#making puck's brain work overtime again

[bloodtwin]

@karsussfolly ⸻ ❝ . . . . . . . . . . ❞

❝ gale, you know i did not understand a single word you just said, yes ？❞

[ahockeywrites]

the death of peace of mind

read part one here authors note: part two of the jack hughes angst is here! there will be a part three at least but not sure if people want a happy ending or not… if you want a happy ending, at least another two parts 👀

warnings: angst, fem!reader, smut, oral f!receiving

Pucks rang against the ironwork of the goalposts and Jack’s groans could be heard throughout the practice arena. He hadn’t got any pucks past any of the goalies and was pissed at himself. He just refrained from breaking his stick on his leg, that information could get relayed to the press and he didn’t need you to find out.

It had been six months. Six months since he walked out and left you alone in your bed. Six months since he fucked his own life up. 

Jack was first off the ice and into the showers. He couldn’t deal with the media or his teammates, even Luke. His brain was working overtime. All he wanted to do was check up and see if you were okay. But he couldn’t. You had blocked him on social media and blocked his number. He hated himself more every single day.

A phone buzzed and he checked his pocket to see if it was his phone. It wasn’t, but he was greeted by your face. His beautiful ex girlfriend. The phone buzzed again and he realised that it was Luke’s. Fuck, he was going crazy. He needed a wild night out, to get underneath someone, take his mind off you. 

Hot, sweet kisses were pressed to your thighs as Jack continued his ministrations of your body. The heels of your feet pressed into his upper back as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your thigh, marking you as his. Strong arms kept your legs pushed apart, not allowing you to clamp them together as you needed to. 

Your hands carded through his locks, tugging as his nose accidentally hit your clit over your underwear. The sweet scent of you hit him, fuck, he needed more of you. Over the cloth, Jack’s tongue started circling your clit. You couldn’t control your hips as they started pushing down onto his face and gyrating. 

The friction was too sweet for you, you couldn’t help yourself when Jack pulled aside the sorry excuse for fabric and wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves whilst pushing one of his fingers into you. Your grip on his hair tightened as he felt the legs on either side of him start to shake.

How had no one had gone between your legs and tasted your sweet pussy was a mystery to him. It was his favourite place to settle into after a tough day on the ice. 

Your moans flooded Jack’s ears as he felt you clench around his finger. His movements were precise, every motion had a purpose. The way his finger curled against your inner walls, the way his tongue darted on your clit. The combination was enough to make you see stars.

Jack made you see more than stars. He allowed you to see stars, planets, a supernova that grew in size with every orgasm. 

“That’s it,” Jack coached, as he pulled away from your cunt ever so slightly. He knew that you would be too overstimulated if he kept his lips around your clit during the final waves of your orgasm. “Always look so beautiful for me, pretty girl”

Another loss. Another fucking loss. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed to be healthy scratched, he wasn’t good enough for the team. Every pass he made was either intercepted or missed who it was meant for. 

The girls Jack had slept with were okay. But they weren’t you. They didn’t moan in the same way, they didn’t tug on his hair in the same way. It was painful, all he wanted was you. And he had walked away from the best thing in his life.

Jack’s hand shook as he poured himself another shot of vodka. It wasn’t healthy and he knew it, but he had tried everything else he could think of. Drowning himself in alcohol was the only option.

He couldn’t remember the night. Nico had to tell him how much of a mess he was the morning after as his captain shoved a glass of water with liquid IV into his hand. Apparently he had rang Nico and told him everything. How he walked out on you because you were too good for him.

You were the best thing to happen to Jack and he had walked away.

[fruitcoops]

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

--------------------------------

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

[moonofthenight]

Skip a Beat

It's been some time but here we are. If you want to get into it again, here is the full masterlist

*

Credit for the boys goes to @lumosinlove

*

CW fighting on the ice but nothing detailed

Chapter Five

Logan was sweating, his breaths were short and his legs were getting tired. He looked over to Leo and Logan could see how frustrated he was.  They were tied until the Snakes got a goal a few minutes ago, a very unfair one to be honest; Logan still thought it shouldn’t have been counted. But he was even more determined to change the score now, he just needed to get through their defense; Finn was watching and the clock kept ticking. He moved his gaze upwards.

2-3

2:58

He took a deep breath in, digging his skates into the ice, pushing forward. The puck was not far away, Malfoy moving towards him with it. He had an idea and it could either go very wrong or it would tie them up. He hadn’t done this trick since college, it always worked back then but this was the NHL and not his college league. Fortunately, Malfoy was too focused on the puck to notice how Logan moved sideways and around him, stealing the puck on his way and letting it slide right between Malfoy’s legs into Logan’s possession. The stadium erupted into cheers, a wave of red and gold showed him the way to the other side of the ice. Sirius and Remus were with him in a heartbeat, understanding his movements, following his lead. Sirius gained speed, making his way through the Green’s defense and Logan saw the opportunity, passing him the puck without a hesitation; Sirius knew, reacting fast and shooting the black circle right into the goal. Logan let his head fall back, accepting the hugs from Sirius and Remus. He looked at the black-haired man, a smile forming on his lips at the proud look on his brother’s face. 

“Good job, Tremzy.”

“Anything for the team, Cap.”

Logan gave him a mock salute, knowing that someone else needs him right now. 

Leo hated Overtimes nearly as much as a Shootout, the pressure just got worse and worse the longer a game went on. He learned how to deal with it over time but it’s one of those things you mess up if you concentrate too much on it. He bent down to stretch his legs but straightened up again when he saw skates stopping in front of him. Logan smiled at Leo, knocking their helmets together. 

“You got this, mon amour. Just five more minutes,” Logan whispered, trying to encourage him. 

“I just don’t want to mess it up now, we are so close.”

“I know, I know.”

Logan reached behind Leo, grabbing the water bottle and opening it up.

“Drink something, your body is exhausted and you will need any strength you can get.”

He took his helmet off and took a sip, his eyes searching the lounge. Finn’s eyes found his and that was the last bit he needed.

He got this.

Sirius skated over, stopping right in front of Logan, patting his helmet.

“I need you to trust me now, follow my lead, yeah?”

With a sharp nod, Logan skated into his position.

---

Finn leaned over the small balcony to get a better look, his nerves were frazzled.

He did his fair share of research before the game so he knew all the team needed was one single goal. He looked to the right, just as Leo looked up to him. His heart stopped before it continued to beat in double time. He held his gaze.

You got this it said I believe in you

Leo broke the eye contact and Finn focused on the rest of the events down on the ice, his eyes on Logan now. It was hard to find him, especially when he was moving but now, without his helmet on, he could admire him without any problems. Logan looked incredible on the ice, Leo did too. Finn could feel that this was their space, their home and he was honoured to see it.

It was honestly too much for his poor nerves, it would have been amazing if someone told him how aggressive a game could get. That would have prevented the heart attack he nearly got when Logan dropped his gloves and was sent to the box with a black eye during the first period. The funny thing was, while Finn nearly fell from his seat when the first punch flew, noone around him even batted an eyelash so he was just assuming it was normal now. 

The collective movement of the players signalled the start of the Overtime and Finn’s focus went back to the game. Those five minutes were the longest of his life, the Snakes were merciless, shooting shot after shot but Leo wasn’t a NHL goalie for nothing; he blocked every single one. Or Finn thought so because his brain completely shut down after Leo needed to drop down in the splits for one save; he knew he was a goner.

---

The time after the game was a blur to Finn. He didn’t know where he needed to go or if the boys wanted him down with them but at the same time why would they? They just won a game and probably just wanted to celebrate and Finn definitely wasn’t important enough to-

The soft tones of his phone stopped his inner rambling.

If you go down the stairs from before again, I’ll be there to pick you up

Finn could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, excitement flowing through his body. They did want him with them. He nearly stumbled over his own feet on the way towards the stairs but he managed to catch himself. 

Keep it together O’Hara.

Logan was indeed waiting for him and Finn all but fell into his arms, not that he would admit that.

“I’m not quite sure if I hate you and Leo or if I just want to celebrate with you because you did incredible. I think you did,” Finn said while peeling himself from Logan, who was still wearing his jersey (Finn wanted to wear it).

“Hey! Why would you hate us?”

“Because, Mr. Tremblay, the stunt you pulled in the first period nearly made me come down onto the ice myself and neither of you gave me a warning on how aggressive this whole thing is.”

“Oh please, this was nothing,” Logan said casually while wrapping his arm around Finn’s shoulders, who slightly leaned into the touch, “Now, let’s go. I want you to meet the team.”

---

The locker room was loud and Finn already heard Taylor Swift blasting three turns away, which made him laugh under his breath. Logan pulled him around the corner and pushed the door open and Finn was greeted with a roaring crowd of adrenalin-fuelled hockey players. 

“Who is this handsome boy you brought with you Tremzy and does have a brother?”, screamed one player from the other side of the room from his stall.

“That, my dear Blizzard, is Finn O’Hara and he does indeed have a brother but I won’t play wingman for you.”

Finn blushed under all the attention, he just wasn't used to it anymore. 

He gave everybody a shy wave, “Hey everyone, good game.”

“Maybe we won because of you. You have to come to every game from now on,” said a boy with messy curls and glasses.

“Oh leave the poor man alone, Pots. Don’t scare him off already.”

Finn was a bit overwhelmed but he calmed down when he saw Leo making his way over to them.

“Thank you for coming today, it meant a lot to us,” he said while greeting Finn with a quick hug.

Logan took a moment to just look at Finn and maybe he saw him for the first time. The happy but nervous look in his eyes, the freckle above his lip, the way his smile creates a few wrinkles at his eyes, the way his lips were glossy, the way Finn was being Finn.

And Logan noticed how his heart changed his rhythm, altered it, adjusted it’s way of beating and made room for another person he didn’t know was missing and even though the thought of falling for Finn made him want to leave the room because Leo, it also made him feel weirdly free.

Little did he know that Leo looked at Finn the exact same way he looked at Logan and if Dumo’s eyes started to glint with a familiar excitement then that was nobody's business but his own.

[carnationcreation]

Hi! Can I please get an imagine where the reader is Bombay’s daughter and he’s never been around because of his job and that he left the readers mum years ago. But he comes back to coach her team, not knowing she plays and they argue, he pleads to get to know her etc.☺️😄basically the absentee!father x reader who wishes for a father but doesn’t know how to forgive him

TITLE: Forgiveness [Can you imagine?] (Bombay x daughter!reader)

✌🏻Masterlist Taglist, Requests, and Works in progress!

Prompt/summary:  Bombay tries to reconnect with the daughter he walked out on 8 years ago. 

Word Count: 2,519

Authors note: You said argue? Alright here’s some angst. It feels so good to be writing for The Mighty Ducks again, this is one of my favorite movies so I’m so happy I got a request for it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every summer I used to get the same letter from my dad. It actually wasn’t even a letter. It was child support.

Every fall we used to stop by the diner in town to get milkshakes to celebrate the anniversary of him leaving us. It wasn’t that he was a terrible dad, she just knew she could do better for the both of us if he wasn’t around. After 8 years she still got the same order every time we went to the diner, and every year Mrs. Conway was still there taking our order.

Her son Charlie was always there too. Both of us played on the same hockey team and every winter we would drag our gear down to the pond to practice with our team.

That entire routine changed after one day.

“Goldburg you’re the goalie, the puck is supposed to hit you,” Charlie sighed as he skated towards us.

