#omgcp writing

[backwardscapsmh]

shoutout to whichever one of you read all my omgcp fics on ao3 last night and liked all of them! big ups to you for making my day

[parvuls]

no, because - famous person starts dating less famous person and is then gradually overshadowed is a trope. a trope often used to bring external conflict into stories. but jack and bitty are carefully constructed as the opposite of that, and I'm fucking feral over it.

we joke about how jack will eventually be bitty's trophy husband and be thrilled about it, but it definitely has a giant grain of truth in it. it's how they're characterized. bitty is an extrovert; jack is an introvert. bitty reached out and built himself an online audience to deal with his trauma; jack shut himself out and started avoiding the public to deal with his.

bitty finds comfort in being able to talk to others and (as seen in spotlight on eric bittle) considers being a public figure a sort of healing experience: coming out and being a public person (in every manner of speaking, not just sexuality wise) and putting himself in the limelight is such an important part of his journey because he sees it as a way of helping others who were in his situation.

jack grew up in the spotlight as the only son of two prominent figures. he grew up as a child with anxiety with the media's eyes on him as he was compared to his father. he grew up as an overweight teen featuring in trashy gossip columns as he was compared to his mother. he got into rehab in part because of this attention and it only attracted more attention to him. a lot of jack's anxiety stems from the notion of people looking at him and thinking about him and talking about him and judging him, and it's unfortunate because jack's dream is to play hockey, and that comes with even more attention.

but that's the thing: jack and bitty's story is (once again) a demonstration of two people making each other's lives better.

jack's fame thrusts bitty into the spotlight post-cup, and it's a giant push forward in helping him reach a bigger audience and thus grow his independent fame. bitty's growing fame slowly overshadows jack, to the point where ngozi says they'll one day be Eric Bittle and his Athlete Husband. and that means jack gets to play hockey, and win cups, and achieve fame in his own field, but the media's attention slides off him to his husband, and the fans on the street gradually approach bitty more than him, and jack is free to have his success with less of the personal scrutiny.

it's not that jack becomes less important than bitty. it's that bitty gets to stand in front of the direct sun and flourish as a result, while jack gets to stand in the shade bitty creates and flourish as a result. it's symbiosis. it's beautiful.

[omgpoindexter]

“It’s going to rain.”

Dex looks up.

Neither he or Nursey have spoken in the last hour, seated in a comfortable silence on the front porch. It’s been the sort of day that makes it uncomfortable to talk, anyway; there’s been a heavy heat smothering them for almost a week now. It makes them antsy and annoyed, so they’ve resorted mostly to silence in a way that would never have happened their freshman year. It’s a development in maturity resulting in long silences that frustrate Chowder and impress Bitty.

Dex is the kind of guy that knows when the rain is coming. He always has been - years of hot, sticky summers on the lobster boat have drilled it into him - but it’s Nursey that squints up at the clouds and makes the statement.

“Hmm,” Dex says, which is neither an agreement or disagreement. Nursey doesn’t seem to notice.

Instead, he cocks his head to one side and smiles up at the approaching dark clouds. “It’s gonna be the kind of rain that makes people take the bus,” he says absently.

Dex frowns reflexively, but inside he’s softly pleased. It’s such a Derek sentence, in its simplicity and its observation. Nursey, however, catches the frown and raises a cool eyebrow. He doesn’t know Dex is gently, sweetly analysing his words.

“Why do you say it like that?” Dex asks, to explain himself before Nursey points out his reflex frown. “The kind of rain that makes you take the bus? Just say it’s a lot of rain.”

Nursey blinks at him, surprised. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I like thinking about it in people terms. It’s more fun.”

“People terms?” Dex asks him. He thinks he knows what Nursey means, but he likes the explanation.

“Yeah,” Nursey shrugs, looking out into the street. The clouds are dark and heavy above them. “People will rush to their cars, or run to bring the laundry in - and if you weren’t sat right here, you’d do it too.”

Dex, surprised, laughs. Nursey looks over at him. He’s smiling a little, and there are crinkles by his eyes.

Then comes a low rumbling noise that echoes through the streets; a clap of thunder quickly follows. Nursey looks away and back at the sky just in time to see it open, and the rain starts, as he said it would.

Dark spots begin to litter the sidewalk and the garden path, rain drumming on the porch roof. Dex hears Bitty shut the kitchen windows somewhere in the Haus behind them.

There’s a shriek from a house a few doors down that makes them both jump. A girl Dex vaguely recognises sprints past them and hurries into her car. Dex looks at Nursey, expecting to see him looking smugly back over at him, but his eyes are fixed on the sky.

He watches Nursey analyse the clouds for a moment.

Dex can imagine the beginnings of a poem forming in his mind: something atmospheric and melancholy that Dex will try to understand but won’t quite, something that encapsulates Derek Nurse in a way Dex wants to be able to do but isn’t quite there yet.

“I guess you’re right,” Dex says, smiling. “Maybe I would.”

[beansprean]

frog tweet redraws!!!

(ID in alt and under cut, tweets under cut)

ID: 1. Nursey, wearing a gray peacoat, and Dex, wearing a brown canvas jacket and a backpack, are walking side by side when two samwell students, one a white girl with a brown ponytail and red sweater and the other a brown boy in a black hoodie, rush up to Nursey surrounded by hearts. The girl asks, "Is that you on the back of the fall schedule?" The boy adds, "We like, need to know!" Nursey grins at them, flattered, and presses a hand to his cheek as he replies "Oh? Yeah, that's me." Dex scowls and rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, sighing, "Oh god."

