#content not made for my hockey blog but is going on it anyway

[mitchmarner]

Me in theory: A weekly release of episodes is way better. The binge watching model is ruining the way we experience television.

Me when I actually have to wait another week for the next episode: What the fuck. What the fuck is this injustice. Where the fuck is the next episode of my program.

[puckpocketed]

Autumn Hockey Diaries - Defencemen, Hockey Blinders, and the Hand of the Narrative: Brock Faber In 2 Minutes and 9 Seconds

[Foreword: This essay is not what I thought it would be. It's probably not what you think it will be either. I've cut down a lot of the content because it was approaching thesis length, and I've got a lot of uni-related writing to get through. Appendices of cut content and extra reading will be published some time down the road. Look for #puckmortems.]

Brock Faber is not on the agenda. Brock Faber is a gliding figure in the middle of my screen, on occasion. More often, he is a hunched over body on the blue line, or he’s directing traffic behind the net, or he’s a blurry smear of green-red-white on the outer edges of where the play is happening. Nonetheless, it's like he’s never off the ice. “how do i even begin to write about a rookie” I say into the void in a despondent blog post, not long after I reluctantly accept that the itch won’t leave until I do. This is deeply inconvenient. I’m already in the middle of researching for another piece, halfway through an ice hockey book which I picked up in an attempt to familiarise myself with forward cycling and forechecking systems. Ironically, I have the Flyers vs Wild game up to watch an entirely different 21-year-old defenceman. My eyes snag on Faber anyway. 

Let’s rewind a bit.

HOW DID I GET HERE?

Those following along already know this, but I’ve been meaning to write about the Anaheim Ducks. They caught my eye in December 2023, not long after I plunged heart-first into hockey — and then, of course, the Drysdale-Gauthier trade happened in January, and the idle research project I had going on kicked into high gear. I began to dig and dig and found narrative after narrative, and as I tried to sift through sensationalised click-farming and journalism, I felt the other narrative, capital ‘n’ Narrative, begin to close in. I was out of my depth; the rebuild was an abyss, Drysdale was inextricably linked to the media’s whipping boy, Trevor Zegras, and I was a little too fond of the Ducks to be any more lax with my research.

I wanted terribly to have clips and analysis on hand, real proof to throw in peoples’ faces when they made assumptions. There was too much to say, and too much tape to watch, and far too many books I needed to read in order to have the correct language and technical knowledge to do that kind of piece justice. I resigned myself to becoming one of those guys drawing over gameplay with a virtual marker one day. Afterwards, I picked up Take Your Eye Off the Puck: How to Watch Hockey by Knowing Where to Look by Greg Wyshynski. Unsolicited review: it’s got relevant information but all of that is sandwiched between unfunny Xennial sarcasm and Harry Potter references that are transparently desperate attempts at being accessible/relatable/fun — save your money unless you can hold your nose about all of the above. The man himself is possibly the worst thing you can be as a human being: annoying on Twitter. Any quoting from his book that I do is purely because, on occasion, he has anecdotes to share that can’t be found elsewhere.

So there I am, days out from the fallout of January 8th and rewatching Drysdale's first match.

WHO IS NUMBER 7? THE CALDER RACE, AND HOCKEY BLINDERS

But Brock Faber, number 7 a beacon on his back, surefooted and scanning the ice like a centre, is always just there. He’s skating every other shift, he’s on the penalty kill, or controlling the gap on a Flyer forward, he’s somehow also anchoring the power play — and really who is this guy? His name sounds familiar. The usual skim of articles turns up hype and speculation, opinion pieces written after Connor Bedard was confirmed to be out for 6 weeks with a broken jaw. They float Faber as a possible Calder contender, should Bedard somehow fail to catch up after his recovery.

And that’s where I’ve heard Faber’s name. He’s part of the class of poor bastards who have to share their debut season with Bedard, the fourth-coming of Gretzky — similar to Bedard’s draft year, yet infinitely worse because it’s the goddamn NHL and being in a different draft class doesn’t do you any good if you’ve got to share actual ice with him. All are afterthoughts, are footnotes in Bedard’s wake. When you speak of the rookies of the 2023-24 season the spectre of the Next Next Next One looms, and you can’t help but let slip the pity you nurse for those who would be the sweethearts of national media coverage, the new wave, if not for that monstrous boy and his, at the time, 33 points in 39 games.

There’s a border here. I step around it tenderly — helped along by a heavy dose of cognitive dissonance — when watching ice hockey, it isn’t to be crossed. I call them my ‘ice hockey horse blinders’, hockey blinders for short. They’re required safety equipment at this point, mandatory so that my sanity stays intact against everything ice hockey can be (aside from the best sport in the world): the retributive justice, the implications behind calling a player ‘soft’ for daring to protect themselves in a scrum; the insular masculist locker room culture which, in the end, is built upon rituals and language that degrades women and positions queerness as lesser-than.

One must also avoid thinking too hard about the way players are bandied about and dealt with like livestock, the way that they’re workers who sell their labour, too, and how they only really get to self-advocate when the collective bargaining agreement rolls around; how even then they’re hampered by all these unspoken traditions, arbitrary codes. Breathe and forget for a moment, for at least sixty glorious minutes of skating and violence, that for any athlete — for any prodigy — to exist and thrive, a child’s life was appropriated, taken in hand and moulded to fit a pipeline of production, because sports is a business the exact same way music and movies are.

The more I learn about Brock Faber, the harder it is to keep the hockey blinders from slipping off.

 “Brock Faber shouldn’t be possible,” is what people write about him in one form or another. They marvel at his strength, his size, his resilience; release article after article about how another rookie d-man would likely buckle under the weight of the work, how none of this was ever expected from someone so young and untested. Yet, the longer I sit with it the more unsettled I am. I watch his time on ice tick up and up with each game, hear on broadcast and read online that he’s on track to break the record for rookie average TOI. As of writing, he’s got 430 minutes on his next teammate for total time on ice. The only players on the Wild ahead of him are their goalies. The longer I put off finishing this essay (months now, from the time I first committed words to document) the wider this gap will grow. They say no one ever expected this from him, but an insidious thought creeps in: hasn’t the Narrative demanded this all along?

TIME, HAUNTING, AND MINNESOTA

Turns out I wasn’t wrong about Faber’s presence on the ice. The Wild have him skating minutes that usually go to veterans. He skates for 28:49 in the Philly match. Between the 10th of December and the 6th of January, Faber played 13 games. In 10 of them, he spent over 24 minutes skating. In half of those games, he logged over 30 minutes of ice time.

(NHL.com, highlights mine)

These are playoffs numbers, and they don’t just call it “playoffs hockey” because of the physicality. Exhaustion and injury go hand in hand, and playoffs hockey claims it’s tributes every year — rarely is it that this pace is sustainable, evidenced by how no teams make it through playoffs completely healthy. Top d-men are capable of it, yes, but it’s best avoided. When it happens, it’s an aberration. Poor management of ice time can result in sloppy play due to exhaustion. For the player who is exhausted, who fears exhaustion at critical junctures, they may choose to limit themselves, to compromise on plays to preserve their energy. More salient: every surplus minute extends the timeframe for possible injury, and every additional responsibility piled on top of that opens the door to potential burnout. So why do that to a rookie? What would compel any coach to do this, considering the risks?

Is Faber that good?

The question warrants another step backwards. Trouble is, this is where the tape begins to skip, a reverb-stutter-reverse that’s impossible to ignore. How far back to go? Does it start with the injuries that gutted the Wild’s d-core, shifting Faber into the limelight for sheer lack of options? Maybe further? Maybe it began in the mere hours between when Faber lost a devastating final match with his college team and signing with the Wild to play his very first NHL games — the third of which was the fucking Stanley Cup playoffs. 

Or perhaps it kicked off with the Wild buying out the Parise and Suter contracts in an effort to purge the team’s culture and start afresh? This was Wild management signalling that they’d take the salary cap penalty for now, but they were banking on a significant cap rise in the coming years. The subsequent “devastation” when Gary Bettman announced that the salary cap would only be going up by 1 million the following season — guaranteeing the Wild’s next few years would be lean ones — is what led to Faber being traded from the LA Kings for the Wild’s Kevin Fiala, after all.

But maybe linearity isn’t the play. The Narrative cannot be temporally bound, so why should this essay? The weft and warp of the Narrative sprawls out in four dimensions: the present weaves itself into the past; futures that never were dig their way down into the seams of time to rip into the present; and history is a concertina of repetitions and echoes, the same threads again and again.

Time and history are a deep well, I hover and put my ear to the dark, and Minnesota is the sound that echoes down. Minnesota, Minnesota, Minnesota.

Minnesota, the State of Hockey — and Brock Faber is a Minnesota boy. The Gophers, his college team, are a Minnesota team. He grows up going to Minnesota Wild games. And, because no kid gets to play for the team they grew up watching, he gets drafted 45th overall by the LA Kings. That’s the business; when you play hockey you are at the mercy of the draft lottery and the end-of-season standings. 

(@ mnwild via Twitter/X)

Only, this is the Narrative we’re talking about. The moment someone says ‘unlikely’ or ‘never’, it emerges and reasserts itself: sometimes things can be right out of a movie script. In Faber’s case, a dream. He talks openly about just how happy and grateful he is to be there. A real hometown hero — the title conferred upon him by media and fans and the ever-present Narrative. Faber doesn’t get to escape it just because the chances are slim, just because all the other Minnesota boys were scattered at the draft.

The Minnesota Wild as a franchise is held within its grip, too.

What do you call a Cup drought when it’s never rained in the first place? Meet the Wild, a middling American expansion team that’s not quite young enough to excuse their limping performance anymore, not quite old enough to have a sterling legacy to fall back upon. “Advancement seems there for the taking. It’s the least they could do after teasing this forsaken market April after unfulfilling April,” writes Brian Murphy; an embittered rally against the Wild’s historic floundering, even as he gushes about Faber’s first few games. Playoffs made in 13 out of 23 seasons aren't awful odds…until you read a little further to find out they’ve never come within sniffing distance of the finals. They are, it seems, perpetually on the cusp of — something. I couldn’t tell you what. Destruction? Greatness? Glory, even?

(via sergeifyodorov)

Just over 5 years ago, the front office asked for continued support in an open letter to fans. There would be a little patience required, but not too much — not when glory was just around the corner. The letter does not mention the vortex of rumours surrounding the locker room, the two veteran contracts they had to excise. They wouldn’t be rebuilding, of course, no need to panic and no need for a teardown — they had the pieces in line and were ready for a real effort, a deep run at the playoffs and a Cup, and “nothing less.”

Funny, a little over 5 years before that there was yet another letter asking for yet another small stretch of patience, right after acquiring two very familiar contracts. Parise and Suter, for those unaware, were brought in as two experienced players who would push the Wild over the line from “perennial playoff team” to Cup winners. Big name free agents, with lots of clout to go with them — and of course they chose Minnesota, says owner Craig Leipold, citing their “strong ties to the area.” Glory was, once again, just around the corner — what could go wrong?

And this time there’s been no letter but now they have Brock Faber, so bright and talented and so willing to just keep going, taking what he’s served, assignment after assignment. They have Kirill Kaprizov, a true superstar, ‘The Guy’, the kind who plants a flag and becomes the franchise. They’ve got Marco Rossi, yet another of their rookies who has made an incredible, unexpected splash — NHL-ready against the odds. The final season of the Parise-Suter buyouts will come in the next two years, and with it will arrive the much-needed relief of league-wide cap increases.And now, we see, the Narrative keeps the wheel spinning, keeps the story going in that reverb-stutter-reverse — and glory is just around the corner.

DEFENCEMEN AND THE SIZE ISSUE

Let’s talk about what it means to be a top pairing defenceman in the modern NHL. The Minnesota Wild’s d-core is fried from season-derailing (and in Jared Spurgeon’s case, ending) injury, yes. But normally, filling in wouldn’t fall to a defenceman in his rookie year. Where another team might’ve spread the responsibilities, Faber is given the lion’s share of downed d-men Brodin and Spurgeon’s duties. He's the power play quarterback, a given presence on the penalty kill; he’s out on the ice during OT; at times sent out as a catch-all shutdown defenceman versus the league’s best forwards (I watch him try to keep up with McDavid reviewing an earlier match against the Oilers and I think, with my heart in my mouth: you are so fucking young). It’s more than just a lack of options. To answer my own question: Faber might actually be that good.

I’m talking around it, but the Norris Trophy isn’t handed out to defencemen who can’t rack up points. And on the whole, defencemen who aren’t geared toward offence don’t score. The debate comes around every season now, I assume, to just make a new award for the best defensive-defenceman — this is entirely down to how the responsibilities and expectations of d-men are undergoing rapid evolution in the shadow of elite skaters and puck movers like Cale Makar and Erik Karlsson. The age of pure stay-at-home defencemen — those that play shutdown to the exclusion of all else — is seemingly winding down, has been for a while. “Offensive-defenceman” is no cute rejoinder for d-men who happen to have a little offensive upside. From Bobby Orr until now, it’s become synonymous with a set of traits that define the league’s best blueliners. Skating prowess is part of it, being able to carry and protect the puck is part of it, but the best of the best are able to seamlessly transition from defence to offence, joining the rush from the d-zone after a turnover, to become lethal in the slot.

Where Brock Faber lands on all these metrics begins with who he was before he arrived in the NHL. He makes a strange case amongst all the rookie defencemen I’ve had the chance to research, a mixing pot of what’s usually found desirable in a prospect — and a few quirks that separate him from the pack. I was shocked when I found out Faber played an exclusively defensive role for the Gophers right up until he signed with the Wild — and before then had spent no time on the power play. “I just hated getting scored on by these kids in college,” says Faber in his interview on the Wild’s official team podcast [43:31]. He goes on to tell the hosts; it actually feels easier to play in the NHL at times, because his teammates know where they’re supposed to be, and if he pushes up on an opportunity he can trust someone else to drop back and fill that gap — he is certain that this has smoothed the bumps in his offensive leap forward. And how has he done? Incredibly, by all accounts. Of the many scouting videos, podcasts, and articles I’ve perused, this trajectory is… rare. At least, for top defenceman prospects. He’s got it all backwards, see; as opposed to the archetype of the puck-moving, dynamic attacker who has leaks in their defensive game (presumably, something that must be worked on as they come into their own in the NHL), he came in a defensive powerhouse, a shutdown-d, and had to learn to let go of the blue line and attack. It took two months for the Wild to ease him into taking on Spurgeon’s role as PP1 quarterback, but since then he’s been a standout player.

Past the power play, Faber’s point and goal production has skyrocketed in comparison to his pre-NHL career — seemingly out of nowhere. He’s got the skating and the stick handling ability to do it, and now it seems he’s begun to hone that killer instinct. Coach Evason, before his dismissal, let out a critique of a then-struggling Wild: "Brock Faber can't be our best player every night.” On a streaky, at times unstoppable, at times paper-thin Wild defence, Faber was a boon.

One very obvious way Faber has adhered to the specifications laid out by scouts is his height and weight. It’s said that defencemen take a little longer than forwards to start showing up in the NHL from the time they’re drafted. It’s the body-size issue, according to some. The d-men who make the cut are older, bigger. The myth goes: while rookie forwards might get away with being 5 '9’’ and underweight on account of agility and hockey sense (and more than a little help from coaches who send them out while the puck is in the o-zone), when you’re a blueliner, and hence the only thing standing between Auston Matthews’ finisher, Nathan MacKinnon's rush, and a clear shot on your goalie and the back of the net, you can’t afford to be small. 

