#when i tell you hockey is so homoerotic this is what i mean

[wardowrites]

Wardo absently wondered if this was like, exposure therapy. That if he was continually thrust into Louis’ presence now that he knew the other man was in New York, he’d grow desensitised to the effect of Louis Fucking Denver and no longer feel like his skin was peeling off when he was near him. Forcing himself to give the man a blatant once over, something sticky lodged in his chest and he realised he wasn’t quite there yet.

Unfortunately, he could still trace the sharp cut of Louis’ jaw blind. His lips recalled what it tasted like to kiss the freckle just under his eye and his fingers were still imprinted with the memory of the man’s curls slipping through them when they were unencumbered by the copious amounts of gel he’d styled it with during college. Currently, they were free from the prison of American Crew Firm Hold Gel For Men, a product that had monopolized what little cupboard space they had in the tiny bathroom of their equally tiny apartment all those years ago. Wardo had always liked it better like that.

He blinked in response to Louis telling him, quite bluntly at that, that he was meeting his friend. Oh, and that he loved hockey.

Wardo had been led to believe that it was football Louis had taken an interest in. But they were all the same to him anyway. A bunch of men grunting in ways that they claimed wasn’t homoerotic at all but he wanted to know why any sweaty man would willingly want to collide with another, equally sweaty man in a tackle if not for reasons Grant Morley’s chihuahua looking ass would try to beat him up for putting words to.

He wondered how that guy was getting on. Hopefully rotting away in jail for some hate crime or another.

“I’m waiting for my friend too,” he said, not saying Ivy’s name in the hope that it would suggest to Louis that he had other friends too, actually. “And I couldn’t give less of a shit about hockey, so.”

When Louis’ line of questioning was directed to Bryce, Wardo glanced down at the teenager still caught in the hooded trap of Wardo’s making. He kept him at enough of an arm’s length to avoid Bryce’s bony little elbows poking him in the side, and only barely managing to swiftly avoid a kick to the shins when the little asshole began lashing out with his feet as well.

“Hopefully not,” he said, matter-of-fact, before finally giving Bryce a gentle shove and freeing him.

“You piece of shit, Wardo!” Bryce cussed, ripping his hood down, hair pointing in all directions. “Fuckin’ asshole, shithead, fucking idiot, I hate you, stupid fuckin’...” He went on for quite some time while Wardo regarded him calmly.

“I didn’t raise you to talk like that.” He paused, considering. “To me. Specifically.”

Bryce continued with his verbal tirade which was a sufficient enough distraction, keeping a buffer of sorts in place so he and Louis didn’t have to talk or even look at each other while Wardo waited for Ivy and Louis waited for his nameless friend. He raised an eyebrow as Bryce got more creative with his insults, up until he broke off, halting his rant completely when the door swung open and a man walked out.

“Holy shit,” Bryce breathed.

Frowning, Wardo looked over at the man in question. He looked… normal. Fine. Nothing special. But Bryce was staring at him like he’d just turned water into wine right in front of him.

“That’s Max Hayashi,” he whispered to Wardo out of the corner of his mouth, the reverence in his voice clear as day.

Wardo choked on air and whipped his head around. 

“What? Max Hayashi?” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You mean Ivy’s Max Hayashi?”

Now it was everyone’s turn to stare at him. Bryce’s head spun around so fast it would have given the Exorcist chick a run for her money, Max Hayashi himself had paused and was looking over at him in confusion and Louis - well, Wardo was doing everything he could to not look at him, but he couldn’t help but feel the man’s gaze on him anyway.

Louis was running late.

The cold air bit at him as he elbowed his way through the New York crowds, tugging his shitty, unsubstantial denim jacket tighter around him in an attempt to ward off the cold weather. He would blame Ava, that was it. She was the one who'd suggested drinks. Worse, suggested shots to celebrate his first week sales. He'd woken up late afternoon with a pounding head and a particular distaste for the sunny brunette he'd come to love like an annoying, chirpy, but devastatingly loyal little sister. This would have all been fine, had he not promised to meet Max today.

