over the feelings he’s had for Jace for years. 

“Whatever.” Simon sighs, and flops back into bed. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jace asks, and Simon rolls away from him so he doesn’t have to look at Jace sitting in his room like he belongs there. 

“You always are.” Simon says dully. 

There’s silence, and then the sound of Jace moving, the bed dipping as he sits near Simon. A tentative hand comes up to stroke his back, Jace’s long fingers burning a path through the thin material of Simon’s shirt. 

“You’ll be okay.” Jace says quietly. “You will.” 

“Like I was okay in middle school when Georgie Chen dumped her juice all over me for not being a cool enough date to the movies?” Simon asks wryly, and he hears Jace laugh, the small, throaty one that makes little dimples appear in Jace’s cheeks. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, I also dumped my juice over Georgie Chen for that, so I think that went fine.” Jace remarks, and Simon smiles at that, shaking his head as he sits up, sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing Jace. 

“Yeah, but that cemented your popularity. ‘Ooooh, I’m Jace Herondale, I’m too cool for the cool kids, I wore tiny leather jackets when I was in elementary school and my hair swishes in the wind like I’m in a commercial - “ Simon sings, adopting a falsetto and ducking as Jace throws a pillow at him, laughing. 

I’m Simon Lewis,” Jace says, deepening his voice and turning his nose up, “I corrected the math teacher in ninth grade and now I’m the math nerd and I know ever single Nicolas Cage movie like nobody’s business but I like to wear graphic tees and pretend I’m a punk rocker - “

“I’m a superstar and you know it.” Simon says, making finger guns. 

“Damn, and we’re all just along for the ride.” Jace says, propping his chin up in his hands and looking at Simon fondly. Simon grins, because Jace is his best friend, and maybe prom didn’t work out, but - he still has this, still gets this side of Jace that no one else gets to see. And that’s enough for him. 


Three weeks later, his phone shrilly and insistently rings, rousing him from his Brooklyn 99 marathon on prom night. He blinks down at the caller ID, frowning as he picks up. 

“Hey,” he greets Clary, “shouldn’t you be getting read to go to prom, Fray? Izzy’s picking you up soon, isn’t she?” 

Yes.” Clary says, and she sounds like she’s out of breath and running. “But change of plans, I’m getting ready at your house.” 

“Uh - “ Simon says, but then his front door rings and he slowly pauses the episode on his laptop as his sister goes to get it. 

“Clary?” Rebecca’s surprised voice echoes. Simon jumps up and runs to the front door, where he sees Clary lugging a huge duffel bag and two large dry-cleaning bags, whispering furiously to Rebecca. “Oh my god - yes, I approve - Mom’s not here - well, I’ll just do all the - yes, I love this plan!”

“What plan?” Simon asks immediately, narrowing his eyes at his sister and his best friend. “Don’t like the collusion that’s going on here, no, nope, betrayed by my very best friend in my house, under my roof - “

“No time for yapping, Simon.” Rebecca says impatiently, one hand on her hip as she makes a shooing motion. 

“She’s right.” Clary hums as she dumps the dry cleaning in his hands and tugs on his hands. “Come on, we’re already behind schedule.”

“Behind - what?” Simon asks, bewildered, as he follows her to his room. She throws the duffel on his bed and takes one of the bags, the plastic riding up to reveal the shimmery green dress he helped her pick out. “Clary, what?” He repeats helplessly. 

“You’re going to prom.” Clary says, beaming at him. “There’s someone that’s wanted for a very long time to go with you, and in a burst of bravery - and pain, because someone slapped some sense into them - they’ve decided to use the tickets they bought for the two of you and take you to prom!” 

“Who - what - you slapped someone into going to prom with me?” Simon blinks, feeling like he’s rapidly losing control of the situation. 

“Not me.” Clary says airily. “Though I wish I had. I promise its a good date, you’re definitely going to like it. Now go change into your suit, please.” 

