#HE HAS TINY ICE SKATES ON HIS LITTLE PUCK FEET

[sportsthoughts]

on the upside I have him

[caroline12b]

THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD

⚠⚠⚠ SMUT ⚠⚠⚠

it all happened right after C/N’s last game of the season and his first fight on the ice. he was always looking for me in the crowds and he was not paying attention to where the puck was so he skated into the wall and into the opponent. the opponent was not happy with this so he threw the first punch. they both got sent to the locker room early. since i saw that C/N got sent to the locker room, i decided to go and wait for him by the doors. i saw him waking in my direction fuming about being sent off early. it didn’t even look like he wanted to talk to me, Y/N his gf, but he did. he grabbed my hand quickly as he could and made me walk in to the locker room that had the smell of men ready for battle with him. he sat me down on the bench next to him where we started to talk about what had happened. at a slight pause in his rant i told him to go shower and change because he smelt. he slowly got up and said he’s gonna go change and shower but of course since no one else was in the room with us he grabbed my hands and brought me over to a shower stall and told me to get ready. i asked him get ready for what? and he said you’ll see soon enough. he walked over to the locker room door and locked it. as soon as i heard the door being locked i thought to myself ‘is this the day that i will no longer be untouched?’ and ‘is this really happening?’ i also heard after the door being locked that there was a faint running sound. that running sound happened to be the pounding of his hurrying feet on the ground. he shouted to me ‘are you ready for me?’ and i didn’t believe this was happening so i said back to him not yet as i rushed to get off my pants and shirt leaving me with just my bra and panties on. when i was done, i told him to come into the room and he did. i was not expecting to see him with nothing on though. it was just him and his dick, i proceeded to ask him like a good girl if he wanted to help me with a  little problem i had. he said of course but it will come with a price. he skipped into the stall with me where he would see me butt ass naked and i would take one of his hands and put it on my waistband of my underwear. he told me that those will not be necessary so i took them off as well as my bra. because his hands were still on me, i decided to put my hands on his hips. with his hands on my hips he brought me in close for a deep kiss.  every inch of his body was pressed against me. His hands on my back bringing me closer.  His chest pressed against mine.  His ever-growing dick against me.  It was glorious as our two individual bodies combined to become one, just standing there deep kissing. nothing else exists in the moment except our bodies pressed against each other. when we finally break away i then run my hands down further to his erect penis. i slowly got to my knees, i asked him if i was a bad girl. you are not, you are not a bad girl, you are a good girl and you will get what you deserve.   as you go down you see what he has to offer, you've always heard it was bigger but when you are actually there you see how big it actually is.  you are tiny, so everything looks bigger to you, but damn, he is big..... he slowly guides his dick to your mouth. you have always thought of this happening and how to do it but you naturally forget in the heat of the moment so he talks through it with you. he first tells you to stick your tongue out and lick it lightly up and down.as you are doing this you hear him give slight moans of release and pleasure so you decide to take it a little further by putting it in your mouth. as you do this you look deeply into his eyes and he begins slowly thrusting his manlyhood into your mouth.you noticed that he liked you licking it so you circle your tongue around it. you once again pull away from him and unexpectedly he sprays you on your tits with his warm cum. after that C/N stands you up and says it is now his turn. he draws me near again and walks me to the benches where he lays me down face up. he spreads my legs and begins to lick my inner thigh. slowly, kissing every inch of it. then above my clit, then around it driving me crazy. he was starting to use more and more pressure with every flick of his delicate tongue until i eventually started gasping louder and louder. he suddenly stops so you tell him to not stop. he goes back to your soaking pussy where he laps up your sweet juice until you start screaming ‘keep doing that daddy!’. you and C/N continue until you hear the final buzzer and you are both so exhausted.you two  almost forget that you are in the locker room with the door locked when you hear knocking on the door. you hurry to get dressed and get out of there before everyone on the team knew you and C/N’s secret time together @strniohoeee @shannontheslayer

[puckngrind]

What’s In a Name: Epilogue - J. Toews

Epilogue.

Where we left off: Jon and Bekah welcomed Lincoln into the world in 2020.

Warnings: smut, language

Word Count: 3,827

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

2025.

The rink has seemed like home for Bekah since meeting and marrying Jon. This morning it was a bit different as she kneels in front of her now five year old tying his hockey skates.

"Tight enough Linc?" Bekah asks and Lincoln stands to his feet.

"Yes, Momma. Maybe even better than Daddy does it." Bekah muffles her laugh from Lincoln's comment.

"Good. Now, let's get this jersey and your helmet on." Bekah stands and pulls over the house hockey green jersey over his pads. She feels someone staring but doesn't take her focus off the very squirrelly Kindergartener who doesn’t have the patiences for her to stop. Tapping his helmet she hands him the gloves and the eyes she felt moves closer.

"Hey there!  Do ya'll know you have the same last name as the Hawk's captain and your son is wearing his number too. That's cute." Her comment was laced with a sense of entitlement and Bekah bit the inside of her cheek.

"Yup. Heard his foundation bought the jerseys for the league too." Bekah replies and turns her focus back to Lincoln as she rubbed lightly along the JT foundation logo on his shoulder. The woman then got called by her own son and scurried off before continuing.

"Is Daddy going to be off work before my game starts?" Lincoln's voice is muffled with his mouth guard in place.

"He should be here any moment baby boy." Bekah leans down to reassure him. "Speaking of!" Bekah eyes Jon coming through the doors of the rink. He embraces Bekah as he does every time he comes home before turning his attention to the kids.

"Sorry I'm late but looks like you’ve got this covered." Jon whispers after his lips brush hers.

"We are all set. And the fake Louis over there thinks it's cute Linc is wearing 19 and has the Captain's last name too." Bekah smirks.

"Well maybe Scar should run by with her Daddy sweater on." Jon shakes the toddler's hand. "Hey baby girl!" Bekah laughs and goes to take Scarlett out of the toddler carrier attached to her back. The now two year old in her St. Patrick's Day Daddy jersey goes running after Lincoln who started walking to his team. "You would think she runs this place." Jon laughs grabbing Bekah's hand as she tucks the carrier into Lincoln's bag.

"She had grown up coming here. Linc has been taking classes since she was 7 months old, Tae."

"I'm gonna go save Linc from the relentless questions I am sure she’s asking him." Jon heads over to scoop Scarlett up and wishes Lincoln's team good luck playing their first game. The three walk up to sit in the stands and Scarlett starts cheering as the team takes the ice.

"Coot! Core! Let's go Inks!" Scarlett's chubby hands clap.

"You really think he's okay playing with these older boys?" Bekah's leg is bouncing on up and down and Jon's hand settles her.

"Yes. He's playing up because he's good not because he's our son, Beks. No one knows he's five." Jon whispers to calm his wife's nerves.

Lincoln's first hockey game started and even though he was the youngest on the ice by two years, you would never guess. The Toews genes evident in how he played. Bekah, Jon, Scarlett cheered as he scored his first goal and then laughed as he jumped up in excitement but didn’t land on his skates. Bekah looked towards the scoreboard and realized the same mom from earlier was staring at Jon. "I might never get use to people just staring at you." Bekah whispered not realizing she even said it out loud.

"I know Babe." Jon's lips kiss her temple. "Maybe you should bring your Louis with you next game." Jon chuckles knowing the Louis Vuitton collecting dust in the closet was never coming to the hockey rink.

"Funny Tae... funny." Bekah bumps her shoulder into his side. "Maybe if Scar decides potty training is actually something she's interested in I could bring a real purse with me." Bekah spins one of Scarlett's ringlets around her finger.

"She won't even be three until February." Jon bounces his mini-me on his knee and she laughs.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, boys and girls are different." Bekah knowing where Jon was going with the conversation and how she already had Lincoln trained by Scarlett's age. "There you go Linc!" Bekah shouts as Lincoln dives in front of a puck and Jon's laugh rings out.

"You would never know Momma wasn't really into hockey ten years ago. Would ya?" Jon kisses Scarlett's head.  “Now she’s rocking the hockey mom life.” Bekah eyes Jon and he mouths, “sexy at it too.” Bekah feels the heat in her cheeks but turns her attention back to the ice.

The game ended and Jon helped Bekah put Scarlett back in her carrier then met Lincoln and his team.

“There’s my boy!” Jon scooped Lincoln up with all his gear on. “You played hard. We are so proud of you.” Jon drops Lincoln down and the three of them start taking off his gear while Lincoln talks a mile a minute recounting the entire game.

“Did you see my double shift dad? See how I used my skate to kick the puck out of the corner?” Lincoln’s little voice sounding just like Jon and both parents laugh.

“We sure did Linc. Now let’s get home and get ready for Auntie Rin, m’kay?” Bekah feels Scarlett bopping up and down on her back while Jon tries to control Lincoln’s excited dance as he attempts to undress him the rest of the way.

The car ride home was filled with giggles of Brynn’s arrival and recap of the game. Bekah grazed her finger down Jon’s arm and he shifts as she moved to his leg. “What was that for?” She questioned and sees Jon smirk.

“Nothin’ Beks.” The sly smirk permanently graced his face for the rest is the ride. Bekah dropped it knowing if it was something he was hiding she’d find out soon enough.

The kids bolt inside the house as soon as they are unbuckled. “Don’t go too far Rin will be here in less than an hour!” Bekah called out and hears a door shut from behind her and spins on her heals to see her best friend rounding her car.

“How about like one minute? You should know my driving skills would get me here faster!” Brynn opens her arms waiting for Bekah’s embrace. “Now help me with these crazies!” She pulls open the sliding door to a choir of squeals.

“Hey kids!” Bekah leans in and unbuckles Derek and Brynn’s newest edition to their family. Morgan’s little fingers make grabby hands at Bekah. “Hey sweet girl. You taking it easy on your Mommy?”

“You lied about 18 month old girls, friend.  Lied.” Brynn answered.

“Mom’s right Aunt Beks.” Jack, the oldest, pops out and half hugs Bekah. “Morgan is giving her a run for her money as Dad says.” All three adults laugh and Jon scoops up Brynn’s middle son, Jameson.

“How about you boys take Morgan to find Lincoln and Scar. I’m sure they are in the playroom. Remember how to get there?” Both boys nod and run in the house with their sister in tow.

Jon and Bekah flank Brynn as she breathes out. “I love them but they can be a lot.”

“And you are doing a damn good job. Have you heard when Morgan can be adopted yet?” Jon moves to the back of her van to take out the suitcases.

“Caseworker says she’s different than the boys even though it’s the same birth mom. So in the land of foster to adopt... We shall wait.” Brynn laughs. Derek and Brynn decided to be foster parents not long after Lincoln was born. They took placement of Jack and Jameson not long after finishing all their paperwork. Jack was 3 and Jameson was a newborn. When the couple found out that the birth mom had another baby and she could either go into foster care with different family or them. There was no question. They needed to keep the siblings together.

“So glad you decided to spend the boys’ fall break here Rin. I’ve missed you.” Bekah slid a drink over as Brynn launches herself up to the kitchen stool.

“Me too. How do the kids get up here? I see the pictures.” Brynn laughs while taking a sip.

“Have you seen my children, they climb on everything! Scar swings her tiny self up there and then jumps down. It’s resourceful.”

“They are Jon’s kids, there is no denying that.”  Brynn laughs with a sip.

“Hey!  I should take offense to that but I might have to agree there.”  Jon presses his lips to Bekah’s temple and she leans into him.  The friends fell into easy conversation until they were interrupted by Morgan who wanted a snack.  Jon handed the toddler enough fruit snacks for all of them and she toddled back.  “I’ve wondered this for awhile.  Why is she not a J?”

Both women just look at him.  “Tae, I’ve never thought about it.  Jack and Jameson.  A J girl name makes sense.”  Bekah looks at Brynn who just shrugs her shoulders.  The caseworker said her and Derek could change any of the kids names but they decided to leave them for a few reasons then gave the boys new middle names when they were officially adopted.

“They are all alcohol brands, but is that just...” Jon questions and Brynn’s mouth drops opens.  

“I... how... ummm...”  Brynn starts and her eye go wide.  “At least they aren’t named after the place they were...”  Brynn looks down the hall then back to her friends, “conceived.” Her face lights up with mischief.  

“Rin, Linc and Scar aren’t named after that.”  Bekah answers with a puzzled look written all over her face.  

“Sure they are.  Lincoln was in your Lincoln Park place and still miss that roof, every time I come here...”  Jon starts laughing as he’s caught on.

“But Scarlett?  Are you saying she was in Columbus?  Like Scarlett and Grey?  Because that’s not the case.”  Bekah runs her hand over her face.

“Beks, we live on Red Maple.  R-E-D.”  Jon laughs while pulling Bekah into his side.  “And everyone in this room can do the math on Scar’s birthday and my last cup win.”

“Oh.  My.  No!”  Bekah responds sending both Jon and Brynn into a fit of laughter.  

“So if Jon makes the All-Star game this year, maybe we can expect a Seattle named baby to come out of the trip?”  Brynn snickers knowing she’s getting under her best friend’s skin.

“Speaking of trips.  I miss you coming with me.”  Jon seems to have changed the subject before hearing his name being called and he retreats to answer the kids.

“Bekah, you know you could go with him Wednesday.  They play in St. Louis.  I’ve got the kids and Kelly lives here now.  I’m sure she can help if something goes crazy, which I don’t plan on that happening.”  Brynn jumps off the stool and backs up to look down the hallway.  “Seriously, you should go.”  

Brynn was right.  After the shut down of the economy in 2020, Kelly and Zack made the decision to move back to Chicago where Zack started teaching at DePaul for help with future college tuition.  Bekah and Jon hadn’t gotten away as much as they had in the past without taking the kids.  Taking a day and a half to go watch him play and enjoy dinner alone did sound amazing.  

“You sure Rin?”  Bekah sounded giddy.

“Yes, very much so.”  Brynn had wandered into the living room that was now the Sedona inspired room.  Prints hung of Jon and Bekah’s first trip, wedding day, the first time they took each kid and a family picture from the past summer when both kids hiked most of the way up.  “I like the new one!”

“Speaking of new ones.”  Jon’s stealth like entrance made both ladies jump.  “I have something for you, Babe.”  As he spoke, he pulls out a puck from his pocket.  Bekah spins it in her hand and tears come to her eyes.

“Lincoln’s first game 8U game. October 18, 2025.”  She sees that Jon had Lincoln sign the top too.  “Tae.”  She squeaks out.

“We might need a Lincoln shelf.”  Jon wraps his arms around his wife and pulls her in.

“Tell him!”  Brynn breaks the couple’s embrace as she spoke.  Jon looks down with his eyebrows raised.

“How about I come to St. Louis with you this week?”  Bekah stands on her tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “Just me.”

“YES!”  Jon shouts out.  “Seriously, Brynn?�� You are making this happen?”  Jon turns and pulls her into a hug. 

“You two lovebirds...” Brynn started and looked at how Jon lifted Bekah up in the air in so much joy about a few moments alone. “Still after all these years I’m happy as hell for you but also your passion for one another is...” she starts making a heaving motion.

With that, Bekah and Brynn soaked up their time together. Let Lincoln take a day off school on Monday to play with what he calls his cousins. And really with David’s kids living in Manitoba, Kelly and Brynn’s kids were the closest thing he had to cousins near him.

Monday night was a home game. Jon rented a box and invited Kelly and her family to join. The kids had so much fun cheering on the Hawks. After years of going to games they still loved the atmosphere. Tuesday morning came quick. Bekah left a giant list of instructions for Brynn which made her laugh. Jon took Lincoln to school before taking a morning skate. They flew out that afternoon. Jon interlaced his fingers in Bekah’s as the plane took off.

“You look like a first time flyer Beks. What gives?” Jon kisses her ear sweetly.

“Just worried about the kids and Rin and...” Jon’s lips land on hers to stop the rant swirling from her brain to her lips.

“They will be fine. Promise.” Jon pulled his arm around her and she breathed him in. The flight was short and the drive to the hotel was too. “You know you’ve never stayed here but could’ve all those years ago. New Years. Winter Classic.” Jon places her bag on top of his and grabs his wife’s hand.

“Yeah, I didn’t make the wises choices back then.” Bekah whispered.

“You are here aren’t you? We are here... so those choices lead to now.” Jon’s knuckle pressed the button. “And while it took some convincing..”

“Sorry.” Bekah mumbled as she pressed their floor.

“Baby, don’t be.” Jon kisses the top of her head as the door opens and leads them to their room. Opening the door he drops the bags as Bekah closes the door. His body pressing hers agains the door and lips locked together. Pulling at her legs to wrap them around him. They break and Jon’s lips slide down her neck. A moan escapes from her lips.

“Tae.” She tries to continue but Jon’s lips are on hers again. His hands tight around her with the door holder her up. “Tae.” She moans out again. Jon leans back a little to look her in the eyes.

“Ca va, mon amour?” Jon leans back and takes in his wife.

“I’m okay. Extremely turned on but also slightly worried about your teammates hearing us as they check in. Plus, there are things I would like to do to you that I cannot do pinned to this door.” Bekah leans to bite at his lips.

“Well for starters we aren’t on the team floor. I made sure of that. Now, what things are you talking about?” Jon pulls both of their bodies away from the door and carries Bekah towards the bed.

“First, Captain,  I’d like you to rid you of these clothes.”  Bekah wiggles free of Jon’s grip and stands to her feet.  He grunts as she starts to take off his clothes.  Running her fingers over his still well toned abs followed by her tongue until her teeth find his boxers.  She pulls on them with only her mouth and Jon helps with an approving grunt.  “When is the last time we didn’t have rushed sex Tae?”

“Too long Beks.”  Jon barely gets out as his entire body reacts to Bekah’s lips running along the bottom of his shaft.  “C'est cela.”  He moans out as he finds the edge of the bed.  Bekah continues until she wraps her lips around him and he stops her.  “I need you undressed and up here.”  He lifts her up and slides her tunic dress over her body then her leggings.  “Damn sexy Baby.  Damn Sexy.”  He stands to carefully removing her bra then underwear kissing her skin as more is exposed.

“Really?”  Bekah questions placing her hands over her breasts.  “Sorry.  Just feeling not as perky as I once was.”  Bekah doesn’t look up at Jon with her admission.  He pulls her chin up to make her eyes meet his.

“Rebekah, you are more beautiful and sexy than ever.  I’m so fucking lucky you are mine.”  He shifts her to lay her on the bed and hovers over her body.

“I’m lucky too.  I just went from confident at hell to catching a glimpse of my stretch mark in the mirror.”  She ran her hand over the mentioned mark from her last pregnancy.  Jon met her hand with his lips.

“This means you worked hard to bring our sassy daughter into the world.”  Jon moves up to her breasts and sucks one in between his teeth.  “And I’m glad I currently don’t have to share these.”  Bekah’s breath hitches then she laughs as he moves to do the same to the other.  He kisses down her stomach and moves his way between her legs.  Spreading her lips with his fingers he sucks on her clit causing Bekah’s hips to jump off the bed and her hand to land in his hair.  Jon hums in approval.  He moves his fingers to scissor deep inside her.  Bekah went to call out his name and bit her lip.  Jon looked up and kissed her thigh.  “Beks, no one to wake up.  Let me hear you.”  He moved back to circling Bekah’s clit with his tongue as she moaned out.  

“Tae.  Fuck.  Tae.”  Bekah feels her orgasm crashing over her.  Jon doesn’t let up as it washes over her.  Her legs tremble and toes curl up his back.  She loosens her grip and he quickly shifts up her body to press himself fully in her.  Both moaning in the familiarity and need for each other.  Jon presses his lips to hers and stays there.  “Tae, move please.” Bekah tries to press her hips up and Jon smiles.

