Latest Posts by frenchpotato329 - Page 2

When your interests collide 😂

So I’ve been a fan of the show Supernatural for almost a decade and I’ve never seen this photo before!

boston bruins tallest and heaviest team in the league on average we're so back. against all odds (tiny captain)

Need something to cheer me up so i’m gonna post some memes i made the other day but never posted

As a Bruins fan this is me coping with how shit everything is rn

this city reeks of driving myself crazy

Jack Hughes misses his captain. Nico Hischier isn't acting like he misses Jack. Obviously, there are going to be problems.

masterlist

Nico is coming back from the mens’ world championships. Jack is trying not to act as if he has been waiting for this since the moment Nico left. 

The thought occurs to him halfway through physical therapy. Jack is in the middle of fifteen reps of some bullshit exercise involving resistance bands and a great deal of relief that no one can see him like this when he realizes that, soon, a plane will touch down and a man will get off, and that man will be Nico, and maybe everything will be okay again after all. 

Not everything, obviously. Nico coming back does not remove Jack’s shoulder surgery from this plane of existence, though, trusting his captain, it’ll probably make him feel a little better about it. Jack has already heard far too many whispers taking great delight in his absence— all it takes is one injury, and people are throwing words out there like career-ending and out for good. Nico would never say that. He would look at Jack thoughtfully, carefully, and tell him he expects to see Jack out on the ice again as soon as he can. Jack would do it, too. Anything if asked. He is a dog left at home too long, scratching at the door, waiting for the footsteps approaching down the hall to tell him he is not alone anymore. Someone will come for him, and then he will be alright. 

Jack will not tolerate the idea of a career-ending anything. The idea makes him sick to his stomach. He could never do anything but play. Being a spectator just might make Jack lose it once and for all. Imagining his team, his Devils, shooting back and forth across the ice, hearing the clash of the puck against their sticks, and then being separated from it all on the other side of the plastic dividers— it would drive him mad. Watching them win or lose and being unable to do a thing. Knowing he was no better than any of the other fans in the audience. He could wear a cheap copy of Nico’s jersey and jump up in his seat whenever the Devils scored and it would kill him more decisively than a gun to the head. 

So Jack does the stupid PT and he takes his pain meds and he goes to bed early, doesn’t drink, watches himself and his temper. And the door, mainly. Wondering if Nico will take him up on the offer he made a few days before the plane takes off:  Congrats man! U can come by my place to catch up if u want btw. 

He’d sent the text, bit back a scream, hurled his phone across the room to land on the sofa, immediately scurried over to check if Nico had responded (he had not), screamed for real this time, then taken more pills and stared at the ceiling for a while. All in a day’s work. 

And, when he checked back in the next morning, there was no return message. Nor the next day, either. It pisses Jack off to no end. Everyone’s always on their phones. There’s no way Nico hasn’t seen the text, so he simply isn’t responding because he doesn’t feel like it, which is just mean to such a good team player as Jack Hughes.

Stewing in his own self-righteous irritation, Jack intentionally ignores Nico’s text when it comes three days late. He glares at the notification bitterly, hoping that Nico can somehow sense it on the other end. Jack goes on Instagram in the hopes of distracting himself, but ends up seeing a post on how Nico’s plane has landed back in the States.

He’s back, then. Against his best intentions, Jack checks the text. Nico, 3 AM, Yeah, for sure. No date, no time for a meet-up. A pacifying answer that has absolutely no pacifying effect. Jack rages and rambles for two hours before he caves and texts back, was the flight good?

Twenty minutes later, the phone dings. Jack dives for it, immediately cursing his bad shoulder when it starts to twinge, and holds up the phone in trembling fingers only to register that Nico has replied with a thumbs up.

He’s going to slaughter the captain. He’s going to slaughter the captain and become the new captain and never do this to anyone ever again, ever. This is so stupid. Nico is capable of texting. Jack is capable of responding normally to a friendship disrupted by frequent flights and international games and only one of them having a fucked up shoulder. Right now, though, neither of them are acting like it.

He is proud of Nico, of course. Glad for him to have that opportunity and all that. But the ice seems extra cold when it’s quiet, and Jack hasn’t been able to feel his fingers in weeks, too many days below zero. He wants Nico back. Of course he does. He just hadn’t expected the wanting to take over him like this, wrapping brittle bones and surgery scars in a dense web of hurt that not even the painkillers can dull. 

