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hockey opus part four

my dear @disarmd, today i had the unfamiliar sensation of writing hockey fic about two gentlemen who have not been tragically driven apart. i can only hope i have captured the special bond you describe so eloquently here:

Sidney is so difficult!!! he is super fussy and superstitious and ONLY HOCKEY THAT’S IT THAT’S THE ONLY THING. he didn’t even have a smart phone! GENO HAS INSTAGRAM. they’re sort of theoretically competing to be the Star of the team except that Geno doesn’t care that Sidney gets the most recognition because he doesn’t want all of the attention EVEN THO HE GOT LEFT OFF THE TOP 100 PLAYERS OF ALL TIME LIST but then maybe Geno could teach Sidney how to be more human ;________; Maybe no one understands sidney like geno does ;______________;

warning for a complete lack of violent conflict and shattering loss!

*

One day Geno was in the park petting dogs and handing out lollipops to small children. Every once in a while he would do something cool like jump really high in the air, and then he would wave happily and call out, “Did you see that? I’m the best!” at whoever was passing by. 

After a couple of hours of making his fellow human beings happy, it was time to go win a hockey game. But before Geno could head for the exit, he heard the sound of ice cracking. Then, in a burst of blue light, a portal opened in midair and an alien being stepped out. He looked reasonably human, but he was vibrating with an extraterrestrial level of tension.

“Hi!” Geno said. “Nice to meet you, welcome to park!”

Keep reading

I am failing so much today. I’m failing at being kind and I’m failing in school meaning I’ve handed in two terrible papers. And that was just today. Now I have an hour and 20 minutes to let go of that feeling so that I can start from scratch and do better at my new job. No pressure. No pressure at all.

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Love them…

Jesse: Ever since I met you, everything I ever cared about is gone! Ruined, turned into shit, dead. Ever since I hooked up with the great Heisenberg. I have never been more alone!
—  Breakingbadquote: Jesse Pinkman to Walter White - 03x07 One Minute
To the white girl at the poetry slam who wore a dashiki crop top:

do not ask me if i am slamming.
or if i ever performed before.
do you not see how my glance
is now glued to the bottom of
my boot where i imagine
               my face being smothered,
how rubber and leather would
somehow crush me better than
you. i’m not mad about the topknot,
or how you had to touch my bicep
to tell me how cool my jacket was,
because it was animal print
and i thought
you were talking about my flesh.

do not ask me if i am a poet.
if i’m nervous, if i have done this before.
do you not see how quietly each of my replies
scurry just below a whistle because
talking to loud to white girls in bars
get black boys like me killed.

do not ask me if excited. this performance
doesn’t require excitement, it requires
me not shoving fingers down my own mouth
in frustration at my own body’s inability to call you out,
to proverbially snatch you.

do you not see how you have cut me
at the waist, how you only use me to accentuate
your hips and fashioned me with denim
from cotton, you know nothing about.

do you not see the performance right now,
each question, each bout, each round. 

do not ask me if i am slamming. because for now,
for you, i am only sacrifice.