#whats it called? hockey gq or something??

[whatever-dude]

PK's segment is literally just toot or boot but straight

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter seven:

➴ warnings: brief mention of smut

➴ word count: 2.4k

➴ author’s note: is the thing people say about rainstorms before rainbows true? i guess it’s time for soph and jack to find out. “happy” reading ♡

FALLING out of love was something you had yet to experience.

Of course, back then you thought you had fallen out of love with Harris, but soon you’d realize that you had never really loved him. It was some kind of strong admiration, a need to have someone to call yours, someone who you could write love songs for, someone who you could imagine yourself getting old with.

‘Course, none of those things happened with Harris, not even during your honeymoon phase. You were young when you started dating him, twenty-one and with no real idea of what love truly was.

So an older actor who thought you were cute?

It felt like you had hit the jackpot.

But now, as you try your hardest to forget what Jack meant— means— to you, you realize that it isn’t as easy as you initially thought it would be.

Jack is everywhere, occupying every corner of your mind. You remember how sweet he’d talk to you after sex, always treating you with kindness and making sure you were well taken care of. How he’d send you memes that were purely about Hockey even if you never understood what was so funny about them, how he’d get excited talking about his job and how he’d try to explain all the terms to you.

Despite what happened, Jack had made you so happy. It was sad to think that it was all probably a joke to him, but for you? No, it was real. So real. Every time you looked at his face, you reminded yourself that some things are not meant to last forever.

But God knew how much you wanted him to be your forever.

Keeping yourself busy was easy, and you were thankful for that. Your small concert, a week ago, filled you with so much joy and contentment— you were alive and not thinking about the middle child of the Hughes family for the first time in seven months.

Grace made sure that you took enough breaks but whenever you were alone with your thoughts for a long time, the first image your brain liked to share with you was Jack’s smile and Jack’s eyes and Jack’s nose and lips.

It was tiring.

You didn’t tell anyone, but you secretly watched his games when you were alone at night. You didn’t know much, but the experts keep saying that this is Hughes’ worst season and that he’s playing like shit, which, unfortunately, made you worry.

But you wouldn’t go back, you couldn’t go back.

Sometimes, at night, you’d remember how he looked at you when you told him you were in love with him. Or how he looked when you told him to leave, so desperate for you to hear him, at least for a few more minutes.

You’d replay that day inside of your head every night, like a nighttime routine, trying to find a different, better ending.

You’d always come up empty.

Sighing, you looked at your phone, reading Grace’s text with a smile.

Grace being Grace.

Even if she technically worked for you, you’ve barely seen Grace the past couple of days. You were both so busy it was almost impossible to keep up with each other’s schedule. But you did manage to free up some space so you could at least have lunch with her, and turns out she thought it’d be cool to include Nico too.

So, lunch at Nico’s house.

You said goodbye to the people who were working with you at the GQ photo shoot and drove to his house, blasting music through your speakers. No thoughts allowed!

You rang the doorbell, waiting until Grace herself opened the door, like she owned the house. You still weren’t sure if you wanted to know what was truly happening between the two of them, so you didn’t ask questions.

“Hi, my little popstar,” Grace shouted, hugging you tightly.

“Stop putting little before every noun when you’re referring to me.” You mumbled, face still shoved in the crook of her neck.

“Why would I do that? It’s fun and true. Come inside, Nico’s ordering pizza!”

You entered the house, feeling your cheeks getting warm when you remembered what happened the last time you were here.

“Shut the fuck up, Sophia,” during sex, he only used your name whenever he was really pissed, and apparently this was one of those times. “Don’t need anyone hearing how much of a whore you actually are.”

“Fuck, uh, come for me, baby, c’mon,” Jack whispered, hands still on you, dick fucking you hard and rough, leaving your insides raw and deliciously hurting. “Come on my cock like the good girl you are.”

Well. No more of that.

“No— Man, listen. I want a large pepperoni and a large margherita, please,” Nico smiled at you before putting his hand on his head, holding his phone with the other. “Why the hell would I put pineapple on a fucking pepperoni pizza? Let me speak to your manager, that’s— that’s a crime.”

“He’s just a Swiss Karen, really,” Grace sighed, sitting on the couch. You sat next to her, watching as Hischier tried to explain to the manager why pineapples shouldn’t even be included in pizzas in the first place. “I think he’s just nervous about the games.”

“Yeah,” you wanted to tell her that you’ve been watching the games and that it didn’t look really good for them but it would just give your I’m-already-over-Jack facade away. “Must be hard.”

“Tell me about it, I barely see him. It’s like hockey players only exist during the summer or whatever.” She sighed again, fixing her braids. You looked at her, full of compassion.

If you and Jack dated, would you feel like her?

No.

You wouldn’t know the answer to that question because that won’t happen.

“Hi, Soph,” you heard the Devils’ captain say, greeting you.

“Hey there, thirteen. How are you?”

He yawned, stretching his arms. “Tired, stressed, hungry, tired.” He stopped for a second before continuing. “Have I mentioned tired?”

“Sucks to be you, to be honest,” you giggled, looking at him funny.

The pizza would take a while to get delivered— especially since Nico argued with the manager and now they were probably taking their time spitting on the dough— so you used the time to catch up on their lives.

Grace talked about how her marketing degree never prepared her for how much work she’d actually have to get done, and how much she missed her mom and dad, and how Jessica, your vocal coach, was starting to piss her off with her I-am-better-than-everyone attitude.

Nico talked about the games, and how he basically was never at home, and how he’d spend half of his time on planes and the other half on practice and yet he still felt like they weren’t going to make it.

That made you wonder how Jack was doing with all of this. If he had come back to Newark after their week away, to spend thanksgiving with his family.

Not that you cared, you just wondered.

Noticing how both Grace and Nico stayed quiet, you realized that they’re probably waiting for you to update them on your life. You smiled awkwardly.

“I have been working a lot,” you shrugged. “I love what I do so it isn’t exactly working for me. Besides that, I sleep, eat and drink water.”

They both looked at you with pity, which made your stomach ache. You didn’t want anyone pitying you, in fact, you didn’t need it. You weren’t a damsel in distress, you didn’t need to be saved— you just chose to spend your free time alone. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.

“I’m gonna go grab some wine from the cellar, be right back,” Nico announced, out of nowhere, getting up and heading downstairs. Grace looked at him with puppy eyes and you laughed.

“People in love are disgusting,” you joked, and Grace rolled her eyes at you.

“Shut it, Twilight,” she laughed, not denying it. “I’m gonna go grab the glasses.”

The doorbell rang and you got up. “It looks like I’m gonna go grab the pizza.”

“Make sure they didn’t put poison in it!” Grace shouted, making her way to the kitchen, while you walked until you were in front of the door, smiling still.

“Sophia?”

Hi, Universe. It’s your girl, Sophia. So, what is this about? What are you trying to do here? Let me tell you now, it won’t work.

“Hum, hi?” It sounded more like a question than a greeting, but out of all things you would have imagined that could happen to you that day, opening the door and finding Jack on the other side of it wasn’t on your list.

“What are you,” he stuttered, clutching hard the bag he was holding in his hands. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m sorry.”

You leaned against the door, confusion taking over your face. Jack wasn’t the type of man to apologize so easily.

“It’s fine.”

You both went quiet, staring at each other. It was weird to be around Jack without touching him, your heart still hurting because you love him deeply.

It was the type of love you’d want to tell your children, if you decided to have them one day. The type of love where you’d come home after a long day, just to find your forever sitting on the couch, yapping about his day. The type of love you read in books and watch movies about, the type of love you want to write songs about. The type of love where his hugs feel like a cold, gentle breeze during a sunny day, and his kisses felt like the fireworks on the Fourth of July.

You loved Jack Hughes deeply and he wanted him to be your forever more than anything.

But it wouldn’t happen. And it’s fine. It’d be fine.

“Do you want me to call Nico?” You whispered, averting his gaze.

“You don’t need to, I just stopped by to give him this,” he raised the bag in his hands, shrugging.

“Okay…” You nodded, not sure of what to say. “Then, I guess I’m… gonna go. Nice seeing you.” You lied, because you’d much rather keep watching him on TV, with a safe distance between you two, than to face him in real life.

“No, Soph, wait—” he called you, putting his feet between the door gap. “Can we, like, talk?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jack.” You retorted, biting your bottom lip.

“Soph, did they spit on our pizza?” Grace’s voice sounded cheerful behind you, and you cringed, knowing exactly how she’s going to react once she sees Jack here. “I hope they only spitted on Nico’s pizza, to be honest. What are you doing there— Oh.”

You turned around and looked at her, smiling awkwardly. No one moved a muscle for at least ten seconds and you gave in, knowing that discussing things with her would be harder than hearing Jack out.

“I’ll just… I’ll be right back, okay?” You announced, pointing to Jack behind you. “It’s fine.”

“But—”

“It’s fine, Grace. Go find Nico, please.” You pleaded, not wanting to feel any shittier. Grace only stared at Jack for what seemed to be a whole minute before nodding once and making her way to Nico.

“I guess she still hates me.” Jack pointed out, chuckling humorlessly.

You turned around, raising your eyebrows at him. “Can you blame her?”

“No, not really,” he shrugged, putting the bag on the floor and putting his hands inside of his jeans’ pockets. “I get that you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you, I’m not mad at you. Hurt? Maybe. But I knew what I was getting myself into, so I guess I can’t really blame you.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying really hard to be the bigger person when all you wanted to do was smash his face into a wall and kiss him right after that.

“I want you to know that I am sorry about what happened,” he stepped closer, making you smell his cologne, sandalwood and something else that smelled a lot like money. Weird combination but it worked for him. “Truly. I didn’t fuck Ava or any other woman while we were together. I— I just wanted to be with you, Soph, I need you to know that.”

You stared at his face, trying so hard to find the same expression you found on your ex’s face whenever he lied and manipulated you. But you couldn’t— Jack was still the same as he was seven months ago, when he hit on you at that dinner party.

