#field hockey problems

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[star2fishmeg]

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ

Pairing | Luke Hughes x afab!reader Summary | (comfort angst, fluff) | all it took was a terrible headache for y/n to break and really tell Luke what was wrong, and he provides the best remedy Authors Note | please accept this blurb based on a dream caused by a criminal headache I had while I get through celly blurbs and my inbox🥺

The headache that’d haunted her all day only pounded worse, pain relief only doing so much to ease the aching. Luke felt useless, there was only so much he could do and taking the pain away was not one of them. All he could do was gently caress her thigh hooked over his legs and hold her to his chest, arm wound around her waist and providing a kiss on her forehead every now and then. 

Her fingers traced feathery patterns over his skin, changing between his chest and following the ridges of his abs down to his v-line, feeling the heat that radiated off his body and embracing hers. They lay in silence, listening to breathing fall into sync and the video quietly playing from Luke’s phone and her brain worked overtime, the cogs turning and falling into the deepest pits of the human conscience, comments she’d read and heard emerging from her memory. The gossip pages, the media, other girlfriends and wives and maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t right for him; not mature enough, not established enough, not flexible enough and not pretty enough. 

Wetness seeped onto his bare skin, and he closed his phone, placing it onto the sheets before cupping her cheek, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, head just hurts.” She slid her hand over his stomach, cuddling into him but his fingers took her jaw, tilting her head up to face him. Worry spread across his face, eyes widening softly, eyebrows pulling together slightly.

“Y/n…” he said concerned, “talk to me, what’s it you always tell me? We’re a team?”

She paused and sighed, “Jus’...sometimes the people are right, I don’t deserve you. You’re this big-time, hotshot hockey player and I have nothing to my name, jus’ some chick.”

His grip around her tightened and he let her face go, slowly pulling her on top of his body completely, with consideration to the pounding in her head. Luke never liked the media and knew it came with his career, but when it impacted the people he loved the most, then he had a personal problem with it. His jaw tensed when more tears spilt onto his chest silently.

“Oh, angel,” Luke’s hand settled on the back of her head tenderly, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face while his arm secured around her middle, “who said that? You know that’s not true-” “-but it just is, Lu. Not a thriving model, not a career woman, just y/n who still relies on her parents half the time. Getting a part-time job has been tragic and while you’re working your ass off out there, I’m just sitting around.” She sobbed, Luke’s stomach twisting and he kissed her head. 

He’d never been confident in sharing how he felt, never being able to find the right words but with so much adrenaline and heartache running through his system, they seemed to fall off his tongue with a rawness to them. 

“But you’re not just ‘some chick’. That’s why I love you. You’re y/n. You’re a student who’s graduating soon, in a field she enjoys and you’re literally only twenty. Just because you aren’t living a life someone else is, doesn’t make you any less of a person. I don’t care that you’re not a public figure or whatever. Actually, I like that you aren’t and wish we went to college together because that would’ve been cool, so many parties to make out at. My point is that you bring normality, and I don’t care if you have a job or not, I’m always gonna support you in everything because I love you.” 

Y/n’s lip quivered, heart swelling as the sweet confession soaked into her ears. Typical Luke, even when he didn’t realise it, he always knew what to say. She pushed herself up onto her forearms, palms flat on his chest and his hands followed the curve of her spine up to her shoulder blades and down to her ass, soothingly with a small, comforting smile. 

He cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe one of her eyes before she melted into his palm, “Thank you, I love you so much.”

She leant in, pressing a long and slow kiss to his lips, moaning when he groped her ass and giggling. He didn’t mind taking that extra breath if it meant he could listen to her giggle and light up again. Luke slid his hand to the back of her neck, goosebumps running along her skin, and he pulled her into another adoring kiss. A kiss worth a thousand more words, with warmth, a deep kiss with his mouth opening to invite her tongue to meet his and lick into her mouth. She was just y/n and Luke wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Handle With Care - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Reader and Aaron meet for the first time before she starts as a full-time nanny for Jack.

Notes: Hopefully will be at least 5 parts! I'm excited to be writing again :)

Word Count: 4.6K

I always believed in new beginnings, but as I stood on Aaron’s doorstep, rolling a suitcase in one hand and a Vera Bradley duffel bag in the other, I was tempted to question my resolute thinking. It had yet to fail me. Not when I was hardly eighteen and living on the other side of the country, vying for my spot at the esteemed culinary arts program. And not when I’m twenty-four with a stint as the private chef

Professional chef turned nanny–for my father’s beloved mentee, no less. My parents, ever supportive and ever loving, practically held an intervention when I showed up on their suburban door step a fractured shell of the bubbly daughter they dropped off at the airport. 

Five years later, I’m sleeping in the same bed. I had nightmares about leaving once again. And yesterday I gave up that bed for a full-time position as Aaron Hotchner’s live-in nanny. Aaron, who I never even met, is my father’s protege. He knew him as a whip-smart, young lawyer from a family Law dynasty at Quantico. My father took him under his wing and even after his early retirement from the BAU they would get together for an annual work lunch. 

I was nearly finished with my final year of the Los Angeles Culinary Arts Program when my fathers called to say that Aaron’s wife was murdered. I remembered thinking how lucky Dad was and how brave Daddy had to be. With one day off saving the world and the other left to hold down the fort with an awfully anxious only child daughter. 

One year later, I was unemployed and completely blacklisted from the culinary entertainment industry for reasons beyond my control and without my fault. I gripped the suitcase, my chipped fingernails so jagged they punctured my skin. 

Aaron had a nice house with a manicured front lawn, a big wrap around porch, and a fully furnished backyard. Clearly, he was a man with a lot of education and a lot of smarts to top it off. He worked hard. It showed, these neighborhoods of Arlington, Virginia weren’t cheap. No wonder my dads were dying to relocate to Georgia. 

The door swung open before I could work up the courage to ring the bell or knock on the dark cherry wood. Aaron answered. He wore a dark green men’s quarter zip that was pushed up, showing off his forearms. His dark, charcoal gray watch shone as he let me into his foyer. 

He had a foyer.

And a house that smelt like warm cinnamon and musk. 

“Y/N,” Aaron said, nodding to me with a smile, “Please give me your bags. And we’ll go sit and chat before Jack comes. His grandma is still in town and brought him to the zoo.” 

I complied. There wasn’t a need for me to protest. And clearly, by the looks of those forearms, he would have no problem handling my bags. I only brought a single suitcase, a duffel, and five boxes of books. Aaron’s mother-in-law, Lorriane, had been staying with them since Haley died a year and a half ago. But her husband broke his hip. Apparently, Aaron had added a mother-in-law suite for Lorriane and judging by the looks of his home, the suite I’d be living in for the foreseeable future was twice the size of my studio in LA. 

“Thanks.” I said, grabbing a seat on the brown fabric sofa, “My dad said I had to say hello to you for him. He still raves about you. Like all the time.” I chuckle, watching as Aaron hands me a glass of iced tea. 

“Marty’s a good man. He and Gideon built the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our team is in constant debt to him.” Aaron spoke so formally, gesturing for enthusiasm with his hands. 

“Yeah, well. He’s always just been dad to me.” I smiled, the man I knew showed up to my field hockey games even if it meant holding office hours there. He was the most there dad I could ask for– maybe it was neck in neck for the both of them. 

“So Jack?” I said, breaking the silence. “How–how’s he been?” I couldn’t help but wonder. My dads had a close friend who helped them with their surrogacy journey, so while I didn’t have a mother in the traditional sense, the woman who I’ m half of  was still alive and in my life. Debra was more like an aunt to me, fun and spirited and eternally youthful. But I still had her. 

Unlike Jack, who’s Earthly ties to his mother were shredded in an horribly violent way. 

My dad hardly ever cried, but when he called and told me that Aaron’s wife died I could hear it in his raw voice. Aaron’s a man cut from the same cloth a Dad; stoic and responsible. He was a wall of somber trepidation, but somewhere deep inside I could make out the man that wasn’t cataclysmically destroyed. 

“Jack is…he’s a strong kid. I put him in therapy after it happened. He still goes once a week. Laura, she’s his therapist. She’s wonderful. Truly has helped Jack work through all this.”

“That’s good. That’s really good, Mr. Hotchner. It seems as though Jack has a solid foundation here.” I say, unsure what to say exactly. I can make an omelet six different ways, yet it’s lost on me to know what to say to a widower with a little boy. If I had to bear even a fraction of their grief, I’m sure it would break me. I would crumble. But these two boys? They’re a good man in the storm. And I know in my bones, it’s entirely Aaron’s doing. If that man is anything, he’s steady. 

“It’s Aaron. Please, Mr. Hotchner reminds me of my father.” He cringes, the lines on his eyes creasing, “Your dad said you’re a professionally trained chef? Unfortunately, Jack’s still squarely in the dinosaur shaped chicken nugget and baked tater tots phase. It’s been a struggle to get him to try anything new…for…for awhile now, if I’m being honest.” 

I nod, thinking that Jack’s food discouragement might stem from losing his mom. “Well, the way I see it, Jack lost his mom at how old? Four and half? That’s when we’re starting to really know what we like and don’t like to eat. His life was turned upside down and shaken all around when you lost her. So maybe he needed some consistency in a world of chaos. Not that your home is chaotic, it’s lovely and clean and happy. It’s just…loss…”

“Losing your mother as a toddler really fucks up your life.” Aaron says. He speaks so definitely, as if he means everything so ardently you could cast it into stone. 

“Yeah.” I add, somberly. “But I think we can get him to branch out. Make it a game. I’d love to cook with him. I can get him kid-safe tools so he can be involved in food preparation and cooking. Oh! Maybe Jack and I can have a garden. I’m sure that will get him eating vegetables and fruits.” 

Aaron’s neutral expression slowly transitions to a soft smile. He thumps his fingers on the wooden table, as he looks out through the deck. I could feel him glance back at me and then to the yard again. 

“I think that a garden would be lovely over on the side. It’s far enough away from the pool and patio.” Aaron offers, sipping his tea. It’s sweet tea, too sweet for me. Working in kitchens throughout my program has trained me to not only tolerate black coffee, but to actively seek it out. He smiles, his grin defining his face. “Good idea.” 

I feel heat at his praise. I like doing well, who doesn't? But after a series of mishaps and bad luck, an 'atta' girl is my Hail Mary of the month. I simply nod. “Simple things to start so he can see some quick results. I’ll get him super involved in it. Make him feel like he’s a part of a team.” 

“I work a lot. My team flies across the nation, as you know. It takes me away from here for days on end. It was getting too much for Lorriane. And how her husband broke his hip.” Aaron shakes his head, “Honestly, you couldn’t have shown up here at a better time.” 

He runs his pointer finger over the water rung pooled on the coasters. “Jack’s a very easy kid. Reasonable. But shy. He was shy even before Haley…even before last year. I’ve brought him to the pediatrician because he stopped talking for a while, but she said that we’ve all survived an immense trauma and our brains simply process and live through that trauma differently.”

Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think how lucky this little boy is. His dad was running up the hill; pushing that boulder up and up and up for an eternity. It must be an awfully lot to carry, without anyone to share the load. 

“Yeah. I’m sure it is? Is he going into Kindergarten after the summer?” I ask, wondering if Jack went to Kindergarten on time or if Aaron and his grandma kept him home when they lost Haley. 

“Lori, Haley’s mother, taught preschool for thirty-five years. She told me to keep him home for a year, let him be a little bit older and get the help he needs to heal and then send him. So I listened. I think that was one of the only decisions I made as a team this year.” 

Sympathy must have colored my face because Aaron’s demeanor shifted quickly. He sat up, sipping his iced tea and wiping his hands on his jeans. “So basically your weekdays are around 8am-7:30pm. And occasionally on the weekends when the team does have to be on location But recently, I’ve been trying to transition to a more leadership position at headquarters. Hopefully, that’ll mean less traveling.” 

I quickly journaled the hours down in my notebook. Live-in nannying hours are not for those looking for a job to allow them the life of leisure. Naturally that couldn’t possibly be true for a position whose main coworker is a five and a half year old boy. 

“Alright. So that’s summer hours. We’ll need to brainstorm lots of stuff to do all day. Maybe the library?” I write a small note to get ideas and have them approved by Aaron.

He nodded, “Yes, summer hours are a lot, but Jack will be going to a couple camps that his therapist recommended. So you can get a couple hours each day to yourself. I am ready to compensate accordingly. Between my new role at the BAU and other personal investments, we live comfortably. How’s $2,500 to start and then we’ll discuss a raise in the future. And naturally your room and anything you may want to eat or have will be covered by me.” Aaron says it again in a way that leaves no room for argument. He must’ve been a great lawyer; no wonder dad adores him. 

