#Dougie makes a meme

[dougielombax]

TERFs can fucking die and go to hell mad about it!

Fuck them!

It’s not their future!

[hellogoodbyegirl]

the fact that Roger was just straight up naked for this photoshoot lives rent free in my mind

[mcflythrills78]

[cursivebloodlines]

☕️  - for dougie :)

🍎 ｡:*• ─ IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME !     ›    ( a symbol meme for muses who want to do something special and fun together this christmas / holiday season.) | @overnightheartbeats

send a symbol for our muses to: ☕️   ─  drink something warm and/or festive ( either at home, at a coffeeshop, christmas market, etc… )

Christmas had been Dougie’s favourite time of the year ever since he was a little boy. He loved it all: the bustling markets packed with treats and trinkets, sampling the drinks and delicacies said markets had to offer, watching the glimmering Christmas lights as they brighten the neighbourhoods, wrapping up warm in cosy jumpers, watching Christmas movies, the music (yes, he was one of those people who would declare it being Christmas as soon as Halloween finishes and immediately blast Christmas songs - he was like this from childhood, before it became The Thing), buying gifts for the people he loved and just the atmosphere. How magical it all felt, even when life itself could feel like a downer or a drag. It never failed to lift his spirits up especially when he needed it most. To quote that one famous song: he wished it could be Christmas everyday.

So naturally, it was his idea to suggest venturing to one of the many Christmas markets and explore what they had to offer this year. Perhaps going out and doing festive activities with his ex-girlfriend wasn’t the brightest of ideas but he didn’t care - there was nobody else he would rather do these things with. Besides, how else were they going to try and navigate this tricky part of their relationship, being friends and starting over, if they didn’t actively hang out and do things together? His feelings for her were all over the place but the more he thought about it, the more he realised he would rather have her in his life than not at all. Dougie already lost her once; he didn’t want to lose her again. There’s a part of him unsure whether he could survive losing her all over again. Despite this, trust was a vital necessity needed to rebuilt for them to have any kind of relationship. Romantic or platonic, and honestly…the line between the two could be a struggle at times.  But there was a time and place where he could dwell on them. And being here, spending time with Laurel was no place he would rather be. 

They idly chit-chatted as the meandered throughout the hustle and bustle, buying random little trinkets from the stalls, or taking photos of each other or selfies together whenever an opportunity presented itself, taking it all in as the sight of something caught Dougie’s attention: a couple walking past, hot chocolate filled to the brim of their cups, topped with plenty of whipped cream and sprinkles. His eyes lit up like a little kid, and he turned to face Laurel, a twinkle in his eye that made it very clear on their next plans. Before she had the chance to potentially object, he took her hand in his and followed the pair with the lovely drink in each of their hands. “Hi, excuse me? Excuse me please - er, sorry… Sorry…hi,” Doug uttered sheepishly as he raced to stand in front of them before they could walk off. The cold could be to blame, but his cheeks burned red, like it was embarrassing to randomly approach a couple of strangers all just to discover where they could get their hands on the mouthwatering delight in front of them. “So sorry to bother you,” he once again couldn’t help but apologise (some things never change), fingertips unintentionally squeezing Laurel’s hand gently. The action feeling like the most natural thing ever, just like old times. When he looked at her, amusement twinkled in her eyes, probably at the way he was starting to babble word vomit. Despite this, the smile she was trying to hide, he didn’t feel like quite the idiot he must’ve looked at. In fact, for some reason or another, he felt more assured. Like it sent a flicker of encouragement, like her mere presence offered him comfort in a time where he’d be feeling really silly or probably wouldn’t have even approached these random people to ask about their hot chocolate in the first place. Maybe she was just rubbing off on him, he liked the thought of that, it brought a smile upon his own lips. Momentarily getting distracted by being too busy admiring his ex-girlfriend, he cleared his throat to break his own thoughts as he glanced to the people in front of him, a timid, awkward smile gracing his lips. “I’m sorry to bother you but those hot choccies just looked too tempting and I had to ask - would you mind telling me… us um,” Doug paused to clear his throat before trying to finish his question. “Could you tell us or point us in the right direction so we can get one of our own? Please?” Was it possible to get redder and redder as his rambling continued? He could blame the cold but all of them probably knew otherwise. Getting flustered was his biggest talent. However, the people were lovely and helpful, advising where to go. With this newfound knowledge in tow, he thanked them profusely, wished them a very Merry Christmas and continued their quest to find the hot chocolate stand!

A few minutes later, lo and behold, they finally reached it. If it hadn’t been for Laurel pointing it out to him, he probably would have walked straight past it. Approaching the stand, he bought them both a hot chocolate each, customised to their contentment. Dougie, being Dougie, when posed with the difficult choice of deciding, he was stumped. Looking blankly from all the choices and endless combinations…To save time, he opted for everything. Which didn’t save time at all, considering that it took time for them to add all the toppings. They even asked him if he was sure which made him a tad uncertain, but with a bashful smile and an affirmed nod of his head, they obliged. His hot chocolate looked like a colourful, eclectic bundle of chaos. So much whipped cream, sauces of different flavours, ones he had no idea of what they were, topped with marshmallows and sprinkles and who knows what else. What can he say? He always had a sweet tooth. Besides, it was Christmas - there were no limitations at the most wonderful time of the year! There was probably more ‘everything else’ and probably less hot chocolate. To put it simply, his definitely looked more appealing in his head than in reality, and if he put a side by side view of expectations versus reality there probably would’ve been a biiiiiit of a difference, maybe he went a bit too far with everything else but he didn’t mind. Lesson learned, and he was going to drink his bloody hot chocolate! Paying for the drinks and offering a polite thanks, Dougie passed Laurel her hot chocolate with gleaming eyes and a bright smile and they found the perfect spot to sit and enjoy their drinks. Away from the hustle and bustle of it all but still in the vicinity, beautifully decorated with pretty lights and a massive, decorated outdoor Christmas tree in the centre of it all. A perfect view for them to sip away at. “Thanks for coming here with me, doing all… well, uh, this. It’s been great. Really lovely, and I’m hoping you had fun too,” he said, his eyes unable to contain the amount of love he still had for her. Lifting his cup up slightly, he added, “Cheers,” with a warm, lighthearted laugh, before clinking his cup against hers. Like the Cheshire cat, he could not wipe the smile off of his face if he tried. In an imperfect world and situation, this moment felt like the most perfect thing he’d experienced in years. He raised the cup to his lips, briefly blowing on it to cool it down - albeit what good would that do since the drink itself was covered by the various toppings - as he took a sip of his drink. A thoughtful hum left his lips.

