mis matched

things the world needs more of:

  • Grandpa Torino
  • Dad Might
  • Dadzawa
  • Mama Inko
  • Kirishima & Tsuyu big bro/big sis-ing the class
  • Bakugou’s friendship with Kiri and Kami
  • Tokoyami & Kouda’s friendship
  • Todoroki & Iida interaction/friendship
  • Uraraka’s Hot Blooded MANLINESS nature
  • Jirou fucking with Kaminari just because
  • Tokoyami being all dark and brooding and dorky
  • the kids lovingly roasting Bakugou
  • Shouji helping everyone b/c he is the ultimate Big Bro
  • Satou being adorkable and baking everyone cakes for their birthdays
  • Aoyama learning how to Friend b/c he wants to be equal w/ the class but doesn’t really know how to connect with the rest of them
  • Kouta punching Bakugou in the balls coming back
  • Eri & Kouta friendship
  • Momo helping everyone b/c she loves helping and being useful and the class finding this adorable
  • Todoroki being adorably oblivious and trying to reach out and be friends with the class
  • Tsuyu’s cute nicknames for everyone, and her bluntly saying things
  • Kaminari being dorky and cowardly but determined
  • Mina accidentally fucking with Aoyama
  • the class taking care of All Might b/c they love and care for him
  • Izuku dad-ing everyone (especially little lost kids)
  • Bakugou aggressively caring and being nice and cooking meals for the class (while making it spicey to show that he’s absolutely Not Being Nice)
  • Mirio and Tamaki’s friendship
  • Nijire’s relationship with them??? so cute
  • Tetsutetsu and Kirishima’s friendship and their bond over MANLINESS (+ maybe Uraraka b/c she Gets That Shit)
  • everyone cheering Tamaki on
  • Sero using his tape to prank literally everyone
  • Ojirou’s personal morals (he refused to move on in the Sports Festival b/c he was mind controlled and didn’t think he deserved that and i wanna learn more about him)
  • baby All Might with Nana and Torino
  • Mic and Aizawa’s friendship
  • Iida being Overly Responsible and Encouraging but in an endearing way
  • Todoroki with his mom and siblings
  • Uraraka training with hand to hand combat/self defense
  • Midnight b/c she had few teaching moments but she’s always really nice and competent and supportive when she’s in that role and i love it and she’s like the Cool Big Sis and i wanna see more of that
  • Mic getting protective of his friends/students and trying to beat up annoying civilians 
  • Bakugou with small animals
  • Momo being adorably oblivious b/c of how rich she is
  • Tooru wearing new and even cuter clothes 
  • Aizawa wearing mis-matched clothes b/c he’s a hobo
  • All Might wearing clothes that fit
  • class slumber parties
  • hugs
  • the kids being dorky little kids and doing silly dorky childish things 
  • hairstyling & makeovers
  • karaoke sessions where only a percentage of the class is actually good at singing and everyone else sucks but that’s what makes it fun
  • not gonna lie i’d love to see what would happen if Aoyama and Tokoyami were paired up in a team exercise training
  • seeing characters who normally don’t interact that much teaming up (like Sero & Tsuyu, or Kouta & Tooru, or Bakugou & Momo)
  • Aizawa with different hairstyles
  • the kids looking to Izuku and Bakugou for leadership
  • Mic being that Weird Eccentric Uncle
  • the kids having mini little competitions (snowball fights, videogame competitions, eating contests, etc)
  • the kids all subtly taking care of one another
  • the kid’s borrowing each other’s clothes
  • Cementoss b/c honestly what a sweetheart
  • Thirteen too, he’s just so adorable
  • all of the teachers really
  • Endeavor getting punched in the face
  • the kids admiring each other’s scars (including All Might’s and Aizawa’s)
  • Izuku’s fanboy nature
  • Izuku bonding with his classmates over various heroes (like Red Riot w/ Kirishima, or Gunhead/Thirteen w/ Uraraka, etc)
  • the class finding out about Izuku’s notebooks and realizing that they’re in them
  • All Might being a complete dork and fumbling a lot in general
  • Bakugou subtly encouraging his classmates
  • Bakugou subtly looking out for All Might
  • pillow fight wars
  • Todoroki bringing his mom to the class
  • the kids finding out that Bakugou is exactly like his mom
  • the kids fighting over the tv remote b/c they can’t decide what to watch
  • Dark Shadow blushing
  • less Mineta
Beyonce is better than you.  Move on.

