Alexei Mashkov is next level Swawesome

Tots | they/them | 30+ | follows with openafiredoor I am a potato of smallish proportions. I post about hockey, omgcp, yoi, and potatos. 🎶 I am Patater Trash🎶 But also just regular trash. Kent Parson hate is not welcome here. My personal blog, where I post all sorts of randomness and occasionally yell into the void is cuisses-de-tonnerre.

[omgcheckplease]

Howdy. 👋

Not only will there be a new volume of CHECK, PLEASE! in the works...

But CHECK, PLEASE!: YEAR FIVE will be...

…THE YEAR OF THE FROG. 🐸 🏒 ✨

Below, find a summary of what the newest volume of CHECK, PLEASE! will have to offer… highs, lows, and a whole new SMH!!

Samwell mens hockey’s favorite baker—and championship-winning senior captain—has graduated! How will the team survive? Problems abound as their new captain, Dex, learns that the effortless balance Bitty maintained on the team isn’t as easy as it looks. Then, ultra-aloof Nursey must finally drop his “chill” and get vulnerable in a senior poetry seminar. And to make matters worse, Chowder faces the dreaded ‘SSGS’ and is having the worst season of his college career. But when change arrives at Samwell hockey, it not only threatens to rip the team apart, but could destroy Dex, Nursey, and Chowder’s friendship forever. Before they graduate, to save their team and themselves, the three seniors must come together and ask the question: ‘What does Samwell hockey mean to you?’

I can’t reveal any more spoilers, but I’ll leave you with that question—what does Samwell hockey mean to you? Look out for more Check, Please! news in the months to come!

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Follow me on patreon for more exclusive news and to see me draw this goddamn comic!!

[parvuls]

First + Last

[parvuls]

A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps

"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those." Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."

"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."

"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."

"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."

"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"

"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]

[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."

"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."

[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."

Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!" Jack: "…Your kitchen?" Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm." Jack: "My big…?"

[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."

[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"

"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."

"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"

[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."

[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."

"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."

"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."

"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"

[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."

[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."

[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."

[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."

"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"

[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"

[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!" Jack: "Stop crying first."

"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."

[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."

"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."

[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared." Jack: "Yeah, you should be."

[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S." Holster: "…Jack." Jack: ":)"

Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?" Jack: "No." Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann." Jack: "Well. Not in French."

[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"

[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"

"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."

[potatofacts]

Unlike humans, potatoes are not afraid of being fried alive

[potato]

what

[small-potato]

what

[omgcheckplease]

for the rest of their lives any person who has been a member of SMH has gotten the same confusion squinting thrown in their direction: "Wait. Justin. You baked these cookies?" "Who made this pie—Anthony?" "Will, these are the most perfect pancakes I've ever—" "Larissa, you could enter these into a contest. Holy shit." "Okay, Alexei, where did you buy these?" And everyone is like: "Oh, yeah, I had this friend in college—" "Yeah, I got really good at baking in college—" "A friend taught me how to make two dozen pancakes while hungover—" "Yeah. It's an award-winning recipe. I learned it from a friend—" "Not store bought; I made them!!"

[piesandswords]

congrats to tater for officially being promoted to “member of SMH”

[omgcheckplease]

you, pointing to a copy of Check, Please!: Sticks & Scones: I get all of my Beyoncé updates from a little gay white boy who lives in here

[wehavetoastonishthem]

[jatersade]

which would you rather find living in your attic:

1000 roaches

a person

Voting ended onJan 29, 2023

[suburbanjustice]

this is truly on god the first would you rather that i've ever had to devote significant thought to. neither of these answers feel good

[thatblastedpen]

I loathe roaches but I would rather have to battle those than a person. Person is scary.

[comebackzinc]

Roaches aren't going to land me on a murder mystery podcast one day.

[omgcheckplease]

some check please things I think about

dex having neon yellow eyes for some reason. in real life, they’d be brownish. 

chowder’s hair becoming more and more shark-like over time. Definitely an on-purpose choice for me, but not sure if chowder consciously styles his hair this way…!!

