#puck headers

[deepspacialrift]

boy king

[abqbox]

Watched a bit of sled hockey as I stretched before our game, it's an advantage of playing in the early time slot.

When our game started, it was a bit more lopsided than the sled hockey seemed to be, and not in our favor. That stayed pretty consistent throughout the game. In the end, they had a bit more than twice as many shots as we had and I felt that was probably a fair reflection of the overall play of the two teams.

But I played well in the net, and it was scoreless after the first period. Then, we managed to score the first goal about halfway through the second period. After that, they tried even more to score, and I had to make a number of good saves but was able to do so until a shot hit our defender in his hand. While he was in pain, they picked up the puck and managed to score with no pressure at all from just a few feet in front of me. That was a frustrating and annoying way for it to get tied up.

In the third, they kept coming offensively, while we only occasionally had a scoring chance, usually on a breakaway. I stopped everything though, for the first half of the period or so, until they had a lengthy period holding the puck in our zone and finally getting plenty of time for one of their defenders to line up a shot uncontested. I knew where he was shooting into the corner on my left and tried to get my glove up quick enough but wasn't able to.

We tried to score another to tie the game up, including with me on the bench as time was running out. Instead, they managed to get a long shot on the net and score a third goal. That was basically the end of the game, for a 1-3 loss.

After the game, the other goalie came and gave me some advice, even though I had clearly been the better goalie in the game. That's not the first time she's done that, and usually, the advice isn't wrong, but it is always something really simple I've already known for years. It kind of cracks me up actually, I just say thank you and move on.

[homestylehughes]

wanna bet?

quinn hughes x fem!reader

summray: you make a bet with quinn, which of you will win?

wc: 2.9K

warnings: nsfw 18+ smut, unprotected sex, p in v (practice safe sex guys!), oral fem receiving, spitting, cussing, dirty talk. there's some plot but it's mostly smut.

an: OH BOYYYYYY... i'm a little nervous to post this... GULP. it's my first time writing smut, so hopefully you guys all enjoy!! it took me like 4 hours LOL! writing smut is hard guys... thank you to all of my smut writing warriors. ALSO i tried my hand at making a header for my work, i kinda like it?? i cant tell if i ate or not..LMFAO. anyways im done yapping. like and reblog if you like, as always much love as always.

happy reading <3

“We should make a bet.” I say to Quinn as we’re getting ready for a home game between the Canucks and Winnipeg Jets. 

He looks at me confusingly as he finishes tying his tie in the mirror. “What kind of bet are we talking about?” he mutters back. “I don't know, something spicy and fun '' I say, as I make my way over to him to fix his crooked tie. 

“Hm..i like the sound of that” quinn says, as he rests his hands on my waist pulling me closer to his body.  I chuckle at his sudden change in interest, finally fixing his tie, I rake my eyes over his face. 

“I have an idea,” I say as our eyes remain locked, “and what's that baby?” Quinn says, I can feel his gaze now locked on my lips. 

“If you score tonight, i'll let you do whatever you want to me.'' I say, as I slowly trace my hands around his neck to play with his hair, leaning my body further into his. “if you don't score, i get to do whatever i want to you, but you can't touch.” 

I can feel quinns breath hitch in his throat, as I press myself completely against his front, planting soft kisses down his neck and across his jaw. His hands moving from my waist, to my ass, griping is hard and pulling me even tighter against him. 

Quinn tips his head down to try and connect our lips together, I quickly move my head to avoid his kiss. “How do those conditions sound?” I say, looking at quinns now flushed state. 

“They sound really good, baby, they would sound even better if you'd let me kiss you.” he says, slowly moving our faces closer together. 

I slowly shake my head no, as I pull myself apart from him. “ I have to finish getting ready, and so do you.” I say, while looking at a wide eyed, flustered quinn. 

“You actually hate me, don't you?” Quinn says, looking at me, still wide eyed. “no i don't, i just like making you suffer.'' I grin back at him. 

“So are we shaking on this?” Quinn says, finally collecting himself. Without a word I held my hand out to him, waiting for him to grasp it. Our eyes are locked, as Quinn pulls his arm forward, his hand finally finding mine, pulling it into a firm handshake. “you're on Hughes,” I said to him. “No you're on, I'm scoring tonight, just for you baby '' Quinn says grinning at me like a kid in a candy store. 

I step forward and press a sweet kiss on his lips, pulling away before he has the chance to deepen it, “may the best man win” i say before turning away from him, to finish getting ready. 

I'm nervous, not for the game, but for tonight. My nerves are getting the best of me as I sit in the stands waiting for the puck to drop. My eyes follow Quinn as they warm up on the ice.

 I'm starting to think I'm a dumbass for even betting on this. Quinn is super competitive, he's not going to let me win, but damn do I want to win. 

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my head, I settle in my seat, gaze locked on ice as the first whistle signaling the game has begun goes off. 

      This is going to be a long game, a long night, I think to myself. 

The Canucks win in a shutout, 5-0. I couldn't be more proud of them as they skate off the ice. Most importantly I couldn't be more proud of myself for finally winning a bet against quinn. 

They played an incredible game tonight, with 5 amazing goals, not none of those coming from quinn. I couldn't help but secretly be happy that he didn't score. 

I leave the stands and make my way towards the locker room, waiting for Quinn to finish up with getting ready and press interviews. Around 45 minutes later, I see Quinn make his way towards me. I open my arms to him, grasping him in a hug, “good game baby” I say to him as he pulls away, whispering a small “thank you” in my direction. 

We start to make our way to the parking lot, silence surrounds us, it starts to make me nervous. “Any updates on Thatcher?” I ask, who went to the locker room during the second period, with an injury. “We don't know too much right now, hopefully we get some updates tomorrow morning on his status.'' Quinn says as he throws his bags in the back seat of the car, before sliding over to open the passenger door for me.

 “Hopefully he’s okay, I'm sure he is. He's a tough guy, keep me updated when you get any information." I say to Quinn, as he's pulling out of the parking lot. “I will.” he says shortly. I frown at his shortness, in the conversation. 

“Are you okay?” i ask him quietly, “yeah, im okay.” he replies back quickly. Not wanting to push, I decided that's a good enough answer, keeping my gaze locked on my lap the whole way home. 

The car comes to a stop, signaling that we made home. I quickly got out of the car, wanting to escape the tension that was starting to suffocate me. Unlocking the door quickly, speeding my way upstairs to the bathroom, not even looking back to see if Quinn was behind me. 

Closing the bathroom door quickly, I take a deep breath to regain my thoughts. Is Quinn mad at me? Is he upset over Demko? Upset that I won the bet? Upset that he didn't score? I don't want him to be upset with me, especially over this, this was supposed to be hot and cute and now i feel like it's blown up in my face. A bet that I don't even care about at this point. 

5 minutes later, after I've calmed myself down. I see Quinn on the edge of the bed, when I open the bathroom door. Taking another deep breath, I start to make my way across our bedroom to the closet. As I'm beginning to pass the bed where Quinn sits, I feel him grab my leg, pulling me back towards him. 

My nerves are rising again. I'm now in between Quinn's legs, looking down at my feet as I wait for him to say something. I feel his hands run up my thighs, gripping them with a slight pressure. Trailing them higher on my body, over the Hughes jersey that covers my upper half. Quinns hands, finding their home on my waist, for the second time today. 

“Baby, look at me,” Quinn says, gently but with authority. I slowly lift my head up to lock my eyes to his. “I think we have a bet to take care of.” he says to me, my brain doesn't even register what he just said to me, before i start speaking. “are you mad at me? I feel like you're mad at me. We don't have to do this, it's just a bet it doesn't really matter to me Quinn. I thought this was a good idea earlier but now i dont think it's a good idea. I know you're definitely mad at-” 

  I'm quickly cut off by the feeling of quinns lips on mine. Taking me by surprise it takes my body a few seconds to respond. Once I do, my hands are instantly finding his hair, as Quinn pulls me down so I'm now straddling his lap, our kiss getting more intense by the second. 

I began to grind myself on his bulge that I felt growing beneath me. Quinn begins painting beneath me, his mouth opening enough for me to slide my tongue into his mouth, pulling myself into him. Our mouths began to fight for dominance. Our bodies move against each other at a faster rate. Quinns hands pushed my waist hard against his, causing me to moan into his mouth. 

Quinn pulls back suddenly, causing me to wine more. “Does it look like I'm upset with you baby?” he asks me as he starts to suck on my neck leaving kisses in his wake, causing me to arch my back closer into his mouth. Pulling away from my neck, looking at each other as we’re both panting. “I was acting like a sore loser” quinns says while rubbing slow circles on my thigh, eyes still locked with mine. “I don't like losing, and I really don't like not being able to have my way with you, not being able to touch you.” he breathes out at me. I'm struggling to find my words while he's looking at me like that. 

“Quinn. I don't care about this stupid bet anymore, I want you now." I don't even wait for him to respond to me before I'm crushing our lips back together. The kiss is hot, with need and want. Our teeth and tongues clashing together. 

I find the will to pull myself off Quinn, now standing in front of him. Without saying anything, I began to peel off my clothes. Pulling off the jersey, leaving me in a black lacy bra, and my jeans. Quickly moving my hands to my jeans, unbuttoning them quickly, pulling them down with my underwear, kicking them off my feet. Reaching behind me and unclasping my bra. Leaving me completely bare in front of Quinn.

