Does Bitty have roommates? Holster says that it's a Samwell tradition for roommates to pick winter screw dates, but he and Ransom will do it anyways, implying he has some. Also, where in relation to the map is his dorm?
UHMM, Bitty’s roommates are all compsci majors who are constantly squirreled away in computer labs, hacking and churning out code.
HERE’S BITTY’S ROOM!! (Though I’m realizing that the scale on this map is off.)
Poor thing. It takes him forever to get anywhere. And you know Ransom and/or Holster demand to walk him back to his room after Bitty drops a few kegsters.
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A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps
"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."
"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."
Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those."
Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."
"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."
"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."
"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."
"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"
"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]
[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."
"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."
[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"
"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."
Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!"
Jack: "…Your kitchen?"
Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm."
Jack: "My big…?"
[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."
[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"
"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."
"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"
[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."
[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."
"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."
"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."
"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"
[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."
[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."
[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."
[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."
"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"
[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"
[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!"
Jack: "Stop crying first."
"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."
[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."
"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."
[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared."
Jack: "Yeah, you should be."
[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S."
Holster: "…Jack."
Jack: ":)"
Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?"
Jack: "No."
Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann."
Jack: "Well. Not in French."
[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"
[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"
"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."
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for the rest of their lives any person who has been a member of SMH has gotten the same confusion squinting thrown in their direction:
"Wait. Justin. You baked these cookies?"
"Who made this pie—Anthony?"
"Will, these are the most perfect pancakes I've ever—"
"Larissa, you could enter these into a contest. Holy shit."
"Okay, Alexei, where did you buy these?"
And everyone is like:
"Oh, yeah, I had this friend in college—"
"Yeah, I got really good at baking in college—"
"A friend taught me how to make two dozen pancakes while hungover—"
"Yeah. It's an award-winning recipe. I learned it from a friend—"
"Not store bought; I made them!!"
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writing prompt: ship of your choice, character a gently unbuttoning/buttoning up character b's button up
George’s text flashes across his phone and Jack tilts it towards himself, sighs, rubs his eyes in a stiff and awkward way. Of course there’s a presser. She wrote it apologetically enough — I know. I argued against it. They want you in an hour. — or apologetically enough for George, nicer than the rest of management, nicer than the itchiness of this cast.
Falconer Blue? the doctor had suggested. Jack’s nod was more of a shrug, but no one really seemed to notice. It wasn’t a bad hit, just unlucky. Too much momentum and too close to the boards. Pretty common, really, if you think about it. He hadn’t even needed to be carried off the ice.
And now he’s cold and sitting on the patient bed, swinging his feet out of habit and trying not to, trying to figure out what to text back.
The door bangs open. “Jack!”
“Bits,” he says. Bitty’s cowlick’s sticking up wildly. Jack smiles at it. “Hey.”
Bitty crosses the room in seconds, hands fluttering over Jack’s shoulder and cast and the open line of his shirt, mouth in a thin line. “Does it hurt?”
Yes. “Euh, not too bad—”
Bitty’s mouth thins further. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, do not lie to me.”
“It’s not … great,” he admits.
“I knew it.” Bitty’s hands settle on Jack’s knees. “MacPherson, right? Lord help that boy if I ever—”
He’s still frowning at the cast. Jack touches two fingers under his chin, raising his eyes so they’re looking at each other.
“It was an accident,” he says gently. “It’s okay. It’s the end of the season anyway, I’m not missing anything, we’re already not going to the playoffs.”
It’s funny saying this when, a few years earlier, this would’ve been devastating. And it’s still a slight disappointment, it is; when they’d missed their playoff berth last game, he’d taken a long walk and even longer shower. But Bitty had baked a pie and Shitty had piled on top of him and Lardo had shown pictures of their new dog, so. There are better, more worthwhile things to miss.
“Okay,” Bitty says. The corner of his mouth relaxes somewhat. “But I’m still taking MacPherson off my jam list.”
Jack says, “Didn’t expect anything else,” and after they kiss, Bitty fiddles with the hem of his shirt.
“Guess we’d better get you out of here then, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says.
Jack smiles. “Guess so.”
Bitty does his buttons without being asked. He takes his time, lightly brushing Jack’s stomach and chest as if using the moment to make sure there aren’t any other bruises or scrapes or aches Jack’s hiding from him. Here and there he presses his lips to a freckle, an old cut, a random shadow. Jack watches him quietly, in love and being loved back.
send me prompts?
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