“I love you Beks.” He simply says as he pulls out slightly and starts a rhythm making both moan and spill out affirmations in the moment.  Jon feels Bekah tighten completely around him and with a few more movements of his hips they both hit their high.  Jon crashing into Bekah’s body, chests heaving from the intensity.  They stay like this for a moment then a beeping sound starts in the direction of the pile of clothes.

“Tae, what is that?”  Bekah questions and Jon laughed.  “What?”

“I set an alarm to make sure we made it to team dinner.”  Jon moves to find his phone.  Turning off the alarm he looks at a notification.  “Oh, dinner on our own.  Fantastic!”  He jumps back in bed and wraps Bekah up.

“Can we still go get dinner?”  Bekah asks.

“Or order in.”  A sly smile crosses Jon’s face and Bekah nods.  “Hey, did you tell Brynn we were trying for a third already?”

“No, why do you ask?”  Bekah looks up at him.

“Well she mentioned the whole naming of kids thing and Seattle plus she suggested this trip...”  Jon trails off.

“Oh, no, but she’s Rin.  I swear she knows things without me telling her.”  Bekah jokes.  “Oh, shit.  What time is it?”  She looks at Jon’s phone.  “Get your shirt on, we need to FaceTime the kids!”  Jon heads to his luggage and quickly pulls out two Hawks shirts.  He starts to FaceTime and Bekah looks at her now sexed looking hair and quickly braids it to the side just in time.

“Hey guys!”  Jon waves at the screen seeing Brynn, Lincoln and Scarlett sitting on the couch.  Bekah notices Brynn’s face with Lincoln asked what they have done since they got there and Jon talked about getting to the hotel and checking in.  The family talked for a little and said their goodbyes.  Jon gets up to head to the shower and looks back.

“J’ai besoin de nous.”  Bekah whispers just looking at the floor.  

“Babe, did you just say I need us?”  Jon comes back over and pulls her up to his chest.

“Yeah.  That’s right, right?”  Bekah bats her eyes.

“It is.  You are picking up more French from my mom’s FaceTime lessons with Lincoln aren’t you?”  Jon kisses her cheek and she feels the heat rushing to them.

“Yeah.  Speaking of, he said, ‘j’ai mon voyage’ and also ‘tabarnak’ the other day.”  Jon starts laughing.  Hard.  “Shit, what did he pick up?”  

“Well, I had enough is basically what j’ai mon voyage means and...as for the other.  I’ll talk to my parents.  I’m sure they didn’t mean to teach him what some deem a cuss word.”  Bekah’s mouth hangs open.  “Babe, I’ll fix it, okay?”  He moves her braid and kisses her again.  “Back to the I need us.  Explain.”

“Just that.  I need us.  I love our family and our life and even this team but at the end of the day it’s me and you.”  She spins her ring around her finger.

“Well, Beks... J’ai besoin de nous too.”  Jon whispers.  “I told you hockey is almost over and then it’s just us being parents and husband and wife.”

“You really think you are done Tae?”  Bekah questions.

“Yeah.  Dach is ready to be captain.  I have four rings.  Kaner and I are talking about going out together.  This team has what it takes to win another one too.  Now, I would love baby number three to experience some of this hockey life.”  Jon rubs Bekah’s lower abdomen.

“Are you asking if you think that got me pregnant?”  Bekah laughs and Jon nods.  “Well, you might have to try harder Mr. Toews.”  She smirks and heads towards the shower.  “And if so... I’m not naming the baby Louis!”  

“Death of me Beks.  You will be the death of me!”  Jon scoops Bekah up and heads towards the shower.  

[hobiiwan]

the five times you catch him staring;

the one you do something about it

⇒ pairing: the mandalorian x reader

⇒ summary: the five times you catch him staring and the one time you do something about it ( 2/6 )

⇒ warnings: none? baby yoda doesn’t count at this point

⇒ notes: it’s exam season. guess who’s going thru it? me

part one part three

the second time you notice him staring, you can’t help but hate him a little

punches are thrown; perhaps you’re a little beat up

the mandalorian’s got you pinned down with your head pressed into the grimy floor

you grimace under your mask

no amount of cleaning will get the stench of that mystery liquid off your armour anytime soon

“at least take me to dinner first,” you mutter under your breath

he hears you, of course

you ignore the snort let out from his moderator; you’re too busy assessing the situation

if you head-butt him hard enough, you could probably run for it

but you really wanna know why there’s a bounty out on you

danG it reader this is a matteR of LIFE OR DEATH

you stop struggling, figuring you’d have a better chance of getting away while you’re on your feet, getting hauled to his ship

than with the weight of his body anD fancy beskar armour

turns out reader, you were wrong

it’s much, much harder to book it when the entire market parts like the red sea at the sight of the mandalorian

there’s nowhere to hide, and definitely no chance to run with the iron grip on your forearm and the cuffs he had so graciously slapped on your wrists

that’s how you end up on his ship

a hunk of jUnk if you dare say so yourself

he’s in the cockpit and you’re on the floor behind him

glaring a hole into the back of his helmet

there are a few fishy things about the situation, you notice

exhibit a: he has yet to freeze you in carbonite

it’s basically a ritual for bounty hunters; it makes the transaction easier when there’s less begging involved

exhibit b: he lets you sit behind him with nO supervision (that you know of)

a giant red flag– bounty hunters alwaYs keep an eye on their asset

exhibit c: you’re pretty sure the cuffs aren’t even on

you know it’s not accidental

he’s a mandalorian, for crying out loud

therefoRe, you come to the conclusion that either this is the world’s worst bounty hunter (boy are you wrong)

oR there’s something that you’re missing

you’re about to ask when he brings the ship into hyperspace and stands straight above you

he doesn’t speak

for a long time

almost uncomfortably long

like he’s having a conversation with himself in his head

all he does is stare straight at you with that damned soulless helmet

it’s mildly infuriating

is there something on your face? is it your hair???

reader, you have a helmet; you’re finE

so what do you do?

staRe back of course

it’s the only reasonable course of action

you decide you hate him just a little

your forearm still aches from where he practically dragged you onto his ship

if it’s bruised, ur suing

fed up, you finally ask,

“so are you going to talk or am i supposed to just know what you want from me?”

you hold your breath, hoping he doesn’t snap back into action and decide to actually freeze you

the mandalorian clears his throat and quickly brings out a hologram of another man

“what do you know about this man?”

the hologram is of your most despised client you’ve ever served

honestly, you’re not even surprised he’s the one that set the bounty

he was one shady twerp

“what about him?” you counter

he’S not the only one with questions

are you being a little difficult? yes

are you skating on thin ice here? yes again

do you enjoy ticking off a mandalorian? a little too much

you should probably co-operate, though that wouldn’t be very cash-money of you

“i won’t ask again.” the mandalorian sighs, gloved fingers pulling out the puck assigned to you

yuP that’s your face alright

with a defeated puff of breath, you relent

“i may or may not have messed up on one of his assignments, a while ago.”

you can easily tell he isn’t satisfied with your answer

you can’t even see his expression, but you know he’s deadpanning you

“what do you want me to say?” you huff, “he wanted me to bring in a chiLd. i’m a bounty hunter, not a monster,”

“so maybE I hid the tiny thing; sue me.”

when the mandalorian stills, so do you

you curse yourself for saying too much; you’re in for it now

but theN

by the will of the maker and all the gods of the distant universes

you hear a baby’s babble

both you and the mandalorian’s attention snaps to the source of the sound—the tiny bundle waddling into the cockpit

“you mean this tiny thing?”

“baby!!!” your eyes light up at the sight of those big, all-seeing, all-knowing, sparkly eyes

you cannoT believe the asset you risked your entire career and life for is right here on this uterus-looking junk ship with you

it was so worth it

those days you spent with the child after you made the wracking decision to not turn in the bounty were the most fun you’d had in a while

it had a surprising way of keeping you entertained

the baby grew on you okay

you’re supposed to be a scary bounty hunter, held hostage on another scary bounty hunter’s rubbish ship

and yet here you are, cradling a child in between your cuffed arms without a care in the world

priorities, amirite reader

the bigger, scarier bounty hunter clears his throat expectantly

which brings you back to your current situation

what a buzzkill

“don’t tell me you’re giving him up, because i will fight you.” you threaten, arms tightening around the child protectively, who cooes in response and wraps its fingers around a lock of your hair

who does this mando think he is??? handing over a baby for money????

“i’m not,” the man sighs, “that’s why you’re not frozen in carbonite yet, genius.”

you blink; once, then twice

oH

“then what do you want from me? i don’t need your protection, mandalorian.” you prod, waving your cuffs in the air

“sure you don’t, but that’s not the point.”

exCUSE YOU, MANDALORIAN

you scoff, but he cuts you off before you get to protest

“he needs yours,” the bounty hunter states, “judging on how you’re both running from the same client.”

your head tilts as you ponder over what he says

mando thinks the action makes you look like a puppy

but u didn’t hear it from mE

“so what you’re saying is,” you begin, slowly, “you’re offering to be my partner.”

the waY HE CHOKES

“that is noT what I said.”

you shake your head, “yeah, you know, all i’m hearing is ‘will you co-parent this space child’,

“to which I humbly accept.”

now it’s mando’s turn to blank

what just happened

what did he juST WALK INTO

did you just somehow invite yourself to be his partner???

uM

“i don’t know about you, but if this whole space-mom-and-dad thing is gonna work, i’m gonna need my hands.”

he groans, running a gloved hand over his helmet

he can’t believe he’s agreeing to this, but with the luck he’s had, he’s going to need all the help he can get with the Child

he can only pray you’re better with kids than he is

finally, he gives in

with a a defeated sigh, he swivels away from you on his pilot seat

“just take them off. you already know they weren’t activated.”

you grin, revelling in the feeling of liberated wrists

“cheer up, mando. this is going to be fun.”

[hanscom]

reddie enemies to lovers

(I keep trying to convince myself to finish this, but it hasn’t happened yet and it’s been over a year since I started it. So here, have some hockey enemies to friends nonsense.

Fair warning: this is the same game as we all know and love, but the ins and outs of professional hockey detailed here are made up. I don’t know the specifics about what goes on off the ice, okay? Correct me if you must, but I highly encourage you to just embrace the fact that I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Also, I love you all, still and forever. Thanks for following me even after all this time.)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak Rating: T Word count: 2,948

It’s cold in the arena.

It’s worse, down on the ice. The air is sharp and stinging on his face, in his lungs. His skates are steady under his feet. The lights are blazing overhead. He can’t smell much except the sweaty inside of his helmet, but he imagines it smells like popcorn and hoppy beer. It smells like game day. It smells like home.

Richie doesn’t think there could be anything better than this.

He’s skating backwards around the rink, gliding fast across the freshly buffed ice, content in the knowledge that no one is going to run into him. His team has gotten pretty good at working around him. They’re starting to become a pretty effortless unit, for the most part. It’s something Richie is pretty fucking proud of.

He whooshes past Ben and around one of the rookies, shouting joyful nonsense that echoes off the ice. They yell back at him, but he can’t make out the words over the sound of his skates and the blood rushing in his ears.

And then Stan skates out from the tunnel and into his way. Richie twists fast to the side, digging down, slowing to a quick stop. Ice sprays up under his blades. Stan, unimpressed as always, doesn’t move. “Are you done showing off?” he asks, his mouthguard hanging from his helmet. The only time he ever takes it out on the ice is to give Richie a hard time.

“What’s that?” Richie says. “I can’t hear you from down there.”

Stan is the smallest guy on the team. He’s almost a solid foot shorter than Richie, and he’s constantly sore as fuck about it. Richie doesn’t get it. If Stan were any bigger, any less quick on his feet, he wouldn’t be half the player he is. Stan’s a winger. His entire hockey career revolves around being fast. And, anyway, Richie’s kind of big for a centerman, but you don’t hear him bitching about it.

They’re close to the goal. Mike is standing there in the crease, suited up, his hulking equipment making him look massive. “Are we really doing this again?” he calls, but he’s laughing about it.

Richie digs his skates in, gliding an easy circle around the goal. “We sure are,” he says, grinning. “You know Stan plays a better game when he’s pissed off.”

“I could play a better game than you in a coma,” Stan shouts. His face is red, some combination of cold air and actual anger. Stan’s normally a pretty level-headed guy, but Richie gets under his skin, shakes him up, makes him mad. His game has gotten a thousand times more aggressive since they met. Bill sometimes jokes about putting him on defense, but he never will. Stan as Richie’s left wing is pretty much the only reason the Portland Pioneers ever score.

It’s not that their right wing is bad, exactly. He’s just… not good. Richie can say that. He’s not the captain, like Bill. He’s not even an alternate, like Stan and Ben. He doesn’t have to be diplomatic. He doesn’t have to play nice. Hockey’s not a nice sport. Hockey’s about being fast and smart and violent. Right winger Patrick Hockstetter might be mean as hell, but he’s also slow as fuck and dumb as a box of rocks. Richie can work with a lot of things, but he can’t fix stupid.

But Richie’s trying not to think about it. He doesn’t need to go into the game expecting Patrick to fuck it up for them (again). It’s bad luck. And Albany’s a good team. Richie has to focus if he’s going to pull this one out.

—

The Pioneers lose in overtime, which is devastating. Losing always sucks, but it’s even worse, watching Albany celebrate on their ice.

Afterward, the locker room is quiet for a long time, aside from the five minutes Coach spends yelling at them for their admittedly awful performance. When he retreats back to his office, the team slowly strips out of their equipment, made sluggish by defeat. They’re all tired. Richie is already starting to ache, his body finally registering all the time he spent up against the boards. Bill and Ben are in even worse shape. Both of them already have bruises blooming across their ribs, across their backs. Albany played rough. The Pioneers haven’t had to fight that dirty in a long time. It makes the loss feel even worse, somehow.

Richie has just finished dragging on his street clothes when Bill finally speaks up. He has changed into the full three-piece suit he wears to impress the media circus waiting outside for him, and his hair is still damp from the shower. He looks sort of ridiculous, standing there in full monkey costume in front of the team, who are all in various states of undress. But he’s still the captain, so when Bill tells them to listen up, they do.

“You guys played really hard tonight,” he says. He’s trying to sound light-hearted, uplifting, but Richie has known him for a long time now. He’s just as crushed by the loss as everyone else — probably more so. There’s a small waver in his voice that says it all. “I know this isn’t the outcome we wanted, but that doesn’t change how well you all played.”

Richie looks down. It’s sort of worse, knowing they did well but lost anyway. They gave it their all, but it wasn’t good enough. It fucking sucks. Richie sort of wants to punch something. He sort of wants to sleep for a few days straight.

He really, really, really wants a right winger who can shoot a decent shot.

It’s not a very charitable thought. Patrick has played worse games than this one. But Richie’s too tired to play nice, and he can’t stop replaying all the shots they missed, all the times he was open and so was the goal but the puck was nowhere to be found and neither was Patrick.

Richie thinks, without meaning to, about Albany’s right winger. Thinks about the way he had sped across the ice, faster than Richie, faster even than Stan. He’d played a good game. A damn good game. Richie sort of really hates him for it, which isn’t fair. It’s not that guy’s fault Richie doesn’t have a solid line. But he is most of the reason Albany scored and scored and scored again, so Richie reserves the right to hate him, just a little.

Stan and Mike ask him out for a drink, but he declines. He wouldn’t be good company, and besides, he’s beat. So he bids them goodbye and leaves out the back, ball cap pulled low over his eyes to hopefully deter anyone from recognizing him. It works. He gets home without incident, makes himself a late dinner, and flips on the TV to watch a few highlights, because he’s an obsessive masochist. Pittsburgh beats Chicago, then Nashville loses to Dallas, and then he’s watching himself skate furiously down the length of the Pioneers’ rink. He groans, but doesn’t fumble for the remote. Helplessly, hopelessly, he watches Patrick lag behind. He watches Albany’s defense wrestle the puck away without much of a fight. He watches that tiny fucking demon of a right winger swoop in, taking control of the puck with an ease Richie can’t help but admire. God, the guy’s good.

The announcers call him Eddie Kaspbrak. The name sounds familiar, in the way that all good players sound familiar. Richie can only watch so many highlights in a night without picking up on a few things, and this is clearly not the first beautiful pass Kaspbrak has ever made. Richie makes a face and finally shuts the television off. He doesn’t need to relive Kaspbrak’s seamless pass to center, that perfect shot down the crease, the way Mike’s knee guards slapped to the ice a split-second too late. It was hard enough to watch in real time.

One day, he’s going to have a right wing like Kaspbrak, who can keep up and knows how to bank a shot. But today isn’t that day, so he gives up and goes to bed, upset and pissed off and stoking his quiet, irrational grudge against Eddie Kaspbrak.

—

Trade negotiations roll around. Richie tries not to worry about it, but he does. Everyone does.

In the end, it’s Patrick. Which isn’t surprising, exactly, but feels so much like everything Richie has ever wanted that it scares him. He finds himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

In late February, two weeks before the trade deadline, it does. Bill makes the announcement after a rough, sweaty afternoon practice. Richie is tired as fuck, still breathing heavy, but all the air jams up in his throat when Bill breaks the news.

The Portland Pioneers have acquired Eddie Kaspbrak.

—

Kaspbrak, in person and without all his gear, is even smaller than he looks on the ice.

He’s younger-looking than Richie expects. They’re the same age, but Richie has taken a few good hits over the years that have knocked his face a little out of whack. He has a crooked nose, twisted teeth. The entire left side of his jaw had to be painstakingly rebuilt three years ago when he took a puck to the face, which left his smile sort of lopsided.

Eddie doesn’t look like he’s ever taken a hit. He has a smooth, even face. Nice teeth. He’s good-looking, is all Richie’s saying. Richie didn’t expect it. He’s not sure why it catches him off-guard.

They meet for the first time off the ice the day the Pioneers are scheduled to play Carolina. Morning skate is optional, but Richie drags himself in anyway because Bill expects him to, and Richie’s a sucker who doesn’t want to disappoint his captain, even after all this time. It’s not even that early when he stumbles in but he feels bleary and sluggish, pulling on his gear without participating much in the locker talk. Stan tries to rile him up a few times, but gives up fast when Richie refuses to take the bait. Mike nudges him when he walks past. “Rough night?” he asks, grinning like he knows the answer. Richie spent his night with a microwaved pizza and the highlights reel, but that’s nobody’s damn business, so he shrugs.

And then Bill comes out of Coach’s office. The team doesn’t exactly snap to attention whenever he’s around, but the chatter dies down to a dull murmur. Especially when someone follows him out.

Kaspbrak is wearing street clothes — sneakers, jeans, a fucking polo shirt. Richie wonders if that’s the sort of thing he always wears or if he dressed up for them. He looks more comfortable than he probably should, standing in front of a group of strangers who, up until this point, have only known him as an opponent. He’s smiling. He is just — really good-looking. Richie is sort of hung up on it.

“This,” Bill announces, “is Eddie. He’s going to practice with us this morning.”

The season hasn’t even officially ended. Patrick got pulled from the roster when the trade was announced, but he’s still around. His locker’s not even empty. Richie doesn’t like the guy or anything, but that has to be a tough pill to swallow. Richie can’t even imagine what being replaced like that would feel like.

On the other hand, he really, really wants to get out on the ice with Kaspbrak. He wants to see what the guy can do, up close and personal.

It’s a tough thing, being both impressed and annoyed by the sight of someone. It’s made worse by the way Bill stares him down until he manages to force a smile in Eddie’s direction. Kaspbrak grins back at him, easy. His teeth are stupidly perfect. None of them are chipped or anything. Richie can’t remember the last time he met a hockey player with a perfect face. Something about it freaks him out.