We’re living in a post-Statistical Analysis Revolution hockey world, though, so we know a little better about size. An alternative explanation to the size myth is something I’ve only ever heard of in oblique references — specific to d-men, coaches call it the “200 game” threshold for development. Further inquiry, (including appropriation of university catalogue access and trawling JSTOR), has turned up little helpful literature on the origins of this belief, aside from a stub of an article that called the cutoff “artificial”, taking note that prospects who failed to perform to standards by the 200-game mark were written off as doomed AHL ‘tweeners. I did, however, find a very interesting statistical analysis write-up by the folks over at Dobber Hockey.

Undersized forwards don’t float through on skill and quickness alone; one of the biggest predictors for success is, according to Dobber and Mat Porter, falling within the league average for size and weight. The theory here has been dubbed BT, short for “breakout threshold”, and represents the number of games taken for any given player to become competent and start producing consistently in the NHL. That number, for the average player? 200 games. And contrary to stereotypes, undersized defencemen and forwards struggle.  Furthermore, a stat that defies intuition arises when examining those on the taller end. Data doesn’t lie: “Bigger defencemen and exceptionally-sized forwards need 400 NHL regular season games.” Porter posits that growth spurts can be a detriment to young players just entering the NHL; the jump in body mass causing a mismatch in their expectations of their bodies, a “simple physics” problem, necessitating a slight buffering period as they readjust their physical and spatial awareness around the changes.

The belief remains, however, that larger is better. I’m understating just how much it pervades hockey discourses. It’s present in scouting reports and has had measurable impacts on drafting; I hear it on hockey podcasts; it’s thrown out casually during interviews by coaches and fellow players; it's the first thing you'll hear from a caster who isn't familiar with a player's game. I can’t read or listen to anything about Faber without stumbling across it — the preoccupation with size.

The language used to praise Faber and players like him has my stomach twisting in a discomfort that I find hard to quantify — players, coaches, and the media all talk about him, and the hockey blinders slip. He’s a “workhorse”, a “stud”, he’s got “a man’s body” — and call it projecting, call it reading too deeply into innocuous statements, but the closest thing I can compare it to is hearing my AFAB body spoken about as an object whose value can be reduced to its function, its usefulness, its closeness to sexual maturity.

Elite athleticism is produced when you derail a child’s life and set them on the path, just the same as all the other entertainment industries — think: the k-pop idol machine, pageants, child actors and models who then become adult celebrities, and, of course, the emerging phenomenon of the child influencer. For men’s sports, there’s something extra on top of the commodification of children’s bodies — it’s the vernacular of near-fetishistic worship; of the masculine, the oxymoronic youthful-but-mature, the virile.

I’ll be very clear here: I’m not reading anything malicious from specific people, I’m not accusing anyone of crimes, and in no way am I implying that ice hockey is unique here. Just the opposite, in fact. I know professional sports hinges upon producing stars, that the commodification of young bodies is endemic to the business. Those stars are, stripped down to the basest definition, workers who perform with their bodies and sell their labour, whose bodies will inevitably be coveted and revered for their adherence to the Platonic ideal of their respective crafts. MYTHMAKING: THE SHIFT

“Brock Faber’s play in overtime of the Minnesota Wild’s Dec. 14 victory over Calgary almost certainly has been long forgotten,” says Judd Zulgad in yet another article covering the miracle of Faber’s rookie season. Zulgad is wrong. This overtime play has been repeated, over and over again, a new myth constructed around Faber before our eyes. “He’s completely exhausted, but not only [gave] a second effort, he’s got the wherewithal to bump the puck back so we can gain possession and get a line change,” says Wild coach John Hynes — this particular quote is a favourite for the beat writers who mill out post-game fluff pieces.

The overtime starts like any other: face-off at centre ice, 3-on-3. The broadcast takes note that Brock Faber is starting, that he’s developed offensively in his rookie season. Things fall apart not long after.

Overtime line changes are tricky business. The margins for error are razor thin with 3-on-3; a sloppy line change during OT is a free odd-man rush for the opposing team. Almost guaranteed instant annihilation, and a pretty rude thing to put your goalie through to boot. You must, must clear the puck from your zone before changing over. This is how Brock Faber ends up on the ice; trapped with the puck in the Wild’s d-zone for 2 minutes and 9 seconds. 

Time trickles on as he engages in a scrap along the boards. The broadcast takes note of just how long he’s been on the ice around the time that I do, and then he stumbles. And what you’ve got to understand about Brock Faber is that the comments about his poise aren’t for nothing: Faber doesn’t fall, he doesn’t lose his edges. His skating, his balance, his ability to leverage his reach — is elite.

He takes a knee after the play moves away, slow to get up. The casters say what we’re all thinking as he skates back to the safety of the bench: “he’s running on fumes.” How can anyone watch this and feel anything other than sorry? He is barely there. He is carved down to the marrow, and all that made him wonderful to witness — his beautiful skating, his steadiness, his mastery of the craft — is cut away by exhaustion. Watching him tip over, watching his desperate last-second handling of the puck — it feels less heroic every time. I replay the overtime again and again to write this section and I ache. I am with him out there, losing my feet and my breath just the same.

When he makes it back to the bench, finally, there is no relief. The cameras voyeuristically linger on his pale, worn face, his eyes sweat-stung, as he slams his stick against the boards, each hit shuddering through his body. I want to take it from his hands. I want to wipe his brow and tell him he can rest, rest, rest. Later, giving an interview, instead of taking up the accolades he’s recounting how his turnover led to that endless overtime stretch. He is, of course, not wrong. But he’s not seeing the larger picture.

Consider: this is the kid who grew up watching the Minnesota Wild fail year after year, who likely held a secret hope that they’d draft him when it was his day — this Minnesota boy and his home-grown, Minnesota heart. He never once thought of himself as separate from Minnesota, because this is home, this is where his hockey dream was born; and this is where it must, to him, be fulfilled — of course he’d take on everything they ever asked, swallow down his duties and only ever be grateful.

There is no other way this could’ve gone.

THE HAND OF THE NARRATIVE

I'm trying to love ice hockey with my eyes open. If you haven't figured it out by now, my writing is rarely just about players or hockey concepts. It's about me - these posts are essentially a diary I've chosen to publish. Recently, I had a lecturer read this essay. She commented that it read like someone trying to come to terms with loving hockey. She was right.

"It would be just like the Minnesota Wild to carry on with their perennial early playoffs exits." That's how this paragraph started, when I was first drafting this piece. I'll be transparent; I believe in the potential of this team, and I want them to make an honest effort to win the Cup - but I need it to happen some other time. Armchair GM/coach moment: they aren't ready. They didn't feel ready to me, with their captain out and a rookie d-man holding their blue line together, and injury after injury piling on as the season entered its last weeks. I saw them pushing for another run at the Cup, saw their continued use of Faber in all situations, and thought, ah - see you in another five years. Wanting it simply isn't enough. And Brock Faber, as good as he is, cannot sustain this team on myth. No one person can.

I started this essay terrified Faber would get injured from over-use and play through it for the sake of the postseason, like so many players do; or that he would hit the infamous 'rookie wall' and flame out in his development (in the back of my mind, the question is still there). A few days ago, the Minnesota Wild were mathematically eliminated from playoffs contention. I breathed a little easier. I liked this team too fucking much to see them suffer. I wrote this essay with a kind of despair over Wild management and their preoccupation with Win-Now at the cost of the future. I wondered if Kirill Kaprizov's prime would run its course with the Wild barely scratching the surface of a playoffs run year after year. I wondered at times if the hand of the Narrative would intervene and make it so. The Minnesota Wild are haunted like that.

There are pages worth of writing to add to this essay that I've cut for brevity, and for the sake of telling Brock Faber's story in a way where it wouldn't be obscured by it.

I considered talking about my athlete friends. I spoke to them, informal interviews, we talked about the kind of mentality instilled in children who dream of going pro. You never say 'no'. You love your sport, you let it turn you inside out, you would do anything to keep going. Most of all, you think I'm still young. I can play through this pain. And once you aren't young anymore, you think I'm not young anymore. I'm running out of time. I have to play through this pain. And when your best years are behind you, your ideas about your body and your health are so twisted that you will grind the cartilage in your knees away to make the jump, you will play yourself into irreparable nerve damage just to be remembered, just to have the chance to touch greatness.

This is the truncated version. This is what I fear most when I think of the crushing weight of the Narrative upon someone like Brock Faber. He's hardly the first young athlete to be put in this position, he won't be the last. This essay is about him in the loosest sense that I'm covering the beats of his career and his team. It's not about him at all in the sense that it's about me and my crisis of faith.

To break character: I've been talking about the Narrative with a capital 'n', as though it is an entity with a will of its own. Sometimes it feels that way. It's not, and it doesn't, and it feels that way because we care so much. The hand of the Narrative is just how I rationalise the coincidences, the eerie parallels, the compelling threads of story that exist in sports.

I've wrestled with how to conclude this piece for months now. Since I started writing, I've taken up sports photography, produced poems and essays and assignments about hockey, and I've started ice skating - and in the process I've fallen in love with my dilapidated local rink. I'm now covering the AIHL, which zero people on this website care about. A lot has changed. I still don't know how to finish this, so here are some closing thoughts:

The hand of the Narrative is as real as we make it.

My leftist ennui about professional sports under capitalism could probably be explored on another platform - in a different essay that won't be hosted here.

That thesis I'm never writing about haunting, hauntology, and hockey is probably a symptom of some greater preoccupation. (There's an unfinished manifesto sitting in my drafts.)

If you're a Wild fan reading this - sorry for the editorialising about the Minnesota Wild. I'm quiet about it, but I do love this team and I want to see them be the best version of themselves.

Brock Faber deserves the Calder. He deserved it when I first started this piece, when maybe five people were talking about it, and he deserves it now.

Despite the turmoil of the season, the disappointments, the setbacks - I am still so excited to watch this team and write about them.

I think I'm going to love hockey for a long time.

[boqvistsbabe]

Update!!!!!!!!

Hey Y’all!!

Here is the start of hopefully monthly updates. I know in my last update I said I was going to be more consistently here and active. Obviously, that didn’t happen lol. Trying to hold myself to that rn. So this is probably going to be the format for all of my update posts, just so they are easier to follow.

Refresh:

So I am almost completely done with the blog refresh. I think all that is left is updating links and getting some other posts (ex: theme days) made/redone. Most of that got put on the back burner due to how long they were going to take lol. But hopefully, over Spring Break, I’ll be able to get those done (no promises, another thing I’m trying to do, is be more realistic about what I want to get done by when so). 

Writing/Other Content:

Ik I said I’d write more. Once again didn’t really happen. Well, I have written a decent bit, but never finished anything. There is one fic that I am going to try and work on after this week (midterms lol) and have someone look over it (the first time I’ve had a beta reader, look at me go lol). Like the blog as a whole, I am trying to organize my writing, like requests and my ideas and what is going out when etc. (@ any of the other writers if you have any suggestions of what to/where to organize my stuff so it doesn’t get all confusing and mixed up you should def let me know). Speaking of requests, I am going to try and do at least two requests a month. That doesn’t sound like a lot but for me, that feels like something I can realistically do. I will be doing old requests first because even though they are years old at this point, I liked the ideas so I genuinely want to write them. I am still going to be accepting new requests (esp because sometimes that helps spark creativity/help with writer’s block so feel free to send in any ideas!!) but I will try to get those older ones done first. As for any other content (playlists, moodboards, IG edits, drawings, etc.) I am also taking requests for those so feel free to send in any of those requests too. 

Another Blog?!

As of rn the second hockey blog has not been “released”. I want to catch up on things for this blog before I throw that into the mix and try to grow that as well. I am hoping to add that sometime this summer. Also, I do technically have a sideblog already (@samistheman) which is normally where I reblog random things, and I don’t really have tags for that blog I just kinda willy-nilly reblog there (it used to be mostly PJO stuff but now that’s kind of here because of how much of it there is lol).

Life Update:

College is a lot rn. I’m doing 17 credit hours and tbh do not know what possessed me to do that. At first, I was doing pretty good, but now not so much. Like I said earlier I have midterms this week. If y’all didn’t know this, I’m shit at taking tests so not doing great rn. Thankfully one of my classes ends on Sunday so at least I don’t have to worry about that. I’ve had a lot going on in my personal life recently that is impacting a lot so trying to navigate that as well. I am moving out in May, which is yes months from now but there is still a lot that I need to do beforehand. Anyway, I’m going to a college hockey game on Thursday and I am super excited. I haven’t been able to go to a game since October. Also little fun update, I’m going on a weekend (work) trip to Boston. Super excited for that. I’ll be getting to go to a Celtics game and a Red Sox game (I’m a Royals girlie tho). I’ve never been to an NBA game so that’s for sure gonna be really cool. I’ve been to many MLB games before but this will be my first at a different stadium. Anyway, I think that is it for this update. Hope y’all are doing well!!

As usual, if y’all ever want to talk dms/inbox are open <3

I am going to tag some moots, I am totally forgetting some people so I am sorry for that (if y'all could reblog that would be amazing)

@2manytabsopen @krugstrash @jimmystrudel @andreburakozy @sidneycrosbyhoe @fallinallincurls @timstuetzle @typical-simplelove @ilyasorokinn @drei-mrssvechii

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | two

A/N: Thank you guys for all the positive feedback on Part One!  I’m so happy you guys are enjoying the series thus far.

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                  *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser was intoxicated by the feel of Grace’s lips.  It was all he could think about and all he could feel every time he was alone and closed his eyes.  Well, that was a lie – that wasn’t all he felt.  Sometimes he could feel the weight of Grace’s body on his lap, like when they would make out like teenagers on each other’s couches after hanging out or before hanging out or during hanging out – any time, really.  Sometimes he could feel her long hair sprawled across his chest from when they lay in bed together.  Sometimes he could hear her giggle or see her smile or hear her voice being the kindest, most polite and gentle person on planet Earth to everyone and anyone she’d meet.  

For what it was worth, Grace Gillespie was intoxicated by the feel of Brock’s body.  It was all she could think about every time she was alone, and she found herself dreaming about the next time she’d be able to feel it.  His strong arms with his toned biceps; his abs, defined by a work schedule and sport that took up most of his time; his thick thighs…but what she loved most had to be his back.  It was weird for her to say, but it was.  It was the definition – she could see every muscle.  She could trace every bump with her fingertips and make him shiver.  The entirety, all of him, was just so…beautiful.  

It was Grace who had inadvertently given it away, so to speak – them seeing each other – when she uploaded a story of herself at the Canucks season opener.  The rumours started in no time.  The story was screen-recorded and posted on every blog imaginable because Brock Boeser was, well, Brock Boeser.  He was hot, and nice, and sweet, and every girl in Vancouver with even just a passing interest in hockey wanted to hook up with him.  It was also compounded by the fact that in the 90s the Gillespie’s put in a bid to own the Canucks.  Grace just tuned it all out.  Brock Boeser Dating a Billionaire’s Daughter!  Those who loved alliteration must have loved the headlines.  In any case, there were more important things to worry about, and more important things to dedicate her time to.  

Grace was at work when she got a call from Brock.  That meant the team flight had landed and he was probably still at the airport or had just gotten into his apartment.  She liked how her heart skipped a beat whenever he called.  “D’you want to meet some of my friends?”

That question took her for a loop.  “Who?”

“My friend Elias, but we call him Petey.”

“You mean Elias Pettersson?” she clarified.  

“Yeah,” he giggled slightly.  “He’s been fancying himself a chef lately.  He lives with his best friend Svea.  He wants us over for dinner.”

“Is he making Swedish food?”

“Don’t know.  I’ll confirm with him.  But is that a yes?”

“Well, if he’s cooking…”

***

“You told her what?”

“Petey—”

“Boes, I can’t fucking cook!” Elias exclaimed once it dawned on him what Brock had just done.  “Why would you invite her here?!”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Clearly not!”

