#WipItGood

[allthevmff]

In celebration of Veronica Mars’ 20th Anniversary, @vmficclub is bringing back the popular WIP It Good event

The goal is to celebrate and encourage participation in the VM Platinum Anniversary Fic Challenge, whether that is in starting a brand new story or searching through dusty folders to find a unpublished works in progress.

Wednesday August 28th through Wednesday September 11th @vmficclub is encouraging anyone who writes a story, or updates one of their WIPs to post in the The Veronica Mars 20th Anniversary Celebration collection on AO3 by September 15th. After the release of the stories on September 22nd, post a link to your story on @vmficclub's Discord and a new piece of artwork will be created for your story.

Readers can participate by playing VM Comment bingo or just leaving kudos/comments on existing WIPS to let writers know that you enjoyed their work.

Check out the @vmficclub discord for more info OR feel free to reply or send a D/M if you have questions/need additional information.

Here are links to the Fanfic Friday Favorites (#FFFF) WIPY roundups:

Active WIPS (originally posted 04.15.19)

WIP You Were Here (originally posted 09.19.19)

WIP IT GOOD Fics from 2023 Challenge

Please respond to this post, by sharing a favorite Veronica Mars Fanfic WIP and/or join @allthevmff on Friday, August 30th (on Tumblr, Discord, Twitter or Instagram) to share one, some, or all of your favorite #VMFanFic WIPs.

Tagging:

@5mallestviolin @absolutelyiris @alilamba @amypc1 @argyledpenguin @asexual-juliet @astreetcarnamedwynn @ayy-ohh @bels2214 @best-laid-plaids @bewitchingredhead36 @biffbang @bisexualsatan @bondopoulos @brittany4824 @bryrosea @captaine-carter @carla545 @caro-shea shea @cattyk8fic @chandramas @chaosandrecover @cheshirecatstrut @chichuri @chikabiddy @crimsonclad @crossingoutthegoodyrs @cubbiegirl @darlininmyway @dbsavmlvr @elliebear75 @emtifahp @everlarkeologist @flying-carpet @francesderwent @ghostcat3000 @gyzym @hanitjemars @hannasus @happilyeveraftereveryday @happilyshanghaied @heavenli24 @his-beautiful-girl @igrockspock @iimdestinyfreereally @invidiosa @jagwriter78 @jeanie205 @joyfulnerd @kayte76 @kerstae @kimikochan9 @kmd0107 @lavellenchanted @lisawolfe80 @literalital @livinginsunnyhell @locitarose @lodessa @loveandprose @lovedyouless @LoVeObsessed2 @machawicket @maipigen @maladyofthequotidian @mariasharp @marshmallowatheart @marshmallowmore @marshmallowtasha @marshmellowbobcat @marsinvestigaytions @meghanoharamurray @mindylahiris @missjaybirdstree @mrsmess @ms-maj @mysilverylining @nicemom93 @oakave @oliveksmoked @passiveaggressiveturkeys @petpluto @pressdbtwnpages @proofinyou @purpleproselady @queen-haq @querulousgawks @robotmango @ghostmaggie @rozf @saoirsekonstantin @scabopolis @scandalpantsstuff @scribblilenore @sophiabee @starlightafterastorm @stillbeatingheart @stillhidden @sunflowers-and-iced-tea @susanmichelin @tacosandflowers @the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt @the-og-mkt @theawkwardterrier @thelillykane @therealcactusbetty @theshortywrites @tjs-whatnot @toolonghere @troublescout @truemyth @tvfanatic @veronicaloganmars @violetobsession @vixleonard @vmarstrek @vmsteenbeans @wily-one24 @witheyecontact @yellowcrayonwillowsstuff @youmustbestrongernow

[allthevmff]

Time, Make It Go Faster Or Just Rewind

by kmd0107 (@kmd0107)

Logan being ‘the real-Logan’ is so familiar that she almost can’t help but give in to it, even if it’s just a one night pass. She’ll embrace this moment out of time and the walls and armor can go back up tomorrow.

AU from 1x4 Wrath of Con

More on the WIP IT Good Challenge ---> X

More on VM Comment Bingo ---> X

More on the VM 20th Anniversary Celebration! ---> X

[allthevmff]

A Charmed Life

Marshmellow Bobcat (MellowBobcat) / @marshmellowbobcat

A Legally Blonde AU in which Logan is Elle and the "bend and snap" becomes the "lean and smirk". Just go with it!

Elements from both the movie and the musical.

Story ---> X

Art by @veronicamarsfanart

More on the WIP IT Good Challenge ---> X

More on VM Comment Bingo ---> X

More on the VM 20th Anniversary Celebration! ---> X

[ajkal2]

I heard there's this #WIPitgood thing going around where we all post WIPs! This is a WIP I had from ages ago, based on a tumblr post. Cannot remember for the life of me who posted it, just that it had the idea of Jack being secretly in the Harry Potter fandom and writing this mammoth fic that's the my immortal of this universe. It's actually way longer than I thought it would be? Enjoy!

Tw: therapy, discussion of overdose, Bitty hasn't read Harry Potter.

****

“Do you ever think about, like, the Big Questions?” Shitty asked, staring at Jack’s ceiling with bloodshot eyes. 

 “What questions?” Jack asked idly. 

“The big ones, y’know? Where is God? Why-Why does the universe exist?" Shitty threw his arms out, reaching up. "Do pigeons have feelings? Who... the fuck… wrote Wizarding Sports: An Analytical Narrative?”

Jack paused. “Excuse me?” He turned.

“Who wrote… wait. Waaaaait." Shitty scrambled to prop himself up, squinting in Jack's direction. "You haven’t heard of Wizarding Sports: An Analytical Narrative?”

Jack opened his mouth, then paused. 

“Brah. Braaaah.” Shitty’s head tipped backwards, thudding against Jack’s comforter. “But you are like. Obsessed with the Potter! You are so out of touch. Everyone’s heard of Wsaan.” Jack had no idea how Shitty just pronounced that. 

“Everyone?” Jack’s eyebrows creeped toward his hairline.  

“Yeah. It’s like- This huuuuuge fic. Huuuuuuge, brah.” Shitty spread his arms, eyes wide, nodding slightly.“But, get this, it’s about the history of sport. How Quidditch was invented and shit. How weird is that? Who wrote that? And it’s like, uber detailed and researched and- Who would care enough about sports, and- and history, and Harry Potter to....”

Shitty trailed off, staring at Jack. His eyes narrowed. Jack cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.

“No fucking way.” 

****

It started like this. 

Jack stared at the ceiling. His hands wanted to tremor, but he held them still. 

The walls weren’t padded. Maybe they should be. 

“How are you feeling today, Jack?” asked the therapist he had to talk to. 

“Fine,” said Jack, without a hint of inflection. “I’m feeling just fine.”

She sighed, softly. The sound carried. 

Jack felt a bubble of anger and horror and grief rising through him, and viciously squashed it back down. He breathed, in and out, and stared at the ceiling. 

He could still feel everything from that night, a week or a century or a second ago. It roiled in his gut, churning against his ribcage. He’d been stupid to take so many so fast. He regretted it, in a dull sort of way. But he’d needed them.

If he took enough, they might work again, stop him feeling like this, feeling like shit- 

“Jack, I can’t help you unless you work with me.”

Jack didn’t move. That wasn’t a question, so he didn’t need to answer it. He could just trace the outlines of the ceiling tiles with his eyes.

“What do you want from these sessions, Jack? What are your goals?”

That was easy. “I want you to let me play again.” 

His therapist’s lips pressed together. She wrote something, the sound of pencil on paper grating against Jack’s ears. What did he want? He wanted her to shut up. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to get out of this stupid place. He wanted Kenny’s arm around his shoulders. He wanted more pills than they'd give him.

“Any other goals?”

Jack’s jaw flexed. He pushed everything down. His head was filled with steel wire, scraping against the insides of his temples.

“Jack, I’d like you to try something new. Read a book, or draw. Find something you enjoy. Could you do that for me?”

Jack flashed her an empty smile. “Sure.”

****

Jack heard Ransom and Holster bellowing along to Hedwig’s theme from down the street. He smiled, steps lengthening, and Bittle scrambled after him. 

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Bittle huffed, kit bag bumping against his back. 

Jack tilted his head towards the Haus. “I want to know which one they’re watching.” He slowed, matching Bittle’s pace. Bittle was probably tired, not used to waking up early.

“Which one?” Bittle’s nose scrunched up, and the corners of Jack’s eyes creased. 

“Yeah.” Jack fished his keys from his bag. “Shits usually calls me if they’re doing a marathon.”