I was freaking out about how to design Nursey, and I couldn’t figure out his hair. My friend Dave just leaned over and drew this shape? Three or four bumps? Boom, gave Nursey cloud hair

wait is this elemental

[tiny-potatos]

and then there is Farmer who is earth cause ya know, Farmer as in farm the place where you plant things in the earth, also she probably the most grounded one of them all.

[loveintvworlds]

Eric Bittle ends up at UGA despite his best wishes because Samwell is expensive, and sure, UGA is too but. Not so much when your daddy is the football coach. Eric at UGA is a little rougher around the edges, a little more short tempered. He’s still friendly, still outgoing, still an athlete, (he runs track) he’s still him but he spent all of high school holding on to the idea of getting out of Georgia at the end of it, and losing that little bit of hope would take a toll on anyone.

Campus is bigger than the whole of Madison, and more accepting too. Not by much, it’s not like how he built Samwell up to be in his head (Eric still has dreams about “1 in 4, maybe more”) but he sees more out gay people in his first few weeks on campus than he’s ever seen in his entire life. But, he also sees his daddy’s football boys, his daddy’s friends and colleagues, his daddy himself. And he — maybe irrationally — feels like they see him too, like they’re always watching. So he stays closeted, and it hurts like hell.

Jack Zimmermann ended up playing college football nearly on a whim. After the overdose hockey was too painful, it wasn’t worth his life, but he couldn’t live as anything other than an athlete. One night, while blindly hitting buttons on the remote after turning the tv on to a hockey game, and he landed on a football game instead. He saw cleats instead of skates, soft turf instead of hard ice, a game just rough enough to make his skin buzz pleasantly but not enough for anyone to compare him to Bad Bob, enforcer extraordinaire.

Keep reading

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

Holsom and “wait so uh. Have we been dating this whole time?” but the answer’s no

[halfabreath]

Ransom doesn’t love him, and Holster already knows the reason why.

It took a rugby player, of all people, hitting on him while he and Ransom waited for their turn at the pong table (the soccer house has the shittiest tournament organizers at Samwell, it’s a goddamn disgrace).

“Sorry man. Super flattered, but I’m already kind of seeing someone.”

“Bro! You’ve been holding out on me! Who?”

“Come on, Rans. We’ve been dancing around this thing forever and I think we should just - Why are you looking at me like that, you have to have noticed that we’ve basically been dating for a while now.”

The party bustles around them, people bumping their shoulders and jostling their drinks as they stare at each other. Ransom’s eyebrows are furrowed, his head tilted to the side, his hard-as-granite jaw hanging open in shock.

Holster stands there, silent, feeling too big and too small at the same time. For a minute he swears he’s little again, staring down at a page of big letters jumbled together while his teacher says just read it, Adam, just say the words and he can’t, the letters won’t settle in an order that make sense.

(It took his Bubbe sitting down with him at the kitchen table for him to understand, her wrinkled fingers tracing over the letters as she took him through the story word by word. There isn’t anyone who can guide him through this clusterfuck, though.)

“Just forget it,” Holster says.

“Are you joking?” Ransom blurts out at the exact same time. Their perfect timing is a sick joke. Only the two of them could be so in sync and out of step at the same time.

Holster winces, just for a second, but he knows Ransom caught it. He always does.

He knows he should be grateful for the easy out. It would be so easy to lie, but the second Holster tries to push the words out the sound dies in his throat. He offers up a silent prayer of thanks to Fifth Harmony for the thundering baseline he knows masks the stilted, half-strangled explanation he tries to offer up before he cuts himself off by finishing the rest of his beer in two large gulps.

Holster knows he isn’t handsome (reason #1), or brilliant (reason #2), or personable (reason #3), and Ransom is. Holster is too loud (reason #4) and too big (reason #5) and too ugly (reason #1, but it bears repeating) for someone like Ransom, he knows that. But he isn’t a joke. The way he feels isn’t a joke.

