#it is real shitting on jack parsons hours

[icarus-suraki]

I was about to be like, okay, we've got Oppenheimer, when can we get Parsons?

And then I was like, lol wait, the Scientologists would never go for that.

Alas! Let us lament for the art that could have been! Dicks! Rockets! Pipe bombs! Arcane magical ceremonies! Demons! Love triangles! Yachts!

[icarus-suraki]

If I may: the explosion may have been an accident, he may have blown himself up on purpose, it may have been an assassination by Howard Hughes et al. as revenge for Parsons (allegedly!) stealing Hughes Aircraft Company documents, or it may have been in a rite to create a homunculus (per Renate Druks).

We used to get brilliant but absolutely batshit guys like Jack Parsons and now we have to settle for Elon Musk.

Bring back the pretty bisexual geniuses who practice sex magic with Aleister Crowley and hang around with cultists and like to blow shit up for fun.

We could have this again:

[montrealmadison]

Tater 27 please ?

i have never written tater before - ever! - so this was incredibly fun! thank you so much for the prompt and for helping me stretch my writing muscles a little bit ❤️ the only things i know about patater are inspired by a frankly shocking quantity of sidgeno rpf so make of that what you will

27. tater + i’m so tired by lauv & Troye Sivan for @shygryf

Strangers, killing my lonely nights with strangers And when they leave, I go back to our song, I hold on Hurts like heaven, lost in the sound Buzzcut season like you're still around Can't unmiss you, but I need you now

Tater’s letting some girl he doesn’t know shoot tequila out of his belly button when he gets the text.

Kent Parson: you awake? Kent Parson: sorry know it’s late

It is late, three or so, and the club’s fun but the idea of not being here is just as good. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t care; he props his elbow on the table for better leverage and sends back, yes, and then ok?

Kent Parson: no Kent Parson: popped my achilles Kent Parson: we're out

Shit. That means the end of their playoff run, which in turn means about five hundred other things. He doesn’t even have the chance to formulate a response before Kent adds, will you come?

A cold thing settles in Tater’s chest, a weighty purpose that he doesn’t stop to examine. Maybe it's the shots making this seem like a good idea; of course he will, and that’s the end of it. There’s something about clambering up off the table, tequila soaking down into his open fly, and shouldering his way to the exit without a word that makes him feel about a thousand feet tall.

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Kent lives in a nice building. Not nice enough for the security guy downstairs to make any real effort to stop Tater from getting in, but then, Tater is six foot seven and built like the desks that lesser men hide behind. He hits the button for the elevator and zips upward, chewing on his lip, watching the numbers tick higher.

This is stupid. This is an absurd way to spend a thousand dollars and God knows how many days, catching a frantic red-eye to Vegas like he’s going to be able to do anything the Aces’ trainers haven’t already tried. It’s more absurd that he stands in the hallway with his fist poised to knock on Kent’s front door for at least five minutes, wondering if he should have brought food. Does the kid even eat? He’s awfully tiny.

He finally gets over himself and knocks. There’s a voice from inside at once: “Open.”

Tater does.

The apartment is nice, modern. It’s also a complete fucking mess. There are ostentatiously dirty shoes scattered all over the entryway, possibly-related scuff marks up the bare white walls. Tater has to do this dainty hop through a minefield of Yeezys just to make it to solid ground, and is very glad that no one can see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Parson?”

“In the living room.”

Tater drops his bag in the kitchen and heads for the voice. The close little hallway seems much more inviting than it did in the dark last time he was here, and the living room is spacious and airy without a couple hundred bodies packing it. There’s a big TV on one wall, running something trashy. In the middle of the room is that ugly couch, brown suede and covered with cat hair, and in the middle of the couch is Kent.

Relief spreads through Tater at once, numbing the tingle in his hands. Okay, so maybe he spent the whole five-hour trip picturing the worst-case scenario. Guys in their line of work are not, as a rule, great at handling their injuries, especially later in the season; Tater only has to look at Jack for proof of that one. But Kent’s eyes are clear, if tired and a little wet-looking, and he’s sprawled out comfortably with his hand in Kit’s fur and his wrapped ankle carefully supported by a pile of throw pillows. He’s wearing ratty old sweats, white socks gone gray on the bottoms, a couple days’ worth of scruff that marks his sorry excuse for a playoff beard. 

“Shit, man,” he says, seeing Tater in the doorway. “You came.”

“You call.” 

It’s not quite that simple, but somehow, faced with the fact of Kent’s obvious, boneless relief at having him here, it feels like the right sentiment.

“I did,” Kent says. He sounds croaky, exhausted. The deep shadows under his eyes make them look more green. Tater wonders if he’s slept, or how much. “Thanks.”

He has this weird impulse to poke the bear, which maybe isn’t fair to Kent, but it’s all he knows how to do. 

“You miss me?” he asks, slouching further into the room. Kit lifts her head imperiously to watch him settle a polite distance away on the couch. “That why you ask me, not teammate?”

This is the dynamic they built at the bar, in the darkness of Kent’s bedroom: push and pull, catch and release. Things are still too new, too fragile between them; they’ve never implied a sense of belonging to each other, or at least not the kind that prompts something like this. 

As it stands, Kent doesn’t play along with the teasing, and that’s what finally gives Tater a sense of how shitty he feels. 

“Let ‘em grieve, right?” he says listlessly, tipping his head into the back of the couch. “Shit game. Didn’t wanna bother them.”

You were okay with bothering me, Tater thinks but does not say. A guy you’ve hooked up with twice who lives across the country. What the fuck does that mean?

He knows what he wants, what he wants it to mean. It’s part of what caught his eye in the first place: this kid is so, so young to be a captain, to bear this weight. The Aces are out of the playoffs not because they played their hardest, but thanks to a non-call and an injury that’ll have Kent in PT all summer. Now he’s curled up on the couch in his disaster of an apartment with only the cat for company, his teammates pushed away or otherwise nowhere to be found. It’s incongruous with the spitfire who finds a reason to drop gloves every time they share the ice, who likes to have his wrists pinned down and kisses with too much teeth and, holy hell, called Tater in Providence when he got hurt.

“Bother me anytime,” Tater says before he can bite down on it. He scoots a little closer, clasping his hands briefly between his knees. “Poor Parson. Need friend when teammates being sad.”

Kent’s laugh turns into a cough and Kit scrambles off his chest, affronted. 

“Is that what you are?” he asks. “My friend?”

“Maybe,” Tater hums, pretending to consider. “Well. Maybe not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kent echoes. He sounds puzzled. “Okay?”

“We not really know each other,” Tater says. Maybe it’s mean, the way this is lighting him on fire. Kent likes to bottom, but never to lose control; even in bed he runs his mouth like everything that comes out of it is gospel truth. Opportunities to catch him on the back foot are few and far between, and—well. Tater likes to take care of his people, likes to show them love, and above all likes a challenge.

“We don’t—”

Tater decides to take pity on him. “Sex not knowing, Parson. Think maybe you think that way.”

Okay, yeah, this is definitely mean. Kent’s breath is coming faster, and the line of his jaw is set and trembling. But Tater wants to push him a little bit, get his money’s worth for the flight, the worry; Kent can pay him back in kind, and will. Tater just has to help him get there.

“So what if I do?” Kent asks. His laugh is tiny. “Man, I’m confused. Not like we’ve had much more time to figure each other out.”

And yet you asked me here, Tater thinks, and decides to play his trump card.

“It’s summer. You not play, I’m not play.” Tater spreads his hands wide, goes for broke and scoots in close to curl a hand slow and sinuous around Kent’s good ankle. “Need rest, someone to take care. Seem like good time to me.”

Kent’s breath catches in his throat. He smells sweaty and kinda gross, but his smile is soft, a fragile thing, and Tater knows he’s gotten it right. 

“Captive audience,” Kent says, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Tater agrees, and leans in to meet his mouth.

[fanartshmanart]

You have 3 new messages in your inbox from Kenny.

Sept 9, 2009, 10:34pm

“Hey, Zimms, just calling to say hey, I know you’re probably busy with, you know, rehab things and stuff. But- I mean I’m busy too, obvs, with the whole playing-professional-hockey and shit. But call me up if you wanna chat. Later!”

Oct 2, 2009, 2:11am

“Heya, Zimms, it’s like, 2 a.m. here, haha. Just thinking of you. You know I haven’t talked to you since the whole thing went down, but your dad called, said you’re doing okay. That’s good. Um. Yeah I’m doing good too. The team is… good. Yeah, it’s good, my lineys are great. Not as good as you, obviously. But nah, they’re good guys. Just, ya know, not my best friend. So. If you wanted to talk, you know my number. Okay, miss ya.”

Oct 29, 2009, 1:33am

“Ziiiiimms… I miss you, man… ‘cause, like, you haven’t talked to me in, like, 3 months, and the last time I saw you you were in the ambulance, and I know you’re okay but it would be nice to hear from you, ya know? … I think I’ve left, like, 50 messages in your inbox by now, huh. Sorry ‘bout that. I really have to stop calling you drunk. I miss you.”

Would you like to delete three messages?

Messages deleted. You have 0 new messages.

Dec 25, 2009, 4:54am

Joyeux noel, zimms :)

New Message from Kenny

March 24, 2012, 9:20pm

“Hey, um. I’m sorry for stopping by yesterday. And for the things I said, that was a real asshole move on my part. So… yeah. Sorry.”

The number you’re calling has been disconnected.

May 4, 2015, 10:11am

+1-509-676-3885

Hey. I’m in town this week if you want to meet up.

This is Jack, by the way.

You - 10:13am

Jack, hey! Yeah, sure, wanna grab lunch on Friday?

+1-509-676-3885 - 10:24am

Sounds good.

----

Kent sat at the coffee shop table with one hand wrapped around his mug and the other digging into his thigh under the table. “So. Uh, how’s your parents?”

“You don’t talk to them anymore?” Jack asked.

“Ah, no.” Kent shifted in his seat. “Saw them at an awards show earlier this year, but we don’t really keep up, after… Well, they had bigger things to deal with, you know, and we both got busy, so.”

“Right, yeah,” Jack nodded. “No, yeah, they’re good. Always talking about wedding things, now, it feels like.”

“Oh, yeah, congratulations,” Kent gestured to the ring on Jack’s finger. Jack smiled down softly at it. “And on coming out, that’s huge, man.”

“Thanks,” Jack’s smile was small, but he looked happier than Kent had ever seen him. “It just felt about time, you know? I was ready.”

Kent didn’t know. You used to get panic attacks at the thought of your parents knowing about us, he thought. I spent hours on end convincing you that no one would ever find out. That we’d be okay. “Yeah totally,” he said. His eyes had been trained on Jack’s right ear for their entire conversation so far. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle icy blue.

“How about you?” Jack asked.

“Huh?”

“You ever thought about coming out?”

Kent barked out a laugh. “Hah! No.”

“Why not?”

“I just…” You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with, did you know that? I wouldn’t risk it for anyone else. “Don’t really have a reason to right now.”

“Ah, makes sense.” There was an awkward pause, both of them busying themselves with their food.

“So, are you and, uh, Eric, planning on getting any pets?” He asked, steering the conversation to a safer topic. “I know you always wanted a dog.”

Jack hummed. “I don’t know, actually, we haven’t really talked about it. Bitty mentioned he likes rabbits, they’re like a cat but quieter.”

Kent scoffed jokingly. “Nah, man, cats are the best, I’m telling you.”

Jack laughed. “And you’d know?”

Kent paused. “I, uh, yeah, I’ve had a cat for, like, 4 years now.”

“Huh,” Jack nodded, “Never thought you’d be a cat person.”

