#the three things we know about boston is that he's three flavors of asshole | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damnslippyplanet · 1 year ago

Text

Slippy Watches: Only Friends, Episode 2

Previously on Only Friends: What if a group of queer twenty-somethings were extremely messy?

Now on Only Friends:

We’re picking up right where we left off, with Top making his big public microphone “will you be my boyfriend?” proposition to Mew. Mew says yes, Cheum shrieks, and everyone else makes different flavors of “jfc look at THIS asshole” faces, which are delicious.

And now we’re doing…reality-TV-style confessional interviews? This is so fucking charming. I’m charmed. Sand is the MOST correct with his assessment that making a big public scene is embarrassing and stupid. Anyway the point is Top is smug, Yo is pleased that her bar had something nice happen instead of just drunk people fighting each other, and everyone else is varying degrees of “Well, THAT happened.”

Post-credits, the school project about starting a hostel is apparently still happening. Top is roaming around with his design crew doing vague design things while Cheum tries to get Mew to dish about him. Boston elbows his way in to point out to Mew that Top has never kept a boyfriend more than three months because he gets bored.

Mew immediately gets the most evil little gleam of “Hey, that’s interesting” and muses aloud that he’s curious how long Top would stick around if he’s not getting laid. For a second episode in a row he assures his friends that they really don’t need to worry about the state of his virginity, he can handle himself. I’m really enjoying the way Book is playing this character. What is going ON in his pretty little head. Is he secretly an evil sex mastermind. TELL ME YOUR SECRETS, MEW.

Mew heads out to the back yard to find Ray, who is developing a close personal relationship with his flask of booze.

I love the way Mew’s reaction here tells us so succinctly that this is a known bad sign that Ray’s decompensating. I can be really touchy about how alcoholism plotlines are handled so we’ll see how this goes for me but for now I’m appreciating what the show is laying down.

So Mew’s a little worried, Ray is like “don’t worry about ME, you’ve got a BOYFRIEND to worry about now”, but then goes on to say that he just doesn’t want Mew to rush into anything. He thinks someone nice might come along for Mew someday and he doesn’t want Mew to miss it when it happens.

Ugh. It's killing me that for all Ray has this awful crush, he clearly isn’t hinting that he’s the nice someone. He knows he’s not nice. He knows what he doesn’t deserve, or believes he doesn’t deserve.

RAY. YOU CAN DESERVE NICE THINGS, TOO.

They settle the conversation with an “okay, I hope he makes you happy, but please know I will punch him if he mistreats you” and a hug, and then Top wanders in and drags Mew off with a pointed hand-holding because he is not unaware of Ray’s monster crush.

But we do get confirmation here in passing that Cheum has a girlfriend, so yay for her!

*****

Elsewhere, Sand is doing laundry in his apartment building when he bumps into Mark Pakin, who apparently is an old friend. They establish that Sand needs a roommate and Mark Pakin is looking to move out of his tiny apartment. Convenient!

They do not discuss rent or move-in dates or anything, but they do establish how often they each want to be able to bring randos over to bone. Priorities! Mostly this scene is just about Sand’s pitch-perfect deadpan delivery of a warning that he will be fucking just CONSTANTLY and LOUDLY and EVERYWHERE and Mark Pakin’s going to have to live with that.

Mark Pakin doesn’t particularly seem put off by this, but Sand actually was joking, and they decide to be roommates. Good for them!

*****

Mew and Top have gone to play laser tag for their date. Laser tag is approximately the least fun thing in the world for me and even Top admits he only suggested this date so he could corner Mew alone in a dark place and do inappropriate things to him. On the LASER TAG COURSE or field or whatever we call it? Top, my guy, please. There’s black lights in here. Keep it in your pants.

There’s so much terrible innuendo here about moving fast and aiming what you shoot at and on and on. I can’t.

But Mew gets to hang out by a big DANGER sign for a while and that's fun.

Also he makes Top think he might at least get a kiss out of the situation and then fully shoots him with the laser gun and dances off smirking and triumphant.

And then he gets to stop Top from kissing him so that he can explain that he was embarrassed by the public scene at the bar and he’s not going to fuck Top just because he’s hot and rich. He’s not even sure Top is his type. He’s sending Top back to the beginning to try a bit harder to woo him properly and maybe then he’ll decide if he likes him.

Yeah, Mew is either an evil sex mastermind or a sex savant of some sort just coming into his incubus powers. Either way I’m here for it.

Confessional video again! Mew has a checklist for a good partner. His partner needs to: respect him, love and get along with his friends, and not tell lies. That’s all! He’s pretty low maintenance, really! What could go wrong?

*****

Ray apparently goes to school sometimes besides just checking in to attend his business class, as he’s wandering the halls moping about Mew’s Instagram post about his laser tag date. He needs a distraction. And he finds one in the person of Sand, lurking around campus for all the world looking like Your Local Weed Guy, dispensing mysterious items from his bag in exchange for furtively-handed-over cash.

Ray fully lights up with the excitement of having someone to pick on to distract him from his own misery, and follows Sand out to the parking lot to scold him for dealing drugs and vaguely threaten to turn him in for inappropriate behavior on campus.

Sand, perpetually unimpressed, is like, “Okay but there’s a 60/40 chance you’re drunk right now, I’m pretty sure you’re not a threat to me. Go away.” And he tootles off on his motorcycle.

And now it’s nighttime, and Ray pulls up outside a neon-lit club named Roxie. Ray is hot on his heels because if you’re thinking about the annoying guy from the bar you don’t have to think about the other annoying guy who’s trying to bone your crush.

Sand is clearly known and liked at what turns out to be a gogo club full of attractive semi-dressed women pole-dancing, and gets waved on through, while Ray gets stopped for an ID check. And then several of the hot semi-dressed women descend on Ray because they sense a new customer with fresh blood and maybe a full wallet, but he could not possibly be less interested in whatever form of semi-nude dancing he’s being offered. He basically vaults over three of the dancers to follow Sand behind a curtain. It’s all very normal and heterosexual.

Sand is lying in wait for him and wants to know why Ray is following him and why Ray doesn’t have any actual friends he could be bothering instead of being Like This. They scuffle a bit and end up dropping Ray’s bag, which smashes the little bottles of homebrew plum wine he’s apparently selling around town.

Ray was kind of hoping for something more sordid than moonshine. Sand points out angrily that we can’t all be rich boys and he needs money, and then he says something that will haunt Ray, himself, and me for the rest of time:

Fuck. Show, why are you like this.

The rest of this goes the only way it can - Sand tries to charge Ray for the broken wine and before he knows it he’s negotiating the price for Ray to hire him as a drinking buddy for the night.

Sand: we are literally at a strip club, if you want to buy company, go back in there.

Ray: I will give you so much money to be my drinking buddy

*****

It’s so good. There are such good FACES and also LAYERS. Ray is being a rich asshole but he is also being an incredibly lonely guy clinging to the only thing in his line of sight that is even a little distracting from the black hole of destructiveness he’s circling.

Sand is so annoyed and so aware that he needs the money and he’s not UNaffected by the sexy-enemies chemistry.

Extremely “I can’t believe I’m gonna let this guy hire me,” “You don’t have to,” “No I’m gonna” energy here.

Meanwhile! Boston and Mark Pakin are making out up against a wall under a giant horned antelope kind of deal. It’s very Hannibal.

