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parvuls · a day ago
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graduation kiss never happened au where smh gather to celebrate bitty's 30th birthday and they all get pretty drunk and chirp him for being old now, and somehow it evolves into complaining that he never let them hook him up when they were "young and crazy" back in college. and it's not that he's that drunk but it's just been so long that bitty doesn't feel self-conscious saying, "oh c'mon, y'all knew i was hung up on jack."
and ransom is like, "uhh?" and holster shouts, "WHAT" and shitty says, "um no we fucking did not" and lardo mutters something about suspecting but not knowing
and bitty raises his head and sees jack frozen, beer bottle halfway to his mouth, staring at bitty like he just shifted the ground beneath jack's feet
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ohyoufool · 2 days ago
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witch!bitty au where he is pretty sure that jack has walked him on the mixing spoons stirring themselves and the pies baking a little extra fast a few times or how he is able to stack and carry 10 jars at a time so Bitty is finally like: “there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about” 
and jack is like “actually I have something to tell you too-“ and bitty is like 
“I ‘m magic” 
and at the exact same time jack says “I’m gay” 
and then they just stand there for a sec and then bitty says “oh. Yeah. I’m that one too.” 
And jack just goes “um I cannot say the same” and they kiss the end
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montrealmadison · a day ago
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if you want my opinion you should def post the au thing you wrote about bitty and jack switching roles with the overdose! ill read it at least ☺️
ask and you shall receive!!! <3
Eric Bittle registers the fact that he is in love with Jack Zimmermann with one hand on the door to his Uber and the other dragging a suitcase that’s definitely going to be too heavy for the plane.
Well, shit.
This has got to score a perfect ten on the universe’s Terrible Timing Scale.
Later he’ll look back on this moment and wonder how, notorious overthinker that he is, he manages to make this particular decision so quickly. For now, though, he doesn’t really stop to think at all. He just straightens and says, in a dreamlike voice that doesn’t quite belong to him, “I’ll be right back.”
His Uber driver says something that could either be What? or maybe What the fuck?, but Bitty is already running.
He crosses campus in record time, bursts through the front doors of Faber—wow, it is stupidly beautiful in here in the afternoons—and then darts through the door that leads to the players’ facilities.
Please, he thinks, don’t be gone, don’t be gone. He can’t have left.
Not yet.
Thankfully, he turns the corner and there they are: Jack, his parents, and Georgia Martin, listening with fond interest as Jack points out specifics along the hallway. They turn to look at the intruder in their midst, because of course they do, and Bitty’s face reddens when he realizes how he must look: out of breath, sweaty and wild-eyed and leaning a little dramatically against the nearest cinderblock wall to let it cool his skin.
But Bitty's mama and daddy raised an anxious son, not a totally incapable one. “Jack,” he says, and closes the distance between them step by hesitant step. “I am so sorry to interrupt, y’all. Jack, can I just—borrow you for a real hot second?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns with Jack’s wrist in his grasp and power walks towards the nearest door. Jack, thankfully, follows him, shooting a look over his shoulder at George and his parents that Bitty has neither the time nor the mental capacity to decipher. He’s got more important shit to do, thank you very much.
The door that they disappear through turns out to be the back entrance to the men’s locker room. The scent of metal and sweat and laundry detergent always lingers faintly here, even though the season’s been over for what feels like ages. It’s grounding. In this room Bitty has come to learn what his job is, where he belongs, what his relationship with Jack is.
(Or what it was, anyway. From here on out they’re in uncharted waters. Bitty just has to hope he’s read the signs right.)
“Bittle?” Jack’s hands close over his upper arms as soon as the door swings shut behind them. The contact is bracing, though, and not unwelcome. “Are you alright?”
Bitty has to look up and up and up to find his face. Jack’s eyes are so blue and his hands are so strong and all of Bitty’s half-formed thoughts are failing him when he needs them most.
Jack definitely looks a little worried now. “Bits,” he says. “Bittle, hey.”
Bitty opens his mouth and what comes out is not the sappy speech he’s (maybe) been secretly practicing in the shower for months, just in case this exact moment came along. Instead, what comes out is: “You bought me an oven.”
The worry slides right off Jack’s face and is quickly replaced with a tentative half-smile. It’s almost like he knows exactly what this is all about, the smug, beautiful bastard. “Well, the boys helped—”
“Jack. Hush.” Bitty thumps his palms lightly on Jack’s chest and hopes he doesn’t notice how much they’re shaking. “You bought me an oven.”
Jack opens his mouth, closes it again, and then nods, smiling wider now. “I did.”
And Bitty is so in love with this ridiculous boy in that instant that he decides, well, fuck it, stretches up as far as he can, and kisses Jack Zimmermann once and for all.