“Yeah, she’s… real sweet.” Kent finally placed the sinking feeling in his stomach. It was the realization that Jack had changed into a person he didn’t know anymore, and Jack didn’t know him either. They weren’t Parson-Zimmermann anymore, Weren’t Zimms and Kenny. They were just two people who used to be friends, on paths that probably wouldn’t merge again.

“It’s been great catching up with you,” Jack said when they were standing up to leave. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, totally,” Kent said, reaching for a smile. “If you ever want to meet up, you know my number.”

[babygirlizz]

Movies and TV shows of 2019

Okay so a couple or few years ago I did a review of movies that had released that year because I was super into movies that year. I am still into movies, but I have been watching a lot more shows this year. So, I will be reviewing movies and tv shows. Furthermore, I will be including stuff released this year, that I found this year, or that has a new season this year. Basically just anything that I have loved this year. Also, I don’t feel like ranking, so no particular order. Also, SPOILERS AHEAD - if you see a title of something you have not seen, and don’t want spoilers, please feel free to skip that section. Also, some of these I haven’t seen in a hot minute so if I get a detail messed up, we won’t speak on it. And finally, trigger warning - if you have struggled with sexual assault and may have an issue reading about it, either skip this post entirely or skip over the review of “Unbelievable.”

MOVIES -

1. After

I have been waiting for this since middle school. I read the after books on wattpad because what teenager in love with harry styles didn’t. Now I will be real with y'all. The acting could use some work in specific scenes, and some of the actors aren't MY favorite picks for certain roles, but I’m not gonna hate on actors. Ok so, Tessa (Josephine Langford) is an incoming freshman in college and is rooming with an upperclassmen, Steph (Khadijha Red Thunder) who has a friend named Hardin (Hero Fiennes-Tiffin). Steph wants Tessa to branch out and do new things, so she invites her to a party, where they play the stereotypical games, and thats when Hardin is kind of dared to make Tessa fall in love with him. ALSO, Tessa has a high school boyfriend named Noah (Dylan Arnold). She starts seeing Hardin, her boyfriend finds out, she falls in love with Hardin, and finds out it was all a dare. Buuuuuuut, pLoT tWiSt he actually loves her.

2. Avengers: Endgame

Ok listen, Infinity War was heartbreaking bc Bucky duh, but y'all are really gonna take Tony (RDJ) and Steve (Chris Evans) away from me? Shut up. Still, this was a really good movie and I’m not just saying that because I’m a marvel hoe. FRICK Thanos and thats on Ant Man. Thats literally all I have to say.

3. Annabelle Comes Home

I am a whore for scary movies. I love them so much and this one was *chefs kiss*. I love Mckenna Grace, she's such a good young actress and she fits so well in scary moves. There’s not much to say about the plot in this one, and ya really need to see it. Also, Bob (Michael Cimino) is so heckin cute what the heck.

4. Let It Snow

Ok this is a lot to unpack so grab ya snacks. Let’s talk about couple number 1 (of 3), Tobin (Mitchell Hope) and Angie (Kiernan Shipka) who are best friends. Tobin is in love with Angie but doesn’t know how to tell her, and gets lots of unwanted encouragement from his best friend Keon (Jacob Batalon) who just wants to throw a heckin good party, is that too much to ask for? So Angie gets invited to a party by some cute guy, JP (M and Tobin is jealous but goes with her anyways and they steal a keg for Keon’s party and run from the scary hosts of the party and end up stranded in a church after his car spins out of control. They finally make it to the party and kiss on the roof with the waffle town sign shining bright behind them. NEXT - we have Julie (Isabela Merced) and Stuart (Shameik Moore). This is kind of really cliche with the whole “he’s-famous-she-doesn’t-care-he-finds-that-attractive-lets-fall-in-love” aspect, but its also hella cute uwu. They meet on a train and the train stops so they go eat at the waffle town and go sledding and do a bunch of cute coupley shit. His manager comes to get him and basically tells her that nothing will ever really happen between them and he leaves. Then, he shows up at the party and they fall in love. NEXT- we have Dorrie (Liv Hewson) who is a lesbian that constantly struggles with the gay panic. Her best friend Addie (Odeya Rush) doesn't help much either because she's having her own relationship problems. Dorrie works at Waffle Town and when she's working the girl she's talking to, Kerry (Anna Akana) comes in with her dance team, and she's not out of the closet. A bunch of shit goes down, but they end up together and Dorrie learns that she’s worth more than she thinks and that’s all that matters. Also, Billy (Miles Robbins) and Tin Foil Woman (Joan Cusack) make wonderful additions to this movie.

5. The King

First of all - Timothée Chalamet and Robert Pattinson in the same movie? Sign me the HECK up. But they’re also historical, frick yea. Not too much to say about this movie other than it’s good. Super graphic (don’t watch if you don’t like decapitation lol) and super long, but good nonetheless.

6. Falling Inn Love

This movie is super freaking cute. Gabriela (Christina Milian) decides that she needs a change and enters a contest to win an Inn in New Zealand. She wins the Inn and is shocked when she realizes the Inn needs a LOT of work. She goes around town to get stuff to fix up the Inn and constantly runs into Jake (Adam Demos) and they have this flirty but we don’t like each other relationship, but then ya know, they fall in(n) love. 

SHOWS -

1. The Society

I could talk about this show for hours, literally. I love it so much it’s insane. Ok, so lets start from the beginning. A town called West Ham is being plagued by a disgusting smell. Due to this, the town decides to send busloads of teenagers to the mountains while they try and resolve the smell situation. All of the teenagers fall asleep on the bus and wake up to the announcement that they had to go back home due to road blocks. When they get off the buses, its late and no one is there to pick them up. They think that it may just be a sense of miscommunication, so they head home, only to find that none of their families are there, and they can’t get ahold of any of them over the phone. They finally decide to investigate and find that all exits out of town are completely blocked off. They then decide to find a way to survive without their families. This causes a lot of tension within the town including the death of a main character. This shows also includes gay representation!!!! This is my favorite couple, Sam (Sean Birdy) and Grizz (Jack Mulhern). Sam is deaf and gay and his brother, Campbell (Toby Wallace), makes fun of him for both reasons, and when the whole issue with the town happens, he believes he will never find love because he doesn’t think anyone else is gay, until Grizz comes along, and tries to learn ASL and loves him for him.

2. Roswell New Mexico

Alright, to be completely honest, I did not want to watch this. I have no idea why I just didn’t. I saw an edit on like instagram or something of the couples in the show and I was like, alright I can give it a chance. And spoiler alert I loved it. The series starts off with Liz Ortecho (Jeanine Mason) comes back to her hometown of Roswell around the time of her the anniversary of her sister, Rosa’s (Amber Midthunder), death. She gets pulled over on her way in and the officer that pulled her over was Max Evans (Nathan Parsons), who has had a crush on her since they first met, and just so happens to be an alien. After Liz gets shot in her families restaurant, Max uses his healing powers to save her, but leaves behind a hand print on her that makes her suspicious. She continues to investigate until he tells her the truth. She also finds out that her sister was actually murdered, and has the same hand print on her that she did when Max healed her. Turns out, his sister, Isobel (Lily Cowels) killed her, but it was actually another alien possessing her (which they didn’t know was possible when she killed her). When they landed on earth they also landed with their “brother” Michael (Michael Vlamis) who starts off the series with an on and off relationship with Alex (Tyler Blackburn) and I love them together. Alex is the son of one of the guys trying to find and take down the aliens and he also went to war and lost his leg. Anyways, towards the end of the season Alex starts seeing Maria (Heather Hemmens), which is a couple I don’t really like, but also bi representation is good! Anyways I don’t really wanna spoil this one too much I just love it a lot.

3. Elite

This is a show that came out in 2018, but they released a second season this year. All I’m saying is please watch the original version, not the dubbed over version. Elite is a spanish show about a few students that get a scholarship to the private school after their school gets demolished. This shows is in the fashion of present and past which includes a lot of flashbacks leading up to the the murder of one of the students. My favorite part of this show is the relationship between Ander (Arón Piper) and Omar (Omar Ayuso). Ander is the son of the head of the school and Omar is the brother of one of the students that got a scholarship. Not only are they of different socioeconomic status’, but Omar is also Muslim, and his family would not approve of him being gay. He finally finds the courage to tell his family, but thats not until season 2. Also, his sister Nadia (Mina El Hammani) falls in love with the “bad boy” of the school, Guzmán (Miguel Bernardeau) and starts going against her parents wishes as well.

4. The Umbrella Academy 

Y’all mind if I confuse y'all real quick. So, a bunch of women all of the sudden give birth out of nowhere at the same time even tho none of them were pregnant? Yea I know weird. Anyways, so this dude tries to adopt as many of them as possible and ends up adopting like 7. They all have powers and they try and stop the apocalypse. That’s literally all I can tell y'all. 

5. Unbelievable

I swear I didn’t mean to get y’all upset right now. This show made me angry and sad and so many other feelings all at once. So the show beings with a girl named Marie (Kaitlyn Dever) getting raped in her home. When she reports it, they can’t find any evidence, as he cleaned the apartment and made her shower. This mixed with the fact that she struggles remembering parts of her experience (which is common with sexual assault), the police don’t believe her and force her to retract her statement. This in itself is awful, but they also charge her with false statement, which adds on to the fact that people already believe that she is a liar. Years later, two female detectives, Karen and Grace, piece together rapes in their precincts and once they find the rapist, they find Marie’s picture in with his belongings, proving that she was telling the truth the entire time.

6. Sailor Moon

I just got into anime and all I have to say is that I love this. That is all.

[kentparsonbirthdaybash]

A Kent Parson Birthday Bash Reading Guide to: Patater

This fic reading guide is for Kent, and our favorite Russian Falconer, Alexei “Tater” Mashkov! All fic is organized by length, and the ratings and descriptions can be found next to and underneath the titles of all fics. Click the title to read!

Letting down my hair for inlovewiththeirlove (fieldofdiabolicalbutlovelykillers) (Not Rated, 1.0k): 

Kent parson is a closeted hockey player that frequents a speakeasy so much that the waitress knows his order by heart. Alexei is an openly gay mobster that owns the bar.

This daze ain’t leaving for TheUnvanquishedZims (Rated T, 2.1k): 

Kent really didn’t need to go in a flower shop, but he did it anyways.

easy as pie for eden22 (Rated G, 2.2k): 

Kent isn't jealous that Alexei won the Stanley Cup. He's not. It's just--Alexei keeps sending snaps of Bittle's pies, and, well...how hard can it be to make a pie, anyway?

A Man Without A Country for Mouse (clandestineAbattoir) (Rated G, 2.4k): 

Kent just wants to continue growing as a person. Luckily, a few key trades help him on his journey to becoming a Real Boy.

swag swag swag on you for blindinglights (Rated E, 3.2k): 

It was the best sex Alexei had ever had, so when he and Parson both ended up going to Montreal to train with Zimboni, he couldn’t think of a reason not to keep going. And what happens in Montreal stays in Montreal, right? That’s how the saying goes.

“That is not how the saying goes,” B says.

sea monkeys for badcaseofcasey (Rated T, 5.8k): 

Kent Parson needs a date.

So, he makes one in his garage.

Lone Wolf for ladymars (Rated T, 7.0k): 

“You good Kent?” Scraps asked, twirling his phone in his hands and meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Kent nodded, fighting a smile. “Yeah Scraps, I’m fine. I’ll be back later, don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” he grumbled, opening his phone. “You never know what kinda fucked up shit can happen in a creepy forest forty minutes after midnight.”

“What, like werewolves?” Kent chirped, opening the car door.

“At least it’s past witching hour,” Swoops said, winking at Kent. “Have fun bro, see you in a few hours.”

