#DRAGGING THE CAPS TO THE PLAYOFFS

[lonewolflink]

ok chucky aside, the mvps of the season, oh my god i can't believe we got stromer for NOTHING i love him so much !!!

[magicmodric]

toronto fans martyring marner are gonna regret it. even if this team had mcdavid we would lose in the first round to boston. it is written

[nuge]

one more thing. the oil run wasn’t a miracle. it wasn’t.

it was the fucking will of mcdrai and the team. it was the belief that the whole team shared even during the blood sweat and tears of being a 2-9-1 basement team losing against the sharks. it was the lowest of lows firing of a beloved coach. it was the belief that they could come back and give a huge fuck you to the people who doubted them. it was our baby goalie stu who was thrown into the #1 goalie position in his second official full year. it was hiring coach knobs, someone who has never head coached an nhl team but has an education degree from the university of alberta. it was the thigh taps to each other when down 4-0 against carolina. it was the 5-0 win against the caps and save against ovechkin. it was the bringing ourselves back from the fucking dead. it was the plunger and the painter. it was the 16 game win run. it was the 13 year tenured forever young ‘coach’s favourite’ nuge becoming a dad and choosing to stay in edm his whole career. it was brown finally scoring a goal. it was little boy ben stelter, the reason why our captain is more open with the media. it was joey moss. it was gene principe and his floor glizzy or his cbj canon reaction or his ‘we love gene!’. it was our 50 goal scorer. it was our penalty kill. it was our power play. it was wearing pride tape even when it isn’t our pride night. it was toad but honestly could be anyone. it was toad and luigi. it was playing games on the plane and letting your goalie win. it was realizing our team needed a sports psychologist and getting one. it was the whole city surviving the decade of darkness to this moment. it was the full canadian match up. it was having our back up goalie play his first stanley cup playoff game and winning it. it was being counted out before game 1 was even played. it was having former team players showing up on screen or in the crowd because they loved the team so much. it was defending darnell (and his ass). it was the western conference champs. it was making it into the finals. it was 3-0 with our backs up against the wall. it was our team dragging them back to alberta. it was then 3-3 with hope. it was breaking records, again and again and again and again on the backs of the two greatest players in the world who were playing stitched together with duct tape and bound together under pressure and prayers. it was connor. it was leon. it was the whole fucking team.

it was the edmonton oilers.

so no, it was not a miracle.

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy

THE HOCKEY AU HAS A PROLOGUE

read on ao3

Tommy Kinard is hanging up his skates at the end of the season. It's time. He's ready to move on with his life. He's ready to give his knees a fucking break. The trade to the odds on favorite to win the damn thing this year is just another in a series of trades throughout his career that makes sense - he's there to allow a winning team to unload cap space, he'll get a couple minutes a night in the ramp up to playoffs, he'll retire without fanfare once the season is over. Coach Nash has other plans for him, and the team he's been traded to think he's the bees fucking knees. He's just trying to get through the rest of this season without dragging Evan Buckley into a closet and kissing him breathless.

Tommy’s a little out of breath. That’s to be expected, really — he’s been in town for a day and a half and there’s nothing quite like a practice at elevation with the fastest team in the league to cut his teeth on.

Hen eyes him up as he skates over to the bench to grab at a water bottle. She’s trying to her damndest to hide an amused grin, and failing miserably. “We keep oxygen tanks in medical,” she observes, a little sing-songy, and Tommy doesn’t bother to hide his rolling eyes or the tic in his jaw.

“I’m fine.”

Her face tells him everything he needs to know about how breathless that had sounded.

It’d been nice, finding a familiar face in the crowd after spending twenty minutes getting a tour of the practice facilities from the kid most of the league viewed with a kind of hushed reverence, save for the few who'd lived with the star power long enough to get used to it.

Tommy rarely got star-struck, anymore, but he hadn’t actually expected this years likely Hart recipient to be the first teammate to make contact; to swing by the hotel room to pick him up for practice when Tommy admitted he didn’t even have a rental yet, and he’d likely have to Uber; to walk him through and introduce him as teammates trickled in; to warn him ahead of time that eagle-eyed fans in the stands would definitely notice if his tape didn’t match the white socks still in their packaging laid out on the bottom shelf of the locker where they’d already printed off a name-card for him (”Here, I have an extra roll.”); to grin and shake his head a little when Tommy questioned exactly how many fans were likely to come to a weekday practice at the tail end of January.

Eight years out from the last time he’d seen Henrietta Wilson, calling out a red-faced AHL coach for throwing a kid back out on the ice with clear signs of a concussion, and she’s still not entertaining bullshit. “Okay, my conditioning could use some work.”

Eyebrow up over the rim of her glasses, she grabs for the water bottle and replaces it with a juicebox. Easiest ad placement since Gatorade made a name for themselves in dugouts and on sidelines, but Tommy’s got to admit it’s nice to have this shit so readily available. When he’d first been starting out, drinking anything but water (and maybe a beer between periods) had been considered pansy ass shit. “You’ll get used to the altitude. Not sure you’ll ever catch up to the pace.”

Tommy has no doubt. He hasn’t played against this specific configuration of this team, but they’ve been well known for their breakneck speed for years. He’s not an ungraceful man, but today he’s felt a bit like a baby giraffe trying to keep up with a pack of antelope, lumbering around with limbs that just won’t cooperate (and are probably gonna fucking cramp up the moment he stops moving) and lungs that aren’t taking in enough air to manage the bursts of speed these guys are executing like a light jog on a breezy spring day.

Tommy downs the electrolyte drink and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Why the fuck am I here, Hen?”

She purses her lips, tips her chin out in the general direction of where a few guys are still taking drills even as practice winds down. “Because these idiots are convinced they’re invincible, and no one has the heart to tell them talking shit to Trouba again is gonna end with one of them on a stretcher.”

Which — he’d known, in the abstract. Having an enforcer riding the bench for fifty plus minutes a night was an old school way of handling a small-light-fast team with just enough shit-talkers and star players to draw attention. Unexpected, in the current layout of the league, but not completely unbelievable. The GM had been a little shifty, yesterday, essentially reciting the same line as Hen but dressing it up in a whole lot of fancy front-office speak Tommy’s never really had the time for. He’s barely had a chance to talk to Nash, yet, but he’s sure he’ll hear echoes of it from his new head coach, too.

Tommy watches Diaz and Buckley taking turns blocking whiffle balls in front of the net; Chimney still taking drills at the net with their EBUG — McKinley had introduced him and wandered off to lace up his skates (”You can call me Nozzle,” the guy had told him, torso looking tiny in just his leg pads without his shell, too-long hair and that manic gleam in his eye that only goalies ever truly had, while Tommy listened to him talk about his plumbing apprenticeship and his daughter who loved hockey as much as her dad but wanted to be, of all things, a defenseman.); Greenway and Kinnunen taking shots from the circle getting increasingly more frustrated the longer Chim and Nozzle swapping in and out changes nothing about their ability to sneak the puck in five-hole.

There’s a palpable energy to this group. Something stirring in the air — between the single-minded focus of their stars, and the attentive way their third and fourth lines are still all out here after Nash had gathered them all in for an end-of-practice huddle, Tommy can feel the anticipation of more. More wins, more lessons, more conditioning, anything that will get this team past the second round with an eye toward the Cup. It’s been years since he’s been on a team with this much fucking focus.

Tommy eyes the fans still slowly trickling out from the bleachers — knows through word of mouth they’re likely gonna be sitting outside the parking lot waiting to see who’s gonna shift into park and lean out a window to sign some shit, talk to people for a minute or two. Kinda hopes McKinley’s still down to drive him back to his hotel so that he can watch some kid go feral when McKinley rolls down his window to greet him.

Well shit. If he’s gonna buy in, he might as well get a head start.

He turns back to Hen.

“Bunting never even got fined for that boarding call against Pannikar last year, did he?”

Hen grins. “No headshots, please.”

[stereax]

why do people hate vegas so much?

Do you want the Stereanalysis version or the short one?

The short answer is basically this: The Vegas Golden Knights entered the league and were expected to be hot garbage. Despite this, they had what many assumed was a "miracle" run in the 2018 playoffs, making it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, and have since established themselves as a consistent contender. Many haters of the Knights claim that Vegas was "gifted" a championship team from the onset (revisionist history at best), that Vegas didn't "go through years of pain" like most expansion teams (which, it's not their fault they're good?), and that the refs and Bettman want Vegas to win (which is said about 32 out of 32 teams in this league). Additionally, it's believed that a lot of Vegas fans are "fair-weather" and that they'll abandon the team when it doesn't do well, which ties into the theory that the NHL is "rigging" it for Vegas. Winning the Cup last year, over the undercat Florida Panthers to boot, angered many, especially due to Vegas's owner's bold prediction of "Cup in six [years]" made before their first season.