Almost as soon as he does it, he feels himself start to freeze—give a man some warning, Bittle!—but Jack doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Quite the opposite, actually; he makes a hungry sort of noise into Bitty’s mouth, exhales sharply, and wraps Bitty up in his arms, almost lifting him off the floor.
And holy shit, it’s so good. Better than good. Kissing Jack is everything he’s ever wanted and everything he’s never given himself permission to want until this very minute. If Bitty wasn’t completely gone on him ten seconds ago, he sure is now.
They pull apart for air eventually, but neither of them go far; Jack rests his forehead against Bitty’s, reaches up to cup the back of Bitty’s neck with one big hand. His cheeks are pink, his eyes blown wide. His hair’s a mess where Bitty’s raked his hands through it. He’s smiling.
Bitty, a little breathless, can’t help but smile back. “Sorry to sneak up on you, honey.”
“I don’t care,” Jack says immediately, and then: “Will you—”, at the same time as Bitty starts, “Can we—”
“Do that again?” they ask together, and laugh.
“Please,” says Jack, and Bitty hardly needs prompting.
“Bits,” Jack says, a little later. “What now?”
His eyes flick back towards the door, and Bitty’s reminded of what awaits him on the other side of it: Montréal, then Providence. The life he’s always wanted.
Bitty’s never been able to be selfish a day in his life—but just today, just this once, he wants to have a place in Jack’s life, too.
“Well,” he says slowly. “You’re off to big things, mister. I don’t wanna distract you.”
Jack glances at the door again, and then slowly and deliberately kisses Bitty’s forehead. “If you want this,” he says, “like I want this, then you’re not gonna be a distraction, Bits.” He kisses him again. “We’ll work it out.”
And that’s kind of enough to soothe the lingering knot of terror under Bitty’s ribs. For now, at least.
He glances at the notification that’s just popped up on his phone—wait-time charges have begun—and then looks back up at Jack, at the journey that’s ending and the one that’s just beginning.
“I’ll text you,” he says.
And when he gets into the Uber at last, he does.
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snackzimmerman · a day ago
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every time whiskey says something that smacks of internalized homophobia dex just slowly pushes a jar of positive affirmations at him as if he's sliding legally binding court papers
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cricketnationrise · a day ago
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speed-dial
Written for day 7 of Friendship Week! prompt: saving the day / jack and shitty @birlcholtz
Trigger warnings: involuntary drug use (Roofies), references to underage drinking, references to anxiety attacks, averted anxiety attack
[Dex gets roofied at a party, but calls Jack and he and Shitty go find him and get him to the hospital.]
_X_
Jack is in the middle of writing his thesis when he gets the call. He almost ignores it, who would be calling him at eleven thirty at night? But he glances over anyway and a jolt goes through him when he sees the caller id: William Poindexter - Dex
Shit.
“Hello?”
At first there’s just a scuffling noise and then Dex’s voice comes through, more slurred than Jack has ever heard it.
“Jack issss Dex. S’mthin’ happn’d. ‘N I need hel-hulp-help.”
“Where are you? Are you safe?” he asks, already gathering his stuff. Wallet, Haus keys, phone in his hand, shoes.
“Walkin’, no’shurr where.” Jack grabs an unopened bottle of water from his mini fridge before going through the connecting bathroom to get Shitty. He’s definitely going to need reinforcements for this.
“Do you see any landmarks?” Jack asks, striding into Shitty’s room. “Any ideas where you are?” Shitty looks up from his laptop, and whatever Jack’s face is doing makes him save and start scrambling for his clothes.
“Uhhhhhh.” Dex trails off.
“Dex. You have to stay awake. Captain’s orders.”
“Oh shit,” he hears Shitty say.
“Yesshssurr. I’mwake. I can see uhhh, oh hey thass the Pond.”
Jack is already pulling Shitty down the stairs to get to his car. He puts the phone on speaker and shoves it into Shitty’s hand when they get to the car.
“Dex. This is really important. I need you to stay where you are and I need you to stay awake. I’m coming to get you. Shitty is with me. Talk to him okay?”
“‘Kay. Ssup Shitss.”
“Alright brah? You heard Jack. We’re coming to get your ass. Jack, it’s quicker to take Wilson Ave than Concord. Now Dex, can you tell me every color you can see reflected in the Pond right now?”
Shitty keeps Dex on the line, keeps him talking, even if it’s nonsense for what can’t be longer than a five minute drive, but to Jack each minute feels like a decade. When Jack finds parking as close as he can get, he and Shitty throw themselves out of the car and take off running, Jack just barely remembering to turn off his lights and lock the doors. They pound down the pathway around the Pond, frantically looking for Dex. What if Dex was wrong, what if they’re in the wrong place, what if - And then Jack spots a flash of pale skin and red hair in the moonlight.
