you said it bob

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there ,
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair,
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
‘Come in,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you shelter from the storm.’
—  Bob Dylan, “Shelter From the Storm”






What I learned about confidence? Well, actually, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Priyanka, she taught me — I asked her: ‘where do you get all this confidence from?’ And she said ‘well, you know, I’m insecure about bits and bobs, but if you want to a reaction that you want to get, you have to walk into that room and be confident and own it, and make people feel welcome and loved and happy to be there with you.’ So that’s what I learned about confidence. I think nobody really has that much, but if you kind of own it and you pretend to be that person, you’ll get a much warmer response, so I’m trying to do that as well. — Sophie Turner for Harper’s Bazaar UK, May 2019

Little White

(Thank you very much @sawthatwink ! I hope you like it  ❤)

Harry was walking back to the Gryffindor tower when he saw it, a corn snake, the thickest part of it was about as round as his thumb and it was only about a foot long. It was pale almost white, an albino, but the pale yellow-orange markings along it’s back had been charmed to a vibrant green.

Harry glanced around for the owner but the hallway was empty, there wasn’t even the sound of retreating footsteps.

He dropped into a crouch next to the snake doggedly slithering along the stones and hissed a quiet greeting, “Hello, little one, are you lost?

The snake lifted its head, looking as startled as a snake can to be talked to by a human. The snake seemed to think a great while before she answered in a prim tone, “No. I am certain of my way but I am cold. I would warm myself with your heat.

Harry held out his hand and the little snake slid into it, her small little body was chilled from the stone floor. He stood and leaned back against the wall, cupping the snake in both hands, “Where are you going?” he asked.

The snake flicked her tongue, “You would know my business without even asking my name or offering your own? Are all humans so rude?”

Harry blinked and then grinned, “No, just me probably,” he hissed apologetically, “May I ask what your name is?

You may,” the snake said bobbing her head slightly in something like a nod, “Among my own I was known as Little White. My human calls me something like Morning, it is not a name I recognize or could pronounce in the proper tongue.

A pleasure to meet you, Little White. I am Harry Potter but you may call me what you like,” Harry said.

Little White raised her head higher, turning her head this way and that to get a better look at him.

Would you like any help?” Harry asked again now that the introductions were complete.

Little White flicked her tongue out furiously, “It appears I require no more help as it was you I was looking for, Hairy Pot-Maker.”

Harry winced, he really did not like the literal representation of his name in parsel tongue.

I was headed to your nest,” Little White said, “I thought perhaps I could do something, as hopeless as it is to try and do anything with most of your kind. You are all intolerably stupid. I am pleased to know you can at least manage the true tongue.

Thank you?” Harry said, grinning in something between amusement and disbelief at this little snake’s cheek.

Little White regally dipped her head again, “You are most welcome, Hairy Pot-Maker.

Harry winced again, “I would rather you didn’t call me that. Really, anything else would be better.

Then should I call you raven-locked or emerald eye or perhaps hearts-desire?” Little White asked archly.

What?” Harry blinked in surprise.

Little White shifted in his palms to a spot with more warmth, “My human calls you those things, amongst others in the silence of his den. I do not understand ‘love’ and 'desire’. It makes little sense to me. A snake seeks the company of other snakes only to mate and then they separate. Yet you humans seem drawn to one another often.” she cocked her head slightly, “Perhaps it is your warmth, I can understand that. Human warmth is very desirable, a pair of humans might share warmth together.

“…So you wanted to help your human?” Harry asked, feeling a little flushed that someone, a Slytherin someone, had a crush on him.

Yes. He is heart-sick for wanting you yet he will not speak his desire. He believes you would be opposed, to the point of anger or even violence.” Little White said, watching him intently.

I wouldn’t do that,” Harry hurriedly assure her.

I believe this of you,” Little White said, thoroughly unimpressed with him, “Despite his wanting of you I find it unlikely that you are worthy. My human is very warm and provides fine mice for me. He calls me beautiful. I would not share his warmth.

Harry’s brow furrowed, “but weren’t you coming to try and help him?

I have changed my mind,” Little White said. “Put me down.

