#mashkov

[freebooter4ever]

slam your boyfriend the opposing player into the boards during his celly

#patater #doodles #kent parson #alexei mashkov #omgcp

[psikonauti]

Ilya Mashkov (Russian,1981-1944)

Self-portrait and portrait of Pyotr Konchalovsky, 1910

Oil on canvas

#Ilya Mashkov #Ilya Ivanovich Mashkov #upl #art #painting #men #Pyotr Konchalovsky

[aume]

From the New Yorker no less. My hockey ships feel seen! 😂❤️🏒

#matty tkachuk #leon draisaitl #travis konecny #nolan patrick #sid crosby #any person lucky enough #luc chantal #Oliver Jackson #kent parson #Alexi Mashkov #hockey husbands #hockey

[huariqueje]

Still life with pineapples - Ilya Ivanovich Mashkov , 1938.

Russian, 1981-1944

Oil on canvas

#Ilya Ivanovich Mashkov #russian artist #still life #fruit

[gothlesbianlardo]

thinking about ransom’s massive crush on tater

#ranskov #justin oluransi #alexei mashkov #adam birkholtz #jack zimmermann #check please #omgcp #omgcheckplease

[sovietpaintings]

Советские Хлебы | Soviet Breads;

Ilya Mashkov, 1936.

#ilya mashkov #soviet art

[collectionstilllife]

Ilya Mashkov (Russian, 1881-1944) • Pumpkins on the embroidered tablecloth • 1939

#ilya mashkov #still life #art #painting #fine art #art of the still life blog #russian artist #russian painter #20th century art #autumn #fall

[zimbits-my-love]

Congratulations on the followers! Could you please draw Tater and blueberries or a blueberry product ?

Thanks!! This man really needs his blueberries 🫐

(my inbox is still open for anyone who hasn’t requested yet, so ask away for my 200 follower celebration!)

#This was very fun to make!!! #I really love the jam jar and the pie :) #200 follower celebration #omgcp #omgcp fanart #omgcheckplease #alexei mashkov #tater #lol why’d i make his hands so big…

[montrealmadison]

Tater 27 please ?

i have never written tater before - ever! - so this was incredibly fun! thank you so much for the prompt and for helping me stretch my writing muscles a little bit ❤️ the only things i know about patater are inspired by a frankly shocking quantity of sidgeno rpf so make of that what you will

27. tater + i’m so tired by lauv & Troye Sivan for @shygryf

Strangers, killing my lonely nights with strangers And when they leave, I go back to our song, I hold on Hurts like heaven, lost in the sound Buzzcut season like you're still around Can't unmiss you, but I need you now

Tater’s letting some girl he doesn’t know shoot tequila out of his belly button when he gets the text.

Kent Parson: you awake? Kent Parson: sorry know it’s late

It is late, three or so, and the club’s fun but the idea of not being here is just as good. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t care; he props his elbow on the table for better leverage and sends back, yes, and then ok?

Kent Parson: no Kent Parson: popped my achilles Kent Parson: we're out

Shit. That means the end of their playoff run, which in turn means about five hundred other things. He doesn’t even have the chance to formulate a response before Kent adds, will you come?

A cold thing settles in Tater’s chest, a weighty purpose that he doesn’t stop to examine. Maybe it's the shots making this seem like a good idea; of course he will, and that’s the end of it. There’s something about clambering up off the table, tequila soaking down into his open fly, and shouldering his way to the exit without a word that makes him feel about a thousand feet tall.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

Kent lives in a nice building. Not nice enough for the security guy downstairs to make any real effort to stop Tater from getting in, but then, Tater is six foot seven and built like the desks that lesser men hide behind. He hits the button for the elevator and zips upward, chewing on his lip, watching the numbers tick higher.

This is stupid. This is an absurd way to spend a thousand dollars and God knows how many days, catching a frantic red-eye to Vegas like he’s going to be able to do anything the Aces’ trainers haven’t already tried. It’s more absurd that he stands in the hallway with his fist poised to knock on Kent’s front door for at least five minutes, wondering if he should have brought food. Does the kid even eat? He’s awfully tiny.

He finally gets over himself and knocks. There’s a voice from inside at once: “Open.”

Tater does.

The apartment is nice, modern. It’s also a complete fucking mess. There are ostentatiously dirty shoes scattered all over the entryway, possibly-related scuff marks up the bare white walls. Tater has to do this dainty hop through a minefield of Yeezys just to make it to solid ground, and is very glad that no one can see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Parson?”

