#silovs

[silovsmenot]

Foreign Language | Artūrs Šilovs

SUMMARY: A first meeting with a certain Latvian goalie, a surprise that leaves him thinking of you ... And an unexpected reunion thanks to injury. WARNINGS: So much fluff, poor Latvian language - if you're a Latvian native, please excuse me, I'm still learning. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader (f!reader implied). NOTES: This was the very first idea that I had, and it's been a brainrot ever since. This could very easily be a multi-part, because the brainrot is real. Okay so little Latvian lesson: 'sveiki' is an informal form of hello and 'piedodiet' is sorry. WORD COUNT: 2147 FIND PART TWO HERE

New job, new city — you were beyond excited to get started with your new life in Vancouver. It was a dream come true, a sports photographer for the Vancouver Sun. You’d be covering everything from soccer to basketball, and your personal favourite, ice hockey. It couldn’t have been better.

It had only been a few weeks and you were still pretty starstruck by the whole situation. The smile had rarely left your lips for everything felt so right. As you drove to the Abbotsford Centre, your music turned to loud as you sang along to your favourite song — life was good. And today promised to be another good day. You were helping to cover a story of the Vancouver prospects in Abbotsford and how they were developing within the AHL affiliate, while your partner would be interviewing players at the rink side and in changing rooms, you’d be snapping the shots of the training session.

It promised to be a lot easier than your usual days, training sessions were a lot more relaxed than game photography. Even with their game against playoff rivals looming, you knew it would be a calmer atmosphere than the alternative.

With the heavy camera bag upon your shoulders, digits scraped back your hair as you walked, tied back as you always did while working. Nodding across to your partner who stood waiting at the large rink doors, he held out a coffee to you, which you gratefully accepted with a quiet ‘thank you’. You two were close, like siblings — natural partners and you always delivered high tier work together.

“The boss wants some focus on the goalies, see what you can do, y/n.” He muttered as you walked, both sipping quietly at the hot liquid. From where you were, you could already hear the shouts of training, the crash of the puck against glass and the slapping of sticks upon the ice. It was a sound you knew and loved.

And as your partner pushed open the door, the bright lights of the rink lit everything up. You both moved quickly with a light tapping of both coffee cups in luck, your partner immediately gravitating to the head coach who lingered beside the boards, while you would weave onto the bench and begin your setup. Lens mounted onto the camera body, fixing your settings to this particular arena until you were happy with your picture. It was simply second nature now.

You stood beside the boards, camera switching from player to player with smooth motions as the camera clicked. Turning to each goalie, your camera would linger with the rhythmic clicking — you didn’t need to know all of the story, but a focus on the goalies was always a popular one. Players being called up to the NHL happened so regularly, it was hardly a story, but goalies? Now that got people ticking.

As the session progressed, you watched your partner question each player who came to the bench for water before they’d even had a chance to breathe. You would simply smile at each person, almost sympathetically, and do your job with the clicking of the camera.

Even as the young goalie skated over, angling toward the bench where you stood with a hand outstretched for a bottle, your lips presented a small smile as you waited for your partner to pounce. But as he was too wrapped up with Tolopilo, this goalie was left in silence … for a moment at least. You knew a little about him, of course. A young guy from Latvia, drafted a few years ago now, with a bit of a rocky start to the season. His eyes met yours as the blue and green mask was raised from his face, lips curled into a smile at the first glance.

You spoke without a second thought. It had been some years now since you ended things with your ex, but you’d spent a few years learning Latvian for them — it had been years since you had any reason to use it. 

“Sveiki…” 

Artūrs blinked. The smile on his lips disappeared as confusion was etched in its place. He’d been in Canada for a while now, with only the occasional passing player conversation to give him that little piece of home. He’d never expected this woman to come out with that.

“Sveiki.” The goalie quietly replied, leaning his weight forward upon the boards beside you. “You’re Latvian?”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping through your lips as the camera lowered, your body turning to almost mirror his as you leaned upon the boards.

