#the only time it's worse than this is when the avs play the pens

[crow-talks-hockey]

guys i gotta be real i've been so excited and nervous for the game tn. i have NO clue what to expect with how either of them have been playing so.. can they just both win please? pretty please? cherry on top?? i want them both to play well aglsgksgkagkaajga

[edenbrookcelestial]

cold as you || [ethan ramsey x mc]

summary: love doesn’t always burn. sometimes, it freezes.

warnings: angst, harsh ethan.

author’s notes: song title from taylor swift’s cold as you, story inspired by it.

word count: 2327

you have a way of coming easily to me and when you take, you take the very best of me so i start a fight 'cause i need to feel something and you do what you want 'cause i’m not what you wanted

“ ethan, please. ”

ethan touched a hand to his forehead, as though to soothe an ache building there. “ avalon. i don’t know what you want from me. ”

avalon stared for a moment, incredulous. “ what i want? ethan, i want something. anything. any sign that you’re willing to commit to this, to us, to me. ”

the man closed his eyes and turned toward the window of his office, gazing out at the city buzzing below. “ does everything have to be such a drama with you? ” he mused aloud, driving yet another knife deeper into the younger doctor’s heart.

she gritted her teeth and blinked away the tears threatening to spill; no, she would not give him the satisfaction. “ one moment you say you want to be with me. the next, you’re telling me you can’t see a future.”

“ that’s not what i said, ” ethan murmured, a heavy sigh accompanying the words. ‘’ i said no one can know what the future holds.”

“ so you make a choice, ” she countered, voice like thunder. “ you choose to commit to a person, despite the fact that you don’t know what’s coming. ”

ethan’s mind wandered to the stack of paperwork currently cluttering up his desk. he moved to sit behind it and selected a pen, never once glancing up at avalon. “ i don’t have time for this.”

avalon watched as he began to fill in forms, the top of his fancy fountain pen tapping against his lower lip. she let out a humourless chuckle and clenched her fists, moving her gaze to her feet. “ no. you never do.”

ethan didn’t look up until after the door had swished open and shut, until avalon was long gone down the hallway.

oh, what a shame, what a rainy ending given to a perfect day just walk away, no use defending words that you will never say and now that i’m sitting here thinking it through i’ve never been anywhere cold as you

the streets were slick with rain. thick clouds sagged and poured water down across the city, avalon’s thin grey hoodie a poor deterrent to the weather. by the time she’d made it three blocks away from the hospital, she was soaked to the bone. at least the rain covered her tears. how could she possibly have ended up here? aching for a man who shut her out more often than he ever let her in? she thought back to her first interaction with ethan; how cold and stand-offish he’d been. as she reflected on all the months that had passed since, she realised, that coldness had never quite thawed. his edges were still sharp enough to cut if one were to get too close. and every time she believed there’d been a breakthrough, she’d blink and find herself left outside in the rain all over again.

you put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray and i stood there loving you and wished them all away and you come away with a great little story of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

they say that insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results. avalon had been fighting ethan’s defences since the moment they first met. over a year later and not a dent was to be found. at work, she threw herself into case after case, diagnosing the impossible, gaining respect and admiration from every coworker by her side. as great as it felt to be on top of her game professionally, nothing could help the drop she experienced once she clocked out. her friends dragged her to donahughes nightly, buying beers and betting on games of pool. she tried her best to enjoy herself, to show her friends that she appreciated their efforts. one night, a couple of weeks after their arguement in his office, avalon spotted ethan at the bar. he was out with several of the more senior doctors, harper emory, baz mirani, june hirata, even naveen. they hadn’t spoken much in a personal capacity in days. aurora, elijah, jackie, sienna, and bryce were all too aware of what was distracting the blonde junior doctor.

excusing herself to head to the bathroom, avalon kept her head down as she moved through the crowd. unfortunately, she’d have to pass ethan’s table to get to her destination, and she prayed fiercely to slip by unnoticed. however, once she was a mere few feet away, her name was spoken by harper, causing her to stall.

“ summers is doing very well, wouldn’t you say? ”

june shrugged, a glass of wine in her hand. “ she’s capable of the job. ’

baz rolled his eyes at his co-worker. “ she’s fantastic. she sees things the rest of us can’t, she’s diagnosed more patients this month than we have in a long time. you made a good call, boss. ” he nodded to naveen, who smiled serenely. his gaze flitted to ethan, his face carefully neutral.

“ and you, ethan? what do you think? ”

avalon held her breath, she shouldn’t really be listening in, but then again... they were discussing her. she strained to hear ethan’s words over the buzz of the crowd and the music playing from the jukebox across the way.

“ she’s capable. she works hard. ”

well, there were worse things he could have said.

june smirked over the rim of her glass. red wine swirling like blood. ‘’ that all you have to say about your favourite resident? ‘’ she bared her teeth in a wicked smile. “ we all know she follows you around like a lost little puppy dog. ” ethan smiled too, slightly strained.

“ ah, june. you know what residents are like. they get an idea in their head, they run with it. nothing more than idle gossip, and i would have thought you to be above listening to that. ”

avalon felt her heart shatter in all the places it once glowed under ethan’s remarks. without a word, she turned from the table and pushed through the crowd again, this time aiming for the door. her friends hadn’t noticed, still believing avalon to be in the bathroom. she was thankful for this, the tears pouring down her face making her distress obvious. but she didn’t want to talk about it. she was done talking about it, about him. she was just done.

you never did give a damn thing, honey, but i cried, cried for you and i know you wouldn't have told nobody if i died, died for you, died for you

how cliché was it possible for one person to get? not only had avalon fallen for her boss, now here she was, tissue box by her knees, sniffling through heartbroken tears. a half-eaten bar of chocolate in one hand, her phone in the other. in her earphones, my chemical romance soothed her ache. the muffled sounds of knocking at her bedroom door lifted her attention. she flung a pillow in that direction, which landed just short of the doorframe with a pathetic thwump. she rolled onto her side, taking another bite of her chocolate. like everything in her life these days, it was dark and bittersweet, and when she opened her mouth to yawn she tasted salt on her lips. she clenched her fists, crumpling the wrapper with a crinkle. when the night grew into early morning, she ventured from her room to wash her face and grab a drink. elijah was by the fridge when she got to the kitchen, his expression in the dim room one of concern. “ hey, av,” he greeted softly, wheeling over to the kitchen counter. “ hey, eli. ” she cleared her throat, hoarse from lack of use. “ early shift today? ” he shook his head. “ just couldn’t sleep. ” she nodded, understanding the feeling.

“ i know things haven’t been easy for you, lately, av… ” the breath hitched in her throat. he reached for her hand, warm and soft. “ i just want you to know, you deserve better. ” his voice was so earnest, his words so genuine. she meet his gaze, red-rimmed emerald on soft, caring brown. “ you deserve so much more than this. you deserve so much better. ” avalon blinked, more tears slipping down her face. elijah’s heart ached, at the sight of his friend so distraught. he loved her deeply, she was like a sister to him. and to see her broken-down and aching because of a guy? it killed him.

he squeezed her hand, tight, and she sat heavily on one of their wooden stools. her head found a resting spot on elijah’s shoulder. she sobbed, and he brought his arms around her, holding her to his chest “ i’m sorry, eli, i’m sorry. ” he hushed her gently. murmuring to her as he rubbed her shoulders in soothing circles.

“ you have nothing to be sorry for. it’s not your fault. ”

they sat like that for more than hour, until the barest hint of sunshine streamed in through a chink in the blinds.

oh, what a shame, what a rainy ending given to a perfect day every smile you fake is so condescending counting all the scars you made

“ doctor summers? ”

her stomach twisted in on itself. ethan’s voice was nothing but professional, yet her nerves sprang to the edge when she heard it. leaving a patient’s chart by the nurse’s station, she turned to meet his icy blue gaze. “ a word? ” he asked, as casual as you like. avalon nodded and followed him silently to his office. the automatic doors slid shut with a gentle hiss.

he turned to face her, expression unreadable. “ i just wanted to check in. ” she replayed the words in her head, remaining silent as she processed. “ avalon? ”

she moved her eyes over his face. looking for some hint of what he wanted, what he really meant. he stepped closer and tilted his head, a tinge of worry seeping onto his face. “ it’s been a while since we spoke, ” he said, reaching to brush her wrist with his fingertips. she jolted at the gentle touch, and he stilled, his eyes meeting hers.

“ we don’t need to talk. ”

avalon’s voice was stronger than she had expected it to be. ethan was taken by surprise at her words, raising an eyebrow. “ i’m sorry? ”

she shook her head, a solemn expression on her face. “ no, you’re not, ” she whispered, and straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze straight on. “ we don’t need to talk outside of work. okay? we talk about patients, and treatment, and strategy. other than that… i have nothing else to say to you. ”

ethan’s blue eyes widened, his lips opening in a silent oh. he seemed frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak.

“ we - there is no we. ” avalon decided. “ we are colleages. we work together. we don’t see each other outside of it. we don’t… i deserve better, ” she said, defiantly. “ the way you have treated me… i don’t deserve it. ” to her own surprise, she didn’t feel like crying. no, she felt better and better as she went on, finally standing up for herself. “ and i get it, you have issues, you have baggage, well, newsflash. we all do. and i should have walked away, before now, i should have. but i didn’t. and i - i’m sorry, ethan. i’m sorry that you would rather be alone than be loved. than let yourself love. i’m not a freakin’ rehab clinic. it’s not my job to fix you. it’s my job to fix our patients. ” she paused a moment, gauging ethan’s reaction. just shock, it seemed.

she sighed, sad and deep, and slightly relieved. “ i can’t do this anymore. so you need to stop. you don’t get to decide that you want me one minute, and then don’t want me the next. if you can’t respect someone else, regardless of your own trust issues, you really shouldn’t be in a relationship. ” she swallowed, hard, and felt the tension in the room swell as she finished her monologue. she didn’t exactly regret it, but did she wish she had picked a better place? yeah, maybe. but it wasn’t like she had even planned on saying any of it. it was just all too much. the weeks of crying herself to sleep, of watching ethan ignore her. elijah’s words of encouragement had echoed deep in her heart and her mind. and avalon finally knew that she respected herself too much to stay as ethan ramsey’s emotional punching bag.

ethan finally nodded, slowly. “ i hear you. i understand. ” his voice is monotone, lacking any trace of emotion. nothing really new there. avalon regarded him with caution. “ i mean it, ” she said, slowly, emphasising the words. ethan broke his gaze away, looking toward his desk. he nodded stiffly, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. avalon backed up until she heard the hiss of the door. with one foot in the hallway, ethan spoke again, softer, the slightest note of regret in it. “ you’re right, you know. you do deserve better. ”

when she looks back over her shoulder, he’s resting his hands on his desk. his head turned to the side, watching her leave. blue eyes warm, but wet. her throat tightened and for a moment, her resolve faltered. there was a moment of heartwrenching vulnerability, just about visible.

it was too late. avalon put her hand on the doorframe, leaning against it. “ you deserve better, too, ethan. ” ethan watched her walk away, each receding footstep another crack to his heart. he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing. it was over. he lost her.

she was gone.

and now that i’m sitting here thinking it through i’ve never been anywhere cold as you

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

I feel like you'll have a hilarious and hot take on this question, so I would like to know: What do you think would be the most obnoxious Christmas traditions of the main RiverFamilies? Feel free to imagine a time before serial killer dads, drug dealing mothers and of course - horror of horrors - Hiram getting sick (I mean, thank the lord he is okay #prayforHiram).

#prayforHiram You’re killing me! 😂😂😂 What an incredible ask! I feel that whatever these people are doing, it must be obnoxious! I can’t possibly do this justice, but I’ll try my best! Thank you so much, @lucivar ! I hope you enjoy it!

Obnoxious Christmas Traditions of the RiverFamilies

The Andrews’ Christmas Gifting Tradition

In an effort to instil the true meaning of Christmas to little Archie, the Andrews are regularly participating in the Southside’s toys for tots drive, by sharing little Archie’s 3 favourite things. Which, at the tender age of 5, were: empty pens (for spitballs!), potato stamps and paper cup phones (Betty showed him how to make those and they’re totally AWESOME!). Archie continues this honoured tradition when he has his own family. When Veronica offers to foot the bill for 5th Ave. FAO Schwarz’s best toys, Archie explains to her how the Southsiders would be very offended if they thought they were given “handouts”. Judging by their looks, Veronica thinks they already find the Andrews’ gifts quite obnoxious.

The Jones’ Christmas Decoration Ride

Before Gladys took Jellybean and fled to Toledo, she and FP used to get drunk on spiced store-bought eggnog and ride to the other side of the tracks to ruin join the Northside’s Christmas Parade, jackets and bikes ludicrously decked with Christmas lights. It may or may not have been the reason the Neighbourhood Watch was created. When Jughead is an adult (and maybe a bit bitter that Yale didn’t give him a spot after Bret got to prison), he revives the family tradition and rides around Yale campus during winter break with his helmet decked with two shiny red Christmas balls, green garland around his neck and Betty at his back, prim and proper in her pink peacoat and lavender earmuffs. He feels ridiculous but also quite smug and decides to keep it up. A few years later, it becomes a huge success with four-year-old Julie Rosalie Jones. It’s another matter altogether for sixteen-year-old Julie Rosalie. Jules doesn’t know what’s worse: her dad’s traditional Christmas riding apparel (that year consisting of a plastic blinking snowman glued on top of his helmet) when he rides home from work at the exact same time that Tobby Davies comes to pick her up for the Winter Formal. Or her mom discussing curfew with Tobby while polishing her Glock P80 with her Christmas apron (the one with the little frogs with the Santa hats).

The Blossom’s Christmas Carol Panto

As proposed by @lucivar herself: “Cheryl and Jason doing like a feral Dickensian Christmas play with heinous costume changes”. Cheryl gets the idea at the age of eight. It’s a Charles Dickens meets Phantom of the Opera meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre kind of thing. Penelope regrets making Cheryl sit through the latter. Or allowing any of the former really. Cheryl and Jason play all the roles. All the costumes are in shades of red. It’s a pantomime. It becomes a fixed feature of the Riverdale Christmas Tree Lighting at Pickens Park and everyone is expected to applaud. When Cheryl becomes head of the Vixens, the entrance of the Ghost of Christmas Past is revised into an elaborate cheerleading routine. (Polly was very excited about it, until Jason disappeared and she was sent to the Sisters of Quite Mercy.) After Jason’s death, the Christmas Carol Panto is the thing Cheryl misses the most. She is ecstatic when she discovers on senior year that, thanks to taxidermy, she can finally share the experience with her beloved Antoinette. Afterwards Toni makes sure every little bit of Jason is burned to ashes. When Juniper and Dagwood are eight, Polly revives the tradition.

The Coopers’ Christmas Carol

Nothing says passive-aggressive better than Hal and Alice dragging little Betty and little Polly to go banging on doors at 7 o’clock in the morning on the day before Christmas with manic smiles on their faces in order to “regal” their neighbours with their special arrangement of “Away in a manger”. Betty wouldn’t have continued with it, if Alice and Polly hadn’t told young Julie Rosalie all about it. So now Betty and Jughead make sure that every Christmas Eve Jules wakes up grandma Alice and auntie Polly by singing out-of-tune on the phone any and all Christmas carols. Young Jules is a fast learner with a powerful set of lungs and if Betty uses FBI resources to mask the caller id so that her mother always picks up, that’s nobody’s business. When Jules is seven, they even spend the holidays in Riverdale, so that Jughead can film Alice waking up screaming Jules singing for granny Ali for posterity.

The Lodge’s Reindeer Sleigh (with real reindeers)

There’s nothing Hiram Lodge loves more than flexing his muscles, both literally and figuratively. So, when his little princess asks for a Christmas ride down 5th avenue “in Santa’s real sleigh, daddy!”, a new tradition is born. (Of course, if Papa Poutine had agreed to take the reindeers back, it would have been just a one-time event). When Hiram returns to Riverdale, this tradition evolves into the Lodges riding their reindeer sleigh at the head of the Northside’s Christmas Parade. Which wouldn’t be so bad but for the horrendous smell or reindeer shit left behind. After Hiram’s final conviction and imprisonment (#prayforHiram), the city council asks Veronica to retire the reindeer sleigh. She refuses to budge in the face of such blatant sexism (since only female reindeers keep their antlers in December, Santa’s reindeers are all girls) and counter-proposes to hire unemployed Southsiders to do the clean-up. Archie thinks it’s an excellent idea, which should have been enough warning. 

