hardly having any news of them

Byun Baekhyun//Psych - Part 6

Summary: After a month of being broke at college, you finally find a place to stay, but the only con is that there is nine other people you have to share a house with - one in particular who makes it his mission to irritate you at every turn - but they’re hiding something from you. Something big. (1/ 2/ 3/ 45/ 6/ 7)
Scenario: Werewolf!AU, college!AU, series
Word Count: 5,398

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I was tempted to not write this at all, but screw it, I’m going with it.

The amount of people in real life who don’t know about the FCC’s plan for Net Neutrality scares me.

We recently had a seminar in school about the differences between socio-economic classes. We were required to write down two different questions to ask the class to potentially start a debate or conversation, as a seminar goes. One of my questions was, “how will the repeal of Net Neutrality affect us? How will it affect the lower class?”

Out of the 20-someodd people in my classroom, only one person knew what this event even is. I had to define it for the rest of the class because nobody even knew what Net Neutrality was, much less its impending demise.

Another case was over Thanksgiving. Now, it was kind of my fault for bringing up the yearly-political-debate at the table, but I just made a little salty joke when I was talking to my brother, saying something like, “man, I hope none of my memes get taken away next month, amirite?” Although my brother knew what I was joking about, nobody else did.

My classmates don’t know what the repeal will do to them. My parents don’t know what the repeal will do to them. It seems like hardly anyone outside of tumblr has any idea what the repeal will do to them.

We need to speak up now. People are hardly given any information on this at all if they don’t have tumblr or don’t follow news accounts on Twitter.

Keep calling your Senators. Keep emailing them. Keep doing what everyone has urged you to do on this website, but tell people about it as well. Get a special announcement out at your school. Put up little posters around. Chat about it when you have free time with someone. Anything.

Not enough people know about this, despite the fact that this repeal is going to destroy their bills. For the love of god, tell. People. About. This.


Request: Long distance relationship with Wonwoo
Requested by: @j-wonwootrash
Word count: 4,791
Warnings: Wayyyyy tooo much fluff abort mission 

A/N: I am sorry this is so late! I really wanted to post this on my boy’s birthday! And also, I will be starting my first year of university next month, so this drabble means a lot to me :) Hope you guys like it, and all the best for the next half of the year!


(And I apologize for the random cameos they’ve written themselves in cuz they pushy af >//

Here are the songs we used in this drabble!

| Hey There Delilah | Jet Lag | I’m Dying to Miss You | Best Luck |

- wooed

Your eyes crack open at the sound of your alarm that had rudely interrupted your pleasant night’s rest. Your hand feebly reaches out from under the quilt covers, blindly slapping the nightstand until you are able to grasp the mobile device to silence it. The clock flashes at maximum brightness at you, making you wince.


Your sleep-dust-filled eyes narrow at the almost mockingly overenthusiastic message you’ve written for yourself just the night before. What were you thinking, waking up at such an ungodly hour?

Right, first day of university.

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Blossom ~ An Avenger’s Story (6/15)

AU Summary: Jack and Y/N lives a normal life without SHIELD and HYDRA around them. 

Notes: jack is such a sweetheart. i made him so perfect and i think that’s gonna bite me in the ass later. anyway, yeah, normal civilian life. how’s that possible? and i really like these new characters a lot because representation is important :)

Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7



Jack turned 5 today.

It wasn’t really his birthday but since no records of his birth existed, Y/N gave him one.

A few of his school friends and their parents came to their house and greeted him, bringing Jack some presents. They stayed for a while as Y/N let Jack play with his friends on their living room. At days like these, it was nice having company over. IT made the house seem brighter and livelier. And Y/N loved that. Especially the fact that Jack  was grinning and laughing the whole day. She loves him with all her heart and has completely accepted that she’s his mother now. And he was a bright child. Everything was well with the two of them.

“Alright, sluggo. Come on. Bedtime.” Y/N patted the empty bed and smiled at the little boy in pajamas on the other side of the room. He rubbed his eyes and climbed onto it, tucking himself inside the blankets and giggled.

“Can I play a lot again tomorrow?” he asked, looking up at her with his big, beautiful heterochromatic eyes.

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DA Fic: The Letter

Summary: Only just arrived for the Exalted Council, Dorian gets a letter than changes everything.

Notes: Yes, I’m still enmeshed in Trespasser feels. Mostly written last week, polished up this week after I got home.