He still looked like the guy who held you close after sex, the guy who order take out for you just because he knew you’d get too tired to cook for yourself, the guy who had a playlist just for his favorite songs by you, the guy who never understood your chronically online memes but laughed nonetheless because he said the way you laugh is funnier than the joke itself.

Jack still looked like he could be your forever.

So close yet so fucking distant.

You could feel yourself slipping into him again and you knew you couldn’t do this with yourself. You had to choose yourself before choosing anyone else.

“You don’t need to say sorry,” you whispered, smiling softly. “It’s fine. As you said, we weren’t even dating. I bet you wouldn’t have reacted the way I did if it’d been the other way around.”

He looked at you like you had grown a second head. “I would’ve gone crazy if it was the other way around. Sophia, I know it’s hard to believe but—”

“It’s fine, Jack, it really is,” you stated, shaking your head. “I accept your apologies but I think—” you broke eye contact, stepping back. “I think it’s just best if we stay out of each other’s way.”

You couldn’t tell which one of you cracked first. Jack, who looked at you like he’d seen a ghost, let his shoulders fall, looking as dejected as ever. You could feel the tears starting to form in your eyes but you held on tight. You had already cried in front of him once, and you weren’t going to do that again.

“Soph,” you heard his voice, so soft and so unlike him. “Soph, you don’t… you don’t mean that, baby.”

“I do,” you looked up, squeezing your eyes shut. “I do, Jack. And it will be fine. Let’s just move on.”

“Soph…”

“Please,” you whispered, already stepping back into the house, hands on the handle. “Jack. Please.”

You finally looked at him, noticing how his eyes looked so blue and sad. He stared at you before shaking his head, once and then twice, stepping back.

“I’m so sorry, Soph.” He said softly, before leaving Nico’s porch and making his way to his car.

“I know you are, baby,” you whispered, letting the tears finally fall. “I am, too.”

“Hum… pizza for Nico Hischier?”

Great.

[oleksiak-pettersson]

This blurb comes from my old blog. the only reason I was able to salvage it is @leafsbabe who had reblogged it. Hanna, I love you!

Based on an anon: Kylieeeees, will you write something about Auston and the GQ interview he just did?

shoutout to @brockadoodles who is no longer active for the gif

“Babe!” He calls out.

You’re startled slightly at his voice, eyes flitting to the time on your laptop, he shouldn’t be done with his interview just yet. You shift slightly on the couch to look at his large frame in the doorway.

“Yeah Aus?” You inquire, eyeing his outfit. He looks especially soft today and you can’t wait for his interview to be finished so you can curl into his lap and watch a movie.

“I need you to come with me babe,” he states, it’s evident he’s in a rush and you’re confused. 

“Why?” You question, barely shrugging the fuzzy blanket off of yourself. You’re too comfy to move and he probably just needs help adjusting his camera angle again. 

“Please, babe,” he pouts, plump lips pursed in a way that makes you want to get up and kiss him crazy. 

“Fine,” you draw out, lazily lifting yourself from the couch, letting your blanket pool on the couch in a pile. 

He smiles victorious, holding his hand out for you. You accept his grip without hesitation. He leads you back to the kitchen area, his camera set up and you can see his random things set up along the table. Among the strewn objects are his hockey stick, his deodorant and his body pillow.

You chuckle at the sight of his body pillow, the amount of times you’ve come home late only to find him canoodling the damn thing. You’d be jealous if he hadn’t stolen a sweater or two of yours to cover the pillow with while he’s on the road.

“Okay, you’ve got me here,” you laugh, watching as he adjusts the camera. “What did you need me for?”

“Get on the table please.” Auston demands, turning to sit behind the table with no further explanation.

You don’t bother to question him, instead humouring him by doing exactly as he commands. “A please wouldn’t kill you.” You tease, turning to poke your tongue out at him. 

He just laughs, blowing you a kiss and winking but failing. It’s charming and your heart swoons at his dorkiness. He turns serious though, facing back towards the camera. You do the same, hands crossed in your lap where you sit on the edge of the table.

“So the number one thing in the world I can’t live without,” Auston smiles at the camera. “Is this gorgeous lady right here.”

Your heart skips a beat, Auston is rarely this soft for you on social media. You’re lucky if he posts a little picture for your birthday. You understand though, he doesn’t want you getting exposed to any hate.

“My girlfriend Y/N is my rock. She constantly inspires me to be myself and be the best version of myself. As cheesy as it sounds, she is my person and I don;t know where I’d be without her. I spend very waking moment thinking about her, how I can make her smile or make her laugh. Her laugh is literally the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.” His voice has softens and though you don’t turn to look at him, you know he’s watching you.

You close your eyes, fighting the tears that threaten to form at his sweet sentiment. 

“I look forward to waking up with her everyday of my life. She is everything. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to have a bunch of little Matthews and grow old with this woman. She makes me happier than I've ever been.” 

Your eyes are closed, heart beating so fast you can actually hear it. When your eyes open again, Auston is kneeling in front of you. There’s a gorgeous ring in his hands and you’ve probably never seen a bigger smile on his face before.

“So, Y/N Y/LN, will you do me the honour of being my wife?” He asks, you can tell he’s also tearing up slightly with joy.

“Yes, Auston, yes.” You cry, jumping from the table to throw yourself into his arms. You briefly think thank god you chose to wear makeup today.

Auston envelops you in his arms and his lips are against yours before you can even process it. You melt into his hold. The camera is still rolling and you really hope they edit this out.

When Auston pulls away, he slips the gorgeous ring down your finger and you can't help but marvel at it. He smiles down at your hand as well, bringing his hand to hold your and stroke his thumb over the gemstone.

He turns to the camera once again. “So, I guess what I should say is that I can’t live without my gorgeous fiancée.” 

The smile on his face says it all.

[fruitcoops]

I was watching this video w Megan Rapinoe & Sue Bird (tumblr won’t let me link but it’s from 2 days ago on GQ- they ask each other questions but it’s like quiz style?) and didn’t know if you would want to do something similar for coops? Some of the stuff they said/how they acted reminded me of coops’ dynamic

Anon, this video was the perfect way to spend an evening. Both these women are my role models and they’re unbelievably cute together--go check out the video here if you have the chance! Their dynamic is a lot like how I imagine Coops, too! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Hey, Lions, we’re back!” Sirius waved at the camera and tapped a short stack on notecards on his thighs. “I’m Captain Sirius Black of the Gryffindor Lions and I’m here with my fiancé, Remus Lupin, to do another couple game.”

“The response to our last few interviews was incredible and we had a great time,” Remus continued. “Miss Marlene McKinnon was kind enough to drag us back in here to answer even more questions!”

“Do you want to go first?”

“Sure.” Remus cleared his throat and pulled the first card. “What are my parents’ first names?”

“Hope and Lyall.”

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. What’s my hidden talent?”

“You can sing.”

“Does that count? I feel like most people know that now.”

“Hmm.” Sirius thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knees. “You can cook really well.”

“Thank you, baby. What’s my favorite accessory?”

Sirius brightened. “Your watch!”

“Yes!” Remus held it up to the camera—it was simple and elegant, with a leather band and a small face. He wore it with the clock against the inside of his wrist, just above his pulse point. “What is my dream travel destination or vacation?”

“Oh, that’s tough.” Sirius bit his lip in thought. “Seattle? Paris?”

“I do want to go to Seattle, but I’ve always wanted to go to Montreal,” Remus said. “You’ve seen my hometown, but I’ve never been to yours.”

Sirius frowned. “Really?”

“Really. What am I most afraid of?”

“I think…I think you’re most afraid of not being useful,” Sirius said after a moment. “For six years, your job was all about helping people, and it’s not now.”

Remus raised his eyebrows at the camera. “I was going to say the dentist’s office. Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” Sirius laughed. “Yeah, you don’t like medical facilities.”

“I mean, you weren’t wrong about the useful thing,” Remus said. “You still get a point for that. What’s my favorite music, song, or artist to listen to before a game?”

“You don’t have one.”

“That was quick. Half a bonus point for speed. When was our first date and what did we do?”

“Our first official date was just after All-Stars and we went to Sid’s, but we had been together for about three months at that point and just hung out at each other’s houses.”

Remus grinned. “Do you remember what day it was?”

“January 28th.” Sirius gave him a look. “I know for a fact you don’t know what day it was.”

“January 28th.”

“You only know that because I just said it!” Sirius smacked him playfully with his cards. “Next question.”

“What’s my favorite movie and TV show?”

“Jurassic Park and Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

He whistled the first part of the theme song as Sirius did the hand motions. “What’s my shoe size?”

“Oh, god,” Sirius muttered, staring down at the floor. “Eleven? Eleven and a half? You have smaller feet than I do, but not by much.”

“I’m a size ten.”

“Are you really?”

Remus pulled one sneaker off and handed it to him with a laugh. “Check for yourself. Oh, I’d love to know the answer to this one. How do you know when I’m mad at you?”

Sirius tossed his shoe back with a snort. “You make faces.”

Remus seemed surprised. “Do I?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a very expressive face and the second you’re pissed, it’s written all over it. It’s like—” Sirius pursed his lips and scrunched his nose slightly. “I can’t really do it, but anytime I see that I’m like, ‘oh, shit, what did I do?’ Also, you stop calling me baby.”

“That’s what I was going to say. What’s my favorite city to play in?”

“Not Florida.”

“Not fucking Florida,” Remus agreed with a grin.

“Gryffindor for sure.”

“Where was I born?” He gave Sirius a teasing look. “Do you know this time, or should I get my mom on the line?”

Sirius stuck his tongue out. “Madison, Wisconsin.”

Remus glanced at the camera. “We got asked this question in an interview a few months ago and he had to call my mom afterward because he forgot.”

“She made fun of me the whole time,” Sirius pouted.

“What is my favorite food? Oh, you’ll get this one for sure.” Sirius hesitated and Remus’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“I’m a little torn. It’s either my grilled cheese or your dad’s turkey-cranberry thing. Actually, I don’t think you know what your favorite food is.”

Remus nodded slowly. “That’s a really good point. My first thought was grilled cheese, but my dad makes the best postgame sandwiches. I’ll give you that. What’s my favorite hobby?”