“I’m not Latvian, but my ex was. I learned some from when we were together.” 

As you spoke, he watched you closely as the smile returned to his face. A smile that you couldn’t help but find contagious. He nodded slowly, thinking silently to himself before his blocker hand began to shake. The glove removed, his hand wiping upon his jersey before it was offered across to you with a grin.

“I’m Artūrs,” He spoke with a little more confidence, capturing your gaze beneath his dark eyes. They were easy to get lost in as you looked at him. “But this lot mostly call me Arty.” 

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Arty.” You hummed as your hand came to meet his, a slight look of amusing disgust at the sweaty hand of the goaltender. Needless to say it was enough to make the young goalie laugh.

Releasing his hand with a playful swat, you too would wipe your hand upon your jumper as he laughed. You couldn’t blame him, and you too found it funny, but a sweaty hand was not  what you wanted.

“Piedodiet.” He spoke through the laughter, head cocking as he watched you. Your eyes narrowed playful in response to his apology.

“I’m not sure that I believe that you’re sorry.” You found yourself teasing in response, the camera growing heavy in your hands as it sat idle. If your partner looked over, it would look as though you were helping him with his job — but far from it. You were enjoying yourself, more than you realised at the time.

He gave no response, just the rising and falling of his brows. A cheeky grin at his lips as the hand returned the blocker, the bottle returned to it’s place on the boards.

“Will I see you around here more?” Arty called out as he took a few strides away from where you stood. He hoped, silently, that you’d say yes. That you’d be back to photograph and chat more. For whatever reason, he wasn’t quite sure yet, he wanted to see more of you.

It was your turn to stay silent, shrugging with shoulders and hands. You had no idea if your job would bring you back to the Abbotsford Centre, but you hoped that it would.

And as the training session came to end, your partner returned to you with a notepad full of notes and a voice recorder full to burst, you gave a lingering glance back to the goalie as he took his first steps from the ice, and met your eyes with a smile.

Months passed and you had often thought of the grinning Latvian goalie of the Abbotsford Canucks. Your job hadn’t taken you back to the little suburb of Vancouver, though you’d occasionally catch the games on TV. A little curiosity peaking as you’d remember the conversation with him — sometimes, you’d catch yourself smiling as you thought about it. You’d watch his games when you could and read the news in which he featured.

You couldn’t say that you missed him, you barely knew him, but you wanted to know him … You wanted to be able to miss him.

March rolled around, the end of the regular season was in sight and you’d taken the lead in photography coverage of the Vancouver Canucks for a while now — you’d become a regular at the Rogers Arena, and knew most of the faces of players, staff and partners. You’d even become friends with a number of the wives and girlfriends. You were a familiar face to all.

And you were one of the first on the scene, with your partner in tow, at the announcement of the press conference. Demko’s injury was the worst kept secret in the city, and you’d all been waiting for them to announce it. To know which lucky goalie was getting the call up from Abbotsford.

Journalists and photographers piled into the large room with whispers and nods of acknowledgement. Everyone waiting for Tocchet to make the announcement, and your heart skipped a little beat when he did … for the grinning goalie, Artūrs Šilovs would be taking up the role of back-up in Demko’s absence. 

You wasted no time in getting down to the rink following the announcement, you knew that all the reporters would be clamouring for a word with the captain and the rookie goalie. As the flood of journalists began through the arena, the players were already leaving the ice with only the two goalies remaining with Clarkie. Many left to find the captain and coaches, while a few photographers, yourself included, would snap what shots they could of the two goaltenders.

Your stomach did a spin to see him again, the grin seemingly stuck with glue upon your lips — it had been months, surely he wouldn’t not remember you, you thought. But as his eyes glanced across to the wall of photographers, his gaze did linger upon you. Beneath his mask, he did grin. He’d spent months hoping to see you in Abbotsford, at his training or his game. It was a bitter disappointment when another photographer had been sent down in your place.

And as the nod was given for both goalies to leave the ice, little else mattered to him than making a beeline to you.