I am so tired of these Deep White Women using big words to dull Beyonce’s shine while paying the false coin of being introspective on behalf of all women.  

In doing so, she has created a new paradigm for what it means to be a pregnant woman in the public eye — one in which the very act of conceiving and carrying a child (or two children; she is having twins) becomes de facto proof of the power of femininity, doled out in carefully controlled and stage-managed moments. The message is positive: Pregnant is beautiful. It should be worshiped.

The problem is, for many women it is also messy, sometimes uncomfortable and just another fact of life. And in her extended fetishization of her own physical evolution, Beyoncé has not allowed for any of that. As a result, she hasn’t just raised the bar for fellow famous people. She may have raised it uncomfortably high for us all.

(cont.)

How is anything Beyonce does remotely relevant to your average, everyday, pedestrian existence?  She is Beyonce.  Everything she does, she probably does it better than you.  Why?  An innate talent coupled with an unparalleled work ethic that leads to way more money than you can ever imagine which can pretty much buy her way out of having to deal with normal people shit.

Was Beyonce raising the bar for secrecy when she released a whole ass album with six hundred forty-three videos under the cover of darkness?  No.  You just kept on with your average person ability to tell a lie.

Was Beyonce raising the bar for career achievement when she broke the record for the most number of Grammy nominations by a female artist?  No.  You continued to hope for a promotion from bra-fitter to Victoria’s Secret Cashwrap Supervisor and drowned your average person sorrows at happy hour in the meantime.

Was Beyonce raising the bar for marital discord when her sister went all Sharkeisha Nooooo on her husband in an elevator?  No.  You just left another passive aggressive note on the refrigerator about being out of milk and hoped your average person husband would pick up on the subtext and get his act together.

Was Beyonce raising the bar for upper thigh meat when she decided to stop wearing pants on stage in 2009?  No.  You are still spending your average person moneys on women’s fitness magazines featuring rail thin white women.

How is Beyonce now raising the bar for pregnancy because she is fat-faced, happy, and draped in expensive fashions?  You can still continue your average person pregnancy eating pickles & ice cream in your husband’s XL t-shirt watching reruns of Sex & The City because guess what – you are not Beyonce.

Nobody is watching your every move.  Nobody cares what you do.  Laugh too hard in the checkout line at Kroger and slip out a little pregnancy pee.  Wear mis-matched shoes because you haven’t seen your feet in 6 weeks.  Wear a ponytail with a damn scrunchie every single day of your third trimester because you can’t be arsed to fuss with your hair.  Nobody gives a shit.  You are not Beyonce.

Beyonce’s job is to be more glamorous than you regardless of her life stage.  If Beyonce broke every bone in her leg, guess what.  She would be on Instagram with the mother of all casts, some model only previously available to astronauts or some shit, and the Beyhive would find a new emoji to represent her high fashion medical device.  

Don’t compare yourself to any other pregnant woman.  Do you know how many variables there are in a pregnancy?  It’s a wonder any of us escape the uterus alive with all the things that can complicate gestation.  But it’s especially ridiculous to compare yourself to Beyonce for any reason whatsoever.  You are taking a woman who has built a fortune on one part talent, one part mystique, and one part glamour and expecting her to, what, look regular?  Give you the personal details of her morning sickness?  Do you also want her to write her next hit about pooping on the delivery table? Show you her afterbirth diaper?  She ain’t Karen from accounting.  This is BEYONCE and y'all need to find something else to be concerned about.

Faux Cuffs and Collar Tutorial

Hello everyone!