“That’s quite a lot of money.” I’m shocked and my face does a horrible job of hiding it. “I’m not a professional nanny. I’m good with kids. Really good. But I don’t do this for a living. This is you doing me a favor because if it wasn’t for you, I’d be a waitress at my dads’ country clubs” I cringed, my mind instantly filtering in an image of me serving one-time sorority sisters bottomless mimosas for an Easter Brunch. 

“I apologize if you though that it was up for discussion, Y/N. Your first month’s pay will be $2,500 each week. And then it will increase to $3,250 each week. If I’m asking you to work 13 hour days plus one weekend a month? I better be paying you that much. And you’re still on Marty’s health insurance?” 

I rolled my eyes, of course dad mentioned that to Aaron and of course Aaron double checked. Aaron just might have Marty, JD beat when it comes to thoroughness. “Yeah, till I’m 26. And that’s like…a year and change away.” I say, implying that it’s not up to me, or Aaron even, to know how long I’ll be with him. I wasn’t sure if I would ever venture out to LA again; not after what happened that sent me back here for good.

But the thing about food is that everyone wants good food, no matter where they live. And right now, the ones that wanted something good in their lives, lived in a lovely Colonial home on Moss Avenue. 

“I guess there’s no arguing with you, prosecutor.” I say, my voice increasing just so that it balances the line between teasing and something else…something else I should be too ashamed to admit. 

It elicited a smile from him and all of the sudden it was completely worth it. Aaron finishes his tea, and places it into the sink after dumping the remaining ice chips down the drain. 

“Non-negotiable. It’s in your contract. Along with a health insurance package should you need to go off Marty’s name. Plus all that tax information that I’ll get you someone to walk you through it.” Aaron explained. 

“Thank you.” I replied, grateful that it was both all above the table and that I would be given the resources to help me figure it out. Looking at the pile of paperwork in my lap, I was sure that if Aaron didn’t offer legal literacy assistance I would be way in over my head. “That’s wonderful. Really.” 

“I just…I just want my son to be a good kid with a good childhood. That’s all. I want to be there for him and if I’m not there, I want the next best thing there. You know?” Aaron said and I’m not sure if it’s a plea or statement. Or if it was stuck somewhere in the middle; lost at sea like Aaron was himself. An island unto himself, drifting as the tide rolled in. 

I break the silence. “What was Haley’s favorite meal?” 

Aaron smiled. His eyes, crinkling again. “She had chicken piccata on our first date. And we ate it at our wedding. And when she found out she was pregnant with Jack she made it for me.” I nodded, understanding the important link between food and memories. 

“Let’s make it. For Jack and you and Lorianne to share tonight before she leaves. It’s going to be a big transition for him to go from having grandma all the time to me, someone very new.” I expressed, hoping that I didn’t sound bossy or as if I wanted to parent Jack myself. 

“That’s a lovely idea, Y/N.” Aaron sighed. “But I never was much of a chef. I wouldn’t know the first place to start.” 

He leaned his hands against the table, a slight smile breaking the formidable since that had fallen between us in the moments before. I smiled back, standing from the table to reach my tote bag. 

I pulled out an apron, the kind that criss crossed over my back. It was denim blue with a canvas front and large pockets. 

“Move over,” I said, tying my apron, “It might be your kitchen, Aaron, but for tonight you’re kicked out” 

The chicken ended up being more chicken piccata adjacent than a true representation of the dish. I mixed a seasoned blend of flour and spices for the dredging. Then, butterflied and pounded the chicken breasts into thin pieces. 

Aaron’s kitchen was spacious and airy. There was a large island with barstools on one side and lots of pantry and cupboard space on the other. I stood at the island, dredging the chicken in seasoned flour before placing it nearly on paper towel lined trays. The chicken, thinned and butterflied, didn’t take long to cook in the oil and butter. 

I let the skillet heat up till the oil, butter, garlic, and capers produced a mouthwatering aroma. Aaron gave me a bottle of white wine, imperative to make the sauce taste even better. I added freshly squeezed lemon juice and lemon slices to the pan sauce, letting the brown bits cook a little bit more. I scraped the edges of the skillet, incorporating the sauce even more. 

I placed the chicken back into the pan, letting it absorb the lemony, garlicky flavor of the sauce. The sauce thickened, forming something that was similar enough to chicken piccata. I added a bit more butter to the pan, along with some lemon. I figured that it would stretch a little bit more for some sauce for the pasta on the side. 

The chicken was simmering in the pan and the pasta water nearly boiling, when Jack came home. He looked like his father, but must have gotten his lighter colored hair and eyes from his mother. 

Aaron walked into the kitchen with Jack, his hands resting on Jack’s shoulders protectively. Jack’s shy demeanor was evident as he peered over at me. I smiled and waved as I finished the pasta. 

“Jackie, this is Ms. Y/N.” Aaron introduced me to the young boy, who stood shyly by his father. “We talked about how Grandma Lorraine needs to go back home. And we’re gonna have a friend come and live here.” 

Jack nodded, his little mind clearly spinning and spinning to make sense of all this. He was clearly well adjusted, even for losing his mother at such a young age. 

“Hey, there Jack!” I smiled. “I made a good dinner for you and your dad. I heard you went to the zoo with Grandma. I love the zoo. Especially the tigers.” 

Jack nodded, eagerly walking around the kitchen island to talk about the zoo. “Yeah,” he said, “I liked the monkeys. They were funny. The babies were learning to climb and jump.” 

I nodded, plating up some food for Jack. “Super cool. They’re kinda like little people. The way they act and play.” I placed the plate on the counter. “I used the Cars plate. It was way too cool not to.” I crouched down and whispered to Jack, “Just make sure your dad doesn’t swipe it. Between you and me I can see him eying it from here.” 

Aaron chuckled, reaching high to grab not one, but two plates. He handed one to me before telling Jack to go sit for dinner. “You’re joining us. It’ll be good for us to get to know one another.” 

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nothing you do would be an intrusion. And it’s good for Jack to see that we’re friends. He’ll be more trusting of you.” 

I nodded, understanding that it was very important for Jack to become used to me. Especially considering Aaron’s job could take him away for days at a time. 

“Alright.” 

Aaron nodded. “Sit. I’ll get your plate.” 

There was an understanding that washed over me. An understanding that Aaron was the kind of man that didn’t ask for things. He was simply used to things he wanted being carried out. I envied that security. Maybe if I had even an ounce of it I would still be hacking it out in LA. Or maybe I wouldn’t have needed to figure it out because I would’ve figured it out already. 

Jack and Aaron went back and forth, swapping facts about dinosaurs. Jack was squarely in the dinosaur phase. Five minutes in, and I already had promised to help him find a dinosaur coloring book, with dinosaurs besides just the “cool ones”. 

“Uncle Spencer says that some dinosaurs had heads as big as a car!” Jack said, practically shrieking with excitement as he recounted all the facts a certain Uncle Spencer had told him. 

“Uncle Spencer’s so smart. And he’s a kid!” Several of Jack’s stories started with the aforementioned Uncle Spencer and I couldn’t help but wonder where the connection lay. Especially if, like Jack claimed, Spencer was a child. Sometimes some cousins are so far apart in age they’re more like an aunt or an uncle. Perhaps this was the case.

“Spencer is on my team.” My face must have shown my confusion. I always wore my emotions and thoughts on my sleeves, something that failed me several times over. Most notably when my friends in LA would get hit on by men at bars in the most vile of ways. One of the blessings of being deemed unapproachable by men was being left alone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t burdened by their lack of tact in seducing women. “And he’s 28…yes about 28 now, and has been on the team since he was 23. He’s brilliant. Jason Gideon, who worked with Martin, scouted him when he was hardly 21. His mind works in ways that are simply unexplainable.” 

“Which means he must have some pretty sick dino facts?” I ask, my question causing a prickly smile to appear on Aaron’s face. Jack giggles, he must enjoy seeing his father smile. It seems that even though the boys find themselves moving alone, smiles are few and far between. Especially from the elder Hotchner. 

“And three phDs.” Aaron cut the rest of Jack’s chicken, sliding his plate over and reminding him to at least try the vegetables. “It’s like these kids are getting younger as fast as they are getting smarter. Sometimes I just look at Spencer and my knees hurt. Then again, I’m pretty sure I would beat him in anything athletic. Even though he’s much younger.” 

I raised my brow instinctively, smiling. “Was that a joke?” I deadpanned. “My dad said you made two jokes the entire time he knew you. And the first was…”

I stopped myself short. But it was far too late. Aaron, like myself and my father, knew when the first joke he made to my father was. His wedding day. My father had long retired, and moved his mind and soul far, far away from the BAU. He trusted Aaron and Gideon to handle it. Instead he decided to live as himself, freely with his husband and their daughter in the suburbs.

If there was one thing that I shouldn’t have done the first night working with a nanny family consisting of a widower and his son, it was to bring up the marriage of the widower. 

When Aaron married his late wife, Haley. My fathers attended, but I didn’t even remember. It must’ve been one of those times that Nana would sleepover. I remembered it was painting nails, ordering Chinese, and watching Walker, Texas Ranger and Family Feud. I remembered it as falling asleep to my Nana’s snoring as Home Shopping Club glowed on her ancient TV set and waking up to her chocolate chip pancakes. My father remembers it was the first time his young protege made a joke. And Aaron remembers it was the day he married the love of his life. 

“Daddy?” Jack said, cutting through the silence, “I don’t like veggies. They’re too mushy.” 

“Don’t eat them, bud.” Aaron, murmured, his voice laced with a guard that I hadn’t noticed till now. It was careful, like he crafted each tone and cadence before he spoke. “We’ll figure it out, Jack. Come on, let’s show Ms. Y/N her room. Where she’ll be staying.” 

Each sentence is clipped and calculated. I nod, smiling as Jack stands next to his father. 

“I’ll clean up.” 

Aaron nodded, thanking me as he took Jack up to get ready for bed. Minutes later, the kitchen was back to normal and a couple extra meals were packed away for leftovers. I left a note on the counter for Aaron in the morning. 

Lunch is in the fridge.

I always like to make extras! 

Have a nice day

Y/N

Aaron returned, without Jack. “You didn’t have to do the whole kitchen. I don’t expect that. This isn’t a housekeeping job, it’s taking care of Jack.” 

“I don’t mind. Being a chef…or I was a chef, as much as a pain in the ass cleaning and dishes can be sometimes it’s a good way to finish it all. I don’t know…I don’t make sense.” I chuckled, trailing off in a rambly way that fully gave away my nerves. My previous blunder had shaken me, especially since Aaron seemed completely unnerved, even though I knew it stung.

“I suppose, sometimes I used to stay late to do all the paperwork, even though the interns usually will do it for us.” Aaron wipped his hands on his pants.“Anyway, let me show you to the room. I had it cleaned over the weekend and put Lorianne up at a hotel for a couple nights so there wouldn’t be any issues or crossover.”

Aaron led me through the rest of the house. It was neat and tidy and I didn’t expect anything else from someone like Aaron, even though he does have a young, energetic son. There was just something meticulous about him. Something so put together and careful. And then there was me. Messy and complicated and unsure and terrified. Anyone would be that after having the carpet pulled out from under them. And I couldn’t name a bigger carpet than having to bury your life. 

There was a locked door that led to what Aaron explained as my private area. “Jack and I won’t come over here. From the time that I get home in the evenings, or frankly, some days, till I leave in the mornings is your own. This is your spot in the house, but my housekeepers that come twice a month will clean in here, if you’d like.” 

I nodded, grateful for that added bonus. The small attachment was the size of a studio apartment. There was a kitchenette with a nook tucked into the corner with the windows. The furniture matched the rest of the house, clearly Aaron had spared no expense to add this attachment. The queen sized bed was pushed up against the wall and nestled into the corner. Next to it was a nightstand with a lamp. And, as I turned the corner, was the crowning jewel. 

“Are those built–ins?” I asked, staring in disbelief. “Those are so gorgeous. I have like, easy, a ton, of books. God! Can I use them?” I turned, practically jumping from joy as Aaron chuckled reluctantly. 

“Of course. This room’s yours.” Aaron must’ve carried my bags into the bedroom while I was cooking because all of my belongings sat on the floor near the set of love seats and armchair. “I’ll leave you to get settled. 8:30 okay for tomorrow?” 

I nodded, stunned beyond belief as I opened my boxes of books. Aaron handed me a set of keys, one to the house, the shed, and the other to my area of the house. 

“You’re the only one that has a copy. If you want others made, I’ll cover the expense.” Aaron explained. “Have a good night, Y/N.” 

“Good night,” I replied, hooking the keys onto my set. “And thank you for this room. It’s nicer than my apartment in LA.” 

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, “Of course, I think Jack'll be very happy. It’s been hard to trust others. With him, honestly…Jack’s all I got left.” I had known Aaron for about three hours, heard stories of his skill and professionalism and talent for years, but he wasn’t someone that I had known, let alone even met. But in those three hours, I could count several times where I saw a sliver of emotions.

