#i figured using my q for this was better than pausing it

[sirfetchd]

I am participating in the March 2nd shutdown for Palestine.

Read more about it here.

for more info on actions to take for Palestine: ceasefiretoday | the BDS movement's website

places to donate: Palestine Children's Relief Fund | CareForGaza | Operation Olive Branch | eSims for Gaza | Pious Projects | Mutual Aid Diabetes

And of course, don't forget your daily clicks.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

[rin-and-jade]

Hi, same system as before -

Do you have any information on dating a singlet, as a system?

We're in this situation rn and we really want to tell that person about our experiences, (and we're sure they'll be accepting, they're very sweet and kind :3) but we.... want some time to figure things out, and also, because we have NO IDEA how to make it work like:

What if one of us switches out suddenly,,, in the middle of idk.. kissing? What if not all of our alters love this person to the same degree? Do they even (our alters) have to?? We haven't quite figured out how to distinguish each one of us (we got a looooot of blurriness going on) - so we think that might be a problem but we aren't sure how to deal with it???

Argghh we have so many questionnnssssss

(Also do you have a masterlist of posts? We tried looking for one on your introduction page - but didn't understand it... :< ;^; )

- 🍁💥🧸

I do not have any information or posts for dating,

So please type all the questions you have regarding of this topic, i'll also answer the ones you had said too!

Q: "What if i switched midway??" A: You can either politely tell them to pause because you accidentally flipped to a different side of a coin, or, if the part doesn't mind, continue it. It heavily depends on how you want to go along with it you know? If it wants to retract, then retract,, if it is okay, then keep on going but also let them know you switched.

Q: "What if i don't love this person consistently?" A: Its natural for systems to have shifts throughout the day, if you love less--that doesn't mean its necessarily bad to feel that way. Accepting your ebb and flows goes a long way for your health and also abolishing of any expectations or values that seem to do more harm than good. They're not obliged to love the person too.

Q: "Im often blurry! How do i recognize my parts better?" A: Make sure you are not tired, stressed, or preoccupied with tasks and toughts. Nobody tells systems that to identify and know who even is fronting also takes mental energy. So if you are already depleted of it, it'll bound to be harder to recognize your other alters. On top of that, start small: hear the difference in accents, or way of speaking, notice any different opinions on one subject--those are your alters subtly speaking despite the blurriness.

--

Also i do not have a masterlist of posts, the tag, #jeducates , does that already. The tag is specifically for educative posts, while #janswersask is for looking back to QnA and see if a similar question has been asked before.

- chrono

[ladykissingfish]

what if Deidara worked at like, the makeup counter at Macy’s. and he’s the absolute best. he’s better than any of the women he works with. he can find your tone, the perfect foundation, he knows what would accentuate your features, etc. he can tell what makeup would look best on you from a glance, and he’s never wrong.

what if Sasori worked as a chemical engineer or something, and lately all the things he’s been working with have caused his skin to break out in blotches and dark spots. normally he wouldn’t care but he has a family event coming up soon that he’d like to look good for. so he grits his teeth and decides to try makeup to hide his skin’s imperfections.

he goes to the makeup counter and Deidara is there. and Deidara … cannot find this man’s match. gasp, this has never happened before. Sasori sits in the chair while deidara tests foundation after foundation on him, all different brands, different tones, and still can’t find anything that he says is Sasori’s match.

but Sasori doesn’t mind. 

as Deidara uses a q-tip and a brush to gently blend different colors on Sasori’s face (and then a makeup remover pad to take it off and try another), he laughs, he chats. he’s very chatty. his hands are soft on Sasori’s skin. and he smells absolutely incredible.

after about half an hour of experimenting, Deidara finally finds the perfect color for Sasori. he explains to him the process of putting it on, how to blend, what to use to moisturize his face afterwards, etc. but Sasori is hardly listening, because something else is on his mind.

“Excuse me? I don’t mean to interrupt; you’ve been so helpful. Um, I’m sorry, I’m not the best at reading the … the preferences of other people. But, if you don’t find it objectionable, I would love to take you out to dinner sometime.”

Deidara pauses in the middle of ringing Sasori up. He goes quiet. So quiet that Sasori starts to worry; did he overstep bounds? 

he blushes and pulls out his credit card, quickly putting it in the slot. He needed to get out of there before he embarrassed himself anymore.

but.

then his receipt prints, and Deidara takes it, turns it over, and writes something on the back.

“My number,” he says, as he hands it to the stunned Sasori. “I get off most nights by 6. Text me and we’ll figure something out!”

Sasori can barely eke out a “T-thanks! I will!” before he turns and leaves.

the smile he’s wearing is more beautiful than anything he’s got in his bag.

also, Deidara knew from the second he saw Sasori, what makeup was for him. he just wanted to keep Sasori in his chair for as long as he could.

or something like that. 

[bananasomg]

17. talk about your writing and editing process

LMAO - two words: fucking. messy.

but really, there are two routes i tend to travel down when i'm writing:

one is character visualization, specifically dialogue and actions. i have a background in theatre and script writing, so i like to think of characters in the same setting—what's natural for us? how do we speak and gesture? what do we do to convey (or hide) big feelings and complex emotions in one, short sentence or a handful of actions? and once i have a visual on characters and their desires/motives, i build a plot around that.

i wrote not so subtle and a brief respite using this process.

the second is plot-driven or scene-driven. there is a specific scenario or plot i want my characters to indulge in, then my next task is figuring out how those characters would interact within the restraints i've plotted. the story comes to life in ways that make sense for them. usually, this process tends to derail a bit more than route one because characters may not want to follow my plot, and that's okay too. i'll indulge and then pivot if something better comes out of it (and usually something better does indeed happen!)

i wrote the boy is mine and after hours using this process.

finally, with editing, i'd say i'm a bit more methodical. it's more about word choice and stanzas and prose flow. i read my works out loud, which is something my grad professor made me do in his office to his face (absolutely mortifying then but oh how the tables have turned). that's where i am able to single out choppy, awkward sentences or super robotic dialogue or catch myself using certain words a bit too much. i like to pause and reorganize, and then after my major tweaks, i will let the piece sit. i'll often leave a "finished" fic for a week or so and then come back with fresh eyes.

anywhooooo—rambles complete. :) ty for sending me all these amazing q's. i hope this helps any other writers in the house! 🤍

[indecentpause]

Find the Word Tag

tagged by @winterandwords to find the words air, fair, chair, and repair! thank!

air:

“The—“ You pause and waggle your hands in the air, as if that explains it. “The way you noticed all those little bit and pieces. The way you figured I was me right away. Where did you learn to do that?” “Oh, I, uh, I didn’t,” he says. “Learn it, I mean. It’s just something my brain has done since I was a kid. Pay attention to the little details. I just… see them. And then I generally have dolphin thoughts about it until I reach the right conclusion.” “Dolphin thoughts?” “Oh!” Josselin laughs. “Sorry, that was something my mom and I called them growing up. When you have a thought and your ADHD jumps from point A to point Q. All the little connections between the two your brain nobody else sees makes until you get there.” Your eyebrows raise in understanding. “I like that. Dolphin thoughts.” You say it more to yourself than to him.

fair:

You watch them as they speak, but your ankle throbs and makes it difficult to really listen, and you’re starting to think you’re being more of a hindrance than a help. You shift your weight to your good foot and Josselin, standing with his profile toward you, whirls in your direction and says, “Meara, are you all right?” You nod and flush red in embarrassment. You try to tell yourself it’s the heat. “Yeah,” you say, but your voice catches a little. “It just aches.” “Oh!” Josselin cries. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’ve been standing here all this time with that bad ankle. I got distracted, oh, um, I need to stay with the Inspector but if you need to go home and rest that’s more than okay! He can give me a ride home, or I can catch a Lyft.” You look toward the Inspector. His skin is so fair it’s already burning in the August sun. His face and neck are shiny with a sheen of sweat. He nods. “I’ll get him home.”

chair:

“What happened?” you ask. The Inspector rubs at the tired wrinkles of his forehead and grabs his mask from the desk. He slides it over his mouth and nose and nods toward where he wants you to follow. The station gets quieter and quieter the further down the hallway you get. You pass an interrogation room, but nobody’s using it right now. Just a couple of cops hanging out at a nearby coffee maker. The Inspector shuffles you into a smallish room, with laptops, recording devices, microphones, all sorts of things everywhere. He leads you to a small desk near the back and even though there’s only one chair, he pushes you both down into it and says, “Look at this video and tell me what’s wrong.” Josselin frowns and leans back to look at him. “Dona—“ “Inspector when I’m on the clock.” Josselin rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, Inspector, why don’t you just tell us what—“ “Because I need you to see it for yourself.”

repair fix:

“I guess we’d better go get those papers, then.” You close your laptop and put it on the coffee table. “We?” you ask hesitantly. It was probably just a slip of the tongue, but it makes you feel a little better, like you’re in this together. Like you have a friend. Of course you have Danny, but he’s so far away, and even though he’d drop everything and come running for you, he’s already done so much. You can’t ask him for any more. “Well, yeah,” Josselin says. He kicks his feet off the couch and fixes his ponytail. “He’s going to expect something like this, right? So you can’t go alone. It’s not safe.” You look at him and he looks at you, then you smile and stand up so you can get your shoes and take your second medication dose. “Meds!” you call out to Josselin, as you dig out your pill bottles. He grumbles, but you can hear the creaking of the floorboards as he goes to his room.

tagging @winterandwords back, and also @kaiusvnoir and @idreamonpaper to find the words climb, drop, run, and pace!

[stellarred]

A Precious Quarry

Two dark hooded figures sat side by side on a boulder. They casually observed the mountainous landscape of a random countryside on the planet Earth.

"Look at how the fox runs," mused Q. "Elusive and determined never to be caught."

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" his companion asked.

Q closed his eyes for a moment. The cold air caressed his face, as he slowly opened his eyes to gaze at the small creature darting from rock to rock.

He smiled. "Even the most clever and swift fox tires of running from those who hunt it. Sooner or later, it weakens."

"But Q, the fox is hunted by those who seek to kill it," the other said somberly.

"True," Q whispered.

"Your motivations are not to bring harm to him."

Q slowly turned to his companion, his dark eyes peering from the black cloak

"Never." He gazed upward at the sky. Clouds passed overhead.

