#How Will The Oilers Lose Next

[karlkapri]

What are your top 3 nhl teams with the best vibes?

ooh ok. yea. fun. love this. im going to declare all my biases upfront: im a pens, bruins & wild fan so obviously my nr 1 is:

minny

they have flower. they have kaprizov. they go on homoerotic little holidays together. they have two deweys and one foligno. their captain is pretty and everyone is short. every game is somehow embarrassing. even if they win. especially if they win. 11/10 cant lose.

nr 2: philly

i dont follow them or root for them but i will have nightmares about the dog mask every day for the rest of my life. also they made drysdale come hang out w them during the all star break and that was cute. also the conga line. hardass coach but we stay silly. 9/10 solid vibes.

nr 3: yotes

jason zucker lives there.

[ladyacadementia]

.

[haddonfieldwhore]

bad idea - matthew tkachuk

flames!matthew tkachuk x draisaitl!fem reader

summary: in a bad mood after losing to calgary, your brother is a dick to you. you decide to get back at him with a little bit of help

warnings: mention of injury/fighting, language, implied smut, crying inside that i wrote anything oilers related

word count: 1.8k battle of alberta 2018

in all your years of watching your older brother leon play hockey, you were sure you had never seen a game as rough as this one. you knew it was to be expected; the game was advertised as the ‘battle of alberta’ for good reason, the edmonton oilers and the calgary flames quite literally going to war on each other from the very second the puck dropped. you weren’t the biggest hockey fan, but you rarely got to see your older brother with his busy schedule, and were looking forward to hanging out with him after the game.

it wasn’t even two minutes into the first period before leon laid a huge hit on calgarys matthew tkachuk, the younger player hitting his head on the ice as he landed and leaving the game for the time being.

while you were cheering for your brothers team to win, as were your friends and family sitting in the crowd next to you, you found yourself hoping that the calgary flame was okay. you would be crucified if you said it out loud, but you found the flames player kind of cute, and always enjoyed watching him play; despite the rivalry that seemed to be brewing between him and your brother. your eyes always ended up on him whenever he was on the ice, and you found it hard to look away. you were pretty sure that tkachuk was only a year older than you, and you found yourself breathing a sigh of relief when he returned to the game, seemingly uninjured.

as the game went on, edmonton had a two nothing lead, but after many more fights, (most of them involving tkachuk in some way) and four goals from calgary, the game was over.

‘this is gonna be a fun drive home,’ you thought as you walked out of the stands to find leon. you had to wait for awhile for the team to change and shower, and you were growing tired waiting around for your brother. your friends and family being bummed about the loss was not helping the time go by faster as you stood around awkwardly while they caught up with eachother.

it was around thirty minutes later that leon finally emerged from the hallway that lead to the visitors dressing room, greeting your group unenthusiastically.

“hey,” you replied, and he merely grumbled in response, barely paying attention to the fact that you were there; and it stung. leon greeted your parents and friends without much more warmth but still you suddenly felt invisible as he talked with them and not you. you hadn’t seen him in months, and he couldn’t even say hello properly? and to make matters worse, your parents had already seen him before the game.

“leon-“

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his jaw clenched as he bumped into your shoulder with his, causing you to stumble slightly.

maybe you were being overly sensitive, but no one seemed to notice how cold he was being; either letting it go because the team lost, or perhaps you were just expecting a warmer greeting from your big brother.

you tried to grab his arm to keep up with him as he walked away, but he pulled it away and shot you a glare.

“i know you’re pissed, but it’s not my fault you guys lost.”

“so it’s my fault?” he countered, and you sighed.

“that’s not what i said-“

“that’s what you’re thinking though, isn’t it?”

“no, leon!” you sighed, trying to remember how he was feeling right now. “if i had known you were gonna be such a sore loser i wouldn’t have come.” he had never been this grumpy after a loss before.

“then maybe you shouldn’t have,” his jaw clenched again, and you could tell from his expression that the conversation was over. you stopped walking while he continued down the hall, your parents catching up to you, oblivious to the argument between you and leon.

“you know what, i’m gonna catch up with you guys tomorrow,” you said, faking a yawn. your family had planned to go for dinner after the game while you were all in town. the oilers had a day off tomorrow, and you hoped by then your brother would be in a better mood.

“are you sure, honey?” your mom asked, and you nodded.

“yeah, i’ll just get a cab back to the hotel. i don’t think leon’s really in a celebrating mood so i’m sure he won’t care. i’ll see you guys in the morning,” you said, before hugging your family and watching them leave the saddledome.

you sighed as you stood in the now nearly empty hallway alone, and before you could do the smart thing and actually take a cab home like you said you would, your felt your legs begin to carry you in the opposite direction.

your feet slowed outside of a certain closed door, fiddling with your hands nervously as you lingered outside the flames dressing room. just as you were deciding that the players had probably already left and began to turn back, the door opened.

after one quick look at your jersey, branded with the oilers logo and leon’s number, matthew tkachuk shook his head with a slight laugh.

“i don’t know how you got back here, but if you’re looking for him you have the wrong locker room,“ he said pointing at your jersey.

“and if i’m looking for you?” you replied, and he looked you up and down again, slower this time as if actually taking in your appearance, not just your wardrobe.

“depends why you’re looking for me. if you’re going to stab me or something for beating your team-“ he joked.

“relax, leon’s my brother; you don’t have a security issue,” you laughed, and he smiled slightly. “and i promise i’m not here to stab you,” you raised your hands in surrender.

“that’s a relief,” he laughed, a more genuine smile on his face this face this time, and you realized that he was even cuter in person. his long curls were messy, still slightly damp from the shower, and he stood quite a bit taller than you. his expression changed as the words ‘brother’ and ‘leon’ clicked in his head, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing under his shirt. “so why are you looking for me?”

“i… uh,” you stuttered, not having thought this far ahead. “i don’t know. i kind of felt bad that my brother hit you so hard, but i guess you got him back in the end,” you said, your gaze falling to the floor. matthew had gotten a few good hits in on leon during a fight later in the game.

“well, i appreciate the thought, but i’m okay. and yeah, i guess we’re even; for now.”

“does that mean you wouldn’t be interested in doing something that would really piss him off?” you asked, looking up to meet his blue eyes, his eyebrow twitching upward slightly with intrigue.

“why do i get the feeling you’re hoping i am interested?” he took a step closer, and you could smell his cologne now. “big brother do something to make you mad?” he asked, and you found yourself smiling, despite the fact that he was teasing you.

“that’s irrelevant,” you rolled your eyes playfully, taking a step closer so you were only about a foot apart now as you looked up at him. “besides, i’m thinking as much as i would like to get him back, it’s probably best he doesn’t know what i’m thinking right now.”

“yeah, i’m sure he wouldn’t be too happy to know his sister was waiting for me after the game,” he agreed, his eyes travelling up and down your body again.

“leon and everyone left already. i told them i was going back to my hotel room…”

“will they notice if you’re not there?” he asked. and you shook your head with a smile. “then i think we could make a quick detour first..” he trailed off, throwing an arm over your shoulder and leading you down the hallway. “here, don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself.” he threw his suit jacket over your shoulders to cover your jersey as the two of you snuck out of the arena and to his car.

“embarrassed to be seen with me?” you teased as he opened the passenger door for you.

“i was more thinking about how it might look to the paparazzi if they happened to stumble upon us leaving together.”

“wouldn’t that be the scandal of the season,” you laughed as he started the car and drove out of the parking lot and towards his house.

you were barely inside the door before you were trapped between it and his body, matthews hands holding your waist firmly.

“you sure you want this?” he asked, his hips pressed against yours as you stared up at him. “it’s probably a really bad idea…”

“i thought you liked breaking the rules?” you smirked, placing your hands on his chest and sliding them upwards to tangle in his hair.

“hmm i have been known to do that,” he leaned down to capture your lips with his, and tou tugged on his hair as his hands slid under your jersey, bunching the material up. “either way, edmonton jerseys are forbidden in my house so this has to come off,” he smiled.

•

“so not that i care, but was this just to piss your brother off?” matthew asked as he walked back from the bathroom after getting cleaned up, dressed in just his sweatpants.

“sounds like you care a little bit-“ you teased, covering yourself with the blankets on his bed.

“i don’t!” he laughed, and you shook your head with a smile as he handed you a t-shirt to wear.

“mhm,” you hummed. “i’ll be honest, i’ve thought you were cute for a while. pissing leon off was really just a bonus.”

“good to know you weren’t just using me-“ you threw a pillow at him and he laughed as he caught it, crawling back into bed next to you. “okay, i kind of used you just as much, so i guess we’re even. i do love any chance to make your brother angry, but i think that this might be my new favourite,” he said before he kissed your lips.

“agreed,” you smiled, reaching over to grab your phone as it began to buzz on his nightstand. leon’s name appeared on the screen, and you rolled your eyes as you answered it, gesturing for matthew to be quiet.

“hello,” you said plainly, still a little mad at him despite how good of a distraction you’d had for the last two hours. you could see matthew moving closer in your peripheral vision, and you felt his breath on your ear.

“i’m sorry,” leon said on the phone held to your other ear, and you sighed, your breath catching as you felt kisses up the side of your neck. you froze as matty nibbled at the skin of your throat, leaving a light bruise behind as you tried not to make a noise.

“yeah, you were kind of an asshole. i’m kind of glad you lost, actually,” you said, and it was half true.

matthew had to stifle a laugh as he laid down next to you, covering his mouth with his hand.

“i wish you had come to dinner. we missed you,” leon sighed.

“it didn’t seem like you missed me very much earlier,” you replied. “i’d appreciate if you didn’t take it out on me when you lose.”

“i know, i’m sorry. i’ll see you in the morning?” he asked.

“yes, i’ll be there for breakfast. goodnight leon.”

“goodnight,” he replied, before ending the call. you tossed your phone aside as you hit matthew playfully on the shoulder.

“do you know how much trouble we would be in if we got caught?”

“i thought that was the half the fun?” he smiled, crawling on top of you and kissing your lips.

“maybe i’ve decided i want to live to do this again sometime.”

“i like that idea.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter four

check out the hockey glossary here (updated through chapter four)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

credit to weatherwaxed for the truly horrendous and accurate hockey nickname for Tommy

read Chapter Four on ao3

Tommy’s ears are still ringing.