“I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Night.” 

“And Y/N?” Aaron said, stopping me as I reach down to start shelving books, “Food does hold memories. You’re right. I needed it. We did. Jack and I. He needs to remember her.” 

“Food has memories.” I said, shrugging, “You’re gonna have to learn I know more than you think I do.”

Taglist

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @pear-1206 @this-is-calm-and-its-anne @little-jana @pastelpinkflowerlife @sarcasm-and-stiles @ilovefictionalmennn

[kaylapocalypse]

NOVA

I met a boy in a field.

His clothes were strange— but not too strange—and some of his words were unfamiliar—but not too unfamiliar.

He had been standing in the grass and looking up at the stars. He clutched something shining and bright in his hand.

When he heard me coming over, he turned and grinned.

“Wanna see something great?” He said “Come back here in fifty years and stand right in this spot. A sun will die and this is the best seat in the house.”

His teeth were made of metal and his eyes were hard like flint.

“This is the best century, really. We read about them all, you know. You’ve still got all the good stuff…”

He breathed in the air and let it out with a satisfied whoosh. As if he hadn’t had the opportunity to do such a thing in a long while.

“Why do you look so glum? Come on, sit with me in the sun.”

He crossed his legs and settled down in a patch of heather.

“The sun isn’t out. It’s night.” I said. “And who are you? This is private property.”

The boy laughed.

“The sun is always out. The sun bathes the earth in rays at all hours. God, you’re so young! The schools were so bad back in the day, wow.”

“I’m literally going to call the police. You seem like a nice kid, but you’ve got to go.”

He snorted and rolled a flower between his fingers.

“Whatever lady. You’ll miss me. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere permanent style. Because this is—you know what. I’m not going to tell you what’s going to happen. You’ll deserve it. Ugh.”

He shook the blindingly bright thing he had in his hand and vanished.

—

The next time I saw him I was 32.

It had been ten years, but there he stood. In the middle of the field. Wearing the same threadbare sweater and trousers I’d met him in.

“Gosh it took you a long time.” He said.

“Who are you? What the fuck. Are you wearing metal dentures?”

The boy looked exceptionally offended.

“Metal dentures? Oh that’s rich. Coming from someone with unprotected decaying bone in their mouth. Thank god I haven’t gotten hurt out here. What would you have tried to do? Cure a broken arm with bloodletting or burned a witch? I should have brought my own first aid kit just in case I have to deal with these primitive medical practices.”

That was a tirade I didn’t expect…

“What time are you from?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not even going to bother with that.” He said. “Come closer, let me see you. You aged finkin’ well.”

I edged closer to him, but not close enough to let him touch me.

“it’s been like an entire decade.” I said suspiciously.

“I see they at least taught you basic math.” He snorted.

The closer I got the more differences I noticed about him. He looked like he was about the same age, but his clothes were a little thinner, a little more ragged. He had circles beneath his eyes and his skin had a grayish tinge.

“Are you okay?”

He looked at me like I was insane.

“Of course I’m not okay. Clearly, we’re from different times. Clearly I’m from the future. If you were from the future, would you go back to the dark ages to wallow with your ancestors in the mud for fun? I can’t talk to you about this. It’s not like you can do anything about it. Just sit down and look at the goddamn sky with me. This is supposed to be romantic.”

I plopped down beside him and looked up at the stars. I knew I had groceries getting warm in the car, but I figured I could afford to spend at least five minutes with an ageless time wanderer —even if he was rude as hell.

“Okay, you see that dark area over there?” He pointed at the sky. I nodded.

“That’s the way out of this mess.”

“What mess?”

“Everything. All of the problems you have here. I think. I’m really bad at explaining this sort of stuff. I’m not like, the best at politics science or physics. That was more my dad’s thing. I was really only ever into sports.”

“What sport did you play?”

“Upjacket. It’s like a mixture of your baseball and your hockey. But the stakes are higher. You play in antigrav and the first person to score a point wins. It’s like… you start off in teams, but individuals win games, and the more individuals win on each team, the more money the team gets. It was fun. Back when they let us play sports.”

He grinned and looked up at the sky.

“I was gonna go pro. It’s all about agility.”

Suddenly the bright thing in his pocket started rattling wildly.

“Oh shit oh shit. Sorry. I’ve got to go. See you in te—”

He disappeared.

—

I took a train from New York all the way back to Michigan, then a bus out into the country.

The field was empty when I arrived. I sat down in the patch of heather and looked up into the sky.

My heels dug into the soft earth. I was 42.

After about 15 minutes he blinked into view with a hiss and a flash of smoke. The boy immediately bent over and vomited. He fell to his knees and gasped for a while, then spit hard to clear his mouth.

He was thinner than when I saw him last. And his sweater had some holes.

I took off my jacket and handed it to him.

He nodded in thanks and draped it around his shoulders.

“What is your name?” I asked gently.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said. “Nobody cares. Nobody’s cares who I am or why I’m here.”

“I care.” I said. “I have a son not much older than you back home. He just left for college. If you want you can come back with me and—”

“I can’t.” He shouted angrily.

His eyes burned dark and hot. He was sweating a bit, and his hands shook as they grappled the edges of my coat. Pulling it tight.

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have touched it. I should have left well enough alone.”

He wasn’t talking to me anymore, he was muttering and looking at the ground.

I shifted over so that we were closer together. I fished a pack of gum out of my purse and offered him a piece.

“What is this?” He looked scared.

“It’s gum. It’s a kind of candy. You just chew it and don’t swallow. It’s okay. It’s… Sweet?” I tried.

He unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

“Gosh that is the weirdest… It’s like… My mouth was all dry before and I’m not thirsty anymore. But it’s just this strange rubbery…That is so…. I mean, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiled. It was like he hadn’t done it in a while. The corners of his mouth looked like they weren’t sure whether to go up or down.

“I hope this isn’t too forward.” I started. "But do you want a hug?”

He blushed and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Of all the tarts in the world, I found a nice sentimental one with candy in her pockets and a wish to take me away.” He laughed. “You can have all the hugs with me you like. It’s not like there’s anyone else around to hug.”

He fit neatly in my arms. He was stronger than I’d expected. More wiry. He smelled like ash, metal and the salt of unwashed skin.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He whispered into the shell of my ear.

“We never did get flying cars or hoverboards. It’s not a lack of technology. It’s got something to do with magnetism. You can’t break the rules of the universe— just bend them. And hover boards? Them’s a rule breakin’ invention.”

I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

“You’re such a marvel.” I said when I was finished.

He grinned back at me. Brilliant and true. The moonlight shining off his stainless-steel smile.

“I could have been much more.” He said cockily.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I asked. “We have a spare room at my house up in New York…”

“No. Darling. You’re old as dirt, but I’m partial to you. I wouldn’t want to break your husband’s heart.” He winked.

I scowled. “Why are you so rude? And how old are you really?”

“You ask the worst questions.” He replied and disappeared.

—

I moved back to Michigan alone and went to the field every night for twenty years. Until my hair turned gray and the hike over wore on my knees.

I kept the grass green and tended the heather.

Like always, the boy arrived with a hiss.

He lay still in the grass.

He was thin and filthy and barely breathing.

I turned him over and pulled him into my arms.

The boy sobbed.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t… I tried so hard.”

“It’s okay.” I said.

“It’s not. It feels like it’s been days, but it’s probably been years. I just keep spinning round and round and my own window is out of reach. Yours is the closest so I keep landing here on this stupid rock in the middle of the millennium. I just want to go home.” He curled himself up until he was very small.

The bright thing glowed through the pocket of his tattered trousers.

“What does it do?” I asked.

“I don’t know how it works. It’s either broken or half made. It was sitting on my dad’s desk. I just picked it up and shook it.  It pushes me through time back and forth dropping me in different times. It never stops.  I can urge it one way or another, but I can’t drive it or force it anywhere once I make it work. I’ve been trying to get home for weeks.  I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I just want to go home.”

He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep.

I rubbed his back in circles and stared up at the stars until the sun came up from behind the fir trees.

 When I reached down to wake him up, I realized that he would never wake up again.

There was nothing to eat in the void of time, but star dust. Nothing to breathe but radiation.

I buried him in the heather.

—

Ten years later I went back into the field.

Fifty years had passed.

I looked up into the sky.

After a few hours of darkness, light shot out from the black spot the boy had pointed to so many years ago. The noise shattered the sound barrier and solar winds swept the planet. The night sky bled with reds and blues and purples and white. And it was so bright.

[dmercer91]

since mr.john marino went to harvard

all i can think of is him being with another harvard graduate, who put her degree into some complications field

and he brings her around the rink to meet the guys and they’re like

“hot and smart😮”

developing this into mr john marino claiming that he’s bringing a friend around because she doesn’t want people to pry into her life and she is very very private and so cue every non taken devil frothing at the mouth

and suddenly your close friend johnny is grabbing your ass kissing you right where everyone is watching

and never in your entire life had you been at a loss for words but now you’re just like.. oh my

sounds complicated, jm6

john had never needed to worry about other guys- he knew that. you’d never indulge and you were usually too much of a homebody to be subjected to flirting regardless

so he didn’t really see a problem with you asking to be introduced to the team as his close friend. you didn’t like for people to know about personal things immediately upon meeting.

you didn’t like the opportunity it gave for meddling, and not to say you didn’t trust johnnys friends- but hockey boys were never really the greatest at minding themselves or avoiding conflict

you’d worn sweatpants and a tank top- putting little to no effort into your looks knowing that you and john were meant to be getting bunch after practice

your hair wasn’t straightened, you were wearing your glasses rather than your contacts, and in your personal opinion, you looked a mess

you usually looked pretty professional- being a law student and nearing the beginning of your career meaning you needed to look proper. your current look was not that.

you walked into the arena with a glum look, trailing behind john who was occasionally stopped to greet some staff.

you made it to the dressing room where most of the guys had just been taping new sticks, some missing and some sharpening their skates in a different room you could see from where you were standing.

“s’ this your friend you were talking about, johnny?” a boy with fluffy hair came over from behind, smiling down at you and showing off his missing tooth

“yeah. ba- y/n, this is dawson. he’s.. usually normal,” you gave your boyfriend a look at his close call, turning to dawson and waving, a small smile on your lips

he returned the favour and then furrowed his eyebrows at whatever was behind you, so both you and john turned

“by usually he means never. dawson is never normal,” three guys emerged from the dressing room, the shortest of them the one who’d spoken out

john nodded sideways as a confirmation of his statement, then looked down at you.

“this is jack, his little brother luke, and that’s nico,” he pointed at each player as he stated their names, and nico smiled softly, eyeing you once

jack took the liberty of openly eye fucking you- and luke was clearly trying to be subtle, or at least more subtle than his captain and his brother, but his cheeks were flushed and he only put his hand up shyly as a greeting

“johnny said you were in law?” nico asked, his accent taking you by surprise a little

“yeah, we actually met at harvard. took an elective together and he was unsalvageable in the subject, so he asked me for help,” you shrugged

it wasn’t technically a lie- you’d only let out the minor detail that he’d initially went up to you to ask you out and you told him you’d only agree if he got a b or higher on the next paper

and then the part where he asked for help writing the paper and got to see you strip another piece of clothing after each body paragraph he’d written

“is law really difficult?” dawson asked, sounding genuinely intrigued with his head tilted in curiosity and his eyes happy

he clearly hadn’t noticed that the rest of the group was not actually intending to talk about law- but you were glad for it.

before you could answer, jack beat you to it.

“it sounds complicated. maybe you could use a little distraction, sometime?” he smirked and you raised an eyebrow. he was a lot bolder than you’d been anticipating.

you looked at johnny who’s tongue was poking his cheek, his eyes laser focused on the ground. you assumed he was trying not to implode, and you were kinda stuck on what to do

“your friends are bold, johnny,” you stated, turning to look at dawson who’s eyes were a little wide

“you’re telling me,” john grumbled, nodding towards the stands “take a seat, if you want. gotta start getting dressed,” you nodded and wandered off, waving to the five of them and trying to make your exit as quickly is possible.

after the practice was over, you’d made your way back over to the dressing room and waited for johnny to walk out.

nico had made his way out first, eyeing you before making his way over.

“you’re dating, aren’t you?” you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to feign innocence

“what do you mean? johnny?” nico grinned, the speed at which you were talking calling you out on your lie

“sorry about jack, he’s.. well, he’s definitely jack,” you giggled, nodding in agreement and looking over at the door as john came out

his eyes went back and forth between you and his captain, and he eventually came towards you and stood as close as humanly possible

“hi, baby,” you murmured, keeping quiet so only nico would hear and leaning your head onto johns shoulder

he gave you and alarmed look and you shook your head. “your captain is very perceptive,” you stated, and john smiled a little.

