#desert hockey classic

[offsidenewsco]

Have you ever wondered about NCAA Hockey? What's the Frozen Four? How do the rankings work? What players have played through the system?

We've got you covered in our primer here

[factual-fantasy]

Greetings Factual! Sorry it's been a bit since I last got to say hi, it's been a crazy week for me- but I still managed to check in every once in a while, and as is always the case, really enjoyed your recent posts- both the fun and the angsty! In particular, I really liked the Fnaf anniversary image you did, it was really cool seeing the classic crew in your style- and thanks for remembering Golden Freddy!

That actually brought up an Ask I had, too, which is: is Golden Freddy cannon to your main Fnaf AU? You made the Fredbear and Spring Bonnie side au, but did a version ever exist before the core crew in the original timeline? If so, he probably wouldn't be haunted, like the others arent, but, as an older model would he even be sentient? Maybe it's too spoilery, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask!

As a sidenote, I also come bearing a gift today! Last time, you'll recall, I asked if you wanted to see some of the old Mario OC's I came up with, and you said yes! So here's what I got now that I've redrawn and refurbished them- forgive my poor art and camerawork- i had to work with what limited time and supplies I had- anyway, without further adu, here's the dynamic desert dwelling duo, Rick and Rusty!

My idea for their story is that, as you can see, Rusty is an old, outdated model of Sherm, like the ones from Odyssey, and his partner is an almost equally as old, rough and tough Monty Mole named Rick who's lost most of his vision with age. I'm still figuring out the way they met- but at some point they both got stranded in the deserts of the Sand Kingdom , and ended up deciding to team up, becoming a wandering duo of tradesmen, transporting goods from one settlement to another- after all, Ricks gotta eat, and Rusty's always in need of spare parts due to his advanced age.

Sometimes times are tough for the two of them, but they soldier on though even the toughest sandstorms- and have formed a very important symbiotic bond, as Rusty gives Rick some much appreciated protection(he is a tank after all) as well as verbal direction when necessary, and in turn, Rick uses his impressive skills as a mechanic to repair and replace Rusty's parts, both on the outside and inside! I also imagine that Rusty would double as a living, mobile home for Rick, with some of those good ol' bigger in the inside shenanigans going on! I also had an idea for two additional characters who would eventually join the traveling band- those being Dott the Flopter and Brock the Bandit!

Still working on their stories too, but I envisioned Dott as a happy go lucky explorer who came up from the Sprixie kingdom to explore the surface world- only to surface in the sand kingdom and get caught in a sandstorm! Thankfully Rick and Rusty were passing by and provided shelter, after which she volunteered to join them on their adventures for the foreseeable future- Rick finds her outgoing personality a bit obnoxious at times- but Rusty's taken a real liking to her- plus, it never hurts to have eyes in the sky!

As for Brock, I imagined his arc would be similar to Diego's from Ice Age, funnily enough- he started as a double agent who sought to lure the crew into a trap so his gang mates could rob them, but he ended up liking them so much he switched sides, beat his old team at their own game, and joined the traveling Merchants officially as their muscle! His mask lets him weather even the most severe sandstorms, and he can use his hockey stick to wack projectiles at foes even faster than Rusty can fire a- uh- whatever those things Sherms shoot are called!

Anyway that's all I got for now, sorry as always for the wall of text- I was just eager to see what you think! With you being a professional AU and OC crafter, (especially compared to me) I would greatly appreciate any thoughts or criticisms you can offer! Thank you so much as always- and I hope this day is treating you well!

Hi! Its good to see you in my ask box again! :D I'm sorry to hear about your week though, I hope this next one treats you better <:(

As for the FNAF 10th anniversary post, I'm really glad you liked it! :D And how could I forget Golden Freddy?? He's been one of my top favorite animatronics for a very long time XD Speaking of him, he does exist in my main FNAF AU technically :0 although "Golden Freddy" in my AU is actually just the old Fredbear suit after it was decommissioned- though obviously I cant talk much about if it was haunted or sentient at all <XD spoiler stuff-

And lastly, your OCS! AND MY GOODNESS DO I LOVE THEM!!! :DD And as a ✨professional AU/OC crafter✨(XDD thank you!! :}} ) I tried to give you some criticism like you asked. But I'm having a hard time coming up with anything solid! <:0 I love their stories and I think their designs are great!

Originally some criticism I thought of was that Rusty looked a liiittle overly detailed.. there was an awful lot of bolts on the guy. But upon googling Sherms, they look like that in the game! Absolutely flooded with bolts! :0 So your design is actually accurate and very well done! Same thing with his color, thought maybe he could use a little more color but nope! In game the Sherms are just a block of green XD You actually gave him MORE color with the two different shades of brown! A very good choice in my opinion! :))

The only lasting criticism I could think of was more of a question; how can Rick repair Rusty if he's lost most of his eye sight..? Sure Rusty might be able to verbally guide him from the outside somewhat.. but what about internal repair? Thinking about it though, he could just be near sighted- or maybe his eye sight isn't as bad as I'm imaging it is? Either way- loved the critters! Loved the stories, the art is fantastic and I hope the rest of our day/night is a good one! :))

[pink-key]

Old 2015 version

A young man was sitting on a concrete block, lacing up his rollerblades. His hands were shaking with excitement. He had been thinking about this upcoming moment for several years. Tightening the tongue of his skate, he stood up and rolled forward slightly. He looked around. The building he was in was once supposed to be a small shopping center, but the company went bankrupt and left the building in an unfinished state. This place had been his refuge ever since.

His appearance was not remarkable: disheveled long black hair and always tired gray eyes with an eternal, distant look. He was wearing an old, tattered sweatshirt and dark pants, in which some small holes were already visible, undoubtedly the result of street fights.

Taking the claw hammer, he swung it a couple of times and quietly muttered, barely smiling, "Everything should go perfectly; it would be a shame to end up in that damned hospital with a broken leg again."

At a young age, he was hit by a car, resulting in hospitalization. At that time, there were many war veterans there. Every day, he heard their groans, cries of agony, and curses when they realized that their limbs could not be saved. This moment stuck in his subconscious; he felt a certain detachment from reality, his consciousness slowly peeling away from his brain. At least that's how he described it to his overprotective mother. Like any mother, she was worried about her son, but she did not consider therapists and psychologists to be real doctors and treated his mental health in her own way. She worked as a court assistant lawyer and often brought pictures from her work. These were photographs of crime scenes, and she thought that by showing them to her son, the boy would not consider blood or corpses, for that matter, as something scary. She was always too close for his comfort.

Ruffling his hair sharply with his free hand, he shook his head. He didn't want these memories to ruin his night. He glanced at his belongings lying on a nearby cement block. A shabby backpack, a couple of trinkets and his old hockey stick. He grinned, taking the hockey stick and putting it in the case on his back that wrapped around his torso. He glanced at his watch. 2:34, time to act. Leaving the abandoned building, he skated on a deserted road.

With every second, emotions of immense joy filled him more and more, although he had not even reached his goal yet. He had not felt such bursting emotions for a long time; they were comparable to those he felt when he learned to roller-skate. 

He considered skates an extension of himself and felt awkward not wearing them. After all, he could run away or catch up with anyone when he was wearing them. He especially enjoyed it when he skated away from a salesman after stealing a sandwich or chips from him. His friends praised him for his agility and speed. However, they were hooligans and often fought and abused stray animals. He didn't spend much time with them; he believed that animals should not be tortured. All human beings, even children, are born spoiled and prone to cruelty, while animals do not have human thoughts and a thirst for sadism. He was so obsessed with this philosophy that the smell of cooked meat started to make him vomit. 

A girl appeared on the horizon. No older than 25, she wore a short dress that barely covered her bottom. She stared at her phone, typing something on it. She didn't care about the slightly cool wind or the completely empty road on which she stood. He was looking for her.

He leaned a little, gaining speed, and squeezed the hammer in his hand while whistling a simple classic tune.

"Hey, Oli-dolly! You're not a man? Why are you refusing meat? Should I knock the crap out of you? Frigging princess, all polite, quiet, well-mannered. You fight like a girl too." Words ringed in his head. If he was provoked, he had no brakes; he was ready to fight to the death. That moment in the past was no exception either. The long refusal of food made him more sullen, any bullying addressed to him angered him more easily than usual; when he grappled with the leader of their gang, he couldn't restrain himself and, out of hatred, bit off part of his opponent's cheek. In that instance, he realized how to live, everything seemed to fall into place for him, as if with the snap of fingers. Undoubtedly, all people are corrupt, but there are those who do not even try to pretend to be correct and give themselves over to their pleasures and sadistic inclinations. What if there was a way to erase them from existence completely? After all, their soul cannot exist outside their flesh, just burying the corpse won't be enough.

A dull sound echoed down the street. The girl fell to the ground. There was a pause as Oli slowly lowered his arm after the blow. He thought he would behave like the killers from the films, laugh loudly, shake with happiness, and burst into loud speeches. Yet he stood quietly, watching his victim, a slight shiver of adrenaline running through his body. Blood dripped down her silky blonde hair. She raised her head, looking in disbelief and horror at the teenager in front of her.

"O-oli?! Why... why did you do that?"

Tears poured out of her eyes. Not waiting for an answer, she got up, wobbling, and rushed in the opposite direction from him. He skated smoothly behind her, wondering how long she could run with a smashed head. She could not scream out words from the stupor of fear. However, when she gained strength, seeing the light in the windows of a house in the distance, Oli took out his hockey stick and knocked the girl down with it. She fell, face on the ground.

He hit the girl on the back with his weapon, so she couldn't make any more loud sounds. The man moved in front of her face, waiting for her to lift her bloody head up.

Sofia didn't do anything bad to him. She was very close to him, playing the role of an older sister to him and other street children in their area. Occasionally, she made snarky, playful remarks to them when they engaged in various hooliganism. However, Oli always considered her useless. She was from a dysfunctional family, of no use to anyone, bringing nothing to society. Only a rich family man wanted her body. No one will remember her or miss her. Therefore, he chose her as his first project, a kind of realization of his philosophy; it became his passion and meaning, without which he could not live.  --

"Did you guys hear? That maniac, Hitblade, killed someone again. Like, the quiet one from sociology, Rebecca or Raven was it." An anxious brown-haired girl sat down at the table where four of her classmates were having lunch.

"They haven't caught him yet? How hard is it to catch a cannibal on roller skates? Our police are completely slacking." Her red-haired classmate sitting opposite her answered displeasedly.

"I recently heard from a youtuber he ended up beating and eating his mother when he was a teen, even lived with her corpse for months, but these are just speculations, and these crimes are stated to not be related. Eh, don't worry, you look too young to be his next target." the third talkative classmate whispered, sneering awkwardly.

"Ahem, guys, I'm scared you know, I work the evening shift, what if he kills me?" The brunette muttered anxiously.

"Yes, I'm worried about you, Miriam. Oh, I have an idea! What if I accompany you after work to your home? I will be passing by there anyway, need to return a book to a friend." The black-haired guy said with notes of concern in his voice, moving his laptop away.

"You know, it's a good idea. He never attacks girls who're with someone. I finish at 22:00 you know the place." she said calming down.

"Of course." He answered with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Oli!"