"I seek to bring him into love. My love."

Q lowered his head.

His companion smiled and inched closer to him.

"My poor eternal brother," he began. "How assured you are that someday he will come to you, that he will give himself to you."

Q reached into his pocket. His ancient hand pulled out a pocketwatch. Staring deeply into it with his omniscient eyes, Q smiled.

"He can run... far from me. He can get married, live his life--a hundred lives, and in the end, he will still give himself to me. You see, he forgets that Time is infinite, just as I am."

Q's companion lifted his head.

"You really believe he will come to love you."

Q took a deep breath and gazed at the sight of hunters clambering up the hill. The heat and excitement of the hunt burned in their eyes.

"They will eventually grow weary of their pursuit and lose sight of their quarry. That is unless the fox tires. I will not. I cannot tire."

Q then arose and closed his black cloak around his body. He turned to his companion and smiled gently.

"His love for me is there... buried deep inside him. A wellspring." He paused. "I know him. I know Jean-Luc better than he knows himself."

The other Q nodded. The air was silent now; the sounds of the hunters now far off in the distance.

"The question is how long will it be before he learns that his future lies with us--that it lies with me?" Q said softly, the cold wind whipping his black cloak around his legs. His companion remained silent.

"I can wait. I am Time."

With that, the two hooded figures vanished in a flash of light, and a crack, like a thunderclap echoed through the valley.

"Be fearless in pursuit of what sets your soul on fire."

[princesscolumbia]

Double Isekai, Ch. 2

Yes, I've posted a preview for ch. 1 after I got ch. 3 up and posted, but I figure it can't hurt to post more previews, so 1 preview post per day until I hit the currently posted number of chapters:

Summary:

Dreams give loved ones a chance to say hello...and goodbye. A chance meeting at a mall requires some fast thinking.

Preview of Ch. 2 below the fold:

Startled more than hurt, the redhead scrambled back and clapped her hands over her nose. "Oh, you sonova..." she growled.

"It's 'bitch,' thank you, I left the 'son of a' part behind years ago."

"Yeah, 'cause you were too pussy to handle bein' a man!"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, for cryin'...I get you're still in high school, but you got access to my entire life! At least come up with better insults!"

Ranma dropped her hands back down to her sides and glared, "What right do you have tellin' my ma I aint a man?!"

She gave Ranma a flat stare, "Ranma, we're in our own fuckin' dreamscape and you're a girl right now!" Ranma looked down at herself as though the self-examination would change her gender presentation. "Maybe tell me you're a man when you're not sporting stonking huge tits and a vagina on the personification of your inner self."

"This is just the curse!" tried Ranma.

"Nope, we both know that aint true. Your girl-form is the spitting image of your mother, just...you know, smaller."

"Hey!"

"You know, like a compact car."

"Why you...!"

"Pocket sized."

"Fucking...cross dresser!"

She shut her mouth so hard her teeth clacked as Ranma's insult hit home. The muscles in her cheeks flexed repeatedly as she worked to control her anger.

Ranma took the opportunity to growl, "My pops raised me to be a man! That's my destiny, not that you'd get that! You just gave up!"

"Of course I gave up! I stopped tryin' to be a man 'cause I wasn't one and I was just...tired." The heat in her voice cooled significantly and she sagged against the tree she'd been slammed up against, "You're sixteen years old, Ranma. You've been dealing with the dysphoria for, what, five years? Maybe 10 if you gained enough awareness that young to understand gender like that? Then you get the girl body you really want, the one you were supposed to have and you're fighting it!" She sagged down further, finally sitting on the ground at the base of the tree. "I had been fighting it for so...long. Gods, it hurts to even think about," she felt her eyes pooling with tears, "I made charts and graphs and little how-to manuals for myself and every time something came along that was 'how men are supposed to be' I studied it like I was going pro at it and every...damn...time it always failed to make me feel like a man inside."

Ranma had a haunted look as she heard the description of a life lived in dysphoria. "I aint..."

"Ranma, shut the fuck up. You know what I know. You know what I felt like and I can feel it in your memories, too!" She sighed and scrubbed at her face. "Listen, if I could leave, I would. You can guess I'm rather eager to get back to my daughter and girlfriend. But I can't, Ranma! We're stuck, we're officially Tuvix'd. Pretty much only a Q or God could split us at this point, and we're in the wrong universe for Q to notice and God's a fucking sonovabitch who I will happily punch in the goddamn face and he knows it."

Ranma just glared at her for a moment, then ground out, "I will beat you, whatever it takes!"

She thumped her head against the tree, "Ranma, there's nothing to beat! It's already over. I'm you, you're me. The only thing left is for our memories to finish merging."

"So, what, you're gonna eat me from the inside like some reverse lyctor?"

"It's already done, Ranma! 'You' and 'I' are just concepts! The fact that you know what a lyctor is in this context should be proof enough for you!"

"Of course I know what a lyctor is! They're..." she paused, disturbed shock spreading over her face.

"Yeah, see? You're getting it now. I know about lyctors as a concept where a necromancer 'eats' a cavalier at the soul level to gain eternal life because I read about it in Gideon the Ninth. That book won't be published, if it's published in this universe, until the late 2010s. The property its inspired by isn't even going to be made for 20-30 years. You only know that because I know that."

Ranma dropped to the ground, landing on her butt with a muted thump. "...but..."

"I know."

"I didn't..." complained the redhead.

She sighed, sadness and sympathy in her expression, "I know."

"You can't just..."

"I didn't, Ranma. That's the nature of the isekai. It's not a grand scheme or a destiny or a plan, it just happens." She shrugged, "I mean, now that it's happened to me I've got more theories, but it all boils down to the most ridiculous dice roll ever. The odds are literally infinity upon infinity upon infinity to one...but because the dice get rolled an infinite number of times, that 'one' shows up an infinite number of times." She gestured expansively at the sky, which was a hazy suggestion of a starscape, "Out there in the multiverse, someone is being disintegrated spontaneously and reappearing in a dungeon in a fantasy reality. Somewhere a dwarf is being crushed by a collapsing mine to wake up in modern day New York City. Some dumbass punk kid is going to bed perfectly secure that nothing strange will happen to him and wake up in charge of a Starfleet ship in a universe where the Federation was founded by Risa instead of Earth and it turns out he's the protag of a sci-fi harem doujin."

Ranma was practically curled up on herself by this point, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The older, more experienced girl watched Ranma collapse in on herself and her voice softened, "And somewhere, some divorced rando decided to turn off a freeway early because of a traffic alert on her phone and got t-boned by an out-of-control garbage truck."

Ranma's eyes popped open, fear and emotional pain radiating from them as she wordlessly pleaded for something she couldn't quite define.

"I'm dead, Ranma. Even if I could leave your body and soul to you again, I'd have nowhere to go. I've got a beef with God large enough to butcher and feed a large third-world country so my chances of getting into heaven are pretty fuckin' slim. I wasn't even sure there was a 'soul' to have an afterlife with until this happened."

They stared at each other in silence across the clearing, the dream world slowly shifting around them.

She broke the silence after a bit, "You know, you're startin' to look a lot like my sister did at your age."

Read the rest on AO3.

[uniconbetgroup]

CARIBBEAN STUD POKER STRATEGIES

One of the most well-known poker versions played against the house is probably Caribbean Stud Poker.

The game's beginnings are unclear, despite David Sklansky, the well-known author of poker manuals, claiming to have originated it in the early 1980s.

The game's principles are simple to understand, and if you come up with the appropriate strategy, you can lower the house edge relative to other casino games.

Making the greatest choices you can increase your chances of being lucky, and I can assist you with that. In this post, I'll explain my Caribbean Stud poker strategy and give you some advice on how to get started.

1.     GET THE GIST:

The most crucial step before starting to gamble with real money is to learn the game's history. In a lot of ways, Caribbean Stud is comparable to other games like Teenpatti, Blackjack, and many others in that it demands strategy discipline to play.

The house advantage in Caribbean Stud is roughly 5%, though the precise figure may change according to the rules. Without playing the game beforehand, you risk getting in over your head. Knowing your bets in advance is essential to lowering the house edge. I suggest playing the game for free online before starting to place real money wagers. You can also play with fictitious bets to monitor your development and gauge your level of competence. It's among the best ways to get ready for actual games.

2.     DON'T PLAY SIDE BETS:

Avoiding all side bets will help your Caribbean Stud poker strategy tremendously. These wagers contribute to a progressive jackpot, which draws many players looking for large payouts. When placing side bets, the average house advantage rises significantly, though.

Chasing a progressive jackpot is always a losing proposition because it will never pay out in the long run. Although it's one of the worst bets you can place at a casino, it's low enough ($1) to be acceptable on rare occasions. Players will drool at the potential to win a sizable payment as the progressive jackpot keeps rising. However, to win the jackpot, you must have a royal flush without any draws (a chance of winning of less than 0.001%). Simply put, the odds are not in your favor.

3.     IF YOU DON'T ENJOY PLAYING, DON'T:

When they start losing money at Caribbean Stud, many new players become demoralized. Even the finest players occasionally experience terrible luck, and they are aware that playing while upset will drain their bankrolls.

You want to keep playing Caribbean Stud poker and refine your tactics. You must understand when to give up and accept your defeats, though. Never let your feelings dictate your gambling preferences.

Keep in mind that gambling is entertainment, a type of diversion that encourages your brain to release high amounts of dopamine. Better to pause and take a break if you're starting to feel frustrated.

Even though we might think of ourselves as specialists, the majority of us—including myself—are amateur gamers. Never forget that playing casino games is a way for us to have fun and enjoy ourselves. Simply leave the game and take a break when losing streaks happen.

4.     ADDITIONAL ADVICE AND HINTS:

I'd want to go over a few more Caribbean Stud poker hints that have to do with seeing specific situations and playing them appropriately. In the end, you have to choose if your hand is strong enough to pursue or to immediately give up.

Veterans will attempt to memorize every scenario and probability. However, you only need to adhere to these two fundamental rules:

·        Always play a pair or better in a hand.

·        If your hand is worse than Ace-King, always fold.

              You should use these two key ideas in your Caribbean Stud poker strategy. When they undercut          the house edge, they both contribute significantly.

