Lilfeckingoblin - I Have No Idea

I for one would vvv much like to hear more about your Pius/JT abo agenda please!!!!!!

(If you want to expound upon it obv!)

OHHHH ANON THERE IS TRULY NOTHING MORE IN THIS WORLD I WOULD WANT TO DO MORE!!!

I’ll put it under the break bc it’s a bit of a doozy and I know not everyone is into omegaverse :]

Okayyyyy so. I mean to preface, everything millsy/pius I post about is fully in collaboration with my beloved Nem (@playoffsides). Idk how we got to this ship either, but it has completely and utterly consumed us for the past uhhhh (checks calendar) FIVE MONTHS………. yeah. Anyways.

So, we kinda have two different versions of an omegaverse au with these two, but I’ll lay out the more recent one bc I personally find it to have more depth and it’s also a little less convoluted HEKDHKSSJ

Picture this: you are Pius Suter. You present as an omega very, very early. However, you very quickly find that you don’t really seem similar at all to other omegas — nobody can pick up on your scent, you don’t seem to have the same pheromones, you’re just… utterly uninteresting. Eyes glaze right over you at school, on the street, at practice. The only compelling thing about you, seemingly, is your hockey.

You get better. Really, really good, actually. You get an agent. Nobody has showed any remote interest as you as an omega, yet, but that’ll change if you get to the biggest stages in the world; right? It’s fine. You go to a party your agent organizes with all their other Swiss hockey player clients.

Roman Josi mistakes you for a waiter. You want to hide away in a little ball.

People start assuming you’re a beta — no scent to be smelled whatsoever, so you guess it… makes sense. Whatever. You cling to your omega identity, even if you’re doing it all wrong, because it’s the last vestige of interest about you outside of hockey. There’s so few omega players, surely that carries some weight, no?

You get passed over twice in the draft. Whatever. You play for years in Zurich. You give up on correcting people when they assume you’re a beta. You suffer through long, painful heats alone, because nobody seems inclined to help you.

Finally, you make it to the NHL! The hope that things will be different wears off after your first season, when despite playing on the first line, despite being near the top of rookie scoring, Chicago doesn’t keep you. Nobody knows you’re an omega, and you doubt they’d care even if they did. You go to Detroit and play two seasons there; you’re not bad. You’re really good, actually, but still — same story. Eyes glaze right over you.

Your heats gradually stop. It’s like you’ve been neglected for so long that your omega body has given up, dried up. The only things that still prove you as an omega are disappearing, and you’re terrified. But still, you don’t tell anyone.

Now, picture this: Jonathan Tanner Miller, presented so, so young as an alpha, filling every checkbox on the traits of a stereotype. Actually, no; it’s more accurate to say the boxes have been blacked out and scribbled outside the lines.

Protectiveness, passion, ruthlessness, competitiveness, all turned up to one hundred and ten. He’s called uncontrollable, a danger to those around him. It’s what makes him so damn good at what he does.

Nobody wants him; they think they do, at first, but that’s quashed pretty quickly once they realize how unstable his entire being seems to be. Long, painful, vicious ruts, bursts of any emotion blowing up at any time, his pride taking precedence on more than one occasion. He suffers through his ruts alone, hurting anyone who tries to stay.

Everyone wants to fix him. Nobody wants to help him.

He’s a bite risk, a fight risk, dangerous; they keep a muzzle in his stall, Just In Case. It makes him scared; scared of himself, of what he’s capable of, of what would happen if he lost control. Sometimes his instincts tell him to do things that make him feel sick to his stomach — or maybe he’s just nauseous because he’s so sensitive. Every scent is overwhelming, every noise, every pheromone. He can feel all of it.

Picture this: Pius signs in Vancouver. Even though it’s a different city in a different country on a different coast, he knows it’ll be the same. He doesn’t expect to make a splash; and he kinda doesn’t. He likes it, though, his teammates are nice. He’s a beta, to them.

Well. Except to JT.

What do you do when a quiet, pretty omega with such a muted scent and demeanour joins your team after another disaster of a season? What do you do when he doesn’t mix in with the other omegas? Can’t you people see that he’s lonely? What do you do when he gets a hatty to singlehandedly drag the team to overtime, and the hats do not go flying, and the team fucking loses, and it all drags you straight into your already unstable rut?

I mean, you fuck about it.

Pius smells like home to JT, he finds out. Like being at his childhood house on a Saturday when his parents were doing laundry, a warm hug of fresh linens. Pius purrs for him, and it’s crackly and rough and pitchy because he hasn’t done it in years, but it’s the sweetest thing JT’s ever heard, through the haze of his rut. Neither of them can do it right. It’s okay, though, because they’re doing it wrong together <3

Hooooooooly. That ended up being WAY longer than I expected. Lots of thoughts to get out!! But yeah, tonight’s game really just made the brainrot worsen………… hnhgg. The ‘you’re broken because you’re too much and I’m broken because I’m too little’ of it all. Matched set and all that.

Anyways!! I hope this kind of got the gist of how we characterize both Millsy and Pius across <3 I desperately want to write something proper of them but work and seasonal depression is kicking my ass rn so it might be a while. But thank you so much for the ask anon!!!!!!! I’m always so happy to talk abt the blorbos!!!!!

he's perfect in every single way

I feel like I need to be giving Maroon and Matthews privacy lmao

DEWEY CAPS PUPPY PLAY LETS GOOOO

everyone read this fic. NOW!!!!

I love forced eye contact. PLEASE grab my chin and make me look at you. PLEASE call me a bad puppy for not looking at you when you told me to. o(>< )o

sid/mitch

we all know mitch has daddy issues…

coming right up!

if you ever hunger sid/mitch, 9k

"Bit old for you, isn't he?" Sid asks casually, and Mitch doesn't have any defence systems left functional to stop him from replying immediately and with total honesty. "That's kind of the point," he says, embarrassment flooding through him as soon as he does. "Huh," Sid comments, and when Mitch glances at him, the expression on his face is hard to read – thoughtful, sure, but there's something else there, some little spark behind his eyes that Mitch thinks he's only really ever seen before across the face-off dot. If Mitch had to guess, he'd say it was just what Sid's face did when he was drawing up a play, figuring out how to game the next few minutes into doing exactly what he wanted. Mitch doesn't have any interest in guessing right now, though. Mitch swallows. His throat feels weirdly dry, all of a sudden. He has no idea what he should say next. mitch sends sid a text that definitely wasn't meant for him. it works out.

they want to do what to the oilers

Man imagine youre Matt Duchene being told by your coach to get out and you're heart broken and then in your new home you found your liney soul mates in two overly dependent chaotic bi vibe Toronto boys.

May 29th 2024 best hockey tweet(s) of the day

always strung out, always vacant

quinn/garly, 6k, t, coffee shop au, entire canucks ensemble

"Huggy is smiling ," Kiefer says, leaning against the wall behind the cash desk. "Smiling?" Jake says, turning from his task of chopping tomatoes for sandwiches to peer down the store at the coffee counter. "At a customer?"