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↳ KEVIN FIALA ON VACATION IN SPAIN | 6.3.25

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me in the. me in. the. uhm.

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To make it abundantly clear, fuck Sam Bennett. But also fuck Paul Maurice, fuck the league, fuck the department of "player safety", fuck Colin Campbell, fuck Gary Bettman, and fuck everyone else who has been complicit in letting Sam Bennett go unpunished for his constant head hits. Fuck everyone and fuck the hockey culture that has not only been complicit in letting players like Bennett go unpunished for head hits but has encouraged it as part of hockey and specifically a part of putting it all on the line for the playoffs

And one more fuck Gary Bettman and the league for still denying the link between hockey and CTE

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it sucks really really bad. we really thought we had it in the bag.

i’m pretty sure what set us back was that stupid call hiller made. if he hadn’t made that call/challenged it in the first place, this series would’ve been a whole lot different.

in the end, it was a great run. so so proud of our boys. we’ll get them next szn 🖤

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Family

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hockey is simultaneously the most & least serious thing in the world. none of this is real & also I hope your team explodes & my team wins forever

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THEY’RE HERE

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@DooleyLAK: Brandt Clarke is nearly horizontal in this photo.

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21/04/2025 - EDM @ LAK | Game 1 squeeze

[ID: Gif of Kings teammates Quinton Byfield and Kevin Fiala celebrating a goal. Fiala skates into Byfield and throws his arms over Byfield's shoulders, Byfield squeezes him back. /. End ID.]

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I did not know the wags in their custom jackets were going to be at the game today and I did not know they would stare at me and my custom sweater for the apparently actually single player on the team. I'm out here making this shit by hand repping his college team too. Y'all don't even try lol

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21/04/2025 - EDM @ LAK | Game 1

game winner

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So excited for the playoffs, but ya girl here is so tired of the kings vs oilers in the first round.

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My Utopia

A/N: Hello all! I've been letting this one sit in my google docs for a hot minute before I decided to revise it and post it here. This is just a one shot of a bigger fanfic with my Kengan Ashura OC and Ohma Tokita. Please enjoy it! Also I would really appreciate feedback! Also sorry for the huge block of the audio above, but I was listening to this while writing the fic lol.

Warnings: Spoilers for death of main character, grief/sadness, hints of pregnancy, uncertainty of the future.

The underground tournament with Nogi was a relentless pressure cooker. Every fight felt like a descent into the deepest parts of hell, punctuated by Nogi’s demands about contracts and my constant vigilance to ensure our fighter was a hundred percent. When Ohma became our substitute, my role narrowed: solely his athletic trainer, with Mr. Yamashita as his manager.

I met Ohma months ago. His deep gray eyes, intense and assessing, had bored into my brown eyes. At four foot nine, I’m sure I didn’t fit his image of a trainer. The smiles came later, a rare, subtle smirk that flickered when we spoke, easily missed by others.

All my life, the place I’ve been searching for has felt just beyond reach – a shimmering mirage, a dreamer lost in a dream, a sea where fear and joy intertwined. I glimpsed it, felt its pull in a dream that day. I held onto the belief that someday, following that blurry afterimage, one step at a time, we would find it.

From the moment I met him, months ago, Ohma declared his strength, his unwavering intent to prove it. The Kengan tournament became his brutal stage. After each match, his needs were surprisingly simple: stretches, ice, cryotherapy, or just silent companionship. But as the relentless matches wore on, the strain on his body, especially his heart, became a palpable weight.

Mr. Yamashita, his face etched with worry, had insisted on searching for Ohma after his last fight, a disappearance that hung heavy in the air. We found him outside the roaring arena, in an incongruous, isolated field, slumped against a tree, unnervingly still.

“Ohma…? Are you alright…?” Mr. Yamashita’s voice was hesitant, fear keeping him from immediately facing the prone figure. A long, heavy silence stretched before a short grunt, followed by another agonizing pause. “I know the toll this tournament has taken… Ohma, please…” A lump formed in my throat, the inevitable conclusion of this brutal chapter pressing down on us.

The map of our future felt incomplete, the final strokes missing. Even if the world chose to ignore us, I would keep going. Even if the distance felt insurmountable, I would still climb. If the utopia I envisioned didn’t exist, I would pull it closer to our reality. Don’t tell me that’s not true anymore, yeah.

