ansel

you hate fraser minten and expect me to reblog your missing sister? she/her 18

[mintkawa]

lucy & schroeder but bedmint :)

inspired by this post <3 ty for the inspo @cornshowercurtain !

Post by @cornshowercurtain · 1 image

💬 3  🔁 22  ❤️ 178 · have we thought hard enough about connor bedard being the loud lucy to fraser minten's piano-playing schroeder

[fraisebrin]

fraser as rory gilmore and connor as jess mariano send tweet

[fraisebrin]

connor’s private story

[fraisebrin]

connor shares his spotify activity with his friends, naturally frank abuses this knowledge and loves to stalk connor’s activity to chirp him about his music. usually it’s the same typical country or rap blasted in locker rooms, but after a game with boston, suddenly connor puts on daniel caesars ‘Who Knows’ non stop for the entire week. that is how frank discovers about connor’s 7 year situationship with a certain center from boston bruins

[fuggpuxks]

thinking about what kind of long distance couple bedmint would be!!! They spend all summer together only to have to readjust to the distance again once the season starts again and Connor is having major boyfriend withdrawals. He down bad, okay? and not having Fraser close to shower with small daily boyfriend-ish gifts is killing him a little (a lot). And whereas Fraser is good with words, always knowing what Connor needs to hear for encouragement and reassurance, Connors gift giving is his way of silently telling Fraser-"look! I see you! I know you, I listen to everything you talk about- your largest desires and your smallest wants! I know you so well from my observations that I can easily pick out what I know you would appreciate the most. I've observed you to your very core and I know what you like, see? do you like it? I was right, right? I picked correctly? Of course I did, I know you. No amount of distance can change that.

He passes Fraser's favorite candy in the store and it stings that he knows theres no point in him buying it for a boyfriend that can no long receive them. Fraser's all the way in Boston and Connor is stuck moping in Chicago every time he sees a book, mug, hat or even a pen he knows Fraser would like. Sometimes he buys the items anyways, it's something for him to look forward to the next time he sees his boyfriend. But the waiting is killing him. He's the type to buy a gift and immediately want to tell the person what he got them. He's practicing a lot of self restraint by not immediately snapping a photo of his small gifts and sending them to Fraser.

What he missed most though was surprising Fraser with flowers. Fraser told him once, whispering to him in bed, they were his favorite thing to receive from Connor. He had sounded embarrassed about it but nothing could stop the warmth that flooded Connor's chest at the admission. Connors also couldn't fight the small, smug smile that found his way onto his face because his suspicion was correct; Fraser was the kind of guy that liked receiving flowers but would never ask for them.

All that to say, it kills Connor that he can't give flowers to Fraser during the season. Until he remembers he can. Online ordering exists. He knows Frasers address, favorite flowers, and his schedule to know when he would be home to receive them. Connor can't believe he forgot about ordering things to Frasers apartment as a surprise. And soon he can't help himself; he's ordering congratulatory flowers every time Fraser has a good game and his favorite candy and flowers every times he has a less than stellar one. It gets out of control fairly quick, Connor isn't realizing how many times he clicking the 'place order' button on his phone confirming another impromptu gift. Fraser could send him a picture of the book he's reading and Connor wouldn't be able to fight the urge to hit the 'order again' button. It's become wired into Connors brain to send flowers anytime he feels affection towards Fraser.

Fraser is actually starting to get freaked out. His apartment has more flowers than he has vases and he has no clue where or who they are coming from. Whoever is sending them never leaves a name (Connor has never realized that the text box on the order page is for writing a message) and at this point, Fraser is a little paranoid he has a stalker. A stalker that knows his favorite flowers, candy, tea, and even candle scent (Yes, one bouquet did come with a candle. The nice kind that Fraser feels a little ridiculous spending money on and if it's currently burning in his living room thats no ones business but his own), but a stalker nonetheless. But he's also pretty sure his stalker is his boyfriend in Chicago. Something in him refuses to ask, a part of him afraid that if he points it out, the flowers will arrive less frequently. However, his suspicions is laid to rest when he gets his confirmation in the form of a text weeks later from his boyfriend:

Connor: "hey frase the flower shop I order from says that I bought all of their flowers that you like and will be out of stock for a bit because "I depleted their stock because of how often I was buying them and they can't get any more until next month". Is it okay if I just send u a pic with my shirt off instead? 🤥

[fraisebrin]

FRASERS SMALL SMILE SEEING CONNOR AND GHEN CONFUSION THEN THEM BEING CONTENT WHEN KISSING I CANNOT CONTAIN MY AWW

connor likes to keep fraser on his toes with his silly little tricks

[fraisebrin]

basketball caps

[balaclava-trismegistus]

Just saw my doctor type "FUCKED FOR LIFE" on my chart then he turned the screen away and stopped making eye contact with me

[etheltempest]

[reducedhorizon]

TEAM CANADA TEAMMATES FACE OFF IN HILARIOUS BUBBLE HOCKEY TOURNAMENT

[etheltempest]

#neverforget when bedsy accidentally got in line with the wrong team

[fraisebrin]

connor bedard: dawg in the streets, puppy in the sheets

[fraisebrin]

to make up lost time

Connor doesn't know anything about pianos. He knows Fraser can't stay the night because he has to practice.