“What’s all the commotion?” Svea asked as she emerged from “her side” of the apartment, hearing the screaming between the two men.  It wasn’t exactly new, to hear Brock and Elias screaming at each other, but it was usually over video games.  This sounded like something different.  

“Brock just invited his new girlfriend over to our place for dinner,” Elias huffed.

Svea furrowed her brows.  “What’s wrong with that?  We’ve been wanting to meet her for a long time, Elias.”

“Brock said I’d be cooking,” Elias deadpanned.

Svea turned to Brock with an emotionless look on her face.  “Are you dumb?!” she exclaimed.

“Sveeeeeeaaaaaaaa,” Brock pleaded, his hands clasped together, about to get on his hands and knees in front of her.  

“You need to fix this Svea.  I can’t – I can’t – I can barely even boil an egg!  What made you think I’d be able to cook a dinner to impress a girl I’m not even trying to impress?!” Elias demanded.

“Shut it, the both of you,” Svea said sternly, raising her hands slightly.  “When is she coming here?”

“Saturday night, after our game against Toronto.”

She took a deep breath.  “I’m going to make sausage stroganoff.  You better bring me a good bottle of wine,” she glared at Brock, “and you better go to the Swedish bakery to get the good Swedish sausage,” she directed towards Elias.

Brock fell down to his knees.  “Thank you Svea.  Thank you thank you thank you.”

“Yeah yeah,” she waved them off.  “Now if you’re going to play video games, keep your voices down.  I’m studying.”

When he heard her shut the door to the den, Brock looked at Elias.  “When are you gonna marry her?”

Elias huffed.  “She’s my best friend, Brock.”

***

“So they’re best friends from Sweden,” Grace wanted to make sure she got everything right before she met Elias Pettersson and Svea Nilsson for the first time.  “But you’re saying they’re in love with one another and don’t know it?”

“Exactly,” Brock nodded his head.  “You’ll see it within, like, a minute of meeting them.  They’re just…I don’t know, dumb.”

Grace giggled slightly as Brock pressed the number for Elias’s floor in the elevator.  The doors shut and soon they were speeding up.  “Does anyone else on your team know about us?”

“Some of the guys I’m closer with do,” Brock said.  “Troy, Thatcher, Marky…they all know about you.  Do your friends know about me?”

Grace snorted.  “I told them about you after that first night at Starbucks.”

Brock laughed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss.  “That eager, eh?”

“When you know, you know,” Grace said.  “You know, don’t you?”

Brock nodded.  “I know.”

That was the beauty of what they had going.  They just fell in to everything.  There was Starbucks, then there was exchanging of their numbers, then there were texts back and forth, and phone conversations, and the rush of everything else.  It was quick but it was organic.  Nothing was rushed.  They were going at the pace they wanted to go.  There wasn’t even a heart-to-heart sit down or discussion about “where they stand relationship-wise” or “Am I into this more than you?”.  It was just…understood.  They knew.  They were exclusive.  Neither was seeing anybody else.  Neither wanted to see anybody else.  It was what Grace knew a healthy relationship should blossom into.  It was what Brock knew he wanted from another person.  

Elias opened the door to the apartment, greeting Grace sweetly before walking them in to the kitchen and dining room, where the table had already been set – no doubt done by Svea, too.  Grace noticed that Svea, the roommate, was the one cooking instead of Elias, and she was absolutely mortified.  She made sure to make her way into the kitchen once Brock punched Elias in the gut about something.  

“Hi I’m Svea,” Svea introduced herself sweetly as she was whisking a sauce in a deep saucepan.  She had on an apron and everything.  “It’s really nice to meet you.  I’m sorry that I look like a mess right now.”

“I’m so sorry – Brock said Elias was cooking tonight because he fancied himself a chef – I didn’t want to put any pressure on you—”

“Oh no no no!  Don’t worry!” Svea waved her off.  “God, are you kidding?  I wouldn’t want Elias to make you anything.  He might give you food poisoning.”

Grace giggled.  “So what’s on the menu tonight, anyway?”

“Sausage stronganoff,” Svea replied.  “It’s a Swedish dish.  Elias’s favourite, actually.  I thought I should make you Swedish food.  You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

“No,” Grace said, smiling from ear to ear.  “Sounds delicious.”

***

“They’re definitely in love,” Grace said once she and Brock walked out of the front doors of Elias’s condo building.  Brock turned towards her dramatically, his eyebrows raised, about to throw his arms up in the air.  “It’s so obvious.  So obvious.”

“I told you!” he exclaimed.  

“Why aren’t they dating yet?” she asked.

“Beats the shit out of me,” Brock said, shaking his head.  “But they’re meant to be together.  It’ll happen eventually.  I just don’t want to wait until I’m, like, forty to see it.”

Grace smiled, and there was a moment of silence between the two as they walked along the street.  “Can I ask you a question?  About things happening eventually?”

“Sure…”

“D’you want to meet my dad?”

The words hung in the air as Brock considered the magnitude of what Grace was asking him.  “You want me to meet your dad?”

Grace nodded.  “I think he’ll really like you,” she began.  “And my dad always, always wants to meet my boyfriends.”

“So you’ve had loads of other boyfriends?” he quipped.

Grace went to punch him in the gut, much like Elias did just hours earlier, but Brock dodged her easily and ended up grabbing her hand instead.  “Of course I’ll meet your dad,” he said, softer this time, as he stepped into her personal space and wrapped his other arm around her body.  “I’d love to.”

“Listen, I know I don’t have to warn you about what you’re gonna see when you get into the house, but—”

“Shhhh…” Brock cooed, bringing a finger up to her lips before leaning down to kiss her.  “When you want me there?”

“How does Sunday Night Football sound?”

***

Brock had never seen such a beautiful modern mansion so big in his life.  He’d trekked up to North Vancouver, to the address Grace gave him, and came face to face with a mansion overlooking the water.  It was stunning.  Fit for a billionaire, Brock thought.  He wondered if Grace grew up in this house or if it was new.  It looked new.  And judging by its style –a bungalow – it was fit for someone who needed access to everything they needed on the same floor.  Someone living with Parkinson’s, of course.  

He rang the doorbell.  After about a minute, the door opened and an unfamiliar face greeted him.  “You must be Brock?” the woman asked, the door still only half-open.

“Yes ma’am.”

She opened the door fully.  “I’m Angeline.  I’m one of Mr. Gillespie’s caregivers,” she informed him, stepping aside so he could step into the massive foyer.  Brock could hear the TV on in the distance and the clinking of some dishes in a faraway kitchen.  “You’ll also meet Dana and Michelle, Mr. Gillespie’s others.  He’s been expecting you.  He’s been very excited to meet you.”

Brock slipped off his shoes, making sure not to drop the bottle of wine he brought (for reasons unknown; it wasn’t like Hamish could drink – it was just that him mom taught him never to show up to someone’s house empty-handed).  “Oh, really?” he asked.

Angeline nodded her head.  “He hasn’t been quiet about it since Grace said it to him.  Plus, he’s a big Canucks fan.  Let me bring you to him.”

Brock followed Angeline through the house until they got to the family room.  It was massive, like everything else in the house, with lots of space.  When he walked in, he saw Grace and Hamish.  Their backs were to him, so he was able to observe them before they saw him.  Grace was sitting right beside him in his chair, holding his hand as they paid attention to the football game just about to start on the screen.  Grace was making some comment about the teams.  Brock could see Hamish turn his head slowly to look at his daughter and nod.  Everything about the set-up – Grace, Hamish, their positions, what was on TV, everything – reminded him of he and his dad.  Even the handholding.  Brock didn’t think he even held his dad’s hand as much when he was a kid out in public than he had the last few months – few years, really.  Duke was really into the handholding.  Brock could never, would never deny him.

Brock was soon snapped out of his trance by the sound of footsteps.  One of the other caregivers walked right past him holding a plate of puréed food, bringing it to Grace.  It was only then that Brock noticed the TV dinner table beside her.  “She likes to feed him whenever she’s here,” Angeline said, noticing Brock’s staring.  “If you need any help you can always call.  We will be somewhere in the house,” she said before walking away.

Brock took a deep breath and walked towards Grace and Hamish.  Upon hearing his footsteps, Grace looked his way.  The smile on her face widened ten times over when she saw it was him.  “Hi Brock,” she said softly, getting up from her seat quickly to greet him.  She kissed him quickly behind her father’s back (quite literally) before moving and settling back into her chair.  “Dad, Brock is here to meet you.”

Brock stepped into Hamish’s line of vision.  So that he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to look up, Brock bent down on his knees.  “Hi Hamish,” he held out his hand for a handshake.  Slowly, Hamish’s hand came up to shake it.  “It’s very nice to meet you.  Grace has told me so much about you.”

“It’s…nice to…meet you…too,” he said, his words coming out slowly but surely.  “You…like football?”

Brock smiled.  “I love football.”

“Minnesota?”

“Minnesota.”

A smile crept onto Hamish’s face.  “Good.”

***

Hamish wanted ice cream, so Grace got up and went to the kitchen, leaving him with Brock as they watched the football game together.  Minnesota was winning, which made her dad pretty happy.  And despite everything, she could tell he liked Brock.  She knew he would – everybody liked Brock, he was the sweetest – but it made her happy knowing that he liked him.  There were some ex-boyfriends of hers that he didn’t like.  Some ex-boyfriends he straight-up disapproved of.  Hamish had strong opinions and vocalized them always, and the Parkinson’s didn’t stop that.  He didn’t create a three-billion-dollar company by being quiet.

When she finished putting the ice cream in the bowl, she began to head back to the family room.  Dana stopped her momentarily to tell her that her dad’s bed was ready, whenever he was tired and needed to change into his pajamas.  Grace thanked her, and before she could even step foot into the family room, she heard Brock’s voice.  “Back straight, Mr. Gillespie.  And let me get the straw.”

She stopped in her tracks so neither could see her.  She watched from the side as Brock took the glass of water her dad had been drinking with dinner and brought it up to his lips, steadying the straw so it faced him.  “Take your time, Mr. Gillespie.  It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Gillespie.  I’m used to this.  I’m not sure if Grace told you but my dad has Parkinson’s as well,” Brock said.

Hamish seemingly forgot about the water and straw.  “He does?”

“Yes sir.  And I help take care of him too, in the off-season.  Just like Grace helps take care of you.”

Hamish brought a hand up slowly and placed it on Brock’s arm that was resting on the arm rest.  “Does your father…ever speak…of his body…betraying him?”

Grace watched as Brock took a deep breath in.  “All the time,” he nodded.  “Ever since he got diagnosed.”

Hamish nodded slowly.  “You and Grace…” he began, “taking care…of your parents.  You’ll…you’ll look after one another.”

Brock nodded again, more assertively this time.  “We will,” he said, bringing the water and straw closer to Hamish.  He pursed his lips to start drinking, and Brock brought his other hand up to steady Hamish’s head and make sure it was as upright as possible.  Hamish’s hand didn’t leave Brock’s forearm.

[tippedbykreider]

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting over the past few days, trying to make sense of my thoughts and come up with a plan to help me work through how I’m feeling. It’s with a heavy but clear heart that I have made the decision to step away from writing.

I’m sorry to say that all current projects will not be worked on further and I’m still deciding on whether or not to leave the posted ones up or take them down. I don’t know if this is a ‘for now’ thing or a forever thing but it’s definitely a thing for the foreseeable.

There are a few things that have got me to this point and I’m not going to bore you all by going into them, but there are a couple of you who know and to those people I just want to say thank you for being there and listening and just being the wonderful people that you are. I can’t believe this still has to be said but for the love of fuck, please support content creators. Seriously.

This isn’t goodbye. I’m not deleting my blog, but I won’t be creating content anymore. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the future but right now I just can’t. I’m done.

I’m still going to be here vibing and shouting about my favourite hockey boys and I’m still going to be supporting all of my favourite writers and sharing the fics that I’ve enjoyed so you haven’t gotten rid of me. Not yet, anyway 💖

[agustdiv1ne]

thank you + milestone!!

damn, never thought we'd get here, did we?

in all honesty, it's been a pretty shit year. march 'til now has felt like the same month on repeat with tiny tweaks to make it all so much worse. but i'm not here to complain about the worst parts of this year, i'm here to celebrate the best ones.

this was the year that i finally started writing, that i was finally spurred to open a google doc and just type away until a tiny work of fiction stared back at me. my first one was 1k words, a rant to get all of my emotions off of my chest with an idol as my muse. it felt...great, though it also felt a bit odd writing after being an avid reader for years. i always did prefer essays to creative writing, but this year definitely changed that perspective.

i wrote that first blurb along with another fic in late july, and in early august, i asked my friends if i should post them. om august 3rd, i changed this blog from a fic rec to a fic writing blog just like that. i regret none of it.

it's been nearly five months since i revamped this blog and i couldn't be more grateful for the support i have gotten from all of you, whether it be a kind comment, a like, a reblog, all of it. i never thought anyone would like my content, but i've been proven severely wrong by this community. from my irls that are on here, to my lovely mutuals and followers, to those i've talked to a lil bit on this hellsite, to the writers whose fics i absolutely adore, to those who have left a like or a comment on one of my fics, i want to say thank you from the very bottom of my heart ♡

have a happy and healthy new year! i love and appreciate every single one of you!!

though i'm painfully bad at writing letters and getting all sappy, i wanted to write them anyways hahaha let's goooo

to @hwaddict:

my irl best friend!! my partner in crime!!!! i love you sm carly, and there are not enough words in this world for me to describe the extent of my love. you have been there for me during my lowest moments, you've seen me cry, and i don't cry in front of many ppl. i trust you with my life and i'm so glad that we became friends back in middle school bc you are one reasons that spur me to keep going. i can't wait to see where life takes us and know that while i might not always be able to be there physically (especially with college right around the corner), i will always be there for you in any way i can be. again i love you and i can't wait to conquer next year with you ♡♡

to @hopejanaee:

hope!! hobi!!! one of my irls! though we just became friends earlier this year, it feels like we've been friends for ages. it's crazy how close we grew so quickly but i am so grateful to have you in my life. you never fail to make me laugh whenever we're together and you're so chaotic but in such a good way hahaha. you were the one who got me into writing with your own wonderful fics so thank yoi for that. i'm so happy that we became friends because you're so kind and caring and ahhhhhh i love u sm ♡

to @oikawasmilkbread:

we talked for like 0.2 seconds but you are so kind and hella cool!! it was nice having random conversations with you and i'm so glad you randomly dmed me bc i am shy and i have 0 idea how to start conversations with anyone lmao. i always smile when i see you in my notifs! i hope you have a happy new year!!! ♡

to @luthenia:

i know you're on hiatus but seeing you in my notifs always excites me hahaha. we never talk but you are so supportive of everyone in this community and i just wanted to shout you out for that! your memes are top tier LMAO and i can't wait for when you come back, happy new year ♡

to @starsforten:

we also talked for approximately 1 second but it was so fun talking to you about astrology stuff (virgo sun libra rising gang hahahaha) and those teuta matoshi dresses! you are so nice and easy to talk to and i hope your new year is happy and fruitful! ♡

i recommend every single one of these blogs for their amazing content!! i added some of my favorite fics as i'm a whore for great writing hahaaaa

@kinktae

waterloo — a masterpiece! taehyung is so bitter at the beginning and it's adorable seeing how y/n breaks his tough shell. loved this from beginning to the end ♡

hot rod — the 50s slang, the dynamic between hoseok and y/n...*chef's kiss*

@untaemedqueen

welcome to seoul land — werewolf!namjoon really got me going, 100/10 would recommend

graceful gods — this is one of my all-time favorites, greek god!jungkook has my brain going brrrr

@shadowsremedy + @therealmintedmango

support system — adorable!! this is a hybrid!yoongi fic i really enjoy, and the series isn't over yet! check it out~

@bratkook

tear you apart — demon!taehyung...holy shit. i was speechless

@tatertotthethot

the doms next door — THIS SERIES OMG, i've read each part at least five times already. taekook got me acting UP

scream (posted to @yandere-society) — a really cool take on the movie scream with jungkook, yandere fics don't always appeal to me but this one absolutely did

@ateezmakemeweep

broken — the immense ache i felt in my chest while reading this, but i loved both parts with a burning passion. san is so sweet in this :')

@atinybrew

dirty free for all — the ULTIMATE demon!san fic. the writing is absolutely immaculate and this is the first fic that had me blushing down my mf ARMS

rice milk lattes and bryophytes roads — another san fic admittedly because i'm whipped for san lol. anyways, this was cute and hot at the same time and best friend!yunho made my double biasing ass that much happier

@seacottons

pan — an adorable peter pan!hongjoong fic, it had my heart going achhfhsjfjsjf

sir kiss me — circus au with san holy hell i loved every twist and turn of this

@actuallythatwaspromise

bad romance — one of my favorite yunho fics ever, punk rock!yunho x nerd!reader has my entire heart

aurora garden center and desire ink — florist!mingi had me uwuing for the entire fic, this was adorable and i loved it sm

@yeonjuncore

every single fic on this blog is an absolute masterpiece, i swear

the devil's little angel — THIS IS ONE OF MY ULTIMATE FAVORITES, demon!yeonjun had me screaming and it was just so fun to read and i loved every single second of it so much that i've read it nearly ten times now. so go read it, you won't regret it!

the boy with the horns — another of my ultimate favorites (i told you, their writing is just that amazing), woodland fey!soobin just had me going so soft :(( i literally sobbed at one point, that's how invested i was

bleeding heart — the tension between vampire!yeonjun and vampire slayer!reader had me screeching

curtain call — i have a sad crush vampire!soobin

i love you, always — this felt so..bittersweet? taehyun loves y/n so much, i lowkey cried while reading this

@angelfic

the art of (mis)communication — i am a whore for both reconciliation and yeonjun, 100000/10 pls read this i beg of you

@angelictaehyun

growing pains — ahhh once again a yeonjun fic, my chest hurt a lil bit at some points but it was so sweet!!