“cant say the same for his alt,” he mumbled under his breath and you glared at him playfully. he couldn’t really hold it against jack when nobody had known you were his

jack came off strong, but he had no ill intentions.

and, speak of the devil- he’d come out and beelined right for the little trio you’d been standing in.

before he could get over- john looked down at you.

“y/n. do you love me?” you furrowed your eyebrows, nodding

“yeah? wha-“ you were cut off by his lips on yours, one hand grabbing your waist and the other gripping your ass, your body pressed close to his

you let him- his kisses getting deeper and deeper until he tried to poke his tongue into your mouth and you pulled away, his hands staying put

“mh. jesus, johnny,” you blushed, wiping your lips that were red and starting to get swollen

you didn’t really know what else to say- flustered and a little too affected by his possessiveness for your liking

“uh. sorry, man. and sorry, y/n, for-” jack gestured vaguely, chuckling breathily, eyes a little wide at the display he’d just witnessed

“it’s fine. you didn’t know,” you reassured.

“what she said. don’t let it happen again,” johnny warned, grip falling from your ass but sprawling across your lower back, keeping you close to him

[goldenseresinretriever]

Snitches Get Stitches: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, car accident, suggestive language, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, Snitches Get Stitches. It was originally posted in October-November 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Two weeks out from the end of your fellowship should have felt better. Fifteen years of work and you were so close to the finish line that you could taste it. You’d worked your ass off, topped your classes over and over, sacrificing every bit of your social life, sleep, and general welfare to guarantee that you’d have your choice of job once you came out the other end, and you had. That was at least until three months ago when everything came crashing down. A misunderstanding, a miscalculation, something that felt so far beyond your control and the past fifteen years had been swept out from under your feet. Now you refreshed your email in desperation instead of excitement. You were sitting on a dragon’s hoard of student loans and not a single job offer. The downside of being at one of the top fellowship programs in the country was ironically the same as the upside, they were extremely well-connected. As a result, you were basically blacklisted by every potential employer.

Anyone else would question how you did it, getting out of bed like nothing was wrong and going to your fellowship with a professional smile plastered on your face as if everything was right with the world and you’d be on your way to the first day of your dream job in just two short weeks. It turns out that delusion is highly motivating. You’d refresh your email every morning as if an offer was going to suddenly appear, then go about your day as if maybe this evening something would show. At least that’s how most days went. Today everything that could have gone wrong, had. Your alarm hadn’t gone off because your phone was dead, your charging cord seemingly having given up its last breath sometime over the last twenty-four hours. Then the hot water had been out, for the third time this month, so you were shivering like a drowned sewer rat as you hauled yourself into your car, running too late to make your tea.

Even the Anaheim sun couldn’t seem to warm you as you pulled onto the highway toward Los Angeles. Not even five minutes later a piercing chime sounded through the vehicle and your dismayed gaze fell on your gas light, shining bright since last night, when you had been far too exhausted to brave a seedy gas station in the dark, relegating it as a “tomorrow problem.” Tomorrow was here and you swore defeatedly as you made your way to the next exit, issuing irritated commands at your phone to find the nearest gas station. You swore your whole attention was on the road as you did your best to follow the monotone directions from your speakers as you pulled into the gas station when the motorcycle flashed across your field of vision, fast but not fast enough. You screamed as your brain caught up to the sight in front of you. You don’t remember putting the car into park in the middle of the entry to the gas station and vaulting out of the vehicle, burying your panic as you go into doctor mode, rushing to the aid of the driver sitting up on the asphalt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir are you alright? I’m a doctor.” You sputtered as he turned to look at you, a rueful smile on his face.

“Oh, no worries, Doc, I’m all good.” He scratched the back of his neck as he looked over to his motorcycle which lay abandoned a few feet away. “I need to remember I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Sir I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that I check to see if you have a concussion.” You glanced around, searching for something. “Especially since you weren’t wearing a helmet.” You couldn’t help the annoyed purse of your lips. He chuckled, nodding as you squat down next to him, fiddling with your phone to turn on the flashlight.

“So, you’re a doctor, huh kid? What kind, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sports medicine, and I mean yes I’m a doctor, I’ve graduated from medical school, but I’m still finishing up my fellowship so I’m not employed as one yet per se.” You sat back on your heels, satisfied that he really was alright. His eyes brightened at your words.

“Sports medicine? What sport are you working with?”

“I’ve worked with a bunch of different ones through my fellowship but my dream job is hockey.” If you ever got a job that was.

His face split into a huge grin. “You don’t say? When do you finish your fellowship?”

“Two weeks… why?” You suddenly remembered that this man was a total stranger as his questions became more specific. It was at that moment that your brain finally exited doctor mode that you realized that he was in fact not a total stranger, not really and you recognized exactly who was sitting on the concrete not even five feet from you. “Oh my fucking god, you’re Pete Mitchell.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush before you could stop them. He barked out a laugh as he extended a dusty hand to you.

“The one and only.” You stared at his hand like you were wondering if it was safe to touch, which is ridiculous. You worked with star athletes for a living and you’ve never gotten star-struck. But that was within the four walls of your job, where you were completely and totally in doctor mode, not squatting in the driveway of a gas station. You shook your head, unsure of how long you’d left him hanging before taking his outstretched hand and shaking it, introducing yourself. “It feels ridiculous to ask, but are you an Anaheim fan?” He asked, flashing his signature grin. You flush, embarrassed.

“They’re my second favorite but my dad’s a ride-or-die.” Pete laughed at your brutal honesty. “But, I mean, everyone who’s everyone knows you.” You sputtered. “You have one of the longest records in the NHL. 26 years is a long time, and with three cups on top of that? You’re practically hockey royalty.” He smiled, seemingly amused with your floundering.

He stood then, helping you up with him. “Could I get your information?”

“Oh yeah, of course. I’m so sorry about your bike, is it good to drive?” You gave the abandoned motorcycle a worried look. “I’m sure my insurance can cover whatever repairs you need.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He shook his head gently, laying a fatherly hand on your arm. “I actually wanted to offer you a job. Well, an interview, I’m not actually authorized to offer you a job, not my department.”

“I mean I did hit you with my car, WAIT WHAT?” The full effect of his words hit you like a truck. He laughed again.

“Sweetheart, I promise you I can take care of the damages,” giving you his best I’m a multimillionaire retired athlete look. “And as for the job? I’m serious. You’re clearly responsible, professional, good in a crisis, and the team I’m working with is looking for a physician. Unless of course you’re already committed to another job?”

“No! Uh, no, no I’m not.” Shame crept up your neck. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Mitchell.” You stammered as you fumbled for your wallet and produced a business card that you offered to him, doing your best to hold back the tears of gratefulness threatening to fill your eyes.

“It’s not a problem at all, Doc. I’ll be in touch, and please, call me Mav.” He handed you a piece of paper in return and you stared down to see his signature scrawled across it with a brief note Congratulations on such a talented daughter. - Pete “Maverick” Mitchell “Tell your dad I said hi.” He said with a wink before turning away from you to his motorcycle. You stood there, frozen in shock as he got the bike upright and drove away with a wave. The moment he was out of view, the tears escaped your eyes. You’d been desperate for someone to take a chance on you, but never in your wildest dreams would you have expected that person would be Pete fucking Mitchell.

[thewater]

genre i love: queer sports

examples:

Haikyuu!!

Creator: Haruichi Furudate

Sport: Volleyball

Medium: Manga + Anime

Queer coded to hell and back with no explicit canon. A popular anime that's very engaging. Whenever I watch it I feel like I should get my life together. It's super good, but fanbase can be a lil weird.

Fence

Author: C. S. Pacat

Sport: Fencing

Medium: 5 collated graphic novels + 2 novels

This one changed my life. I discovered it and haven’t been the same since. It’s cute, the two main characters are oblivious wee things, but there is canon representation in the older characters. Almost (if not all) of these characters are Queer As Hell. It’s brilliant. If you like Golden-Retriever-Sunshine-Boy-with-Troubled-Past x Grumpy-Black-Cat-with-Emotionally-Distant-Parents trope, then you’ll love this!

Check, Please!

Author: Ngozi Ukazu

Sport: Ice Hockey

Medium: 2 graphic novels

I saw this in my local public library once, picked it up, and never (emotionally) put it down. These books started my craving for 2D queer sports. This is what put me onto “Fence” in the first place. It’s canon, it’s sweet, the main character is a cutie, what more could you want?

Free!

Creator: Kyoto Animation

Sport: Swimming

Medium: Anime

I’ll be real, I didn’t finish all the seasons of this,,, the first two seasons slay the house down. But I dunno, guess it just didn’t keep my focus. I also don’t think anything gets canonized later,,, so it’s still just hashtag queer coded :( which is not slay.

AFTG

Author: Nora Sacavic

Sport: Exy (??!)

Medium: 3 novels

Now, you might think, “Exy isn’t a real sport” and you would be correct. Nora invented it for the novel. It’s like if the basics of lacrosse met the violence of ice hockey and it was played on a football (soccer) sized field with a mix of genders on the teams. This nonsense altered my brain chemistry, for better or worse, we will never know. However. If you seem intrigued, and want to read, PLEASE google the trigger warnings. Anything you think could possibly be triggering is definitely in this book. If you don’t want to google for fear of spoils, feel free to message me. These books are simultaneously the best and worst things I've ever had the (dis)pleasure of reading. I love them. They’re a mastery of metaphors set on a background of college sports with a mafia subplot. It’s like if a crazy fanfic got published. ALSO short king representation. Main man is 5’3, second main man is 5’0. I love this to pieces and I hate it to nothings.

Yuri on ice

Creator: MAAPA

Sport: Ice-skating

Medium: Anime

You know this one. If you don't, it’s not technically canon, but they buy each other (engagement) rings and kiss (sort of) on screen. Slays. Victor Nikiforov has my heart.

SK8 the infinity

Creaotr: Bones

Sport: Skateboarding

Medium: Anime

This one makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside i love it so much. There's angst and love and found family and tragic backstories and funny characters. Not canon though. Hashtag Japan Definitely Doesn’t Have a Homophobia Problem and That’s Definitely Not Why All of The Anime’s on This List Aren’t Canon. Anyways, it’s really cute and I watched t when i was in my own skateboarding era so i loved it so much.

If i remember more, or watch, or read more, I will add them :)

[aettuddae]

high garden academy — chapter 79.

⟢ synopsis: a new school year begins at the high garden academy boarding school, bringing with it new students, and among them, the new center of attention for the drama-thirsty student body: the hong sisters. eunchae and her mysterious and unsympathetic older sister, daein, who oddly seem uninterested in the secrets, legends, and gossip of their new school. winter, the institution's top student, and karina, the popular girl and promising pianist, never imagined they would end up so closely involved with hong daein.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

daein was good at sports, the deplorable state she was usually in had never been an obstacle to the girl's rampant competitive spirit, she might end up crawling and with barely any air, but she would always go for the win in any situation, and if she didn't get it, at least she wouldn't give up. daein also had a tendency to do things wrong, but she wouldn't allow it at this point.

she couldn't bear the thought of losing to kai.

with a powerful serve from below, jongin hit the ball that flew through the air over the net and hit daein who met it with a spike and returned it to the other side. she wasn't a big fan of volleyball, she knew the rules, but she had never been enthusiastic about it. at her old school they played field hockey and polo, at which she always excelled, but that day that ball wouldn't touch her side of the floor even if she had to injure all her fingers stopping it.

it was a particular volleyball dynamic mixed with dodgeball: they started in teams and if you dropped the ball, you were eliminated, and so on until one of the two teams had no more members. the scenario where there were six on each side was in the past and now only two figures were standing opposite to the net, daein on the blue team and jongin on the red team.

jongin received the ball with such force that he sent it outside the lines of the court, indicating that daein should serve this time. with her right hand, she threw it in the air, then jumped to catch it and hit it hard with her left sending it to where her opponent was, who caught it with his hands one on top of the other, bending down in a squat to prevent it from touching the ground and hitting it over the net.

kai's face bothered daein, he had the arrogance that rich kids used to have, you could see it in his eyes, in the way his lips were always tilted in a confident smile, in the way he was so sure he would win that confrontation just because it was him. karina used to correct her when she talked badly about the boy, according to her he was tender and charming, but daein didn't see it.