2a. Nursey, wearing a yellow puff vest over a long sleeve purple shirt, sitting next to Dex, who is wearing a blue button down over a tee shirt. Nursey grins and nudged Dex with his elbow, asking, "Guess how many cards I got today, Poindexter." Dex, mouth full of pie and another bite poised on his fork, sighs heavily and glares away into the distance, replying after a long pause, "Like 20." 2b. Repeat. Nursey pulls up his hands, one holding out five fingers and the other holding up three, and looks down at them as if checking his count. He says, "Eight. One was from my mom." Dex startles and hunches up, trying to stifle a loud snort of laughter. A chunk of pie flies out of his mouth.

3a. Nursey and Chowder standing side by side in the kitchen, Nursey holding a bowl of filling and Chowder chopping something on the counter offscreen. He is not looking at his hands, but off to the right, where text indicates a Falconers game is playing. Dex is in the background, holding a fresh pie with oven mitts, and calls out, "Hey Chow, pay attention! 3b. Repeat. Chowder says "Huh?" and looks down to his hands just as the knife slips and sends a spurt of blood upward into frame. Dex and Nursey startle, eyes bugging out in shock. Nursey goes visibly gray and drops the bowl he was holding. 3c. Repeat. Nursey slips offscreen completely, fainting. Dex smirks at him and lets out a little "heh" laugh. Chowder looks down at him in concern, pressing a washcloth to his bloody finger. 3d. Later, Nursey sitting on the gross Haus couch with a glass of water, Dex standing next to him with his arms crossed. Dex smirks down at him and teases, "You fainted a little there, huh?" Nursey looks up at him, stern but clearly embarrassed, and says "Chill, that was a lot of blood." Dex pushes, "Boy, you were pale!" Nursey replies blankly, "...Poindexter."

4. Screenshot of a series of tweets by Eric Bittle. a. Nursey: Guess how many cards I got today, Poindexter? Dex: [a long sigh] Dex: like 20. Nursey: Eight. One was from my mom. b. Ah, Dex tried to hide that laugh but there's pie everywhere. c. 15 minutes ago. Chowder: I was paying attention to the Falconers game and I think I cut my finger? Dex: I think Nursey just fainted. Dex: Heh. d. Dex: You fainted a little there, huh? Nursey: Chill that was a lot of blood. Dex: Boy, you were pale! Nursey: ...Poindexter. e. -Nursey Fans- Girl: Is that you on the back of the fall schedule? Boy: We like NEED to know. Nursey: Oh? Yeah that's me. Dex: Oh GOD. /end ID

[appalamutte]

When Eric finally, after three hours of deliberation, decides to take a shower, the oven timer sounds from across the apartment.

"Shoot, hon," he says to a sleeping Deke as he scrambles half-naked down the hall and into the combined kitchen-slash-living room. The dog doesn't even pick his head up—just opens his eyes and raises one ear from the worn-down dog bed in the corner beside the couch. "What is your daddy going to do? Forgetting I put some apple turnovers on, Lord, my mind is plum gone."

A small waft of smoke burns at his eyes when he opens the oven door. The turnovers are a touch too crispy, blackened on the bottoms in a way Eric's always disliked and his family's always preferred. He sets them to cool on top of the stove.

He also lights an apple pumpkin candle, just for the hell of it.

Maybe he even still grabs one to eat.

Some hockey game is playing on the television when he goes to sit on the couch. Eric doesn't even remember turning the television on, let alone deciding to watch the game tonight of all things, but the Falconers are currently losing against the Canucks in the fourth quarter and the turnover tastes like burnt flour in his mouth and Eric was fired from his job, for the first time in his life, earlier that morning.

Deke stands from the dog bed—oh, who is Eric fooling, it's an outdoor patio cushion Eric bought on clearance a few years ago that was the perfect size for Deke to lay on—stretches, yawns, shakes sleep off his body and joins Eric on the couch. Noses his way toward the turnover in Eric's hand, digs his paws into the thin cotton of Eric's underwear to stand up, up, up until Eric's forced to shove the rest of the turnover into his still-full mouth.

"Down," he mumbles out, and Deke doesn't listen, but he does lick at Eric's face and that's okay, too.

"Mashkov chips the puck up the ice into Canuck territory, St. Martin goes to pick it up," the announcer is saying, the bright white light of the game clashing with the soft lamplight of Eric's apartment. "Bit of a struggle with Canuck's number twenty-eight, though St. Martin is able to snatch the puck and send it up to Zimmermann, who—"

"What am I going to do with you?" Eric asks once Deke yawns again and lays halfway onto Eric's lap, belly-side up and ears flopped this way and that.

His phone lights up from the side table, buzzes once, then goes dark again. Eric ignores it for all of two seconds before he snatches it up and unlocks it, seeing seven missed phone calls, fifty-two text messages, three emails, a handful of Twitter notifications, and a reminder from Tinder that his profile will be hidden soon if he doesn't log back in to it. That one is immediately deleted, as well as his emails—all from clients who haven't been told he's no longer with the company—but the Twitter notifications grab his attention long enough that he misses out on the goal the Falconers score until the network starts showing replays.

