I just wanted to say, the visuals were a Huge part of why I love hiveswap and its been really exciting to see how some of my favorite parts are bc of you
Thank you!! it has definitely been a long journey... Hiveswap has always been such a fun, quirky departure from my usual art and I’m so glad the artwork is enjoyed!
Eric's last name is actually Grittle and they nickname him hashbrown which evolves into potato, brownie, and other breakfast food nicknames. And at somepoint Shitty makes a Hash joke. Ex: brown-town, brownie, tater-tot (bc he's leetol)
thecamocrusader replied to your post “i realized something last night. i buy games the way i buy books.”
Buy them, tell yourself you're going to read/play them, put them on a "shelf" and never touch them again?
Nah, I don’t buy books willy-nilly anymore and am pretty good at only buying books I know I am excited about which is usually series I really love. So that isn’t an accurate comparison if I did buy countless games and never play them lol
I play a lot of atmospheric indie games that have some unique gimmick and an interesting premise. These games usually do not have a lot of replayability and often only run for 5-10 hours on a playthrough. These details can be looked down on by some people in the gaming community, but I love these things because its what I am there for: a lovely experience with a thoughtful premise. I also compare prices to books frequently. I haven’t bought Mario Party because that’s like 3 books. But I did buy Code of Princess EX for $25 because that is a reasonable price for a digital game playing on fantasy and anime tropes AND I could still buy another book and come under the $60 of a full priced game.
thecamocrusader replied to your post “uh hey spotify, how come i can’t listen to all my songs in my library...”
They did WHAT
there use to be one that said songs which was just all the songs you added to your library but now they have that “favorite songs” list and it’s so annoying
so i put my whole library in a playlist titled “fuck u spotify”
I really hope you like it! It was so much fun to write ^^ Happy Valentine’s Day! <3
Rating: Teen and Up, for discussions of anxiety
________________________
None of them feel much like talking; beside him, even Holster’s staring out the front of the bus without saying anything. Ransom leans against him silently. Holster leans back.
Ransom watches Jack frown at something Hall and Murray tell him, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Jack’s shoulders visibly tense, but he nods. Hall and Murray draw back and turn to each other and Jack slumps against the window. Ransom’s still watching when Jack shifts, and their sudden eye contact makes a prickle of nerves crawl up his arms. Jack jerks back around to the front.
“Shit,” Ransom says quietly. They have to room together later.
Holster must’ve been watching, because he says, “It wasn’t your fault, Rans. We all fucked up on this one.”
“You don’t have to sleep in the same room as him tonight.” Jack’s notorious for going over tape after a game, and he’s more persistent about it after a loss. Since the losing goal went in when Ransom was in front of Chowder, he’s not expecting to have a good night’s sleep. He’s happy they’re driving back in the afternoon tomorrow; maybe it’ll give him time to catch up on some Zs.
Holster bumps his shoulder and makes a face that’s halfway between apologetic and scheming. Ransom opens his mouth to call him out on it, but Holster calls loudly for Lardo, and the resulting makeout sesh just about pushes Ransom into the aisle.
Ransom slides in next to Bitty and catches Jack raising an eyebrow. Jack passes the fine jar to Shitty, who grins before practically running the length of the bus to squeeze in between Holster and Lardo.
____________
The hotel’s nicer than the one they got the last time they were in New York, but even so, when Lardo tells them all there’s a hot tub and pool on the first floor the resulting cheer is so lackluster that she and Ransom both cringe.
“Don’t be too enthusiastic,” she says dryly as they funnel off the bus. The line between her eyebrows tells Ransom she’s upset about the loss, too.
Shitty says, “We’ll show you enthusiastic,” and she laughs.
Holster slings his arm around her shoulder and Shitty kisses them both before cheerfully shouldering his bag and dragging them both up to their room. Lardo’s expression makes Ransom hope his room isn’t close to theirs. Last time this happened Ransom could hear them all the way from the second floor of the Haus, and they were in the basement.
“Fine, again,” Jack says as he comes off the bus. Holster, Shitty, and Lardo all pull faces, but pay up.
“I’ll make sure we tip the cleaning staff extra,” Bitty says, watching them go.
Ransom says, “Good plan bro.”
____________
Jack’s towelling his hair dry in the bathroom and Ransom’s looking for crap TV and their pizza’s on its way and Ransom’s thinking, just maybe, tonight will be an okay night. If he can stop glancing at the bathroom every few seconds, if he can stop thinking about Jack rubbing his thumb over his mouth, then Ransom thinks he can make it through tonight.
“How d’you feel about NCIS,” Ransom calls.
