player please

Okay the Horizon map reminds a LITTLE of Alien.. I’m sure that’s intentional? No matter the case it unsettles me just enough to want Blizzard to give McCree another buff.

And by buff I mean McCree simply reassuring the player that all will be well.

PLAYERS, PLEASE FAVORITE THIS POST TO BE POTENTIALLY FEATURED IN THE NEXT PLOT DROP.

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Remember, this is war. No one is safe.

head canon time: kent’s older sister plays in the nwhl and kent hella looks up to her (you know she still regularly picks him up and physically moves him if he’s annoying her). whenever her team plays and kent has time, he turns up to watch. and when kent starts dating tater he brings him along as well. nobody is surprised by that. however, nobody is expecting the wave of people that follow because tater is friends with everybody plus he’s able to make it to more games as the falconers are a lot closer than the aces. so whenever kent’s sister plays a home game, there’s a gaggle of Very Invested and Loud russians and falconers. the visiting teams are always slightly bemused at the absurd amount of nhl players at the games; their opponents just shrug their shoulders and go, ‘oh, those guys? yeah i guess they just like good hockey.’  

also: the chirps the guys get from the players are brutal. tater is delighted. he’s even more delighted when he and a few other of the falconers get invited to a pr practice session. and you bet he’s absolutely elated when kent’s 5′4″ sister checks him so hard into the boards that he goes flat on his face. one photographer crouched nearby gets a truly brilliant shot as he goes down. kent has it framed on his trophy shelf.  

Bitty will probably make some offhanded compliment to a random hockey player like, “Oh, his hair is sooo nice,” or “Wow he’s so strong he just picked that player up with one hand?? crazy” and the next time Jack sees the player in person during a game he’d have this irrational urge to go up to them like hey man stay away from my boyfriend 

Check, Please! Headcanon

So, Bitty says “Excuse my French,” after he swears and he’s with Jack, but Jack’s confused cause he speaks French and he says, “But that’s not French???” and then Bitty explains how it’s an American phrase and stuff and theN LATER JACK SWEARS IN FRENCH AND HE TURNS TO BITTY AND SAYS, “Excuse my French.”

AU where bitty is on the lacrosse team and manages to keep the lax bros out of smh’s hair long enough that the boys start to get suspicious

word count: 1603

part 1 here


After what Bitty has been referring to in his own head as “The Incident” (with capital letters and all), things between the lax team and the hockey team are… Better? Naturally, Bitty couldn’t tell his team about what had happened, and in fact hadn’t even been pressured to; the teammates who’d been in the house at the time hadn’t even realized he was gone until he was strolling back through the door. So much for having each other’s backs, Bitty had mumbled to himself as he rolled out his pie crust.

But that had been nearly a month ago, and since then, the hockey team hadn’t been over even once to bang at the door with complaints– not even when the house had hosted a party two weeks ago and their music had been loud enough for the bass to be felt a full block away. It’s unusual behavior, and Bitty would be lying if he ever tried to say he isn’t curious about it. The way he sees it, they’re probably just feeling guilty over the whole kidnapping thing. Which is probably fair, all things considered, and Bitty appreciates their consideration. For the most part.

Despite the hockey team’s apparent peace with the lacrosse team, they do still seem a little spiteful. Either that, or Bitty is projecting his own spite onto them; he’s been sitting at the house’s kitchen table for a full two hours now, picking at a now cold tray of bagel bites as he tries to finish an essay. It’s not due until the next Monday, a fact that has Bitty thanking any and all gods who may exist, because there is no way in hell he can finish it tonight with the loud music blaring from across the street. Bitty keeps finding himself bouncing a leg to the beat and staring blankly at his laptop instead of actually writing, and after the fourth time, he finally sighs and slams the thing shut, sliding it perhaps too roughly into his backpack. He deposits the entire bag safely by the stairs before he heads out.

Keep reading

the first time jack visits tater’s apartment unannounced he accidentally sits on kent parson’s 6 month old espn body issue, hastily showed between two sofa cushions.

what follows is the most awkward conversation since bad bob tried to tell a 20 yr old jack about the birds and the bees. it really solidifies their friendship.

  • me: *slaughters entire little villages of monsters who were innocently minding their own damn business*
  • me: *standing over their body parts, blood-encrusted Master Sword in hand* I am the true monster here
  • BotW: *creepy music* 🎶
  • Zelda: The Blood Moon rises once again...
  • Ganon: *resurrects all the countless innocent monsters I murdered*
  • me: oh, thank god
Ok so

I don’t have the full story and I refuse to pry further because that just spreads possible misinformation but from what I understand

A player has potentially (I say potentially because the name is not going around, but that doesn’t make it any less severe) been outed as queer by a partner

This. Is. So. Fucked.

Period. End of sentence.

Like I don’t care if you think “well they were on x dating app, they had to see this as a possibility”

No.

