#jt watches hockey

[maryellencarter]

I've been having fun with NHL goalie save percentages, because that's the sort of mental math I like to do. Percentages and fractions are really fun for me.

The hockey season just started here in North America about ten days ago, and most teams have played about five or six games so far. Under normal circumstances, one goalie will play each whole game, three 20-minute periods on the clock, although with penalties and intermissions and commercial breaks, actually watching a game takes close to three hours.

Leia's team is the Maple Leafs, and she's very fond of their newly hired Russian goalie, Ilya Samsonov, who's played four of the Leafs' six games this season because their other starting goalie is out with an injury. The Leafs have won all four of those games, and they lost the two played by other goalies. If Samsonov doesn't get injured, which is always a question in a game where extremely hard rubber projectiles come flying at your face at 90 miles an hour, he has the potential to be one of the best investments the Leafs have made in years.

(They haven't won the playoffs since 1967. They need some good investments.)

So, being primarily a defense player myself (in soccer, when I was abled enough to play, but a goalie's a goalie, more or less), I have promptly begun developing Opinions on goalies, and today I looked up the current stats rankings for all 63 NHL goalies to see how Samsonov measures up.

The main stats I'm looking at are "goals against average", or the average number of goals per game that each goalie has had scored against him this season, and "save percentage", or the number of shots against him that the goalie has stopped / kept out of his team's goal. It's called a percentage, but it's actually written as a 3-place decimal, which irritates me in ways that only a math nerd can truly understand.

Anyway, the highest ranked goalie in the NHL is Chicago's Alex Stalock, with a .979 save percentage across two games right now (one win, one loss, which just goes to show that even an insanely good goalie can't keep you from losing *all* the time) and a 0.75 GAA, which... I'm not sure how that works, because it suggests that he allowed half a goal at some point in one of those two games. Anyway, we hate Chicago as a team because they have a problem where they don't do anything about sexual assault issues, and another problem where they have one of those racist Native American mascot logos, so I don't quite care enough to try to figure that out.

The *lowest* ranked goalie this season by save percentage is Vitek Vanecek of the New Jersey Devils, who has an abysmal-for-the-NHL .773 over one game (which the Devils lost). I spent an enjoyable time reducing some fractions this evening and figured out that if you put Stalock and Vanecek each in front of a goal and had players take 50 shots at each of them, and if they performed exactly according to these numbers, Stalock would allow just one goal while Vanecek would allow twelve and a half.

(Vanecek's actual goals against average is 5, which leads me to believe the rest of the Devils in that losing game were good enough to only allow 20 shots against him.)

Vanecek doesn't even have the worst GAA in the NHL right now -- he's fifth from the bottom. Hilariously, Minnesota's two goalies are both ranked below him, which tells you what sort of a year Minnesota is having. The very worst is Boston's Jeremy Swayman with 5.41 in a game and two-thirds -- I think there has to be some sort of proration going on with these averages when a goalie plays a partial game, maybe? Yeah, Stalock only played a game and a third based on time, if I'm reading this right, which would shake out correctly for the math if he allowed exactly one goal in that time.

So how does Samsonov stack up? Really damn well, so far. He's undefeated 4 and 0, along with just four other guys so far -- one of whom, Boston's Linus Ullmark, played the last third of the Boston loss that gets listed as Swayman's, so there's that.

Samsonov's save percentage, as of the Leafs' win against the Jets tonight, is a very respectable .938, meaning that if you added him to our hypothetical lineup of goalies fielding fifty shots apiece, he'd only allow three goals. His actual GAA is 1.73 (the Leafs had a few minutes of overtime the other night, which I'm assuming is why it's not a 1.75), because the Leafs tend to allow right around thirty shots on goal per game.

Compared to the rest of the league, Samsonov is ninth from the top by save percentage. He just leapfrogged about four guys tonight, and another good night could see him jumping significantly further in that ranking.

By goals against average, Samsonov ranks just fifth, and all four of the guys above him are also ranked higher in save percentage. However, only one, Dallas's Jake Oettinger, is also undefeated 4 and 0. (There's also a 3/0 and a 1/0 on the list, and Alex Stalock is 1/1, having managed to chalk up a loss to the Vegas Golden Knights by allowing a single goal.)