“Dex!” he shouts, and puts on an extra burst of speed.
“Hey Jaa-ack,” Dex says with a yawn.
“Hey bud, we gotcha, you’re gonna be okay.”
“Feel weird tho,” Dex grumbles.
He and Shitty manage to get Dex’s arms over their shoulders - how is he already so tall he’s only nineteen, holy shit he’s nineteen and my responsibility, oh shit -
“Jack, breathe,” Shitty commands, and it’s only the long association of Shitty’s voice calming him down during his anxiety attacks that has him regulating his breathing and focusing on the present instead of spiraling. “Can you tell us what happened, Dex?”
“Think I go’ roofied.” Jack feels a cold fury start at the base of his spine.
“What?!” Shitty shouts.
Dex winces at the volume and Shitty immediately apologizes. “You think you got roofied?” He asks at a lower volume, fury lacing every syllable.
“Wen’ to a party by m’self ‘cause Chowder an’ Nurse were busy. And I wanted to try an’ flirt with a guy, maybe. An’way. There was this, this uh, guy, n’ he was like, hittin’ on me, an’ stuff. Got me a drink. Was nice to me. I was havin’ a good time act’lly. Didn’ think about gettin’ my own drink - iss Samwell, right? People aren’ assholes here.”
Jack is going to have to hunt down this absolute festering sore of a person and introduce him to some manners. And maybe introduce him to the ground a lot. And get him kicked off campus. How dare he try to take advantage of Jack’s Frog?
“An’ then I started feelin’ weird, wanted to go. Guy wants me t’go with ‘im but I didn’ wan’ to. Jus’ wanted t’sleep.”
“I’m glad you didn’t go with him, Dex,” Jack says softly.
“Not super shhure how I got ‘way from ‘im ack-chully.” It’s a weird moment for laughter, but Dex’s confused face is pretty hilarious. “An’way, ness thing I ‘member is callin’ firs’ number on my speed dial an’ you pickin’ up the phone.”
Jack’s heart stutters at that admission. He’s Dex’s emergency contact. Dex called him for help and he answered. Thank god he answered.
“Glad I could help,” Jack says, only a little choked up. They’re almost back to his car now.
“Knew you would. You’re all grumpy n’ shit but I knew you’d help.”
“Course, Dex, got your back.”
“No’ like the fake people back home,” Dex says, “They’d all prolly just laugh an’ leave me to fall over.”
“We’re all here for you, Dex. You can count on that,” Shitty says.
“I love this stupid team,” Dex mumbles.
“Hey bud, try to stay awake just a little longer, okay?”
“‘Kay. Tired tho.”
“I know bud, it’s only about ten minutes to Overlook, okay?”
Dex chuckles thickly, “Abooot.”
Together he and Shitty get him loaded into the back seat, Shitty climbing in after him so he’s not alone back there. Jack drives to the hospital. Drunk Frogs he can deal with - roofied freshman, none of them are equipped for. Thank god Samwell is a small town. There’s almost no one else on the roads and Jack hits all green lights. He knows he’s pushing the speed limit. He finally gets to Overlook Hospital, finds parking close to the emergency room, and helps wrestle Dex inside. Dex is really flagging now.
Jack pushes through his own worry and anxiety at the situation long enough to get Dex into a room. He and Shitty are told to wait in the hall while they run some tests. The doctor will come update them in an hour or so. Jack makes his way to a really uncomfortable looking armchair and collapses into it. He feels rather than sees Shitty slump into the one next to him.
“What a night,” Shitty comments after a while. He rubs his face with both hands.
“Yeah,” says Jack. He’s barely keeping the anxiety at bay. He’s about to get up and start pacing when he feels Shitty put his hand over his own. The touch settles him enough to keep him in his chair.
“Hey,” Shitty says. “We found him in time. The doctors think he’s gonna be fine. They just want to observe him for an hour to make sure nothing else happens. He’s going to be fine.”
“I know, I know. I just -” Jack doesn’t want to say it, but if he doesn’t he might explode. “I almost didn’t answer the phone.”
“What do you mean?”
“It rang while I was editing, and I was in a groove. The phone interrupted me. Who calls at eleven thirty, right?” says Jack. “So I was just going to turn it off when I saw the caller ID. I almost didn’t answer the phone, Shitty.” He draws his knees up and hides his face in them. He’s such a shitty captain, friend, person - Dex could have died, he was trusting me to answer and I almost didn’t how can I live with myself -
“Jack. Look at me.” Jack rolls his head to the side enough to make eye contact with Shitty’s torso. He doesn’t want to see the look on his best friend’s face. He must be so disappointed.