Kane’s been sent off for a game misconduct, and Diaz’s nose doesn’t seem to be too much worse for the wear, although he’s going to have a nasty shiner on both eyes by the time this game is through. Hen’s done what she can to patch them both up, while Nash talks them through how the hell they’re going to come back from a four goal deficit in twenty minutes, in Edmonton, with McDavid on a hot streak and Hyman one goal away from a hatty.

Tommy’s already done his part — with the Oilers up by three Kane had taken a run at Diaz, elbow angled just right to get him right beneath the bucket, square between his eyes, and Tommy had almost jumped the gun trying to get on the ice before anyone could skate off to give him the opportunity. No call, of course, just the jeers of eighteen thousand or so fans while McKinley screamed at the refs, but the whistle had given Nash the opportunity to throw Tommy out on the ice, and Knoblauch had left Kane out to take his lumps, no doubt certain a fight would just keep the momentum rolling.

Kane had gotten his licks. It’d been a fairly evenly matched fight, right up until Tommy had squirmed his way out from the sweater Kane had been attempting to trap him in and gone full tilt with just shoulder pads for his opponent to try to get leverage with.

His knuckles are split. He can still taste the blood in his mouth. He’s running hot, even now, knee jumping up and down with no conscious effort as he listens to coach try to rally them, but Edmonton had scored almost immediately after Kane had been sent off for chirping a ref after serving his five, and they’re short on momentum, at the moment. It’s been a span of rough days — losing at home to the two-seed in their division, ending the home winning streak. Two new guys slotted into the lineup post-trade deadline who haven’t had the time to build up the chemistry they need. Two back-to-backs with travel time in a week and a half.

They’re tired. They’re annoyed with each other. They keep fumbling the puck in the neutral zone and giving Edmonton the chance to skate it in without challenge. Tommy’d won the fight and it hadn’t rallied shit, and honestly? Tommy’s a little annoyed about that. Kane’s not an easy down, and Tommy’d had him on the ice taking a fist to the gut before stripes had managed to separate them.

This is the point in the game where Tommy cedes his ice time to the skill players — the speedsters, the play-makers, who are all staring at Nash right now like they’re thinking about the mini-bars in their hotel rooms.

Tommy is annoyed.

Nash ends his spiel with five minutes left to go in the intermission and disappears out into the hallway. That’s not abnormal — for all his quiet confidence he’s rarely a hype-man. The problem is right now no one is a fucking hype man.

Tommy shifts his weight, eyes on Diaz as Panikkar mumbles to himself next to him. The ice he’s had on his hand is already too warm to be doing much, and he’s halfway to standing up and spending the next four minutes trying to convince Hen that frozen packs of peas are actually miles better than her gel-packs when he notices one of the new guys shooting him a shifty look.

“Skinner’s taking chances behind the net because he thinks we won’t take advantage of them,” Tommy says, just loud enough to lower the volume of the sporadic chatter. “Hyman’s been nursing his left side all game from the stinger in the first, and they’re leaving gaps in coverage all over the ice. We’ve played this game before. We’ve won this game before.” Two weeks ago, on home ice, with the ability to make the last change and a team fully refreshed after the All-Star break, but Tommy doesn’t feel like that part is necessary to point out. “We’re passing too much, and we’re spinning our wheels for the perfect shot when we should be shooting everything at the net. We’re not gonna get a lucky fucking bounce if we’re all doing geometry on the move trying to find a lane.”

“Great points,” Ravi says, the bratty little tone of his voice betraying him, and Tommy presses his weight down on the bench in an effort not to pick a fight. “Or maybe they’re on three days of rest and a heater.”

Tommy rolls his tongue over his teeth, darts a glance around the room. Three minutes to puck drop, and the room is ready to pack it in. “Anyone else gonna tell me why I wasted a fight on this?” Across the room, Diaz smirks at him, and a few of them shift in their seats. “Or do we wanna put on our big boy pants and play out the next twenty minutes like they mean something?”

As far as rousing speeches go, it’s no St. Crispin’s. But McKinley’s admonished look shifts into that blank-faced zen stare he gets sometimes, right before he runs it up, and the new guys seem to have a bit more energy.

The time ticks down, and they head down the tunnel, and Tommy takes a seat on the bench, fully prepared for his little pep talk to fall on deaf ears.

Buckley shifts closer to Tommy as they all scoot down the bench, three shifts into the third. "McDavid's injured," he says unprompted, and Tommy shoots him a look from behind his visor. "Listen, I know it sounds crazy but he's weak on his left wing right now, and I have a plan."

"You tell Nash this plan?"

"Next time you're out with us, just get to the net."

"Buckley, if I'm out for more than thirty seconds we've already lost this game."

"Just get to the net, Kinard."

Tommy can't help the snotty little salute he sends Buck's way, but three minutes later he's chasing down Ravi, for once grateful that his speed is shit because it means he's never in danger of an offsides call when Panikkar skates the puck in past the blue line. Diaz and Buckley aren't far behind him, so Tommy shoulders his way past two Oilers and plants himself in front of the net.

And then they're passing.

This shits not gonna work. He can feel Skinner behind him, trying to pick out the puck between the bodies blocking his view, and Tommy takes a moment to watch Diaz circling, and Buckley quarterbacking from the top of the zone, Ravi searching out a lane while Buck tosses it back to Landstrom, who returns it to Buck. Near the top of the circles McDavid is skating into the passes and nursing his left side.

Shit.

Buck's right.

Tommy shifts to the other side of the crease. He's got Hyman unknowingly screening the left side of the net, and if Buck can get some separation between Nurse and McDavid --

The puck comes screaming in on Hyman's right, and Tommy shifts his stick, angles it and —

He doesn't even fucking care if it hits Hyman or his stick before it tips into the net over Skinner's shoulder. The crowd noise drops off, and Diaz and Buckley are speeding towards him.

The three of them go slamming into the boards, Diaz and Buckley shouting incomprehensibly, and then Ravi and Landstrom are there too. One of them has a hand on his bucket, shaking his head indiscriminately back and forth, and another one is yelling, and over on the bench, in the sudden deadening of the crowd noise, he can hear Donato and McKinley both celebrating, sticks smacking against the boards.

Tommy’s already halfway to the bench when Diaz and Buckley both have to circle back and send him to the front of their line for glove taps, and as he clambers back over the boards to greet a full barrage of back slaps and bucket-smacks, the refs actually have to come over and warn them to cool it with the celebration.

Buckley settles onto the bench next to him with a bright grin as Nash sends out their second line. “Told you,” he says, the sparkle in his eyes almost cartoonish against the harsh glare of the ice, and before Tommy can think of anything clever to say, he’s turning back to Diaz and the iPad.

---

Tie game, with three minutes left, and the Bobby Blender has somehow worked well enough to give them a chance to win this game. Tommy’s been out for maybe a minute and a half of the last fifteen. He’s feeling pretty fucking good about both the fight, and the dubiously moralizing speech he’d made, when McDavid intercepts a sloppy pass and suddenly has open ice between the blue line and the net.

There’s a certain noise, that happens in an arena, when a particular player has possession of the the puck and speed on his side. A sudden hush, the air being sucked out of the room, before a wild roar taken up by thousands upon thousands of voices, and as Buckley and Diaz chase him down Tommy’s waiting for the inevitable sound of the goal buzzer.

Chim pulls off a stunner of a poke check half a foot outside his crease and while McDavid spins into the turn behind the net, looking about ready to break his stick on the boards, Buckley and Diaz have caught Edmonton in a change — it’s a dumb change, Tommy has no idea why they’d chosen a breakaway as the moment to swap out players, but Diaz has a sheet of free ice to pass it off to McKinley, who is screaming down the ice.

Tommy checks the clock. A minute forty, and McKinley makes a clean break between two Oilers down the stretch, and then he’s free as a fucking bird, ten feet between him and the crease — five, and Skinner miscalculates exactly how many dekes McKinley has in him; the puck slides in five hole and Buckley and Diaz circle up while the entire bench explodes around Tommy.

---

Across the table, Buckley keeps shooting him looks. He’s grown familiar with some of Evan Buckley’s looks, over the past month or so, but he can’t quite parse this one. Before he can raise a brow, tilt his head, try to figure out exactly what the look had all been about, Buck shifts his gaze to Nash, up the table, telling a story about one of his fights when he’d played for the Stingrays.

Next to him, Eddie taps at his shoulder again, phone out to show him yet another comment thread about Tommy’s fight. This one seems to be slightly less horny than the last one, but he’s still not entirely sure he understands why Diaz hops on there so often.

Eddie chuckles when Tommy gets three comments down and rolls his eyes before returning to his food, and across the table, Buck turns to look at them both again. When he catches Tommy looking back, his eyes swivel away.

“No, hold on, listen to this one: Nards could drop me like he dropped Kane tonight and I’d still beg him to —.”

“—Okay,” Tommy interrupts, and Eddie cackles, fingers darting across his phones keyboard like he’s about to do something Josh Russo will absolutely take umbrage with.

“Telling you not to send that reply is just an exercise in futility, isn’t it?”

Eddie raises a brow, lips pursed while he continues to type. He hums. “Josh is gonna be pissed I’m not using my burner account right now. Muy inapropiado.”

Tommy’s not great with Spanish, but it’s not really a stretch to decipher that one. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Buckley leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, a look of consternation on his face, gaze focused intently on whatever story O’Connor is telling now.

“Don’t show it to me. I want to have the ability to claim ignorance.”

“Fine, but I’m tagging you in it.”

“The last thing I posted on there was three years ago.”

“Well, the fan who’s clinging to ‘Nards’ as your nickname is still gonna assume you saw it.” Eddie darts his gaze up with a grin. “Can I call you Cojones?”

“No,” Tommy tells him, but he can feel the lines around his mouth stretching almost to his ears as he shakes his head. “My nonna would rise from her grave to slap my wrist and yell stugotsa before she returned to her slumber.”

Buckley picks at his salad across the table, frown still prominent, and Tommy tries his hardest not to find the pout of his lower lip appealing. He’s not — they’re not — but he’s barely gone a night in his own bed without a phone call from Buck, who’d taken Tommy’s one call to him in the early morning hours before a meaningless exhibition game as blanket permission to spend an hour before sleeping every night talking Tommy’s ear off.

Tommy doesn’t hate it.

(Tommy is very aware that he’s treading a tight rope with too much slack, and can’t get a read on the end-game for the life of him.)