Course, it's early days, and hockey is a blood sport -- fifteen of the NHL goalies have only played a single game so far, some of them due to injury, some presumably due to terrible performance. Fourteen more have only played two games. The numbers are going to get shaken up severely over the 82 total games of the regular season. But I'm having fun doing math ^_^

[40ep]

J.T. MILLER Postgame vs Bruins | 02.24.24

[larsnicklas]

⭐️: 3 assists, 4 shots, 8 hits, 13-6 in the faceoff circle, 20:26 TOI, +2 rating

[faebirdie]

john...no. no fedoras.

[wintfleur]

I wonder if jt’s back is hurting from carrying the caunucks lately . . .

[emuchipmunk]

After seeing how every other team reacts to players coming back I’m really starting to think long island fans are truly some of the most miserable people.

[tojisun]

Hockey!Simon has his top front tooth knocked out whilst hockey!Soap has his bottom canine knocked out ☝️

simon is so jt miller coded so ur so right about this 😭 like? aggressive cross checks and a missing toof? hell yea thats my man simon

JOHNNY WITH THE BOTTOM CANINE OH THAT SOUNDS LIKE IT HURTS bet you it’s prior a tussle. he blocked a puck with his face and some dickwad ‘accidentally’ high-stick’d him because it was the last 20 seconds of the third period, and the other team were hoping to tie the score to force an OT but johnny’s face so happened to be there. of course garrick pushed the fella in revenge, and of course mactavish began punching the fella too, and of course riley turned around and decked his mark, and of course price was at the other end of the rink, just watching LMAO

this ended up being one of the most aggressive fights in this year’s playoffs

(they both pull a jack hughes and have their missing teeth fixed so all is well!!! they’re once again reminded that mouth guards are mandatory, but simon continues to just chew on his and mactavish continues to forget his so he gets reprimanded by their coach.)

god i love this sm <33

[matthewtkachuk]

bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last. 

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you. 

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado. 

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’. 

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count. 

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way. 

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house. 

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid. 

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely. 

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you. 

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours. 

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes. 

-

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy. 

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level. 

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law. 

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it. 

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit. 

It warms your heart. 

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate. 

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway. 

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander. 

-

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena. 

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell. 

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility. 

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier. 

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass. 

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs. 

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy. 

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff. 

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.” 

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot. 

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces. 

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you. 

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16. 

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer. 

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move. 

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners. 

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy. 

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed. 

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire. 

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more. 

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper. 

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate. 

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth. 

“It’ll be worth the wait.” 

And worth the wait it is. 

-

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices. 

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too. 

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you. 

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure. 

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other. 

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign. 

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan. 

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up. 

-

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed. 

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life. 

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie. 

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants. 

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is. 

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you. 

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed. 

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush. 

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss. 

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again. 

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing. 

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body. 

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast. 

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs. 

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone. 

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises. 

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too. 

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths. 

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch. 

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him. 

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better. 

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips. 

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him. 

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm. 

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too. 

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up. 

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs. 

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery. 

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall. 

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake. 

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with. 

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying. 

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap. 

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless. 

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.” 

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing. 

The reality of the situation hits you. 

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life. 

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply. 

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

-

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time. 

“He loves you,” she says. 

You’re not so sure. 

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here. 

It’s not all bad though. 

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities. 

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school. 

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat. 

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be. 

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.” 

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.” 

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away. 

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same. 

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red. 

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist. 

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded. 

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head. 

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit. 

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up. 

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled. 

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan. 

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone. 

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts. 

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked. 

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass. 

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours. 

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back. 

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again. 

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact. 

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head. 

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.” 

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist. 

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door. 

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again. 

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.” 

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial. 

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug. 

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone,  it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother. 