[krakenbait]

what do you think about the reverse retros?

thank you for the ask anon! but oh my, did you just open a can of worms because i have Opinions on the reverse retros. but in the interest of keeping this short, i’ll do a top three and a bottom three, maybe with some honorable mentions.

let’s start with the top three.

at number 3, we have the caroline hurricanes hartford whalers. what more do i really have to say? the whalers brand is iconic. their logo is one of the best nhl logos ever (the first time you see that H is mind-blowing), so it’s nice to see it on a jersey again. plus they added the pucky the whale shoulder patches, which i love. the blue-green-white color scheme is fantastic, though to be fair, the connecticut whale execute it better than this jersey, which added an unnecessary gray that i am not a fan of. the gray base is really the only misstep on this jersey, and if it was white i think i would like it a lot more. with that said, i still love this jersey, and especially when compared to some of the other reverse retros, it’s great.

at number 2, we have the colorado avalanche. if you know me (or just read my bio), you know i’m a big avs fan, so when these jerseys were announced i was so excited. i really want to get an avs jersey at some point, and the reverse retros might have surpassed the navy third jerseys as the avs jersey i want to get. but i digress. 

this jersey itself is so clean and nicely executed. they borrowed the pattern off of the old quebec nordiques away jerseys, but the avs traded the light blue and red color scheme of their precursors for their current burgundy and blue. i’ve always loved the way that the avs’ colors look together on jerseys, especially because burgundy is a kind of unusual color for hockey (the only one with anything similar is the coyotes’ maroon) and i appreciate that it’s paired with the bright blue instead of, say, black or gray. on this jersey especially, the burgundy is the focus, with the blue acting as a nice accent to mirror the old nordiques jersey. it’s pretty widely agreed upon that the nordiques jerseys were great, so i don’t have much to say about the design of the jersey itself. but as a whole, these jerseys are a slam dunk. i’m looking forward to seeing them on the ice and i’m curious if they’ll look just as good in motion.

and at number 1, my favorite reverse retro comes from the la kings. now, i do not give a flying fuck about the kings normally, especially when it comes to jerseys because they have a torrid history of bad design choices. but they got their act together for this one and put out an awesome reverse retro jersey. 

starting with the colors, i love the purple (or if you want to be pretentious about it, “forum blue”) and yellow color scheme. the kings are the only nhl team to have used this color scheme, and they should really go back to it full time, in my opinion, because it looks so different for a hockey design. the shades of purple and yellow used on this jersey are really vibrant and eye-catching. plus, purple and yellow are complementary colors, so when they’re used to accent each other, it looks quite pleasing to the eye. in comparison, the kings’ usual black, white, and gray colors are pretty dull to look at, especially because their opponents are wearing white jerseys and hockey is played on a sheet of white ice (geez, i sound like the guy from hockey by design).

as for the layout of the jersey, the striping is very classically hockey, with a pattern we’ve seen variations of a million times before. that doesn’t mean it’s bad though; the simplicity of the thick yellow stripe with the white accent stripes helps make it as effective as it is. i’m not really a fan of the numbers inside the yellow stripes on the arms, though, and i think it would’ve looked a little cleaner if the numbers were placed just above the arm stripes on the upper arm of the jersey. i love the logo though. i’m not a huge fan of typography logos, but there is something iconic about the gretzky-era motion-lines kings logo, and its usage on this jersey really brings together the whole “reverse retro” idea. it blends the design of one era with the colors of another, and it looks awesome. like the avs jersey, i’m really excited to see these on the ice, because i know they’ll look sick.

moving onto the bottom three, which will be under the cut, because this is getting very long already.

at third-worst, we’ve got the arizona coyotes. i know this one might be a little controversial- when the reverse retros were released, some friends and i argued about whether this one was good or bad. well, from a design standpoint, i think it’s pretty bad.

wait! i can hear you saying. lara, you liked the minnesota whitecaps jerseys with a similar style, why don’t you like this one? let me explain, hypothetical critic.

this yotes jersey just has too much going on. there’s six colors present: orange, purple, black, white, green, and brown. the green and brown are just accents on the logo and the waist design, but that’s still too many colors. they’re not bad colors, but they don’t quite come together the right way. it looks messy. in comparison, the whitecaps jersey had three colors total, including accents: blue, white, and black. that meant the whitecaps jersey looks a lot more cohesive as a design, whether stationary or on the ice. 

the logos on this jersey aren’t bad. i love the yotes’ kachina jersey, especially its main logo, but i don’t think the kachina head by itself is nearly as strong. however, putting the full kachina logo on this jersey would really be too much. i kind of like the salamander shoulder patches, but they really have no good connection to the yotes’ identity as a team. i think the crescent moon design would have been a better choice for the shoulder patches. 

and then we come to the waist design. it’s simply too busy. in that little desert landscape on the bottom alone, there are four colors. that would be a lot for a whole jersey, and it’s too much for this design, which becomes jarring. the waist design on the whitecaps jersey was in a monochrome blue, which was easy on the eyes and effective on the ice. i can only imagine what a mess the bottom of these yotes jerseys will look like in motion.

in general, this jersey just has too much going on for it to be executed effectively. if arizona ever tries to take a stab at this kind of thing again, i’d recommend taking some notes from the whitecaps.

at second-worst is the st louis blues. the thing about this jersey is, i actually like the original jersey that these are based on. i think those jerseys are pretty cool looking, although they are finely threading the line between “cool-looking” and “bad.”

and then you get this jersey, which is just bad. for starters, why is a team called the blues wearing a red jersey? (i have this same gripe with the blue jackets’ red reverse retros, by the way) i think the inclusion of red into the blues visual identity is a little weird, especially when they’ve had jerseys that balance the blue and yellow so well. and then you take the red, which was a weird-though-not-terrible accent color on the originals, and make it the base of the jersey? i don’t know about you, but for me, that’s a big ol’ wtf?? 

and the mess only gets worse. the blues have a good logo, but the big blue note looks so incongruous on a red base. additionally, the accent stripes and colors are much less effective with the red and blue reversed. on the original blue jersey, the gold stripes stood out on the blue base while keeping the classic element of the blues’ visual identity. the gold led into the red accent color on the cuffs and hem, which as previously mentioned was a little out of place, but at least it was two warm colors blending into each other. on these jerseys, with the blue-gold-red order reversed, it becomes so much less effective. 

i wish the blues had done something better than amp up a color that does not belong in their visual identity.

and last, the worst reverse retro jersey, we have the anaheim ducks. good god, this jersey is atrocious. i know some people like it for the chaos factor, but i can’t even appreciate that. it’s just bad.

i’ll start off with the only thing at all redeeming about this jersey, which is the color scheme. the original mighty ducks teal and purple was such a unique color scheme for hockey, and for sports in general. the kings are the only other nhl team to have used purple, and the sharks are known for their teal, but the combination of those two was something weird but oddly effective. just to be something different, i’d love to see the ducks bring it back. maybe not permanently (i’d rather see a redesigned version of their home and away set), but perhaps on a third jersey better than this one.

now let’s tackle the design. the fucking wild wing jumping out of the ice just infuriates me. it would make a fine ad page in a magazine, but on a hockey jersey, it just looks out of place and bad. it’s too detailed to be a good hockey logo, since it’s constantly in motion on the ice, not to mention it just looks kind of stupid. plus, why the hell is the ice green. if you’re going to have a stupid design, at least make it make sense. the curved striping and shoulder yoke aren’t bad, and on a better jersey i might actually appreciate those choices, but the fucking wild wing design just completely ruins anything remotely good that may have been going on with this jersey. 

in summary, this jersey is absolutely terrible and i hate it.

to finish this off, let me share a few last-minute thoughts on some of the others.

honorable mentions

pittsburgh penguins: this jersey just agrees with me. i’m generally not a fan of the diagonal writing jerseys (too rangers-like for this devils fan), but i think the pens executed it well

vancouver canucks: usually, gradients do not equal anything good, but the boston pride’s away jerseys and these vancouver jerseys have started to make me change my tune. the original jerseys, with a blue to red gradient, did not look good, but i actually quite like the blue to green gradient. 

new jersey devils: i’m only a little biased. i’m a noted critic of the devils’ christmas tree heritage jerseys, so the green reverse retro scared me at first. but i gave them a good look and saw the design explanation about green for the garden state and the pine barrens, and they started to grow on me. 

dishonorable mentions

detroit red wings: it’s a practice jersey with gray stripes. they totally dropped the ball here, especially since detroit has such an extensive jersey history to take inspiration from.

new york islanders: dammit lou! instead of revitalizing the terrible-yet-iconic fisherman, the islanders decided to completely ignore the spirit of the reverse retros and basically do their regular jerseys but in navy blue. for shame.

send me a jersey and i’ll give you my opinions!

[unpack-my-heart]

The Ghost of You – Updated

New chapter of Property Developer!Richie / Ghost!Eddie AU

Read it on AO3 HERE or I’ve pasted it under the cut.

Preview:

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

Tag list:

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead

When Richie wakes up the next morning, he all but launches himself out of bed. He runs to the window, hauling it open, not bothering to open the curtains.

The lake twinkles in the sunlight. Eddie is not stood by the shore.

The room is silent, save for the short, heavy puffs of Richie’s anxious breaths. Eddie is not in his bedroom, he’s not in any of the spare bedrooms, and he’s also not in the bathroom. Richie walks downstairs,  and does not find Eddie in the kitchen, dining room or lounge. The house is empty.

The door wrenches open and Richie screams.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“Jesus Christ on a fucking crackerbread, Hanlon, don’t you knock?!”

Mr Chips bounds through the open door, tongue lolling lazily out of the left side of his mouth. Richie crouches down, partly to keep himself from fainting from shock, but mostly to give Mr Chips a scritch behind the ear.

“Why’dya scream like that, lad?”

Richie’s hamstrings start screaming at him, and after debating standing up and doing something productive, Richie flops down onto his arse, legs splayed. Mr Chips, delighted, lies on his back in between Richie’s legs. Richie rubs his fluffy tummy. Mike laughs at them, and begins filling up the camping kettle.

“Och aye, just regular wee things, laddy”

“Git tae fuck” Mike scolds, but he shoots a smile at Richie, who has progressed to lying on his back, with Mr Chips front paws on his stomach.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to practice, I’m determined that eventually I’ll be able to go shopping in Portree and convince everyone I’m actually Scottish”

“You do realise that everyone on the whole Isle knows you’re American, right? I don’t think anyone who isn’t Scottish has lived here for decades. You’re the most exciting thing to happen to this little isle for years” Mike says, passing Richie a mug of steaming coffee. Richie stands up, accepting the mug graciously.

“Yeah, about that…”

“So let me git this straight. Ye’v bin seeing a guy in this house dressed as an army officer?”

Richie rubs his hands over his eyes, scrubbing hard enough that stars bloom in the darkness behind his eyelids.

“Sort of”

“Is it some guy playing a joke on ye or something? One of the wee bairns from the town?”

“Naw, it’s definitely not a kid. He’s a fully-grown man, like, my age or sumthin’”

Mike hums thoughtfully, his face screwed in concentration as he wrestles with the pipe he’s trying to bend into place. Richie stands behind him, half-heartedly screwing a mirror into the wall. The drill spends more time on the floor than in Richie’s hand, though.

“and ye said he told ye he was dead? That he’d died in ’45?”

“Yup, s’what he said”

“and yer sure he’s not a ghost?”

Richie scoffed incredulously.

“Michael, ghosts aren’t real”

“What makes ye so sure?”

“Common sense”

Mike shoots Richie a raised eyebrow.

“… Do you not have common sense?” Richie mumbled.

“I guess not” is all Mike says, shuffling closer towards the pipe-bend.

“Mike, look. You’ve either left a gas tap loose and I’m going mad, or I’m genuinely being haunted so I’d appreciate it if we could approach this little bit more seriously”

Mike finally bends the pipe into place, and sits back on his heels with a triumphant grin. He stands up, and turns to face Richie.

“I saw my maw three days ago”

“… Ah yes, an entirely relevant digression”

“She died six years ago”

“… Shit”

After a large amount of begging on Richie’s part, and a desire to get the washing machine plumbed in early on Mike’s part, they came to an arrangement. Mike would stay in the cottage on the moor overnight, sleeping in the guest room right next to Richie’s bedroom. They’d stay up as late as possible, and try and lure the man in the khaki uniform out of hiding.

“He said his name was Eddie, so maybe I can just stand in the gardens and … yell for him?”

Mike shot another incredulous look Richie’s way.

“Are ye sure that’s tha best way to beckon a maybe-not-real ghost out of hiding?”

“I have no idea, Michael, I’m not the one who seems to commune with the dead on a regular fucking basis now, am I”

They’d finished working for the day a few hours ago, and were now sat out on the grass near the lake. The lake was a lake of fire, reflecting the golden rays of the sun. Mr Chips was sniffing in the undergrowth lazily, occasionally coming back over to Mike for an ear scratch. Richie had cooked them pasta – about all he could manage on the small camping stove. The moor was bristling with noise, but the two men were silent. Mike’s eyes were closed as he lay on his back, head resting on his arms that were folded behind his head. Richie was throwing small stones into the lake. plip plip plip.

When it was dark, they moved inside and sat around the small burner.

“So what normally happens, then? When does yer army fella normally come out?”

“He’s not a train, Mike, he doesn’t have a schedule”

“Y’know what I meant”

“He just sort of … appears. I’ve never had to actually do anything before apart from –“

“Apart from what?”

“Well, every time he’s come out, I’ve hurt myself”

Mike’s face lights up, and Richie’s clouds with horror.

“No, Mike! No”

“Just a wee cut, ye’ll barely feel it”

“NO, MIKE!”

With this, Mike began to chase Richie around the house, brandishing his pen-knife like a sabre. Richie was hollering with half-delight half-genuine panic that Mike would carve him up with the small, probably incredibly blunt, blade.

“MIIIIIIKE! I changed my mind, it’s not that I hurt myself then see him, I see him then hurt myself! Put that fucking knife away” Richie screamed, very aware that Mike was a hairs distance away from him now.

“Fine, I’ll stab ye when I see him!”

“You do that!”

They both slowed to a walk, Richie’s chest heaving markedly more than Mike’s. They’d ended up in the kitchen, and Richie watched as Mike put the pen knife on the kitchen table.

“Tea?” Richie asks, picking up the kettle and filling it from the newly functioning tap.

“M’gasping, thanks, lad”

They sat huddled close together for the rest of the night, neither bothering to take to their beds upstairs.

Eddie didn’t appear.

Richie awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck and a tongue in his eye. He gently shoved Mr Chips off his chest, where the collie had slept for most of the night, before rolling onto his knees and hauling himself up. Mike was already in the kitchen, fiddling with the back of the new washing machine.

“G’mornin’, Guvna!”

“M’not from London, Rich”

“Eh, same difference. Howzit?”

“Yeah, she’s bein’ a brat right now but I’ll soon ‘av ‘er singing” Mike grunted, still fiddling with some bendy tubing he was fixing to the back of the washing machine.

“He didn’t show up” Richie said, filling up the kettle.

“I know”

“I think I’m losing my fucking mind”

“I know”

Richie placed the kettle on the gas burner, twiddling the knob to allow the gas to flow from the gas canister into the burner. He jumped backwards when the flame bloomed suddenly, glowing orange then red then blue.

He hadn’t showed up. Richie had sort of expected it. It was sort of like when you did something really impressive, and then ask someone to watch you do it, and then you can’t do the impressive thing again, no matter how hard you try. Not that seeing (hallucinating?) 1940s army doctors was impressive or anything. It was probably quite the opposite.

“I need a break” Richie mumbled, mostly to himself.

Mike stops what he’s doing, and stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth.

“How long have ye been out here on yer own?”

“To be honest I can’t remember”

“Yer obviously in need of a break, Rich. You’ve been out here on yer own for too long, s’bound to make ye feel a bit squiffy. Come back to mine for the weekend, we can take it easy and ye can come back here and if ye do see the ghostie again, we’ll know its something we need to sort oot”

Richie decides on the spot that Mike is one of the best friends he’s ever had.

Mike lives in a modern house that sits almost jarringly in the mouth of a hill. It’s all clean, white lines and sloping ceilings and Richie both hates and loves it. The first thing Richie does when he gets there is collapse on Mike’s squishy black sofa, arm flung dramatically over his face. He intends on only resting his eyes for a few seconds, but before he knows it he’s out for the count. Several hours lost to a dreamless sleep later, and Richie wakes up. He feels alert, and more rested than he ever has since he moved to Scotland all those months ago.

When he looks around, he spots Mike sat in an armchair next to a fire. He’s got one hand on Mr Chips’ head, and one hand flicking through an old looking photo album. There’s a glass of honey-coloured liquid on the table next to him, two orbs of ice floating in it.

“Oops. Sorry, dude, I think I’ve been sleeping a bit worse than I thought”

Mike laughs indulgently, and Mr Chips’ head perks up at the sound of Richie’s scratchy voice.

“S’okay, lad”

Richie swings his legs off the sofa, and leans forward, eyes scanning the photos glued on the open page of the album Mike is looking at.

“Is that you?”

“Aye”

“Aw, you were so cute. What happened?”

“get tae fuck, cheeky bastard” Mike scolds, swatting half-heartedly at Richie’s head, before he points at another glass of honeyed liquid on the floor by Richie’s feet.

“It’s scotch, if ye want it.”

Richie nods gratefully, leaning down to pick up the glass. It’s a welcome cold against his slightly clammy skin.

“Is that your mom?” Richie asks, breaking the silence. He points at the photo with the young Mike whose sat on the shoulders of a young woman with sparkling eyes and a kind smile.

“Aye” is all Mike says, eyes glazing over for a second.

Richie doesn’t know what to say, and so he says nothing.

They sit in silence for a very long time, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, Mr Chips’ snuffly breaths and the crackling of the photo album paper.

“They died in a house fire”

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“Arson, it was. Some wee drunk bastard from the city. Threw a lit cigarette in through their window and it caught the curtains.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes.

“The first time I saw her was a year after she died. She was in my garden, watching the birds. I damn near had a stroke. I yelled out to her, anything to get her to talk to me. But she didn’t. I’d see her, occasionally, always sat on the same bench in my garden, but she never spoke to me. She still doesn’t.”

“Do you ever see your dad?”

“Naw, never have”

“So that’s why you don’t think I’m insane”

“Aye”

“Will you think I’m horrible if you say I don’t believe you?” Richie asks, hesitantly.

“No” Mike replies honestly. “Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore”

The weekend is over before Richie even blinks. He spends most of it asleep, or mooching around Portree with Mike. They drink a lot of scotch, play a lot of card games and eat a lot of food. Richie eats a lot of food. After eating only camping-stove-pasta for months on end, oven pizza tastes like the nectar of the gods.

Before he knows it, and before he’s really ready, he’s clambering out of Mike’s van back at his little cottage on the moor.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, lad”

And then Mike’s gone.

Richie stands on the porch of his little cottage, and takes a deep breath. He opens the door.

Eddie’s sat at the kitchen table.

“I am fucking insane”

“Hello”

“You’re not real”

“I mean, I’m a ghost, so I’m about as real as a ghost can be”

“You are a figment of my imagination. I am not standing in my kitchen talking to a dead person”

“… You are”

“Why didn’t you come out when Mike was here? When I was yelling for you in the back garden? Did you even hear me? Can ghosts hear? You must be able to hear, I mean, I’m talking to you right now and you’re responding so you must have some capacity for hearing which means you were just ignoring –”

“I’m shy” Eddie interrupts, face turned towards the floor.

“Huh?” Richie grunts, pacing back and forth.

“I didn’t want to come out when the other man was here, I didn’t know who he was and I got … scared …” Eddie trails off. His face was still turned towards the floor, and Richie was sure that if it were possible for a ghost without blood to flush, Eddie would be scarlet red by this point.

“In my defence, you barely know who I am either and you don’t seem to mind popping out of the woodwork every so often to scare me shitless, do you!” Richie responds, accusingly.

Eddie tilts his face, and meets Richie’s gaze.

“I sort of do know you, I’ve been watching you for the past few months, after all"

“That’s fucking creepy, Eds”

As soon as he says it, Richie knows he’s fucked up. Eddie’s face twists in pain, and he stands up and leaves the room. Only, he doesn’t leave through the door, he walks straight through the wall. Richie stares at the spot in the wall that Eddie had disappeared through, slack jawed.

“Wait! Eddie!”