“A marathon of what, exactly?” Bittle asked, eyebrow raising. His face was flushed from exertion, hair tostled. Jack blinked at him for a second, then the door creaked open. 

“Hey,” Lardo said, smirk curling her upper lip. “Chamber of Secrets, get your ass in here.”

Jack grinned, dumped his kit by the door, and flopped onto the couch. 

****

Read a book. Draw something. The only things Jack could draw were diagrams of pitches, player movements. The lead of his pencil kept snapping.

Jack looked blankly at the meagre shelf of books available to residents, hands shoved in his pockets. His hood was up. 

It didn’t really matter which one he picked. He thumbed down a paperback, one with a colorful spine. Trudged back to his room, book under his arm. 

He tossed it on the bed, stared at it for a moment, then flopped facedown right next to it. He used one finger to hold up the first page.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

****

“What.” Jack said flatly, staring at Bittle. He blushed under the scrutiny, swiping at his hair. He’d left a smear of flour on his forehead. 

“You can’t judge me! You thought Rihanna was in Destiny’s Child!” Bittle snapped, arms crossing. 

Shitty’s head lifted slowly off the table. A single page stuck to his cheek. “Bitty, did you just say that-”

“Yes! That’s way worse! It’s not a big deal I haven’t read Harry Potter! So what!”

Shitty hissed through his teeth. Jack stood, slowly. His eyes were fixed on Bittle. They narrowed, suddenly.

“Have you seen the films?” Jack asked urgently. 

“I- No!” Bittle admitted, his chin jutting out.

Slowly, a smile spread across Jack’s face. Finally. He turned on his heel, abandoning his laptop, and thundered up the stairs. Where had he put it, he knew he’d bought- aha!

Prize clutched in one hand, Jack loped back to the kitchen. Bittle was fiercely rolling out his pastry, but he turned at Shitty’s indrawn breath. 

Jack held up his battered, treasured copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. “Rule 1. No flour stains.” Bittle rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to protest. “Rule 2,” Jack continued, firmer. “No folding the pages. Rule 3,” and Jack smiled like a shark. “No watching the films. Not until you’ve finished the series. Agreed?”

“You boys.” Bittle huffed. He picked up his sheet of pastry, lining the pie tin with practiced motions. “Leave it by the side.”

****

Jack stepped out of the double doors. His skin prickled in the wind, the open air harsh against his skin. He turned his shoulder against the wind, and his father’s hand landed there. 

“Ready?” Papa asked, quietly. 

Jack breathed, in and out, and didn’t immediately respond. He took one step forward, away, and then another. He didn’t look at Papa. It was easier to talk if he didn’t look. “No.”

Papa walked beside him, leading the way. “If you need more time…”

“No,” Jack said, fumbling, harsh. “It’s like- The first game. After an injury. Not going to be ready.  Might as well.”

He could feel Papa’s gaze, feel the eyes on him. He wondered why there weren’t any cameras, why there wasn’t any reporters shouting for his attention. Baying for his blood. 

“OK, Jack,” said Papa. 

Jack’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. His therapist had given him the book, the first. There was a whole series, she’d said, for once he got out. 

****

Jack taped his stick in precise, calm motions, focusing on the feel of it, polished wood under his palms, the tug of the tape on his fingertips. He breathed, in and out. 

Ransom and Holster yelled something in unison, part of their pre-game handshake, and Jack’s eyes snapped to the sound. He should be used to this by now, the thrill of adrenaline, the sharp smell of sweat. Everything hit him harder, before a game. But it still shook him, a little. 

Breathe. In and out. Tuck in the last bit of tape. Put the roll away. In for seven, hold for five, out for seven. 

Jack’s eyes scanned the room, and settled on Bittle. He was sitting in his stall, fully kitted out, squinting down at- Oh. 

Jack was moving before he knew it, shoulder thumping into the stall. 

“Where are you?” he asked, and Bitty gave him an unsure smile. 

“In the locker room?” Bitty slipped a piece of paper- a receipt? -into the pages.

Jack frowned. “No, the book. What part have you got to?” Jack clarified, tilting his head in question. 

Bitty laughed nervously. “Well, they’re having a flying lesson. Neville’s fallen off, poor thing.”

Jack leaned against the side of Bittle’s stall. “Tell me what you think.”

****

Jack’s shoulder thudded against Bitty’s pads, and he yelped, crashing to the floor.

“Get back up, skate through it,” Jack urged, but Bitty just shook, leaning hard against the boards. 

Jack squatted, then reached out, hand resting on Bitty’s shoulder. 

“I can't do it,” Bitty gasped, hugging himself. “I-”

“You can.” Jack tightened his grip, ducking to look Bitty in the eye. “I know you can.”

“Not everyone’s a Gryffindor, Jack! I can't- I'm not-”

“Hey,” Jack tried to make his voice soft. “You're right.”

“What?” Bitty looked up, and Jack's heart twinged at the look on his face. 

“Not everyone’s a Gryffindor. Not everyone can beat their problems on the first try. But do you know what I thought, soon as I saw you bringing pie into that first meeting?”

“What an idiot?”

“No. I thought, there's a Hufflepuff.” Jack smiled at the memory. 

Bitty laughed, bitter. “The useless ones.”

Jack nudged Bitty's shoulder again. “The ones who work hard. The ones who don't give up, who welcome anyone, no matter what. The ones who can give a frat house yellow lacy curtains.”

Bitty snorted, eyes suspiciously shiny.

“You can do it, Bittle. Just gotta get back up.” Jack stood, offering Bitty his hand. 

Bitty took a deep breath. He took Jack's hand, pulling himself to his feet. 

“Thanks.”

Jack shrugged. “Ready to go again?”

Bitty rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing. “Come at me.”

Jack’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, and by the way?” he said, smirk flitting to his lips. “I'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor”

Bitty gave him a Look. "I can believe that, Mr. Lets-Get-Up-At-4AM."

Jack smirked. "Let's go, Badger. On my mark."

[bardofspades]

Check, Please! ends in April.

I’ve been in the fandom for almost four years already.  That was right before a major fandom surge, and through that I’ve gotten to know a lot of people, many of whom I still consider good friends (even if our interactions are limited these days).  We’ve had a lot of good times, but I’ve already noticed that at least my circle of the fandom has quieted down quite a bit.  I can only imagine how it will be once the comic finishes.

I was doing some PC housekeeping, and I started to dig through my WIP folders.  Just scraps of writings, drawings, and music I did for multiple fandoms over the years, loving named New Text Document (1).txt, New Text Document (1).txt, and aasd.txt.

It’s all stuff I never finished for one reason or another.  Maybe it’s something I started but never finished.  Maybe it’s only part of an idea.  Maybe it’s just a single line that I thought was good but never had a place to use it.

So I had an idea.  Well, I had an idea like 6 months ago and then forgot about until now.  I just thought it was kind of a shame that I never shared a lot of this stuff, and came up with a “game” that could be a fun way to share some of that stuff under the pretense that it’s all unfinished work.  I even came up with a dumb name for it!

#WipItGood

Rules:

Find something that you’ve worked on but didn’t finish.  This could be a unfinished fic, an outline, a sketch, a bunch of references you threw together in a document, your research notes.  Anything you’ve done as part of a fanwork. 

DO NOT edit, modify, or otherwise work on the project. This is important.

Post It.  Like right now.  Do it.  You can post as much or as little of it as you feel comfortable.  You could post the whole thing (including your writers notes and partial outlines) or you can post just a paragraph.  Or maybe you just want to post a single line you really like, or just the good part of a sketch you did.  Just get it out there.

Optional: Now you can edit, modify, or build on your work.  You can just edit your post, or reblog and add onto it.  Or don’t!  The point isn’t really to trick yourself into finishing stuff, but just to share stuff that isn’t finished.

Anyway, good chance I’ll be posting a few things under the #wipitgood tag, and anyone can join in if they want.  There’s no deadlines, no obligations, no pressure.  It’s all about sharing and appreciating something that’s unfinished and may never be finished.

