#you: can you tell me about mcstrome?

[bigbrotherlouis]

i would love to hear more about mcstrome 🫡

realistically i'm sure it's the age-old story of two kids end up in the same place and become best friends because of proximity and then once they leave being in each others' presence and grow up into adults that friendship fades away but there's still fondness there.

however fictionally? alexa play ribs by lorde

you are fifteen years old. you are fifteen years old and you have been drafted to a new team in a new city in a new country. you are the youngest person on your team and you are probably the best person on your team and you are eight hours from home, granted special exception to be drafted a year early into the OHL and you are proving yourself against boys two, three, four years older than you, but despite it all your team finishes almost dead last. you are rookie of the year.

you are sixteen years old. you are sixteen years old, and the second best player in the draft, the draft that should've been yours but wasn't, is coming to your team. you know him. you meet him in the summer and you're already friends, fast friends, and you've been dreaming about being teammates again. he talks fast and he's fiercely loyal and he keeps up with you on the ice and he reminds you of home. he is not your best friend yet but he will be. he invites you home during the summers and asks if you want to play street hockey with him. you come and you sit on the sidelines, already conscious of the worth of your body enough that you know this is not something you should be participating in. he doesn't care, though, captain of a team, yelling at mitch marner who is an awful goalie and keeps letting in goals, and winning that summer. you go to the beach together, pale and stretched out on the sand, and now you are best friends.

you are seventeen years old. you are seventeen years old and they have just named you the captain of your team. you're wearing the letter with pride but people are talking about you like you're the second coming of hockey jesus. they've been talking about you for a while now, but this feels like more. this feels heavy. you break your hand in a fight in november because you are, after all, still a teenage boy. you sit out and watch as your best friend lights up the ice. he is the best person out there when you're on the bench and it shows in the stats and the points. he can tell you all the stats and the points because he's good at remembering those. he says he can remember every single play he's ever made and honestly? you kind of believe him. the haunting specter of the draft covers your entire year, looming in the corners of your vision, colouring every interaction. you are good, and he is good, and there is no chance of being drafted together, no matter how much you secretly hope. the calendar is a countdown clock towards your end, but you make him promise you will stay best friends because you don't really know what you will do without him.

you are eighteen years old. you are eighteen years old and edmonton has already made your jersey even though the draft hasn't happened yet. the graveyard of first overalls and rumors of a curse after gretzky left. you're the next gretzky and you're the next coming of hockey jesus and the entire city is waiting for your salvation. he goes third. phoenix, which is the literal opposite of edmonton. you hang off of him the entire weekend before, realising that this is the crescendo. you will never be otters together again. there's little chance you'll even be teammates again, so you cling tight even as you're so breathlessly excited for the moment your name get called first. you trip off the stage in a jersey that doesn't quite fit right but has your name on the back, and quietly ask if you can watch this next pick before you go backstage. you twine yourselves in a hug when he follows behind and it feels awfully like a goodbye.

now.

you are eighteen years old. you are eighteen years old and your best friend is drafted number one overall. you always knew he was better. you always knew he was made for more, so it doesn't hurt. you're happy to follow in his footsteps because you are his best friend and nothing will ever change that. besides, third is still a good number. amazing, even. they send you back to erie but you expected that. no one makes it to the show unless they are exceptional or a team is desperate, and edmonton is both. he scores his first nhl point in his third game and you are named captain of the otters. life is good. he breaks his collarbone less than a month in, shattering his rookie dreams. he comes home to you, in erie, because no one else understands him like you do. no one knows how to manage him when he's broken and angry, but you have patience and a lot of love and loyalty. you lie in your big bed and take up most of the mattress, two grown boys in the dark, and you don't kiss him. you could, but you don't.

