#and george and harold gave me some weird looks when my name was called on the announcements

[secret-keeper-speaks]

i’m at my fathers workplace??? my father picked me up earlier than anticipated and all he’s revealed to me is that I have an appointment for something in his building at two o clock. he’s working at the moment, as usual, but I have to sit here in his office until the appointment.

[tornrose24]

Three worded password (A CU Portal AU oneshot)

There’s a hidden test subject in the facility and George and Harold have no clue that three strange discoveries are they key to her freedom.

There’s a lot to discover when you have two sets of portal guns, two naturally curious and determined but easily bored boys, and a sadistic maniac forcing you to do test after test without stopping. The sterile look of Aperture Labs will eventually get to you and you will welcome any change of color besides the dull monochromes and blues and oranges.

George and Harold managed to ‘ruin’ another test as an act of defiance against Krupp to the point that they could hear him screaming and throwing a terrific tantrum in his domain, which meant he was not focusing on them. They took their chance to use the portal guns to sneak up into what appeared to be another hidden area that was barely in view. Careful aiming and timing granted the boys a brief moment of freedom and a new area to explore.

“It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache! WHICH IS WORKING!” They could  still hear Krupp’s projected voice. “I’m going to explode from a headache no thanks to you two! And then you’re going to have ‘committed a murder via headache induced by stupid reckless behavior’ on your files!”

The boys just laughed and continued on their way into the secret room. But upon entering it, they stopped laughing when they saw what was on the wall.

Painted upon the wall was a mural of a stick figure in some sort of strange metal and glass container. Whoever made it was a terrible artist and made Harold look like Rembrandt.

“Huh, wonder what it is.” George stated as he and Harold looked at it. “Hey... have I seen that before?” George struggled to think as Harold continued looking at the image, but nothing happened to make them remember.

Harold turned his head and saw something written on the side wall next to the mural. “‘George, look.” He pointed to the message.

“‘Can’t use this test subject.’” George read the frantic, yet desperate message. “‘No matter what, can not use it. Too valuable. Not fit for testing. Don’t let him free the subject.’” The last part had a line drawn under it for emphasis, followed by ‘save subject!!!’

“George, is there... you don’t think there’s another test subject like us in Aperture?” Harold nervously asked. “I thought we’re the only ones. Krupp said so.” 
“Krupp says anything.” George pointed out before noticing another message. “Azure skies, denim jeans, sapphire seas, cobalt space, cerulean oceans, robin’s egg... what do we all have in common?”

“Ok, now this is getting weird.” George shook his head. “Some weirdo must have made this.”

Harold stared at the message and tried to think. What did these things all have in common? He struggled to think–he barely remembered what a sky was supposed to look like. He didn’t know what a robin’s egg was. Sapphire... that was a jewel right? It almost reminded him of when the portal gun produced a certain colored portal–

“Blue!” Harold exclaimed. “These are all just another way of saying blue!”

“Really?” George was impressed before frowning. “But that still doesn’t make sense.”

“WHERE ARE YOU BRATS?! IF YOU GONE AND KILLED YOURSELF, THEN IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT NOT MINE!”

The boys gave each other a knowing look and sighed. It was time to head back.

They didn’t think too much of that until they found another room. Krupp had been distracted once again and they took their freedom as fast as they could.

They were happy to get a chance to rest–only to find the same mural of a figure in that container and it was just as bad as the last one.

“Again?” Harold raised an eyebrow at this as George read the message.

“‘Couldn’t save you in time, I should have told you to leave me. Now you’re stuck here in this nightmare with me. Can’t expect forgiveness. Can’t trust myself–too cowardly to risk it. I’m going to burn for this one day.’”

“Seriously, who made these?” Harold shuddered before George read the message at the bottom.

“‘Friends are a pair, splitting leads to twins, a team is a duo, lovebirds are a couple, eight minus six is–’” The rest was a blank.

George thought about this message and raised his hands up to count down with his fingers. “Eight minus six....” He paused and thought as he counted down his fingers with each one going down.

“Two.” He looked up. “This message is talking about twos.”

“So it’s like how that last message and all the things in it had something in common  with each other.” Harold thought.

They both didn’t think too much on it and sat down to rest for a few minutes.

By the time they found the third hidden room, they were more than sure that Krupp was feeding them lies.

They didn’t remember anything before they woke up as if their lives had been a blank. Despite whatever Krupp told them (that their parents abandoned them, that the world outside was a wasteland filled with useless, stupid people, that all they were good for was for testing and not drawing or telling stories) they had a feeling it was all a lie long before they figured it out. Much like the promise of freedom that they craved for than anything.

He was making it point clear that he would be keeping them locked up in this awful, boring place, no matter how many tests they had done, and he wouldn’t say why other than “Because I say so!” when pushed too far. Also the ‘tests’ were getting worse to the point that both boys had been pushed beyond their limits and were almost shot by turrets that were shaped more like toilets (to which the pain in their neck admitted that he didn’t know why they were designed like that, but they were a metaphor waiting to be used on the two if they didn’t hurry it up).

The only consolation they had was each other, and it was getting to the point that Krupp was noticing. The tests had less cooperation involved then usual. It was only a matter of time...

Both boys were sweaty, dirty, and George had a hole in his t-shirt from a close call by one of the turrets when they came upon this room. Once again the same mural greeted them along with another strange message.

“I want to see you again. I can’t see you again. No, too dangerous. Must forget these locations before the itch comes on. I want to see your smile and hear your voice.”

The boys didn’t bother to read the other message until they rested up for a few minutes and were too exhausted to even talk. Harold took out a small, but strange gray-white sphere with a blue light in it that he and George found earlier and tossed it in his hands for a bit while George stared up at the ceiling and tried to imagine life before this (he could barely make out two faces in the haze) before either of them looked at the next cryptic message.

“Will I ever again see the sky? Would I ever know what it’s like to fly? Perhaps it’d be better if I die? Perhaps the end is nigh. I hear myself sigh. Did I make her cry? Sometimes I ask myself ‘why?’ All they told us was a lie. They away so much, including my–”

Under the bizarre poem was a series of words to chose from and to fill in the blank space for the last line. This time both boys figured out what the missing word was within a few moments.

“Eye.” Harold pointed to the word in the word bank.

“Yup, it’s ‘eye.’” George agreed before grimacing. “They... took away my eye?”

“George this is freaking me out.” Harold shuddered. “Let’s leave this place.”

“Hang on a minute.” George turned to Harold. “What was the point of these puzzles? How does this relate to a missing subject? And how come Krupp never mentioned it?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know about it.” Harold thought over this. “We should mention it to him next time–”


“No.” George denied. “I have a feeling he shouldn’t know. Especially if there’s something we don’t know.”

Harold hummed as he traced his fingers against some lettering on the sphere: ‘Intelligence Dampening Sph–’ the rest had been rubbed off. Had he known that the object was going to be one of many keys to freedom, he would have treated it with more care.

Neither boy would be able to solve the mystery anytime soon–especially when they finally confronted their tormentor in his domain and saw him face to face. He almost looked more machine than man though being connected to multiple cables and wires woven through a mechanical ‘throne’ thanks to what appeared to be ports scattered across his back and in the back of his head. One quarter of his face was seemingly taken over by a white and black thing with some sort of yellow optic where one eye should have been (forcing him to see in binary, numbers, and the world around him in yellow monochrome, alongside what his more human-like eye could see).

