#also crosby is like me

[suiheisen]

the h in nhl stands for homoerotic

bonus intricate rituals:

[staud]

anon requested: *walks up to the counter like I’m ordering a big mac* hi can I please order a serving of umm gifs of Crosby when he’s in his little hat and towel combo and when he goes to close the door there’s a little flash of leg and I kinda need a gif of that for scientific purposes?

[calamityskies]

Anthony Boyle as Harry H. Crosby in Masters of the Air

Photos by Robert Viglasky

[sagesolsticewrites]

Heat Wave

It’s the hottest summer Iowa’s had in a while. Your husband wears shorts. It gets even hotter.

Shoutout to Winnie (@winniemaywebber) for making yet another incredible playlist for this fic!

Warnings: mature content (dom/sub dynamics (sub!Harry, dom!Mrs.Crosby (you’re Jean, bc of course who else would you be?)), thigh riding, thigh biting 👀, teasing, praise kink, orgasm denial, this whole thing is roleplay “punishing” Harry for sleeping with Sandra), swearing, mentions of cheating (but not really bc there was a war on come on y’all; Mrs. Crosby in this fic has canonically forgiven him for it, this is just a way for them to have some fun), definitely some historical inaccuracies in here, and ofc including a whole separate warning for Anthony Boyle’s thighs <3 (this is an 18+ fic!! minors begone!!)

Word count: 1.5k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

It was June 1946, and it was the hottest summer in Iowa since the war had started.

You and Harry had opened all the windows in the house, hoping to let in some semblance of a breeze, but the air remained stagnant and stifling. You had resorted to foregoing a dress entirely, wearing the thinnest slip you had and simply praying that no one came to call on the two of you in your little house in the middle of nowhere, while your Bing had stripped down to just a pair of shorts and his undershirt, the glass of iced tea in his hand dripping condensation onto his bare thigh.

You can’t help but track the drop as it follows a path down the inside of your husband’s thigh to seep into the fabric of the worn armchair he’s currently collapsed in with his legs spread wide; the heat outside matching the building heat in your core as you take in his underdressed state.

He catches you staring with a knowing glint in his eye, setting his drink aside on the coffee table.

“Something I can help you with, Mrs. Crosby?”

Normally you would play coy, but something about the oppressive heat and the way your husband is sprawled out in that chair makes you want to try a different tactic.

“As a matter of fact there is, my darling Bing,” you purr, slinking over to his chair.

He eagerly leans up for a kiss, but you swerve, brushing gentle kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw… everywhere but his lips, where he really wants you.

Understanding dawns on his face, and his eyes fill with heat as he realizes it’s going to be one of those days.

“Honey, please,” he whines softly, a gasp escaping him as you trace up the inside of his thigh with one neatly manicured nail.

His hips buck up towards your hand, but you pull away quickly.

“Uh-uh,” you scold softly, tilting his chin up with two fingers so his eyes meet yours, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

He nods obediently, pretty brown eyes wholly enraptured by you.

“Good boy,” you murmur, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving to kneel between his legs.

A soft whimper escapes your husband at the molten look you shoot him as you brush featherlight kisses up the inside of each of his thighs, his hands clenching around the armrests as he resists the urge to forcibly put you where he wants you.

You hear his breath catch as your mouth reaches the spot where his thigh and hip meet, still covered by his shorts, followed shortly by a desperate whine as your lips trace the same path back down his leg.

“No, sweetheart,” you murmur, punctuating it with a nip to the flesh of his thigh, “You were very bad when you were gone, remember?”

Your nails grazing lightly down his other thigh prompts a soft, gasping “Yes, yes, I remember.”

You reward him with a soft kiss to where your teeth just were, continuing.

“So, you don’t get to cum until I’ve decided you’ve made it up to me, ‘kay honey?”

He nods.

“Need your words, sweetheart.” You prod gently.

“I understand,” he breathes, desperation coloring his voice.

“Good boy,” you praise, and you descend.

You gently dig your teeth into the flesh of his thigh once more, nibbling and sucking a path along both of his thighs, peppering in gentle kisses as you go.

Your toes curl, wetness pooling between your legs at the soft whimpers, moans, and gasps that your husband is making above you.

Satisfied with the series of pretty purple marks decorating his flesh, you scatter several soft kisses across his skin before you stand, letting your slip hit the floor.

Bing swears softly as he takes in the sight of you, one hand creeping towards the prominent bulge at the apex of his thighs.