He’s intriguing , is the problem. Beyond the curls in his hair that always appear after twenty minutes tucked under his helmet, beyond the wine-dark splash of his birthmark, beyond the sea-glass gleam of his gaze and the gentle slope of his cheekbones, the frankly ridiculous cut of his Adonis belt and the ass that fills out his dress pants on game days, he is miles more interesting than any man Tommy’s met in years, and he knows plenty of interesting men. He knows more useless trivia than Tommy could fill a book with, and hires chefs to teach him how to make his chickpea pasta, has terrible opinions on Star Wars (according to Christopher Diaz), a codependent relationship with his partner. He’s absolutely obsessed with hockey lore, and on top of that he’s sweet, and kind, and so fucking generous with his time.

Tommy’d watched him spend forty-five minutes with fans in the parking lot outside their practice facility, signing pucks and sweaters and posters, talking to each individual kid like he’d known them for years, taking selfies and talking to parents.

He’d spent that evening under the hood of Diaz’ Chevelle and watching Eddie struggle to make any sense of his son’s homework while slyly derailing the conversation by mentioning Buck, and that night listening to Buck walk him through the history of invasive plants, with twenty minutes reserved for kudzu alone.

Tommy is, in all frankness, a little fucked. He’s well aware, at this point, how heterosexual all of Evan Buckley’s previous romantic entanglements have been, with the help of Christopher, and the fly-by from Eddie to bitch about the latest girl who’d apparently found his brush with death to be the most intriguing thing about him. (He still has the silvery wisp of the scar on his neck from where Kucherov’s blade had nicked him — half an inch to the left, a few millimeters deeper, and Buck would have bled out on the ice in front of eighteen-thousand horrified fans.)

Which isn’t even taking into account how insane Tommy would have to be to throw out twenty years of carefully curated lies about himself to even think about this in anything more than the abstract.

(And Buck is still young — Tommy’s almost out but Buck’s got years ahead of him, in a league so behind the times that Travis Dermott shooting a big fat fuck you to the commissioner by playing with colorful tape on his stick had been seen as an act of ballsy rebellion.)

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about the lingering glances, the flirty head tilts, the tone of Evan Buckley’s voice when he’s teasing.

“...hear her purr, now,” Eddie says beside him, with a smack to the meat of Tommy’s shoulder, and he glances up from his plate to find Buck staring at them both.

“Cool,” Buck says, a moment before he stands, dropping his napkin onto the table. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

Eddie, apparently not catching the tone of his voice, just grins at his friend. “Yeah, you need all the beauty sleep you can get.”

Coming from the man with deep purpling bruises blooming under both eyes, it doesn’t seem to hold much weight, but Buck scowls anyway, a moment before he turns to leave.

---

Tommy tosses and turns for an hour, unable to get comfortable, rolling over their next few opponents in his mind; thinking through the way Buck had looked at him in the moments before he’d walked out of the hotel restaurant; pondering the last thing his therapist had said to him, two weeks ago, when he’d been stuck on something he’d said to his father five years earlier; wincing every time he flexed his hand and was reminded of how sturdy Kane’s jaw was.

He’s contemplating popping one of the pain pills Hen had given him when he finally admits to himself exactly why he’s having trouble sleeping.

His phone has been dark since he passed Eddie’s door on the way to his own.

It’s not abnormal that he doesn’t talk to Buck, after a game on the road. It makes sense, in the context of the last few weeks — they’ve all been a little wired, with so little time between games, so much travel in between. They don’t have another game for three days and all of them should be resting, recuperating. Buckley’s played over twenty-five minutes the last two nights in a row, and less than twenty-four hours before that he’d played almost twenty-eight.

But the gentle hum of Buckley’s voice as it grew tired has become something of a white noise machine to Tommy, and... he’s missing it.

He rambles around his room for ten minutes, tosses a twenty on the desk when he finds the frozen peas he’d asked the concierge for chilling in the freezer of the mini-fridge, fluffs his pillows, contemplates trying to find a shitty rom com on his Netflix account.

When the peas sweat through the hand towel he’d wrapped them in, he tosses them back in the fridge and leaves a note for housekeeping and an extra twenty.

Tommy stares at the ceiling for another ten minutes before he picks up his phone and sends the most cliché text imaginable. You up?

The message glares back at him, mocking him, and Tommy contemplates unsending it while it sits unread for thirty seconds, a minute.

He’s hovering his finger over the message when he gets a read receipt.

A bubble pops up. Disappears.

Three minutes pass, and they appear again, and just as quickly disappear.

He’s just about to plug his phone back into his charger and call it a wash when the text comes through.

Sorry, talking to my sister. Get some sleep, man.

Buck follows it up with a gif of Stanley Hudson passed out in front of his desk, and Tommy takes it for the dismissal it is.

[jimothytimothymiller]

that’s petey’s first multipoint game since march. so much of the talk around him has been “he’s playing well defensively but they’re not paying him for defense” etc. and how he still looked hesitant but i’m serious… petey will be back to form in the next month or two.

he has been here before!!! the contracts get in his head!!! it really sucks!!! but when this happened before he came back BETTER than before his cold streak.

last time he had his cold streak it ended gradually with one multi point game… and then another… and then 3 and 4 point games… it’s coming and we’re seeing it happen.

the effort is back. he is still a bit hesitant but less so than before. his defensive game is great. he’s getting open and getting into position. he made numerous attempts and plays tonight without hesitation.

he may be pointless next game but that’s ok! even when he’s hot he doesn’t get a point in every single game, but he makes up for it with the multipoint games.

i am confident this multi-point game means we are through the worst of it.

tonight’s game does not have me panicked whatsoever. the canucks held their own in the first and second period and stuck to their structure.

i think the issue with the first period is that they had an extra defensemen and had to roll numerous different lines, but once they locked in the game looked well matched.

the second period was great. shots for both teams were equal at the end. the oilers weren’t having the same extensive offensive zone pressure we saw in period one.

i was really impressed with hronek and raty. hronek just seemed to have found his game there in the first and second. raty made numerous plays on one shift to keep the puck in the o-zone when i was CERTAIN he was about to lose it. he stayed calm and relieved pressure. he played very well.

i’m not sure what happened in the third. the canucks seemed a bit loose and that was exacerbated by the oilers fourth goal. i think tocchet should have called a time out to calm the canucks down - i was saying this to my fiancé right as hronek took that penalty which the oilers scored on.

the canucks structure seemed to further break down after that. pulling lankinen calmed them a bit but it was too late. i’m glad they got back to their game and they grabbed another goal, though.

i really thought they’d have this one! i think it could have gone differently if they could have taken a breath in the third.

i’m excited to see their next game. i really enjoyed this one despite that third period breakdown. there were a lot of good pieces here. a lot to build on.

[bropunzeling]

oh mannn inspired by your last ask, we all knows the oilers!matthew takes, but your thoughts on Florida!leon?

the thing is........ a future fic where through the twists and turns of fate leon somehow ends up in florida....... it could be so TASTY. it very much folds into a future fic concept ive been pawing at (and have probably talked about before but guess what and you'll hear it again dot gif):

so. for a while there, they were having sex. a lot of it. the kind of sex you can have with someone whose opinion won't change about you, or so you think -- mean, with an edge. sex that sometimes rode the line of too much, too intense. sex that, as it kept happening, kept creeping closer and closer to exposing a part of leon he wasn't sure he wanted to reveal. and yet he kept doing it. and yet, two years in, he was uncomfortably aware of all the shit he'd do and let matthew do to him.

then: a very messy not actually a break up around the trade (maybe matthew didn't tell leon he was going to leave because, like, it's not like they're together together. maybe it wasn't until matthew left that leon figured out how close to together he thought they were). and of course losing the cup final would only make leon dislike and resent matthew more (made worse by the flicker of softness he can't bring himself to blow out). the point is by summer 2024 leon is pretty sure he hates matthew's guts. would be happy to never see him again.

shenanigans. tomfoolery. leon gets traded somewhere? a couple seasons in the wilderness. the point is it's been a few years -- more than a few -- when he winds up in florida as he tries to chase down a cup. back in matthew's orbit again.

it's brutal, and weird, because it's like -- it's like matthew's managed to move all the way on (which makes sense. he left, after all. he won.) and leon would like to think he has, but quickly realizes that he hasn’t. he doesn't appreciate matthew treating him with such impersonal amiability. he doesn't like when matthew invites him to stuff. he doesn't like the way barkov looks at him sometimes, like he’s in on a secret. he doesn’t like how often he keeps catching himself staring at matthew, wondering if matthew remembers how it used to be. if matthew can still make it so he doesn't have to think anymore.

of course they're going to fall into bed together. and fuck -- it's not how it used to be. it's better -- worse -- it's matthew being careful with leon in a way he never used to, back when they were young, back when leon told himself all that mattered about what they did was if he could still come out on top on the ice. leon wants it to hurt and it does but not the way he remembers it.

even so, he wants to do it again. brings it up the next morning, poking at the bruises on his torso, rumpled and creased in matthew's sheets.

matthew blinks. swallows. says, hoarsely, i don't think we should do this again.

(bc matthew wants to make sure leon can get his cup but leon takes it all the wrong way and they have some horrible cathartic fights before working their way towards something they can build on but also don't worry they'll still have highly undernegotiated weird sex and maybe leon cries!!!)

[stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu]

Alright guys! Here we go again lol 🫡🫡

No matter what happens tonight, no matter how this series ends, whether or not it’s tonight or next week, it’ll be ok! This season, and even getting to the final has been nothing short of a miracle, and I’m so glad that I was able to spend all of it with you all!! Even if tonight is sad, and hurtful, and miserable, I’m still going to do my best to have fun :) Thanks everybody for all the fun times in the lb and just in general!! I’m excited to spend the game with you all tonight, even if we lose, but having said that, we’re totally going to win tonight!!!! Go Oilers!!!!!! 🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (142-144)

Holden Chase, head trauma, and unintended consequences.

If you're reading along, the series page is here.

142. Ellipsis

You know, seems kind of sadistic to give this title to a chapter that ends the way it did. Not an apology, just an acknowledgment.

He went to the Hockey Hall of Fame in his rookie year, refused to touch the Cup, just in case. Dumb superstition, but more than that, if he touches it, he wants it to be because he earned it, not because he paid twenty bucks at the entrance. He went to the Empire State Building with some of the Oilers once, and Julius wore a supremely bored expression all day, all ‘New York is beneath me’.

Even Jared has gone to the Empire State Building more times than David Chapman, resident of New York for years, confirmed.

Minnesota’s fucking cold, and he’s saying this as an Albertan.

Went to Minnesota on TOTI research trip (my brother worked for a Minnesota based company at the time and he got a tag-a-long to a work thing that he in no way, shape, or form requested). Anyway, can confirm: was fucking cold.

