Though he desperately refuses the conformities of modern novel tropes, George acknowledges he's just the same as every book character. A side character that is. Studying his way into writing a hit novel George has to master the ups and downs of his...
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"Put my phone on DND 'cause I don't want nobody to call." DND Glaive
Dream
Let's face it I'm in a very deep love/hate relationship... with hockey that is. Coach Carrion is one of the top coaches in the league and, well, an arrogant ass about it. He's played on three major NHL teams in his odd 60 years. With a torn ACL and a metal hip, he was forced to retire on a fortune. Like most injured castoffs, Coach Carrion has taken up the liability that is coaching college hockey. Just my fucking luck.
"17, communication! This isn't a mirror for you to look in, it's a team, dammit!" And yeah maybe he's funny, but when he's yelling at me I'm slightly more pissed off than I usually would be playing this game.
I think I was six when my dad dragged me out onto the ice during winter break. School was a fucking nightmare, kids were mean, and they didn't like the kid who played video games religiously. They liked the athletic kids, the ones who knew baseball and how to take someone out with a dodgeball. And poor me at that age sucked at anything other than running, so as a saving grace, my dad dragged me out to try a sport he quit after college because he fell in love with mom. I admired him while also believing he was the stupidest man in the world for dropping such an opportunity to get married. Falling in love would be irrelevant to me if I was offered a spot on a NHL team.
"22 stop cutting your teammates off!" Sapnap's aggression in this game was unmatched within his regular day-to-day attitude. Off the ice, my housemate was the most level-headed out of us. Though, don't get me wrong, he can get crazy once he's had a drink or two. Or George's little roommate, who seems to be able to pull the crazy out of anyone, reigns and whips things into action.
The ice beneath my skate grinds into vigorous shavings as I track it to make my shot against Sam. In all his burly guarding equipment he looks like a beast. As if he'd trample you no matter the size, but off the ice, he's one of the sweetest most genuine guys on the team. A little bulky with his voice and his laugh an equal fit, the man lives off sweats and snapbacks but is truly kind-hearted. I live with him, Sapnap, and a guy we call Punz, off campus. It's never a dull moment to say the least.
"Dream!" As I circle around the lit-up goal light, Sam's heavy chuckle meets my ears and he shoves me. "Ah baby, you danced left before that one. I see you took my advice to switch up your tells. Sexy."
"Anything for you, babes." I get another shove and then Coach's ear-splitting whistle blows over my left shoulder.
When the flinch inevitably centers in my bones Coach rumbles with peeved attitude and says, "showers. We're done for today. Remember no practice until Friday, as my wife is dragging me on an escapade."
"Ayoo coach," Punz grins, helmet in hand, "Escapade? I thought you were too old to enjoy those activities?"
"Thin ice 15," Coach hisses, though his smile is lingering on his forehead lines. "And if you all wanna know my nephew is getting married."
