Sometimes,
when Izuki Shun hangs out with Hayama Kotarou, he gets the distinct feeling
that he is being seduced. Which is a very strange feeling, for one thing,
because he is not really the type of person who gets seduced, much less
by an athlete of Hayama’s caliber, and also because he’s not entirely sure what
is involved in the finer arts of seduction, but it’s not certainly not always
what he would expect.
“That
is… certainly a very… thorough powerpoint presentation on the superiority
of bisexuality,” Izuki says slowly.
“Right?
It’s good though, yeah?”
“Yes,
er,” Izuki says, noticing Hayama’s particularly eager expression and wondering
if maybe he wanted feedback on his work. “The purple font on the pink
background made it a little hard to read, but I liked the animations and the
embedded sound effects. The, er, charts were also illuminating.”
“Thanks! I made those myself.” Hayama is still looking at Izuki expectantly,
like he’s waiting for Izuki to say something in particular.
“You
should send me a copy,” Izuki offers, “I’ll show it around Seirin. We’re a fairly
bisexual bunch.”
Hayama
blinks. “Wait, what? Like, all of you?”
Izuki
shrugs, feeling like he shouldn’t get into particulars about what he suspects
about the other members on the basketball team, “Good majority. You know, we’re
all about team play in Seirin. Never leave anyone bi themselves, that’s our motto.”
Hayama
bursts out laughing, and it will never stop being a surprise when he laughs at
one of Izuki’s puns. When Hayama leans in to take his phone back from Izuki, he
stays a little bit closer to him, and Izuki doesn’t move away.
*
“Is
he hitting on you with powerpoint presentations?” Hyuuga asks after reviewing
the presentation on Izuki’s phone.
“I—really
have no idea,” Izuki says. “Maybe?”
His
friend looks at him suspiciously. “Is it working?”
Izuki
shrugs, feeling a little helpless, “Kinda? It had some pretty impressive
charts, and apparently I am easily seduced by statistical analysis and
appreciation of puns.”
“Ugh,”
Hyuuga says, “This is going to make games against Rakuzan even more
complicated.”
“Oh
yeah, whereas crushing on people in the same club as you never has
complications,” Izuki says dryly.
“I
have now idea what you’re talking about,” Hyuuga says, scowling.
“Uh
huh, sure. Give me my phone back.”
A/N: I am so sorry for how long this Hayama/Izuki prompt has taken me! And also for
how short this one is. I feel like those two are a work-in-progress, and I’m
not entirely sure where they’re going to end up in this story. I love HayaIzu
though, so thanks for the prompts, anon-friends!!
No one notices that Dex and Nursey are together for two months. They’re surprisingly subtle about it, maintaining their decorum on the ice, saving their kisses for when they’re alone. They fight as much as they did before, because some things never change, but they resolve every issue with soft apologies and warm bodies in the dark of their rooms. It’s tentative but intense, and they’re both a little too afraid of the depth of their feelings to announce it to everyone – that would mean putting a name on it, on what they feel for each other, and they’re not there yet.
So they don’t say anything, and everyone’s too sure of their hatred for each other to see the change in their relationship. Two months since the first heated kiss in Dex’s room and the SMH are none the wiser. It’s almost too easy, Dex giving a practiced scowl whenever Chowder tries to get him to socialize with Nursey, Nursey shrugging nonchalantly whenever Ransom and Holster point out the pros of being friends and D-men. Even Bitty and Lardo miss the subtle cues they give: a glance here, a brush of a hand there, Nursey eyeing the delightful red of Dex’s blush whenever his shirt rides up to show a slither of toned, dark skin. They get a little reckless, stealing kisses in the Haus just outside the kitchen doorway as Bitty putters about inside, exploring each other’s bodies in the stands at Faber. They begin to talk about them a little more, growing more and more confident each day in themselves and their relationship to the point that Dex thinks they might soon be brave enough to define it.
And then they play Michigan, and everything goes to shit.
It’s a rough game, rougher than any of them have played in a long time, and they’re not prepared. Bitty gets checked in the first period and it’s dirty. He’s lucky it’s not worse, but he has to sit out for the rest of the game and they’re furious. The SMH are now on edge, every one of them out for blood, but even when Tango checks the guy who’d got Bitty hard, Michigan don’t let up. The atmosphere in the stands has gone from enthusiastic to tense, angry ripples running through the crowd, and it doesn’t help the team keep a level head. At the end of the second period Bitty calls them over and gives them a fond but firm talking to – he’s not a damsel they need to defend; they can’t stoop to Michigan’s level; they need to play their best and play for themselves, not to prove something to their opponents. Rans and Holtz give him surprisingly gentle hugs, tease him about being a shoo-in for Captain next year (everyone else agrees) and give their own brief rallying call.
When they go back out on the ice they’re braced to win with pride, or at least go down with dignity. Dex makes sure to skate a little too close to Nursey as they take their positions, a brief brush of arms as reassurance that they’re there, it’s okay, it’s fine. Something warm settles in Nursey’s chest, and he’s ready. The final period starts, and they’re off. The SMH play valiantly and cleanly, resistant and stoic in the face of Michigan’s questionable tactics, and it does them good. It looks like they’re going to win as they enter the final five minutes, and Dex can’t resist flashing a grin at Nursey as he hits the puck up to Tango. Nursey means to return it, meets Dex’s gaze – and catches the moment that a Michigan player crashes into Dex.
The check is violent to the extreme and completely illegal. Everyone’s yelling around them, the crowd in uproar, the paramedics making their way out onto the ice, the team screaming at Michigan. Nursey just freezes where he stands, stares at Dex’s unmoving form, watches as the paramedics search for a pulse. The relief is palpable when they find it, but Dex is still unconscious, and is that blood? Red is seeping onto the ice, staining the delicate strands of Dex’s ginger hair a vicious red. There’s a brief moment when Nursey remembers the night before, lying in Dex’s bed, running his hands through that beautiful hair, and then-
“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.
just moving along like everyone else 