#“ur package is arriving late” NO FUCKING SHIT

[skelekins]

FFFFFt, FFF fFF FFFFT

[mistymark]

the boyfriend one. [jeno]

full masterlist // part of the nct boyfriend series // 1.0k

Sweet Boi

really just loves you a lot

ur really living the life if ur dating him

like

athletic, handsome, musically talented, intelligent, funny, sweet, the boy is the Whole Package

and not just the tiny package people use to build someone’s self confidence 

he's the Whole Package but like all twenty packages you could possibly get

he really is That Guy

perfection

and hes ur boyfriend (lucky hoe)

overall adorable boyfriend

lowkey shy lowkey treats you like one of the guys

definitely have one of those ‘We were best friends and now we’re dating’ kinda relationships

you were probably friends for a while beforehand

and his confession consisted of him holding your hand for the whole day before you even noticed

and then asking you out in the cutest manner

made you stop walking so he could stand in front of you and tell you how he felt

you melted it was so cute

mostly because ho’s so cute

loves to joke around w you

used to claim he “didnt know how to flirt” yet would flirt with you Constantly

the boys would always make fun of him poor boy lmao

and it was that really Obvious flirting as well

but you never really thought he meant it

he did tho lol

sometimes would hit u with classic dad jokes which would make you wanna DIE from laughing but are also So Terrible

“jeno im tired :((” “hi tired im jeno”

jhjhkjshcjhs

but you gotta like his jokes if ur dating jeno

and he would love that u understand and appreciate his sense of humour

even if u roast him for his lame jokes sometimes,,, you still get them and sometimes think theyre actually funny

he's also probably lowkey the showoff type but like, accidentally

like you'd be hanging out with ur friends and he'd arrive and be like ‘oh babe sorry im late’ and hand u flowers and all their significant others just seem less significant, inferior, not jeno

loves treating you though

loves to see you smile

really just wants to see u happy

when it comes to him, your smile is infectious

always cackling around you at the dumbest shit

like you’re never serious when you’re together

you’re both just so happy all the time it’s so pure

needless to say whenever he needs to do anything seriously you’re immediately banned from being anywhere near him

“no babe I have to study” “I can help you jeno :((” “no you won't, trust me”

your contact in his phone is “the distraction” but he insists it’s just your name

you didn’t find out until jaemin told you

his password is 100% ‘000000′ and you’re the only one that knows

youre honestly surprised no one else has figured that out

his background is something subtly you, like a random sunset pic you sent him once or a cute doodle you did one time when you were studying  together

always there to help you destress because boy is Chill

suggests athletic dates

like indoor trampolining or walks along the beach or something where you’re doing something

doesnt understand what sitting down is

randomly shows up on your doorstep when he’s hungry

even tho he lives like a fifteen minute walk away

he knows you’re always up for a lunch date or a coffee run

when you won't stop working he drags your chair out of the room and closes the door

holds it closed until you promise him you’ll take a break

lets you back in with the softest smile

lowkey wears outfits he knows you’ll like around you just to see if he gets a reaction

tells you he’s gonna change his appearance just to make u have a breakdown

“babe im gonna go bald” “JENO YOURE W H A T ?!”

thinks hes so fucking funny istg this kid

favourite pda is

just fuckin

lying on each other

or forehead kisses

if its just the boys around hes constantly lying on you

and youve got 60kg of teenage boy weighing you down

but if youre out in public you just look like really good friends

sometimes holds your hands if hes in a mood

like stressed or kinda bummed

just needs to know youre there you know

forehead kisses he presses to your head whenever he has the opportunity

walking in the city and gotta stop to wait to cross the road? hes got his arm wrapped around ur shoulder and is tugging you into his chest to press a kiss to your forehead

stares at you sometimes without meaning to

gets embarrassed when you tease him about it

boy is just really in awe of you tbh

asks you to be his date for any event ever

it was like that when you guys were just friends too

everyone thought you were a couple way before he officially asked you out

he pretended it annoyed him the lil jackass

but his crush was so obvious lmao

like jeno seriously boy

falls on you whenever you make him laugh

so all the time lol

boy needs to get it together

because you were so close beforehand you’re so used to teasing each other

so if he does compliment you he either stutters as he says it or compliments something so random

one time you were sick and your voice dropped like two octaves and he thought it was so hot lol

but he wasnt going to tell you that

“you should get sick more often”