you are nineteen years old. you are nineteen years old and he is named captain of his nhl team, also at nineteen. he is the youngest captain in history. thirteen days later, you score your first point. a month after that, arizona sends you packing back to erie. this time it hurts. you were doing your best and it wasn't bad and your best friend is captain of the oilers and you are playing with your high school team again. they make you captain for the second year in a row, but it's not the oilers and it's not the coyotes, so does it actually fucking matter? you are determined to prove everyone wrong and so you drag your team to the memorial cup. you win and it feels like a fuck you and it is maybe the best moment of your goddamn life. your phone is quiet. you haven't had any texts from edmonton for months.

you are twenty years old. you are twenty years old and this is finally your goddamn year. except-- you go pointless in two games and arizona decides that's not good enough. you've aged out of the otters so you pack your bag for tuscon instead. you spend your winter bouncing between the nhl and the ahl, sometimes so fast it makes you sick. winter in the desert feels weird, feels barren. you lie on your floor under the a/c and deliberately do not think of the time you almost kissed your ex-best friend. he's your ex-best friend because he's got a new one up there, draisaitl who also went third but the year before you. he can keep up with him, even better than you can, because he's not being bounced up and down. you wonder if draisaitl ever wants to kiss him. you wonder if draisaitl ever has.

you are twenty one years old. you are twenty one years old and you are a draft bust. they've been calling you that for years but now they're right. arizona trades you to chicago for practically nothing, which is embarrassing, but it's alright because you've got an old otter, brinksy, there on your team. you're nothing special, but you're nothing bad either. if only you hadn't touched the hem of hockey jesus as a teenager. if only you hadn't known what greatness tastes like. when you face off against edmonton, he won't meet your eye. he slides out of the centre dot and draisaitl steps in and wins the draw.

you are twenty three years old. you are twenty three years old and you have a girlfriend now, a pretty one, and it's-- good. your team makes it to the weird-ass playoffs in august, because there's a pandemic now, and you get trapped in a hotel in edmonton. your girlfriend tells you that she's pregnant right before you leave, like right before, and you can barely care about anything else. you barely care that he is two floors below you and the last message in your texts was a happy birthday! three years ago. unimaginably, you knock him out of the playoffs on his home ice. in the handshake line, he offers you his palm and his eyes skate over you like you're a stranger.

you are twenty five years old. you are twenty five years old, and on yet another new team. that's good, though, even if he will always be so much better. your fiance asks if she should send an letter to an edmonton address and you hesitate. you are no longer friends anymore. you haven't been for years and years, even if you lie when the press ask. but you loved him, once. you loved him so much that you were part of him and he was part of you, and the teenager on a shared bed in the dark will not let you forget that. you put his name down on an envelope.

so.

you are twenty five years old. you are twenty five years old and a wedding invitation arrives at your front door. you slide your fingernail under the flap and freeze when you see the faces on the front. there's a secret you will never tell anyone, not even on your deathbed, but you think of it now. it takes up so much space in your lungs that you can barely breathe. and it hurts. your girlfriend, who you love very much finds you shredding paper into a wastebasket and asks if everything is alright. you lie. you can't imagine not lying and so she doesn't catch you at it. you tell her that you've always wanted to go to manchester, england. you tell her that you should plan a trip for the summer, and you end up on a plane to a different continent while your ex-best friend is getting married back home.

you are sixteen years old. you are sixteen years old and flat on your back at the beach, listening to the water lap up on shore. beside you, he drops to the ground to stretch out too, his bare arm pressing up against your own. it dawns on you, as consuming and as present as gravity, that you are in love with him. it dawns on you that maybe you always be.

you're the only friend i need / sharing beds like little kids / we'll laugh until our ribs get tough / but that will never be enough

[grittyreadsfic]

8/12 and 7/26 for the ask game (if you’re okay with doing two?)

honestly? getting two rules because i’m having so much fun doing these 

this is going under a read more just because it got a lil lengthy

send me a date and i’ll use that handy chart i reblogged to tell you what pairing would work for it and why

so 8/12 is high school/college first kiss

listen, i feel like it has been established on here that i am a big fan of mcstrome, but that that feels like the easy way out here? so i’m thinking maybe cale makar/carter hart for this one?

