#i hope he gets the conn smythe

[brandoncarlo]

jack eichel gets drafted. the buffalo sabres say it's a disappointment. jack eichel gets the captaincy and is the best player on their team. he gets injured and develops a painful condition. they refuse to let him get treatment. he forces a trade. people wonder if he's difficult to work with. he finally gets treatment and gets to play with vegas. he doesn't do too hot at first. people think he's a bust. vegas makes the playoffs. jack eichel gets 23 points.

jack eichel wins the stanley cup.

[kochiana-brunnipes]

non-panthers mutuals look away because I’m going to whine. in fact panthers mutuals also look away because I’m going to whiiiiiiiiine

litcherally the only panther who’s getting the respect he deserves (and even then it’s an afterthought) is barky.

let’s start there actually. yeah totally get that finland has been plagued with injuries and are on paper the weakest team, but he is THE finnish athlete and it’s not close, so don’t be so quick to write them off. he is also the captain of the current defending champs (who should have won the conn smythe grumble grumble grumble). and the other finns? well even the fact that they’re just the other finns is objectionable but I’ll be more specific: lundell is the future of florida, luostarinen is an extremely versatile grinder, and mikkola is an actual real-life condor. they’re not filler.

reino is literally on the first line and PP1 and yet he’s basically chopped liver?? like do you know that’s THE sam reinhart? first team goal of 2023 and the GWG for SCF G7????? 50+ goal scorer reino? (although gretz did just namedrop him… but as a guy who doesn’t get as much attention as he ought to). UPDATE FROM CAN VS SWE: ok I am increasingly convinced the panthers are just deeply unpopular on a personal level across the league because why is reino wide open sooooo much and none of his lineys even try to give him the puck. Fuck u

bennett is the target of so much ridicule and dismissal right now and it’s driving me nuts. people think of him only as a “dirty” player which just says they don’t watch him actually play. he’s a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot and not ashamed to be underhanded but he is also incredibly skilled (he randomly decides to turn into prime gretzky on the rush every couple games). he is also the guy you want on the ice if the opposition decides to get rough with one of your players. and with how physical the tournament is getting, this is the kind of guy you want beasting out for you.

chucky’s merits go basically without saying but what people don’t get is that while he’s pesky, he’s not a POS on the ice and doesn’t really get dirty. he’ll egg players on and get in battles but the perception of him as just a malicious penalty machine again just proves that people don’t really watch his modern game.

somehow people still underestimate forsling even though he is +48 over his last 82 regular season games (the best of any d man in the tournament). he skates like the wind, eats monster minutes, and is strong as fuck.

and let me finish off by saying that the panthers have EIGHT (!!!!!) players in the tournament. this is THE team and I won’t hear otherwise

it doesssss make me wonder though if the cats are just more reserved than the other guys or if the media just isn’t so interested in them for whatever reason. if it’s option 2 then i hope this is a breakout moment for them and people finally see what amazing players they all are, alone and together.

ok I feel better now that I’ve let that all out

[idontlikeem]

God I feel awful for Geno and I hope he and his family are unharmed. For his sake I hope Nikita wasn’t inside when it happened 😞 What’s with the recent string of burglaries on pro athletes lately?

I don’t think Nikita is in town- he wasn’t at any game I attended last week, so hopefully that means he’s in Florida with Anna and the house was empty. Based on the article, it seems like it might have happened during Saturday’s game against Ottawa—there was something that seemed to indicate that in the article and then “911 was called several hours later”, like they discovered it after the game when they got home. Still horrible and violating but at least planned and executed with nobody around.

It is wild that this is an FBI matter. I don’t know why all of a sudden THIS season there’s a crime ring targeting athletes but it’s so so strange. In theory, the FBI being involved means there’s a higher chance of recovery, but it all depends on if this escalated to the point where the thieves have buyers in advance—if so that would make them a lot harder to track. If not, though, the FBI will have more resource and access to places an item like a personalized Stanley Cup ring would be “listed”, so to speak, or the diamonds if they decide to take it apart and sell in parts.

The other thing is—this is of course horrible and upsetting, but if the ONLY things taken were the rings, I’m sure there would be no issue getting them re-made. They wouldn’t be the same exactly but they’d still be his rings, with the same value. There are definitely other items he has that on their face are less valuable and less of a target, but are also less replaceable—game-used jerseys and sticks, pucks, autographed items. He can’t get the jersey he was wearing when he was presented with the Conn Smythe remade, for example, or the puck from his 500th goal. So I hope it WAS just the rings.

[cricketnationrise]

4:24pm jack's apartment tater

:D

okay for some reason my instinct is to write sad tater but i battled against that bc i didn't want to be sad today. thanks for the prompt, hope you like it!

want your own ficlet? TWO DAYS LEFT rules here.

🏒🏒🏒🏒

jack's apartment, 4:24pm

“But consider this,” Jack is saying, as Bitty pushes him towards the door, “I could stay here instead.”

“You are just the sweetest thing, aintcha? But we both know you’ll melt if you’re away from ice any longer you big Canadian moose. Go skate with Shitty – I know you’ve missed him somethin’ fierce since he was here after the Cup.”

Tater sniggers into the couch cushions at the sight of Jack Laurent Zimmermann – college graduate with honors, top five for the Rocket Richard and Art Ross, runner up for the Conn Smythe, Calder Cup Winner, and Stanley Cup Champion – pouting at his boyfriend.

“Bits—”

“Get out of here, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty laughs. “We’ll be just fine on our own, and we’ll be here when you get back.”

“Fine.” Jack leans in for one more kiss and Bitty pushes up into the contact so easily that Tater actually looks away, feeling a little like he’s intruding – only looking up again at the sound of the door closing.

Bitty collects Tater’s evening meds and a slice of pie for both of them before making his way back into the living room, shaking his head fondly. “Never thought I’d see the day when Jack Zimmermann was whining about going to the rink. Somewhere pigs are flyin’.”

“Seem to me like good reason to pout: Little B staying home.”

“You’re sweet as all get out.”

“Am best,” Tater confirms before shoveling blueberry pie into his mouth with a groan of pleasure.

“How’s your leg today? Still sore after PT today?”

“Da. But feels stronger. I’ll be back to start next season I’m thinking.”

Bitty does a little dance in his seat in celebration. “Tater, that’s fantastic! I’m so pleased for you, hon.”

“Is rough, no skate, no running, only bike and swimming sometimes. Feel с ума – not sure what English is – like not wanting to sit still, but forced to.”

“Oh, stir-crazy?” Tater nods. “I totally get that – I got a bad concussion my frog year, couldn’t do anything with impact until the start of the next season. I didn’t think I would miss running in the Georgia heat, but Lord, I would have given anything just to go for a jog, I was so bored.”

Tater lifts his plate and waggles his eyebrows. “Pie helps lots. Would be sad without.”

“Well we can’t have that,” Bitty says, mock seriously before sitting up straight. “Now, to business. Jack will be gone for at least two hours, probably closer to three since Shitty will drag him out for dinner after.”

“We have time to finish Drag Race?”

“We do indeed.”

“Was wrong before. Little B is best.”

Bitty doesn’t say anything, just smiles at Tater fondly, grabs the remote and settles himself against Tater’s side, tucked safely under Tater’s arm. His leg is sore, he’s itching to get back to the ice and conditioning, but Bitty has a way of making all his frustration melt away. 

[sergeifyodorov]

willy mitch and auston for the character ask thing? <3

FIRST IMPRESSION

now bcause of Leafs Cultural Osmosis i had heard of them for a long time before i starting becoming a real leafsguy. Uhh generally i heard the most about auston matthews because he’s big and cool and sexy and hit em with the 4 and all of that. I think my most definitive pre-leafsfan leafs memory of them (him in particular) was once newsscrolling in like the early 21-22 season when he came back, struggled a bit, and then shaved his mustache for movember and started immediately scoring a g/pg

IMPRESSION NOW

Willy: a beautiful blonde Barbie doll of a man. going to gloss over how sexy i find him because it is, genuinely, embarrassing, and instead talk about the fact that he’s a) kind of stupid, but in an exceedingly charming way, b) has named his dogs after famous artists (pablo and banksy are their names), c) is one of the de facto leaders of the nhl’s swedish contingent. he also has this amazing power where he’s like… vibe immune. Like in one of Those Leafs Moments where all hope is lost and you know it is not going to end well, he’s going to score. Or, conversely, when the Leafs have cut the other team open and they’re bleeding all over the place, Willy isn’t going to do much. this means he is both “the only one who scores in the playoffs” and also “never there when they’re winning” which means ppl suspect he’s being carried or something. he’s not. also i suspect he might be a little bit gay but that’s not really my business

Mitch: babygirl of the year 8 years running. I am one of thee premier marner defenders like people hate him for NO REASON. only time ive been mad at my father in the past several years is the other day when i yelled at him for being Wrong About Mitchell but let’s not get into mitchydaddyissues because we can be here for hours about that. he is a creature of light he is Kind On Purpose but also he’s definitely got so much to work through in therapy it’s hard to define. also kind of dumb irl, but hockeywise just absolutely gobsmackingly intelligent. Has the ability to create chances out of nothing i am thinking of so many moments rn but most specifically the oilers game this year where they were down 3-1 and then he just stole it and MAGICKED the leafs into like. 3 goals in 5 minutes and they ended up running away with it. gorgeous. also he is one of the most decorated Winners in ohl history his conn smythe era is almost upon us and i believe this thoroughly

Auston: ALSO SEXY and im NOT embarrassed abt it. Gonna be real theres so many marner scholars out there and i consider myself a trendbreaker. Im a matthews scholar. He’s a virgo you don’t understand him like i (also a virgo) do; he’s meticulous and nerdy and completely blank in his understanding of things he does not care about; he’s whiny and petulant and completely ruthless -- to him there is only the place now, and the goal, and the clear line he needs to draw between point a and point b. he likes things to be Pretty he is fastidious and in that gray area between genre aware and completely oblivious; maybe he is choosing not to take notice of it. he also looks really gay. like are u flagging on purpose mr mustache and earrings

FAVOURITE MOMENT

Willy: overtime winner willy… he is unlike the other leafs stylistically in that he is absolutely fantastic at controlled zone entries AND he has straight-line speed that they. don’t. so this makes him naturally very talented at finding that open space you often get in 3v3 ot and sniping it on the breakaway. i think my fav in this recent years was the one against the blues… he just BURNS tarasenko and forehand-backhands binnington completely effortlessly so sexily. Also him straight up telling steve dangle he couldn’t read

Mitch: POINT STREAK NIGHT. Technically he set the record against tampa in tampa but he TIED the record in toronto against the sharks… it was 2-1 leafs and the sharks had the net empty and mitch was out there and he PASSED on the empty net and we were all like MITCH WHY TAKE THIS FOR URSELF and then the guy he passed to missed. And then he got it back and took the empty net himself and the cheering was so loud and long they had 2 pause the game a lil bit… this was in the recent aftermath of borje salming’s passing and they had the patch on their shoulders, and they were in the actually nice RRs, and mitch was CRYING and i was CRYING and i am STILL CRYING… he means so much to the leafs he WILL be one of the Great Leafs by the time his career is over no leaf will ever wear 16 again after him i love him so much!!! Thats a formative hockey memory

Auston: that time he ate the post and got really really bitchy about it to the press w his swollen lip

IDEA FOR STORY

Willy: now willy is just so cheerily and sexily oblivious it’s honestly kind of hard to maincharacter-ize him. Like he’s just kind of :) chilling. i WOULD like to see a meaningless sitcom episode type beat of him trying to wrangle all of the Swedes to some sort of dinner or something, and shenanigans ensue.

