#ive only gotten into ice hockey this year

[letusrollon]

Beginning to make my way through Sidney Crosby's NHL career so far. Going to be watching all Penguins games starting from his debut. Whatever game footage I can find anyway (if anyone knows where I can watch the first game Penguins v Devils Oct 5/2005 in full...please do let me know! Can't find it on YouTube so far).

I'd like to begin by saying...I, for no particular reason, just love that Christina Aguilera sang the anthem during Sid's debut game. It just gives me joy 😄

[angelkissiies]

brute

abby anderson x reader

cw : hockey!abby , cheerleader!reader , modern!au , m*n , bigotry , usage of slurs ( fag ) , incel , alluded frat tactics ( roof*es ) , violence .

wc : 2.4K

a / n : if you see any grammatical issues , SQUINT , ive never proofread a single thing in my entire life

You shuffled into your seat, letting your bag drop onto the floor next to your feet. It was pretty quiet in the rink, the soft sound of chattering coming from the locker rooms as you settled in– fishing around in your stuff for your laptop. It was a slow day for you, only a couple classes worth of homework to complete, so you’d decided to tag along with Abby to practice for a show while you fought your calculus assignments. Since it was the start of the season, new kids had been brought onto the team which made a ton of sense as a gaggle of 19 year olds raced down the aisles toward the ice– just barely missing your water bottle. “Jeez.” You huffed, pulling your stuff further from the walkway, not willing to risk the ridiculously expensive tumbler Abby had gotten you. 

It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany her, seeing as the rink was like a second home to you, the team not minding for the most part– Abby had joked before that the judgment of a pretty girl whipped them more into shape, their plays being better when you were around compared to when you werent. 

Abby was beyond annoyed already, following behind the newbies with a scowl. This was the worst part of a new season, given that these kids didn’t know the ways of the team, not that she fully blamed them. She just hated the prospect of dealing with multiple egotistical freshmen in such a small place, their voices managing to carry throughout the entire rink. She held her skates close to her side, nudging the rink door open with the tip of her toes, settling onto one of the benches to finish gearing up for practice. Her nerves were already shot, having the captain of the men's team call up to the rink saying that he’d managed to get sick– meaning she’d be taking on both teams for drills. She’d debated calling the whole thing off, not wanting a repeat of the fiasco last year. 

“You gonna make it?” A voice called from behind her, making her crane her neck as she shoved her feet into the skates, the owner of said voice making her roll her eyes. Nora and Mel were walking together just a ways behind her, sliding into the box before the door shut, their helmets and skates hitting the floor as they sat on either side of the girl. “How much do you wanna bet she bites one of their heads off before practice ends?” The two girls had a habit of betting on her downfall and whilst she knew it was all in good fun, seeing as they held some responsibility as co-captains, it still made her heart jump. 

The blonde clicked her tongue against her teeth, shaking her head. “Don’t start this again.”

Mel laughed, glancing down to mess with the strap on her gloves. “I got fifty on it being that guy,” She began, using her head to nod towards a dark haired guy on the ice. He was laughing loud enough to fill the entire rink, the sound piercing her ears as she shook her head slightly. “That might end up being me though, super annoying.” 

Abby chuckled, easing the helmet over her braid, making sure to tuck the end into the back of her jersey. “He is really annoying, I think that’s the same guy that transferred from UW.” She added, “I heard he made a big deal out of practicing co-ed.” She slid her gloves over her chilly fingers, eying the boy for a second before bringing her gaze up to the benches around the rink– like she always did, searching for you. It didn’t take long, seeing as you always sat in the same place, her heart squeezing slightly at the sight. You were cross-legged on the bench, her massive varsity jacket swallowing you whole as you tapped away on your computer– a frown etched into your sweet face. She knew how much you hated math, so it didn’t take her long to figure out what you were doing, a smile tugging at her lips as she tore her eyes from you. 

“Let's hope he behaves, hm?” Nora sighed, pulling open the second door to step out onto the ice– holding it open for the other two. “If not, god, I don’t even wanna know.” 

The girl nodded, standing up as she double checked her mouth guard. It was especially cold, as she made her way onto the ice, a chill biting at her exposed cheeks. Her time away from the sport had reflected on her temperature gauge more than anything, making her shudder slightly. “Is everyone here?” She spoke up, coming to a stop in the middle of the rink, tapping her skate slightly on the ice. It was a habit she’d managed to pick up from you, seeing as you prefaced all of your jumps with the tinestest of taps, she carried it like a piece of you on every rink she played on. 

One of the boys shrugged, looking to the group behind him before nodding out of the rink, trading her attention for another. Their conversations were low and muffled, only a stray chortle echoing as they found a way to quiet down. She was equally grateful and annoyed. 

Abby brushed it off, doing a quick headcount as she tried to figure out how many they’d be down, her patience wearing even thinner as she tried to focus over the bickering from the group in front of her. They had a nasty habit of not coexisting on the best terms, their compliance contractual. She dropped her attention from the teams as she saw Nora waving from the side, her feet propelling her forward to meet the girl in the middle– fingers still toying with the thick mouthguard in her hand. “What’s up?” It was unlike Nora to look so nervous, setting her brow into a downturn as she bent slightly to level with the girl. “Nora, what is it?”

“We might have a problem, I'm not sure, but it definitely sounds like a problem.” 

You groaned as you snapped the computer shut, moving your now free hand to rub your temple, there was nothing less enthusing than math. The worksheets you’d been assigned were incomplete, and you only figured that out once you were pretty much done, so all of your work was for nothing– seeing as when you checked your email an entirely new set had been assigned. It was enough to make you want to drop out, the prospect of doing anymore work sending a pang into your head. You shoved the laptop back into its sleeve before tucking it back into your bag, leaning back to rest against the row of seats just above you. You pulled your wrist up to hover above you, eyes locking onto the time. You made a small noise of confusion, sitting up on your elbows to look into the rink– they all were just standing around, Abby and Nora tucked away near the middle with their backs turned to you. They should’ve already started by now. 

“Weird.” You muttered, to no one but yourself, as you picked yourself up off of the bench. You grabbed your phone from your stuff and tucked it into your oversized pocket, stepping down the rows until you were right in front of the plexi-glass– breath creating a thick haze on the chilled material. You settled into one of the rink-side seats, just simply glazing over the players before your attention was caught by a couple freshmen. They were standing just outside of a group, their conversation too far for you to hear, but their stares were hard to miss. It made your stomach churn, prompting you to sink lower into your seat as you pulled your phone out to distract yourself. You weren’t not used to men staring, it was just something that came with being a girl, though you could seem to shake the feeling of dread that had lit in your stomach as you scrolled mindlessly through your feed.

Abby’s heart was pounding in her chest, mouth set into a harsh line as she followed Nora’s hushed whispers. Internally, there were alot of things she’d considered doing. Externally, she kept her feet steady on the ice. She had to give him a chance, right? There was some underlying theme of second chances at play, there had to be– but from the grim expression on Nora’s face, she doubted it. The blood had begun to rush to her head, a loud beating in her ears pulling her from the conversation at hand, hand coming up to stop the girl in front of her. “Let me handle this–,” She began, being cut off promptly. 

“You can’t hit him, Abby.” The girl sighed, crossing her arms over her stomach as she glanced warily between the boy and Abby. “He’s just a freshman, just go– I dunno, knock him down a peg.” 

She nodded, pulling her helmet off and handing it over to Nora. “I won’t hit him, promise.” She toyed with the straps on her gloves for a moment before, also, pulling them off and tucking them into her now empty helmet. While, yes, she had no real plans to hit him– she wasn’t ruling it out. Her feet dug into the ice, pushing off into his direction, a thousand different approaches coming to mind. She couldn’t deny the anger she felt, some of the comments Nora repeated making her nauseous, though in some fucked way– that’s just the way the wold had come to be. Boys said things about you more often than not, they always had innocent intent though– something these seemed to be lacking in their grotesque banter. Abby wasn’t one to let things like this slide, everyone knew that. 

Everyone but them, as they missed her overwhelming presence behind them– still snickering behind locked arms. “The things I'd do to get her, I mean come on! Look at her.” The blonde spoke, nudging the brunette with his elbow. 

“I know, I know. Imagine finding her at a frat party, I’d like to get her a drink– if you catch my drift.” 

Abby’s jaw tensed, a heavy hand coming to lock onto the boy's shoulder. With ease, she spun him around on his skates, his lanky frame wobbling from the sudden change in motion. “Don’t speak. I don’t care what you’re getting at or what your excuse is. That girl you’re talking about isn’t available, nor would she be interested, not that it seems you’d care. Keep your rapist comments to yourself or find the door.” Her voice was low, fingers now digging into the clothed flesh of his shoulder, face a couple shades paler from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She wanted to hit him, god so bad, but she resisted– her resolve holding for the moment being. There was nothing she hated more than the audacity of men, her spine straightening as she stood to her full height– peering down at him, hoping that he would catch her drift and fuck off. 

The brunette snorted, shrugging her hold off with a cocky smile, other boy suddenly uninterested in ‘locker room’ talk. He shook his head, throwing up his hands in a mock gesture. “You feminists and calling all men ‘rapists’, you’re the real problem with society.” He jeered, looking around as if someone else would agree with him. “That girl isn’t even your problem, so why do you care?” 

An incredulous smile graced her lips as she let her arms come to rest intertwined against her tense stomach, nodding slowly. “‘That girl’ as you call her, is my business. You see that jacket she’s wearing?” She asked, taking a tiny step forward. “It’s mine. She’s mine.” It was clear, to anyone who had begun to tune into the conversation, that the last piece of self-control she had was breaking. She was pretty good about keeping her cool, usually, seeing as she wasn’t banned from the rink yet– but the look on his face made her rage double, making violence seem like the better option than just letting him go with a warning. 

“Oh, I get it. You’re a fag–,” 

You’d come out of your seat, phone angled towards the rink with the intention to snap a couple of pictures of Abby. It was something you’d taken to doing during games, a folder now dedicated in your phone to the candids. You clicked the button to snap the picture, instead hovering too long and starting up a video, making you groan slightly before peering into the screen for a moment– seeing the moment Abby’s fist collided with the boy's nose, a sickening crack filling the rink. ”Oh my god.” You breathed, glancing around to the observing parties– seeing them do next to nothing to stop the brawl. 

The boy managed to hit her once before becoming subdued by the girl, subdued meaning crumpled onto the ice in the fetal position, his hands now clasping the crooked bone protruding from the flesh. His friends had knelt down around him, hands poking around at his face in attempts to help. “You fucking bitch!” He groaned, blood leaking down his hands and seeping into the fabric of his uniform. 

“Yeah, I’m the bitch.” Abby sneered, tongue gliding over her teeth before she spat a mouth full of blood onto the ice beside him. “You’re off the team. Don’t bother coming back.” She hummed, turning on her heel to glide towards the door closest to her– your petrified face coming into view as she did so. “Practice is canceled. Go home.” She said finally, pulling the door open. 

You stared up at her, mouth opening and closing for a second before you settled on a question. “What happened?” 

The blonde glanced back behind her, the eyes of the team lingering on her, before she dipped down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. The contrast between her bloody lips and the soft cushion of her hand coming to rest on the back of your head was dizzying– but you didn’t complain, the metallic taste seeping into your mouth as you chased her lips. When she finally managed to pull away, there was a smear of blood on the flesh of your bottom lip– making her chuckle.

 “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.” 

[gregorygerwitz]

Moustead + The Hockey AU

warnings: brief mention of chronic/terminal illness and death, implied alcoholism, depression, behavior that could be considered self harm

Gregory Gerwitz IV liked hockey. It was his favorite sport. He had the family pull that let him get tickets to every home Blackhawks game, and he usually spent every minute at glass level, watching all the action with only the protection of the plexiglass shield a foot in front of his face. But that was the Hawks, NHL, the big leagues, even if their playoff outlook wasn’t very high.

What he didn’t particularly care about was the minor league team that his father bought between seasons when he was a teenager, like adding to the weight of the family business he was supposed to inherit was somehow a birthday gift. He’d wanted a car that year, or the freedom to spend more time at the stables with Phil and Amelia, or even better, to not be forced into a business track at a college barely half an hour away from home. He definitely didn’t want to be promised the Chicago Mice, a hockey team that no one had heard about because they sucked, had never won a single game, and gave him the mocking nickname Mouse for his entire senior year of high school.

So, he ignored it. Greg ignored the family name on all of the merchandise and swag he saw around the city. He ignored the change in the Mice’s record when they started winning games. He ignored all of it. It was easier to ignore it than acknowledge that he’d have to handle that some day, too. It was another weight on his shoulders he didn’t want to deal with.

But he could only ignore it for so long.

After college, and after he established himself working in the office with his father, he got pulled from a meeting early to go to lunch. Only, lunch didn’t involve food, just a mostly empty arena and a warm up for the team on the ice. Besides the coaches and the players, they were the only ones there, and it wasn’t exactly fun.

He got a bag of popcorn for his midday meal, and glass level seats, and normally, that would be just fine with him. He’d done it at a few matinee games, living off junk food and rooting for his team, but this was different. Because one day, it really would be his team, whether he wanted it to be or not.

And he really didn’t want it.

Jay Halstead didn’t know what he wanted to do when he finished high school. He knew it had to take his attention, be a good distraction from everything going on at home, not let him linger on any of it. With his brother off to school in New York and his mother in and out of the hospital with medical bills to keep up with, he didn’t have a lot of options. It had to be something with a steady income, enough to keep up with unforeseen expenses.

Hockey had started as a hobby, something he did at the local rec center when he had free time and a few extra bucks. He’d tried out for the Mice as a joke - maybe they weren’t a great team, but the paycheck would be enough to make a dent in the medical debt he was helping with while still paying for his own apartment. The fact that he made it on the team at all was some kind of miracle, and it felt like the universe, or some other force, was telling him he was doing exactly the right thing.

It was the final game of his first season with the team when he got a phone call from the bench. He didn’t even get to see the rare victory, too busy rushing to the hospital on the other side of the city. He picked his brother up at the airport the next day, and by the end of the weekend, they had to shift their efforts to planning a funeral instead of any other medical next steps. It meant the owner of the team wanted him gone, wanted him and his odd penchant for never showing up on time off the team.

He got lucky again. He was one of the players who had gained them as many small victories as they’d gotten in the months he was playing. He got another chance.

But after such a loss, it was hard to go back to live as usual. He could keep playing the game he’d grown to love, but it wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore. And, after another season, he didn’t exactly need that much money when the bills were paid and no longer accumulating. He was free and clear, he could quit and go off and do whatever he wanted with his life. He could even stop making money all together and live in his childhood bedroom where the fridge was always stocked with snacks and more beer than he could drink. It’s what he wanted to do, some days, give up and retreat, let the sadness take him and swallow him whole.

When that wasn’t an option, he did something else. Every single play that seemed a little too rough could end in a punch. He could skate a little faster and push a little harder. He could leave the ice with bruises or a bloody nose that made him feel a little more solid, like he was still a part of his own life instead of just floating through it. It wasn’t healthy, and it got him more penalties than he cared to count, and it almost made him lose everything. It almost got him kicked off the team, again, and that was when reality forced him to look it in the eye.

So Jay pulled himself back together again, made himself play the way he knew he could. It was less aggressive and more calculated, passing and scoring and improving the team’s record year after year.

It wasn’t like he did it singlehandedly, but he knew he was a big part of it, the Mice going from the worst team in the league to the top five in almost no time at all. And, when he heard whispers of the owner of the team coming to watch a practice one afternoon at the start of the season, he didn’t let that opportunity pass him by. He showed Mr. Gerwitz that keeping him around was a good idea, that he was very capable of playing at the level he needed to in order to keep his position on the team.

And, when he turned around and took his helmet off after scoring a warm up goal, he found that the only person near the bench who was even looking at him wasn’t the owner of the team at all - just his son.

[softlyjiminie]

black swan | one

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4.8K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights... what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! angst, just a lot of vmon fluff, sports injury and mentions of blood!

⇢ author’s note(s): eeeep here it is everyone!! the first chapter of my new series!! ive worked super hard on this so im nervous and excited to share :( i hope you guys love it! feedback is greatly appreciated <3

⇢ series masterlist | next

alive.

if there was one word that you would use to describe this feeling, it would be alive. from the second the toepick of your skate touched the ice, your body would always come to light, energy surging through your veins as you drifted across the smooth surface of the rink. you belonged here, you were born here. this was was where you felt at home.

although the space was littered with other skaters, you believe yourself to be alone— the music of your heavily practiced routine filling your mind while you ready your position...head down, arm outstretched and fingertips pointed. rolling your shoulders, you clutch your hand to your chest as the chords of your original soundtrack blast through your thoughts, with a half turn you bend at the back, catching your skate while you twist your body into a layback spin— holding your skate to your head. “catch foot,” you whisper, following the notes of the song— butterfly. it was a short contemporary piece composed by your trainer which you had insisted on using for this competition. as the music flows, you release your grip on your skate and allow it to hit the ice, holding your arms out in a poised manner.

gliding across the ice, you dive into your next movement— the cantilever— bending at the knee and leaning backwards, skates out-turned. you know that move after would require the support from your partner, so you skip it in favour of saving it for the eyes of the judges. hydroblades were always a signature between he and yourself. the song hits a climax in your head, piano notes wafting through lost memories, tangled with practices of routines and you tumble effortlessly into the remaining steps like a flowing waterfall that never stops— the triple axel is the jump that comes after, a difficult manoeuvre through the air...but well known in the skating community as only a few have landed it in contest. skating forward, you put your power into the jump, leaping forward with only two and half rotations, saving the third for the competition and breathing a sigh of relief when you land backwards— just as planned. you move with the grace of a pure white swan, silently slipping into every move, spin and jump as you focus on only the sounds of your blade against the ice.

completing another full turn, you head straight into a sit spin— curling in on yourself as your body lowers to the cool surface of the ice. during a spin, you fyour blades dig into the ice as you come to a halt, exposing yourself to the world once again. breathing laboured from exertion, you outstretch your arms once more and imagine the final chords of your musical piece, ending your routine.

your attention is captured by a round of applause to your left, making you whip your head in search for the sound. a sweet grin graced your lips as you recognise the two men clapping away, causing you to skate over and rest your palms on the boarders of the rink.

“taehyungie,” you sing, leaning over the barriers to ruffle at the thick mass of unruly black locks that curl just above his eyes. the boy only laughs as he grabs your wrist and pulls you in for an awkward hug. his body is warmer compared to the ice, bringing you a sense of homely comfort that you recognise as familiar. “i missed you at practice just now,”

taehyung himself rolls his eyes making it his turn to ruffle your hair. “oh please, you hardly need me! you make a two man routine look good on its own!” he rambles excitedly, body leering over the barrier as if the ice is calling him. taehyung’s dark eyes flitter up to meet yours, an amused chuckle emulating from his lips at your jokingly unimpressed expression. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you were a solo skater—“

you huff, letting the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. “you know that i couldn’t ever do this without you, tae— i need you on the ice with me.” you poke at his cheek affectionately, your body lighting up as you spot namjoon, both yours and taehyung’s coach behind the latter. your skating partner catches the change in your expression, turning around to greet namjoon with a warm hug and kiss to the cheek.

yourself, taehyung and namjoon had known each other for as long as you could remember. you’d met taehyung at your very first skating lesson, in a beginners class when his hair was wild and untamed, a little boy with missing teeth and big bright eyes. as a little girl, you’d thought he’d gotten lost on his way to an ice hockey practice. at the time, namjoon’s father ran the skating company you started under— leaving his son in charge of the beginners class.

the three of you had grown up together; taehyung was your first kiss— promptly realising he wasn’t into girls right after you’d stolen a smooch on the swing set in your backyard after a practice (“yeah...YN, i’m gay.”). and even in high school, the two of you stalking namjoon around hallways as you teased a blushing taehyung about is growing crush on the lankier male. you cradled you’re jubilant friend as he cried when namjoon left for college, his light dimming a bit but you remembered crying harder when the three of you were united four years and a plethora of competitions, medals and skates later.

“well if it isn’t my favourite pair of skaters,” namjoon greets, tucking his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket that proudly shows off the logo of your skating company. “practicing again, YN?”

you see the amusement dancing in your coach’s eyes, he wouldn’t have put it past you to see you on the ice so early in the morning. you’d never relented with your skating, having pushed yourself to win two olympic medals by the time you were nineteen. you were an image of perfection in the skating world, not a scandal or downfall in your entire career— most would find such an achievement quite daunting— losing friends was made easy because of it... but you knew that you had taehyung and namjoon and the love of your family and company, you knew that with that you could achieve anything. “i have to, if i want to be better than taehyung...” you tease and tug on said male’s sleeve. “help me get him on the ice?”

namjoon presses a kiss into the depths of taehyung’s deep ocean locks, sending him off with a whisper that makes him run off to grab his skates before the elder approaches you. “little ice princess, i think i have a gift for you...” namjoon sings sweetly, pulling his phone from his back pocket as you lean over the barrier excitedly.

“you think?”

“i know.”

the elder holds out his device for you to see, the screen lighting up as an unfamiliar caller ID flashes across it. you raise your eyes hesitantly while your coach nods, smile reaching his eyes as you answer the call. a group of beaming faces decorate the screen and your own eyes dance across each and every one of them, recognising them as the boys and girls of moonchild skating company.

“YN!” the skaters cheer, waving excitedly amongst a sea of claps and giggles. “good, luck!”

“thanks you guys,” you whisper sweetly, sparing an appreciative glance at namjoon, you blow kisses to all of your fellow skaters thankfully. you note some of them to be from different ranks in your company; from beginners to juniors and some from different areas of competition— although your heart jumps slightly at the sight of one in particular. “jungkookie...”

“noona!” the boy cheers, scrunching his nose excitedly at the mention of his name. your heart melts as he looks to you with sparkling doe eyes, the younger boy having a special place in your heart— he came to the company bright eyed and shy, there had been a lot of doubt about jungkook’s abilities on the ice because of that. but as soon as he stepped foot on the rink, everyone’s worries drifted away— each of his movements were silken and seamless easily making him one of the best solo skaters in the senior rank, although he was slightly younger than you. you remember catching him after practice one day— he had yet to decide if he wanted to sign up with namjoon and he’d only  stayed behind to watch you run through your routine with taehyung. the bumbling boy couldn’t help but blush when he’d been caught with yourself and your partner yearning for him to join. he did so in the end... because of you, because you had inspired him to pick up skating after you won your first gold medal. it just so happened that little jungkookie was a fast learner. “did you like the surprise? i thought it would help with your nerves— i know you get butterflies in your tummy before you perform! so do i! especially when i see you— uh! i mean!”

jungkook’s ears burn as bright as his cherry red hair, the shade only feeling as your melodious chuckle wafts through the phone’s speakers. “i loved it kookie, thank you.” you hum, batting your lashes at him, despite the presence of the other skaters on the call. you knew he had a soft spot for you, it was hard to miss his longing gazes and the tightening of his jaw when tae put his hand on your waist for lifts. it was sweet. “good luck to you in your regionals as well, you’ll do great... okay?” you’re quick to remind him, as you note taehyung returning from the locker room.

“t-thank you noona! we love you!”

the skaters give you one last cheer and round of applause as taehyung slips into view with a boxed grin and sweet wave. namjoon ends the call, ruffling his lover’s mop of hair before ushering the two of you onto the ice, ready to run through your routine one last time.

putting together the perfect routine, is like making the perfect breakfast. the eggs you begin with, a sweet yolk dancing on your tongue like the starting moves that give the judges a taste of what you’re capable of. next were the pancakes, drenched in syrup— like light movements through the air, packing a punch with the saucy moves between yourself and your partner to show off your finesse and finally, there was the—

“orange juice.” taehyung’s timbre voice cut through your thoughts like a knife as he place a glass of freshly squeezed juice in front of you whilst disrupting your  mentally mapped out routine. blinking rapidly under his stares, your gaze switched from the piles of food he’d set on your plate, to the amused but scolding glare he’d spared you. “drink it, it’ll keep your sugar and energy up for today.”