You raise a stern eyebrow, leaning over to tap his hand once.

“No touching,” you scold softly as he jerks his hand back to grip the armrest, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“‘M sorry, honey, I just… you’re so pretty…”

“Being sweet to me won’t make me go easier on you, my love,” you murmur, though part of you melts at the compliment.

Your husband lets out a soft groan of “oh, Christ,” as you shed your panties and move to straddle his leg, slowly sinking down onto his broad quadricep.

You pull his face towards you, two fingers under his chin, to breathe against his lips.

“Remember,” you say, taking in his pretty eyes, pupils blown wide as you slowly rock back and forth on his leg, “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

He nods frantically, a strangled “Yes” his only response as you begin to grind against him in earnest.

You can’t quite bring yourself to stifle your moans at the feeling of your core gliding along Harry’s bare thigh, and your husband’s already darkened eyes turn almost black at the sound.

“F-fuck, honey, you feel so good,” you gasp against his lips, praise tumbling from your lips as tension builds just below your belly, “Being so good for me, letting me use you like this—”

Your husband lets out a strangled moan, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the chair.

“Honey… Honey, please let me cum,” he whines after several minutes of your agonizing teasing, his breath hot on your mouth, “Haven’t I been good? I don’t—” he cuts off with a pleading groan as your nails rake down his back, your pace increasing.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can last much longer, honey, please.” 

One of your hands comes up to grip his hair at the roots, dark curls deliciously soft under your fingers. You murmur against his lips as he lets out a soft hiss, “Make me cum first, baby, and then I might let you.”

 He moans into your mouth, flexing his thigh against you and causing you to gasp at the new angle.

“Oh, Christ, just like that, honey,” you groan, grinding desperately against him, a stuttering moan escaping you as you stammer “I’m— ‘m gonna—”

You muffle your cry in his neck as you reach your peak, grinding slowly against him as you ride out your climax.

Harry whimpers in your ear as your leg brushes his bulge.

“Sweetheart— please, can I—?”

“Yes, honey,” you say, pulling him into you for a heated, open-mouthed kiss as your hand dives into his shorts to wrap around his length, “Did so, so good for me, you can let go now, baby”

It only takes a few pumps, your hand slick with the precum leaking from his tip, before he’s spilling into your hand with a cry.

The two of you catch your breath, foreheads pressed together.

“Wow, sweetheart,” Harry says, huffing out a laugh.

You giggle, pulling him in for a kiss that you can’t help smiling into.

“It wasn’t too much, right?” You ask, pulling away to scan his face for any hint of unease.

“Not at all, honey,” your husband assures you with a sweet kiss to your forehead, reaching to pass you a rag sitting on the table so you can clean your hand off.

You stand, sliding your slip back on before settling in next to him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and tucking you in close.

“So,” Harry says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, “Have I made up for it yet, my love?”

You pretend to think for a moment, a smirk on your face as you reply.

“For now, honey. For now.”

A quiet moment passes, and you turn to press your lips to his shoulder in a gentle kiss.

“You know I’m not really upset about what happened when you were gone,” you say softly, fingers tangling with his, “right, honey? I know things were tough, things were… unspeakably bad, and you were doing what you had to do to stay sane so you could get through it and come back to me.”

Your husband lets out a soft sigh, squeezing your fingers with a smile at the reassurance that’s become routine after moments like these.

“I know, sweetheart. I—” His voice goes soft, gratitude seeping into every word as he traces your jaw with his fingertips, eyes tracing over your features as if he still can’t believe you’re real, “I thought about you every day when I was over there. I missed you so, so much.”

You lean into his touch. In the months he’s been home, you still haven’t been able to get enough of him being here, being able to touch you, and you in turn being able to touch him. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

[ninyard]

hello! just wondering who do you use as your kevin fc for the fake tweets? you're SO funny btw, i keep rereading them and cackling at the idea of kevin making it into one of those your fave is problematic threads

Louis Garrel ! He’s a pretty popular face cast for Jean I think but he’s closer to my Kevin personally? but to be fair I do have more of him on my Jean board I just have a different fc that’s closer to my Jean. (Does that even make any sense??)

I also think Sidney Crosby

+ Hector Bellerin

are my Kevin’s tbh :)

[simmyfrobby]

― “There are Mornings", Lisel Mueller

hockey poetry post fic rec 67/?

upon our reality

by @sequestering

"You're not see Sid?" Zhenya prompts when it's become apparent that Kris isn't going to elaborate on his own.

