has been in my drafts long enough

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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dean doing soft and quiet things for cas

  • helping him fall asleep by holding him close and rubbing his back and lightly playing with his hair
  • forehead kisses in the morning as a greeting when he’s already up and awake and cas stumbles down the hall in search of coffee
  • building cas a place he can garden outside the bunker, researching things like seeds and soil and what will grow this time of year
  • picking out little trinkets and knick knacks for cas for no reason other than “i dunno, thought you might like it”
  • giving him a foot massage while they lounge on the couch watching a movie, cas’ feet in his lap
  • fixing his car whenever he hears any sort of mysterious clank or rattle, giving her a checkup at least once a month just to make sure everything’s good and she’s running safely
  • grabbing cas’ hand just briefly and lightly whenever they walk past each other, stroking his thumb slightly before letting go
  • dean saying i love you to cas with his every action, and cas knowing dean well enough to hear it
Writing a Novel: Being Unafraid of Failure

Part of the writing process is definitely about having the courage to sit down and write 200+ pages of a novel, but more than that, it’s more recognizably about being unafraid to write something that could potentially be horrible. It’s something that most of us don’t talk about but it’s all somewhere in the back of our minds, “Maybe my book is unreadable.”

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Harold stares helplessly at the monitor of his computer.  It’s difficult enough trying to communicate the depth and sincerity of his… regard.  Not that he’s expecting anything to come out of all of this; it’s enough for him to be able to say it.  To show it.

He simply wants to get this right.  Because this… this is much, much too important for him to screw up.  To lose.

The Machine seems to have noticed her Admin’s distress lately, and has thus helpfully provided some research—unprompted, Harold notes wryly—for him to work with as a seemingly starting point.  The camera light of his monitor blinks several times, and Harold sighs; it seems his Machine is inappropriately excited to further test the process.

‘The Five Love Languages’, he reads with growing dismay as his monitor blinks patiently back at him.  It’s hard enough grappling with one.  But five?  Which one will actually work?

His monitor flashes, and he purses his lips.  “You want me to try all of them?” he asks in disbelief.

His computer gives a satisfied whirr, and he takes that as an affirmative.  He sighs again.  “Very well then,” he concedes with resigned dread.  “I hope you realise that pursuing all five options also quintuples the probability of failure.”

His mobile phone buzzes, and he stills at the text message he receives.


He exhales slowly and stares at his computer’s camera, which blinks back at him knowingly.  He offers it a small, shaky smile.

“He is,” Harold softly agrees.

 1) Receiving gifts 

John stares at the box waiting for him in the Library the following morning.  It’s plain and nondescript, except for its size.  It is, in fact, huge enough that it looks disturbingly like a coffin, which Harold has only belatedly realised, and he has tried to lessen its intimidating impact by placing a cheery purple ribbon on top of it to signify what it actually is.

“It’s a gift, Mr. Reese.  For you,” Harold explains as he clasps his hands behind him, rocking on his heels to hide how nervous he’s feeling.

John’s gaze flickers to him then, his expression seemingly torn; there’s gratitude and amusement there, but Harold can’t help but note a touch of wariness, which perhaps can’t be helped.  “Thanks Finch, but what’s the occasion?  You’ve already given me an apartment for my birthday.”

Harold shrugs in what he hopes is a nonchalant way.  “I don’t think an occasion is required to give gifts to someone you care about.”

He catches the startled look in John’s eyes, and Harold quickly averts his gaze; perhaps he has already said too much.  He gestures at the box.  “Aren’t you going to open it?” he asks casually, hoping he doesn’t sound too pushy or plaintive.  Briefly he is seized with terror: what if John doesn’t like it?

Some of his fear must have shown on his face, because the way John looks at him then immediately gentles.  “I’m sure it’s going to be amazing, whatever it is,” John assures him with a smile.  Harold watches as John slowly unties the ribbon, his movements deliberately careful so as to not damage it or the box, and Harold can’t help but smile fondly at the thoughtful gesture. 

All eagerness in John’s face promptly disappears as soon as he lifts the lid and sees what’s inside.

Harold hesitates.  “I… hope it’s up to your standards?” he asks timidly.

Slowly, John puts the lid down on the table without taking his gaze off the box’s contents, as if he can’t quite believe his own eyes.  “Finch,” John starts, and stares. “I thought you said you didn’t like guns?”

“Yes, well,” Harold clears his throat, hoping to cover some of his embarrassment. Perhaps… he has gone a little overboard. 

