@obsessiveshayme
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@obsessiveshayme

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Iâve decided to fold this blog and put it back into @puckmemotherpucker. So for more reblogged posts and the occasional fic, go there. :)
Iâve decided to fold this blog and put it back into @puckmemotherpucker. So for more reblogged posts and the occasional fic, go there. :)
As per the first prompt on this post -Â
âTabarnakâ is the first thing Bitty hears when he startles awake, though it is quickly followed by âFuckâ.
He sits up and immediately realises he is not alone in bed. In fact, there is a very large someone standing on his bed? Or maybe somehow through it. Standing through his bed between his legs.
Panic immediately sets in. He canât reach his hockey stick; it is across the dorm. How the hell is he going to hit this guy who is speakingâŚFrench? This guy is tearing his hair out and mumbling to himself.
Maybe old Bits can turn on some charm and get this man out of his bed atâŚ
âOh my god! It is 2am! I have my French food in popular culture class at 9am! What the devil are you doing in my bed?â
He drops his phone and lets his eyes adjust from the screen so he could finally see the intruder. He was actually rather handsome. His eyes were wide and blue and he was built. Oh gosh, Bitty recognised him.
Somehow NHL star Jack Zimmerman was standing in between his legs through his bed. Maybe Bitty was still dreaming.
âI was trying to get to Montreal but missed the mark a bit, eh?â
okay, but imagine itâs the beginning of Bittyâs senior year, and the new tiny tadpoles canât help but be a little intimidated by him, despite how nice he is because heâs the captain, and clearly the Haus is his domain, and half the starting line up calls him Mom unironically, and then thereâs the Other Thing.
finally one of them plucks up the courage to ask him and is like âum, Bitty? is it true youâre dating Jack Zimmermann?â
and Bitty just lowers his marc by marc jacobs sunglasses with one finger and says firmly, âAbsolutely not.â the poor kid is stammering out an apology when Bitty talks over him, saying, âJack Zimmermann is dating me.â

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*Holster lookin out of the attic window through his binoculars at the beautiful tanned LAX bros in the yard across the way*
âO Lacrosse bro, Lacrosse bro! Wherefore art thou a Lacrosse bro? Deny thy Captain and refuse thy sport. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love.â
just figured it out: the reason why they never made a movie where air bud plays hockey is because it would have to be called air hockey
what the fuck, brooks. you and i BOTH know that that is not the nomenclature of the air bud series. besides, you need two points of contact to correctly hold a stick so there would need to be TWO dogs so clearly the title would be âair buds: two dogsâ
oh, look who thinks heâs the big fucking air bud expert
âyeah, uh, air bud canât hold a fuckinâŚstick, because, uhâ oh wait
fuck your essentialist holding technique. you fucking trash
i do like âair bud: two dogsâ though. maybe a tandem cycling movie?
please, as if i was suggesting a RETRIEVER cant hold a STICK i meant that he could not ARTICULATE A STICK IN A WAY THAT REQUIRES A FULCRUM ONLY USING HIS MOUTH
such as the motions required for EVEN THE MoST BASIC HOCKEY ACTIONS. whats he gonna do?? fuckin spin on the ice? DO YOU THINK THEY MAKE SKATES FOR DOGS, BROOKS?
way to align yourself with the evil rival coach in literally every air bud movie
âyeah, uh, air bud canât have special, uh,âŚshoes, because, uhâ oh wait
buddy could at least be the fucking goalie (it would fit the theme of the film if josh were the one trying to score anyway). we could even call it, fucking⌠air bud: penalty barks. not so goddamn smart now huh
PLEASE, and catch with his mouth? do you know what rubber at that velocity will do to his poor dog teeth? do you want buddy to never eat solid food again?
sure is casual in here! you act as if buddy doesnât already subsist entirely on vanilla pudding and go-gurts
well this brings to the fore the Big Question of the franchise: is buddy merely a talented dog or is he magical? no normal dog could survive with such a massive deficiency of protein in his diet (given he consumes stock, child-friendly puddings and yogurts and not protein-enhanced) let alone play competitive sport against creatures with more usable limbs and opposable thumbs
but if he is magic, is he worthy of praise? is the only magical dog of his kind (prior to his talking progeny, best left unmentioned) and if not, how could we praise him for talents innate to his magic and not earned by virtue of strict training
is he truly
a Good Dog?
