#Toronto rehab | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

karajaynetoday · 1 year ago

Text

hey now, you're an all-star | jack hughes

it took one month of watching hockey for me to write fic. lmao. classic. good vibes.

thank you @littledrummeraussie for proofreading, love you angie 💖

READ PART TWO HERE

READ PART THREE HERE

word count: 2.8k

Warnings: i don't think it needs any? just forgive my limited knowledge of hockey and canada i suppose? mentions of anxiety related to university? it's a bit angsty bc let's be real, do i ever know how to write anything else?

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

You’d known Jack Hughes for as long as you could remember. He stood up for you in the playground at kindergarten, when a bigger kid pushed you off the swings; you returned the favour by saving him from a spider on his backpack. Ever since, you’d always had each other’s backs.

And for as long as you’d known Jack, you’d been able to tell when he was upset about something. His lips did this thing, not quite a pout, but nowhere near the easy smile you were used to seeing. He’d pull his sleeves down over his hands, and his breathing would be… deeper, somehow. He could never meet your gaze, either.

You were scrolling through Instagram on your couch at home, where you were supposed to be studying, when you saw a video of Jack from the Devils fundraiser event, answering media questions about his injury and when he’d be back on the ice. He laughed and smiled for the cameras, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. They asked about the all-star game, and you could feel his hesitation in answering. Jack tried to be positive and assure everyone that he had a chance of playing, but you both knew that wasn’t very likely.

You sent the video to Jack with a comment bagging out his hairstyle, hoping to lift his mood a little, before dropping your phone onto the couch and drawing your attention back to the economics case study you were supposed to be analysing.

You’d stayed in Toronto for university, while Jack headed off to New Jersey after his draft year. Long distance friendship took a lot of getting used to, but at least you were still in the same timezone, and the NHL schedule meant that Jack was contractually obliged to visit you a few times each year. Quinn too, despite how much he complained about the intensity of hockey mania in Toronto. In fact, the entire Hughes family sometimes made the trek, which you knew your parents not-so-secretly loved. It reminded you of the warmth you felt growing up in each other’s homes, filled with laughter and joy.

The little focus you had for your economics homework was broken when your phone began to vibrate beside you, Jack’s name flashing on the screen. You rolled your eyes with a smile, before leaning over to answer the video call.

“Good morning, sunshine!” You greeted your best friend, who was already scowling at you.

“Is it a good morning, though? When all I do is get criticism from my supposed best friend?”

“It’s not criticism, more… encouragement, I’d say.” You teased back, Jack rolling his eyes at you.

“Encouraging what, exactly?”

“Encouraging you to make better personal style choices, especially related to hair. You are a millionaire, after all. Least you can do is get a decent haircut.”

“Oh, my apologies. Didn’t realise I was getting encouragement from the queen of high fashion. Is that a coffee stain on that shirt?” Jack’s eyes glanced down at what little he could see of your outfit in the video call, before poking his tongue out at you.

“Hey, I’m a university student. This is high fashion, I’ll have you know. Anyway, why aren’t you at training?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in curiosity.

Jack’s lips pressed together, and he looked away from his phone and you; you silently cursed yourself for asking the question. Even though Jack had been injured, he’d been pretty dedicated to his rehab and recovery, so it was a little odd for him to be calling you in the morning rather than be at a physio session.

“More scans this afternoon so no session this morning. Trying to decide if I can play next weekend or if I just have to show up and look pretty.” Jack tried to joke, but you could tell that it wasn’t something he found humour in.

“Good thing that looking pretty comes naturally to you, J.”

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I thought I had shit hair?!”

“You can both be a pretty face and have shit hair, buddy. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Mutually exclusive? Is that a fancy term you learnt at school?”

You laughed at that, earning a Jack smile in return. You continued chatting back and forth for another 30 minutes or so, before Jack had to go to his scans.

You managed to get through the rest of your economics homework, but your mind kept wandering back to Jack and his frustration at being injured. He’d been an All-Star before, so it wasn’t that specifically he was frustrated about missing, you were certain. The difference this year was Quinn’s selection in the All-Star weekend, and the building anticipation around so-called “Team Hughes” that would see Jack and Quinn on the same team for the first time in their NHL careers. That’s probably what Jack was upset about, because as much as they chirp each other and are fiercely competitive, there’s nothing Jack Hughes loves more than his brothers. You knew that he’d be in his head overthinking everything and convincing himself that he was letting Quinn down, somehow, despite it being beyond his control.

The only further communication you got from Jack that day was a thumbs-down text message, which told you all you needed to know. You were sporadically in touch a few times throughout the week, and before you knew it, it was the day everyone was flying in for All-Star weekend.

You’d managed to persuade your parents that a full-blown neighbourhood party was not necessary, and instead convinced them to accept Quinn’s invitation to a lowkey but nice dinner downtown near the hotel where he and Jack were staying. The dinner was something you were looking forward to all week, but you hadn’t anticipated two things: accidentally deleting half your economics essay the night before it was due and having to stay up until 3am to finish it; and the butterflies that you were feeling when you were getting ready for dinner. Why on earth were you so nervous? Seeing Jack and Quinn after a while was usually something that excited you, not stressed you out.

You had just pulled on your dress and finished wrangling your hair when your phone pinged with a message from Jack.

Have you looked at the menu for this place? We need to order a side of the loaded mac n cheese pls and thx

I thought you were a high performance athlete? But of course, mac n cheese is a MUST

Correct, my body is a temple. A temple of mac n cheese. Mac is a carb, cheese is calcium for my bones. Winners all around. See ya soon x

It was freezing outside, so you took an Uber from your university apartment to the restaurant. You were running behind, thanks to traffic, and then you almost toppled over on the pavement outside due to the wet weather. Between that and your sleep deprivation, you honestly wanted nothing more than to go home, put your pyjamas on and cry; but you plastered a smile on your face and headed inside the restaurant.

The hostess greeted you warmly, and offered to take your coat once you established that your parents had already arrived and were seated on a table towards the back of the restaurant, and you could see the backs of Jack and Quinn as you approached them. Everyone stood up to greet you with hugs and kisses, and the butterflies sparked again when Jack pulled out the chair next to his for you to sit down. Jack and Quinn both had nice sweaters on with collared shirts, and you were quietly glad you’d decided to wear a dress rather than the jeans you’d initially picked out.

“How did your essay go, sweetheart? I know economics isn’t your favourite…” Your mother enquired, obviously unaware of your crisis the night before.

You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of the diet coke in front of you (that Jack must’ve ordered for you, no doubt) before mumbling something about getting it sorted and hoping for the best. Your dad swiftly changed the subject to the weekend’s festivities, excitedly asking Quinn about his plans for the All-Star draft, but you could feel Jack’s eyes on you. You met his gaze and subtly shook your head, silently asking for him to save his questions for later. Jack frowned at you, but complied.