He watches as John takes out the firearms one by one: handguns, revolvers, derringers, rifles, shotguns, semiautomatics, even a machine gun.  The reverence with which John handles each one is fascinating for Harold to observe—it’s not dissimilar to the way Harold runs his hands over the leather-bound covers of his beloved first-editions in the Library—before he is startled at the darkened aura John suddenly exudes.

“Finch,” Johns says as his grip tightens on the machine gun and he fixes his steely gaze on Harold, “are we preparing for something?”

Harold’s eyes widen as he realises what John is asking—a soldier through and through, he’s immediately preparing for war.  “There is no imminent danger, Mr. Reese,” he quickly hastens to reassure him.  “Not to the city or to any civilian—”

“Or to you?” John interjects, his voice pitched dangerously low.

“Or to me,” Finch clarifies, his chest warming at the thought that John’s immediate protective instinct is directed toward him above anything else.  “I assure you, the Machine would’ve sent us an advance warning about anything we should prepare ourselves for.”

He sees John visibly relax.  “Then,” John asks, with obvious confusion, “what is all of this for?”

Harold lets the tension bleed out of his own frame, wistfully acknowledging that he really isn’t good at this; he has caused John unnecessary worry, and he has to rectify that.  “As I said, Mr. Reese, it’s for you,” Harold tells him with a smile.  John, not quite satisfied with that answer, tilts his head, encouraging Harold to go on.  “With our line of work, I’ve come to realise the necessity of being prepared, most especially for your safety, and I’ve concluded that despite my… misgivings about weapons in general, it is more prudent for you to be provided with the proper firearms.”

John raised his eyebrows.  “Proper, meaning…?”

“Meaning it’s about time you get equipped with arsenal that you did not acquire through repossession from rather unsavoury characters.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitches in amusement.  “You want me to stop stealing them from criminals.”

Harold huffs.  “Yes, that, exactly,” he concedes with a wry grin, before he schools his expression, letting John know how serious he is.  “I must confess that I am often anxious about the fact that whenever you acquire your weapons, Mr. Reese, we are never certain of their original source, and therefore we can’t check whether they are functional enough to be certain that they won’t compromise you while you’re in the field.”

Understanding dawns in John’s eyes.  “You’re worried about me.  That’s why you got me this.”

Harold blinks, before his own gaze softens.  “I always worry about you, Mr. Reese,” he murmurs, and there it is again, that look of surprise in John’s eyes, and Harold feels his heart twist at how John has lived so long without someone looking after him that he’s somehow completely taken aback whenever he realises that he now has someone who cares enough to worry about him, like this.

Harold wants, so badly, to make up for all that time John has lived a life without having someone.. care for him, like this.

“Every time I send you out there, Mr. Reese, to protect our Numbers, I’m always keenly aware of my responsibility to ensure your safety and protection.  And I realise that most of the time, my assistance isn’t always enough.”


He silences John’s protest with a raised hand and a gentle smile, even as he fails to keep the bitter self-deprecation out of his voice.  “And despite the way I’m always at the brink of a heart attack every time you choose to risk your life, Mr. Reese,” he continues dryly, making light of his words to cover the way he is shifting under the intensity of John’s gaze, “I trust wholeheartedly in your capability to protect both the Numbers, and yourself.”

He shuffles forward to peer at the box’s contents, already knowing what he’ll find, because he’s the one who acquired them.

“You risk your life everyday to protect us all, Mr. Reese,” he murmurs, running his fingers gingerly over the deadly cylinders of titanium and steel.  “The least I can do… is to provide you with my token protection.  This way,” he adds firmly, “you will never have to worry about the reliability of your weapons, because you will always be sure of its source.”

Warm, rough, callused fingers settle over his own, stilling their movement over the guns.  He blinks, looks up—and his breath catches at the open wonder in John’s gaze, simmering with an intensity that makes Harold’s fingers curl.

John’s own fingers slip between his, holding on.

“Thank you,” John says simply, sincerely.

John’s thumb brushes over Harold’s pulse, making it quicken, and Harold drops his gaze so John won’t see the flush that suddenly suffuses his cheeks.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Reese,” Harold says softly.  “Always.”

Dissipate [DRAFT!]
Dissipate [DRAFT!]

