#tysons corner center

[istandonsnowpiles]

Right

[evan-collins90]

Selections from the book, Shopping Centers & Malls 3 (1990) Pt. 2

1. Tysons Corner Center (1988/1990)

2-4. The Galleria at Tysons II (1988)

5. Towne East Square (1988)

6-8. The Gardens of the Palm Beaches (1988)

9-10. Place Montreal Trust (1988)

11-12. Myrtle Square Mall (1988/1989)

13. Stonestown Galleria (1989)

[wehaveagathering]

Just curious, what was the skate like irl? Who didn’t even finish/ who did better than the rest??

Oh, I love you for this question. Buckle up.

First of all, I think there are a bunch of misconceptions about what 👹Tort's Rope👹 actually is and how it works. I had not a clue how it worked until today, and literally a week ago I thought Torts was tying ropes to hockey players and having them drag each other around the ice... Not how it works.

So, John Tortorella's bag skate. First, the rope is marked in large sections and tied between two goals, placed a little closer together than usual. The players are split up into 4 groups of approximately 4 players each and sent to the four corners of the rink. When Torts blows his whistle, one player from each group completes 4 laps of the goals and returns to their corner; the next player up is sent off on his own laps, and so on and so forth. Once each player in each group has completed his first four laps, the two goals are widened to a new length marked on the rope and the first player is back up. It's not a test of time or speed; it's a test of endurance.

(Those numbers are rough estimates based off of what I saw today — it could be three laps, and I don't know how many reps they did. The actual schedule says 3x8 Lap which is the technical term for 👹Tort's Rope👹 but I thought I saw four laps. Eight reps sounds about right, too. Whatever! The actual numbers don't matter too much.)

What matters is that the player completes his laps and returns to his origination point, no matter how tired he is. His teammates can give him a pat on the back, or some tips and pointers, or they can stare into the blank void of space and consider a new career path. Whatever it is, he has to finish. So "not finishing" isn't really an option unless someone throws up or passes out or dies. And no one did that — so technically, everyone finished.

Some people certainly had an easier time than others. I noticed that Michkov and Bonk struggled quite a bit, and Jamie didn't look too thrilled either.

Travis Ballinghoff.

Which kinda sucked, because I was really rooting for them. But holy shit, Michkov was struggling. Charlie O Connor actually said in the PHLY podcast today that he noticed Michkov kind of cut his final lap short at one point and that John Tortorella came over to him and was like yo. can't do that. And for the rest of the time he pulled through.

Egor Zamula kept getting yelled at. "Let's go, Z! Keep skating, Z!" He also kept getting lapped by Rasmus Ristolainen. Tyson Foerster had "kill me now" face (see Bonk above) but Foerster does tend to have a pretty expressive face. Sean Couturier kept getting help from TK, who skated right behind him for the most part and kept pushing him forward with his stick. He even admitted it.

It seemed to me that most of the guys from last year, the returning ones, were the ones that did the best. Farabee, Frost, Tippett, Hathaway, Poehling, Laughton — they all had a routine in between their laps that they used to help keep them going, whether it was motivatinal or physiological or psychological. Farabee and Hathaway skated up and down the rope, in the center of the lapping players. Tippett stretched on the boards. (He's flexible. 👀)

It was interesting to watch who was fast, though. Ronnie Attard looked like he was having the time of his fucking life, and he actually did very well! Carter Sotheran has resting happy face, but I can't imagine he was having any fun. Jett Luchanko was certainly winded, but pulled through with minimal painful expressions. (Erik Johnson went on the record to say Luchanko looked like he didn't even have to try.) Zayde Wisdom, Noah Cates and Cam York all paced themselves well. But everyone, no matter who it was, was slowing down by the second or third rep — very visibly. It looked awful.

And then — and then! — they had to do shuttles. This one was in groups of four — started at one end, raced to the other end, tight turn, back to the original spot. Then a group of four at the opposite end, who were waiting, would do the same, and the small groups would switch off. They must have done at least five reps. No one fared well on these. No one. They were all lagging by the second rep.

Anyway, to answer your question, it was loud, and it was cold, and hockey players are big. The tallest ones were like hovering a foot over me (looking at you, Matteo Mann, what the fuck are you so tall for??) and even Michkov at 5'11 looked fucking ginormous. And his group was right near me — him, Frost, Seeler, and Lycksell. Frost was tiring but I could see him grit his teeth and grind out his laps. I assume after the emotional pain of John Tortorella, Frosty can handle the physical pain too. After one of his laps was done he gave Michkov a lil side hug. It was really cute!