Jared gets started on his packing as well. Just the socks and underwear, since he’s sure Bryce has ideas about what he’s going to wear, and will be all appalled that Jared packed like, a red sweater when obviously it’s green sweater season, Jared, how did you not realise that it was green sweater season, don’t you pay attention at all to the sweater seasons?

*

Bryce is grey sweatered and borderline hyperactive in his cheerfulness on the flight out.

Foolish Jared, it’s clearly grey sweater season.

Jared imagines money’s been bet, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or like, stress him out. Bryce happily co-existing with their teammates is worth him losing some money at cards once in awhile. Or like, often. He’s really not very good, from what Jared’s gathered, so obviously everyone is happy to have him join in. But Bryce doesn’t mind, so Jared doesn’t mind. Much. They play for stakes the call-ups and ELC guys can afford, so it’s not exactly going to bankrupt them, no matter how many games Bryce loses.

Bryce is enthusiastic and terrible, which makes him the ideal person to play cards against, even before you get into the fact he makes more than most of his teammates make less money than he does and therefore the stakes seem low to him. That’s a Stevie rule — nobody’s betting more than the player paid the least on the team can stomach. This is a way to pass time on the plane, not a gambling ring.

Ashley is pregnant. Like, Jared knew this, obviously he knew this, they were told right before they left — weeks after Raf and Grace found out, and he is not upset about this — but there’s a difference between knowing and seeing. She’s not like, about to give birth or anything, but they definitely would have noticed if they hadn’t been told in advance. Probably. Maybe.

Bryce would have noticed, at least.

Jared a) is obviously extremely upset about this and b) would absolutely not have noticed, but he’s right that Bryce would have.

Jared mortifies himself in front of David Chapman, which is great. Totally fine. Absolutely not something that will haunt him for the rest of his life, and may actually lead to a premature death due to intense shame.

“You’re exaggerating,” Raf says over breakfast the next morning. “He didn’t even notice.”

Two things can be true. Jared DID mortify himself in front of David. And David did not notice.

“No offence?” Raf says. “But David’s kind of — not oblivious, exactly? Well, kind of. Trust me, he didn’t notice. I can almost guarantee he’s already forgotten your name, let alone anything you said to him.”

Accurate summary except where Raf said ‘not oblivious, exactly’, because he IS oblivious, exactly. At least in this particular matter.

“I mean you were flirting with another dude in front of him all night,” Raf says. “So I don’t really blame him.”

So apparently Bryce was not the only one who got the impression that Jared was flirting with David. Great. Terrific. Wonderful.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jared moans. “It wasn’t flirting, it was like — word vomit.”

Jared thinks someone is pretty, Jared loses control of his mouth. Well. Remaining control.

“Maybe don’t call David out of your league when you’re explaining why it wasn’t meaningful flirtation?” Raf says.

“That’s great advice,” Jared says. It truly is. “Except I already did that.”

Raf shrugs. “Would have told you not to flirt with David but—“

Jared thunks his head back on the table.

Raf has endured so much.

He found this one pretty funny though, to be honest. Like, mortifying to witness at the time, but over breakfast the next morning? Hilarious.

Bryce is no longer mad at him by the time they get to Buffalo. Or maybe he is, but not mad enough not to sneak into Jared’s room for a gameday nap, and Jared’s too relieved to remind Bryce about his ironclad ‘no sleeping together on the road, yes that means naps too’ rule. Which is apparently less ironclad and more ‘unless I fucked up and hurt your feelings in which case do whatever you want’.

Annnnd the ironclad rule has been broken.

then Hartford’s a quick, surprisingly easy win, one that’ll probably lead to a dozen Moby-Dick references in game-write ups from beat writers who think they’re clever.

Cue William Dineen pointing out that orcas are dolphins, actually.

There’s also a difference between quietly missing his family a bit and the loud ‘thank fuck we’re almost home’ that’s going on with a lot of his teammates right now, Dmitry the loudest among them. Everybody’s glad to be going home. Nobody needs to say it repeatedly at increasing volume.

“He’s got kids,” Bryce says.

“Okay?” Jared says.

“He’s got kids,” Bryce says, like Jared didn’t hear him the first time.

Dmitry hasn’t seen his children in several weeks. He missed them very very much.

Dmitry says something loudly about missing his kids. Bryce nods earnestly like this isn’t the tenth time he’s heard it. Today.

Very very much.

“They are getting so big and I am missing it all!” Dmitry groans. “All of the moments, Bullet! I have abandoned them!”

Bryce makes wordless soothing noises as Dmitry puts his face in his hands.

Very VERY much.

“Okay, he’s a little dramatic,” Gabe says, and Jared grins.

Also yes this.

Not seeing something coming is the biggest cliché. In general, but specifically in hockey.

I acknowledge, I do not apologise.

He doesn’t see it coming. Puck on his stick, back to the play. He does a shoulder check, and he’s clear, the Bruins defender on him peeling away, presumably for a change, and the puck’s off his tape, pass executed, on its way to Dmitry, and then there’s nothing at all.

So just to be clear: that pass was executed far enough before the hit that Jared was not eligible for contact anymore. It was a late hit. It would have been boarding even if it wasn’t, but it was late as well.

143. Washed Clean

“Okay, that’s okay, you’re fine,” he hears. It’s Gabe, he thinks, but he doesn’t open his eyes again to check. “You’re fine, okay Jared?”

“I’m fine,” Jared mumbles.

“You’re perfectly fine,” Gabe says back.

Gabe holds it together admirably until he gets home because he feels that’s what’s needed of him, but man is he freaking the fuck out right now.

“I want you to stay still for me,” Graham says. Jared assumes he’s saying it to him and not Gabe.

“Don’t move my head,” Jared says.

“Exactly,” Graham says. “Can you move your extremities?”

“You just told me to stay still,” Jared says. “Which one is it.”

The RELIEF Gabe feels at Jared being snippy.

“You’re okay?” he says from a careful distance, like if he breaches it he’ll break.

Bryce is 100% sure that if he gets within five feet of Jared right now he will not be in control of his own actions. He’s thisclose to not caring.

Getting out of there’s a mess. It’s the same as usual, honestly, doesn’t take any longer, or have any more logistical snarls, but whatever remained of Jared’s energy ran out before they even left TD Garden, and his head hurts too much to look at his phone, do anything but keep telling himself the painkillers haven’t kicked in, that he just has to wait, even though it’s well past time they would have started working. He feels like he’s going to cry every time he blinks. He hurts.

I can think of worse places to have a brutal headache than a hockey arena, but not many. Fluorescents, strong smells, so many people coming and going, people calling out, yelling — total nightmare.

Jared is on the verge of tears for a good hour or so, here.

“Back of the plane will be quieter,” Gabe says. “Let me check with Munch.”

Munch apparently gives them the last row without argument, which has Jared wondering just how bad that hit looked, because he’s as much a superstitious creature of habit as anyone Jared’s ever met, and no way would he cede his usual seat without good cause.

Munch is indeed extraordinarily superstitious, but Jared is as white as a sheet, and Munch doesn’t want to be haunted by ghost Jared. Also he has empathy. But mostly it’s the not wanting to be haunted.

He breathes small, shallow breaths, fighting the urge to grab Gabe’s hand and squeeze until someone else knows exactly how bad he feels. That’s unkind. Also his skin hurts, so it’d probably hurt him even more than it’d hurt Gabe.

Unkind may not stop Jared, but self-defeating will.

“How’s your head?” Bryce says, carefully quiet.

“Hurts,” Jared says. “My heart beats too much.”

Bryce looks extremely alarmed.

‘heart beats too much’ sounds like an alarming development without context, yes.

Bryce leans into him, nose nudging his hair.

“You scared the shit out of me, babe,” Bryce murmurs against his temple, barely louder than Jared’s own heart.

“Sorry,” Jared mumbles, and he feels the flutter of Bryce’s lashes when he shuts his eyes, forehead cool against Jared’s skin like maybe Jared’s running a fever.

Jared flinches at the sound of a toilet flushing, louder than it should be, but doesn’t put it together, cause and effect, until Stevie says, “Whoa, wifeys are going to be jealous.”

This is a real fucking soft moment for Stevie to blunder into. Also he’s usually better at this, but, you know: he’s a bit wired right now. Red Bulls. Finally getting to go home after literal weeks. Etc.

He doesn’t sound like his heart’s in it anymore, but Jared appreciates the attempt to keep it chill. Not chill enough, though: Jared can feel Bryce, a line of tight tension beside him, the space he put between them almost a presence in itself. And Jared knew Bryce telling Dmitry didn’t necessarily mean — he knew that. He shouldn’t be surprised.

He’s quietly so disappointed here. Easy to miss, since Bryce comes out in the same scene, but.

“Nothing to be jealous of,” Bryce says, and Jared’s half-expecting a ‘no homo’ moment, is just — tired — except Bryce says, “Considering we’re married to each other, so.”

So disappointed, and then Bryce keeps talking.

“Sorry,” Stevie whispers. “But — really?”

“Really,” Gabe says. He’s a few rows ahead, so if he overheard their conversation he’s not the only one. Jared doesn’t have the brain power to think about that right now. “Give them some space, Stevedore.”

Stevedore (dockworker) is such a good fucking nickname for a marine themed team. Only team it’d be better for is the Whalers.

Also such a Gabe nickname. Deep cuts from Gabriel Markson. Tate Williams would appreciate him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jared says.

“Yes I did,” Bryce says, and finds Jared’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

He really did. Standing at a distance from Jared when he was in pain, even though nothing was technically stopping Bryce from reaching out, getting updates from Gabe even though he was right there — once he sat down next to Jared he wasn’t getting up again. And once he was close enough to touch Jared nobody was hiding shit.

Jared is pretty sure that’s impossible, but he manages eventually, and not just a cat nap, because he wakes up to the change of air pressure, fingers still laced loosely with Bryce’s, who’s on his phone, typing awkwardly with his left hand.

Every time Bryce makes a decision he pretty much ensures it’s irrevocable. Okay: I’m out. Not letting go of my husband’s hand for the next few hours, anyone using the back bathroom can mind their own fucking business.

“I let everyone know you weren’t doing screentime,” Bryce says. “Your mom says to call them when you feel up to it. Her and your dad are super freaked out. And my mom. She sent me like, fifty texts while you were sleeping. Sorry, I’m talking too much. I was really — I’m talking too much. I’m sorry.”