“Does that sound stupid to anyone else?” the goalie groaned.

I rolled my eyes at him before lining up another shot. 

After a few more shots Charlie tapped my shoulder, he looked in wonder as a car drove out onto the ice. We all wandered over and a man in a finely pressed suit stepped out. 

“Wait, that can’t be him-” I mumbled.

“We ain’t buying nothing man, I’m feeling generous today so I’ll let your sorry vanilla bootie outta here before we use your eyeballs as hockey pucks!” Jesse said.

“Thanks bro,” the man rolled his eyes before going to reach in to his jacket, “but I’m not going home ‘til I take care of business.”

The group slowly backed up. When the man pulled out a piece of paper and not a gun we all sighed in relief.

“District five pee-wee hockey team, I’m Gordon Bombay. Your new coach.”

The team laughed as I locked eyes with Charlie. He saw the absolute panic in my eyes. 

“Got the roster right here. Averman, Dave. Bombay, (Y/n). Conway, Charlie. ”

His face scrunched up as he got to mine. Confusion or being uncomfortable. Either way I couldn’t tell. Luckily no one seemed to notice the fact that I had the same last name as the coach.

“Here’s the long and the short of it. I hate hockey and I don’t like kids. I’m sure this will be a real bonding experience.  Maybe one day, one of you will even write a book about it in jail.”

Charlie nudged my shoulder, looking at me with a questioning look. I sighed, “He used to love hockey, but he really seems to hate kids. My mom said she heard that he got a DWI last week.”

Bombay ordered us to scrimmage. We all dove for the puck. Players tripped and fell over each other as we desperately tried to play. I finally got the puck and started to make a move towards the goal when Jesse (accidentally or not) hooked my ankle with his stick as he fell. Connie skated over quickly to help me up before taking off over to Bombay.

I rubbed my sore elbows as Charlie and I skated back over to the car that was still parked on the ice. Bombay brushed the team off by saying we need to scrimmage more and got back into the car.

“What a jerk,” Peter said. 

Eventually the team came to the amazing conclusion we should hijack the car. On Peters mark, we all jumped on the car, shook it, and climbed inside.

“We want a ride! We want a ride!” Connie began to chant as we all joined in.

“Take em for a spin, anything!” Bombay said, we all cheered as they started driving.

The fun didn’t last for long. Charlie’s mom soon appeared on the ice and made us all get out.

She furiously shouted, “Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking putting that car on the ice? My son was in that car!”

“Lady lady relax,” Bombay said, “The ice is not gonna crack.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she said. Charlie and I slowly got out of the car and skated to the side to take off our skates.

Bombay sighed, “Gordon Bombay, the new hockey coach.”

Oh lord he was in for it now.

“Oh you’re the dead beat that married (Y/m/n). They send you down here to coach the team and you endanger their lives. You endangered your daughter's life!”

I hid my face with my hand as Bombay looked back at me. Oh god he knows now. 

Charlie’s mom eventually pulled us away and drove us home. I knew I’d be hearing about this from my mom later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By order of the state of Minnesota Bombay was at the game the next day. I’d made it my mission to avoid my “dad”. Charlie did a good job of keeping him away, asking him questions or distracting him. I knew I’d have to talk to him eventually but until then I was content with pretending I wasn’t his daughter. 

The game was a joke. We didn’t score any goals. Didn’t get a chance to defend ourselves as the Hawks beat us into the ground. 9-0. I left the game with bruises on my face and arms. My helmet was barely covering my face and my hockey pads were my dad’s old ones from the 80’s. One of the few things I stole from his house when we left. Charlie was extremely frustrated at the missed shot he had towards the end of the second period.

As the team sat arguing I was putting my gear up. 

“I thought we came here to play hockey. Do you guys think losing is funny?” Bombay yelled.

“It’s not like you coach us or anything. At least we tried,” Jesse said.

Bombay’s face went red with rage, “That was the sloppiest playing I’ve ever seen. Why the hell won’t you just listen to me?!”

I stood up, shouldering my bag, “Why the hell should we?”

The team followed me out of the box. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next game was a disaster. Bombay encouraged us to lie, cheat, and foul our way through the game. Bombay was furious when Charlie wouldn’t do his little act when he was cornered. The bruises on my face still hadn’t healed properly. 

The locker room was filled with groans as everyone agreed the game was pathetic.

“Charlie! When I tell you to do something, you do it! Got it?”

“You can’t make me cheat,” Charlie said walking out of the locker room.

Jessie and Terry’s dad stormed into the locker room, “LEt’s go boys. This is what I gave up my overtime pay for? To watch my kids take falls? You’re a pathetic excuse for a coach, and an even more pathetic father if you can let your daughter get beaten up like that.”

The team’s heads turned to me as he pointed in my direction. I let my head fall as I stormed out behind Jessie and Terry. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really thought I could keep avoiding him. I didn’t think he would come and try to find me. 

The next day at practice was a shock for everyone. We all got new uniforms, gear, and sticks. Everyone was pumped up during practice and we even got two new players.

“What changed?” I asked Charlie.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. He came and apologized last night.”

My blood boiled. He can apologize to another kid but not his own daughter who he practically abandoned. I warmed up to him as practice went on but in the back of my mind there was still that thought lingering. 

“(Y/n), you’re riding home with me,” Bombay told me as I packed up my stuff.

I looked at him confused, “But-”

“Your mom said it was okay.”

I silently followed him out to the car, the driver had rolled up the middle window so we could have some privacy.

“So…” he said, I stayed quiet still looking out the window, “Your mom told me you never quit hockey. Even after I…”

“Left?”

He sighed, “Yeah I guess it was like that wasn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Look (Y/n), if I had known how much it had affected you I never would’ve stepped out that door. Your mom and I… we just weren’t good together.”

I scoffed, “No, your drinking side just didn’t line up with the fact mom wanted a decent husband.”

He went to speak again but quickly closed his mouth.

“I’ll just imagine me forgiving you. Maybe one day I can actually do it with meaning,” I sighed and went to pick my bag up as the driver pulled up to the curb. 

“(Y/n),” he said grabbing my arm, “I already talked to Charlie about this. I’m so sorry for the way I acted. I never should have asked you guys to cheat. And I definitely shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you guys. I’d do anything to try and get you to forgive me.”

“I’m just confused as to why your star player got an apology before your daughter did. I’ve been waiting for that for 8 years. If you truly wanted that from me you should’ve tried a long time ago.”

I slammed the car door as I got out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days I spent at Charlie’s house when my mom wasn’t home, hoping Bombay wouldn’t come track me down again. 

“(Y/n)?” Charlie said, “Someone left a package for you.”

I looked up from the comic books that were sprawled across Charlie’s bed in confusion as he sat the brown paper package down. My name was written across it in black sharpie.

Charlie shook his head, “Well, are you gonna open it?”

“I think I already know who it’s from.”

“(Y/n), he really wants to make it up to you. Just open it.”

I sighed and slowly ripped the paper, inside was a jersey. My favorite hockey team’s jersey.

“Woah,” I said.

Charlie scoffed, “Your dad sent you that? How’d he know your favorite team?”

“Cause it’s his favorite too. Charlie this is his vintage jersey.”

“Well,” he said, “Maybe you can start imagining that forgiveness part.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The Ducks? We’re the ducks? What brain dead jerk came up with that name,” Peter scoffed. 

“As a matter of fact,” Bombay said pulling a jersey out of the box, “I did. But I didn’t have a choice, we’re being sponsored. You’d rather be district 5? Some stupid number?”

“They don’t even have teeth,” Peter said.

“Neither do hockey players,” he said, we all giggled, “Have you ever seen a flock of ducks flying in perfect formation? It’s beautiful. Pretty awesome how they all stick together. The other animals are afraid, cause they know if they mess with one duck then they’ll get the whole flock.”

Bombay walked around the locker room giving his little speech. He smiled when he got to me, his eyes flicking down to see I was wearing the old jersey he had left for me. 

He whipped off his coat to reveal his Ducks jersey underneath as we all laughed, “I’m proud to be a duck, and I’d be proud to fly with any one of you.”

Charlie and I smiled at each other.

“So how about it? Who’s a duck?”

Silence followed as everyone looked around the room to see who would go first.

“I’ll be a duck,” our new player Fulton Reed said.

I smiled and placed my hockey stick on the bench, “I’ll join the flock.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said following suit, “me too.”

Soon enough the whole team joined in. Grabbing jerseys and cheering.

“We are the ducks!” Bombay shouted, “The Mighty Ducks!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few games were amazing. Our winning streak started to pick up and soon enough we were getting ready to face off against Cardinals. 

Charlie and I were named the dynamic duo. Our ability to make plays and take shots off of each other improved everyday. But that put a target on our back. 

It was the third quarter, we had to make one shot to pull us out of a tie and win. The crowd was going crazy as Charlie and I sped up the ice. Our team following behind us for backup. 

It was a stupid idea. 

Charlie went to take a shot as I saw a goon defender moving in for the body check. So I threw myself in between Charlie and the goon. My head snapped back against the glass as I heard the buzzer go off signaling a goal.

The team cheered. Charlie frantically raced over to me.

“(Y/n)?”

I could barely hear him, the ringing in my ears was so loud, “Where’s my dad?”

Charlie looked confused before shouting over to Bombay.

“(Y/n)? Can you hear me?” he said.

“Dad?” I started to cry as the pain caught up to me.

“Get her helmet off Charlie,” he said, I felt Charlie gently take it off and the coolness of the ice against the back of my head, “(Y/n) the paramedics are gonna get you off the ice okay?”

I felt myself being picked up off the ice and lifted onto a stretcher, the crowd clapped as I was rolled off the ice.

The ride to the hospital was short, Charlie’s mom called my mom's work to tell her what happened and she rushed over as Casey rode to the hospital with me.

“Where’s my dad?”

“He had to finish up the game, he’s gonna meet us there afterwards.”

Everything happened really fast when we got there, I wasn’t allowed to sleep even though I was super tired. 

“Look who’s here” Casey said. I turned to see Bombay and Charlie walking in.

“Woah,” I yelped as Charlie ran over to give me a hug.

“Are you crazy? You won’t be able to play at the next game!” 

I laughed, “At least we get a next game. It was worth it.”

He rolled his eyes and ruffled my hair. Bombay sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. Casey and Charlie walked outside.

“Do you remember what happened after you took that hit?”

I paused trying to think back to earlier, “Um… not really.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it in front of the team. You called me dad.”

I turned my head to look down at the sheets, “Oh…”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” he laughed, “But the team is definitely going to have questions for you tomorrow.”

I smiled. 

“Alright, grab your stuff. The doctor said you can go, you just can’t practice or play in a game for a week.”

My eyes widened, “A week?!”

“Yes,” he said, “And I better not hear any complaints. I’ll make you run extra. Your moms waiting on us.”

“Where?”

“At the diner, she said something about milkshakes.”

I smiled, “We always get milkshakes after games.”

“Well, it’s on me tonight.”