Travis Ballinghoff.

Off topic, but stick "taps" — that's bad nomenclature, right there. A stick "tap" at the Vorhees TC sounds like a car backfiring.

At the end of every group's torture, they settled down for a circle stretch. TK went around the first one talking to guys and grinning and laughing. He looked like a leader. The second one Joel was going around making every guy give him a little fistbump. Then the third one was actually led by Spencer Gill, who I thought had done reasonably well, especially for having only just been drafted. He held his own.

Thank you for the ask!

[senditcolton]

call my bluff... call you babe (5)

CHAPTER FIVE

summary - what’s that saying? drunk words are sober thoughts? after a night out at a bar with the team, Madeleine is left wondering if drunk actions mean the same. 

word count - 4k

warnings - alcohol consumption & cheating, kind of (you’ll understand)

previous part ~ playlist ~ series masterlist ~ join the taglist ~ next part

Although the air was still sharp and crisp with the chill of winter, Madeleine’s life had never felt warmer.  And that heat had nothing to do with the bodies packed into the downtown Denver bar adjacent to the Pepsi Center. Or, at least not the bodies of strangers.

Instead, it was the bodies of Avalanche players and their partners – her friends – crowded in the corner section of the bar that made Madeleine feel as if the joy and happiness of summer was surrounding her constantly. Part of her still couldn’t believe that this was her life – a life that had changed so rapidly in the past seven months. But when Gravy handed her another tequila shot with a smirk, she gladly accepts, thinking that if this was a dream that she would eventually wake from, she wanted to make the most of every moment offered.

The tequila goes down her throat with a concerning ease and she leans back against Cale’s shoulder, sitting next to her. She can feel his chuckle, his body angling towards her causing her to sink deeper into his embrace.

“Still doing alright?” he whispers into her hair. Madeleine just looks back at him, never tiring at sight of his normally rosy cheeks darkening whenever he drinks.

“Never better,” she replies with a grin, one that Cale reciprocates before he leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips.

The connection that she had shared with Cale was a little over a month old and so far, it was really nice. He was genuine, respectful, and sweet. It was refreshing, especially since this was the first time she dated since Logan; a relationship that ended up being filled with deception and disdain.

Her relationship with the defensemen was still casual – nothing permanently defined, nothing official. But Madeleine liked it that way. It was easier.

An all too familiar laugh pulls her attention away from Cale, her eyes moving to were Tyson stood at the dartboard with JT, a beer in his hand as he watched his friend throw.

“I’m gonna go see if Tyson is losing,” she jokes, pushing away from Cale and scooting out of the booth seat. Cale’s only reply is a small nod before turning back to the conversation he was having with Nate and Mikko. Madeleine slips out of the corner section her friends claimed, weaving her way through the crowd until she reaches the dartboard area where Tyson and JT stood.

“Who’s winning?” she calls out, the two pairs of brown eyes looking towards her as she hops onto one of the barstools at the tables lining the wall.

“Tyson,” JT replies. “But not by much.” Madeleine watches as JT gathers his dart before walking away, Tyson taking his place behind the tape on the hardwood floor.

“I’m just surprised he is winning,” she laughs, her eyes turning towards her best friend.  

“Hey, I was pretty good at this back in high school,” Tyson says, the joking indignation clear in his voice as he lines up his shot.

“Lucky for you, the red and green on the board aren’t relevant to the point system. If they did, it might be a little harder for your colorblind eyes.”

JT lets out a snort of a laugh, almost inhaling his beer next to Madeleine. Her blue eyes sparkle with humor as Tyson shoots her a playful glare before collecting his darts from the board.

“Even if they meant anything, you’ve still never managed to beat me,” he teases, settling next to her.

“Only because I just have terrible hand-eye coordination. One of the many reasons why you became a professional athlete and I became a librarian.”

“Josty, you’ve never tried to teach your best friend how to play?” JT asks.

“Why would I? If I do, she becomes better than me and there goes my guaranteed win.”

“Wow, so honorable.”

“Hey, take any advantage you can,” Tyson laughs, with a shrug and a wink thrown in her direction. The action causes Maddie to roll her eyes in jest, her head shaking from side to side.