“Ohma, please…” My voice was a choked whisper, tears already blurring my vision. “Please don’t leave. I… I feel like I failed you as your trainer. Just… just say you won’t go.” The grief of losing someone so close was a physical ache, tears streaming down my face, uncontrollable. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. All I could do was sink to my knees, a silent, broken sob escaping my lips. The knowledge of the immense burden on his heart, a burden that had finally broken him, was a crushing weight.

“Oh, Ohma…” Mr. Yamashita’s cry was torn from his chest. “I… I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. You and Miss Maeya… you were both too young to be caught in this…” His words struck a raw nerve. Did he truly believe I was just dragged along?

“Mr. Yamashita, please… please don’t think you dragged me here too,” I choked out through my tears, looking up at his own tear-streaked face. Our shared burden hung heavy in the air. I reached for his hand, my small hand finding his, a silent offering of comfort as Ohma remained still, unresponsive. “Please… I’m here because I wanted to be. For you… and for Ohma.”

I had a dream, a utopia waiting for us. I would never stop chasing it, every day, every night. Here we go, go, go. Even if the world scoffed at a dream, I couldn’t let it go. That was my truth. Oh, we can touch utopia. We can reach there, utopia, oh. Every day, every night we keep going on.

The thought of losing him was a searing pain in my chest. I pulled my hand away from Kazuo’s, clutching at my heart as if to physically contain the agony. It felt like it was just him and me against the world. If only I could make a deal, trade places, run up that road, that hill, that building, just to save him. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, a wave of nausea washing over me – a consequence of unspoken intimacy, a blurring of professional lines driven by a mutual, undeniable connection. How could I have maintained that distance when every look, every stolen touch, every secret kiss whispered a different truth?

All my life, the utopia I sought felt like a hidden treasure, barely visible through the clouds, a place that wasn’t just a dream for us. Sleep offered no escape, my voice was raw with unshed tears, my knees ached from constantly pushing forward. The memory of the roaring cheers from the stage felt distant, unreal. The broken steering wheel of our journey had finally stopped. We had aimed for the impossible height. I, who had been wandering, had finally looked up, towards the sky. Sleepless nights spent chasing a dream, only to have it snatched away just as my hands reached for it.

Memories, both bright and shadowed, flickered through my mind, the rapid-fire montage of the past months. My hand remained pressed against my stomach, a persistent knot of grief and nausea. Perhaps Kazuo sensed the unspoken tragedy of young lovers torn apart, a love that was perhaps never meant to fully bloom.

“Miss Maeya, I’m so sorry… I couldn’t do anything,” Kazuo whispered, his hand a gentle weight on my shoulder. “I truly tried to get him to stop before it was too late.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. Yamashita,” I replied, my voice flat with exhaustion, wiping away the endless tears. “I failed too… as his trainer. I’m not even sure if I deserve that title anymore. Please… go on ahead. I want to stay here with him a little longer.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright alone?” Kazuo asked, his concern evident.

“Mhm. I won’t be long, I promise,” I managed a weak smile. He nodded slowly, leaving me in the heavy silence. “Ohma… I just wish you had listened. But… I’m so grateful our paths crossed. Maybe it was fate, maybe something else. You’ve impacted us more than you ever knew. You achieved what you set out to do, no matter the cost. I admire your resilience, your ability to rise after every fall… something I wish I possessed.” Fresh tears welled in my eyes, my arms instinctively cradling my stomach.

Don’t tell me that’s not true anymore, yeah. I had a dream, and it’s waiting… or it was. I’ll never stop, oh, every day, every night. Here we go, go, go. Even if the world laughs at a shattered dream, the truth remains. Even if you laugh at me, I’m fine. We’re too young to stop.

“This will sound foolish, but I truly hope we can meet again in another lifetime. I would want nothing more than to experience life with you again. Sleep now… I hope fate grants us one more chance.” The image of the arena flashed in my mind – once vibrant, roaring, now empty, the curtains drawn on a silent, lonely night.

Oh, we can touch utopia. We can reach there, utopia. Oh, every day, every night we keep going on. When the darkness finally breaks and I open my eyes again, I hope… I desperately hope I can reach it, even if it’s just a little closer.

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Name: Squeaky Hinge

Pronouns: he/her/he/her

Likes: Squeaking

Dislikes: WD-40

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and i thought the kings game was stressful enough...... nope. it's at an all time high w/ the lakers right now. I CANNOT

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