“Huh. Better than I thought actually, bit sweet but not overly sweet, considering…” he mused before offering the drink to her whilst Laurel was in the middle of drinking hers. “Do you want to try? Go onnnnn, you know you wanna,” he persuaded, wiggling the cup in front of her face as if it would tempt her some more. Doug’s grin widened as she passed her cup to hold in the mean time, and he swapped it for his for her to try. He was transfixed on her, his eyes full of love and adoration. It was the happiest he’d been in a long time, and it felt relief knowing how they could simply…be. How despite their situation, this was the most normal he’d felt in a long while. Normal, but also not normal. It was too odd to explain, but either way. Here? Now? This moment? This moment was everything. “How was it? That taste alright?” Dougie laughed as Laurel returned his drink to him, handing over her drink back. She was just perfect. The smile she gave him, the sound of her laugh. She was truly mesmerising, he’d never been so in love. His gaze travelled down to her lips as he realised some of the cream had stuck to her. Chuckling softly, he gestured to his own face as an indicator. “You’ve got um,” he said, the doting smile etched across his face growing wider as she seemed to miss the spot every time. “It’s okay. Here, um, let me,” his voice was soft, gentle. Like part of him was unsure but he went anyway, leaning in a little closer to make sure he got it. His thumb gently swiping against her lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own lips as he resisted the temptation to replace his thumb with his mouth. Swallowing thickly, as if that would eliminate all thoughts he had, it only made the urge stronger. Dougie considered it as he retracted his thumb, his eyes meeting her then glancing down once again. If only, if only. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed her before. But this was different, they were different. And they were doing good. This was going well. He was too much of a coward, but it was hard to think straight when his heart was pounding in his chest, his stomach filled with the flapping wings of butterflies driving him crazy. How was he able to focus on anything when she was so close to him? When his thoughts were suddenly swimming and his stomach doing flips? Why did it feel like falling in love with Laurel for the first time all over again? 

“Got it,” he simply said, trying to steady his breathing pattern, trying to conceal the fact that every thought swirling around in his mind was just about her. Only her. “All better.��

[overnightheartbeats]

[text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun. - Laurel :))

text message prompts // @cursivebloodlines

[text]: Impossible!! who is this cat, and how could it ever hate you ??

[text]: see, now I'm beefing with a cat I've never met

[text]: oh love, you're too good for this world...I'll be there in a bit, and I'll even bring an offering to the cat, yes I'm resorting to bribing

[stereax]

hello!! for the drafts thing: “bless your waters, bless your doubts” what did you set out to do with this? what changed that caused you to put it on hold? what are the themes that jump out at you, what story were you trying to tell? also, is the title a reference to something? i love to hear about the creative process!! :3

- puckpocketed on main

Yes!!! Oh my god, this was such a fun project that I began undertaking. Just couldn't keep going on it. More under the cut.

So yes! The title is a reference to the Devils' goal song. Here it is, if you haven't heard it (or if you haven't heard it in its entirety) before.

Okay third time's the charm my posts are being chewed upon by tumblr please dear lord let me post this this time please please PLEASE

[inhales] Okay! So the initial premise of this fic is incredibly simple. Dougie Hamilton, one of the Devils' better defensemen, has a running joke going where the Devils claim he's the admin of our social media. Hamilton slapshot goals are posted with a caption of "I scored!", Dougie's been roped into the act a few times, the like. So obviously this means someone's gotta write a Dougie Hamilton social media admin AU. I'm surprised nobody has yet. Devilsblr, get on it.

Anyway. I think the indents are messing up my post so let's try to post step by step. Instead of indenting snippets, I'll italicize them.

"What?"

Of all the things Dougie Hamilton had expected to hear when being pulled aside by the media team before the first game of the season, this was not it. The hockey player reclines in his seat, rubbing at one of his eyes. "You want me to do what?" he repeats.

Across from him sits Christopher Wescott, leader of the social media team if memory serves Dougie right. A quick glance down at Wescott's placard on his desk, prominently placed, confirms it. Director, Content Strategy & Social Media. Then again, Wescott usually wasn't seen filming anything, or talking to the players even, unless it was roping a certain Jack Hughes in front of a camera to try to get him to sell the youth foundation. That took all hands on deck. They even got the players involved in that one.

Gravy celebrated that hundred-dollar bonus for capturing Jack harder than any goal he's scored with the man. Colorado sleeper agent, Severson complained the next day. I would've doubled it if he let me go, Hughes complained in concurrence.

Dougie didn't remember when the media crew ever needed the hockey equivalent of a SWAT team, not in Boston or Calgary or Raleigh. Then again, maybe he's just not used to Jersey yet. (It's not New Jersey, Nico clued him in before one of his first post-game interviews. Just Jersey. Say New Jersey and they know you're not from here. Just Jersey and you're one of the locals.)