“If you ask Cale, I’m sure he’d be happy to help,” JT tells Madeleine from across the table, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“I don’t think it would help,” she laughs in response. “Cale has already tried to teach me how to play pool– unsuccessfully, I might add. I guess I’m just a lost cause.”

“Really, Cale taught you how to play pool? When?” Tyson asks.

“Attempted to teach me. And it was during, I think, our third or fourth date. Why?”

“No reason,” he replies, the inflection of his tone being anything but casual, despite his best attempts to be blasé. His true feelings are only punctuated by an errant throw of his last dart, the point of it digging into the plain cork surrounding the dartboard.

Madeleine can’t stop the laugh that comes at the sight of Tyson’s head falling backward in defeat while JT cheers next to her. The ginger playfully bounds away from the tables, something about Tyson paying for the next round falling from his lips. Tyson just sighs before settling back next to Madeleine, taking the last swigs of his beer from the amber bottle.

There is a brief silence, the only sound being the clicking of the darts hitting each other as Tyson rolls them across the hardwood top of the table.

“Do you want my help?” Tyson asks. “Playing darts, I mean?” he clarifies, picking up the red darts and extending them towards Madeleine.

“I’m not sure,” she hesitates. “Ryan and Clare somehow convinced me to take a few tequila shots so that’ll probably make me worse than I normally am.”

“Who knows? Maybe the alcohol will stop you from overthinking,” Tyson teases, his eyes sparkling in that good-natured way that always made her resolve weaken.

“Is that my weakness? Overthinking? It has nothing to with just having bad reflexes?”

“I think so. It’s your, um… Aegean heel,” he says with a proud flourish. Madeleine laughs at his complete – yet completely misplaced – confidence.

“Achilles heel,” she gently corrects, loving the way Tyson’s cheeks fill with color. “But pretty damn close; same first letter, right culture. I’m impressed.”

“Let it be known I’m not just a dumb jock with a handsome face.”  

“You know I’d never think that.”

“Which part?”

Madeleine hums, the inflection indicating a silent question, to which Tyson replies.

“You don’t think I’m dumb or you don’t think I’m attractive?” he elaborates.

This time, it’s her turn to feel her cheeks to heat up, faster than Madeleine would care to admit. She mutters a quick and teasing ‘shut up.’ Her response causes a cackle to escape Tyson, his head thrown back in delight. Thankfully, he doesn’t linger on her reaction, nor does he force her to give an answer. Instead, he simply holds out the darts again, the silent offer still standing.

She sighs, before taking the darts from his hand, the smile on Tyson’s face spreading even further than she thought possible.

Madeleine sweeps her hand out towards the dartboard, beckoning Tyson to go first. He accepts, walking up to the tape line. Maddie keeps her eyes glued to him, taking multiple mental notes about how he is standing, how he angles his body, how he positions his arms, and how he releases the dart.

JT wanders his way back to the tables, a beer in each hand, when Tyson is adding up his points.

“Did he feel that bad about losing that he’s picking on an easy target?” JT jokes, a sarcastic ‘ha-ha’ falling from Tyson’s lips at his friend’s words.

“Nah, he promised to help me,” Madeleine explains. “But he’ll probably still win anyway.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” comes JT’s reply, accompanied with his shoulder knocking against hers. “I think you can knock this guy down a peg or two.”

The gentle encouragement is what JT leaves Maddie with, dropping off one of the bottles for Tyson before moving back to the collection of tables where a few teammates still lingered. Madeleine turns her attention back to Tyson, who was walking back towards her, an expectant look on his face.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he says, gesturing to the board. He just smiles at Madeleine’s accusatory look, one that screams ‘you’re supposed to be teaching me.’

“Have to know what you need help with before I can give you advice,” Tyson explains.

Madeleine sighs before pushing herself off the barstool, coming to stand behind the tape on the floor. She tries to remember how Tyson stood, placing one of her feet back as she leans forward. Madeleine takes a dart in her hand and focuses on the bullseye before tossing the small arrow. The dart – expectedly – does not go where she willed it, instead hitting the lower part of the board.

She hears a chuckle escape Tyson and is about to shoot him a glare but when her eyes drift in that direction, he had pushed himself off the wall and was walking towards her.

