I might have a southern drawl but how should I know

AU where instead of going to Samwell, Jack starts a widely successful Publicly Broadcast show for children.

Jack learns that he is great with kids after coaching them for a little over two years. Moreover, kids are good with Jack. There is no pressure to be anything other than who he is.


It all starts with a local news program doing a fluff piece on Jack Zimmermann’s coaching ability. But then it turned into something completely different when Jack skated onto camera and started to introduce every single one of his kids and what was special about them. He was…really enchanting actually. He didn’t ever really talk down to them. Jack just treated them as a tiny friend. 

They ARE his tiny friends, but that’s not the point. 

The footage they got of “snack time” was really the best. Imagine a good 16 kids piled around this massive man teaching them the best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

 It should have been obvious that a local channel would contact him. It still surprises Jack. They want him to host a show? Why? Everyone always teased him about how impersonable he was during interviews. Is it because he’s Jack Zimmermann’s son? Or Alicia’s? 

Jack asks all of these questions to his mother and she just laughs. “You made a PB&J interesting to 16 kids just by being you”

Jack figures it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. 

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Collarbone

A/N: This… is disgusting, plotless, irredeemable fluff. I’m sorry. 

“What’ll it be, hon?” 

This waitress can’t be for real. She’s ambiguously middle-aged, with poorly-bleached, preposterously floofy hair piled on top of her head. Wide hips, blue eyeshadow, one bad tooth - the works. She’s like a caricature. Hell, she’s even chewing gum, smacking it cheerfully between her tongue and her teeth. She’s unbelievable, is what she is. This whole diner is unbelievable. And true to his penchant for unbelievable things, Mulder is absolutely delighted. 

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Eight Legs & Eight Arms (Poly!Southern DR’s x Reader)

Title: Eight Legs & Eight Arms

Pairing: Poly! Southern DR’s x Reader

Word Count: 2389

Request: “Could I possibly request poly!demo-reps x reader where y/n just moved in next door and they, like, smiled at her or something and she goes to them to ask them to kill the giant spider in her kitchen and makes them dinner as thanks, but then it sort of turns into a dinner date, and lots of fluff plz.”

A/N: It was a little more than a smile, but hey, why not? (Also, unrelated gif bc everyone deserves this in their lives.)

Originally posted by wegotitmadeintheshade

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burkygirl  asked:

Our absolutely amazing pal and fellow smutketeer @peetabreadgirl has a birthday on February 23rd. @xerxia31 and I were wondering if you'd be willing to accept a submission from us in her honoUr?

Originally posted by freshcravings

Happy Birthday @peetabreadgirl! By special request, Here’s a birthday drabble crafted just for you!


Biggest Fan

AN – Happy Birthday PBG! This is part 1 of 2 because your birthday is too special to cram all into one day!

Mesdames et messieurs, votre attention s’il vous plaît. Les passagers de la vol Air Canada 8637 arrivent à la gare vingt-quatre.

Peeta Mellark bobs up on the balls of his feet, eager to see around the crowd of tired commuters coming in on the flight from Montreal to Quebec city. Just a few more minutes and he’ll finally lay eyes on the infamous KatsEye, the best beta in the Avengers fandom.

And his best friend. Possibly the love of his life, but hey, he figures he probably should lay eyes on her in real life before he declares his undying devotion.

The crowd is thinning a bit now as the business crowd moves toward the airport doors, a sea of suits and muttered French. He checks his phone. Her text had said she was near the back of the plane. Surely she’ll be out soon.

Kat<3: I’m wearing an orange sweater.

When he looks up again, he sees her coming through the gate. Her aviator glasses are perched on her head and her hair is tied up in a side braid that spills over her shoulder onto the gorgeous coral sweater she’s wearing. It causes her olive skin to glow even though he can tell she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup.

His artistic sensibilities practically giggle at the idea that she’d consider the shade to be orange. It’s softer, more muted; kind of like a sunset at the end of a sultry summer’s day.

Regardless, it’s his new favourite colour.

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worth it (1/3)

zimbits,~4k, buzzfeed au where they’re both tasked to do a video that’s similar to the Worth It series with Andrew and Steven. why? because johnson.

read on ao3


Jack has been working at the desk next to Eric Bittle’s for the better part of three months now.

Over those three months, he’s become quite acquainted with the character of his blonde neighbor. He’s now familiar with his small, lithe frame, is quite aware that he can fold his legs into a pretzel even in his swivel chair, and knows when he’s approaching by the scent of butter and sickeningly sweet coffee. He’s well acquainted with his warm Southern tendencies, the subtle drawl over his vowels and the abundant y’alls in every sentence. He knows he always places his coffee to his left, though he’s right handed, he likes to write schedules and reminders on sticky notes that fall off of his computer screen and onto Jack’s own desk every-so-often, and that he has a soft spot for Chris Chow, the intern he’s been supervising these past few weeks. He’s even vaguely aware of his amazing pie skills, having tasted some of his baked goods because oh, no, Mr. Zimmermann, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this, and because they’re ever-present in the snack room beside the plethora of cereals. And also because Eric Bittle has become somewhat of a Youtube celebrity, and everybody and their grandmother knew he was a pie-making prodigy.

God knows why he was placed next to Bittle in the first place. Sure, they were both executive video producers for Tasty—Jack for much longer than him, for sure—but Jack very much preferred to stay behind the camera while Bittle was usually in front of it. Jack mostly liked to keep to himself, anyway, and if he worked in teams, it was usually with Shitty or Lardo on the more artistically demanding videos. They’d been at brainstorms together, almost every other week, really, but never really collaborated on anything. There was also the glaring fact that Bittle tended to mindlessly chatter, and Jack was practically allergic to any and all forms of small talk. Most days, he was just grateful Bittle was so busy, he rarely spent long hours at his own desk.

But he and Bittle sat next to each other everyday, give or take, usually minding their own business, sometimes idly chatting about the new series coming out or their co-workers, with Bittle occasionally shooting him a warm smile and Jack answering it with a trying-hard-to-be-a-smile grimace. They’ve never once been assigned to same project, and Jack isn’t really sure if he’s relieved or dismayed, but he tries not to think about it too hard.

That is… Well. That’s all until one Thursday morning in November.

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Speed Date W/Okada

Originally posted by wrestlingsmarkmatty

This is a little short but I needed to update this series. I have plans for a longer second date Okada fic once I finish the first round of these. I can’t remember who recommended I write Okada with Gedo in this but whoever you are, THANK YOU. This was so much fun to write and I honestly can’t wait to write more of these two.

Part One w/Kenny Omega - Part Two w/Adam Cole

Tags: @daintymissdevitt @waynscastle @sarahmatthews7 @shadow-of-wonder @happiness-in-reznor @tooweirdforlifex @fan-fiction-galore @omgmissmillie @thedeboniardevistation @jazzytoosweet @mindsetcalamity @alexispoo @mermaidfett @thathpchick @skyrina @laziestgirlintheworld @ang-78 @valeonmars @laigy2213 @squirrel666 @brooklyns-scumbag @megan-monroe @wweximaginesxd @lclb13 @phlebotomyprincess1 @awkward-potato-imagines @effy-christine @pjanina13 @fearlessflawlessdior @wrestlingnoob @fandom-preferences-imagines @superkixbaybay @wrasslin-x @xxmaddhatter39xx @legitlunatic @wrestlingfeels @sleeplessandcynical @cosmicswimming @alexahood21 @betsy-bradock @gypsophil-a @abominablestrowman279 @balorsomega

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Creepypasta #1029: The Things That Live Under My House Just Found A Way In

Length: Super long

Last week, my wife Katie and I finally closed on our new house, which we’d purchased for a laughable fraction of what the place was really worth. In retrospect, the price should’ve been a red flag, but who can blame me for jumping on this deal? The place was a steal and was no more than a half hour from my downtown office. It was a decent sized two story home with 3 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, and a large but not unmanageably colossal backyard where I planned to install a swing set or a swimming pool when Ellie was old enough (she’s currently the most adorable four year old on the face of the earth, but I digress). Not to mention, we were separated from our neighbors by a good half-acre of woods on either side, so we had more than enough privacy. Anyway, the house wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination, but it was more than adequate for the purposes of raising a young family in.

