in the PWHL Tag

Most Deserving City That Didn’t Get An Expansion Team Exactly what it says. If only these cities had gotten an expansion team!

Calgary, Alberta

Denver, Colorado

Halifax, Nova Scotia

Quebec City, Quebec

Chicago, Illinois

Edmonton, Alberta

The Dearly Departed Award Award for the most missed player that was traded this season or lost in the 2025 expansion draft.

Abby Roque (NY to MTL)

Sophie Jaques (MIN to VAN)

Zoe Boyd (OTT to BOS)

Denisa Křížová (MIN to NY)

The Royale Tiger Towel Paper Towel Power Play Power Through Tough Messes (existing to not existing)

Sarah Nurse (TOR to VAN)

Jessie Eldridge (NY to SEA to BOS)

The Jared Award for Excellence in Refereeing For the official that made the most infuriating calls of the season.

Jared

Sydney

Jake

Central Situation Room

The "WTF" Coaching and Management Award Award for the most interesting coaching and management decisions in the league.

Brian Idalski and the Vancouver Goldeneyes

Steve O'Rourke and the Seattle Torrent

Ken Klee and the Minnesota Frost

Troy Ryan and the Toronto Sceptres

Goalie Who Most Deserves A Gun Which goaltender was forced to endure the most suffering because their team couldn't get it together this season?

Kayle Osborne

Gwyneth Philips

Corinne Schroeder

Aerin Frankel

Raygan Kirk

Emerance Maschmeyer

God's Most Suffering Player For the player that endured the most suffering this season on this godforsaken bitch of an earth.

Laura Stacey

Gwyneth Philips

Hilary Knight

Alex Carpenter

Ad Break of the Year Sorry to the Canadians who can't watch the streams on Youtube.

DVD Corner Bounce

Gay Time Check

Catch Me Catch Me

Jincy Roese Debut Single

The "Which Could Mean Nothing" Partnership Award Awarded to the best duos and groups of friends in the league. Which could mean nothing.

Kenzie Lalonde and Cheryl Pounder

Laura Stacey, Marie-Philip Poulin, and Abby Roque

Emma Buckles and Catherine Dubois

The Entire Seattle Torrent

The Kristýna Kaltounková Most Overly-Penalized Player Award Named in honor of Kristýna Kaltounková having the most ever penalty minutes for a rookie in her first PWHL season (45 PIM).

Rory Guilday

Kristýna Kaltounková

Abby Roque

Emma Maltais

Laura Stacey

Taylor Girard

The "Stop That, You Can Text Her After The Game" Award for Most Egregious Checking For physicality that makes you go, "Why are you doing that???"

Jocelyne Larocque and Renata Fast WWE Super Slam

Brooke Bryant falling on top of Abbey Levy

Micah Zandee-Hart and Laura Stacey Skate Lace Entanglement

Jill Saulnier pushing down Ann-Renée Desbiens

The Prudential Center Clown Fan Clown Hockey Moment of the Year For the most ridiculous moments on the ice, named in honor of the New York Sirens fan that dresses up like a clown, tumblr user @newyorksirens.

Danielle Serdachny sliding into an empty net, scoring a goal

Gwyneth Philips Beyblade

Emily Clark losing her skate blade and being pushed to the bench

Abby Roque scoring with her face

TD Place Arena Ice Hole

Ann-Renée Desbiens Ladder Assist

Lesbians' Choice Award Who do the lesbians (and other queer PWHL fans) love the most?

Hilary Knight

Zoe Boyd

Laura Stacey

Carly "CJ" Jackson

Abby Roque

Kristýna Kaltounková

Fight of the Year

Kristýna Kaltounková vs. the entire Ottawa Charge

Abby Roque vs. Britta Curl playoff scrum

Montreal Victoire vs. New York Sirens line brawl (feat. Kayle Osborne)

Megan Keller vs. Laura Stacey

Boston Fleet vs. Toronto Sceptres line brawl (feat. Frankel & Tapani hug)

Jill Saulnier vs. Tereza Vanišová rematch

Quote of the Year

"I think I peed a little." - Marie-Philip Poulin

"How can you not be romantic about hockey?" - Eric Gallanty

"Today is today!" - Lina Ljungblom

"It's fucking hockey! It's fucking hockey, wake up!" - Greg Fargo

Blorbo of the Year

Emma Maltais

Marie-Philip Poulin

Gwyneth Philips

Kristýna Kaltounková

Aerin Frankel

Abby Roque

Megan Keller

Laura Stacey

Hilary Knight

big reputation, big reputation. you and me, we got big reputations.

the san jose media loved putting the two of you on the same billboard.

