#Net Coaching in Chemistry

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[dynamicchemistrypoint]

Unlocking Your Potential: Coaching for Chemical Sciences and NET JRF Coaching in Delhi https://www.blogtarget.com/education/unlocking-your-potential-coaching-for-chemical-sciences-and-net-jrf-coaching-in-delhi/ Chemical Sciences is a fascinating and dynamic field that forms the backbone of countless scientific and industrial advancements.

[yaduvirchemistryconcept]

[mayasaurusss]

haii I can request modern lottie headcanos ?

Shy: modern jock Lottie

Warnings: Jock (but also nerdy?) Lottie, Lottie is a loser-virgin, use of every single cliche in the book, for the sake of the story let's pretend they have this instant chemistry moment, fluff fic, humorous writing, not proof read, the author regrets begin born.

A/N: hey anon, remeber when I said I had an idea and wanted to make this a oneshot instead of a headcanon? Well, I completley forgot my idea and this brewed in my head last minute, so I tried to put this thing thogeter. This story isn't very good but I hope you will like it!

Lottie is one of the most popular girls in school. She is on the soccer team, she is rich and she is beautiful, men and women alike fall to their feets for her attention. She simply has to get to the top of everything, whether it is school or soccer, making the ones around her jealous of her or to be her. Lottie is tough, both in body and spirit: during practice she manages to get going for hours, even when her teammates are tired. During exams, she remembers almost everything she studied and only a few times she has failed, due to laziness and too much faith in her abilities. She has told herself to never slack off ever again and so she continues practicing after school in her backyard, no matter if it's freezing or raining or just a bad day, she pushes her body to the limit almost every day. She studies hours on hours on hours, just after her endless practice, till midnight; sometimes she consumes her dinner while studying for her next exam. Lottie has virtually no time for herself anymore, but she knows it's her fault. She knows that she does this to appease her father's wishes for her life and that she will never make him proud. She tells herself that she's ok, that she can continue doing this without repercussions.

She is on fire today, she has just passed one of the most difficult tests of the year without breaking a sweat attracting to herself the envy of various people -and Natalie's-, had successfully exposed a presentation in class -"How cults can change people psyche", by Lottie Matthews-, and now is practicing, having just scored a goal after being chased by Taissa and making her repeatedly taking her to the ground. Lottie is triumphant, sweat coating her skin and a smile gracing her lips, the same smile that made people develop crushes for her. "Ok team, I want you to try and score a goal, Lottie, Taissa and Van, you guys try to stop them, ok?" Coach Ben says.

Lottie moves to her place near Taissa, ignoring the looks the girl gives her, Van behind the, waiting for the ball. When the coach blows the whistle, the teams move: Shauna passes the ball to Mari, in a fake attempted attack from right, trying to get past Taissa, the ball is passed to Laura Lee who has already run across the field enough to not be worried about Taissa. The only obstacles left between her and the goal are Lottie and Van. The latter won't be a problem, when Laura will kick the ball from the underside angle, sending it to the far corner of the net; the real problem is Lottie. The girl is tall and strong enough to turn the situation to her favor and virtually leave Laura's and the rest of the team empty handed. And, to top it all off, she's on fire today. So, Laura Lee devises a plan: as soon as Lottie will corner her, she will fall back and kick the ball as high as she can, attempting to send it through the net. Lottie will not budge, she thinks, -"She is too smart to fall for this..."- but she will at least attempt to try.

Lottie has stayed still until now, determined to be the one to stop her teammates. Her muscles tighten, ready to strike, until her attention is on someone else, someone on the seats.

There are quite a few people here besides you and your friends. They had invited you to watch the Yellowjackets practice, more in particular to watch the Yellowjackets practice. You have sat in the nearest line to the field, wanting to crawl out of your seat whenever one of your friends made a loud remark about one of the girls. "Like, oh my God look at Natalie '' Hayley sighs dreamily, "I want to make sexy pottery with her '' Jessica scoffs at her "Say what you want about Natalie. Have you looked at coach Ben? He is so hot!" she says while twirling a strand of her hair. "I think he's gay Jessica..." she gasps "How would you know? The other day I saw him handing to Travis a bunch of condoms, he must like girls!", "That's not how it works Jessica..." you argue with her "Shut up," she scoffs at you. You turn your head away from her to avoid her anger, looking towards the field as you see number seven -Lottie, that must be her name- moving in position to defend the net. "...and how would you know? Your life is so boring, you never even had a relationship yet!"eyes scanning her face up and down, you look at Jessica ``I haven't but at least I don't drool for every human beginning in school" you remark at her, earning a glare that could kill.