So Holster swallows the beer, the hops sitting heavy on his tongue, and looks the love of his life straight in the eye. Just say the words, Adam.

“I wasn’t joking, but it’s fine. Just got my wires crossed, but now I know, so. Nothing changes.” Holster says, shoulder lifting in a lazy little shrug that he hopes looks natural. It’s the truth, because it has to be. Holster needs it to be true.

“Bro,” Ransom begins, and it takes everything Holster has not to lose it right then and there. For the last few weeks Holster had thought calling each other “bro” was their thing. It felt so special, and sweet, and theirs, and now it’s just a dull, hollow word. He traces over the letters, knowing they won’t rearrange themselves into a sweeter combination.They’re bros, that’s all.

“Ransom.” Holster’s firm this time, shoulders squared and face neutral. “I’m fine, there’s a guy who wants my number and I need to track him down and give it to him. We’re good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ransom echoes, “We’re always going to be good.”

Holster needs that to be true, too, so he nods, and smiles, and fist bumps Ransom until he smiles back, and when he sees Ransom the next morning after spending the night at the rugby house he can tell they’re almost normal. They’re good.

He runs his fingertips over that word too, pressing the four letters to place so they can’t jump around, holding them in place until his fingertips are bloody, red smeared over crisp black ink.

[zimmerwhore]

i know we all know jack is chronically Not Online but i think bitty showed him those instagram affirmations one day and he became Obsessed and obviously made it everyone’s problem

[notallthosewhowander]

the only interview jack ever does about his anxiety/past addiction is a “kids meet a person with anxiety” youtube video where he explains it to various kiddos aged 5 to 14 and is met with incredible compassion, never-ending curiosity, and ridiculous questions.

[notallthosewhowander]

kid 1: d’you have anxiety right now?

jack, smiling: yeah, a bit

kid 1: *GASP*

*

kid 2 (not fully getting the point): are ya scared o’ heights?

jack: no

kid 2: are ya scared o’ planes?

jack: no

kid 2: are ya scared o’ birds?

jack: birds?

kid 2: I’m scared o’ birds.

jack: why?

kid 2: they got weird snake eyes like the snake in the movies when at night they’re in the windows

jack: yeah that’s scary. are you scared sometimes that a bird will come close even if there are no birds around?

kid 2: yeah!

jack: that’s like anxiety! your brain tells you to watch out for mean birds all the time, even though there aren’t any around, and birds wouldn’t hurt you anyway.

kid 2: okay. (pause) are ya scared o’ bugs?

jack: ha, I’ll tell you a secret, I am, a bit. but my boyfriend usually takes them out for me.

kid 2: thass’ very nice o’ him!

jack: it is, yeah!

[shittys]

KVP, drunk and exiting a club, answering a paparazzo sometime within the week following Jack’s Epic Coming Out™: “Was I ever in a relationship with Jack Zimmermann? That’s a good fucking question, you should ask him.”

[notallthosewhowander]

they’re lounging together at their place when bitty, from the couch, gasps and realizes that he hasn’t put his spotify on private since samwell and all of his ~sexy~ playlists are creatively labelled

[notallthosewhowander]

alternatively: he’s got a playlist called “hat trick celly 😌” and you could imagine it’s this fun celebration pop music but it is, in fact, very explicit sensual songs 

[notallthosewhowander]

one of them is just called “mr zimmermann 😤”

[ivecarvedawoodenheart]

maybe something like

Rans isn’t looking at him when he asks it. “Hey, why didn’t anything happen with us?”

Holster blinks, beer bottle resting on his bottom lip. “What d’you mean?”

“I dunno man, just,” Rans says, passing his drink back and forth across their coffee table. He seems very tense all of a sudden; Holster wants to smooth the hard line of his shoulders. “There were moments, right? Ones where we could’ve fallen into something.”

Holster finishes his sip and sets his bottle down on one of the coaster on the end table. He says, “I didn’t think you wanted to fall into something with me.”

“Are you kidding?”