“thanks taetae...”

you nod gratefully, leaning forward and taking a gulp of the bitter yellow liquid as if it’ll wash away the nerves beginning to bubble in the pits of your stomach. nonetheless, the skater beams brightly at you before he scoffs down a mouthful of his towering breakfast— as he always did before such events. you, however, couldn’t bare to eat— not with the devious stares of the other female figure skaters who eyed your plates. you knew it was a tactic to throw you off guard, the canteen of the hotel was much like a high school back in the day, with cliques and squads all out to get each other. it was always like this before major skating competition but your mind is too busy being filled with anticipation of getting on the ice and showing off once more.

namjoon appears after taehyung has eaten more than half his plate— resulting in him stealing bits and pieces from your own. “don’t look so nervous, YN,” the elder chides from over his steaming cup of coffee, hand running through his dishevelled purple and blonde streaked locks. “you’ll do great, both of you will.” your coach spares a knowing glance to taehyung, who blushes through munching the rest of your pancakes and so; you can tell by the light bruises on the neck that he and taehyung had a rough encounter in the night before.  

joon was never allowed to mark taehyung above the waist, because the younger loved to wear costumes that glittered and showed off his open chest. you knew from experience that the marks would be below the waist where no one could see— like their own little good luck ritual. glee consumes your skating partner as namjoon nuzzles his nose into his dark hair, the distraction letting you slip under the surface of worry once more.

‘no, you’ve got this.’ you think, flickering your gaze anywhere but your plate in order to clam the race horse of thoughts in your mind. you finally settle on staring at the news report playing on the small digital TV hanging in the right hand corner of the cafeteria. park jimin, arrested for speeding. the report flashes across the screen, images of bright blonde hair and dark eyes hidden by thick black shades passing by with faint sounds of camera clicks.

you shake your head, grateful to never had experienced trouble like that. sure, you’d dealt with reporters and trash paparazzi but, joon and tae— they’d always gotten you through it. it was just nice to not be alone like him...

park jimin.

taehyung had a mind of brilliance.

you sit in the stylist chair, hair slicked back and curled away from your eyes— the momentum of free hair would have disrupted your skating or thrown you off balance, but god was kim taehyung a miracle worker. he always knew how he wanted you both to look for performances, the makeup artists bidding to his every need. you could even find him helping out with the beginners class performances— adding glitter to baby cheeks and braiding youthful hair.

today, your friend had decided the look you would go for; would be faded baby blue shadow dancing across your lids and blending softly with cloudy whites and silver sparkles. your liner was sharp, winged enough to cut the diamond edge of the gemstones that were dotted at the corner of your eye— taehyung was smart, co-ordinating your makeup look with the pretty silver dress namjoon had scouted out just for you.

the article of clothing itself, is backless with long sleeves that form tear drops at your pointer finger as they fade from silver to a cool grey, much like the skirt of your dress. smaller gemstones and pearls align at your waist and chest, that glistened under the cheap light when namjoon had first revealed the outfit to you. you had cried when you thumbed the flowing layered skirt, thanking your boys endlessly for the beautiful dress but taehyung had only giggled — knowing that it matched his silver to white shirt, tight fitting and glittering with layered sleeves (which he loved so much).

now, you laced up your skates— nerves peaking once more. the white leather sat comfortably against your heal, having broken in the skates amiss your training. you knew that the current pair were already on the ice, eliciting cheers from the crowd so you forced your jitters into lacing up and securing your skates. a double not would suffice.

“you’re both going to do amazing, remember whatever happens out there... i’m proud of you.” your coach reminds with one last dimpled smile before you’re due on the ice. taehyung pecks both of your cheeks and leads you away from your team of staff— who clap excitedly for you while your names are announced.

squeezing his hand, you slide smoothly onto the ice with taehying and close your eyes, breathing in the sharp scent of coolness and fresh air and taking in the squeals of your names. “you look great,” your partner comments easily, smirking as you circle each other on the rink. you open your eyes, noting the white-ish glow the ice gives to taehyung’s honey skin and grin. “we’ve got this.”

“we always do,” you nod back in affirmation, confidence flaring as the announcement finishes (you had always felt more at home on the ice, and tae knew once you were out there, your worries would melt away with the music). you push yourself into position with tae, your foreheads pressed against once another’s, so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your face. it’s all for the dramatics but you know that the crowd loves your chemistry. piano chords drift through the air, signalling the start of your routine, your hands roam across taehyung’s body like you’d practiced countless times. when the beat picks up, taehyung twists you in his arms, fingertips reaching just above your head while your own hands follow his to link them.

you begin to pick up momentum, skating with each other in arm as the first verse picks, with hands on your waist, taehyung picks you up gently, holding you off the ice for just a second as he skates into a half spin before placing you down. resuming your movements across the rink, you separate and tumble into your next move— they lay back spin. the pair of you synchronise your moves, holding your skates to your head as you twirl into the lyrics of the song.

‘is it true? is it true?’ the lyrics reverberate in your mind, body following taehyung’s lead into the next steps. his fingertips are  light on your arms to keep them poised, both of you extending your right legs as you glide across the ice. ‘you, you, you...’ your partner lifts you once more into his arms, pushing you into the air for you to fall gracefully into a double salchow— taking off with the back inside edge of your right skate and landing on the outside of the opposite skate. the crowd bursts into applause, making you grin subtly at your partner before interlocking your fingers once more for a partnered arabesque spirals.

your hand grips taehyung’s firmly, letting your bodies move naturally with the music as you hold your legs in outstretched positions. the chorus bursts through the arena as the air below your arms blows away any worries, you fall back into taehyung’s arms once more for a lift above his head— your legs stretched out into a galloping motion before he swiftly prompts you into a death spiral, holding onto your arm as he twirls your body lower towards the ice.

when the chorus ends, you’re back to skating side by side, wowing the crowd with your movements— like namjoon said you would. completing a paired sit spin, movements mirrored perfectly, a feeling of dread feels your stomach. the ice changes beneath your skates— rougher on this side of the rink than others which sends ripples of worry through your veins at what is to come next. a triple axel jump, they were difficult to land and yet a specialty of yourself and your partners. you knew in your heart that if you landed this jump, the competition was yours but the buzzing feeling in your mind knew that something was wrong. to others, the ice carried you gracefully across the rink, but you knew something was out of place. catching taehyung’s eye, it’s as if he feels it too, but you can’t miss he jump... not when it could cost you the chance of a win.

putting your trust into taehyung, the man you’ve known for years— you curl into his chest as his strong hands support you into propelling you into the triple axel jump but to your dismay, the ice catches beneath his toe pick, taehyung misses a fraction of a beat as he forces you into the air. fear spikes in your chest— you weren’t ready, not to land, not for the jump, not for the music to push through with a climax.

and certainly not for the crunch of your bones.

excited cheers die down to fearful gasps and screams of horror, while taehyung picks himself up from the fall. the world is too loud, the lights are too bright and paramedics rush past him as he shakes himself off. wait, paramedics. pupils blown wide the skater rushes to his feet, pushing past men in orange suits with medical kits strewn about— he hears the faint call of namjoon from over the barrier and the announcers up ahead but his focus is on you.

the loudness fades and a ringing sensation builds up behind your ears— the world is black and you can only catch momentary flashes of taehyung’s worried face above your own. you’re confused, you can’t hear him as he mumbles through his sudden onslaught of tears. you cringe as they drip onto your face, an urge to wipe away the wetness taking over you— but when your fingers are brought back to your eyes, you notice the colour of crimson decorating your finger tips.

a muffled cry leaves your small frame as pain shoots through your leg, you can’t find the source but suddenly reality comes rushing back. you can hear the rushed voices of paramedics as they shuffle you onto a gurney, you can feel the stickiness of blood from somewhere on your head trickle down your back— soiling the pretty dress namjoon worked so hard to find, the throbbing pain in your left leg becoming too much to bare as you cry out for anyone, anything.

it hurts, god it hurts.  

“stay with me, YN, keep th-those eyes open for me? okay baby?” you hear as your vision sways, but the voice is familiar— timbre and warm just like taehyung’s. his cool hands cup your face, brushing through your hair as he limps off the rink with your gurney. “p-please stay awake? baby please...” you know that he’s crying and you know that you’re crying too, but you’re too tired, to sleepy to comply with his wishes. the world is still dark, briefly brightening when you see namjoon from the corner of your eye. he’s gone again and the buzzing world is replaced with the scent of disinfectant and hand sanitizer. there’s arguing, yelling but you can’t see from behind closed eyes.

“she needs surgery!”

“what she needs, is us!”

when you come to, one last time you lock eyes with taehyung’s trusting brown ones, watering on the edge of tears. “i won’t leave you, i promise.”

and with that, you slip away again.

there were certain sounds you liked to hear. like the sound of your skate cutting into thick ice when you landed a jump, taehyung’s sweet singing after a long day of practice or the old romcoms you had playing in your hotel room after a day of competing.

the incessant beeping filling your senses was not a sound you liked.

“it’s my fault, joon. you should have seen her face... it’s like she knew and she trusted me to—“ taehyung cuts through the beeping with a voice filled with worry, his jubilant demeanour having been lost somewhere. your head begins to pound as you remember his skittish sobs, but the memories are blurred still.

namjoon’s voice enters next, interrupting the shaking voice of his boyfriend. “it’s not your fault, how could you have known she’d fall like that? you tripped taehyung, something wasn’t right.”

“but she felt it, we both did—“

“then i’ll take it up with the board, we’ll sue, we’ll— we’ll figure out what happened.” your coach reasoned with his lover, a silence sweeping over the room. you yearned for the comfort you felt eminate between them but when you lift your arm, you realise you’re unable to move— the wires and plugs and breathing machines keeping you strapped to the bed. panic rises in your chest, blocking your air as you struggle to breathe—  taehyung is the first to rush to your side, lifting your mask and cradling you into his chest as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

namjoon is on your other side, rubbing a large palm up and down your back and out instantly feel comforted by their presence. hot tears roll down your cheeks, burning in your oesophagus as you claw at the base of your throat.

“shhh, little princess it’s okay— we’ve got you.”

a cup of water is brought to your lips which you quickly gulp down, the cool liquid soothing the ache in your throat. blinking, you cling tightly to taehyung’s cable knit sweater— hesitant to speak due to your unused voice. “wh-what happened?” you manage, unsure if your whispers can be heard above the pounding of your heart. “where...where are we?”

“you were in an accident,” namjoon spoke lowly from above you, taehyung instantly squeezing you closer as memories of the incident flashed behind both of your eyes. a low whimper left your childhood friend’s lips at your wince— squeezing you again as if he could drain your pain away. your coach swears he feels his heart break at the two of you hurting, pressing the buzzer for the nurse as tae cradles you and sliding onto your hospital bed to wrap his larger arms around you both. “something went wrong with the ice and, you fell—“

your fingers curl tighter in your friend’s clothes, as you remember the pain shooting up your leg and burning in the back of your skull. taehyung avoids your eyes this time, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “they checked you for a concussion and your leg...” his baritone voice an octave, a cool quiet seeping into the room. “your leg is broken, but with one more surgery and some physical therapy— you’ll be back on the ice in no time!”

your heart plummets in your chest, you knew what injuries like that did to figure skaters. sure you were young, you had time to recover but even the slightest pause in doing so could cost you your entire life, your career. the pair of lovers that surround you share a grim look, knowing the thoughts that are rushing through your mind.

“we have the best doctors for you, YN, with a few months—“

you blink up at tae with fiery eyes filled with tears, resisting the urge to shove him away. “i don’t have a few months, tae! training for the olympics is what i should be doing!” you hiccup, starting to choke on tears you refuse to let shed. “i need to be out there on that ice, or i’m useless, i need to—“

you make movements to step out of bed, sucking in your lower lip as a dull ache rests in your bones. the pair are quick to pull you back into bed, but your hands scold them with slaps as you push them away. you have no right to be angry at them, but you know that they understand. taehyung seems to be calmer now, despite the hurt that tickles his puppy dog features at your resistance, he does his best to comfort you.

but a prominent scowl yearns for the curve of namjoon’s lips, your coach falling deep in thought.

“you’re suspended from skating.”

“wh-what?” you stammer, eyes burning with a fresh set of tears for the third or fourth time that night. this time, your partner stands, looking to his lover in confusion and standing with his hands resting on your shoulders comfortingly.

he speaks hesitantly. “now joon...”

“no, taehyung,” your coach sighs, remaining stern. it kills him to make this choice, but there’s no other way— at least not for now. “LN YN will be suspended from all physical skating activities until she has made a full recovery with a hired physical therapist...” the words pierce straight into your heart, tearing you apart from the inside. you want to scream and cry and kick and protest but you’re too numbed from pain and betrayal to speak or move. “legal action will be taken up with the board responsible for the competition but until then, you will not touch the ice. understand?”

you blink, numb.

“YN, i said, do you understand?” namjoon repeats, steeling his gaze. he hates this, he hates hurting both you and his love.

you nod once, looking away whilst tae rubs circles into your shoulders. his lover mentions something about a coffee before slipping out of the room... and that’s when you breakdown. you cry, heavy ugly tears with a running nose that you’re sure stains your best friends sweater as he rocks you back and forth into the night.

you cry until your spark is dull, you cry until your chest burns and until your eyes are dry. you cry because you’ve lost your purpose in life.

⇢ taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )

@periminkle​  @ggukkieland​   @aishots​ @ownthesunshine​ @codeinebelle​ @taeass​ @trviahope @singular-itae @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings @kimsdior @chimshoe @cypherft-v @tangledsparkles

[techgoddessdeluxe18]

SidGeno Parent Trap AU!

Will someone please write this i stayed up till 1 aimlessly typing this, ive already fleshed it out for you pleaseee

So Sid and Geno played together as Rookies for the Penguins in the 2005-2009 seasons, lighting up the NHL world as they had done always, slowly finding love and happiness together (after the Me 3 years Super league convo, you saw how blushy Sid was), quietly getting married in an discreet court house somewhere in Pittsburgh, having blissfully unprotected sex before and after the 2009 Stanley Cup win, just happy and in love and their life and success was just beginning to blossom.

But Sid finds out that he’s been pregnant with twins for some time now, having been nearly 12 weeks pregnant already by the time the final round was played. Geno finds out that there are some legal issues from escaping the KHL in order to play for the Penguins, and so to settle some ruffled governmental feathers, it would be best if Geno went back to Russia to fulfill those duties. Sid is extremely worried about the awful timing of the pregnancy and the sheer amount of alcohol consumed during the Cup celebrations, and Geno is worried about Russia ever letting him out of the country, or worse; finding about his relationship with Sid.

They hole up in a remote corner of Canada for the off season, just trying to soak in the time they have together before Geno goes back to Russia. Days are spent going to doctors visits, holding hands as they walk around the lake, cuddling on the couch at night, Geno’s big hands rubbing Sid’s belly, little feet kicking as hard as they can, while Sid giggles and twists round to kiss Geno.

Sid safely delivers the babies, two identical adorable boys, who have thankfully have not had birth defects as Sid was fearing, and so the rest of the off season is spent trying to decide what to do, how they could go back to their respective corners of the world and try to raise their kids. They agree to split the kids, and keep silent on where they came from.

Geno returns to Russia with a little baby boy, who will mostly be taken care of by his mother and father. Sid does the same, heading back to Cole Harbor more often than he would during the season, always glued to his phone and even taking phone calls from his mother on game days.

So then the actual story goes, 16 year old Daniel Patrick Crosby and Dimitri Evgenevich Malkin meet at Worlds to play for their respective countries, and like a random dinner clash between Russia and Canada find Daniel and Dimitri really confused because they look exactly the same; dark curly hair, strong solid bodies, angular doe eyes. Their teammates chirp them, saying they wouldn’t know who was who if they switched sweaters before the tournament.

They meet up again after Russia wins, meeting in Daniel’s hotel room while his roommate is away. They’re like 

“oh when were you born? September 1st, 2009”.

 “Oh shit me too”. 

“ oh who’s your parents?” 

“Evgeni Malkin, big KHL superstar” 

“Sidney Crosby” because duh who doesn’t know the greatest player ever. 

Maybe they have a ripped picture like in the movie, like with Sid and Geno holding the Stanley Cup like they did in 2017. Daniel has Sid, and Dimitri has Geno, and they’re like “ yeah Dad never talked about who Papa was, but that he loved him, but they couldn’t be together”. So they whip out the picture halves, stashed in their wallets, and tada they fit. They’re twins!

Since the tournament for them is over, Russia with the gold and Canada with silver, they have a few days to themselves to watch the rest. On a midnight run to Tim Hortons, sharing a box of Timbits, they agree to swap places to meet each other’s dad, and then switch back during the Olympics, let say it’s somewhere in America, in a few months time. Daniel and Dimitri spend the next precious days coaching each other on how to be each other. Daniel is conveniently mostly conversational in Russian and can understand better than he speaks, but Dimitri is a quiet kid so it works out. Dimitri works hard to soften his Russian accent and worm eh into his normal syntax more. They get haircuts together, the barber laughing at these rambunctious twins and their beautiful curly hair, and they laugh at the ridiculous stripes they agree to shave onto the sides of their heads.

Before they separate at the airport, they exchange necklaces, a #45 from Daniel and a cross from Dimitri.

Dimitri flies back to Cole Harbor, and finds his dad waiting for him. He looks older than the picture he has, more lines on his face, Definetly shorter and grey-er hair, and sad eyes. If Sid notices his son hugging him tightly and for longer than he normally does, he doesn’t say anything. They chat through the drive home, to the lake house that Daniel told him about. Dimitri can only stare and try and absorb who this man was, the man who birthed him. Sid asks him if he’s ok as they eat dinner on the dock, bare feet dipping into the cold water. Dimitri can only mumble “you’re the best”, as he snuggles his head into his fathers chest. Sid can’t help but think that his son’s voice sounds different; the way he pronounced best sounded just like Geno.

Daniel manages to not say too much on the flight back to Russia, desperately trying to memorize more vocab and grammar before landing and being picked up by his grandparents. The cooing and lecturing is the same in either English or Russian, so he smiles and just lets it wash over him. He tentatively asks where his Papa is, and Grandmama Malkin says he’s probably wining and dining his latest girl. They go home and Daniel is stuffed full of food, everything Grandmama could have possibly made for his arrival. Geno comes home later that night, tired but eager to congratulate his son for winning Gold for Russia. He notices that his son perhaps looks a little different, ruffling the funny haircut that he had gotten, but more at the expression of awe on his face; a similar expression Sid had on his face when he told him he usually went out last before a game, many many years ago.

So yadada ya, they’re enjoying the time that they have with their respective dads, occasionally wringing out a small story or a sad look of their faces whenever they mention anything about each other. So the Olympics are rolling around, and they’re all going to be in one place (lets just say that Sid and Geno had never attempted to make contact whenever they played against each other, afraid that they might get caught) But Daniel has frantically been calling Dimitri over Geno’s new girl and how he might propose and would ruin their plan to get their parents back together.

Shenanigans during the Olympics, one groups disappearing before the other can see them, until Geno is in the elevator shmoozing his girl until he sees THE ASS tm across the room by the front desk. Sid turns around and just smiles sadly as the elevator door closes.

Then the scene where Sid is walking down the hall and Dimitri and Daniel open the doors at the same time and suddenly Sid is confronted with what he thinks is the son he hasn’t seen in 16 years. They pull him into a room, and explain the whole swicheroo, and Sid is mad because there’s nothing they can really do, he’s prepared to let Geno move on and do what’s he needs to, but resigns himself to being alone.

Then the pool scene, where Geno and his girl are lounging with his parents, and Sid walks his fine ass down the stairs and Geno falls in, scrapes up his nose a bit, Sid bandages him up a bit. Daniel and Dimitri reveal themselves to Geno.

Some time in between tournaments, with Russia and Canada on the rise to be competing for the Gold Final, Daniel and Dimitri bully their fathers into a family dinner at a nice restaurant. They cut a handsome swath at dinner, good looking men in good looking suits. Geno instinctually files in last, whether it being his remembered deal with Sid, or merely to ogle a bit as he pushes in Sid’s seat for dinner. For fun, after dinner, they find a nearly empty outdoor rink, equipped with rental skates. Daniel and Dimitri take off, chirping each other and racing and checking each other into the low boards enough for Dimitri to flip over and out of the rink, Daniel wheezing with laughter as Dimitri hefts himself back over. Sid and Geno skate around at a sedate pace, both having played a round that day and simply watching their sons fool around. They don’t say much. They can’t really. They can only quietly enjoy each others presence, wondering where had all the time gone, all the plans they had had.

The final round for Mens Ice Hockey has arrived, Russia vs Canada for Gold, and Daniel and Dimitri can only watch and wonder to see who will come out on top, and what will happen with their parents, watching as Geno checks Sid into the boards. Sid refuses to give up, and so Canada ends up winning the Gold. Like the 2014 picture where Geno and Sid hug after the game, what the camera doesn’t see but their sons see from behind the glass is the shaking hands of Geno and the single tear from Sid.

Like in the movie, before everyone hops onto their respective planes to their respective corners of the world, Sid and Geno make sure their sons aren’t faking this time, and that they go back to who they belong to. It’s how it has to be.

Cue the rain sequence, the sad music, the umbrellas.

Sid and Daniel return to Cole Harbor, still down pouring and quiet. They don’t say anything in the car ride back to the lake house. They finally arrive at home, and take some time to unpack and get comfortable. They silently look at each other, each longing for their other halves. Daniel had become so close to Dimitri, finding out who he was and planning the whole quest to meet their fathers. Sid just missed his husband, and playing against him after fighting so hard to play with him just made him wish for retirement sooner. They hug, and with Daniel under Sids arm, quietly wander down the bank of the hill towards the dock.

Although there seem to be two people already sitting there, with their feet in the water. Geno and Dimitri turn around, identical smug looks on their faces. Dimitri says, his accent hovering somewhere between the hard Russian accent and the rounded Canadian pronunciation, “hey Dad, did you know the Penguins still have those private jets?”

“Ye-yeah, they do bud”, Sid murmurs, still looking at the tall Russian slowly making his way towards him. Daniel duck out from under his arm to sit with his twin and watch the two goofballs that are their parents figure it out.

“I made mistake of not coming for you once, Sid. I’m not do that again, no matter how brave you are.” Geno says

“And I suppose you expect me to go weak at the knees and fall into your arms, and cry hysterically and say we’ll just figure this whole thing out, a bi-continental relationship with our sons being raised here and there, and you and I just picking up where we left off, and growing old together and… And, c’mon G, what do you expect? To live happily ever after?” Sid warbles, his tired eyes welling up with long withheld tears.

“Yes—to all, except you don’t have cry hysterically.” Geno murmurs, cupping Sid’s face and wiping a lone tear as it falls.

“Oh, yes I do—” Sid is cut off as he is kissed (AKA THE BEST KISS SCENE EVER, CUE THE MUSIC)

Daniel and Dimitri can only grin and fist bump as their parents finally kiss after 16 years apart. They put and end to it when Geno starts to dip Sid into a deeper, more lurid kiss and some major groping, and they push both of them into the water.

During the epilogue with This Will Be (An Everlasting Love) by Natalie Cole, scenes flash by of Geno and Sid holding hands in front of a press conference, their sons standing by their sides, as they announce their retirements from both the NHL and KHL after 20 years, and their relationship and their sons to the hockey community.

Another scene where Daniel and Dimitri attention Shattuck St. Mary’s to finish up high school before inevitable being drafted when they turn 18. It would be the first and only time they play together on the same team, Crosby-Malkin proudly spelled onto the back of their sweaters.

Another scene where they’re all playing shinny on a frozen pond somewhere, Geno getting distracted and just sweeping Sid into his arms after he scores a goal, kissing and swinging around until they both fall into a snowbank, their sons launching themselves at them at top speed.