"Shut up! Stupid asshole..." your eyes return to the soccer field, now focused back on the players: you see Lottie staring at you, her eyes never leaving yours even for a split second, you and your friends must've been loud for her attention to be on anything else other than practice. Neither you or her break eye contact, both in an almost hypnotic state, so, neither you or her notice Laura Lee screaming out for her teammate.

The second Lottie refocuses back on the game, the ball hits her face at full speed; Lottie stumbles back holding her nose, blood flowing freely from it, she loses her footing and falls on the ground. "Fuuuck!'' The team rushes to their friend, Laura Lee is profusely apologizing while trying to hold her best friend who isn't in the right mood to be manhandled. Coach Ben kneels next to Lottie and inspects her face: on the bridge of the nose, right where the ball has hit her, Lottie has a small red bump and her nose seems to be slightly pushed to the left side. "We need to take the infirmary..." he states and helps Lottie up, before Misty can get her hands on her classmate's face and cause more damage. She walks back with Ben with shame, and when she looks back to see you worried over her, she can't bring herself to look at you.

At the infirmary, she gets a pack of cold ice and after one hour, the nurse, a middle aged old woman who looks like she's done with life, walks over to her and takes away the ice pack. Her hands move and test around Lottie's nose, manhandling her -she looks like a small scared child-. "Take a deep breath with your mouth...", she's confused as hell but does so, feeling the nurse's hands move again on her nose, "...and don't panic". -What?- the nurse's fingers block her nose and push strongly to the right side, readjusting the bone. Lottie lets out a banshee-like scream "Fuck me!" and she hold her face, muffling her scream in her hands, "Don't move too much or you could crook it again". Her fingers move across the nose skin, it definitely hurts but now she can breathe again: the nose still has a small red bump at the middle of its length. "Yeah, that's not going away", the nurse says while arranging some things in a box, "What?".

Her father had wanted to sue both the nurse and Laura Lee's family as soon as he saw how his daughter's nose looked, but with some convincing, Lottie had managed to make his anger drop. Today, some time after the whole fiasco, Shauna has come to pick her up for school, usually she would use her father's limo but today she felt like beginning with a friend -and exploiting her a bit- than with the old decrepit driver her father hired. As soon as she enter Shauna's car, the other girl lets out a small pained hiss at Lottie's nose. "...Is it that noticeable...?", Shauna let's out a small hum and moves uncomfortably under Lottie's dark gaze. "I mean... I see it because I was there, but it's not tha-" Shauna is interrupted by Lottie's frustrated sigh and cries. "God! This is just what I needed..." she mutters into her hand, Shauna drops her hand on her friend's shoulder "Come on...It's not that bad, no one will notice". Lottie moves to look at Shauna, her eyes are tearful, "That's literally the first thing you noticed about me today". A gulp travels down Shauna's throat "Uhm..." the taller girl looks her dead in the eyes "This is the part where you, as a friend, would comfort me". The car engine starts, Shauna lets out a embarassed cough while she starts to move the car "...Let's go".

"Ouch..." Taissa says to her while munching her sandwich, the whole soccer team is in the cafeteria for lunch, Lottie had been the last one to join the team 'cause her classes ended later, of course that would involve her not-so-glorious entrance in the room, where everyone had looked at her weird or with pity. "Laura Lee hasn't come today...She's feeling pretty guilty for what she's done. I think this will stay inside her little fanatic brain for a while" Taissa laughs while exchanging a kiss with Van, "And she's right. If I were you, Lottie, I would have punched her in the face ages ago" Natalie barges in the conversation. "Changing topic, tonight there's a party. At Randy's' ' the blonde girl mutters while focused on rolling something that Lottie is pretty sure isn't a normal cig, "I don't know if I'll be there... I don't feel really good". Natalie lets out a scoff, momentarily messing up her rolling before continuing again, "Come on Lottie, It's only a party. Besides, your 'little incident' is not that visible ''. Taissa stares at Natalie with a look that says 'Really?' , "Geez, how about some fucking decency Natalie?" she spats out receiving a roll of eyes from the other girl "The point is, going to a party won't be that big of a deal". Everyone seems to turn to Lottie, waiting for her response, "...Ok".