OKAY. here is my current draft of keith’s original song which i’ve been working my butt off on for like around 10 months lmao. i’m at a real crossroads with it so i think opening it up will help me - the vocals are just my guide and not the final versions! this is definitely still a big WIP but i really hope it is exciting and maybe it’ll be well received bc i’ve worked so hard on it!! 

i think i’ll aim for an official S4 release of the Actual Final Version, it has a lot of way to go esp with the mix if you compare to my more recent stuff - i’m actually working on a whole new version in a different key! but we’ll see how the final version turns out. for now anyway…. THIS IS DISSIPATE. the song i’ve poured my entire heart and soul into for keith. i haven’t touched this mix for at least 3 months so pls excuse the mess it’s in. BUT YEA. OKAY…. GUESS WE’RE DOING THIS?!!!!!!

Their names are burning underneath my skin
Before i even had a chance to welcome them all in
Something’s clawing at my insides
Stinging at my eyes
Realisation: they’re on my side 

full lyrics below the cut: 

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Trouble Man

Includes: Sam x reader, Bucky Barnes, fluff

Brief Synopsis: Sam leaves Bucky’s texts unanswered to annoy him without realizing that he is also annoying you. Based on this post.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: It has been way too long since I posted a fic, but I hope you all enjoy this one! Now that it’s summer, I’ve been working on some of my drafts and hope to post more often. Thanks for reading!

Originally posted by anthonymackiesource

Sitting up in bed beside Sam, you could not seem to focus long enough to comprehend what was printed in the novel laying open and unread on your lap. You had already asked him to turn the volume down on the television, which had helped, but then his phone began to belch out a portion of his favorite track by Marvin Gaye when he received a text. Eventually, the texts became so frequent that the tone would only play for a second before starting over again, the inharmonious repetition of sound no where near as euphonic as the entire song. 

“Are you going to answer those?” you nearly growled, your words sounding more like a command than a question.

“Nope,” Sam responded, unaware of your irritated tone as he popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth. He didn’t even bother glancing your way, his eyes glued to whichever movie he was intently watching on Netflix.

“Could you at least put your phone on silent?”

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Meeting You (King George III x Reader)

Requested By: Anonymous

Summary: Song-fic based off of “This Is My Idea” from the movie The Swan Princess. For as long as you can remember, your parents forced you to spend time with your future husband, even though you couldn’t stand each other. Throughout the years you both mature, does your relationship?

Warnings: None!

Time Period: Pre-Hamiltime? (It takes place during King George’s life, but it doesn’t have to do with the American Revolution.)

Words: 1983

A/N: Two stories in two days?? Wow, go me!! Anyway, this has been siting in my drafts for a while and I’m finally happy with it. This was super fun to write because I love King George and there aren’t enough reader insert stories about him. Like I said, the inspiration and many lyrics are from The Swan Princess movie. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy and have a fabulous day!!

From a young age, you had been betrothed to George. Before you were even born, your parents had come up with the arrangement that you and George would marry as a way to strengthen your countries.

Every summer, you would be pulled from your home and sail to England. The idea was for you and George to spend time together so you would love each other by the time you were to be married.

There were four of these summers that stood out in your mind when you thought about how you met George.

The first memory was the first time you had ever visited him. You had been told by your parents that you would sailing to England to meet a very important boy who was only a year older than you. At first, the idea excited you. There would be another child to play, even if he was a boy. At the young age of 6, there weren’t many people to play with, seeing as you had no brothers or sisters and the thought of playing with a servant child was unimaginable.

After a long, boring journey, your parents guided you to the castle where you were to meet the King and Queen of England along with their son. The trio stood waiting for you, looking regal, and suddenly you got shy. Hiding behind your parents, you protested as they pushed you forward. George’s parents did the same.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Princes (y/n).” he grumbled.

You went to curtesy just as you had been taught and automatically replied, “Pleased to meet you, Prince George.” However, when you looked up George had turned away from you in a rude manner.

His mother gave him a sharp look and pointed towards you. Begrudgingly, he dramatically stomped to you and looked at your suspiciously. You glared at him before he kissed your hand and instantly pulled away with a “Yuck!”

The first thought you had was not very kind of Prince George, and you could tell that you would never like him, much less love him enough to marry him. “He looks conceited, what a total bummer.”

Both of you turned to your parents and mumbled together, “If I get lucky I’ll get chicken pox.”

After receiving stern looks from both Kings and Queens, you rolled your eyes before turning back to George with the fakest smile you could muster.

“So happy you could come.” he bowed, mockingly.