So Boston sort of chucks Mark Pakin on the bed, which I guess means…is this where Boston lives? He doesn’t strike me as someone who lives in Hannibal skulls-everywhere splendor. But I have no time to think about this because I’m busy watching Boston just absolutely maul and rail Mark Pakin. Bless.

He then immediately rolls out of bed to get dressed despite how absolutely cute Mark Pakin is being, but does offer to take some sexy photos because he has some film left in his camera and *truly* Mark is being very attractive right now.

Mark’s not the most into pictures but he wants as much of Boston’s attention as he can get and also is fully melted by Boston switching into more-intimate-pronoun gear with him and telling him that he only takes photos of his favorite hookups.

Oh no, this FACE. Mark is going to get his life ruined and his heart broken and I’m so sad for him.

Mark does want to see the photos immediately and to decide whether Boston can keep them, so they head into Boston’s darkroom. Which he has in his house. Okay, I take it back, if he has a darkroom he is also a guy who would have skull displays. Probably somewhere in this house is a harpsichord.

So they have a little chat while the film develops about how they both would like to be doing creative things but are instead going to be working in the family businesses. Boston is doing casual post-hookup chitchat but Mark Pakin is fully heart-eyes “we are BONDING”, oh god, it’s like watching the lead-up to a car crash.

But the photo is done and it’s good and sexy, and Mark Pakin abashedly admits that he hates to have his photo taken because as a kid he had really curly hair and everyone made fun of him, and he doesn’t think he’s cute. Boston pats him on the cheek and tells him he wouldn’t have hooked up with him a second time if he weren’t cute. Augh.

*****

Neo is doing such good work in this show but I want to shake his character by the collar.

Speaking of careless rich boys, Ray and Sand have arrived at Ray’s big fancy house to drink the plum wine, which Ray thinks is not bad. A lukewarm endorsement. He drags Sand off to the other room to drink better booze and listen to records, because this was never about the plum wine, it was about being the center of someone’s attention even if he had to buy his way there. Ugh. UGH.

Sand tries to have a normal conversation about the record collection and instantly finds himself in over his head with the discovery that the records were Ray’s dead mom’s.

What if there were a beautiful and terrible boy who bought your attention and then looked at you as if he were drowning and you might be the only thing that could pull him out of the water. What then?

Well, then you might tell him very sincerely that you were sorry for his loss, steer the conversation away from the deep waters, and start making uncomfortable jokes.

And then the beautiful terrible boy might tell you that he just wants you to sit and drink and listen to music with him, because he’s tired of being alone. And you might just stare, and drink, and wonder what you were getting yourself into.

*****

And now, for a complete tonal shift, it’s the next day and Mew and Top and Boston and Cheum and Cheum’s girlfriend April and Ray are, uh. Wakeboarding? I think? I don’t know. Some sort of waterskiing-esque sport involving shirtlessness and being wet.

The point here is that during this wet-boys-doing-sports montage, every time Top and Mew cheer each other on, Boston and Ray continue to make hilariously bitchy faces about their respective crushes. The grapes are SO sour, even though every time someone refers to Top as Mew’s boyfriend Mew clarifies that they are *not* boyfriends, he’s declared a restart to their whole situation.

Also, Boston cannot stop eyefucking Top’s bare torso and Top isn’t exactly unaware, or mad about it.

Cheum falls off her wakeboard and hurts her ankle, and Top pulls her out of the water and fusses around getting her an icepack.

Mew, in his confessional with his little checklist, checks off “loves and respects my friends.”

Apparently the first time they hooked up was in a photo booth (...really?) and the shower stall is reminiscent enough to get Top horny enough to at least consider a re-enactment.

While everyone else sits around having drinks and resting Cheum’s ankle, Top heads off to the showers and Boston follows him. Like, really follows him right into the shower stall to see if Top might be convinced to change his mind about fucking again.

*****

Alas for Boston, just as he’s getting somewhere, Mew appears in the changing room. But by the time he gets to the showers, the boys have scrambled and Top is all alone in his stall, ready to flirt with Mew while Boston hides in the next stall over. Left unclear: Did Boston manage to rescue his swim trunks during the scramble or were they still lying around where Mew could see them?

HM.

So we’re back at Mew’s putting together furniture, which is unironically my idea of a great date. Furniture assembly >> wakeboarding or laser tag.

Mew: I brought you cookies to eat while you build this table for me!

Top: I think you should hand-feed me, I’m so tired from all this table building.

Mew, some sort of virgin sex maniac: New offer: I hold the cookie between my teeth and you bite half of it out of my mouth.

Top: *horny AWOOGA noises like a cartoon character*

Top promptly eats the cookie out of Mew’s mouth and rolls half on top of him in the process.

I’m shocked these aren’t product-placed cookies, this could have rivalled the Kinnporsche sex bread if only the Manager of Thai BL Product Placement had been allowed to work on this scene.

Top tries to go in for a kiss but apparently Mew’s boundaries are currently “you may eat cookies out of my mouth, but no kissing.” Sure! Fine! We love a boundary-holding king.

Top then tries to bargain for another chaste cuddling night in Mew’s bed, but is relegated to the couch. This is so good for me.

*****

Meanwhile: Boston and Mark Pakin, who I’ve actually decided I’m willing to refer to as Nick now because I’m so worried about his fragile little heart, are back in bed. Or no, actually they’re lying next to each other on the floor jerking off together.

Oh. Oh no. Nick tries to start a Defining The Relationship conversation but Boston is fully still fuck-drunk and barely processing this. But he gets it together for…okay. So. You know how sometimes advice about dealing with little kids is about giving them two choices that are both acceptable so they don’t clamor for the third thing you don’t want them to have? That’s fully what happens here. Boston does not want to have the “let’s be boyfriends” conversation so instead he steers very smoothly into a conversation about how they could be EITHER fuck buddies OR friends with benefits, each of which comes with some different terms about how much they hang out when not fucking, and Nick can pick which one he wants!

Or, if Nick is developing actual feelings, they should stop because Boston does not DO feelings or drama. (Boston is a liar. What is drama if not climbing naked into your friend’s semi-boyfriend’s shower stall to try to give him a semi-consensual handjob?)

Nick backpedals as fast as he can to reassure Boston that he doesn’t have FEELINGS, yuck, he was just CURIOUS, so they can keep on being fuck buddies.

Augh. The problem with a show for, by, and about messy queers is it’s so RECOGNIZABLY REALISTIC about the ways people make terrible choices.

*****

SPEAKING OF, Sand is wrapping up a night at YOLO, where he has met a probably perfectly nice young woman named Amm and they’re getting ready to go back to his place for drinks and to see his new monstera. Because he doesn’t have a cat so he has to invite women back to his place by offering to show them his houseplant. Perfect. No notes. I lured my current partner up to my room twenty years ago by offering to show him my housemate’s ferrets so I can’t throw stones at anyone else’s glass house here.

The monstera line is on the verge of working when Ray materializes, wide-eyed with glee at the discovery that Sand has PICKED SOMEONE UP and is trying to GET LAID. He immediately inserts himself into the proceedings by suggesting they both come back to *his* place where the booze and records are better than at Sand’s and there’s a pool.

Oh my god, Ray, you can’t just invite yourself into someone else’s one night stand.

Except Ray thinks maybe he can, at least if he’s willing to give Sand even more money than he did the previous night.