Night has come, and with it, Lottie's uneasiness. The party had proved to be a lot more crowded than she imagined, it was packed with people who were beginning to drink by the time the Yellowjackets had come. Jackie had placed her hand on Lottie's shoulder, stroking it reassuringly "Don't worry Lottie, we won't go anywhere" and for a split second, Lottie had believed her and smiled reproaching the smile, before she had looked away -for one fucking second-, and all of her team had left to so their things: Taissa and Van had two red cups in their hands and were flirting to one angle of the room, Jackie had blindedly followed Jeff somewhere with Shauna trailing behind her and Natalie was gone to God knows where, probably doing drugs with those toxics of her friends. So, as she had been sure all this time, Lottie was alone. A sigh escaped her lips, her brows furrowing in annoyance and creating a small wrinkle between them, and worry showing in her eyes. She makes a bee line to the kitchen, finding it almost empty except for a drunk couple in one of the dark corners; on the table amidst all the discarded red cups and leftover foods, sits a clear glass bowl of red-blood punch with some ice and a slice of orange floating in. Lottie takes one of the clean cups and fills it to the brim with alcohol. She drinks her worries away feeling the liquid heat her from within, before she knows she has gulped down half of it. Her hands search for her cigarettes in her jeans pocket, finding only a few left: taking one she holds it between her lips but realizes she has forgotten her lighter at home, "As if this night couldn't be any worse...".

When you walk into the kitchen, you see the same girl who yesterday almost got half of her face blown off -Lottie, you remind yourself-.

She's dressed in high waisted dark gray jeans, a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of glasses which made her look far more nerdy than she might have intended. "Oh, hi!" she turns around so quickly that some of the liquid spills out of the cup and pours on her fingers, but she doesn't seem to care all that much, all her attention is on you. "H-Hi...!". Walking over to her, you smile "You are Lottie right? You got pretty hurt some time ago, huh?", gulping down dryly her eyes focused on your lips resting on the cup ridge "Uhhhh, uh, ehm, yes yeas, yeah that's me...". Eyes hazy and unfocused, she doesn't hear you calling out for her "...ttie. Lottie? Earth calls to Lottie, are you there?" she jolts up a second, straighten her spine and avoids to look you in the eye. "Uh, yeah I'm here, just a little distracted" her throat clears and she lets out a small laugh. You look at her, you notice the way she seems to be around you: gone is the confident jock from the soccer team, all that's left of her is a girl who's too shy to talk without stuttering every few seconds. "Say, would you like to get to know each other?" her throat clears before she nods her head slightly with a little smile. "So, what do you like to do, you know, besides soccer?" you lean on the table while sipping on the punch, "Well, I like partying, usually, and -you know- soccer is all my life. I play the guitar sometimes..." your gasp interrupts her, "You'll have to let me hear something one day!". Lottie tells you more about her life: she tells you about her father and mother, about how she's always alone in that big cold house of hers, about how she likes the soccer team a lot -except Jackie sometimes- and of her love for teen dramas, especially Dawson's Creek.

The alcohol starts to make your body heat, she looks so good under dimmed lights; you sip down the last drops of the alcohol and throw the empty cup on the table, slightly scaring Lottie. "Would you like to dance?" her eyes move to yours and shakes her head in approval "Of course!" you take her cup and set it on the table, placing your hand on hers and leading her to the living room.

The room is lit by red light, the music is so loud it makes her heart jump in her chest, but Lottie can barely hear it over the loud beating of her heart in her ears. You get close to her body and feel its heat, how her skin shivers when you touch her a little too long and how she can't even place her shaky hands on you. Everything is slow, heated, the red lights paint Lottie in a way you haven't seen before; you lock eyes with her and for a moment, you feel the need to kiss her, even if you have known her only for a few hours. You get closer to her, so much so that you can feel the raspiness of her breath when you eye her lips. It isn't surprising then when, in the euphoria you're both experiencing, you don't hear the heavy steps of someone getting closer to you.

You get yanked from Lottie's grip, someone spins you around until you've met with his face again. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he snaps at you, his brows are furrowed and he looks even more of a rabid dog than when you left him. "Hello Brandon..." he grips your arms tighter, bruising your skin underneath; his breath is on your face,reeking of alcohol. "Hello'? What the fuck are you doing with this bitch?!" he starts to tug you around, all the while continuing to spit in your face insults.

As soon as he lets go of you Lottie reaches out and manhandles you behind her; a stern look appears on her face. "Hey, what's your problem?" she looks him up and down, studying him "My problem is you, and people like you" he spats out. "Like me?" she can feel her blood pressure rising, his implication not missed by Lottie.

Brandon's friends are near him, some giggle but others are trying to hold him down from exploding further. "Yeah, people like you and this bitch over here" he gestures at you with a nod, he seems to get even more red than he was before, almost looking rabid, "What the fuck are you talking about?".

Brandon seems to have been pushed over the edge, a wild look in his eyes, he sweats and screams on Lottie's face "You fucking faggots! You gross shit! Scum like you shouldn't even exist!" people are gathering now near, the music seems to almost have gone silent, flashes and giggles surround you. Lottie grips your hand tight, so tight that it hurts, "Lottie..." she turns around, her other hand placed on your hip and starts to lead you out of the party.

"Let's go" her voice wavering: for a split second, she saw her father spilling insults at her after she had told what she really was. "Yeah you better go! We don't want disgusting shits like you around here" Brandon is held back by his friends when he attempts to chase after you.