Bill claps Eddie on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team,” he says. Most of the guys echo the sentiment. Richie mumbles something that sounds close enough and finishes lacing up his skates.

He doesn’t have to play nice with Kaspbrak. He just has to play well with Kaspbrak. There’s a big difference, and Richie is clinging stubbornly to it.

—

The thing is, Kaspbrak is really fucking good.

Richie knew. Of course he knew. He hardly ever lets the losses get to him, because God knows there have been too many to remember them all over the years, but he’s been hung up on the Albany game for months now. He’s watched the playback more than once, and has most of Albany’s season saved to his DVR.

But it’s different in person. Kaspbrak is so fast. So steady on his feet. Richie hasn’t been impressed by something as simple as skating since he was a kid, but the way Kaspbrak does it shakes him up. The guy skates like a dream. Richie is so jealous, and so impressed, and so fucking confused. He’s spent the better part of the season hating this guy, and now he’s here, gliding around Richie in wide circles, lapping Bill and Ben and even Stan, looking like maybe he’s not even making much of an effort.

Morning skate is easy, most of the time. Everyone wants to be at their best for that night’s game, and half the team didn’t even show. But Eddie throws the dynamic off, makes them all a little hot and hungry for some actual play, and before Richie knows it, Mike and his rookie are guarding opposing nets and Richie’s facing off with Bill, staring at him through the grate of his helmet, his mouthguard clenched between his teeth. It’s not a real scrimmage. They don’t have enough players to run a real game. But Richie doesn’t care, because Stan volunteered as Bill’s winger, which left Kaspbrak all for Richie. Richie can feel him, on his right, just outside the face-off circle. Richie has this weird, sudden urge to look back at him, but then the puck is on the ground and there’s no time.

Bill is a vicious center. He’s not as fast as Richie, but he’s stronger. There’s a reason he plays defense. His body is one solid line of muscle, and he’s not afraid of using it. He shoulder-checks Richie, almost knocks him off balance with the force of it, but Richie bares his teeth and refuses to give up ground. Bill is probably a better player than Richie is in the long run, but Richie is the best center the team has ever had. He wrestles the puck out of Bill’s reach and bears down on the ice, shooting across the rink. Eddie is ahead of him. Richie hasn’t had a winger faster than him in so long he almost forgets to make the pass.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate. He moves like a blur, so fast it’s hard to keep track of his stick against the puck, driving it effortlessly forward. Mike is braced in the crease, his big body held wide, but he’s just not quick enough. Eddie comes at him from the side, bent down, stick jumping from one side of the puck to the other. And then it’s over. One second, he’s barreling down the rink, and the next, the puck is in the net — a perfect backhand shot.

It’s just practice. There’s no cheering, no booming announcement, no music. But Richie feels the same way he always does, his pulse loud in his ears, his heart tight in his chest.

“Kaspbrak!” he roars. “You son of a bitch!”

Eddie has the kind of smile that could melt the ice. He looks so pleased, so proud. Richie skates to him and throws an arm around his shoulder, smacking his helmet.

“We went easy on you!” Stan shouts, because he’s a sore loser.

“You kidding?” Richie yells back. “You couldn’t have caught him if you tried!”

Eddie’s shoulders shake. Richie leans into him, grinning, thrilled beyond measure. They drift a little on the ice, aimless, anchored together.

“It won’t happen again,” Bill says. He’s a competitive motherfucker, which makes him a great player and an even better captain. It won’t be easy, getting the puck away from him again.

Eddie grins up at Richie like maybe he’s up for the challenge.

—

Eddie scores two more times. He insists that they don’t call it a hat trick, considering it’s just practice and he’s scared of jinxing it. Richie doesn’t care what they call it. All he knows is Eddie scored three fucking times, and he assisted all of them. He doesn’t even mind that he wasn’t the one to make the shots. It’s better, almost, watching Eddie do it.

Bill lets morning skate go longer than normal, probably hoping to pull out a single goal, but after awhile he finally calls them off the ice. Richie is dripping with sweat when he peels himself out of his equipment. He didn’t realize how hard he’d been working. It hadn’t felt like much, being out there on the ice, falling into Eddie’s rhythm, into his gravity.

Eddie hangs back while everyone files out, looking around like maybe he’s still taking everything in. His hair is wet from the shower and his face is flushed. Richie nudges him on his way out. “Sure you can’t play with us tonight?” he asks. It’s not possible, but it makes Eddie beam.

“Won’t be long,” Eddie assures him.

Richie doesn’t say so, but he can’t fucking wait.

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 3]

Rating: M Words: 2105 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: Okay, so far the changing POV per chapter seems to be working. But it’s also repeating scenes so you can get both perspectives on it. Do people like that? Let me know! It’ll probably change up a bit when they start having actual scenes together, but so far I kind of like this format :)

also Kristoff has the hots and Sven knows whats up.

Enjoy!

The second she left the locker room, Kristoff felt his whole body relax. Okay. It seemed like she hadn’t told anyone about how much of an ass he was yet, so maybe he could get ahead of this. Yeah, if he just told coach why he was so rude…

But then again, if she wasn’t planning on telling anyone, then he was outing himself for no reason.

But then again, it would be better for him to just own up to it…

Kristoff dropped his head into his hands, letting out a low and frustrated groan. He hadn’t even noticed that everyone was gearing up until Sven smacked the back of his head and pointed quite forcefully to his cubby. “Skate starts in fifteen, Kris, and if you’re late on day one, Coach will have your ass.” Sven cocked a brow at him before sighing. “Tell me what’s bothering you when we get on the ice, okay?”

Looking up with sad eyes, Kristoff nodded before standing and moving towards his gear. Most of the guys were already ready, moving to head down the runway to the rink before he had even gotten his jock on, and Kristoff moved as quickly as possible. But being a goalie came with more complex gear, and it always took him just a couple extra minutes of prep.

Coach Mattias came back to yell at the last of the stragglers, and Kristoff decided to just run out with his mask under his arm. That’s fine. He’s fine.

He can handle this.

There was no way they’d get rid of their starting goalie because he was a little rude one time to the owner’s daughter.

Right?

Yeah.

He was fine.

Kristoff pulled his mask on tight, grateful that he didn’t see her red hair anywhere in the arena, and stepped onto the ice, the feel and scrape of it underneath his feet immediately calming his nerves. It was almost as if he had no worries when he was out here… except for, you know, trying to win professional hockey games. But that was barely stressful at all.

After a couple laps around the rink to warm up his legs, Kristoff heard a high pitched whistle coming from the other side of the ice. Sven was skating over to him now, and Kristoff started having second thoughts about revealing just exactly went down. He knew Sven would think he was the asshole, but c’mon, was it really so outrageous for him to think that another fan girl found her way into the back of the arena?

… At seven in the morning.

Dressed in business casual wear.

… Okay yeah, he was dumb.

But he was also hungover.

“This is all your fault,” he yelled to his friend, frowning as he got closer. “I blame you entirely.”

“I mean, I guess that’s fair.” Sven couldn’t help but laugh as he slid to a halt in front of Kristoff, punching a gloved hand against his shoulder. “Can I at least know what I’m being blamed for?”

Kristoff bounced in place, glancing around the room to make sure no one else was within ear shot. “I’m hungover and dumb and it’s your fault.”

“You were born dumb, I did not contribute to that.”

Swatting his glove into the side of Sven’s helmet before laughing, Kristoff could feel his tension starting to ease. “Fine, I won’t blame you for that part of it.” His face dropped as he jumped at the sound of Mattias yelling at Zenobio. “Look, I, uh, may have been an asshole to the wrong person.”

Sven clicked his tongue once, already knowing just exactly who the person in question was. “Did you screw her and not call her again? I’ve told you to — ow!” He clenched as the goalie punched him in the arm, and rose his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay, I know you don’t do that, I’m sorry.” His mitt rose to his helmet to push it back on his head. “What happened?”

With a sigh and a pitiful backwards swizzle, Kristoff confessed the short story to his captain. “I mean, I just assumed she was one of yours or like, Brady’s or something.” 

“At seven am?”

Kristoff nodded.

“Dressed like that?”

Kristoff sighed. 

“God, you are dumb.”

“Okay, but what should I do?” Kristoff felt his body deflating, worry rising up in his bones. If even Sven wasn’t sure how to handle this, he might’ve been shit out of luck.

Sven tapped his stick against his chin, frowning. “I mean, maybe take the lesson and stop being such an asshole.” A grin. “But ultimately, I don’t know… just apologize? Hope it doesn’t bite you in the ass?”

Kristoff nodded before Mattias was shouting at them to stop standing around, and get to practicing. 

Apologize.

Yeah.

He could do that.

—

About two hours later, Kristoff heard Mattias shout across the ice as the team was firing constant shots at him, laughing as he scrambled to catch each and every puck. He looked up, swiftly catching the last puck shot right at his hand, and grinned as Sven started skating over. Until he saw her…

Anxiety pulsed through his veins again as Sven turned around to wink at him briefly before slipping his helmet off and greeting Anna with a handshake.  What was this about? Maybe she just wanted to meet the captain? Maybe he would get another day of not talking to her.

Yeah, easy, this is fine. She only wants to talk to Sven because he’s the captain!

Kristoff could feel himself bouncing on his skates as he watched with narrowed eyes, but he was trying to pass it off as practicing some footwork. He wished he could hear just exactly what was going on across the ice, trying and failing to activate some type of hidden sonar superpower that maybe he didn’t know he had.

It only took a second for his mind to wander, for his eyes to drag down the curve of her leaning over the boards. She was tiny. He could just imagine that the span of his fingers would swallow her waist whole, that his one palm could cover the soft swell of her backside. 

Wait, fuck.

He noticed her jerk her head forward, soft curls bouncing on her shoulders as she did, and then saw Sven look at him with a grin before turning back to her. 

Oh no, please no. If that dickwad tells her anything compromising, he’ll kill him. Kill him dead. Icicles are good murder weapons, right?

Sven started skating back towards him, a fucking smirk stretched across his face. Kristoff was ready to slap it right off of his cocky, pretty boy — 

“She’s nice!” Sven snickered, practically ready to duck from Kristoff’s fist swinging towards his head. “Seriously, man. You should just—“

Bjorgman!

“Oh god please no.”

Sven laughed and patted him on the back. “Think she wants to meet everyone one-on-one. You know what’s funny though”

Kristoff glanced between her, Sven, and coach who was starting to impatiently tap his fingers. “What?”

“She’s totally your type.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He knew that, god damn it. He was just trying not to think about it. 

Kristoff headed over to the bench, his whole body tense as two sets of watchful eyes stared him down. “Yeah, coach?” He hollered, pushing his mask up and letting it rest on top of his head. He didn’t miss her posture straighten, because god damn it she was fucking hot and he was a dumbass. 

“Miss Ar— ah… Anna was hoping to meet everyone today.” It wasn’t like coach to stumble over his words, but it also wasn’t like the owners to get this familiar with the players. Usually they liked to keep a distance, treat the players like pawns. If they stopped performing, they’d be replaced. No sense in making any sort of personal connections.

Kristoff nodded before glancing over to her, her arms crossed over her chest, and another fucking smirk on her lips. “Right, yeah.” He shook his mitt off, setting it down on the ledge before wiping at his sweaty forehead. “We… kind of met already.”

Her face faltered for just a moment, and Kristoff felt his confidence rise. She wasn’t expecting him to admit to it, was she? Okay, this gave him a bit of an upper hand. 

“Yes, right… if I recall, you were quite —“

Laughing to cut her off, Kristoff leaned forward, his hand on the boards beside his mitt. “Yeah, I wasn’t nice. You see, Sven over there,” he jerked his chin up, watching her closely as her lips turned into a frown. “He convinced me to go out last night. I was just tired and… not myself.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry for what I said, Miss Arne. It was absolutely unacceptable.” He had put on his most convincing act ever, and it seemed to be working. Kristoff let his eyes drop to her mouth, just for a second, as her plush lips parted in slight disbelief. 

“Oh,” she laughed, pulling some of her hair to the front, twisting it gently between her slim fingers. “Oh, gosh, it’s okay!” Her voice was about an octave higher than it was earlier, and Kristoff felt suspicion prickling at the back of his neck. “And it’s just Anna, really.”

Whereas her interaction with Sven seemed casual and comfortable, there was an obvious tension between them, eyes firmly locked onto the other’. “Well, Anna,” he started, his gaze dropping as her movement distracted him; she had shifted her arms to the boards, leaning forward on her palms, elbows tight against her sides, and her chest was now thoroughly emphasized. 

Shitshitshitshit. 

“It’s…” he swallowed thickly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling before shoving his hand out in front of him. “I’m Kristoff. It’s really good to meet you.” 

She sighed and lifted one arm, her slim fingers sliding against his much larger ones. Her skin was velvet, and Kristoff tried his best to ignore the itching in his palm as he grasped her hand firmly. 

She smiled, then. “Can’t wait to work together.”

And then he tore his hand away, slapped his mask down back over his face, and skated away.

… Only to shamefully come back when Mattias whistled and held up his mitt, Anna laughing beside him.

—

They usually went to lunch after morning practices, and today was no different. Except for Sven laughing hysterically at Kristoff’s pouting, red face. 

“You’re totally gonna fuck her.”

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“Oh, baby boy!” Sven clapped one hand on his shoulder, tearing into his sandwich with the other. “This is a classic case of hate sex! Fueled by an intense distaste and extreme sexual attraction.” 

Kristoff felt his cheeks flush deeper as he shrugged away from his friend, picking at his burger. “Why would I fuck someone I hate?”

“Because the chemistry is too much to bear until you tear into one another, in more ways than one.” He winked, his laughter calming, and took another bite of his food. His mouth was full as he continued. “I mean, obviously you’re you and you want a connection or whatever, but...” he swallowed before finishing. “C’mon dude. She’s hot and you haven’t gotten laid in like over a year.”

Kristoff didn’t even want to eat anymore. 

Maybe it was true, that he was a little into her. She had stayed for the rest of the practice and he had a hard time focusing on what was going on around him. But so did some of the other guys. They were all thrown off by having that fire of a woman observing. “How do you know she’s single? Or straight? Or maybe she wants to fuck Jacobs?” Kristoff picked up a tomato before dropping it back onto his plate in disgust. “Also, she hates me.”

Sven let out another chuckle. “Listen. I talked to all the guys afterward.” He turned in his chair to face the goalie. “They all had run of the mill, my-name, her-name, shake hands and leave meetings. You’re the only one that had something like that —“

“Yes, because she hates me.”

“And…” Sven pinched Kristoff’s cheek and Kristoff couldn’t help but smack his friends’ hand away. “She couldn’t stop staring at you.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Nah, baby, I know women. And I know you. And she, my friend, is probably your future wife.”

Kristoff could only grunt in reply before popping one lonely fry into his mouth. 

Sven didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. 

[penaltbox]

Imagine Johnny beecher teaching you how to skate cause like I need that

You look at the bright sheet of ice inside Yost as Johnny steps out with no hesitation. You look down at the skates strapped to your feet and swallow hard. Were they tied right? What if you fell right away?

“Come on!” The curly haired boy calls, already gliding near center ice, facing towards you but skating backwards.

You flip him off quickly, not able to hide your little white lie much longer. You’d told Johnny when you first met him that you’d been skating before. You just happened to not mention that it was during a field trip in fourth grade and you hadn’t skated since.

You shakily step out onto the ice, legs wobbling a little right away. Johnny’s laugh can be heard clearly echoing around the arena and suddenly he’s in front of you.

“Do you maybe not know how to skate after all?” He asks, gently taking your hands in his much larger ones.

You blush hard and look up at him. He’s got this adorable little smirk on his face and you fight the urge to kiss him instead of skating. You deflect though, casually saying, “it’s just been a while. I have to get used to it again.”

“Sure, that’s why I had to tie them up, right?” He teases, starting to pull you along with him. It scares you at first but you trust him to keep you safe.

He coasts backwards, letting you get used to it little by little. He offsets your occasional gasp as you grip his hands tighter when you lose balance by telling you stories of times things haven’t gone well while he was playing.

“One time I went to grab the puck off the boards and skate behind the net, but there was a tiny gap between them because it was the zamboni door. So I get my blade in there and WHAM, it sticks and I run right into the end of my stick. It hit me in the gut so hard I fell and knocked the wind out of myself,” he explains, laughing at himself.

You have to try and stay upright, laughing hard over his last few stories. You reach up and wipe at a tear in the corner of your eye and you notice he isn’t holding your hands anymore. You stick your hands out, trying to grab onto him, but he gently pushes them away.

“Stop, I’m gonna fall. I need your hand,” you say, feeling a little panicked.

He shakes his head and turns, skating next to you instead, “you’ve been skating on your own the last three stories. You just didn’t notice because you were laughing at all the pain this sport has caused me.”

You reach for his hand again and this time he caves, slipping his fingers through yours, “thank you, Johnny. I was really scared to get out here but you made it so easy. You always do.”

He slows the both of you down, leaning in to give you a kiss. You grip his sweatshirt tight, not trusting yourself to not lose balance when you were this type of distracted.

“I’m glad you came. You’re a natural out here,” he winks.

You sigh, pulling him in for one more quick peck, “I think I just had the best teacher at Michigan for this.”

[saint-patrice]

“Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD” 

here are some more of my favourite marchy pics, complete with my bizarre personal commentary, for anon! the 34 bergy pics can be found here also!

Note: a few people have said they like these posts, so i’m up for taking people’s requests if there’s a particular player they’d like to see! inbox is always open (and anon is on) so just drop me your request and i’ll get working on it :)

okay so this is some absolutely premium cute marchy!! the smile that manages to be completely self-confident yet in no way cocky? the polite little wave as he surveys his audience who, if i recall correctly, were booing him heavily?? oh i do love you mr rat. marchy is fantastic and i have so much respect for the way he deals with his reputation across the league and the excessive amount of shit he gets.he knows what people think of him yet doesn’t seem to let it get to him. i have so much love for him.