[allthevmff]

More on the WIP IT Good Challenge ---> X

More on VM Comment Bingo ---> X

More on the VM 20th Anniversary Celebration! ---> X

The Phenomenal Pixie by @best-laid-plaids

[flybittybooty]

omgcp teachers au for #wipitgood :)

they all teach at samwell prep, a new england magnet school (bitty moved up from georgia the year before and absolutely abhors the cold). he and shitty bond over their college hockey days and shitty introduces him to ransom and holster, his college teammates, and lardo, their ex-manager. jack comes back about two months into the school year after he has surgery to repair the damage in his knee from the NHL damage, just in time for the hockey season to start (jack, along with ransom and holster, coach the hockey team because it’s a magnet school in new england of COURSE they’d have hockey).

bitty teaches home ec. this is completely expected. but then he also ends up teaching some shit like multivariable calculus through some strange turn of events and all his former home ec students feel like they’ve got whiplash

jack is a history teacher. he’s very good at his job. but he’s also the teacher who, if you ask him the right questions, will most definitely go on an hour-long ramble on how actually the plague was in part caused by the romans and—

shitty is also a history teacher. probably something modern and most definitely something concerned with class structure. he also sponsors the debate team. people have mistaken him for a student multiple times

lardo teaches art and petitions for the principal to allow her to use chainsaws in school for her lessons

nobody is sure what ransom and holster teach. they both do something STEM-y but the name plates outside their classrooms have fallen off and sometimes they’ll just switch classes. no one dares say anything. anyways, they all end up actually learning.

johnson teaches philosophy. everyone sleeps in his class. he doesn’t give a shit. “i’m just here perfunctorily,” he says every year in the yearbook.

the frogs are all TAs— jack and shitty share nursey, ransom and holster have dex, and bitty takes chowder. lardo refuses a TA on principle but she lets nursey come in and help unofficially sometimes.

bitty nearly has an aneurysm when he tries to teach his class how to make pecan pie and all of his students pronounce it the new englander way. jack is passing by and bitty asks him how he pronounces it. “pecan,” jack says. “why do you— wait why is your face so red?”

he is very displeased that this new “mr. bittle” keeps giving his players frosting-laden treats before practice— doesn’t he know that none of these kids wash their hands and get smears of frosting all over the locker room and then jack has to clean it up (not really but he feels guilty having the custodial staff do it). the treats get messier and messier until one day the freshman goalie drips the contents of an entire lava cake onto the floor and he has to confront bitty about it.

bitty looks at him for ten seconds before bursting out into laughter. jack immediately transforms into a tomato

bitty reassures him that they’re about to go into the sewing unit, and any treats he’ll bring in will be “strictly of the mess-less variety, don’t you worry”

jack thanks bitty very awkwardly (he hadn’t thought this far ahead)

bitty invites him to try some of the pecan pie (“but only if you don’t butcher the pronunciation—” “i’m just saying pecan! wait bittle your face is really red again are you okay—” “NO”) and after the whole pecan-pecan thing they actually have a really good time and end up talking until the school shuts the lights off

shitty chirps them endlessly, as do ransom and holster

joke’s on them though because when jack and bitty move in together jack gets an endless supply of treats

the next year bitty arranges it so that he teaches his multivariable calc class or whatever last (e.g. he is not giving the hockey players incredibly messy food right before practice)

he gets chirped for that too

he withholds treats for two days and the chirping stops

three years later some of their wedding favors are lava cakes

jack suggested mini pecan pies but bitty shot that down (“i will NOT have the guests at my wedding saying ‘pecan’ the whole time”)

they all live happily ever after

the end

[zimmboniandbitty]

#WiPItGood Take 1

“So, Kent Parson.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything that scares you about being in Vegas?”

Kent stared at the woman for a moment, trying to think of the best way to answer the question. He looked away when he finally figured it out. “Tumbleweeds.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Tumbleweeds. I don’t know why, but I did my research and some of them are like the size of dumpsters or small cars. And I just imagine like… going for a run and then getting taken out by a rogue tumbleweed. And they don’t have breaks like cars do, right? So it’d just take me out, then continue looking for it’s next victim.”

“Oh. Okay,” the interviewer said with a smile. That was definitely an answer she’d never heard before. “Well, how about when it comes to hockey?”

[likeshipsonthesea]

Sean the LAX Bro

four score and many a year ago, i wrote this. a fun, one-off ficlet about the start of dex’s tryst with a lax bro. since then, it has continued to be a hc of mine that dex is one of two people on the team, prior to whiskey, who has in fact fucked a lax bro (the other is holster, that is Another Story).

until now, that has been the whole story. BUT NOW i will be posting the beginning of the Canonical Sean the LAX Bro fic that i started a long time ago and never got the inspiration to finish. it is not as cracky/playful as the original, but every time i’ve read it over i’ve really liked it and as a part of the WIPitgood thing going around the fandom, i’ve decided to post what i have

some warnings for homophobia and age difference in a relationship (my oc Luke is back y’all) but otherwise it’s p tame

i hope y’all like it :)

         It happens because of a frat party, surprisingly not a Haus one. Instead, it’s a party at one of the nerdier frats, a street over from the road where the Haus sits. It’s not a terrible party—it’s got pretty good music, efficient booze, enough people attending to shake the floors—but, after a kegster, a regular old party just won’t hold up anymore.

         Dex is not having a good time. Aside from the fact that he misses the bone-deep thrum of a kegster like a physical ache, the only person he knows at the party is some guy from his comp-sci class, John or Jake or whatever, and he left Dex alone within ten minutes of arriving. Now Dex is stuck wandering aimlessly through the house looking for something to do. He finds an uptight game of pong in one room (too many physics majors calculating trajectories instead of just going off skill) and, in the next, he finds either a body shot competition or an orgy, so he hurries to get through there real quick before he gets sucked in.

         The door he finds lets out into a quieter but still full room of—surprise— even more people he doesn’t know. He takes a long sip of his drink, which doesn’t take the edge off like tub juice but does the job well enough. When he pulls his cup from his mouth, it reveals a pretty boy with a big smile standing right in front of him.

         ��Hi,” the pretty boy says. God, he’s gorgeous. Big blue eyes that twinkle with his pristine white smile, perfectly clear skin and angular features, soft in just the right places. Dex feels his fingers tighten around his cup. He vaguely wonders if his reaction is due to his generally little experience talking to pretty boys with the potential of actually doing something about it, or if Dex would be this Shook no matter what. Pretty Boy says, “I’m Sean.”

         “Dex,” he responds, a second too late, his voice rough. Sean’s grin impossibly widens.

         “You look about as lost as I did at my first frat party,” Sean says, leaning in closer, as if he’s sharing a secret only Dex gets to know. Breathe, Dex, breathe.

         “S’not my first, actually,” Dex says, rubbing at the back of his head. Did Sean’s eyes track the movement? Dex must be hallucinating. “The ones I’m used to just usually have more people I know.”

         Sean hums, and Dex can hear it over the music only because of their proximity. “Well,” he says, a thoughtful look on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know me now, right?” He knocks his cup lightly against Dex’s, his smile wide and enticing, and Dex finds himself listing forwards as if he’s being physically pulled.

         Within minutes, Sean has Dex snorting unattractively into his cup, laughing so hard his chest aches. Dex has no idea why Sean is still talking to him, as Dex is making an absolute ass of himself, staring blankly into Sean’s face like a middle-schooler with a crush. Still, Sean talks and jokes and—flirts? Dex doesn’t exactly have experience with flirting with men, but he’s pretty sure all of this—the soft teasing, Sean finding a reason to reach out and touch Dex’s hand, arm, chest, Sean’s eyes filled with heat—it has to mean something, right?

         They talk for an hour or so, slowly filtering into other areas of their lives. Dex talks about how he’s adjusting to being away from home for the first time and Sean shares tips he’s learned since being here for a year. They talk about their families, a little, Dex mentions his asshole of a brother and how he misses him anyway, and Sean shares a story about when his sister shaved off one of his eyebrows in his sleep. Dex finds himself sharing fears about college that he hasn’t even told the team or his family back home. Sean is funny and kind and easy to talk to—not to mention he’s fucking hot.

         Sean finishes his drink and knocks his empty cup against Dex’s matching one. His has been empty for the past twenty minutes but he hadn’t wanted to stop talking to Sean. He leans in closer and, his voice soft, he asks, “Would you like to get out of here?”

         Dex may have little experience with the flirting thing, but this, at least, is familiar territory. He grins. “Definitely.”

         It’s just starting to get cold out, so they make the walk back to Sean’s place pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Dex is tipsy but not drunk, just a pleasant buzz under his skin, anticipation building in his chest. They cut through the backyard towards a frat house, as Sean apparently lives in one. They go in through the backdoor and climb the stairs, trying to be quiet so they don’t wake up Sean’s housemates. Finally they reach his bedroom and Dex follows him inside only to be pushed up against the inside of the closed door.

         “You okay with this?” Sean asks, already a little breathless, and in the semi-darkness of the room, the only thing Dex can see is the moonlight reflecting off of Sean’s wide smile. He presses his hands into Sean’s tense abdominals and there’s little to no give.