Unfortunately, the collective high of buying our first home didn’t last long. By the end of the second or third night, we’d become aware of some bizarre things going on in and around the house. The first thing we noticed were these faint scratching noises coming from what sounded like inside the walls. We figured a squirrel or a small bird had likely found its way behind the drywall and gotten trapped, so we began scheming ways to get the poor thing out without wreaking havoc on the structure. But we had no idea what the hell we were doing and got absolutely nowhere. I was just about one step away from taking a sledgehammer to the living room wall when Katie smartly suggested to let animal control take a swing at things before I ended up bringing down the entire damn house.

But in the three days before the specialist arrived, things took a sharp and unnerving downturn. The scratching got exponentially worse, and when things were quiet enough, we realized we could hear a distinct buzzing sound from underneath the floorboards, almost like there was a titanic beehive beneath the foundations of the house. 

As the hours turned into days, the buzzing got increasingly loud until you no longer had to strain to hear it. Then we noticed we could hear different scratchings from different parts of the wall simultaneously, and we realized we weren’t dealing with a single animal, but likely an infestation of some kind.

Things finally came to a head the morning the exterminator was scheduled to arrive. Katie and I woke up about an hour after dawn to the sound of Ellie screaming herself hoarse from her bedroom down the hall. My paternal instincts immediately kicked in and burned right through my early-morning grogginess, and before I knew what was happening I was bounding away towards her room. I threw open her door and immediately froze in my tracks.

What I saw there still scares the shit out of me - it was some kind of enormous hornet-like thing the size of a football, with a three and a half inch stinger jutting from its lower abdomen. Its hard to describe, but to put the damn thing’s sheer size into perspective, the flapping of its wings produced a sound that was as much like a small whooshing as it was identical to the insect-like buzz we’d been hearing.

In any case, I’d like to say I grit my teeth and charged the bastard with an upturned broom stick for threatening my baby girl, but that’s not the case - I instead slipped on my own sweat and fell on my ass out of sheer shock. Luckily for everyone, though, the bug didn’t seem too interested in taking on a full grown man, and it bolted back into the hole beneath the loose closet floor board the second it spotted me. 

Ellie was screaming uncontrollably the entire time, and a second or two later, Katie burst into the room, eyes wide with anxious confusion. I scrambled to my feet and ran to my daughter, hugging and kissing her and telling her the “mean bug” was gone and that she’d be okay, but it did little good. She continued to wail, and before long Katie began bombarding me with questions of her own.

“I don’t know, Kate,” I said as I picked the still whimpering Ellie up over my shoulder and started stroking her hair. “It was some sort of bug. Like a really, really huge one. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

We headed downstairs, plopped Ellie on the couch with a bowl of cereal and some cartoons, and headed into the kitchen to discuss the incident in harsh whispers.

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anonymous asked:

:0 can you do one where it's like the MC came from america and they all tease her but then (drumroll) SHES ALSO SOUTHERN and has SUCH a drawl and ofc the classic weird southern phrases or pet names and country music n lame stuff like that (pls help my poor georgia born heart) (my accent has killed so many ppl) love u long time

I’m not very Southern tbh but I was born and raised in FL. It’s such an… interesting place to live… The food here is hella good though, for the most part. My blood is practically sweet tea.

Yoosung:
-He noticed your accent instantly. I mean who wouldn’t?
-Once he was being gullible to Seven’s pranks and all you said was “Yoosung… bless your heart.”
-He thought it was a compliment.
-Oh Yoosung you have so much to learn
-You should teach him some southern recipes. Please. He is so interested in what southern food tastes like.
-When he finally does try it, it’s so different from what he usually eats, but it’s a pleasant different.
-He finds himself wanting more afterwards.
-You both tend to enjoy making southern dinner together now.
-He finds it entertaining.
-as long as you don’t play country music while you cook

Zen:
-Even with a southern drawl, he loves your voice. You know why? Because it’s the voice of the love of his life, so of course it’s gorgeous~
-Music to his ears~
-Speaking of music…
-He hates to be judgmental, especially when it involves you… but he doesn’t like country music.
-He can appreciate some aspects of it because it’s music and music is an art, but he can’t get over how it sounds.
-Also, he’s interested in how life in the south is.
-Please tell him stories about the south. He’d love it so much. He just wants to everything about you, and this is obviously a big part of you.
-Anyone that picks on you will be fought.

Jaehee:
-She actually finds the way you talk incredibly adorable.
-Besides, you’re presence alone is calming to Jaehee, so she’d love your voice no matter what it sounded like.
-On occasion, you’ll play a song she actually finds herself enjoying.
-It’s typically country songs that are borderline pop songs but oh well.
-When you call her “sweet pea” she feels blessed.
-But you also call everyone you talk to “sweetie” or “baby” or “sweetheart”
-Umm??? I thought I was your baby????
-You explain that where you come from, it’s normal for people to call each other that, especially women.
-She’ll get over it.

Jumin:
-He’s always known the stereotype of American Southerners™ but you’re obviously not uneducated and uncivilized like the stereotypes make you out to be.
-He doesn’t like country music. He much prefers classical music over the stuff you listen to that doesn’t make any sense to him whatsoever.
-But, if it’s what you like, he’s going to deal with it and listen to it to make you happy.
-The only time he’ll willingly listen to country is if you’re the one performing.
-Unless it’s you, he doesn’t care for it.
-One day you suggest cooking dinner for him so he can try how you lived back in the south.
-He tries it and calls it commoner food appreciates your hard work. It was obviously made with more love than his usual food.
-Doesn’t mean he wants to eat it again though it’s too much for him

Saeyoung:
-You are the target of so many jokes.
-Bless your heart.
-He puts on a fake accent all the time to mimic you.
-His impression is spot on, you hate to admit.
-He’s the kind of person to get offended when you call PhD Pepper “Coke”.
-It is not “Coke”, it is the nectar of the Gods, _____.
-stfu Saeyoung
-He quotes country songs out of context at inappropriate times too.
-If anyone other than him makes fun of you though he gets super defensive.
-Only he is allowed to talk like a redneck and sing Florida Georgia Line in front of you.
-He calls you southern nicknames, in English too. He thinks it’s teasing, but you actually love when he calls you that.

V:
-He thinks your accent is cute and endearing, especially when you talk in English.
-Country isn’t his kind of thing, but if you want to listen to it, of course he’ll allow it.
-He might not like the songs you play, but he can’t bring himself to hate something you like so much.
-He can tolerate it since it makes you happy.
-V enjoys when you teach him more about what it was like growing up in the south, the good and the bad stories.
-It helps him understand you on another level, which is all he really wants in life.
-He’s not a fan of southern food, but he is willing to try it if you wanted him to.
-Literally so open to anything you bring up.

Saeran:
-Your accent had no affect on him.
-Like he obviously noticed it but he didn’t really notice it.
-“_____ has such a thick southern accent.”
-“They do?”
-“…Yeah.”
-“…Oh. I guess they do.”
-He doesn’t like country music and he isn’t afraid to express that.
-Sometimes, though, he’ll tolerate it to make you happy. He’ll just be pouting the whole time.
-He of course knows nothing about the south but he’s okay with learning.
-I mean, if it’s about you, he’s willing to listen.
-He wants to know you better anyway.
-From your stories, it’s much different where you’re from compared to Korea. It does capture his attention.
-You can tell he’s listening because he even asks questions for you to elaborate on.
-He probably won’t admit it, but he enjoys learning more about you.


P.S. I hope you read this post in a southern accent because I was thinking in a southern accent while I wrote this.

Pas de Deux

First of all, sorry for being almost inactive. Work’s being rough lately.