              Depending on the situation, there are several ways to play an Ace-King combination. What you    ought to do is:

1.      If the dealer's face-up card is any number between a 2 and a Q, raise.

2.      Only raise if you have a Queen or a Jack when the dealer's face-up card is a King or an Ace.

3.      If the dealer's face-up card is less than your fourth-highest card and you have a Queen, raise.

These are straightforward strategies that reduce the house's advantage and raise your chances of winning. However, remember that a more intricate plan might give you an even bigger advantage.

CONCLUSION:

When you want to try your luck but aren't close to the action, Caribbean Stud can be a fun alternative if you enjoy playing poker. This game may be pretty amusing with the proper group of players, and there is always a slim possibility of hitting the jackpot.

No matter why you decide to play, I hope you use these four suggestions to improve your experience. I enjoy the game because it offers a change of pace from my usual rotation.

[respondedinkind]

Khan listens to the words that are spoken right back at him; It certainly feels a lot better to be able to understand them, to grasp the meaning of what has sounded like absolute chaos just a few days ago. All in all, english might be one of the most easiest languages Khan had ever needed to learn for the purpose of communicating; It doesn't surprise him that it hasn't taken longer than two days, yet the other one seems to be genuinely impressed about it.

So, they have been trying to figure him out, have taken blood samples and run them through different tests to see what kinds of results would pop up - Khan wonders if they've already found out about his extraordinary healing-abilities; He remembers Q picking up on it a couple of days ago, back when Khan had still been bed-bound and ripped out his IV.

Besides all that...

"Yes, I indeed am aware of the world 'alien' - and I am aware of what it means."

Blinking, nostrils flaring, Khan turns back around to face the unknown one once more - blue eyes meet the stranger's features, taking in the sight of him, accompanied by a tilt of his head in what could be taken as a mixture of curiosity and assessment.

"---You are certainly alien to me as well, even though I am, technically speaking, the one to be considered such. However, I was - and still am - quite fascinated about the fact that we share a very similar exterior, which means we must have developed comparable in ways, despite us not being of same race. Most likely has to do with the planet's climate, the way it pushed evolution along..."

A pause follows, blue eyes averting, in thought - Khan blinks after a few seconds, then knits his brows, pushing his own thoughts away before looking back at the man with that very interesting (and surely not real) name. He finds it a bit amusing that the unknown one puts so much emphasis on the fact that, apparently, no one will be experimenting on him here - and Khan even feels one of his brows twitch at the chosen words of 'being under their care' - whoever they is, and whatever care means in this context.

Being stuck here, inside this living space, doesn't feel like being taken care of. Sure, they'd helped him by allowing him to rest and recover from his injuries...

But Khan isn't a free man; He's a prisoner, held within this place in an attempt to make sure he won't cause any danger. He's sure whoever Q belongs to are interested in who he is, what he is, and where he comes from...

"---You can call me Khan. That should suffice."

Another breath is taken, and then Khan lifts his own chin a bit before continuing to speak.

"I assume my shuttle has been confiscated. ---I wouldn't be surprised; I hardly doubt that your kind would just let it be there, at the crash site, and not collect whatever they can before keeping it hiddem from society as a whole."

Q froze, staring at the pastry he had just picked up since he couldn't really maintain the kind of eye contact the alien always seemed to want from him. Even if Marcus wanted to - anyone who happened to watch the tapes back would be confused by how their timid Quartermaster had managed to stare down an alien whose test results had indicated that he was a threat even without the presence of his own technology or ship.

He let out a low, quiet hum of consideration but couldn't see any reason to lie; if he was about to die then it would likely happen regardless of the answer and this was all just a way of information gathering.

"We know you're not human, though you look physically similar. Your DNA and blood have been tested and do not match any known species so... Alien. You must have learned that word if you can speak so fluently already." Q said softly, pausing for speculation before continuing.

"You must have intelligence far beyond our own to have gone from no understanding to speaking - even if you happen to miss some vocabulary - in such a short space of time. But, as we have no ability to scan your brain, we have no idea how that region is physically different from us. We don't even know how all the areas of the human break work."

The Quartermaster's own gaze flickered to the camera for a moment and then finally to the alien's face. "I won't allow them to experiment on you. I won't allow them to harm you in any way. I don't... Enjoy such matters and won't allow it to happen while you're under our care." He said firmly, as stern as he could get on missions when life or death was at stake.

"Can you tell me your name or is that information you're not willing to share?" He asked, tone light to show it didn't matter either way. "It would just be better to have something to call you." There was also the slight risk that the alien had figured out that 'Q' was not so much of a name just a letter but how he might take that? Q had no idea.

[theminecraftbox]

eldritch confessions au - hope you don't mind some of my own writing

After the most recent question, DreamXD disappeared to do... whatever it did when it wasn't in the box. None of them were quite sure what that was, but it was probably off bothering Foolish, or something along those lines. Dream sat on his side against the wall, resisting the urge to play with the wooden pickaxe - he shuddered to think about what would happen if it broke, so best not to use it unless necessary. Sam and Quackity were trying to ignore each other and put up a united defense against Dream at the same time, so they accomplished neither of their two goals. The only sound was Sam chewing on a piece of stale bread.

None of them knew just how long they had been there - Dream had probably had the best internal clock out of them all, but his stint in the prison had eroded his confidence in it, not that he'd ever let them know that. No, it was best they thought him unflappable. The constant dim light above wreaked havoc on their circadian rhythm - they were in an eternal state of morning.

Then, with its characteristic flash of blinding white light and the crackle of ozone and plasma, DreamXD returned. "Hello," it said, cheerful as ever, "I'm back 😊😊😊 Did you miss me ?!?" Quackity glared at it, and opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of whatever he was about to say and snapping it shut.

"... Yes," Dream replied, careful as ever, "In fact, I have a question for you this time."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you do, Dream," Sam said, malice dripping from his voice, "Your manipulations aren't going to work on g-"

"Really?!" DreamXD replied, "That's great! Foolish told me this therapy thing should really be a two-way conversation 😁🤣🤗 I'm glad you're taking initiative !!!"

"Yeah," Dream said flatly, pausing to cock an eyebrow at Sam. "I actually have two. No, three - first, how do we get out? Is it just who gets the most points, or do you have a different goal? Second, what are you trying to accomplish here? Third," and here Dream paused, "Why us three? I'm pretty sure everyone on the server needs... 'therapy', so why not any of them?"

/rp /dsmp

DreamXD: that’s more than one question! 😂1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣ But I guess there are three of you…

Dream: are you going to answer?

DreamXD: Eh. Maybe! First, you’ll need to answer MY question:❓📋why do you think I’ve brought you here?📋❓

Quackity: Because you’re a f—I mean, because you’re bored?

Sam: (cautiously) Because you, uh, you want to help us. In your… own way.

Dream: (firmly) Because you’re enjoying this. You like watching people squirm.

DreamXD: 1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣👏💡👍🙂

Quackity: …so are you going to fucking answer? How do we get out? What’s the endgame here?

DreamXD: you get out when you’ve won therapy!

Sam: you mean, by winning the most points?

DreamXD: Not points! Well, not ONLY points. 💯 To win therapy, you have to… 🌩⚡️🌩…CHANGE. 🪙 Δ🛩

(A strained silence as the echo of thunder dies out. All three are frozen.)

Dream: (flat) …Alright. Change how?

DreamXD: 🤷 😇

Quackity: (sarcastically) great, yeah, change, fucking awesome, great, that really clears things up! Incredibly helpful!! Jesus!!!

Sam: Calm down, Q. Deep breath, it’s okay. We can figure it out.

Quackity: don’t touch me!

(Another long pause. DreamXD waits patiently.)

Dream: …You still didn’t answer my last question. So. Why us?

DreamXD: why you?

DreamXD: MAYBE I WAS CURIOUS ABOUT YOU.

(Another frozen moment. Everyone stares at XD. XD is staring at Dream.)

Dream: (faintly) …about me?

DreamXD: George doesn’t say much about you. 🍄 But he dreams about you. 🛌💭

Dream: …

DreamXD: SCORE: 28-27-31 (max 33)

(The god vanishes. They are alone again.)

[griffintail]

I know you write about parental stuff for a lot of characters in the Dream SMP, but I was wondering if you could write something for Quackity?

I’ve seen some writers write about Philza finding a winged child with their wings clipped, and since everyone seems to headcanon Quackity as a duck hybrid with wings that were clipped by Shlatt during his presidency, I thought it would be interesting to see how Big Q would react to finding someone did something similar to a child.

Plus I just like the thought of him as Papa Duck, and calling his kid “Duckling”. It’s just really adorable, okay? I’m in a fluffy mood, and there’s ducks/ ducklings in my yard all the time, so needless to say I’ve grown to really like ducks over the years.

Ducklings are so cute!

However, this went a bit more angsty than planned...I still hope you enjoy it! There is fluffy parts in there!

Duckling

Pairings: Parental! Quackity x F! Child! Reader

Warnings: Blood, Harm done to a child, Implied Past Abuse, Wounds, Angstish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        It was any other day in New L’Manberg.

        Quackity woke up, tended to his wounds to make sure they healed properly, changed into a clean outfit, then walked out of his home with his usual smile. He was able to have usual banter with his friends, laughing a true laugh making him feel relief each time as he didn’t have to hold anything back. Going to have his daily meeting with Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet was when his day changed drastically.

        He was walking to the building when he saw a small sagging figure. Straightening up, he carefully went over.

        “Hello?”

        The figure looked up and he froze seeing the pain-filled face of a little girl. She stared for a moment before starting to fall.

        “Help…be free…”

        Her eyes closed as she fell to the ground and Quackity quickly rushed forward and caught her. As he did, he winced at the wet feeling as he held her back.

        “Oh please.” He muttered before carefully moving her in his arms.

        His blood boiled as he went pale.

        The back of their shirt was soaked completely in blood and he could easily tell that she was still bleeding.

        “Shit.” He scooped her up completely.

        He ran as fast as he could to the meeting building, bursting through, scaring everyone inside.

        “Quackity, you’re la—” Fundy started.

        “What the hell is that?!” Ranboo jumped up seeing the blood-soaked shirt that was starting to coat Quackity’s hands.

        “She’s losing blood fast,” Quackity said, putting the girl on the table. “I need help.”

        Fundy rushed to grab potions as Tubbo took off his jacket, Ranboo shuffling next to Quackity as he took the little girl’s shirt off.