“You’re left-handed, Maddie,” he says, coming to fill the space behind her. “Switch your stance.”

Madeleine follows his directions, placing her left foot forward and her right foot back.

“Now, you don’t want to lean forward,” Tyson instructs, his hands landing on her shoulders as he pulls her back until her body stands straight. “Now the only other tip is to have the dart tilted a little upward, because that way when it arcs as it falls, it’ll land where you want it to instead of lower than you aimed.”

Madeleine takes each piece of advice, the heat of Tyson’s palms seeping through her shirt. She takes a deep breath, aiming for the inner ring this time instead of the bullseye. The dart flies from her hand and lands a little to the left but still in the correct ring. Even that minor success has a smile appearing on Madeleine’s face, her head turning to look back towards Tyson in excitement. He returns the grin, slightly squeezing her shoulders before returning to the table. Madeleine tries not to mourn the loss of his presence behind her, instead channeling her focusing back to the dartboard.

Their first game continues until Tyson decidedly wins. Even in the loss, Madeleine was happy their scores weren’t leagues a part from each other. The narrow gap between their points makes Maddie want to try again, convincing Tyson into another game with a plead and a convincing lip quiver.

About halfway through, Cale walks up to them both, his tan jacket already on his shoulders.

“Hey, Madeleine, I’m headed out. Do you still need a ride?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a little while longer,” she replies. “The train is still running so I should be fine. Thanks for offer though.”

“Of course,” Cale replies.

He leans into Madeleine, wrapping her arms around her in a hug before he pulls away. Cale presses a quick kiss onto her cheek, causing a giggle to escape her lips. Neither of them notices Tyson’s faltered throw, the dart secure in the space between the soft board and the metal frame. Cale simply departs with a quick wave to the two of them. Madeleine’s eyes follow him until he disappears from her sight. The sensation of cold glass pressed against her bare upper arm causes Maddie’s eyes to jump back to Tyson, now standing next to her with a grin on his face and a bottle in his hand.

“Not leaving with your boyfriend?” he asks, the tease in his voice almost a little too cloying.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve successfully deflated your ego,” she chirps back, practically bounding to the dartboard.

After a few more beers for Tyson, another two losses for Madeleine, and too many playful quips to count shared between them, Maddie within reach of her first win. Part of her has to thank the alcohol: Tyson’s continue consumption made his throws less accurate than before while her sobriety during this impromptu tournament helped her focus become clearer, her shots becoming cleaner.

In her last turn, she takes a few deep breaths, before firing at the dartboard. Her aim is precise, the darts falling in the exact wedges that she wanted them to. The points add up and Madeleine can’t stop the cheer that escapes her when she realizes that she finally beat Tyson; a victory that was only six years in the making, from their homes in Canada to this random bar in Colorado.

Madeleine spins to face Tyson, her arms still thrown up in excitement. Her eyes meet her best friend’s bright gaze, the smile on his face not dimming as he walks to her.

It catches her off guard when his body swerves around her and Madeleine’s excitement briefly dims, thinking that Tyson was going to be an uncharacteristically sore loser. But that thought is quickly disproven after he places his darts back into the cup attached to the board and rapidly flipping his body towards her, scooping her up into his arms for a celebratory hug. The laughter that falls from Madeleine is involuntary, her arms wrapping around Tyson’s shoulders as he starts to twirl her around, her body still held firmly in his grasp.

The weight of them together, coupled with Tyson’s not totally sober state has his feet tripping over each other, their center of gravity tilting to the side. Madeleine thankfully finds the ground, planting her feet and holding onto Tyson so his body doesn’t meet the hardwood floor with a hard thud.

The giggles still linger on Madeleine’s lips as Tyson regains his balance, moving back and reintroducing space between them, although his hands remain firmly on her hips, his grip strong. She looks up at Tyson, about make a joke about how mad Coach Bednar would be if he injured himself playing darts. But when her blue eyes connect to his deep brown ones, the jest catches in her throat.

Because Tyson – her best friend, the person that she’s known for years, the person that she missed, and the person that she was so thankful returned to her life – was looking at her. But more than that, he was staring at with such desire, a desire that hadn’t been directed towards her in what felt like years, that all of her thoughts abandoned her.