“Sveiki.” Arty immediately said as the helmet was raised, drifting on his skates just in front of you. Your smile spread instantly, quietly returning the hello with a hum. “I need to change, but please don’t run off.”

With a curious look etched upon your features, you silently nodded. It was the end of your working day anyway, you needed to sort through the photos of the day, but you could do that while you waited.

So sat upon a chair in the stands, laptop open and photos running through, you edited and submitted your best to your partner who would return to the office to write his piece. Gaze would snap up at the first sound of movement up the steps, it was strange to see him out of his goalie gear and in normal, casual clothing. A pair of jeans, a jumper, and glasses? There was something unexpected about that, but they suited him well. You liked the glasses' look.

“You didn’t come down to Abbotsford again.” He quietly said, the disappointment clear in his voice and on his face. And you felt the sting — but you also felt the twist in your stomach of excitement … he’d wanted to see you again, he’d thought about you.

“They moved me solely to these guys. I’m barely away from this rink now, Arty.” You sighed, hand closing the laptop which rested in your lap. You’d hold it there, fiddling with the corner as you thought. “I watched some of your games from home. I should’ve come down for one or two … to watch.”

“Do you want to go for a coffee, y/n?” Artūrs interjected, impatiently and abruptly. It was almost like he had to get it out before he could stop himself, and he was noticeably nervous as he waited for an answer.

You took a moment, watching him fiddle with the hem of his jumper as he waited — yet his smile never wavered. It was stuck, just as yours was.

“I’d like that.” You finally spoke, returning the laptop to your bag without breaking eye contact. The weight in his chest lifted immediately, a heavy exhale parting his lips as he nodded. You rose with a struggle, the camera bag always seeming to be heavier in that first moment, and Arty was quick to assist. His hand offered out, collecting the strap from your hand as it was slung onto his back with ease.

You walked from the arena together, both grinning wide with occasional glances at the other. A comfortable silence between you, it was simply a nice feeling to walk at each other’s side.

“Es priecājos jūs atkal redzēt.” He finally spoke, breaking the silence with words you didn’t quite know. Your Latvian limited to basic phrases that you learned to speak to your ex’s family during the holidays. 

“What does that mean?” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

“I’m glad to see you again.”

And your heart skipped a little beat.

[quinnylouhughesx43]

AH THE SHIRTS NO FREAKING WAY

[nervothys]

ARTURS SILOVS!!!!!!!!!!

[rangersgirl73]

jeremy swayman and arturs silovs joining the “i’m having an insane run as a goaltender but the rest of my team didn’t act like they were in the playoffs” club

[penaltyboxmaster]

Drawing idea: A goalie support group for goalies who carried their team in the playoffs (Georgie, Sway, Silovs…).

shout out to goalies, they’re my favorite gender

[silovsmenot]

This or That | Artūrs Šilovs

Request by anon...

silovs is a media darling. how about something with him and social media admin, like they're trying to get him to do a tiktok or something for the fans and he's just nervous around them

WARNINGS: None at all, as usual, it's 1000% complete fluff. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilovs x reader. NOTES: I absolutely adored this request, and I will never get tired of writing for Arty. WORD COUNT: 1306

As far as jobs go, you were pretty sure that you’d hit the jackpot. The social media admin for the Vancouver Canucks, with pretty much free reign on what you wanted to do. Your job was to get the team trending, to keep the community talking and to make the boys seem ‘real’.

These players were, for intensive purposes, celebrities in Vancouver. If they were spotted on the street, management wanted people to see them as approachable and friendly. It was a good marketing tactic, and you were rolling with it.

The team had so many young guys that it was easy for the most part — they were all ready and willing to get in front of the camera, and do stupid things for the trends. You were having a great time with it. Even some of the older guys were getting into it.

But there was one who was a little more reserved and had, until now, evaded you. You’d exchanged words in passing, you knew the other existed, but he finished training and left without word most days. He kept to himself, and while that was fine for a while, management wanted him to be included.