—tender and charming my ass. —she thought to herself as she hit the ball back into the air with the tips of her fingers with both hands open.

it didn't help her desire to win that they had a combined class with the freshmen and sophomores that day, which meant that karina was sitting on the sidelines watching everything. her eyes followed the white sphere intently even though she was crestfallen, pretending that she wasn't tense when she saw who was in the final of that so-called friendly match.

there was nothing friendly about it, daein wanted to smash jongin's face and ego.

she didn't quite understand why the boy with the big lips and brown eyes bothered her so much, in her head he was stupid and maybe he was in reality too, but that was none of her business,

she hated that it was karina's business, though.

she hit the ball again. angrily.

she didn't understand what she saw in the boy, but if she didn't like him so much she wouldn't be in the situation she was in with the blackhaired. maybe if karina didn't like that idiot, daein would have a lot fewer problems.

besides, what did she like about him? he was no big deal.

or maybe her anger that was driving her to hit the ball harder and harder was because minjeong was only a few people away from karina, sitting with her arms folded and pretending to be bored while she chatted disinterestedly with jennie who had been eliminated about five minutes ago. daein had learned that minjeong, as normal, calm and friendly as she was, was also the kind of girl who liked to tease when she was annoyed with her, which was just what she was doing now.

she pretended that she didn't care what daein did with her life because she was mad at her, but already more than once the older girl had caught her jumping in place because of the tension when it looked like she would lose to the brunette guy.

and daein was angry that things were like that, that she had to pretend to not care about what she did instead of cheering for her explicitly, proudly. daein hated that minjeong hated her, that she thought she was lying to her or playing with her feelings, that she wouldn't talk to her, she hated it. she missed minjeong, ever since they had started their innocent romance they had they had kept in touch almost all the time, and that was good for daein.

minjeong was good for her.

she whipped the damn ball to stop it from trying to land on her damn side of the net.

it bothered her that karina was with kai. she topped the sphere to the other side.

she hated having to pretend she was karina's girlfriend. she gave an open-handed slap back at it.

she couldn't stand that minjeong didn't want to listen or talk to her. jongin went outside, serving for daein.

she hated that minjeong was mad at her. she propelled the ball with her hands on top of each other and hit it angrily from below.

and that's not to mention that eunchae still hated her. she leaped into the air so high that she could have simply kicked kai's chest if she wanted to, but instead she took advantage of the height she had reached to block the ball from reaching her side and hold it in the contrary field with such power that when it landed in the boy's face, it knocked him to the ground.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted altered from the floor, his nose bleeding and the ball on the ground rolling into the distance.

she had won. she couldn't contain the grin that took over her mouth, a small show of victory that in daein's lack-of-expressiveness face was brutally obvious, so she lowered her head and turned on her heels trying to hide it, but she ended up facing the stands where the students were spectating it all, she raised her gaze a little and found a jimin who cocked her head at her with a reprimanding face, as if asking her if it was necessary to go to such an extent with the boy, but when the younger one saw the grimace of realization of the older one she couldn't help but laugh with her.

daein passed the ball to minjeong, yet still karina won the match.

yu aggressively tossed the ball towards the ground as she made her way slowly out of exhaustion towards where she was sitting earlier with her friends, coming to where daein was and pausing for a moment next to her.

"you can't be jealous of jongin and me and then pass the ball to her." she muttered in an annoyed tone, taking her arm between her fingers.

"i'm not jealous." the older girl quickly denied, her face disgusted at the thought of feeling that kind of thing for the girl.

"say that to jongin's nose." she rebutted, leaving the opposite with nothing more to say, then leaving a kiss on her cheek and walking away.

behind her came minjeong, her body slumped and barely moving after the game she just had against karina, her mouth slightly open trying to catch the air she had lost. she walked with her eyes focused on her seat where she wanted to throw herself so she wouldn't have to strain her legs anymore, passing by daein without giving her a single glance.

"minjeong-" hong tried to speak.

"of course she's not your girlfriend." she interrupted her without stopping walking "she only kisses you because you're so nice." she said sarcastically as she passed by.

(!)

— taglist [open] : @yoontoonwhs @hwm1hyun @jisooftme @gornoi @linnnsworld @xen248 @rinapomu @myouiiiiiiii @blaymine @chaewoni3 @aliceiwk @gfriendsapple @sewiouslyz @multiliker @cwpiqwon @pandafuriosa60 @gtfoiydlyj

[multidimensionalslvt]

۪۫🐾'۪ 𖧵 introducing my archeologist-YouTuber dr ˊ˗

A/n: FINALLY GOT MY MOTIVATION 😭😭. If you have any questions ask!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ME - E - EE .ᐟ

✶⋆. birth name : Moira Swan

✶⋆. online name : Angel

✶⋆. nicknames : ang, mor, moi

✶⋆. nationality : Swedish-American

✶⋆. birthday : September 27

✶⋆. zodiac : libra

✶⋆. languages : Swedish, English, German

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

PERSONALITY .ᐟ

✶⋆. traits : quick thinker, genius, creative, hilarious, adventurous, compelling, attractive, initiative, problem solver, sarcastic, flirty, competitive

✶⋆. likes : going on runs, digging, archeology, coffee, drunk karaoke, dancing, working out, chocolate chip pancakes, reading, playing guitar, Dr Pepper, F1, going to the beach, Taylor Swift, flirting with people, being unhinged on the internet, my friends, making youtube videos, Streaming on twitch, hockey, animals, learning about history

✶⋆. dislikes : Littering, Poaching, nosy people, Dr Pepper haters, people that slut shame, being told to calm down, the smell of nail polish, rude people, lavender scented things, liars

✶⋆. known for : the songs ‘maneater’ ‘slumber party’ ‘circus’ ‘promiscuous’ ‘obsessed’ ‘where u @‘ , iconic one liners,, being an archeologist, angelsplaining, being bffs with jshlatt, being friends with Charles and Arthur Leclerc, being a formula one stan, streaming, being a YouTuber, party girl, flirting with EVERYONE, being a swiftie, being beautiful, where I’m from, reading spicy books, taking so many photos, having cool hair, being up at crazy hours, having an insane converse collection, having best fan interactions, drunk karaoke, vlogging, being a hunger games, marvel, and criminal minds stan, simping for celebrities and fictional characters on the main, being unhinged, knowing basically everyone

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

APPEARANCE .ᐟ

✶⋆. face claim : Madison Bailey

✶⋆. height : 5’6

✶⋆. hair : My hair is a mixture of red, ash blond, brown (like a calico cat I suppose).

✶⋆. extra : I have light freckles, septum piercing, 5 ear piercings on both sides, belly piercing, central labreth piercing, mountain looking birthmark on my thigh, scar on my hand from my first time in the field, 16 plus tattoos

✶⋆. style : idrk how to describe it but it’s a mix of everything. Casual and abstract.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

FAMILY/BACKSTORY .ᐟ

✶⋆. backstory ; Grew up in Sweden until my brother and I were 10 years old. (Our parents were not rich but well off) Then we moved to the USA. Mal and I started carting in Sweden at age 6. At 12 our parents died in an accident. And we were forced into foster care. My brother and I stopped carting for a while until we were 14 and my sister convinced him to continue. When our sister became 18, she started raising us. We lived in Texas. Until we graduated highschool (mal and I graduated a year early) then I went to college and my sister and brother moved to cali. I graduated at 20 then I jumped head first into my archeological career.

sibling one

✶⋆. name : Nevaeh Swan

✶⋆. age : 28

✶⋆. career : professional dance choreographer.

✶⋆. extra : we’re so close omg. She has a YouTube channel.

sibling two

✶⋆. name : MalakI Swan

✶⋆. age : 24

✶⋆. career : formula 2 racer (soon to be f1)

✶⋆. extra : my twin. we’re known as the trouble twins😭. Oh and I forced him to make a yt channel.

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LIFE .ᐟ

✶⋆. job : archeologist, streamer, youtuber

✶⋆. main friends : handsum fella, Jshlatt, Ludwig, Jack Manifold, Hasanabi, Austin show, Carina Singh (my manager), Lando Norris, Logan Saergant, Valkyrae

social media

✶⋆. youtube channels : I have like 3

⊹ user : archAngel101

⊹ subscribers : 999k

⊹ content : random facts about archeology, have a segment called “angelsplaining” where I basically explain shit.

✧ user : angel.digz

✧ subscribers : 714k

✧ content : gaming content/like more of my streaming content

ᯓ extra : I also am thinking about having a vlog channel. And my siblings and I have a channel for our podcast.

✶⋆. twitch :

⊹ user : archAngel101

⊹ followers : 645k

⊹ content : this is more so streams about my day job ig.

✧ user : Angel.digz

✧ followers : 701k

✧ content : where I do video games or tier lists or wtv. I also have a segment called “angelic nights” where I pull all nighters with my guests. We stream 3-4 hours then vlog the rest.

✶⋆. instagram : I have 3 accounts. My 3rd one is private.

⊹ user : archAngel101

⊹ followers : 991k

✧ user : angel.jpg

✧ followers : 289k

✶⋆. tiktok :

⊹ user : archAngel101

⊹ followers : 1.01 m

⊹ content : a bunch of shit tbh idk how to describe.

✧ user : angeldigzdeeznuts

✧ followers : 21k

✧ content : this is my alt so I just post unhinged videos?? Idk😭

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

PETS .ᐟ

number one

✶⋆. name : Cassius

✶⋆. age : 2 years

✶⋆. species : frog!!

number two

✶⋆. name : Calliope

✶⋆. age : 3 years

✶⋆. species : birb!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[juggalomary]

soap has knee problems and ghost has hip problems. i don’t make the rules.

soaps started when he was 16 and he absolutely ate shit on a golf cart, crushed his knee and it just never sat right for more that a month straight after.

ghosts started at 29 when he went to dive to stop a cat from escaping someone he can’t remembers flat and he ended up in a full kneeling straddle. he then a month later while sparring was picked up by a foot and thrown onto his bad hip already. now one about every month he’ll stand up and it hurts like fuck.

leave me alone about my fics i’m thinking about working on them. (no one has said anything and everyone is being patient and kind.) ghosts experience is actually mine but instead of two unconnected events mine were two field hockey injuries (i’m in goal).

[nivannedyt4t]

was inspired by @grilde1chesse to make a resident evil headcanons post :p so here is that with some of my favorite characters :3 this is incredibly unorganized and bad, sorry in advance

this'll have leon, piers, ashley, mia, and wesker in it:3c

leon ; transmasc, he/him ; homoromantic & pansexual

- born in new york, grew up in boston (drives like a bostonian too (thank you to my irl friends for creating the bostonian leon headcanon))

- doesn’t cry often but when he does he’s an ugly cryer. leon was more sensitive as a kid but was forced to toughen up quick

- likes the the, the doors, crosby, stills, nash & young, nirvana… mostly 70s rock. likes mcr because of ashley

- has auburn hair naturally but is mildly embarrassed by this and dyes it

- hasn’t gotten top surgery as the recovery time would take too long for him

- absolutely a cat person. if he could he’d have five

- autistic & chronically depressed. very bad at socializing and yet a lot of his self esteem hinges on performing well in social situations

- often forgets to do basic things like eating or drinking water

- has always hated loud & bass-y noises but this was worsened after the events of re2

- bites his nails and cuticles as a self-regulatory/stress relieving behavior. starts painting his nails black after vendetta to try and combat this habit

- was on the field hockey team in his junior and senior years of high school

- has become somewhat of an older brother figure for ashley. she gifted him kandi soon after they got home from spain and he’s kept it safe ever since

- the plaga left behind some physical changes. this includes sharpened canines, a tapetum lucidum (eyeshine like a cat), and heightened hearing. leon dislikes these traits but hasn’t done anything to get rid of them for ashley’s sake

- his main love language is acts of service. he’s bad at talking people through things and prefers to just do instead of explaining himself

- leon’s commitment issues go craaazy. the only prolonged relationship he’s managed is with chris (or piers. or sometimes a polycule with both of them. yeah i’m a multishipper)

- gets sick a lot but it’s often mild enough that he powers through it or ignores it until it gets bad enough to put him on bed rest

- used to have a big appetite around the time he started t and was self-conscious about it as when he was younger he was a bit chubby. as he got older this has flipped to a certain degree, he doesn’t eat very much unless someone else made the food for him

- enjoys writing poetry but would rather die than share it with anyone

- has sensitive skin and an incredibly thorough skincare routine

- starts needing glasses around the time of re6 but refuses to get them for years

- retired matilda some time in the early 2000s out of guilt for "what he put her through"

piers ; transmasc, he/him ; mlm

- born and raised in northern minnesota

- was a complete tomboy before realizing he’s trans, actually

- loves fishing and archery (and dragging his friends out into the woods with him to do these activities)

- grew up on a farm, joined ffa and raised goats as a teenager

- gets emotionally attached to things very easily. this tended to be a problem during fair season as he’d always raise goats for meat pen

- sees the guns he uses as his peers, each of them have names and their own little personalities he attributes to them

- very short. like, 5’4. takes the piss out of it but is privately a little insecure about it

- a bit camera shy, as he ends up looking awkward in most of the photos he’s in

- dyslexic and has adhd

- really enjoys math. got in trouble during school multiple times for trying to help his friends when they struggled on tests

- big fan of dogs. grew up with shelties

- left-handed

- broke his arm four times throughout the course of his time in elementary school

ashley ; cis, she/her ; bi

- born in upstate new york, moved multiple times throughout her childhood

- was a scene kid (pretty much canon but i love this about her). huge fan of invader zim and made leon watch all of it with her