Those two facts become very expensive.

Or: Fraser mentions, exactly once, that he wishes he had an upright piano in Connor’s apartment so he wouldn’t have to rush back to campus every Sunday. Connor, naturally, buys a Steinway.

[fraisebrin]

bedmint au where fraser is a music student and connor loves it when fraser stays over but sometimes fraser can’t stay in chicago for too long because he needs to practice so connor buys an upright steinway because he googled “good pianos” and its the first thing that popped up and he’d do anything for fraser to spend one more night with him even if it means buying a piano that costs as much as a car

[fraisebrin]

fraser and connor playing with an ouija board.

connor who deliberately asked the ‘spirits’ if they should make out and act shitless scared when the planchette suddenly ‘moves’ towards the YES: what the hell what the hell, dude, it said yes, dude, what the hell, the devil speaks, bro. we gotta do it now. dude if we don’t do it we’re gonna die. dude.

[fraisebrin]

I actually have a bedmint wip of ‘first, second, third’ but in fraser’s pov but I haven’t gotten around to finishing it, here’s a lick of it?

Fraser pours the developer. The chemical sting of the fluid fills the tray, sitting thick under the low, bleeding red light of the school’s photography club darkroom. He slides the blank paper into the bath, and he waits. He watches the silver halides react, watch the shadows slowly bleed into existence out of nothing at all.

That is what Connor is to him. A slow exposure. Fraser had spent his entire childhood watching Connor come into focus. The sharp line of his jaw emerging where a child’s softness used to be, the widening of his shoulders, the sudden gravity of his presence in a room. Fraser records it all.

Fraser doesn’t say anything. He just lets the paper soak. He watches the picture form, slowly coming into view.

The shutter speed on his thrifted Canon is fixed, a limitation he can’t change. And Connor is always, always moving too fast. He is a streak of crimson-red on the ice, a smear of light under the flickering porch lamps of basement parties. Fraser stands at the edge of the kitchens, his fingers tightly wrapped around a solo cup, watching Connor share cheap whiskey. Everyone adores him. Everyone wants to catch the hem of his jacket.

Connor thinks he is hiding, but Fraser looks through the viewfinder and sees the hollow space right beneath Connor's ribs. He sees the exhaustion in the curve of Connor's spine when he finally climbs back through Fraser's bedroom window at four in the morning. Fraser wants to click the shutter. He wants to scream, Stop running, let me freeze you right here, with me. But the lens can't track him.

The final chemical bath that stops the exposure is called a fixative, it hardens the silver and makes the image permanent so the light can never ruin it again. Except Fraser doesn’t have a fixative for this. He doesn't know how to stop the fading.

[lizforlez]

i have soooooo many wips that i should just write for real but instead im going to throw them here until someone forces me to actually write them. today’s (second) offering: bedmint socmed au

they’ve been dating for yeeaarrrrsss now, since they were like 16 but never publicly bc connor was going to the nhl and fraser knew that being gay and professional hockey player was just asking for trouble so they grew up super private about it

fraser is a music student at depaul in chicago and only committed after connor got drafted to the blackhawks so they could still be together. they’ve lived in the same apartment the whole time they’ve been in chicago and it’s honestly a miracle no one in their lives have figured it out but it’s mostly bc fraser doesn’t really talk about connor with his friends and connor just uses the excuse “oh fraser was already going to college here and we knew each other from home so it was just easier to live together” and hockey players are stupid and wouldn’t immediately assume gay so they get away with it.

after a few years connor starts to feel really really bad about fraser having to hide most of his personal life from his friends even though fraser is completely understanding and would never ever want to push connor into coming out before he wants to, but connor does want to and so they start to drop little hints

fraser’s already pretty active on social media, posting videos of him playing piano and talking about his classes and stuff and while connor is chronically online, he really never posts. so they both start to leave little trails of each other— fraser starts talking about the blackhawks and how he loves going to games and really specific things that casual fans probs wouldn’t know; connor starts posting littler things of him wearing fraser’s clothes and stuff that directly ties him to depaul and music

and they just sort of wait for people online to piece it together while connor tells him team and the front office and fraser finally gets to talk about his boyfriend to his friends and it goes great!!

and then a year passes and people are still being stupid online and so connor just hard launches with a joint ig post of him and fraser kissing on their anniversary captioned “the only one i’ve ever loved”

[fraisebrin]

swaymint slop wip

Fraser took the peewee hockey coaching gig for one reason and one reason only: the band. Between buying and maintaining their equipment and upgrading Connor’s heavily abused drum kit, his wallet is permanently on life support. He had spent the last two years dealing with every flavor of hockey parent imaginable. From the screamers to the ones who thought their eight year old was the next Sidney Crosby. Through it all, Fraser has been a consummate professional. He keeps his head down, smiles politely, and never, ever crossed a line.