“You fucker, witching hour’s not real!” Scraps squawked.

---

In which Kent Parson is a lone wolf in all ways except one and plays typical Aces hockey.

the only happiness for dogstarblack (Rated E, 8.2k): 

It takes less than a week for Kent to snap.

He’d expected to get some extra attention during the off-season, given Jack’s little stunt after winning the Cup, but even after over half a decade in the NHL, he’d been completely taken aback by the sheer intensity of the entirety of the hockey media descending on him.

Getting drafted first overall didn’t hold a candle to being the former best friend of the league’s first openly queer player, apparently.

[petals42]

The Parson/Chowder Body Switching AU that, well, actually Ngozi did specifically ask for...

Okay so this was going to be a full fic and then i got 1k in and realized that if it was going to be done right, it would have to be like 50k and I don’t have quite the inspiration to do that so, I present to do, the bullet point form of: The Chowder/Kent Parson Body Switch Fic (petals version) [Note: it is still like 6.5k because i have lost control of my life]

Kent Parson wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom and is like “well, fuck, did this again-- but it’s a Friday so… that’s not that crazy” because he’s Kent Parson and if you think KP is not getting dangerously drunk on the semi-regular, then you have not given him as much angst as I have and I invite you to get on board with Kenny P and his bad coping mechanisms

Of course, he is a little confused, cause he usually saves that for the off-season and they are still playing so like… it’s not totally in character but he accepts he was extra stupid last night.

Actually he was really fucking stupid because he clearly hooked up with a guy (based on the smell) and a Sharks fan (based on the whole fucking room) and he usually doesn’t risk hooking up with hockey fans because… he’s not trusting hockey fans to not out him to the world.

(And also good lord, if he is so drunk he cannot even remember this guy at all, he was probably a shitty lay.)

But, okay, he accepts this: Bad decisions were made last night. But this isn’t exactly his first rodeo so he breaks it down like he would a play and first things first: Coffee.

He stumbles down to get coffee, noting that his body is moving kinda weird and maybe he is still drunk?? That would also explain the lack of hangover.

This is when shit gets crazy. Because Bitty is downstairs in the kitchen and Bitty smiles when he sees him and there is no world in which Eric Bittle, Jack’s perfect fucking boyfriend, smiles at him. Kent Parson, Jack’s fucking asshole of an ex.

Then Bitty moves away from the kitchen window and Kent sees himself and-- Holy Shit, he is not Kent Parson.

MEANWHILE, over in Vegas, Chowder wakes up with a killer headache and worries he is getting sick which is good in that it means Bitty will make him soup, bad in that he has a project he needs to do with Dex and also, boy his feet are hot.

He makes the mistake of moving them.

He is then attacked by some huge white furry monster and when he yelps, the monster freezes, looks at him long and hard for a tense 30 seconds before hissing and running away.

It is at this point that Chowder realizes he is not in his own room. In fact, he does not think he is in the Haus. His assumption that this is a prank by Holster and Ransom but it seems awfully elaborate and they lost last night so he would have thought he was safe from pranks oh and also, when he swings his head to see more of the room (dark gray sheets, mint colored wall, no art up at all), a piece of his hair falls out and it--

It is white people hair. Blond. He’d know it a mile away.

So he jumps up and runs to the bathroom and Holy Shit He Is Kent Parson.

Meanwhile, Kent has almost died. Bitty had asked about the Sharks and he had been too stunned to lie and then Bitty threatened him with death and he’s managed to laugh and say something like “JUST KIDDING JUST KIDDING THEY WON 3-1!!!” (he was shouting more out of fear than enthusiasm but luckily it seemed to do the trick) and thank god he actually did follow that game because they were playing the Sharks the next day.

Well. The Aces are playing the Sharks the next day.

He is… fucking shit, he needs to figure out who he was.

He forgoes the coffee that Bitty offers him and runs to the bathroom and-- Chowder. He stalks enough of Samwell and Bitty’s dumb vlog that he knows Chowder. He is… He is Chowder. He is trapped in Chowder’s body. He is--

He is on his way to a full panic attack when the door bangs open and Holster blinks at him and “you’re up early dude” and then walks over to the toilet and starts peeing and he looks half asleep so Kent runs away.

Running away does not work though, because Ransom grabs him as he tries and “no, no, no moping about the game last night for you. It was a tough loss, but it was everyone’s fault, not yours and c’mon Bitty is making breakfast”

And so Kent Parson is manhandled back downstairs.

Chowder’s solution to the problem was to lay down and hope that he woke up from that fucking weird ass dream.

It does not work.

So then he gets up and decides that step one is to fix this hangover. He grabs water, advil, open the fridge to find that it is empty (almost cries a little tbh) and it is when going for his phone that he realizes his phone is Parson’s phone and that phone is dead. He cannot get into the laptop because there is a password. So ordering food is out.

He is nothing if not a problem solver though so Chowder puts the phone to charge, hops in and out of the shower, puts on clothes (that are literally so soft oh my god kent parson spends his money right), grabs his wallet and keys (at least, he assumes) and heads out.

Luckily, Kent Parson lives in a walkable area. So no driving is necessary to find a chinese place because that is exactly what Chowder thinks he needs right now. Good, cheap, tastes nothing like the real thing but man he loves it anyway, Chinese food.

When he walks in the store, the man behind the counter says “you want the usual?” and it is here that Chowder makes his first mistake. Because he doesn’t know what white-boy Kent gets but he’s sure it’s not what he wants. So he says “no”, gives the man a correct order (yes, he’s sure he wants extra hot everything, thank you very much) and then he takes it home and--

DIES.

HE DIES.

Chowder puts one bite of what is SUPPOSED to be delicious food into his mouth and HE DIES.

Seriously. His whole mouth lights up on fire and he starts sweating and gets the hiccups and also heartburn?? It turns out that is a thing?? and the only thing in Kent Parson’s fridge is heavy cream (presumably for coffee) but Chowder just takes that to the dome and holy shit, white people are the worst and he--

He goes back and says “yes, actually, please I would like my usual” and then goes promptly back to sleep.

Because he is hungover and stuck in a nightmare where mild beef and broccoli is almost too much for him and sleep seems to be the best solution.

Kent Parson would like to be asleep. Boy, would he. But Ransom had dragged him downstairs and he is trying to continue to hate Bitty while also eating these fucking delicious waffles and his strategy to making it through this breakfast is to just sit quietly and nod every once and a while and hope that Samwell’s loss is enough of an explanation for “chowder’s” silence this morning.

(He also has to keep reminding himself to stop glaring at Bitty. Bitty is… Bitty fucking hates him but not when he’s in this body and that’s weird and he hates Bitty too because Bitty has it all and he has nothing and he-- Everyone here clearly loves Bitty. He has to pretend.)

“Dude, you aren’t even ready yet?” The boy telling him this is very ginger and Kent doesn’t think he was around when he came to Samwell the last time but “cut a man a break, Dex,” another boy says, sliding into a stool. “Chill a little. You’ll get there in time.”

“Class starts in 15 minutes,” Dex tells him and Kent is going to open his mouth to say that he is not feeling well and gonna skip but Bitty is sort of frowning at him suspiciously so he just nods mutely and runs for the stairs.

It is now, in this minute alone, that he gets his first good idea: Call myself. He grabs Chowder’s phone, thanks every god that might exist that Chowder has his fingerprint set up so security is not an issue and then he types in his own number and--

Nothing.

His phone is off.

Goddammit.

There’s nothing left to do but get ready to go. So, he pulls on clothes (and man, this guy needs an updated wardrobe, like seriously what are these t-shirts made of?? cardboard??) and runs after Dex and okay, it turns out he has computer something-or-other… at 10AM. Every MWF. What the fuck.

Chowder wakes up a few hours later, feeling better, but still tragically stuck in Kent Parson’s body.

Also the cat. It’s back. And glaring at him. But also… meowing at the food bowl.

Chowder considers looking up how much food you are supposed to give cats and then thinks, fuck it, and fills the whole thing. The cat looks pleased by this but when Chowder tries to pet her, she hisses at him.

Either this cat somehow knows he is not really Kent Parson or she is the meanest fucking cat in the world.

At this point, Chowder sees that Kent’s phone is charged, turns it on and finds out that Kent Parson is one of those idiots with one of those patterns used to unlock it instead of a fingerprint.

He is… he is at a loss for what to do. LUCKILY, at that moment (because this is fic), a Troy Swoops calls. Chowder lunges for the phone and answers it and

“Booy, where the fuck are you?? We’re all at the stadium and our flight leaves in three and a half hours so like… what the fuck?”

“Uh. Oh. Um. I’m…” Chowder had been so excited to answer, he had actually not thought this totally all the way through.

“I’m… flight?”

“Yes. Flight. Leaving this afternoon. For the game tomorrow.”

Right. Kent Parson is on a professional hockey team. Kent Parson plays games. “Yes.” Chowder says. “Right… where are… where are we going for the game?”

There is silence on the other end. Dead silence.

“Dude. what the fuck. We… we’re playing the Sharks tomorrow. You know that.” The voice sounds honestly concerned.

“HAH! RIGHT!” Chowder says, trying to play this off. “Just kidding! Haha, uh, obviously I knew that. Just… got you!”

He winces. He does not think he sounds like Kent Parson. He clears his throat and tries. “Gosh, Swoops, you are… so fucking gullible. If I-- If I told you gullible was written on the ceiling you would-- you would fucking believe it!”

“Uh- what?”

“Look, gotta go,” Chowder says. “I’ll be at the stadium soon” And then hangs up. And throws the phone.

And then let’s out a little scream because finally, finally, he thinks he knows what’s going on.

Kent Parson is 99% sure everyone around him is talking in a different language. Sure, he recognizes the words they are saying and sometimes he can put together a sentence but… he has no idea what is happening. He has his notebook open since Dex had shoved his bag at him on their way out and he opened it to see his (well, Chowder’s) handwriting all over it and everyone is scribbling furiously around him and well… fuck, he’s inhabiting the guy’s body so he might as well try to take some notes for the kid so…

As of right now, he has managed to write: Java is… good. Or bad. Binary. Zeros. Remember to close your loops. Documentation. Loops splicing??

The class mercifully ends and he nods when Dex turns and tells him he had some good ideas for their project and then--

Then a girl is walking up to them and Kent looks behind him, praying to anyone who may be listening that that familiar smile and flirtatious wave is for someone who is standing right behind him but--

“Hey babe!” the girl says and of course, of course this guy has to have a fucking girlfriend.

“Uh, hi!” he says and tries to sound enthused and then she is leaning in for a kiss (one of those casual, “we’ve been dating for a long time and still really like each other so I’ll kiss you in public” kisses that Kent has only seen in movies) and then Kent Parson’s cheek has been kissed and this body blushes so easily he literally feels himself turning red.

He does not remember the last time someone has kissed him on the cheek.

Unless it is a female reporter doing a polite “meet and greet” sort of kiss.

This feels different.

“Are we still hanging out before your practice?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah, right,” he says. “Hanging out… for lunch. Lunch.”

Her face falls into a slight frown. “Don’t you usually do lunch with the team before?”

“Yeah. Yes. Now?”

“It’s 11,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “We have an hour to kill. I thought we were going to… you know. Hang out.”

She is smirking a bit and leaning closer and Kent turns around to see that Dex has conveniently disappeared and look, Kent is the first person to tell you that he is a fucking asshole but he is certainly not about to go fool around this girl while trapped in her boyfriend’s body.

“No!” he yelps, taking two steps away as if that will help. “I mean… uh- sorry. I- I don’t feel well. Actually. I’m going to… I have to… Sorry, I’ll see you later. I am… busy. So busy! Homework! And sick. I am both.”