@neovisioned

bed of spiderwebs — spiderman!mark has my heart screeching, i loved every second of it ♡

eddie ate dynamite — johnny suh coming for my throat yet again

cupid victorious — cupid!jaehyun :'))) definitely one of my favorites!!

@domjaehyun

quarantine chronicles — ok if you haven't read this or the part two yet then you're missing out big time!! the tension, the buildup, every single part of this fic was just *chef's kiss* but multiply thay by a million

all these years — every single moment of this felt so nostalgic and the ending was so sweet :')

@caiuscassiuss

muse — i keep going back to this one constantly, the angst in this phenomenal and i love artist!taeyong sm here

@neoct-zen

loverboy — HOT, AMAZING, I SCREAMED. the blurbs that accompany this are also top-tier i recommend reading each and every one!!

@moondustis

pink + white — i'm so soft for mark i stg, this was the cutest thing ever

@loviejaehyun

can't avoid this feeling — hockey player!mark is the best thing ever

all tied up — i just- screamed as i read this bc professor!jaehyun is too hot goodbye

@hopejanaee

incapable — this is one of the best yoongi fics i've ever read ngl, it's not completed quite yet but the parts that have been posted are top tier!!

breathless — THIS. I LOVED THIS. yuta is just so hfjshhfhshfnsn and i love this sm

@hwaddict

melting point — big boy mingiiii, 100/10 would recommend

@okayau

house next to mine — frat boy!yeonjun rly got me going, cute and hot at the same time ahhhhbfnsnnf

youth — ADORABLE, yeonjun's confession is peak i love it here

run away — how many yeonjun fics can i fit in this post? (answer: a lot) definitely one of my favorite harry potter aus!! it was awesome seeing how their relationship changed throughout the years and perhaps i teared up a little at the end :'))

@starrychannies

baby steps — ONE OF ALL-TIME MY FAVORITE FICS ON THIS SITE, every single part is so well-written and ahhhhhfhdhhf chan makes me feel some type of way

my stupid — another yeonjun fic! angsty but v cute at the end :')

@baekhvuns

this youth of craziness — 40k words of pure gold, this fic is absolutely one of my favorite san fics ever!!

replacement — prince!ten makes my brain go brrrr, i love how the y/n just speaks her mind here

@masterninjacow

untitled project — i saw soulmate au with mark and i knew would already love it, and i did! pizza boy!mark at that, amazing and i adored it

more amazing blogs!!: @galaxteez, @poutybinz, @lustjoong, @bloominghigh

these are just a few of the fics and blogs i found this year, find more on my fic rec blog @agustdiv1ne-recs!! (my thumbs are starting to hurt i'm so sorry bfjshfhsh)

wrapping up each month since august since that's when i actually started posting LMAO

☆ august

03: good enough — chan

03: bloodsucker — seonghwa

04: cutie — san

09: veloxrotaphobia — mingi

19: want — changbin

21: numb — yunho

100 follower special — i reached 100 followers towards the end of august, my first ever milestone :') also my first ever time taking requests, 'twas very fun ♡

☆ september

03: on camera — jungkook

☆ october

27: oh, worm? — namjoon

31: demon days — san

☆ november

10: a letter to my love — xiaojun

23: bad for u — jaehyun

27: home sweet home — yeonjun

☆ december

christmas bash 2020 — my brain went hey what if you did this- and i listened so here's 17 holiday fics hahahaa (not all of them are out yet but i'm working on it!!)

things i plan to release in 2021!!

☆ sunflower — jimin

☆ cross — yeonjun

☆ landslide — seonghwa

☆ nice save — san

☆ red — hyunjin

☆ a secret series (that will be revealed once i plan everything) — ateez

☆ 4 unrelated secret fics oOoOoo — will i reveal them? you'll just have to wait and see ;)

there will definitely be more posted! these are the ones that are going to be my priority at first, but my imagination is always churning so expect a lot more :)) check out all of non-secret wips here!

i hit 500 followers a couple days ago! i nearly screamed when i saw that LMAO. thank you so much for liking my content because i work hella hard on it :') sometimes i feel like i don't deserve y'all really, but @hwaddict will yell at me if i say that so ig i take it back hfhshhdhg

a post for celebrating this milestone will come as soon as i finish up the rest of my christmas fics!! sorry that i'm so slow :( (hint: my requests will be open, so look out for it!)

so yeah!! that's it, sorry for the painfully long post (i'm sorry to my thumbs for typing this whole thing out </3). thank you to everyone who read this far!! i hope everyone has a happy and healthy new year, and in the words of txt's cover, fuck 2020. may 2021 be a much better year for all of us!!!

much love,

ashlee ♡

[matbaerzal]

I’ve had this blog for a year now and I’m so glad I stumbled upon this world. I wanted to give some love to my friends and some of my favorite blogs!

Here’s me trying my best to express my feelings even though I’m terrible at it. So, excuse the occasional keysmash or the excessive use of exclamation marks, but I love you guys sm! 

@tkachukme Samantha, you are so dear to me! You hype me up whenever I need it and I’m so honored to get to be your hype person too. I appreciate you so much and you deserve the world, my love! I love you so so much, you’re like the tito to my mat, the tk to my nolan. 💖

@idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 Nat, you’re so wonderful and talented! You inspire me to continue developing my own writing. I was honestly a little intimidated by you when I first stared following you, because your blog’s just so great and dhasjklf but you’re seriously one of the nicest people I know, I love you!💕

@thirteenisles Ko, you are the Mom™️ of tumblr! You’re a badass with a heart of gold, and I appreciate and love youuu. You’ve brought a smile to my face countless times, either by just seeing you on my dash or when you’ve checked in with me. 🥰

@bluebarriemuzzins Freddie, you’re one of my dearest friends on this site! I love our chats and you’re so creative and talented in more than one way. You’re so kind and funny and wholesome. I love you 💜

@zuucc SILJE!! du er bare så kul og talentfull, jeg digger deg! Your fics are all masterpieces, and you should expect me to be first in line at your future book signings.. Also you’re welcome for me bringing Mat into your life :) I LOVE YOU 💕

@yeeehaw-hockey Hannah, du er seriøst best, og drit morsom og altfor snill!! I’m so grateful for you, your feedback gives me life and just your tags in general are amazingggg! I love youu grinch 💚

@95er Vanessa, the talent POPPED OUT in this one!! Sometimes I get like a ‘friend crush’, where I just want to be someones friend so bad, and I had that with you hahah. You’re so sweet and I adore and love you! 🧡

@ethan-bears / @shesasupergeek EMMA! You’re one of the first friends I made on here and I appreciate you so much. Both your blogs have excellent content, and you’re so sweet and kind. You’re the resident thunderbirds blog, and I’ve said this before, but I think of you every time I see thunderbirds content on my dash. love you!💙💚

@shirarihena You’re a delight to see on my dash and we don’t talk that much anymore, but I always smile when I see you in my notes or on my dash. You’re also one of the first friends I made on here and I appreciate you sm! ILY 🧡💙

@fraction-of-a-flying-puck  Laur I love you sm. You’re so sweet and I love chatting with you! I’m sorry we haven’t talked that much lately, but pls know that I smile whenever I see you on my dash. ❤️

@doublebarrzal you’re one of the funniest people I know, Dean. From your love for mullets to Barzy’s nostrils and everything in between. Thank you for fueling me whenever I feel chaotic lmao (#neverforget #matmendes) I love youuu! 💖

@captainkreider My brock anon lmao 🥺 Kathleen, I’m really glad you’re on this site, you spread so much positivity and you’re the nicest, sweetest person. ILYSM!! 🥰 

@generallybarzy / @generallylyss Lyss, I love you! You’re my number one Barzy bitch and you’ve kept my Barzy obsession well fed. You are so talented and I appreciate you so much.💕

@charlie-theangel / @charlie-theangelwrites You seriously are an angel!! You’re so so kind and lovely, and as if that wasn’t enough you’re also so fucking talented. My heart rate rises when I read your writing and I’m so glad you share it with us. ILY ❤️

@powerblais Erin, you are an absolute sweetheart! You’re so talented and I honestly don’t know how you do it. All your projects amaze me, and you’re a really great friend. I appreciate and love you! 💙

@softgrantaire Sometimes I just scroll through your blog whenever there’s any type of discourse going on, for pure entertainment. Your video edits are amazing and you are so hilarious!! Whenever I see you on my dash late at night I feel like telling you to go to bed, then I remember I’m an hour ahead so really I’m the one that should be going to bed.. (ngl it’s 4am as I type this out) anyways, I love you, Alex!! 💛 

@jamiedrysdales​ Ari, you are such a cutie!! you’re so kind and I appreciate you so much! Love you! 💚

@swedeonmarky I love your content so much and you are so sweet and lovely! ILY 💖

@allyz​ / @barzzal I’m really happy you’ve joined our little corner of tumblr! you’re so sweet and your writing is amazing! ilysm💕 

@shadowsandmoonlight You’re so much fun to speak to whenever we talk and I’m so glad we’re friends! I appreciate you so much. love you! 💜 

@tysojost​ You are such a joy! I LIVE for your tags (your #look at that dog is just the cutest thing ever) and your fic feedback is just *chefs kiss* and I appreciate and love you sm💙

@softboybarzal You are so so sweet and thoughtful. I am really thankful for you and your kind words have brought a smile to my face more than once. I love youu! 🧡

@suchalilyofthevalley​ / @kerwritesthings​ I appreciate you so much, you’re so kind! I want to thank you in advance for the help with my musician barzy fic because I’m probably going to need it and it was so sweet of you to offer! ILY 💖

@spacegirlsgang​ Mary, every time I see you on my dash my mind just goes “friend!!!”. Your content is always top tier and you are such a sweetheart. I love you❤️

@ahoswhiskers​ Kinga, you are so sweet and I feel like you bring so much positivity to this site! and Milla is literally the cutest! I love you 🥺💕

@princessphilly you’re so lovely and I your content is *chef’s kiss* !! I might have to convince you to write for Vince Dunn again 👀 ILY 💕

@barzyredsnapback I love seeing you on my dash, and the few times we’ve interacted you have been so so lovely! ily 💖

I have probably forgotten someone, and I’m so so sorry if I did, but there’s so many lovely people on here it’s hard to keep track sometimes. I love you all and thank you for following me and being a friend. 

[welllpthisishappening]

Newbie here for all the hockey and Captain Swan nonsense (and pretty much everything else on your blog!) Can I request either "bloody kiss" or "a hoarse whisper “kiss me”"? Also, I definitely am interested in what Big Bang you just completed!

Hi, hello, welcome to this nonsense! You can absolutely request both of those things and I can semi fill those prompts with far more words than I was planning on writing. Eventually, maybe these prompts won’t all be canon, but that’s apparently the vibe we’re riding right now. Everyone else is welcome to partake in the aforementioned nonsense of this blog and the kiss prompts extravaganza so I don’t keep shouting about the book I finished this morning. It was real dumb. Like, super dumb. Anyway, here’s some making out. 

“You know I could hear you?”

He doesn’t hear. Her. Emma. Almost hears. Words filter through a haze that appears to finally be catching up with Killian, eyelids fluttering and pulse steadying and he imagines a lot of that has to do with the placement of her fingers. Trailing across his forehead and just above one of his eyebrows, studying him with a sort of intensity that he knows only she has. 

Fiancée. She’s his fiancée, again. 

Even the thought makes his heart feel as if it’s going to beat its way out of his chest. Explode, possibly. That would be rather violent though. Could ruin the moment, as it were. 

“When was that, exactly?” 

He mumbles. Barely moves his lips. Can only manage to crack open one of his eyes and it’s not the one with the eyebrow Emma appears so intent on memorizing. Not that he’s especially opposed to the memorization. Of his eyebrow or any other part of him, not after another involuntary and far too long separation and he hopes Blackbeard drowns. 

Somewhere off the coast of Neverland. 

None of those mermaids are particularly merciful. In Killian’s experience, at least. 

“Couple days ago,” Emma says, “the chest started talking.”

He opens the other eye. “Be more specific.”

“You’ve got an exceptionally dirty mind.”

“Chose your words more carefully then,” he challenges, but there’s no real heat behind his words. Not that way, at least. “Do you think we’re winning now?”

“In the non-existent True Love race?”

Smiling as widely and as suddenly as Killian does threatens the structural integrity of his cheeks. Both of them. Muscles strain from lack of use and recent frown-like tendencies, and furrowing his brow even a little bit sends a flash of pain through all of him. Gods, but he’s tired. And strangely comfortable. Stretched across sheets that apparently boast a rather high thread count, though he’s still a little shaky as to what, exactly that is, and even less sure it really matters, not when her fingers are so soft and his heart continues to do that erratic beating thing and—“Last I heard your mind-reading powers were a little suspect, witch.”

“I don’t think we’ve reached the insult portion of the evening.”

He chuckles. Keeps smiling. Doesn’t even consider pulling her fingers down. Despite the growing need to kiss directly beneath her ring for as long as she’ll allow. “Let me know when we get there, aye? And yes, I do believe we are. Winning, that is. Underworld challenges, magical doors fueled by magical flowers. Am I missing anything?’

“Sucks we didn’t get a rainbow kiss.”

“Perhaps that’s waiting in the wings. Of romance and whatnot.”

Listening to her laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Bar none. The way it flutters out of her occasionally, like she’s still a little surprised that it happens and Killian used to worry about that. Not anymore; not now, certainly. Now, he wants to keep surprising Emma. Wants to be surprised. To never grow entirely complacent or completely content. Although, he’s awfully close to content now. If he’s being honest. 