Especially when he tricked them into destroying the morality core shoved into his chest via a nearby incinerator–the very thing that forced him to follow ‘their’ rules and regulations and not lash out, no matter what the name implied–which he himself could not, thanks to a restraint that had been forced into his mentality. Now he was at the point that he didn’t care if the boys lived or died (for whatever happened to them would be revenge upon their parents for not stopping those who ran this place in time).

Especially when the boys used all they learned against him and pulled off a prank (with the help of the portals) by shoving the Intelligence Dampening Sphere into his chest where the morality core used to be. When the whole area exploded, when they found themselves gazing at the sky before an escort robot could drag them back to be put in stasis.

But they both would chose each other over freedom. They could not imagine escaping at the cost of leaving the other behind.

Soon they’d be awakened at some point later on by a cheerful face who was both familiar and not quite. A face with a slightly altered appearance with a blue light in his eye and a familiar sphere shoved into his chest.

It was only after a few hours of exploration, a moment of revenge by taking the core in and out of their new friend to turn him back to his old self with each removal, that they would come upon a familiar sight.

The boys were now in a unique area filled with stasis chambers and these ones were different. Located in a small room that seemed surprisingly well cared for, these chambers were all familiar to them–they were the chambers that were depicted in the murals that once puzzled the boys, yet only one was occupied.

“George, look!” Harold pulled his friend to look at this particular chamber. A woman in her very late twenties to early-or-mid-thirties was sleeping inside, with dark hair covering half of a face that had a light sprinkle of freckles, and she was dressed in a dark pink dress with an apron bearing the Aperture logo across her chest. There also seemed to be handprint smudges upon the outside of glass that sealed her in, but the boys were drawn to what was smack dab on the middle of the container.

It looked like a keyboard with letters and numbers with a screen on it.

“I guess there was someone down here after all!” George exclaimed as he and Harold didn’t know whether to be excited or horrified for the sleeping woman’s sake.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harold then went up to the keyboard and tried pressing something to see what would happen. The screen flashed red colored words against the black screen in response.

‘SUBJECT WILL ONLY AWAKEN FROM STASIS UPON ENTERING THE CORRECT THREE WORDED PASSWORD. TYPE IN PASSWORD TO AWAKEN SUBJECT. PRESS ENTER’ FOR EACH WORD.’ The screen then displayed a blinking red bar.

“Oh wow,” Harold grimaced as he looked at George. “I have no clue what that could be.”

“Aperture Science... Labs?” George suggested and typed it in.

‘ERROR.’

“Ok, not that one.” George shook his head.

“Cake is lie?” Harold typed in, only to be greeted with ‘ERROR’.

“Dance banana dance?”

“Krupp’s a jerk?”

“Furry taco shell?”

“Lemons are explosive?”

“Wicked wedgie woman?”

“Potato powered battery?”

“Bird’s the word?”

Each one was met with an ‘ERROR.’

“ARGH!” George threw his hands in the air. “It could be anything!” He and Harold struggled to think of the possible passwords in addition to wondering why it had to be so hard to awaken the woman inside.

“Wait a minute.” Harold thought back to the murals and how this chamber looked like the ones that were depicted upon the walls. “Remember those murals from awhile ago? I think they might have to do with this. There were three in total–”

“They were giving us the password!” George caught on and his eyes sparkled. “Those messages must have been giving us the answers!”

Harold struggled to recount. “The first one listed different kinds of blue... one of the words is ‘blue.’”

“Ok, ok,” George thought. “The second one was the use of two... the answer was ‘two!’”

“And then the last one was a poem.” Harold struggled harder. “What were the words used? Fly, lie, cry, sigh– eye! The word was ‘eye!’”

“Blue... two... eye...” George thought on this. “Eye... two... blue... two blue... eye... No if there was more then one it would need to be ‘eyes’ not ‘eye.’”

“Well, lets give it a shot.” Harold was optimistic and steeped aside to let George type it in. He nervously typed each word in (the words that spelled out ‘two blue eyes’) and after pressing enter one last time, dots appeared on the screen and he stepped back towards Harold.

There was a click and the lettering became green. ‘PASSWORD ACCEPTED. AWAKENING SUBJECT.’ The screen said to the joy of the boys who felt victorious at the accomplishment.

A blast of hair blew into the woman and made her clothes ripple before the door swung open. Whatever kept her suspended mid air vanished and made her collapse into a crumble upon the floor.

“Quickly, let’s get her out!” Harold rushed to her aid and with the help of George, they got the woman out as fast as they could. She was heavy, but they managed to get her out with much care.

“We did it!” George cried out when they rested the woman on the floor.

“We did!” Harold exclaimed as the woman began to stir. “We–she’s waking up!” He freaked out as the woman’s eyelids began to flutter open, revealing a striking set of the bluest eyes that the two had ever seen.

“Hey, are you ok?” Harold knelt beside the woman who was struggling with wakening up.

“Where... am...” She voice was weak from lack of use as she tried to look at the two. “Ben.” Her voice became urgent. “Where... where’s Ben... where....?” She pleaded.

“Hey guys, what’s taking so long?!” A cheerful voice from down a hallway asked.

The woman could see that the boys panicked a little at the sound of the voice. “Do you think we should–?” Harold asked.

“As long as we don’t take the sphere out of him.” George turned to the woman. “Hey it’s ok, we’ll get you out of here!” He promised her.

“No...” The woman felt sleep coming over her. “Ben..jamin... they still have...”

The woman heard someone charging down the hallway and she couldn’t get her eyes to open when Harold called out. “We need you to help carry someone!”

The woman then slipped in and out of consciousness as she thought she heard a somewhat familiar voice talking to the boys. The last thing she recalled before falling back to sleep was someone–a man, she guessed–picking her up and gently cradling her in his arms. She was close enough to fell his heart beat and the last thing she could make out when she opened her eyes a crack was something blue on his chest before the darkness took over again.

The woman was fine for now and would soon wake up. Unfortunately for her and the boys, her rescuers did something they probably shouldn’t have done–awoken the test subject that Krupp had wanted to awaken for a very long time.

Just not while the addiction to test was still a part of him.

-The itch is also known as the ‘urge to test’ in Portal 2. I combined what I knew of both games for this one. I don’t intend on making a full on fan fic (plus I have some things that need to be finished, like the Corpse Bride AU). But it would be a good AU to revisit. Also, now you know what the password is. :)

[newsiegirlscout]

Nerdsitting

Tagging time! As well as explaining what the heck I’m doing with this mess of a fanfiction! Yeah!

@vizivoir, Special delivery! (They asked to be tagged so as not to miss it, and tagged they will be!) 

@sugarandmemories, I may or may not have borrowed your Melvin’s insomnia, neglectful parents ((Yeah, guys. In the books, they actually were there, they just didn’t pay much attention to him. He even switches off the “Dramatic Effects” on the Combine-o-Tron so as not to wake them up.)), and slight eating disorder. Ahaha..the chance was too good to pass up.  Please don't sue. :) ;)

As for what I’m doing, I don’t really know. It’s fluff. It has George and Harold subliminally taking care of Melvin...you know, making him eat something, cheering him up when he’s down, getting him off that good ol’ polyphastic sleep schedule. Ergo, Nerdsitting. Enjoy!

Melvin Sneedly had just wanted to pick up the latest issue of Scientific American at the Hobnobs Comix Shop downtown before the quality deteriorated or the magazines sold out. Was that so hard to ask?

Apparently, according to the universe, it was.

When a bald, portly man wearing nothing but his underwear and a red polka-dotted cape fell out of the sky and dropped to one knee, Melvin completely lost his train of thought and instead decided to take a tentative step back. On the man’s back, two of the more mischievous students in his class beamed back at him, giving a polite wave.