The dinner felt like it went quickly, but also went for hours. Your stomach hurt from laughing (and probably too much mac and cheese), as Jack and Quinn regaled your parents with stories of their seasons and their plans for the next summer off in Michigan, where your two families would join each other for a month or so of adventures. You found yourself smiling as your dad and the Hughes brothers comically argued over who would pay the bill, before Jack excused himself to the bathroom and sneakily paid the bill on his way there.

Jack and Quinn’s hotel was walking distance from the restaurant, and they excitedly invited you and your parents to come and see the fancy suite they’d been gifted for the weekend. Your mother made some excuse about traffic on the drive home and promised to come and see it some other time, but nudged you in your side as she told you to go and check it out. You were so tired and ready for bed, but reluctantly agreed; your window of opportunity to spend time with Jack was closing, so you figured you may as well make the most of it.

The butterflies in your stomach flitted around as Jack helped you into your coat before you headed outside the restaurant and bid your parents farewell. You fell into step in between the brothers as they traipsed back toward the hotel, conversation flowing easily as Quinn asked about your college classes and you asked him about the latest book he was reading. Jack was silent as you walked the few blocks before arriving at the hotel, and he gently placed his hand onto your back as you were guided through the hotel front door and into the elevator.

Your jaw dropped when Quinn swiped his key card and you all entered the hotel suite. They weren’t joking about it being fancy, holy shit.

The floor to ceiling windows had incredible views of the city skyline, with a very comfortable looking couch in the living area facing the view. Two doors at either side of the living room lead to bedrooms with luxurious linens, and the marble bathrooms were impeccably finished.

Jack was grinning as he watched you take it all in, leaning up against the door frame to his bedroom as you stood near the window and gaped at the views. Quinn had flopped down on the couch and was texting on his phone.

“Can they gift this to you year-round? I’d like to live here…” You mused, shaking your head at how insane this hockey lifestyle could be.

“We could probably just buy it for you.” Jack said nonchalantly, as he wandered over to stand beside you at the window.

“Yeah, if you want. They’d probably charge us more because I’m a Canuck, though.” Quinn deadpanned, earning a laugh from you and an eye-roll from Jack.

“Speaking of, the guys are all catching up in Petey’s room, so I think I’ll head down there. See you tomorrow after the draft, sugar plum.” Quinn pulled you into a hug, and your heart burst at him using your childhood nickname (which came from one ill-fated ballet performance and you insisted you hated, but secretly loved being called).

You could’ve sworn you saw Quinn wink at Jack before he left the hotel room, but then again, the sleep deprivation could also be sending you loopy.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jack asked, moving to stand behind you and loop his arms around your waist as you still faced the window. Your heart rate shot through the roof as he pulled you closer, and nestled his head in between your neck and shoulder. You cringed as you realised he could probably feel your pulse beating fast.

“Sure, but no blaming me if I fall asleep on you, sorryyyyy.” You awkwardly maneuvered yourself out of Jack’s embrace and walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and removing your shoes.

“The first time we’ve seen each other in MONTHS and you’re going to fall asleep? Am I that boring? Sheesh.” Jack drawled, watching you from where he stood.

“Yes.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but lost it to a yawn which made you both laugh.

“You know I love you, J. I would happily pull an all-nighter with you, but I don’t think two in a row is probably good for me.”

“Two in a row? What, where you out partying hard last night?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he wandered off into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. You heard a drawer open and a light thud onto the floor, and your throat tightened when you realised Jack was changing his clothes. God, you’d gotten changed in front of each other a million times. Why was your brain making everything so weird tonight?

“Not quite. Had a disaster that involved accidentally deleting my entire essay, sobbing for an hour, then staying up until 3am to write the whole thing. Living the dream, as per usual.” You rattled off, trying to sound nonchalant about, even though just thinking about last night made you nauseous with anxiety. Your nonchalance was clearly unconvincing, as Jack came back out of the bedroom clad in a hoodie and sweats and bee-lined for you, his face covered in concern.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine, I promise. All part of the college experience.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or Jack more. He couldn’t either, but instead of pushing the issue, he threw a hoodie at your head and laughed when you looked offended.

“I’m definitely falling asleep if I put this on, by the way. You know I love being cozy. Cozy is my natural state of being.” You pulled your hair up into a loose bun using the hair tie on your wrist, before pulling the black Devils hoodie over your head.

Jack slotted himself beside you on the couch and reached his arm over your shoulders, finding the remote with his other hand and navigating the ridiculously large TV onto Netflix.

“Fine by be, sugarplum. I’d rather know you’re getting sleep here than send you home to stress yourself out more.” Jack mused, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your arm while he found the latest season of a TV show you both loved to watch and pressed play.

“I’m not stres - it was just one essay - I promise I’m fine.” You sputtered, tripping over your words when Jack locked eyes with you, his gaze empathetic but all-knowing.

“Besides, I’m not the only one in the room worth worrying about.” You said softly, nudging Jack’s side gently. Jack rolled his lips between his teeth, and sighed; he put down the remote and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands.

“But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re not letting anyone down, though. Quinn doesn’t think that.” You continued, softly, not wanting to cause tension.

Jack sighed deeply again and pulled his arm away from you, leaning forward and rubbing his face with both hands.

“You don’t know what Quinny’s thinking, sugar. And it’s not just Quinn, it’s the fucking journalists, and Bratter’s vacation being ruined, and goddamn Michael Bublé being disappointed in me, and - just - fucking all of it.” Jack exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

You didn’t know what to say, because you could tell that Jack wasn’t in a mood that you could talk him down out of. But you could tell he needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to know that you still had his back. Ever since kindergarten.

You grabbed the back of Jack’s hoodie and gently tugged it, and he leaned back against the couch. You tapped Jack’s legs next, and he moved them up onto the other side of the L-shaped couch, so he was properly reclining. You paused, trying to figure out how to position yourself without being literally on top of Jack, but while your brain was running a million miles a minute, Jack’s hand found yours and yanked you towards him gently. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before adjusting yourself between Jack’s body and the side of the couch. Jack’s arm found a home over your hips and settled gently on your stomach, pulling your back against his chest. You felt his breath on your neck as you both wriggled around, trying to get comfortable.

“Is this okay, sugar?” Jack’s voice was barely a whisper, directly into your ear. You didn’t trust your voice not to squeak a response so you simply nodded, trying desperately to calm your fast beating heart.

You rested your hand on top of Jack’s and gently squeezed, feeling yourself starting to lull to sleep. Despite the butterflies and your heart jumping out of your chest, you somehow had never felt more at peace, right in this moment.

This was safe, this was calm. This was home.

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes one shot #nhl imagine #jack hughes fanfic #nhl #my writing #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #all star weekend #jack hughes x reader

766 notes · View notes

grantmentis · 4 months ago

Text

Women's Hockey Roundup: October

Woof, I fell off of these for a while. Blame baseball and college! Anyway, I'm going to just do what happened in women's hockey in October (and maybe the last few days of September) for all leagues. This is only confirmed news and games, so rumors are not included

If you're new, i recap the top stories from around club play women's hockey (so not collegiate) and try to give more detail on european women's hockey, since that's less reported on in north america :-) Feel free to add if i miss anything!

