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camilliar · 3 years

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recs for someone new to omgcp

[February 2021.]

Reading, or not reading, OMGCP fics has come up in a couple of conversations I’ve had recently with artists newish to the fandom (ie. @jovishark; @decafffff), who are making OMGCP art (!!!) but haven’t started exploring fic -- but maybe want to? Which of course reminded me that I’ve never bothered to make an actual, concrete recs list for this fandom. So, I mean. Here is one.

The approach is, what do I think about when I think about OMGCP fanfic? What comes to mind, what stands out to me? I have excluded some very popular fics. Some of these I just don’t think are very good, and others I do think are good, and/or I enjoy them, but I don’t see why you’d need me, specifically, to recommend them. I am thinking of a story like maybe i’m waking up, which I discuss below because I link to a podfic of it. It has a lot of merits, to be sure, but it��s the second-most-read fic in this fandom by hits, and it’s got thousands of comments, and it’s by an author whose work is relatively widely praised and circulated. I am not sure what telling you more about this fic will add to the conversation; if you want to find and read it, you inevitably will. I’m happy to, say, answer asks about these kinds of fics, or talk more generally about them via DM or whatever. Feel free.

Also, I don’t think there’s a point to pretending to be objective about fanfic; this list has a perspective and that perspective is mine. In this fandom I largely read stories that navigate the tension around Jack, Bitty, and Parse, in various permutations. This is not to say that I’ve never read fic about the frogs, or that I have no interest at all in other pairings, but I am by no means an expert on Dex/Nursey and can really only speak to the one fic about them that sticks out to me because it goes beyond being merely Dex/Nursey and does something else. This is just to say that I am sure there are great and interesting fics about other things and ideas--but I’m not the person to hear about those from.

Likewise, I’m not super interested in stories that really reproduce that which is already in OMGCP. I like Zimbits--albeit maybe not in the ways or for the reasons most fans would--but I do not really need to see endless iterations of the same story about them falling in love and being cute together. I don’t think these stories are bad or they shouldn’t exist or that they have no merit by default. Still, I don’t need fanfic to give me more OMGCP. I need fanfic to complicate, to comment on, and to transform OMGCP. Many people don’t work like this! Totally okay! But I can’t rec you fics that do that.

What I have noticed, however, is that over time there appears to have been a shift in how people do write fic for this fandom. (Other than, you know, increases and decreases in activity pending the status of the comic, pairings going in and out of vogue, and so on.) Early on, say during Y1 and Y2, the comic was about the group of friends having a cool time at college together; about whether the burgeoning attraction between Jack and Bitty would manifest and, if so, how; and, especially, Jack’s past coming into fuller view for Bitty and how it would have to be dealt with in order for a relationship between them to work. YMMV on how great the comic executed there, but as Y3 went on these themes increasingly disappeared from the story. I think this means a lot of fic written over 2015-2016 or 2017 has one kind of tone, and was written mostly around these questions; after that, it feels like a new crop of writers and a new crop of ideas started circulating, that is, either embracing Jack and Bitty’s canon relationship and accepting its relative straightforwardness in text--or deconstructing it, imagining what readers aren’t seeing, or how problems not dealt with in the comic would manifest later. People who have read my fic know which of these I’m mainly interested in exploring.

All of which is to say, looking at what I’m reccing here, when the fics were posted or when I first read them probably has a lot to do with why they stick out to me so much. Because there’s no real culture of fanfic criticism--and I mean that in the positivist sense of broad evaluation not explicitly for fault and merit but rather, for context--I think it’s really hard to keep this in mind. But I’m obnoxious and I can’t just be easy about things.

Fic recs

In alphabetical order, somewhat unsorted; if a stand-alone fic has a summary I’ve included it, but in other cases I’ve recced a couple of conceptually related fics or series, which I’ve tried to just describe or explain as opposed to copying the summary off AO3.

There are so many more fanfics I think are great and worth reading! In an ideal world I’d come back and add more later, or create a secondary list that’s more along the lines of “if you like this, read these,” or whatever. But, being realistic, this is a starter kit. I’m open to talking about fanfic.

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7-0-2 by Idday; Friends in Low Places and Sorry for the Blood in Your Mouth; I Wish it was Mine by blue_rocket_frost | I’m not sure it would be correct to say that I don’t like Parse/Tater, or that I’m not interested in Parse/Tater. I’m not interested in Patater a priori; I think it could be interesting, with teeth. These fics stick out to me when I think about this pairing, because they feel different. Accusations of a preference for just linking any two white men who happen to be hanging around have validity, but because of what hockey is and how it works and who’s hanging around it, it’s not exactly a leap to imagine what kind of gritty spark the friction between two closeted NHL players would create. A little violence in your sex? A little sex in your violence.

A Sight Worth Seeing by sadtomato | A four-fic Jack/Bitty/Shitty/Lardo explicit BDSM series. Either you want that or you don’t. It’s nothing hardcore, and not properly a four-way, really; more properly a kind of voyeuristic round-robin. There’s a more open and egalitarian view of sex here than I really get from the characters in the back end of the comic. It’s an expansive, propulsive view of sex and relationships that’s really nice to see. I love Lardo's detached coolness, and Bitty as a smooth operator; if you’re looking for some kind of Dom/sub dynamics world, this really isn’t it, but it’s a lively exploration into the sexual dynamics in a group of friends that’s super close to the good-times vibe you get from Haus scenes in the first couple years of extras.

call me son (one more time) by Summerfrost, Verbyna, and blithelybonny | This is a series, incomplete, and you will love it or be massively put off by it. I mean that as a compliment. I love it. The premise is, Bob Zimmermann and Kent Parson have been having sex since Kent was, like, 19. Everyone in this story has been chewed up: by themselves, by each other, by hockey. Plainly, this is a pretty bleak view of what OMGCP, as a story, is supposedly offering. If you want fic that is dark and glamorous, treading the toxic melange of substance abuse, sex-as-sublimation, and so much money you can’t possibly throw all of it away without trying, this series has that sick-inducing shimmer to it. But, again, its strength is its examination of Kent Parson, textually and meta-textually, as someone to be projected onto. Bob, Alicia, Jack, and Bitty all impute certain feelings of their own onto him, displacing their own issues to a character who’s centralized in every fic but defies neat or total comprehension. Some critiques I’ve read of this series feel it’s too dark, and I’ve also seen it argued on FFA that an overwhelming amount of praise heaped onto these stories has made it tough for other writers to make headway in writing Bob/Kent fic. But I’m also not sure you could engage with Bob/Kent fic without going down this road at some point? I’m sure there are ways to scale it back, but ultimately it’s a story about how hockey’s violent, homophobic, old-guard gatekeeping has continued to set the terms for a younger and ostensibly less toxic culture. I fully embrace PWP fics that tread on the power dynamic without fully excavating it, but buried within any PWP is the fact that a 53-year-old man is ensnaring a 19-year-old, no matter how much the latter is, realistically, into it, and legally empowered to consent. Not to mention the dynamics of it being a 53-year-old man who is the father of the 19-year-old’s ex-boyfriend, and a 53-year-old man who is an eminence grise in the field the 19-year-old is trying to make a career in The sexual element--the vaguely incestuous nature of it--is making textual the subtext of how hockey works, actually: objectification of teenage bodies as older men’s capital.

Coach Z by thistidalwave | Just before the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, tp prospect Jack Zimmermann overdoses on his anxiety medication and is admitted to rehab. His future turns from a clear-cut road to the top into an uncertain path filled with therapy appointments, ignored text messages, a group of boys who aren't there to teach him a lesson about himself, and, of course, hockey. | I keep reccing this fic because it has 360 comments on AO3 but nobody, as far as I can tell, has ever read it; it never appears on rec lists. This isn’t the kind of fanfic I usually go in for, but I can’t help being charmed by it. This is a character study in the truest sense, a kind of Mighty Ducks-but-better view on what Jack’s time coaching peewee hockey might have been like. I have no interest in kids and my own aesthetic is maybe a little darker than this, but I admire this story because it injects vibrancy into a period of Jack’s life that OMGCP has left largely unexplored, and so has the fandom. We know nothing about what made Jack want to go to college, nothing about how he spent his days in between juniors and Samwell. It posits a very sympathetic and patient Jack/Parse dynamic, showcasing the exact kind of ragged teenage push-and-pull that would have led to the circumstances we see in Parse I-III. The outside perspective Jack needs is largely present in an OFC who’s not a love interest. Super unique, somehow both engrossing and low-key.

#dirtbags by angularmomentum | A series that is a Kent Parson/Claude Giroux fuckfest with feelings. I’ve long suspected that Parse is popular in part because he is the character who most easily elides OMGCP with the actual NHL, or rather, NHL fandom; I think he made it appealing to write OMGCP fics where the NHL is a factor. Case in point, this series, which is basically “what if Kent Parson was a real hockey player and therefore part of NHL RPS”? I have only read some NHL RPS, so I’m not the person to assess accuracy, but what I do know is superstar IRL hockey players take turns here as the caricature fanfic versions of themselves, and since Kent Parson is already that, it’s great how seamlessly he integrates into their social fabric. Rambunctious energy peppered with regret and loss, but ultimately this series is farcical, and it doesn’t take its sentimental ending too seriously--which, good.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible | 5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth. | As a fic format, 5+1 doesn’t usually work for me, but this one isn’t just front-loaded with five too-knowing vignettes; it then wraps up by using its +1 better than you might expect. Sometimes I talk about economy of fic, and this one exemplifies it. A zero-waste fic.

go ahead and move along by originally | "Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again. Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop. | Kent Parson is trapped in a Groundhog Day scenario on the day of Epikegster. I’m sure you can imagine, just from that, what happens. And yet I think this fic is super entertaining, reserving some key surprises. What this story is doing is something a lot, and perhaps even the majority, of great Jack/Parse fic wants to do: digging into the question of just why this can’t work in comic canon. Most often this is approached from the past, by writing teenage Jack/Parse deep-dives that examine their lives mid-juniors, or by writing AUs where enough circumstances are shifted that it does work, or via future fics that posit enough growth has happened, and enough things have changed. But this fic makes Parse live the same bad day again and again, testing multiple theories about just how dependent on circumstance and incident real life actually is. Another day, another tone, 10 minutes sooner, not at all--you just can’t know why it didn’t work until you exhaust every possible variable. I worry that this rec has sucked the life out of the story, though--it’s so fun!

I Saw a Life and Strange Lovers by @bluegrasshole | Most AUs in this fandom seem to retell the story in a new setting or with some big detail change, following OMGCP’s rhythm beat-for-beat. I think of this as, “It’s the plot of Check, Please, but” -- they’re doing high school football? They’re acrobats? They’re a/b/o? They’re in a DIY punk band? And so on. These two stories are not that! They’re both 1950s AUs, each deeply felt, and yet hugely different from each other. I Saw a Life is about displacement and fragmentation, two sides of a similar but incongruent social critique; Strange Lovers is a finely wrought social drama about coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s, centered around historical events. I suppose a theme on this rec list is something like, “I don’t even like this, but” -- yes, okay, I don’t even like Dex/Nursey, but--! This fic is so overwhelmingly complete, the AU laid out so carefully that the story breathes with all the background details informing the writing that aren’t actually, in the story; you just know they’re below the surface. (With the exception of one investigation of Jack’s character in a short, separate fic.) I Saw a Life, meanwhile, really tests the limits of the notion that Jack and Bitty are soulmates--not by calling it into question but by asking, rather innovatively, how the setting and place of the comic itself activates that.

Les Hivers de mon enfance by staranise | What do you do when hockey is the language of prayer for your soul, and also the toxic thing that almost killed you? 2009: Jack Zimmermann takes a mental health year. God knows he needs it. | Here’s a fic by someone who’s no longer around so much, but she felt ubiquitous in 2016-2019 OMGCP fandom. Before any of that, though, she wrote this one lovely fic about Jack’s pre-Samwell recovery. The author is Canadian and really irritated by hockey culture, and I think this fic benefits greatly because she is clear-eyed about Jack’s being caught in an exploitative system; it’s hockey he’s in recovery for, in a way. There’s an epistolary element that works for me, too. I read this early on in my time in OMGCP fandom and it really stuck with me.

Lysistrata? I Hardly Know Her! (by which I mean everything) by @tomatowrites | It feels somehow like cheating to recommend OMGCP fanfics by my OMGCP BFF with whom I make an OMGCP podcast where we talk about OMGCP. You know the fics I really want to rec, like truly the ones that speak to some kind of shared depravity, are the ones where Jack is miserably mpreg for the second time and accidentally lets his kid see Kent Parson’s Long John Silver’s shrimp scampi promo spot, which obviously would get twisted into a self-hating three-way. How many times do I have to rec this fic? As many as I need to, is my feeling. If you don’t know, Long John Silver’s is an American fast-food chain that sells, like, fried pollock sandwiches; it is nautical-themed; I have never eaten there; I don’t know where there is one; I don’t eat fried fish. (Shrimp, on the other hand?) All of which is to say that it takes a real genius to investigate a premise that far out. And while a lot of people almost certainly will start reading this humanity’s depths-themed sex scene and back the fuck out, readers with refined taste will note that Kent, the point-of-view character, is right there with you, despairing that he can’t help himself. And so long as you’re in that story collection, honestly, you’ll love petite gems like Jack is transmasc, Jack and Shitty play hockey in 18th-century England, and oh, right, he’s from Georgia. Tomato holds the distinction of being probably the gamest author I know in this fandom, just really like fearless in her pursuit of any range of concept she’s pushed to. (I can push her to?) See, for example, a sublime bandom AU; Bitty is cancelled for buying a maybe-unethically exported Roman fragment of a youth’s torso; or, god, the masterwork that is this future fic series where Jack keeps relapsing and Bitty exiles him to their guesthouse. Do I think you need to read a fic where Bitty is snide about the teen prostitute whose baby they’re adopting? Yes, I mean, he would be snide, don’t tell me he wouldn’t. I could go on, but my main thing here is, if I have to pick just one, I’m going to pick this Lysistrata fic. The premise, literally, is that Bitty reads the Lysistrata and it gives him ideas. Like most of Tomato’s OMGCP fic, it’s a stripping away of the comic’s polite fiction that Jack and Bitty could possibly attain the ideal it reaches in the comic without some kind of messy, efflusive breakdown. Life is like that, you see! Tricky. Like a lot of people, although it’s tough to say precisely how many, I have always intuited that maybe Bitty is kind of a natural top? But obviously when you meet him, as a literal virgin, it’s hard to see how he’d go from zero to self-actualization so neatly. This fic floats a theory, and it has a fun little side plot for Whiskey, something I never thought about or needed before Tomato built it out herein. In conclusion, BONUS: Dex’s gay lobster novel.

only fools rush in and the light of all lights by decinq | This person wrote of the nature of the wound, one of the early, formative Jack/Bitty fics that was oft-recced when I was getting into the fandom in 2016. It forms part of a larger series that deals deeply with how Jack has been shaped by his struggles (? I hate this word) with homophobia and his own mental health. It’s a picture of the character as you might have imagined him much earlier in the comic’s run. The formatting is atrocious and he author’s flair is what Tomato would call “AO3 house style.” It’s a voice that works great for her writing. I think it’s at its best in these shorter fics; the former is about Parse and Shitty stumbling into a relationship almost accidentally; the latter, an eerie PBJ vampire fic. I had begun writing a fic where Parse is a vampire early on in this fandom, only to read this and immediately quit, because you only need one, and this one’s all I need. The Parse/Shitty rare pair fic shares its exuberance with hockey RPS when it’s good: here’s how fun it can be when you’re young, rich, and jocular. And I don’t even like accidental marriage AUs, they’re usually boring, so that says a lot. By all means, read the wound fic; read the entire series. But these are highly unusual.

OVERDOSE and Oomph and a little spin-o-rama by jedusaur | None of these are long, or plotty, and they’re all a little experimental. OVERDOSE is an AU set in a world where you know how you’ll die, but no details; Oomph, a little fic where Jack hears hockey pucks talking to him. This is the kind of stuff I used to think I’d find in fandom forever, coming out of Lotrips lurking in the 2000s: short, zany bursts of energy that surprise and delight. a little spin-o-rama peers at Kent’s character through the grim reality of being the hypertalented superstar stuck on a dead-last team. All three are sparse and stylish in a way that’s really smart, practically economical.

Sowing Season by @agrossunderstatement | Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. Kent Parson's life, from the Q, through his early years with the Aces, to Jack's senior year. Canon divergent. A story of love, loss, moving on, regressing, hockey, and found families of all kinds. | Effectively a novel, digging into Kent’s personal history, mostly concerning his life in juniors but expanding into his present, overlapping with the plot of OMGCP. I think there is room enough for endless speculations on what went down pre-canon; this one offers a fuller life for Kent than nearly any others, digging into him as a whole person rather than as a satellite to Jack or the plot of the comic. Which isn’t to say that the Kent/Jack stuff isn’t dealt with here; it explicitly is. But the fact of Kent Parson’s life, if we can begin to imagine it beyond mere text, would exist before, after, and alongside Jack; he gets to juniors without Jack, presumably, and he is the captain of a hockey team without Jack, and Pinkerton lays the foundation of Parse’s character within a junior hockey that Jack also inhabits, more so that Parse existing for Jack, so to speak. And I’m not implying this latter tactic is wrong; I have certainly employed it, and others have employed it to great impact and effect. But, still, the title of this series tells you what you ought to know: Kent and his story are the potentiality of OMGCP, up to a point; seeds being planted. Young hockey players, similarly. The question implied there is, what will be reaped? And the answer to the latter, in a sense, that reaping is a sort of violence. Which makes this series sound pretty heavy, but it’s not -- more like, realistic.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife by @queerofcups | The biggest problem with pretending that he doesn’t know that Kent Parson is fucking his husband is that Jack can’t tell Kent how grateful he is. | The ne plus ultra of PBJ triangulation; I’ve been squealing to the writer about how good it is since August, begging for behind-the-scenes insights, and I’d only do that if I really meant it. The precarious social fabric stretched across these three chapters is fraying before the reader’s eyes. The details are delicious, and I don’t want to spoil them, but they sing in chorus with the plot. My favorite OMGCP fics, honestly, remove the romance narrative guardrails that keep things in the comic itself humming along. I think Dann’s take is to ask who in this comic has power and what they would end up doing with it. (Or not doing, from another angle.) At one point, early on in its telling, OMGCP looked like it was going to be a story dealing with the compounded traumas of hockey’s discontents. Then, of course, it wasn’t. This is a fic that steps back and asks what the fallout of that oversight would be. But that’s just the moldering core of this fanfic; it’s actually embroidered, like I said, with glittering detail. The color of the suit Bitty wears to his wedding is burned into my brain. The gray manicure of a woman Jack knows. The ingredients in a cake. This is one of those fics I still haven’t reviewed because the thought of stacking everything I could say about it into mere AO3 comments is inadequate.

when you’re ready by megancrtr | The Aces’ director of communications gets the call at 3:13 a.m. Jack Zimmermann has withdrawn from the draft. | “What happened at the draft” is so mythological it gets asked in the comic proper, and I’ve never counted how many fics attempt to answer this question--from Kent’s point of view, even--but it’s gotta be, oh, hundreds. This story replays the situation from the perspective of an Aces staffer who just wants to do her job, and gets at the jarring discordance between the plot of OMGCP in its quest for social justice and the business of actual hockey. Important context is that this story was written around the time the comic was playing out the end of Y3 and start of Y4, and Bitty pointedly asked Jack the question, “why can’t we?” This story reframes the question as literal, rather than rhetorical. A sterling example of fanfic being a gloss on its source.

BONUS, podfics

hockeyed up | There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey. | A fic read aloud by its French-Canadian author. Also a relatively early OMGCP fanfic; composed while the first semester of Y2 was posting, the story suggests a version of OMGCP that was in some ways more and in other ways less complex than what it would turn into not long after. The real power of this podfic, however, is that it’s read by the writer, so you can hear the intended emphasis in every line. Also, because she’s French-Canadian, Sophie’s intonation is what I picture when I read or write dialogue for Jack.

maybe i’m waking up | It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.) | Don’t get too excited; this isn’t finished. A podfic of probably the best-known, most-recced fic in OMGCP fandom. Striking for its use of metatext woven into the story, this is one of several early longform Jack/Bitty fics that posits that maybe Jack has a lot more development to undergo before he can really, truly, be okay--or be okay enough to be with Bitty? To be honest, this story strikes me now as too long, but the parts in it that work are effective beyond that which fanfic demands. Meanwhile, this audio version only covers six chapters, but it’s so slick, so well-realized, so true to the story. Podfic as art.

my own dear friends | Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) | There’s previous little Jack/Shitty in this fandom and a lot less quality BDSM,

the city’s ours until the fall | Kent has been, historically, good at this—forgetting about things until suddenly he doesn’t, and then it’s like the scar has never been there in the first place, just the wound. (Or: Kent Parson lets himself be happy, after all this time.) | I’ve never read this fic and I never will. I cannot imagine how, no matter how good it is, it could compare to the version that lives in my head, with Kent’s voice so totally realized. Vocal fry and pathos, a languid energy that I still think about when I think about Parse.

the model home | It’s going to be better, and that’s great, but sometimes Jack thinks, why can’t it be good right now? | j/k j/k, this is a self-reminder to finally one day review this.