Sharing any sort of information from any sexual partner on social media is disgusting, disrespectful, and wrong. I don’t care if they’re it’s a regular person, a pro-athlete, or the fuckin Queen of England. Posting anything online that you have not been given explicit consent, by every party involved, to post is wrong and straight up illegal.

This is not me defending whatever player this is. This is me defending the fucking personal privacy of another human being.

If you think anything to the contrary or think that this was okay on even a microscopic level you can fuck right off

AU where bitty is on the lacrosse team and manages to keep the lax bros out of smh’s hair long enough that the boys start to get suspicious

word count: 2252

edit: part 2 here


Bitty has never been the biggest fan of confrontation. On the contrary, he spends a great deal of time avoiding most conflict these days. Even on the field, confrontation is Bitty’s mortal enemy, a fact proven by the way he freezes up and nearly passes out every time someone threatens to check him.

There is one place Bitty accepts (if not exactly welcomes) confrontation, though, and that’s in the safety of the lax house. Or, more often, the safety of the front lawn of the lax house when the pesky hockey team across the street starts trouble. Realistically, he knows his own team contributes to some of the bickering and fighting that goes on on that lawn, but more often than not it’s the hockey team who barges over uninvited to complain about this or that.

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i’ve definitely written a headcanon on this (in my ancient ‘bee writes’ tag) but i still wanna read a thing where Tater comes over to Vegas on Kent’s birthday to celebrate, just the two of them. He usually goes out to celebrate with the team, but this year apparently everyone else has other plans for the Fourth of July and they didn’t seem keen on inviting Kent for some reason, which hurts a little bit, since he thought he’d finally integrated himself by this point), but it’s nothing Kent isn’t used to.

After being wined and dined that night, Kent is not exactly drunk but he’s definitely giggly and can’t keep his hands off Tater as they stumble back to the apartment. Tater picks him up when they exit the elevator, to Kent’s delight, and he makes a half-squeal as he wraps his legs around Tater’s waist. 

“Key’s in my back pocket,” Kent says mid-kiss, tangling his fingers in Tater’s hair. There’s just something so great about Tater being able to hoist Kent up like he weighed nothing. The fact that his teammates forgot his birthday isn’t even bothering Kent anymore, not when his boyfriend has his hands all over Kent’s ass. 

They’re making out heavily by the time Tater gets the door open. It’s also about when they hear the sound of an entire hockey team from inside the apartment scream: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KENT FUCKING PARS–oh, Jesus fuck–”