And then he turns and basically runs away.

It is the least smooth Kent Parson has ever been.

But he tears out of the building and back to the Haus and thank god it is empty so he reaches for his--no Chowder’s--phone and calls himself and--

“HELLO!”

Kent Parson has never been so thrilled to hear his own voice in his entire life.

“Chowder?”

“KENT PARSON! OH MY GOD-- IT’S CHRIS CHOW I AM IN YOUR BODY.”

“Shit, fuck. I know!” Kent says, his relief is coming out of him in the form of annoyance because he has had too much personal interaction today and he is scared and he wants his body back and-- “I’m in your fucking body!”

“I AM SORRY!”

“Stop yelling!” Kent says. “Stop just-- let’s calm down. We need to-- we need to fix this.”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry,” Chowder says. “I- I think this is my fault.”

“Wh-What? How?”

“Well, last night,” Chowder says. “Around 1AM my time so like… what is that 10pm your time? There was a shooting star and I-- well I wished on it. Did you see it?”

“No,” Kent replies. “Why the fuck would I wish on a goddamn star?”

“I didn’t think it would work,” Chowder says. “I just-- I wished!”

“To take over my body??” Kent replies.

“No! No I just… I wished to play in the NHL! To play the Sharks! So I’ve been thinking and… and I think that’s why this happened. To me, at least. I don’t… I don’t know why it would have been you that I switched with.”

Kent… Kent swallows and doesn’t say anything. Because he… he’s just remembered something. At 9pm… at 9pm he was home alone in his apartment and he’d… he might have accidentally wished something but it wasn’t a wish. It was more a passing thought and he--

“Well, whatever,” he says, roughly. “The point is we have to fix this.”

“I feel like we probably just need to meet up?” Chowder says. “Hold hands maybe?”

Kent wants to scoff at that idea but also he has somehow switched bodies with another human person so like… any idea is a good idea at this point.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s meet up.”

“I’m about to get on a plane to San Jose!” Chowder says. “Or should I stay here?”

“Stay- fuck, no! You gotta- I can’t miss a game. Get on that plane. I’ll meet you in San Jose. I’ll buy a ticket.”

“Uh-- I don’t… my credit card isn’t going to handle that,” Chowder says. “Sorry.”

Kent blinks. He has… he has not thought of money in a long, long time. “Oh. Well. you buy me one. Or, I mean, I’ll-- use my credit card and go by a ticket for me. Eh, Chris Chow. Buy a ticket for you but use my card. Your card.”

“You’re sure?”

“Dude, we have to get switched back. Like… yesterday. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Oh! Okay! I’ll get you on like the first flight. Also… I… I owe you $15. I had to buy chinese food with your card.”

“Dude, you can--- you can buy whatever you want. Go crazy.”

Downstairs, the front door squeaks open.

“I gotta go,” he says. “Gotta go. Buy the ticket. E-mail me.”

“Wait! What’s your shape password!”

“It’s just an L! Backwards!”

“Backwards L. Got it! Okay! I’ll get you a ticket! Nice meeting you! I’ll take care of your body!!”

“Uh,you too?? Bye,” Kent says. And hangs up.

And wonders at the fact that his idle thought last night, the thought that flitted across his mind just as he flopped on his couch and poured himself a glass of whiskey, somehow got him here. Stuck in another man’s body.

He doesn’t know if the thought, if I wish I was just fucking happy, was worth it.

Chowder almost misses the flight. He has to purchase a ticket for himself (which is wild because Kent texts and tells him to make sure to get FIRST CLASS!! And then when Chowder tells him he doesn’t know how to get First Class only one way, Kent says “get it fucking both ways then) and then Kent texts him telling him to leave out extra food and water for Kit (who still has not stopped hissing btw) and all of that just takes longer than he thought. Asking for advice results in the following: “curse a lot and say you were a bit sick. It’s not ideal but whatever ill deal with it when we switch back”. It exactly the opposite of what he would do “apologize profusely and just tell the truth” but Chowder can see why “telling the truth” would not be ideal in this situation.

So he pretends he is in a horrible mood and limits his sorry to once per sentence and tries to curse more and the weird thing is, even after he says he’s sick, no one on the team really asks how he’s doing. They all just seem both a bit annoyed that he was so late he had to just meet them at the airport and relieved that he actually made it. Even when he says “sorry was throwing up, didn’t know if i could play!” the only question he gets is “you gonna be up for it?” and that’s it.

Well, Swoops orders him a ginger ale and sits next to him on the plane but it… it’s very different.

Then it occurs to him that Kent is the captain. Maybe the team is waiting for him to say something? Before the fun starts? Even Jack used to try to say something. Now Ransom and Holster give full on speeches.

He decides to start with Swoops. But pitched a little bit so that the others can hear. Sometimes that’s how Ransom and Holster start.

“Man, this is gonna be fucking awesome,” he says (trying not to smile too much, Kent had said not to do that). “Playing the Sharks!”

Swoops looks at him. “Uh. Yeah?”

“We’re going to do so awesome!” Chowder says. “Aren’t you just… we’re pretty fucking lucky, huh?”

Swoops is still looking at him like he’s a little bit crazy.

“I mean, think about it,” Chowder tries. “We’re the be- the fucking best hockey team and we get to go play another fucking awesome hockey and get paid for it! And we’re gonna play really well. I can just tell.”

Two other Aces plays are twisting in their seat to look at him.

“I’m really proud of us,” Chowder says. “We’re having a great fucking season. This is gonna be amazing.”

This must not be how Kent gives his speeches. He is getting a lot of stares and not any nods.

“Parse, you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?” one of them finally says.

“Uh,” Chowder says. “No. No I’m just… excited?” He makes it a question. “Excited as shit?”

People don’t really say anything. Just turn back around and put their headphones in and turn back to their devices.

Huh.

“Well, that’s a bit different,” Swoops finally says. “From your usual.”

“My usual?” Chowder tries.

“You know,” Swoops shrugs. “Right before we go out, you say something like ‘Alright, boys, let’s fucking do this.’”

“Oh,” Chowder says. “Uh, well, figured I’d… mix it up.”

Swoops still looks confused but he smiles just a little. “Alright, bro. Whatever.”

Then he’s looking back at his phone too.

Chowder sighs.

He needs to get back to his team.

Kent needs to get back to his team. Immediately.

The earliest flights to San Jose weren’t till this evening and while he’d fed everyone the agreed upon lie (“My little sister is getting her wisdom teeth out and really wants me to be there”) and they had accepted it because he’d be back by Sunday, there was no real reason for him to miss practice.

Which Kent wasn’t worried about at first. Hockey was hockey. He might have even looked forward to smoking these guys a little bit just for fun.

Then he found out.

Chowder is the goalie.

This is… he is dying.

It’s not that the body can’t do it either-- the squat position isn’t as bad as he thought it would be, uncomfortable, yes, but not like… super painful probably because Chowder is used to it, and once he’d warmed-up (or he thought he did, he was really just trying to copy the movement he’s seen goalies do his whole life), Chowder was also pretty crazy flexible but… he.

Fuck, being a goalie is fucking miserable.

People keep fucking hitting pucks at him and they are coming right toward his face so he keeps flinching and there’s no way anyone could have saved that shot, it was going to fast, they are all going too fast and he--

“Dude, are you feeling okay?” The one called Nurse asks him. “You… you look sorta green.”

“And you’re playing like shit, to be honest,” Dex tells him.

“Fuck off,” Kent mumbles. And then remembers that Chowder’s instructions were to “just be nice and friendly and stop Dex and Nurses from killing each other and eat lots of pie and wait, holy shit, do not go anywhere near Caitlyn. Especially in the afternoon!! Or mid-morning!! OR ANYTIME. DO NOT BE ALONE WITH CAITLYN!!!!”

“I-uh- just not feeling great,” he says. “Uh, thanks for asking??” He tries to keep the question mark out of his voice but it might come out anyway.

Thankfully, a moment later Ransom and Holster sort of exchange glances and change the drill to stick handling instead of taking actual shots and Kent thinks he’s gotten out of it when suddenly Eric R. Bittle is skating up to him.

Fuck.

He doesn’t want to deal with this.

But Chowder’s instructions regarding Bitty had been clear: “We love Bitty! And Ransom and Holster and everyone but Bitty is ESPECIALLY awesome because he makes pies and is really nice and-- oh he has a boyfriend that, uh, well I know about him but you don’t and I don’t want to--” Kent had texted back “I know.” and Chowder had replied “oh good!! Isn’t that great??”

Yeah. Great. This was all great. It was great that Jack had moved on and didn’t care about him and probably never cared about him, he was just the convenient dude on the team willing to blow him and god he was so desperate for it and actually thought Jack liked him--loved him even, thought that they were going to do it all, have it all, be the secret boyfriends in the NHL and then fucking come out in some spectacular fashion after they were both rich and famous and fucking legends and--

Yeah. It’s great. It’s great that Jack’s boyfriend, who is even smaller and cuter and just plain better than him is skating over to talk to him. While he is stuck in Chris Chow’s body. A guy who fucking loves Bitty.

Christ, he wants a drink.

“Hey,” Bitty says, voice all quiet and understanding.

“Hi!” Kent tries. It comes out too cheerful for the mood. He… fuck, he doesn’t know how to do this. Chowder had said to be happy.

Bitty stares at him… “are you okay?”

People on this team need to stop fucking asking that question all the time. Though, he did just have a fucking horrible practice so… fair.

“Oh, yeah,” he tries. “Just… you know. Feeling a bit off.”

“Look, Chowder, I know last game was rough but it really wasn’t your fault.”

Kent nods. He had gathered over the course of the day that Samwell had lost last night.

“And today’s practice…” Kent braces himself to be yelled at. “Everyone has off days. It’s no big deal.”

Kent… does not remember the last time he heard those words.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“You can’t be so hard on yourself. We’re a team. Win together and lose together.”

That is not how the Aces work. Not really. He doesn’t say anything but luckily Bitty seems willing to continue.

“I know you are flying out today but when you get back, I’ll make you your favorite pie,” Bitty says. Kent forces himself to smile.

He won’t be back though. Not for the pie or the next game.

Or any of it.

He tells himself that’s for the best.

Alright, I think this is getting to be around like 3 or 4k now so let’s skip forward a bit.

Chowder gets to San Jose. Luckily it is a night game so he has the morning pretty free. He just needs to make it through a brief strategy meeting and then he can meet up with Kent at 11.

Kent takes the red-eye and lands in San Jose in the morning. He… he realizes he is hunching his shoulders and wearing the only pair of sunglasses he could find and he is tense moving through crowds of people because the Sharks have made San Jose a hockey town and he is a famous hockey player except--

Except he’s not.

He… he straightens. No one is looking at him.

No one wants an autograph. No one is trying to take a picture. No one is yelling at him.

He is… He can do whatever he wants.

Well. not really. He can’t go shopping, so that’s out but he ends up walking through a park like some sort of total loser and staring off at a lake and he can just be outside and be peaceful and he would have thought he would get bored but he didn’t. When 11am rolled around and he headed off to meet Chowder, he is almost disappointed.

He goes to the restaurant and grabs a table for two in the way back and ten minutes later, he has the absolutely bizarre experience of watching himself walk in the door.

Chowder has a hat drawn low over his eyes and Kent’s biggest sunglasses on and he is hunched over and frankly dives into the door and then skips to the back and--

Kent didn’t know his face could smile that widely.

“HI!!!” Chowder says and this is weird. It’s somehow even weird to see him. “Oh my god!!”