Jack tries not to let the silence bother him, but, of course, it does. He goes to PT again. He calls his brothers one by one and hears them talk. He cleans up his apartment in case he gets a visitor, and maybe karma truly is real, because after several days of being a Good Person, Nico finally texts back and says, I can drop by Thurs evening if that’s cool?

Immediately, a jealous demon in his chest tells Jack that he should ignore Nico, just to get him back. Let Nico be the one waiting on the other line, wondering what he did to deserve the silence. Jack’s super good at being bitter if he wants it, and he feels mistreated enough to lash out.

Yeah. Sounds good.

He sends the text with his eyes closed, as if that makes it better. Like it isn’t Jack who caves but someone else, a doppelganger in Devils sweatpants slumped on the sofa in his apartment. Not his fault. Another thumbs up in response, which brings the anger back in force. Nico, of course, has the time to be casual in his responses. He’s the one who gets to swing by out of the blue. He can do anything he wants to, and Jack simply has to respect that.

When Thursday comes around, Jack finds himself mad enough to bite. It isn’t a good way to greet his captain. It isn’t a good way to meet with his friend. But Jack has been ignored for so long– calls unanswered, texts left on read– and he’s always devoured Nico’s attention far more greedily than anyone else. It’s not his fault that the crushing isolation left him sharp and smarting.

A knock on the door echoes around the problem, temporarily startling Jack out of the acidic monotony of his thoughts. He doesn’t need to check the door to know who it is. Only Nico would drop by like this, unannounced. Only Nico would assume Jack would be there to meet him with the bare minimum of text messages.

He could make Nico wait, and Jack certainly takes his time getting to the door, but then he’s hovering in front of the peephole and he can see a silhouette idling there for him, and it’s been so long since he saw Nico at all that Jack knows he doesn’t have it in him to keep Nico lingering any longer. Whatever happens, happens. But at least he’ll have a good face to look at in the meantime.

Jack’s hand jerks out, heavy on the knob, and then he swings the door open to reveal Nico standing there, hanging back from the threshold. His dark hair has crept out over his eyes, and it hides his face even more than the shadows of the poor high lighting. The contrast from the gasping fluorescents overhead paints dark hollows under his eyes, dramatic on his cheekbones. 

It reminds Jack of the Baroque portraits from the art museum the Devils had visited a while back. The PR agents wanted the players to seem more well-rounded or something. Bullshit. Jack had hated the trip, bored almost to tears with the slow pace of their guide, and he hates it now. Jack doesn’t want perfect art. He wants something real for the first time in months, and seeing his flawlessly posed captain makes him want to dirty that good bone structure with blood or his knuckles. Or both.

Nico raises his tragically beautiful eyes to Jack, waiting for something. Still brimming with bitterness, Jack says roughly, “Good to see you again,” and jerks his chin towards the inside of his apartment.

Nico takes the hint and slides past Jack, somehow able to go without touching him even though Jack had barely left him a few inches of room. Smooth on and off the ice. It’s so fucking unfair.

“Nice place,” Nico says, tugging off his coat and depositing it on a nearby kitchen chair.

“You’ve been here before,” Jack mutters.

Nico glances back towards him, arching a thick brow. “Does that mean I should say it looks like shit, then? It’s still nice even if this isn’t my first time seeing it.”

Jack laughs before he can choke it out. Although Nico hadn’t given any indication of being worried, his face relaxes microscopically. There’s no change Jack can name, nothing obvious like falling brows or slackening cheeks, but he knows the shift in feeling like it happened to himself.

“How’s the injury?” Nico asks, walking back to him.

“How do you think?” Jack spits, looking at the ground.

Nico tsks under his breath. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Jack says out of impulse. “The guys at PT say I’ll be back on ice soon. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not just worried about what happens to you on the ice,” Nico says, voice low. “Off the ice matters too.”

Jack wants to laugh. He doesn’t, this time. Nothing’s funny. “You have some way of showing it.”

Nico does manage to look distinctly embarrassed this time. “I was busy,” he says simply.

It’s a bullshit excuse and Nico knows it too, so he covers for it by tugging impatiently at the thick material of Jack’s shirt. “Show me.”

“What?” Jack asks, tough demeanor seriously slipping for the first time all night.