“Reading.”

“What did I want to be when I was a kid?”

“A librarian, until you started playing hockey.”

Remus leaned over and high-fived him. “You’re on a roll, baby. What was my jersey number in college?”

“Number six.”

“The transition was so fucking easy,” Remus laughed. “Coach literally came up to me a month before practices started and went ‘hey, what was your old number?’ and I told him, and he looked down at his clipboard and went, ‘cool.’. I got my jersey two weeks later.”

“Is this your last question?”

“It is, indeed. What’s my full birth name?”

“Remus Jehosephat Lupin.”

“That is incorrect.”

“Close enough. It’s Remus John Lupin, which I find endlessly funny.”

“Why is it funny?” Marlene asked off-screen. Remus hid his face behind his notecards as Sirius laughed.

“Because it’s such a basic middle name! I love Hope and Lyall with my entire heart and they’re wonderful people, but they named their sons Remus and Julian and then I think they got stuck. Like, you’ve got these two very uncommon first names and they sort of went ‘fuck it. John and Michael. We’re done.’ It’s just so funny.”

“Whereas your parents went the extra mile and gave you and Reg goddamn supervillain names,” Remus snorted. “The drama of it all, my god.”

“Alright, alright, my turn.” Sirius leaned his elbows on his knees. “What is my favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“How do I like my coffee?”

Remus hissed between his teeth. “Ah, shit, you always make the coffee. With a lot of sugar, right? It’s black with sugar?”

“It can’t be black if it has sugar in it,” Sirius laughed. “But yes, I do put sugar in my coffee. What are three things I never leave the house without?”

“Keys, wallet, phone.”

“My favorite TV show?”

“Why are you going through these so fast? Uh, Avatar.”

“Did I ever have a job that wasn’t playing hockey?”

“Nope.” Remus frowned. “Were you allowed to get a job as a kid?”

“I was not. What’s my favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Cookies and cream.”

Sirius made a buzzer noise. “Incorrect.”

“Is it chocolate?”

“Yep. You get half a point for that. What’s the first meal I ever cooked for you?”

Remus gave him a look. “You don’t remember what you cooked for me, do you?”

“Refresh my memory?”

“No way!” He punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m not falling for my own tricks. Next question.”

“It’s kind of a repeat from earlier. How do you know when I’m mad at you?”

Remus fiddled with the edges of his cards. “You act all weird and Captain-y, and then you get quiet. Just cranky vibes all around.”

“Cranky vibes,” Sirius laughed. “Good to know. What are my favorite movie-watching snacks?”

“Popcorn and…Sweet Tarts?”

“Yes!” Sirius gave him a high-five. “Do you know what I like on my popcorn?”

“Butter and enough salt to kill a Victorian child.”

“Bonus point! What is—oh, shit!” He nearly fumbled the cards onto the floor. “What is my favorite movie of all time?”

“Indiana Jones.”

“Which one?”

“The one with Marian, because she reminds you of me.” Remus looked over at the camera. “I really don’t like snakes.”

“What is the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning?”

“Oh, I think this requires a demonstration. C’mere.”

“Does it really?” Sirius sighed as he laid down next to him.

“For sure.” Remus cuddled into his side and laid his head on his shoulder. “Alright, the key to a true Sirius Black wake-up is getting all four limbs wrapped around the other person like you’re trying to suffocate them with affection.”

“Okay—”

“And then,” Remus continued with a grin. “I go, ‘honey, wake up’—”

“You absolutely do not.”

“In my head, that’s what I say. It’s very sweet. To answer the question, the first thing Sirius does is this.” He buried his face in Sirius’ chest and groaned loudly, then dissolved into snickering as Sirius’ chest began to shake with suppressed laughter. “Stop it, you’re ruining the demonstration!”

“You forgot the part where I have to peel you off me with pliers and grease,” Sirius teased as they stood up, dusting themselves off. The camera crew applauded and they both bowed. “Alright, where were we? What am I most scared of?”

“Losing your friends and family,” Remus said. “Also, spiders and most bugs.”

“You forgot one.”

“Which one? The dish soap bubbles?”

“Losing you.”

A vibrant blush tinted Remus’ cheeks and ears, and he floundered for words. “Oh.”

“You still get the points, though,” Sirius said mildly. “What city do I like playing in the most?”

Remus paused for a moment longer, then shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Uh, Gryffindor. You like the crowd.”

“I do.” Sirius smiled at the camera. “To all the fans out there: you are incredible and there is nothing like skating out with everybody roaring so loud the windows shake. Who is my biggest hockey influence?”

“Now, or when you were younger?”

“Now.”

“It’s Dumo, right?”

Sirius nodded. “On and off the ice. What’s my proudest career moment?”

“Hmm, I wonder,” Remus said sarcastically. “Could it possibly be winning the Stanley Cup?”

“Just maybe,” Sirius laughed. “What’s my most famous celly, and which one’s my favorite?”

Remus grinned. “Lightning McQueen.”

“I hate it when you call it that.” Despite his words, Sirius was smiling. “It’s supposed to be cool!”

“Can you elaborate?” Marlene asked.

“I mean, most people who have seen him play know what I’m talking about,” Remus said, gesturing to the camera. “But Sirius’ famous celly is a double fist pump, and I call it the Lightning McQueen because it’s like ka-chow! It’s also his favorite one, though he dances when we’re skating alone or with a couple of the guys.”

“Shhh, they aren’t supposed to know that!” Sirius covered Remus’ mouth with his notecard. “This is the very last one. What is my biggest pet peeve?”

“When I leave my socks laying around the house.”

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! That drives me fucking bonkers. Marley, who won?”

“It wasn’t a competition,” she said off-screen. “Just a Q & A.”

“Who got the most right?” Remus asked.

“You two are hopeless,” she muttered. There were a few beats of silence. “Remus won, with sixteen and a half out of seventeen. Sirius, you had fifteen and a half.”

“No.” Sirius groaned and dropped his head into his hands as Remus whooped.

“Hell yes!”

“My bonus points let you win.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”

Remus faced the camera with a victorious smile. “Thanks for joining us to witness my landslide victory—”

“It was one point.”

“And make sure to like and subscribe for more Lion Pride content! See you around, Lions.” They both mock-saluted, and the video ended.

[puckinghell]

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him.  Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model. 

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(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

1. 

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

2.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone. 

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

3. 

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs. 

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

4. 

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

+1

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.  

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.  

[angelofberlin2000]

By Naomi Fry 2:58 P.M.

Last week, I read a report in the Times about the current conditions on Mt. Everest, where climbers have taken to shoving one another out of the way in order to take selfies at the peak, creating a disastrous human pileup. It struck me as a cogent metaphor for how we live today: constantly teetering on the precipice to grasp at the latest popular thing. The story, like many stories these days, provoked anxiety, dread, and a kind of awe at the foolishness of fellow human beings. Luckily, the Internet has recently provided us with an unlikely antidote to everything wrong with the news cycle: the actor Keanu Reeves.

Take, for instance, a moment, a few weeks ago, when Reeves appeared on “The Late Show” to promote “John Wick: Chapter 3—Parabellum,” the latest installment in his action-movie franchise. Near the end of the interview, Stephen Colbert asked the actor what he thought happens after we die. Reeves was wearing a dark suit and tie, in the vein of a sensitive mafioso who is considering leaving it all behind to enter the priesthood. He paused for a moment, then answered, with some care, “I know that the ones who love us will miss us.” It was a response so wise, so genuinely thoughtful, that it seemed like a rebuke to the usual canned blather of late-night television. The clip was retweeted more than a hundred thousand times, but, when I watched it, I felt like I was standing alone in a rock garden, having a koan whispered into my ear.

Reeves, who is fifty-four, has had a thirty-five-year career in Hollywood. He was a moody teen stoner in “River’s Edge” and a sunny teen stoner in the “Bill & Ted” franchise; he was the tortured sci-fi action hero in the “Matrix” movies and the can-do hunky action hero in “Speed”; he was the slumming rent boy in “My Own Private Idaho,” the scheming Don John in “Much Ado About Nothing,” and the eligible middle-aged rom-com lead in “Destination Wedding.” Early in his career, his acting was often mocked for exhibiting a perceived skater-dude fuzziness; still, today, on YouTube, you can find several gleeful compilations of Reeves “acting badly.” (“I am an F.B.I. agent,” he shouts, not so convincingly, to Patrick Swayze in “Point Break.”) But over the years the peculiarities of Reeves’s acting style have come to be seen more generously. Though he possesses a classic leading-man beauty, he is no run-of-the-mill Hollywood stud; he is too aloof, too cipher-like, too mysterious. There is something a bit “Man Who Fell to Earth” about him, an otherworldliness that comes across in all of his performances, which tend to have a slightly uncanny, declamatory quality. No matter what role he plays, he is always himself. He is also clearly aware of the impression he makes. In the new Netflix comedy “Always Be My Maybe,” starring the standup comedian Ali Wong, he makes a cameo as a darkly handsome, black-clad, self-serious Keanu, speaking in huskily theatrical, quasi-spiritual sound bites that either baffle or arouse those around him. “I’ve missed your spirit,” he gasps at Wong, while kissing her, open-mouthed.

Though we’ve spent more than three decades with Reeves, we still know little about him. We know that he was born in Beirut, and that he is of English and Chinese-Hawaiian ancestry. (Ali Wong has said that she cast him in “Always Be My Maybe” in part because he’s Asian-American, even if many people forget it.) His father, who did a spell in jail for drug dealing, left home when Keanu was a young boy. His childhood was itinerant, as his mother remarried several times and moved the family from Sydney to New York and, finally, Toronto. We know that he used to play hockey, and that he is a motorcycle buff, and that he has experienced unthinkable tragedy: in the late nineties, his girlfriend, Jennifer Syme, gave birth to their child, who was stillborn; two years later, Syme died in a car accident. Otherwise, Reeves’s life is a closed book. Who is he friends with? What is his relationship with his family like? As Alex Pappademas wrote, for a cover story about the actor in GQ, in May, Reeves has somehow managed to “pull off the nearly impossible feat of remaining an enigmatic cult figure despite having been an A-list actor for decades.”