Another scene where Daniel Crosby-Malkin from the Chicago Blackhawks and Dimitri Crosby-Malkin from the Dallas Stars face off for a Stanley Cup final

And finally, a small wedding held in Sid’s backyard in Nova Scotia, where Daniel and Dimitri stand with Flower and Tanger and Kuni and Duper and Talbo and most of Geno’s Russian buddies as their parents finally get married again, kissing happily under the sunset and the lake shining behind them.

Bonus scene: A few months after the wedding and a few days before the season starts up again, with everyone home, Sid comes down the stairs for breakfast with a strange look on his face and something in his hands. He’s a graceful 43 now, grey hairs really pushing now, so when he says “you boys up to being big brothers?” Geno spits out the tea he had been drinking and jumps up and envelops his husband.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part viii

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii

Here’s part viii! Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell your dog, tell the nosy woman who lives in the apartment above you. Remember to reblog, it helps the series reach more people, and as always - tell me what you think! I haven’t gotten much feedback so far and would love to know everyone’s thoughts, even if it’s only a few words.

part viii

April 19 (sun)

Cass was the most nervous she had been in her entire life. Okay, well maybe that was an overstatement. That honor probably went to the night law school acceptances went out, or when she sat with Alejandra — a friend from back in Texas — as they thought DACA was going to get rescinded, or when her dad lost his job when she was in middle school and their family was living paycheck-to-paycheck. It was Game 6 of the first round, the Islanders leading the series 3-2. The score was tied 1-1 halfway through the second period, a beautiful tip-in by Nelson that managed to just squeak past Mrazek. They had been up 3 games to none at the start of the series, with every intention to sweep the Hurricanes in Game 4 at home. But then they dropped two in a row — needless to say, tensions were running high coming into the night. 

She was sat up in the club box with the WAGs and some other family members who had flown in for the occasion, in hopes that they’d be able to celebrate a win and a move to the conference semifinals. The team probably could have used with tightening up their backcheck, but the passes were spot-on and Cass didn’t see much room to complain. Lauren on the chair opposite, she sat next to Paige as the clock hit eight minutes left, clutching a glass of white wine as her foot nervously tapped the carpet. Paige placed a steadying hand on her arm. “They’re going to pull it off, you know.”

Cass ran a hand through her hair. “That’s what I keep trying to tell myself. And I know they’ve got the talent, and these guys are some of the hardest workers I know, but—”

“It’s hard trying to rationalize it,” Paige finished.

“Yeah,” Cass nodded, “and especially knowing how long the team’s gone without a cup, like it’s been, what,” she glanced at the banners in the rafters, “38 years since they’ve won?. That’s 13 years before I was even born.”

Paige looked down at the ice thoughtfully. “I guess there’s really not much you can do in these situations but have faith that all the training and all the effort’s going to eventually pay off.”

“I guess you’re right,” Cass said, though if she was being honest she didn’t like the subjectivity of the statement. Shitty things happen to good people all the time, bad people get away with terrible things all the time, and people who have worked their asses off don’t always get what they’ve spent their entire lives working toward. 

There were just under six minutes left on the clock, and the first line had just gone back on. Anders took the faceoff, and Cass was so focused on the puck that she didn’t notice the gloves dropping on the other side of the ice until Paige let out a gasp, gently shaking her out of her trance. She was thrown for a minute; sure, fights were more uncommon since the league started cracking down on penalties, but they weren’t uncommon, so why did it matter that she paid any attention? 

Five seconds later, and she understood. It was Mat. It took Cass a few seconds to really grasp it — Mat wasn’t a fighter by any means, she had never seen him in one even before they got together, so what had finally set him off? They traded punches as the refs struggled to get a handle on the situation, jerseys riding up as Cass’ hand squeezed like a vice grip on Paige’s knee. She was too anxious to even figure out who the other player was, just that he was tall and blond and had one fist gripping Mat’s collar as he dodged one of his blows. Mat tried to steady himself, tried to realign his center of gravity, but then the other player threw a punch at the side of his face and it clipped his cheek as he tried to avoid it and he couldn’t get his balance back and he fell. Hard. Helmets had gone off before the fight had even started, so there was nothing in between his head and the ice. 

Cass’ hands flew up to her mouth, and Lauren had to stop her from sliding off the edge of her lounge chair. There was blood, and it was coming from his head, and if there was one thing her mother’s 30 years as a nurse had taught her, it was that blood from the head was never a good sign. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered, feeling the bile rise up in her throat. Scratch anything she had said before, this was hands-down the most scared she’d ever been in her life. The love of her life was bleeding from his head down on the ice, and he wasn’t moving. 

You could have heard a pin drop in Barclay’s Center as the whole crowd waited for Mat to get up. And waited. And waited. Cassidy barely noticed him being helped up by Jordan; she was already running through the halls, Paige right beside her, frantically pressing the down button on the elevator to take them to the dressing room. She didn’t pay any attention to the usher who was telling her that they were private elevators because Mat was hurt and he was bleeding and oh God oh God oh God I need to get to him I need to get to him. 

She leaned her head against the cool metal of the side panel, long since having abandoned her efforts to control her tears as Paige tried desperately to comfort her. “The team has really good doctors, and if he needs a hospital, we have the best ones in the world right here in New York,” she said, but her words fell on deaf ears. Cass’ head jerked up. The elevator had dinged, indicating that they had finally reached the underground level. She turned left, headed straight for the locker room. There was no way he would have been left on the bench. Cass knew enough about hockey and enough about injuries to know that a hit that hard and blood that bad meant that he’d be taken right back.

By this time, she knew the way as good as anyone, and didn’t care who would try and stop her from getting in the room. Come hell or high water, she was going to see Mat. She passed the handful of puzzled arena staff, bursting into the locker room. “I’ll be out here,” Paige had said, but it barely registered. Mat was in a room off to the side, and thank God the trainer was one who recognized her, because he nodded at her as she lingered by the door, unspoken permission that she could enter. Cass rushed to Mat’s side, his eyes screwed shut in pain as the trainer  — Carter, was it? Nick? She really couldn’t remember much of anything at the moment  — held a pad of gauze to his head with a gloved hand. 

“Doctor should be here any minute, Mat, just hang on,” he said. 

Cass knelt down, hands shaking as she laced her fingers through his. “It’s going to be okay, Mat. You’re going to be okay.”

Mat opened his eyes just a sliver. “Cass?”

“Yeah, babe. I’m here.”

The door opened again, a man with a medical bag walking through the corridor and into the side room. “Dr. Khan,” he said to the trainer as he set the bag down, unclasping it. “Nick,” he responded. So it was Nick, Cass thought absentmindedly. 

“I was watching from a box when it happened, got down as soon as I could. So, his head hit the ice? No helmet?” Nick nodded as Dr. Khan snapped his own pair of gloves on. He turned to Cass. “Are you the wife?” For a moment, Cass was thrown. He may have been a doctor, but this man really couldn’t have known much about the team if he thought one of their star players was married. If Mat Barzal was married, everyone would know. 

After a moment, she shook her head. “No. Girlfriend.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’m fine with you staying as long as you keep out of the way, it shouldn’t take too long.” He turned to Nick. “A/O questions?”

“Knew his name, knew the year, knew where we are, knew who she is,” he tilted his head over at Cass. 

“Good, good,” Dr. Khan said, moving over to take his place at the head of the table. “Head wounds bleed a lot,” he said reassuringly, looking over at where Cass stood, her nails bit down to nubs. She thought she’d quit the habit in fifth grade. “It shouldn’t need more than a staple or two.” 

True to his word, fifteen minutes later the bleeding had subsided substantially, and Mat was sporting two very shiny, brand-new staples. “I’m sorry we had to shave a little, your lovely girlfriend was telling me how much pride you take in your hair. It’ll grow back quickly,” the doctor said. 

Mat let out a groan. “I’m going to lose all of my millions of adoring fans. The hair’s all I got, you know.”

Dr. Khan chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re in good spirits. I’m going to diagnose you with a moderate concussion. It could have been a lot worse, but you got lucky this time.” He turned to Cass. “Would you be able to stay with him for the next few days? He should be able to manage, but it’s always better safe than sorry and it would be good for him to have someone around in case anything comes up.” 

Cass nodded. “Yeah. I’m in school, but outside of that. Yeah. I can stay.” 

Nick walked back through the door, handing a few printouts to Cass. “Just some concussion stuff for you to know. Activities for him to avoid, symptoms to be aware of, what to do if things get worse. That kind of thing.” 

Cass took the sheets. “Do you think things will get worse?” She asked worriedly. 

Dr. Khan shook his head. “It’s not likely, seeing as how he’s relatively aware and the concussion could have been much more severe. But it’s always better to err on the side of caution when it comes to any medical situation.”

She nodded, nervously rubbing Mat’s thumb. “Should I...take him home now?” She asked, trying to think of how she was going to take him back to Manhattan on the train when lights and loud noises were the exact thing he was supposed to be avoiding right now, or how much an hour long Uber would cost. 

“I’d like to keep him for a little longer, an hour or so, just for observation to make sure symptoms don’t get any worse.”

The next hour seemed to inch by, dotted with visits from Nick and Dr. Khan and one from Trotz during the second intermission. Mat was going to be out for somewhere in the vicinity of two weeks; everything was dependent on him being medically cleared and a slow return to training and team practices. The news gutted him. It wasn’t just that Mat loved hockey, he loved being out on the ice and in the thick of the action and with his team, his brothers, and it just seemed so patently unfair that he wasn’t going to be able to do that when they needed him the most. Doing the math, he had realized with heart-wrenching certainty that that meant he would maybe be able to make the last few games of the conference semifinals, and that was only if they made it that far. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in his team, but the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to do anything but sit on the bench in a suit and hand out waters ate away at him. 

Someone, maybe one of the equipment managers, had taken the liberty of packing up Mat’s things, and Cass was poking around trying to find his keys. He was pretty coherent by then, but still in no state to drive. She slung the bag over her shoulder, trying not to groan at its weight — she’d definitely be sore tomorrow — and helped him out of the locker room and back to the players’ parking lot, half-heartedly waving goodbye to the handful of players and staff that were still trickling out. The ride back to his apartment was quiet, and Mat barely acknowledged the news that the team had eked out a win with a powerplay goal late in the third. They were going to the second round, and it killed him that he might not get to be a part of it. 

She parked in the underground lot, taking the bag once again despite Mat’s insistence that he could carry it himself, their ride up the elevator accompanied by a strangely specific playlist that was mostly comprised of late 2000s pop. “I slow danced with my first boyfriend to this song at our freshman year homecoming dance,” Cass said. 

The corner of Mat’s mouth twitched up. “I Won’t Give Up?” She nodded. “What was his name?” 

“Justin. He played varsity basketball, I did lacrosse and field hockey. We were the jockiest couple at school for the all of four months we dated,” she said wistfully. “He was a good guy, but I should have known things weren’t going to work out. He had a lot of growing up to do.”

Mat hummed in acknowledgement as she opened the door. “I didn’t know you played field hockey.”

Cass let out a laugh. “Wrong surface, I know. But yeah, I did, through junior year of high school. Dropped it senior year to focus on lacrosse and college stuff.”

“But you still did lacrosse in university,” he said, more like a statement than anything. 

She nodded. “Club, yeah. It would have been cool to be on the school team, but D1 sports are super competitive, and I didn’t have time between A Phi and the Mexican Student Association and honors stuff there would have been no way I could have made it all work.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Anyone ever told you you’re a bit of an overachiever?”

She glared at him. “You’re lucky you’re injured, or I would have slapped you.” Heading over to the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “I’m getting some water, do you want anything?” 

“Water would be great.” Cass came back a minute later, handing him his glass. She looked at her watch. Past midnight. Then she looked at her phone, which she hadn’t checked since the middle of the game and which had understandably blown up since then. She responded to texts from Paige and Lauren and Kerry, sent Chris a message that she’d need tomorrow off to look after Mat, reassured Noah that Mat was fine and would be back on the ice as soon as humanly possible. Her brow furrowed. Three missed messages from the apartment’s group chat, The Fantastic Four, named largely due to the fact that Cass may or may not have had a not-so-little crush on Human Torch as a middle schooler; once the girls had gotten the story out of her, they never let her live it down. 

10:44 - Ryanne: When do you think you’ll be back? Made spaghetti and wasn’t sure if I should leave it out for you or put it in the fridge.

11:17 - Stella: Were you taking the subway home?

11:39 - Alicia: I saw on Twitter Mat got hurt, is everything okay? Do you need anything?

11:55 - Alicia: Cass? You good?

“Shit,” Cass breathed, shutting her eyes for a moment. 

Mat looked concerned, scratching at an itch under his gauze. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Cass said, typing a response. There was almost nothing she hated more than worrying people. Oh my gosh I’m so sorry guys! Yes, I’m good, Mat’s okay too. It’s a concussion so he’ll be out of play for a few weeks, but thank God it’s not worse. I hadn’t checked my phone since he got hurt, I’m so sorry to worry y’all!! I’m over at his, the doctor said he should have someone watching him for a few days just in case. I might come pick up a few things tomorrow, but I’ll be back Wednesday :)

Mat stuck his tongue through his teeth and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all this,” he gestured at his head, “it shouldn’t be your responsibility.” 

Cass smiled softly at him, leaning gently into his side. “It’s okay, I don’t mind it, taking care of you and all. Plus, acts of service are my number one love language.” He laughed. “But,” she started hesitantly, “I’ve got to ask. You’re not really a fighter.” His arm tensed around her, knowing what was coming. “So what made you drop the gloves? You don’t really ever let these things get to you.”

“Yeah,” Mat sighed. He really should have expected the question sooner, it wasn’t like it was an avoidable situation. “Um, he had just been chirping me for most of the game, just stuff about how I’m all talk and no talent, about my points drought earlier in the season, stuff like that.”

“And?” Cass pressed, knowing that there was something he was holding back. She wanted to help him, and she couldn’t do that without the full story. 

“And you,” he admitted. “It’s not really that unusual for guys to chirp each other about girlfriends, but he was just saying some pretty nasty stuff about you. Just sexist, gross stuff. No one should say that about a girl, doesn’t matter who she is.” 

As unfortunate as it was, Cass was pretty sure she knew exactly what had been said about her. She was a woman — a young, attractive woman — living in New York City, which was practically the world capital of catcalling, and her earbuds could only drown out so much. But still, Mat’s response had her heart skip a beat. “Thank you for defending my honor,” she said sweetly, turning her head to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

He blushed. “If I could go back? I’d do it all over again.”

 April 27 (tues)

 Cass scrolled through her Twitter feed as she waited for Mat to arrive at the deli for lunch. It had been a week and a half since the injury, and things were definitely progressing — though not as fast as Mat would have hoped. She had stayed with him for a few days until he was feeling back to his old self, and though Mat hadn’t exactly been thrilled by Cass having to wake him up every three hours to be sure that he wasn’t, you know, dead, he had been a pretty good sport overall. 

Reading and excessive screen use was on the no-no list she’d been given by Dr. Khan, so Mat had taken to a lot of listening to music and trying valiantly to pick back up his guitar skills once he was feeling up to it. Skills was perhaps a generous word, Cass thought, since the only song he had been able to play with any confidence by the end of the week was Rockstar by Nickleback. “It’s not that bad,” he had said defensively. “They get a bad rep.” Cass wasn’t so sure about that, but thought it would be a bit of a dick move to criticize his music taste, so she refrained. 

She was jerked out of her thoughts by Mat, who greeted her with a bright smile and a kiss on the forehead. “How was your day, babe?” 

She shrugged. “Pretty good, nothing special. Just got out of a Contracts seminar. Nothing quite as thrilling as debating the precedent set by Supreme Court cases from the 1980s.” 

Mat barked out a laugh. “I’m sure. I don’t think I’d understand a single word of what they said, but that just proves what I already knew.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re ten times smarter than I am.” Cass laughed, and he opened the door. “Now, I’m starving. I want food.”

“Good thing we came to a deli, then,” Cass said dryly. 

He snickered. “Guess I walked right into that one.” The couple stopped in front of the menu. “What’s good here?”

“Besides everything?” Cass asked. “Roast beef sandwich, grilled chicken’s pretty good too. And obviously the pastrami.”

Mat shifted from one food to another. “I’ve never actually had one,” he admitted. 

Cass turned to look at him slowly, eyes wide. “You’ve never had a pastrami on rye?” He shook his head. “You’ve lived in New York for, what, almost four years now? And you’ve never had a pastrami sandwich?” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mat mumbled. 

“Oh, it is,” Cass said, as they reached the counter. “I take my sandwiches very seriously, Mathew, and you’re about to find out why.” She waved to the man behind the counter. “Carlos!” Jabbering in rapid-fire Spanish as he assembled the sandwiches, she pulled out her wallet to pay before Mat even got the chance. “Él es mi novio,” she said, answering Carlos’ unspoken question and tapping her card on the reader. “Gracias, te veré pronto!” She grabbed the bag of sandwiches, Mat following her out the door as they walked down the block, peeling off to a side road with a small park. Cass shifted her backpack off, setting it on the ground beneath a small table that had become one of her go-to lunch spots since she, Les, and Fiona stumbled across it in their first year. 

“So it seems like you’ve known Carlos for awhile?” Mat asked, unwrapping the sandwich.

Cass nodded, biting into hers and letting out an almost-euphoric moan. 

Mat raised an eyebrow. “You usually save that for the bedroom.”

Almost choking, she swallowed the bite, leaning over the table and lightly slapping his arm. “Mat! But yeah, he started working at the deli sometime in spring of my first year. He moved from Puerto Rico, so that’s why we were speaking Spanish.”

“What was that you called me back there, anyways? Nuevo?”

Cass snorted into her coffee. “Nuevo means new. I called you my novio. It’s the word for serious boyfriend. Or fiancé, really. The language doesn’t make much of a distinction.” Cass sipped slowly, deciding to hazard a question. “How has your recovery been going?”

Mat perked up. Anything relating to hockey and he was all ears. “It’s going well, yeah. I was cleared to start working out the other day, they did some scans and said that everything looks like how it should, which is a relief. I’ve been a little dizzy but nothing serious,” he quickly added, seeing Cass’ nervous glance, “and I go back in two days to see if I can get back to training with the team. A day or two of that and fingers crossed, I’d be ready to play a game if we’re still in it.” The team was down 2-1 to the Capitals, and Mat had been tearing his hair out the entire week, frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t do anything to help. He was a hockey player, a damn good one at that, and there was nothing he could do but sit in front of his TV and watch his team fall behind in the series. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be out there, scoring and making hits and making a difference, not cooped up like some toddler with a list of things he couldn’t do and couldn’t touch.

Cass could see that he was starting to retreat a little bit, so she reached out, squeezing his hand. “Hey, chou, listen to me.” He looked up. “I know it’s frustrating for you. Believe me, I know how much you want to be out there and how useless you might feel right now, but that’s all bullshit, you hear me?” Her eyes softened. “The best thing you can do for the boys right now is work out when you can, listen to your doctors, and focus on getting better. The city wants their golden boy back, and as cute as your pout is,” Mat’s lips twitched, “it doesn’t do anyone any good, least of all you.”

Cass was nearly done with her sandwich when Mat spoke again. “Graduation’s coming up fast, huh? What is it, a month from now?”

She nodded, picking up a napkin and dabbing at the mustard by the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, it’s the 22, so a little under a month now.”

“Is your whole family coming down?” 

“Yeah,” Cass said, bounding her head. “Everyone’s able to make it, which is awesome, and so much more than I expected. Eliana gets out of school the week earlier, so it’s not a problem for her, and it’s on a Saturday so it’s a non-issue for Noah and my parents. My nana’s driving down with my family, and my mom’s parents are flying from Hermosillo.”

Mat gave her a confused look. “I thought they lived in Texas?”

“They started splitting time after they retired, they were the only ones who immigrated so all of their relatives were still down in Mexico,” Cass explained.

“Got it.”

She continued. “Yeah, so I’m really lucky that everyone’s able to make it, it’s been forever since the whole family was together. Which reminds me,” she said, pulling out her phone and sending a quick text, “I need to get their flight info. I promised to pick them up from JFK.” 

“Why don’t I come with you?” Mat asked quickly.

Cass was confused. “What if you’re still playing?”

He waved his hand. “Obviously not then. But if we’re not, I’d love to come. I could drive around so you wouldn’t have to pay for parking, and it would be nice to meet them before your graduation.” The unspoken addendum was if I’m able to make it. Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals was scheduled on the day of Cass’ graduation; Mat knew that realistically, the chances of making it that far were slim, but the thought of not being able to celebrate with her, celebrate her, caused a pang in his heart. 

Her smile could have lit up the sun. “I’d love that, I really would. And you’re going to love my grandparents. I’ve told them so much about you and they’re excited to finally meet you in person.”

Mat beamed. “I’m glad. Hey,” he added, treading lightly. “Have you heard back from any of the places you’ve applied yet?” He knew of at least a half-dozen firms and nonprofits she’d interviewed with, but if any of them had resulted in an offer yet, she hadn’t told him.

Cass looked down at her hands. This was the conversation she had been dreading ever since last week. “Cass?” Mat asked again, more hesitantly this time. He could tell something was up. “Uh, yeah.” She said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Yeah, I have. You remember that tech company I interviewed with the other week?

“Yeah, the ones that do computers and stuff?” Mat asked, confused. If she got the job, then why did she seem so nervous?

She nodded. “Yeah. They got back to me a few days ago...and they offered a position.” 

Mat stood up, ready to walk around the table and wrap her in a massive bear hug. “Cass!” He exclaimed. “That’s awesome! You said it sounded like really interesting stuff, and the company’s in New York so you wouldn’t even have to move—”

“That’s the thing,” Cass said, cutting him off. “They’re headquartered in New York, and I thought I was applying for a position in New York, but it turns out everything was ‘space available,’ whatever that means.” She finally looked up at Mat. “The job’s in Hong Kong.”

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and sat back down in his seat hard. So hard, in fact, that he almost knocked it over, but he barely noticed. Hong Kong? That’s a whole country and the world’s largest ocean away, and the thought of losing her to a whole different country wasn’t something he ever could have anticipated. He’s finally gotten something so good, someone so good, and the thought that it could all be taken away in the blink of an eye was a possibility he hadn’t even allowed himself to consider. 

Mat swallows. “Are you...Are you going to take it?” He asks thickly. She looks down at the coffee cup in her hands, the same speckled white-and-blue one Mat gave her back in the fall. God, October seems like a lifetime away from where they are now. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and he felt a weight lifted off of his chest. “I don’t even know if I want it, and I didn’t want…,” she tapped her fingers on the scratched stone table, “I didn’t want to decide anything without talking it over with you first.” 

His head felt like lead when he tried to nod. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense. So, let’s talk.”

“It’s not something I ever saw myself doing,” Cass said.

“The moving to a foreign country part or the job itself?” Mat asked. 

Cass scrunched her nose. “Both, I guess. Sure, I applied to places all across the country, but that was more for job security than anything. I needed cash flow to start paying off my loans, and as much as I love nonprofit and pro-bono work, it doesn’t really pay well. That’s sort of the whole point. 

Mat reached behind himself to throw the sandwich wrapper into the trash can. “Do you like what they’d be having you do?”

“It’s contracts and negotiations, so it’s interesting enough. I like the topic and I know I’m good at it. But it’s not what I originally imagined for myself,” she conceded.

“What did you think you’d be doing?”

Cass let out a strained breath. “When I first got to law school, I was convinced I’d do immigration law. I’m passionate about it, feel like I’ve got a stake in the matter, and Spanish fluency is a really good skill to have in the field. And I loved getting to work in the clinic on deportation appeals. The day I got a stay for my first client was one of the happiest days of my life,” she added. Mat couldn’t help but smile. Even with mountains of uncertainty threatening to topple over on them, Cass had such a good heart and he’d always be proud of that. “But I’ve loved what I’ve gotten to do with Chris in the office. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think that I’d like it.”

Mat’s curiosity was piqued. “How come?”