Suit - “ Simon looks at the bag in his hands and slides the plastic up, revealing midnight-blue fabric. “Holy shit this is way out of my price range, where’d you get this?” 

“Magnus, of course. Raphael picked it out from Magnus’ selection.” Clary answers. She pauses, and then very seriously takes Simon’s hand. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, “trust me, okay? This person really likes you, and all of us think that they’ll be good for you. You’ll like them. Let me help you get ready?” 

“All of you guys?” Simon swallows. “Even Jace approves?” 

Jace, who’s notoriously hard to please; Jace, who’s obnoxiously insulted everyone who’s looked twice at Simon; Jace, who’s quietly helped Simon through every disappointment and made Simon fall harder and harder for him - 

“Even Jace.” Clary smiles. “Ready?” 

Simon’s silent for a second, looking at the suit and thinking about how even if it’s not with Jace, he deserves to be happy. Maybe he should give this mysterious suitor a chance. 

“Alright.” He answers finally, and can’t help but smile in response to Clary beaming at him. “Alright, alright, you win, Fray!” 

“Damn right I do!” She says, pleased with herself. “Now go.” 

Clary manages to get him and herself ready in record time, and they’re both dressed, hair styled, in less than forty minutes. Simon stares at the person in the mirror, and can’t quite believe it’s him. The suit fits like a dream, makes his legs look longer and his torso broader. Logically, he knows he’s not bad-looking, but the suit makes it much easier to feel that way too. He looks at his carefully coiffed hair, and he nods, sliding his glasses off. 

What are you doing?” Clary asks, slipping into her heels and fixing one of her earrings on. She looks gorgeous, impeccable in her makeup and curls, and Simon’s not sure what black magic she worked to get herself ready at the same time. “Keep your glasses on.”

“I look better with contacts?” Simon asks more than he says. He’s pretty sure that was the consensus among his friends. Clary shakes her head, smiling. 

“This person specifically told me to make sure you didn’t take them off, because - and I quote - they’re a part of you.” She says, and Simon can’t breathe for a long second, because that’s just about the most damn beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and it makes him feel like he could fly. 

“Okay,” he croaks out, sliding his glasses back on, “okay, this person’s a romantic.” 

“Hey,” Rebecca sticks her head into his room, “they’re all here, Simon’s date is ready.” 

“Finally.” Clary grabs her purse and moves to the door. “I’m gonna go out first, and you can follow right after, yeah?”

“Okay.” Simon says, his mouth suddenly dry and his hands clammy. Clary squeezes his shoulder before she takes off, and he’s left with just Rebecca. 

“Becks.” He says weakly, gesturing to himself. “I - “

“You look good, Si.” She says softly, smiling sadly at him. “You look just like Dad, you know. Except for the nose.” She taps his nose. “That’s Mom all the way.”

“Aw, Becks.” He says, flushing. 

“Don’t get sappy on me now.” She teases, and then she gestures to the hallway. “Well? Go find your date.” 

Simon nods, and bites his lips as he moves to the front door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath with his hand on the door handle. 

This is going to be fine. This is going to be fine

He opens the door and looks out into the night; the path to the front door is lit brightly by the front porch lamp, white light glowing softly around a figure with soft blonde hair and unbearably adoring blue-brown eyes. 

“Hey,” Jace says, holding out a rose to Simon, a blinding smile on his face as he looks at Simon, “wanna go to prom with me?” 

Jace?” Simon croaks out, taking the rose numbly, his mind not quite comprehending. 

“I got it on very good authority that all the time I was pining, it wasn’t actually as hopeless as I thought? So, uh,” he gestures to Simon, “I wanted to give you the prom you deserve. And I want to - try to be the boyfriend you deserve. If you’d let me.” 

Jace is wearing a black suit with a tie to match Simon’s, his eyes hopeful and sincere. He looks good, like a dream out of some fairy tale, and more importantly - 

He’s the boy that hit Simon in the face with a basketball in fourth grade and then led him around school for the rest of the day, holding his hand, because Simon couldn’t see out of his swollen eye; he’s the boy that taught Simon how to play the guitar in middle school and encouraged him to try for his first gig; he’s the boy that stood by Simon through everything. Simon’s never felt this way about anyone. 