Additionally, Vegas's front office has a history of big deals. From trading fan favorite Fleury with no prior warning, leaving him to find out online; to the story of Haula, who literally showed up to practice and his keycard didn't work and that's how he learned he got traded three days before his wedding (but we don't talk about that one because Fleury is Fleury); to every single Vegas trade and trade deadline where they seem to acquire every big free agent and give up fairly little in return (Hertl, Hanifin, Quick, Barbashev, Eichel, Stone, Pacioretty, the list goes on). Many people can't divorce the front office from the team itself and get very upset when Vegas "poaches" the players they want.

On top of this, you have the "cap circumvention" narrative, claiming that players such as Stone are "faking" injuries so Vegas can do cap magic and add more players than they should be "allowed" to. First of all, the idea that players like Stone are faking injury is bullshit, especially in a league where players like Stutzle and J Hughes have outright stated that they played injured for long stretches of the season. Fun fact, the NHL does have doctors that run checks on LTIRed players and verify that they're truly injured. (The Leafs got into some hot water last offseason when they were LTIRing Murray and then later with Klingberg as well, as the NHL was suspicious that they had moved Murray's surgery date and recovery time to allow themselves to "bury" Murray's contract on LTIR for the season.) If anything, Stone was probably still hurt in the playoffs. The man is seemingly incapable of playing an 82-game season and yet people are screaming that he's faking injuries when he does get hurt. (Also, on cap circumvention: Nobody remembers Kucherov anymore but that was so much more blatant. Additionally, the league has considered closing LTIR "loopholes" several times now and several times has decided against it. Your team doesn't do it? Okay. It doesn't give you a moral high ground, though, as it is patently legal in the NHL rules to do so.)

Plus, there's definitely some disdain for the glitz and glamor of Vegas. Sparkly gold uniforms, City of Sin, pink flamingos, shiny golden helmets, elaborate pre-game shows where knights slay dragons, slot machines, glitter, all of that. I'm not going to bring up my personal theories here, but I'd advance the question to Vegas haters why they dislike the spectacle of Vegas, and whether that dislike also may apply to other areas where men may be associated with glitter, pink, sin, sparkles, and all that, such as, y'know, drag queens, or gay men more generally.

But hey, that's just a theory... a stereax theory.

[astars-things]

I love the idea of X daughter!reader ❤️

I was thinking Sidney Crosby x daughter!reader. Maybe he had her young, like his rookie year. So she’s like 18. Pittsburgh is through to the playoffs, they win and just super fluff with Crosby, Letang and Malkin (the two being like uncles) celebrating with their families.

Pairing Sidney Crosby x daughter!reader

"c'mon, Dad you got this" I whispered under my breath sitting in the stands with my Crosby jersey on watching the final round of the playoffs.

there were 10 seconds left on the clock when Dad scored and soon the horn blared through the arena

"Let's go" I yelled jumping out of my seat and quickly getting my things and running down to the locker room. "hey little Crosby" one of the security guards called out to me

"Hi" I smiled and waved continuing my way to the ice to watch from the tunnel "C'mon little one" My uncle Malkin called from the ice holding out his arms for me so I could walk on the ice safely

I saw my dad with a big smile holding the cup over his head, I was so proud of him and the team. I took a quick photo for my Instagram story then put my phone away to savour the moment.

I let Uncle Malkin lead the way taking me to my other Uncle Letang who pulled me into a tight hug soon my dad skated over to me giving me a kiss on the forehead "Hey princess" Dad whispered to me "hey dad well done on the game-winning goal" I smiled as my dad picks me up and spins me around

"couldn't have done it without you" He whispered and soon carefully took me over to where the team was taking photos

"I don't think I can be in it Dad I'm not a part of the team" I spoke trying to stop my dad from dragging me Stop being silly y/n You're part of this team just as much as all of us," Uncle Malkin said as he came over to us helping my dad drag me

"Okay can we have little Crosby and big Crosby sitting next to the cup," one of the social media girls said so it was me and the cup then Dad took a couple of photos

"you coming to celebrate with us cap?" one of the players asked my dad "Nah I think me and y/n are just going to go home," Dad said "no Dad go have fun I'll be okay at home by myself" Dad gave me a look before agreeing to go out and celebrate with the team 

 

Taglist~ @cole-mcward48 @stopsign94 @swissboyhisch @hughesmoyle

Feedback is more than welcomed

[any-apples]

guys this is so backwards. the whole east (pens, red wings, caps, isles, flyers) are like trying to crawl away from the playoffs. like. the flyers lose to montreal, then chicago, then the isles, then buffalo AND THEY'RE STILL IN A PLAYOFF SPOT because the caps don't want it and the red wings don't want it. the pens haven't played like they actually want it. and the flyers sure as fuck haven't played like they want it.

all of these teams are running away from these spots. like full on sprinting. and the hockey gods just pick them up by the backs of their shirts and drop them right back into the spot and laugh at them and their suffering.

fate is gonna drag us in kicking and screaming. wild shit.

[hozierbyrne]

i’d rather die than be open honest and vulnerable on twitter but on here where no hockey media will see it i want to say that nicklas backstrom is and will always live in my heart. i watch an ungodly amount of hockey and i like so many players, but i don't think i'll ever quite feel the same about any other player, ever.

nicke backstrom is — a consummate professional and private about his own life and family, but always happy to speak to fans when he is out and about, kind and quiet and a good reader of people. a pillar of the franchise on the ice and off, in every way you can think of. frightened of dogs but gamely always took photos holding a little one for the annual charity calendar. steady and steadfast, the best two-way centerman you could possibly imagine who's never won a selke. quietly exceptional his entire career and always, always fucking overlooked by everyone except his own city, who loves him with a fervor usually reserved for religious figures. dc loves him as if to make up for the fact that he never gets his due anywhere else. they saw him grow up and grow into himself and that's an honor, and they love him for it. they love him for this too: he plays beautiful hockey. incredible vision, soft hands. competitive nearly to a fault and unafraid to get into faces when needed. (some games he could drag the caps to a win they didn't deserve otherwise out of sheer force of will.) best pure passer in the nhl, you'd never see prettier saucer passes than you'd see from him. absolutely cold-blooded, patient and unyielding, could sit on a puck for a whole period if needed, waiting for his wingers to get where they needed to be. could sit on a puck for a minute and a half of a power play, waiting for alex ovechkin to drift into position and wind up, stick high in the air, waiting to shoot. he never panicked. he never panicked on the ice and he never panicked off of it either. when the puck was on his stick he was in control of the game and he knew it. off the ice, when fans were clamoring to blow up the core after years of early playoff exits, when the media pressure was building and building, when the wider hockey world muttered and whispered that ovechkin and backstrom just didn't have what it takes — he was unshakeable. he believed so fiercely in himself and his team. when nobody else thought they could do it, he flatly promised that this team was going to bring a cup to the city. and he was right!

he's always unshakeable. he's always calm and he's always brave and he's always unselfish. i feel like chewing through the walls. i feel so fucking bad about this because i think he was feeling optimistic this year but hip resurfacing is a hard, hard procedure to come back from. no nhler has ever done it. he chose to do the surgery for his kids more than anything, i think. i think he knew his odds, too. and i think he knew, through these first eight games of the season, that the bounce back he was hoping for wasn't going to happen, at least not right now. and then he did the thing he always does: he put his team first, and he put his family first, and he did it quietly, without fanfare. he told his management and then he gathered his team and he told them, and every caps beat reporter said that today the atmosphere was unlike anything they had ever witnessed, that it was somber and bitter and just... off. they said practice was bad, as one might expect. tj oshie talked about feeling so awful because he knew how hard nicke was working to get back to the game he loved....... and it comes back to: this sucks. it's not fair. nicke plays a game that should have meant longevity, and it feels wrong that time is catching up like this, with a vengeance.

ovi is so big with his love and his heart that it's easy to miss how hot nicke burns too. i quite literally cannot imagine a capitals team without him. i don't think any of the guys in the locker room can either. like. ovi's supposed to break the goals record without nicke passing to him? i'm going to throw up. i'm going to cry. john carlson said it feels weird today, and it's going to keep feeling weird. and... yeah! going to watch the caps tomorrow and cry through the broadcast, i'm sure. i hope they get blown out. i hope they lose 7-1. i hope they get a shutout and ovi scores a hat trick and tom gets a gordie howe. do you get it.