“I want you naked, now.” I say to Quinn, who moves in supersonic speed pulling off his clothes and throwing them somewhere behind me. 

“Fuck baby.'' Quinn says as he's pulling me into him again. “You look so hot right now, all for me too.” tracing his hands down my bare sides, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps in his wake. 

Leaning forward he begins to press kisses against my stomach making his way down to my pussy, my breath begins to hitch, I'm afraid my legs are going to buckle beneath me. “Can I taste you baby? I want to taste your sweet pussy,  haven't in so long.” he says, as he slowly pulls my thighs apart. I can't find it within me to stop him, I don't care about the bet anymore. I need him to do something. “Yes please” I told him. He doesn't need to be told twice. 

Quinn quickly throws me down on the bed, my body making a small thud as it hits the bed. Quinn immediately pulled my thighs apart so he could rest between them.

 I'm knocked out of my daze, as I feel Quinn start to press kisses on the inside of my thighs, my breath is beginning to quicken again. “Look at me baby” he says, as he lifts his head to reach my eyes.

 I crane my neck to meet his gaze. Getting a good look at him, pupils blown with lust, his lips swollen and red, hair a mess, seeing him in this state turns me on even more. 

“Please Quinn,” I yelled out to him, shifting my body closer to his face. I need something, anything. ‘So impatient” Quinn chuckles, as he leans in closer to my pussy, so close I can feel his breath fan on my folds, causing me to slowly moan. “Keep your eyes on mine or I will stop. Got it?” he roughly says to me, nodding my head yes quickly. “Words baby” he says, “yes, yes quinn” i say urgently. 

Before I know it his face is diving into my cunt, his tongue instantly finding my clit, making arch my back into him. “Fuck” i say in a strangled moan, as my hands find their way to quinns hair, pushing his face deeper in my cunt. 

His tongue is lapping me up like a grown man starving, his hands are pushing my legs so hard and so far apart it almost hurts, but I can't find it inside me to care. His pace began to quicken, pushing his tongue in and out of my cunt. “Who got you this wet baby?” he mumbles into my heart. “You! Fuck right there baby” i moan out, as quinn slowly pushes 2 fingers in. 

The pressure is beginning to build in my stomach, between quinn fingering me and lapping and sucking on my clit is enough to push me over the edge. “Harder, faster, fuck quinn.'' I managed to push out, his actions now becoming faster and more aggressive than before. 

Before I realize, my peak is coming. My hips grinding themselves on quinns face,  desperate to cum. “That's it baby, there you go.” he says, as i begin to push myself on his fingers deep inside of me. Moving his thumb to now, rub my clit at a fast rate. “fuck quinn im coming” i push my head flat against the pillow as my body archs into him. “Fuck, don't stop. Quinn please don't stop, please please” i began to blubber out as i began to cum all over his fingers. Continuing to grind myself against him, taking anything that he’ll give me.

Quinns hands keep my thighs from closing shut and he removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. Riding me through the last of my orgasm. My moans and pants are filling the room, my breath leaving my lungs as I finally come down from my orgasm. 

Quinn slowly pulled his face away from my heat. “That was the hottest thing, ive never seen, fuck” he says before making his way on top of me, his lips finding mine. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck pulling his chest to mine. Our bodies rocking together, “quinn” i say breathless, as his tongue is attacking my neck, moving his mouth lower down my body. Grasping my left nipple in his mouth, gently biting it, then releasing it into his mouth, wrapping his hot tongue around it. The action causes me to moan loudly, pushing my already close body even closer, if that's even possible.

As good as his assault on my boobs feels, I need him inside of me now. “Quinn” I say firmer this time. Pulling his face to mine, “ i need you to fuck me now, please now” i say panting in his face. 

That seems to flip a switch inside of quinn, he's quickly lining up his cock, with my entrance, slowly pushing himself into me. Quinn goes as he fully enters me, our eyes locking for a quick moment before I lift my head to bring myself to his lips. This kiss is different from the others, love and passion filled, a kiss that isn't rushed. “Can I move baby?” quinn asks from above me, “yes please fuck me” i pant back into his mouth, bringing our lips back together again.

Quinns hips quickly snapping against mine, pulling out fullying before pushing himself back into me. The quick motion caused the both of us to moan loudly, “harder” I moan out to him. “You want me to fuck you harder baby?” Quinn says back to me. To answer his question I push my hips up to meet his thrusts, quinn moves one of his hands from my waist to my right leg, and pushes it above his shoulder. the new angle, hitting a depth i didn't know was even possible. Fucking me at a pace so good, that i didnt want him to stop. 

The sound of groans, moans and our skin meeting and slapping together fills our room, our bodies slick with sweat. My eyes flutter open meeting quinns eyes, as he fucks me so deep and so good, my mouth is hung open but no words are coming out. 

Grabbing my jaws he leans down and spits into my mouth “swallow” he orders, his eyes still locked with mine. I do as he says, swallowing every last bit.

“Fuck you’re so hot” quinn moans at me, as he continues to fuck me. “More more '' I moan loudly at him, Quinn then pushes both of my legs on his shoulders. Fucking me so deep i can feel him in my stomach.

“Im gonna cum, baby” Quinn breathes in my ear, his face dropping to my neck as he picks up his pace. I feel the familiar burn build up in my stomach again. “Don't stop, im almost there please dont stop” i wine at him urging him to go even faster. 

Grabbing our headboard, using more strength to push himself harder into me. One singular snap of his hips causes me to cum. “Quinn quinn, im coming fuck fuck fuck” i moan loudly. “come for me baby fuck” quinn says as he continues to fuck me though my orgasm. 

“Im cumming” he sputters out, his lips finding mine. Our bodies move together as we’re coming down from our highs. 

My legs slowly come down from his shoulders, Quinn slowly pulling out of me, wincing as he does. Collapsing beside me, our chests falling and rising together, pants fill the room still. I turn my body to his hand tracing his chest and neck. Pushing his hair that's fallen in his face back. Quinns arms circled around my waist pulling me closer to him. 

“So much for the bet huh?” he says while laughing, pulling me in for another kiss.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone has a strong opinion about how to make the best steak. Do you reverse-sear it? Do you kiss it against a pan? Butter braise? My neighbour down the street hires a group of Hawaiian dancers to rhythmically stomp on his striploin until it is cooked entirely through the waste heat produced by the repetitive impact. Expensive, certainly, but you can't put a price on fine cuisine.

Me? I eat most of my meals courtesy of the 7-Eleven We're Throwing This Out Soon® anti-food-waste program. Sometimes it's pizza. Most of the time it's hot dogs. Every time it's delicious, even though my doctor has noted with some concern the fact that my poop no longer resembles that of an ordinary human being. We're not talking about that right now, though. We're talking about how I prepare steak.

The most important part is getting a good steak. Lots of folks just roll up to the grocery store and hand over like a hundred fucking dollars for whatever Superstore's butcher says is good. Me, I get that very same steak for free when he's forced to throw it out after a few days because of "food safety regulations." Sealed in a bag and everything, dumpster slime washes right off. Still fries up real nice, which is where we come to our next part.

Preparation is also key. You'll see professional chefs salting the shit out of the steak and then throwing it in the fridge for most of the day to let it think about what it's done. This dries out the steak (from crying) and then you can get an extra-nice crisp on it when you finally do get around to introducing it to a heat source. Me, I don't have that kind of time. Or a working refrigerator. What I do have is positively frigid Canadian winters, and a bunch of holes in the floor of my car. The heavily salted roads take care of the rest of it, if you get my drift. Protects the underside and makes a pleasant aroma inside the car when the exhaust leaks on it. I'd keep dumpster meat tied to the underside of my car all winter long, if it weren't for the coyotes and wolverines.

Finally, it's time to cook that steak. Throw that shit right on top of the exhaust manifold, right in that nook over there, and go for a quick rip. Hold your shifts a little bit longer than usual, to really get those headers glowing. Just make sure you don't get into a chase with the police, because they can go for a really long time these days (with all the budget hikes) and you'll end up with an inedible hockey puck at the end when they finally do PIT you into the ditch. We're talking strictly backroads and other places the cops don't go, like the location of active crimes.

If you've followed all these tips, you have an excellent steak on your hands. What about sides, you ask? We'll cover that in the next episode of Cooking With Switch, brought to you by this very same public-access television station the next time I can shoulder-surf the door code off one of the interns.

[thatblackstarinleo]

Because you all deserve this and so much more, and because it's Mack's birthday!!!, here's a long snippet from Chapter 12 to hold you over while you wait

Thank you for sticking with me 💙

"Hey, Smitty," Davey says, tapping the toe of his sneaker against the bottom of Will's stall. "Your boy's famous now."

Will doesn't look up. He's still half-wrapped in his compression shirt, trying to get his left sock off without yanking his ankle weird, and the last thing he needs is one of Davey's shit-eating grins to go with whatever this is. But then a phone gets shoved under his nose, and Will glances down.

It's open to an article from The Athletic. Will knew the piece was coming—Macklin had told him about it, about how the Omega writer had made him feel comfortable throughout the interview, how he hadn't asked anything stupid, how he'd actually listened. What Macklin hadn't mentioned was the pictures.

The header shot's not one Will's seen before. Macklin's standing at center ice in Agganis, legs long in back joggers, the sleeves of his red BU hoodie shoved to his elbows as he holds a stick in his hands. His hair looks a bit damp, curled a little at the ends, and his head is turned just slightly toward the light. It's soft. Unposed. He looks like he doesn't even know the photo's being taken.

