would you be up to writing the cubs at the olympics? i would love to leo and finn teasing logan about having to send him off to war (the evil canadian team)
Yikes, it's been a while! I've been so busy with school and life that I haven't had the time nor the energy to sit down and write. BUT, I figured, in the spirit of the Olympics, I would try and answer this prompt!
Side note, I do know that in the actual Olympics, men's hockey happens after women's, but let's pretend I can bend the rules. I hope you enjoy!
Character credits to @lumosinlove !!
“Uh oh, Le.” Leo felt an elbow nudge his ribs. “Look who it is, our sneaky little rival.”
Leo smiled and looked up from his book. Logan was standing there with his hands on his hips and playfully raised eyebrows. “Va te faire.”
“Ah-ah, watch your mouth.” Finn tucked Leo closer under his arm on the couch they were sitting in in the lounge of their hotel. “You’re talking to future gold medalists here.”
“Non, you are.”
Logan looked around briefly, scanning for other people before coming to nudge Leo’s book out of the way and straddle his lap. They had all contemplated joining some of the other hockey guys to watch the figure skating competition after their respective practices, but had instead opted to spend an afternoon and an evening together before they were pitted on opposite sides of the rink the following day. The hotel lounge wasn’t luxurious, but nobody was around, and Leo was just happy they were all together. He ran his hands up Logan’s trim waist underneath his sweatshirt to feel the warmth of his skin.
“Ah.” Logan flinched. “Your hands are cold, chéri.”
“Désolé.”
“Non, non, ici.” Logan reached around for Leo’s hands and cupped them to his lips to kiss them. “Br.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Finn said, pressing his lips to Leo’s hair and resting their temple together. “We just got out of practicing on an ice rink baby, of course your hands are cold.”
“Outside is cold, too.” Leo pouted to Finn. “Everywhere is cold.”
“Oh, our poor baby.” Finn wrapped him up more firmly, squishing Leo so his face was pressed to his bicep. Leo felt Finn’s muscles flex against his cheek and smiled. “Poor, chilly baby.”
“Mm.” Leo gave into temptation and pressed his teeth into Finn’s strong arm.
“Ow.”
Leo rolled his eyes and pulled back. “That doesn’t hurt.”
Finn tsked. “The two of you are always so bitey.”
Logan snorted softly against Leo’s thumbs, then brought their hands down in between them. He leaned over to bite Finn’s shoulder. “Stop being so biteable, then, d’accord?”
Finn let Logan have his fun for a moment, then turned his head quickly to chomp on his neck.
“Rouge.”
Finn and Leo were both laughing when Logan pulled back and clucked his tongue scoldingly.
“Stop that.”
“You started it!” Finn replied incredulously.
They bickered for a few more moments. Leo just sat there, eyes flicking amusedly between them, before he noticed the flash of the TV mounted on the ceiling in front of them. “Boys, hey. Skating’s on in a sec.”
Logan looked behind him at the TV. “Ah, ouais.” He shifted, swinging a leg over Leo’s hips and nudging his knee between Leo and Finn’s thighs. “Allez, move.”
“Excuse you,” Finn scolded. “We were comfortable.”
“Move, allez, Fish.”
“Oh my God,” Finn groaned, but he and Leo dutifully shifted apart slightly to allow Logan to squish between them. “You are so fucking demanding, do you know that?”
“Mm, ouais, and you always give me what I want.” Logan sighed happily, crossing a leg laterally over Finn’s and nuzzling into Leo’s shoulder. “A Quebecois sandwich.”
Finn caught Leo’s eye over Logan’s head and rolled his eyes fondly before leaning over to tuck a nose into Logan’s hair. He kissed his forehead. “Happy, baby? Ready for battle tomorrow?”
“Mm, ouais.” Logan closed his eyes. He made a content noise when Finn wrapped an arm around the both of them and reached to lace his and Leo’s fingers together. “You’re going down.”
“Uh-uh,” Leo murmured, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze. “You are.”