He knows Jared has a headache so he’ll be quiet now, don’t worry.

(He was so fucking scared.)

“Yeah,” Bryce says, letting go of his hand to dig up a travel bottle. Jared’s fingers feel cold. He wonders if Bryce let go once when he was sleeping, or if he spent the entire trip with their fingers laced, texting Jared’s parents, Elaine, the group chat, awkwardly one-handed the whole time.

Second one.

Julius’ texts go from mildly concerned, to irritated Jared’s not answering, to moderately concerned, to angry Jared’s not answering, and then land on severely concerned. Jared wonders if they should wait to see if he hits infuriated that Jared’s not answering, or if he’s just going to stay in severely concerned until he gets a text back.

“Send him a thumbs up emoji and nothing else,” Jared says. “I wanna see how he responds.”

“I’m not doing that,” Bryce says, sounding utterly horrified, and Jared smiles.

Possibly the meanest thing Jared ever does to Julius, and he stole his blanket and introduced him to his evil sister. (Or, it would have been if Bryce had obliged. Which he was absolutely not going to do)

Jared doesn’t know if that’s something management already told them, but he doesn’t think so, because they’ve treated Jared the same since he got to Vancouver. He likes his coaches. Really hopes that isn’t about to change, go sour the way Jared’s relationship with Oilers management did.

Jared doesn’t mention coach reaction at length, focused more on team, but coaching staff continue to treat him exactly the same, minus a few awkward shoulder punches.

“I’m gonna drive you guys home,” Gabe says.

Bryce frowns. “I can—“

“No offence?” Gabe says. “You do not look good to drive right now, Bryce.”

Bryce 100% looks worse than Jared at this point.

They should buy him like, a fruit basket or something. Jared doesn’t really know what’s appropriate for ‘hey thanks for looking out for me after I got steamrolled and probably handling the guys so they didn’t come swarming us with questions’. Elaine will probably know. She’s good at those sort of things.

Elaine suggests a gift basket featuring chocolate.

“I don’t even know,” Bryce says. “Think there was a 7 on his jersey? It was a board battle, I don’t think it was on purpose.”

James, and no, it was not on purpose.

“You get him?” Jared asks, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Dima did,” Bryce says. “He said if I did I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

100% for the best, Bryce was not in his right mind; it wouldn’t have been a hockey fight, it would have been assault.

“Okay,” Jared says. “You don’t — you can touch me, you know. I’m not going to break.”

“Okay,” Bryce murmurs, fingers still slowly carding through Jared’s hair, and Jared can feel Bryce’s lips brush his forehead, so light that he knows Bryce doesn’t believe him.

Oh my darlings.

144. Unvarnished

“Have you just been sitting in the car the whole time?” Jared asks. He texted Bryce to meet at the car, but apparently he didn’t need to bother, since Bryce is exactly where Jared left him. He could have just arrived, but Jared has suspicions.

Bryce looks shifty. “I didn’t want to go far in case you needed me,” he says.

Jared is unsure what situation would involve Bryce being needed — certainly not a medical emergency, since Jared was being evaluated by medical professionals — but he holds his tongue for once, which is good, because Bryce is a very, very fragile man at the moment.

He doesn’t notice at first, on the phone with his mom, who sounds weirdly un-mom like, all soft,

The people who love him all had a really bad day yesterday. Jared accepts this in the case of Bryce, you’d think he’d acknowledge his own mom might be shaken.

Bryce looks simultaneously sheepish, apologetic, and completely unrepentant all at once. Jared’s kind of impressed. It takes skill to look like you’re very, very sorry, but also get fucking used to it.

‘I’m sorry and I will not stop’

Bryce clears the Gatorade and cheese and crackers to make room for himself. Jared would ask what he’s supposed to do if he wants one of those, but that’d probably get Bryce springing up and apologising for daring to take the space of any food or beverage that Jared may need in the future. He probably shouldn’t tease Bryce — he doesn’t look like sarcasm’s going to go over well at the moment. Jared’s not the only fragile one right now. Hell, Jared may be the less fragile one right now.

Jared has no idea.

Jared holds an arm out, and sighs when Bryce looks at it almost suspiciously.

“I’m lonely,” Jared says. It comes out over-the-top, but whatever, it gets Bryce tucking himself against Jared, albeit very carefully.

Bryce knows he’s being managed, but also, Jared said he was lonely.

after Jared hands him his phone, he reads Jared one from Stephen, saying he’s glad he’s doing okay and to let him or Gabe know if they need anything, one from Gabe saying basically the same thing, and one from Dima that’s a bunch of emojis Jared can’t really make sense of: whale, thumbs up, men holding hands, heart, prayer hands — or pleading, Jared’s never sure which it’s supposed to be — hockey stick, net.

Dima: 🐳👍👬❤️️🙏

Jared: 👍

“I guess we’ll see,” is all he says. If they disappoint Bryce he’ll — he doesn’t even know what he’ll do. They better not.

Man’s already offered to set the Saddledome on fire for Bryce, you think he’ll leave Rogers Arena intact just because they play in it?

“You see my fight?” Dmitry asks. “Kicked his ass for you.”

“Bryce isn’t letting me do screens,” Jared says.

Dmitry wheels on Bryce. “He needs to see my fight!”

Dmitry thinks Bryce’s priorities suck.

“Bryce is having a very intense conversation with Grayson about whether plus-minus should be abolished as a performance metric,” Gabe says. “So he’s fine.”

Bryce is pro abolishment. Because there are better ways to track a player’s defensive stats and what’s meant to be an individual performance metric is fundamentally a team one, and that’s bullshit. Grayson doesn’t even care that much, but now he’s stuck defending it to Bryce and his wildly gesticulating hands.

“Okay this is not me being homophobic, first off,” someone says in the hall outside the bathroom. “Seriously, I’m not that guy. Totally happy for them, love is love or whatever.”

Jared freezes, because starting a statement with a homophobia disclaimer is pretty much a guarantee something extremely homophobic is about to follow. He sees Gabe doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

“But like, Bullet’s married to Math?” the guy says. “Bullet’s like, friendly happy go lucky dude and Math’s like — Math’s kind of mean.”

This is objectively the funniest conversation Jared could ever overhear. And after his death glares/60, this season, it is so very deserved.

“Stephen’s mean,” Jared hisses at him. “And old! Mean and old. That’s who you picked. A mean, old person.”

Hmm, good work proving you’re not mean, Jared. (Stephen is two days older than Gabe.)

Everyone’s over-the-top friendly, asking him how his head is, telling him they’re glad he’s feeling better, saying congrats for their marriage like it just happened, while Jared mumbles ‘thanks’ until it stops sounding like a word to him.

People are showing care and concern for Jared and he does not like it.

Jared waits by the car after a very weird practice. Bryce is back on the plus-minus subject with Grayson, and he looked so happy that Jared didn’t want to drag him away from it.

‘Please’, says Grayson. ‘I don’t even care anymore., I just want to go home’

“Yes!” Jared says. “They keep asking me how my head is and telling me how glad they are I’m feeling better. Like, everyone keeps coming up to me and saying that like they’ve got a script or something.”

Those fuckers.

“They’re just acting like it’s all like—“ Jared says.

“Like it’s all what?” Gabe asks.

“Fine,” Jared says. “They’re acting like it’s all fine and normal.”

And here’s the rub. Nobody’s treating him any differently, and for all he said they wouldn’t, he didn’t actually expect that.

“You know I’m out to the team, right?” Gabe says. “And have been for awhile? You guys aren’t exactly the first queer teammates they’ve shared a room with. The guys who need time to adjust have already had that time.”

“Yeah but it’s like,” Jared says. “I don’t know. Different this time.”

I mean, it is different, in that it’s two teammates and also Bryce is a veritable super star, but also Jared: stop talking.

“I don’t know,” Jared says, frustrated by the pinched look Gabe’s giving him. “A bigger deal? It’s like. I don’t know. You wouldn’t get it.”

Baby gay exceptionalism.

“Isn’t it so nice to have lunch with these trailblazers, Gabe?” Stephen asks. “Laying the groundwork for future generations. I hope we can be like them someday. No, that’s asking for too much. I only hope that we can understand them one day, even just a little.”

Stephen came out around the age Jared is now. That was years and years ago, because, as Jared mentioned, he is mean and old.

“I’m not hopeless,” Gabe says. “Can’t be hopeless when I have you.”

“Ew,” Stephen says flatly. “You know how I feel about schmaltz, Gabriel.”

“I’m a little hopeless sometimes,” Gabe sighs.

Still madly, hopelessly in love.

“It’s absolutely adorable that you think there is any scenario in which I’d let this go,” Stephen says, tossing his hair.

“Steve,” Gabe says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stephen says. “‘If you keep tossing your hair it’ll lose its dramatic effect’, I know.”

One of my favourite lines in the entire universe. It was a privilege and also a delight to revisit Stephen Petersen when he isn’t deep in fight-or-flight.

He swears Gabe’s eyes twinkle. He thought that was just a thing from books.

“You’re not as nice as you pretend to be,” Jared says, stomping away.

Stephen Petersen is his soulmate, what did you expect.

“Mathematics!” Dmitry says, arms out.

“Quit hugging me it’s been forever since I got hurt!” Jared says, veering around him, and stomps the rest of the way to his stall.

It has been two days.

“What?” Jared snaps, and gets a dozen ‘don’t look at me’ raised hands. “What?”

“He is kind of mean, though,” Langley says, then, “You’re just proving my point, Math!” when Jared throws a glove at him.

This room is a little terrified of him. It’s great.

[msmargaretmurry]

Ms. Blues!

Do you have any thoughts on what Leon should do next? Extend? Sign and trade?