Richie scrambles around the kitchen table, and follows Eddie (through the door) into the living room. Eddie is crouched in the corner of the room, head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I’ve just been on my own for over 74 years and I – I am so desperately lonely, Richie”

Richie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. He squats down, but leaves several feet between him and the ghost.

“Aw, shucks, Eddie. If I could touch you I’d give you a hug right now”

Eddie snorts, and looks up at Richie. His eyes aren’t wet, which Richie assumes is because there is no water flowing through his spectral form. His eyes are slightly shinier, though, and they’re more insistent, more earnest.

“I don’t think you can touch me”

“Maybe we could try?” Richie asks, before he can stop himself. He doesn’t have long to panic about being forward, though, because Eddie agrees almost immediately.

Richie debates just trying to touch Eddie’s hand, or his shoulder, but decides to just go all out and leans forward, arms open, expecting to enclose a solid form in his arms. That doesn’t happen. What does happen is Richie falls forward, straight through Eddie’s ghostly form, and almost headbutts the wall. The air that Eddie’s form occupies is scalding hot. Eddie leaps forward, shaking his limbs violently.

“Bloody hell!” Eddie exclaims, face contorted in pain.

“Huh” is all Richie says. He shifts so he’s sat on his arse, knees folded up against his chest. Eddie stands before him, looking mildly scandalized.

“Why aren’t you freezing?”

“Pardon?”

“Ghosts are always freezing in movies. You’re not. You’re like I just fell head first into fuckin’ Mount Vesuvius. Why aren’t you freezing?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just continues to look upset.

“Wait – when I fell out of the window you managed to put a pillow behind my head. How’dya do that if you can’t touch anything?”

“Well, I’ve done some experimenting over the past seven decades, and I’ve worked out that I can touch things that aren’t alive – so things that aren’t made of flesh. Or things that are also dead, I can touch those, too. I just can’t touch living matter”

“I see, very scientific” Richie replies, but he’s mostly lost in thought. Without warning, he scrambles to his feet, and disappears into the kitchen. A confused and still scandalized Eddie follows, floating through the wall, where he finds Richie triumphantly holding out a pair of still-in-the-packet oven mitts.

“Put these on”

Eddie does as he’s told.

“Why am I wearing these? What are they?”

“Oven mitts. I bought them to help me carry pots of boiling water up the stairs but I haven’t needed them so far – I thought we could -“

Richie trails off, and reaches out to touch Eddie’s oven-mitt covered hand. Eddie flinches away a bit, but doesn’t move his hand.

Richie makes contact with the oven mitt, and squeezes.

Eddie squeezes back.

[slothgiirl]

forever isn’t for everyone (is forever for you?) part 5

London is gray and dull after Australia and the festivals we'd been at. And like it's welcoming us all back, it's raining. 

Foggy, a complete 180. It doesn't help that it's night, and I haven't seen day since two days ago, having spent another day traveling. Cramped up in my seat, squished between other passengers. 

This time I had slept fine on board, exhausted from touring. We're all dead on our feet and unlike the last few days, we don't puke into a cab, we just sort of wave and leave and it's sad. I think after all we've done, all the time spent together, we leave like it's nothing. I know even I need some alone time. 

But it's still sad to me. 

The second leg of the tour isn't for months and I have a week off before having to go into work. A week I spend sleeping and doing laundry and becoming a couch potato. 

Another week of catching up with friends and getting lunch before I have to go back to work. It's the day before I go back to work that Alex texts me, my heart lurching, an unconscious desire that had sunk into my mind. 

In Australia, it had seemed easy to believe that a man like Alex might like an ordinary girl like me. Perhaps I was selling myself short, but my confidence was a fickle thing that still needed propping up after my acne ridden teenage years. 

More eloquent than in person, his preference for written word is obvious.

I was hoping we might have a listen to the record I told you about. A drink or two, a small offering in comparison to the pleasure of your company once more, in the city we both inhabit, where everything will seem solid and less ephemeral than abroad. -Alexander

It was long and flowery for a text and made me dizzy with anticipation, I threw out everything I'd been told to do when a boy texts you and replied instantly, walking home from tescos trying to make food instead of getting takeout for a change, eagerly asking for a time and address. 

It was nice to be able to come home and do nothing. A privilege I couldn't imagine coming back from while my roommates came home from their jobs dead on their feet. 

Grueling weeks on the road seemed a small price to pay.

I take the tube over to his, a beautiful georgian house among many in Chelsea, save for some dying plants outside, a clear victim of his recent travels, thick dark curtains obscuring all the windows.The street is littered with nice cars, millionaires the only people who can afford the nice neighborhood. London's market on the uptick. 

At least I feel at ease in the dying light, the sun spilling in the sky like egg yolk as it sets, turning the clouds blood red, casting long dark shadows. I guess Alex is not a struggling musician, or maybe he's just from a well off family. 

It's then I know that I start to feel anxious, no longer buoyed by our shared work, just me and him and would that be enough? It was stupid when I already knew how easy it was to be with him. 

But this felt more concrete then wondering around a foreign city had. The thought of kissing him no longer a far off wish but a possibility so close it had my fingertips tingling. 

Alex opens the door with a boyish smile on his lips, clad in loose blue jeans, frayed at the hem, and a grey t shirt emblazoned with give a damn, hair hopelessly disheveled as if he'd just woken up. "El, love" he says fondly, after a second, "I'm delighted you're here." 

Waving me inside. I'm expecting the inside to look like a Tatler photo shoot, more burberry than marks and spenser sales rack, with the uninviting feeling carefully decorated homes had. 

Instead, the rugs are rich, intricate designs, the edges frayed with time and use. There's a thin layer of dust in the paintings hanging on the wall, one signed manet, another of a slender woman with doe like eyes and hair the colour of milk tea, in vivid realism, only the clothes betraying the age, paint cracked with time by the frame.  

Following along, I spy the stacks of books piled high on every table, some new others yellowed with age. 

There's a silver tray on the coffee table littered with pens and paper and a beautiful piano in the room he leads me too, room lit by stained glass lamps in the shape of flowers, the shades tightly drawn with a beautiful japanese inspired screen for good measure. 

A guitar rests in one settee. It's closer to an antique shop than any catalogue. "Please," Alex says, "sit, make yourself comfortable," as he goes to place the needle on a record, a small library of records covering a bookshelf nearby. 

As an after though he adds, "don't mind the mess."

"It's fine," I smile, watching him, at ease in his home, wanting to run my fingers through his hair and find out if his hair was as soft as it looked, "it's kind of the vintage shop of my dreams. I don't know where to look because everything is catching my eye." 

As I'd hoped, he laughs. "That's certainly a way of looking at it innit?"

The first notes of the record filling the room. Alex takes a seat next to me on the plush sofa. I kick off my shoes, surprised at how quickly I take a liking to the jazz music, curling up on the couch, dim lighting adding to the cozy atmosphere, before I catch him looking at me with the same fondness from earlier. With an easy smile on his lips.

For a moment, we just gaze at each other with a certain schoolyard shyness that settles when neither of us looks away. 

His expressive eyes on mine. 

A gaze so intense I can't hold it for long before I have too look away. "It's funny," I note, "the music has me picturing the concert clearly. Like I'd been there. Fuck that must have been a night."

"It was." Alex nods, his gaze still heavy on me. "They all lived for their music, bodies a vessel for playing the notes swirling around their souls."It was a beautiful thought, and I wasn't sure how to reply to the sheer earnestness. 

"You said there was wine," I ask all faux innocence, wanting something to take the edge off. 

Hyper aware of every movement I make. I want to sink back into the ease we'd had in Auckland and not this. The thought of him wanting me as much as I wanted him was driving me crazy. 

"Oh so that's why you came," he grins so alight with amusement, eyes twinkling. 

"The musics good too." 

"And the company?"I shrug, teasing, "I've had worse."

"Oi!"

I snort.

He doesn't move to go for wine. "I'm starting to feel superfluous El," Alex say in his thick yorkshire accent, a drawl to his words, each one carefully considered as he takes his time to form a reply, uncaring about the time he takes. "It's not a very nice feeling."

I roll my eyes. "Don't tell me you need as much ego stroking as Miles?"

"Miles does all the ego stroking for himself."

"That doesn't surprise me," I laugh, "I think you need a lot of ego to get up on stage every night. I don't have stage fright but it's all very weird to have that many people looking up at you."

He nods in agreement, "it's a good thing that's not part of my job. All I wanted to do was 'ave people listen to my little songs."

"Well I'd say job well done." 

The album had debuted top of the UK charts. And he'd written the lions share with Miles. Alex ducks his head, red rising to his cheekbones, a stark contrast against his pale skin. 

Even a few weeks down under had done nothing to rid him of the lack of colour that came with living in such a gloomy city. 

"You've got the whole country singing along."

"Well. . .Miles and the boys do. I just helped Miles a little or well we just jammed together. Can't help myself around that man. . .rarely has anyone understood me so well."

"Have you always written songs?" None of my childhood hobbies had stayed with me, consumed with studying. 

"Can't help myself," he admits. "A tune or some words. . .coming to me mind. There till I write them down."

"That's loads more creative than me. I always think it would be fun to draw but I'm imagining some renaissance masterpiece and it always comes out a derpy stick figure or worse. So I just give up and read or go for a walk." Even in the winter, Greenwich park was beautiful, and bundled up it was bareable. 

"What do you like to read," Alex asks, tilting his head towards me, curiousity brimming in his soft eyes. The space between us closing in as we lean towards each other, disarmed by our conversation.  

His hand resting on his knee, pulled out on the sofa, making me feel shameless about having my legs pulled up as well. 

"Articles. Very depressing boring world news. Free essays on the paris review. It's a shame prints dead or else I'd try to justify buying copies. But I think I'd rather have a cuppa tea. With those fruit bits or boba."

"Is print dead?" 

Alex says it with a layer of incredulity, baffled. 

"Yeah. This thing called the internet came along."

"Bloody hell," he jokes, "I'm still waiting for the windows explorer to. . .do it's thing."

"You mean load? Not surprised. The selfies you tried to take in Sydney were awful. Thankfully those people were there to take our picture."

"Be easy with me El," Alex laughs, shaking his head at me, eyes crinkling in amusement. 

"I'll have to think about it," I tease, leaning against the softness of the sofa, resting my head as I take the sight of him in, warmth spreading in my chest, thrilled to know that I can make him laugh, that he'd meant it when he said he wanted me over. 

It's a funny little skip of my heart as hope takes root, the idea that he might like me as much as I like him, making me smile, happy for the first time since I got back. Really happy, not just content to be home, to lazy around and get time to myself.  

He pours us both a cuppa wine in ceramic cups, "no wine snobs here," he grins and the music plays and his knee taps to the beat against my leg. 

Every touch too much and yet not enough, desire welling up in the pit of my stomach. It's easy to drink, pour another glass out."

I don't think anyone has the time or concentration to listen to a fourty minute song anymore," I note, sipping lazyily at the wine, my palette too unrefined to know if it's cheap or expensive. 

"It's a jam session!"

I drink, trying to hide my smile at his expression, affronted on behalf of music everywhere, the seriousness to his mouth, frowning, a directness to his gaze. 

Failing, I giggle, slumping against the sofa, looking up at Alex through my lashes. "I thought it was just a very long song."

"El." His voice, that thick accent, his unique drawl, my face burning, as he leans over, empty bottle of wine forgotten on the coffee table. His hand cups my cheek, the tips of his fingers calloused in a delightful way, toes curling on the sofa cushion, thumb running over my bottom lip. 

Heart beat lodged in my throat, I can't speak, the desire bubbling over, wanting to spill over and kiss him already. Alex pressing lightly over my body, trapping me against the sofa. 

I swallow thickly, my fingers going to neck, threading my hands through his caramel hair, soft and silken, and pull him down to kiss me hard. 

I can feel his satisfied smile against my skin as he kisses me back passionately, without any hesitation, all of his fumbling for words gone. All confidence and want. 

Alex's other hand going down to my hip, rubbing cicrcles over my cotton shirt. My head spins with want and desire and Alex all tangled together, finally, kissing him eagerly as he shifts, shoving a cushion thoughtlessly off the sofa. I lay down, skin burning hot. Too many layers between us. 

His lips against mine. Tasting of wine and bitter chocolate, a tanginess I can't get enough of. 

My mouth opening up to his, tongue exploring my mouth, my hands running through his hair. Alex pressed against me as I lay with my back on the couch, solid and too many layers between us. 

He pulls back, pulling up at the hem of my shirt with a naughty schoolboy grin, endearing all the same. 

"I hate winter," I whisper against his cool skin, colder than the room, barely emanating any heat at all in the frigid english winter, "it makes getting undressed such a pain." 

Alex laughs, pulling his own shirt over his head. "I'll be sure to make it worth your time."

"Cocky bastard," I utter as he hooks his fingers through the loops of my jeans, pulling me closer to him, the feeling of his own cock, already half hard, sends me reeling. 

In leiu of a response, Alex trails kisses down my neck, sucking at the skin, sure to leave marks tomorrow. 

My fingers dig into his hair, breathily moaning his name. Shamelessly, he undoes the button on my jeans. 

It's never sexy to take off jeans, kicking them off rapidly, as I reach for him, kissing him again fiercely. The feel of his cool skin sending sending shivers down my spine. Lithe but toned. 

Alex cups one of my breasts, nipple hardening through the delicate lace. "Fuck El," he groans, hips grinding down against mine.I want him. I want him so much, feeling feverish with desire.  

All my thoughts of him. 

Of Alex. 

He slides his jeans off easily enough, cock hard through the fabric of his boxers. I look up at him, as I unclip my bralete, adding it to the pile of things on the coffee table. 

There's always an initial nervousness, when sleeping with someone new. And yet, I know Alex wouldn't hurt me. I trust him. 

"El-,"

"Come here," I reach for him, a whine to my voice, "come here and fuck me Alex."

He does. 

[leigh-kelly]

If the Fates Allow: Part 8/13

Thirteen part Christmas fic loosely based on Life As We Know It. After Santana and Brittany’s best friends die, leaving their two kids behind, the ex-girlfriends are forced to move in together and raise their godchildren.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

July:

Sometimes for Santana, the whole Brittany situation felt like whiplash. After the reunion, they stopped watching TV together at night, they started following the rules again, they just co-parented without any of the weird stuff between them. Santana wasn’t sure if it was good or bad, she wasn’t sure if she loved it or hated it, she just kind of felt like nothing was ever going to be right as long as this was the situation they were in. And even still, she didn’t think they’d be right being involved romantically, things were severely broken, mainly her heart, and she finally made plans to take Wendy out again, just wanting to get away from Brittany. She went on a bunch of dates, always on nights where she didn’t pick the kids up at school and always on nights where she had already promised Ava the next night would be extra special.

Because it was summer vacation, when Santana worked from home, she stopped working early in order to get Ava from camp. Brittany had arranged her classes around getting her on the days that she couldn’t and the afternoon after her date with Wendy, she was excited to see Ava since she hadn’t seen her since the morning before. Before she got Ava, she picked JJ up at daycare and strapped him into his car seat, then drove to Ava’s day camp. When she pulled up, she spotted Ava with her pigtails in the crowd and Santana smiled widely. Something about that kid just made her happy no matter how sad and mixed up she felt inside. Ava jumped up and down excitedly when she noticed Santana and the counselor opened up the door for her so she could get in the car. Santana leaned back and helped her with her buckle, then kissed her on the nose.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

“I missed you too! I have to tell you all about all of the stuff I did at camp and then help you cook dinner! Are you staying home tonight?”

“I am, just like I promised.”

“Do you have a new girlfriend, Aunt Santana? Are you gonna kiss her?”

“She’s not quite my girlfriend, Aves, but I like hanging out with her.”

“More than you like hanging out with me?”

“Never.” Santana smiled, turning around the drive them home. “There’s no one I’m ever going to like hanging out with more than I like hanging out with you.”

“Aunt Santana?”

“Yeah.”

“Georgianna got a dog. Can I get a dog?”

“Dog! Dog! Dog!�� JJ yelled from his car seat, making Santana laugh every time he acquired a new word by listening to Ava.

“I think a dog is a lot of work, and neither Aunt Brittany or I have much time for that right now.”

“Can we go to the dog store and just look at them? Mommy used to let me.”

Those words always cut straight through Santana’s heart and she couldn’t say no. She was pretty sure, knowing Cassidy, that they went to the pound rather than a puppy store, so she looked up the closest animal shelter on her phone and drove there. Ava was singing happily in the back seat, making JJ laugh as she did, and it made Santana feel good to see the kids in such good spirits. She pulled into the parking lot and Ava yelled that it was the same place she went to with Cass, so Santana felt like she was absolutely doing the right thing. Sometimes it felt like everything she did was about keeping Cass and John alive for Ava, but deep within her heart of hearts, Santana felt like that was the most right thing she could possibly do.

“Look at this one! Look at this one!” Ava hung on the bars of one of the cages, where a small terrier lay on the floor. “Aunt Santana, she’s so sad!”

“She does look pretty sad, doesn’t she?” Santana shifted JJ on her hip and ruffled Ava’s hair.

“If you tell the lady we want to play with her, we’re allowed!”

“For ten minutes, okay? We have to go home and get started on dinner.”

“Okay, ten whole minutes!”

The worker at the animal shelter took the dog out of the pen and she brought her into a little room. Santana told Ava not to put her face near the dog and she let JJ stand up, keeping a close eye on both of them in case the dog wasn’t as nice as she seemed. But immediately after they settled down, the dog perked right up and she came over to Ava, licking her hand. Then, though Santana wasn’t exactly a dog person, the dog came right over to her and licked her face, making her laugh in a way she hadn’t expected. The dog was probably the sweetest thing she’d ever seen and the way Ava smiled just made Santana feel some kind of way.

“Aunt Santana! She loves us! She loves us!” Ava cried out as JJ took a fist full of the dog’s fur and she laid down at his feet. “Please, please, please can we take her to our house?”

“Ava—”

“Please Aunt Santana? I want to keep her so, so bad! She’s a good dog! And Aunt Brittany loves dogs!”

Looking at both Ava’s face and the dog’s face, Santana realized she couldn’t say no. Maybe Brittany was right, she was absolutely powerless when it came to Ava, but Ava was also right, Brittany did love dogs and she thought it would be perfectly fine if they brought this sweet girl home. She probably should have called her, but she knew she was at work anyway and wouldn’t be able to answer. It would be fine, Santana figured, she’d deal with the repercussions, and before she knew it, she was signing papers. Once everything was finished, Ava was grinning from ear to ear as they put the dog in the backseat of the car between her and JJ and Santana really felt like she had made the best choice she could ever possibly make.