Mitch: the urge to tragic-protagonistize him versus him just being a cheery little motor who’s doing his BEST. i dont know what my mitch niche is he’s really just the emotional heart of it all and im not a very emotional person it is hard 4 me. he’s our main sadman’s bestie <3

Auston: now AUSTON i can write about forever. go read scheherazade etc but in the meantime i think he deserves some begrudging romance. he doesn’t WANT to fall in sappy gay love he’s not sappy he’s not gay and he’s not lovey he wants to WIN CUP but sometimes… WIN CUP comes with bonus SAPPY GAY BOYFRIEND. Also he deserves some erotic tension to knock him off that high horse he’s got a bit. get a leetle bit humiliated. Etc

UNPOPULAR OPINION

Willy: this is really only unpopular among leafs uncles on twitter etc but he is not lazy or emotionally uninvolved at all? He’s literally just coolheaded. U value perseverance and grit but when u get that from a blonde guy who doesn’t hit u don’t value it. that’s genuine xenophobia methinks

Mitch: i don’t get gay vibes from him he’s just real friendly and sweet and pretty. like yeah he definitely messed around w his teammates in juniors but it’s giving more like. experimentation and the results of the experiment were heterosexuality. Bi girl’s straight boyfriend vibes

Auston: coming from my place of Auston Scholarship again i disagree with a lot of the way he’s portrayed in fic… not all of it obvi but i think there’s a certain amount of Big Sexy Latino Guy must therefore be dom top/all this like. anger and feistiness and aggression and stuff when he pretty clearly is not any of that. like he’s never started a fight and tries to stay away from that… in fact his 1 nhl fight (matthews v stamkos, this playoffs) was him clearing up sticks from an earlier shoving match and then stammer going for him to try and draw mutual fighting majors. it’s kinda skeevy and just makes me like. Roll my eyes and leave when he starts getting possessive because he’s. Not really that possessive he likes to share he likes 2 have his guys and likes for all of his guys to like each other… he is having threesomes with bunts and freddie come next season i prommy, not pitting them against each other

FAV RELATIONSHIP

Willy: i think his half-mentorship half-romance with rasmus sandin is really inchresting… also just his general social standing among The Swedes as both one of the country’s best active players AND as a legacy boy

Mitch: 1634 :]

Auston: now im going 2 contradict myself… 1634 are of course platonic/hockey soulmates but i do love his dynamic with Others. The 1634 + machuk dramatic love triangle is v compelling… he did have this fun little Mutual Bastardy relationship with bunts… 9734 is very. Something. and i think the mattdrai girlies who love some regional rivalry high draftee mutual loathing would really enjoy some good good auston/ras dahlin now that machuk is too busy being happily married to sasha barkov

FAV HEADCANON

Willy: he is the oldest boy of six children so he has DEFINITELY done some child wrangling in the past… some oldest brother shenanigans… i think he’s probably great with kids and just with calming down and bossing around those that are younger/obviously less experienced and worldly than him

Mitch: thought the percy jackson books were dense academic texts but obviously really likes greek mythology. so . lied about having read percy jackson (he has not but he says he has)

Auston: paints his toenails

[tapedsleeves]

2023 hrpf fic roundup

VGK / 6167 (mark stone / max pacioretty):

won't run away (but I'll have to take it slow) - the 6167 max thinks mark might be ace fic (rated T) passes too quick to see me - max has a migraine 5x drabble I want strings attached (prequel to our secret's worth its weight in gold published in 2022) - wherein mark buys the ring he hides from max in secret's worth i'd rather drown - after max is traded, he invites his family to visit Mark's house for christmas. but i can't see behind the sun - plane flirting triple drabble tripped and fell on you - max and mark met & hooked up as teenagers wear you like a stitch - mark has temporary amnesia or a gentle kiss - a vague pirate au double drabble

VGK / 981 (Jack Eichel / Jonathan Marchessault):

a wall to bring us closer - jonathan sees the photo of the way jack is looking at him later & decides to do something about it. from a shudder to a shockwave - jack falls in love with vegas, hockey, and jonathan marchessault you don't need to wonder, you're doing fine - Jack gets an idea for the post game award no reason to put up a fight - jack and marchy at stevie's wedding just what i needed - jack makes a kissing bet to get Marchy the Conn Smythe your whole life is a head (I hope we get to see it) - marchy has a crisis about being older than jack

Misc:

VGK: Chandler Stephenson / Shane Hnidy / Neon in the nighttime - parade hookups :)

VGK: Nic Roy / Zach Whitecloud / In all of my wildest dreams (they just ended with you and me) - bubble musing triple drabble

VGK: Nic Roy / Zach Whitecloud / i'll set you up against the stars - Nic wears lingerie

Canes: andrei svechnikov / jordan martinook / teach me to breathe (break me in half) - babygirl andrei :)

NJD: Nico Hischier / Jack Hughes / it's our anthem - first kiss double drabble

Kraken: Will Borgen / Carson Soucy / well and remix of and well from Will's POV

Kraken: Will Borgen / Carson Soucy / go hunt for honey - carson shares chocolate with will

Jets/VGK: Connor Hellebuyck/Laurent Brossoit / Message Pending / connor attempts to invite laurent to his house for a visit.

Jets/VGK: Connor Hellebuyck/Laurent Brossoit / but my body's in the lead - smut set after the Jets lose in round one of the 23 scp

Panthers: Matthew Tkachuk / Aleksander Barkov / Leon Draisaitl / fracture me - quick and dirty porn to make sure that dom!sasha is taking care of Matthew properly.

Panthers: Matthew Tkachuk / Aleksander Barkov / Leon Draisaitl / full time problem - leon calls sasha to set up matthew

Leafs: Kyle Dubas / Sheldon Keefe / ache it 'til you make it - sheldon gets stuck in playoff time loops

Leafs: Kyle Dubas / Sheldon Keefe / checking it twice - sheldon makes sure to write kissing on Kyle's to do list for tomorrow.

Leafs: Kyle Dubas / Sheldon Keefe / sand inside that hourglass (WIP) - Sheldon's wife used to peg him, Kyle offers to scratch the itch.

Avs: Nathan Mackinnon / Jonathan Drouin / just here to become the best yet (i'm just here for the psych assessment) - Jo finds a way to make Nate feel better after their back to back shut out losses

Oilers / VGK: Jack Eichel / Connor McDavid / or stone unturned - 5 times connor touched jack eichel

[3416]

Actually fuck it let's go full scorched earth here I hope Mitch DOES get traded or waives his NMC or whatever, joins a lower profile team where he's actually allowed to exist in the o-zone, wins thirteen cups with them. And I hope the Leafs never win a cup ever again in all our lifetimes and all they can do is watch as Mitch wins his fifth Conn Smythe. (Really I don't even need him to do well- I just think it would be nice for him to be happy, even if he's happy in mediocrity)

leaf fans think this will happen for some reason and then blame him and the universe and will go 'oh poor me' the rest of their lives like lol. realistically, i just wanna see auston and mitch play hockey together for a long time. it's why i'm here babyyy. if mitch goes somewhere, i hope auston goes too (ik that is highly unlikely and a pipe dream but hush, if we're allowed to take getting rid of mitch w a nmc seriously). i don't think auston's a maple leaf for life regardless of mitch's status on this team... i think that is a component, considering we have insiders straight up telling us it is. the crack dream scenario would be them fresh start somewhere else together, but also like. i want them to get to achieve it together with this franchise that drafted them. it's special in that way even if i agree that there is a corner of uncle leaf fans on the internet and irl that i don't think deserve to be happy about their sports team ever. but mitch still being on their team IF they ever won a cup would prob diminish their happiness so that works for me too.

[moose-set-loose]

Makar, the reigning Norris Trophy and Conn Smythe Award winner, was asked if he had ever been booed like that before.

"No, actually, it's pretty funny. I had a dream last night I was getting booed," Makar said. "It's playoff hockey. That's the atmosphere you want. I mean .. you got to be a big boy and just take it. Like I said, unfortunate circumstances and I hope he's all right."

Source

This is so fucking funny 😭 Cale "you got to be a big boy" Makar my beloved

[spine-buster]

I mean, people have legitimate reasons for not liking Auston Matthews and not wanting to celebrate because he scored a lot of goals, doesn’t make them less of a hockey fan. I get that you’re a leafs fan but I thought you’d be able to see the nuance there and that some people won’t want to support people that have done questionable things in their past, no matter how good they are at hockey. Breaking the record doesn’t make him a good person and saying any hockey fan would be in awe is entirely untrue and half of the problems we have in the hockey community is because people excuse what people on their teams do because they cause them to win, it’s gross

You're 100% right that there are legitimate reasons for not liking him and not wanting to celebrate -- it definitely doesn't make anybody less of a hockey fan if they don't want to celebrate it, and I never insinuated that at all. It's fine not to. What I meant to say (and I guess I didn't make it clear, so apologies on my end) is that as a fan of the sport in general, anyone would have to admit that what he's doing right now is impressive.

I do see the nuance in this -- I always have. I totally understand that some people won't want to support him because of his questionable past at that charge he has. I also assumed people wouldn't want to support Connor McDavid after he welcomed Evander Kane onto the team without putting up a bigger fuss about the fact that Kane forced an ex partner to get an ab*rtion and the litany of other things Kane has done, but I still see a lot of support for him everywhere, including on this site, and him being neck-and-neck with Auston in the Hart Trophy debate. I also assumed people wouldn't want to support teams like the New York Islanders for signing Semyon Varlamov after he was accused of domestic violence, but there is still a lot of support. Shall I even bring up Vince Dunn? Patrick Kane? Jordan Binnington? Jonathan Toews? Ryan O'Reilly drunk driving but then going on to win the Conn Smythe?

I'm not mentioning all the above as a tit-for-tat -- I'm agreeing with you that the hockey community has a lot of problems because people excuse shitty behaviour, but this isn't entirely on Auston. He's definitely not the only one to have done something shitty and the hockey world has forgotten about it or swept in under the rug. Breaking the record does not make him a good person, you're right, but I still believe that breaking the record in today's era is an incredible accomplishment. I'm sorry that we disagree with that, but I'm hoping we can respectfully disagree. You don't have to celebrate it -- that's fine -- but I'd like to.

[andrewuttaro]

The End of the Eichel Era

Back in the lonely summer of 2020 I started a Youtube channel built around reacting to the Buffalo Sabres. My first series of videos in that regard was a recap of the prior 2019-2020 season: a season so crazy leading into the COVID pause that I thought it couldn’t be topped. My vlog reactions to the upcoming season would be the start of something new. I didn’t think it could possibly get worse than the season of the Duane Rant. Oh, Andrew: you doe-faced believer. Oh, how wrong I was.

After a season that saw a 17-game losing streak, a rightful coaching change, an injury carousel out of a cartoon including injuries untold to Captain Jack Eichel, the bar for a bad season has reached a new low even us rugged Sabres fans. There were rays of hope toward the end of this past season. A bevy of young players making their impact playing for pride on a feisty Don Granato led squad made another lost season, the tenth in a row without a playoff berth, somewhat enjoyable. Due to roster flexibility that bordered on frightening there was also reason to hope a roster that could finally make a postseason was within reach for a rookie GM that has no choice but to prove himself. There was hope. Was is the operative word there.

On May 10th, 2021, the organization’s most notable players gave their exit interviews to the team followed by brief pressers with the media. Before the Captain even appeared on the Zoom link the mood was dreary. Rasmus Ristolainen once again made it clear he would rather not be here. Sam Reinhart, a UFA this offseason, was non-committal at best about his future with the team. Then it was time for the Captain to speak… then Jake McCabe went first. Evidently his exit interview went long. When Eichel did get on the call what followed was nothing short of the siren marking the beginning of the end of the Eichel Era in Buffalo.

The root of the issues seemed to be disagreement about how to handle Eichel’s injuries. There was a broken rib prior to the season as well as something else still somewhat unclear. Team doctors evidently wanted him to not go forward with a surgery. He got a second opinion. The schism only grew. With five seasons left on his massive 80-million-dollar contract and a full NMC is affect all the power lays with the Buffalo Sabres organization. As Jack Eichel detailed his intent to look out for himself in no uncertain terms he was leveraging the only power he has in the situation which has gotten worse and worse: speaking publicly. If you didn’t hear any of these comments live or read any shortly thereafter you might lose the severity. To sum it up in one tidbit: Eichel literally referenced a hypothetical wife and kids he’ll have one day and how he’ll be a father. What this team has made him endure is on par with a major life event.

