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Fantastic. I really feel that desperately wanting someone to talk about it, but not knowing how once it does come up. And I cannot WAIT to know what happens when the Aces play the Falconers... :D :D

Hi, first of all, I am hurt. Second, please please write a fic with Kent and Will falling in love or idk just something in which Kent gets a happy ending cause please. (Also I love your writing xx)

Hahaha– I am sorry for the hurt! The Kent mini-fic hit me hard too. I did not really know where it was going when I started it. Oops! 

As for writing a happy Kent-ending, know that you are not the only person who has asked me for it (or just stories dealing with how Kent interacts with Jack after he is out or Bitty or the rest of the crew). Right now, I’m editing my novel and trying not to let ficlets in my head.

… though, gosh, they are right there. bubbling under the surface…

Like, real talk, Kent must just be… fascinated. No, not fascinated. Desperate. Kent must be desperate for information about Jack Zimmermann. Once Jack comes out, he must watch that press conference a thousand times. And like… Jack doesn’t bother reading all the reactions but Kent must obsess over them and he must just live his life willing his teammates or coaches or Aces’ management to bring up the subject. He is too afraid to bring it up himself, no matter how much the words burn the back of his throat like cheap whiskey– he wouldn’t know what to say. How to make sure it came across as natural curiosity rather than something… more.

So he smiles at everyone and laughs at their jokes and makes a few of his own and all the time, he thinks Talk about Jack Zimmermann. Say you support him. Say you think it’s wonderful. Ask me what I think. Ask me if you think any of us are gay. Tell me it would be okay. Tell me you wouldn’t hate me. Please, god, please say something.

Of course, even when someone does, even when Swoops says, “You hear about Zimmermann? Pretty cool, huh? Good for him,” Kent’s throat locks up and it takes him a full seventeen seconds to get out, “Yeah, yeah, cool. Good for him.” and by that time, people have nodded and moved on. And just like that whatever moment might have been has passed and Kent has to start all over again. Please, please, ask me again, I’m sorry, I’ll do better this time, let’s talk about it more, please bring it up, at least one more time.

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me: i wonder where dex is?

my brain, who is a fucking asshole who i can no longer stand: he was forced to take time off Samwell because he can’t afford it and was too proud to tell the boys because he wouldn’t want to take their charity, even if they offered it. (Nursey would definitely offer it). 

me: that is highly unrealistic. shut up.

my brain: maybe he got injured on the lobster boat so he lost his hockey scholarship.

me: go away.

my brain: you can fix this situation. if you write the fic.

me: no. 

me:…

me: but also, IMAGINE if he lied about it –like he said that his dad was… sick? so the boys would be concerned but also understanding and not bother him about it. THEN nursey and chowder decide to drive up and visit and his dad answers the door (seems to be in perfect health which is confusing) and tells them that Dex is at work– but not on the lobster boat cause “well, his fuckin’ leg won’t really let him do that, y’know” and that doesn’t make sense either but Nursey and Chowder head on over to the hardware store where Dex is working the cash register, looking utterly miserable and sitting with one leg propped up cuz it’s broken– and oh! i bet this is also the first time they’ve seen dex’s house so that is a bit of a shock and I think we could probably work in–

Haha, that’s fair, and thanks for the agreement. Curious about what it would look like, though! 

Just saw you wanted to be sent things? I've been thinking about how Bitty might fit in great as a gay student, but as a Southerner, might be lonely among folks baffled by his culture or bothered by casual stereotypes. Just blogged longer thoughts than fit here, but tl;dr version: what if Bitty gets defensive of his family / town when people joke about bigoted/dumb Southerners, even when he'd make the same critique himself? if he understands Jack's Québécois background better than they'd expect?

AH! I usually try to add things to what people send me but I have nothing to add to this. I just agree with you hundo p. :) 

Edit: this is the referenced blog post too!

this gives me life. Would not be averse to more.

I wish you would write a fic where . . . Lardo doesn't know the Samwell boys yet, and posts an ad for a guy who is willing to be a nude model that she uses body paint on to create an art piece to show her professor who she is as a person for reasons. Shitty isn't the only guy who applies, but he's the only one that teases her into a full-on paint fight.

Lardo is about ready to scream. Scream and then punch the first boy she sees and then give up on this whole project, probably because she will be in jail for punching the first boy she sees but also because who knew it would be such a fucking pain in the ass to find a nude model. She’s in college now! At a hella liberal school! This should be easy!

But no. No it is not. Because since she posted the ad two nights ago, she has received approximately twenty six dick pics. And half of them were accompanied by some truly horrific pick-up line or date invitations and like holy fucking shit, what the fuck is wrong with people?