Sand points out that Ray fully passed out drunk last night and didn’t even notice him leaving, what on earth does he want a reprise of that for?

Well. Ray is lonely and horny and pretty pretty please won’t Sand come over and be his paid friend?

So: Sand drives Ray home, and Ray is having SO much fun being a gleeful pest about being chosen over Amm, and questioning Sand about whether as a bar singer he gets picked up a lot, and singing along with the radio. Sand would like to be more annoyed by this than he is, but it’s hard not to be charmed, and he absolutely is reluctantly charmed.

Sand stares at him for a minute and then informs the girl that sorry, he has to take care of his drunk friend. He does NOT invite her to the pool party. RIP Amm, I’m sure you’re lovely but who can compete with Khaotung saying please so sweetly?

*****

At Mew’s place, Top is tossing and turning on the couch. Yes, he DOES have That One Thai BL Gridded-Print Blanket. He gives up and fetches a pill bottle from his shirt and starts popping pills, which is when Mew wanders out in to the living room and wants to know what the pill situation is about.

Apparently it’s the designated episode for tragic backstory, because Top’s story is that he has insomnia and can’t sleep well alone. He’s got PTSD from surviving a late-night house fire as a kid and falling asleep alone sets it off. But he’s seeing a doctor about it, he’s got the meds, it’s fine! He’s fine!

Mew is a li’l skeptical but also thinks all of this honesty deserves a reward, and offers to sleep next to Top after all. Aww.

There is absolutely no reason for them to squeeze onto the couch instead of going back to Mew’s bedroom together, but that is what they do. Mew reminds Top that they are definitely just going to hug and nothing more, Top agrees, and in the confessional video Mew checks “respects me” off his boyfriend checklist.

*****

Darkroom time for Boston again. This time he’s developing photos from the wakeboarding hangout. He lingers over one of the photos of two people but I can’t honestly tell which two it is. It...might be him and Mew? Or Ray and Mew? Unclear. This is mostly just Boston’s contractual one scene where he’s not actively fucking.

*****

Okay, so from now until the end of the episode I am doing feral howling at the moon. Let’s just establish that now so I don’t have to go on about it.

Ray is serving up the good booze back at his place, and Sand is once again poking gingerly around the edges of Ray’s damage - where are his friends from the bar? The guy with the glasses? Ray grumps about his friends being in RELATIONSHIPS.

Sand pokes him one more time about being a sad rich boy who needs new friends but then softens and declares that he’ll be Ray’s friend if he needs one that badly. No hiring needed. They could just…actually be friends.

And now we are once again on a path they’ve set themselves on and couldn’t get out of if they tried, circling around each other and what exactly it is that they want from each other. What *is* Sand’s type? Why *does* Ray’s description of what he wants in a friend sound like he wants a dad? By the way, uh, does Sand’s type ever include men?

(It does. It does sometimes include men. Sand is more vibes-based than gender-based in his attractions. Ray circles a little closer and asks wordlessly for another chance at having Sand light a cigarette for him. Sand lights him up off his own cigarette. We're past the intimacy of a lighter flame and into something else here.)

Sand pauses to draw a neat little line - he isn’t *actually* willing to let Ray hire him for sex even if they’re both enjoying the frisson of considering it. When he fucks people, he does it because he wants to. For free.

And then they’re very abruptly at the still center of all the circling, and all the questions have been asked, and there’s nothing left to do but kiss about it. Or, well, something messy, halfway between shotgunning and a kiss.

Sometimes friendship starts like this, Ray says, and Sand stubs out his cigarette and draws one last desperate “okay but we are DEFINITELY not going to develop feelings about this” line and flings himself across it like an absolute fool.

*****

Shirts come off. Tattoos get kissed. What if an awful beautiful boy who could have anything decided that what he wanted was you.

Final round of confessionals.

Ray, extremely cheerful: Mixing sex and friendships doesn’t have to get weird at all! Hearts and dicks are totally different things! It’s fine!

Sand, completely aware that he’s making some real Choices here: I mean, sure. It can be fine! If you don’t catch The Feelings.

And then he sort of dissociates lightly for a while, so we can cut back to Ray climbing into Sand’s lap so they can have some absolutely strings-free sex that will not involve feelings in any way.

First and Khaotung’s faces should be illegal. That is my final thought on this episode.

#slippy watches things #only friends recap

2 notes · View notes

utterlyinevitable · 4 years ago

Text

The Conference (Part 9)

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 3.7k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing Summary: It’s the evening after the keynote and they go out for a civil dinner date.

A/N: shout out to ruby @starrystarrytrouble for reminding me people actually like reading this mess 💕

________________________________________

After we finished up the panel I stuck around the conference hall to network whilst Ethan had ditched the crowd at the first opportunity he got, heading back to our hotel room and venturing away from the pecking vultures. To be honest, I didn’t really blame him. Everyone wanted a piece of the poor, well-endowed man.

A couple hours later, I shuffled back into our apartment. My aching feet somehow prevailed without causing me to collapse on the odd geometric carpet floor, or ditching my heels along the way and walking barefoot like some uncultured frosh stumbling home at 3AM. Once through the heavy metal plated door, I headed straight to my room, not throwing a single pleasantry towards Ethan in the seating area. From what I could tell he was typing furiously on his laptop after nursing a scotch - the empty crystal tumbler on the table was a dead giveaway.

The anxiety and delirium inducing stress of the day lifted the second my kinda-sweaty body collapsed onto the private armchair in my room, clutching its aqua-colored arms and sinking into the velvet cushion. Staring out at the familiar skyline my mind started to replay the happenings of the day; every little thing that happened - from the confidence I felt during our speech, to the way that asshole called me out, and how Ethan stood up for me every step of the way. How proud he was even if he relayed the sentiment in such small words.

We survived today. We haven’t strangled each other nor suffered any little deaths. All that’s left for this trip is the tour we have tomorrow morning, and then we’ll be on our way back to Edenbrook. Back to the way things were…

Somehow my tired and self destructive brain decided it wanted to revel in the memories of the last few days. Thinking about all the non-work things that happened this trip. Thinking of all the words shared, and the blast from the past. And the revelation that little adventure birthed.

Fuck me...

Things are weird. Like, so weird. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m even thinking this… but I miss him. Today showed me how great we are together! Professionally and as friends. We’re the dynamic duo: Ramsey and his Rookie. His. I -

I need to stop thinking that.

I belong to myself. I do what I want when I want and with whom I want.

And so does he. And that’s why I walked away. I’m-

I’m still getting over him.

While simultaneously trying to get under him…

Thoughts wandered back to Ryan and how long it took me to get over the detrimental ‘what if’s of him. If I held on tighter and longer and didn’t get in the way of myself back then - if one thing was different - everything could be different.

A small, revelatory gasp escaped me.

I didn’t want things to be different.

After eight fucking years I finally understood.

If I didn’t love and lose Ryan I never would have found my way to Boston. To Ethan. And here - knowing what I do and having all the experiences of the last few months - I couldn’t continue a life without knowing Ethan Ramsey.

I’m going to do whatever I can to repair our friendship.

I changed my clothes into something not requiring heels - black skinny jeans, a blouse and my trusty Chelsea boots - and my hair pulled back into a bun. Simple, sleek, and completely me. No pomp and circumstance, or hiding behind anything. Just me, making an effort.

With all the determination I could muster I sauntered into the living room where I assumed Ethan would still be.