The Archon congratulates you on your recent elevation

… appointment to the Magisterium as sole heir of the recently deceased Magister Halward Pavus…

… investiture on your return from your embassy…

Dorian read the letter a second time, and then a third, frowning as he parsed each sentence. He would have thought someone was having him on, if not for the seal.

The seal was heavy, entirely official and proper and weighted with a magical aura. Straight from the Archon’s chancery.  

It was certainly the most peculiar “condolences on your father’s recent and unexpected demise” notice he’d ever encountered.

Funny, he’d always vaguely assumed he’d been disinherited, as his father had threatened. Surprises never ceased. But here it was, official, legal assurance that his father had never taken that step. Had perhaps, at the last, thought Dorian a worthy heir.

His eyes burned, and something like rage clotted his throat. Whether it was anger at his father, or at whomever had cut him down, Dorian couldn’t say. He’d hardly even spoken to his father since returning to the Imperium. Their encounters had been brief and stiffly civil. For the best, he’d thought. Father had said little about Dorian’s choices, and Dorian had swallowed down betrayal like hot lead, and put on a smile.

The thought of never speaking to him again, though; not by his choice, but because the choice had been stripped from him… that, Dorian didn’t know how to feel about.

He hadn’t supposed that he’d been holding onto any hope of reconciliation, but the sharp end to that possibility felt like a blow all the same. 

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anonymous asked:

Can you do Prowl and Jazz who are a couple or on their own as yandere parents G1 or aminated please. If any of this makes sence. I really need to stop staying up so late. Thanks for making your imagine blog ;)

This is my s h i t. I’ll do them as a couple and do both continuities, and I decided to make their “child” human because I am self indulgent trash

G1 Prowl and Jazz

- Prowl is an amazing tactician but lacks the charisma to execute it well, but Jazz has ungodly amounts of charisma so they make a terrifying team up. Anything one of them can’t do the other one can and this should be feared. Prowl can handle the legal aspects, looking for loopholes and finding ways to sneak around being caught. Jazz will appeal to the human as the fun friend just looking out for them and giving them a fun time.

- Prowl again is painfully obvious and almost tips you off a few times, but thankfully Jazz is usually around to save it from becoming too suspicious. Jazz will come off as a big brother type at first, and the human will become drawn to him so quickly that he won’t even have to trick them into being around him, they’ll already be doing it on their own. Prowl comes off… Strange. He tries to connect with you over various things like what’s going on at school or how your actual family is doing. He gets a dark glint in his eyes when you talk about how happy you are with them.

- It’s agreed that the best way to make you live with them is to kill your current parents, then they would be the sympathetic shoulders to cry on and it wouldn’t be make the other Autobots intervene because there wouldn’t be anything outwardly suspicious about it. Jazz takes you for a fun day out while Prowl goes in for the kill. He’s a police officer after all so he knows exactly what to do to make sure there is no evidence. Jazz breaks it to you and comforts you oh so well, almost like he planned it, but you’re too grief stricken to notice. He casually offers to let you stay at the base with them and smiles to himself when you agree. 

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Native Alaskans: Polar bears all over the place now

(American Thinker) To climate change fanatics, polar bears are the eye candy for the worldwide call for action on global warming. There have been news reports about the sad shape they are in, with their coats going brown, their food supplies drying up, and their ice floes melting. Conclusion: The bears are set to starve.

Welp, turns out there are too many of them now.

According to Marc Morano’s Climate Depot:

Inuit observations of polar bear ecology: “Last year he said that there’s more bears that are more fat … they rarely see unhealthy bears… back in early 80s, and mid 90s, there were hardly any bears … there’s too many polar bears now.”

So, instead of furtive bears withering away on ice floes and starving due to loss of habitat, rising sea levels or whatever the global warmers claim, what we actually have here is a bear explosion, with bears so well fed that they’ve gotten fat.

It’s more than just anecdotal – the bear populations are exploding everywhere.

Til the Sun Dies

Prompt: (½) “imagine with Sebastian based on the song ‘Little Do You Know’ by Alex & Sierra (@blackwidow-romanoff); (2/2) “Can you do reader saying “i’ll let you down. I will always let you down. I’m not enough for you to be satisfied,” to Sebastian (anon)

Slowly, Sebastian allowed his chest to heave in an attempt to clear his head, but the heavy breath did nothing to suppress the hole within him. He knew what he had done was a mistake and that it shouldn’t have happened in the first place, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being torn between the pain that he figured would be inevitable and the false sense of hope he fought against giving himself.