And here, in Just Jersey, Christopher Wescott wants Dougie Hamilton to take a second job.

"The younger generation of fans like memes," Wescott explains. The word memes rolls off his tongue like Dougie rolls out of bed after a physical game; that is to say, falls like a paperweight and ends up on the floor sprawled awkwardly, wondering why he hasn't retired and become a lawyer like his father yet. Wescott is what, five years older than Dougie, maybe? From the way he speaks, it sounds like he's an old man trying to commit the name of his smart speaker to memory. Erica, remind me to buy rice.

"And the team said you're supposedly the best at making them," Wescott continues, snapping Dougie out of this train of thought.

"Rice?" Dougie echoes, confused. "Anyone can make rice. It's just an orange packet you put in the microwave, you rip the top off a bit..."

Wescott sighs, running a hand through his hair. He's definitely thinking some dumb hockey player stereotype right now; Dougie can tell by the way his brow furrows in annoyance. "Look," and here he drops his volume two steps, scooting forward to lean across his desk, and oh this is serious? Dougie better pay at least enough attention to remember this discussion. No more rice. "I thought social media posting was just going to be putting up reverse retro pictures and celebrating stars of the week if we get any. You know, standard fare. But Andrew floated the idea with us a few weeks back and we really think we can get ahead of the league in capturing younger fans with a more dynamic social media presence." Of course it was Maclean, or, as the team called him, Picture Day. One guess as to why.

"And where do I get involved in this?" Dougie asks, but he realizes even as he asks that it's not going to change his final answer.

"We were thinking to make a meme after every win." Wescott pauses. "Oh, and some other reels and things for when it's needed. Of course Catherine's also going to be making content for us, too." Catherine Bogart, Queen of the Tiny Mic. Oh boy.

"Do I get tiny mic privileges?" Dougie flashes one of his patented Hamilton Smiles, hoping to catch Wescott off guard.

"We'll think about it." No then. Aw. Would've been fun though.

"Do I get paid?"

The director shrugs. "Aren't you on a multi-million dollar contract?"

"To play hockey," Dougie specifies. "Not to deep-fry Bratt pics." From the look of confusion on Wescott's face, Dougie reminds himself once again that he's dealing with a senior citizen in the body of a mid-30s advertising executive. The guy probably needed an assistant to turn on his computer. For him, deep-frying is exclusively for overpriced tempura. "Meme things," he explains without explaining. "But - "

"Museum pass, any place in the state, any exhibit, we can figure it out for you."

That rumor even made it here? Well. Hey. It's something to do on the weekends, he figures. And he's pretty sure Wescott, fancy director placard and all, can't actually give him a salary for this. "Fine," Dougie agrees. He's used to being underpaid, after all. Might as well have fun with it. Besides, it's a good excuse to get out of any social events he doesn't particularly want to go to. (Is he justifying this to himself? Oh, definitely. But he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to do this.)

So yeah! The basic premise of the fic is Dougie's (mis)adventures running the social media for the Devils, his work with the social media people, his reactions to the Devils' season, and the like. I tried to keep it quite light (funny, even, perhaps? but I'm not really funny). Dougie, is, at his heart, a fun character, and I'd like to think it shows a little. It's not that realistic (he definitely doesn't text from the bench!) but it's fun.

In typical Devils fashion, they lose the first game.

In typical Devils fashion, they also lose the second game.

Dougie already has the next three games lined up. He doesn't expect to need more than one of them, if he's being honest with himself, but he's personalizing for each team, so there's that. Might come in handy later in the season, too.

By the end of the second period against Anaheim, they're 2-2. This is also the approximate time Dougie realizes he doesn't have access to the Devils' social media accounts.

Fuck.

And to make matters worse, Dougie starts the third period on the ice.

Shit.

And, if that weren't bad enough, he scores a goal 33 seconds into the period.

Damn it.

All this to mean that, in the next thirty or so minutes, Dougie Hamilton needs to hack into Instagram and TikTok and get ready to post this meme.

The second he's on the bench, he paws off his gloves, reaching for his phone under the front wall. Shaking it on, Dougie quickly navigates to Instagram and logs -

"Dougie, you're on," Lindy calls. The defenseman slides his phone back and jumps over the wall.

When he gets back to the bench a minute or so later, Dougie completes the process of logging off his Instagram account, then quickly punches in the Devils' media email address for the login. It shows him the right account, which is good -

"Dougie, you're on." Lindy again.

As he skates, Dougie contemplates the password. He can't disappear from the bench mid-period to go and find whoever was still working now and ask, so he's got to figure this out on his own.

The first password Dougie tries is njdevils. No dice. He goes on for another shift, then comes back and tries raisehell. Also nothing. If he keeps this up, he's going to freeze the account. Two shifts later, Mercer scores, and now the situation is dire, just when Dougie's brain is deep-fried worse than the Bratt pictures he sent the groupchat last week.

"Hey, Haula," he whispers as the center clambers over the wall to take his position on the faceoff. "If you were gonna make a password, what would it be?" In retrospect, Haula is not the person to ask about this, but Dougie will take what he can get, thank you very much.

"I dunno, man," Haula shrugs. "Password or something?" He raises an eyebrow at the weird question, skating off. Dougie nearly facepalms at the response, but fuck it, he might as well try. password.

Holy fucking shit.

Dougie slides his phone back onto the shelf to take another shift, biting his tongue to keep from cackling so loudly that even his own teammates would stay away from him. Holy fucking shit. Wescott and company clearly have never had a single lesson about cybersecurity.

Well, he's in now, and that's the most important.