This inscrutability makes each new detail we learn about Reeves’s life seem like a revelatory gift. On a recent appearance on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” the actor admitted, twenty-five years after the fact, that he had a crush on Sandra Bullock when the two were filming “Speed.” Last week, a Malaysian Web site claimed that, in an interview, Reeves confessed to being lonely. “I don’t have anyone in my life,” he supposedly said, adding, “Hopefully it’ll happen for me.” The Internet responded with a collective shriek of longing. When it was reported, on Saturday, that, according to Reeves’s rep, the quotes had been fabricated, it almost didn’t matter. The Internet’s desire to plumb the hidden depths of this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and to serve as a balm to his perceived hurt, had been so strong that it willed this bit of news into existence.

The outpouring of horny sympathy recalled an earlier episode, in 2010, when paparazzi pictures appeared showing the actor sitting on a New York City park bench and eating a sandwich, looking scruffy and in low spirits. So emerged the “Sad Keanu” meme; June 15th was even declared, by fans, “Cheer Up Keanu Day.” But, unlike the “Sad Ben Affleck” meme, which came in response to a swaggery alpha male’s public descent, Sad Keanu was not animated by Schadenfreude. It simply brought to the fore the retiring, not-long-for-this-world sensitivity that we had always intuited was there.

Recently, a slew of people have come forward to share their real-life “Keanu Stories.” (A bizarrely large number seem to have encountered him at one time or another, perhaps owing to the fact that he often travels alone and without handlers.) The image of him that emerges from these anecdotes is of a considerate man who is aware of his status as a celebrity but doesn’t take advantage of it, and who is generous but careful with his presence. After a flight he was on from San Francisco to L.A. had to make an emergency landing in Bakersfield, Reeves helped passengers recruit a van to transport them the remaining way; en route, he read facts about Bakersfield aloud and played country tunes on his phone for the group. He signed an autograph for a sixteen-year-old ticket seller at a movie theatre after intuiting that the teen was too shy to ask him for one directly. He called an indie bookstore in advance, once a week, before arriving, on his motorcycle, to pick up new books. He was a wallflower at a party, asking another actor on the outskirts of the gathering if she would show him pictures of her dog in costume.

My colleague Jessica Winter was involved in a well-known Keanu Story, though she didn’t know it at the time. In a minute-long viral video taken on a New York City subway car, in 2011, Reeves is seen getting up and offering his seat to a woman who is carrying a large bag. Winter happened to be sitting next to Reeves when the video was shot—she is the strawberry-blonde woman absorbed in reading a magazine, initially unaware of her famous fellow-passenger. Watching the clip today, Winter recalled the courtly way in which Reeves reacted to being filmed: “He was calm and beatific and ever so slightly puzzled, like, Why are you doing this? I am not upset, and perhaps it is not my business.” If only more of us could learn to adopt Reeves’s attitude in our own lives. It’s O.K. to take a pause sometimes, to not engage, to let the world separate from you a little bit, he assures us. Just watch me.

I have two Keanu Stories of my own, both brief but sweet. In 2006, at a performance by the dancer Pina Bausch, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I saw Reeves seated a couple of rows away from me—in the cheap seats—his gangly legs crammed into the small space in front of him. Three years later, at Film Forum, I spotted him emerging alone from a Kurosawa movie, carrying a large tub of popcorn. These moments aren’t much, but I keep them close, picking them up every once in a while, the way you would a crystal or an amulet.

[battle-of-alberta]

BATTLE OF ALBERTA: INTRODUCTION Pt. 2

[ first ] [ contents ] [ omake ] [ next story ]

[ read on tapas ]

Ed is a 220-something waste management enthusiast and part-time party animal; Cal is an up-and-coming energy entrepreneur with a fiery temper. Personifications. Ultimate Rivals. Best Friends.

Thus concludes the introduction comic to Battle of Alberta. I hope you enjoy it. :D

Page-by-Page Commentary below...

Page 6

- Trucks are silly but I have to resign myself to drawing them a lot.

- Once again Hapo proves the only thing she knows about Red Deer Culture (tm) is the Donut Mill. 

- I was like why did i call her redison redford what is that a parody of and then i remembered that one rpg game where you can find the former premier hiding in the woods

- naruto runs to defeat an enemy

Page 7

- this was the hardest page because i wanted to communicate History (tm) and what better way than to use archival photos... 

- The first image is of Fort Edmonton from the other side of the North Saskatchewan River. The fort was on the north side in more peaceable Cree territory and would occasionally be fired upon by the Blackfoot Confederacy from the south side. The territory of the Blackfoot includes present-day Calgary. 

- The second image is the Columbia Ice Fields, the origin point of the North Saskatchewan River. 

- The final image is the CPR station in Calgary in the 1880s. 

- I think the Battle is Somewhere in between “stupid petty 80s hockey rivalry” and “ancient geological divide”. I think it’s only worth holding on to if it’s ultimately constructive, even if I have my own strong biases and tease people over it I only do so with the utmost affection. I think it’s fair that the younger generations see it as an Old People Thing that isn’t necessary but like... I also want to rationalize my own experience with it as something sort of Ingrained in you from a young age if not Inherent. It’s part of the ~culture~ and you gotta deal with it somehow. 

- I also think there Are real differences between the north and south of the province historically, culturally etc. that should be acknowledged because, aware of them or not, they do affect things even today and even if subtle or trivial they are things that do matter to people.

- That all said Red’s not that much younger than the two, she’s about a decade younger than Cal. Technically she is closer geographically and historically to Cal as well, but she’s essentially a Neutral Party in this battle who might swing either way depending on the weather. There’s also long running jokes about Red Deer either being the site of a fake historical Battle of Alberta or as a meeting ground for hypothetical peace talks since it’s literally smack in the middle.

Page 8

- Ed has had a sudden very intense crush on McDavid for a few years now and it’s really hard for him to deal with it rationally. Please be careful with who you compare to Gretzky because he Will take it seriously. Especially now that Connor is creeping out of his Bidoof phase into his GQ phase. 

- Ed is also only putting on the mature face for the moral high ground but I don’t think either of them ever actually get it because they’re both like 5 years old whenever they’re in the same room. Ed is literally only more mature in years, don’t be fooled.

- I dream about the Duke. I was exiled from Edmonton for nearly a year and the first thing I did when I got back was try to go get a Duke (but i got a seasonal grapefruit tart instead rip). I have had friends who don’t even like cake appreciate the Duke. 

Page 9

- I could say something about how Actually the Airplane is a Symbol of their shared history but I won’t. It’s just Ed being petty.

- Red gets to share the cake as hostess, of course. 

Page 10

- obligatory sERIOUS MUSHY PAGE and also a hint that Maybe more story will happen perhaps. 

- me: more swears can happen if they are small for some reason

- If you’re wondering “is this a platonic or a romantic story” i literally do not care, draw your own conclusions, I’m trying to give you the space to do that freely. I personally love me a platonic forehead kiss but power to you if you want to read into it. Just please don’t assume they’re bio-siblings because No Thank You. I get that in some literature/news articles they’re painted that way but like... that’s usually in a specific political context painting them as subordinate to the “parent” provincial government and that is not the story or the angle that I’m trying to cover here because it does not make sense historically or the way that I’ve imagined these characters. 

- Also it’s Really Weird if you read this as a love triangle with Red at the center because WOW what an unhealthy relationship for poor Red, I hope I’ve left no breadcrumbs to that conclusion! They literally are so obsessed with each other the minute she points out she’s self sufficient they’re back at it. 

[alittlelife]

By Naomi Fry. June 3, 2019.

Last week, I read a report in the Times about the current conditions on Mt. Everest, where climbers have taken to shoving one another out of the way in order to take selfies at the peak, creating a disastrous human pileup. It struck me as a cogent metaphor for how we live today: constantly teetering on the precipice to grasp at the latest popular thing. The story, like many stories these days, provoked anxiety, dread, and a kind of awe at the foolishness of fellow human beings. Luckily, the Internet has recently provided us with an unlikely antidote to everything wrong with the news cycle: the actor Keanu Reeves.

Take, for instance, a moment, a few weeks ago, when Reeves appeared on “The Late Show” to promote “John Wick: Chapter 3—Parabellum,” the latest installment in his action-movie franchise. Near the end of the interview, Stephen Colbert asked the actor what he thought happens after we die. Reeves was wearing a dark suit and tie, in the vein of a sensitive mafioso who is considering leaving it all behind to enter the priesthood. He paused for a moment, then answered, with some care, “I know that the ones who love us will miss us.” It was a response so wise, so genuinely thoughtful, that it seemed like a rebuke to the usual canned blather of late-night television. The clip was retweeted more than a hundred thousand times, but, when I watched it, I felt like I was standing alone in a rock garden, having a koan whispered into my ear.

Reeves, who is fifty-four, has had a thirty-five-year career in Hollywood. He was a moody teen stoner in “River’s Edge” and a sunny teen stoner in the “Bill & Ted” franchise; he was the tortured sci-fi action hero in the “Matrix” movies and the can-do hunky action hero in “Speed”; he was the slumming rent boy in “My Own Private Idaho,” the scheming Don John in “Much Ado About Nothing,” and the eligible middle-aged rom-com lead in “Destination Wedding.” Early in his career, his acting was often mocked for exhibiting a perceived skater-dude fuzziness; still, today, on YouTube, you can find several gleeful compilations of Reeves “acting badly.” (“I am an F.B.I. agent,” he shouts, not so convincingly, to Patrick Swayze in “Point Break.”) But over the years the peculiarities of Reeves’s acting style have come to be seen more generously. Though he possesses a classic leading-man beauty, he is no run-of-the-mill Hollywood stud; he is too aloof, too cipher-like, too mysterious. There is something a bit “Man Who Fell to Earth” about him, an otherworldliness that comes across in all of his performances, which tend to have a slightly uncanny, declamatory quality. No matter what role he plays, he is always himself. He is also clearly aware of the impression he makes. In the new Netflix comedy “Always Be My Maybe,” starring the standup comedian Ali Wong, he makes a cameo as a darkly handsome, black-clad, self-serious Keanu, speaking in huskily theatrical, quasi-spiritual sound bites that either baffle or arouse those around him. “I’ve missed your spirit,” he gasps at Wong, while kissing her, open-mouthed.

