#hockey rambles

[jimothystu]

This is fucking ridiculous. G’s been in the league for about 15 years now, so he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. People on X saying the team “needs” all this negativity and “needs” to stop whining clearly are not fucking listening to what any of the players are saying. They’re tired of it. They hear it, they understand the fans are frustrated but so! Are! They!!! They’re frustrated! They’re tired! They are trying!!!!

And Brady, a 24 year old, needing to delete the social media apps from his phone because the negativity is so much?? Fucking disgusting.

Harassing the team and staff needs to stop. Get frustrated sure. Be annoyed. But remember these are people too. They have fucking feelings. And at the end of the day IT IS JUST A SPORT. IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN.

[gusbuses]

If we trade kakko I swear I'm gonna say somethings that will get me banned from msg

[multishippingtrashfire]

Y*he legitimately just says fucking anything. No Hextall would not have ‘earned’ my respect for not re-signing Geno because he alone thought that was the right move. How fucking stupid.

Without Geno the Pens wouldn’t have had a whisper of a playoff chance. And he took a Team friendly deal to stay after Hex was basically disrespectful. Fuck off

[therookieyear]

I have been fortunate enough to have seen a good number of games since becoming a Penguins fan. And I am grateful to have visited Pittsburgh a handful of times as well. It is a lovely city and much more calm in comparison to where I reside now.

But with the news of Sid’s contract, I now feel more compelled to make sure I take advantage of any opportunities I might get to watch him play in person. Time goes by so quickly, as we all know. After all, the off-season seemed so daunting in May…and now here we are, just days away from camp!

So when I think of these upcoming years that way, the feeling is bittersweet. I am happy to know Sid has signed for a term and salary that he is content with. But I am sad of course too, because we are that much closer to the conclusion of what has been a legendary career.

But that aside, I want to end this on a positive note. I am going to make the most of that time and have fun watching Sid and the Pens play, even if the win/loss record is not ideal. I would like to bring more friends to Penguins games too. Because I love watching hockey with friends if I can, even if they have to ask a lot of questions about the rules 😅 which I am more than happy to answer!

[united-under-skyfall]

leverage is so fucking funny. man manages to find the most mentally ill and neurodivergent group of thieves on the market + an even more mentally ill guy whose literal job description was trying to chase all of them, and forces them into a found family speed-run by trying to blow them all up. they lowkey stage a full fucking country wide coup and are like eh 🤷 just another wednesday. this might be a fun place to vacation tho i guess. sophie shows up to her own funeral twice. they're so good at convincing people of their shit that they make a guy's body start reacting to an illness he doesn't have because it isn't real. go completely out on a limb and basically hand this one guy a new password for his computer so they can get into it and he goes with it. parker and hardison have straight up just "fake it 'till you make it"d into the fbi without even attempting to cover their tracks beyond just These Two Guys. half their clients never asked to be their clients and don't know they're their clients, and the other half are random people who find them who fuckin knows how, meanwhile no government agency can track them down without selling their soul to sterling. they make a point to have a dramatic scene w a Big Bad Shadowy Government Guy who doesn't actually get caught or brought to justice or anything telling them he's going to hunt them all down, and in any other show this would probably earn at least a minor arc later on but he literally never shows up again. an entire season finale hinged on a cake and a bunch of clams. they accidentally made eliot a celebrity not once, not twice, but three times. parker blew up her foster parents' house when she was like. nine. and it's hardly a footnote. hardison is just casually an artistic prodigy but it's only ever brought up for the most background of background gags. eliot's biggest beef with parker and hardison for like two and a half seasons is that they won't stop making weird food with lasers and refuse to realize they can't make a decent beer to save their lives. sophie's immediate response to being shot is to call her shooter a wanker. there's a character who has literally killed a man with a mop and they had the audacity to only put her in one episode.

[multishippingtrashfire]

OMG YES THANK YOU GOD YES THIS IS ITTTTT

Sid: It used to be much more common to have roommates on the road. Today only guys on entry-level contracts have them. In my first two years, my roommate is Colby Armstrong. He’d been called up from Wilkes-Barre, and he’s a great guy. He keeps things really loose.

For whatever reason, he loves the show Ellen. When we get up from our pre-game nap, Ellen is usually starting. She always dances with the audience at the beginning. So, Army always dances with her in front of the TV. That becomes my pre-game routine on the road: watching Colby Armstrong dance to Ellen.

You spend a lot of time together in hotels. We’re in Buffalo, and we always order room-service dessert when we get home from our meal the night before a game. Even if we’ve had dessert at the restaurant. These were slightly different times when it comes to nutrition!

So, we would order this big piece of chocolate cake at the Hyatt in Buffalo. We’re waiting for the cake one night, and for some reason, we decide to get in a full-on wrestling match.