[puckpocketed]

2/1/2024 Winter Classic - Seattle Kraken vs Vegas Golden Knights

The Summer I Fell For Hockey - The Perfect Day: On Yanni Gourde and the Narrative

A bank of fog rolls over the new year, over Seattle’s skyline, over the morning of the Winter Classic. T-Mobile park, after weeks of preparation, is transformed; sprouting up from the baseball diamond is a construct of ochre-red wood and glass, freshly frozen paint and ice, and boards that flash with sponsorships. A sea of people all in red, cream, navy and pale blue flood in to fill up the stands, 47,000 strong. There’s the retractable roof for insurance, in case Seattle weather decides to get in character, but for once the air stays dry and sunlight cuts through the fog in time for the match, winking warm and yellow and sweet from behind sparse cloud cover. In the future, today will be remembered as a near-perfect day for outdoor ice hockey. Continents and continents (and a hemisphere) away, the chime of a phone alarm rings out into a damp summer morning. It’s 6:30 am. It’s Kraken game day. I jolt awake.

The Vegas Golden Knights enter the arena dressed collectively as Elvis, shirts split open to the belly button, reflective of their city’s desert-dwelling glitterati. My Kraken come as fishermen, in work boots and hot red overalls, outfits made complete with fluro orange caps and stuffed fish. When it comes time to get onto the rink in their gear, the Kraken are introduced by Sir-Mix-a-Lot in a truly terrible mashup of his hits and ad libbed lines. As they make their way down the faux boardwalk, jets of fire spew forth intermittently, and real fishmongers from Pike Place Market toss fish between the players in an ode to their post-game tradition (the stuffed fish yeet) and the city of Seattle. The anthem is shredded by a 14-year-old local on electric guitar, to the stoic, patriotic acceptance of everyone watching. (Gods but hockey is such an unserious sport, and for this it will have my heart in perpetuity)

The rink is mic'd today, and I’m grateful. I love the sound of hockey; I love the sound of skate blades carving sibilant lines, the way sticks will clack against each other, against the gritty ice; and when the puck hits someone’s tape just right, there’s a now-familiar little zing deep in my reptilian brain that heralds satisfaction. One day, when my city hosts the AIHL (Australian Ice Hockey League), I’ll be right next to the rink and able to hear it all for myself, but for now this will have to suffice.

The Kraken start dominant, winning the first faceoff and instantly initiating a dump-and-chase. Their cheeks are blacked in an effort to stave off ice blindness, but I like to think they’ve donned war paint. In line with this, Tanev starts the festivities by slamming the Golden Knights’ Whitecloud in a brutal check. Today, with the mics hot, every thump and bump gets caught as bodies hit the boards. Neither team is holding back, some mutually agreed upon level of violence dialled up three notches. Unlike the check-heavy games I’ve watched in the past, there is no pall of malicious intent, no thin veneer of civility to cover up simmering anger from the get go. No; today the hits start clean. No penalties are called for first period.

Had it been two weeks ago, I’d have jumped on the opportunity to extol the virtues and skillset of our starting goalie, Joey. Later, the entire arena will shake with cheers of his name. Because I can’t resist, I’ll say this: he’s still unerringly good at trapping the puck to stop play and cause a reset, shuttering any build up of momentum and opportunities for rebounds; still going on his heart-stopping adventures out of the net and catching compliments from the broadcast on his exceptional stick handling; and the puck at times seems magnetised to his glove. Spoilers for the rest of the game: it’s a shutout, and after all those incredible stops I’m sure Jack Eichel will be kicking himself about being read like a book for days. 35 saves (his exact jersey number) and the first shutout in Winter Classic history. The story writes itself.  But enough of that — Joey’s low-hanging fruit.  And besides, I’ve already put pen to paper on the Dacs propaganda; it all still stands.

The hard checks keep coming. I get the feeling that something’s different today, that there’s something in the air apart from the perfect weather. Despite Vegas’ stellar record against the Kraken to date (8-1-0), the Kraken have a vice grip on the game. I’m so used to watching them chase games to stumbling, clumsy victories that this dominance feels surreal. They kill off the Knights’ attempts at transitioning, relentless in their pursuit and determined to play along the boards, keeping the puck largely out of their offensive zone. When the Knights do manage to drag it in, the Kraken d-men spare no effort viciously batting incoming pucks away from the slot, and should that fail — Joey’s right there to remind them just how good he is. It’s still a simple game, a steady and unembellished grind the way the Kraken like to play — but something about today makes me think that perhaps the elusive, gossamer thing called ‘luck’ is on their side. Perfect days don’t exist, until they do.

My Kraken score their first goal off a stylish deflection. Dunner skips the puck at Tolvy from the blue line, over Amadio’s stick and into traffic. The puck sails past a scrambling Knights defence, where Tolvy finds it midair and smacks it down, right into the back of the Knights’ net. The second goal materialises two minutes into second period, and so does the inciting incident for this essay (blog post/diary entry/unhinged hockey breakdown). After winning the puck off a scuffle along the boards Yanni Gourde legs it, sending it into Vegas’ side of the rink. There’s some back and forth, but ultimately Borgy picks up a goal with a slapshot off the rebound.

Gourdo (or Pumpkin, if the pun appeals) is the quintessential Kraken player. From his career, to his playstyle, to how he’s never come close to stardom — he is, to quote Nick Faris, someone that, “[...]embodies who the Kraken want to be.” He catches my attention today because of his tenacity, and because the liveblog tag goes hard for him as future captain. I’ve come to learn that where esports fans call it the Script, hockey fans use a different phrase. It’s all the same underneath: when everything fits so well, when it all begins to rhyme like poetry, when it’s so compelling that surely someone must’ve made it up — that’s the Narrative. 

Gourdo is short for a hockey player, standing at a modest 5ft 9in (175cm). That’s the first thing you’ll hear about him; that he’s at or below league average. The second thing you’ll hear is that he was never drafted. In a league filled with stories of stars — whose fans and media orbit the monsters of the game, a dozen or so point-scoring darlings — here’s Yanni Gourde, the man who was once a season away from giving up the ghost and getting a civil engineering degree, a rookie for the Tampa Bay Lightning at 26. This, too, is Narrative — a different kind I’d say, because when you hear about underdogs you imagine a scrappy, uncut gem finally breaking through to reach the top. Gourdo isn’t some secret prodigy, and the stats he’s put up since he got his chance in the NHL are solid, a career high of 25 goals and 64 points in 82 games during his time with the Lightning, but nothing like your McDavids or MacKinnons. But that’s all just paper. Out on the ice, though? That’s where the real story is happening.

If Sidney Crosby’s story is the Narrative, Gourdo’s story is like if the Narrative was stolen by a side character — which, fittingly, is exactly what some of the best narratives are all about. A quick Youtube search turns up the usual fluff pieces done by team media. A deeper scan reveals an unusual amount of short highlights, largely scrums and fights that he’s been involved with. In one of them he can be seen sporting his big, crooked grin. This is how I find out that Yanni Gourde is a pest. An instigator, a rat. Whatever you call it, Gourde shares hockey lineage with the likes of Brad Marchand.

In ice hockey, games are won and lost off the back of power plays and penalty kills. But with hitting and fighting at an all-time low, how does one draw penalties? Gourdo has it all figured out. He plays his own game, sticking just short of too close and pushing the envelope on interference. He’s gone on record talking about his extracurriculars, how he verbally and physically taunts opposing players after the whistle: “I know most of the time it works them up and they want to punch me in the face a little bit more. If they take a penalty on me, then, I am winning.” Gourdo treads the line of illegality and sportsmanship, and tips people over the edge in his wake, and when they retaliate they’re caught out and sent to the box.

Rats have a bad reputation in the NHL. Honour codes dictate that you back up any insults, physical or otherwise, should another player challenge you to drop gloves — the assumption being that any on-ice beef is genuine — an agitator’s actions are premeditated, calculated to wreak as much havoc as possible. This insincerity leaves a bad taste in the mouths of many. And yet, Yanni Gourde is beloved.

When he was selected by the Kraken in the expansion draft, Lightning fans made tribute videos. When he first returned to Tampa Bay as a visiting player, the arena shook with his fans' welcome. He is universally regarded by teammates, both past and present, as a leader and an overwhelmingly positive force in the locker room; someone who knows how to get silly (krakenblr-core!), who contributes to constructing good attitudes on the ice, someone who has stepped up to fulfil leadership duties when his teammates have been injured.

Beyond his instigation (and his remarkably sparkling reputation in spite of this), most interesting to me is a distinct pattern to the rest of his shot highlights. There’s nothing too complicated about it, even I noticed as a fan who’s still learning: Yanni Gourde has that intangible, ineffable clutch factor. For every clip where he’s in a scuffle, there’s another instance where he’s scored a game winning goal.

My working theory for why? He’s the guy who didn’t give up on his hockey dream even after being snubbed by the NHL and relegated to the AHL, who debuted as a starter 6 years later than most rookies, made himself a nuisance to play against at every turn with his relentless puck chasing and instigating. He’s Gourdo. So of course he’s got the clutch factor; he snatched his entire career from the jaws of retirement in the eleventh hour.

On a day like today, where the weather is perfect and the sticky late game ice has puck bounces going the Kraken’s way, it feels like the right time for something magical. And in a match filled with physicality Gourdo defies expectations, plays his own game and manages a miracle. Early in the third period, the Knights go for an offensive reset on a loose puck in the Kraken slot that goes shooting past the blue line. It looks completely standard. I’ve seen it a hundred times by now.

And then, racing down the ice there’s Gourdo. I expect a check, because that’s the type of game they’ve primed us for. It doesn’t come. Instead, Gourdo slips right up into Cotter’s space, right under his stick. Their skates cross once but there’s no hit, and with the barest brush… the puck is lifted out from under Cotter’s feet.

This blog is named for a silly pun on ‘pickpocketed’, because it was one of the very first hockey concepts that really captured my imagination. I became quietly obsessed with the idea of pickpocketing in ice hockey, fascinated by hulking athletes who know they don’t even need to hit anyone to win. There’s something so delightful about it; the idea that in ice hockey, a game that is notorious for semi-legal fist fights and whose actual rules allow the players to throw their hundreds of pounds at each other in service of victory, you could simply lose the puck to a thief. Whatever you call it — pickpocketing, puck stripping — it’s the result of refs who’ve become increasingly trigger-happy on calls, and a league-wide shift toward protecting its superstars from concussions.

For Gourdo, it’s a matter of necessity. Being smaller than most players, he has few other options. He can’t just rely on checking; he’s part of the new wave of players who’ve bought in on the puck possession game, scrapping and digging to steal the puck away with stick lifts and finesse rather than outright force. (Funnily enough, fellow pest Marchand is named in an article as another player whose game is shifting to focus on puck possession).

In the wider arc of the Narrative, it’s a perfectly Yanni kind of play. He steals the puck away from the Knights right in their slot, and is left almost one on one with their goalie as everyone else on the ice rushes to catch up. It’s not beautiful hockey — there is no well-timed deke, no lethal toe drag release — it’s just Gourdo wrestling control of the puck from the carved up ice, awkward and off-balance. The first shot doesn’t even go in, bouncing off of Thompson’s pad. But Gourdo is right there to catch it off the rebound, never giving up, always holding on, and he scoops it right over and into the net.