Kris is slow to reply again.

Zhenya flexes his fingers over the corner of the counter, watching the play of shadows over the surface.

"Not since the season ended."

(zhenya doesn't trust sid. that's the awful truth of it.)

[sergeifyodorov]

why are you a straightsid truther

he's straight

[opesorry87]

Did somebody say mancrush Monday???

[briatores]

kyle's graphic requests: Sidd + Light blue + Housewife (insp) requested by @gr63wdc

[suiheisen]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[imperatorrrrr]

fuck marry kill. nico, jack, sid ❤️

saving the hardest one for last. 

sigh. this is cruel.

okay. like the only hockey I want to fuck is Sidney Crosby, but also the only hockey I’d want to like marry is also Sidney Crosby. ahhhhh, fuck it! we’re doing it live.

FUCK  - Nico Hischier. 

MARRY - Sidney Crosby. 

KILL - Jack Hughes.

gosh, this is painful. Jacky Boy! You’re just absolutely too young for me and I am not attracted to you at all and I just think you’re swell. I guess I could have married you and we could have refrained from any intimacy, but like actually Sid is like the only man I’m actually physically attracted to like he’s the only reason I’m bisexual. And I would marry Sidney Crosby every day of the week. so you simply just got the short end of the stick here. I’m so sorry. Please know I love you dearly. I just...don’t want to fuck you or marry you. And evil evil evil Sab is forcing me to kill you. 

I feel...wrong, alas. 

[pearlparty]

what would you ask the cast of MotA?

I have a connection (which shall remain unexplained) who will have an opportunity to attend a MotA early-screening/Q&A soon, and he has very few questions prepared (silly boys amiright?). And I told him he had to prep something just in case (mostly so I can live vicariously through him). Anyway it got me thinking and I wanna ask the other MotA enthusiasts on the interwebs. so, whatcha got?

(gonna tag a couple of off-the-top-of-my-head my fellow MotA enthusiasts to get a convo goin but pass this along fr: @precious-little-scoundrel, @girlnairb, @steph-speaks, @blurredcolour, @avonne-writes)

[ilya-sorokin]

[hearty-an0n]

made a joke to my friend earlier about praying to sidney crosby for help on my bio test. and now i think i have to go through with this because my bio grade is literally 87

[strohller27]

Man. Last year was wild (memories and musings under the cut).

One memory from last year that I probably wont be over anytime soon is when I was working a retail popup on the waterfront for the cruise ship guests.

A bit of context: At this point of last year, I was painfully homeless and when I wasn’t spending $2200 a month airbnb-hopping, I was living out of a tent at a campground to save money. My access to showers and potable drinking water was iffy at best (the showers on the campground were $2 for five minutes, and the closest water spout that worked well enough to fill bottles with was the literal bathroom sink. I’m surprised the water didn’t make me sick. The water from there often left a really weird taste/cottony sensation in the back of my throat that took days to get rid of, unless I boiled it first, and that was *if* I had access to a power outlet and an electric kettle. Also one of the airbnbs I stayed at got the water shut off for almost 28 hours because the host wasn’t paying his goddamn bills. But that’s a story I tell elsewhere). I had no reliable access to refrigeration, whether I was at an airbnb or the campground, so everything I bought to eat had to be non-perishable. For a while there, I was skipping breakfast to save enough money to buy myself loaves of bread, peanut butter, protein bars, and ramen packets.

If I wanted a hot meal, the best thing I could get was Tim Horton’s (and when I did, I was mostly using a credit card). Sometimes the only reason I could afford to both eat and have a place to stay was because I had built up Tim’s rewards points.

Thank goodness it was still mostly summer and I wasn’t also freezing cold at night.

And then I had to go to work and there were so many customers at that waterfront popup telling me I should give them discounts because “Well, I’m broke, I spent all of my money on a cruise!”

Oh? Oh??? I’m so sorry, you poor, unfortunate little soul???? Does the poow wittle bwoke babykins need a wittle discount??

First off, friendo, you keep asking me if the price is in ‘american’ because you forgot that you’re in a literal different country right now. Second, you’re complaining to a minimum wage worker about how, ‘everything is so expensive here! Oh my god you have to pay that much in taxes? What do you mean I have to pay taxes on purchases, too’. You have main character syndrome and you have the absolute goddamned gall to think you deserve $300 off a $500 handmade, HAND EMBROIDERED woollen cape that you probably won’t even wear because you live in texas????