Logan just opened his eyes to look at Leo with a sly smile. “We’ll see about that, soleil.”
***
“Allez, Noelle!” Logan clapped his hands together loudly. “Allez!”
“Jesus,” Finn said from beside Leo. “That was a hell of a top shelf goal.”
“I know.” Leo took a bit of a fry. “Her and Syd with a goal in the final, holy smokes.”
“Iva’s gonna cry if they win.”
“Oh, for sure.”
Logan’s parents were sitting on his other side, and Aubrey, Thomas, and Sydney’s girlfriend, Adelaida, were sitting in front of them. Thomas had stood up to holler, and Leo saw Noelle look up briefly from where she was now on the bench, obviously smiling, and give him a wave.
“Let’s go Christmas!” Thomas sat back down and turned to Finn and Leo. “Damn, the Tremblays are sure making it hard on the US this Olympics, huh?”
“Ouais, we are,” Logan interrupted, flashing his gold medal at them with a cheeky smile. It stood out starkly against his red and white Team Canada Adidas gear. “And we are having fun.”
“I’m sure you are.” Thomas rolled his eyes and turned away. “Whatever. Silver’s more my color anyways.”
Leo barked out a laugh. “No it is not.”
Thomas just shushed him playfully before turning to talk to Aubrey and Adelaida. Leo rested a hand on Finn’s thigh and rubbed soothingly. Finn was busy trying to pick up a fry from the box he was holding with his tongue.
“Honey, why don’t you just pick one up with your fingers?”
Finn looked at Leo like the answer was obvious. “Because then I have to remove a hand from either your leg or Logan’s leg, and I don’t want to.”
Logan furrowed his eyebrows at him. “Quoi? You’re so weird.”
“Okay, then, let me just-”
“Non.” Logan grabbed Finn’s hand that he had taken from his thigh and placed it back. “Non, it stays there.”
“Then that means I have to take my hand off of Le’s thigh!”
“Non, you don’t,” Logan grumbled. He jerked his head to Leo. “Look at him, rouge, he’s so cute, you can’t do that to him.”
“Well, then, you see my dilemma?”
“Fine.” Leo reached into the box with his free hand, dipped a fry in some ketchup, and held it up to Finn’s lips. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, butter baby.” Finn snatched the fry from Leo’s fingers, nipping slightly at the tips of them. “Love you.”
“Love you.” He kissed Finn’s jaw. Leo then grinned at Logan, who was looking at him expectantly. “I love you, too, you sneaky little rival.”
Logan grinned and stood up just enough to lean over and kiss Leo’s forehead and each of his cheeks. “Je t’aime.”
“Uh, what about me?” Finn dipped his head towards Logan. “C’mon, I deserve smooches, too.”
“You do.” Logan kissed over Finn’s cheeks and up to his forehead. “Je t’aime.”
“Love you both.” He narrowed his eyes at Logan. “Even if you and your sisters steal gold medals from us Americans.”
Logan just shrugged, but he was blushing as he sat back down. “Better luck next time, then, rouge. See you in four years.”
Father’s Day in America was on Sunday, so what better way to celebrate than with fanfiction? Much love to all the great dads out there, and to the folks who don’t have great dads, I’m your dad now :) Let’s go camping. We’ll play catch. SW character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3
“Welcome back to Lion Pride!” Dorcas announced with a wave. Behind her, the greenscreen showed a picture of a tall man smiling down at a tiny, curly-haired baby—in the bottom corner, a small caption read ‘Dad and D, 1994’. “This week’s video is dedicated to the very special men in our lives, whose support and frequent trips to Home Depot have earned them the title ‘dad’. To Tyrone Meadowes, happy Father’s Day! And yes, your chickens look healthy and fine. Thank you for the 360 view pictures you sent to make sure.”
#1: Finn O’Hara
“Finn—wait, should I do the accent?” Finn asked around a laugh, looking past the camera. The greenscreen had changed to a red-haired man holding young Alex under his arm and a swaddled baby Finn in the other.
“Yes!” Dorcas called.