I know the game is finished for the Vegas Golden Knights after this. Call me biassed about my Sharks but I’ve seen when a team is still hungry for a win, and the Knights aren’t coming to the table. More than just the number on the scoreboard, in hindsight this goal feels woven into the fabric of the Narrative. It’s gorgeously messy, unexpected. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching, the broadcast barely able to keep up before the puck makes its way to the net. It’s Seattle waking up from a decades-long slumber to remind the world that it’s always been a hockey town, and the Kraken victory a ringing statement. It's another game winning goal for Gourdo, exactly like he’s always done.

It’s not quite perfect hockey, of course, not what people think of as clean or even technically proficient. But if you’ve watched any Kraken broadcasts you know what I’m about to say.

That’s Kraken hockey, baby!

[nazmazh]

Okay, so hear me out, here.

Ideas for the new/relocated Utah hockey team that was the Coyotes:

They're reborn from the ashes of a failed/dead, franchise? What else is famously reborn from its own ashes?

Hence: the Utah Phoenixes

Eh? Eh?

Okay, fine, that probably won't do.

*****

Okay, so how about looking to the state reptile for inspiration? The noble Gila Monster.

Probably shorten to just the Utah Monsters for better cadence

[This joke being that one of the Coyote's former arenas was "Gila River" arena. That one was probably a little less obvious than "Phoenixes"]

*****

Okay, so, I see the problem is that we keep stumbling into invoking the specters of the past [Specters/Spirits/Phantoms - Not the worst ideas I've heard, btw].

Let's maybe focus on the iconic desert landscapes, invoking the common heritage there.

The Utah Buttes / Utah Beauts

Look, I know that I'm doing a lot of joking around here, but I'm honestly legitimately proud of that play on words.

And "Beaut!"/"Beauty!" feels like such a classic hockey term, y'know?

Sadly, probably would be too much hesitation for big, manly NHLers to be officially a "Beaut".

That being said, if a professional Womens'-League team ever expands to SLC - There you go, that's a solid name for your team right there.

I kind of like the cadence of it all, still - How about Utah Brutes? Does that feel more workable?

How about Utah Beasts - Especially if ever partnered with aforementioned "Beauts" female team - ("Beauts" and "Beasts", eh? Eh?!)

*****

Okay, last one that actually just came to me in the shower, and I'm actually a little bit more serious about this:

Looking for iconic, usually animals, of the region the team is in, that aren't already taken by other team names.

"Home on the Range" could help here: Pronghorns/Antelopes are an iconic species of the prairies/desert - Lethbridge's university teams use that name, though. But that's less an obstacle to say Buffalo/Bison (which do have a presence there) - Because the Sabres use them in their iconography.

"Deer" might be a bit too generic [not to mention the Bucks have that brand, basically] - Elk is the State mammal, but Edmonton's CFL team already has that claim.

So… other iconic desert animals, not already used in team names/logos?

How about hares/jackrabbits?

Probably not the type of animal iconography you wish to necessarily evoke, though.

Positives include speed, supposed cleverness. "Madness" might be a thing to jokingly play up?

But they fundamentally are still a relatively small prey animal.

But (And I swear, I am going somewhere with this),

With the Seattle Kraken, we've leaned into cryptids being a valid name [ETA: . Heck one of the potential names the ownership group seems to be actively considering is "Yeti".

So, what if we combined the pronghorn and hare ideas, yeah?

But (And I swear, I am going somewhere with this),

With the Seattle Kraken, we've leaned into cryptids being a valid name. [See Also: The Jersey Devil - Which is what New Jersey's name is inspired by. Not, y'know, the ruler of hell, despite their branding all leaning into the "cartoon red devil"-style.]

Heck one of the potential names the ownership group seems to be actively considering is "Yeti".

So, what if we combined the pronghorn and hare ideas, yeah?

You see where I'm going with this, right?

The Utah Jackalopes

Or possibly Utah Jacks for better cadence and all their branding is jackalope-related.

I'm actually not-entirely joking on this one. I think you could actually lean into something really fun with this one.

[sequestering]

i very much understand the desire to mock bettman, but it does feel worth noting that one of the single most defining aspects of bettman's tenure as commissioner has been promoting teams in the south. like, this has been a central nhl narrative for about thirty years now. he practically proscribed himself in canada for refusing to give them an expansion team, for moving two different canadian teams down south, and for fighting a multi million dollar lawsuit to stop the preds being relocated to hamilton. he's stood by arizona through the triple-fold mortification of bankruptcy, eviction and now playing out of a college arena because he simply will not let them move. the classic bettman caricature is that he will pour literally any amount of money into keeping hockey teams in the south and out of canada.

bettman is the number one supporter of the so-called sun belt strategy, and his legacy as commissioner will live or die by whether or not it succeeds. he really isn't upset about this playoffs result. a lot of people are going to argue that this is kind of his dream scenario, his moment of triumph after thirty years of mockery for trying to make 'hockey in the desert' happen.

[squidsquadlove]

Coachella Valley to host 2025 AHL All-Star Classic

SPRINGFIELD, Mass. ... American Hockey League President and CEO Scott Howson announced today that the Board of Governors has unanimously approved the Coachella Valley Firebirds as hosts of the 2025 AHL All-Star Classic.

The event will be held at Acrisure Arena, a world-class sports and entertainment venue in Palm Desert, Calif., which opened in December 2022 as the home of the Firebirds. In addition, Spotlight 29 Casino has been named the presenting sponsor of the 2025 AHL All-Star Classic.

"In just 15 short months, the Firebirds have established themselves as one of the American Hockey League's premier franchises, and Acrisure Arena is a crown jewel among AHL facilities," said Howson. "Our annual All-Star events provide an international stage for hockey's brightest young stars to shine, and we look forward to sharing this celebration of our league with the Coachella Valley in 2025."

[franklupelchiaro]

The Best Winter Destinations in the United States in 2023

As winter approaches, the United States transforms into a wonderland of diverse landscapes and thrilling activities. Whether you seek powdery slopes, serene hot springs, or sun-drenched beaches, the country has it all. Here’s a guide to the best winter getaways in 2023, offering something for every type of traveler.

Dunton, Colorado:

For a relaxing winter escape, Dunton’s hot springs and wooden lodges offer a serene retreat. Dating back to 1885, the area’s mining history adds a touch of authenticity to the experience, making it an ideal spot to unwind.

Lake Tahoe, Sierra Nevada:

Lake Tahoe, nestled in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, offers a mesmerizing winter scene with its frozen alpine lake surrounded by snow-covered pine trees. Boasting an average snowfall of 400 inches, it’s a top-notch ski destination. Beyond skiing, enjoy activities like ice skating, sleigh riding, and tubing.

Asheville, North Carolina:

Nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, Asheville provides a captivating winter landscape. Drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway, embark on bird watching tours, or enjoy a cozy bar hopping experience in the town.

Sedona, Arizona:

Escape bone-chilling temperatures in Sedona, where milder winters offer a unique desert landscape cloaked in snow. Hike through crimson rock formations, take a hot air balloon ride for a bird’s-eye view, and explore Tlaquepaque Village.

Minneapolis, Minnesota:

Minneapolis, often overlooked, comes alive with winter festivals like the Great Northern and the USA Pond Hockey Championships. The city’s culinary scene thrives in winter, offering tasty delicacies and hot dishes. Explore the hidden winter wonderland with activities like ice skating and snowmobiling.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming:

Jackson Hole’s picturesque setting, surrounded by snow-capped mountains, makes it a haven for winter sports enthusiasts. With an annual snowfall of 458 inches, it’s a paradise for snowy adventures and ecotourism, allowing you to witness impressive wildlife in untouched wilderness.

Vail, Colorado:

Surrounded by alpine slopes, Vail beckons with exciting ski adventures on Vail Mountain. The powdery trails also cater to snowmobiling and snow tubing enthusiasts. Stroll through Beever Creek Village’s classic wooden houses, illuminated with warm lights, and warm up with a cup of hot chocolate.

Kauai, Hawaii:

For a warm winter getaway, head to Kauai, Hawaii’s picturesque island with year-round sunshine. Enjoy outdoor activities like hiking, whale watching, and beach hopping, surrounded by jungle-clad mountains and brilliant blue oceans.

Salt Lake City, Utah:

Nestled in the Wasatch Range, Salt Lake City is a winter haven with storybook houses adorned in white snow. World-class skiing at Deer Valley Resort is a major draw, but if the outdoors isn’t your calling, the city offers diverse alternatives. Indulge in shopping, relax in hot tubs, or savor local cuisine.

New York City:

Experience the vibrant winter vibes of the Big Apple, from Rockefeller’s Christmas tree to open-air holiday markets like Bryant Park Market. Whether you prefer ice skating, cafe hopping, or holiday shopping, New York City offers a mix of indoor and outdoor winter delights.

Burlington, Vermont:

Embrace the freezing winter in Burlington, where European-styled buildings and twinkling lights create a charming atmosphere. Explore Church Street, a four-block pedestrian market, and indulge in the town’s hospitality. Venture out for ski trips to nearby resorts for added winter excitement.

Anna Maria Island, Florida:

Escape to Anna Maria Island for a sun-soaked winter retreat. With powdery beaches, palm-fringed shores, and laid-back beach vibes, it’s the perfect destination for beach hopping, swimming, and witnessing dazzling sunsets.

Originally posted on frankchiaro.net.

[lunarrosespirits]

Meet Teke the Ice Vampire [Mod Lilac]

As part of our Yule Event we will be announcing 3 new spirits! Please meet Teke the Ice Vampire as the first!

Name: Teke (pronounced Tek-uh)

Species: Ice Vampire

Gender: male

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality:  straight

Alignment: gray

Personality: Teke is quiet and introverted, while also seemingly cold, no pun intended. His communication style is a little shorter so that those who are unfamiliar with him might think he’s rude, however, he just likes to be clear, concise, and get to the point. 

  He’s very observant and often takes the time to make sure that those around him are taken care of, especially if they’re too busy to take care of themselves, yet will never make a fuss about it. He’ll often be silent during activities together, disappear for a bit, and then come back with food, water, or whatever else the other people in the group need. He does this without prompting, without anyone asking. He is classic “tsundere” of being cold, nearly aloof, and nearly silent, but learning about those around him, and those that he cares about and doing whatever he can to provide for them and bring them comfort.

Over the time that I have known him he has started to chat with me more often, but it takes time, patience, and trust on both parts for him to get comfortable enough to talk with you without prompting. 

Description: Teke is an ice vampire. His mother is an energetic/sanguine vampire, his father an ice elemental spirit. He feeds on energy but also on blood. He has control over some ice magic, frost magic, and prefers colder climates. He is about 6’1”, and often dresses in darker colors such as black, gray, and navy blue. His go-to outfit is a mock turtleneck sweater and heavy trousers. He is broad-shouldered and fit, and often does things that require physical exertion for those around him without them asking - such as making sure firewood is chopped and stacked, helping to prepare the ground for planting, etc. In his own way, he fusses endlessly over the people around him. He has short, icy gray hair that falls messily onto his forehead. His eyes are icy blue, and he has thick eyelashes that frame his eyes. His canine teeth are a little longer than average, but not so long as to be completely noticeable. His skin is icy pale, sometimes with a very light blue sparkle to it, especially if he’s been performing frost magic.