Artūrs Šilovs couldn’t escape the camera forever.

And today was the day that you were going to get him — you weren’t unfair, you’d find something together that he’d be willing to do. It was never your intention to make any of the guys uncomfortable.

Completely on queue, you saw his head ducking out of the changing rooms with eyes on the nearest door. But there would be no escape from the social media admin today.

“Artūrs!” You shouted, jogging up behind him with a growing smile at your lips. He turned quickly; the Vancouver cap backwards as messy strands of brown hair escaped through the hole. And, as he normally did post training, his glasses rested upon the bridge of his nose.

You’d told yourself when you got this job, no dating players, but he was cute and you could be tempted to break your own rule.

“Sorry, if you’re not busy, would you mind helping me with something?”

You phrased it carefully, knowing he was more likely to turn around and say yes if you said it was to help. And it was to help both of you. As expected, he did nod — he turned on his heels and was ready to follow you.

You both found yourselves smiling at the other, he was full of nerves as you began to walk back into the corridor and he didn’t quite know what to say to you. There were things he was thinking about saying, like how he was thankful that you had been a friendly face to him since he was called up to the Canucks, or how he would’ve liked to spend some time with you, but far from a camera.

Whatever he was thinking as you led him toward the little media room, he didn’t say any of it. Arty just followed with hands buried in his pockets, fiddling with threads with nerves and a small smile upon his lips.

He opened the door before you could reach, holding it wide open for you to enter as you’d say a quiet thank you. With the door closed, it was impossible to not focus on how nervous he so clearly was.

You simply found yourself staring at him for a brief moment, trying to find the words to say that would put his mind at ease.

“Art, I’m not going to ask you to do something that you’re not comfortable with…” You quietly said with a few short steps toward him. “I have an idea and if you’re not happy with it, we don’t do it.”

His brown eyes had been fixated with since you called him that corridor and they made no signs of wavering from you. He was uncomfortable in front of that camera, but it was just nerves with you, and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d grown used to so many people over the last few weeks in Vancouver, but you stood out. You made him smile without a word and while he knew you’d only talk to him to get him in front of that camera, he wanted you to talk to him. It was all quite confusing in his head, but pushing through it all, he’d simply nod in response to you.

A quiet, sheepish ‘okay’ coming from his lips.

And so, you began to explain your idea, and it was simple. An easy ‘this or that’, with things from Canada vs back in home of Latvia. It would take a little work to find a comparison, or as near as you could both get, but it was a way for him to reveal a little bit of home to the Canuck fanbase.

“I like the idea… Let’s do it.” Artūrs finally said as you finished your explanation, taking a moment to dramatically gasp for air after you’d talked non-stop for a couple of minutes. You couldn’t help the triumphant nod that you gave at his answer, the smile spread across your features from ear to ear. A smile that quickly caught upon his own lips.

All it took was a piece of paper, five minutes to sort the ‘this or that’ options and you were both ready. His steps were hesitant as they bought in before the green screen, the little camera now upon him.

“First one is nice and simple, your left is Rīga and your right is Vancouver — your favourite city is …?” And you paused. He’d told you that his answer was Vancouver, but he stepped to his left which caused a quiet laugh to part your lips.

He stared at you, pinkening in the cheeks, for a moment as he tried to figure out what he’d done. Once he did, he took two quick steps to his right with hands waving in apology.

“Arty, you can calm down. We’re no rush with this, just think about it and take your time.” Your voice was soft; reassuring and genuine, and it worked. He stopped staring awkwardly at the camera, and simply found your gaze yet again. And there? He felt more comfortable.

Now you had to stand directly behind the camera to make it work, but it did work from there. He kept your gaze, and with clammy hands from nerves, he made the right steps each time. Another five minutes later and you were done. It all needed throwing together for a video to post, but you had what you needed … and there was a hidden, but shared, disappointment in that. He thought about making a few more mistakes to stay longer, and you thought about asking just a few more unnecessary questions to keep him there.