“Alright, here we go.” He cleared his throat. “Finn. Starting out strong, didn’t call me ‘Alex’ this time. Good check last night. Tell Knut he had hot hands. Glad to see him and Winter on rotation. I got a new kind of coffee. Text if you want a picture of it.” Finn looked back up to the camera with a shake of his head, dropping the thick Brooklyn accent. “Will do, dad. I’ll make sure to tell my boyfriend that my father thinks he has hot hands.”
#2: James Potter
“Dear James, Happy Father’s Day,” James read. His infant self was barely visible in the depths of his father’s sweater on the screen behind him. “First of many for you—this will be your favorite holiday, I think. I am so very proud to call you my son. Send pictures. Sincerely, Dad. And then, in parentheses: (pictures of the baby, not you. I know what you look like).”
#3: Leo Knut
“My dad is the king of double texts, just so you know,” Leo warned as he took his phone out. His own baby photo showed his father blowing a raspberry kiss on one rosy cheek. “Alright, number one: Thank you for the text. Love you too. Number two, sent one minute later: Hot as balls out, your mother won’t let me work on the porch. Number three: It’s going to rain later, tell her I need to get it done today. Sure, dad, let me go tell my mother what to do. Number four: Nevermind. Number five—”
“Five?” Dorcas laughed behind the camera.
Leo nodded, barely holding down a grin. “It’s—it’s a lot. Number five: Jesus Christ it feels like hurricane weather. Number six: Your mother sends kisses to you and O’Hara. Number seven, sent three minutes after the very first message: And a hug for Tremblay. And finally, number eight: Thank you again for the text, come home soon. Need a hand with the termites, love you lots, don’t forget your shorts are coming in the mail.”
#4: Logan Tremblay
“Stop breaking things. Your sisters don’t do that,” Logan read as he held his phone in one bandage-wrapped hand. In the picture behind him, Marius Tremblay read aloud as baby Logan dozed in the crook of his arm. Logan turned to the camera with a guilty smile. “Oops.”
#5: Thomas Walker
“Great game tonight, looked like lightning out there. Remember your sister’s birthday is next week.” Talker paused to look up, his face almost the twin of his father’s in their picnic photo. “I have never forgotten my sisters’ birthdays, for the record. If you are getting me a gift, no pressure ofc—my sisters have been teaching him text lingo—I would like tickets to the Taylor Swift concert. Can you call her and ask?”
Talker sighed, setting his phone down as laughter erupted behind the camera.
“Lemme just…call Taylor Swift,” he said with a shrug of disbelief. “A casual thing to do on a Thursday. Calling Taylor Swift to request tickets for my dad. Oh my god.”
#6: Remus Lupin
The greenscreen showed a young Lyall Lupin grabbing a grass-stained toddler by the back of the overalls, looking more than a little alarmed. Remus was already laughing a little when he began to read. “Remus, did you take the Bambi VHS tape with you when you moved out? Mom and I can’t find it anywhere. Also looking for The Little Mermaid if you have it. Love, Dad. I haven’t lived at home for almost ten years, by the way, and never owned a VHS player in the first place.”
#7: Olli Halla
“Finnish Father’s Day is in November,” Olli said before turning to his phone. His father’s face was only half visible in their picture as he bounced a round-faced baby on his knee, but a broad smile crinkled the corner of his eye. “It’s American Father’s Day, Olli. Why didn’t you text me? Mama sends kisses. I call you every year on our Father’s Day, isä. Every single year. You don’t even like America.”
#8: Evgeni Kuznetsov
“I call uncle for Father’s Day, he is very good man,” Kuny explained. He was mid-sneeze in the baby photo, held in the arms of a tall, laughing man. “Thank you for call, Evgeni. Is it father’s day in Canada? He still thinks Gryffindor is in Canada, but is okay. Thought counts. Close enough.”
#9: Pascal Dumais
“Pascal, thank you for the—I’m kidding,” he snorted, setting the phone aside. Their picture was grainy, but he was still the spitting image of his father. “My father has a landline. He keeps his flip phone in the glove box of his car for emergencies. Bonjour, papa.”