Piracy often frowns upon complete honesty. 

“Maybe,” Emma concedes, “and you’re not letting me tell my story.” “You’ve got very distracting fingers, that’s why.”

She rolls her eyes. Keeps tracing and it’s wonderful and comforting and—

Killian hisses. Grits his teeth before he can completely school his features, which makes Emma’s expression twist almost immediately and he’s not interested in that. Unless the twist is coming from the precise way her hips tend to buck when she’s beneath him. As it is, her eyes widen and his breath catches and she pulls her fingers away. From the gash he’d almost forgotten was on his forehead. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she chants, but he’s already moving, and using the hook he’d removed hours ago to tear off a corner of the shirt he also should have taken off is not quite as simple as he’d like. Takes a moment for him to get any worthwhile fabric off, dragging it immediately across Emma’s blood-stained fingertips. 

“Stop that. Apologizing does not become you, Your Highness.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Her eyes widen. More. To an almost comical size, catching Killian off guard because he means those words as well. The syllables, too. Down to each letter and each sound that rolls off his tongue and he’d like to use his tongue for a variety of other things, but this feels important and a line they can’t come back from, and Emma’s magic surges. Jumps over him in a way that feels as much like a blanket as a semi-aggressive wave and he supposes there’s something in that contradiction. To the way he feels and the way they are and a True Love competition that absolutely does not exist. 

He knows he’s not bleeding anymore. Neither one of them move the fabric from her fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Emma repeats on a whisper, shaking her head before Killian can so much as open his mouth to object, “for not thinking and not trusting and I—well, maybe the shell phone was another True Love sign. That puts us at three, at least. Definitely winning.”

Heart explosion does not hurt nearly as much as Killian expects. And his heart’s been yanked and squeezed and used against him, more often than he thinks is average. Even in this realm. So he’s got plenty to compare it to. Only now—well, he doesn’t think his heart is actually bursting and he cares less about the realm than the people in. About the flash of golden hair he noticed well before his eyes met hers and he knows he’ll think about the way she stumbled over her own feet in a magical doorway every single night for the rest of his already far-too-long life.  

He only cares about her. That’s the point, he supposes. 

“I love you too,” Emma says, answering a message from several days earlier. “How did you hit your head, by the way?”

“Blackbeard is a noted bastard.”

“God, fuck that guy.”

Scoffing is not laughing, but weariness is creeping back beneath his skin and Emma’s lips quirk up all the same. He’s staring, that’s how he notices. Unabashedly, so. And it’s entirely possible she’s blushing. “That’s the spirit, aye. You really could hear me?”

“Yeah. It’s, uh—there was tear magic involved, apparently, so I guess you couldn’t hear me?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. Killian knows. Shakes his head anyway. “Right, right, yeah, I figured, and I...well, I knew you wouldn’t leave, too. Even when I wanted you to have left.”

“You wanted me to have left?”

“That sounds shit, that’s not—” Emma’s nose bumps his. There’s not much room between them. So, he kisses her fingers. Makes sense. Plus, he doesn’t have much space to do anything else. “That’s not what I mean, not really. If you left, then it was just...another failure, you know. Would have made it easier to shove into the corner, try not to think about it because I could say I always knew it would happen, or I expected it. But that’s as shit as advertised and I know you’d never do that and I don’t want you to do that, don’t want you to leave, not again or ever and—”

“I think you should kiss me,” Killian interrupts. Gruffer than he’d like, and he’s not capable of magic anymore. Can’t rip hearts out of chests or threaten them with anything more than this realm’s poor food options, but he’s fairly certain the golden-haired woman lying impossibly close to him on these ridiculously soft sheets is all too aware that she already holds his heart in both her hands. And he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather it be. 

She moves. All arms and feet, fingers in his hair and mouth slamming into him, catching his gasp and his groan in equal measure while he tosses the goddamn hook on the floor. It falls with a clatter that draws laughter out of both of them and makes it easier to pull Emma against his chest, Killian already shifting onto his back while his tongue manages to accomplish at least a few of the things it would like to. 

Nails scratch and hips do, in fact, buck. Desperately searching for a rhythm and tearing a bit more at clothes he’s willing to burn eventually. There’s no rainbow. No swelling or invisible orchestra, save for the roar between Killian’s ears, but he can’t bring himself to worry and finds it ridiculous to care. 

He knows. Emma knows. The goddamn magical door knew. And his message got back, even if it wasn’t perfect. To her, just like he did. 

For as long as they both should live.

[1989xtaylorsversion]

I know we all love some hockey teas and (rumours)

As fans in general we should know those could be made up rumors but if its true we should just mind our business instead of exaggerating the whole story 🙂

Also those peoples you make rumours about they are humans with feelings,i personally would hate if someone on the internet start something up about me just because I’m seeing someone who’s playing sports

yeahh. everything on the internet should be taken with a grain of salt tbh. i’m all for inviting different opinions, but at the end of the day none of us know these people. that’s why i’m kinda defensive over ppl like paige, emma, and even maya sometimes. i understand why some ppl don’t like them, and that’s fine. even i don’t agree with everything they do (just look at my posts about them), but i don’t want the comments to get out of hand and become really mean, uk? i don’t wanna foster the kind of environment where spitting vitriol at these girls (who r essentially strangers) for things like hu with guys or wtv is normalized. we can criticize them, but leave the misogynistic and genuinely mean comments behind. i see it all the time on their social medias, and it’s like u could just say “i don’t like you” or “i don’t like your content” instead of petty comments that are going after their appearance and things they can’t change… i’ve said it before but i struggle with balancing an environment where everyone can freely express their opinions, but also making sure it’s not a blog full of pure hatred (for lack of a better word). anytime i write a post about someone, i’m really careful to not sound misogynistic and genuinely mean. i hope i’ve done a good job at that, but if not, i’m open for feedback. anyway, this turned into a whole rant, and i’m not even sure this is what u meant anon. i’m done now. thanks for letting me ramble🤍

[thecheesbyrecipebook]

so @girouxes​ made me begin to post all my cheesby aus.. so here we go. i’ll guess i’ll start off with one of my longest ones: keep in mind this is unedited and written very casually, and a lot of it is not thought through. warning for typos and weird sentance structures. tw for unhealthy relationships, unhappy-ish ending, it’s a soulbond au thing. also, like, by nature of this blog: mentions of 18+ stuff may happen, think ao3 mature rating.

bonds are fickle, they're unpredictable and you're never quite sure if you're able to bond with someone. it is important to note that bonds are not soulmates and bonds are not predestined: they're a part of human biology, where two or more being have a connection that extends beyond themselves, they form a bond with someone else. this bond strengthens their capabilities, their emotional understanding of each other and has developed as a survival tool for humanity, and our complex relationships.

in modern pop-culture, bonds have become the 'end goal' when it comes to romance, best friends, or even enemies. bonds have become like most things in our world, commercialized and exaggerated by media, they've changed from a survival instinct, to one additional layer of complexity within our society and something to sell and market.

the thing with bonds is that if you bond with someone: it can go away, and it can come back. bonds can be strong, they can can be weak. however, they cannot be one-sided: luckily, a bond requires consent (that is not to say forced bonds doesn't happen, they do, and it's.. yeah. bad)

anyways, within hockey: bonds are fucked up. like, actually fucked up. you remember how i mentioned forced bonds? yeah. obviously, they don't say they're 'forced' but when two teammates can sense each other,, yeah, that's an advantage. there's been attempts to forbid it, but modern hockey relies upon what is known as 'hockey bonds' which are superficial, often 'forced' bonds between teammates (most often, a line or d-man pairs) to help them play better. within hockey, bonds with other players that aren't for playing or with people on other teams.. well, it's highly frowned upon and a lot of time, not allowed.

like. see bonds as a sort of more.. mental connection of friendship and understanding. they can be strong and they can be weak. and this kind of tool in human biology where you can sense / understand others would obvs be abused in many ways, esp in hockey.

so like, a hockey bond is essentially a very superficial bond done between two or more players who has a ’good’ connection but they’re always temporary bonds, and don’t go ’deeper’. as said, bonds have to be consensual in that they need to be accepted by both parts... but when your contract depends upon it, yeah. also like, closer friendship bonds or godforbid romantic bonds between players is taboo, both because of the nhl being Itself as well as the drama that would happen with deperr bonds that can’t be broken with trades and no-trade clauses with bonds is a whole dramatic thing

this is just a vague idea and worldbuilding but it’s more deep nd like complex? anyways so

sidney crosby doesn’t like bonds. or rather, he doesn’t like hockey bonds. it’s the nature, when you’re a kid and you click with someone: they try to make you bond. it worked, a couple of times, but it’s weird being him, being sidney crosby, and seeing that from someone else’s head, where he’s not himself, but he’s the legend, and the unintentional jealousy and fear and pressure of being bonded to him is there. bonding makes them better players, sure, but also sid feels like he’s lost himself, where his thoughts aren’t his own and he’s less and less of sid and more sidney crosby the chosen one, and he’s been dealing with this since he was 16.

people don’t really know what makes it easier for some to bond, and harder for others, but as young, sid’s always gotten it easy to bond: mayhaps that’s been open to it, that it’s hockey, and mayhaps it’s that there’s something about sid being ’sid the kid’ that makes the other players want to bond with him, wants part of his hockey, want part of his legacy, which makes it easy.

that’s the thing with hockey bonds: your hockey becomes entwined with someone else, you aren’t just ’you’ and when you’re the next golden kid of hockey, it’s.. well, it feels like they’re leeches, it feels like they want his glory, his abilities, and a young sid doesn’t like his hockey not being his. he never said he was unselfish. luckily, hockey bonds don't last.

especially not for sid. during his years in rimouski, there’s a lot of bonds: but none that stick.

thank god for that. he doesn’t like being bonded: he doesn’t like having to share with someone else, and he doesn’t like being sidney crosby, the hockey legend in his own head. he just wants to be himself. sidney crosby is strong enough to handle it on his own.

the only bond that sticks is his familial bond with taylor. at this young age, other kinds of bonds haven’t really stuck: not when you’re a playmaker, and you’re constantly pressured to bond with your team.

so, sidney crosby doesn’t like bonds: especially hockey bonds.

then he’s drafted. the thing about being a center, the thing about being a captain (or on his path to become one), about being the centerpiece of your team is that you’re expected to well, bond with the core of your teammates. you are supposed to understand them. supposed to guide them, you’re supposed to be the hivemind: that’s the role most captains play.

sid doesn’t. sid realizes after his first years with the penguins: when he’s been encouraged to bond, and it hasn’t worked, and he hasn’t wanted to, and they win the cup: that well, he’s sidney crosby, he’s got the power to do his thing, to be one of the best players without adhering to the nhl’s system of bonding. in this universe, sidney crosby is not the quiet play-along with the rules guys: he’s out there, and he’s causing a minor revolution, but he’s sidney crosby and he won’t be making a big deal out of it, so it’s fine. 

sidney crosby can do whatever the fuck he wants: as long as he plays good hockey. and he does.

there is a plotline here with sid wanting to bond with a couple of his teammates (mainly geno, maybe flower) but not letting himself to do so because bonding has always been a ‘must’, it’s always been something he doesn’t want, it’s always been the part of hockey he doesn’t want to participate, and he knows bonding with any teammate would result in his careful system toppling down upon himself, so he can’t.

there’s another plotline here with bonds being solely for hockey: and other bonds (outside of familial bonds, and romantic bonds with a perfect girl) being frowned down upon, or not really talked about, because when bonds become a part of the sport, your career, when that’s their role, it affects the nature of them.

and yes, this is a big issue within hockey and it is talked about, and awareness is trying to be spread about it, and some players fight back, like, it’s a social issue and a further flaw of the sport and harm of the culture. anyways.

(i know there’s like, like, not right stuff with claude’s history in here, rn i’m too lazy to look it up, but, you should get the gist)

on the other side, we’ve got claude giroux. he never bonded as young: it was never his role, and he never had the prominence for him. there’s always been someone who fit better with someone else, and while claude’s been an important player when he was young, he’s always had his own, independent journey. claude’s not grown up with hockey bonds in the same way a lot of the stars are, where they are grown up to find the perfect partner or the perfect line, and to be the center of the system: claude’s a young playmaker grown up with the rare case of bonds not being shoved down his throat.

this also means claude’s grown up with platonic bonds, friendship bonds: bonds that aren’t related to hockey, bonds that are allowed to be just that, to flourish and grow.

then, he’s drafted by the flyers. the flyers is a messy, violent team: not that claude minds, at all. but it’s also the nhl. and bonds matter. hockey bonds matter a heck lot. there’s been bad blood in the past with bonds within philadelphia, everyone knows this, and everyone knows that there’s always been contention and heat within philly and bonds between the players. this is a sudden culture shift for one claude giroux, but it’s also a claude giroux who forms bonds with someone like danny briere, and who, well, claude’s not a kid who is used with hockey bonds. 

hockey bonds are different than normal bonds, that’s just how it is.

there’s not like, a lot of detail thought out here but know this: know that claude’s new, and that flyers have a complicated past with how they bond, and how claude does things his own ways, and forms bonds, and how the flyers begin to find each other during 2007 - 2012, and how claude’s way of bonding spreads through the team, and how it becomes more familial, and reliable, but how it’s.. well. then briere get traded, and that’s the thing with hockey bonds, they need to be broken. 

this hurts. this hurts so fucking much. claude doesn’t want to break his bond with danny (and some strange familial bond with his sons, either) but, he has to. that’s the rules. you can’t have bonded players on different teams, that’d destroy the game, make it unfair. and so. for the first time, claude’s gotta break a bond that he’s forged so closely, that hasn’t just become a hockey bond, it has become a bond of strong friendship, of trust, and it’s broken just like that.

there’s probably been other smaller bonds broken and not broken (and the whole thing with sidney crosby but we’re getting into that later) but it’s different. hockey bonds are different. claude quickly learned, for him, they’re something casual: they’re a quick connection you get with someone on the ice, it’s a connection you have with your teammates, but it’s not a connection that goes beyond that. at this moment, claude’s not experienced the true harm of hockey bonds until now: when he realizes that it means the connection, that the part of himself, must be broken.

he hates this. he hates this so fucking much. he hates it even more when people gets traded, when things change, when things start to go downhill, and claude’s starting to realize the way he bonds and the way he is doesn’t work in hockey, it’s not a part of the game: the game doesn’t want this. 

it hurts.

anyways, by now i’m sure you’re curious about what’s been going on between sidney and g, and well, it’s complicated. i mentioned it before, but bonds aren’t just friendly. they can be happen between rivals: they can happen with someone you don’t like, and yet, have a connection with. of course, with hockey: rivalry bonds are somewhat common. it would be strange, otherwise, since hockey is.. well, hockey. 

rivalry bonds don’t fall under the same category as normal hockey bonds: hockey bonds are meant to help, guide, and assist. it’s believed that rivalry bonds were developed as a need to understand your enemy, to help defeat them: and the thing with rivalry bonds is that they are balanced. this means within hockey, a team-bond of two people on opposite teams is meant to aid and assist in helping each other: a rivalry bond is the opposite of that.

so, of course, rivalry bonds have become an entertainment factor of the nhl, of hockey: rivalry bonds can be temporary, which has happened at times during the olympics between former teammates (this is often so funny, and is definitely one of the best parts of international tournaments), or they can last long. oh, there’s definitely been beef when two people with enemy bonds have gotten traded onto the same team. it can be very funny, but it can also be quite dramatic, but of course, the nhl tries to hide this. 

bonds makes trades complicated: that is why permanent bonds aren’t allowed between teammates, or other hockey players. it has happened, and has most definitely caused a lot of internal drama within the nhl. 