I was right; he hadn’t changed positions at all. Sitting there on the couch, his feet up on the gaudy footstool with his laptop perched on his lap, tortoise-patterned glasses framing his face, and furiously typing on the keyboard.

“So...” I trailed awkwardly to break the tension surrounding him, leaning against the wall with my hands stuffed in my armpits. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Oh,” He planted his feet on the floor and turned to face me fully, moving his laptop off of him and folding his arms in his lap. “Uh, well-”

Quickly I added, “If you’d rather eat alone it’s fine by me. I was thinking of grabbing pizza at John’s.”

Ethan nodded in response, saying, “Sounds good.”

“Cool,” I nodded back. “You ready or…?”

“Let me grab my things,” he stood, collected his things and headed to his room.

Less than two minutes later we headed out of the apartment together, walking side by side. Though this time wasn’t like earlier. There wasn’t the blind determination and need to impress like this morning. Right now we were two people who used to know one another going out to dinner in a spectacular converted synagogue.

***

For anyone who doesn’t know John’s, it’s a local family-style pizza joint. There’s three restaurants around the city and the Times Square location is by far the best. Every time I have a hot minute to spare I try to go - the stained glass and craftsmanship of the building is everything! But you don’t want to hear about that… and neither did Ethan when I tried to fill the silence during our walk with all the reasons to love this place. For some reason he preferred to barge and weave in silence.

Whatever.

Lucky enough he was more chatty once we were seated.

Our table was in the mezzanine with not much of a view besides the stone staircase in the corner and the large dome towering above. The dim lighting complimented the deep wooden table and beige upholstered seating.

We ordered. And without the menu to keep our attention, I tried my hand at conversation once more.

“Be honest, how did we do?”

Looking me in the eyes, ones that mirrored mine, showed such confidence and pride as he said his next words;

“You handled it well, Becca.” There was a tug at the corners of his mouth that pulled at my own. I was about to get a rare Ramsey smile - one I’ve been devoid of for far too long.

“Dare I even say, like a natural.”

I got to revel in the small compliment for a few moments as the server brought over our food - garlic knots, small veggie pizza, and a chef’s side salad.

“I didn’t stutter too much or come off too young?” I couldn’t help but ask when it was just us two again. His opinion matters more than anyone else’s when it comes to my career.

“You did.”

“But you -”

He cut me off, a slight shake of his big head, “You are young and this was your first keynote.” he clarified. And once more he said pridefully, “You did well.”

After what felt like ages we shared a private smile. How he was able to bring me back into myself with a few words and stop fussing over imposter syndrome is a wonder.

“Now eat some pizza and be happy.”

My smile grew to a goofy one by the way he was looking at me, bemused. I refrained from sticking my tongue out and dug into a little slice of heaven. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We dug in. Letting the flavors dance over my taste buds and make me only as happy as a New York slice could make me. No amount of fantastic sex could compare to pizza. Everything kind of disappeared - time stopped while the first bites settled in my tummy. Even Ethan looked to be enjoying it even though it’s not fancy smancy and artery clogging.

Eventually I broke our companioned silence;

“How was lunch with Chief Fredericks?” I asked as I reached for a scrumptious ball of garlicy dough.

The response left his lips so swiftly he didn’t even bother to look up from his plate;

“Informative.”

I scoffed at the non-answer answer.

My little grumble pulled him out of his bubble and he looked over at me - those damn baby blues challenging my thoughtfully indecent outburst. I just gave him a look right back.

Ethan rolled his eyes and reached for another slice. Cutting it up with a fork and knife like an absolute weirdo.

“He heard about the state budget cuts. Wanted to know what I think and if I’d be open to consult every so often.”

“And?” I probed.

“And what? You know how I feel about the future of Edenbrook.”

“Yes. But if it goes under, what do you think you’ll do? I mean, everyone’s going to be throwing themselves at you.”

I shoved some greenery in my gob to keep from adding the jarring truth.

Everyone throws themselves at you.

But who he gives his attention to is another story.

Ethan shrugged ever so nonchalantly, “I haven’t thought about it.”

The cavalier way he was speaking of his life after Edenbrook had thrown me off. Ethan was never this laid-back. It just wasn’t in his nature. There’s always something for this man to stress over. And Edenbrook’s closing should be his anxiety numero uno.

But here he was, ever so calm.

Hmm...

“Are you in denial?” I said through a bite, fully anticipating another non-answer.

“Maybe.”

The way he said it took me aback. It was inherently honest and soft. All of his jagged features were rounded and there was a dulled little twinkle in his eye.

Yeah, something’s going on here he’s not telling me.

“Ethan -”

And of course he deflects by turning the conversation on me; “What are you going to do?”

Keeping from rolling my eyes at his obvious deflection from roaming into his feelings deeper, I replied, “Transfer my residency.”

“Where?”

“I…” - dammit - “don’t know.”

I haven’t really dwelled on what happens when the hospital closes. Obviously I need to finish residency if I want to be an actual practicing doctor. But the matching process can go screw itself. I don’t never ever want to do that again - all I cared about was matching with the best. And I did. So who’s the second best now?

Is it wherever he goes?

There’s just so much to think about, and I’d really rather not. Not until the last few nails are lined up against the coffin.

“See,” he said with a hint of a lopsided grin, “Neither of us are ready to leave Edenbrook behind.”

He was right. Of course he’s right. You didn’t need to be a diagnostician or even a doctor to see that we’re holding out hope of a buyout.

I’ve just gotten to Edenbrook - only a few months into my dream career with my dream boss - and now, what? It’s all over before it even really began? No. I can’t accept that.

There was a beat of silence as we both reached for the salad tongs, our hands brushing on accident. Both our eyes shot to bear witness to the contact, pulling us out of whatever ran wild through our thoughts and into this new, secluded moment. Everything around us dulled in the distance; the sounds swirling in the air muted and like a faint breeze. The warm lighting dimmed further, yet there was a spotlight on the salad bowl. The greens and reds and purples of the ruffage illuminated like it was the only thing that mattered. Like right now the earth was spinning just for this moment of closeness.

Surprisingly, neither of us made a motion to move. His large hand overlapping my dainty fingers, the metal underneath the pads of my fingers warming up instantly. Electricity still coursed through me like the very first time. Except now it carried the memories of all the other times and places he set me aflame.

I had to be the one to pull back.

Almost, like it needed time to comprehend why the moment was intentionally ruined, the atmosphere around us began to revert back slightly. I could hear the idle chatter of those around us now. I could see the full picture of Ethan sitting across from me and all the individuals pattering around behind him. What couldn’t pretend to go back and hung off kilter was the beating in my chest - I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins and putting my heart through the ringer.

Ethan made up for it by serving me.

Does he know he still has such an effect on me?

Quick! I needed to divert my thoughts off of the creeping flush and want from taking hold. So I went back to talking about work, our safe topic.

“If you could work anywhere else in the world where would it be?” I asked.

Ethan took a moment to think as he served himself some salad. He looked like he was actually thinking of an answer, maybe, for the first time he’s digested the hospital’s fate.

“I think the next logical step would be the Mayo Clinic. They’re the best diagnostics in the world.” His eyes diverted back down to his plate and, after a beat, he added, “I also wouldn’t mind spending more time on missions with The WHO.”