- born in 1989 (this is for the sake of a crackship and also so some of my other headcanons make a little more sense. this makes her like 15 or 16 in re4)

- obsessed with warrior cats, asked for the new books that’d come out each year for christmas five years in a row

- has “childish” interests unashamedly and makes sure everyone knows

- collected beanie babies when she was younger, held on to most of them into adulthood

- decorates everything with rhinestones. so many rhinestones

- she loves getting dressed up just for the fun of it. transitioned into a more himekaji-esque style during college

- ashley actually really likes what the plaga did to her physical appearance, namely the sharp canines. her parents were. mildly mortified

- loves sailor moon. her favorite character is luna

mia ; transfem, she/her ; bi and aroacespec

- born and raised in texas

- born in 1987 (see the explanation in ashley’s section)

- goth during high school and college

- loves strawberry switchblade

- she’s scared of birds after a goose attacked her when she was six

- mia enjoys the macabre and collects leather-bound horror anthologies

- has bpd and ocd. she’s incredibly concerned with her own morality and constantly fears that she’s a bad person

- does watercolor painting in her free time. she doesn’t think anything she creates is very good, but holds onto them because ethan loved her art

- so so protective of her friends and family to an overbearing degree. this ends up pushing people away, which is the opposite of what she wants

wesker ; transmasc, he/him ; aroace

- thinks listening to music is a waste of time and focus. enjoys a few instrumental jazz standards in private

- autistic. doesn’t get why people don’t view things exactly the same way he does and is incredibly frustrated by it

- keeps his hair slicked back because he hates when he can feel it touching his forehead

- sensitive to bright lights

- gets headaches very easily and has chronic migraines

- genuinely passionate about virology

- likes bugs and had a collection of mounted moths and beetles during the s.t.a.r.s. era

[matznothere]

oh hey look more olnf incorrect quotes (js the boys club in step 2 this time (sorry tammm love you) (ft asher(mc), ren, baxter, and qiu)

--------

ash: we’re going to a candy store?! qiu: no! it’s nighttime, candy stores are closed. ren: we’re gonna ROB a candy store?!?! qiu, sighing:  no-

--------

ash: the results are in, i’m afraid you have updog… bax: what’s updog? ash: ren! get in here, i told you i could do it!

--------

qiu: okay, who's turn is it to give the pep talk? bax: it's ren's turn. ren: don't die. bax, wiping a tear away: truly inspirational.

--------

ash, in ren’s window: i thought i’d find you here! qiu, climbing past ash: WE COULD HAVE USED THE DOOR-

--------

ash: three of the four elements are represented as types of hockey. air hockey, ice hockey, and field hockey. fire hockey needs to be a thing. ren: fire hockey absolutely does NOT need to be a thing. qui: do you care NOTHING for the balance of the four elements?!

--------

store worker: would a “ren” please come to the front desk? ren, arriving at the desk: hello, is there a problem? store worker, pointing to ash and qiu: i believe they belong to you? ash and qiu, simultaneously: we got lost. ren: i didn’t even bring you guys here with me—

[seasidesandstarscapes]

Bite

Summary: They're playing Bobby's old team.

Between worry and anger, Don doesn't know which one will win out.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Hockey AU, Angst, Major Character Injury, Protective Don Hume, Car Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2671

A/N: for @sparrow-in-the-field !! thank you for sending me this idea, it was fun and emotional to write shdfajskdl

-

AO3

or

There is a change to Bobby. 

Don can’t put his finger on it. It’s only been a week after all. Maybe it was the last game they played. They didn’t lose, but the talking they got from Ulbrickson was jarring at best. And Don knows as much as Bobby respects Ulbrickson, more often than not, they’re at odds. 

That doesn’t seem quite the problem however. From stilted smiles to short conversations, Bobby is somewhere else. No matter what Don says, all he gets is a wave, a reassurance that all is well. The helplessness carves into his chest and Don just wants Bobby to tell him the truth. 

Dinner is a quiet affair and when they’re in bed, watching a movie, Don finally tries again.

“You okay?”

Bobby is slow to turn from the TV, brows already furrowed. “Yes…? Why?”

Don shrugs, takes Bobby’s hand in his own. “You just seem a little off is all. Like something is on your mind.”

The sigh that leaves Bobby is drawn out, tinged with a hint of nervousness. “Have you looked at the schedule lately?” 

Don shakes his head. He doesn’t mean to lose track of games, but when it’s one right after the other, they tend to get lost in the shuffle. 

“We’re playing my old team soon.”

Don’s jaw tightens and he pulls Bobby close. Suddenly, Joe’s newfound attachment to Bobby makes sense. This day was bound to come, but Don worries that no one on the team is ready to handle what might be thrown at Bobby.

“Please don’t defend my honor or anything like that,” Bobby looks right in Don’s eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate it, but as much as I hate to admit it, Peterson is a damn good forward and we need you on the ice.”

A small sigh leaves Don. Bobby is right. If they want to sweep the game, they’ll have to be on their best behavior. No matter the anger that boils low in Don’s gut.

“Okay,” he nods. 

The corner of Bobby’s mouth twitches, a struggle to smile as the silence edges in. 

“I’m not going to let the puck get anywhere close to you,” Don promises. 

“I’m holding you to that.”

Don tilts Bobby’s head up, brings him into a soft kiss. Bobby’s sigh is heavy and Don just wishes he could take on every little thing that eats at Bobby. If only Bobby could never hurt again.

Bobby’s eyes are slow to open when the kiss ends and Don looks on with fondness. Entrancing doesn’t even begin to describe how Bobby looks, the way Don’s heart stutters. 

With a scowl, Bobby’s face turns red and he mumbles something under his breath. Don laughs at this, pulls Bobby onto him. The two adjust so Bobby is sitting on his lap and facing him. 

This earns him a quirked eyebrow, a sly grin, and Don knows the night has only just begun.

~

The locker room is tense. 

Any chatter is quiet, short. There is a cloud hanging in the air and Don chooses to focus on his stall. 

“Alright, boys,” Bobby clambers in, all dressed and ready to go. “I don’t want a single one of you in the penalty box.”

There are glances exchanged, a few nods. Joe’s mouth opens but before he can speak Bobby stops him. 

“Rantz,” he warns. “I know you’ve got some personal beef too, but what’ll really put them in their place is not letting them score a single goal. I know you boys can do it and I’ll be dead before I let a single puck get past me.”

“We’ve got your back, Bobby,” Roger reassures and the first smiles start to show. 

As tempting as it is to pull Bobby into a kiss, Don lets him leave the locker room with the first of the guys trailing behind. Throwing on the rest of his gear, Don is quick to follow, the mouth guard clamped tight between his teeth. His anger is unfamiliar, but he lets it settle deep inside, ready to jump only when necessary. 

The pre-game, the face-off is a flurry. Don is looking into smirking faces, catches a few choice insults when the ref is distracted. If his grip on his stick doesn’t snap it in half, slamming it into Peterson’s face will. 

But, Don does as Bobby asks. He doesn’t cave in to his emotions, keeps his head high. With Shorty and Joe with him, they’re a force to be reckoned with. Only once does Chuck have to get the puck out of Bobby’s zone. 

Then, one of the other players does the unthinkable. Don isn’t close enough, he doesn’t even see it happen until he hears Chuck’s shout. The game comes to a halt and Don scrambles over to Bobby. He’s on his hands and knees, head hanging low. His breaths are haggard and Don falls next to him, arm around his shoulder.

“He decked him!” Chuck yells at the ref. “His neck practically snapped in half!”

The ref is trying to calm Chuck and Don leans in close to Bobby. “What happened?”

“What Chuck said,” Bobby grimaces. “Fuck, I feel dizzy.”

Before Don can yell for Ulbrickson, he’s already there, kneeling on the other side of Bobby. 

“Let’s get you off the ice.”

“No!” Bobby shoves Ulbrickson and Don away, only to lose his balance. He falls against Don and winces. “I can do it, Coach.”

“Like hell you are,” Ulbrickson takes hold of Bobby’s arm. 

Bobby looks to Don for help, but Don has to take Ulbrickson’s side. It’ll be better to have Morry and take their chances than Bobby getting worse. 

With a frustrated groan, Bobby lets himself be taken off the ice. Don just wants to follow, but he stays rooted, gives Morry a nod as he takes his spot in front of the net. 

“Moch has you all eating out of the palm of his hand, doesn’t he?” 

Don turns to the voice, teeth grinding into the mouth guard. He gives an even stare to his opponent, hates the amused smile on the other man’s face.

“He must really be putting out this year. Got a pretty little mouth, doesn’t he?”

Don’s anger spikes but seeing Shorty hold Joe back out of the corner of his eye quells his fire.

“Yeah. Too bad you don’t get to have it anymore,” Don bites back. 

He skates to his position as the ref and coaches try to regain order. Don was determined to put their rivals in their place before, but now he wants them absolutely decimated. His boys match his energy and Don fights and fights. 

They win by a landslide and Bobby, now much better, pulls Don into a hug, almost sending him head over heels into the box. 

The locker room is full of energy in the aftermath and after Bobby’s reassurance that all he’ll have is a sore neck the next day, everyone splits off in their respective groups to rest for the evening. Outside of the locker room, Don throws his arm around Bobby’s shoulders as they walk down the hall. Bobby is already going a mile a minute, praising Don, gushing about Jim’s little trick that turned the other team on their heads. 

Don is just ready to cuddle with Bobby, but it seems life has other ideas. The hall is blocked with Peterson at the front, several other players around him, loud and joking. It’s their only way out and Don holds Bobby closer to him.

“Well, look who it is,” one of the guys calls out. “How’re you doing, Bobby?”

Bobby ignores it and Don tries to make a path for them. 

“Don’t be like that,” another attacks. “Come back to our hotel. Let’s make some more memories.”

Don’s heart breaks when Bobby flinches, but they keep pressing on. They’re outnumbered though he knows he and Bobby have a fighting chance. 

“How can you be with him, knowing what he does? He’s just a slut.”

They were almost free, but this is the last straw. Don turns on his heel, faces the rivals head on. 

“Don,” Bobby tries to stop him. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Defend the guy with the sex channel,” Peterson grins.

“You mean the channel that bought our penthouse apartment? Or are you referring to the fact that both of us are debt free?” Don is a charging bull and he doesn’t give the other men a chance to get a word in. “Not to mention how not a single one of you could score on him when he was in the net. Don’t know how you got into the leagues. And while you’re jerking off your useless dicks, I get to have amazing sex with the man you’ll never lay your hands on again. So, shut up before I knock out the last of your teeth.”

Grabbing Bobby, Don drags them out to the sanctuary of the parking lot. There’s no following footsteps but Don still makes sure the doors are locked when he and Bobby get into his car. 

“Sorry,” Don mutters before pulling out of the lot. 

Bobby is quiet their entire drive home and Don’s mind curses him. He just snapped, couldn’t stop the outpouring. It felt good to say all those things, but it might’ve been too much. He might have hurt Bobby.

When they get to their parking space, Don turns off the car and makes no move to get out. Bobby still hasn’t said a thing. 

“Bobby, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

Don is slammed back into his seat with Bobby climbing on top of him and he crashes their mouths together. 

“Fuck, that was so hot, Donny,” Bobby pants between open kisses. “I wanted to fuck you right in front of them.”

Shock doesn’t begin to cover it, but Don returns Bobby’s passion all the same. He’s given no time to think as Bobby works open his jeans and he’s only shaken from his stupor when the car horn blares. 

“Shit,” Bobby leans forward. 

Don just laughs, pulls the seat lever so he can lay back to give Bobby some more space. Bobby grins and throws open the console where they keep lube just for occasions like these. He’s all over the place, about to grab the bottle before he’s trying to get his own jeans off. His sweater gets tossed into the back, but he keeps his shirt on as he finally frees himself from his jeans and underwear. Don barely has time to shove his boxers out of the way before Bobby is already stretching himself. 

So impatient he can be sometimes, but Don is endeared nonetheless. His hands trail up under the white shirt and he drags his nails along Bobby’s spine. Bobby whines at this, bites his lower lip as he shoves three fingers deep inside. 

It must hurt, but the smile Bobby gives Don isn’t pained at all. Instead, it steals Don’s breath away and he forgets himself. 

When Bobby lines up with his cock, Don just wants to shove all the way in. He needs to be consumed by every inch of this man. Never know a day’s rest without him. As if reading his mind, Bobby slams down pulling heady groans from both men. 

“Bobby,” Don’s head falls back against the seat. 

“Yeah, such a good boy for me,” Bobby breathes. He has one hand braced on Don’s chest, the other on the window. “So good.”

“Anything for you,” Don confesses. 

