#omgcp reread
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it's been said many times before, but i'll say it again. they fucked that pie.
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i could literally go on and on about the last few comics of sophomore year but this kiss is- god the domesticity of it. the ordinarality of it. the moving boxes and unmade bed, the half-made blinds, the lamp without a shade. this is not a grand location, but it feels grand, because jack has just run all across campus for this, because there was a moment he thought he was too late, because he found bitty listening to a romantic song and crying over him, because of the way jack holds him. because it's them! because the small moments are often the most grand. and because this is a story they'll be telling for generations, with all its drama and embellishments, turning their story into legend.
#this is dramatic and overly poetic but im stoned and felt like waxing poetic over them#check please#omgcp reread#mine#zimbits#eric bittle#jack zimmermann
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instructions unclear. i got my dick stuck in a lax bro
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finally doing the reread and look!! at the pie bitty drew!! I’ve never noticed it before
also his handwriting is very neat and his phone case says samwell university
#omgcp reread#also I love bitty writing jacks name on his paper#bitty has some pie drawing skills#I don’t know if I could even draw a pie
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this part from 2.9 “parse iii” is literally me about where i’m working after graduation lol
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This old pic of Bitty in full figure skating mode!! I wish we could see more of that aaaaa
#omgcp reread#feel free to block the tag cause I'll be commenting some stuff here and there lol#but for real. it reminds me of when I've searched for all figure skater!bitty fics possible#or just fics of him on the team but practicing it. so precious
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First + Last
#omgcp#omgcheckplease#imma just be here in my corner thinking about growth and friendship and finding yourself as a young adult#heads up: I'm rereading the comic :)#*
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if i don’t get to see this interaction play out in a tv show before i die then i WILL be doing something drastic. btw.
#prints this post out and puts it in an envelope to send to bob netflix#i’m rereading again btw….. expect posting#omgcp#zimbits
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have to wonder how chowder from omg check please is feeling about this season. hope hes ok.
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i love this comic with all my heart and usually you can't tell it started in 2013, but these two frames are Very telling
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i noticed too while rereading that while bitty's bed is often in frame, his bed is usually made & pretty neat. but after he has the moment with jack in the kitchen and has his realization.... his pillows were mussed up, almost like he was screaming into one of them. or punching them? either way he's so relatable i love him
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NEVER REALISED HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS SCENE
just them. just the kitchen. white all around, focussing on them, the broken plate, and what jack said. and like we don't see jack cuss much iirc so like him saying shit here is like so powerful???? like idk how to explain it guys. just ugh. amazing
AND THEN THEY'RE ALONE AGAIN SO IT MIRRORS THE KITCHEN OMGGGGGG
#omgcp#check please#omg check please#zimbits#eric bittle#check please reread number 28584930#ive edited this like a million times in the past three minutes i should finish the chapter before posting but like lol no#jack zimmermann
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read until end
omg check please / nurseydex / au
for @missanniewhimsy who has been waiting for this fic since the wild beat the caps in march, whoops
.
Apparently, being a writer doesn’t pay the bills.
Yet.
Derek always likes to tack that on there. Being a writer doesn’t pay the bills yet, because it will. One day. Hopefully not in the far-off future because he’s got high hopes of moving out of the closet his landlord calls a studio in Flatbush, but that would require several things to happen first, like finishing a manuscript.
He’s working on it.
Turns out that while writing in college had been fairly easy for him, making time to write in between the dead-end jobs that pay the bills when he had no energy left for anything that wasn’t staring blankly at moving pictures on a screen wasn’t so simple. And thanks to the endless parade of dead-end jobs—barista, ticket seller at an off-off-off Broadway theater, cashier—he rarely had an entire day off to devote to finishing the last three chapters of his book.
And when he does get a day off, miracle of miracles, he goes and does stupid things like says yes when his friend asks if he can please, pretty please (with a cherry on top) cover for him this weekend. So instead of burying his face in his computer and a gallon of coffee, he’s out here at the Flatbush farmer’s market, sitting underneath a stark white tent surrounded by books that no one’s so much as glanced at in the last forty-five minutes.
The pies have been flying off the table. Bitty’s in no danger of not making a profit today and Derek’s pretty sure he’ll have to erase the last two flavors—peach and strawberry rhubarb—from the board any second, but the books.
No one’s even looked at the books, despite the large sign declaring them free.
