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sidneycrosbyisawitch · 6 years

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keep the fire burning.

“why,” mitch asks, as they’re leaving dubas’ office, “would you say that?”

he has a button up hastily thrown on over his t-shirt in an attempt to look more presentable when they got called up. called up because of auston, and he knows his own contrasting grimy t-shirt and two-day stubble didn’t escape their future gm’s notice.

dubas didn’t come right out and say that it was because of auston’s comments, but the message was clear, either way. you went rogue. you need to shut up. dubas isn’t lou; he smiles more, listens more, but his word is still law. he’ll smile and nod and laugh along with you, but at the end of the day, the smile is just his way of making sure his words pack a full punch.

“we’re going off message,” he’d smiled. “we have a big off season coming up. let’s keep that in mind. go on vacation, spend time with your families. we have enough press, keep things tight.”

his lips were upturned, easy and personable. “what do they say in philadelphia? trust the process?” he’d said it with a laugh, and looked right at auston, because both of them know mitch isn’t the problem. “trust the process, guys.”

fuck you, auston thought.

mitch laughed. because he’s charming and easygoing and, yeah, trusting.

auston knows the media is going nuts right now. some beat reporter said babcock “lost” him, people are calling for jake’s head on a platter, and now they’re demanding a place for mitch on the top line next year. “but i’m not making the lineup decisions” is being dissected six ways from sunday.

“i said it,” auston says, shrugs, “because i meant it. we should play together.”

mitch huffs out a frustrated breath, but still can’t help smiling. he hits the button for the ground level.

“don’t.” mitch shakes his head, stares at the elevator floor lights counting its ascent, but there’s no way he doesn’t feel auston’s eyes on him.

there’s only so many times auston can have this conversation. usually they’ve been drinking, and auston can’t hold it back.

(auston pulls mitch close in the booth, arm around his shoulders. “imagine,” auston says, wet lips on the curve of mitch’s ear, “what we could do if we played together.”

mitch grins, bright eyed and toothy. “we’d be fucking awesome.”

“let’s do it.”

mitch laughs like it’s a joke.)

(”you’re going to be Queen,” auston says, as mitch pours him into the hotel bed.

mitch snorts, yanks auston’s shoes off. “you’re going to be hungover,” he sing-songs, sweet and offkey like a tipsy songbird.

“that goal, mitchy. that’s a chel goal.”

just the soft light from the bathroom filters into the room and illuminates mitch’s wicked little grin, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth as he says, “it was so sick.”

auston spreads his arm across the bed. “stay with me.”

mitch fits perfectly, curled against his side, head resting where auston’s K will be.)

“okay,” auston says, for the thousandth time in this situation.

mitch looks at him. “it’s not that i don’t want to play together. it’s just not worth getting called into the fucking principal’s office every time we,” he shakes his head and corrects himself, “every time you feed the rumor mill.”

“okay,” auston says again.

mitch nudges his shoulder against auston’s, his smile soft and private. “we’ll get to play together, just wait.”

the elevator dings, and auston slides his hand to the small of mitch’s back and rubs the dimple there, just briefly. “yeah, mitchy,” he says. “i know.”

“alright, then shut the fuck up and stop getting me in trouble.”

it’s auston’s turn to grin like he’s joking. “no promises.”

when he gets the call that babcock is coming to arizona to meet with him, he’s on the golf course and not even remotely surprised. the leafs are playing damage control on a couple different fronts, and auston’s sure they’ve already told the media the coach is on his way south.

his mom fusses at him to set the table with the nice dishware and auston doesn’t bother fighting back a grin at how familiar it is. he feels like he’s 15 again. except, this time, his world renowned NHL coach is just casually dropping in for dinner to prove a point to the relentless toronto media.

was auston unhappy about how the boston series played out? absolutely. was he pissed off at babcock? yeah, probably. auston would say he was pissed off, maybe more than the other guys. after months of being politely told he wasn’t going to get to play with mitch, getting injured, then getting injured again, and being held off the ice in the playoffs. yeah… he’d been more than a little pissed. at babcock, at management, at himself.

lost might have been a strong word, but it wasn’t very far off.

babcock arrives in a sensible black SVU rental, wearing a hockey canada t-shirt, and shakes auston’s dad’s hand, kisses his mom on the cheek, and thanks her for dinner multiple times.

“if your future King doesn’t respect your coach, he has to go. he has to go,” was a popular talking point on sportsnet, but auston knows the leafs have no plans of replacing babcock anytime soon. but that doesn’t mean there isn’t leverage in having toronto’s media on your side, and auston keeps that in mind when he grabs two beers after dinner and heads out to the patio with babcock.

arizona summer nights are a little cooler and the sky stretches out dark and uninterrupted. the tile is still a little bit warm under auston’s bare feet when he pops both the caps and hands one to babcock.

“thank you mother for me, again, auston. i appreciate the hospitality and the dinner,” babs says, all tight-lipped canadian politeness, and doesn’t say anything about auston being under the legal american drinking age as he takes a sip.

“it’s really no problem, babs. we’re happy to have you.” auston keeps his face impassive and sips his own beer.

babs sits back, rests the bottle on his knee. “hell of a season you had. hell of a season for the whole team, even if it didn’t end how we’d like.”

auston shrugs. “shit happens. we’ll be better next season.”

babs purses his lips and, after a moment, nods. “big changes coming up. big, good changes, and we want you to be a part of that.”

“why?” auston asks, just to hear him say it. just to hear that the leafs expect him to be crowned King.

“you’re a leader on this team,” babs says, instead, and it’s such a bullshit media answer. auston exhales sharply through his nose and looks over the still dark water of the pool and the whir of the filter.