I could take you back to him?” Harry offered, mostly out of politeness.

Little White turned her head away, “I would not have him look upon you, ever again.

Harry felt a little dumbstruck. He was about to kneel and put the little snake when he heard running footsteps and turned to look. Malfoy was running down the hallway, his robes flapping around him, his swept back hair falling down around his face. He had his wand in his hand, doing what appeared to be a point me spell.

Malfoy zeroed in on Harry and his cupped hands immediately and stomped over as if he wasn’t a flustered, faintly flushed mess, “Did you find a snake, a white snake with green markings?”

Harry silently lowered his hands so Malfoy could better see.

“Morgana!” Malfoy cried in relief, he reached out to take her and then pulled back as if he didn’t want to touch Harry.

Before Harry would have interpreted that action in an entirely different way. He felt a little dizzy.

Malfoy held his hand out, “My snake, if you please, Potter.”

Little White was flicking her tongue furiously at Harry, “You do not look at my human like that! I have decided and will not share!

Harry glanced down at her, feeling a smile on his lips. He looked back up, Malfoy was looking rather cute. He dropped his cupped hands onto Malfoy’s warm palm, letting Little White slip down and wrap around securely around Malfoy’s wrist. Harry curled one hand around Malfoy’s tracing his fingers over the back of Malfoy’s hand. He watched Malfoy’s face flush faintly, a shiver going through his hand, the rest of him seemed to be frozen in place.

Harry said, “I was was thinking-”

Little White lunged out, biting Harry’s thumb.

Harry jerked his hand back, mostly out of shock. The little snake couldn’t really hurt him.

She pulled back, her body still raised high in warning, “I said No!

“Morgana! Why did you-! Don’t do that!” Malfoy hissed looking a little panicked and telling Harry, “She’s never done that before. You must have just startled her.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said glaring at her. He smiled at Malfoy, “As I was going to say, do you want to go out sometime?”

Malfoy flushed even pinker, “What?”

“On a date,” Harry said, tempted to reach out and touch Malfoy again but deciding against it, “I thought maybe we could share some warmth together.”

Malfoy searched his expression and then hesitantly nodded.

Little White muttered, “I’m going to shit in your shoes.

Shortly after the overdose, Bob decided to tell Jack the story of why he really got put in the Stanley Cup as a baby.  It was Bob’s way of thanking the cup.

“After I won my first cup,” he told Jack, “I realized I’d achieved my dream, and I had married this amazing woman, but something still felt like it was missing.  I wanted to be a father.”  He told Jack how he and Alicia had tried to have a baby, but it just wasn’t happening.  As the months dragged on with more of the same, they started to get worried.  

“And even when you were worrying you’d never truly be happy you managed to win the cup again, yeah?  That’s the moral of the story?” Jack snapped.  Bob shook his head, reached out to run a hand over Jack’s back, like he could smooth down his son’s frayed nerves.  

“Non, non, non, that would be a terrible moral.  Actually my stats were worse that year than when I was a rookie.  But my team was incredible, and we made it to the cup again.  And here’s where the story gets good, you see, because I’d heard all kinds of wild legends through the league about ‘cup magic’ and how sometimes it would grant wishes”

“Or turn you into a fucking penguin,” Jack scoffed.

“Well I was playing for the Canadiens at the time, so I suppose there wasn’t much risk involved, but there was a whole lot of desperate hope.So on my cup day, after everyone else left, I sat down and had a chat with it,” he gestures to the table they’re sitting at.  “Right at this kitchen table.”

“Please tell me that’s the only part of this story that happened at this table,” Jack groaned.  Bob laughed.

This story, yes.”

“Papaaaa,”  Jack picked up his bowl of cereal and pointedly continued eating without letting his food touch the table.

“Oh for God’s sake, Jack, this table has been cleaned many times since, put your food down for a bit, I’m trying to have a moment with you here.”

“Alright, alright, fine.”  Jack obediently set the bowl aside and faced his father.

“As I was saying…” Bob cleared his throat.  “I talked to the cup.  I told it I didn’t care if I ever won it again.  All I wanted was a son.  If it would give me that, I promised, I wouldn’t ask to win so much as a faceoff for the rest of my life.  And I promised that I would love my son - that I would love you - unconditionally, more than anything in the world.”