She just keeps her eyes locked to his, uncertain where this was heading but not determined to end it. The situation felt precarious, as if one misstep, one wrong assumption could send everything crashing down. Her gaze dancing over Tyson’s face, waiting for him to make the next move. She doesn’t miss the subtle flex of his hands on her hip, doesn’t miss the way his eyes soften as he drinks the uncertainty painted on her features.

The tension continues, Madeleine’s nerves spiking and out of habit, she takes her bottom lip into her mouth. Her teeth latch onto some of the loose skin and she tugs at it in worry, causing Tyson’s gaze to dart down towards her lips. Madeleine registers the departure of one of his hands leave its place on her hips but her mind falters at the new sensation of Tyson’s fingers coming to gently rest underneath her chin. The pad of his thumb lifts and lands on her bottom lip before pulling the skin down – a gentle encouragement for her to release it from her bite. She does, her mouth falling open slightly at Tyson’s behest. His thumb doesn’t fall away, instead moving across the dampened skin, brushing over the small split that Madeleine’s fretting opened.

The salt from Tyson’s finger stings as it touches the cut but Maddie realizes that she doesn’t mind it; the sensation grounding her to the moment.

She can feel Tyson’s hold shift, as if his entire body was debating every move. The tension is heavy, almost oppressive, the weight of nine years of words left unsaid hanging in the air above them. Madeleine feels her eyes inexplicably well with tears, as if the wait was too much to bear.

She doesn’t mean for it to happen, but when she blinks, a single drop falls from the ledge of her lower lashes, rolling down her cheek. The movement calls Tyson’s attention to the tear before his gaze returns to hers, the question plainly displayed on his face.

“Please,” is the only word that manages to escape from Madeleine’s throat.

It is a broken plea, soft and staccato. A plea for what, Madeleine wasn’t certain. For him to stop? For him to come closer?

Her lack of clarification leaves Tyson to interpret. Madeleine can feel his hold on her tighten as he pulls her closer, the press of his hand underneath her chin lifting her head. He leans in, seemingly in slow motion, and Madeleine can’t stop her eyes from fluttering close.

It is a moment of complete uncertainty before Madeleine feels the press of Tyson’s lips against hers.

It is delicate, gentle, a mere whisper of a kiss. But as soon as the sensation registers on her skin and in her brain, the trance she was stuck in breaks and Madeleine finally moves.

Her hands creep back, dancing over Tyson’s shoulders to the nape of his neck, her fingers teasing the curls there. She steps closer to press their bodies together, the warmth of him flooding her senses. Tyson’s lips stay politely on hers, unmoving, until Madeleine pushes herself up to him. She returns the kiss with a fervor that could only be described as hunger. Hunger for him, for this, for more.

Tyson responds quickly to her need, kissing her again before opening his mouth, his tongue pressing against the seam of her lips. She gladly grants him access, the floodgates opening and pure desire rushing forward. Tyson’s hand slides from her chin to grip the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, keeping her as close to him as he can.

The way they tangle together is almost animalistic, as if all caution had disappeared and left the two of them to reckon with their untold yearning.

But the previously dim lights of the bar flip to fluorescent, signaling last call, the shock of the brightness causes Tyson and Madeleine to jump away from each other, their hands retreating from the other’s body. The white light crashes over them and when their eyes connect, it is as if the harsh overhead bulbs brought reason with it, recapturing their emotions, and returning them to the gilded cages they previously existed in.

“Shit,” Tyson curses. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Maddie.”

Madeleine wants to say it’s okay, if only to lessen his panic, but she can’t make the words form. Because she knows the statement would be a lie: nothing about this was right.

Tyson was her best friend. She was dating his teammate. She wasn’t supposed to kiss him in a bar when she came here with someone else.

The remembrance of Cale causes her to turn her head towards the corner booth in fear. A voice tells her what she already knows: he isn’t there. But she still worries that maybe Andre or Nate or, even worse, Gabe and Mel were still there and saw her and Tyson lost in each other’s lips.

A sigh of relief falls from her when she doesn’t see any of her friends, the only bodies still lingering belonging to a few regulars and bartenders picking up the abandoned bottles, cans, and glasses.

“I…” she starts, her throat constricting around the syllables. She swallows, gathering herself and piecing her thoughts back together, before forcing herself to speak.

“It’s – it’s really late,” she says. “I should go.”