[oeldeservesthenorris]

What should Devils fans tell Quinn Hughes if they see him at Prudential Center? ‘Tell him to come to Jersey!’ his ex-teammate says

By Ryan Novozinsky | NJ Advance Media for NJ.com

Quinn Hughes, sporting a incognito-mode baseball cap, will reportedly be in attendance at Prudential Center Tuesday to cheer on his brothers, Devils stars Jack and Luke Hughes, in their first round battle vs. the Rangers.

According to Thomas Drance of The Athletic, the Vancouver Canucks defenseman said he’ll attend games with “a couple of (his) buddies,” but will try to stay hidden to not distract the Devils, who clinched their second postseason spot in 11 seasons in March. As fun as watching his brothers compete in playoff hockey may be, Quinn also noted how “tough” it is from his perspective. The Canucks finished with a 38-37-7 record – 12 points behind the Winnipeg Jets for the second playoff spot – so the 2022-23 season has slowly dragged along.

“It’s going to be really tough,” Quinn said on April 9, via The Athletic. “I was watching the Devils and Rangers play five days ago and those crowds are going to be insane. You’re going to have Jack playing, you’ll have Foxy (Adam Fox) playing, all of these really good players. It is what it is and there’s nothing I can do about it, but it’s frustrating.”

Asked about Quinn’s New Jersey visit Tuesday, Devils forward Curtis Lazar – Quinn’s ex-teammate in Vancouver – said Devils fans should show him some love if they happen to bump into him.

“Tell him to come to Jersey! Tell him there’s a spot right next to his third brother sitting right here ready for him,” Lazar told NJ Advance Media with a laugh. “No, I mean, treat him well. Buy him a beer. He’s earned it this year, he’s had a great season. We appreciate the support. So hopefully we see him around.

“I think we should get him to hold that trident there to start the game. Why not?”

Lazar is right: Quinn has earned that drink. The 23-year-old defenseman finished the season with a career high in points (76), assists (69) and a plus-minus rating of plus-15.

It’s unclear if Quinn would be open to joining his brothers when he’s an unrestricted free agent in 2027, but it’s certainly a fun possibility. For now, though, each member of the Hughes trio is just happy to live their NHL dreams. In a recent interview with the New York Post, Jack opened up about what it means to have two of his siblings in the NHL with him.

“Yeah, of course,” said Jack, via The Post. “We always dreamed of playing in the Show with each other, but at the same time, it’s such an unrealistic goal. Like for even one of the three of us (oldest brother Quinn is on the Canucks) to make the NHL, the odds are so low. And then for all three of us, it’s like ridiculous. Me and Luke are on the same team, a lot of things have to line up. We dreamed it, but we probably never thought it would happen. Pretty ridiculous how it worked out.”

[legcndsnvrdie]

INTRODUCING ALFIE MADDOCK

my name is [ ALFIE MADDOCK ] … and i am from [ HELLTOWN, OHIO ] and i’m an [ASSISTANT VARSITY BASEBALL COACH & PERSONAL TRAINER]. i lived in helltown for [ 27 YEARS ] because [I COULDN'T HACK IT AS A PRO BASEBALL PLAYER]. i am [30] my pronouns are [ HE/HIM ] and i am [ LOYAL, SELFLESS, DISCIPLINED ] though some may say i’m [ BLUNT, PARTICULAR, COMPETITIVE- ]. i also hear i look a lot like [ BRANDON LARRACUENTE ] but, i don’t know if i see it. i’m here because [MOM NEEDED HIM HOME AFTER DAD WALKED OUT ] but, maybe there’s more to it than that. you never know with helltown.

BASICS

full name: alfred benjamin maddock II   nickname(s):  alfie, al, alf, alfster, captain  age:   thirty birthday: october first gender: cismale relationship status: single star sign: libra current residence: helltown, ohio occupation:  assistant varsity baseball coach & personal trainer languages: english & spanish

REFLECTION

looks like: brandon larracuente hair color: dark eye color: ever changing depending on the lighting, typically bluish grey sometimes green & hazel  height: six foot, two inches   tattoos: half sleeve on his left arm piercings: left ear (team bonding dare)

FAMILY

father: alfred maddock sr. mother: naomi maddock nee torres siblings: three younger sisters (hoping to put in wcs for them!) pets:  great dane named onyx extended family: potential step-mother aka the woman his father ran off with

PERSONALITY

characteristics: disciplined, honest, passionate, loyal, protective, blunt, competitive, nostalgic for the good ol’ days.     fears: letting this family down, not living up to expectations passions/hobbies: baseball, working out and lifting weights, juicing (like fruit juices lol), drawing, sketching, & designing tattoos  drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: dabbled after leaving the minors and returning to helltown/ yes / cigarettes socially   aesthetics:  bases loaded, 2 outs, game on the line, toned muscles, empty beer cans, calloused hands and bruised knuckles, worn out cleats, ice cold yellow gatorade, backwards baseball caps, shirtless workouts, championship trophies collecting dust, sliding into home plate, drags of cigarette smoke to numb the pain, sweat dripping down a furrowed brow line, one more rep, again, again, again, knuckles cracking, folded up varsity jackets character inspo: Jason Street (Friday Night Lights), Archie Andrews (Riverdale), Jeff Atkins (13 Reasons Why) Cedric Diggory (Harry Potter), Randy ‘Pink’ Floyd (Dazed and Confused)

BIOGRAPHY 

EARLY YEARS:

Alfred Maddock II was born to a middle class family in Helltown, Ohio on a warm October evening with the Cincinnati Reds World Series playoffs well underway. His father barely made it to hospital in time, squeezing in one last inning before rushing out of the bar to witness the birth of his own little shortstop. Alfred Sr. was something of a legend back in high school. The kind of guy who reminisces about the glory days at his 9 to 5 job and marries his high school sweetheart which he did. Her name is Naomi, and she is the matriarch of the Maddock family.  Alfie is the eldest child of Maddock's little baseball team of four and his father's only son. Therefore from the time Alfie could walk, he was always in the yard playing catch with his old man and coming in late for dinner with soot stained cheeks and green stains streaked across his knees. Not to mention, the distant sound of his mother’s warnings —don’t track mud in the house—following him to his place at the table.  Despite his father’s small town legacy, Alfie wasn’t a natural talent and baseball didn’t always come easy for him. What he did have, however, was discipline and the fierce drive to work twice as hard as his teammates even if that meant double sessions and waking up before sunrise. By the time he hit middle school, Alfie was already as tall as a sophomore and his father was more like a second coach to him than an actual parent, constantly reminding him to always choke up on the bat to achieve better ball control. 

HIGH SCHOOL:

In high school, all Alfie’s hard work paid off. The kid had it all, a bright light in a town that always seemed to be constantly plagued by mystery and fog. He was an All-American shortstop who made the varsity baseball team his freshman year, scored a hot girlfriend, was the resident beer pong champ at all the post game after parties, and to top it all off he was a pretty nice guy. Alfie could always be found wearing his varsity jacket with his signature backwards baseball cap, ready to throw a fastball over to one of his teammates who he was constantly surrounded by.  Being both popular and captain of the baseball team did have its responsibilities however, and there were certain unwritten rules that came with the territory. Alfie wasn’t your typical stupid, jerkface jock; he was the captain, in the top spot. He wasn’t flashy like some of the other guys on the team—though his homerun victory laps were legendary— or made an ass of himself by getting into arguments and fist fights on the field. He was the guy who would have your back and take the fall, a leader, and the heart and soul of the Ashevere High School baseball team. It was a role that Alfie cherished and one that carried over in his family life and and with his friends off of the baseball diamond.

PRESENT:

With an impressive high school baseball career, Alfie was recruited by the Columbus Clippers to play Minor League Baseball and was on the fast track to play in the Majors for the Cleveland Guardians. This was his moment and his chance to finally get out of small town Ohio and make something of himself. For three seasons, he shined like he did in high school. He was quick, agile, and had a throwing arm worthy of the pros, even became captain of the team in his final season.   But it was in that third and final season with the Clippers that Alfie was thrown the biggest curveball of his life and his world came crashing down. Alfred Sr. ran off with another woman leaving his family behind, and Alfie’s mother completely devastated. Much mystery surrounds his father’s sudden departure with this other woman, one that brings about a certain eeriness Alfie can’t seem to place. His father was no saint, but Alfie was about to be at the top of his game just like his dad always wanted for him and then suddenly he takes off. It didn't make sense to Alfie, but it was enough for him to put his dreams on hold. Always the captain on or off the field, the athlete saw no other choice but to give up his career and move back to Helltown to help out his mother, becoming the replacement father figure for his younger sisters that nobody asked for. Alfie has been back in Helltown for nine years now, often greeted with a furrowed brow and a pleasant: “Aren’t you that kid who played ball for Ashevere a few years back?” He took up a job at the local gym as a personal trainer and eventually became an assistant coach for the varsity baseball team, unable to completely leave the sport behind forever.   As much as Alfie longs to escape Helltown and reclaim the all-star career he was robbed of, he can’t seem to leave, unable to shake the darkness that continues to lurk within the town and half convinced the most recent disappearances may be connected to his father’s sudden departure all those years ago, let alone leave his family to fend for themselves among all the chaos.  But even with the game on the line, bases loaded, and two outs, the kid always could manage to pull through and smash a curveball straight out of the park.