I took @alyssawritesalot​ challenge, and wrote a Zelink Ballet Company AU. Went for  TP Zelink ‘cause they look the part (I blame ‘Crowd Pleaser’ for blessing us with the idea of a dancer Link), and because there’s never enough Midna in our lives. Enjoy.

Music suggestion: Yuri on Ice OST- La Parfum de Fleurs.

—–

I.Ecarté

‘I swear it Midna, if he gives me that strange stare again I’m going to break in my new pointe shoes on his face’. Zelda chugged from her thermos mug, filled with her Calamity brew, the nickname she gave to the ungodly amount of pure, concentrated​, unsweetened caffeine she drank every morning, as they walked down the street to Zelda’s studio.

‘Have you considered the possibility of him actually not hating you?’, the tall redhead dressed in black sipped her tea, 'you have just been practicing with him for what? Two weeks?’

‘Nope’, her answer was absolute, ‘ever since he arrived, over a month ago, he has had this better-than-y’all attitude. Worst thing, the Director and the Maestro love him. On the bright side, apparently, they considered his opinion when they chose me for the main role’.

'He’s made you lose all your chill, dear’, Midna cackled, 'you are always so serene and composed, so ballerina-like, and now…’

'Hello, Zelda’, a blond man in black rushed past the brunette, her gamine figure freezing at the sight.

'Holy fucking shit’, she gasped, panicking, 'He heard us’.

‘Nope, he was wearing headphones’, she calmed the already stressed ballerina. 'remember to breathe, please, darling’

Zelda sighed in relief before saying goodbye to her friend, and entering the studio to spend the rest of the day rehearsing with him.

These months are going to be SO long, she said to herself as she dropped her bag on the locker room and started changing into her dancing gear. Dammit, Stella, you and your diva attitude, why you had to quit all of a sudden?

The Prima Ballerina of the Hyrule National Ballet had resigned after having “creative disagreements” with the Director - she had actually been offered an outrageous amount of rupees from the Terminian Ballet Company, and being imposed to work with a new, slightly younger dancer - “a talented brat, nonetheless, but still a brat”, in her own words - had been the breaking point.

Zelda had been chosen as the new Prima Ballerina, for two reasons: she was, at age 25, a seasoned dancer, capable of filling the space left, and because the new Prime Danseur approved of her - reasons undisclosed.

When she entered the studio, already filled with the morning light, he had just begun warming up.

'Good morning, Link’, she greeted the blond man with messy hair as she took her place on the barre.

'Good morning, Zelda’, he answered, not even looking at her, fully concentrated on his exercises.

Both remained silently doing the warm-up exercises, until noisy steps broke their focus.

'Hello Princess and Hero!’, the booming voice echoed. 'Ready to save Hyrule from evil?’

'Good morning, Maestro Auru’, both greeted him respectfully, nodding at his question.

'Lets us begin, then’.


II. Tour en l’air

'You’ve been amazing’, Link told her when they were finishing their Saturday morning practice. 'Thank you for bein’ such a good partner and bearing with me’.

They had agreed meeting that day to practice together, to improve on the pas de deux they were to perform in three months.

Zelda could not believe his words - and his subtle southern accent.

'You are welcome, but you are easy to work with’. Zelda might have not liked him because he was distant and barely talked, but the man was a dancing machine. All his movements were always clean and precise, as if dancing was his second nature. He also had this noble air to him - very knight-like.

'I’m so relieved’, he sighed, 'I could honestly swear you hated me at the beginning’.

'It’s not that’, she clarified. I just wanted to punch you with my pointe shoes.

‘I know I ain’t too chatty, and people are mislead by that’, he fidgeted with a towel, 'Most think I’m a smug ass, and I’m really sorry if I gave ya that impression’.

Zelda chuckled, confirming his prior statement.

'Well, at least I hope imma changing yours’.

Ever since that day, they started having lunch together. To her surprise, he was far from being a jerk - he was really shy and socializing was really hard for him.

She realized along the passing days that they had more similarities than differences.

Progressively, and with a little of his partner’s help, he became more talkative and started getting acquainted with the rest of the dancers.

As she saw him practice the choreography - his solo scenes were full of pirouettes and jumps - on a cold morning, Zelda felt something aflutter within her, as if she was walking on air.

She started dancing better than ever.


III. Entrechat

'Link is really nice! And to think you wanted to smash his pretty face before’, Midna cackled, after being introduced to the Danseur earlier. 'He has this adorable southern drawl, he isn’t from here, is he?’

'He’s from Ordon’. The ballerina informed her friend, grabbing the fork to start dining. 'That’s why he has that accent’.

Midna’s eyebrow raised at her friend’s freshly ​delivered information. 'You know what they say about Ordonian guys?’

'No idea’, Zelda drizzled some dressing on her salad, taking a bite.

'Gents on the streets, wolves on the sheets’.

The brunette almost choked on her food. Midna’s heavily eyelined eyes were full of mirth at her reaction.

‘I swear’ - she coughed, then drank a sip of water - 'you are the worst best friend in the world’, she gasped, 'I spend over eight hours a day with the guy, with plenty of body contact involved! We play a couple of lovers, for Goddesses’ sake! -she started blushing- I don’t need these type of thoughts two weeks before the opening night!’

'Okay, don’t get stressed’ the redhead gave up on her teasing, 'your bun will get frizzy’.

Zelda sighed deeply.

'And there's​ nothing wild about him’, she noted, 'he is very sweet, kind, and polite’.

Midna nodded as she chomped on her lasagna.

'You like him’. You wanna ride his d-

'Nope. Link is just a good friend and workmate’.

'You’re in denial’, Midna stated. 'I’m a therapist, I know what I’m talking about, sweetie. I don’t blame you if you like him’ -she shrugged - 'He is a total hunk’.

A notification beep startled Zelda, picking up her mobile phone. Her face suddenly lit up.

‘What is it, Zelda?’, the friend enquired, 'You never check on your phone so fast’.

Zelda shoved the screen to her friend’s face. There was a message.

And in my dreams I see myself on a wolf’s back/ riding along a forest path/ to do battle with a sorcerer Tsar/ In that land where a princess sits under lock and key/ Pinning behind massive walls.

Wanna meet on Sunday for brunch at my place and watch this bad boy on Blu-ray? Y/N - Link

'He is into you too’, she affirmed nonchalantly, 'and what’s with that poem thing?’ Is that how dancers woo each other?

'It’s a verse of a children’s rhyme that inspired Stravinsky to create “The Firebird”!’, Zelda’s eyes almost sparkled, 'Link loves Les Ballets Russes as much as I do!’

‘Oh, I see’, Midna sipped her glass of wine, observing carefully her petite friend’s reaction. Blushed cheeks, the gleam in her eyes, she looked happier: it was obvious that her affections for her dance partner were strong, although still unnamed. And to her surprise, the feelings seemed to be mutual.

I’d better stop teasing her, and let this go with the flow.

'Go say yes quickly, Zelda’, Midna chuckled, 'don’t leave the guy waiting’.

Zelda’s fingers quickly typed an answer, as she smiled widely at the upcoming prospect.

That sunny spring Sunday, Zelda, clad in a fuchsia dress and white sneakers (something nice and simple, because this isn’t a date at all), rang at noon Link’s apartment doorbell on Castletown’s South Avenue. Next to the door there was a very cozy looking diner that caught her eye - Telma’s was the name.

Once the owner welcomed his guest, Zelda was in awe at how luminous and homely the place was: a big, inviting sofa with blankets and pillows, lots of potted plants, books, CD’s and a sound system. Her place was bleak in comparison.

'These Benedict eggs are fantastic’, she savored her meal. 'Mine are always bland. Any secret?’

'The secret is that all you’re eating is from my folks’ farm’, he smiled, 'pure ol’ Ordon goodness’.

Once all plates were empty - not a difficult feat - they watched their beloved ballet, not realizing how close they were to each other already.

'I wish I could dance it someday’, Zelda rested her head on Link’s shoulder, sighing.