We’re going back and forth, and now he’s on the ground and I come from the other side of the room to jump him. He sticks his knee up and gets me in a… well, a really bad spot, if you know what I mean. I just drop. I’m in a heap in the corner in agony. He thinks I’m joking. I’m not. I have some serious swelling.

So he starts to panic: “You’re gonna be okay— right, Sid? You’re gonna play tomorrow, right?”

But I’m not sure. I can’t move.

We decide we have to tell the trainer. He comes to the room and he’s not happy. He doesn’t want to tell the coach I’m going to be out because we were wrestling.

So, all night, Army is nervous. Every hour, he wakes me up and says, “Sid, are you okay?” He keeps telling me, “You have to play!”

He reminds me over and over it was his dream to play in the NHL, and his career depends on me playing. He thinks he’s going to get sent down to the minors for knocking me out of the lineup in a wrestling match.

So, I grind it out and play. Just for Army.

Army: I was so scared. Full panic. I’m still waiting for him to have a kid, so I can know I didn’t ruin the Crosby genetics forever!

But it was kinda Sid’s fault. He bull-rushed me. And if you mess with the bull, sometimes you get the horn! We tone down the wrestling after that.

Sid’s right about the cake. We love to eat. One night we get into Toronto late, around 11:30 p.m., and we’re off the next day. I’m not sure if we are supposed to go out, but a few of us do, just for a couple of beers. Sid is smart. He stays in and goes to sleep. I’m starving after the bar, so I go to McDonald’s and grab a couple of cheeseburgers. I sneak into our room quietly and go straight into the bathroom to eat. Don’t want to wake up the Kid.

I’m sitting on the edge of the tub, eating my McDonald’s. All of a sudden, the door cracks open a little bit and these tired, squinty eyes peek in. And this little voice says, “Hey, Army, did you get any for me?”

So at 1 o’clock in the morning, I sit on the edge of the tub, the best player in the world sits on the toilet, and we eat cheeseburgers. Life doesn’t get much better.

-Beauties: Hockey’s Greatest Untold Stories by James Duthie (2020)

[thedevilrisen]

Cradle Me

Father!Quinn x Son & Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,1k Authorial Note: My next voted WIP! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did while writing it! Don’t know if it’s my best piece then. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of birth.

Elliot Samuel Hughes came screaming into the world at 4:12 p.m., Quinn only knew his son for a matter of awed, breathless moments before the world sharpened—and chaos erupted.

Nurses swarmed you, dabbing and cleaning with sodden warm towels. A warm, slimy bundle of swaddle-blanket and baby reached your chest as the obstetrician stepped back from your glistening body. Quinn's reddened hand slipped from your grip, instinctively cradling the baby to your chest. His other hand, shaking slightly, gripped the bed's plastic rail. Leaning forward, he rested his right arm limply across your shoulder, his forehead gently touching yours as the two of you gazed down at your son.

"How’re you doing, Dad?" the obstetrician asked from the sink as he scrubbed his hands clean.

Quinn blinked, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I feel sick... but in a good way." He laughed softly, joy plastered permanently on his face. "We created a human... that's fucking scary but awesome at the same time."

Even in your post-birth haze, a smile graced your lips. It was an awesome thing indeed. This was your person now, a culmination of Quinn and your love. Despite this baby being considered a gift, he clearly was sent to test you and Quinn’s love for each other. No parenting class could have prepared you for the unfolding chaos that was leaving the hospital and heading home. The first day at the hospital was incredible, the nurses gently guided you and Quinn in the ways of parenting. But once you left and arrived home, the learning curve turned into an aggressive crash course.

Emotions ran high for every family member. Every nap missed, messy feed, spit-up, or nappy mess that needed cleaning up frayed the string further. Quinn and you had been remarkably naïve to think that this journey would be easy, even though you’d been dreaming collectively of this moment for years.

Quinn, along with self-proclaimed uncles Elias, Brock, and JT, spent hours working on the perfect nursery for baby boy Hughes. From wall decorations to the crib and changing table—which you insisted had to be powder blue with clouds and a grassy field with cows in it—the boys poured their hearts into it. Once they had finished assembling the room and you'd let it air out due to your hatred of the smell of fresh paint, you added the final details: books, blankets, nappies, and wipes, along with baby clothes hanging neatly on tiny coat hangers.

The first night home from the hospital was powered purely by adrenaline. You and Quinn took shifts with baby boy—changing, feeding, and sometimes just comforting him to sleep. By the second and third nights, the exhaustion set in. Leaving the warmth of the bed became a Herculean effort, especially for you. The physical toll of birth weighed heavily on your body, and sustaining new life felt overwhelming.