PWHL (USA/Canada)

The PWHL schedule has been released! We have a few TBD's in venues, most likely for playing select games in bigger venues or neutral sites. we do not currently have streaming/television info, so stay tuned for that. There will be a preseason, but not open to the public.

Training Camp Begins November 12, with preseason/mini camps The 19-22. New York's training camp roster is here. Boston's is here. Minnesota's is here. Montreal is here. Ottawa's is here. Toronto's is here.

Nov. 27: Deadline to finalize rosters of 23 players and 3 reserves

Abigail Boreen signed a three year deal with the Montréal Victoire. She played with the Minnesota Frost last year, including in the playoffs, as a reserve player.

Ronja Savolainen signed a three year deal with the Ottawa Charge. She played with Luleä most recently and is a star of the Finnish national team.

Sarah Lefort, most recently with Montréal Victoire, has announced her retirement

The PWHL has begun the process of expansion for 2025-2026, targeting two new cities

SDHL (Sweden)

Fanni Garát-Gasparics signs with Brynäs IF, though is still rehabbing the injury she sustained last year with the Ottawa Charge

Dutch national team legend Savine Wielenga signs with Leksands IF

Rookie Reece Hunt of Luleä is out for the season with a torn knee ligament

Frölunda general manager Kim Martin Hassons is extended to 2028, and head coach Erika Holst is extended to 2026. Frölunda has been massively successful thus far this year, currently in second place in the standings and coming off a big win against firs place Lulëa

While Luleä and Frölunda are at the top of the table, MoDo is making noise in third place, having won six of their last eight.

A couple key story lines: -> Finish National Team forward, Elisa Holopainen (Frölunda) is lighting the league on fire in her first year in the SDHL. She has 9 goals and ten assists in 13 games -> We have a few wonderful comeback stories this year. Hanna Olsson (Frölunda) is back to her old self after missing most of last year with injury, with 16 points in 13 games, good for fourth in the league. Erica Reider, (Luleä) who did not play for two seasons, looks like she never left, currently leading all defenders i the league in points. And Kassidy Sauvé (SDE), who missed almost two full season's with a hip injury, currently leads all goaltenders in save percentage. -> MoDo Hockey is being powered almost entirely by a youth movement: top producers Ebba Hedqvist, Adéla Šapovalivová, Mira Hallin, and Lovisa Engström are all 18 or younger and playing prominent roles on the 3rd place team

Auroraliiga (Finland)

Canadian Emma Hall joins KalPa after playing in the NDHL (Sweden's second division) last year

Kärpät will retire the number 20 in honor of long time legend Saija Tarkki. After 21 seasons with Kärpät as well as the Finnish national team, Tarkki retired in 2019. She will be honored Novembe 23rd.

A Couple key storylines: -> 18 year old Czech forward Barbora Juříčková i having a breakout year with HPK, already surpassing her point total from last season with 22. She joins Emma Ekoluoma (Ilves), who was a star on the U18 Finnish team last year, as one of the young players to keep an eye on in this league -> Kiekko-Espoo sits at the top of the table, with Ilves right behind. Last year's champions HIFK are feeling the loss of several star players and sit in fourth place. -> Sister's Jennika , Joanna and Jatta Ojala all played for the same team together for the first time at the top level for Team Kuortane

SWHL A / Postfinance Women League (Switzerland)

Not technically league play, but since they play in this league too ill put it here: EV Zug won the EWHL Euro Cup, which is played at the beginning of the season including select club teams across europe! They bear the German league's Memmingen to do so. Noemi Neubauerova, who is set to play with the Toronto Sceptres when the PWHL game begins, scored the game winning goal

Sponsor PostFinance announces that in 2025/2026, they will only financially support men's club teams that have a women's counterpart

Nadine Hofstetter of EV Zug is out three weeks with a broken finger. She is one of the team's veteran defenders who also plays for the Swiss national team. Vanessa Ryhner, Nina Harju, and Julia Näf are also out with injury for EV Zug, though Rhyner should be back any day now.

ZSC Lions Fraun is hit with injuries: Slovakian forward Tereza Lahova is out for the year with injury, and Aurela Thalmann and Alena Polenská (aka Alena Mills) are also injured. They are calling up Univ. of Saskatchewan alumni Sophie Lalor

A few storylines: -> Elizabeth Lang (HC Davos Ladies) is leading the league in points in her rookie year and scoring at a goal per game pace. She graduated from University of Calgary last year -> Lara Stalder (EVZ Women's team) continues to do Lara Stalder things and is tied with Lang in goals, but newcomers Michaela Pejzlová (HC Ambrì-Piotta Girls) and Clara Rozier (SC Bern Fraun) who were stars in last year's finnish league are close behind. The top scorer race for this league will be exciting, and that's not to mention old friends like Rahel Enzler and Estelle Duvin, among others. -> HC Davos Ladies is currently at the top of the standings, but EV Zug and SC Bern Frauen are very close behing them -> 18 year old Ivana Wey (EVZ Women's Team) has been off to a blistering hot start, a lot of hype surrounding her after a strong performance at both u18 and senior worlds. Another interesting young player is Lucie Tenenbaum, an American set to play at Minnesota State next year but is spending this year in Switzerland. The 18 year old has 5 goals and two assists with HC Davos Ladies so far

EWHL (Central/East Europe)

EV Bozen Eagles are currently dominating the league, with the help of players such as import Kristin Della Rovere, who has 16 points in 9 games. The Bozen eagles are part of a larger plan to help get italy's women's national team ready for the 2026 olympics

HK PSRZ Bratislava are undefeated thus far this season, after winning last year's title.

Canadian USport alumni are thriving in this league; Cassidy Maplethorpe, Hannah Tait, and Lauren Nicholson among top goal scorers

Slovak Ema Tothova continues to be the young player to watch, after her breakout seeason last year the 17 year old forward has 10 goals in five games. She is also competing in a boy's league in Slovakia while playing in the EWHL

OTHERS

watch this space for Czech forward Adéla Mynaříková to mak the u18 team this year. She's 15 and just steamrolling people in the Czech top league, with 15 goals and 5 assists in 8 games playing against a lot of grown adults

Norweigan forward Une Bjelland Strandborg, who was arguably one of the best NCAA DIII players of all time and graduated last year, is killing it in Germany's league with newly added Austrian team HK Budapest. She has 7 points in 6 games

#pwhl #sdhl #ewhl #aurora liiga #auroraliiga #swhl #postfinance women league #hockey #women's hocky #i am scheduling this at 12pm when i will be asleep #bc im currently writing tis at 3:30 am #so if some major news breaks between now and then my bad

25 notes · View notes

alchemistc · 6 months ago

Text

goon | bucktommy | chapter six

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

read Chapter Six on ao3

Tommy nearly hadn’t made it here.