- jeno 2k19

sweetie that aint how you do it but ok

okay maybe I lied sometimes when hes really shocked by how beautiful you are he just blurts out his compliment

its really quite precious

I mean its jeno

what else is new

anyway

take care of this precious boy he is my son I love him sm

peace out babies

[scaredpotter-malfoy]

I Really Hope You’ll Stay

Instead of writing my theatre history paper, I wrote this drabble based on the song Movember by Mom Jeans. It got longer than I anticipated, but I hope y’all like it. (also Mom Jeans. slaps, please listen to them)

Harry really couldn’t understand what Draco’s problem was lately. He was being meaner than he had in years. It reminded Harry of the relationship they had at Hogwarts, and not in a good way. Harry was going to a five year reunion of all the students who fought in the war, and Draco was supposed to come with him, and he had... after a lot of convincing. Draco had caused a big fight, claiming no one would want him, a former death eater, at the reunion. Sure, he fought in the war, but he was on the wrong side, and no amount of time would change that. He had given in just to shut Harry up about them being a “package deal” and it was proving to be a huge mistake. Draco was incredibly out of place as soon as they walked into The Leaky Cauldron. Harry had entered first, greeted with an uproar from their former peers, all chanting something about him being the Savior. He dragged Draco in by his hand, and while the shouting didn’t fully stop, it did get a lot quieter. Only the voices of Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, who had all become Draco’s friends in the past two years that he and Harry had been together, were heard cheering for his arrival as well. After an hour or so of being towed around by Harry, and being, for the most part, awkwardly acknowledge at best, Draco was done. Harry had somehow managed to become decently drunk in just an hour off of all the beers being bought for him, and to his credit, he did keep asking Draco if he was okay, and if he wanted to go, to which Draco continued to lie through his teeth with an “I’m fine” all for the sake of their beloved Savior. This celebration wasn’t for him. It was for everyone on the right side of history, and Draco just wanted to go home and sulk alone with his boyfriend. “We’re leaving,” Draco said abruptly. Harry looked more surprised than Draco felt he had any right to be. “What are you talking about? We just got here,” Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes. “Harry, this isn’t my scene. It isn’t my fucking celebration. You keep asking if I want to go, and I do so we’re going,” Draco seethed. He grabbed Harry’s pint from him, and stood up. Harry stood as well, snatching the pint back and pointing towards the door. “It’s a celebration for all the war survivors, and like it or not you’re one of them, but if you’re going to be like that you can just leave. Leave me here with my friends, and maybe we’ll be able to be honest about our feelings since with war without worrying about you,” Harry snapped. He sat back down, turning away from Draco, and forcing a too casual conversation to fill the silence that had fallen on the table they were currently at. “You know what? That’s fine then. I’ll go so that it’s not your problem. No need to care,” Draco snapped back as he stormed out of the pub. He didn’t care one bit about that Harry had said they weren’t able to speak honestly about the war with him around. Except that he did care, and it had hurt a lot more than he’d expected.

Draco was awoken by a waft of cigarette smoke, and the sound of someone riffling through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. No doubt, Harry was home. Draco reached over to the night stand to grab the phone Harry had forced him to get (for faster communication while he was away on Auror business). He had 3 different drunk texts from Harry, each a little longer than the last.

i miss u. this isnt fun anymore everyone is getting sad :(

u deserve to be here so much u saved my life more than once it wouldve been fine and also i love u

but if u really cared about me u would keep track of every time u said ur fine but u werent bc i keep asking and u keep saying ur fine but u still hurt which is ok