Though we’ve spent more than three decades with Reeves, we still know little about him. We know that he was born in Beirut, and that he is of English and Chinese-Hawaiian ancestry. (Ali Wong has said that she cast him in “Always Be My Maybe” in part because he’s Asian-American, even if many people forget it.) His father, who did a spell in jail for drug dealing, left home when Keanu was a young boy. His childhood was itinerant, as his mother remarried several times and moved the family from Sydney to New York and, finally, Toronto. We know that he used to play hockey, and that he is a motorcycle buff, and that he has experienced unthinkable tragedy: in the late nineties, his girlfriend, Jennifer Syme, gave birth to their child, who was stillborn; two years later, Syme died in a car accident. Otherwise, Reeves’s life is a closed book. Who is he friends with? What is his relationship with his family like? As Alex Pappademas wrote, for a cover story about the actor in GQ, in May, Reeves has somehow managed to “pull off the nearly impossible feat of remaining an enigmatic cult figure despite having been an A-list actor for decades.”

This inscrutability makes each new detail we learn about Reeves’s life seem like a revelatory gift. On a recent appearance on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” the actor admitted, twenty-five years after the fact, that he had a crush on Sandra Bullock when the two were filming “Speed.” Last week, a Malaysian Web site claimed that, in an interview, Reeves confessed to being lonely. “I don’t have anyone in my life,” he supposedly said, adding, “Hopefully it’ll happen for me.” The Internet responded with a collective shriek of longing. When it was reported, on Saturday, that, according to Reeves’s rep, the quotes had been fabricated, it almost didn’t matter. The Internet’s desire to plumb the hidden depths of this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and to serve as a balm to his perceived hurt, had been so strong that it willed this bit of news into existence.

The outpouring of horny sympathy recalled an earlier episode, in 2010, when paparazzi pictures appeared showing the actor sitting on a New York City park bench and eating a sandwich, looking scruffy and in low spirits. So emerged the “Sad Keanu” meme; June 15th was even declared, by fans, “Cheer Up Keanu Day.” But, unlike the “Sad Ben Affleck” meme, which came in response to a swaggery alpha male’s public descent, Sad Keanu was not animated by Schadenfreude. It simply brought to the fore the retiring, not-long-for-this-world sensitivity that we had always intuited was there.

Recently, a slew of people have come forward to share their real-life “Keanu Stories.” (A bizarrely large number seem to have encountered him at one time or another, perhaps owing to the fact that he often travels alone and without handlers.) The image of him that emerges from these anecdotes is of a considerate man who is aware of his status as a celebrity but doesn’t take advantage of it, and who is generous but careful with his presence. After a flight he was on from San Francisco to L.A. had to make an emergency landing in Bakersfield, Reeves helped passengers recruit a van to transport them the remaining way; en route, he read facts about Bakersfield aloud and played country tunes on his phone for the group. He signed an autograph for a sixteen-year-old ticket seller at a movie theatre after intuiting that the teen was too shy to ask him for one directly. He called an indie bookstore in advance, once a week, before arriving, on his motorcycle, to pick up new books. He was a wallflower at a party, asking another actor on the outskirts of the gathering if she would show him pictures of her dog in costume.

My colleague Jessica Winter was involved in a well-known Keanu Story, though she didn’t know it at the time. In a minute-long viral video taken on a New York City subway car, in 2011, Reeves is seen getting up and offering his seat to a woman who is carrying a large bag. Winter happened to be sitting next to Reeves when the video was shot—she is the strawberry-blonde woman absorbed in reading a magazine, initially unaware of her famous fellow-passenger. Watching the clip today, Winter recalled the courtly way in which Reeves reacted to being filmed: “He was calm and beatific and ever so slightly puzzled, like, Why are you doing this? I am not upset, and perhaps it is not my business.” If only more of us could learn to adopt Reeves’s attitude in our own lives. It’s O.K. to take a pause sometimes, to not engage, to let the world separate from you a little bit, he assures us. Just watch me.

I have two Keanu Stories of my own, both brief but sweet. In 2006, at a performance by the dancer Pina Bausch, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I saw Reeves seated a couple of rows away from me—in the cheap seats—his gangly legs crammed into the small space in front of him. Three years later, at Film Forum, I spotted him emerging alone from a Kurosawa movie, carrying a large tub of popcorn. These moments aren’t much, but I keep them close, picking them up every once in a while, the way you would a crystal or an amulet.

[markstrom]

The Canucks are Attractive 101

by @markstrom, @feistyteee, @tomiath, @nhlmarkstrom, @huttsybobuttsy, @pyatts, @baercheese

This is the ultimate guide for anyone who ever said the Canucks are not attractive. Say goodbye to the world as you know it. 

First of all: Swedes. We all know it, Sweden somehow produces the best looking people on this planet and the Canucks have some of them. 

1. Jacob Markstrom 

Our starting goalie is 6′6 and no one can look at him without melting away. His voice and his sweet Swedish accent is the cutest thing you’ll ever hear. Also: eyebrows. Also: eyes. The curved nose needs a shoutout cause it’s adorable. His face is just a masterpiece of art and anyone who doubts this has, well, no idea of art. We also love to mention his tattoos because damn. 

2. Anders Nilsson

Only a fool might think one Swedish goalie is enough. Meet Anders Nilsson, another 6′6 goalie from Sweden. He’s the absolute purest sweetheart, as you can spot a pride flag on both his masks. To represent his gay friends, he says. His hair/beard color combo is different but it works. So. Damn. Well. Plus: the freckles, we love them dearly. Our Swedish goalies support each other at all times, goalie controversy? We don’t know her.

3. Alexander Edler 

He looks like Alexander Skarsgård but on skates. Another sweet Swedish blondie who is also the sweetest dad. His hair always looks on point and he does indeed have a nice tan in his pic. Probably best dressed Canuck, his fashion is on fire. What a man. 

4. Loui Eriksson

A man also known as The Poodle. His fluffy and curly hair make you want to touch it. His look is sometimes very weird and intimidating and some people might think of Louis Vuitton when hearing his name but remember, this kind of fur is completely Canucks branded. 

5-6. Henrik and Daniel Sedin

These are our leading Swedish fish and they do look the same. Some people might say they aren’t really pretty, but hey if you’re into gingers, we got two identical ones for you. We aim to please. 

Next: the team dads (Disclaimer: this does not mean they actually have kids). We got plenty of them and they’re mostly cute and obviously good with kids – or still single.

7. Sam Gagner

Sam Gagner aka Gags is a really smiley. GAGNER WITH SCRUFF IS ICONIC. Also smirk smirk smirk. He likes to wear an all white mouthguard that makes his teeth look weird during the game but that’s okay because he needs to protect his perfect smile at all costs! Bonus: He looks so comforting like you can trust him with your life.

8. Brandon Sutter

His sarcasm is A+ comedy. He also looks like he could play the role of a guy everyone falls in love with on The Young and the Restless. He’s just very pretty, hair is soft, light scrub and eyebrows are 👏🏼. His eyes are pretty and they are very kind. Also that little smile/smirk is giving me all kinds of feelings ngl.

9. Christopher Tanev

He most definitely looks better with teeth than without. Tanev is the protective type of guy, he takes pucks to the face for you but mostly for Marky, literally. Long hair don’t care. The soft, dark brown of his eyes can tell that he couldn’t hurt a fly. Bet he takes the ladies out on good dates too.

10. Michael del Zotto

“Michael Del Zotto does wedding photoshoot, does not actually get married”

“New Vancouver Canucks defenceman Michael Del Zotto was named one of our nation's 25 Most Eligible Bachelors”

“Just showed up, plugged in his iPod without anybody asking, just plugged it in”

Michael del Zotto, more commonly known as DJ MDZ has Italian heritage as you might realize in his name. He’s got curls curls curls. Simple, overall goof who often thinks too highly of himself. Further he’s the absolute kind and friendly standard Canadian. 

11. Erik Gudbranson

YOU CANT TELL ME HE DOES NOT LOOK LIKE HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE GQ COVER!!! Certified male model Erik Gudbranson. God definitely was in a very good mood when he gave him his face. His nose is straight and thin, it just makes you want to tap on it. His smile is very comforting and so is his look. His eyebrows are a statement. This guy knows for sure what a hairstyle is. His sense of fashion is straight out of a fashion magazine. The scrub is just the whipped cream on top, his face is artwork. 

12. Markus Granlund

Looks quiet and serious but has a great sense of humor and arguably some of the best Instagram posts. He’s from Finland so if you want a Finnish player we have all ages. He’s got pretty green eyes.

13. Alex Biega

Alex Biega is a cute family man. Great with kids, nice, cute smile, rosy cheeks, nice nose. Con: he has no hair, but you don’t see that when he’s wearing a helmet.

Next up: our young guns! They are all handsome af and just overall lovable. They’re fast and speedy and some of them are thicc af. Save the best for last, our personal favorites.

14. Ben Hutton

1. If you’re ever feeling down, watch a hutton video, he’s happy 24/7 and knows how to have fun. 2. He’s always smiling and his smile can brighten a room. 3. Those dance moves tho. Who knew a “Barbie girl” lip sync could be so hot. 

15. Darren Archibald

He is a wall, he is badass and that makes him so ass. His skin looks very soft and his beard does actually look good, not like Guddys. HIS BEARD IS PERFECT. His eyebrows are straight up goals and look at the dark, kind brown of his eyes. Beautiful.

16. Bo Horvat

Bo’s face is chiseled like a god. He carries his dog because he doesn’t want to make him walk. He love to go to the beach with his dog but he doesn’t let him swim because he’s “more of a sinker”. His nose is very cute and his body is damn well trained you can just look at him forever. Bo has very soft short hair and he is often amused by Brock’s non-existant smile. 