maybe they’re on the same floor or roommates, maybe they have an intro english class together, maybe they both join the college hockey team, whatever (i don’t actually know then either of them graduated high school so i don’t know if they would have been the same year but work with me okay)

but they meet, and they hit it off, and carter-he’s always been really focused and driven and a little intense for people his age, and cale’s kind of, not shy, but not really the most outgoing, and a little quieter. so they get along well, and they both eventually share, maybe one night when a lil drunk from a college party, that they’ve never had their first kisses.

so the next day, carter’s just like, look, i don’t want to be bad at kissing, i dont’ want to build it up into something bigger than it is, so what if we just got our first kisses out of the way with each other?

then they kiss, and kiss some more, and “platonically” make out for an entire semester before they actually start dating

and 7/26 is wedding and huddling for warmth

okay so the inspiration for this is the mental image of tk being like “i’d give you my jacket but i don’t think it would fit” and then just having a little bit of an internal freakout about nolan being Large

so yes, tk/nolan for this, i like the idea of kevin’s wedding being the setting, and he’s like haha yes i’m going to elope on nye in the northeast with my closest friends and family! 

this works in a like, non hockey setting, where tk is a coworker and nolan is a former roommate and it’s a holiday romcom set in boston, but it works just as well in a philly setting where they are hockey players and they’re best friends and there’s a lot of pining and haha just bros and there can be another instagram post about “what a wedding date” of the two of them because i think it would be neat 

them not knowing each other would be a really sweet meetcute and like i said, holiday romcom goodness where they just fall in love in the course of a few hours because it’s freezing but the flyers one is fun because you got friends to lovers and mutual pining and a lot of moments of almost leading up to feelings confessions and it would be so tender

[hannah-bakerr]

Anon, you had me at “Connor and Dylan in Erie need to take care of each other.”  McStrome // 896 words // hurt/comfort

Dylan was supposed to be taking care of Connor. Connor was the one with the broken hand, after all. Still, Connor was here in Dylan’s bed, gently petting his hair as Dylan shivered. 

“I’m freezing,” Dylan complained, curled up with his head on Connor’s lap. Connor was sitting with his back against the headboard, and Dylan didn’t know what he would even do without Connor there with him. 

“You’re sweating,” Connor said, his fingers gently detangling Dylan’s curls, where they were damp on his forehead. “Who’d you catch the flu from anyway?” 

“Probably Kenny,” Dylan said, blaming his billet brother. He was ten and had no concept of ‘cover your cough.’ 

“Little bastard,” Connor said. “I wanna make you feel better,” he said, an annoying whine to his voice. Connor was very used to getting what he wanted, even if that was Dylan to feel better. Just the day before, the two of them were curled up in Connor’s bed, Connor getting babied over his freshly broken hand. He’d cried against Dylan’s chest out of frustration and pain. Mostly at being an idiot and getting into a fight that hockey media was eating up with a spoon. 

It was a testament to how much Connor loved Dylan that he hadn’t mentioned his hand once since he got there.

“I’m going to go find cures,” Connor announced, carefully helping Dylan shift his head off his lap, so he could dig around Dylan’s billet family's kitchen or the medicine cabinet or both. While he was gone, Dylan tried to take deep breaths, even though the room was spinning a bit. He didn’t feel physically better when Connor was there, but he felt emotionally better. 

They were coming up on having been together for a year, and there was no part of Dylan’s life that Connor didn’t improve. Obviously, you’d have to be insane to not want to be on his line on the ice. But Connor was also a pretty generous boyfriend, a fun road roommate, a patient person to sit next to on a long bus ride. At least when it came to Dylan.

Dylan knew things would change after the draft, but he hated thinking about it. So he didn’t. He tried to savor every second they had together now, even if his brain felt too big for his skull currently. At least being sick meant Connor was there to take care of him. 

When Connor came back, he had the handles of two mugs in his good hand, and a reusable shopping bag in the crook of his other arm, broken hand wrapped up in a gauzy splint. Connor set the mugs down on the side table. 

“Okay, one is tea and one is broth. The tea one has a tea bag in it, even you’ll be able to tell them apart, Stromer.” 