I jumped up and gave him a hug before running out to grab Charlie. I think I can imagine that forgiveness thing now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @thebookwormlife @talksoprettyjjx  @coolreallyfuzzystudentuniverse  @igotabadfeelingabouteverything @larrystylinson-sus @lovesanimals @aunicornmademedoit @thexhotmess @ssprayberrythings @registerednursejackie @julieandthephantomsblogduh @fangirling-allday @solophantomsmultis @drxgxnslxyer @schnapp-my-neck​

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

seasons with you

summary: the first year of your relationship with Brett is breathtakingly easy; the seasons pass in a blink of an eye.

warnings: none

word count: 4.6k

note from the writer: I’m in love with this idea and this sweetheart

FALL

“Are you excited for tonight?”

The question was probably a dumb one. Of course, a professional hockey player was excited for the opening night of the season. But you had to ask, because you were absolutely ecstatic about it and wanted an in to express it. Brett probably knew already, you had been at his apartment for fifteen minutes to spend some time with him before he had to leave for the rink and the entire time you had been bouncing from room to room.

“I’m excited that you finally get to come see me play.” Brett teased as he exited his bedroom in his game day suit. Your relationship was new, a little more than a month, but you were certain that you’d never get used to just how handsome he was. There had been preseason games, but between work and school you hadn’t had the chance to make it to one yet. Though, you had opening night circled on your calendar with a promise that you’d be there.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You grinned, pulling Brett in the moment he started to lean down for a kiss. You were certain you would never be able to deny him anything, and you didn’t want to when his lips felt as sweet as they did against yours. Kissing him was easy, just like everything else when it came to Brett.

“Did you see where the tickets I got you are?” He questioned, pulling away just enough to mumble the words against your lips before stealing another peck.

“I did, and I don’t even want to know how much they cost you.” You shook your head, retreating back to the kitchen where you had been snacking on the limited amount of food in his cupboards. “Ice level seats at the Garden on opening night? Probably more than my rent.”

Your comment earned a laugh and a shake of the head from Brett, and the sound alone was enough to bring a smile to your face. Though you weren’t exactly the most comfortable with him spending money on you, you knew how much it meant to him that you were there. He leaned down for another kiss, and suddenly all your problems melted away.

Hours later and you found yourself sitting in the very seats Brett had gotten you. It didn’t take much brain power for you to figure out why he had chosen that spot. It was in the Rangers warm up area, with a hole on the plexiglass where a cameraman usually stood right in front of you.

The stadium came alive as the home team skated onto the ice, and though it was mesmerizing how they managed to skate in circles so seamlessly without running into each other, your gaze was trained on your boyfriend. He spotted you immediately, his smile widening as soon as you locked eyes, but he took a few laps and some shots on goal before skating over to you.

“Hi.” He spoke through the camera hole loud enough so you were able to hear him. A few more people crowded around you, but otherwise it was just the two of you. “I like that jersey.”

“Thanks, my boyfriend made me wear it.” You teased, tugging at the bottom of the white jersey you had gotten a week prior. The number twenty-one and Howden were emblazoned on the back, no doubt Brett was having a field day seeing you in his number.

You wouldn’t have minded chatting with him for the rest of warm ups, but Kreider decided to mess with Brett and checked him into the glass in front of you. The older player smiled and gave you a wave, before skating off with little more than a playful shove from your boyfriend.

Brett gave you a smile before returning back to the warm ups, and you watched as he skated around with a lightness and ease you had only seen through your television screen before. He was grinning the whole time, stopping by your seat no less than six times before they had to get off the ice to prepare for the game.

And as much as you loved admiring Brett, when he wasn’t on the ice your focus was on the action. And there was a lot of action. The Rangers scored first, Zibanejad with a one timer, and you cheered along with an entire stadium. But then the Penguins managed to tie the game just before the end of the first period. Five minutes into the second, the Penguins scored again, but the score was evened quickly after with a slapshot from Trouba.

You slumped on your seat when the Penguins scored again, and held your breath when the play was reviewed. The crowd let out a simultaneous groan the moment they heard that the call on the ice stands, that it was a good goal, and you joined in. The second period ended with the visiting team up one, but then the third started off with a bang. Buchnevich with a tip-in and an assist from Kreider.

Time was running out and with the game tied, everytime anyone got a shot anywhere near the goal you were gripping the seat in anticipation. A minute and thirty seconds left on the clock, you had practically resigned yourself to the fact that this game would be going into overtime.

But then, the Rangers and the Penguins were making a line change and there must have been a mistake on the guest bench because suddenly the Rangers were on a breakaway. Your heart stopped in your chest as you spotted who had the puck—Brett. He was making a breakaway attempt on goal with time dwindling away and the closest defender was seven paces behind him. The crowd grew louder as he got closer, and you were pretty sure you weren’t breathing but that didn’t matter at the moment because—

Top shelf, blocker side.

You don’t really remember when you jumped to your feet, or when you started screaming, but it didn’t matter because your voice was lost in the rioting stadium. Brett was skating, away from the goal and away from his teammates you were rushing to celebrate with him and it took you a moment to realize he was skating towards you.

He slammed into the glass in front of you, smiling and pointing at you for a second before his linemates were on him and crushing him into a hug. You slammed on the glass, excitement and adrenaline rushing through you. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he led his linemates to the bench for high fives. He looked so happy and you couldn’t believe it had taken you so long to go to one of his games.

The final buzzer sounded and the crowd was still cheering from Brett’s goal, and you knew you could take your time heading down to the locker room area to meet him. No doubt he was going to have interviews, he played amazingly, got the game winning goal, and was even named second star of the game.

When he finally came out he was grinning from ear to ear and wasted no time in pulling you in for a hug.

“Congratulations!” You cheered while still pressed into his chest. You could feel him chuckle and press a kiss to the top of your head, and you pulled back just enough so he could land his next one on your lips.

When he finally pulled back and let you go, you didn’t move far. Your arms were still loosely around his torso, and he had one around your shoulders. He was smiling down at you, and though he usually was, the win and the goal on opening night clearly had put him in a great mood. And when he spoke next, you could hear his joy in his words, coupled with an honesty that had you leaning into him more.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

WINTER

“This is why I moved to the city.”

Your comment earned a confused look from your boyfriend, but you didn’t mind. He was still grinning at you though, but you barely noticed as you took in the city around you.

“Because of the lights?” He questioned, looking between the string lights set up in the trees in the park and your beaming smile. You nodded, tucking yourself closer into his side as a breeze blew past you. When you told him that you wanted to go for a walk, he was a little skeptical. It was nearing the end of January and freezing cold at night, but you seemed so excited that he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. And he was really glad that he didn’t.

“I grew up stargazing, the lights are like having a clear sky every night.” You confessed, gaze flicking between the boy next to you and the sights around you.

Brett had never really thought about it before, but now that you had brought it up he couldn’t help but agree with you. Maybe he did actually like the lights, but he had a feeling that it had more to do with the fact that you were absolutely entranced with the view.

“C’mon, I need to warm up.” You dragged Brett out of his thoughts, pulling him over to a hot chocolate vendor. He watched as you interacted with the older man that ran the stand, unable to help the smile that grew on his face as you ordered. You chatted with the vendor as he served you, the infectious cheer that you brought with you everywhere brightening up the man as you paid and left.

Brett was certain in that moment that he had struck gold in finding you. You were everything that he could ever want in a partner: kind, funny, and willing to put up with his crazy NHL schedule. He had already called his mom about you at least ten times—a month—since you started dating. He endured the chirps from his brother about how much he cared for you, and Brett even threw in a few about how his brother acted the same way with his now sister-in-law.

It was that thought that had completely leveled him the first time he had it, that he cared for you the same way his brother cared for his wife. He had known for a week, at the very least, that he loved you and that you were it for him. The problem arose when he tried to tell you so. He was almost certain that you felt the same way, but there was a nagging thought that maybe you didn’t, that you weren’t as invested in your relationship as he was. And it was that fear that had his mouth going dry and palms getting sweaty if he even thought about telling you.

But with the lights shining on you in the perfect way that they were, he knew he was going to combust if he tried to wait a moment longer.

He had once again been lost in his thoughts, and you squeezing his hand brought him back to reality only for him to realize that you had stopped walking. You were watching him intently, a brow quirked up and he knew you were silently asking him what was up.

“Can I tell you something?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, because they sounded bad. And he could tell you felt the same as he watched a mix of confusion and nervousness flash across your face. His eyes widened as he quickly tried to backtrack and reassure you that everything was fine all at the same time. “No! Not like—nothing bad, I promise.”

“Okay…” You trailed off, wondering what could have gotten him so flustered so quickly. He was fine moments before, if not a bit spacey, and you briefly wondered if that was part of the problem, too. Something was on his mind, you just weren’t sure what it was.

Brett steeled his nerves, sucking in a breath as he contemplated just exactly how he wanted to word his confession. You were looking up at him with a confused look, the adorable way your brows furrowed together, and your lips pouted just slightly distracting him for a second, long enough to have him forgetting anything he might have had planned to say.

“I love you.” He blurted, closing his eyes in a kind of wince that told you he was kicking himself for his clunky delivery. You, on the other hand, were completely ecstatic with the way things had panned out. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was exactly what you wanted. It was real and honest, and you could tell for a fact that he meant it.

Your response was an easy one. You had been feeling the same way for some time, you could pinpoint the exact time when you knew you were done for. He had just gotten in late from a road trip, a week and a half on the west coast, and instead of heading back to his own apartment after getting back he showed up at your doorstep at nearly one in the morning. It was all tired mumbles about how he sleeps better with you and it took exactly zero convincing for you to let him spend the night.

Brett was still waiting for you to respond, other than the beaming smile you were giving him. You could see the panic in his eyes, how he thought that maybe he had screwed things up with you if you didn’t feel the same, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle at how he ever could think that you didn’t love him back.

“Okay, well don’t laugh at me.” He teased in an attempt to bring some of the normalcy back to the conversation, though you could just hear how tense his words were. You playfully rolled your eyes, using your conjoined hands to tug him closer and down towards you.

You kissed him, smiling at the way he tasted like the hot chocolate you both had been sipping on. You could feel him relax under your touch, the hand that had been holding yours let go of you and moved to the back of your neck to keep you in place against him an extra moment longer. And when you finally pulled back enough, you could see the grin you no doubt were sporting mirrored on his face.

Your next words were easy to say. You felt them deep inside your bones, and knew without a doubt that you meant them. That nothing you had ever said could match the certainty with which you delivered the sentiment with.

“I love you, too.”

SPRING

“What’s all this?”

It was your first season dating a hockey player, but you had been a fan of the sport for longer. You knew it sucked being knocked out of the playoffs after clinching a wildcard spot, but you never had to experience it up close.

So when the Rangers were eliminated in the third round after seven hard-fought games, you weren’t sure how Brett would react. He was quiet after the game, barely saying anything as you spent the night at his apartment. There were lots of cuddles, and when you woke up before him, you took it upon yourself to make breakfast.

And that’s where Brett found you, waking up half an hour after you to see you in little more than one of his old oversized shirts standing in front of the stove as you made pancakes. You smiled at him over your shoulder, happy to see that he looked a little better than the night before.

“Making breakfast, thought I’d surprise you.” You confessed, sighing in content as he wrapped his arms around your middle from behind you. You leaned back into him, giggling at the way his playoff beard scratched your neck as he nuzzled into you. “At least now you can finally shave.”

You felt a sense of pride as he chuckled, no matter how half-hearted it was. His laugh was easily one of your favorite sounds, and it was disheartening to see him so down. One of your arms rested atop his forearms wrapped around you, the other holding the spatula you were using to flip the pancakes.