KAYLA MCNEIL & HER DISAPPEARANCE

Alfie couldn’t tell you exactly how it happened. One minute he was grumbling about a bad call the umpire had made during a middle school double header, and the next they were making out. It was nothing more than a one time thing, a harmless kiss in the heat of the moment. She was there, he was upset, and from that moment on Kayla always seemed to have that calming effect on him. By the time high school rolled around, she was more like another one of his sisters and he was integrated into her friend group. They lost touch when Alfie was recruited to play in minors and only reconnected recently. When she disappeared, it was a strange feeling. He wasn't as close with her, and yet he still somehow feels obligated to find out what happened to her.

HEADCANNONS:

Alfie always wore the number 13 in baseball despite it being considered an unlucky number on and off the baseball diamond. He was never really superstitious about it until recently and swears he sees the number 13 in the most random places now almost as if to mock him.

He is a huge A-Rod fan and looked up to him as a kid even though his family were Cincinnati Reds fans. He wanted to be a professional shortstop because of him. May or may not have teared up a bit when him and JLO broke up, too.

Alfie is extremely protective of his mother and sisters and feels he has to be the man of the house now that their father walked out. 

In his spare time, Alfie loves to draw and sketch. He has a sketchbook filled with his doodles and potential future tattoo ideas. They actually aren’t bad at all.  

His ducati is his baby and he treats it as such.

CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST | SPOTIFY

[hischiersjohnston]

Talk Hockey To Me

tagged by: @jonassiegenthighler ty for the tag <3

Tell me about:

1. The thing that got you hooked on hockey

STORY TIME: i moved to canada, just outside of Hockey Capital (Toronto) when I was 9 years old (am 23 rn). so you'd think that i'd have been into hockey since i moved, right, considering that i was surrounded by leafs fans and like a good chunk of guys in my classes growing up were hockey boys?

DEAD WRONG.

all the guys ever cared about are the stats. so i wasn't too too interested in hockey. but i somehow absorb a lil too much info about hockey and the leafs in general but i never got /into/ the sport until my best friend lucy got into hockey like in february/march 2023. the irony is that lucy is from the uk and that's who got me into hockey: not any of the hockey boys I grew up having a crush on (bold of my family and friends to assume i got into hockey to impress a guy lol), not any of the hockey boys I went to high school with and was on good terms with. but my British friend (she’s a real one for it). And Tbf it’s because she talked more about the vibes first before she went into talking about the stats. im not a math person so the stats were like flying over my head. but she sends me videos of their interviews and game highlights and talks about them and i'm like... aight okay let me give this hockey thing a chance.

and here i am.

2. Your first ever fandom friend

definitely lucy (@ draisaitleons) like... she introduced me to the sport, so she's my first ever fandom friend on here.

3. The jersey you would most like to own

ngl i've been eyeing the hischier premier heritage jersey... either that or the black and white jersey one, though i'm leaning more towards the first one.

4. YOUR player (you only get ONE so choose wisely)

who else but nico hischier? tbh i can't even remember how i first heard about him. but i swear it must be all the gif sets i kept seeing when i started following more and more hockey blogs around april/may 2023? then i watched a few of his interviews and was endeared; thought he was cute and a good captain. but what REALLY sold me was when i found out that his birthday is on january 4, which is two days before mine. i was like "oh cool, a fellow capricorn" bc at that point, i'm pretty sure all the hockey players i keep seeing on my dash had birthdays in april and may, so to see a capricorn hockey player i was like... okay okay. so that's also the story behind my tag for him which is "my cap(tain) and fellow cap(ricorn) <3" if anyone was ever curious. then i read up on him; found out he was drafted first overall in 2017 and i just really liked his vibes as a captain and a player, and decided "yep, that's my guy".

5. A pairing that deserves more fic

ooh this is hard but ngl... kailer yamamoto x connor mcdavid. HEAR ME OUT: yes, i know yamo is no longer with the oilers (rip but he seems happier and less stressed out in seattle, so go have fun, king <3) but when i discovered this pairing when i was reading rpf, i was confused at first but i was VIBING! there was this fic i read on ao3 and it hasn't been updated but the premise was that kailer was a single dad, but no one on the team knows except for like one other person. and connor only finds out that kailer's got a kid when he goes into kailer's apartment to drag him to a team bonding. oof, can't wait to read more tbh. but the fic that really sold me on the pairing was connor having a crush on kailer, who had no idea connor was into men (he thought connor and lauren were dating, when they were really just besties) and i was HERE FOR IT.

tl;dr: kailer x connor will be my rarepair that needs more fics.

6. Your favourite on-ice moment

has to be when jack tackles aho back during the playoffs. this lived rent-free in my brain and i was like.... huh... maybe i should check out the new jersey devils if they got a guy who tackles people like this.

THEN

this gif set of travis konecny by lucy !! altho really, any gif sets made by lucy deserve so much more love <333

AND

... tbh i am really really proud of all the gif sets i've been making lately for the nj devils, but!! i gotta shamelessly plug in my latest gif set of my captain nico hischier scoring his first goal of the season with an assist from jack !!

tagging: @draisaitleons @luvembarrassing @toffoliravioli @hischierlovebot @skjeisy @kmercer

[fruitcoops]

I think it would be really interesting for leo and sirius to talk ab how they both didn’t go to college and how they both joined the nhl at 18 but had v different upbringings

Ooo, I like this one! I’m always down for some Cap and Knutty bonding. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for mentioned bad parenting

“Kinda weird, isn’t it?” Leo said, breaking the nighttime silence after many long minutes of just their breathing. Sirius hummed in question. “Starting all this so young.”

Sirius made a noncommittal noise and Leo shifted, never taking his eyes off the sky. There was too much light pollution to see the stars properly in Gryffindor, but the roof of the rink didn’t have a bad view; the planes flying overhead brought pinpricks of brightness to the indigo blur.

“Was it hard for you?”

He heard Sirius’ coat move. “Was what hard?”

“Starting the NHL at eighteen.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Sometimes.”

“I didn’t know if I would make it,” Leo confessed, still barely above a murmur. Nobody else was around, but it didn’t feel right to talk in normal voices. The whole world was muted, save for the noise of the city below them. “There was just so much to do.”

Sirius laughed softly. “I hate to break it to you, rookie, but that doesn’t change.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Before, or now?”

Leo thought for a moment. “Both.”

“Before, I would go home and shoot pucks until I was too tired to stand up. Sometimes I would read.” It wasn’t a secret, but it still made Leo’s heart hurt to remember. Nobody as kind and hardworking as Sirius deserved that. “Now, I make myself some food, take a shower, and steal Re’s softest hoodie.”

Leo could hear his smile in the dark—it echoed his own. “Nothing better, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Finn’s fit me best,” he mused. “But Lo’s smell better.”

“Ah, he finally discovered deodorant?”

“Shut up,” Leo teased, elbowing his ribs. Sirius laughed a little louder; in the light of the streetlamps and the absence of his granite-hard focus, it was easy to remember that he was only 26. Leo had worshipped him as a kid, but now he just saw Sirius for what he was. His captain, who guided him through the playoffs even when his personal life was crumbling apart. His older brother, though Sirius certainly wouldn’t think of him that way. His friend.

“Really, though, it’s important to have those connections,” Sirius said when they both calmed down. “Being alone is good, but only if you know you have people to talk to when you need them.”

“Was it easier when you weren’t living with someone?”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

“Sometimes I want the apartment to myself.” Leo lowered his voice unconsciously, then sighed. “It’s not because I don’t want them there. I just need to be alone. Wash the dishes. Clean my room. Call my mom.”

“You should tell them.”

He turned his head slightly; Sirius was still scanning the sky. “Is that what you did?”