'We can practice it now, if we make room’, Link offered, 'I’ve done it before’.

'Let’s do the pas de deux then!’, Zelda chimed, all fired up.

After that day, Zelda and Link had nicknames for each other.


IV. Adagio

‘I couldn't​ have done this without your help, Firebird’, Link, in full costume and make-up, whispered Zelda minutes before their debut. 'I’m so grateful to you’.

'What are you saying? I should be thanking you!’, she held his shaky hands​. 'You are the best partner I could have ever asked for, Prince Ivan’.

He embraced her tight.

'Your words mean the world to me’, he sighed, 'Break a leg, Princess’.

'You too, Hero’.

The following morning, the reviews for The Guardians of The Golden Power were stellar. All shows for the season had almost sold out.

Director Impa and Maestro Auru’s brows raised at one sentence of The Hyrule Times review: “The crescent sexual tension between the main characters is so excellently portrayed by the performers that makes you think they have something going on between them”.

The question that rose over the weeks that followed the premiere was are they, or aren’t they?

Apparently they had not gotten involved, but wouldn’t it be nice?


V. Grand pas de deux

It was the last show. Probably they would dance together again, but it would be a wholly different experience.

As the strings of the orchestra started playing, they danced flawlessly, no longer for the enjoyment of others​, but for themselves.

Their hearts raced as the climax of the ballet unraveled, the scene where the protagonists declared their love to each other before facing their nemesis. The music was slow, almost like a waltz, and subtly sensual, for the scene ended with their bodies entangled, and almost kissing.

Once the curtain fell after bowing to the audience, applause still roaring on the theatre, a feeling of emptiness washed over Zelda.

As the rest of the ensemble went to change clothes and go celebrate, Zelda remained backstage for a moment, alone with Link.

'The final pas de deux was…’, Link sighed, 'Somethin’ outta this world’.

'Yeah’, she interlaced her fingers with his, 'It was almost… as if we were them for a moment’.

She later let his hand go and stood up, heading for her dressing room, silently, still entranced for what happened on-stage.

'I… should go get changed’.

A soft tug at the train of her costume - just like the prince did to the magical bird on the ballet - stopped her in her tracks. Her head turned.

'Firebird… I…’ - his gaze was fixed on hers.

She recognized the expression on his intensely blue eyes; Zelda dragged him by the collar of his shirt, placing​ a kiss on his slightly parted lips.

'Your house or mine’, she whispered, visibly red despite her makeup, 'after the party, I mean’.

‘You mean after we take a pic with the big shots, and hail a cab before I drag ya to defile my dressing room?’, he hummed against her neck.

‘Sounds like a plan’.


VI. Coda

Zelda awoke to a notification beep from her phone.

Heeey gurl! How was the final show? I hope you celebrated properly - with plenty of booze. xoxo M

Midna.

She would probably be popping bottles of champagne if she knew last night’s outcome, which involved: several orgasms, no clothes whatsoever, general soreness, lack of sleep, a hickey on her inner thigh, and most importantly, a very asleep - and only covered by a blanket - male dancer.

Middie, the final show was great. I didn’t party a lot though. On a completely unrelated note, I must tell you I’m really sorry for not believing that saying about Ordon men. xoxo Z

Zelda hit sent and forgot about her phone, as fingers caressed her back, inviting her to return to her partner’s arms.

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Modern AU

Request: “Thomas Jefferson x Reader smut?”

Requested By: Anonymous

TW: Crappy Writing, Smut, some swearing

——————————

“Okay, be cool.” Angelica said and you shrugged.

“I’m always cool.” You rolled your eyes.

“(Y/N), I’m serious, I know you love parties but this one isn’t like the raves you go to, it’s fancier.” She finished fixing your hair as you both smiled in your evening gowns.

“I’m fine, truly.” You gave her a hug and both made your way to the front door.

“Alright lets go in.” She opened the door and you were greeted with what looked like a gala of some sort. You stepped in with Angelica and she closed the door.

“First person we’re meeting is the host, his name is-”

“George Washington, I got it.” You kissed her cheek and she nodded. You both went to Mr. Washington and shook his hand.

“Ladies, it lovely to see you.” He smiled warmly.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You responded.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Washington.” Angelica smiled and shook his hand. After a bit of conversation, the two of you moved on to different people.

You had a conversation with Alexander Hamilton, which was really nice you really liked it. He was a good listener, and then Angelica took you to get refreshments.

“Oh, we have one more person to meet and then we can go.” Angie said and you nodded.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom.” You turned around and walked away. You entered the bathroom and fixed your makeup a bit, you smiled and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Well, hello, why haven’t we been introduced?” You heard a southern drawl call out from behind you. You turned around slowly, a man in a magenta suit was leaning against the wall.

“Well, I’ve no idea, I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” You outstretched your hand, and he shook it gracefully.

“Thomas Jefferson, but you can call me daddy.” He winked. Oh, that’s how he wants to play? You smiled, and he looked astonished as you weren’t flustered at all.

“Maybe Later, sweetheart.” You smirked and he recomposed himself.

“Why not now? There’s a very nice closet, right over there.” He pointed.

“Why, I’ve just met you.” You feigned offense.

“But I feel like I’ve known you for a thousand years.”

“I suppose.” You shrugged and turned around.

“-And where might you be goin’ darlin’?” He followed swiftly behind.

“I’d like to see just how nice that closet is, would you like to join me?” You raised a brow.

“Actually, yes.” He opened the closet door for you, looked around and closed it behind him.

Once closed, you locked it and his lips launched on yours, he started sucking and biting your lip. You opened your mouth and his tongue slipped in. You moaned a bit and he pulled away.

“We don’t want people hearin’ us now, do we?” He took off his suit coat and undoing his pants and belt. You nodded and he went back to kissing you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged on his hair as he moaned a bit, you pulled back and raised an eyebrow.

He started biting your neck as you felt something hard pressing to your side. You removed your hand from his neck and let your hand slip down to his dick.

You removed the briefs over it and grasped it, slowly moving up and down. He bit his lip and watched you with a bit of craving. He gripped your ass under the dress and pulled down your underwear. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

He looked up to you for confirmation and you nodded. He pressed into you, and you bit his neck to conceal a moan. He started in a slow pace thrusting in and out.

You threw your head against the door and he kept going sucking on your neck. He pulled all the way out and slammed into you, hitting your g-spot you moaned and he looked at you.

You bit your lip and he started moving faster. His thrusts moving at a relentless pace you struggled holding back moans as he watched you.

“You look so hot like this, Jesus.” He whispered as you felt yourself close to orgasm.

“Faster.” You uttered out and he went faster. You sealed your lips shut, and closed your eyes as you clenched around him and came.

He gasped and came right after you. He rode you through orgasm and finally pulled out letting you down. You smiled and leaned against the door, “my legs feel like jelly.” You whispered.

He smiled and cleaned up fixing himself. You looked around and realized this is where they put the coats. You grabbed yours and put it on.

“I’ll go first, and then you.” You smiled and walked out. You crossed to the bathroom and fixed your flushed appearance.

You stepped out and saw Angelica looking around.

“Angie!” You walked over to her.

“Oh thank god, I thought you left. She sighed.

"No.” You shook your head.

“Were you wearing that jacket the whole time?” She asked eyeing you.

“No, I got cold and went to the coat closet to look for it.” You smiled and she nodded.

“Well, we should go.” She smiled.

“What about the other person you wanted me to meet?” You asked.

“Oh I can’t find him, it doesn’t matter.” She waved you off and you nodded.

“Lets g-” you got cut off.

“Angelica! Is that you?” You heard the familiar southern accent behind you.

“Thomas! Oh my god, we were just about to head back to the car, how are you? (Y/N) this is-” Angie smiled.

“We’ve met.” Thomas smirked.

“Oh?” She looked between you, “oh, oh,oh.” She winked, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“I lost my number, can I have yours?” He asked.

“How about you go look for it?” You smirked.

“I can’t, I’m a bit distracted.”

