Kent stares at the post on their dash, mouth gaping slightly.
you literally don’t know him, don’t say shit like that
holtzmecloser
I know he’s beautiful and talented and he doesn’t need Jack Zimmermann and if he’s even half of how you talk about what he does he’s perfect
They run a hand through their hair. The air around them feels thin. There’s an itch just under the surface of their skin. Holtzy wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be safe from bullshit people who make assumptions about Kent’s life. Then again, he’s knows how to cut Kent deep. A few years of friendship would that.
He probably doesn’t mean any of this. He’ll wake up in the morning, hung over as fuck, and apologize. At least he’s tagging alcohol use appropriately. It’s Kent fault for looking at them anyway.
They swallow a lump in their throat.
he’s perfect
Kent huffs. They haven’t thought of theirself as a he in years, but it’s weirder than that. It’s thinking that someone could value their opinion enough to want whatever piece of Kent they could get. Holtzy wants the honest truth, the more Kent thinks about it. It’s not like they’ve ever lied to him before. Well, except for the part where they’re a fucking NHL player.
That might be important to know.
They push back from their desk, getting up with a shaky sigh. Kent groans as they stretch, heading toward the kitchen of the house they share with Jeff and Parker. From the cat tree in the living room, Kit meows at them in greeting.
Goose and Perry are over, cuddling on the couch. Parker’s half asleep on Jeff. Kent smirks softly. It’s good to their friends happy and in love. Johnny’s sitting at the breakfast table, typing furiously.
“It’s Saturday night and we’re not working,” Kent says poignantly. “What the fuck are you up to?”
Johnny hums. “Working on my dissertation.”
Kent winces. “I wish you were joking.”
“Soft same,” Johnny says. He looks up from his laptop. “I thought you were ‘decompressing’ or something?”
They shrug, opening the fridge to avoid eye contact. “Needed a break, human interaction and shit.”
“What happened?” Perry asks knowingly.
“Nothing,” Kent lies.
“Kent,” Goose says in a very even tone.
Which, since Kent is literally incapable of saying no to him, they cave. “My friend is a drunken dipshit and he’s in love with me--apparently.”
“Apparently,” Johnny chirps. “Isn’t this the guy who stays up all night just to talk to you?”
“Yea but he’s not into me,” Kent grumbles. “He’s into Kent fucking Parson.”
“So tell him to fuck off,” Parker mumbles.
“I can’t,” they say.
“Because...” Goose asks.
“Because maybe I don’t want to tell him to fuck off?”
Perry sits up, they stare at Goose and then at Kent.
Kent balks. “What?”
“What makes him so special?”
“I don’t know, ok? He’s just--funny and stubborn. He knows what he likes and tells everyone else to fuck off.” Kent sighs, slamming the fridge door close. They scrub their face. “I’m fucked. I’ve seen one picture of this guy in six years, and it was of his fucking huge teeth.”
“Huge teeth?” Goose “Do I want to know?”
“We weren’t like--flirting or anything. He was just telling me about his ex and how much they liked getting hickeys next to their ear.”
Perry makes a sound that’s a cross between an indignant scream and a yelp. Kent frowns.
“And this guy goes to Samwell?” Perry asks.
“Yea, so?”
“You have no idea who he is?”
“Um, I might have an idea,” Kent admits.
“Who?”
“This guy, Adam? He’s on the hockey team.”
“Oh, Holster,” Johnny says. “Alright, I can see it.”
Perry looks at Goose, and then back at Kent. They groan.
“You should...talk to him,” Perry says. “When he’s sober.”
Kent glares. “Why?”
“Just...do it, please?”
Kent bites their lip, pulling their phone out. “Maybe,” they grumble.
“That’s a no,” Johnny declares.
Kent flips him off. They’d rather not think about the fact that they could’ve been hanging out with Holtzy in real life all this time. They scroll through Twitter until they get to something from over a year ago. It’s a picture of him with two d-men at Samwell. They stop theirself from tracing over Holster’s face with their thumb.
This isn’t love or a crush or--anything. It’s two friends getting too close and too hung up on things that don’t exist. Whatever Kent Parson Holster’s conjured up in his mind doesn’t exist. He’s a figment of the media’s imagination.
Hopefully, Holster will realize that before someone gets hurt.
so this is one of those moments where i’m like “why didn’t I just make this a text fic instead of doing rp blogs?” (because I’m weak and I wanted to try everything in this fandom? you know what I haven’t done yet in this fandom? Cosplay and AMVs? You know what my degree is in? Film, so shame on me I used to love making AMVs)
HOWEVER here’s the skinny y’all:
Last week Sweetie figured it out while Holtzy was drunk
Here’s an explanation on where Holtzy’s at in this situation.
*Imagine that this is what happened*
“Fuck,” Kent says under their breath.
They’re waiting for the Aces’ charter plane to take off from Ottawa. There was some delay defrosting the plane, so they figured might as well waste some time on Tumblr.
“What?” Goose asks from across the aisle.
“He’s totally into me,” Kent murmurs.
“Didn’t you know that?” Ozzy says behind them.
“Not like this,” they say.
Parker turns around in his seat, motioning for Kent to show him the message.
“That could be anyone,” Parker argues.
“That’s literally him,” they insist. “Per, back me up.”
Perry looks over Kent’s shoulder. “Yep, that’s Holster.”
“So now what?” Ozzy asks.
“I’m gonna tell him,” Kent says.
“Don’t you dare,” Ozzy says with a smirk.
Kent frowns. “Why?”
Ozzy shrugs. “I was making a Frozen reference. Do it.”
“Johnny, what do you think?”
Johnson cranes his neck over Goose’s head. “Uh, go for it.”
“You sure?”