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cherrymoonvol6 · 4 years

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absolutely no one asked for this but i will rank every kent parson pairing that i can think about (warning: SUPER subjective, but i tried)

kent/bad bob

i don’t even know what to say except NO. come fucking on. -1000000/10

kent/fry guy

i mean... first of all, LOL. second of all, if we take in account that all the times we see fry guy he’s being annoyed by either jack’s or bitty’s accomplishments/happiness, then i can see them bonding over that and going straight to the hook up. but again, come onnnnn in the best cases this is either a blatant self-insert or pushing the concept of a crack-ship, at worst this is deliberatedly ignoring richer characters in the comic in order to pair kent with the LOL option. 2/10

kent/bitty

i feel like this is the one pairing that makes NO sense at all yet i know people are gonna go for it because two conventionally attractive guys together cute. imo a lot of people go into this thinking bitty is morally superior than kent and it’s like an extension of the kent discourse and a form of a “fix-it” for him (and fix WHAT?) (if you don’t, you are so valid and please keep going). like, do you really think kent parson would give a single fuck about eric bittle? i love bitty, but c’mon. this is like the kinda thing bitty would come up with in his own head to make himself feel better about his second-hand feelings of anger and sadness over kent and jack’s history. your only shot at this is to write one or both of them ooc, which, valid i guess. 3/10

kent/holster

same thing with fry guy: holster isn’t very fond of jack, he and kent can bond over that. i can totally see holster being kent’s type, too. maybe holster wants to act some of that steamy jackparse fanfiction with him. 4/10, has potential

kent/ransom

bro did you SEE ransom’s face while talking about parse coming to the epikegster on year 3????? and kent remembering ransom on that forbidden update????? after all, ransom was the one holding kent’s body issue on parse ii. nhl guys are ransom’s weakness, 200%: they’d hook up and then they’d spent the rest of the night gushing about how hot tater is. 6/10

kent/tyler seguin

bro this pairing is like, fucking hysterical. whoever came up with this, i love you because is there anything more on brand for kent than pairing him with the irl hockey player he’s based off??? this is a crack ship done right. 6.5/10

kent/whiskey

listen....... i’d be so up for this. whiskey and kent are essentially the same person. whiskey is literally what kent would’ve been if he had gone to college. they’re SUPER ambitious and competitive, have problems opening up, it’s all about the Fronts(tm), but like. what’s that age difference, again? like, six years? idk. idk, man. if they were to end on the same team, though, they’d vibe so hard with each other... opening up to each other might be pushing it, though. whiskey must have mad respect for him because he’s a great player and same with kent! so like, if i pretend i do not see it, 7/10

kent/scraps

am i imagining it or did ngozi describe scraps as someone who sees kent as the smartest one in the room? or something like that. anyways, it’s about time that kent gets someone on his life that he can confide in and then return some of that love. if they’re not higher on the list is because i like them more as the platonic bond kent desperately needs (also i’m not sure about what the age gap is?), but friends to lovers following deep conversations and personal growth in an incredibly toxic environment? good shit. 7/10

kent/lardo

i feel like this is either a hit or miss with whether you headcanon kent as gay or bi, but even though i always think of kent as gay i’m so up for this pairing. i feel like they have so many things in common and you could truly portray them in such different settings! and i love to think about them opening up to each other. oh, the softness and tenderness that could come out of these two!!! bonus if we get jackshit as the background couple, plus that damn jackparse reconciliation. 8/10

kent/omc

i love kent parson, which means i’m always up for the idea of him getting himself a boyfriend who can challenge him and drive him to want to become a better person so that he can come out of that self-destruction spiral that his life in the nhl has been. free space, you can quite literally do anything with this. 8/10

kent/swoops

i hate to say this but this pairing, though it’s the friends-to-lovers crusade that kent deserves on his nhl life, is kind of a wild card because swoops is just a shell of a character. this pairing is kinda like kent/omc but the omc has actually appeared in canon. but again, FRIENDS TO LOVERS and there’s SO many cute and angsty and wholesome things you could get out of it. 8/10

kent/tater

listen, enemies-to-lovers isn’t my shit, i’ll admit it. but i love tater and i love kent and seeing them clashing looks like so much fun. i feel like once kent shows some of the ugly things he’s hiding inside, these two could click so well. and also that one panel with tater lifting kent off the ground with one hand, out of pure anger at this little shit trying to make jack’s nhl life a living hell, boy oh boy do i love me some of that. with them, and if done right, there could be a great balance between humour and the deep angst we all know and love from kent fics and character studies. plus, it’s going to eventually push a jackparse reconciliation. gimme all that closure baby! 9/10

kent/jack

you 200% expected this if you have seen a single post from my blog. i mean.... this literally has it all. the two characters with the richest backstories and/or development. rivals to friends to “lovers” to enemies to ??? to enemiesANDrivals to eventual lovers??? YOU pick it. you get all the angst, all the conflict surrounding each others’ expectations, the pressure of the hockey world around them, the APOLOGIES and the growing up, the delicious trope of them individually solving their shit and then coming back to each other. all the personality clashes! legends on the ice! kenny and zimms! jack and cat content! absolutely everything you could wish for. hot and steamy? we got it. angry and challenging? hell yeah. soft and forgiving, eventually? just the best of the best. you get the closure that bitty’s pov couldn’t provide, character studies, SO many different types of pining and unrequited and forbidden love... if you’re not on the jackparse life, you are missing out. come join us in hell. 1000000/10

#omgcp #parse positive #kent parson #long post

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iphoenixrising · 4 years

Text

Check, Please WIP: Part 1-4

AHL!Bitty

I’m going to hell, but… Parse, Bitty, and Jack or PB&J as I’ve seen it, have some wonderful stories in the fandom, and tbh I’ve come to look at Kent Parsons very differently thanks to a few. You can probably check them out on my Ao3 bookmarks and such.

Notes:

I know shit all about hockey but damn if I don’t love Check, Please! Not everything is accurate and some details are mine. Like, I’m just going to pretend the Bruins aren’t in Providence, and the Pawtucket Rebels are the AHL team.

But then, what if Jack and Bits didn’t get that kiss at the end of Jack’s graduation? What if they just stayed the best of friends, pining away at one another until Kent Parson comes back into Jack’s life. Now it’s not just Jack pining, it’s Kent too :D

And, well, after winning the Championship his senior year, bringing that back to Samwell, Eric Bittle might just think he hasn’t had enough Hockey after all.

Really, it’s time to put up or shut up.

** Pro

Of all the things on Kent Parson’s Wish List (winning the Stanley Cup, being on a team he loves, playing hockey for the rest of his life, having a pet and Kit meets all those criteria for so much cute and cuddly), getting his friendship back on track with Jack Zimmermann hadn’t moved down from number 1, ever.

Things changed after that disaster at his college frat house, then later in Zimm’s first season with the Falconers, Kent wasn’t sure it could even be a wish.

When it came to hockey, things were always too easy. They never had to talk about it, about what they were doing on the ice. All of that just came like breathing. Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. The whole Zimmermann-Parson No-Look One-Timer was never something they discussed, it was something that just happened.

On the ice, they were unbeatable, just like in Juniors.

Off the ice...was a different story.

(Sometimes he dreams about it, finding Jack passed out on the bathroom floor of the hotel, foaming at the mouth, panic and adrenaline hitting Kent hard when he’s pretty sure his best friend, the man he almost-kind of-sometimes loves, is going to die on this floor.)

Jack’s problem with pills started early, around the time he and Kent got serious enough to play for scouts that started coming around with the promise of watching the son of Bad Bob.

(He was always partially to blame for Jack’s downfall. Kent had been the closest to Jack back then, had seen the signs, had tried to pull him back whenever he could, had been the one to ease Zimms down before every game, to be the one sitting in a corner with the bigger Canadian, running his hands over Jack’s shoulders and holding his hands, checking his breathing, helping him work through the anxiety.)

But, but!

That’s all old history, something Jack probably never wants to revisit ever again (because he cut you out of his life so well–), even when he makes it to the Falconers.

(After that disaster at his school, well, no wonder.)

And Kent just has to deal with that, has to accept it finally, and just move on.

(He could have been an Ace, just that fast, playing with Kent’s team of awesome guys. And fuck did it hurt when Jack turned him down flat...)

Until this little shit came along.

** 1

Eric Bittle realizes he’s severely messed up when he doesn’t kiss Jack Zimmermann at graduation.

For two years, they’ve played hard hockey for Samwell, have gotten close, becoming best friends. They’ve held checking clinics, hugged tightly in cellys, watched boring as hell history documentaries on that god-awful green couch, and pulled each other back from the brink of insanity during midterms and finals. They’ve spent time in the kitchen with Bitty cooking and Jack working at the table. They’ve spent time outside in the quad, bullshittin’ like the oldest friends, chirpin’ back n’ forth like they’re two peas in a pod.

Jack somehow started being his best friend without even trying.

The last game showed him how close they’d become when he’s going through the empty rink, making it to the loading dock, just a flash of jersey leading him to Jack hunched over, tears in his eyes.

The utter agony right there had gone through Bitty like lightning, driving him forward to hop up on the pallets Jack was sitting on, and wrap both arms around those wide shoulders, hold on to ‘im as tight as he can.

“It ain’t your fault, Jack. You did so good with us. I’m so proud of you, honey, you have no idea. You worked so hard, so hard, Jack.”

“Bits,” is soft and sad, Jack choking a little, but those big arms come around him, crush him against Jack’s chest and the pads he’s still wearing.

“I know, I know. Sometimes it just isn’t in the cards, no matter how hard we fight. You get that, don’t you? Sometimes it just is what it is.”

“I can’t–” accept that is what Jack wants to say.

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes all the trainin’ and plannin’ and best of intentions just aren’t enough to tip the scales in your favor.”

And Jack seems to get something there, tightens his arms a little more, and holds on.

It’s a little while later when Jack’s stopped shaking like a leaf, “I wanted to bring home a Championship. Wanted to make my mark on Samwell.”

“Of course you did–”

“Thought after all this time, everything I owe Samwell and the team, bringing me here, giving me this second chance–”

“Oh Jack,” at this juncture, Bittle’s head is under Jack’s chin.

“I finally felt like I’d stopped fucking up,” is rough and dark in the quiet of the rink. “I thought coming to Samwell was a...a punishment. I dealt with it because I thought my life was going to start after, when I finished up my degree and got back into the Draft. But that’s...that’s not how it happened. My life started the minute I met you and the team and I remembered why the hell I love hockey so damn much in the first place.”

And if maybe a few slow, shameful tears escaped Bitty, well, no one would ever know.

But they got even closer as Jack’s graduation loomed, and Eric Bittle stayed in his own personal hell of loving Jack so much it ached, but helpless to stay away to protect himself.

Instead, when Jack pauses at his door, Bits knows what he needs and finds space to lounge on Jack’s bed, scrolling through Twitter while Jack talks about the negotiations with NHL teams or works on his last assignments.

Watching Jack pack his things, preparing for the Falconer’s training camp, getting ready for the next stage of his life, all of it makes Bits so dang proud and so sad at the same time.

But, well, nothin’ lasts forever, now does it.

When Jack ran all the way back to the Haus just to see him, just to pull him in hard for a desperate last hold, it was all Bits could do to stop from sobbing his heart out.

“–and you’re coming to Providence this summer to stay with me for a while, and-and I’ll be down when I can. You’re going to Skype me all the time. Bits, promise me. All the time.”

“Okay, Jack. Okay.”

Something soft in French that he has no idea what it could possibly mean, but he absolutely imagines Jack pressing a kiss in his hair.

“I’m sorry, Bits, but I have to go. I...I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” is more watery than he’d like, but he can look up in Jack’s blue, blue eyes and at least feel warm that he’s had this man for as long as he has. When Jack’s hands slide out of his, he somehow doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything at all.

** 2

And just like that, Jack takes a step in his life he never could have predicted. Like an hour away instead of across the hall is enough to keep holding on, enough that Jack comes to Madison over the summer, enough that he asks Bitty to show him how to use FaceTime and SnapChat.

It’s enough for Jack to pick him up off his feet every time they meet up and bury his face in Bitty’s hair. It’s enough for Jack to Skype almost nightly while he’s tuckered out in his bed, talking about the joys and pitfalls of being a professional athlete.

It’s enough that he gets to meet the Falconers long before preseason starts, and the amount of pies he brings is literally obscene.

(It all works out just fine in the end because he goes home with the empty pans. Not a single slice left.)

It’s enough when Jack talks more about life than hockey sometimes, and Bitty is utterly helpless to stop any of it. And it’s funny, he thinks, how he was sure Jack would just flitter out of his life after a while. That they would be reduced to a Skype call once a week maybe when they find the time, then once a month, then not at all, moving into texting once and a while until Jack would be nothing more than one of his best memories of Samwell.

It’s funny how he thought Jack moving into the NHL, moving to Providence, moving out of the Haus, moving on with his life, would mean also moving on from Eric Bittle.

And my, how wrong he was about all that.

Watching Jack play with the Falconers from the stands with the Stanley Cup on the line is not really where he’d thought he’d be once Jack had graduated.

But, if anything else, they’ve gotten even closer than before.

And when the buzzer finally sounds and the Falconers win it, he’s among the crowd running out on the ice for the biggest celly of the year.

Jack spots him immediately, grabs him up with a victorious roar, and skates around people holding Bitty like a favorite toy until Tater scoops him up from Jack yelling about “Nook pies!”

Marty skates by him, ruffling his hair with something twinkling in his eye. Thirdy hauls him up, too, though Bitty has no idea why all these hockey players are just throwing him around when they’ve just won the Stanley Cup, but he still thinks it’s awful nice of them to include him in their celebration.

He doesn’t go back to Georgia for the summer after all or the next one before he starts his senior year, but goes between staying in Jack’s guest room and the Haus instead. His Mama’s not happy about it at all, but he’s a grown man, so that’s all she can say about that.

So Bitty passes the summer of his Senior year training with Jack or at Faber when the ice is up for grabs, works on some chapters for his someday cookbook, and continues his vlog so everyone can see how superior filo is to choux in the right circumstances.

With the season over after winning the Cup, Jack is over at the Haus more than ever if Bitty’s not in Providence already staying in his guest room.

It should be strange to answer the door at the Haus on Saturday morning during the summer and see Jack there in his trainers, sweats, and t-shirt, wanting to hang out for the day after he’d put in a few hours at the Falc’s stadium already.

(“C’mon, Bits. Can’t slack during the summer. You’re the captain. Set an example.”

“Jack, it’s summer. Leave me alone until at least nine am for goodness sake!”

“Not going to happen, bud.”)

It should be strange riding the train or in the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV on their way to Providence while he fiddles with the music and Jack doesn’t complain about the selection.

It should be strange to wake up on Jack’s couch, laying on a broad shoulder with a heavy arm flopped around Bitty’s waist and logs being sawed in his ear.

It should be strange to know Jack’s kitchen better than the back of his hand, and to be giddy every time there’s a new utensil bought with him in mind.

(“Jack, why in the world would you need a dough scraper of all things?” “Not for me, Bits.”

“O-Oh!”

“Yeah. Thank Tater. He went with me this time. He held up that and said, ‘oh does B have one of these? It looks important.’ I didn’t know so I bought it in case.”)

It should be strange to see Jack’s Skype requests almost every night before bed, or have his former captain sprawled out in Bitty’s full sized bed once Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are already moved out and the new Waffles are well into the first semester of his senior year.

(“Good Lord, Jack, scoot over!”

“Mm.” Jack scootches maybe a foot more so Bitty can climb in beside him, already yawning. “Comfy, bud?”

“Gettin’ there,” and he absolutely ignores how much easier he falls asleep when Jack throws a heavy arm over him.)

It should be strange for Jack to whip him on up in a big hug when he admits the boys voted him as the Captain, and Jack breathes out, “damn right,” too close to his ear.

(“I don’t know if I can do this, Jack.”

“Too bad, Bits. Looks like you’re already doing it.”)

It should be strange for Jack to chirp him about his thesis, about his struggle with Whiskey, about why this darn strudel just won’t turn out right.

(“Jaques Laurant Zimmermann, do not make me ground you from pie.”

“Haha. I know you wouldn’t do that, bud.”

“Oh? Don’t be so sure, Mister.”)

It should be strange to get an earful when his new video comes out and Jack had no idea the jam war was that serious while Bitty has been supplying the Falconers for nearly a year.

(“Are you kidding? Aunt Judy is really that upset?”

“You have no idea, honey. It’s almost World War III down there.”

“Good thing you’re stuck at Samwell.”

“Good thing is right! I don’t want any part of that mess.”)

But somehow it never is. Strange, that is, to have Jack so much. Even though nothing could happen between them (“Never fall for a straight boy.”), Bitty still can’t let go of Jack, can’t deny him, can’t tell him no, can’t be the one that fails to respond when Jack reaches out for him.

Even when Kent Parson shows up at a Falcs game and cheers himself hoarse, screams for Jack right there on live TV.

And while trying to get through his dang senior year, trying to get his team to the Eastern Conference, he watches how Jack and Kent start to move back in one another’s orbit.

...which is probably why he doesn’t tell Jack anything about the scouts from the AHL coming to see him after the game with Princeton.

** 3

The Pawtucket Rebels manager, Michael McLean, is the one that meets Bitty with a Standard Player Contract the morning he gets back from Jack’s place when they’re going to be starting in the Frozen Four if they win the next two games.

The weekend away was nice, but he hadn’t been expecting Jack’s intention to introduce him to Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces.

“We’ve already met,” Bitty had filled in, still shaking Kent’s hand with a distant smile on his face, “at the Haus party when he swung on by.”

“Not my best moment,” the Captain admits sheepishly, eyes not meeting Bitty’s, and dang it if the boy ain’t at least a little bit cute.

“I suppose we all have our days,” Bits just drawls out and gives him a wink. He holds out the plate of fresh cookies as some kind of peace offering.

The weekend was still nice, being caught up in Kent’s manic energy and Jack’s easy acceptance. But, he starts seeing the signs pretty easily, when Jack’s hand goes to Kent’s shoulder after a good joke, the exchanged glances that linger, the slowly dwindling personal space that used to be there for them. How they start finishing each other’s sentences, and oh, doesn’t it just make his heart give a little beat when he sees them both happy.

(But doesn’t that just break it at the same dang time. Not only does Jack like men, but he’s already got his sights set on his old boyfriend. It’s almost enough to make a grown man cry. Bitty consoles himself after breaking down in his room on Sunday when Jack and Kent dropped him off at the Haus. Only Senor Bun knew how much he’d ugly cried himself out that night.)

When Mr. McLean gives him the contract to peruse and a business card with his information circled in blue pen, Bitty almost picks up his phone to call Jack, talk about what he would need other than a lawyer to go over this thing.

He thinks about Kent and calls Coach and Mama the next morning instead, promises to send scanned copies of the contract. Mama asks if this is something he really wants to think about doing after graduation.

“It’s money, Mama, a lot of money, and who knows? Hockey might not be outta my heart just yet. I’ll still have time for everything else.”

He only feels a little bit bad when Jack Skypes him on a roadie, set-up in a hotel, asks how his darn thesis is going, and promises to be at the next home game.

Kent joins the call while Bits is slid down all snug and sleepy-eyed, kids around with him by making kissy faces.

“College is brutal, Bits. You aren’t sleeping enough.”

“Well, now that’s life, ain’t it?”

Bitty knows something’s going on between them because Kent is shaking a finger at the screen and lecturing him about procrastination while Kit snoozes on. He’d only known if Jack told him about it.

“Bits, your thesis is basically about baking. Baking is the thing you love that isn’t hockey.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Bitty slurs tiredly, wondering how he’s talking to the man that’s swiping his unrequited crush right out from under him even though he doesn’t even feel too bad about it. Not when he sees how good Kent is for Jack now, even if that hadn’t always been the case.

(Long as it makes Jack happy, I can endure it. It’s tough, but I’m tougher.)

But really. Kent Parson is so different from his image as the Captain of the Aces, Bitty can’t help but genuinely like the man.

“I’m so jealous. I love peppermint cookies and I’ve never gotten any sent to me!”