Heart in his throat, he steps forward and curls his fingers in Jace’s tie and yanks him forward, kissing him on the porch, slow and sweet as the crickets chirp around them. 


Six years later, Jace leads him on a walk through his old neighborhood. 

“Hey.” Simon says, nudging him as Jace shivers. “You’re thinking too hard.” He reaches over and tightens Jace’s scarf around his neck, his fingers lingering against the underside of Jace’s jaw. 

“You don’t think enough.” Jace responds, smirking, as he catches Simon’s wrist and tangles their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. Simon hums and drives his foot down against a pile of dry leaves, relishing in the crunch that sounds from it. 

“Did you remember to drop the truck off at the mechanic?” Simon asks absently. Jace’s coffee truck is doing well enough to have expanded into two more trucks, run by his employees. 

“Yeah.” Jace abruptly stops, turning to look at Simon. “Hey, remember this wall?” 

Simon looks at it and laughs. It’s a little alley tucked away behind the driveways of the houses, and it’s got graffiti from the generations of kids that have lived there; Rebecca and her friends are by Simon and Clary’s heart with their initials in it, Jace’s barely legible scrawl across it all, with Izzy and Alec beneath that.

“I was so angry when you wrote over our names.” Simon recalls, and he squats down and traces over the heart he and Clary drew over their names when they were eleven. “Here Clary and I were, promising to marry each other when we grew up, and you just came in and scribbled all over it.”

“I was jealous.” Jace laughs a little. “I wanted to have all your attention, and instead she got it.” 

“You always had my attention.” Simon stands up and smiles at Jace, who grins and hooks his hands in Simon’s pockets to bring him closer, walking him backwards at the same time until they’re pressing against the wall, kissing softly. 

They break apart when they hear a car passing by, and make the trek to the Lewis house, bumping shoulders. 

“You think I can go back and scribble the heart out even more?” Jace wonders as they climb the front steps. “I don’t want our kids to one day find that Aunt Clary and Dad had a heart thing going on.” 

“Our kids?” Simon grins, something warm and soft fluttering in his chest. Jace looks at him like he’s the stupid one. 

“Of course.” Jace says. “I’ve had you for thirteen years, Lewis, you think I’m ever going to let you go now? Is it not obvious that you’re stuck with me?” 

“It is.” Simon kisses him again, quick and chaste, before he rings the bell, his heart swelling. “It is.” 


That night, before they go back home to the apartment, they add a postscript to the graffiti heart: 

P.S. - JH + SL Forever

Kylo in TJL

So we can all see Kylo’s physical transformation, right? It’s plain as day, at least to me. Wheras in TFA we had this ultra groomed Knight who seemed to take pride in his appearance(when his mask was off, anyway) in TLJ we have this seemingly broken man that looks (sort of) unkempt-ish. Scar that he doesn’t hide, hair no longer coiffed within an inch of it’s life. And while the signs point to depression and a spiral of guilt (as Adam said his wounds aren’t just on the surface) I can’t help but wonder if his appearance is a foreshadowing of his redemption. Here Kylo looks like simply… Ben. What I imagine a Jedi would look like, unconcerned with looking like a runway model as the posterboy for the First Order surely had to always look (again, to whomever had the luxury of seeing him without the mask). As everyone is pointing out, if THIS is the man you want the fans to assume is the Villian, then why the lost look in EVERY shot they’ve given us? Even the still of him in the teaser with his saber looks like he’s desperate, not enraged. They are setting us up for something with Kylo Ren, something MAJOR. As a Reylo Shipper, it goes without saying what I hope that is. But damn, I’m going to have to keep my fears at bay because of Rian’s hints of us being shocked.

By Your Side

Dean Winchester x Reader

3100 Words

Story Summary: Not wanting to go to your cousin’s wedding, Dean is by your side, making sure your family doesn’t pick on you too much.