Will stares. His eyes catch on the angle of Macklin's neck—long and pale, flushed just faintly. If you zoom in, you can see a small bruise just above his scent gland, where Will had mouthed over his skin a little too long the night before. He hadn't even tried to mark him, he just… couldn't help himself. The look on Macklin's face is hard to name—he's not smiling, not really, but he still looks soft and tender in that look that always makes Will feel a little bit breathless.

The text underneath the photo reads, Macklin Celebrini, 17, has tallied 49 points in 29 games for Boston University this season and is widely projected to be the No. 1 overall pick in the 2024 NHL Draft.

Will scrolls without thinking.

It’s just after 9 a.m. when I meet Macklin Celebrini on a bright, frigid morning in Allston. He’s already been on the ice for over an hour, running small drills with a few of his teammates and working with BU’s skating coach. From the stands, it looks like he’s barely trying. Up close, he’s all focus.

When he steps off the ice, he's flushed and smiling. He takes off his helmet and tosses his gloves onto the bench, says hello like we've met before. We haven't.

The 17-year-old is, without much debate, the most electrifying player in college hockey this season. With 49 points in 29 games, Celebrini has broken records and expectations in equal measure. NHL scouts praise his puck sense, his edge control, his ability to change the tempo of a game. He's already drawing comparisons to McDavid and Crosby—comparisons he pretends not to hear.

I ask him how it feels, all of it—the weight, the eyes, the fact that just about everyone assumes he'll go first overall in Vegas this June.

He shrugs. "It's a lot. But it's good. I'm lucky. I mean… I still have to write a paper tonight. And I forgot to buy groceries. So I don't have time to sit around thinking about being 'The Next Anything.'" He grins. "I'm just hungry."

He's joking, but there's something behind it too. A kind of exhaustion that doesn't quite touch his voice but lingers at the corners of his eyes.

Then we talk about last fall.

Celebrini presented as an Omega in late September—just after the first game of the season. The news was confirmed in early November, under complicated, high-profile circumstances still being addressed in court. When I bring it up, he doesn't flinch, but his posture shifts slightly.

"I didn't want it to be a headline," he says, adjusting the tape around his water bottle. "But it was. And that's not really something I could control."

He doesn't elaborate on the incident or the media storm that followed, and I don't press. Instead, I ask if he feels like the league has changed at all—become more open, more ready—for someone like him.

Celebrini thinks for a second. Then, he says: "Yeah. I think so. But people are still figuring out what to do with players who don't fit the old mold."

He lifts his left wrist as if by instinct. A slim gold band catches the light. It's a simple promise bracelet, the kind you can see many Omegas wearing around their wrists on the street. But fans were quick to notice it during the World Juniors in Gothenburg, where Celebrini wore it in every game.

He rubs his thumb over it once, almost absently. I ask, carefully, if he wants to talk about his Alpha.

He exhales, almost a laugh. "He'd love it if I did."

But then, more softly: "We're just private. But he's… He's good to me. He keeps me grounded."

There's a pause. Then, when I ask if his Alpha plays hockey too, Macklin smiles—narrow and wicked. "I didn't say that," he replies, voice lilting just enough to make it clear: he won't say more.

Later, we walk across campus to grab coffee. Students recognize him, but no one stops us. We talk about the draft, the potential lottery teams—San Jose, Columbus, Chicago. I ask if he's had conversations with any of them.

"Not officially," he says, sipping his latte. "But yeah, I've talked to some guys. A few of the Michigan boys. Will Smith a bit, from BC."

He doesn't say more, but it's pretty obvious that at 17, Macklin Celebrini is already carrying more than most grown men. He doesn't talk much about the future, but when he does, I can't help but notice that there's a glint in his voice like he already knows where he's going.

For now, he has practice. Film. Homework. A season to finish. And a game to play the way only he can.

He doesn't say anything as he reads. Doesn't let his face shift, even when half the locker room's stopped pretending not to watch him. There's a brief lull in the noise—just long enough for the buzz of the Zamboni to cut through—before Cutter loudly clears his throat like he's trying not to laugh.

Will scrolls to the end, then hands the phone back without a word.

The piece is good. Too god, maybe. Personal in a way that twists under his ribs a little. He can hear Macklin's voice in every answer, in the way he always dodges praise with a joke, how he always shrugs it off. He's still not sure how Macklin got away with it without Brisson biting his head off, but maybe he didn't have the nerve.

Maybe he had, and Macklin just didn't care.

"So," Davey says, way too casual to be innocent, already grinning as he tucks his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. "You have talked to Celebrini."

Will snorts, finally dragging his compression shirt the rest of the way over his head. "Might've spoken to him once or twice."

"And let him bite you up and down twice a day," Cutter adds, lounging against the stall wall.

"Romantic as fuck," Eamon says, appearing out of nowhere to ruffle Will's sweaty hair. "God, remember when he used to pretend he was a private guy?"

"I am a private guy," Will mutters, batting Eamon's hand away.

"You're literally not," Leno calls from two stalls down, towel slung low on his hips, one eyebrow up. "I've walked into the kitchen and seen you two fucking on the counter in broad daylight."

"Dude," Gabe says, not even looking up from his gear bag, "we share a fucking wall. I've heard the absolute filth that leaves your mouth at, like, 1:00 a.m. Don't talk to me about being private."

Will flips him off without looking and sits back, grabbing his toiletry bag from the cubby. He doesn't even try to argue anymore. There's just no point. They all know. They update the hickey count the second he walks into practice, chirp him the moment they catch a whiff of Macklin's scent on his hoodie, bitch when he walks in smiling like a dumbass.

"You keep him grounded, huh?" Davey says, doing these fucking annoying finger quotes across the room.

"Yeah," Cutter chimes in, grinning, ·grounded to the floor from how often they're fucking."

Will tries not to smile. He fails. He always fails.

"Eat shit," he says, tone flat.

"He's smiling," Cutter sings. "Smitty’s in loooooove."

Will lobs his water bottle at him without warning. It bounces off Cutter's shin and knocks Eamon's half-eaten protein bar to the floor.

"Fine him!" Fowler yells from the massage table.

"Ten bucks for being a sappy little shit," Gabe says, finally looking up. "Another fifty for emotional damage and littering."

Will sighs, pulls out his wallet, and peels off a crumpled twenty. Then another. Then another. "Sixty," he mutters. "That cover public indecency, or do I need to Venmo more for trauma counseling?"

Cutter whistles low. "Damn, Smitty! Mr. Big Spender over here."

"Yeah, well," Will says, stuffing his wallet back in his bag, "worth every damn cent."

Leno throws an empty tape roll straight at his head.

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 10 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Header by @ladyveronikawrites

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

The gloves are off.

With a frustrated roar, I tear off all my protective gear flinging it across the ice, the clatter of plastic and leather echoing through the stadium as my helmet slams down, sending shards of ice flying in all directions. Chest heaving, I square up against the taller defenseman, my nose nearly grazing the other man's chin as my eyes glare upwards. 

The defenseman's face is flushed, his stringy hair matted with sweat that was rapidly freezing in the frigid air. Shoving with the full force of my palms, I refused to be intimidated by the size difference, adrenaline coursing through my veins I shoved again. His papa make contact with my chest sending me backwards and I'm forced to brace myself to keep from toppling over,  refusing to back down.

Rage coursed through my veins as I skated furiously towards the other player, my voice erupting in a guttural yell. "You wanna fucking put hands on me, bitch?!" 

I had seen him deliberately slap the puck directly at my face as I was guarding the goal, and the sheer maliciousness of the action had ignited a fire within me. That blatant cheap shot was clearly no accident - he was looking for a fight, and I was more than willing to oblige. In that moment, all I could think about was retaliating, of taking my stick and using it to break his face open. The opportunity presented itself when he checked me hard into the boards, causing me to lose my grip on my stick. 

Now my hands grasp at fistfuls of his jersey as I yank him down to face level. My balled fist then comes into forceful contact with his cheek as he turns his head. 

I continue to throw punches until he reaches up, his hand making contact on my skull just behind my ear.  The impact sends  ringing in my ears and makes me slightly dizzy. But I refused to let up, my grip on his jersey tightening as we both tumbled down to the ice in a tangled mess of limbs, each of us desperately trying to land more blows on the other.

Bodies are swarming all around me and a pair of arms roughly pulling me back from my intended target. The impact of the strike on my left cheek burns with a sharp, stinging sensation, and I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Just moments ago, the only sound I could hear was the thunderous rush of blood pounding in my ears, but now the air is filled with the frantic screaming of the crowd and the shouts of the referees, who are desperately trying to restore order by calling out penalty times and names, urging everyone to settle down.

My opponent is in no better shape, sporting a nasty gash across the bridge of his nose, his teeth stained crimson with his own blood. One of his eyes is already beginning to swell shut from the impact of the blows. I can feel the throbbing ache in my own head and neck, the burning in my cheek now mingling with a strange, numb sensation as the adrenaline begins to wear off.

The refs roughly shove me onto the hard bench, treating me like a wayward child being sent to the corner. Indignation flares within, a desperate urge to lash out by untying my skates and hurling them at the cold, unyielding plexiglass walls. But in the end, all I can muster is a resigned lean forward, elbows propped on my knees as I stew in the searing frustration of my captivity.