“I think part of it had to do with how rushed and nervous I felt about the whole thing. It was pretty much my last chance and I really just threw my application together without thinking. I didn’t have time to worry if I’d actually like what I was going to be doing. It might just be my Rangers bias coming through, but I think I thought it would just be Scandal-type dealing with dumb shit players did, getting them off the hook for drunken escapades or finding contractual loopholes to save the team money on the salary cap.” She shrugged. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“So,” Mat said said slowly, “if this isn’t the kind of work you wantedto do, why are you thinking about taking the job?”

“Couple of things,” Cass said. “The company culture is really good, by all accounts they hanuinely care about their environmental impact and worker’s rights, they make sure everyone on the supply chain is given a living wage. Good upward mobility, and there’s a half-dozen offices around the world that you can apply to transfer to after five years. Benefits and salary are are some of the best I’ve seen for new hires.”

“But would you be happy?” Mat asked, so softly that she almost missed it. 

Would I? Cass thought. It was never the plan for her to move so far away; she’s never lived further than a few hours from home and as much as she hated to admit it, the prospect of not being in the same time zone as her family terrified her. What if her abuelo has another stroke, and she’s halfway across the world? What if she’s not able to hold her brother when he goes through his first heartbreak? What if she isn’t there to kiss Mat when he hoists the Stanley Cup for the first time? But what if she hates herself because she never took the chance? She finally looks back up, feeling like Mat’s hazel eyes are boring straight into her soul. “I don’t know.”

[secretlynestaarcheron]

COLD AS ICE

Figure skating x hockey player

TWO: Cassian and The Bet

Cassian ran a hand through his wet hair as he makes his way back out towards the locker room, he throws his towel over his shoulder as he unlocks his locker. “Hey Cas, are you coming to the party tonight?” I heard a rumor that Tamlin might be there,” Rhysnd says from where he was sitting on the bench slipping on his shoes.

Cassian rolls his head, he was already feeling the tension in his shoulders from the stress semester, “I don’t know man, I’ve got a ton of homework and I don’t really feel like getting involved with Tamlin before the game this weekend.”

“Never thought I’d hear the day that Cassian Monte would say no to brawl, who are you becoming?” Tomas cheers from the other side where he changes despite not doing much throughout practice besides sitting on the bench. He was only on the team because his father donated the new bleachers.

Cassian looks over at Rhysand with a deadpan expression, growing up in foster care made Cassian a fighter but once he joined the hockey team in highschool where he met Rhysand and Azriel he had a new reason to fight. The only reason he was at this school working towards a degree in engineering was because of hockey.

He wouldn’t let his scholarship be taken away because of some fight off the ice or a bad grade in an easy class, Rhysand understood it but unfortunately not a lot of the rich kids on the team did. “I got an eight am tomorrow, why don’t you come have a few drinks and then we can head back to the apartment together?” Azriel chimes in, being the voice of reason as always.

Cassian frowns, rubbing his chin, “Okay, but text me when you’re heading over and if I haven’t gotten a load of my homework done its a no from me,” he retorts, slipping on his jacket and leaving the locker room.

As he makes his way towards the exit, he stops short when he sees Nesta sitting down on the bench in front of the rink, ear muffs and scarf pulled tightly around her neck. She had her knees to her chest as she clutched a book in front of her face.

He stepped forward, grabbing his keys from his pocket, he felt the need to go out there and talk to her. To pick on her, or maybe to offer her a ride home. He shakes his head at the thought, she was probably waiting for Mor or possibly her own personal driver.

He steps out in the cold making his way towards the parking lot where his beat up jeep was, it was a typical cliche but it was cheap and he needed transportation to take his gear all over the place. He jumps into the front seat, quickly sticking his key into the ignition before blasting the heat.

Once his mirrors are set and he can feel his hands, he pulls out of the driveway, looking over the bench in front of the rink where Nesta was gathering her stuff and moving towards the bus. He furrowed his brow, watching as she smiled at the bus driver chatting as she handed him her card. She had a transportation card. He curses himself for assuming that she was waiting on a personal driver.

There was more to her than he thought, he figured the blonde hair and figure skating made her the prime stereotype for rich white girls. There’s a beep and he looks in his rearview to see Rhysand sticking his hands up in confusion.

He waves apologetically before turning towards campus, where he was going to seat himself in the library and knock out the rest of his homework. His phone chimes after a couple hours and he looks up as someone shushes him, smiling apologetically, he grabs his backpack and answers the phone as he exits the library.

“Yeah, I know, I am heading home now,” Cassian retorts before the person even said hello.

“I am glad you just now remembered,” Azriel says on the other side but he was chuckling, “Where are you? I’ll just pick you up from there.”

“He’s probably still in his loungewear from after practice he is not going to a party in his joggers and teeshirt,” Rhysand calls out from the passenger seat, “He’ll come home and change, I don’t care if you’re late.”

Cassian rolls his eyes, “I am at the library,” he says.

“Cool, I’ll see you there,” Azriel retorts earning a groan from Rhysand. He leans against the wall, flipping mindlessly through Instagram while he waits for the slick black car to pull up. He finds himself pulling up Nesta Archerons page, he was trying to know more about her.

There were pictures of her with Mor, dressed up for parties or hanging in the quad, as well as a few of her competing, she looked angelic on the ice. He scrolls far enough down that he stumbles upon a picture of Nesta laying down on a hospital bed her head against an older lady who looks just like her. The lady is talking with a bright smile and Nesta looks over at her with sparkling eyes.

Cassian was familiar with the bright blue cap on the ladies head and all the IV’s, he was there when his own mother had passed away from cancer, he scrolled down her captain only a yellow heart, the comments full of condolences. Her mother had passed away as well. He takes note of the date it was posted, six years ago today.

He felt weird, he honestly kind of felt like that guy Joe from that stalker show. She posted on her instagram for all of her followers to see but he still felt like he was invading her personal space, as if he wasn’t welcomed.

“Stop spacing out and get in the car, it’s already six!” Rhysand yells. Cassian looks up to see him halfway out the window, waving wildly at his friend. Azriel shrugs in the driver seat as Cassian jumps into the back. “What were you so deep in thought about?”

Cassian runs a hand through his hair, “All the organic chem homework I am going to have to do when I get home at eight,” he says.

Rhysand laughs, “Like you're actually going to get home by eight,” he chuckles, reaching forward to turn up the music before Cassian has any objections.

Rhysand grabs his shoulder before moving past him into the house, it was already bumping full of intoxicated college (and probably some highschool) students and bland techno music. “Nesta! Nesta! Nesta!” a group of college kids in the back chanted catching the attention of Cassian as he moved his way through the crowd.

She sat on the kitchen island, taking shot after shot of some unknown liquid that happened to be neon blue. She took the last one, punching her hands into the air as she turns to the crowd letting out a loud cheer. The crowd cheers along with her but quickly makes their way deeper into the party aside from a few college guys who linger around her.

“People don’t know it but you’re such a crackhead,” Mor says as Nesta moves off the island, stumbling into Mor’s shoulder as she regains her balance. She looks up, her bright green eyes catching his, she pushes herself up keeping contact with him. “What? What are you looking at-Oh, Cassian,” Mor says, turning to face him, moving a hand around Nesta’s waist. “This is the last time I DD for her.”

Nesta rest her head against Mor shoulder, he wonders if she’s always been like this at parties or if it had anything to do with her mom. He had seen her at parties before, finding a dark corner and pulling a book from her bag to read. He had never seen her like this but he never really gets out much either.

“Amren!” Mor yells, groaning loudly, “God, why are both of them such bad drunks? Could you watch her while I grab Amren? I really hope I am not this bad when I am drunk.”

She pushes Nesta towards him, as she pushes through the crowd to find Amren, another figure skater on the team. He holds her up, looking around the room deciding what he should do next. His eyes fixate on a girl across the room talking with Rhysand, she had the same dirty blonde hair as Nesta as well as the same facial expressions.

Rhysand looks over at her, gaining the attention of the girl as well, her eyes widen and she bolts away from Rhysand who looks after sadly. “Cassian?” Nesta murmurs, looking up at him, blinking to regain focus in her eyes, she pushes his arm around her. “What are you doing here?”

“Babysitting you, apparently,” he says with a roughness that’s a little too sharp. She blinks up at him, her arms dropping to her side, “Wanna go outside?”

She looks up at him before nodding, she follows behind him towards the back door, Cassian didn’t know whose house this was but they would have a giant mess to clean up tomorrow morning for sure. He lead her over to a porch swing, she fell into it putting a hand against her forehead.

“My 9:30 class tomorrow is going to suck,” she murmurs, her head moving to the side, as she closed her eyes. He pushed off his foot, moving the swing lightly back and forth, “Who’s idea was it to have a party on a thursday?”

“Probably those kids from Autumn Court, their parents paid for their degrees so they don’t need to worry about class,” he hums, leaning back and looking up at the dark sky, “You know, I am still mad about your post.”

She groans, turning to look at him, “Seriously? If your team could have scheduled another practice anytime that day, but you chose to pick the two hours we were in there,” she says, pushing herself into an upright position staring down at him. “I want to see you do what I can do, you couldn’t even if I trained you.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Okay, deal.”

She frowns at him, running a hand through her tangled hair, “What do you mean? Deal? I didn’t make a deal with you?” she says, her speech quickly sobering up. “I don’t want to make a deal with you.”

He rubs his chin, “The game against Spring Court is this Sunday and so is your conpetition, you teach me to figure skate and I’ll teach you how to play hockey, first one to quit loses,” he retorts, “This way we’ll both learn how to appreciate each other's sports.”

She looks down at his extended hand, before grabbing it, “Deal, I hope you like losing. Balancing on one leg while wearing a revealing costume is a lot harder than hitting a puck with a stick.”

He rolls his eyes, turning as the door opens, he frowns standing up quickly, “Tamlin, what are you doing here?” he says, squaring up and blocking Nesta from his view. He looks down at the small frame beside him, the familiar girl that Rhysand was talking to earlier.

“Cassian,” Tamlin says, his lip curling into a smile, “Haven’t seen you in a long while, I am sure you’ll go back into hiding when we beat you this weekend.”

Cassian feels a shove and Nesta is standing in front of him, her eyebrows furrowed, “Feyre Archeron, what the hell are you doing here,” she growls, her eyes on fire as she looks at Tamlin, “Do you realize that she’s seventeen?”

Feyre frowns as Tamlins arm falls from where it was around her shoulder, “Way to kill my vibe, Nes, some sister you are,” she snaps, turning on her heel angrily and running into the house.

“Don’t you run away from me, we are having words, just because dad doesn’t care anymore doesn’t mean you can do something stupid like that!” she yells after her, following her through the open door, disappearing into the crowd of people.

“That’s pretty sick, man,” Cassian says turning back towards Tamlin who shrugged in response, “It’s not like we did anything, besides she’ll be eighteen soon enough. Her sister is pretty firey, maybe I’ll have her entertain me until Freyes birthday,”

Cassian gripped his fist, his nails piercing the hard skin in his palms, “I’ll see you on Sunday,” he says calmly, before pushing past him and back into the house looking around for Rhysand or Azriel. He had wasted enough time here.

Comment to be tagged!

Tagged: @awesomelena555 @catwomancabello @sannelovesreading @candid-confetti @gendryaforthemasses @musicmaam @skychild29 @empress-ofbloodshed  @8emmy @overgrown-bat

[petals42]

Coach - Part V

Hello all. I know in my major fics I’ve made Coach and Suzanne not very nice people, but after the latest updates I figured I’d try my hand at writing canon-compliant Coach. This is in his POV so obviously Coach-centric and he is not magically a perfect ally. He’s trying though. 

3.6k; canon-compliant; content warning: homophobia; post- Coach IV

It’s Sunday. Which means Church for Suzanne always and Church for Richard when he has the time. Or about every three weeks when Suzanne starts asking him on Thursday whether he is going to make it this week instead of waiting til the morning-of. It’s his signal to go with her so she can show him off or introduce him to new folks or just re-establish that they are together and happy and she can still make him go to Church whenever she wants. 

Either way, it’s not bad. He doesn’t mind listening to the sermons, even if he’s not quite sure how much stock he puts in all of this, and the music is good enough, even if he’s not one for singing himself. 

He doesn’t even mind the post-Church chitchat. In the fall and winter, the traditional spread of baked goods made by the women of the Church is usually served in the small auditorium. It’s cold when you first walk in and then all the bodies heat it up so that by the end Suzanne will be complaining that if they don’t want to put the AC on, they could just open a window or something.

Richard knows his role in this too. He stands off to the side with his plateful of baked goods, making sure to take the ones baked by Suzanne’s friends and avoid the ones made by anyone his wife is currently feuding with. He chats with some folk who wander over, always polite, but mostly people know him well enough to let him be and wait for Suzanne to finish talking with everyone. 

They have a good system. They walk through the line of food together which is when he puts on his best smile. Then he goes to a corner, she claims she has to use the restroom but takes her plate with her and stops to mill and chat with everyone on the way to the bathroom. She’ll finish her plate before she gets to the bathroom, throw it away, and then talk to many of the same people on her way back. He’ll wait and watch and when she starts looking a little tight around the eyes or flexes her left hand in that certain way, that’s when he’ll walk up and ask if she minds leaving. She’ll say of course, they will make their goodbyes, and that’s that. 

Sunday morning. 

Usually his time in the corner is almost meditative. He lets his eyes unfocus and eats just steadily enough that people can see he is eating and lets his mind drift. It may be a weird place to meditate, in a room filled with other adults, but it works for him. Coaching is a loud job, filled with the noise of teenagers and yelling and grunts and sounds just of working in a high school, really. And then Suzanne is not loud in the same way and he loves listening to her (for as little as he inputs, really he does), but she’s not a still person. She’s light and movement and laughter and she fills up a room enough that usually he is content to just bask in her presence. It’s more joyful than meditative. 

This, though. This is just right. His brain is already a little fuzzy from spacing out during the sermon and he’s bored enough that usually he would pull out his phone, but standing and relaxing in a corner is fine. Playing on your phone in a corner is rude. According to Suzanne. And he doesn’t disagree. So he’s a little bored, unable to do anything to fix that boredom, happy to turn the chitchat around him into a sort of gray static he doesn’t have to pay attention to and just… relax.

Of course, this week relaxing is a bit difficult.

He’d been busy in the week he’d gotten back from Samwell. He had booked that flight a bit last minute so it was fly out late, late on Tuesday and then leave Thursday midday to try to make it back for Thursday’s practice because he was the head coach of a football team and, goodness Junior better make it late in the playoffs when there is plenty of time for him to actually go up and see more of the games. 

So it was practice and then cram all the strategy and tape he was supposed to do Tuesday and Wednesday into Friday and game Saturday (a win, but a sloppy one if he is being honest) and it is now, Sunday, as he stands and watches people try to eat while holding a small paper plate filled with too much food, that he is finally able to think about it all. 

About the car ride and Junior telling him that he wasn’t acknowledging his relationship and getting upset and telling him that he needed to know he wasn’t messed up, like Richard would ever think he was messed up but the fact that Junior had to even ask was--

He blows out a breath. Not angry just… annoyed. At himself. And maybe a little but at Junior even though he shouldn’t be and he isn’t, he just--

Sometimes he feels he never got credit for the things he did do. He paid for all those ice dancing lessons even though he didn’t understood a bit of it. And then when it became obvious Junior was good, he paid for that private coach and went online to learn at least some of the terms even though he was never going to be able to give Junior any actual advice on anything. Which had… well, he could at least admit that that had been a bit of a disappointment. He loved teaching and coaching and yes, see, don’t rely on your elbow so much. Power’s in your shoulder-- there you go, feel the difference? He loved being a coach. But with Junior and ice skating… he looked up enough to sometimes manage a weak Remember to pull your arms tight and Junior would look up at him and smile and nod when he was little but he got older and better and eventually he had to stop trying. Because Junior was more advanced than any of the little tips he could find and he had that private coach to tell him what he was actually doing wrong and he didn’t want to look like a fool and certainly didn’t want Junior to get annoyed with him so…

He’d moved too. He and Suzanne. Packed up their house and he’d gotten a new job away from the kids he’d been coaching for years and they never talked about it with Junior, never wanted him to feel like it was his fault but his son wasn’t stupid. He would’ve thought that he made the connection between the bullying and the change of scenery, as it were. 

And then there was hockey, another sport for him to learn enough so he could at least understand what was going on and offer tentative tips, and Samwell and taking out a loan to cover what Junior’s scholarship didn’t and flying up to see at least some of the games and he’s tried to keep things as normal as possible after Jack. Tried to make it obvious that nothing had changed. That he viewed his son exactly the same. But even that hadn’t been enough.

He looks down where he’s holding his paper plate filled with post-Church snacks and realizes he’s crumpling it. But he can’t quite get his hand to loosen. Kids these days. And even thinking that made him feel old but it was true. Kids these days want everything spoken aloud, everything talked about, all mushy, like actions don’t count for anything anymore. It just-- he could count on one hand the number of times his daddy had ever said anything like “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” but he still knew it was true. Of course he knew. His father attended as many of his football games as he could and shook his hand on his wedding day, offered him a cigar when Eric was born...

And, really, he thought he had been being pretty obvious. Right after the Cup, he had started talking about Jack’s goal and his great game and congratulating him and he thought that was clear enough. That if Jack was important to Junior, than he would care about Jack’s sport as much as he could. And then he flew up to see Junior on a week where he could see Junior’s game and they could watch Jack’s game together too. Sure, he referred to Jack as Junior’s friend, but he… he didn’t know if boyfriend was the right word or if they were using partner and, okay, okay maybe it was easier to say “friend”, at least at first. Which, okay, was wrong. But also Junior didn’t even seem to hear the rest of what he was saying. He had gone up there and complimented Jack and Jack’s team and how Jack and Junior worked together and had thought he was being obvious about starting to invite Jack over for Christmas and somehow Junior still ended up yelling at him in the car. 

His mouth twists at that. That had been… not good. Not only because Junior had been hurt and crying, but because he’d been angry and yelled and he was pretty sure he mentioned that he had had to find out through the TV, like some stranger and he…

You weren’t supposed to tell your kids when they hurt your feelings. He knows that. He’s… he’s not allowed to get his feelings hurt, anyway, from the sounds of it. From the reading he’s done in the days he’s been back. The internet says that coming out is a personal thing and everyone makes their own decision and, according to most websites, it’s probably his fault. His and Suzanne’s for not being more openly supportive of people when Junior was growing up. For making him feel like he couldn’t tell them. And he doesn’t-- well, he doesn’t remember ever saying anything blatantly rude like that, he figures he’s usually a live and let live type, but apparently all those little things-- microaggressions, the internet calls ‘em-- apparently those add up. 

So, again, his fault. 

He shifts and swings his head to find Suzanne. It only takes him a moment; his eyes are long used to flicked through a crowd to find someone just her size with that specific hair color. She’s laughing, chatting with Ruby, and from the looks of it, he’s still got a while. Which is fine. He could go find one of the guys to chat with and, as the local football coach, there’s plenty of chatting he could do but he--

He looks as Suzanne and wonders instead. If her feelings are still a little hurt by Junior’s way of telling them. If she feels old and forgotten and replaced by all those friends he’s got up at college. The ones who knew first.

He pops a cookie in his mouth. Feels his stomach twist up as his mind flashes once again to that dumb car ride. And really, how was he supposed to know Junior even cared about his opinion anymore? He had all those friends and Jack and all the Falconers who all spoke out about it afterwards and there had been pictures with Jack’s parents who were there and clearly knew and Eric hadn’t even called them after. Not for hours and hours. 

He can’t help but think it wasn’t right. Suzanne had been beside herself with worry and called him over and over and Richard thought he was pretty okay, but he didn’t like when someone hurt Suzanne. Especially not Junior. Those two talked nearly every day, it seemed to him, and it was a hell of a time for his son to suddenly be so irresponsible with his mama’s feelings. 

He takes a breath. Lets it go. Those two have clearly made up and there’s no point in fighting someone else’s battle especially if they didn’t seem too torn up about it anymore. 

He wishes he had remembered that during the car ride. That he was better at not reacting with anger sometimes. At not getting all defensive. Then maybe the car ride would’ve gone smoother. Maybe that whole mess could have been avoided. And he wouldn’t still feel so embarrassed and guilty about it even though he thinks that maybe he’d finally gotten the message through on his way to the airport. 

Yes, thank God, at least that went well. He’s pretty sure. So Junior’s good with Suanne and good with him and Jack is coming down for Christmas so that’s that.

To be honest, he isn’t quite sure what to do next. Junior seems to watch him to talk and ask about Jack, but the internet said to treat the relationship just like any other and he isn’t sure he had been planning on talking to Junior much about girls except for maybe a quick check that they were being safe and he was being honorable and perhaps a “Is she expecting a ring?” or “Seems about time you went out and got one” talk. That’s about all he and his daddy had done. 

Other things he’s doing now-- reading up about things on the internet and planning to maybe pop over to the GSA at the high school when he thinks the other coaches can run the beginning of practice without him -- those things don’t come up in conversation much. At least not naturally. So there is no way to tell Junior. Not that he wants to. Would sound too much like bragging or trying to get points for doing the basics. Which, again, the internet tells him is bad. 

Watch gay movies (queer cinema, he says in his head, trying it out from what he’d read) is next. He has to make sure he looked completely comfortable with Junior and Jack kissing and the like when they came for Christmas. Luckily, the internet has a list of ones available on Netflix. Though, he’s not sure he’s supposed to talk to Junior about those either. He found one tweet or something in his search that seemed to imply that parents telling or asking their gay children about gay movies is awkward. Like assuming they all know each other. 

There seems to be a mighty fine line between not acknowledging that your kid is gay enough and talking about it too much and making them feel all different. It’s a shame he can’t ask Junior for some advice. But he’s already done enough damage. He’ll have to figure this out on his own. He had spoken disparagingly of parades and rainbows in the car because, sonuvabitch, that seems like a hellish way to spend a Saturday, what with the noise and the heat and people all crammed into a small area like that, but if… well if it would help Junior feel better, he could probably do it. For a couple hours. Maybe. 

He’ll have to talk to Junior directly more, he decides. Not just wait for major updates to come through Suzanne. He’ll have to--

“Hey, hon,” Suzanne says, stepping in front of him. He blinks and refocuses his eyes and wonders what brought her over. He doesn’t think it’s been as long as she usually stays. “You okay?”

“Wha- yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“Just checking,” she says. “You were just looking pretty intense, that’s all.”

“Just thinking about plans and stuff,” he replies. Not a lie. 

“Plans?”

“Football stuff,” now he’s lying. “Game was sloppy yesterday. Gotta tighten up.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she says, patting his arm. She knows more about football than people assume and she can talk strategy with him when he needs to, but she’s not about to do it in Church. Sometimes she gets enough gossip here to last her the week. 

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“If you want,” he replies. “I can stay longer if you want to talk to--”

“No, no,” she says. “You were up at Samwell this week. Let’s head back.”

He nods and accepts it when her path to the exit leads them through the center of the room rather than around the outskirts. There are hugs and kisses on the cheek and he nods and says goodbye when prompted and they are just about out when--

“Oh, the Bittles!” It’s Martha. Her last name escapes him at the moment but it’s not a big deal. He waits for Suzanne to finish her hug and then he leans down and gives her a polite hug as well. “How are you two holding up?”

“Just fine,” Suzanne says. Richard bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Did Todd make it today?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s got that new job so he’s just been busy, busy, busy!”

“Oh well, send him our love,” Suzanne says effortlessly. “And we certainly know what it means to be a bit busy. Especially this time of year!.”

“Oh yes,” Martha says. “It’s always like school starts up again and then suddenly it’s Christmas!”

“With somehow a thousand stressful football games in the middle.”

“Seems the weeks get shorter every year,” Richard adds which is what he always adds during this conversation. 

“And the football games get longer,” Suzanne stage-whispers to Martha where it gets its usual short laugh and Richard shrugs to say ‘What can you do?’ and he’s pretty sure they have a clear shot to the door once they finish this one. 