The morning had culminated in Louis performing a goddamn miracle in that he'd managed to drag his sorry ass out of bed, under the warm, unforgiving spray of his shower and out the door with just enough time to grab coffee and haul ass to the hockey rink. Sure, his hair had dried in a manner that Louis could only describe as 'fluffy and wayward', and upon second notice, the hoodie he had tugged on over his head definitely belonged to Max. No time like the present to return it, he guessed.

Nursing his coffee like a lifeline, Louis caught a glimpse of his reflection in a passing window. He looked like hammered shit. God fuckin' damn, he thought, those hockey boys better not be cute.

It wasn't even like Louis knew anything about hockey, never mind ice hockey. It was one of those violent, contact sports that unlike football, could result in you splitting your head open on a bed of frozen ice. Despite being dubbed the honourary 'sports gay' of his San Fran friend group, Louis had been forced to unwillingly hand that trophy over to Max the minute the other man started waxing lyrical about pucks and shit. Louis tried really hard to listen, because he loved Max, and by extension, Tommy. Which was why he was here today, showing up merely so he could bother his friend at work.

Rounding a corner, Louis searched for the door where Max had told him to dutifully wait. Firing off a quick text to let him know he'd arrived, Louis went back to sipping his sugary, dopamine-hit of a coffee.

Just as he was pondering whether or not his head was going to explode, the sound of a kid raising his voice both made him wince and caught his attention. He whipped his head round with a velocity that made him feel queasy. He was fully prepared to be ruder than not-hungover Louis would've and tell the guy to shut his kid up, only to find he was being pointed at by a lanky teen, who, if he had to guess, was around his nephew's age.

Attached to the kid, of course, because Louis' luck wasn't worth shit, was Wardo Martinelli. Who of course, considered Louis public enemy number one.

Louis' reflexes kicked in, automatically giving the man a half-wave, his hand lost in the too-long sleeves of Max's hoodie. He could've fuckin' kicked his own ass, he really could've.

It hit him a moment too late just what the kid had said, but the knowledge that Wardo still had his photo up did nothing to quell the queasy mix of alcohol and nerves, so he decided to save that tidbit for therapy.

"I'm meetin' my friend." Louis blurted out, the words involuntary. It wouldn't do for the other man to think he was merely tailing him around the city. "Plus, I love ice hockey."

Forcing himself not to wince, Louis ran a hand through his hair, merely for something to do with his now-shaking hands. It was then he remembered this was probably the least put together he'd ever looked, and therefore, God had deemed it the perfect day for him to run into his ex boyfriend. And, uh, his ex boyfriend's kid? Great, Louis had driven Wardo to sleeping with women.

"Can he breathe under there?"

[bigbrotherlouis]

i’m obsessed with joel farabee and morgan frost and you should be too: a primer

hello! welcome! recently i have become infatuated with morgan frost and joel farabee for a lot of reasons but mostly because of that one post that i spent like twenty minutes searching various blogs for that said “people are freaking out about sexualising hockey players, meanwhile joel farabee is one instagram comment away from telling morgan frost he’d suck him dry.” in my head rent free. hit a girl up if you have the post.

anyway! frosty and beezy:

[hard cut to me whispering “oh my god even their nUMBERS are friends” i’m fine.]

this is more like about vibes and less about facts, so you can google if you want to know more about their, like, bios and stats and stuff that’s not 99% rpf or conjecture. this primer is just the things that make me scream. however, that being said, they do play well on a line together and both are very good players.

joel farabee is american, from new york i believe but his dad is from philly, and falls neatly into the category of BORN TO BE A FLYER. longtime fan, hugely excited to play for the team, brings it up all the time.

morgan frost, from ontario canada, was not.

a real, actual tweet. he tweeted this with his WHOLE chest and then joined the flyers like three years later. i adore it. another real actual tweet i adore:

sweet, sweet joel. he misses his buddies :( no doubt including morgan because they are, by all appearances, obsessed with each other. i’m trying not to keep  using the word obsessed in this primer but it’s hard because they are. morgan’s a year older, a first round draft pick in 2017 and joel’s a first round pick in 2018, but they didn’t start playing together until 2019, i believe, because joel played for a college team in boston. side note: he also captained team usa and wore a number 28 in honour of claude giroux and i am absolutely not okay about it.