“It took a couple hiccups, but yeah. If one of us needs some alone time, the other will go to the grocery store or take a walk, maybe hang out with friends. You just have to make sure your boys know that it’s not personal.”

“You’re freakishly good at sage advice.”

Sirius snorted. “Merci, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore.”

“Yeah, you are.” He raised his hands, as if outlining a marquee. “The Eternal Rookie, starring Leo Knut.”

Leo stuck his tongue out, feeling rather petulant about the whole thing. “Watch it, Cap, I’m gonna sic Dumo on you.”

“My own father?” Sirius gasped dramatically. “How could you?”

“Did you ever get homesick?”

The question was out of the blue—he didn’t blame Sirius for faltering. Honestly, Leo was kicking himself for asking in the first place, though he had been keeping it in for ages. Unspoken rule of the Lions #1: Don’t ask Cap about his childhood.

“I…” Sirius fell silent once more.

“I’m sorry,” Leo apologized, and he meant it. “That came out of nowhere.”

“I missed Regulus,” Sirius continued carefully without acknowledging him. “But no, I didn’t get homesick. I didn’t have time, or a real reason.”

Alone in a new city, finally out of a horrible living situation, but desperately missing the little brother he left behind… Leo couldn’t even begin to imagine going through it when the NHL by itself was already overwhelming to his teenage brain. He scooted an inch closer until their shoulders touched. “I get homesick every couple of months.”

“You have a kind family.”

“Have you even met them?”

“At the party.” Sirius’ smile was practically audible. “Your mother was very excited to see me.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groaned. “What happened?”

“She—“ He broke off with a laugh. “She was very nice, I promise, but I think I surprised her because she squeaked when I said ‘hello’.”

Leo shook his head. “Did you sneak up on her?”

“I’m six two, I can’t sneak up on anyone!”

“You walk like a fucking ghost, dude! It’s creepy!”

“Okay, rude.”

“I swear, you and Loops need to be belled like cats,” Leo huffed.

They lapsed back into comfortable quiet for a few more minutes as a train rattled past on one side and the metro busses rolled down Main Street on the other. It had taken Leo a long time to figure out Gryff’s layout, and even longer to get used to the sounds of the city.

“What does it feel like?”

Leo blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. “What?”

“Being homesick.” Sirius shifted again and folded his hands over his stomach. “I didn’t notice much of a difference in practices when I started the NHL, and going back to my parents’ house wasn’t my exactly a highlight of my year.”

Curiosity overrode his tact and reasoning skills. “You never asked Logan?”

“Non. It was different, with him. He had already left to go to college before I knew him, and spent four years away from his family.”

“Right.” Leo forgot about that on occasion. That Finn and Logan might be five years older than him, but they had only been rookies a year or two prior. Not everyone went straight from their city select team to an official draft. “It’s hard to describe.”

Sirius made an understanding noise, but he couldn’t entirely mask his disappointment. Leo licked his lips and tried again.

“It’s like a piece of you isn’t where it’s supposed to be. And it keeps tugging on your chest, but you never know when it’s going to start and stop so you just… deal with it. You ignore it some days and you think about it other days.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “The hard days are when you remember you can’t go back to the way things were before. I don’t even call my mom sometimes, ‘cause I know it’ll make me sadder.”

“The way things were before?”

“Yeah, like—like all my classmates are in college, and I’m laying on a roof with one of the most famous hockey players in the history of forever.” That drew a light laugh from them both. “I’m gonna go back to my reunion in a couple years and have literally nothing in common with the people I used to be friends with.”

“Sometimes I wish I went to college,” Sirius said. “But I would have missed so much if I did. I don’t think I would have been happy there.”

“Finn and Logan get weird about college.” Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about it, but Leo had the feeling none of their conversation would leave the rooftop. “It was hard for them, with all their shit.”

“Re does, too.” He recognized the sad edge in Sirius’ voice; it was the same as his own. “For a different reason. It started good, and ended bad.”

“I’m glad I missed out on that,” Leo said, biting down the urge to scream at the universe for putting their significant others through so much hardship at an already-difficult time. None of them deserved the pain they went through. “Besides, it’s not like we need degrees to play hockey, and we’ll have plenty of money afterward.”

“I never thought about my life after hockey until my ankle.”

“My parents always pushed me to make sure I wanted to do the NHL instead of more school.”

“You’re lucky to have them.”

“I wish you did.”

The words hung suspended between them before Leo could swallow them back down, somehow dangerous and calming at the same time. It wasn’t like he had never thought about it before; he just hadn’t said it out loud. The first time he had seen Sirius’ parents across the rink had given him a case of the heebie-jeebies so strong he had to shower twice. All the times after that just made him angry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sirius’ voice was quiet, but not upset. “You’re not the first person to say it. I’m glad you feel like you can be honest with me.”

Leo frowned. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“I try really hard to not be an asshole captain, so it actually does mean a lot.”

“I don’t think you could be an asshole if you tried.”

The barking laugh that split the night startled Leo so bad he nearly jumped out of his skin; Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth, though he was still snickering. “Sorry, sorry, I just—holy shit, I forgot you didn’t know me before. Mon dieu.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Leo protested. “Pots said you used to be grumpier, but that’s it.”

Sirius shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I was such a dick. There’s not a single picture of the whole team where I’m smiling for about two years and I was such a stickler for the rules.”

Leo gaped at him. “You followed rules?”

“To the fucking letter. It was awful.”

“What happened?”

Sirius shrugged. “I got friends. Idiot friends who did things like showing me the easiest way onto the roof. Pots used to drag me up here every Friday.”

“Really?”

“Ouais.” Mischief flitted over his face. “He skipped date night with Lily once on accident, and she tracked us up here like a bloodhound. It was terrifying.”

“What did you do?” Lily was one of the nicest people Leo knew, but he knew better than to get on her bad side.

“Lied to her face while James hid behind that strobe light.”

“Did it work?”

“Are you kidding?” he snorted. “She called me a liar and suggested getting a better best friend. That was after she told James he’s better have something nice planned for their next date if he ever wanted to get in her pants again.”

“And yet you didn’t listen to her.” Leo tsked. “Of all the people on the team, you chose the hot mess.”

“Trust me, rookie, James had his whole life figured out compared to me.”

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and but his lip. He had pushed his luck a lot already; who knew if one more question would be the tipping point? “Did you ever think about coming out? Even just to Pots.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “After every single game.”

“For seven years?”

“Up until the day those pictures were leaked. Even more after Re and I were together.”

“How old were you when you knew?”

“13. You?”

Leo exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure. I think I had an idea of it as a kid, but didn’t really get it until I was in high school. My parents were even more worried about the NHL after I told them.”

“They worry a lot about you.”

“Only child, and I was going for a wildly unstable career path with no guarantee that I would ever see the ice.”

“They’re proud of you. More than you know.” Sirius’ watch beeped. “It’s ten o’clock. Are you supposed to be home?”

“I should probably make sure my boys haven’t burned down the apartment.” Neither of them made an attempt to move. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course.”

You’re like a brother to me, he wanted to say. I don’t know who else I can talk to like this. “Thank you.”

“Any time. We don’t have to do extra practice beforehand, either.”

Leo nudged him gently. “You’re the best captain ever.”

“You’re the best rookie, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Yeah, I am, he thought as they laid side-by-side in silence once more with the past behind them and the future ahead. And if I end up like you, it means I did something right.

[carey-pricemas]

Alex Ovechkin is a Cap

[parvuls]

fic: need seek no further

Jack shrugs. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

a disgustingly fluffy, plotless ficlet about how well jack knows bitty and how he perfected the skill of nonverbal communication through the force of sheer will. also, the frogs.

read on ao3

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Dex called Bitty one evening in early May, let Bitty shower him with hellos, and then stated, “We won the NCAA championship.” He said it matter-of-factly, like maybe Jack and Bitty hadn’t been there when it happened, like Jack hadn’t watched him cling to Bitty for a full minute after the stands had spilled onto the ice.

“You did,” Bitty replied, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s with confusion wrinkling between his brows. His phone was set on the kitchen island between them, Dex’s voice filling their kitchen through speaker phone while Bitty’s floured hands were busy kneading dough. Jack was keeping him company on another last-minute testing session for his rhubarb pie recipe, even though the last proof of his book had been approved by his editors over two weeks before. Jack was running out of team members to send leftovers to.

“And Whiskey got voted captain,” Dex continued.