“I guess I’ll have to give you mine then.”

“That would be nice.” He winked.

You nodded and took his phone, putting your number in.

“I’ll be seeing you?” You asked walking away toward Angelica, by the front door.

“Of course.” He smiled.

Meaningless Nothings

Pairings: Jim Kirk x Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex, innuendos

Word Count: 1865

The smell of the bar overpowered your senses as you walked into the familiar dive. It was only a block away from campus, and you were out celebrating having just graduated from Starfleet Academy. They next day you were supposed to ship out on the USS Enterprise, as the ship and its crew were on shore leave.

“(Y/N)!” Your friend and roommate, Karsa, called to you from her spot in a booth.

“Hey, guys.” You greeted your swarm of friends that sat at the table, all clutching a drink in their hands. “Ready to party?”

And you did party. By twenty-two hundred all your friends had gone home, but you insisted on staying.

In an almost drunken haze, you sat yourself down at the bar, ordering your second, no, third Budweiser Classic that night. You usually didn’t drink this much, or at all really, but your friends had convinced you to let loose just this once.

“How many of those have you had?” A voice behind you caused you to jump. Twisting quickly to the side, you almost slam into a man. You took in his appearance.

Dark blonde hair styled to the side, although it looked as if he had run his hands through it several times. Pink lips that curved upwards in a gentle grin. Leather jacket that you couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like on your bedroom floor. Oh, don’t forget the eyes. They were more blue than the medical uniform you wore. You couldn’t deny it, you were definitely attracted to this mystery man.

“Enough to know that I shouldn’t have anymore.” You grinned, taking a sip of your beverage. The man smiled wider, leaning on arm on the bar.

“My name’s Jim Kirk.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You smiled. Jim smiled back you, leaning closer towards your seated frame.

“Pretty name.” He breathed. His face was inches from yours, and when he spoke you could feel his minty breath mixing with yours. Your heart beat faster at the sudden closeness, but you didn’t try and pull away.

“You have two names, Jim and Kirk.” You blurted suddenly. Mentally groaning, you admitted to yourself you didn’t know how to flirt. Luckily, Jim found the humor and tilted his head back with laughter. You admired him yet again. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled widely, and his eyes became even more vibrant. He was absolutely gorgeous.

“Actually, I have three.” He smiled, placing a hand on your knee. The warmth his hand provided had an effect on you even through your jeans. You quirked a brow at him, urging him to continue. “James Tiberius Kirk, at your service.” He mock a salute, causing a laugh to ripple through you.

“Well, James Tiberius Kirk, glad to have you at my service.” You teased, running a finger over the back of his hand and up his arm.

You woke up to the sound of an alarm clock. You attempted to sit up to turn it off, but an arm slung around your torso held you in place. Your naked torso.

You were completely naked.

A quick scan around the room proved your theory that you were in someone else’s apartment. Glancing at the clock with worry, a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized you still had three hours until you had to report to the shuttle bay. You had a piercing headache, but pushed it to the side as it was the least of your worries.

You laid back down on the bed and pulled the sheets over your chest. Turning slightly, you caught a glimpse of dark blonde hair. Suddenly, the events of last night came back to you.

“Jim.” You whispered harshly, struggling to get him awake. If you had any hope of getting out of his grip, you had to wake him up. “Jim.” You tried again. Still, he refused to stir. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hand up and flicked his face. Out of instinct, Jim pulled you closer by the arm he still had secured around your waist as he startled awake.

“What’s going on?” He groaned, bringing his free hand up to his face to rub the spot you had just attacked.

“I have to leave, but your arm is, well, not letting me.” You rambled, blushing lightly as you got a peak of his exposed abdomen.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” He grinned, and you blushed again. The look in his eyes, however sleep laden they were, made you want to stay. No. You had to leave. The next chapter of your life was about to begin and you couldn’t be late because of some drunken hookup.

No matter how tingly that hookup’s vibrant blue eyes made you feel.

“I’m starting a new job today, James Tiberius Kirk.” You sat up, still holding the blanket over your chest. Drunk you was a lot more confident than sober you.

“At least let me make you breakfast.” Jim offered, sitting up quickly. From the look on his face and his rushed tone, you could tell he was being sincere when he said he didn’t want you to leave.

“You always make breakfast for your one night stands?” You mocked with a grin, making sure to put emphasis on what you titled the little fling. It wasn’t like you didn’t like Jim, you had a genuine interest in him. But you were shipping out soon to start a five year mission in space. You were about to leave and couldn’t start a relationship just to have it end in an hour. You couldn’t do that to him, or anyone for that matter.

You knew you were making the right decision, but seeing his smile falter momentarily had ripped your heart out.

Soon enough, his grin was back on his face, acting as if he didn’t hear your declaration that this was a one time thing.

“Only for the ones named (Y/N).” He drawled. Making his way to his dresser, he quickly pulled on a pair of underwear. You had already gotten dressed again, and it was a miracle that you were able to find all your clothes. They had been thrown around the room last night during hasty undressing. You blushed as you remembered the feeling of his calloused hands making their way up under your shirt.

“I really have to go, but it was nice meeting you.” You offered pathetically, pretending not to see the deflated look in his crystalline blue eyes that you had grown to adore.

“Hope we can do it again sometime.” He quipped halfheartedly. You threw him a fleeting smile over your shoulder as you stepped out his apartment door.

Now all you had to do was make the walk of shame back to your dorm.

“Nurse (Y/L/N)!” A deep southern accent belonging to Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy, your superior, called.

“Yes, Dr. McCoy?” You glanced up from the PADD in your hands. You had been on the USS Enterprise for less than six hours and already were drowning in the amount of grunt work you had to do. Currently, you had been busying yourself by checking supplies.

“The Captain’s in examination room three. I can’t deal with him now.” He groaned, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. You had to stifle a smile. You had heard stories that the CMO and Captain were good friends. “He’s got a minor injury, so if you could just patch him up and get him out of my hair, I’ll let you take lunch early.”

“Got it.” You grinned, taking the file out of Leonard’s hands and walking towards the room.

Your nerves began to work in overdrive. It was your first day and you already had to work with the Captain. The freaking Captain!

As you walked into the examination room, your nose was buried into the file.

“(Y/N)?” The oh-so familiar voice called. You froze, standing with your back to him. Slowly, you turned on your heel. Oh god, it was him. Your eyes went wide as you took in the disheveled dark blonde hair.

You had boned your Captain last night.

“Captain.” You greet formally, throwing in a curt nod just to make things more awkward.

“Oh come on,” he grinned. “it’s Jim.” You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. If he didn’t feel awkward about what had happen then why should you?

“Jim, we’ve been in flight for less than a day and you’re already hurt.” You tried to hold a formal tone, but exasperation leaked into your words. He gave you an innocent grin, and you mockingly rolled your eyes. “What’d you do?”

“I hit my head.” He mumbled out. Clearly, he was embarrassed. Quirking a brow, you wordlessly asked for more information. “Okay, so I was in the dining hall, minding my own business and talking with Lieutenant Uhura when suddenly I was attacked.”

“Attacked?” You asked in disbelief. No one in their right mind would attack the Captain in his own ship. “What do you mean, attacked?” Jim sighed heavily, and you knew the story was about to get better.

“Well, it might have just been Commander Spock suddenly appearing behind me and talking—”

“Which scared you so much you tripped, fell, and hit your head on a table?” You finished, guessing where the story was going. When he nodded, it took all the professionalism in you to stop you from laughing.

“Spock said I should go to medical and see if I got a concussion.” He said glumly. You nodded, picking up the tricorder and scanning him. When you finished, you sighed and placed all the tools back where you found them.

“Well, all I found was a bruised ego from being bested by a bench, but other than that you’re fine.” You teased, turning back around to log your findings into the PADD.

Your heard Jim move, and suddenly felt his presence right behind you.

“You know, I think you owe me for running out like that this morning, and not even telling me you worked on my ship.” He whispered into your ear. You blushed, turning to face him.