“I want to call her Daisy because that’s like Daisy Duck!”

“Daisy.” Santana laughed. “I like that.”

“I’m going to help you walk her and feed her and cuddle her! She’s mine, right Aunt Santana?”

“I think she’s more like a family dog, Aves, since JJ might want to share her with you when he’s a little bit bigger but she’s definitely part yours.”

“I can’t wait to call Georgianna and tell her! Can I call her on the phone? Please, please?”

“You definitely can, but after we have dinner, okay?”

“Okay!”

Brittany was already home when they pulled into the driveway and Ava was anxious to get Daisy out of the car and into the house. Santana unbuckled JJ first, then she hooked Daisy’s leash to her and opened the door for Ava. She squealed with delight when Santana let her hold onto the leash, but when they got to the door, Brittany was out on the front steps and did not look happy. Santana swallowed hard, knowing that this was going to be like their frequent ice cream conversations only worse and she immediately realized that as much as she thought she could deal with the repercussions of her decision, maybe she wasn’t.

“Aunt Brittany! Look! It’s Daisy! Our dog!”

“I didn’t know we had a dog.” Brittany forced a smile for Ava, but the way she looked at Santana could kill. “Ava, honey, why don’t you go inside and wash your hands?”

“Daisy! Come with me!” Ava pulled on the leash and she disappeared inside with the dog trailing behind her.

“You have got to be kidding me right now.” Brittany lowered her voice and narrowed her eyes at Santana. “You got her a dog without even thinking about talking to me?”

“Why should I have talked to you when you were just going to end up saying no?”

“Um, I don’t know, because I live here too and am going to have to share the responsibility with you?”

“No one’s asking you to do anything, Brittany. I’ll take care of the damn dog.”

“That’s not even the point.” Brittany shook her head. “We’ve had this conversation before, you just give into everything she wants and I’m trying to maintain some sense of order around here.”

“Right, I’m the terrible parent.”

“What’s even up with you lately? I thought we were becoming friends and then suddenly you don’t even look at me.”

“Is this about us being friends or about the dog? Make up your mind.”

“It’s about communication. You’re not communicating with me about anything and now you come home with a dog. A phone call would have been nice.”

“So take her back.”

“Right.” Brittany rolled her eyes. “Because that won’t make me the meanest person in the world if I take away the dog that you told Ava she could have.”

“I didn’t go to the animal shelter with the plan of bringing home a dog. I did it because Ava said Cass used to take her.”

“And managed to never bring home a dog!”

“Stop fighting! You’re not supposed to fight! Aunt Santana promised!” Ava screamed, standing in the doorway. “You’re makin’ me and Daisy sad! Aunt Brittany, are you gonna take Daisy away from me?”

“I’m not going to take Daisy away from you, Ava. You don’t have to worry about that.” Brittany sighed, looking down at Ava and the dog. Then, she looked back up at Santana and whispered, “I’m not done with this conversation.”

The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife the whole night and after the kids were in bed, Santana really wanted to just hide in her bedroom and avoid any sort of conversation. But Brittany ended up knocking on her door and Santana was shocked by that. She’d never actually done that before and it felt really weird as Santana trudged to the door and opened it. Brittany was standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and Santana took a deep breath.

“We can’t fight with the kids sleeping.” Santana put her hands up to stop the incoming barrage of criticism.

“I am more than capable of having an adult conversation with my voice at a reasonable volume.”

“Don’t you understand that I’m just trying to make this kid happy? JJ doesn’t remember them probably already but Ava misses them so much and so what if we have a dog to help fill a hole in her life.”

“It’s not so what, Santana. Adults have conversations about big things like this. What happens when she’s a teenager and she decides she wants to date, are you just going to let her go out with someone without talking to me.”

“Oh, please, we were sleeping together when we were fifteen.”

“Why do you always have to bring up our past whenever I’m just trying to have a conversation about something unrelated?”

“You’re not trying to have a conversation. You’re trying to make me feel bad. Well guess what? I don’t. Goodnight, Brittany.”

“You can’t just say goodnight when you don’t want to talk about things. You keep doing that.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh, real mature. Are you going to stick your fingers in your ears too?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me.” Brittany crossed her arms over her chest.

“You only want to talk when you think you’re going to win an argument. Whatever, you want to be right, you’re right. I shouldn’t have gotten the dog, but now it’s too late.”

“I’m not having this conversation to try to be right. I’m trying to talk to you so we can be better parents together.”

“Whatever, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It’s how it works for me.” Santana stepped back, considering closing the door.

“I really don’t want to fight with you. I just want you to recognize what I’m trying to say.”

“I get it, okay. You’re the responsible one, I’m the irresponsible one. You win, I lose.”

“Seriously Santana, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing’s up, this is just who I am. You know, shitty. You decided that two years ago.”

“This isn’t about us.”

“Isn’t it always?”

[docholligay]

A Stopped Clock: Chapter 8--Here and Now and Then and There

I think this fic series is ALMOST done? I think next month will be the last installment. Please thank @katrani for sponsoring this! This series has been the source of some of the stuff I’ve really loved, and has been so much fun for me to do, and this installment in PARTICULAR has let me toy with Lena’s past a lot and I’ve really enjoyed it. All of A Stopped Clock is here! 

The sidewalk came up hard and fast as the toe of her tennis shoe caught her heel, sending her soaring to the ground, elbows digging against her sweater and the corduroy of her pants failing to cushion her tiny knees.

She stared at the dark grey of the damp walkway for a moment.

“Brush yourself off, Lena,” She looked up to see her father smiling at her kindly, offering her his hand, “Come on then.”

Lena Oxton, three years old and not yet Tracer, pushed her hands to the cement and got to her feet. She nodded at her dad, brushing away his hand with great confidence, and made a great show of brushing off the front of her pants and the front of her shirt.

She grinned at her father. “All better!”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her father, smiling at Lena. “What about Biscuit?”

Lena nodded quickly, eyes wide in the disbelief that she had forgotten his needs, and brushed off the stuffed sloth in her hand, kissing his elbows, just in case he had a booboo.

“That’s a girl.” Her mother reached out her hand, and Lena took it.

“All better now, innit?” Her father took her other hand.

They walked down the street, the cool grey fog of London surrounding them, towards home.

Tracer sat in the small bed of what was now her bedroom, in an old warehouse in London, watching the rain drizzle down the glass, wrapped warm in her sweater and a pair of fluffy socks, Biscuit still resting, after all these years, up under her arm.

She was better. This was impossible to deny, and she was grateful and happy. She had a wonderful friend who’d uprooted his life for her, and a fantastic family that did and gave everything they could, and her life and her care was assured in a way that few people’s ever were. This was also impossible to deny, and she was doubly thankful for all of it.

But better was not fully well, and this was where she struggled.

Her pen was a brightly colored metallic ink, the sparkles inside the barrel moving with each stroke as she doodled and wrote in her small journal with the stickers on the cover. She wanted to feel like this pen again, the pen Mercy had given her because she’d seen it in a store in Zurich and had immediately thought of Tracer. She wanted to sparkle and shine again.

When you’re hurt really badly, you don’t have time to to think about it long-term.

She looked at the sentence she’d written. That was the whole frustration of it, wasn’t it? When she’d first come back, everything hurt. Every gentle touch, every kind word, it was all agony. It was suffering or sleeping.

Which didn’t leave her much time to worry that she’d never be well.

But now home, in London, cared for and relatively comfortable, she worried.

She would go along, doing the dishes or making dinner, walking down to the river or doing some shopping, trying to get a beer down at the pub like a normal person. A siren would be too loud as it went by, and her nerves would fray away all over again. Her brain was too fast. It was like a TV that kept flipping channels, and everything was so loud, why was the music in the pub so loud, why was everyone talking so much, their voices overlapping each other? Didn’t they know Tracer heard them all? That every word entered her ears, her brain struggling to follow all of it at once?

She’d throw her pounds down on the bar and leave, trying to find someplace quiet, someplace still where she could let herself reset, and yet another sensation she didn’t need, the hot tears of her own embarrassment, would join the chorus of ‘this is your life now. This is as good as you’ll get.’

Lena burst into tears, wriggling away frantically from the crowd, the noise echoing in her ears from everyone’s conversations, a dozen concerned people touching her too softly, in that way that was meant to be comforting but only made every nerve more sensitive.

From behind, her father picked her up in a quick scoop, holding her tight against him as he leaned across the bar and gave a quick remark to Mickey, the man who had tended bar there for most of Lena’s life.

He opened the door to a tiny room behind the main pub, and set her down on top of a keg, and sat on a box next to her, his face carrying all the exhaustion of a man trying to figure out his life as a single parent over the last year.

“‘S all right, love.” He squeezed her shoulder tight. “We’ll just take a minute or two to ourselves.”

She was six, then, old enough to be embarrassed that it was all too much, and too young to hide it well.

“Sorry.” She sniffled, the quiet and dark of the room already soothing.

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry over, Lena.” He thought for a moment. “My sister, your aunt, Annie. When we was little, she ‘ad this ‘appen too. Used to sit with her in the quiet.” He smiled at her. “Gets easier as you get older, or so she said.”

She brushed away her tears. “Really?”

“Really really. You ever know me to lie, Lena Bean?”

She shook her head and climbed into his lap, hugging him close. “I miss Mummy.”

He held her tight against him, and she relaxed against her shoulder. “We’ll be alright, me girl. It’s you and me. Just takes time. Everything takes time.”

Everything takes time, she wrote in her notebook.

Her father had been right, hadn’t he? Everything had gotten easier as Tracer had gotten older, as she’d learned how her mind worked and how to enter into a truce with it, how to play with it, how to enjoy it, how to love the way she was as her family did. Life had been easy, before the Slipstream.

Coming back had been a fight then. And here she was again.

The worst was when the chill damp of her beloved London slipped under her warm sweaters and touched her, and there it was,London becoming the void, that sharp cold that was the only feeling in the void of timelessness, the one that cut through her and ate her. She’d gasp, her body tight, her mind screaming PLEASE NO NOT AGAIN I WON’T MAKE IT I’LL DIE I’LL DIE PLEASE.

Tracer set down her journal and looked out the window again, hugging her sloth close to her.

“Today’s better than yesterday, Biscuit. Tomorrow’ll be better than today.” She nodded as she said it, her brow furrowed in determination.

There was a knock at her door, as Winston gently stepped through the timelock, two mugs in hand.

“Someday,” he said, letting the door shut behind him, “I am going to invent a network that covers the whole house. You can take your accelerator off anywhere in it.” He extended one of the mugs to her. “Cocoa?”

She took a deep breath, shedding the melancholy that was, she reminded herself, not really helping her anyhow, and smiled at him. “Love some!” She took the mug from his hand, a large swirl of whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

He sat on the large beanbag chair across from her bed, where he stayed sometimes when the nightmares got bad.

“I’m serious,” He took a drink of his cocoa, “”I’m already working on the technology, but it--”

“Winston,” she laughed, “I believe you. Can’t be easy.” She patted his hand. “Particularly not with you working so much.”

Her voice was a little sad and guilty, and Winston rushed to comfort her, shaking his head.

“Oh, no, my job is wonderful--”

“You repair mobiles.” She looked at him skeptically. “You don’t ‘ave to lie to me, Win, I’m not a child.” She gave a weak laugh. “Suppose I should be grateful, I sit ‘ere and nip down to the pub, bit of the washing up, meanwhile, you work all day, Ang’s testifying before the bloody UN--”

“I--I don’t mind,” He looked at her kindly, “I don’t mind doing it for you.”

And there was the truth of it, which was even more painful to Tracer. Winston didn’t love what he was doing, but he did love her.

“What if,” She tried to bite back the fear, to bite back her embarrassment and shame, and choked back her tears. “What if I never get any better than I am right now?”

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Winston said, in his is kind and loving and all wrong way.

“I don’t want that!” Tracer gave in to the tears, gave in to the sliver of shadow that had been following her.

He reached out to her. “Lena, you’re doing so well. It’s only been a few months, and you’ve come so far, it’s, I mean come on, this isn’t like you at a--”

“Oh Winston, what if it ‘appens again?!” She sobbed into his shoulder, the strong wave of emotion that was so very her, whatever Winston hoped, “I’m so scared, all the bloody time, I-- I can’t do it Win, not again. I’ll die! I can’t--I’m not--” The sob broke form her, taking over her speech and flooding the room with the overwhelming sense of her sorrow.

Winston was possessed of a soft soul, and to see anyone upset touched his heart, whether he cared for them particularly or not. And so, to see Tracer: bright, sunny, unbreakable Tracer, his friend, his person, lost in her own moment of sorrow and despair and fear, that was the most painful thing of all.

Worse was the he could not reassure her. That she might be right, that it could happen again. That it would only take the accident of a moment.

All he could do was draw his arms tighter around her, as if the will of his own love could hold her in time.

“Oh Lena,” Her father held her tightly on the couch, her tears pouring into her father’s blue shirt, “I know it ‘urts, love. I know.”

“Never asking out another girl ever again!” Her voice was muffled.

“Tell meself that plenty of times,” he laughed, “always a lie. We’re suckers for the ladies, love.”

She pulled away from him and flopped back on the couch, wiping her nose. “It’s too much. I ‘ate it.”

“You remember what I told you, when you was a girl?” He leaned back next to her on the couch and tapped her knee, the girl who was Lena, who would be Tracer, who would be lost and would be found. “You remember?”

She took a deep breath, pushed herself off of Winston’s shoulder, over to the window,  and looked up at the sun peeking out of the clouds . There shouldn’t be sun in London. It shouldn’t be able to make it through the clouds.

But it did, didn’t it? No matter how many clouds there were, the sun always came through, eventually.

“Brush yourself off, Lena.” She nodded. “Brush yourself off.” She gave Biscuit a hug. “We’re all right.”

She looked over at Winston, who watched her carefully, wiped her eyes, and smiled.

“What you say we go out for a bite, you and me?” She stood up out of the bed and stretched.

It was her body, and she was in it. She was here, and even on the days it felt too much, she was feeling, wasn’t she? It felt good to stretch. It felt good to lay under her weighted blanket.

Every day, new things felt good. It was getting better. Better every day. She just had brush herself off, Just had to keep trying.

She walked over to her closet, taking out a pair of corduroy pants.

“Could use a pie, to tell the truth,” she smiled over at Winston, “Let it be me treat, yeah? ‘Ave a bit of bread and ‘oney from me aunt Lil,” she laughed, the clouds moving from her mind, “well then on ‘er, I guess.”

Winston adjusted his glasses nervously. “Are you feeling--”

She took a clean purple sweater out of the dresser and beamed at Winston.

“I am, now as you mention it.” She brushed off her pants. “Feel great.”

[loquaciousquark]

5th Harvestmere. It is Properly Blustery at last

Sebastian’s singing voice is unfairly beautiful. Went to services this morning (he told us last week at WG he was cantoring) and enjoyed every minute of it. Classical training can only do so much—I proved that myself, to Mother’s consternation—and sometimes you just can’t help but appreciate raw natural talent.

Damn. I was trying not to think about

Varric told us this morning he’d heard a rumor about a ship waylaying a trading vessel out of Rivain last month. The captain was calling herself the Queen of the Eastern Seas.

She hasn’t tried to write me either, so I don’t know why it stings so much. Maybe because I know she could find me if she wished, and she...wishes not to, apparently. And I…

I don’t think the post delivers to Queen of the Eastern Seas. Especially not without a forwarding address.

15th Harvestmere. Chilly enough to break out the ugly sweaters

Orana’s been here a year tomorrow. She thought I’d forgotten—aha, but I hadn’t! Untrusting woman!

Had all her favorites for dinner—light meats, fresh fruit in tartes, and grilled slices of red potatoes in a vinegar sauce. Dessert was a flat chocolate cake thing that Bodahn makes only on very special occasions. Well, if Orana’s not special, I don’t know what is.

I got her a new lute. I don’t know if I should have, but she doesn’t know when she was born, not even the season, and there aren’t nearly enough opportunities the rest of the year for proper gift-giving. Not to mention her old one’s a half size too large for her (accursed merchant), and one of the keys won’t hold its place for tuning. The new one has ivy scrollwork on the neck that made me think of her. Strong at the root, even if the leaves look fragile.

One of Orana’s friends, a woman who helps out in Jean-Luc’s shop, came by for dessert as well, as did Tomwise, and an elf woman I recognized from Lowtown but couldn’t place the name of, and her little daughter. Toby naturally took the girl’s entertainment as his number one priority, which helped, and then all Orana’s friends and Bodahn and Sandal sat around just...having a very lovely conversation.

I hadn’t even realized she knew all these people. Bodahn was the one to invite them all.

I excused myself after a while, just to give them some privacy. I think I made the little girl nervous. I wish I could explain to her I belong with Tomwise a thousand times more than I belong with Lady Forsythe and the glittering errata.

Then again, I’m the one importing strawberries out of season and serving chocolate cake on hand-dyed porcelain. Flames, at this point I wish I could explain it to myself.

Later, almost midnight

Orana came and found me after all her friends had left. She asked if she could play something for me in thanks—I told her the lute was out of my gratitude, not meant to exacerbate hers, but she just gave that little smile that tells me she’s about to do whatever she wishes anyway, so I lit a few candles and she sat next to me at the window.

I don’t know what it was called. It was Tevinter and strange and sad, and she hummed a little in harmony as she went, and I wanted to cry without knowing why.

She said her father had loved that song. She said he and the other cooks used to sing it in groups in Hadriana’s kitchens, but she’s forgotten the words.

I wondered…

Mm. I wondered if Fenris would know the words, and Orana shook her head and smiled and thought it was unlikely, that what she knew of Danarius’s household offered very little of Napocan folk songs.  

She said she’d heard of Fenris in Minrathous, that Hadriana talked of him sometimes, and that once Danarius had stopped to see his apprentice and Fenris had come with him. She’d seen him through a crack in a balcony and been frightened by his face.  

She hadn’t recognized him at first, that day in the caverns among the iron cages. It hadn’t been until that evening, when he’d come to pace in my foyer, that she’d known him for who he was and who he belonged to. She’d been afraid already, and then I’d come home and Mother had taken her upstairs...

She said Mother had been kind. Even when she’d broken that vase of chrysanthemums—and I’d forgotten about that—Mother had only been patient. She said sometimes that made it worse in the beginning, but she’d understood Mother better by the end.