Sleepy time Bitty makes a note of that even when the world fuzzes out a little bit more.

“God, he’s so cute, Zimms.”

“Euh. He really is, Kenny. We should hang-up and let him sleep.”

Or he might of just dreamed that part.

The Aces have a hard game coming up, and he’s got his outline done, so the Haus is finally going to let him alone long enough to bake one single, solitary pie. In the middle of it, he certainly doesn’t expect Jack to show up with a six pack of Molson Blue, apparently assuming they’re going to watch it together and cheer on Kent.

“But I expect you to cheer for the Falcs when it comes down to us and the Aces, Bits.”

“Oh honey, I always root for the underdog anyhow.”

The chirp makes Jack flop back on his bed and laugh hard enough for tears to be in his eyes. Bitty just goes back to the Aces on his laptop and drinks Jack’s awful beer with a smirk.

He stirs a little from sleep to Jack talking softly beside him in bed since “It’s too late to drive back to Providence tonight. Move over, bud.”

He mutters something maybe, sighing instead when fingers comb through his hair.

“That W was perfection, Parse. You were skating your best life out there, eh?...sleeping right now. Yeah, senior year is a pain in the ass...you bet I miss you. Three weeks, we’ll be close enough to Vegas...yeah, I’ll try to get him to come along, but the Wellies are getting closer to the Championship...he would kill to bring it home for the boys.”

But he probably imagined all that, too.

Still, he’s got a short break before the next round of games, and just five days until his deadline to let Mr. McLean have his answer when Jack shows up at the Haus and is apparently confused why Bitty isn’t packed for Vegas.

“What do you mean we’re going to Las Vegas, Jack?!” Because this is the first he’s heard about it, and how does Jack already have a plane ticket for him?

“Come off it, bud. If I go there without you, Kenny will never forgive me.”

“How does he even know I don’t have a game?” He frets while putting sleep shorts in a suitcase, wonders if he should bring one of his suits since Jack is already wearing one.

Jack’s brows scrunch together, “Don’t you talk to him on that–that bird one? All the time? He says he always reads your updates.”

He pauses with a pair of boxer briefs and gives Jack his very best unimpressed expression, “Jack, sweet pea, please tell me you didn’t just refer to Twitter as that bird one?” He carefully does not say anything about Kent Parson checking his Twitter updates.

The soft smile and shrug in reply answers that now doesn’t it.

“I swear, what would you do without me,” he sighs, a little throb of love getting caught in his chest, and he just busies himself right on past it, going for at least one pair of flip flops probably buried under mounds of winter gear.

“Honestly? If I didn’t have you these last few years, maybe it would have been like what happened when I was in the Q,” Jack leans back on his elbows on Bitty’s bed, right beside the suitcase he’s quickly trying to pack. Being stuck between two button-ups, biting his bottom lip because he’s already bringing so much takes a backseat when Jack mentions the days he was in Juniors, and Bitty feels his eyebrows raise.

“When we started checking clinics, you and me, that was the most...balanced I ever started feeling after all that. The, ah, overdose. That...that might have been where I ended up if it hadn’t been for you and Samwell.”

With a breath (because Lord, here was Jack finally talking about it, in such a soft tone, his eyes so very blue, and just! Well, he’s not made of stone and this is Jack), he scoots the suitcase back and plops right down on the bed, reaching for Jack’s hand. He carefully looks at the closed door and rubs those big fingers with his thumb.

“You honestly think you would have made those same mistakes without me, Jack?” He tries to be nice about it, “because I sure as heck don’t.”

His fingers tighten around Bitty’s, a squeeze, a soft thank-you.

“I mean, I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t say who you were, but there are some parts of that Jack left in the one I know now. And the Jack I know now is someone that knows how to lead his team, and takes care of them, who knows how to inspire them. The Jack I know got up extra early just to help this hopeless case learn to overcome his fear and be able to play hockey better than he ever could have before. You helped me not just be able to take the check, but I’m a captain, a center, and I earned it because of you. The Jack I know is selfless in so many ways and selfish in just the right ones, and dang it, he’s my best friend, so you better not say anything else like that about him again.”

The bed shifts under him when Jack sits up, a big hand coming up to palm the side of Bitty’s face so Jack can lean his forehead in, look straight at him from just inches away with those stupidly big blue eyes, and be so warm and just Jack.

“You were never hopeless, Bits,” and with his voice that low, being this close, Bitty feels his cheeks getting warm, his eyes helplessly sliding down to Jack’s mouth.

The errant thought Vegas, we’re going to Vegas shakes him out of the moment, and he pats Jack’s forearm, gently pulling back from the very intense, heart-stopping moment where his brain almost killed him when it told him to just go on and kiss Jack.

But his brain also knows it would probably be the last thing he’d ever do with Jack because Jack has Kent for that now, doesn’t he?

Mentally shaking himself, Bitty stands quickly, goes back to his suitcase, “All right, now for heaven’s sake, Jack, help me here. I’ve never been to Las Vegas–”

And it’s not nearly as hot in Georgia as it is in Las Vegas when they get off the plane, but everything else about it is incredible.

(He doesn’t think about how nice it was to ride next to Jack on the plane, talking strategy and the team, the upcoming games and new plays they might bring to the ice. It’s nice to hear about the Falcs eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with hollers for more. The pies never last long and cookies are always a favorite.)

He might have worried for about a minute, fiddling with the Uber app on his phone to update his location, but Jack just lays a hand on his back and guides him out of the terminal.

“Don’t worry about it, Bits, we’ve got a ride.”

And standing by a stunning red Ferrari is Kent Parson himself, grinning wide under his sunglasses.

“Oh my,” even if it’s a little breathless, he gives himself an out here because wow, it’s a nice car.

(And he is not at all looking at Kent’s bare arms or muscled calves. Absolutely not. He’s already got one heartache, thank-you very much.)

He still squeaks a little when Kent literally picks him up off his feet and swings him around.

“There’s my guys! Falconers and Rebels!” Kent yells for half the airport to hear.

Jack blinks and Bitty groans softly.

Those blue eyes aren’t accusing him of anything, but it’s that same confused look when he tries to figure out if the next song is Destiny’s Child or Queen Bey herself.

“Rebels?”

He doesn’t wince, but it’s a close thing.

“I’ll...tell you about it later.” He waves off, deflecting perfectly, and snaps up his luggage again now that he’s on his feet.

“Oh,” Kent looks from him to Jack and back to him, and his mouth opens probably to say something else no one else needs to hear.

“Thank-you for coming to pick us up, by the way,” he starts rambling right on, “I’ve never been to Las Vegas before. And we’re even going to watch a game? How exciting! Should I make something for your team? A good luck something maybe? Is there a grocery store close to your house? Can we stop? Maybe I could do a few apple pies and a strawberry one...?”

“You can make me food all day, B,” Kent smiles so wide and white down at him and just swipes his bag right up out of Bitty’s hand like it weighs nothing at all. “My favorite pie is peach, just in case you were wondering.”

Bitty slaps him right on the arm, absolutely offended. “Kenneth Virgil Parson the Third, like I wouldn’t already know what your favorite pie is! Why of all the nerve!”

And that is how Bitty talked himself right out of the AHL conversation with Jack. At least, for the time being.

In the end, he makes two apples, two strawberries, and three peach pies, one for Kenny to keep at home.

Jack mutters under his breath about the Falcs needing a peach pie, and Bitty can absolutely do that once they get back home.

The boys are wonderful at keeping him company in Kent’s big kitchen while he works, staying out of his way unless he directs them.

“It’s not going to be a super exciting game. The Schooners are old rivals since before I came to the Aces,” Kenny shrugs, fish oven mitts on, and his own apron is really just Kit’s face blown up on a white background.

But the man’s fish oven mitt is–

Wait for it

– named Fish.

Because Kent is a master at naming things, obviously.

Kit Puurson is laying on the kitchen table from where Bitty banished her from walking along the counters while he’s baking.

“Now, don’t sell it short, sugar pie,” Bitty replies absently, makes the lattice on the last pie perfect. The A in the center is going to be great once the pie finishes baking. “It’s going to be exciting to see you play live no matter what.”

“Aw,” and Kent is smiling all nice at him now that he probably knows Bitty’s not gunning for his boyfr- for Jack, “you’re just saying that because it’s true.”

“Of course I am, Kent. It is true.”

“Any time you get bored of watching the Falcs, all you have to do is call me, Bits. I’ll have you on a plane in a hot minute,” and Bitty has to look over at him for that because it might have been a chirp at Jack, but the tone was a lil’ too serious for his taste.

“Who knows, Mister Parson, I might take you up on that someday.”

(When hell freezes over.)

“I hope so, Bits,” Kent’s eyes go to the masterpieces on the counter waiting for their turn in the oven, “I really hope so.”

At the game later that night, before the Aces take the ice, Bitty gets a Snap from Kent Parson.

All the pie pans are licked clean. Not a crumb in sight.

Bitty sighs in unmitigated relief.

Even though he feels strange not wearing a Falconers or Samwell jersey when he’s at a hockey game, he can’t blame Jack for leaving their home team merchandise back in Providence.

Earlier, Kent had tugged an Ace's jersey over his head and landed a cap as the cherry on top, winking at him while Jack was busy grumbling to himself about something or other.

It feels odd to have someone’s name across his back other than his own (or frankly Zimmermann because Jack already gave him two hoodies and several other Falcs shirts, which was real kind of him, and they’re such nice clothes!), but his Mama would fly up from Georgia and whoop his butt good if she knew he’d refused a gift from a celebrity.

So, even with Jack scowling, he accepts the jersey and hat for the game tonight.

He and Jack find their seats, right behind the bench, and it looks like they can finally settle in.

Jack keeps a running monologue of stats and predictions, leaning in to Bitty while eating the carrot sticks they'd packed in so Jack wouldn't be tempted with junk food.

This boy and his rigid schedule of cheat days. Honestly.

And Bitty is content to talk hockey and the upcoming season, is content to talk about the Samwell team and the next game coming up.

He gets to watch Kent and the Aces make an opening lap around the rink to wave at their fans, laughs at the finger guns right in their direction.

He settles on in to watch what will probably be a good game no matter what Kent said earlier, and of course, Jack chooses then to bring it up.

"Are you going to tell me about the Rebels anytime soon?” Jack is watching the game when he finally says it, something in his tone of voice that sounds a little closer to mad.

Bitty looks over, guilty as sin, and Jack looks back, all kind of calm.

“I...I didn’t make a decision or anything–” he starts then turns away from those blue eyes. “I-I should go get us something to drink! Jack, what do you want to–”

He’s halfway out of his chair, but Jack’s hand on his wrist stops him, pulls him back down to his seat.

“Don’t be mad!” Bitty sighs, loud and long, “I didn’t even know what to do when Mr. McLean came to see me.”

Jack hums, “You could have called your best friend who happens to be a professional hockey player.”

“That will be enough chirps outta you, Mister Zimmermann. You were already having a time with the changes to your medication, and I didn’t want to add anything else to your list.”

Jack guffaws at him, “that was two months ago, Bits, and my anxiety is under control. You could have told me anytime since then.”

“Well, I–” and Bitty has a moment where his mouth almost runs right away with him, and he almost tells Jack they ain’t datin’ so not everything has to be out in the open.

“You?”

And even though Kent has the puck, Jack’s eyes are all for Bitty.

“Jack,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right bud?” And that line between his eyebrows lets Bitty know Jack is actually concerned.

“Of course, Jack, I...I just. I don’t know, you’ve got your own career to worry about, and I don’t even know if I still want to play hockey after graduation, nonetheless with a team in the AHL.” He shrugs lamely, pretty sure Jack probably thinks he’s an idiot.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Bits. You don’t have to make a decision right away.”

“Well, I’ve got about five days until he wants to know if I accept their offer,” Bitty rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink.

“Oh. Well, you should let me read the contract anyway, eh? At the very least, it could help you make a decision if the offer isn’t for much.”

“If– I mean, if you want to? That would be real nice.”

“Euh. Tomorrow morning after my run, we’ll look at it.” Jack gives a sharp nod like he’s accomplished something, pats Bitty on the shoulder, and goes back to the game, just as pleased as pie.

The win was really something for the Aces, and he gets to meet Swoops, Poots, Scrappy, and Gopher when Kent tells them the baker of the pies is at the game.

“Oh my God, I ate like three pieces,” Swoops pats him on the shoulder and laughs.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!”

“Oh totally. Gopher can’t help himself around sweets, so you might get a marriage proposal if you aren’t careful.”

“O-oh my! That’s mighty sweet, but I would hate to have to break his poor heart.” Bitty laughs a little and doesn’t notice how Jack’s eyes narrow.

It’s entertaining as all get out when Jack groans at the amount of chirps he’s already gotten for being a Falc instead of an Ace.

“He’s got important...things in Rhode Island,” Kent had finally said to his team, which Bitty did not understand at all.

(But, it does make sense. Jack wants to stay close to Shitty and everyone from Samwell. He couldn’t be part of their nearly everyday lives if he had joined the Aces.)

They drop by Kent’s house to change clothes, and head out to celebrate the victory with the team, and all that fluttering around his room at the Haus is suddenly worth it when he looks damn good in his button-up with a black tank top underneath and a pair of shorts that look like they’ve been painted on his ass.

When he comes downstairs, Kent wolf whistles and Jack gets red in the face.

“Are you sure–” Jack starts, a little stuttery that makes Bitty preen.

“Mister Zimmermann, it’s best you do not finish that sentence,” Bitty snipes with his nose in the air.

It’s absolutely satisfying when two very cute boys dance with him at the club, grinding on him and having a heck of a good time.

He doesn’t notice Jack’s sour face until the third or fourth song in, and by then, Kent is making his way through the crowd.

The hand on his arm pulls him out from between two different boys, and Bitty is just about to give whoever it is what for, but Kent just shifts to grip his hips and pulls him in, back-to-chest.

And Lord help him, Kent is an amazing dancer. How does he even get himself into these things?

Watching his favorite person, favorite people, dance is giving Jack too many Ideas.

He already has plenty when it comes to Bits. Even more when it comes to Kenny since they have history to fall back on, but for Kenny and Bits? His brain might shut down because Jack is even more invested in that.

(Kenny hasn’t said anything, but Jack knows him, knows what the look in those eyes means when he watches Bitty. Instead of Kenny trying to talk him into asking Bitty for a date, maybe Jack should be trying to do the same. Or-or talking about if all three of them…?)

As is, Jack has a lot more thinking to do after this trip.

“I swear I take care of him as much as he lets me,” Jeff is saying, “it’s not like it’s his first year anymore. He’s way past all that, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack downs his beer, tries not to be too irritated at Swoops because of the attitude. Since he and Kenny have been talking again, he knows more about that first year with the Aces and Kenny’s struggles after the Draft than he’d wanted to know at the time. He hadn’t wanted to focus on the difficulties his best friend was having with a new career as a professional athlete, was more concerned about getting himself through rehab.

He’s been finding out about those struggles and bad times, feels better knowing about all the things he’d missed out on back then because that means Kenny is talking to him again.

(“You cut me out!” Still haunts Jack sometimes when he thinks about how he did that to his best friend, his other half. At the time, it had seemed like a trade he didn’t have any other choice but to make, give up his best friend for the chance to get better.)

Jeff was the Ace Kenny billeted with his first year, and the two are close. Maybe even closer than Jack and Kenny had been in the Q.

He doesn’t deserve to be jealous of that, but somehow, he still is.

“I did him wrong when he was in the Draft,” Jack finally admits to Swoops, “and I’m glad he had you and the team there when he needed you. I just...I just want to make sure he’s okay. Kenny means a lot to me.”

Swoops raises a brow over the beer he’s drinking. “He was pretty torn up over you that first year, Zimmermann. If I could have, I would have found you and punched you right in the nose for that kid.”

Jack shrugs a shoulder, “would have deserved it.”

“Yeah, yeah you would have,” but it seems like the salt has gone out of Jeff’s spine, and he slumps down in his seat across from Jack. “I had to tell the team not to mention your name for a long time. Not gonna lie, when you got picked for the Falcs, I drove over to his place and stayed the night in case he had a breakdown.”

And oh does that hit Jack right in the heart.

“But, he was...not okay but okay? He was happy for you, is the point.”

Jack’s heart twists painfully at that, “Euh. He’s a better friend than I deserve.”

“You know, he told me about going to your college, right?”

Jack looks Swoops in the face, thinks he might get a little more clarity about that night of the Epikegster.

“Yeah, he did,” because Jeff can read the tell me more on Jack’s face, “and he beat himself up about it for months. Told me he ran off at the mouth because he was angry at you. Hell, you weren’t even happy to see him.”

At the time, no. No, he wasn’t.

“It was...a shock. We both said some pretty harsh things, I think. But, we’ve come a long way since then.”

“I’d say so. He can say your name without looking like he’s going to start crying now at least.”

Kenny…

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jack feels like he needs Jeff to know this. “He’s stuck with me this time, eh?”

Swoops laughs and raises his glass for Jack to tap with his own, “here’s hoping, Zimmermann. Here’s hoping. But hey, at least he has someone to help pick-up the pieces.”

Kent manages to get them through the throng of people at the bar and get them bottles of water, bracketing Bitty in with his arms to keep people around from jostling them.

They’re both sweaty and panting after the last song, and Bitty doesn’t even know how he managed to survive pretty much humping a professional hockey player on the dance floor without embarrassing himself.

“That was so fun,” Kent leans down to talk in his ear since they’re so close to the music, “can we dance some more?”

“Of course we can, honey,” Bitty tilts so he’s talking in Kent’s ear, and it presses them closer together, “but do you need to check in with your team?”

The laugh is low against his neck and Bitty almost, almost shudders.

“My guys are big boys, Bits. They’ll be fine without me mother-henning them to death.”

“Well, all right then, handsome. You’d better get me on out on that dance floor before someone else does!”

And it’s another song or so before they get a slow one. Kent manages to maneuver them into a corner, and pulls Bits in for a slow dance.

“Lord, that was fun,” Bitty doesn’t think much of it, his hands around Kent’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” and Kent gives him that big ole’ smile that makes his whole face light up, and Bitty can’t really blame just one bit for just how cute Kent is in that moment. “I’m glad you came with Jack, Bits.”

“Me too. I had reservations with how close we’re getting to playoffs, but I’m glad I could take the time.”

The hands on his hips squeeze once, and Kent’s face falls, his eyes darting away.

Bitty moves a hand from around his neck to his face and turns him right on back. “Hey, what is it? Should we go?”

“N-no, no. I was just–” and Kent looks back at him with a frown, leans in a little to talk quieter. “Do you still hate me? From when I came to your college?”

And oh. Oh my.

Well, looks like they’re going to have this talk, aren’t they?

“I mean, it’s okay if you do. I was...a dick, okay? I was a complete and total dick. Zimms and I talked about it some, so-so he gets why I said some of the things I said because I mean, he just–and-and I… There’s a lot is all I’m saying. It was awful, not-not all of it, but therapy kind of helps a little? Sometimes it helps I mean, dealing with it when I found him like that, and then later when Big Bob–”

Bitty gently puts a hand over Kent’s mouth to shush him on up.

“Kent, honey,” he tries softly, misses how those eyes get wide above his hand, “I understand how someone can say mean things when feelings are hurt, and it seems like you and Jack have mended fences since then, right?”

Kent nods without dislodging his hand, but his eyes are shiny and just oh, that poor boy. Jack had talked to him about those days back in Quebec with Kent Parson as his right-hand man, Bitty knows Kent is the one that saved Jack’s life during that overdose. He knows how quiet and strained Jack’s voice gets when he talks about it, can only imagine how terrified Kent had been finding him, performing CPR, getting him to the hospital in Bad Bob Zimmermann’s car.

He can’t touch that painful past for either of them, wishes sometimes he can give that back when he hears how wistful Jack sounds, sees how Kent sometimes looks like he has regrets. No, Bitty can’t fix their past for them, give them back their innocent days, but he can help the people they are in the here and now, can’t he?

“Well, that’s good to hear. What’s really important is that you don’t do that again, all right? Don’t take your anger out on Jack even if he might deserve it sometimes, and don’t ever say those horrible things to him again. Okay?”

Kent blinks at him and his eyes go softly half-mast. He finally nods with Bitty’s hand still over his mouth.

“Good. Then, we’re all fine, right?”

Another nod and a squeeze to his hips.

“Wonderful. Now Mister Parson, we are going to finish this song and then go back to your boys to celebrate. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll play ‘Crazy in Love’ later because that is one of my favorites.” He takes his hand away and grins up at Kent while his heart beats harder at the soft smile looking down on him.

“Good plan, B. If they play it, you can only dance with me, okay?”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Sure enough, the DJ plays ‘Crazy in Love’ and Bitty is pretty sure Kent’s the one that asked for it. That absolutely doesn’t mean he gives it any less ass shaking than it rightfully deserves.