However, as I continued writing, another story "thread" popped up, this one a lot more personal to me - the story of the Polish diaspora in New Jersey. A lot of my own personal stories are reflected in this part of the fic. It makes sense in the story (Dougie rents a townhouse in Garfield to avoid being recognized in Newport, Hoboken, and that area), but it's definitely a sharp left from the fic's initial focus. The two plot lines do intersect later on, but I never got to really writing that part of the story, sadly.

A few moments later, Ms. K turns off the stove and carries the soup pot into the dining room with two oven-mitted hands. Dougie pulls himself up to steady the situation however he can, helping direct the pot into its position. Ms. K takes the ladle she had hooked onto her arm, snatching Dougie's bowl before he can react and filling it with several ladlefuls of żurek. At the hockey player's mortified expression of a silent way too much, Ms. K shakes her head emphatically. "Big man, strong, big meal."

"Okay," Dougie agrees, cautious, as he settles back down in his chair and takes his spoon, stirring the soup. Chunks of sausage - kiełbasa - float up to the top before dipping back in. "Thank you," he mumbles, a little too quiet for even his own liking. He's just tired after the game. Yeah. Tired and a little humbled by the kind gesture.

"No worries," Ms. K replies, and from the way she rubs her hands together as she sits, Dougie knows she's one step away from launching into a story over dinner. "You know Martyna from the deli?"

"Yeah," Dougie nods. One of Ms. K's co-workers at Bratek, the business on the other side of town where she cooks for a living. Dougie's been there a few times, just to bask in the atmosphere and maybe score a few free candies. Martyna's the young one, couldn't be more than 24. Her husband Konrad is, from what Dougie has heard of him, a massive piece of shit. He suspects he's going to hear more of him in a moment.

"She came in yesterday all crying," Ms. K sighs, blowing on a spoonful of soup. It reminds Dougie to try his own - it's distinctively sour, but in a good way, enticing yet filling. (He suspects Ms. K makes him a lighter batch than she normally cooks, given the difference in color between this one and the one at the deli. No matter.) "Says that barely enough money for rent. Konrad drinks it all away. Co za kurwa debil."

Dougie doesn't need to speak a word of Polish to understand the meaning behind that acidic sentence, that Ms. K clearly isn't happy with her coworker's husband. "That bad?" he queries, making sure to leave it open for interpretation.

"He even doesn't have job," Ms. K rolls her eyes. "I told her, this man no good, he not love you. No. She loves him. Enough for her that she loves him." The older lady sighs. "Love doesn't pay rent. Or food. Or gas. He needs job." Dougie nods again in agreement, letting her continue; after a moment, she does. "Nobody want to hire him. Not construction, not restaurant, nobody. All what he does is drink and complain."

"Maybe he's got some sort of mental disorder?" The defenseman offers the idea. "Sits at home all day, does nothing, drinks - "

Ms. K barks out a laugh, cutting Dougie off. "His mental disorder" (here she butchers the pronunciation of the words) "is lazy. He doesn't go to school, doesn't work. Only watch game and drink. Lazy. Mother not raise him right." She shakes her head. "You give child everything, they get lazy. You make child work, they not get lazy."

"Aha," Dougie grants the point, deciding that a debate on the existence of depression against his matronly elderly neighbor who was currently feeding him wasn't exactly his plan for the rest of the day.

"No discipline in that house," Ms. K sighs. "All three Kubiaks lazy. One I understand, three is parents' fault." A pause as Ms. K lifts her spoon. "Martyna stupid, Konrad lazy. Perfect together."

They eat for a few minutes in silence, Dougie digesting both the soup and the gossip. "She's at least a good worker though." It's a calculated statement, because Ms. K very obviously wants to keep talking, but Dougie doesn't want to hear about Polish child-rearing strategies (which, from his very limited experience, began and ended at corporal punishment). So hopefully she bites on the redirect.

"Did I tell you about Barbara?" Hook, line, sinker.

"No," Dougie hums.

"She knows nothing!" Ms. K flushes red with annoyance. "She goes all day and looks how I cook. She can't even make salad. All you do is..." Her steam runs out as she searches for the word she needs. "Zetrzeć carrot, doesn't know how."

"Cut?"

"No, not cut." Ms. K mimes running a carrot over a grater. "So you get thin."

"Grate," Dougie supplies.

She nods quickly. "Yes, grate. Cannot grate carrot. Cuts herself. Cannot stir soup - not even make soup, just stir it. Burns herself. Or gets soup dirty."

He chuckles at that. "So she's not a good chef."

"No, but she is owner's son's wife," Ms. K sighs. "Cannot be at cash register, scans things twice. Cannot stack food, food falls and breaks. Cannot cook, chicken is raw and burnt. Both on same piece. Useless."

Dougie tilts his soup bowl to fill his spoon, unable to stop his eyes from looking at the cakes on display. The nutritionists don't need to know. "Can she bake?"

"She make pączki and pączki go boom." She says it so matter-of-factly that it's hysterical. "If she know how bake, she work at Piast."

Piast, the Polish store/restaurant hybrid that looks like a literal castle on the side of the road. Dougie hasn't ever been inside, Ms. K forbidding it (and once again, he's not going to argue with the woman who clearly knows her stuff). "If you ever need Polish food, come to me. Not Piast. Owner died, place is bad now. Too expensive."

That's another thing about Polish people - they measure everything in who died. Usually with when and how thrown into the mix. Honestly, it's fascinating. Ms. K puts on her Polish television shows and points out to Dougie who had a heart attack and who got into a car accident, recounting the details as if she were the coroner. She turns on the radio and everyone got cancer or was murdered by a French guy, five songs in a row, and then an Italian song comes on. Ms. K purses her lips for a minute, then says, "Did you know their daughter disappeared? Took too many drugs, jumped off a bridge. So young, too."