“Hey, Melvin!” George chimed.

“Do you always greet people this way?” He wheezed, slamming one hand to his chest in shock.

“What, ‘Hey’ and then his name? Dude, is this a trick question?” Harold said softly, tugging George’s shirt.

“I think he means on the back of a superhero wearing nothing but his underwear and a polka-dotted red cape.” the boy responded. Climbing off, he gestured regally to the caped crusader, followed closely by his best friend.

“Melvin, this is Captain Underpants. You may remember him from that time you tried to rid the entire school of laughter.” George said. Captain Underpants stood up and gave a happy “thumbs-up” at his cue.

“Anyway. We thought we’d stop by. Didn’t think we’d see you at the comic store! What’cha getting?” Harold added.

Taking another step back, Melvin clutched the strap of his backpack instinctively before responding.

“I was just going to see if I could acquire the latest copy of Scientific American before it sold out...but now, I think I’ll go home and take my chances tomorrow.”

“Ah, that’s a shame, young nemesis,” Captain Underpants chimed in, “For my amiable sidekicks and I might provide delightful company in your education! Why, they themselves have documented several episodes of my life in this praiseworthy format!”

“You mean the comic books they sell on the playground, in which I tend to be frequently incriminated as some sort of nerdy villain against laughter?”

“Sidekicks! You didn’t tell me that you knew the one and only Anti-Humor boy personally!” he gasped excitedly. “Will you sign my cape?” he said to Melvin with a slight bounce.

Melvin shrugged and produced a black Sharpie from his pocket, much to the delight of the hero. Walking around him, he wrote out “Anti-Humor boy” in his careful cursive, then patted the delighted captain on his back.

“Now, off to Dumb Stupid Nerd Jail for you!” he cheered, hooking his fingers into the startled scientist’s neckband.

“Captain Underpants! Melvin...received time off for good behavior! He’s totally cool now!” George blurted in a panic, pressing the side of his sneaker into his ample stomach as if he were trying to stop a wild colt. To Melvin, he added, “Sorry, man. You..wanna come hang out with us for a while? We have a tree house!”

“It’s a pretty cool tree house.” Harold added, cracking a grin.

“Ummm...yeah, I still think I’ll pass. Call me again when I’m in the mood for getting made fun of for a full hour or two.” he said, walking off.

“Aww, Melvin, don’t be like that! Isn’t your house like, two miles away, anyway? We can totally give you a ride to the amazing Tree House Comix Inc., you can chill with us, spend a few hours playing Tetris or drawing nerd comics or something, and then we could take you back home!” Harold explained, hastily putting brown, white, and light orange button-eyed socks on his hands and right foot respectively to illustrate his vision. (The tangerine sock, Melvin noted, even sported a sported a tiny black bow tie and ginger woolen hair.)

“Or,” he continued as George gave Melvin a look that seemed to reveal that Harold had drawn out points with improvised sock puppetry before, “You could get your magazine and go back home.” The light orange sock puppet, to Melvin’s amusement, switched places with Harold, tucked a tiny bubblegum comic that he supposed was supposed to be the four hundred and fifty-third issue of Scientific American under his cotton arm and left, leaving sock puppet George and Harold giving each other blank expressions.

“You’d want to read it as soon as possible, but put it in your bag so you wouldn’t walk in front of a bus or something, and then you’d walk two sad endless miles without a friend, sadly listening to-you were listening to music, right?-sad music as you trudged home. Sadly.”

To emphasize this point, Harold took an extra few steps away from Captain Underpants for some unknown reason, then poured a miniature watering can over a dejected sock puppet Melvin, accompanied by a melancholy classical tune from his phone.

“And then you’d get home,”

The music stopped and the watering can was thrown to the side.

“Read the magazine, and die of sadness and boredom, and that’s why you need to hang out with us and have a ton of fun today!”

Melvin smiled slightly and shook his sock puppet counterpart’s hand.

“Deal.”

“To the Underwear Cave!” Captain Underpants cheered, kneeling down again.

“He means to our tree house.” Harold whispered, swinging back onto the superhero’s back and offering his hand to Melvin, who took it gratefully. 

On the ride back, George and Harold filled him in on everything. 

“Okay, so..Captain Underpants can’t get water on his head. Don’t ask.”

“He’s also a total goofball and wants to fight crime whenever possible. As in, if you have five extra minutes, he’ll be convinced that there’s some sort of crime going on somewhere. And there usually is...it’s kinda like how the little kid summoned all the demons to the hotel with his sixth sense in that one movie? Yeah, like that.”

“You okay, Melvin? You look a little freaked out...I know, the first ride is always a bit weird. You ever jumped out a window and slid down a lamppost before?”

“Why would I ever have done that? I mean...Oh no. Don’t tell me that you two have done that. Scratch my last question, how many times did you do that?”

“Um...a lot?” Harold laughed nervously, “Uh...do you wanna text your parents, let ‘em know you’re at our place?”

“They’re working late at the lab all week. Ciana and I are left to fend for ourselves, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh. I see. Well, that’s great, because we’re already here!” Harold said, giving another flourish to the tree house. Several mechanisms were affixed to various places, presumably meant to help one scale the tree in a much more complicated way than necessary. 

“How fast does Captain Underwear fly, exactly? Because this seems less like coincidence that we landed right now, and more like lazy writing on the author’s part.” Melvin said, adjusting his bow tie.

“Yeah...she does that. Consider your flight twice as fast with the right dialogue!” Harold said, ably climbing up the wooden steps, followed closely by George, then Melvin. Once inside, Harold excitedly pointed out the sleeping bags, mini fridge, comic gallery, television, and gaming system. 

“Oh...wow.” Melvin responded, his hazel eyes flashing with jubilee.

“So...what’cha wanna do?” 

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have a deck of cards around, would you?”

George cocked his head, surprised by the ginger’s simple request. “Um..yeah, we have cards!” he said, withdrawing a deck from his pocket, “I should warn you though, I hold a pretty tight spot as Go Fish champion.”

“Oooh, Billy’s pretty good at Concentration, too.” Harold added. 

“Do either of you know how to play poker? I mean, not necessarily for gambling reasons, but...” he paused to withdraw a small drawstring sack from his bag, pulling the cord and tipping it over the floor to reveal a shimmering stream of chocolate coins, a small confectionery fortune by his feet, “for chocolate coins?”

“Awww, bro! This is probably the best thing you’ve ever done! No offense, I just...didn’t think you’d go for gambling and stuff. Even fake gambling. Or chocolate. Orrrr fun.” Harold said, his voice dropping off as he twisted his hands against his shirt.

A week before his third-grade graduation, Melvin looked up from his book to see a group of children in the cafeteria trading candy cigarettes. “Hey! You four are violating Rule #7,438: Section Five: ‘Smoking of cigarettes on campus is strongly prohibited! Note: Even if they aren’t lit! Note: Even if they’re candy cigarettes!’ I’m telling!”

“Awww, man.” They said, tucking the packs into their lunchboxes dejectedly. 

*****

“Well, I’m up for it in any case.” Harold responded, “I’m also about to go get a sandwich-either of you two want one?”

“I’ll take one!” George said, fanning out the deck, “I’m starving!”