         “More than okay,” Dex says, and leans down to finally get a taste of that wide, enticing smile. It hasn’t been a ridiculously long time but kissing Sean reminds Dex of how fucking good kissing can be, even when it’s like this, a bit tipsy and messy but hot. Dex feels like he’s being consumed and he’s completely fine with it, wants it, wants to disappear under Sean’s lips and teeth and hands.

         Dex throws his head back to try and suck in a breath, and Sean takes this as invitation to drift lower and suck pretty bruises into Dex’s skin. “Fuck,” Dex exhales, shaky, and feels Sean’s mouth spread into a grin against his neck. “Don’t get cocky,” Dex says, digging his nails into Sean’s shoulder, realizing then that he wants Sean’s shirt off more than anything else.

         “Thought that was the point?” Sean says into Dex’s collarbone, stifling his giggles, and Dex groans because how the fuck. How can Sean be hot and seductive and delicious, while also being ridiculously endearing? It isn’t fair.

         “Oh God, shut up.” Dex pushes his hands up under the edge of Sean’s t-shirt, rucking it up until Sean gets the message and pulls back to tug it over his head and throw it somewhere behind him. Dex sighs at the sight he makes, skin gone soft in the moonlight, muscles tight and defined, slightly crooked grin on his face.

         Oh yes, Dex thinks, stepping forwards to push Sean back towards the bed, tonight is going to be good.

 *~*~*

           Dex wakes up with the sun in his face, a heavy arm around his waist, and a satisfied warmth running throughout his whole body. He stretches, sitting up, and Sean grumbles, pushing his face into Dex’s hip. Dex smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through Sean’s hair as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. It tells him that he has practice within the hour, so he pulls himself from Sean’s bed and clinging limbs to try and collect his clothes.

        He finds his briefs hanging from Sean’s desk lamp and puts them on, hopping around to find his t-shirt on the ground. He scratches at his stomach, where cum has dried to his skin and left it hard and flaky. He grimaces, pulling his shirt on over it. He’ll definitely have to go home and take a shower before practice and or he’ll never make it through the chirping. Then he looks up, in search of his pants, and sees himself in the mirror, neck covered in marks that drift down under his collar and most definitely spread even further. Guess the chirping is a sure thing no matter what, then.

         “Mm, where’re you goin’?” Sean says, muffled, into his pillow, and Dex huffs.

         “Probably to be teased to death by my teammates for all the marks you left on me, dude.” Dex spots his pants on Sean’s bookshelf and grabs them, bending over to pull them on. They apparently make his ass look great, or at least Bitty says so. He’s right, if the way Sean’s eyeing him as he pulls them on fully is any indication.

         “Teammates?” Sean asks, dragging his eyes back up to Dex’s face, where he’s grinning knowingly. Despite his blush, Sean asks, “What d’you play?”

         “I’m on the hockey team,” Dex says, searching idly for his socks and shoes. When he looks back at Sean in the bed, he’s lost all the mugginess of sleep and is staring, wide-eyed and horrified, back at Dex. “What? What’s wrong?”

         “You’re on the hockey team?” he asks, voice much higher than before.

         Dex nods slowly. Hadn’t that come up last night? Maybe not. “Yeah. Why?” Sean groans and buries his face in the pillow in front of him. Dex shifts in his spot. “Dude, c’mon. Why’s that a big deal?” Sean says something into the pillow that just sounds like a series of anxious grunts to Dex. “What’s that?”

         Sean sighs and turns his head, staring up at Dex with something half-sad, half-terrified. “I’m on the lacrosse team.”

         Dex freezes in place. He can feel as his face mirrors Sean’s worried expression. Fuck. “I’m in the LAX frat right now?” Sean nods gravely. “Fuck.”

         “Yeah.”

         Dex takes a seat at Sean’s desk chair and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck. Fuck. I fucked a LAX bro. Shitty’s gonna kill me.”

         “Chad R. is going to kill me. So is Chad S.”

         “You have two guys on your team named Chad?” Dex looks up to give Sean an incredulous expression.

         Sean says, “Three, actually.”

         Dex groans. “What have I done?” He shakes his head. He thinks back to last night, talking with Sean, opening up, laughing. God. It had been good, okay, the talking and the banter and the everything. Dex liked Sean. Still does, if he’s honest, but he’s a LAX bro. Even if Dex didn’t agree that they were all kind of assholes—which he does, the LAX team is a petri dish of toxic masculinity and misogyny and they’re also just huge dicks—trying to date a LAX bro would never work.

         He looks up from the floor and stares back at Sean. He can feel the weight of all the dead possibilities between them, heavy and suffocating. Dex swallows roughly and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, and he shouldn’t be this sad, they haven’t even known each other for a day. But they could’ve been—no, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. “Okay,” Dex repeats, “this’ll be fine. No one has to know. I won’t tell anyone, you won’t tell anyone. I’ll leave now and it’ll be fine.”

         “Yeah,” Sean says, and his lips quirk up at the corners, the horror in his expression draining, leaving behind a soft melancholy that Dex wants to kiss away. He says, “It’s been fun, Dex.”

         Dex grabs his socks and shoes and offers something like a smile back. “It could’ve been,” he says, and turns towards the door.

         Suddenly, there’s a knock. “Sean, brah, get the fuck up! We’ve got practice!” Dex jumps, turning to share a panicked look with Sean, and then they both simultaneously look at the window.

         This is how Dex finds himself shimmying down the drain pipe on the side of the LAX frat without his shoes on. He makes it to the bottom and hops down, the cold dew of the grass freezing his toes. Sean sticks his head out of the window and grins down at him. “I’ll see you around.”

         “Probably not,” Dex calls back up at him, and then runs to the other side of the street, pulling on his shoes. He makes it back to his dorm and showers, changes, and then leaves for practice. The whole while he tells himself that this is fine, it was a one-off, good time and that’s it.

         It should be it. It’s not.

 *~*~*

           Team breakfasts are loud. Dex doesn’t really know what to do with them, sometimes, so he tries to keep to himself at the end of the table. The hickies on his neck still haven’t disappeared, though they’re now nearly gone. Still, whenever any of the guys see them, they make a face like they’re proud, or want details or something, and Dex doesn’t know how to say it was a guy let alone it was a lax bro so he ducks them whenever he can.

         Bitty takes a seat on Dex’s left, talking a mile a minute about something back home that his mother told him about, and Dex listens to his voice, if not the words. Something about Bitty’s lilted and slow tone is comforting to Dex, and he lets that cover him like a blanket as he tries not to fall asleep into his cereal.

         Vaguely, Dex hears someone call, “Shut up, already!” from one table over and he doesn’t think much of it until Holster and Ransom are standing from their seats and yelling back.

         “What’d you say to him?” Holster asks, his usual playful expression gone with a second. For a 6’4 dude, Holster almost never looks intimidating, but right now Dex wouldn’t even get near him.

         “He won’t shut up and it’s fucking early, man,” the same guy says, and Dex turns to see he’s sitting at the LAX table. Sean isn’t there, which Dex can’t help but be grateful for.

         “Then fucking plug your ears and leave us the fuck alone,” Ransom yells back, and the surrounding tables do not seem pleased with all the commotion and Dex would be embarrassed but these dicks are harassing Bitty. Bitty. The embodiment of everything good in the world.

         “Just tell your girlfriend to keep her mouth closed,” the guy says, smirking all shittily, and Dex knows that kind of grin well, knows the kind of taunts that come from between those lips, and his blood boils before he can help himself and he’s going to hit something, he knows it—

         “The fact that you use gender as an insult just reinforces the lack of confidence in your own masculinity,” Shitty says, using his matter-of-fact asshole voice that Lardo says is the closest he can sound to his father. He only uses it when he wants to piss people off.

         “What’d you say to me?”

         “He said you’re just a part of a broken machine aimed to eviscerate the emotional capacity of masculine people,” Ransom says, catching Shitty’s condescending tone.

         Holster continues in the same vein, “Yeah, you’re just part of the problem, man. Don’t you get tired having to assert your dominance over every fucking situation? Just take a seat, dude, let your emotions out.”

         The LAX bro mutters something that sounds like, “Fucking hockey team,” and turns back around to his table. Bitty is now completely pink and hiding his face in his breakfast, but his lips are upturned in the corners.

         “Y’all didn’t have to do that,” he says, quiet, and Holster ruffles his hair softly, softer than he usually is.

         “Of course we did, Bits,” Ransom says with a wide, handsome grin.

         “Got your back,” Shitty says, resolute, and they all go back to their breakfasts.