“Is that one of Holster’s reality shows?”
Ransom groans. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”
“Sorry to disappoint” comes from the bathroom. Ransom rolls his eyes.
He flips through the channels idly, letting the game wash away from him. The channel stations are in the 500s before he realizes Jack still hasn’t come out of the bathroom.
“Jack?”
Jack doesn’t reply. Ransom’s pulse skyrockets immediately. He stumbles off the bed, nearly falling into the wall, and when he tries the doorknob it sticks and stays closed.
“Hey, open up,” he says. Somehow his panic doesn’t stain his voice. A small sliver of himself, the part that isn’t actively freaking out, is thankful for it.
“Not locked.” Jack’s voice is small through the door.
Ransom yanks the door open and Jack looks up at him so frantically that he bites down a curse. He reaches out a hand to pull him up, but Jack’s shaking so hard it’s impossible to lift him. Ransom sits next to him, leans against the counter, and takes his hand. Jack’s fingers squeeze so tight it hurts but he doesn’t let go.
Jack pulls himself upright enough to lean against the counter too, but it looks like it takes a tremendous effort. His mouth’s working in a way that suggests crying. Jack tightens his jaw.
“You don’t have to hide it,” Ransom says softly. Jack’s face relaxes for half a second and then tenses immediately. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
Ransom repeats this in as many different iterations he can think of. You’re not a disappointment. You’re the best captain we’ve had. One loss won’t kill our season. It was a group effort. Not your fault. It’s going to be okay.
Somehow he has his arms around Jack and Jack’s legs across his lap. Ransom runs his hand through Jack’s hair and Jack shudders, but he presses Ransom’s hand back to his hair to keep him from pulling back.
“Keep doing it. Please,” Jack gets out, so Ransom does.
____________
Jack’s buried in blankets and Ransom’s paying for their pizza and crap TV plays in the background and he’s thinking, maybe, they should talk about this. He snags a hand towel apiece and sets the pizza down on their shared nightstand. Jack whispers a hoarse thank you when Ransom tosses the towel to him.
“So,” Ransom says, as lightly as he can. He settles on his bed and pretends Jack isn’t watching him warily. “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to. I’m here though, if you want.”
There’s a long minute in which they eat pizza and pretend they’re watching the bachelor figure out who he wants to give roses to.
“It’s hockey,” Jack says. Ransom looks at him, but Jack’s staring at the screen like he doesn’t see it. “I don’t … it’s hard to explain.”
“Have I ever told you it’s my parents who want me to be a doctor?” Jack looks at him now; he knows full well he hadn’t told him any of this. He hasn’t even told Holster.
“I thought…”
Ransom waits in case he continues his thought, but Jack just frowns. He thinks, though, that it’s one of his thoughtful frowns.
He says, “Yeah. My older sister’s a pharmacist, my younger wants to be an engineer. And they’re both great at it, they are, it’s just. My parents never really asked what I wanted. Doctors pay the bills, eh?”
“They also write the bills. Is that why your handwriting’s so awful?”
Ransom says, “Asshole,” and throws his pillow. It smacks Jack’s face. Jack laughs and flings it back, but that frown line is still scrunching his eyebrows.
They both eat another slice. Ransom spares a second to hope Bitty’s tip will cover their room too, because he’s almost positive pizza grease has splattered the blankets. He sneaks a look at Jack, his face bathed in some rosy light from the TV, and he thinks even underneath the lighting some color has crept back into his cheeks.
“It’s not fair of them.” Jack seems to be waiting for Ransom to look at him, so he does. “To put that on you.”
Ransom shrugs. “It’s alright.” Jack raises his eyebrows. “It’s not, it isn’t. That’s part of the anxiety, but. I’ve been talking to someone at CAPS, psych counseling, you know? It’s helped.”
Jack looks at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Maybe I’ll schedule,” he says.
“It’s a good option,” Ransom says. “What works for me might not work for you, but trying won’t hurt.”
On the TV, one of the contestants tearfully details how unfair it is that the bachelor’s dating all the other women too. Despite himself, Ransom feels for her.
He promises immediately not to tell Holster, ever, and Jack laughs as if he knows what he’s thinking.
____________
Jack’s laptop dyes the dark room a cool blue.
Ransom thinks about saying something. They’d agreed to turn the lights off and head to bed, and the light’s a little distracting. He flips around to face the wall and then shoves his head under his pillow; the laptop light caught on the lamp, and the shadow’s just as annoying as the light itself.
There’s no sound other than the air conditioning kicking on and off. Jack has, thankfully, muted the tape. Ransom’s pretty positive he’s already memorized the commentary anyway.