anyways, so. it’s like, 2008 or 2009 and sidney crosby and claude giroux are facing each other upon the ice. obviously not for the first time. but there’s been something brewing, something of obvious rivalry, and claude can feel the possibility of a rivalry bond between him and sid: and he can sense how explosive their hockey would be against each other, he can taste it upon his tongue, and he can feel it happening but- sid doesn’t want to. sid rejects it. enemy bonds are usually less voluanteery than other bonds, but, sid shuts claude out so quickly. they fight. sort of. basically, there’s a heated moment on the ice and after the ice, where claude questions this, because he enjoys the rivalry, he enjoys the thrill, he knows the potential of a rivalry bond. sid doesn’t want that. they talk outside the game, or well, talk, argue and bicker: and claude learns one thing he’ll never forget: sid doesn’t do bonds.

anyways, most of their early ‘relationship’ is this.. weird tension between them because they both know there’s a rivalry bond there. it could be formed so easily. it has the potential, it could grow, become something that would fuel both of theirs hockey, become a part of them. claude can sense it. sid can sense it. but. sid doesn’t want it, he really doesn’t want it, and bonds can never be one-sided. 

the media speculates about this, of course: and sid hates it so fuckin’ much. he wants to play, and he enjoys playing against the flyers, and he enjoys being a brat against claude, but he doesn’t want a bond. he doesn’t do them. he doesn’t need it. his hockey can do good without it. claude gets so fuckin frustrated with sid, not with the fact that he won’t let their bond form, because, he understands that, but with what a brat and fuckin’ idiot sid is. 

their relationship is heated, it is strange, it is weird. it is almost like a bond, except they’re not bonded, and instead, there’s some kind of potential that is there between all of their encounters and it affects their interactions, and they don’t quite know where they have each other.

then we get to the playoff series against the pens, in 2012. a rivalry bond forms between them. and claude is so fucking shocked, that sid let this happen, that he can feel the venom, that he can feel the hate, the frustration, and sid can feel it back, but it’s weird, it’s full, it’s got so much fuckin inside it.

their series becomes explosive. their hockey becomes explosive. claude’s got a taste what he’s been feeling for the past years, brewing, and it’s- it’s fucking glorious. 

sid feels this too. he hasn’t bonded in so fucking long, and of course, it’s the rivlarly bond with claude, a bond that fuels him, that makes him play like fire- but he’s also scared. he doesn’t want his hockey to depend upon someone else. not now.

after the series is done, it fades away. claude and sid meet, after the flyers get kicked out of the playoffs, they talk, they fight. it’s heated, it’s rough. words bleed out, insults bleed out, their weird fickle relationship and with their strange, fickle, unstable bond between them. “what is this, sid” claude tells him, because, it’s not quite like a bond either of them has felt before. it’s a rivalry bond, but they both can feel so much brewing under the surface. 

sid kisses him, heated, violently, and they both can feel the bond spark between them, come alive, rush through them, entwine itself around them, something about how love and hate is close, how it fuels them, but then claude pushes sid away and the bond breaks. it’s quiet.

“not like this.”

sid walks away.

so, we’ve got the next years. anyways. so, claude becomes captain after the lock-out, and claude’s way with bonds and how he thinks and feels about them and all this and his unique view on hockey bonds forms the flyers core going forwards, everyone tightly bonded (beyond what is allowed, but no one needs to know) and every time he meets sidney crosby, their bond flickers. this time it’s claude who doesn’t want it.

you see, sidney realizes a few things during the next years: this is what happens when you grow up. some of these things are realized thanks to claude himself, feeling his bond, feeling how bonds can be, but also, letting himself bond (platonically, not-hockey, in secret with his teammates) and letting himself learn and know what a bond can be and meeting new people and understanding how harmful the nature of hockey bonds is, with a fascination to learn how actual bonds outside of the harmful world of hockey work. thanks to claude giroux, and the world around him.

anyways, claude and sid are quite weird during this time: they both don’t really know what’s going on between them, what their bond is, what bonds are. and during this time, it is sid who wants it, it is him who wants to let claude in but claude- yeah- he doesn’t want to deal with that. 

then the world’s happen. short summary of the world’s: they form a bond, but it’s merely a superficial hockey bond and it feels cold and empty and sid hates it, and claude does too, but they can’t let themselves closer, claude can’t let it open up, and they have this weird sort of understanding of each other, pretending it’s way less than it is and of course media catches onto this, and they both become teased over it, and it is- like- yeah, not really fun.

it breaks shortly after the worlds.

what happens next is that the pens win the cup. claude doesn’t know how to feel about this. sid seems happy. he seems joyous. 

the next years are weird. they bond sometimes, and then it breaks, because one of them doesn’t want it. it’s like, this weird friends with benefits relationship where their bond bounces back and forth between lust / love / rivalries / friends and,, sometimes they open it, sometimes they close it, but in the end: one of them always don’t want this.

like, i don’t have the rest of plot of this worked out, but it’s essentially exploring the idea of bonds and hockey bonds in the world and how claude and sid are always entwined, and bonded, but how it changes and develops, and how their relationship is always this ‘well, you missed out’ thing and it never quite aligns, and how the harmful world of hockey shapes this, and how they have different understandings of bonds, and how this shapes their relationship, and how it never quite pans out, and how the hockey world developes around this, and how they both bond in different ways, and learn to understand it, and maybe they find each other sometime, maybe they don’t, but it’s exploring the fucked idea of having something as important as bonds tied to hockey and how it fucks with people and how in the end, it ruins claude and sid and their potential together because bonds are so personal and so sensitive and how they work in hockey is so toxic.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don’t Hold Me -1- Carter Hart

A/N: So, I talked about writing this a long time ago. And @oven-chicken-blog​ and I started talking about Carter a while back, so Carter miniseries is a go. As always, angst. Lots of angst ahead. Also, new chapters for this will probably be slow. There are also going to be some content warnings to go along with this. Including mentions of different types of abuse, panic disorders, and PTSD.

You loved living in Philadelphia. You loved U Penn. You’d never really thought about what would happen if you landed in a city full of people that you knew. To be honest, you didn’t think you’d end up in a place with several people you knew, not when you were going out of state for school. But when you landed in Philly and you received a text from someone you’d known for quite a few years, you were more than shocked. 

Yet, you liked it. Because you now had someone to look after you during the school year. You more than appreciated that you had someone, especially someone you trusted and someone you knew would take care of you. 

You already made several calls to him during the first semester of your freshman year, especially when you needed someone. He was the closest thing you had to family on this side of the coast. The fact that he’d known you since you were a child definitely helped. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside of the hockey house, off campus,” You quickly explained, “I- I need you to come get me. Please. I need to get out of here.”

He must’ve sensed the fact that you were close to tears, because the next thing you knew, you could hear him getting up and telling whoever else was with him to move their ass. He kept talking to you, making sure you were still there, as he moved. 

“I need you to tell me the address, sweetheart,” He begged, “I promise, I’m on my way, I just need to know where I’m going.”

You looked around you, trying to find a street sign and a house number. You could still hear the music playing behind you, and the sound of everyone inside cheering over something. You felt sick. You weren’t entirely sure that you wouldn’t throw up right there on the street. You took a few deep breaths before being able to focus enough to ramble off what seemed like the right address to him. 

“Patty, did you get that?” he called to someone else in the car. 

“Yeah, we should be there in twenty,” the other guy replied.

“Keep talking to me, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

You curled up on the curb, instantly regretting the short skirt and crop top you’d worn to the party. Maybe you should’ve listened to your brother, who tried to tell you not to go near the hockey guys. He was stupidly protective over you, but he seemed to be right this time.

You were shaking and starting to freeze. You wished you would’ve out on more clothes, or just stayed in your dorm room. There was a lot about tonight that you were already regretting. You should’ve listened. You shouldn’t have gone, you shouldn’t have started to drink. You should’ve been more careful. 

“Y/N!”

Without even thinking, you found yourself running into his arms. He was warm and safe. You knew, much like your actual brother, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, so long as he was there to stop them. 

“What happened? Huh?”

“I just want to get out of here, please, Trav,” You begged him. 

“Okay. Here, take this, you’re fucking freezing,” Travis hastily took off his jacket and put it around you, “Patty, can you drive so I can sit in the back with her?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I’m sorry Nol.”

He laughed and gave you a quick side hug, “I’m just offended that you don’t have me on speed dial yet.”

“Not now Patty.”

You mustered as much of a smile as you could, “You’re Brother #3 in my phone, not quite on speed dial, but pretty close.”

“C’mon, I’m assuming your roommate is at that party?” Travis asked you, to which you nodded, “Alright, you can crash with us.”

Travis helped you into the car before running to the other side. Nolan climbed into the driver’s side and started up the car. You got situated and then ripped off your stupid high heels. They were another thing you regretted about tonight.

“I promise, I don’t always look like a cheap hooker,” You joked, noticing Nolan looking at you through the mirror.

“Never said you did.”

“I thought you promised E that you weren’t going to party,” Travis mentioned a few minutes later. 

“He’s not my mother, I’m legally an adult, I can do whatever the hell I want,” You grumbled. 

“Just because you can, Y/N, doesn’t mean that you should.”

You rolled your eyes. He sounded like your big brother, maybe because they were best friends and you knew Travis felt responsible for you. Either way, they didn’t control you. Even if they were right, they didn’t dictate your life. 

You were capable of making your own decisions and you could deal with the repercussions of them. You were old enough, you were in college, that was the time to make mistakes. And the time to fuck up. Yet you knew tonight was a bad idea from the start, but you wanted to feel normal again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Travis finally asked. 

“Drunk hockey players,” you shrugged, “One of them just saw a short skirt, and nothing else. That’s all. I just didn’t want to stay.”

“Do we need to turn around so I can beat the shit out of him?” Travis asked. 

“No, he’s not worth it Trav.”

“No. But you are.”

You woke up on his couch the next morning, with little memory of what happened the night before. Patty was moving around in the kitchen, you hoped he was making coffee. God, you needed coffee. Your head was pounding. You probably shouldn’t have said yes to a glass of whatever was in that damned bucket. 

You groaned and rolled over. The sunlight was too much. Didn’t TK have any damned blinds in this place? Surely he got paid enough to afford some damned blinds, or maybe even curtains. Something to keep the sun from killing you.

“Here.” Travis was the one to bring me the coffee.

A mug was placed down on the table in front of you, followed by Aspirin, and another blanket was draped over you. You smiled before snuggling deeper into the couch. At least Travis got a comfortable couch. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like an elephant sat on my head,” You groaned. 

He laughed and sat on the edge of the couch. He started rubbing your back, slowly, just like he did a few years ago, back when he played with your brother. You groaned again and buried your head deeper into the pillows.

You tried not to think about what happened last night. You knew the party was a bad idea. You’d known that from the instant your roommate invited you. Hockey players were normally something you tried to stay away from, unless it was Travis and Nolan. You knew you could trust them, but that was as far as it went for you.

College hockey players were something that you tried to avoid at all costs. You Knew what they were like, you knew all too well. Nothing about them was good. Yet, when she’d asked you to go, you didn’t say no. Instead you pulled out your shortest skirt and a low cut top. 

“Are you okay? You were pretty shaken up last night.”

“I’m fine Trav,” you assured him, “It was a pretty stupid idea. But I’m fine.”

He gave your shoulder a squeeze. You couldn’t even begin to thank him enough for rescuing you last night, and all the other times that you’d called him before that. You used to call him instead of your brother, Ethan, because Travis asked fewer questions and could keep a secret.

He was good at picking you up, and giving you space, all while loving you in the way that you needed at the time. He made you feel safe and protected, all like Ethan did, just without asking why he was needed.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“Nope. I want to drink my coffee, and keep your sweats on, because they’re comfy.”

“I won’t be getting those back will I?” He questioned. 

“Nope you play for the team You can get more.”

He laughed. He knew you’d never give them back anyway. You always took his and your brother’s. Any chance you got, they’d always become yours. Truth be hold, he should be lucky that you hadn’t taken any yet this season.

“Hey! I made eggs, since TK actually went to the store yesterday and bought shit!”

“C’mon, eggs and toast, good hangover cure.” 

You cracked a smile. How many times have you made that very thing for him over the years? That was always your go to for everyone. You wondered if Patty remembered the last time you made it for him and Travis. 

“Oh, Carter is coming over,” Patty reminded Trav. 

“Shit, I forgot,” He looked over at me and tried to crack a smile, “Guess you’ll get to meet Carter, unless you want me to take you home?”

“No, because she’ll probably have someone in her bed and the room is going to smell like sex, and probably vomit, knowing her,” You explained, “So, I guess I’ll just stay? If that’s okay?”

They both shrugged, “He’s your age, maybe you two could be good for each other? Since you seem to be tired of Patty.”

“You are not setting me up with your teammate,” You snapped, “You know how I feel about other hockey players.”

“If I didn’t already know you, I’d probably take offense to that,” Patty warned, “But, having known you for over a year now, and fighting to actually get you to like me, I understand.”

“You’re lucky I can still stand to be around you.”

“Wow, I love you too, Kiddo!”

“Nolan! You’re a year older than me, shut up.”

Travis laughed and shoved Nolan’s shoulder. You loved the two of them in a way you didn’t realize you could. You’d been so cut off for so long and they seemed to slowly bring you back enough. You still weren’t 100%, there were still parts of you that weren’t fully glued back together. But you were okay. 

You didn’t know what you’d do without either of them to be completely honest. They’d become the family that you didn’t have while you were at school. They went far beyond just picking you up outside of parties, or rescuing you from your roommate and her constant visitors.

You depended on both of them in a way. Sure, Travis was as good as family, that was a no brainer, but Nolan was too. He’d been there for you since the day Travis first reached back out to you. You loved them both. But that didn’t mean you wanted to meet someone else. 

“I think I might just go climb into your bed Trav. My whole body is feeling it today, and you actually have blinds in your room.”

“Y/N! C’mon, it’s Hart. You even said you liked watching him in goal.”

“Just because I like to watch him play, doesn’t mean I actually want to meet him. I’m not in the mood today Travis,” You hoped he wouldn’t keep pushing you on it. 

You hoped he wouldn’t make you beg. You didn’t want to see anyone else. Your little circle of friends was enough. You couldn’t handle another guy in your life. Last night was a mistake, brought on by hours of your roommate bugging you to go. You were tired of always hiding out, but you also couldn’t handle everything that came with going out. 

“Okay. We’ll try and be quiet out here,” he sighed and kissed your forehead, he was one of the only people that you’d ever let do that, “Go back to sleep. I’ll check on you in a while.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were running from someone you didn’t even know. Travis wouldn’t try to get you to meet anyone who wasn’t worth it, you knew that. But at the same time, after last night, you weren’t ready for any other surprises. 

You tried your best to ignore the sounds that followed the arrival of the young goalie. However, despite Travis’ promise, they weren’t quiet. You buried yourself under the blanket and closed your eyes. You’d been able to fall asleep during parties before, surely you could sleep through three guys practically screaming in the living room. 

You were just starting to finally doze off when the bedroom door slammed open. You practically jumped out of the bed, not expecting any of them to come bursting in like that. Standing in the doorway was the person you were trying to avoid. 

“Oh, shit,” His cheeks instantly turned red, “Sorry, I’ll just um-”

He backed out and shut the door. You could hear him chuckle as he made his way back down the hall, “TK, man you should’ve told me you had a girl over. I would’ve left you alone.”

You couldn’t help the anger that bubbled up as you threw off the covers. All you wanted to do was get some sleep, and then hang out with the boys that you consider to be your family. You didn’t want to meet anyone, you didn’t ask for Carter Hart to join you. You certainly didn’t exactly want him to think you were something that you weren’t. 