“The shoulder,” Nico says, as if this is a normal thing to ask after being alone in Jack’s apartment with no one except Jack to ask what the fuck is going on. “Show me. I want to see how bad it looks.”

“It’s a shoulder,” Jack mumbles. “Imagine it.”

Nico fixes him with a look, one brow half cocked. Jack knows this look from practices, from games. It means, do you really want to fight me on this one? Jack usually does, but even this is too stupid a battle for him to pick, so he shuts up long enough to bat Nico’s hand off his shirt like a fleck of dust and do as told. He had meant to pull the top off in one smooth movement, but his shoulder disagrees midway through and the motion ends up being a little more awkward than he’d hoped.

Then he’s standing in front of Nico, shirt off, and under the overhead light of his kitchen, he feels far more on display than he likes. Jack has shown far more bruised and battered skin than this, of course, years’ worth of locker rooms have long since stripped him of any shame around teammates, but it’s different like this. Like this– with no other eyes than Nico’s, which swoop over him with such obvious care that hot embarrassment starts to churn deep in Jack’s stomach. He doesn’t like the feeling, but he doesn’t put the shirt back on, either. Or tell Nico to stop looking.

Nico’s hand darts out again, like he can’t stop himself. The fingers rise to Jack’s shoulder, ghosting over the skin. At first, Nico’s touch is gentle, and then he finds a slow-blossoming bruise and presses, not sharply enough to hurt but enough to make the dull ache bloom again in the precise shape of Nico’s thumb. Caught in the force of it, the air leaves Jack’s lungs in a low groan that seems to catch in his chest, deep in his throat.

He expects Nico to snatch his hand away and start making apologies like everyone else when they find out what a broken little thing he really is, but instead, Nico leans forward, into the sound. He doesn’t press any harder, but he looks like he wants to. And Jack– Jack might want that, too.

Nico’s tongue appears at the corner of his mouth, licking his lips before he continues. Jack watches with the hunger of a famine. “You should be careful,” Nico says huskily.

“Why?” Jack asks, fighting to keep his voice casual. “Going to bench me, cap?”

Nico’s hand spasms slightly, thumb curling further into the dark flower of the bruise before he stops himself. Jack can’t remember if he’s ever seen Nico react to the title like that, but Nico hasn’t had his hands on Jack like this before, either.

“I could do anything,” Nico whispers. Jack isn’t sure if they’re talking about hockey anymore. He isn’t sure that they ever were.

He snickers. “You can’t keep me off forever.”

Nico drags his gaze from the bruise to Jack’s eyes. “You always were the troublemaker, weren’t you? Not even Dawson’s as bad. Not even Luke. Always mouthing off.”

Something shifts indignantly in the pit of Jack’s stomach at the mention of his brother. He’d do anything to get Nico’s focus off Luke and back on him, where it belongs, so he says, “What’re you going to do? Shut me up?”

“Maybe,” Nico hesitates over the word, drawing out the syllables as he trails his hand away from the bruise and onto the thin, puckered line of a scar along Jack’s shoulder. He grazes his nails over the hardened skin, making Jack hiss, not from hurt but something else, something worse and better at the same time.

With Nico focused on the scar and not Jack anymore, he’s free to say something stupid again, no longer pinned under the weight of two dark eyes. So he grins, wide and bold and goddamn brainless, and says, “Make me.”

Nico’s eyes snap up to his again. There is an unwritten rule in hockey, practically a mandate, that the captain is the captain for a reason, and if anyone tries to fight that, it is the captain’s moral obligation to prove why he’s wearing the C and not anyone else. Even if the one causing trouble is an alternate. Even if it’s Jack.

Nico’s mouth is hot and assertive when it collides with Jack’s. Jack was ready for something but not for this, and he stumbles back from the force of the kiss. Nico’s arm whips behind him, catching Jack by the hip and bringing him back in, stopping him from a fall. Jack is reminded vividly of all the times they’re on the ice, one of them crashing into the other; the natural, instinctive urge to latch on and never let go. 

Nico’s eyes are closed and then Jack’s are, too. He lets the kiss swallow him whole, blocking out the shoulder and the games and everything else. Jack thinks he could stay there forever, hooked on Nico like his first drink, but then the older boy breaks away, even when Jack tries to chase his lips, needy as ever. Nico leans his forehead on Jack’s, both of them breathing hard like they’ve run a mile. 

“See? I like you quiet,” Nico says, breath gusting onto Jack’s face with every word.