"What a goal! Wow, Rick, I have to say, despite the rough game they've had up until this point, Zimmermann may have just turned their spirits around. I mean, talk about an all-around masterclass of a shot. He's been quiet all night and then he does this? It's like he's been waiting until this moment to make something happen."

The cameras flick through a series of shots: the full rink from above, panning across the team celebrating at the bench, coming in close to where Robinson's pulling Jack down to Mashkov's wide-open arms for a hug. The joy is palpable. The smiles are wider than Eric would expect for a goal in a lost game. Jack doesn't look so frustrated now, not like he was looking the other night over the phone, and he makes eye contact with the camera as St. Martin comes in to pat against his helmet and Jack winks.

He—he winks.

The screen changes to that of the announcers as soon as Eric registers what he just saw. Surely, that wasn't—he didn't—now, Eric might be a gullible person under the right circumstances, but he's not delusional; he knows Jack doesn't know he's watching the broadcast because they haven't talked since yesterday when Jack was still in Seattle and Eric's life hadn't yet fallen apart and today's game was never mentioned. Jack didn't wink for Eric. He winked for the camera, for all the fans, a culmination of the Falconers' media training and Eric's gentle pushing that he needs to be more personable, more charming, at least for the media.

But—something warm settles inbetween the spaces of Eric's ribs and slowly fills the cavity of his heart.

The Falconers still lose the game. The announcers mention that this is now the fourth game the Falconers have lost in a row. Eric watches until the station starts covering highlights from another game from earlier in the day, and when he turns the television off, he finds the apartment to be silent.

Though, not like before. Not like when he first got home from work six hours too early and turned his phone off and fell face-first on his unmade bed. Deke softly snores in Eric's lap now, hot to the touch. It almost smells like home did when Eric was ten and helping his Mama bake after school. For the first time in years, despite the circumstances, Eric doesn't have to set any alarms for a Thursday morning.

Jack's making a layover in New York tomorrow.

That is enough.

[horribleprotagonist]

my favorite dex headcannon ever is that he has a peanut allergy. that's my stupid guy, he'll die if he eats a reeses cup

[montrealmadison]

so who wants to talk about the fact that jack and shitty share clothes while they're living in the haus

[peapodbond]

this post suggests a perfect au in which alicia zimmermann wins the cup and bob is her actor-slash-model husband

(jack still takes a shit in it)

[porcupine-girl]

It’s so funny that I finally get an otp that are canonically kinky and D/s and the whole nine yards and I find it incredibly hard to write smut for them

And then I go back to writing a check please fic and Jack just like. Drops into subspace when I’m not looking.

[elisela]

‘this is my husband/boyfriend/partner etc.’ + NurseyDex

that's mine nurseydex, alternating pov

.

Nursey goes flying. Headfirst into the goal, arms flailing, Will thinks he hears a yelp sort of flying. He only resists the urge to roll his eyes because Bitty’s looking right at him and he doesn’t want a lecture. 

Still—when one of the assholes on the other team barks out a laugh and says, “Who was that, Bambi?”, Will can’t help but sigh.

“That’s my teammate, asshole,” he says, and cuts over to check him against the boards. 

—

Derek misses the days that the frogs were wide-eyed and respectful in the Haus. These kids—he’s going to need some sense knocked into them soon. They’re loud, rowdy, and far too interested in integrating into the group by joining in on the teasing, which is a right they have not yet earned.

Like now, when they’re giggling to themselves and looking at him.

“So—” one of them starts, smirking, and never finishes.

“So,” Derek repeats, jerking his thumb at Dex, “that’s my roommate.”

The laughter grates on his nerves, but not as much as pretending he doesn’t care about sharing a room with Dex.

—

Nursey is … singing? Will thinks that’s what he’s trying to do at least, and he’s heard him sing almost every day in the shower so the warbling coming out of his mouth is surprising. He’s not saying Nursey is good by any means, but he can sound decent with the right song and this … this is not the right song.

He doubts the fact that all the words being slurred thanks to being absolutely trashed is helping.

Will stays at the bar until the song is done, resolutely facing away from the somewhat dimly-lit karaoke stage so he doesn’t get dragged into participating. Luckily—or not, considering Ransom and Holster seem to have disappeared so the drunken idiot is now his responsibility—Nursey doesn’t say anything when he comes crashing up to the bar except, “Tequila shots?”

Will can barely understand him, but the look on his face—the one that appears whenever Nursey thinks he’s had a particularly good idea—speaks volumes. “Water,” he says firmly, sliding a waiting pint glass over. 

He really doesn’t understand whatever Nursey mumbles then, but he has more pressing problems, because his lap—previously empty of everything except his coat—is now occupied. “Jesus,” he mutters, trying to wiggle away. “Dude—Nursey—”

“S’comfy,” Nursey says, and Will tries once more to get him to move to his own seat with no avail.

The bartender, when she returns, gives Will a raised eyebrow. “He bothering you? I can get him out.”

Will sighs. “He’s a friend,” he says, and adds, “so he pretty much bothers me all the time.”

“Ya love me, pretty boy,” Nursey says. He starts to laugh—at what, Will has no clue—but it makes him wiggle in a way that Will isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with, and Nursey goes sliding to his own seat after another shove.

“Shut up and drink your water,” Will says, and motions to close their tab.

—

“That’s Jack,” Derek says, nudging his grandmother and pointing at the television, where Jack is leaning on the boards and chatting with the coach. “He’s on the Falconers.”

“I’m rooting for them,” she says, and tuts when Derek makes an aborted noise. “Hush, you don’t get to choose who I like. Is he a defender?”