I burned to ask her if she’d seen Fenris leave that night, but couldn’t bring myself to get the words out. It didn’t matter the answer, anyway—it all would have hurt the same.

Why do happy occasions always make my heart ache the most?

17th Harvestmere. Cold

I forgot my nameday. It was the fifteenth, the same day as Orana’s party. I was so busy planning her day I forgot, and it hadn’t once crossed my mind until Fenris came by this morning.

He had a book. A volume on Aristone’s treatises, annotated by the elvhen mage Daliari, bound in black leather and with a blue ribbon for marking my place.

He said everyone else planned to give me something at cards tonight, but he—implied as obliquely as possible—wasn’t certain if I’d like it and didn’t want me to have to pretend to be pleased if I wasn’t.

I am very pleased.

23rd Harvestmere. Someone piled up leaves from the street right outside my door and Toby has been, in a word, romping

Thinking about Bethany today. Thinking about Varania, too (whether or not she exists), and Karl, Anders’s old lover, and Sebastian’s family, and the way people can leave without warning and that’s--that’s all there is to it, and you’ve only the Maker’s hope you said everything you needed to before it happened.

I keep remembering I never told Mother I liked her hair, the way she’d started wearing it. What a small thing to keep wrapping thorns around my heart.

Aveline mentioned Wesley the other day as well. An offhanded comment, because Fenris stepped in something sticky coming into the Hanged Man and Aveline (apparently) once walked barefoot into a whole cask’s worth of sour beer Wesley had spilled once. I haven’t heard her say his name in years. I wonder if that’s time’s influence, or Donnic’s.

I am infinitely tired of watching the people I love lose.

Satinalia! 1st Firstfall, and I can’t see a thing through this damned mask. Also it’s bitterly cold outside

Merrill’s already pattering through the kitchen (which means I need to get downstairs immediately before I end up with flour all down the stairs again) but a quick note before I go: next time I offer to host Satinalia feasting, don’t let everyone pre-drink at the Hanged Man first.

Later

New inkpen! Finer point than I had, lovely, a black lacquered ironwood courtesy Varric & Merrill, sneaky sneaky. Av gave a little book of hymns with Sebastian who wrote a decida de dedion dedication in the front. Ha! I can spell. I can spell better than most poeple. Except Varric.

Anders forgot it was Sat. Bought drinks for the whole group in apology & two more bottles to bring to my place. Laughed while he did it but didn’t drink & he def. can’t afford it. Memo: large donation next week, anon. Get V to drop it off via runner. Get the urchin with the whistle. Set the whole street awake if he sees a templar lurking

something is banging outside

He liked his scarf, though. Fereldan colors & part of the Anderfels skyline along one hem. Orana’s idea, smart as flames. Too bad he’s pathologically attached to those feathers or I’d have that paper-thin coat out in half a heartbeat

Merrill was trickier but liked the mittens & Av showed her the stitching on the inside, Dalish for heart & memory. I need to be craftier so I can stop leaching gift ideas off everyone else

Maker’s blood & bone this room will not stop spinning

Av, Seb, V & I all went in and got Fen a complete collection of Mader’s works. Historical/slightly fictionalized/encyclopedic thing. Eight volumes. Dry as bones but for flashes of brilliant humor & then you realize he’s just sarcastic as the Void. Plus rather decent Marcher history from Steel Age onward. Not flattering of Tevinter either. Seems perfect for him.

Fancy leather bindings, all in dark leather with rainbow bookmarks. Not all rainbow themselves. The first is red, next orange, etc. F couldn’t carry them all at once so they’re downstairs waiting for multiple trips

What is this banging

[There is no heading for the next section. Instead, there are large, red stains across the side of the page, as if the writer’s hand had not been washed prior to taking up the pen.]

Burn these smugglers! Now I’m drunk and bloody and my ear is cut and Fen is downstairs kipping in the guest because the Crimson We wa Weavers have death wishes & jumped him for coin

Stupid

especially right outside my house, went out and he had all but three down even swaying worse than Gamlen the morning after payday

laughed when I got two down with lightning, & he looked like a masterwork painting since he still had on the elvhen godshead mask. Fen’harel. Lyrium was glowing and made the eyes light from the inside, and his grin was wolfish as anything I’ve ever...

Now there are bodies in my leaves and no one will get them until morning

Damned inconvenient

17th Firstfall. Stairs to Lowtown were iced over today and one of the people who take the palanquins up and down the stairs broke a leg

Varric told me about a mummer’s show last night in Lowtown. He, Aveline, and I went--invited the others but Anders & Merrill were busy and Fenris said he might but never showed.

Varric didn’t tell me it was about me becoming the Champion. Fighting the Arishok, all that. They made him a monster. Grotesque, I mean. His face was purple and scarred and twisted, and I killed him with a sword as tall as Anders.

The audience loved it. They cheered when the Arishok died, and the woman playing me spat on him before kicking his body into the harbor.

I told Varric if I ever read something like this in any of his future books I’d never take him anywhere with me ever again.

20th Firstfall. Ice has melted and now everything’s soggy as spring

Apologized to Varric yesterday. I know he’d never write anything like that mockery, and it wasn’t fair to take my irritation out on him.

It was a ten-copper mummer’s show, and the lead had papier-mâché armor. There’s only so much self-righteous indignation I can manage at one time.

Absolutely sent the company an incensed letter, though. Enjoy ten pages of detailed, annotated corrections, you limp little eels.

30th Firstfall. Snowing lightly today, just enough to make everything slick

Had a letter today. No signature or heading, postmarked Brandel’s Reach. The corner was torn off and the whole thing smelled like salt. “Hope everything’s well there. Still alive. That’s all.”

That’s all.

Six months and that’s all.

19th Haring. Merrill brought a basket of snowdrops and she, Orana, and I covered the great room in garland. Damned lovely

Braeden asked me to marry him. He had a ring made of gold and sapphires and a pair of delicate lace gloves that are too small for me. He said these last months together have shown him I am more than capable of becoming a lasting partner in managing his life and his lands and he’s sure he can make me happy.

I asked him what my favorite color was. He didn’t know.

5th Wintermarch

She died a year ago today.

Fenris came and had dinner with me. We didn’t talk much, and afterwards we went to the library and were quiet there, too. He let me doze on his shoulder when I couldn’t sleep. He left around second bell, when I told him I would go to bed even if I couldn’t manage the dreaming.

Of all the painful anniversaries between us, this one is my least favorite.

21st Wintermarch. I’ve begun needing green -- this winter’s lasting longer than some of Lothering’s, or maybe that’s just because there’s hardly been any snow

I’ve had a terrible cold since Firstday. Orana and Bodahn have kept me bundled in fur & up to my eyes in hot soup and I think I’m finally on the mend. My throat’s so sore I sound like a tenor, though.

Went out to Sundermount last week with Merrill, Varric, and Aveline. We skirted the Dalish camp out there because Merrill didn’t want to speak to Marethari, but I saw her face at the aravel sails peeking over the hills. I’d give a thousand sovs to never see her look like that again.

30th Guardian. Wet and cold and grey and there’s smoke in the winds off the forge down the way

Didn’t mean to leave this so long, but I lost you, journal! Forgot I’d taken you along on a trip up to the farther reaches of the Wounded Coast, and then when I got back I tossed the bag to the side and didn’t think twice about it for a month until Orana started making faces at the smell of iron and brackish seawater. And lo and behold, what should be tucked into the bottom of the bag but a handful of dog biscuits (Toby is thrilled) and you, dear journal, your pages a little worse for the wear but still holding their binding perfectly well.

Naturally, I have nothing to say. The Crimson Weavers have been rooted out from the city and Cullen is now obliged to leave Pelarie’s sister with the family necklace. Something I can check off my list as Champion of this blighted city. Luck dictates I must have one success eventually.

I did have to go by the Gallows the other day to deliver a packet of herbs to Sol. The templars didn’t stare so badly this time, but I know the blonde one with the mutton chops would have killed me if he could. I’m not so far from pitched battle to not recognize death in a man’s eyes.

17th Drakonis. It warmed just for a day as if to tease, then went right back to the chilly damp drizzle. In like a lion, out like a lion, a very wet lion with a soggy mane

I’ve been itching dangerously for a few weeks in the absence of life-threatening peril, so I’ve been taking myself down to Anders’s clinic. It’s cruel to say, but there’s enough death there (and risk of death) to keep my blood at bay, and Anders needs the help besides. There’s a rash of pox going around (ha) and while it’s not too bad for most, the fever can take the very young and very old in a matter of hours.

Anders is getting thin. Reminder: have Orana put some of those turnovers in the basket next time. I’ll fatten him up if I have to tie him to the kitchen chair.

A pair of boys came in to the clinic day before yesterday. Brothers, it looked like, one ten and the other maybe seven or eight. They said they had no one else when I asked. The little one had the pox and was scratching himself to bleeding; the other had the dimpled scars on his neck and arms but no fever left.

I wish I could heal like Anders. He’s so talented at this sort of thing. I can’t even fathom how he can reach inside and feel for the wrongness, then just--pull it out as clean as anything, like separating ink from water in a thin line. Bethany could do that too, when she wasn’t afraid of it. She could sense the source of a cold from across the room and have it halfway to mending in two breaths.

I haven’t the talent like that. Father called me a hammer, once, and he wasn’t wrong, and since Anders was asleep I had to use what I could to heal this boy, which was -- well, me.

He left better than he came in, at least. The fever was gone and the open poxmarks were healed over, but he’ll have scars all down his arms for the rest of his life. Anders would have had him looking fresher than a newborn babe and sent him off with a lolly. 

He’ll live. Why am I not satisfied?

1st Cloudreach. Cold

I didn’t want him to just live. I wanted him to be as he was before this sickness touched him, healthy and whole and without the memories of all the pain. 

Funny. You’d think I’d have learned by now. If six years of friendship with Fenris has taught me nothing else, the memories make you who you are.

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #4

4. Maggot Brain

I’m so grateful to have people around me that are willing to carry my pain as their own, I’m so out of love with myself but beginning to fill my soul with what I’ve been lacking.

it’s difficult, having undergone such a traumatic situation, spending years to convince myself this nightmare was nothing but a pigment of my imagination, but finally saying it out loud is a process I’m willing to go through. I might go as far as to say this could be about the bravest thing i could’ve done in this life. i wasn't the problem. it wasn't my fault. in no way am i responsible for my own rape.

abuse is never acceptable and i do not deserve it despite thinking I did for a majority of the short time I’ve walked the face of this earth; but neither does anyone and I mean anyone. Everyone responds differently to trauma, even worse when you’ve been gaslighted for so many years of your life that you doubt your own sanity, you blame yourself & you feel crazy- when really you’re just traumatised. I’ve been abused in every sense on multiple other occasions & now I’m scared, I’ve lived my life in fear; that’s why I speak up.

I still feel weak; it still eats away at my brain like a maggot-but I feel good about saying it, not guilty, not like my fault, just right. I would have weird triggers for years and have those triggers feel invalid or dumb. I would put all the abuse I’ve gone through into one category rather than separate the occasions because it made me feel disgusting amplified 4 times rather than just 1. My views became distorted, I became paranoid & began to watch a cycle of abusive manipulators enter my life & never stopped to question why, because I didn’t want to believe why or where this could’ve stemmed from. Until now, I didn’t want to connect the dots but I knew if I never did it might be too late, I’d lose the desire to address it & live, and the guilty would never be proved guilty. I feel really rude that i cant go back in time and save my younger self, how I let such a poison control me- but I still breathe, I still strut my feet, I keep moving. I’m still alive.

men can be bloody awful, but for once I want something that’s says, yes women can be bad too; more than just that-women can abuse men domestically too. in order to understand our present existence it all goes back to past environmental morals, principles & values. Unfortunately I can’t question or study my violators and I can’t sit and police anyone or talk about anyone else’s experiences or contributing factors as to why they are the way they are. I can only talk & direct this or let this be inspired by my experiences, I’ve been raped twice by two separate men on two separate occasions-excluding a covert narcissist I dated & my childhood abuser.

I have an element of personal pride yet sometimes I wonder if it’s an inherent part of my character that I taught myself to enjoy/ find happiness in solitude- or if it stems from feeling inescapably lonely in the first place.

-as a kid or teenager I would create alternative realities that I could go escape too because it was my coping mechanism..it sounds dumb to anyone who is has no deep escapism issues and isn’t affected by the ways of the world. i always wanted to make my own show or felt like it was up to me to write my own script because i didn’t understand what character i was assigned to be in the one on how to be a good girl and function normally in a shitty pedophilic infested rapey shan ass fuckin excuse of a society. lol i could only try maintain the front like the good girl i was. I knew from pretty young the script we were ‘supposed’ to follow was not all that, and eventually i began lusting to be as powerful as the people who overpowered me, but not in such a brutal way, still i was going to make them do what i wanted. in life i would have to slay some demonic reptiles that may come in my way (me thinking i’m a warrior) otherwise i would get eaten alive. yeah so i knew the script had a deeper meaning. real shady, conforming and sus. mines would be freeing, true and carefree.

so there’s obviously an awareness these realities aren’t real now but when you begin to look at life as a game, subconsciously even in adult hood, you take certain risks before putting the logical precautionary measures in place!! I always wish i could stay in line but i vowed to write my own script as soon as i got a pen licence in primary! sometimes i feel like its one of my personalities controlling that ‘i must control my destiny’ crap, however i literally do feel my brain split, i still ave my purpose and will achieve things, there’s just a time scale in my head which makes everything sticky. in most situations where i should be able to act with logic or just make a simple bloody decision, it’s kinda like the classic devil on ones shoulder with an angel on the other (in my head it’s more like fosters home for imaginary friends gang) we don’t always want to make the best decisions or know what is right.

anyhooOO sometimes good things come out of risky situations, sometimes you think you’ll get killed but it becomes all part of the game and you just hope you aren’t getting played and they haven’t been sent to ruin or test you. sometimes you get sent messiahs and griots, storytellers and healers. people are assigned symbols, memorable energies too will never be forgotten, be it aura colors or lucky numbers. anyways I live in my imaginatio still but apply some of that to my ‘reality’ whatever the fuck that is. I am baaaaad for ghosting but i want cuddles all the time when i’m not thinking about hitting my  head against a wall. i want to read a poetry book or some shit with someone in the grass and eat jackfruit! & not run away from my issues when things feel too intense. Although it’s never a boring time when I’m away off sites other than tumblr i do miss when i was once a good communicator, now I really do specifically enjoy the isolated factor. but then I wonder how to differentiate an ingrained love of solitude from an acquired ability to thrive off  loneliness. 

I have seriously learned from it but i don’t need to be nourished by it forever- i want intimacy and honest expression really.. ; i just don’t know to what extent being alone is simply just a form of escapism to recharge or because i have always been convinced by something inside me that i wasn’t the same as others. either way i built contentment residing on my lonesome.

i'm nowhere near recovery. but i'm opening up about it. i'm no longer terrified to talk about it with the close ones that know. i'm trying not to feel ashamed due to the effects my trauma still has today. when in doubt, i have people to go to. i plan to join one to one therapy to help me accept & overcome it after and if things ever go back to some kind of normal that my brain can adapt to. I plan to free myself from this bondage.

[thecoroutfitters]

A few days ago we celebrated the ending of 2017 and the beginning of 2018.

It is a time when some people look back over the old year and try to take stock, while others look forward and try to see just what the new year might bring. Some make resolutions, while others scoff, knowing that the vast majority of those resolutions won’t last more than two weeks.

At this time last year, many of us were looking forward to a change in the presidency. The Donald had won the election, beating out Hillary Clinton for the right to reside at 1600 Pennsylvania AVE NW, in Washington, DC. Democrats were outraged about that, vowing to topple Trump from that pinnacle of power.

But those of us who are not on the extreme left breathed a huge collective sigh of relief to see the end of Obama’s reign of terror come to an end.

I think even the “never Trump” faction of the Republican Party might have breathed at least a small sigh of relief to know that Hillary Clinton wouldn’t become the new Commander in Chief. But on the other hand, there were never Trumpers scattered around amongst the Republicans who would have rather had her in the Oval Office, just to keep Trump out.

Trump didn’t fit in, everyone knew that. He himself made a point of it. Worse, from the Washington establishment point of view, was his campaign promise to “drain the swamp;” something that the swamp itself has fought hard against.

How To Build a Small Bunker in Your Backyard with $400

No matter how you look at it, Donald Trump’s presidency has been one of the most active and controversial presidencies this country has ever seen. Those who look at Washington politics honestly (of which there are very few) have to admit that Trump has made a huge amount of changes to his predecessor’s policies. For those who are extreme liberals, this has been horrifying; but for those who are conservatives, it has been like a breath of fresh air.

Trump’s handling of Christmas itself gives a very clear picture of the difference between his presidency and Obama’s. From his actions, it appeared that Obama despised Christmas, at least as a religious holiday, even though he claimed to be a Christian. The liberal Greeting of Happy Holidays, supposedly intended to be all-inclusive, ignored what Christmas is really all about.

For Trump, this was just one more thing to distinguish him from the previous president and those hanging on to his coat tails.

Last year he said that he was going to bring the message of “Merry Christmas” back to this country… and he did. Defying the political correctness police (who he mostly ignores), Trump declared a Merry Christmas to the nation and the world, reminding us of the real reason for the season.

Video first seen on Fox Business.

One thing that Trump has going for him, which few people recognize is his great character, and true character is standing for something. We used to define being a man as standing for something. Trump does.

Giving credit where credit is due, so did Obama. The big difference is that Obama was praised by the media lackeys for saying what they wanted to hear, while Trump is lambasted at every turn for saying what he believes in.

It takes much more moral fiber to say what you believe, when you know you’re going to be crucified in the press for it, than it takes when you know you’re going to be praised for it.

That’s much of the problem that exists within the Republican Party. They aren’t willing to take the heat for doing what is right. Therefore, they bow down to the wishes of the Democrats, even while the Democrats are in the minority. They have allowed themselves to be whipped by the collective pens of the media.

In this, they haven’t learned the lessons of the 2016 Presidential Election; a lesson that has continued throughout Trump’s first year in power. That lesson, of ignoring the media and playing to the American people is one that could change this country for the good. It would eliminate the disproportionate power that the minority holds over the majority. Quite literally, the power of name-calling.

But doesn’t the free press exist to keep the government in check? Yes. But they’ve long ago abdicated their role in the American political system, setting aside their objectivity as a government watchdog and becoming nothing more than the propaganda arm of the progressive-liberal left.