“Well worst case scenario he puts off talking to you. Not because he’s mad but because he’s a chicken.
“Not reassuring, pal,”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Reassuring? Ok…um, he’s been in love with three people in his entire life? And one of them is Perry? He definitely has a type.”
“Which is?” Perry and Kent ask simultaneously.
“Trans Mexican hockey players?” Johnny says. “Or maybe it’s the fact that both of you are nurturing, artistic, and extremely vibrant in your own ways.”
“Vibrant how?” Perry asks.
Johnny snorts. “Your auras, duh.”
Perry nudges Kent. “C’mon, what do you want?”
They stare at the anon message again.
if we were dating I’d take you to every concert, we’d watch every cheesy sitcom together, I’d hold you on rough days and you could call me out on my bullshit. I’d make sure you were happier than you ever were with him
And yea, maybe Holster’s impulsive, brash, and mildly obsessive. But so is Kent? He’s also caring, devoted, and the most hilarious person Kent’s ever met. He already had one thing right, he makes Kent happy. Like really fucking happy. Maybe that’s all that matters, for now.
you big fucking dork
fuck
text Johnson. ask for my number.
They sigh heavily, tossing their phone onto Perry’s lap. They loosen the top button of their dress shirt.
if we were dating I’d take you to every concert, we’d watch every cheesy sitcom together, I’d hold you on rough days and you could call me out on my bullshit. I’d make sure you were happier than you ever were with him
that’s ok, I’d probably have to ask some questions along the way to make sure I could meet your needs and expectations. I can’t promise it would be perfect, but you’d take the time to understand mine too right? Reciprocity is half the battle in my book <3
Anon or off anon, SFW or NSFW, send ‘em to me! The distraction is always nice and I’ve read some seriously cute responses that definitely helped fix the mood I’m in.
I live in a small Midwest town and we have a city festival every year. We also have a sizable (for the area) latin@ population. One of the food booths has /really good/ tacos and tamales and nachos. A couple years ago, though, they actually had to start unwrapping the tamales before giving them to customers because 90% of the community is made of clueless white people 😂
ok I gotta tell you that I IMMEDIATELY found my Mexican friends and told them about this. here are their reactions
P: *gagging noises*
O: *blank stares*
O: is that painful? does it? taste good??
P: *stares at O, judging face*
O: what? I’m trying to figure out what they’re thinking by eating CORN HUSKS
P: I honestly don’t know
O: Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by the eating habits of clueless white people
O, P, N, H and C all raised their lands (C and N aren’t latin@ but they aren’t white either)
and in the corner, S and J were trying to pretend like they’ve never done stupid shit like that before
Does your mom share stories about the customers at her panadería?
I’m sorry, this has been sitting in my ask box for fucking forever. Yea, she has lots of stories. Most of them are our neighbors and family? So it’s more like “here’s the chisme your cousin brought me today”
BUT last week she called me to say this girl keeps coming in asking for my sister, Izzy. I’ve seen pics and like, wow she’s cute. Ma keeps updating me with really blury snaps but I’m observing the courting rituals of Latin@ lesbians and I’m excited.
Today, this girl came in and tried to make a joke about pelo rico candy. In Ma’s words
“pobresita was trying so hard to be smooth in front of me, y su hermana es una escuincla peor. Se hizo la mensa hasta que la jovena se explicó exactamente que segnificó.”
~ she played dumb about a this girl implying that she was really good at oral, basically.
East of Eden is a great book. Just a heads-up, I ended up hating at least half of the main characters, but loved the secondary ones. That doesn't really give anything away.
yea thanks <3 I’ve heard some good things about it so I’m excited
Ugh, yea a little bit. Some newer blogs found my old stuff and called it vile shit. This is why I like to stick to posting on AO3. People don’t gotta like what I write, but they could learn to keep their opinions to themselves a little more.
Whatever, I should be used to this. I’ve literally written fics and spearheaded ships, so smaller blogs don’t have to do stuff in fear of backlash. I’m not perfect? And I’m working on staying out of tags. But it’s also frustrating when people wave my stuff right in my face.
I don't understand the fascination people have with finding out where you work. For a bunch of socialists they sure have missed the memo that work =/= self. Like, you seem to like where you work and what you do. What does it matter where you work? Or what you do? This is your blog and you're entitled to say as much or as little as you want on it. Uuuurgh sorry I'm in a misanthropic mood. On a unrelated note, have you read any cool fiction lately? What did you like about it?
Yea I’m happy people are enjoying themselves but gotta draw the line somewhere y'know?
My friend J was an English major so he likes giving me recommendations. I just finished reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. It tackles being lower class and the kid of immigrants in a very real and raw way.
I really connected with Francie’s coming of age story. She was dealt a lot of short straws and she kept going. The book talks a lot about the American Dream and I think it points out how flawed it is. How nearly impossible it is to obtain, and then even when you think you’ve got it–someone is breathing down your neck saying you’re missing something or trying to take what you got away.
I’m gonna probably read East of Eden next so we’ll see how it is. As long as I never have to read The Tortilla Curtain ever again, I’ll be happy.
is it so hard to remember that what people do with characters in fandom is an exercise in individuality? what you think of a character, no matter what, is going to be different than everyone else. only you see fandom your way. the only person you’re responsible for is you and what you consume. be mad and petty about shit you don’t like, if it matters that much to you. But don’t fucking make your emotions detrimental to other people.
Would you have to leave us if we found out who you work for?
should I be worried that you know who I work for?
um, honestly? Probably not. It’d probably be a big shit storm but if ~somehow~ you found out who I worked for I probably couldn’t do this blog like I used to be I wouldn’t be *gone* (I’d probably make another blog with a diff psued at least)