Jack watched as Bitty squinted down at his phone. Bitty had spent half an hour on the phone with Whiskey the night of the banquet; he hadn’t disclosed the details of their conversation to Jack, but his face when he’d returned to their room, had sat down next to Jack on the bed and had leaned his forehead on Jack’s bicep for a long while -- Jack had seen that face before. Had known that expression meant pride.

“So we were talking about it just now,” there was the sound of more people whispering furiously in the background, and Jack thought he could maybe hear Chowder’s unsteady voice calling out, hey Bitty!, and only then he began contemplating the solid possibility that Dex may have been a little drunk. “And -- so we won last year, with you, and now we won again, and we wanna keep winning, right? So we gotta make sure to keep doing everything that’s working.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Bitty said agreeably, faintly amused. It was obvious to Jack from his tone that Bitty, at least, had already realized Dex was a little drunk, but was only too happy to play along.

“‘Swawesome,” Dex said fervently, like Bitty had agreed to something very important. “So you see why Whiskey’s gotta learn to make a pie.”

That stopped Bitty in his tracks. Jack blinked, watched Bitty’s long fingers halt their motions in the dough, the pressure of his fingerprints leaving crescent grooves behind. “William Joseph, that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at the screen of his phone like Dex could feel their weight on him through the line. But then he seemed to think it over again, and the pitch of his voice rose as he demanded, “Wait, are you sayin’ Whiskey’s willing to learn how to bake?”

“He says he’ll do it for the win,” Dex said, and Bitty gaped at the phone, then gaped at Jack, and with his cheeks pink and his eyes wide he exclaimed, “Of course I’ll do it!”, like there’d ever been any other option to consider.

Jack kept it to himself, but he had no doubt in his mind that there hadn’t been.

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.

Dex, Chowder and Nursey wait for them at the doorway of the Haus, broad shoulders wedged together in the narrow doorframe.

Bitty had said before they left home, “You don’t have to come, sweetpea,” and Jack had said, simply, “I want to,” and had meant it. It was only in the summer months that Jack had the privilege to see his friends whenever he wished to, and now that the Falconers were out of the playoffs -- well, Jack was feeling a little more withdrawn lately, even quieter than usual, but this felt like something he genuinely wanted to do with the time on his hands. There was also the fact that soon the frogs would graduate, and with them gone Jack would be too far removed to visit the Haus comfortably, even if Bitty still could.

Right now Jack could, and he wanted to, so Bitty and he got in Bitty’s car and drove the forty-five minutes down to Samwell, Bitty’s phone hooked through the aux and his hands tapping on the wheel to the beat. He was nervous, although Jack wasn’t sure exactly why -- only knew it was obvious in Bitty’s restless hands and the frequency he switched songs midway through. Jack reached out and placed his hand on Bitty’s thigh, squeezed, and let Bitty burn his nervous energy whatever way he deemed best.

“We did all the shopping!” Chowder announces as Jack and Bitty walk up the porch steps, and then immediately bounces forward and wraps Bitty in a hug. His long limbs envelope Bitty within them, and soon Jack’s dragged into their circle, too, feels Nursey’s arms fold around his shoulders and Dex’s tentative hand patting him on the back. It doesn’t overwhelm him like it could’ve, maybe, a year or two ago -- it just feels nice, familiar, welcoming. A display of affection he readily returns.

When the huddle breaks, the five of them shuffle through the door and head straight into the kitchen. It looks about the same as it has since Bitty took over it five years ago -- no longer just a room with a fridge full of beers and a broken down table, but a real kitchen, with Suzanne’s hand-sewn curtains and clear countertops and the oven that Jack is still irrationally fond of. Although it seems like it’s been revamped in the months since Jack has last seen it; the cupboards’ hinges are no longer busted, and there are actual shelves stacked along the walls. Jack assumes the likely suspect is Samwell Men’s Hockey current captain, and has to curb a revealing smile that would surely draw questions. It’s another unspoken team tradition, Jack thinks, recalling freshman Will Poindexter: no one leaves it entirely unchanged.

“Y’all are joining us for some baking lessons?” Bitty asks Nursey and Chowder, hand almost unconsciously drifting over the edge of the counters. He looks good there, really, looks right. He’s not the same as he was when he graduated and certainly not the same as when he first claimed this kitchen, but to Jack, Bitty would always look right in the sun streaming through the Haus’ dusty windows, puttering between pots and pans.

“Nah, C and I will get out of your hair for that, but Whiskey isn’t back yet so we’ve got some time. And anyway --” Nursey glances sideways at Dex and Chowder, fails at stifling a smile, “uh, the waffles heard you were coming today, Bits.”

“Going by their reaction, they’ve definitely missed you,” Dex says, arms crossed over his chest, his face serious but a single upwards quirk to the corner of his mouth. It could be a chirp at the waffles, maybe, but Jack is almost certain that it’s sincere nonetheless.

Bitty turns to the shopping bags spread across the counter and starts picking them apart, taking out the ingredients for inspection before setting them down with that same nervous energy, the one that rarely ever follows Bitty into his domain in the kitchen. Jack watches him smile at Dex, honest but jittery, and realizes what he should’ve already known -- how very important it is to Bitty that this goes perfectly.

“Oh, bless them, I’ve missed them too! I’ll tell them hello so we can get started right after,” Bitty says, setting down a bag of brown sugar and taking out a packet of butter from the bag. He looks -- momentarily disappointed, and Jack frowns, searches Bitty’s face. It’s probably only visible to Jack, who recognizes the subtle shift in Bitty’s jaw and the fleeting movement of his eyebrows, but still. He follows Bitty’s eyes down to his hands and to the butter in them, and surveys it for a moment, deep in thought.

“You’ve got two seconds to prepare yourself, bro,” Nursey warns, and then Bully, Hops and Louis descend loudly into the kitchen, flock around Bitty like ducklings. Bitty’s always had that effect on hockey players, on people, even before he got the C. It’s with intense fondness that Jack thinks it, knows the feeling intimately as someone who’s lucky enough to experience that affect every day. He can’t blame them for the way they beam down at Bitty, fight for his attention, laugh when he laughs at the rising volume of their clashing, simultaneous stories.

It’s a good opportunity if nothing else, though, so Jack shoulders his way between Bully and Louis, brushes two fingers over Bitty’s elbow to get his attention. When Bitty turns his head, Jack takes advantage of his height to lean in and say into Bitty’s ear, “Hey, bud, I’m stepping out for a moment.”

Bitty smiles at him, reaches up to stroke a hand down Jack’s cheek just warmly enough to be soothing, just quickly enough to be appropriate. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and thinks, it will be. He pauses, looks down threateningly at the waffles, and leans in to kiss Bitty's temple swiftly, before someone he can’t intimidate as easily as these sophomores could try fining him for it. The space he leaves between Bully and Louis closes as soon as he leaves their side, Bitty disappearing from sight behind their tall forms, but the sound of his cheerful laughter rings after Jack as he walks out of the kitchen and exits through the front door.

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When Jack comes back he has to open the door one-handed, the other one busy clutching the handles of a grocery bag. His cap is pulled down low, a protective measure from the crowd that swarmed the Stop and Shop on Pemberton, so it takes a few steps into the Haus’ hallway for him to notice Whiskey hovering in the kitchen doorway, apparently stopped right on his way out of it.

“Jack,” Whiskey looks surprised -- or maybe still mildly star-struck, Jack has always had trouble telling with his face. “You’re here. I haven’t seen you.”

“Got some stuff from the shop,” Jack raises the bag by way of explanation, adjusts his hat, and after a brief moment of stillness hunches his shoulders to bypass Whiskey into the kitchen.

Whiskey bends his neck to peer down into the bag as Jack passes. He looks somewhat horrified at what he finds, as much as Whiskey ever betrays his emotions -- a slight frown, a barely noticeable widening of his eyes. “We need more groceries for this thing?”

Jack shrugs, noncommittal. They don’t, really, but. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

The frogs and waffles have moved to the den while Jack was out -- he can hear them now, Bully’s low voice and Chowder’s quick speech and Hops’ rolling laughter -- but Bitty must’ve heard Jack come in, because he appears next to Whiskey in the kitchen doorway. His gaze darts between the two of them before it lands on the bag hanging from Jack’s fingers, and Jack reaches in to pull out one stick of butter, holding it out so Bitty can see the brand. Bitty’s eyes light up when he realizes, go round and bright, and he declares, “Sweetpea, you shouldn’t have!”, in the tone that means he’s beyond pleased that Jack did.

“That's more butter,” Whiskey says, staring at Bitty and then at the butter already stacked on the counter from the frogs’ shopping trip, clearly bewildered.

