sorry for laxing

AU where bitty is on the lacrosse team and manages to keep the lax bros out of smh’s hair long enough that the boys start to get suspicious

word count: 2252

edit: part 2 here


Bitty has never been the biggest fan of confrontation. On the contrary, he spends a great deal of time avoiding most conflict these days. Even on the field, confrontation is Bitty’s mortal enemy, a fact proven by the way he freezes up and nearly passes out every time someone threatens to check him.

There is one place Bitty accepts (if not exactly welcomes) confrontation, though, and that’s in the safety of the lax house. Or, more often, the safety of the front lawn of the lax house when the pesky hockey team across the street starts trouble. Realistically, he knows his own team contributes to some of the bickering and fighting that goes on on that lawn, but more often than not it’s the hockey team who barges over uninvited to complain about this or that.

Keep reading

Need a Jack to detox after a hectic weekend/monday before bed =A=

And bah you guys can conclude on your own who he got the hickies from <3

anonymous asked:

Jess sorry for confusing you. I was in a hurry 😥 The autograph hunter sells autographed things on the Internet. Maybe that's the reason to close his personal account but I follow him. Anyway he just posted this on Twitter and there are no photos,so no evidence . I asked now and he said that Sam was not with luggage, so maybe he was waiting someone...? He said cuz of bad weather many flights were delayed at LAX. Sorry for the mess!

Ah there you are. Thanks for coming back anon! I’ll take the sighting with a grain of salt as always but if he really was there and he had no luggage and was waiting for someone, maybe it was Cait :) 

shusihi  asked:

the part of me that wants every kind of kiss + the dads ghdkglh BUT 18 + narumitsu, please!!

18.Kisses because I missed you and you really shouldn’t stay away so long, @shusihi, this is late im so sorry. (also not under the cut for mobile users. sorry)

Fuck LAX. Seriously. It’s slow, and quiet, and grey, and Phoenix has never been to an airport with more delayed or rescheduled flights. True, Germany in January was a northern hellscape of snow and ice. Sure, they were expecting a winter storm to come in around the time of his husband’s departure. And yeah Miles had told him that they’d been expecting a storm, and that if he ended up coming home the day he promised it would be at a strange time due to possible emergency landings to wait out the weather and the time difference. And yes that wasn’t LAX’s fault, not in the least, but he couldn’t exactly say, fuck your stupid job for making you leave for so long, especially to Germany, even though I know you love it there, because I miss you, dammit.

So he’s settled on fuck LAX, because what else was he supposed to do to pass the time? Trucy fell asleep–he checks his phone, and see’s that its nearing 3 AM–two hours ago. Her head is on his shoulder as he taps out a message to Maya, who should be asleep but is pulling an all-nighter to binge Steel Samurai with her fiancé. Fran had gotten back from interpol the only the day before, and had agreed to this binge so long as she was allowed to fall asleep if the need arose. Apparently Maya had agreed, and he was currently asking what the point of an all-nighter was if one of them was just going to go to bed. 

When he flips his phone closed, he lets out a heavy breath. 

Miles had been gone since Christmas. He had been asked to give a few lectures at a university overseas, as well as observe a few cases that might be linked to some international ones he’d prosecuted in the past. The whole ordeal would take a little over a month, and when he’d first heard about the trip, Phoenix was…hesitant. He loves that these trips happen, and that Miles–once dubbed the Demon Prosecutor–is now trusted and respected enough to be asked to do all of this. It’s such a shocking, welcome change for both men, and each embrace it with an open mind. But he’d been due to leave on the 18th, which meant that Christmas would be spent…alone. And so, consequently, would the 28th. 

He knew that Miles had been fairing better and better over the years with his nightmares. But December was always tricky. Some nights he only started awake, and by the time Phoenix would wake and take notice, Miles was calmed. Sometimes they were the night terrors he’d suffered from when he was younger. Those were, he’d been told, harder to get through on his own.

I’m just saying, maybe see if you can’t leave after the new year, and stay the month of January. The protest had been weak, and Miles had only given him a droll stare. 

You realize that asking that would be my asking a university to change their schedule, and the courts to rearrange their dates, all so that I may sleep next to my husband if I should have a nightmare, yes?

Yeah. So?

Miles had snorted then, and reassured him that for fourteen years he’d dealt with them on his own. A month on his own when he was better, when most of the demons that had been hanging over him had been vanquished, would certainly be no problem.

It…really wasn’t that reassuring, but he trusted Miles to know what he could handle.

And he hadn’t gotten a call or anything about him having a rough night, so…

Next to him, his daughter groans and buries her head in deeper into his shoulder. She was never an easy person to wake up, even when it was her own doing. Trucy whimpers and sighs, and grumbles about the brightness of the waiting area. 

“Is he here yet?” she moans. She’s removing herself from his side and rubbing her tired eyes. “It’s been hours.”