This is a tutorial to make a detached collar and (faux) French cuffs. I intended this to be for Playboy Bunny-style costumes, and that’s a good use for them, but I can see people wanting to make these for fashion purposes or other costumes, as well. 

The collar is functional and buttons at the neck, and the cuffs are functional but use a snap on the inside and decorative buttons sewn to the outside to imitate the look of cufflinks. This makes them easier to deal with during a con day and makes it easier to either make custom “cufflinks” or to use what you have in your sewing stash rather than buying or attempting to make actual cufflinks.

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one last thing before I log off forever of tumblr:

I am so proud to call myself a juventina. I’m proud that I’m loyal to my club. Juve could lose all the finals in the next 10 years, I would still be here wearing our colours and singing our hymn until my very last breath. I'm proud to support Juve and not any other Italian club, or Spanish or German or English club. I don’t care if they have more trophies, more fans, more money, more success, whatever.  I owe Juve so much, I owe especially Gigi Buffon so, so much. As many times I wanted to forget about juve, there are as many times where I wouldn’t still be here without them. For nothing in the world would I want to love a different club other than Juventus. 

Mis-Matched

Right, so I know I haven’t posted anything on my over-sized WIP since April, but here I am starting another fic that I have absolutely no business getting into. At least this one should be shorter than the other (famous last words). Sorry.

Title: Mis-Matched
Rating: M (this is subject to change at the whim of the author’s muses)
Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Frigga, Theoric, and various supporting OCs
Description: This is an attempt to fill the propmt requested by @someillplanetreigns (and now I can’t even tag you!): “you asked for prompts and pairings - I would like to humbly beg for more Logyn? I don’t have a great prompt, but this odd thought is in my head about a way to make the comic plot about Theoric and the marriage into something about marriage by proxy? Maybe something like Loki has the duty of proxy-marrying Sigyn cos Theoric’s in the army, and totally plays everyone by going the whole hog and appearing as Theoric, but then Sigyn, who thought Theoric was dull as ditchwater and Loki is… well, y’know, Loki.”
I’m not sure this is precisely what you wanted, so I apologize in advance for my wayward muses – Loki does what he wants.
Chapter: 1 of 2?
Acknowledgements: thank you @icybluepenguin for serving as one of my favorite institgaors and sounding boards – you rock!

______________________________________

Mis-Matched, Part 1

Herr Braggison loomed over Sigyn as she slunk down lower into the chair, nose buried deep in her book, brown hands clutching the pages tighter as he moved closer.

“Sigyn — I just received a letter from the All-mother.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Apparently, the fighting at the front has become entrenched.”

“MmMMMmm.”

“Sigyn!”

“Hmmm?”

“Put the book down and look at me when I speak to you.”

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I dunno where this came from, I wanted to write an omegaverse Hollywood actor AU and uh….this is what happened

its probably not very good but Oh well


“Just sit back and let it happen.”

That’s what Jack had told him, the first time he’d noticed a couple of people with their phones out, spying on one of their first days out after they’d officially announced their relationship.

Jack seemed entirely nonplussed by the fact that people were creeping on them—but Rhys supposed he must be used to it, after all? Jack was a far more seasoned Hollywood vet than Rhys was. Barely wet behind the ears, but fresh and flush off the success of his first major motion picture.

Jack’s easy confidence as he finished the rest of his mojito and dug into his sandwich— tearing off a dangling bit of prosciutto and wiping a smear of pesto off his stunning smile—helped somewhat to ease the tension forming in Rhys’ belly, but still he only picked at the cheese and tomatoes from his salad, losing his appetite now that he knew there were people huddled behind him, taking photos that would no doubt be on the internet in instant and in the tabloid magazines by the morning.

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something I’ve been mulling over for a long while: there are two types of classics teachers. 