He’s happy to see Jack laughing with Swoops and Poots when they finally tear themselves away from dancing, and Bitty absolutely refuses to drink whatever fruity thing Kent offers him because he’s not twenty-one quite yet, thank-you very much Mister Parson.

But the Aces are so nice when they leave, thanking Bitty again for his victory pies. He waves them off and doesn’t mind Jack’s hand at the small of his back when Kent guides them out.

(Later that night, he pretends he doesn’t hear Jack get up off the couch and walk down the hall to Kent’s room and softly close the door. But at that point, he’s not sure if he’s still a little jealous, or even who he’s really jealous of if he’s honest with himself.)

He eventually gets a few hours of sleep, and still wakes up god-awful early anyhow.

Since he’s been in this kitchen for three days already, he automatically puts on coffee and pulls out what he’s going to need to feed two big hockey players.

He doesn’t even register Kent in the doorway watching him until the first cup of coffee is gone and the second is on the way there.

“Oh my Lord!” He fairly screams when he notices Kent watching.

“Sorry,” is totally unrepentant, the ass.

“You sure look it!” Bitty chirps back after his heart has climbed down out of his throat. “Goodness sakes, were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Nah, you just look cute in my kitchen, all busy and stuff. I like it.”

And well, that just takes the words right out of his mouth, so he goes back to make sure the bacon doesn’t burn while the quiche cools.

“Bits?!”

Jack is flustered and drenched from the shower, skittering almost right on the ground. He’s only got a towel around his waist and his hair is all over the place.

Bitty can resolutely say it’s the best morning in the history of mornings because that towel is awful short and Jack’s legs are awful long.

“I’m sorry! He just surprised me, we’re fine!” Bitty flaps his hands to shoo Jack out of the doorway. “Go on now and finish your shower. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Jack wipes water out of his eyes from his dripping hair and looks down at him silently.

“I promise, Jack. Go on now. Shoo! Naked is for the bathroom and the locker room.”

The slow grin is really just the nail in the coffin because no man should be that beautiful, it’s really not fair to the gay population.

A glance at Kent’s shit-eating grin and he has to silently amend that statement. No men should be this beautiful.

While Jack trucks back down the hall, Bitty grabs paper towels to sop up the water he’d trailed, giving them up to Kent when he gets a frown for trying to clean up.

He tisks to himself and pours Kent a cup of coffee, mixing in the right amounts of cream and sugar, hands it to him when he throws away the wet paper towels.

He puts the bacon on another paper towel to get some of the grease while Kent sits down with his coffee.

“I had so much fun last night. I can’t thank-you enough for taking us.” As he puts the quiche in the middle of the table.

“I had fun, too, B. Most the guys won’t dance no matter what, and you are awesome.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sugar pie.”

Kent laughs at him, but reaches out to grip Bitty’s wrist before he can go back to the stove, “but, just so I know...you really don’t hate me anymore, right? We’re friends now?”

Oh, this must be the I need to tell you as Jack’s friend that me and him are datin’ talk. Lord, help him get through this conversation.

“Now, Kent. I already told you last night as long as you don’t hurt Jack like that again and have significantly groveled, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah, I know, but I mean, you and me. We’re fine, too, right?”

“Why of course we are.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

Bitty pats Kent’s hand with the free one, “and you already know you can talk to me about anything, right? If things like that are bothering you, you can talk them out with me before you go and say something like that again, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bits.”

“You’re welcome, Kent.”

He retracts his hand with another pat and goes back for the bacon, waiting for the something else that might be on Mr. Parson’s mind.

“Bits?”

Mmhm. There is it. “Yes, Kent?”

“You...can call me Kenny, too...I mean, if you want.”

The bacon plate in hand, and Bitty turns to look at the pink cheeks on Kent Parson, the way he doesn’t meet Bitty’s surprised eye.

(Even with all his team and the press coverage, he’s only ever heard Jack call Kent ‘Kenny.’)

“All right then, Kenny,” and oh is he grinning, thinking about chirping him just for fun. “I think we’re just about ready for breakfast.”

Nothing else comes of it, and Bitty’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

Jack slowly, methodically reads through the scans of the Rebels contract he’s got back at Samwell. Kent reads over his shoulder, eyebrows squinty in concentration.

Lord, they look so cute like that. It’s really surprising no one else has picked up on the dating yet because these two are absolutely transparent.

“So–”

He gets twin wait a minute fingers.

“Well fine then,” and he meanders in the kitchen to see if maybe he should make those peppermint cookies after all.

A batch later and both boys come on in and sit at the table with the tablet between them.

Bitty absolutely puts the cookies in the middle and pours glasses of milk. Kent looks from the plate to him with wide eyes.

Two seconds later, he’s already demolishing his third.

Boys.

“All right, you two. Give me the low-down.” Bitty waves a hand over his shoulder and starts washing up dishes.

Jack tells him how it seems to be a right fair offer for a rookie hockey player. The money could be better, but well, it ain’t too shabby.

Bitty sighs because the money is utterly obscene. More than his scholarship to Samwell for all four years.

Kent has no problem finishing Jack’s thoughts when he trails off, longer in the profession than Jack. He gives more examples of what bad contracts would probably be and makes Bitty wonder if this isn’t his first time helping with these sorts of things.

Well, as Captain of the Aces, he probably has. Not to mention how he babies his rookies.

“So,” Bitty finally bites on his lip, looking down at the tablet, “so if...if I wanted to keep playing hockey after graduation. This is a good opportunity, is what you’re tellin’ me.”

Both Jack and Kent nod at him, serious as a heart attack.

“This is a good opportunity, Bits.”

“But,” Kent looks at him seriously, “we aren’t agents, either. This is from our experience. For a professional opinion, I can suggest some guys, so can Jack, that can haggle the contract for you.”

He stands at the sink with soapy hands braced on the edges, just looking out the window into Kent’s nice backyard.

Kit is lounging on a dishtowel right there on the ledge to get some sun.

And just like his worst tendency, Jack stands up with a cookie and saunters over to stand beside him, back against the counter.

“It’s a lot to take in, bud,” is all growly and soft.

“I never imagined playing hockey after this year,” he admits, “buying a bakery, sure. Learning under other chefs, maybe taking a turn in another culinary art, yes. But, professional hockey? Hell, I couldn’t take a check without passin’ out a few years ago, Jack.”

Jack munches on his cookie, watching Bitty’s profile with soft eyes. “True. But, couple years ago, you wouldn’t have thought you’d end up Captain, and be on your way to the Frozen Four, eh?”

Kent shuffles his feet a little but boosts himself up on the counter beside Jack. “The AHL is like, our version of boot camp, you know? The kiddie pool before you hit the NHL. And there’s a four-season standard for that reason, B. You’ve got four seasons to play your best game and see if the Scouts are interested. I mean, a lot of guys that get a bad break and don’t make it, they can renew their contracts every four years or join the practice teams. Guys that still want to play hockey, like a lot of the guys on the Rebs.”

“That offer is for one season, though.”

“Sure,” Jack fills in, meandering back for another, handing one off to Kent. “It’s a chance to get your feet wet, Bits, see if you can make the first year. I didn’t get a four-year from the Falcs until I got through the probationary period.”

“Lucky they didn’t make you billet, Jack. That’s usually a requirement.”

“Nah, I was old enough. Marty and Tater kept up with me, though. And I had Bits,” Jack shrugs and promises himself this is the last one even as he eyes the full plate.

He glances over at the serious expression on Bitty’s face, thoughts turning behind his eyes because now he’s thinking about it. On one hand, yes, he wants his bud to stay close, be on their sister team’s roster. Pawtucket is only twenty minutes or so from Providence, even closer than Samwell.

(Jack wouldn’t have to lose him if Bits accepts the offer, keeps playing hockey. Jack thinks he’s terrible for wanting that as much as he does.)

For Bitty, the eminent future is looking closer and closer as this year draws to a close. Getting this offer was terrifying because of all those what if’s?

Kent hums around a mouthful, leans around Jack to look at him. “Sure, but you never know, B. You take Samwell to the ECAC, and there might be more people coming to talk to you.”

“Sugar pie, I’ve seen what you and Jack are up against. If there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that I’m not ready for the NHL, no matter how far we go this year. But–” he sighs a little.

“But what, bud?”

“...the real question is, what if I’m not ready to give it up once the season’s over?”

Kent chuckles at him around the last bite, “then you’ll have a year with the Rebels to figure out if you’re done with hockey, or not.”

He catches his breath a little (could it really be as simple as that?).

“...that’s what I needed to know, thank-you boys.” He pats Kent on the leg and Jack on the arm, taking up the tablet, swinging right around to go back to the stove and wait for the next batch, hip hitched on the cabinets while he reads all over again.

He’s going to call Coach and Mama when he gets back to Samwell. Then on Monday morning, he’s going to call Mr. McLean and accept the offer.

It’s not his fault most the people he’s friends with are so much taller than him.

Really, it’s not.

So when Kent just grabs him up before he and Jack get on the plane and hugs him tight for long minutes, Bitty’s feet dangle off the ground, but he’s pretty much used to it by now. Shitty broke him of it first, Holster helped.

“I’m going to miss you,” is said against his shoulder because he thinks Kent might just be tearing up.

Because of Jack.

Because Jack’s leaving.

Right?

With his feet still dangling, he pats the back of Kent’s head soothingly. “I’ll miss you too, honey. But, it’s not forever, right? We’ll see you again.”

Kent eventually put him down when Jack laid a hand to his shoulder and turned him in for a hug, and Bitty looks away when Kent wraps himself around Jack like an octopus, shoulders shaking just a little.

Jack makes soothing circles on Kent’s back, talks softly in French, and just holds on for a few long minutes. Bitty makes himself busy by checking their luggage tags and slips away to get them some coffee from one of the twelve Starbucks in the airport.

A caramel frappuccino helps a little, and Kent just sweeps him on up again.

Jack keeps a hand on the back of Kent’s neck until the very last second, and something in Bitty’s chest tightens a little, but for the very first time, he’s not sure if it’s for Jack touching Kent like that or if it’s for Kent being all upset they’re leaving.

Something to think about another day.

As is, he’s got a thesis to write, a team to take care of, and a pair of professional hockey players that need fresh baked goods. His plate is pretty much full.

** 4

His vlog has always been somewhere to vent when he needed to, and even if he doesn’t have a huge following with millions of subscribers (yet), he didn’t think things would turn out this way.

But, the school newspaper he usually ignores puts it right out there for everyone to read.

Eric Bittle of Samwell’s Own Hockey Team is the First Out Captain in the NCAA

Dex is there to put a hand on his shoulder when he feels like he suddenly can’t breathe.

Someone watched his vlog and picked up on a few things apparently (“Never fall for a straight boy.” Those words are going to haunt him forever).

He’s out to the team, but not the rest of campus. Good Lord. Hopefully no one pays it any mind, and they can just ride right along to the next game.

It does not go away.

Instead, the news catches fire, and before he knows it, his face is on ESPN as the first out NCAA captain. The rainbow background isn’t doing him any favors, but in between the panic in his brain, he thinks the yellow of the spectrum looks real nice with those shorts.

Chowder is the one that calls him in to look at the breaking story, looking over the couch to take note of Bitty’s face.

He shows how much his reflexes have improved when he throws himself over the couch and latches on when Bitty’s knees fail and he almost sprawls himself all over the floor.

His phone is in his hand, and Chowder is talking, saying something. He didn’t know when Ollie and Wicks, Dex and Nursey, Tango and Whiskey and Foxtrot, River, Hops, and Louis all got there crowded around him, but he just seems to blink and there they all are.

“I,” he starts loudly, immediately quieting everyone with a single word, “am going to make a pie. Everyone is welcome to hang out while I am doing so.”

So, he makes a pie and while he does, he makes a plan.

He talks out how this could affect the team’s chances of getting to the Championship, how this could affect how they play, how they plan to win the next few games. Bitty thinks it might be smart to step down as captain, being pragmatic as possible now that he’s not panicking about finishing the season and his senior year at Samwell.

Whiskey, who he hadn’t been able to connect with all darn season (more n’ likely because he found Whiskey at that party kissing the Lax bro), smashes his fist on the table and says that’s a whole lotta bull. Bitty’s the one that got them this far, and he’ll take them the rest of the way.

(Bitty still has several talks in the next few days. With the coaching staff, with Samwell administration, with the entire gathered team. He gives all of them the same option. He’ll give up being captain or all out quit the team if this would hurt their changes to go to the Frozen Four. He gets the same denial, loud and belligerent from his whole team –which warms his heart, honestly. They’re all such good boys.)

They decide to handle it one game at a time, and break for the night. In his room with coppery fear still in the back of his mouth, he holds his phone and stares at the contact information for Home.

He’s almost pressed it when a FaceTime request comes from Kent.

Almost at the same time Jack doesn’t bother to knock, but just throws his bedroom door open, looking like he’d run miles.

Throwing himself to his feet, both hands up, he probably looks terrified because Jack scared the absolute heck out of him.

“Bits,” and now it’s Jack that’s got both hands up, coming at him, “Bits, it’s okay. It’s okay, bud.” And he really means to say something, but he’s just all caught up in Jack. He smells so good and feels so nice, he’s strong when Bitty feels weak and shaky, picking him right on up and sitting down to fold over him like a big Canadian blanket.

“What a horrible way to be outed,” he laughs through the shakes, but his voice is hoarse. “This is absolutely awful, Jack.”

“God, it really is. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Bits.”

“Lord, I’m making a fool of myself. What’s done is done, I suppose.”

“Still, I want to be here for you.”

“Oh, honey. I appreciate it.”

And he just lets himself sink into Jack a little, burying his face in Jack’s neck, just tries to breathe.

His phone goes off again, and this time Jack picks it up, sees who it is, and taps the top of Bitty’s head with it.

He thumbs the request without looking, just keeping his face right where it is. This is the best he’s felt since that awful ticker tape just laid out his biggest secret, and put a big ole’ target right on his back.

“Hi Kenny,” and he’s proud his voice sounds as steady as it does.

“Hey B,” is so soft and concerned, his heart gives a little patter.

Jack holds the phone for him with one hand, and squeezes him tight with the other.

“This sucks so hard, B. I’m so sorry ESPN gives a fuck about college sports enough to do something shitty like this.”

He raises his face just enough for Kent to see half his face out of Jack’s bulk. “One of those silly human interest stories, I guess. Too bad they got a little too interested, huh?”

“You can totally sue the shit out of them, okay? B, I know a guy. He could get you millions.”

“That won’t make everything right, Kenny, but thank-you for being here with me.” He gives a shuddering sigh, “I’m still going to have to deal with the backlash, and as much as I hate it, so will the team. I haven’t talked to the administration or the coaches, but it might be smart if I step down for the rest of the season, maybe quit outright. Then the boys might still be able to make it to the Frozen Four…”

“You’re two games away, B. You can’t give up now!”

“Agree. You got them here, they’ll have your back, Bits.”

“Kenny, Jack this is hockey. Everyone we go against from here on out is going to be gunning for us. The things they’re going to say to the boys–”

“They’ll handle it. Trust me,” Jack soothes, “they won’t let you give up either.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see come Monday,” he’s tired, but there’s no slowing down right now, even if Kent is petting Kit and Jack’s lap is absurdly comfortable.

“Besides,” Kent continues, “you’re not alone, B. Plenty of us in the NHL. We’re just not like, out out. Maybe to our teams and stuff, not like, outed on ESPN or anything, fuck those guys. You seriously don’t want me to contact my guy for you? He got 6.8 million dollars for a celebrity case–”

“So you’re out to your team then, Captain Parson?” He blinks because the way Kent just came out with it, not a stutter one, shakes him.

“Huh? Well, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been on the Aces for years, Bits. These guys are like my family, so yeah, they know.”

“O-oh.”

Kent blinks at him, pauses. “Ah, I didn’t come right out and tell you, but yeah. Me too, so it’s okay, B. You’re not alone.”

It’s that moment when Jack leans down, shifting so Bitty’s looking up at him. “You’re not alone,” Jack repeats softly, “I kiss boys sometimes, too. None of that changes how good you are at hockey, and none of that changes you, okay Bits?”

And Lord above help him. He throws both arms around Jack, biting his lower lip between his teeth, and shaking like a leaf in a wind storm.

“Jack...Kenny…thank-you, boys. Just when I need you, and there you are.” He chokes a little, and there’s Jack folding down around him, there’s Kent holding Kit closer to the phone, sending virtual purrs and cuddles.

He doesn’t feel that bad wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist shamelessly, locking his ankles in the back, and just not facing the world for a while.

It gets a little better when Jack tries to squeeze into a pair of his shorts while Kenny is brushing his teeth and talking about the camp they had at a local rink, running drills and plays with some of the high school kids from around the area.

But everything in the world absolutely pauses when Jack clears his throat awkwardly

And really, God Bless Canada.

The little sigh that comes out of him is echoed from his phone, and yes Kenny, they do have good taste.

“I can’t sleep in these, Bits, ah, sorry.”

But that color blue stretched taunt against Jack’s big thigh is just the best sight he’s probably ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got to offer. I can go talk to Dex?” Because Chowder has wider shoulders like Jack, but is about a foot shorter.

“Eh, not necessary.”

And well, yes. Bitty knows Jack wears cute little briefs. They were on a team together, have spent time in the locker room, have seen the occasional moment before towels go on. It’s men’s sports for crying out loud.

But none of that, absolutely none of that, prepares him for Jack shimmying out of those shorts for black briefs that absolutely mold to his behind and cup the front of him. The real coup de gras is that t-shirt coming off, and heaven help him, it’s muscles for miles.

Only those little briefs between Bitty and what the Good Lord gave Jack, the definition of fine walking across the room like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Bitty unabashedly watches, lips parted, cheeks a soft shade of pink.

Jack closes the bathroom door, smirking where Bits can’t see, muffled noises as he roots around in the bathroom for a spare toothbrush. It gives Bitty can just take a second to himself to take in this whole situation.

He’s been outed on a national sports network that may or may not take the question of the Rebels right out of the equation

Chances of going all the way to the finals is looking slimmer and slimmer the more he thinks about it

Jack and Kenny confirmed some of his suspicions and it’s an absolute crime and a blessing that they’ve found each other again

Jack has gotten bulkier than Bitty realized in the last year and a half playing for the NHL and his ass should be marked as a dangerous weapon

He hasn’t answered any of the phone calls from home

Still, Coach sent him a text, Call your mother. She’s worried about you.

And top of the list, Jack Zimmermann is in his bathroom, shirtless, barefoot, after just having verbally come out to him.

If there was ever anyone that deserves to be up for Sainthood, it’s this good ole’ Georgia boy Right. Here.

With his head in his hands, he groans softly, and scurries to throw on his own sleep clothes, stripping down without a thought more than those short on Jack and those shorts off Jack.

“I absolutely feel you,” a breathy chirp, and he forgot Kenny probably saw the entire thing.

Bitty spins, almost ready to start getting on a boat down that river called denial when he realizes Kenny is giving him the most devilish looking smile.

“It’s really unfair that he’s a hockey God and blisteringly hot to boot.”

“We are the best of friends, I’ll have you know Mister Parson. Jack doesn’t even see me that way, even after tonight. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got his eye set on someone prettier than little ole’ me.”

He throws the covers back to busy his hands, but can spare a second to put some charm into it and look back at Kenny with a wink.

It’s either the best or the worst timing because Kenny gets this look on his face, opening his mouth for something that might have been good or bad, when Jack comes out of the bathroom smelling like mint and looking like a touch could burn you down to the ground.

Kenny looks at him for a few long seconds while they’re climbing into bed, and chirps them about hands above the comforter and hockey bros cuddle like champs before he yawns and finally hangs up for the night.

The sheet gets maneuvered between them so he’s not going to be tortured most of the night with only his sleep shirt and pants between them–

(and those sinful underwear, he’s never going to forget those)

–so it’s suspiciously easy to drop off with Jack’s arm around him and snoring in his ear.

The next two games are utterly brutal.

Ice bags are wrapped around his shoulder while he sits in his spot in the locker room, forearms on his knees to just hurt while Chowder is talking at his right and Dex at his left.

The bruises tomorrow are going to be beautiful, but heck, what’s some bruises when Samwell is officially in the Frozen Four.

Lord, they made it.

And he will start celebrating, right after he can raise up his arm again.

Oh, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Making pies for the campus captain club is going to be awful, isn’t it?

He manages to get the ice bags off in time to walk with the boys back to the Haus, Ollie already scooping up his bag and Chowder, bless his heart, hovering anxiously right by him the whole walk there.