Melvin politely declined, earning a look of confusion from both of the troublemakers. The truth was, in fact, that he had been so caught up with his studies that he hadn’t eaten in days; even when he and his sister ordered dinner, he would take a slice of pizza up to his room, then generally put it on top of a bookshelf, forget about it, and leave it for Danderella. At school, he never so much forgot his lunch as the desire to eat it; every time since Monday, he had felt a peculiar weight in his stomach, telling him to stuff it in his locker, to give it to somebody else, just to continue with his extra-credit assignments. That was the important thing, most of all-the extra credit was worth it, worth the fatigue and distorted rhythm of his perfected order to life, worth the trembling in his legs, all for the extra plus on his A’s, the smiles on his teachers’ faces, the extra cache he relied on when he stuttered during an oral report or rushed his penmanship in a five-page essay, earning him a docked half-point or so. 

Besides, eating was a waste of time that could be better dedicated to his research.

Still, Harold came back a few minutes later carrying an extra dish between the two in his hands, the rim meticulously balanced on the edges of the other two. Propping one knee under the paper plates, he passed out the sandwiches to all three of them in turn. 

“For Monsieur George”, he said, faking a French accent, “Your peanut butter and gummy worm sandvich, vith cold can of ze finest Mountain Dew, as well as light side of chips.” 

“Why, Mr. Hutchins, this is a rather delightful spread.” George said, feigning the voice of a luxuriously wealthy diner in a black-and-white film.

“And for Monsieur Melvin, ve have ze freshly pressed grilled cheese sandvich vith Dr. Pepper and chips. How do you like?” 

Melvin took the tray and aligned the neatly cut sandwich to a more aesthetically pleasing angle relative to the soda and Doritos bag. “Oh, uh..thanks for the sandwich I didn’t actually ask for?”

Harold broke out of his waiter impression for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t explain this one. It’s a goofy tradition we have- you have to respond in a fancy accent.”

Melvin nodded slightly, then replied in a Russian voice, “Okay, I get it now. But my waitering friend, I have not placed an order!”

“Ah, vell, I fear ve have made an extra sandvich anyhow. So..you might as well take it, compliments of ze Tree House Gahden-Gahdens.” 

He grinned and sat down at his place, carefully arranging his hand of cards and setting down his own tuna salad-chocolate chip-miniature marshmallow sandwich with Sprite and Fritos. 

Melvin took a bite of the sandwich, and it tasted like...well, like a regular grilled cheese sandwich, but like something more at the same time. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. 

“Did you use oregano in this?”

Harold winked, swallowing a bite of his own lunch before speaking. “Original Hutchins recipe.”

#########

“So, Melvin...do you have a hobby besides Science-y stuff and card games?” George asked.

“I make papercraft modules, play World of Warcraft, collect little tin cars, alphabetize everything, sort laundry by color in rainbow order, lightest to darkest...lots of stuff. Why?” he asked. 

“Eh. Just seeing if you do anything cool. Which you don’t.”

“What?”

George shrugged. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“O-kay...so, what do you two do for fun, besides card games, getting into trouble, and making comics?”

“Not much. Mostly just laugh at silly stuff and hang out in the club house. Skateboarding. Watching TV. Playing video games. That sort of thing.”

“How did you hook a television up to your club house?”

“Oh, it’s pretty interesting, actually!” Harold interjected, “You see, Mr. Beard built the basic layout, but one summer we actually earned so much money from odd jobs that we bought a second-hand television from somewhere, screwed a power outlet to the underside of the house, and hooked it up ourselves! Creative thinking, huh?”

“Mm-hmm..” Melvin said distractedly. “You two realize we’ve spent four and a half hours playing card games, video games, and goofing off?”

“Welcome to summer vacation, genius!” he said, nudging the scientist in the shoulder.

“Yeah..but it’s a two-hour walk back to my house, and given the time-” he paused to gesture to the hands on his watch cocked at 10:28-”I should probably start heading back. So, if you’ll excuse me-” he started to climb down the wooded steps of the tree house- “I’ll go. Thanks for having me over.” 

“Hang on!” Harold said, jumping off the top platform, grabbing one of the sturdier branches, and gently sliding down to the grass, “I’ll ask my dad to give you a ride! We’ve never seen your house anyway-is it like, a mansion or something?”

George straddled the rope of the tire swing and slid down, remaining on top of the tire. “Yeah, maybe it’s a science lab! Or an apartment!”

Harold looked at his black-haired friend peculiarly. 

“How is an apartment interesting?”

“It could be a nice apartment!” he retorted. “Or maybe one with a ton of secret passageways and a chocolate chandelier!” 

“I live in a pretty boring house, you two.” Melvin chuckled softly, “Though of course, I wouldn’t decline a ride, if it wouldn’t bother your parents too much.”

“Oh yeah, no! Not at all!” George responded, running inside and reemerging with his father, who ruffled Melvin’s hair with only a slight bit of annoyance not directed at him, but rather, at being interrupted while he was reading his favorite novel. (And he’d just gotten to the good part, too.)

“So, you’re the Sneedly kid who needs a ride, right?”

“Yes, sir. I apologize for bothering you this late, just-”

“Well, there’s no need to apologize, little fella! My son says you live way out of this neighborhood, is this true?”

“Well, yes, you could say that.” he responded, fingering the edge of his pressed sweater.

“May I ask for your address?”

“It’s 1123 Wilson Way, sir.”

“Oh, okay! Well then, you boys buckle up for the Beardmobile! Harold, do you want a ride home too?”

The blond giggled slightly at the question, almost involuntarily. “Yes, Mr. Beard. Thank you!”

############

He had expected the trip to be awkward, that he’d be staring at his hands the whole way until George’s father let him off, but after forty-five minutes of conversation, Melvin found that he didn’t mind it so much after all.

When they finally stopped at the address, the mischief-making duo stepped out after him, each giving some sort of salute to their chauffeur.

“Are you two planning to move in?” Melvin asked bemusedly, “ Because I’m not sure you quite fit the...atmosphere.”

In unison, George and Harold both bowed deeply to the ginger, acting the part of a high-class attendant. 

“Vy, Mr. Sneedly, ve came as escorts to see your fancy house!” George said, faking the second faux French accent and hooking his arm in Melvin’s.

“It is the least ve could do for a friend in need at-” Harold said, taking the boy’s skinny wrist gently in his hands and glancing at his watch-”11:15 at night!”

Melvin rolled his eyes and smiled. 

“ Vous êtes deux fous. Je suis honoré d'être considéré comme votre ami.”

“...I have no idea what you just said.”

#########

Up in his bedroom, the boys dropped their arms and simultaneously dropped to one knee, giving an over-dramatic grand sweeping gesture.

“Your room, Mr. Sneedly?” Harold said, cracking a grin.

“Yes, yes, you have both been fine escorts. Now please, leave so I may continue research.” he said, in imitation of a wealthy person while struggling not to smile.

“Ah, but school starts at like, 6:00 AM! Surely, you’d want to get more than forty minutes of sleep tonight?”

“I’m not even going to ask how you got my polyphastic sleep schedule down.”

“Tough luck, sport.” George said, doing a bad impersonation of his father, “The, um, school code or something says that even crazy mad scientists with flammable chemicals and miniature robots have to sleep longer than the car ride it took to get here.”

“Yeah, and if you don’t, then...uh..we’re going to hypnotize you!” Harold said, his thumb rubbing his bare index finger instinctively.

“What? Bro, we might accidentally turn him into Doctor Octopus or something!” George whispered.

“Yeah, he already did that. Remember that Octopus-robot thing he had a while back? Good point, though.” Harold whispered back.

“Sooooo you’re both going to stay..in my room...while your dad waits outside...until I go to sleep?” Melvin asked.

“Yup! We can even give you a mild dose of sleeping powder if you’re going to be all stubborn and stuff!” Harold chuckled.