*Little do you know I’m still haunted by the memory*

It was just a kiss and he knew that, but it was a kiss with a girl he had been in love with for ages. She was the first friend he made when he moved to New York and the pair had only grown closer in the month they’d been away at college despite not being at the same university. Despite being a year shy of twenty, the pair had come to know one another and rely on the other person in a way that most adults would never be able to experience. 

Sebastian had wanted that kiss to happen for a long time, but he’d never known how she felt about him. For years they had only been friends and there was nothing that he felt was strong enough evidence to go off that indicated she wanted them to be anything more. It was because of that uncertainty that he had waited so long to act on any emotions he had toward her, but once he did, he wanted nothing more than to develop that relationship.

Sebastian sat in his bed adjacent from his roommate who was going over notes for an exam. Occasionally, Sebastian’s eyes would dart from the book he was reading to the telephone that rested on a hook on the wall. He had spoken to her only once after the kiss and their conversation went along the lines of him apologizing for getting carried away, her explaining that he had no reason to apologize, and each of them questioning the other about what they want from a relationship. Their conversation ended with a promise that by the end of the week, they would be completely honest with one another regarding what kind of future they could have together. One excuse after another keep him from contacting her. On the one hand, he didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for, and on the other, he was genuinely afraid of hearing any sort of answer from her. 

*Little do you know I need a little more time*

As the clock hanging between Sebastian and his roommate’s bed ticked past 8:52 AM, Ken closed his notebook, tossed it into his backpack, and prepared for the fifteen minute walk to class he was about to make in eight minutes. Hoping to keep his mind off of (Y/N), Sebastian locked the door behind his roommate, stripped himself from his boxers and flannel pants, and stepped into a warm, relaxing shower. He knew not to bother her this early anyways–(Y/N) was starting her second week at an incredibly competitive internship she applied for during their senior year in high school. He didn’t want to get her in trouble given how hard she had worked to get this job.

Panic spread through the office as smoke billowed from the floors below. Screams of pain and terror echoed through the building as hundreds of people rushed the stairwell. Some people ignored the pleading cries for help, others tripped over debris or the dead as they dashed toward their own limited hope of freedom. Cellphones and pagers were clamoring as family members hurried to check on their loved ones. With her heart pounding, a young woman rushed to find an office phone still in service. Three or five machines later, she found what she was searching for. Phoning her mother and father was harder than she thought it would be, but what was worse was only reaching the answering machine. She tried to sound strong. She suppressed the cracking of her voice and pushed away the tears as she finished her message and quickly hung up.

*I promise you don’t have to be afraid; the love you see right here stays*

Slowly, more smoke began to float into the room and, like a dark cloud of death, if hovered over her head. Shaking, she pulled the telephone’s base to the floor. Another gasp of air escaped an older woman trapped beneath her desk while the cries of terror echoed from the stairwell. Hurriedly, the younger woman rushed to the older and worked her fingers under the desk just enough to get a good enough grip on the object to lift it off the woman’s legs. With compassion and terror overwhelming her, she slipped her arms beneath the woman and helped her hobble to the stairs where two male co-workers took her under the arm.

“Let’s go!” they called as the young woman rushed back toward the offices she had just come from.

“There are more people,” she stated and hurried to a woman clutching a photo of her daughters who sat paralyzed from the waist down beneath a support beam. One of the men who had seen the young woman run back into the office rushed to her side and assisted in lifting the beam off the woman. Her face was covered in dust–some dry, some stained from the tears that soaked the paralyzed mother’s face. As soon as that woman was freed from her inability to escape, more voices echoed through the young woman’s head, each gasping for air, screaming for help, and crying over their loved ones’ photos. She knew there would be no hope for them. No one was coming and no one was staying to help…save for herself. Despite the fear she had coursing through her body, the adrenaline pumping in her veins wasn’t allowing her to enter flight mode. Instead, she turned into the smoke and crumbling building and followed the screams.

Sebastian wrapped a towel around his waist as he exited the shower. His feet fell on the soft, absorbent rug sitting outside the tub, and he made his way to the sink to brush his teeth. Toothpaste in hand, he quickly squeezed it onto the brush and stuck it in his mouth before wandering back into the dorm room to grab clothes for the day. He didn’t take but half a step out of the bathroom before an uneasy sensation punched him in the gut.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked as he noticed his roommate, Ken, standing in the center of their dorm room, gawking at the television sitting on top of the dresser. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“Shut up,” he stated in aggravation as Sebastian spoke over the newscaster. As he took in the images on the screen, he couldn’t help but stare in disbelief. Before he could get the courage to open his mouth and speak, there was a crowd of people hurrying from one end of the building to the other so large the pounding of their heels along the floor sent vibrations along the floor so strong Sebastian could feel it on his cold, bare feet. Rushing to see what was happening, Ken threw open their door and looked out at the gathering of people staring out the windows on the east side of the building.