KATRINA IS LEGENDARY. before moving on to the part of the image that gave me whiplash when i first saw it, we’re back to talking about brad’s smile. i think i said it in my last post but he really is one of those people who smiles with their whole face - even if you just saw his eyes in this photo you can immediately tell that he’s got that little grin on his face and that’s adorable tbh. now onto the d*lf mug (censored bc i fear the dodgy underground porn blogs these days)… i don’t even know where to start. i feel like he very proudly bought it for himself. and it’s like the only mug he ever wants to drink out of. just my take. i also think the longer hair really suits marchy ngl

ahhh the boys and their dirtbag christmas suits 💛 highlights of this image are the suit jacket that is definitely just one size too small for this absolute man rocket, and the pants with “FRAGILE” plastered all over them - very relatable if not at all festive.

gay rights are stored in the rat!!! i’m glad marchy has been pretty open about his support of LGBT stuff, particularly within hockey. also i feel like some of the stuff he’s said in interviews or social media (esp re: lickgate) manages, even if not intentionally, to be quite diminutive towards implicit homophobia or ‘toxic masculinity’ within hockey. okay maybe that that was poorly expressed but basically he just doesn’t give a shit and appears very open and accepting and i think that’s super nice. this picture also makes for a good reaction image when someone says something dumb

short kings love.jpeg !! a wonderful example of the love that brad shows his teammates on a regular basis, despite his constant chirping. i have no real opinions on torey krug (no h8, i just don’t think i’ve seen that much of him off ice so idk) but him and marchy are quite the duo tbh, i live for their back and forths on twitter - more on that later - and they seem to love each other an awful lot, it’s v cute :^)

that’s my pest™. honestly i think lickgate is one of the best scandals in recent hockey history. when looking for a good image of this is saw an article where some dipshit reporter was outraged about it and was like “how would you feel if someone just came up and liked you?” i mean what if someone just came up and started punching you or hip-checked you into the wall????? hockey is a nasty game a lot of the time, and instead of giving people concussions or broken bones (not that he hasn’t in the past ik…) marchy managed to make opposing teams just as angry, if not moreso, just by licking players. i think it’s fucking hilarious. and most of them took it well in hindsight anyway - i think it was komarov who said he kinda liked it lmaoooooo. peak bradley kevin antics if you  ask me

every pic from the china trip has such a special place in my heart. this is just an all-round adorable photo and brad is looking gorgeous in the sunlight and his backwards cap

brad waving the towel in surrender is just about the funniest thing i’ve ever seen someone do in the penalty box… i can’t believe they gave him a 10 minute misconduct for it, something i think they’d wouldn’t have done if it had have been someone else. at least someone in this league has a goddamn sense of humour. the penalty minutes stat in the corner just makes this even better

brad, once again, showing us how we should deal with people talking shit about us - just get on board with it. i love how much he’s just embraced his massive nose and his height and his general reputation. idk if it’s really deliberate but i think it’s such a good message to send, and it makes for some pretty funny stuff too.

brad single-handedly keeps nhl refs in a job. in my bruins drinking game™ you have to take a shot every time the ref has to physically restrain marchy (2 if it’s because he was going to get revenge or fend for bergy) and you could get fucked off that alone during some games. it was nice to see him not actually get suspended this year, but i will always love that he’s such a physical player and quite the pest on the ice :))

me: *slaps helmet of brad marchand* this bad boy can fit so much personality.

really though, can you believe he’s managed to squeeze more charisma into only 5 feet and 9 inches than 85% of the league combined… very cute picture, and always lovely to see him by bergy’s side on the ice where he belongs

oh my goddddddd how fucking cute is this though!!!! the hat! the dad energy those jeans and the boots give off!!! his face!! his little daughter!!!!! i can’t take it, my heart is going to burst.

(gif via @kureally) this is also just so cute, i need a minute. brad has some very powerful eyebrows and this gif displays them wonderfully. this section of behind the b was also pretty sweet all round, and i agree with pasta that the hair is looking pretty first class

(gif via @murlin09) i am not like into marchy (no tea no shade if u are though), but this gif… whew. i’ll let you come to your own conclusions on this one, gang

i was not lying when i said more on the brad-torey social media antics earlier. there are some truly iconic chirps (the zamboni one is lethal), but this self-roast just kills me every time. i never once thought i’d read a tweet from the official brad marchand twitter account that opened with “hey shorty” but here we are. “my nose wouldn’t fit” i astral projected the first time i read that. and if you’re wondering what torey said to prompt this, it was simply “hey marchy”. it doesn’t take much for brad to light on you, huh? we better watch our backs

definitely a favourite marcheron pic right here - the pucks and paddles (i still think that’s a questionable name but maybe that’s a me issue) content is always top notch. if you can find the video, it’s even better, but this picture captures the general energy of the video perfectly. the only thing missing is that brad’s feet aren’t actually on the floor because the height difference is so pronounced that bergy has to lift him. beautiful

return of the cute brad smile!! a cute yet mischievous little grin, i can only assume he’s restraining himself from laughing at m*tthews fivehead (although who is he to talk with that schnozz. at least he rocks it tbf 👃🏻). not sure blue is really his colour but he’s going for it anyway. that’s my all star!

it’s been days since this photo first surfaced and i haven’t stopped palpitating. the cutest photo ever, they all look so happy and i love that!!! also how are their wives so beautiful….!? oh my every pixel of this image is just stunning

i know i included this in my last bergy list but if they can name new york twice i think i can put this on 2 lists, because lord knows it’s even more iconic. i feel like this is a good metaphor for brad marchand: getting up to no good, although still relatively harmless, all the while supported by the considerably more sensible, yet still entertaining, patrice bergeron. additionally, another excellent display of the oft-overlooked fact that this man is built like a motherfucking tank. holy shit

i wish i could see these boys in suits without my brain immediately trying to think of some sort of au. anyway, i really like this look on brad (unpopular opinion - i love his loud checkered suits as a concept but i don’t think they look good). although he has dark hair, strong eyebrows, and dark facial hai, the all black actually looks really good on him. coffee in hand really adding to the look too - well done, brad “fashionista” marchand.

ahhhhh i love nothing more than family man marchy 💛 his daughter is adorable - those tiny jerseys kill me - and i love that his son is wearing the all-star jersey omg how cute (he is definitely going to end up taller than brad lmao)

sometimes i forget that brad is short and then i see photos like this (brandon is 6′5 for reference)…amazing. i relate to the lady on the left on a spiritual level. brad’s face is a mood and a half. his feet are half a foot of the ice at least. i adore this photo.

(gif via @brandoncarlo) absolutely one of my fav things about watching bruins games is how brad and patrice will always find each other during a celly - nothing beats the 100 hug. this is also just a very satisfying skating gif that i love.

last but very very very far from least is this. there is literally no need for me to make any comment on this so i’m just going to leave it and go. bradley kevin marchand you are iconic and ily

ayyy this was super fun to do, thank you for requesting it anon, i hope you like!! again, i’m absolutely up for taking requests for more of these lists so hmu if you have ideas :) 

[ariahearthockey]

Love Me, If You Will

Hey guys, I wrote a little something a while ago, a sidgeno fic which was set during the 2017 NHL Playoffs. Hope you’ll like it.

_/_/_/_/

Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Tags: 2017 NHL Playoffs, Concussion, Memory Loss, Medical Inaccuracies, Unexplained Medical Conditions, Alternate Reality, Time Travel (sort of), Pining, Fluff, Porn With Feelings, Happy Ending (sort of)

Soundtrack: Dancing On My Own - Calum Scott

_/_/_/_/

Prologue

Time is a funny thing. The concept of it may change in one's eye, depending on the urgency one feels. Hours can fly by in a blink whereas minutes may dragged on for all eternity. The latter seems to be happening for him, when he tilts his head up and see the number '13' blinking brightly on the jumbotron. It all but calms him, knowing that he is so near to the end but can't really acknowledge it yet. It is already within reach though, as if he can taste the sweet victory in the air, but those 13 seconds are crucial, for they stand in between him and what he wants.

He looks around and sees that the crowd is on their feet, waving their towels furiously in the air. They adorn in several different shades of yellow, all screaming their support for their respective team. There is no ignoring the energy vibrating in the building; it is electrifying as much as it is intimidating, and it reverberates through his body in waves.

He skates around while he waits with jitters thrumming in his body. It feels like forever before the referee beckons him with a little wave of his hand. He slides to the centre ice, drops into his faceoff stance and schools his expression into something resembling more intense and less giddy. It will be the last faceoff for him in this post season, and he wants to make the best out of it. His focus is razor sharp, his heart pounding in his ears, but when the puck drops, he is just a fraction of a second slower than his opponent. It is understandable because the desperation is soaring high for his opponent, for they only have thirteen seconds to work their miracle, and the clock is already counting down.

His blades cut shallow grooves onto the ice, his eyes trained on the puck as he skates after it. It pinballs from tape to tape of their opponents, trying to create diversion and chances before they fire shots towards the net. It is obvious that the shots are made in desperation, and it showed when they miss the net but hit the board behind it instead. Sounds of disappointed groan can be heard from the crowd and when the last attempt goes wide over the net, it all but guaranteed the fate of the home team in this final second. And it also guaranteed that he and his team just did what they could only dream of in the beginning of the season.

They are going dancing with Lord Stanley again.

The final siren sounded and the building erupts in waves of boos. It is understandable since they are playing in their enemy's territory, but that doesn't deter him or his teammates to crowd around on the ice in celebration. Helmets and sticks and gloves are strewn all over like the wrapping papers on Christmas mornings, and they are hugging and patting each other on the shoulders, celebrating their long, gruelling win.

While all is busy laughing and talking to everyone and anyone at the same time, he is drowning in his own pool of disbelief. It is as though there is something separating him from feeling the joy and celebration that is going on around him. To some extent, it feels like he is not even there. He blames it on his jumbled mess of his heart, that the win hasn't really sink in yet, and that it takes one look from a pair of brown, gentle eyes—smiling blindingly at him—to tear through to him.

It is then that the limbo he is in is slowly dissipating. The earth feels like it has stopped beneath his skates, and the chaos around him ceased into white noise. He nods, as if he can convey everything he is feeling into that one simple gesture, and feels the corners of his lips being pulled up into a tiny smile. He reminds himself all the time that he shouldn't make it out to be something that it is not, but he can't help how his heart skips a beat at the exchange, can't suppress the swirling warmth bubbling in the pit of his stomach. It is the one thing that haunts him but also the one thing that he needs, and all he can do is pray that his hopeless longing isn't translating on his face.

It so happens that there is a sea of teammates wedged between them that lessen his worry of being outed. Nonetheless, he still does, because what else can he do then? He is trained extensively to hold his tongue necessarily, to shut down his emotions and put on a superficial incognito that he has perfected over the years. It sure as hell looks like he is all set, but somehow, somewhere, when it comes to this man whom he considers as one of his best friend on the team and off, he has never been more wary of the cracks in his carefully crafted armour.

Because underneath all the pretences, he is a simple man who carries the burden of forbidden, complicated feelings. Even as his gaze lands on the goofy grin, the mess of a helmet hair and a ridiculously bruised nose, the affection he feels for this man is threatening to seep out through his pores.

But it didn't start off like this at all. Many years ago, he was just a kid who wanted to play good hockey, and he was great at it. It didn't take long before everyone in the hockey world knew of his name. First came the fame, then followed by hostility. They were well to be expected because people are weird, and they hate greatness, and he all but took it as a very well-earned compliment.

Being on the top meant that he got the best view, and it was great. He worked hard to stay there because that was the only thing he knew how to do best. But sometimes it felt a little lonely, not because he was shunned by jealousy, but because no one shared the obsession he has with hockey. Then came the very determined twenty year old who hailed from the city near magnetic mountain, charging into his life like a provoked bull.

Contrary to popular belief, their friendship hasn't started easy. Apart from the most obvious barrier of not speaking the same language, the twenty year old was a young, talented and headstrong player who shared the same drive and intensity as him. But it was a welcomed arrival, for he saw no harm in a little bit of competition, which in turn pushed him and one another to do better.

While they worked hard to prove their superiority above each other, they had learnt everything there was to be learnt about one another's play, and that was how they took the hockey world by storm.

They dominated on the ice and made headlines together. Coined the two-headed monster, they created buzz wherever they went. And some time between not able to understand each other due to the language barrier to winning the Stanley Cup together for the third time, their little healthy rivalry has turned into friendship, and then unknowingly evolved into something more.

However, he has limited their interactions to just platonic, no matter how much he was held prisoner of his own feelings. He didn't think starting something controversial like dating his own teammate would do any either of them good, and looking at the lack of initiative from the other man, he seemed to think the same. It would be difficult enough to maintain a relationship within the team, and it would be that much worse if the relationship ever go south. So, nothing ever happened.

He pined a lot while he dated from time to time. It was his effort to delude himself that it will eventually pass, but nothing really stuck. His heart was a stubborn little thing, he finds absolutely no satisfaction to be dating anyone who isn't 6' 3", hockey hungry Russian who spoke terrible English. One that came close to resembling a semi-decent relationship was when he was dating Kathryn, whom was his friend first before they ventured into anything beyond that. But after a long on and off relationship, she broke it off—to which he felt quite fine except for the guilt for stringing her along for so long. Since then, he has never put himself out there more than some discreet, stringless hookups.

For the most part, he is content. There is nothing that eases the loneliness better than overcoming adversities and winning championships. He is adequately happy, vaulting all of those stolen moments within the four walls of his too big and too empty a house, and focusing on the life that he had chosen for himself.

Hockey. That is how he coped, and by the end of the day, it is all that mattered.

_/_/_/_/

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter sixteen (the third hockey game)

December 20, 1988. Seattle, Washington.

It would be a whole three weeks before the four of us could group together and head on out to Seattle as a hockey team. On top of that, ever since we visited Brick in the hospital, we were slammed with some of the worst snow I had ever seen in my life: it was so bad, the four of us all got snowed in, stranded in Oswego for a whole two days. Marcia and Sonia were even lucky to leave Rochester for a little while and head on over to Buffalo for a day. And Lars and I still haven't had lunch with them yet. The good side of being stranded at home was I didn't have to leave the apartment for a full day, and then I was able to buy myself a pair of guards for the blades of my skates.

The more I think about it, the more I want to head on out there on an actual plane instead of crawling through a wormhole, especially since the wormholes move about places when we least expect them to. Between scrounging for plane tickets and my calling up places to see if we could play a game up there, as well as my calling up any place to record my songs. Lucky for us, Lars, Marcia, and Sonia all pitched in for us, as the two sisters themselves decided on flying out there to visit their parents and their good friend there in the cozy corner of Washington; meanwhile, I called my parents to assure them I would be home in time for Christmas.

I told Lars not to worry about heading down to Portland to tell his wife because we all know the story there at this point. He also told me that Kim and Hiro could find some studio space for me in the University District of downtown but I have my doubts given it's such a strange setting.

But on the other hand, I'm also open to it. I spent the whole flight nestled in between him and Spence with my hockey gear in my overnight bag right in front of my feet. I have my notepad tucked in the pocket of my big black overcoat. Nothing to see here. Just five guys going to play up in Seattle. We're not a professional team as much as we wish we were.

The other plus side is going to see Soundgarden themselves again, this time as the four guys we knew before and not the band with the soundscapes that fill a whole theater of some two thousand people. I assured Lars not to worry about finding skates to fit him to partake in his role as goalie. If nothing, he's going to be the ultimate badass with his own stick in one hand and his cane in the other.

We landed at the airport there in Seattle, right in the heart of the neon lights as they're still glimmering on in the wake of all the dense morning fog surrounding us. I'm leading the whole pack through the airport with my scarf around my neck, my leather gloves and chained boots on, and my mirrored sunglasses upon my face, like I'm the big Italian mob boss. Don't mess with me: I've got a sack full of blades and a hockey stick just waiting to come out if I get any looks.

There's just one foreseeable downside with all this and that's we actually have to compete with a team now.

Fine by me, as long as they don't try and intimidate us because I've got an album to record on top of everything else.

Marcia and Sonia meanwhile have the keys to our rental hydrogen cars, one for the two of them to head on up to a little town called Everett, and one for the five of us. Sonia pats me on the back as she hands me my key. I really don't know if she's telling the truth about calling Spence after the accident, but I also haven't heard a word from Dominique on the whole matter, either.

Anyways, if I recall correctly, this place is right near the heart of downtown so we'll get a good look of more than just the neon lights there. And there is a Denny's nearby, much to Barney and Billy's rejoicing. The hydrogen hum here is virtually silent; Lars is right next to me in the front seat with his mask already on over his face.

“Relax, dude,” Spence tells him from the backseat. “It's gonna be a bit before we start playing and even then we've got to warm up.”

“I think he's a little wary of all the neon here,” I suggest as we pull up to a stoplight.

“I really am,” Lars replies through gritted teeth.

“It's alright, it's just a little light. It's not gonna hurt ya.” But I peer out the windshield at some of the little buildings here in this part of town. Some otherwise small, nondescript shops, garages, and places that are perfectly fine otherwise but have these odd flat black screens on the front sides. They're odd because they seem to follow the outer corners, like they're wrapped around. And the buildings themselves almost look abandoned: we pass a leather shop which has the lights out even though it's still early in the day.

This fog meanwhile is growing thick and heavy over our heads with each passing intersection. I hope it's not too cold as we reach the intersection of the street leading over to the recording studio Soundgarden recorded Ultramega OK.

This part of town was not nearly as advanced back then when I first met Soundgarden as it is now. The buildings all look like they're made entirely of polished silver: even the Space Needle is looking extra shiny and clean and crisp at the moment, its blue and green neon as bright as a lighthouse. The glimmers of neon are in full swing here up on the rooftop gardens and over the awnings. Then I catch the sight of something small and shiny flying against the dense fog.

I think back to what Angeline told me about the drones. They make a sound that's below human hearing, such that it can cause paranoia. I think about the hydrogen car that we're riding in right now and I wonder if it's the case here, too. But then again, probably not. I feel fine.

But then there's Lars with the mask already over his face.

That one drone itself is floating over the heart of downtown Seattle, right where we're headed.

The light turns the brightest neon green I have ever seen in my life and we roll onward to the hockey rink.

Lars peers out the window at the heart of downtown and I catch glimpses every so often on my part. Everything is so smoothed out and polished: all the lights are suspended by those spindly white wires. The street itself is black and in need of those street cleaners.

I think about Maya, how she spent all that time here, running around the puddles and the blacktop with nothing more than her own mind. At least I think she did.

But that copy of After the Watershed was real. Surely she did. I touched that booklet. I felt it, I read it, I tucked it under my jacket to protect it from the rain, and I wound up losing the stupid thing after the accident. But there's too many sides to this story. I can only make a guess and right at the moment, I don't feel like taking a shot in the dark because I'm looking around for the hockey rink—

“Ah! Here we are.”

I spot the Denny's, nestled on the corner right across the street from the tall matte silver light posts surrounding a good sized outdoor hockey rink. I pull into the tiny sliver of pavement right near the entrance right as those light posts flicker on and bathe the ice in pure white light.

“Okay, so I just have to sit and make sure the puck doesn't get in?” Lars relays to me, still through gritted teeth.

“Exactly,” I reply as I kill the hydrogen engine. I don't think it goes off at first but I turn the key again, and yes, it's off. I climb out first to take in the cool dampness lacing throughout the corridors of Seattle; embedded in that dampness is the chill of cold metal and stone. I shiver and close my coat as I shut the door behind me. Barney, Billy, and Spence climb out of the backseat so we can fetch our things.

“I assume that's where we change?” Spence nods to the little shed to our right.

“Maybe?” I wonder aloud. I really have no idea. “It's worth a shot.”

Billy puts his arm around Lars so as to help him out and Spence takes off his gloves before following them over there.

“I've noticed something, Joey,” Barney starts as he closes the trunk lid.

“What's that?”

“There's no people.”

I glance around the block. Indeed, it's just us here. I didn't even see any passersby at any of the crosswalks. There weren't even any other cars on the other side of the street. I just saw the drone up in the sky and that was it.

“Yeah. On top of that, I haven't heard a bird or anything since we left the airport, and even then it was just the whir of the waters.”

“Oh, from the Puget Sound?”

“Yeah. It's weirdly quiet right now. But let's get changed, though—surely the team will be here any second now.” We head on over to the shed and step in through the door on the other side. There's a few wooden benches in here plus a single row of metal lockers that look very old. Billy and Spence have already changed into their jerseys while Lars is still trying to change out of his jeans. Poor guy.

He finally gets it once I open up my bag and take off my coat, my gloves, my scarf, and then my shirt. I put on my jersey, only to take off my boots and replace them with my skates.

As I'm lacing up, Spence calls me from outside.

“What's up, man?” I reply back once I straighten myself upright. He stands in the doorway with his hands resting on the edges of the door frame.

“The team's here,” he tells us, “but it's not what you think.”

“What do you mean it's not what we think?” Barney asks him. I put my gloves back on and pick up my mask before standing onto my feet; Lars stands up with his cane in hand and follows me out. I poke my head out to see a half dozen of narrow white human shaped things. Robots, I think. Everything about them is perfectly smooth and they're faceless, and they're so skinny they make me look overweight.

They shuffle about the pavement in total silence: their metallic feet don't even make a sound as they walk towards the rink. Spence glances back at me with a befuddled look upon his face.