He can’t breathe under his pillow. He flops around onto his back and stares at the ceiling.
All at once it’s much too quiet and Ransom has to force down the fact that Jack’s watching him screw up not ten feet away, watching the goal go in right between Ransom’s skates, and Ransom apologized to all of them in the locker room and Chowder told him immediately that it wasn’t his fault, it happens to everyone, but Jack — Jack hadn’t said anything—
He tries to bite down a gasp but he can’t breathe and it’s the loudest thing in the room.
“Rans?”
He curls in on himself, focuses on the feeling of his fingernails in his palm. Sharp and crisp in an attempt to draw himself back.
Dimly, Ransom registers the snap of a laptop closing and sheets being drawn back. Then there’s someone warm at his back and then Jack — it must be Jack, this makes sense — holds him against his chest. Jack’s breath is warm and tickles Ransom’s ear, and he grasps at this to anchor himself. It helps that Jack’s heartbeat is steady against his back.
“It’s okay,” Jack whispers. The pieces of Ransom that aren’t panicking focus on how close Jack’s lips are to his neck.
He leans back experimentally.
Jack presses a kiss to his neck just under his ear.
“It’s okay, Rans. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
____________
“Rans?”
“Jack.”
“Are your feet always this cold?”
“There’s another bed if you’re complaining.”
“Oh. Then I’m not complaining.”
“Good.”
____________
“Rans?” Jack whispers. Ransom puts the pillow over his head again and squints through the sunlight at him. Jack looks too soft to be allowed, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“If this is another crack about my feet I swear Zimmermann—”
Jack laughs and sits up. “No, it’s.”
Ransom yawns. “What.”
“Last night,” Jack says, and Ransom would believe he was blushing if it wasn’t Jack Zimmermann. “Was that … okay? Or, if it wasn’t, what can I do next time? If you have another anxiety attack, I mean.”
Now he’s pretty positive Jack’s cheeks are pink. “Good,” Ransom blurts. “It was good. Physical contact is grounding.”
Jack’s rubbing his thumb across his lip again and this time when they make eye contact Jack looks like he knows what it’s doing to Ransom. Fuck.
“So if I,” Jack says, before leaning down to press their lips together and suck gently on Ransom’s bottom lip. “If I do that, that’s okay?”
Jack breaks the kiss too soon. Ransom tries to follow, but Jack pulls away entirely, straightening their blanket in such a way that looks like an attempt to avoid Ransom’s eyes.
Ransom frowns and sits up too and says, “Ah.”
Jack’s face clouds. He starts analyzing the stitching of the hem.
“No I mean,” Ransom says, lacing their fingers together atop the blankets. Jack looks first at their hands, then at him. “That’s okay. But if you’re really wondering, if I’m having an anxiety attack, don’t kiss me. It’s fine after, probably, but. Not during.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Trying to ease the tension.”
Ransom arches an eyebrow. “So did you want to kiss me or were you just lightening the mood?”
Now Jack’s face is bright red. It’s the prettiest thing Ransom’s ever seen. Jack’s accent is noticeably more Québécois when he says, “Both?”
“Then come back down here,” Ransom says, leaning back, “and ease the tension.”
____________
Lardo takes one look at the purpling bite mark poking out of Ransom’s shirt and says, “How’d the room assignment work, boys?”
Ransom says, “It worked,” at the same time Jack says, “I learned why Ransom’s handwriting sucks.” Ransom bumps his shoulder with his own.
“Glad to hear it,” Lardo says. She types something into her phone and then slings her duffel underneath the bus. “C’mon guys, we have to leave now if we want to miss rush hour.”
Holster affects the most wounded face Ransom’s ever seen when he sees Jack in his usual spot next to Ransom. “How could you,” he says, flinging his arms out dramatically before heading to the back of the bus.
Bitty elbows his way past too, tossing Ransom a wink.
He doesn’t have time to wonder about it when his phone buzzes. Lardo turns and grins at him from the front row.
Jack groans at his phone. “Lardo!”
“What’d she do,” Ransom says, leaning into Jack’s space to look at the screen. Jack puts his arm around him.
Congrats boys, it says, with a picture of Ransom’s bruise.
Holster’s sock slaps Ransom in the back of the head. “FOOOINE! A million times fine!”
“Sorry brah,” Shitty says, tapping Jack on the shoulder with the fine jar and not sounding at all sorry. “All’s fair in revenge-fining your bros.”
Ransom tilts his head to the side, considering. “Jack,” he says slowly, “wanna make it worthwhile?”