[sergeifyodorov]

hmm i was scrolling through Twitter earlier and as the designated leafs blog in my mind, what are your thoughts on fraser minten? like he’s so interesting to me because in the narrative i’ve created of him he was tavares’ fifth child but then was our balanced by knies being better, but then wjc happened and he still couldn’t crack it. now he’s on the blades (one of the best whl teams i think??) very interesting

NARRATIVELY he's definitely The Tavares Child -- okayyyy so. Sew. this New Generation of leafs (imho starting at Knies and including Easton Cowan as well as minten) kind of... each parallel a member of the Core: Knies is Auston's child (Arizona boy, big strong forward), Cowan is Mitch's child (London Knight, small winger with endless energy) and Minten is JT's child (Captain anywhere he goes, known for maturity and intelligence)... william child + morgan child ->

anyHWAY the real life scouting report under the cut (not too long i don't think)

Minten's a high second-rounder, which is the type of player that's generally designated as an "upper maybe" NHLer -- by which I mean odds-on he'll get NHL games (as Mints has) but it's less likely he'll become a serious full-time player (although many a second-rounder can and does do so!) The most interesting thing about his draft position was that the Leafs, under Kyle Dubas, traded DOWN to get him -- we had a low first-rounder, then traded it to Chicago to get rid of the Mrazek contract and got the pick that would become Mints in return. Many a source says that Kyle wanted Mints anyway and would have taken him with the first-round pick.

The general consensus is that Mints tops out as a middle-six centre, a 3C on a good team or a 2C on a worse one (or a 1C on the Boston Bruins.) His ceiling is probably about 40 or 50 points, maybe more depending on how much power-play usage he gets.

However, it's also noted (and was pretty obvious to me, even watching him at the WJC -- which I'll get to in a second!) that his real value is not and will likely never be in point production. He's a natural centre, good-to-great at faceoffs (a skill that he learned in part from JT!!) and very good defensively. Because he's still a kid, plays a bit physically and tends to be involved in the play at both ends, he probably takes a few too many undisciplined stick infractions, but these things of course can be straightened out with time and wisdom. Also, he's a touch of a personality hire: he was the youngest A on the all-timer Kamloops Blazers last year and was pretty much immediately named C after the Leafs sent him home this year; he was named captain of the CANADIAN WORLD JUNIORS team with zero other experience playing for Canada on the national level. He plays the piano! He's smart, polite, doesn't cause a fuss, wise beyond his years. Takes a guy far.

Anyway, the WJC: just an absolute hackjob by the coach and one of those years that really demonstrates that Hockey Canada still thinks it can get ahead by being Canada (the ol' throw bodies at the wall shtick) and not, like, because of its actual quality of development. I think bowing out when they did was a bit unlucky, but they absolutely were NOT primed to win it all -- especially because the coach basically seemed to have no concept of... line construction? or anything of the sort? Like he just tossed players together from a hat once (1) and decided they were just going to play out the tourney like that -- no real concept of "x is the playmaker, y is the shooter, z is the forechecker" or "these three are the transition line that take d-zone draws and use their speed to create rush chances/o-zone draws" or even something so simple as "this defensively-minded, slower centre is perhaps not the best match for the winger notorious for being opportunistic and shooty." Also, not to put too fine a point on it but a player can have a bad WJC and it doesn't mean anything, or a good WJC and it also doesn't mean anything -- Jesse Puljujarvi rose his draft stock by a good chunk in 2016 by having a FANTASTIC WJC, and he's currently on an AHL tryout. It's a small sample size, mostly played with teammates they barely know and against competition about a half-step up from what they're used to. Weird statlines happen.

Back to MINTS because we're still talking about him. Yess currently he's on the Blades -- traded from the Blazers because the Blazers are garbage and they want to Do Right By The Player and put him on a competitive team (done for two reasons: one, because it can be demoralizing to be the best player on a bad team, and two, because being on a good team in juniors often means you get actually good-for-your-development linemates and usage). He was generally not expected to make the Leafs at ALL this season (I mean, 20-year-old second-rounder, right?) and cracking the roster out of camp, even though he only got three games and has a rather blank statline is SUPER impressive. I'm pretty sure this is his last year of CHL eligibility, after which he'll probably either get put on the Marlies for a year to keep cooking or he'll make the Leafs again and stick around. Either way, he's slid twice I think so we burn a year of his ELC.

and my opinion of the boy? I love him. Let's go baby leafs baby leafs forevar

[larsnicklas]

JT MILLER ✧ 240128 [30 goals for Brock, how good does it feel for him to hit that number?] Well, he should have had it already if I wasn't the issue. He's playing great.

