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1/?

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[zimmerbittle]

The bruise on Jack's jaw looks worse now, in the wan light of Bitty's bedside lamp. Bitty's gaze catches on it while Jack slides off the side of the bed and rubs a hand over it, rasping on fresh stubble.

"Are you sure you don't need anything? Some painkillers? I might even have scar cream for that lyin' around, if you want."

Jack's mouth twitches, but he shakes his head. "It's fine, Bittle. It doesn't hurt that bad."

"If you say so…" Bitty sits up when Jack steps into his underwear and drags them up his thick thighs. He's got some red marks around his hips, but they're faint enough that they should fade before attracting anyone's notice. "That hit was still nasty, Jack. Martin better pay for it next time you've got a game against the Isles."

"Ha. I'm sure Tater's already got it covered." Jack crouches to collect his discarded clothes from all over the floor. He's facing away from Bitty when he says: "Though we’re not playing them again until the middle of March."

"...Oh."

They aren't playing the Rangers or the Devils until March, either; Bitty knows because he checked. That's two months without Jack coming up to New York. Without an excuse to see him.

Bitty tries to rein in his disappointment, and horribly fails.

It's quiet while Jack gets dressed. Bitty watches him from the bed, sheets pooled in his lap, hands fisted in the sheets. Jack pulls on his dress shirt and leaves it hanging open from his shoulders as he slips into his pants, pulls on his socks. His abs flex when he bends down to lace up his shoes.

"We're playing the Flyers in two weeks," he says apropos of nothing while he’s buttoning up his shirt. Bitty stares at the dark strip of hair on Jack’s broad chest, slowly disappearing under the fabric, then determinedly averts his eyes.

"Uh… Okay?"

Jack's face is downturned, shadowed in the dim room, eyes on his hands wrapping his blue tie around his neck and adjusting it under the collar. "Philly’s two hours away. Probably less, that late at night."

Bitty's heart starts beating faster, but he valiantly keeps his expression neutral. "Probably."

"If you want…" Jack’s tone is unreadable. He tugs on the knot of his tie; Bitty itches to get up and bat his hands away, straighten the tie into place himself, but doesn’t dare move.

"Oh, I – if you’re sure!" Bitty bites his lip so hard it hurts. "That’s a heck of a drive after playing a game, though."

Jack puts his jacket on and finally looks up. He looks so sharp in the low light, so elegantly put-together in the tailored lines of his game day suit. It almost hurts to look at him. Only his mussed hair and flushed cheeks hint that he was naked and coming undone in Bitty’s bed only half an hour ago.

"It’s fine. I’ve got this BBC podcast I’ve been meaning to get to anyway." Jack swipes his keys and his wallet from Bitty’s dresser, then takes the step back towards the bed. "Or maybe I could listen to that playlist you made back in college. For before games. If those basses won’t keep me awake nothing will, eh?"

Bitty almost can’t believe Jack remembers that – although, it shouldn’t surprise him that Jack still remembers all of his past teammates’ pre-game rituals. "You, listening to Beyoncé and Sia for two hours? I don’t know, Jack. All that culture shock while drivin’ sounds pretty dangerous."

"Well, I do live for danger," Jack deadpans, and leans down to kiss the startled laugh off Bitty’s lips. Then he pats his pockets one last time, bids Bitty goodbye, and leaves.

Bitty lies down on his bed, still warm with their shared body heat, and tries to convince himself it doesn't mean anything when a boy is willing to drive two hours just for a booty call.

[zimmerbittle]

it's a beautiful day on america's gayest college campus and you are a horrible little sentient well

[zimmerbittle]

hes not just some guy. not to me. not if he has autism

[zimmerbittle]

"What if Bitty had another nickname," Holster offers abruptly. The question falls into dead air, room going silent, as the inhabitants flap their lips weakly. No noise falls out.

Chowder frowns. "His name is Bitty, isn't it? Because it shortens to Bits?"

Dex blinks - oncetwicethrice confusion - and raises his hand. "I don't like that."

"It feels inherently wrong," Nursey agrees. The two eye each other with mutual distress and horror, both at the suggestion and the fact that they've agreed on something in public. Where other people can see. It's too horrible to contemplate for long.

"I mean, Bits has a first name, right?" asks Shitty. There's a pause. "Right?"

"Of course Bitty has a first name," Lardo retorts, but her voice wavers. Pouncing on the moment of weakness, Holster opens his mouth as if to repeat the question. Ransom presses a gentle hand over his mouth and keeps it there.

"Johnson would know," Chowder mutters.

Shitty pats his poor baffled face. "Johnson would leave us more confused than we started, good man."

"Let's ask Jack," Dex offers, tone desperate. Eager eyes spin to him as he dials Jack's number.

"I think he's in class," Ransom points out.

Holster escapes the confines of his hand. "This is more important than his education."

"What's Bitty's first name?" Nursey demands into the phone, arm shoving Dex's face away, and Dex attempts to bite him before ending up with a mouthful of sweater. Privately, he thinks tastes like ink and old books as he scrapes his tongue. The implausibility of this doesn't occur to him.

From the other end of the phone, there's the sound of Canadian confusion. It sounds like regular confusion, but with more tricks of the mind. "Eric?"

"No, I'm Derek," Nursey stresses, and Jack hangs up the phone.

"I guess we'll never know," Lardo says, relieved, and focuses back on her latest sketch. Holster opens his mouth the speak again. Ransom places one hand, then the other, over his face.

[zimmerbittle]

not to be controversial, but ford isn’t an actor. she’s obviously a techie. “she knows all the words to defying gravity” yeah but not by CHOICE. before stage managing, she was a techie. she loves gaff tape more than she loves like, anything else. she knows how to lift stuff twice her size. she always has a spare crescent wrench in her pocket that she got (stole, by accident) from the cats. she has no clue what a tenor is, but she does know what a cyc light is. she has strong opinions on what the best power tools are and is deathly afraid of the table saw. she has one of those little gel sample books and has a scrap of a gel taped over her phone flashlight at all times. she owns so much all-black clothing. she coils all her chargers.

[zimmerbittle]

This is so fucking cursed and I’m so sorry to bring this into your lives but this is how Holster cuts his hair I’m so sorry

[zimmerbittle]

picture of the zimmermann’s on a red carper goes viral with the caption “whole family thick for no reason”

[zimmerbittle]

ngozi is queen of predictable cliffhangers and even though i call them predictable, she gets me every fucking time

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i screamed 😭😩💀

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I can’t wait for the Falcs to get Beyoncé to do a pregame show.

Jack even allows Bitty to be there in person to bask in her glow.

And just before she gets to her last song, Beyoncé pauses to make an announcement. 

“I want to send a message out to someone special. Someone who has touched the hearts of so many people.” 

And she’ll look Bitty straight in the eye, smile, and croon: 

“Bitty… finish your thesis.”

[zimmerbittle]

so that entitlement thing

this same person, interestingly enough:

full disclosure: i know MANY readers who enjoy parse as a character and who are good and responsible humans. Those readers are wonderful! Thank you for treating me fairly and with respect!

But every time I encounter a reader who treats me this way, they are always parse fans. It’s been this way for years. Always, after dozens of instances, the people who don’t care about my feelings, care more about the fictional character, the fictional white man that I created. That came from my mind. They are always parse fans. How delusional must you be to not see how this is an issue?

[zimmerbittle]

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[zimmerbittle]

Jack's mind