“You slept through the midnight delay,” Phoenix says, flipping his phone open again. “They announced that it would be around three fifteen, and it’s three nineteen now…”

Trucy groaned into her hands, dragging them down her face. “If this is why you hate snow,” she says, “I totally get it.”

Phoenix sighs and rolls his shoulders and neck, reveling in the pops and cracks the motions create. “Hopefully it won’t be another two hours. If we’re here until five…”

“Ugh,” Trucy whines. 

“Ugh,” Phoenix agrees. He glances at her feet, where her purse and a welcome poster she’d made a few days before lie. Written on it in glitter paint are the words “WELCOME HOME, PAPA” with a bunch of magic paraphernalia drawn all over it, and the “O” in “HOME” made to be a defense attorney’s badge. Trucy had been watching it like a hawk so that people didn’t step on it, or that it didn’t start to curl around the edges. She wanted it to be perfect for when Miles stepped off the plane. 

Trucy leans into her father again and huffs out, “Come oooooon!”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around his daughter, offers her a small smile. “Any minute now, right?” He shows her his open phone. “Three twenty five. Any second the passengers will start departing, and he’ll be home.”

Truce screws up her face into a pout for a moment, thinking, and then straightens up. Phoenix drops his arm and watches as she takes a deep breath, grin, and claps her hands together loudly, before raising them in an odd gesture toward the gate and saying, quite loudly, “NOW!”

The first passengers start trickling out, and Trucy and Phoenix stare slack jawed. 

“You’re magic,” he chuckles. 

“Or psychic,” she giggles. 

They stand and grab their things, and move a bit closer so they can scan the crowd more clearly. 

“If papa ever skips out on Christmas again,” Trucy murmurs, standing on her toes and gripping her sign, “I’m gonna hit him with the welcome sign.”

Phoenix bursts out laughing and ruffles her hair. “You know, I might have to agree with you there, and let you.”

“You should stick him with your badge, too.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll teach him.”

Trucy laughs, and turns toward the crowd again. 

There aren’t a lot of people coming off the plane, since it had been an early flight for Germany, but it was enough that he had to stand on his toes at some points just to try and catch a glimpse of Miles. 

It always happened like this:

He’d be waiting at the gates, looking over people, and his heart would be pounding, like it was the first time he was seeing Miles, like when he’d first met his eyes over the bench in court all those years ago. They would lock eyes, and Miles would smile, and Phoenix would sort of grin in some clumsy way because no one had a right to look so damnably handsome when they smiled. Then they would meet, hug, maybe kiss, and get a taxi home. 

Tonight was a little different. 

One, because Trucy shrieks when she spots him, and shouts, “Papa!” and holds up her sign, beaming brighter than the sun. Miles is in his winter coat, and looking quite tired, dragging along a rolling suitcase. 

When he sees the sign he pauses for a moment, and something passes over his face that looks like pure affection and adoration, and something in Phoenix’s chest warms. 

Miles speeds up a bit to meet them and Trucy has already handed her sign to Phoenix, scurrying away to wrap her father in what looks to be a rather tight bear hug. Phoenix tucks the sign under his arm and watches Miles nearly topple over–after all she wasn’t eight anymore, her fierce hugs could do some damage–and smile down at Trucy, before setting the suitcase aside and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her close.

He has always had a soft spot for Trucy, Phoenix notes, as Miles kisses the crown of their daughter’s head. 

When he catches up to them, Trucy is talking a mile a minute, still attached to the man’s waist.

“–and then Polly left, which was really kind of sad, since it was just Christmas but he said that he’d get Klavier to send him the DVD of my Christmas show, which was really sweet! Oh! And Klavier was my assistant too, because daddy’s back was hurting, and he really didn’t want to be sawed in half, even though that seems better suited for back pain than a chiropractor, don’t you think?”

“He’s been skipping appointment’s hasn’t he,” Miles says, and it comes out like  statement, rather than a question. 

“Of course he has!” Trucy tattles. Miles chuckles and Trucy heaves a dramatic sigh. “I had to deal with him not listening to me and my advice for seven years, Papa. He’s your problem now.”

“I suppose he is,” Miles muses. “How tragic.”

“I’m not that bad,” Phoenix protests, startling them both. “Just saying! I could be worse.”

Trucy giggles and lets go of Miles, but then takes the sign from Phoenix–gently of course, so she doesn’t ruin it–and holds it up. “Do you like it, by the way?” she asked, a bit nervously. “I mean, it’s obviously really ostentatious, what with the glitter and everything, but Aunt Maya said that because your wear a cravat–”

Miles waves a hand cutting her off. “I believe I can figure out what Maya said well enough.” And then, in a kinder, warmer tone, “Trucy, I am…quite touched. I…thank you. It was a wonderful surprise.”

And he does look like he means it; his eyes are crinkled in the corners, something that only happens when he smiles a real smile. It warms him, he warms him. Miles makes him feel like he could burst with happiness with only the curve of his smile.

He turns to Phoenix, and for a moment they stare at each other, eyes locked. They’ve done this often enough during past pick ups that it isn’t too odd they’d do it again.

