go eric!!

The African Violets, May 10, 1998.

Mother’s Day. 

            Eric had stayed over at Dylan’s since Thursday night.  His father had the flu first and now his mom had it, and there was no way Eric was going to fall victim to such an ailment. However, based on what was happening now, he almost wished he had stayed home, instead of witnessing Dylan’s mom chew Dylan out like he had never seen her do before.

           It was mid evening, and everyone happened to be in the kitchen at the same time. “Dyl, did you take the trash out this morning?” Sue asked as Dylan had his head buried in the fridge. All you could see from an angle were the thick curls sticking out of his backward baseball cap.

“Uh, no I forgot. I can do it tonight.” He stuttered. He had been forgetting his chores more often now that he and Eric had begun seriously planning for NBK. They already had a good portion of it thought out. They especially made great progress just this afternoon by making a few pipe bombs. All they needed to do was save up money to get the supplies and practice. 

Sue shook her head in agitation and disapproval. After a few moments she spoke again, “Do you even know what day it is? “ 

Dylan stood up fully and closed the fridge door, and the blank expression on his face told Eric that he had forgotten it was Mother’s Day. He tried to save him from more of her impending wrath, and quickly tapped his shoulder and pulled him down so he could whisper the answer in his ear.

Sue scolded him.  “Don’t you dare tell him.” Dylan briefly glanced at Eric and then at his mom’s expression. He couldn’t figure out why she’d been so irritable all day.  

Eric pressed his lips into a thin line and stepped back away from Dylan with both of his hands raised in surrender.

Poor Dylan didn’t have a clue what could be so special about today. Eric’s blue eyes were wide in anticipation and he lightly shook his head side to side and repeated the words over and over in his mind. “Don’t say Sunday. Don’t say Sunday. For Godsake whatever you do don’t fucking say Sunday!”

“It’s Sunday.” He replied in a sheepish and not sarcastic manner.

Eric smacked his hand against his forehead in shame and which partially covered his eyes. He was totally unprepared for what happened next.

           Without warning Sue pushed Dylan against the refrigerator in pure frustration. Dylan’s back was knocked into the hard metal surface making a loud clanking sound, and in the process caused a few magnets to fall off the cool metal surface and clank onto the tile floor. If it had been anyone else Dylan would have been more prepared and they wouldn’t have been able to budge him an inch. But, it was his mom pushing him and Dylan was completely caught off guard. He didn’t know what to do.

“You know, you’ve got to stop thinking of yourself. You’ve got to stop being so selfish. I can’t believe that after all these years…” 

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My dad has a doppelganger named Eric. For years people have been coming up to him, thinking he was Eric. Sometimes people get a whole conversation going while my dad stands there politely wondering why this stranger is talking to him before they stop, wide eyed, and realize “you’re not Eric.” None of us have ever seen Eric, but we know he’s out there. Sometimes a couple years will go by without an Eric incident and we worry. But then my dad will come home like “good news guys, Eric’s still alive, I met his cousin today.”


@justlikecpparadise asked:

plz draw our fav boyz in yoga poses thank, also looking out for that hc you said you’d be making ;) lol


bitty’s SUPER limber bc of the whole figure skating/hockey league thing, and sometimes jack thinks it’s going to be the death of him

i love prince eric.  from the little mermaid.  he’s hilarious.  because he seems like one of the most mild-mannered and unassuming princes in the disney canon, but he is also one of the few to actively kill the bad guy.   most disney villains die by consequence of the final battle but are not directly killed by the hero/heroine.  most of them fall to their deaths or cause their own demise, and sometimes the hero is indirectly responsible because they’ll launch them into that direction or something, but they still don’t bring knife to heart directly.  

but then a couple do.  and prince eric is my fave out of those few because up until the final act, he is the most chill motherfucker u ever seen.  like he is quick to spring to action during the storm scene n stuff, but otherwise?  he’s really quiet n sensitive and runs along the beach playing the flute for his big shaggy dog n he smiles like a lil nerd and gets all cute around ariel and he’s so sweet n everything.


i love him

listen, i love jack ‘it’s only minus ten out i can wear shorts out’ zimmermann as much as everyone else but as anyone who lives in a cold place can tell you, we get VERY worried about people from warm places who clearly Do Not Understand How To Winter. 

