hermitcraft oneshots :]

[The Kiss Cam]

oooo spooky title

I found this in my drafts just now and thought I would post it! it's a bit shorter than some of my other oneshots, but it's a pretty good length

this was originally inspired by a clip I saw of a guy and a girl (I don't think they knew each other) getting the kiss cam put on them in and they just kind of awkwardly laughed for a second and then the guy turned to another guy beside him (his boyfriend I think) and they kissed instead and it was amazing lmao

buuuut this is a hockey one shot, not a football oneshot (I don't know shit about American football)

WC: 1.9k

Iskall has deducted, from a careful forty seconds of observations, that NHL hockey games are more chaotic than any game they've ever seen in their life.

The game hasn't even started, they think nervously, eyeing a guy a few seats away from them who is cheering and whooping as if something is happening. Hundreds of people fill the seats, excitement snapping in the air at the anticipation of the game ahead. "Islanders versus Bruins!" Ren had exclaimed excitedly weeks ago, brandishing his brand new tickets at Iskall. "It's gonna be awesome! You in?" And Iskall, being the lovesick puppy they are, of course said yes. Curse Ren and his stupid, sort of "date" and his handsome, sexy face. Said hermit is bouncing excitedly in the seat next to Iskall, his tail thumping against the seat as he exclaims, "It's starting soon!" Iskall cracks a smile, Ren's adorable excitement almost making coming to the game worth it for them. "How many of these have you been to?" Iskall asks, and Ren shrugs. "A few. I came to some with my dad before I moved in with the hermits. A born and bred Boston fan." He flexes with a grin, and Iskall blushes and looks away in a hurry. "Should I cheer for New York then, just to spite you?" they ask cheekily, and Ren immediately punches Iskall in the shoulder. They bark one of their signature laughs as Ren starts to yell in protest, even hitting Iskall on the head with his Bruins flag. "Hey!" Iskall yelps, laughing as they shove the flag off their head. "I will take off this jersey you forced me into," they threaten, brandishing Ren's David Pastrňák jersey that Ren had made them wear. "Don't you dare. You're supporting the team!" Ren laughs, giving his flag a little wave. "The right team."

Suddenly, the lights dim down, and spotlights begin to race down the ice as an announcer says, "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to game two of the regular season here at TD Garden, where the Boston Bruins will face the New York Islanders!" The announcer is met with a roar of cheers from the crowd as the players begin to skate out onto the ice, horns blaring from the jumbotron. Ren lets out a whoop from beside Iskall, pumping a fist in the air. "Look, it's Pastrňák!" he exclaims, his eyes shining with such unfiltered admiration and joy that Iskall can't help but smile. From their seats a few rows up from the home bench, they could see everything perfectly as the players went through their warmups. "One of his goals was at the first game I ever saw live," Ren continues, his eyes still on Pastrňák. "It was crazy; top shelf, game-winning goal. Even though I'm shit at playing hockey myself, I always tried to follow after him when I was younger." Iskall nudges him and says, "Maybe I'll see my first NHL goal from him." Ren grins back, and replies, "I really hope so."

As Iskall watches the Bruins warm up, they remember the first time they played a game of hockey. It was on a frozen pond behind their house, against their dad. They were shit with the puck back then, and fell all the time, but to their ten-year-old brain it felt like playing professionally when they scored a goal. They remember taking a victory lap around the ice, and then promptly falling straight on their ass. They watch as one of the Bruins takes a shot on net and slides it into the corner, wondering if they ever could have been in this league if they really tried.

The announcer then declares to, "Please rise, as you are able, for our national anthem." A rustling noise goes around the arena as the entire crowd stands up, watching as a lady walks out on the ice, flanked by the players standing respectfully with their helmets on the ice, and begins to sing. It's pretty, Iskall thinks, the crystal clear sound of her voice backed by the murmur of the crowd singing along. Iskall doesn't know the anthem well, even after four months in America, so they just stand silently as the anthem plays.