It's kind of morbid, Dougie figures.

Every Sunday, Ms. K goes to church and then to the cemetery, weather permitting. She takes candles with her in fancy glass containers, lights them and leaves them on her husband's grave. Dougie's seen the containers and heard the stories, how she counts the days until she sees him again. Dougie asks her, once, whether she wants to find another husband; she laughs sadly, "When Wojciech died, I saw it was either son or new man. I said better to work for son than for stranger. Son no longer here, but am old now. No point in looking for husband. I have husband already. Just not here anymore."

I think the main "issue" with this fic is that it's Super Fucking Long. There are so many plot lines in it and so much going on that it quickly became an overwhelming sort of project and I sputtered out on energy.

If I went back to rework it, I'd have to definitely consider whether all the parts are truly necessary or whether I just want to focus on Dougie as the social media admin and go from there. Additionally, I didn't know much about some characters before beginning to write, so they come across as fairly OOC, so I need to rework that.

Fun fact, though - I originally intended bless your waters, bless your doubts to be a capstone of a series. Each fic would represent one line of "Howl" and would be a short oneshot dealing with a specific Devil and some specific situation they were in. For example:

and all grown up and traveled so well - Mercer about heritage

do you still hear the sound of the thunder while you lie up by yourself? - Palat injury

And each one would offer a new perspective, roughly in chronological order, on the Devils and their own narratives. I still feel that the "braided" fics, as I call them, would be vitally important in presenting a complete picture, and I'd want to preserve them if I do retry this one.

However, it's a bit of a "dated" fic (22-23 is so long ago now), plus it'd end up being so incredibly long... I don't think I have it in me. Maybe someday.

Have one last snippet, here, and Experience Devils Hockey with me! [profuse sobbing]

It's seven-fifteen by the time Dawson shows up, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Classic. Dougie can't help but chuckle as he opens the door for the young center. "Nice to see you," he smiles, a little fondly. Dawson reminds him a little too much of himself. He supposes it's only kind to pay it forward and take him under his wing.

"Yeah," Dawson grins back. "What's cooking?"

"Figure it out," Dougie challenges. The kid sniffs the air, contemplating his next words, and Dougie takes the opportunity to take the finished chicken out of the oven. "Before if gets cold," he calls across the room, balancing the dish in both gloved hands. Dawson scurries over to get a better look.

"I knew it had to be garlic," the Newfoundlander comments. He pulls out his chair and plops down unceremoniously. "Got anything to drink?"

Dougie bites his tongue to stop from rolling his eyes. "Because you want to be hungover the morning before the Caps."

"It'll help the L go down," Mercer offers. Damn, they really thought they had no chance, huh?

Right. This team never did have a chance. He's been here a year already but enough of that time was on injured reserve (and the rest trying to avoid anyone on his former teams) that it's still new to him, this - this culture of expecting loss. He sees it in the eyes of the old guard, how Sevo and Wood sigh when a goal is given up like it's the last breath they know how to take. Even the newer players feel it, see it, know it.

This was once a dynasty, Dougie understands, and now the castle is in ruins.

[upontherisers]

I heard Lola likes Douglass. What about

Who makes the first move and how? 1b. Does it work?

13. When do they realise they should get together?

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

thanks for these great questions, merc! this ran a little long (don't they all) so my answers are below the cut.

1. Who makes the first move and how? 1b. Does it work?

there are two first moves. dougie makes one and then lola makes one.

dougie's is early on. he's dazzled by all the club mobile girls, but is particularly sweet on lola who'll dance with him and laugh with him night after night. he tells her all the time that he's just waiting for her whenever she's ready for him, that they'll have two kids, a girl and a boy, ruby and james jr, and he'll build her the house of her dreams and they'll grow old and fat together. she laughs it off and the way his smile falters breaks her heart, but if bobbie wouldn't kill her for getting involved with a crewman, losing him would. this doesn't work.

then bremen happens and lola watches helen lose nash and there's no word of just-a-snappin' and hazel is just barely, barely hanging on. she can't make heads or tails of her emotions when the boys stagger their way into the club. dougie has cuts on his face and he's loud and laughing as he tells the story of cros running their fort into a tree, but she can see it in his eyes. a haunting that hadn't caught up to him until now, one that was in ev's eyes too. she comforts him as far as a dance and bobbie's scathing gaze will allow, but that's not enough. mabel gets to sneak around and helen's on her third dance with that navigator and everyone gets a good thing but lola, it seems.

then munster happens and bobbie pretends she simply has allergies when lola finds her weeping on her knees behind the clubmobile, that she only wishes all their boys were safe, but lola sees the book clutched in bobbie's hand, one that cpt. cruikshank had gifted her, and lola is the angriest she's been all war. so much for not getting involved, huh?

she finds dougie as soon as bobbie dismisses the girls for the day and kisses him square on the mouth behind the ops building and it's not fair of him to promise her a house and two kids but suffering for suffering's sake is robbing them of time that they might not have.

this works.

13. When do they realise they should get together?

they realize they should get together after lola's big move and they've dreamt and joked about this for so long that they don't quite know what to do with themselves so it actually moves slow at the beginning, but once dougie's no longer on flying status, they establish themselves publicly.