My eyes searched his as they looked anywhere but where I was seated across from him, trying to find any sort of fault in his features. Something, anything, that I could hold onto. Nothing. Just stupid sincerity. The first fucking time in weeks he actually lets us talk about his time in the Amazon I can’t be mad at him.

“You really enjoyed your time there, huh?”

“It…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

We’ve wandered into emotional territory and we both needed to tread carefully. I need to remember that he was never mine, as much as I felt like his from our first kiss. Need to recall that back then everything was drawn out in plain sight. Our end was always just that - an end. I Need to forgive. And try to remember that at one point he did try to fight for me, in his round-a-bout noncommittal way, and I was the one to end things officially.

We both need to forgive. Especially if these are the last few months we have working together.

“Was important work and I got to make a difference in the lives of thousands of indigenous people.” Ethan took another small pause for breath. When he continued, his deep baritone voice was lower, “Even if my intentions for going were skewed, it was an opportunity of a lifetime.”

The simplest thing to do would be to nod, or eat - distract myself - or even change the subject. To try not to dwell on the implications of the statement. But I couldn’t. My body tensed and the warmth from moments before fled completely.

We were silent. The brutal truth of why he left stinging just as much as it did the day I found out.

Minutes, many many minutes passed with me finding solace in sweet savory carbs and Ethan pushing things around on his plate.

Eager to change the subject there was one other topic of the day I was endlessly curious to know more about;

“So, what’s the deal with Dr. Schwab?”

“Don’t.” He dismissed, his authoritative voice seeping through just a tad. Though I’d like to think he’s smart enough not to use it with me outside of Edenbrook.

“If you don’t tell me I’ll be forced to fabricate my own. I’m feeling a one-night stand gone wrong.”

He looked back down at his food.

“Oh my god, I’m right.” The smile that erupted literally took over my entire face. I could not hide it even if I tried.

“Rebecca,” he tried to scold.

“Now you have to tell me.”

Just like earlier he turned the conversation back on me; “What’s with the frat boy?”

“Ryan was never in a fraternity,” I responded, not hiding the grin that formed by putting Ethan in his place. “He’s a jock though.”

He expelled a dry laugh, “I don’t think that’s any better.” He took a bite of his salad. Something radiated off of Ethan I couldn’t quite place.

“We were close in high school,” I added for reasons I’m not quite sure why. Like that explained who Ryan was and why he came back into my life now, of all times.

Ethan made a condescending, “mhm”.

I rolled my eyes; “We had a thing for a while, okay.” I conceded. “We grew apart senior year, and then I went off to college. Last night was the first time we’ve spoken in, like, eight years.”

Ethan made absolutely no reactions to the statement. Not even a stupid wiggle of his dumb perfect eyebrow.

Is he even paying attention?

“Now tell me about Schwab - sorry, Hilary,” I coaxed.

Ethan’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose and up to carefully rub his eyes.

This has gotta be good.

I waited patiently and eagerly for this story. She couldn’t have been Ethan’s type and yet… What happened!?

Eyes still shut tight, he grumbled, “What’s there to tell?”

“Obviously something happened,” I couldn’t help but mock, “You slept together!”

“Yes, and it’s something I do not like to dwell on.”

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like she does.”

He groaned. Then shifted in his chair. Ethan took a long drag of his drink. And just when I figured he was going to wait this out until one of us changed the subject, he spoke;

“A moment of weakness a few years back. And she was…”

Ah! It’s actually happening! Ethan’s telling a salacious story!

Shifting in my seat and placing my head in my hands to give him my full attention; My brows and smile grew as I finished the sentence for him, “Eager?”

He scowled.

“Jesus Christ, Ethan, just tell me what happened!”

“I will not go into details.”

“Fine.” I made a motion with my hand for him to continue without the juicy details.

“Harper and I had just ended things for good not long before…”

We ended up going back and forth for a while - Ethan not wanting to give anything up and me pulling as much as I could out of him. Long story short, Ethan was in a weird mental state after breaking up with Harper for the hundredth and final time in their six year relationship. He took up a conference opportunity to get away for two nights. Knowing how much he loves people, Ethan spent most of his time drowning his senses at the hotel bar. And low and behold, enter Hillary.

From the sounds of it she was agreeable and very very forward. And Ethan was so lost in liquor that her voice didn’t irritate him as much as it did the next morning, and every single time they were in close proximity thereafter. Hillary had been going through a separation with her husband and needed a distraction just as bad. Really, who could blame her? Toting Ethan around would be the best revenge.

The first night of his stay was fine - apparently the sex was satisfactory and she didn’t do anything remarkably memorable. Or so he says. I still think she looks like a squawker. He didn’t linger around long after before retreating to his hotel room. Then the next afternoon he was bored and weak and agreed to lunch. And lunch turned into drinks which turned into round two. In his room. And she didn’t leave. She wasn’t leaving. So Ethan bought an earlier plane ticket, and shook her awake before checking out.

And every conference since she seems to want to entertain a rematch.

“Oh my god, you’re horrible!” I exclaimed ever delightfully. This was hilarious!

“I shouldn’t really be surprised. You flew to another continent after we slept together.” Shaking my head, a stupid little smirk on my lips I asked, “Have you ever had a one night stand before?”

“Wha - of course I have!”

“One’s that didn’t end up with you getting on a plane?”

He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “If you must know, I’ve had my fair share in undergrad.”

Now it was my turn to send a condescending “mhm” his way.

We spoke longer and polished off our plates - not a single crumb remained. This was nice. Really nice getting to be close to him again and just being friends. Telling stories and exchanging playful jabs here and there. It’s how I fell for the idiot in the first place.

Baby steps.

Two hours after we arrived the server came over with the bill.

She was friendly and lovely the whole meal. The best part about her style of service is that she let us just exist and didn’t check up all that often. When she did I could tell she overheard someone of the crap Ethan and I were spewing. She had one of those knowing smiles, like she was in on our jokes the entire time.

“Can I just say, you guys are adorable,” she relayed with the brightest of smiles after setting the padfolio on the table, her hands clapping together excitedly. She looked like a child who had just met Santa Claus for the first time.

L O L she thinks we’re together.

At that I actually laughed out loud before informing, “We’re colleagues. In town for a conference.”

The horror on the girl's face said it all.

“Oh! My mistake, sorry. I can split the bill for you.” She reached for the pad where it sat in front of Ethan.

He grabbed the black leather at the same time I spoke;

"Nope, dinner’s on him.” I cupped a hand over my mouth and pointed a not-at-all discreet thumb towards him, “He'll get reimbursed," I laughed more to myself than anything.

She smiles, a little relieved by my warmth, then turns to look at Ethan - silently asking permission or if it’s okay that he pays. Generally looking for some sort of direction from the old man.

He shoots the server a look. Then forks over his credit card.

As she saunters off, I smile at him sweetly, “Thank you.”

Of course he rolls his eyes. But that rise in the corners of his mouth says so much more.

________________________________________

A/N: sorry it’s shit. thank you for sticking with this series 💕 we’ve just got one chapter left!

Masterlist

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @whimsicallywayward15 @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @otherworldlypresents @therookie @withbeautyandrage @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious @missmiimiie @uneravine @homeformyheart @choicesaddict5 @iemcpbchoices @jooous

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart

93 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 5 years ago

Note

"Share your address" by Ben Platt for fresh out of MIT tonyrhodey

Rhodey had never understood how someone could feel like home, because people were never the definition of home. He could trace the faded wallpaper in the bathroom at his house, step quietly over the creaking floorboards leading to the kitchen, and smell the autumn-scented candles his sister loved. That was home. There wasn’t a person, it was home.