Derek’s been playing hockey most of his life and every time he watches a game with his grandma it’s like she’s never heard of the sport before. “No, he’s not a defenseman,” he says. God help him, he’s never going to get through this game alive. 

The shot switches to a close-up and she hums. “Handsome.”

Derek shrugs. Jack’s fine, he supposes. A bit too bland for him, nothing that really stands out, not like—”And that’s Dex—Will—over there, in the white. Will—he’s my—” he swallows a bit too hard.

“If you think I haven’t figured out you like men and women, Derek, we’re going to need to have a conversation regarding your assumptions about my intelligence.”

He wonders if God would actually strike him down if he prayed hard enough. “He’s my boyfriend, Gram,” he says, staring resolutely at the television.

She hums again. “That Jack is more handsome though, don’t you think?”

It’s going to be a long game.

—

Will’s trying to hide. Table at the back, hat still on and pulled down low, black hoodie and black jeans. Anything to make himself blend into the background, because he doesn’t want to be caught dead here.

He also doesn’t want to be involved in any conversations, not that the girls at the table next to him have picked up on that. He’d made two fatal errors: being cordial when one of them had said hello, and admitting he’s never been to an open-mic poetry night.

They haven’t stopped talking to him since. 

“Okay, this guy—I’m not sure he’s your type, you know? Not that you aren’t like, super intelligent—I mean you’re here, right, so obviously—but he has a lot of heavy themes in his work if you really dig in and you really need to hear them a few times to peel back the layers. I’m hoping he reads the tree above the grave again, it’s—”

She cuts off, finally, when a cough sounds from the front and Derek begins to speak. There’s utter silence while he recites words that Will’s heard a hundred times over in various iterations, tweaked and stressed and polished until he could probably say them in his sleep, then an excited outburst of conversation among applaus when it’s over.

“Amazing, right?” she says, and keeps talking while Will nods. “Have you heard of him before?”

Will looks at her. “He’s the one I came for,” he answers honestly, grinning for the first time all night when he sees Derek making his way over. “He’s my husband.”

[cricketnationrise]

some sentence sunday 24.8

once again, it has been over a month, but in my defense, the beginning of the season at work is always a madhouse. anyway @shygryf i promise i am still working on your fic and it WILL get done! for all my check please girlies, pls enjoy some chaotic Tater with despairing Jack and reluctantly amused Bitty:

“See Zimmboni? Knocking worked. Tiny baker comes.”  The other man looks to the heavens in apparent despair.  “I mean I guess, but it’s still—" “Just a little rude?” Bitty asks as he opens the top half of the Dutch door. “A bit presumptuous even?” “Yes. You wouldn’t bang on anyone else’s door this early.” This close, without the glass muffling the sound, Bitty can hear the reasonable man’s accent. “Would.” “No, you wouldn’t.” “Snowy. Also Poots. Is character building for rookie.” “Well, alright but—" “Fascinating as this chin wag is so far,” Bitty drawls, “what are y'all actually here for?” “Pastry!” The taller man booms. His friend smacks him on the arm. “Please. If not too much trouble,” he adds, slightly chagrined.

here's your open tag if you want to share, and a giant list under the cut

@the-lincyclopedia @inexplicablymine @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @everwitch-magiks

@clottedcreamfudge @wrathofthestag @freebooter4ever @missanniewhimsy @montrealmadison

@doggernaut @parvuls @thoughtsofthegirlwiththecurl @dr-book @appalamutte

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @cactusdragon517 @kiwiana-writes @leaves-of-laurelin @indestructibleheart

@porcupine-girl @porcelainmortal @firenati0n @sherryvalli @wordsofhoneydew

@iboatedhere @onthewaytosomewhere @getmehighonmagic @thesleepyskipper @blueeyedgrlwrites

@sparklepocalypse @orchidscript @welcometololaland @caterpills @ninzied

[petedavidsonscock]

Chowder and Dex have been studying in Chowder’s room for a few hours when Nursey slams open the door, walks in, and collapses onto the bed. He mutters something, but Chowder can’t make it out because Nursey’s face is fully buried in the pillow.

“What?” he asks.

“I said,” Nursey says, turning his head to the side, “I’m melancholic as fuck right now, bros.”

Dex snorts, not looking up from his code.

“How come?” Chowder asks anyway.

“Because the year’s ending .” Nursey pushes himself up just enough that he can flop over onto his back. “Like, sophomore year. We’re already halfway through college. Like, we just got here.”

“Yeah,” Chowder jokes, “our Taddy Tour was last week, right?”

“Exactly! Time moves despite and against our own desires. It’s mad fucked up.”

Nursey closes his eyes, apparently overcome.

When he doesn’t continue for a few moments, Chowder opens his mouth to prompt him, but Dex elbows him and mutters, “Don’t encourage him.”

Chowder frowns. He says in a low voice, “I’m not encouraging him, I’m talking to him.”

“Same difference,” Dex says flatly.

“What, you don’t think I should talk to him?”

Dex makes a face like, Yeah, kinda . Chowder makes a face back like, Explain yourself then .

“Like, he’s just sad and wants attention right now.”

“So what?” Chowder asks, genuinely confused. “We’re his friends, that’s part of the deal.”

“Well, it’s like—you can’t—” Dex stops, looking frustrated. “It’s like, you have to distract him. Or else he’ll keep working himself up into a fucking, like, pit of ennui.”