“Speaking of,” Suzanne continues and here it is, her exit strategy. “This one’s got to get home to plan for next Saturday so…”

“Of course, of course,” Martha says, waving them on. “Good luck!” and that should be the end of it, except Martha leans in one last time to Suzanne, speaks softly enough that Richard knows the comment wasn’t really meant for him at all, and says:

“We’ve been praying for you, you know. You and little Dicky.”

Suzanne’s smile goes a bit off-center but she is turning the lean into a quick goodbye hug already and moving and--

“Praying for Junior?” Richard finds himself saying. His blood has gone a bit cold somehow. “Why?”

Maybe he meant it to come out confused and dumb-like. It doesn’t. It comes out like he actually meant it: accusatory. Barely polite. 

Martha freezes. Suzanne sort of looks at him, her eyes flashing a bit of a warning. He doesn’t know if it’s to not cause drama or to just ignore it but he does neither of those things. He just stands and waits for her answer. 

“Well,” Martha says, glancing quickly around, probably to check who is listening. No one really appears to be so far. He hadn’t actually spoken that loudly. “Well, you know, with the… the… you know.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. Suzanne is definitely glaring at him a bit now.

“We’re not judging,” Martha is saying, voice almost a whisper. “We love Dicky. We do. We’re just keeping him in our prayers while he works through…”

She fades out or at least Richard doesn’t hear if she says more because all he can hear is his son worrying that he is messed up somehow, that he needs to be fixed, that he’s anything less than perfect.

“My son,” Richard starts and it’s a bit of a fight to keep his voice even. He clears his throat and tries again. “My son is the captain of his college hockey team, is graduating this May, and is currently dating someone who makes him very happy. A man. His boyfriend. My son’s boyfriend makes him very happy. He just told me. He is very happy.”

Richard takes a breath. Now people are looking. Not everyone, he hadn’t been talking quite loud enough to cause that, but people near them are looking and Martha’s mouth is sort of hanging open and, actually, Suzanne looks a bit shocked himself and suddenly Richard is very aware that he does not want to be the center of attention anymore. If ever. 

“I- Well I--” Martha tries to start up again but Richard cannot even express how much he does not want to hear it. 

“I reckon you should save your prayers for those who actually need ‘em,” Richard says. “Which doesn’t include my boy.”

He moves then. He doesn’t care what she has to say or what anyone else has to say, and, God help him, he doesn’t even know if he cares what Suzanne has to say, not if it’s something negative or worried about the gossip he just started. He just nods one last time at her because that’s what he does when he walks away from someone and takes a few quick strides out of the room. Then it’s down the hall and hang a left and there.

Outside. 

That’s a bit better. Suzanne is right. It does get too hot in there. 

He’s just sort of standing there, taking deep breaths, calming down, hands on his hips, when suddenly an arm links through his. 

He waits a beat before looking down at Suzanne.

Her grin is blinding.

“You are brilliant,” she says, standing on her tip-toes and that’s his cue to lean over for a kiss on the cheek and he can feel a blush coming on (Junior thinks he gets that from his Mama, but that’s all Bittle). “Brilliant! I wish I had a picture of her face. God, she’s been saying that shit-- excuse my language, Jesus-- that shit for months and I’ve just been ignoring it and you! You just… Brilliant!”

She is bouncing and happy and they walk to the car, arm in arm, like back when they were dating and, alright, let’s not throw a parade or anything, he tells her, well aware that he’s still blushing, but--

It’s a start.  

[csykora]

[A tabby cat curled up in the middle of a bubble hockey board. Or you, being comfortable in an athletic community that’s good enough for you]

Hiiiiii! I’ve been looking at ice hockey and it seems a cool sport and something that I might want to do as a hobby. Only Im disabled. Do you think I could still do the thing? Do you have ideas on how to start doing the thing? Ive often found it hard to do sports because coaches or trainers don’t know shit about disability and so have no clue how to teach you things or what you may or may not be capable of and telling them is useless because they make assumptions about your body and gah. Cheers

Hey—

Yes. Do the thing. Please go do it! I am not your coach, not your trainer, only friendly local bone witch—which I am very annoyed to have to say because you are a great athlete to work with.

Can I point out a couple things you just said?

You’re offering to do a trainer’s homework for them.

The early game didn’t have coaches. People milled on and off in whatever situations they felt like. Coaches and trainers came onto the scene so that someone was keeping track of who was actually good at what, when they needed support, and how to use them to best effect. That’s their whole gig.

Talking to folks on this blog, I’ve learned lots of people have this impression that capital-A Athletes have some factory-settings-standard body, any deviation a disaster (and they themselves can’t be athletes because they don’t.)

I think it’s very useful to smash this idea. Every athlete is a grab bag of weaknesses and weirdnesses, from old injuries down to handedness. Every coach longs to have three right-shot defensemen, and has made peace with the fact they’re not going to get them. Their job is to play with all the mismatched pieces they do have until they fit into a team.

If you present a coach or trainer with information about your abilities, and they don’t want to use that information, the problem you got right there is a shit coach.

Despite what the National League believes, there are more than 32 coaches in the world. 

Throw a stick up here and you’ll hit another amateur coach. When we’re little, if we get a shit coach or PE teacher, we get stuck. That does real and lasting harm, which I am happy to go on at length about, but to flip it around:

Now, you are a big Zee, who wants to learn to play as a hobby, with the goal of having fun. That’s a powerful place to be.

I won’t say there aren’t stakes: you could get hurt, physically or emotionally. Sharing information about your body with other people to try to keep yourself from getting hurt all the time can be hard. Playing can make you feel physically accomplished and capable in your body, which is a deep need I think we all have, so having to back away if a team does turn out to be shit is hard. So I don’t say “you can always quit a team” lightly, but…there is no threat if you quit a shit team, no one (who matters) will get mad or make you go back.That means you can advocate for yourself, and if a reasonable shot at advocacy reveals that a coach isn’t just unfamiliar with how to do their job for someone with your disability but uninterested in doing their damn job for a disabled person, you can wave them farewell and find another.

Now, our goal is for you to find a good trainer, who just needs to be given information about what you (not someone with the ‘same’ condition, but you specifically) have got going on.

I’m going to tell you to look up an adult learn-to-skate program. Most rinks will have regular learn-to-skate and learn-to-hockey programs spaced throughout the year (often paired so you spend “first semester” on skating before the people who want to move up to hockey). Look up different rinks, talk to people about the rink culture and the coaches there. If you have the time, maybe spend a while hanging out there watching the open skates, local team practices or public classes, getting a sense what it’s like and telling yourself you have as much right to be in that barn as anyone else. Then sign up for a class. But first I want you to be devastatingly, Hepburn-ishly confident in talking about what your disability means for you.

From the information you’ve just given me, I don’t know almost anything I would need to work with you. You may or may not know that information about yourself already, but you can figure it out.

“Mild hemiplegia” is not a super-medical phrase. Hemiplegia is complete paralysis on one side of the body, where you are unable to move those muscles on purpose. A mild to moderate loss of muscle strength on one side is hemiparesis.

These terms are, to be honest, mostly used to organize medical literature. They describe very specific signs that might happen for a variety of reasons. Other symptoms like loss of sensation, loss of range of motion, involuntary muscle spasms, or loss/delay of involuntary motion (reflexes), which may or may not occur with plegia/paresis, have to be specified and described. If I were treating you I definitely wouldn’t describe your case as “hemiplegia”, I would call it “hemiparesis” with a lot more descriptive words around that (and I probably wouldn’t use either when talking to you).

It’s not that you used a word wrong. I’m concerned that 1. people have made you think you have to use A Medical Name for your disability for it to be taken seriously, but also 2. because the stroke happened so early, you’ve actually been denied care and opportunities to learn about it.

1. First, for the record, you don’t have to justify your disabled identity to me. And while I really (really) understand the self-protective urge a lot of us have to try to say, “my condition is really real and serious, it has a Real Medical Name, please believe me”, I think that (outside of a legal context where you’re seeking protected accommodations) that strategy often isn’t as useful as we hope it will be to communicate with other people in our daily lives. The people who demand to see your Really Medically Serious card before making accommodations will always find something else to demand, while people who aren’t trying to be assholes will be better able to help you if they know exactly, practically how.

It’s not that one way of talking about your disability is wrong, but I want you to talk about it in ways that are useful to you, that help you connect with other people and get you what you want.

2. I’ve worked with a lot of elders who have paralysis or hemiparesis from strokes later in life, after being able-bodied for most of their lives, and doctors and therapists jump right up in there teaching and training them to “recover” that “lost function”. They/their families can’t not know all the medical words just from hearing them over and over. But what often happens when a person is disabled since childhood is that…they aren’t seen as having “lost capacity” that can be “saved”, but as having a baseline “low level of function” that’ll never change, so much less attention is payed.

I’m using the air quotes because many people’s disabilities are present throughout their whole lives, and someone’s disability or disabled identity is not just a “problem” to be solved or gotten rid of. But people with disabilities grow and change, especially when we’re, you know, children. What often happens is that parents/authorities encourage able-bodied children to play, practicing motions and building up their bodies’ ability to move, while children with disabilities get benched from practice, benched from not just one activity but from being active at all, which means being benched from developing their bodies in the ways that might actually work for them, and from developing relationships with their bodies.

Proprioception, for example, is a combination of some fundamental ability/capacity/threshold/potential/whathaveyou and skill developed through experience that changes in context. Ever seen a baby? None of them know where the hell they are. A baby that can crawl is let loose to explore the world and bump into things that trigger their nerves until their body learns to fit all that sensation information together and use it. A baby that doesn’t crawl for some other reason often doesn’t get a chance to explore, to experience those sensations or train up that skill. And a kid that has a different threshold for stimulation, who naturally seeks out more or less or a different sort, is often stopped from stimming in ways which would provide their body information they could process.

As an adult, you get the chance to look at what you want to do and how your body can do it again.

So…

I want you to go throw a ball at a wall. Try to catch it. If you do any exercises already, sit-ups or pushups, do some of those. Run around the block, jump around on your bed. Stretch or just swing your arms and legs around. Find some small objects to use as weights and lift them, with either arm and then either leg (or set them on the floor and see if you can push them).

Work your way up your body one limb at a time, first thinking just about that limb on its own and then comparing the two sides after you’ve done them both. Don’t put a value judgement on anything yet, just pay attention: if your feet feel okay after running around, if you had more strength in one spot than you expected, if you had fun jumping, if there was a time you thought you might wobble but were able to correct, count that too! Think about each activity you did, the sensations around it, and whether that stim was satisfying, overstimulating, or not stimulating enough.

I want you to be able to go to a learn-to-play program, ask to talk with the coach at an appropriate time during the application or orientation, and say things like, “I have this condition. This is what it means: I have less strength with one arm, but I can move it as fast as the other, and with the same range of motion. I don’t grip items as well with one hand, or I tend to grip very hard. I don’t feel this type of sensation in this area, but I do feel that”.

Your coach is then going to recommend exercises to build strength in particular areas, or modifications to exercises so that you can do them without needing to use a particular area; they might have you try different equipment (find a tape job or adapted hand position that helps you keep hold of your stick, etc), and they may also encourage your towards and start training you for a particular position where you could do the most. When it comes to sensation, they’ll know to watch you closer for injuries in that spot that you might not notice.

This came in while I was applying to go back to university, and I bribed myself through the short essay section by pausing every hour to eat chocolate and sketch out what I would have you do for hypothetical positions and exercise plans. That’s still a long way off, but I’m very invested, so a couple things I want you to think about as you work towards the goal:

Keep sled hockey in mind. It’s not always a fit for people whose disability involves their arms, but it’s a cool community and most rinks will offer clinics where you can try out a sled and get a sense of the game.

How do you feel about getting hit with a puck? From your description, stickhandling and shooting may not be super fun for you. They may be, but if you give them a fair try and start to fee discouraged, try picturing yourself as a defender focussing on positioning or shot-blocking, or a goalie. Some people never ever want to do it, which is fair, but if you’re at all interested I’d love to see you try some time in goal! Everyone’s different but some folks the weight of the pads and the focused role can be really good stimulation. If your handling or footwork doesn’t feel great, goaltending would let you focus on moving your body more naturalistically as a whole to position in front of shots. And everyone else will love you for volunteering!

Write back and tell us how it goes!

[thewritingstar]

Ah well were all at home better ask all 200 questions g, don't really know much about u

200 QUESTIONS???? ALRIGHT HERE YA GO. 

hope you enjoy me spending an hour answering all of these :) 

200: My crush’s name is: N/A 199: I was born in: 2000 198: I am really: nice 197: My cellphone company is: idk 196: My eye color is: Hazel, can turn dark brown or light green sometimes 195: My shoe size is: 8 194: My ring size is: 7 I think 193: My height is: 5′3 192: I am allergic to: penicillin  191: My 1st car was: Toyota  190: My 1st job was: Baskin Robbins  189: Last book you read: Suicide Notes (highly recommend)  188: My bed is: galaxy bedding and is currently on the floor in my bed fram cause my friends broke it... 187: My pet: Black cockapoo and a white cockapoo named Abby and Molly 186: My best friend: is a hoe 185: My favorite shampoo is: herbal essence color me happy  184: Xbox or ps3: I perfer Wii, Wii U or Nintendo switch  183: Piggy banks are: cute, Mine is a ducktales cup  182: In my pockets: nothing rn 181: On my calendar: nothing rn 180: Marriage is: a good thing but not a necessity for a happy life 179: Spongebob can: get it  178: My mom: is a queen  177: The last three songs I bought were? i only buy cds for my car so: Lover, Hozier, Blink 182 176: Last YouTube video watched: The Office deleted scenes 175: How many cousins do you have? 8 but I only see four of them and two of them are adults with kids so i consider them more of aunt and uncle figures 174: Do you have any siblings? One older sister  173: Are your parents divorced? Nope  172: Are you taller than your mom? Nope 171: Do you play an instrument? Nope 170: What did you do yesterday? Sat on ass and watched youtube 

[ I Believe In ] 169: Love at first sight: ye why not 168: Luck: yes  167: Fate: yes 166: Yourself: kinda 165: Aliens: yes 164: Heaven: mmmm yes i guess 163: Hell: yes 162: God: uhhhhh yes and no, kinda indifferent 161: Horoscopes: yep 160: Soul mates: yesss 159: Ghosts: ye 158: Gay Marriage: WHO THE FUCK DOESNT BELIEVE IN THISS?? ITS REAL  157: War: think it does more harm than good 156: Orbs: ye 155: Magic: ye i wanna be a wizard 

[ This or That ] 154: Hugs or Kisses: hugs 153: Drunk or High: drunk, i dont do drugs and i dont drink yet but ill prob get drunk  152: Phone or Online: oo i use both but Online i guess 151: Red heads or Black haired: Black hair 150: Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes 149: Hot or cold: HOT 148: Summer or winter: Summer 147: Autumn or Spring: Both 146: Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla  145: Night or Day: Day 144: Oranges or Apples: Oranges 143: Curly or Straight hair: I have straight hair but curly hair is also beautiful 142: McDonalds or Burger King: BURGER KING..I HATE MCDONALDS 141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: MILK 140: Mac or PC: Pc 139: Flip flops or high heals:...High heels prob 138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: SWEET AND POOR, IM ALREADY UGLY 137: Coke or Pepsi: NEITHER 136: Hillary or Obama: obama  135: Burried or cremated: cremated 134: Singing or Dancing: love both but maybe dancing rn 133: Coach or Chanel: Coach  132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: idk who they are 131: Small town or Big city: Big city, i grew up in a small town 130: Wal-Mart or Target: TARGET 129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Adam 128: Manicure or Pedicure: Mani 127: East Coast or West Coast: West Coast 126: Your Birthday or Christmas: Christmas  125: Chocolate or Flowers: Chocolate 124: Disney or Six Flags: DISNEY  123: Yankees or Red Sox: eww sports 

[ Here’s What I Think About ] 122: War:....does more harm than good  121: George Bush:....dont know enough to say but im pretty sure he was an awful human  120: Gay Marriage: It should just be called marriage, just because you’re gay doesnt make it any less or any more, its equal to other marriages  119: The presidential election: 118: Abortion: Pro Choice, no one has the right to tell someone what to do with their body 117: MySpace: i never used it cause i was too young but i bet it was lit 116: Reality TV: its funny af  115: Parents: are nice if they care about their child but if they are abusive or horrible then they dont deserve respect  114: Back stabbers: should be stabbed  113: Ebay: its nice  112: Facebook: full of idiots and boomers  111: Work: a scam  110: My Neighbors: they fine 109: Gas Prices: A SCAM 108: Designer Clothes: a nice but really $200 for socks, no mama 107: College: SHOULD BE FREE 106: Sports: fun but no one needs to make that much money for throwing a ball 105: My family: i like them 104: The future: is wild and idk at this point 

[ Last time I ] 103: Hugged someone: my mom like a few days ago 102: Last time you ate: at 11 today! 101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile:  100: Cried in front of someone: my mom after i yelled at her 99: Went to a movie theater: i saw Onward when we were allowed outside 98: Took a vacation: went to disneyland last October  97: Swam in a pool: like almost two years sadly  96: Changed a diaper: when i was like 8  95: Got my nails done: never got them done because my mom wouldnt take me cause i was a ‘tom boy’  94: Went to a wedding: never  93: Broke a bone: when i was three, my big toe 92: Got a piercing: my nose in January  91: Broke the law: i guess i sped the other day  90: Texted: literally as im doing this 

[ MISC ] 89: Who makes you laugh the most: my friend 88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: the silence of being alone 87: The last movie I saw: Princess and the Frog 86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: Moving for college 85: The thing im not looking forward to:  84: People call me: Deanna (real name), Dean, Star (what yall call me) ton of others 83: The most difficult thing to do is: idk  82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: never 81: My zodiac sign is: Aries 80: The first person i talked to today was:  79: First time you had a crush: Ive had  78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: my best friends 77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: my friends over ft  76: Right now I am talking to: no one 75: What are you going to do when you grow up: hopefully being an animator  74: I have/will get a job: at disney  73: Tomorrow: doing nothing 72: Today: doing nothing  71: Next Summer: hopefully not on quarantine  70: Next Weekend: nothing special  69: I have these pets: 2 doggos 68: The worst sound in the world: ICE SCRAPING OR MOUTH BREATHING 67: The person that makes me cry the most is:  66: People that make you happy: my friends 65: Last time I cried: few days ago  64: My friends are: my world 63: My computer is: a Dell  62: My School: is a community college  61: My Car: it goes 60: I lose all respect for people who: are bigots, dehumanize people, republicans  59: The movie I cried at was: Onward had me sobbing  58: Your hair color is: Brown rn 57: TV shows you watch: theres too many 56: Favorite web site: tumblr or youtube 55: Your dream vacation: every disney park  54: The worst pain I was ever in was: i think when i cut my finger or when i went to the hospital for my chest  53: How do you like your steak cooked: Medium rare  52: My room is: disney themed and my safe zone 51: My favorite celebrity is: Tara Strong  50: Where would you like to be: Disneyland 49: Do you want children: ehh maybe  48: Ever been in love: nope 47: Who’s your best friend: my neighbor that ive known since i was 4 46: More guy friends or girl friends: more girl 45: One thing that makes you feel great is: making cake  44: One person that you wish you could see right now: my cousin 43: Do you have a 5 year plan: not really  42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: ye 41: Have you pre-named your children: kinda 40: Last person I got mad at: my mom 39: I would like to move to: La 38: I wish I was a professional: animator

[ My Favorites ] 37: Candy: Kitkat 36: Vehicle: Cars 35: President: 34: State visited: California, Nevada, Texas, Hawaii,  33: Cellphone provider: 32: Athlete: n/a 31: Actor: Colin O'Donoghue 30: Actress: Lana Parrilla 29: Singer: Joe Jonas, Taylor Swift  28: Band: Big Time Rush 27: Clothing store: Hot topic, Ross,  26: Grocery store: Safeway  25: TV show: Once Upon A Time or PPG  24: Movie: Princess and the Frog and Ratatouille  23: Website: tumblr  22: Animal: elephant  21: Theme park: disneyland  20: Holiday: Halloween  19: Sport to watch: hockey  18: Sport to play:..i do not play  17: Magazine: i dont read mags  16: Book: Kingdom Keepers  15: Day of the week: Friday  14: Beach: one i went to in Hawaii  13: Concert attended: Jonas Brothers  12: Thing to cook: chowmein and strawberry shortcake  11: Food: Chowmein  10: Restaurant: my fav Chinese restaurant  9: Radio station: I don’t listen to the radio  8: Yankee candle scent: Vanilla  7: Perfume: Vanilla  6: Flower: Rose or Larkspur  5: Color: Black or blue  4: Talk show host: umm i dont watch many but i guess Jimmy Fallon  3: Comedian: Jaboukie Young-White or John Mulaney  2: Dog breed: Pomeranian  1: Did you answer all these truthfully? ye 

[sunriseskog]

comethru- Auston Matthews

Request: n/a this was entirely self induglent bc im sad and ive had comethru by Jermey Zucker stuck in my head for weeks

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: cursing, angst, dudes being assholes, mentions of tr*ding auston

A/N: ive been on hiatus for a long ass time so any feedback is more than welcome!!!! also i am fully aware that i used this gift for my last post but its hot and i dont care

It had been a little over a month since Auston left. No… that’s not quite right. It had been a little over a month since Auston left Toronto. It had been just barely under a month since you had left Auston.

You weren’t entirely sure who the trade surprised more, but you did know for a fact that it had had a far greater effect on you than it had on Auston.

He had remained optimistic in the beginning. After all, Buffalo is barely a 2-hour drive on a bad day. On a good day, he could probably make it in an hour and a half. But the two of you had quickly reached the conclusion that either of you driving 4+ hours a day wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t fair to whoever drew the short end of the stick, pun intended. You knew he would never ask you to move for him, hell even moving in together had been a stretch for you, but you also knew that there was an unspoken expectation that eventually the both of you would relocate closer to the arena.

Before he had even reached the border, you had managed to convince yourself that this short distance relationship would cripple your relationship before you could even begin filling out the US immigration forms to move with him, let alone actually convince yourself to do it. So you backed off. You knew that trying to exhaust what was left of the relationship would only end up destroying you the both of you more than was necessary, so you let go. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to pick up on the fact that you were becoming distant, taking longer to respond to texts, barely calling him back and conveniently timing your responses with the specific intention of him not being able to pick up. You may have been stupid, but you sure as hell weren’t subtle. You knew that as long you were the bad guy in the scenario, it wouldn’t take him nearly as long to get over you, and as long as you remained in control of the situation, you knew that you’d come out of the tail end of things perfectly fine.

And you were. You were absolutely, positively fine. But that was all you were. You weren’t good or great or doing well, you were just… fine. You were off-kilter, sure, but you were surviving, and that was honestly all you had come to ask of yourself. You were sure that the other shoe would drop soon enough, you had ridden the high and now you were at the plateau, but the comedown seemed to always be lurking around the corner.

One too many sleepless nights in a row had come to significantly impact your sleeping schedule. It had gotten to the point where your boss had come to expect your work day to end at 5 am instead of 5 pm. It was nice, though. To see the city when it felt like no one else could. To have your whole day to yourself, even though it was technically night. Everything was much quieter, and there were moments where it felt like you might be the only person in the entire city to be awake, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You rarely interacted with anyone, you didn’t even wake up until hours after the last of your coworkers had left the building, and every errand you had to run could be completed via the self-checkout of the 24 hr supermarket a few blocks away from your apartment building. You weren’t lonely by any means, you just so happened to be alone.

Except on game nights. You were never alone on game nights. Luckily, there weren’t very many Toronto residents that enjoyed watching one of their franchise players play in a different teams jersey, but you still couldn’t help but punish yourself by watching his games whenever they were on at the sports bar you frequented. You told yourself that as long as someone else put the game on, and as long as you left with someone new before the game was over, then it wasn’t nearly as pathetic as it seemed.