“Jack. C’mon, all that matters is you did answer. You answered. And because you answered we went and found him and brought him here and he’s getting treated, and he’s going to be fine.” Somewhere in this mess, Shitty started rubbing his neck. It’s incredibly soothing. He doesn’t deserve it.
“But I -”
“No buts. You’re a fantastic captain and a worthy friend, and if I was a frog, I’d have you as my emergency contact too, bro.”
He speaks with such absolute conviction that Jack feels himself relaxing a fraction. Enough to meet his eyes.
“...Thanks Shits.”
“Got your back, bro. Just like you have mine. And Dex’s. And the rest of ours. I’ll tell you that every day if I have to.”
“I think I got it.”
“Good.”
“Shitty?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never been more scared. Or more furious.”
“Oh thank god. Me too.”
“Mr. Zimmermann? Mr. Knight?” They look up, Jack unfolding himself and Shitty sitting up straighter in his chair as the doctor approaches.
“Well, gentlemen, looks like your friend is going to make a full recovery. We’re getting some fluids into him to flush his system and I certainly don’t envy him the headache he’ll have when he wakes up, but he’ll be ready for discharge in a couple of hours.”
Jack’s body feels like a limp noodle at that news.
“Oh thank god,” says Shitty. “Thanks for letting us know.”
“Can we sit with him?” asks Jack.
“Of course, but don’t wake him up until at least one in the morning. If he wakes up on his own that’s fine, but the more he can sleep off now, the better.”
“Thank you.”
They edge into Dex’s room and sit in the chairs on either side of the bed, staring at the even-paler-than-normal form of Dex on the bed.
“You should try to get some sleep, too, Jack.”
“Too wired. You go ahead. If I'm too out of it when he’s discharged, you can drive back to the Haus.”
“Oh good, I was gonna suggest he stay at the Haus for a couple of days instead of his dorm.”
“Get some shut eye. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Try to relax a bit, at least put your feet up,” Shitty insists. Jack complies.
Shitty’s breathing matches Dex’s heart rate monitor for a while before slowing into his natural sleep patterns. Jack texts Bittle while he waits, updating him on the situation. Bittyle goes into full mother hen mode at the news - Jack’s never seen him so focused off the rink, or off Twitter. As Jack is still thinking about what needs to happen, Bittle’s already texting him updates. 
Bittle: texted Chowder - he and Nursey are gonna grab clothes and toiletries for a couple days
Bittle: Ransom and Holster changed the sheets in your room - figured Dex would be best there. You and Shitty are only a bathroom away, its only up one flight of stairs and you and Shitty room together on roadies already.
Bittle: Lardo’s going to email Dex’s teachers in the morning - she’s got access to his schedule 
Bittle: emailed Hall and Murray and copied the team trainer in case there are any lasting effects 
Bittle: Also I made him those raspberry squares he likes for the morning.
Bittle might be a miracle worker. Jack feels himself getting more relaxed with each update. He might actually get a little sleep.
Bittle: try to get some shut eye. We’ll all be at the Haus when y’all get back.
Jack closes his eyes. Just for a second. The sound of Dex’s heart monitor and Shitty’s breathing lulls him to sleep.
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zim-tits · a day ago
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i demand polyfrogs as emotional compensation now
i'm running on empty
PLEASE
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As u wishe
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idk if this has been said before but shittys number is 42 cause it’s the closest thing he can get to having 420 on his jersey
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unconventional-turtle · 18 hours ago
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feels like home
haus 2.0, for @birlcholtz's friendship week!
The funny thing about loneliness, is that sometimes you don’t even realize it was there, until it’s gone.
The Haus 2.0 Monday/Wednesday/Friday morning routine is, to put it mildly, chaotic. Which isn’t to say that Haus 2.0 isn’t chaotic at other times, but on those particular mornings it’s worse than usual. On those mornings everyone in the Haus, save their mystery roommate who works nights (or is maybe a rent-paying ghost?), has to leave at the same time. That means the kitchen is a rush of activity, everyone ends up with a cold shower, and there’s a lot of shouting before 8am.
Shitty is running late. In all honesty, it’s actually surprising that’s it’s taken until late September for this to happen. But regardless of whether it should have happened sooner or not, it’s happening now. By the time on his phone, he needs to leave in five minutes if he wants to make it to class on time without having to run. He still doesn’t have a shirt on yet. For perhaps the first time in his life, he is not shirtless of his own accord. He is shirtless because one of his haus mates stole his shirt.