Nursey jerks upright. “Ennui? Did you just say ennui?”

He grins at Dex, who glares back at him and says, “I know the word ennui.”

Dex and Nursey have a side-pot Sin Bin, for when Dex uses a particularly English-major word or phrase, which, to his own frustration, he’s doing increasingly often.

“Babe,” Nursey is saying, “you did not know what ennui meant before me.”

“Yeah, I did. How the fuck would you know?”

“ Ennui . Come on. Admit that’s me. That’s a dollar.”

“I know words,” Dex argues, while Chowder plucks the computer off Dex’s lap and shuts it. “Just because I’m not majoring in sucking T.S. Eliot’s dick doesn’t mean I don’t know the word ennui.”

Nursey brightens even more. “ And bringing up a modernist poet. Two dollars.”

“No, fuck you.”

Nursey cocks his head, eyes wide and exaggeratedly interested, until Dex sags.

“Fine, I’ll give you Eliot. But,” he adds quickly, “I did know the word ennui. Otherwise I couldn’t have done so well on the SAT.”

Nursey groans, long and loud. “No one’s asking you. No one wants to hear about this.”

There are a few moments of silence while Chowder bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I don’t know if I remember,” he manages after a moment. “What did you get, Dex?”

“It’s pretty easy to remember,” Dex says, “in case you ever forget again. You just take Nursey’s score—” He ducks to avoid a flying pillow “—and add ten points. Convenient, huh?”

He smirks at Chowder, who says, “Ohh, cool, thanks, Dex,” and then Nursey starts hitting Dex with Chowder’s favorite stuffed shark while Dex scrambles to protect his face. As he watches Nursey get in a few solid hits, mussing up Dex’s hair, Chowder feels really glad he moved the laptop.

“Wait, guys,” Chowder says, as Dex gives up trying to fend Nursey off and attempts to grab the toy shark instead. Nursey pulls it out of the way, and Dex nearly overbalances, but recovers just in time for Nursey to smack him again.

“Fuck you,” he sputters, laughing, and stands for better reach. Nursey scrambles to his knees on the bed so he can maintain some height, and hits Dex before switching the shark to his other hand to hold it out of danger. Chowder watches, horrified, as Dex, in scrabbling for the stuffed animal, falls basically on top of Nursey. They're still presumably fighting over Chowder’s (innocent!) shark, but, with the inevitability of a car crash, there comes a moment when they both stop laughing to look at each other. Dex is propped over Nursey, they're staring into each other’s eyes, it’s really clear what they're both thinking about, and Chowder wants to die. He’s happy that his two best friends don’t hate each other anymore, he is, but this might actually be worse.

(It’s not really worse. He’s really happy for them. But, like, seriously? In his bed?)

“Um, guys?” he tries, but his voice comes out quiet and very high pitched. “Guys!”

They startle apart.

Or, actually, Dex hastily shoves himself off of Nursey and to a sitting position. He scowls, already starting to turn red.

“Uh,” says Nursey, who has better maintained his composure. “Yeah, as I was saying, uh.” He blinks hard, regrouping. “It’ll be weird when everything changes, you know?”

Chowder gives him a few long moments to squirm—which Nursey doesn’t, because he has a great poker face, but Chowder hopes he feels really awkward inside—before picking up the conversation.

“That makes sense,” he acknowledges. “But you have to have change to have improvement, right? I mean, graduating will be scary, but it’ll be nice to live in a place that has, you know, normal, not-falling-apart furniture and actually hot water.”

Dex looks up. “Is the hot water out again? I thought I took care of that last week.”

Oh. “Oh, yeah. It’s still working in other places, just not in my bathroom.” Chowder has been meaning to call maintenance. “But I really feel like this time it’ll fix itself if I wait long enough.”

Dex rolls his eyes and gets up. “I’m gonna get my stuff. C, just tell me next time.”

He leaves, presumably to get his tools from his dorm. When the door closes behind him, Chowder glances at Nursey, who looks—God. Besotted might be the right word. After a moment, Nursey flops backwards onto the bed.

“Ugh.”

Chowder glances down at his computer and deletes a stray line break.

“You know,” he says softly, “we’re still gonna have this. After, I mean.”

“Have what?” Nursey asks without opening his eyes. “Dex being pissy all the time?”

“Us. The Frogs.”

Nursey sighs. “I guess.”

“No, really.” Chowder slides out of his chair to sit cross-legged on the floor, ticking points off on his fingers, getting more certain as he speaks. “Rans and Holster are gonna be here for like every Kegster. Bitty’s totally gonna move in with Jack when he graduates, and that’s only forty minutes away. And we have a whole year before that of him being captain.” He can’t help but grin. “He’s gonna be ‘swawesome . And, like, when it’s our turn, we’re not gonna stop being friends just ‘cause we don’t have to skate suicides at 5am together anymore.”

Nursey is still enough that Chowder can tell he’s listening intently now.

“It’ll be different,” Chowder adds. “But we’ll still be us.” He hesitates, then takes the plunge. “And you and Dex…”

“What?”

“You’re both obviously in it for the long run.”

“Oh,” Nursey says. He totally fails to sound normal. “You think?”

Chowder snorts. “Uh, yeah. The other day he asked me whether it would be weird to invite you to his family’s Thanksgiving.”

Nursey props himself up on an elbow to stare at Chowder. “Wait, like, next year Thanksgiving? It’s April.”