“Either you broke into the White House or the stuff you have doesn’t work. And I’m going to guess you-”

Harold tore open a waxy paper packet, shook the contents into his palm, and blew it gently towards the boy, who stood his ground rambling about the homeostatic process and cytokines while visibly becoming more exhausted as he spoke. Before long, he fell asleep on the spot, and the ten-year-old bit his lower lip and pressed his hand against his heart. 

“Awww, he looks so adorable when he’s asleep!” he murmured softly.

“Did you just drug Melvin? Because, I know this is a bit hippo-critic-y, but we could probably get in a lot of trouble for that.”

“Nah, it’s corn starch. But since we told him it was sleeping powder, it actually worked-I think that’s called the Placenta effect.’’

 Turning to George, he rattled off instruction with surprising authority.

“Alright. You, get his shoulders, and I’ll get his feet. We’ll lift on three..” 

Together, they tucked him under the oddly-unwrinkled sheets, George taking off his glasses and propping them up on his nightstand as an afterthought before they ran downstairs beaming and jumped into the “Beardmobile”.

“Did we just nerd-sit?” Harold laughed.

“Yeah...I think we did!” George responded, holding out his fist expectantly.

“Nerdsitting.” The two said once more, fingers dancing in the cool night air as they pulled apart.

FIN!

Haha, sorry for another Author’s Note down here. Just wanted to point out, that, if anyone was wondering, Melvin’s French translates roughly to “You’re both fools. I’m honored to be considered your friend.” 

Pandafish!

[kruppxreader]

“Mommy, You Need a Hero!” (Fem!Reader)

Okay I fell head over heels for this prompt instantly.

I hope this is what you were looking for!!!

-

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon. You worked away, chopping carrots and peppers for the stir fry as your daughter sat quietly, drawing away at the kitchen table, listening to her favorite song on her mp3 player.

“So, I got a call from the school today.” You chimed, scraping the vegetables off the cutting board and into the saucepan. “Benny told me you’ve been hanging out with two boys in class?”

“Mm-hm! They’re our neighbors!” Your daughter beamed as she colored away.

“I see...” You brought the rice to a low boil. “He told me you’ve been helping them with.. um... projects... like uh... filling his office with bouncy balls?”

The little girl giggled, wiping her eyes. “Yeah! You should have seen it!!! It was so amazing like an ocean!!!”

Sighing, you drained the rice, scraping it off into a large saucepan.

“Sweetie, that’s not good.” You said concerned. “Benny was very upset. He told me he expected that kind of behavior from those boys, but not from you.”

Huffing, the fourth grader pulled out her earbuds and begun to pack away her crayons.

“Really, Mommy?” She groaned. “I have no idea what you see in him. He’s such a grump! He doesn’t let us have ANY fun!!!”

“Now Sweetpea, I’ve told you this many times.” You replied sternly, mixing the vegetables with the rice. “Mr. Krupp is a nice man, but in a school environment he needs to be strict with the rules to keep things in order. That’s how running a school works.”

You turned down the stove. “It may not be fun, but think of it this way: You’ve made it through four years now, right? That’s one third. Only four more, then four more and you are done!” You smiled, running a hand against your daughter’s hair as she met you by your side. She reached into the drawer next to you and pulled out three forks and three spoons.

As she placed them all on the table in front of the three chairs, something fluttered by the window catching her eye.

It was a printed comic page from the treehouse next door. She immediately recognized it as the newest copy of the Captain Underpants that her new friends George and Harold had been selling on the playground.

Her face lit up like a fireball when a fantastic idea - the idea of all ideas - crossed her mind...

“I know who you could date, Mom!!! He’s got a job and he is super cool and protects people!” You watched your daughter bound towards the front door in hot pursuit.

“Sweetie, wait!!! Benny will be here soo-.. OOF!!!” You quickly wiped off your hands and ran after her. However your chase was soon interrupted at the open front door, where you found yourself plowing into the chest of no one other than your boyfriend, Benjamin Krupp, standing in the doorway.

“Why, this is quite the greeting.” Benny chuckled slightly, raising an eyebrow.

You shook your head and smirked. “Hello there, handsome. I was just running after my little angel.”

Benny shook his head. “’Angel’? Oh, ho, Y/n, I think you need to have a good sit down with your little-...”

“MOMMY!!!”

You glanced over Benny’s shoulder, and shrieked in horror.

Your daughter was dangling from her legs high atop a streetlight, attempting to grab a piece of paper that had gotten wedged in the fluorescent light bulb.

“SWEETIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!” Both you and Benny made a mad dash towards the creaking street light. 

“I need to get the comic page, but I can’t reach it! Can you come grab it for me?” Your daughter was speaking so calm, swinging herself back and forth in an attempt to get closer to the light bulb.

“How did she even get up-.... Benjamin!!!” Looking over you found the principal frozen in place, staring up at your daughter, fear stricken.

 You furiously snapped your fingers in his face to try and bring him back to reality. “Benny, snap out of it! We need to call the fire department!!!”

All of a sudden a wide grin spread across his face. And with a turn of his heel, he made a quick sprint back into your house.

“Phew, he must have gone to get the phone..” You thought to yourself.

However, you heard some unusual clattering from inside your house. And with a triumphant TRA-LA-LAAA~ the beloved waistband warrior burst from your front door, zipping up towards the streetlight.

You swear you could faint. This maniac in his underwear is flying around, wearing a bright red cape, trying to save your daughter. You weren’t sure if you should call the police, or a therapist.

“Don’t you worry now, young lady! I’ll get you down from here in no time!!!” The man proudly proclaimed as he flew up to your daughter’s level.

“You’re... YOU’RE CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS!!!” Your daughter exclaimed in awe.

The brief-clad superhero let out a hearty chuckle. “Right you are, little lady! And I am here to save you!” He reached out his arms, slowly scooping up your daughter from her sloth-like grasp on the streetlight. Your daughter quickly snatched the paper wedged in the light bulb before the Captain gently carried her safely back down to the sidewalk.

You rushed over to your little girl, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“Oh my god... Never do that again, you had me worried sick....” You sobbed, combing your fingers through her hair.

Your daughter giggled. “It’s alright, Mommy! Look! Captain Underpants kept me safe!” She gestured towards the half naked hero standing valiantly beside her.

You knit your brow for a moment at the peculiar man.

“Thank you.. for saving my daughter, er-.. Captain.” You stood up, reaching out your hand toward his.

You felt your hand enclose in a firm, confident grasp.

“It was my pleasure, Madame!” Captain Underpants beamed. “If you ever need any assistance in the future, please, do not hesitate to give me a call!”

You scratched at the back of your neck. “Oh? W-Well, I appreciate the offer-...”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?!?!” Your daughter piped up, taking him by the wrist.

“Dinner? Hm..” The Captain put a finger to his chin.

You looked down at your daughter, stunned for a moment, then sighed.

“Yes, please we insist.” You gave in. “It’s the least we could do for all you’ve done.”

“Oh, well, if you insist then who am I to say no?” The Captain ruffled your daughter’s hair playfully.

You smiled endearingly. “I don’t think Benny will mind. After all, you did save my little angel’s life while he’s inside doing god knows what...” That last part gritted through your teeth. What was he doing this whole time?!

You swung open your front door, letting everyone inside.

“Benjamin?!?!” You shouted furiously. “What in god’s name are you doing in he-...” 

But your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. You looked around your living room only to find a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor and one of your new curtains missing.

Wait a minute....

Upon closer inspection, you immediately recognized those clothes...

