oh mama, don't you cry

USA hockey is do or die. willy rafters | 19 property of the boston bruins big brother

[willyrafters-blog]

ryanrafters:

     “ fuck off – ” he’s laughing too though, stumbling after his brother to a deliver a shove in quick retaliation at willy’s back. ( mothers do not look so pleased, callous looks sent his way that dull the corners of his smile ; lips curving into a more apologetic shape ). it’s not far to the baggage claim, and he waits somewhat impatiently for willy’s bags to make their appearance on the conveyor, rather beat and each marked with a trio of red, white, and blue bandannas. the first he pulls off has a bit more duct tape on the seams then he remembers ( new luggage, he mentally notes, or get it reinforced ). “ the fuck you have in here? ” ryan says, hauling the bag back to where willy’s waiting and dropping it down with a thud. “ did ya kill your roommate and stash his body parts or somethin’? ”

     the bandannas are looking a little tattered as they hang from battered suitcases but willy couldn't dream of replacing them, remainders and reminders from the ndtp and times he's skated with the american flag draped on his shoulders ( not for the last time --he vows-- it'll happen again ). he's shooting off a few texts to friends already back at their respective homes ( wisely ignores the text from mike who wants him to send a pic of ryan's ass ) and on to scrolling through twitter when ryan returns to drop one of his bags off with a tremendous thud. willy gives a rather incredulous look. " pfft no --who do you think i am? i murdered him and buried him behind the rink. framed the zamboni driver and everything. " he laughs, crosses his arms in a perfect image of insolence. " maybe you're just getting weak in your old age, old man. d'jya think of that? "

[willyrafters-blog]

ryanrafters:

     it should be weird –he’s twenty one and old enough to buy his own alcohol now, and yet he’s letting this nineteen year old brother crawl into his bed. but it’s not, and he’s really too tired to contemplate what that means. willy’s always been a little clingy ( ryan attributes it to an absent mother ; and perhaps a brother’s over-protectiveness ), always been too prone to disruptive sleep patterns even when he was still learning to walk on his own. dad had long given up being worried when willy’s bed was empty at night, knowing he’d somehow find him clinging to ryan’s back like some extra warm kola bear. ( he’d long given up the thinly veiled lectures over breakfast about boundaries too ).

      he supposes he’ll have to figure this out if he ever brings a girl home. if he ever brings a girl home.

      willy crawls over him in movements time worn and careful, as unobtrusive as they can be. course it’s all for nothing when there’s fingers poking at his ribs and a voice carrying over the hum of the fan he keeps in his bedroom. “ fuck off –i’m trying to sleep. ” he groans, eyes still stubbornly shut. it doesn’t last long, however, barely space for a breath passing before he’s rolling onto his back ( an elbow not so accidentally getting willy in the chest as he fights for an extra few inches of space ), gaze directed at the ceiling and then the dark shape of willy’s face. “ —fine, what? ”

     an indignant noise escapes his throat as he's elbowed in the chest and flattened against the wall. he says nothing though, only waits in dark silence, because he knows ryan won't go back to sleep before he hears what willy has to say --he's right of course, and a few seconds later willy can feel the mattress moving again as ryan tilts his head to face him, comically exasperated words spilling into the darkness. there are plenty of moments that willy appreciates ( the way ryan had silently hands over gatorade and painkillers the morning after, the way he smiles --proud, warm-- arms wrapped securely around him when they will, the way he comforts when they lose ) but this, darkened conversations that fall to words and a sensed sort of feeling hold some other sort of sanctity that leaves willy nostalgic for them off in michigan. skype is never the same.

     ryan's still annoyed though, willy can tell it in the pitch of his breath sharp out through his nose, and he takes a moment to try to gather the tangle of thoughts withering in his head. " would you move to boston? " he blurts out and then promptly clamps his mouth shut, because that's not really what he meant to lead off with at all. fingers fidget across sheets, one hand musing at hair before falling to tangle with the bedding again. " i --i mean-- " willy tries his best to backtrack a little, stumbling over the recent failed orderliness of thought. " like --you know-- what do you think it's like there? "

[willyrafters-blog]