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

in england, it's sitting on the barrels outside the airfield workshop next to the hardstand, particularly in the evening, when the only flights coming in and out are cargo and new birds. lola likes the rumble of the planes and the sky and the way dougie tells her about flying. dougie likes her questions and the brass in her voice as she hums along to ken's radio.

back home, it's on the porch of the house he builds for them. rain or shine, morning, noon, night, they watch the kids play up and down the street and say hi to the neighbors and race each other up the stairs to the door when they both get in from work at the same time.

ship headcanon meme (mix and match edition)

[ieatnomnom9823]

stupid headcanons no one asked for and make 0 sense

me and my friend enjoy in making the most shit headcanons to exist so i'm gonna share some of them bc why the fuck not?

princess kenny is an amazon box

kyle only knows how to play football because of how much he kicks Ike

cartman vibes to this video: https://youtu.be/PDJLvF1dUek?list=RDgBpdSlgR5qM (thats not mine btw)

butters has a MLP figure he literally sleeps with and treats it like his own child

everyone is sort of worried about butters obsession to that toy

the plural of kenny is in fact not kennies, but kennys

kyle not only kicks babies, but he also throws them

butters genuineley thinks the rickroll is a banger

kenny and cartman have the weirdest fucking pinterest feed *cough* maid catboys, shitty t-shirts, those random-ass pictures with text over them, like memes kinda but not with a very specific color text and font, the most random stickers and flags like bibble idk they really like bibble though also this totallyyyy isn't inspired by my feed *cough*

stan dedicates his LIFE to minecraft parkour. i'm talking watching those low guality parkour things with screenshits from the interent and he is a GOD at hypixel housing parkour (i came up with this because i have hypixel parkour open rn)

kenny is #1 lemon demon fan. i will NEVER change my mind about this.

craig literally sleeps with a fucking metal pipe.

instead of warming glasses of milk by pouring milk into a cup and microwaving the cup, he literally puts the whole fucking CARTON IN THE MICROWAVE AND THEN PUTS IT IN A CUP

instead of repenting your sins, cartman repeats his sins ( i just really needed to say that phrase today)

kyle is so weezer coded

stan's the type of mf to say "chat" instead of "guys"

anytime someone makes a dirty joke butters just akwardly smiles politely bc he doesn't get it but he's too embarrassed to ask what it meant

i found a picture this is exactly cartman and kenny's feed:

(that was my first screenshot since cleanig my files out other then the random bunny thing i drew in class cuz i was fucking boerd and had no idea what was going on)

stuart, randy, gerald, and steven (or whatever the fuck their name is) are literally besties but HERE ME OUT

randy and gerald are the silly besties like kyle and stan BUT stuart and steven (what the fuck is that man's name) are ALSO besties BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE BECAUSE IN TFBW IN THE STRIP CLUB THEIR WATCHING LADIES DANCE TOGETHER AND THEIR GETTING DRUNK TOGETHER THEIR LITERALLY BEsTIES OMG

craig has flying powers

butters thinks skibidi toilet is peak comedy and that is why everyone hates him (except for literally like 2 people)

why the fuck is his name dougie

FUCKING HOW IS CARTMAN EVEN CAPABLE OF HAVING CLOSE FRIENDSHIPS AND BUTTERS DESERVES BETTER

"life goes onyonyonyonyonyonyonyon" is literally cartman's theme song after trying to kill everyone with some shitty plan he got from watching Megamind or something

kyle literally has trauma from burgers he will NOT eat any burger if you paid him fucking 56,000,000 bucks

kyle is so an elephant he's literally an elephant that's his spirit animal

tweek is literally a turtle idk how i can't describe the vibe but he is ik he's SO not a turtle but he just... idk he is

kenny is a fucking rat i literally have art of me bullying him and calling him a rat

butters is either a bunny or a cat of a duck he's just silly like that

cartman isn't a duck he's a goddamn angry goose

stan is a bear or like a giraffe or something idk ik he's the main character but i don't think about him that much for me

butters is literally in choir guys

HOLY SHIT STAN'S AN ORANGE CAT

craig is the most beaustiful majestic dragon to ever exist

craig's literally my favorite character if you couldn't tell

kenny is too scared to eat cheetos so he eats takis instead

literally everyone loves megamind

[lemonsweet]

dougie is so cute but he just has that slight homophobic look in his eyes when viewed at certain angles like literally every other dachshund ever (re: the “not too fond of gays” meme) that makes me choke on my drink every time

I dont think he has the whitney chewston look (name of that dog) but I will say he has a mysterious look about him he has a sinister secret

[stromesquad]

I need it to be known that I would die for Dougie "making some fire memes" Hamilton

[dougielombax]

I made another meme

*yes that is a human nervous system (with a brain and eyes) on display*

[rebelbrat]

Now that he’s 340+ years old Tobias likes going to other planets that humans haven’t been to before and telling people that the human dances of the 2000s and 2010s like Soulja Boy, the Nae Nae, the Dougie and the Harlem Shake are the “historical traditional dances of my people.” It’s hilarious to him because it’s been long enough that he’s technically telling the truth, but the memories of when those dances came out feel like yesterday. The disconnect between his memories of them and their actual position in history makes him feel like he’s misleading people…Plus it’s also hilarious to him to call meme dances like Harlem Shake “historical traditions” when a historical tradition is usually something venerated to some degree and a meme dance is, well, a meme. LOL

[jakes3resin]

Trying to find an accurate crying meme to explain how this hurt me. Just come back online to see what's up, and @getinthefuckingjaeger sends me this with a heart emoticon?!

I'm fine I'm so so so fine because why wouldn't I be fine reading Bubbles' POV watching Bucky breakdown after losing his soulmate knowing that Harry is going to be in Bucky's place in a few days, the same place Bubbles' was before Harry, Dougie, and Ev came back to life and walked through the door to resurrect Bubbles' heart.

Comparing Bucky to a sequoia? Your mind! As soon as I saw that, I thought 'if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?' And Bubbles forcing himself to watch because he's aware that this is killing Bucky as it had killed him. Harry being unable to watch, but the reader knowing that he's going to go through the same grief soon.