“And you won a fuckton more awards anyway.”

“But,” Bob countered, “I didn’t win the cup again until after you were born when I was with the Pens.  And so when your mother brought you onto the ice to see me, I wanted us to put you in the cup, but it wasn’t supposed to pass along some kind of hockey magic and ensure the Zimmermann dynasty or whatever the fuck ESPN likes to say, alright?  We did it as a thank you.  We wanted the cup to see what a beautiful baby we had, and to feel how incredibly loved you were.”  Bob ran a hand over Jack’s newly-cropped hair, feeling the strands against his palm, almost as soft as when he used to sit next to Bob in his high chair smashing banana all over the tray.  “I kept my promise too,”  Bob said.  “I love you.  Unconditionally.  More than anything in the world.  And your mother and I just want to help you be happy, whatever that looks like.”  He smiled warmly at his son, letting all the pride he usually kept a lid on to keep from embarrassing Jack bubble up to the surface.  Jack looked down at his hands.

“How can you not be disappointed?  Look at me.”  Jack’s shoulders hunched in, shrinking him down, and Bob pressed his hand between Jack’s shoulder blades, rubbing circles in the way that always used to put him right to sleep as a child.

“I will always be proud of you, hockey or no.  Because you know what?”  Jack chanced a glance up at his father’s face and was held by his earnest expression.  “Winning the Stanley Cup isn’t even in my top hundred favorite memories anymore.  All of my best memories are with you and your mother.”  Jack didn’t say anything in response, and Bob was learning when to give him space to process, so he stood up, bending back down to kiss his son’s forehead as he snagged the now-soggy bowl of raisin bran from in front of him.

It took a few days for Bob to get a real response from Jack, and in the meantime he just left everything to percolate.  And then one night, Bob just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  His knee wasn’t quite hurting, but it was on that edge where it just didn’t feel settled, and Alicia had been snoring, and at the back of his head he could feel some kind of humming, like he could feel the tense air in Jack’s room.  He’d gotten himself all worked up mulling that last one over until he had to get out of bed.  He stood in front of Jack’s bedroom door, looking at the light peeking out from below the doorjamb for minutes, listening to the sounds of floorboards creaking occasionally, pages rustling, a keyboard clacking.  After he’d gotten enough of the sounds of Jack just existing on the other side of the door to calm his racing heart, he went to the living room.  

He settled into the couch with a box of crackers and a nature documentary when he heard footsteps creaking on the stairs.  At first, he was expecting Alicia coming to call him back to bed, but the footfalls were too loud for her.  Bob tried not to look surprised when Jack rounded the corner, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Animal Planet.  He held up the crackers in greeting.

“Joining your old man for a midnight snack, eh?”

“Oh.  Um, sure.”  Jack padded over to the couch and made himself comfortable next to Bob, pulling down the afghan from the back of the sofa.  They stare at the TV in silence for a long while before Jack speaks up again, quietly.  “Papa?”


“So…what exactly was better than winning the cup?”

anonymous asked:

Hi, I really like your blog! I was wondering since you're an editor, how do you do dialogue with quotes. I always get confused where its a comma or not.

Thank you so much, anon! There are tons of guides online for dialogue punctuation (try here or here for full explanations), but here’s a quick refresher:

Bob said, “If your dialogue tag—’Bob said’ in this example—comes at the beginning, it should look like this.”

“If you’re using a dialogue tag at the end, end with a comma, and don’t capitalize your dialogue tag,” Bob said.  

“If you split up the quoted sentence around the tag,” Bob said, “it should be punctuated like this.”

“Unless your quote is two separate sentences,” Bob said. “In that case, there is a period after the tag.”

“You can also leave out the dialogue tag completely, if you know for sure who’s talking.”

“What about question marks?” Bob said. “Shouldn’t we capitalize the tag after a question mark or exclamation point?”

“Nope!” said Bob. “You don’t need to unless the tag is naturally capitalized (as with I or a proper noun like a name like Bob).”