The expression on his face is so stunned that Chowder finally lets out the laugh that’s been building inside him for most of this conversation. “Yep,” he says finally.

“Oh,” Nursey says. There’s a smile growing on his face, so sincere that Chowder almost feels like he’s intruding. “That’s chill.”

“Yeah,” Chowder says, then considers. “I think it’s maybe all gonna be okay, actually.”

Nursey turns that smile onto him. “You know I love you, right, man?”

Chowder picks himself up off the floor: this moment definitely calls for a hug. “‘Course I know that,” he tells him. “I love you too.”

~~~

thanks for reading! here’s the ao3 link for if u want to leave a kudos/comment.

[zimms]

new york city

you called me last night on the telephone and i was glad to hear from you cause i was all alone you said, "it's snowing, it's snowing! god, i hate this weather" now i walk through blizzards just to get us back together

Derek twists the telephone cord around his finger, straining to hear Will's words down the phone. "Sorry, you're cutting out. The landline's a little dodgy."

He definitely doesn't fail to hear the crackle of Will's laughter down the phone. "A landline? What is this, Nurse? The eighties?"

"Shut up! My moms prefer it for some reason. And, I don't know, it has a bit of je ne sais quoi, a bit of nostalgia, a bit of style, y'know." To emphasise the point, even if only to himself, Derek winds the cable around his fingers a couple more times.

"I don't, but I'll take your word for it."

Derek huffs his own laugh before softening his voice. "Look, the point is that I missed what you said the first time. Please could you repeat it, babe?"

Will's voice comes through the phone. "I said that it's snowing here."

"Isn't it always snowing in Maine in December?" Derek says, "Like I thought that was a given?"

"Yeah, but it's the first time I've seen snow since I last saw you." Will's voice goes quietier. "I miss you."

"That was literally two weeks ago, Dex." Derek rolls his eyes, knowing full well that Will can't see him. "You can't possibly miss me that much; you literally went almost two years without talking to me between leaving Samwell and the spring." He sighs and grins to himself "But- I miss you too."

we met in the springtime at a rock and roll show it was on the bowery when it was time to go

One second Derek is bouncing along to the song that the band is playing, the next, his gaze is fixed on a very familiar head of red hair that's darting through the crowd at the gig.

Dex?

Derek is too packed in by the surrounding crowd to do anything but watch, tracking the figure of a man who, two years ago, he never thought he'd see again. Well, maybe not never, after all they'd been to two weddings together this summer alone. But the point is, it would never be just the two of them again.

He allows himself to be swept back up in the words of the song, singing along with the rest of the crowd, but he never truly stops staring at the back of Dex's head. It's fine; Derek will catch him at the bar after the show. He has to.

The gig is in a tiny bar that masquerades as a club/concert venue, packed to the brim with people here to see bands make their first stumbling steps into the music industry. Derek first listened to these guys in his Senior Year at Samwell and fell head over heels in love with their music. They were even the soundtrack to his alarms for the year, greeting him before every 5am practice (because Dex was a total hardass).

After the final song, the crowd starts to disperse and Derek seizes his moment to chase after Dex.

He can't let him slip away from him.

Not this time.

Derek pushes through the crowd, apologising every step of the way, until Dex is finally within reach. Naturally, as soon as Derek goes to close his hand around Will's shoulder, the man in question takes a step forward and Derek takes a big handful of just air. "Dex! Hey! Dex!"

Will spins around and suddenly they're chest to chest for the first time in- Derek doesn't even know how long.

He forgets how to breathe.

"Nursey?" Dex's eyebrows furrow in that familiar way: the way they would when he couldn't figure out the problem with a particularly tricky bit of code, or when he was trying to figure out the best way to shut down the opposing team's attack. Derek hasn't realised until now just how much he missed that expression.

"Dex!" he says, trying desperately to sound normal and not at all breathless and relaxed. "How are you? I didn't- I didn't know you were in New York?"

Dex rubs the back of his neck. "I'm, erm, I'm not really, but I guess, I am?"

"Dex, I say this lovingly, but genuinely what the fuck does that mean?" Derek takes the opportunity to step back, breaking the physical contact between them at last. He can finally breathe.

"I'm living over near Lincoln Park, but I'm working for a start up here."

Derek laughs. "Dude, you could have just said that!"

"I was suprised to see you, okay!" Dex mumbles. "Though I'm not sure why I'm that surprised considering that you were the one that got me into this band, but it's whatever."

Derek pauses and considers what to say for a second, looking Dex up and down to try and gauge how much interaction with him Dex would be willing to stand. He takes another second to throw all of that consideration out of the window and just say fuck it.

He grins up at Will. "Can I buy you a drink?"

we kissed on the subway in the middle of the night i held your hand, you held mine, it was the best night of my life

One drink turns into two and two turns into four and so on and so on until the two of them stumble out onto the Bowery and into the open air at 3am.

Derek doesn't know how to describe it, but everything always feels easier at 3am. As they walk along the street towards the subway station, he brushes his hand against Dex's once, twice, three times until finally Will takes his hand in his.

They tangle their fingers together, relaxing into the easy rhythm that they lost at some point during senior year, and falling into each other's orbits yet again.

Derek tugs Will towards the Houston Bowery Wall, gravitating towards the explosion of colour in the night light. "C'mere." He squeezes Will's hand. "This is the Bowery Wall Mural. It's one of my favourite pieces of art in New York, especially this one."

"This one?" Will's voice trembles a little as if they're in a holy place rather than stood on the intersection of two busy streets in New York.

