inquisitive grunt

claudeng80  asked:

Modern AU: Obi and Shirayuki play (or are involved in) a game of truth while drinking on the porch swing in the frat house.

It’s not quiet in the house, not this close to the start of the semester, but there’s a silence in the shape of Obi’s voice, and Shirayuki can’t help but try to fill it.

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Confession: I wish people would stop infantilizing Cole and Grunt. Cole appears to be a teenager not a young child and Grunt is an adult once he goes through his Rite of Passage in ME2 (and if his loyalty mission isn’t done in ME2 it’s implied that since he’s a member of Urdnot in ME3 he must have done his RoP inbetween the events of ME2 and ME3). It’s not amusing being treated like a little kid when you’re not so I could see Cole not being happy having someone mother him.

Ghostlight - cc fic

Title: Ghostlight
Pairing: Chris/Darren
Rating/Length: G / 5,100
Summary: Darren is a fairly successful actor currently staring in Hedwig and the Angry Inch on Broadway.  One night, after a show, all alone on the stage, he turns off the ghost light.  What happens next changes his perspective and more.

[Read on AO3]

It doesn’t actually take that long for Darren to get cleaned up after a show. By “Wicked Little Town” most of his make up is lost to sweat and costume changes, and by curtain call he’s down to little black shorts and sneakers. It’s quick and easy to jump into the shower and rinse the last of the paint and glitter and sweat from his skin. It takes far, far longer to make him look like Hedwig Robinson than it does to make him look like himself again.

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Fic: Go, Fight, Win!

RIVAL DRUM MAJOR KLAINE AW YEAH AW YEAH.

This is based off of zero actual experience and also kind of a cheesy YA novel I read when I was like 14. Kurt and Blaine are the drum majors at McKinley and Dalton, respectively, and things really heat up when they’re forced to combine bands in order to save their programs.

PG-13, 2500 words exactly.

Kurt didn’t know what was going to happen when he was called into Figgins’ office for a meeting with Mr. Schue, the Dalton band director, and Blaine Fucking Anderson, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

“No.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m sorry, boys, but my hands are tied!” Figgins tried to placate. “We don’t have the room in our budget for a full marching band, and the enrollment in Dalton’s band has dropped significantly. Our best option is to combine both bands for the competition season, or else neither school will have a band program anymore.”

“But they’re our biggest rivals!” Kurt said, not knowing whether he should glare at Figgins or Blaine. “They’ve tried to belittle us for years, and now you want us to work together?”

“We haven’t just tried to belittle you, we’ve succeeded,” Blaine cut in. “Or have you forgotten that we’ve gotten first place at the Buckeye Invitational for three years running now?”

“Oh, can it, Anderson, you weren’t even a team member the first year that happened-”

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So my mother’s a technical editor and Simplified Technical English specialist, right? She makes her living verifying and controlling language to avoid ambiguity. A few weeks back, she came home and spent half an hour ranting that “equipments” is not a word, because apparently it showed up multiple times in the document she’d been working on.

Fast forward a few weeks and we’re in the car, discussing shifting language and modern notions of sex and gender. How it’s ridiculous that people refuse to use “they” in a singular mode, and how it’s good that the term cisgender is gaining traction, because there needs to be a word to describe non-trans people other than “normal” because of the implications that there’s a normal and/or abnormal way to exist. Again, my mother’s job is to control language, and she’s all in favour of language evolving like this.

And then at a light, she turns to me and goes “Yes, language evolves, all words are new at first. But there’s one word I will never tolerate.”

Now, my mother is quite clearly left-leaning and open-minded, so for a moment I was shocked, trying to figure out what that word might be. So I sort of grunted inquisitively. She looks back into traffic and goes “Fucking equipments. That will never be a word.”

Moral of the story is that if my nearly-senior-citizen technical editor of a mother supports changing language to suit society’s changing needs, everyone else should be able to. Unless you’re adding an s to a word that doesn’t need it, of course.