So, you found yourself throwing open the door and marching into the living room. Nolan already looked panicked when he saw you. Travis was trying to explain to Carter who you were. But suddenly all you felt like doing was yelling at all of them.

“What the hell? Seriously, what part of I wanted to sleep didn’t you understand Travis?”

Travis sighed and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to Carter, “Cart, this is Y/N, my unofficial little sister. She crashed here because her roommate is...a little too friendly with some guys on campus.”

“Wait, you’re Y/N?” Carter whipped around to face you, pure shock on his face.

“Well, I’m certainly not someone just warming Travis’s bed,” You snapped back, “I think I’m going to head out now.”

You turned and reached for the gym bag Travis gave you last night to put your clothes in. The walls were starting to close in on you, all you wanted to do was run. But when you started to make your way to the door, a hand reached out and grabbed your shoulder. Somehow you instantly knew it wasn’t Travis and you froze.

“Hey, c’mon you don’t have to leave.”

Before even thinking you spun back around, and slapped his hand away from you, “Don’t touch me.” 

You didn’t have to look at Travis to know that he was starting to panic. So was Nolan. They knew what your boundaries were. You couldn’t fully be mad at the young man in front of you, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know you, or what you could and couldn’t handle. It wasn’t his fault. 

“Don’t touch me.”

Your voice was smaller now. You sounded mousy. You hated that feeling that came along with this. You backed away from all three of them. You needed air. You knew Travis and Nolan would never do anything that you weren’t comfortable with, but Carter made you nervous. You knew he was harmless, Travis wouldn’t let him near you if he wasn’t. But still, he made you uneasy in ways that you couldn’t understand. 

“At least let me drive you back to campus,” Travis begged. 

“Trust me, I need to walk.”

“Y/N-”

“I love you Trav. I’ll call you later.”

You shouldn’t be running. You knew that. You should be able to stand your ground and meet Travis’s friends, his hockey family. They were more than important to him, yet the only one you could handle being around was Nolan. It had nothing to do with the rest of the guys and everything to do with you. 

You couldn’t expect any of them to understand why you were the way that you were. Travis knew because he was there during everything. Nolan knew because Nolan had witnessed bits and pieces. But there wasn’t an easy way for you to explain it to anyone else. So you hid. And you’d keep hiding because that’s what you were good at.

[book23worm]

A Time Warp

My dear Tumblr friends,

In truth, I’m not really sure how to go about writing this. There is so much I need and would like to say. So, please, bear with me as I muddle through this.

I discovered Tumblr in 2012, right around the time of the London Olympics. I discovered tagging and posts and fandoms and fan fiction. But most importantly, I discovered people. People who shared similiar interests and ideas to me. People who were creative and funny and interesting. Tumblr was a space where I could escape into my feels for everything and anything. A space that I didn’t have anywhere else in my life.

Fast forward to 2013 when I lost my job. I decided to pack and leave and go all the way to China. With that, came the end of Tumblr. When I returned to South Africa in 2014 after my year contract was up, I made a sweep of social media. Facebook stayed. Twitter ditched. Tumblr stayed. Instagram... Did not exist at that point. At least not for me.

Coming back to Tumblr felt like home. I reconnected with old friends and fandoms. I discovered new fandoms and with that, lovely new friends. Of course, hockey fandom meant my sleep patterns were disturbed but it was worth it.

Like all fandoms, hockey was not without its share of criticisms or dare I say, drama.

But that sense of community, of belonging drove me. It gave me strength. It gave me hope. For that, I will always be grateful to the tremendous humans in hockey fandom. You are the MVPs. You are the Special Ones. You are the Great Ones.

But I also cannot deny that once again, Tumblr gave me an escape from the real world. An escape that was not altogether healthy. Because, at the time, I didn’t confront the fact that I was so utterly miserable at work or the new city I chose to live in. I kept trying to convince myself it would work. I would fit. I would find a space. I never did.

2016 was a reckoning in that regard. I quit my job and moved back in with my parents. That was possibly the healthiest and unhealthiest thing I could have done. I don’t regret my choice to quit. But I do regret not having an inkling of what I was doing or where I was going next. I do regret not prioritising my mental health, particularly with regard to the complex relationship I have always had and have with my mother.

Tumblr became my go to space. Every day. Every game. Every moment. I was there. I witnessed and blogged. Reblogged. Argued. Made content. Had amazing conversations. The 2016 Olympics and the Pens winning the Stanley Cup in such a close timeframe was mindblowing.

Still, it didn’t take away from me feeling like my own world and the world at large were coming apart at the seams. It started with Donald Trump being elected in November 2016, a grave foreshadowing of what was becoming a trend across the world, the rise of populists. Not to mention how this tidal wave seemed to insert itself everywhere. Into all the cracks and spaces. Fandoms were not left unscathed. Tumblr was not left unscathed.

Amidst all of this, I chose to return to China. I wanted to find a space where I was at peace. Where I could feel like myself again. Where I didn’t have to rely on screen time to feel a sense of joy. Another move to China meant the end of social media.

Technology had advanced tremendously since my first stint in the Middle Kingdom. So I invested in a VPN, a portal to the world beyond the Great Firewall. I wish I could say this helped me feel connected, like I was still a part of things. It didn’t. For the life of me, I couldn’t really tell you why I felt like this.  

So, I logged out by choice this time. Out of Facebook. Tumblr. YouTube. All of it. Gone. I walked away, not sure if I had made the right choice or not.

Of course, it’s not true that I didn’t keep up with what was going on. Watching the Pens win the Cup again in 2017 was something magnificent. Watching how ecstatic my fellow Pens fans were was something extraordinary. Logging back in once or twice over that summer in 2017 and marvelling over the festivities gave me the greatest joy.

Then reality came smashing down around my ears. Pens fandom bitterly divided by the impending White House visit. People shouting at each other and over each other. People arguing with each other. People trashing each other. At the time, I didn’t say anything. I offered no opinion. I offered no comfort. That is something I regret to this day.  

And then, that photo came out. That person surrounded by our team. Our beloved Pens in the White House.

I cannot tell you how emotional I was over that photograph. A visceral anger. Disbelief. Sheer sadness. I could not fathom how a team that I had poured my soul into could do that. They had a choice. We all had a choice. Something died in me that day. Not my love for my team. But my respect.

It’s not for me to say whether sports and politics should be mixed. It’s not for me to say whether we should or should not support teams, based on what they do and do not speak on. It’s not for me to say that people should not keep supporting the teams they love and fandoms they enjoy being a part of. I actively encourage people to do things and contribute to things that positively impact their well-being.

But as time has gone on, at least for me anyway, it’s cemented my fervent belief that silence is deadly. Not speaking up if you have the platform to do so means human lives will be lost. It is a falsehood to think that one drop in the ocean doesn’t have some kind of impact somewhere. For me, the Penguins had that chance to speak. To say something. And they didn’t take it. Not one of them took it. There have been other things that have happened in hockey that I fundamentally cannot stomach, not least of all the impending law suit bought forward by Daniel Carcillo. 

Of course, me saying this doesn’t mean much, right? The world will not shift because of my feelings about this. The Penguins (a team I no longer recognise given that most of the players I adored have been traded) will continue to play as they should. People will continue to support them as they should. Fandom will continue to thrive as it should.

However, as painful as it is for me, hockey is no longer something I can be a part of. This hasn’t been a decision I’ve taken lightly. It does not make me a saint or ‘woke’ either by stepping away. It doesn’t make you a good or bad person supporting any particular sport. It just makes you a person. 

In saying this, some of you who are still reading, may have some questions.

To the extraordinarily wonderful people in hockey fandom... This is not good-bye to you. God, I really hope its not good-bye. I love each and every one of you. Each of you is a force for good in the world. Furthermore, I support your choice to engage with and support hockey and to uphold hockey fandom on Tumblr. I will continue to follow each of you because you are the greatest gift of my experience of hockey fandom.

As for my blog, I’m not sure which direction I’ll be going in. I’m certainly going to keep my URL as I’m far too attached to it. I have decided to leave my hockey content for those who still gain joy from it. To delete it would be as if my experience never existed. And that is not right. It happened, for better and for worse. If you wish to unfollow, there are no hard feelings.

Right now, the world is so fraught and uncertain. I wish I had the words to express something hopeful. When you can, choose kindness. Choose to actively uplift someone. Be brave. Now more than ever. Speak up. Speak out. Particularly if you can. Not everyone will agree with you. That’s okay. Go with respect in your heart. Find joy. Find that scrap of happiness and set the world alight with it. Finally, you are valid. Just as you are. You are enough. Just as you are.

Sending all my love,

Book23worm xoxo

[woah-were-halfway-there]

1. love the new theme!

2. why do people get particularly judgy about hockey fanfics here on tumblr? i’ve seen writers be bullied pretty much for posting their works yet it’s not harming the actual players in anyway lol - it was one of the reasons i stopped reading hockey fics (except yours and one other person’s) cause people make such a big deal. and most times it discourages the author and we lose so many amazing writers :(

IF YOU LIKE READING AND/OR WRITING FANFICS THEN KEEP ENJOYING AND SUPPORTING YOUR FAVOURITE WRITERS

don’t be like me and miss out on amazing content cause of people being nasty :(

please keep writing because it is truly wonderful and i love it so much - i’ve been reading your stuff for over a year now and it’s so amazing to see how much support and love you get! it’s all deserved <3

not to be negative or anything but it’s been on my mind for like ever haha

i hope you’re having an amazing day - <3 :) anon

Thank you hun! And you’re right, it’s really unfortunate seeing how a lot of people treated because of what they write or who they write for, like it’s so unnecessary. I also find that many people do not interact with stories, they’ll just read them and MAYBE like them, if that. And that’s really discouraging too. Like from a writers point of view, I get so excited if someone reblogs my work and will deadass go through any reblogs there are just to see what people have to say about it in the tags or something. If you’re reading something that you really like, tell the writer in someway! It doesn’t take much and will honestly make their day let me tell you. And like there’s been times even with my series which, like you said, I’ve been writing for over a year now but there’s been many times where I thought of just stopping because I thought no one would notice or care. Like the amount of time a writer puts into something only for people to “like” or just read it SUCKS. Like this is a sideblog and on my main blog I also write for a different fandom but I haven’t written for that one since making this blog. It just became not fun anymore like sure there was notes and it’s always nice seeing a high number but notes are not everything. A like isn’t going to tell us what you liked about the story or how it made you feel as you were reading or how you interpreted something. Why I’ve continued writing on here is because you guys do interact with me, which I absolutely love. But like if I wasn’t for that, I still wouldn’t be writing on here and now think of that and how a blog who DOESNT get as much positive interaction as I do. It’s discouraging as fuck, so please PLEASE just be nice and if you liked something someone wrote tell them! Because if you don’t, there might not be any more of it

[saucerfulofsins]

heads up, there are trans users on hockeyblr who respectfully disagree with your post. I hope you don't receive any hate from anyone because your voice is as valid in this discussion, just as their's is. this is a period of time for everyone to learn together and to be respectful about the process. the transphobes can still fuck off though :P

Thank you for letting me know! I haven’t seen or heard of any responses to the post, so I don’t think I will be receiving any hate (not in the least because it did not gain much traction). I also do not intend to bash anyone’s opinions or feelings because certainly all feelings are valid. If anybody has links to me of people discussing this, I would love to see them, and if anybody disagrees with me, feel free to engage in (civilized) discussion because I 100% agree on people needing to learn together. I have definitely been reflecting a lot on the situation and my own perceptions and assumptions. 

Most of why I wrote the post is that I feel like currently a lot of the ongoing discussion is very one-sided. I 100% understand being trans is difficult and that any gender, sexual or romantic identity which deviates from the norm means you’re more often excluded from media that should be inclusive. In other words: yes, absolutely I think trans people deserve the self-insert fics they want to read, and I personally don’t read self-insert at all so I really don’t know how big this issue is. Obviously it is good for authors to know that assuming a pairing is cis straight isn’t the only option (and of course, this also extends to assumptions re: other types of marginalized bodies). 

However, I do think trans men have a unique type of responsibility in this situation. It is a complex identity--on the one hand, being transgender does come with marginalization, but on the other hand, and this goes for trans men specifically--especially those who socially and medically transition--do need to be aware of their male privilege and constantly check themselves on that. A trans man cannot act to women the way another woman would (whether she is trans or cis). 

I personally also find it difficult to break free from the established gender binary, particularly when it comes to people calling themselves “trans.” To me, that does signal male-or-female, which I am aware is untrue and I realized after writing that I failed to include more diverse gender identities. In other words: my post was specifically about binary trans men. 

Anyway, to reiterate: I do think fandom ought to be inclusive to anybody, particularly people belonging to marginalized groups. However, with that also comes a complex mix of identities and different methods of feeling safe. Women face struggles which are different from what trans men face; I don’t think there is anything inherently wrong with female-only or female-focused communities. I do think Tumblr has an issue with their perception of men, and with generalizations, which I reckon is at work here. 

The way I interpreted the initial post, and perhaps this is my fault, I don’t know, was a trans man demanding access to a female space (and I suspect several people who agitated against OP did too). After reading subsequent messages I realize that the situation is more complex than that, and some women are claiming fandom should only be open to women, which I absolutely 100% disagree with. Personally I have never been made to feel like this fandom is only for women, although mlm ships do tend to attract a different audience, which must also relate to the types of posts people make. Personally, I also stay out of spaces that feel like they are “not for me” (e.g. I do follow some people who write or reblog self-insert fic because of their other content, but as that is not a type of fic I enjoy reading or writing, I skip past them). Discussions of inclusivity are always important and necessary. Yet, a man has to be aware that demanding change to cater to him within a safe space for women does give off a certain message. For me, that was what, paired with what felt like the demand on cis female authors to write a certain type of content, left a bad taste in my mouth. 

Ideally, to me, people read up on the extant issues in fandom. Authors reflect on why they write what they write--those who feel comfortable to do so will hopefully change some of the assumptions enclosed in much self-insert fic. I do think that experimentally writing marginalized POVs in fics like that is a great idea (and ought to include but extend beyond gender to also include a variety of body types and skin colours, cultural backgrounds, etc.). And hopefully the list of trans blogs going around makes clear that there is an audience for non-cishet self-insert stories, inspiring all kinds of authors to write more diversely. In fact, I would love to see people expand this type of creativity beyond the reader-insert, but write the hockey players they are paired up with as bisexual, trans, etc.  

Finally--There is a constant call to have “trans voices” be heard. I put that term in quotation marks, because to me it is a problematic notion--not because trans voices are inherently problematic, but because it means that only people who are openly transgender have a voice. I do not want to claim that there are no issues in cisgender people speaking for transgender people (particularly cisgender heterosexual white people), because there are, but I do want to stress that dismissing someone’s opinion as “worthless” and assuming they are cisgender--often because they disagree with the loudest trans voices--is also limiting. Yes, cisgender people exist, but trans people should not be forced to disclose their identity lest they be excluded from the discussion. 

[searchingwardrobes]

Here’s another story from the universe of my novel What Hindered Love. That book was told completely from Chloe’s point of view, but I have several unpublished scenes from Micah’s point of view. Fittingly, this is Micah’s version of what happened on Valentine’s Day when Chloe thought he was hooking up with another woman.

Summary: Once an addict, always an addict. Especially when wires get crossed on Valentine’s Day. Luckily, all Micah has to do is use the code word “busted,” and his friends are there.

Tagging those who might be interested: @vvbooklady1256​ @winterbaby89​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @snowbellewells​ @kday426​  @onceuponaprincessworld​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @nikkiemms​ @bethacaciakay​ @branlovestowrite​ @xhookswenchx​ @thislassishooked​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flicialy23​  @harshini0​

Anyone else who wants to be tagged for WHL content, please just let me know!