“i know you weren’t happy with how boston went,” babs continues. “none of us were. i made decisions that i thought were right at the time, but there are a lot of ways to play the game.”

mitch played amazing hockey, auston wants to say, and you wouldn’t let me do jackshit. his shoulder still hurts sometimes, but he would have ripped it out of its socket if given the chance if it meant making it to round two.

“i know,” auston says, instead. even and well-trained. “we have a lot of talent in the lineup. we’ll do better next year.”

babs squints at him. he knows media bullshit when he hears it. “what do you want out of next season, auston?”

“to play with mitch,” he answers, automatically.

babcock almost chuckles, tight-lipped. “you’ve made yourself clear on that one.”

“i mean it.” auston sits up straighter, half unconscious of it. “if i’m going to be crowned King, i want to play with mitch. he’s going to be Queen,” he says it with unwavering confidence, “and we should play together.”

babs shakes his head, just a little bit. “may i ask what’s wrong with willy?”

“nothing. he just isn’t going to be my Queen,” auston answers, honestly.

willy’s an amazing teammate and linemate, but he isn’t mitch.

“look.” babcock clasps his hands and rests his elbows on his knees. “you know i’m not in charge of those kinds of decisions.”

“but you have a say.”

“i have a say,” babs concedes. “and i know you’ve been told more than once to stop reading your own press, so i’ll spare you that.”

“appreciate it,” auston forces himself to smile a tight, media smile.

“future King or not, you’re important to the team, and so is mitch. let’s agree to see how everything shakes out at training camp, eh?”

“that’s not an answer.”

“this off-season is a busy one. the line-up is going to change.” babs gestures with his hands. “maybe significantly. and kyle is going to be announced as the new gm soon. maybe with new faces in the front office, we’ll see some movement on what you’re asking for. if you want something, earn it in training camp. right now, all i can tell you is that we’ll see what’s best for the team when we’re back on the ice. can you agree to that?”

this… was never about giving auston what he wanted, he realizes. this was about a soundbite for the media and making it clear who was making the lineup decisions. and what is auston going to say, no? no, i don’t agree to do what’s best for the team? a King’s job is to always make his team better. auston breathes in and out through his nose. rubs his thumb over the condensation on his virtually untouched beer bottle.

all he can think about it mitch at the beginning of the season. he was trying so hard and nothing was working, and when babs announced the rush lines, mitch was on the right with moore and martin. auston felt the shock of it, even if he didn’t show it.

mitch just nodded in confirmation, as though it was normal for him to be on the fourth line.

auston spat on the ice as they broke into their lines just to have something to do with the twisting, itching feeling under his skin.

“let’s go, mouse!” marty called, passing mitch the puck, and mitch laughed. as if it meant nothing, getting demoted.

auston snapped his stick on his next shot and relished the crack of it in his hands.

mitch drew smiley faces on the palms of his gloves, and he went out to the hungry media and told them he wanted to contribute to the team, wherever he plays doesn’t matter. “you just have to build it back and make sure you’re working hard every day,” he said with a smile.

it made auston want to put his fists through something. he pulled on his gear in jerky movements. it felt unfamiliar, the temper simmering within him. he always had more to prove on the ice than anyone else, but it bred a determined, focused kind of anger. nothing like this need to tear things down until they were fair and right.

mitch didn’t belong on the fourth, but he bore it with a bright grin and outworked everyone else on the team. babcock made that lineup decision.

they lost 4-6 to the blues, but mitch got marty a three assist night, and every time the two of them celebrated like it was game winning goal. auston watched from the bench as matt looked at mitch, screaming celebration, as if he was magic, awe in his eyes.

auston couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but it was sometime soon after that game that he started to feel the weight of his inevitable Kingship. it was always something distant. a clinical knowledge of “one day i’ll be King of the toronto maple leafs.” sometime far in the future.

watching mitch fall asleep in willy’s bed after a short post-game night out, mouth open, pillow crease already stark on his cheek, auston wanted the K. maybe not right now, but he was ready for it.

“y’all can sleep there,” willy said, grinning. “i’ll crash with zach.”

“don’t say y’all,” auston said. “you sound like a horror movie hick.”

willy snorts. “y’all can cuddle,” he drawled.

auston flipped him off, and was just liquid enough to say, “i don’t need your permission to cuddle my Queen.”

willy’s mouth popped open in obnoxious delight, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “oh ho ho, by all means,” he gestured to the bed, “have at it, King Matthews. don’t actually fuck in my bed, though. that’s,” he crinkles his nose, “going too far.”

auston crawled into the plush duvet, ignoring willy, and curled behind mitch. he felt the rise and fall of mitch’s sharp shoulder blades against his chest and wrapped his arm around mitch’s small but solid waist.

yeah, he wanted to be King.

they woke up cotton-mouthed and gross-feeling, wrapped together, and they went back out there with mitch on the fourth line, again.

auston played with that anger simmering under his skin, ready to burst all season.

it took losing in game seven to the boston fucking bruins.

babcock looks at auston expectantly.

auston media-smiles, vacant and cutting. “absolutely. see you training camp. i’ll look forward to showing you why we’re the best decision.”

babs looks at him for a long moment. the desert night is quiet, and the dim patio lights reflect faintly in the pool surface. inside, auston can see his mom loading the dishwasher.

he nods definitively, as if to say ‘okay, good enough’ and holds out his hand to shake. auston clasps it.

“i look forward to it, too.” he sits back and holds out his beer to clink bottles.

auston paces himself, even though the clawing, furious feeling in his chest urges him to chug it down and immediately follow it with another.

“now,” babs says, “i haven’t heard how breyana’s golf tournament went.”

auston rubs his lips together and nods. this is what Kings do. they do the hard stuff, even when they don’t want to.

after babs leaves, with another handshake and a promise to see him at training camp, auston finds his way to the kitchen.

his mom tsks as he drains another beer in one go.

“empty calories,” she chides.