“Are those chocolate chip?” He questioned, and now it was your turn to chuckle. You nodded, twisting your head to the side to press a quick kiss to his cheek as his head was still resting on your shoulder.

“I figured we could have a cheat day, you earned it.” Your comment earned a hum of satisfaction as he slowly rocked you side to side. Part of you felt a little guilty in savoring just how clingy he was being as a result of being eliminated from the playoffs, but you also knew this was exactly the kind of comfort he needed. And if it meant that you also were smothered in attention and affection from the man you loved, then you weren’t going to complain.

You stayed wrapped up in Brett for the remainder of the time it took you to cook, and even when you were eating he didn’t let you get very far. When you stood to start cleaning up, as an extra treat, since usually when you cooked he cleaned, Brett disappeared down the hall for a moment only to return with a bluetooth speaker.

It was a common occurance whenever you hung out, when Brett said he was always listening to music he meant it. He turned on one of his playlists, one you recognized as having softer, slower songs and he joined you at the sink in cleaning up. The two of you working together meant everything got done much quicker and soon enough you were shutting off the sink and drying your hands.

You went to ask him what he wanted to do next, expecting maybe a movie or something similar, but he clearly had different plans as he swept you into his arms and started slow dancing. You chuckled, letting him lead and stealing kisses whenever you could.

After the first slow song ended, you slipped out of his arms, much to his protest. Picking up his phone, you changed the song to one a bit more quicker and upbeat. If you were going to dance in the kitchen in your pajamas like fools in love, you were going to do it right.

Moving back to him, you spotted the tired grin he was wearing. Pushing yourself onto your tip-toes, you stole one more kiss for good measure. You started twirling and dancing and giggling around the kitchen without a care in the world, and though Brett was still feeling a little disappointed at not being able to make it further in the playoffs, he couldn’t truly be upset when the person he loved the most was laughing and wearing his clothes.

“Thank you.” He mumbled before leaning in for another kiss as you spun into his chest, his arms locking you in place against him. You didn’t respond at first, too caught up in him and how handsome he was, even though he had yet to brush his hair and his pajamas weren’t the most stylish things in the world.

“I’d do it again, but I won’t have to.” Your words confused him, but he was still grinning slightly at the light and certain tone you spoke with. “Rangers are getting the cup next season, I’m speaking it into existence.”

“Don’t let some of the guys hear you saying that, they’ll accuse you of jinxing it.” Brett chuckled, looking down at you with the utmost admiration. You were practically melting under his gaze, wondering how he managed to get you every time with just how often he looked at you with that much love in his eyes.

“They’ll thank me when they win.” You teased, waving a hand nonchalantly. He let out a quiet, breathy, laugh and shook his head in mirth instead of replying. A lull fell in the conversation, and though it wasn’t awkward, it did give you an opportunity to think about the one thing you had been putting off considering. “So… what now? When are you leaving?”

It was a fair question, considering that this was your first time experiencing the end of the season. Brett’s work was done in New York and soon enough he’d be heading back to spend the offseason with family. There was no obligation for you to follow, or even for him to invite you, but it felt weird thinking that you’d spend the next couple of months apart, especially since you had been nearly inseparable since you had gotten together.

“I was thinking that maybe you could come with me, at least for a couple weeks. My parents love you, I’m pretty sure they would kill me if I didn’t at least invite you.” You chuckled at his comment, knowing he was just teasing but your heart swelled at the thought that his parents liked you. And really, there was no way you could ever turn down the opportunity to see his hometown with him.

“Well, I can’t disappoint your parents, you know.”

SUMMER

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not a good idea, I promise.”

You were having a great time. Brett’s parents had rented a lake house and invited both their sons along with their significant others. The boys were swimming in the water while you tanned on the dock alongside Brett’s sister in law.

It was great, Brett’s niece was swimming with her father and uncle, her gleeful cheers the only thing breaking up the chatter and the soft music playing. His dad was on the grill up by the house and his mom had slipped inside to get a refill on her drink.

But then you spotted Brett grinning at you mischievously, and you just knew he was planning to splash you. Hence, your warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He defended himself, acting as if he was completely innocent. You knew it was an act, you were still drying off from earlier when he had thrown you over his shoulder and jumped into the water, but you couldn’t find it in you to be annoyed. Not when you had started everything by pushing him in the first chance you got.

“Leave her alone, Brett.” His mom teasingly warned, having just returned from the house and setted back down in her deck chair she had brought out. As she spoke, you bent over the side of the dock, reaching a hand in the water just enough before splashing him. His niece let out a shriek that resembled a laugh, and Brett alternated between wiping the water off of his face and chuckling at you.

“You two were made for each other, I swear.” His sister in law commented and you simply grinned wider, eyeing Brett carefully to make sure he wasn’t planning anything in retaliation.

Later that evening there was a bonfire, and everyone had called it a night long before you and Brett were ready to. You had started the night sitting in different chairs, but at some point you had gotten up to make a s’more and didn’t make it back to your own seat as Brett pulled you into his lap.

“This is nice.” You murmured, watching the flames of the fire dance. Brett’s brother had thrown a couple logs on before he left fifteen minutes ago, so it was set for a while before you had to force yourself to get up. You were dreading, somehow extremely comfortable curled in up in his lap with a blanket haphazardly tossed across your legs.

Brett hummed in agreement, his chest vibrating underneath where you were pressed against him. His lips pressed against the top of your head and his hand that had been resting on your leg started to rub back and forth soothingly.

“I love you.” Brett copied your quiet tone. He told you that several times a day, everyday, but you were certain that you’d never tire of hearing him say those three words. It made your chest warm and heart race, and never failed to put a smile on your face.

“I love you, too.” His hold on you tightened a bit more at your words, the simple action letting you know the sentiment affected him the same way it did too. Silence fell over you, only filled with the crackling of the fire and the distant chirps of crickets and any other insects and critters that were in the trees surrounding the house. You were completely content, and you would’ve been fine with never having to get up ever again.

“Do we have to go back to the city?” He mused, earning a groan from you. There was still time before training camp and preseason and everything else that came with being adults and having careers, but that didn’t mean it stressed you out any less.

“Don’t remind me.” Your reaction earned a chuckle from Brett, the sound, like always, was music to your ears. “My landlord keeps messaging me about whether or not I’m renewing my lease in September.”

There was a hidden question in your statement. You were asking without really asking if Brett wanted to move in with you, that being the natural next step in your relationship. You had known for a while that he was it for you, and though it hadn’t been quite a year since you had started dating you were more than ready to take the leap.

Brett had mentioned offhandedly a few times about sharing his space with you, mostly comments about how he wanted to wake up to you as often as he could. You were at his apartment more than you were at your own, and had even developed a routine of being at his place already when he came home from roadies late at night. The first time he had come home and found you already asleep in his bed, waiting for him, the domesticity of it all nearly knocked the wind out of him.

But he had never seriously brought up moving in with you, and you were starting to get nervous that maybe he was having reservations about your relationship. Those fears were completely unfounded, you knew, but you couldn’t help but have your irrational moments.

“Don’t renew your lease.” Brett said casually, and even though you were practically drained from the sun and the lake and the few beers you had earlier in the day, the statement seemed to give you your second wind. “Move in with me.”

“Yeah?” You hated how breathy the one word was, your tone giving away just how excited you were by the offer. You tilted your head up to look at him, only to be met with his stunning smile. “You want me to?”

“I’d be crazy to not want you to.” He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead that had you grinning even wider. Like everything with Brett, it was easy to agree, easy to give him another kiss, easy to spend the rest of the night whispering ‘I love you’s and other sweet nothings while planning which of his teammates you’d bribe with a home cooked meal to help you move your stuff to Brett’s.

“Let’s do it.”

[garden-of-succulents]

Kent Parson and the Comeback Kid

Okay so when I’ve had the brain to write lately it’s been All Andy All The Time and I would love to write out the many incidents filling the years before this piece? But instead I just wrote this and it’s futurefic? I’m sorry for being a frustrating author to follow, just know that it’s the future and they’re married and have a 2.5 year old son. Also I did not have the brain to have somebody beta my hockey or my Minnesota so um, there may be mistakes and you’ll just have to deal with that.

Holidays were different in the Parson-Scarlatti household. They waved vaguely to Christmas as it went by and invested most of their energy in Kent's bye week instead. That was when Andy got Minnesota and real cold, enough that she was sick of it by the time she left; that was when they got to take Nick tobogganing and teach him how to make snowmen, saw his grandmother for two afternoons and Andy's friend the rest of the time.

When Andy lived in Minneapolis, she'd more or less done it in the local rinks. She knew all of them, and their attached recreational complexes, inside and out; Kent got recognized from Wheaties boxes, but Andy rarely made it far inside without being greeted by an old friend. Even when she wasn't playing hockey, Scarlatti was handy, a known commodity, someone you could trust to keep score or patch ice or run a penalty box on a moment's notice. She got pulled into things so easily Kent felt a little guilty for pulling her away from her city.

So when he showed up at the day's rink and found Andy's rental car in the lot but her nowhere in sight and not answering texts, Kent didn't worry; it was another half-hour before she expected him coming. He just saw that one of the rinks was open to parent-and-tot stick'n'puck, paid the drop-in fee, and laced Nick into his skates.

"Oh, buddy," he said, fifteen minutes later as Nick's face crumpled. "I told ya. You really shoulda napped." Nick kept swatting at the puck, coming nowhere near it, and emitting a high-pitched noise on the edge of tears. Kent kept his hands out, half to stop the toddler from falling down and half to make it easy for him to give up and come into a hug.

When someone called, "Parser!" he was just as willing to make a show of looking up, waving at one of Andy's friends, and summarily scooping stick and puck up and steering Nick over to the side of the rink, then pop him up to sit on the boards tucked under Kent's arm.

"Seen Andy?" Terry asked.

"Didn't hear from her. Figured she's still around, but busy," Kent said, handing Nick his car keys to chew on.

"She's playing." Terry tipped his head. "Half the police in the city are working overtime, some nonsense in North Loop, and traffic's fucked, five of the ladies couldn't make it, so Andy put pads on and she's playing for them. In Rink B."

"Yeah," Kent said absently, taking a tissue out of his pocket and swabbing at the snot under Nick's nose. "We got a little stuck in it coming here, got re-routed." Only belatedly did he become aware that Terry was looking at him like he'd missed an important insinuation.

"She doesn't play like she's been out of the game for a decade," Terry said.

"Oh?" Kent looked down at Nick, who was getting restless. "Wanna go see Mommy?"

Nick was so enthusiastic he hardly wanted to wait to get his skates off; once Kent pointed the way he ran, and only stopped in confusion at a crowd of unfamiliar grownups standing around the rink, which did not contain his mother. Kent picked him up and held him against the glass, but when he pointed Andy out, Nick was visibly confused.

Kent's own eyes were playing tricks on him. For a second, Andy was natural and unremarkable and he couldn't see what Terry had wanted him to look at. She even looked a little tired, hesitating, conserving her energy, not pressing her limits like he was used to.

The his eyes re-focused, and he saw.

It was the way the entire game turned around her. She came up to a logjam behind her own net, stuck her shoulder in one way and her stick in another and fished the puck out like there weren't six other women fighting for it. When she sent it flying down the ice, the women who chased it did so with their heads craned uncertainly back at her. She easily ducked around and accelerated past the player guarding her, but even still, the exhausted woman almost seemed to flinch back and give way for her. When she rolled up in the offensive zone ready to accept a pass, the defense greeted her with wary Oh shit looks on their faces. Her team was up 7-2 with four minutes to go in the 2nd.