The insanity of the NHL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement rules on medical second opinions aside: the relationship between ownership, the front office and Jack Eichel’s camp is broken beyond repair now. When an employer makes you endure a health situation you don’t want to be in then you better believe there will be discord. There is no mending this fisher. There is no denying any longer that Eichel will move on one way or another. To put in bluntly: it is over with Jack Eichel in Buffalo. It is a matter of time now before a trade salvages anything for the all-star top line center in what will almost certainly be a losing trade for the Sabres.

Jack Eichel has been the face of the Buffalo Sabres franchise since he was drafted in 2015. He was the fruit of a contentious tank. A torturous rebuild followed that had to be rest in 2017 and again in 2018 and… is still continuing today I suppose. Jack Eichel has done everything he could. I think I speak for every reasonable hockey fan in Buffalo when I say the end of this relationship is the result of Front Office mismanagement of Eichel himself and the roster beyond him on top of so many other things. From the beginning of their ownership in 2011 Terry and Kim Pegula have hurt the name of the once proud Buffalo Sabres. It began with Pat Lafontaine’s ouster and now it is visited upon us with the impending departure of Jack Eichel. Four General Managers and seven coaches have tried to lead the Sabres under Pegula ownership and the only one who managed a playoff berth was gone the year after. The coming end of the Eichel Era is a symptom of the Pegula Era. And I didn’t even bring up the knockoff alumni jerseys or the myriad public relations catastrophes they have wrought on the blue and gold.

The final Chapter in Jack Eichel’s time as a Sabre is being written as you read this. Certainly, the Pegulas will have some kind of strategic response to Eichel’s comments through their good soldier GM Kevyn Adams shortly. This will get ugly or put in a better way: this is just what is already ugly becoming public. We could talk about how their reputation in Buffalo maybe saved by the recent success of the Buffalo Bills of the NFL and fantasize about them selling the Sabres organization as some virtuous self-realization of the harm they’ve done. That is fantasy. What is not fantasy is what this organization has become.

I’m turning 27 this month. Most people my age have only known this team as synonymous with sorrow, save for a few glorious years in the late 2000s. This was not the Buffalo Sabres of old. The first forty years of this franchise was something to behold even though it lacked a Stanley Cup banner. The terrible drafting is the one consistent throughout, but I digress: what are the Buffalo Sabres? What is this franchise? We keep reaching out in the dark for rock bottom praying to ourselves it exists at all. Every season since 2016 we have only seen regression. Every move has ultimately amounted to shifting deck chairs on the Titanic. The good moves and happy stretches like the ten-game winning steak in 2018 are clearly the exceptions not the rule in retrospect.

An impossibly long list of items from the Ryan O’Reilly trade that saw spare parts come back for a center who went onto a Conn Smythe and the Stanley Cup to acquiring Taylor Hall in a signing the owner contended would signal the team was going to win a Cup, not just make the playoffs. Taylor Hall is in Boston now where the last team that truly tested a good Sabres squad in an infamous instance of running-the-goalie in 2011 has been good for a decade. The Sabres goalie Milan Lucic ran, Ryan Miller, a legend in his own right, retired this season. It has been so long since a team worthy of gracing the ravenous hockey market that is Western New York has played that you’d be hard pressed to find a former Sabre who has made the playoff with them still in the league. If there was ever glory associated with the crossed swords it has faded from the public consciousness to the point a generation is unfamiliar with it.

When Jack Eichel is traded there is an outside chance a fair return will be achieved from one of about two teams in this league who could swing it. As Eichel acknowledged in his own comments, it’s the team that has all the cards in this: they can wait until the right offer comes along because clearly there is no intention for things to get better in Buffalo very shortly. Yet another rebuild, perhaps even another tank, awaits on the near horizon. With the Eichel Era coming to end in Buffalo its hard to imagine what’s next. In 2014-2015 we dreamed a young contender helmed by one of Connor McDavid or Jack Eichel might lead us to better days. Now those better days are just a song we remember from a hype video 15 years ago.

A team signs and unwritten contract when they acquire a franchise player as I wrote last year about this exact situation. It is now unquestionable that the Buffalo Sabres, or at least the owners of the franchise, have broken that unwritten contract beyond repair. Their continued mismanagement has cratered the franchise they bought with such zeal for the roundel crest. Now we venture forward into unknown depths few franchises have ventured into in this league and lived to tell the tale. The franchise probably survives for various external reasons but now it will be a living relic of how no number of frenzied fans, no amount of hope, can get you a sustainable team if you can’t build something worthy of the great athletes handed to you.

[rinkrats]

The Penguins needed a new arena and a prospect who could give their fans more hope when (former Penguins GM) Craig Patrick left his hotel that morning to walk to the lottery. He grabbed the lucky four-leaf clover that a Penguins staffer had given him a while back and stopped by St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Madison Avenue on his way there.

“We were already so excited to have the CBA settled and a salary cap and financial parity and an opportunity to compete,” recalled Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan. “We didn’t think coming into that day that we were going to have Sidney Crosby. We just wanted to get a top-10 pick.”

Looking back 15 years later, the 2005 draft class is maybe the best of the past two decades. Beyond Crosby, there were a dozen All-Stars along with winners of the Conn Smythe, Vezina and Selke trophies. The final selection, at No. 230 overall, scored a Cup-clinching goal in the 2017 final. You know Patric Hornqvist.

But Crosby had long been considered a generational prospect. He did his first TV interview at age 7, was called “The Next One” by “The Hockey News” at 14 and had already inked seven-figure endorsement deals with Gatorade and Reebok.

“Sid was the perfect prospect,” Jim Rutherford said. “There wasn’t any doubt.”

Added (former Anaheim Ducks GM) Brian Burke, now an analyst for Sportsnet: “He was the whole package. Elite hockey sense. Elite physical ability. Elite leadership. There was no question about whether or not he would be great. It was just a question of how great.”

...After Montreal then Minnesota were eliminated, only three teams remained.

“I’m not a guy that sweats a lot, unless I’m out in the humidity. But the palms of my hands started getting wet,” said Rutherford, who at the time was Carolina’s GM. “I was like, ‘Wow, we may be getting Sidney Crosby.’ It just got more and more intense. And then we got the third pick and my hands dried up.”

When Bettman picked up the envelope marked with the No. 1, Burke was for some reason confident that Crosby was headed to Southern California.

“I just had a hunch,” he said. “Then I saw a little splash of color when they opened the envelope. I thought it was orange. I thought the Ducks had won it.”

It was Pittsburgh’s “Vegas gold.” The Penguins had won the Crosby lottery.

Ken Sawyer, who retired as Penguins CEO in 2009, smiled and politely shook Burke’s hand.

“Ken is a very reserved guy,” Burke said with a laugh. “I would have been doing the ‘Rocky’ routine up there, jumping up and down with my arms in the air.”

That’s what McMillan was doing back at Mellon Arena after excusing himself from a room filled with local media who had assembled to watch the lottery.

“All the TV cameras pointed to me and I realized that I was the highest-ranking official in the room,” he said. “I remember saying to myself, ‘Don’t do anything stupid that will get you on a highlight video for the rest of your life.’ ”

As he stood outside screaming, McMillan knew everything had changed.

“It was euphoria, almost hysteria,” he said of the events that soon followed.

Shortly after the news broke, the team’s ticket office was overwhelmed with calls. There was a 45-minute wait to get through. McMillan added that employees were still in the office until close to midnight taking ticket orders.

Within a few days, fans from as far away as Australia had purchased tickets. When single-game tickets went on sale, the Penguins sold more than 10,000 in four hours.

... Crosby made his NHL debut Oct. 5, which is Lemieux’s birthday, and finished his sensational rookie season with a team-high 39 goals and 102 points.

“You always hear people say [that draft lottery] was rigged, especially with where the organization was at,” Brooks Orpik said. “But there’s no chance that would ever happen. But yeah, there is so much hype with some of these guys and sometimes they bust. Obviously, that wasn’t the case with him. It worked out.”

In 2009, Crosby, along with Malkin and Fleury, led the Penguins to a Stanley Cup. They got their new arena in 2010 and two more titles in 2016 and 2017.

Based on how those 48 lottery balls could have ping-ponged, Crosby could have potentially lifted the Cup anywhere on the NHL map, from Minnesota, where he attended prep school, to Montreal, the home of his childhood team.

Picture Crosby in San Jose teal or — dry heave — in Philadelphia orange.

What if he wound up with the dynasty-seeking Detroit Red Wings?

All these years later, he swears he doesn’t ponder all those possibilities.

“I remember having a lot of meetings with all the different teams because nobody had any idea where you’re going to end up,” the captain said with a shrug. “It was kind of unique circumstances with the way it was done that year.”

Well, the rest of the league wonders what might have been. Even Rutherford, who won his first Stanley Cup with Carolina that season. And especially Burke.

“I still joke with Sid about it. They were here in Toronto [in February],” Burke said. “Every time I see him, I hold up my index finger and my thumb about a quarter inch apart, and I say, ‘This close, Sid. You were this close to being a Duck.’

-Inside the NHL’s Sidney Crosby sweepstakes, 15 years later, 2 April 2020

[imaginingsoftly]

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time Pt. 11 - Morgan Rielly

Type: roommates to lovers, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: none

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: This is it! This is the last chapter. It’s kind of a written version of an ending montage, and spans a couple of years. I hope you enjoy, and I’d love to hear suggestions for a new series.

That fall:

“You know,” Y/N said as she helped Morgan move into his new apartment, “I still think you should live with me again.” She understood where Morgan was coming from, deciding that having their own space for at least the beginning of their relationship was a good idea, but that didn’t mean she liked it. It was nice to have him sitting on the balcony when she got up in the morning or sitting on the counter while she made a snack after work. She had grown to rely on his presence in the apartment, especially when she was feeling especially anxious. Morgan huffed from in front of her, a nonverbal response to her suggestion, and she sighed. “I know, I know. Just also know I’ll be here a lot taking advantage of your balcony.” His balcony had a view of the city lights, rather than a courtyard, and she was wicked jealous. 

They came out of the elevator and were at the door of Morgan’s top-floor apartment before he finally responded. “I look forward to sitting out there with you.” He put down the box he was carrying, turning to face Y/N. “I’m not getting my own place because I don’t want to live with you. I just think a little bit of space could be good for us, since we were living together before we even started dating.” Morgan stared intently into Y/N’s eyes as he spoke, and she could see how sincere he was. Honestly, he was right. Space would definitely be good for them, at least for a little while. She pressed up onto her tiptoes to kiss Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her waist without hesitation. It was awkward with the box and lamp she was carrying, and Morgan broke away from her with a laugh before unlocking the apartment and stepping inside.

The apartment really was beautiful, she did have to admit that. It was bright, much like her own place, but larger and more open. The entire wall open to the outside was glass, and a balcony took up the length of the room plus some, and she knew there was another entrance to the outdoors in the main bedroom. Morgan dropped his box just inside the entrance, rubbing his back with a groan. He’d thrown out his back the week before, getting a little too enthusiastic as he threw Y/N’s little cousins off the dock of the family lake house, and she knew it still wasn’t quite right. “You know,” she said with a laugh, “one of the biggest signs of age is throwing out your back. I think your body is trying to tell you something.”

Y/N knew that was the wrong thing to say when Morgan turned around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He stalked towards her with a smirk on his face, and she cocked a hip at him with a nod. “I bet I could prove you wrong.” he surged forward, scooping Y/N up and over his shoulder. She laughed, weakly pushing his back. Morgan turned and began walking towards the main bedroom, squeezing Y/N’s calf gently. “I’ll show you old.” He threw her onto the mattress sitting in the middle of the room, a pile of wood that would eventually be his bed laying in piles around it. Y/N laughed as he did, though she stopped when Morgan caged her in. He pushed Y/N’s hair out of her face gently and leaned in for a kiss, and she pulled him down on top of her. 

Later, Y/N traced her fingers over where Morgan’s hand sat just over her right collarbone. His arms were wrapped around her waist and her shoulders, and they watched the sun set from their spot in the middle of the mattress. It was perfect. 