Unforch for me I was very much hoping that the oilers would win and am too in my feels to have perspective on this. Would love to see McDrai win it in the next few years, but idk if I am completely delusional lol

hello friend! i am sorry about your sad hockey feelings, but not too sorry because obviously i was on the other side rooting for the p.anthers the whole way 😅 but i do know how crushing it feels when the team you're rooting for loses, and i hope you can find comfort in your good memories from the season and start looking forward to next season soon!

re: leon's looming contract negotiations, under the cut because i got real chatty about it, whoops

i don't really have thoughts about what he SHOULD do, because my stance on player contracts is that they should always be based on what the player wants and thinks is best for themselves. even if it's not the ideal scenario for me personally! sometimes i'll be grumpy when a player's desires go against what EYE want but in my heart i am always in favor of workers having agency regarding their working conditions. in this house we love labor rights baby. i thought that leon did a very good job in his exit interview saying tactfully that he hasn't had time to think about his next contract yet (understandable!) and that it's going to take some time and discussions with both his agent and the o.ilers to figure out what happens next (and did a good job sticking to that talking point even as the e.dmonton media got quite frankly inappropriately aggressive about it).

i wouldn't blame leon if he wants to wait until the entire next season is over to decide what to do. the worst they could do is trade him at the deadline because they're mad he won't commit, and i think that would be pretty beyond the pale LOL. if he pushes his contract negotiations out past next july 1, it's possible he and connor could negotiate at the same time, if that's something they want to do or think would be beneficial. the o.ilers are in a tough spot right now with how fully half their roster needs to be re-signed or let go — something they have to be super tactical about if they want to keep the caliber of team they had this season — and then bouch's contract is up the same time as leon's, and that kid deserves a big payday, and then obviously they'll need the money available to re-sign connor the next year. even with the salary cap going up a significant amount, i can see there being concern in leon's camp about the o.ilers having the ability to pay him what he's worth. he is already grossly underpaid and even wanting to stay there is only so much of a discount a player of his caliber can conscionably allow a team.

i do think he loves his teammates in e.dmonton. he loves playing with connor. those are definitely things that matter when it comes to contract negotiations, too. i also think that making it to the scf this year puts him under unique pressure to stay (which is another reason he might want to wait until after the coming season to figure out his next move! it would not be strange at all if he did; so many players do their contract crap in the off-season anyway!) but obviously it's also not out of the question that the o.ilers make a concerted effort to get him the contract he wants and get it done early so everyone can relax, lol.

i personally wouldn't hate seeing him play somewhere else (excluding on teams i hate, obvs), which i know sounds like sacrilege but it's for the totally selfish reason of i just so rarely root for the o.ilers and i think it'd be fun for ME to have him on a team i'm more all-in on, lol. it's truly nothing against (most of) the o.ilers players, they have some players that i'm super fond of! and some good narratives going on up there too! but my deep and ceaseless loathing of daryl k.atz easily outstrips all of that and is my unwavering guiding star here. fuck that guy fr.

so tl;dr i hope that whatever leon does is what he wants and what feels right to him. a lot of people are going to have a lot of opinions about what he should do but we don't know what's in his heart! i hope the o.ilers are respectful of the process and of whatever time he needs to take to decide, whether it's like two weeks or all season.

[hockeyandhrsepwr]

Silverstone

Je T'aime series

Previous Part: Montreal

F1 Driver reader x Jack Hughes

Two weeks after the Montreal GP, it's time for Silverstone, and the Stanley cup finals heat up

Silverstone weekend doesn’t end well, with you having a slow pit stop & ending up in 7th. You’re frustrated, but at least you still got some points. Making your way through the media pen, you get waved over by your favourite interviewer Natalie. 

“Y/N, how are you feeling after today? I imagine it’s not the result you wanted?”

“Yeah, not what we were hoping for, but we know what we need to work on & we’ll come back stronger after the break. I’m really happy for Mick with his win though. He deserved it.”

“It was great to watch him today. I’m glad to see the result didn’t get you too down. Ready for the summer break?”

“Heh, things don’t go your way sometimes but that’s the nature of the sport. We’re still in a good position point wise. But yeah, well get some work in over the summer in the factory after a little break and try to improve.”

“Going anywhere exciting?”

“Uh yeah, I’m heading back to the US for a bit. My friend Thomas, who I mentioned in Montreal, a bunch of his friends have a lake house that they all go to in the summer during the NHL break. I’ve visited over the past few years, so I’m going over there for a few weeks to catch up & have a bit of a break, then I’ll be back in Maranello for the week or so heading into Zandvoort.”

“That sounds nice! So, it’s a bit of a tradition then, for you to go there?”

“Yeah, so he first brought me 5 years ago, but now I’m friends with all of them too so I’ll go even if he can’t make it. Most of the hockey guys will make an appearance at some point over the summer, bit it’s a bit up in the air who I’ll actually see. It’s always a nice way to recharge though, the area is beautiful.”

“Well, have a lovely break y/n, and well see you in September!”

“Thanks Natalie, you have a nice break too!”

You wave and walk on to the next interview. You can’t wait to head back to Michigan and just chill for a few weeks. But first, you’re going out with Mick to celebrate his win & spend a bit of time together before you head in different ways for the summer. You hoped that you’d be able to make it back to the US and watch Jack in the cup finals, but the Devils have the series 3-0 against the Oilers. They play tonight so there’s no way you’ll make it to what could potentially be the deciding game. If they lose, which hopefully not, you’ll be able to make it to the next one. It’ll be a late night tonight with the time difference, but it gives you time to celebrate with Mick, since he really deserved the win. 

Once we clear off back to the hotel, you get a chance to call Jack. 

“Hey babe, I’m sorry about today” you sigh, “it is what it is, but I’m not here to talk about me. Ready?” 

You can hear the nerves in his voice “Were as ready as we can be. It’s not the end of the world if we lose, but It’d be great to sweep it”

“You’re going to kill it. I just wish I could be there to see it.”

“Soon, babe soon.” You hear someone yelling at him, so you know it’s time to go. “Good luck & fuck the oilers. je t’aime.”

He says it back before hanging up. 

 Knocking on your door pulls you out of your little funk, wishing you could be there tonight. “One sec” you jump up & grab your purse before opening the door to Mick & Esteban. 

“let’s GOOOO” they yell & you smile. If you can’t be with jack, at least you’ve got these guys to distract you from the sadness. The group of you head out into London ready to tear it up. 

Four hours later, you make you way back to the hotel, drunk but not blackout because you need to be able to watch the whole game. You get some coffee, get comfy & facetime Thomas.

“Excited?” he asks when he picks up, showing you his living room in Montreal

“yeah, but so fucking nervous.  Stupid TV won’t connect.”

Yo finally get it to work just before the game starts. You see Jack there and start crying. 

“Babe, what’s wrong” Thomas says in alarm.

“I just, I just love him so much” you bawl, “and I miss him.” 

“Okay Jesus, calm down.” Thomas is muttering “god you’re drunk” You nod, tears streaming down you face as you watch the game get underway. 

Its fast paced & back & forth as Edmonton try & put one in and keep their chances alive. 

No one scores in the first 2 period, your stress rising exponentially. 

GO GO GO GO GO YEAAAAHHHHHH!!! You cry when the Devils score twenty seconds into the third. Then someone pounds on your door. 

“oh shit, you’re in trouble” Thom whispers from the phone as you slowly walk over. 

“y/n what the hell its 4am” Charles whispers. Oops, you forgot he was next door. 

“I’m sorry” You whisper back, “Jack’s team scored” he rolls his eyes. No matter how many times you try & explain it, he doesn’t understand why people enjoy it. “Hey, it’s the finals. If they win, it’s like winning the drivers’ championship with a few races left. If you lose you still have time but it’s better to win as quick as possible.”

“Y/N!” you hear from Thomas, so you turn around. Charles follows behind & jumps on your bed as you turn your attention back to the game. “Who is it?” you ask Thomas as you stare at the fight going down. “Think its Mercer, but It was hard to see” he says as the refs pull the players apart, shoving both into the penalty box as the clock ticks down. 

“McDavid must be shitting himself right now.” You joke. 

“who’s McDavid?” Charles pipes up. 

“he’s basically the Verstappen of the team, the generational talent. But it’s the first time he’s gone to the finals and could win. Now shush.” Putting your hand on his mouth, Thomas is laughing as you focus on the TV, 2 minutes left. Poor Vitek’s getting pounded by shots from the Oilers but nothings getting in. Devils get it back into their end & as the final minute hits Nico smacks a one timer straight through the legs.

“They win right?” Charles says as you sit there in shock. 

“Shut it” Thomas hisses from the phone, both of you knowing that’s it’s not impossible for Edmonton to score 2 in less than a minute. But they don’t and ten seconds left in the game, it finally sinks in

“Holy shit, holy shit. Thomas!!!! They fucking did it.”  You’re losing it, tears streaming down your face but huge smile on your face as the buzzer sounds. Charles is laughing at you as he pulls him phone out and films your reaction. 

“ I can’t fucking believe it. Hes a champion. Where’s my phone?” you’re looking frantically as Charles passes it to you & you pull up the camera. 

“Jack, you did it!!! I’m so fucking proud of you. you deserve this after everything you’ve put in. You’re my superstar and We’re going to celebrate so hard. Tell the boys I say congrats!!” Charles grabs your phone and says “She’s still pretty drunk, so I’m going to get her to bed, but congrats man. She’ll see you soon.” And sends it off. 

Thomas s still on facetime on your laptop absolutely laughing his ass off. “I don’t think I can sleep” you mutter, already laying down in bed eyes half closed. “Too much excitement” the two boys laugh as they both say good night and Charles slips out. You drift off, dreaming about the fun you’re going to have this summer. 

“Fucking hell” your head is absolutely killing you when you wake up, but you have to get going. you’ve got a flight booked to Jersey that leaves at 12. You search for your phone before finally seeing it plugged in. thanks Charles. The first thing you see is,

Jack Hughes secret woman and your heart drops. Did something happen last night? No, you trust Jack. But you continue reading. 

The New jersey Devils won the Stanley cup after sweeping the Edmonton Oilers 4 – 0, ending their series with a shutout 2-0 game. Celebrations took over the Prudential center, and star player Jack Hughes when pulled into an interview said “to win with my brother (Luke Hughes also plays for the devils and was on the ice with Jack when that buzzer sounded) and have so much of my family here means everything. This is what every player dreams of, honestly, I don’t really have words yet.” When asked how he plans on celebrating the win, he mentioned “seeing my girl”. This is the first time we’ve heard of a potential love interest, but it appears she’s busy in her own right as he also mentioned she would’ve loved to be there but wasn’t able to with work. Not sure what work she does, but surely the potential cup deciding game would be worth missing work for. What do you think?

Jesus, why is this “breaking news” when they just won? Surely that’s not the most important thing to report right now. But you know how the media is from your own experiences, so you’re not surprised. You’re pretty used to ignoring the nonsense by now. 

You read your messages from Jack, knowing it’s too early to call him. You start packing up so you can get going, when a knock on the door interrupts.

“He won!” mick yells as you open the door & half of the grid is there smiling. You grin, “hell yeah he did” as you gesture them in. Most of them are sticking around London for a few days, but they’ve come to say bye, since they knew you’d be gone as soon as possible.