and while bitty is very good at bundling up he clearly doesn’t know what to wear out (he wouldn’t have to wear so many layers if he had good winter clothes after all) and it is Very Upsetting to jack. so every single time bitty visits jack starting from october, jack has another piece of high quality winter clothing waiting for him, whether it be double layered mittens, wool-lined boots, or a coat that feels like duvet. 

so even though bitty still complains bitterly about the winter and (more amusedly) about jack’s wintery mother hen tendencies (”jack it’s the third of october, i don’t need woolen socks”) he’s at least warm which makes jack’s heart as toasty as bitty’s toes. 

anonymous asked:

Since bitty is (I think?) the first openly gay player in the NHL in the fics, what about other players hitting on him when they play the schooners, or even better, during the all star game when jack is right there?

The game so far has been nothing memorable, just another pre-season exhibition against Edmonton that neither team really want to give their all because why risk anything before the season even starts?

“Bittle,” Burig, a second line Oilers winger, flags Eric down at the end of the second period, with a look of grim determination that gives Eric the sense he’s about to be sucker-punched.


“You, uh,” Burig hesitates, gnawing on his mouthguard and twisting his stick in his hands while he comes up with whatever he wants to say. He huffs and looks around for any teammates that might be watching the exchange, finding the rest of his line distracted, he leans in close. “You doing anything after the game?”

Eric blinks. “What?” 

“Just,” Burig shrugs, face flushing pink, “wanted to see if you’d like to grab a drink or something.”

“Oh. Oh!” Someone from the bench yells his name and Eric is faced with a dilemma he knows he can’t resolve in the next 15 seconds. “Wait for me after the game, we can talk.”

Burig nods tightly, beet red, and skates back to his own bench.

Just another thing for Eric to think about while coach yells at him for missing an unnecessary pep talk.


Burig is waiting for Eric when he leaves the locker room, hair still damp and his suit slightly rumpled like he’d thrown it on in a rush, which makes Eric feel worse for some reason.

“Hey,” he perks up when he sees Eric, sliding his phone into his gear bag. “You wanted to talk?” He sounds so earnest it hurts and Eric motions to a meeting room just off the hallway.

“It’ll be a bit more private in here.”

Eric doesn’t waste time when the doors close, Burig isn’t the first player to approach him and he certainly won’t be the last.

“You’re very sweet, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Burig curses, shouldering his duffel bag. “No way someone as hot as you is single. Worth a shot, right?”

“Were you looking for a hook-up or?”

“No, not like that, I just kinda,” he hesitates like he’s afraid of saying too much.

“Safe space,” Eric waves his arms to indicate the empty room. “Be honest.”

“I’m tired of Grindr and puckbunnies and bar hookups, you know? I want something real.”

Eric immediately runs through a list in his mind of the few single players he’s met in similarly awkward situations. “You play in Vancouver next week, right?”

Burig’s eyes go wide and Eric holds up a warning finger. “Hold your horses. I may have a friend in a similar situation, but it’ll be on his terms if he wants to reach out. Give me your number, and I’ll pass it along if he wants to meet. Okay? No promises.”


“You want to tell me why we’re watching Vancouver slaughter Edmonton when we could be doing literally anything else?” Jack bemoans from the couch, poking and prodding at Eric to distract him.

“I’m invested, alright? You plant seeds, you watch ‘em grow.”

The clock runs out on the second period and Eric keeps his eyes trained on Vancouver’s goalie, Crivier, who waves Burig over in a moment of calm. The two talk, barely visible over the shoulder of a commentator, but moments later Burig skates away with a very prominent smile on face. 

“And boom goes the dynamite,” Eric whispers, grabbing the remote to switch over to the new season of House of Cards.

“You playing matchmaker again, Bits?” Jack laughs, pressing himself against Eric’s side and nuzzling at his neck.

“You know how much competition you’d have if I didn’t set up all the guys that hit on me with each other?” Eric breathes, sliding his fingers through Jack’s hair. “I could have a harem.”

Jack groans and squeezes Eric tightly. “I’ll fight everyone,” he murmurs, “even the guys I like.” 

NurseyWeek Prompt #2 - Surprise

Bitty 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.

It 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.

“Bits,” he says, a note of solemnity in his quiet voice, “I need your help.”

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