They don’t make him do a keg stand this time, thank goodness, but the party celebrating their win is well underway in less than an hour.

It’s real nice when the Lax bros bring in a stack of pizzas and slap him on the back in congratulations, like he hadn’t just been outed on national television. (He loves Samwell so much.) Chad L. says a whole bunch of something that Bitty tries to follow and ends up handing him a plate with pizza and accepting a piece of pie in exchange.

The fire extinguisher is in plain sight to remind the footballers what could happen if they don’t behave, and at least two of his boys hang around him most the night, bracketing him on both sides to keep an eye on him. Ollie and Wicks pop around the corner periodically anyhow.

He catches Chowder taking a picture for social media, has a second of panic, almost tells his sweet son not to do that because everyone knows, but shuts his mouth last minute and straightens up to grin for the next one.

The night the news came out, Bitty changed his social media to private, hoping to avoid some of the homophobic comments. Since the morning after (and it’s a crying shame he missed seeing those little black briefs again since Jack was already dressed by the time he got up), he’s been talking to pretty much everyone.

Most of all, his Mama and Coach...and Mr. McLean.

Jack squeezes his hand, and Bitty bites his lip, but still, “I’m afraid I don’t think I should accept your offer after all. This isn’t going to blow over any time soon.”

“Mr. Bittle. I’m interested because you’re fast, you’ve got soft hand, and you’re a good fit for the Rebels. As far as I understand, this isn’t going to change any of that.”

“O-oh!”

“If you want to play hockey, Mr. Bittle, you can do that with us.”

And it’s there when he looks in Jack’s blue, blue eyes, when he thinks about Ollie and Wicks, when he thinks about Shitty being so kind when he’d come out to the first person on the team. It’s there when he thinks about being terrified at that first check practice, when he thinks about how dang far he’s come in four years.

(It’s tough, but you’re tougher.)

“I want to play hockey, Mr. McLean.”

“That’s the spirit Mr. Bittle. I’ll send you training camp information in the next week or so. Welcome to the Pawtucket Rebels.”

If Jack holds him tight while he almost shakes apart once he hangs up the phone, well, only Chowder and Dex will ever tell a soul because they fell on him and Jack like a ton of bricks, hugging him and laughing.

Shitty, Ranson, Holster, and Lardo make the trip from Boston to show up on the Haus doorstep before they’ve even finished clean-up from the party the night before.

Before he knows it, he’s got Shitty crying all over him, telling him he’s so proud and Bitty’s just the best little captain there ever was.

It’s so nice because Shitty is silly as hell, but he’s an amazing friend in times of need.

And he can’t say it isn’t nice when Shitty picks up the loud speaker and starts shooing the rest of the hanger-oners out.

“Frozen Four!” Ransom crows, “our guys are going to kick some ass.”

“You said it, bro,” Holster warmly pats Bitty on the shoulder with one of those big hands while this pie is just coming along easily enough.

The flinch when the bruises ache is enough for more ice bags to get wrapped around him, and Shitty to shake a finger in his face, talking about taking care of himself. It might not be a concussion, but they’ve got serious games coming up, and he needs to be tip top if he’s going to take them all the way.

Bitty takes it to heart and lets them baby him for a few hours.

It does get worse when Dex and Chowder see Holster pulling the neck of his shirt up a little to check how bad it is, and then he’s got more hockey players in his kitchen butting in. Luckily, Dex is getting just as good at making pie as Bitty, and finishes up the lattice work perfectly.

He talks strategy with Ransom and Holster at the kitchen table while Lardo makes another pot of coffee, and Chowder subtly slips the bottle of ibuprofen next to him. Whiskey listen to them strategize for the upcoming games, and my, don’t it feel so normal.

He hugs Shitty again, holds on just as tight as he can, and thanks the Good Lord for such amazing friends.

Mama and Coach are more understanding than he ever would have imagined, taken in account what a shock it is just to come across the television like that.

“Dickey, honey, now you know,” and she has to pause because Lord, his Mama is crying, “you know you can always come home. Always. No matter what. We love you. We love you and everything else, we can figure all that out.”

And so, since he’s never said it, only thought about what could happen, he tells her, “Mama… I’m gay.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know and that’s-that’s fine. We can figure it all out. But, you can come home sometime before the semester ends, can’t you?”

“N-not while we’re close to the Championships, Mama. I-I can’t–”

“Junior.”

And now he’s glad he just called instead of trying to FaceTime. So glad he doesn’t have to look Coach in the face right now.

“You’ve done a heck of a job this year. Been a good captain. You know me and your mama are proud, don’t you Junior?”

And there goes his lip all trembling, his eyes getting hot. Only Jack squeezing his hand keeps him together at all.

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“Good. You just keep fighting. We’ll be here cheering you on, all right?”

His breath hitches in his chest, “yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my boy. You can do it, Junior. They’re tough–”

“–but I’m tougher,” and he’s covering his eyes, shoulder hunching down. Jack goes from holding his hand to pretty much lifting him up enough to slide on Jack’s lap.

“That’s right, son. You sure as hell are.”

He sighs out, a soft noise. “I am, Daddy. We made the Frozen Four.”

“Go get ‘im. Me and your Mama are behind you all the way.”

And even if Coach gets squicky when it’s time for I love you, Bitty manages to get it out anyhow.

“Love you too, son. Now you gotta stop, or else your mama’s gonna drown me.”

The thick laugh is so much better than crying. Jack thinks so too apparently, squeezing tight while Bitty’s sitting on his thighs.

If he thinks there’s a kiss pressed to the top of his head, well, he’s just going to blame it on being emotionally overwrought and leave it at that.

He didn’t bother with pads, just pants, sweatshirt, gloves, stick, helmet, and skates. The ice is quiet as can be in the morning light bouncing off Faber, making it beautiful.

Kenny’s far enough ahead of them that he’s on a break from practice, already home making brunch. “Big Red is going to be killer, B. Cornell is ruthless. Fighting Hawks from North Dakota.”

His skates cut through the ice until he’s gliding, hitting the long stretch, pumping as fast as his legs can take him, cycling the puck.

He doesn’t reply to Kenny, just listens while his muscles burn, his mind works, he sees the next move like a playbook.

Over the past four years, he’s gotten stronger, faster. Sure, he’s smaller than the average hockey player, but that don’t mean weak. Everyone they’ve played already figured that one out now didn’t they?

His arms and shoulders burn when he swings high, throws some muscle in it when he slaps the puck right in the sweet spot of the net.

“No fair, B. I want to watch!”

“I’d have to set my phone in the stands, sugar pie.”

“If that means I get to watch you do suicides, I’m on board.”

Bitty laughs out loud because Lord, he sounds like Jack.

“Trying to kill me before practice?”

“Captain’s prerogative, babe.”

Obligingly, Bitty sets up his helmet, laying on it’s side, throws a t-shirt in it to hold the phone up, and FaceTimes Kenny.

He gives the captain of the Aces a wink and then takes off to the blue line. He’s got his game face on, stick balanced perfectly, moving like his ass is on fire.

After a good turn out, he skates back to the stands where Kenny is very close to the screen.

“Well, there you go, Captain,” he snickers, scooping up the whole thing so Kent goes around the rink for some easy, cool-down laps with him before the boys start meandering in for practice. “That what you wanted to see?”

“You? Are fast, B. That was incredible.”

“Oh, sugar pie,” he grins down at Kent’s face in his helmet, “you say the nicest things.”

“Hey, I’m not being nice, Bits. I’m saying as a professional hockey player that you? Are fast.”

“Well, so are you. Short guys like us have a tendency to out-maneuver the big guys.”

“I’ve based most of my career on being the fast guy on the team, B, but I don’t know how I’d hold up against you.”

“Mmhm. I also haven’t been playing professionally for the last few years, tearing the fire out of my knee, Kent.” Very serious because he’s counted how many nights he’s seen ice bags over that knee in the last few weeks.

“Also true. It might be surgery for me this summer, but that should do a lot. I’ll have maybe ten years instead of five.”

“So you said. Your doctor is talking about it again?”

“...yeah. He says it should do wonders for where I’m at right now, and this might be the year to just do it and get it over with.”

“Three-time Stanley Cup winner is where you’re at right now, sugar pie.”

The laugh is nice, but now he’s wondering if he can convince Kenny to come to Providence and stay with Jack during his recovery. That’ll let Bitty be close enough to come over and take care of him while his knee heals. He’s already thinking it over when his third lap is coming up.

“B.” Startles him right out of his thoughts.

“Kenny?”

And something is there in the way Kenny is looking at him from the screen. “Be careful at the game tonight. Watch out for the Minnesota D-Men, okay?”

“Thank-you, sugar. You watch on out for those Rangers.”

“I will. Just send me a text when the game is over, even if I’m in overtime, okay?”

“You know it, honey. Now go on and get a nap. We’ve both got a busy night tonight.”

This could be the last time he steps out on the ice. This could be it. All of it could end right here right now.

They’ve got to play their hearts out. He’s got to give it everything he’s got. For himself, for the boys, for Samwell.

It comes down to this, facing Minnesota’s line like there ain’t no going back.

He sits on his bed, faggot and fairy in his head from the game earlier. He doesn’t accept Jack’s call because his face is a mess.

Well, serves him right because Jack just shows up at the Haus an hour later when Bitty has finally got it together.

The check is absolutely brutal.

He used to be floored by it, curled up in a little ball on the ice, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.

But not this damn time. Oh hell no.

It’s fast when he’s back up on his feet, shoving his way through bigger men than him and stealing that puck right on out from under them.

He feels like he’s got wings on his feet when he glides by them like they’re just standing still.

Mama and Coach are here because they’ve come down to the last stand.

This is it.

Jack and Kenny are both there and where in the world they got #15 Bittle jerseys, he will never know.

Number #82 has already been gunning for him, but the last one is the very last of Eric Bittle’s patience running right on out.

His heart is racing, his legs burning, skates cutting ice as he steers around players, gritting his teeth against the ache, and for the first time, he’s gonna stand up, holler out that no, he’s not gonna take that nonsense lying down.

The moment slows down for long enough that he feels weightless when he pushes off, is airborn, shoving all his weight right into #82 just as they’re at the Samwell bench and shove the both of them right in with the boys.

It’s a tangle of arms and legs and skates and sputtering.

“Try me again, asshole,” Bitty sneers in #82’s face with the face guards the only thing between them.

“Homophobic prick!” One of his boys shouts.

Coach and the boys pick him up (shocked because he doesn’t usually have a need for potty mouth thank-you very much), want him to go get checked out while the ref blows the whistle just after Whiskey gets the puck, and now it’s all on Samwell.

He doesn’t get a penalty, thank goodness, and argues loudly with Coach to let him back in the game, he needs to get back. It’s not like he lost a tooth, just some scratches from going over. It’s a long look in his eyes before Coach just throws up his hands and shoos him back.

And Bitty’s not thinking about Jack and Kenny and Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster and Mama and Daddy and everyone else up in those stands screaming for them when he hits the ice again. He’s not thinking about how badly he hurts or the scratches on his face. He’s not thinking about his thesis or graduation or his spot in Jack’s guest room.

He’s only thinking about the tied score, the next play, and how they’re going to show these away boys exactly who’s house this is.

And his arms strain when his stick comes back, when he slams that puck with every ounce of strength he has left. His heart thuds hard in the back of his mouth when their goalie’s hand shoots out, tries to catch the puck, just the tips of his gloves skimming the surface.

The alarm blares and the scoreboard changes so fast, Bitty’s not really sure what happened until his boys slam into him, gather all around him, screaming.

He’s dazed, fingers limply holding his stick, eyes still stuck on the scoreboard even when they lift him up, stick and all.

The crowd takes to the ice, and he gets his helmet off in time to get hugs from Mama and Coach, in time to accept the huge trophy, him and Coach and Dex holding it up with all the boys around them just a hooting and a hollering all over the place.

Ransom and Holster catch him right up off his feet, crying all over him when they tell him how proud they are.

The interviews shake him out of the daze and he tells the viewers at home that the team fought hard for this and earned it all themselves. He’s proud to be their teammate and captain, he’s proud to be a Wellie, and darn it, their hard work paid off.

Just as he turns, sees Chowder going past with three of their guys behind him, singing the Samwell song at the top of their lungs, he catches Jack and Kenny standing on the ice by the boards, watching him with soft smiles on their faces, and his eyes get hot abruptly, get full as can be.

Center ice, just like with the Stanley Cup. And this ain’t that now. This? This one is all his.

He feels his lower lip tremble just a little, puts his hand up to stop it, but dang it if Jack and Kenny aren’t just easing across the ice toward him with those smiles and his name across the back of their shoulders.

He gets a hand on the back of his neck and a shoulder to hide his face while the whooping and celebrating gets loud, loud, loud.

Lord, he’s going to vlog the hell out of this tomorrow.

Shitty is naked.

While it’s not new (they’ve been to Haus 2.0, and yes, Shitty was naked there too. Good times, really), Bitty has always had reservations about him being skin-to-fabric on that dang couch. Who knows what he might get. Well, all that spilled tub juice probably goes a long way to sanitize. Or so he says to keep his revolution to a minimum.

Watching Kenny get his ass handed to him from Lardo is hilarious. Watching Jack give in and have a chugging competition is even better.

He’s lucky the ECAC playoffs beat the NHL by almost a month. Jack and Kenny have another week before they start getting serious.

Ransom and Holster are talking animatedly with the Waffles, back slaps all around. He’s pleased as can be when Shruti, Sharon, Edgar, Chad L., and some other captains drop by to say congratulations and have a piece of pie. He doesn’t see Jack pause over his shoulder while he talks up a storm, doesn’t see the considering look on Jack’s face.

Something about this Bitty hits him harder than the last four years, makes that perpetual tightness in his chest mean something completely different than anxiety.

He should have realized it long before his graduation, should have been terrified of it all happening again.

Bitty affects him in so many of the same ways Kenny does, and it’s an amazing yet terrifying thing for Jack Zimmermann. Feeling like this person you’re looking at is literally made for you.

And just as he starts taking a step forward, pushing himself in to stand at Bitty’s side like he’s done the majority of their friendship, Kenny ducks out of nowhere and takes him by both biceps. His expression is desperate.

“You’ve got to stop her. Zimms. Zimms, be on my team. Right now.”

It’s so absurd because it’s Kenny and also because he knows no one is beating Lardo.

Ever.

Anything else is wishful thinking.

He casts a wistful look at Bitty, animated with his big win, and if Jack literally has his heart in his eyes until they’re out of sight, then only Chad L. from would have seen it.

Later on after the captains have said good night and some of their...guests have started staggering out, cheering for Samwell, for hockey, for tub juice, and for pie.

For this one, Bits really couldn’t take credit because Dex really made most of them, bless his heart.

Moving around the party-goers with a spare trash bag to pick up a bit, he spots someone sneaking upstairs, pauses to squint up in case he needs to charge on up there and firmly remind people the upstairs is off limits.

Or break out the fire extinguisher.

Either way.

...but he knows that ass in those jeans, and gasps softly as Jack’s plaid is bouncing up the steps ahead of Kenny.

And, he can let out a sigh, catch just a little bit of bittersweet. But, if there is anything Eric Richard Bittle prides himself on, it’s being a good friend. If Jack and Kenny needed a-a wingman or whatever, then he’s just going to dang well be that.

He keeps an eye on the stairs for the rest of the night for more than one reason. No one, no one, is going to disturb them when they’ve finally come this far, and even if he silently dreads it, hopes they at least used his room instead of a bathroom for heaven’s sake.

#check!please #wip #pimbits #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #kent parson #i'm going to hell #but i love this southern child #canon divergence #what if #that kiss at Jack's graduation didn't happen #but still #AHL!Bitty #eric x jack x kent #will eventually happen #work in progress #don't judge me #my fic #My writing

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maeve-of-winter · 4 years

Note

I just saw this post that was like “what if Kent says Jack’s OD was his fault because he believes that it was because he never went to therapy” as if that were a valid excuse for his weird ass speech to Bitty. And I just can’t. Because even if that’s true (which frankly I don’t think it was) - then it’s a deliberate narrative choice to reinforce the idea that a person can be responsible for someone else mental health AND it does nothing to REFUTE that, which is as good as a tacit endorsement.

Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of comments, even from Kent fans, going, “Well, it makes sense for Kent to believe that.” And I’m not necessarily saying it doesn’t, but you hit the nail on the head about deliberate narrative choice.

At the end of that day, the narrative chooses to place all of the blame on Kent, and I really really don’t like that. I don’t like how Jack is excused for ghosting Kent while in the same breath Kent has to apologize for an outburst where he said unkind comments to Jack. Either they’re both wrong, or they’re both justified, but it’s not fair to expect Kent to treat Jack well after Jack has done nothing but ignore Kent.

And speaking of ignoring Kent, I don’t like how his ending waves away the idea that he might have lasting trauma attached to his then-boyfriend’s attempted suicide, which he then never got closure for thanks to said boyfriend ghosting him. And I don’t like how 4.19 has Kent continually praise Jack for “growing up” and invites the implicit comparison that Kent hasn’t matured, all while ignoring that Kent went straight into the NHL as a teenager and remained there since. Meanwhile, Jack recovered from an OD for a few years, and then went to an LGBTQ-friendly college for another four years before going into the NHL, and was able to have a safe environment that Kent never had available to him.

All in all, at the end of the 4.19 sets up these extremely uneven comparisons between Jack and Kent, and it irks me, since they weren’t on level footing to begin with. Jack might win all the relevant categories for “maturity” (and don’t get me started on how 4.19 seems to equate “coming out” with “growing up”), but if you were evaluating Jack and Kent solely on the basis on their hockey achievements, Kent would win by miles. It’s not a fair comparison, of course, since Kent’s have seven seasons in the NHL and Jack’s had two, but neither is portraying Jack as the Noble and Brave Out Gay while Kent can only wish he could be as “grown up” and “brave” as he is, when we’ve seen that Jack has had the environment and circumstances to come to reach this point, while Kent apparently has a homophobic teammate and no known support system.

So, yeah. Evaluating their approaches to their sexuality in this way is just as unfair as it would be to evaluate their hockey skills in this same way.

Also, I wanted to comment on this part briefly, because you make a really good point:

it’s a deliberate narrative choice to reinforce the idea that a person can be responsible for someone else mental health AND it does nothing to REFUTE that, which is as good as a tacit endorsement.

I find it quite remarkable that we NEVER have to see Jack expressing remorse for hurting anyone in any way--not to Bitty for being a dick to him during freshman year, not to Kent for ghosting him, not even an acknowledgement to his parents that he knows his suicide attempt must have been painful for them and he’s sorry--but we do have to see Kent apologizing for being mean to Jack that time and also admitting that he never deserved to have Jack acknowledge him and say it was all his fault all along for not being more considerate of Jack. Somehow, all of Jack’s issues are Kent’s fault, and he has to be sorry about that so the narrative can show that Jack doesn’t have to be.

#omgcheckpleasecritical #kent parson #Anonymous

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

Too Old

Fandom: Check Please!

Pairing: Kent “Parse” Parson/Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Warnings: Age difference (but not underage)

On AO3

From Parse: You ever feel like you're robbing the cradle a little bit?

From Swoops: No, but that's bc my girlfriend's only like 2 years younger than me.

From Swoops: Perv.

From Parse: You're not helping.

From Parse: Besides, he's not THAT young. He started college when he was 20, not 18. He can legally drink.

From Swoops: Sounds like something a pedo would say.

From Parse: Fuck you.

From Parse: But seriously, do you think I'm too old for him?

From Swoops: Dude, I know nothing about him other than that he's in college and plays hockey (and now that he started college when he was 20). You won't tell me what he looks like, what he's studying, or which college he goes to. The 2 details I know kinda make it seem like yeah, you're too old for him.

Kent glared at his phone and locked it. Goddammit. That's what he'd been afraid of. It's not like he felt like an old man, but Whiskey felt so young sometimes. Mostly when he mentioned homework, because the last time Kent had done homework, he'd been seventeen-- which was definitely too young.

He called Whiskey to ask him about it, but it was only when it rang off to voicemail that he remembered there was a time difference and he hadn't even thought about Whiskey's schedule. He was in the middle of practice right now. He thought about sending a text to let him know what it was about, but if this was a conversation he wanted to have over text, he would've texted him to begin with. Whatever. It had been an impulse, anyways. And it was stupid, wasn't it? If Whiskey thought he was too old, they wouldn't have gotten together. If Whiskey had thought it was fine at first but changed his mind later, then he would've said something. Whiskey didn't exactly keep that sort of shit locked down-- he'd told Kent the instant that he put on cologne that he hated the smell.

Kent was probably just being paranoid.