Not in terms of mortality — four years ago, he’d blocked a shot with his skate, and felt the twinge of it for the rest of the game, but it wasn’t until he’d taken his skate off and seen his foot swell to three times it’s normal size that the adrenaline had worn off.

The force of the puck had broken his foot in three places.

He’d spent almost a year rehabbing that injury, and there’d been a month or so there when the numbness of the pain meds they’d prescribed him had been preferable to thinking about the trajectory of his career — getting into junior leagues far too old to really make waves, paying for travel teams off the pity of his aunt; the scholarship that had barely covered his tuition as he worked his way through a degree, sleeping three hours a night and housing enough coffee to keep a South American country’s economy alive, mornings and evenings devoted to a hockey team that hadn’t made a D1 playoff appearance in years and days spent reading and rereading his lecture notes like if he somehow stayed a good student, the scholarship might cover his meals by the time he was a senior; drafted by Toronto in the fifth round sort of as a throwaway, and spending the next two years bouncing from AHL to ECHL teams without even a glimpse of a shot at the show; a trade to an on-the-rise Pittsburg and an injured Penguin who no one else on the farm team had enough knowledge of both defensive and forward positions to fill his spot; a year and a half riding the bench with the brightest fucking star this league had seen since Gretzky, and realizing that for all that he and Sidney Crosby had had incredibly different life experiences, at the end of the day they were cut from the same cloth; ten more years of bouncing from team to team, mentoring every mentally ill first round draft pick that latched on to him day one, learning half the leagues dirty laundry without ever once airing his own.

The day he’d rolled out of bed and popped three oxy before he’d been awake enough to assess his pain levels, he’d spent six hours researching therapists and flushed the rest of the pills down the drain.

Therapy had taught him plenty. About himself, about the world at large, about how to manage every Big Feeling he’d ever repressed just to make it through the next few hours.

He wouldn’t call himself a paragon of mental health. He’s still never said the words aloud to Harold, even though they’ve danced around that issue as much as they possibly can. He’s subsisted on hookups and beards for most of his life, and he’s never let himself imagine a world where the things he desires most want him back.

It’s a lonely way to live, according to Harold, and sometimes he wonders if the people in his life who know pity him for it.

Buck brushes past him into his hotel room, and Tommy takes five steadying breaths, presses his heels into the floor, and turns to stare at the back of Buck’s head while he stares around the room like he’s not set up in a carbon copy of it, six doors down.

Tommy shuts the door, and doesn’t let himself think about who might have been poking their head out at just the right time to see Tommy let him in.

(It’s a ridiculous thought. They’re friends. They play on the same team together. Maybe Buck is just here to lay into him the way Bobby hadn’t about how fucking stupid a risk it was to get himself thrown in the box with ten minutes left in a game.)

Buck makes a move towards the bed, then seems to second guess it. There is a painting on the wall that is likely an exact match for the one in every room on this floor, three uneven black lines splashed across a background of ocean-blue. A television taking up the entire length of the chest of drawers, a desk with an ergonomic chair tucked into a little alcove, and two uncomfortable looking chairs around a tiny table, cast in the orange glow of the city below them, framed by curtains Tommy hasn’t even been here long enough to close.

No distractions. No trinkets, nothing to draw the eye that Buck hasn’t seen a million times before, unless Buck is suddenly extremely interested in the airport bodice ripper cracked open and balanced on the pillow next to where Tommy had been lounging, before the knock.

Buck eyes it for a moment, shockingly blank faced, before he turns to Tommy and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I need to apologize,” Buck begins, once the air in his lungs has been blown back out, and Tommy’s eyes snap to his. Pockets. He has pockets.

Christ, he’s in the most threadbare sweatpants he owns, the pockets were a bad idea.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Buck.” Not to him, anyway.

“Evan,” Buck interrupts, and time stills. He feels like they’re threading a needle, frayed edges that refuse to line up, but if they just snip off the ends... “When we met, I told you to call me Evan, but you never did.”

His smile is wry, and he wrings his hands, nerves on full display as he takes yet another weighted breath. In contrast, Tommy feels like a marionette who’s master has pulled all his strings tight and wandered off to parts unknown.

“I do need to apologize,” he continues. “I’ve been — I haven’t been fair to you, or Eddie, but right now I’m... I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick, and it’s not your fault.”

“Everyone has bad days.” And why is Tommy crossing his arms, now? What astronomically horrible thing is Buck about to say to him that he feels the need to guard himself from it? Sorry, I hope we can be friends.

“It’s been, like, weeks, man, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. Not my proudest moment. Series, of moments.”

Something loosens, in his core, a slow unravelling as Buck stares at him imploringly, and Tommy feels one side of his mouth tilting up. Buck’s gaze follows the little twitch, head tilting (always the fucking head tilt, with him) his own serious expression melting, just a little. “Noted.”

“Did I ever tell you my sister used to take me to Bears games, every year?”

The non sequitur throws him for a loop. Tommy rolls his lips in, bites at the flesh of his lower one and raises a brow, not bothering to pretend he has any idea where this is going.

“Travel leagues always made it difficult, but — every year we’d find a way to make it to the the teddy bear toss. We’d go with, like, ten stuffed animals a piece, and she’d always get the good seats — close enough to the glass that during that first toss, we’d get buried under all the ones that didn’t get thrown far enough to make it to the ice, so I’d spend twenty minutes getting all mine over the glass, and then all the ones that didn’t make it.”

Tommy remembers his time in Hershey fondly. He’d been down with the flu, for the first charity game, and halfway out the door for the second, but when that goal buzzer sounded and the stuffed animals rained down, he’d done the same thing as every other player on the ice, a time honored tradition of diving at the piles of them like kids jumping into freshly raked leaves.

“The last time she took me, I was fifteen. Too cool for school, by then, and I spent the whole game kind of hating her for making me go.”

Tommy blinks, doing the math while Buck’s smile goes a little wide.

“There was this player, though, that I hadn’t seen the year before. I was so scrawny, back then, and just, like, obsessed with goons. Just the idea of them. Big tough guys, whose only real job was to make sure if someone messed with their teammates they’d pay for it.”

Tommy’d played that game with three bruised ribs he’d re-injured jumping into a pile of kids toys.

Buck’s head tilts from one side to the other. “When that first goal got scored, and everyone started throwing bears, I was — I was up almost up against the glass, pouting about it, arguing with Maddie, trying to hand her all the ones she’d brought for me to throw. And this guy — this guy I’d nearly lost my voice cheering for every time he laid a filthy hit, right? He skated right up to the glass and started giving me shit for not helping my neighbors clear out all the stuffed animals stuck on the wrong side of the boards.”

Tommy doesn’t know when he’d let his arms fall loose at his sides again, or when they’d started to drift closer, but he’s close enough to smell the pomade in Buck’s hair when the memory surfaces.