“Sorry about that, but in my defense I didn’t know you were in Starfleet.” You shrugged, hyperaware of the practically nonexistent gap between the two of you.

“I think you should tell me more about you.” He grinned, taking a half step back. “Over lunch.” You smiled widely, glad your luck had worked and things weren’t awkward between you and him. That meaningless hookup had even scored you a date with the Captain.

“Alright, fine.” He took your hand in his, and led you out of the examine room.

“Hey, Bones!” He shouted with a giddy smile. You blushed, hoping your superior wouldn’t get upset at the fact you were fraternizing with a crew mate while on duty. Leonard took a quick glance between the two of you, noticing your entwined hands before letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Do you have to get all sweet on my nurses?”

Bubbles

Pairing: AJ Styles/You/Roman Reigns

Warnings: Sex. Dirty talk.

Summary:  Roman Reigns and AJ Styles x Reader threesome orgy! You get in your car and drive home from a long, stressful day at work. You open your suite door and see that AJ Styles and Roman Reigns are in your jacuzzi with bubbles. After taking your clothes off, all three of you get right down to business! Details, smut, sensual moments and lots of kink! Thanks.

Notes: I did my best for you anon ! I didn’t feel comfortable going full smut because you weren’t very clear with what you wanted to see. I didn’t want to possibly write anything that might squick you. In the future when you drop by the ask box maybe give us some more details ?  - Dani

Everything that could have gone wrong has gone wrong today. You are just over it. This day needs to be over. You want to be at home in your jacuzzi tub, soaking in some bubbles and drinking your way down a whole bottle of wine. A nice long phone call with your guys would go a long way too. They always make you feel better even when they’re literally on the other side of the world.

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anonymous asked:

Could you do a tequila/eggsy fic that includes "I have no fucking clue what youve been saying"? Please and thank you!

“God, I’m fucking knackered,” Eggsy groans. His right leg’s falling asleep on him, but he doesn’t want to shift in his chair. The Statesman’s medical team said that luckily for him, his ribs hadn’t been smashed to bits and his concussion wasn’t too serious. Lucky him, yeah, but if it weren’t for the meeting, he’d be having a lie-down right now. “Who the fuck knew Charlie was going to have a fucking mechanical arm? Fucking mission went pear-shaped.”

“Aye,” Merlin sighs. “Glaikit bastard. Should have amnesia darted him when he left, put him on surveillance—”

“We couldn’t have, though,” Eggsy points out, “not with Chester around. And are you saying you don’t watch the candidates who—” he cuts himself off, remembering that the other Statesman agents are also in the room, looking at them curiously. Kingsman may be no more, but he’s still got to act like it’ll come back. “…who are like that?” 

Merlin shakes his head. “No. And perhaps we need to look into that.” 

“Mental,” Eggsy groans, closing his eyes. He might not have had anything to do with the administrative side of Kingsman, but that doesn’t mean that not keeping an eye on the candidates who failed the fucking loyalty test is a sort of shite idea “Absolutely fucking mental.” 

There’s a loud cough from the seat on Eggsy’s left. “Yeah, guys, I have no fucking clue what you’ve been saying,” Tequila drawls, boots on the table.

Eggsy sees Ginger gives him a reproving look, much like Merlin’s, and with a wink, Tequila slides his feet onto the floor, catching Eggsy’s eye in order to shoot a grin his way.  

“We know Charlie Hesketh from before,” Merlin says. “He was one of our recruits—”

“No, no, not that, I gathered that,” Tequila says, waving his hand. “But all those…slang words.” 

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Strawberry Moon - (Trixya) - (2/?) - spacespice

Just another Hollywood lesbian AU. Trixie is a struggling music artist finally discovered by a sleazy Hollywood manager; however, his Russian trophy bride (along with her small-waisted young lover) complicate and confuse Trixie’s rise to the top as a legend, icon, and star. 

A/N: This took a little longer than I expected. Apologies. I’ve still got one or two more chapters in me before it’s curtains. No overt Vatya content this time. (Which, is sad to me, because I’m Vatya trash but…whatever.)

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Loot - Part 4 - Jim Kirk

Loot masterlist

Word count: 2,486
Warnings: language, mentions of abuse/injuries

A/N: another long part filled with nonsense. this part really got away from me tbh, it’ll be totally back on track soon. it just doesn’t feel believable to me to have something intense happen every time (although, arguably, believability is shot to hell when you’re writing about a sci-fi franchise). i wanted this story to be more about the reader and their feelings and jim and his feelings. i hope his feelings toward the reader are obvious without me having to point blank write them– like i hope you can tell through mannerisms. anyway, i’ve had a trying week and apologize if i missed some typos. lemme know if you wanna be tagged! ENJOY AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK


The artifact was becoming a pain— something you could say literally after the ancient hunk of metal scalded the skin of your palm and wrist, and something you could say figuratively after you were forced out of your oven-like temporary quarters more often than not for the past three days.

According to a drunken, loud-mouthed Ensign Chekov, the Enterprise had flown through a nebula that threw off the ship’s electrical balance. It caused the air systems, the warp core, and practically every electronic on the ship to be knocked out of equilibrium and into much more volatile, unpredictable states—  a statement you could confirm due to the onset timing of the artifact’s volatility.

When it came to the air systems, cool air would blast out of the vent when warm air was desired and vice versa. As for the warp core, several engineers found themselves in the medbay clutching burns from the core’s overheating while electronics such as communicators and PADDs shorted out, shut off, and came back to life upon whim.

Hearing that all the malfunctions were due to a nebula was a relief but the initial worry you experienced lingered a little. You wondered if the problems were being exacerbated by the artifact and almost had your suspicions confirmed when rumor had it the ship’s chief engineer, Scotty claimed this particular nebula couldn’t have been the only cause for so many issues.

You found yourself wishing you’d taken Jim up on his offer to explain to you why the artifact was so important. You also found yourself wishing you could pry a window open and throw the damn thing into the dark abyss of space— no amount of tuition was worth the pain it was causing you and the potential pain it could cause the hundreds of people on board.

As you sat atop a biobed in Exam Room 1 of the medbay, you swung your legs in order to appear more nonchalant than your ever-circulating thoughts actually had you feeling. You watched McCoy stand with his back against the edge of the counter, his hazel eyes narrowed as he read the screen of his PADD with his most casual frown.

“You can tell me if I’m dying— I’m strong enough to take it.”

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Hate Him

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Originally posted by theultimatewalker

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1, 273

THIS IS FOR @orangefizzff


“So,” Maggie drawled. “You like him?”

You rolled your eyes. “Mags, please, I don’t like him,” you denied. Maggie shoved a crowbar through the fence, the lone walker falling to the ground.

“I mean,” you continued, twirling the blade in hand, “I don’t hate him, but I don’t like him like that.”

Maggie laughed. “[Y/n], you think you can lie to me? You’re my cousin, Graham Cracker, I know you.”

You wrinkled your nose at the old nickname. “How’s Glenn?” you inquired, changing the subject. “He’s fine,” Maggie replied. “How’s Daryl?” she teased.

You froze and glared at her. “I don’t like Daryl,” you said shortly. “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Maggie snickered, slinging the crowbar over her shoulder. “You just don’t hate him.”


An hour later, you turned your neck at the sound of a motor revving. Daryl had returned from his daily run for food. You tucked the dagger into your pocket and ran over to the fence, undoing the chains and making an opening for him to come back home.

After he parked, you quickly  shut the gates, not allowing any sort of un-alive entity in.

“No bites, not bruises?” you asked sarcastically as he unmounted the bike. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander his muscular arms, his jawline.

“You wanna check me out?” he retorted. You blinked, snapping out of the trance. “What, no!” you squeaked. “I’m not checking you out.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“What?”

He shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, ‘cause you don’t seem very well off otherwise.” He slung a line of raw animal corpse over his shoulder and strode away. You crossed your arms, shifting your weight awkwardly and mumbling to yourself. Finally you sighed and stalked into the prison after him.