One could say that ignoring the media puts one in an echo chamber. At one time, this was true. When the media did their Constitutionally protected job it sure was. Back then, the media expressed the opinion of We the People, not just the opinion of the liberals living in the coastal enclaves. That has made them into part of one echo chamber, as they have studiously ignored any others.

Obama clearly lived within that same echo chamber, hearing the adulation of the media on a constant basis. He was a rock star president, who accepted their adoration as his due. He also used that as his justification for his actions, telling himself that if the media was with him, he must be right.

But the media is one of the two most progressive groups of people in the United States, the other being Hollywood. Interestingly enough, the two groups who spend their lives in make-believe are the ones who are defining progressive-liberalism in our country today. And those in the Democrat Party are working overtime to live up to their expectations.

Trump’s First Year in the Office

Is Trump living in an echo chamber as well? I would have to say yes and no. The no part is that he hears what his enemies say about him. This is made clear by his constant war with the mainstream media. Were he not hearing what those who oppose him say, this war quite literally wouldn’t exist. So it seems clear that unlike his predecessor, he doesn’t just turn off the news channels he doesn’t like.

On the yes side of that answer, Trump’s advisors are obviously people who believe as he does, just as any president’s are. His tweets on Twitter are focused on reaching his support base, who he also listens to. So yes, I would have to say that he is paying more attention to what those on his side of the political aisle say, than he is to what those on the other side of the aisle say.

But there are some major differences between this and Obama. First of all, regardless of what the progressive-liberals say about them being the majority, that’s only true in the coastal enclaves. Since they ignore any part of the country that doesn’t overwhelmingly support them, it’s no wonder they think they are the majority.

But those of us in what they refer to as “flyover country” make up the majority of this country. So when Trump listens to his support base, he is listening to a much larger group than Obama ever did.

Then there’s the huge variety of opinions even within the Republican Party itself. While Trump is president and therefore the leader of his party, he has to constantly contend with dissention in the ranks, something that Democrat presidents don’t have to worry so much about. Democrats are much better at marching in lockstep than Republicans are; something that is amazingly clear every time Congress takes a vote.

Trump has listened to the American people and his agenda is based upon what he has heard. Has he heard perfectly? I doubt it. But at least he has tried. That’s something so rare in Washington as to be unable for the majority of the swamp to grasp.

The American people were concerned about jobs, so Trump has been working hard to give us jobs. A number of his actions as president were directly pointed at creating American jobs.

From signing the Keystone Pipeline authorization, through his bullying of major corporations who were planning on moving jobs overseas, to the tax cut bill that just passed through Congress, Trump has worked since the election (before taking office) to create an environment conducive to gainful employment for every working-age American.

Trump’s second major area of accomplishment in this first year was to make a start on dismantling government control of our lives. If there is anything for which he has received opposition by the Republican Party, this is it.

Rather than support his work, Republicans in Congress have opposed it. This has been nowhere more clear than in their opposition to Trump’s proposed budget, where he has tried to cut out unnecessary spending, especially for government programs and agencies which have outlived their enabling legislation.

But even with these setbacks, Trump’s administration has done an amazing job of eliminating regulations, especially those which were put into place during Obama’s lame duck closing of his presidency. The rollback of these regulations has saved American citizens billions of dollars in taxes, something that has been largely overlooked.

Some have complained that Trump appointed Cabinet Secretaries who hated the organizations they were chosen to lead. If you want to increase Washington’s swollen bureaucracy, that’s the wrong action to take. But if you want to reduce the size of the swamp, eliminating unnecessary government waste, it’s a brilliant strategy. If Trump is going to succeed in draining the swamp, this is one major weapon he has in that battle.

Yes, the swamp won’t like being drained. Trump has and will continue to receive a lot of push-back from Washington bureaucrats. These people like their cushy government jobs, with high pay, lots of benefits and job security that the rest of us can only dream about. Being mostly Democrats, they also hate to see Trump in office.

That’s why there have been so many leaks of sensitive information since Trump was sworn into office. These people are endangering the country, on behalf of their ideology. Sadly, they think that they are serving some higher moral good, when in reality all they are doing is serving themselves and their political party.

The “big things” that Trump has done, like appointing Neil Gorsuch to the Supreme Court are the ones which have garnered all the attention. But in reality, those aren’t the ones which should have. Yes, appointing Gorsuch to the Supreme Court was important, as it keeps the highest court in the land, an organization that is supposed to be non-political, politically balanced.

What Comes Next

Other than that, Trump’s actions which will make the greatest difference over the next few decades are and will be those which fundamentally change the government, for the benefit of the American people.

The recent tax cut is one of those; one that has been long overdue. Eliminating regulations is another, one that we can expect to see continue throughout the next few years. But the biggest single gift that Donald Trump can possibly give the American people will be that of truly draining the swamp… if he can.

I highly suspect that this battle will be the big news of the next year. But it is one that we will hear very little about. It’s not flashy or exciting, so the media (both liberal and conservative) won’t pay it much attention. It is the war going on in the background; but it is an important war, nonetheless.

Will Trump win? At this point, that’s anybody’s guess. But if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on The Donald. He has already shown an amazing level of tenacity and an incredibly tough hide; both important characteristics in this war.

This will probably be a war of attrition, with each victory bringing the President one step closer to ultimate victory. So the real question is, how long with those bureaucrats in the Executive Branch, the ones referred to as the “Deep State,” continue breaking the law in an effort to get rid of Trump?

They are the ones who need to be gotten rid of, in some cases, accompanied by a lengthy stay in prison for their crimes. Probably the only reason they aren’t looking at that right now is that the FBI is too closely connected to the swamp.

Trump needs them on his side; and it doesn’t appear like he has them just yet. Maybe soon.This article has been written by Bill White for Survivopedia. 

from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[amethysia]

Pretending Pt. 2

(Can work like, not kick my butt for once, please? XD Thank you guys for being patient! Here’s the second part! I’m still mulling over how to finish She and honestly, it SHOULDN’T BE THIS HARD. But it is xD BUT I’m just glad you guys like my stuff, because it means a lot.)

The music was like a spell. He held her so closely, yet she felt she was watching herself from afar. Like a beautiful dream.

   They sat in a small meeting room, papers stacked on the table as Satya ran down the information for the mission. Junkrat scribbled in pencil on a small notepad as she explained the order of events that would take place, such as toasts, mingling, and other affairs. Satya didn't know the extent of formalities that Junkrat was accustomed too, especially when he barely sat 'normally' in one of the office chairs, but she was prepared to train him in anything he may not know, albeit their short time frame. As she began to explain the rival company's mission statement, Junkrat cleared his throat, "Sorry to cut in, but...I don't gotta learn how to use fifty forks and spoons, do I?" Satya paused and then chuckled, "No, but I do hope you have table manners of some kind." He exhaled, "Oh good, for a minute there I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to eat and you'd do some kind of weird 'tie me to a chair' torture exercise." She looked to him with an odd expression, "I think you watch to many movies...Either that or D. Va has been telling you strange things again." With that, he let out a laugh, "You might be right! Say," he folded his arms and leaned on the table, "Is there gonna be dancing?" She leaned back in her chair, picking up her papers and tapping them against the table to align them together, "Yes, there should be. But it is going to be formal, where the music is lounge or jazz. The type of music that you can waltz to." He looked down at the table and let out a groan of frustration, "That I'm gonna need help with. I think I can dance all slow like, but I might need help." He looked up and faced her, "You know fancy dancin' right? I know ol' Reinfart does!" She raised a brow at him, "Do you really call him that?" He leaned his face on his metal hand, "Sure. Well, depending on whether or not he treats me like a kid or not." She looked to her neatly stacked papers and reached for a sleek pen, "Well, I imagine when you call him things like that, is why he treats you like a child. And yes, it is true that he is knowledgeable in formal dance, however he is on a mission, remember?" He looked up to the sealing and nodded, "Oh right." She turned the pen horizontally, spinning it with her thumb and index fingers while in thought. She would have to teach him how to dance. As she went over certain lessons in her mind, her attention was pulled when another groan came from him. She looked over and noticed him running his hands through his hair. "What is the matter?" she asked, almost tapping the pen out of her hand. His hand lowered to his neck, "I just thought about it. I'm gonna have to wear a suit, ain't I?" He sighed, "Where'm I gonna get somethin' that'll fit my scrawny ars-" he paused, noticing Satya's displeased look, "My uh....I'm rather...I'm kinda thin." She gave a small chuckle and turned her attention back to the pen in her hand. He knew that she didn't like it when he used any kind of profanities, yet when she swore, it was like the words weren't rude at all. He giggled nervously, but noticed her lift the pen and write a few things down on another paper. After a moment, she seemed to be finished and set down the pen, weaving her fingers together, she closed her eyes and breathed in. She turned to him, catching his attention and looking as though she had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to. "Well, as far as I know, you are fairly capable of behaving yourself around people you are unfamiliar with, however, I may need to remind you now and then what is and isn't a part of proper conversation. We wouldn't want you saying anything you're not supposed too." She eyed him as he gave a nervous smile. She continued, "So, from what it looks like, we will have to get you a proper tuxedo, teach you how to dance to classical music, and somehow teach you a bit of tact." She lowered her face to give him a more knowing look, "Are you willing to do this? You are more than welcome to back out at any time, Junkrat." His hands were in his lap at this point, his real fingers playing with the tips of his prosthetic ones. He gave a solid nod, "Yeah. Yeah, I don't mind. S'long as I'm around you the whole time, I probably won't say anythin' too stupid. Least I hope not. I dunno. Will we be around each other? I know you gotta interrogate that CEO guy, but, like, what if I talk to someone and they ask me a hard question? Or worse, I get all mad or somethin'?" This time Satya nodded, "Yes, there may be times where I am away from you, so you do have to a bit more on your guard. I suppose we would have to come up with slight aliases. Which does remind me, we do have to say how we know each other, otherwise we raise suspicion. Work partners wouldn't be a lie, however I am not a fan of rumors and gossip. They may talk about us being in some kind of unsavory relationship and that would not bode well with my superiors." Junkrat tilted his head, "Yeah, but wouldn't people talk anyway? I mean, really. You walkin' in with a bloke on your arm? They're gonna say things no matter what." She had to agree. There was no real use in lying, however, it made more sense to give off an act to the people at the gala, and anything that may come up during her report to her superiors, she could just write off as 'playing the part'. 

  “Hmmm..." she raised a finger to her mouth, "What if..." She paused and laughed lightly to herself, "No no, that would be too much I fear." Junkrat sat up slightly, "What? Whatcha got?" She smirked and waved a hand in dismissal, "I was thinking I could say you are my boyfriend, but I am sure you would not want that at all!" He looked down at his notepad and then back up to her, his expression serious. With his hands clasped in his lap, He shrugged his shoulders, "I mean, I ain't against it, but it's whatever you want, mate." She turned to him, sharply, "Are you serious?" He raised his hands in defense, "Well I mean, we gotta think of somethin' right? And I'm just here to help! I mean, if you don't want me to or you do, it's alright with me." She chuckled to herself, "Junkrat, I could not ask you to pretend to be my boyfriend." He sat back in his chair, "And why not?" She smiled, despite herself, "Because have you looked at me? I'm not exactly what people would think of as attractive. Not to say I'm ugly, but to most, I am not that desirable." He furrowed his brow, his expression showing concern, "Whaddya mean?" She shook her head, "Junkrat, I'm not exactly...you know..." She let out a heavy sigh and looked down at her papers, "I...I have been told by people before that I am 'strong' and that I'm very independent. I do not really grab anyone's attention, probably because I'm not more feminine...blonde...thinner...and mostly that I do not really rely on others at times. The only attention I have had were from terrible fools who had the nerve to even try to talk me. I have heard I am 'cold' and, well, 'bitchy', to put it bluntly. None of these traits fit a woman who would have a boyfriend, especially someone who laughs a lot and is adventurous like yourself." Junkrat stared at her with disbelief in his eyes. His face slowly scrunched with anger and he balled his prosthetic hand into a fist, resting it on the table. Looking around, unsure of how to start, He clenched his fist and rapped it against the table. She turned to look at him and was about to change the subject, when he interjected, "Well y'know what?! Those people are bloody c*nts who need to piss off! You're brilliant! And all those things that they said? They're just tellin' you they're afraid! That's right! You hear me, Symmetra! You are strong and independent cuz you're the best! You may come off 'cold' or 'bitchy', but that just means they're too afraid to get to know that you're the warmest and nicest cobber anyone could ever 'ave!" Junkrat was red in the face from his mix of emotions. He stood from his chair and swiped his notepad from the table, "Let's do this! I'm gonna show all those bastards that you're great! I WILL be your boyfriend to the gala and I'll get them all to see how great you really are!" He let out a rolling grunt and ran from the room, his uneven sprint loudly sounding down the hallway. Satya sat in her chair, frozen from his sudden outburst. She watched as he disappeared down the hall. She hadn't realized that her heart had started to pound. What had gotten him so wound up? She knew they were friends, but she didn't know he cared that deeply about her to become upset over what some people had said to her in the past. She sat there collecting her thoughts and trying to calm her heart. It did feel good being told that she was a nice and warm friend, though.  

  Picking up her pen, she began the plans on getting the custom suit and the dance lessons started for him. She found her mind wonder a few times when she thought about what it would mean that Junkrat would pretend to be her boyfriend. They'd go together, arm in arm, or even hand in hand. That's when she paused. She hadn't thought it completely through the first time. Junkrat, as her boyfriend. Boyfriends did things like hold hands, hug, and even kiss. They played with your hair, held you around the waist, and talked about everything with you. Satya stopped everything and sat frozen in her chair once again. She and Junkrat, dancing, smiling, and laughing together. She and him close, with intimate conversations and practically cuddling each other in public. Panic was started to set in and a strange warmth was consuming her face and neck. She knew that it was just going to be an act and that they weren't going to do anything that made the other uncomfortable, yet her mind would not let her stop at just the two of them standing next to each other as friends. She didn't know what to do at first, usually she was more methodical and always logical, yet something that she never really let out came to the surface. She was blushing deeply about having a boyfriend. She was as giddy as a young girl, yet she knew it wasn't like he really said he'd be her REAL boyfriend. Every logical part of her brain told her that there was no reason to be flustered or even be excited about this. But, that tiny little butterfly in her stomach flitted about and it caused her great distress. Finally, regaining her composure, she washed away all of the irrational thoughts. Logic was back in control, because logic reminded her, it's just pretend. He was first and foremost her friend. He agreed to PRETEND to be her boyfriend, not a real one, and he would certainly not be doing anything that she just imagined in the few seconds that her brain decided to lose control. Breathing in, she knew none of that would come to fruition, and as she exhaled, she knew that they would obviously talk about what they are and are not going to do. She knew that he would never go as far as kiss her, let alone be okay with hugging her or holding her hand. She knew that they would have to talk about the ground rules of this pretend relationship and that they would be in complete agreement on what would be done. Even still, the little butterfly in her stomach whispered, "Even though it's pretend, doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. It may only be for a little while, but it could be fun!" She continued her planning, face as red as a beat.

  Down the hall, out of breath and reaching his destination, Junkrat flopped down onto his bed face first. The notepad bounced out of his hand and haphazardly tumbled over the edge and onto the floor. He fought with his sheets and blankets while his face was buried into the pillows. He let out a very embarrassed yell, muffled from his bedding. Roadhog coming in from the next room, noticing his young employer's display of whatever odd emotion he was showing, asked, "The hell happened t'you?" Junkrat let out a muffled cry, "Hooooooogggg, why'm I so stupiiiiiidd." Roadhog let out an exasperated sigh, "What'd you do?" Junkrat responded with a whiny and muffled, incoherent response. He cried into his pillows and flailed every now and then. Roadhog sat down across from the bed, on a chair next to a table with one of his own books that he kept in Junkrat's room for whenever the younger Junker had moments like this. He began thumb through it, waiting for Junkrat to calm down and talk normally. He knew it was going to be a while and he also knew that Junkrat probably said something about his feelings, which is usually why he would cry and act like an eight year old who scrapped his knee. Luckily, he wanted to catch up on another chapter and was having a hard time sleeping anyway. It was going to be a long night.

[nemesis-nexus]

Full Snow Supermoon 2019

AVE NINHURSAG, Great Mother Earth, provider of sustenance and bringer of all life forms, HEAR US! AVE ENKI, Great Father of the Waters, provider of Wisdom and Protector of Mothers Heart, HEAR US! It’s been a very long time in the coming but as with everything in existence, everything happens when it is ready to occur, the reemergence and restoration of the original Gods and Goddesses has NEVER been as imperative as it is now with everything that is going on in the world! Because of the corruptions, endless wars have been started and maintained even against the better interest of EVERYONE involved on both sides and in the middle! Because of the intentional divisions fabricated by those who fear losing their stranglehold on the human world, many people find themselves being abandoned not only by friends but by their own families! Because of the selfishness and egotism that many self-proclaimed “Religious Leaders” use to keep their “flocks” in line, people are turning away from their Spiritual selves and are becoming so disconnected to the rest of the Multiverse they only know or care to know about instant gratification and getting what they can by whatever means necessary in THIS life because they are convinced that this is the ONLY life they will ever leading, dismissing the reality that we are all Spiritual Beings and that while we will eventually shed this mortal shell, that energy is eternal and will manifest itself in another form down the line!

I am known for saying “what smoke covers, fire destroys” and what it means is that every distraction that is provided that keeps us fighting with each other rather than paying attention to what is actually happening is yet another vehicle that is ushering in our own destruction. This is bad enough but at least with fire you can choose to fan the flame or extinguish it and move on. I am also known for another turn of phrase “the truth is like the Earth buried under the snow” and what that means is that the more “pure” and “innocent” something appears, the less likely people are going to want to disturb it. The problem is that what lies beneath the snow is the source of what is plaguing the human race and until such time as it is uncovered and exposed, it will continue to have the negative influence over the people it has maintained for so long!

“So you want to start a war, in the Age of Icons?”

Yes sir, I most certainly do.

Now before people start getting nervous, let me explain what I mean by that. The kind of war I am talking about involves a “loaded gun” but NOT of the S&W variety, rather this gun is loaded with the information that has been kept from the general population of the world for much too long.

The kind of war I am looking to start is NOT one that brings death but the kind that rekindles LIFE. What I am looking to engage is a War of Words and Spiritual Reawakening. One that is long overdue and absolutely necessary for the survival of the Human race, the Earth and every form of Life in, on, above and below it. A Revolution to reclaim who we are and everything that was stolen away in the name of self-aggrandizement and power over the mortal coil!