        “Is that—” Ranboo gripped onto the front of his shirt as the other two eyes went wide looking at Quackity.

        “She’s losing blood!” Quackity snapped at all of them and everyone worked past their shock to help him.

        On the little girl’s back were two large wounds, very similar to the ones on Quackity’s back. He couldn’t think about it though, she was losing blood and he couldn’t let his anger control him at this moment.

        Everyone worked quick and by the end, the potion had slowed down the bleeding enough for Ranboo to close up the wounds and cease the bleeding. Finally, they could all breathe as they stared at the little girl, who they had wrapped in Fundy’s jacket.

        “Someone did that to her.” Tubbo finally said, the weight crushing the room.

        “…Doesn’t matter anymore,” Quackity spoke up. “She lives in L’Manberg now and won’t see whoever did it again. She’s free.”

        “She’s a kid Quackity, someone’s going to have to take care of her.” Fundy reminded him. “And what if she has parents—?”

        Fundy couldn’t get out another word before Quackity shouted. “If she does, where the hell were they when the monster did this?! If she does have parents, they just lost their rights as parents.”

        He felt the wounds on his back ached as he remembered the day, he lost his wings, his jaw clenching before he took a deep breath.

        “I’ll take her. I know how to take care of her wounds and I’ll be able to help her.” Quackity finally told them.

        “Are you sure?” Tubbo asked carefully.

        “Positive.” He nodded with confidence.

        He didn’t know what he was doing really when he came home and laid the little girl down on his bed for now. It was all a mystery really but he did believe that no one besides him could take care of her right. They had something horrible that connected them but he was hoping to help her through the pain better than he had dealt with it.

        From there, he worked on making his home a bit tidier, really trying to keep his mind busy from the anger he felt to whoever did this to her. If he ever found out who did this, there’d be no mercy. As he was putting away a few potions’ bottles, he heard a small squeak and he went back to his room. The little girl was sitting up, face screwed up in pain.

        “Hey, kid,” Quackity said quietly and she looked at him startled. “It’s ok, I’m the guy you ran into remember?”

        She thought for a moment before nodding as he nodded as well grabbing a regeneration and health potion.

        “A few friends and I healed and stitched you, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while so you don’t irritate your wounds or open them again. You mind if I put a bit of these on them to help them heal?”

        “What are they?” She muttered.

        “This is a regeneration potion; it will help your wounds close a bit easier so it won’t take months for them to close. This is a healing potion; it will help with the pain and keep you from getting sick because of your wounds.”

        She stared at the shining liquids before slowly nodding again. “Ok.”

        He came up behind her and lifting the jacket, reminding himself to return it to Fundy, before carefully first pouring the regeneration on the wounds. She winced and whimpered in pain.

        “Yeah, I know kid. It’s going to hurt for a while.” He mumbled as he finished on the other one as quickly as he could but making sure it got done before using the health potion. “This should help a bit.”

        “How do you know?” She asked curiously as she winced again.

        He paused before putting the jacket down. “It’s a long story. Now you’re probably starving. Let’s get some food.”

        It was a lot to process in a short amount of time, but, process Quackity did.

        To start, Quackity made a spare room he had into her room. He set her up a bed to start and said, whatever else she wanted in there, he’d figure out. After establishing a space for her, he got to know her a bit better past the wounds on her back. Her name was (Y/N) and she was nine years old and she ran away from home. She liked books but she also liked to run around outside.

        Knowing that Quackity asked to borrow more simple books from Ghostbur and would let her run around close by as he’d do his daily days. He tried to make her happy and she often was, the small shell she had breaking when around him. Slowly, but surely, she loved to follow him around and enjoyed talking with him, to which people would joke calling her his little duckling.

        He supposed that was where the nickname came from as he had started to call her that after a few short weeks of her living with him.

        It was a bit awkward for him to transition into taking care of two people instead of one for a while but he eventually got the hang of that too. With that, he also transitioned his days differently. In the early morning, he’d take care of his wounds before helping her with hers a couple of hours later.

        The two had a bit of an unspoken rule. He never asked what happened to her wings if she didn’t ask how he knew how to take care of her wounds.

        It changed though when he was doing the daily potion ritual. She had accidentally slept on her back and irritated her wounds a bit so it took a bit longer than usual. With him spending so much carefully taking care of the wounds, she wanted to talk about them.

        “My dad took my wings away.” She muttered and Quackity froze in his work. “They were a lot like mommy’s…he took them away so I stopped looking like mommy…”

        He was trying to keep his breathing under control as his thoughts went wild. He was hoping that maybe, as horrible as it was, that she was alone and some cruel person out in the world had done it. Yet, it was her father and it infuriated him so much, that he wanted to hunt this bastard down. However, …

        (Y/N) sniffled and he pulled her shirt down before sitting next to her, putting his arm around her.

        “Hey, little duckling, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He’s not your dad if he did something like this to you. I’m sorry he took them away from you, I know wings are very special.”

        “They were fluffy.” She murmured as tears started to streak down her face.

        “I bet they were. If I could get them back for you, I would. Instead, though, we’ll live like this and smile on the ground because even without any wings, we’re still pretty special.” He told her, rubbing her arm.

        He promised he’d destroy the man that use to be in her life, but today…

        She hugged him and he squeezed her back.

        Today was all about her.

        Weeks passed and Quackity was smiling as (Y/N) ran ahead, bouncing as she looked back at him.

        “Come on papa duck! I want to see the new books!”

        “I’m coming, you’re just too fast duckling.” He put a hand on his chest dramatically.

        She giggled as she turned around, going to where Ghostbur was waiting outside the entrance to the sewer. The ghost eagerly showed the little girl the new books he had “found” and Quackity merely stood to the side, pleased with the excitement (Y/N) had coursing through her. Ghostbur lent her one of the books and Quackity nodded to him.

        “Thanks, Ghostbur.” Quackity waved as he walked off with the little girl.

        He never thought he’d be doing something like this in his life, but he didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace.

        Ghostbur smiled as he watched them walk off. They were always so adorable together, even with the black transparent wings on both of them. As they walked away, one of the wings was wrapped around (Y/N) as her tiny fluffy ones flapped in excitement. Very lovely.

[slafkovskys]

Angst 7 with jack hughes, possibly some brother angst

7. “do you think about them when you look at me?”

you’d known jack for a while, so it was easy for you to tell when things were off. to say that it was the first day that he was acting cold towards you, would be a lie. in fact, it had been going on for the better part of the summer ever since he had come home from new jersey. instead of grabbing onto your hand when you had held it out, he had brushed past you easily and started walking alongside jim, leaving you to walk with quinn. you cross your arms over your chest and quinn nudges your side with his elbow, “look at us, the alumni are back.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, tearing your gaze away from the back of jack’s head to glance at his older brother, “i think to be alumni, you have to graduate, and that only applies to one of us.”

“oh, that’s how it’s gonna be,” he laughs, throwing his arm over your shoulder and you giggle as you shove him away. the noise draws jack’s attention and he turns his head, face falling as he spots the two of you. he sends the both of you a glare before turning his head around. quinn makes a noise, “what was that for?”

“he’s been acting like that ever since we got to your parent’s house. has he-,” you lower your voice because you now knew that he was listening to you, “has he said anything to you? like, at any point this summer?”

“this has been going on all summer?”

you shrug your shoulders, “only when we-”

“‘when we’ what, y/n?” he raises his eyebrows as he shoves his hands in his pockets. you were getting closer to your cars now and you were about to be separated from quinn, but it all started to make sense. he chuckles, “so you’re just gonna leave me hanging?”

“it’s when we’re around you, quinn. he only acts like this – gets cold and acts like someone pissed in his cereal – when you’re there,” you look at quinn and he freezes. you can see jack’s car when the lights flash as he unlocks and you stop alongside quinn, “is he- did you- you said that he was okay with it. he told me that he was okay with it.”

that was the thing with you and jack, jack wasn’t the first hughes that you had been involved with. you were a couple of years older than your boyfriend, meaning you and quinn were the same age. you had met quinn in high school during his time with the ntdp. it wasn’t until college where you started messing around with each other. it fizzled out after a couple of months, but you and quinn decided to stay friends.

you had met jack through quinn, obviously, and from the moment that you met him his crush on you was obvious. he was quinn’s little brother though, and that was a boundary that you didn’t want to cross.

well, until jack invited you to the draft. he was thrilled when you pulled on his jersey for a picture (just as you had done for quinn the year before) and to this day his lock screen was a picture of you, new jersey devils hat perched atop your head and a big smile on your face. it wasn’t until just before new years during his first season that you finally agreed to go out with him and here you were, almost two years later, about to move out to new jersey with him for the season.

with the way that he had been acting, however, you were starting to second guess your decision.

“he knows the truth. i told him a million times that it doesn’t bother me and that the feelings i had for you are gone. we’re friends, y/n,” he insists and you nod. you hear someone clear their throat and you both look at jack, who’s suddenly a few feet from you.

“are you going back with quinn and my dad?” jack’s question is directed towards you, but he’s staring holes through his brother.

“if that’s gonna be how you speak to her, yeah she is,” quinn steps up and your hand wraps around his elbow, a move that jack takes notice of. “y/n-”

“it’s fine, q, see you at skeeps, yeah?”

quinn pulls you close, which really doesn’t help the situation, and his mouth hovers over your ear, “if he says anything to you or if you need me, text me. my dad and i will set him straight.”

he presses his lips to the side of your head, shoves his brother as he passes him, and gets into the passenger seat of their dad’s car. you and jack stare at each other for a moment before he holds out his hand. you give him the same treatment that he had given you, pushing past him to get into the car.

you stare out of the window as he gets in the driver’s seat, starting the car and pulling out of his spot. he gets behind his dad and with the post-game traffic, you knew it was likely you would be here for a while. “what is wrong with you jack?”

he scoffs, “there’s nothing wrong-”

“please don’t lie to me. i’m about to pick up and move my whole life to jersey for you in two weeks and if that’s-” your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, “if that’s gonna be a mistake, i want to know now.”

“why would it be a mistake?”

“because of you, jack,” you lean your head back against the headrest and look at him. his hand rests on the steering wheel and his jaw is tight, “you’re not the same guy that you were a few months ago. you’re so, so cold towards me. like, we sleep in the same bed every night, but i have never felt further away from you.”

his breath hitches.