Leo McGuire and his clean cut boy look steps into the box, a medical bag slung over his shoulder.  Last week, he had been a constant chatterbox, his nervous prattle grating on my nerves, but now that he has grown accustomed to this routine, his demeanor has shifted. No longer does he sound like an idiot fumbling through his words - instead, his tone is calm and measured as he approaches me, attempting to get a closer look. 

"Alright, Sebastian, let me have a look." But I refuse to submit, wriggling out of his grasp, unwilling to relinquish even the smallest shred of control. The walls feel like they are closing in, the air thick with tension as I steel myself against the indignity of my situation, desperate to maintain what little autonomy I have left.

I can feel the intense longing and determination coursing through me as I utter those three simple words to him - "I want her." 

I know she has engineered this entire situation, this calculated plan to have him take over my care during the games rather than her directly handing me off to various partners. The reasoning is obvious - to avoid raising suspicion about the true nature of our arrangement. But at this moment, I couldn't care less about the intricate web she has woven. All that matters is getting what I want, reclaiming my fox and taking her for myself, right here and now.

He shrugs, unwilling to argue or stand in my way. I watch as he waves her over. She rolls her eyes, a familiar gesture that only heightens my craving, as her ponytail swings rhythmically back and forth with each step she takes towards us. As she steps into the small box she and McGuirre exchanging hushed whispers as he gathers his belongings and departs, leaving the medical supplies behind. Without hesitation, she kneels down and begins rummaging through the box, retrieving gauze, tape, saline, and antibacterial gel. My gaze is transfixed, drinking in every detail of her movements, her expression. Do I really look that bad? No matter - her attention is all that matters.

She begins to gently clean the cut on my left cheek, standing off to the side, carefully positioned so as not to obstruct my view of the ongoing hockey game. It's a considerate gesture, but it's a little late for that - my focus has already been shattered by the intensity of her presence. I glance up at her, and I can't help but notice the lines forming between her furrowed brows as she knits them together in concentration. Her cheek is slightly sucked in as she chews on it, a telltale sign of her focus, as she dabs carefully at the wound on my face. 

Suddenly, she lets out a soft sigh, and I sense a shift in her demeanor. "We can't do this," she murmurs in a low voice, her lips barely moving. "I can't treat you and be sleeping with you. It's unethical." 

I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration at her words. "So you send the newbie to tend to me then. I knew it," I retort, my words harsher than I intended them to be, my blood still boiling from the intensity of the game. 

She responds matter-of-factly, "It's not like I needed to discuss it with you." I can't help but feel a sense of indignation creep in.

 "Didn't have the decency to tell me to my face," I fire back. 

"I didn't think it mattered," she says, her tone even. 

I pause for a moment, letting her words sink in. 

"You're right. It doesn't. This," I say, gesturing to the game unfolding on the ice, "this matters. The cup matters. And I'll be damned if some woman is gonna get in my way and mess me up." As I stand up on my skates, towering over her, I can see the glassy, trembling look in her eyes - and my own chest feels like its been cracked in half. I let out a heavy sigh and slump back down onto the bench, muttering an apology that I'm not even sure she hears over the din of the crowd.

However, the others - Jack and Leo- had clearly picked up on the tension. Immediately heading over and stepping into the box with us.

With a protective edge to his voice, Jack gently asked, "You good, Sarah?" 

Sarah's response was clipped, her tone betraying the strain of the situation. "Fine," she said tersely, before continuing, "Listen, could you take over for me? I think Sebastian just needs to cool down, and obviously I am not making that any easier right now." The way she emphasized my last name, almost spitting it out, struck a chord within me, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she gathered her belongings and pushed past Jack and Leo, putting as much distance between herself and me as possible. 

As I slap my hands against my face, ignoring the sting of pain, I feel the tangled mess of my hair slip through my fingers. It wasn't her fault, none of this was - I was the one who had been so foolish, so reckless in my actions. Yelling at her, when all I really wanted to do was run after her and beg for her forgiveness. I had been so stupid to think this could ever be just a casual thing, a fleeting moment between us. Not after today, not after what had happened. 

I could have played it safe, stayed cool and detached, never letting myself think about her during the game. It wasn't the puck to the face that had gotten to me - I could handle that kind of physical pain any day. No, it was what had happened before the game, when the players were circling the ice during warm-ups. I'd been on the bench, retightening my skates, when I saw him skate by, whistling and leering in her direction as she inventoried her equipment. 

At that moment, I saw red. She was mine, and no one was going to disrespect her like that, not on my watch. The puck to the face had been my opportunity, my open door to beat the living daylights out of him. All because I had been foolish enough to let my heart get involved, to catch feelings for someone I could never truly have. Now I was left to face the consequences of my actions, my emotions having gotten the better of me in the heat of the moment. I had to find a way to make this right, to apologize and beg for her forgiveness, even if I knew in my heart that I could never truly be with her.

After the game, I couldn't even speak let alone look at my teammates. The throbbing in my head and ache in all of my muscles is a familiar feeling, a badge of honor for the sacrifices I made on the ice. As I stand under the warm spray of the shower, I watch the dried blood from the cut on my cheek and one above my eye mix with the water and swirl down the drain, disappearing into the checkered tile below.

Dressed and barely getting my gear bag over my shoulder, a voice calls out my name - a voice I was dreading to hear.

 "Sebastian. My office."

 It's Veronica Campbell, the team's tough-as-nails PR director. With her no-nonsense attitude and impeccable business attire, Veronica commands respect from the six-foot-tall athletes she works with, even though she stands nearly a foot shorter than us. Her petite frame is always adorned in sleek black or gray pantsuits, her feet shoved into practical flats rather than the towering heels one might expect. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, I trudged through the familiar locker room, feeling the weight of my teammates' eyes following me as I made my way towards Veronica's office. 

As I clicked the door shut behind me, I braced myself for the impending confrontation, my mind racing with possibilities. Veronica's commanding voice cut through the silence, instructing me to take a seat across from her. I reluctantly complied, rolling my eyes in a futile attempt to mask my growing anxiety. 

"If this is about the fight, it's hockey - people fight. So what is it? I'm suspended, pending investigation. He's filing charges? What?" I demanded, the words tumbling out in a frantic jumble. Rummaging through the papers on her desk, Veronica produced two small packets, each with a neon green tab marked "sign here" at the back.

 "The first is a non-disclosure agreement. I need you and Ms Brody to sign. The second is a treatment plan where Ms Brody will no longer be your nurse on call for any future games, and you will be tended to by Leo McGuire instead." My stomach dropped as her words sank in. 

“I-but wait- what?” I stammer out and I see her shoulders slump. Her hazel eyes are heavy, probably from stress and exhaustion. 

“ Look, I don't want the details of you and Ms Brody's relationship. I really don't need it. I just need you to sign the non-disclosure agreement and the treatment agreement. If you guys are going to continue with whatever it is, you're doing.” 

Veronica sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowed as I contemplated the stack of papers before me. 

"Did she bring this up to you?" I pressed.

Veronica paused, considering her words carefully. With a cool, measured tone, she replied, "How the information was presented to me is my business and my business alone." There was an underlying firmness to her voice that brooked no further questions.

In that moment, my mind seemed to completely shut off, operating on pure autopilot as my hand instinctively reached for the pen, signing my name on the dotted line before I even had a chance to process what I was doing. The typed words on the page blurred together, their contents a mystery as I hurriedly scrawled my signature. 

“Can I take these with me?” I ask.

“If she consents I need them by Thursday. You have a game and I need everything filed before then.” I barely registered her response, my body moving mechanically to gather up the papers, trying desperately not to crease or damage them in my haste. The legs of the chair nearly tripped me up as I clumsily made my way out of the office.

“But Sebastian,” her voice stops me in my tracks as I turn slowly to look at her. “It's my job to file the paperwork. It's your job to tell the coach.”

Fanclub: @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @beaker1636 @missduffsblog @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @rumoured-whispers @sorrowsofsilence @mysticdoodlez @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @somebodyels3 @flowery-mess @thisbicc

[fruitcoops]

Dream Team

Day Twelve: Natalie Darcy wants snuggles, not struggles, and deserves them too. Characters belong to @lumosinlove! Header is from @noots-fic-fests, where you can find all other tagged fest fics from the last week and a half (wow!)

“Forty-five sixty-seven left,” Alex said, staring directly into Natalie’s eyes.

“What?” Panic. Instant panic.

“Wombat brat pack! Set, hike!”

Black flashed in Natalie’s periphery—collision—fluorescent light above her.

“Jesus Christ,” she wheezed as she was dragged to her feet by a hand twisted in her shirt.

Jersey.

Her jersey.

“Wombat brat pack!” Alex insisted. He was bent and braced for a face-off. Natalie fumbled out something like a protest, something like a whine. She didn’t recognize the faces around them. Was Kasey in net? Why had he let her do this?

A whistle deafened her and she flinched, grabbing her right ear with a gloved hand. “Darcy, out!” the referee barked before crouching again.

Thank god. She backed up on wobbly skates, gliding as much as her ankles would allow. The other players were giants around her. “Oh, shit,” she murmured. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck me.”

The whistle blasted again. They converged on the puck in a seething mass of muscle and Velcro. Natalie backed up as fast as her inexperienced legs would carry her, away from the wrestling and grunting and clatter of carbon-fiber she preferred to experience from a safe distance.

It was a mistake. A fatal misstep in this messy, awful game.