Of course, they’re very broad and people can also switch between them (I float somewhere in the middle), but, there are still two very distinct types out there. Let me illustrate this by showing you some examples

type 1: 

my last Ancient Greek teacher. she wore clothes that were most likely from the thrift store, always mis-matched, always a lot of cooky accesoires. Fluffy grey curls and a sweet but naive smile. thought it was a good idea to teach unabridged Martial to a bunch of high schoolers without any supervision, brought stuffed animals to school to teach through them. lived alone and cared for her demented mother. had never heard of mumford and sons and we were able to distract her for 70% of the class every single week without fail. Sometiems we made her cry because we were uninterested high schoolers who took advantage of her positive teaching attitude. Loved the history behind it. 

type 2:

My last Latin teacher. wore her hair in a sharp, steel-grey bob cute, had a sharp nose, and was able to silence the entire class with just one look. taught Latin like we were in military school, but still kept people interested and actually achieved something with us. Has a loving family and was always on top of things, often even managing to work ahead with us. Loved linguistics more than anything.

Do you see where I’m goingith this? You have type 1, the cooky, weird teacher that is a complete mess but still loveable, and type 2, a very down-to-earth family-oriented type that is disciplined, clear and straightforward. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been able to sort my classics teachers into these two categories, while other teachers don’t seem to adhere to types. I guess classics just attracts a very peculiar type of people?

are you a type 1 or type 2 classics person?

anonymous asked:

If you don't mind me requesting something could you write a Stoncy soulmate au using that "my soulmate touched me and now my body has splotches of bright color all over it" au please? I'm sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about haha but if you did it would be super duper to see those three nerds all colored up

So I’ve never seen this with the color coming from touching,and I feel like there wasn’t really away to realistically have this work in the series (which is what I like to do) but I have seen where anytime your soulmate gets visibly injured (bruises/cuts/burns/etc.) you get color marks in the same spots, which I feel works super well for these three! So not exactly what you requested, but the same end result with all three of these dorks all colored up, so hopefully it’s okay!

(Inspiration for the colors from these wonderful mood boards by the ever amazing @hawkinsmostunwanted)

There’s a swath of yellow spread out over Nancy’s left cheek. Sitting this close to her, knee to knee as her clever hands carefully bandage the cut on his hand, it’s all Jonathan can look at. It’s somehow easier than thinking about the thin blue stripe that streaks up and then crosses into the cut on his hand. If he concentrates on that jagged field of yellow, he doesn’t have to think about how that blue stripe matches the cut he covered up on Nancy hand, the one overlapping a soft pink line that’s far too pastel to be anything other than a soulmark. That stretch of yellow means Nancy has another soulmate out there.

Maybe he should just stop staring all together, because now that he’s looking all he can see are the edges of the pink underneath all that yellow. All he can see is the shape of that yellow, the yellow that’s smeared across his own face, the yellow that he knows belongs to Steve because he caused it. It sort of feels right that Jonathan would find out who his soulmate is by the two of them trying to kill each other. One of his soulmates, anyway. Because the other is sitting in front of him while they wait to actually try and summon a monster.

“Nancy, I-” he starts, with no idea how he planned on finishing. ‘Nancy, I know we just started talking like a week ago and now we’re waiting to maybe die fighting this thing but looks like you’re my soulmate and I’d really like to kiss you even if it’s a bad time’ or maybe ‘Nancy, I know we have a plan but maybe we should talk about this whole colors thing and maybe find some way to tell your boyfriend in case both of us die tonight because I think we both know he’s our third’ both seem too wordy and too desperate somehow.

“Yeah?” She says, and when she meets his eyes, his breath feels knocked out of him at how intense and blue her eyes are highlighted by all that yellow.


Now that he’s not so angry or heart-broken or terrified, Steve mostly just feels empty. Maybe a little nauseous. Standing out in front of the Byers house, bat resting against his shoulder, nothing that just happened seems real. The whole day hasn’t seemed real. Nothing since seeing Jonathan Byers in Nancy’s room has felt real, and he mostly just wants to go to sleep and wake up and find out everything was a dream. Except, now he has soulmates, and if this is a dream then he never wants to wake up and lose them. 