“In the living room.”

Tater drops his bag in the kitchen and heads for the voice. The close little hallway seems much more inviting than it did in the dark last time he was here, and the living room is spacious and airy without a couple hundred bodies packing it. There’s a big TV on one wall, running something trashy. In the middle of the room is that ugly couch, brown suede and covered with cat hair, and in the middle of the couch is Kent.

Relief spreads through Tater at once, numbing the tingle in his hands. Okay, so maybe he spent the whole five-hour trip picturing the worst-case scenario. Guys in their line of work are not, as a rule, great at handling their injuries, especially later in the season; Tater only has to look at Jack for proof of that one. But Kent’s eyes are clear, if tired and a little wet-looking, and he’s sprawled out comfortably with his hand in Kit’s fur and his wrapped ankle carefully supported by a pile of throw pillows. He’s wearing ratty old sweats, white socks gone gray on the bottoms, a couple days’ worth of scruff that marks his sorry excuse for a playoff beard. 

“Shit, man,” he says, seeing Tater in the doorway. “You came.”

“You call.” 

It’s not quite that simple, but somehow, faced with the fact of Kent’s obvious, boneless relief at having him here, it feels like the right sentiment.

“I did,” Kent says. He sounds croaky, exhausted. The deep shadows under his eyes make them look more green. Tater wonders if he’s slept, or how much. “Thanks.”

He has this weird impulse to poke the bear, which maybe isn’t fair to Kent, but it’s all he knows how to do. 

“You miss me?” he asks, slouching further into the room. Kit lifts her head imperiously to watch him settle a polite distance away on the couch. “That why you ask me, not teammate?”

This is the dynamic they built at the bar, in the darkness of Kent’s bedroom: push and pull, catch and release. Things are still too new, too fragile between them; they’ve never implied a sense of belonging to each other, or at least not the kind that prompts something like this. 

As it stands, Kent doesn’t play along with the teasing, and that’s what finally gives Tater a sense of how shitty he feels. 

“Let ‘em grieve, right?” he says listlessly, tipping his head into the back of the couch. “Shit game. Didn’t wanna bother them.”

You were okay with bothering me, Tater thinks but does not say. A guy you’ve hooked up with twice who lives across the country. What the fuck does that mean?

He knows what he wants, what he wants it to mean. It’s part of what caught his eye in the first place: this kid is so, so young to be a captain, to bear this weight. The Aces are out of the playoffs not because they played their hardest, but thanks to a non-call and an injury that’ll have Kent in PT all summer. Now he’s curled up on the couch in his disaster of an apartment with only the cat for company, his teammates pushed away or otherwise nowhere to be found. It’s incongruous with the spitfire who finds a reason to drop gloves every time they share the ice, who likes to have his wrists pinned down and kisses with too much teeth and, holy hell, called Tater in Providence when he got hurt.

“Bother me anytime,” Tater says before he can bite down on it. He scoots a little closer, clasping his hands briefly between his knees. “Poor Parson. Need friend when teammates being sad.”

Kent’s laugh turns into a cough and Kit scrambles off his chest, affronted. 

“Is that what you are?” he asks. “My friend?”

“Maybe,” Tater hums, pretending to consider. “Well. Maybe not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kent echoes. He sounds puzzled. “Okay?”

“We not really know each other,” Tater says. Maybe it’s mean, the way this is lighting him on fire. Kent likes to bottom, but never to lose control; even in bed he runs his mouth like everything that comes out of it is gospel truth. Opportunities to catch him on the back foot are few and far between, and—well. Tater likes to take care of his people, likes to show them love, and above all likes a challenge.

“We don’t—”

Tater decides to take pity on him. “Sex not knowing, Parson. Think maybe you think that way.”

Okay, yeah, this is definitely mean. Kent’s breath is coming faster, and the line of his jaw is set and trembling. But Tater wants to push him a little bit, get his money’s worth for the flight, the worry; Kent can pay him back in kind, and will. Tater just has to help him get there.

“So what if I do?” Kent asks. His laugh is tiny. “Man, I’m confused. Not like we’ve had much more time to figure each other out.”

And yet you asked me here, Tater thinks, and decides to play his trump card.

“It’s summer. You not play, I’m not play.” Tater spreads his hands wide, goes for broke and scoots in close to curl a hand slow and sinuous around Kent’s good ankle. “Need rest, someone to take care. Seem like good time to me.”