Neither of you made your excuse to stay as you were both nervous. You walked him to the door of the media suite with a melancholy weight upon your shoulders, leaning against the door frame as he’d linger just beyond.

“This wasn’t too bad, was it?” You asked with a slightly teasing tone, just enough to make him smile again. And he did smile, he smiled wide and nodded his head as he removed the cap and messed at his hair with his free hand.

“It was almost fun.” He quickly said, and you felt the slight fluttering in your stomach. “Just let me know if you need me again, at any point.”

That only serve to make the fluttering more unruly. Your mouth dry in surprise as you were simply forced to nod your head. You didn’t take your eyes off him until he was nearly out of sight, and you just missed the sight of him turning back to catch a final glimpse of you.

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Does anyone else think Arty also played soccer/fútbol/fußball/football and was also a keeper then?

Because my goodness this dive and numerous other dives. I won’t get started on some of the blocks that made my jaw drop in sheer amazement and wonder. Some of his blocks screamed soccer keeper trained. He moved in ways I have never seen a hockey goalie move. AND I LOVED IT.

Arturs Silovs has no business being in the AHL. If he gets sent back down I will riot.

[broresteia]

here we go again

[pemguims]

my life, i will not waste it, i will enjoy this life (Kate Baer, from And Yet: Poems; “Idea”)

[sheecheebi]

Gotta Catch ‘em All!

[egg-king]

"I'm not really nervous, no. Just like, trusting what I'm doing. Full confidence"

mr 42 Saves Silovs

[silovsmenot]

Foreign Language | Artūrs Šilovs (Part Two)

PART ONE | PART THREE

SUMMARY: A few months after your reunion with Artūrs, you're an official item. A surprise is ruined and Arty gets his call up to the NHL Playoffs. WARNINGS: This is pure, 1000cc fluff straight to the heart. I'm not sure if this baby goalie is capable of anything else. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader (f!reader implied). NOTES: I never expected the first part of this to be so popular, so a big thank you to everyone who enjoyed it. Just beware, if this one is as popular, this might get a 3rd and 4th part... If you want more parts, let me know! WORD COUNT: 2067

Two months had now passed since your reunion with the grinning Latvian goaltender — it was to nobody’s surprise that the two of you become an item soon after. Your partner saw it coming from a mile away, and from the way he always gravitated to you at the end of their training sessions, a few of his teammates had their suspicions. A weight was lifted from both of you when he finally came clean to those who asked, full of pride when he first called you his girlfriend.

After a few visits, your flatmate knew him well enough to simply open the door without question at the sound of his knock, and you’d made a few visits to his place in Abbotsford. It was all still very new, but it was all so right. You were happier than you had been for a while now, his smile able to instantly cheer you and brush away any tensions you had from a bad day.

And you did the same for him. He was always a quieter one, hesitant to complain about a bad training session or a stressful game, but he’d come to you for reassurance. You knew there was a lot going on in his head with the rumours of Demko being injured once more, combined with the pressures of the AHL playoffs. Even you were stressed with it all.

But there was one thing that took your mind off everything — your best kept secret from Arty.

It was a Saturday morning. You’d kissed him goodbye that morning as he left your apartment for training, your hand pulling him back to you for one more kiss before he could escape. He walked out of the room, grinning from ear to ear as he’d pause at your door to simply look at you. And as you turned over to get a little more sleep, he watched for a moment with a soft sigh of contentment. He was happy, happier than he had been for a while now.

You knew you had some hours before he’d return from his training session in Abbotsford, plenty of time to get back to your secret. It was going to be a surprise — you thought you’d chucked out those Latvian language textbooks that your ex had bought you, but with a quick visit to your parent’s house, there it was. It now hid in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, beneath the makeup wipes and emergency chocolate.

So, with a cup of coffee, your comfort clothing on, you’d sit at your kitchen counter with a pencil and work through your pages for the day. You were still nowhere near able to speak with him in Latvian, but you were doing your best and you wanted to surprise him with your hard work.