[starry-hughes]

kendall’s injury

it was fast pace hockey. there hadn’t been a whistle in almost three minutes. kendall had her typical blue tinsel braided into her hair. she decided on two braids tonight. she had thrown up in the morning from the nerves.

it was loud. a sea of blue and green and she felt so small. she was a fast skater. and then someone’s stick got caught in her feet as she chased after the puck they didn’t even call for icing.

the slam echoed as she hit the wall. it was an awkward fall. the play was immediately blown down as kendall withered in pain on the ice. “kenny?” nils, her linemate, skated over. she was biting down on her mouth guard so tight to stop herself from screaming. it was the worst pain in her life.

the trainers came over quick, even edmonton’s trainers. “kenny, what hurts?”

“leg. leg,” she choked out. “get the paramedics over here,” someone mumbled. they made her as comfortable on the ice as possible as the stretcher was wheeled out. “no, i can play i promise,” she said. “kenny,” jt swallowed, “you can’t.”

“no i can! i promise! just let me get up!” she told them all. zadorov helped them get her onto the stretcher. “where’s petey?” she asked. “he’s skating over, huggy is coming too.”

“kendall,” elias breathed. “it hurts,” she finally admitted. there were too many eyes around, elias couldn’t just kiss his girlfriend or provide her the comfort she needed. quinn skated with the stretcher. “sorry cap,” she sniffled trying to ignore everyone watching. “kenny, don’t be sorry. love you.”

stick taps erupted by that point and everyone in the stadium cheered. kendall was in such pain by the time they got her into the ambulance the adrenaline was wearing off. “am i going to be able to play again?” she asked. no one answered.

in the safety of a hospital room, she broke down into sobs. after the game ended, the team made their way over to the hospital. kendall was a bit freaked out by so many people seeing her in the vulnerable position. her teammates gave her headpats and sad smiles. “they are getting me stable enough for surgery,” she told elias. he wiped her cheek gently.

“you’ll be okay,” he mumbled. she nodded, trying to convince herself it would be okay but she was choking back sobs. jt looked at her and made everyone leave the room. “she’s my girlfriend,” elias argued. “she needs a second.”

jt shut the door and looked back at kendall who is practically his daughter in his eyes. “kenny you can let it out now, it’s just me here.”

and she did. loud cries, pain shooting up her thigh. “what if i can’t play ever again?” she hiccuped. “you will play. i promise kiddo.” she calms herself down. “your parents are on their way i think. want me to send petey back in?”

she nods. within seconds, elias is in there. “kendall, i- i’m so sorry.” she sniffles and he grabs her head softly and kisses the top. “i called your parents.”

“thank you.” “ellen and jim are on the way too.” she nodded again. “i love you,” he mumbles. “darcy is trying to get here too.”

“why are so many people coming for a broken femur?” she laughed a little. elias swallowed hard and the reality of everything began setting in. “i hope i can play still,” she choked on more tears.

“you will be, i know it. next season. you’ll be back on the ice. i promise you,” he soothes. elias climbs up into the bed with her, being careful with her leg. “we lost,” she mumbled. “i know. don’t worry about it. it’s been a rough couple of weeks for us. just rest my love.”

[j-ustkeepgliding]

'getting punched in the face and then his stick breaks' jt experiencing what it feels like to watch leafs hockey <3

[senditcolton]

What Did I Do to Deserve You?

Smoothing your fingers down your lover’s tie, fixing where you lover couldn’t tie it right, your lovers gentle affectionate gaze on you the entire time, even though you are lost in concentration.

part of my Valentine's Day prompts requested by anon | word count: 1k | warnings: just rewriting history

It was odd to think that this high that you and Tyson had been riding since June 26th was coming to an end. It was October and the two of you had more than enough time to celebrate – almost five months to be exact. But you had never seen your boyfriend so happy and you wanted that feeling to never fade.

Colorado Avalanche. Stanley Cup Champions. It was an achievement that meant so much to any hockey player and to any hockey city. But it felt like it meant that much more to Tyson.

He was here through the worst of it. He stayed here through all of the struggles the team faced. And he was one of the six remaining players – along with JT, EJ, Gabe, Nathan, and Mikko – that had experienced the lowest of lows (a 48-point season) and were now experiencing the highest of highs.

A ring ceremony.