“Who did you talk to when you said you wanted to play a game up here?” he asks me, his tone of voice unsure of where any of this is going.

“Some lady,” I reply to him. “An actual person. I forget her name but yeah. I sealed the deal with her and I thought for sure. What is this, some kind of gag?”

“I think not, Joey,” Lars tells me; I turn to see him pointing at the edge of the rink and the bots' feet narrowing and turning into something that resembles blades on skates.

“We better get to it,” Barney advises us.

“Yeah—” I turn my head even more so as to come within sight of the doorway to the shed. “Hey, Bill, you coming?”

“Yeah! Just need to get my laces secured—okay!” He emerges from the shed with his stick over his shoulder. I wonder how this is going to go as we pad over to the entrance of the rink and, once we remove the guards from the blades, we file onto the ice, one right after the other. I pass the shiny blue metal posts on our end of the rink and I make out the shiny green ones on the far side.

I've got my mask resting upon the crown of my head and my stick firmly in my leather gloved hand. I make my way over to the middle of the rink right as the one robot shows me a hand which morphed into the head of a hockey stick at some point. Gotta be brave. Surely this can't be that bad. Five guys versus five robots that look like a bunch of mannequins.

This can't be that bad.

It was in fact that bad.

Spence fell down so many times trying to catch the puck: probably two of those times right on his ass. Barney, the resident badass, lost patience with one that he deked twice and ended up high sticking and wound up in the penalty box. Billy, the well behaved one, also deked and almost hit me in the head. Poor Lars, the stand-in, could hardly keep the puck out of the goal posts. Meanwhile, I, the quick one, was about to hobble the captain on the other side because the son of a bitch was moving too fast that I could hardly catch up to it.

These damn bots are good. Too good in fact. It's like they were specifically made to beat humans at hockey.

The only time I did score was when Marcia and Sonia arrived and the former chucked a milkshake at one of the bots which allowed me to scoop up the little black puck. I pretty much sprinted down the rink with the puck right in front of me, and I was moving so fast that I hardly paid attention to where I was going. I leaned so far back that I almost fell on my hip shooting the puck into the goal posts and between that goalie's legs.

“YES!” I shouted, and that's when I fall right on my ass. The goalie sidles away from there, right around me to the other side of the rink.

Spence flies over to me with his hand outstretched for me. I climb onto my feet as if I'm on firm hard ground instead of ice. I strip off my mask, and rub my eyes and my nose with the back of my glove. I notice the robots are filing out of the rink.

“Is that game?” I ask him in a broken voice.

“It is,” he informs with a look of disappointment on his face. “What the fuck was that?”

“I'll tell you what the fuck was that,” I quip to him, “we bombed, that's what the fuck was that.”

“That was brutal,” Barney joins in from the side; he's out of breath and his face is flushed. This is probably the one time I've ever seen Barney truly exhausted.

“How's Lars, by the way?” I ask him, and he points down the rink to where Lars is laying flat on his back on the ice. Billy is approaching us from behind Barney: he, too, looks beat.

“He was working harder than I imagined,” he answers me.

“Oh, I don't believe this,” I scoff at that. I lead the three of them to the other side of the ice, where the robots have already left and Marcia and Sonia are congregated at the entrance huddled down in their coats. Once I come closer, I make out the look of agony on Lars' face.

“You alright?” I ask him, reaching out my hand for him to take.

“My knee,” he moans, “one of those—bloody machines—strained my knee so much. Oh—God dammit.”

I lift my gaze to the two girls at the entrance and I make my way over to them.

“Here, hold these.” I hand Marcia my stick and my mask before doubling back to the goal posts. I stoop down to pick him up: it's tricky doing so on ice but I managed to do it anyways. I hold Lars close to my chest as I make my way towards the entrance.

“Sonia—on the wall to your left is a pair of long grayish blocks. Those are the guards for my skates. Could you be a dear and help put those on for me please?”

“Yeah, sure—”

Still cradling Lars in my arms, I lift up one leg for her to put on the first one, followed by the other. And at that point, Lars is feeling rather heavy against my arms and I stagger over to the shed so as to set him down on one of the benches. I lay him flat on his back with his legs stretched to ease the pain on his knee. Breathing hard, I collapse right on the bench next to him. I give my curls a toss before proceeding to untie my skates. Sonia emerges in the doorway with Marcia right behind her.

“We were not expecting all that,” Sonia remarks to me.

“You're telling me!” I reply to her, taking off my gloves so I can better unlace my skates. “That last shot I did was one for the money, I know it.”

“We should tell you guys,” Marcia begins, poking her head over her sister's shoulder, “Chris and Matt told us that there's a little band playing just to the south of here tomorrow night that we think you boys'll really like.”

“How far south from here?” Lars asks her, lifting his head from the bench.

“Little town called Hoquiam,” she replies. “Not too far from here. They're called—Nirvana, I think is what Chris said.”

“They said they're like their little brothers,” Sonia adds.

“Sweet,” I tell them, unlacing my skates. “By the way, you ladies gonna join us over at Denny's?”

“We might as well,” says Sonia with a shrug. “We owe the two of you a lunch anyways.”

[hockeyplayerstories]

Auston Matthews | Something Like Romeo And Juliet

Fun fact: I had written this for English class before I decided I'd post it but not before editing.

Auston’s P.O.V

I stare from afar, with warm ups just starting, there was barely anyone in the stands but from the people already seated only one or two were wearing Maple Leaf jerseys the rest were Red Wings fans. From across my teams zone, where I am currently stretching on the ice, through the glass I spot a beautiful girl. She is wearing a red wings jersey but I don’t care to much about that, captured by her natural beauty as it appears she isn't wearing any make up, her bright blue eyes , golden brown hair flowing down her shoulders in waves, stopping just a couple inches from the top of the red wings logo. After 2 minutes of stretching, staring also, I decide to take a lap around when I notice the rest of my teammates start to pour out onto the ice with 10 minute left in warm ups before the game. Skating around my teams net with a puck on my stick, practicing my dangles and dekes, I lift my eyes to look at her but quickly look away when we catch eyes for a few seconds. I look down at the puck blushing because she was smiling, ‘I hope no one saw that’ I think to myself but when i look back up to see where I am going, I am quickly corrected because I hear someone comment on it.

“Yo, Matts?! What’s got you all red?” I hear Mitch question me.

“Nothing!” I say quickly, passing him the puck, looking down when others, who ever heard what Mitch just said, turn to look at me to see if I really was blushing.

“He’s all red because he was taking a good long look at Dylan Larkin’s cousin, Y/N” comes another voice to the conversation, William, says. I stare at him wide eyed. “I was right behind you the whole time” he explains

“Shit” I mumble “AWWW, Auston has a crush! Auston has a crush!” chants Mitch as he picks up a puck and skates towards the net to shoot it then come back to us to say ”Good luck getting through Dylan if you want to date her cuz” He pauses to laugh to himself a little ”Y'all have this little fight/argument thing going on for how long as this has this been going on for? Years? I think it’s time it’d stop” He stats “Alright! I don't think he will let me so yeah let’s stop talking about it and get back to warm ups!!” I say skating away from the two to set the example. I take a look at the clock and notice only 2 minutes left and curse to myself quietly ”I wasted all my precious warm up time talking to those idiots” I mumble to myself.

Y/N's P.O.V

I have never seen anyone as handsome as him before. From where I am sitting, I see he has a strong stature, well built, very tall. Matthews #34 plays for Toronto, that’s all I know, oh and his beautiful brown eyes that shine in the light, he looks good in a white jersey, I have seen him in pictures wearing a blue jersey when playing at home in Toronto. Dylan, my cousin, has told me a lot about him, how he used to play with him for team USA. Along with telling me he is one of the best and how much he hates him for being one of the best. Maybe I can ask to meet him?

Auston’s P.O.V

The game went by like a blur. No one scored until the second period though in the first some good battles were fought. Red wings scored first in the game but James opens the score for us two minutes after. Then Mitch scores to gain the lead in the game. I scored myself, but in the third period after the Red Wings tied the score. We win the game with a score of 3-2.

Upon arriving to the locker room after hugging congratulating my team for the game, I spot Coach and Red wings head coach, Jeff Bashill, speaking together in the hall, as if they were old buds and not enemies.

By time Coach came to the locker room, I was already changed and showered, my gear packed into its bag making its way to the hallway to a trolley by a equipment staff to be put in the bus but because it’s not here yet it has to wait like I am doing at the moment, I was stuck in my thoughts before Coach got all of our attention so he could talk to us.

“Ok ! Can I have everyone's attention please?!! Sit down it won’t take long. Alright the bus should be here soon so sit tight. First off I want to thank James for putting us on the board, Mitchy for tying it up and Matts for scoring the game winner. Lets not forget Andersen for blocking all shots and to who ever else did so too” he paused so we could clap for our hard played game. "We have the opportunity to attend a party organized by the red wings, some of you know this already but if you don't I used to coach the wings which is why we got invited so clean up nice, we leave tomorrow to go home with a couple days off. Ok! See you on the boys on the bus”. With that everyone resumed to what they were doing before Coach started talking. Still waiting for the bus, I pull out my phone to answer some texts I got before or during the game. “Hey Matts!” I hear Mitch yell to me over the music in the locker room. “Yeah?” I answer him looking up from my phone to see him smirking at me ”With Y/N being Dylan’s cousin she will be there, maybe you could make a move, don't you think?” he pretended to think with his pointer finger and thumb stroking his chin. I blush thinking about an answer “Now that I think about it Larkin never mention a cousin before when we talked , like normal people. I told him almost everything about myself but he has said almost nothing about himself. We almost always made team USA together” I mutter the last part to myself,” bus is here!!” someone yells in the locker room “Finally” almost everyone cheers, excited for the party.

From the rink to wherever the party is taking place it took at least 20 minutes. The bus was quiet, barely anyone saying a word to each other until we got to the party . Everyone was talking now because it was not a house we pulled up to it was a freaking mansion! Once the bus stopped everyone tumbled out of the bus in order to get to the party quicker.

My feet had just barely landed on the ground when I was tackled slightly from the back by an excited Mitch. William not far from him when he pushed passed me to get to the front. “let’s go party!” came from some of the older guys “yeah let’s go” I cheered with some others, smiling I begin walking towards the entrance with the team.

Entering the mansion,  I look around. Amazed with all the details on the ceiling and everything around, everything looked expensive . With my eyes still wandering, they catch sight of Y/N who was stood at the top of the beautifully designed staircase. She was wearing a cream coloured dress with lace, not much showing but just enough, she kept her hair the same as before. Our eyes meet and we share a smile. She begins to descend the stairs while I walk towards her our eyes still connected until a hand on my shoulder turns me around harshly toward them, “Matthews! You don't look at talk to or even think about my cousin! She doesn't need someone like you in her life, only good people deserve her kindness. Go find some other girl to mess with not my cousin! You hear me?! Do you hear me?!!!!” Dylan yells in my face, I take a look at Juliet , the person Dylan is yelling at me about and notice she looks worried but I just smile in away to tell her it’s ok “yes I hear you but I wasn’t planning on breaking her heart or hurting her or even messing around with her like you think i would do with her. I was thinking more of treating her like a queen than what you are thinking. I don't know man but i never thought love at first sight existed until i took a look at her. I’d give her anything she ever wanted in the whole wide world. I’d give up hockey if she wanted me to” Dylan thought over my words, luckily no one really paid attention to what happening. After a whole minute, Dylan looked towards Juliet, still stood on the staircase, I looked also. She was trying to convince Dylan to give me a chance ”Ok I am going to let you date my cousin but one word of you doing something that upsets her, you’re dead” Dylan says after a couple seconds and walks away.

I watch him until Mitch is in my face ”Hey! Go get your girl! He gave you permission.” he laughed at my face as realization took over, I turn quickly to see Y/N begin to turn to go back up occasionally looking over her shoulder to see if I was following, with a smile on her face. I sprint to the stairs and take two at a time to get to her faster.

Once standing next to her at the top of the stairs, she smiles up to me and holds out her hand for me to take into mine. I place my hand into hers and I am mesmerized at how our hands fit like puzzle pieces, her tiny delicate hand is smothered by my giant one. “So” I snap my head up to at the sound of her, like her looks, beautiful voice. “What should we do first?” she asks me as she leads me to what I assume her bedroom “we should get to know each other” I suggest to which she nods her head. Exactly a hour later, many questions and laughs were shared ,now we just stare at each other in silence until she decides to break it “I feel like this is from Romeo and Juliet” she smiles at me “Really? How?” I say surprised “Because of how we got to this moment” she blushes, I smile because I caused it “Well we could call this ‘Something Like Romeo and Juliet’ then” I say  “That sounds perfect” she laughs, I love her laugh and I plan on hearing it for the rest of my life.

[ca-8]

(This is a short story about the Wright Brothers I wrote for chem class! Thought I'd might as well post this so it wouldn't rot in the back of my Google Docs app lol)

A Success Takes Flight

“You won’t win this one, General Orville!” an eleven-year-old boy declared, chasing an even younger boy down the hallway. The younger boy struggled to stifle a giggle as he almost tripped over his feet and darted around the corner. They both held a plastic horse with fake identical soldiers glued onto their backs. Various parts of their yellow and blue coats were scrapped off, but by the grins plastered on their faces, the boys didn’t seem to mind.

    “When I get away, I will, General Wilbur!” a seven-year-old boy retorted, looking back at his older brother. They passed by a window of their house, and the moon shining from the Ohio night sky gazed down at them. They zoomed by their little sister’s room, and the small owner silently looked up at the doorway and returned her attention to the doll in her hands.

    Wilbur increased his speed just a little. He figured his taller stature would easily overpower his younger brother's shorter size, and he would finally win the make-believe battle. The fate for his victory was sealed; however, he didn’t know that it would be from Orville’s own carelessness. 

    They ran into the living room, and while his eyes were on his big brother, Orville’s feet caught onto the edge of the rug that stuck up from its usual position. That grin instantly flew off his face as he collapsed onto the ground. The toy flew from his hand, and the horse was beheaded when it came in contact with the hardwood floor. 

    “Woah, are you okay, Orville?” Wilbur asked, approaching and kneeling down beside him. But his brother’s attention stayed glued onto the broken object. 

    “My toy…” he mumbled. 

    “What is going on here?” Wilbur turned to the doorway and saw his mother rushing to the scene.

    “Orville tripped and his toy broke,” Wilbur said. He heard sniffling behind him, and he saw that his brother’s eyes were starting to well up with tears. 

    “Oh, honey…” their mother mumbled as she kneeled in front of him, cutting off his view from his once beloved toy. “You don’t need to cry. We can always fix it tomorrow, and it will be as good as new, okay?” she said in a soothing voice. Orville sniffed and wiped his eyes, but before he could say anything, the front door flew open.

    “Wow! What smells good in here?” their father’s cheerful voice asked. The boys’ eyes instantly lit up when they saw a little bag in their father’s hand. “Father! Did you get us anything?” they asked in sync, running up to the man.

    The father peered down at his children and chuckled, wiping off dust from his dark coat. “Now, now, boys, settle down.” His eyes went past the boys and onto their mother, then to the mess scattered behind her. “My, what happened here?”

    “Orville broke his toy,” their mother informed. Orville lowered his head.

    “Oh, it’s okay, the one I have is even better,” their father said. “Can we see it now?” Wilbur asked, bouncing on his toes. “I will, but first, I’m starving!”

    The boys hurried to the dinner table and messily swallowed the food after their father’s prayer. Ignoring the disgusted looks they received from their five siblings, they ran from the kitchen and back to the living room. Wilbur encouraged his little brother to clean up the mess on the floor, which he obeyed, and they both waited for their father. Soon, the preacher entered the room.

    “Okay, boys, here ya go!” he said. He put his hand inside the bag and carefully pulled out...some kind of object.

    “What is that?” Orville asked.

    The toy was a model of some sort of vehicle made out of cork with paper wings sprouting from the wings. But what really caught the boys’ attention were the two tiny things sticking out sideways on the other end of the vehicle. “You know, I am not sure. I guess it’s up to you boys what you want it to do,” their father said, handing it to Wilbur. 

Wilbur held the strange toy in his hand with Orville peering over his shoulder. “Can it fly?” he asked, using his finger to gently brush the wings. 

“Does it?” Their father was grinning like he was silently telling them to find out. 

Wilbur stood up slowly. He moved the two small paper pieces slightly and cocked his head to the left when they both spun around the end. Without much thinking, he flicked one of the pieces, and the two spun quicker than anything he has ever seen. 

“Woah! Let me see!” Orville demanded, jumping up from his spot. Wilbur handed him the toy and his little brother flicked the rotating paper a couple of times. His black irises seemed like they were shimmering with awe. Suddenly, he rose up the toy and threw it across the room. 

“Hey, what’re you-?” Wilbur started, but when his gaze followed the toy, he realized that it was gliding through the air like a dead grasshopper instantly springing back to life. It flew across the room for a second before landing safely on the carpet. 

The Wright brothers were silent. “My, what an interesting toy!” Their father walked over to it and picked it up, examining its unique features. 

“That’s so cool!” Orville exclaimed. “I wanna do it again!” He ran over to his father, and after getting it back, he threw the device a few more times. Meanwhile, Wilbur stood and watched them entertain themselves. He wanted to join them; however, a thought forming in the back of his mind kept his feet cemented to the floor while thinking to himself, ‘I wonder if there’s anything to make us fly like that.’ 

For the next few years, the boys’ source of fun was only that toy. They always found new ways to make it fly faster and farther, like throwing it with the wind on a gusty Friday or climbing on top of the large tree that was not too far from their house and throwing it from there. Though, Orville would be its primary owner because of Wilbur being buried in his studies more and more each day.

But Wilbur was far from annoyed. He enjoyed being occupied in work he knew how to do. It was a way to show off what he knew, and what more he wanted to understand. And later on, school work and the flying wasn’t the only thing that brought a smile on his face.

Despite that, the activity would eventually introduce life-turning despair to him.

A few years later, Wilbur stood at the sides of a large river of frozen water. Many of the boys were holding their hockey sticks and skating along the thick ice. Wilbur's eyes followed the black puck that was passed between them. He had been playing hockey from time to time, but this was the first time he would be playing with this many kids.

"Be careful, Wilbur!" his mother yelled on the hill behind him. Wilbur looked up and gave her and his family an excited smile. His sisters and brothers had books and dolls in their arms. Orville had their flying toy. "Oh don't worry so much, Susan, he will be fine," he heard his father say. 

Wilbur put his gaze back on the field and joined the other boys. Some of them he knew, some of them he didn’t, but it didn’t matter all too much. They accepted him as soon as he quickly took the puck and smacked it to the other side of the frozen lake. 

Playful laughter erupted from the fields the boys had fun. Though, all through that time, Wilbur felt an unsettling feeling in the back of his head. As he chased boys who were trying to show dominance over the puck, he looked over his shoulder. The person behind him caused a shudder to run down his spine.

He was far, but his piercing gaze was almost unbearable. Oliver Crook Haugh stood on the other side of the field, his eyes never leaving Wilbur’s. The stare was as if a lion was stalking a gazelle abandoned by its herd. 

Wilbur shook his head and focused back on the game. He was just probably having a bad day. Yeah, that’s it. The neighborhood bully always had a bad day. Surely he had other prey to pick on, right?

The Wright kid pushed in front of the other boys and held the puck against his stick. He kept a steady pace as he focused on the black, round object, only looking up every few seconds to avoid the other boys coming his way. The end field was so close he could practically see the grass in his sight. He prepared his arm to raise and swing the puck to the imaginary goal. 

