#weird hockey

[oldshowbiz]

[pagesofkenna]

you have no idea how confused ive been for the last however many months to hear people casually talking about stanley cups, like as a fad or something? and how people shouldn't have them or something? and this WHOLE time ive kept thinking 'isnt there just the one? dont you have to give it back to the hockey association next year??'

[obsob]

once more around the sun!! :3

[unch4rted-territ0ry]

Some random goalie gifs I have on my phone

[poke-checked]

pk lost a drill so he just? Launched his stick into the stands

[suburbanbonfire]

welcome to the big leagues, boy

(prints here)

[satrnretrnsintrlude]

a very strange/specific love of mine is the TINY LITTLE BIT of wrist that peaks through between a hockey players gloves & jersey like when they raise their hands and the sleeve of the jersey slides up a bit and u can see like an inch of their wrist

something abt the size difference between the HUGE gloves and their wrists is so endearing and i can’t explain why or how i just find it so adorable

[overtake]

This is a super short (550-ish words) snippet from the maxiel hockey au I got 30k into before life got in the way. I’ll probably never finish it, so have this random scene. For context, Daniel is staying at Max’s home because he has an ankle injury and the only bedroom at his own place had stairs.

Daniel hears Max before he sees him. Based on the frantic pounding down the stairs, you’d think Max was being chased by a fucking murderer.

“Daniel,” the shadowy figure in Daniel’s doorframe says in a shaky, frantic voice. Daniel hasn’t kept his door shut since the cats first started scratching at it and demanding to be let in, and he briefly wonders in the recesses of his sleep-addled mind if Max has ever Edward from Twilighted him and just watched him sleep.

“Hmmph?” Daniel manages. His brain is thick and sluggish through the foggy, sleep haze surrounding it. He tries to prop himself up on one elbow and immediately fails.

“There’s a spider in my room,” Max hisses, as if he’s scared the spider might somehow hear him and immediately attack. “Can you come kill it?”

“I am not walking up stairs right now,” Daniel groans. It was a brutal PT session, and he spent half his afternoon with his ankle wrapped in ice and elevated. Plus, he’s not exactly fond of spiders either.

“I can’t sleep in there,” Max says, and Daniel wants so badly to make fun of him, but there’s an edge of real panic in his voice. Also, Daniel is even more scared of far more embarrassing shit, so he’d never win.

“Stay in here,” Daniel says, reaching an arm behind him to flop at the empty space. “Plenty of room.”

Max only hesitates for a second before crawling in. “Are you sure?” he asks, like he isn’t already sticking his cold toes against Daniel for warmth.

“The terrors will probably kill the spider by morning for us,” Daniel says, letting his head drop back onto his pillow.

“Jimmy and Sassy are not terrors. It’s not nice how you talk about them,” Max says primly as a crash echoes from somewhere upstairs. Daniel doesn’t dignify him with a response.

He feels Max’s weight settle behind him, and a hand reaches out as his eyes drift back shut and lightly caresses his exposed shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel.”

In the morning, Daniel wakes up to find Max curled in a ball around a pillow he somehow stole from under Daniel’s head, quietly letting out cute little snores. Sassy is lying content on the floor nearby with half a dead spider dangling out her mouth.

“That’s your problem to collect and throw away,” he tells a sleeping Max. He’s got freckles on his shoulders, Daniel notices, a whole constellation of them decorating the broad, pale canvas.

He fights the urge to trace the space between them and instead collects Max’s morning Red Bull from the fridge. He leaves it to drip condensation on the bedside table closest to Max’s pillow-creased face, next to a little note that Daniel is out for his morning walk.

Max texts him twenty minutes in to his stroll.

Max Verstappen: thanks for the red bull. okay if i stay again if we don’t find the spider? It was huge.

Daniel gnaws at his cuticle, contemplating his response for half a second. It’s not like he has proof that spider was the one Max saw. Sassy probably got rid of the evidence, so he can’t ask. He doesn’t want to make Max sleep in a room that makes him anxious.

Daniel Ricciardo: Of course. Better to be safe. That spider could be deadly.

Max Verstappen: Need your Australian powers to scare it off

Daniel Ricciardo: 🤺🤺🤺

When he opens the kitchen bin later that day, he sees the body of the spider sitting on the top.

“Crazy girl. You learned how to open the bin,” he coos to Sassy, aiming for a head scratch she runs away from and pretending he doesn’t see the very human tissue wrapped around the remains.

[dayurno]

it's so cruel that they're making jean moreau play sports in college when his real place should be reading yuri fanfiction on ao3 and letting those little girls from madoka magic remind him love exists again

[40ep]

QUINN HUGHES Postgame Canucks @ Kings | March 5, 2024

[oldshowbiz]

The forgotten burger franchise of a forgotten hockey player: John Anderson Hamburgers.

[pemguims]

temporary job

[zetterbabe]

getting checked out after blocking a shot (03.05.24)

[incorrectcanucks]

Artūrs Šilovs: Change is inedible.

Thatcher Demko: Don’t you mean “inevitable”?

Artūrs Šilovs, spitting out coins: No, I did not.

[dadvans]

it's a shame none of u appreciate ryan guzman's stache. i know, i know fifteen minutes into s8 eddie diaz will either do something so sexy or say something so stupid that your morosexual brains will rewire themselves to want to sit on that thang until it is soaked through, but i'm going to spend the next two months being the only one who is Right the entire time about it absolutely working for him

[purecommemasolitude]

The H in hockey stands for Hell. The O in hockey stands for “Oh God please no”. The C in hockey stands for Cursed by malevolent beings. The K in hockey stands for Killing myself. The E in hockey stands for “EEEEEE” (sound my tv makes after I punch through it in anger). The Y in hockey stands for the word it sounds like, which I ask myself as I stare into space in despair