“Darcy!” someone shouted from the melee. One of them had broken free. Alex? He was aiming right for her. Alex would never—but he was, he was bolting toward the goal, the goal Natalie had mistakenly planted herself in front of.

“Fuck!” she shouted, more on instinct than anything else. Alex cut one way; she dove the other, goal be damned, but the puck followed her.

Natalie had never seen Kasey unpadded, such as it was. He looked significantly more terrifying bearing down on her without any Michelin-man sweetness.

“Why are you tall—AUGH.”

They went down in a pile of limbs. Kasey scrambled to his feet. Natalie let herself lie there for a moment, gathering shards of her breath where they had exploded out of her like LEGO pieces.

“Nat!” Alex’s voice made her jump, made her heavy, itchy pads rattle. He tapped the top of her helmet with his stick, like a fucking asshole. “Enforcer!” he said insistently. “Enforce!”

“I don’t know what that means!” Her face was hot. Everything was hot and damp and this was all terrible, why on earth would they choose this day-to-day?

Kasey was coming down the stretch again, snapping the puck back and forth with a teammate. Alex took off toward him with those gorgeous crossovers that showed off the power of his legs but Natalie had no time to appreciate it because she wasn’t in her spot, with her drink, rating asses with Lily until they laughed themselves hoarse.

The fucking nerve of this dude to come at her after everything she had been through.

Natalie turned herself sideways and drove her shoulder into his chest with a hard push off.

It hurt like a mother.

The momentum carried them both sideways, though, enough for Alex to knock the puck around the goal and leave her to her own devices, namely catching her breath and praying for deliverance. Her hair itched under her helmet. It all felt too big to get anywhere.

“Darcy!” Another jersey-bound maniac yelling her name. Delightful. Exactly what Natalie wanted in this extremely low-stress environment.

“What?" she shouted.

"Darcy!"

"What?!"

"Darcy!"

"Oh my fucking--"

“Stop him!”

“Sure!” she laughed, rough and without humor. “Awesome! Will do! What’s the worst that could happen?”

She didn’t even see the guy’s number before impact.

--

Natalie woke up in her bed with a pounding heart and a throbbing head. She twisted the (high thread-count, silky-soft) sheets in her hands and sat up, rubbing sand from her eyes until leftover glitter and makeup streaked the back of her hand. An achy feeling seeped through her arms and feet gradually, a gentle consequence of wearing heels and dancing all evening.

Her head…oh, her head. Her mouth was cotton. Her eyes felt puffy. Perhaps those midnight margaritas hadn’t been the best idea. She stretched her torso from side-to-side, then each arm, and finally her poor beleaguered neck. Alex snuffled in his sleep like a lost puppy, covered up to his neck by blankets.

Kasey was right where he was supposed to be, all cute and fuzzy in the half-moon she liked to cuddle into when it wasn’t too hot out. His hair fell over the side of his face in golden wisps.

Natalie brushed one strand off his cheekbone and tucked it behind his ear. “Kasey, baby,” she whispered. Early-red sun bled under the curtains. “Honey. Kase, wake up.”

Those rat-bastard baby Lions were going to pay up for their party crimes. Natalie enjoyed several fantasies of hanging every item of their clothing on their brand-new picket fence for the wind to ruffle while she waited for Kasey to stir.

At last, he did. He looked like a rumpled, well-loved teddy bear down there, all sleepy blinks and brown eyes and squishable face.

And she squished it. She squished it hard. Her pillow came down with enough force to knock a squawk from his traitor lungs.

“Jesus, Nat, what—”

“You don’t run at me,” she informed him, poking the center of his chest. “You don’t skate towards me fast, you don’t hit pucks at me, it’s scary and I don’t like it.”

One of Kasey’s eyes was only partially open. He still managed to squint at her. “Whuzzat? ‘S your nightmare again?”

“I don’t like it when you do that!” she repeated, whacking him a second, gentler time. “You’re tall. It freaks me out.”

“ ‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “Won’t do it again. C’mere. Early.”

But there was another traitor in her bed. Alex grumbled something and turned onto his belly, his face pointing away from them. Natalie grabbed the sheets at the curve of his lower back and yanked them down as far as she could.

His bare back immediately arched at the chill, knees jerking toward his chest. “Woah—”

“Up, up, up,” Natalie ordered, urging his big lug of a body to roll so she could get a good look at his nonsense-speaking face. After a minute of futile pushing, he let her turn him over.

“G’mornin’,” he greeted. “Did I steal the covers?”

“You made me an enforcer!”

Behind her, Kasey had the nerve to laugh. The pillow found his gut with a satisfying thump.

“And then you yelled plays at me!” she continued, swinging a leg across Alex’s hips.

He looked up at her in unadulterated drowsy confusion, but his hands found her waist for a few soothing strokes. “I…have no idea what you’re talking about,” he confessed. “But I’m so sorry.”

“That—” She caught herself and pursed her lips. “Is a very good answer, and you’re not forgiven, because Kasey ran me the fuck over and you didn’t even do anything. But I will stay here, just for that.”

Alex nodded agreeably. “Okay. Hang on, Kase ran you over?”

“In the game.”

“The game,” he repeated.

“The hockey game. Where you made me an enforcer.”

Steady awareness was returning to Alex’s eyes. His brows creased in the middle. “When…?”

Natalie flicked her hand dismissively. “Recurring nightmare. But you’ve never been there, and you were on my team, and you were too busy chasing Kasey around to help me up after you got mad at me for not being a good enforcer.”

“You’d be a great enforcer. Wait—”

“Alexander!”

“I’m sorry.” And he was laughing too, the jackass, holding her tight around the hips and rolling onto his side so they were facing each other on the mattress. He kissed her nose through his snickering. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry.”

Natalie covered his mouth with her palm and gave it a half-hearted shove. “Yeah, you better be.”

“Oh, god.” He was still smiling when she took her hand back and tucked it between them, pulling Kasey’s over her side to hold. Alex composed himself, broke, and scraped together just enough self-control to look at her with only a bit of a swallowed-down grin. “I’m sorry you had a bad time in your nightmare about being an enforcer in a professional hockey game.”

“You yelled plays at me.”

“I’m sorry for yelling plays at you when you clearly hadn’t been at practice.”

“Alex!”

[whiskeyapologist]

was looking through my camera roll & realized i never posted about this?? but i did a check please theme in my bullet journal back in april & i am still beyond obsessed with how it turned out!

task list & cover page

april was all about finishing my fucking thesis (i earned my mfa in stage automation in may) & i used the task list to break down each section of my thesis & make it less intimidating. i still pulled a bitty & had to marathon write most of my thesis within a like 36 hour period. i slept so good once that draft was finished!

when i started planning this theme, i flipped through the comic & decided pretty quickly i wanted the cover to be this view of faber from 4.25 "faber". i filled the outside with some of my favorite details from throughout the comic, including (clockwise from top left) the "text from chowder: i'm shouting!" from 4.2 "nonstop celly", jack's "oh" moment from 2.17 "graduation", the jack lego (?) figure from 3.1 "wag", dex & nursey's background roach & house bubbles & (i think it's) ransom's "et tu lardo?" bubble from 2.12 "post i: roadie", one of my fave senor bun appearances that didn't make it into a weekly from 1.16 "linemates", & bitty's phone (i don't think there's a specific appearance of bitty's phone that looks like this, at least not that i'm finding in the flip-throughs i've done to write this post. i think i did a lil freehand moment with it, but if anyone happens to find it in the comic, let me know!), as well as my usual little calendar & monthly focuses section

monthly calendar & habit tracker

the monthly calendar & playlist is inspired by the smh team roster hanging on the bulletin board in the haus at the beginning of year 2

the habit tracker features a few other details from 2.1 “moved in”, namely the “haus sweet haus” rug & the sock pinned to the bulletin board. the shopping list bubble is a callback to the “jizz!” speech bubble also pinned to the bulletin board next to the sock

meal & time trackers

the breakfast, lunch, & dinner headers are a callback to the hockey puck taped to the bulletin board

not much to add here, but it’s a great time to mention the “it’s tough but you’re tougher” speech bubble from 4.20 “spotlight on eric bittle” which was the quote i used to decorate my grad cap ❤️

weekly #1 is modeled after y1 & features my favorite y1 senor bun appearance (1.18 “playoffs - i”) & line (1.8 “checking clinic”)

weekly #2 is modeled after y2 & features my favorite y2 senor bun (2.10 "shinny") & line (2.4 "hazeapalooza")

weekly #3 is modeled after y3 & features my favorite y3 senor bun (3.3 "meet the falconers") & line (3.26 "cup v - post")

weekly #4 is modeled after y4 (the layout of the top panel specifically is modeled after the first panel of 4.16 "christmas in madison - iii" which shows a bunch of the christmas pics/posts from the rest of smh & tater) & features my favorite y4 senor bun (4.17 "senior thesis") & line (also 4.17 "senior thesis"). i has some extra space, so i included some excerpts from bitty's y4 tweets

camp nanowrimo tracker, before the pen. the left is just a table for tracking time spent on & words written for my thesis & the novel i've been working on forever. my camp nanowrimo goal was to write 1 hour every weekend day & 2 hours every week day, for a grand total of 50 hours, which i am proud to say i achieved! the right is a visual tracker, where each pie was equal to an hour of writing. i included 50 pies for my 50 hour goal. the bubble near the top is from 1.4 "the haus" with 2 footnotes i added; one on "kitchens" that says "word docs", & one on "pies" that says "words". clearly i think i'm very clever lol

visual tracker, filled in. i surpassed my 50 hour goal with about a week left in the month, & i wanted to include that additional progress on my tracker. once the month was done & i knew how much i needed to add, i made a tip-in (although this might just be a fold-out lol) to tape in. on one side, i included the dialogue bubbles from a panel of 3.19 "keagster"

on the other side of the tip-in/flip-out, i included jam jars for the additional 10.25 hours of writing i did, plus "it's gonna be two trips" also from 3.19 "keagster"

& that's all the spreads! spreads were done in an archer & olive b5 notebook. supplies include: mildliners in the colors vermillion, dark blue, beige, & gray; a black papermate flair, a white gellyroll pen in size 08, and stabilo pens in gray and brown. oh, & a piece of masking tape, bc i couldn't find any clear tape lol

[furymint]

FFXIV Write 2024 | header | wc: 465

Brave set a steaming pot down in the gathering's center. Sweat trickled down the black iron from the heat, and it ran to stain droplets into the raw wood table. She stretched her arms to shake off the strain, then something popped in her back. Arcian was the first to commiserate an apology.