But he never did. Instead, a pair of black shoes appeared in front of the puck. Wilbur shot his head up to see Oliver with his stick behind his back, ready to swing. He thought he was aiming for the puck, but a sharp pain that collided with his jaw told him he was wrong. Wilbur felt himself fly back, and the only thing he saw next was a pair of birds flying in the cloudy sky.

It was as if time was moving in slow motion. The birds held their wings out, letting them glide perfectly along the windy air. Wilbur wished he could be one of those birds.

The world turned black when they flew out of his view.

Raindrops crashed into the window. Many slid down to the bottom, and Wilbur silently cheered for some to reach the bottom before the others. It was the only thing he could do that was slightly fun since his parents banned him from ever leaving his room.

“You need to stay here and rest if you want your jaw to get better,” was his mother’s actual words, but to him, it held the same meaning. Especially since she and his father said he wasn’t allowed to play hockey anymore. 

“I can beat up Oliver if you want,” his other brother, Otis, offered. Every Wright child was taught to never raise a hand at anyone, so it surprised but also satisfied Wilbur that Otis would suggest such a thing. However, he had to decline; he didn’t want his brother to get in trouble because of his rage. Besides, who knows what Oliver would do to him?

His other siblings helped him eat and read stories to him, and though he appreciated it, they didn’t ease the pain. Not just the pain of his jaw, but this heavy pressure in his chest. He thought it was just a side effect of being brutally injured, so he ignored it.

One day, Orville silently came into his room and sat on his bed. He glanced at his big brother and mimicked his stare at the window. It was raining again.

Wilbur noticed that he was holding the flying toy. “You should be doing homework,” Wilbur said, forcing his gaze back on the window.

“I got bored. I wanted to go outside but Mother said I would bring dirt in the house.” Wilbur hummed, and the two boys sat in silence.

“Hey, Wilbur?” Orville said after a few moments.

“What?”

“Do you think we can actually fly like our toy?” Wilbur’s eyes trailed back to the small toy. The paper was wrinkling and the cork was covered in dirt, and some parts of it were coming off. Not only that, but the two smaller pieces of papers that stuck out at the end were beginning to rip. It surprised him that he didn’t notice such drastic details until that moment. “I don’t know,” he finally responded. 

“Now that would be fun, doncha think? We’ll be like those annoying birds that wake us up every morning.” Wilbur let out a soft chuckle, and Orville grinned widely. 

“Yeah, I guess we could. Someday.” They faced the window once again.

Wilbur felt ashamed. He was among the oldest of the Wright children, and yet, he just witnessed most of his siblings go off to college. He should be there too, but instead, he was stuck at home, wallowing in self-pity and failure. 

Right after his jaw healed up, his mother fell ill, and Wilbur felt that this was his time to be useful. After all she had done for him and the family, it was the least he could do. At first, his father insisted that he would take the position so his son could catch up on his studies; however, Wilbur knew that his chance of graduating high school was far from his grasp. 

Ever since the incident with Oliver, the heavy, empty feeling never left him, even after most of the injuries were fixed. In fact, it was probably worse. The usual urges to get out of bed, to eat, sleep, and smile were gone in an instant. It wasn’t very long before he realized that feeling took away his need for academic success. Afterwards, he dropped out of school, and taking care of his mother became his primary goal. Though he knew it was impossible, he still had regret lingering through his veins everyday when he thought of his chances for college.

“You don’t have to worry about me so much. You should get back to your studies,” his mother said weakly. Whenever they were in the same room together, she would always take the time to lecture him about his mistake. But he refused to listen.

 Wilbur held the fork up to her mouth and her teeth hesitantly took the food. “Don’t be silly. If I can’t take care of you, who will? Father’s too busy.”

“You could do so much more…”

“I will, but after you get better.” 

A tensed smile fell upon her lips as if she was putting every ounce of effort into showing her love. “You are so selfless, Wilbur,” she said. 

Wilbur returned the gesture and took the empty plate off of her nightstand. “Thank you. Now rest up, Mother.”

Being in the Midwest, the day was unusually peaceful. The cloudless sky showed off the summer sun with pride, the grounds were untouched by merciful mother nature, and the wind was nonexistent. Orville and Wilbur would curse those calm days, and the flying toy would stay in the shadows of Orville’s room.

Wilbur walked in the kitchen and put the dish on the kitchen counter. Just before he could start cleaning it, a soft knock drove him out of his wandering thoughts. The older teen raised an eyebrow before making his way out of the kitchen.

“Orville?” he said when he opened the front door. “Shouldn’t you be filling that empty head of yours?”

His little brother chuckled. “You’re one to talk. I came to talk with Ma.”

“Don’t know if that’s a good idea. You know how she is, if she sees you, you won’t hear the end of it.” He only shrugged. There was something about his face that Wilbur couldn’t help but notice. His eyes shimmered with strange determination. As he entered the house, his pace was fast and those strong-willed irises darted from the furniture with the speed of a cheetah. 

And Orville did the same. The moment the door opened, he was overwhelmed by the apathy his brother radiated. He knew he had changed in some way ever since the accident, but he never thought he would ever feel whiplash in the presence of his brother. When it was over, he wished he was brave enough to make Oliver pay and take his father’s angry lectures as a man rather than simply watch Wilbur become less of himself by the moment. 

But now was not the time to focus on the past.

He entered his mother’s room to see the frail woman on her bed. “Orville?” she said, just above a whisper. He knelt by the bed, putting a hand over hers. Her sharp, cold skin sent shivers down his spine.

“Ma, before you say anything, I want you to hear me out,” he began. Wilbur silently walked in the room and leaned against the doorway. 

“School’s not going well for me. I think I’m going to drop out.”

His mother’s eyes widened slightly. “What? Do you know how-” She erupted into a series of coughs and Orville jumped back. Wilbur pushed passed him, grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand, and poured the cold liquid down her throat. 

Orville waited until silence was the only noise in the room. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, “it’s just not working for me.”

Wilbur turned and glared daggers at him. “You wait here, Mother, Orville and I are going to talk for a minute.”

“Wait…” she gasped out, but the boys have already left the room.

“I thought the biggest idiot in this world was the neighbor who ran in his burning home to save a piece of jewelry. But now… now you’re taking his place!” he yelled as soon as the siblings reached the other side of the house.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all too much! I want to do something more than solve little equations and learn the same history lesson over and over again.”

“So what, you just left? You left an opportunity to make a life worth living?”

“I never left. I still have a future. School is just not it.”

“I swear, if you don’t go back, I’ll drag you back there and make sure you don’t come out!” He was glad Katherine was out with her friend, or else she would replace their mother and lecture them for hours. That was the last thing he needed.

“I’m sorry, Wilbur-”

“Stop with the apologies! If you’re really sorry, you suck it up and go right back into that classroom. We don’t need another worthless child in this family.” Orville fell silent. Wilbur let out a heavy breath and looked away when he realized what he had said. It was almost as if he was talking in the mirror. 

“Wilbur, that’s not true and you know it,” his younger brother said. “Ma wouldn’t be half as healthy if you hadn’t stayed here.”

He sniffed, cursing his body for even thinking about crying. “I stayed here because there’s nowhere else for me to go. If I can’t bother to read a book, what good am I?”

Orville sighed and wrapped his arms around him. The last time they hugged like this was when he was six and Wilbur was eight, and Wilbur comforted him about another toy he broke. They were glad no one else was around; it was embarrassing enough already. 

“I can help with Ma, and after she gets better, we’re gonna start a company and get a lot of money.”

“You idiot. Do you know how much that would cost us? And you don’t know the first thing about starting a company.” Orville pulled away and smiled. “Then you can find a way.” 

Wilbur softly laughed. “Fine.”

For the rest of the year, they did everything they could to help their mother. She didn’t have the strength to scold Orville on his decision anymore, so his father did it for her. He yelled and sometimes threw him out of the house to “make him experience what will happen” (as he would say) if he didn’t go back. Yet, Orville persisted, claiming that he and Wilbur were going to find a way to survive without school.

Meanwhile, Wilbur stayed in the background. For some reason, his father was easier on him. Of course, he had the hour-long lectures, but ever since he began taking care of Susan, they had grown distant. Still, he ignored this, and their relationship continued to be a struggling flame in an active snowstorm. 

And soon, that flame would burn out. 

In 1889, the light of death finally consumed her. 

The Wright brothers sat in the front row of the crowd. The casket containing his mother’s body refused to leave the youngest’s line of sight. The older, however, felt as if his eyes would explode if he took a glimpse. Their father’s words were only echoes.

“God blessed me with an angel, and it seems…” he began, obviously suppressing a sob. Wilbur drowned out the rest of eulogy. Orville was too distracted to listen.

The church was filled with nothing but despair. Katherine and Ida cried so loud that the heavens must have heard them. Lorin hid his face from the crowd. Reuchlin was looking out the window. The brothers didn’t talk to them that day. 

It wasn’t long before the two stood at the grave of their mother. Wilbur shouldn’t be crying because he knew this was coming. Despite repressing those thoughts every day and every night, reality always haunted him. His mother’s illness had no cure, so no matter what he did, he could not prevent the inevitable. 

Orville put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” was all he muttered, and he pulled his brother away from the grave. I’m sorry, Ma, he apologized, I’ll make us into men that you’d have to be proud of. A wind of encouragement blew past him, rustling the leaves of the trees next to the grave.

Several years have passed since their mother’s death. Their father fell into a depressive state and urged his children to leave him alone. Thanks to him, Orville was able to convince Wilbur to come live with him in his house. From selling newspapers to designing bikes, they earned enough money to make a living. But, was it really enough?

“I know we enjoy this and all, but is this what we’re only going to do?” Wilbur asked, sitting down on his bed. He and Orville just came back from another day of work. 

“Of course not. This bicycle business is only to get us some money,” Orville’s voice responded from the other side of the tenement. He poked his head into the room, grinning widely. “The real dream is over here.”

Wilbur let out a silent sigh and followed him to the ‘office’, which was just the kitchen covered in papers. The only thing that piqued his interest was what was on them. “I went ahead and made some pictures of what real aircraft will look like. What’d ya’ think?” Orville said.

“When did you make these?” Wilbur asked.

“Not too long ago. I just hid them so I could surprise you!” The older sibling raised an eyebrow. Never thought I’d see a twenty-five-year-old man act like a ten-year-old girl.

“Um, this is interesting and all…” Wilbur slowly walked up to one of the papers and picked it up. The drawing contained a large mechanical vehicle with open seats in the middle while propellers sat in the far end. Large paper-looking wings held up by what he thought were sticks hung at the sides. “...But why?” he finished.

“Why? Didn’t you read the newspaper the other day?” Orville ran out of the room, and a short moment later he came back with a newspaper in his hands. He set it down on the small table and flipped through it until he came to the page he wanted to show his brother. He pointed to one of the headlines:

German Aviator Otto Lilienthal Dies From Aircraft Crash

“A lot of people want to fly, Wilbur,” Orville started, “but they can’t if they don’t do it right.”

Wilbur had heard about aircraft testing and was lucky enough to read about aeronautics in the past. Though he wasn’t entirely focused on it, his love and hope for flight had never died. In fact, the decaying flying toy sat in him and his brother’s room. Even so… “Can we really do it?” he said, quickly skimming the article.

“Hm? Of course we can! All we need is some parts, coffee, and a place to fly. As long as we can put enough back into it, we’ll be richer than the British monarchy. And besides, you basically said it yourself that you didn’t want to make bikes forever.”

That, he couldn’t deny. A few years ago, he did like the idea of designing their own brand of bikes. And yet, inside him, he felt as though something was missing… Maybe this was it? 

“I don’t think I can make this project last long without a wise-guy like you, man,” Orville said. 

What was he talking about? His drawing and notes made enough sense for it to be possible. Not to mention the aircraft’s architecture convinced him that it could have plenty of stability to stay in the air with someone in it, if they had the right equipment. However, there was one thing that was off.

“Balance,” he said. “The aircraft needs to be balanced so it doesn’t get out of control. We’ll need…” He looked at his brother, who had his head tilted at him. “How much money do we have?”

Orville hesitated, then grinned when he realized what he meant. “Enough to test several times over.”

“Well then, let’s get to work.”

‘Dear Samuel Langley,’ Wilbur wrote on the cleanest sheet of paper he could find. Behind him was his brother, counting up the cash they had earned in the past few years. ‘My name is Wilbur Wright. My brother, Orville Wright, and I would be honored to possess some of your works on aeronautics. We have been informed that you worked on Otto Lilienthal’s aircraft, and we ask for your knowledge of its architecture.

Ever since the day of Lilienthal’s death, we plan to give our blood, sweat, and tears to make an aircraft powerful enough to let hundreds of people soar through the skies. However, we know little about the science of flight, and we believe that you could bring us that knowledge. We only ask for a few books. Even one is more than enough. Just anything that can let us work our fingers to the bone.

With your help, a dream of human flight will become reality. Thank you, Wilbur Wright.’

A few weeks later, multiple books appeared on their doorstep, and they immediately took them in. “Holy-! Wilbur, look!” Orville shouted. Wilbur turned his attention from the other books and walked over to him. His eyes widened when he held Lilienthal’s book in his hands. They flipped through the pages, taking in every drawing, entry, and recording of the progress of his aircraft experiences.

 The brothers took turns staying up all night studying each book on what made existing aircraft possible. Soon, they narrowed down to what they needed to do: how to get the wings to stabilize the vehicle while it’s in the air.

They looked for things that could naturally fly to see how they made themselves consistently stable. Once the Wright brothers found it, they took their notebooks and binoculars to the local park. 

“Those birds…” Wilbur said, watching the creatures fly through the sunny sky. “They don’t necessarily put too much work in their wings, don’t they?” The birds have only flapped their wings four to six times, as he noted. They kept their wings still by their sides and just let themselves glide with the wind as their accelerator. 

“Maybe our aircrafts can do that?” Orville suggested. 

They decided to test his theory. With the help of Lilientha’s data and wood to hold up the hundred square foot fabric wings, they built their first-ever glider. Two large rectangular wings stood above and below each other while behind held up by wood. In the middle was a hole that would allow the users’ knees to stick out while their feet held onto the back. Wood horizontally stood in the front of the hole where the user’s chest would be supported. A few weeks later, they were ready to test.

But, Dayton proved to be quite useless as the testing sight. When they sent off their glider, it dropped right to the ground with no effort. The brothers covered their faces in embarrassment. 

“Well, what now?” Orville sighed, resting his head on the kitchen table. 

“Don’t pout like that. We’ll just find us a place that’s more suitable. Now, what place has a lot of wind and is private enough for our experiment?” That night, they were still lost. But when it seemed like they were at an impasse, Wilbur came up with an idea. He researched the windiest states and cities closest to Ohio, and a week later, they were headed to North Carolina, bringing as much equipment as they could carry. When they arrived, they paid for their hotel and rented out a large building with nothing but empty space inside. It was perfect for building numerous aircrafts.

Yet, when they followed Lilientha’s data to the tenth place, something about their glider was off. They decided to make adjustments (using stronger fabric, putting more and less wood under the wings, switching between who was going to be pilot), but it was useless. Nothing worked.

“Maybe they were wrong,” Wilbur said. He scanned Lilithenal’s notes again. “Then what’re we supposed to do? We can’t improve something if it was wrong the whole time,” Orville groaned, leaning against the wall.

“It’s not like you to act dumb, Orville. Of course we can.” Wilbur closed the book. “We just need to take a different route.”

His face glowed instantly, like a lightbulb just turned on in his mind. “Let’s build a wind tunnel,” he suggested, “so we can observe how the wings move with the airflow and measure constant velocity. We can also catch what goes wrong with the current wings.”

His big brother smiled. “There he is. For that, we’ll need a large fan and a room we can look into. And we’ll have to test the wind tunnel first just so we can make sure ours is efficient,” Wilbur explained. “First, let’s find a fan that’s powerful enough to be used against the glider.”

“I know what we need. Wilbur, are you okay with handling the smaller models of the wings?” Orville asked. “Yes. What are you going to do?” his brother asked. 

“Don’t worry, leave it to me.”

Wilbur did as his brother asked. He designed a smaller, but not too small, pair of wings that looked exactly like the ones on the glider. Without warning, Orville kicked the door open and dragged in a large box with a fan attached to the end. Wilbur covered his ears at the sound of the boxes’ legs screeching against the floor. 

“Aha, sorry…” Orville said sheepishly. “But, I got us our wind tunnel!” He went to the side of the box and pulled up a small door, revealing the darkened inside. Inside that darkness was some sort of stand with horizontal sticks on two of its inside ends sitting near the top. “With this little creation, we can measure how the wing moves against the wind and its pressure. We can see how much it lifts and how it drags.” 

“Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s get started,” Wilbur said and handed him the wings. Orville grabbed them and attached it to the top of the stand. After closing the door, he rushed to the fan and turned it on, then led Wilbur to the far end where the side was nothing but glass. They fell in silence, focusing on nothing but the wings. 

The wind pushed against the wings and they quickly flew off and crashed into the glass. If the glass wasn’t there, the wings could have smacked their faces. “...I think we need a different set of wings,” Orville commented. “Thanks, genius, never thought we had to do that,” Wilbur remarked with sarcasm. He got up and turned off the fan, then lifted up the door to grab the wings. 

The second pair, which was longer and curvier, couldn’t produce as much lift as the other pair and the drag caused the wings to move too slow. The third pair, which was a little shorter and straighter, lifted a lot faster than the second, but the drag was too insignificant. They produced more and more wing models until their fingers were numb. Sometimes, they accidentally cut themselves with the steel.

The hours of work and days of testing one hundred eighty-nine (Orville counted) wings, they eventually find the pair. Their long, teardrop shapes lifted perfectly against the wind, and their drag proved to be just as efficient: not too fast and not too fast. They instantly abandoned the other test models and created the gliders’ wings’ final form.

Orville laid in the aircraft and nodded at his brother. Wilbur pushed the aircraft and the glider took off. Just like the models in the wind tunnel, these allowed the wind to lift him in the air, and the drag stayed constant. The only thing he wished they changed was how they could land. About fifteen seconds in, the wind disappeared, and Orville landed right into the sand. 

“Just as I thought,” Wilbur mumbled under his breath, helping him off the ground. “Ugh, what?” his little brother said, wiping the sand off his clothes. 

“We need to make the aircraft more mobile so we don’t end up like Lilithenal,” he answered. He looked over to the glider. And I think I know just how to do that.

“What’s this?” Orville asked the next day when he walked in the large empty building where they made their inventions. In front of his brother were tools and a medium-sized flat rectangle made of the same materials as their glider. 

“You know how I keep saying the aircraft lacks control?” Wilbur asked, and he nodded. “Well, I made us something called an elevator. With this, the one flying in the aircraft can control the wings so the balance won’t be off all the time.”

Orville nodded. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying...And-”

“And because I invented it, I will be the one to test it.” Orville stopped and glared. “What? Don’t give me that look. I’m the big brother anyway, so I get to do things first.”

“And you’re the one calling me childish all the time…”

Once they were finished attaching the elevator to the glider, Wilbur hopped into the glider, his knees poking out of the little hole and stomach resting on the fabric above. With the help of his brother, he was sent into the air. The movement was rocky, but despite it, Wilbur strangely felt at peace. After a few seconds of wind accelerating the glider, the wings began to shift to the left on their own. Wilbur gripped onto the handles of the elevator and slowly shifted them back to the right. The aircraft managed to keep itself in the air for the time being. 

He quickly realized that he was gliding right towards the ground. He took a deep breath and carefully pushed the elevator up. The wings shifted upwards, and he was back in the air. He looked down at Orville, and, while even being in the air, could see his big smile cheering him on. Wilbur formed his own grin and titled the elevator down.