The sound of the bathroom door opening made Draco drop his phone to openly glare at Harry. “If you’re going to keep up that insufferable habit, you need to keep it outside you absolute git,” Draco complained as Harry took a drag from his cig. As soon as his eyes met Draco’s, Harry vanished his cig and crawled onto the bed, leaning down to land one too-wet kiss on his boyfriends lips. Draco groaned and pushed Harry back, wiping his mouth a bit. “Now I smell like smoke, AND I feel like shit,” he grumbled. “‘m sorry,” Harry mumbled before knocking back what seemed to be a sober up potion. He flopped onto his back, letting the potion take affect before starting what he hoped wouldn’t turn into another big fight. Draco took a deep breath before speaking, he didn’t want to fight again either. “I just read your texts. I know you always ask if I’m okay, but I’m not about to tell you I’m not fine when you clearly want to pretend everything is normal and happy because it’s never what you want to hear. And if it isn’t fine right then you say it will be fine, which is a lie.” “You know when you’re like five, and you go to the doctor, or I guess healer in your case, and they tell you that you’ll be fine, but it still hurts?” Harry asked, “I’m pretty sure it was just a little trick to make us feel alright. That’s all I’m trying to do Draco, I’m just trying to make you feel alright. Even when it still hurts.” Draco looked over at him. He was fully sober now, his bright emerald eyes no long vacant, but still just as sad. “I know I said that it’s not your problem, and not your care, but you not being able to honestly share your thoughts and feelings about what happened during the war while I’m around is not something that can be fixed with three drunk texts and one wet kiss,” Draco explained, finding himself more sad than angry. Harry sat up, pulling Draco up with him, and crossed his legs so they could fully face each other. Draco mirrored his position. “I don’t know why you have to be so mean in the moment. I know I told you to just leave me with my friends and my thoughts, but I often have thoughts that can’t be shared and-” “Thoughts about the war that can’t be shared with me,” Draco interrupted. Harry rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I have thoughts about the war that I can’t share with anyone. But what I’m talking about is thoughts about us that I can’t share with you,” Harry admitted. He knew Draco was going to make him say what his thoughts were, and maybe that would be it for them, but he really hoped not. “What thoughts about us?” Draco asked hesitantly. He was unsure wanted to hear Harry’s answer, but he had to, for the sake of their recently floundering relationship. “I’m scared that you’re in love with me as I am right now, because we’re in such similar places. Still recovering from the war. Still dealing with the aftershocks, and grappling with the effects of what was expected of us for our entire lives. Both of our lives revolved around Voldemort, albeit in totally different ways, and after he was gone, we were lost. Now we’ve found some sort of kinda fucked up comfort, and I guess I’m scared you’re in love with that,” Harry paused to breathe and allow Draco to say something. There was clearly something he wanted to say, but he looked almost scared to speak. “You- you’re scared I’m in love with how you are now? I don’t understand,” Draco whispered. Of course he was in love with how Harry was at the moment, if he wasn’t they wouldn’t be together. Harry shook his head and let out a defeated laugh. “It’s just- look. I’m not getting any younger, and my lungs get blacker every day. If I were to grow a beard, or stop drinking beer, I fear you might not love me enough to make you stay,” Harry admitted, looking down at his hands. Draco grabbed Harry’s chin and tilted his head up until they were eye to eye. He rubbed his thumb along Harry’s jaw, feeling the stubble that had grown in since the last time he had shaved, and smiled sadly. “I didn’t realize you were afraid to change and grow because of me-” “Because of losing you,” Harry corrected. Draco nodded. “Because of losing me. I think we’ve both been afraid of changing, because it’s hard to find out who you are after the entire reason for your existence is gone. How about we try to grow and figure out who we are together?” Draco offered. He could see the hesitation in Harry’s eyes. “If I who I am isn’t what you expected, I really hope you’ll stay,” Harry sighed. Draco leaned forward and softly kissed his lips. Harry relaxed immediately, falling into his touch. Draco pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Harry’s. “I’ll stay.”

[alphacrone]

The Origin of the Bittle-Zimmermann Cruel Jam Empire (Another Non-NHL!Jack fic)

[Sequel to this fic]

CW: FOOD, mentions of real people

“Alright, so I got so stressed out about the exam I had today that I made a couple things of jam,” Bittle said as he swept into Jack’s apartment. He’d had his own key since Jack had gotten the place, and he abused that privilege on an almost daily basis. If it had been anyone else, Jack would have regretted living so close to campus.

“What’s ‘a couple?’” Jack asked without looking up from his laptop.

Bittle huffed and set a box down on Jack’s table with a small thud. “I plead the fifth,” he said, hand on his hip.

“Mhmm.” Jack raised an eyebrow, standing to peer inside at the half dozen mason jars. “What’re today’s flavors?”

“Three things of strawberry rhubarb -- I experimented with adding vanilla and nutmeg -- and jalapeño jam, which everyone back home loves to use for holiday parties and whatnot. Goes great with cream cheese and crackers.”