“Holy shit,” Sebastian heard a voice call from the hall. Frantic, all he could do was stare at the screen before him. At first, his mind was running rampant with the reports speculating this event was a terrorist attack, but then he remembered (Y/N). 

“Shit,” he muttered as he rushed toward the phone hanging on the wall.

“What’s going on?” Ken frantically asked as he came back to their room to see Sebastian frantically punching buttons.

*Little do you know I’m trying to pick myself up piece by piece*

One ring. Two… Three

“Pick up,” he begged as he pressed the phone against his face so forcefully he was sure an indention would form across his cheek. Frustrated in the lack of instant gratification that comes when a phone goes straight to the answering machine, Sebastian slammed the phone back on the receiver and hurried to redial the number.

“What the hell is going on?” Ken asked as Sebastian’s hands turned white as he gripped the phone.

“My friend works at the World Trade Center.”

*Little do you know I need a little more time*

(Y/N), along with one other man working on her floor, rushed toward the stairs with the last person they knew to be alive from the surrounding offices. They couldn’t help the sluggishness that stemmed from smoke inhalation, but they pushed through it as the three people hurried from floor to floor, rushing down dozens of flights of stairs. 

“(Y/N),” a weakened voice called out, immediately drawing the young woman’s attention. Spinning on her heels, she noticed a classmate who had also received an internship for the fall semester. One of the girl’s legs had been broken badly. Blood soaked her tan pants and (Y/N) tried not to look at the bone protruding from the girl’s skin. Without thinking, she hurried toward the girl, grabbed the jacket wrapped around her waist, and tied it over the visible wound. The girl swayed until her arm wrapped around the back of (Y/N)’s neck. The pair scurried toward the stairs again, only to have a swarm of people rush around them, sending the already faint girl with a broken leg tumbling down the stairs.

“No!” (Y/N) screamed as she rushed to the injured girl now lying motionless on the platform between flights of stairs.

“What do you mean?” someone shouted from below.

“We-we’re trapped up here?” another voice screamed in shock upon receiving news regarding any possibility of escape.

*Little do you know I [want] a little more time*

(Y/N) could hardly hear what the others were discussing; she was too preoccupied with the girl fading from life in her arms.

Sebastian had abandoned the television and his roommate, grabbed his keys, and was now speeding toward (Y/N)’s parents’ home on Staten Island. Surely they would be there–the entire country must be glued to their television sets right now. It felt as if the entire world were standing still, waiting for an update on anything that would happen.

He hated that a mere seven minutes ago he was keeping himself from having hope (Y/N) loved him when now he was keeping himself from thinking she was gone. Life wasn’t supposed to be taken this way–especially not hers.

Grappling for any way to contact someone in the outside world, someone she cared about, someone who she could spend her last moments speaking with, (Y/N) struggled back to a working office phone. She had already tried her parents and left them with a message she felt needed no alternate ending. Just when she felt there was no one left for her to speak with, she remembered a kiss she had shared with her best friend only a few days ago. The corner of her lips curled down in tight, immovable points as she grieved her impending doom, not because of the end of her life, but because of how it would affect her parents and the man she loved most.

Upon finding a phone, she quickly dialed the phone in his dorm room.

One ring…two…three rings. “Hey, it’s Ken and Sebastian; leave a message.” As soon as the machine allowed her to, she began to speak.

“Shit, it’s good to hear your voice,” she sighed into the phone, “even if it is just the answering machine. I told you I’d get back to you right?” She tried to joke but her heart only sank further into her stomach. The longer she sat in silence on the floor beneath the smoke, the closer she felt to death. Hurriedly, she allowed her voice to flow from her mouth in a timid and empty tone. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to kiss me?” she asked as though speaking to him. 

*Underneath it all, I’m held captive by the hole inside. I’ve been holding back for the fear that you might change your mind*

“Probably since high school,” she sighed. “I’ve always loved you, Sebastian, but I don’t think you could love me. I wouldn’t want you to. I’ll let you down. I will always let you down–even now. You have so much talent and prospects; I would never be enough for you…I’d never be enough to satisfy you. 