“Fuck off,” Dylan managed. 

Connor smiled at him and started unpacking the reusable tote. “Okay I have two flavors of Gatorade, two waters, some Advil, and some of this cold and flu stuff that might make your head feel better.”

“Gimme that,” Dylan said, reaching for the bottle of green stuff. Connor measured out a generous dosage, then cracked open a bottle of water by gingerly holding it between his knees and twisting the cap with his good hand. Slowly, Dylan sat up enough to sip the medicine, wash it down with water. 

“You’ll be all better in no time,” Connor said, good hand on Dylan’s forehead. 

“Cuddle me better?” Dylan pouted. It was impossible to not know that he and Connor were together if you spent any kind of time with them. But they weren’t sweet like this with each other around the boys. This was reserved for the two of them, and right then Dylan just needed to be fucking cuddled. 

Connor made sure the Gatorades and waters could be reached from bed, then climbed in after Dylan, pulling him close and carefully settling Dylan’s head against the Erie Otters logo on the front of his big hoodie. Dylan wanted to be in that hoodie with Connor, so close you couldn’t even put separate clothes on them. 

Connor had his bad hand resting on Dylan’s hip and used the good one to wrap around Dylan’s head to hold him as close as Connor could, rubbing the gentlest circles on his temple to ease the ache in his head. He felt like death, but Connor kept pressing kisses to the top of his head, and that made it better. As they relaxed against each other a bit, Connor’s kisses trailed down his forehead, to his cheek, to his lips. Dylan could barely muster the strength to kiss him back. 

“You’re gonna get sick too,” Dylan complained. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not playing anyway,” it was the first Connor had hinted at how upset he was about his hand all evening. About how he had six weeks out of hockey. “And it’s not like I’m going to school.” 

“Connor does what Connor wants.”

“We can be sick in bed together,” Connor said. Honestly, it sounded a little awful. Dylan didn’t want to imagine Connor being sick and broken. But being in bed together was the solution to almost all their problems. He let Connor pull him close again, settle Dylan’s head back on his chest. 

As long as Connor stayed with him, things would be okay. 

[winnipegpatty]

I'm the flower anon now and 🥺 would you mind telling me a little about mcstrome? bc I don't know shit abt them, they- played together I guess? I'm kinda lost in the timeline here but I'm kinda new in the hockey fandom and don't rlly follow the oilers or the hawks, if you can't thats ok too! AND MATT'S A DAD? SIGN ME UP FOR THIS SHIT PLEASE!!! and look I'll not @ you abt the 'willy/kyle' thing but I'll not NOT @ you either fkasdçlkfas thank you for talking abt them I'm already super pumped! 💐x

my first and only named anon 🥰

akfkfksks i also don’t follow the hawks or the oilers so no worries. So Dylan Strome and Connor McDavid (aka McStrome) played together in juniors for the Eerie Otters. So they spend some time in Pennsylvania. Connor is captain of the otters. some great things they’ve said. Connor “strome is a person” 😂 Dylan: “See that? doesn’t know what he’s doing. just plays hockey” “if you would have listened to the instructions you’d know” also dylan when connor asks how he’s doing for a photo shoot “well, can’t do much about the face so” they both think each other are the best leaders 🥺 they go all the way to the OHL finals and then lose 🥺they are SO AWKWARD on draft day oh my god. So obviously, connor famously is drafted number one. but when he’s herded away he asks the big dudes in suits if he can stay and watch. because he wanted to see dylan’s pick 😭 so dylan is drafted 3rd to the yotes. dylan goes through some hell (imo) bc the yotes draft him, give him seven NHL games and then send him down to the minors. So Dylan goes to the Eerie Otters again and Connor is with the oilers. Dylan is Captain this year, and they go to the finals and win whatever cup the win in the OHL I forgot the name of it. Dylan goes back to the yotes and is eventually traded to the hawks where he’s played consistently and had decent numbers. There’s like....no proof of then still talking at all really other than when Ryan Strome got traded to the Oilers, Connor was asked about it as captain and he said “obviously their family was really great friends to me in eerie, dylan was and still is a really good friend of mine.” but uh the oilers lost to the hawks in the qualifiers and connor and dylan didn’t even look each other in the eye. it was fucking sad. 😭🥺. but basically everything connor and dylan do is angsty and makes me emo.