“Is it Bob said or said Bob?” asked Bob. 

“It can be either,” Bob said, “but we don’t use ‘said she’ or ‘said I’ often anymore, so it is best to avoid those constructions with pronouns and use ‘I said’ and ‘they said’ unless you wish to sound archaic.”

Bob took a sip of coffee. “You can even include action, but as it is not a dialogue tag, put a period at the end of the action.”

“Really?” Bob leaned closer. “There are so many rules.”

I think that should cover most situations you might come across, but if you have anything specific I’m happy to help. Remember, you can always grab any fiction book off your shelves and find an example that’s a similar construction to what you’re writing. Or, just rewrite it to a construction you’re familiar with.

Happy writing!

That Boy

SummaryAlicia Zimmermann was nosy and she was not ashamed to admit it. So when her husband told her he thought Jack had feelings for that cute Bittle boy, Alicia dove straight into the Google machine.  Also on AO3

Alicia Zimmermann was nosy. She was not ashamed to admit that–at all, in the slightest. Although she preferred the term inquisitive. It sounded nicer, and she just liked knowing things, you know? So when her husband, partner in crime and co-conspirator, told her he thought Jack had feelings for that cute Bittle boy, Alicia grabbed a giant cup of coffee and her laptop, settled into the couch, put on her reading glasses, and dove straight into the Google machine.

Eric Bittle, Samwell class of 2017. His Twitter @omgcheckplease was the first thing that came up.

Baker, former figure skater, and the shortest member of the Samwell hockey team! his bio read. She scrolled down and noticed a tweet from just yesterday. All it read was This boy.

“Hmm… interesting…” she said as took a sip of coffee.

She scrolled further down and frowned as she read about Eric’s sadness regarding commencement. So far, from what she just read, she liked Eric. She really did. He was funny, articulate, and sweet.

Hi, I’m Jack. Bittle thought it would be fun if I answered a few questions. Fire away. Alicia laughed. Jack was such a social media-phobe, seeing this was quite the eye-opener.

Keep reading

Fic: The Morning After – A Cup Magic, Baby Jack Interlude 

((100% inspired by this fanart by @parseitively))

“Okay, okay, look it’s not that bad, it’s —“


“Bitty, my dude, this is pretty fucking bad,” Shitty counters. “Pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen when you win a Cup.”

“Plllllllllfffffttttttt —“

“No, man, Cup’s revenge for that time he shit in it,” Snowy yawns. 

“He is like little gremlin, how he become so handsome is mystery,” Tater is holding the baby, now, with its weird little bald head and huge blue eyes watching the room. Maybe. One eye is a little off. Or they’re both off.


“Zimboni come from Cup, now he return to cup,” the baby squeals delightedly as Tater holds him above the silver bowl and lowers him slowly until his feet touch the bottom.

“Zimboni come back,” Tater announces regally like he’s channeling some ancient ceremony. “Return, now!”

They all wait a few seconds. The baby spits up.

Ransom claps.

“Oh, no, sweet-pea look at your face,” Bitty takes a Falconers’ rally towel and dabs at the baby’s chin, cooing, “did you make a mess?”

“Please tell me someone is recording this,” Lardo chirps. “I need a video record.”

“Fuck, I’m trying but,” Holster flips his phone around and the screen is white. “Every time I try to take a picture of him it seizes up.”

“Cup magic, bro,” Snowy says sagely. “There’s a reason you can’t prove this shit.”

“Has anyone called Bob and Alicia?” Bitty asks, taking the baby from Tater and bouncing him on his hip gently. “I feel like they should be here.”

Shitty raises his hand.

“Like twenty minutes ago, they should be here any time.”

“Oh, look at my handsome man,” Bitty teases as the baby babbles happily, grabbing at Bitty’s shirt. “You’re so tiny I could just eat you up.”

“This is heartwarming and disturbing,” Shitty laments. “My sweet Jack is a baby.”

“Your sweet Jack is just a sweet baby,” Bitty corrects softly, making funny faces at the child. “A sweet baby with some kind of serious vision problem, bless his little heart.”