Through her clouded mind, Lottie doesn't miss Brandon's next words "You aren't even that good at soccer, I bet your father is really proud of his shitty disgusting lizzie daughter". Lottie feels her knuckles crush bone beneath them, and regains her consciousness, realizing she had punched Brandon right on the nose, in the exact same way she was hit the day's priors. He falls on his ass in the middle of his friend group, spurting insults and imprecations at you and Lottie. Before you can look at him, you're tugged out of the party. You run with Lottie, both with the fear that he might get out of his friend's grapes and follow you; you run across the small patch of woods just outside of Randy's house.

The night is lit by countless stars in the sky, wind blows through the trees and inside of your heart an euphoric feeling blooms. When you end up at the other side of the trees, in a clearance, you start to laugh at your heart's content; your laugh is so contagious that it starts to affect Lottie too -who previously was looking at you like you were mad- making her let out chuckles of her own.

You hold on to her, much like you did when you were at the party, she hides her face into your neck while still giggling: you start to notice the position you're in, her breath hitches when she notices how close you are and -more importantly- where her face is. Dark eyes reflect the night sky, she looks at you with something akin to adoration for a second, before she composes herself and let go of you, clearing her throat. "So ummm... who was that guy?" you rethink about the events of the night and -trying not to think- about how good Lottie looks right now. "He was my ex-boyfriend. He has been going a bit crazy since I broke up with him. I told him I... liked girls and he has been bothering me ever since I left him" Lottie let's out a small 'oh' of approval, taking in all that you said. "So... you like girls" she hums in thought; you inadvertently let out a laugh "Of course! I thought it was pretty obvious from how I was looking at you". Her face becomes beet red -'Shit, I looked so stupid! Why did I asked that?!'-, she scratches the back of her head while averting your gaze. Her hand is held by yours, she follows your movement and when she turns around, she's met with your lips on hers. She can't move the lips back, too stunned by your action to reciprocate the kiss but just when you thought of pulling away -'maybe she doesn't like me'- you feel her hands cupping your cheeks and deepening the kiss. -'Whoa... sparks...'- she thinks while deepening the kiss even more, it feels like millions of little light sparks shine on you and her. She's so close you can barely breathe, the air itself feels intoxicating, this is just too good to be true. When you pull away, both of you are blushing and messy, she looks amazing under the moonlight: hair messy, glasses slightly sliding to the side, skin so red and eyes watery. "Wow... this feels very... romantic..." she sighs into your neck, holding your chest to hers "We should do this more often..." you kiss her again, giddy, holding onto her neck "We definitely should!".

Something moves in the bushes rapidly, making both of you jolt up in fear that your ex might've catched up, Lottie is already ready to throw another punch, just when from the darkness between the trees, the Yellowjackets appear, all of them. "G-God!" an echo of 'oooh's' rise up from the group, Van begins the lead of them "Oh so that's what you were doing Lottie! We feared you got into a fight!". Van gets closer to you two, throwing her arm around Lottie's shoulders "Are you gonna introduce your 'friend' to us?", the taller girl puffs out a breath in annoyance "Oh fuck off!".

[nartml]

Should Oikawa have gone to Shiratorizawa?

It's a well known fact that Oikawa, soon after graduation, left off to join the Argentinian Volleyball League.

Now, Oikawa was never able to beat Ushijima, which probably played a bigger role in his decision to immigrate to the other side of the world than you might think.

He was never able to go to Nationals and leave Miyagi, therefore never made his brilliance as a player known, and consequently was overshadowed by the other two 'genius' setters, Kageyama and Atsumu.

Something that would've been a huge hindrance to his career if he were to stay in Japan.

His reputation, or lack thereof, might have actually held him down for years, especially when there were two other setters who were arguably even better than him and already established their presence in the big leagues.

Ushijima knew this, and was certain that Seijoh was dragging Oikawa down, which is why he was so confident that Oikawa shot himself in the foot when he refused to go to Shiratorizawa.

Had he chosen otherwise, he would've gone to Nationals, where he'd also have his debut in the big leagues.

Scouts would undoubtedly take notice of this other brilliant setter who played everyone on both sides of the net like a fiddle—

Wait. What?

Would they have taken notice? Would there be something to take notice of?

Since when did Shiratorizawa rely on gimmicks, tricky strategies, and versatile attacks? Since when was there room for mind games?

Since when did coach Washijo allow anyone other than Ushijima to take the lead?

Didn't Semi get benched because he didn't prioritize Ushijima? Didn't he take the boot for not sucking up to him?

Oikawa shines, but that's only when he's actually allowed to do his thing.

His playing style is the exact opposite of what Shiratorizawa wants.