“So happy to be here.” you curtsied, but put no respect in it.

At the same time, you both crossed your arms and complained. “This is not my idea of fun!”

The rest of the summer was spent fighting with George. Since your parents wanted you two to get along, they believed the best way to do this was for you to spend every day, with him. For some reason, they were oblivious to the feud you and George had.

That summer was one of the longest summers ever. When you finally got on the boat to head home, you were relieved you wouldn’t have to see that boy for almost another year.

The second summer that stood out in your mind was when you were eleven and George was twelve. That past year, you had discarded the dress laid out for you, instead opting to wear pants and a tunic shirt much to the dismay of your parents.

You tried you hardest to tell your parents they had to postpone the voyage, but they wouldn’t buy any of it. They escorted you on the boat and had a trunk thrown together, all in a matter of ten minutes.

Once you arrived in England, you were greeted by the usual; George, the King of England, and the Queen. However, this year, George’s annoying friend, Samuel Seabury, was with him. All summer, they never let you join in their games.

Anytime you tried to play whatever game they were playing, they would run off to their “secret’ treehouse. About halfway through your stay, you had enough. You chased them throughout the castle, trying to force them to play with you. “Wait up guys!”  you cried after them, frustrated that they wouldn’t slow down.

Disappearing out of sight, you almost gave up hope, but luckily you managed to track them down. Now only a few yards behind them, you thought you could catch up. Unfortunately, they reached the treehouse, climbed the ladder, and took away the ladder before you could put a foot on it. On top of that, they hung a sign on the wall that read, ‘NO GIRLS ALLOWED!’

“This really isn’t fair.” you whined, crossing your arms with a pout on your face.

Instead of apologizing, they laughed and said in unison. “We really couldn’t care.”

“Boys it’s all or none!” you thought.

Taking a step to the supporting boards, you kicked one out of anger. Not expecting to cause any damage, you were surprised and horrified to see that kicking that one little board out of place sent the entire structure tumbling.

That summer you got to leave early, but you left with a bruised face and broken arm, and livid parents.

The third summer with George that stood out in your mind was when you were seventeen and he was eighteen. You had finally grown out of your “awkward phase,” and felt beautiful and confident. Your confidence soared even higher that summer when you caught George staring at you a bit too long when you first arrived.

However, if you were being completely honest, you were equally as guilty. Some might have said that you had developed a crush on the future King of England, but that was not true. Although he looked quite handsome, he was still that annoying boy who had never treated you kindly.

The day pigs flew would be the day you had a crush on George.

However, that was the first summer that was different then the rest. In your mind, it didn’t feel like a terrible time. First, you were able to convince George to do what you wanted more easily. Gone were the days where you were running to catch up with him and Samuel. Second, you began to talk to more people in the castle, including the castle gaurds. It was fun just being able to flirt with them, laughing at what they said, leaving your hand on their shoulder for too long, etc, even if it didn’t mean much.

“She’s always flirting with the castle gaurds!” George complained as he and Thomas watched you from afar. That particular day, you were feeling extra flirty. Your arm was lingering on the guard’s shoulder a bit to long and the way you batted your eyes could make any man weak in the knees.

“You’re just jealous because you like her. Fess up.” Samuel teased, elbowing George in the side.

George’s head whipped around as he glared at Samuel, daring him to say another word. Although he would never admit it, George had began to harbor a crush on you. You weren’t the whiny six year old you once were and you most certainty weren’t the boyish eleven year old he had once known, but you were still the annoying girl he didn’t want to marry.


“I’d like her better if she’d lose at cards.” George countered, still upset over the fact that you always won.

You even won when they boys were cheating. Samuel would stand behind you and glance over your shoulder, mouthing the card numbers to George. When the game came to an end, George laid down his cards quite smugly, prepared to gloat over his victory.

“Four sevens and a ten.”

“I think I won again.” you stated, laying down the cards you had collected on the table.

And even though Samuel had seen your numbers, you had seem to win. Again! The boys could never catch a break.

“This is my idea.” you began, returning George’s smug smile.

“This isn’t my idea.” they pouted.

“Of fun.” all three of you spoke at the same time.

The last summer that stood out in your mind was when you were 20 and George was 21.

For as far back as you could remember, your parents had constantly reminded you that you and George were to someday wed. Every June through September, they would force you to spend time with the boy who you didn’t even like.