He'd been perfectly fine with their relationship and the age difference thing until some dipshit wrote an article on Zimms and Bittle's relationship, claiming that Bittle was too young and being taken advantage of. Kent and Zimms were the same age, and Whiskey and Bittle were the same age, so if Zimms was too old for his boyfriend, then Kent was too old for his. Not that Kent really thought it was the same. Bittle was graduating soon-- he was pretty sure-- and Whiskey still had a couple semesters left. Zimms and Bittle had played together. Gone to college together for two years before anything happened.

Comparatively, it did feel like Kent was taking advantage of a young fan. It was weird to think of Whiskey like that, but technically that's what he was: a fan. Whiskey had come up to compliment him on his game when they were in the same bar, and Kent had been tipsy enough to think it was a good idea to flirt. It had all worked out, of course, but that had been pretty damn stupid of him.

Kent kept running it over in his mind: it wasn't a big deal-- this was different than what Zimms was up to-- maybe Kent should take a step back-- but did Whiskey give a shit?-- maybe he shouldn't worry about it. He just went in circles, only jarred out of it when his phone started to ring. "Hey babe," Kent said automatically after sliding it to answer.

"Hey, what's up?"

"You're the one that called me," Kent said, frowning.

"Some people call this returning a phone call," Whiskey said dryly. "You didn't leave a message, so I figured it was serious."

"Oh." Shit. "Um, no, nothing serious. I'd forgotten you were at practice, so I called, but it's nothing big. Spur of the moment thing, you know?"

"It's chill. What's up?"

"Uhh." Kent made a face at nothing in particular. "Nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing, stop being a chick about it. I said it was no big deal," Kent said, then immediately winced.

The silence on the other end of the phone was damning. "Right," Whiskey said tightly.

"Sorry. That was- ten kinds of fucked up."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Kent said again.

"Whatever," Whiskey muttered. He let out a deep breath, and it crackled a little bit through the speaker. "Have a good game."

"Will you be watching?" Kent asked. Normally he didn't feel the need to check. Any time Whiskey didn't watch one of his games, he told him in advance-- the same way that Kent watched as many of Whiskey's games as he could and told him to have a good game before all of them.

"I always do."

"Yeah, but I didn't know if you'd still- yeah, uh, thanks. Love you."

"...Yeah," Whiskey said, then hung up.

Kent brought his phone away from his face and wanted to bash his head against the wall. Whiskey didn't always say it back because he was usually in public or around his friends when they had a quick call like that, but this had felt different. Whether it was because of Kent being a fuck-up or something else, he had no idea, but he sincerely hoped it was because of him freaking out for no good fucking reason, because then it would mean that he'd be forgiven pretty soon. If it was something else, that would mean dealing with it in addition to dealing with the age difference thing that he was freaking out over. And he still wasn’t sure that he actually wanted to talk to Whiskey about it. He knew he had to, especially after the mess he’d just made of a twenty second phone call. He just. Didn’t want to.

He tapped the corner of his phone against his head as he thought. Maybe Swoops had been right and Whiskey was too young for him, but that wasn't what ever went wrong with their relationship. If they had issues, it was because of, well, who Kent was. Not to say that Whiskey was a saint, but he was more deliberate. They didn't get in fights because of shit he said, because Whiskey didn't talk out of his ass any time he was feeling a little insecure. He locked down-- which was its own issue-- but he didn’t snap at Kent.

Kent sighed and opened his text conversation with Whiskey. The age difference thing wasn’t the problem. He’d been due for a freak out.

From Kent: Sorry.

From Kent: Saw an article about athletes dating people younger than them and how it was skeevy and kinda flipped.

From Kent: Still kinda freaking out tbh.

From Kent: (Swoops was totally unhelpful)

From Kent: Probably should've just said it but I didn't want for you to freak out too.

From Kent: Not that you freak out very often.

From Whiskey: I freak out all the time who tf have you been dating.

From Kent: You don't freak out ALL THE TIME.

From Whiskey: This morning I panicked because I didn't have the exact change for my coffee. I had enough to pay for it, but using another nickel instead of two pennies made it hard to breathe. Does that really sound like I'm not freaking out?

Kent started typing a couple different times then deleted what he had. He tapped on Whiskey's contact info, then hit call.

"Hey."

"Did you really freak out over two pennies?" Kent asked. He should've led with something more sensitive, but he was who he was.

"Yeah. Not my finest moment."

"I didn't mean what I said before."

"I know," Whiskey mumbled. "I don't know what to do when you get like that, though. Normally I hang up, and the next time we talk, you're fine."

"If it helps, I don't know what to do when I get like that either. I just wait it out."

"I was kind of hoping you'd have a plan of action for me."

"I wish I had one too," Kent said, blowing out a breath. It was annoying when he acted like that, and he knew it was annoying, but he couldn't get himself to stop. It meant that every so often, they'd do this: Kent would say something shitty, things would be awkward, and after waiting a little bit, he'd apologize.

"What was the article?" Whiskey asked, and Kent had to think back for a moment to remember what he was talking about.

"Oh. That. It was about Zimms and Bittle. And I was thinking that we're the same age, and you and Bittle are the same age, so..."

Whiskey snorted. "No offense, but we're nothing like them. They live, like, an hour away from each other."

"And they went to college together."

"Are you being weird because you regret not going to college?" Whiskey guessed. Kent brought it up often enough that he figured there was something there.

"No. I mean, what would be the point? I'm not good at school, and I would've ended up in the league anyways. It'd be fun if we could play on the same team though. Not that you're planning on playing professionally anyways," Kent mumbled.

"Yeah," Whiskey said, but something in his tone was off. Kent was pretty sure he was staring at the floor in a very particular way right now.

"What?"

"I don't think anyone would want me as a free agent instead of the draft. I chose to skip that, and..." Whiskey snorted. "I'm not Jack fucking Zimmermann. All the teams wanted to sign him on, but that doesn't happen to everyone."

"You're selling yourself short. There have been scouts at the Samwell games."

"Not for the NHL."

"Tons of players work their way up to it."

"Yeah," Whiskey said noncommittally. "You know I don't give a shit that you're older than me, right?"

Kent wanted to say that yes, of course he had known that, but the truth was that he hadn't-- not for sure-- so he just chewed on his lip and stayed quiet.

"I don't care about that. It's not like you're forty or something-- that'd be pretty weird."

"Swoops said he thought it was weird," Kent said without really meaning to. It was a good thing he said it though, because he'd sort of been freaking out about it before, but after talking to Swoops, he'd gone more firmly towards panicking.

"Isn't Swoops dating an influencer right now?"

"Yeah, but she's only like a year younger than him."

"Kent," Whiskey said flatly. "He's dating someone that is basically a low level model on Instagram. He doesn't have room to judge who you're dating if he's making shit decisions like that."

"Haley's not that bad." She was pretty nice, actually. Nicer than Kent was-- not that that was saying much.

"Yeah, well when he finds a girlfriend who's a grown ass adult with a 401k and a retirement plan, he can say I'm too young for you and I'll believe it."

"So you don't think we're too different?"

"We've got more in common with each other than those two," Whiskey said with a snort.

"Yeah." Tension started to seep out of him, leaving him boneless with relief. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry for ruining your afternoon."

"You didn't ruin anything. You busy right now or did you want to keep talking? Foxtrot invited me and Tango to a rehearsal and it was hilarious."

"Not busy. Tell me all about actors and their shenanigans."

"Did you really just use the word shenanigans?"

"Um. Yes? I thought it was fitting."

"Oof. Never mind. I've changed my mind, you're way too old for me."

"Hey, respect your elders," Kent snarked back.

#check please #whiskey/kent #kent parson #connor whisk #fanfic #my writing

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shittybyrons · 4 years

Text

about to do some big brain shit. gonna paraphrase what i've said on discord and maybe add some more around it, but hear me out. this has lots of anecdotal shit and references to ableism and xenophobia after the readmore. this is super meta and probably i’m grasping straws but i am a lunatic and i like to ramble.

i’m trying to organize this but it’s A Struggle

monsterous text below the cut.

To make sense of all this, I have to talk about a conversation I had with my uncle, who used to play (recreational) hockey in Alberta, and later Texas.

For background, my uncle is potentially mentally ill (anxiety runs in my family) and almost definitely has ADHD. He’s also from Romania and he never got a US citizenship. His name is not English. His biggest crime? He’s small for a hockey player, only 5′10″.

By the time he got to Texas, he was a pretty good player, and the opposite team knew that. He was targeted for his name, his height, his parents, his accent, anything they could, and ended up having to stop playing hockey by the time he got to college for his own safety.

When I first cut my hair short, he told me, “If you’re going to be anywhere, you have to pick one, or they will tear you apart.” I didn’t understand at the time, I just cut my hair short, but now I do.

You can deviate from the norm in one way.

You have to pick one.

One is a bummer, two is an inconvenience, three is just inconsiderate.

In year three, Jack went to Bitty when he was having a panic attack right? So they've established trust for Jack's anxiety. But there's nothing that shows Jack trusts Bitty with other issues.

Check Please is from Bitty’s perspective, so what if he never quite knew the extent of the issues Jack ran into during year 4. This is no one’s fault.

This is purely anecdotal but sometimes with mental illness it consumes your life so much everything has to do with the illness, and if something does not fit the illness, it simply doesn't exist. I know my parents do this, and I know others who pretend like that's the case.

My friend has anxiety, and when he got Super Sick he was not comfortable telling ANYONE he was feeling sick at all. Bc he was anxious, that was "what was wrong with him" so obviously there could be nothing else wrong. He already picked one. He told no one he was feeling sick, and no one knew until he passed out on the stairs on the way to class.

Turns out his immune system was going Nuclear and it destroyed his pancreas and he has to be on insulin for the rest of his life. He was 12.

He’s been bullied ever since.

He didn’t pick one.

You have to pick one.

Why did this happen? He was already anxious, anything more would just be asking for attention. This is partially his anxiety talking, but I doubt this was all in his head.

We’re always told to pick one anyways.

You have to pick one.

Back to Jack, maybe he felt like he was making shit up about being targeted and talking about it would just be him being an attention-seeker. Oh boo hoo Jack Zimmermann has another issue, what is it this time?

Jack fucked up. He picked two. He already had the mental illness thing going, he didn’t need to pick up another quirk. He’s basically asking for it.

Jack never tells Bitty what he’s dealing with bc he already “picked” one issue for Bitty to have to “deal with” so the fact he is hit over and over and over and over and the refs do nothing and his team is powerless and for once his brain is not the villain his issues are outside but what if he is making things up and just being dramatic? Jack never brings them up, because he already “picked” one issue for Bitty to “deal with” and his anxiety won’t let him talk about anything else.

This is not Bitty’s fault, it’s conditioning. The people around Jack have probably voiced their displeasure saying stuff like “oh what is he saying now?” and “oh there’s always something with her.”, stuff that was never directed at Jack, but was still internalized.

I know I’ve heard it, and I know others have heard it too. We’ve all internalized it to some degree.

You have to pick one.

Now that he’s an adult, Jack’s anxiety has probably told him that he gets to pick one thing to have wrong, and any other problem is his fault. So of course, he tries to work with them on his own, because Bitty has so many things he needs to worry about, his boyfriend being upset because he got hit too many times is so meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

There’s an anxiety me and some of my friends get about “bothering” stressed out people. We’ll hide things because we do not want them to worry about us, because they have so many other things to worry about.

When me and my childhood best friend were 9, I was dealing with a bunch of shit because of my undiagnosed ADHD. Because of that, my best friend didn’t ever tell me he had anxiety. The only reason I figured out was because I found him in the middle of a panic attack in a hall no one uses. When I asked him why he never told me, he said “You have so many things to worry about, this is just an extra thing that you don’t need.”

Also he already picked one.

You have to pick one.

He had the whole “parents live in different states” thing going so why would he also have the anxiety issues? That’s just too much.

I still haven’t told my parents eating meat makes me super sick, because they have so much to worry about, trying to feed me vegetarian is just some extra thing.

Anyways, I already picked one.

I already have the ADHD, why would I also have the visceral reaction to meat? That’s just too much.

Again.

You have to pick one.

To bring this back to OMGCP, Kent Parson has a good reason to not come out. He already had picked one, he’s small. So if he was gay (bc no other mlm sexualities exist) on top of that? He’s just asking for trouble.

Jack’s running into issues in the NHL because he didn’t remember the most important rule of being in sports.

You have to pick one.

#meta theory #omgcp #feel free to add to this #fuck it

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insertatitlehere · 4 years

Text

OMGCP Fic List - March 2020

As the webcomic is coming to an end, I decided to made another list of all the things I’ve written for this fandom.

More is to come ! I can’t wait to share my fic for the @goingoutwithabigbang in a few days and for the @omgcpreversebang soon !

New fics in bold.

AO3

FRIENDSHIP FOCUS

Hey there Ghosties, it’s us, ya boys! - 37 000 words, T, about the Tadpoles, Choose Your Own Adventure, Interactive story, Comedy, the Tadpoles can decide to help Ollie and Wicks with a ghost issue and may or may not get into it. Really, it’s up to you. Written for the Reverse Big Bang 2019

Straight up lie - 8 600 words, T, Fake Relationship, Zimbits and Bitty-Lardo friendship, the Bittles visit Samwell and Bitty decides that faking a relationship is the best way to survive this weekend as Mama took it upon herself to find him a girlfriend.

Doug - 2 000 words, G, Tadpoles. Tango Needs To Stop (by Fall Out Boy).

ZIMBITS

Au fond, je crois que la Terre est ronde - WIP, 15 000 words, G. Starts right after Bitty’s graduation - Jack and him travel the word, one letter at a time.

Bitty and Jack’s Most Excellent Coming Out -

Series about different coming-out situations, all going terribly. Comedy. In this series:

Group chats are the worse enemy known to mankind - 4 800 words, T, involves a dick pick and group chats

Two? - 2 200 words, G, about Jack and Tater and language barriers

Betty and Jack - 1 800 words, G, in which the Falcs are observant - but like, badly

You’re The One That I Want - 7 500 words, T, to be finished, about Jack and Bitty being what too much into the 50′s aesthetics

You want in or out? - 38 000 words, T, Jack stays in the closet so that Bitty can join the Falconers with him after college. A group chat of secret queer players in created. Written for the Big Bang 2018

Knowing me, Knowing you - 23 000 words, T, soulmate AU. Bitty hates soulmates. Never wants to meet his. So yeah, of course he does. Written for the Big Bang 2019

Une bonne baise - 2 000 words, T, Bitty tries to speak French to be cute but only manages to break down Jack’s software. Comedy

Jacob Zimmermann - Series focusing on Jack Zimmermann’s Jewish identity.

Merry fucking Christmas - 13 000 words, T, the Bittles come to Providence for Christmas but there’s now an entire world between them and their son. Involves antisemitism, homophobia.

כִּפָּה - G, 2000 words. Character study on Jack’s struggle with his cultural identity.

Hag Sukkot Sameah! - 1 800 words, G. Bitty comes to Providence and is met with a tent on Jack’s balcony.

Plastic Basin - 700 words, G, Jack and Bitty and rabbits. Fluff

24 hours with an NHL Player – Starring Jack Zimmermann - 8 000 words, G, Bitty vlogs about the daily life of a professional athlete by following his boyfriend around all day. Jack is his usual smitten idiot dork self. CW: Discussion of past Eating disorders.

Chris Rob - 3 500 words, G. How Jack discovered his sexuality.

Jack it off - 3 800 words, M, there’s regular jacking off and miscommunication issues what do you want more ? Get-together, set during Y2.

OTHER

He did that. - 23 000 words, Kent/OMC - in which Kent leads a double-life, Hockey wonderboy at night, Gay club owner at night but later, until he gets caught on tape in his own bar. Involves discussions on homophobia in sports and in general and coming-outs.

#omgcp #check please #omgcp fic #zimbits #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #tadpoles #kent parson #lardo duan #shitty knight #checkpleaselastslice #omgcheckplease

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somethingnurseywoulddo · 5 years

Text

reasons he can’t explain. also on AO3

When he was a newborn, just a tiny little thing, his papa placed a hockey puck on top of his butt. With wide eyes and chubby limbs, he simply wiggled his behind back and forth, slowly scootching forward. Jack’s little brain didn’t comprehend the joy he felt in that moment, for he was a baby, but Jack would grow up, continuing to be a little bit odd like that.

As he aged, Jack found habits and sensations that made him feel oddly satisfied. For example, when he was three, Jack found the best thing on the planet: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The sticky peanut butter, the sweet jam (that balanced out the salt of peanuts well), and the thick bread all mashed together made for the perfect combination. When no other food could settle on his sensitive palate, a classic pb&j always calmed his senses.

It didn’t end there, however. Because a few years later, his grandmother bought Jack the softest, warmest (and heaviest) blanket Jack had ever felt. After a full day of errands, a stressful practice, or whatever life threw at him, Jack would race up the stairs (on all fours, like a horse, no less), flop into bed, and then proceed to wrap himself (like a burrito) within the blanket. For reasons Jack couldn’t explain, he would settle down underneath the weight. Even though physically he was under pressure, his mental worries would drift far away, and he’d be able to relax again. Jack would lay there for hours, sometimes until his mother would knock on his door, alerting him that dinner was ready.

When Jack mentions his adoration for routine to his teammates, or his favorite activity (outside of hockey) being wrapped up in his blanket (maybe with earbuds in, listening to a history podcast), they all laugh it off. It’s like none of them enjoy anything like that. (He tries not to let it bother him, but it still digs a hole into his chest).

_________

At thirteen years old, Jack knows his father’s legacy. He knows that he too, is going to have to live up to that standard. Even at this early stage of life, Jack is forced into high class social situations and interactions (due to his parent’s status’).

Every single situation he’s forced to go to is literal hell for Jack. He’ll do close to anything in an excuse to escape the get togethers. Having to make eye contact with people he hardly knows, and also create small talk is stressful enough to make Jack shut down; it drains the energy out of him like running a marathon. In one evening alone, Jack has to take at least five trips to the bathroom in order to calm himself down, focus back on reality, and place back on an extroverted facade.

Not only does Jack have to make eye contact and engage in conversation, but he’s forced to listen to twenty plus more conversations and the general party sounds that come with socializing. He clenches his fists, cracks his knuckles, and squeezes his hands to try and calm down. Hopefully, no one notices his pale face, stiff hands, and run offs to the restroom; Jack thinks at least his mother has noticed.

These nights, Jack doesn’t even bother listening to history podcasts, he simply cuddles up underneath his blanket, and falls asleep without saying a word. It happens often. The no-speak aspect, not just the parties, where he becomes so overloaded, he doesn’t even have the energy to speak. He thinks clearly, but he can push no more than a word or two past his lips.

On the occasional, blessed nights where there is no party or practice, Jack’s favorite thing to do is sit on the living room couch, watching a history document. Hours upon hours, he’ll sit there, snapping his fingers, shaking his feet, and hum along to facts he finds interesting within the document. Thankfully, his parents don’t seem to mind, and they let him continue to relax in his own way.

_________

At fifteen, when life and hockey become a little too stressful (with the Q’s arrival and his family hosting another Q player. His name is Kent Parson), he begins to freak out even more than he typically does. His mother suggests seeing a doctor to get tested for anxiety (because he has been showing symptoms for years); the diagnosis comes back positive, and he’s given medicine that’s supposed to help ease his anxiety.

It seems to do its job, the medicine that is, at reducing his irrational thoughts and do-it-all-to-the-point-of-failure ideals, but besides that, it doesn’t even help him get rid of his hatred for bad textures, or the obscenely loud noises, or unfairly awkward social interactions. Brushing aside the annoyance of still having those hinderances, Jack does his best to put everything into hockey. Even his (very complex) relationship with Kenny revolves around hockey.

At first, Kenny had been a distraction from the hectic schedule hockey entailed. They could sit in bed, making out, letting off steam, for hours on end, however, after (almost) two years of a relationship with Kenny, it’s become one of his sources of anxiety.

(for starters, he and Kent are constantly at odds with one another. Kent starts up useless drama to fluster (frustrate) Jack, then kiss him to shut Jack up. He and Kent were up against each other for the number one pick, and it made things stressful. When Jack would want to curl under his blanket and clench his fists, Kent would grab his hands and sweet talk Jack into something more than lying in bed. To add on top of everything, being gay in the NHL is an instant career ender, and with the way he and Kent are going, things wouldn’t end well).

Eventually, the stress of it all became too much to handle. When one pill failed to calm his nerves, he took another, and another, and another. Next thing Jack knows, he’s lying in a hospital bed, his mother holding his hand, and his father the other.

_________

In the time that follows Jack’s accident (cause it was an accident, he just wanted to settle down), he coaches a peewee hockey team. It’s exactly what Jack needs. Where the Q had sucked the joy out of hockey, his peewee team replaced with a rekindled adoration for the sport. And what’s not to love about hockey? Even the sound of the puck is soothing, and the feel of flying over ice is healing.