e! mo! tion! al! incidentally, frosty wears danny briere’s number when he plays for the flyers, which. take from that what you will. iykyk. their NUMBERS are FRIENDS. HERITAGE SOULMATES. joel’s been called up to play on the flyers (and did really well in the playoffs!) but we’re still waitin’ for morgan to come along too but the coaching staff hasn’t recognised the raw power of true love yet so.

at this point, you’re probably saying “sasha shut up about their fucking numbers and talk about why they’re obsessed with each other” but good news! i do not need to do that because the official flyers media has done that for me! (x) i’d recommend watching it because it’s a lot packed into a neat 100 seconds, but notable moments include the voice over saying “joel farabee and morgan frost have found that going at it together has its benefits” within the first thirty seconds. that is a real direct quote. i can’t believe it either. there’s also a lot of light homoerotic bonding over playing chel, them sitting across from each other  on their beds, the admission of being ROOMMATES (oh my god they were roommates), this shot of them sitting with their mouths wide open on either side of their dad,

and also joel wearing a hat with a canadian maple leaf on it, despite being from the the united states. wonder where he got that from. please watch the video.

when they’re not playing chel or, you know, going at it together, they’re being horny in each other’s instagram comments. there’s honestly.... so many of these that i can include but we’re just gonna go with my favourites.

when i say i think about this comment on a picture of morgan with isaac ratcliffe, a fellow flyers prospect on a daily basis, i mean it. i’ll be just doing my thing, minding my own business, and MORGAN MAKES ME VENMO HIM JUST TO TALK will pop into my head, completely uninvited. king shit for morgan to do and king shit for joel to admit on social media for the world to see, but joel admitting things he maybe shouldn’t is a running theme. 

cool. TOTALLY not flirting or anything.

joel. also both their exhibitionist streaks should be explored in fic more i am JUST sayin.

ok but bee you were lookin. like you can chirp but you were lookin, don’t lie. 

when ur in love with ur roommate but ur both hockey players so u can only communicate that love via chirping when he’s with the boys :(

what’s it called when you vibe really well with someone and also live with them and also comment on their shirtlessness and also maybe kiss them on the mouth a little? d... da... dating?? can’t be it.

morgan is a little more composed in the comments and mostly just posts inside jokes i cannot comprehend, or compliments. it’s still cute.

this was on a playoffs pic where joel’s wearing #28 love 2 see it love a supportive boyf always

this one was of joel with a fish he caught and i’m sorry but i did not want it on my phone.

but morgan can’t hide his affection for long. (me, in the distance: TWENTY EIGHT TWENTY EIGHT TWENTY EIGHT!!!!!!!)

there’s more comments but they’re boring and this is long, mostly joel chirping  morgan for wearing baseball or football stuff. however! they are also on twitter where they keep each other humble after incredible goals, like bros do,

this is DEFINITELY flirting. like, blatant. it’s like that kind of flirting when you’re thirteen and you don’t know what to do with your body so you just kinda steal your crush’s stuff or insult them because all attention is good attention, right??

but when push comes to shove, beezy is always gonna look out for his boy (because they are in love):

some important pictures of them together, for your pleasure: 

this is so DUMB and i love it

friends supporting friends!!!

this is them meeting their hockey dads :) so cute :) joel is promising g that he’ll have morgan back by ten yessir he will be respectful of boundaries and curfew. jake is high fiving morgan on getting some. this is facts i just call em like i see em.

and finally!

is this allowed?????  is this allowed???? it’s hard to tell but i’m pretty sure that’s joel on his knees for in front of morgan and i just??? how is that allowed???? it’s been five days and this picture has RUINED me. someone write me an essay to have on my desk by morning, stat.

also v unrelated but here is a video of morgan frost reading, proving he’s the smart one in the relationship. that’s not saying much but, hey! at least there’s proof he can read.