OH, YOU “““CAN’T AFFORD””” TO BUY THAT 30 DOLLAR SCARF BECAUSE YOU *CHECKS NOTES* HAD ENOUGH MONEY TO GO ON A LITERAL INTERNATIONAL FUCKING CRUISE, BETSY-ANN??

CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER.

But the one that gets me the worst was when a guy was there with his daughter. She was probably 12 or 13. And she wanted to buy a little Canadian flag to commemorate her visit. It was literally priced at. Two. Dollars. Ninety five. Cents.

And he said to her, “Oh, come on. What good is buying this going to do? Who is it supporting.”

I was so done by that point I literally raised my hand and yelled.

“ME IT WILL SUPPORT ME IT WILL HELP ME DO FUN LITTLE THINGS LIKE BUY GROCERIES. AND EAT.”

The daughter bought the flag.

I spent so much of last year worrying about where I was going to live. Worrying about how precarious my situation was. My mother was on the phone with me almost begging me to “come home”. To give up on my dreams because it was too hard. Several people suggested that, including my academic advisor. But I wasn’t going to let it go. I let spite get me here and goddamned if I wasn’t going to let spite keep me hanging on.

And now I’m living in a place that has mostly everything I need. I don’t have to crawl under a desk to get to my bed. I don’t have to ask for permission or worry about who it will affect when I want to do something nice for myself. I’m able to make my own decisions about my living space. I get to set my own schedule. I get to do things at my own pace. I get to eat what I want to eat (and my landlady keeps feeding me, too). Now that I’m not hemorrhaging funds, I’ve been able to save up some money. I’m regularly showering and brushing my teeth. I finally have the energy make my goddamned bed every day. I’m taking care of myself in ways that seemed insurmountable last year.

I’m not saying it’s perfect, and there are still things I have to address (like the weird numb spots on the tips of both my big toes that I noticed when I was still living at the campground; like staying on a consistent schedule with my medications; like taking too many hours at work because I’m worried about affording things). And I’m aware that I completely lucked out that I speak enough Russian to be able to understand my landlord/lady. But this is so much better than I could have hoped for.

And the rest of it wasn’t all bad either. Airbnb-hopping was expensive, but staying in different areas helped me learn the city. And now I’m working at a place that I don’t hate with a passion like I did when I was working food service in the states. I actually really like my coworkers (and funny enough, the small business I work for really does feel like a family). I get to wear my kilts to work. I have the necessary knowledge to be a perfect fit for the job, and I was apparently ‘an answer to a prayer’.

The misty mornings on the campground were more magical than any other mornings I’ve ever experienced in my life. I walked around the campground and saw its little lake beach and river. I made friends with the spiders. I named most of them. Every time I heard the squirrels and chipmunks get into an argument I would giggle to myself and think ‘the girls are fightinng!’ I drove to the beach, and I saw a little boy hold up a crab he’d found with the biggest smile on his face when he asked if I wanted to pet it. I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to pick up the seaweed and eat it. I met interesting people. I made some friends. I went to a famous lighthouse. I rode the ferry to work and watched massive cruise ships docking, feeling as much awe as I did when I first saw Star Trek: The Motion Picture. I watched the sun both rise and set over the harbour. And I fell in love with this place despite all of the challenges that were in my path.

Perfect or not, I needed this. I needed to be self-sufficient and live my own life. I needed to see beauty and wonder and touch sand that was on a beach instead of on my bedroom floor. And I’m so sad that the only two times in my life I’ve really been able to do things like this and live the life I want were when I left the US. And because of that, I’m really not planning on going back to live there.

Funny that I had to leave the “land of the free” to really feel/be free, eh? Whatever the case, now I’m a maritimer by choice.

Here’s to 2024. May I learn from all that 2023 taught me (If shit sucks, hit da bricks. Leave. Do it scared. Do it alone and scared. Don’t settle for less than you deserve. Find beauty in the mundane. Advocate for yourself and your skills. Make decisions that will provide for your future so that you can take the steps you want to take, even if people think something like learning Russian isn’t going to be useful. Take those steps you want to take to follow your dreams, even if your dream seems flimsy like a cardboard façade to you. Even if those are the hardest steps you ever have to take. Today can be ‘someday’, if you let it. The greatest adventure is what lies ahead, today and tomorrow are yet to be said). May 2024 be a year for more steps forward than steps back.

[sidsthekid]