The other Bells around the table gave their thanks instead. Few of them had the energy to do more than wait in the Alliance commons while Brave ducked into the mess galley to find something to settle them with.

Not one of them was a soldier—as they so often were reminded—but that did not entitle them to any civilian comfort. If they wanted to eat, they'd need to feed themselves.

Usually there was food ready for them in Castrum Oriens, but a disrupted supply meant even the Adders went without full meals this sennight. "Disrupted" was no kind substitute for the truth: a massacre followed by an inferno, so the pack chocobos' feathers raised a stench that harassed the Eorzean front for malms.

Brave explained with a laugh that the meal before them was scraped together with the only three ingredients she could find: flour, chicken, and water.

"Water," Elliot declared, "is not an ingredient."

Haru smacked him on the arm. "Just shut your mouth."

"I mean... Maybe?" Norhi tilted her head.

Brave pinned him with a dead look. "I boiled the bones into a stock, so yes. Water. With chicken dumplings."

"And no seasonings?" asked Elliot.

"Can we please just forget him?" blurted Arcian.

Wyda grinned. "Does the fire to boil it count too?" 

At this point, Brave dunked a ladle into the pot and served herself a bowl. "Look. I'm too hungry to care about the philosophy behind my soup. Have it or don't."

"Don't—I mean, wait!" Elliot stumbled to his feet, whipped his legs free of the bench, and flew out of the mess hall.

Yumi started a silent count with her fingers until he returned. Forty-four seconds. "I never thought he could run that fast."

Elliot leaned one arm into the table, panting, and smacked a wax paper puck to the table with his free hand. "A tea cake," he proclaimed.

Wyda pointed her spoon at him. "Drinking tea and eating supper at the same time—that's way too efficient for you, Carambole."

"But it's flavor!" he protested.

For the first time, the room considered what he said. The doubtful sat beside those who had nothing left to lose.

Brave shook the wax paper from the tea cake and lofted it for inspection. "...Does anyone hate the idea?" she asked.

No one protested.

"All right, Elliot—you win. Three ingredients." Brave tipped her bowl back in the pot and crushed the teacake over the sorry stew.

[samuelerssonupdates]

*on opening night

Forwards

1st line: Michkov #39 - Couturier #14 - Foerster #71

Maksim Konstantinov / Len Redkoles / Jason Mowry (header image: Eliot J. Schechter)

Michkov on the first line is the only non-controversial choice here. It was hard to pick between Couturier and Frost, particularly since I believe that Michkov and Frost are going to work really well together this upcoming season. However, I think it's more than likely they want to pair Michkov with a more experienced player, particularly one like Sean Couturier, who is strong on faceoffs - can get Michkov the puck off the faceoff! - and a good defensive forward. Speaking of defensive forwards, I put one of the top defensive wingers in the NHL this season, Tyson Foerster, on the other wing. Foerster is a RW but since the Flyers seem to have completely done away with GAFing about what position wing their forwards play, I put him here and, in this post, will not GAF about L/RW either.

I think Foerster and Konecny would be the only two wingers the Flyers would consider opposite Michkov right now. Konecny for his own strong offensive upside was definitely a plus, but I went with Foerster because I think making sure that their two best defensive forwards are balancing out Michkov's high offense will be a high priority for Tortorella. Foerster also plays a pretty physical game where I don't believe Michkov does...? Someone correct me if I'm wrong there. I think that this top line is a well-balanced line between a vet, a strong winger, and a superstar.

Matvei Michkov, 19-22--41, 47 GP for HK Sochi

Sean Couturier, 11-27--38, 74 GP

Tyson Foerster, 20-13--33, 77 GP

2nd line: Konecny #11 - Frost #48 - Tippett #74

Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles / Dustin Satloff

Purely offensive line. Total fun. Morgan Frost's defensive play is very good, but he's a playmaker at heart and I would love to see this line get some time this season. I do eventually envision Frost and Michkov on a line regularly, as I think (as do many others) Frost's creativity will work well with Michkov's, but as far as opening night goes, I can't see them putting Frost and Michkov together too early.

Otherwise, these three would be fun to watch. In the 23-24 season Konecny assisted on 10 of Tippett's 28 goals, and 8 of Frost's 13 goals were assisted on by one of these two. All three were particularly productive during the Flyers' more dominant period in December 2023 and January 2024.

Travis Konecny, 33-35--68, 76 GP

Morgan Frost, 13-28--41, 71 GP

Owen Tippett, 28-25--53, 78 GP

3rd line: Brink #10 - Laughton #21 - Farabee #86

Randy Litzinger / Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles

Something of a double-veteran presence on this line for Brink, who, while he has NHL experience, spent a multitude of games last year playing for the Phantoms and watching from the press box at the behest of Tortorella. Farabee had a career year in 2023-24 but it didn't seem like it after he went long stretches of time without a goal, and Scott Laughton, the unofficial Flyers locker room DJ, had a much maligned 23-24 season. Not that this is SamuelErssonUpdates's Line for Lost Flyers, but it's a line of guys who you'd love to see do even better. Hoping that each of them move up the lineup at some point in the season, but on opening night this would be a safe bet.

Bobby Brink, 11-12--23, 57 GP

Scott Laughton, 13-26--39, 82 GP

Joel Farabee, 22-28--50, 82 GP

4th line: Cates #27 - Poehling #25 - Hathaway #19

Rich Graessle / Dustin Satloff / Jason Mowry

The easiest decision of the bunch, the Ph(C) line was one of the most cohesive and regular of last season. A solid 4th line of three guys that scored a little and hit a lot, (thank you, Garnet Hathaway) all three are signed to short-term contracts in Philly. It would, however, be nice to see Ryan Poehling Do The Thing again, and if he potentially moves up the lineup this year, maybe we'll see a burst in production from him.

Noah Cates, 6-12--18, 59 GP

Ryan Poehling, 11-17--28, 77 GP

Garnet Hathaway, 7-10--17, 82 GP

Defense

In general, all of these defensive pairings have been pretty well established; they were generally paired together last year, and the Flyers org shows no signs of switching them up unless something surprising happens.

1st pairing: Sanheim #6 - York #8

Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles

These two were the top defensive pairing last year, and they'll be our top defensive pairing this year. York played 82 games and had an average ice time of 22:37 per game; in one stunner of a game against the Canes, he played a whopping 29:01. Sanheim, meanwhile, logged 30% more assists than ever before in his career. These two will be back at it on your TV screen on October 11, I guarantee it.

Travis Sanheim: 10-34--44, 81 GP

Cam York: 10-20--30, 82 GP

2nd pairing: Seeler #24 - Drysdale #9

Jason Mowry / Len Redkoles

Generally considered to be the pairing on which Tortorella will have Drysdale, Seeler's defensive defense will be a solid counterpoint to Drysdale's offensive defense. Literally everyone in the world wants to see Drysdale do well on the Flyers – a healthy, more veteran player like Nick Seeler is probably the best option to round out his play.

Nick Seeler, 1-12--13, 71 GP

Jamie Drysdale, 3-7--10, 34 GP (1-4--5, ANA; 2-3--5, PHI)

3rd pairing: Zamula #5 - Johnson #77

Len Redkoles / Bill Wippert

With the return of Rasmus Ristolainen still unclear, and having seen none of the Flyers' prospects in the preseason, this is my current projected 3rd pairing. Both Zamula and Johnson re-signed short-term deals with the Flyers this offseason, and while Johnson will most likely remain a 7th d-man to be rotated in and out of the lineup, if Zamula makes the team out of camp I expect to see him as a regular fixture on the blue line.

Yegor Zamula, 5-16--21, 66 GP

Erik Johnson, 5-1--6, 67 GP (3-0--3, BUF; 2-1--3, PHI)

Goalies

Starting Goalie: Ersson #33

Len Redkoles

I don't know what anyone wants me to say here. this could not more clearly be my fucking guy. the blog is named after him. I am not taking questions at this ti- Stats? Buckle up, fuckers. I love stats and I'm incapable of being objective.