They say that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it and when it comes to human history this fact increases exponentially. The truth is that we have all been lied to individually at some point in our lives but as a species, we have been lied to all our lives. We were told that there is only one road, one light, one savior, that his is “the greatest story ever told” but the truth is that is a boldface lie. The reality is that this is a deception people choose to follow because history dictates anyone who strays from that path or outright denies it needs to be destroyed. Oftentimes entire families would be executed and in many cases entire villages were annihilated leaving no trace of the people, culture, Spirituality or anything else. There is only one reason why ANYONE would ever feel the need to act in this extreme - it’s because they are guarding a secret, the likes that would not only cause the collapse of their socially accepted terrorist organization, but the eradication of every bit of their influence the world over.

You see there is more than one way to get a job done and when we are talking MILLENIA long acts of terrorism that include abduction, rape, torture, public humiliation, theft, corruption and murder - just to name a FEW of the charges - it becomes the duty of EVERYONE to stop running and hiding, to stop standing idly by while people are STILL targeted and slaughtered just for existing and take a stand! I am not talking about storming the beaches or even physically attacking a local organization, these are the tactics of those who have for years held the world hostage. Instead what needs to be done is to stop coddling the guilty parties - the ones that make claims that another person is going to THEIR psychosis-created place of cruelty and torture (Hell) just for being gay but out of the other side of their mouths state that the pedophiles THEY created need to be PROTECTED and have gone above and beyond ensuring the children that their well being means NOTHING to them by refusing to cooperate with authorities and instead of excommunicating the heretics CHOOSE to keep them on and HIDE them by moving them from location to location and in some cases even give the ones doing the obstructing PROMOTIONS! Such was the case with Cardinal Law who was moved to the Vatican and given the title of Archpriest of the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, the sickest thing about that is many in the Vatican saw him as a VICTIM and not as the PERPETRATOR that he was. Imagine that, rewarding what SHOULD be and actually IS (according to their book) bad behavior manifesting in an act of defiance against their own Deity and a direct violation of the unconditional love and trust that the human children are ingrained with since birth!

These are the people who claim that WE are the ones who need to be “saved”! Well in a manner of speaking they’re right, however, the people we need to be saved from are THEM!

“If history is dead and gone, then how did we get here My God?”

We are where we are because history is NOT dead or gone; in fact, like the Earth after a snowfall; the truth that exists within its annals has simply been covered up by those willing to go to extremes to make sure that it stays frozen and inaccessible to everyone “outside of the inner sanctum” who would physically or socially kill (contrary to popular belief, there ARE fates much worse than death) anyone who tries to expose the lies and corruption for what it is and unmask all those who are guilty of betraying not only the human race, but the Ancients who were willing to give us yet another chance to get it right! We are where we are because the fatal flaw in their tactics was using OUR story to create their own! Twisting OUR information to suit their agenda! The names may have been changed to throw people off, but those who know better can see right through the illusion! This is why we are here, to REMIND those who have forgotten and to help guide those who fear retribution, that the way Home exists within all of us and that NONE of us are evil, no good, trash in need of THEIR “salvation”! If anyone needs to be saved it’s them from themselves!

“Bang, shots fired… The pen is mightier than the sword…”

The kind of shots I am referring to will not shed blood, but they will blow so many holes in the story that has been shoved down all our throats as well as our ancestors throats for so long that their book will be reduced to confetti and used to celebrate the demise of their reign of terror! The greatest impact we will have is NOT in retaliating with violence, but with simply speaking the truth, providing the original texts that they warped to suit their needs and showing the world that there is no reason to be afraid! That just because our aggressors stake claims does NOT mean we are OBLIGATED to believe them, let alone uphold them as though that is our station in existence simply because THEY say so! It is time that we told them that we are done playing their game and pandering to their egos as though we were actually beneath them and required them to tell us what any God is thinking or desires! It’s simply amazing how what they claim their “God” wants is ALWAYS right in line with what benefits THEM the most isn’t it? How unforgivably and blasphemously insulting to any Deity to outright say that it’s “His Will” yet for whatever reason THEY are the ONLY ones who ever receive the message as though this Deity will only hold audience with them because the only interest this Deity has is in giving intrinsic rewards to those whose level of vitriol knows no bounds!

It is time we let it be known that unless ANY Deity comes down from on High to issue such proclamations of implied superiority, whether it’s for an individual or group, that we don’t care what they claim! From one human to another the problem with talking is that ANYONE can do it and make claims that they alone are the messenger of the Gods then proceed to issue the most selfish and self-righteous statements ever conceived! Unlike what they want us to believe, our Deity does NOT favor any one person or group over another generally speaking, that how we are viewed is determined by what we do and why we are doing it. For example the Abrahamic Religions have for 2,000+ years implied that we NEED people to dictate to us what’s what as though only those people are connected to the Deity when the truth is we are ALL connected to the Deity and can pose questions that may or may not be answered directly to Him as well as the Grand Council. We do need to remember that if we do not receive direct answers that it does not mean we are being ignored, sometimes silence IS the answer. Sometimes it can be a resounding “No” and sometimes it can mean that they need a ‘minute’ to ponder the inquiry, whatever the reason, pushing the question rather than respecting the answer is NOT how one demonstrates respect to those who have already done so much for us INCLUDING sticking their necks out to protect us in our hour of need! This kind of arrogance can lead to a very undesirable response!

We will never and should never take it upon ourselves to “substitute” our own answers in place of the Deity, that is what the Catholic Church does and we see how well that has worked out, especially for the children! This is what Islamic State does and we see how well that has worked out, again especially for the children! This is what the Zion state does and we see how well that is working out, you can’t say BOO about Israel or Zionism without being accused of being an anti-Semite anymore even if what was said was not only TRUE but was in NO WAY anti-Semitic! IT IS TIME THESE SELF-RIGHTEOUS HYPOCRITES WERE PUT IN THEIR PLACE IF FOR NO OTHER REASON THE SAFTEY AND WELL BEING OF THE CHILDREN AND THE RESTORATION OF SANITY TO THE WORLD!

Tonight is the night of the Full Snow Supermoon and people may be feeling heightened senses of apprehension, tension, agitation, frustration, stress and even depression. This is not so uncommon; however, the world is in a massively chaotic state and these senses are most likely the result of everything that is going on in the world and not just a lunar reaction. During this energy shift which will last until the Vernal Equinox it is absolutely necessary for people to spend at least a few minutes a day meditating. Even meditating a few times a day when the stress levels get to be really up there. We need to do this so that we keep ourselves focused, our internal energies in balance so as to better counter the external stressors that those who thrive on people needing to be “saved” prey upon. There is nothing more infuriating to someone who prides themselves on manipulating and using a person who’s fallen on hard times to benefit their cult than a person who’s fallen on hard times but has enough sense of self to know when someone is attempting to exploit them and lets them know it!

Now is the time to remember our Ancestors and not only what they were forced to endure - how many of them were mocked, tortured and murdered - but ALSO how many of them persevered and fought to survive against all odds despite everything, giving us the sense of self awareness that we need to NEVER AGAIN allow things such as the Burning Times, Crusades, Inquisition, Papal Bulls such as the ‘Right To Discovery’, the Salem “Witch Trials”, the Dakota 38+2, The Red Holocaust, The Nazi Holocaust (which affected a lot more than just the Jews) or ANYTHING that calls for the viciousness and brutality against ANY person or group JUST for existing not because they actually did anything (all ACTUAL criminals should be prosecuted accordingly) EVER happens again! Now is the time to celebrate Life and reconnect to our Spiritual selves, to raise the vibration and lift ourselves and each other out of the abyss they used every method to keep us in so as to break us, to make us forget who we are and where we came from! NOW IS THE TIME TO TAKE A STAND, HOLD THE LINE AND LET THEM KNOW:

WE WILL NEVER BACK UP! WE WILL NEVER BACK DOWN!

WE WILL NEVER GIVE UP! WE WILL NEVER GIVE IN!

WE ARE ONE EVEN THOUGH WE ARE MANY AND WE AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE; NO MATTER WHAT THEY DO, NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAY!

“So you wanna start a war

In the age of icons

So you wanna be immortal

With a loaded gun

So you wanna start a war, war

So you wanna start a war

Bang, shots fired

Pain is what you desire

The pen is mightier than the sword

Then how did we get here, my God? (My God)

Sail among liars

Blame the deniers

If history is dead and gone

Then how did we get here, my God? (My God)

So you wanna start a war

In the age of icons

So you wanna be immortal

With a loaded gun

So you wanna start a war, war

So you wanna start a war, war

So you wanna start a war

Oh-oh, war

So you wanna start a war

Oh-oh, war

Oh-oh, war

So you wanna start a war

So you wanna start a war

So you wanna start a war (oh-oh)

In the age of icons (oh)

So you wanna be immortal (oh-oh)

With a loaded gun (oh)

So you wanna start a war, war

So you wanna start a war

So you wanna start a war

My God, my God (my God)

If history is dead and gone

Then how did we get here, my God?

My God

-Klergy f/Valerie Broussard (“Start A War”)”

---

An Spiorad buadhach (The Triumphant Spirit)

Sisters and Brothers, I call to you to rise,

Free your minds and open your eyes!

We were once a proud people and we still are,

Our Family is found both very near and quite far!

No matter our location, no matter how far the distance,

We will unite as one and breathe new life into the resistance!

They stormed our lands, stealing, killing, leaving things in calamity,

But what they failed to destroy was our sense of identity!

They tried to destroy our lives, our stories and our culture,

But all this will be exposed in the confinement of their sepulcher!

They will find when they cross the Great Divide,

That there is NOWHERE to run and NOWHERE to hide!

The Deities whose names and stations they egregiously assaulted,

Will come calling for answers from the dearly departed!

Those who delighted in the terror, pain and anguish they inflicted,

Will find themselves rendered guilty and eternally convicted!

Here on Earth we will rejoice the justice done for and by our Deity,

Watching the world reemerge from the dregs of history!

We will watch as people break their Spiritual chains and stand up tall,

While the ones who bound them continue to fall!

We will watch as the world regains its sanity,

We will see one another and embrace our humanity!

Nothing is perfect and it’s not supposed to be,

But that’s the trade-off if you want your Will to be Free!

The key to maintaining our Freedom is personal responsibility,

And remembering always that we are ONE even though we are MANY!

-HPS Meg “Nemesis Nexus” Prentiss”

ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA!

MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INCENSE!

Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una!

Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In NINHURSAG'S Nomen Nos Fides! AVE NINHURSAG!

(We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER!

Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In NINHURSAG'S Name We Trust! HAIL NINHURSAG!)

AVÉ URURU! AVÉ ENKI/EA!

AVÉ NINGIZHEDA! AVÉ NINHURSAG!

AVÉ ININNI! AVÉ DIMUZI!

AVÉ IGGIGI! AVÉ ANUNNA!

AVÉ DRACONIS! HAIL THE GREAT SERPENT!

[tenminutemisconduct]

I grew up with hockey like any other sport, casually and only really knowing/caring about my home team & only interacting with my fellow home team fans, but now I'm seeing there's like this whole tumblr fandom to the nhl and I was wondering what are like the reputations of the teams??? And obvi everyone has their own biases based on their faves but I was just curious (bc I love hearing about all of the reputations and drama and gossip that is 100% alive in the sports world)

um okay i really love this ask but i’m also Nervous to answer it bc obviously my views are gonna be based on my teams and tbh i don’t a ton about some of the teams. so let me just preface this by saying that i don’t intend to shit on anyone’s team. pls don’t come yell at me. i love y’all. i’m gonna put this under a read more bc it’s gonna be long af. this isn’t so much drama as it is just a primer on the teams bc i’m not looking to start drama. 

Eastern Conference:

Metro Division:

Carolina Hurricanes (canes): not as relevant as they should be tbh. low fan attendance but some really solid players (highlights include jeff skinner and rookie sebastian aho, who just scored his first nhl hatty last night)

Columbus Blue Jackets (CBJ): haven’t been great really ever until this year. they have one of the best rookies in the league but also arguably the most hated coach in the league. they fire a cannon when they score which tj oshie called “the worst thing in hockey”

New Jersey Devils: they used to be known for playing really boring hockey. i don’t know a ton about them tbh. devils fans feel free to tell me more (nicely).

New York Islanders (Isles): usually Not That Good, despite having John Tavares as captain, but i’m salty bc they’ve beaten the caps multiple times this season. their ice sounds weird when the players skate. idk their arena is funky.

New York Rangers: The king, Henrik Lundqvist. in my experience, loud fans.  having a really solid season (the metro is STACKED - don’t let the standings deceive you). original six team.

Philadelphia Flyers: uhhh… honestly despite having friends who are flyers fans and them being the closest team to me other than my home team, i don’t know a ton. wayne simmonds is underrated (and now an all-star mvp!!!). they also have one of my personal fave rookies, travis konecny.

Pittsburgh Penguins (pens); one of the best teams in the league, no question. the fan base on here is slightly inflated but don’t get me wrong, they’re good. reigning stanley cup champs. as a caps fan, i will always hate playing the pens. if i tried to list their best players, i’d be listing most of the team. also they have sidney crosby so there’s that.

Washington Capitals (caps): MY BOYS!!!! known for being really solid in the regular season and perpetually choking in the playoffs (often against the pens). home to alex ovechkin, one of the most prolific goal scorers of all time, and nicklas backstrom, ridiculously underrated center to ovi’s left wing. first in the league rn.

Atlantic

Boston Bruins: original six team. not having a great season, but somehow still in a playoff spot? i’m not a bruins fan but i have a soft spot for their organization bc the players are some of the most vocal in their support for the lgbtqia community (esp brad marchand) and zdeno chara is a great captain. my bruins friends are Aggressive about them, but that’s kind of a boston sports thing in general.

Buffalo Sabres: jack eichel made them slightly more relevant, but they’re still Not Great.

Detroit Red Wings; another original six team. hands down most bizarre fan tradition that i still don’t understand. this is their last season in the joe, their current arena. won back to back cups in the 50s and 90s.

Florida Panthers: another team with low fan attendance. they’re dealt with a ton of injuries this season, and the somewhat unceremonious firing of their head coach. despite that, they’re only a few points out of the playoffs (the atlantic is all pretty close together rn except the habs).

Montreal Canadians: (habs) Very Enthusiastic Fans. Very French Canadian. mostly known on tumblr bc of the hatred for their head coach, the gallys, and the pk subban trade. more stanley cups than an other team by far. another original six team.

Ottawa Senators (sens); have never won the cup but make pretty regular playoff appearances. i don’t know a ton about them either.

Tampa Bay Lightning (bolts): riddled with injuries this season, including a major one to captain steven stamkos. there was a ton of drama surrounding jonathan drouin a few seasons ago, but as a non-lightning fan, i super don’t want to wade into that. they’re good now (when their players aren’t injured), but i think they’re gonna be incredible in a few years bc they had a ton of prospects at world juniors and pretty much all of them were amazing.

Toronto Maple Leafs (leafs): the loves of my life. haven’t won the cup in 50 years but will bring up their historic cup wins all the time. leaf fans Suffer (just ask steve dangle). the hockey gods have blessed us with incredible rookies, headlined by rookies of the month auston matthews, mitch marner, and william nylander. another original six team.

Western Conference:

Pacific Division:

Anaheim Ducks; named after disney movies. people hate ryan kesler (but his son is really cute). i hate losing to them and i have no concrete reason why.

Arizona Coyotes (yotes): as a fan of them, they suck. they have good players that can never seem to click. their captain shane doan just passed steve yzerman as the player with the 5th most games with a single franchise. shane doan is arizona hockey. currently getting talked about bc they’re the team that inspired auston matthews to start playing hockey. tumblr is still salty about them sending dylan strome back to the otters.

Calgary Flames: Johnny Hockey™

Edmonton Oilers; perpetual draft lottery winners. doing really well this season in large part to current league points leader and youngest captain in nhl history conald mcdonald (or connor mcdavid, as he’s better known).

LA Kings; i don’t know a ton about them but people seem not to like them. they have one of my least favorite players in the league.

San Jose Sharks: gained more fans bc they went to the stanley cup final last season. some of the best players in the league. famous/infamous for their holiday videos.

Vancouver Canucks: home to the Sedin twins, Very Important hockey people to know, Having a rough season.

Central Division:

Chicago Blackhawks: Nope.

Colorado Avalache (avs/aves): Yikes. They can’t catch a mcfreaking break this season. nate mackinnon crushed it with team north america over the summer. the avs are the one team doing worse than the coyotes.

Dallas Stars: one of the most popular teams on tumblr. not having a great season (partially bc of widespread injuries). great at goal scoring and not much else.

Minnesota Wild: First in the West rn and home to the current best goalie in the league. I’ve somehow become a wild fan this season.

Nashville Predators (Preds): Bright jerseys. the new home of pk subban. their goalies love each other. elina is gonna kill me for not knowing more about them. i really don’t want to get into m**e r***bero though.

St. Louis Blues: just fired their head coach. home to one of the best scorers in the league. beat the h**ks in the winter classic, which truly cleansed my soul.

Winnipeg Jets: have struggling with goaltending since the move from atlanta. currently gaining notice because of patrik laine, the 2nd overall pick in the 2016 draft, and nikolaj ehlers.

[thrashermaxey]

Looking Ahead: St. Louis Won’t Give You The Blues

All fantasy owners need help in the short term AND the long term. The Looking Ahead feature identifies one player to plug into lineups in the short term, a second to invest in for the long term, a third to bench for the coming week, and a fourth who will struggle to meet expectations for some time. All players discussed are selected based on their upcoming schedule.

Stats updated through Wednesday, January 2

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Don’t forget that the Midseason Guide will be available one week from now (January 11). Inside you’ll find second-half projections, sleepers, advanced stats, historical trends, prospects you need to know, and more! 

*

The Immediate Fix (Grab this guy and use him for the next several days)

Mackenzie Blackwood, G, New Jersey Devils (Available in 55 percent of Yahoo! Leagues) – The cat’s already out of the bag when it comes to Blackwood thanks to his back-to-back shutouts heading into the New Year; Blackwood’s jumped 33% on Yahoo! in a week and will soon pass the 50% threshold, but the former OHL Goalie of the Year has taken the starting job in Jersey while Cory Schneider is on the mend and Keith Kinkaid holds a 3.02 GAA and 0.901SV%.

