almost jumps out of his skin when the Haus’ front door bangs open, the loud
slam of wood against wall echoing through the hallway and reaching Bitty where
he had been sitting placidly at the kitchen table. He relaxes when he
recognizes Nursey in the archway of the room, but something about the way he’s
standing makes Bitty double take.
looks like someone took Nursey and gave him a good shake, sloughing off all
that hipster cool that he so carefully cultivates for his everyday persona.
Nursey’s lost the regular slouch in his shoulders, the serene look on his face;
now, he’s swaying slightly, legs and arms tucked tight into his body. It’s like
he’s unconsciously trying to take up as small a space as he can, which, being a
6’2” college athlete, isn’t all that small. His curls are slightly mussed, and
he has lines of exhaustion written across his face.
he says, a note of solemnity in his quiet voice, “I need your help.”
After what Bitty has been referring to in his own head as “The Incident” (with capital letters and all), things between the lax team and the hockey team are… Better? Naturally, Bitty couldn’t tell his team about what had happened, and in fact hadn’t even been pressured to; the teammates who’d been in the house at the time hadn’t even realized he was gone until he was strolling back through the door. So much for having each other’s backs, Bitty had mumbled to himself as he rolled out his pie crust.
But that had been nearly a month ago, and since then, the hockey team hadn’t been over even once to bang at the door with complaints– not even when the house had hosted a party two weeks ago and their music had been loud enough for the bass to be felt a full block away. It’s unusual behavior, and Bitty would be lying if he ever tried to say he isn’t curious about it. The way he sees it, they’re probably just feeling guilty over the whole kidnapping thing. Which is probably fair, all things considered, and Bitty appreciates their consideration. For the most part.
Despite the hockey team’s apparent peace with the lacrosse team, they do still seem a little spiteful. Either that, or Bitty is projecting his own spite onto them; he’s been sitting at the house’s kitchen table for a full two hours now, picking at a now cold tray of bagel bites as he tries to finish an essay. It’s not due until the next Monday, a fact that has Bitty thanking any and all gods who may exist, because there is no way in hell he can finish it tonight with the loud music blaring from across the street. Bitty keeps finding himself bouncing a leg to the beat and staring blankly at his laptop instead of actually writing, and after the fourth time, he finally sighs and slams the thing shut, sliding it perhaps too roughly into his backpack. He deposits the entire bag safely by the stairs before he heads out.
Hiii~ I’ve reached 500+ followers and i want to say “thank you!!” to every single one of you, so i decide to do a follow forever ♥ I’m very thankful to have such a beautiful family and friends like you! As first i’ll mention my beautiful mutuals~ thank you for being with me every day ♥
a/n: sorry, this is two days late, but it’s also almost 3k, so…. hopefully that makes up for the tardiness? also! please note that this fic doesn’t have anything to do with ngozi’s short comic, wingman. your characters are safe. content warning for underage alcohol usage.
This is definitely not what Dex signed up for.
He’d expected Nursey Patrol to involve limiting Nursey’s
shots and keeping him from dancing on tables, which, okay, would have sucked,
but this is honestly not much better.
“Soooo, have you met Dex?” Nursey says for the third time
this night, like imitating Neil Patrick Harris is still funny. He’s dragged Dex
over to yet another group of female athletes that he’s going to have to do his
best to avoid for the next three years of his college career. Nice.
“Hi,” Dex says awkwardly. “I’m Dex.”
“Pssh, I just said that,” Nursey says, slinging an arm over
Dex’s shoulder and leaning on him only a little more heavily than he night have
done sober. “He’s usually a lot brighter than this, ladies. He’s a CompSci major—super
smart with computers and shit. Plus all that typing means he’s good with his
fingers, if you know what I mean. Just look at those hands—”
“Okay, that’s enough, Nurse. Sorry, you guys, um. Bye.”
He pulls Nursey away from the girls and—fuck, he’s pretty
sure one of them is in his Stats class, dammit.
Nursey stumbles behind him obediently, letting Dex drag him over to the
kitchen. Dex fills nursey a glass of water and Nursey drinks it dutifully,
standing next to the fridge.
“Okay, so remind me why you’re trying to humiliate me in
front of half of Samwell’s female population?” Dex demands when Nursey finishes
“‘M not humiliating you,” Nursey insists, then waggles his
ridiculous eyebrows. “I’m trying to get you laid.”
if you move again, I will stab you with a paint scraper,” Lardo snaps out, not
looking up from her canvas. She scratches her thumbnail over an imperfection in
the white expanse in front of her, flicking off the offending fleck.
sniffs from across the room, muttering to himself.
was that?” Lardo says, looking up at him sharply.
Lards! Nothing at all.” He’s quiet for another few seconds. “My nose itches.”
Lardo drops her head down to her chest and lets out a long-suffering sigh. She
tosses her pencil into the wells at the bottom of her easel and circles her
Move.” She chides him. Carefully, she reaches out and scratches gently along
the bridge of Nursey’s nose.
WHO SAYS HE IS SCARY COME AND FIGHT ME *attempts to make ninja moves but fails* He’s a precious bag of gummy smiles and weird but adorable ponies sprinkled with a lot of wisdom and grandpa things and a whale voice that can pierce through my weak heart with a simple ‘chyeah’ *pretends to pet his hair*
It’s not like Kent could get out of playing against Jack. If he could, he might’ve considered it. But there Jack goes making that fucking goal, tying the score with minutes left in the third period. Maybe if Kent wasn’t so single-minded when it came to hockey, he could deal with going into overtime. But something about Zimms giving him a run for his money is unacceptable. He pushes for another goal, it works. Unfortunately, that means accidentally running into Snowy and the net after the fact.