“Shut up,” Jack says, and kisses him again, biting Nico’s lip petulantly to get him back.

Nico just chuckles, curling his free hand into the back of Jack’s head. Jack actually gasps when Nico tugs his hair, giving Nico more of his mouth, letting the kiss take him apart again and again. 

This time, Jack is the one to pull away first, and in the sliver of space between their lips Nico whispers, “I missed you.”

“You haven’t been acting like it,” Jack mutters, and squirms when Nico knots his fingers in Jack’s hair again.

“That’s what the attitude is about? I forgot to respond to a few texts and you get all stubborn?” Nico asks incredulously.

“It wasn’t just a few texts,” Jack pouts, “You keep ditching me. Thought you didn’t want to talk to me at all.”

Nico pulls away for real this time, leans back far enough that Jack can see his entire face instead of snatches of lips and eyes and red cheeks. The look on his face, it isn’t angry or annoyed– it’s fond. Satisfied. “I always want to talk to you, Jack. Don’t you know that?”

“I didn’t when you were ignoring me,” Jack murmurs.

The hand in his hair relaxes, combing gently through the locks instead of twisting them. “Alright,” Nico says, still painfully enamored, “That’s my mistake, then. Let me apologize.”

Jack lets him. Happily. The offseason is long. If he tries, he can drag this out for a long time, make Nico make it up to him for months. Jack isn’t ashamed to admit that he’ll do it as long as he can. Better yet, Nico will let him, and know what he’s up to the whole time anyway.

That’s the best part about them, Jack supposes. They know each other. On and off the ice. On and off each other. Maybe it’ll be a long summer, but God, it’s going to be a good one.

hockey tag list: empty for now!

talked about this to @faerieroyal ily

all tags list: @wordsarelife

NicoJack drabble

“So, any nice girls in Michigan?” Luca asks over the rattling hum of his Ford’s engine.

It’s late, the night thick and heavy between the mountains, the road ahead barely visible beyond the headlights. The radio display doesn’t show the time and Nico doesn’t want to check his phone and the lack of messages, so he can only guess just how close to midnight they really are.

Glancing over at his brother, he finds Luca looking straight ahead through the windshield, focused, but not tense, despite the winding road neither of them know well. The usual road had been blocked, a fallen tree from a storm earlier in the day not yet removed. Luca hadn’t seemed too concerned though so Nico had just sunken further into his seat while trying not to think about the text he was half sure he wouldn’t get an answer to.

“What?” he says belatedly when Luca prompts him again by clearing his throat.

“Just-” Luca sighs, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I don’t know, you seem sad.”

Pressing his lips together, Nico shrugs. He doesn’t know what girls would have to do with it, but Luca isn’t wrong. Being back home is going to be great. Nico has missed his family, has missed Switzerland. Sitting at the kitchen table and eating food his bother cooked, looking out the window and seeing the lush green and tall peaks reaching into the blue sky – it’s what Nico has been longing for.

But it turns out the end of missing one thing just means the beginning of missing another.

“I thought maybe you had a girlfriend over there and now-” Luca goes on, and without thinking, Nico shakes his head.

“No,” he says over the sound of some song on low volume that Nico is pretty sure he’s heard before while holding a red plastic cup, drinking awful American beer and trying not to smile too much at the way Jack was moving to the beat of the music. Nico isn’t sure if it could be called dancing. But he’s sure he hadn’t been able to look away. He hadn’t wanted to.  

“No girlfriend.” He looks down at his phone, at the black screen. “The girls were nice. Just-”

Just they were girls.

And they weren’t Jack.

Swallowing, Nico presses the button on the side of his phone, but no notifications show on his home screen. When he tabs open his conversation with Jack it says *read one hour and twenty-six minutes ago*.  Jack has been online thirteen minutes ago according to the grey text next to his little icon.

It’s a picture Nico took of him, right there are the shore of the lake. The sun had been setting and Jack had stood there with his backwards hat on and his bare feet in the cool water and Nico-

“What if there was a boy?” he says, the words out before he’s really truly thought them.

For a moment Luca’s silence is deafening.

Nico can’t let himself breathe, can’t make himself look over. Instead he turns his phone around in his lap, watching the screen go from bright to dim to black. Then-

“A nice Michigan boy?”

“Well, he’s- Yeah,” Nico says on an exhale, swallowing thickly. “He’s in Michigan. But he lived in Toronto before that. And- Yeah.”