“Maybe one day you’ll find someone who will make you as happy as you make me, who makes you feel as valued as your friendship has given me. I wish you could forgive me but I know forgetting will be hard this time.”

*Little do you know I [wish we had] more time*

“But I’ll love you til the sun dies.”

Bond25 Predictions Week

The movie is still a long ways away, but we have a fresh slate now, hardly any news about the movie. Yet we know the writers are working on the script already, so that means we can start theorizing. 

Join us this week in documenting your theories for the next movie. Create your own post and use #Bond25Predictions so that we can find and reblog all of your theories. Feel free to do one a day or all at once. And when the week is done, make sure you know where to find them so you can compare when we do this again next year!

Dec. 1: What are your fondest hopes and dreams for Bond 25?

Dec. 2: What do you realistically think will happen in Bond 25?

Dec. 3: What bamf moments would you like to see in Bond 25?  

Dec. 4: What are your worst fears for Bond 25?

Dec. 5: What is the most ridiculous/dramatic character death that you are predicting for Bond 25?

Dec. 6: What would you expect from a ‘crack’ version (completely unrealistic/hilarious) of Bond 25?  

Dec. 7: What pop songs (or other genre) would you like to see feature in Bond 25?

Good news about therapy

So, I’ve been improving. Since starting therapy, I have learned coping skills that actually help me, and while I have had urges to do bad things, I have not acted on them. I have not had hardly any nightmares for about 2 months, and that hasn’t happened since I was 10 or so.

The best news, however, is this:

My parents have been calling me Tobie. They started yesterday, and while they are not ok with my gender, they said they will view my name as a “nickname”.

I’m so happy, I thought I should share. Thank you all so much, I honestly wouldn’t be alive without you guys.

anonymous asked:

Is it common for university Antifa chapters to operate under the guise of being a socialist political group? I went to my university's club fair (it's one of the Big Ten) and there was a democratic socialist club that I signed up to get info from, and while I am a democratic socialist myself, I immediately recognized the Antifa pin one of the members was wearing and the fact that their flyers were much more related to education and taking action against fascism than politics.

Depends on the tendency of the socialist political group in question, we’d imagine.  Socialists have been involved in anti-fascism since anti-fascism existed, so this is hardly surprising.  Buuut, given the attention and popularity of antifa nowadays, and given that the struggle against fascism & bigotry is literally front-page news, a lot of groups are going to attempt to capitalize on the popularity of antifa as a recruiting tool without actually doing anything constructive against fascism.

If you’re planning to join any group as a way to participate in antifa, check them out first.  Do they have a track record of antifa actions you could see yourself joining in on?  Have they been around for a while or are they brand-new?  Are they affiliated with an established antifa network like The Torch or the Anti-Fascist Network or La Horde?  Do established antifa groups work with, endorse, or vouch for the group in question?


Officer Harrison pushed on. He was gentle in his approach but he had to be about his business. Time was running out before this would be all over the news.

“I’m very sorry. We have managed to keep it from the press so far but we have had a hard time contacting Jay’s family. Do you have any numbers we could use to try to reach them? And is there someone we can call for you? To come and stay with you?” He asked.

Yusun looked at him, hardly registering. She pointed to her bag. “My phone.” Was all she could say.

He stood and searched her bag, retrieving her phone. He looked through her contacts but had difficulty knowing straight away who to call. He looked up.

“Basma.” Yusun managed. “Mama.”


The day is dreary, in Sylvia’s opinion. It’s only morning, but there is barely any light and there is this annoying fog in the air. 

She finds it somewhat fitting, though. If her children are in danger, she is hardly in a mood for sunny radiance.

Barron is carrying Circe, awkwardly looking around. He seems uncomfortable. As is Bartholomew, Sylvia realizes. 

Sometimes she wishes she could speak “Cat” just so she could understand what’s on this feline’s mind.

Sage opens the door, looking haggard - she clearly didn’t sleep at all last night. She sounds sheepish when she greets them.

- Hi, you two. So, I have some really unpleasant news. It’s about my magic. Please come in, I’d rather not talk about it outside.

chained-to-the-mirror  asked:

Hello :) How were the cases? All boring? I love what you wrote about John this morning, only caught it in the afternoon and it was so sweet to read. I always love it when you both talk about how much you love each other (I hope that’s not weird). Do you happen to have any Ada news to share today? My day has been miserably lacking in dogs.