obviously different ships capture people in different ways but there’s something about them to me, personally, that is just so captivating. there’s a lot of potential for different fic vibes, and joel in particular always has a really fun voice to read (and also to write). they definitely have chemistry, they’re pitted against each other so there’s a good-natured rivalry going on, CLOTHES SHARING AND HERITAGE SOULMATE NUMBERS, and, like, they just genuinely seem to enjoy each other. someone PLEASE write more fic for them or by god i’ll have to do it myself.

ok that’s everything for now, i believe. they’re in love and don’t care who knows it and i’m obsessed. (however, i’m also obsessed with joel farabee and andrei svechnikov together, for which i have a one-picture argument for here.)

(p.s. anything not linked i screenshotted myself thank youuu for reading have a good day and remember: morgan makes joel vemno him just to talk 😌)

edit: hello. i wrote this on election night as a way to take off the edge of my nerves and it is not as funny or screechy as i wanted it to be so i’m going to add some now.  

[dolokhoded]

hockey!ralbert hcs

requested by @tarantulas4davey

so!!!!! :D

albert dasilva

best player on his school's hockey team

don't expect me to go to too in depth on this bc i don't know jack shit abt hockey im greek

but my point is, he's good

it's the weekend before his first game of the season when he met race, he's at the rink cause he could always use some extra practice

he finds out that race also plays, they have a friendly game between them

(friendly game: "ouch, weak. are you sure you're your school's best?" "suck a dick, blondie, that might be the sixth one you've missed")

lots of Homoerotic Banter

albert discovers that apparently, as good as he might be pretty boys are his weakness

i mean, he still won. but he had to put in some actual effort.

so either this guy's really good or really pretty.

it's the second one.

he's pretty.

what they failed to mention is what schools they actually go to

which is why al is surprised to see the blonde at the game a few days later

",,,,,motherfucker."

"pleased to see me, albie?"

"you didn't tell me you go to roosevelt."

"you didn't tell me you go to clinton."

after that, race makes it his quest to make every game his personal hell

it's all taunts and jeers, race will do his very best to piss him off enough to distract him from the game

all while looking like that

enter Homosexual Tension

and albert swears he'll get him back, but at that moment he just needs to put his full attention on the game

as difficult as it might be with race being there

luckily for him, two can play that game and its been proven several times that he's a better player

one day, right before they step on the ice, albert leans over his ear and he whispers

"cut out your shit otherwise after we win this game i'll be kissing you against a wall"

it works remarkably well

race is so lost during the entire game and he looks like he loses five more shits every time albert looks at him

al thinks it's hilarious

needless to say they win. that, and race gets scolded by his teammates after.

he curses internally when he sees albert approach him with this shit-eating grin

"i cannot believe that worked."

"shut up, asshole, i didn't sleep well."

"oh, yeah, sure thing."

all of their friends are at the top of the bleachers conspiring about what they're talking about

race's team is also lurking. if this asshole robbed them their win race better at least get his shit together with him.

albert's having the time of his life taking the piss out of this

race is flushed red and so pissed because he just knows that even after he leaves he just won't be able to stop thinking about albert ever again after this

eventually, al brings it up

cause even he's tired of their own shit

"y'know, i don't recall you objecting. to what i said."

at first race can't tell if he's joking or not but he doesn't really care because he's still high on adrenaline and probably won't have the guts to go any further later and if albert doesn't kiss him right now he might burst

"i don't recall you doing anything about it, shut the fuck up and kiss me."

"now don't be mean, racer, that's not nice."

and he'd murder albert if he hadn't given in and kissed him one second after

[tlbodine]

Summer time, Summertime madness (1980s slasher edition)

Since I worked on that longwinded post a few days ago about slashers, I was itching to work through a few of them in our film series. The 1980s was jam-packed with slashers, some good, most utterly derivative. Last night we watched two of them, both with a summer camp theme. 

Forewarning: Both of these movies have twist endings, and I’m going to talk about them, so SPOILERS AHEAD. 