“I had to barter my fucking stick to get you to start throwing bears.”

Buck’s laugh is quiet, soft and bright while his cheeks dance up. “I still have it,” he admits, eyes dipping to the floor, like he’s nervous. “Your rookie card, too. I mean, I have, like, hundreds of rookie cards, but when I found out we were trading for you I had Maddie pull that box out of storage, and for three months now I’ve been trying to figure out why.”

Tommy swallows, shifts his weight. Harold is gonna have a fucking field day, trying to help Tommy unpack all of this. Buck is smiling, wide, eyes catching the light as he chases Tommy’s gaze.

“My sister says there are better ways to get someone’s attention than maiming my best friend about it.”

Tommy has spent twenty years being overly cautious. The first and only time he’d attempted to hold down a relationship, the guy had decided to surprise him by buying tickets behind the bench for an away game three thousand miles away, and rather than enjoy the win and whisk him off to his hotel room before the rest of the team realized he’d left dinner early, he’d refused to look beyond the glass all game, and sent him a confirmation for a return flight, hiding in the bathroom between the second and the third.

Tommy wants to kiss him.

Say fuck it to the last twenty years, throw it down the drain, ignore every precaution he’s ever taken for the silver-blue shine in Evan Buckley’s eyes as he says too much and not enough at the same time.

He has great fucking lips. Pink and plump with a nasty habit of going a little pouty, when he’s at rest, and Tommy doesn’t need to look down at them to confirm, but he does anyway, and follows the line of his jaw, the stretch of tendons in his neck as he swallows. He can just make out the silvery line of the scar tucked next to the bunched up fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing.

“I don’t have your rookie card,” Tommy admits between breaths, and Buck’s laugh catches and falters just before he leans in and captures Tommy’s lips between his own.

It’s quiet, at first.

Tommy’s hand, with a mind of it’s own, slides up, two fingers pressing to the meaty underside of Buck’s jaw to improve the angle. Lips against lips, and the quiet breath that escapes Buck when Tommy is satisfied with the tilt of Buck’s head and drops his hand to Buck’s waist, fingers just ghosting over the fabric there before he presses his palm in.

Buck takes that for a green fucking light, surging in with a tilt of his head, nose pressed to Tommy’s cheek as his tongue slides along the seam of Tommy’s lips, half a step closer as one hand comes up to cradle Tommy’s jaw, the other smoothing over the fabric at Tommy’s shoulder, fingers digging in to the meat of his muscle for the span of a moment before he slides the hand down to cup his elbow.

Tommy gasps into his mouth, and Buck just dives right in.

When Tommy was twelve, one of the kids on the cul de sac, Terry Waters, had spent an hour complaining about his mom while they all practiced The Michigan, oblivious to Tommy seething in silence, barely keeping a lid on the urge to remind them all that at least they had moms. The only one of them who’d gotten close to nailing it was an eight year old girl on her pastel-pink roller skates, and Tommy can still remember the way she’d looked, for all of a moment, with the whiffle ball tucked against the blade of a stick half-a-foot too tall for her, right before Terry Waters had knocked a knee against her stick and dislodged the ball.

Two years later, he’d kissed Terry Waters under the bleachers in the gym of their high school, and when they’d broken apart Terry had wiped his whole forearm across the lower half of his face and threatened to tell Tommy’s dad if he ever told another soul what they’d just done.

Buck’s thumb slides across his jaw, tucks itself neatly into his cleft and presses down, just enough pressure to force Tommy’s mouth a little wider.

Tommy needs a minute. They both need a minute.

They both need to get a fucking grip, is what they need to do.

Tommy exerts some forward momentum on the hand that is currently fisted in the fabric of Buck’s hoodie, bunching it at the waist, and Buck whines, high and reedy, lips twisting up against Tommy’s, and though his torso follows the direction of Tommy’s hand, his head and neck don’t move.

“Buck,” Tommy murmurs across his lips, and doesn’t fight the feeling of Buck’s hand curling around the side of his neck, or the way Buck uses the fulcrum of his gentle shove to swing his hips and press his weight right back into Tommy, and — fuck, they need to think about this, they need to talk about this, they need to get further away from the bed that is right behind Buck.

Buck nips at Tommy’s lower lip and Tommy groans, desperately searching his mind for anything that could derail this without sending Buck running out the door.

“Evan,” Tommy says, and Buck stills against him, breath coming in heavy pants as he pulls just far enough away to catch Tommy’s eye. There’s a rosy tint to his cheeks, and a heavy look in his eye, mouth still open and an obscene little curl to his lower lip. Buck blinks, gaze taking a leisurely little stroll from holding Tommy’s gaze, down over the slope of his nose, right back to Tommy’s lips, and when he sways back in Tommy lets him, for just a moment.

Unfurling his fingers from the fabric of Buck’s shirt, he straightens his palm and tucks it up against Buck’s ribs, which earns him a breathy sigh and a squeeze at his elbow, followed closely by a groan of protest when Tommy presses, gently pushing him back half a step.

He blinks, again, a second before the grin begins to overtake his expression once more. “Tommy,” he intones, slightly mocking, and Tommy can’t quite hide the twitch of his lips as he tries desperately to keep a straight face. “Say it again.”

They need to talk about this. Tommy still has an apology of his own, fully scripted with contingencies for whatever reactions he’d anticipated Buck having. This hadn’t factored in to a single one of his scenarios. Tommy takes a moment to straighten out the bunched fabric of his hoody. “It,” he quips, shifting just his eyes up, staring through his lashes as Buck purses his lips in faux-irritation. Buck shifts his weight back, and Tommy nearly loses his balance without Buck’s hand to steady him. “Evan.”

He laughs, bright and happy in this sensibly decorated hotel room, with the lights of Boston casting the side of his face in an orange glow that makes the shadows of his laugh lines stand out starkly against his skin. “Yeah, I know why I introduced myself like that, now.”

Tommy would like to point out the utter insanity of the last ten minutes. Maybe see what he remembers of the Microsoft Office suite, set up a PowerPoint presentation with clipart and horrible transitions for each slide. Write a paper on how fucking batshit this is.

Buck slides his hand around Tommy’s hip, thumb rolling neatly and eagerly under the hem of Tommy’s shirt to shift against bare skin, and he looks a little smug when Tommy’s breath catches. Tommy attempts a stern expression, but he’s pretty sure all he manages is fond. “I am not sleeping with you tonight, Evan Buckley.”

“Presumptuous,” Buck murmurs, sliding back into Tommy’s space, two fingers in the pocket of Tommy’s sweats and the meat of his cheek sucked between his teeth. “I am gonna kiss you again, though,” he warns, and Tommy decides they’ll have plenty of time to talk, later.

---

Buck hitches a leg up over Tommy’s thigh, as the sun tips out over the horizon.