That shirt.. Those pants... That gross hairpiece...

You looked over into the kitchen where your daughter was cheerfully scooping the stir fry onto the three plates, laughing and asking the superhero all sorts of questions.

The room begin to spin.

“B-Ben-...” You managed to let one word slip from your lips before you felt everything go black.

-----

When you came to, you were laying on the couch, your boyfriend sitting next to your head back in his normal attire, nervously fidgeting as he waited for you to regain consciousness.

“Ugh... Oh, my head... “ You pressed your palm to your forehead.

“You took quite a fall, love. How are you feeling?” Krupp gently placed an arm underneath you, helping you sit up.

“I’m alright, thank yo-... Wait... YOU!!!” You pointed frantically at your boyfriend.

“Me..?” Benny was confused.

“Yes, you!” You nodded. “What kind of fool do you take me for, flying around half naked like some kind of weird super guy?!?!”

 Benny knit his brow, baffled. “Y/n , what on earth are you talking about?!”

Behind Benny, you found your daughter, giggling happily to herself as she doodled away on the coffee table. In her notebook you saw a drawing of yourself, your daughter, and the underwear adorned hero all holding hands next to a streetlight.

You dragged your hand down your face.

“I... think I need a nap.”

[nico-meridius]

Afternoon Fic - Angel AU (Part 11)

And I’ve finally figured out a good outline for the rest of the story.  It was taking me a bit to settle into what I actually wanted to do with it, and now I’ve got more of a handle on the lead up to the finale.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

***

"In name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…" Harold breathed.  "…O glorious Archangel St. Michael, Prince of the heavenly host, defend us in battle…"

A bright light flashed and standing before them were two familiar presences.

"Nathan!" Harold called out in relief.

"Carter." Fusco and Shaw exclaimed in shock.

The Guardians wings unfurled, making a protective barrier between the advancing demons and the humans.

"You get one warning."  Carter gave the goons a smirk.  "Go back into the hell hole you crawled out of or we'll shove you down it."

"You think two pathetic Guardian Angels can take us."  One made his way up to them, snarling and posturing. "You're out numbered."

"You're also stupid."  Nathan pulled a weapon from his coat and shot the demon.  "If you think we came alone, you're mistaken."

Suddenly men began to appear out of nowhere.  They were wearing military and police uniforms, modern and ancient.  World War Two.  Crusaders. RCMP.  Roman.  Greek. Marines.  Samurai.  SAS. ANZAC. There were 40 of them all together.  They advanced onto to the demons, weapons out and ready for war.

"And I thought I had seen some weird shit in my day."  Fusco stated, eyes wide.  "But this will lead any man straight to church."

"That's the idea…"  Brian smirked at him.  "Now that they are distracted, let's get Harold out of here."

***

Michael felt the darkness creep around him, he shook it off and waited patiently as the demon made his grand entrance.  It was always the same, intimidation to distract from the fact they were shaking in their boots being near him.

"Michael."

He kept his face neutral, staring silently at the demon who was trying to dethrone Lucifer. There were times, he really wished the fallen Angel would take care of his domain. It was annoying to deal with these morons.  Lucifer had his role, and Michael had his.  There would be no Angel above him, like no Demon above the ruler of hell.

He was tired of taking out his trash.

Though he had to admit, Lucifer wasn't stupid.  Though history never stated he was, it's much easier for him to let the morons attack an Archangel thinking it would show all the other demons that he was bigger and meaner, only to get his ass handed to him.

While Lucifer smirked, and lounged on his throne.

"Demon." He wasn't going to honor it by saying his name.  "This is a foolish quest, but then I shouldn't expect much from a lowly creature."

Michael bit back the smile at the snarl.

"You like my new suit?"  It ran its hand down the tailored, hand crafted suit.

"Logan Pierce, I commend your soul to heaven.  Be at Peace and go to God."  His voice boomed across the street, causing the smaller Demons to cower. A bright light flashed, and the Demon yelled as the soul was pulled from the body and sent home.  "I could not save his life, but his soul will be spared."

"It doesn't matter.  He was an annoyance.  I'm more interested in your little bird.  Logan's memories gave me all the information I needed."  

"Then you're more of a fool than I had first thought."  Michael paused, as he felt Harold call out his prayer.  He snapped his fingers, and the two guardians he trusted the most were sent to protect him.  "Many of your kind have made the mistake of challenging me, but none were this reckless."

"You think your rehabilitated pets will protect him.  Shaw and Fusco were mine, before you dragged them into the light.  It won't take long show them where they belong."  He took a few steps forward, challenging the Archangel on a physical level.  "Let alone that Hell Hound of yours.  It knows its place."

"As should you."  He tilted his head slightly, the smirk barely there.  They had got Harold out of the building and were moving for safety.  Now he just needed to get rid of this idiot.

"What will your precious little bird say, when he discovers his beloved Grace was killed by Demons?  That the all and powerful Archangel Michael couldn't save her?"

"There is only one being All and Powerful, and I am not Him."  Michael shifted his stance, wings shifting slightly, prepping for battle.  "And you should know not to underestimate me."

 Grace sat in her favorite spot looking out over the canals of Venice.  She had painted the scene a dozen times, but it was still memorizing.  It had taken her a while to adjust to living in Italy, to know that something had happened to change her life, though she had no idea what it was.  

The one thing she never let herself think about was, the small nagging doubt in the back of her head that said Harold had arranged all this.  It had his fingerprints all over it, but that would mean thinking about the fact he was alive, and had not come to her.

"Your skill is very good."  

She startled, jerking slightly towards the voice.  If anything those days in New York had done was make her much more aware of evil in the world.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He was handsome, dark black hair, with startling blue eyes.  He was tall, but not overly so.  His suit was nice, but simple.  It took her a few moments to realize he had his hand out.

"Oh I'm sorry."  She put the brush down and took his hand.  "I'm Grace."

"Luke." He looked at her painting again. "It is quite beautiful.  I have seen many paintings of these canals, and yours is exquisite."

"You flatter."

"I tell the truth."  He put his hand on his heart and bowed.  "But I have to admit, that I am here for a purpose, Grace.  I have come to take you to safety."

She stilled. "For whatever reason?"

"Detective Stills sent me to retrieve you, stated that it was important and to trust his judgement."   Luke held out his hand, waiting until she took it, even if it was hesitantly.

"Are you a police officer?"  She asked as he led her to a waiting vehicle.

"No." He nodded at the driver, who opened the back door.  "I am a simple doctor, that patrons the arts.  And as you are an artist, I was requested to come."

"I don't understand."  She slipped into the car, half expecting to find a gun pointed at her, but only found it empty.

Luke settled next to her.  "All will come to light, my dear."

The drive was longer than she suspected, doubt and fear crept in, but anytime Luke would reach over and touch her hand, she calmed.  Everything was confusing, and she had no idea what was going on, but that nagging part in the back of her head reared up stronger than ever, that it had to do with Harold.

"Tell me the truth."  She shifted and looked at the doctor. "Is this to do with Harold?"

"In a way, yes."  He gave her a nod.  "It is beyond me to explain, but know that I'm taking you to the safest place in Italy, maybe even the world."

She nodded and settled into her seat.  Part of her was upset, angry, but she knew Harold wouldn't hurt her on purpose, and obviously was still watching out for her.  She was more upset he didn't trust her.

"Grace we're here."

She looked out the window, the evening had begun to set giving an unearthly radiance to the place. She opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle.  An tall man, wearing a dark suit, followed by two guards, that she recognized instantly the bright uniforms of the Swiss Guard.