Spoilers for the novel, obviously, so it’s below the cut:

Micah Barrett should have known that his attempts to ignore the fact that today was Valentine’s Day were doomed to failure. Because if there was anyone he knew who would celebrate such a saccharine holiday with childlike enthusiasm it would be Amanda Swisher, the culinary arts student he was training to be his baking assistant. Oh, and he and Amanda had to report to work at 5 am to construct a cake. Shaped like a castle. With turrets. For a wedding proposal. So yeah, there was that.

He wasn’t surprised to hear Amanda crooning Carrie Underwood’s “Cowboy Casanova” as she whipped up batter, but he would have expected her to forgo the traditional Valentine’s colors. Since her hair was flaming red on its own. But no. Amanda had boldly donned a frothy pink dress topped off with a white cardigan covered in tiny pink and red hearts. Her hair was up in a ponytail, per Micah’s own code in his kitchen (he always shuddered to see all that hair dangling over bowls of batter on Cupcake Wars), but she had used a bit of red tulle to tie it back.

“You’re a walking Whitman’s sampler,” he muttered when he saw her, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Aw, don’t tell me my mentor, my Yoda of baking, is a Valentine’s Grinch,” Amanda teased back.

“Well, they’re both green, aren’t they?”

Amanda just chuckled good-naturedly and rolled her eyes as she slipped the first pan of batter into the oven. Part of the reason he had picked her for the internship, aside from her brilliant fondant work, was her demeanor. He could be charming, but perky he was not. Especially when stressed over an order, particularly the intricate kind they were constructing today. Amanda’s enthusiasm and positivity was a good balance for his intensity.

Micah looked over the sketches of the massive cake they had to construct. Multiple tiers, multiple levels, three different flavors of cake, four different fillings, not to mention it had to look like a castle, complete with turrets. Their client wanted his girlfriend’s engagement ring sitting on the balcony of one of the turrets. Looking over everything now, Micah thought he may have gotten carried away with his brainstorming.

“This girl better say yes,” Micah muttered as he got to work.

“Oh, she will,” Amanda sighed dreamily, “I mean, it’s a fairy tale proposal. They must really be in love.”

“Stop!” Micah yelped when he noticed the container in her hand.

Amanda startled and checked the label. “Baking soda? Oops! It was sitting right by the powdered sugar. Silly me!”

Micah narrowed his eyes at her. Amanda was a little airheaded perhaps, but she was always careful in her work. Something was up, and he had a feeling he knew what it was.

Hours flew by, and Micah had the main portion of the castle constructed and awaiting Amanda’s magic with icing and fondant. He had the first turret constructed as well but was having difficulty with the balcony meant to hold the ring. Cake was light, and he was worried about the narrow turret holding that kind of weight. Simultaneously, he had a batch of Italian meringue going. With his hands full constructing the turret, he called out to Amanda, who was whipping up raspberry filling.

“Hey, turn the mixer down on that meringue, would you?”

Simultaneously, Micah’s cell phone rang, and Amanda snatched it up, “Hello, Micah Barretts’ phone!”

Micah thought to himself that he needed to tell Amanda not to answer his phone like an over-exuberant sixteen year old, but for now, there was the meringue. Micah laughed, shook his head, and gestured towards the mixer. Amanda squealed as she saw the meringue whipping way too fast and giggled, reaching for the mixer’s switch as she continued her distracted conversation with whoever was on the phone.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

In her distraction, Amanda flipped the mixer’s switch to high. Meringue flew out of the bowl. Micah was surprised when laughter spilled out of his mouth. Must have been Amanda’s influence. Meringue splashed across his eyes as the turret on the cake-castle started to tilt.

“Amanda! Get over here!”

Micah couldn’t see with the meringue in his eyes, even though he was still laughing. He heard a plop and a muffled curse from Amanda, and then she was beside him.

“Quick, brace it with some pillars,” he instructed, relieved that she knew his kitchen as well as he did. He hated using pillars – they screamed 1980s – but what else could they do? Amanda rescued the turret before the cake could crack by slipping two plastic pillars under the balcony portion. She then wet a towel and began gently wiping the meringue from his eyes. Once he could actually see, he took in Amanda’s appearance. She was similarly covered in meringue, and they both dissolved into laughter. They’d been at this since five am, so it was no wonder they were punch drunk.

“It’s all in your hair,” Amanda gasped.

Micah groaned and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the meringue smear through it. It must have made him look quite the sight, because Amanda dissolved in a fresh fit of giggles. Micah stuck his head in the sink and turned on the tap. When he straightened, rubbing his wet hair with his fingers, Amanda was lifting his cell phone carefully by two fingers from the depths of the bowl of raspberry filling.

“Micah, I am so sorry.”

He took the phone from her carefully, futily attempting to wipe the sticky filling off with paper towels. “Josiah’s gonna kill me,” he groaned. “This is my third phone in six months.”

“You make a habit of dropping phones into your baking?”

Micah shrugged. “Or leaving them too close to a burner on the stove. Who was the call from anyway?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch anything they said.”

Even though the phone was still sticky, Micah pushed the on button. Nothing. He sighed. “It’s ok, Amanda. It wasn’t your fault.” He took the bowl of filling over to the cake layer he had waiting on a cake stand.

Amanda returned to rolling out her fondant and sighed, “I think it was my fault. I’m very distracted today.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the contractor who redid the barn, would it? What was his name again . . . “

He was teasing her, actually. He remembered the man’s name.

“Eric. His name’s Eric.” Amanda blushed enough to match her hair, which was answer enough. “Maybe. We’re going out again tonight.”

Micah paused in spreading raspberry filling and turned to look at Amanda with mock concern. “Third date? On Valentine’s Day? What are this guy’s intentions?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled as if pleased with his concern. “Calm down, big brother. He’s not that kind of guy. He’s . . . sweet.”

“I’ve never seen him at church.” Five years ago, Micah never would have expected to be grilling someone about a potential suitor’s church attendance. But Amanda volunteered in the nursery at Community Fellowship and sang back up in the praise band on occasion. Her faith was important to her.

Amanda waved off his concern. “He goes to the Baptist church on the other side of town. But, he’s not exactly plugged in there, so he said he might visit Community Fellowship with me sometime.”

“Does he sing or play an instrument?”

Amanda laughed, “You and Hannah always trying to recruit people to the praise team. No, he isn’t musical at all. But he says he loves my voice.”

Amanda blushed again and a dreamy look came over her face. She hummed a little as they continued working, but inevitability she turned the romance talk towards Micah. He was surprised it had taken her this long, honestly.

“So, Micah, do you have any special plans tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s a hockey game on tonight,” he answered dryly.

Amanda stopped what she was doing to turn towards him, a hand on her hip. “Micah, I have never seen you date, and it’s not right.”

“Why? I have my business, my son,” my former addiction he silently added. Getting clean and staying clean was a long, difficult process, and it was something few could understand.

“Yes, you’re successful, you’re a good father, you’re a good guy. And well, you’re no Eric, but you’re still not bad on the eyes.” Amanda flicked flour teasingly at him to punctuate her point.

“Oh, I can’t disagree with any of your points,” Micah teased back with a quirk of an eyebrow, “but perhaps I simply haven’t found the right woman.” Chloe’s face floated before his consciousness, but he tamped it down.

“Tina would say yes if you asked her out. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Micah scoffed, “Not my type.”

“But Hannah and Kate told me you have a thing for blondes.”

Only one. Kate and Hannah knew that full well, too, but Amanda was too naïve not to read more into it. Micah straightened from his task carving the cake layers into the shape of the second turret and rolled his shoulders back. “Can we change the subject?”

Amanda may have been naïve, but she had also worked with Micah long enough to pick up on his moods. She made a comment about needing music to work and reached over to where her iPod was docked. When Carrie Underwood’s voice started crooning, he groaned.

“Amanda, what have I repeatedly said about country music?”

She chuckled, “Just teasing.” She switched it to the grunge station and Micah sighed happily as Pearl Jam thrummed through the speakers. “Although why depressing, angst-filled music makes you feel better, I’ll never know.”

Micah tilted his head to the side as Eddie Vedder sang She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man, and thought Amanda had a point.

“Actually, you can turn it back. Carrie Underwood’s not so bad.”

***************************************************************

Micah parallel parked his truck into a space outside The Daymark, spotting Chloe’s car a few spaces ahead. Good, she’s still here. He’d replaced the cell phone Amanda had ruined yesterday, and he was glad he didn’t wait until Monday. Chloe’s voicemail sent relief flooding through him, but her text message . . . that had left him equal parts baffled and confused. He pulled it up to read one more time.

I haven’t heard back from you. I’m surprised because this is – you know – important? I’m meeting with the lawyer at The Daymark tomorrow at noon, and I’m hoping it’s all good news. Not that you care. You know, since you’re ignoring me?

Micah could understand Chloe feeling ignored. She was right, it was important news. And she didn’t know his phone was ruined. But if he was reading between the lines correctly – and he usually was where Chloe was concerned – she was upset with him about far more than that.

But he was here now to fix that. As soon as he’d gotten both messages, he had frantically checked his watch and raced to the diner to try and catch Chloe before she left. It was already two, so he had fully prepared himself to miss her. The sight of her car was a beautiful one.

Micah headed down the sidewalk and into the diner, inwardly rehearsing his apology. His eyes found Chloe immediately, and the sight froze him in his tracks. Her head was down, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. The man across from her held her hands in his, thumbs brushing over Chloe’s knuckles in an intimate gesture. No wonder she was still here two hours later; this wasn’t a business meeting, this was a lunch date! Feeling foolish, Micah turned and headed straight back out the door. He thought he heard Chloe call out after him, but he wasn’t sure. And even if she was, he was too humiliated to face her.

Micah made his way quickly back to the truck, pulling out of his parking space blindly. He was lucky the street was empty. Adam Murray. How could he have been so stupid? The guy was exactly Chloe’s type, and a successful lawyer to boot. Not to mention they had been spending quite a bit of time together.

Micah’s leg started to throb like it hadn’t in years. He pulled over and took several deep breaths, kneading his leg hard with his left thumb. He tilted his head back and thought over all the ways he had learned to deal with the pain: exercise, meditation, prayer, his music. But he knew this pain was more mental – okay, emotional – than physical. So was the desperate desire to numb his pain the way he used to.

With trembling hands, he lifted his phone and hit Ryan Newton’s contact number. When his friend answered, he paused for a moment, and then with a shaky breath, said, “Busted.” He felt a little silly saying it – the code word was Ryan’s idea, though Micah wanted to call it something like “Screw-Up or “Family Disappointment” – but he had to admit he was glad he could convey his need without a lengthy explanation.

“Okay,” Ryan said without hesitation, “I’ll gather the troops. My place is full of rugrats. What about Beau’s man cave?”

“Negative. They’ve renovated it into a kid’s room.”

“Oh right, the adoption thing.”

“My place is fine. I’ll order us a pizza. You just call everyone. Is six good?”

“Yeah, but Logan and I will be there by five. You gonna be ok until then?”

Micah rubbed his leg; the pain was a little more bearable, but more importantly, his urge for pills was gone. “Yeah, but about Logan –“

“Micah!”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. Call Logan. See you at five.”

Micah hung up and slammed his palm hard against his steering wheel. Once an addict, always an addict. How many times had he heard that in rehab? He just really wished he was a stronger man. Maybe then Chloe wouldn’t be on a date with someone else.

*******************************************************

Ryan showed up promptly at five with a six pack of sodas.

“The good thing about your two best friends being a pastor and a recovered alcoholic is they don’t mind swinging back a few Cokes instead of beer,” Ryan quipped as he headed to the kitchen.

“What else have you got there?” Micah asked, gesturing to the plate in Ryan’s hand.

“Homemade chocolate chip cookies via Maggie.”

Micah grinned and grabbed a cookie and a soda just as Logan let himself in. “I come bearing turtle brownies!” he announced, frowning when he saw the cookies. “You guys better eat these too, or Rose won’t let me back in the house.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Micah said, polishing off his cookie and reaching for a brownie. “The hockey game doesn’t start until 5:30, but the pre-game stuff should be on.”

Logan snatched the remote from Micah’s hand. “Not so fast. We need to talk about how you used the code word. Before Josiah and Beau get here.”

Micah groaned and fell back against the couch, running both hands through his hair. “Crisis averted, guys. Can we just leave it at that?”

“No, we can’t,” Logan said firmly. “That’s the whole point of me being your mentor, remember? Now what was your trigger? Emotional? Physical? Stress related?”

Emotional. He really didn’t want to get into this. But Ryan and Logan were both patient men, and the silence dragged on. “Chloe, okay. Are you happy?”

“Is this still the Scott thing?” Ryan asked across the kitchen island.

“No, he’s dropped that, thank God.”

“Well, that’s great news!” Logan enthused, slapping Micah on the knee. Micah thought about how Logan and Rose were the ones who introduced Chloe to Adam and suddenly had the irrational desire to punch his friend.

It fell quiet again as his friends waited for him to elaborate. “Chloe told me she was meeting with the lawyer today at The Daymark, so I thought I would stop by there. It wasn’t a meeting – it was a date.”

“And that bothers you?” Ryan asked.

Micah chuckled and craned his neck to look back into the kitchen where Ryan was leaning against the island. “Yes, it bothers me, Pastor Ryan. I’m a PK, remember? I know when you’re shifting into counseling mode.”

Ryan chuckled and made his way into the living area. “Sorry, then I’ll shift back to friend mode.” He plopped down into the recliner in the corner and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t you just tell Chloe how you feel?”

Micah shook his head and looked down at his feet. He thought for a few minutes before looking back up at R

yan. “As much as I’ve hurt her, all I really want is for her to be happy. Adam is a good guy, so as much as it hurts . . . I can’t get in the way of that.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, and Micah could tell the wheels in his head were turning. “Maggie and Chloe have gotten close, you know. I can’t say any-“

Micah held up one hand, “No need to explain. If anyone understands pastor confidentiality, it’s me.”

Ryan nodded once. “All I’ll say is, I still think you and Chloe need to have an honest talk.”

“When she has a shot at something better?”

“Wait a second,” Logan cut in, “who says Adam is better?”

“He’s never broken her heart, for one.” Micah sighed with relief when the doorbell rang. “That’ll be the pizza.”

He rose from the couch and addressed his two best friends as he walked backwards towards the door. “You’ve successfully talked me down off the ledge, so operation successful. Can we now drop the subject of my non-existent love life?”

Being men, they both shrugged and Ryan picked up the remote to turn to the game. Micah sighed with relief as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket and turned towards the door. His busted leg no longer throbbed with phantom pain. He had an arsenal of solutions at his disposal to deal with that kind of pain.

His busted heart was another story.

[lethargichockeybois]

yoooo you guys are gonna wanna get in on this.

I FINALLY DID IT!!!! even though there’s literally ten other things i should be working on, i did this instead! 

i have finally created my content dedicated blog. if you’re a content creator [graphics, videos, writing, memes, etc.] i highly recommend following it cause i’ll make sure to check you out, go through your stuff, and reblog it!! this blog will be dedicated to sharing all of your hard work and getting you guys even more noticed BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT!!! so not just to be that person, but i also recommend reblogging this so other people can follow that blog. the hope is that it will just give content creators more attention!

anyway, if you wanna follow just to get some good hockey content on your dash or you are a content creator and want more attention then go follow hockey-art! here’s a link to make your life a bit more easy. 

disclaimer: there isn’t anything posted yet. i’ve just made the blog and will start posting stuff soon, just gimme a couple days :))) again, hopefully this will get you guys more attention and love because you all definitely deserve it for all the hard work you put into the content you share with us :)

seriously. go follow hockey-art!!!!!