“So, you like him?”

Maggie ended at your side some time later as you overlooked the cellblock. Your hands tightened on the hand rail. “Don’t start with me,” you said with a tight smile. “Aw, Graham Cracker, ya know I’m just teasin’!” Maggie grinned in her southern drawl. “Stop calling me that,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You watched Daryl cradle baby Judith his arms down below, blinking dreamily. “Sureeee,“ Maggie muttered in your ear. “You just don’t hate him.”

You pushed Maggie away. “Marshmallow, shut up,” you told her as you walked off. "I will when you admit it!” she called after you.

Glenn put a hand on her waist as she tsked. “Still trying?” he asked.

“She’s so damn stubborn,” Maggie groaned. “Why is it so important to you that she tells him?” he laughed. “Because, I’ve known her all my life. [Y/n], she’s more than a cousin to me. When we were younger, Beth was Chocolate, I was Marshmallow, and she was Graham Cracker. But she just always closed herself off and never made any attempt to go out after boys. [Y/n] hasn’t had many boyfriends before and I want her to get out there.”

“Yes, because the midst of the end of the world is the great time to set her up with Daryl Dixon,” Glenn replied sarcastically. Maggie shot him a look that warned him to stop talking. “Daryl might like her back, you know, but he isn’t exactly the type of guy who does the sleepover confession thing,“ Maggie said slowly. "If only there were someone who’s known him that could ask…”

Glenn shut his eyes. “Don’t make me do it.”

“Do it.“

“Please don’t.”

“Glenn.”

“But, Maggie-!”

Glenn!”


“Sooo, Daryl,” Glenn said slyly, standing beside him in the cool night air. “I feel like we never just talk anymore.“

Daryl looked at Glenn like he had just sprung another head. “What do you want?”

Glenn raised his hands defensively. “I don’t want anything, man, I just want to talk to you.”

“No, seriously,” Daryl said shortly. “What do you want?”

Glenn sighed in defeat. “I sort of need some advice. Guy to guy advice.” Daryl waved an arm. "Man, I don’t want to hear about you and Mags’ personal life,” he grunted. “It’s not about that,” Glenn exclaimed. “It’s just-okay, see, the thing is that I have this friend who likes this other friend-,”

Daryl cut him off with a short laugh. “What friends?“

Glenn pursed his lips."Thanks for that, man. Now seriously, this friend; she really likes this guy and doesn’t have any clue what to do. Should she tell him?”

Daryl shrugged. “How the hell should I know?” he asked. “I’m not some sorta relationship master.”

Glenn nodded slowly. “Now if you were,” he elaborated, “which one of the girls in the prison would you date?” he blurted.

Daryl sent him an odd look. “None, thanks,” he replied sarcastically, going to walk away. “Wait!” Glenn sped after him. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone because I’m not supposed to tell you but I just can’t keep this in any longer! [Y/n] likes you.”

Daryl took a double take. “[Y/n]?” he repeated slowly.

“[Y/n].”

Daryl nodded slowly before letting out a slow whistle. “Huh.”

With that, he walked away.


“You told him what?!” Maggie exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Glenn held his head in his hands. “I couldn’t hold it in, I was dying. You know I can’t keep secrets.”

She sent him a harsh glance. “Yeah, I know Mr. There’s-Walkers-In-The-Barn-and-Lori’s-pregnant.”

“I knew you weren’t over that,” Glenn said accusingly.

“Listen,” Maggie interrupted. “Tomorrow, I will talk to Daryl and [Y/n] and you will sit out. [Y/n] absolutely cannot know that you know that Daryl knows.”

Glenn stared at her. “This isn’t high school, Maggie, okay, this is us living in a prison surrounded by dead people, I think it’s okay if [Y/n] finds out.”

“Oh, what do you know,” Maggie said, laying down and pulling the blankets over her. “Guess who ain’t puttin’ out tonight,” she said cooly.


“Hey, [Y/n]!”

You turned your head back, seeing Maggie approaching you. You yawned and stood up from the breakfast table, stretching your arms up. “Hey, Mags,” you  greeted. “Listen, I have to tell you somethin’ before you hear it from someone else,” she sighed. “I may have told Gl-what is that?” she suddenly demanded.

“What is what?” you said, looking around on alert.

“No, that, on your neck!”

You clamped a hand over your skin, adjusting the collar of your morning shirt. “Nothing, it’s a bruise.”

“A bruise on your neck?”

“I went for a walk and tripped on a branch, is that such a big deal?” you muttered, pushing past her. Maggie spun around and grabbed your wrist. “Is that a hickey?” she demanded again. “Pssh, no,” you laughed, waving a hand.

“Is it?” she asked again.

“Yes,” you finally admitted. “From who?!”

“From Daryl,” you said slowly, twirling a messy strand of hair around your finger. “I thought you didn’t like him,” Maggie said, crossing her arms. “Well,” you shrugged, “I don’t hate him.” You smiled at her and kissed your cousin’s cheek. “Bye.”

You pranced off, a slight hop in your step. Maggie stared after you, trying to process it.

A low whistle from beside her made her turn her head. Daryl watched you walk off, arms over his chest. “I never said I didn’t like her, you know,” he told Maggie, eyes glued onto you. “Should’ve told me sooner. I’ve been waiting for her all this time and you’d been keeping her from me.” He shook his head and walked off towards you. He casually slung an arm over your shoulder and kissed the top of your hair.

Trading Spaces

Title: Trading Spaces

Summary: A series of thoughtless and reckless decisions lead you to a truck stop in the middle of nowhere and a large gruff of a southern man who excites and thrills you more than he should be allowed to.

Pairing: Benny Lafitte x Reader

Word count: 4396

Warnings/tropes: Un-betaed, trucker!Benny, explicit smut

A/N: This was supposed to be posted yesterday but I didn’t get around to it, so here’s Day 6 of my February Fuckfest Week. If I can sort out a smutty drabble I might post Day 7 but if not then that’ll have to wait. bows apologetically Sorry, guys… Still, though, thank you for joining me this week! It’s been awesome and fun and I’ve gotten to speak to a whole bunch of you, and gotten to know you better and it’s been awesome! :D

Tagging: @angel–radio​, @bogganheart​ (It was lovely being able to talk to you more, hon) and @bkwrm523​ (for letting me complain about how stuck I was on this Benny fic AND for telling me to read all the shit on my chrome tabs XD)

You stared up at the grey, snowy sky as if it bore all the answers to your current predicament of sitting in the passenger seat of a sixteen-wheeler while a half-giant with a southern drawl crooned out Janis Joplin under his breath with a voice that sounded like it had gone six rounds of chain-smoking and followed it up with a bottle of Jack.

This was not you.

Okay, really, Janis Joplin was pretty you.

But the whole hitchhiking and getting dropped off at a truck stop – objectively the worst place to want to get dropped off at with the glitter-eyed, red-lipsticked prostitutes and the burly men who whistled and catcalled as they were dragged into the back of their trucks by said prostitutes – was so not you.

But the dude in the backseat of the Prius was trying to feel you up and you’d kicked your boyfriend – now ex - in the gonads about twenty miles back after some girl called and you caught the caller ID - Booty Call. Really? Booty Call? You’d obviously given his intelligence and his creativity too much credit.

Finding yourself at a truck stop had been an eye-opening experience. You were naïve. Far, far too naïve for this world of middle-of-nowhere bars and not entirely tasteful – or safe – company.