“I know, honey,” Bitty leans down and presses a kiss to the barely-there wisps of hair on the crown of the baby’s head. “You’re doing the best you can.”

A loud knock on the door startles them all and every eye turns to the baby, whose face twists up but stops just short of crying as Bitty resumes bouncing and whispering softly, jerking his head to the entryway so someone will answer.

Shitty gets there first and checks the peephole.

“Bitty, they’re here.”

“Well let ‘em in!” Bitty half-shouts, a sound the baby mimics with a happy screech.

“We came as fast as we could when you said Cup magic, we —“ Bob is barely in the door when he catches sight of Bitty and freezes, nearly tripping Alicia behind him.

“Pahhhhhhhh,” the baby gurgles reaching out from Bitty’s arms when he sees Bob.

“Crisse de Tabarnak,” Bob says, stunned, and the baby squeals when he hears him. “Jack.”

Bitty has never seen Bob move so quickly, leaping over the back of the couch and taking Jack gently from Bitty’s arms. The baby babbles excitedly and slaps at Bob’s cheeks while the Legend rambles in soft French and begins to tear up as Alicia rushes from behind.

Bitty catches ‘boy’, ‘little’, and ‘snow’ before he gives up trying to poorly translate. What he really gets out of it is Bob is very happy to see his child…as a child.

“I woke up and he was in the Cup,” Bitty explains as Bob reluctantly hands the baby to Alicia, who immediately begins crying as well.

“Maaaaaaaa —“

“It’ll wear off,” Bob says brusquely, wiping tears from his face. “A day or two at most.”

Tater coughs to get Bob’s attention. 

“Are his eyes okay?” Snowy asks gently, still too blunt for Bitty’s comfort.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Alicia soothes, running a hand over Jack’s scalp as he nods tiredly against her chest. “His eye muscles are just a bit weak; shouldn’t be a baby long enough to need the eyepatch again.”

“Eyepatch?” Bitty’s brain short circuits.

“Our Little Snowball,” Alicia giggles softly, kissing Jack’s head. “Ah, he still smells like I remember. Bobby, come and smell him.”

“I already did,” Bob answers, hanging back. “You boys have a presser to get to,” he reminds them. “Tater, Snowy, hop to. Shitty, Ransom, Holster, Larissa, you should head out as well. We’ll take it from here. Eric will update you when Jack’s back to normal.”

The apartment clears out slowly until Bitty is left alone with a tiny version of his boyfriend and said boyfriend’s parents.

“He’s so small,” Bitty says, laying out a blanket for Alicia to lay Jack down on; Jack immediately sticks his foot in his mouth. “And flexible.”

“That’s nothing watch this,” Bob snatches a rogue puck from the pool table and lays down beside Jack to rest the rubber disk on the baby’s belly.

“Oh, Bobby, clean that off before –”

It’s too late, the puck is in Jack’s mouth before they can blink and Alicia is dying with laughter. The sound is infectious and Bitty can’t help but slide down on the blanket opposite Bob, giggling at the happy noises Jack is making.

“He really loves that, doesn’t he?” Bitty tickles the baby’s tummy and gets a muffled giggle around the puck. “Cutie-pie.”

“His favorite baby toy,” Bob smiles, blowing softly over Jack’s sparse hair as he gnaws. “We had stuffed animals and blocks, anything and everything we could find but his favorite was always just a puck. He’ll be back to normal soon. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“And the presser?” Bitty asks, fingers dancing as he counts all of Jack’s toes. 

“I vote we take him in like this,” Alicia chuckles. “No one will question it, this is obviously our child.”

“Wish it worked like that,” Bob sighs. “Just have to wait it out.”

Jack stills and Bitty watches as his parents do the same.

“Uh, oh,” Alicia whispers. “Incoming.”

“Tabarnak,” Bob curses. “I definitely don’t miss this part.”

It’s a few seconds before the smell hits Bitty.

“Oh, my god —“

 Jack squeals happily.

anonymous asked:

hey uh sorry if this is too much to ask but don't use "queer" as an umbrella term please!! some people are not comfortable with using it to describe themselves

Hey anon, could you point out what post I’ve made or reblogged where I’ve used queer as an umbrella term because I specifically make a point of not doing that and going through recent posts I’m not finding anything where I have?