Some were boring.  One was somewhat more interesting, but easily solved with the addition of John’s medical expertise.  Really, I don’t know what some of Greg’s people get up to.  None of the cases were complicated enough to justify them sitting unsolved as long as they did.

John deserves to hear how wonderful he is, and if other people hear it and derive some pleasure from knowing it, I can hardly complain.

Ada has been very bored and very naughty today.  She dragged off one of John’s drumsticks when Greg and I were busy in his study, and chewed the whole end off of it.  Neither Greg nor I noticed.  It wasn’t until John came upstairs to help us that she was discovered.  And she raced off downstairs with it still in her mouth, the minute John shouted.  

Ada likes to prolong her naughtiness as long as possible, and will double her efforts once she’s found out.  You practically have to wrestle the forbidden object from her.

I do feel badly that I wasn’t more mindful.  I’ve already ordered John a new set, along with an extra, just in case Ada gets a mind to chew another.

anonymous asked:

Hi nami, i have been looking all over the place but I cannot find much Resources for any items that can be used to reverse the use of an item. For example something that can be added to rose petals to reverse their usage so instead of loveDrawing, they cause hatred. I've looked at Cursing herbs but I hardly have any (I have a certain animal abusing a**hole I need to wreak havoc on)so I'm thinking if I can find something to reverse more positive herbs I can pull something off. Thank you so much:)

Sorry this took a while anon but I have good news for you, there is a way to use the opposite effects of plants and gems.

For plants/herbs: let them rot, that generally reverses their effects, burn them nd use their ashes and I’ve also heard of people mixing them with toxic herbs or things like onions/onion skins to reverse their effects

Gems: charge them with negative energy rather than positive to reverse their effects

@tom-brightwind cntd.

My dearest Henry Lascelles,

“Some form of Faerie creature” does not give me much information, pet. Shame on you, I would have expected better of someone so meticulous in every other facet of being. And to think I would be bored by the news that someone – or perhaps rather something –  of Faerie is currently meddling about in in the Christian realm, why it is like you hardly know me at all! I am wounded.

Nevertheless, you were right to come to your betters for aid. I daresay I would caution against signing any sort of bargain with it indeed, as it would invite my ire upon you both, and I have not the slightest idea about them yet.

Send me more information and I may be tempted to point you in the right direction for dealing with pests. You can, of course, simply ask and I would be there in a moment.

Ever your benevolent and gracious Prince,

T. B.

My benevolent and gracious Tom,

I will admit I was surprised and gratified to find you had responded to my letter at all. I did not entirely expect it. However, that you should say I was right to come to you (we shall not touch on the subject of your being my “better”) gives me pause. I do not ask for aid, but find myself with so little information to help solve my dilemma that your advice might make the difference between victory and defeat. Yet I must wonder at what price it will come.

You may be pleased to know we agree for once: Signing a pact would be foolish. I do not know by what right you should hold such a strong opinion on whether I do or do not; but in that at least I do not intend to cross you. 

Here is what I have heard, seen and scried: Not long after the death of Mr Norrell Hurtfew Abbey became what the local villagers call “haunted”. Word of it reached me through Mr Norrell’s old footman, and so I and my companions took a carriage to Yorkshire to investigate. We found the Abbey boarded up. 

Cpt. Merivel and my footman were attacked at the stables by a young man in very little clothing, but managed to drive him off. When we pried the planks from the door we were met with the likeness of John Childermass, who I know to be dead. We retreated and I looked through a water-bowl into the Abbey’s kitchens. I saw an elfin-seeming woman in a cape of woven green leaves and watched as she cast a spell upon the door. She was accompanied by some small figure, monkey-like and limber. 

We retreated further into the village and I tried again. This time I saw a different young woman sitting in a bedroom, drawing crude figures on the pages of priceless manuscripts. She was short, dark and underdressed, like the young man the captain described, but human in appearance. This underlined to me the urgency of our mission. Those books are England’s heritage. They must not be lost. 

I cannot rally so much as Mr Yeats (the butler) to help me reclaim the Abbey, except by force and bullying. I cannot look to the villagers for aid. I am at present compiling a weapon, which may take some days. I dread to think what might happen in the meanwhile. The captain, who has some experience in dealing with other worlds, has suggested a parlay. I do not disagree, though I should like to do so only after our weapon has been completed. 

You may not realize, Tom, just how little we know of Faerie customs in England. Our magicians’ interactions with its peoples have been largely utilitarian or wholly unfortunate, and as you know, my rhetoric has never gone down well with your kind. I would expect us to need that weapon. 