When her phone buzzes with a new e-mail, she almost doesn’t bother opening it. Sure, she had wanted to play with gender and the idea of body as a canvas for her midterm but maybe it wasn’t worth it.

Although… if she had to draw another charcoal nude figure, she might die so…

She opens it. This one is from [email protected]. 

The first thing she notes is that there is no attachment.

Thank God. 

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It’s the bet that really gets me. How often do people bet on Jack’s hockey? How often on him losing? For that matter, on him losing it again, or the kind of drugs he’s on? This is so hopeful and wonderful, and I love Alicia so much in it. She’s vibrant and her own person, in what used to be her own space, and that shows even in how it’s set back from the rest of her family. This is how you write female secondary characters!

I wish you would write a fic where jack comes back from going to kiss bitty at graduation and his parents chirp him SO HARD bc his phone keeps goign off and he's all pleased and bashful about it and doesn't outright admit anything but it's SUPER CLEAR what happend

This is…. not quite what you wanted but it’s set at the same time and its similar. also its what popped into my head as i procrastinate my last paper so…

“Well, that one clearly just got laid,” you say to Ashlyn as the two of you finally get the chance to stand still and lean against the bar. You’re behind it and she’s in the little nook that servers hide in when they don’t want their tables to see them. She swivels her head to see who you are looking at. 

“Which one?”

“Table 4. Dark suit, blue tie, looks just like his dad.”

Ashlyn looks. Then giggles. “You’re fucking right about that. Look at him!”

“So laid,” you agree. “Probably after the ceremony too. And good too. You don’t walk around with a smile like that unless you got right fu–”

“Excuse me?”

Your mouth snaps shut. Hard. Because this place isn’t particularly fancy–but it is the traditional college bar and it is graduation. Which means all the alums and parents are back and you probably should not be talking like this. It’s a classy day. 

And it only gets worse as it turns because this place isn’t classy, but, goodness, this woman is. Reddish-blond hair perfectly styled in that long-bob that’s so in right now, red and white dress, fashionable belt, and blue eyes expertly enhanced by the slightest bit of brown eyeliner. Ugh. After only 4 hours of tending bar on graduation day, you are pretty sure you look like some sort of monster.

Also, she looks vaguely familiar. As if maybe you’ve seen her somewhere. Somewhere important?

Also, she is a paying customer who just overheard you gossiping about how one of the newly graduated college boys probably had sex within the past hour so…

Not a great moment for you, to be honest. 

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Stop & Go

Yo, check please fandom, here’s a fic that was originally going to be Jack’s Freshmen year (aka Jack & Shitty’s origin story) but this first chapter is just Jack getting to Samwell and might end up being a stand alone. Still, figured I’d post it– Hope you enjoy!

Stop & Go (Or Jack’s Freshmen Year)

It is still shocking, how much the hockey world cares about him. He grew up knowing in an offhand way that his father is a Big Deal and then as he’d gotten older it had become more and more apparent how much people expected him to also be a Big Deal and by age twelve, he knew the hockey world cared about him. So, of course he knew. It’s a part of what had caused this whole mess in the first place.

The problem is that he sort of thought it would go away. After months of rehab and therapy and coaching a peewee team, he almost assumed he would have to start over. In April when he decides to take the SATs, he makes one call to Boston University and inquires about whether or not he would be allowed to play hockey there and suddenly–

Well, it turns out that the hockey world still very much cares about Jack Zimmermann, drug addictions and nervous breakdown or no. Coach Quinn initially starts to go on about “most of our team is recruits, but we do hold open tryouts at the beginning of the fall semester and– wait, what did you say your name was again?” Jack repeats it, expecting the admission to result in a resounding ‘no’ because who would want someone who clearly couldn’t handle the pressure in their program? Except that’s not what happens.

Quinn is suddenly beside himself, asking Jack when he would want to visit and if he’s taken his SATs or needs help with his SATs and “let me put together a packet for you, Jack. I think this would be a great fit. Really, I do.”

It seems silly after he hangs up, it seems like this is something Jack should have expected but he finds himself taking deep breaths and holding them and counting to five before exhaling and suddenly he wishes he didn’t love hockey so much.

Because what he realizes is that he is always going to be a Big Deal in hockey. And if he didn’t ache for the feel of ice under his skates and miss the buzz of adrenaline under his skin and if he didn’t dream about the feel of the puck against his stick and the slap sound it makes when he knows he’s hit it just so, he could just give it up. Slink quietly into obscurity and life a life that revolves around something else.

But he can’t do that and so he tries to make it small and manageable, like his therapist taught him, and vows to call at least one coach a day for two weeks, and promises himself he will go visit at least five schools. Because, he does need hockey again. Coaching is not enough. Not right now. Not yet.

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