A/N: Written for @jensen-jarpad and her  Big Celebration!! Happy Early Birthday, and congrats on the milestone!! 

“Hey sweetheart, what is this?” Dean called out, holding a fancy looking white envelope in his hands. “I found it underneath all of my records.”

“Oh that. It’s just a wedding invitation.” You muttered, wishing you had just thrown it away in the first place. It was for your cousin’s wedding, and you hadn’t planned on attending.

“When is it?” He asked, plopping down on the couch next to you, but you just shrugged. You hadn’t even opened the envelope. “Don’t you want to go?”

“Not really. It’s one of those big family functions that are awkward and annoying, and all my family will be pointing me out, wondering why I’m still unmarried. I’m the oldest of my cousins, and I’m not married. Hell, I haven’t even had a steady boyfriend for as long as I can remember. If I went, it would just remind me what a big failure I am in my family’s eyes.” You mumbled, telling Dean a lot more than you had planned to. But it was true. You were like the black sheep in the family. While the rest of your cousins were going to college, getting married and having babies, you had nothing you could tell them, or make them proud of you. And after a while, their hushed whispers and pointed looks hurt.

Keep reading

Baby (Part I)

Hello lovelies! I got carried away with Jo and Shawn and after talking to @lilli-jo about this I continued writing. Hope you like it! Leave feedback! xx

Jo’s hands trembled slightly as she was standing on a balcony, overlooking L.A., shivering in her Marchesa gown.

Being Shawn Mendes’ officially acclaimed girlfriend had changed her world in an instant and she had been confronted with hate, more hate, crazy stalker fans and… hate.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Damen and Laurent having quickies during breaks between training sessions and their royal duties

Yesssss. I think that Laurent is very into this. Damen has a clearer separation in his mind between appropriate times and inappropriate times for sex, but Laurent has no such compunctions and is very sneaky about tricking or signaling Damen to get him to step away for just a minute…and somehow Laurent always manages to still look perfectly coiffed afterwards, and Damen feels all disheveled, even though objectively Laurent’s appearance should be much easier to mess with.

An Admirer

“May I have this dance?”

Molly stared up in surprise at the masked man before her, his hand extended in expectation. His eyes were a stunning swirl of greens and blues and the half mask did very little to hide the high arches of his dramatic cheekbones. His suit was of the highest quality and tailored to perfection to his lithe form.

In all, he was the very essence of a man born to wealth and upper class.

Why would he deign to ask her for a dance? The daughter of a mortician, an educated woman, whose best gown was a thrice hand-down, taken in and repaired to the best of Molly’s ability. She believed herself rather plain compared to the coiffed, polished women of the Ton that looked down their noses at her. As if her education was a sully to their sex and made her less. Goodness knows she would be ostracized entirely if they knew her education did not stop at basic nursing.

Despite all her self-doubts, Molly found herself placing her hand in his and being led onto the dance floor. Stopping in the very center, he turned and faced her. Around them, the music faded and the other dancers applauded the musicians.

His free hand settled on her waist as a lone violin struck up a gentle melody. For several beats, she found herself lost in his eyes. Then they were waltzing, her feet following his lead flawlessly as if they had been practicing for years.

Not a word was spoken between them. None were needed. She lost herself in his arms, trusting him to guide her, and fell into his eyes.

And when the song came to an end, he pulled her close, bordering on indecent and smiled secretively.

Raising their joined hands, he kissed her knuckles. “Thank you for the dance, Dr Hooper.”

Her eyes widened at the title. How did he know? A contingency of her earned right to the title and employment, despite her arguments against their ludicrous demand, was that only the hospital board, her father, and select workers at both the hospital and the Met would be aware of her full education and position.

And now this man threatened all they had established.

“Do not worry,” he reassured her with a small smile. “You secret is safe with me. I am an admirer of your work. And of you.”

She flushed at his words, the warm feeling in her chest burning brighter when he brought their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of hers.