It was kind of stated by coach Ukai too.

"If Aoba Johsai is the most complete team in the prefecture, then Shiratorizawa is the most incomplete."

Shiratorizawa's playing style centers around individual strengths, raw power, and Ushijima.

Oikawa prefers a united front, plays connecting with one another, making room for proper adjustments and adaptation. He's down for the occasional mind game too.

But most of all, he prefers to take the damn lead.

Yes, cohesion is imperative for his playing style, but that's also the case for many of the strong teams we see in the show.

The difference is, Oikawa is clearly the one in the driving seat. We see it most of all in their team huddles.

Oikawa flawlessly communicates with his team, knows where, who, when, and how much to push, and while everyone participates in the discussions, he's clearly the leader.

He does the thinking, the planning, the strategizing. He keeps track of everyone on both teams.

He reminds me a bit of Kenma in that regard.

But apart from being the brain, he also has the athletic prowess, the technical skills, the passion, the people skills, and it's safe to assume, countless more hours of practice too.

Seijoh's coaches know that, and have let him cultivate all those skills through the years.

By contrast, we see coach Washijo usually butt in during the time-outs, and insist that his players just hold proper form to put in even more power, to be more dynamic on account of their physical stature.

Imagine how little of a say Oikawa would have, especially if he attended Shiratorizawa from the get-go.

The only first year we actually know is Goshiki. The rest are near entirely unknown.

I highly doubt he'd be half as devious a player as he is, had he had Washijo for a coach.

The chances that old guy would let him do even a fraction of his thing are next to zero.

At the end of the day, Oikawa is tricky, and Shiratorizawa just isn't.

So then, did Seijoh hold him back? I'm not sure.

We're not gonna talk about year-long friendships, bonds, and good chemistry, which were undoubtedly huge factors, both in his decision to attend Seijoh, and in everyone trusting him to do his stuff.

Let's just take a quick look at their capabilities as a bunch.

Objectively, they're strong. Skilled. But not strong enough, and not skilled enough either.

I mean, look at that first practice match. They didn't have Oikawa, and Karasuno, which kinda sucked at the time, beat them in straight sets.

Yes, it was a practice match. Yes, they got stronger later on.

But that loss highlighted, more than anything, just how much of an effect Oikawa had as the leader, and how much he elevated his teammates.

Without him, they would've been a lot weaker.

And that might just be exactly why Oikawa shone the way he did.

His judgement was trusted, and he learned how to take advantage of everyone's abilities and maximize them.

No, I'm not sure if Seijoh actually held him back, or if he partially owes his polished brilliance to them. Could be a bit of both.

I am sure, however, that Shiratorizawa would've actually done a hell of a lot more damage than Seijoh ever did.

[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.

[3416]

Why the Leafs should give Matthews and Marner a chance to play together

by Jonas Siegel | November 19, 2017 | The Athletic

MONTREAL — Auston Matthews and Mitch Marner werewaiting a while for this opportunity.

You could feel it in the excitement of the two youngest Leafs after they not only got to play together for the first time all season on Saturday in Montreal but connect on a couple goals in their team’s sixth straight win.

“Obviously me and Mitchy have a pretty good relationship off the ice – Marty as well,” Matthews said of himself, Marner, and Matt Martin, the third member of a trio Mike Babcock concocted in the second period of a 6-0 win. “Kind of gives you a nice spark when you play with a couple of your buddies that you don’t really get to play with a lot.”

Babcock threw cold water on their excitement pretty quickly. He said he planned to revert back to the line combinations he started with against the Canadiens when the Leafs hosted Matthews’ hometown Coyotes on Monday night.

But maybe the Leafs coach should give it a chance.

Matthews and Marner, for one, seem eager to pursue the connection. Both said they were curious about what it would be like to play with the other having barely done it so far in their young NHL careers. The two were on the ice together for just under 71  5-on-5 minutes last year and just over 11 minutes this year before Saturday night.

Both have also played consistently on separate power-play units.

“Yeah, of course,” Matthews said, when asked if he was intrigued to play with Marner. “We got a little bit of time together last year and never really – we made some plays and had a lot of fun, but I don’t think we ever really scored a goal so it’s nice to get out there with him and obviously create some offence and put some in the net.”

The pair are close. The kind of pals who drove to the rink together all of last season (though not this season with Matthews moving places). The kind who play video games and wear matching throwback suits — complete with fedoras. The kind who famously sang along to Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer” on the bench at about this time last year. The kind who finish pre-game warmups by passing pucks back and forth to one another before exiting the ice in near-unison.

“We’re very close with each other,” Marner said. “It’s exciting when you get out there and get to play with those guys.”

The connection might just work, too.