Usually Kent would have guessed that that kind of presence on the ice, the space other players granted her, was the result of some rough and dirty play early in the game, or a reputation; but the more he watched, he didn't think that was it. Their elbows weren't up, bodies weren't defensive as she maneuvered around them; she wasn't even playing aggressively. She almost played like they were irrelevant, so firm was she in her bearing; she went where she wanted, stopped when she pleased, put the puck where she willed it, and they were just obstacles. Andy caught the pass despite the pair that came after her, rolling it from the tip of her blade to firm possession as she spun around them, handled away from a third player and slotted it in glove-side like it was easy; she did it like she breathed.

She dominated that rink.

He recognized her when she wheeled away from that goal, when she was a sweaty, red-faced woman who flashed her son and husband the sweetest smile on her way to the bench.

I paired her up with Mashkov when we were playing for kicks, Kent thought, and because she couldn't keep up with him I didn't notice how good she was.

He and Nick found a spot in the row of bleachers behind her bench, and she turned from pouring water down her throat to smile, take a hand from her glove and touch the glass where Nick waved at her, before shuffling along with the line to the door and heading out again. When she did, an opposing D went off the ice immediately to let a stronger player shuffle past the rest of the line to go on, but she didn't score before the end of the period.

"Jesus," one of the smattering of people in the bleachers said. "What's Mackensie been eating? She didn't play like that before."

"Sub in Mac's jersey," a rink attendant piped up. "Scarlatti."

"Scarlatti didn't play like that in college," Terry said, arriving from another rink.

"Shit," a woman countered, "Scarlatti didn't play like that in high school."

"What, you played with her?"

"In her league for a year, and I was at U of M when she was at St Cloud, but she stood out more when she was younger."

"You're her husband, aren't you?" asked the woman at the end of the row, whose daughter Nick had made tentative friends with. "Parson."

"Yeah. Kent." He reached over and shook hands, then had to do the entire round of greeting.

"She playing in Nevada?" Terry asked.

Kent shrugged. "No women's team out there, so she switched over to roller derby, and she coaches hockey. We just," He shrugged again. It wasn't some elite or fancy training routine; it was just him and Andy. "When we need to unwind sometimes, we hit the ice and throw a puck around."

Terry whistled. U of M woman said, "Must be some throwing."

Andy's team came out early, so Kent went down to the box to see her. Nick was intimidated by her face cage, and touched it fearfully when she took it off; she made a show of him, and some of the women she was playing with came by to coo (overtly at Nick, but Kent felt ogled).

Terry sat by Kent during the third period, when the seat freed up.

"Imagine," he said, as if to the air itself, as though he meant the words to land lightly on Kent’s ears, "what she'd be like if she were competitive now."

(Part 2)

[matskreider-blog]

prompt 5 with tuukka/pat/brad?

5. “Just breathe.” normal verse. content warning for this one: k*ne features for a brief moment, f slur used by him, typical hockey misogyny.

It’s not a secret that Tuukka doesn’t like to talk hockey at home. He really doesn’t like blurring the lines between work and pleasure, despite the fact that he’s dating two of his teammates. Patrice was good at following the unspoken rule, and more often than not appreciated being able to shrug off his leadership role in exchange for good food and sleep. They could all benefit from spending some time away from the rink.

Brad, however, often found himself caught up in whatever transpired on the ice. Sometimes it was hard for him to check his jersey at the door and let it go. He had enough respect for Tuukka to not talk to him directly about it – especially if he was beating himself up over his own game play, because there was a chance Tuukka would bluntly reaffirm whatever he was saying, before letting him know that there’s always chances to improve – but it was hard not to talk to Patrice. He wanted to, and sometimes he could, but he had trouble understanding grey spaces, and didn’t know if Tuukka’s definition of “home” included his actual house as well. As if he was going to somehow hear them through the shower upstairs and unleash hell if Brad so much as breathed the words “overtime loss.”

It wasn’t that dramatic, it never was. But there was a part of Brad’s brain that wondered, What if? He lived to push the envelope, but this time the envelope can push back. He didn’t really want to see the tears that inevitably formed, but maybe if he just kept it to himself he wouldn’t spill over the edges. He wouldn’t become something that he didn’t want others to see.

So he learns how to internalize it all, learns to seal it up and let it out on the ice, or how to shove it so far away from the surface that no one will have to deal with it, ever. The problem is, if you shove enough things under the carpet, eventually the carpet won’t cover them all. Eventually, it gets easier to tell. Eventually, it paints a target on your back.

They’re playing the Hawks, which is a hard game in and of itself, and Brad’s at his chirpiest to distract from the mental toll of the game. They’re up 2-1, it’s a fragile lead, and there’s less than five minutes left in the second. He’s gunning for the puck in the back corner, racing by Tuukka in his crease, and he’s boarded by Kane. He struggles a bit, just trying to get the puck free from between their skates and the wall, when he hears Kane’s voice in his ear.

“Bet you like having a guy on top of you, huh? Fucking pussy,” he growls into Brad’s ear. “The team slut, aren’t you? Fucking fag.”  

He’s not really aware of what’s happening, and he can only vaguely hear the sounds of the whistle going and hands trying to pull him and Kane apart, black and white mixing with red as the players pair off to keep each other from intervening. He gets separated, pushed back by a linesman, and he feels another player behind him. He turns around, ready to start swinging again, but Tuukka catches his wrist before he can do something stupid, like try to punch through a goalie mask.

They stare at each other, Brad’s face flushed a bright red, blood running down his face from a cut by his ear. Before they can say anything of consequence, the linesman is dragging Brad away to the box, the other taking Kane to his. The fucking bastard has enough wits about him to grin as he sits down in the box, while Brad stares straight ahead and tries not to rise to the challenge.

He doesn’t talk about it in the locker room, just accepts medical attention to get the bleeding to stop. He doesn’t bring it up on the bench, and he doesn’t bring it up on the ice. He keeps chirping because that’s what he’s supposed to do, and he doesn’t say anything as they board the team plane for their flight out of Chicago back to Boston.

Patrice sits next to him and doesn’t pressure him, just pulls him in tight against his side. Brad tries to stop his shaking, and by the time they wind up back at the airport, he extracts himself from Patrice’s arms, mumbling something about going back to his own place.

“Are you sure?” Tuukka asks, his brows furrowed. “We were kinda hoping that…” As he trails off, Patrice continues.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we’d really love it if you came back with us…please,” Patrice continues. “And maybe you could talk about what happened? If you wanted?”

Brad feels stuck, between two impossible options: go back to his own place, empty and cold as it was, and spend the night in self loathing, or go to Tuukka’s place and have to shove all of this deep down inside because he wasn’t supposed to talk shop when at home. Even though they’d won the game, he shouldn’t have anything to complain about, right? And he doesn’t so he just picks up his bag and wordlessly waits. Patrice takes his arm and Tuukka slings an arm over his shoulders, and the three of them walk that way through the Boston cold to get to the car.

The ride back is quiet, and coming back home at the early hour of 2am usually means going right to bed. But Brad still feels like the inside of an airplane, and so he quietly excuses himself to the guest bathroom to shower. He makes it about 5 minutes under the hot spray of the water, the sting from the cut above his ear, before he starts crying.

He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. It’s not like he hasn’t heard worse before, and he knows that it’s an occupational hazard, especially with the stuff he does on the regular. It’s the smallest thing, but added onto everything else that he’s bottled up over the years, it just pushes him right to the edge.

An unknown amount of time passes, with him just sobbing into the shower spray, mechanically cleaning himself, before he’s just standing under the water as it slowly turns cold. Then the shower door is opening and a hand is shutting off the water before a warm towel is wrapped over his shoulders and down his body like his mom used to do when he was a kid.

He’s being picked up, then, and he burrows into the embrace, feeling so small and so raw. Hands dry him off and help him get dressed, and then he’s just crying into whoever is holding him. Somehow, he winds up in that someone’s lap, sitting in their bed, a set of hands trying to gently detangle his hair, with another rubbing down his side and back, soothing his hiccupping sobs.

“There you go, just breathe. Gotta let yourself calm down.” Tuuks, his mind helpfully supplies.

“Doing so well for us, petit amour.” Patrice.

He doesn’t have words for this right now, but he thinks he’s talked enough. It’ll pass, and he’ll tell them what happened later. When he does, they’ll be outraged, and Brad will feel like an idiot once again. But they’ll let him know that they aren’t mad at him, but at the situation itself. And it might not do much to erase the pile of wrongdoings, stuck in jars dating back to being twelve years old, sealed up so tight he doesn’t even know how to crack them open; but it is a start.

[civilianlillian]

Holo-Skating (Capril Xmas Drabble)

A Christmas present for @guide-to-the-galaxy, a wonderful friend who knows how to make me smile. Merry Christmas, Jo! Have some fluff

It was another day in space, another day away from home, and another mission where the humans were left on the Ulixes due to galactic racism against Terran-based lifeforms. April would have been mad if she wasn't used to it, but it seemed Casey's silent stomp out of the bridge meant that he was mad. The boys could only shrug and give another apology before going over another protocol run-through in case of an emergency.

Maybe April was mad, but if she was it was overshadowed. As she waved the boys off (while flipping them off in her head) something sad washed over her. She wasn't surprised any of the others not keeping track of the days, but she had been. And today, at some point, a version of her six months younger would be sitting down with her dad and her aunt for Christmas dinner. It was silly, what with the fate of Earth to focus on and the fact that April had already shared Christmas with her family this year, but still, there was a girl back home that was and... wasn't her. And that was never a comforting subject whenever it was brought up among them.

And as she was mulling over the time travel and time doubles and how the six of them had a year that was 50% longer, Casey skidded into her path out of the hanger. "We can't go back to the bridge."

"Casey," April groaned as she put her fingers to her temple, "we are not raiding the kitchen again. I'm sick just thinking about what happened last time."

"Can't relate, but that's not what I meant." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

As he punched in commands for the holoroom's control panel, April stepped inside and looked around the domed white room. "Whatever are you up to, Jones?"

Casey gave her his gap-toothed smirk from behind the display port. "You'll see. But you gotta close your eyes first."

"Really?"

"C'mooon, Red."

April rolled her eyes before she shut them, even putting her hands over her eyes for good measure. The gentle hum of a hologram came to her ears - "Hey, not yet! Don't open them yet!" "Getting impatient here, Jones!" - as well as the sound of the holoroom doors sliding shut and Casey's sneakers squeaking on the floor.

"Still loading!"

"Really, Casey?"

"Two seconds! ...Okaaaaay, now!"

April opened her eyes to bright lights and falling snow. The two of them stood alone in a projection of the ice rink, only it was much different from when she had last seen it. The barriers were lined with tinsel and wreaths, strings of lights hung down from all over the ceiling above them, and the ice they stood on glowed with etches of stars and snowflakes.

"Wow, this is... fancy."

"'Fancy'? That's it? And after I put so much into thinking about decorating the place!"

April folded her arms and raised a brow. "What is your angle with thinking about decorating the place you practise your puck shots?"

"Well, it's Christmas. Again."

"Never woulda guessed."

Casey grinned as he held out the boots from their space suits. "And I realised we haven't been keeping up your skating lessons since aliens invaded our planet. The second time."