He doesn’t even know why Bitty has them. Well, he knows why—because Eric Bittle has never been able to say no when faced with his sweet old neighbor dropping off anything at his door, let alone seven full boxes of books that she claimed she couldn’t take with her to the retirement home. What he doesn’t know is why Bitty couldn’t just turn around and take them to the nearest donation center. They look out of place in the tent that had been filled with baked goods, and Derek doesn’t blame anyone for looking right past them.
He’s not looking forward to packing them all back up at the market’s end, but at least he won’t ever have to bother with it again.
—
Of course, where Bitty can’t say no to sweet old ladies, Derek apparently can’t say no to Bitty and his big pleading eyes. So when he calls again on Wednesday night—talking so quickly that the words blend together—Derek ends up right back at the market with the books.
The Thursday crowd is calmer than they had been on Saturday, which is both a blessing and a curse. It means Derek’s not on his feet the entire time, but there’s only so much people-watching he can do before he goes crazy. It’s basically inevitable that he picks up the nearest book, despite its god-awful cover, and starts reading.
And reading.
He has to set it down every few pages to smile charmingly at people wandering by and make small talk—no, he’s not the baker, that’s a friend of his … oh yes, everything from scratch, you wanted gluten-free? Right over there in the blue boxes—and it's during one of those conversations that he hits on an idea.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to spend a quiet afternoon reading and eating pie?” a woman asks her friend as Derek loads up a paper bag with her purchases.
“Feel free to take as many as you want,” he says, and watches as she reaches towards the pile and hesitates.
“They don’t really look like my thing, but thanks,” she says. They leave without another word and he hardly sees them go. They didn’t look like his thing either, but the one he’d picked up was good, and—
It doesn’t take much to rip a paper bag in half and rustle up a tape dispenser and marker from Bitty’s supply bag. He spends a few free minutes sorting through the books on the table, setting aside a few that look promising, and then googles reviews on his phone as he wraps them up. All it takes is writing a few generic, key phrases on the paper before he scatters them carefully throughout the boxes of pies and sits back in his seat.
The books fly off the table after that, so quickly that Derek’s previously chill afternoon is now spent feverishly wrapping in between schmoozing and doing the job Bitty is paying him in baked goods to do. Closing comes as a relief this time for a different reason, and he’s just starting to pack the remaining books back into boxes when a shadow falls over the table.
“No more blackberry?” someone asks, and Derek almost snorts. He’s been out of pies for nearly an hour, he’d only stayed to get rid of some more of the books.
“Sorry man,” he says, glancing up—a mistake. Derek’s always been a sucker for redheads, and the setting sun has cast a glow that makes his hair shine nearly golden. “No more anything.”
The man’s face falls, and Derek’s heart along with it.
“Come back next week, I’ll make sure you get one,” he says before he can stop to think about all the things wrong with that sentence, starting with the fact he won’t be there.
The guy’s fingers trail over one of the wrapped books Derek hadn’t yet put away. “Magical realism,” he says, sounding amused and more than a little dismissive. “Never really got the point.”
Derek straightens up at that and looks across the almost-empty table. “Sounds like you haven’t read any,” he says, and reaches over to push the book closer with two fingers. “Should try it before you make up your mind.”
The man grins at him, crooked but sure. “Too late for that.”
—
The next Thursday morning finds Derek wishing he’d never been born as he listens to Bitty repeat every word of their conversation to Jack, only to come back on the line to say, “You can come along, Sugar, but this I’ve got to see.”
A few more minutes of cajoling Bitty gets him nowhere, and, already resigned to his fate, he fires off a text to Jack.
I’ll give you $20 if you convince him to stay home.
It doesn’t take long for Jack to respond. This is excessive, especially for you.
The day is nice, at least, and Bitty running his own booth does mean that Derek is kept well fed and can hide behind his laptop screen. He’s writing in the sense that he deletes two out of every three sentences he comes up with but it’s more than he’s produced in the last month, so he’ll take it. He’d definitely be more productive elsewhere, but being elsewhere would mean that he couldn’t glance up and down the street every forty-five seconds hoping to catch a glimpse of bright red hair, so he stays. The constant tapping at the keys earns him proud looks from Bitty, who seems to think he’s getting much more done than he really is.
Derek doesn’t dissuade him of that notion.
It figures that the man he’s been idly thinking about all week comes up at the exact time that Derek’s zoned in, fingers punching out sentences he’ll no doubt hate the next day. It takes Bitty poking his shoulder to realize it, blinking at the slight disorientation of the sun being in a completely different spot than he remembered—shining right into his eyes—and being addressed with a question.