“it’s the off-season, mom.”

“i’m not saying you shouldn’t drink,” she starts, and stops as auston steps behind her at the sink and rests his forehead on her shoulder. she smells like lavender detergent and homecooking.

she reaches to cup the back of his head. “okay, papi?” she asks, softly.

auston breathes. no, he wants to say, but that’s not quite true.

he’s been burning up all year, and he’s ready to fight.

“i think i’m ready to be King,” he says into her shoulder.

“oh!” she says, bright and surprised.

she turns around suddenly to kiss his forehead, cradling his jaw in her hands. “of course you are! that’s what they all said when you were drafted.” her eyes shine when she looks up at him, mouth quirked in a smile. “i’m proud of you.”

auston ducks his head, helpless to the grin spreading across his face. “they haven’t given it to me yet, but... mitchy should be Queen.”

her face goes soft in a way that makes him look away for a second. it’s too much. “mitch is going to be a great Queen,” she says, gently. “even i can tell.”

“the team doesn’t see it like that.”

her brows furrow immediately in disbelief. “what do you mean? they’ve been talking about mitchell being Queen since you were drafted. they’ve asked me about it!”

auston shakes his head, but there’s a well of bubbling relief escaping from his chest. his mom sees it. maybe there’s a part of you that never grows out of your mom’s approval being the best feeling on the fucking planet. his eyes crinkle as he laughs. the team might as well have been telling him that mitch won’t be Queen all season. hell, for the past two seasons. but they’re wrong.

“the media has, but not the team.”

her eyes widen, then narrow at the distinction. “they’re stupid.”

auston laughs, sudden and loud, and he feels it with his whole body.

“it’s okay,” he says, and he means it this time. “i’m gonna make it happen, anyways.”

she rubs his bicep. “you always do, auston.”

auston knows how to work hard, and all of toronto’s on his side. she’s right. he always makes it happen.

he hops in the shower after helping clean up the kitchen and his second beer. it may be the off season, but his mom’s right. it’s empty calories, and he still has training tomorrow, and auston tries to refrain from downing shots at his parents’ house, just on principle.

not that he needs it, he just has this weird energy floating in his chest. he’s going to be King, and he’s going to get mitchy on his line. he feels like he did going into game six. ready for a fight he knew he was going to win.

“hey, mitchy,” auston says as mitch’s face pops up on his screen as he gets out of the shower, and he feels his face shaping a grin he can’t control. standing under the water helped some of the strange almost-adrenaline, but there’s still something too big in his chest when he looks at mitch on his phone screen.

mitch’s lying on a couch with winston’s head pillowed on his chest. he looks good, the flush of sunburn on his cheekbones from spending the last couple days at his family’s lakehouse. it kind of lights up the blue of his eyes even more. admittedly, it’s not one of his better angles for filming, but he’s smiling, a little bit of sun-tiredness creeping along the edges.

“how’d your date with babs go?” he asks, scratching behind winston’s ear. “you guys kiss and make up?”

“you steal that joke from twitter?” auston asks, propping his phone on his dresser and toweling at his hair. “and why are you up, it’s, what, almost two am there?”

“no, i stole it from naz. and i called for the free nudes, obviously.” his tongue pokes out as he grins.

“nice.” auston pulls on a pair of boxers as mitchy wolf whistles, low and sarcastically, as if they haven’t seen it all a thousand times over in the locker room.

auston snags his phone from its perch and gets into bed, propping his pillows on his headboard so he can sit up and facetime like a normal human, unlike mitchell “up the nose” marner.

“babs was fine. mom made dinner, we talked. everything’s,” he shrugs, “fine.”

mitch’s eyebrows draw together, then he lets out an involuntary “oof” as winston shifts in his sleep.

“you okay there?” auston smirks. “the dog’s bigger than you, he’s going to crush you.”

“shut up, no he’s not.” mitch scratches winston’s head, and auston wants to just… reach out and brush the hair off his forehead. “you wouldn’t crush the person who loves you most in this world, right?”

“why are you up so late?” auston asks, starting to feel his own day catch up with him despite the warmth in his chest.

mitch rubs his eyes and the little swoops of sunburn. “i fell asleep on the couch after jet skiing and now i can’t go back to bed.” he cocks his head and really looks at auston, eyebrows drawing together again. just briefly, it reminds auston of his mom. “the meeting with babs was really fine?”

“yeah. he asked what was wrong with willy and answering that question took pretty much the whole night, so...”

mitch’s ugly laugh bursts out of his chest. he throws his head back to cackle deep in his throat. auston can’t stop smiling. he rubs his thumb under his lip and enjoys mitch losing it for a solid minute.

winston shifts around grumpily, giving the camera an almost baleful look, before huffing and sliding off mitch and out of frame.

mitch wipes at his shining eyes. “that’s too big a question for just one night.”

“i’ll text him the rest of your suggestions tomorrow.” the warmth in auston’s chest is molten and perfect. he slides down the pillows and settles. “otherwise, i just said we’ll be ready for training camp and prove we’re the future. that’s all. no drama.”

mitch rolls on his side, and auston can just picture the way he’s bringing his knees up to his chest until he looks like a little ball. his 16 pendant spills over the collar of his tank top. he smiles, proud. “of course you’re the future, auston. who else would be?”

“we are.”

“we all are.”

“yeah,” auston says, after a moment. mitch’s eyes look so blue. he’s right, even if that’s not what auston means. “we all are.”

“the thing i filmed for youtube came out today,” mitch says, crossing his top arm over his chest like he’s cold.

auston laughs. “your red bull sponsored medieval times adventure?”

mitch cheeses a wide smile and gives him a thumbs up. “it gives you wings and free tickets to jousting.”