Will you advise me, sir, with no promise of recompense? Do I amuse you still, or have I wasted this half-hour’s writing? 

I remain my own,

H. Lascelles

A/N: I have many complicated feelings right now about the Blackhawks, but this fic snippet literally would not leave my head until I wrote it. started at 2 AM, finished at 3:30. unbeta’d.

Losing is always awful, and it’s worse when it’s an overtime loss. The only consolation is that at least it wasn’t a home game, but still: Jonny’s not going to be able to get Ryan Kesler’s sneer out of his head for a while now. Jonny wants nothing more than to go back to the hotel, rewatch the game tape, and dissect exactly what went wrong and where the team could have played better. Failing that, he’d like to maybe lie face down on his bed, pull the sheets over his head, and listen to the slightly muffled, soothing sounds of Patrick getting ready for bed in the room across. Instead, he’s sitting at a table in one of California’s shitty sports bars with the rest of the Hawks, minus Artemi and Patrick.

They’re both standing over at the bar, Patrick’s head tipped towards Artemi’s. They look scarily similar from the back—they’re both short, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and golden curls. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jonny’s been playing with Patrick for eight years—and been his friend for nearly that long—he’d be hard-pressed to tell the two apart. Patrick though, has one arm draped casually over Artemi’s shoulders, and is gesturing animatedly with his other arm. He looks comfortable nestled into Artemi’s side.

Jonny watches with narrowed eyes, sipping his drink grimly. He’s not jealous. He’s not. It would be—it would be irrational to be jealous. The rookies, with the notable exception of Saad, have always tended to gravitate towards Patrick. Patrick’s really good at making them feel at ease, and it hardly takes him any effort to do so. Jonny, on the other hand, has to work at it. (He blames the “Captain Serious” rep.)

It makes perfect sense that Artemi especially would bond with Patrick, given their recent chemistry together. In fact, their hockey chemistry has dominated Blackhawks news lately, and sports writers have been effervescent in their praise, describing their on-ice relationship in terms that Jonny is well-familiar with. He’s reminded repeatedly of all the times reporters had referred to him and Patrick as “one hockey organism.” Except now, Artemi and Patrick “speak the language of hockey,” and apparently “have red-hot chemistry that can’t be matched.” Ugh.

Someone nudges him, and Jonny stops staring intensely over at where Patrick is draped(!) over Artemi only to meet Seabrook’s really judgmental gaze. “What?” he snaps.

“Really?” says Seabrook, lifting an eyebrow. Jonny hates that Seabrook can do that; he’s never been able to, no matter how many times he’s practised in front of a mirror. “You gonna make me say it?”

Jonny scowls at Seabrook, and when that doesn’t work, scowls down at his nearly empty glass instead. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure,” says Seabrook, and Jonny’s sorely tempted to chuck his glass at Seabrook. This…is probably a sign that he should head home soon.  

Jonny looks over again at Patrick and Artemi, who are still stuck together hip-to-hip and apparently no closer to ordering drinks for the rest of the table, and makes his decision. “I’m heading out,” he says loudly, looking around the table. Everyone seems slightly cheerier than when they’d first arrived, and he feels that he’s discharged his captainly duty by showing up and staying for the first round of drinks. Seabrook can do the pep talk this time. He pretty much has to, now that he’s an A, Jonny thinks with slight vindictive satisfaction.  

Shawzy makes a token protest, but everyone else waves him off. Jonny leans around Seabrook to grab his jacket, avoiding eye contact, and then makes his way to the exit. He spares a glance at the bar right before he pushes the door open, but Patrick never turns around to see him leave.


They fly back to Chicago the next day, which means that Jonny gets to see the Patrick-Artemi lovefest continue on the plane. Artemi’s constantly talking in his broken English, and Patrick has the most ridiculous smile on his face, with both his dimples popping out. It doesn’t even make sense that Artemi is sitting with Patrick. If anything, he should be sitting with Tikhonov, who can actually help improve his English. Patrick is just…chirping Artemi, looking thrilled to be the center of Artemi’s attention.

It lasts throughout the whole four-hour flight. Or, well, it probably lasts for the whole four-hour flight, but Jonny takes a nap halfway through out of sheer desperation, and wakes up only when they land. He doesn’t bother trying to touch base with Patrick before they separate, even though they’d had plans to meet up this night for their weekly Game of Thrones episode watching. It’s a tradition they’ve tried to hang onto, as much as their road trips will allow.

