Tumblr Tuesday: This one's light on the heat but heavy on the rivalry.

If Heated Rivalry left a hockey(-ish)-shaped hole in your life, if Hudcon at the Golden Globes isn’t enough for you, if you’re looking to replicate the drama, the jerseys, the intensity, and, well, the hockey vibes—may we offer you some NHL? The fandom has been here all along, and they’re out there liveblogging their faves’ way to the top. Here’s some of the fan art they’re making along the way.

(tap on the attribution to go to the original post :)

@dogsuckingszn:

@i5abellas:

@suburbanbonfire:

@poliart:

@grammyjamjam:

@insomnisteria:

@xieliancore:

@weaponizedspite:

@genosdawgs:

@illusbyaf:

@thugtomyautism:

@etheireimagined:

@wsjni:

@junoco:

@puckthisteam:

@personalitydividend:

@sachart:

@losingarchives:

POV connor mcdavid comes back to rogers place with a suspiciously macklin celebrini shaped bag

mcmacmack

bug studies

canucks: we took our prospects rafting 🥰

sharks: we took our prospects bowling 🥰

oilers: we took our prospects paddle boating 🥰

nashville: we took our prospects in a fire truck 🥰

canes: GET IN THE SPIN CLASS 😤😤 ELBOWS UP AND DOWN 😡😡 ROD BRIND'AMOUR COULD DO IT 🗣🗣🗣🗣 IF YOUR LEGS AINT HURTIN YOU AINT WORKING HARD ENOUGH ❗️❗️❗️

Breakaway

Connor McDavid x Auston Matthews’ ex!Reader

Summary: you built your life around Auston’s dreams, until the day he told you that you were the thing standing between him and greatness. Years later, in a new city with a new love, you discover that some men know how to hold both the Stanley Cup and your heart (aka I know he’s not exactly the most popular on here, but I’m a sucker for the “moving on with the undisputed best player in the world” trope)

The Arizona sun is relentless. It beats down on the cracked dashboard of Auston’s old Ford pickup, the one he loves more than just about anything. Except for maybe hockey. Except for maybe you.

You trace the frayed edge of your denim shorts, watching him from the passenger seat. His hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead under the brim of a backwards baseball cap. He just got off the ice from a summer skate, and the familiar, cold scent of the rink still clings to him, a welcome ghost in the oppressive heat.

“I’m telling you, it’s the stupidest English assignment of all time,” he says, turning the key. The engine groans to life. “Analyze a poem. What am I supposed to say about it? ‘It has words. Some of them rhyme.’ Done.”

alright everyone. last day of the regular season so say it with me now:

nothing has stuck in my head more from the winter olympics ceremony than the bbc commentary team absolutely butchering the pronunciation of draisaitl. seriously how do you get it THAT wrong