“Holy fucking shit,” Kent says and sees himself as Chowder blink. It’s possible Chowder isn’t used to seeing Kent’s smirking smile on his own face either. For some reason the thought makes Kent’s smirk break into something easier. “How’s it going?”

“Dude,” Chowder grumbles, taking off the hat and the sunglasses. “I’m not gonna lie, people suck! Four people yelled at me to “go die!” on the way here!”

Kent laughs. “Well, the Sharks do hate the Aces, man,” he says. “I try not to go out too much while I’m here.”

“I mean, I’m a Sharks fan as much as the next guy,” Chowder says, plopping into the seat. “But I think telling someone to ‘go die’ is a bit much.”

Kent shrugs. It’s become pretty par for the course for him.

“Also, dude, I tried to make sure you looked good but I cannot- you have this weird cowlick at the top of your head and I cannot get it to stay down” Chowder is patting it as he says it and Kent can’t help but laugh again.

“Dude, don’t worry about it. It’s impossible. I usually just wear hats.”

“Gotcha,” Chowder crams the hat back on his head, backwards this time as if he has just remembered Kent wears it that way. Kent can’t stop staring. This is weird as fuck. “Well how did it go at Samwell?”

“Uh, good,” Kent replies. “Well, everything thinks you are real upset cause I tried to just… not talk. I mean, I tried to be nice! But it didn’t… Bitty is making you your favorite pie when you get back.”

“Oh swawesome!”

“Yeah, and uh-- well Caitlyn might be a little mad at you too,” Kent admits. “I… I had to sort of… run away from her?”

“You what?”

“She came up and wanted to hang out and we hadn’t talked yet but she was… you know, man, she was giving me the eyes!”

“She does do the eyes,” Chowder agrees.

“She also… she did kiss me on the cheek,” Kent says. “Well, you- she kissed you on the cheek before I could run away.”

“Did she grab your butt?”

“What? No!”

“She does that! She likes my butt.”

“Dude,” Kent says, relaxing more than he thought he would. “She wanted to hang out in the middle of the day on a Friday is that… are you really… that often?”

For the first time, Kent’s face looks familiar as Chowder smirks just a little. “The team thinks we go on all sorts of cutesy dates.”

Kent laughs.

“Last month, I told them we walked over to the petting zoo like four times and they bought it! Except for Dex. I think Dex is onto us.”

“Oh about Dex, he might be mad at you too. He kept wanting to work on some… project? I tried to take notes for you.”

“You did!! Ah, thank you!”

“No,” Kent says. “Really, do not thank me. It did not go well that is-- you have to do that shit every day and then play hockey?”

“Ugh, it sucks,” Chowder says. “You should see us during finals.”

“I thought college athletes just like… fucking paid some nerd to do that shit.”

“Nope,” Chowder says, sighing a little like he wishes it were true. “Not at Samwell. But it’s alright! I really like coding!”

Luckily Kent is saved from having to respond to that by the waitress coming over. They are at some sort of Asian fusion place that had good reviews and is nearby the stadium and he goes to order his usual when--

“Wait, wait,” Chowder (as Kent) says. “Dude, before we switch” (the waitress looks confused) “you gotta try real food. Get--” and then he is off, ordering, and then Kent has to tell him that with his game tonight, he should probably only eat certain things and Chowder looks crestfallen but when the waitress walks off and Kent asks if they should just get it over and hold hands now, Chowder insists that he wants Kent to be able to eat something good for once in his life and--

The whole lunch ends up being a lot less awkward than it should be. Considering they’ve been walking around in each other’s bodies and talking to each other’s friends (well, he’s been talking to Chowder’s) and they’ve both showered so like… there’s not that many secrets between the two anymore.

Still, instead of being awkward, Chowder tells him that he is pretty sure the cat somehow knows and did nothing but hiss at him all day and that warms Kent’s heart a little (and his face because my god, why does Chowder’s body blush so easily???) and then Chowder tells him about how he tried to order Chinese food and died and Kent tells him that being a goalie is fucking terrifying and all about the notes he did manage to take and--

“I’ve never been able to do a split before,” Kent says as he scoops another bite of food into his mouth. He never knew spices could be so delicious. “It’s pretty cool. And also this food is fucking awesome.”

“Swawesome!” Chowder says. “If you’re gonna be me, you gotta say ‘swawesome a lot.”

“That’s so fucking lame,” Kent says but then his own face is pouting at him and-- “Fuck. Fine. ‘Swawesome.”

Chowder nods at him regally.

This is when it occurs to Kent that, despite it all, he’s actually had a pretty good time in Chowder’s body. Sure, he had had to run away from Caitlyn and go to class and being a goalie is terrible, but he… this body is in good shape and can eat any food it wants and he got to go to the park and be outside and-- Well, his body he knows for a fact was probably hungover and sore because it’s mid hockey season and people had told Chowder to “go die” so--

“Dude, sorry,” Kent says. Chowder blinks at him. “I mean… about getting stuck being me. That probably sucked.”

“I do think you need to do a better job of stretching,” Chowder says. “And icing. And your shoulder… does it always feel like this?” He rotates it backwards and winces.

“Yeah,” Kent admits. “I mean, it gets better in the offseason but towards the end like this… one too many checks into the boards I guess. Doesn’t affect my play at all though so… y’know. It’s fine.”

Chowder looks doubtfully at him. Kent shrugs. That’s the other thing. It has been pretty nice to be in a body that is only sore instead of… damaged. He knows the difference.

“And… the hangover on Friday,” he says with a wry smile. “Sorry about that one too.”

Chowder nods, looking at his plate for a second, and then--

“You know,” he starts. Kent tense automatically. Feels trapped when Chowder looks up and meets his eyes. “You don’t need it.”

Kent blinks. “Need what?”

“Alcohol,” Chowder says. “Your body… you-- the whole time I was in here, I didn’t have any urge to… you know, drink or anything. Just in case you were worried.”

Kent… Kent was not worried he was actually an alcoholic--he… he wasn’t really he just.

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well that’s… good.”

So it was still just a mental thing. Cool. Perfect. Great.

“And you didn’t drink while you were in mine,” Chowder says.

“What? No,” Kent says. He wasn’t going to do that to someone else’s body.

“So you probably don’t need it at all,” Chowder concludes, looking back at his plate as if this is simple and he has solved it. “Just a bad habit.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Yeah, I guess… just a bad habit.”

He has no idea why but that makes him feel better.

So by unspoken agreement they finish eating and then sort of linger but finally, “Well,” Kent says. “I guess we better switch back.”

“Hah-- unless you want me playing the Sharks tonight!”

“If you didn’t play goalie, I would totally let you,” Kent says. “Make that wish come true.”

“Nah, I’d rather play them… you know as me. One day.”

Kent nods and then reaches across the table but Chowder sort of frowns at him and stands up and before kent can ask, Chowder is waving for him to do the same and then--

Then Kent Parson is being hugged by… well by his own body technically and he knows he’s described as “small for a hockey player-- all sharp angles and lean muscle” so he’s assumed that he would not be that great a hugger but he feels nice enough now and Chowder’s body must have some sort of “hug instinct” because his arms come up and wrap around Chowder easily and it’s a really nice hug, if he’s being honest.

He relaxes and closes his eyes and when he opens them, he’s staring at Chowder’s face.

Which means he’s back in his own body.

“Oh my god, thank goodness!” Chowder says while Kent is stretching a little bit, getting used to his usual aches and pains. “I’m the right height again! You are so fucking short, dude!”

“I am literally like one inch shorter than you.”

“Still!”

And then, now, for the first time-- it’s a little awkward. They… the transaction is finished. There’s no longer a reason for them to keep talking.

“Well,” Chowder says. “I-uh-- I guess I better get going. You have a game and I’m gonna go surprise my parents.”

“Yeah,” Kent says. And then remembers and thank goodness he’s beaten the blushing out of this body (his real body) long ago. “Also, I uh-- I logged into my e-mail account from your phone and, well, I got you 4 tickets. Box seats. To the game tonight. If you wanted.”

Chowder’s eyes are widening. “You… you did???”

“Well, you know, this screwed up your weekend and uh-- as a thank you. For...being me?”

“THIS IS AMAZING!!” Chowder says and then Kent is being hugged again and he-- Chowder is like no one he has ever met.

“So I’ll-- I’ll see you tonight, I guess,” Kent says, twisting his hat around and putting on his sunglasses. “There’s passes included to meet the players, since I figured… you know… Sharks.”

Chowder looks like he may cry and body switching or not, Kent is not down for that so he smirks, and nods, and walks out the door.

THE END.

I mean… basically the end.

Really, you know this is the start of an epic friendship and Kent starts buying nicer clothes and sending them to Chowder but then also sends a Parson Ace’s jersey and Bitty glares at it for days and does not seem to buy Chowder’s excuse of “Met Parse when I went up to San Jose and he was actually a cool dude!” and Chowder and Kent keep on texting and Kent sends Chowder a picture of Kit curled up on him with the captain “See! She is nice-- she is just also a genius and knew you were an imposter” and THIS FRIENDSHIP MAKES NO SENSE to ANYONE but it is happening anyway and-

I HAVE GOT TO STop THERE. Any future kent/chowder friendship will have to be on a DIFFERENT POST.

Thank you for reading this mess.

I hope you enjoyed it.

(does a part of me ship chowder/parse now?? Maybe, my dudes, maybe so.)

(was this all a mistake?? Same answer, my dudes, maybe so.)

[missweber]

What Might Have Been

The sad thing was, Marty and Thirdy probably thought they were helping.

For one glorious second, his entire world was Bitty in his arms and the whispered kiss me that was louder than the screaming of thousands of fans. One moment, Jack felt the warmth of Bitty's lips as they were about to kiss.

The next, he had the breath knocked out of him by nearly 200 kilos' worth of alternate captains. Thirdy shouted something that may or may not have been obscene, but it was hard to tell because Marty was yelling so loud that Jack knew his ears would be ringing for hours afterward.

"Damn, that was a close one," Thirdy whispered as they dragged Jack towards the waiting cameras and a trophy that seemed a lot less important than it had a year ago.

It wasn't until he saw the stony expression on George's face that Jack realized that Thirdy hadn't been talking about the game.

* * *

On their way in to the Falcs' offices the next morning, Jack had Bitty pick up a venti caramel latte with two extra shots of espresso. (He had Bitty do the deed as Bitty was not as recognizable as Jack - yet.)

He wasn't sure if it was a peace offering, a thank you, an expression of sympathy for the shit George was going through, or some combination of the above, but the look of gratitude on George's face as she lifted her head from her hands told him it had been the right move.

She took a long swig before saying anything, even just 'have a seat.'

"How bad is it?" Bitty asked. He clutched the box of apology muffins so tightly that the cardboard buckled. "I... I haven't looked."

He hadn't looked at anything all day. In fact, for the first time that Jack could remember, Bitty had actually turned off his phone and kept it off.

George waggled a hand in a 'so-so' motion. "I wouldn't say it's bad so much as intense. People are analyzing footage of last night as if it were the Zapruder film. What kind of muffins are those, Eric?"

Bitty blinked at the sudden re-direction but handed the box over. "Uh, banana-nut? I think?"

It was a testament to previous demonstrations of Bitty's baking skill that George only hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a muffin. She also gave Jack a quick, worried glance that he answered with a shake of his head.

'In the zone' baking was awe-inspiring. Stress baking occupied the borderlands between amusing and unsettling. Fugue-state baking was something Jack never, ever wanted to see again as long as he lived.

"Actually, they're cranberry orange," George said kindly. "And, of course, delicious as always. Why don't you take the rest of these down to the media offices real quick? I need to speak to Jack alone for a moment."