“oh my fucking god.” auston feels his laugh all through his chest. “get a blanket, you look cold.”

mitch gropes behind his back for a moment before he reaches the throw blanket folded over the top of the couch, and pulls it over his shoulders. his eyes are starting to droop.

“i’ll watch it and take notes. text babs what’s wrong with you and willy tomorrow.”

mitch laughs into the couch cushions, eyes crinkling and laugh lines deep as he does. “thanks, bro. just what i want.”

when he looks at auston, still smiling, eyes soft and framed by too much sun, auston suddenly wants nothing more than to be in toronto, curled up behind mitch. he loves arizona, but he’d leave it in a heartbeat if meant pressing his nose into the nape of mitch’s neck and smelling his terrible axe shampoo and the remnants of sunscreen and mitch’s mom’s sweet, subtle laundry detergent. pulling him close to sleep like they do in hotel beds when they’ve had too much fun or when one of them doesn’t want to go home for pre-game nap. i wish i was there, auston wants to say.

“go to sleep, mouse,” he says instead, fondness spilling over every word.

“you too, matts.” mitch blows him an exaggerated and sleepy kiss. “good night.”

“night,” auston says, softly, and ends the call.

before he goes to sleep, he pulls up the video with the youtuber kid on his phone. mitch looks great, all speed and power and fun on the ice. mitch has always been auston’s favorite to watch, even back at the beginning two years ago. the shit he does is magic sometimes. but when the kid casually introduces mitch as the future Queen of the toronto maple leafs, mitch bends away, laughing. auston picks up on the barely perceptible shake of his head as he laughs. it’s conditioned at this point, his need to deny that statement.

auston’s going to make sure he never has to do that again.

the first month of the off-season feels like summer vacation from when he was a kid. really that was just a few years ago, but it seems decades removed from now. it’s great seeing his mom and eating good food and catching up on netflix with his sisters.

he calls the new leafs prospects after the draft and trains, but it’s mostly a lot of golfing and going to the pool. the sun and the heat are a nice change from the months spent in perpetually cloudy toronto, and auston feels like he looks a little more alive now that his skin is bronzing over.

his mom purses her lips exaggeratedly every time he comes home from a sitting for his sleeve with his arm wrapped and freshly tattooed.

“you’re so beautiful, i don’t understand why you do this to yourself,” she says.

auston and bre share a grin across the kitchen table, like they do every time auston gets a new tattoo and makes their mom sad.

she tucks her hair behind her ears and holds her hands up as if to stop herself.

“some of them are for you,” auston points out, and taps his collarbone.

her face goes soft. “yes, and they’re beautiful, too.”

bre scoffs. “he’s trying to look like a badass, not beautiful. i mean, he’s failing, but that’s the objective.”

“what, he can’t be badass and beautiful at the same time, breyana?” their mom questions, and auston grins. he’s always known he was her favorite.

freddie calls after worlds, after denmark is eliminated, and it has to fucking smart to have already weathered back to back eliminations while there are still teams playing for the cup.

“want to make the trip to california?” he asks.

auston doesn’t say no to freddie or the beach. “of course, dude,” he confirms. “see you there.”

he packs his bags and takes an overnight flight. when he walks out of the airport, the anaheim sun is morning-bright and he ubers to freddie’s beach house. it’s not huge, but it’s sand dollar white and right on the pacific, so close you can hear the steady conch shell crush of the waves.

freddie comes to the door in swim trunks and bare feet, and his light freckles are already standing out more across the bridge of his nose.

“hey, man,” auston says, clapping freddie’s shoulder as they hug. “i’m sorry, good to see you.”

“it’s just worlds, right?” freddie says, when he pulls back and shows auston to his room. they both know he means the exact opposite. if you’re there at all, you’re there to compete to be the best. especially if your home country is hosting.

“you won’t be there next year,” auston says, dropping his duffel on the floor, because they’re going to make it past the first fucking round next season.

freddie crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, amused smile on his lips.

“i know,” he says, simply, in that steady way of his. “get ready and we’ll go down.” he nods at auston’s freshly finished sleeve. “i’m guessing that needs to stay out of the water.”

“guess i’ll just have to look hot out there,” auston smirks.

freddie raises his eyebrows. “good luck.”

it’s the middle of a weekday, so the beach isn’t crowded when they settle in. one of the things he appreciates most about freddie has always been the way he just doesn’t give a fuck about things that don’t matter. the same serene confidence he exudes in net carries through off the ice. once sydney explained the concept of auras, how people can sense the energy you give off because we’re all connected. they were a couple drinks in and mitch ate it up with wide eyes, while auston and matt laughed it off.

“shhh, don’t listen to them,” she’d drunk loud-whispered in mitch’s ear. “they have ugly auras.”

mitch squinted at them with one eye. “yeah, i see it. fuck ugly auras.”

maybe there’s something to be said about it, after all, auston thinks out of nowhere, sitting on the beach with freddie in comfortable silence, staring into the blue-green rolling waves of the pacific. there’re very few people who give off a better energy than freddie.

auston can’t imagine going back to face this coming season without freddie standing tall behind him. his heart thumps, suddenly realizing being a King means leading a Kingship. it means the team is all yours.

auston stares along the horizon, where the sea disappears into the sky, and breathes.

“i’m going to be King,” auston says into the silence and the gentle crush of waves. a simple truth, released into the universe.

freddie looks at him from behind his sunglasses for a long moment.

“heavy is the head that wears the crown,” he murmurs. auston shrugs. “that’s what they say.”

yeah, he thinks. but i’m ready for it.

it’s not long after auston gets back to arizona after a week in anaheim that he gets the call, phone lighting up with dubas’ name on the golf course. auston answers immediately.

“sorry to interrupt your offseason,” dubas starts, polite canadian smile practically audible. for all the shit auston’s given the front office the last couple months with his unauthorized comments, he really likes dubas. the guys who came up through the marlies have nothing but respect for him, and auston trusts them, even if dubas has been the face of the wagging finger recently.