But Patrick’s probably got something planned with Artemi, which is fine. Totally, perfectly, completely fine.


Jonny’s halfway through chopping up apples for his evening kale smoothie—the kale, celery, and flax seed are sitting off to the side in a bowl on the counter—when his apartment door bangs open. Jonny’s startled enough that he nearly drops the knife and cuts his finger. This doesn’t happen because he’s a trained professional athlete, but it was a fucking close call.

He looks up, and of course it’s Patrick, because (1) who else would have the key to Jonny’s apartment; and (2) be inconsiderate enough to just throw the door open like that.

“Christ, give me some warning.”

“I texted you,” says Patrick, unrepentant. “Not my fault you don’t check your phone.” He’s slipping out of his coat and scarf, shivering slightly. “It’s insanely cold out there.”

“You’re just a wimp when it comes to the cold,” says Jonny automatically. And then he does a double-take at Patrick, because, “What are you doing here?”

Patrick gives him a strange look. “Why wouldn’t I be here? We had plans to hang out tonight. Game of Thrones, hello? Cersei fucking Jamie? Daenerys visiting her dragons? This sound familiar to you?”

“Well, yeah,” says Jonny, and then barrels on. “I just thought, with Artemi, you maybe wanted to.” He sees Patrick’s confusion and tries, “You seem like you’re on a good, it’s good that you’re bonding, I mean, he’s all alone and, you’re, you fit together perfectly, you have,” and mercifully manages to stop himself before saying the words red-hot chemistry. Jesus. His face feels flushed and he has no idea how all those words fell out of his mouth without his permission.

“No,” says Patrick after a long pause. Jonny looks up from where he’d had his gaze trained diligently on the counter to see Patrick staring back with an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face. Patrick looks like maybe he’s trying to figure something out. Well, good luck with that, Jonny thinks uncharitably. Whatever, it’s not the worst uncharitable thought he’s ever had about Patrick Kane.

“I wouldn’t say that the Bread Man’s all alone anyways,” says Patrick. “He has Tikhonov. They’re practically best friends.”

“Right,” says Jonny. He’s hoping that they can drop it now, but Patrick’s still giving him that look. Whatever it means. Jonny feels caught by Patrick’s stare, and it’s irritating, because he has no idea why he feels caught. Fuck.

“And I wouldn’t say that I fit together with Panarin perfectly,” says Patrick. He starts moving closer, pulling off his stupid toque as he goes. His hair is a mess, as usual, and it falls all around his face.

Jonny clears his throat. “Oh?” He’s trying to sound casual while stemming down a rising tide of totally legitimate panic, because crap, Patrick looks like he knows. And. If he knows—

“Yeah,” says Patrick, coming to a halt right in front of him. Jonny’s breath catches. Patrick’s close enough to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t move closer right away, just stares steadily at Jonny and Jonny can’t look away. It means that he’s still looking into Patrick’s eyes when Patrick finally closes the distance, leaning up to kiss him. His lips are soft and warm against Jonny’s. The kiss only lasts for a brief instant, but it sends spirals of heat coiling lazily through Jonny’s stomach.

“Oh,” says Jonny again, this time somewhat dazedly.

Patrick’s smiling up at him, all smug and pleased. Jonny’s torn between intense irritation and equally intense attraction, which is a state that he’s long since resigned himself to when spending any amount of time around Patrick. “I can’t believe you made the Bread Man think you hated him just because you were jealous.”

“I wasn’t—” begins Jonny, and then gives up, hauling Patrick back in for another kiss. He bites down on Patrick’s lower lip and feels more than hears Patrick’s shuddery gasp. Jonny grins against Patrick’s mouth, and says, “I’m not jealous anymore.”

notenoughgatorade  asked:

hello!! can i request 3 for jackxbittyxparse?

3. Drunk/sloppy kiss

◉‿◉ welcome to my twisted mind; epikegster alternate ending. in other news, i need to go to church. in other OTHER news, i once again demonstrate my inability to count to 300.

Maybe a kegster isn’t the best place to kiss someone for the first time, but Bitty would hardly be the first to have done it. He can see at least three couples in dusky corners getting friendly, and if any of them even knew each other’s names before tonight, it’s because they had a class together once, maybe.

Bitty would be lying to himself and to God if he said he wasn’t toying with the idea of ending Jack’s silly football story off by slinking into his space and cutting the words off at their source.

(sinning continued under the cut)

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