“Until the next time.”

She watched as he bowed and then, with a wink, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“I don’t even know your name,“ she whispered softly as the next song began to play.

When they first met Lafayette
  • Alexander: But look at his coiffed and crispy locks.
  • John: Look at his silk translucent socks.
  • Hercules: There's the eternal paradox. Look what we're seeing.
  • Alexander: What are we seeing?
  • Hercules: Is he gay?
  • John: Of course he's gay.
  • Hercules: Or European?
  • Everyone: Ohhhhh
Wedding vows and apologies

Moving in with your famous superstar boyfriend could be fun.

But scratch that! Replace fun with tiring. And we’re not talking about the sex here.

Because since Jo moved into Shawn’s Toronto bachelor pad, all they did was fight.

And now that they were getting ready to attend the wedding of Shawn’s older cousin, all they did was fight some more.

About really silly, stupid stuff.

Like Shawn leaving his wet towel on the bed. Again.

Or Jo taking too much place up in the bathroom.

Keep reading

@eastaustraliancurrent I’m so sorry, here is gift for you


“There! Right there!” Raven hissed, pointing out the window. Everyone followed her finger. Erik and Charles stood by the statue, backs to the window of the room that the younger mutants had claimed as “their” lounge. They were talking with their heads close together, and if you looked hard, you could see the curl of a smile on both their faces (although Erik’s was much smaller).

“Look at him!” Raven continued, “He’s gay, totally gay!”

“Who, your brother?” Sean asked.

“No, he’s bisexual,” Raven answered dismissively. “I mean Erik!” She rolled her eyes as the others stared. “Look at that tan skin and the killer shape he’s in! He’s gay!”

“I don’t know,” Hank muttered, eyeing Erik critically. “I don’t see it.”

“The elephant in the room,” Angel commented, and everyone looked at her. She smiled. “Well, we were all wondering it. Don’t lie. Although, is it relevant to presume?”

“The guy does wears perfume,” Alex drawled.

“It’s cologne,” Raven corrected.

“Look at his coiffed and crispy locks,” Sean said scornfully.

“Look at his silk translucent socks,” Raven added persuasively.

“There’s the eternal paradox,” Hank mused, “Look what we’re seeing.”

“What are we seeing?” Raven asked.

“Is he gay–”

“Of course he’s gay!”

“Or European?”

Everyone went quiet.

“Gay or European?” Darwin finally asked into the silence. “It’s hard to guarantee.”

“Is he gay or European?” Alex repeated, then, when everyone looked at him, he flushed and snapped, “Hey, don’t look at me!”

“Well, they bring their boys up different,” Angel reasoned, shrugging a little. “They play peculiar sports.”

“In shiny shirts and tiny shorts,” Raven agreed.

“Why are we rhyming?” Sean asked, but no one paid any attention.

“Gay or foreign fella? The answer could take weeks.”

“Or not, if we just ask,” Sean said.

“Both say things like “Ciao bella” while they kiss you on both cheeks.”

“Oh please,” Raven snorted.

“Erik would never do that, though,” Sean pointed out.

“Gay or European? So many shades of grey–”

“Depending on the time of day the French go either way,” Alex said slyly. Raven whacked him with a magazine.

They continued their discussion, Sean still asking plaintively why everyone was rhyming. Then, suddenly, as one, they noticed that Erik and Charles had left the statue. And they heard two pairs of footsteps in the hall, along with a laugh that had to be Charles.

Sean leapt to his feet. “I have an idea I’d like to try,” he told the others, eyes glinting as a mischievous smile spread across his face.

“The floor is yours,” Hank said graciously.

The door opened. Erik entered, eyes sweeping over the gathering, and held the door for Charles, who smiled briefly at him before turning a different, more general smile on the younger people. “Hello,” he said, but before he could say anything else, Sean looked straight at Erik and said, “How long have you been having an affair with that guy I saw sneaking out of your room last night?”