Holster sits upright. Rans is holding that green throw pillow they bought at Target before they moved into their second place, the one that matches so well with the blanket folded across Holster’s knees, the blanket they got on impulse after reading some review at 3AM when they were awake and yawning making plans for their third apartment, plans made while wearing the matching pajamas they’d picked out their senior year at Samwell. They have little hockey pucks and sticks on them. It was their New Year’s card.

A moment, singular? They’ve built a houseful of moments. A heartful of moments.

It’s a revelation that must show on his face, because Rans abruptly ducks his head the way he does when he wants something so bad that he’s afraid to put words behind it. 

“Yeah, Holtzy,” he says, studying the ingredients label on his bottle. “I’ve been wanting to fall into something with you for a while now.”

It’s not something he has to think about. “Okay.”

Rans looks at him carefully. “What?”

“Okay,” he says again. “Fall into something with me.”

“I don’t know how to do that without fucking it up.”

Holster says, “We’ve done it so far, haven’t we?” and Rans holds the pillow tighter, then sets it aside. 

“What if we kiss,” Rans says, “and it’s very bad, and we aren’t friends after.”

Holster shrugs. “We’ve done it before. We’re still friends.” Rans raises his eyebrows like he’s considering this. “If you want, we could do a trial run. Make it an experiment.”

“Data collection?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Rans hums, inching closer. “How do we start?”

He says maybe something like and Rans is in his lap, knees settling around Holster’s hips. Rans says and then I could and his hands are in Holster’s hair, and on his shoulders, and touching his face. Holster teases the hem of his t-shirt, watching the way Rans’ lips part. 

“What now,” Rans says quietly. He’s a breath away.

Holster wants him closer.

“I think I kiss you now,” he says softly, falling, “and we try not to fuck it up.”

[likeshipsonthesea]

It’s late, and they’re drunk, and Dex’s head is heavy and warm on Nursey’s thigh when Farmer asks, “How would you describe falling in love?”

Nursey watches Dex blink, slow, long red eyelashes fluttering. “Like, technically, or poetically?” he asks with too many syllables.

“Truthfully.”

Dex frowns. “Ach.”

Farmer giggles.

“S’like a shutout,” Chowder says, from somewhere vaguely to Nursey’s right, but he hasn’t looked away from Dex since he dropped his head onto Nursey’s thigh, so Nursey can’t be all that sure. “S’like, you did a good thing. And you got a good thing. S’just, like. Good.”

“I’m assuming,” Dex said, eyebrows doing that condescending thing he likes to do but all wonky, because of the alcohol, “if this fake person doesn’t know what falling in love it, they won’t know what hockey is either.”

Nursey snorts and Dex looks at him. Nursey can’t breathe for a few short moments and then he smiles and Dex smiles back and Nursey really, really wants to touch his hair.

“That wasn’t in the rules,” Chowder says back, from somewhere to the right, and Farmer backs him up mildly, but enough to satisfy him. Dex mumbles something inaudible, but tonally dismissive, and Chowder says, “How would you describe it then?” and Nursey’s heart perks up in his chest.

“I don’t–” Dex purses his lips. “I– I don’t know, it’s just, like, there.”

Chowder snorts, victorious, and Dex hurries to add on.

“No, like, it’s just there. It’s like you were going in this direction the whole time even though you thought you were going somewhere else and it’s, like, it’s a great trip and you’ve got-got all the snack and music and it’s scenic and shit and then you look over and someone’s in the passenger seat and you’re like oh, that’s– that’s why it’s been so nice. You know?”

Nursey stares at the cluster of freckles on Dex’s cheek. The room is silent, like no one is breathing, but Nursey knows he is breathing, mostly because he’s surprised that he is.

“Oh,” Chowder says, from somewhere to the right. Farmer hums.

Nursey takes a moment to gather his resolve and then reaches out to tangle his fingers in Dex’s hair. Dex’s cheeks pink up, and he stares at the ceiling, but he doesn’t pull away.

[zimms]

what’s whiskey’s major? wrong answers only