It’s funny how the Aces have a rep for being cheaters when the only time shit like this happens is on accident. Not that anyone would believe him. Kent’s caught under a haze of players when someone lifts him like he weighs nothing. He should guess it’s Alexei, but hearing him curse at Kent confirms it.
“You liking hit that so much?” Tater shouts. “I can hit too!”
Tater’s giving him the stink eye and honestly, it takes all of Kent’s energy to look guilty and not turned on. The goal stands, and he knows he’s gonna have some shit to answer for later. But right now, he can’t get over how good it feels to win. He’s earned this; he doesn’t have to answer to live up to Jack’s shadow anymore.
Of course, the post-game interview is going to have at least one question about that goal and three to ten about Jack.
“We played our best out there,” he tells the journalists. “This time it was enough, but obviously, we’ll prepare for the next one just as well.”
He showers, gets an Uber, and leaves without much ado. He thinks about whether he’s petty enough to say good game to Jack. Kent doesn’t know when he became so angry with him. It needs to stop—he knows that much. However, that’s an issue for another day.
There’s a brownstone townhouse a few blocks from the arena. Kent could’ve walked here, but he figures he needs to work on an apology dinner while he still has time. He pulls his key ring out of his back pocket, bracing himself. He slips in the front door, flicking on the entrance light just before getting tackled by fifty pounds of fluff.
“Vera, stop,” he laughs wincing as the black and white Siberian husky licks all over his face. He’s able to sit up after a minute of wet kisses, “yea I missed you too, baby.” He ruffles her fur, kissing her cold nose. “C’mon, you can help me grovel to Papa.”
Okay first off, I am the actual worst at getting prompts done on time. Work has been crazy. So today, I’m going to try and get some of the stuff done that I’ve been putting off. ( @softkent)
“Chow, you don’t understand, everyone saw it!” Dex flopped backwards
onto Chowder’s bed and draped his arm over his eyes. “I can never set foot
in that class again, and I need it to graduate!”
Chowder awkwardly patted his arm. “It can’t be that bad Dex, everyone has a
bad presentation at some point. They’ll forget about it.”
“No, the presentation was going great, but I forgot I had been playing
around with the program and-” his face went scarlet. “They saw
something I had been messing around with.”
“Still, it can’t be that bad,” Chowder said.
“My life is over,” Dex dramatically flopped onto his stomach and
pulled one of Chowder’s stuffed sharks over his head. “Just pull out my
laptop, you’ll see it. The program’s still open.” His voice was muffled
under the shark but Chowder could still hear how defeated he sounded.
Chowder patted his shoulder and snagged Dex’s laptop from his bag. Opening it,
he saw exactly what Dex was talking about. “Oh.”
I generally don’t do this stuff but I wanted to show my appreciation to the awesome people I’m following mutuals or non mutuals. Thank you all for making this blue hell hole of a site a much better place to be!
There are more cool blogs that I do follow which you can check out in my blogroll page.
Josephine Yael Margolin, Dallas and Hazel’s supermom. She met Dallas’ dad at college. I’ve already mentioned this,
This happened way before the baseball team were close friends, but, I imagine, Parker likes to collect baseball cards, and one time, Parker opened a pack of ice cream sandwiches, a card fell out. It was shiny and there was “Abraham Margolin” printed over it. Ben was always a huuuge Margolin fan, and he asked if he could have it. Dallas was all. “Hey!! It’s dad!!” And Ben rolled his eyes and he’s all “t'chyeah, right, and Madonna’s my mom.” And Dallas is all “no, really! He’s my dad.” And he pulls out some pics from his wallet and Ben Just Lost His Shit. Queue Tyler tearfully meeting Josie, because, back in the day, Josie was a popular supermodel who probably appeared in a couple of music videos.
When Dallas refuses to wake up, she’d blast Africa by Toto and Dallas would tearfully get up like MOTHER.. PLEASE.. STOP.. YOU SAID YOUD STOP..
The home Dallas and Hazel and her live in is her childhood home. Her parents are influential and Old Money.
She loves Jackson 5!
Her room still has posters of David Bowie, which is now Dallas’ room.
In her youth, she had a huge crush on Dallas Winston.
She’s supportive of her kids. You bet when Dallas came out and when Dallas was diagnosed with MI, she spent all night researching, getting him support dogs, trying to find the best and most comfortable binder for him. She Just Loves Her Kids A lot.
She can knit!!
Dallas doesn’t tell her everything because he’s afraid he’s abusing his mom’s kindness. She can see right through him though.
(I’m on mobile so cw: parent mention , cw: mom ment)
While the top of the lasagna browns they set the table together. “That was seriously her excuse?” Ransom asks, handing Holster the stack of plates.
“Chyeah,” Holster says. He lays them out, ducking out of the way when Ransom comes up behind him with glasses. “She needs to be like, a creative free spirit or some shit.”
“She can be a creative free spirit when it doesn’t involve wasting a ticket I totally would’ve used,” Ransom grumbles. “You’re not asking her to commit to two kids and a mortgage. Will you be there? Yes or no. Simple answer. I could’ve booked work off.”
Holster’s pulling salad dressings out of the fridge when the oven timer goes off; he dumps them on the table and goes to pull down his oven mitts, while Ransom puckers fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly enough to be heard at the other end of the house.
“I’m coming!” March yells, distantly.
They’ve begun to serve themselves when she appears, sock-footed, in the kitchen doorway. With a flick of her eyebrow she takes in the lack of a fourth place setting, then slips into her place. “Justine not joining us?”
“She’s still in New York,” Ransom says, rolling his eyes suggestively.
“She had to ‘pursue an emergent connection’,” Holster supplies.
“She found a better date,” Ransom whisper-translates.
Holster serves March a slice of lasagna, then gestures with the spatula at her. “Ransy’s got work in an hour. Wanna go to a hockey game with me?”