“I keep better time during hockey season,” Jack tells him once. “Easier to track a life in wins and losses than in idle days, eh?”
And Nursey can definitely relate, but he definitely doesn’t say so. Not when Bitty gets that look on his face at overhearing the conversation, like what Jack’s just said is the saddest thing to ever be uttered. The hockey robot who can’t quite human the way he should.
The thing is that Nursey is his own kind of robot, if he’s honest with himself. Which he tries not to be anymore. “Honesty” usually packs a punch that he would rather not suffer through if he can help it.
Robot Nursey is very good at projecting the appearance of a person that is the polar opposite of the person all of his internal thoughts and emotions want him to be. He can compartmentalize nearly any situational response that goes against this outward ruse. And he can neatly divide his own life up into a series of challenges that his careful mask has faced, and a collection of coping mechanisms to go with them.
as always, i don’t identify as ace and am open to revision if i get something wrong.
Tango is so, so confused.
He got what he wanted last night. He thinks. At least, it’s what he thought he wanted. He was sitting with Whiskey, and Whiskey was laughing at him (the good kind of laughing, Tango’s pretty sure), and all at once the smile fell off Whiskey face and he was leaning in and laying a hand on Tango’s face. And then Whiskey was kissing him, Whiskey’s lips warm and sweet on his. Tango’s heart had sped up and flown to his throat, and he’d kissed back, as well as he could. He didn’t know what kind of kisses felt good, because kisses … well, they were nice, but they weren’t the right kind of nice, somehow.
This prompt was courtesy of one of my fandom (and non-fandom) faves, @justwritins, when I opened up prompts for like an hour back in October. Sorry it’s taken so long, but I promise I’ll get through all of them eventually!
The prompt:
Oh right! Snowy/Tater! Tater is a superhero. Snowy just wants to finish his fucking grocery shopping in piece. Insert a Villain.
I didn’t go into the villain, but there is some backstory here I may end up writing in a continuation. It’s just 130am and this story’s already 2.8k describing essentially one hour in the life. So yeah, superhero Snowtots below the cut!
Okay so hockey is like, rife with superstitions and
ritual.
Each player has their own pre-game rituals, which are
honestly on par with religious sacraments.
You do not fuck with a man’s
pre-game ritual. Also, the inability to
practice one’s pre-game ritual is deeply emotionally destabilizing. Like, we’re talking serious repercussions
here. If a player is unable to complete their
sacred ritual, there will be hell to pay.
Just as famous as Crosby’s famous pre-game plate of spaghetti,
or Jack Zimmerman’s pre-game PB&J, is Snowy’s pre-game application of eyeliner. It is not only essential to his game play; it
is essential to the current alignment of our space-time continuum.
Which brings us to Snowy, currently in the throes of an
emotional breakdown, in seat 15C on the Falc’s bus, clutching desperately to
his last remaining tube of La Nuit, Nior
de Nior eyeliner as though it were the cooling body of his only son.
Cross-posted on ao3, but I figured I would post it here in honor of the December tweets showing that my son really is smart!
The beginning of spring semester was somewhat of a blessing. For the whole Samwell hockey team, in retrospect. Ransom, Holster, and Lardo were now in their last semester, and the stress of their final year of college was less daunting. Bitty seemed significantly more relaxed and happy this semester, so whatever had been weighing on him so heavily during the fall had clearly resolved itself. And the new semester was a blessing for Tango, too. His first semester of college was over, it would get warmer soon, his teammates seemed happier…it’s as if a new relaxed atmosphere was there to reassure them that this semester would be a good one.
Tango had worried for a while about Bitty, and wanted to help, seeing as Bitty had been so kind to him and the whole team, but didn’t want to pry. Now, however, seeing him happy and back to the Bitty he met when he first started at Samwell, Tango knew it probably wasn’t his business and that Bitty could take care of himself. And if he couldn’t, his other teammates could, right?
Rating: T (with maybe a bit of M at the end it depends on the type of person you are)
A Twango fic ft. Whiskey’s inner monologue, a blindfold that might be jock strap, and the magical Haus basement where dreams come true
_X_
“Tadpoles, this evening you partake in the most sacred of hockey rituals. Hazeapalooza bonds us in the Samwell brotherhood. Tonight you Taddies will crawl onto the shores of manhood naked, blindfolded, and– oh lord– bitch ass shit faced.” Bitty squinted at the index card in front of him, struggling to read aloud the rest of Shitty’s speech. “I’m sorry boys, I’ve had one too many beers tonight to pretend that I can read Shitty’s handwriting. The rest here is just chicken scratch. I’m gonna cut the spiel a little short.” Bitty conceded.