The next June:

They did it. The clock counted down to zero and Y/N stood frozen next to Kat, though the rest of the families were freaking out around them. Mrs. Rielly was yelling to her left, and Dougie’s parents were hugging in front of her.

Dougie was grabbing at Morgan down on the ice, and Y/N could see from where she sat that Morgan was crying. So was she. The guys were huddled around Andrei, who’d just scored the game-winner, and Petr was grabbing at Coach Brind'Amour, though the poor goalie looked like his legs were barely supporting his weight after the onslaught he’d faced at the beginning of the 3rd overtime period. The box began to clear around them, and Y/N and Kat finally came back to reality to hug each other fiercely. “They did it, Kat,” Y/N whispered into her friend’s ear, “holy shit they did it.” Kat rubbed a hand over her growing stomach, where Y/N knew her and Andrei’s daughter was more than likely kicking. She loved the rink even more than her father. 

The wait to get onto the ice with the boys felt like it took a million years. The energy around the group was incredible, and Y/N was pretty sure she’d hugged more people in the last hour than she had her entire life. She could swear PNC was shaking, and Y/N took a second to close her eyes and listen to the crowd. They were chanting Andrei’s name as he accepted the Conn Smyth, and Kat squeezed Y/N’s hand even tighter. Andrei’s mother was on Kat’s other side, and Evgeny stood next to Y/N. It didn’t feel real.

Morgan was in the middle of an interview when Y/N spotted him. He stopped in the middle of a sentence when he saw her, his smile somehow growing larger. “Red Sox!” Y/N saw the camera shift onto her out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it as she slid over to Morgan. He caught her with a laugh, spinning them in a circle. The reporter caught his attention again, but Morgan kept an arm wound tightly around Y/N’s shoulders as he continued to talk. 

The next few hours were a flurry of movement and photos, and Y/N was hugged by more people she didn’t know than people she did. Andrei pulled Y/N and Morgan away from his parents long enough to take a “family photo” with him and Kat, and Y/N made a mental note to get that framed for her and Morgan’s apartment. By the time they made it out to the club the team decided on, Y/N was already a few beers and some champagne in and she knew Morgan was the same way. It felt like half the city was there to celebrate with the boys, and Y/N spent more time taking videos and pictures of them interacting with the crowd than she’d ever done on Instagram stories before. Kat left early, tired from the baby and a little irritated with the drunkenness around her, and Andrei followed not long after with an impressive speech about how much he loved Kat, made even more impressive by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. 

Y/N and Morgan made it home eventually, though convincing Dougie that sleep was a good idea and to let them go home proved to be difficult. Dougie eventually relented, and Morgan had to help Dougie from the Uber and into his place on the way back to his and Y/N’s shared apartment. They made it to bed as the sun began rising over the city, and Morgan held Y/N close as they fell asleep and the world turned gold around them.

July 1st, the following year:

“So we’re doing this, then?” Morgan held his finger over the number typed into his phone, and Y/N squeezed his other hand. Free agency day had come, and they were about to change their entire world. Morgan was ready to go home, and Y/N was ready for an adventure. Besides, home was wherever Morgan was. Y/N nodded, and Morgan hit the call button. The GM on the other end of the line picked up, and Morgan spoke one sentence that began the change. “I’m about to sign the paperwork.” His smile was infectious, and Y/N smiled widely back at him. The paperwork felt endless, and she found herself playing photographer so that there was proof of the signing and for the social media page to post wherever they decided to. 

Morgan finally said his goodbyes to the GM, and he barely hit the end call button before he was leaping up to wrap Y/N in a hug. “I love you.” She hugged him back tightly, and whispered the same. They stood like that for a moment, and then Morgan’s phone lit up with a call. And so it began. Y/N slipped away to grab them both beers, and Morgan clinked his appreciatively against hers as he talked with Elias. Y/N stepped out onto the balcony of the Vancouver apartment and smiled. This would be her new view every day. Canada was new, and the thought of changing everything to move to a new country scared her shitless, but there would be time to worry about that later. 

She stood there until the sun began sinking in front of her, and Morgan joined her outside. “I think that’s the last of them, at least for now.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I’ve got something to show you, if you’re up for a nighttime drive.” Y/N threw a look up at him, and he laughed. Of course she was up for a nighttime drive. “Okay, I know, c’mon.” He turned and headed back inside, grabbing his keys from the sweatshirt lying over the back of the couch. 

They drove for almost a half an hour, singing quietly to the bluetooth as the sights of the city flew past them. The water came into a more consistent view as they drove, and Y/N made a mental note to drive this road again the next time she couldn’t sleep. The air was cool as it filtered through the sunroof and she shivered slightly. Morgan pulled into a driveway suddenly, and Y/N stared up at the house in front of them. It was newer, full of windows and what she thought was a rooftop deck sitting just at the tip of her viewpoint. She turned to Morgan in confusion, and he smiled. “When we decided on Vancouver a few days ago, I started thinking about how we could really get a proper restart. I was thinking we could put an offer in on this place if you liked it.” 

He opened his car door and climbed out after that, and Y/N slowly did the same. Morgan punched in the code for the lock and held the door open, gesturing for Y/N to enter first. It took her breath away. Even in the growing darkness the house was bright. Moonlight filtered in from the windows covering most of the walls she could see. They were black-trimmed, standing out neatly against the white of the walls. The place was empty, but it still felt homey. Morgan reached out and grabbed Y/N’s hand, tugging her further into the house. “You’ve gotta see the kitchen. It has my favorite views other than the roof.” 

The view was incredible. Windows over the sink looked out onto the bay, and Y/N could see a dock leading down to the water from the deck outside the living room. Morgan brushed a finger over her left cheek, and Y/N realized she was crying. “Morgan, this place is incredible.” He cupped her face gently, smiling. “I know,” he said cheekily, “that’s why I picked it out.” Y/N stared at him incredulously, though the effect was slightly ruined by the tears still sitting in her eyes. Morgan nodded his head back in the direction they had come from. 

“You’ve got to see the best part of the house.” The upstairs was just as beautiful as the downstairs, though Morgan didn’t give Y/N a chance to appreciate it the way he had the kitchen. He kept moving, pulling her towards another set of stairs. The outside hit her suddenly, and the smell of the water was carried along the breeze up to them. If the view from the kitchen was perfect, the view from the roof was otherworldly. Y/N walked towards the railing in an almost trancelike state, and she only stopped when the railing hit her midsection. She felt tears welling in her eyes again, and she didn’t have the will to swipe them away. This view alone was reason to buy the house. The city lights sparkled from across the dark bay, and lights from a ferry shone even further away. The sky was a dark purple now, almost completely black, and a full moon was rising over the water and the city. 

Y/N leaned back into Morgan, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I want to do forever with you, sweetheart, and I think this is a good place to start.” He leaned down to rest his head on Y/N’s shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “Marry me?” Y/N jerked, turning quickly in Morgan’s arms. He was smiling down at her nervously, and she felt her face break into a wide smile. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice. “Yeah?” Morgan reached up to cup Y/N’s face as he spoke. 

“Yeah,” she responded, grabbing the front of his shirt to pull him down to her. They were smiling too big to properly kiss, and Y/N broke away to lean her forehead on Morgan. “I love you, Hotshot.” Morgan laughed, pecking her lips again. “I love you too, Red Sox.”

They were home again and sitting on the couch when Morgan blanched, jumping up with a muffled “shit” and running out of the room. Y/N sat there confusedly, trying to decide if she should follow him, when Morgan came skidding back into the room. “I forgot about this.” He held out a velvet box, and Y/N began to laugh. The laugh grew until she was clutching her sides, sliding down the couch until she was lying back. Morgan joined in eventually, and they held each other as they laughed. It took a few minutes until they were composed enough to speak again, and Morgan slid the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It was simple, small and perfect, and Y/N laughed quietly as she leaned in to kiss Morgan again. “I love you, Morgan Reilly.” 

They waited until the next morning to tell anyone, calling their families as soon as it was an acceptable time. Around noon Morgan posted a picture of Y/N drinking coffee onto his Instagram, the coffee cup and her left hand the only things in the photo in focus. A simple caption followed that led to an animated conversation with Kat and a lecture from Andrei about the proper way to announce big news. 

So about last night…

October, Vancouver’s Opening Night: 

To say opening night was exciting would be an understatement. Morgan’s mother had been texting Y/N all day to confirm their pre-game plans, and Y/N finally understood where Morgan’s energy came from. They had gotten dinner together at a place Mrs. Rielly swore by, and then had settled into seats in the family box to watch Morgan make his debut for his hometown team. The arena was giddy, especially as their team came out swinging. They won, and by the end of the game Morgan had scored his first goal as a Canuck. The goal and a fantastic play to save the game in the third gave him first star of the game, and the arena roared as he skated out for a lap. He raised his stick in appreciation before settling onto the bench to talk to the crowd.

“So Morgan, I have to ask you about your summer. It was quite eventful, yes?” The in-arena interviewer smiled at Morgan expectantly, and Y/N laughed because she knew what was coming. “I hear you got engaged to a former roommate?”

Morgan smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Well I had just gotten traded to Carolina, and I needed a place to stay. Dougie Hamilton told me he knew of a girl who needed someone to rent the other room in her apartment, and it seemed like a good idea at the time…”

[foryouandbits]

ASG

Based off this post of a headcanon of Bitty beating out the other skaters at the All-Star Game without even being in the league. 

Read on AO3.

Early in the morning on the first of January, Jack Zimmermann was asleep in his bed with his boyfriend on his chest. Bitty had returned early from Georgia to spend the last few days of his winter break in Providence. They had hoped to ring in the new year together, but Jack had an away game and was in the air as 2016 turned to 2017. It was fine; that was the sacrifice they made so Jack could play professional hockey. A phone buzzed. Jack felt Bitty stir but neither of them woke. A second buzz was enough to fully wake Jack, who opened his eyes and looked over at the nightstand. It was still much too early. It was a holiday and he had the day off. While he wasn't planning on sleeping in, he was planning on a lazy morning in bed with Bitty. Usually early morning texts meant he was needed somewhere, and at the moment he was needed there in his bed with Bitty. The phone buzzed again. "You should look at those," murmured Bitty. "Mmm, no," said Jack, who wrapped his arm around Bitty, catching the cool print of his number on the back of Bitty's Providence Falconers shirsey. It wasn't a pleasant feeling on his fingertips, so he slipped his hand under the hem of the shirt to touch Bitty's skin instead. That was much better and it made Bitty sigh in the way he did when something felt good. Much to Jack's chagrin, Bitty lifted his head and took the phone from the nightstand. He quickly sat up. "What?" Jack asked, finally opening his eyes. Bitty's hair was mussed and stuck up more than just the usual cowlick at the crown of his head. His eyes were heavy and dark; he'd waited up for Jack to arrive home before they both fell into bed around two-thirty in the morning. Jack stared at him anyway as Bitty's expression lightened and his mouth turned into a broad smile. "What?" Jack asked again. "You've been selected for the All-Star Game," said Bitty, turning the phone toward Jack. 