yeah dude i made auston the dad of precious little mexican baby that he’s gonna yeah spanish to. and i’m so excited. who the hell knows when i’ll get that one done but 🤷🏼‍♀️

listen.....i know willy and kyle is..........questionable. i simply do not care. and i will talk about them in private a lot lmao. not sure i’m ready to put myself like that yet 😂😂😂😂 BUT i love this fic. and frankly it will probably be the first of the three to be finished.

[sidneycrosbyisawitch]

ummm christina big mood but “When There Was Me and You” performered by miss Gabriella Montez in the first high school musical could be such a mcstrome song do you agree? let me know your thoughts

hmmm this is an absolutely hurtful and brilliant thesis proposal. 

let us begin with the first verse:

it's funny when you find yourselflooking from the outsidei'm standing here but all i wantis to be over there

already my heart is preparing for a slow death. dylan, stuck in juniors, stuck in the ahl, looking from the outside.

and now let’s get into the really devastating verses, the ones that illustrate how dylan’s feelings towards connor and feelings towards the NHL are inextricably linked:

now i know you're not a fairy taleand dreams were meant for sleepingand wishes on a starjust don't come true'cause now even i can tellthat i confused my feelings with the truthbecause i liked the viewwhen there was me and you

truly, this is terrible. dylan thinking about his own naivety back in erie, back before the draft. thinking that he could have connor and play in the NHL, have his fairytale. and his frustration and reality check that he can’t have either, let alone both. 

thank you so much this is awful 

[lottswrites]

cant let go yet kiss, mcstrome? love u bb ❤️

Can’t Let Go Yet Kiss - The type of goodbye kiss when you keep leaving quick pecks on each other’s lips, but end up pulling each other back for more, which could go on for hours if one of you don’t finally pull away

This is a work of fanfiction, and is not meant to reflect upon the people depicted herein.

Connor’s up early enough that he can hear the birds chirping, and Dylan’s asleep beside him.

He checks his phone, and sees that he has three hours until his flight. He hasn’t packed, because his stuff is in his room, at an entirely different hotel, which means that he should really leave, even if that’s the last thing he wants to do right now.

He figures he can either sneak out and send Dylan a text later, or he can wake him up and deal with Dylan’s morning grumpiness, but as he swings his feet over the edge of the bed and weighs his options, Dylan makes a soft noise, and when Connor turns around, he sees his eyes flutter open.

“Don’t wanna deal with the morning after?” Dylan says, his voice heavy with sleep, but there’s a small smile on his face.

“I have a plane,” Connor says. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Dylan says. “What time is it?”

“Like, 4?” Connor says. “Told you last night, it’s a really early flight.”

Dylan makes a discontented noise. “Is it usually dark out at 4?”

“Yep,” Connor says. “Listen, the birds are waking up.”

“Those are probably like, owls, or whatever birds are awake at night,” Dylan says. “Nocturnal birds.”

“I don’t think you know what an owl sounds like,” Connor says, amused. “Are you accusing me of lying about what time it is?”

“I’m telling you I don’t believe it’s morning yet,” Dylan says. “It’s too soon.”

“I know,” Connor says, sighing.

“So come back to bed,” Dylan says, and Connor can see that he’s a little more awake now.

“I really shouldn’t,” Connor says.

“Fine,” Dylan says. “A goodbye kiss, at least?”

Connor smiles. “Of course,” he says.

Dylan sits up and crawls over to where Connor is sitting, angling his head until their mouths meet.

It’s calmer now than it was last night; they’re more tired and less frantic, even though Connor should definitely be hurrying more than he currently is. Last night, kissing Dylan had been an explosion, fueled by years of shared history and frustration and love, but right now, they’re kissing to explore, learning the way this feels now, when the first hints of light are peaking through the window.

