#lomittz

i love how the skateboard gives him the extra inch or so

YES EXACTLY

1) Keats has sent bags of Starburst to Kent at least half a dozen times. Each time the bags don’t have a single yellow Starburst in them. Keats always writes the same damn note in them. “Yellow is for when I see you. Which means, if you want a yellow one, you have to come see me.” Kent always replies, “I can always buy my own.” To which Keats replies. “But this one has been in my pocket waiting for you.”

2) Seven times out of ten, Keats will always offer his lap before he offers Kent a chair. Keats likes to say that it’s a space saver. It’s only true about 33.333% of the time.

3) Keats’ music interests are usually Kent’s interests’ rivals. Kent loves Britney, Keats will stan Christina Aguilera. Kent loves Katy Perry, Keats will find one song of Taylor Swift that he likes. Kent likes NSYNC, Keats will blast BSB. Kent loves Carly Rae Jepsen, Keats also loves Carly Rae Jepsen. Because everyone loves her. Same with Kesha.

4) They have a secret handshake. Keats is mad that he didn’t come up with the idea. Since he didn’t come up with it, he tries to add to it each year just to complicate things.

5) When Kent pisses Keats off (by scoring gaming winning goals against the Schooners, or by chirping too good, or by eating the last donut), Keats sends him pictures of cats and dogs from animal shelters that Kent will never be able to adopt. It’s a little cruel, but between Kent and Keats, the pets eventually get adopted within ten days. Not by Kent.

6) Collecting hotel pens is a competition between them. They had to change the rules because Keats would just run into hotel lobbies asking to borrow a pen even if he wasn’t staying in that hotel. Keats didn’t think it fair to him because Kent is surrounded by hotels. There are between 6 and 11 rules, so far. (Please don’t ask me about them. The first rule about collecting hotel pens is...)

7) They also get really, really competitive about TsumTsum. Keats is all about the high score while Kent is all about making all the money to be able to buy all the TsumTsums. At least once a week, they’ll both receive texts from the other that just says, “Send me a heart, you fuck. Love you.”

8) They wait for each other to be in the same time zone to watch sitcoms together. If someone is on the east coast, they’ll wait until they’re both back in the west to watch the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine or The Good Place. They rabbit if they don’t get to watch live. If they do get to watch live, they are texting each other back and forth constantly. Every year during the offseason, they marathon Happy Endings.

9) They always wear matching suits to the NHL awards. They plan it, but they always pretend that it’s a coincidence. Kent usually wins the Who Wore it Best contests. Keats is always in disbelief about that. “How? You wore a snapback with a suit?!”

10) For Kent’s 21st birthday, Keats made a batch of jungle juice that was so potent that they ended up at a chapel about two minutes from getting married before Swoops stepped in to stop them. Keats was bummed about it and in his drunken moment bought a ukulele, learned how to play like 5 chords, and wrote a song about how he was a better hockey player than Kent, but Kent had better hair. Neither of them has any recollection of that night. And Keats only remembers how to play the ukulele when he’s drunk.

From this prompt list.

I hope this makes sense! 🤞🤞🤞 *drugs mention* (read on ao3)

“Hey, Jack!” Holster calls up the stairs. “You’ve got mail.” He heads into the kitchen to let that various letters and packages slip onto the large box addressed to his captain on the kitchen table for everyone to sort through themselves.

Back in the living room, he can hear the tell-tale bubbling of Shitty’s bong before Ransom echos “You’ve Got Mail!” in his best AOL impression. Holster rolls his eyes and searches through the letters to see if any of the mass is for him. Shitty’s signature giggle follows another bong rip.

Jack’s feet patter down the stairs in worn socks with more urgency than usual. He skates across the wood on the landing and shoots for the kitchen.

“What the rush, Jackie-O? Expecting a skin mag?”

“Skin mag? You sound fifty. And there’re lots more interesting that come in the mail than softcore porn, Shits,” Jack says with a small “heh.”

Ransom follows him into the kitchen with Shitty following leisurely behind. Holster looks up from a bill-looking-letter and points Jack toward the giant box with neat script on the side reading “For Zimms’ Eyes Only.” Jack hefts the box into his arms and turns to head back to his room, but the doorway is blocked by Ransom leaning against the door jam. Jack levels him with a look.

“Can I get through?”

“Depends, what’s so exciting about the box?” Ransom asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What’s in the booooox,” Holster mumbles under his breath with limited enthusiasm, opening another letter.

Jack taps the note on the side with purpose. “Who knows, but it seems I’m the only one that’s going to find out.”

Ransom pouts and shuffles past him to look through the mail pile. Shitty looks at the package and back to Jack nodding and turns to head upstairs himself. Jack shakes his head and follows. Sure enough, when he opens his door--balancing his package on his hip--Shitty is already laying out on his bed in just his boxers with his bong cradled in the crook of his arm.