“can you please just tell me what’s going on? because if it’s about me and quinn-”

“do you think about him when you look at me?” his words make you tense up. he doesn’t look at you as he inches forward out of the parking lot, flicking on his blinker to go in the direction of his parents’ house. “when you look at me do you wish that i was quinn?”

“jack,” your voice shakes, “whatever happened between me and quinn is over. it’s in the past. you said that when we got together you were fine that we had history, but that you didn’t care.”

“he looks at you, y/n. he looks at you the way that i look at you. anyone can see that he still has feelings for you. the way that you acted around him at the game earlier-”

“how did i act, jack? because my boyfriend was ignoring me and i didn’t want to mope around the whole night? is that why you’re upset?”

“i’m upset because i’ll never be quinn,” his words form a pit in your stomach, but his next sentence makes your whole world crumble, “is that why you’re with me? because you couldn’t have quinn, you settled for his little brother.”

“jack, oh my god, i didn’t settle,” you reach out to grab onto his arm, but once again, he pulls it away, “me and quinn, we weren’t anything serious, ever. we’re better off as friends and that was a mutual decision. to this day, we still feel that way.

“i was with him tonight because you were acting like you wanted nothing to do with me and it was obvious. everyone fucking noticed, jack. do you know how embarrassing it was to get looks of pity because i was being shooed away by my boyfriend?”

“you were embarrassed?” he spits, “my girlfriend was all over my brother. even niko noticed.”

“you’re not even listening to me!” you let out an exasperated sigh and the two of you fall into silence. it stays like that for a minute before you break it, “take me home.”

“that’s where we’re going,” he scoffs.

“no, i don’t want to go to your parents’ house. i want to go to my house, alone.”

his eyes flick to you and he shakes his head before changing lanes, “whatever.”

ten of the most painstakingly quiet minutes of your life pass before he pulls into the guest spot of your apartment. your hand wraps around the door handle and you pause, turning to look at him for the final time, “i love you jack, so much, but if this is going to keep coming back up and being an issue, i think that it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore.”

“so, what does that mean?” he keeps his eyes glued to the building in front of him, hand covering his mouth, “we aren’t together anymore?”

“i think we both have some things that we need to figure out before we have that conversation,” you slide out of the car and plant your feet on the ground, closing the door.

you make it up onto the sidewalk before he calls out your name softly. you turn to look at him and you can see his watery eyes, “i love you.”

“let me know when you get home, please. you know that i worry,” you send him a nod before turning and making your way up the stairs to your apartment. he waits until you get inside before pulling away from your complex. you watch his tail lights as they disappear into the night and you wonder,

what did i just do?

[cdroloisms]

vegas team 2.0 lets go !!

vegas team au 2.0 my beloved !!! 

if you don’t know what the vegas team au 2.0 is, it’s an au that a couple of my twitter friends and i developed (notably, @stabbysideblog and @dreamsclock) as a post-canon version of sparrow’s vegas team au, which had c!dream, a post-revival c!wilbur, and c!quackity working together at las nevadas. 

this au exists much in the same vein, but exists post-canon (and therefore, post torture from c!quackity) and adds c!sam to the crew - it’s essentially four really, really messed up people screwing things up in las nevadas and being completely AWFUL to each other. it’s a very messed up group dynamic, 50% angst 50% crack 0% fluff or healing (...unless ;) ) and it’s absolutely one of my favorite aus at the moment. 

anyway, have this ficlet for the au i wrote a little bit ago that basically goes into how these four end up working together !! 

tw: implied torture, unhealthy relationships (SO many unhealthy relationships), manipulation, threats, emotional distress, mental instability

When Sam first sees the two figures standing on top of the roof of Las Nevadas, the first thing that comes to his mind is oh no, I have a bad feeling about this.

The feeling is far from foreign; a "bad feeling" has been his life for the past week ever since Dream and Wilbur had disappeared from Pandora's Vault seemingly without a trace. He's tried to keep the knowledge under wraps, only telling Bad and Ant to send them on a manhunt to find the prisoner (a lost cause if he's ever seen one; the two have hunted Dream before, and all of them know that there is no way they're finding the man if he doesn't want to be found) while he and Quackity plan for the coming storm. And there will be a coming storm, he's sure - he's heard enough of Dream's desperate, deranged plans of revenge voiced in near incoherent screams through bubbling lava to think that he will come out of the cell with anything close to mercy in his heart.

Unfortunately, there's been little to nothing from the pair of fugitives running around the server, his communicator chat still buzzing with Tommy's usual shouting and Puffy's usual invitations to tea and Technoblade's usual cryptic "technoblade" messages sporadically throughout the day. It's frustratingly, maddeningly normal, and each day of waiting for the other shoe to drop only leaves him even closer to snapping completely. In a twisted, bitter sort of way, he's almost relieved at the sight of the people standing on the polished quartz roof of the casino; at least now he'll finally get some answers.

Next to him, Quackity narrows his eyes. "Nobody should know about this place," he says, lips twisting into a tight frown.

Sam shrugs, shoulders heavy and tense under netherite. "Do you think-"

"-that it's our dynamic fuckin' duo? Yeah," he breathes out, short and quick through his teeth, and his wings stretch and flutter behind him, "I think it might be."

The figures become clearer as they step closer, silhouettes dark and thrown into harsh relief against the backlighting of the sun behind them. One of them is definitely wearing armor - netherite, from the looks of it - and both are very clearly armed. Wonderful.

The taller turns towards them, gestures with a wide sweep of their arm. "Big Q!"

Sam jumps at the voice; Quackity smiles humorlessly. "Wilbur."

Wilbur turns towards the other figure - Dream, for sure then - and they seem to talk, though they are far too far away for Sam to make out anything they say. Dream seems to hand something to Wilbur, and seconds later twin dots of bluish-green arc smoothly towards the ground in front of Sam's feet. He steps back, watching from the corner of his eye as Quackity does the same, and sure enough Wilbur, and then Dream, land on the grass where their enderpearls hit the ground.

"It's been a long time, Big Q, Sam," Wilbur smiles, tight-lipped, confident, tipping his head at each of them as he says their names. He's not wearing any armor save for a crossbow - enchanted - slung loosely over his hip and a netherite sword hanging off of his belt. "How have things been?"

"Cut the crap, Wilbur." The smile stays on Quackity's face, but his eye is dark and cold and dangerous. He's changed - of course he has, you can't do what he's done in Pandora without changing, but the sight of his expression still sends a disturbed shiver down Sam's spine. "You want something."

Wilbur, to his credit, doesn't seem fazed at all. "We've been doing pretty well - I think we've made quite some progress, considering how little time it's been since we've escaped that prison - nice build, by the way, Sam." His voice is lilting, almost sincere, and he looks over at Sam with a laughing light in his eyes like they're sharing an inside joke. "It's really quite impressive - what do you think, Dream?"

Dream doesn't seem to respond; he's all decked out again, netherite covering him from head to toe, the enchanted metal plates completely dwarfing the man hidden within them. His hands clutch at a golden apple, knuckles white against the golden skin, and a plain shield is strapped over his left arm as well a hulking enchanted axe on his back. They've been busy, it seems, and Sam's teeth grind against each other; he's not sure, if it comes down to it, that this is a fight that he and Quackity can win.

"Wilbur," Quackity repeats, impatience creeping into his tone, "What do you want?"

Wilbur smiles wider; it makes Sam uneasy, like Wilbur had been waiting for this, waiting for their desperation to send them at the devil's table with paper in one hand and a pen in the other.

"You're a businessman, aren't you, Big Q? You know how business deals work - so let's talk business. I think we can come up with something agreeable, what do you think?"

Quackity huffs a short laugh- "And what's stopping me and Sam from putting a sword through your gut?"

Wilbur smiles, sharp-edged. "Well, Big Q. Resurrection magic- it's quite interesting, really. Dream was explaining it to me, you know. And here's the thing; how many lives do you think I have right now?"

What- oh. "You have all of your lives back."

"Oh, no, Sam, I'm not saying that, exactly," Wilbur waves his hand flippantly, "I'm just saying you don't know, you know? And if I were to- say, have more than one life, and you were to kill me, well," he shrugs, a thoughtful look on his face. "We were smart enough to set our beds far away from the prison, of course. It would be an awful shame if people were to find out about what the perfect, responsible Warden was allowing in his inescapable prison, wouldn't it?"

No, no, no-

"So you're blackmailing us," Quackity's eyebrows are furrowed, jaw clenched tightly. Wilbur tips his head back and laughs.

"Oh, this isn't a threat, Big Q! Just a few- let's just call them hypotheticals." He begins to pace back and forth, gait smooth and unburdened, "I'm just saying that you two are powerful right now, you know? And it's great! I love this- what was it, Las Nevadas, you're calling it? It's great. It's absolutely magnificent. I'm just saying that you might want to be careful about what people end up finding out; you know people can be about power, on this server, and it would be such a shame to see this place burned to the ground."

Quackity's wings tense, and Sam can already see the younger's mouth opening and his fingers beginning to glow white with him reaching into his inventory, and oh prime if things escalate here then they're so, so screwed-

"Business!" He shouts louder than he wants, Quackity's head snapping towards him, lips still slightly parted from the words that he never got to say, and Sam ignores him to focus his attention on Wilbur, still staring at them with a smile playing on his lips. "You said you would be willing to talk business, right, Wilbur?"

"Yes, of course! Let's talk business. What do you think, Quackity?" Wilbur pauses, looks Quackity in the eye, and the younger glares but doesn't say anything. "Oh, don't worry too much, Big Q. I honestly think that it'll be good for all of us - a mutually beneficial arrangement, if you will."

"Wilbur, just," Sam sighs, fights against the incoming headache. "Can you please just get to the point?"

"Of course, Sam," Wilbur all but chirps, "So- we have something you want, and you have something we want. I say we pool our resources- our knowledge, Dream's combat prowess, your protection and items - and make something better."

"Pool our resources- wait wait wait, you mean you want to fuckin'-"

"I don't know how much Dream has told you, but I've been dead for a pretty long time; there really isn't all that much to do in the Void, you know. I've gotten pretty bloody good at cards, if I do say so myself." Wilbur grabs Dream, ignoring the way he flinches as he slings an arm around his shoulders, "What do you say? Have room in Las Nevadas for two more, Big Q?"