But the moment passes and Phoenix closes the distance, takes Miles’ face in his hands. This meeting is also a bit different because Phoenix kisses Miles deeply, holding him close in a very different way than the standard hug would allow. 

When he pulls away, Miles looks quite a bit more awake, and is staring at him with wide eyes. “Er. Hello,” he breathes. 

Phoenix whispers, “Hi,” back, and presses a gentler to Miles’ lips. It’s lingering and soft, and god he missed him. 

When he pulls away again, Miles shakes his head, bewildered and exasperated. “Your daughter is right there.”

“Welp.” he shrugs, “guess that’s what you get for staying away for a month.”

“Over-the-top public displays of affection and glitter all over my coat?” he asks. 

Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Oh, and here I thought I was missed, and that you were too tired to be an ass.”

Miles laughs, and leans in to kiss him again. Phoenix sighs into it, even though it’s quick. It’s a loving peck and he relishes it. 

“I missed you,” Phoenix tells him once they’re on the way home in a taxi and Trucy is asleep on her papa’s shoulder. 

“I missed you too.” Even in the dark of the early morning, Phoenix can see the small smile on his face. “I always do when I leave on these trips.”

Phoenix takes his hand in the dark and smiles. He knows they hate the separation, and that there will always be more. But so long as they are each other’s to come home too, Phoenix is fine with that. 

I finally get Internet installed on July 7 so I will actually be back and running this again properly from then onwards! I hope it’s not been noticeable that I’ve been a bit absent as I’ve been topping up my queue whilst on break at work, but I’ve been missing you all a lot and can’t wait to properly catch up with how you’ve all been doing!! 😚😚😚😚

PSA

Jack zimmerman is NOT rooting for the p*nguins!!!!! hes from montreal, is a huge habs fan, but more importantly, is a huge pk subban fan. Neither is chowder (salty bc of last year), ransom, or nursey. Pretty much everyone in the haus loves pk and wants him to succeed (partly because he is a great player on a great team and partly because he has overcome a lot of shit to be where he is) !!!!

 bitty is rooting for nashville bc of southern pride!!! There are minimal pens fans in the smh!!!! even bad bob is rooting for pk cuz they hang out together twice a month and pk is fashion buddies with alicia!!

I’m sorry for being so lax with the garden updates this summer.  I might not be blathering on about it here, but things are definitely happening out there!  I started holiday ornament season early this year (July!), specifically so I wasn’t burning the late-night oil in early September (my usual downfall).  My garden got a tad bit neglected, but not in a bad way.  We, once again, have way more tomatoes than anyone could possibly need, and the cucumber harvest was impressive to say the least.  Onions did better than usual, garlic was pitiful.  

I booked this weekend for gardening only (though I did squeeze in an impromptu trip to the flea market early this morning), and I’m glad I did.  There’s so much to do, not only in the beds, but in the kitchen too.  None of this delicious food will go to waste.  I’m also contemplating squeezing in a few more broccoli plants and beets too, though it may be too late.  Can’t hurt, especially because the weather is completely unpredictable anymore.  73 degrees on Christmas last year means this lady is gonna roll the dice and plant brassicas and root crops in late August.  I’m also popping in another few rows of snap peas where the cucumber vines were living (up until I yanked them all today), just to see if we can eke out any pods before it gets too cold.  Wishful thinking?  Probably.  But one can dream.  How’s your garden?

Sorry I’ve been a bit lax in my posting of late, but Tokyo’s been keeping me much busier than expected. I promise there will be much more up here soon, but for now, here’s a piece of two week aged Oma chutoro from Miyako Sushi in Nihonbashi. Simple, sublime and superb! One of the two greatest sushi experinces I’ve had in the last five years!!

  • teacher: where's your homework
  • me: listen up larry was just fucking spotted at LAX together and I was looking for hq pictures okay I've been waiting 3 years for this fucking shit just let me have my moment I don't have fucking time for homework when they are sitting on a plane together like its 2012 again
  • teacher:
  • me:
  • teacher:
  • me:
  • teacher: schools canceled larry is real
  • me: squaadddd
Wake up.
Brush your teeth.
Brush your hair.
Spend a while staring at yourself in the mirror.
Use a tube of mascara like a weapon, a dagger.
Slip your feet into those high heels
that make your ass look tight.
Call him.
When he doesn’t answer, call him again.
Put the phone down. Go about your day
counting the minutes.

Later, go to the bar.
Wave when you see him.
Watch him touch another girl.
Pretend she is you, pretend you don’t love him so fiercely,
then pretend you don’t care.
Drink your beer.
Drink another.
Take a taxi home and call him from your pillow
at 3:00 a.m.
When he doesn’t answer, put yourself inside a box.
Tape it up.
Poke holes in it so you can breathe.
Slide it under the bed and let the duvet drop to the floor.
Forget about it.
Forget that you live in a box. Forget who did this to you.

Wake up.
Brush your teeth.
—  Lucia Akard, Wake up