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anonymous asked:

[Drums steepled fingers together like some sort of villain.] Reyes totally holds those "grade checks" once a month to fluster the fuck out of you and get to know you. One night when you're out with friends at some bar or club you both see each other and just "oh shit he's even hotter outside of the classroom". [Shrugs] I'm not saying there's banging, because that's not a-okay for professor and student, but when you graduate? Totally asks you out appropriately (probably in Spanish). [Finger guns]

adorable-as-fuck said to luvleekaotix-imagines:

You. Are. Going. To be. The. Death. Of. Me. And I fucking love it. I am fucking trash for this sort of thing and the fact that you’re doing the lords work is amazing. However, I need more of that wonderful Teacher Hanzo…or even…how would McCree fit in this glorious uni setting? Please. I need it like air. <3

I AMMMMMMMMMMMM STUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK IN REYES HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL GET MEEEEEEEE THE FUCKKKKKKKK OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. Okay okay okay, take a deep fucking breath everyone. Like fucking breathe please. Hold onto yer fuckin’ horses cause meeting Professor Reyes like after hours when you and your girls are out clubbing? MMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm let me combine particular parts of the asks above.

Overwatch AU intro here. A little extra on Reyes here

✤✤✤✤✤✤

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You don’t speak wrong!

As your friendly neighborhood linguist, I wanted to hop in and talk about something that I see rampant in American society. It’s the idea that there’s a right and a wrong way to speak English.

The idea of what makes “good” English spans a whole bunch of notions. Some Americans have accents, like people in the South, but other people don’t have any accent at all. Some people in the rural areas speak dialects instead of good old common English. You shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition, double negatives are bad, and “She gone to the store” is ungrammatical. It’s ridiculous to use “literally” to mean something that isn’t literal, and George Bush has no idea how to correctly pronounce words like “nuclear”. When people make a grammar mistake, it’s frustrating, because it should just be “common sense” to get it right.

Unfortunately, all these notions are wrong.

These incorrect ideas branch from society’s drastic misunderstanding of dialect. I really gravitate to a quote from one famous sociolinguist, Walt Wolfram:

I often maintain that the popular understanding of dialect is probably akin to a modern geophysicist maintaining that the Earth is flat.

We’re living in a society that metaphorically still believes the world is flat. In the Twenty-First century, we really have that archaic, outdated, and incorrect notions of what good language is. Unfortunately, this breeds huge negative consequences about how we judge people, how we educate people, how we hire people, and more.

So what is dialect? Dialect is any variation of a language which may be mutually intelligible by speakers. There are variations in pronunciation, grammar, and vocabulary across dialects. Which leads up to key point number one:

Every single person speaks a dialect. Every single human being on this planet in their native language is a dialect speaker. There is nothing grammatically incorrect about dialects or speaking a dialect. And. all. dialects. are. linguistic. equals.

This means there’s not one right way to pronounce words. Different dialects means everyone has a different pronunciation. George Bush is correctly saying the word “nuclear.” He’s got the pronunciation right and his way of pronouncing it is no better or worse than how you pronounce it. If someone in the South says “mah” instead of “my,” that’s downright dandy, too. The people in California have just as much of an ACCENT as people in Ohio as people in New York City as people in Boston as people in Louisiana as people in Minnesota. You all have accents. I have an accent. And all our accents are equal. No one “speaks funny” because we all just speak differently - there is no Objective Standard of Rightness.

It also entails that the “nonstandard” grammar you hear someone say… isn’t actually wrong. Let’s think about the sentence “She gone to the store.” Native English speakers like my grandfather actually say that. It’s grammatically correct in their dialect. It is just as grammatically correct to say “She gone to the store” as it is to say “She go to the store” as it is to say “She goes to the store.” None of these sentences are better or more “correct” than the other.

What on earth is it that English teachers are teaching you, then? Aren’t they telling you that you shouldn’t have double negatives? Aren’t they telling you when you should use “who” and when to use “whom”? Aren’t they here to “correct your grammar” and make your writing “better”?

Um…

Basically, it’s a common occurrence in society to construct what is perceived as the “standard” or “correct” dialect. It’s a societal notion that “this is the way you’re supposed to talk.” However, because one manner of speech is judged by people in society to be arbitrarily better, it means that you’re going to be judged if you pronounce words “differently” or have a different grammar than this “standard” dialect. I’m going to be calling this Mainstream American English. It is no better or worse than any dialect you have ever heard anyone speak in the United States.

Mainstream American English becomes subject to prescriptivist rules when you enter English classrooms. These rules tell you the “right” and “wrong” ways to do grammar in English. Unfortunately, lots of these rules are rules… that native speakers don’t use in everyday conversation. The only reason most of you know “who” is distinct from “whom” is because someone told you the difference. The only reason you know not to split infinities is because someone told you not to do it. It’s arbitrary, it’s not natural, and it doesn’t actually make your grammar “better” and “more correct.” 

Oh, and for that matter, “literally” has been used as an intensifier since the seventeenth century. “I literally died” is literally a correct use of the word.

Some of these “correctness” rules come from history. “Who” and “whom” are part of the remnants of an ancient case marking system in English. However, linguists are predicting that “whom” will disappear from the language entirely in the future. Other prescriptivist rules are hilarious because they’re the exact opposite of what’s happened in history. Chaucer and Shakespeare used double negatives all the flipping time. “I never was nor never will be,” is a quote straight out of Richard III. That’s three negatives in seven words. When people tell you double negatives are “wrong” because “people can’t understand you,” it’s bogus. I clearly understand when you use a double negative, and people actually use them in day-to-day speech to make meaningful sentences.

In fact, it’s actually really logical to do a lot of “nonstandard” grammatical features. “They was happy” makes a clean-cut pattern, because now you use “was” in front of an adjective in all situations rather than just some words in the same context (Compare ”He was,” “She was,” “I was”). Now, just use “was.” Simple, clean, logical, effective, useful. Double negatives are a great feature that help emphasize negation and allow people to really understand what you mean. There’s good social reason it exists.

So now that I’ve thrown that whole standard elementary concept of grammar under the bus, I figure I should supply a definition of what linguists actually know grammar to be. Grammar is simply what native speakers use. It’s what actually happens in day-to-day speech between one native English speaker and another. Split infinitives are fine. Double negatives are fine. Ending a sentence on a preposition is fine. Using any of those in your speech doesn’t make you less “grammatical.”

This means that all of these sentences below are GRAMMATICAL according to the various EQUAL dialects across the United States:

  • She gone to the store.
  • He be crazy.
  • You was happy.
  • Me and him found a bug.
  • Who did you give it to?
  • To whom did you give it?
  • To boldly go where no man has gone before…
  • I ain’t got plenty of nothing.
  • I don’t have anything.
  • He been working all day.
  • That there’s funny.
  • You done real good.

And it doesn’t matter how people pronounce their vowels or their consonants. It doesn’t matter if you have a “Southern drawl” or speak like someone from the West. You all have accents, you all have dialects, and the way you talk is equal.

Unfortunately, the way in which we treat dialect has some enormous consequences. It goes beyond mocking friends for “talking funny” (which is bad enough) or telling people “I don’t have an accent” (which is scientifically wrong and hints toward societal privilege and linguistic security). Stereotyping and discrimination occur based upon how people speak. People who don’t speak Mainstream American English are consistently judged to be less educated, less intelligent, and friendlier. If you can’t write according to the standards of Mainstream American English, you might not get accepted into college, you might not pass the SATs or ACTs, your résumé might get thrown in the trash, and more. Furthermore, in media, we highly stereotype people with certain accents; there’s proof that the thicker the Southern accent, the dumber the character is portrayed in television. That is not cool and not representative of the people behind the accent. 

Unfortunately, this sort of prescriptivism has existed for centuries and isn’t just isolated to the United States or to the English language. We’re very quick in societies to come up with an arbitrary idea of what is “right” or “wrong.” Even if the only thing wrong is that idea in itself.

Mainstream American English still needs to be learned to get far in society. You need to learn it to succeed in life academically and occupationally. Your employers won’t be impressed if you start a résumé with a phrase like “I do good.” However, I do ask friends be aware of the consequences of believing that dialect hierarchies exist and that “right” or “wrong” English exists. Treating different dialects differently? Acting like some forms of grammar are better than another? It’s honestly a dangerous mentality with dangerous results.

As someone with an MA in Linguistics, as someone working on a PhD in Linguistics, I can tell you… you don’t speak wrong. You don’t speak wrong at all. :)