“Basically, we’re gonna walk y’all back to the house with blindfolds and we’re gonna make you drink a lot. Rans? Holtz? Do you guys wanna take it from here?” Bitty stepped away from center ice to begin distributing slices of pie, and the two captains proudly took his place.
Ransom puffs out his chest and looks confidently over the cluster of kneeling tadpoles, “Gladly, Bits. Now Listen up Taddies, ‘cause me and Holtzy are about to teach you fools a lesson on personal limits and knowing when to say no…”
Warnings for: vaguely NSFW language and the city of Santa Cruz.
Holster always knew it would happen like this: he would be
having an otherwise normal conversation with someone and the opportunity to
make a bad joke about how not straight he was would present itself, he wouldn’t
be able to resist the temptation, and then everyone would know.
Like on some level, he’s a-ok with this because it’s 2016 it
shouldn’t be a big deal anymore, they’re at Samwell, he can just mention it
causally like that’s always been the case and everyone’s always known it’s the
case and that should be that.
He…he didn’t mean for it to be Ransom that he came out to. Not
first.
“Because it’ll be fuckin’ sick,” Ransom insists, showing
Holster the vacation rental he’s found. “Look how close it is to the beach!
Because bro, you do understand that there are
not beaches in Seattle right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Holster says. He’s looking forward to their
short vacation before they move west. They’re going together, because how could
they not, because Holster’s going to the Schooners and Ransom’s going to UW Med
and they’re going to be together. It’s the only part of his future Holster’s
ever been sure of – Ransom will be there. “It’s fuckin’ sweet.”
“Right?” Ransom says, clicking the reservation forms for
their beach stay. They’ll probably bring some of the team – Bitty, Jack, Shits,
Lardo, maybe Dex and Nursey if they can promise not to shoot each other,
Chowder if he wants to stay in a rental in Santa Cruz instead of his actual
house – but for the majority of the vacation it’ll be him and Ransom.
“Bro, just think
of how many hot chicks we’ll get to see,” Rans says, his head falling back in
delight.
“What? I’m only allowed to find half the population
attractive now?” Holster asks.
The words are out of his mouth before he really registers
what he’s just said, but Rans is staring at him, his eyes wide.
listen,,,, derek nurse takes a photography class SPECIFICALLY so he can make dex the subject of his series of photos and have him pose however nursey wants him
“nursey why do i have to put these flowers in my hair”
“u don’t want me to fail do you?”
“ok but is it necessary for me to take my shirt off?”
“srsly do you want my gpa to drop? bc i won’t be able to play if i fail this class”
meanwhile nursey has an 110% in the class and could literally not turn in the next 10 assignments and still manage a B in the class
I don’t want to be a jerk, hopping on this pure post and running wild, but think about the end-of-semester art show, where all the best projects from the various art classes are on display and the entire community is invited to see… and of course smh shows up, because that’s what they do… and maybe Dex isn’t prepared to see himself through the lens of Nursey’s camera.
The whole goal of this night was fun. They just scored some fake IDs, practice for tomorrow was
cancelled, and one of the clubs on campus is having $10 bottomless cup night.
Whiskey’s plan was to get drunk, maybe dance a little, stop by that greasy
pizza place on the walk back to the dorm, then crash until noon. Fun.
He did not expect this night to be a hazard to his goddamn
health. And yet here he is, watching Tango dance like he’s trying to end
Whiskey’s life.
Dex slams the door shut and presses against the wood, leaning his head back and sucking in a deep breath. He stares blindly up at the ceiling and–
“Nurse, I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in the room. Not counting me.” Lardo pretends to flip a lock of hair over her shoulder. “We all know I’d smoke you bitches,” she adds, grinning. Her teeth flash in the low lighting, and she knocks back the last of her drink as the gather group lets out joking boos.
They all “ooh” at Nursey as he raises a challenging eyebrow and smirks at Lardo. He makes a show of looking around the room, leering slightly at the other players of spin the bottle – Holster, Dex, Tango, Ollie, Wicks, and a few members of the volleyball and soccer teams. Bitty is grinning from his spot on the floor next to Lardo and Dex, watching as Nursey catches the eye of each person.
“Dex!” The memory is abruptly interrupted as Chowder’s voice comes from beyond the door. “Come on, man!” Dex tries to straighten up, but his legs refuse to work. He sinks down to the floor, back still pressed against the door, trying to suck in deep breaths of air. He drops his head between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and–
just moving along like everyone else 