April eyed the boots, smiling. "You're giving me an ice-skating lesson as a Second-Christmas gift?"

Another smirk, showing off the space where Casey once had teeth. "The turtles got you guard duty as a present."

In all fairness it wasn't the boys' fault, what with their attention and thoughts elsewhere. It was still something April knew she and Casey would teasingly hold over their heads.

The hover function in the boots worked well enough to substitute skates, save for the fact that there wasn't any grip on the ground. April had a couple of bruises to prove how that made hovering a tad more accident-prone. While Casey glided by balancing on one foot - "Show off!" "Let me have this!" - April was working on stopping without resorting to falling over. For all of the catch-up she had done to be close to the skills of ninja-since-age-seven, skating still proved to be a hurdle in grace.

Casey, however, managed to keep her from becoming a purple polka dotted student after the first couple of falls. He hovered alongside her and offered an arm when she was having trouble with the boots.

It was a while before April started to notice the glow of the ice was dimming and the lights above seemed to flicker in the faulty kind of way. Some of the decorations around the rink were even glitching and jumping out of place, floating in the air. "Uh, I think your rink's on the fritz, Jones."

"Huh?" He looked around them, and after a moment cursed under his breath. "Figures this thing can't keep up a good show when my brain's involved."

April carefully reached over to give his shoulder a bump. "Shush. It's not you, Casey. The professor told us the holograms aren't perfect with made-up spaces. It likes memory, not imagination."

"Hmm." Casey turned to skate backwards as he put his hands up behind his head. "This thing's got me working overtime for your present, Red."

"It's the thought that counts." April's smile turned sly. "Buuut let's hope the lights are just the hologram. I wouldn't want you losing any brain cells on my part."

He laid a hand over his heart and put on the saddest face April had only seen on a drama student. "I appreciate the concern and yet I am still hurt. Why do you torment me so?" And then the tree glitched between them.

There was screaming as the two jumped away from it. April tried to get control of her balance as she reached to grab for Casey. They struggled to keep themselves from falling, with the shock from the tree scare and their bursts of lung-busting laughter not helping matters. It was in vain, as they ended up on the fake ice anyway.

Casey waved a hand vaguely at the ceiling as he called for the normal rink between breaths, and all of the Christmas glamour faded. They were in the ice rink as April remembered it, dark save for the few lights that were left on for practise, and they were both still high on their amusement.

"Sorry, April," Casey finally said when they had finally calmed down. "Guess my brain cells weren't gonna cut it."

"Shut up." April propped herself up and gave his shoulder another jab. "Blame it on the space tech. It's not up to par with your mad decorating skills."

"I only think I have decorating skills," he quipped back, tapping his forehead, "remember?"

April shook her head, but as she looked back up at his face she saw something hanging in the air. A sprig of mistletoe, floating just above their heads.

When Casey noticed it, he started and shuffled away a little. He held his hands up in defence and squeaked, "Sorry, but I swear that's not me! No way!"

She smiled softly. "I know." And she reached out and pulled him in for a kiss.

[flauntpage]

Hak My Life – Thoughts on Finding a Way to Win at Home After Flyers 5, Coyotes 4

Dave Hakstol called a timeout. Asked about it later, he said he wished he would have taken it sooner. But the timeout, itself, was irrelevant.

The Flyers had just allowed two shorthanded goals – on the same power play. Their two-goal lead from a quick start was gone and replaced by a sudden two-goal deficit.

Hakstol didn’t want to say much. His players knew the gravity of the situation.

Here they were, melting down on home ice, in front of their fans… again.

Twitter was ablaze. The calls for Joel Quenneville to be the new coach were fever pitched.

But there was one message from the coach. One that apparently has to be reiterated to this team whenever they play in front of their fans:

“It’s a matter of getting back together. Getting your brains settled down. Calm down. Worry about the next shift. Don’t worry about everything else going on on the other side of the glass. We’ve had some struggles in this building, so get the focus on the ice. That’s the only message.”

The Flyers were able to block out everything else and find a way back to win the game. They scored third period goals with the fourth line and the third line on the ice. Scott Laughton (two goals) and Dale Weise were the guys who tied it and Shayne Gostisbehere won it with an overtime goal.

That’s good and all, but I want to get back to what Hakstol said for a minute…

“Don’t worry about what’s going on on the other side of the glass. We’ve had some struggles in this building so get the focus on the ice.”

Sure as hell sounds like he’s saying his team is frequently unnerved on home ice by the fans being a bit negative.

Am I crazy? Please tell me I’m crazy.

I’m not crazy. It’s absolutely why the Flyers seem to play much better hockey on the road than they do at home. It’s the antithesis of everything you expect in professional sports. Flyers home games used to be the greatest home game advantage in professional sports.

Opposing players would often get the “Philly flu” when coming to play the Flyers. They dominated games at the old Spectrum.

Now, home ice has turned into a house of horrors for the Flyers, and it sounds like they crack under fan pressure.

The good thing is, they didn’t completely crumble against the Coyotes and found the gumption to come back and win the game.

“The bottom line is sometimes you just got to sack up and get a character win,” Hakstol said. “That’s what tonight was. … Having success [on the recent road trip] helps. It helps you believe in what you are doing. That was a big part of tonight. We didn’t start cheating on things. We didn’t start pressing. We went out and played. We played a little harder. We played a little better. We didn’t start winging it out there and cheating the game – and that’s real important in a situation like that.”

As a side note, candid Dave Hakstol has been the most pleasant surprise of this season.

The fact of the matter is, the Flyers used their recent run of success to trump whatever bad mojo they seem to think hovers over them like a perennial rain cloud at home. But there has to remain a modicum of concern that there is a mental block with this team when it comes to playing in front of their fans.

Candid Dave elaborated further:

“We have to do that [get the fans back on our side]. That onus is on us. Our effort. Our intensity. Our play. You saw what the place was like in the third period.”

But is this team the confident team that we saw in the third period pull a victory from the jaws of defeat? Or are they still a fragile collective, who have rabbit ears when it comes to fans in their own building?

“We’re a confident team,” Hakstol said. “I believe it. Whatever word you want to put on it, the guys in the room are tight. You either blow apart when you go through some tough situations or you come together. And we’ve come a little closer together.”

As for the game, it was like three games in one. The fast start. The epic collapse. The unexpected comeback.

Here are the characters who played a huge part in those three stories:

1. Dale Weise

Russ spent a good amount of time talking to Weise, who had the play of the game – a breakaway goal late in the third period to complete the comeback.

It was surely an unexpected hero for the Flyers – and I’ll let Russ dive into the details, but I wanted to say one thing about it…

Weise has been one of the most consistent Flyers this season. He’s been really good and a moment like this has been on the horizon for some time.

Good for Weise, who five weeks ago wasn’t even sure if he’d have an NHL job this season, and now is contributing at a level far beyond anyone else’s expectations.

2. Scott Laughton

Laughton admitted after the game that while his team was playing well on the recent road trip, he wasn’t at his best.

It actually goes back further than that.

Yes, Laughton has been scoring goals, but his advanced metrics have been pretty meager.

His CorsiFor% is 43.17, worst on the team (not counting Andrew MacDonald, who has been rooted to the press box for most of the past month). It’s one of the reasons Laughton was demoted from the third line and replaced by Weise.

But Laughton had great jump and energy from his first shift against Arizona. He only ended up playing 9:17 in the game, but it sure as hell seemed like he was on the ice for a lot more than that.

That’s because he was a noticeable player every time he stepped on the ice.

He did this:

Determination and a finish! pic.twitter.com/rmYb3pVVI6

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

… and this:

LAUGHTON IS ON FIRE

He scores his second of the night to put the Flyers within one. pic.twitter.com/Mh8P5imedq

— NBC Sports Philadelphia (@NBCSPhilly) November 9, 2018

It was his second two-goal game this season, and believe it or not, the fourth line Flyer is now tied for second on the team in goals with six this season.

“I think from the first shift you can feel your legs going,” Laughton said. “I don’t think I had the best West Coast trip. The team played well but I feel like I could have played better and help this team. So, good effort by the team tonight, but the biggest thing is we have to follow it up on Saturday.”

3. Shayne Gostisbehere

What a crazy game for Ghost. He had a run-in with an official when things were falling apart for the Flyers, but then bounces back to set up Weise with the tying goal and score the game-winner.

First the bad:

There's the Flyers we know and love. pic.twitter.com/kgBWXCk6kx

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

We’ll get to the linesman being in the way in a second, but what you don’t see here is Ghost failing to keep the puck in at the point. That was a shocker because he’s probably the best in the league at keeps.

It’s gotten to a point where plays like this are the surprise and great keeps by Ghost are the norm. This was on a Flyers power play and the Arizona penalty kill is the best in the NHL and came into the game with seven shorthanded goals already. That’s a remarkable number.

So, they definitely pressure the puck at the point on the power play and force you to make mistakes.

Ghost also fumbled the puck initially in the neutral zone before corralling it for a brief second when the video above starts.

Now, the linesman, Michel Cormier, who is a veteran and has worked more than 1,000 games in his 10-year career, absolutely got in the way. Maybe he too was expecting a Gostisbehere keep and was surprised that the play suddenly was coming at him. Still, he’s got to get out of the way, and the effort he made, while valiant, definitely had him in the wrong position on the ice.

Linesmen used to hop up and sit on the end boards to get out of the way. Not sure what happened there, but they no longer do that. They try and skate out of the way and, well, plays like this happen more frequently than ever before.

Anyway, Gostisbehere was pissed after the goal. So much so that he immediately wet over to Cormier and started barking at him. Cormier was none too pleased and chirped back. It stuck in Ghost’s craw all night. He was even a little feisty about it after the game, albeit he did take a second to bring some needed levity to the situation:

Question: On a play like that where it gets caught in the [official’s] skates, what do you do on something like that?

“Aww man, It’s hard not to get mad right now, but it happened. Thankfully we came back and we won. We definitely made it a little harder, but we won.”

Question: It’s hard not to react at that point too?

“Yes, definitely. I have a weapon in my hand. … I’m just kidding. (Lots of laughter). It is what it is. It’s part of the game. I definitely got heated. He got heated. It is what it is.”

They won the game because Jake Voracek finally decided to have a good shift in overtime.

Kind of lost in the shuffle of the game (Voracek had the turnover that lead to the other shorthanded goal the Flyers allowed seconds later), Voracek made the game-winning goal happen, first with a great play to get a high-percentage shot on goal that Darcy Kuemper actually made a really nice stop against, before Voracek corralled the rebound and fed Gostisbehere for the game winner:

GHOST WITH THE OT WINNER pic.twitter.com/1lXs4e28IK

— NBC Sports Philadelphia (@NBCSPhilly) November 9, 2018

That’s two games in a row where the Flyers didn’t play great hockey and still found a way to win. Another big part of that was this guy:

4. Brian Elliott

He didn’t even start the game as he was still recovering from a minor injury. The Flyers really didn’t want him to have to play but Calvin Pickard had a rough night. He allowed four goals on 18 shots, and although his teammates hung him out to dry allowing successive short-handed goals (Arizona now has nine… that’s usually among the league leader in April, not November. It’s an insane number), he didn’t make the big stop.

Not to mention, he really should have had this one:

And we're tied pic.twitter.com/6Rmk9pyrmg

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

Yeah, there was a bad change by the Flyers that created this opportunity, but that’s a shot your goalie has to save.