Hi hi Eve! I hope you’re good! For some reason I can’t get the Lions as kids out of my head lately, I bet they were the cutest ever! So I wanted to ask if you could write something with the Lions firsts at hockey when they were little, maybe Leos first time in the goal or Logans first hat trick, Dumo learning to skate, Finns first goal ever or something along those lines? Please and thank you! ❤️
Fic O'Ween Day 12: Trick or Treat! In the wake of the newest Vaincre chapter (which left me screaming, crying, and shaking in my boots), here's our favorite Frenchie's first hat trick <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!
Skates scraped on the ice as the players found their spots. Logan bent, keeping his stick close and ready when the time came. The boy opposite him was shuffling a little to keep his balance—he favored his right side. Logan made a mental note to move left while the referee skated over.
“On three, oui?” he announced. A small chorus of ‘ouais’ answered, but Logan kept his eyes on the ice between them. His feet were steady. His muscles were starting to get sore from standing still for so long. Maybe that squat competition with Noelle had been a bad idea.
“Go, Lo!” Sydney cheered from the bench. Logan’s neck heated under his pads; didn’t she know how embarrassing that was? He was almost eight. He didn’t need his sisters yelling for him like he was a baby.
“One, two, three!”
The puck made a satisfying clack on Logan’s stick when he snatched it out from underneath his opponent and made a break for the goal. It was easy to swerve around their first line—that kid was tall, but skinny. He yelped when Logan’s shoulder found his rib, too slow to grab at him before Logan was well out of reach.
His shot sailed in perfectly, because of course it did. A wave of cheers went up from his side of the bleachers. Logan smiled.
--
One night, Logan had been up past his bedtime and heard his dad on the phone in his office. He had stopped to listen and heard words like prodigy and talent and prospect, in a couple years. The pieces weren’t hard to connect after that. Whoever was on the other end of the phone liked his skating—there had been similar conversations about Noelle two years ago, and now she had scouts at every single game.
Logan wasn’t a hundred percent sure what a prodigy was, but it had sounded good when he whispered it in the darkness before scampering upstairs.
It sounded even better in his head when he tapped the puck between the bent legs of a smaller boy and snapped it across the ice to Peter, who passed it just before bouncing off one of the other team’s enforcers. Logan pulled it back to himself and looped around the back of the goal for an easy tip-in. His lungs burned with the sparky, wonderful feeling being on the ice always brought, the one that made him want to stay there forever.
“Deux!” Noelle hollered, pounding on the glass while their sisters cheered and their mother shook her head with a smile. “Un autre, LoLo! Un autre!”
Coach patted the back of his helmet when Logan swung back to the bench. “You know what a hat trick is, Tremblay?”
“Ouais,” Logan panted around the spout of his waterbottle.
“Ever gotten one?”
Logan shook his head, pushing his helmet up when it slipped.
Coach raised a brow, then tilted his head toward the glittering, perfect ice. “Wanna try?”
--
It was a little unfair that one more goal was so hard to score. Logan wrinkled his nose when another shot went wide—they had swapped their goalie out, and the new kid was a whole lot better. He met Logan’s glare with one of his own and settled into a crouch. Logan’s scowl deepened.
Marc slipped him a quick, sharp pass right near the crease and Logan went for it, but the puck bounced off the goalie’s left blocker and was gone in half a second. “Merde,” he hissed. One of the other kids gasped and he ignored them; it wasn’t his fault other people didn’t have sisters to teach them fun new words. That sounded like their problem to fix.
There wasn’t much time left. He had seen it happen on TV a million times, three gorgeous goals and then a rain of hats coming down, but he had also seen the disappointment on players’ faces when they got so close but still not there. Logan wanted it. He wanted it bad. And that goalie wasn’t going to give it to him, prodigy or not.
Sirius Black got a hat trick when he was seven, he reminded himself as he hung back, away from the muddle of players tripping over each other in front of the goal. Sydney had warned him against that: don’t play bunchball, LoLo. The puck will go to whoever can catch it when it tries to sneak away.