Bitty paled but nodded, and then scurried off in a way that made him look small, almost invisible. There was no sign of the reckless and joyful confidence that had been there last night, and Jack worried that he might not see that again for a long, long time.

A few heartbeats after the door closed, George put her coffee down as gently as if it was in delicate crystal instead of a paper cup. She then folded her hands together on her desk and looked up at Jack, who had not yet been invited to sit down.

"First of all, there's one thing I want to get out of the way: what the fuck were you thinking? Or were you even thinking at all?!"

"I was thinking that I just won the Stanley Cup and I wanted to kiss my boyfriend."

"You just can't - "

"Why can't we?" he snapped, the words of Bitty's question now turned angry and bitter. "Was I supposed to ask permission? Did Marty get the all-clear before kissing Gabby? Did Poots check in with PR before getting hot and heavy with whoever it is he's dating this week?"

"Jack, that's different, and you know it!"

"Really? If it's different, then why was it okay that your wife gave you a big hug and then you kissed her on the cheek right in the middle of your interview with NESN?"

"Oh, for the love of... just sit down already, okay?" She rubbed at her eyes. "It's different because to most of those morons out there, women's sports 'don't count,' and then you've got all those lovely people who assume that any woman who is into a sport like hockey is probably gay anyway, and don't even get me started on some of the other shit people say," she said bitterly. "Besides, I'm not one of the faces of the franchise who helps bring in millions of dollars of advertising revenue. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."

Jack sat down, but his temper still felt as if it were on a hair trigger. "So, now what?"

"So now I'm done yelling at you for making my professional life more interesting than it needs to be," she said with a half-smile, "and now I can get down to the more important business of making sure my friends are okay. So, how are you doing?"

He thought for a moment. "Is it wrong if I say I wish Marty and Thirdy hadn't interrupted us?"

A kiss would have been a declaration. Yes, there would have been one hell of a mess to clean up after, and in some ways it might have been worse, but there would be no questioning, no 'are they/aren't they' games that reduced him and Bitty to a puzzle for other people's entertainment. If asked, he could have just said that he had the same right any other guy on the team had to kiss the person he loved. His teammates and his parents would have supported him, and in time, things would die down and he and Bitty could just go on living their lives.

Instead, there had been a hug that went on too long, and whispers that were too intense, and a kiss that wasn't, and eighteen million internet arguments with citations, reaction gifs, and personal agendas.

Several top sports commentators were already saying with smug confidence that it wasn't unheard of for two guys who had played on the same line to be affectionate like that, and outright making fun of fans who were 'reading too much' into it. The fact that one of those commentators was one of Jack's favorite uncles hurt him in ways he couldn't put words to, and afterward, for the first time in a long time, he had deliberately ignored his father's calls.

Then, there were all the people who seemed happy that he was gay (as far as he could tell, no one had brought up bisexual as an option), but were upset that the almost-kiss wasn't with Tater, or worse, Parse. Others were angry that he hadn't been more overt, accusing the Falcs of 'queerbaiting' and throwing it in his face that he hadn't done a video for You Can Play, or made a statement, or used Pride tape on more than just Pride Night, or, or, or...

"Trust me, I get it," George said, and Jack believed her. "I also get not wanting to hide, and being frustrated with having to wait." She smiled and there was more sharpness than humor to it. "You know what's fun? Waiting for someone's bigoted asshole of a grandfather to die so you can plan your wedding without drama."

"George, I'm - "

"No, no, don't be sorry. I shouldn't be making this about me, and I also shouldn't be surprised that this has been dragging up some old stuff for me. I'm trying to balance being your boss with being your friend with being someone who understands this shit all too well. So, before he gets back, I need to ask - how's Bittle doing?"

Jack didn't really know. Bitty had seemed so confident last night, and he had been his usual social butterfly self at the after-party in the locker room, but on the ride home, he grew very quiet very quickly.

Mama tried to call me three times in the past hour, was all he said when Jack had pressed him.

"He turned off his phone."

George winced. "Ouch."

"Yup. He hadn't told his parents about us. Or about him."

This time, George let out an impressive string of profanity.

"Exactly. If we had kissed, then he wouldn't have to say anything. But now, he has to. And he's scared."

"I don't blame him one tiny bit, but to be honest, he's out of time. To make a long story short, everyone here thinks it's in your best interest to make a statement sooner rather than later. If people think you're hiding something..."

He sighed. "Then they'll keep digging and digging until they find something. I still get questions about Parson."

"Speaking of whom, I found the timing of this interesting," George said as she slid her iPad across the desk towards him. Jack looked at it just long enough to see a photo of Parse with his arm around a willowy young blonde who looked vaguely familiar. He might recognize her if he thought about it long enough, but the photo made him feel ill. A similar photo of Parse (this one with a busty young redhead) had been posted two days after Tater had posted about his Samwell visit on Instagram and the brittleness of Parse's smile in that photo still haunted him. He shoved the iPad back at George.

"What the hell does he think he's doing?" he muttered.

George raised an eyebrow. "Hooking up with a pretty woman, the way you apparently did a few times at Samwell?"

"Yes, but Kent..."

George waited for him to continue, but Jack already felt like he had said too much. He had told her a little about Kent, because she needed to have the facts just in case, but it wasn't his place to tell her the details of Kent's sexuality.

"It's different for him than it is for me," was all he said, and from the stricken look on George's face he knew she understood.

George went very quiet for a moment. "Shit. That poor boy," she finally said. "That picture was posted on the Aces' official Instagram along with a whole bunch of photos of other players and WAGs congratulating us on our win."

A tentative knock on the door startled them half out of their seats, they were both wound so tightly. Bits came in, and while he looked a little red around the eyes, he didn't seem to be carrying quite so much tension as he had that morning.

"You okay, bud?"

"Mmm-hmm." He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "It's just that everyone's being so nice and no one seems mad at all even though we've caused you all this fuss."

"Good," George said, and Jack suspected that she may have had a few words with the people in media before he and Bits got there. "Also, there would have been 'fuss' no matter how we went about it, so don't you dare apologize."

"They did say they had an idea," Bits said tentatively, and George's look of non-surprise confirmed Jack's earlier suspicions. "They thought me and Jack could get a picture with Marty and Gabby and Thirdy and Carrie at the official party tonight and, um, just post it? With something saying how they were celebrating with their sweethearts?"

Jack sagged in his chair as the tension dropped away. It was perfect. They would treat it as something normal - which it was. Or should be.

No, it wouldn't stop people from demanding explanations or treating it as a big deal and trying to lay claim to his story, but it felt right. When it came to them, the two of them, they didn't owe anyone anything. No announcements, no explanations, no apologies, nothing. Yes, he would agree to an interview for You Can Play because those three words would have a hell of a lot of weight coming from a Stanley Cup champion and Conn Smythe winner, but that would be his choice. His decision. Not anyone else's.

George and Bitty both started to say something at the same time, and after a few rounds of you go ahead, no you, George simply clammed up and waited for Bitty to speak.

"I, uh... well, I think I should talk to my parents, first." Bitty's voice started out hesitant but determination slowly crept in. "I just, well, that's what I want to do. I want to talk to them."

"We can Skype them together, if you want," Jack said, all too aware of how Bitty was trying to keep from shaking.

Bitty considered it for a moment, then shook his head.

"If you want some privacy, you can call from here. I need to go check in with Marty and Thirdy and let them know the plan for tonight." George got up and went to the door as she spoke. On her way out she gave Bittle's shoulder a squeeze. "Good luck, kiddo, not that you'll need it."

Jack started to get up as well, but Bitty grabbed his wrist. "I need to make this call myself, but I don't want to do it by myself, if that makes sense." Bitty took a deep breath, then turned his phone back on. Bitty paled as notifications flooded the screen, but one of the texts - Jack couldn't see which - earned a faint, fragile smile.

"Here goes everything," he whispered. He looked up at Jack. "Kiss me for luck?"

"Of course." For luck and for everything else, Jack thought as he leaned in for the kiss.

Bitty selected a number that was still at the top of his 'favorites' list and lifted the phone to his ear. It felt like forever before Suzanne answered with a shout that might or might not have been Dicky!

"Hi, Mama. I - "

Bitty didn't have a chance to get a word in edgewise as Suzanne's excited yammering flooded the other end of the line. Jack couldn't make out what she said or if she was upset or excited, but Bitty reached out and grabbed his hand. His eyes were wide and bright.

"No, Mama. I - "

Jack started to ask something, but Bitty shook his head as Suzanne kept up the deluge of words. He sniffled and blinked away tears, but...

"Yes, Mama. We are." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry we - what? Oh. Oh."

... but he was also smiling.

"Sure! Uh, just hold on a sec, Mama. I'll check."

Bitty leaned up to give Jack a short, sweet kiss.

"For luck," he whispered. Then he handed the phone to Jack. "Not that you'll need it."

Jack took the phone and put it on speaker. "Hello, Suzanne."

The torrent of words hit him like a freight train, and it didn't help that Bitty was laughing at his dilemma while still wiping tears from his eyes. It didn't take long, though, before Jack was laughing as well, assuring Suzanne that yes, yes she and Coach would be more than welcome to come visit for his Cup Day. In retrospect, it might have been a mistake to suggest that he have his Cup Day down in Madison because the shriek of delight was worse than what Marty had subjected him to last night.

"Well, wherever it happens, I want to be there, and I want to get a proper picture of you and Dicky with the cup, you hear? I tell you, I was so mad when Sebastien St. Martin and Randall Robinson dragged you off like that! Now, you be sure to give them an earful on my behalf."

Jack gave Bitty a questioning look. Bitty nodded, trusting him even though he probably had no idea what Jack was thinking.

"Actually," Jack said, "I've got a much better idea. What does your evening look like tonight?"

* * *

"One more!" George pleaded as she held up Marty's phone.

"You said that three photos ago!" Thirdy protested.

"Gabby had her eyes closed on that one. One... two... three!"

This time, the photo was perfect. Three couples, each of them the image of happiness. George handed the phone back to Marty, who posted it with the carefully-crafted-to-look-spontaneous caption that the PR team had spent all afternoon on. Jack got his own phone out, ostensibly to retweet or repost or whatever the hell it was you did with online photos, but that was not what he did.

"It's for you," he said as he handed the phone to Marty, and then he stood back and pulled Bitty into another kiss, because he could.

[ittybittypbandj]

The Internship - Chapter 1

Trying my hand at a multi-chapter Bittyparse fic! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties had become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – All For You by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

[icarus-suraki]

IT IS, ONCE AGAIN

REAL SHIT ON JACK PARSONS HOURS!!

Was there cum wizards in the weird shit going down at JPL in the early days?

DUNNO ABOUT EARLY DAYS BUT THERE WAS CERTAINLY CUM WIZARDRY

[icarus-suraki]

My favorite ramblings about L. Ron and his bullshit. Part 1.

[ao3feed-patater]

Lone Wolf

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NrWLiC

by Anonymous

“You good Kent?” Scraps asked, twirling his phone in his hands and meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

Kent nodded, fighting a smile. “Yeah Scraps, I’m fine. I’ll be back later, don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” he grumbled, opening his phone. “You never know what kinda fucked up shit can happen in a creepy forest forty minutes after midnight.”

“What, like werewolves?” Kent chirped, opening the car door.

“At least it’s past witching hour,” Swoops said, winking at Kent. “Have fun bro, see you in a few hours.”

“You fucker, witching hour’s not real!” Scraps squawked.

---

In which Kent Parson is a lone wolf in all ways except one and plays typical Aces hockey.

