Summary:   Jack hates conventions – the crowds, the noise, the forced socialization, but it’s a work thing that must be done. Enter Samwell Hockey Player, Eric Bittle, who attends the convention with a group of friends. Suddenly things begin to look up. Jack and Bitty meet at Falcs Fest. Flirting, shenanigans, and love ensue. 

“Jack, I realize it’s not how you want to spend your weekend,” George said then paused to take a long sip of coffee. “But it is what it is, and everyone has to do it.” She smiled and added, “So suck it up, mister.”

Jack frowned, “Fine. Fine. Everyone else has to attend, too, right? Everyone?”

George leaned back in her chair and nodded, “Yes. Tater, Thirdy, Guy, Marty, Snowy, Poots – everyone. Misery loves company, after all.”

Jack huffed petulantly.

“I’m kidding!” George said with a laugh, “Come on. The Hawks are always bragging about their convention, so we have to make our inaugural one fantastic and have everyone there.”

Jack shrugged and took a pen from George’s desk, he twirled it absentmindedly in his fingers.

“Jack, it’ll be fine, and guess what? You might actually enjoy it. An entire weekend surrounded by adoring fans, eating anything you want, being handed people’s babies, dancing and whatnot?”

Jack got up and pushed his chair in. “Thanks, George.”

George smiled, then took her attention back to her computer, as Jack loomed in her office doorway.

“Yes, Jack?” She asked as she wrote something in an appointment book.

“Do we have to stay at the hotel, too?”

“Up to you, Jack. Do you feel like driving home back and forth early in the morning and late at night? Most of the guys are making a weekend of it and staying there. There’ll be team brunches every morning. We still have a couple rooms available in the block we reserved, so you can stay there if you want.”

Jack frowned again.

George paused and looked at him, “A little fun won’t kill you, Zimmermann.”

Jack nodded, attempted a meager smile and exited George’s office.

“Oh, and Jack?”


"Can I have my pen back?”

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A/N: A little one-shot inspired by the finale and something @dreamilytenaciousgarden said to me while we were chatting.

Her mouth was dry and the taste of blood was still present. Her eyelids were heavy and it felt as if she would not be able to tear them open. The swelling around the left one was much more prominent than it had been when her wounds were still very much fresh; it remained closed despite her efforts at opening it.

Michonne found the room to be well-lit; she had no idea what time of the day it was, or, in fact, what day it was. She stirred and felt a hand grasping her right one as rough fingers softly traced over her arm. Shifting her gaze and turning her head ever so slightly, she saw Rick at her side. He offered her a smile and the warmth and happiness in his eyes made her feel safe.

She went to speak, but her parched lips and throat made the greeting come out gravelly.

“Hey,” she managed, before Rick reached down to the floor and grabbed a bottle of water for her.

“Hey,” he replied, undoing the lid. Michonne struggled to sit up. “Hold on.”

He placed the bottle into her awaiting hand and proceeded to put another pillow under her head in an effort to prop her forward.

“I can sit,” she said hoarsely, not wanting Rick to fuss over her.

“I know,” he relied, somewhat amused by her persistent stubbornness. “But let me take care of you.”

Michonne conceded and gave him a thankful grin. Her body ached all over, and her head was pounding. Her face felt sore and heavy from the swelling; her bones felt tired. She was weary, but happy that she was still alive.

Rick took the water from Michonne, retrieved the plastic straw from the neck of the water bottle, and brought it to her lips. She took a sip and felt the cool liquid slide down her dry throat.

“Have a little more,” Rick urged, holding the bottle to her mouth again; she obliged.

“Carl?” she asked, her memory still unclear from her head trauma. “Where is he?”

“He’s fine,” Rick replied while he took hold of her hand again; his thumb trailing lightly over hers. “Helpin’ with the clean-up right now.”

“What happened? Did we get a win?” she asked; the concern for their community was etched across her bruised and beaten face.

“Yeah,” said Rick, his eyes glazing over as he thought about the loved-ones they had lost. “We drove ‘em off, and we’ve got a long way to go, an even bigger fight ahead of us, but you don’t have to worry about that now.”

He shifted closer, leaned down and pressed a languid kiss to her forehead, carefully avoiding any injuries.

“You focus on feeling better, okay?” said Rick while stroking her hair.

“Okay,” she said, with a small smile that caused her face to twinge; she lifted her free hand from her tummy and tentatively pressed her fingertips to her face. She winced when she applied some pressure to her cheek. “Shit.”

“You’ll be fine when the swelling goes away,” he said, squeezing her hand; he hated seeing her in pain.