Erik’s face turned to stone. “A day,” he answered stiffly.

“What’s your last name?”

Erik frowned a little. “Lehnsherr,” he replied, in that particular way he had when he wasn’t sure if the person he was talking to wasn’t a little slow.

“And what the last name of the guy you were with?”

“Xa–” Erik caught himself, but it was too late, everyone gasped, and he flushed bright red before whirling and exiting the room, slamming the door shut behind him with his powers.

Charles looked at the assembled, triumphant youngsters and gave a shy smile. “To answer your question,” he began, “He’s gay and European.” He turned and opened the door, just in time for Erik to appear again and snarl, his face still quite red, “I’m straight!”

“You weren’t yesterday,” Charles replied.

Erik actually ran away, and Charles shook his head as he exited the lounge and went after him.

“…he was listening!” Sean said with great disgust. “In our heads!”

“Of course he was,” Raven answered. “How else do you think we were able to rhyme like that?”

His Wildest Dreams

A/N: A request from @1-insert-name-here-1 for a Spencer smut based off the song Partition by Beyonce. @coveofmemories @sweetg


“Oh my god,” he said, dropping his bag at the door the moment he saw you.

You snickered, running your hand over the lace that was peeking out from your robe. “You gonna come in and close the door or will everyone in the hallway be entitled to the show?” you asked seductively. 

About a month earlier, you’d taken Spencer to a burlesque show in Vegas after a visit with his mother. He said he was interested, had never seen one in person, and asked if you cared. “Gorgeous ladies in their underwear,” you’d said. “Of course, I’m in.” After the show, you asked him how he enjoyed it, and he mentioned how he’d love to see you in an outfit like that. The way he licked his lips as he said it made you immediately start planning an outfit, a song, the whole atmosphere. 

Now here you were, black pencil skirt, thigh high stockings, gorgeous black heels and a white shirt as the candles burned in the apartment. Topping it off with your black-rimmed glasses, perfectly-coiffed hair and cherry red lips, you looked the perfect image of the “sexy librarian.” Underneath though…you were hiding so much more. Slowly, you peeled back the white blouse, revealing the lace underneath. You watched as Spencer’s mouth went dry. “See something you like?” He probably hadn’t even pictured this in his wildest dreams.

His eyes scanned your body, coming to rest on your chest, where the red lace peeked out. Instead of saying anything, he walked toward you, eager to touch and taste, but you wanted to tease. “You wanted your own personal show, right?” you asked, grabbing his wrists and backing him up into the couch. “Well, let me dance for you.”

Gathering his wrists together, you leaned into him and pressed your rouge-tinted lips into his. When you pulled away, his eyes were dark with need and anticipation. You walked over to the iPod and put on a song - one that drew out your inner hoe - Partition by Beyonce. 

Driver roll up the partition please
Driver roll up the partition please
I don’t need you seeing ‘yonce on her knees
Took 45 minutes to get all dressed up
We ain’t even gonna make it to this club
Now my mascara running, red lipstick smudged
Oh he so horny, he want to fuck
He bucked all my buttons, he ripped my blouse

As you turned around, you slowly peeled the white shirt off your frame, revealing a sheer and red lace bustier top. Spencer’s lips parted slightly and you could tell this was exactly what he had in mind. Ensuring you never broke eye contact, you started to sway your hips, coaxing your own hands up your body and into your hair. You saw him move his hands, almost imperceptibly, and you could tell he wanted his hands where yours were. 

Take all of me
I just wanna be the girl you like, girl you like
The kind of girl you like, girl you like
Take all of me
I just wanna be the girl you like, girl you like
The kinda girl you like
Is right here with me

You liked your lips and dipped down low, slipping your fingers into your pencil skirt and pushed it down, letting it fall to the ground at your feet. Once your entire Dita von Teese-inspired outfit was revealed, you turned around and placed your hands on his knees, using his body as leverage to sway your hips directly in front of his face. When he reached out to touch you, you smacked his hand away. “No touching.” He bit his lip and looked up at you under hooded eyelids. “I’m the only one allowed to do the touching.” He’d never seen this side of you and it was torturing him.