Kent’s breath catches in his throat. He smells sweaty and kinda gross, but his smile is soft, a fragile thing, and Tater knows he’s gotten it right. 

“Captive audience,” Kent says, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Tater agrees, and leans in to meet his mouth.

#kent parson #alexei mashkov #patater #omgcp #omgcheckplease #my writing #efickegster 2024

[luminarai]

tater finds out that slav squatting and asian squatting is the same thing, and approximately 0.3 seconds later this image hits the extended smh group chat

lardo: 😎😎 chowder: oh wow matching tracksuits!! nursey: yooo chowder can we recreate this dex: absolutely NOT holster: lol are you guys hanging out at our place? rans is only kinda freaking out shitty: ayy jack I had no idea you guys were in town! jack: We’re not? We have a game in Vancouver in two hours jack: Tater jack: Tater pick up your phone tater: )))))))

ref // prints, stickers etc

#my art #omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #alexei mashkov #tater #lardo #larissa duan #tater is the president of the Larissa Duran Fan Club #(kent parson is the vp and it’s the only thing tater admits to agreeing with him on) #100 percent holster still uses lol #I know it in my soul #q

[arcadebroke]

#_mashkow_ #Alexey Mashkov #MF DOOM #tattoo artist #art #design #tattoos #graffiti #msuic #hiphop

[freebooter4ever]

ransom has this blown up poster sized on the haus attic wall

#alexei mashkov #doodles #omgcp

[mexican-roxas]

Check Please slander

#part one I hope #omgcheckplease #omg check please #omgcp #check please! #jeff troy #alexei mashkov #justin oluransi #eric bittle #aunt judy #samwell men's hockey #GENUINELY SCARED OF RUBBING SOMEONE THE WRONG WAY WITH THIS POST

[skeletonzimms]

tater thinks he’s a twink in the same way that huge dogs like great danes and saint bernards think that they’re lap dogs

#he is blissfully unaware ♥️ #alexei mashkov

[zimmerdouche]

#using my newfound power of polls to tear us apart #omgcp #omg check please #check please #jack zimmermann #shitty knight #alexei mashkov #inserting my personal hc that shits gets ordained to marry jack and bitty and he can be in the middle #and then tater is his best man #but WHO #is bitty’s best man?

[slapshotsandscones]

I've always headcannoned Jack as autistic, but like, diagnosed later in life??

Because I can just imagine him getting diagnosed in his twenties in the off season and having some Big Feelings and Realizations. Like, realizing how he'd partially used alcohol to put a damper on overstimulation at parties when he was younger, and understanding why he had always had so much trouble figuring our how to interact with people (and therefore why he'd had so few friends growing up), so on and so forth.

And he'd tell a few trusted people, probably Bitty and Lardo and Shitty and Tater, because he understands himself better now, and he wants the people he loves to understand him better too. And they all start reading up on autism and accommodations, and Bitty talks to Jack about having ADHD and they grow even closer through their shared experiences with neurodivergency. In the end, though, it's Tater who goes above and beyond.

He's very careful not to out Jack to the team before Jack's ready, but Tater devises a plan. He convinced Georgia that the Falconers should do some outreach with a local Autistic Children Support Group, raising money and inviting the kids to practice. And then he not so subtly suggests to the rest of the team that they should get educated on Autism as well.

And the thing about accommodations is that they benefit everyone, so while the Falconers are researching they find accommodations to implement at the rink, to both help any potential autistic people on the staff or team, but also because they just generally sound nice. So they get permission from management, and they add light dimmers in the locker rooms so its not glaringly bright. They designate an unused office as a quiet room, filling it with pillows, blankets, and sensory toys to help with anxiety before games and cool down afterwards. Thirdy reads about info-dumping, and he thinks the idea of sharing information you love is super cool, so he sets up some optional team bonding power-point nights (some for serious power-points, some for silly ones).

And Jack comes back for training and hears Snowy talking about how they need to make sure that the merch they give the autistic kids in the upcoming event is sensory-sensitivity friendly. And he sees all the accommodations that have been built into the rink over the summer. And he feels so goddamn seen, even if the Falconers don't know that he's autistic as well. (He tells most of them pretty quickly after that. He knows he doesn't half to, but seeing how accepting they are makes him feel safe enough.)

Idk, just. Radically inclusive Falconers crushing hockey stereotypes one at a time. That is all :D

#jack zimmermann #autistic jack zimmerman #tater #alexei mashkov #autistic author #actually autistic #omgcp #lancerambles