“no worries,” auston assures him, leaning his clubs against the golf cart and looking over the dips and flats of the unnaturally green course.

“we’ve begun talks with john tavares about signing here in toronto as a free agent,” dubas says.

it’s only auston’s media training that keeps him from blurting out holy shit. everyone expected tavares would sign an extension in long island. he’s King there and… King’s always re-sign. auston would have to google the last time a King willingly left his Kingship. it just never happens.

“he’s expressed an interest in playing with our young core. in fact, it’s one of the biggest factors influencing his decision making process,” dubas continues. “we’d appreciate it if you would reach out to him, let him know what the organization is all about and what you think he can contribute to the team.”

“of course,” auston says, automatically. “i’d be happy to. he’d be a great addition, his play is incredible.”

“awesome, auston,” dubas laughs, the tiniest thread of youthful excitement poking through his professionalism. “his number will be in your texts shortly.”

he gives an auston a brief rundown of the talking points he should hit, and auston hangs up grinning through the shock because holy fucking shit. they might be rolling out him, tavares, and kadri as their top three centers next season and auston has to take a moment to laugh to himself in excited disbelief. fuck getting past the first round, auston can’t wait.

his phone buzzes with a text from mitch and the number from dubas in rapid succession. he opens mitch’s.

fu cking tavares???? it says, followed by a wall of maple leaf emojis.

not a done deal yet, auston texts back, partly as a reminder to himself, but he still can’t help but adding a maple leaf emoji too.

i kno, mitch says. i’m supposed to call him and woo him to our side.

auston grins so hard bre looks at him like he’s grown fangs when she gets back to the cart.

“you good?” she asks, clearly doubtful.

“great,” auston says. because he doesn’t have a way to explain how the toronto maple leafs asking mitch marner to reach out to a possible free agent means fucking everything to him. it means more than getting tavares. if he was on the ice he’d be beating the glass in celebration. mitch is going to be Queen.

me too, auston says. what are u gonna use for ur pitch? u gonna share ur skittles? that’ll get him.

i share skittles with no man. then, idk.. that i’ll s his d? idgaf he’s JOHN FUCKING TAVARES KING OF THE ISLANDERS.

auston barks out a laugh, tilting his face into the sun. mitchy is right… he’s john fucking tavares. it’s not every day you get this kind of chance. mitch follows it up with u should call him first, my 👑.

auston hits the call button automatically.

“hello, auston,” john’s low, toronto-accented voice answers after three rings. “nice to hear from you.”

“happy to talk to you, jt,” auston says, smoothly. “i heard you’re thinking of making the best move of your career and just wanted to help you out any way i can. we’d love to have you in toronto.”

john’s burbling laugh filters over the line. meanwhile, bre flips him off and restarts the cart to head to the next hole without auston. he waves sarcastically back.

“it’s hard not to love toronto when you were born there,” john agrees. “i wouldn’t mind finding out what you love about toronto, though.”

what doesn’t auston love about toronto. he loves its shitty weather and long winters. he loves the sea of leafs blue that cheers them on every night. he loves the challenge of picking his way through conniving media. he loves watching kids light up when they see him and mitch at timmy’s. he loves the city and the pressure to win and feeling at the end of the night when the lights dim and he skates into the middle of the arena because he was the best player on the ice and the crowd roars for him. almost loves it more when it’s one of his friends out there.

“you’ve seen our team, right?” auston asks, and he knows he sounds like a cocky shit, but in that moment he doesn’t rein it in.

“yeah. yeah, i have.”

he sounds like he fucking gets it.

there’s a couple more calls before july 1st hits, and mitch also racks up the minutes talking to tavares. auston feels a little like he might burst when mitch calls him after each conversation to recap.

“he’s going to be a leaf,” mitch declares on facetime, up late again, icing his shoulder because he fell off the dock the wrong way.

“maybe.”

auston grins when mitch’s face scrunches up in annoyance.

“why wouldn’t he? seriously?”

auston shrugs. he more than a little convinced that tavares is going to pull the trigger and go for toronto by the end of the week, in part because mitch’s so confident about it, but. “it’s probably pretty shitty to leave your Kingship behind?”

mitch is quiet for a moment, and he stares off somewhere above the camera. “yeah,” he says, finally. “should we be concerned about that? that he’s the type of person to kill his Kingship?”

auston had thought of that, wondered if in five years he would be able to walk away from toronto. it was impossible to imagine. shit happens, but there could never be enough shit to make him leave toronto. or mitch.

but tavares never had a Queen. maybe that’s the difference. auston has mitch.

“not if it makes us better, right?” auston suggests gently. “not if he’s committed to the team.”

mitch grins, head lolling to the side, exposing the long line of his neck and rolling out the soreness. auston’s eyes trace the line from his jaw to his sharp collarbone. if he was in toronto, he’d trace it with his fingertips. and dig his fingers into the fresh tan on mitch’s shoulders.

“think he still bleeds leafs blue?”

auston shakes his head. “only you love the leafs enough to bleed blue, mitchy.”

lips quirked and eyes intent, mitch smirks kindly. “you’ll get there.”

the news hits like a bomb. a deeply fucking satisfying bomb. the team group chat goes fucking nuts, which is nothing compared to the canadian sports media and twitter. there are people burning jerseys and calling jt a traitor. one person reportedly rips the K off a tavares jersey and throws it onto a pile of flaming garbage. auston doesn’t watch the videos, but the descriptions are insane enough.

plus, he’s too busy popping champagne on facetime with mitch.

“wooooohooooo,” mitch howls, the licks the overflowing champagne from his knuckles. “we got ‘im, boys!”

auston holds his phone with one hand and swigs from the bottle with the other. his family are high-fiving all around him, joining in the celebration.

his dad claps him on the shoulder and shakes him. “nice job, aus.”