You wanted to be in a marriage that was based on love, not politics, and you knew that was something that you could never achieve with George. Even though you tried to explain this to your parents, they acted like they couldn’t hear you.

There would be times that you would beg and plead with them, or even refuse to leave the carriage. If this ever happened, your parents would pick you and drag you to where George was. It felt like their were bruises from their fingerprints.

You could feel the pressure for you and George to marry greater then it ever had been. You knew you were almost passed the acceptable age of not being married, and your parents wanted you to be well off.

When they shoved you in the ball room, you crossed your arms and tried to reason with them. “He is so immature!”

The sound of another door closing on the opposite side of the room caught your attention. You turned and saw that George was standing there, and your knees were buckling slightly. He had grown so incredibly handsome and something about him seemed different.

You could understand why, but some switch inside you flipped and you could see all the great qualities George had in him. He was kind, caring, intelligent, witty, and charming. He was the man you had been dreaming of.

The way he stared at you, made you blush. Unknown to you, he was having similar thoughts of seeing you in a brand new light. While he may of thought you weren’t the prettiest when you were younger, looking at you know you were like an angel.

As if his eyes were finally clear, he saw your beauty, grace, poise, elegance, kindness, humbleness, intelligent, and humor. All of the wonderful characteristics drew him towards you, meeting you half way in the room.

“So happy to be here.” you curtsied, just like at the age of six, but now you meant in with all of your being.

“’Till now I never knew.” he whispered, bowing to you.

“It’s you I’ve been dreaming of.” you both spoke, inching closer and closer to each other until you were mere inches away.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and brought his lips on top of yours. Almost as if a spark had been lit, you felt fireworks booming in your chest as you wrapped your arms around George, pulling him closer to you.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you couldn’t help the smiles that adorned your faces. You had finally found your soulmate, and he had been standing in front of you your entire life.

“And that is how your mommy and I feel in love.” George spoke lovingly to the bump that was your stomach, rubbing it softly.

You could feel soft kicks from the baby growing inside of you, and you smiled down at the sight of your husband connecting with your unborn child. “I think she liked the story.” you giggled, running a hand lovingly through his hair.

“She?” he questioned, looking up at you with a goofy grin on his face.

“Well I’m not sure, but I think it’s mother’s intuition.” you admitted.

“I love you so much, my little princess.” George whispered, pressing a small kiss to your belly. “And I love you so much, my queen.” he whispered in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.


He immediately moves her against the wall, out of harms way. He nervously squeezes her shoulder and smooths her coat, leaning in close to look her in the eyes and holding onto her maybe a little longer than necessary while he makes sure she’s not hurt, but not long enough for him because his hand shakes and he’s desperate to hug her. He and Glenn must have been panicked out there, following the trail she left.

When he hugs her, it’s definitely to comfort her but it’s also to reassure himself that she’s really there, alive and okay. It’s pretty obvious that he absolutely loves her.

When ya realize you’ve been stuck with a fucking lunatic who talks about aliens 24/7 and never knows what he’s talking about after 87 hours of him talking about it then losing trance making the 87 hours wasted and hearing about his damn cats ,,, fucking Kim and Kanye ,, why the FUCK did he name them Kim and Kanye , and have been thrown guitars at, the violence has to end , and ya decide to throw your whole fucking drum kit at Matt bc you’ve had eNOUGH and seen him break his foot twice because this motherfucker doesn’t know what shOES ARE AN-

Drawn To Life

Diego Luna/ Reader

Originally posted by diegolunadaily

Words: 1,639

Summary: You never expected to get a reply at two in the morning, let alone have these marks change your life.

Prompt: “Whatever mark you get on your skin your soulmate gets it too so one day, you just kind of just get a sharpie and start writing on your skin. You definitely didn’t expect to get a reply, but you did. Now it’s five in the morning and you’re just about covered in ink and this will be a pain to wash off later.”

Tagging: @kwaiky, @myfriendmagislit

Requested by: @ly–canthrope

Author’s notes: Oh, shit, this request has been sitting in my drafts for so long. Thank you for your patience, Madison!! I haven’t written RPF in a loong time since I’m always afraid people will come at me with pitchforks and fire bc I wrote RPF. Oh well!

Another sleepless night, huh?

You stare at the ceiling for a few more seconds before you roll over to turn on the lamp.

The clock glows a disappointing 2:13 AM.

You haven’t been getting much sleep lately but found that doodling often calmed you enough to lull you to sleep. Digging into the bedside drawer for a Sharpie, you start to play around with a flower design. Marveling at your handy work on your forearm, you start to notice a mark appear next to one of the flowers.