Of course, then he gets to MIT. He expects to call at least some of it home. But it...it’s not. They’re not allowed to have candles in, there’s no faded wallpaper or creaking floorboards, and he can’t smell his dad’s favorite coffee when he wakes up.

It’s not home. That’s obvious enough, but Rhodey still hates the bitter feeling he gets in his stomach when he wakes up each morning and throws off the comforter that is his but isn’t the blue one on his bed at home, and looks through a closet that doesn’t have the small drawing at the bottom he did when he was four.

It’s

Not

Home.

And the adjustment is terrible. He thinks it will be even more so when his new roommate moves in on move-in day. Tony Stark. Genius. Billionaire. A probable pain in the ass who will be gone a lot for partying. Rhodey can deal with that, despite everything. As long as his studying time and his nap times don’t get messed with, it’ll be fine.

So color him surprised when Tony Stark is a bit on the younger side, unpacks a million and a half notebooks, and tells Rhodey he’d like to go to the office supply store to get his specific brand of pen.

He says along the way that he’s not at MIT to party and to talk with other people, he’s there to get his degrees and get some experience with life. Besides, he’s young and well-known. There’s no way people are going to let him into the bars without a substantial bribe on the side.

Rhodey talks to him about music and art and movies, and they both agree that impressionist art is cool and that they don’t get the big deal about sports.

“It’s just one giant concussion game,” Tony says with a frown. “You catch a ball and you run, and then you get something called a first down. I never paid attention to it.”

“Too boring?”

“Too busy with other stuff. Inventions, plans, you know the drill.”

Rhodey actually doesn’t. He doesn’t know until he wakes up at five a.m. for training and Tony’s up before him.

“Woke up at three with a new idea,” Tony says. “Do you think we can get a coffeemaker?”

Rhodey writes to his mother and asks if there is any possible way to acquire a coffeemaker, or if there’s a cheap place in town. All the stores up-charge so much it’s insane, but that’s also just Boston.

In the mail two weeks later comes the machine, much to Tony’s delight. He asks Rhodey to send a thank you from him, and he’s surprised to see the calligraphy writing.

Well. Mama Rhodes is tickled pink and insists that when they come up to see Rhodey, Tony better be there.

“You have to,” Rhodey begs. “Or they will find you. It’s inescapable.”

“They want to...meet?” Tony asks, confused. “They know my dad isn’t going to be there?”

“Yeah they know,” Rhodey says. “My mom thinks it’s sweet that you wrote a thank-you card. Apparently, I don’t write enough.”

Rhodey and Tony do more things together. Rhodey drags Tony to breakfast and lunch and sometimes dinner, depends on when his class gets out on alternating days. The kid would forget his head if it wasn’t attached.

And then, it doesn’t become an asking sort of thing.

“Hey, asshole. I’m going to the basketball game and you’re coming with me.”

They both agree that basketball is better than football, and they go home.

Home to the suspicious oil stain that they’ve been hiding under a Queen poster until they get around to buying the white paint. Home to the blue and red comforters that more often than not get put on two beds pushed together so that they could fit the couch in the room. Home to the robots who act as if they’re dying when they see the two boys get back.

To home.

Tony gets along easily with Rhodey’s family; he’s witty, charming, and above all else: funny. He and Mama joke around the most, making dinner together whenever Tony comes on holidays.

(They don’t mention the tension that raises in his shoulders when they ask about his mom and dad. They don’t mention that he nearly always sticks with the formal “mother and father” if he speaks about them at all.)

And then. They graduate. Tony goes to Malibu to help see what Stark Industries needs while Rhodey goes wherever the Air Force takes him.

It’s not home.

But he learns how to fold his sheets and make his bed the right way (the way that makes Tony complain), and thinks that maybe this could be another home.

It never is. Even with all the years he has under his belt towards the end, it’s not home.

Home is a man with brown eyes and brown hair, a smile that spells out genuine love and trouble at the same time, and likes to listen to weird music at inopportune times. Home has creaking floorboards, a mother and father who hum along to Ella and Louis and Billie, a sister who jet-sets all over the world now with her autumn-scented candles and perfumes and anything else she carries on a plane.

Tony and Rhodey don’t get married until late in life. Not until they legalize it, not until they’re done with the superhero shenanigans and series and everything that comes with it.

They don’t want to deal with all the fancy things, don’t want any of the cameras to capture what it’s always been.

They buy a house.

It’s a cottage, really. A very nice cottage, the best that they could restore. There’s an orchard, a flower garden, a vegetable garden, and a little pond with a hammock strung up.

(Of course, Tony always has to have technology. They have a lot of that in the house and in the shed to the side, his lab.)

They invite people who have contributed to home, to the definition of it all. And as they smile at each other and cut the cake (chocolate-coffee flavored, Tony refused to compromise), Rhodey realizes that this will always be his definition of home. Forever.

As they cross the threshold and get tangled on the couch together trying to watch their show and also falling asleep, it will be home. From the sunlit dining area to the doors that don’t lock properly all the time to the living room that somehow looks it’s best all Christmas.

It’s home to him.

#highclass i've been waiting for this prompt #i've been saving it #tony stark #james rhodes #rhodey #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #rhfe #war mcahine #iron man #lovelyirony writes #i LOVE writing in rhodey's perspective

152 notes · View notes

flauntpage · 6 years ago

Text

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP

The 2018 NHL Awards show may have felt like it lasted five hours but it only ran [checks watch] two hours and 15 minutes? Holy shit, that can't be right, can it? I've seen Greg Maddux pitch quicker baseball games than that. How did giving out a handful of sports trophies become such a bloated event?

Watch how quickly I can whittle this show down to 90 minutes:

CUT OUT THE LADY BYNG AWARD — Nobody cares and voting (more below) shows voters don't really care, either. Give it away before the show the way the Academy Awards give out the best foreign language animated documentary editing awards weeks earlier in the basement of a Dave & Busters.

NO MORE MAGIC SHOWS — Did we really watch a seven-minute "is this your card" trick? Is this because the show is in Vegas? Let those oiled up dancing guys present an award if you want some Vegas flavor. Stopping the show for a rejected set piece from the Now You See Me 3 script isn't something anyone wants.

NO MORE VIDEO GAME COVER REVEALS — This is very much me being old and shaking my fist at a cloud, but sell your video game during commercial breaks, assholes.

NO MORE JACOB TREMBLAY INTERVIEWS — A trained child actor can't make uncomfortable hockey players fun. Just let the kid host next year.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports' hockey podcast

NO MORE SAP STAT THINGIES — Nothing says excitement and pageantry and fun like some dorky-ass facts and figures about some dude's stats. Again: SELL YOUR PRODUCT DURING COMMERCIAL BREAKS.

I think if you give me enough time I can trim this show to an action-packed hour but we need to move on to the awards and discuss who won, who should have won, and which voters made us laugh the hardest.

NORRIS TROPHY

Winner: Victor Hedman, Tampa Bay Lightning Runners-up: PK Subban, Nashville Predators; Drew Doughty, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes. Hedman, however, is lucky the PHWA gave Doughty his lifetime achievement Norris Trophy a few years ago because his numbers were good enough this season to warrant the sympathy trophy.