An issue arose the first time Toronto played the Sabres. You hadn’t checked the schedule, you just knew that there was a game. You also knew that if you were ever alone when a game was on you would curl up with far too much ice cream and a borderline dangerous amount of rum, neither of which were ideal. Immediately upon entering the bar, you knew that it was far too crowded for there to not be a Leafs game on, it was nowhere near baseball season, and the sea of blue jerseys couldn’t be for any other team. An involuntary wince consumed your face as Auston’s name reached your ears, it seemed like every congregation of fans in the entire establishment were talking about him, and a cursory glance at the nearest screen confirmed your fears.

The bad news was that if you stayed, you would have to watch Auston play, which was bound to be painful for any Leafs fan, but this one would hurt you just a little more than all the others— the knowledge that he was just across the city weighed heavily on your shoulders as you pushed through the crowd to find an empty stool somewhere. The worse news was that there was no way in hell a single guy in here would be willing to leave before the game was over, so you’d either have to watch all of it and then fuck the feelings away, or go home and watch all of it and probably end up crying for a majority of the third period. The former seemed like a more viable option at the time.

Now, though? You wished you had just gone home. Because it turns out you were wrong, there was a dude at the bar who was willing to leave before the end, as it would turn out, he was ready to leave before the second period was halfway through. That should have been your first red flag.

In your defense, you had a lot of other shit going on, and your brain was far too preoccupied coping with the stress that the game was bringing to consider the fact that the nice guy who had been paying for your drinks might not turn out to be that nice after all.

On the cab ride back to your apartment, you found out that his name was Sam and he was a lifelong Leafs fan. The two of you bonded over having grown up around hockey without actually playing it, and you even shared a cigarette at the entrance of your building’s lobby. It wasn’t until the two of you stepped into your living room that things took a turn for the worse.

The framed and signed Matthews jersey on the mantle had been more of a joke than anything else, all of your friends thought it was funny while the two of you were together, and you hadn’t had anyone over since the breakup, so you hadn’t found a reason to convince yourself to take it down. The look of disgust on Sam’s face as soon as he laid eyes on it would have been a fairly convincing reason if you actually gave a shit what he thought about you.

“That’s borderline sacrilege,” he commented, gesturing towards the display. You shot him an incredulous look, waiting for him to give any indication that he was making a joke.

“What?” You questioned, not really confused, just wanting to clarify if he was saying. What you thought he was saying.

“You can’t seriously call yourself a leafs fan and still support that guy! He’s a traitor,” He asserted. His over passionate gesturing indicated that he was genuinely this invested in the topic, which should have been your second red flag.

“I mean c’mon, (Y/N),” He continued. “You’re not stupid, are you?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at how pretentious and condescending he was being, without seeming to realize that he was acting like an absolute prick.

“I can assure you, Samuel,” You drawled sarcastically. “I am anything but stupid, but you have got to be absolutely moronic if you genuinely believe that I’m going to let you fuck me after speaking to me like I'm a goddamn child. Your kinks are your business but that's not really my style,” you sneered as you moved towards the doorway in order to invite him to throw himself out so you didn’t have to bother touching him any more than you already had.

“Now why don’t you get the fuck out of my house, dick head,” You spoke as your lip curled and your brow quirked, gesturing through the doorway to drive the point through his thick skull.

“Gladly,” He scoffed, slamming his shoulder into yours as he stepped past you. “Not like I’d want to fuck a whore like you anyways!” He shouted over his should as he started towards the stairs.

“Open your mouth that wide again and I’m gonna have to ask you to chortle my cock, Samuel” You responded, giving a middle finger to his back for your own satisfaction. You had never been one to censor your insults, and over the years they had become more and more lewd. This, of course, had never really presented itself as a problem until you caught the eye of your neighbor as you turned to storm back inside of your apartment. You couldn’t help but wince apologetically at the old woman, giving her a repentant head nod as you shuffled back inside.

You let your back hit the inside of the door, sliding roughly down until your tailbone hit the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Of course, the first substantial interaction you had in over a month would turn out to be a spectacular disaster. And of course, it was because of Auston. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t his fault, you just really really needed someone else to blame right now. You carded your fingers through your scalp roughly, and let out an elongated groan in the hopes that it would satisfy the overwhelming urge that you had had to scream at the top of your lungs for the past month or so.

As you stared at your own intertwined fingers in an attempt to calm yourself down, you couldn’t help but notice that your fingers were shaking. This wasn’t a recent development by any means, but this was the first time that you had noticed it being this aggressive. It usually only happened when you had coffee, which was why you had abstained from it for a majority of your life. As you looked back on what your routine had become, you realized that through all the late nights and later mornings, you had been popping caffeine pills and ordering espressos far more than the ‘one-time thing’ you told yourself it was. The realization that your life had done a complete 180 in the span of 5 weeks began to weigh on you, and it seemed like your mind was consumed entirely by flurries of memories of bad habits you had fallen back into and the lifeless moments you had spent floundering, convincing yourself that you were fine on your own, despite the fact that that was anything but the truth.

It didn’t take very long to find his contact picture in your recent messages. You hadn’t had much of a reason to talk to that many people lately. It took longer to open up the message thread, trying to prepare yourself to view the unbearably awkward finality of your most recent messages to each other. The preview underneath his name only served as a painful reminder that the last time he had texted you was to say that he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

You weren’t sure if he was going to respond, hell you went sure he was even going to read it. For all you knew it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he had blocked you a while ago. You knew exactly what to say, surprisingly, that wasn’t the hard part. Of the few letters that you typed, the closer you got to reaching out to him again seemed to calm you down more and more. By the time you tacked on the question mark at the end, your fingers had stopped trembling for there first time in what you could assume had been at least a couple of weeks. You let your phone drop to the floor as soon as you hit send, either he would be here within the hour or his response wouldn’t be worth reading. Those were the only options on the table. Either he was going to come and the two of you were going to get to be okay for a little while, or it truly was the end. If that was the case then you really didn’t want to see what he had to say. You heard your phone vibrate from where it laid just a couple feet away, and as much as the desire consumed you, you couldn’t bring yourself to move to see what it said. So you sat there, and waited to see if you would be able to hear those oh so familiar footsteps ascending your staircase again, responding to your oh so familiar request.

‘come thru?’

[goalcaufield]

hi! this is a weird ask but i’ve just recently gotten into hockey. i’ve grown up w baseball and college football my whole life so i’m not new to sports but in college i want to do athletic training and ice hockey is one of the sports id love to train for bc of how aggressive it is. i’m trying my best to learn the sport by watching re runs and games and stuff.. any advice or help? this is such a lame ask lmfao i’m sorry

!!!! you dont understand, i love when people ask me for help learning hockey:)

okay so, here’s what i say:

find a team to follow. if you don’t live in/near a hockey city then you’re in luck, you get to “pick” what team you wanna follow;) but you don’t always have to follow your cities team! it doesn’t matter honestly, but having a main team helps

learn what you can about that team. which player has what number, obviously. what really helped me when i started to learn hockey was actually playing the nhl games. ive only been into hockey for 3 years now, but it’s helped a tremendous amount

learn the rules. chances are you know what offsides are, learn the penalties. it isn’t that hard at all i promise. (just goalie interference because at this point no one fucking knows what it is, even the refs)

learn to hate. the. refs. it’s just a universal thing. we all hate the refs, besides wes macauley, we love him

world! junior! championship!!!!! this is a huge way to get to know the players that are gonna be drafted, players that are coming up through the system, everything like that. its also convenient that majority of it falls during winter break, and the gold medal game is always the first saturday of january.

i dont know how baseball playoffs work, and you might already know this, but our playoffs are best of 7, first to 4 wins and moves on to the next round

that’s all i can really think of right now, if you have any more questions you can send me more asks or you can message me! i promise i’m perfectly fine with teaching you:)

[bitsfordays]

Work Visits

Another part to my nurseydex children series! Ive offically deemed this Au “Things That Stop You Dreaming” and it can be found on AO3 under that title!

Enjoy Addy being cute af, plus an introduction to Bella! 

(pst, i posted this in two parts on AO3 but yall will get it all in one bc im lazy)

“Daddy, are we there?”

Derek sighed and looked at his daughter for probably the seventh time in the last 10 minutes he's been driving. This was the seventh time she asked.

“Addison, I know you have the route to the rink memorized, so I know that you know that we are literally in the arena parking lot. You don't have to antagonize me.”

Addison gave what could only be described as a shit-eating grin from her spot in the back seat. She swung her legs happily. “I know Daddy, but Papa says that I should mess with you more often. He says its funny”

Derek was going to kill his husband.

He pulled into one of the parking spots reserved for players families and shut off the car. He turned around so he could make proper eye contact with his daughter.

“Okay Addison, Papa is playing against Uncle Jack tonight. Uncle Bitty was in town already for his book tour and so he brought Bella with him and we’ll be sitting with them in the family section. Do you remember the rules for when Uncle Jack plays against Papa?”

“Boo when Papa gets checked but don't cheer if someone on Uncle Jacks team gets checked, unless it's by Papa.” Addison explained neatly.

“Anything else?”Derek prompted.

“Don't curse?”

Derek couldn't help but laugh. Addison had learned her fair share of curse words, despite only being 6 years old. It's what happened when a child had an uncle whose name was literally Shitty.

“Not quite, lovely but that's a good one. I was actually going for ‘don't heckle Uncle Jack.’ He needs to stay concentrated on the game ”

“Oh.” Addison shrugged her little shoulders. “I can do that. Can we go inside now?”

Derek laughed. “Yes, Addy. We can.”

They got out of the car and made their way inside, not even bothering to wave their passes at the security guards, who they knew by name and had for years now. They went to their seats in the family section, directly behind the glass and found their family already there.

“Bella!” Addison tore her hand from Derek's and ran to greet her best friend/pseudo-cousin. They hugged tightly in the way that only young kids could.

Bella was a year older than Addison but that didn't stop them from being as thick as thieves. They lived three hours apart so they didn't see each other often but they adored each other just the same. Bella was more soft spoken than Addison was,

“Nursey!” Bitty grinned and pulled Derek into a tight hug.

“Hey Bits.” Derek laughed and hugged the other man back, just as tight. “How was the book tour?”

“Oh, you would not believe...”Bitty launched into a story about his time touring for his newest cookbook and Derek let his thoughts drift as Bitty rambled on.

“Oh, there they are!” Bella interrupted her father, pointing down at the ice as the players skated on for warm ups.

Jack and Will  were both easy to spot. Even from under his helmet, Will’s ginger hair was easy to spot, just as Jacks distinctive blue eyes were easy to spot behind his face guard.

“Papa!” Addison jumped up and down in front of the glass and waved her arms furiously. “Papa! Papa, over here!”

Derek could see Will’s grin from the other side of the ice. Will waved at his daughter, who waved back energetically. Derek could see Jack’s shoulders shake as he laughed and saw Jacks mouth move in some chirp. Will grinned and said something back before they skated their separate ways to warm up with their teams.

Addison kept waving her arms, trying to catch her father's attention again until Derek had to put a stop to it. “Add,let Papa warm up in peace. You dont want to throw him off his game, do you?”

“Its preseason, Daddy, it doesn't effect the season.” Addison responded, not looking away from the ice. Bitty chuckled from his seat.

“Addison. Leave him be until after the game, okay? Then you can harass him as much as you want.”

“Fiiiiiineeeee.” Addison backed away from the glass and sat down between Derek and Bella with a pout but Derek couldn't help but chuckle. There were times where he wanted to do the same thing.

Addison kept pouting and Derek took pity on her. “Hey Addy, how about you tell Uncle Bitty how your skating classes have been going? Im sure he would love to hear about them.”

Addison perked up immediately and Derek smiled.

This was going to be a good evening.

Rangers beat the Falconers 4-3, with Dex getting the game winning goal at the end of the 3rd period. Jack clapped Will on the shoulder during the handshaking and from the stands, Derek could see him say something and Will laughed before they both went on to shake more hands.  

They met Dex outside of the Rangers locker room. He was sweaty and gross but he still beamed when he saw his husband and daughter. It made Dereks heart do flips, the same way it did when they met in college.

“Papa!” Addison tore her hand from Dereks and did a flying leap towards her father. Will dropped his hockey bag to open his arms as his daughter slammed into his chest. “Hi Papa! You played really good tonight!”

“Thanks baby.” Will hugged her tightly. “Did you enjoy watching the game with Uncle Bitty and Bella?”

“Yeah! Did you know Bella is taking figure skating classes? Im gonna have her show me all the stuff shes learning there and Ill teach her everything Im learning in my hockey skating class!”

“Thats wonderful, Addy-Girl.” Will smiled. He set her down and looked over at Derek. “Hey babe. Did you enjoy the game?”

“You know I did.” Derek smiled and kissed Will on the cheek. “Nice check on Jack during the 2nd. Had him rattled for a second there.”

Will shrugged. “He got me back in the 3rd, twice as hard. I felt my brain rattle.”

Derek frowned. “How's your head?”

“It's fine, Der. They got me all checked out and I'm fine.”

“Good. I like you better with your brain intact.”

“Same.”

“Quit being gross!” Addison jabbed Will in the leg to get his attention.

“Ow, Addison. That's not how you get people's attention.” Will chided.

“Sorry. Can we go see Uncle Jack and Bitty and Bella now?” Addison said.

“Sure. Lead the way.” Derek said.

Addison lead them around to the visitors lockers, just in time to run into Jack, Bitty and Bella, who was currently asleep on Jacks back.

“Nice game, Cap.” Derek said with a smirk.

Jack sighed. “I havent been your captain in over a decade, Nurse. Please stop.”

“Ah, but you were the best one Ive ever had. Sorry Bits.”

Bitty and Jack both rolled their eyes.

“We would love to stay and chat with you two but we gotta get headed towards the airport.” Bitty said. “Especially since Bells already asleep. Shes been up since 6am with me and is just bone tired.”                                                             

“Okay Bits. We’ll see you in a few weeks for the Falconers home opener. Wanna get dinner before hand, while our husbands do their thing?”

“Sure. We’ll see you then. Have a safe flight you three.”

“See yall later!”

The Zimmermann-Bittles walked away, leaving the Poindexter-Nurses on their own. Addison tugged on Dereks hand. “Are we gonna go home now?”

Will grabbed Addison's free hand and smiled. “Yes, Addy-Girl. Home for now.”

“Okay.” Addison gave a tired smile. “It was a good game, Papa.”

“Thanks baby.”

Together, the three of them left the area at the end of another good day.

Derek Poindexter-Nurse hates writing. Its difficult, its time consuming and tedious to do. He hates writing with an undeniable, fiery passion.

Which is why he does it for a living. Obviously.

When it comes to writing, Derek’s been lucky. Hot got published only a few years after college and he quickly made it onto the bestseller list. He has hordes of teenage fans who would probably commit many crimes if he asked them to, all of them clamoring for another installment, another book, another bonus story, another anything. He could give them a five hundred word shit stain and most of them would probably be content. Literally anything.

Which is of course, how Derek found himself holding down the ‘H’ key for ten minutes, thumping his head continuously on his desk, as if that will make the ideas come faster. Usually when Derek gets into a slump like this, he just goes and talks to Will but its early May and the Stanley Cup playoffs are looming in front of the Rangers, so Will’s at practice and will be for another four hours, meaning that Derek is stuck stewing in his own mind indefinitely.

Indefinitely doesnt last for long. Dereks stewing is interrupted by a knock on his study door and it being pushed open to reveal Addison in all of her 13 year old glory.

“Are you okay Dad?” Addison said, looking at her father with a mixture of concern and vague disgust.

“No.” Derek sighed. He thumped his head aginst the wood again.

“Um..” Addison walkedd ina nd leaned against the desk where Derkes head currently was. “Maybe stop hitting your head against the desk? I dont think getting a concussion would be very good for you. Besides, Papa’s gotten enough for the both of you.”

Derek leveled a glare at his daughter but he lifted his head off the desk and sat up. He rubbed the red mark on his forehead. “Ive gotten my fair share of concussions too, ya know. I did play hockey for a lot time.”

“I know, I know, all im saying is that Papa had a concussion like, a month ago. “ Addison shrugged. “So his might be a little more relevant.”

It was true. Will had gotten a harsh check and was out of the game for a while because of it. It was rough on all three of them, just as it always was whenever Will got hurt during games. It always made Derek worry, usually about how much longer Will could play in the NHL or if they should continue letting Addison play in her junior league. It sent his head in swirls and him and Bitty and Caitlin have spent hours talking about the stress of being married to three of the top players in the NHL. And Derek knew that their children have had similar conversations about being the children of NHL stars.

“Dad? Hello?” Addison waved her hand in front of Derek's face to get his attention. “You still with me or did you actually give yourself self a concussion? Do I need to drive you to the hospital?”

“You can't drive yet, Addison. You're 13.”

“I know but I figured that if you had a concussion you would let me try anyways.” Addison grinned.

“And that's where you're wrong.”  

“Worth a shot. So what's wrong?”

Derek let out a long sigh. “Writing is hard, Addy. Don't do it. It isn't a viable career. “

“I mean, it wasnt on my list. I was more thinking hockey.”

“Huh?” Derek stared at his daughter and his heart thumped extra hard. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Addison shrugged. “Its what makes sense and I like it a lot. Is there…..something wrong with that?”

Derek let out a breath. The idea of his daughter, his pride and joy, one of the two most important people in his life, playing a dangerous game that both him and his husband loved made him feel nauseous. He knew first hand how dangerous the game was and while he knew that Addison took after her fathers in her love for the game, part of Derek wished that she didnt.

“Just..be careful.” Derek said carefully. He didnt want to admit to her how much it scared him. “You have time to decide. Most kids your age have no idea what they want to do. But, me and Papa will support you no matter what, okay?”

“Okay Daddy.” Addison leaned over and hugged him tightly. Derek hugged her back, putting all of his concerns and hopes into that hug.

“So, how can I help you get past your writing block right now?” Addison asked, pulling away from the hug.

Derek glanced at his laptop, which was just showing a word document full with the letter “H”. An idea tickled at the back of his brain. Something about an over-do meeting between a main character and their parent. A nice conversation about fears. Derek grinned

“You've already have.”

[sincerelyjanies]

“In some families, ‘please’ is described as the magic word. In our house it was ‘sorry’.”

before.

I

Janie is eying Jo’s giddiness. It’s not like Janie has never seen her best friend giddy, it’s not even like Jo’s a miserable person who never feels joy. It’s just that there’s something to this emotion that sends a signal of something changing to Janie. Jo is a quiet girl, like her.

The look on her face… it’s like all her dreams have just come true. And if Janie didn’t know any better, she’d say it mirrors the face she had gotten when Nate admitted he liked her back. It was that feeling you could only get from love: that feeling like a balloon that made it feel like your heart, your happiness, had expanded beyond you.

When Janie asks, Jolene goes a red that contrasts with her orange hair as she mumbles something into her turkey and swiss, brushing it off as nothing.

after

II

Janie is laying in bed, curled into a ball. Loud, angry sounding music is blasting from a stereo that she hadn’t touched in years. Long after sleepover dance parties and fake concerts between her and Jo had ended, but she’d popped in an old death rock CD and if her mother were home, she knew that the stereo would be taken away and a lecture would be given.

Janie doesn’t hear the music. She doesn’t feel the angry beat of the drums and the shouting that seem to rock everything on her shelves. She is numb, lying in a bed two weeks after Jo’s funeral.

Her mother had washed the sheets and remade the bed yesterday. This had made her so angry, as if her mother had taken another piece of Jo that Janie could never get back.

She knows early that she heard Nate outside the window, somehow. The music was loud and she was enough her comforter, despite that fact that May had bleed into mid June, but she could hear the window rattle distantly.

Nowadays, Nate feels like a distant dream, but sometimes he’s right in front of her, touching her cheek. She just feels so alone and she keeps calling Jolene’s cell, hoping against hope it’s a joke. Jo will be leaving for Chicago. She was going to be an engineer, and she’s going to answer and tell Janie about her dorm and classes and her roommate, Carrie.

But Jo’s phone was missing. Missing, just like Jo had been. Like the matching charm bracelet she had with Janie. The one with the Ravenclaw charm and the matching sea horse and carousel horse.

Janie’s wrist still has the charm bracelet, and she presses it tight to her chest, and a piece of her thinks about how she didn’t give Jo the last charm and how they were supposed to shop for dorm room things in Terre Haute in July to shop for shower curtains and comforters, and all she can do is cry about that.

before

III

Caitlyn Gallagher is skateboarding away, down the long hill in the back of the school that leads to Sweet Pea Drive, and Jo is watching her leave, a big stupid grin is plastered on her face. Her back is to Janie as the small girl comes up to her, her notebook opened to trig equations. “I hate Mr. Brenner,” she whines, looking at her notebook with red cheeks and a pout on her lips.

They’re in their usual spot, waiting for Nate, his siblings, and Henry. To Janie, nothings changed. Everything is as it always was. She doesn’t see that Jo’s in love and is currently watching as Caitlyn skates into nothing more than a memory.

Jo hums and turns to her friend when the red head is gone. “We can study later, if you want to.” Janie looks up finally, beaming and hugs her friend.

“Jolene Grace Olsen, you’re the love of my life.”

It’s a would-be-ill-timed statement, because behind her stood Nate and a bunch of middle schoolers, one including Clara Gallagher who is holding a skateboard of her own, blowing a massive bubble with her chewing gum. Soon, she too follows suit of Caitlyn and skates down the hill, holding up her middle finger to one of her friends who shouts something at her.

Janie is kissing Nate’s lips softly and Jo sees, then turns to look back at the hill, thinking of Cait again, but no one knows or asks.

Janie links arms with her best friend and they begin to talk as always. She’s nervous about acceptance letters that should be coming in soon.

A normal girlfriend would be glued to her boyfriend, a different type of boyfriend would have felt annoyed by being a third wheel to a best friend, but the girls know Nate’s aware that he stumbled into a sisterhood that runs deep. Janie’s first choice is Jo, and Jo’s is Janie.

after

IV

He’s talking to her. They’re laying next to one another, but she can’t hear a word of what’s being said. She tries to listen, feels guilty that she can’t. She’s playing with her charm bracelet. It spins and spins, making noises. Charms clank and the noise is the give away that Janie truly isn’t here.

She’s staring at her charms, as if they are talking, giving clues as to what happened and why.

Elephant charm: the one Jo gave her for her tenth birthday. Clover charm: for her acceptance to William and Mary. There’s a charm that’s not from Jo, and it makes her mad. She pretends to be mad at Nate for it. It’s easier to place this upon him. He got her a charm and she shoved it eagerly on her charm bracelet. The one she shared with Jo.

It was their thing.

She’d taken it off one night and threw it against her wall. She thinks it landed in her hamper but pretended not to care.

The bracelet spins like a carousel, and her mind is blank. It’s empty and hollow, but deep down she just wants to call her best friend and tell her how she feels. They’d talk about this loss and go to the bowling alley for cheese fries and then go for a drive. She had made Jo a mixed CD  her trip to Chicago.

Jo’s car was too old for an aux cord. Janie didn’t even have her license yet. She was supposed to get it in the beginning of June. She’s going to live in Pennsylvania soon, so it’s practical.

It’s July now and a piece of her mind thinks she should get it before August.

She feels Nate tighten his grip around her waist, but she doesn’t register it. She thinks about Jo’s car. Earl, the clunky Toyota hatchback that could hardly start is probably still there in the driveway, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. Just like Janie.

before

V

The three of them are at the Bowling Alley. Lucky Strike hasn’t been cool since eighth grace, but neither of them care. Lucky Strike has the best cheese friends and neither girl has ever wanted to party down by the reservoir - the cool thing to do.

Janie is sitting beside Nate, he has his arm draped across the back of her chair and Janie is talking fast, her whole body alight and animated as she talks about a book they’d recently read. To an outsider, it’s clear that Nate, despite being the boyfriend, is the duo’s third wheel, and Jo likes that he doesn’t feel threatened by it. Other boys would’ve told her to get lost, but Nate seems to understand that Jo got here first. She had dibs.