No. Way.

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anonymous asked:

During Bill's reign, some bored Jagers decide to do a play about the lives of previous Hetetodynes. There is at least one musical episode.

“Hy heard,” says Zoff. He’s leaning over a low stone wall, the kind so ancient it’s old even to Jägers, that looks like it grew up out of the land. Except over the past hour or so he’s melted, sort of, from leaning to slumping to hanging, and now he’s just folded over the wall at the waist, bare feet scraping the ground on one side, hat in his hands to keep it from falling to the ground on the other. “Hy heard dot pipple do dis ting, where dey put on plays about de Masters Bill und Barry, vot dey iz doink like.”

“Vot?” says Ioan, who has not slumped in a similar way since they sat down because he was already lying on the ground by the wall to begin with. His hat is on his chest. “Ve could do dot.”

“…Hyu tink.”

Ioan makes a scoffing sound that sounds like a drain unclogging. “Ve saw dem do lots of domb tings ven dey vas lettink us watch dem. Iz goot material, dot is.”

“Brodder. They wasn’t really lettink us….”

“Whyfor iz pipple tellink stories about de Boyz now? Dey never did dis about any of de odder Masters.”

“Pipple ectually like dem,” sighs Zoff. “Iz different.”

Ve liked dem,” says Ioan. “Und ve saw dem doing domb tings too! See? Pipple iz vaisting an hopportunity.”


It just sort of…happens.

They decide to stick to Mechanicsburg, because they’ve been ordered not to leave it. Jenka downright refuses to be involved in any capacity outside of pointing and laughing, and General Gkika snorts at the group of soldiers who lose a draw and go in a clump to timidly ask her if she wants to act and says she thinks she’d better stay on call for when they injure themselves, so all of the woman characters are played by male Jägers in wigs. Because of the sort of people their Old Heterodynes hung out with, were attacked by, and sometimes were, there are also a lot of Jägers in chainmail bikinis. They scrounge a couple choice pieces from the Masters’ collections, and make the rest out of foil.

“No, no!” says Zeff (who normally avoids being near Zoff, for name overlap reasons, but whose mother a long time ago was on the stage, and was drafted for his expertise), standing before the stage the night after their first Preview. “Dere is not enough fire! Trust me, de audience luffs a fire!”

“Hyu sure dat isn’t just when dey isn’t likink de play, and wants the actors to burn op?” asks Minik speculatively. Minik paints, and has been doing the stages. “Hyu better not wreck mine scenery.”

“Ve iz not gon wreck–”

“Hy come after hyu if you wreck it!”

Zeff snorts. Minik growls. They get into a light fist fight.

“Oh, my lord,” mutters Carson, who came for the free entertainment (all public works are free for the seneschal) and has not been disappointed. He tugs on his muttonchops, which along with what remains of his hair have been quickly going to salt and pepper over recent years. His grown son (who had to pay), stands beside him and snickers into his hands. The son’s fiancé, a lovely and ferocious local girl named Arella, is looking on with what can only be described as bloodthirsty glee.

Zeff and Minik knock over a can of purple paint, which goes everywhere.


“Velcome back, sveethot!” Zoff greets his great-great-great niece-in-law, a blacksmith who makes a habit of stopping by the Playhouse Monstrosa when she’s in the area. He raises an arm to wave from where he’s hunched over a script spread out on top of an empty barrel. De Goot Heterodyne versuz Efferybody has been surprisingly popular, if more among locals than tourists, and the original group of troth players has doubled in size and is now brainstorming Knife Keeses a Princess und Gets a Haircut (working title). “You see ennyting goot vhile hyu vas out of town?”

“Only a few small uprisings,” says his niece. “And an opera. It was about historical heroes, that kind of thing.”

“Opera?” says Zoff. “Vit de singing, yah?”

He eyes his script (which is one huge piece of paper, folded unevenly a dozen times and then scribbled all over, largely with pictures, with arrows indicating reading order) speculatively. “…Ve could do dot.”

He reaches out and draws some musical notes next to a shouting stick figure’s head.

Dance With Me Tonight 

banner by eriza

“Whilst on their year (or so) long hiatus young Harry Styles has been drafted into the whirlwind of the Strictly Come Dancing experience, or so the rumours would lead you to believe.