Bobby leans down to kiss him then. Don soars, sparks fly from his mind to his fingertips. Bobby is more than just his boyfriend. He’s both the storm and the calmness afterwards. He’s a kiss in the rain, the snow that melts in his hands. 

Don could cry at how lucky he is. 

When Bobby moves to lift his hips, Don sighs with all the love inside of him. He meets Bobby halfway and their bodies collide as they fall further into their hunger. Don can’t help but stare, locking his gaze with Bobby’s while he rubs a thumb along his lips, red and bruised.

“Touch me, Don, please,” Bobby begs, his hand fisting into Don’s shirt. 

He can’t say no to that. Don reaches for Bobby’s cock, stroking with a featherlight grip. It pulls a whimper out of Bobby and Don does it again just to hear that beautiful sound. 

Don can’t focus on just one part of Bobby. From his tight hole to his weeping cock, hair falling into his face, Bobby is a masterpiece. The parking lot is dark, but Don can still see Bobby’s eyes shine, blue like a diamond in the ocean.

Lost in ecstasy, Don squeezes Bobby’s sides, makes him cry out again and again. Bobby is almost there, his mouth dropping open, gasping, struggling for a single breath. Watching him fall apart is enough to drive Don over the edge, but he needs to see Bobby come. Needs to have his very being poured into him.

Bobby spills over Don with little warning and his moan shakes the car. It takes just a moment for Bobby to collect himself before he keeps moving on Don’s cock. Bobby teases him with slow drags, clenching his hole, but it’s more than enough.

“Bobby,” Don chokes out, slamming into Bobby, two, three more times before his own release crashes into him. 

Bobby falls on top of Don and the two hold onto each other as if this is their last moment together. The car seals them off from the rest of the world, a solitude so difficult to find some days.

“I love you. I love you so much,” Bobby whispers. 

Wetness falls against Don’s neck and in his worry, he pulls Bobby’s face into his hands. Bobby is crying, refusing to look Don in the eye. Don’s stomach sinks and he doesn’t know what’s broken.

He wipes at Bobby’s tears and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Bobby?”

It’s a tense moment as Bobby hiccups, mouth opening, but no sound coming out. Don can only hold his face, hoping his touch is some reassurance.

Bobby takes a slow breath, shaking and shallow, and his voice strains. “I don’t deserve you.”

Don doesn’t know what to say. He brushes Bobby’s hair from his face, keeps catching his tears. He would repeat his love over and over if it would be of any help. Before Don can, however, Bobby speaks up again.

“But I’m so happy, god, I’m so lucky I have you.”

Pulling Bobby back into a hug, Don squeezes him tight, rubs his shoulders. “You deserve the world, Bobby. I’m going to make sure you have it.”

Bobby sniffs, kisses the crook of Don’s neck. “You’ve given me that. All that and more.”

Don isn’t sure he’s earned such high praise. It’s Bobby who’s forged this new life for them. He’s the one that washes all of Don’s doubts away. But for Bobby, Don can convince himself that he’s done alright. 

After a few more minutes of just soaking in each other, Bobby finally opens the driver’s door. “Suppose we better,” he says as he peels himself off Don. 

He steps out, unashamed of his appearance as he grabs his discarded clothes from the back seat. Don’s thankful for the quiet parking lot as he takes off his stained hoodie and he waits for Bobby to pull on his jeans and shoes before they head to the elevators. 

Their hands are interlaced the entire way up and when they enter their apartment, Don tugs Bobby into one last kiss. They’re utterly exhausted, they’ll have to talk more in the morning, but for now, they can rest. 

As they crawl into bed, Bobby tucks himself into Don, arm wrapping around his waist. The warmth seeps into Don and he breathes, the world starting to make a little more sense. 

Bobby is his, to love and cherish, and he’ll be damned if anyone takes that away. 

[blubberquark]

Looking back at the 2024 European Football Championship, it is time to reveal my perhaps most controversial game design opinion: They need to make the goals bigger, or the field shorter. Bigger goals would be a problem with penalty kicks, but they could find a solution for that.

It's just good game design. Many games end 1:0 or 2:1, or in case of a league game, 0:0 or 1:1. At the national level, you get more interesting games more often, because there is just a lot more variation in skill, so you sometimes get a 4:2 or a really impressive and unlikely goal. Or maybe tournaments are just smaller and with fewer games, so you don't see that many interesting goals. Honestly, most of the Bundesliga is boring, you just see the interesting ones when you call in to vote for the "goal of the week" every Saturday.

Still, I think more goals would be good game design. No more games that end in 1:0, with the winning team carefully trying to save their advantage until the 90th minute.

There is no real way to get a favourable position and defend it for more than five minutes in sports like football or tennis or even basketball. Everything basically "resets" every so often, and the only resources you have are the stamina of your players and yellow cards. That doesn't mean football is a bad game, or a boring game, but it is very unlike chess in the same way that tennis, basketball, and ice hockey are unlike chess. At the same time football is unlike tennis, basketball, and ice hockey, because a game if football can have only one goal at minute 25 and end with a score of 1:0.

I think that's boring, and it's bad game design. Very often, I watch a football game and I think "this team played better than the other team most of the time, but they still lost."

It's not just me. I hear this from colleagues and acquaintances and TV sports commentators and "man on the street"/"vox pop" clips in the news after the game: They played really well, except for that one time when the other team scored that goal. The metrics on the screen during the game agree with that assessment: More ball possession, more attempts at goal, more shots that would have hit the goal – if it weren't for the opposite team's goalkeeper – but no goals.

It may sound like I am denigrating the strategy that goes into high-level football. I don't. I understand that football is more than just running really fast and kicking the ball really hard. When teams decide on their formations it's not just a matter of taste, it's not arbitrary. It's an important strategic choice that depends on the opposing team's formation and the strengths and weaknesses of the players that are available.

I also understand that games that end in 1:0 after one goal scored at minute 25, are very appealing to many watchers. There is still everything to play for. If your team scores a goal during minute 88, you even it out and it goes into overtime. You can still win! If, hypothetically, football games were to regularly have a score of 15:11 at minute 85, instead of 3:2, it would feel much more difficult to come back from that.

It's not like people don't watch basketball, or Olympic handball, or ice hockey games to the end. It's not like football fans never follow hockey. But football doesn't need to be hockey. The game "resets" more often in basketball, so football is more "strategic", in some ways. People who watch football already like it that way.

If they made the goals bigger, there would be less bitching and moaning about that one penalty kick, or that one off-side that decided the game.

It's just good game design.

[ronearoundblindly]

What are your thoughts on Andy Barber in Defending Jacob? I noticed in your Cevans what would each do/ who does what, Andy barber isn’t included

I actually think Andy Barber is a fascinating character in canon, and I have no problem with him. I've simply...never been asked, honestly. I've read a lot of great fic involving him--from @sarahdonald87's Andy and Everett series to @yenzys-lucky-charm Hockey AU, even a dark!Andy from @syntheticavenger --but not been inspired with my own characterization or story for him.

Remember, for maybe a whole year (which is approximately 40% of my total time on tumblr), I only wrote for Steve, minus a drabble here and there, or a completely-out-of-left-field AU with Ari. (I don't tend to get major hyperfixations; I'm a slow-burning fan/lover lol.) I've just very slowly added characters to the list. Since you asked, I can add Andy now!

[goldenseresinretriever]

Snitches Get Stitches: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, violence, sports violence, medical stuff, blood probably, angst, fluff, (eventual) smut, forbidden romance, sexual harassment, suggestive language, medical inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, Snitches Get Stitches. It was originally posted in October-November 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

The next morning you get to work early. You’re getting set up in the exam room for Jake’s physical, having spoken to both Mav and the player already scheduled for the first slot to rearrange the schedule. You glance at the door every few minutes, it’s still early but a small party of you is scared that yesterday’s agreement was made in the heat of the moment, lulled into comfort by the shared pizza and conversation, and that Jake wouldn’t show. You aren’t sure what you’re going to do if he doesn't show up. You’re running out of options. The puck is very much in his rink, and while you’d promised him two weeks, with the rate everyone else was getting through their physicals, it won’t be too long before Cyclone is up your ass asking what was taking Jake so long. You put down the chart you’ve rearranged on the counter a dozen times over the last five minutes, deciding to use your time elsewhere. You reach for the filing rack to scan over the charts for the other players scheduled for today, anything to take your mind and eyes off the closed door. The ticking of the analog clock on the wall above it feels like a bomb, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in response to every move of the minute hand. At 8:59, your hands are trembling as your nerves finally make their way to your extremities, your toes clenching and opening to ground yourself with the stinging pain. Your back is leaning against the counter, your hands clasped in front of you to hide their shaking while keeping them visible, a sign of trust. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from going out and hunting down Jake yourself when the door opens just as the minute hand clicks into place over the 12. His blonde hair, usually perfectly styled first thing in the morning, is already sticking up waywardly as if he’s been running his large hands through them repeatedly. When you meet his green eyes, you see a scared animal, caught between fight and flight as his knuckles are bordering on white where they grip the door handle, an anchor to the hallway, a way out if he decides to bolt. His perfect lips, usually spread in that infectious grin you adore so much are pinched in a tight line. Your mind starts racing. The game begins for real now. He’s in your home court and it’s up to you to convince him to stay. The problem with putting two nervous individuals with their respective careers on the line in the same room is that their brains are too busy setting themselves on fire to properly function like human beings. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Alright Lola, up on the table and we can get started.” Your hands clap to try and break the tension that you’re sure you’d need an electric knife if not a high-grade laser to dissolve.

It seems like the completely out-of-left-field address does at least some of the trick, however, and Jake’s face twists from nervous to confused. “Lola?” His grip on the door loosens and it swings shut behind him, forgotten.

“Lola.” You wave a hand, dismissively. “Like Lola Bunny? I mean you’re the one who called me Bugs. It makes perfect sense: you’re blonde, you’re an athlete, and you’ve got great tits.” Your eyes widen as your brain finally takes a break from arson to catch up with what your mouth has been up to. You slap a hand over it, but you can’t take back what you’ve just said. Speaking of things currently resembling an on-fire garbage can? Your professionalism can be added to that list. You’re yanked out of your mental spiral by Jake’s booming laughter. It turns out you didn’t need an electric knife or a space laser to cut the tension in the room, that sound was more than enough. Behind your hand, your lips curve into an involuntary smile at the infectious smile. He’s doubled over now, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. His hands are on his knees, one gripping in humor while the other simply rests, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh Bugs,” he manages to get out between wheezing aftershocks, “you’re a lot funnier than I expected.” You feel your cheeks heating involuntarily. He looks up from his doubled-over position to fix you with the full force of his dazzling grin. You honestly can’t blame every girl in America for falling for it, you’ve never been particularly attracted to Jake yourself, but it’s got your knees weak, seeing it up close and personal.

“Sorry.” The words are murmured just under your breath, embarrassment muffling them.

“Don’t apologize, Bugs, I’m a big fan.” You feel yourself shrink at the sweet words as he straightens, his previous nerves nowhere to be seen as he closes the distance to the exam table in a few strides, sitting down and you notice the way his feet actually touch the ground. “I like it. Bugs and Lola. We make a good team.” You can hear a thousand warning bells going off in your head. The common sense fire department has arrived to put out the fire in your brain. The sirens are loud but you block them out because the doctor side of your brain is jumping up and down at the strides you’re making with Jake. The doctor side. Definitely, the doctor side.

“Well then Lola,” you emphasize the name because you can’t help it, “let’s get started, shall we? We can do this one of two ways. First, we could just treat this like a regular physical and assume I know nothing about your injury, and proceed as normal until I inevitably discover it and then you start talking or second, we could just address the elephant in the room, you can explain what’s going on from the get-go and then we’ll work from there. I’d personally prefer option two so I can amend the physical procedure so you don’t have to put any unnecessary strain on your leg. Still, it’s up to you, whatever you’re most comfortable with.” The mood in the room shifts as you’re both brought back to the present. Jake is quiet, considering your question before he looks up from where he’s been studying his clasped hands.

“Let’s go with option 2 then, Bugs.” You nod, giving him a gentle smile, pulling the stool out from under the counter and taking a seat, giving the floor to Jake but not before you let him know.

“Thank you, Jake. I'm really proud of you.” You hadn’t intended to tell him the second part but something about the visible nervous tension in his broad shoulders makes you think maybe he needs to hear it. He nods, silently.