“Because I throw so many parties,” Jack chirped.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Bittle asked, bustling around to grab himself a cup of water. “We’re hosting a holiday party before everyone goes home. Not a big thing,” he added quickly at Jack’s frown. “Me, you, the gang, the Frogs…”

“Matt?” Jack asked far too casually.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bittle said, frowning down at the sink. “Things have been kind of weird with him lately. I think he’s gonna break up with me.”

Jack gritted his teeth. Sure, he wasn’t Matt’s biggest fan, but he didn’t the guy was that stupid. “His loss,” he managed to say, switching over from his assignment to his Gmail account to try and distract himself. There were three new emails waiting for him: one from his parents, checking in; one from his bank with his daily checking account balance; and one, surprisingly, from Georgia Martin.

“You’re sweet,” Bittle said sadly, sitting down across from Jack. “But he’s, like, way out of my league. I never stood a chance.”

Jack frowned, mouse hovering over George’s name. “Bittle, he’s out of your league because he’s- he’s little league and you’re- you’re fucking Peyton Manning.”

Bittle chewed on his bottom lip, looking pleased. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Just stating facts,” he replied, opening George’s email and skimming the contents. “Huh…”

“What?” Bittle cast him a curious glance.

“I have an email from George Martin- you remember her, right? She was the AGM who knocked you over while you were Tweeting your way to class.” Bittle glared at him but nodded. “She’s just...I don’t know. Checking up on me. Making sure I’m doing okay, asking if there’s anything I need from her. That’s...nice.”

Bittle cooed. “What a sweet lady. I should send her some jam.”

“We’ve got plenty,” Jack mildly. Bittle scoffed.

“There’s a whole case left at the Haus. I’m giving some to Farmer for the volleyball team, and some to Atley for being the best advisor ever, but I think I can definitely spare one or five jars. And make some bread to go with it.”

“Here,” Jack said, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “Use my card for the shipping.” “Jack, I couldn’t-” Bittle started, but stopped at the look Jack cast him. “Alright, thank you. The Sin Bin’s been running a bit low since March and Ransom broke up and Holster declared a moratorium on Nursey using the word ‘hashtag’ in conversations with Dex.”

Jack chuckled and shook his head. “You know, you can always count on me to be your personal Sin Bin. You don’t have to pay for all of your baking from fines and Christmas money from Moomaw.”

Bitty sighed. “You know I can’t do that, Jack. Plus, I have two whole jobs now! They don’t pay much, but they definitely fun my butter obsession.”

Jack sighed fondly, holding back a smile. Bittle had managed to get a job over the summer filming video blogs for the administration office’s YouTube channel. It was a weak attempt on their end to attract students to Samwell, but Bittle loved it to death -- and he’d been so good at it, they’d offered him a position as a tour guide. Neither was more than a few hours a week and both were minimum wage, but they made Bittle happy and gave him some sense of financial independence, no matter how inconsequential.

“Okay,” Jack said placatingly. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if you’re ordering Thai,” Bittle teased.

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and opened up his phone, thumb already on the GrubHub icon.

The holiday party was as low-key as Bittle had promised. Matt had broken up with him, but Bittle didn’t seem too upset. Ransom and Holster were so burned out from finals and the season that they didn’t even try to bring a keg, and Shitty brought a whole sack full of presents for everyone, poorly wrapped in “non-denominational, boss-ass snowman” wrapping paper. Nursey and Dex seemed to fighting less, and Chowder brought Farmer, who was always really nice to Jack. They sat around Jack’s tiny living room, eating jalapeño jelly on crackers with cream cheese and drinking wine that actually came from a bottle.

“I feel so adult,” Bittle whispered to Jack, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “It’s like the New Year’s parties my parents always go to.”

Jack grinned down at him and helped himself to some of the artichoke dip that had just been pulled from the oven. “You’ll be 21 in a few months, Bittle,” he said. “Soon you’ll be old and boring like me.”

“Shh,” Bittle shushed. “Will not.”

“Oh, did I tell you?” Jack sat up a little straighter, trying not to feel excited when Bittle leaned into his space. “George wrote a thank you note for the jam and bread you sent over. Apparently,” he continued, leaning over to grab his own glass of water. “Alexei Mashkov had some -- they brunch, or something -- and was asking her for your contact info. I can pass that along, if you want.”