And Nico has spent hours listening to Jack talk about it. About Florida where he was born but doesn’t remember, about Boston, about New Hampshire, about the cold winters across the border and how Michigan is home, how he misses his older brother and how much he loves hockey.

And then he’d given Nico that smile that made his chest flutter and he’d rolled onto his back and looked at the clouds passing over the driveway and he’d asked Nico about Luca. About playing together in Visp, about Switzerland, about everything.

What do you like most about America so far?, he’d asked a sweet little grin on his face, and Nico thinks the answer might have been obvious on his face even if he hadn’t said the You that’d been on the tip of his tongue.

“Were you guys boyfriends?” Luca asks now and with a lump in his throat, Nico has to shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says softly.

Luca seems to have heard him anyway.

 “Ah, Nico,” he says after a short moment of simple squinting at the dark road ahead of them. “I’m sorry.”

It’s fine, Nico wants to say. It doesn’t matter.

Because it doesn’t. Nico is back home in Switzerland and Jack is in Michigan and whatever happened in those six months that Nico spent over there, it’ll just be a memory now. It’ll just be what Nico thinks about whenever someone asks him about his first kiss, about his first time, about his first time being in love.

His first heartbreak too, it seems like.

“He says he’s not gay,” he says, voice cracking over the last word. He wishes his lips weren’t trembling as he speaks. “That he doesn’t like boys that way.”

“But you do?” Luca asks.

No pause this time, no silence.

When Nico glances at him, Luca is still looking at the road.

“Yeah,” he whispers and Luca doesn’t say anything, but he reaches over, putting his hand on Nico’s shoulder.

congrats on 1.5k!! so so deserved <3 LANDSLIDE: nico with bed chem pls

Tysm lovely 💗 enjoy! (Also this is my first Nico fic, WHAT?!?)

BED CHEM

“Follow me,” Nico’s thick accent warmed your every cold nerve as the two of you slipped away from the devils event.

You were representing your company at this event, or gala, should you be more specific. You were dressed up in a black dress with a sheer cutout, sipping champagne to make the night go quicker.

As captain, Nico Hischier was a very put together man, but the minute he laid eyes on you, he lost all composure.

He had caught sight of you roughly forty minutes into the event and he couldn’t let his eyes stray from you for more than five minutes.

It was only when Jack realised Nico had been staring had he dragged the Swiss man over towards you to introduced himself.

You’d been startled by the sudden appearance of both men in front of you but as soon as you laid eyes on Nico, your posture straightened.

“Where are we going?!” You laughed as Nico suddenly glanced around and pulled you into a smaller conference room.

The man closed the door behind him. Nico's eyes were dark, intense, his breathing shallow as he looked at you. There was something about the look in his eyes that made your pulse quicken with every passing second. The sound of the gala outside was completely muffled, and you swore if he tried hard enough, he could hear your thumping heartbeat.

"You," he murmured, his voice husky, as he stepped closer, "You have no idea what you’re doing to me."

His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch alighting every desire inside of your soul. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his presence overwhelming and all-consuming as his nose brushed yours.

You’d never been this spontaneous, but coming face to face with the captain, there was something that drove you crazy, even if it was just lust in its simplest form.

"Nico," you whispered, your voice trembling as you met his gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own.

A soft hum escaped his throat at the sound of his name escaping your lips. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Nico closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours with a force that left you breathless. Your back hit the wall of the room as your hands grappled to hold the fabric of his white jacket whilst his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against his front.

Every touch, every movement, was fueled by an insatiable need. You didn’t know this man, not really, but right at that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way he made you feel, the way he seemed to have ignited something deep within you.

You gasped for air as his lips trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his stubble gently scraping your flesh as he repeatedly whispered your name, each mere syllable sending shivers down your spine.

For a moment, you pulled back, feeling all air escape your lungs, your chest heaving as you looked at him, lips swollen from the harshness of the kiss.

Nico's eyes were wild, his hair slightly tousled, and you couldn’t help but think how impossibly attractive he looked, how completely different he was from the composed man you’d seen earlier in the evening.

“I think we should leave,” you blurted out, pupils wide in desire.

“Mine or yours?” He immediately followed up, his eyes lingering on your lips.