I mean it’s something that my mum would be proud of me doing.” He stopped to laugh, “and I guess it would be a great way to keep up my fitness over the winter months.” Taken directly from the man’s mouth, at the premier of Dunkirk in Leister Square.

Is that enough confirmation for you?  It is for us.’

a OU Harry fic to prove the illegitimacy of The Strictly Curse


Click on more info for a little teaser below

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anonymous asked:

What about a friends with benefits blurb? Like in the movie friends with benefits which I happen to be watching right now lol. Harry and or her realize they actually do have feelings for each other

Friends with benefits anon here again…I feel like a harry is a little emotionally repressed so I can totally see him taking on a situation like that. Also with his work he might feel like it’s too hard to keep a proper relationship up so that’s a good alternative.

Enjoy, sweetness. ;)

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Voltron Characters as Shit I've Said/Done pt. 5:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Shiro: *Laying on the floor dissociating while 2 children sit on top of him yelling at each other about who knows what* I deserve this.

Keith: I was going to say “I’m not emo,” but I realized that I’m literally wearing My Chemical Romance merch in 2017.

Lance: I have to be the best uncle to these kids so they’ll love me more than the rest. HEY KIDS, WHO WANTS ICE CREAM?!

Hunk: My anxiety is like Donald Trump. It’s there, it’s fucking shit up it’s not supposed to, and I want it gone.

Pidge: Where did that tree come from? Who put it there? Has it always been there? Do I really not go outside enough to know what’s in my front yard?

Matt: I’m older than you so you have to do what I say. I don’t care if I look like I’m 13.

Allura: Yeah I’m royal. A royal mess. Please help, I don’t know what I’m doing 95% of the time.

Coran: Trust me, I’m an expert in this. *Turn computer off then back on.* Problem solved.

Lotor: I have standards. They may seem low to you, but to me they’re pretty high.

barista! leo

anon asked: can you write something with a lot of fluff and vixx Taekwoon?

a/n: this has been in my drafts for so long and it’s finally being posted!!!! I hope this is enough fluff? ? ? ?  if it isn’t, feel free to request again bc I love writing fluff, but I hope you like it, anon! ♡
& I really like writing coffeeshop au’s so please be on the look out for more of them in the future! (especially ones about vixx hehe)

as always, request box is always open!