“Oh!” Bittle held a hand to his mouth. “An NHL star wants my jam?”

“What?” Holster looked over at them. “Bits, are you boning a pro athlete?”

“No!” Bittle gasped loudly. “Alexei Mashkov wants my actual jam, the kind I make in a kitchen.”

“Dude, what?!” Ransom jumped up, eyes wide with excitement. “You’ve talked to Mashkov?!”

“No,” Bittle repeated, looking frustrated. Jack casually leaned over to grab the wine from the coffee table and pour Bittle another glass. “Jack talked to Geo- the Falconers’ GM recently and she was so nice I sent her a care package and she shared it with Mashkov and now, apparently, he wants some for himself. Which I am happy to do,” he said, turning to Jack.

“Cool,” Jack said. “So that’s, what, $5 a jar, $6? How much for the bread?”

“What? Don’t be silly,” Bittle said, stunned. “I can’t charge him.”

“Why not?” Lardo asked, head tilted to the side.

“That’d be rude!”

Shitty snorted. “Bits, I think that’s small change for someone like him.”

“It was a gift for Ms. Martin,” Bittle said sternly. “So it would be a gift for Mr. Mashkov as well.”

“But you don’t know him,” Ransom argued, looking a little too disappointed at that fact. “And he hasn’t done anything for you, like favors or whatever. Obviously he should pay you, at least for the cost of supplies.”

Bittle huffed, looking worked up, so Jack squeezed his shoulder and said, “Bud, Mashkov wouldn’t see it as rude. George’s words were, and I quote, ‘Mashkov really wants to order some jam from Bittle.’”

This seemed to sway Bittle. “Well, if that’s what she said…But the bread is gonna be complimentary, got it?”

“Dude, you could sell this shit for a hundred bucks and people would buy it,” Ransom said around a mouthful of crackers and jam. “It’s that good.”

“Oh, stop,” Bittle said, frowning. “Let’s open presents. Ooh, wine.” He noticed his newly-filled glass and took it happily. “I made all’ve y’all food and stuff, in those baskets over there. Merry Christmas.”

Shitty collapsed on top of Bittle, nearly spilling his wine, and kissed his face all over with glee. Ransom and Holster immediately began stealing things from each other’s baskets, and Lardo stole from both of theirs while they were distracted. Jack leaned back and watched his friends, feeling calm and content and confident that he was right where he belonged.

A few days after Jack returned to Samwell from his winter break in Montreal, he received a text from an unknown number with a 401 area code. He opened it, curious, and grinned as he read the message.

From (401) 680-XXXX: Jack Zimmermann! George gave me ur number, hope that’s OK. A few friends would like to order jam. And bread! Will pay for bread this time )))

With a laugh, Jack pulled up Bittle’s number and slowly tapped out a text.

To Bittle: Alexei Mashkov says friends of his would like to order jam and bread. He emphasized that his friends would be paying for their bread.

The reply was almost instantaneous.

From Bittle: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!😱😱😱

From Bittle: ARE YOU SERIOUS

To Bittle: Yeah, bud. Your jam is good.

From Bittle: Oh, it’s really not. But I’m glad people like it.

To Bittle: I’ll text him back and see what the order is. Do you think you could get him an ETA after that?

From Bittle: YESSIR! 😉

Jack stared at the winky-face emoji for an embarrassingly long time, wondering why his cheeks felt so hot and his heart so light.  

It was a few weeks later that Jack received a large envelope. For a few minutes, he wondered why someone had sent him a huge wad of cash and several checks, then remembered the order he’d organized before classes started. Checking that he had time, Jack grabbed his bag and his laptop and headed out on the ten minute walk to the Haus, feeling happy as the chill of January nipped at his skin.

When he arrived, Bittle was sitting at the kitchen table studying, wrapped in a large sweatshirt he’d stolen from Jack before break. Underneath he wore what looked like two sweaters and a scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Mail call,” Jack said, throwing the envelope onto the table. Bittle looked at it, confused, then peeked inside.

“Oh, goodness,” he said, pulling out the wad of cash. “This is- this is too much-”

“It’s the amount we agreed on,” Jack said, sitting down across from Bittle. “Six dollars per jar, three for a loaf of bread. They ordered a lot of jam.”