the youngest captains in hockey—macklin celebrini for the sharks, and you for the city's brand new pwhl franchise. to the public, you were the icy, professional faces of a new era. the press painted it as a fierce, hyper-competitive rivalry, analyzing every sharp look or dry comment you exchanged during joint press conferences. they thought you hated each other. they thought the tension between you was purely athletic animosity. they had no idea it was actually because you couldn’t look at him without losing your mind.

it was nearly 1:00 am. hours ago, your team had played their historic, inaugural home game at sap center. you’d played a brutal, high-stakes twenty-five minutes, scored the game-winner, and spent the entire night riding an unbearable adrenaline high. now, the arena was completely empty. the lights were dialed down to a dim, moody twilight. you were still out on the ice, unlaced skates clicking softly against the boards as you leaned over the railing in the dark, your captain's jersey heavy on your shoulders.

the sharp, echoing crunch of skates breaking into the ice made you freeze.

you didn't have to look up to know who it was. macklin skated out from the darkness of the tunnel, stripped down to just his track pants and a tight gray training shirt that clung to his chest. he wasn't smiling. he never smiled when it was just the two of you in the dark. that quiet, hyper-focused intensity he used to destroy opponents on the ice was turned entirely on you.

he glided over, stopping just inches from where you leaned on the boards. the raw scent of ice, sweat, and his expensive cologne hit you instantly, sending a frustrating spike of heat straight through your veins. "you played dirty tonight," macklin said. his voice was low, rough, and completely devoid of the polite captain persona he gave the reporters.

"i played to win, celebrini," you countered, your voice dropping, matching his tone. you didn't back away. you leaned closer over the wood, your eyes dropping to the faint pulse ticking in his jaw. "unless you think you could have handled that defense better?"

macklin let out a dark, breathless sound that was half-scoff, half-growl. he stepped off the ice, his heavy frame crowding you against the boards until there was barely any air left between your chests. "i was watching from the tunnel," he murmured, his dark eyes snapping down to your lips before locking back onto yours with a terrifying amount of gravity. "when that winger pinned you against the glass in the second... you didn't push her off fast enough."

"is that a critique, cap?" you taunted, your heart hammering a frantic, heavy rhythm against your ribs. the tension between you was suffocating, thick with hours of pent-up adrenaline and weeks of having to pretend you were strangers in front of flashbulbs. "or are you just mad that someone else got that close to me?"

macklin didn't answer with words.

with a sudden, fluid movement, his large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around the front of your jersey—right over the stitched 'C' on your chest. he yanked you forward, pulling you flush against his solid frame. your hands instinctively went to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt just to keep your balance.

"i'm furious," he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. he leaned down, his face so close your eyelashes brushed. "i spent three hours having to sit in a press box pretending i don't know exactly how you taste. having to watch a stadium scream your name when you're the only thing i think about."

your breath hitched. you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the heavy, desperate rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms. your fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him down that extra fraction of an inch. you wanted him to kiss you. you needed him to snap the tension that had been building since the first puck drop.

"then do something about it," you dared him, your voice a breathless, desperate whisper against his mouth. "no cameras, mack. no reporters. just do it."

macklin’s grip on your jersey tightened so hard you heard the fabric strain. his eyes flared with something completely unhinged—pure, unadulterated desire mixed with the stubborn control he always tried to maintain. his free hand came up, his thumb sliding roughly along your jawline, tilting your face up.

he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a agonizingly slow, ghost of a kiss that made you let out a weak, frustrated whimper.

"you think it's that easy?" he murmured against your mouth, his grip shifting from your jersey to your waist, his fingers digging into your hip through the heavy hockey padding. his dark eyes were wild, staring into yours, torturing both of you with the proximity. "you want to play the rival captain on camera, you have to deal with me when the lights go out."

he pulled you even closer, his mouth hovering barely a millimeter away from yours, teasing you until you were practically begging, your eyes closing as you tilted your chin to finally force the kiss—the heavy, sudden clunk of the arena's main exit doors echoing from the upper concourse shattered the silence. heavy footsteps started to walk down the concrete stairs. a security guard's flashlight flickered against the distant nosebleed seats.

macklin froze.

his fingers slowly uncoiled from your waist, his hand dropping away from your jaw as he took a agonizing step backward into the shadows of the bench. the sudden absence of his heat made the cold arena air feel like ice water against your skin. you opened your eyes, breathless, frustrated, and completely burning up, staring at him through the dim light. macklin stood just out of reach, his chest heaving, his eyes still fixed on you with a dark, unfulfilled promise. he reached down, grabbing his stick from the bench, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle leaped.

"security, you wouldn't want to ruin your perfect image, right cap?" he whispered, his voice rough and completely wrecked. he didn't kiss you. he didn't touch you again. he just gave you one last, lingering look that promised absolute ruin before he turned and disappeared down the dark hallway toward the locker rooms, leaving you alone on the ice, completely breathless and entirely unsatisfied.