When Caitlyn comes in with Clara, who takes off to join her friends, Jo’s throat dries, but no one seems to notice that or the way she’s looking at the red head.

If Jo’s hair is orange, Caitlyn’s a deep shade of red, almost like an autumn leaf. Her face - her entire body, really, is covered in freckles that Caitlyn says she doesn’t hate, which is rare for a redhead.

Caitlyn is standing beside Tally Edwards, a girl in their class. The lesbian. The one who chopped off her hair and screamed. The girl Jo most envies. She’s the one people know, but not the only one who likes girls.

Caitlyn is a year younger, and she’s somewhat popular in the way sporty girls seem to be. She’s the captain of the girls field hockey team and plays ice hockey. She once told Jo that the track coach wanted her to tryout, but she hated the idea to run for sport. She loves running up by the old abandoned mill where the hills are so steep. She had introduced Jo there. Or, really, reintroduced Jo. She hadn’t been there since her and Janie were ten, when they believed it was haunted and tried to spend the night before Henry accidentally told.

She’s so pretty. It’s all Jo can think as Caitlyn steals some fries. She, Tally and Nate get their own table, their own fries, but Jo wishes they’d stay just as much as Janie wishes Nate wouldn’t leave. Neither will say it aloud though. Janie doesn’t want to look obsessed and Jo doesn’t want the questions.

Despite being a year younger, Caitlyn is way more confident than Jo. Sometimes, Jo thinks about throwing caution to the wind and telling the world she’s in love. She knows Caitlyn would too. She’s had two boyfriends prior to Jo, but Jo was her first time.

Janie had told Jo the slight details of her and Nate’s first time: the atmosphere, all the candles and the music, she talked about how there was a slight pressure but she didn’t bleed or feel torn apart. She had been too red face to share more, just that it’d been everything she could have hoped it to be.

“Are you okay?” Janie asks, head cocked to the side and Jo blushes, realizing she’s been staring and mumbles a yes.

after

VI

She found a photo of Jo she took on her polaroid. The room is dark, sans the glow from a nightlight she had to recently uncover from a box beneath her bed. The dark has begun to scare her. She swears she hears Jo begging for help, or worse, mercy, and even worse, her.

She’s sitting in the middle of the floor, clutching it like it’s a life raft. Jo is laughing, she thinks it was taken around Jo’s fifteenth birthday. Regardless, they were in the barn. Jo is sitting so her legs dangle off the edge of the hay loft and Nate is beneath her, off to the side, laughing.

Janie wants to crawl inside the photo and never leave.

She doesn’t remember the joke or what made her grab the camera, and that makes her sob like nothing else has yet.

before

VII

Janie is holding up her new polaroid camera. It’s from the thrift store, but Janie doesn’t care. She should be careful with her photos, the films expensive, but she’s snapped three of Nate with no signs of stopping by the time Jo rides in on her bike.

Janie turns, camera in hand, and snaps a photo that causes Jo to protest.

“I cannot wait for your project to be over,” Janie says as they lay in the grass, cloud watching. Jo makes an agreeing noise, but says nothing. Her and Caitlyn’s French assignment ended weeks ago. She knew Janie would understand, but lying has become the only clear logic she has, and she hates herself for it.

Janie is playing with grass and Jo knows Nate is content with their silence, but Jo feels restless. The lie seems to weigh down her chest and she wants to bellow the truth. Maybe she’d scream so loud, it’d make a tornado and her chest would be weightless.

She doesn’t do any of that, though. She’s tried to tell Janie, many times. It’s always a variation of an excuse: Nate’s here, she’s tired, I’m tired, it’s late, we’re at school, it’s not the right time. They pile together and soon, she’s know they’ll explode.

Janie knows something is wrong, it’s the way she turns and eyes her, but instead of asking she grabs Jo’s hand and smiles.

after

VIII

“I miss you,” she’s saying to Jo. They’re up in the loft. Jo is going on about graduation details, pacing back and forth by the ladder. Janie is laying in the hay, watching her move back and forth. “I miss you so much,” she whispers and a sob is clinging to her voice.

“My mother was going to by streamers, Janie! Streamers! As if we’re five!” She’s venting as if this is somehow a tragedy. And to Jo, they would’ve been. Streamers were, after all, for babies.

She can hear Nate bellow by the ladder, but she doesn’t really hear him, she’s watching Jo pace and talk, and she’s clinging to this mirage of her best friend venting about a party the Olsens’ aren’t having for something she died to early to attend.

Graduation is tomorrow. She’s supposed to give a big speech, but she hasn’t written a single world.

Jo turns, smiling, just like she did when they parted ways at Sweet Pea road, back when they were going to sleep over. “There’s something I need to tell you. Later, though. Okay?” There was no later and she curls her arms around her head, wishing she could scream. She’s scream so loud she’d rip a hole into time. Henry always talks about things like that. He’s nine, but so unbelievably smart.

She hears the ladder rattling, feels Nate beside her, and she wants to curl into him. She wishes he’d yank the pain from her, or tell her how she’s going to move on. Nate is, without a doubt to her or Jo, the love of her life, but Jo was a piece of her she realizes she may not be able to live without.

before

VIIII

“God, he’s such a creep!” Jo hissed beside her. They’re watching Eddy retreat down the hall and Janie sighs, but says nothing more.

Janie used to tolerate Eddy’s crush. She’s not mean, she just… doesn’t like him. Not like that, but lately, she hardly stands him. He antagonizes Nate, and she gets the sense he wants to own her, not love her. She and Nate are partners, and she can’t imagine having a love that feels like ownership.

Caitlyn passes them, and in the pass, she and Jo exchange a note that Jo puts in her pocket. Janie is busy maneuvering the crowded hallway to notice and Jo feels grateful for that.

Later when Eddy finds Janie she’s in the library with Nate, studying. He’s glaring at the scene when Jo shoves past him. Jo is not a confrontational girl at all. But the way he leets and borderline stalks Janie creeps her out. She knows Eddy is giving her a death look, and Jo pretends not to care. He kind of scares her, but nothing scares her as much as Janie’s older brother, Frankie.

Frankie has never done anything to Jo. In fact, he avoids his younger siblings entirely. There’s something about him that terrifies Henry and Janie. Henry avoids him at all costs, and Janie told her a story how once, when she was four, he talked her into going into the pig pen at their Uncle Hank’s farm. He had been seven, and knew things about animals. Janie had been sure about that when she told the story, and her face had been pale thinking about how her uncle had seen her go in from the kitchen window. Frankie had gotten a belt to him, and Janie stopped telling it abruptly. Jo knew and Janie knew that Frankie had meant harm, but neither girl said anything.

Frankie has this look in his eyes Jo has never seen in another human being. He’s dark and it sends chills down her spine. Jo keeps her mouth shut, though. He’s Janie’s brother and that means something. And she loves Henry.

Janie’s younger brother, Henry, can be really annoying. He’s loud, enthusiastic and talks about things no one cares about, but Jo can’t help but melt around him, especially when he grins. He’s pure and innocent and the most genuine person she knows.

Throwing a warning look across her shoulder to Eddy. Avoiding Nate and Janie’s table, she goes to the back of the library where the old AV room that’s been abandoned since they moved to the room by computer lab years ago is. She knocks softly on the door and it opens hardly a crack and she grins and goes in.

after

X

Janie is laying beside Nate. She, like him, is naked and covered in sweat. She’s facing the wall of his bedroom, her eyes unseeing as she looks ahead. It’s so hot in his room, but she’s wrapped in the sheet as if it’s below zero outside. She regrets doing this. She shouldn’t have. She knows that.

Earlier, she’d been in his room, searching for the girl she’d been back in May.

Janie had been eager for life; she’d been eager for the future. She had hung up her acceptance to William and Mary on the bulletin board above her desk. She had the supply list beside it, ticking off her accomplishments as she’d finished them. Her bedroom calendar hasn’t been touched.

Before, Janie crossed out every single day to the start of college, which had been circled over and over again. September felt forever away that March when she wrote it down, now it’s coming so fast she can’t even breathe. Janie’s calendar still reads May and Jo’s disappearance is left uncrossed.

She’d been so scared to leave Nate in the fall. Jo was going to Chicago, and she felt scared to be apart from them. She was sure Nate would find a better girlfriend and Jo would find a best friend who loved architecture, science and Star Wars as much as her and forget all about her.

Ironic how that turned out.

She shouldn’t have used him. He’s the love of her life, she shouldn’t look for emotions in their sex. It’s always made her feel beautiful and loved, but this time felt empty and mechanic. Janie knows she’s being unfair, but she can’t stop.

If she’s not sad, she’s angry and resentful, and if she’s not that, she’s robotic and empty.

Henry and Nate are the only ones who seem to care, so it’s easier to be mad at them. Janie never knows why she resents them, and she hates herself for it.

Her parents are useless. They act like nothings wrong, as if it’s hormones and not depression.

Janie’s grief stages are erratic. She’s not even sure if she’s in the grieving stage. Depending on the hour, she bounces around between depression, anger, denial and bargaining.

Nate tries to touch her shoulder, but she lets out this gasp like he’s burnt her flesh. Jerking away, she gathers up the sheet and hides her body from him, making excuses on why she needs to leave. Janie knows that he knows she’s lying, but she can’t stop herself. Maybe there’s a stage of grief that shoves people away who love you. Maybe it wants her to ruin Nate and Henry. She has already ruined herself, why not the rest of the good in her life?

before

XI

Janie runs into the barn. Nate is doing backbreaking work, and Janie launches herself at him, a letter clutched in her hand. “I got in!” she’s shrieking with joy.

William and Mary has been her dream college since middle school. Her parents had taken them to Williamsburg, and her mother had taken her on a tour of the campus. Her Aunt Meg had gone there, and the moment Janie entered the campus, she felt at home. She just knew this was where she belonged.

Jo had been accepted to the U of Chicago the week prior. Jo had always loved the idea of being lost in a big city, but not Janie. The idea of being  lost had always scared her. The idea of being far from Hawkins and Jo and Nate scares her, but she’s so excited.

“We’ll stay together, right? This won’t end for us, will it?” she asks him that night. She’s curled against him and tracing patterns along his torso. That was March and the world had been theirs. She closes her eyes as she kisses his chest, smuggling closer and wishing they could stay there forever.

after

XII

A black dress, that’s what she wore. Jo hated black. She vented about the myth of black being slimming more than once. Jo loved color. Her favorites had been electric blue and neon pink. “I love the eighties,” she’d say with a grin.

Her hair had been too short for scrunchies. Jo always kept her hair short, pixie-like. Unlike Helena, who Jo envied, her hair had been a more orange hue and had an awful kink if it grew past her chin. It would be stick straight at the top, and then, like a week, grow in toward her neck and then out past her shoulder. Jo had cried after the many attempts of fixing it. She loved long hair and had almost cried when Tally Edwards had sheared off all of hers.

Janie had been meant to read a eulogy. She knew Jo would’ve been strong enough to fight past the pain, but Janie can’t. The words she has no memory writing blur into a fog and she looks at the paper, flushed, thinking how she should’ve teased her hair and worn a neon pink scrunchie and electric blue dress and eye shadow.

When Jo’s dad comes beside her, touching her lightly on the shoulder, he assures her that it’s okay. He has tears in his eyes as he leads her back to her seat by the front. Her mom is looking at her with shame and disgust, they raised her to be stronger than that.

Turning she finds Nate and his family. Henry is beside her and he squeezes her hand and she wants to cling to his neck and sob, but somehow she looks ahead with dry, hard eyes.

When the casket lowers, the noise Jo’s mom makes is something Janie has never forgot. It was like someone tore her soul apart, and Janie is just looking at the white casket lowering further and further away from them.

Soon, she will be putting a yellow rose and dirt upon it. Janie thinks it should’ve been sunflowers. Jo always liked sunflowers.

When it’s hurt turn, she bites back bile and a sob claws her throat, but she just stands there, thinking that she and Jo should go to the sunflower field again, that Jo would like that. She’d take polaroids. Monday when they go to the mall, they’ll do the photo booth as their last hurrah before college.

before

XIII

They’re at the park on the swings. Jo is almost flying, Janie is more subdued. She’s worried and Jo slows, then stops.

“I keep thinking how this is the end of an era, you know?” She answers when Jo asks her what’s wrong.

Jo snorts. “Jane, we are always going to be best friends. I demand it to be so, and we have matching charm bracelets. That bonds us for all eternity,” she says matter of factly, shaking the bracelet in Janie’s face. She smiles and grabs her best friends hand and they share a grin. Then Jo’s slowly fades and she opens her mouth, swallowing hard.

Jo wants to tell Janie. Now is a perfect time as any, but she can’t, and she voices her fears of college instead.

after

XIIII

“Janie, you have to talk him. At least say goodbye!” the Jo of her imagination says. She’s sitting on the bed as Janie meticulously folds her fall sweaters and places them in the suitcase in front of her.

She has nothing new for school beyond a set of zebra print sheets Jo made her buy, a floral shower curtain and some room decor. She and Jo had way more plans and she’s shamed by the fact that she’d wasted it when Jo couldn’t go.

“I can’t,” she whispers, unable to ignore the ghost anymore. Jo has been there everyday the closer September came. She hasn’t seen Nate since that night, almost over a week.

He comes by, but she hides under the comforter and hasn’t opened her curtains since May, anyway.

Janie knows she can’t say goodbye to him. She wants to; she even wrote him a letter one night, trying to explain, but she tore it to confetti and curled into her bed.

Henry came in one day and yanked the cover off of her and yelled at her for treating Nate this way, so her door has been locked since then and her room feels more like Rapunzel’s tower now, and she’s too scared to let down her hair and let the prince in.

“Janie talked to him. Please! You love him, don’t throw that away.”

Janie folds another cardigan and soon Jo is gone and she is truly alone.

before

XV

It’s May. Jo and Janie were supposed to go to Terre Haute and do more shopping tomorrow. Janie was going to spend the night, but called to cancel. Asher is in the hospital and that makes Jo’s heart freeze.

Asher is tiny and cute, and the idea of him sick and looking small in a bed with IVs in his arm makes her blood go cold.

“No, it’s fine! I’ll bring him something fun tomorrow. I promised him I’d teach him crazy eights, but I haven’t had time, but tomorrow I’m going to make time!”

When they hang up, Jo plays with the carousel horse charm. She’s a month shy of eighteen, but all she could think of was tonight she planned on telling Janie. She keeps blaming fate, but she’s a coward. Her and Janie are intimate in a way best friends are. They’ve shared a bed, skinny dipped in the pond, got undressed together during sleepovers. All that could be taken different, seen with new eyes and that scares her.

Janie would fiercely support her, and while she knows that, the fear wins every single time.

Soon… Soon, she will tell her.

after

XVI

There’s a lot Janie loves about college. Her roommate, Clemence, is nice. She’s from Delaware and they bond over small towns.

She loves the library and her ethics class, but her favorite place is the coffee shop off campus. When she was younger, she knows she’d imagine the perfect romance. Now, she imagines Nate finding her there.

It’s almost Thanksgiving and Janie hasn’t made plans to go home. She knows she won’t, she’s a coward.

If she saw Nate now, she don’t even know what she’d say? A sorry. How pathetic.

She sits there and thinks about him, wishing she was back in Hawkins just to know he was okay, that she hasn’t broken him, that he’s free of whatever they were and chalks it up to young, puppy love.

Deep down, Janie knows that’s a lie. They were real, and that’s the tragedy of it all.

before

XVII

Janie is laughing as she’s holding up their display. “Frankie has a spare in his room, I’ll hold it and you grab it.”

They’re building a solar system model with Henry and Asher, Jo hesitates and nods. Henry eyes her, but he’s holding three planets and Asher has Orion’s belt and Jo just sucks it up. Frankie isn’t here and he won’t know.

Hurrying, she runs up and opens the door, paling. It’s dark in here. He has blackout curtains and it smells sweaty. Everything looks purposely placed, and she wonders if that’s just paranoia or the truth. Taking a deep breath she goes to the dresser by the window, looking at everything. She’s scared to touch any of it, but Janie wouldn’t send her up here if there was any real danger.

They’re borrowing wire cutters for crying out loud!

Henry accidentally cut a thicker piece of wife and they broke in half. Surely they’d go to a hardware store and replace them if Frankie real was dangerous, she justifies to herself after another deep breath.

She’s so busy convincing herself she’s safe that she accidentally knocks a coffee canister to the floor. Cursing loudly, she drops to the floor and frantically begins picking things up. There’s normal shit like spare change and random lint, but then theres weird shit like rocks and when she reaches her hand beneath the dresser, she freezes. Pulling it out, it looks like one of the bracelets her and Janie used to be obsessed with making in elementary school. They had them as bracelets, necklaces, keychains, but Frankie doesn’t strike her as sentimental.

Looking at it, something feels wrong. It’s just a little kids bracelet, but why is it here? So along with the wire cutters, Jo leaves with the bracelet in the pocket of her denim jacket, her heart racing.

When she asks Janie after their done and Henry and Asher are outside playing, Janie doesn’t seem to recognize it. Jo says nothing more and when she leaves, the bracelet is still in her pocket.

She doesn’t know why this is important, but something isn’t right here. Frankie is not sentimental. That’s the only fact she has to go by. If Janie gave him a bracelet, he’d have thrown it out immediately back then, and the alarm bells wont stop ringing in her head.

By the time she gets home she’s covered in cold sweat. She’s afraid of what this means and when she shuts her bedroom door, she rushes to her bed and goes to the loose floorboard and takes out her box.

Jo’s small jewelry box didn’t really have things that are secret enough to warrant a loose floor board. Before, it was just to be cool and she showed Janie once. Now, the box hides letters from Caitlyn and this bracelet.

after

XVIII

She can’t believe she left him. She just can’t! Janie is laying in her dorm a week after she left and the guilt of what she’s done is drowning her.

Jo hasn’t visited her in awhile, but she can see the ‘I told you so’ face she’d wear so clearly in her mind and Janie swallows hard.

Janie tried to text him, but what could she even say to him? Nothing. That’s what. Literally nothing she can say will make up or fix what she’s done.

Curling into a ball, she decides to sleep and when she wakes she’ll call him. Even if she says nothing it’s better than what she’s done to him.

before

XVIIII

Frankie leans against the counter. At six feet, he’s an inch shorter than Nate, but unlike Nate, Frankie looms menacingly over Janie’s petite frame. She stiffens at his presence, but is pretending to focus on her task of chopping the vegetables in front of her.

When it’s obvious he’s not going to say anything until she does, she goes, “What’s up?” but doesn’t look at him.

He looks at her for another moment and then goes, “Did you go in my room?”

This makes her freeze.

She doesn’t know why, but the question was asked casually, and he knows he’s looking for an answer. If she lied, he’d know, and that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge.

“We borrowed your wire cutters. Dad’s broke. Why? Did I put them back in the wrong place?”

He won’t stop staring at her and she’s trembling slightly and can’t bring herself to cut anything. Then he just smirks at her, as if he pieced something together and leaves.

Janie watches his retreating form through the reflection in the kitchen window, but says nothing.

He’s just Frankie being Frankie. That’s where she forces herself to leave it at that, because everyone knows his room is off limits. No one knows why, but Janie tells herself she respects it. She hates when her mother snoops in her drawers, looking for signs that Nate is having sex with her, or something else his poorness does that’s so offensive.

Janie shakes her head and once she’s calm, she begins to go back to her task.

after

XX

She stayed on campus. That was the decision as she sits in the empty mess hall with her bowl of cheerios the morning of Thanksgiving.

It’s empty on campus and she’s now physically alone to accompany her mentality.

Janie saw Eddy at her coffee shop earlier that week, before everyone but the foreign students who don’t have a reason to fly back home for a few days left. She invited him to sit and it was nice just to talk to someone from home. Someone who knew the her before Jo’s death and the one who knew her now. He seemed to understand that she was grieving and not like the girl he knew all those years at Hawkins High, but didn’t harp on it. He apologized for Jo’s death and they just talked.

He’s at a college in town and he gave her his number. It felt weird to have it in her phone. She knew Jo would want to prank call him, or something just as immature, but for some reason, Janie likes that she can rely on Eddy.

Eating her cheerios, she knows she’d be playing with her charm bracelet about now, but she took it off in September. It is laying beside Nate’s necklace she used to wear; the one with the ballet slippers that she adored. Even though Nate didn’t know her as a dancer, he understood why she stopped. She could tell him things like that and he’d just understand. But with Jo… Janie likes to think of Jo and Nate together, inside her jewelry box, tucked away safe from harm.

Henry used to talk about alternate timelines, and she knows that there is a version of her that has Jo and will marry Nate and have kids that Jo will be the godmother and cool aunt of, and Janie despises the version of herself that has that.

That girl doesn’t know grief like she does. She doesn’t know what it’s like to walk the world without a best friend. That girl isn’t alone.

But for now, she thinks about how she’s excited to see Eddy later and talk. He offered to stay in town with her, and they’re going to order take out and maybe watch a movie. Janie has good things here: her roommate, Eddy, her classes. For the first time in a long time, she feels normal. And maybe that’s just enough.

before

XXI

Jo is waiting in the abandoned mill for Janie. She usually comes here with Caitlyn, but she’s glad this is where Janie agreed to meet her. The barn and Jo’s house felt too dangerous, and she needs to tell Janie what she discovered.

It had been a far cry to make the connection, but she had seen Iris and Tally with Caitlyn a month after finding the bracelet and she just remembered something so random. It was inconsequential to hear her mother say “Poor Robert and Elizabeth, they were so young.”

Rose and Daisy Franklin were probably around Henry’s age when they went missing, maybe older - maybe Henry wasn’t born, she can’t even remember how old the girls were. Jo had been seven or eight when they died, she didn’t even understand what it meant to be abducted, but their story played for weeks on the news as she’d lay on her stomach and play with her Barbies in front of the TV, but she had this feeling…

Googling them, she went through the photos. Every missing persons photo she clawed through, but there it was. Zooming in on Daisy Franklin’s wrist, the four year old was wearing the same haphazardly made one Jo was holding and she’d vomited in the trash can beside her desk.

This was proof, but how much proof was it really? So Frankie had a bracelet that matched Daisy’s, but the proof was flimsy at best, but she needed to tell Janie. She needed to tell Janie’s parents!

When the door opens, Jo gets up and then freezes. It’s not Janie’s petite frame that’s shadowed by the moonlight and Jo’s blood goes cold.

He’s dark, but she recognizes the tall boy instantly and all he says to her is, “Hello Jo.” He says a few things to her when he cuts her, making the torture last a bit because no one will hear her out here, but the last thing she ever hears is those two bone chilling words.

Jo tried to fight him, but he was taller and stronger due to spending his whole life farming. He could’ve knocked her out, but for him it’d been a long time and he wanted to savor this kill, and when he dragged her out to the riverbed, he has with him her Bikini Kills button and the carousel charm.

now

XXIII

Caitlyn is looking pointedly at Janie’s wrist. Due to Tally’s comment about her and Jo, Janie doesn’t even question what the look is alluding to.

Her cheeks redden and she tugs down the sleeve of her sweater.

“If you supposedly loved Jo,” Tally says with a sneer, getting closer to Janie as she talks, “wouldn’t you want to know?”

Janie’s blood is searing her from the inside and she shoves Tally with a strength neither girl expected her to have. “Don’t you dare!” Janie seethes through clenched cheeks. “Neither of you know me, and you didn’t know Jo!”

Retrieving her basket from the floor of the Stop and Go general store she adds something equally un-Janie-ish. “Fuck you!” she’s looking right into Tally’s grey eyes. “I know I hurt Nate. I know you two are best friends and you’re a mean bitch regardless and just pretend not to care about what anyone thinks about you, but don’t you ever say I didn’t love Jo! If I knew what happened, U’d have said something a long time ago. I wish I knew, but I was with Nate and Asher at St Mary’s that night.”