“yeah,” mitch chimes in over the iphone speakers. he tips his glass towards the camera, and auston feels the distance between arizona and ontario so acutely. “really nice job.”

“you did just as much as me, and,” auston laughs, “dubas gave him the cash.”

“to kyle dubas!” mitch’s mom calls from the background. “a baby face with enough cash to land tavares!”

mitch laughs like he’s dying.

and that’s when the second bomb lands in the group chat.

looks like mitchy and zachy are moving to an all toronto line! travis posts, along with a link. and the other links start filtering in.

auston lowers his bottle to the coffee table, slowly, like he’s just waking up and walking through water to do it.

“tavares likely to play center with marner, hyman on maple leafs” the link preview shouts. and the article gets worse with every paragraph.

he almost closes out when they quote babcock saying auston was on board with bringing tavares on. not like this. he wanted tavares, but he sat across from babcock on his fucking porch and told him he wanted mitch on his line and was told he had to earn it.

“tavares was the islanders King from 2013-18 but maple leafs general manager kyle dubas said there is no rush to name a King this season,” he reads.

“in my experience with teams, when we've rushed decisions like that, it's turned out poorly for the organization… we want to see how the group works together and we'll see where we're at.” dubas said that, as if it’s up in the air.

he doesn’t register sitting down until he hits the couch.

“auston?” mitch’s voice comes through.

auston switches back to facetime in time to see mitch’s dad hand him his phone. in time to see mitch’s face fall with confusion. he glances up at auston, then back down to read.

tavares’ voice filters in from the sportsnet broadcast in the marner living room.

“i just felt like i had this once in a lifetime opportunity to play with the toronto maple leafs, and i had to take it. i’m grateful to everyone on long island who supported me and my Kingship. it wasn’t an easy decision. it was a very difficult decision, considering my team and everything we’ve been through there.”

“we’ve already talked about how growing up in toronto affected your decision, can you tell us a little more about what is was about the present leafs that made you want to sign?” the anchor asks.

“where the team is positioned, moving forward. it was an opportunity i couldn’t pass up. as a kid, you dream about achieving the ultimate goal with your hometown team, and this team can make it happen. all the young skill in marner, matthews, nylander, and everyone else.” he laughs. “i asked to play with marner, so we’ll see.”

auston stops listening at that point. tavares asked for mitch.

auston asked, too.

mitch hands the phone back to his dad, and his laugh comes out a little strangled. “uh, not really what we were thinking was gonna happen. but that’s okay.”

it’s fine. auston sits up straight and shakes his head at his mom’s worried look. he plasters a smile back on. he digs his fingers into the fabric of his shorts.

this is the same old front office bullshit. don’t give the media a real narrative to work with. keep everything as shrouded as possible.

not all Kings and Queens are lineys. most of them aren’t.

“mitch is amazing,” he remembers telling tavares on the phone, suddenly. “he’s creative, and he’s fast enough to keep up with all that creativity.”

“i’ve seen him score some goals,” tavares had said, his bland voice wry. “maybe i can see some from the other side.”

auston doesn’t blame him for wanting to play with mitch.

“just babs being babs, right?” auston laughs and shakes him head.

mitch’s worrying his lower lip. “maybe i actually let you convince me we were gonna play together this time. i’m kind of disappointed.” his smile is almost apologetic, almost turned down while still passing for a smile. “i shouldn’t be disappointed. john tavares just signed with us.”

auston’s fingers almost slip through the cold condensation on his bottle’s neck. he holds it up to toast. “we’re not disappointed,” he lies smoothly. he clinks the lip against his phone and mitch does the same. “congrats.”

“congrats,” mitch echoes, and they drink.

a King got everything he asked for. and it wasn’t auston.

#hey y'all here i am releasing 7k of unedited exposition for Kings and Queens mitchy/auston i wrote weeks ago into the wild #i'm sorry and thank you to everyone who was waiting for it #it's probably going to be a long while til i get around to writing more so *prayer hands emoji* don't get your hopes up #anyways i fucking love auston matthews and will kill for him if necessary #marnsmatts #kings and queens #long post #snippets

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d0ughnnut · 6 years

Text

Down South

She rode a bus headed down South late at evening, it’s been a while since her last out of town trip. She missed the whisper of the waves so much—the honks of cars and constant booming sounds of ‘patok’ jeepneys were already too much even for her music drowned ears—longing to breathe in and out as the waves come and go, it was her comfort zone.

Looking out the window while she listens to her favourite playlist, she was given a painful sight of the Manila traffic she always condemned. It’s ironic though, as she was someone who hates the continuous line of vehicles while she’s there but loves the plain sight when she comes up East to see how beautiful these oceans of lights are. This view gives her a reason to come home every night after a dreadful day at University. From there, she knew humans were made wonderful. We made it possible to look at the stars without exerting much effort to look up.

One backpack containing a few clothes, toiletries, small towels, biscuits, two bottles of water, and her charger; that was all she brought along with herself and her money. Heading South today wasn’t convenient at any expense, but she longed to endure life as it is already tough on her, or maybe she’s one to blame? Maybe she had become too hard on herself and others. For the first time in five months she was peacefully asleep by the window.

***

It took hours to get by the port to the island she wished to stay at, fortunately, it was a regular working day and there weren’t as much people in line. Most of the people surrounding her were residing on the island. She waited patiently under the fresh A.M. sun and cool sea breeze until she was finally seated and wore her life jacket. She glanced at her phone screen and smiled as she saw the ‘no service’ on the part where she was supposed to see her service provider—this is the beginning of her most awaited solitude.