That being said, what I do make and reblog are posts that are specifically addressed to/about queer people but if you or anyone else does not ID as queer then…those posts aren’t about you. For example: if I make a post that says “queer people are beautiful” and you don’t ID with the term queer then those posts aren’t for you, they aren’t about you, they’re for people who DO identify as queer. The most recent queer post on here is one I reblogged from queerlection which is a collection of various pride flags with the words ‘queer pride’ on them—these are for people of these identities who also DO identify as queer. If you don’t ID as queer, again, these posts are not about you.

Basically anon, no one else is being forced to use the term or forcibly called queer just because people who do ID as queer are existing and making posts about being queer for ourselves and for other queer people. When I use the word queer and when I reblog posts using the word queer, I am not using that as an umbrella term. I always, 100% of the time, am using queer to mean people who willingly ID with the term queer. If you don’t ID as queer, then a post about being queer is not about you; queer people—people who ID as queer—are the ones being addressed, not you.

From The Dialogue List

“ Can I have 60 with Jack x reader and Mark saying it? Thanks in advance!”

60: “Why don’t they kiss already?”

Originally posted by treblegirl

Mark had invited you all to dinner.
But before hand; You, Jack, Bob and Wade were to meet up at his hotel room. Just so it was easier for all of you to get to the restaurant together and chat a little since you’ve all been busy with PAX. 
You were the last to get there. And as you approached the door with the door-number Mark texted you, you could already hear the mayhem inside. 
Mark was being teased, you knew by his laughing rage tone that echoed down the hallway. 
Jack’s laugh followed Bob’s hysterical chuckle while Wade was speaking, slightly muffled by the walls that separated you from them. 
You knocked loudly, so you were able to be heard over the ruckus.
“Oh! So the you finally grace us with your presence!”  Jack yelled as Mark let you into the apartment.
“Bite me, Irishman,” You joked back. “Traffic was hectic around my hotel.”
“That’s no excuse!” Jack said, “There’s traffic everywhere!” 
You poked your tongue at him as you embraced Mark in a hug. Wade and Bob greeted you the same way, but Jack of course had to be the different one. 
He wrapped his arms around you, spinning you slightly and then toppling both of you onto the couch where you pushed his off, laughing. 
“Dammit, boy! You’re going to ruin my hair!” You exclaimed with a pout. 
“You’re hair is fine.” Jack chuckled. 
Mark shook his head, glancing at Bob with a shared expression, a silent conversation passing between them. 
“Alright, we’ll head out soon.” Mark told everyone. “I’ll just call two Ubers, because we all wouldn’t fit in one car, and we’ll be off.” 
Once the drivers was called, you all made your way down to the lobby.
You followed Jack through the doors, giving him a smile when he opened it for you, stepping aside to let you through. 
“Aww, such a gentleman.” You lightly teased. 
“My Lady,” He responded with a small bow of his head. 
Behind the two of you, Bob face palmed himself while Wade chuckled. Mark was growing increasingly frustrated with the two of you. 
When the two Uber drivers arrived outside, Mark had to restrain himself from slapping the Irish guy when he opened the car door for you, complimenting your outfit as he slid in next to you. 
“Why don’t they kiss already?” Mark hissed angrily to Bob. 
Bob chuckled and patted his friend’s shoulder. “I got this.” 
As Bob set himself in the front passenger seat, Mark and Wade moved to the other car. He already had his plan and as you and Jack were chatting, giggling, in the backseat, he began to unfold it. 
“So, (Y/N),” Bob started. “I’ve been seeing a lot of fan-art of you and Jack.” 
You blushed a little, nodding, “I get hundreds of messages with fan-art. They’re really cool.” 
“Even the ones that are, you know, a little graphic.” Bob said with a knowing smile. 
Your flush glowed against your cheeks, and you half glared at Bob. “What are you getting at?” 
“Nothing, it’s just, well, Mark and I were thinking the people were getting onto something.” Bob shrugged, his voice coated with amusement. “I mean, you two would make an awesome couple.” 
Jack shifted beside you, laughing a little uneasily. “Bob, since when did you decide who makes a good couple?” 
Then the driver spoke up, “To be honest, I thought you two were a couple.” 
Bob pointed at your driver, “See! Even strangers see it.” 
You sighed, a blushing mess as you turned to Jack. He was bright red as well, chuckling nervously. 
“Alright, I’ll admit I’ve had some feeling for you since our last few videos.” Jack said with a smile. “So, how about it? Go on a little date? See what happens?” 
You nodded, “Sounds good to me.” 
While the two of you tried to organize your date, Bob sent the recording to Mark. And as the drivers pulled up at the restaurant, Mark flew out of the car and yelled 
“FINALLY!” At you and Jack.