Sam Ersson is tied for the 4th-most winningest rookie goalie in Flyers history. At 24 years old, he has 5 shutouts in 63 career GP; the goalie he replaced had 6 shutouts in 227 GP. He had 4 this season alone, tying Igor Shesterkin (55 GP) and Pyotr Kochetkov (42 GP). With 23 wins in 51 GP, he won more games than Linus Ullmark (22 W in 40 GP), Alex Lyon (21 W in 44 GP), Tristan Jarry (19 W in 51 GP), and tied Jarry (29 years old with 8 seasons of NHL experience) and Thatcher Demko (28 years old with 7 seasons of NHL experience) for games played on the season. He had a 19-game streak of 3 GA or less where he went 12-4-2 (with one game where he entered in relief) and was one of the best goalies in shootouts in the league. In shootouts, only 4 goalies stopped more shots than him, yet he had a better shootout save percentage than all of them.

He had an .890 save percentage on the season. I don't care. The Flyers played 37 games from January 18th to the end of the season. Ersson played 32 of them, most of them with a backup that wasn't NHL caliber (Cal Petersen - sent down; Felix Sandstrom - sent down and traded in the offseason) or not ready to play in the NHL yet (Ivan Fedotov). Ersson was playing 86% of the Flyers' games at this point; for reference, the top 5 most played goalies in the league played:

Saros, 28 years old, 64 GP; 78% of NSH GP

Georgiev, 27 years old, 63 GP; 77% of COL GP

Hellebuyck, 30 years old, 60 GP; 73% of WPG GP

Skinner, 25 years old, 59 GP; 72% of EDM GP

Bobrovsky, 35 years old, 58 GP; 71% of FLA GP

So to recap, rookie Sam Ersson was starting games at a higher rate than 5 goalies that made the playoffs, including one that won the Stanley Cup, one that went to the Cup finals, and one that won the Vezina trophy. Forgive me if I don't take his .890 save percentage as the word of God and the final statement on his goaltending.

He's the starter next year. Tortorella and Briere have already made it clear; Ersson is their guy. Fortunately, he likes that.

Samuel Ersson, 23-19-7, .890 SV%, 2.82 GAA, 4 SO

Backup: Fedotov #82

Len Redkoles

Ivan Fedotov should be fun to watch this season. He was phenomenal in the KHL for years, and hopefully will be able to bring that this season with more time to get settled in the area, the team, and in his gear. If all goes well would expect to see him start 25-30 games. Like Ersson, his stats on the Flyers tell nothing of the full story, and next season will be a better showing of his capabilities between the pipes.

Flyers, 2023-24: 0-1-1, .811 SV%, 4.95 GAA, 0 SO

CSKA Moscow, 2023-24: 21-22, .914 SV%, 2.37 GAA, 4 SO

[bloodtwin]

# 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍   ;    independent,  selective   𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓   !   𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊   𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄  from  𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒  𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄  𝐈𝐈𝐈.   oc,  crossover  &   multimuse  friendly.  n.sfw.  durge-typical  violence  &  the  like.   written  by  𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌.  he/him,  23.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆   ！！！    this  blog  contains  𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑,  𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄,  𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑  𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄,  a  𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐃  𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘  𝐃𝐎𝐆  that  bites,  the  𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒  𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐀  of  god's  favorite  son,  ridiculously  𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘  𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒,  the  feeling  of  being  𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐁𝐘  𝐀  𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍  𝐓𝐎,  𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐌  as  a  source  of  nutrition  (not  a  metaphor  for  love),  𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒,  &   mentions  of  𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀.

𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆:  @accultant

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆:  @bloodyarn  ,  @silvertiefling

𝐈.  𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓.  𝐈𝐈.  𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.  𝐈𝐈𝐈.  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.  𝐈𝐕.  𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄.

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒  𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐔𝐓

𝟎𝟏.  𝐆𝐄𝐓  𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐘    No,  seriously.  I  treat  Puck’s  story  as  a dark  comedy  first &  a Greek  tragedy  second.  There  are always  shenanigans  happening  with  this  guy.  We  are  just  having  fun &  playing  with  dolls  togethers.  :o)

𝟎𝟐.  𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒    That  being  said,  I  did  say  dark  comedy.  I  do  my  best  to  tag  heavy  topics,  but  please  keep  in  mind  that  there  will  be  cult  indoctrination,  religious  trauma,  abusive  relationships,  blood,  guts,  &  gore  with  a  dash  of  cannibalism  &  necrophilia  on  this  blog.  Additionally,  I  tend  to  use  glitter  gifs  as  dividers  /  headers  in  my  posts,  which  I  always  tag  with  “cw  flashing  gif”.

Please  let  me  know  if  you  need  me  to  tag  anything  not  already  listed.  As  for  me,  all  that  I  ask  is  to  please  tag  any  mentions  of  c.ockroaches  -  especially  images.  Thank  you  ！

𝟎𝟑.  𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖    Puck  is  an  insatiably  horny  character  with  a  very  casual  approach  to  sex.  There  will  be  suggestive  content  on  this  blog,  including  smut.  I  will  not  write  with  or  follow  minors.  Please  have  your  age  somewhere  on  your  blog,  or  I  will  hardblock  you. 

𝟎𝟒.  𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆    Due  to  Puck’s  personality,  I  am  open  to  writing  suggestive  threads  right  off  the  bat,  however  shipping  will  require  chemistry.  I  love  writing  ships,  but  please  be  warned:  Puck  is  fickle  about  romance.  Please  read  this  post  if  you  ever  find  yourself  interested  in  shipping  with  him.

𝟎𝟓.  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆     I  enjoy  stylizing  my  replies,  but  I  know  this  makes  them  difficult  to  read  at  times.  Please  let  me  know  if  you  want  me  to  change  anything,  and  I  will  happily  do  so.  Comfort  >  Style.

𝟎𝟔.  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒    The  easiest  way  to  start  interacting  with  me  is  by  doing  so  in-character.  Throw  a  meme  in  my  inbox,  send  me  a  random  starter,  whatever  your  heart  desires,  but  I  tend  to  be  rather  shy  in  DMs.  Plotting  does  not  come  naturally  to  me,  so  I  often  need  to  see  how  our  characters  mesh  beforehand. That  being  said,  please  do  not  be  discouraged  from  reaching  out  to  me  ！  I  may  be  shy,  but  if  you  have  an  idea  for  a  plot  I’d  love  to  hear  it.  Or,  if  you  just  want  to  chit-chat  -  I  like  making  friends.  :o)

𝟎𝟕.  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄    Please  read  Puck’s  info  before  interacting.  Yes,  I  know  it  is  not  only  lengthy  but  unfinished  as  well  ;  I  am  so  sorry.  At  the  very  least,  please  read  the  biography  &  dossier.  Puck’s  character  is  a  bit  complicated,  and  I  can  tell  when  someone  hasn’t  taken  the  time  to  read  about  him. Furthermore,  Puck  is  very,  very  strong.  He  is  the  son  of  a  god,  and  I  write  him  as  such.  I  will  not  water  him  down,  but  I  will  try  to  keep  him  as  fair  as  possible.  Please  do  not  assume  your  muse  can  land  a  hit  on  him  without  discussing  it  with  me  beforehand. 

𝟎𝟖.  𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍    Puck’s  story  is  heavily  affiliated  with  &  influenced  by  his  twin,  Iago.  Please  check  out  their  blog  as  well.  They  are  an  amazing  character  written  by  my  best  friend  in  the  whole  world,  and  you  can’t  have  Puck  without  them  ！

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Welcome!

This is the main account!

Just ART BLOG

Multi fandom blog (F1, Vox Machina, Klance ❤️💙 IwaOi 🩵🩵, Miraculous ❤️💚 and others)

My transformers blog

My Ao3

My twitter, although I'm more active here

My Instagram with only chosen arts

My Tik Tok with animatics

Hi! My name is Lola.

This blog was set up to be my creative outlet, where I post my art, links to my writing and since I got to know some amazing people around here I interact with them ^^.

I'm a writer and an artist, both are very important to me.

This is mostly a Black Clover blog. I tend to circle around the Silva family (if my background art wasn't enough), but I love all of BC. 💕

I may organise events and then I could take requests. However I save myself the right to decline if I don't feel comfortable with a request.

One main rule: I don't tolerate hate here! No ship wars! No offending anyone! No toxic behavior! Let's be nice to each other and happy in our fandom.

I'm a multi shipper, AUs and OC enjoyer. Simply a dreamer 🫶

My ask box is open ^^ If you wish to know anything just ask

My main BC OC is Helena, who you see on the right of my header (her profile below) and she is shipped with Nozel. Below link to the canon compliant fan fiction about them.

👩‍💻 Writing

❤️ 💙 Paper Hearts BC universe - series of works on Ao3 happening in the PH BC universe (collabs included)

Paper hearts -> Nozel x OC Helena fanfiction on Ao3, Wattpad

Paper Hearts explanation

Birdies (Silva next gens) one shots Ao3 1 2 3 4 5 6

Nozel is a closeted perv NSFW Ao3 1

⛸️ 🏒 Let's Puck Our Limits -> Asta x Noelle Black Bulls fanfic Cover Ao3 Wattpad

🏥 Against our own -> Nozel & Noelle & Nebra & Solid hospital heavy angst

KaLola BC Ships - Masterlist, Ao3

Excerpt ask game masterlist

⭐️ My Black Clover OCs

Character profiles:

Drazels: Helena, Luciana, awaiting an art and a profile: Gabriel, Maxim, Cecilia, Camilla, Patricia, Mateo and Antonio -> they will get a joint profile

The birdies (next gens): Natalia, Heinry and Noureen

Music witch (next gen): Hermione

Capital healers: Eric, Dina

Reference sheets:

Helena, Gabriel, Heinry, Noureen, Natalia

🎨 Some more memorable art:

Illustrations for some (let's say probably all after 14😂) chapters of #Paper Hearts (my fanfic) -> masterlist

cover 1 2 5 6 7 7.1 7.2 10 12 14 15 16 17 18 18.2 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 29.2 30 30.2 31 31.2 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

#KaLola BC Ships art series masterlist

OC portraits season 1

❤️Cute Nozelena💙 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 tango!