Jack searches for his scissors, finds them under a textbook, and gets to cutting the tape on the box, careful to not damage the return address in a heartwarming, familiar script. He opens the flaps to reveal pink tissue paper and a note. He picks up the card and flips it over:

Zimms,

I know it’s been tough being apart. I wish I could be with you on Valentine’s Day. Hope this helps you feel a little closer to me on the day and helps you cope with the crazy amount of lovey-dovey couples (and possible party in your ‘Haus’).

<3 Kenny

(P.S. you can share with Shitty and pls tell him to cuddle you on vday for me??)

He peels back the tissue paper. The familiar texture and colors make his breath catch for a moment, already knowing what his boyfriend sent him: his home jersey. Jack carefully lifts it out of the pink ocean of paper and holds it to his nose. He’s overwhelmed with the scent of Kent’s cologne. In the bottom of the box under more tissue paper are three heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, one with a sticky note labelled Shitty’s.

“Your boy giving you feelings over there?” Shitty asks, breaking the heavy mist of affection that was settling over Jack.

Jack shakes his head and strips out of his hoodie to slip on Kent’s jersey. He curls the ends of the sleeves over his fists for a second appreciating the familiar weight. “He got you chocolate for valentine’s and said you have to cuddle me.”

“What a good fucking man,” Shitty laughs out and makes grabby hands without any sign of trying to get up. Jack tosses his chocolates on the bed beside him.

i wish ao3 had the 'primary ship tag' thing, bcs well how many of these fics are actualy about these parings ;-; we will never know

“– And so, I, um.” Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. It was a little tough to explain what he was doing back at the hotel so early. He was sure Saints had expected him to be out for quite some time. “I just came back early. I didn’t think you’d mind.” 

“Whoa, hold the fuck up –” Saints wheeled around, toothbrush still in his mouth. “You did what, now?”

“I just came back early,” Jeff repeated.

Saints swished water in his mouth and ducked into the bathroom to spit in the sink. “Without a girl,” he said.

“Uh –” Jeff blinked. “Yes.”

Saints tilted his head, regarding Jeff quietly for a few minutes. In all honesty, he was beginning to regret saying he’d room with him on this roadie. Everybody knew goalies were weird, but Saints was just… he could be a bit off-putting. “Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Jeff sat on the bed, bending to take off his shoes. “Can’t a guy have a night off?”

“I mean, yeah,” Saints said, flipping off the bathroom light. He went to his own bed, flopping down. “But that’s not what this is, is it?”

Jeff rubbed his face with both hands. “Ramón,” he said. “Please. Don’t.”

Crossing his arms behind his head, Saints looked up at the ceiling. “De ilusión también se vive,” he said.

is,the tip of her tail white ?omg *-*

it baffles me that people won't admit that he's a mentally ill character just because what we get to see in the comic is him manifesting 'ugly symptoms'

There’s this view of life that’s very like... either you are a Good Person, and a victim, and do only good things, and are very oppressed, or you are a Bad Person, and you have lots of privilege and power, and you hurt other people. Those are the ONLY TWO OPTIONS POSSIBLE.

Kent Parson is a lot of peoples’ personal image of a Bad Person--a white guy who behaves shittily--so us saying he’s sympathetic and relatable is tantamount to saying, “But really he’s perfect and pure and should never be held accountable for his actions and also you’re not allowed to fight back or think your abuser was bad if they have a mental illness.”

There are two types of Kent haters I’ve met who fall prey to this kind of thinking

1. People who realize that we are not actually saying the latter thing, but still hear it implicitly loudly enough that they find Kent-love unpleasant, so they do their best to stay away from it. (The Two Types of People is a mindset that’s useful in an emergency, but unhelpful and hard to root out over the long term)

5. In the back seat of the car

“Dude, can you just –” Jeff tried to shift around, but to be honest? The back seat of Kent’s car was way too small for a tall guy. All of Jeff’s 6′5″ self felt cramped.

“Ow!” Kent whapped Jeff’s arm with one hand. “Watch it! Fuck, that was my eye!”

“Oh my god,” said Jeff. “Stop. Stop. C’mere.” He pulled Kent onto his lap. “Next time we go to a movie, we’re going to a theatre, okay?” The drive-in was a cute idea, but damn. “Either that or you’re getting a bigger car.”

Kent laughed and pressed a kiss to the side of Jeff’s head. “Yes, sir,” he said.

30. Out of necessity 

“I can’t believe I’m at a college party and somebody talked me into playing seven fucking minutes in heaven,” Jeff said. He was stuck in a closet with Eric, no less, the both of them still on cautious terms with each other given… everything.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Eric said. “But we might as well make the best of –”

“I’m not kissing you,” Jeff said. “You can forget that.”

“That was not even remotely on my mind,” said Eric.