In a few hours, you and Tyson would be off to a ridiculously expensive hotel, seated in a ballroom decked out in burgundy and blue, and Tyson would receive a piece of jewelry that symbolized the lofty goal he had accomplished. A ring that would stay with him even after the greatest trophy in all of sports was passed onto a different team.

This last night that the two of you could fully celebrate the Colorado Avalanche’s achievements before Tyson and his teammates had to try and do it all over again.

You are perched on the edge of the mattress as you watch Tyson move in and out of the bedroom, grabbing the final accessories for his outfit. You can tell he is excited simply from the way he moves, the energy surging through his body. A small giggle falls from your lips as you watch him fumble to put on his cufflinks, it taking him a few more tries than usual to slide the metal into place.

He hears your laughter, glancing over his shoulder to you with a grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” he chirps, his tone playful.

“Nothing,” you reply, leaning forward, your elbows resting on your knees. “You’re just really adorable, that’s all.”

“Adorable? I thought we were going for sexy tonight?” he asks, spinning to face you. “Isn’t that why you insisted I wear this suit?”

You take his words as an invitation to shamelessly let your eyes rake down his body, the grey checkered plaid fabric hugging his athletic frame.

“You do look good, don’t get me wrong,” you start, your eyes connecting back to his brown ones. “But maybe a tie would pull this look from handsome to downright gorgeous.”

“Then you should go and pick one out for me,” he says, his eyes bright although you can see a glimmer of something more underneath. “Whichever you like best.”

You slide off from the bed, waltzing past him and into his walk-in closet. You find the drawer with his ties and pull it open, your eyes dancing over the colors. It takes a moment but you finally settle on a cool purple, lifting it out of its spot and wrapping the silky fabric around your hand.

Wandering back into the bedroom, you hold up the tie to him. He looks over it, his eyebrows furrowing before he gives you a small nod. Tyson holds his hand out, ready to take the material from you but you shake your head.

You don’t speak as you take those final steps towards him, reaching up to lift his shirt collar before draping the silk around his neck. Your hands deftly move, crossing the material over itself as you complete the knot. It a gentle tug to pull the loop snug against his collar, smoothing down the material and holding it in place as you grab the silver tie bar sitting on the dresser.

You pin the material securely to his shirt, your fingers sliding down one last time before you look up at Tyson. His eyes are already on you, the dark irises so full of adoration. Even though it is a look that you have seen cast in your direction a hundred times before, it never fails to make your knees weak.

It is instinctual, the way Tyson leans down and you lift your body up to close the space between you. His lips are soft on yours and you feel his arms land on your waist, pulling you closer. Your palms lay flat against his chest as the two of you continue to kiss, not wanting to pull away from each other. Eventually, and very reluctantly, the two of you separate but you don’t leave his embrace just yet.

“Congratulations, baby,” you murmur, looking up at him, a loving smile playing at your lips. “You deserve all this and more.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to press another quick peck on your lips. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course you could have,” you say. Tyson releases his hold from around you, letting you any last-minute items scattered around the room, preparing for your departure. You turn back to see Tyson looking himself over in the full-length mirror, his hands coming to slightly adjust the tie.

“I like it,” he tells you, his fingers running down the silky material. “It’s like a dark blue, right?

“Babe, it’s purple,” you say, the sentence punctuated by your amused tone. You see Tyson look up, his eyes wide as he meets your gaze in the mirrors reflection. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding your head.

You wander over to him, looping your arm through his, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as you both look at your reflections.

“So,” you continue, that mischievous tone still evident in your words. “I guess you could’ve won the Stanley Cup without me. But making sure your colorblind ass doesn’t look like a walking trainwreck… that’s another story.”

Tyson laughs, the sound of it pulling a giggle from your own lips. He places another quick kiss on the top of your head before taking a firmer hold of your arm and directing you out the door.

Excited to celebrate his accomplishments. Enthusiastic to have you by his side.