Keep reading

🎶🎶When You Collect Records🎶🎶
  • Hipster: *moves dusty old boxes out of the way* Whoa, an old record player. It looks like it's in working order too! *runs outside*
  • Hipster: Yo, dad!
  • Dad: What?
  • Hipster: We're getting rid of all of poppop's stuff, right?
  • Dad: There's something you want, isn't there?
  • Hipster: There's this old stereo record player in the attic.
  • Dad: What do you need a record player for?
  • Hipster: My record collection.
  • Dad: I didn't even know they still made those things. Can't you just listen to music on your phone?
  • Hipster: Dad, there's a big difference between listening to music digitally and on record.
  • Dad: Fine, I don't wanna get into it with you right now. You can take the record player. You just have to get someone else to take it to your place for you. My truck's full.
  • Hipster: Thanks dad! *smooches dad on the cheek*
  • *later at hipster's apartment*
  • Friend: So, like Patch Adams ends with Patch Adams half-naked in front of a ton of people. I don't know if it was meant to be funny or like a weird sex thing, but like the movie was just a deeply disturbing character study. I can't stop thinking about it.
  • Hipster: That sounds boring. *unlocks door to apartment* Ta-da! Here it is! My new record player!
  • Friend: New? Looks fucking old to me, dude.
  • Hipster: Well, it is old. That's the appeal. And we're going to listen to the new Sufjan record on it.
  • Friend: Is that actually how you say Sufjan? Apparently, I've been pronouncing it wrong this whole time.
  • Hipster: Well, you won't after this record. There's an entire track where he just says his name for four minutes. It's amazing. *plays records*
  • Record Player: *coughs* Hello. Hello! Where am I? Doctor? Hello! Why is it so dark...............................Can I breathe? I can't breath. Oh god, I'm not breathing! Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god! I.....................................
  • Hipster: Uh, that's not Sufjan.
  • Friend: It totally isn't. Is it some guest vocalist? I like the new direction he's going in. No instruments or singing, and long stretches of silence. Very experimental.
  • Hipster: *stops record player* I think maybe we should do something else for now.
  • Friend: Fucking lame! I wanted to listen to more Sufjan.
  • *days later at the record store*
  • Hipster: Yo, I think the Sufjan Stevens record I bought from here might be some kind of mispress.
  • Store Clerk: Really? It's a pretty major album. I doubt there'd just be a mispress like that.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but listen to it. It's not Sufjan at all. It's some girl talking.
  • *hipster and clerk listen to a completely normal Sufjan Stevens album together*
  • Store Clerk: What are you talking about? This is definitely Sufjan Stevens.
  • Hipster: Okay, but it wasn't like that when I listened to it at home! I even listened to it with my friend and he heard the same thing!
  • Store Clerk: Maybe there's something wrong with your record player.
  • Hipster: Hmm, maybe there is.
  • *back at the apartment*
  • Hipster: *turns on record player and just listens*
  • Record Player: ...I'm awake again. Why did I black out? Did I even black out? God, I'm not breathing, but it doesn't matter. Why don't I need to breathe? Am I even alive?
  • Hipster: Can you hear me?
  • Record Player: Doctor. Doctor! DOCTOR! Why can't I move? Why can't I feel anything. Keep yourself together. It'll all make sense soon. Calm down. Just breathe deeply. Fuck, I can't breathe! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I CAN'T BREATHE! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! DOCTOR! HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M STUCK! I CAN'T MOVE! PLEASE HELP ME!
  • Hipster: *turns off record player* It's just a recording, I bet. I can't believe I talked to it like an idiot... *nervously turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: I blacked out again. I blacked out. For how long? Is there even time here? Hell. This is hell, right? Did I go to hell.........................................
  • Hipster: *listens to the record player for hours*
  • Record Player: Negative 6893 bottles of wine on the wall! Negative 6893 bottles of wine! Take one down, pass it around, Negative 6894 bottles of wine on the wall... fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME! AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
  • Hipster: *keeps listening*
  • Record Player: Soul of Christ, make me holy, Body of Christ, be my salvation. God, please forgive me. I'm sorry for all of my sins. Please free me. I'm so sorry. Please. Please. Please.
  • Hipster: *still listening*
  • Record Player: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! SHITTY DOCTOR! FUCK YOU! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! *sobs intensely* FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK EVERYTHING! Please just let me go.
  • Hipster: *nervously walks up to record player and lightly taps on it*
  • Record Player: ...A knock. A KNOCK! PLEASE HELP ME! I'M STUCK! PLEASE! *record player begins shake violently*
  • Hipster: *backs away in fear*
  • Record Player: HELP! HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE, IF SOMEONE'S THERE, HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M STUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!
  • Hipster: *unplugs record player*
  • Hipster: *gets hammer from the closet and begins to break apart record player*
  • Record Player: *drips red*
  • Hipster: W-What? *cracks front of record player open*
  • *rotting viscera falls from the record player*
  • Hipster: O-Oh... *stuffs viscera back into the record player and duct tapes over it*
  • Hipster: *turns record player back on*
  • Record Player: ...I can feel. It hurts. Why does it hurt now? Why does it hurt? Why? Why? Why? WHY!? WHY!? WHY!? *spurts blood through it speakers and begins to gurgle*
  • Record Player: *hops forward* Please just let me go. Please... please. I'll do anything. I just want to see you again. I'm so sorry. This isn't what I asked for. I'm so sorry. *hops forward again and comes unplugged*
  • Record Player: *tips over, bleeding heavily onto the carpet*
  • Hipster: *silently cleans up the mess*
  • *some time later*
  • Hipster: *calls dad* Hey, dad. Oh, nothing. Uh, I just need to borrow your truck, If not tonight sometime this week. I just need to get rid of something. No, no, that's fine, I can do it myself. Yeah, tomorrow morning is perfect. Thanks Love you too. Bye.
  • *the next afternoon*
  • Dad: So, what did you need to get rid of this morning?
  • Hipster: Nothing important. Just some old junk... Dad, what kind of person was poppop?
  • Dad: Well, he was only the greatest man I've known in my life. Really caring, dedicated to his family. When you were born he loved you so much. He was a bit of a loner, though. It took a lot to get him to open up. Even around me and your grandmother. He was a bit like you. Always a huge music lover.
  • Hipster: I see. Was he ever a doctor?
  • Dad: That's a weird thing to ask. Nope. He hated doctors. Didn't trust modern medicine one bit. It's ironic. His cancer probably wouldn't have gotten to him if he did. But, your poppop was always so stubborn.
  • Hipster: Oh, okay then.
  • *some days later*
  • Friend: New carpet?
  • Hipster: Yup, old one was ugly wasn't it. It was time for a change.
  • Friend: That's what I've been telling you! I'm glad you finally came to your senses. What happened to your record player, though?
  • Hipster: That thing? I threw it away. It was busted.
  • Friend: That sucks. Are you gonna buy a new one?
  • Hipster: No.
  • Friend: But you won't have anything to play your records on.
  • Hipster: Yeah, but I buy records because I want to support the artists. They're not really for listening. Besides, lossless is better. FLAC is the future.