         After a minute, Dex prompts, “So what did Mrs. Henderson do about her missing begonias?” and Bitty starts talking again, not even a degree softer than he’d been before.

         Walking home from the dining hall, Dex tries not to make comparisons to his old team, how they’d wait until he turned his back before they called him any number of slurs that cut at his skin, how that had been the most respect they could’ve held for him. There are an endless number of comparisons to make—the difference between chirping and insulting, how having your back on and off ice is more than just a means to a win, the way Dex smiles more than he ever thought he could—and Dex could tire himself with trying to evaluate them all, but still.

        It’s nice to have the difference.

 *~*~*

           The next time it happens, Dex really can’t be blamed.

         Samwell is very big on making sure there are an infinite number of spaces for someone to acquaint themselves with. Only a month into the school year, Dex is a part of a program for first-generation college attendees, athletic scholarship awardees, financial aid awardees, STEM oriented students, and student athletes. And those are only the ones sponsored specifically by the college. Dex is in a handful of other clubs and organizations meant to aid his transition to college.

         Mostly, Dex hangs out with the team, some friends he made from class, and people from the tech club he’s in. People from the other organizations are mostly acquaintances. If he sees them on campus or in class, he’ll give them a nod, but they aren’t planning any kegsters together or anything. Still, Dex attends the soirees they invite him to, standing scratchy and uncomfortable in a suit that doesn’t fit quite right—“You should get something tailored,” Nurse would say, infuriatingly—and sips at his sparkling cider and counts down the seconds until he can leave.

         He’s having a particularly boring conversation with a trustee or an alumni or a donor or whatever when Dex sees Sean from across the room. It’s been a few weeks since Dex climbed out his bedroom window and he hasn’t thought about him constantly or anything, he’s not obsessed, but. Well, sometimes he’ll pass the LAX frat on the way to the Haus or he’ll see a couple of guys tossing a ball around on the Quad or he’ll be trying to fall asleep to no avail, and he’ll think of Sean, of his laughter and his hands, and he’ll miss him, just a little. A tiny, manageable amount.

         Now, now Sean is talking to his own donor/trustee/alumni, throwing his head back slightly in a beautiful laugh, and Dex wants way more than a manageable amount. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads for the bathroom to cool down and get ahold of himself. He grabs a paper towel and soaks it in some cool water, dabbing lightly at his face to try and stave off his blush. He huffs as it doesn’t go down at all and throws away the towel. He looks at his reflection, tugs his collar straight, stares himself down.

         “You will be normal,” he says, firmly, just as a man leaves a stall. Dex’s flush gets deeper as the man gives him a short look before washing his hands and leaving. Great. The being normal thing is going just gr—

         “Dex?” Dex looks up and there’s Sean, standing half in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at Dex’s reflection with an open-mouthed, soft expression that Dex wants to touch.

         “Sean.” Dex swallows. “Hey.”

         After a few loaded moments, Dex realizes that he hasn’t turned around yet, so he steels himself and does it. Sean cleans up nice. Like, really nice. His suit looks tailored, if the way it fits him is any indication, and he might not have a hockey ass but damn is it a good one. His tie is a soft blue that complements his eyes. There’s one stray curl at his collar that Dex wants to smooth out but he doesn’t. They just stand there staring at one another until Dex can’t handle it anymore and coughs.

         “I’d better—”

         “Yeah, I don’t want to—”

         “—get back to the—”

         “—keep you.”

         “—party.”

         They seem to have only managed to gotten closer, as Dex tried to leave and Sean tried to move towards a stall. Now they’re so close that Dex can see a spot where Sean missed when he was shaving and all Dex wants to do is brush his thumb against it. “Fuck,” he hears himself say, and in the next second Sean is kissing him.

         (See, Dex really can’t be blamed.)

         “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Dex manages to get them behind a stall door before he lets himself melt into it. It still is a school sponsored function and he really doesn’t want an alumni/donor/trustee walking in to find Dex shoving his hands up the back of another student’s button down.

         “God, you’re fucking huge,” Sean mumbles against Dex’s mouth, his hands curling around Dex’s shoulders. Dex hums and surges even closer, wrapping his arms around the small of Sean’s back, pulling him tight against Dex’s body. “Couldn’t stop thinking about your arms,” Sean says, pushing his hands inside Dex’s jacket to scratch at his chest through his shirt. “Bet you could hold me up against the wall and just—unngh.”

         Sean trails off as Dex finds a spot on the hinge of his jaw to focus his attention on. He really does have great skin—fucking LAX bros—and Dex has no reservations about staying there and working on making a deep pink-purple bruise like it’s his job, but he hears the door to the bathroom open and realizes that two pairs of feet in a stall are very suspicious. Looks like Sean’s going to have his fantasy come true.

         “Jump,” Dex mutters into Sean’s cheek, and then picks him up, pinning him against the wall, in one fluid movement. It knocks the breath out of Sean, but apparently in a good way, because he immediately rolls his hips against Dex’s.

         “God,” Sean says on a breath, and Dex kisses him to keep him quiet. He pulls back after a second or two to muffle his hiss into Sean’s shoulder as Sean reaches down and cups Dex through his slacks.

         “There’s someone in here,” he whispers, furious, into Sean’s ear.

         Sean simply grins. “You’d better be quiet, then.”

         About ten or so minutes later, they leave the stall, both thoroughly flustered. Dex’s flush is a complete lost cause and Sean can’t seem to get the stupid, smug grin off his face, so it’s very obvious what he’s just been doing. God, they’re hopeless.

         “Okay, so, that happened.”

         “Yeah it did—”

         “Sean.”

         Sean’s smug grin softens into something sheepish, kind. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just, kinda, been thinking about you.”

         God, that’s gay. Why does Dex like it so much? “I—I guess I have too.” He shakes his head. “But this would never work. We couldn’t tell our teammates, we couldn’t be seen together, I—I…”

         “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Sean steps forwards and puts his hand on Dex’s hip, comforting. “I don’t want to force you into anything. We don’t have to do this again, we can control ourselves.” He smirks a little. “I hope, at least.”

         Dex looks at him for a few moments, thinking about the possibility of it all. He likes Sean, for his looks, sure, but more than that, he’s a nice person, kind and funny and interesting. Dex could see himself dating Sean, like actual, out-in-public, playing-footsie-under-the-table dates. He never thought he could have that with a guy. He wants it so much it aches.

         But the idea of sneaking around, like he had to back home, not telling any of the guys, his friends…. Dex doesn’t want that.

         “We can,” Dex says, and he must be imagining the fall in Sean’s expression. “We have to.”

         Sean smiles, but it’s heavy. “Yeah,” he says, leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Dex’s mouth. He leaves the bathroom with a lingering look and Dex is left alone, wanting.

 *~*~*

           Being alone in the halls of an unknown rink is creepy. Dex is half-exhausted and half-keyed up from their win tonight, and he finished showering and redressing faster than most of the guys in his pseudo-state, leaving him to walk the path back to the parking lot alone. It’s quiet, so the only thing he can hear are his footsteps echoing around the halls, and he’s got nothing to focus on except his thoughts, which are worrying enough that he wants to actually run from them. But that would just be weird so he walks, contained, tense, and hopes more than anything that no one—especially one no one— will find him.

         His prayers must fall on deaf ears.

         “Dex!” Jogging casually down the hall comes Luke Rossi. He’s got on the same grin he always wore back in high school, wearing a tight, soft-looking t-shirt that reads Cornell across the chest. Dex swallows down whatever feeling has lodged itself in his throat. “Hey,” Luke says, slowing to a stop in front of Dex. His brown eyes look a shade softer in the fluorescent lights, deceiving. “Long time no see.”

         Long time is a bit of a stretch. They saw each other over the summer. It was similar to every time they’ve seen each other over the summer for the past four years. Dark car, quiet beach, hands over mouths to stifle whatever sounds came out. At once, it feels both like it’s a million years away and as if Dex is still living that same moment. Luke has that effect on him.

         “Yeah,” Dex says anyway. He shifts his weight, nervous. “How have you been?”

         Luke laughs, bright, cheerful. Dex wonders if it always looked that fake or if he’s learned Luke too well by now. “Oh, you know. Hockey, school, the works. You actually know now! Finally in real school.” He claps Dex on the arm. “Samwell, whoa. I always knew you’d go somewhere smart.”

         Despite himself, the praise warms Dex. “Yeah, it’s been nice.”

         “I bet the folks back home lost their shit,” Luke says, with another laugh, this one shorter, more pointed. He knows better than most the rumors that clung to Dex’s back all through school, and going off to the Gay Ivy did nothing to alleviate them.

         “Yeah,” Dex says, and looks down.