Quinn tried his hardest to take the load off, seeing how hard you were working to make the transition smooth, though it felt futile. His patience held up remarkably well for the first four days, but by the fourth night, tension crept in. Snappish words replaced your usual playful banter, and the distance between you felt like a growing chasm. Quinn’s touch, once so comforting, now felt foreign. Exhaustion tangled both your nerves, and intimacy between the two of you became a distant memory.

That night, an abrupt “goodnight” was shared, accompanied by a peck on the cheek. You both lay there in the dark, separated by a wall of fatigue, each praying for sleep that never came, as baby boy woke again at distasteful hours of the night.

Night five was the killer. Some ungodly hour like 1:03 a.m. glared back at you from the microwave as you ambled around the kitchen for the second time that night. You’d fed him twice now, but much of the milk had come back up in spit-up. Quinn had changed baby once and had checked on him again 45 minutes earlier.

There was one distinct problem: the baby only slept when he was held. You could do as many laps around the kitchen as you wanted, Quinn could rock him for hours, but as soon as baby landed on the bassinet’s mattress, it was like laying him on lava.

"Still no luck, darlin’?" Quinn’s voice came quietly from the doorway, his tired form silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. He met you halfway, his brow furrowed with concern.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Every time I put him down, he cries," you whispered, blinking back tears. "I’m so tired, Quinn."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "C’mon, let’s go back to bed," he murmured, leading you gently up the stairs. Exhaustion had blurred the edges of your world, and you forced a tired smile as he kissed your hand again.

"He’s just going to cry when I put him down, Quinn," you stated tiredly as he threw back the covers for you. The softness of the bed felt like heaven against your aching body, and you settled in without a second thought.

Quinn, now shirtless, pulled baby from your arms and nestled him gently on his chest, holding him snugly as he propped himself up with pillows. He tucked you in under his arm, pulling the blankets over both of you.

"Sleep now, darlin’," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Baby wriggled slightly in his swaddle but quickly relaxed against Quinn's warmth. "If this is how we have to do it from now on, fine."

Quinn sighed, his grip tightening around both of you. "At least we have good chiros at the rink."

[duckduos]

Cant believe this guy is winning a Stanley cup next season (trust me)

[tojisun]

wdym this isnt hockey player simon

[gusbuses]

I'm sorry leaf friends I am literally sick and cannot be happy that you got dewey2

Like give him back....

[multishippingtrashfire]

Geno is gonna burn down Ovi’s house 😭😭😭

[sophsicle]

the thing is, i do not have any interest in a hockey player who falls in love. i am interested in a hockey player who is utterly destroyed by the boy standing across the ice from him. the boy he met when he was 17 maybe, at juniors. and then 18 at the draft. who he hated because they were competitors. who he hated so much that he couldn't even think about anything else. until he didn't know who he was if he wasn't competing against him. wasn't fighting against him. wasn't thinking about him. wasn't pressing him into the boards. wasn't holding him too long in the handshake line. wasn't sneaking into hotel rooms with him. and having hushed conversations in corners. and less hushed conversations in beds where they were soft and young and childish in a way they could never be on the ice. until the day they stop. because, well, it's not like this can go on forever, right? because we've been playing this sport since we were three and we will keep playing it until our bodies are so broken they have to scrape us off the ice. because this is our life. this is our whole life. this sport. and it has no room for boys who are soft and young and childish. who hold each other a little too tight. so now this hockey player stands on the ice and he looks at this boy and he aches like his whole body is bruised even though the game hasn't started yet, even though no one has touched him. and he wonders "if we had different dreams, in a different world, do you think it would have been us? i know you have kids and a wife now but - but do you think it would have been us?"

later, after the game, a reporter will shove a mic in the boy's face and ask him about the goals he scored and the goals he didn't. about the hockey player who's been his rival since they were 18.

"17" he corrects.

the reporter blinks. "sorry?"

"since we were 17" smiling in a way that feels like a sob. "he's a fierce competitor," hand rubbing against a stubble rough jaw, thinking about something that started long before he could grow a proper beard. "he's my favourite guy to play against, someone you miss when he's not there," another smile that the reporter has to look away from. "he has beautiful hands." he can't say what he wants to, of course. which is that he looks forward to these games more than any other. counts down the days. marks them on the calendar. because there are pieces of himself that he gave away when he was too young to know better. that he asked the hockey player to keep. and he has, because that's the kind of guy he is. because no one ever taught him how to put shit down. so when they go out there on the ice together, the boy gets to be whole again, for a little bit. he gets to be whole.

"Thank you" the reporter says.

And the boy nods. "Of course."

[cornerihaunt]

no literally 💀💀💀💀💀

[ourravenboys]

women’s hockey continues to be the gayest and most entertaining sport

[lxnceclercs]

luke hughes YOU are the next goalie for the new jersey devils

[victorinoxghoul]

got asked to post my redraw of my favorite swayman and ullmark pic