What was the funniest vote? There are a lot of worthy choices (Jaccob Slavin was fifth on a ballot!) but this space is dedicated to the PHWA voter who thought Dougie Hamilton was the second-best defenseman in the NHL this season. Hamilton was named on just three of 164 ballots—he was voted fifth on the two others—so either one renegade voter saw something no one else did or a local Calgary media member got too close to the situation.

CALDER TROPHY

Winner: Mat Barzal, New York Islanders Runners-up: Brock Boeser, Vancouver Canucks; Clayton Keller, Arizona Coyotes

Did they get it right? Yes. And by "they" I mean the PHWA voters and not Lou Lamoriello, whose archaic hair rules left Barzal with a much shorter haircut than what he could have had on a special night.

What was the funniest vote? There was nothing too egregious but I'd like to say hi to the Boston voter who felt Jake DeBrusk was the fifth-best rookie in the NHL.

LADY BYNG TROPHY

Winner: William Karlsson, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Ryan O'Reilly, Buffalo Sabres; Aleksander Barkov, Florida Panthers

Did they get it right? Sure. Who knows? Karlsson seems nice. I'm sure he says "sir" and "madam" and knows which one is the salad fork at the royal castle. I have no idea why this award exists.

What was the funniest vote? This award is dumb but the criteria is very clear — be gentlemanly. So most voters just look for guys with a lot of points and few penalty minutes. The problem with that is it leaves a blind spot that leads to Auston Matthews finishing eighth in voting (with six first-place votes) and Connor McDavid finishing 10th (with two first-place votes). Why is this funny?

McDavid was hit with an abuse of officials penalty in January and Matthews mocked a referee a few days earlier by pointing at the net after scoring a goal because an earlier goal was disallowed. Were those two things fantastic? You bet. Would I like to see more of this? Oh yeah.

But it should disqualify them from getting any votes for "gentlemanly" play during that season. You may as well have a Tallest Player Award and give it to Mats Zuccarello.

SELKE TROPHY

Winner: Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings Runners-up: Sean Couturier, Philadelphia Flyers; Patrice Bergeron, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? No. I mean, I guess not. I don't know. Why is there a best defensive forward award but not a best offensive defenseman award? More sports need extremely narrow awards for specific positions. Baseball can adopt a best infielder base runner. Football can honor the best tight end route runners. But apparently Kopitar wasn't as good this year as he has been in the past. They should just give it to Bergeron every year until he decides it's time to give it to Brad Marchand.

What was the funniest vote? Nobody voted for a defenseman or goaltender so this vote is devoid of humor.

JACK ADAMS AWARD

Winner: Gerard Gallant, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Jared Bednar, Colorado Avalanche; Bruce Cassidy, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? Yes. In any other season, Bednar runs away with this and there's a case to be made he deserved it more than Gallant, but guiding an expansion team to a 100-point season made this automatic. They survived two months during the first half without Marc-Andre Fleury and still cruised to a playoff spot.

What was the funniest vote? I'd like to meet the two people who felt Randy Carlyle of the Anaheim Ducks was the second-best coach, which means they felt Carlyle did a better job than either Gallant or Bednar. I'm putting my money on one of those votes coming from Steve Simmons.

VEZINA TROPHY

Winner: Pekka Rinne, Nashville Predators Runners-up: Andrei Vasilevskiy, Tampa Bay Lightning; Connor Hellebuyck, Winnipeg Jets

Did they get it right? Yeah, but who did John Gibson piss off among the general managers who voted for this award? Somehow he finished sixth behind Frederik Andersen, who somehow finished fourth with a first-place vote despite a pedestrian .918 save percentage. Apparently the Hockey Men can be just as bad at voting as people who Never Played The Game.

What was the funniest vote? Easily, it's the guy who felt Andersen was the best goaltender in the NHL this season. We likely will never figure out which GM cast this vote, but my guess is Marc Bergevin. Why? Because Andersen went 3-0 with a .950 save percentage against the Canadiens this season, and that's the sort of dumbass shit Bergevin would do. If this ever gets confirmed, please tweet a screenshot of this paragraph with the link to the story, because clicks are always nice.

GENERAL MANAGER OF THE YEAR

Winner: George McPhee, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Kevin Cheveldayoff, Winnipeg Jets; Steve Yzerman, Tampa Bay Lightning

Did they get it right? No! Here's the thing—we give the Jack Adams to the coach of the team we all thought would be crap before the season that turned out to be awesome. The reason we think a team is crap is how the GM builds it. So how can Gallant be the best coach if he's simply coaching the team assembled by the best GM? You can't have both! This is also a flawed award because Cheveldayoff (he should have won!) slowly built the team over many years. McPhee did some nice things in the expansion draft but tricking Dale Tallon into giving you two studs for nothing isn't a big deal when Tallon probably still falls for the "got your nose" trick.

What was the funniest vote? This award is chosen by a swath of front-office and media types, so please let me meet the person who decided Ron Hextall was GM of the Year so I can take an Amtrak down to Philadelphia and have a Yuengling with this local.

HART TROPHY

Winner: Taylor Hall, New Jersey Devils Runners-up: Nathan MacKinnon, Colorado Avalanche; Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes! Surprisingly! And the vote was close—Hall edged MacKinnon by 70 points and held a 72-60 advantage in first-place votes. Hall had a slightly better MVP case and he won by a margin that presented that case. I went through all the ballots, looked very closely, and it turns out nobody casted a Hart vote for Adam Larsson.

What was the funniest vote? There wasn't anything all that "what an idiot" funny but a very "huh, that's funny" vote was Sidney Crosby getting just one fifth-place vote and nothing else. He had 89 points in 82 games, finished 10th in scoring but found himself tied in voting with Eric Staal and behind Artemi Panarin. It feels a little like the end of an era but also a little like taking Crosby for granted. Maybe it's both.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

0 notes

amtushinfosolutionspage · 6 years ago

Text

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn’t Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP

The 2018 NHL Awards show may have felt like it lasted five hours but it only ran [checks watch] two hours and 15 minutes? Holy shit, that can’t be right, can it? I’ve seen Greg Maddux pitch quicker baseball games than that. How did giving out a handful of sports trophies become such a bloated event?

Watch how quickly I can whittle this show down to 90 minutes:

CUT OUT THE LADY BYNG AWARD — Nobody cares and voting (more below) shows voters don’t really care, either. Give it away before the show the way the Academy Awards give out the best foreign language animated documentary editing awards weeks earlier in the basement of a Dave & Busters.

NO MORE MAGIC SHOWS — Did we really watch a seven-minute “is this your card” trick? Is this because the show is in Vegas? Let those oiled up dancing guys present an award if you want some Vegas flavor. Stopping the show for a rejected set piece from the Now You See Me 3 script isn’t something anyone wants.

NO MORE VIDEO GAME COVER REVEALS — This is very much me being old and shaking my fist at a cloud, but sell your video game during commercial breaks, assholes.

NO MORE JACOB TREMBLAY INTERVIEWS — A trained child actor can’t make uncomfortable hockey players fun. Just let the kid host next year.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports’ hockey podcast

NO MORE SAP STAT THINGIES — Nothing says excitement and pageantry and fun like some dorky-ass facts and figures about some dude’s stats. Again: SELL YOUR PRODUCT DURING COMMERCIAL BREAKS.