         “But hey, you played a good game tonight. An assist and everything. We should go out and celebrate, I know this great place—”

         “Dex?” Dex looks up and over to see Ransom and Holster coming down the hall, both of them frowning. Dex shrinks down without thinking. “Is everything okay?”

         “Who’s this?” Ransom asks, coming up on Dex’s right. Holster takes his left. Dex feels even smaller between them.

         “This is Luke,” Dex says, half-gesturing towards him. “He was my old captain back home.” Luke grins, charming, at the introduction. He sticks his hand out.

         Holster hesitates. “I thought you were your team’s captain,” he says, frowning.

         “He was captain when I was a freshman.” Dex fidgets, pulling at the material of his sweatpants. “I took over when he left.”

         “Oh,” Holster says, nodding exaggeratedly. He takes Luke’s hand and Dex sighs out his relief. “So you just want to catch up?” Holster directs to Luke.

         Luke grins wider, more charming, more plastic. “Yeah, man. Just thought I’d take him out with some of the guys, talk the game, stuff back home.” He shakes Ransom’s hand next, who returns his grin with a flat stare. Luke falters and looks back to Holster. “You know how it is, old teammates, I’m sure.”

         “Oh, I know—”

         Dex cuts Holster off. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” He takes a step forwards and turns so he’s facing Ransom and Holster and standing next to Luke. They both shoot him downturned-lip-furrowed-brow worried expressions. “Tell Chowder I’ll be back at the room a bit late.”

         “You sure?” Ransom frowns, staring unflinchingly at Dex.

         Dex—he doesn’t know what to do with this. The protectiveness. The care. It makes him fidgety, nervous, almost itchy. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not yet, and though he doesn’t really know how to describe the way he feels about Luke either, that pit in his stomach is at least familiar.

         “Yeah,” Dex says, and Luke throws a casual arm over his shoulders. It’s uncomfortably heavy, but it’s a weight Dex knows how to deal with.

         “I’ll have him back by midnight, boys,” Luke says, joking, though the looks on Ransom and Holster’s faces seem to imply they would appreciate just that. Luke nods. “Alright then.” He turns and starts walking them down the hallway towards the exit Dex had been looking for earlier. “Your teammates are a bit strange, Dex,” Luke says with a laugh, as they make their way out.

         “They’re just big on taking care of each other, at Samwell,” Dex says, and identifies the curl in his chest as guilt for not defending them.

         Luke laughs. Dex can see the exit clearly from where they are now. “Of course the sissy school is big on caring shit.” Luke’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “You must hate it there.”

         They’ve reached the exit to the stadium. It’s too late to turn back, so Dex just says nothing and follows. Luke always liked it best that way, anyway.

 *~*~*

           Within half an hour, they’ve reached a secluded field. Luke turns off the car. He gets out and flattens the backseats so there’s one big opening in the back. Dex joins him, quiet, and begins taking off his shirt.

         They say nothing for the next twenty minutes. Luke keeps his fingers pressed tightly over Dex’s lips even though he’s long since trained himself to be silent. The soft sounds of skin against skin and choked-off breathing fill the humid air. It’s cold outside but it’s boiling inside the car. It was always like that, too, back in Maine, the car so hot it almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. At one point, Dex convinced himself it was probably the closest he’d ever been to Hell.

         They dress in silence. During, Dex usually thinks of nothing except guilty, horrible pleasure. After, there’s nothing else to focus on but the adjectives. He sits in the passenger seat in rumpled clothes that stick to his sweaty skin, quickly cooling into something uncomfortable.

         Dex thinks of Sean, ridiculously. Of walking back to his dorm with cum drying on his stomach and going through a school function with slightly dirtied underpants. Both times he was dirtier, physically, than he is now, and still right now he’s the most uncomfortable.

         Sean didn’t make him uncomfortable. Sean made him giddy, made him smile, made him happy. Dex forgot, somehow, the desperation of being with Luke, the guilt and the fear. Now Dex remembers the way he used to pray, afterwards, ask God forgiveness for his sins, his inability to stop making them. His tongue tastes like communion wine gone sour and his body feels stiff with disgrace. Even now, all he can think of is how wrong he is.

         Twice he was with Sean and both times Dex had forgotten to repent.

         It wasn’t guilty with Sean. It wasn’t dirty or something to hide. Even when they had to be quiet, it was fun. There was laughter in his fingertips, a smile tucked under his tongue for Dex to find, to enjoy. Enjoy.

         Dex had never found joy in having sex with a man before.

         The weight of the aftermath with Luke lifts, then. Because it doesn’t have to be like this. Dex isn’t bad when he’s with a boy, he’s just bad when he’s with Luke. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe he just tied all his childhood fears up in Luke and he can’t separate them now. Either way, Luke isn’t good for him, not anymore. Maybe he never was.

         “See you,” Luke says, when they pull up in front of the motel the team is staying in for the night.

         “Goodbye, Luke,” Dex says, and means it. He gets out of the car.

         Dex can like a boy. He can like a boy without his tongue curling itself into knots out of self-preservation. He can like a boy without looking over his shoulder for the godly reprimand he can’t help but anticipate coming. He can like a boy without hating himself for it.

         The lightness in his chest carries him up the walkway. He can like a boy. He can like a boy.

         The lightness fades, decently, when Dex remembers that he can like any boy but Sean. Then again, he thinks as Luke pulls away before Dex reaches the front door, he was never really destined for happiness anyway.

 *~*~*

           It’s too fucking cold to be lugging a laundry basket back from the Haus, but Dex’ll be damned before he coughs up cash for the dorm washers when there’s a perfectly shitty washer and dryer at the Haus. Poindexters are nothing if not stubborn to the point of physical injury. Which he’s dangerously close to accomplishing, at this very moment, as he attempts to get his dorm key out of his bag while squishing the laundry basket between his hip and the door.

         He gets the key out right before the basket slips and he triumphantly shoves it in the lock. Letting himself in, he drops the basket on his bed and turns around to shut the door only to see Sean standing in the open doorway.

         What.

         “Dex,” he says, breathless. “Hi.”

         “Uh, hi?” Dex is still kind of stuck at what. “What, uh, what are you—why are you here?”

         “Yeah, um.” Sean swallows. “About that.”

         “Sean?”

         “Okay, this is going to sound really creepy, but remember I’m cute, okay?”

         “What?”

         “Okay, so, uh. I saw you leaving the hockey frat with your laundry and I sort of, followed you and, fuck. I can’t stop thinking about you?” He winces at himself. “This is sounding so much creepier than it’s meant to. I just, I really like you, okay? I think we can get past the team thing. It’ll be kind of like Romeo and Juliet, right?”

         “They killed themselves at the end,” Dex points out.

         “Well, as long as you don’t take drugs from any priests and I don’t kill your cousin, I think we’ll be pretty okay.”

         “Sean,” Dex tries to say firmly, but he’s smiling.

         Sean half-smiles back. “I think we can do it. I really do.”

         “Sean…”

         “And remember how cute I am,” Sean adds quickly. “Also remember that I just ran up three flights of stairs because the elevator was full just for you.”

         “How did you even get in the building?”

         Sean grins. “I am very cute.” Dex gives him a flat look. Sean relents. “Okay, I pretended like I lived here and went in behind someone who opened the door.” He points at Dex. “But I am cute.”

         “I feel like you’re searching for validation here.”

         “And the polite thing to do would be to give it to me, wouldn’t it?” Dex looks at him, standing there a little short of breath with a small, crooked smile. Dex thinks about destiny and bad decisions and how it feels to like a boy.

         Dex takes half a step closer to Sean, and then two quick full steps until they’re kissing, soft, smiling. Fuck destiny. Dex is going to be happy if it kills him.

[wetwellie]

It’s christmas season now so let me give you an au to chew over: Eric Bittle is Santa. 

Like think about it: Eric Bittle: Goody Bag King. He would run around year after year tirelessly making sure that everyone has at least one gift. (well, the ones that are deserving. But Bitty isn’t super judgemental, so there’s not a lot of people on his naughty list)   He also encourages people to leave whatever baked good out for him. Most people do the traditional milk and cookies. Bitty just wants to see more people baking, it’s one of his favorite things to do in his little spare time.  There’s also no elves. Instead there is...an entire workforce of semi-living toys? That doesn’t sound much better in terms of labor, but I swear Bitty never overworks them. Senor bun is in charge.  Bitty adores his job so much, which is why it broke his heart a couple decades ago when he noticed an extreme change in christmas spirit. It’s not that people are becoming ungrateful, it’s that he doesn’t really know how christmas is celebrated now a days. The last time he actually observed christmas firsthand was 1913. It definitely has changed. People don’t sing as many carols, and they ask for increasingly complicated gifts. What is wrong with a stuffed animal? What are oreos and why aren’t people baking anymore?  So Bitty decides to do what he always does when he feels a disconnect with the world, he joins it for a couple years (”a couple years” being something like, 30 or so years). Suzanne Bittle and her Husband from Madison, Georgia believe that they are adopting a 12 year old boy. And Bitty absolutely adores them.