“Does it look as bad as it feels?” she asked somewhat jokingly, trying to lighten the mood when she noticed the rueful expression he wore.

“You’re beautiful,” Rick whispered, not missing a beat, as he pressed a loving kiss to the back of her hand. She felt a warmth wash over her.

“Stop making me smile,” she joked. “It hurts.”

“Sorry,” he offered, brushing her hair back once more.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked, still feeling slightly disoriented.

“Since we brought you here and got you cleaned up,” he admitted.

“How are we looking?” she asked, needing to know their current situation after their initial skirmish; Rick pressed his hand to his brow.

“We…we took a big hit,” he explained. “But I don’t want you worrying about that right now. Maggie, Ezekiel, they’re handlin’ this. They’re helpin’ our people see what needs to be done…”

“Rick,” said Michonne. “You should be out there with Maggie and Ezekiel. Everyone needs you.”

You need me, too,” he said, as if being anywhere but by her side made no sense.

Rick,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine.”

He remained silent and stared at his beloved.

“You’re our leader,” she continued, with pride encompassing her expression. “You’ll take us forward.”

“Hey,” he said softly, gesturing between himself and Michonne. “We are the leaders. Me and you, together, and we will be the ones to show our people the way ahead.”

“I know,” she replied, feeling her heart swell with adoration. “But they need you right now. Remind them that they made the right choice to fight today. Mourn with them, and show them that we can win. All of us, together.”

Rick nodded his head.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it; I’ll go now.”

“Good,” she said, resting back into her pillows.

“Then I’ll be back to check on you later,” he said; she smiled at his obstinacy.

“Okay,” she offered, eyeing his expression as he stood; he moved with difficulty and she then noticed he had changed his shirt.

“Rick,” she said. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

“Ah, it’s nothin’,” he replied. “You get some more rest. I’ll be back soon.”

Rick leaned in close, held Michonne’s hand over his heart, and kissed her forehead once more; they held each other’s gaze a moment longer before he whispered an earnest, “I love you.”

Writing Prompt #29

“It’s over, name. We’re alright.” Their friend’s voice - so sad and teary - was like a beacon, almost lulling them to open their eyes, to see whatever lay behind them. The battle was but a distant memory now in their mind, their one thought now only on how their head hurt, how blood stained their armour. “We survived you glorious bastard.”

“What- how- how did we win?”

The silence that followed was as much an answer as any.

They didn’t.


Requested by anonymous: Okay :) no pressure, I just wanna request a avengers with buckyxReader where there is a party at the tower and everybody’s drunk except the reader, bucky and steve and all the others are sooo funny and matchmaking the reader and bucky and steve is keeping everyone in place, it’s up to you how you wanna go from this plot, thank you so much! :)

Pairing: Avengers x Bucky x Reader

Words: 1107

“I’m just glad Vision took Wanda out,” Steve said, watching the scene in front of him. “She’s just a kid.”

“Have you heard from T’Challa?” Bucky asked, chuckling at his team members.

“Nope,” you answered. “Haven’t heard back from him since we left Wakanda. Hey, am I officially Peter’s trainer?”

“Yeah,” Steve responded. “As soon as he’s off from school and summer starts, he’ll be a regular here.”

“Caw caw motherfuckers,” Sam screeched as he jumped down from the beams of the common room.

“I believe I can fly,” Clint sang, prepping himself to do the same.

You reprimanded, “Clint, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself.”

Clint started, “You don’t know-” Clint loses his balance and falls on the floor. “Ow.”

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All Mine

New Dean Ambrose reader insert request from @kristiej! Basically this is back in the Shield days and reader is a Hound of Justice :) Dean has it bad for reader…like love bad… I’ll let you draw your own conclusions. I’ll be throwing this back to when our boys had the tag and us titles but we gotta start this right so I got two words for ya…

Let’s go~!

Originally posted by wwemariibrasil

Your name: submit What is this?

“SIERRA. HOTEL. INDIA. ECHO. LIMA. DELTA. THE SHIELD.”  The lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the crowd as your group emerged, donned in your black gear to the displeasure of some fans. You loved the hate though. 

You couldn’t get enough of it.

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Problems with Pyrrhic Victory theory

Pyrrhic Victory is a victory at great cost. One so great it could hardly be considered a victory.

We already saw this with Pyrrha and Penny.

Aside from that, what did we win? Beacon tower still fell, the city thrown into chaos, Ozpin is missing, and the Vytal festival thrown into disarray with the entire world being thrown to the brink of war.

Now, arguments to support the teleportation theory,

I’m sure many have seen the one about the Arrow dematerializing, and rematerializing already. But what about something more?

Cinder had tears welling up in her eyes before delivering the final blow.