“Yo, has anyone seen my light blue button up?” Shitty shouts.
“Have you seen my white hat?” Ransom shouts back.
Then Holster shouts something unintelligible from the basement. Shitty sighs. He doesn’t have time to play their usual game of shouting “What?” back and forth until someone caves and finds the other person. So, he grabs his backpack, and makes for the basement, catching up to Ransom who’s headed that way too.
“You haven’t seen my hat?” Ransom asks, and Shitty shakes his head.
“Are you sure Tater doesn’t still have it?”
Ransom nods, “He gave it back at Jack’s birthday party.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t let him keep it,” Shitty chirps.
“It’s my favorite hat!”
Shitty laughs. “Didn’t realize you loved anything more than Alexei Mashkov.”
Ransom doesn’t respond, just shoves him down the last two steps.
They enter Holster’s room and are greeted by the sight of a totally unapologetic Lardo, lying on his bed, white baseball cap on her head.
“Bro,” Ransom says pointing an accusatory finger at her.
“Bro,” Lardo echoes, pointing at Holster who’s wearing a light blue button up that is definitely too small.
The room is silent as everyone looks at each other for a moment and then they all burst into laughter.
“Dude what made you think that shirt was yours?”
“I have a shirt that looks exactly like this!”
“In size skinny boy law student?”
“HEY—”
“I thought I just shrunk it in the dryer on accident!”
“Stop trying to button it, you’re stretching it out even more!”
They all look again at Holster valiantly attempting to button the shirt despite it not reaching across his chest, and promptly dissolve into laughter again.
Shitty collapses down onto the floor still laughing and watches a giggling Holster finally give up his efforts to button the shirt, and Ransom tackle Lardo off the bed in an attempt to take his hat back.
He thinks: this feels like home.
In hindsight, it feels like he should have figured it out sooner. He didn’t.
Shitty spent all of last year desperately trying to make his Cambridge apartment feel like home. He’d had a housewarming party and invited all of his friends. He’d bought an apple pie scented candle. He put up a painting from Lardo, and a poster of Jack on the wall. He’d even bought teal curtains for the little kitchen like Bitty had brought to the Haus. He’d tried so hard to make his place feel like home, but it never quite had. It was never full of people he loved.
So many people had asked him if it was nice to be living alone, nice to not have to share a bathroom, nice to not have to deal with people being loud all the time. He’d never known how to explain why all those things grated on him instead. Now, surrounded by his friends, he realizes it was because he was lonely.
“Don’t do it Knight,” Lardo says suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Wh— I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making that face you always make when you’re about to make an emotional speech about how much you love us.”
Shitty didn’t know he had a face like that.
“But I—“
Lardo holds up a hand.
“Let’s skip to the part where we all say we love each other, and you can give us a speech sometime when all four of us aren’t half dressed and running dangerously late.”
Shitty pouts.
“Aw, she loves us,” Ransom says, snatching his hat off Lardo’s head. “We love you too.” Lardo smacks him, but she’s smiling.
“Ok, Lardo’s right,” Shitty agrees, “We’re gonna be late. Holtzy, can I have my shirt, or did you stretch it out irreparably?”
Holster shrugs but tosses the shirt to him anyways.
He throws on the shirt, buttoning it up as he presses a kiss to everyone’s forehead. Then he grabs his backpack and sprints out the door.
When Shitty slides into his seat he’s just barely on time. He’s pretty sure he looks disheveled, sweaty and out of breath from his run across campus and wearing a shirt that no longer fits quite right. The disapproving look he gets from his professor basically confirms it. Shitty finds that he really doesn’t care. No matter how his day goes, at the end of it, he’ll be going home.
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tingo-tango · a day ago
Ford: Oh no, it's a Lax Bro-
Tango: Hi Chad!
Lax Bro: 'Sup [walks away]
Ford: (to Tango) You know him?
Tango: Oh! No! Holster called them all Chads, but even though they're lax bros, I just say hi.
Ford: Huh
Whiskey: You...do know not all of them are named Chad, right?
Tango: Oh. No, I did not.