You’d whisper each word and phrase as you filled in the blanks or drew on each special character or circled the right verb. Occasionally your flatmate would quiz you on what you’d done, having no clue what they were saying but you appreciated the help.

Deep in your daily lesson, you were fairly oblivious to the front door opening and closing, simply attributing to your flatmate who often slipped out without a word. Not even the following silence alerted you to anything different, until…

“A Latvian textbook, huh?” The familiar voice of your boyfriend whispered in your ears, hands quickly upon your waist as he knew you’d flinch in surprise. You jerked away in surprise with breath failing and pencil almost thrown across the room as hands tried (and failed) to hide the book.

It took you a moment to glance around with shocked, if slightly annoyed, eyes, which only made Art laugh more as arms snaked around your waist from behind and pulled you into him.

“Stop looking at it… Why aren’t you at training?” You snapped, finding your smile again as leaned back into his chest.

“I just got a call —”

He didn’t need to say anymore, you were immediately rising from your chair with an awkward turn in his arms to embrace him.

“I’ve got to get over to Rogers in an hour.” He finally whispered into your ear as he squeezed your tight. While you hoped that Thatcher was alright and they wouldn’t need an EBUG, you were beyond thrilled for your boyfriend. And it meant so much to you to hear him this happy.

But happiness would put on hold for a moment as your felt his arm moving behind your back, knowing all to well that he was up to mischief.

“Kā iet tavai latviešu valodai?” Artūrs teased with the book raised behind your back, he was awkwardly flicking through the book with one hand and struggling.

“My Latvian is going fine, it was supposed to be a surprise.” You replied, tone deflated as you glanced over your shoulder at the open book. A frown was at your lips, and he saw it immediately.

Stepping from the embrace, he dropped the book upon the counter and held you at arm’s length with one arm, the other came to rest upon your cheek. He just grinned at you — fuck, you loved that grin. You would melt instantly at the sight of it.

“It is a surprise, y/n, and if you’ll let me, I’ll help you.” He spoke softly, leaning forward to place a soft kiss upon your forehead.  

Game one went passed without a hitch, Vancouver setting up with a 1-0 lead in the series with Arty sat comfortably and without disturbance as the EBUG. Game two, however, would see him promoted. With Demko out once more with undisclosed injury, your boyfriend took his place upon the bench as the Vancouver backup. He’d see no action that game, but you still watched on with greater concern than before.

As his bags sat by your apartment door, you kissed him goodbye on the morning of the 25th of April. The series taking them to Nashville for two games, you’d be forced to watch from Vancouver. He’d spent the last few nights at your place, favouring your room over the flat that the team had quickly given him next to the Rogers Arena — which he noted lacked blackout curtains. You’d told him to simply raise it with the team, but he didn’t want to be awkward.

He peppered your face with soft kisses as he knelt beside the bed, early in the morning, the flight to Nashville leaving in a few hours. You quiet laughed with each kiss, doing nothing to move away from them as you knew you’d miss him.

“Uz drīzu tikšanos — and keep up with your Latvian lessons.” Arty whispered with a final kiss upon your lips, his slowly growing playoff beard brushing against your chin.

“You can test me when you get home.” You replied in a quiet tease as he began toward the door, the grinning goalie glancing back at you and nodding his head without another word. You heard him leave and missed him immediately.

He’d text you as soon as he landed in Nashville, and you kept yourself busy for the day as you normally would with your work. The Canucks were away, but there was always something to photograph.

As was always the case with away games, all of the partners congregated at the Miller household to watch together and celebrate together if the boys won. You’d grown quite close with several of the partners, often more talkative than Artūrs, they’d come to you for plans instead of him knowing that you’d be more in tune with events. Game three ended with another win, and you enjoyed your night with the ladies.

Artūrs called you every night that he was away in Nashville. It was still so early in your relationship; the honeymoon phase was in full swing and neither of you enjoyed the distance. He was a private guy with everyone but you.