"I am Ernesto Olivetti, Inspector General of Vatican Police."  He held out his hand.  "Welcome to the Vatican."

"Oh my." She took his hand, and was led inside.  "What has Harold gotten himself into?"

Ernesto chuckled.

 The Demon frowned, snapping his fingers, sending two Hell Hounds straight for Michael.  He pulled his gun, and shot them both dead. A second gesture had a squad of attackers moving towards the Archangel.

"Is there a problem here?"  A voice called out, stopping the attackers in their tracks.

Michael glanced to either side of him, to see two police officers on large black horses. "Officers."

"Do you need assistance?"  One asked, his gaze not leaving the ring of men slowly advancing.

"I could use some, I'm need elsewhere."

"It's been a while since we've had a good fight."  George glanced over to his partner.  "What do you think Demetrius?"

"Dragons, snakes, demons they're all the same."  In a flash he was holding a magnificent shield, one that bore Michael's mark. "Let's show these guys how it's done."

George pulled his spear, and instead of a NYPD Officer he now looked like the Roman Soldier he was.  Michael smiled softly at their antics.  The two have fought together over centuries, called upon by so many.  To help fight the physical and mental dragons of this world.

"Go with God." Michael stepped back, and watched as the two Saints charged into the battle.  He listened for Harold's voice, and in a flash he was gone.

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

DGB Grab Bag: Happy Birthday Gretzky, Mid-Season Awards, and a Crotch Goal

Three Stars of Comedy

The third star: The Crotch Goal – It’s a lot like the Butt Goal, only with less butt and more crotch.

The second star: Jimmy Eat World – Yes, the band. No, I didn’t expect them to ever show up in this section either. But that was before they started dunking on team Twitter accounts.

Seriously, is it too late to get these guys to perform at the All-Star Game instead of Kid Rock? They don’t even have to sing, they can just go through all the league’s social media accounts and rip them individually. Let’s make this happen.

The first star: Auston Matthews is one of us – Nobody knows what goaltender interference is anymore. That includes Matthews, who lost a goal on Monday to a phantom interference penalty after a lengthy review. But it was worth it, because it gave us this all-purpose reaction GIF we can now use for pretty much every decision the NHL makes.

He followed that up with a goal and another classic reaction. Strong GIF work out there, Auston. Remember kids, there is no “I” in meme.

Outrage of the Week

The issue: For the first time in decades, the PHWA has released a round of midseason awards, covering all the major trophies and a few made-up ones as well.

The outrage: The results are wrong and the writers are stupid and you feel strongly about this.

Is it justified: I don’t even know what the results are as I’m writing this, or whether they’ll have been released by the time you read this (they’re supposed to come out at some point this morning). I just know that somebody out there is angry about them. And that’s good. That’s part of the fun. If we didn’t debate the picks, the whole process would be awfully boring.

If we’re being honest, the midseason picks will probably be even easier to criticize than the final season-ending votes. We’re working with a smaller sample size, but since these aren’t official awards there will probably be less time spent on the research side of things. (Believe it or not, PHWA members are known for obsessing over the details on their year-end ballots.) Some of these won’t hold up well a week or two from now, let alone at the end of the year.

But again, that’s part of the fun. So in the interest of transparency, here’s the ballot I submitted. I look forward to helpful feedback about how I can do better in the future. [brick flies by head] Oh cool, there’s some already.

Hart Trophy

1. Nathan MacKinnon

2. Nikita Kucherov

3. John Tavares

4. Blake Wheeler

5. Alexander Ovechkin

MacKinnon’s recent hot streak nudges him ahead of Kucherov. I wanted to get Wheeler on to the ballot, as his career year has helped the Jets stay on track even without Mark Scheifele. But that means I don’t have room for Steven Stamkos or Patrice Bergeron, let alone any defensemen or goalies. Here’s hoping a few of these guys separate from the pack in the second half, because right now this is a real tough choice.

Norris Trophy

1. Drew Doughty

2. Victor Hedman

3. P.K. Subban

4. John Klingberg

5. Alex Pietrangelo

I give Doughty a slight edge here, but Hedman is the interesting choice. He’s hurt now, and will miss a few more weeks, so he’s almost definitely not going to win the real award. There are a few guys in that situation around the league. Do you take them off your midseason ballot? I didn’t, just like I wouldn’t eliminate an end-of-season candidate who was hurt on the final weekend.

Vezina Trophy

1. Andrei Vasilevskiy

2. Mike Smith

3. Connor Hellebuyck

4. Pekka Rinne

5. Corey Crawford

This feels like a relatively easy call at #1, followed by about a half-dozen guys who could range from second spot to off the ballot. You could make a case for John Gibson, Frederik Andersen, or Jonathan Quick too.

Calder Trophy

1. Mathew Barzal

2. Brock Boeser

3. Charlie McAvoy

4. Clayton Keller

5. Mikhail Sergachev

The top two guys are running a fantastic race so far. From there, I kept McAvoy on my ballot despite his health issues for the same reason as Hedman. I had Sergachev a bit higher earlier in the week, but the Lightning making him a healthy scratch spooked me a bit.

Lady Byng

1. Marc-Edouard Vlasic

2. Mark Stone

3. Ryan O’Reilly

4. Auston Matthews

5. William Karlsson

Good players dominate this award these days, and rightfully so—they’re the ones targeted for the most abuse, so they get extra credit for not getting sucked in. But players who are asked to shutdown stars have it even tougher, which is why my top three picks here are guys who excel in their own end. You could make a case for all three, but defensemen never win the Lady Byng and that annoys me, so Vlasic is the pick.

Selke

1. Patrice Bergeron

2. Sean Couturier

3. Anze Kopitar

4. Mikael Backlund

5. Aleksander Barkov

A midseason Selke is an especially weird concept, since the real trophy is basically a lifetime achievement award. That tips a close race to Bergeron, even as Couturier emerges as a new contender.

Jack Adams

1. Gerard Gallant

2. Bruce Cassidy

3. Jared Bednar

4. Jon Cooper

5. John Hynes

Gallant will win this easily, and probably the end-of-year award too. I worked in Cooper as a protest vote, since this award shouldn’t always go to somebody from a “surprise” team.

General Manager

1. George McPhee

2. Doug Armstrong

3. David Poile

4. Ray Shero

5. Joe Sakic

This award doesn’t make sense for a full season, so you can imagine how a half-season version feels. It’s another easy Vegas win, while Armstrong made the offseason’s best trade, and Poile is Poile. If you’d told me would be on my ballot I’d have laughed at you, but here we are.

Best defensive defenseman (i.e. The Langway)

1. Hampus Lindholm

2. Mattias Ekholm

3. Marc-Edouard Vlasic

4. Zach Werenski

5. Jason Demers

This Langway doesn’t exist in real life, of course, so the PHWA is having some fun here. It’s a tough one to pick—clearly we’re not looking for guys who rack up points, but how many is too many? Do you set a cutoff? If so, do you eliminate guys with too many points altogether, or penalize them a few spots on the ballot? The real Rod Langway won the Norris in the mid-80s with 30 points, which on an era-adjusted basis would be like -10 today, so he’s no help. I looked at a combination of ice-time, penalty killing, zone starts, and relative possession, but I suspect the results here will be all over the map.

Comeback player

1. Mike Smith

2. Claude Giroux

3. Phil Kessel

4. Marc-Andre Fluery

5. Kris Letang

We weren’t given specific guidance here, but we were told that it wasn’t meant to be a copy of the Masterton. So I went with Smith, a guy who seemed to have fallen off the map in Arizona but has been reborn in Calgary. And Giroux and Kessel are back in the Art Ross race after some down years.