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asterlark · 17 hours ago
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for @birlcholtz 's friendship week and the shitty and jack prompt ive just been thinking about how in my mind at least, shitty doesn't know about kent and jack until jack comes out, but i think he knows something. i think jack appeared in freshman year still somewhat wrecked from how his relationship with kent ended, and he needed to talk to someone besides his therapist about it or he'd explode. shitty already knows that kent and jack were teammates and friends, and from there jack tries to explain what happened in their friendship & falling out and just leaves out all the parts where they kissed or slept together.
so more than anyone else in his life, shitty gets why jack feels distrustful and scared of being close to people, why he resists making friends, why he doesn't do certain things anymore. because he had a person that was his person, and then he suddenly didn't. until shitty comes along and validates that jack is worth loving and putting effort into loving, jack doesn't believe it himself and shitty knows that's in part to his past friendship with kent (and his relationships to his parents but that's a whole other post).
they taught each other how to be actual adult friends, how to give and receive love and how to let people in again. i think shitty didn't have a lot of close friends in high school, not ones he felt he could talk to about the stuff going on with his parents. so it's reciprocal with jack; they talk to each other about the hard things, the shit they've been through. they defend and protect each other to the ends of the earth because that's their best friend! and it means even more because they're each other's first real healthy best friend relationship.
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uncleshits · a day ago
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Lardo: you smell like weed
Shitty: I am weed
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omgcpausandstuff · 2 days ago
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Headcanon that none of the Tadpoles go out onto the Haus reading room in solidarity for one of them who is very afraid of heights.
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theythemzimms · 2 hours ago
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300 Kudos or Less OMGCP Fic Recs
I thought I’d share some fics I love that don’t have many kudos <3 feel free to add some recs of your own
trauma is an ocean by @stanthefrogs
M-rated, 1k words, complete, zimbits
Jack knows that his overdose will haunt him for the rest of his life. Most of the time, he seems to have it under control. Other times– well.
on the same wavelength by @parseisflat
G-rated, 795 words, complete, hallmurray
Hall and Murray putting Jack and Bittle on a line together was no fluke. They knew it would work.
It did for them, after all.
and learn to be (myself again) by @lilacborrower
T-rated, 1.5k words, complete, nurseydex
“Turn left onto Founder’s Road,” the automated voice says.
Dex flicks on his turn signal, checks his blind spot, and makes a right.
Notebooks, Vanilla Coke, open roads, and the feeling that you're not doing any of this quite right.
Pining for Panache by @karin848
T-rated, 15k words, complete, PBJ
Jack Zimmermann runs across figure skater Eric Bittle during a chance encounter one day at Samwell University. A crush takes hold of him, and all he has to do is find a way to tell Eric about it. A series of anonymous love letters and gifts sounds like the perfect way to woo someone when you're a socially inexperienced hockey robot.
Kent Parson meets Bitty during a chance encounter on campus and then through his teammates at the Samwell Men's Hockey Haus, whom this "Bitty" has been supplying with baked goods and a personality made of pure sunshine. His schedule is pretty packed with helping his best friend woo some "Eric" guy, but surely he can find some time on the side to pursue his own romantic endeavors - right?
screaming at the sky by @bittysthesis
M-rated, 14k words, WIP, pimms
Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann from start to finish.
Juniors era.
(Shut Up and) Dance With Me by @tingo-tango
T-rated, 6.2k words, WIP, whiskeytango
Professional dancer Tony Tangredi is on Dancing with the Stars. NHL Superstar and resident robot personality Connor Whisk is suggested by his PR team (read: forced) to participate to change up his reputation. Best friends Tango and Whiskey are pining for each other. Ford wants a vacation.
--
In other words, a Dancing with the Stars AU filled with pining, realizations, and a lack of actual dancing.
Speed-Dial by @cricketnationrise
T-rated, 1.9k words, complete
Jack is in the middle of writing his thesis when he gets the call. He ignores it, who would be calling him at eleven thirty at night? But for some reason he glances over after three rings, and a jolt goes through him when he sees the caller id: William Poindexter - Dex
Shit.
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cricketnationrise · 2 days ago
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san jose summer
“Chowder. Come on.”
“What?”
“You’re a literal millionaire, the starting goalie for the Sharks, you flew us both all the way out here in first class, and you’re seriously going to feed us Kraft Mac and Cheese right now?” Dex asks.
“Chill, Dex, KD is great.”
“Plus, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s like the only thing I know how to make,” Chowder admits.
“Respect,” Nursey says, bumping Chowder’s fist.
“Don’t they make you learn how to feed yourself in the NHL, like at least simple meals?”
“Meal kits are a real thing, Dex, and they are god’s gift to me personally,” says Chowder. “Just don’t tell Bitty.”
“You’re lucky I love you, Chowder,” Dex says, shaking his head, “Well, mostly I don’t need to hear about how he failed ‘his son’ so badly every time I see him if I did tell him.”
“Bet,” Nursey says.
“And like, I agree Nursey, KD is delicious, but you could have just gotten  take out.” Dex says as he crosses to the fridge and then the pantry, assessing what’s inside. 
“You just got off a really long flight! I wanted you to have something that was made with love!” Chowder protests.