Inspired by this post, a small fic on Bad Bob just trying to be the best dad he can be. Could also be seen as a companion to Coach. Also on AO3…  

Bob had grown up in locker rooms. The majority of his life was spent surrounded by the sweaty stink of post-game adrenaline, the raucous laughter, the camaraderie. And he loved it… for the most part.

There was the part of it, however, he didn’t like, didn’t particularly care to join in on. Prejudice of any kind had no place in Bob Zimmermann’s heart. When a distasteful joke was made, he retreated into himself. Excused himself to go shower or meet his parents – and later, Alicia.

Alicia was quite vocal many times saying, “If you had been a stereotypical jock I would never have given you the time of day.”

Bob nodded, and didn’t think he was being or not being anything in particular. He just preferred to judge people by their actions and their heart – and nothing else.

Alicia loved his gentle nature, which was a stark contrast to the person he was on the ice. While he was Bad Bob Zimmermann on the ice, off the ice Bob opened doors for little old ladies, he stopped to pet random dogs on the street, he called his parents every Sunday, made corny jokes, and enjoyed cooking for the people he loved.

When Jack came along one hot August morning, Bob held his newborn son as tears flowed freely down his face.

“He’s perfect, Alicia,” Bob murmured as he pressed a kiss onto the baby’s head.

Alicia hummed and closed her eyes, full of exhaustion and bliss.

Keep reading

Mocking Differences.

Request: Hey darling, can I request one in which Harry is famous an dating a normal girl but his friends keep making fun of him because her job is not so glamorous and Harry, at some point, is a bit of a jerk and tells something bad about her job and they fight but he realise what he did, apologise and they make peace?

Growing up, everything you wanted wasn’t handed to you on a silver plate. You watched you parents struggle with money and stress themselves out to have you living, under a roof and getting great education. You were thankful for getting into uni with a scholarship, landing a job of your own and a small condo. 

Being a ticketing cashier at the cinema wasn’t a job you hated. You had made friends, saw different faces everyday and it was minimal to have costumers being rude to you. 

You met Harry through a friend when you were visiting Holmes Chapel with your friend, staying with her for 3 days as it was a holiday. You hit it off and 4 months after knowing each other, you started dating. 

Now, two years later, you both were happy and in love. You were used to it by now for Harry to meet new people, sometimes people who do him wrong, sometimes people who stay for a short time. 

So when Harry told you about a new group of friends he met, telling you stories about his day and stories of them; something just didn’t fall right to you. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

But did Jack say yes? 😍

Ask and you shall receive. I think this is actually longer than the original post.

“Bits, what are my parents doing here?”

Jack looked down at the screen of his phone, after ending the call with the doorman.

“We didn’t make plans with them, did we?”

“Um, yes, actually,” Bitty said, still peeling potatoes. “Didn’t I tell you? I talked to your dad when you were in Winnipeg, and mentioned that we were doing Thanksgiving, and he said he and your mom would like to come. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I don’t mind but – wait, you talked to my dad? Did he call you or –”

“Hello, and happy Thanksgiving!” Alicia was stepping through the door, arms already extended to embrace Jack. Bob was following with a cooler bag with wine. There was also a bottle of champagne, but Jack wasn’t to see that. Yet.