pairing: reader x leo
genre: fluff
warnings: none

Originally posted by thisisjustforfunval

  • of course, this latte fairy is going to be the barista 
  • like hakyeon, he makes the best coffee but doesn’t seem to mess up often like hakyeon does 
  • maybe it’s due to the fact that he comes an hour early every day to practice making coffee… 
  • but where does this extra coffee go? 
  • of course he goes across the street to the library where he gives them out to students so they can study 
  •  wow so generous of you, taekwoon <3 
  • the quieter of the three baristas (you can already imagine who the third barista is) 
  • quietly makes his coffee quickly and efficiently 
  • knows that hakyeon tosses perfectly good coffee away, so that “bad” coffee either goes to him or he tucks it away into the fridge so he can give iced coffee to students later  :) 
  •  is the type to hum to himself when he’s brewing the next batch 
  • wow, barista taekwoon is so soft 
  •  so anyway you’re a college student that is frequently at the library you’re studying for your bio midterm but then you feel a tap on your shoulder 
  • & hey! it’s taekwoon!
  • but ofc you don’t know that, so you’re just thinking “what does he want” 
  • but then you look down and you see his tray of iced coffee 
  • he’s saying something but you can’t really understand him bc he’s literally whispering 
  • uhm… I’m sorry can you please repeat that?” 
  • o-oh, uh, i was asking i-if you wanted a cup…. of coffee…” 
  • you think: “huh. it’s free coffee… and i do need to be here for a couple more hours… and I am feeling tired…” 
  • sure!” 
  • he gently hands you the cup of coffee, mutters a thanks, and speeds off to the next person he sees in the library 
  • your eyes follow him for a few more seconds before going back to your work 
  •  but you can’t stop thinking at how nice he was… and how… cute he was…. 
  • next day rolls along and you’re back in the library & guess what? 
  • but this time he just places it next to you??? 
  • and you’re like ? ????? 
  • the same thing happens the next day… and the next… 
  • it’s like he doesn’t want to talk to you? 
  • but you brush that aside and think that he does this to the other students 
  • but he doesn’t? 
  • he actually talks with them for awhile? and smiles? 
  • does he not like you????? 
  • which makes you feel sad bc he seems like a nice boy, and he’s cute, and he’s just… you just want to know more about him? 
  • you don’t even know his name… 
  • so on the day before your midterm, you had two things to do: to study your butt off and to tALK TO JUNG TAEKWOON 
  • you sit at a seat that’s facing the door so he won’t be able to sneak off so easily
  • when you hear the door open, you look up instantly but it’s not him… 
  • it was another student but you’re adamant to talk to him, so you keep up with the door (bad idea, bro, you’re supposed to be focused) 
  • you were about to give up and think that he wasn’t going to show up but the door opens again and hEY! IT’S COFFEE BOY! 
  • you instantly look down and do your work you see a shadow approach your table and see an arm in front of you with a cup of coffee but before that arm retracted, you grabbed his wrist (wow where is this confidence coming from )
  • you both look at each other, your eyes are wide and his is equally wide, and you drop his wrist 
  • sorry a-about that… but… I just want to thank you for everything and — you know… for the free coffee… and like I don’t even know your name??? oh, I’m y/n by the way” 
  • he blinks and to his relief, you don’t notice how red his ears are getting 
  • it’s quiet for a moment bc he’s trying to figure out what to say and you firmly believe that he doesn’t like you and is just trying to get rid of the coffee as quickly as possible 
  • but before you can say sorry, he finally says something 
  •  “oh,,,, uh taekwoon… is my name… jung… taekwoon…..” 
  • it gets awkward pretty darn fast but persistent you wants to get to the bottom of this 
  • I was just wondering,,, but,,,,,, doyounotlikeme?” 
  • excuse me?” 
  • you clear your throat and repeat the question “do you not like me????” 
  • when he hears this, his eyes widen a little but when he doesn’t say anything, so you continue talking 
  • you talk to other people before you hand them their coffee and you seem really nice with them!!! i was just wondering if you just,,, didn’t like me???” 
  • taekwoon just stands there, really shocked at your statement
  • you almost give up but then you see him set down his tray and franticly waves his hands 
  • no nO NO! it’s not like that at all!!!!!!!!
  • but you know he doesn’t actually scream bc one) he’s in the library and two) jung taekwoon doesn’t yell 
  • it’s just that,,,  *clears throat* umm… you’re just pretty & i don’t,.. really know… how to approach you???????” 
  • & at this point you’re like …. hoLY CRAP HE LIKES ME???? 
  • and he says that the reason why he doesn’t talk to you is because he gets really flustered and he gets easily red and stutters a lot when he’s in front of pretty people & he just doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of you 
  • right now, you’re beet red and you’ve never felt butterflies in your stomach like you’re experiencing them at this moment 
  • —so I was wondering whether… or not you’d like to…. get coffee??? one day?? …. together?????” 
  • you blink and clear your throat because you literally have nothing to say 
  • bc you’re just so overwhelmed by this confession like ? ???? ?? ? 
  • this cute boy you’ve been crushing on and thought hated you is now asking you out on a date???? 
  • of course you say yes way too quickly and way to enthusiastically for your liking 
  • but taekwoon has a small warm smile on his face 
  • and seeing him smile just made your heart burst bc wOW THIS BOY HAS A CUTE SMILE & YOU CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM SMILE EVEN MORE
  • wow this is so soft , my heart is just bursting right now i can’t 
Glamoured Differences

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

[ 1704 ]

Pairing;; Jimin x Reader

Warnings;; None

Genre;; DRABBLE idol!au, fluff  i guess

**a/n;; it’s been too long since i posted something here. all of my focus is going into tied rn im really sorry ;-; this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now but i don’t know how it would be received. so, if you like this please do let me know!!

Your yes lingered on him, watching his reflection in the mirror.

He was telling some story – you could hear some parts of it, but not enough to put the pieces together into a coherent thing. He was laughing though, the sound muffled by the surrounding buzz of other people. But it didn’t matter, at least you could still see the way that his eyes crinkled, the way his lips revealed his teeth as he kicked his head back some. He kept getting reminded to sit still, that if he wouldn’t stop moving his hair would look a mess.

Jimin kept apologizing.

He always did.

But it always was never long before he got a little too excited again, especially when promotions were coming to an end and he was desperate to show off all of their hardwork. His hard work.

You dropped your gaze, smiling a little to yourself.

‘’ You know, ‘’ Namjoon started, looking at you in the mirror while you styled his hair, ‘’ you could always go talk to him.’’

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