“If we want something made with love, but also protein, you’ve got enough stuff for lasagna.” Dex goes to the sink to wash his hands.
“You can make lasagna?” the other two chorus.
“Please make us lasagna,” Chowder adds.
“Dude we live together, how come you’ve never made me lasagna?” Nursey asks.
“Mostly because it’s a lot of food for two people, and it never tastes right if you have to freeze and reheat it, and I like variety too much to eat the same thing for a week,” says Dex, gathering ingredients and a casserole dish.
He gets cooking, with some help from Chowder, and some play by play commentary from Nursey. (They all know better than to let Nursey actually help cook - it’s safer for all of them.) It’s actually pretty great being all in one place again. Ever since Chowder got traded from the Bruins to the Sharks two years after they graduated, they’ve been making do with quick visits when Chowder plays local teams and lots of Skype. But nothing beats the real thing.
He and Nursey are visiting Chowder for a whole month this summer. Perks of a renegotiated contract include being able to fly your two best friends out and feed three hungry Frogs for a month without breaking a sweat.
He gets the lasagna in the oven and talk turns to catching up on the last couple months since their last video chat. Chowder tells them more in depth about Farmer’s master’s program. He misses her, but she’ll eventually be moving out here, into Chowder’s ridiculously large house even - they just have to get through one more year. Nursey tells Chowder about how editing his latest poetry collection is going - it’s not. 
And Dex fumes about how his boss expects people to always be available on weekends and to be checking their email even after they clock out for the day. He’s been looking at other jobs pretty seriously lately. It’s only here in Chowder’s kitchen that he finally admits he’s been looking at starting his own company with a few of the people from his current job. It would be a fuck ton of work, but being able to create the atmosphere he wants would be more than worth it. 
It’s not until they’ve caught up on each other’s lives and have devolved into insulting each other with love and the wine bottle is almost empty that Dex thinks to ask:
“All that time in the Haus with Bitty, and you really didn’t learn anything? I spent about the same amount of time with him and learned plenty.”
“Well...I wasn’t super interested in actually learning? So I have some vocabulary and I like, know how to make scrambled eggs and grilled cheese and stuff like that, but mostly I just nodded in the right places and got to lick the spoon and Bitty always kept some back for me special if I wasn’t around.”
“Delightfully devious, my friend,” says Nursey.
The oven beeps, drawing their attention, and Dex checks the lasagna. It’s perfect. They’ll have to wait a bit for it to cool enough to eat, but their suitcases never made it past the entryway. By the time they finish unpacking the basics, the food will be ready. The next month is going to fly by, Dex knows, but right now he’s content to bask in the presence of his best friends.
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nativebullard · a day ago
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the only way i can see a rwrb/omgcp crossover going is like
alex: i was the cocaptain of my high schools lacrosse team
bitty: (squinting at him)
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as picky as i am about what a tv, animated or live action, omgcp adaptation would be, i would pay MAD cash to see how WGSS120/HIST376: Women, Food, & American Culture is played out. aka the moments leading up to “never fall for a straight boy”
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The path of righteousness is portraying Dex's eyes with the same golden shade as a wolf, lion, or British Shorthair.
The path that rocks is portraying his eyes as having the same qualities of a Common Potoo or Purple Starling.
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unconventional-turtle · 23 hours ago
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like? we're bros, bro
1.2k, rated g, ransom & holster, for @birlcholtz's friendship week!
Adam heard somewhere that the average age that people meet their best friend is 21. He's hoping that's true, because he's 20, and has never had anything close to a best friend. Sure, he's had plenty of friends in his life, but there's never been anyone he could've called a best friend. And there’s certainly never been anyone who would’ve called him their best friend. He had school friends, and hockey friends. He got invited to parties and always found a date to school dances. He liked his team in Waterloo just fine.
He's not lonely, but there's a little part of him that's always longed for the sort of friend he knew he could always count on. The sort of friend he knew would still be his friend even if they weren't in the same place all the time anymore.
And Adam's holding out hope that maybe he'll find someone like that in college. Because if he's being honest with himself, he's not that excited about college at all. He's still angry about his knee and upset that pro hockey will never even be an option anymore. It makes it hard to look forward to four more years of school.
Adam shows up to the first practice of the year, already uncomfortable. He didn't think it would be a big deal that he's older than most of the other freshman. And it isn't, not really. But it still makes him feel slightly out of place. He’s counting on hockey to make him feel like he belongs. At the same time, he’s not sure it will. He’ll be the same age as some of the upper classmen, with different hockey experience than all his teammates except Jack Zimmermann. But he knows for a fact that his junior hockey experience was nothing like that of the fallen hockey prince.
So, he arrives at Faber, ready to skate, and not quite ready to handle anything else.