“Like you said,” he starts. “It happened during Game Four of the Anaheim series during the playoffs. That defenseman, Jones I think his name was, had been on me all night, and he was getting more and more pushy. I could barely move on the ice without him being in my way and it was starting to piss me off. I went to shove him off but he was too close, and our legs got tangled as we went down. I landed on my knee. Honestly, I think I blacked out momentarily from the initial pain. I knew something was seriously wrong but I also knew we were down two points and if we lost that game it could be the deciding moment of the series.” He shakes his head. “So I lied to the physician. I told him I was fine, just a little shaken up from the fall. I didn’t hit my head, I wasn’t concussed, so they let me play. We lost anyway. Then I finally told the physician what was going on, and,” he falters and you fight the urge to close the distance between the two of you and take his hand. “We did all the scans, the tests, and it came back that I had torn my MCL.” You can’t help the sound of shock that passes your lips. It wasn’t an uncommon injury, complete recovery was possible, common even. Complications were rare. Yet the idea of Jake spending the last three months walking around with it untreated, covering that up, even going so far as to play hockey with the torn ligament made your heart lurch. He had to be in unimaginable pain every single day. His eyes raise at the sound from where they’ve been focused on his hands in his lap.

“What grade?” You don’t recognize the gravelly sound of your voice.

“Three…” You can’t breathe.

“And that son of a bitch didn’t DO anything?” Your voice is dripping with the rage that swirls around your heart. It was simple. It was so simple. Six weeks to heal minimum, but they were at the end of the season. Surgery would have been entirely possible with a three to four-month recovery period during the off-season. He could have been almost back to normal right now and your stomach turned at the complete and total disregard for his care. Jake is silent, his eyes darting between his hands and your seething face. “What the fuck did he do?” Your voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “What the fuck did he do instead of his fucking JOB?” You shake your head, a delirious chuckle escaping your lips as you do so. “What did he do instead of holding to his duty of fucking CARE?” You can’t see Jake’s expression past your blind rage.

“He told me full recovery would take over a year. He said that I would have to sit out the next season if I ever wanted to play again.” Jake shakes his head. “Then my coach was so adamant, so sure we could make it to the final. He was so convinced. He said we could get another cup, if I just stayed in for the rest of playoffs, if I just pushed through it. He said it would make the year off seem earned instead of,” Jake cuts off, barking a laugh, like even he can’t believe it now that he’s saying the words out loud. He’s quiet for a minute before he continues. “And he had my physician in his back pocket, so he told him to make sure I could play when I definitely shouldn’t have been. And you know how that ended. We played the next three games but ultimately lost the series with Anaheim. I started getting more in-depth scans and preliminary treatment done but suddenly Coach wasn’t so sure I was going to be worth the wait. He said if I took the year off, he couldn’t promise me I’d get my first-line spot back. And not in the way that you say when you’re trying to be realistic. No, he said it the way you say when it’s a promise, a threat. Like he just casually forgot my contract was up.” He chuckles and this time it’s unlike every other time you’ve heard the sound. It’s cold, cruel. “He expected me to re-sign, just like everyone else, because when you’re the face of a team, you can’t just leave. So I did just that.”

His green eyes are icy. “By the time I decided to leave, and figured out everything with my legal team, I knew there weren’t any teams still looking for players. It’s the NHL, who doesn’t want their shot? The rosters were full. Then I thought about the Dogfighters. They’re new, looking for their big break, their secret weapon.” He shrugs. “So I gave them an offer they couldn't refuse, served myself up on a big silver platter. I’d been taking the summer easy, staying off my leg the best I could. I thought it would be enough, that I could play. And sure it was probably the delusion, and I knew I would get caught out eventually because I didn’t think any of this through but I sure wasn’t expecting you to call me out on my first fucking day, Bugs.” He chuckles again and this time it’s the one you know so well. “You threw me off my axis, and now we’re here.” His eyes come back to your face and his expression changes to one of immediate concern. “Hey Bunny, hey what’s wrong?”

“What?” Your voice comes out as a croak and that’s when you realize you’re crying. You don’t know when the tears started leaking from your eyes, but now they run silently down your cheeks, dripping onto your clasped in your lap. “Oh, oh my god, Jake I’m so sorry. This is so unprofessional.” You flounder as you reach for the tissue box on the countertop behind you. You swipe at your cheeks roughly, trying to clean up the salty tracks as quickly as possible. “Sorry, I just- That’s not fair, what both of them did to you. They made you play, threatened your job, lied to you about your leg-” You can’t help the sob that chokes your words as you feel yourself getting more emotional as your heart breaks for the man sitting before you. He reaches for you, letting his good leg snag on your stool, rolling it over so you’re sitting between his spread knees. His hands come to take yours and you’re struck by the cruel irony of him comforting you when it should be you doing so for him.

“Slow down, Bunny. What do you mean they lied about my knee?” His green eyes search yours for a lie.

You shake your head. “A grade three MCL tear can heal in as little as six weeks with proper care. With surgery, it could take a little longer, but even then complications are rare. You could’ve been back on the ice as good as new by the time the new season started.” The tears are still running down your cheeks as you watch his face change as he processes your words, his hands clenching on your own as rage contorts his features and you pray you’re never on the receiving end of it because it steals the breath out of your lungs. You have to remind yourself that it’s not you that he’s angry with because your body is fighting the urge to pull away from him until you see tears mirroring your own on his cheeks. Frustration and grief wrack his body with sobs as you stand, pulling him into your arms against your better judgment. “I’m sorry, Jake.” You whisper as you rub circles into his back and just hold him as he falls apart. “I’m so sorry.”

***

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that. Eventually, you separate and discuss your next steps. You want new scans and tests run which you need to schedule. In the meantime, you go through with the rest of the physical to the best of Jake’s abilities and when he finally stands to leave with your help, the two of you exchange tired smiles and promise to see each other tomorrow. In the meantime, Jake needs to talk to his team and you need to talk to his manager and coach. You shoot Mav and Cyclone a text that you need to meet with them ASAP.

That’s how you find yourself sitting in that dreaded chair across from Cyclone’s desk later that day. You’re not sure how long you’ve been there. Time started slowing to a slow bleed ages ago. What started as a perfectly reasonable conversation about the health of one of your patients stopped being that while Cyclone’s face was still human-colored. “What the FUCK kind of behavior is this, Bugs?” Normally you’d fight the urge to flinch at the rage in his voice, but you’ve mentally checked out of the tirade. “I have an injured player, a fucking STARTER at that, and I’m only finding out about this now? And not just injured, but potentially unable to fucking do his fucking job when the season starts in less than two months?” He’s standing, waving a finger in your face like it’s a gun. You don’t really notice, the same way you didn’t notice Maverick typing furiously at his phone a few minutes ago from his seat slightly behind you, closer to the door, out of Cyclone’s direct eyeline at the moment. Mav tried defending you himself, at the beginning, only for Cyclone to yell at him to “sit down and shut up as if you haven’t caused enough trouble by practically begging me to hire her” which was news to you. Maybe you would’ve been touched if you weren’t so numb. You don’t hear the door behind you slam open, cutting off Cyclone as he’s in the middle of degrading your character into the ground.

“HEY!” Jake’s voice cuts through some of the fog around you and your body relaxes slightly instinctively from the tense position it’s been since you entered the room. As if your body knows you’re safe now that Jake’s here. He crosses the room in seconds, standing in front of you as if he can somehow shield you from Cyclone’s wrath. “This isn’t her fault, so don’t you go accusing her as if it is.” His voice is pure fury and if you were in control of your body, maybe you’d shudder at the rage that laces every single word. Even through the haze, your eyes clock the way he puts more weight on his left leg.

“That’s not up to you, son. She’s fired, effective immediately. This is gross negligence, she’s lucky we don’t sue.” Maybe you would have giggled at the words, at the inevitability of them, but your face is still glazed over.

“No, she’s not.” Jake’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “The only way I’m getting treated is if she’s the one to do it.” He glares at Cyclone. “I know I’ve cost you all a pretty penny that you currently don’t have so not only can you not afford to fire me, but you need me to play, and the only way that’s going to happen is if my leg heals, and I’m telling you right now that that’s not happening unless Bugs is my physician. If you want to blame someone? I’m feeling pretty good about my chances of suing my last physician and coach for a lot more than gross negligence. But Bugs and I are a package deal. If I stay, she stays, and I’m staying.”

With that, he turns to you, the rage gone and replaced with concern as he reaches for your hands so, so gently, taking them in his and easing you to your feet. “Come on, Bunny. “ He whispers so only you can hear, placing a hand on the small of your back, the other laced with yours as he guides you out of Cyclone’s office.

Once you’re far enough from the door, he stops, turning to you, a hand coming to cup your jaw as he strokes his thumb across your cheek, green eyes full of worry as they search your empty ones. “Bunny? Hey Bunny, come back to me, baby. I know you’re in there, Bunny, come on.” The gentle repetitive gesture on your cheek and the soothing sound of Jake’s voice slowly draw you out of the place you’ve barricaded yourself in your mind and Jake watches with relief as the haze in your eyes clears. “There you are, Bunny. You okay, baby?” The feeling rushes back into your body and your knees buckle with exhaustion from being on defensive shutdown for so long. You can’t bring yourself to speak so you nod as Jake slides an arm around your waist, holding you up as you slump against the wall. You’re too overwhelmed to catch the term of endearment he’d added into his sentences.

“Jake?” Your voice is a hoarse croak from disuse.

“Yeah, baby? I’m right here, Bunny.” His thumb continues its trail across your pallid cheek.

“What were you- How’d you- Why’d you do that?” Your brain is still fuzzy as you trip over your words.

He shakes his head gently, quiet affection in his gaze as he looks down into your bleary eyes. “It’s like I said this morning, Bunny. We make a good team. You really think I’d let you get away when we’re just getting started?” His eyes dance with something else you can’t place but before you can respond, the door down the hall opens again and you force yourself to stand and step out of Jake’s arms as Maverick comes towards the two of you. If he saw anything, he doesn’t say, instead giving Jake a gentle clap on the shoulder.

“Good save, kid. Quick on your feet, I like that.” He turns to you then. “Bugs, I’m so sorry about all of that. You didn’t deserve any of it, I wish I could have done more to stop it.”

You wave him off. “No need for both of us to lose our jobs, right? And you did help, Maverick. Even if I almost just lost it, you’re the reason I got this job, in more than one way apparently.” You give him a knowing look and his cheeks pinken with embarrassment that makes his fatherly face look boyish. “Thank you for that, I really mean it.” You know Maverick has no idea why Cyclone was so trigger-happy to fire you, Cyclone made that clear at your interview, and as much as you feel the sudden urge to tell him, you hold back because this is your new start and you definitely don’t need Jake to know.

“You don’t need to thank me, just keep taking good care of my boys.” You nod, hoping your gratitude shows in your eyes. “On that note, the three of us obviously need to talk about the next steps and honestly I’m really not in the mood to do that here, so why don’t you two join me and Penny for dinner?” He slings an arm around each of your shoulders, guiding the two of you down the hall, away from Cyclone’s office.

“Penny, sir?” Jake questions.

Maverick beams. “She’s the team nutritionist, and by some miracle, my girlfriend.” You fight the urge to giggle at the sixty-year-old man referring to Penny as his girlfriend instead of his partner.

“I don’t know,” Jake says ruefully. “Pudding’s been home alone all day and I can’t really leave her alone any longer in good conscience.” Mav waves him off.

“Bring her, there’s plenty of room at my house. I’ll text you both the address and take the rest of the afternoon off. We’ll work out where to go next at dinner and let the team know first thing tomorrow. Bugs, you too, you don’t look too great, the physicals can wait until tomorrow.” You nod gratefully as Mav leaves the two of you at the door to the parking garage.

Jake turns to you as Mav walks away. “Do you need to grab your stuff? We can meet back here in a five and I’ll walk you to your car?” You shake your head.

“No, you go ahead and head home. I’m definitely putting my afternoon physicals on hold but I want to make a comprehensive list of scans and treatment options to discuss with Mav at dinner so I’m gonna be another hour or two. I need to make a couple of calls.” That is if your so-called colleagues will even deign to answer the phone. “And no waiting for me this time.” You poke at his chest with your finger. “You get home to your girl and stay off that leg as best as you can.” Your eyes drift down to the new knee brace barely visible under Jake’s sweats. “Give her some extra cuddles because I have a feeling things around here are about to pick up, and drive safe with the brace, you hear me?” You frown at Jake’s leg. “You probably shouldn’t be driving period. Maybe I should give you a ride home.” He waves you off.

“I’m all good Bugs, you focus on finishing up your work, and I’ll see you at Mav’s for dinner.” You shake your head again, more forceful this time.

“No, I’m picking you up. This is the last time you’re driving with that leg. Here,” you pull your phone from your pocket, “put in your number and text yourself that way you have mine. Then you’re gonna text me your address when you get home so I know you made it in one piece.”

“Not all of us are prone to vehicular manslaughter, Bunny.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that HE drove in front of ME?” You snap, irritantly and he grins playfully.

“I don’t know, I think I’ll have to hear the other side of the story at dinner.” He says with a wink before he pushes open the door to the garage. You scowl after him. “See you, Bunny.”

“See you, Lola.” You enunciate as you turn on your heel, marching back to your office with purpose, ready to finally be able to do your job.