She turns back towards Tyson, their eyes connecting. Madeleine tries not to notice how his expression shifts from alarm, to confusion, to sadness at her words. The space between them turns, the expanse feeling like a cold and barren wasteland – so different from the warmth and fire that was jumping between them mere seconds ago.

Tyson sighs and Madeleine watches as his entire demeanor changes, as if he was building a brick wall between them before he looks back at her with perfect practiced apathy.

“Is the train running this late?” he asks. It takes a minute for Madeleine to realize that he was talking about the RTD line, her go-to mode of transport between DU and the Pepsi Center.

“Oh,” she says, her mind racking the Light Rail schedule until she realizes that it was almost two hours since the last train departed. “No,” she sighs. “I guess I’ll just call an Uber.”

She turns away from Tyson, fishing her phone out of her pocket and she is about to open the app before she feels Tyson nudge her arm. She ignores the lingering sparks that his touch brings and looks back to see him holding out his car keys to her.

“Just take my car. It’s still in the parking lot of the arena.”

“I – it’s fine, Tyson. I can pay for an Uber.”

“Please. I’m… not sober enough to drive so I wouldn’t be able to get it until tomorrow either way. This way I know it’s safe in your lot. Plus, this way you wouldn’t have to rely on a stranger to get you home.”

The subtle way that he shows how much he cares for her and her safety leaves Maddie’s head spinning. How many signs has she’s missed? Did Tyson always feel like this towards her? How many times had she brushed off his advances with the excuse of their long-term friendship blurring the lines and acting as a smoke screen?

She wants to know, to get to the truth of everything. But right now, she was too tired, too confused to seek those answers. Instead, she takes Tyson’s keys from his hand.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I can drive you home, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” he replies with a shrug. “I’ve got a spare set of keys at home. I’ll use those tomorrow when I pick up my car. So you don’t have to get up early.”

This time, the pang that echoes through Madeleine’s ribcage is painful, her instinct assuming the worst: he was separating himself from her, creating a distance between them. Part of her worries that it wasn’t going to be temporary. But she doesn’t voice these concerns.

She just offers him another gentle ‘thank you’ and a small nod. Tyson gives her a half-hearted smile before he turns to the small table, the one that they occupied for hours, and gathers the empty beer bottles his hands. He wishes her a soft ‘good night’ as he passes by her towards the bar, presumably to recycle the bottles and close his tab.

There was no reason for Madeleine to hang around but her body doesn’t seem to want to move, still stuck in that moment she shared with Tyson and what it all meant – not only for their past but for their future. She didn’t want to leave these loose threads hanging. No, she wanted to know exactly which one would return her life to what it used to be, which one would mend the gap between her and her best friend, and which one would make everything unravel at the seams.

Eventually, her logic and her exhaustion win out and successfully coax her to throw on her coat and move towards the exit.

The chill from the February air hits Madeleine as she pushes open the sturdy oak door of the bar. The sensation is a pleasant one, the fresh air clearing her head – or at the very least, emptying her mind of any thought except the desire to get home to her warm and comfortable bed. She moves forward, leaving the bar and all those complications behind her.

She can feel the weight of a pair of eyes on her as she departs; brown eyes that she knew better than her own. Eyes that could open her up and read her with an ease than no one else ever could.

Madeleine wills herself not to look back.

taglist: @starjoyyy @fallinallincurls​ @kenna-thomson @tkachvkmatthew @m00nlightdelights @cixrosie​

[bropunzeling]

pov flip or time after time for the soulmate AU because I'd love to see connor's reaction upon learning that not only is it serious it's a soul bond

Credit where credit is due. Connor doesn't get on Leon for being the second to last one to show up before the game -- Tyson takes care of that, crowing at the bruise above Leon's collarbone -- and he doesn't say anything when Leon drifts towards the center line during warm ups, half to tell Matthew there's no way in hell they're winning and half because it's hard to resist the pull. He just gives Leon an exasperated look, then proceeds to lead the charge in pounding Calgary into the ground.

Matthew's pretty pissed by the end of the game, eyes flashing and mouthguard chomped flat. It's obvious despite the calm, serious expression pasted on his face. Leon could tell even if he couldn't feel the anger simmering a few yards away. He almost wishes Calgary didn't have to fly out tonight, that he could take Matthew home and goad him into some rough, biting kisses, into pulling Leon's hair too hard, into making sure Leon will feel this game a lot longer than he should. It sucks that they don't have time.