💕

[cowboybarzy]

1000 Follower Celebration!

so I hit 1000 followers a couple of weeks ago (CRAZY & THANK YOUU) and I know I have been mia for a hot minute when it comes to publishing fics. I’ve hit horrible writer’s block and I’m so sorry for leaving you all hanging. However, with this celebration, like I’ve seen many other people on here do (shoutout to them), I was hoping it could be cured and I could go back to regularly writing again 🤍

so this if for all of you guys to get to know me more but also celebrate you and for me to say thanks <3

rules: send me the emoji corresponding to the prompt you want me to answer.

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🐢 get to know me – send me a number (or more) from this list or come up with your own question to get to know me more. I’ll give you one: turtles are my favorite animals

🎙 music – send me this emoji and I’ll shuffle my liked songs playlist 5 times to get to know my music taste

🧿 moodboard – I’ll make you a moodboard/lockscreen/tumblr header about whatever you want . include your aesthetic or prompt the moodboard should follow. (also the dimensions if you want a lockscreen or tumblr header)

🏒 blurbs – here is a prompt list you can use but you can also send in your own idea. any player you want. (be patient with me on those though, but I’m really trying!!)

🎀 random – send me any random questions or thoughts you have :)

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some people I love and who inspire me to keep this blog up :) ily guys (sorry if I forgot someone) @smileysvech @daydreamingcara @fallinallincurls @holy-pucks @hockeysweaterweather @quietblues @pyotrkochetkov @youunravelme @wyattjohnston @softlotusss @generallybarzy @mendeshoney

[greenbergsays]

Dear Des,

There’s a story I need to tell you. It’s a bit long, so get comfy, and sorry if I ramble.

I got Tumblr about seven years ago (what is time). I can’t remember why I followed you, but I did, and to this day I still do. Next to that, at some point in my studies, I got to read and analyse A Midsummer Night’s Dream - which I dearly loved, and still do. At some point a few months later, I discovered where your header was from. During Covid the Shakespeare’s Globe published a few of its plays on Youtube for free, and I remembered your header and watched the play and fell in love with it, and especially with Puck. Fast forward a few years, and I joined a theatre club. Amateur club, but with great ambitions, and we did some wonderful plays. Each play is selected through a vote system, and one year I tried to add A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the list, but it didn’t receive enough votes to pass (too much of a classic, with rhymes… it didn’t please enough).

This year though, this year is a bit special, because we got a lot of new members in the troupe and they all have a knack for "classics". So I added A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the list again, having nothing to lose.

It passed. Which meant the next part was to ask for roles and see what we could get. Obviously, I asked for Puck - but it’s a popular choice, and many in the troupe also asked for it.

Nonetheless, today was the announcement for the roles, and my name got called for Puck. So now, I get to play the role I fell in love with (and whose comedian was one of the first to give me gender envy when I watched the 2013 play that I discovered through your header, and this year is also the year I officially have my gender-affirming surgery), and to give them life.

I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this. I wanted to thank you, although it might seem weird, because you played a part in the grand scheme of things that brought me to this moment, and it’s making me emotional. So thank you 💚

Congratulations, babe!!!! On both getting the part and the gender-affirming surgery, you deserve both ❤️

I’m glad I could help bring you happiness even if it was in such an innocuous way :)

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

(Cripes, I hope I'm not over-asking, but I've been thumbing my copy of the Companion while looking at your blog, and the wheels in my head are turning on Things What To Say.)

Re: the Companion and the Corinthian

I'm not sure I'd necessarily agree the quote from Neil out the Companion is trying to erase the Corinthian's queerness or blunt it? Like, quoting directly here, page 57 in my softcover second edition, from chapter 4 under the header "The Corinthian and the Cereal" Convention":

Hy Bender: Where did his name come from?

Neil Gaiman: It's a seventeenth-century slang word for a licentious rake who does things like frequent brothels. But Sandman's Corinthian doesn't have sex; he eats eyeballs. And he's homosexual, in the sense that he prefers to eat the eyeballs of boys.

And then they continue on to discuss the place and the letters and the columns and the leather, much as Puck alludes in The Kindly Ones. If there are other passages discussing the Corinthian that bring up queerness in any way, I've missed them while looking over the book, and will be happy to have them pointed out for further reference.

But taking the quote as is, Gaiman's bringing up sexual activity and orientation to note how the Corinthian deviates from one who you'd call a corinthian in the context of its original slang meaning. He is promiscuous and unprincipled, but instead of prostitution and rape his chosen vice is devouring eyeballs; rather than the presumed heterosexuality of the original term, he targets men. In a sense, it's actively calling attention to the fact the Corinthian's closest thing to a sexual behavior is uniformly male-oriented, which doesn't much seem an attempt to deny he's gay-coded.

Now of course, we ARE effectively implying he doesn't experience sexual or romantic attraction in the way a typical person might, but given how he's presented in the comics, I don't think I'd argue he does myself either. Unlike his TV counterpart, he doesn't have those moments when he chooses to sleep with a hot young guy rather than eat his eyes, or invites comparison and contrast with Hal by sharing a scene with him, or wins cautionary sympathy by proving a genuinely effective protective big brother figure for Jed, or pleads for Dream's understanding towards his yearning for what it's like to experience life as something other than a nightmare in parallel with Gault's. On the page, he's a much rawer id-force, personal pleasure expressed as inflicting misery and suffering upon others, the dark mirror Dream intended warped into self-serving, self-justifying abominable acts, the definite fuel behind the serial killers' gross self-flattering collective dream. His every appearance prior to full reveal plays on images of kidnapping and alleyway assaults and the aftermath of butchery through his "eyes," and we're left with a decidedly ugly figure behind a conventionally handsome face. He's the slinking, cringing force that hides behind platitudes of strength and righteousness, only to fall to nothing on exposure to reality.

(There's conversation to be had about Gaiman evoking predation and perversion with a character who eats eyes as bastardization of sexual activity and only eats the eyes of young men and boys besides, but I'm driving at a particular idea here so all I'll say there is God Were The 90s A Different Time Even If You Were Otherwise Progressive, Huh.)

My point is, the nightmare who walks as a man is much deeper in monstrosity on the page, and coming after Brute and Glob's twisted replication of the Dreaming, as capstone to the horrendous visions of gutless self-styled hunters, he's both exemplification of that issue's themes and a means of making the audience wonder how this still-kinda-a-horror-title comic is going to top itself with Fiddler's Green before you learn he's a completely benign figure we've known for several chapters now. The text doesn't much invite you to sympathize with him until he is remade in The Kindly Ones, and even then it's done through the filter of Matthew's mistrust and the uncertainty about Morpheus choosing THIS murder-happy failure for recreation. That reformed model spends most of his time bantering with Matthew, acting creepy, tracking down Daniel, and reacting to the destruction of the Dreaming, so there's not much to go on regarding what kind of person he is vis a vis queerness, and while I'll admit I've read about none of the Dreaming, Gaiman's dismissiveness towards developments in that title make me inclined to believe he probably wouldn't reference it unless directly prompted. Opportunities to dig into the Corinthian as a queer actor in the pages of Sandman itself are low - that obviously changes with the Netflix series expanding his role and complicating his person, but that's a long long way away from these 1999 interviews.

So it's like, I get the defensiveness that's arisen over the quote, but the take-aways didn't sit right with me, and putting it under close examination with the contents and context of the book as written, I think it's fair to say the Corinthian of the page is only really homosexual insofar as eating eyes is what he does to enact power and control over the helpless in place of sex, and he prefers the eyes of men to those of anyone else. If I'm frank, the lack of direct quotation or cross-examination in the posts concerning that passage look a tiny bit like a game of telephone, which I've fallen victim to myself in other fandoms in the past.

Course, you're under no obligation to agree with my interpretations here, and it's entirely possible I'm dead wrong (after all, with regards to the other Companion topic, I didn't make much of the claim about the fire motif other than "hm, yeah, so it is there, nifty" until you and others pointed it out as a potential issue and got me thinking deeper, so I'm curious to know what you think!

This is a great expansion/contextualization of the quote about The Corinthian!

Honestly you said it better than I could, but it really does fall under "the 90s were a different time." I did figure that, given the time period, saying The Corinthian was straight-up gay wouldn't have gone over quite as smoothly as it would today, so Neil might've also been hedging a bit with the whole "he desires men... to literally eat" thing. Plus, as you note, the implications of linking predation with queerness is also screaming "definitely a different time."

I find it funny that fans were complaining about the change of him being canonically pansexual for the show, when the canon they were coming from was...this highly metaphorical and dated representation.

tagging @violetoftheendless since I know you like Cori

[damazcuz]

Hello I wanted to say your header and pfp combo remind me of those little towels that come in a weird solid puck that you have to put under water to reveal its true nature as a towel. Very cool. 😌👍

would you all still love me if i was magical just add water tiger towel....