Words: 7072, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Check Please! (Webcomic)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kent "Parse" Parson, Jeff "Swoops" Troy, Scraps (Check Please!), Alexei "Tater" Mashkov, Las Vegas Aces (Ensemble), Jack Zimmermann (mentioned), Bob Zimmermann (mentioned), Providence Falconers (Ensemble)

Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolf Mates, Featuring a made up team of Montreal Canadians, Angst (kinda?), fluff is there, Happy Ending

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NrWLiC

[mrsgenderfluidwpoindexterirl]

Let’s talk about the elekent in the room

Kent Parson, Kenny, Parse, that jerk, fuck you - whatever you want to call him - I have recently had a surprising revelation about myself, thanks to the boy everybody loves to hate, Kit Purrson’s namesake himself, Kent Parson.

See, like many (I hope - but just so I don’t feel like I’m such a fucking jerk myself), I hated Kent. I feel like that was where Ngozi was guiding me. His casual ‘Didja miss me?’ was, in my first read, a thinly veiled ‘I’m here to fuck your shit up’ to our boys JZ and ERB.

Having several not-fun mental health issues myself and having had to take a significant ‘detour’ in my life due to them and other traumatic episodes, I felt a little like Ngozi was ‘singing me softly’ with JZ’s song. 

And Jack’s behaviour toward Kent was always (in my mind) a clearly warranted defence against the obvious villain of the piece. Kent was to Jack what my Evil Ex™ was to me: a punishing, ever-present hitch in the throat, stinging prickle behind the eye or panicking heart palpitation. He was the reason for Jack’s sometimes odd behaviour and prickly manner. He was the reason Jack did nothing but protect himself, took no risks and stuck steadfastly to what he knew best. I was Jack, Jack was me, and Kent was that other cunt who deserved everything the world could torture him with. As one of my therapists said I’d ‘never be safe until he was dead’. That’s a lot to project onto poor little Kenny Parson, but project it I did. And how!

I started reading fanfics. I’d never read them before, hadn’t needed to. But Ngozi’s tortuous real-time schedule made updates few and far between, and I needed that Samwell hit. I started with ERB/JZ, moved on to NurseyDex and somehow ended up reading some Cornt and Patater. And it was these last two that made me realise that on the other side of Jack’s coin was a man as deserving of love as Jack was. A man in as much pain as Jack was. A man who was struggling with his own issues and just trying to make the world a better place for him to be in.

Me (screaming internally): OMG is that what happened to my ex? Also me: Fuck that guy.

I don’t think I ever really ‘forgave’ that guy, but I did realise that the general shitstorm that fucked me up  was by-and-large a product of his mental health issues. And I am not one to begrudge anyone a mental health problem. So I moved on the best I could, learnt to recognise my triggers and manage my responses. Medication, a fantastic GP and the greatest psychologist in the world (for reals) helped me come back off a permanent panic, realise I was worth more than spending at least 2 hours of my working day hiding and crying in the toilet and that I am not crazy, but having a very normal reaction to an extraordinary situation.

Now I love Kent. I am all about Kent. I want him and Jack to be friends - as best they can - but that is because I think it will work for them. I don’t want to be friends with my Kent. I want Kent Parson to be happy, to realise he deserves love and kindness and all the things he wants in the world (once he realises Jack’s not a good fit for him, relationship-wise). I want Kent to have the kind of love that Mashkov has for him when @dellessanna or @thewesternredcedar or countless others  are at the Patater helm. I want the kind of love that Cornt affords him (courtesy of @tdkeh).

And through all of this I realise that maybe I am too quick to judge and villains are not always as evil as they seem.

TL;DR: I hated Kent, now I love Kent and I also understand myself a lot better. Hashtag personal growth through fandom participation.

[sadquebecois]

as an apology for having been completely gone for a month (everything is fine, tumblr just takes a backseat to some other stuff going on in my life rn), i’m doing a thing @dazeli (<3) tagged me in and i’m tagging 10 random followers bc i missed y’all.

How old are you? 22

What’s your current job? being a depressed piece of shit (specifically, an unemployed depressed piece of shit)

What’s your aesthetic? pastels and deep neutrals. florals and microprints where applicable. clean, simple lines.

Do you collect anything? sentimental trash (literally: old ticket stubs, labels from candy, pretty wrapping paper from presents from good friends. that kind of thing)

What’s a topic you always talk about? hockey, dungeons and dragons, critical role (if you have 100+ hours of your life to waste, i highly recommend watching it), my own unrelenting queerness

What’s one pet peeve of yours?  when people buy into the sports-rivalry mentality for no other reason than “i’m an x fan, of course i hate y.” like, whatever, it’s normal not to like a rival team bc the nature of sports is that your success is contingent on their failure that’s chill. but if you’re belligerently screaming “fuck the [redacted]s” into the void for no other reason than you think you have to to be a good fan, you’ve got some personal things to reflect upon, my friend.

Good advice to give? don’t be afraid to have hard conversations with people you love. even if it’s hard and even if it sucks, it’s better to be brave and clear the air. if something’s bothering you and this person cares about you, odds are they want to know so they can help.

Three songs you would recommend? frustrated - r.lum.r (x) when i’m away - the colourist (x) who do you think of - m.o (x)

Nickname? keylee (my actual name but also technically a nickname), keychain (it’s finally catching on!!!!), and (reluctantly) keys

Last thing you googled?  “frustrated r.lum.r lyrics” that’s some relatable shit right there my pal

Fave music artist? i don’t have one.

Song stuck in your head? all of me - big gigantic ft. logic and rozes (x)

Last movie you watched? the replacements aka an american football movie starring keanu reeves ft. an all-male ensemble and compulsory heterosexuality that STILL MANAGES TO BE ONE OF MY FAVS EVER? the heart wants what it wants.

Last tv show you watched? if hockey counts, then i watched the pens/caps bloodbath. if not, then it was cooks vs. cons which i liked WAY BETTER when i thought it was abt former convicts with culinary careers.

What are you wearing right now? black pants and a gold blouse that is officially no longer bad luck.

When did you create your blog? i made this blog in september 2015

What kind of stuff do you post? mostly real hockey, a smattering of check please, and an even smaller smattering of miscellaneous personal stuff/funny stuff/things i posted to the wrong blog.

Do you get asks regularly? eh? about once a week or so. less recently since i haven’t posted in so long.

Why did you choose your url? because at the time, jack zimmermann was an incredibly sad quebecois gentleman and i identified a lot with him

Gender? none gender with left femme

Hogwarts house? ravenclaw with hufflepuff aspirations

Pokemon team? valor

Fave color? i recently found out my favorite color is pink but i always thought it was orange.

Average hours of sleep? anywhere from four to twelve. the average of which is eight, so i guess i’m doing alright.

Lucky number? 16, 27, 42, 87 (shut up), numbers that are divisible by five especially if they are also divisible by four.

Fave characters? derek nurse, camilla collins, kent parson, and justin oluransi. characters from other media include: lady kima and shaun gilmore (npcs in critical role) and clifford franklin (the replacements)

How many blankets do you sleep with? always one. in the winter it’s a comforter and in the summer it’s a sheet to protect me from monsters.

Dream job? one where my crippling mental illness won’t be an issue.

Following? somewhere around 100. it stresses me out if i can’t tell who’s who on my dash so i try really hard to keep my follow count on the low side.

i’m tagging: @existentialtango @acesirius @connor-mcbaevid @bistevexual @imaginegorgons @dadtrick @floraljaws @heckpls @lordcow @im-only-joking

if you decide to do this questionnaire, tag me in your post! if you don’t want to do the thing then that’s cool too!

[icarus-suraki]

Y’ALL. June 17 is the 70th anniversary of when Jack Parsons blew himself the fuck up. How could I forget this??? (Pretty easily, actually.)

In celebration, it is now Real Shit on Jack Parsons Hours.

[ittybittypbandj]

The Internship - Chapter 2

A multi-chapter Bittyparse fic with fluff and angst! Woot! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world’s greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

“Lordy, Bun, he winked. Winked! What on earth was I thinking, stayin’ late like I could just make myself at home?”

Señor Bun listened patiently, all floppy ears and non-judgmental beaded eyes. Bitty turned away from the desk, where he’d just finished organizing video clips on his laptop for work the next day, and pulled back the covers to climb into bed. He settled Señor Bun into the crook of his arm and tugged the quilt up around his chin.

“You’re the best listener, Bun.” Bitty nuzzled the worn rabbit and closed his eyes. He hadn’t talked to Señor Bun when he lived with Jack – it seemed too juvenile for his serious-NHL-star boyfriend’s bedroom – but he always felt better after spilling his feelings to his rabbit, and today’s events definitely needed Señor Bun’s comforting touch.

The thing was, Bitty had liked Kent’s wink. Really, really liked it. He’d enjoyed the whole day, in fact. Kent was surprisingly warm and welcoming. He’d been a great host, offering them drinks, chatting with the crew, picking up lunch from the Cantonese restaurant on 10th Ave.

He was also easy to look at, and Bitty wasn’t blind – built like a daydream with his blonde waves and solid muscles. He was only a few inches taller than Bitty, but Bitty would bet he had thirty pounds on him, all pecs and abs and quads, mercy.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about all that. It was too soon after his and Jack’s breakup to be thinking about someone else, and Kent Parson of all people. What on god’s green earth was he doing?

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Sometime last month, he’d stopped counting the number of days since the breakup. One day it just didn’t make sense anymore. It was like he’d looked down at himself and found a millstone in his hands he never realized he’d been carrying, and once he realized its weight, he could finally drop it.

He still had sad days, and little things sometimes knocked him off-balance like a gust of wind. Jack had been his first boyfriend, first real love. Bitty missed a lot of things about their old life. He’d hear a person speaking Quebecois on the subway, or see ducks in a neighborhood park, or smell maple syrup as he walked past a café, and memories would wash over him.

Bitty hugged Señor Bun tighter and sighed, feeling guilty for the little part of him that desired Kent Parson and his muscles. It was disloyal. Kent was the Bad Guy. Wasn’t he?

“We’ll get through this, Bun, just you wait and see. We’ll be courteous and professional. It’s a business relationship, that’s all.”

As reassurances went, it felt a little hollow, but Señor Bun didn’t comment and Bitty let the conversation drop. He closed his eyes, burrowed a little lower under the covers, and focused on his breath until he drifted off to sleep.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent: [image07194421.jpg]

Jack: Is Kit wearing a Rangers jersey?

Kent: dude

Kent: read better

Kent: it says Purrson 90 on the back

Jack: Hah, you got her a personalized cat jersey. You’re ridiculous.

Kent: you’re just jelly cuz she could own ur ass at hockey

Kent: her FO% is .52

Jack: I repeat, you’re ridiculous. How’s your day?

Kent: her slapshot tops 90mph

Jack: Did you run today?

Kent: yeah but it was muggy as balls

Kent: u?

Jack: 6 miles, 39:50, light hills

Kent: slacker

Jack: What was your time?

Kent: a gentleman wouldn’t ask

Jack: C’mon, Kenny…

Jack: Please?

Kent: haha

Kent: oh man I forgot I ordered delivery. gotta go, food’s here [sushi emoji] [grinning cat emoji]

Jack: OK weirdo.

Kent dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Ugh, why did all of his texting turn into piles of steaming shit?

He was texting Jack to build their friendship. Back when Kent was seeing his therapist regularly, they’d talked about what Kent would do if Jack started communicating with him again. They’d written down a list of strategies that Kent could use to help rebuild their friendship as adults, without the tangle of hormones, stress, and unresolved mental health issues that led to their first fiery downfall.

This – texting Jack pictures of Kit – was part of Kent’s Being-Friends-With-Zimms List. So far Jack had initiated most of their text conversations, sending Kent his workout stats and asking him for Netflix recommendations. Kent figured it was his turn, and Kit looked hella cute in her Purrson jersey. He wasn’t about to offer Jack his morning run time; he was always faster than Zimms and it wasn’t polite to brag.