TWEETS FROM WILLY RAFTERS               ↳ pens v caps & oilers v ducks game 7

[willyrafters-blog]

     willy may be the more serious rafters brother, but ryan’s the more responsible one --willy’s still more the type to try to drink his ice coffee, reply to a text message, and walk on the thin raised edge of the curb all at the same time like he is now. it’s a clear recipe for disaster, but he’s managed it all the times before, but you know what they say: it only takes once. coffee goes one way and his phone the other when he trips, a startled semblance of “ fuck. ” falling from lips as he catches himself with palms and knees scraping against the pavement. “ ah - fuck. ” willy goes to push himself to stand, realizes his bleeding palms and the crimson trickling from a bad scrape on his left leg. “ ugh - you gotta be fucking kidding me. ”

@junegreyy ( starter call! )

[willyrafters-blog]

sorrrry for my absence. i was getting my portfolio together this morning and then i....had to pack all my shit which took HOURS (and im still not done but whatever). gunna get to my starters now!

[willyrafters-blog]

alllriGHTY FAM. i’m gunna try this: like for a starter?????

[willyrafters-blog]

william rafters + general aesthetics           ↳ ‘ heroes always get remembered, but you know legends never die ’

[willyrafters-blog]

physics final and then i’ll be back back back. 

[willyrafters-blog]

lcxie:

 Wam!  The brunette had bumped into another person , she groaned in pain.  “ Fuck … my bad. “ She mummbled as she put her palm of her hand against her forehead. “ I need to watch where i’m going , huh?” Giggling as she shook her head. “ I didn’t hurt you , did i?” She asked , a concerned tone in her voice. The girl was small and knew she couldn’t hurt them - but wouldn’t hurt to ask.

     the iced coffee gets the worst of the collision, slipping through his fingers to splatter to its tragic demise against the hot pavement. he’s been hit much worse, ten times worse, though and gives a small shake of his head, trying not to look too hung up on the coffee rapidly disappearing in the heat. willy musters a tight smile, adjusts the bill of his hat tipped slightly askew from the jostle. “ nah --takes more than that to knock me off my feet. ”

[willyrafters-blog]

davidxcavanaugh:

“Yeah, just a a small coffee.. Thank you.” David flashed a small smile, stepping aside so the person behind him could order.

     willy shuffles forward with the line, pausing the game he’d been completely immersed in and pocketing his phone as he realizes it’s his turn to order. “ large ice coffee and --uh-- ” he does a quick survey of his options, “ --an egg and cheese on an everything bagel. no sausage. thanks. ” the ten dollar bill he hands over to pay is pretty crumpled and maybe the slightest bit damp and lips quirk in an apologetic smile as he takes his change and shuffles over to wait for his food. only then does gaze fall on that other, brows drawing into a slightly quizzical expression. he looks familiar, maybe --though he doesn’t exactly look like the type who plays hockey either, though. willy fishes his phone from his pocket again, flipping the device over in his hand as he contemplates if he could maybe snap a picture and get ryan’s insight on this.

[willyrafters-blog]

i still have two pages of my research paper to write but i have to say the edMONTON OILERS JUST SAVED MY FUCKIGN LIFE

[lostinawatercup]

For you there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do.

Hey Brother - Avicii (via lostinawatercup)

[willyrafters-blog]

honeybeed:

             yep, she’ll never get it. rosie likes to think she’s a nice person - she treats everyone the same, really, bright smiles & kind disposition. and people respond to it ! they like her. she’s… not used to being disliked, really. which is why willy throws her off so bad. rosie can’t remember a time she was short with him, or the slightest bit sassy - so she’s almost a little irritated he seems so put off by her. but she gives him a warm smile anyway, green eyes crinkling with the expression. ‘ hey, willy, ’ she greets. ‘ uhm - i’m good, thanks. ’ despite the fact he didn’t finish the question once he saw it was her. ‘ uh - i dunno. i’ve never been in here before. what’s your favorite ?? ’

     willy's long given up trying to figure out what exactly about rosie rubs him the wrong way --she's not the type of person people love to hate, and it's not like she's ever done anything to personally wrong him. ( which honestly, is a lot more than he can say for the guys he calls friends ). she's always like fucking sunshine when willy brings the stormy clouds. it's annoying really because he'd LIKE to not be so irked about her, but what he'd like his brain to do doesn't change the fact he rather serve an entire baseball team right now. still, willy's a professional and he doesn't go through all that media training for absolutely nothing ; plus he doesn't think ryan would be exactly happy if he kicked his coworker out of the parlor. " the mint's one of our most popular, " he says a bit flatly. " --good in hot weather or whatever. i'm more a fan of the chocolate peanut butter though. "