That's fine. They play each other in a month. And even if Leon can't touch Matthew again tonight, he knows as soon as the Flames land in Winnipeg Matthew's gonna call him. That no matter how late it is, Leon's gonna pick up.

So Leon doesn't hang around near the visitor's room. He showers and gets dressed and follows the guys out to go get a celebratory drink -- no game for the next three days, a minor gift -- and when Connor sits down at his side, he doesn't jump.

"So," Connor says, taking a sip of his beer. "You and Tkachuk."

Leon takes a sip of his own beer, trying to cover for how dry his mouth has gotten. "Me and Tkachuk."

Connor squints at him. "You said that you're -- that it's serious."

Leon nods.

Connor swivels in his chair, facing Leon full on. It makes the side of Leon's face go hot. "Okay," he says. When Leon glances over, there's a bit of how Connor's always looked when they've talked about this -- exasperation, disbelief, disapproval -- but there's also worry making the corners of his eyes tight. "And like -- you know what you're doing?"

It's that worry on Connor's face, new to Leon -- or perhaps Leon just has never noticed it before -- that keeps Leon from snapping too harshly. "I've told you, Davo. We're not fucking up the team."

"I don't care about the team, dumbass," Connor snaps back. "Or, I mean, I do, but like -- you're not gonna get hurt. Right?"

Leon shakes his head, chewing the inside of his cheek. "No," he says. "No, I don't think so."

When Connor breathes out, his whole body deflates. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

For a moment, their corner of the bar is strangely silent, like they're sitting in a bubble outside the rest of the group.

Leon's the one to break it. "We're bonded."

Connor startles so badly he nearly spills his whole beer. "What?"

In retrospect, there were probably better ways to drop that fact. But like -- he and Matthew talked about it. He wanted to tell Connor soon anyway. He might as well now.

Leon turns in his chair, so that they can talk with their heads close together. Keep this to themselves. "Me and Matthew," he says. "We're bonded. It started a few years ago, but it's only -- last summer we talked and -- yeah. It's -- we're doing it."

Connor blinks at him. "You and Tkachuk."

Leon nods. "Yeah. Me and Matthew."

There's another pause, as Connor stares somewhere over Leon's left shoulder, and Leon tries not to panic. There's no reason to panic.

Then Connor closes his eyes and bursts into giggles. "God," he says, reaching out and clapping Leon on the shoulder. "That makes so much more sense. No wonder you're so fucking weird about him. Fuck."

"Hey," Leon says, even as relief unknots his gut, making him even more light-headed than the beer. "I'm not weird about him --"

"You are," Connor says, eyes cracking open. "You are so goddamn weird about him --"

"Fuck off--"

"You fuck off -- and you're happy?" The change in tone gives Leon whiplash, but Connor's face is open, earnest. No longer tight with disapproving concern. "With him?"

Leon thinks about last night, how Matthew fell asleep with his hand planted on Leon's chest and his lips against Leon's neck. About this morning, when he rolled over and saw the soft expression on Matthew's face as he slept, about the way Leon couldn't stop looking at him. About the connection between them, bright and golden and warm.

"You're happy," Connor says quietly, sitting back in his chair.

"Yeah," Leon admits, unable to keep the bewildered truth of it from his voice, because he is. He really is.

[eopederson]

Lamp and high rise, Tysons Corner Center, Fairfax County, 2014.

[hyliandude]

There’s something off about the Bloomindale’s 3rd floor at Tysons Corner Center Mall…

[white-elorda-photography]

20th December 2023

Little Bird Sculptures at Tysons Corner Center Mall.

[simsbuildingblog]

Been working on a little something

I love my Harry Potter themed save file, but I don't always want to play with Harry Potter characters running around. So I'm taking some of those builds, and adding a LOT of new ones into a "Realistic" Save File.

You can download it (Just Willow Creek for now) at THIS LINK.

Willow Creek, of course, is designed after New Orleans. The townies are diverse, and the amenities are as immersive as I could think of.

Let's talk Neighborhoods, shall we?

First of all, we've got Crawdad Quarter - now designed after Bourbon Street. Complete with an oddities shop at the dead end.

Across from that big ol' church is Jackson Square Park. A great place for Sims to play chess, BBQ, sell some wares, or do some gardening.

Extending on the French Quarter theme is Foundry Cove.

