All Our Exploring: "We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time." - T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding. sometimes i feel: "I think I've missed a crucial turn in this conversation," Stiles says, practically into Scott's mouth because holy shit they are so so close now what is this, is this real. in a shower of: jonny washes patrick's hair; patrick doesn't hate it. Keep an Open Mind: They’ve had this connection for nearly as long as they’ve known each other; Patrick doesn’t know why it happened, what made it so that out of all the people in the world, it’s Johnny and only Johnny whose thoughts he can read, but there it is. One day it was just Patrick in his head, and the next, he’d woken up with the background awareness of Johnny in there too, and a panicked, thumping voice saying, Oh, shit. You too? Strange Days: "I don't want to talk to Deaton. I don't want to be another supernatural problem to be dealt with." No Business Like Show Business: In which Merlin is promoted from production intern to talent, is easily mortified, and has Post-It arguments with Arthur while the art department watches in glee. Also, there are gay dragons. Gone to the Dogs: Jonathan Toews turns into a puppy. Then some other stuff happens. what i'm saying is i need you here: Pat’s been carrying around these feelings for Johnny like an extra limb for years, now. It sucks, a little bit, but mostly it’s not too bad. Sometimes it blindsides her, though, like when the lockout ends and she comes back home. The Law of Conservation of Pants: Or, Five Things Darcy Lewis Thought She Knew Before She Met the Avengers (And One Thing That Will Always Be True). In which Darcy is put in charge of Social Media relations for the Avengers and finds that 5/6th of them challenge the things she thought she believed.

On the government's classified mutant register—and on the NHL's records—Sidney is listed as Sidney Patrick Crosby, Nova Scotia, Canada: Class Two. Death visions, skin contact required.

Nolan flips to his messages, but as expected, it’s mostly just unoriginal openers—who’s going to respond to sup, honestly—and unflattering dick pics. He rolls his eyes and goes back to the profiles. He comes across one guy, just a scant two miles away, who actually has his face in his profile picture, which is a refreshing change. He’s cute, longish dark hair with a sneaky smile, and his name is Travis. Nolan has never started a conversation with anyone before, but again: antsy and horny. He debates for an embarrassingly long time over what to say and finally settles on something simple. And dumb, probably, but the magic of anonymity is that he doesn’t really give a shit. And at least it’s miles better than a dick pic of a soft dick, which Nolan didn’t know was actually a thing until he got more than one. The bar is low, is what he’s saying here.