The phone displayed three notifications, all texts from George Martin: George Guess what? George Just got the call George You've been selected to the ASG this year! Jack rubbed at his eyes. It was much too early and they'd gone to bed much too late. "What?" he said again, but when he opened his eyes the notifications were still there, and George had texted again. George Up and at 'em, Jack. I need to confirm that you're in. Jack took the phone from Bitty and unlocked it so he could stare at the texts without the display dimming. He must have still been dreaming, or perhaps he was hallucinating, because this was ridiculous. This was his second season. It was entirely too early for him to be considered an All-Star. "You okay, sweetpea?" Bitty asked. He'd placed a hand on Jack's bare skin, on the six inches between the waist of his boxers and the hem of his rucked-up T-shirt. Jack frowned as he continued to look at the texts. His gaze flickered to Bitty, who was still smiling at him. Bitty took the phone out of his hands, put it on the nightstand, and then straddled Jack's hips, both of his hands on Jack's skin now as his beaming smile morphed into a smirk, something much too sexy for this early in the morning. "It's legit, honey," said Bitty, as if reading Jack's mind. "They want you on the All-Star team." "But…why?" Jack asked. "Because you are a star, Mister Zimmermann," said Bitty, and he leaned forward for a brief kiss before he returned upright. "You are a Stanley Cup champion. You are a Conn Smythe winner. You are an alternate captain —" "Alternate captain," Jack clarified. "Which you were named in your rookie year. I would not at all be surprised if you were chosen as the captain captain when the time comes to name one." Jack continued to frown, but Bitty looked so enticing, straddling his hips, touching his skin, grinning at him, and pointing out accomplishments as if they meant something. They did mean something, because Bitty had never doled out compliments for no reason. Not to Jack, not in their bed, not when they were alone. "Will you come with me?" Jack asked when he finally put his hands underneath Bitty's shirt. "To the ASG?" Bitty asked in surprise. "I… I don't know." "Guys usually bring their families," said Jack, running his hand up Bitty's side to hopefully remove the surprise and bring back the desire. "Yeah, their kids. Not their WAGs." "You're not a WAG," said Jack. "This is true," said Bitty. "Come with me," repeated Jack and his hands reached Bitty's armpits, the shirt coming with them, so he continued up until the shirt was off Bitty's body and on the floor. Jack returned his hands to Bitty's skin and slid them down to the waistband of his small sleep shorts, the kind he always wore to bed with Jack, because Jack liked them. At the present, Jack just wanted them gone. Bitty bent forward and gave Jack a deep kiss, allowing Jack to pull him down so their bodies were flush together. The phone buzzed again on the nightstand. They both ignored it. *** The 2017 All-Star Game took place in Los Angeles the last weekend of January. Jack flew in alone on Friday night. The opening dinner and after party were boring, so he schmoozed for the shortest amount of time possible and went to bed early. Bitty would be flying in on Saturday while Jack was in the press junket, but had to leave again right away in the morning to be back at Samwell in time for his game on Sunday afternoon. With the skills competition taking up most of the evening, Jack was disappointed that he'd only get a few hours alone with his boyfriend in the warmth of southern California before they both returned to the frigid Northeast. Jack was pacing in his hotel room, dressed in his suit, his eyes on the clock. Bitty was stuck in horrendous LA traffic and Jack needed to leave so he wasn't late. For some reason the All-Star Game included a red carpet, which he felt was both ridiculous and unnecessary. This was his first appearance at the ASG, and it might be his last if he missed the red carpet because he wanted to see his boyfriend. Savannah, the Falconers' Director of PR, sat in the armchair, her legs crossed, her hand to her temple, her eyes on the clock. "Jack, we've got to go." "Just another minute, he said they were almost here," said Jack, but he continued to pace in front of the king sized bed. "You can see him at the arena. People are already on the red carpet. If we don't leave now you're going to miss it, and I know there are fans waiting to see you." Jack groaned and finally sat on the bed when a loud knock sounded on the door. He jumped up just as quickly and ran to the door, which he opened to reveal Bitty with his carry-on suitcase, looking frazzled and annoyed. "Hi, sweetie. I am so sorry. I've heard that traffic in LA is bad but holy moly is it bad." "That's okay," said Jack, who paused at the door to give Bitty a kiss before he took the suitcase and brought it into the room. Savannah was on her feet. "Hi Bitty," she said. "We've got to get going. Are you riding in the car with us?" "Oh!" said Bitty and he looked at Jack. "Am I?" "Yes," said Jack. "Is that what you're wearing?" Savannah asked. Bitty looked down at himself. He was wearing jeans and his Samwell jersey. "Oh, sorry," he said. "There was a captains event right before my flight. I never changed. I can put on something else…" "No time," said Savannah. "Let's go." Savannah rushed them into the elevator and downstairs to the waiting black SUV. Savannah ushered Jack and Bitty into the back seat, and then she took the front. Once in the car, Jack relaxed, his hand in Bitty's, looking at his boyfriend rather than the road. "I'm glad you could come," said Jack, his head against the headrest as he looked at Bitty, who smiled happily at him. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," said Bitty, and he brought Jack's hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. "Are you nervous? Jack had completely forgotten that he was about to compete with forty-three of the best players in the league. He was one of the forty-four best players in the league. So far the weekend had a very laid back air about it, but even so, he wanted to do well. He could just imagine making a fool out of himself in the fastest skater competition. He already didn't think he belonged there. George had been the one to tell him about it, and he stared at her after she said it, just like he'd stared at the text that brought him here. He figured he'd be asked to compete in the accuracy challenge, or maybe the hardest shot, but George said he was one of the two selections from the Metropolitan division as the fastest skater. It made no sense. He and Bitty had just gone skating in Madison, and Bitty had just smoked him on a lap around the rink. Jack was not a fast skater. "You are, though," said George when Jack vocalized this. "The challenges are head-to-head between divisions. They specifically nominated you for this one, and honestly, Jack, I'd put money on you to win." Jack was nervous, actually, but with Bitty next to him, it wasn't so bad. He kissed Bitty instead of replying to him, and Bitty blushed as he glanced at the front of the car. It had been seven months since they kissed at center ice in front of an audience of millions, but even so, Bitty still looked around whenever Jack kissed him in front of people he didn't know. Jack rubbed his thumb over Bitty's knuckles and Bitty relaxed. "Where am I sitting?" Bitty asked. "Good question," said Jack. He looked toward the front. "Savannah, where is Bitty sitting?" "There's a WAG section at press level," said Savannah. "Bitty's not a WAG," said Jack. "WAG and boyfriend section," said Savannah tersely. Jack rolled his eyes; Savannah's team had tried to come up with an inclusive acronym that wasn't "wives and girlfriends and I guess also boyfriends and maybe husbands someday," and so far no one had come up with anything catchy enough to stick. Every time events came up that included family, it was still just WAGs with an afterthought of "and Bitty too." It was frustrating, but fortunately it was the only frustrating part of being out in a league notorious for its homophobia. The red carpet was mostly fans, but there was a line of photographers that snapped pictures of him after he got out of the car and headed toward the arena. A camera followed him to the halfway point of the carpet and then hastily returned to the street to welcome the next player. Jack waved at fans, some of whom held rainbow flags with the Providence Falconers' logo on it. He stopped for autographs, focusing on children in Falconers gear, and then waved and continued inside. There were cameras in here as well, but it was much quieter. To his surprise, Bitty stepped up next to him. Savannah was just a few feet behind; they must have both exited the car as well but kept their distance until they entered the arena. "Oh, hi," said Jack. "You want to come with me while I get my gear on?" "Okay," said Bitty, although he eyed a nearby camera warily. It was crowded in the dressing room. Jack's gear was already waiting in a stall on the Metropolitan side, but they shared the dressing room with the Atlantic division so there were really no fewer guys than normal in the room, and almost everyone had an entourage. There was a camera and a reporter from every major network. It was fortunate Bitty was small; he and Jack squeezed together in Jack's stall as Jack began to change clothes. Jack had just half his gear on when he realized Savannah was gone. He looked around; someone from the Atlantic division was lacing up skates for his son, who clearly was meant to come out on the ice with him. Jack looked at Bitty. "You want to come on the ice with me?" he asked. Bitty's eyes widened. "Ooh, I don't know, Jack. I don't think I'm allowed." "Why not? I bet I could get gear for you in a snap. You're already wearing your jersey." "Gear? Jack, don't be ridiculous. I'll stay with you until you need to go on the ice and then I'll go to the WAG section." "You mean the WAG and Bitty section," Jack said darkly and Bitty frowned. Jack sent off a text and by the time Jack was putting on his jersey, an equipment manager appeared with a full set of gear in Bitty's size, including skates. 

Bitty shot Jack a look. "Are you serious?" Bitty asked. Jack smiled at him and stood to give Bitty room to change. Bitty looked around, but no one was paying attention to him, so he began to untie his shoes. The blue Falconers shorts didn't match his red and white Samwell jersey, but the skates fit, and when Bitty joined Jack on the ice after the opening ceremony, no one questioned his presence although several people requested an introduction.

"Hi, hi, oh my goodness hi," Bitty repeated as he shook hands with the current legends of hockey, his eyes wide and his smile immovable. Jack introduced him as "my boyfriend" and relished in the full feeling in his chest whenever he was able to do so, despite the cameras recording all of them for national broadcast, despite the eighteen thousand fans in attendance. He'd been so afraid of this for so long, ever since juniors, but there he stood with his boyfriend, and not a single person detracted from his happiness. During the first challenge, a four-man relay involving passing, puck control, stick-handling, and goalie goals, Shea Weber from the Canadiens had a five-minute conversation with Bitty about college hockey, which Shea bypassed by going directly from juniors to the NHL.

Bitty was still speaking with Shea when the next event began, a four line challenge that Jack would be participating in. Jack took hold of the stick that Bitty had been leaning on. "Oh, is it your turn already?" Bitty asked.

"Just for a group challenge. The fastest skater challenge is later."

"Good luck, sweetie," said Bitty as he handed over the stick, and he returned to his conversation. Jack joined his group of skaters at the center line. He would be part of the second group to go, and he began to feel nervous as he knelt on one knee, watching the first group as they set up at the blue line, aiming at the net that was mostly blocked apart from four very small openings. It looked ridiculously difficult but after the first group of players went and only one person actually scored a point, the pressure seemed to ease off. None of this really mattered and from the look of it, scoring even once seemed nearly impossible.

The first player in his group, Erik Karlsson, failed at getting both shots in the net. A referee turned to Jack and signaled that he take his place. He approached the center red line and let out a big breath. The audience seemed more chatty than cheery, but he heard a few screams when he set up and most audibly a shout from Bitty: "Show 'em how it's done, Jack!"

He juggled a puck on his stick and looked toward the net. There were holes in the upper corners and lower corners and while the uppers were larger and worth more points, Jack knew the chance of getting something in one of them was steep compared to just shooting along the ice into the lower corners. He had two chances so he decided to try for an upper on his first shot, but the puck smacked into the barrier rather than into the net, so he decided that attempting another in that direction was too risky. He took the other puck on his stick and Bitty shouted again, "You've got this!" He aimed for the lower right corner of the net, keeping the puck along the ice, and held his breath as it sailed forward. It hit the post but plinked in, and Jack pumped his fist as the crowd roared and Bitty wooed.

Smiling, Jack returned to the side of the ice and received fist bumps the two remaining members of the Metropolitan division. At the end of the challenge Jack was only one of four players who'd managed to net a puck, but Mike Smith, the goalie from the Arizona Coyotes, shot one in from his own goal line and as a result earned the Pacific division thirty points, so Jack's singular point made no difference. He skated across the rink back to Bitty, who beamed at him. "That was awesome, sweetie," he said and grabbed hold of Jack's arm in sort of a hug before he quickly let go. 

"This is too much pressure," said Jack, which caused Bitty to roll his eyes. "I think you should do the next one for me."

"Me?" Bitty asked, scandalized. "Jack, this is your competition, not mine."

"I'm not fast enough. You do it."

Bitty rolled his eyes again, but after the accuracy challenge, Jack took Bitty's hand and dragged him across the ice with him. "Jack, seriously, I'm not in the NHL. I'm not allowed to do this." Jack pushed Bitty toward Nikita Kucherov, who gave Bitty a strange look, but didn't say anything as Jack knelt with them. There wasn't a lot of time for Bitty to protest, however, as the TV feed returned from commercial and Kucherov stood. The camera focused on him but then as the in-arena announcement stated, "First in the Fastest Skater Challenge, Nikita Kucherov from the Tampa Bay Lightning against Jack Zimmermann from the Providence Falconers," Jack pushed Bitty. Bitty stood and the camera moved to him rather than Jack. Bitty smiled shyly and waved.

Jack looked across the rink at the press box located between the two team benches. Kent Parson, who'd been injured the previous week and thus wouldn't compete, stood next to an announcer with a headset on. Jack couldn't help a smile; they'd grabbed a few players to commentate during the challenges, and of course Parse would be asked for this one since he'd won it the year before. Parse looked impassively at Bitty, but Jack knew his face well enough to know that Parse was stifling a scowl. As Bitty and Kucherov were directed to the starting line by a referee, the rinkside announcer, Scott Oake, quickly snatched Jack from the ice and handed him a headset. As soon as he put the headset on, he could hear Parse speaking.