“Anywhere with a bed…or a couch.” You whispered, as Nico gave into his urges and kissed you again, lips colliding with yours as his hands cupped your face. When he pulled back, a small smile crossed your face. “Or…right here could do?”

“Why be limited? Why not here…and on a bed…and on couch?” Nico’s voice murmured in your ear, his teeth grazing the skin of your ear.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

nhl memes again cause i need hockey back

More ao3 text post memes

Even more memes but these ones are ao3 tags🤭

Hii!! May I request 💜 violet fluff number 37 for Luke hughes? Maybe he gets injured in a game and the pain meds he’s put on have him begging for reader to continue playing with his hair as it brings him a comfort?

(btw I love your writing it’s always so so good and when I see your page it always brings a smile to my face <3)

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

37. “You should play with my hair some more."

.

All things considered, the hit could have caused a lot more damage. 

It was a dirty hit, a nasty one that had the whole Devils bench exploding with complaints when the referees had only given the other guy a two minute minor. Luke hadn’t even been allowed to play the rest of the period or the rest of the game for precautionary reasons, instead taken straight to medical to do a full evaluation. 

Nothing was broken but his shoulder was a little roughed up and it hurt like a bitch right now—a pain the doctors assured would ease in the next few days. The doctors had prescribed some strong painkillers to help ease the pain and allow enough relief for Luke to rest tonight. 

Painkillers that seemed a lot more that strong if the boy’s current state was anything to go by. 

“You’re really pretty,” Luke sighed as he turned his head to look at you with a goofy smile. “Like, reaaaaaally pretty.” 

“I know, baby,” you grinned back at him. “You’ve only told me a hundred times in the last ten minutes.” 

He frowned. “That’s not enough. I should tell you more.” 

You snorted, shaking your head. “Those painkillers are really hitting you, aren’t they?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head. “Feel really good right now.” 

“Oh, I bet,” you mused as you reached towards him, pushing some of his curls out of his face and pushing them back. 

“Wanna go home,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as you continued to run your fingers through his hair. “Can we go home now?” 

“Five more minutes, babe,” you assured him, your nails lightly stretching along his scalp as he let out a noise of contentment. Almost like a cat. You had to bite back your laugh at the thought. “Jack is gonna bring the car around so you don’t have to walk too much.” 

“That’s nice of him,” Luke mumbled, his cheek pressed against the pillow as he gave up keeping his eyes open. 

“Gotta stay up for me,” you murmured as you pulled your hand away, lightly stroking his cheek instead but the boy just whined in response. 

“No, why did you stop?” His words were slurred together as he blinked his eyes open, frowning up at you.

“I don’t want you falling asleep right now,” you told him in a soft voice, smiling a little when he leaned his cheek into your hand. “We still need to get home and I don’t think me and Jack will be able to carry you the whole way.” 

“I’ve seen how much he can lift, he’ll be fine,” Luke huffed out in response, slowly blinking as he yawned a little. “You’re going against doctor’s orders.” 

You raised your brows in amusement. “Am I now?” 

“Mhm, the doctor told me what I needed to feel better so you should listen to me,” Luke said, his eyes hooded and tired. “You should play with my hair some more. It’s the quickest road to recovery.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, if the doctor said so…” 

“S’the first thing he learnt in school,” Luke told you, only to be interrupted by a yawn.

“You’re so lucky Jack isn’t here to hear this,” you murmured as you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead before returning your fingers to his hair. “He would never let you live any of this down.”

.

uh oh i made memes again

nhl as textposts.. offseason is driving me crazy

more memes i made for fun

nhl players as textposts... part idk

i refuse to stop making these

Got Bored So I Made Memes Again🤷

December 25th 2023 best hockey tweet(s) of the day🎄

Christmas was all about the elevator, baby!

see the issue is i have a folder of stupid fucking images i want to hockey freak-ify and it IS roughly 400 so far. so i'll likely be here a long while. oh well. | one

nhl players as textposts.. again

memes be upon ye

(i added my pookie from the quebec league and i am not sorry about it)

more memes because i have too much time and hockey brain rot

uh more memes

that funny moment when their ship numbers are now 911. hey. guys. HEY GUYS?!?!?

anyways i’m having withdrawals and we haven’t seen these two together since january lol. i’m soooooo okay haha!!!! (i’m not. i miss u guys so bad. PLEASE) (it’s so dark in here lollllll jijiiiiii hahaaaaaaa lmfaoooooo)