Anyway, after the two shorties, Hakstol pulled Pickard and put in Elliott.

There was no margin for error for Moose, and he didn’t have any.

“You’re not thinking about letting in goals, you just want to get in front of pucks,” Elliott said. “The heartbeat gets going pretty quickly. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to just get thrown in and watch the pucks into your body. I had a couple shots right away and was able to get the feel of things and it makes it easier when guys are pressing down the other end and we got good energy and some goals.”

Elliott made 16 saves in 31:34 of ice time to earn the win in relief. And while none of those saves were highlight-worthy, there were more than a couple sneaky tough saves in there that often handcuff goalies, and Elliott did his part to keep the Flyers in the game when one more goal would have easily ended the night differently.

5. Penalty kill

This wasn’t good – again.

Something really has to change here. I don’t know what. The fans have been screaming for Ian Laperriere to lose his job as an assistant coach because the PK has gotten progressively worse. And it’s an understandable reaction – although I think Laperriere probably brings more to the coaching staff than just managing the PK – although that is what his top priority should be.

But the Flyers PK simply is terrible in front of it’s own net. They know it. The other team knows it. And it seems like every goal allowed by the PK is identical:

OEL gets Arizona within a goal. pic.twitter.com/AnhJbwKCjV

— Sons of Penn (@SonsofPenn) November 9, 2018

There’s a lot of standing around here. The most noticeable is Christian Folin. He basically just lets the screen set up shop right in front of Pickard and makes no effort to clear it away. I’m not sure what Ivan Provorov is doing here either. And Jori Lehtera’s attempt to block Oliver Ekman-Larsson’s shot was pretty lame.

Only Laughton looks like he was working here, and that’s a problem for the Flyers that never gets fixed. Successful penalty kills are all about effort, will and selflessness. It’s grunt work, but it’s important.

The Flyers penalty kill percentage is now 68.4%, 30th in the NHL. Only the Ottawa Senators are worse at 67.3% (You may have seen the Uber video).

Here’s the thing, the worst season in NHL history, since power plays and penalty kills have been tracked, was by the 1979-80 Los Angeles Kings. Their PK that season was 68.2%. So the Flyers (and Sens) are in rarefied air here with some of the worst units ever.

The fact that the organization continues to let this fester, now into a fourth year, is the most damning thing you can point out. It’s been bad for so long and nothing tangible has been done in an attempt to fix it.

6. Crazy Stats

Just some stuff for you….

The Flyers have now allowed a power play goal in nine straight games. This is the longest successive streak of that kind of futility since 2005-06 when they had a 10-game streak of bad penalty killing (Remember those halcyon days of Derian Hatcher and Mike Rathje? Good times!) The franchise record is 12 straight games, which has happened four times, most recently in 1993-94.

The Flyers had never won a game where they allowed two shorthanded goals on the same penalty – until Thursday. Granted, it had only happened twice before – in a 6-4 loss to Pittsburgh in 2012 and a 12-0 drubbing by the Chicago Blackhawks in 1969.

Claude Giroux played his 754th career game to move past Chris Therien into fourth place all-time in franchise history. He also recorded his second consecutive multi-point game (2A) after posting two goals and an assist on Monday night. It’s his seventh multi-point game of the season. He has had an understated start to the season. He has 19 points in 16 games, which has him in the top 10 in the NHL in scoring (tied for ninth) and only five points behind league leader Mikko Rantanen of Colorado.

The Flyers continue to dominate in the faceoff circle. They won 63% of draws against Arizona and are second-best in the NHL in faceoff wins at 55.4%.

7. Getting Gritty with it

Maybe the best moment of a Dave Hakstol press conference ever occurred after the game. When talking about what the fans expect out of his team he had this stream-of-conscience gem:

“I really believe that the people that are in the seats and are fans of the Flyers, they want effort. They want compete. And when they see that, it’s not just about the result. They want that gritty… I can’t believe I just used that word. (Laughter). Check please! I need to go home.”

It’s official, the Flyers mascot has forever impacted coach speak.

  The post Hak My Life – Thoughts on Finding a Way to Win at Home After Flyers 5, Coyotes 4 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

Hak My Life – Thoughts on Finding a Way to Win at Home After Flyers 5, Coyotes 4 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[accultant]

His laugh makes them flinch almost imperceptibly. He doesn't usually laugh so much. Victoriously, over a mutilated corpse, maybe, but Not like this.

He's too comfortable, they realize as they watch him gather himself. It doesn't seem quite right to explain it like that, seeing how he's nervous and tripping over his words. But his shoulders are more relaxed than Iago has seen them in years. His smiles come naturally, like breathing, like when they were young. His body language is looser, less ... Monitored (translation: holding himself together with all he has, scared to be anywhere even near Iago in case the effort slips for even a second). It's not they don't want their brother to be comfortable - they would give anything, kill anything, do anything to let their brother feel comfortable in his own skin for just five minutes - it just isn't... right. They're missing something, and their emotions oscillate wildly from furious to concerned to curious every few seconds while they wait for an explanation.

They remain still, watching him fumble, trying (failing) to put the pieces together in between his frantic starts and stops. He seems almost as exasperated as Iago by the time he finally gets out something resembling a coherent sentence.

The inn is plenty loud, lots of chatter and celebration to fill in the silence Iago leaves the two of them in.

They simply stare at him.

They continue to stare at him.

They are still staring at him.

They think they should probably say something, right?

It could've been a minute, maybe two or three or ten. Hard to say. Their hands are sparking up quite a bit now. They should probably go-

"Outside," they say curtly with a beckoning nod, pushing away from the bar and making a beeline for the exit.

Something must truly be wrong if they're stupid enough to ask him to follow them- it allows their back to be turned (rookie move!). When this doesn't devolve into a chase and Iago notes the distinct lack of a knife in said back, they stop and face him again.

"You are a horrible liar, Puck, and it is your only saving grace at the moment. Because that sounds insane. That sounds unbelievable. It is- it's illogical. That sounds-"

They go to run their hands through their hair and figure that could very likely end with them casting fireball into their own skull, so they clench their own cloak instead, pacing a few feet away before they turn back to him again, taking their turn to be flustered, "I am supposed to be mad at you! Or- some version of you- Oh, this is going to be much too convoluted. A cursed mirror? Really, Puck? I waited a month for this and you're not even the you I thought I found! That sentence hardly even makes sense, this is wretched. I had questions, you know! I was- I expected explanations, answers, not... more questions about something completely unrelated to why I- why you- I don't even know where to start!" Their brain feels like it's running overtime to readjust their course. Of all the things he could have said, Iago was least expecting that.

Somewhere, there is still the very small, very stubborn, very delusional part of Iago that dreams of a future, holds onto the tiniest, most pathetic sliver of hope for a better life for their brother and themselves. It's something they constantly try to smother. It's embarrassing, really, that such a small little piece of them flutters to life as Puck's predicament sinks in. The future seems like something that happens to other people, surely not the Darlingtons. Standing before him, they almost feel taunted by their brother, the one with a future. Scarred but alive. More prone to smiling, it seems. Still calling them Ia. He's 'done this before'. He knows how this- whatever this is- ends.

They're hit with a wave of vertigo and practically vibrating at just how much they want to know, just how many things they have to ask-

"I have to help you get back (if that's even how that works!!), yes?" They finally speak after they realize they've left him in silence again, somehow finding their voice again amidst the dozens, maybe hundreds, of questions and the barrage of conflicting emotions threatening to eat them alive. Your baby brother needs help, they remind themselves. He asked Iago for help. That comes first.

They cringe as the air feels briefly electric and their hands burn for a quarter of a second as a spell is torn out of them. There's a pathetic bleat from somewhere inside the inn. "Not a word. Now tell me about this mirror."

the laugh comes easily to him.  ❝  i am very grateful for that, i assure you.  ❞  his voice is light & teasing but genuine all the same. puck knows all too well how easily iago could wipe out the entire building if they felt like it ⸻ or even if they didn’t. especially if they didn’t. in any case, he feels bad for laughing, but there’s something almost morbidly charming about the situation. nostalgic, certainly. it is, of course, just like old times  . . . 

he has to stop with the jokes. it’s getting really quite bad, actually. 

puck lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when they acquiesce. his relief comes with a pang of guilt as he remembers who it is standing in front of him. this iago is a mouse trapped in his claws. to this day, he can’t remember if he’d done such a thing to them on purpose. he doesn’t want to know.  

at the very least, he is comforted by the fact that he has always been a bad liar, and iago has always been able to read him better than anyone else. he’s sure they’ll be able to realize the insanity about to leave his lips is the truth. 

❝  all right. i don’t quite know how i’m going to explain this so, um- just keep that in mind, yes ？ excellent, okay, let’s see . . .  ❞ he pauses to think for what is likely an unbearably long amount of time for his poor sibling. finally, he huffs impatiently & blurts out a clearly very well-thought out remark,  ❝  i am not actually the puck you’re angry with.  ❞  

oh, sure, that makes sense. idiot. 

quickly, he continues, unsure where he’s going but sure that he doesn’t want iago grasping at straws any more than they already are.  ❝  i mean, i am ⸻ or i was ⸻ but i’m not anymore. (ugh, gods, that doesn’t make sense ⸻ ) we’ve done this before ！ okay, not this specifically, but i knew you would be here because it happened in the past. decades ago ！my past, that is. your present.  ❞   he pauses, out of breath & painfully aware of how poor of a job he’s doing in explaining. with an agonized glance, he adds, ❝  i am so sorry for that, truly. you have no idea. literally. because i haven’t actually said a single coherent thing yet, have i ？ ❞

not even in the slightest. an exasperated sigh, and he hisses, barely managing to keep his voice low, ❝  gods, look, i am from the future ！ i stared too hard into a weird mirror & got thrown back to the past ！！ i am not supposed to be here, ia; i already did this ！！！ ❞

there. really, how hard can it be to say something like that ？！

[flauntpage]

Your Wednesday Morning Roundup

The Phillies won’t finish the season with 100 losses. Another small good thing in a pretty bad season.

They defeated the Washington Nationals 4-1 thanks to a two-run double by Cameron Rupp in the third inning. Starter Jake Thompson had a strong outing, going five innings and giving up one run on four hits while striking out five. The Phillies’ bullpen struck out nine in four innings of work.

Record-wise, this season was worse than last year’s 71-91 record, but there have been plenty of bright spots to show the near future. Ever since the arrival of Nick Williams in July, the team has started to become somewhat watchable. Will this change in 2018? I hope. But there’s still plenty of work that needs to be done.

Phils and Nats go at it one final time in 2017 tonight at 7:05. Mark Leiter Jr. goes for Philadelphia, while Tanner Roark opposes him for Washington.

The Roundup:

The best thing I read yesterday was Philly.com’s wonderful article of the oral history of the 2007 Phillies’ regular season finale.

Aaron Nola’s numbers have quietly been some of the best in baseball, from Ryan Lawrence of Philly Voice:

The fact that we’re in the final week of the 2017 season and talking about where Nola ranks among baseball’s best pitchers is somewhat remarkable given where we were a year ago, or even just six months ago with the 24-year-old right-hander. Nola missed the final two months of the 2016 season with an elbow injury and no one was still quite sure what to expect when he began making regular turns in the Grapefruit League back in March.