Oh there daddy, d-daddy didn’t bring the towel
Oh baby, b-baby we slow it down
Took 45 minutes to get all dressed up
We ain’t even gonna make it to this club

Spencer looked as if you didn’t touch him soon he was going stand up, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside. It was a tempting thought, but you wanted the control right now, so you kicked your legs out one by one and came to rest in his lap, grinding down onto his ever-hardening length with all the smoothness of a professional. As the song came to a close, you grabbed his wrists as you had earlier, running his hands over your lace-clad body. A slight ‘please’ escaped his lips when you lifted up from your arched position. “What do you want?” you whispered against his ear. His rattling breath ran through your body as you reached between your bodies to touch him. “Do you want me? My body?” You smirked as his mouth fell open and you licked at his lip. “Then take what you want.”

The moment the words left your lips he reached behind you to start the process of removing your top, but you turned around, slunk away from him and pulled it off yourself, dropping it on the floor and inviting him inside with the crook of your finger. 

Hawkwood the Deserter cosplay, female edition, aka the Abyss Watcher minus the helmet and mask because I got tired of them. It’s not completely accurate, since I don’t have the chainmail coif or the sword and I don’t look dejected enough lol. I wore this on Sunday at PAX East, and it’s probably one of the most comfortable costumes I’ve made so far. I definitely want to wear this again (as well as the full Abyss Watcher, of course) :-D

Photos taken by my friend Jon.

More ASG fic–no ask this time, since my only ASG asks left specifically ask for Andy, and this one particular bit is not from her POV.

(meme link) (fic tag link)

(This piece is the evening of the last night of the ASG, two days after Serge’s dinner party, after Andy and Bitty have debriefed with their boyfriends)

Signs that Kent Parson has grown the fuck up: he hates losing in the first round of the All-Star tournament, but as he pulls the tape off his socks and pries at his skate laces, he thinks: At least this way I get to shower now.  He’s been the guy who’s won so much that he’s always kept waiting to the end of every tournament, had to play every game, kept working months after the season has ended for everybody else, so now when for once he hasn’t won everything in every category, he thinks: Now I don’t have to stand around in my sweaty gear and watch other people play. He gets to clean up, change, go find his girlfriend in the stands, be the first one at the restaurant table after, instead of the guys arriving late the table is held for.

He’s… he doesn’t know, he’s building a life outside of hockey, or something, instead of the days where he had nothing if he didn’t have ice to play on.

And then, on his way out-

“Hey, Parse.”

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anonymous asked:

"Someone pass me a hair tie, stat!"

“Someone pass me a hair tie, stat!“ 

Marinette passed him a small black scrunchie, giggling under her breath as she felt another coil of her hair being looped into place. She had no idea why Nino had insisted on doing her hair before her date with Adrien, but she was just going to roll with it.

After three years of growing much closer and more comfortable around Adrien, she had shed her uncertainties regarding his opinion of her. He knew she was a dork, and if he didn’t like whatever his best bro did with her look, then he’d just have to deal.

“Aaaaaand, perfect!” Nino turned her chair around so she could look at the adorably coiffed buns , two on each side of her head. She grinned as she recognized the style, appreciating how the rest of her hair fell in a curtain behind her shoulders, little strands of silver woven carefully so as to create streaks of starlight.

“Thank you Nino,” she murmured appreciatively, before smirking at him. “You know he’s gonna have no chill about you dolling me up like one of his favorite black cats!”

“Yeah… but I figure he deserves a treat, since Alya is doing his hair,” he admitted. The two shared a knowing look, and winced.

…at least Mari would look fabulous for their first date.

…omg. It’s NOT crack… *throws some friendship fluff at you*
I just really like the idea of Nino being GREAT at doing hair, and Alya being an absolute tragedy at it XD Cause then I can headcanon him helping Alya with her hair in the mornings ;)