If you asked most of his old friends, the first word they’d use to describe him would probably be “big” or “loud”. It’s true. He’s 6’4” and never passes up the opportunity to belt out showtunes. Right now, sitting on the bench in the locker room, lacing up his skates, he doesn’t feel big or loud. He hasn’t said anything to anyone besides a “hey” here and there. And now Jack Zimmermann is standing in the locker room, fully suited up, having apparently been doing his solitary pre-practice practice. Jack is silent and stoic, and his cheekbones and sharp blue eyes give him the sort of presence that makes Adam feel tiny.
See Adam maybe had a little bit of a crush on Jack when he was in high school and has maybe read some of the fan fiction about him and Kent Parson, and maybe thought that he might possibly become friends with Jack since they’re playing on the same team now. But now that they’re in the same room and Jack is talking about the first practice like its fucking game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals Adam almost laughs because yeah, that’s definitely not gonna happen. If he’s gonna make friends on this team it’ll be with people who know how to have fun.
They practice. It’s a little more laid-back since it’s the first day, but things are going well enough. Hockey is hockey. And then he gets paired with number 11.
“Yeah, I’m Birkholtz. Boys back in Juniors called me Birker,” he says by way of introduction.
“Oluransi," the dude responds. "Back in Toronto, the boys all called me Ranser.”
Adam is about to nod, maybe offer a fist bump, when the sophomore with a mustache and a rank flow (Shitty maybe?) skates by and says, “Oh shit! We should call you Ransom and Holster. Sick name for a d-pair.”
He considers it.
“Ransom—” he starts.
“—and Holster,” Oluransi finishes.
It is a sick name for a d-pair.
He looks at Ransom, who flashes him a grin and offers him a fist bump. Adam, or Holster now he supposes, grins back.
It’s probably stupid to think it, but in the moment, he thinks this dude is going to be my best friend.
-
That thought was maybe less stupid than Adam initially thought. Two years later and he and Ransom are sort of inseparable. They share a bunk bed at the Haus. They plan every Kegster together. They find each other dates for Winter Screw. They’d road tripped back to school together. A trip that Jack, who has somehow also become his friend, declined to go on. (Although that was probably for the best seeing as he would’ve had something to say when their road trip diet consisted of nothing but gas station snacks). They’re already planning next summer’s Niagara Falls trip.
Adam thinks that maybe, they might be best friends. He’s certainly called Ransom his best friend before, and Ransom has called him his best friend before. But there’s no way for him to know if Ransom means it the same way he does.
-
Adam is in Toronto.
It’s not the first time he’s been to Toronto, nor is it the first time he’s visited Ransom in Toronto. In fact, nothing about the situation he’s in should be weird at all. Except, it kind of is. Because he’s at Ransom’s house for the holidays, surrounded by his family members, and Ransom’s aunt who isn’t actually his aunt made the jollof rice Adam likes and—
“Why am I here?” he blurts out.
Ransom laughs a little, looking confused.
“Dude, what?”
“Why am I here?” he repeats.
Ransom frowns at him.
“Because my mom invited you? And you said yes?”
Adam groans.
“No, I know that. But like. This is a family event. Why am I here.”
Ransom punches him in the arm.
“Come on man, you’re my best friend. My parents love you. My sisters even like you. You’re basically family.”
Adam can’t manage more than a quiet, “Oh.”
It’s not that he didn’t think he and Ransom weren’t close. And it’s not like he didn’t know that Ransom’s family liked him. But something about hearing Ransom actually say it out loud, something about hearing Ransom use “best friend” and “family” in the same sentence, finally makes him realize that Ransom means it the same way he does.
“You’re my best friend too, you know.” he says.
Ransom laughs.
“I know. Didn’t we establish this like three months into freshman year?”
“Yeah, but…” Holster shrugs, not really sure how to explain that he didn’t quite believe it until just now.
They’re both quiet for a moment, listening to the barely contained chaos of a large family gathering.
“I do have a question though,” Ransom says. “Why has your mom never invited me over for the holidays?”
Adam sighs.
“Because my little sister has a horrible, awful crush on you, and absolutely no one wants to suffer through multiple days of watching her awkwardly try to flirt with you. I love you man, but…”
“Aw you don’t want me to be your brother-in-law?” Ransom chirps, amused grin on his face. He is well aware of the crush and thinks it’s funny.
Adam shoves him into the side of the couch.
“Let’s keep it at brother-in-spirit.”
When Ransom smiles this time it’s genuine.
“Ok bro.”
-
Adam heard somewhere that the average age that people meet their best friend is 21. It seems that, for him at least, that number is pretty much right.
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