Lots of hugs and ‘tell him we say congrats later, everyone’s gone but Mick. 

“you’re going to have a fun summer” he jokes, and you throw a pillow at him. The two of you walk down together so you can grab a cab & go to the airport. 

“See you soon sailor” you hug Mick and go on your way. You can’t wait to get back to Jersey and then Michigan. 

Nine hours later, you’re landing in Newark, exiting the airport to see Ellen waiting for you. Rushing over you wrap your arms around her, both of you excited. She’s going to bring you back to Jack & Luke’s, which is where they’re staying anyway. 

He doesn’t know you’re here yet since you didn’t tell him what time you’d be getting in. He knows you were trying to make it back on the Monday, but not when. 

“They’re probably still asleep” Ellen comments when you’re nearly to the apartment, and you laugh “how late did everything go last night?”

“Oh, it was like 6am by the time they got back so.” “Not surprising” you laugh. 

You park & make your way to the apartment where Jim lets you in. You walk around into the kitchen & see Jack, Luke, Quinn, Nico, Dawson & johnny sat around the counter, drinking coffee and looking a little worse for wear. 

Jack looks up and says “I must be still drunk. I’m seeing y/n.” The rest of the boys turn towards you & laugh. “Not drunk babe,” you say, and it takes a minute but then he jumps up and runs to you, grabbing you and squeezing.

“I missed you so much.” 

“ moi aussi” you kiss him before pulling him over to the table so you can congratulate the rest of the boys and get some food. 

[whatever-dude]

You gotta give it to the nhl tho. They are dedicated to their story telling. The 'next great one' finally making it to the stanley cup finals just to be losing three games to none. But wait! They won the fourth game, and then the fifth. And now they're playing game 6 in front of their home crowd, vying for their chance at victory, at hoisting the cup in edmonton for the first time in more than 30 years! And oh how amazing to win game 7 of the finals in Florida. Not only will they have won, but they will have won against matthew tkachuk, someone who remained a thorn in the oilers side for years, even after he moved to a different country, to play for a different team, in a different division.

[hopetorun]

For your fic writers ask list, 7, 18, & 32 pls - a/carouselstars ♥️

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

it's a very straightforward one, i think, but i just love getting to shape a whole story and craft something coherent and complete and compelling and satisfying! it's very rewarding to have an idea of something in my head and make it into a whole thing! especially a thing that other people enjoy or connect with or moved by!

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

January 22, 2022 Rogers Place, Edmonton Flames 3 – Oilers 5

Matthew gets there first, collapses down onto the bed. He thinks about taking his pants off first, because he feels like putting on a show, but he doesn’t actually move before the door opens. Matthew still doesn’t move. Leon’s hand lands on his ass, firm, and he squeezes.

“You played well tonight,” he says. Matthew hums.

“We still can’t beat you,” Matthew mutters. It’s muffled by the pillow. Leon smacks his ass a couple times, not hard enough to hurt.

“I’m just glad we finally won a fucking game.”

A few more footsteps, and then the bed shifts and creaks as Leon drops down next to him. His arm falls across Matthew’s back, and they’re sharing a pillow. There’s a heartbeat of silence, and another, and Leon sighs, gusty.

Matthew wants—he doesn’t know what he wants. He wiggles closer to Leon, until their hips are touching. Leon sighs again, and he presses even closer to Matthew. “Tippett’s gonna get fired,” he says. “Feels shitty to be excited about someone losing their job.”

The silence after that feels heavier. Matthew doesn’t know what to say. “We dropped seven games in a row,” Leon continues.

“I know,” Matthew says.

Leon snorts. “Of course you do.”

“I pay attention.”

This time, when Leon squirms, he ends up with his head tucked against Matthew’s arm. It’s not like he’s never seen Leon tired before; long games, long season, late nights on the bed in here. But this is different. It feels like Leon wants something from him, comfort or reassurance or maybe just someone he can say this shit to.

Matthew gets his arm out from between them and manages to tangle his fingers in the ends of Leon’s hair. It’s still wet at his nape.

“They made Bouch first star tonight,” Leon mumbles.

Matthew can’t choke back his snort. “He’s a good kid,” he manages. Leon bites at the muscle of his arm. “Maybe if you were less pissy.”

(from preference)

when i first started putting this fic together, i did a lot of timeline research -- what games the flames and oilers played, the outcomes of those games, penalties, highlights, etc, but also some broader stuff like win or loss streaks going into the games, the timing of coach firings, so on. a lot of the time those details didn't really inform what i chose to do in the story, but they really clearly did here and i enjoyed being able to pull so much stuff in, even if people reading it wouldn't necessarily need to pick up on it! the repercussions of a 7-game losing streak and the emotion tied into that, plus the knowledge that tippett was in fact fired shortly after this game, gave me a nice setup for leon to be more vulnerable with matthew, and specifically to be vulnerable about something that isn't sex. and then for them to have sex that doesn't feel like it's a little bit about hockey, which is important for them!

i actually thought a weird amount about the three stars/winner's room connection for this story. a lot of fic i think pretty just uses those to determine who's doing the picking for the winner's room, but they're chosen by local media and it gets weird sometimes! i wanted there to be some discretion there, like they're suggestions but deviating from them is normal. anyway it also cracked me up that leon was not first star of this game (2g, 2a, including the gwg) and evan bouchard was (2g). also a fact that informs one meaningless line of dialogue in this scene: bouchard played 43 games for the 2015-16 london knights.

sorry to leon for making fun of him for being pissy. i do it with love.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

i really wish i did a better job keeping track of lines i love! i ought to just record them all in a journal or something but i always get distracted. anyway i had to go on a quest to find the name of this poem bc i think about it a lot but am, as mentioned, bad at keeping up with things: rehearsal notes by len verwey, which ends with

where the script says scream a step to the side and possibly a finger touched to the mouth will do.

but also, and on a very different note, i think all the time about the dedications in the series of unfortunate events books.

[keyshui]

i present to you, a very unserious post in which i insult every NHL team!

(this is all exaggerated so don’t get mad at me)

anaheim ducks - why is it that 1/3 of the way through the season you remember how to play hockey? like at this point it’s useless since you’re not making the playoffs and if you keep up like this you sure aren’t getting bedard

arizona coyotes - i do not like your jerseys. you would be forgettable but you suck too much for it

boston bruins - the only thing your team has going for you are your goalies and i hope next season you end up where the ducks are rn: not good enough for the playoffs and not bad enough for the draft lottery. sorry garnet hathaway (please come back)

buffalo sabres - i can define your entire team in one word: disappointment

calgary flames - anything good about you died when matthew tkachuk decided to go to florida. sorry!

carolina hurricanes - something about the “canes” nickname annoys the shit out of me. i hope you get a first round exit purely so the fans enjoying their team being good for once can be upset about it

chicago blackhawks - do i even have to say anything? because ew

colorado avalanche - literally how did you win the cup last year? thanks for the cup winning goalie btw <3 kuemper is better as a cap

columbus blue jackets - you don’t deserve bedard and i hope you lose the lottery since you’re clearly not pulling yourself out of the tank like the ducks

dallas stars - your jerseys are fucking ugly and the only stars player i can think of is tyler seguin (seriously… why that green…)

detroit red wings - you have the most obnoxious fan base i have ever had the displeasure of being in the same stadium with. LET GO OF THE 90s!!! PLEASE

edmonton oilers - how do you have two of the best players in the league and still manage to fail to get a cup every single playoffs

florida panthers - honestly if it weren’t for matthew tkachuk trade and the all stars game you’d be a dying, forgettable team

los angeles kings - i literally cant think of anything to put here. that’s how little you matter.

minnesota wild - one time in like 2019 the wild squished the caps at a game i was at so i decided that the wild suck. other than that y’all are so forgettable that i don’t have anything else to say

montreal canadiens - how is it that you keep managing to get beaten so so badly by teams that suck?

nashville predators - uuuugly ass jerseys and stuuuupid ass name

new jersey devils - jack hughes isn’t as hot as y’all think he is both in terms of attraction and skill

new york islanders - i hold a deep seated hatred for all new york city teams. you and your fanbases are so goddamn annoying

new york rangers - same with the islanders except 10x worse purely because of the little rivalry the caps hage with you (hope tom wilson squishes you tonight <3)

ottawa senators - really says something about your team that you had to name brady tkachuk of all people captain

philadelphia flyers - literally what is your logo i hate it. the only thing you have going for you is gritty and even that gets tiring REAL fast

pittsburgh penguins - i don’t care if the caps/pens rivalry doesn’t exist anymore it’s ingrained into me i hate you all and especially sidney crosby. you’re an aging team. retire already. ovechkin is better and malkin is overhyped

san jose sharks - wasted a sick ass team name on a depressing team

seattle kraken - y’all were doing so good at the start of the season what the hell happened. now it’s just disappointment…

st. louis blues - you’re one of those teams that i forget isn’t fake sometimes. like you’re not forgettable you’re just not… real

tampa bay lightning - i don’t get the hype the fanbase has for vasilevsky and your gray/yellow jerseys are way better than the normal ones

toronto maple leafs - auston matthews is not hot even slightly y’all just have competency kinks and it’s sad

vancouver canucks - quinn hughes looks so haunted and depressed all the time for a reason

vegas golden knights - did y’all think you were being funny when you decided to match with the kings?

washington capitals - jesus fuck just retire the entire goddamn team at this point. stop sending your prospects to the ahl and fucking play them if you want to give your roster some “youth” (i’m looking at you gmbm & laviolette)

winnipeg jets - if it weren’t for the fact that i used a website to make this list alphabetical order i would’ve forgotten you

[bropunzeling]

matthew/leon 💛 please!

💛 reunion kiss/relief (for u and also @msmargaretmurry)

The distance between Florida and Spain isn't all that large when you think about it. Definitely not in comparison to Leon's flight out from Edmonton. Nine hours and non-stop, compared to multiple legs and spending a short eternity in O'Hare. It shouldn't feel that long.

Leon swears he can feel every second of it.

By the time he's spat out into the rideshare zone, Leon's exhausted and mildly disoriented, clutching his bag and fumbling with his phone to call an Uber. He's hungry -- couldn't eat much on the plane, nothing sat well in his stomach -- and tired down to the bone. Every time he tried to shut his eyes, get some rest, he instead replayed the events of the night before on the inside of his eyelids. Watching the Panthers-Vegas game in bed with his phone three inches from his face, tracking number 19. Seeing him go down. Seeing him clutch at his shoulder. Seeing the way he skated later, like he couldn't keep his feet under him.