Jack tries not to pick favorite students within his team, but there is a little boy who snags Jack’s attention. He’s awkward, struggles to socialize with the other teammates, and can’t look Jack in the eye. It feels familiar to him. He realizes, it’s because he sees himself within the boy. When the kid gets a goal, he flaps his arms, spins in circles, and squeals. Jack in turn, cheers the kid on by pumping his fists, and jumping up in down. It feels nice, that even this kid is more than half his age, he can connect so well with the boy. (even to this day, they stay in contact. The kid just signed, too!).

However, Jack realizes he’s ready to start playing hockey himself. Jack decides college is a good place to pick up life again. He applies to Samwell University and gets accepted.

At first, it’s slightly awkward, playing on a team again that is, but Jack thinks this is the place for him. One of the other freshman Jack met instantly latched onto him. Not just emotionally, but literally in a physical manner. The dude, Knight, loves to hug, cuddle, and fist bump Jack any chance he gets. During the first few months, Jack finds it weird, but eventually he begins to notice the comfort brought on by his new best friend (a best friend he’s never had one before). The weight of another person snuggling up next to Jack reminds him of his heavy blanket, so he begins to welcome the hugs with open arms (haha no pun intended). So after a long day, instead of curling up with his blanket and a podcast, he instead is wrapped in his best friends arms, listening to him rant about his latest drama or classes.

In his latest class, which is some kind of psychology study, (while they snuggle) he begins to rant about the ableist culture autistic people face. Normally, Jack isn’t one to engage his ears in actually listening, but what he’s hearing sounds…. Familiar.

“Yeah, and so many autistic people grow up without even realizing they’re autistic! Doctors typically misdiagnose and say it’s anxiety because they don’t care about autism. And while yeah, you can have anxiety and autism, doctors still don’t like to admit a patient might have autism.”

Jack sits there, dumbfounded. He himself has been to several doctors who’ve said he has anxiety, but could there be more to this?

He’s zoning out hard time, he knows this, but thinking about all the possibilities is nerve wracking. If there is anybody on the planet Jack can be open with, it’s with his best friend. Taking a few calculating breaths, he squeezes his hands together, then begins to speak.

“Hey- uh, about the, uh, autism thing. Do you know how people can get fully diagnosed?”

“Yeah man! I know a guy! Why you ask?”

“Oh. Well, I think that I also may have autism. The things you said about it applies to everything I’ve gone through.”

“Dude! That makes so much sense! If you want I can go with you?”

He considers it for a moment “I’d love that, actually. Thank you.”

_________

Together, they go to the doctors. Despite doubts Jack had about really being autistic, he’s officially diagnosed with autism. The doctor explains it’s the reason Jack is picky with foods and sounds, why looking people in the eye and making small talk is so draining, how being under heavy weights or messing with his hands and jumping (also known as stimming) makes him feel better. It just makes sense. How Jack is in his twenties and only just now being diagnosed, will never make sense. However, he’s thankful to finally have answers for his questions.

It takes a while for Jack to learn the insides and outs of his condition, to accept this is apart of who he is. But eventually, as the days get longer, life gets sweeter, and friends closer, Jack begins to share this part of himself. Becoming so open about autism ended up helping another teammate too (chowder).

While life is a hard fought battle, Jack finds it’s safe to say he’s at a point of loving, and embracing himself. All of himself.

#autistic jack zimmermann #autistic headcanon #omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #Check Please!#omgcp fic #omgcp fanfic #jack zimmermann #not my best work for reasons explained on ao3 I just wanna provide more autistic jack content #also mentioned characters being:#shitty knight #kent parson #(his is brief)#alicia zimmermann #bob zimmermann

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bittysvalentines · 5 years

Text

Three Times Jack Zimmermann Saw Eric Bittle Without Meeting Him (Plus One Time Jack Didn't See Him but They Met Anyway)

From: @missweber

To: @n3rdyl4cy

Pairing: Eric Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Tags: eventual meet cute, slow burn before ever meeting, implied homophobia, references to unsupportive parents, coming out, cameo appearance by Zdeno Chara, AU because real life NCAA rules apply, Jack didn't go to college, Bitty gets scouted by the Falconers

Summary: Jack saw Eric Bittle for the first time over a year before they actually met, but it was still as if someone had set a match to a fuse that would burn slowly but inevitably until it reached its end.

The first time Jack saw Eric Bittle was the February of his third year with the Falconers. It wasn't in person, but it was enough for Jack to have a flash of he's cute that was harder to shove back down than it should have been, especially since the photo Tater texted him was kind of hilarious.

Tater was at the Beanpot tournament with Thirdy and some pals from the Bruins and kept texting Jack updates and photos of the game.

Jack could have asked him to stop, but that would involve explaining why thinking about college hockey inevitably set him off balance and got him lost in a world of what ifs.

But then a photo came through that triggered three reactions in swift succession:

What the hell?

Ha ha, that's pretty funny.

Huh. He's cute.

The picture was of two people. One was a Samwell player, flushed and grinning even though his team had just lost the championship round to Boston College in overtime. The other was Zdeno Chara.

The Samwell player barely came up to Chara's shoulder even though he was on skates and Chara wasn't. According to Tater, the player (#15, Eric Bittle, Junior) was only five foot six to Chara's six foot nine and was 'quick like bunny!'

Jack tried to focus on what kind of speed a player like that would have to have play Division I hockey and not end as a smear against the boards, but he kept getting drawn to the sunny smile and the dark eyes that were unusually striking paired with honey blond hair.

Cute. And he kind of looked like Kenny.

But Kenny had never smiled like that.

An ex-girlfriend used to send him borderline explicit selfies when he was on the road. Those pictures had made him smile, but Jack had never found himself staring at them like this.

Jack put the phone down and forced himself to count breaths until he stopped shaking.

Once he could trust himself, he responded to Tater with a haha.

Then he deleted the photo and the entire text thread along with it.

* * *

The second time Jack saw Eric Bittle was a little over half a year later, right in the middle of training camp. Like before, it was a photograph. This time, though, it came via his news feed.

Samwell University Selects First Openly Gay NCAA Division I Team Captain

The photo was obviously a headshot from the team's site, but the brilliant smile and warm brown eyes were as lively as if it had been a candid shot.

Jack didn't get to the article itself for ten minutes.

When he did, it wasn't what he was expecting. It was as bland and banal and calculated as any item that came from a team's PR shop. Generic sounding quotes, no sign of anything resembling a controversial opinion (other than the fact that a gay player merely existing was controversial in and of itself), no personality, no depth.

There were only two startling revelations in the article, neither of which was more than a mention with no further explanation.

One was that Bittle came from Georgia. That was definitely unusual, and Jack wondered how someone who was not only short and gay but Southern ever managed to get into hockey in the first place.

The other was that Bittle's team knew he was gay before they had voted him captain and had voted him in unanimously - which was the only time that had ever happened in the history of the team.

Jack figured the article was only the opening salvo. There would be follow-up interviews, no doubt. You Can Play would be all over it, and so would Sports Illustrated and ESPN.

All that happened though, as training camp ended and pre-season began, was that several opinion pieces came out and Jack added more names to his list of which reporters could and could not be trusted.

(The one article that went viral did so for the wrong reasons: it was a passionate, pompous, and self-important screed about gay rights in international sports that might have had more impact and less unintentional hilarity if the author had not been operating under the assumption that Bittle was from Georgia-the-country and not Georgia-the-state.)

Also, Kent texted Jack.

did u see the news?

Jack didn't reply and didn't read the other texts that followed. But he did tell George he needed to talk with her. Alone.

"I'm still not planning on coming out," he informed her right out of the gate.

"This is about the Samwell thing, isn't it?"

He nodded. He wished she hadn't put it quite that way. If NCAA hockey had been an option for him, Samwell would have been his top choice.

In retrospect, going to the Q had been a mistake in more ways than one. Thank God the Falconers had been willing to take a chance on him after rehab.

"Jack, I'm glad you trusted me all those years ago, but it honestly doesn't matter to me one way or the other if you come out now, or later, or never."

"I just..." He kept his eyes focused on the corner of her desk. "There are" - he circled his hand - "rumors."

Rumors. Gossip. A few photos he wished he could wipe from existence. Fanfic.

"You know I don't care about that, Jack."

He nodded, eyes still cut down and away. By never denying the rumors about him and Kent, he'd confirmed them for her, and he didn't know what to do about that. At least she was willing to maintain the polite fiction that she had no idea who Jack had dated back in the Q.

"Just... If You Can Play comes around and wants me to do another clip..." He blinked away the stinging in his eyes and why was this rattling him so much? "I don't feel like I can say no."

But what would he say if he said 'yes?' He couldn't offer other queer athletes any kind of advice that wasn't about hockey. But just existing would say so much in and of itself...

"I'm not ready but I should be ready, shouldn't I? Especially now."

"Jack. There's no should about it."

"But somehow this kid can be brave enough to come out, while I - "

George held up a hand to cut him off. She shook her head sadly. "I don't think he had a choice. This," she said, pointing to a copy of the article on her monitor, "is a pre-emptive strike. From what Martin Hall tells me, Bittle was out to his classmates and before he was on anyone's radar as a top prospect. And apparently, his online presence wasn't at all discreet and he has a sizable following. Hall said Bittle decided it was better to get the story out on his own terms before someone put two and two together and made a call to Deadspin or worse."

Jack understood. It would only take one picture from 2009, one recollection from a team-mate, to get the story out of his hands or Kent's. He should think about getting ahead of things, but...

... he wasn't ready. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

* * *

The only reason Jack didn't see Bittle again until March was because he had his own hockey to focus on. Then finally, the annual nightmare of the trade deadline finally passed and speculation started churning about what might happen after the playoffs.

Free agent frenzy technically didn't start until July, but there was a lot of early buzz about the young men who would be coming out of the NCAA and where in the NHL they might go.

One of these young men was Eric Bittle. There was more talk about whether Bittle was too small for the NHL than whether he was too gay for the NHL, but Jack still avoided watching the video clips Tater kept trying to show him.

(He couldn't explain why he avoided watching them any more than he could explain why he only sometimes responded to Kent's texts, but he suspected it came from the same dark place in his mind.)

And then Samwell made it to the Frozen Four. Jack didn't watch, but he felt a thrill of vindication when he heard that the Wellies (and Bittle) won.

Maybe Bittle would sign with an NHL team or maybe he wouldn't, but the short, gay, Southern kid had scored the game-winning goal in the NCAA championships, and it felt like something in the world had shifted and wasn't going to shift back.

Jack was still mulling it over when he arrived at the practice facility that morning, and George had to shout at him twice to get his attention.

"Jack, can you come in here a moment?"

The request brought the usual spike of anxiety even though he knew nothing awful was likely to happen. He followed George into her office.

"I thought you would want to hear this from me before you heard it from anyone else."

Jack's breath froze halfway up his throat. He had no idea what his face must have looked like, but George patted the air in front of her as if the soothing motion would reach him. "It's okay, it's okay, it's nothing bad, but I didn't want you caught unprepared. Did you watch the NCAA finals yesterday?"

Jack shook his head. George didn't seem surprised, and he wondered what she'd put together about him when he started looking into online degrees.

"I want you to take a look at this." She turned her monitor so he could see it. A video clip played. In it, a small player with the number 15 on his back zipped between opposing players like a destroyer through a fleet of battleships.

The third time Jack saw Eric Bittle was the first time he actually saw him play hockey.

"Play it again," he rasped once the clip was done. This time, he watched while knowing what to watch for. The way Bittle read the ice. The way he sent the puck unerringly not to where his liney was but to where his liney would be. The way he was obviously reluctant to take a hit, but had turned that avoidance into a weapon, with one feint in particular sending one Denver player crashing into the boards and his teammate plowing into him a half-second later.

The soft hands. Eyes that were as full of determination as they were of fear.

"He might need a year in the AHL first - trust me, you'll plotz when you hear how much hockey he didn't play before college - but can you imagine having that on your line?"

He could. Very much so. "And you're telling me first because..."

She sighed. "Because you're my friend as much as you are one of my players, and I keep thinking about that first conversation we had about Bittle, and about what it would mean to come out. When or if you decide to be out is one hundred percent up to you. I know you're out to a few people on the team, but I wanted to make damned sure you know that if we sign Bittle, it does not mean I'm expecting anything from you except to play damned good hockey and live the best life you know how to live. Got it?"

Jack nodded, swallowing hard and blinking the brightness from his eyes.

"Good. And if we sign Bittle and that brings any attention back to you that you don't want, we'll deal with it, okay?"

"Okay." His attention went back to the monitor, which was frozen on the moment when Bittle was hoisted into the air by two D-men who were each half again as big as he was. His expression was caught somewhere between joy, indignation, surprise, and... sadness?

He looked more closely. There were lots of other people on the ice. Parents, siblings. The goalie was openly sobbing on an older woman's shoulder. One of the two D-men holding Bittle had a woman in a hijab smiling up at him. The other had a gaggle of redheads crowding in around him.

It took him a moment, but he finally registered what he wasn't seeing. He thought about the 'pre-emptive strike' article, and how there had been so little press and no interviews or profile pieces that he could recall.

Jack may have had any number of issues with his own parents over the years, but they had always, always, always been there for him.

And in many ways, they had been there for Kent as well, even during the dark times when he and Kent hadn't been talking at all.

"George?"

"Hm?"

"There's something I want to do, when you go meet with Bittle."

* * *

The first time Jack actually met Eric Bittle was at Samwell.

Maman and Papa would meet him at dinner, after Jack and George had finished talking business. Meanwhile, they were taking a nostalgia tour of campus.

"We're meeting Bittle at the hockey team's house," George explained. "I'm also hoping to talk to a couple of his teammates." She must have studied a map before they arrived because she set off like she knew exactly where she was going.

They crossed a quad that was bordered on one side by a pond. Jack wondered if it ever froze over hard enough to skate on. Knots of students were scattered on the grass, some studying, some napping. A lively pickup game of soccer ended abruptly when someone kicked the ball into the pond.

Jack could imagine himself in a place like this, but the imagining didn't hurt as much he expected.

Maybe it was because he had figured out somewhere along the line that not being able to play college hockey didn't mean he couldn't go to college one day.

Or maybe it was because something about this place, even though he had never been here before, felt like home.

George turned right just past the quad, but Jack missed it because he was watching the soccer players trying to retrieve their ball without getting in the pond.

And, of course, he plowed right into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

A slender (but still solid - Jack felt like he'd been checked) young man had landed on his ass. He had a phone in one hand, and a miraculously unspilled latte in the other.

The man tucked his phone into the back of some (very short) red shorts and reached out to take the hand Jack offered.

"I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going - I've got this meeting I've got to get to and then I got a text so I thought..."

The honey-smooth drawl trailed off as the young man looked up to see who had knocked him over.

"Jack Zimmermann??"

Jack could feel the flush rise to his cheeks and was glad he couldn't see how red he must have been turning.

"Haha. Yeah. And you're Eric Bittle, eh?"

He was even cuter in person.

"Um..." Bittle seemed reluctant to let go of his hand. Jack could sympathize.

"Hello, Eric. I'm Georgia Martin - it's nice to finally meet you in person." George must have realized that Jack wasn't right behind her. "I hope you don't mind I brought company along. Did you still want to meet back at your house?"

"Oh! Yes!" Bittle reclaimed his hand, and headed off the same direction George had been going. "I made a pie for you - there should be enough for us all, even if Chowder - that's our goalie - comes home early."

George nodded in approval. If Chowder was Chris Chow, Jack knew she was hoping to speak with him, too.

"Pie, huh?" Jack asked.

Bittle nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir! I hope y'all like pecan pie," he said, pronouncing 'pecan' completely incorrectly.

Jack couldn't help teasing. "Bittle. You need to eat more protein if you're going to be in the NHL."

Bittle gasped in exaggerated shock. "You did not just say that to my face!"

"I said it to all of you," Jack deadpanned. "Not that there's a lot to say it to, eh?"

Bittle's eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Why do I get the idea that you're going to be a whole lot of trouble, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"If you want trouble, wait until you meet my parents. They're joining us for dinner tonight."

It wasn't often that he started this kind of back-and-forth with someone so quickly. But something about it didn't feel quick.

It felt like a long, slow burning fuse that was first lit back when Tater sent that ridiculous picture had finally reached its end.

Meanwhile, Bittle started rambling on about how he really should make a second pie if he was going to meet someone's parents.

Jack fought back a smile. Tater was going to be so pissed he wasn't invited along.

"Sorry I'm babbling on like this, but this is one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me!"

"I know what you mean, um, I mean, I remember what it was like when George came and talked to me."

George was a few feet ahead of them, but he could hear her roll her eyes.

"I don't know if you ever heard the story of how I joined the Falconers, but... well, I was in a rough spot. And I knew I would be safe with them. That I would feel safe with them."

"I'd love to hear that story sometime," Bittle said gently, reaching out to touch Jack's arm, then jerking his hand away quickly.

"I'd love to tell it to you." He didn't quite reach out to Bittle, but it was easy enough to let the back of his hand knock against Bittle's as they walked along.

It would have been nice to do more, to promise more, or just say more, but he wasn't ready for that.

"I wasn't expecting to meet you today, but I'm sure glad I did." Bittle smiled let his hand brush tentatively against Jack's in return.

Some other time, Jack might have said out loud what he was thinking, that it felt like he knew Bittle, like he knew this place, knew what it was like to walk side by side with him. Like part of him already knew what it was like not to walk hand in hand, but half embracing as they walked back to Bittle's house.

No, he wasn't ready for anything like that, not yet, but for the first time it was easy to imagine a time when he would be.

#bittyjack #fanfiction #bittysvalentines #bv2019 #omgcp

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multsicorn · 5 years

Note

Jack Zimmermann for the meme!

(Thank you for asking me!)

Canon fact I can’t get over it’s so great: This is the asshole who says things like "But actually there's a youth hockey tournament today so we have to get out of here by 7," and I don't know if he's joking or not. He's weird and awkward and overly literal and way too serious about the three (3) whole things he likes and all of that is why I love him. But what I can't get over, actually, though I wouldn't call it great, is that he crashed and burned off his path straight to the NHL, and had to take some time off, and figure out what he Really Wanted (theoretically, though I tend to think he did a bad job), and now, in a different way, after losing it, he's back on it again.

Headcanon fact and why (what you think happened): He wasn't trying to die, right before he ODed, but he wasn't trying to not die, either. Everything was just too much, too stressful, and he just wanted it to go away for a while. Whatever that took.

(I don't think I can explain the why, though. It's just what ~feels right~ to me.)

Heartcanon fact you can fight me about (what you feel ought to have happened, quite divorced from reality or sense): What I feel ought to have happened, not at all divorced from reality or sense? Is that he should've had some difficulties making the transition from college to the NHL that weren't all about his sexuality. That if he gets the A within months of making the team, he'd worry - rightly! - about whether he's earned it or not. That HE SHOULD STILL BE ANXIOUS GDI cause anxiety isn't cured by hugs.

Soulcanon nothing you can say will change (what you know happened, deep down in your soul, no matter what anyone says, including the author): He did have feelings for Kent, capital-F Feelings.

"You know when it’s the last summer of your childhood and you’re just hanging with your bro and you’re smoothing out his cowlick and you fondly call him Kenny while trying not to think about how mercilessly cruel fate is lol you know bros being bros"!!!

I'm pretty sure he never verbalized them to Kent (or if he did, it was only during sex or when Kent was asleep or something, not in an actual two-way conversation), and I suspect that he never defined them internally even to himself, but he felt them, all right. He wasn't just sleeping with his first and at the time only best friend ever for the hell of it.

Also, he's Jewish. There's no canon basis really and I don't need or particularly want one, but, it's unchangeably true to me.

Crotchcanon. Just… here’s my crotchcanon (what your gonads wish had happened/ what turns you on): I was gonna say, hockey gets him hot, he jerks off to highlights reels, etc., but that is soulcanon tbh. My gonads aren't particularly into it, it's just that I know his are ;). So, hm: he and Parse totally hooked up the last time Parse came to Samwell. Obviously that did end not well! Hence contributing to 'Kenny, I can't'... but even then, at the epikegster, again... it's not that he doesn't want to. It's just. A really bad idea. But it feels good, and he'll stop in a minute. (And, well, then he does.)

#jackparse #honestly fandom's so weird... since i ship an unpopular ship #i tag my character content with the ship and not the character #anyway #i have another one to do but i'd still like more if anyone wants!#omgcheckplease stuff #suicide discussion /#coyotesuspect

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derek-oluransi · 5 years

Text

summer.

so I was supposed to write this out as a full fic for @pimmsweek but the summer was so busy that i never got to. so instead, im writing it as a bullet fic. Canon divergent. Written for the prompt that was “Seasons Promised.”