Marner hadn’t registered a single assist on Matthews’ first 50 goals in the NHL before setting up two (No. 51 and 52) against the Habs. He delivered a bullet backhand pass to set up the first one and added another when the American ripped his 12th of the season past backup Antti Niemi.

“I think when we first got together the chemistry wasn’t really all there,” said Marner, born four months before Matthews in 1997. “But I think in the third period we kind of turned it around and got back to what we wanted to do and got the puck towards the net.”

Though they’ve ripped off their longest win streak since Dec. 2014, it’s not as if the Leafs have been beating down the doors of the opposition, especially when it comes to the offence. They weren’t quite struggling with 15 goals in the previous five games (three on the power play), but they weren’t really electrifying either — especially without Matthews, who was playing his first game since Nov. 6 on Saturday.

“I think what our guys are finding is last year a lot of our games were way looser than this year. The opposition plays way tighter against us; there’s less room and so it’s harder for you,” Babcock said of the offensive grind prior to the game against the Habs.

What also had become evident before Matthews sat out four straight with a mysterious upper-body issue was a diminished connection between himself and William Nylander. Babcock actually broke up the duo in a Nov. 4 loss to St. Louis only to reunite them again two nights later.

Nylander had zero goals and only three assists in his previous eight games with Matthews (Oct. 23 – Nov. 6) and while the 20-year-old, who’s up to 21 points in 17 games, was still producing, he did so almost in spite of Nylander, who finally broke an 11-game goal drought on Thursday.

It’s also worthwhile for the Leafs to see what kind of chemistry exists between Matthews and Marner if only to answer lineup questions — both now and later.

(Photo by Mark Blinch via Getty)

Marner has only ever played with one centre consistently in Toronto and that’s Tyler Bozak, who might well be gone after this season. Since it’s unlikely that the Leafs other 20-year-old teams up with Nazem Kadri in a matchup role, Babcock might as well see what’s there with him and Matthews. The Leafs coach leaves himself only one centre otherwise (Bozak) for Marner to play with.

Then there’s the potential future in which Nylander slides over to centre and plays without Matthews — something that gets easier in theory if another winger finds chemistry with the team’s No. 1 centre.

Constructing a lineup with Matthews and Marner together is a little dicey, but if Babcock is willing to separate Leo Komarov from Kadri (a pairing he’s used almost without exception in recent years for defensive purposes) then something like this might work:

Zach Hyman – Auston Matthews – Mitch Marner

Patrick Marleau – Nazem Kadri – William Nylander

James van Riemsdyk – Tyler Bozak – Connor Brown

Matt Martin – Dominic Moore – Leo Komarov

Both Matthews and Marner are hoping their coach gives it a shot.

“Obviously it’d be nice to stay with him,” Marner said. “We’ll see what happens though.”

*Advanced stats courtesy of Natural Stat Trick

(Feature photo by Minas Panagiotakis/Getty Images)

[acharyaeducare6]

https://www.acharyaeducare.com/enroll-in-cuet-ug-csir-net

[dynamicchemistrypoint]

Excelling in CSIR NET JRF and CUET Chemistry: Best Coaching Centers for Success https://nexxtbillion.com/best-coaching-centres-for-csir-net-jrf/ Coaching centers play a pivotal role in the preparation for competitive exams like CSIR NET JRF and CUET chemistry. They offer structured guidance.

[sunskate]

You hit on something that I’ve been thinking about as well - which is that F/G seem to have much more impact with crowds in the building, but it’s not really translating over TV or social media. Being able to get crowds in the arena excited is no small thing and they do have a real skill for it, but a television broadcast flattens that energy and you’re looking much more closely at the skaters themselves. The net result is it kinda cheesy-fies it. This is not an abnormal phenomenon, and I’ve seen it sometimes happen when big broadway shows are broadcast on tv. What works in the theatre doesn’t always look great on a screen. But the consequence is that the judges and audiences think this kind of skating is going viral and being embraced, when it’s just not. I get fed tons of skating content on tiktok. The stuff that goes viral are jumps, teams with blow-you-away chemistry, women free styling to beautiful pop songs, and some stuff from the Euros exhibition (which was FG-style, but frankly much more authentic and fun). I have literally never seen a FG clip go viral beyond the “disco brits” era. It’s just a baffling decision to stake your sport’s direction on a team that hasn’t made a blip in culture and who’s coach goes mega viral every year, years later for a romantic and technically difficult program.