And that’s that. Please keep in mind I submitted this ballot before last night’s games, so if any of my picks are wrong that’s the reason.

Obscure Former Player of the Week

You’ll probably see a lot of birthday wishes being shared today in honor of a certain hockey legend who we’ll get to in the YouTube section. But he’s not the only former player born on this date. There’s also a Hall-of-Famer (Frank Nighbor), a former first overall pick (Dale McCourt), a future head coach (Ivan Hlinka), and a guy who sounds like a deranged serial killer character from a 1980s family sitcom (Alf Skinner).

But for this week’s obscure player, let’s keep it simple and go with another birthday boy: Harold Druken. Druken was a second-round pick by the Canucks in 1997, the same round as, uh, nobody really. Man that was a terrible second round. Druken went back to juniors for two more productive seasons and spent time in the minors before making his NHL debut during the 1990-00 season. He had 16 points in 33 games, then followed that up with 15 goals and 30 points in 55 games in 2000-01; he also scored the overtime goal that clinched the Canucks’ first playoff appearance since 1996.

Unfortunately, that 2000-01 season wound end up representing the peak of his NHL career, as injuries and lack of opportunity prevented him from playing another full season. He was traded to the Hurricanes, then bounced between Carolina and Toronto via waivers and trade. By the time the 2004 lockout arrived, Druken’s NHL career was over.

Today, a YouTube search brings up that playoff-clinching goal, a few fan tributes, a memorial for a different Harold Druken that briefly made me think this one had died, and lots of videos of severely intoxicated dudes fighting and dancing that were posted by people who misspelled “Drunken.” Not a bad legacy if you ask me.

Also, I always read his name in the Street Fighter II voice, and now you will too.

Be It Resolved

We apparently got a sneak peek at the names being considered for the NHL’s upcoming Seattle expansion team this week, as several domain registrations appeared to reveal the list of candidates.

Some are good (Sockeyes, Firebirds, Sea Lions), some are not good (Evergreens, Renegades), and some are just ripping off old teams (Seals, Whales). Some are uninspired choices that you used to use in your made-up hockey leagues when you were a kid (Cougars, Eagles). And some sound good, but would get annoying almost immediately (yes, yes, “Release the Kraken,” that is indeed a fun line from a movie that came out in 1981).

But while we’re at it, am I the only one who thinks it’s weird that “Metropolitans” isn’t on the list? The Seattle Metropolitans were the first American team to ever win the Stanley Cup. It happened in 1917, months before the NHL was formed. That seems like a pretty cool bit of history that you might want to acknowledge.

As an added bonus, having a team named the Metropolitans would force the NHL to change the name of the Metropolitan Division, which we can all agree would be a good thing. And as the Senators have shown us, if you use the same name as an old and forgotten franchise from a century ago, you get to lay claim to the championships for some reason.

So be it resolved, the new Seattle team should be called the Seattle Metropolitans. The Metros for short. Who’s with me? MET-ROS! MET-ROS!

Nobody? Dammit, you kids today have no sense of history. Fine, Sea Lions it is.

Classic YouTube Clip Breakdown

Today is Wayne Gretzky’s birthday, as the greatest player in NHL history turns [checks notes] … 57? Dear god, that can’t be right, can it? We are all so old. I need to lie down. Wait, that was a bad idea, now I can’t get back up.

I know what will make me feel better. Let’s travel back – way, way back – to a time when Gretzky was just a fresh-faced teenager, as he does one of his first major appearances in front of the national media.

It’s 1977, and a 16-year-old Gretzky is sitting down with the CBC’s Peter Gzowski. He’s already a heavily hyped prospect at this point, and he’s just joined the OHL’s Soo Greyhounds. I realize the quality isn’t super great here, but remember this is from a time before high-def cameras, crystal clear audio, and also, apparently, lights.

Gzowski’s first question is about Gretzky’s poise, which leads into his origin story. “When I was two years old I started skating, and I’d be out on in my backyard on the rink every day until one in the morning.” Wait, what? I don’t like to tell people who to raise their kids, but two-year-olds probably shouldn’t be outside after midnight. That seems extreme to me.

“I left home when I was thirteen.” Yeah, to escape the mandatory middle-of-the-night skating drills, I’m guessing.

Next comes a funny sequence about how Gretzky is still growing but has trouble gaining weight. He claims to be 160 pounds, and Gzowski just openly calls B.S. on him right then and there. Like he doesn’t even let him finish the sentence, he just goes right into basically saying “Nice try spaghetti arms, you’re not fooling anyone.” I thoroughly enjoyed Peter Gzowski.

And yes, this is of course the same Gzowski who we saw earlier this season sparring with Dick Beddoes in 1982 over how hairy Gretzky’s legs were. His skinny, hairless legs.

We get a few shots of Gretzky at practice. You can tell the clip is from early in the season, because he’s wearing #14. He’d asked for #9, a number he’d worn for years, but teammate Brian Gualazzi already had it and refused to give it up to a rookie. Legend has it that Greyhounds coach Muzz MacPherson convinced Gretzky to switch to #99 instead, and the rest was history.

Can we just take a minute to appreciate young Wayne’s collar game? As best I can tell based on this being filmed in candlelight, he appears to be wearing two separate butterfly collars with a mock turtleneck in between. It’s like the animal kingdom is waging war for this throat.

Next up we see Gretzky’s parents, Walter and Phyllis. Gzowski asks if they’re worried that their scrawny son will get hurt, and Walter explains that Wayne has an uncanny ability to avoid contact. Meanwhile, Phyllis stands silently and makes angry mom face at the idea of anyone touching her boy. Forget Dave Semenko, hockey moms are the ones you have to watch for.

We’re back to Wayne, who’s asked how much thinking he does on the ice. He explains that he tries to think ahead as much as possible, but it doesn’t always work. “The other night in Ottawa I was going to do something, I was thinking of it anyway, and then all of a sudden everything just went blank.” I’m pretty sure that’s the 2017-18 Senators’ team slogan, actually.

We get a blink-and-you-miss-it clip of an insane goalie going full Hasek on a poke check attempt, then it’s back to Walter. He’s asked if his son will be the next Bobby Orr, but stickhandles around the question to explain that it’s really Wayne’s schooling that matters. By the way, solid collar work by Walter here too. The well-decorated Adam’s apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The education theme continues as Gretzky describes his plan to play two years of junior, finish high school, and then “Yes I’ll be going to university for sure.” Gzowski basically calls B.S. again, and this time Gretzky immediately abandons the idea. That’s strike two, Wayne, you lie to Peter Gzowski one more time and he’ll McCreary you.

We close with a sweet view of Gretzky walking down the streets of Sault Ste. Marie. The CBC somehow managed to edit out the “Staying Alive” soundtrack that must have followed Wayne around at all times back in those days. They do leave in the guy in the car in the background who seems to be flipping the bird out the window, though.

Gretzky describes the pressure of playing in a small town, then closes on an optimistic note by hoping he can have a good season. Epilogue: He did, putting up 182 points in 63 games. That one season was it for his junior career, as he was off to the WHA by 1978 and in the NHL a year after that. He’d go on to smash every offensive record in the book, despite the relentless march of time having a devastating effect on the quality of his wardrobe.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you’d like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com, and follow him on Twitter @DownGoesBrown .

DGB Grab Bag: Happy Birthday Gretzky, Mid-Season Awards, and a Crotch Goal syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com