NORRIS TROPHY

Winner: Victor Hedman, Tampa Bay Lightning Runners-up: PK Subban, Nashville Predators; Drew Doughty, Los Angeles Kings

CALDER TROPHY

Winner: Mat Barzal, New York Islanders Runners-up: Brock Boeser, Vancouver Canucks; Clayton Keller, Arizona Coyotes

Did they get it right? Yes. And by “they” I mean the PHWA voters and not Lou Lamoriello, whose archaic hair rules left Barzal with a much shorter haircut than what he could have had on a special night.

What was the funniest vote? There was nothing too egregious but I’d like to say hi to the Boston voter who felt Jake DeBrusk was the fifth-best rookie in the NHL.

LADY BYNG TROPHY

Winner: William Karlsson, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Ryan O’Reilly, Buffalo Sabres; Aleksander Barkov, Florida Panthers

Did they get it right? Sure. Who knows? Karlsson seems nice. I’m sure he says “sir” and “madam” and knows which one is the salad fork at the royal castle. I have no idea why this award exists.

But it should disqualify them from getting any votes for “gentlemanly” play during that season. You may as well have a Tallest Player Award and give it to Mats Zuccarello.

SELKE TROPHY

Winner: Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings Runners-up: Sean Couturier, Philadelphia Flyers; Patrice Bergeron, Boston Bruins

https://sports.vice.com/en_ca/embed/article/gyk8z3/washington-capitals-alex-ovechkin-destroyed-his-critics-with-stanley-cup-win-over-vegas-golden-knights?utm_source=stylizedembed_sports.vice.com&utm_campaign=evk93a&site=sports

Did they get it right? No. I mean, I guess not. I don’t know. Why is there a best defensive forward award but not a best offensive defenseman award? More sports need extremely narrow awards for specific positions. Baseball can adopt a best infielder base runner. Football can honor the best tight end route runners. But apparently Kopitar wasn’t as good this year as he has been in the past. They should just give it to Bergeron every year until he decides it’s time to give it to Brad Marchand.

What was the funniest vote? Nobody voted for a defenseman or goaltender so this vote is devoid of humor.

JACK ADAMS AWARD

Winner: Gerard Gallant, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Jared Bednar, Colorado Avalanche; Bruce Cassidy, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? Yes. In any other season, Bednar runs away with this and there’s a case to be made he deserved it more than Gallant, but guiding an expansion team to a 100-point season made this automatic. They survived two months during the first half without Marc-Andre Fleury and still cruised to a playoff spot.

What was the funniest vote? I’d like to meet the two people who felt Randy Carlyle of the Anaheim Ducks was the second-best coach, which means they felt Carlyle did a better job than either Gallant or Bednar. I’m putting my money on one of those votes coming from Steve Simmons.

VEZINA TROPHY

Winner: Pekka Rinne, Nashville Predators Runners-up: Andrei Vasilevskiy, Tampa Bay Lightning; Connor Hellebuyck, Winnipeg Jets

https://sports.vice.com/en_ca/embed/article/nek53q/the-ottawa-senators-need-to-relocate-if-eugene-melnyk-doesnt-sell-the-team?utm_source=stylizedembed_sports.vice.com&utm_campaign=evk93a&site=sports

What was the funniest vote? Easily, it’s the guy who felt Andersen was the best goaltender in the NHL this season. We likely will never figure out which GM cast this vote, but my guess is Marc Bergevin. Why? Because Andersen went 3-0 with a .950 save percentage against the Canadiens this season, and that’s the sort of dumbass shit Bergevin would do. If this ever gets confirmed, please tweet a screenshot of this paragraph with the link to the story, because clicks are always nice.

GENERAL MANAGER OF THE YEAR

Winner: George McPhee, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Kevin Cheveldayoff, Winnipeg Jets; Steve Yzerman, Tampa Bay Lightning

Did they get it right? No! Here’s the thing—we give the Jack Adams to the coach of the team we all thought would be crap before the season that turned out to be awesome. The reason we think a team is crap is how the GM builds it. So how can Gallant be the best coach if he’s simply coaching the team assembled by the best GM? You can’t have both! This is also a flawed award because Cheveldayoff (he should have won!) slowly built the team over many years. McPhee did some nice things in the expansion draft but tricking Dale Tallon into giving you two studs for nothing isn’t a big deal when Tallon probably still falls for the “got your nose” trick.

HART TROPHY

Winner: Taylor Hall, New Jersey Devils Runners-up: Nathan MacKinnon, Colorado Avalanche; Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings

What was the funniest vote? There wasn’t anything all that “what an idiot” funny but a very “huh, that’s funny” vote was Sidney Crosby getting just one fifth-place vote and nothing else. He had 89 points in 82 games, finished 10th in scoring but found himself tied in voting with Eric Staal and behind Artemi Panarin. It feels a little like the end of an era but also a little like taking Crosby for granted. Maybe it’s both.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn’t Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years ago

Text

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP

Watch how quickly I can whittle this show down to 90 minutes:

NO MORE VIDEO GAME COVER REVEALS — This is very much me being old and shaking my fist at a cloud, but sell your video game during commercial breaks, assholes.

NO MORE JACOB TREMBLAY INTERVIEWS — A trained child actor can't make uncomfortable hockey players fun. Just let the kid host next year.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports' hockey podcast

NO MORE SAP STAT THINGIES — Nothing says excitement and pageantry and fun like some dorky-ass facts and figures about some dude's stats. Again: SELL YOUR PRODUCT DURING COMMERCIAL BREAKS.

NORRIS TROPHY

Winner: Victor Hedman, Tampa Bay Lightning Runners-up: PK Subban, Nashville Predators; Drew Doughty, Los Angeles Kings

CALDER TROPHY

Winner: Mat Barzal, New York Islanders Runners-up: Brock Boeser, Vancouver Canucks; Clayton Keller, Arizona Coyotes

What was the funniest vote? There was nothing too egregious but I'd like to say hi to the Boston voter who felt Jake DeBrusk was the fifth-best rookie in the NHL.

LADY BYNG TROPHY

Winner: William Karlsson, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Ryan O'Reilly, Buffalo Sabres; Aleksander Barkov, Florida Panthers

Did they get it right? Sure. Who knows? Karlsson seems nice. I'm sure he says "sir" and "madam" and knows which one is the salad fork at the royal castle. I have no idea why this award exists.

But it should disqualify them from getting any votes for "gentlemanly" play during that season. You may as well have a Tallest Player Award and give it to Mats Zuccarello.

SELKE TROPHY

Winner: Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings Runners-up: Sean Couturier, Philadelphia Flyers; Patrice Bergeron, Boston Bruins

What was the funniest vote? Nobody voted for a defenseman or goaltender so this vote is devoid of humor.

JACK ADAMS AWARD

Winner: Gerard Gallant, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Jared Bednar, Colorado Avalanche; Bruce Cassidy, Boston Bruins

VEZINA TROPHY

Winner: Pekka Rinne, Nashville Predators Runners-up: Andrei Vasilevskiy, Tampa Bay Lightning; Connor Hellebuyck, Winnipeg Jets

GENERAL MANAGER OF THE YEAR

Winner: George McPhee, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Kevin Cheveldayoff, Winnipeg Jets; Steve Yzerman, Tampa Bay Lightning

HART TROPHY

Winner: Taylor Hall, New Jersey Devils Runners-up: Nathan MacKinnon, Colorado Avalanche; Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

0 notes