[msmargaretmurry]

☕️ the leafs! (or mitch)

not a fan of either 😂 i tend to find teams with huge loud entitled inescapable fanbases annoying in any sport so they are almost never where i gravitate. leafs fans (not like, my friends and mutuals who are leafs fans, who are obviously The Good Leafs Fans, but as a collective entity and especially in normie sports fan spaces) are just. too loud and annoying. the way that so much nhl stuff and hockey media revolves around and privileges the leafs is not the leafs' fault but it's still very annoying. not saying other people can't enjoy them but those are things that are turn-offs for me.

i disliked the leafs extra when kyle "multiple junior players committed sexual assault during my tenure as the ssm gm which i said was 'so far from a hockey situation' even though a similar situation was simultaneously happening at BU and their response was to interrogate how hockey culture had enabled it and how the institutions should do better" dubas was there because i don't like him and was grossed out by how fandom both woobified and daddyfied him. i have talked about my mitch feelings here and don't think i have anything to add.

however i do think matthews is an exciting player to watch and he also provided my favorite moment of this year's asg. william is my perfect precious boy will always be an honorary washington capital in my heart. i think it's funny how jt brings his own olive oil to places and will always have a soft spot for the jt/sam gagner bestfriendship.

[yaoistri]

tagged to do this by @kimissteeringwheel !!

pairing/ship list!

here’s the rules:

1. list your top 7 ships

2. put them in order of your love for them; 7 to 1, 1 being your favourite

3. name their fandom

4. supply photos for said people

7. tyson jost & jt compher, hockey rpf

sadly there is very minimal interaction between these two anymore, but they came into the NHL as rookies in 2017 and immediately became BEST friends playing together on the worst team in the league. they lived together and did everything together until tyson was traded away from colorado in 2022. jt has also now been traded away just recently.

6. erik johnson and gabe landeskog, hockey rpf

it’s 2011 and the youngest captain in nhl history gets drafted onto a team with a former number 1 prospect who has just been traded away from his initial team after injuring himself badly, and the two become tight instantly. LOTS of twitter banter occurs, and they play together for 11 years before winning a cup together! sadly, gabe has been out for a year after badly injuring himself during the 2022 playoffs, and ej just got traded away to buffalo, MEANING that the last game they ever played together was the game they won the cup….. sooo damn tragic and poetic

5. darius garland and donovan mitchell (spidaland), basketball rpf

they’ve only had one season together on the cavs, and sadly fell short in the playoffs, but they’re one of the best guard pairings in the nba for a reason, because they literally have soooooo much chemistry. also they’re ALWAYS touching each other????? like my camera roll is so full of pictures of them hugging

4. sebastian vettel and kimi räikkönen (simi), f1 rpf

they invented grumpy/sunshine. you can’t drive for ferrari and not get shipped with ur teammate i’m sorry it’s the rules! especially when you have a reputation for being as cold as ice but whenever you’re around him you start smiling… kimi ur not slick!

3. alain prost and ayrton senna (prosenna), f1 rpf

these two were INSANE. i’m a sucker for a tragic rivalry and they are nothing if not that. the chemistry, the tension, the way alain still talks about ayrton to this day, it all kills me. there’s so much about them we will never know and it drives me up the wall

2. nikola jokic and jamal murray, basketball rpf

these two oh my goddddd. might mansplain a bit here bc this is not a popular pairing at all — they were drafted to the denver nuggets in 2014 and 2016 respectively, nikola being a nobody from serbia who didn’t get picked until the second round, and jamal being a top 10 pick with all eyes on him. these two built this team on their backs, going from one of the worst teams in the league to finally winning the championship together in 2023 after facing a major setback when jamal tore his acl in 2021. the way they have so much trust in each other and have built a chemistry that has made them the best duo in the league is so dear to me :’) the dynamic is also spectacular - massive cynical european of little words and friendly but bratty short canadian who loves to have a laugh. i think the fact that i got to watch them grow together and that there’s like 5 other people in the world that ship them just make them sooo dear to me

1. lewis hamilton and nico rosberg (brocedes), f1 rpf

i literally have no words for these two 😭 i feel like i don’t need to explain that much either, because their story is so tragic and so out of a book that everyone already knows it. the intricacies of the way they destroyed each other will haunt me forever.

ok, passing the trend on! tagging @queergrittys @unsolvedjarin @jrueships if any of u are interested :)

[wmnylander]

jt saying his earliest memory as a hockey fan was being 2/3 years old & watching the leafs with his dad…….. 30 years later his dad was watching him, the captain of the leafs, score his 1,000th point………