Newlyweds Bryant and Lexie Spurlock live in the green bungalow behind the bar. Beside them is grumpy ol' Winston Rose, and across from them lives the eclectic Gael Tabor. Like the Spurlocks, Gael does his best to avoid Winston when he can. Which is pretty easy when he's always at his oddities shop in Crawdad Quarter.

Next on the map is Courtyard Lane, designed after the Gentilly area of New Orleans.

Paxton Easton, his daughter Sadie, and her cat live in the big ol' creole townhouse on the corner. Beside them are the Random Roommates who do a bunch of odd jobs in town. The Eastons don't interact with those four too much. In the small yellow bungalow on the other side live Chad, the actor, and Stephan, the interior designer, Doughty.

The best part of the neighborhood is the Vietnamese restaurant and bakery next to the empty house.

From there we go onto the historic Uptown District of Pendula View.

The first place you'll want to visit in this neighborhood is Lafayette Cemetary with its mysterious charm. Next you'll want to go to the bakery for some coffee and a croussant. After that, you'll enjoy a walk through the old streets.

The first house you'll come to from the bakery is that of the Coffeys. Roxanne is a serious lawyer, and her wife Tracey is a chef that owns/runs Brennan's restaurant in downtown. They have 3 kids - teenager Leigh, child Troy, and toddler Tyson.

The next house belongs to the Middletons. Professor Anton, his stay-at-home wife Nadine, and their teenage daughter Jordyn.

Finally you'll come to downtown, or Sage Estates as it's known in-game.

Brennan's restaurant is one of the best spots to impress a date in town. Down the street, the Contemporary Arts Center hosts a myriad of tools for artists to participate in the historic traditions of Willow Creek's music and street art scene.

All lots are available on the gallery under the id: phronetiq

[istandonsnowpiles]

Movie Palace

[zcsnaps]

Just chasing lights in the city 🌃 🚨Check out the link in Bio for new print drops 👌🏼 follow along for more! #nightshooters #longexposure #longexposures #longexposure_shots #chasinglights #raw_architecture #raw_cityscapes ##nightowlz #sonyshooters #757collective #shuttermagazine #sonyalpha #sonyphotography #sonya6400 #cityscape #dcnightlife #dcphotography #dcphoto #smugmug #photographyart #artphotogram #lightchaser #wallart #citykillerz #tysonscorner #tysonscornerva #photoart #hyattregency (at Hyatt Regency Tysons Corner Center) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoGL8C2LQWn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[colbyneal-blog]

Nova has Reston town center wallet Tyson’s Dulles town center after drive up Kees corner to great falls Reston and Tyson sterling and Walney burst

With chipotle route

Cascades tho

Then Walney

Tats wats nailed

Dulles expo down to wallet burst

Ocean city

Grey boat

Grid

Crucible

Yeah is hexagon level

[jakecosmosaller]

re-inventing the Mall - Some Ideas

COSCTCO Has My Number Re-inventing the Mall – Some Ideas   Springfield Town Center (Virginia) Address: 6500 Springfield Mall, Springfield, VA, 22150 Phone: (703) 971-37381 Email: Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a direct email address. However, you can contact them through the form on their contact page. Tysons Corner Center Address: 1961 Chain Bridge Road Suite 305 McLean, VA 22102 Phone:…

[garycuff]

Look who I saw when driving by the mall this evening!!!

#mybeautifulwife #digitalbillboard #tysonscorner

Thank You ArtsFairfax & Tysons Corner Center!

[stohlmansubaru]

Subaru Service Vienna VA

Schedule a car service or repair appointment near Tysons Corner at Stohlman Subaru. Our Subaru service center serves Washington DC and Arlington Virginia.

[eopederson]

Dulles Town Center, a Dead Maul, Loudon County, VA, 2023.

Once housing several large department stores, including a Nordstroms, and an array of smaller businesses now most of the active businesses are some restaurants located along the outer edge. Despite being in the richest county of the US, the Maul is failing. Within 30 km are two other large failed Mauls and a couple of others that look to be endangered. Tyson's Corner Center, about 20 km to the east of Dulles Town Center, is one of the few likely to survive. Once the center of suburban life, the shopping maul is soon to become an almost extinct species.

[Sorry for the poor focus; shot through the very dirty window of an UA flight from Burlington, VT last autumn.]