Friday the 13th (1980), directed by Sean S. Cunningham, launched one of the largest and best-known horror franchises in history. Surely you’re familiar with Jason Voorhees, the silent hockey-mask-wearing, machete-wielding killer? 

Well, good, because he’s not in this movie. 

In this initial installment, you never see the killer in action, so as not to give away the big reveal. Instead, all of the murders are done in POV shots (or sometimes happen off-screen so we can find the grisly body afterward). Decried at the time for its violence, the film plays now as being quite reserved, with really only a couple of impressively gory shots. 

If somehow you’re not familiar with the plotline yet, the story revolves around Camp Crystal Lake, a summer camp that is reopening after being shut down for a long time due to a string of misfortunes -- a drowning, a double-homicide, a series of fires, etc. Ostensibly hired to get the camp ready for business, a group of teenage camp counselors take the opportunity to instead have sex, play strip poker, goof around, and make questionable wardrobe decisions. They’re separated out and killed one by one by the mysterious unseen killer, until the killer’s identity is revealed....

....and it’s a WOMAN! GASP! 

The killer is none other than Jason’s mother! 

Wait who’s Jason? The person whose death was only extremely vaguely alluded to in an earlier line of dialogue and who we’ve received zero foreshadowing about to give this twist any weight or relevance! OH YEAH. 

Ahem. Anyway. We discover that the mother is the killer because, um, she holds a deep grudge against the camp for her son’s death. He drowned, you see, while camp counselors who should be watching him were busy fornicating, and now she has promised vengeance on....camp counselors? 

Well, sure, that’s an origin story. 

The thing that makes Friday the 13th memorable is the ending sequence. Our heroine, a “final girl” who survived the night by avoiding the dangers of sex, struggles for a long time against Mrs. Voorhees, finally decapitating her and escaping exhausted on a canoe out on the eponymous Crystal lake. She awakens just in time for the police to show up....but then SURPRISE! The decaying, undead visage of Jason himself leaps from the water, grabbing her and dragging her down! 

We cut then to her waking up in a hospital. It was all a dream! OR was it! DUN DUN DUN. 

The ending perfectly sets up the franchise, allowing for the hand-off of the supernatural killer reins. It’s also hugely and obviously derivative (or an homage, however you want to look at it) of the ending of Carrie. 

Although it had certainly been teased in other films, Friday the 13th was really the movie to explicitly spell out the sex = death formula that became so associated with the teen slashers of the 1980s. It also doubled down on some other established tropes, really becoming a seminal text in the horror canon.  

But it’s really not a particularly great film, and it’s become more underwhelming each time I’ve viewed it. 

Sleepaway Camp (1983) is an utterly baffling cipher of a film. It is the sole film directed by Robert Hiltzick, who made it shortly after leaving film school. He later sold the rights, allowing others to make sequels that he had little to do with, and became an attorney, years later being quite surprised at the success of the film, which was never commercially viable but which gained a substantial cult following. 

The storyline is pretty straightforward. In the beginning, we see a family killed in a boating accident; eight years later, the surviving child -- raised now with her cousin -- is being shipped off to a summer camp. The girl, Angela, is shy and quiet, and misfortune seems to follow her as camp counselors and fellow campers alike tease, threaten, and sexually harass her. 

But lucky for her, the people who torment her start dying in innovatively gruesome ways. But is shy little Angela the killer? or is her cousin murdering to protect her?

Well, as it turns out....kind of neither? Because Angela is indeed the killer, but she’s not Angela. She’s actually Peter -- her brother. We learn through a flashback that when Peter’s father and sister die, he’s taken in by his aunt, who -- deciding she already has a son, and would rather have a girl instead -- forces him to take on a female identity. 

The final scene is the big reveal, a deeply unsettling journey into the uncanny valley as Angela’s face, wide-eyed and gaping-mouthed with a primal scream, is superimposed onto a body far too adult, muscular, and clearly male, naked phallus and all. 

It’s such an incredibly unnerving image, viscerally evocative, that it pretty much single-handedly secured the film its famous cult status. 

But also...what? 