17. Brendan Gaunce

Baby face Brendan Gaunce has the hairstyle of a guy from elementary school. His lips are so red at all times it’s inhuman. He looks very innocent but it feels like he’s not. He’s just kind of there, no one really knows how or why. Kind of looks like a little baby deer. 

18. Tyler Motte

Fact: There are no good pics of him in the inter webs. Tyler “Applesauce” Motte kinda looks like a college kid from a frat. He’s a very fast skater and his penalty killing is absolutely sexie. 

19. Nic Dowd

Dowdy is just overall an incredibly handsome guy. That hair line and the wavy fluff, can you see it? Beautiful. The cheek bones? Beautiful. He could work as a male model if he wanted but fortunately he plays hockey to bless us with his beautiful face. 

20. Troy Stecher

Stechy has straight up the most adorable dog on this planet. Let’s be real if anyone says Phoebe isn’t their favorite Canuck they’re lying. Kind of an underrated defence man so not a lot of people fully appreciate him. He’s like that rough and tough hockey player that’s also very adorable. His voice is simply great. 

21. Brendan Leipsic

Where do we start here? First of all he calls his dog his son and it’s very adorable. Also his curls. CURLS. They match his face so well and they are absolutely adorable. His lips have a perfect shape and look so soft. Generally his face looks just super soft and kind. Also, have you ever noticed his fashion sense? Definitely one of the best dressed guys on the team. He’s also very aggressive on the ice and he hustles and works very well with our favorite d-man Derrick Pouliot. His nickname is delicious country gravy because he works so well with the chicken strip.

22. Brock Boeser

Here we go, it’s time for Prince Charming! The hockey community on here already knows how great he is and look I even found a rare footage of his shiny smile. Whenever he smiles he helps the global warming because his smile melts icebergs. Awesome. He always chews on his mouthguard rather than use it and his mom doesn’t like that. Oh, he also went to prom with a girl who has down syndrome and that’s really the type of guy he is. His flow is legendary and often his hair look like actual gold. He leaked his hair routine and apparently he just uses Head and Shoulders shampoo. 

23. Nikolay Goldobin

Goldy is the most adorable Russian puppy you can find anywhere in the NHL. His hair are super fluffy and he doesn’t know how to wear a hat but that only makes him look even more adorable. His nose is so small and round it’s absolute gold! Don’t even get me started on his eyebrows because they are flawless! He got the most innocent and sweet smile out there, he always seems happy. You want to squeeze his cheeks and generally just hug him. It seems like he gives nice hugs. 

24. Sven Bärtschi

@baercheese is here to confess her love: “My cute little Swiss boy ♥ my forever favourite & definitely underrated in the looks department & as a hockey player. His nose might not be straight but it’s still cute (I will fight you if you disagree) and his hair is always slicked back to perfection👌🏻 If you haven’t heard him talk you need to because he has a sight accent and it’s my favourite thing in the entire world 😍 He’s also a known dog lover & has a dog named Bear (named after himself basically), what’s not to love?”

25. Derrick Pouliot

Derrick Pouliot, also commonly known as Poulet, chicken strip and super strip is our cutest chubby teddy defenseman and we all know it. He grew up in the middle of nowhere in Saskatchewan and not a lot of people got to appreciate his beauty so far. His hair are the pure fluff and make you just want to run your hands through it. His face looks so soft, his eyes are warm and you just want to squeeze his cheeks ngl. Listen to his voice once and you never want to listen to something else ever again. He is not really tall and his hockey gear looks kind of too big for him, the others love to pat his head. Sometimes his hair get a little curly and it’s just the cutest thing ever. Just by looking at him you can tell that he gives the best and softest hugs ever and he makes you feel comfortable at all times. He is really silent and not outgoing, he needs a lot of time to feel comfortable with new people but that’s totally okay. He’s super cute with kids and just overall totally lovely and kind. A real Canadian.

26. Jake Virtanen

Jake Virtanen is the ultimate snack. He’s half Canadian, half Finnish and 100% babe. The man can skate. Fast. Right into my heart. To quote the great philosopher of our time, Taylor Swift, he’s so gorgeous, it actually hurts. He has the cutest dance moves and the most precious smile. When he does that little slanted smile, I swoon, you swoon, we swoon. Bonus: When he works hard his face turns red and it’s adorable lmao.

[nomorelonelydays]

Sidgeno Actor AU anon fic

(A wonderful little fic I’m posting for an author who’d like to remain anonymous!! This is NOT written by me! Please read this it’s so cute and I love it to death)

The first time Geno sees Sidney Crosby he’s crying into Tanger’s shoulder as Sid learns how to walk again on the big screen.

Tanger scoffs and pushes him off as Sid takes his first step after a year and a half in a wheelchair and the woman sitting in front of them shushes them.

When the lights come on Geno is wiping his eyes and Tanger is rolling his.

“You know I’m fine with you showing emotion,” Tanger says as they file out of the theater. “But could you maybe not do it on my sweater.”

“You not cry. Heartless.” Geno sniffles.

“I’m not heartless, I just know the difference between reality and fiction.”

Geno slaps his hand against the movie poster hanging on the wall outside of the theater and Tanger smiles apologetically at the couples walking past them. “Is based on true story,” Geno says as he taps the small text right beneath the title. “Reality. He can’t walk after car accident. Lose everything. Can’t play hockey. Work so hard and comes back. Scores game winning goal. No heart.”

“You have too much heart. You cried last week at that movie where the dog died.”

Geno chases after him through the lobby. “You cry too.”

“Dogs are different.” Tanger pushes his way through the front doors and doesn’t hold them for Geno. “Everyone cries over dogs.”

“Fine, fine. But he good actor, right?”

“Oh yeah. Sid’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good. He great.”

Tanger shrugs and hits the unlock button on his keys. The headlights on the car blink halfway across the parking lot. “He takes on some really interesting roles. Always does a good job with them.”

“Roles? He in other things?”

“Crosby’s been around forever.” Tanger steps off the curb and gives the finger to a car that doesn’t yield for them.

The boy on the screen looked like….a boy. “Forever? But so young?”

“Sid’s one of those child stars that managed to stay out of rehab. So far. He’s done a ton of stuff. You didn’t get his TV show over in Russia?”

“Television. He on TV?”

“Used to be. A spy show. It was good. I think he got an Emmy for it.”

Geno hums and pulls open the passenger side door.

*

He spends the rest of his night switching back and forth between watching clips of Sidney giving interviews on YouTube and buying every movie of his on Amazon.

The box set of his show is cheap but Geno spends extra on next day shipping.

He burns through the whole series the following day after practice.

*

Geno finds Sid to be incredibly charming and handsome and just the right amount of awkward when he laughs so hard that he honks which in turn, makes him blush and Geno watches the same interview of him on Conan until his own face hurts from smiling.

*

He starts to bring Sid’s movies over for movie night and it takes Tanger four weeks before he finally figures it out.

He slowly pulls the beer bottle away from his lips and squints at Geno.

Geno pretends to ignore them and focuses on Sid on the screen. It’s a rom-com this week and Sid is walking home in the rain after a perfect first date. He’s smiling and his t-shirt is sticking to his skin. There’s a pop song playing in the background until the picture freezes.

“Hey.” He finally has to look at Tanger who has the remote in his hand and his finger on the pause button.

“I can’t believe it took me this long to catch on. I feel so stupid.”

“You are stupid,” Geno grumbles. “Start movie.”

“Sidney Crosby is in all these movies. This is a marathon. You have a crush.”

“No.”

“Yes. A big crush. You think he’s beautiful,” Tanger sing-songs. “You want to hold his hand and tell him he’s pretty and walk with him in the rain.”

“Talking crazy. Play movie.”

Tanger presses play then crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the cushions. “You know I don’t blame you. He is a really good actor and he has a halfway decent butt.”

Geno looks back at him and snaps “is best butt” and Tanger’s lips curl into a slow smile.

“You have a crush.”

“No. Not a crush. That’s stupid, it could never happen. Never even meet him. Probably never will. Probably has a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.” Geno doesn’t want to assume. But he always doesn’t want to get his hopes up. “Stupid.”

Tanger pauses the movie again and bumps his fist against Geno’s shoulder. “Of course it’s stupid. Having a crush on someone you’ll never meet is the stupidest thing you can ever do but everyone does it. It’s dumb and fun. Low risk. No chance of heartbreak. So go ahead, you date Sidney Crosby in your head. Have fun.” He hits play. “Just leave me out of it and let me pick the movie next week.”

*

He’s not convinced and he tries to stop it.

He doesn’t watch his movies and he only watches clips of him on YouTube on the weekends.

Sid’s one of the only celebrities around that doesn't have any kind of social media so it’s easy to avoid him.

It’s easy until Tanger sends him a text telling him that Sid’s been nominated for an Oscar for his part in the hockey movie and Geno spends the next week watching Sid tell the same story over and over again about how he felt when he got the call telling him the good news.

He looks sleepy and disheveled in the first interview. Up too early on West Coast time but he smiles as Matt Lauer congratulates him.

“I've been doing this for a long time,” he says through a laugh. “This is what I've been working for.”

His eyes are bright and there is color on his cheeks and Geno thinks that maybe he would give up the chance for a second cup just so Sid could get his award.

*

On the second Sunday in February Geno brushed off the rests of the guys invite to hit up a bar after a 5-2 win in Boston and goes back to the hotel.

He turns on the TV right as Sid’s category is being announced and he sits on the bed with his palms pressed to his knees as the nominees names are being read.

Taraji P. Henson says, “and the Oscar goes to…..” and takes a long pause before “Sidney Crosby.”

Sids face fills the screen and he covers his mouth with his hand.

Geno stands up and yells.

Sid makes his way to the stage and stumbles his way through an acceptance speech.

He thanks his family, his agent, the director.

No girlfriend.

No boyfriend.

Geno drops back onto the bed and watches Sid, voice thick with emotion as he thanks his parents and his sister again. He watches him shove a hand through his hair which is curling at the edges. His lips are red and his skin is winter pale and his eyes are bright.

Geno's heart squeezes in his chest.

“Stupid,” he says.