Sam blinks. Prime, give him strength. "What?"

Quackity hisses quietly, "You want to help with Las Nevadas? Both of you?" Sam watches as he turns his glare from Wilbur to Dream, and oh, so that's what this is about. He points his thumb jerkily in the direction of the masked man, watching, as Dream ducks his head down, unable to back away too far with Wilbur's arm still braced behind his neck. "And why should I work with him?"

"Two in one deal, Quackity, you have both of us or nothing at all," Wilbur drawls, "Besides, I know you've wanted the power of the resurrection book - and done quite a lot to get it! I'm really very impressed. Of course, we couldn't simply give it to you, but with us on your side, there's hardly even a difference." Quackity opens his mouth, looking like he's about to protest- "And, really, it would be nice to have Dream on your side in case the Blade comes for your other eye, no?"

His mouth shuts with an audible click, one-eyed glare meeting Wilbur's all-too easy expression, before finally nodding jerkily. "Fine. As long as he doesn't cause too much trouble."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Wilbur claps Dream on the back, and he curls into himself more, arms raising up to his head. "You've done more than enough to keep him obedient."

"We'll have to write out the terms later," Quackity presses on. "Don't want either of you trying anything. I've put so much fuckin' time into this place, I'm not letting you fuck it up, you hear?"

"Of course, Big Q," Wilbur's smile is jagged, all teeth, as he holds his arm out between them. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Quackity breathes in, out, looks over at Sam. There's a question written in the tight edge of his shoulders, in the way his wings are braced and held to his sides - are we sure about this?

Sam tips his head in a shallow nod. Do we really have a choice?

Quackity takes Wilbur's hand, shakes it. "Then welcome to the team."

Wilbur laughs, and it sounds like flames and explosions and the ground shaking beneath your feet, burns with the cold heat of smoke and ash - and Sam knows, with a bitter, searing certainty, that this is going to collapse around them in a blaze of glory, that they've all but signed their death warrants, have nothing left but to wait for the countdown timer to hit zero and blow this place up to kingdom come. Wilbur meets his eyes - dark, dead, grey like cinders and gunpowder - and he knows that the other man is thinking the same thing.

"I think this is the start to something beautiful," Wilbur says, and Sam grits his teeth as he steps into the building.

Something beautiful, indeed.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

bright lights and baseless worries - q. hughes

When ya girl is finally on a monthlong break from school, she’s able to get in more than one piece a week. I knew I wanted to do some holiday piece for Quinn, and 100% got this idea in the shower the other day and just sat down and got to writing. In my totally unbiased opinion, it’s very cute, and I’d love to hear what you think - I love reading the tags on reblogs and having y’all in my inbox!

word count: 3.3k+

“Do you want to meet my parents?” 

Your fork stopped halfway to your mouth, the spaghetti threatening to fall off the end. “Do I want to what?”

Quinn laughed, taking a sip of water as he sat across from you at his dining room table. “Do you want to meet my parents? They’re flying in after the next roadie, in a week and a half or so. They really want to meet you, but I get if you don’t want to, or you feel like it’s too soon. I’ll make up an excuse for you, say you were called into work for some big project or something that you can’t get away from.” 

You weren’t sure if there was some unspoken protocol for when was too soon to meet your boyfriend’s parents, but you were pretty sure six months wasn’t pushing it. “Quinn, I’m still in university,” you said with a laugh. “There’s no work for me to get called into. And I’d love to meet them, if you’re sure that’s what you want. I don’t want you feeling like you have to because your parents want to meet me. I want it to be because you want it too.”

“Of course I want you to meet them,” he said, smiling softly at you. “Almost more than that, I want them to meet you. Sure, you’ve seen each other over FaceTime and they know what I’ve told them about you—”

“All good things, I hope?” You quipped.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Nothing but the best. But you’re incredible, and I want them to be able to meet  you, so they get to see how amazing you are in person and don’t think I’m crazy any more for how much I talk about you, So there’s that.” 

You ducked your head, tapping your fingers against the dark grain of the table. “Well, I’d love to meet them, Q. Anyone who’s spent any length of time around you knows how much you love your family, and I’m so excited to finally get to know the people who raised you into the incredible man you are today.”

Quinn blushed shyly. “It’s going to be great.”

---

Vancouver in December had always been one of your favorite things. Vancouver any time, really, but the holiday season really let your hometown shine something special. Literally. From the first of the month, all of downtown was decked out from tree to storefront to lamppost in yards of bright, sparkling lights. And then there was the massive, hundred-foot tall Christmas tree that lit up the square in front of the art gallery, throngs of couples and little kids running up to its branches in a bid to get their picture taken. It had finally started to snow a few weeks ago, so a light dusting covered the sidewalks, giving way to the shoe prints of the hundreds of passersby. 

Downtown was where you found yourself now, wandering around on a Wednesday afternoon after you had been let out of your final, your purse on your shoulder and nothing but sheer worry in your heart. Quinn had come back from the road trip that morning; his parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning. His parents were set to fly in tomorrow morning, well under 24 hours away, and you had no clue what to get them. You had been in clothing stores, homegoods stores, souvenir shops, but were no closer to figuring out what to buy. You had been about to buy a nice bottle of wine, one of yours and Quinn’s favorites, but then you wondered if maybe it was weird to give wine at a first meeting, or if they’d look at you funny for gifting a bottle of pinot grigio when you were only 21. And it had to be something they could bring back on the plane, so nothing that was too fragile or something that might spill or anything with over 3.4 ounces of liquid. You should have thought about that before considering the wine. 

You had texted your roommates in a panic, but letting them know that i’m meeting quinn’s parents tomorrow and I have no idea what the FUCK to get them please help hadn’t yielded any particularly useful suggestions. Aliya had suggested a tie for his dad, which Sara had vetoed immediately, saying that a tie was both far too formal and far too strange a gift to extend. Sara, who was the apartment’s resident caffeine addict, had recommended a few of her recent favorite types of “artisan, hand-roasted coffee.” It had seemed like a good idea at first, with everyone and their mother getting into craft versions of every drink imaginable, but then you started overthinking it, thinking that maybe they wouldn’t like the roast, or the undertones, or it would be too bitter and they’d drink it and hate it and then they’d hate you and — 

You huffed, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes and leaning up against the column of some storefront you had spent less than five minutes in. Quinn chose that exact moment to call, and his timing couldn’t have been any more welcome. “God, I’m such a mess right now,” you said by way of greeting. 

“Everything good?” He asked lightly, but you could hear the concern laced under his voice. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding, “but I’ve been to at least a half-dozen stores in downtown and I’m starting to get worried because I still have absolutely no clue what to get your parents tomorrow and nobody seems to have any good ideas.”

“You realize you don’t have to get them anything, right?” Quinn asked. “Seriously, they’re not expecting it, and I promise they won’t think any less of you if you don’t.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Q, my mom’s going to skin me alive if she heard I showed up empty-handed to meet your parents, but that’s besides the point. I want to make a good impression.” Your voice cracked. “I really want to make a good impression.”

He sighed on the other end of the line. “I know you do, babe, but I guarantee that no matter if you buy my dad a Rolex or show up in your pyjamas, they’re going to love you.”

“But how do you know that?”

“They’ll love you because I love you.” He spent a few more minutes on the phone with you, trying his damndest to reassure you that Jim and Ellen weren’t nearly as scary as you somehow thought they were, that they’d welcome you with open hearts and open arms just like his brothers had. The Devils had played in Vancouver the month prior, and much to Quinn’s delight, you and Jack had gotten along like a house on fire. Jack had made good on a promise he had made while he was in British Columbia, sending you a cache of Quinn’s baby photos as soon as he got back to his apartment in New Jersey. 

You slid your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, feeling marginally more reassured that his parents wouldn’t immediately demand you break up with their son if you didn’t spend the equivalent of a year’s tuition on welcome gifts for them, but nervous nonetheless and no closer to your goal than when you drove into downtown hours before. 

---

You tapped your heel nervously on the floor of Quinn’s living room, fingers nervously twisting your rings around as Quinn leaned up against the couch, glancing between you and his phone. “Mom says they’re almost here.” Quinn would have picked them up from the airport himself, but he had had a morning practice, and then they decided to get settled into their hotel room, so them coming over to his apartment before you were all set to go out to dinner was the first time either of you were going to see them. He looked at you, your brow still furrowed from overthinking. “I know you’re still worried, and I get that, babe. I was terrified when I met your parents for the first time. But you’re going to do amazing.” Your parents lived in Surrey, forty minutes away in the same house you’d grown up in, so it was a much less formal affair when they had asked to meet Quinn. You went over to their house for brunch one weekend, and that was it; Quinn was right, though. That hadn’t meant he was any less nervous. If anything, it only amplified his worries because if he wasn’t able to make a good first impression in one of the most low-stress environments a person could think of, what would that say about him? What would your parents think? But just like he said, it had been such a non-issue that by the end, he was wondering what he had been worried about in the first place. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” you conceded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “It just seems different, somehow. Like, I’ve met people’s parents before, friends and exes and people at school, and of course I wanted them to like me. I think it’s just…” You paused, looking up at the ceiling and trying to gather your words, “I think it’s because I see this, us, going somewhere. I see it lasting. So if you’re going to be in my life for the foreseeable future, then so are they, so it just seems that much more important that I like them and that they like me.” 

Quinn bent over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Don’t worry.” The doorbell rung, and you took the thirty seconds it took for Quinn to go over and open it to turn your phone on, checking in the camera to make sure you didn’t have a piece of kale stuck in your teeth. You didn’t, but you really should have known better. Quinn would have told you. 

You stood up, plastering a smile on your face as he pulled the door open and his parents stepped into the entryway. His dad had just hugged him when his mom pulled him in, rubbing his back as she greeted him. “So good to see you, Quinn, Chag sameach.”

“Chag sameach, Mom,” Quinn said back, before stepping back and nodding to you. You stepped forward hesitantly, Quinn’s warm hand on the small of your back quelling your fears as much as he could. 

He had barely opened his mouth to introduce you before his mom burst forward. “Is this her?” 

You relaxed slightly, nodding. “In the flesh. So nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Weinberg-Hughes.”

