Insert If You Don’t Love Me At My/you Don’t Deserve Me At My Meme Here

tender celly.

12.09.24 - Kirby Dach and Juraj Slafkovský - Montréal Canadiens vs. Anaheim Ducks

—Cole + Z, IIHF World Championship, May 11, 2024

Absolutely impeccable choice of words in this headline

("NHL: Strong Stützle tops Draisaitl")

🎣 🎣 🎣

Quiet

HRPF | Erik Karlsson/Kris Letang | 1.3K | Rating: G | Complete

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, post loss fic for the soul

Summary: Erik comes home to a sleepy, sick Kris after the Pens' OT loss to the Lightning (and Erik's very large bff, Hedman)

Read on Ao3. Summary under the cut :)

Erik tries to make as little noise as possible as he maneuvers through the dark front hall, the wallpaper peacocks invisible now, just blurs lost in all the other grey. Lucky, Erik knows his way half-blind now, from all the other nights like this one, trudging home in miserable, tired silence. There’ve been too many nights like this one.

Sometimes the air is tight with tension, too. Those nights are better, for the way Kris will press Erik hard into the wall, the pictures rattling in their frames as he bites at Erik’s neck, Kris’s hot hands, so quick and clever usually, gone rough and bruising with not-so-buried fury.

There are no hands tonight, though, no choked-off grunts to break the quiet. Only stillness and smudgy dark lit only by the deck light, muzzy and dim through the pulled curtains, just enough for Erik to make his way up the stairs without tripping.

No other footsteps follow his, avoiding the creaking fifth step. No warmth of a body close in space. No deep, disappointed sighs to mirror his own.

Erik finds himself hurrying as he gets to the top of the stairs, overcome suddenly, the dark quiet now somehow worse than everything else tonight—the hush of the arena after the last goal sounded, the harsh bang of thrown gear in the locker room, the familiar low sound of Geno’s voice drifting over from his post-game, atoning for all their sins like usual. All of it burns and grates and sinks in Erik, always, and each game this season a little more.

But none of it compares to this, now, this dark, this silence, the space behind Erik—empty, like it hardly ever is.

The bedroom door doesn’t squeak anymore, not since Erik got out the WD-40 over the summer. He thinks of that day every time he enters their room—Kris’s dark eyes, his big hands, his beautiful, grateful mouth. His laugh when Erik offered to fix anything, everything, for the rest of their lives, if it got him a thank you like that.

There’s no reason for thank you’s tonight. Even if they’d won, Erik wouldn’t have expected one, not with how miserable Kris was when he left, with his stuffed-up nose and red, bleary eyes, and his poor, shot voice, saying, win for me or don’t come home.

Erik feels a pang at the joke now. He knows there’s some truth in it, knows how hard these losses weight on Kris. Hell, Erik knows he’s to blame, at least partly, for a good portion of them. They’ve all been playing like shit, but Erik more than others, some games, and it’s—it’s hard, to face Kris then. To lie in bed beside him, both of them tired with nothing to say to each other. Erik feels the apologies heaviest then, clawing at his throat, desperate to escape into the air—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  

Read the rest on Ao3 :)

sui vs aut | 12.05.24

we write out the end on our palms dear

Title: we write out the end on our palms dear

Fandom: Hockey RPF

Pairing: Jared Bednar/Cale Makar

Characters: Jared Bednar, Cale Makar, Gabriel Landeskog, Nathan MacKinnon, Erik Johnson

Rating: Teen

Words: 4501

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything and I’m not making any money off of this. If I did, I’d have a much nicer car and my own place. No intention to hurt anyone. I’m just a girl that likes making things up and writing them down.

Warnings: None.

Summary:

The thing about soulmates is, you don’t choose them. Oh yes, of course, there’s always to be made the argument that you don’t choose who you fall in love with, having a soulmate is a different thing entirely. They’re not always romantic, sometimes familial or platonic. But the fact remains that they’re assigned, somewhere somehow by someone or something. Mostly, if you’re one of the lucky few to have them, you’re born with your soul mark, whatever it may be. And there’s been cases, here and there, of soul marks abruptly surfacing although most of those cases were con jobs but not all. Or, as Jared’s best friend once told Jared and then later told Cale: you get what you get and you figure out the rest.

Notes: I had a dearth of typos getting the third installment up and then accidentally deleted the whole thing. So clearly the solution was to save the one I still had in word processor and then thank the stars I still had the original copies. There's some tweaks here and there and this morning I did a lot of clean up to fix my caffeine addled typos. I hope you enjoy and sorry for posting this yet again. Please don't be afraid to drop by the blog and say hi!

Someone compared Mack and Will having milk and cookies vs Connor Bedard Who Has Never Had Sugar In His Life and I'm now more convinced than ever Connor needs a buddy 🥺

https://www.tumblr.com/fourthliner/777739752149483521/can-someone-get-him-a-chocolate-chip-cookie-damn

Oh nooooo this comparison hadn't occurred to me!! That boy. That poor sugarless boy. Someone send Spencer Knight a package of cookies right away and tell him to feed them to Connor in small pieces until his system adjusts.

omegaverse fic idea:

while hooking-up it’s expected for alphas to wear muzzles (cloth or cage, depending how kinky they want to be), because when their face is shoved in an omega’s neck up against their scent gland, it’s hard for them to control the instinct to bite and mate (even if they dont want to mate when theyre in their right mind).

Two players start hooking up, maybe for convenience, maybe for heat/rut buddy, maybe for a superstitious ritual, etc. But they both start crushing while also doubting the other likes them back. When they fuck the alpha desperately wants to take off the muzzle, but of course they dont because this is just a hook-up, a fuckbuddy, no strings attached. Meanwhile, the omega does wish the alpha would take off their muzzle. They can feel their teeth press through the cloth muzzle and it drives them insane, but they can’t ask. Why would the alpha want them. This is just convenient.

One night, without warning, while the alpha is fucking their knot into the omega, the omega unclips the muzzle, and the alpha doesn’t hesitate.

(cue worried alpha thinking the muzzle came off on accident and omega having to calm them down by confessing)