“How’re you boys doing?” Alicia said, deftly stepping into the living room and bringing Jack’s attention with her so Bob could stow the wine (and champagne) in the kitchen.  “Jack, did I tell you about the work the foundation is doing to bring hockey to underserved communities in the greater New York area? We’re starting with street hockey there, but …”

In the kitchen, Bitty put the last of the potatoes in the colander to rinse before putting them on to boil.

“Everything under control?” Bob said. “It’s a go?”

Bitty nodded. “The turkey’s cooking already, and I have a pan of stuffing to slide in for the last 45 minutes,” he said. “Once I get these on the stove, I have to roll out the dough for the tourtière – can you grab it from the fridge? Bottom shelf on the right – and fill it and put it in. to bake. Rolls are rising, pies are done, green beans and salad and gravy get done once the the turkey comes out. This is really so easy with a double oven.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bob said. “We all have confidence in your ability to get a stunning dinner on the table. Are you going to pop the question?”

Bitty wiped his hands on his apron before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a blue velvet ring box. “When I serve dessert,” he said.

“Want to try it out?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “Ve–

“Bits –” Jack was coming around the corner. “Try what?”

“Your dad saw a recipe for pumpkin squares,” Bitty said. “But not today, because dessert is done. Maybe next time.”

Bob, now behind Jack, was mouthing at Bitty, “Pumpkin squares?”

“Papa doesn’t like pumpkin,” Jack said, an adorable furrow in his brow. Lord, Bitty was gone on him, “Do you, Papa?”

“If anyone could make me like it, it would be Eric,” Bob said with a shrug.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Maman wanted a glass of wine.”

Bob reached into the fridge and brought out a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He poured a glass and handed it to Jack. “One for you, too?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said. “I’ll have one with dinner. Bits might want one, though.”


“Sure, Bob. Thanks. Jack, honey, after you take that to your mother, could you see if you can find the rust colored napkins in the linen closet? They weren’t in the drawer in here.”

“But we have napkins on the table already.”

“I know, but those are just placeholders until I find the rust ones. Please?” Bitty said.

“Only to make you happy,” Jack said with a faux grumble before leaving to deliver his mother’s wine.

“Okay, we’ve got a minute or two before he finds the napkins,” Bob said.

“Longer than that,” Bitty said. “They don’t exist. We always use white. Now here goes. Veux-tu m’épouser?”

He almost had a heart attack when he realized there was someone in the doorway, but it was Alicia, holding her wine.

“Did you just ask my husband to marry you?” she said, laughing. “I thought it was my son you wanted. You can’t have Bob. He’s mine.”

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “Of course it’s your son I want. How did I do?”

“Great,” Bob said. “I promise he won’t laugh.”

“You mean that?”

“I mean that, yes, I can still hear your accent, but it’s better than most Americans do, so stop worrying.”

Once dinner was over and Bob and Jack had cleared the table and Alicia made coffee – regular and decaf – they gathered in the living room with the pies – a tarte au sucre and an apple – on the coffee table.

“We never said what we were thankful for,” Jack said. “Let’s do it before dessert.”

“Good idea,” Bitty said. “Let me start. Since this is Thanksgiving in Canada, let me say how thankful I am for the custom of having Thanksgiving on a Monday, with two whole days to prepare. I’m also thankful that y’all introduced me to a new cuisine, and a new culture, even if I didn’t do so well learning French. I’ve been working hard and I did learn one thing.”

He turned to face Jack fully and pulled the ring box out of his pocket.

“Jack, veux-tu m’épouser?”

Jack stared, mouth open, then started to giggle. His giggle turned into a laugh, until he saw the way Bitty’s face had fallen.

“Non, lapinou,” he said. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Bitty started to look up at that.

“Was it that bad?” he said.

“Bad? Was what bad?” Jack asked. “I really wasn’t laughing at you.”

He pulled a ring box from his pocket.

“It’s just, I was going to ask you when it was my turn to talk.”

anonymous asked:

I don't know if you would like the idea, but how about Twig with an asymmetric wavy bob, with funky long side bangs (kind of curled, all over the place, shorter part brushed back) I think it would suit them.

i gotta be honest with you, you said “wavy bob with funky long side bangs” and i immediately thought of scott pilgrim…