She waved you off. “Ellen, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’s so nice to finally get to see you in person!” She pulled you into a hug that looked just as heartfelt as the one she had given her son, and it only took a few seconds for you to relax into her touch. 

“Jim,” his dad greeted you with a warm handshake. 

You turned back towards the coffee table. “I, uh, got these for you two when I was downtown the other day.” You handed his mom a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and his dad a potted succulent, something you originally hadn’t been too sure about but Quinn had assured you his dad would love. “It’s got a travel-safe box that came with it, so it’ll be good to go on the plane ride back,” you said. 

His dad smiled. “Quinn told you I’m not much of a green thumb, hm?” Quinn’s eyes widened; his dad laughed. “It’s true, I love plants but I seem to somehow kill everything I touch, so this really is a wonderful gift. Thank you.” 

“Did you light the candles yet?” His mom asked. 

Quinn shook his head, nodding to where his menorah sat on the sideboard. “I wanted to wait for you.” If his mom was going to be there for the first night of Hanukkah, he was going to wait for her if he valued his own well-being. The candles were already in a box off to the side; Ellen opened them and placed first the shamash, then the first candle all the way to the right as Quinn went into the kitchen for a lighter, coming out a second later. You made to move out of the room, unsure if it was disrespectful to stay. You got your answer quickly. 

“Stay,” Quinn said. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“It’s part of the tradition that the whole family — whoever’s around, obviously, stays for the lighting. That’s you, now,” Ellen explained. Your cheeks burned, but not out of embarrassment. Out of the fact that Quinn had been exactly right, just like you knew he would be, just like he had told you he would be. His parents welcomed you quicker than your own best friend’s had, and five minutes after meeting them in person for the first time his mom had already all but called you family. You were giddy inside. You perched on the couch as she and Quinn recited the Hebrew blessings, a soft smile on your face as you watched the interaction. You knew your boyfriend loved his mom. That much was clear, from the times you were both on FaceTime to the phone conversations you overheard to the way that he spoke about her with Brock, or Elias, or really anyone who would listen. But it was something special. 

You gathered in the living room after the menorah was lit, your heels abandoned by the door and your body curled into Quinn’s as the four of you waited for the candles to burn down. Ellen and Jim supplemented Jack’s childhood stories of Quinn with some of their own, one of which had your boyfriend groaning into your shoulder, asking his dad if you really needed to know that story in particular. Jim just laughed, clapping his son on the back, telling him that the embarrassing anecdotes were really a litmus test of sorts. “If she doesn’t run after hearing this one, you’ll know that she’s a keeper,” he said while winking at you. You stayed. 

You had a 6:30 reservation at a restaurant downtown, some place one of the other guys’ girlfriends had recommended when you sent a message in the group chat earlier asking where to take Quinn’s parents because I def don’t want to seem pretentious but like they also need to know that I have taste. He drove with his dad in the passenger’s seat, leaving you and his mom to share the second row. “Have you ever seen his freshman year roster photo from Michigan?” she asked, pulling out her phone. 

Quinn groaned from the driver’s seat. “Mom, do you really need to show her?”

“You’re so young, it’s cute!” Ellen protested.

“I was 17 and didn’t know how to do my hair yet and was so nervous for the photographer to take it that my smile looks like it was frozen onto my face.”

You ducked your head, poorly concealing a snort of laughter. “Okay, if it’s half as good as Quinn makes it seem, I’ve got to see this one.” Ellen handed her phone to you just as Quinn pulled into the parking lot; you handed it back a minute later, the grin on your face still evident as he parked the car, walking around to your side to open your door. 

Picture didn’t scare you off?” he asked jokingly. 

You stood up quickly, pressing a brief kiss against his cheek. “Not at all.”

The food was incredible, not like you had expected any less. The salmon was maybe the best you had ever had, and the crème brûlée you and Quinn shared was nothing short of spectacular. You had left the last bite for him, knowing how much he loved the dessert, but he shook his head with a small smile, gently pushing the bowl back to you. The gesture hadn’t been missed by his mom, who had poorly concealed her happiness at her son’s kindness. You headed back to Quinn’s apartment after a walk by the harbor with his parents, a little after nine. “We got you two a little something,” his dad said as his mom reached into her purse. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” you said quickly as Ellen pulled out a small, flat wrapped package.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Just something we thought would look nice in here,” she gestured around the living room with her spare hand., holding it out to you. “Happy Hanukkah.”

Your face burst into a grin as Quinn looked over at the photo, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your shoulder. “Happy Hanukkah, Ellen.” You ran your thumb carefully under the seams, popping open the paper with as much precision as the moment was affording you. You unfolded it, looking up at your boyfriend. “Hang on. Is this…?” 

He nodded. “I think so.” You were looking down at a picture, set in a silver frame that shone so much you could see your reflection. But it wasn’t a normal picture, one that you’d throw up on your Instagram story or delete from your camera roll without a second thought. It was from that September, a few months after you and Quinn had started dating and the first time he had taken you to meet the boys. You had already met Brock and Elias a few weeks earlier when they came back into town for training, but it was the first night he had really let you into his life in that way, started to take down some of his walls and trust you with every part of himself. You had been curled up with Quinn on a couch in Brock’s living room, towards the end of a party he had thrown to welcome everyone to the start of a new season. You didn’t even remember what Quinn was talking about, but as you looked down at the photo, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist and your head resting on his chest, you realized that it could have been Poptarts or Disney movies or the deepest darkest secrets from the furthest parts of your soul, because it was you, and it was him, and that’s all that mattered. You didn’t even realize you had started to tear up until Quinn handed you a tissue. “Thanks,” you mumbled. You looked back up at his parents, crumbling it in your hand. “Seriously, Jim, Ellen, thank you for this. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but thank you for getting it. It means a lot.” 

His dad gave you a hug as his mom moved over to Quinn’s kitchen, plucking her bouquet out of a vase and walking back over to hug first her son, then you. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re half the woman Quinn says you are, and I think you’re more, then you deserve the world.” 

Your cheeks heated as they walked through the front door. Quinn gently took the picture from you, admiring it as he padded over to the sideboard and placed it next to the menorah, whose candles had long since burnt down. He walked back over towards you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. He pulled back, a wry smile on his face as your foreheads pressed together. “Do you finally believe me?”

He didn’t even have to explain his words, because you knew. Finally believe him that you didn’t have anything to worry about, finally believe him that his parents would love you, finally believe him that thing you had going on wasn’t one he wanted to give up on. Not now, not ever. Your head nodded before your words could catch up to you, spilling out of your mouth like they had always been there. “Yes.”

[jamesvanriemsdyk]

Best GMs and coaches in the league ACC to you?

we can start with gms because coaching is a bit more complicated. best gms in the league is easy to look at because like, who has a good team? who has had a consistently good team? whose locker room is the most cohesive, whose coaching staff is the best? who is the best at acquiring and keeping the best players, coaches, staff, etc? and you can see that in the way teams play. 

(putting this under the cut because it got long. and i mean Long.)

so, in no particular order: kyle dubas (leafs), steve yzerman (red wings, i will explain this later), don waddell (canes), julien brisebois (lightning), joe sakic (avs), and kelly mccrimmon/george mcphee (golden knights) (god i still hate that name and also will explain this later too) are the best in the league in my opinion. honorable mention to marc bergevin, who has held onto his job much longer than he arguably should have, but still has a decent team on the ice and a decent coaching staff, although the french rule does severely handicap them (i understand why it exists but it does, it just does). 

david poile (preds) is the longest tenured gm in the league (has been the preds gm since fucking 1997, thats insane, thats legit before i was born, what the fuck), and i do genuinely think he is very good at his job, and that he is very hockey smart, but oh boy have his recent decisions been suspect as hell, and that reflects in the state of his team. doug wilson (sharks), who is the second longest tenured gm in the nhl, is in the exact same boat (the karlsson deal is a nightmare, and also did he just forget that his star core was gonna get old and retire or ??).

with dubas, waddell, brisebois, sakic, and mccrimmon/mcphee all have the same basic strengths: they draft well, they have a fundamental understanding of their team structure and how to manage public perception of the team and everything that implies, and they have two fingers on the pulse of their locker room at all times. im not going to pretend to know as much about sakic and mccrimmon/mcphee as i do the eastern gms, but it doesnt take much to figure it out. look at the avs, and their locker room, the success theyve found after being dead fucking last in the league. look at the knights and their incredible success that theyve found after literally not existing before 2017. ive talked about dubas a lot on my blog, but its incredibly easy to see that waddell and brisebois do the same shit he does, and i can do a deep dive on them if asked. bergevin has moments of brilliance, like the suzuki trade and acquiring caufield and anderson, but things like kotkaniemi’s development and their entire blue line give me a massive pause, which is why he’s not in the main list. he’s a good gm. he’s just not the best.

in regards to steve yzerman: you have to understand that this is the man that built the tampa bay lightning as we know them. this man was gm of the bolts until fucking 2018. tampa bay has been a monster in the eastern conference for years, BECAUSE of the work steve yzerman put in. his team set the franchise record for wins, and he was the first and is the only lightning gm to have won gm of the year. look up the 17-18 roster. it is, essentially, the roster that won them the cup last year. make no mistake, i think brisebois is great, and hes on the list for a reason, but the biggest part of brisebois’ success was steve yzerman’s incredible hockey mind. brisebois essentially had to sell off a fourth of his roster, and the lightning are still a top team in their division and in the league, and thats why he’s there (it is so incredibly easy to fuck shit up post cup win), but the brisebois lightning would not exist without steve yzerman, plain and simple.

what steve yzerman is doing in detroit should be watched very, very closely by every single person in the hockey world. youre fucking nuts if youre not paying attention to them, not gonna lie. the mantha trade was excellent, if really sad if you know even a bit about the wings, but the amount of draft picks steve yzerman has amassed and the way he’s using the prospects and players he already has is really fucking admirable. mike babcock left the red wings organization absolutely in tatters, and i think, honestly, it was always steve yzerman’s plan to go home to detroit and rebuild. if there is anyone who is going to strike absolute gold this draft year, it is steve yzerman. watch the red wings, i am telling you, keep a beat on detroit. they are going to be good. its not an if, its a when.