“Oh,” Bittle said again, staring at the money like he’d never seen such a thing before. “Gosh.”

“People like homemade food, especially things that keep like jams and preserves,” Jack said, quoting the many market studies he’d...perused over break. “Because it’s homey but not something they would want to make themselves, the average, upper-middle-class consumer doesn’t mind spending a little extra money on this kind of quality good. Plus, your stuff is abnormally delicious, Bittle,” he added sternly. “If you’re willing to put in the work with this jam stuff, people will be willing to pay.”

By the end of his speech, Bittle’s mouth was agape. “Was that…?” He began, looking a little shellshocked. “Was that a business proposal?”

Jack shrugged. “Sort of.”

“Huh.” Bittle looked down at the money again. “Well.”

“I’ve gotta get to class,” Jack said, clapping Bittle on the back. “You think about it. And don’t spend all of that on butter, got it?”

Bittle rolled his eyes. “Bye, Jack. Oh! Wait! Try this before you go.”

Jack ended up five minutes late to class with an entire tupperware of shortbread cookies. No one, not even the professor, seemed to notice his tardiness after he offered to share with the whole class. It was a fair trade; there were always more cookies to be found when Bittle was around.

“But what would we call it?” Bittle asked on Valentine’s Day as he mixed a new batch of blueberry jam for Mashkov (“Call me Tater!”), Robinson, St. Martin, George, and several people whom Jack believed to be players on teams other than the Falcs. “Also, do you think they’d mind if I sent samples of my apple butter? I made too much and there’s no way the boys’ll eat it all…”

“I don’t know, ‘Bittle’s Kitchen’?” Jack said, sketching out a rough business model on the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt. “And I think Tater would ask you to marry him if you sent him free apple butter.”

“It would be a partnership, we’re not putting my name in there without yours next to it.” Bittle sighed, mouth pursed as he fell into thought. “Are there any good jam puns? ‘This is My Jam?’”

“Door jam, paper jam, traffic jam,” Jack listed off. “Jam It.”

“Funny,” Bittle said drily.

Jack laughed. “I don’t think you should limit yourself. What if everyone loves your apple butter more than your jam?”

“You bite your tongue,” Bittle said, waving his spoon at Jack. “My jam recipe has been perfected over several years, the ultimate hybrid between my mama’s recipe and my Aunt Judy’s, with my own flare, obviously. There ain’t any jam tastier than this north of the Mason-Dixon.”

“Sure,” Jack said easily, grinning up at Bittle. “I still like ‘Bittle’s Kitchen.’”

“Of course you do,” Bittle sighed. “Do your parents want any of this, by the way? I’ll probably have leftovers.”

“My parents want to adopt you,” Jack said, returning to his doodling. “So, yes. Anything and everything you’ve got.”

“Tim Gunn wants how many things of apple butter before his brunch next month?”

“Maman says a dozen.”

“And no jam?”

“Jam’s not in this season. Apparently he likes apples.”

“What is even happening right now?!”

“Also papa says hi.”

“...tell him I say hi back.”

<<So Mario told me that Sid asked him about jam,>> Papa said in lieu of a greeting during their monthly phone call. This call had been one of his parents’ stipulations before they agreed to pay for grad school. At first it had made Jack feel like a child who needed to be monitored, but halfway through his second semester he found he enjoyed talking to his parents.

<<I’ll put him on the waitlist. You have an order or just an inquiry?>> Jack said, grabbing a pen and notepad from his bedside table.

Papa just laughed and said, <<Can I give him your phone number?>>

<<Sure,>> Jack said. <<That’ll simplify things. Now tell me about that gala Maman’s been working on all month.>>

“What do you think of ‘Haus and Home?’”

Jack sat up straighter, eyes burning with fatigue. It was finals and he and Bittle had been working at the library together for hours. This was the first thing either of them had said in almost as long.

“For what?” Jack asked, rubbing at his temples. It was probably time to pack up and head home. The Haus was closer, and he wondered if Bittle would let him crash on the couch if he put a towel down first.

“The jam...thing,” Bittle said hesitantly. He looked as tired as Jack felt. “Y’know, because this all happens in the Haus kitchen and it’s been our home for years now and it just feels...right.”