Hobbies: snowboarding, skiing, ice hockey, ice fishing - most winter sports, tossing and flipping his knives, hand to hand combat training, whittling, cooking heart meals, reading.

Likes: the cold, snow, ice, outdoors, nature, cozy nights in after being in the fresh air all day, hearty foods, fresh baked bread, Yule, the forest, peace and quiet

Dislikes: deserts, extreme heat, those who violate consent, unnecessarily loud people, being kept inside for too long

Favorite color/s: dark blue, black, gray

Favorite animal: polar bears, arctic fox, lynx

Closest spirit friend: Merry the Snowdrop Elf, Bryn the Mountain Troll

Magic: some weather, ice, snow, frost, some glamor magic, protection magic including obfuscation.

Companionship: Teke would prefer a companionship in which he can become a friend but doesn’t need to carry the conversation, or be the one to constantly reach out. He doesn’t mind a larger family and would be content to “fly under the radar” at times. He doesn’t need to be the center of attention, but would like some quality time spent, although he doesn’t want to be the one to have to initiate that all the time.  He would like a vessel, and is open to ideas for one. 

Bonding activities: Walking in Nature, sparring and other martial arts, games of intellect and strategy, such as chess, listening to music while relaxing indoors, outdoor games and activities

Price: $44

Conjurer: Mod Lilac Moodboard by Mod Cattail If you're feeling called to Teke please apply for him here

[3416]

Maple Leafs player survey, Part 1: Desert island movies, future coaches and more

By Joshua Kloke | Feb 3, 2023 | The Athletic

Maple Leafs fans, it’s the All-Star break and there’s a lull in the schedule for a while here, so let’s take a step back and reflect: Even after Wednesday’s loss to the Bruins, the Leafs still have a .673 win percentage after 52 games, good for fifth-best in the NHL and are once again in contention for home-ice advantage in the first round of the playoffs.

In short, for now, life is good, right?

With that sense of big-picture positivity in mind and no games to wring your hands over until late next week, The Athletic wanted to keep things light. We posed six fun questions to the Leafs over the last few months in the hopes of providing fans with a look inside the characters and relationships that make up this team.

Part one looks at the Maple Leafs’ desert island movies, the cleanest, and messiest players and which Leaf is likeliest to become a head coach.

Part two, soon to come, will tackle an entirely different set of questions.

–––

What is your desert island movie?

If the Maple Leafs were ever forced to ride a bus between games like a minor hockey team and then had the option of watching just one single movie for the whole team, I feel confident in stating “The Dark Knight” would be the movie of choice: When asked if they had to watch just one movie for the rest of their lives, the majority of Leafs chose the 2008 classic.

“Probably my favourite,” said Michael Bunting.

“It’s an unreal movie,” said William Nylander confidently.

“Heath Ledger,” he added, which sort of says a lot.

In fact, Ledger’s performance won over another Swede.

“For the Joker performance alone,” said Pierre Engvall.

Some of the Leafs actually had more detailed reasoning for picking “The Dark Knight”.

“You’d probably want to pick a really long movie, right?” said Matt Murray, before noting that the two-and-a-half-hour banger is “one of the best movies of all time.”

Rest assured, there would be some pushback from other Leafs.

“I’d go with ‘Goodfellas,’” said Mark Giordano, because Mark Giordano is a person who knows what’s what. “I love everything about that movie. I’m a big mob movie guy.”

Justin Holl went a little off the board with his vote for “Billy Madison.”

“I just think it’s a great flick. I read something about music in your formative years sticking with you, and maybe it’s the same for movies,” he said.

Minutes later, Holl came back, unhappy with his choice.

“I’ve gotta revise my movie. ‘The Grinch.’ Christmas every day,” he said, before walking away confidently.

Speaking of uplifting choices, Conor Timmins voted for “Peanut Butter Falcon.”

“I highly suggest it,” Timmins said. “I like a wholesome, feel-good movie.”

Perhaps to be expected from someone educated at Harvard University, Alex Kerfoot furrowed his brow and had some questions of his own when the question was posed to him.

“What’s the difference between your favourite movie and a desert island movie?” he asked.

“You’d have to watch it again and again,” I explained. “So one of my favourite movies is ‘Seven,’ but it’s dark, I don’t know if I could go back to that place again and again.”

“I think I’d want some comedy,” Kerfoot said. “Keep things light, keep myself happy out there… I think I’d go with ‘The Internship.’

“I think because they (Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn) hadn’t come out with one for a while and when it came out and there was a lot of built-up anticipation,” he said. “I just think they’re so funny together. Movies are a little bit like music. When I hear a song, I think back to when I first heard that song. And with ‘The Internship,’ I was at a happy point in my life. I like to reminisce.”

Others said they wouldn’t have a vote, like David Kampf, whose only request would be for a “sports movie,” or Calle Jarnkrok.

“I’m not a big movie guy,” Jarnkrok saod. “I watch more TV shows. I’m watching ‘Yellowstone’ right now. I watch every show there is. When you’re on the road, there’s nothing else to do, so I just watch a lot of TV.”

Interestingly enough, Ilya Samsonov also didn’t vote for a movie.

“’Game of Thrones.’ I started watching it during COVID. My wife said to me, ‘Watch this, please. Your life will be changed after this.’ I said, ‘No way, I won’t like it.’ But I had a lot of time, and I started watching it, and it was unbelievable,” he said.

Finally, John Tavares and T.J. Brodie reassured my confidence in them as smart dudes when they voted for ‘The Shawshank Redemption.’ I told Brodie that would also be my vote, with an asterisk.

“It might give you that sense of hope that you’re going to get off the island, but ultimately, you’re not,” I explained to Brodie.

Brodie just gave me a blank stare.

“I was just thinking that I’d be there for so long, and it’s a long movie,” Brodie said. “It’s a time killer.”

Can’t argue with the logic of one of the team’s most responsible players.

–––

Who is the cleanest and messiest teammate?

It’s worth remembering here how much time an NHL team spends together.

For that reason, these players probably pick up on personal habits in a very real way. And that’s why when I asked players who the cleanest and messiest teammate was, none of them looked at me with scrunched faces. If someone is keeping things tight, or if someone is verging on becoming a slob, they’re going to know about it.

Let’s start with the messiest Leaf. The salaciousness here is undoubtedly what fans are going to be interested in.

“I know who is the messiest,” Kampf said without hesitating. “Bunts. He always has clothes around his stall. Trainers have to clean up after him all the time.”

“Bunting,” Giordano agreed. “I haven’t been to his place, but at his stall, he’s got his slippers and stuff all over the place.”

It’s not just how he conducts himself in the dressing room, apparently.

“The messiest is Bunting,” Brodie saod. “He spills on his shoes every meal.”

It’s worth noting here that Bunting himself laughed off the notion that he was the messiest, and instead voted the way a few other Leafs did: for Nylander.

“The messiest has to be Willy,” agreed Timothy Liljegren. “I haven’t been to his apartment this year, so I don’t know though.”

Nylander also earned a vote from Wayne Simmonds, who sits near Nylander in the dressing room.

“His trainer has already tidied up his stall,” said Simmonds, shaking his head. “You can’t judge it now.”

I asked Nylander himself for confirmation.

“Could be,” said Nylander with the kind of grin that straddled the line between guilty and ambivalent.

As for the cleanest, the votes were split between three players: Auston Matthews, Tavares and Kampf.

“His whole lifestyle is clean,” said Bunting of Kampf.

“I like it if I have everything, just…” said Kampf, motioning his arms around in a precise manner. “I like it in my life, to have everything clean.”

–––

Which Leaf will eventually be a head coach?

This was a simple question that, admittedly, I thought would draw some routine answers: Pick the veteran who knows the game, right?

“Jake Muzzin,” Kampf said, confirming my suspicions. “He’s a smart guy and he could be a great coach.”

Well, I was wrong. More on that in a bit.

Because there were votes for Muzzin, sure, including from Matt Murray.

“You can tell the way he thinks the game, he sees things big picture and he’s always thinking about the little things within the game,” Murray said.

“He’s got that personality,” Brodie said.

There were also votes for two other vets including Tavares and Giordano.

“Last year, I would have said Jason Spezza,” Engvall said. “I could see Giordano being a good coach. And not just because of his age. He’s played for a long time, he knows a lot about hockey. He’s a confident guy.”

“Maybe (Giordano) could be an assistant coach,” Liljegren said. “Johnny has this serious demeanour and Gio is a little bit more talkative.”

“Like good cop, bad cop?” I asked.

“…maybe not bad cop,” Liljegren deadpanned in a way only Liljegren can.

“That’s a compliment,” Giordano said when told he earned plenty of votes. “I could see myself coaching one day, for sure.”

But there were still some curveballs.

“We have a couple guys who know the game well,” said Simmonds, noting Tavares and Mitch Marner. “Those guys think the game extremely well.”

I was surprised by that answer, but not as surprised as the answer I got from Calle Jarnkrok.

“Ras, for sure,” Jarnkrok said of defenceman Rasmus Sandin.

No offence to the youngish defenceman, but his relaxed, take-life-as-it-comes demeanour doesn’t scream NHL head coach.

Jarnkrok disagreed.

“He looks like he takes notes when he’s listening to Keefer,” Jarnkrok said of Sandin’s studious approach with Sheldon Keefe. “He could be a head coach.”

Ask enough silly questions and you might learn something, I guess.

[house-of-slayterr]

Fave Colour: Crimson because that was actually my birth name and it’s so pretty!

Currently Reading: Perfume: A Story of Murder

Last Song:

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: Savoury 99% of the time.

Fave Alcoholic Drink: Rum and Coke hands down!

Traditional or Modern: My autism needs more context for this question…

Favourite Writer:

Poet: Edgar Allen Poe or Emily Dickinson

Novel: Clive Barker

Comic/Manga: Stan Lee or Junji Ito

Tumblr: Its a tie between @charliedawn and @howl-fantasies (If I didn’t tag you it’s because I can’t tag all of you 😭)

Favourite Desert: Homemade Cocoa Rice Crispy treats. I make them extra chocolatey and it’s the only time I really enjoy chocolate.

Favourite Rapper: uhhhhhhh, I gotta say Tyler the Creator. But it’s a tie between him and Childish Gambino. If you’d asked me in middle school it would have been Eminem, and female rapper would be Meg the Stallion.

Favourite Soccer/Hockey/Tennis Player: I have no interest in sports ball.

Colours of My Bedroom: Sadly I live in an apartment, there are no colours 😭 but my last bedroom was grey with a black feature wall, and I hand painted all my furniture red.

Favourite Politician: I wanna say Justin Trudeau… for some reason I drew fan art of him back in sophomore year and I have no idea why…

Loyalty or Lust: As a Hufflepuff I feel like I have to say Loyalty

Pizza or Pasta: Pasta, it’s hard to find Pizza places that accommodate my allergy, but most Pasta places at least have Alfredo. Plus Mac and Cheese is a safe food staple!

Vegan/Veggie: Veggie I guess, I do love Vegan food though, but with my allergies Vegetarian options are usually safer.