It’s safe to say Nola has quieted the pessimistic critics. And it’s also fair to say that Mackanin has been more than pleased to have a pitcher like Nola slotted anywhere in his rotation going into 2018.

While Rhys Hoskins is in a home run drought, Nick Williams is currently in a hit drought.

—

The Eagles brought back a familiar face in Kenjon Barner to replace Darren Sproles on a one-year deal. Barner recorded 129 rushing yards, 42 receiving yards, and two rushing touchdowns in 13 games with the Eagles last season.

Even without Sproles in the mix, the team can still have a diversified running game.

ESPN’s Tim McManus writes about Doug Pederson’s two analytics assistants that help him decide whether or not to go for it on fourth down:

Pederson named one of them at his day-after news conference — coaching assistant/linebackers coach Ryan Paganetti, a Dartmouth grad with a degree in Economics who spent two years as an analyst for the team. Offensive coordinator Frank Reich told ESPN there is a second voice that can be heard over the game-day communications system when it comes to such matters — director of football compliance Jon Ferrari.

The pair weighs in throughout the game, Reich said: after just about every touchdown on whether to go for one or two; during the final two minutes of each half to discuss timeouts, etc.; and when the team gets into what is considered fourth-down territory — usually around midfield and beyond. Sometimes Pederson initiates the dialogue; other times, the men upstairs do.

Carson Wentz now owes Jake Elliott a game check. But he may have worked out an alternative:

Well that escalated quickly…

but don't worry, @jake_elliott22 and I got this worked out…

— Carson Wentz (@cj_wentz) September 27, 2017

An Eagles fan claims Giants wide receiver Brandon Marshall spat at his face.

—

After losing in overtime at MSG on Monday, the Flyers won the second leg of a home-and-home against the New York Rangers 4-3. Travis Konecny had the game-winner in the extra session.

It was Sam Morin’s turn to be the top young defenseman. The former first round pick scored the Flyers’ first goal and had a team-high four hits.

“I really don’t put pressure on myself. I know I belong here,” said Morin, a first-round selection (11th overall) in the 2013 draft. “I think I’m ready for the NHL, to be honest. I just have to keep working hard and show those guys I can make it.”

With the Flyers in a 2-0 deficit, Claude Giroux  — who again played left wing on Sean Couturier’s line — raced into the right circle, pirouetted, and dropped a pass to the on-charging Morin in the high slot. The big defenseman put a wrist shot behind Pavelec with 1:24 remaining in the first.

“I just saw ‘G’ had the puck and when he has the puck you have to be ready for the pass,” said Morin, who barely missed scoring a second goal when his backhander from the doorstep went wide midway through the third period. “I was coming from the bench and I just shot the puck toward the net and sometimes the puck goes in.”

Is Morin behind his fellow 2013 draft counterparts in terms of development?

Sam Carchidi is not a fan of protesting the National Anthem.

After spending a couple years in the AHL and some limited experience in the NHL, Jordan Weal is part of the young Flyers core.

Make no mistake, Weal was a darling of the Flyers fan base last season. They wanted him to make the team out of training camp. But the coaching staff thought Weal left a lot of meat on the bone in camp a year ago.

“He’s earned [his spot this season] and he’s kind of earned it the old-fashioned way,” coach Dave Hakstol said. “He spent more than a couple years in the AHL. The reality is he probably didn’t have the type of camp that he had hoped last year, but he went to Lehigh and earned it.

“He was arguably the best player in that league for several months. He’s earned the opportunity to be in a different spot [this year]. He works at his game and competes really hard. Right now, like any player, he’s working to get his game to a regular season level a week from now – and he’s earned that.”

—

The Sixers officially opened up training camp in Camden. After practice, head coach Brett Brown said he wants the team to make the playoffs:

“As I said to the group, our goal is to make the playoffs,” Brown said. “There are several other teams … they are in a room saying something similar. So to me, let’s talk about what that really means.”

The fifth-year head coach was speaking in terms of what his team needs to do to make a playoff berth possible. That’s understandable. But before Tuesday, Brown spoke of the challenges that will come with starting two rookie ballhandlers in Ben Simmons and Markelle Fultz. He never publicly mentioned trying to make the playoffs. Simmons and Fultz have done a great job of that, while Brown and the Sixers’ front office downplayed the heightened expectations.

Brown still loves Joel Embiid, who won’t participate in 5-of-5 drills throughout camp.

There’s two Okafors at camp this season, but they’re not related. Former first round pick Emeka Okafor is trying to return to the NBA after a four-year absence:

“Being back in this environment, being back in the NBA umbrella, with the guys, the team, talking to the press, just feels so good,” Okafor said Monday. “It feels like putting on a suit that’s always been the right fit, or your favorite pair of jeans, however you want to put it. It just feels very, very natural.”

Why, if something feels so right, would he wait so long to come back? The timing wasn’t right and he wanted to continue rehabbing in a way that would promote longevity.

“Making sure I was healthy and strong and ready to come back and play the way I wanted to play,” Okafor said.

What starting lineups may or may not work for the Sixers this season?

—

Logan Marchi and Frank Nutile will battle for the starting quarterback job this week, according to Temple head coach Geoff Collins.

Villanova head coach Jay Wright reflects on his time with the late Rollie Massimino.

—

In other sports news, 10 people involved in college basketball, including four assistant coaches and a senior executive at Adidas, are facing federal bribery, fraud, and corruption charges in what could be the start of something big. And maybe the end of Rick Pitino at Louisville.

Researchers at Boston University may have a biomarker to help diagnose CTE while people are living:

In a study published Tuesday in the journal PLOS ONE, the researchers found that the biomarker, the protein CCL11, might also help distinguish CTE from Alzheimer’s disease, which often presents with symptoms similar to CTE and also can be definitively diagnosed only postmortem. The ability to diagnose CTE in the living would allow not only for the development of possible therapies to treat the disease, but also for research into prevention.

“This is a step forward from our knowledge gained in understanding CTE from brain donations,” says study senior author Ann McKee, a MED professor of neurology and pathology, director of BU’s CTE Center, and chief of neuropathology at VABHS. “It’s a hopeful step. The whole point is to understand as much as we can from the individuals who’ve fallen, so we can apply it to our future veterans and athletes.”

Dwyane Wade is expected to reunite with LeBron James in Cleveland once he clears waivers today.

DirecTV is allowing some subscribers to cancel their Sunday Ticket packages because of the National Anthem protests.

It might reach hockey as well, as Joel Ward, a Canadian, may take a knee during the National Anthem:

“It’s definitely something I wouldn’t cross out,” Ward said when asked by the Mercury News whether he’d consider taking a knee during the national anthem at an upcoming Sharks game.

“I’ve experienced a lot of racism myself in hockey and on a day-to-day occurrence. I haven’t really sat down to think about it too much yet, but I definitely wouldn’t say no to it.”

Deadspin did a feature on Raiders superfan Dr. Death and why he’s giving up on football if the Raiders move to Las Vegas.

Ric Flair claims he’s slept with around 10,000 women in his life in his 30 for 30 documentary. He now regrets saying that.

Huh:

From Michael Beasley podcast…we debated & disagreed about this (& much more) for at least 15 min. WHO IS RIGHT? https://t.co/2Bess1WpN2 http://pic.twitter.com/VrnggG7Bk1

— Taylor Rooks (@TaylorRooks) September 26, 2017

—

In the news, Twitter is expanding their character limit from 140 to 280 and it already sucks:

This is a small change, but a big move for us. 140 was an arbitrary choice based on the 160 character SMS limit. Proud of how thoughtful the team has been in solving a real problem people have when trying to tweet. And at the same time maintaining our brevity, speed, and essence! https://t.co/TuHj51MsTu

— jack (@jack) September 26, 2017

The Saudi king has lifted a ban on women drivers.

A teen is dead and three others are injured in Germantown.

The Commerce Department is slapping a tariff on Canadian planemaker Bombardier.

Aerosmith is cancelling the rest of their South American tour after singer Steven Tyler suffered “unexpected medical issues.”

Dave Roberts on CBS tonight will feel really weird:

. @VittoriaWoodill talks to @David_Boreanaz and local favorite Dave Roberts Wednesday at 11 after @SEALTeamCBS #mustseeTV ONLY ON #CBS3 http://pic.twitter.com/W8X6TRFyi8

— CBS Philly (@CBSPhilly) September 26, 2017

Your Wednesday Morning Roundup published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[bloodtwin]

puck does not seem to notice the internal struggle rook faces against his urges, distracted by his own, nor does he seem to detect rook's true intentions with him. he always tries his best to see the good in others, perhaps a bit too eager to trust at times. 

❝ of course i have your back, ❞ he says immediately, not waiting for rook to question such a thing. rook’s reassurance & the physical contact, the arm around him, soothes him just enough to knock down any walls he’s left standing. ( not that there were many left at that point . . . ) puck’s grip on the bell tightens before he slips it into his pocket. for now, the urge within slumbers relatively peacefully, his faith in himself reinvigorated once more. 

he can do this. he can handle this. rook will stop him if he starts to slip, and then he’ll come back to himself. no harm done. no more harm done ever again. he almost smiles at the thought, but then he nearly trips when rook speaks again. 

PROBABLY WOULD HAVE . . .  ？puck’s brain works overtime to process the sudden shift in conversation. rook has such a way of catching him off guard. and such a way with his words, too. 

well, it’s not like puck has much room to talk, considering the unprompted comments he tends to make. still, that wasn’t quite what he expected to come out of rook’s mouth. ( this must be what it’s like to interact with himself on a regular basis. )

❝ i ⸻ ❞ probably would have done the same. 

puck’s eyebrows furrow. he shakes his head. ignoring the rest of rook’s statement, he nods. ❝ yes, it’s all very sad how easily manipulated we mortals can be.  ❞ he speaks earnestly, staring down at the drider's corpse with pity. oh, if only he understood the irony behind his words.  

❝ i don’t think bringing him back is wise. why would you want to do that ？still planning on fucking him ？❞

it would be a lie to claim that his mouth did not water at the thought of ripping someone's tongue out . the slimy thing covered in crimson stain as the victim can't do anything but let out agonizing wheezes . what a funny sight .

he manages to swallow down the impulse to do so . he's better now . he now has puck to do such deed . gone are days his nails are ruined with dried up blood or his favorite ensemble ruined with blood splatters .

puck will be his best creation yet . he will be the monster that will make him a hero . put his name in glory and be the center of everyone's admiration . all he has to do is feed in to his desires . conceal his vicious plan with sweet words of affirmation .

a relived smile fosters his features . he honestly can't think of words to thread together to convince puck to take the bell . he wonders what gruesome ways puck would do to the annoying pixie . personally , he would pluck off it's wings , then proceed to flicking off its sharp tongue so it can no longer play cruel tricks . yes , flick it's sharp tongue off . a smile triggers to form but he suppresses it as he snaps himself back .

how can i make puck remove that pixie's tongue ? he thought to himself .

" i promise , puck . i got your back and you got mine ... right ? i need you as much as you need me . " he smiles as he swings an arm around puck , pulling the other close and rubbing the side of his arm . " we will not make our father proud , " he grins .

" i feel bad for the fella' . he's probably just a victim of some god like us . if he wasn't such a bitch , i would have fucked him " he let's out a laugh as he leads puck to look at the slained drider . " maybe we can find someone to bring him back to life . a necromancer ? some spore people ? "