He has a crush.

*

He doesn't mean to do it, but the daydreams start immediately.

He thinks about making breakfast with him in the morning. Kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his worn cotton t-shirt.

Driving with him and bickering over radio stations.

Knowing he's there during a game. Scoring a goal just for him.

Geno feels warm all over when he thinks of him. Happy.

He still goes out and meets people. But the men all have dark hair and full lips and the women have warm hazel eyes.

*

The whole team finds out because what Tanger knows Flower knows and what Flower knows the whole team knows.

They send him photos daily.

Sidney drinking iced coffee through a straw, wearing dark wash jeans that hug his thighs, kneeling down to sign an autograph for a little kid.

Before a five day road trip he finds a copy of Sidney's issue of GQ in his stall with a note that says ‘for those lonely hotel room nights.’

There’s a post-it sticking out of the top of it and without even looking he knows what it’s marking.

Geno has his own copy at home.

It’s a black and white photo of Sid is black and white leaning against a wall wearing a suit. His tie is loose around his neck and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. There’s just the right amount of stubble on his face and his eyes are a little hooded.  

It’s a good look.

*

They play game after game and the playoffs are grueling a few times Geno thinks about that night in Boston, the night Sid won his Oscar, and he starts to wonder if he really sold his chance at the Cup for him to win.

*

Geno lifts the Cup after six games in the finals.

It feels heavier than it did years ago and as he slips beneath the sheets that night his, body and mind exhausted, his last thought is ‘I wonder if Sid watched.’

*

After the parade but before they're officially released for the summer they're told they have to film a tape piece for the NHL awards.

Geno only half listens. He's more focused on planning his summer and his day with the cup. All he knows is that he has to show up at the arena, put on his gear, and skate around with the random celebrity the NHL has hired to host the thing.

Geno is the last to arrive and the team falls into a hush as soon as he enters the room. He’s almost completely dressed by the time Tanger comes over.

“They tell you who the host is going to be?”

Geno tightens the laces of his skates and shakes his head.

“Oh this is going to be good,” Flower says from across the room.  

“One guess, G.”

“Don't know. Santa Claus.”

Tanger doesn't say anything and when Geno looks up he's smiling. Something's wrong.

“Who is it?”

He arches one eyebrow and pushes himself off the edge of his stall. “You'll see.”

“Tell me.”

Tanger shrugs, bumps fists with Flower and walks out of the dressing room.

He tries to corner Conor next.

“You know. I know you know. You tell me.”

Conor shakes his head, keeps his eyes on the ground, and slips right around him.

There’s nothing left for him to do but follow.

He gets one foot on the ice and almost wipes out.

His team is scattered around but standing at the center is Sidney Crosby in black track pants and a black long sleeved tee talking to a guy holding a camera and a woman holding a clipboard.

Geno stares and Tanger skates by and taps his stick against Geno’s shins.

“Surprised,” he asks through a grin.

Geno grips the boards tight enough that his knuckles turn white. “I go home now.”

“You’re the captain, you have to stay.”

“Tell them I’m sick.”

Tanger’s smile drops off his face and his shoulders droop. “You can do this. It’s going to be okay. He’s just a guy.”

“He famous.”

“You’re famous.”

“Not like Sid. Sid is….” Sid is beautiful and charming and he’s laughing at something the cameraman has said, loud and ridiculous and Geno feels his knees go weak. “It’s Sid,” he says helplessly.

“Yes,” Tanger agrees. “And he’s coming over so don’t blow it.”

Geno throws an arm out to try to grab at him but he darts away and Sidney Crosby glides in and takes his place.

Sid holds his hand out and Geno struggles for a moment as he shakes off his glove so he can take it.

Sid smiles, crooked and perfect.

“I’m Sid,” he says and Geno nods. “Are you ready to get started?”

Geno stands next to Sid with the team behind them as the producer, Abbie, tells them what's going to happen.

“Just a few introductions to start, then you'll run a few drills, play around a little. Have fun. Nothing too serious. Sound good?”

The question is directed at Geno but he doesn't realize it until someone shoves him from behind and the rest of the team laughs.

“What?”

Abbie rolls her eyes and when Geno looks sideways as Sid he's covering a smile behind his hand.

“I asked how that sounded. Do you have any questions?”

“About what?”

Abbie blinks and Sid puts his hand on Geno's arm, just below the bend of his elbow. He's sure he can feel the heat of it through all the layers he's wearing.

“We’ll be fine, Abbie, thank you. Maybe we should warm up a bit first.”

She nods and carefully walks back to the bench and the team scatters behind them. Flower heads to one net and Matt to the other and eventually it's just him and Sidney standing at center ice with Sids hand still on his arm.

“Sorry,” Geno apologizes. “I'm a little bit nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about? I'm the one who's skating with the Stanley Cup Champions.”

Geno shrugs like that's no big deal and compared to skating with the man he's been harboring a crush on for months, it isn't.

Sid moves his hand from his arm to his shoulder and Geno is sweating beneath his gear even though he hasn't done a thing.

“You're going to be fine. Trust me.”

*

Sid is graceful on the ice. Quick and confident and competitive as hell.

Geno’s crush escalates each time Sid wins a faceoff against him or chirps one of his teammates for not being where he needs him to be.

He skates a circle around Geno with a flush on his face and the camera following him and he's already dreading watching this footage back. He knows there's going to be countless close ups of Geno's heart eyes.

“Your team is pretty good,” Sid says.

“Yeah. We won cup for a reason. You good.” Geno taps his stick against Sid’s skates. “You learn all this for movie?”

“No, I played hockey long before that. You know, I am Canadian.”

“You ever think about playing. Could always use another forward.”

“The thought crossed my mind but….I don't know. I always kind of wanted to be a goalie.”

“You not crazy enough to be a goalie.” Geno nods down the ice where Flower is slowly stroking his stick with a huge smile on his face.

“Maybe not. You know Olli is beating you up the ice every time,” he says innocently. “You might want to work on that or you'll never score.”

“I'm not on your team. You don't want me to score.”

“You don't want to impress me?”

“.....I.”

The puck drops to the left of them and Sids flying up the ice. Geno hasn't even moved from his spot when Sid buries it behind Flower.

*

The next play Geno makes sure to beat Olli but Matt blocks his shot.

Sid skates by and shrugs. “It's a start,” and Geno grits his teeth.

He's not going to lose.

Sid smiles at him over his shoulder and Geno's also sure he's just fallen in love.

*

The game gets a little chippy after that.

Sid runs his mouth at Tanger and Geno snorts a laugh when he skates away with narrowed eyes.

“Your boyfriend is bossy as fuck,” he tells him when he gets close enough.

The camera is down at the other end of the ice and Tanger’s not mic'd up but Geno shushes him anyway.

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Well he wants you to be.”

“What's that mean?”

Tanger doesn't get to reply because the puck is headed their way, Sid leading the pack.

He passes it off to Conor and says “are you going to play or are you going to stand there,” before getting the puck back.

Sids not wearing full gear so it's the gentlest thing Geno has ever done when he checks him against the glass.

Geno holds him there while the play continues on around them and after a few seconds Sid gives up on trying to squirm free.

“Is this the only way you can beat me?”

Geno shrugs. “Maybe.” He looks down at him. His cheeks are flushed and there are curls sticking to his forehead. “Hi, Sid.”

“Hi, Geno.”

They smile at each other until the whistle blows.

Matt’s frozen the puck.

“Still can’t score,” Sid teases as he finally slips away.

Geno watches him go.  

He's definitely in love.

*

Sid’s only supposed to be on the ice for an hour but two hours later the cameras have stopped rolling, Abbie keeps checking the time on her phone, and Sid will not stop taking penalty shots against Flower.

“Sid, we have to get going.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“They're going to have to drag him off the ice,” Tanger says and Geno nods in agreement.

*

“You go ask that boy out before someone else does,” Flower says when Sid finally lets him leave the net. “Go ask him to dinner. He’ll say yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he likes you,” Flower says. “He spent the whole time flirting with you.”

“He did not.”

“Sid is a nice, polite, Canadian boy. He's only going to be a competitive douche around someone he feels comfortable with.”

“I don't know.”

“Oh for fuck sakes,” Tanger says with a heavy sigh. He cups his hands around his mouth and yells “Sidney!”

At center ice Sid turns around to look at them.

Flower bursts out laughing and Geno almost pushes Tanger over the boards.

Sid starts to slowly skate over and Geno panics.

“Tacos,” he blurts out and Sid stops short and furrows his brows.

Flower mumbles “oh my god,” under his breath.

“You eat tacos?”

“It's like watching a car wreck,” Tanger says and Geno turns around and hisses “this was your idea.”

“I was trying to help you.” He shoves him and Geno slides forward. “Don't screw this up.”

Geno takes a deep breath to try to calm his nerves and skates to him. Their close enough that their toes bump before Geno stops himself but Sid doesn’t back up.

“I was asking if you want to go get dinner with me. But you don’t have to if you don’t-.”

“I want to,” Sid interrupts. “When?”

“Now. Maybe I go shower first,” he says. Sid looks like he’s glowing but Geno knows that he stinks beneath all his gear. “I’ll be quick and then we’ll go?”

“Alright. I’ll be waiting out here.”

*

It’s a quick walk to the restaurant.

Sid walks with his hands in his pockets and Geno tries his best not to accidentally sway into him.

The hostess leads them to a booth near the back and Geno lets Sid pick what side he wants to sit on before he slides on in on the opposite.

“So,” Sid says as he looks over the menu. “What's good here?”

Geno heaves a sigh. “Sorry. I'm sorry I'm so bad at this. It's just…..it's you and you're here. I see all your movies and watch your show and you're sitting across from me. Don't know what to do. Too nervous.”

“You're nervous? I'm nervous. You're….” Sid waves a hand at him. “You're you. I’ve been watching you for years, ever since you came over here and I was so happy for you when you won the Cup the first time and then this time-”

“You watch?”

“Of course I watched. You’re my favorite player. How could I not watch? I only agreed to host this show because I thought that I might get to meet you and then when they told me that I’d get to skate with you...I was so nervous and then you asked me on a date and-.”