She clenches her jaw and she’s biting back tears as she says, “She was like a sister to me. Sorry if it pisses you off that I’m not with Nate, but I lost my best friend and I couldn’t be here anymore!” She dropped the basket on the floor, and Caitlyn is mildly surprised that Janie didn’t throw it at them as she leaves.

Caitlyn’s cheeks are red from anger, but also pity as she watches Janie literally throw the door out of her way and cross her arms as she marches up the sidewalk of down town Hawkins. Tally, however, looks a bit stunned, but if anything, she’s contemplating something.

“So… what now?” Caitlyn asks.

Tally is quiet for a moment, then sighs. “I don’t know. I feel like the answer is so close, as if it’s obvious, but none of it makes sense. I just…” she shakes her head. “Let’s go back to the house and regroup with the others.”

[ryukoishida]

Gundam IBO Fic: In which Yamagi is sick and Shino visits him.

Title: Shot on Goal Author: ryukoishida  Fandom: Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans Genre: Fluff  Rating: PG Character(s)/Pairing(s): Norba Shino/Yamagi Gilmerton (ShinoYama); also features Ride, Biscuit, Eugene, Mikazuki, Akihiro  Prompt: When Yamagi is sick with the flu. [Modern high school AU]  Commission for: Client doesn’t want to be tagged, but they’re gracious enough to let me post it on this blog, so yay!

Writing Commission | Editing and Translation Service

-

From the same AU: 

i. Modern Love Affair

-

“Is Orga going to be okay? He’s been sick for three days already…”

In the men’s change room, someone is asking the vice-captain of Tekkadan High School’s ice hockey team, a junior with a small, lean stature but a speedy and aggressive play style that has all other top-tier teams shiver with fear just from hearing his name: Mikazuki Augus. 

“Calm down, Eugene,” he’s saying now as he unlaces his skates in an unhurried pace, his voice drawling in his usual calm manner that always makes his teammates wonder whether the young man ever worries about anything, “I visited him yesterday; he’s getting better already. Biscuit forced him to rest for another day just to make sure he fully recovers.”

“I’m just worried about our next match against Gjallarhorn,” Eugene Sevenstark states, brows dipped in worry as he mercilessly stuffs his jersey into his duffle bag. “It’s coming up this weekend and he’s been missing practice for the last few days. We’ve been playing in the same hockey club since we were thirteen, and I’ve never seen him miss more than a day of practice. Remember that time when he had that high fever two years ago?”

“He was fiercer and more reckless than usual,” Akihiro Altland, a brawny forward whose prowess and animalistic instinct are almost as frightfully acclaimed as Mikazuki’s brutal nature on the ice, recalls that particular match with a thoughtful murmur, “but we did win against the Brewers — 5 to 2, I believe?” 

“Yeah, and then he passed out right after and had to be sent to the hospital for an IV drip,” Biscuit Griffon, the team’s dependable goaltender and clever tactician, shakes his head with a helpless expression – a mix of fondness and frustration for his idiotic friend and captain. “He just doesn’t know when to stop unless someone’s there to physically restrain him.”

They can all agree on their captain’s obstinate and passionate nature, at least. There’s no stopping Orga Itsuka once they see the blazing flames in those determined golden eyes; that’s also the reason why the entire team has entrusted the ambition and goal of winning this year’s National Inter-High Hockey Championships on him. 

“You’re strangely quiet, Shino,” Biscuit observes from his place on the bench, his attention focused on the young man who has frozen in place by his locker, eyes glazed and head deep in his own thought, in the midst of packing up his own articles as they prepare to leave for the day. “What’s wrong?”

When Tekkadan’s right-winger, who’s known for his eccentric style on-ice as well as his gregarious personality off-ice, doesn’t reply, Biscuit sighs and tries again, this time a little louder, “Oi, earth to Shino!” 

“Huh?” Norba Shino drops the towel he’s been holding at the call of his name, and he looks a little sheepish when he turns to see Biscuit giving him a perplexed glance. “W-what’s up?”

“You seem pretty out of it — during practice, too, you’ve missed far too many easy passes today,” Biscuit says, choosing his words carefully in case he steps on a sensitive topic that Shino may not feel comfortable enough to talk to him about, though he has a sense that it has to do with the library monitor Shino has let slip a few weeks ago. He had been blushing: Norba Shino, who has no awareness of shame when it comes to embarrassing topics common for their age like relationship and sex, was genuinely blushing when he accidentally blurted out to Eugene about the cute library monitor who almost killed him with a stack of hard-cover books — unintentionally, of course. 

Biscuit had been watching the entire exchange, but had said nothing then. 

“Was it really that bad?” Shino chuckles uneasily, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.  

“If Orga had been here today, he would have yelled at you and gotten you to do extra shooting drills after practice. So, do you want to tell me what’s going on? I may not be able to help, but I’m always here to lend an ear.”   

“Thanks, Biscuit,” Shino slaps his teammate’s shoulder lightly with a small grin, and then his face crumbles once again into that uncharacteristic distracted expression seldom seen on the confident young man. “The thing is… You know how this wave of flu has already affected so many people at school?”

He pauses again, uncertain of how to resume, and Biscuit nods encouragingly for him to continue. The flu season always arrives at this time every year, and some students are more resistant to the virus than others; however, this year’s virus seems especially vicious, since it’s strong enough even to defeat the great Orga Itsuka himself who boasts of never falling sick for more than two days. 

“There’s someone…” Shino starts again, lowering his head as he tries to concentrate on putting the rest of his personal items into his bag, “…he hasn’t shown up at school for the last couple of days, and I’m worried… I mean, it’s probably nothing, right? People take days off school all the time! And it’s none of my business, obviously, because we’re not that close or anything—”

“Why don’t you go visit him and see for yourself?” Biscuit smoothly interrupts Shino’s rambling monologue and suggests. 

“That’s a bit too forward,” Shino’s eyes flicker, and then he looks over at the goaltender hesitantly, “don’t you think?” 

“The Norba Shino I know would take any opportunity — even the stupidest, most risky ones — to try for a goal,” Biscuit says, a hand on the forward’s shoulder a comfortable weight.

There’s a brief moment during which Biscuit can almost see the gears in Shino’s head turning furiously until the light in his eyes returns to its usual optimistic glimmer. 

“You’re right! Thanks, man!” Shino flashes him his signature grin and quickly finishes packing the rest of his belongings before he shoots out of the change room.

“What’s his hurry?” Mikazuki murmurs with quiet amusement in his eyes. 

Biscuit only responds with a shrug and a knowing smile.

-

“Excuse me,” Shino lays one arm across the counter when he finally catches his breath, his eyes darting this way and that inconspicuously as if he’s trying to search for someone but not wanting anyone to notice this very obvious mission. He’s failing pretty hard though, but the library monitor on duty today — a sophomore named Ride Mass whom Shino sometimes sees during the few instances he’s actually visited the library — merely gives him a hard, guarded look as he waits for the hockey player to continue. He swallows noisily and asks, “Uh… is-is, um, Yamagi Gilmerton around?” 

“No,” the boy who’s at least a head shorter than Shino’s impressive height replies coldly, crossing his arms as though to signify the end of their conversation.

Shino tries again, hazel eyes pleading with despair, “Do you know if he’s doing okay? I noticed he hasn’t come to school for the last few days, and uh, I just wanted to make sure he’s… um…” The hockey player gradually lets his sentence fade, incomplete, because Ride is outright glaring at him with obvious distaste, and if looks could kill, Shino is sure that he’d be bleeding to his death at this point. 

“You’re a junior, aren’t you? Why do you care if a sophomore doesn’t show up to class?” Ride doesn’t even bother looking at him as he shuffles and puts the stack of papers into a binder, slamming it shut with such ferocity that Shino almost jumps back. 

He’s absolutely right; Shino realizes this belatedly. What reason does he have for worrying over an almost-stranger? 

They haven’t known each other long — hell, he doesn’t think they’ve even exchanged a proper conversation since the first time they met about a month ago — but Shino can’t help but haunt the old, musty library located in one of the most run-down buildings of the campus on days when he doesn’t have practice, just hoping to run into the timid library monitor with hair as gold as the first rays of spring sunlight after a long, harsh winter, eyes as gentle as the wisps of clouds drifting over summer sky, and smiles as rare and beautiful as the blooming of epiphyllum blossoms. 

Shino cannot find a valid reason without sounding like an idiot or worst, a creepy stalker, and he looks so utterly defeated that Ride, who finally spares him a glance after tidying the counter to his satisfaction, heaves a sigh and takes pity on the poor boy.

“You’re actually worried about him, aren’t you?” Ride’s tone bears less thorns than before, though his eyes remain cautious as he scrutinizes the hockey player with an aloof gaze. 

“Of course!” Shino replies without a second thought, and his exclaim comes out a little louder than expected. He claps a hand over his mouth when Ride sends him another dirty look. 

“Yamagi told me about you.”

“H-he did?” Shino is half-excited and half-concerned, but it doesn’t look like Ride will elaborate on that. 

“He doesn’t have to say it out loud; it’s obvious he’s quite taken with you. And I’ve told him guys like you — blessed with good looks, popular with the crowd, going along the flow without a damn care in the world — will only break his heart,” Ride has no time or patience to sugarcoat his thoughts when it comes to people he wants to protect.

“Man, you really got an unforgiving mouth, don’t you?” Shino tries not to let Ride’s opening statement get into his head.

“This is my nice mode,” Ride grins threateningly at him, and then in a more lenient manner, he relents, “I’m going over to his place after my shift. If you want to come along, at least don’t show up empty-handed.” 

-

“It’s so wonderful that you boys have come to see Yamagi,” Merribit Stapleton Kassapa leads the two students up the staircase to her stepson’s bedroom, “he’s feeling a bit better today, but he’ll be happy to have some company over.”

“It’s no problem at all, Ms. Merribit,” Ride replies politely while Shino trails behind. Merribit has given him an odd look when they entered the Kassapa residence though she’s been gracious enough to hold her tongue, simply accepting his stuttered introduction as Yamagi’s classmate with a gentle smile, but now that Shino is here, knowing Yamagi is just behind that door, his heart is palpitating hard not unlike before an important game. 

Merribit leaves them at the door, thanking them again before she returns downstairs. 

Ride knocks on the door and enters when he hears a weak “come in” from inside. 

“Hey Yamagi, you’re looking better than yesterday,” Ride greets his friend.

“Thanks,” Yamagi croaks faintly from his bed, his lower back supported by two pillows, eyes blood-shot and bleary from medication-induced drowsiness, and blond locks messier than usual from constantly turning during restless and intermittent sleep over the last few days, “my throat’s still sore though.” 

“Well, I hope my gift will cure the rest of it. Look who I brought along with me today.” 

With a mischievous grin, Ride steps aside from the doorway to reveal his surprise guest, who stands rooted to the ground after that unexpected introduction.

“Um, hey Yamagi,” Shino finally locates his voice after a poignant delay with Ride nudging his elbow insistently against Shino’s ribs.

“Hello,” Yamagi’s voice turns even softer and more muffled, the lower half of his face hidden by the blanket. His fever has gone since last night, but at the sight of Shino — all wide eyes, broad shoulders, and looking a little sheepish, which should not look so damn adorable on someone who’s almost six feet tall — his cheeks are growing uncomfortably flushed again. 

Part of him is pleasantly surprised to see the boy he hasn’t stopped thinking about since their awkward first meeting, but the other half of him is horrified at the thought of his crush seeing him in such a pathetic and unattractive state. 

Damn Ride and his over-enthused effort, Yamagi curses half-heartedly in his head.

“W-why are you here?” Yamagi murmurs, and then realizes that he’s probably being rude, but the illness and the medicine have destroyed his brain-to-mouth filter, and Shino doesn’t even seem to notice or mind the slightest. 

“I heard you’re sick so I got you some uh, stuff,” Shino lifts up the plastic bag as if to emphasize this fact, “fruit jellies and sports drink and the like. I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this unannounced.” 

“It’s fine,” Yamagi replies quickly, pulling his blanket down far enough to reveal his heated cheeks and arid lips, “thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Shino sets the bag down on Yamagi’s immaculately organized desk, gaze averted. The next few seconds is painfully long and awkwardly tense, and Ride can’t stand it anymore. 

“Anyway, I just swing by to bring you notes from today’s classes,” Ride places the aforementioned papers on his friend’s desk, “I actually have to head to my part-time job now, so Shino, I’ll leave my best friend in your care. See you tomorrow, Yamagi.” 

“R-Ride, hold on…” 

“Don’t screw this up,” Ride mutters fiercely when he stalks past Shino’s frozen figure, and then he’s out of Yamagi’s room, the door closing behind him with a final click. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Yamagi starts as soon as he hears the footsteps fading away, gathering his blanket around so he can sit up properly to face Shino, who’s still standing by his desk, “Ride can be a bit… brash to people he doesn’t know.”

“I’m pretty sure he hates my guts,” Shino chuckles, already looking a little less rigid than a short while ago, “but he’s just looking out for you. I can understand that.” 

“He’s a good friend,” Yamagi agrees, a gentle smile warming the blue of his eyes, and for a brief second, Shino finds that he’s momentarily distracted by the curve of the other boy’s mouth and the dimples on his cheeks. “Shino?”

“W-would you like a jelly?” Shino really has to stop embarrassing himself in front of his crush like this, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, which only seems to make him look like a bumbling fool who trips over his own words. 

“Yes, please,” Yamagi accepts a plastic spoon and the container of jelly, of which Shino has thoughtfully torn the plastic cover, with a grateful nod and another heart-stopping smile. After eating three days’ worth of tasteless toast and porridge, the orange jelly bursts with a delightful tart-sweetness on his tongue, and he’s unknowingly closed his eyes in bliss.

Entranced by the other boy’s expression, Shino wanders to the side of Yamagi’s bed and kneels down. At this distance, Shino can smell the refreshing citrus scent, close enough that he’s able to count Yamagi’s ashen gold lashes, fine and long and curled upwards like crescent moons. His warmth is intoxicating yet strangely reassuring, and Shino knows that if he reaches out now, the worst-case scenario is that he’ll be rejected on the spot and get slapped across the face, but he’s always been the type to take risks, and he thinks he’s willing to risk everything — including a broken heart — if only he’ll get an answer from him. 

Gently, he cradles the side of Yamagi’s face. 

The reaction is instantaneous: Yamagi drops his spoon in alarm, which clatters onto the floor, and he’s blinking rapidly at the unfamiliar sensation until he can focus on the other boy’s steady gaze directly before him, Shino’s eyes brimming with an emotion that Yamagi is afraid to put a name on, a feeling that he’s dreamed to be reciprocated. 

“S-Shino…?” his voice is unsteady, and his frame is shaking under the blanket. 

Just to be safe, Shino eases the half-finished jelly out of Yamagi’s hand and places it on the ground before facing Yamagi once more. 

“Is it true?” he asks. 

“What?” Yamagi’s heart rate spikes up; it’s almost too painful to take another breath but he doesn’t want it to ever stop, doesn’t want Shino to ever stop touching his cheek as if he’s the most delicate and precious treasure. 

“Earlier today, Ride mentioned that…”

“Oh my god, what did he say?” Yamagi interrupts him before he can continue, and then words are crashing down like a waterfall as Yamagi officially descends into his panic mode, “Actually, whatever he’s said, please just… forget about it, okay? He’s such a blabber mouth and I should’ve never told him that. That was a terrible mistake, why did I do that?”

“So, it’s true then — you do like me?” Shino’s cheeks heat up slightly when he utters those words, but regret is the last thing on his mind. 

Yamagi bites his lower lip hard enough to turn the skin there even redder, eyes conflicted and his heart even more so. In the end, he can’t lie to himself, and it’s impossible to deny Shino when he’s looking at him with such earnestness, like he’s looking forward to yet also afraid of Yamagi’s answer. 

He nods once. 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way though,” Yamagi immediately says, lowering his gaze to stare at his fidgeting hands, “I’d never expect—”

“Who said anything about not feeling the same way?” 

Shino’s question makes Yamagi look up at him in wonder, stunned like he can’t believe what he’s just heard, and the hockey player laughs with something akin to relief but mostly with elation, the sound bubbling from the depth of his chest, golden and comforting and kind. 

“I like you, too, Yamagi Gilmerton,” Shino says, every syllable distinct with no way of his intention being misinterpreted, and his eyes glimmer with hope when he asks, “Will you go out with me?”

Another pause on Yamagi’s part, his mouth slightly parted in bewilderment, and then to Shino’s amusement, the younger boy mutters, “Shit. Is my fever so high that I’m starting to have hallucinations?” 

With an affectionate chuckle and painstaking tenderness to his movement, Shino sweeps Yamagi’s chaotic forelocks to the side of his face and leans down to place a chaste kiss against his forehead. Shino’s lips are cool and dry against the other boy’s heated skin, and even as Shino leans back to look at him with a small, hesitant smile, Yamagi can feel the lingering sensation where his lips has touched, a stream of sunlight that’s making his blood sing and his heart dance with indescribable happiness. 

“Has your hallucination ever felt this real?” 

“No,” Yamagi admits, “though I’ve had some frighteningly realistic dreams recently.” He clamps his mouth shut when he realizes too late that once again he’s spoken too much, but Shino only ruffles his hair and laughs lightly, the sound soaked with light of dawn. 

“About me?” he asks, grinning.

Yamagi ducks his head in embarrassment, his face and neck somehow growing even hotter, the shade of rose-pink spreading lovingly across his pale skin that disappears enticingly beneath the rumpled fabric of his t-shirt. 

“Yeah,” he concedes, almost inaudible. 

The blanket feels too constricting — his clothes, too — like he’s asphyxiated by Shino’s mere proximity, his fingers still combing through his hair, and it’s at once hypnotic and exhilarating. He wants more but he’s suddenly too exhausted to even speak, his mind pleasantly warm and blank and he wishes this moment, may it be a fever-induced dream or a self-conceived reverie, will last awhile longer yet. 

Yamagi feels a wave of drowsiness sweeps over him, his eyelids heavy with the yearning to rest.

“You should lie down; you look really flushed,” Shino feels Yamagi’s forehead with the back of his hand, frowning in concern; he helps Yamagi recline upon his bed in a more comfortable position despite the younger boy’s protest. “Should I go get Ms. Merribit?”

“I’m fine,” Yamagi reassures him, voice a little slurred and his eyes already closed, when Shino has arranged the blanket cozily around him. 

“All right, I’ll let you rest then, okay? I’ll see you at school,” Shino is about to stand up, but Yamagi, as drained as he is, somehow still manages to catch his wrist with his slender fingers. “Yamagi?”

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” His eyelashes flutter like butterfly wings when he breathes out.

If this is only a dream, at least let him stay just a bit longer, Yamagi thinks to himself. He feels Shino’s strong, calloused fingers lacing loosely with his, and his heart calms as the storm of turmoil and doubt that has lasted for almost a month dies with the touch of their hands, the first inkling of thread connecting their hearts. 

“Of course.”

It’s only after Shino is already on the train when he remembers that Yamagi hasn’t quite respond to his earlier request, but he will ask him again when they see each other at school. Time is on their side after all. 

---

Extras

Tekkadan Team Positions:

- Orga (senior): Captain; Defense

- Mikazuki (junior): Vice-captain; Forward centre

- Biscuit (senior): Goaltender

- Akihiro (senior): Forward left winger

- Shino (junior): Forward right winger

- Eugene (junior): Defense 

Library Monitors:

- Yamagi (sophomore): Robotics club

- Takaki (sophomore): Literature club

- Ride (sophomore): Visual arts club

[sephs-ghost]

tagged by the lovely @dearlovegood, thanks!

rules: answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people.

tagging: @yes-you-are-just-as-sane-as-i-am, @roxannweasley, @credxncebarebone, @txmriddlx, @ravehclaw, @expectopatronuts if you want to and havent done it already

THE LAST

1. drink: tea 2. phone call: my mom 3. text message: “ok cool, denn chömmers ja am morge au nomal ahluege” to a classmate (swiss german for “ok cool, then we can look at it in the morning too” in relation to a school project) 4. song you listened to: Loose change - Royal Blood 5. time you cried: last week i think 6. dated someone twice: no 7. kissed someone and regretted it: no 8. been cheated on: no 9. lost someone special: yes 10. been depressed: yes 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: no

3 FAVOURITE COLOURS 12. dark/ruby red 13. midnight blue/black 14. pastels

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU 15. made new friends: yes 16. fallen out of love: nope, never really been in love at all 17. laughed until you cried: yup 18. found out someone was talking about you: uh don’t think so 19. met someone who changed you: not completely changed but a bit, i guess 20. found out who your friends are: yes 21. kissed someone on your facebook list: no

GENERAL 22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: i don’t have fb 23. do you have any pets: nope 24. do you want to change your name: i’m not particularly fond of my name but it’d still be weird to change it cause it’s just me and any other name isn’t really me 25. what did you do for your last birthday: went to see assassins creed with my friends and then hung out and talked 26. what time did you wake up: 7 am for work today 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: sleeping actually 28. name something you can’t wait for: finishing this apprenticeship but its another two years ughh, but also the Royal Blood concert in november 29. when was the last time you saw your mom: yesterday evening 31. what are you listening to right now: nothing at the moment, but about to listen to an audio book 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: don’t think so 33. something that is getting on your nerves: my inability to go to sleep at a reasonable time 34. most visited website: tumblr 35. hair colour: dark red 36. long or short hair: short 37. do you have a crush on someone: not currently 38. what do you like about yourself: my taste in music 39. want any piercings: maybe more on my ears, but not sure yet 40. blood type: 0+ 41. nickname: zee 42. relationship status: single 43. zodiac: capricorn 44. pronouns: she/they 45. favourite tv show: um jeez idk, Z Nation, Class, Shadowhunters and idk check out my recs cause i dont remember anything lol 46. tattoos: none currently but i might get a clef someday or some simple lineart 47. right or left handed: right 48. surgery: nope 49. piercing: just standard ear lobes, actually did this like two weeks ago, used to have a lip one but it wasnt well done so i took it out 50. sport: dont play any but i enjoy ice hockey, badminton, lacrosse and baseball and i love watching soccer and olympic stuff 51. vacation: ive been to canada (toronto), usa (cali) , germany, uk and italy but id love to go to scotland or some other city in the us like new york maybe 52. pair of trainers: one pair i think, like i have boots and stuff but one pair of trainers

MORE GENERAL 53. eating: chocolate 54. drinking: tea and water 55. i’m about to: do some work and listen to an audio book 56. waiting for: nothing  57. want: to do something i really enjoy and to get into a good relationship with someone  58. get married: not sure, maybe with the right person 59. career: musician, graphic designer, photographer or anywhere behind the cameras on film or backstage for a play or something

WHICH IS BETTER 60. hugs or kisses: ummm hugs 61. lips or eyes: eyes 62. shorter or taller: shorter 63. older or younger: younger 64. nice arms or nice stomach: arms i guess 65. hook up or relationship: relationship 66. troublemaker or hesitant: rather hesitant probably

HAVE YOU EVER 67. kissed a stranger: no 68. drank hard liquor: no 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: no 70. turned someone down: yes 71. sex on the first date: no 72. broken someone’s heart: no 73. had your heart broken: no 74. been arrested: no 75. cried when someone died: yes 76. fallen for a friend: no

DO YOU BELIEVE IN 77. yourself: sometimes 78. miracles: uhh i dont really know tbh 79. love at first sight: not really 80. santa claus: no 81. kiss on the first date: i guess, but only if it feels right for both 82. angels: no

OTHER 83. current best friend’s name: Carmen 84. eye colour: hazel 85. favorite movie: soo many uh definitely Help - The Beatles (it’s not just a song but also a genius movie), Inception, Valerian, some Marvel movies too, Star Wars (mostly the original trilogy but the new ones are pretty cool too), Who Am I (german hacker movie) oh and definitely Kingsman (im so excited for the second one), also check my recs for more