“Davo,” Dylan says, drawing out the “o.”

“Dyls,” Connor says, happy.

“Airplanes are dumb,” Dylan says. “You should stay here and kiss me instead.”

“I know, but I can’t,” Connor says. “I really wish I could.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “It’s okay, I understand.”

He looks so sad, and Connor hates that, so he leans in and kisses him again, and Dylan kisses him back, except this time it’s a little less slow, and they tumble back onto the mattress, Dylan’s body covering Connor’s as he runs a hand through Connor’s hair.

“I should trap you here,” Dylan says, pulling away.

Connor laughs. “Please don’t. The Oilers might sue.”

“It’s the offseason,” Dylan points out. “If it were the playoffs maybe, but–”

“Wow, harsh,” Connor says, and props himself on his elbows so he can kiss Dylan again. “I should really go, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dylan says. “Talks big game about leaving, but never actually does it.”

“I don’t want to,” Connor says, climbing out of bed as Dylan lies back down.

“I know,” Dylan says. “Have a safe flight, okay? Text me when you land.”

“You’ll probably still be sleeping,” Connor says, searching for various pieces of his clothing that were thrown to the floor last night. He finds his boxers quickly, thankfully, and tugs them on.

“Do it anyway,” Dylan says.

“Alright,” Connor says. “Where did you put my shirt?”

“Just take one of mine,” Dylan says, and Connor really likes that idea.

“You sure?” Connor asks.

“Yes,” Dylan says, sitting up again. “Send me snaps of you wearing it.”

“Duh,” Connor says, and picks up the Erie shirt Dylan had been wearing last night. “How’s this one?”

“Sure,” Dylan says. “Rep the team.” 

Connor pulls it on over his head; it has Dylan’s name and number, and it says something about Connor that he can already tell he’s not going to take it off any time soon. “How do I look?”

Dylan looks him up and down, then smiles. “Good.” The, he adds, “Like you should be kissing me.”

“Last one,” Connor says, smiling as he climbs on top of Dylan and leans in to press their lips together.

Dylan pushes him off after a few minutes. “Plane. Go,” he says, smiling. “I know I’m irresistible, but you have a plane to catch.”

“You kinda are,” Connor says.

“Remember to text me,” Dylan says, and Connor climbs off of him.

Dylan rolls over, and Connor stares at his back for a second, then looks down at the shirt he’s wearing, and fuck, he really doesn’t want to leave right now.

“One more kiss,” Connor says, and Dylan chuckles quietly, then rolls over and presses a kiss to Connor’s lips.

“You have to leave,” Dylan says.

Connor gives Dylan another quick kiss. “I have a flight.”

“I know,” Dylan says. “Bye, Davo.”

“Bye, Dyls,” Connor says, reluctantly standing up. He starts looking for his pants, but his eyes land on Dylan, curled up on one side of the bed, his eyes drifting shut. He looks so calm, and the bed looks so warm, and Connor wants to kiss him again. He almost does, almost leans down for what would probably be their fifth last kiss, but instead, he puts his phone down on the nightstand and climbs under the covers.

“No,” Dylan says, and his voice sounds sleepy again. “You have a flight.”

“Fuck it,” Connor says, putting his arms around Dylan. “I can skip one day of training.”

“What?” Dylan asks, sounding confused.

“I’m staying,” Connor says. “Now, c’mon, the sun’s actually starting to come up.” He presses a kiss to Dylan’s shoulder.

“You’re actually gonna skip your flight?” Dylan asks.

“Yep,” Connor says, and his eyes are already falling shut.

“It’s alright, really,” Dylan says. “I was kidding before.”

“I want to stay,” Connor says.

“Alright,” Dylan says. “Personally, I think you’re making an excellent choice.”

“I think so too,” Connor says. “Good night. Morning. Whatever.”

“Sweet dreams,” Dylan says.

The birds are still chirping outside, but Connor falls asleep easily, despite the noise.

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