Somewhere between frantic make-outs number three and four, they’d stumbled their way over to the bed, and despite the hundreds of sirens and bells and gongs going off in his head, he’d let himself be tugged down over Buck, tongue sliding to the roof of his mouth while Buck snuck a grab at handfuls of his ass.

But he hadn’t pushed it any further.

It was only when their jaws had started to ache that he’d wheedled an invitation to stay out of Tommy, puppy-eyed pleading out in full force as he rolled his head against a pillow, glowering at the paperback in his way (how they hadn’t disturbed it, Tommy has no fucking clue) before tucking the thumb he’d had in Tommy’s mouth five minutes earlier in between the pages to hold his place while he scrambled up on his stupid long legs to grab a spare piece of paper from the notepad on the desk to use as a bookmark.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself and everything,” he’d promised, which had been a flagrant lie.

But he hadn’t pushed — fingers tracing the hills and valleys of Tommy’s abs while he admitted he’d had himself a nice long fit over how much Sidney Crosby seemed to know about him, lips ghosting over the arm of Tommy’s t-shirt as he told him about the enlightening conversation he’d had with Maddie, two days earlier, palm a steady weight against Tommy’s ribcage as he confessed to wanting to slew-foot his best friend for monopolizing all of Tommy’s attention, the last few weeks.

Buck’s half-hard, against the seam of Tommy’s sweats, but even as he readjusts the angle of the leg he’s thrown over Tommy’s, there’s no effort to ramp things back up. He’s been yawning between rambles for a good hour, now, and Tommy’s been too caught up in trying to memorize the exact color and shape of his birthmark to call him out on it. But his words have begun to slow, his eyelashes shifting against Tommy’s shoulder as he keeps trying to blink himself awake, and despite no longer having any plans for this morning, they’re both going to regret staying up so late when they have a game in a day and a half. “We should sleep,” Tommy says, and Buck digs his nose into Tommy’s shoulder in protest, shaking his head while he yawns into the meat of Tommy’s bicep.

“I’m — not even —.” His breath blows out hot against Tommy’s arm. “Not even tired,” he promises, fingers stretching out over Tommy’s ribcage.

Tommy’s hand makes a pass through the close-cropped hair on the back of Buck’s head and his lashes flutter closed. “Well, as you so deftly pointed out earlier, I’ve got almost a decade on you. Old man bones need rest.”

Buck snorts into Tommy’s armpit. “Thought we weren’t talking about your old man bone, tonight.”

There’s something achy and warm blooming beneath Tommy’s ribs that he absolutely refuses to acknowledge until they’ve both slept on this. He grabs the spare pillow from behind his head and whacks Buck’s thigh, instead. “Weak, three out of ten, I know you can do better.”

“Guess I need to rest and recuperate my flirting skills.”

Tommy hums, and lets his eyes tip closed as Buck fluffs up pillows and rearranges his limbs. He’s asleep before Buck’s even fully settled.

---

Tommy scrambles out of bed at the knock on his door, blinking sleep out of his eyes as his hand slides across the opposite side of the bed, which is rumpled and cool.

He takes a beat to wonder exactly how much of the previous night he’s going to regret, when a cursory glance around the room reveals no signs of Buck.

The knocking starts up again, and Tommy runs a hand over his face, checks the time.

9:45

Four hours of sleep, and still the latest he’s slept in in about ten years.

A third round of knocking interrupts his muddy thoughts, and he levers himself up out of bed with a groan, fully prepared to slam the door back in whoever’s face once he’s given them a cursory greeting and the stink eye, but when he swings the door open he’s met with the smiling face of Eddie, who is holding up a take-out bag with a raised brow.

Christ.

He hadn’t even looked in the mirror before he’d opened the door. He wonders how likely it is that Eddie will believe him if he plays off the hickey he knows Buck had been aiming to mark into the side of his neck as a bruise from Johnston’s chokehold, yesterday afternoon.

“Hey,” he says, and freezes a moment later when the toilet flushes in the bathroom.

Eddie tips his head from side to side. “So I guess you and Buck made up, too.”

(Teeth sliding along his lower lip, a hand around the back of his neck, Buck smiling bashfully against Tommy’s lips as he told him he’d apologized to Eddie before knocking on Tommy’s door.)

“Mm, yeah. We talked.”

Eddie squints at him. “Clearly.”

Tommy has no idea what the fuck that means, and he’s terrified to ask. They hadn’t talked about shit last night. (They’d talked about a million things, actually, the same shit they did with walls between them and phones tucked to their ears, but not this. Not exactly what either one of them were willing to let anyone else know.)

He’s saved the burden of responding by the bathroom door swinging open. Buck’s in the same jeans he’d worn the previous night, but he’s wearing one of Tommy’s t-shirts, and Tommy spends thirty seconds waffling between full-blown panic and a steady thrum of lust.

Buck snags the bag from Eddie’s outstretched fingers, and Eddie reels back, a practiced look of offense on his face.

Tommy is suddenly remembering the rumpled sheets and the indent on the pillow that is fully visible to Eddie from his position in the doorway. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at the bag Buck has cradled carefully to his chest. “What’s up?”

“Josh asked me to tell Tommy to, and I quote, ‘answer his goddamn texts and stop pretending to be a dinosaur, I know he knows how to use his phone’. End quote.”

“Well, you’ve told him.” Buck nods, and Eddie’s lips purse.

“Are you punishing me right now?”

“No.”

“Because it feels like you’ve made up with Tommy and now you’re trying to even out the time I spent with him solo by sharing our favorite food in this city with only Tommy.”

Which explains exactly why he’d been completely unsurprised to see Buck wandering out of Tommy’s bathroom at a completely reasonable hour of the day to find a teammate in another teammates room.

“If I give you half my sandwich, will you go back to running errands for Josh and leave me alone?”

Eddie rolls his tongue over his teeth, and tips his head side to side. “I want a full sandwich. I know you ordered an extra one.”

They have an intense little staring contest, right there in the doorway. Buck gives in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“And a pickle, just for the implication that I do anything for Russo of my own free will.”

Buck’s already tearing into the bag, reaching in to grab what Tommy assumes is the aforementioned sandwich, wrapped up in crisp white paper, which he slaps into Eddie’s hands before digging back in, in search of the pickles, most likely.

Tommy just stands there, head spinning, hyper aware of every muscle in his body while Buck piles more paper-wrapped items on top of the sandwich.

“Go away, now,” Buck says, shooing Eddie back away from the door, out into the hallway. “Let Tommy enjoy his apology sandwich in peace.”

“With you in the room? What sort of peace is he gonna get that way?”

“Goodbye.”

Tommy gets a last good look of Eddie’s bemused expression, right before Buck slams the door in his face.

A beat of silence. Then another, as Tommy listens to Eddie’s footsteps drift off down the hallway.

“Hi,” Buck says, and leans in for a kiss.

Tommy catches his jaw before it lands, and tries desperately to calm the swirling thoughts and not get distracted by the gleam in Buck’s eyes, or the subtle roll of his lower lip as it begins to jut out, pre-pout.