"...like Jack found a substitute," Parse was saying.

"Jack," asked Scott, "who's this you've got taking your place?"

"This is Eric Bittle, my boyfriend," said Jack, and then there it was, the first hesitation. There was no way Scott didn't know Jack had a boyfriend, or hadn't made the connection, but it was clear he hadn't expected Jack to be so bold on national television.

"What jersey is he wearing tonight?" Scott asked after a significant pause.

"That would be his. He's the captain of the hockey team at Samwell University in Boston. And he's very fast, so I'm expecting him to win this heat," said Jack. He looked at the ice and Bitty stood at the blue line, Jack's stick in his hand, his eyes on the referee. The referee blew a whistle and Bitty bolted forward, the crowd cheering him on but Jack watching silently, enthralled by his speed and his grace. Bitty might have been the reason Jack could even be considered for this sort of challenge, but there was no question Jack would rather watch Bitty go than compete on his own. Kucherov wasn't far behind, but he was behind, and as they rounded the second turn and headed back to the original blue line to finish, the tip of Jack's stick crossed first. Jack looked up at the time: thirteen seconds even, as opposed to Kucherov's time of 13.16 seconds.

"Nice," Jack said.

"Eric Bittle has beaten the winning score from last year's competition of 13.172 seconds. Kent, how do you feel about Eric breaking your record?" asked a different announcer across the rink.

"That doesn't count," said Parse. "He doesn't even go here."

Jack laughed, and Parse did too, although Jack recognized his fake media laugh even through a headset and eighteen thousand cheering fans. Bitty skated over to Jack and he said, "Good job, bud," as Bitty approached. Bitty stopped next to him and Scott held out his microphone.

"That was an impressive time," Scott said. Bitty had to lean in to hear over the cheering. "Is this something you practiced coming in to tonight?"

"This is a drill I'm familiar with back at Samwell," said Bitty, slightly out of breath as he gestured to the setup of the rink, which was split in half with three cones marking the turns at the faceoff dots near the goal line. "I'm usually not racing against someone, though. That made it more fun."

"Well congratulations on winning the first heat. Let's see how the rest goes."

Jack kept his headset on the rest of the challenge, which was awkward. Bitty had just beat an NHL player in a lap around the rink, and while it didn't surprise Jack, it definitely turned him on, and he very much wanted to congratulate Bitty without a microphone next to his mouth and a camera in his face. Bitty stood with him, eventually regaining his breath, but as the next set of players raced, neither met his time. "Oh dear," said Bitty when he looked at the scoreboard. Jack's name remained on the display, Bitty's time next to it. The third set of players raced, and again neither beat Bitty's time, but the final heat contained Connor McDavid, who was well-known for his speed. Jack felt his heartbeat tick up as McDavid took the line. If anyone was going to beat Bitty's time it was him, but just over thirteen seconds later, Jack was looking at the scoreboard for the result, and he said a loud, "NICE!" when Connor McDavid's score posted just below Bitty's name, with a time of 13.02 seconds.

"Oh hey!" said Bitty, smiling brightly although his face was beet red. "Do I win something?"

"Every challenge winner gets $25,000," said Scott and Bitty's eyes glazed over in shock as he looked at Jack. 

Jack couldn't stop grinning.

***

"You were so good, Bits," said Jack that evening back in the hotel room, Bitty still in his Samwell jersey per Jack's request, Jack still in his dress shirt and slacks per Bitty's request. They'd settled onto the bed but Jack couldn't keep his hands off Bitty's body, looking him up and down as he remembered the cheering of the crowd, the wind through Bitty's hair, Bitty's stick crossing the blue line an entire foot before Kucherov's. "Nobody else was even close."

"Connor McDavid was close," said Bitty.

"Barely."

"It was two hundredths of a second!"

"It was miles," said Jack and he put his face into Bitty's neck, kissing his sensitive skin there. Bitty squirmed. Jack lowered his hand from underneath Bitty's jersey to the back of his jeans, gripping his butt through the denim, which caused Bitty to squirm again. It was exactly what Jack wanted. Jack began to suck at the skin beneath Bitty's ear, but this time he squirmed too much and pulled away.

"Stop it, sweetpea, I've got a game tomorrow."

"But you taste good," whispered Jack into Bitty's ear. Bitty turned his head and caught Jack's mouth, and they kissed for what felt like hours only to be interrupted by the buzz of Jack's phone. Bitty pulled away and groaned, his head turned toward it, but Jack put his hand on the side of Bitty's head to direct him back.

"What if it's important?" Bitty asked.

"Then they'll text again."

Unfortunately, that was what happened, and Jack's phone buzzed a second time. He groaned and reached over Bitty's alluring body, fully clothed in his jeans and jersey, to the nightstand where his phone charged. He looked at it. George again.

George What time is Bitty’s game tomorrow?  George I’ve got four scouts blowing up my phone 

Jack stared at the message, an internal debate raging in his mind. George could have easily looked up the time of the Samwell game, as could the scouts, but she wasn't asking for information. She was asking for approval. Bitty in the NHL would be amazing; he'd always thought Bitty was a world-class player who elevated the game of those around him while still holding his own, but if Bitty wasn't on the Falconers, Jack would spend three fourths of every year away from him. At least now Bitty could pop in during the weekend, or just for a night if he didn't have an early class. There would be significantly less of that if Bitty were in the league as well.

This, however, wasn't Jack's decision. He showed his screen to Bitty for him to decide. Bitty took hold of the phone and stared at it, and as he did his eyes filled with tears that he successfully prevented from spilling over. "Really?" Bitty asked as he looked at Jack.

"Looks real to me," said Jack. "What do you think?"

"I... that would be wonderful," said Bitty immediately, which caused Jack's heart to sink. Four scouts blowing up George's phone didn't include the Falconers' too, otherwise George would have mentioned it. Bitty returned the phone and Jack put it back on the nightstand without responding. Bitty wiped at his eyes and when he took his his hands away from his face, he looked less wistful and more grounded. "It would be wonderful, but that's so much, Jack. What if I ended up in Florida or Texas or all the way in Vancouver? I'd never see you."

"This isn't about me," said Jack. "What do you want?"

Bitty was silent for a long time, looking away from Jack and up at the plain white ceiling. Jack lay on the pillow next to Bitty and held him loosely around the waist, but didn't speak and didn't nudge until Bitty looked back at him. "I love hockey," said Bitty. "I really do."

"But?" Jack asked, vocalizing what Bitty didn't.

"But I don't love it like you do. I don't think this is my life."

"You don't have to decide right now. We can get you an agent, see if you get any offers..." 

Bitty shook his head decidedly. "No. Even if I was guaranteed to play with you, I can't. This isn't what I want."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

Bitty nodded, but the tears were back in his eyes. "Oh my God,"  he said. "Oh my God, I just said no to the NHL."

"It's not what you want," said Jack quietly, and he rubbed Bitty's stomach gently. "What do you want?"

Bitty lifted his head. "Well, I just won myself a little nest egg," he said. "I think we should get serious about the bakery. What was that place you saw the other day on your run?"

"It's a nice location. It's a busy street but there's enough parking," said Jack.

"I think we should do it," said Bitty. "I think I should do it."

"If that's what you want," said Jack, and Bitty smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's what I want," he said. "But you know what I want first?"

"What?"

Bitty kissed him again and let Jack roll him onto his back. "Thank God," said Jack as he tugged up the hem of Bitty's jersey. "I wanted to fuck you as soon as you crossed the finish line."

Bitty grinned. "You should have."

"I should have," said Jack. He removed Bitty's jersey and then kissed him again.

***

Jack Thank you, but he’s not interested Jack But you can tell Parse if he wants a rematch, he can eat Bitty’s dust at Faber

[tapedsleeves]

in all of my wildest dreams (they just ended with you and me) - Zach Whitecloud / Nicolas Roy (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 300 rated G (for bublle kiss) Zach gets hit in the face by a puck and gets a kiss.

teach me to breath (break me in half) - Andrei Svechnikov/Jordan Martinook (Carolina Hurricanes) wc: 5,696 rated E (for everyone's babygirl to me) daddykink/babygirl smut.

its our anthem - Jack Hughes / Nico Hischier (New Jersey Devils) wc: 200 rated G (for kisses i guess) jack thinks thinks Nico would let him kiss him.

ache it 'til you make it - Sheldon Keefe / Kyle Dubas (Toronto Maple Leafs) wc: 6004 rated M (for maaaaybe time loops are scary) Sheldon has playoff time loops. At 10 years into his working relatioship with Kyle, he realizes he's in love.

but my body's in the lead - Connor Hellebuyck/Laurent Brossoit (Vegas Golden Knights & Winnipeg Jets) wc: 3188 rated E (for everybody has feelings.... and maybe LB's been repressing some) After their series is over, Connor reaches out to hookup. Only - LB's been uh. Repressing some feelings.

go hunt for honey - Carson Soucy / Will Borgen (Seattle Kraken) wc: 532 rated G (for backyard kisses) Will gives Carson some chocolate. Carson shares.

I'll set you up against the stars - Zach Whitecloud / Nicolas Roy (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 1576 rated E (for silk!!!) Zach finds Nicolas's silk slip in the closet.

Message Pending - Connor Hellebuyck/Laurent Brossoit (Vegas Golden Knights & Winnipeg Jets) wc: 138 rated T (for texting) Connor invites Laurent to his house for the summer, but not all of his messages go through.

checking it twice - Sheldon Keefe / Kyle Dubas (Toronto Maple Leafs) wc: 604 rated T (for lisT making) Kyle makes lists

wear you like a stitch - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 1537 rated G (for general medial knowledge (I ain't got it)) Mark has amnesia.

or a gentle kiss - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 200 rated G (for general sailing knowledge (I ain't got it)) water calls to water, soul to soul.

neon in the nighttime - chandler stephenson / shane hnidy (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 1885 rated E (for get it stevieeeee) Stevie hooks up with Shane after the Cup Parade

a wall to bring us closer - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 1213 rated T (for jack getting another job) Marchy sees the photo, after, and realizes that Jack's in love with him

from a shudder to a shockwave - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 21,334rated E (for Jack winning Marchy the Conn Smythe) Jack falling in love with playing hockey again, being seaties with Jonathan Marchessault, joining queer YA book club, and, oh yeah, falling in love with Marchy also.

you don't need to wonder, you're doing fine - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 500 rated G (for the elvis wig) maybe they should be more than friends. maybe they already are

no reason to put up a fight - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 500 rated T (for bachelor party flirting) Jack and Marchy kiss at Stevie's bachelor party

just what i needed - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 500 rated T (for kiss denial) Jack promises to win Marchy the Conn Smythe

your whole life is ahead (i hope we get to see it) - jack eichel / jonathan marchessault (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 1097 rated T (for aging crisis) Jack comforts Marchy during a crisis.

ts’s hrpf fic masterpost

all business baby (none of the hype) - tyler seguin / michael raffl (Dallas Stars) - wc: 5448, rated T (for tyler, thee slut) - Tyler invites Michael to stay with him until he gets settled in Dallas.

and the idea of - carter hart / travis konecny (Philadelphia Flyers) - wc: 3571, Rated T (for the grinder / personal chef au) - Carter Hart has got one Hookup That Got Away - The Hookup and the extremely good quiche. It’s definitely the quiche that he misses most. Definitely.

you’re the only one (who can calm me down) - jack eichel / robin lehner (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 7270 - rated E (for eichelfuckin, y’all)  Jack asks for a scene, with a welcome surprise: lingerie. Featuring: Robin putting Jack in lingerie, making him rub off against his arm, with bonus face-fucking and slapping!

if you let it be right - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights) - wc: 717, rated T (for the beginning of a theme for me) - Just a cozy comfortable 6167 snippet to help us deal with *waves hands at everything*

a little too late to do the right thing now - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights) wc: 2681 rated T (for that’s not how you propose, mark) - Mark asks Max to go to a wedding with him, later in the summer. (It’s their wedding.)

meet you in thin air - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:437 rated T (for the most comfort)  Mark soothes Max’s anxiety

dinner and a show - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:798 rated T (for hand kissing!) Max covers for Mark during press after the ‘fight.‘ 

sting and honey - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:338 rated T (for hurt/comfort) - Mark takes care of Max while he’s hurt 

some kind of tomorrow - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:338 rated T (for sleep staring) Max wakes up in Mark’s bed for the first time.

soft as it began - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:1101 rated T (for coda to the 12/27/21 game where Max said “fuck” really loudly) Max coming home to Mark, who comforts him about it & the future, a little.

somewhere between you and me - mark stone / max pacioretty (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:100 rated T (for i actually did a drabble!) old men flirting over golf.

everyone deserves a crown of light -  mostly gen, mark stone, max pacioretty, zach whitecloud, nic hague, nic roy, dylan coghlan, william karlsson, jonathan marchessault, reilly smith, jack eichel, robin lehner (Vegas Golden Knights)  wc:611 rated G (for guys, this is so cute) A series of 5 instax pictures taken by various knights that mark keeps in his wallet to show people like a proud, but weird, dad.