[willyrafters-blog]

     i’ve got a ten page research paper, a final i need to get a 91+ on tuesday, and a portfolio due wednesday so a heads up that you guys probs won’t be seeing much of me until then. peace out, my dudes.

[willyrafters-blog]

ryanrafters:

     ryan isn’t exactly a light sleeper –it’s not really beneficial to be so in an apartment complex with thin walls. yet still, he finds himself pulled from dreams at the sound of the tap in the kitchen, eyes still closed but senses acutely alert. it’s always been like this, he supposes, some sort of inherent sense kept tuned to willy whenever he stayed. so ryan lies there on the cusp of sleep and waits for the slow creaking footsteps. sure enough a minute later they’re there, a strange sort of constant that he’s long grown accustomed to. he’s used to this : willy’s insomnia and the way it seems to be eased when he’s curled up against his chest.

     he gives a small huff of tired annoyance at the gentle prodding voice ( more for show than anything ). “ wills— “ he doesn’t open his eyes , rolling to one side to make more room. “ –you don’t have t’ ask. ” ( how many times has this happened? ryan has long stopped counting ).

     ryan's right --this is more a habit than anything ;  something that’s long exceeded the need for whispered permission. soft steps can retrace themselves all the way back to chicago, back to before they were set on different paths. he'd tried to grow out of it ( their father's cautious conversations about space and boundaries fresh in his ears ). it’d been especially enlightening when ryan had gone to michigan for that first year in the ntdp and willy was stuck in chicago. he'd managed well enough ; no dark circles or too many sleepless nights, but that year hadn't exactly changed the fact that when ryan came home old habits had come tip toeing back, didn't change the fact that even now they both know that twilight hours bring creaking floorboards.

     ( it's just sleeping ; it's not wrong. he feels safer, and what the fuck is wrong with that? )

     willy hums in response, an apologetic noise as he crawls over ryan in a movement familiar with time. it's easy to slip over his form and slide into the place between ryan and the wall. his smile meets the dark as he wiggles his way under the sheet, careful not to kick ryan's legs in the process. pause. silence. he jabs his fingers between ryan's ribs, not on accident. " pssst--- ryan. "

[willyrafters-blog]

     he’s grateful for the air conditioning that even ryan’s low grade apartment has –perhaps it’s not cranked as high as it could be, but willy’s more than aware of things like financial constraints ( can hardly begrudge the low turned ac ). but the heat isn’t really the reason he can’t sleep, nor is it the fact that he’s sprawled out on a couch instead of some bed. ryan had tried ( as he always did ) to give up his bed, willy had remained stubborn ( as he too always did ). he pushes the blanket from his legs, moving to stand and make his way through the darkened apartment to the kitchen. the tap sounds loud when he fills a glass with water, liquid cold against his lips as he surveys edges turned unfamiliar in the gray twilight. he has no desire to return to the couch.

     he doesn’t know when he finds himself padding to ryan’s bedroom, but maybe it’s with habit older than skating that has him seeking the door left open to help with air flow. the floorboards creak under his feet all the same despite his light steps ; one, two, three and knees just brush the bedspread. “ ---ryan. ”

@ryanrafters

[willyrafters-blog]

    willy is way too overqualified to be scooping ice cream, but he likes the job --it’s quaint in a way that keeps him humble, has seriously flexible hours, and doesn’t mind that he has to take fulls months off at a time. plus he gets free ice cream so why the fuck would he give it up? he tugs at the brim of his hat as he turns, standardized greeting falling from lips automatically. “ hi, how’re y-- ” he begins. oh. rosie. he frowns without meaning to. “ what can i get you? ”

@honeybeed