#captainewyork

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Ilya has found that he gravitates towards Scott. Sometimes intentionally, other times not. No matter what, though, they always seem to find each other. This time it's on the roof of the hotel, Ilya looking for somewhere to smoke - Scott presumably seeking some air. Not that he can blame him. These hockey galas are boring and everyone has something stupid to say or ask.

Eyes look upwards at the moon, trying to ignore how it makes him feel, knowing that Scott Hunter thinks of him. "Oh?" He exhales smoke, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. Eyes glance over to the Admiral's captain, admiring his profile for a moment. "And what do you think of me when you look at the moon?"

Sending lots of love to @captainewyork / @eiqhtyone / @anauroraborealis and all his other blogs. Roz is an amazing RPer. A talented writer. A lovely person. He puts 100% effort into every muse he touches. And it always shows. There is no detail too small for a headcanon on his blogs, and I love that. I love how down to earth and real his muses feel. While still being exciting and intriguing to interact with. So keep up the good work.

You had to make your own sunshine, but I hope this post gives you some as well.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, he'd known he wasn't going to stay with his team when his free agency came up, but moving to an entirely new country and getting settled was never easy, especially for a lone omega. At least he had the luxury of the summer months off to pack up his life and move. He hoped his new teammates weren’t worse than his old ones, but he didn’t hold out too much hope. He just had to push through and focus on hockey, just like he always did.

Ryder walked into the arena three hours earlier than the team was supposed to arrive for the first practice of the preseason, smoothing down his scent-blocking patches to make sure he didn’t overwhelm anyone with his scent. He didn’t want to be accused of ‘perfuming’ or trying to troll for a Mate or any other number of things that players had said to him over the years. He wandered around, looking for his locker room, but all he saw was the one the home team used and the one for the away team. Ry sighed and decided to go see the GM instead until he heard footsteps behind him and turned quickly, pressing his back to the wall as fear spiked in him. He took several deep breaths, calming himself down, he couldn’t be a scaredy cat, he just hated to be walked up on since his old team had been constantly pulling pranks on him or nipping him with venom.

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Moments like this have become more frequent, stolen in hallways after practice or in between speeches at events. Eric feels like a teenager with a crush, the way his stomach flutters when Scott tilts his chin upwards. Eyes hold his gaze, studying his expression. "You're gorgeous." The words fall out in gentle reverence, Eric's hands resting at his hips, pulling him closer.

Ilya didn't much mind when the bartender brought over another shot of vodka. He grabbed the shot glass and stared down at it for a long moment as he listened to Hunter speak.

"My father was little different," he replied. "Once he realized I was good at hockey, I was pressured to not only be good at it, but the greatest. I represented my family and all of Russia." He snorted bitterly and quickly knocked back a shot. "Every loss I had was followed by a call of how much I disappointed my family. It is all I am good for to them. Hockey and money."

He smiled a bit, looking surprisingly thankful at the other captain's advice. "Yes, but..." He furrowed his eyebrows suddenly. "What is American phrase...? Easier said than done?"

Finally, he added half-jokingly, "Is very weird. We have too much in common, Hunter."

Once they were outside, the first thought that came to Ilya's mind was how much he wanted a cigarette. He'd been doing well not to smoke lately, but there were times like this where the craving was strong. The nicotine had always been helpful to calm the rattling inside of him.

He just snorted bitterly at Hunter's blunt comment. He didn't even have the energy to deny or deflect the observation. He knew that Hunter was right. He felt like hell too.

He leaned against the building before speaking. "It's been hard month for me." His voice was soft, notably vulnerable. Then surprising himself, he admitted, "Is the month that my mom died."