He spends the next 6 years working hard from his new home, and relays the information to Senor Bun whenever he can. He absolutely loves Georgia with its heat and it’s peaches and its rustic way of life. It’s definitely a big change from...well...the north pole. It actually gives him a bit too much of a culture shock at first. He practically begs his parents to let him do SOMETHING with ice. Bitty takes to skating like he took to baking and toy making: like a motherfucking champ.  Along the way, he learns a lot of things about Christmas. For many, it’s lost the heavily religious undertones in exchange for images of himself...or what everyone down south thinks he looks like. Jolly? yes. Wears lots of red? Yes. Rosy cheeks? Yes. Full laugh? yes. Enjoys Coke? Eh sure why not. Large old man with a big ass beard? uh... no. never. He looks more like those elf depictions than anything else.  Some of the traditions he’ll miss. There’s a lot less horse-drawn sleds and a lot more, “tie an inflatible inner tube to the back of a 4 wheel drive and drag someone behind it in the mud/snow”. And there’s a lot more collectible ornaments and less fruitcake. There’s hallmark movies that tug at Bitty’s desire to someday find some sort of love for himself, even though that’s impossible. And perhaps his favorite thing that has changed with this century of Christmas:  Mariah Carey

Holy moly. After hearing that song Bitty made sure to look at Mariah’s biggest desire for that year and get Senor Bun on that stat. She deserve’s the very best. Michael Buble is definitely strong in his heart too. Bitty wishes that he could send an endorsement to those folks. “Santa’s favorite music” it would say.  If he slipped a note in Beyonce’s present one year saying “Christmas Album maybe??? :DD”, she kept it to herself. But a boy can dream.  So the years pass and he get’s this “live like a human” thing more or less in the bag. Until he is trapped in a closet by a couple of assholes on the football team. Bitty has to spend the night in there, no one able to hear him. What’s worse is that he knows where everyone is, and what they are doing. The football douches are currently sitting in the parking lot of a wal mart drinking shitty beer and laughing about how they hope Bitty doesn’t ever get found. 

He sees his dad telling Suzanne not to worry, because the team called him to tell him they were gonna bond with Bitty tonight. Suzanne is so thrilled that Bitty’s “finally getting some friends at school”. And Bitty curls in closer to himself and wonders what will break her heart more: seeing Bitty like this or knowing that he still hasn’t found his place. Probably both, he thinks.  With no one around him, he decides the best thing he can do is rest. He plants thoughts of sugar plums and pecans and jam into the minds of those he loves.  He’s saved by a janitor named Rudy. Bitty knows his full name is Rudolph, but he refuses to acknowledge this. Not at a time like this, and probably not ever.  And his parents, of course, move him to a new school. That was that, he was supposed to start new and “put the past behind him”. It’s not that easy, though. In all his years, he has never felt more helpless. Bitty can’t understand how there are people in the world like that, but now he can’t stop seeing them in the eyes of far too many people. 

He can’t bring himself to be so exceptionally cheerful after that, so he sort of switches to autopilot for a while. While he seems fine on the outside, nothing is getting to him. He has basically shut down. The toys that he chooses to make are a lot less personal, he doesn’t bother checking the naughty and nice list. It doesn’t change the first time, or even the second time usually. So what does it matter? The gifts will get to where they go.  And during the following christmas, he doesn’t even bother to eat the cookies left out for him. He just chucks the presents with sub-par wrapping under the tree and moves on to the 300 millionth house that night.  When he gets to the homes of the football team, however, he might have buried their entire tree in coal and set their alarms to blast nickelback. Bitty can have spite. It’s Christmas morning and people are...confused. Not ungrateful, just confused and worried. Did everyone truly ask for a deck of playing cards for christmas? Or a stuffed rabbit? Or a tiny polar bear toy with a candy cane striped sweater?  Because that’s really it as far as gifts go. It lacked any type of personal touch. Children might have cried. Bitty feels like a failure and is refusing to get himself out of bed.  “Don’t you want to open the presents under the tree?”, Suzanne asks.  “I don’t really feel like I deserve presents this year.”  “Eric Richard Bittle, you are the boy that deserves the most in the whole world” Bitty doesn’t respond to her, and buries himself deeper into his blankets. He hopes that he can just sleep until the next year. 

[justaphage]

#WIPitGood: Fake Relationship Trope

With Check, Please! finishing up soon @bardofspades suggested we all take a look at our WIP folders and post some of our works in progress as they are. I wrote a lot for Check, Please! but most of it is un-posted, When I look back some things I have no idea where they were going, and some I know I never new. I’ll start with something I wrote for @omgcp-tropechallenge, a blog that helped me a lot in starting writing again when I hadn’t been. I wanted to explore for this work, a fake relationship fic that wasn’t romantic/sexual getting together. All I have is this set-up scene, but I like it.

...

“You want me to pretend to date you, because your father is fine with you dating guys?”

“Right, that’s what he says Jack, but I know him. He’s a New England conservative; says he’s okay with ‘The Gays,’” Shitty paused for finger quotes and an eyeroll, “but I know, the thought of his son being being with a dude gives him the heebee-jeebees. We’re gonna expose him!”

“The heebee-jeebees? Shitty, why--” Jack let out a frustrated huff and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Most of the time he was grateful to have Shitty. It turned out to be fairly difficult to make friends in college when you wouldn’t drink at parties and were crippled by anxiety the rest of the time. As a result, the other guys seemed to think he was stuck up. Shitty just called him ‘a tough nut to crack’ and hung around in his dorm constantly like that would get him to open up. It had--sort of--but there were still a lot of things he hadn’t felt like sharing..

“Why do you want to antagonize him when you don’t actually want to date any guys?” 

“First of all, I might date a guy, you never know.” Shitty started, but Jack just rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine--I want to see him squirm, he deserves it after the crap he pulled last summer. C’mon Jacky it’ll be fun.” Shitty reached for Jack’s shoulders and yanked him into his side, as if that could convince him.

“This does not sound, in any way, like fun.”

Academically, Shitty might think he knew a lot, but sometimes it was painfully obvious how much he didn’t actually get it. He didn’t seem to see how hypocritical it was to rail against sexualized advertising, then ask about graphic details of every woman his teammates so much as looked at. And he clearly didn’t understand how Jack would give just about anything not to have experienced that painfully awkward conversation with his parents about Kent back in the Q. Doing it again for Shitty’s weird vendetta against his dad was definitely the opposite of a fun weekend.

“Look,” Shitty switched to bargaining, “The guys are planning a big kegster this weekend, and I know you’re gonna want to be out of town anyways. So why not come to the house with me, snuggle on the couch a bit, watch my dad’s face turn bright red, and we both win”

“No fair, playing on my anti-social tendencies.” Jack tried for joking, but it was true. With every party he skipped without a reason the guys not-so-quiet remarks got nastier. He didn’t want to care what they thought of him, but it was escalating onto the ice. If people kept deliberately avoiding passing to him, they were never going to get to the playoffs.

“That sounds like a ye-ess,” Shitty sing-songed back at him.

“Yes.” Jack groused.

“Wooo!”  Shitty used his grip on Jack’s shoulders to shake him excitedly. “I can’t wait to see his face. Do you think we could make out a little, really get the old man going?” He punctuated that with a disturbing wiggle of his eyebrows.

“No.” 

“Hey, ya never know, you might like it, bro.” 

Jack leaned as far back as he could with Shitty holding onto him and said flatly, “Bro, I know.”

“We’re both very attractive dudes, just a little kiss...” From his tone, Shitty was clearly joking around, still oblivious. 

Jack saw his face coming at him though and his body just reacted, shoving him away and getting as far back as he could. “Though you were all about consent?” He managed over his thundering heart. 

“Whoa, yeah, sorry man. I was outta line.” Shitty stayed where he’d been shoved, hands up like he was placating a wild animal. “I promise a kissing-free fake relationship weekend, okay?”

“Okay.” Jack muttered and stepped back towards Shitty, nervous moment over.

“Yeah!” Shitty gave a little fist-pump, “This is gonna be great!”

This was definitely not going to be great.