The film is baffling, artistic in ways that may be purely accidental. The kill sequences are innovative and deeply disturbing in part because of the camera’s restraint: Much of the murder and mayhem happens in silhouette or is merely implied, leaving the details to your imagination. In one case especially involving a curling iron, that implication is toe-curlingly horrific. Were the most effective aspects of the film engineered with skill? Or merely a happy accident, a side effect of a poor budget? It’s honestly hard to say. 

The film is also....overtly rife with homoerotic subtext. Male counselors walk around in daisy dukes and croptops or mesh shirts. Female bodies are almost never objectified -- even in the shower death scene! -- but we have ample male nudity including a dozen or so bare male asses. Angela/Peter’s father is revealed to have been gay, and no context is given to that revelation to tell us what it means to the narrative. 

Is Sleepaway Camp a homophobic, transphobic, shallow tale predicated on the “shock value” of discovering that a girl is actually a boy? Or is it an empowering revenge fantasy about the dangers of being forced to comply with an identity not your own? Is the movie trying to say something with its imagery, or is it just throwing out a bunch of evocative-but-empty ciphers to get a reaction?

It’s fascinating and baffling, a puzzle that kind of demands to be solved but is impossible to solve. I feel like I’m going to be trying to process this one for a long time. 

[misanthropiczombie]

More vincenzo shit

THE TENNANTS WENT TO THE FUNERAL SERVICE NOT ME HAVING INTENSW FEELINGS ABOJT IT

Can we also just like. Talk about Mr badass Mafia man, stone cold killer, absolute badass having Big Feelings & crying and it's like. A thing. I'm goin thru it

It's not even pretty crying. Give this man all of the acting awards.

Ooo badbpy is losing it. We love to see it. He's such a good villain. He's really got that intense duality thing Andrew Scott is good at.

No he night.ares about his mom 🥺

Sir you have 3 episodes to wrap this up I believe in you and I'm not sure if I want you to ha e the blaze of glory ending or the picket fence ending.

WHAE THEYRE CLOSING WVERYTHING WHAT U MEAN

They really do love vincenzo. Look. This show has it all. Slice of life. Fluff. Comedy. Camp. Found family. Violence. Organize crime. Family drama. Romance. Political intrigue. Redemption arcs. Revenge. Good vs evil vs evil. Whump.

Like buddy yall fit a lot into 20 episodes seamlessly

~found mafia~

CASSANO FAMILY CASSANO FAMILY CASSANO FAMILY

If the writers kill any of them off I'm gonna become gucciman myself

They're trying so hard to manage evil boi lmao when has that ever worked before. Ms oh is like the best at it and he's not even listening to her

MATCHING YNIFORMS HELL YES LOOK AT THESE HOTTIES. IN LOVE HOLY GRAP OLD BEAT GANG CLEANS US SO WELL LOOK AT MR TAK

She's not as hard-core as you baby boy you miscalculated

Or is this a corruption arc.... AAAAAAH SHIT CORRYPTION ARC

Lmao the cake bomb oh shit

Beauty. When is tweedle dumb going to come back on his knees

OH SHIT HE WAS IN ON IT THE WHOLE TIME

Look he's objectively shitty but he's growing on me okay.

Also vaguely homoerotic hockey scene in my Mafia show. Yeah I'll watch that. LESS VAGUE

WAY LESS VAGUE LMAO I SHIP IT

As Ed says, this has got to be a fuckery

There's 2 more episodes and I assume we're not going flashbacksies for both of em

They are so extra goddamn. Also it's a fuckery because homeboy can't aim for shit n you're telling me he got a one hit ko? Naaaaah

Ooooo badboy is suspicious. Though I feel like he's always suspicious of tweedledumb

Why do I keep calling her ms oh. Where did that pop into brain and then fail to exit?

Choi Myunghee. Let it be know my ability with names never improves. Some things are a universal constant.

Also love that we gloss over him taking out a bunch of interpol guys. Like that's feel like a Big Deal that could sink him???

Okay let's start a other one of these lmao. This covered like parts of three episodes.