By an hour after the game was over, Leon had already booked flights.

Now, though, in the light of day -- sitting in the backseat of someone's SUV, watching the scenery pass and blur in his vision, clutching his phone in his hand like a lifeline -- Leon wonders if he's made a mistake. He texted Matthew as soon as he saw: how bad is it; are you out the rest of the series; should i come over; i'm booking flights. All sent in five and ten minute increments as soon as the final buzzer went. None of them answered. As much as he tries to tell himself there's good reason for that between the pain and the pain meds, he can't help wondering if it's really because Matthew doesn't want to talk to him. Won't want him there.

It's admittedly a little stupid, given that Matthew had tried so hard to get him to come to Florida after the Oilers got knocked out. Kept saying how good it would be to see him, how good it would be to actually spend time together. His parents would be in town. Leon could meet them, his little sister. Finally put faces to names. Take that next halting step towards something with a label, something they could talk about with people other than themselves.

Matthew had tried so hard, and Leon hadn't wanted to hear it. Losing was still fresh, stinging; the distance between them, normally easier to bridge, felt impossible to cross. He missed his parents, his sister. He didn't want to think about hockey and all the ways in which he was disappointed. He didn't want to sit around making nervous small talk while Matthew was on the ice, surpassing him.

It wasn't a fight, necessarily, but it wasn't not one, either. Leon had figured they'd take the time to cool off. Regroup once the playoffs were over, once Matthew had -- well.

All those thoughts and plans flew straight out the window the moment he saw Matthew hit the ice.

And now, here he is. Walking up the driveway to Matthew's house, a place he's only been to a handful of times. Hitting the doorbell before checking his phone, looking to see if Matthew texted him back; he hasn't yet.

The person who opens the door must be Matthew's mom; she looks like him, or Leon guesses he looks like her. Same eyes; same flash of a smile. "Come in," she says, obviously giving him a once over. "Leon, isn't it?"

"Uh," Leon says. He feels tongue-tied, fumbling his way through English in a way he hasn't in years and years. "Yes." He clutches at the strap of his bag. "Sorry to, uh. Show up like this. Uninvited. Um."

Matthew's mom hums. "I had a bit of a clue. He left his phone on the counter last night."

Leon's shoulders inch down from where they were stuck by his ears. "Oh," he says. "Is he asleep? I can, uh --" Wait should be the next word, but it's impossible to say. He's not sure he actually can.

She looks at him like she knows what he isn't able to get out. "You know where to go."

Leon does know where to go. He's only walked through this place a few times before, but the sense memory is so strong -- hanging around in the kitchen trading kisses between sips of coffee; how the edge of that picture frame had dug into his shoulder; the place on the rug where he'd stumbled, trying to shove Matthew into his bedroom, off-balance and unwilling to let go. The only thing he isn't sure about is what he'll see once he gets there.

The bedroom door seems so innocuous, and yet Leon holds his breath when he eases it open.

Matthew's asleep, hands curled towards his chest the way Leon remembers from nights in either of their beds, when his own hand would be taken ransom and impossible to extract. His mouth is open, hair matted. Even from here, Leon can see how much weight he's lost, the edges of bruises peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. Can't see whatever brought Matthew down last night, but the lack of visible evidence doesn't ease the sharp ache in his chest.

For a long minute, Leon just stands there, looking. Then, carefully, he sets his bag down by the door and crosses the room, easing himself down onto the side of the bed. Gives into impulse and strokes sweaty curls off Matthew's forehead, then leans over and kisses his hairline.

Matthew stirs, eyes fluttering open. At first, he squints, like he isn't sure what he's seeing; then, he shifts, and that movement must jar something, because he winces and curls into himself. Even as he does, though, one of his hands reaches for Leon's wrist, grabbing on, holding fast. "Leon?"

Leon lets out a breath. "Yeah," he says. "I'm here."

Matthew's smile is small, and yet so sincere it hurts to look at. When Leon kisses him again, he imagines he can taste it.

[sergeifyodorov]

if mo punched their GOALIE ? we would get a LINE BRAWL

i think this is like... specifically an Event tbh. like... okay, it's 2018. january, some western league guy their age is a calder favourite. oilers and leafs playing each other for the first time this season, mcdavid's won his first hart. willy does one of his classic Willy Rushes and stops right next to mike smith, a notoriously foul-tempered bastard -- in our universe, mike smith won't become an oiler for another few years. in this one, they trade for him now. it is one of their better decisions (that, as oiler decisions often are, will become worse later.)

smith hisses something at willy that makes him clench his jaw and skate away. he is composed. he is trying to be composed.

you see, up until now, the oilers and leafs have been civil. not very civil, but civil -- an extra slashing or roughing call a game, an extra couple of chirps, an uptick in hits, but it's two games a year so people don't notice. but the players do. and the players all know why.

(or, a select few of them know why. ryan nugent-hopkins asks to take faceoffs against stromer whenever he can. connor cannot tell him how much this both helps and hurts.)

the leafs get a power play soon, nothing too spectacular. offensive zone trip, not malicious, they just happen. bit of a dive from naz, but that's kind of his specialty. the power play is different, though, the leafs' clean, almost too-perfect setup made a mess by the oilers' pkers, and the leafs play harder and harder until all nine skaters and smith end up in the crease. mike gives willy a shove, a gentle movement out of the crease

(--slightly less than gentle, but this is hockey--)

and morgan, who will not abide, just snaps. goes for him. he's been patient, he thinks, in the split second between his glove coming off his hand and his hand connecting with smith's unmasked, unprotected cheek. he's waited to see if the guys will let this calm down on their own, but it is left to rot and there is nothing we can do but turn the log over and expose what is underneath.

the line brawl lasts twenty minutes. morgan is suspended, clay keller loses a fang. there's an image, almost famous, of leon, the sole face turned towards the camera as oilers and leafs alike surround the net, with his lip split and a perfect, blood-red stream bisecting his chin, dripping onto his jersey. there is another smear of blood on his forehead. it is obviously not his.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I've had a terrible day full of significantly elevated anxiety for no discernible reason (aside from, it's too fucking hot and this always happens when it's too fucking hot, also a number of other things but the level of anxiety is disproportionate to any of those real situations, probably because it's too fucking hot). I looked around my room to see some things I like to cheer myself up. I have don't quite a good job of making my bedroom into an over-decorated museum of things I like, which is convenient on a day when I want to just look around and quickly see something nice. Anyway, here are some pictures of my comedy-related collections.

On the wall - the old Josie Long poster that I got her to sign when I saw her in Montreal, and then I got Grace Petrie to sign it when I saw her live a couple of months later, even though I was so anxious about approaching either of them at all, much less giving Josie Long the weird request to have her sign a poster from ten years ago, or giving Grace Petrie the much weirder request to have sign Josie Long's poster from ten years ago, but I explained to her how it's because I already have Josie's signature and I'd love the idea of both their autographs on one thing, and I did also buy Grace Petrie's CD and have her sign that too, even though I already owned that album off Bandcamp, I just felt obligated to buy it rather than only say "Hi could you sign something that isn't even yours?", and to pay her money for the CD as a bribe to briefly talk to me. Anyway, as nerve-wracking as it was to get, I love that I get to look at it every day now. I have it on my wall next to the lovely quote from The Bugle episode 66 that @nyomkitten made in fancy fonts, and that I jokingly said I want on my wall, and then realized I actually do so I went and had it printed on cardstock.

Books on my shelf. Most of my Britcom books are in ebook or audiobook form, but some are on a shelf.

CDs and DVDs. The top one is Grace Petrie's Connectivity, which I bought to bribe her to talk to me long enough so I could get her to sign Josie Long's poster. There's also Kitson's Shenaniganagain CD, and the Lucksmiths CD that I bought on eBay because Kitson wrote the liner notes on it. Then we have John Oliver's stand-up special, Flight of the Conchords, Thick of It and In the Loop DVDs that I picked up at a Celtic music festival once, couple of Monty Python movies, a hard move away from comedy in the BBC House of Cards, some DVDs purchased back when Joss Whedon was still cool, and I did used to be a big hockey fan and follow the Edmonton Oilers really closely. Haven't cared in years; they made the Stanley Cup finals this year and I didn't give a fuck. But I used to.

Stickers on the side of my book shelf. The Taskmaster seal and Nish Kumar with a coconut on his head, both gifts from my then-girlfriend, attached to a Christmas card she gave me a couple of years ago. Now a somewhat painfully tainted memory, but I still like the stickers. A couple of other stickers that I took off the packaging from Daniel Kitson's CD, the official seal of Higgldy Piggldy Enterprises, which is how he incorporated himself. And a couple of playing cards that Ed Gamble threw into the crowd last year during the Max & Ivan pretend wrestling event, as his thing was "Ed The Gambler Gamble" so he had a bunch of cards. Cards that audience members could just pick up if they wanted to, and one of the people who did that happens to be a friend of mine who sent a few of them to me, which is fucking cool.

And finally, this weekend I moved some stuff around from my old hard drives to have more things in one place, on the big comedy folder that's on my 5TB hard drive. I've actually bought two 5TB hard drives this year, which might not be the best use of my limited funds, but I don't want to risk losing all that. So I have the one hard drive that lives in a pocket on the back of my laptop and is always connected to it as a working drive with this massive comedy folder on it, and another with a second copy of that folder. Part of why I bought the second one was I think I'm going to take the first one with me when I got to the UK so I can put stuff on it there, but if I don't have a backup at home, I'll be too worried about losing it.

(Note: I do not endorse the views or work of every comedian who has a folder on my hard drive. Most of it is there because I like them, but please do not assume I am a fan of all things expressed by, to pick 2 examples just in the As, Alfie Brown or post-2019 Alun Cochrane. Technically there are three people in the As whose views I do not share, because Alan Partridge has some ideas about immigration policy that just wouldn't be feasible. Oh and I don't like how Adam Hills got an MBE a couple of years ago and suddenly started expressing monarchist sentiments a lot. Only one letter in and I'm already disagreeing with plenty. On the other hand, I'm almost sure that Alice Fraser has never said anything wrong in her entire life.)

Of course, the hard drive lives on the back of my laptop next to my other Nish Kumar sticker, which I got because of the laptop that Nish had in season 4 of The Mash Report, which got filmed in his home due to lockdown:

I've definitely posted all of this before, but collecting those things again put me in a slightly better mood, which was the goal. Hope everyone's having a nice week and they solve climate change soon.