Sand was starting to get into her flip flops and it was such a delight. She turned around and saw the view she was longing for—blue, how come people say they feel ‘blue’ when they are sad? Feeling blue should be linked to that feeling of peace and calmness, that warm feeling inside your heart as you smile and forget sadness. Blue shouldn’t resemble emptiness.

Even the seaside by the Mall of Asia couldn’t compare to the breathtaking view seen by the window of the room she checked in. She thought of getting a huge print of the sea and placing it by the glass door in her condominium in Cubao, Quezon City. She laughed by the thought of it, but it was sad how she knew it could be a constant reminder of her dreadful city life.

Sitting by the bonfire with people she doesn’t know, out of the nine people surrounding it, there were only four people who knew each other. It was the perfect moment to sip her beer and think of what she would do in her three-day stay. Explore the island for her first day; the second day would be perfect to get a tan; the third day... she has no idea what she can do for another day, she thought of asking locals about what the wonderful island has to offer or maybe other people who are also on a wander.

She looked around and noticed the man beside her was crying; men really do cry, she thought so. The man held a picture on his palms and just as he crumpled it, he looked at her and smiled. They talked and from there she knew he’s been through a lot; the man was supposed to get married in three days time but then he found out her fiancé was pregnant and it was not his. After their talk the man threw the picture hoping the radical flames of the bonfire would catch the photo and burn it together with his unraveling past and continued crying.

Her first official day on the island started. She woke up by the sound of her doorbell ringing, her free breakfast was sent. She opened the door and the smell of ‘lomi’ tickled her nose and the lovely presentation of the breakfast tray was pleasing enough to call it art. This morning is a sudden tragic reminder of her everyday struggle to go to university with an empty and grumbling stomach.

Today she changed plans and decided to get a tan instead—maybe it could hide the true colors of her dark world. She sat ashore near a yellow and red umbrella who was owned by a young woman who had a child with her, she watched them with awe as they really look happy. Later on, the child asked her mom where her father was, the young woman smiled at her and said he was on another trip. The child arose and went running towards the water, he looked behind and told the young woman he will stay with her and never go on other trips. When the child was finally playing with other kids near the water, the young woman took a sip from a bottle of water and sighed. Little did the child know, the young woman was broken deep inside, not because his father left him—she was dying inside because she doesn’t know how to tell the child what the truth was. The young woman doesn’t want to break the heart of the child. The young woman cried as she saw her child smiling, she wondered how the child’s smile can change after knowing the truth when he grows up.

***

One hour, Fifteen minutes, and thirty five seconds—was all it took for her to get drunk after drinking at the beach bar. She drowned herself in ten shots of vodka and a bottle of dry beer, she doesn’t even know why she did but she did it anyway. She was walking alone by the shore and she was a crying mess. One year, three months, three weeks, one day, and eight hours—was all it took for her to ruin other people’s life and her own. She knew everything left in her life were just shards of broken glasses like her heart. Every single day her heart and mind are at battle, looking for a winner—which was more reasonable to bring back her sanity? People may figure out where the end of the world is but she knew she still wouldn’t be able to answer her questions. Out of fifty seven reasons for people to make her feel loved and important, there will always be one reason to make her feel and think of killing herself—should she drown herself in this vast ocean and be gone forever? Or does life continue?—a life full of mistakes and bad choices.

Ten seconds—was all it took for her to pass out after walking in her bedroom door.

The next day was her island exploration day, she woke up with a headache but it didn’t matter. She got a nice hot tub bath to ease some of the pain from sleeping on the floor last night—she was lucky enough to pass out in her own room.

***

She went around looking at different rock formations while waiting for the other set of hikers. She was never a pro at hiking, nor she will ever be, so she needs to have experienced hikers around her so bad. Finally, their group was called for orientation and safety briefing before the trek. She made sure she got what she need before climbing side by side with her ‘buddy’ which the organizers grouped for newbies like her. Her buddy was a guy and he’s quite the charmer, her heart flips every time he flashes that smile of his. Her soul melts as he guides her through the steep rocks and vast streams. After a four hour trek, they finally reached the camp.

The sun was down but the bonfire and the moon was keeping their night alive. She was lying down her blanket and was looking up to see the stars. Her guide suddenly saw her and approached her, she sat up so she’ll be presentable enough to talk to him. Their conversation deepens as the night did, not knowing it was already 1 am. She had the guts to tell him most of the unpredictable things that happened in her life and he as well.

He started embracing this lifestyle way back when he met his first love during freshmen year in high school, she taught him how to appreciate new heights and nature’s wonders, but then during their third year in college, she left without even telling him. He never opened his heart to anybody else after her; still hoping she’ll come back to his arms once more. That was until three weeks ago, as he was scrolling through his social media feed, he came across a happily married woman—it was his first love. From there he asked her friends what truly happened that day—he was holding a pair of new shoes for him and her while waiting outside her house, nobody was answering even as he rings the doorbell and bang the gates. Her neighbor got irritated and went out to tell him the family’s flight was last night and they are bound to settle in Canada. He broke down and lost his mind—her friends told him something he didn’t know, she was at risk during that time. She had a blood clot in her brain and her family wished to have it removed, knowing the medical benefits of being a Canadian citizen, her mother agreed with her grandmother’s option to take them in as she was already a Canadian citizen and have lived there for quite a long time already. The girl never told him anything, she was always so happy and he didn’t see through her.

After a while, they part ways and went to their own tents. She didn’t forget to hug him and say comforting words before leaving. She smiled and fell asleep. She knew he left a mark on her heart even if it was just for a short time of talking and laughing. He felt like home somehow—an empty home waiting to be filled by the person he would love.

***

She was standing by the door near room MC112, having a peaceful conversation with her only best friend in university—as always. Her world revolves around less people because it felt better that way. It was supposed to be the day she would open up and disclose her heart and mind completely, but then, she was intrigued by a sudden commotion inside the lecture room. She went inside to see what it is, her eyes widened by the sight of the person the person she once loved—lying on the floor—he was hyperventilating and she knew exactly what to do.