"They change the wall every so often, a constant fresh start, constant new opportunities. Sometimes they decide that a mural has had its time, sometimes other people decide for them, covering up the work with graffiti, showing the world what matters to them. But the wall always comes back with a newer piece of art, a never-ending cycle of hope and new beginnings."

Derek looks down at his and Will's interlocked hands and gives them another squeeze. "Last year, they decided to stop commissioning new murals because they kept being destroyed, but out of the ashes came this mural."

The wall is painted in a bright array of portraits, depicting people of all shapes and sizes. It takes Derek's breath away as he looks at it, even though he walks past it every week; there's something different about bringing Will here.

Will's voice catches in his throat. "It's beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here."

Derek grins back at him. "Thank you for coming with me."

Will's expression shifts and his eyes begin to dart around. "I should be going."

"What? All the way back to Jersey at this time? You're not going to get back until like 8am. Seriously, come back to my place; you can take the guest room."

(Internally, Derek kicks himself.)

"No, no, I can head back; I wouldn't want to impose."

"No, seriously I insist," Derek says, slowly beginning to steer them towards the subway station. "We're like ten minutes from my place on the subway; way better than going back to Jersey."

Will huffs a sigh, knowing that he's lost this battle. "Okay, fine. But I'll pay you back somehow, y'know."

Derek smiles at him as they enter through the ticket barriers. "I know."

(Derek will unashamedly admit that they made out in the empty subway carriage. Like c'mon, how could he resist waiting until he got home?)

because everyone's your friend in new york city and everything looks beautiful when you're young and pretty the streets are paved with diamonds and there's just so much to see but the best thing about new york city is you and me

Derek wraps his arms around Will's waist and pulls him in closer, letting their bodies slot together in the warmth of the bed. "I'm so glad that I spotted you at that gig," he whispers into the crook of his neck. "I couldn't let you get away again."

Will leans back into the embrace. "I'm glad you found me too." He wriggles a bit, getting more comfortable. "It feels like I was stumbling blindly around the city before you found me. Like New York and you are so intertwined; you are New York, New York is you. It was weird to be in the city without you, to be honest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Will turns around to look at him. “Seriously, Derek. I’ve loved the past four months of you dragging me around the city.”

Derek tickles his sides and Will squirms in his arms. “Drag?! I seem to recall you were the one that made a whole list of places that you wanted to see, including Co-Op City.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will mutters, ducking his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t have trekked all the way out to the Bronx just for it, but I thought I should see it, okay? It was a big case study in my urban planning class.”

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.” Derek leans down to kiss his boyfriend. “I think it’s sweet, honestly. Especially considering you didn’t think to do any of this stuff in your first two months of living here.”

“I was getting used to a new city! I wasn’t trying to sight-see; I was trying to survive!”

Derek hums to convey his total belief in Will’s statement. “Uh, huh.”

“It’s true!”

Derek hums again and grins down at him. “Anyway, do you still have that list somewhere? I need to figure out what’s left on your New York bucket list.”

Will blindly flails his arm onto his bedside table. “Yeah, yeah. Lemme just find it.” He rummages around a bit more, before finally producing a crumpled-up piece of paper. “here you go.”

statue of liberty, staten island ferry, co-op city, katz's, and tiffany's, central park, brooklyn bridge, the empire state, where dylan lived, coney island, and times square, rockefeller center

“Okay, I think I have the perfect idea for what our final stereotypical New York sightseeing trip will be,” Derek says.

“Mhhm, am I allowed to know what it is?”

“You’ll find out in, like, three months, I promise.” Derek can’t resist and gives Will another peck on the cheek. “It’ll be worth it.”

wish i was there

Derek finally removes his hands from where they’ve been covering Will’s eyes for the past ten minutes. “Surprise?”

They’re stood just outside the Rockefeller Centre ice rink, which is filled with a hurricane of screaming children and couples desperately trying to keep their balance whilst holding hands.

Will chuckles. “I’d say yes, but somehow the fact that you blindfolded me when you caught me looking at a sign for the Rockefeller Centre says otherwise.” He pauses. “Also, the fact that I caught you stealing my skates from my apartment the last time we were there.”

“Okay, you got me,” Derek says, “but it was good choice, yeah?”

“Yes, definitely.” Will threads his hand in Derek’s. “It was a great choice. Plus it’s like full circle, y’know. We first met at an ice rink and it’s nice to bring the list to a close with an ice rink too. Especially considering how much our relationship has changed over the past seven years, though it was a bit touch and go for a while, eh.”

Derek can’t help himself; he laughs. “Eh? Have you been spending too much time with Jack, huh?”

“Shut up.” Will lets go of his boyfriend’s hand so that he can elbow him instead. “I’m trying to be romantic and poetic and shit; don’t make fun of me.”

“Okay, okay.” Derek says. “You said exactly what I was gonna say, is all.”

“Oh?” Will mock-gasps. “So, I was in fact being poetic and shit?”

Derek kisses him – mostly to wipe the smug grin off his face – and then pulls back. “Are you ready to go and show these kids and tourists how it’s done?”

“Aren’t we technically tourists for this exercise?”

“Shhhh.” Derek kisses Will again, just for the fun of it this time and as they break apart, he feels something wet on his cheek. “Wait, are you crying?”

“No, you idiot, it’s snowing.”

Oh.

So, it is.

Derek feels a little stupid right now, but he can’t tell if that’s because of the kiss or because he was so obviously wrong.