“Wing warping,” Orville suddenly said when Wilbur reached the ground. “What?” he said, breathing heavily.

“While you were shifting the wings, it came to me. Just like birds, you controlled the wings so you can be better adjusted to the air.”

“Why do we have to give it a name?” Wilbur asked.

“Because people might ask what the method is called when we get interviewed. Plus, we invented it, so we have to give it a name. Edison didn’t invent the light just to call it ‘thing that can make light,’ right?”

Wilbur snickered. “Alright fine. Anyway, I think we need to add something to make the aircraft last longer in the air.”

“Way ahead of you. Come on, I have an idea.”

The brothers headed back to the building. Orville showed Wilbur the damaged flying toy they brought with them. As soon as the older brother saw rudder-like things on its tail, he quickly knew what his brother was saying. They put the toy back and went to work. 

By some miracle, their predictions were right. With the rudders they attached on the back of the glider, the rocky movement he experienced before greatly decreased. He soared through the skies, like a bird hungry for adventure zooming from its mother’s nest. If he was daring enough, he could probably take a nap here. 

But he couldn’t rest yet. They could now add power to the soon-to-be aircraft.

“So what did you two need my help with?” the Wright brother’s friend, Charles Taylor asked. They brought him in from Dayton because of his intellect with machinery. He was quite useful during their construction of original bike brands.

“We need to build an engine powerful enough to support an aircraft, and all of the others being sold couldn’t quite fit the requirements. They were all much too heavy,” Wilbur informed. The brothers walked him to the door of the large building and opened it. Charles flinched at the sight of their large glider. Orville gave him a quick explanation for the situation.

“Hmm, then I guess I’ll have to use aluminum instead of iron...” Charles explained, his eyes darting over to the glider. He gave it an intense stare for a few seconds before saying, “What will it specifically power?” 

“We were thinking about adding propellers to help it lift in the air. Could that work?” Orville suggested. 

“Guess we’ll have to find out. I’ll get some equipment and you boys start on the propellers.” The brothers followed Charles’ instructions, and about an hour later, he came back with boxes of machinery. 

As they helped him bring the boxes in, he asked, “So you two want people to fly because you were bored with bikes?”

“Ahaha, not really…” Orville trailed off, huffing when he put down one of the boxes. “It’s actually a dream we had ever since we were kids.”

“Really? I only heard y’all mention aircraft a few times at the bike shop.”

“We didn’t have much money at the time, so we couldn’t really do anything about it,” Wilbur said.

“Ah, makes sense. Everything’s getting more expensive these days. Alright, I think this is the last box.” Charles sat the box down and put his hands on his hips. “By the way, just because I can make it smaller, it’ll still be a little heavy with all the combustion chambers and crankcase and such. I don’t think it’ll work well with fabric and wood.”

With that, the brothers began manufacturing steel propellers and managed to get stronger wood to support them properly. At the same time, the machinist silently prepared them an engine suitable for powering human flight. As the three men were oblivious to time, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and those months transformed into a year. Luckily, they used that time to put more weight into the aircraft. Finally, after an eternity of waiting, Charles was finished. 

“There you are, fellas!” he said with a big grin. The smaller engine’s aluminum skin gleamed in the afternoon sunlight that shined through the windows. “All you need to do is put the gasoline in this tank right here-,” he pointed to the small tank on the engine’s right, “-and it should mix with the air that comes from the air intake, assembling the ignition in these cylinders right there-,” he pointed to the four combustion cylinders that hung below the flat surface at the top, “-and go right through the fuel line no problem! Now we just need to find a way to make that fuel go right to the propellers.”

“Thanks, Charles, we dunno what we’d do without you,” Orville. 

“Hey, anytime. By the way, you guys said you needed these?” Charles went towards the back where the boxes sat patiently, waiting to be helpful after days of being untouched. He dug through one of them and pulled out chains and a couple of sprockets. When the brothers wrote to him the first time, they asked him to bring those from the bike shop.

“We figured that those would be needed,” Wilbur said, walking up to him and taking the two objects from his hands. “What for?” Charles asked curiously. 

“You know how we used those to build bikes?” Orville started. “We attached the sprockets to the pedal and wheel, and connected the two with a chain so they could move. So, if we attached the sprocket to the engine to power it up, we can connect that with the chain. Then, we can attach the other end of the chain to the second sprocket that’s attached to the propellers.”

“Oh, I see, like one big bicycle,” Charles said. “Well then, let’s power this baby up.”

Just like in Orville’s explanation, they attached one sprocket to the crankshaft part of the engine, then wrapped a chain around it. With the other sprocket, they attached it to the end of the long pole that connected to the propeller. They did the same actions for the other propeller. 

The next morning, the first heavier-than-air powered vehicle had its first taste of the clouds.

“Ready, Wilbur?” Orville shouted. His big brother laid on his stomach on the pilot’s seat of the aircraft. He looked back to see Charles and his friends (four men and one woman, who were invited to come see the Wright brothers’ success) standing far behind the propellers. His younger brother was behind the engine, ready to activate it. 

“Yes, sir!” he yelled. In the next few seconds, the engine was activated. The back of the aircraft sputtered, like an old man coughing out his struggling lungs, and Wilbur’s heart skipped a beat. He gripped the handles of the elevator. After a long, tense moment, the propellers turned slowly, then faster, and faster, and faster until he couldn’t see the individual blades anymore.

The aircraft bounced and carefully lifted itself off of the ground. Wilbur was suddenly pushed through the air by a gust of wind, and he took flight amongst the clouds. 

It took quick thrusts to the right and left, and at some points, Wilbur thought he was dropping to the ground. He tilted the wings to where they could move against the eastern airflow and moved upwards. Another sputter left the engine, and he heard nothing but the whistling wind and hum of the propellers. 

Was he doing it? Is it working? Everything inside him felt light and fluttery. Wilbur moved his gaze from the ground and looked up at the sky. The sun stared at him from above while the birds stood clear of the flying man. It might have only been a few seconds, but compared to their other tests, this flight was a decade long. 

He let out a soft laugh. It worked, Mother, we did it.

He titled the wings to their left and flew back around. Ant-sized people stared up at him, and one of them was jumping for joy. A sputter erupted from the engine again, and Wilbur decided that it was time to let his wings rest.

He landed the aircraft back on the ground and jumped out of it. “So, what’d you think?” he said to the crowd. Charles had a huge, excited smile on his face while his friends looked stunned. “See, what’d I tell ya? These guys are geniuses!” he said to the small crowd.

“I think we’re about to be the richest men in the world!” Orville shouted. He ran up to the aircraft and hugged it like a father embracing his child. 

“B-But will anyone believe it?” one of Charles’ friends stuttered, staring at the aircraft. “I mean, a flying car, the press will think you’re joking!”

“Oh, they will,” Wilbur stated, crossing his arms. “Once they see this thing fly across the world, they’ll have no choice but to believe it.”

[whoacanada]

Hazing

Summary: Jack’s history with hazing is not a pleasant one, and he’s not about to continue the tradition at Samwell. The decision has nothing to do with Eric Bittle.

Pairings: pre-Jack/Bitty; Past Kent/Jack

Warnings: flashbacks to Juniors, implied dub-con situation, locker room talk, vague-ish descriptions of aggressive hazing rituals. Longer description in the A/N at the end.

_____

Now:

It’s the third time they’ve had this discussion and Jack is tired of having to explain himself. Again, he ticks off the points on his fingertips. 

“Underwear stays on. No naked obstacle course. No dare-or-dare.”

Shitty huffs and kicks his legs off the bed in a mock tantrum. “You’re making this really fuckin’ hard, Jackie. At this rate, even the swim team is going to have a more hardcore initiation than us. They do brunch, Zimmermann. BRUNCH. We have a reputation to uphold: Epikegster and Hazeapalooza are the highlights of the fucking year. SMH needs two legs to stand on, Jack. Deux jambes, bro.”

“I don't care about the lacrosse team, or the swim team, or any team except this one, and the men’s hockey team shouldn't be known for hazing.”

“It's not hazing, it's Hazeapalooza, it’s fun.” Shitty furrows his brow. “Wait, wait, wait -- what about the kidnapping? It’s tradition.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not this year. Not with Bittle. Not with his history.” 

Shitty huffs like a bull, but acquiesces. “Yeah, suppose blindfolding Bitty and tossing him into a Uhaul with a bunch of drunk naked bros might be a bit much.”

“We don't want to traumatize him. Any of them.”

“That’s the last fucking thing we need.” Shitty gripes, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, I’ve got some ideas, they might be hella-fucking-lame without Lards’ creative input, but something’s better than nothing.”

_________

Then:

Jack remembers spending the night before his 16th birthday bare-assed at center ice with the rest of the Oceanic rookies. It’s not a pleasant memory by any stretch of the imagination.

Before he left Montreal, his father told him to always expect some kind of hazing ritual with a new team - even winked as he warned him not to drink too much and have fun. Bond with the boys.

Jack remembers wondering what the hell kind of initiations his father went through that he could joke about it after; or if it was just another example of something he couldn’t handle as well as Bad Bob.

Someone pours a bottle of water on him and his feet stick against the ice. They make him drink until he can barely stand. Grab him. Mock him. Scream at him so loud his ears ring.

Logically, Jack knows it’ll end soon, but he’s drunk, he’s tired, and all the wrong receptors are firing in his brain. He needs his medication. He wants to cry. Maybe he does, because someone hurls a slur and Girard brings up that decades old tabloid rumor about Bad Bob cruising gay bars.

When they ask if sucking dick runs in the family, Jack chokes back the urge to vomit. He saw what they made Anders do after he threw-up, Jack’s not about to risk the same torment. 

Then, they turn on Parse, his new billet-mate and almost friend.

Kent, the American who laughs at Jack’s bad jokes and pretends he doesn’t cry at night because he’s homesick. Kent, who is kind, and short, and makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches. Kent, who has freckles on his chest and a little mole on his hip that Jack tries so hard not to peek at when they change after practice. Kent, who might actually like Jack for Jack and who doesn’t deserve any of this.

Jack thinks it’s almost over, pushing two am with practice less than six hours away, but he’s wrong; and like most things in Jack’s life, it gets worse before it gets better.

____

They don’t talk about it after, even if the guys dance around the subject with suggestive chirps and pointed looks. They all get to play nice now, because the rookies have earned their stripes, and Jack’s proved he’s worthy of being a part of this team.

If his hands shake a little harder before practice, if he has trouble sleeping and never shows his back to his teammates in the locker room, that’s his business and no one else’s. 

It’s over. He survived.

But Kent…Kent is different now. Quiet. Angry. He sticks to Jack like a shadow. Or maybe Jack is the shadow, he can’t tell anymore and he doesn’t care. They train together, play together, drink together, neither drifting too far out of sight. Even though that night is behind them, even though they’re ‘brothers’, Jack doesn’t trust his teammates, he can’t, but he trusts Kenny, and Kenny trusts him.

Then one night Kent misses curfew, and when he does come home he’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. Julianna fusses over him, threatening to call Coach, but he says it wasn’t a fight; claims he was jumped on the way home. It’s a lie, but Julianna doesn’t want a scene any more than they do, so she drops it.

Later, when Jack asks what really happened, Kent grins toothily, more of a grimace than smile, and pulls a wrinkled polaroid from his pocket. It’s a picture from Initiation, the one where their faces are smushed together in a parody of a kiss. You can’t see the hands forcing them together, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Kent gives him the photo. 

“You don’t have to pretend to like me anymore, I took care of it. They can’t blackmail you now.”

Instead of validating the statement, Jack moves to the bathroom, collecting the candle lighter and upending the small metal wastebasket. They sit on the porch and burn the photo, together. 

“I’m not pretending to like you,” Jack stumbles, words heavy on his tongue. “I like you. A lot. You’re my best friend.”

Over the tiny, acrid fire, Kent leans in and presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek; off-center and sloppy with his swollen face, but a kiss just the same.

That night Kent scrambles down from the top bunk and slides into bed beside him. Jack doesn’t say a word, just takes Kent’s hand beneath the sheets, links their fingers, and squeezes tight.

If Kent can be brave, Jack can too. 

_____

Now:

Jack keeps his sunglasses on, a beer in his hand, and every time one of the frogs looks up at him, he offers a slight smile. Reassuring them that they’re safe. There isn’t a terrible surprise coming. This is it. This is all.

The frogs drink. They howl like wolves. They sing off-key and curse and pledge their loyalty to the Gods of Hockey. It’s stupid. Irreverent. Benign.

Fun.

Bittle shakes like a leaf, but it isn’t because he’s scared, he’s just cold; laughing like the rest of them at the spectacle they’re making together.

Just a bunch of ‘schwasted hockey bros chanting ‘G. O. A. T.’ at a cardboard standee of Wayne Gretzky surrounded by flaming pucks.

This is brotherhood.

Later, as Ransom and Holster oversee the frogs attempting to joust with hockey sticks, Shitty slides into Jack from the side, elbowing him playfully.

“And you were worried Bitty couldn’t handle a bit of fun. Bro can already drink Wicks under the table, his blood’s half alcohol, man; half alcohol, half fucking pie-filling. You know little dude would have owned the naked obstacle course.”

Jack’s reply is lost as Bittle lets loose a battle-cry and skates into Davis, knocking them both to the ice in a sprawl of limbs and laughter. Instead, Jack offers up a fist, which is bumped eagerly.

“Jaques Laurent Zimmermann, softest fucking bro at Samwell. Don’t worry, won’t tell anyone your terrible secret.”

“Doesn't hurt anything to retire the old traditions,” Jack says, watching the other frogs congratulate Bittle. “Not if we’re able to start better ones.”

Shitty grins and pulls Jack into a loose headlock. “Whatever, man. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about your freshman no-show. I’m coming for you next year.”

Instead of dread, Jack feels…nothing. Indifferent, like the threat has passed. He shakes out of Shitty’s hold and wrestles himself away, surprised at the laugh that escapes him.

“Alright, Shits. I’ll be ready.”

____

A/N: So I basically filled my own meta-prompt about Jack/Bitty being afraid of college hazing, and combined it with the  @zimmbonibitty  suggestion that Jack made Bitty’s freshman Hazeapalooza less intimidating to protect him. Went a little nuts with it. Fair warning, there’s some heavy stuff in here, mostly regarding Jack and Kent being hazed in Juniors, including an implied dub-con situation, locker room talk, and descriptions of hazing rituals that I really wish were made up. This is partially inspired by this incident with Manitoba’s Junior’s team, other examples were taken from personal accounts of athletic and frat hazing online, stories from friends of mine, and personal experience.

[stufftippywrote]

what if?

(11 and 3 from the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I thought you didn’t want me” and “It’s always been you.”)

It's not water, it's ice. It's a thousand needles of ice pricking at Dex's skin. Soon they'll pierce him, puncture his bursting lungs and turn him breathless, lifeless. Still, he swims on.

The current is fighting him. His own lungs are fighting him. His eyes fight, too, stinging, but he keeps them open, gleaning what light he can in the dark water. Later, he will think back and see only seconds of being alone in that darkness. Now, it's minutes. An endless slow trudge of time as he turns and searches.

He remembers pulling off his flannel, stripping out of his jeans in the freezing night. He remembers kicking off his shoes. And then the plunge, the fevered dive into the water, the rush of his blood keeping him warm. And then, crashing down and through into this frozen limbo, one thought in mind. Where's Nurse?

(It's fine, Nursey says, it's chill. I'm not that drunk, and the railing's really fucking wide.

Get down, Dex tells him.

Nursey scoffs. What are you, my mother?)

Dex is a strong swimmer, but it's one thing to practice in the shallows at the beach and in placid lakes. A real, vital, rushing river is a living thing, and it consumes Dex, licking him hungrily with cold tongues. He fights past it. There's a dark shape in the dark water, and Dex swims for it, pushing and kicking and praying.

He's done this. He's done this before. He once fished his cousin out of the sea when the riptide pulled him under. But his cousin was seven, and Nursey's big, big and heavy and stubborn even when he can move on his own. Idiot. What was he thinking? What did he think he could do if he toppled over the edge, a concrete block of muscle and skin, inebriated and waterlogged and weighed down by sopping clothing?

What happens if Dex can't move him?

(What are you, the designated driver? Nursey presses a cold beer to Dex's forehead. Around them, music and laughter circulate in the air.

Shut up, Dex says. Sometimes I don't feel like drinking.

Seriously? Tonight of all nights?

Dex smirks. Especially tonight. I wanna remember tonight.

Okay, then. Nursey drops onto the couch next to him and tucks his head into Dex's shoulder. Dex bristles, but Nursey ignores it. You can walk me home later.)

He makes contact. Nursey's skin is cool to his touch. Dex kicks harder than he's ever kicked before, forces himself between arm and shoulder, and makes for the surface. Nursey's body is leaden. The surface is miles away. Dex's lungs are bursting. They'll never make it.

And then -- air -- breath -- life.

Dex heaves great round breaths that fill his diaphragm and buoy him. He hoists Nursey above the water line, face and neck and shoulders. The river's bank is not so far away. Already, there's someone watching. Screaming. Dex frowns at her, though she's too far away to see his disapproval. Don't scream, call 911, he thinks. People are stupid.

The stupidest person is right beside him, a cinder block of a man, unconscious and ponderous. Dex swims for shore. Each stroke is labor. His lungs ache more now than they did when he was underwater. But with each kick and tug and struggle, he's a little closer. Nursey stirs next to him. Stirs, but doesn't breathe. Dex kicks harder. Just now, he almost felt dirt beneath his feet. Another kick, another tug, Nursey's body suddenly seized by gravity, and -- yes -- thank God --

Dex staggers onto the riverbank, dragging Nursey behind him. He stumbles and falls forward, going to one knee, and releases the weight of Nursey from his shoulders. Nursey falls, unmoving and unbreathing, onto the grass.

Breathing. God, he's not breathing. He must have inhaled water and passed out. The girl is still screaming. Dex coughs hard, water spilling from his mouth. He finds a breath. "Call a fucking ambulance," he barks. Struggling to his knees, he looks down at Nursey. Shit. Shit, what if he's dead? What if he's gone? What if there is no more Nursey in Dex's world?

(The puck zings across the ice. Dex can feel the weight of the next few seconds. He sees the lane. It's a split second. He lifts his stick.

Slap shot. The goalie scrambles. The net whiffs with impact. The buzzer sounds.

And then Nursey's arms are around him, and Nursey's voice is a jubilant song in his ears. In another moment Dex will register the roar of the crowd, and a few seconds after that Bitty and Whiskey and the others will skate over and there'll be a group hug. But right now, in this single, explosive moment of joy, with Nursey beside him, Dex is happier than he's ever, ever been.)

It all happens in less than a second -- Nursey's face contorts, and his head turns, and then he's coughing up water. Cough after cough after cough, but then he inhales. Dex feels something inside him break, flood -- a rush of warmth. He's breathing. He's alive. Thank God.

"Don't move," he says. "Don't move. Help is coming. Stay right there."

Nursey coughs up water for another minute, then lifts an arm to wipe his mouth. "What happened?" His voice is weak, and water dribbles from the corner of his lips.

"You fell in the river," Dex tells him. "You're heavy."

Nursey wipes his face and blinks up at Dex. He's just lying there, as though he's waking up from a nap, as though he didn't scare Dex half to death. "You saved me?"

"Nobody else around," Dex says.

Nursey gives him that easy, lazy smile. "Thanks, Will."

"Don't fucking thank me, just don't ever do that again." And then, because he can't hold it back any longer: "Oh, God. Jesus, Nurse. I thought you were dead. Oh, God."

He shivers hard. Jesus, he's freezing. It's cold out and he's never been so terrified, and now the shudders won't stop. He sits there, on his knees next to a prone Nurse, and shivers so hard he thinks his teeth are going to come out. He was so scared. So fucking scared.