Why? Possibly because she isn’t the final stroke in Salem’s master plan.

Next, lets assume characters are based on more then one legend. Easy enough considering that Salem, a very new character gets her name from the Salem Witch Trials, but plays the role of “the wicked witch” based on her relationship to Ozpin.

Qrow, plays the Scarecrow, and Branwen’s brother.

Ruby, both little red, and Dorothy

Easily enough we can assume many many more characters are going to be combinations like this.

But what would that have to do with Pyrrha? Well, we know Pyrrha is based on Achilles, the greek hero. But whats another Greek fable that has a LOT of potential? The Trojan Horse.

Pyrrha could be the master stroke in Salem’s plan. Everyone would jump for joy upon seeing her again. But she might not be the same as she was. Being forced into Salem’s plans, and turned into the trojan horse.

Which brings me back to Salem, why reveal her as the mastermind if we weren’t going to be spending more time with her soon? Why would we spend more time with her and not RNJR? Pyrrha’s fall/turn could be the answer.

All of that brings me all the way back around to Juane. Based on Joan of Arc. “The holy maiden”, the martyr, The hero, A saint, blessed with visions from the archangels on how to save france. If Pyrrha does “fall” and become the “trojan horse” it’s possible Juane, both being her love interest, and a possible holy figure, would be the only one capable of “purifying” her, and bringing her back.


Pyrrha might be captured and forced to be bad girl, Juane might make good again.

anonymous asked:

What if Hermann makes an AI resembling Newtons personality after the real newt dies from the second drift attempt.

Newt tries to blink, but his eyes aren’t working, there’s no pain, but everything feels- weird, as though he’s floating somewhere that isn’t here or the Anteverse-

The Drift.

Newt starts, fumbling blinding in the strange- non-space and, fuck he must have gotten lost in the Drift- he tries to find Hermann to lead him back, but he finds nothing- where is he- is he lost here too-

Finally, Newt catches- something; it doesn’t feel like the PONS, but it’s close enough; he clings to it, tries to pull himself through-

And the world streams back to him; colour, light and sound-

At first, he thinks he’s back int he lab, although it’s never looked this bad, there’s wreckage everywhere, machine parts covering the floor and piled up against the walls and there, right in front of him-

Hermann; Newt almost jumps as his voice emerges, thin and metallic from speakers;

Hermann, thinner and paler than Newt’s ever seen him, stares at him, takes a step, stumble, and collapses;

Newt stares, tries to reach him and can’t no hands, no body- where are they-

And Hermann is sobbing in front of him; huddling on himself in his massive- now even larger- coat; he’s crying and Newt can’t do anything, can only watch-

Please don’t cry, he tries again, and Hermann looks up, eyes bloodshot and wild, I’m- he has no idea- I’m okay;

“You’re not;” Hermann’s voice is raw and hoarse with disuse;

Well, yeah, obviously, but I’m here dude, it’s gonna be okay-

And it gets worse, because Hermann’s whole body shakes and starts laughing, hysterical and lost; shuddering and rocking backward and forwards and there’s nothing Newt can do, it’s a nightmare and he doesn’t have any nerves, but it hurts just to look at him and oh Hermann-

“You’re dead;” He wails, thin;

Oh, Newt supposes that makes sense-

“You died,” Hermann chokes, “You never came back, your body gave up after a week, I couldn’t-” He falls in further on himself, as though trying to tie himself so tightly he’d just disappear;

I’m here, Newt repeats, I- I don’t know where this is, but I can see you, you can hear me;

Hermann seems to pull himself together a little at this, shivering and rubbing the mess of his face, he nods; “I looked for you,” it comes out weak and pathetic, “You didn’t come back- I knew you had to be in the Drift;”

The Drift.

A jolt runs through him; What happened- did we win-

“Yes,” Hermann sits up, starting to look a little better, “Yes, I got back in time, no one died, we won- they brought your- your body-” his face starts to crumple-

I’m here, Newt says quickly, Hermann takes a deep breath and nods, Where is here-

“I had a place in Cambridge,” Hermann looks around, smiles shakily, “I couldn’t leave you;”

And I’m-

“In a computer, at the moment,” Hermann wipes his face again, and hobbles to his feet, bracing himself on a table, “The server should be enough for you- and I’m working on a- a new body for you;”

You’re awful at hardware; Newt isn’t sure if he’s more surprised or shocked;

“Obviously I can learn;” Hermann leans over the- camera, it must be; “But- yes, I hope you’ll be able to customise it to suit you;” his eyes are still damp, Newt aches to reach out and touch him; “I missed you;”

There’s a world of wretched misery in his voice