Summer is almost like a lover. It’s inviting and warm, with promises of adventure. But it can also be near suffocating, with a smothering intensity that leaves little of a person left for Fall.

This is the story of Kent Parson and summer.

He was born on July 4th, in the middle of the hottest season, but Kent hates the summer more than anything

You’d think you know why. You’d be wrong.

July 4th 1990 was the day he was born.

His childhood went like this;

Fireworks and cookouts that were often combined with birthday parties. Kent’s mother used to tell him that the fireworks for him.

When he hit fourth grade, he learned the fireworks were for America, and no one but his little city block even knew who Kent V. Parson was.

It was a blow, but Kent could bounce back from it easily.

(He still tells Allison, his baby sister, that they’re for him secretly, but he knows one day she’ll stop believing it too)

Summer stopped being “Kent Parson’s birthday season” and turned into “more time for practice, since it’s the off season”

What do creamcicles and hockey rinks have in common? They’re both cold.

Kent learns to love it as much as a boy can, when he discovers he’s fast on his skates and quick with a stick

He doesn’t need to do tricks. He just has to know how to get the puck to the net and not get knocked off his feet while he does it.

(In a way, that’s a trick, isn’t it?)

He gets so good that his parents think he should play for a team, and play he does, like his life depends on it

His parents aren’t together some days, but his mom always makes it to his games.

The spring before his thirteenth, he learns his mom prefers to be called dad.

The summer of his fourteenth year that Kent finds out his parents are getting a divorce. He stops seeing his sister for a long time.

He asks why his father doesn’t want him. His dad tells him to keep playing.

He can skate through pain, after all.

(He definitely skates through the pain that comes with his dad sending him away to Canada to play on a team in Juniors. It’s all he can do.)

The summer before his first season on a Junior team, Kent met Jack Zimmermann.

Jack made summer bearable.

Jack was still baby soft in places, still smiled with his eyes, had perfect parents that let Kent stay with them when his billet parents had to go to Europe

Kent’s glad his dad doesn’t mind. He’s not glad when his calls don’t get returned, but he trusts his dad. There’s too few people in his life for him not to.

Jack Zimmermann makes Kent smile. He never seems to know what to say but when he speaks, he’s always kind

Kent wishes more of the boys on their team were this kind

He thinks Joey might be cuter if he smiled more

He thinks Corey would be hotter if he shit talked less

He thinks Jack is the perfect mix of both traits, without being horrible and demeaning, and that means more to Kent than anything else

Summers with Jack shape the rest of the season for Kent. They’re the most important.

They’ve only had three summers together, Kent is aware.

That doesn’t mean he hasn’t gotten better for having them.

The summer stop being a point of sadness for him. He starts... looking forward to them.

He doesn’t see his dad except in video calls during the season, so he looks forward to going to New York with Jack to visit him

They’re close and... they like to experiment.

They really like to experiment. Mainly with places, what they can get away with, and what makes each other feel good.

Kent learns a lot about Jack during the summer.

They’re young. They make mistakes. They live and learn.

Kent thinks, later in his life, that he didn’t learn enough.

That every defeat had Jack shaking, every practice where he couldn’t get the puck into the net wasn’t a celebration of their goalie’s skill, but a funeral for the death of his own.

Kent thinks, later in his life, that there was so little he could have done.

Thirty-four days.

It’s... the shortest summer Kent’s ever had. He had to grow up so quick.

After his birthday there was no slowing down. There was never a break, there was never a moment.

Jack would smile, but it stopped reaching his eyes. It worried Kent, but there wasn’t much he could say.

In hindsight, maybe Kent should have gone to college.

After all, what did the Draft have to offer him?

A team to play on? If he didn’t do the NHL after he could do NCAA, get a degree in something he liked and work that after playing four years of college hockey.

A salary? His dad could afford to ship him off to college. And Kent could get a part time job while he was in college. Not to mention the hockey scholarship he could probably come in on.

So what? Kent didn’t know. He thought it would make his father proud but after so many years, he’d stopped seeking the man’s approval. His dad was all he had and all he needed anyway.

Yes, the Draft didn’t have much to offer him but Kent... hadn’t dropped out.

Neither did Jack.

In hindsight, it all boiled down to Kent just... not knowing.

Kent didn’t know that it never really mattered who went first, that it was nothing more than a title, until later in his life.

Kent didn’t know that Jack’s anxiety was eating him like it was, alive, like Jack was a meal to be feasted on slowly.

Kent didn’t know he’d come to hate the sight of the Emergency Rooms in hospitals, cold, sterile, always inducing a feeling of dread in his stomach.

Kent didn’t know it would take him seventeen weeks, four days, two hours and eight minutes to stop feeling claustrophobic in his own bathroom.

He just. Didn’t know.

If he’d stayed in school, maybe he would have, he muses some days.

Now the summer was something to be dreaded. Spent in New York, on his dad’s couch, wishing he had never stepped out of that bedroom in Montreal, even for a moment.

He could fake the media smiles at the end of each season. He could fake his enthusiasm for being away from the ice. He could fake pride and glee and all the other emotions required of him when fans asked if he was excited for his birthday.

He could never fake the sadness. Even when he felt like he was.

It was something that settled deeper in his bones than the dead of winter did.

Kent was always his coldest during the summer, when he was away from the rink, away from hockey, away from anything that could have possibly distracted him from the freezing at his core.

The summer was supposed to be hot. Why was Kent constantly cold?

The Aces help. They help in only the ways they know how, only the ways that they can.

Swoops and Scrappy are instrumental.

Jeff never looks happy unless he’s got a chirp on his lips but Kent comes to appreciate him, too.

Scrappy texts him every day, like the guy doesn’t know how to put his phone down.

There’s always cute videos in his twitter DMs, of kids, of cats, of dogs, of animals, of old people, and all the in between.

Kent thinks if there’s a cute video someone wants to find, Scrappy can get it for them in a snap

It helps.

Swoops facetimes him every night. He’s done it so often that his dad asks if he’s had his nightly call yet when Swoops has yet to hit his phone up.

He’s done it so often that Kent’s dad knows his name, his face, and the name of his dog. Humphrey is always excited to see Kent, too.

And he always manages to do it when Kent feels like he’s slipping, like his grip on reality is beginning to loosen.

It helps.

Jeff pretends he doesn’t care, but his wife sends Kent a package every two weeks with his favourite desert desserts.

The hand written card asking if he’s doing okay that he finds in the box also isn’t written in Valerie’s swirling script.

Kent knows because Valerie writes the address on the boxes. Kent knows because her handwriting is cleaner.

Jeff pretends he doesn’t give a shit, but Kent’s had enough time to be able to read him like a book.

In the end, Kent knows that Jeff is always worried about him, always asking after him, always making sure he’s okay, even when he’s so obviously not.

It helps.

He learned to live, instead of just be alive.

He learned to get by, with all the aches and pains that come from a mending heart.

He learned to despise the summer less, even when he can’t bring himself to be happy on his birthday some years.

He makes contact with Jack again.

Or rather, Jack makes contact with Kent.

Tentative, slowly, with short text messages and calls of congratulations.

He wins a game. His phone rings. He picks up.

It’s Jack.

And isn’t it a testament to their friendship that it’s like nothing ever happened?

That it’s like there wasn’t a gap of nearly six years between them, because Jack went to college?

That Jack can tell him after a loss that it was a good game, and he did his best, and “You’ll get ‘em next time, Kenny.”

Kent thinks Jack shouldn’t get to make it that easy.

He’d had a life after Jack.

After the overdose sent him spiraling out into the ocean on a life raft too small for one body.

And he’d had a life before Jack.

Before Jack decided he wanted to speak to him again, after radio silence for so long.

He’d had so much to work through apart from Jack and Jack comes back and makes it easy to forget that his therapist says he’s allowed to be angry when someone ghosts him, no matter the reason, even if he doesn’t approach and doesn’t ask why.

He’d had to work through communication, when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and never see the light of day again.

Jack makes it easy to forget he’s his own person, where he ends and Jack begins some days.

It’s not okay. It build and builds and it’s not okay.

Eventually, it culminates. As all things must, it comes to a head.

It’s fitting that it doesn’t happen until Jack’s on the other side of a door, and Kent has the option to let him in or keep him locked out.

Kent isn’t feeling like himself when it happens. He knows he’s disassociating when he’s staring at the door knob long enough for Jack to try it, wondering if he’s there.

Kent remembers asking Jack why he’d come. He doesn’t recall saying the words, and he certainly doesn’t remember moving his lips, but he asks.

Jack is quiet on the other side of the door for a long time.

He waits a bit before he asks Kent if he can come inside.

Kent remembers the next moment when he’s face to face with Jack, but he doesn’t remember how he got to the kitchen table, or how Jack sat close enough to him for their knees to touch.

He remembers to breathe.

Jack tells him that the radio silence is his fault, and he has no excuse.

Kent responds that he never tried to reach out after, distanced himself too. They’re both at fault.

Kent remembers July 23rd, when Jack stayed over and they talked about what this meant for them. They were in the peak of summer, but Jack was cool and calm, a soothing balm for the burns Kent was unknowingly nursing.

Jack wants to try again. Kent’s afraid of what could happen but he doesn’t want to let go.

Jack won’t push.

Kent appreciates that he isn’t gonna get shoved headlong into what could be more heartbreak.

He likes that Jack doesn’t promise he won’t break his heart again. It’s open and honest.

He loves that Jack wants to try though, to keep the organ beating and whole.

Kent thinks they spend days in that apartment together.

When they leave, Jack kisses him good bye.

By the time June 20th rolls around, Kent can’t wait for the official start of summer.

He and Jack have plans to go to the Bahamas for his birthday.

They bought their plane tickets and booked a hotel room in early March, after the Aces won the Stanley Cup.

It’s a reward, Jack tells him, for playing harder than any player on the team, a proud captain.

Kent thinks Jack just wants to make up time.

Both aren’t wrong.

Jack makes the summers easy again.

That’s not entirely true.

Kent learned to make the summers easier on his own first. He learned with his dad, with Scrappy, with Swoops, with Jeff.

He learned with his therapist, with time.

Jack just adds to his enjoyment of it.

He was born on July 4th, in the middle of the hottest season of the year, but summer is the season Kent Parson adores most of all.

It’s like a lover. It’s inviting and warm. When it’s good to you, it leaves you whole.

#Pimms #OMGCP #Check Please #Kent Parson #Jack Zimmermann #Bullet fic #Fic #Writing is my passion #God this took so long

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whoacanada · 6 years

Text

‘Supremacy’, Part I

Pairing: Zimbits

Shameless Tropes: Cup Magic, Doppelganger AU, What-If, ‘not-so-Evil’ Twins

Warnings: Implied drug and alcohol abuse, fudging of timelines a little bit

A/N: Title thanks to Muse’s ‘Supremacy’, which I listened to on repeat for most of the time I mapped out this fic. Written as a late Christmas present for @omgpieplease and @heyfightme

Summary: Coming off his second cup win in as many seasons, Canadiens’ Forward Jack Laurent Zimmermann is the most beloved athlete in Canada.

Though his public persona is sterling, his private life is a mess and Montréal’s front office is desperately hiding more than a few secrets beneath the C on Jack’s sweater.

When a drunken cup wish strands him in an alternate reality where he dropped out of the draft, went to college, and still managed to make it to the NHL, Jack becomes desperate to make his counterpart’s world his new permanent home.

Montréal, QC, — two lives removed from a handful of terrible decisions…

“Phillip? Another?”

The bartender has been serving him as long as Jack has lived in the high rise a block over and the man knows how Jack likes his ‘mimosas’: with vodka instead of champagne so the paparazzi don’t get antsy.

He downs the rest of his glass, pokes at what’s left of his omelet, and ignores another call from his father. There is no part of him that wants to deal with whatever story Bettman’s team has spun for the Canadiens front office.

His phone vibrates again, wriggling toward the edge of the table like it’s possessed, and Jack finally swipes to take the call.

"How was your cup day?”

Bob wastes no time and Jack leans back in his seat, taking notice of the teenage girls a few tables over covertly trying to take his photo. He plasters on a smile and waves with his free hand. The blonde with braces and blue eyeshadow gasps and ducks back into the booth, before peeking over the cushion to see if he’s still watching.

He is. He's always watching. The phone in her hand might as well be a gun.

"I didn't damage it,” Jack answers, reaching to take his new drink from the waitress.

“I’m staring at an official memo that cites ‘Inappropriate Behavior’.”

“Oh, is that all? You can deal with ‘Inappropriate’, can’t you?” Jack pulls a pen from the pocket of his jacket and scribbles an autograph on a napkin, snags a passing waiter and whispers, ‘for the girl in the corner booth’.

“I swear to Christ — don’t take that tone with me. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Oh, you know better than to ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

“You can’t keep doing this —“

Jack debates hanging up — chancing a house call from his furious father and a fat organization fine — but the alcohol in his system is softening the situation just enough that Jack can’t seem to care.

“And what is ‘this’, exactly? Winning? Bringing Cups home to Montreal? What was it you told me, again? Something about how you don’t give a ‘flying fuck’ what I get up to on my own time as long I look good doing it?”

“Are you using again?"

“Fuck, don’t I wish,” the words are out before he can stop them and the line goes silent; for a moment, Jack thinks the call may have actually dropped.

“…Don’t tell me that. Never tell me that.”

Right. Plausible deniability.

“Yeah? What will you do if I don't? Suspend me?” Jack dares, waving at the girl again. She looks like she’s about to pass out and Jack wishes he could concentrate that excitement and shoot it right into his veins. “Or will you send me to rehab? I'm sure that'll play well.”

“Don’t make me take action, Jack. Neither of us will enjoy it.”

The girl in the corner is waving excitedly, and Jack knows she’s moments from working up the courage to come over and say thank you.

“Good talk, Bob.” He hangs up on his father, knowing damn well he’ll pay for that move later. Jack knows better than to motion for a bill, instead, he tosses down a hundred dollar note and waves halfheartedly at the wait staff he can see.

His good mood is long gone.

“Have you talked to your parents?”

“They don’t know. About any of it.”

Jack runs the nail of his thumb along the skin of his pointer finger, trying to calm his nerves.

“Well, are you going to tell them? I mean, you might straight-up vanish.”

The FaceTime connection keeps freezing and Jack stares at the disapproving downturn of Kent's lips for six seconds before the feed catches up.

"Don't think that would be the most prudent course of action at this point."

"Just, tell me this: when was the last time you were actually happy?"

It's almost upsetting how quickly he realizes he knows the answer.

"Ugh. How are you so handsome?" Bittle asks, tugging Jack's hair out from its bun so the sweaty locks fall on his face. "It's disgusting. You're disgusting. A disgusting, handsome, sweaty hockey player."

“Doesn’t seem to bother you much,” Jack pauses from where he's pressing messy kisses to Bittle's flushed torso. "It's all those pretty boys you train with, making you crave something more rugged."

His partner reaches up to scratch his nails over the stubble on Jack's cheek. "You're pretty cocky, hon," he whispers, voice thick like honeyed wine, and Jack's done for. He could die happy with this spitfire in his arms and a gold medal around his neck.

"I'm literally the best the world has to offer, I can afford to be cocky," Jack laughs and covers Eric's mouth with his own, tugging at Bittle's bottom lip gently with his teeth. "And so are you. We're a perfect match."

"We are?"

"You’ve made a fan of me," Jack runs a thumb over the Olympic rings tattooed on Eric's hip. "I've been trying to find a way to talk to you since Sochi."

"Seriously?"

"Not to scare you off or anything but I really wanted to meet you."

Eric’s bravado tapers and he tries to hide his face but Jack doesn’t miss the way the skin over his cheekbones flushes a warm peach; it makes his breath catch in his throat.

“Glad I live up to the hype,” Eric whispers shyly, and Jack dips his head again for a kiss relishing how he can feel the way Bittle smiles against his lips. It's almost better than winning.

Almost.

"Pyeongchang."

"The Olympics?"

Jack wants to say yes so desperately because it feels unclean to verbalize his obsession but Kenny, as usual, beats him to the punch.

"No, shit, you're talking about --" Jack looks away from the screen, not quite willing to see pity on another ex's face. "You know, you never actually told me what happened," Kenny prods gently. "Must have been something serious if you're still hung up on the guy."

Morning comes too soon and while Jack can ignore the alarm on his phone, Bittle isn't so content. When Jack rolls over, intent on clutching Eric as close as possible for as long as possible, he finds his partner watching him with an expression Jack can't quite read, his phone clutched tightly in his fist.

"I should head out. I have a phone interview at nine and my publicist needs to —” he stops himself and takes a measured breath before asking, “do you have a Valium or something?”

Jack’s still bleary with sleep but he nods to his bag. Eric steps over his clothes from the night before to dig through Jack’s things for a pill bottle. Crouched the way he is, Jack can make out the tell-tale purple bruise of a bite mark on his hip.

“Someone took a picture of us in Korea,” Eric explains, cracking half a pill and tossing it back dry. “You can’t tell it’s you in the photos — but my publicist has been fielding calls from sponsors talking about morality clause violations.”

After the initial panic that accompanies ‘picture of us’, Jack breathes and refocuses on what Eric isn’t saying, his posture, all of the new information that he needs to work through.

“You’re in violation for going on a date?”

“I’m in violation for kissing an unknown man in public, in a foreign country, while wearing clothing belonging to an ‘identifiable brand’ .”

“That’s bullshit. You’re gay. You’re out, it’s not a secret.”

“I can date but, being ‘publicly indecent’ with a random man is unbecoming of Team USA,” Bittle quotes lamely, dropping his arms and tossing his phone onto the bedspread. “Fuck.”

“I’m not a random guy,” Jack defends but he doesn’t need to fill in the gaps. He just won his second cup, he isn’t public, and he has no plans to come out. The sheet covering him is suddenly too heavy as he kicks at the bedding to get some of the building energy out.

“Literally no one else knows that. Right now I’m just your secret,” Eric points out, pulling on the same briefs Jack removed himself not eight hours earlier. “I’m not a hockey player, Jack. I don’t get paid a hundred million dollars to fling pucks into nets. My job is 90% image — I need to pay for training and ice time, and when you have sponsors there can be really shitty strings attached. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you know better than anyone.”

“You’re not a secret, you’re…” Jack trails off realizing he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. Eric turns to him and looks older than Jack has ever seen him.

“I’m your ‘what’, Jack?”

“My boyfriend,” Jack swallows against the lump in his throat. “Or, I wanted you to be.”

Eric falls back on the bed and pulls a leg underneath himself. Leaning against the headboard, Jack can see their reflection on the glass of the television mounted to the wall — like a photo they’ll never be able to actually take. He knows what’s coming because he’s been here before.

Jack’s never been great with goodbyes.

"You're hyper-focusing like a motherfucker, have you talked to your therapist about this? That was like four months ago."

"Well, it still hurts like yesterday," Jack scoffs and takes a pull from his beer.

"Okay, look, it doesn't matter," Kenny refocuses, "you made a wish on your cup day, a vague-ass, stupid wish, and we need to figure out what the fuck is about to happen to you. Maybe you get lucky and nothing happens but you need to talk to your father in case you end up like a zombie or some shit —“

"Fuck my father," Jack snaps. "He's two steps from throwing me on IR, the last thing I need to do is pour gasoline on that fire."

“Wait, what did you do, now? Piss in the cup?”

“No.” Jack doesn’t elaborate and Kenny’s brow furrows with suspicion.

“Then talk to your Uncle. Anyone. Just as a backup plan for when you blow up.”

“I should get to bed,” Jack hints, desperately wanting the conversation to be over, and, ever diligent, Parson nods and tells him to call first thing in the morning. Just to be sure he hasn’t expired in the night.

They say their goodbyes and Jack closes the lid on his laptop; falling back against the pillows, willing sleep to come and hoping against hope he’ll feel better when he wakes up.

Providence, RI

It takes a moment for those attending the Falconers’ first Family Skate of the season to realize there are two Jack Zimmermanns facing off at center ice.

One in Falconers’ blue, the other in Canadiens’ red.

#zimbits #omgcp #omgcheckplease #jack/bitty #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #my stuff #my writing #doppelganger au #perfect au #part 1

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ittybittypbandj · 6 years

Text

The Internship - Chapter 1

Trying my hand at a multi-chapter Bittyparse fic! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties had become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – All For You by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

#bittyparse #eric bittle #kent parson #kit purrson #omgcp #omgcp fanfic #omgcp fic #kent plays for the rangers #and kit purrson is queen of the world #well queen of my heart #hope you like it!#this is my first time posting tumblr fic #pls tell me if I'm doing it wrong!

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