Jack twists his body, turns his back to them to find an empty spot somewhere on the counter. “Cabot has a half percent more fat, and Bittle likes his crust flaky,” he explains absently while emptying the contents of the bag onto the spot he chose. It’s important to Bitty that this goes perfectly, and while Jack can’t control Whiskey's abilities in the kitchen, wouldn’t be able to fix baking mishaps if those occur, this is something he can do. Make sure Bitty has the best conditions to work in, grant him a little peace of mind.

When he turns back around Whiskey is gone, and it’s only Bitty standing behind him, his eyes twinkling and his lips parted slightly.

“What?” Jack asks, confused.

There’s a long stretch of silence while Bitty just looks at him. Jack’s rarely comfortable with intense scrutiny from others, but Bitty -- Bitty’s gaze is soft, and he looks at Jack like he’s something good, something to admire. It’s a look he gives Jack often, usually accompanied by the gentlest of kisses, the warmest of hugs, the kindest of words. Sometimes Jack’s mind is slow to catch up, too stubborn to be convinced of his own worthiness, but this is the look Bitty gets when his emotions are broadcasted so loudly that even Jack’s mind has to pipe down and listen.

Bitty takes a few steps closer, grabs Jack’s palm between both his hands. “Marry me?” he asks breathily, with a smile curling at his lips.

Warmth flutters in Jack’s stomach at the words, and an answering smile grows on his own lips. The ring glints on Bitty’s finger whenever he moves his hands, is glinting now, where his fingers are curled around Jack’s in the sunny kitchen. It’s been a distraction many times in the past year, but each time Jack sees it he’s reminded of what Bitty and he have promised to each other. The future that is still to come.

There’s no one in the kitchen but them, and the Haus residents sound busy enough in the other room that no one would notice if Jack stole a lone moment. “Sorry, I can’t,” Jack deadpans, grabs Bitty by his hips and gathers him into his arms. His fingers slide over the soft fabric of Bitty’s clothes and find the gap between his top and his shorts, dipping inside to rub against Bitty’s warm skin. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m already engaged.”

“Leave him, then,” Bitty says without missing a beat. He tilts his head up to nudge Jack’s cheek with his nose, wraps his strong arms around Jack’s neck. His face is so close to Jack’s that Jack can count his pale eyelashes, can see the splotches of fading pink on his skin. He’s been spending a lot of time editing his cookbook on their balcony since springtime has arrived, and his body tans nicely but the bridge of his nose has been reddened and peeling for a while. “Run away with me.”

Jack can’t help the temptation, kisses Bitty’s right cheek and then his left one. “Sorry, bud.”

“Why ever not,” Bitty sighs, most dramatically, and uses his grip on Jack’s neck to lean his upper body backwards. “A man who knows his butters? You better believe I’m willing to fight for you, mister.”

It’s the sincerity in his voice that has heat prickling across Jack’s skin, raw pleasure squirming in his chest. It’s a futile battle, though, a battle Jack realized was lost when he dropped Bitty off at this very Haus after their very first summer together, longingly watched him skip up the stairs and thought, oh, I wanna marry him. “I can’t,” he tells Bitty quietly, pulls him closer so the words stay trapped between them, rough and intimate like a secret. “I love my fiancé too much.”

“Oh,” and Bitty flushes at this, red blossoming on the apples of his cheeks like he’s flattered -- like the ring around his finger hasn’t been there for a year, like Jack hasn’t taken to kissing it before kissing Bitty goodbye on nights he leaves for games; like Jack loving him too much to ever consider anyone else is still a novelty, a compliment, after all this time. “Well. Lucky him.”

Lucky me, Jack thinks, and bows his head to fit his mouth to Bitty’s in for a lingering sweet kiss.

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Okay. As per usual. I have some Thoughts.

I don’t care whether Tom Wilson is a good or bad person. I don’t care whether Tom Wilson gets on the ice with the intent to harm people, partly because it’s impossible to truly know what his internal thought really process is. I — even as a Caps fan — honestly have no strong feelings toward Tom Wilson personally one way or the other.

What I do take issue with, and where I find myself directing my anger rather than at him (or even at the Capitals organization), is at a league structure that claims to care about player safety, yet continues to run things in such a way that we find ourselves having this same conversation about this same player over and over again. Like groundhogs day, we watch a game and we wake up and we have the same arguments every time this happens. Life’s three constants: death, taxes, and arguing with increasing vitriol over whether what Tom Wilson did last night deserves a suspension. How many times have we been here before?

Impact matters so much more than the intent of decisions, and the impact of continuing to offer second chances again and again and again in this case is becoming increasingly clear — it is allowing harm to take place. How many times do you need to get shocked before you learn to stop touching the live wire? At a certain point, you have to stop giving someone a chance to learn a lesson at the expense of the wellbeing of others.

It’s honestly not even about whether or not you think someone like Wilson is capable of learning from his actions — it is about the fact that offering chance after chance for that to happen is coming at the cost of other players’ safety and even long-term health. At what point will the NHL, or the NHLPA decide that the cost of more second chances is too high to pay? What is the limit?

And that is honestly what concerns me most here. What will it take for the league to change the way it approaches repeat offenders, or even just this specific player? How bad is the hit going to have to be? The injury? The long-term consequences? The public backlash? The PR nightmare? What physical price is some player going to have to pay for somebody else’s umpteenth second chance before the NHL realizes the cost is too much to allow in the future? Will it cost someone their career? Will it cost someone their life?

Again, for me it’s not about Tom Wilson. It was never just about Tom Wilson. He is just a guy doing exactly what he is allowed to get away with doing. He is what he has always been, and I do not expect him to change. Why would he, when in the end he is always allowed to go back to playing hockey, a couple thousand dollars poorer, with many fans who will love him regardless and still show up to chant his name? What would motivate him to do things differently? What is his incentive to not be Tom Wilson? Being Tom Wilson won him a Stanley Cup. What is the incentive for the Capitals to not continue to allow him to be who he is, when there will always be fans who revel in it, when there will always be jerseys to sell and money to make, when there is no higher authority telling them that there will be genuine consequences if there is no change? Why would they do things differently? Having Tom Wilson never stopped them from winning a Stanley Cup.

No, what this is about is a structure of power that cares more about some players’ second and third and umpteenth chances to go out there and be profitable and popular than it does about other players’ health. It’s about a lack of accountability. A deep structural lack of caring whether the game is played fairly, played safely, played cleanly, played right. It all comes back to the same place as “there’s a different rulebook in the playoffs” and “if we don’t use game management some teams will be penalized more than others because of how they play”. It comes back to an old boys club which at the highest levels of its power structure refuses to modernize mindsets and move out of the stone age, no matter how much they might PR-speak otherwise, no matter how much it would actually benefit them financially to do so.

It’s not about Tom Wilson. It’s not about the Washington Capitals. This is about the National Hockey League, and about the way its core culture and highest powers refuse to stop clinging to its most backwards, juvenile, toxic instincts, even as so many good smart caring people (inside the league and out) work very hard to drag it all kicking and screaming into the modern age.

Fix your shit, NHL. Before somebody else gets hurt.

[raindropsbarzy]

hooked with u  - tyler seguin  pt.1

summary: two friends being eachothers fuck buddies and at the end, of them wants more than that

word count: 2083

warning: alcohol, weed (lol), vulgar language, mentions of sex

a/n: just a heads up, on this piece i’m writing for non white girls. specifically brown girls. and i might start doing it with my other writings too. i was inspired by numbers of gorgeous woc in my instagram lol so i thought, why not? okay, enjoy!

playlist to add the sexual tension

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Tyler is throwing a party at his place tonight after his team encouraged him to do it before the playoffs next week. And him, being the party animal that he is couldn’t resist that. So he took care of everything a few hours before the party, invited a few friends and now here they are.

He’s now leaning against the fridge and watching you from across the room with a small smile attached to his face. Not paying any attention to what his friends are saying at the moment.

You’re talking with a few of the team's girlfriends, looking as pretty as ever. Dressed in a simple black tight-fitting calf-length dress with a slit on the right that stops on your mid-thigh. Giving him a great view of your soft leg. Trade your usual air force 1 sneakers for a pair of silver heels and let your long dark hair fall back instead of putting it into a bun or a ponytail like you always do. His eyes trail up and down your body over and over, even stopping to stare at your full breasts longingly because honestly, that dress is doing a great job at complimenting your chest.

His heart swells when he sees you with his signature ‘TS’ snapback on your head. He does notice that you may have taken an interest in that specific material and loves to steal it but he doesn’t care. if others did it, he’d probably have a problem with it (even if it’s his sister) but he let it slide cause it’s you.