Until now. He has never done something so profoundly stupid in his entire life.

The whole drive to the rink, Fraser’s sneakers are drumming manically against the floor of Easton’s sedan. It has been a couple of days since the incident, and Fraser has spent every waking hour driving himself crazy, replaying those text messages over and over in a looping reel of pure agony.

When he had finally cracked and confessed the whole thing to Easton yesterday, Easton had just exhaled a cloud of smoke, and said, "Hey, you gotta chase that bag, man. I respect it."

Fraser had immediately launched into a defense, arguing that there was absolutely no bag to be chased, and that Fraser had just committed a humiliating, career-ending sin.

Now, the familiar corrugated metal of the rink comes into view, and Fraser’s stomach twists five ways.

"Chill out," Easton mutters, glancing at him from the driver's seat.

Fraser’s knee gives an involuntary jerk. "I’m gonna get fired."

"You’re not."

"You don’t know that, East!"

"Well, one way to find out." Easton pulls the car up to the curb and puts it into park.

Fraser stares at the double doors of the arena. He is going to lose his meager paycheck and be forced to beg for a job as Connor’s miserable co-barista. "Thanks for the ride, East."

"Off you go, you sugar baby," Easton drawls, a wicked smirk on his face.

Fraser’s eyes widened in sheer horror. "Don’t even joke about that!"

He throws the car door open. Hoisting his heavy gear bag over his shoulder, he begins the dead man walking march into the rink. The cool air of the AC doesn’t do anything to cool the hot blush creeping up his neck. There is barely anyone in the lobby yet. Inhaling a sharp breath, Fraser plots his escape route: head straight for the locker room and hide away until the kids arrive in a protective pack.

That is the plan. Until a high-pitched voice shattered the quiet.

"Coach Fraser!"

Oh my god, he wishes the earth would swallow him whole right now.

Fraser freezes, his guts heaving as he slowly turns around. "Hey, Junie."

Junie comes sprinting across the rubber mats toward him, her blonde pigtails bouncing wildly against the sides of her head. "Coach Fraser! Coach Fraser! Do you want to see my new skates? Look! They have pink laces!"

Fraser forces a strained smile, but his eyes automatically drift right past her. Standing up by the bleachers, leaning casually against the railing, is Jeremy. He is holding his phone to his ear, talking softly. This is officially an out of body experience.

"Um, can you wait just a second, Junie?" Fraser pats her head as a reconciling gesture. "Why don’t you go play with the cones by the bench while you wait for the others?"

"Oh, okay!" Junie chirps, oblivious to the crisis occurring, and scurries off.

Fraser takes a deep breath, his heart is hammering against his sternum. It’s better to deal with it now, he tells himself. Be a mature person and fix this. He marches over to the stands, ripping the band aid as quickly as possible.

As he approaches, Jeremy lowers his phone, tapping the screen to hang up. He looks at Fraser, his expression completely unreadable.

Fraser clears his throat, "Mr. Swayman."

Okay, good start.

Jeremy tilts his head, his dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Oh. Hello?"

Fraser wants to dig a hole into the rubber floor mats and die in it. The worst part is that Jeremy is fighting back an amused smile. And it’s really obvious, too.

"Mr. Swayman, I am so incredibly sorry for texting you like that the other night," Fraser rushes out, the words tumbling over each other in a panicked torrent. "It was completely inappropriate, and I totally understand if you want to take this up with the league manager, or if you want to switch Junie’s schedule to find a different coach, or-"

"Why are you calling me that?" Jeremy interrupts.

Fraser pauses, everything in his head evaporates. "What?"

Jeremy chuckles lowly, shifting his weight. "Mr. Swayman? I thought we were on a first name basis, Fraser."

Fraser blinks behind his glasses, his hands tightening on his bag straps. "I, I don't-"

Jeremy dismissively waves his hand. "Either way, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about."

Fraser’s jaw drops. "What?"

Before he can process the lifeline Jeremy is throwing at him, Jeremy’s phone begins to vibrate in his hand. Jeremy glances down at the screen, though his eyes remain fixed on Fraser.

"It never happened, right?" Jeremy says softly, holding his gaze for a stretch. He taps the screen to answer the call, stepping past Fraser toward the exit. "I gotta take this real quick, it's my ex-wife."

Fraser stands entirely rooted to the spot, his mind a screaming void. Jeremy literally just pretend deleted the entire memory to save him from dying of embarrassment. A dizzying mix of profound relief and a weird, fluttering heat rushes through his veins. Jeremy doesn’t hate him. He isn’t getting fired.

"Coach Fraser! My laces are undone again!"