A story about not!Russians, the Atlantis Hockey League, accidental offworld marriages (of course) and the intergalactic sex appeal of the mullet.

Sidney groans, because this is ridiculous. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction,” he says.

Do you remember the first time you saw the stars? The first time you looked up and realized there were an infinite number of worlds that humanity had left to discover? I don’t know how old I was when I first yearned to go up there; it’s all I’ve ever known. And I can tell you this — even though I have seen more worlds than I ever imagined, even though I have sacrificed so much to do this, I have never lost that desire to explore, or that profound amazement that I feel when I look up into the infinite wonder of the skies. - Captain Manon Rhéaume

It starts like this: Well, okay, Patrick has no idea how it actually starts. But as pertains to him (in other words, the important part), it goes a little something like so: America, being a nation composed in large part of a melting pot of immigrants who may or may not have taken over land already owned by others using less-than-savory means, doesn’t have much of a magical national identity. Much less a magical continental identity. There’s no grand heritage going back thousands of years. Magical families home-schooled all their kids until, like, the 1800’s, and tough for the muggle-born, apparently. Hopefully you got noticed by someone who knew what to do with you before you got burned at the stake. Since you probably can’t control your powers, sport.

Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

Sid is special, even for a wizard. Harry Potter AU.

“Patrick wonders idly what Toews' daemon is; something like a python, maybe, or a bird of prey. It would just figure if it were a hawk, Patrick thinks in disgust; he's already starting to hate Toews a little so he tries to dial it back. Then he notices a big cat—some kind of, like, mountain lion—sitting well apart from the other daemons. It's watching the ice intently, and if Patrick had anyone to bet with, he knows where he'd put his money.”

Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

Jonathan finds the boy along the outskirts of a town market, chained to a post. There's a bronze armband clasped tightly on his forearm, winding around it like a snake, and he stares sullenly at the ground, heedless of Jonathan's gaze, while his toe traces patterns in the dust. "I want him," Jonathan says to the vendor, pointing. That's a lie.

“BRO!” Bitty glances up from the kitchen - that’s a new voice - just in time to see Shitty fling himself across the room at a tall brunette girl. “Hils! Fucking shit, man, so great to see you! You didn’t say you were coming!” OR: The one in which Hilary Knight is Shitty's big sister.

“BRO!” Bitty glances up from the kitchen - that’s a new voice - just in time to see Shitty fling himself across the room at a tall brunette girl. “Hils! Fucking shit, man, so great to see you! You didn’t say you were coming!” OR: The one in which Hilary Knight is Shitty's big sister.

The new second officer is cute, alright? Geno can’t be blamed for taking one look at him across the crew’s mess, and deciding then and there that he was going to get to know Commander Crosby.

John cracks an eye open, and Thatcher is shucking off his jeans, kicking them underneath the desk. He’s wearing – well, John catches a glimpse of lace as Thatcher pulls his sweatpants back on. Tight, navy lace stretched out over his ass.