Geno sits up straight. “You think this is date?”

Sid blinks at him with color high on his cheeks. “Isn’t it? I mean, it’s okay if it’s not, you can forget I said anything, that’s fine.”

“No, no,” Geno says quickly, “is date. I want it to be date.”

Sid smiles and Geno kind of wants to spend the rest of his life making that happen.

They both relax after that.

The tension that Sid’s been carrying in his shoulders melts away when Geno starts to tell him about his hometown in Russia and Geno laughs loud enough to draw stares when Sid takes a bite of salsa that’s way too spicy for him.

Sid looks wounded as he takes a big sip of his soda and Geno gently kicks his foot beneath the table as an apology.

When he pulls his foot back Sid chases it with his own and they spend the rest of the meal with their feet pressed together.

Geno grabs the bill when when it comes and ignores Sid’s objections.

“You get it next time,” he tells him as he hands the waiter his credit card.

“What if I pay for dessert? If you know some place we can go.”

Geno gives him a slow once over and says “I know some place we can go.” He genuinely means the ice cream place a ten minute walk away but the way Sid’s eyes darken just enough for him to notice have him thinking something much more intimate. He does have a half gallon of cookies and cream in his freezer at home.

Geno leads him down the street on the way to the ice cream place.

Sid still has his hands in his coat pockets but after the first block he pulls one out and lets his swing next to Geno’s.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sid glancing at him every few steps and finally the backs of their hands brush three times before he heaves a huge sigh and wraps his fingers around Geno’s hand.

“Is this okay,” he asks and Geno answers by lacing their fingers together. “Okay,” Sid says and he does nothing to stop the slow smile that spreads across his face.

Geno squeezes his hand and matches that smile with his own.

[maysoper]

Dress Codes

I work in an industry that allows me to dress in clothes that make me safe while still being comfortable. I don't have to wear a shirt and tie, but golf shirts are the limit of what I can wear when it comes to a more casual look as I'm still required to wear a collar in my professional setting. In saying that, there was a bit of flap caused by Stu Cowan of the Montreal Gazette today when the newspaper published an article where he and a couple of Montreal Canadiens expressed their wishes for a more lax dress code in the NHL. None of them dislike the suit-and-tie dress code for the players as it is, but Cowan and Habs forward Brendan Gallagher talk about how Gallagher would like a few more options when it comes to the dress code enforced by the NHL and its teams. As Cowan points out in his article, the NHL's dress code is a part of the 2005 Collective Bargaining Agreement where the NHL lays out the expected clothing a player wears when it comes it representing the league and/or his team. It reads, "Players are required to wear jackets, ties and dress pants to all Club games and while travelling to and from such games unless otherwise specified by the Head Coach or General Manager." In 2005, Scott Burnside, then of ESPN, explored this same issue, and found that the previous CBA, negotiated in 1995, also contained the exact same dress code rule for its players. It is, word for word, the exact same statement as listed in the above paragraph, so it's not like players of this generation of any age haven't fallen under this rule. While Gallagher is the player saying that he wants more options today, it was former Lightning forward Vincent Lecavalier who had those same sentiments in 2005. Whether it's a player saying it in 2018 or in 2005, players have accepted this reality of wearing a suit to the office, but would like the option of wearing something else, something possibly more casual. Doesn't that sound like every professional everywhere? A dress code is something that employers use to cultivate an image of professionalism and sophistication. While at work, one is expected to represent one's employer in terms of culture and message, and the image of the company is part of that culture. This is why you rarely see lawyers wearing shorts and t-shirts while arguing cases, why you see police officers wearing a non-descript uniform, and why NHL players wear suits into and out of the arena. Away from the arena, players can wear jeans and t-shirts while at home or out with friends and family. No one will fault them for being comfortable on their own time, and no one can force them to wear a suit if the occasion doesn't call for it. While players like Henrik Lundqvist and PK Subban are building their own image wearing suits out on the town, not all players have that same desire to be a member of high fashion. Don't expect this clause in the CBA to disappear in the next CBA. While Don Cherry likes to ramble on about how good "the boys" look every Saturday as they walk into the rink, the fact is that the dress code is there to elevate the NHL's image. Deion Sanders once said in GQ, "If you look good, you feel good. If you feel good, you play good. If you play good, they pay good." I don't know if the third line in that statement is the intended goal of the dress code, but most athletes would likely agree that if wearing a suit to the rink is the worst part of getting paid to pay professionally, they'd dress in knight's armor if that's what was demanded in the dress code to make millions of dollars to play hockey. I know I would. Until next time, keep your sticks on the ice! from Sports News http://hockey-blog-in-canada.blogspot.com/2018/12/dress-codes.html

[junker-town]

8 can’t-miss sporting events this weekend

The WNBA is back! UFC 211! So much sports!

There’s an age-old saying — first made famous by the ancient Romans, I believe — and it goes: “Everybody’s working for the weekend.”

Well, my fellow workers, the weekend has arrived, and with it: SPORTS! Here, as always, is your handy-dandy Friday list of what to watch and what to read when it comes to athletics.

WHAT TO WATCH

WNBA IS BACK!

First, read our beautiful WNBA preview that has everything you need to know about the upcoming season. Then watch your favorite women’s teams take the court for their first official games of the season on Saturday and Sunday. Here’s what we’ve got:

San Antonio Stars vs. New York Liberty, Saturday, 3 p.m. EST, NBATV, MSG

Seattle Storm vs. Los Angeles Sparks, Saturday, 5 p.m. EST, ESPN

Atlanta Dream vs. Connecticut Sun, Saturday, 7 p.m. EST, League Pass

San Antonio Stars vs. Washington Mystics, Sunday, League Pass, Monumental

Dallas Wings vs. Phoenix Mercury, Sunday, Twitter (weird, I know)

Indiana Fever vs. Seattle Storm, Sunday, 7 p.m. EST, League Pass, Q13/JoeTV

Chicago Sky vs. Minnesota Lynx, Sunday, 7 p.m. EST, League Pass, FS North, The U Too

NBA PLAYOFFS

Hold onto your butts, because we’ve got an exciting event in the form of the Celtics-Wizards Game 6 in D.C. on Friday at 8 p.m. on ESPN. Boston leads the series 3-2. Things have been....not not ugly.

Since the Rockets had a spectacular meltdown Thursday night, on Sunday we get to watch the Spurs and Warriors face off in Game 1 of the Conference Finals at 3:30 p.m. EST on ABC.

HORSE RACING, IF YOU’RE INTO THAT

Maybe I’m just slightly addicted to horse racing after the Kentucky Derby, but if you want to watch some beautiful beasts gallop around a turf track, check out Nashville’s Steeplechase. It’s a tradition that’s been going on since 1941 and attracts over 25,000 people. You can livestream it here; the first race starts at 1:00 p.m. central time, Last race ends around 5:30.

NHL PLAYOFFS

The conference finals, they are here! We’ve got Ducks vs. Predators on Friday at 9 p.m. EST on NBCS, and Penguins vs. Senators on Saturday at 7 p.m. EST, on SN, NBC.

Also, the IIHF World Championships — Team USA plays Latvia on Saturday at 6:15 a.m. on NHL Network, Slovakia at 10:15 a.m. on Sunday.

Our hockey editor, Travis Hughes, wants you to know that the IIHF is “a dumb tournament at possibly the worst time of year” because the best players usually sit out or are still playing in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. However, he also adds that “it can be fun, and who cares about it being dumb when it’s an excuse to yell about America on a weekend morning.” The man has a point.

BASEBALL

The Yankees are retiring Derek Jeter’s No. 2 this weekend in a pregame ceremony before they face the Astros on Saturday at 1:05 PM on YES, RTSW.

Clayton Kershaw and Tyler Chatwood will pitch against each other when the Dodgers play the Rockies, 10:10 p.m. EST on SNLA, FSFL. That should be fun.

UFC 211

UFC heavyweight champion Stipe Miocic defends his belt against former UFC champion Junior dos Santos in the main event. Joanna Jedrzejczyk puts her UFC strawweight title on the line against Jessica Andrade in the co-main event. Want to watch? Main card (PPV at 10 p.m. ET); Undercard (FX at 8 p.m. ET, UFC Fight Pass at 6:30 p.m. ET).

COLLEGE FOOTBALL

LOL, what are you, nuts? There is none. It’s not football season. Man, it’s like you’re not even a real sports fan, SMH (that means “shaking my head,” Mom).

NASCAR

Sometimes the best thing to do is buckle up on your couch and watch a bunch of cars go around a track as fast as they can. On Saturday, you can do for the Go Bowling 400 (267 laps, 400.5 miles), Saturday, 7:30 p.m. EST on FS1

WHAT TO READ

ON SB NATION

I wrote about what the Kentucky Derby shows us about America.

Ricky O’Donnell wrote about how Marvin Bagley III could be the future of basketball.

Bill Connelly on how Notre Dame went 4-8 (sorry, guys) and why things will get better.

Our Warriors blog on why Charles Barkley shouldn’t host a show about race.

Lamar Johnson and Andi Cwieka on how the WNBA recovered from its worst season ever

Tyler Tynes on Congresswoman Jan Schakowsky’s fight against the NFL for player safety.

OFF SB NATION

Caity Weaver profiled The Rock for GQ.

Wright Thompson wrote about horse farms and the graves of thoroughbreds for ESPN.

Andrew Sharp on James Harden’s meltdown for Sports Illustrated.

Jason Concepcion fixed the Cavs-Warriors problem for The Ringer.

Henry Abbott on LeBron James for ESPN.

Melissa Hoppert on American Pharaoh’s progeny for The New York Times.

WHAT TO DO

Sunday is Mother’s Day, so, if you can, call your mom. Or play catch with her — catch is sports!

Unrelated to Mother’s Day, I highly suggest you consider throwing your phone into a body of water and then spending a blessed few days completely unconnected from the internet and the rest of civilization until its replacement arrives.

Oh, also, go outside. It’s May. It’s nice out. Unless it’s raining. In which case, I don’t know, read a book or something.