“I like it,” Jack said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”

“Good,” Bittle said, meeting Jack’s smile with his own. “Alright, let’s head off to bed. I think I’m about to pass out.”

“Okay,” Jack said, closing his laptop and shoveling books back into his bag. “Can I-?”

“Do you want herpes?” Bittle asked crossly. “Because that’ll be least of your worries if you sleep on that couch.”

“Bittle.”

“I will walk you home, you big baby,” Bittle said, standing and packing his things. “C’mon.”

Bittle did end up walking Jack home. He also ended up sleeping on Jack’s loveseat, covered in the throw blanket his mother had sent Jack for his birthday. Jack smiled down at the sight of Bittle passed out on his couch, dead to the world, and wandered into his bedroom to write one last email before crashing himself.

“What?”

Bittle stared at the computer, both hands over his mouth.

Though he’d lived with Jack over the summer, working full-time for the admissions office, Bittle had been kept completely in the dark about this particular project.

“Lardo and I have been working on this logo on and off since May,” Jack said, grinning at Bittle actually leaned over to stroke the laptop screen. “I paid her, of course, so it’s kind of...official.”

“Oh, my gosh…” Bittle whispered, then Jack found himself pulled into a tight hug. “Oh, this is too wonderful! Jack, this is amazing, this is-! Oh!” He buried his face in Jack’s chest. “We have a logo.”

“We do.”

“A real logo!”

“Yep.”

“You know what this means?” Bittle asked, looking straight up at Jack.

“What?” He asked, all too aware of how close their faces were.

“Lardo’s a professional designer!” He cried, grinning widely. “She designed a logo for money -- she’s a professional! This is so exciting.”

“Bittle.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly, pressing his cheek to Jack’s shoulder. “Are we really doing this?”

“I think we are.”

“Wow. I...wow.”

“Yeah. Seconded.”

Bittle’s senior year was busy, full of ups and downs. He was captain and led the team to victory at the Frozen Four, something that filled Jack with so much pride he thought he might burst. Bittle also came out to his parents, which had been a mixed bag of emotions, but things slowly seemed to be heading in a positive direction. There had been the long, drawn-out horror of Bittle trying to write a thesis, but after many sleepless nights he got through it. Professor Atley would be receiving a lifetime supply of free Haus & Home goods for all she did to aid Bittle, of that Jack was certain.

Jack’s last year of his MBA went pretty smoothly. He worked part-time in the sales department of a video streaming company in Boston proper, which was challenging in its own ways, but Jack found he really did enjoy managing accounts and developing sales strategies in tandem with the marketing team. He learned more in that job that he had in his actual MBA program, he felt, but both were preparing him to take this leap with Bittle. As scary as it was, Jack felt calm and confident in the risk he was about to take. Everything seemed easier when Bittle was by his side.

His birthday/graduation present to Bittle came in two parts: the first was a notebook filled with two-bedroom apartment listings all around the area, keeping close to their friends and within their budget; the second was a URL written down inside a sparkly card shaped like a mortarboard.

“Jack…” Bittle breathed, clutching at Jack’s arm as he pulled the website up on his laptop -- one of the few things he had yet to pack, though graduation was only a week away. “This is…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t include you in the creative process,” Jack said sheepishly. “I just wanted it to be a surprise. I gave Dex and Chowder a bunch of your pinterest boards in preparation.”

Bittle smiled up at him with wide, shining eyes. “Jack, it’s beautiful. Dex and Chowder made this?”

“They did. We’re almost there, bud.”

Bittle hugged him tight. “Okay, mister, I love these surprises, but no more decisions without me, okay? Ugh, I could stare at this website forever. Look at it. Jack, it’s ours. This whole...thing is ours.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Happy Birthday.”

“Happy Graduation,” Bittle said, raising the cup of beer someone had handed him in the midst of the party that was raging downstairs. “To the future.”

“The future,” Jack repeated. “And the present.”

“Was that a pun?” Bittle asked. “I’m disowning you if that was a pun.”

“Let’s get back downstairs,” Jack said, wrapping an arm around Bittle’s shoulders. “And enjoy being college students a little longer.”

“Sounds good,” Bittle said, leaning against Jack’s side. He stayed there for the rest of the party, and Jack’s face hurt from smiling so much by the end.