[3416]

i didn’t really have a dog in this fight as a staunch passionista and a strong supporter of the i hope both teams lose camp going into this final but idk.. i think it’s unrealistic to expect people’s viewpoint of what it takes/means to win + “how much can one player actually contribute in a sport where so much is a product of chance” discussions to meaningfully change if mcdavid were to never win because the hockey space is filled with people who revise history and time over to fit their preferred narrative. the forever ongoing mitchcourse (cherry-picking games 5-7 stats, disregarding his playoff points in relation to the rest of the team, etc) is only a microcosm of it and i think the whole discourse so far after mcdavid winning the conn smythe has already been an immediate example with an objectively historic playoff run being boiled down to “he didn’t show up when it mattered” despite actual stats, in the same way leafs stars are criticized by the same line contrary at times to numbers and logic. no player seems to be exempt from the cruel, severely subjective lens that hockey uncles are committed to keeping intact, if the nhl’s best player isn’t after his first shot at the finals idk how anyone else would be

i mean... i think everyone just wants a reason to dunk on the losers right now, but i don't think the takeaway from this playoffs historically is gonna be that mcdavid cost them by not scoring in games 6 and 7. joking about it in the aftermath is one thing but the dude just won the conn smythe which was voted by the people who control the actual journalism in the sport, lol, and i think there's a difference. agree there's always gonna be revisionism but it's not gonna be unkind to connor mcdavid imo.

sure some people are never going to see the light and always move the goal posts w cherrypicked stats but ask how many of them would like players like mcdavid and draisaitl on their team for a playoff run and they'd still take the deal. some people will stay stupid no doubt but i think it's forced ppl who actually know the stats and the game to think a little differently or just. talk a little differently. so much ideology and the way ppl speak abt teams offhandedly like not trying enough or not putting in the effort even like commentating games is absolute nonsense but you cannot say that about the oilers or their stars in this series and i definitely still heard praise and hope for them when they were down.

it's not that i think there's going to be some big definitive shift or anything either... the fanbase for this sport is still incredibly full of old white men who view all of this a certain way and that's not going to change but i think it makes things more interesting and allows for more nuance in certain circles for sure. so many ppl i respect were torn about that conn smythe result despite knowing he deserved it and it's like. examine why you feel like that lol. why you think him putting up historic numbers to get his team back into the series they were down 0-3 in matters less somehow... i don't care about the trolls who are always going to do it, but i think the discourse would fall SO much more in line with the way uncles think if the oilers won last night so lol. maybe that would have been interesting too to see people turn on florida for not having that Killer Winning Instinct that weve praised them for and said we should build teams like the past few years but frankly. them winning is just rehashing the same stuff we've seen. i still find the mcdavid loss despite doing the most (except when it apparently counts the most to these ppl) more interesting and i don't think i'm changing my mind on that. and ultimately it's just my HOPE that things shift and change and people consider more before opening their mouths. there's never a guarantee, lol. it's sports sadly.

[welllpthisishappening]

I wanted to tell you I watched an NHL game last week for the first time. Its all down to Blue Line! Hockey playing Killian is too hot. Except that playoff beard...*shudder* (Baseball fan usually so I know the playoff beard. I mean I get it, but theyre so ugly. Lol) If you were serious about ideas for stuff for the Blue Line world, I would adore seeing Emma’s joy when the playoff beard returns to normal Killian/Colin scruff. And her reluctant admission that yes, she hates the playoff beard. Haha.

Ah, this is the nicest anon! Hockey-playing Killian and this whole group of other Rangers has kind of taken over my life. They win a lot more than the real Rangers, but that’s neither here nor there and I’m mostly just bitter that our defense is so awful. 

Anyway, I agree completely about the playoff beard. The worst. The woooooorst. So here’s, uh, here’s 4.1K on playoff beards and athletic superstition and Emma’s thoughts on making out with her boyfriend. Set just a few days before the epilogue of Tripping Over the Blue Line. Also, whispers, I’m always down for Blue Line prompts and The PyeongChang Triple updates on Tuesday and Friday at noon. 

“It’s just…very long.”

His lips twitched at the announcement, eyes cracking open and Emma tried to hold her ground – something that was easier said than done when they were still in bed and she wasn’t sitting up, just a pretzel of limbs and blankets and pillows and a playoff beard that had, officially, overstayed its welcome.

“I’ve got it on good authority that’s how hair works, Swan,” Killian muttered, arching an eyebrow and that wasn’t playing fair at all. He grinned when she rolled her eyes.

“You’re being difficult on purpose.”“You’re making sweeping comments on hair.”

“Facial hair.”“Is there a difference?”

“I mean, obviously,” Emma grumbled, nearly kicking a blanket off the bed when she flipped onto her side and –– “God, that is just stupid.”

Killian’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, the left joining the right in its apparent quest to make her stomach do several somersaults at whatever time it was, “You’re shouting insults at me now,” he grinned, flipping his head on the pillow and maybe he should get a haircut too.

His hair kept falling into his eyes and, really, Emma didn’t mind that much because his whole face seemed to shift when she’d lean over and brush it away and that did something else to her stomach too, but she could only think so many sentimental things at once and she was on a quest.

A facial hair quest.

She’d come up with a different name eventually.

Maybe after she forced a razor in his hand.

“Swan,” Killian prompted, tapping a finger on her wrist and she nearly jumped out of the bed. “You’re like a live wire. Why are you making proclamations about facial hair?”Emma made a face, scrunching her nose and working a laugh out of him and this was not going according to plan at all.

Four days after making history and finding themselves on Page Six, again, and there was still a goddamn trophy sitting on her kitchen counter, and they hadn’t really done much more than sleep and kiss and not kiss and occasionally eat and Killian kept trying to force her to drink glasses of water because “hydration is important, Swan,” and the smirk whenever he said that was easily the best and worst thing she’d ever seen.

They’d been outside twice.

For the post-victory dinner and brunch at the brownstone before Mr. Vankald drove Elsa and Liam and three painfully adorable children to LaGuardia.

He wouldn’t let them call a car.

It was the single most familial thing Emma had ever seen – and Mrs. Vankald hand wrote her recipe for cinnamon sugar french toast and handed it to Emma before they went back uptown.

She kind of wanted to make cinnamon sugar french toast.

But, now, four days after making history and locking themselves away from the rest of the world, they had another team dinner and a parade to help plan and something needed to be done about the playoff beard.

“It’s overstayed its welcome,” Emma muttered, realizing rather belatedly she’d never actually answered his question. His eyes fell closed when he laughed, shoulders shaking against the mattress when he tried to tug her back against his side.

Emma flopped down, twisting her arm awkwardly underneath her and Killian was still laughing when he looked at her – eyes just a hint brighter than usual and that was almost impressive considering how much hair kept falling into his eyes.

“Should I be offended by that?” Killian asked. “I have been a little preoccupied.”He widened his eyes meaningfully, something that felt a bit like flirting lingering in the air and Emma bit her lip so she didn’t do something stupid like push his shoulders even further into the mattress and hitch her leg over his hip and that was part of the problem to begin with.

“Not offended,” she argued. “Just…it’s really long.”“You’ve mentioned that several times now, love.”“Yeah, well, you keep doing whatever, so it’s really cheating and it seems wrong to tell you that I want you to shave your face.”That smirk was the dumbest thing in the entire world.

And kind of working.

And she didn’t even want to think about how many e-mails were sitting in her inbox. She hoped Merida wasn’t too stressed out. Emma had never planned a parade before.

There were probably eight-hundred forms to fill out.

“Shave my face,” Killian echoed, sounding as if he was just half a second away from another round of laughter and Emma stuck her tongue out. The laughter arrived in full force, bouncing off the walls of her apartment and maybe into the center of her soul or something equally absurd and she was definitely going to make french toast.

“What else would you call it?” Emma asked. “You really can’t show up to dinner looking like you’ve spent the last two months in the mountain.”

His whole body shook with the force of his laughter and Emma was going to do permanent damage to her shoulder if she kept twisting and turning and trying to smack at her boyfriend – her Stanley Cup-winning, distractingly attractive, even when he looked like he was auditioning to be some kind of Bear Grylls stand-in boyfriend.

“God, you are the most frustrating person in the entire world, you know that?” Emma groused, voice muffled when her head landed on his shoulder and Killian hummed before kissing the top of her hair.

“That’s been mentioned a few times, yes,” Killian grinned. He traced his hand across the curve of her spine, brushing in between her shoulder blades and back down and it probably would have been decidedly romantic if Emma didn’t reach up her hand and tug on the end of his beard. “God,” he yelped, eyes flashing towards her, all blue and sharp and Emma couldn’t really shrug, but she tried anyway and maybe her smile was a little cheating. “That was almost aggressive, Swan.”“I have a lot of feelings about this facial hair.”“You seem to have one feeling about its length.”“Because it is mountain-man long. Robert Redford in that movie long. Haven’t seen humans in years long. Very good at foraging for berries long. Should have signed with the Sharks long.”

Killian glared, but it didn’t hold much weight and front office was still talking and Regina hadn’t kicked down the apartment door yet, which either meant it was going well or absolutely horrible and Emma was an absolute idiot.

Superstitious athletes.

“Killian,” she breathed, but he shook his head once and the force of her jaw snapping shut seemed to reverberate down her spine.

“Jeremiah Johnson,” he said. Emma blinked. “The Robert Redford movie you’re looking for is Jeremiah Johnson.

“God, why do you know that?”He smiled, kissing her forehead again and Emma shifted, twisting her legs up with his and the blankets and there really weren’t many clothes between them. She had no idea where her phone even was.

“Swan, you brought it up,” Killian pointed out. “If you’re going to make sweeping generalizations about the state of my facial hair with slightly dated Hollywood references, then you’re not allowed to be surprised that I know what you’re talking about. Those are the rules.”“Those are incredibly detailed rules.”“Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”“Pun or cliché?”“An overused answer in post-game press conferences.”Emma smiled, something fluttering in the pit of her stomach that felt a lot like hopes and wants and they should probably discuss their apartment situation at some point. After the parade. After dinner. Definitely after he shaved his face.

“I have worked in the league for years and I have never once heard a single person use that phrase at any point,” Emma laughed, arching her back when his hand moved again and they were never going to get out of bed. She’d make him shave that goddamn beard in her bedroom if she had to. “It doesn’t even make any sense. That is a baseball pun. At best.”“I thought we decided it wasn’t a pun.”

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, half a laugh and a bit of a disagreement and someone’s phone rang…somewhere in her apartment. “I really don’t know what we’re talking about at this point,” he said. “Is that your phone or my phone?”“I don’t know. How come you’re worried?”“About?”“Killian!”