Favourite Time Period:

Love or Hate: Love 🥺🥰❤️

Last Series Watched: Bojack Horseman

Classic or Rock: Classic as in Classical? If so then both. They aren’t really comparable.

Fairy or Dragons: Why not fairy dragons?

GOT or LOTR: Considering I don’t know what GOT is, and Smeagel is my husband… imma say LOTR.

Tag Game

Tagged by @someoneimsure thanks :)

fave colour: teal and white

currently reading: nothing actually to busy with work

last song: Unfuckwitable by ZAYN

sweet/spicy/savory: Spicy

fav alcoholic drink: I don't drink it tastes like shit

traditional or modern: modern

favourite writer: @xxgoblin-dumplingxx

favourite dessert: Cake just cake any cake

fav rapper: Don't really listen to rap

favourite soccer/hockey/tennis player: not really into watching sports

colours of my bedroom: grey

favourite politician: I hate them all

loyalty or lust: Loyalty

pizza or pasta: pasta till the end

vegan/veggie: veggie [I'm guessing that's vegetarian]

favourite time period: 2030 [I'm not taking this seriously enough am I?]

love or hate: both

last series watched: Hawaii Five-O

classical or rock: rock

fairy or dragons: Dragons.... rich rich bro

GOT or LOTR: LOTR for me guys

No-Pressure Tags:

@narabm @baby-damian-wayne @immortal-velociraptor @skintmint @harpers-ramblings [don't really have much for this]

(Tag people you want to get to know better)

[mlmxreader]

Blood and Rock | 10k x GN!reader

summary: an abandoned shop seems like the perfect place, an oasis in a desert of the dead, but while some things may seem stable, other things are not. warnings: blood/wounds, swearing, smoking word count: 1525

"Murphy, give me a fucking cigarette," you hissed, grabbing the blue man by his coat and yanking it.

Murphy tilted his head, frowning a little as he looked at you, but he shrugged, and handed you one of the few that he had left. "Need a light, kid?"

"Not a kid," you grumbled, snatching the lighter and handing it back once the tip of your cigarette started to burn. You quietly thanked him before slowing down, taking your place at the back, between your boyfriend 10k, and Doc.

"What's got you in such a huff?" Doc asked, frowning a little as he furrowed his brows. You were never really snappy, and even he could see the way that your hands shook when you raised the cigarette to your lips to take a drag, he could see the clumsy trembling of your fingers when you flicked the ash to the ground. "You okay?"

You nodded, relaxing a little when 10k put his arm around your shoulders, still a little awkward and clumsy despite dating shortly after he teamed up with Operation Bitemark, almost three years ago - or at least, what would be three years before the world was overrun with Zs.

You remembered that day a little too fondly; Operation Bitemark had found you a short while before meeting 10k, finding you in the woods fighting off Zs with a machete and an axe with a bloody hockey mask on your face and thick leather covering you from the neck down.

You only agreed to join them because you had missed people, you had missed having friends and being part of a community, you had missed being a social animal. You never thought that you would end up with a loving and loyal boyfriend like 10k, you didn't even think that romance was possible in the apocalypse.

None of that seemed to matter when Warren stopped dead in her tracks, though, letting the group gather before she spoke.

"Okay, there's a shop just up ahead, could hold some supplies - 10k, (y/n), you guys go inside and see if there's any Zs. Addy, Vasquez, you guys search the car park with me. Doc, keep an eye on Murphy. Any problems, we meet up back here, got it?"

"Can I least finish smoking?" You asked, not really whining or complaining as much as genuinely curious.

"Smoke while you walk," Warren told you. "Once you two clear the inside, we'll join you - one of you wait by the doors, and we'll come, okay?"

"Okay."

The group split into their assigned roles, and as you and 10k entered the shop, you chuckled. No Zs inside at all, but most of the aisles were ransacked and emptied, and probably had been since the outbreak; that didn't stop you both, though, taking your time to examine each aisle; with his gun on his back, 10k was happy to wheel around a trolley that had been abandoned by the doors.

"Fuck, I haven't been shopping in ages," you chuckled, looking around with awe. But then you spotted something that made you grin and run down the aisle, nearly skidding on the perfectly flat and slick surface. "10k! Look! They have fucking classic rock CDs! They've got one with all the best hits and everything!"

He made his way as quickly to your side as he could, making sure to stop every now and then to look around for Zs, but when he finally reached you, he chucked his gun on his shoulder and leaned in a little to examine the various discs; there were some with Slayer, some with Metallica, some with Slipknot, some with Judas Priest, some with Pantera, some with Iron Maiden, some with Black Sabbath, some with Megadeth, some with Anthrax, some with Rolling Stones, some with Jimi Hendrix - there was a little bit of everything, he allowed you to go through each and every one of them before you shrugged off your bag and threw a few in, including one that had a collection of love songs and one that was just generic pop songs. You took your time going through the aisles, picking up little nonsense bits here and there, such as a boiler suit and a faux leather choker with longer spikes as well as matching wristbands; the thought of you wearing the choker made 10k blush a little, swallowing thickly and looking away with wide eyes. When you grew bored of looking around, and once you had ensured that there were definitely no Zs around, you gave the signal for Warren and the others to join, and after taking everything that you could all carry, only this time, instead of having to walk however many miles, there were cars parked nearby, some of them with full tanks of petrol and diesel; again, you were with 10k, Doc driving with Murphy in the passenger seat as the two of you piled into the back, everyone else in the bigger muscle car that trailed in front. You brought one of the CDs out of your bag, and leaned forward to hand it to Doc, who quite happily put it in, but when he heard the song, he groaned loudly. 

“You really had to pick the worst ones they had?”

“What?” You chuckled, raising a brow. “It’s fucking Meat Loaf, you absolute bin bag!”

10k leaned back a little, keeping an eye out of the window as he watched everything zoom past, but when you put your leg on his, his hand instinctively going to you, he frowned; something wet and something sticky on your clothes that made his heart beat with worry as he clenched his jaw and looked down. There, just above your knee, was a small pool of blood, and when he looked at you, you sighed, closed your eyes tightly. 

“I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t see that…” 

“What did you do?” He asked quietly, eyes going wide and his words fading as worry took over him more than he wanted to admit. 

You shrugged, rolling up your jeans so that you could show him the impressive scab on your leg; it didn’t look like a bite, thankfully, it looked more like you had caught it on something or scratched it on a bit of wire or wood. “You remember the other night, when me and Murphy couldn’t sleep, so we stayed up all night?”

“Yeah.” 

“I, uh, I kinda tripped over my own feet and got caught on Addy’s bat… she washed it that night, don’t worry, but… still cut my leg a little.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 10k asked with a murmur. 

You shrugged, smiling. “I didn’t want you to worry - besides, I’m fine, I just… knocked the scab off while we were walking.” 

Deciding to trust you, 10k didn’t bother to press further, only making sure not to touch the wound and to aggravate it further, as he saw the way that you flinched and bared your teeth when he accidentally brushed against the swollen and sensitive flesh; you, though, you switched positions, laying your head in his lap and grinning up at him as you dared to brokenly sing along to the song that was currently playing. 

“Yes, it's getting very late, honey, please don't make me wait, kiss me again, you know I'm so in love with you that I don't know what to do, baby, kiss me again, kiss me again.”

Murphy scoffed, rolling his eyes and groaning loudly as he looked back at you and 10k and sighed heavily. “Listen, as much as I adore this whole love-in-the-apocalypse thing you two have going - can you reign it in?”

You put your middle finger up to him. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you the fucking romance police, now?”

“I might be,” Murphy threatened. 

“Murph.” You deadpanned. “Fuck off.” 

“C’mon, Murphy, leave the kids alone,” Doc said, shaking his head. “They’re not hurting anybody, man.” 

10k smiled down at you, his features burning with pink as he struggled for words, only able to whisper a little as he dared to comment. “I… I like your singing, (y/n).” 

You laughed a little, biting at your bottom lip as you looked into his eyes. “Thanks, Ten… but I know you’re still worried about my leg.” 

“I just don’t want it to get infected.” 

“It won’t,” you shook your head before letting out a harsh sigh. “I’ll get Doc to look at it when we stop next, okay? You can watch him patch it up, if you want to.” 

“Okay,” 10k agreed, going completely stiff and freezing up when you dared to pull him down enough so that you could grab his neck and kiss his cheek sweetly. 

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Murphy grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Hey, Shakespeare! Can you stop kissing your little boyfriend for five minutes?”

“Hey! Murphy! Give me your cigarettes or shut the fuck up!” You replied, biting back the urge to laugh, but when Murphy threw the remainder of his cigarettes at you, you hummed, and looked at 10k apologetically. “I did say-” 

“I know,” 10k nodded, smiling a little. “Don’t worry about it.” 

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (23-29 Oct 2022)

ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒᵈ ᵍᶦʳˡᶦᵉˢ

�� STUFF I READ 📚

🥰 Casual Encounters (MoreThanSlightly (cadignan)) - 66K, modern no-powers shrinkyclinks - always forget just how incredible this fic is! the pining and angst are truly exquisite while we know they're being two dumbasses standing in a pine forest. plus the descriptions of steve's painting are incredible. (as is the actual art someone made)

😊👂‍You Can’t Be Serious (Kal Penn, author & narrator) - entertaining memoir, (unsurprisingly) excellent narration

🙂They Do It With Mirrors (Miss Marple #5) (Agatha Christie)

🥰👂‍Role Model (Game Changers #5) (Rachel Reid, author; Cooper North, narrator) - Game Changers is just one of my fave series of all-time and some chat on the Discord about one of the side characters made me wanna do a reread of this. We definitely need more soft smol bears in hockey romances!

💖💖 +154K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

Dying of love but it's okay (prufrocks) - Stranger Things: Steddie, 16K - quality angst!

domestic (Ark) - OFMD: BlackBonnet, 33K - really lovely canon-divergent 'what comes next', just pure blissful domestic goodness

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Ghosts (US) - s2, e4

Letters Live: Taika Waititi reads a hilarious letter about a speeding ticket

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Strong Songs Bonus Episodes - Weird Al For Nothin' And Your Jokes For Free

Desert Island Discs - Jay Blades, presenter and furniture restorer

Switched on Pop - Up late with Taylor Swift’s ‘Midnights’

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Cassadaga with Jamie Loftus

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Houdini’s Grave

Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster - Ep 153: Joseph Quinn

Vibe Check - Tempest in a Teapot

99% Invisible #513 - The Safety Bicycle

It's Been a Minute - The Grim Reaper of retail: Spirit Halloween

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Luomus Spiders

Shedunnit Book Club - Bonus: Introducing Leandra

Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster - Ep 87: Sarah Millican (Christmas Special)

Twenty Thousand Hertz+ - MicroHertz: Halloween Hertz

Ologies with Alie Ward - Vampirology (VAMPIRES) Part 1 with Jeff Holdeman

One Year - 1942: The Year Everyone Got Married

Into It - The Abortion Episode

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Spooky Sites with the Places Team

Films To Be Buried With - Quinta Brunson

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

'80s Pop #1's

'80s Workout

The Duran Duran Tribute Album [various artists]

Reel Big Fish

Classical For Autumn

The Wrecking Crew

Rancid radio

Sylvester

[hockeyboysiguess]

three french horns -> three goal horns | n. mackinnon

a/n: and like clockwork, here is fic number three in my 12 days of christmas series! i wrote this one a while ago and i hurt myself re-reading it to proof it, so i hope you all like it! rest of the christmas series linked here.

word count:  4,037

warnings: alcohol, drinking 

“Hey, Nate?” you called out from the living room when you heard the back door open, signaling his reappearance in the house after letting the dogs outside. 