Expectations should be kept in check for Blackwood as he’s still just 22 years old and has only 83 AHL games and seven NHL games in his career, but his numbers have been strong if not sparkling: in the small NHL sample, Blackwood’s picked up the aforementioned two shutouts, but he’s also sitting on a 1.91 GAA and 0.945 SV% and has picked up four quality starts. Even his last game, a five goal-loss to the Stars, Blackwood had to make 35 saves and ended up with an 0.875 on the game. Pick him up if he’s available and roll with him.

The Building Block (Buy now, sit back and enjoy the production)

Sven Baertschi, W, Vancouver Canucks (Available in 96 percent of Yahoo! Leagues) – Since coming back from a concussion that took him out of the lineup near the end of October, Baertschi has picked up three points in three games (1G-2A) while getting six shots on net, but more important is his plum role on the Canucks; Baertschi gets to play his even-strength minutes alongside Elias Pettersson and Brock Boeser, and plays with them (as well as Bo Horvat and Alex Edler) on the top power play unit.

Although his career numbers don’t jump out as being anything special – his career high is 35 points in 68 games although he put up 29 in 53 last season – Baertschi lit up the WHL when he was younger and has always had a scoring pedigree. Given his top-six role on the Canucks who lack scoring wingers outside of Boeser, you can count of Baertschi to produce above-average numbers the rest of the way.

Honourable mention since the Canucks have a light schedule in January: David Perron (Available in 79% of Yahoo! Leagues)

The Odd Man Out (His short-term value is cause for concern)

Jason Zucker, W, Minnesota Wild (Owned in 55 percent of Yahoo! Leagues) – This is extremely painful to write as a Zucker owner in my main league, but coming off a year where he put up 33G-31A for the Wild, Zucker has been a major disappointment to date: through 37 games, he’s put up 10G-10A while seeing his ice time increase on the Wild’s top line. A large reason for Zucker’s big year last season was the resurgence of Eric Staal, who was in on 37% of Zucker’s points last year and has been in on 45% of Zucker’s points this year; as Staal goes, so too goes Zucker.

There are some reasons to lessen concern though which is why he’s not an anchor, such as his role on the Wild as well as the fact that Zucker is shooting 3% less than his career average. With his ice time sitting around 17 minutes a game and getting play on the top power play unit, Zucker should be able to pick up more points in the second half but he shouldn’t be counted on at the moment.

The Anchors (They’ll do nothing but disappoint even over the long haul)

Neal Pionk, D, NY Rangers (Owned in 52 percent of Yahoo! Leagues) – His scoring line on the season looks good, as he’s got a 5G-14A line over 37 games – which is great for a second-year defenseman, but that can be expected to dry up as David Quinn continues to roll out a five-forward power play unit. Given 12 of Pionk’s 19 points have come on the power play (2G-10A), so much of his value is tied into getting key time with the Rangers’ top power play; beyond the five-forward setup, the Rangers have also plopped Kevin Shattenkirk on the top unit a couple times since Shattenkirk has returned from injury, which also hurts Pionk’s value.

Because he’s so young and his line looks so inviting, the value in a return for Pionk should be fairly high – especially for fantasy players that think they know the league, but don’t read Dobber. He could be flipped easily for a solid asset (Shea Weber, perhaps) in one-year leagues; don’t just dump him back on waivers, but do look to move him.

Love ‘Em (These squads are sure to pay dividends in the coming days)

St. Louis – The Blues have a packed schedule between January 4 and 16, and have some extremely good opportunities to get pucks in the net given their competition: they play the Islanders and Stars twice each (both home and road), as well as games against Montreal, Washington and Philadelphia.

Winnipeg – Although missing Dustin Byfuglien, the Jets shouldn’t hurt too much (they immediately scored four goals in their next game without him), and have a cupcake schedule with seven games between the 4th and 16th. All but two of their seven games are at home – against the Stars, Avs, Wings and Ducks – and their two road games are against the Wild and Penguins.

NY Islanders – With six games during this stretch, the Islanders don’t have the most games, but they do have one of the easiest; the Isles have a cupcake schedule with games against the Blues and Rangers (twice each, home/road), but also play Carolina and the Lightning. The Islanders have been scoring well – 18 goals in their last five – and should keep that up as Mat Barzal lights up the league.

Leave ‘Em (These squads will leave fantasy owners sorely disappointed in the short term)

Vancouver – Nobody has a worse upcoming schedule than the Canucks – expect to see them back here next week – with only four games between the 4th and 16th, although three of the four are at home against easy opposition (the fourth is in Toronto.) Vancouver will play Arizona, Florida and Edmonton.

Florida – The Cats get to play Columbus at home on Saturday night, but then spend the next five games on the road against the Penguins, Oilers, Flames, Canucks and Canadiens. They’ll play the Flames on the second half of a back-to-back, and although their top line has been producing, don’t expect miracles from Florida players (beyond Frank Vatrano who is #TheTruth.)

Los Angeles – As if sitting dead last in goals for wasn’t bad enough, the Kings have only five games during this upcoming period, although home games vs. Ottawa and Edmonton will help anyone score. Unfortunately, their other three games are against the Sharks, Pens and Wild which aren’t easy games. The Kings have only scored five goals twice this season, don’t expect miracles.

January 4 to January 10

Best Bets

NSH 4.94 – Away DET MTL TOR CHI CBJ- Home

STL 4.31 – Away PHI – Home NYI DAL MTL

VGK 4.21 – Away ANH – Home NJD NYR SJS

WSH 4.09 – Away DAL DET BOS- Home PHI

PHI 4.0575 – Away WSH – Home CGY STL DAL

Steer Clear

VAN 2 – Away TOR – Home ARI

BUF 2.0525 – Away BOS – Home NJD

FLA 2.6975 – Away PIT EDM- Home CBJ

CHI 2.85 – Away PIT – Home CGY NSH

COL 3.0075 – Away WPG CGY – Home NYR

January 5 to January 11

Best Bets

STL 4.31 – Away PHI – Home NYI DAL MTL

WPG 4.2675 – Away MIN – Home DAL COL DET

CGY 4.1475 – Away PHI CHI – Home COL FLA

PHI 4.0575 – Away WSH – Home CGY STL DAL

CAR 4.0525 – Away OTT NYI TBL – Home BUF

Steer Clear

COL 1.8525 – Away WPG CGY – Home

VAN 2 – Away TOR – Home ARI

ARI 2.2475 – Away VAN – Home NYR

CBJ 2.75 – Away FLA TBL – Home NSH

DAL 2.8025 – Away WPG STL PHI – Home

January 6 to January 12

Best Bets

VGK 4.3525 – Away CHI- Home NJD NYR SJS

WPG 4.2675 – Away MIN – Home DAL COL DET

STL 4.205 – Away PHI DAL- Home DAL MTL

MIN 4.2 – Away MTL BOS – Home WPG DET

NJD 4.095 – Away VGK BUF – Home TOR PHI

Steer Clear

VAN 1.05 – Away – Home ARI

CBJ 2.655 – Away TBL WSH- Home NSH

FLA 2.755 – Away PIT EDM CGY – Home

NSH 2.8025 – Away TOR CHI CBJ – Home

BOS 2.84 – Away TOR- Home MIN WSH

January 7 to January 13

Best Bets

NYI 4.405 – Away NYR – Home CAR NYR TBL

CGY 4.2475 – Away CHI – Home COL FLA ARI

STL 4.205 – Away PHI DAL – Home DAL MTL

MIN 4.2 – Away MTL BOS – Home WPG DET

TBL 4.195 – Away BUF NYI- Home CBJ CAR

Steer Clear

PIT 2.76 – Away ANH LAK – Home FLA

VAN 2.1 – Away – Home ARI FLA

BOS 2.84 – Away TOR – Home MIN WSH

OTT 2.66 – Away ANH LAK SJS – Home

WSH 2.8925 – Away BOS – Home PHI CBJ

January 8 to January 14

Best Bets

NYI 4.405 – Away NYR – Home CAR NYR TBL

EDM 4.205 – Away SJS – Home FLA ARI BUF

TBL 4.195 – Away BUF NYI – Home CBJ CAR

NJD 4.3 – Away BUF – Home TOR PHI CHI

WPG 4.1625 – Away MIN – Home COL DET ANH

Steer Clear

LAK 2.1 – Away – Home OTT PIT

VAN 2.1 – Away – Home ARI FLA

OTT 2.66 – Away ANH LAK SJS – Home

PIT 2.76 – Away ANH LAK – Home FLA

DET 2.9125 – Away WPG MIN – Home MTL

January 9 to January 15

Best Bets

TBL 4.3 – Away BUF NYI DAL- Home CAR

NYI 4.195 – Away NYR – Home NYR TBL STL

NYR 4.1675 – Away NYI CBJ – Home NYI CAR

WPG 4.11 – Away MIN – Home DET ANH VGK

ANH 4.095 – Away WPG DET- Home OTT PIT

Steer Clear

VAN 2.1 – Away – Home ARI FLA

OTT 2.66 – Away ANH LAK SJS – Home

PIT 2.66 – Away ANH LAK SJS- Home

DET 2.755 – Away WPG MIN – Home ANH

COL 2.945 – Away CGY MTL TOR – Home

January 10 to January 16

Best Bets

EDM 4.3475 – Away VAN- Home FLA ARI BUF

TBL 4.3 – Away BUF NYI DAL – Home CAR

NYI 4.195 – Away NYR – Home NYR TBL STL

NYR 4.1675 – Away NYI CBJ – Home NYI CAR

WPG 4.11 – Away MIN – Home DET ANH VGK

Steer Clear

CHI 2.0475 – Away NJD – Home VGK

PIT 2.66 – Away ANH LAK SJS – Home

DET 2.755 – Away WPG MIN – Home ANH

OTT 2.86 – Away LAK SJS – Home COL

NSH 2.8925 – Away CBJ CAR – Home WSH

  from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/looking-ahead/looking-ahead-st-louis-wont-give-you-the-blues/

[yahoo-puck-daddy-blog]

What We Learned: When will sellers start selling?

When will the first domino fall ahead of the NHL trade deadline?

The thing with the NHL is that everyone thinks they’re in the playoff hunt right up until they’re mathematically eliminated from it. And it’s in no way revelatory to say that’s because of the points system, which ensures that as long as you can get to overtime regularly, it really doesn’t matter how bad you are. You’re always going to look like you’re a three-game winning streak away from being right in the thick of it.

After Saturday night’s games, 11 of the 16 teams in the Eastern Conference were either in a playoff spot or within a point of it. Out west, 12 of 15 were only as far as two points back. There are various issues with games in hand here, of course, given that we’re still sorting through bye weeks — which, by the way, it’s incredibly stilly that the league’s bye-week plan this season was “half the league is off one week, the other half the next” — but overall, well, the points system is working as intended.

The NHL and its members teams want to be able to sell competition to fans, which is understandable and fine, because that theoretically wrings a few extra dollars from the gate at every NHL game. When teams are playoff-competitive, they’re more interesting to fans. Makes perfect sense.

But man does it also make the month before the trade deadline boring and bad. There’s no deader spot in the schedule than Games 40-60, and that there are basically no sellers in the league right now despite all the evidence in the world that there are a ton of teams that just aren’t that good is a real problem.

Take Florida, for instance. They ended Saturday seven points out of the final Eastern Conference playoff spot, held by the Penguins. Seven points might as well be a mile, especially because there are three teams between them and the reigning Cup champs. And yet, Dale Tallon says he will only make a trade if it makes sense in the long-term planning surrounding the team. He also said, “We’re not in the playoffs right now, so we have to get there.” Which is to say that this team is either going to buy or doing very little in the coming weeks.

It’s not that the Panthers have too many guys they would likely be interested in moving, or which teams would be interested in trading for, but this attitude is illustrative of a wider problem in the NHL: Everyone believes in their heart of hearts that they’re just a trade or two away from being competitive. We, of course, know this isn’t the case; unless the Panthers are trading futures for Connor McDavid (and hey, he might be available for the right price!) they’re not getting into the postseason, full stop.

Likewise, the Ottawa Senators, whose record is even worse than the Panthers’, acknowledge that their sesaon is effectively over and is now exploring trade possibilities (at least in terms of which guys would fetch what prices), but note that it’s “too early to throw in the towel yet.” It, of course, is quite the opposite; the towel could have been safely thrown in at any point in the past month and a half at least.

Montreal also said this past week it wasn’t going to throw in the towel. Edmonton is apparently only making Anton Slepyshev available right now. Vancouver is in the middle of what is apparently a model rebuild (haha) but they’re not ready to trade Thomas Vanek quite yet.

Even Arizona, dead last in another lost season, hasn’t made the call to put Oliver Ekman-Larsson on the block. This is a guy every GM in the league would push their grandmothers in front of a bus to acquire, on a team so bad it could safely talk about selling a month ago, and yet the apparent issue is that they’re asking for the moon (two good roster players and a first-round pick). That is, of course, the benefit of selling in a clear seller’s market, but Ekman-Larsson is a 26-year-old All-Star signed for this season and next at a low price ($5.5 million AAV, but more than that in real dollars), so teams should be more interested than they apparently are.

Arizona’s only move was the Duclair-to-Chicago swap a few days ago, but that was precipitated by a trade demand, rather than the team actively seeking out something that works. And by the way, if we’re calling Arizona a seller right now, then the seller lost that trade badly, which is usually how it works when trades are demanded.

The only team to apparently grasp nice and early that their season was over was Buffalo, which was rumored to be putting everyone not-named Jack Eichel up for sale as soon as early December. And yet the only trade they’ve actually made to this point was to acquire Scott Wilson from Detroit for a fifth-round pick in 2019, so by that token, Buffalo was actually a buyer.

This is one of those things where everyone acknowledges that the market is tighter than it should be. It’s also broadly believed that, a) as soon as one trade happens, some dominoes will start to fall, and b) someone should do something soon to make sure it’s not this tight until the week and a half before the deadline. But no one seems particularly interested in actually doing that.

It’s tough to tell when, exactly, something is going to shake loose. The Duclair trade, and whatever happens with Jack Johnson in the next week or two after he likewise asked out of Columbus, aren’t going to qualify as the start of selling season.

Because if you’re the buying team making such a trade right now, you’re still paying gallon prices for half-gallon players. And if you’re a seller, you’re the first seller to say, “Well that’s it for us.” And it apparently doesn’t matter whether you’re six, 10, or even 24 points out: No GM wants to be That Guy. Probably because That Guy has a greater likelihood of also being That Guy when ownership decides it’s time to make a change in the front office.

And the entire league is less interesting as a result.

What We Learned

Anaheim Ducks: Kings-Ducks on Saturday night was a real good one. The right team won it too.

Arizona Coyotes: This all seems just about right.

Boston Bruins: Kind of amazing Chara hasn’t put more people in the hospital with that shot of his.

Buffalo Sabres: I cannot tell you how imperative it is to team offense to have literally any defensemen who can move the puck out of their own zone. The Sabres have a half-decent top-six forward group but they never score because no one can get those guys the puck. This is the problem, to a lesser extent, in Edmonton too. Not hard to figure out.

Calgary Flames: They might be making the run they need, gang.

Carolina Hurricanes: This is the kind of thing all owners say but it’s tough to guess whether the right investments will actually be made going forward.

Chicago: For real, though, why on earth do NHL teams keep giving good players to Chicago for basically nothing, or worse, to help them alleviate their cap problems? Does Bowman have Kompromat on everyone?

Colorado Avalanche: I gotta remember to write about the Avs soon. What a fun team, and they just keep winning.

Columbus Blue Jackets: Guarantee the Blue Jackets are like, “Oh jeez, no not that, Jack. Please don’t demand a trade. We would hate that. We want to keep you. You’re good at hockey. Please Jack.”

Dallas Stars: Well hey everyone is losing to Colorado these days, huh? I’m not worried about the Stars!

Detroit Red Wings: One assumes Ted Kulfan had this column written on Oct. 1.

Edmonton Oilers: Love to pick up an OT win in Vegas on Connor McDavid’s 21st birthday right before the team goes on the bye.

Florida Panthers: Man, what a headline!

Los Angeles Kings: Imagine being so good at just saying stuff about hockey on TV that they build a statue of you. Good lord.

Minnesota Wild: The bottom of the Central is a total mess. After Saturday’s games, five points separated second from seventh.

Montreal Canadiens: I mean, sure.

Nashville Predators: Ahh, nah though.

New Jersey Devils: Remember when people were like, “The Devils can do this forever?” Well funny story…

New York Islanders: Before we start crowning Mat Barzal as the new Kyle Okposo or Matt Moulson, who scores a bunch for the Islanders but is dependent on John Tavares, consider this: Tavares only has a point on nine of his 44 points and just two of his 15 goals.

New York Rangers: Yeah dude, trade everyone. Who cares.

Ottawa Senators: I legit can’t tell you how much I hate this.

Philadelphia Flyers: Sean Couturier isn’t an All-Star, lol what a league.

Pittsburgh Penguins: I like the Pens to make a run here. Call me crazy but I think they have the talent to put together a nice stretch.

San Jose Sharks: This is gonna get a no-thanks from me.

St. Louis Blues: The Blues for-sure need a body or two to push them into “near-elite” status but what do they give up?

Tampa Bay Lightning: This is the thing I was saying last week about how the Bolts should never play more than three of their five best players in any one game for the rest of the year.

Toronto Maple Leafs: Yeah turns out they need another top-four defenseman. No one could have seen this need coming in the summer, though. Nope.

Vancouver Canucks: This is beyond parody, honestly.

Vegas Golden Knights: This is the most NHL thing in the history of the NHL. It would be mega funny if Vegas has to change its name.

Washington Capitals: Point of order: TJ Oshie isn’t a first-liner. But okay.

Winnipeg Jets: This is why I’m dubious of the Jets as a legitimate Cup threat. Maybe they can trade for Jack Johnson ha ha ha.

Play of the Weekend

Hmm I guess this is impressive.

Gold Star Award

Mat Barzal has two five-point games this season. Connor McDavid has one in his career. Just something to think about.

Minus of the Weekend

Vegas lost to Edmonton. Now that’s embarrassing, gang.

Perfect HFBoards Trade Proposal of the Year

User “duffy9748” wants to improve the Preds (I think).

To NSH:

Wayne Simmonds (50% retained) Valterri Fillpula Robert Hagg

To PHI: Eeli Tolvanen 2018 1st 2019 1st[

Signoff

Uhhh, oh that isn’t smoke, it’s steam. Steam from the steamed clams we’re having. Mmm mmm steamed clams.

Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

(All stats via Corsica unless otherwise noted.)