“I’m not out,” is the first thing Tommy can think to say, and Buck’s expression softens.

“Okay.”

“That — with Eddie —.”

“Tommy,” Buck says, voice low, the hand not holding the food curling over Tommy’s forearm. Tommy breathes, and wonders if this is how it’s always going to be. First sign of something good, and Tommy’s booking a one way ticket to the other side of the country. “Okay. That’s fine. I haven’t said anything. I - I wouldn’t.”

Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets and aims a glance at the bag. He’s fine. He can bury it. Let this all settle, and figure it out from there.

He should have sent Buck back to his room, last night, the moment he’d said his name.

“I’m — do you — should I go?”

You seem to do fine with relationships, right up until they feel real to you, Harold had told him, eight months in, after Tommy admitted he preferred it when Harold was a bit of an asshole getting his point across. Lets explore that.

Buck, who’d just spent two weeks quietly seething that his best friend was taking up all of Tommy’s time, looks back at Tommy with nothing but vague concern in his eyes, and Tommy spends a long, long moment reminding himself that he’d spent a good fucking year working his way up to admitting that he’d internalized a lifetime of keeping his feelings to himself and wrapped that up in a romanticized little bow he first time he’d watched Andrew Lincoln scramble to stop Keira Knightley from seeing her wedding film.

It’s self-preservation, he’d quoted to Harold, while Harold jotted something down in his notebook. Tommy liked to think he just kept a running list of all the stupid movie quotes he heard in their sessions.

“I don’t want you to go, Evan,” Tommy admits, and for once in his fucking life just lets himself enjoy the wide smile that brims across Buck’s face a moment before he leans in to press his lips to Tommy’s.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #bucktommy hockey au #throw in some love actually but make it traumatic

37 notes · View notes

thinkingcha0s · 1 year ago

Text

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀❝⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ╱╱⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ THE MEMBERS %!? ❞

ib. @venusvity & mentions of @moirtre

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀﹒ %%﹐⠀SAMUEL MYUNG, professionally known by his korean name SUNGJOON is one of the three founding members of CHAOS THEORY, previously known as THEXPLANATIONS. in 2009, sungjoon started a band with his cousin, JAEHWAN and their friend QUINTON in quinton's garage. most of the music they played at the beginning were covers, but slowly sungjoon began to write music for the band. sungjoon was hesitant about both the addictions of EIKŌ and ZHIXIN, and signing on with SOLARIA GARDENS.

unfortunately for solaria, sungjoon proved to be a liability of an artist, known for his reckless behaviour and bad manners with fans. sungjoon found himself in three scandals within months of each other. one being his attitude to fellow gemini artist. (which prompted a horrifying livestream apology) afterwards, his own drug use was called into question and in order to avoid persecution, he was sent back to canada to receive rehab. while in rehabilitation, a solaria garden's insider leaked information that sungjoon's hiatus was not because of his drug use but instead because he and jaehwan got into a physical altercation

as of now, sungjoon is once again an active member of chaos theory, and has hinted at his feelings towards his scandals in all of their most recent lyrics.

STAGE NAME: SUNGJOON

BIRTH NAME: samuel myung

DATE OF BIRTH: april 21, 1993

PLACE OF BIRTH: toronto, ontario

HOMETOWN: toronto, ontario

ETHNICITY: korean

NATIONALITY: canadian

POSITIONS: lyricist, bass guitarist

FACE CLAIMS: lee seunghyub

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀﹒ %%﹐⠀JAEHWAN, born JACKSON MYUNG is the cousin of SUNGJOON, and one of the founding members of CHAOS THEORY, and the creator of the name, and original name THEXPLANATIONS. from the very beginning of the band, jaehwan was the one making most of the big decisions, including adding EIKŌ and ZHIXIN, and signing with SOLARIA GARDENS.

jaehwan, out of all the members, is the one who struggled the most with moving from toronto to seoul. despite quickly finding love from the band's tour in korea, jaehwan would go on to struggle with the authority of the band and his own mental health for years to come. one of his biggest challenges was between him and sungjoon in their own personal family rivalry. despite being in a drastically better place, even considering each other friends now, jaehwan has continued to feel doubt in his ability to trust the other members with the business side of chaos theory.

despite tensions rising between him and their manager, jaehwan has kept this secret from the other members, and his wife.

STAGE NAME: JAEHWAN

BIRTH NAME: jackson myung

DATE OF BIRTH: july 08, 1993

PLACE OF BIRTH: toronto, ontario

HOMETOWN: toronto, ontario

ETHNICITY: korean

NATIONALITY: canadian

POSITIONS: lead vocalist

FACE CLAIMS: park junhee

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀﹒ %%﹐⠀everyone's favourite social butterfly, QUINTON ONG. quinton grew up in toronto with his three bothers, and his parents. at 12, quinton's father walked out on them, and at 15, his mom got remarried to JAMIE REYES, who would eventually adopt quinton and his brothers officially. quinton's childhood was corrupted by his father walking out and the bad path's his older bothers took and even with his step-father's help, quinton struggled a lot with anager management, which is what got JAEHWAN to convince him to join the band.

after signing with SOLARIA GARDENS, quinton would become the most popular member of the band. still to this day, quinton interacts the most with fans, despite being private at the same time. quinton went from being the most emotionally distant member, to somewhat of a companion to each member, being confieded in by each of them, as well as other idols under solaria,

in the past few years, quinton's music career has shifted to directing music videos, making his debut with NO VARIETY's TATIANA's second mixtape title track. he has continued with directing, through other friends of his music, and CHAOS THEORY's most recent music. he also became the main editor of no variety's CELENE's dance showcase show.

STAGE NAME: QUINTON ONG

BIRTH NAME: quinton ong

DATE OF BIRTH: august 15, 1993

PLACE OF BIRTH: mississauga, ontario

HOMETOWN: toronto, ontario

ETHNICITY: korean

NATIONALITY: canadian

POSITIONS: drummer

FACE CLAIMS: johnny suh

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀﹒ %%﹐⠀IT BOY, ENZO MASAKI, professionally known as EIKŌ is one of solaria garden's most popular member. eikō was added to the band in 2012, after becoming friends with QUINTON and JAEHWAN in college. eikō really was the missing piece, and his addition was the beginning of legitimate gigs for the band, beyond just weddings. he was able to get them into clubs that they couldn't legally play in. after the move to korea though, eikō's confidence in his place in the band dwindled, and it became more of job than a passion for him.

eikō became friends with NO VARIETY's DAVINA, and since has been overwhelmed by dating rumours, despite denying them multiple times. besides, it helps that he's been spotted at the same club with five different people in the past few months. because of his own scandals, and the hiatus the band took, his passions shifted from music to acting.

recently, however, eikō has seemed to find a lot more passion in the group and has seemed to rekindle his friendship with the members in the past few years.