“Yeah, baby?” he asked as he stomped his boots on the mat, shaking the last bit of the early Denver snow off. 

You asked the question you’d been asking him since two weeks after his birthday, the same question you’d been asking a variation of for the three months before his birthday. “Nate, what do you want for Christmas?” 

The sound that left Nate’s mouth was barely human, a groan coming from deep within, from the place that never knew what he wanted for any major gift giving holiday of any kind. You tried to be original, get sentimental things, but it was hard to buy for someone who could literally buy anything they ever wanted. Nate didn’t have big, expensive wishes, so if he wanted something, he often just bought it on the spot and you were none-the-wiser until it showed up at his house. This penchant, this bad habit, carried throughout the holiday season; it was a perpetual state of being for Nathan MacKinnon. This meant that items Nate ordered for himself were as likely to show up December 24th as any other day of the year, which was eternally infuriating as a person in his life trying to buy him gifts on the semi-regular basis. 

“I don’t know,” he answered you, like he did every other time. “I’ll like it because it’s from you.” 

That response was sweet the first, second, and half-sweet the third time he’d used it on you. Now, that response was worn out like an old pair of jeans, with holes in the thighs and the knees hanging together by a thread, absolutely unusable at this point in time really. Yet Nate continued to say it, like that string of seven words didn’t light a fire in your stomach completely unlike the kind crackling under the stockings on the mantle right now. 

“Nate,” you groaned, all too similarly to how he had when you asked your question. Spend enough time with a person and you pick up their habits. You and Nate were a completely unoriginal example of that. “You know I hate when you say that.” 

Nate rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know. A hat trick? But you can’t get me that, I’ve got to get that for me.” 

The infamous illusive hat trick. While it wasn’t those dreaded seven words, you were pretty sure you had heard about this hat trick that was alluding him every other day at this point. In all fairness to Nate, the amount of times he had scored twice in the first two periods of a game this season and been held off the scoreboard in the second was absurd. Commentators were joking about it, his teammates were chirping him over not one, not two, but three missed empty netters that would’ve sealed it, even though Nate liked to say those didn’t really count as hat tricks. Greater than all of that, Nate was starting to incredibly frustrated with himself and his performances. You knew Nate was a competitive guy before you even went on your first date with him, but his competitiveness ran deep and honestly you weren’t sure your relationship would work if you were even an ounce more competitive than you were. Nate had to win, he had to achieve his goals. This goal was quite simply just three goals, but it continued to be just out of reach this season and coming up on the holiday season, pushing the halfway mark, Nate was starting to think it might not happen this year. 

“You’ll get one, Nate,” you sighed. “You’re so close and you’re too good not to get whatever you put your mind to.” 

“I got a good feeling about the game tomorrow,” he replied, sliding up next to you on the couch to throw a Christmas sweater-covered arm around your shoulders. “My good luck charm is going to be there, right?” 

Nate wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but he said he always scored more whenever you came. Statistically, a complete lie, but it made you feel special all the same. He kissed your temple softly as he relaxed into the couch cushions next to you. 

“So, what are we watching? Classic or trashy Christmas?” 

That question itself somehow encapsulated every single reason you loved Nathan MacKinnon, despite his pension for buying his own Christmas presents, his overly competitive nature, and the difficulty that came with trying to buy him a present. Nate didn’t love Christmas movies; he wasn’t a hater like some people you’d dated before, but you adored them, both classic and trashy alike. Nate jumped on board with whatever you liked, no questions asked. He always said you didn’t sign up to date all of his teammates that walked through the door scrounging for homemade food or the long hours alone, the least he could do was be as supportive of the things you liked as you were about hockey for him. Nate’s support came in casual, steady waves of constantly and consistently showing up, no matter how tired he was, no matter how long the day before had been. He might fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie, but Nate was here and active and present for as long as he could stay awake. He’d cross deserts and move mountains for an hour with you, and some days that’s what it took, but Nate showed up and jumped on board, which made him the easiest person in the world to love in spite of everything else. It made him the only person you wanted to spend this Christmas and every other one in the future with.

The next day, with his last name on your back and a Santa hat on your head, you found yourself in a position that felt all too familiar this season. You were watching the ice with eager eyes among the other wives and girlfriends. Your breath caught in your throat halfway through the first when you saw two seconds after him that there was nothing between Nate and the net but open ice and a goaltender. You slowly stood up, leaning forward as if those all important inches would help you see the ice better. You didn’t miss the puck sailing over the blocker’s side of the goaltender, or the eruption of cheers from everyone around you as the goal horn rang out, hopefully the first of three for Nate this evening. Mel hugged you, as if you had anything to do with Nate scoring. You adjusted your hat, pulling at the fluffy white edge until it sat a little less haphazardly on your head as you cheered. 

“Two more, right?” Mel waggled her eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes. 

“For my sake, I hope so,” you laughed. 

Going into Christmas break without this elusive hat trick meant the next four days would be spent with Nate’s mind half at the rink, trying to scheme and plan and game his way into a hat trick, as if the part he was missing was anything other than luck. Maybe he didn’t need regular luck though, maybe just a little bit of Christmas would do the trick tonight. Your third beer in, a vain attempt to calm your nerves with alcohol, and five minutes into the second, on the power play, you watched as Nate easily sailed in his second goal of the game from the high slot, causing the ever familiar cheers and the ringing of the Avalanche goal horn to sound out across the arena. 

Two down, and hopefully one to go. 

“Hatty watch,” one of the other girls sang out from behind you, giving your shoulders a squeeze. 

You let out a loud, long breath, causing a wave of laughter to ripple across the other women around you. Mel teased you about it; they all did. Nate’s quest was well known among the group, something they were equally supportive and teasing about. 

“He’ll get one,” Mel assured you with a comforting pat to your leg. “He’s too good not to.”

You really thought he had it. You watched as Mikko and Nate peeled off from the defenders caught on an odd change, leading to a two-on-one with a lone opposing forward doing his best, but poor, impersonation of a defensemen. Mikko passed the puck to Nate, which Nate passed back easily and set himself up for the perfect slap shot on the return. The quick passing had sent the other team’s player sprawling over the ice. It was just Nate and the goaltender, who was frantically shifting his eyes from Mikko to Nate, tilting back and forth on the ice. Mikko’s pass was perfect, right on the middle of Nate’s tape and Nate was ready for the pass. It was tracking high glove side, exactly where Nate wanted it to go, right into the back of the net. The goalie was facing Mikko, two key seconds behind the actual action. Except out of nowhere, the Grinch stole Christmas and Nate’s hat trick when the goalie’s glove suddenly appeared in the path the puck was taking and wrapped around the puck, just on the wrong side of the goal line for Nate. 

The referee blew the whistle and signaled no goal. Nate’s hands dropped down, stick hanging low. His head tilted up toward the ceiling of the arena and you could practically hear the groan rise from deep in his chest. It was absolute robbery at its finest and the entire arena knew luck wasn’t on Nate’s side that night. You slumped down into your seat, preparing yourself for yet another two goal game and a frustrated Nate waiting for you in the tunnel when it was over. There were another twenty minutes left in the game, but if the first half of the season had taught you anything, third periods weren’t where Nate racked up anything other than wins and assists, both of which he loved, but he just wanted a third goal, just once. Mikko and Gabe each having one already this season, all six goals involving Nate as either the primary or secondary assist, didn’t help either. 

“I think you need to pray or something,” Mel told you with a laugh. “Pray to anything and anyone out there at this point.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the ceiling of the Pepsi arena, “Santa, I know this isn’t how you take requests,” Mel and the girls around you were already laughing, “but please, pretty freaking please, can we just get some Christmas miracle magic vibes in here? It’s all he wants for Christmas. Please and thank you and I hope you have a Merry Christmas.” 

“Are you supposed to say amen if you pray to Santa?” someone behind you asked. 

“Look I’m not opposed to it,” you sighed. “It just didn’t feel like the right ending when I was asking for a Christmas miracle.”

The girls all laughed and you just stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Santa might grant your unorthodox request delivered via an even more unorthodox method. Maybe you should’ve written him a letter and dropped it into one of those charity red mailboxes at Macy’s. Maybe Nate just wouldn’t be getting the one thing he wanted for Christmas and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You knew he was joking when he asked for a hat trick for Christmas, but joking or not, it was the only thing he even sort of mentioned wanting. If sending out a Christmas wish audibly in the middle of the Pepsi arena was what it took, you were more than happy to do it. 

You grabbed your fourth and fifth beer together during the intermission, knowing full and well that you didn’t want to miss a second of one of Nate’s shifts in case something good happened. If after all of this time, all of this waiting, all of Nate’s back and forth debating, if you missed his hat trick goal because you were grabbing another beer, you would have to guess that higher powers didn’t exist and the hockey gods loved laughing at you and maybe Christmas wasn’t that magical after all. 

The third period was half over when you finished your fourth beer. Your right leg had been bouncing on the concrete since the period started. Nate was getting some good looks, and added another assist to his point tally for the night, but you and everyone knew what he actually wanted tonight. A slashing call with eight minutes to go put the Avalanche back on the power play, and you knew Nate was going to fight to play every bit of those two minutes he could get, which meant you were about to be in for a mentally exhausting two minutes. Mel offered her hand to you, already knowing you would need her to ground you through this. 

The first shot on the power play from Mikko ended up in the opposing goaltender’s glove. Nate lined up for the next face-off and you swore you didn’t breathe as soon as the puck left the referee's hand. Nate swept it back easily to a waiting Gabe. You gripped Mel’s hand hard, grateful you both did this for each other often enough that she didn’t mind. Nate slid up through the low slot and you saw the stars aligning as Gabe sent the puck perfectly in Nate’s direction. Nate was already ready for it when it came, the puck on his stick for less than a second. Your eyes went wide and you felt like you were about to break Mel’s hand as the goaltender shrugged his shoulder up to block Nate’s shot, but he came up short and the puck hit the back of the net. 

You were screaming as you jumped to your feet, arms wrapping tightly around Mel as someone else hugged you from behind, again like you’d done anything other than practically give yourself a heart attack watching it. Nate was surrounded by his teammates on the ice, earning a swift pat on the top of the head from Gabe. A glance up at the Jumbotron showed you the wide, bright smile on his face, filling with relief and absolute joy. Mel grabbed your hat by the pom pom and chucked it down towards the ice, making you laugh and a smile that rivaled Nate’s come across your face.

“Finally,” you breathed out a sigh of relief as the arena calmed itself, calming you with it. 

You plopped back down into your seat, hatless with half a beer and your pride in Nate left to coast you through the next ten minutes. You knew Nate was going to be in a good mood, and you just wanted to get through the next ten minutes of the game to get to him and congratulate him yourself. The score was heavy in favor of the Avs and they weren’t in any danger of losing this game, so you got to drink your beer and let out a long breath you’d been holding since Nate first came home after back to back two goal games in October without a hat trick in sight. 