He knew about Nancy before tonight. He might not be as academic as her, but he’s smart enough to remember where he left hickies on her and notice the little matching blue marks on his own skin. He doesn’t tell her, because the part of him that’s ecstatic about her being his soulmate is overshadowed by the part of him that’s afraid he’s going to end up mis-matched like his dad. It’s a fear that feels all too real when he sees them that night. 

Jonathan Byers comes as a surprise, though. A surprise that leaves him unsteady and completely out of his comfort zone, because he’s talked to Jonathan maybe five times in his entire life and one of those times ended in a fight that left blood running into his mouth and that obnoxious yellow glaring across Jonathan’s face. 

They load into his car, silent except for Nancy’s quiet voice directing him towards the school. Mostly he feels empty. Part of him, though, the part that isn’t exhausted and blank, can’t help feeling relieved. Because he looks at the gauze each of them has wrapped around their hand and the criss-crossing lines of pink and blue on his left hand, and that fear that’s existed for so long finally settles. 


Nancy likes watching them like this, when they think she isn’t looking. Her books are spread out on her desk, and she honestly is studying but the little make-up mirror on her desk just so happens to give her a great view of them without her having to turn and give it away. They just look so sweet like this, Jonathan sitting cross-legged on her bed and Steve laying back with his head on Jonathan’s lap. Both of them honest and hesitant in a way they aren’t when they know she’s watching. 

The lighting makes it a little hard, but she can just make out the blue that fades down over both of their arms, the result of her slowly fading sunburn from an afternoon by Steve’s pool. There’s a decently sized blotch of yellow on Jonathan’s neck, mirroring the bruise Jonathan had been embarrassed about leaving behind despite how delighted Steve had been. 

Steve catches her eye in the mirror, and the light catches enough that she can just make out the fading pink mark on his cheek (Jonathan had fallen asleep on his hand earlier and left the imprint of his knuckles against his skin). He smiles at her, still sleepy and soft, before closing his eyes and letting his head fall more into Jonathan’s hands. 

She turns back to her work, letting them have their moment. Besides, she thinks, looking at the little yellow scrapes on her knuckles as she copies down notes, she has a lifetime of moments left with them. 

anonymous asked:

Oh sweet shiva, I just found your blog & I'm so glad coz I'm so thirsty for NoctNyx and you are my salvation especially your Dark at Night fics! They are so good! I'm still at the 10th installment tho. Made me laugh and giggle like a freaking maniac! Also the angst is to die for my heart hurts so much! (1/3)

hope i managed to cover everything you wanted, anon! :)


“Shiva’s tits, Noct, how do you not know who that is? Even I know who that is and he isn’t on my payroll.”

That was precisely why he had no idea who he was. The royal staff was in constant flux. The amount of employee betrayals weeding out the worst of them, Noctis had learned not to get attached. Part of that self-taught lesson included never getting to know their names. Couldn’t hurt him if he had nothing to remember them by.

So, no. Nyx Ulric was as much a stranger to him as the rest of the immaculately stern faces guarding the Citadel. The Kingsglaive especially was so disconnected from him. He wasn’t the King, after all. They weren’t his – and he didn’t really want them, anyway. Like the Crownsguard, they were just Citadel shadows to Noctis… Better-dressed Citadel shadows, but still. Just shadows.

Everyone seemed to recognize the man leaning against the hood of the Regalia except for Noctis. Gladio marched right up and greeted him like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder and crowing about all the trouble they were going to get up to. Ignis made a sound that was nothing short of an audible cringe once he spotted him, and Prompto got all starry-eyed, a high, quiet gasp escaping the “o” of his lips. When Noctis asked what the hell was wrong with him, he earned a scandalized gasp and a hasty explanation.

Nyx Ulric was a hero. Daemon slayer extraordinaire. His feats on the battlefield were often talked about within the royal circle. He was an honorable warrior, a valuable comrade to the King, and had a smile that could break your heart. Noctis looked at it now as the glaive smirked at Ignis, saying something that made his spine stiffen. He waited for something in his chest to crack, but alas. Heart still whole.

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