(real quick on the knights situation: mcphee was the first gm of the knights, and was also president of hockey ops at the same time, and then in 2019 mcphee said he was just gonna focus on his job as president, but we all know hes still an integral part of the way the knights are run, and he and mccrimmon have kinda been building the knight together since the beginning anyway bc mccrimmon was originally mcphee’s agm. so. thats why theyre together)

as for coaches, it’s very simple. rod brind’amour (canes), sheldon keefe (leafs, yes im biased, we’ll get into it), jared bednar (avs), joel quenneville (panthers), jon cooper (lightning), barry trotz (isles), and mike sullivan (pens).

(disclaimer: obviously coaching is done as a team, and assistants and specialist coaches and staff are all very important, but the head coaches set the tone and organize the entire machine, if you will, so im going to be talking about head coaches as if theyre the entire coaching staff. its just easier this way im sorry)

im gonna just start with the easy ones: barry trotz, mike sullivan, and jon cooper have been in the league for years. cooper is the longest tenured coach in the nhl for a reason (again, just look at the tampa bay lightning. its the gm’s job to make the coach’s life easier and the coach’s job to make the gm’s life easier, and this is one of the prime examples of it in the league. its dope as hell tbh), trotz is one of the most respected coaches in the hockey world for a reason (the caps lost something when he walked. they just did. and now the isles are absolute hell to play against and that is largely the coaching of barry trotz, you legit cannot tell me im wrong), and while mike sullivan does have his faults, i think hes found a way to please both management and the crosby-and-malkin unit, which has been really really fucking hard to do. he also led the pens to back to back cups, which you can never really uh. ignore. lmao. so theres those three.

i know less about bednar, but again, another example of the coach and gm working together to make each others’ lives easier. sakic gets bednar the players and staff he needs to make the avs better, and bednar takes those players and staff and makes them into the absolute giant they are. it wouldve been really, really easy to fuck up makar’s development, or bowen byram’s, or sam girard’s, or ryan graves’s, or jost or mackinnon or rantanen’s, but he hasn’t, and he hasn’t just given up on players like burakovsky or kadri, he’s given them new life as players and made them more successful.

joel quenneville is the reason the bl/ckh/wks were a legacy team point blank period. sure they had the talent, sure the gm drafted well, but you do not get the legacy of the chicago bl/ckh/wks without joel quenneville. they fired him on a whim and it absolutely was a mistake, and the moment the cats hired him i literally out loud said ‘oh no’ because i knew exactly what that meant for the leafs and their position in the standings. the panthers are underrated generally, yes, but they would not be the powerhouse they are this season without quenneville. just look at q’s wiki stats. he’s absolutely unbeilevable. he won the jack adams in fucking 2000, before he’d even won any of the cups with the h/wks. i cant tell you what kind of a locker room coach this guy is, but i can tell you his teams win and win convincingly, and that firing him was the biggest mistake the h/wks have made in years.

whenever i talk about coaching, i talk about rod brindamour and sheldon keefe in the same breath every single time because there is no match, and i mean none, for the love inside those locker rooms. the avs, maybe, but my point stands. keefe and brindamour fucking BLEED team spirit, it is at the center of their coaching styles and their teams are good because of it specifically. marner and matthews are good, yes, and they always have been, but they have surpassed all expectation and then some with keefe. aho, teravainen, and svechnikov are good, yes, and they always have been, but they have surpassed all expectation with brindamour. brindamour and keefe have both hashtag played the game, so they Get It, and more than that, theyve grown and changed their understanding of the game as the game itself has changed, and so they can command the authority of their teams while also connecting to them on a really deep level. i should make a note here that keefe and brindamour are incredibly, deeply hockey smart, and that they are also just technically good coaches, skimming their wiki or nhl dot com articles will tell you that, but what makes them stand out to me is that their players would fucking die for them. the leafs would go through the end boards for keefe, the canes would do the same for brindamour. travis dermott said it best when keefe got promoted: boys wanna play for him. beyond that, the management skills both brindamour and keefe have are just frankly amazing (the amount of ego keefe specifically has to manage in the leafs locker room is astounding and he does it so incredibly brilliantly). the leafs and the canes are talented, yes, and would have been talented regardless of who was coaching them. but brindamour and keefe bring both of those teams from talented to exceptional, and the true mark of an amazing coach is not only how many games their team wins, but how they win them, and the leafs and canes have been winning games this year for and because of each other, and that starts with their coaches. what makes a great coach, to me, is not the talent on the team (though that certainly helps), but how the coach manages his players no matter who they are, and how he helps those players grow not just as players as people, because no matter how much pure stats people and twitter hockey dudebros wanna deny it, that shit does affect on ice play, and it does make good players better.

so theres my analysis of the best coaches and gms of the nhl, im so sorry this is so long, oh my god. also, shoutout to @bishops--knifetrick for sending me an ask about this literally a month ago that i just never answered, sorry for that, but here i hope this is good. :)

[eternalstann]

Not What It Looks Like

Tom Holland x Reader

Smut!

Tom walks in on you and Harrison, but it’s not what he thinks...he’s still jealous though

“Harrison shhhh!” You shush your blonde friend, straddling his lap; crouched over him on the couch.

You had convinced him to let you wax his nostrils, but now he kept swatting your hands away every time you went to pull out the wax covered q-tips currently lodged in his face.

Tom was coming into the living room but paused when he heard your voice quietly shushing someone. He peaks over to your figure hunched over the person he now realized was Harrison.

What the hell? Tom’s stays silent, watching the scene unfold before him. From where he stood, it looked like Harrison was pushing your hair from your face and you were smiling down at him.

“C’mon Haz, it’s already in!” You whine and Tom nearly drops his phone from his hand. Were you two...??

“Fuck, Y/N, just leave it then” He hears his best friend reply and Tom feels light headed. His heart aches in his chest, Tom had fallen for you a long time ago. And you were with someone else...and Harrison at that.

You finally manage to pin one of Harrison’s arms with one hand and the other into the cushion of the couch with your elbow. You move quickly to rip out the little white sticks and the boy beneath you winces.

“Shit!” Harrison let’s out a strangled groan, you know it’s one of pain but to Tom...

Tom knows he should walk away, but he just can’t bring himself too. And before he can even think he’s opening up his big mouth.

“What’s all this?” His voice echoes through the room, and your head shoots up at the sound of your best friend in the room.

“Hey Tom!” You answer cheerfully, looking at him with bright eyes and messy hair. How could you just ‘hey tom’ him at a time like this?

“Want me to do you too?” You ask and Toms eyes go wide, “What?!” He exclaims. There’s no way this was happening.

“You want me to wax your nose too?” You ask again and Tom feels like a total div. The brunette scratches his head sheepishly. Harrison then sits up on the couch, eyes watery and nose red. Of course the two of you weren’t having sex, he mentally facepalms.

“Yeah sure Y/N, you can wax my nose” he says, voice smaller now. Harrison stares at Tom for a moment before realizing what he had thought was going on.

“Oh, mate!” Harrison starts with a chuckle and Tom quickly shushes him.

“Shut the fuck up Haz..” Tom mumbles and you just look at both of them lost to what was going on.

“Boys are weird, you guys wanna watch a movie?”

“You guys go ahead, I think you’ve got some things to sort out. I’m gonna shower.” Harrison yawns, heading upstairs.

You wriggle your eyebrows at Tom, waving him over.

“What do we have to talk about hmmmm?” You quirk an eyebrow at him and he shakes his head.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about..”

You roll your eyes, “Tom let’s skip the bullshit. We do this every time. You pretend nothings up, I bug you. You crack and tell me everything. So just tell me what’s going on and save us both some time”

You listen to Tom huff and puff while you browse through Netflix. You try to hide a smile when he clears his throat.

“I thought...I thought you and Harrison were having sex in here” he admits and your head whips around to face him.

“Excuse me?!” You laugh, and Tom shoves you.

“See I shouldn’t have told you” he grumbles and you try to stifle your laughs. “I’m sorry, but me and Harrison? Tom you’ve lost your mind”

“That’s what love does to you” he shrugs and you grin. “Love?”

Tom turns to face you, “Why would I care if you and Harrison fucked if I didn’t love- or at least like you?” He asks and your eyes are wide at his words.

“Tom holy shit...” you whisper. “I’ve always thought you were handsome, and funny. And talented and kind...damn maybe I like you too” you giggle.

“Maybe?” He pretends to be offended, and you smile. “I’m just being honest Tommy. I’ve never thought about it” you hum.

“Well think about it.” He shoves you again, hard enough that you fall back on the couch. “Okay, okay. I like you...and I like your face” you tell him and he crawls over you.

“Keep going...” he encourages you, pulling his shirt over his head.

“I like your shoulders, and your chest. Those abs....” you trail a finger down to the waistline of his pants. “Never seen what’s hidden here, but I’m pretty sure I’d like that too” you say, cupping him through the material separating the two of you.

“You wanna know why I like you?” He’s pulling your top off now.

“I mean I would, but I really wanna use our mouths for something other than talking right now” you answer and he groans, pressing his lips to yours.

His lips move to your neck, kissing the sensitive skin. His hands work at your bottoms, and then his own. Multitasking at its finest.

His hands tickle the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart. You gasp when a finger runs between your folds, and Tom hums at how wet you are.

“That for me or Harrison?” he whispers next your ear, biting on the lobe and curling a finger into you.

Your back arches, and your eyebrows furrow.

“It’s all for you Tom!” You answer breathlessly.

“Fuck, I need to get inside you” he shakes his head, positioning himself.

You grab onto his shoulders and brace yourself, but still you’re caught off guard by the fullness you feel when he slides into you.

“Tom...” you cry out, and he’s biting his lip with each thrust. You dig your nails into his back, legs wrapping around his waist. You just wanted him as close as possible, the weight of him on top of you only adding to the sensations.

You feel that tug low in your stomach, and you let yourself succumb to the feeling. The noises Tom made only pushing you closer to the edge.

“Tom don’t stop, I’m so close” you beg, hips coming up to meet his. He grunts, lifting your leg up for a better angle. His dick rams into you, and you squeal as you cum.

Tom squeezes your thigh and buries himself inside of you as he reaches his high.

Tom sits up, collapsing into the couch and you both just grin at one another.

“You think Harrison could fuck you like that?”

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Y’all this is so corny I just wanted to post before the weekend was over. I hope y’all enjoy this and are all healthy and happy. Love you guys ❤️❤️❤️