Will taps him on the shoulder. “Come back here, idiot. This feels like a pretty perfect ending to my first year in New York.”

Derek waggles his eyebrows at him. “Yeah?”

He’s met with an eyeroll, but Will also rewards him with a “yeah” and another world-stopping kiss.

Derek has to agree with Will: with the snow falling down on them and the hubbub of the city around them, it does feel like a pretty perfect ending to their first year in New York together.

you wrote me a letter just the other day you said, "springtime is coming soon so why don't you come to stay" i packed my stuff, it's on the bus, i can't believe it's true. i'm three days from new york city and i'm three days from you.

Will has to laugh when his mom hands him the mail stack, an envelope with his name on it sat on top. Did Derek seriously send him a letter for the two weeks that he was back in Maine? Well, yeah, clearly – that much is evidenced by the fucking letter in his hand.

In fairness, the gesture does have Derek written all over it.

He carefully rips open the letter, thankfully not wax-sealed like some of the love letters that Will had watched Nursey send in his earlier years at Samwell, and the contents spill out.

Will pick up the letter first and begins to read it.

Dear Will,

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been nine months since I found you again at that gig on the Bowery; it feels like we’ve been exploring New York together for years. But springtime is coming soon again and I’m hoping that I’ll never have to find you again, but instead that you’ll always be in easy reach by my side. You know how you said one night that to you New York is me? Well, in the past nine months, New York has instead become You and Me. I feel like you’re pulling back the curtain and I’m seeing the city I’ve lived in for my whole life in a completely different light. Everything is suddenly so much brighter and more beautiful with you around. I hope that this new light continues with the dawn of this new spring, a third new beginning for us perhaps, but just to make sure, would you do me the honour of moving in with me? I mean, if nothing else, it saves you (and, rather selfishly, me) the commute the Lincoln Park every other night.

I know it’s only been a week, but I miss you so much.

I love you.

Derek.

The other item sitting on the kitchen table in front of Will is a keyring with two keys and a picture of the one of the windows from the current Bowery Mural. The keys are engraved with the numbers #24 and #28 and Will can’t quite hold back the mistiness that begins to gather in his eyes.

Of course, after everything, Derek brings it back to hockey, back to Samwell, back to that period of time when they were inseparable, but constantly at odds with each other, so similar, but so different.

Will carefully threads his old keys onto the new keyring. A third and final new beginning sounds perfect to him.

because everyone's your friend in new york city and everything looks beautiful when you're young and pretty the streets are paved with diamonds and there's just so much to see but the best thing about new york city is you and me

[omgpoindexter]

when you’ve been made !

[ohyoufool]

[appalamutte]

you’re sixteen-years-old, moseying through your local bookstore when you come across it.

you’re not usually into nonfiction, especially not memoirs, but the man on the cover is familiar. laughing over his shoulder with his eyes closed, relaxed in a turquoise button-up and jeans, standing with his back to the camera at a counter cluttered with leafy vegetables and mixing bowls.

from seeds to supper, the title reads, and his name is eric bittle-zimmermann.

you deliberate for a bit, picking it up and reading the blurb, the reviews printed on the back sleeve, the first page. the very first words of the book are hey, y’all! and your friend walks over at that point, and they see him and say—“oh, i used to watch some of his videos.”

so you buy it, because your friend said you should, and later that night you’re already deep into the stories of peach cobbler recipes and learning how to differentiate between living and surviving when they send you the link to the guy’s old youtube channel. it hasn’t been active for a few years, but that doesn’t matter because oh my god are there so many videos. years of videos, almost a decade’s worth, starting all the way back in the early 2010s and you get sucked into them all, laughing at the funny ones and tearing up at the emotional ones, watching as the guy slowly grows up from high school to college and beyond.

you switch between reading the memoir and watching the videos over the next few weeks. you see his video on introducing his boyfriend and you read the chapter on maple-crusted apple pie and how learning to love is a lot like learning to lattice a pie, slow and patient and sometimes messy.

you see his cooking challenge video featuring all of his friends from college and you read the chapter on homemade bagel bites and how family doesn’t have to be a four-course meal you’ve had reservations for all your life. sometimes, family is just frozen bagel bites and sriracha sauce crowded around an uneven table.

you see his two-part wedding vlog posted in 2019, nearly 10 years ago, and you read his chapter on red velvet cake and how the brain can get confused, something to do with all the nerve endings getting tangled up, because when love reaches the same heights fear does, you end up fainting into your then-boyfriend’s arms.

then, you see his final video on the channel, a farewell to his subscribers and a glimpse as to what’s next. it’s short and simple, just his husband and him sitting on a couch together, a toddler between them. and you read the last chapter of the book on chicken tenders and how a seed in the garden never knows it’ll grow into a supper worth loving. it just knows it’ll grow into something, and that the growing takes time.

(a few years later, when you’re twenty and in college, you’re downtown with some friends and come across it. you still aren’t into nonfiction that much, but that one memoir always stuck with you, sitting on your shelf back in your dorm. and this one, with the guy’s back to the camera, tall and steadfast, standing in the middle of an ice rink, an emboldened number one across the back of his jersey. the name is familiar.

melting ice, the title reads, and his name is jack bittle-zimmermann.

you pick it up.)