⬆️ i don't see evidence that more Rocky and Gaga type programs will bring in the audiences skating is looking for - so i keep wondering what other factors are behind their rise

i saw FG live twice in their Gaga season, and at the time, Lewis was helping Lilah through turns, they had that push/pull and inconsistent flow that comes when one partner is more the engine than the other. the choreo was very clever but in the RD in particular Lewis had flashy moves to draw attention away from Lilah doing less. you get one sense of their energy watching their upper bodies and a different, slower picture if you watch their feet. the crowd loved the Gaga program, but it left me mostly cold

again, this is all fine, it’s where they were at. i'd feel supportive if their marks reflected their strengths and weaknesses. give them a higher presentation PCS but put their GOE for steps and PCS for skating skills and composition scores where they belong -- those marks are supposed to reflect pattern, ice coverage, glide, blade control, and power, and they generally don't

[jessread-s]

Thanks to Get Red PR and the publisher for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review*

✩🏒🦋Review:

I could not be more grateful to Kennedy for revisiting the Briar Universe with her Campus Diaries series!

“The Graham Effect” follows Gigi Graham, the daughter of the legendary hockey player Garrett Graham, as she tries to make a name for herself by qualifying for the women’s national hockey team. In order to improve her game behind the net, she makes a deal with Luke Ryder, Briar’s new hockey co-captain. In exchange for a few practice sections, Gigi agrees to put in a good word for him with her dad so that he can get the summer coaching spot he so desperately wants. The only snag? The chemistry between them that is impossible to ignore.

If I’m being honest, I don’t normally reach for “next generation” stories. I find that they don’t live up to the stories that paved the way for them and they lack a certain something. All this being said, “The Graham Effect” is THE exception. I found myself loving this book just as much as I loved the Off-Campus series and it’s all thanks to the addictive quality I’ve come to associate with Kennedy’s writing. 

Gigi and Luke are my new favorite couple. Alternating between their perspectives deepened their romantic tension and mutual pining, making my heart race. Most of all, I loved that they could be vulnerable with and push each to be better.

I would be remiss if I did not touch on the cameos made by the characters that started it all! I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with Garrett, Hannah, Logan, Dean, and Jake. Their brief appearances are memorable without taking away from Gigi and Luke’s love story. 

I cannot wait to see which child of this new generation will be the protagonist of book 2!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[toffoliravioli]

ok serious talk time; things I noticed/what went wrong (bare with me it’s a long one) let’s discuss

if I was the coach of the devils I would be focusing on these points:

the devils were very much trying to match the rangers physically and it’s been biting them in the ass. they’ve been hitting more yes but what does hitting do? It slows you down. And what’s the devils strong suit? They’re fast. They work on speed and skill. they need to stop trying to play the rangers game/style. It’s like they’re playing this “see what they do then respond” game. How about not focusing on them and worry about what you’ve been so good at. Play your own game, that’s how you went 3/4 on them in the regular season. Literally there was no need to be physical bcuz your speed worked in your favor.

Another thing. For the love of all that is holy stop leaving Christopher “powerplay merchant” Kreider alone in front of the net. Don’t leave anyone alone for that matter. Are you dumb or are you stupid. He’s had to score on you 4 times in two games for you to figure this out? He’s literally the perfect example of a net front presence and you leave him ALONE EVERY. TIME. What the actual fuck are you doing, you’re better than that. If anything our pk has always been better than our powerplay so what are y’all doing.

Along the lines of the pk and penalties; how about you stay out of the box? Idk why that’s such a hard task but literally stop. Frustration is a mood killer. You get frustrated and then your stick ends up in the face of a rangers player or you end up hooking them, now you’re in the box oh no, instant rangers goal.

veterans need to step up. doesn’t necessarily have to be on the scoresheet but I want to know what’s being said between periods. I’m hoping you are not going into the locker rooms crying, feeling sorry about yourselves. Remember when the leafs had that sucky game against tampa last year and then spezza gave a speech before the third period and then they went out and won. yeah now give me that with palat or Haula or smith who apparently is such a great locker room presence. EVEN NICO WOULD BE A GOOD SPEAKER. He’s young but he’s the captain for a reason.

head macho man himself lindy ruff; sigh. ok I have many things to say but I’ll keep it simple. this fucking blender-made lines is ridiculous. Enough is enough. You tried every possible line combination and it’s throwing the entire team off. Chemistry will never be made if you can’t stick to one set of lines. Here’s my line suggestions:

Meier-Hischier-Mercer

Palat-Hughes-Bratt

Tatar-Haula-Boqvist

Shara-McLeod-Bastian or Lazar

Siegs-Dougie

Graves-Marino

Hughes-Bahl

Schmid

Vanecek

and last but not least, the dreaded powerplay. what can we even say that hasn’t already been said. shoot the puck more, stop passing something something something. you have some of the best scorers on your top line and all they do is play pass the potato with the puck. who scored tonight? Haula. A second pp unit player. Your second unit is out showing your first, make it make sense. Completely unacceptable. You have to shoot, when y’all try and set up the perfect shot you’re literally giving Igor all the time in the world to set up. We need those ugly goals, the ones he doesn’t see coming.