[My writing tag]

[The Non-NHL!Jack AU]

[My online novel, The Discourt Knife]

[ofcowardiceandkings]

okay since i said i was gonna ages ago and a few people asked anyway and i need a distraction really fuckin bad right nowww im finally gonna post my notes on making the artwork for the fairytale metaphor - tjlc advent videoooooo ,, 

Very Excuse Me for being a dork in advance lksdjksdjfdkls

scroll to the bottom for my Fave Bit its cute promise

heres some waffle first;

the general style of early english stained glass which i love [yells] ye get attached to weird shit when you write your coursework on the evolution of churches in england fnjdksjf ( you can read it here if youre interested in this kind of mess , be warned its 43 pages long and just over 11k words but my own work beyond the context essay is new research) --- anyway its an easily simplified style of framing at its most basic level since it was all very practical up to a point the mash of norman + saxon stylings are pretty simple and sturdy - the british isles were late to the gothic architecture party which is why early english gothic is very distinct --- in terms of stained glass the british isles were VERY late to the party and windows stayed very basic right into the gothic period when the full package of technologies arrived completed in the 12th century and only took a generation to make it from cathedrals into parish churches --- as is pretty much the point of my coursework the two can exist perfectly together anyway !! the vast majority of christian buildings in the uk contain several phases where newfangled extensions and fashions are chucked in to make the best of your little local church and a lot of the earliest cathedrals are full of stained glass now , id say this set mostly follows the impression we get of old sarum cathedral (now salisbury they literally just moved the site from the hill to the town) and if you have a chance to visit PLEASE do :’) the museum opposite is amazing too fyi

I REALLY ENJOYED MAKING THE FONT !!!!!! i couldnt find one i liked enough that was free so i just .. made one lmao GO HARD its an odd mash of studies from the lindisfarne gospels with later medieval documents i photographed for a project and saxon writing / “celtic” fonts, and studies of full manuscripts

the illuminated letters are mostly based on lindisfarne again (xcuse me i love it)  they just ended up coming out far more saxon / northern early christian than the rest of the text but i fully blame that on the context of my archaeology course being run by a catholic geordie who specialised in the dark ages who took us TO holy island lmao

the chainmail tabard combo is all very crusader-ish but its very archetypal of the knights of the era so fuck it, its historically what WOULD have appeared on stained glass anyway [shrug]

i had the hardest gd time figuring out what colour to put sherlock in like so i Create Anew or recreate his clothes ,, purple is wildly historically inaccurate this is my One Thing leave me be i think the purple suits him lmfao

kicks ya door down mAGPIE DRAGON !!!!! which was VERY FUCKING HARD TO FIGURE since its kind of at odds with what your medieval monks bestiaries made dragons look like i wanna know what the fuck they were up to making those things jesus

jus by the by its also very hard to make animals look like andrew scott i can pull that off for ben and martin without too much trouble but HOOO BOY ANDREW ur cute face is difficult lol

thats the tower of london in the background there it was the only (vaguely) relevant landmark that would have been around about that time-frame fjjfjksjf WOW @ SELF why did london have to like .. burn down lol, fuckin wood

the castle behind the moriarty dragon is vaguely styled in a similar fashion to the original tower structure but theres a dragon in the way

while we’re in this realm the background on sir-boast-a-lot is a wing-it affair based on what we kinda knew about medieval town houses with cobble streets and what your average parish church looked like but mostly i love the beam and whitewash structures put me in a bin

anyway

i kinda dressed john up a little more like an archer than full on crusader ?? archer john is life so, using a longbow is also something all boys were legally required to learn for the longest time so its not even out there, i still dont know many people who havent learned how to use a bow and a few people own them too lmfao the countryside is a parody of itself

oKAY THIS IS FUN the navy/yellow stripes and the blue chevron on white are simplified versions of the usual holmes and watson coat of arms’ respectively 8)  these are what 4crests (arms archive) puked out on them both;

theyre so similar in colour its cute !!!!!!

I LOV THAT !!!!!! 

for the sake of not making them clash i made sherlocks blue more navy though its the aesthetique and took out the moons and birbs on johns because Hey Thats Clutter 

i spend way too long on this stuff lmfao

if you made it to the end you deserve a hug and a milkshake thanku 💙