You were practically bouncing on your heels as you waited in the tunnel for him, fingers fussing with the frayed edge of your denim jacket to get out some of your anxious energy. The second he rounded the corner, a wide, gorgeous smile on his face, you ran toward him. Nate wasn’t the type for large public displays of affection, but satisfaction from your incredibly competitive boyfriend was a hell of an influencer and he opened his arms wide for you. You jumped into him and he stumbled a second before catching you easily, one hand guiding your legs around his waist, the other supporting the back of your thighs. 

“Congratulations,” you mumbled in his ear as he laughed at your openly shared excitement for him. 

“Thanks, baby,” he told you, the smile he was wearing evident in his voice.

“Proud of you always,” you reminded him as you untucked your head from his neck. 

You said it after every single game, win or lose, five points or no points, goal or no goal, you told Nate you were proud of him after every single game. The stats sheet didn’t matter to you. You loved him and you saw the grueling work he put in every single day, every single second he was on the ice. You were proud of him no matter what, and it was one of the thousands of reasons he had come to love you for. Your support, your pride in him and the work he put in never wavered. It was steadfast, something hard to come by in a life as crazy as he lived. You were his rock, his home, and he felt it like the gradual, comforting warmth from sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve, when the world seemed a little more good than it actually was, when you told him you were proud of him. 

Nate smiled as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to your lips before gently guiding your feet back to the ground. He pulled you in tighter, collapsing you into him as he let out a long breath that had been holding his tension for months, caught in the hollows of his chest, finally working its way out into the open air. It had been haunting him, like a ghastly Halloween hangover that dared to last until Christmas. Thankfully, it was December now and Nate felt lighter and freer than he had in months. 

“You got what you wanted for Christmas,” you mumbled into his chest, causing his chest to vibrate with laughter. 

“Guess I sort of did, yeah.” He kissed the top of your head softly. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ready for four days of you and me time?” you teased him a little. 

Despite your teasing, his response was entirely genuine, “Been looking forward to it for weeks now.” 

Your smile in response to his words stuck with you the entire way home. Nate loved you in actions, but sometimes it was nice to hear words from him as well. You kicked off your shoes at the front door, just in the knick of time before the dogs could come and greet you both. 

“Want me to crack a bottle of wine or champagne?” you asked Nate as he dropped his bag by the front door. 

“Champagne,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple. “We’re celebrating tonight.” 

You slid into the kitchen, dogs hot on your heels, as you made a beeline for the champagne in the fridge. You’d slid it in before you left for the game on the chance Nate finally got his hat trick tonight. You hadn’t wanted to drink warm champagne if that was the case and now, holding the cold bottle of champagne and two flutes, you knew you had made the right decision betting on your boyfriend tonight. He rounded the corner into the kitchen a few moments later, game day suit still on, jacket and tie lost back in your shared bedroom.

“Glad you got yourself what you wanted for Christmas, Nate,” you smiled teasingly at him as you started to fuss with the gold foil over the champagne cork. 

“Before you pop that,” he told you, reaching a hand out to place over yours as you worked on the foil covering the cork, “I, um, I have something for you.” 

“Nate, it’s December twenty-third,” you sighed, setting the bottle down on the cool stone counter. “Can’t it wait a couple of days?” 

Nate smiled softly at you, a smile that seemed to mean he knew more than you in this exact moment, “I’ve actually been holding on to this gift for a long time and I think tonight is the perfect night to give it to you. Are you okay if I blow up Christmas a little bit?” 

You sighed again and gave Nate a stern look up and down, but the softness in his blue eyes and the innocence in his lazy smile pulled you in and had you nodding in approval. Your nod caused nerves to dance in Nate’s eyes and his hands to slide into his pockets, fidgeting with their contents. He shifted softly from one foot to the other. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment to watch his feet move before he slowly lifted his head back up in time with a bounce on his heels. 

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled softly to himself. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, “I told you I don’t know what I want for Christmas. Hell, I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted for my birthday and that was back in September. The truth is I’ve known what I’ve actually wanted the whole time. The hat trick was nice and all, but it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

“Whatever it is, you could’ve told me,” you chided him a little. 

Your words were met with an anxious smile and more shuffling of his feet across the floor. He shook his head softly and let out a tight breath before continuing. 

“The only thing I want for Christmas is something you can give me, but you can get it for me,” he told you softly, his voice shaking as he spoke, the nerves in his eyes and his feet and his hands tightening and constricting his voice resonating in his chest. 

Nate slowly pulled a hand out of his pocket before purposefully, and painstakingly slowly, dropping down on one knee in front of you. Your hands flew over your mouth on instinct and your eyes clouded over instantly. Nate smiled softly at your reaction, trying desperately not to let what he hoped your actions meant take over and make him too hopeful of your answer to his question to prevent him from asking it. He carefully opened the small black box in his hand to show you your early Christmas present, a beautiful ring nestled among the black velvet inside. 

“For Christmas, I’d like for you to say you’ll be my wife,” he continued slowly and as steadily as he could. “The thing I’m most proud of, of everything I’ve ever done, is being your partner. I love you so much more than I say, but I hope I show it enough that you want to sign up for me forever because it’s just you. It’s just you forever, for every single day, every single holiday, every single moment. I want to spend every single Christmas for the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say? Will you be my wife? Will you make my Christmas wish come true?” 

The cliches hung thick in his words, but the emotions behind them, the sentiment was so true you could feel it in the very core of who you were. Nathan MacKinnon saw you, faults and gifts and everything in between and loved you in the steadiest, most true way you had ever known. In the light of the Christmas tree, in the home you built together, with the life you build together palatable around you, Nate was asking you to build the rest of it together. You didn’t have to think about your answer. 

“Yes, Nate. Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Nerves gave way to relief which even more quickly gave way to joy on Nate’s face as he slowly slid the ring he’d had tucked in the back drawer for months onto your finger where it belonged. Nate let out a long breath at the sight of it finally on your hand before slowly standing up in front of you, his hands reaching out to cup your face gingerly. 

“Best early Christmas present ever,” you told him with a wide smile on your face. 

He smiled back just as widely and happily as you grinned at him, “Merry Christmas, my future wife.”

[ryanrosshq]

july: questionnaire // @cityofdreamstasks QUESTIONS

What is your nickname? RyRo, Skittle, I don’t know if Ryan counts?

Do you have any pets? I do. I have two hound dogs: A Basset Hound named Dorothy , but just call her Dottie, and a Bloodhound named Elwood, he’s part dinosaur. I have a Bengal cat called Captain Knots, and a salamander called Lickabod Crane. There are also animals that have adopted me, by which I mean they visit my garden, I have a bunch of birds, including a crow that brings me gifts, a fox and I think two raccoons, I’m not sure. 

What are your hobbies? I love to read, I love to collect oddities so visiting antique malls and thrift stores is really enjoyable for me. I am really into archery, I use a longbow. I’ve been into hockey since I was a kid, I play ice hockey a fair bit, and I go watch the Kings a lot. Witchcraft? Not sure if that counts as a hobby? I like Ren’ Faires too.

Do you believe in astrology? If so, what is your zodiac sign? I do believe in astrology, yes. I live by the moon, very much. Virgo sun, Cancer sun, Scorpio rising.

Are you more of an extrovert or introvert? It depends on who I’m with. Around my friends and people who know me well, I’m very outgoing, around people I don’t know very well, I’m almost cripplingly shy. 

What are two of your pet peeves? Pushing beliefs on other people, regardless of what it is. People who touch my car without asking first. 

Do you like or dislike surprises? Why or why not? It totally depends. If it’s a private surprise between me and one other person, totally fine. If it’s a surprise party I don’t hate the idea I’m just not a huge fan.

If you could share a meal with any 4 individuals, living or dead, who would they be? Sir Paul McCartney, Marc Bolan, Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi 

How would you describe your personal style? 1950′s swamp witch who got lost in the forest and had to comb their hair with bracken for the last 15 years. 

What’s one thing you can’t live without? I want to say music. I want to say dogs. I’m going to say my friends. 

What are your go to comfort things (items, places, movies, etc)? My basement at home is a studio and den. I have a projector in there so whenever life gets loud, I disappear down there and I either fuck around and make some music or I put on a horror movie. I love classic horrors, but my go-to is The Nightmare Before Christmas or The Shining, or Eli Roth’s Clown.

When you’re in a bad mood, who is someone in your life that makes it better? My good friends Dan, Z or Kate. My soul sister, @dreamingofsadie​

What is your biggest fear? Leaving nothing behind when I go. I also have arachibutyrophobia... Which I realize is very specific, I had a traumatic incident as a child. I still eat peanut butter just very carefully. 

What’s something most people may not know about you? My government name is George Ross III. My middle name is Ryan.

What is your most treasured possession? John Lennon Gibson Les Paul Junior. 

Excluding essential items or anything with streaming/internet capabilities, what 5 items would you need/want if you were stranded on a deserted island? A guitar, my notebook, a pen, a copy of The Shining, sun screen. Does that count as an essential?

What is one thing on your bucket list? To live until I die.

If you could only keep one song on repeat, what would you be listening to? I Am The Walrus by The Beatles

If you had to spontaneously get a tattoo, what would you end up getting? I have a knee high boot on my wrist, maybe I’ll get one on the other wrist to match. 

If you could live anywhere for the rest of your life, except for where you currently live, where would it be? Helsinki

If you could have been part of any experience in the past, what would you have liked to experience? The moon landing.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love? Gave away my passport.

What has been your favorite movie theater experience? I always really enjoy going to the movies so any experience is my favorite. 

If you could have anyone play you in a movie or TV show, who would it be? 10 year old Daniel Radcliffe.

What is your favorite thing about your career? Getting to do what I love, getting to travel around and meet bunches of people.

Do you regret any career moves? Uh, yeah. And no.

What is your dream project? Your ultimate career goal? I generally live in the now. I’m more or less happy with the way things are going for me right now. 

If you didn’t have the career you have today, what would you be doing instead? I started a creative writing course at university but I dropped out to focus on the band. Maybe I’d be writing? I’m not too sure.

[sebastienlelivre]

Mistakes Aren’t Always Regrets - Stargate SG-1/Burn Notice Crossover - 2626 words

They say they found Daniel Jackson alive on a deserted planet. They were wrong. 

AO3 link in the source.

Things started to go pear-shaped about six months after Daniel died. More than they had been since Daniel had died. Sure, the intergalactic threats were the same. The SGC still ran like top secret clockwork, but things hadn't been the same. Jonas wasn't Daniel, no matter how much he tried to be. Carter and Teal'c had all made Jonas feel like a member of the team, but Jack had kept his distance.

Because he wasn't Daniel, obviously, or so he told Carter when she asked. But also because there was some deeply buried fear about getting too close, getting someone else killed, and there was that whole part about Jonas and his people (technically!) being responsible for Daniel's death. It was just better if Jack kept his distance.

So while the rest of his team was off enjoying their time as a team together, Jack was at home. Drinking alone, and watching decades old hockey games on ESPN Classic. Because it was better that way, and even Jack recognized the ridiculousness of that statement. It wasn't healthy. He knew it wasn't healthy, and he knew it was leading him toward a downward spiral of epic proportions. He just wasn't entirely sure it mattered.