STAGE NAME: EIKŌ

BIRTH NAME: enzo masaki

DATE OF BIRTH: october 30, 1993

PLACE OF BIRTH: toronto, ontario

HOMETOWN: toronto, ontario

ETHNICITY: korean

NATIONALITY: canadian

POSITIONS: electric guitarist

FACE CLAIMS: yuta nakamoto

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀﹒ %%﹐⠀FENG ZHIXIN, moved to toronto when he was seven years old and from that first day, him and EIKŌ were the best of friends. thanks to eikō's insistence that they go to college together, they became friends with QUINTON and JAEHWAN and eventually the two would be added to their band.

in the early days of living in korea, zhixin and SUNGJOON did not get a long, mainly because zhixin was very blunt about his opinions on sungjoon's attitude and this caused a major rift between all the band members after sungjoon lashed out at zhixin.

zhixin, since the beginning of their mainstream days, was the most private member and it has stayed that way. however, zhixin has slowly become a more known member because of his fashion ventures and starting to interact more with fans publically. his dynamic with sungjoon also seemed to heal over night.

STAGE NAME: ZHIXIN

BIRTH NAME: feng zhixin

DATE OF BIRTH: december 23, 1993

PLACE OF BIRTH: guangzhou, china

HOMETOWN: toronto, ontario

ETHNICITY: chinese

NATIONALITY: chinese

POSITIONS: keyboardist

FACE CLAIMS: xu minghao

#⠀⠀％!? ──⠀⠀ thinking chaos ╱ ⠀ profiles #ficnetfairy #fictional idol oc #fictional idol community #fake kpop idol #fictional idol group #kpop oc #oc group #rock band oc

28 notes · View notes

hostilemuppet · 1 year ago

Text

Brozone & Acquaintances: Fame and Blunders (The Rise And Fall, The Epic Highs And Lows Of Trolltwt) Part Six

split into a new post bc the last one (parts 1-5, crossposted on ao3 (including intermission)) got too long. as always, cowritten by the evil genius @squirrelpatties

cloud guy: infamous leaktwt contributor, with a specific fixation on branch (and to a lesser extent anyone close to branch, but branch is his #1). he got his hands on several embarrassing baby photos of branch, which even jd was concerned about, because "we never published those ones, they were just for grandmas wallet". some of his most well known leaks were "barb was admitted to rehab" "creek got a BBL" and "smidge had a miscarriage" (the latter overshadowing the other two by a significant margin)

sky toronto: egotistical millionaire who bought twitter and changed the logo into a tie. whenever creek posts a new off-the-wall conspiracy theory to his impressionable audience, sky replies that hes "Looking into this..." (theyre oomfs). many of his experimental party supplies have killed a disgusting amount of animal test subjects but that doesnt mean hes not willing to test on trolls. branch almost dies when hes hit by someones neuro-mind-link party popper.

smidge vs barbtwt: several influential barbtwt members with a tie to a certain infamous leaker who shall not be named (they paid him. he didnt need the money he just likes messing with people) get their hands on smidges medical records, initially to prove shes trans (shes not) but they instead learn about her miscarriage. instead of backing off, showing her sympathy and feeling guilty about this disgusting breach of privacy, they coordinate to make this public knowledge the next time smidges name trends. twitter is divided into "smidgetwt supporting her wholeheartedly through this horrible situation" "smidge antis who think 'she had it coming'" and "barbtwt happy that smidge is suffering". this sparks a debate on the ethics of trolls smoking while with eggs, with pro-egg-smokers saying its their body their choice and anti-egg-smokers saying "are you out of your damn mind". this is how smidge reveals she is simultaneously pro-egg-smoking and pro-life. its a bloodbath. she drops off the face of the internet never to be seen again........ unless 🤔

cloud guy (part 2): after years of providing the public service of "making branchs life miserable", cloud guys twitter account (and IP) is sadly permabanned when poppy demands sky toronto take action the third time branch is doxxed. sky toronto originally didnt care but after a solid week of her pestering him, he gave up, but only because he forgot to take "no doxxing" out of troll twitters TOS, and the backlash would be worse than hes willing to deal with right now. sleep well, soldier 🫡.

dante vs poppy: dante is branchs stalker. routinely stakes out by branchs pod to take photos of him for his shrine. its not a sex thing but whatever it is is way weirder than a sex thing. branch has moved pods 3 times but dante always manages to find him. perhaps he has friends in high places? regardless of the "how", the "what" is poppy wants him fucking Gonezo. unfortunately dante, as an ambassador for classical trolls, is not under poppys jurisdiction of pop trolls. she decides the only way to deal with the "rando stalking my partner" situation is to catch him with one of branchs traps. except, dante can fly, so rope traps arent effective and poppy needs to get creative and potentially very violent. she asks branch if he still has those spikes she begged him to take down. he does but he repurposed them as hat racks. now he needs to find somewhere else to put his hats!

gus tumbleweed: lowtiergod-esque fighting game streamer whos known for yelling and screaming at his opponents when he loses. he goes into long, drawn out, nonsensical similes and metaphors to describe how much he wants the player who beat him to kill themself or otherwise die painfully

tiny (in game chat): git rekt f4gg0t gus (on mic): someone outta hog tie ya and hang ya up in the middle o town like a pinata caught sleezin with the mayors daughter tiny (in game chat): bro

is invited to take part in a tournament for charity during pride month. when beaten by a gay guy he regresses to violently homophobic hatespeach. youd think thisd be a career ender but its amazing what "pretending to be attracted to your fellow straight male friends" can fix! he makes a halfhearted comment about thinking one of his streamer friends is handsome and/or has a nice ass and everything is back to normal, and he faces zero consequences for his actions.

holly darlin: fellow twitch streamer, although in different circles to gus tumbleweed. she is undefeated at chess but otherwise unremarkable, yet because shes a woman everyone hates her. after a year or two or constant hate she decides "fuck it" and commits to selling snake oil. the hell are they gonna do? call her a whore? shes already got every variation and misspelling caught in autofilter, buddy. she peddles for the same company that supplies the diet pills satin and chenille hype up on their podcast. its how she and satin meet. theyre lesbians now. it makes the hate holly gets SOOOOOO much worse but satins used to it so shes unaffected. chenille gets no say in the matter

synth: third and final twitch streamer (...so far). the gay guy who beat gus in a tournament for charity and was met with violent hatespeach. beforehand was one of the smaller creators in the tournament but afterward he blew up a lot more. he does a lot of charity streams, mostly for the benefit of disabled children, out of the goodness of his heart and NOT the glory like some OTHER trolls mentioned two paragraphs previous. hes just a good guy! also almost had a thing with branch when they were both confused about each others identities.

synth: today marks a year since i almost kissed a very attractive twunk in pop village and then found out he was a lesbian who thought i was a lesbian minuet: gay culture

broppy: theyre doing great! absolutely NO problems whatsoever! im sure it will last forever!

#text #twitter drama au

21 notes · View notes