“You’re still assuming I know what we’re talking about, Swan. And I think that’s your phone. I’m fairly certain mine is dead.”Emma rolled her eyes, hardly surprised and just a bit charmed and Merida was probably freaking out about permits. “Why are you worried about this? You won a Stanley Cup. You stole a Conn-Smythe.”“Borrowed.”“That implies you were intending to give it back and that would require you to actually leave this apartment. Is that why you haven’t shaved? So the league reps won’t recognize you?”“I have every intention of getting out of this bed at some point today.”“With a razor?”“That question suggests that there is, somewhere, in this bed a razor that I would bring with me when I got out of said bed.”“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, squeezing her eyes closed and Killian chuckled lightly under his breath. Her phone stopped ringing. And started again.

“How many times do you think Merida will call to ask you about the parade before she tells Ruby you’re not answering your phone and Lucas arrives with some sort of battering ram?”Emma laughed, but he probably wasn’t far off the mark and her stomach growled. Loudly. Killian quirked an eyebrow, waiting for a response and pointedly ignoring what he absolutely was not admitting to. “Half a dozen,” she answered. “But I’m not sure if that includes the inevitable text messages and e-mails she’s sent too. And you’re being stupid.”“I’m sorry, what?”“They already told Regina they were going to offer. She’s probably just bartering zeroes.”“I don’t think you barter with contract extensions, Swan.”“And I think you’re refusing to shave because you’re trying to hold onto some kind of Stanley Cup winning magic or whatever.”His eyebrows shifted again, another deflection and Emma tried not to scowl. It didn’t work. “Are you suggesting that we won the Stanley Cup with magic, love?” Killian asked, taking his time on every letter and Emma probably wouldn’t have been able to hear the strain in his voice a few months before.

It felt like it reached out and slapped her.

“De. Flec. Ting,” she said, rapping her knuckles on his chest in between every syllable. He caught her around the wrist as soon as her jaw snapped, tugging her hand up and brushing his lips over her knuckles and it sent a chill down her spine that felt incredibly out of place in the middle of the summer and the start of the offseason and she kind of wanted him to shave just so there was more face to kiss.

She didn’t say that out loud.

“Maybe a little,” Killian admitted, widening his eyes when Emma let out a sound that was vaguely triumphant. “And maybe I really didn’t want to get out of bed when you’ve been in it. Wearing team-branded when you happen to do wear anything.”Emma had a response. She did. She had some sort of flirty, slightly sarcastic retort, could feel it sitting on the tip of her tongue, but then she met his gaze and he looked so….certain. In this and them and how much he wanted to stay in New York and, maybe, stay in bed and her fingers were in his hair before she realized her brain had even decided she wanted them to be there.

She made a noise when he moved her, something between breathless and swooning and eventually she’d tell him that she absolutely, positively did not care about the zeroes or whatever Regina was bartering or anything even remotely related to the inevitable Post story about his contract negotiations, but Emma was far too busy trying to document whatever her whole body did when he canted his hips up.

A live wire.

The beard scratched against her jaw when Killian kissed her, likely leaving red marks in its way when he moved down the side of her neck. She nipped at his collarbone in retaliation and she’d probably think about the sound he made – some kind of strangled, needy, slightly desperate thing – for the rest of her goddamn life.

And if they’d been a mess of limbs and blankets before, it was nothing compared to what they were now – hands moving quickly, like they were trying to stretch the moment out in front of them with their legs twisted together and Killian hissed when Emma’s toes brushed against the side of his ankle.

“You’re feet are freezing,” he mumbled and she could feel the hint of his smile against her skin.

Emma rolled her hips in response, working another groan out of him and the morning was doing dangerous things to her ego and certainty that she could plan a parade in 48-hours. “You’re talking way too much.”He grinned at her, a flash of teeth and want and calling it desire sounded absurd, but she was having a hard time formulating coherent thoughts anyway so that seemed like par for the course.

That was another pun.

Or cliché.

Whatever.

Emma rocked back, trying to find enough space between them to tug the shirt over her head, but Killian’s fingers were back on her wrist and she was fairly certain the look on his face had imprinted itself on several different parts of her brain.

He shook his head deftly, something in his gaze that probably would have led her to come up with another electricity pun if she was still a cognizant human being, but Emma was straddling her boyfriend and he couldn’t shave because he was nervous about the rest of his professional hockey-playing career and all of those things colliding together formed some sort of impossible scenario where they absolutely had sex while she was still wearing team-branded.

And his number.

“You’ve got some sort of name and number thing happening here, don’t you?” Emma asked knowingly and the tips of Killian’s ear’s went red. She brushed her tongue over her teeth, a shock of control shooting through her limbs and it felt a bit like standing in the middle of an inferno or winning a Stanley Cup four days before and she didn’t hear her phone ring again.

Killian shook his head again, shifting against the mattress with a hand heavy on Emma’s hip. She could see the tendons in his neck when she stared at, strained as he tilted his head back into the pillow and his eyes fluttered shut.

Emma smiled. And laughed. “It’s rude to laugh like that, love,” he mumbled, voice gruff and that need was back. They were never going to get out of bed.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Emma countered. She ducked her head, letting her lips trail across his jaw and he probably couldn’t even feel it through the ridiculous amount of beard. “I’m just pointing out observations. Play by play as it were.”He groaned when she carded her fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly over the nape of his neck and there were goosebumps on his skin. She was bordering just on the edge of uncomfortable, body bent in a way that wasn’t doing anything for her thighs, but Emma laughed when Killian’s hand moved again, pushing underneath cotton and a t-shirt that still looked pretty good even after a season of team rules and away games and some kind of historic performance.

There was a deeper meaning in there.

She ignored it.

“You’re the one who said I was talking too much, love,” Killian bit out, flipping them again and grinning when Emma’s hair splayed out underneath her. “Quid pro quo or whatever.”“Ah, you are a font of cliché.”

He opened his mouth to mutter something, but Emma didn’t give him a chance, tugging him back down and she might have sighed when his lips crashed against hers, but that might have been him too and she’d lost track of anything that wasn’t how exceptionally good they were at kissing each other.

She never took the shirt off.

They did, eventually, get out of bed, lingering in each other’s space and Emma was fairly certain her neck would be red for most of the offseason, but there was a mark just under Killian’s collarbone so it felt like they were almost even.

“You want some help?” she asked, voice quiet when they padded into the hallway. She wasn’t wearing any pants.

Killian tilted his head, like he was waiting for some metaphorical rug to be yanked out from underneath him, and Emma tried to smile. “Yeah, ok,” he said, letting his palm rest flat against her back and it was some sort of miracle they didn’t trip over each other on the way into the bathroom.

It was a balancing act of sorts – Emma perched on the edge of the sink with her toes only just skimming the floor and Killian standing in between her legs with a pair of tiny scissors in her hand. She tried to concentrate, but that was a very distinct type of challenge when his thumb was brushing small circles around her knee and Emma was positive she nearly cut off his nose at least four times.

“You don’t have to do anything except snip, Swan,” he muttered and the whole thing felt oddly personal and, somehow, a bit romantic and she’d clearly lost her mind.

Maybe it was because they hadn’t been outside in two days.

“Stop moving,” she grumbled. “You’re freaking me out.”“You know I am capable of shaving myself, love.”Emma hummed, a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, and she nearly stabbed him in the cheek when he smiled. “I’m just trying to make sure this happens. Do we have…whatever here? Are you going to ruin your face doing this?”“Shaving cream?”

She didn’t answer immediately and Emma tried to cut in a straight line, far too aware of the placement of his nose and the quirk of his lips when the scissors got too close. “You know it’s going to be fine, right?” Emma asked, hooking her foot around the back of his knee. He nearly crashed into the cabinet under the sink. “Like…no matter what?”Killian’s eyes flashed, darting up towards Emma and they should really find shaving cream. It felt like the wrong moment to mention that.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do know that. And there’s shaving cream underneath your left foot because I brought it before the season started.”Emma bit her lip. “Planning ahead, Cap?”“Hoping.”“Unnecessary.”

“Move the scissors so I don’t impale myself while trying to kiss you.”

She did and he did and there was shaving cream on the edge of her shirt by the time Killian ushered her out of the bathroom and told her to put Merida out of her misery.

Emma had sixteen text messages and two very detailed threats from Ruby and she was mumbling instructions to Merida, phone pressed against her ear with her shoulder and Mrs. Vankald’s recipe sitting on her counter, when she heard the quiet whir of an electric razor at the other end of the hall.

It took him nearly forty-five minutes and Emma was in the midst of trying to decide how to separate the team on floats that could only be certain dimensions as dictated by the city of New York and the canyon of heroes when she heard footsteps.

She nearly took out the pan on the stove when she spun around.

And Merida shouted when Emma dropped her phone.

“It’s rude to stare, Swan,” Killian said, arms crossed lightly over his shirt and she couldn’t stop moving her eyes, tracing over the clothes and how well they fit and the distinct lack of any facial hair. He smiled when he took a step forward, bending to grab her phone and she was pleasantly surprised to find her entire arm didn’t explode when he brushed his fingers over her palm.

Merida was still talking.

“Not staring,” Emma said. “Just…” She waved her free hand through the air, sighing when one side of Killian’s mouth tugged up and maybe he should have shaved the eyebrows off too if they were going to keep doing whatever it was they were doing.

Taunting her.

The fucking eyebrows were taunting her.“Certainly feels like staring,” Killian countered, tilting his head and maybe she wouldn’t think about those sounds from before all night. She’d think about his jaw. And the shape of it. And how sharp it looked when it wasn’t covered in playoff beard or perpetual stubble and Emma wasn’t sure she was still breathing.

His cheeks flushed slightly when she didn’t say anything, rocking back on his heels and it wasn’t jarring so much as it was surprising and attractive and Merida was still talking about player distribution.

They should come up with another name for that too.

“Swan,” Killian said, caution in the name and his face and she couldn’t stop staring at his face.

She’d had seen photos at the brownstone – Draft night and college articles and even that one picture of the entire family on the steps of a downtown courthouse, slightly stunned smiles on their faces and there’d been no hint of a beard then, but this was…something else all together.

Killian always had stubble, not quite a beard, but definitely enough that it would drag across her skin in a way that made her toes curl and it always made him seem…him. And now it was like she was seeing his entire face for the first time, looking younger and more open than Emma could remember and her toes curled for a totally different reason.

She wasn’t sure he’d completely shaved since he got into the league.

That felt important. To this and them and each other and maybe she was just as weirdly possessive as he was.

Emma reached up, brushing the tips of her fingers over his jaw and the slant of his cheekbones, mumbling something to Merida when she asked another question. “Your cheekbones are insane,” she said, rolling her eyes when Killian blinked in surprise. The smirk was back. “That’s not what I was planning to say.”“I’ll take it,” he grinned, brushing his lips over her. Merida absolutely heard. “Is she freaking out?”“Kind of. You want to share a float with Scarlet? He’s got to film all this stuff anyway and we’ve got to put your face everywhere.”“My face specifically?”“Yeah.”“Huh.”“Fishing for compliments.”“Eh, you were staring, Swan,” Killian said and her breath hitched when he pulled her flush against his chest, nuzzling his nose into her hair. The french toast was going to burn. “And I don’t care about float positioning or distribution or however seriously Scarlet is taking his filming duties. Whatever you need, love.”“That seems fairly wide sweeping.”“It does.”

Merida shouted something that sounded like I don’t need to be here for this and we can figure this out later, boss and Emma barely heard her when Killian tugged the phone from her hand and they had to make more french toast.

Robin and Will both laughed at the distinct lack of facial hair later that night, collapsing against the side of the bar in the restaurant with hands around their middles and tears in their eyes and they only stopped when they noticed the look on Emma’s face.

Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head and didn’t flinch when Roland leapt towards him shouting Hook, look at your face like he was a totally different person.

There were probably comments on the SubReddit – discussion and discord about Cap’s lack of beard and what it meant or could mean, but Emma spent most of the night kissing everywhere she could and she was, absolutely, done worrying about the internet.

She was fairly certain Mary Margaret looked close to tears several times.

And, two days later, on a float in downtown Manhattan, when the scruff was back and the zeroes were certain and the future was set, Emma kept kissing everywhere she could, trying to promise and ensure and she was fairly positive it worked when Killian muttered I love you, Swan in her ear.

She didn’t take the team-branded off.