He almost missed the ringing of his phone due to his focus on the game and the beer and not on his job, not tonight. When he finally picked up, all he said was, "Yeah?" while he kept his attention focused on the game.

"Colonel," the voice on the other end said, with just enough inflection behind the word that Jack actually sat up straighter.

"Sir?"

He'd been expecting Walter. It was usually Walter that called when Jack was needed on base, usually with orders from Hammond, but the sound of Hammond's voice on the other end made something cold and heavy settle in his stomach. Something had happened, obviously, why else would the general be doing Walter's job?

"I know it's your night off, Jack, but you're needed back on base. SG-9 found something you need to see," Hammond said. His voice sounded reluctant, but not sad, not like he was delivering bad news. If anything it sounded vague, which fitted what Jack had just been told. By the time he hung up with Hammond, Jack was no longer worried that someone else on his team had ended up dead, but now he had other things to worry about.

Like what, exactly, could SG-9 have found on some distant planet that concerned Jack? SG-1 had never been to that world, there was no reported Goa'uld activity there, SG-9 wasn't even a combat unit, and the rest of Jack's team wasn't being called back. Just him, and Jack was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with overdue paperwork or supply requests.

Arriving on base and changing from his street clothes into the slightly less comfortable BDUs, that was the easy part. The hard part was actually tracking down General Hammond, or at least finding someone who knew where he was. Walter finally directed him down to one of the interrogation rooms. Hammond was standing outside it, staring in through the window, and he turned quickly, effectively blocking Jack's chance to look into the room.

"So. I'm here," Jack began, but then reconsidered actually saying more. Instead, he simply lifted his eyebrows, knowing that Hammond would get what Jack was really asking without him actually having to ask. He knew he'd succeeded when Hammond sighed and turned to look back in the small window. Jack remained where he was, fighting the temptation to move behind Hammond just so he could see who was in the room.

"He doesn't remember anything. Keeps giving the wrong name. Doctor Frasier's taken blood, tissue samples, hair, anything she can use to run DNA, but those results are going to take a while. SG-9 assumed... well, they made an assumption, brought him through the Gate, but once we realized he didn't know anything..." Hammond trailed off as he looked over at Jack before stepping slightly to the side, giving Jack room to move over.

Jack's mind was racing. He still wasn't entirely sure what was going on, still didn't know who was in the room, but his mind was helpfully supplying a list of names. Maybe Bra'tac, or Ry'ac, or Maybourne. Maybe someone stumbled on Apophis for the millionth time. The one name he refused to even think about, refused to hope for, was Daniel.

And that's exactly who was sitting in the room, staring at the door like he was going to bolt for it the first chance he got. The longer Jack looked at him, though, the more he knew. The line of tension in the man's body, the way he sat ramrod straight, straighter than Daniel ever did, the lines around his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. This might look like Daniel, but unless the Ancients were fond of breaking people, this wasn't really Daniel.

He stepped back, only to realize that Hammond was still talking, and Jack hadn't heard a word of it. "Sir?" he asked, keeping his voice calm. Even. Both things he didn't exactly feel right then.

"The choice is yours, Jack, on whether to re-inform Doctor Jackson about the program or wait until he remembers on his own. If he remembers on his own," Hammond repeated, but Jack was shaking his head before the general could even finish what he was saying.

"That's not Daniel," Jack said. He wasn't even sure how it was possible, not really, Carter would know more. Obviously it was some kind of alternate reality thing. Some weird timeline where Daniel had been through hell. Or had just gotten old. Or maybe Daniel had a twin brother he'd never mentioned. Unlikely, but, you know, weirder things had happened before.

Jack turned back to stare at the man through the tiny window in the door. Obviously this guy, whoever he was, he knew he was being watched, and he still hadn't taken his eyes off the door, off Jack's face. There was this instinctive need to move, to look away first, to duck out of sight. Jack stood his ground though, his eyes never wavering from the man who looked so much like his dead best friend.

"Colonel?" Jack wasn't entirely sure if Hammond had said anything else. It was entirely possible he just wanted Jack to clarify his statement. He shrugged, reaching his hand out for the door knock, but Hammond took hold of his wrist stopping him. "Explain, Colonel."

"Look at him. Daniel has never..." Jack paused, licking his lips as he tried to think of what he was trying to describe. He wasn't entirely sure he had the words for it. Just that the man in that room? Even surrounded by armed Marines and a few airmen, that that man was the most dangerous person in the room. "That's not Daniel." He broke eye contact finally as he turned to look at Hammond with another shrug.

For his part, Hammond just nodded and turned from the door to continue down the hallway. Jack followed a few steps behind him. "He says his name is Victor Stecker-Epps. He won't give up anything else beyond his social and what he says is a CIA identification number." Hammond glanced back down the hallway then looked at Jack. "If that's not Doctor Jackson, we'll have a bigger problem."

Jack knew that. Strange lookalikes on other planets? They have enough enemies that could, and would, do that. "I assume Frasier's running all kinds of tests." Hammond didn't need to answer that. It wasn't really a question. Frasier, as much as Jack didn't enjoy being poked and prodded, was good at her job. The best, and she'd cared about Daniel almost as much as he did.

"We'll know soon."

Jack was figuring 'soon' would be a couple of days. In the end, it only took a few hours before Frasier knocked on the door to Hammond's office with a stack of file folders in her hands. She waited until Hammond acknowledged her to begin speaking.

"Not a Goa'uld, not a Replicator. He's completely human," she said, passing one copy of the file to Jack and the other to General Hammond. Jack only had to flip through the first couple of pages before he got the rest of her revelation.

"Not Daniel either," Jack said, though he had the decency to raise his eyebrows like he was maybe asking a question. Frasier just shook her head slightly and muttered an apology.

"The name and social security number didn't turn up anything definite," she added, indicating the report that had been shoved into the back of the medical file. "Fingerprints and DNA also came up empty. There was a Stecker-Epps family in New York that had a son about thirty-five years ago. The child was stillborn." Hammond barely seemed to be listening to the doctor, but he still managed a quiet 'thank you' before Frasier left the room.

Jack closed the file and set it down on Hammond's desk. He didn't need to read it. Hell, he didn't want to read it. It was only a confirmation of what he already knew.

"Let me talk to him, sir," Jack said, though he stopped right after finishing that last word because he didn't really know why he'd asked that. It didn't matter if he spoke to this Victor guy or not. Hammond gave him a look before closing his file as well. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes before shaking his head.

"We don't know what we're dealing with. It could be some new kind of threat," Hammond replied, but Jack could see he was only listing off the reason why it was a bad idea, and he hadn't, yet, said anything resembling a no. "I don't need to remind you that if that's not Doctor Jackson, you will not and cannot tell him anything about the program."

"I'll leave my copy of Secrets of the SGC in my locker, sir," Jack said, but his heart wasn't really in it. Hammond just sighed and dismissed Jack without another word. That was as good as permission, and it didn't take that long for Jack to make his way back down to the detention level with only a brief stop at the armory to grab a seat. Just in case.

When he opened the door to the interrogation room, he gestured immediately for the guards to leave. When they looked at him dubiously, Jack sighed and pointed. "You can wait right out there, ready to rush in and save me from the dead archeologist. Go." He waited until the guards shut the door behind them before Jack made his way to the chair opposite Victor. Instantly, Victor was back to staring at him, his eyes distant, cold, and still so similar to Daniel's that it made Jack's chest hurt for a moment.

"My name-..."

Jack didn't let him get out the rest of that sentence before he cut in with, "Yeah. We know. Victor Stecker-Epps. CIA agent with the world's stupidest plan. What exactly are you playing at, Vic?" Jack put just enough curiosity in his voice to make his head tilt actually seem more interested and less patronizing. Victor doesn't rise to the bait, or at least, doesn't rise to the bait that Jack expected.

"Victor. Not Vic. Not V. Not Vickie. Victor," he said, and Jack had to school his face and force himself not to react to the man who even sounded like Daniel.

"Jack O'Neill, Colonel, United State Air Force, and now that we know each other's names, you still haven't answered my question."

And Victor still didn't answer the question, but he did keep staring at Jack. Jack just wasn't sure if Victor was trying to make him look away first or if he was trying some other kind of psychological torture. Jack just bit his lip, tilted his head, and met Victor's eyes. All without flinching. He was proud of himself. This time, Victor was the one that broke first, looking away with a sigh that was really more of a huff.

"I'm not playing any kind of game. Personally, I'm wondering what, exactly, Management has planned, and I'd like to thank them personally for patching me up," Victor said that with a nonchalant shrug, one that drew Jack's attention to the fact that Victor wasn't hand-cuffed. That was going to end badly. Jack knew that almost immediately. Because even with Jack himself sitting there, something was still telling him that Victor was the most dangerous man in the room, and that his preferred version of thanking anyone was a bullet to the head.

"Right," Jack said with a nod, sitting up a little straighter. His hand was resting as nonchalantly as possible on the zat gun in his belt. He remembered the little things from Frasier's medical report. He had the same scars as Daniel, down to the appendectomy scar, but the difference was two bullet wounds, ones that should have (and might have) been fatal. "We don't exactly have management here, not unless you count the Pentagon, but I wouldn't really say management, more like meddlers," Jack said, gesturing with each word, just to make his point. Judging from the way his eyes were narrowed, the way his head tilted, Victor didn't really believe him.

Jack hated when people didn't believe him, especially when he was telling the truth. Victor went back to staring after that, his eyes once again locked on Jack. He recognized the look, of course. Victor was trying to figure him out, possibly even trying to figure out his weaknesses, or maybe just trying to figure out what game Jack just happened to be playing right at this moment.

"Your interrogation technique needs work," Victor finally said, his eyes still focused on Jack. His head was no longer tilted, though.

"This isn't an interrogation. You're not our prisoner. Granted, we can't let you leave on account of you maybe being an alien plot to destroy the world, but you're not being held captive." Mostly. Jack wasn't even sure they weren't just going to ship Victor off to Area 51 and be done with it.

"Aliens. Right," Victor said, actually chuckling like that wasn't the weirdest thing he'd heard all day. "And I'm sure I would believe that if it didn't all sound like a hoax thought up by a five year old. Or a bad movie."

"Then I guess you should probably get comfortable. We can't let you leave, and, frankly, we have no idea where you come from so we can't send you back," Jack said, rising to his feet. He looked at Victor for a moment, making sure to note the small differences, the way he held himself, the way he acted, the way he definitely wasn't Daniel. Jack nodded once turning to head toward the door when Victor's voice stopped him.

"They keep calling me 'Daniel Jackson' and no one will tell me why," he said, and in Jack's defense, Victor didn't actually ask Jack why either. So Jack didn't feel that guilty about shrugging as he reached the door. He glanced back, only once, as he pulled the door open.

"Don't know," was all he said as he stepped back into the hallway. He let the door clang shut behind him before he looked at the airmen still standing guard. "Get some kind of restraints on him, for crying out loud. He's not Doctor Jackson." Jack didn't bother to stick around and see if they really did that.

He needed to talk to Hammond, and then he needed a drink. Something harder than beer for once.