In conclusion I’d be a much better coach than Lindy, Fitzy this is my official job application, pls take my notes into consideration thank you very much have a lovely night have a cookie 🍪

[lover-of-mine]

oversharing on the internet

i was tagged by @buck2eddie thank you babe <3

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

not really, but fun fact i was born on the anniversary of the day that the Portugal princess made slavery illegal here in Brazil, so my mom wanted to name me after her, but then my brother started calling me Anna and he wouldnt stop, so they had to name me Anna. No one knows why tho because no one asked him at the time and he doesn't remember because he was 2 and a half when i was born, so no one knows where my name came from oksaoksokas

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

Tuesday on therapy oskaoskaoksas

THREE: Do you have kids?

nope and i do not want them.

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

not really? kinda sometimes but its not an instinct...

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

All of them soaksokaoskaosk, i mean, i played basketball and volleyball more seriously, i was in the volleyball team for a while and i actually helped start my school's female basketball team, i used to be at the boy's team practice because of my brother and i was good because i played with him, there were some other girls that randomly joined, then we got the coach to help us start an actual team, i was actually captain for 2 years, that was fun, but like, recreationally also played football, both soccer and american, i was terrible at both lol, handball, that one i was decent at but i didn't like it that much, and i also had a judo phase for like, a month, and almost went to a competition with peteca, thats an indigenous origin game from around here with a shuttlecock (had to google this one lol) that you hit with you hand, it has similar rules to volley i guess? the best way i can think to explain is volley but instead of a ball, you have the shuttlecock moving back and forth the net. I also played tennis, but i didn't get used to the racket. And our track coach tried to get me to go into the track team, but i would have to quit basketball for that and i wouldn't so i never got serious about it. I think that's all lol. wait i also did ballet for like, 7 years sokaoskas

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people

I don't know? I wanna say eyes, but honestly, not sure oaksoaksokaosk

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

light brown/hazel

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

I hate scary movies, so happy endings it is...

NINE: Any special talents?

i can sing? im not sure if the tshirt painting count as a talent oaksoaksoaks

TEN: Where were you born?

in a hospital

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

crochet, guitar, i wanna say gifs and video edits are a hobbie too skoaoksas

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

yes, a dog <3

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

169 cm (i dont know how much that is in feet because i keep getting conflicting answers when i google that, ive gotten anything from 5'5'' to 5'7'', so like i say im 5'6'' and hope for the best oksaoksas)

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

science in middle scholl, when that got split into biology/chemistry/physics, i realized i hated chemistry and really liked biology. And i guess you can tell by the sports answer, PE was really fun for me okaoskaoksaoks

FIFTEEN: Dream job

not having to work <3 (something with music, not sure what tho)

tagging (no pressure &lt;3): @chamaleonsoul @ijustdontlikepeople @caramelcalum @anotheryoutubefanpage @talkfastcal

[everybodylovesmusiala]

one thing i wouldn't start today is the coaching debate.. our attack started declining since after the world cup and tbh there's not too much a coach can do when they just keep missing the net or don't have any chemistry together during games

[julesbranddt]

It's been a few hours since the match so I think I'm over the incredible amount of feelings I have and I can give a better opinion.

Something it's just not working in the nt, we were having bad results when Jogi left and we picked up when hansi arrived but we never had a clear playing style. Yes, the boys were good and got the job done a few times but there was nothing about this nt that actually involved a team playing the same type of football.

I've been with the NT since 2006, I've seen many things happen but what we're going through right now it's different, there's a sense of detachment from the fans, there's a sense of feeling overwhelmed in the players that starts long before the match does.

There's no chemistry inside or outside the field, times have changed, perhaps is harder to ask them to get to know each other better which I feel always brings benefits to the games, it's a different era, these kids are a world away from the way Manuel or Thomas are.

I think we all knew this wasn't going to be our World Cup. But now it feels like we truly need to get it together and with the squad we have it should be easy yet something is just not flowing.

We need to have a better defense, Raum can stay he was unbelievable and I do not understand subbing him off, it has to be our core to have a strong defense as I feel goalkeepers that will come won't be as talented and we were comfortable in that aspect (hoping Manu stays for two more years tho)

We need to be clear about our midfield, we can not be changing it every single game, to me it is clear, Goretzka needs to know he is the man, he is the one the team will relay on to get to the net, he needs to be the face of the team, he is vocal and smart inside and outside the field.

As for strikers, we need to abolish the thought some players are too old to be there, a striker that's good past his 25+ that's the one you want, the one who has grown into his profession.

As for Hansi, I don't know if he's the right coach yet, I feel I haven't seen him brought his essence to the team, so I could not judge.