Bubbles detailing what will surely be Harry's own actions in the years to come like some kind of Cassandra foreseeing the fall of Troy. Baby boy that's gonna be your man after he loses you I'm so sorry.

The last bit?? THE LAST PRETTY FACE?! Poetic, cinematic, amazing, showstopping, heartbreaking, all of the above. I need 3-5 business days to recover.

Nina wants us dead y'all just dead from the grief with a '<3' on the gravestone.

I can't recommend this enough everyone needs to read this

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.” Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. "We're gonna make it."

(Joe, Harry, and Major Egan's grief)

“Harry, look.” Joe presses his chin into Harry’s hair, careful not to dislodge his best friend’s head from its rest on Joe’s shoulder. “Over there.”

He glances down and over thick, messy dark curls to watch Harry squint in the pre-dawn light. They’re perched on one of the many observation towers on base - far away enough from the heart of the operations and closer to where the ground crew park the forts under repair. Joe waits as Harry scan the tarmac for a second. The hitch in his breath tells Joe that he’s seen it.

Joe drops his head on Harry’s, the two of them lone observers of a single jeep making its way down the tarmac until it turned and parked by one of the forts on the hardstand.

The signature white of Major Egan’s sheepskin is the only bright spot in the blue light of twilight. The figure sits straight as a ramrod as the engines die down and the headlights fade to nothing. Joe and Harry breathe in tandem, eyes focused on Egan as he sits there with an empty passenger seat, staring at nothing. 

Joe counts down the seconds by the ticking of his wristwatch, each passing of the needle like the countdown of a bomb.

He counts to the sixth minute and the time bomb explodes with a small gasp that Joe does not need to be there to hear. Idly, he thinks of trees falling in forests.

Watching John Egan fall, Joe thinks, is like watching a giant sequoia being felled by explosives. It is heartbreaking, terrifying, and it sparks a kind of anger in his heart at the destruction of something so timeless and seemingly indestructible. 

It’s intrusive and personal, but the thought of something so immutable breaking down without a witness feels blasphemous. So Joe sits there, wrapped around Harry with his head bowed and he makes himself watch. He forces himself to witness the destruction of John Egan as he slumps over the steering wheel, his broad back curved and defeated, but still breathing.

How soon does a felled tree know it is dead?

“I wish I saw what happened.” Harry whispers, voice hollow. Joe feels the way Harry’s arm tightens around his waist and he turns to bury his face into dark curls, no longer have the appetite to watch the loss of another life. “I wish I could tell him what happened.” 

Joe is silent for a long while. 

He casts his thoughts to the few hours he spent walking around as a solid ghost on the grounds of Thorpe Abbotts, his body still existing among the living whilst his soul is lost over the skies of enemy territory. 

He takes the grief that was a brief, but oppressing friend to him in those scant hours into his hands and he turns it over and over. He pokes and prods at the dark ball of tar that, for a few hours, dripped messily all over his heart before Harry came back and scraped every last bit of it away. 

He imagines the black viscous thing crawling all over Egan’s heart like the sticky reaches of an eldritch creature, getting into the ventricles, clogging the arteries, and poisoning the blood system to ensure death at molecular level.

The enormity of it steals his breath.

“I wish you did, too.” Joe mumbles into the riot of curls. Without opening his eyes, Joe scoops Harry’s thighs and lays them sideways over his, manhandling Harry until they are as close as humanly possible without tumbling over the edge of the tower.

“‘No record’, was all that I had to go on with.” 

Harry makes a distressed noise. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if I knew where you went down, but at least I knew you were somewhere and not everywhere at once. It’s stupid, Harry - It’s so stupid, but,” Joe swallows, breaths coming out in shuddering gasps. He wraps his arms closer around Harry and Harry reciprocates. “But it feels better, somehow, to look at a map and know that’s the last place on earth you existed because it's not like I’d be getting a body, ain’t it.” 

Joe imagines himself living through this war. 

Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, when he has a wife and children and grandchildren - he’ll tell them all about the love of his life Harry Crosby who he will introduce as his best friend. He’ll show them all the pictures he has of Harry, tell them stories about Harry, and then he’ll pull out maps and point out his last resting place. 

He imagines visiting an obscure German countryside in his golden years, casting his eyes up at the blue skies and telling Harry to hold on, he’s coming. 

Maybe, in that future without Harry, the world might grow kinder to folks like them and Joe wouldn’t have to pretend. Maybe, hopefully, his grandchildren can look at Harry’s pictures and see the truth as clear as day and they would understand. Maybe then his grief can speak its truth - a bereaved lover.

Joe allows himself to sink through the maybes a few seconds more before resuming his vigil.

Major Egan is sitting upright in the jeep now. He rubs his hand over his face, presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, his mouth hanging open with exaggerated breathing. They watch quietly as Egan stumbles out of the jeep and drags himself over and up into the parked fort.

The hatch closed like a period at the end of a love story. 

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.”

Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. He pulls away to look at Harry’s white, terrified face. He’s not looking back at Joe, but the bruises his fingers press into Joe’s side speaks louder than any gaze ever could.

“We’re gonna go home and Jean’s gonna fuss over us and then you and her are gonna sing every Friday night in our lounge, and you’re gonna tell me to shut up because it’s scaring the cats.”

Harry stops speaking as though he ran out of breath. His gaze cuts to Joe so suddenly that his heart skips a beat. He sees an ultimatum in those brown eyes, an all or nothing.

“We’re gonna make it.” 

–

Joe goes up the next day on the Munster mission, lucky snowglobe in his vest pocket, and Harry’s face is the last pretty face he sees.   