Their dad liked to keep tabs on all sorts of Quebeçois players for them to watch; Black was a growing favorite, but Logan was pretty sure nobody would ever be better than Dumais. At only 26, he had been skating longer than Logan had been alive, and was already becoming a hockey legend. Logan loved watching him play. It was like seeing a magic show.
But—but maybe it wasn’t fair to compare himself to Black and Dumais. They were older, after all. Dumais was a professional. And Black was better than everybody at everything, always had been, probably always would be. Logan hopped back onto the bench when the whistle blew, out of breath and overheated.
Coach tapped his shoulder with the edge of his clipboard. “You okay?”
“Mhmm.” Something in his chest hurt when he thought about his earlier goals. They had felt easy. Why was this one so hard?
“Need a breather?”
Oui. Logan bit the inside of his cheek. “Non, I can keep going.”
“Have some water, kiddo. I’ll put you in for the last shift.”
He made a face at the floor, but didn’t protest. Arguing with Coach never ended well. If he wanted a chance at that hat trick, he’d have to keep his mouth shut for just few more minutes. Begging for shifts would get him nowhere fast, and sass would make sure he was benched until he left Juniors.
Stupid goalies.
--
24 seconds remained on the clock when Logan was finally allowed to skate again and he hit the ice running, sliding right up against one of their D-men for a good shove to take the puck. They fought for it—Logan was littler than most of the kids his own age, let alone the ten-year-olds on the verge of aging out—and he dug his elbow into the bigger boy’s side. A yell, a flinch, and the puck was Logan’s.
Marc caught his eye and then his pass, carrying it past two more defensemen before Logan shouted for it again. Fifteen seconds. So close. He was beginning to understand what announcers meant by ‘puck-hungry’ players, because he could feel the need in the pit of his stomach.
Ten seconds. Logan reached the blue line and went for it, eyes trained on the sliver of space between the goalie’s glove and the post.
He didn’t make it.
The goalie’s gaze locked on his own once the puck was knocked away and Logan saw him grin, smarmy and mean behind his visor. Some furious noise slipped out and he lunged for the rebound. Mine. The goalie braced. Sirius Black liked sneaky, perfect shots. Pascal Dumais was the master of wraparounds.
Logan reeled his stick back and slammed the puck into the net as hard as he could.
“OH MY GOD!”
He could hardly hear the buzzer blare around the shouts of his teammates and his sister’s shriek still echoing in the rink. He managed to stumble free of the huddle and scrambled toward the bench, launching himself over the side and into his mother’s waiting arms. Distantly, he remembered they were supposed to shake hands with the other team, but Logan was sure he was about to vibrate right out of his skin while his family yelled a million and one perfect things directly into his face.
“—great look—”
“—that’s three!—”
“—proud of you, mon cher—”
“It’s a hat trick!” He grabbed the front of his father’s coat, giving him a clumsy shake. “Papa, that’s a hat trick!”
The whole world went dark in the depths of a thick wool sleeve; Logan let himself be hugged so tight he could hardly breathe, feet dangling off the ground, every muscle worn out. “You did so good,” his father whispered. Logan pushed his face deeper into scratchy fabric and listened to his own heart beat rabbit-fast in his ears. A big hand came up around the back of his head, trembling slightly; he felt a bump on the top of his helmet, like someone’s chin resting on it. “Oh, Lo, we’re so proud of you.”
Logan wanted this feeling forever. The rush and burn, the fight and the sweet, sweet victory. His teeth chattered at the flood. He felt like he could skate forever and ever and ever and never stop again. It was so much and yet he still wanted more.
“I want this,” he said when he could breathe again. His hands were still clenched tight in a coat that smelled like home. His father’s dark eyes were so very bright when Logan looked at him. “I want this, papa.”
A slow smile spread over his face and he heard his mother chuckle. “Oh, god,” his father laughed, squeezing him once more. “Of course you do. Three out of four. Just our luck.”