“You have been staring at her for God knows how long and it’s getting pretty disgusting so stop eye-fucking Y/N and talk to us.” Jamie interrupts Tyler’s daydream about you, making the others laugh in agreement,

Tyler shakes his head but a soft smile remains on his face, bringing the cold beer to his lips before taking a few gulps. “Fuck off, Benn.”

“Are you two dating or something? I mean, I’ve been watching the two of you for months now and you two sure are flirty as hell.” Bishop adds, knitting his eyebrows in curiosity,

He can only give him a shrug as his eyes stay fixated on you. Watching you throw your head back with a laugh, making his grin grow wider. “Nothing is going on between us.”

“Yeah yeah sure, not buying that bullshit.” Jamie snickers, nudging Bishop’s stomach with his elbow as if asking him if he agreed. “I mean I don’t blame you, she’s pretty hot. Wouldn’t mind getting a bit closer with her, if you know what i mean”

Tyler’s quick to crane his neck and stare at his friend, a deep frown forming on his forehead. “Don’t get any fucking ideas”

His tone is heavy and aggressive, not to mention possessive. His hand grips tightly around the bottle as the thought of Benn’s wanting to have you is making his blood boil. He may be his best friend, but when it comes to you, he doesn’t play around.

Jamie laughs, clapping his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, man. Well except the ‘she’s hot’ part because she is.” And Tyler is about to open his mouth to tell him to ‘back off’ but Jamie cuts him off. “But you know i wouldn’t do that, i’m your -- Jesus, stop glaring at me like that man, I’ll back off” Benn chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief at how protective he is of you (even though he isn’t your boyfriend).

“Yeah yeah,” Tyler waves him off, turning his gaze back on you. Winking as he sees you turn around and meet his eyes, seeing you giggle at him. As a response, you form your lips into a pout and give him an air kiss, accompanied by the ‘mwah’ sound just to be playful with him.

He chuckles, waving his hand at you before you turn your attention back to the girls. Leaving him only to stare at you again with a lovey-dovey smile.

“Christ, you’re whipped.” Bishop puffs out a breath, seemingly cannot believe that his friend is that hooked with you. And he doesn’t even know why (because he can’t tell what is going on with the two of you). “You never do this with other girls.”

“Of course i don’t. I don’t know them like i know Y/N.” Tyler defends, looking at his friend before sipping on his beer. “They’re just casual fucks.”

“How about Kate then?”

He groans internally, shooting daggers at Jamie who has his hands up in surrender. “That’s a long time ago, you sure you wanna bring that shit up?”

“All I’m saying is that you didn’t even look at Kate like you did to her,” He says as a matter of factly, pointing at the long-haired woman from across the room. “You’re definitely in love.”

Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head. “No, I'm not. We’re just friends. And yeah maybe i like to stare at her at most times but--”

“All the time” Bishop chimes,

He shoots a glare to his friend’s way before continuing, “But nothing is happening between us. Dude, she’s pretty as fuck. Catches me off guard sometimes and yeah sounds creepy if i said i like to stare at her all-time but can you blame me?” He defends, gesturing to you with his hand. He probably shouldn’t be straight forward and be too honest about giving you compliments right now but he blames it on the beers and couple of shots he took earlier.

The two men snort and laugh, exchanging glances with each other that says ‘are you seeing this?’ look on both of his eyes.

“Okay man, we get your point.”

Tyler relaxes, looking back at you again and he honestly can’t help himself. The way your dress is hugging your body perfectly, especially your backside and deep red lipstick you have on are doing things to him right now.

“Alright, i’ll talk to you guys later. Don’t destroy anything.” He says, putting down the empty beer bottle and starts walking over to your place without waiting to hear his friend's response.

He bites onto his lower lip as he gets closer, your eyes turn to him when you see him coming towards you. Smiling widely when his broad body softly pressing against your side.

“Ladies, mind if i steal this pretty lady for a while?” He asks, looking over at them while cocking his eyebrows.

They all smirk as if knowing what is gonna happen. “Of course, play safe kids.” The blonde-haired one wink at you before dragging the other girls away.

You chuckle softly at her, feeling Tyler’s hand around your waist as he guides you to his granite counter, leaning your back against it.

“Hi, Tyler” You smile at him, taking a couple sips of your alcohol beverage,

“Hello, sweetheart” He grins, keeping a firm grip on your waist as he stares at you intently. “You look so fucking beautiful tonight.”

Giggling, you try to cover your cheek so he can’t see you blush. “Thank you and you don’t look too bad yourself.”

You give him a once over, clad in a plain black tee that shows off a good amount of his tattoo sleeves. This is one of the things you find so sexy about him, he makes them so attractive without coming off wack. You like to trace your fingers across them.

“And I see you got my cap on, a sneaky little thing. I was looking for it this morning” He playfully scolds you,

You giggle again, poking out your tongue. “You know it’s my favorite thing of yours” turning the cap around on your head so it won’t block your vision

He arches a brow, pulling you a bit closer to him. “Really? I thought you said it’s my dick?”

Gasping in surprise, you smack him on the chest, causing him to release a loud laugh. “Don’t ruin the moment, Seguin”

“What moment are you speaking of?”

“Just doing this” You gesture with your finger, setting one of your palms on the table to keep you steady as the other grip on his shoulder “I really like being close with you.”

“I like it too. You’re driving me crazy you know that? Got the boys teasing me and shit because of that.” He murmurs, running his hand tenderly across your soft cheek in which you lean against it. “God, what is it from you that gets me like this, hm?”

Smiling at him, you shrug innocently. “I’m just very very convincing and alluring. That gets the men to keep falling on their knees as soon as I step into the room. Also, black magic. Did you know that I use that on you too?”

He chuckles at your return, obviously joking because he knows you like to add sarcasm to everything you say. That’s one of the reasons he likes you.

“Hmm” He smiles tenderly at you, unaware of the looks he’s getting from Benn and Bishop as they watch the two. “Anyway, why did you straightened your hair tonight? Not that i have any problem with it. But you said to me you’re laying off the heat though.”

“Wanna look extra extra pretty tonight for you. it was exhausted though, considering on how long my hair is” You laugh, finally taking off the cap and putting it on him as you run your hand through your locks. “Do i look pretty?” Batting your lashes at him.

“Stop playing baby, you know i always think you do” he leans a bit forward and peck your forehead. “And sexy as fuck too, Jesus. Why didn’t you wear this dress often around me?” He stares down at your dress.

“Because you prefer me naked around you.” You say in an obvious tone, seeing his eyes close and breathe out a laugh.

“True. You do look sexy when you’re naked though.” He states in a soft voice, his hand goes down to rest it against your plump ass giving it a squeeze. “Especially when i eat you out.”

“Easy tiger” You chuckle but secretly loves it when Tyler gets blunt with you in public. “You can have me later” you promise,

He groans, pouting at you. Resisting to give him a kiss on the lips. “When is later? I’m getting impatient baby.” Tugging you closer so your chest is pressing against his and he sneaks a glance down there. “And your tits are making it even harder for me.”

Throwing your head back, you laugh at his behaviour. “You have a party to host, you know? You’re being irresponsible if you want to leave just so we can fuck.”

“I don’t care, i want you right now. You’re making my dick hard the minute you stepped into the room. Don’t blame me for it.” He reasons, pressing his forehead against yours. “What do you say, baby?”

You tilt your head to the side, smiling up at him as you chew on your lip. Feeling yourself getting wet now that he’s looking at you like that. His eyes moving to your lips for a moment before looking back up. 

“Want to taste your sweet pussy” He whispers hotly against your ear causing you to shiver, “You bouncing on my cock as you scream out my name” he continues, 

You suddenly let out a soft moan, not realizing him smirking against your cheek. “You want that, hm? Get high while we fuck too, maybe?”

Nodding your head as you let out a hum, squeezing tightly on his shoulders as a sign for him to take you upstairs now. “Yes, please, Daddy”

Soon as the name slips out of your mouth. He’s a fucking goner. Body freezes and eyes turn into lust as he slowly retreats to get a good look at you. Your gaze saying that you are pleading at him so desperately for it. 

“Want you to fuck me. I need it, i’m getting wet for you”

His jaw clenches as he looks around, making sure no one is watching. Good thing, the people in here are too busy talking with each other, being drunk and dancing to Biggie’s ‘Big Poppa’. Mostly his friends because they are the ones he needs to look out for.

He looks back at you as your lips turn into a pout

“Mhmm, don’t worry. i’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk the next morning princess”

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(next is dirty shit yall dont worry)