–

(for Abbie (@moghraidhs) and her ability to express 'nina, why would you?' very clearly through a single thumbs up emoji)

[dougiesflow]

This has been me since January 16th, 2020 at 8:30pm

[total-distraction-babes]

McFly Alignment chart:

[stereax]

The NJ Devils and Barbenheimer, by me:

(written in the order I thought about them, more or less - yes there are some former Devils shush)

vvv under the cut! vvv

Dougie Hamilton: Double-features it, watching Oppenheimer first. You know those memes of the guy walking out of the Oppenheimer theater in depressing '40s period wear and quickly changing into bright pink Barbie wear? That's Dougie. This man studies for Oppenheimer too. Like, he starts complaining that Kyoto wasn't spared because of Stimson's honeymoon because there's no certain primary record that Stimson honeymooned there and the entire idea was historians' conjecture.

Jack Hughes: When presented with the choice between Barbie or Oppenheimer, Jack initially chooses Oppenheimer, believing it to be a type of German beer. He falls asleep within fifteen minutes. Definitely goes back to the movies three days later to watch Barbie, though. The bright colors give our iPad kid the necessary stimulation he needs to be entertained.

Vitek Vanecek: Shows up to the movie theater in an all-pink outfit for Barbie, complete with a feather boa. Things only get better from there. He watches it at least three times.

Ryan Graves - Agrees to do the double-feature with Dougie. When they leave the theater after Oppenheimer, Ryan is stuck fielding questions from moviegoers about his personal experience with the atom bomb and thus misses Barbie, having to come back the next day to watch it.

Luke Hughes: Goes with Jack to Oppenheimer, actually watches it. Says Barbie is a "post-capitalist nightmare of a movie" but goes with Jack to watch it too because "someone has to keep an eye on him". Spends most of Barbie texting his UMich friends, who are all watching it at the same time in their local theaters.

Erik Haula: Takes his son to Barbie. They make beaded bracelets for their fellow movie-goers beforehand and distribute them at the exits. Half of them say "Canes Suck" just like Uncle Haula's iconic look. The other half? "Fuck the Rags".

Curtis Lazar: Similarly to Haula, takes the family to Barbie. He doesn't expect it to be one of the only things that calms their newborn down to a sound sleep, so the Lazars end up reserving seats for the whole day. Curtis brings pillows for his exhausted wife. She sleeps on his shoulder instead.

Dawson Mercer: Drags the Superbuddies to the Barbie premiere. Gets the biggest possible popcorn bucket because "it's only a few cents more and we can all share it" and then drenches it in so much faux butter syrup that he effectively claims the whole thing for himself because neither of the others will touch it.

Nate Bastian: Shows up to the Barbie premiere in a baby pink shirt, normal jeans, and white shoes - just casual enough to not scream that he's there to watch the Barbie movie. Ends up footing the bill for enough snacks to feed an army. Gets mistaken for Dawson's dad more than once.

Mikey McLeod: Spends the first ten minutes of the Barbie movie grumbling about how he'd much rather be watching Oppenheimer. When Nate tells him the door's open if he wants to go, Mikey refuses to leave. Strangely enough, he never does watch Oppenheimer.

Yegor Sharangovich: Gets tickets to Barbie but ends up in the theater for Oppenheimer by mistake. By the end of the movie he's blue-screen-of-deathing. Doesn't get why everyone is saying Barbie is so silly and fun.

Nico Hischier: Accompanies Jack to Barbie because it's a "team bonding" exercise. Or something. Calls the Swisses the next day and invites them to Oppenheimer. As, you know, more "team bonding". Or something.

Timo Meier: Slick black suit for Oppenheimer with the Swisses. Slutty pink flannel for Barbie the next day. The purpose of these movies aren't to watch the movies, you see, but to serve absolute cunt in public. If he's lucky, he'll reel in a milf.

Jonas Siegenthaler: Questions why the Swiss, as citizens of a famously neutral country, are going as a group to a World War II movie. Nevertheless, thoroughly enjoys Oppenheimer and discusses his thoughts about it with Nico on the way home. Timo and Akira play hangman in the backseat.

Akira Schmid: Luckily, he could make it to Oppenheimer with the Swisses because he wasn't sent down to Utica. He doesn't mention that he went with VV to Barbie a week before. Just goalie things, you know?

John Marino: Decides to double-feature it, starting with Barbie. Unfortunately, he gets kicked out of the theater after fifteen minutes of riffing on the film MST3K-style. He has to drive for half an hour before he reaches a theater that's going to let him buy tickets to Oppenheimer. Doesn't get kicked out of that one though.

Jesper Bratt: He's got better things to do than watch movies, okay? But he does read the iMDB and Wikipedia synopses so he fits in with the rest of the team. And then he quotes the movies to make sure everyone knows he "watched" them, to the point where the rest of the team is starting to get concerned.

Miles Wood: Gets persuaded to watch Oppenheimer because of the bombs. Gets so bored of it he walks out of the theater only several minutes in and buys tickets to Barbie instead. Still complains that there was a lack of explosions.

Ondrej Palat: Goes to Oppenheimer. Makes plans to pirate Barbie when he can find a site that won't destroy his computer with viruses.

Damon Severson: He and his wife smuggle several bottles of beer into the theater and plan an elaborate drinking game to first Barbie, then Oppenheimer. This ends up with them Ubering home and then drowning their sorrows in vodka that Goose left them before going back to the KHL. Look, the chilling reality of being signed for eight years in Ohio is terrifying in a way that Oppenheimer just isn't.

Kevin Bahl: He'd love to go watch a movie, but, you see, he's waiting on an important phone call about his contract. When that clears up, well, movie tickets are expensive, you know? So he's just going to wait until they come to streaming. He's definitely going to watch Barbie first, though. Not that he said that or anything. He definitely didn't say that.