“—says you saved him a blackberry pie?”
Bitty’s blinking in a manner that is likely supposed to look innocent and misses it by a mile. He knows perfectly well the pie in question is resting in a bag at Derek’s feet, because he’d put it there himself.
Derek stares back at him. If Bitty’s going to insist on intervening, Derek’s not going to make it easy for him.
“For heaven’s—” Bitty mutters, and turns a sparkling smile on the man as he reaches down. “Sorry, Will. Derek just gets so focused sometimes, it’s like he’s on another planet. You know how writers are.”
“I really don’t,” the man—Will—says, but he’s grinning as he looks at Derek. “Thanks for saving that for me. My shift ends too late for me to get over here any earlier.”
“All good,” Derek says. His back, which has not appreciated the last several hours molded to a metal folding chair, chooses that second to twinge. He shifts and stretches, and catches Will’s eyes dropping to his torso as he does. “I saved you something else, too.”
Bitty had given up on giving away the books—Derek was mostly certain that was Jack’s doing—but he’d had brought what he’d needed along. He takes the immaculately wrapped book out of his backpack and passes it over, forcing himself to keep a straight face as Will’s eyes scan the bullet points. Sword fights, he’d written at the top, followed by patricide and descriptions of food so good that you’ll need at least five snacks while you read.
Magical realism had been conveniently left out.
Will grins, his shoulders shaking with a short laugh. “I’m not much of a reader.”
That’s—almost a deal-breaker, and Bitty seems to know it by the way he jolts into action. “Five snacks—well, you’ve already got the pie but I’ve got some of these cookies I’ve been testing, they’re missing a little something but I haven’t figured out what. Take some and come back next week and tell me what you think. And if you go to Justin over there—he’s got the best salsa, just tell him Eric sent you and he’ll toss in some chips. Derek, sugar, would you go get the peaches that Chris is holding for me and start loading them in my car?”
He looks over at Will—already biting into one of the cookies Bitty had almost thrown at him—and winks. “Enjoy.”
The reader comment can be forgiven by the way two identical patches of red immediately bloom on Will’s cheeks.
—
It takes just a few days for Derek to get a text from an unknown number on his phone.
Still isn’t my thing.
You read until the end, Derek writes back. He’d written his number on the fifth to last page—just far enough from the end that it probably wouldn’t be seen if someone was just flipping through.
Only because I kept expecting it to get better.
He taps the back of his phone, ignoring how Jack jostles him when he squeezes his way onto the couch, tossing a bag of chips down on the coffee table as the theme to Hockey Night in Canada plays. We can hit up the bookstore, he finally types in. I’ll find something you like. Cornerstone, Thursday at 7.
Three dots appear and disappear so often that Derek is sure Will is trying to find a polite way to turn him down. What he gets instead, however, is—It’s a date.
--
(And they lived happily ever after the end)
#look this is my first and likely only omgcp fic#because i will not be so foolish to bet on the caps again when all they ever do is break my heart#ANYWAY#i reread the comics and scoured for every mention of these two fools and i still don't feel like i have a good handle on it so when i say a#i mean au in every sense of the word!!!#nurseydex#also i stole the last line from annie lololol#that's how she told me to end it so i did#eli writes
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shitty curse count - year one
i noticed during my reread that shitty curses like a lot & thought it’d be silly & goofy to count how many times & what his favorites are (spoiler alert: shitty really likes saying fuck)
total y1 count: 30
distribution:
fuck (& variations thereof): 22
dick: 2
cock: 1
bitch: 2
ass: 1
shit: 1
hell: 1
a note: there are 5 instances where whether or not shitty is speaking is open to interpretation due to the framing of the panel. these are in 1.16 “linemates” (fucking); 1.18 “playoffs-i” (fucking); 1.18 “playoffs-i” (shit); 1.19 “playoffs-ii” (fucker); & 1.19 “playoffs-ii” (hell). i have included all these instances in my counts bc i can <3
#omgcp#omgcp reread#shitty curse count#made this post on mobile so sorry if the formatting is dogshit lol
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Aw my heart, to go back into the beginning of the comic and seeing how different is the art style ;0; ❤️ it's lovely to see all the changes this story had during the years it was updated
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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."
#omgcp#omgcheckplease#jack zimmermann#zimbits#I meant to do a VERY SERIOUS reread of the comic but then I couldn't help myself#what do you MEAN this isn't my best post ever#text
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