or just good magic in a dog body
i appreciate the critical engagement with the media here but please recall that the heart of the air bud series, and by extension, the fatal flaw of the air buddies series, is that air bud is a real-life talented dog. the air bud credit sequence confirms this:
buddy is actually making those free throws himself, like a canine jackie chan. the story of air bud, though dramatized to fit hollywood sensibilities, was based on the real-life buddy, a stray who, when adopted, just so happened to be a ballerÂ
consider, then, how air buddies completely misses the mark (airballs, if you will) on what made air bud a timeless classic. theyâre barely even dogs. theyâre talking cgi abominations that go to fucking space. we know there ainât no rule say the dog canât play basketball, but there are a shit-ton of rules about the dog leaving earthâs orbit. like, iâm all for a true-to-life movie about laika, but space buddies is not that. itâs a crock of soulless bullshit
so yes, air bud is worthy of praise, and i would argue that heâs under-praised. in his life, buddy was nominated for all of 1 hollywood award, a kidâs choice award for favorite animal star, which went to salem from sabrina the teenage witch. itâs almost understandable that the handlers of buddyâs estate would allow the travesty of air buddies to happen, given that a magical talking cat beat out a legitimately talented dog. itâs bullshit top to bottom, and buddy is a truly good dog
i can only contribute a mockup of the potential poster. i do of course know that buddy would never play for a team as ruthless as boston but i couldnât find an image of a golden retriever in a leafs jersey, which of course represents the sort of underDOGS that the air bud franchise is so fond of
RAE HOLY SHIT
Sometimes u just gotta draw sad boys to pass the time ya know
Ransom: What's wrong?
Holster: Jack is saying common phrases wrong.
Jack: Oh, cry me a table, Holster.
do y'all sometimes just stop and remember that Bitty and Jack teamed up to kidnap Chowder for hazeapalooza, and that Bitty brought pie to the kidnapping, and then very nicely asked Chow to put the kidnapping sack over his head without being able to tell him why, and that Jack, so fed up with Bittyâs kidnapping incompetence, tugged it over the screaming goalieâs head himself b4 shoving everyone out of the room? bc I do and like
Like okay, a few thingsÂ
Chris Chowâs fucking life must have flashed before his eyes to have Jack Zimmermann stuff a sack on his head. Should he be terrified? Or grateful? Because if this is how he goes itâs a pretty cool story all things considered
fUCK IF THIS ISNâT HOW JACK & BITTY ACT AS PARENTS. Bits fusses & frets over his babies & Jack gets them all out of the fucking house some way or another. (Bittyâs all âBeth, honey, whereâs your jacket? Get your jacket onâoh dear, Jaime, did you forget to do your homework again? Here baby let me justâno, thatâs 42, not 67, thatâs not how multiplication worksâDylan baby did you want another pancake?â while Jackâs pretty much âALRIGHT EVERYBODY IN THE CAR, ITâS TEN MINUTES TO FIRST BELL, LETâS HUSTLEâ and then proceeds to scoop up all three small children & dump them in the car while Bitty scrambles to get them all the correct sack lunch)
And yet, when the kids get in trouble, itâs Bitty theyâre more afraid of. Because Bitty will give the âIâm not mad at you. Iâm just really disappointedâ speech and thatâs somehow worse than Jackâs yelling.

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Zimbits + OTP Bot
@dereknursey suggested trans woman Shitty a while ago and Iâm still 110% in favor of this let me tell you. Literally. Right now.
Graduating from Samwell, trans woman Shitty knew about gender, but she didnât know gender. To metaphor for a moment: I can tell you how a car works - engine, drivetrain, fuel system, electrical system, steering, suspension, all of it - but I donât know cars. I canât listen to a car and say, âhmm, the engine is knocking pretty badly - letâs check if thereâs something wrong with the MAFâ. Shitty knew what âtransâ means - knew that gender is not gender roles, knew that gender is not anatomy, knew even that the equivocation of anatomy and physical sex is just as much of a social construct as gender and gender roles are - but at no point did anyone tell Shitty how you recognize your own gender.
Which in practice, as of Shitty graduating from Samwell, meant that Shittyâs gender identification was based on nothing more than assignment at birth and stereotypes about men and women. Never mind four years of Womenâs Gender and Sexuality Studies to learn on a gut level that these have about as much to do with gender as whether your mother slept on her left side or her right while she was carrying you; even if you wouldnât make the same mistake now, youâre not going to know that you made a mistake until you go back to check your work, and even then you need to have something to work with. âI donât know how to tell my genderâ often turns into âIâll just stick with what Iâve gotâ in practice.
On the subject of stereotypes: Shitty fucking loves hockey. (And swearing, and partying, but hockey most definitely.) Shitty wasnât a great hockey player, as others have pointed out - NHL was nowhere on her radar, nor she on NHLâs - but she loves the hell out of the game, she loves playing it, and the hardest thing about her first semester at Harvard Law was not playing any more.
(If Harvard didnât already have rules about trans athletes, they would after Shitty realized and started transitioning. They probably wouldnât even argue about it. What scientific knowledge we have about athletics tells us that thereâs no advantage to trans athletes on hormone replacement therapy over cis athletes, and there are already tons of precedents for inclusion. Itâs possible that the league could argue, itâs even possible that Harvard itself might argue, but it wouldnât matter if they did - they would lose.)
(Itâs not likely, though. Sheâd probably just have to wait a year before they let her play in games with the womenâs team.)