He wanted to eventually get around to asking about Eric, since he was pretty sure adults asked each other if it was OK to be friends with their exes. But, like, one step at a time.

And then Jack had called him Kenny in his text. It was the first time since that party at Samwell years ago. Kent called Jack ‘Zimms’ all the time, and Jack called him ‘Parse’. Those were hockey nicknames, Parse-and-Zimms, Zimms-and-Parse.

Kent’s stomach felt twisted in knots. ‘Kenny’ wasn’t a hockey nickname. It was intimate, and a decade ago it would have been followed by desperate, whispered Quebecois. Kent had convinced himself ages ago that Jack didn’t think of him as ‘Kenny’ anymore.

So, Kent totally freaked and aborted the conversation with made-up sushi. Fuck his life.

He sighed and flipped his phone over. This friendship plan was therapist-approved, damn it. He wouldn’t waste his best chance at being friends with Jack on one stupid texting freakout.

Kent: sorry Zimms, the delivery guy was downstairs

Jack: It’s no problem.

Kent: so, tell me about ur run. get passed by any little old ladies?

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty and Kent emailed frequently in the two weeks leading up to launch. There were a surprising number of details to iron out. They exchanged photos. Bitty sent a list of proposed posts for Kit’s Instagram and Twitter. Kent replied with changes (Kit always wrote in first person, #NYClife was better curated than #NYC, etc.). Bitty appreciated Kent’s thoughtfulness.

He didn’t appreciate sorting through a deluge of emails from Kent, though, and he wished they could do some things over text. Kent had a habit of sending an email half-written, then replying four or five times with additions and random thoughts. Was it weird to give a professional contact his personal number? It wasn’t, right? He had Meesha’s number. But with all the weird history between him and Kent, what if it was a bad idea?

The night before launch, after sifting through another forty emails from Kent, Bitty finally bit the bullet and emailed Kent his cell number.

Tomorrow’s the big day!!!, he wrote. The advertising placements go live at 3am, social media at 9am. We’ll monitor the comments and retweets from the office. You and Kit are going to do great.

Here’s my cell if you need anything. Shoot me a text if you want help replying to Kit’s comments, or if you need me to use the admin functions to block a troll (not that Kit will have any trolls, she’s the sweetest li’l thing and the internet loves her).

Talk to you tomorrow!

Eric

An hour later, Bitty’s phone dinged with an incoming message.

[Unknown Sender]: hey this is Kent

[Unknown Sender]: texting so you have my number for tomorrow

Bitty: Hi Kent! How y’all doing tonight?

Kent: good, watching minority report and drinking wine. Kit’s practicing her autograph

Bitty: She’s such a sweetie [grinning emoji]

Kent: u?

Bitty: I’m waiting for a batch of mini-pies to finish baking, then I’m off to bed. You & Kit should get some sleep too, big day tomorrow

Kent: pie??? [pie emoji] [heart-eyes cat emoji]

Bitty: I’m a bit of a baker. It helps when I’m nervous [blushing emoji]

Bitty: Someday I’ll bring you some, how’s that sound? My blueberry cream cheese pie was first runner-up at the Georgia state fair

Kent: you are my hero

Bitty: Lol talk to you tomorrow Kent

Kent: night Eric

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

“Can I get something started for you, sir?”

Kent stepped forward and smiled at the barista. He ordered a latte and a morning bun. She rang him up and efficiently prepared his order, handing him a to-go mug and a pastry the size of Kit’s head. He squeezed into a booth with rustic benches and a bud vase of daisies, and waited for Eric.

This was Kent and Eric’s first Post-Launch Monthly Touchbase, or whatever businessy name Eric had called it in his email.

The day was gorgeous – cool and dry, which was unheard of in New York in August – and Kent didn’t want to waste it by meeting in an office. He’d asked if they could meet somewhere else, and Eric had recommended this sunny café near Washington Square Park. It was eclectic and cute, and Kent was going to chirp Eric to hell and back over the hipster croissant/bagel hybrid – cragels? bagants? – the café was supposedly famous for.

After ten minutes, Kent spotted Eric through the window approaching the café, tugging earbuds out of his ears and looping them around his thin fingers. He wore a pale yellow sweater over a light blue button-down and navy khakis that hugged his thighs, and Kent silently, sternly reminded his dick that this was a business meeting.

Eric ordered and made his way to the table. He set down a small pastry between them and looked at Kent with his warm, inviting brown eyes.

“Have you tried the cragels? They’re just lovely. I got us one to share, they always sell out.”

Kent groaned.

The business part of the meeting was efficient and smooth, like all of his and Eric’s interactions so far. In the two weeks since launch, they’d texted regularly and kept up with the marketing plan, so really all they needed to do was confirm the advertising placements for September.

Kent enjoyed working with Eric. He was capable and self-assured. Although Kent was starting to discover he was something of procrastinator, if the number of emails Eric sent after midnight was any indication.

Bitty tapped lightly on his phone screen. “Let’s see now, you’re in training camp starting September third…any dates we need to work around before then?”

Kent tore off a strip of morning bun. “Well, we’re already back to training every day, with morning workouts and ice time most afternoons. I don’t think there’s any conflicts though,” he took a large bite and paused as he chewed, “I’ll text you if something comes up.”

Bitty looked up and his lips quirked into a smile. “Lord, I forgot y’all’d be in daily practices already. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve forgotten the hockey schedule. This meeting wasn’t at a bad time, was it?”

Was Eric making a reference to Jack’s schedule or his own college days? Kent wasn’t sure, so he politely ignored it.

“Nah, you’re golden. I started early and did upper body work before coming here.”

“Bulking up for the season?”

“You hadn’t noticed?” Kent asked, fake-sweetly. He flexed comically and Eric laughed.

“Well you keep workin’ on that morning bun, hon. I’m sure that helps.”

Kent gawped. Eric was chirping him. He grinned. It was on.

They joked and talked as customers filed in and out around them. Kent’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Eric’s short hair had gone a little fluffy where he kept unconsciously running his fingers through it. Kent had an irrational desire to grab Eric’s wrist and gently kiss each of his fingertips. He squashed the impulse and rearranged their empty plates in the center of the table.

Somehow the conversation turned to Vegas. It was less weird than Kent expected, although he knew they were both dancing around some of the particulars.

“Why did you move to New York? The Aces wouldn’t have traded you, right? Not right after the Stanley Cup win. I expected them to give you the C or something.”

Kent nodded. “They wanted to. They were ready to re-up my contract, add a no-move clause, the whole nine yards. I just, I never really settled in Vegas, I guess. I’d made a few friends, some guys on the team I’m still close with, but it was hard being all the way across the country. When the Rangers put out feelers – Smith was retiring as Captain, they were looking for something long-term…” He shrugged. “I was interested.”

Eric made a supportive noise. “I reckon it’s nice being closer to family. I know I’d love to have my mama closer than a plane ride away.”

Kent shrugged again. “I’m not really close with my mom and stepdad. It’s cool to be near my sister, though.” He couldn’t hide a grin as he bragged a little. “She’s a senior at NYU, majoring in Biomolecular Science. A total whiz kid. I have no idea where she gets it.”

Eric smiled at him and something warm fluttered in Kent’s belly.

“What about you? How are you liking New York?”

Eric tensed subtly, a tightness in his shoulders and jaw, before he relaxed and leaned forward.

“It’s great. I mean, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, y’know? I always wanted to see the world outside Georgia, and this is my chance.” His smile faltered and he picked at the napkin in front of him. He appeared to be thinking.

“I never really thought New York was where I’d end up, but it’s been a good change. When–”

Eric stopped. Kent held his breath as Eric exhaled and squared his shoulders.

“When Jack and I broke up, I was worried I wasn’t gonna find anything up north and I’d have to move home with my parents. I felt like such a failure. When Shitty – he’s a friend of mine from college – when Shitty helped me land this internship, I was nervous as all get out. New York City, lord. But if this was my chance to stay and make something of myself, I wasn’t going to waste it.”

Kent nodded and watched Eric’s face. This was the most personal conversation he and Eric had ever had – shit, it was the first time either of them had mentioned Jack – and he watched Eric’s eyes for any sign of regret.

Eric glanced up and caught Kent’s eyes, then returned his gaze to his napkin and huffed a little laugh.

“Listen to me, ramblin’ on. You’ve probably got all sorts of important things to do today and here I am, monopolizing your time with my life story.”

Kent wanted so badly to reach out and press his fingers against Eric’s face, smooth the frown from his cheekbones. He squeezed his fingernails into his palms under the table.

“I like your life story,” he offered.

Eric looked up, questioning.

Kent smiled in a way he was sure looked dopey, but whatever. “I mean, I like talking to you. Although your choice in cafes is abhorrent. I’m totally choosing the next location. Us New Yorkers gotta educate you newbies.”

His chirp had exactly the desired effect. Eric’s eyes lit up and he straightened in mock indignation.

“Abhorrent? Mister Parson, this café is adorable. Where would you have us meet, a hot dog cart?”

“Somewhere that respects the sanctity of the bagel, for starters.”

Eric laughed, full and rich. He shook his head as he began to bus their dishes. “Well, you just let me know what New York institution you think I need to try first, and we can meet there for next month’s meeting.”

Kent smiled and grabbed their things. He wants to do this again, his sentimental brain thought stupidly.

When they got outside, Eric turned to walk toward the subway at the same time as Kent started walking the other way. They both stopped and turned quickly to face each other, and Eric nearly collided with Kent’s chest. Kent grabbed Eric’s upper arm instinctively, steadying him as he laughed.

Eric’s cheeks flushed at the contact, and at that moment Kent wanted Eric so, so badly. Eric was handsome and bright. He lit up Kent's day like a ray of sunshine through clouds.

And okay, Kent realized that was a corny metaphor. And the whole 'cloudy day' thing wasn't totally accurate – Kent loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career, leading the league in assists and taking his team to the playoffs for three consecutive years. He liked the guys he played with, he’d made friends, and he kept in touch with Troy and Scraps.

Hell, he’d even dated a little, something he couldn’t have imagined as a rookie in Vegas. Neither of his recent ex-boyfriends had been endgame material, but he was proud of himself for the serious therapy that finally helped him feel stable enough for a relationship.

In short, he hadn’t expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head. But right now, he felt like there was an Eric-sized hole in his world, and here was Eric, right in front of him.

Eric’s laugh faded and he looked up at Kent with wide, vulnerable eyes. Kent stared at his eyelashes, flitting open and closed as he blinked.

Oh god, Kent suddenly realized he’d been staring for way too long. Had Eric noticed? He dropped the hand on Eric’s arm.

“I, um–” he started, stopped.

Eric jumped in, “I, uh, I’ll email you about the advertising placements.”

“Yeah, the advertising placements,” Kent echoed.

They watched each other in silence. Eric licked his lips, and Kent’s mouth went dry.

“I have to get to the office,” Eric said finally. He waved a hand in the general direction of midtown, but kept his eyes glued to Kent's.

Kent nodded. “I should get home, feed Kit before she gets hungry and starts hunting the neighbors.”

Eric laughed, and just like that the moment passed.

“Take care now, Kent. I’ll be talkin’ to you soon.”

Kent returned the smile. “You too, Eric.”

He watched as Eric walked away. He lifted his left hand and lightly traced his lips with his fingers. If he concentrated, he could almost imagine the feeling was Eric's lips brushing his.

Fucking hell, he was such a sap. He shoved his hands in his pockets and, when Eric’s blonde head finally disappeared down the subway stairs, he turned and walked toward home.