It was midday when you started hearing the buzz and getting cryptic texts from your partner — rumours coming out of Nashville were that Desmith would not be starting tonight. Vancouver would be running with their backup goaltender, who himself was being cryptic when you asked him.

You arrived early to the Miller household, somewhat relieved to be with Natalie as you avoided the texts from your colleagues as they begged for an insight into what was happening that you did not have. You were waiting for Tocchet’s announcement as much as everyone else. And you almost jumped for joy when you got it.

They announcement Arty would be starting barely an hour before the game, Natalie Miller was quick to embrace you in celebration. The game tonight would be entirely different as you sat, with a drink, your heart pounding in your ears.

Your grin was wide as you watched him skate onto the ice — in that sea of yellow, you wondered how he was feeling. And with every shot that he faced; you held your sleeves that little bit tighter.

In just three minutes, Boeser opened the scoring and Vancouver were up 1-0. There was a breath of relief from all the wives and girlfriends, each wearing a smile as there was a familiar confidence. The smiles, however, would quickly dampen as a shot from the point, tipped just in front, would even the score.

You could see the frustration beneath the mask, even from the couch in Vancouver. But with each shot that he saved; you watched his confidence build back up.

A fresh drink in hand in time for the puck drop the second period, you found yourself sitting in the closest chair to the tv as you watched with eyes full of worry. He could do it; you knew he could, but you were worried that he’d let his head drop. Watching an unlucky 2-on-1, the dragging puck flicked into the net just above his glove. Arty skated the line in the familiar frustration and you silently whispered to yourself.

‘You’ve got this, Arty… Come on.’

There would be no more scoring in the second period, Art saving everything that came his way with a few expert glove saves that made a number of the partners go ‘ooo’.

The third period opened with a loud shout from all the partners as a goal from a skate would sneak into the net. You all looked on in disbelief as it wasn’t disallowed for kicking, but there was little you could all do but complain. None more so than you.

But you watched him keep his head up, and you were so proud of him. They chanted his name, however poorly they pronounced it, and as time trickled down, Tocchet pulled him for the extra attacker. He’d done his part, now it was time for his teammates to do theirs. And Boeser answered the call with another goal putting Vancouver were back within one. And then another goal with 6.2 seconds to go, making it even and a tasty hattrick on the road. He’d received one hat on the ice, eliciting a small laugh within the Miller living room.

You went into overtime with your eyes hidden behind your sleeves, you couldn’t watch it. You were so desperate for them to return to Vancouver with another win — you listened to the sounds from the tv, and the sounds from the wives and girlfriends until you heard it. The shouts of celebration within the room, and your eyes opened. Elias Lindholm waiting patiently in front of the net and slapping it in before anyone even noticed he was there.

You watched with the biggest grin as Soucy and Šilovs were shown in the growing centre of a team hug, every player giving your boyfriend the taps on his helmet as he leaned into them. He’d won his first NHL playoff game, and you couldn’t have been prouder of him.

He wouldn’t look at his phone for some time and you knew that, but you wanted him to open his phone and to smile … More than he already would be.

It was a simple text, one you sent with your own grin on your face…

‘Es ļoti lepojos ar tevi, Arty.’

It was a few hours before you got a response, equally simple and sent with a bigger grin on his face as he sat with the boys in Nashville.

‘Es mīlu tevi.’

Uz drīzu tikšanos = I'll see you soon

Es ļoti lepojos ar tevi = I'm very proud of you

Es mīlu tevi = I love you

[incorrectcanucks]

Thatcher Demko: My protege must be highly skilled, well coordinated, and confident without a doubt-

Artūrs Šilovs: *Trips over a plant and apologizes to it*

Thatcher Demko: I want that one.

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Tommy’s X - CA store link - US Store link

On sale PLUS you can get a 15% off first time buyer offer😭

(ps when I first opened the CA link it said “currently in 40 people’s carts😭)

[g-hughes]

he’s so real for posting this

[unch4rted-territ0ry]

Some random goalie gifs I have on my phone