(Joining the womenâs ice hockey team wouldnât make Shitty a better hockey player. Being consciously determined to play cleaner than anyone else in the league (because sheâs never going to justify the stereotype of trans women as brutes, even by accident) ⌠might.)
Point being, though: Shittyâs interests were stereotypically masculine. She wasnât playing with dolls, she wasnât wearing skirts, she wasnât quiet and submissive ⌠she was, as far as cliches go, a total bro. No-one ever looked at her and said, âhave you ever wondered ifâ.
And on the subject of looks: Shitty knew her mustache was awesome. She didnât realize her mustache was bleeding her with gender dysphoria every time she looked at it.
Or that she liked to be naked because sometimes pants and menâs shirts did the same thing.
Or that she loved her flow and her floral snapbacks because they didnât, not just because theyâre awesome. (The funeral for Shittyâs flow is definitely canon in this verse.)
How did Shitty figure it out, anyway? Well, five people came out to Shitty in a week at Samwell; people didnât stop coming out to Shitty just because she graduated. When one of her classmates came to her after a study group to talk, Shitty understood what ze was saying partially - enough to help, enough to explain to zir the things that a WGSS major knows that almost nobody else is taught, enough to help zir navigate the resources available to zir at Harvard ⌠but not enough to understand why so many things ze said to explain how ze knew ze wasnât a woman resonated.
Shitty still didnât understand on the day she stayed late at one of the Trans* Task Force meetings sheâd been attending with her friend to talk to Egypt, this amazing goddess of a woman who helped organize the meetings. Shitty didnât understand, but the question was growing too big to bear.
They ended up talking for four hours. There was a lot of hugging and crying.
The first person Shitty came out to after that conversation was Lardo. Second was Jack. Third was Jayden, the friend from her study group whoâd come out to her and asked for help. Fourth was Nursey.
(Her conversation with Nursey ended up almost as long as her conversation with Egypt, and while Shitty had a feeling Nursey wasnât talking about himself, she sent him a list of resources anyway.)
When she came out to her mother, her mother hugged her immediately and told her how proud she was of her brilliant, fierce, independent-minded daughter. They read a lot of books together over the next few years, including Nurseyâs first book of poetry.
(Shitty didnât recognize the dedication âto my friend and confidant, Willa J.â until the second edition, when Dex finally convinced Nursey it was okay to include her last name.)
Shitty came out to her father braced for a fight, but he just said, âHuh. So, are you thinking about changing your name? Is Shitty a girlâs name?â, and they ended up talking about how she should approach Harvard University Athletics about joining the womenâs ice hockey team.
(Like I said: Harvard probably didnât argue. If they did, they would lose.)
(And she wasnât sure if she liked the hat her father sent with ââĽÂ SHITTI âĽâ embroidered on it, but Lardo busted a gut laughing when Shitty first put it on, so she didnât get rid of it.)
Shitty got a job working for a 501(c)(4) LGBTQ political advocacy organization out of law school.
She was invited on the Daily Show once. The extended interview was two and a half hours. She still gets letters.
(Thanks to @aergie, @jenroses, and @icosahedonist from the chat for looking at the draft of this!)
Whaddaya know, @chowder-official, Iâm crying too.
âI donât know how to tell my genderâ often turns into âIâll just stick with what Iâve gotâ in practice.
Yeah, that.
Older zimbits where nhl player jack lives next door to baking legend bitty and jack thinks bitty is real cute so he appears next door to awkwardly ask for sugar/eggs/flour because heâs ââbakingââ when in fact all he has in his cupboards is milk, half a bag of flour (from bitty) and protein shake mix
oh mny GOSH.
Jack gets in over his head way faster than he would have expected, is the thing.
Itâs the third time Jack is knocking on his door within two weeks.
When he asks for brown sugar, Bitty just grins and says, âSure thing, mister! But since this is the third time, you gotta bring me a bit of whatever you make, you hear?â
Heâs all smiles, clearly just teasingâmaybe even flirting? (Jack thinks, is he flirting?)
Jack manages to go, âYes, okay,â and turn around to leave, but internally he is like, âoh no oh NO OH NOOOOO,â because he is not going to bake anything so he is not going to have anything to bring to Bitty.
Keep reading
So Kent Parson goes to a Pride parade in Vegas, and when pictures of him pop up on various tabloid magazines, the press after the game ask him why he was at Pride.
Kent: Well, you know, my boyfriendâs gay, so I decided Iâd go out and support him.
just a quick thing cause these two are KILLIN ME

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what an asshole
Chowder pulled back after a few minutes, looking upward. Nurseyâs relaxed grin seemed to glow in the sunlight, just like the rest of him.Â
It was beautiful, Chowder thought. Nursey was beautiful.
âmemento mori by someobscurereference
Please read this lovely Nursey/Chowder fic and ship them with me!!