[allthevmff]

More on the WIP IT Good Challenge ---> X

More on VM Comment Bingo ---> X

More on the VM 20th Anniversary Celebration! ---> X

[allthevmff]

Come Around 

by AbsolutelyIris (@absolutelyiris)

A woman travels the world over in search of what she needs and returns home to find it.

fanfic movie poster art by @imkait

More on the WIP IT Good Challenge ---> X

More on VM Comment Bingo ---> X

More on the VM 20th Anniversary Celebration! ---> X

[willdexpoindexter]

#WIPitgood

So there’s this thing going around to post omgcp WIPs that never went anywhere. I looked around and found this oldie I never figured out where to go with. 

Readheaded Boys

Derek Nurse has always had a thing for redheads. 

He can wax poetic on the concept of redheads in literature for hours but the simple fact of the matter is that when he was 7 he made a new best friend for one day. His name was Billy and he was a redhead. And he was the kindest boy Derek had ever met.

He had tried to join a game on the playground and been turned away. He didn’t know why, this time, but it was probably just because he was weird. That was usually the reason. 

Derek liked to read and talk to grown-ups and drew “girly” things in his notebooks. 

Billy didn’t care. He played with him that day on the playground and for that day, they were best friends. 

Then Billy’s mom called him to leave and Derek had never seen him again. 

He had hoped Billy was a new kid at school who would be in his class come September, but he wasn’t. He never saw him at the playground again, either. 

So instead of having a new best friend, he just had the terrible kids in his classes who called him names and excluded him from games. 

He dealt with it.

When he went away to Andover for high school, it was a different dynamic. The kids there didn’t make fun of his interests or his smarts, they were all pretty smart and had strange interests. But they were almost all white, which made him feel left out in different ways. 

He perfected his chill exterior there. Nothing could get to him if he didn’t let himself feel anything.

When Derek realized he was gay, his obsession with redheaded boys suddenly became a lot clearer. He didn’t come out at Andover, though. There were already too many things different with him there. 

So he pined after Aidan Fitzpatrick in secret. 

It was only when he gets to Samwell that he allows himself to say it out loud. 

Sure, he’s still in the racial minority, but there are some non-white players on the team and there are some non-straight players and all-in-all he feels safe. 

Even if Dex is a stupid, straight, white boy who won’t listen when he explains that his life is never going to be “easy” just because he has wealthy parents. 

Whatever. It’s fine.

At least he’s cute. 

Especially when Derek gets him riled up and makes him blush.

It’s not until they get paired up to room together on roadies that it happens. 

The nightmares. 

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.” 

He’s awoken in a strange bed with William Poindexter hovering over him, hand on his shoulder, and worry in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Derek croaks. 

“Don’t apologize. Do you need anything? Water?” Dex is frowning but in a way that belies his concern, not anger. 

“Water is good.”

It hadn’t been an unusual nightmare, he just didn’t get them that much anymore. The boys in his elementary school teasing him and not letting him escape their surrounding circle. 

He wasn’t sure if they had ever actually surrounded him like that or if it was something his subconscious had created from media consumption, but the dreams were still terrifying. 

Dex came back with a glass of water and he downed it gratefully. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His face was open and Derek knew he could say anything and have the answer be respected. 

But he didn’t want to talk about it, so he shook his head. 

“Okay.”

Things were different after that. Not very different, but just enough. 

He never asked what he had said in his sleep but Dex seemed to respect his space more now, so it can’t have been nice things. 

He even got a few smiles out of him at Hausgiving. 

He started to wonder what his lips tasted like. 

They still fought, of course. 

Derek was certain they always would. But it was good-natured these days. Bickering. 

They chirped each other and when Chowder whined at them not to fight, please, they just exchanged a sigh. They weren’t really fighting. 

It was kind of nice. 

When they arrived back at Samwell for sophomore year, Derek realized he had even missed Dex’s grumpy face. 

He’s pretty sure that’s when the crush really began. 

It was inconvenient, really. Quite rude. But his subconscious had always had a preference for redheaded boys so he figured it was only a matter of time.

He was out at Samwell, but he wasn’t about to come out about a crush on a teammate. A white, republican, grumpy teammate. 

Nope.

So just like at Andover, he pined in secret. 

[birlcholtz]

wip: airport AU edition!

it’s been like. two years since i wrote the airport AU. but in accordance with the #wipitgood thing going around i decided to post this!

context: jack didn’t go to samwell, he met bitty during a 6-hour delay of a flight they were both on and they’re in love. it’s great. so they basically had like a 14-hour unofficial date in the airport/airplane, but here are the wellies and falconers discussing their first *official* date:

Snowy: CODE YELLOW CODE YELLOW

Snowy: ALERT ALL WELLIES AND FALCONERS

Snowy: CODE YELLOWWWWWWWWW

Dex: wtf is a code yellow

Tater: is when teammate is going on date!!

Snowy: JACK IS LEAVING HIS APARTMENT DRESSED NICELY

Snowy: wE ALL KNOW ZIMMBONI

Snowy: HE DRESSES LIKE HE’S GOING TO ROB A BURGER KING ON A REGULAR BASIS

Snowy: ERGO: CODE FUCKING YELLOW

Nursey: bitty’s locked himself in the bathroom for the past hour so yeah ur probably right

Snowy: yOU JUST DIDN’T THINK TO MENTION THIS???

Nursey: no?? it’s a p regular occurrence??

Chowder: it’s actually not but it was when bitty was dating his way through the rest of the samwell men’s sports teams

Snowy: CODE FUCKING YELLOW

Nursey: u can stop we get it

Snowy: nURSE THIS IS BIG AND WE NEED TO BE PRESENT TO GAIN AMMO FOR EMBARRASSING STORIES TO TELL AT THEIR WEDDING

Tater: ^ is ritual for falconers

Tango: but bitty might murder us???

Dex: i don’t fear death

Snowy: *applauds* follow ur heroic leader

Lardo has been added to this chat.

Lardo: sup my dudes

Dex: lardo help us jack and bitty are going on their first official date what do we do

Lardo: be inconspicuous!!

Tango: do u mean like dress up as waiters or something? or like potted plants?

Nursey: dress up as one (1) singular weed

Dex: lmao pot-ted

Chowder: *rolls eyes*

Tango: really??

Chowder: no do not do that please

Chowder: potted plants are NOT good disguises

Tater: maybe lardo fits behind potted plant? rest of us, no.

Snowy: ^^ especially not u potato

Lardo: k so does anyone know where they’re going

Nursey: probably dinner

Nursey: dressing nicely so not a movie or anything lowkey

Lardo: so we gotta be careful not to fuck it up

Lardo: collect stories for their wedding without actually interfering

Lardo: each of us who can attend will be posted in a different location to collect ammo for chirping, make sure to tell the gc if u hear anything good

[allthevmff]

The Pliant Web

by @ghostcat3000

Logan/Veronica Appreciation Week | Day Seven | Favorite AU » 1948 Tripoli-set Espionage Romance Thriller EPIC

In celebration of @vmficclub’s WIP It Good Challenge, we will be sharing some of our favorite Veronica Mars Fanfic WIPs. Which are your favs?

More info about the challenge --> X

Logan/Veronica -- 3, 34, or 41

Okay, so @mysilverylining gave me the option of three bits of prompt dialogue:

3. “I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.”

34. “It’s not like I missed you or anything.”

41. “What are you doing in my house?”

I used them all, just because.

This takes place in The Pliant Web AU universe (aka post-WWII Tripoli spies/detective intrigues aka the story I will never stop researching). Read this very short story for some context, then think ten or so chapters ahead. I never promised you a rose garden. 

Thank you, M. Hope you like it.

Extra special thank you to @cheshirecatstrut for making sure the grammar wasn’t completely appalling.

from this prompt meme. I have one more in the queue.

*

After the sandstorm, he walks down via Leopardi, noting the stark difference. The lack of birdsong, or children, playing with hoops and sticks. The green trim of shuttered windows, now lined with fine stripes of sand. His gums gone dry like sickness, teeth biting down into the hard crunch of those grains. The wind blows soft and warm with the stuff still, getting into his eyeballs and his ears and the crease of his cane-gripping knuckles. 

There’s a little-known aftereffect to a sandstorm; heads become hives. It’s the noise. The swarming buzz of it doesn’t go away. One walks in it, withstands, until, days later, it finally fades to quiet.

The cane gets flung to the floor as soon as he’s in the house. It echoes when it lands and for a long, slow moment he just looks at it. His cover, his trap.

Dimly, he hears footsteps on the second floor—light and sure.

“Jacqueline?” There is no response.

(continued after the cut)

Keep reading