(They're sitting down to team breakfast, and Nursey is laughing at something Holster said, and Dex just happens to look over. Just happens to look, but in another moment he's caught. It's the silk of Nursey's skin that gets to him, the smoothness of it where stubble doesn't prick through. Dex has itched to touch for longer now than he can even remember. He's used to the itch. Even likes it.

Yo, Poindexter, Nursey says, catching his gaze. Gonna kick some ass today, huh?

The bulbous lights of the cafeteria reflect in Nursey's eyes, tiny eggs. Dex watches them with some amusement. If you're up for it, he shoots back. Nursey grins, and Dex's heart catches against his ribs with a wonderful, painful twinge. He gets the sudden, exhilarating feeling that today is going to be momentous.)

A weight on his knee. Nursey's hand. Dex looks down at it, incredulous. Is Nursey comforting him? But he's the one who almost...

"Will," Nursey says. "'s chill. I'm okay."

"You're still drunk," Dex snaps back, but now his eyes are wet and he's sure the salt sting isn't from river water. "Fuck, Nurse." He wipes his eyes aggressively.

Nursey frowns. "Bro. You crying?"

"Shut up, I'm not crying." Dex wipes his eyes and sniffles. "I don't cry."

"Don't think I ever had a dude cry over me," Nursey says. The words come out halting, and he pauses to take shallow breaths. "Don't really deserve it, man. But thanks."

"Shut up, Nursey." That, at least, is easy to say. Habit. "I thought -- Jesus, I thought I was gonna lose you."

"Lose me?" Nursey stumbles over the words. "That sounds like..." The corners of his mouth turn up, and he huffs out a soft laugh. "Maybe I am still drunk. Thought for a moment you were... nah. Nah, I'm daydreaming."

His eyes are starting to slip closed again. Panic rises in Dex's throat. He doesn't want Nursey to fall asleep, not when he's this cold. Dex doesn't know if that's dangerous but he doesn't want to find out. What if this is it? What if he closes his eyes and they don't open again? What if the next moment, Nursey's gone, and Dex never told him, never had the stones to find his way from thoughts to actions? What if this is his last chance?

Too many questions. Too little time. Dex does the only thing he can think to do. He covers Nursey's hand with his own and squeezes.

Nursey's eyes pop wide open. He sucks in a little breath. Peers at their joined hands on Dex's knee. Dex holds fast.

His gaze rises then, meets Dex's. His lips purse into an O. An unasked question.

Dex nods.

Nursey bites his lip hard, but it's not enough to keep down his smile. "Seriously?" he asks.

Dex nods again.

"I thought--" Half-laughing, half-sighing, Nursey looks at him with bright, alive eyes. "Well, I wasn't even sure you liked me, Poindexter. I ... wow. I sure as hell never thought you wanted me."

"You're an idiot," Dex tells him pointedly. Because he is. What a fucking idiot, to be this obtuse for this long and scare Dex enough to force this out of him. "Of course I like you."

"But... like that?" Nursey's trolling him now, trying to drag the embarrassing words out of him.

But Dex is sopping wet and relieved and he just doesn't care. "Yes, like that. Are we talking about this now?"

"Well, fuck, Poindexter." God damn him, god damn that smile. Where the hell is the ambulance? "I guess I'm glad I fell in that river."

"Don't say shit like that!" Dex's last nerve goes off like a firecracker. "If you liked me, Nurse, you could have kissed me instead of going and nearly getting yourself killed! You're a moron. Of course I'm into you. Why do you think I hang out with you, when you drive me out of my goddamn mind? Jesus." He shivers hard. "Of course it's you. It's always been you."

Nursey doesn't answer. But his hand in Dex's turns, and he curls his fingers around Dex's. It feels good. It feels real.

Dex finds it in himself, somehow, to smile.

And thank God, now he can hear sirens. The smile vanishes, and Dex looks daggers at Nursey. "Fine. Now you know. We'll talk about it when we're dried off and you're sober."

"Mm-mm." Nursey shakes his head. "When I'm sober, first thing I am doing is kissing the shit out of you."

"The hell? I just told you--" Dex makes a noise of frustration. He sets a mental reminder to punch Nursey in the face the next time he gets the chance.

Although it can probably wait until after they kiss.

[valencing]

hockey opus part four

my dear @disarmd, today i had the unfamiliar sensation of writing hockey fic about two gentlemen who have not been tragically driven apart. i can only hope i have captured the special bond you describe so eloquently here:

Sidney is so difficult!!! he is super fussy and superstitious and ONLY HOCKEY THAT’S IT THAT’S THE ONLY THING. he didn’t even have a smart phone! GENO HAS INSTAGRAM. they’re sort of theoretically competing to be the Star of the team except that Geno doesn’t care that Sidney gets the most recognition because he doesn’t want all of the attention EVEN THO HE GOT LEFT OFF THE TOP 100 PLAYERS OF ALL TIME LIST but then maybe Geno could teach Sidney how to be more human ;________; Maybe no one understands sidney like geno does ;______________;

warning for a complete lack of violent conflict and shattering loss!

*

One day Geno was in the park petting dogs and handing out lollipops to small children. Every once in a while he would do something cool like jump really high in the air, and then he would wave happily and call out, "Did you see that? I'm the best!" at whoever was passing by. 

After a couple of hours of making his fellow human beings happy, it was time to go win a hockey game. But before Geno could head for the exit, he heard the sound of ice cracking. Then, in a burst of blue light, a portal opened in midair and an alien being stepped out. He looked reasonably human, but he was vibrating with an extraterrestrial level of tension.

"Hi!" Geno said. "Nice to meet you, welcome to park!"

The alien blanched as if he didn't know how to respond to polite and friendly greetings. He reached back to the seam in the air he'd stepped from, but the portal was already gone. "Which planet is this, specifically?" he asked.

"Earth!" Geno said proudly.  "And I am best hockey player, you very lucky you meet me first. What your name?"

"Sidney," said the alien. "From X12903857. Where is your ice, please?"

"In the refrigerator!" said Geno, and laughed at his own joke.

Sidney stared at Geno. "I don't understand."

"Of course not, you are stranger," said Geno. "Come with me, I teach you hockey."

"Hockey, yes," said Sidney. "Take me to the ice."

"There is hockey on your planet? Tell me more about your planet!" Geno took Sidney by the elbow, steering him out of the park toward the rink.

Sidney recoiled and then seemed to steel himself to tolerate human contact. "Well…there's a lot of ice. And hockey. In my childhood, I played hockey for many hours every day, in order to prepare myself for playing more hockey. Then I played hockey, and after that, some additional hockey. But our leader told me, 'You must expand your horizons! You must travel and learn! You must play hockey somewhere else.'"

"Very good!" said Geno. "I going to introduce you my team. We take selfies, you will send to home planet."

"I don't know what a selfie is," said Sidney. "Is it bad luck?"

Geno liked Sidney, but he really had a lot to learn. "You are like tiny baby," he told Sidney reassuringly. "It okay. I teach you. I hold you in my arms and sing you Russian folk song."

"Please don't do that," said Sidney.

"Not right now," Geno agreed. "Right now hockey! Here is rink!"

The tension seemed to slide from Sidney's shoulders. His face grew soft. He stared at the ice like a starving man staring at a six-course meal. "I love you," he murmured.

"Sidney," said Geno. "You I like very much too, but we just meet fifteen minutes ago. In Pittsburgh we wait little more time to say big thing like love."

"I was talking to the ice," said Sidney. He pulled a pair of skates from his pocket and began lacing them on.

Geno's jaw dropped at this display of strange alien magic. And then Sidney stepped off the edge. He skated like his feet were making love to the ice. He held a hockey stick like it was a natural extension of his alien body.

Sidney executed a neat turn to face Geno and for the first time Geno saw the ghost of a smile on his face. "Coming?" he called, and tapped a puck in Geno's direction.

"Sidney, you are so good!" Geno exclaimed. "You are almost like human person!"

Just then, Geno's teammates poured out of the locker room, laughing, shouting, and shoving each other.

"Geno!" they shouted in their rough, masculine way. "You ready? Whatcha standing around for?"

"I not standing around," said Geno, affronted. "I very busy, I best at doing busy things!" Sidney skated back over to him. The hubbub died down at the sight of a stranger.

"Who's that?" asked a Penguin. "Geno, dude, you don't have time to hang out with some loser. We got a game to play."

"Excuse me, but I do not lose," said Sidney politely. He sent a puck sailing across the rink right into the empty net.

"Sure," said the Penguin. "Geno, get this guy out of here."

Geno turned to Sidney to explain that he had to leave, but when he saw Sidney's stricken face the words died in his throat. "You don't go," Geno told him. He put an arm around Sidney. This time Sidney didn't even flinch. Geno glared at his teammates. "This Sidney. We the best."

THE END

part one part two part three

[sutterbabe]

#5 Auston Matthews

Requested by @rxsita-twd

Can you do one where you're Mitch's twin sis and like you're at a game 'cause you live in Toronto and Auston gets really hurt and Mitch gets attacked trying to defend him from more attacks and they have to get both boys off the ice (Mitch can still walk but Auston has to be carried) and you race there trying to find out if your brother is okay and Auston pretty much confesses his love for you to everyone in the room without realizing it because he's pretty much knocked out? PRETTY PLEASE THANKS

You guys always have the best prompts and I love it !

Auston is a meme and I had to stop myself from writing ‘cash me outside howbow dah’

This took so long and i couldn’t figure out how to write the important bit.

Also focuses more on mitch than auston im sorry but sibling relationships are really important to me.

Pre-writing note: I bet this is gonna make me cry

Song suggestion of the day: Life worth living by Laurel

Warnings: I got no brothers but my cousin has acted as a stand in and I’ve been traumatised beyond belief so i think im good. He’s an embarrassment. LANGUAGE WARNING (its not that bad idk why i put it in caps).

“...and if someone in a Canucks jersey tries to talk to you, punch them.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you glanced across the living room at Auston Matthews, who was watching the exchange with an amused expression. “Mitchell, you’re only older by three minutes, stop trying to act like Chris.” you retorted indignantly, turning your attention back to your twin brother who was clattering around behind you in the kitchen.

“Well, in his absence his solemn duty, to protect you from all harm, now falls to me.” Mitch stated, a matter-of-factly as he walked into the room and plonked himself down beside you. Okay, you hadn’t been to a game in a little while, not everyone can have their dream job (or unlimited time off). That said, It wasn’t like you’d never been to a hockey game, you’d probably disowned (at least by your brothers) if you hadn’t. Still, Mitch was being a pain by trying to be overprotective and you hadn’t even left the house yet.

“That is not Chris’ job. At least he knows I can look after myself.” you muttered, throwing your legs over Mitch’s lap as you leaned back on the arm of the couch, watching him struggle with his tie.

“I’m being caring and brotherly.” Mitch whined, as you finally relented, sitting up to help him fix his tie.

“It’s a hockey game not a bar fight.” you retorted, glancing over at the only american in the room, yet again. “Auston, back me up here.”

“No, no, no. Illegal move. He’s my friend, you can’t use him against me.” Mitch protested indignantly.

“So I can’t be friends with Auston because you’re friends with him?” you retorted. “Sharing is caring, Mitch. Besides, your advice is stupid. I’d probably get more hurt than the person I was punching. It’s the easiest way to break your hand, you know.”

Mitch made a face. “You get my point though.” 

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes again. “Well, Vancouver wouldn’t be so riled up if you would just shut your damn mouth sometimes.” you retorted. Although he was taller than you (just), on the ice, your twin brother was both tiny and annoying. He was also very good but there was no way you were telling him anything of the sort.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mitch laughed.

“The fun is not getting ten million phone calls from mum every time someone tries to fight you.” you replied, with a hint of annoyance. Truthfully you were more worried than annoyed. Mitch might be a pain but if anyone so much as yelled at him, you were prepared to fight them yourself.

“Not my problem.” he teased, but sobered up under your frown. “Don’t worry, that’s why I’m friends with this guy.” he patted leaned across to Auston’s knee. “he has a scary war face. I saw it one time when we played the ‘yotes” Mitch faked a shudder. “I didn’t sleep for a week.” Auston shoved mitch lightly at that.

you rolled your eyes. “Auston’s the possibly one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met, he couldn’t hurt a fly.” You glanced at Auston. “No offence?”

Auston shrugged and shook his head lightly, his cheeks tinted a light pink shade. “None taken.” Mitch laughed at this,waggling his eyebrows and making you elbow his ribs.

you nodded appreciatively at Auston. “Also, do not fight anyone for him.” you warned, glaring at your brother.

Mitch shook his head. “Stop being annoying. We’ll be fine. Now where’s your jersey?” he demanded.

“Right next to you, doofus. Are we going or not?” you replied.

In reply you received a jersey to the face.

You didn’t pay much attention during warm ups, mainly because they usually consisted of your brother goofing off and just generally being embarrassing. Auston, Mitch and a couple of other leafs guys would skate past every so often and slam into the boards in front of you, making you jump in surprise (much to your displeasure).

This was the last of three match-ups between Toronto and Vancouver, and you could already tell it was going to be a hard fought game before it had even started. You could see words being exchanged whenever one player got close to the other team. Unsurprisingly, Mitch had easily seen through your guise of disinterest earlier and would glance over at you every now and again to give you a reassuring smile. You would gave him a half-hearted one and a thumbs up in return and he would nod.

It was a scoreless but not uneventful first period. There were a few hits that had you screaming insults at the ice, and you could see Mitch going about his usual business riling people up, which didn’t help your game anxiety. The second period wan’t much better and you could tell the rest of the crowd were itching for some action. The third period started well for the leafs, Auston was on fire, speeding around and making plays. Mitch had the puck and was zooming down the ice towards you, when out of nowhere a canucks player appeared, slamming him into the boards. You flew to your feet, screaming profanities, Auston was by his friends side in an instant, giving the offending player a hefty shove. You could see him yelling at the linesman, gesturing to Mitch who had clambered to his feet. Auston and mitch were shaking their heads and just generally looking frustrated as they spoke with one of the linesman before skating away looking furious. Meanwhile, the Canucks fans were louder than ever. Auston tapped gently on the glass in front of you with his stick as he skated past while they prepped for a face off, making you smile a little as Mitch gave you a little thumbs up and stuffed his mouthguard back in his mouth. The canucks player from before skated past and muttered a few words to Mitch who glanced at you and laughed. That was one of the things you admired about your brother, his ability to shrug things off. Auston was usually included in this bracket but apparently whatever they were saying was really getting to him today. 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” you heard Mitch laugh as he skated by, canuck right up in his grill. Auston eventually got tired of the guy tailing his friend and gave him a shove. The player didn’t take kindly to it, the two guys were staring each other down, each sprouting equally offensive chirps.

“Come on, let’s fucking go.” the canucks player had dropped his gloves and the crowd was going crazy. “come on, hot shot”

Your brother was watching Auston apprehensively, not wanting to intervene just yet.

It was clear Auston wasn’t going to take the bait and the game only got rougher from there. They had eyes on both Mitch and Auston which was making you more than nervous and with no goals, the game was going into OT, or what you like to call ‘oh fuck’. A couple of canucks drove Tyler Bozak headfirst into the boards and from there everything disintegrated. Auston rushed over to make sure Tyler was okay, but instead was met by three canucks who were itching for a fight. Mitch rushed in to help his friend out, but it only made things all the worse. There was blood on the ice and you couldn’t tell if Mitch and Auston were alright since they were trapped right in the heart of a massive line brawl. You were beside yourself with worry, your phone was ringing out and you bet ten bucks it was your mum. As the scrum was broken up by the linesmen, you could finally get a view of the carnage and it didn’t look good. You’d seen a lot of hockey fights in your day, but nothing like this. Your twin brother was struggling to his feet and had to be helped up and off the ice by Matt Martin and Zach Hyman. Meanwhile, Auston was hardly moving, and the sight of a stretcher being rushed onto the ice, really didn’t help your nerves. You didn’t even stay to see them get rushed off the ice safely, you were already sprinting towards the locker rooms get to your brother.

“Mitch!” You cried, flinging yourself into your brother’s arms. He looked worried and very bruised but otherwise alright. You smoothed his hair back from his face to check for any other bruises, still wide eyed and extremely worried. “Are you alright? Did they say you’re okay? Oh my god, I was so.. You scared me! Are you sure you’re okay?” as you continued interrogating him, a couple of his teammates popped in to see how they were doing. Even the news of Mo’s game winning goal didn’t seem to cheer Mitch up. After assuring you that he was alright at least a hundred times over, you finally released him from your bone crushing hug. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” you snapped, shoving his shoulder. 

“Y/N,” Mitch protested, stepping back to steady himself as your push had caught him unawares. 

“The hell were you thinking! I thought…” to be honest you didn’t really know what was going through your mind at the time, it was all such a blur. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.” You glared at him. “I bet you’re fucking pleased with yourself.”

“What did you expect me to do?! I was supposed to fucking sit there while he’s got three guys on top of him?” Mitch yelled, gesturing to the other side of the room where Auston Matthews had lost all forms of mental filter which was much to the amusement of his present leafs teammates.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, okay! You’re not allowed to pull that shit! What the fuck did you say to them?”

“Oh so now this is my fault?” Mitch seethed incredulously.

“I told you if you didn’t shut your fucking mouth-“

“That is not what this is about!”

“Fucking enlighten me then Mitchell because one of your best friends was just pummelled-“

“They said some things and I-“

“What the fuck could they possibly say to you? You laughed in his fucking face!”

“It wasn’t just me! Auston didn’t take too kindly-“

“Oh well done Mitch, blame it on the unconscious guy."

“That is not what is going on here!” He retorted. “If you’d actually let me get a fucking word in.”

You glared. “I don’t fucking care. You gave me a fucking heart attack and Auston wasn’t fucking moving. Excuse me if I’m not as calm as you expected.”

“Austin’s going to be fine.” Mitch snapped, but he sounded unsure.

“Really? Do you know that? I’m no doctor but I don’t think he’s going to jump back out, whoopty-do, and be ready to play.” you replied

“He could.”

You almost screamed at your brother. “Is this a fucking game to you? You could have died!”okay a tad dramatic but to be honest, unconscious Auston Matthews was giving you an indication of how serious this was. 

“Y/N!” Mitch cried out, frustrated, grabbing your wrists as you threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m sorry! What else do you want me to say, okay? I’m sorry!” You sighed in defeat, relenting and melting into him, squeezing him in a painfully tight hug. Mitch chuckled nervously, as he glanced down at you. “Uh,”

On the other side of the room, your harried yells attracted the american’s attention. Will Nylander watched for a moment as Auston struggled to sit up before finally taking pity on him and helping him out.“What’s up, buddy?”

“Is Y/N here?” Auston asked. A giant grin appeared on Matt Martin’s face as Willy frowned a little in confusion. The conversation caught Mitch’s attention and he extracted himself from your bone crushing hug to listen in.

“Yeah, why?” The other leafs watched in amusement as Auston’s cheeks flushed gently. 

“I’m so fucking whipped.” he told them with a laugh.You were pretty sure both you and Mitch’s jaws fell open in perfect synch as five expressions ranging from amusement to surprise were directed at you.

“Probably don’t announce that to the whole room, Matts.” Mitch muttered through clenched teeth.

You rounded on him. “You knew!” you gasped. “you little shit!”

“ow!” mitch protested indignantly as you landed a solid punch to his shoulder. “He said you were pretty and I told him to stop hitting on you! OW! Stop it!”

You glared at him before grinning giddily at Auston. “you are literally the cutest thing in human existence.”

Behind you, Mitch made a gaging motion.