Even though they were not fine at all, she pushed through the people surrounding him and came into action. She asked them to stay away because they aren’t helping, his friends though became a bit too personal and told her they can handle him. She quickly told them how many times and how much she’s been through this phase of his. They got out of the way. She told one to grab a bottle of cold water and a bag she can use as a pillow for him. She opened her bag and grabbed a brown paper bag—she did exactly how she was taught and used to do whenever he gets panic attacks. He refuses to respond and as much as she hate to do so, she had to used endearment and assurance of her not leaving him then proceeded to counting one to twenty until he can finally breathe normal and at ease.

He hugged her during the process but when he came back to his senses, he suddenly pushed her hard. Falling on the floor, she smiled at him and told him she was just helping and there isn’t anything worth taking after because it was just a response to an emergency. She stood up and smiled, removing the dirt on her pants, she left and went back to her condominium.

Her room was a pool of tears and whines. She was so hurt by what just happened. Why are people like that? You help them but after getting what they want, they hurt you so easily.

She went through her medicine cabinet and saw a bottle of various pills; she went to her bottle of vodka reserved for her ‘after examinations’ celebrations. She changed clothes and wore comfortable ones, sat down on her bed, and consumed every pill and every drop of remaining vodka—she fell asleep. (Why does this dream feel so real?) She was hearing things, her mother and younger brother were telling her to wake up and flashes of white lights were present but it was all a blur. Her vision turned to black and she lost all of her senses.

She woke up in her hiking buddy’s arms, she was breathing uneasily and crying during her sleep so he came to get her out of the tent and waked her up. She woke up asking if this was reality. She quickly stood up with the reality of where she was.

—This wasn’t a travel nor a vacation. This was a place where people who tried to kill themselves went. No, they weren’t dead, all of them are victims of the life they’re living—they’re all lying on hospital beds in different places trying to survive their own judgement of death. Every person she met is trying to survive and trying to die both at the same time.

This was her trip down south, and the third day was supposed to be enough, but the third day was actually the day for her to decide if she still wants to wake up or face the true darkness of her decision.

There were two buses to choose from—the bus to life and the bus to death. This place was their in-between, she couldn’t stay longer. She took her bag and rode the bus, what bus? The bus of her heart’s desire.

Words by: Gab Jimenez

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elliemarchetti · 6 years

Text

Winter Olympics RQ AU - Week 2

Words:3331

"You cannot revenge everyone," said Shade, standing up. They were in the boy's room and had taken advantage of the hockey game to be alone, in a place where they would surely neither have been seen nor heard; Diana did not want to be interrupted. After three days in which Shade had uninterruptedly asked her about his disappearance, Diana had given up; he could not resist those honey-colored eyes. And he now disappointed her, telling her that he could not avenge Thomas, who had been sent back to Canada without too many pleasantries, who could not sell the news on Ptolemus and his betrayal to the media. He had sex with the team physiotherapist! That was the classic news for which you become rich, the exclusive that allows you to break through in the chronicles. Everyone wanted to hear it, and they would compete for those who could afford to pay her more. But it was not the money that interested her, but throwing in the mud the name of Elane Haven, of her sport with a perfect façade. Without thinking, she told Shade. During such a short time, they had gone from being unfamiliar to good friends, and there, he was the only person he could talk openly with. Madeline had stayed home: she loved her sister, but since she had broken her knee and Diana had become better than her, she felt so proud, but also envious, and see her at the Olympics, a goal that she could no longer reach, it could have done more harm than good. Her father, in part since his wife died, partly since he became the official coach of his daughter, had slowly lost his fatherly instincts, and had become only a competent but inflexible technical trainer, that kind of person you esteem but with whom you would not even share a lunch, outside of work. Of course, there was always her employee, Cameron. Her father had found her, and Diana was pleasantly surprised: efficient and competent, despite her young age, she never spoke out of turn and liked to listen. When she wasn’t at the Olympics, Diana would have vented with her, but now she was too afraid that she could sell her secrets. They had known each other for too little time to make sure that she could be fully trusted. She also knew Shade recently, but it was different with him, and perhaps Diana had to admit that she had given in part to his magnetic appeal. She often thought about him, even before the races: she was not the type of athlete who needed to get distracted before the start, and Shade, in her mind, was not a distraction at all. She felt and resented his calm voice as he told her how much she worth, how important what she was doing was. Until that moment, it had come in handy: in the quarters, she had been ranked first.

"Compete to win, then." Shade answered, after a long moment of silence. "It's the only way to take revenge on Evangeline and Elane without getting your hands dirty."

Diana was partly disappointed by that answer. Did he really believed she was competing as if it were just a game? They were at the Olympics, and nothing was more important in the life of an athlete.

"Seeing you happy will be the worst of the losses for them." finally added Shade, but he seemed distracted by something, and a strange shadow fell over his eyes.

"We should both do it." she answered. Shade looked at her with a perplexed expression, as if he did not understand what she was referring to.

"Avenge us by doing what makes us happy." she explained.

Shade smiled sadly. Diana knew that he had gone out in the quarterfinals, but that was not what made his smile less broad, more pulled. They had already talked about it. He was twenty years and had a thousand more chances to get back to the Olympics, he just had to prepare better.

"What if what could make me happy would disturb someone else?" Shade asked, without looking her in the eye. In fact, he seemed willing to look anywhere else so as not to look at her.

"Who cares about others!" Diana exclaimed, attracting his attention. "As long as you’re not arrested, I will support you in any madness that can make you happy." she added, placing a hand on his. Since he had come back to sit down, he seemed uncomfortable, as if he did not want to be there, but when Diana laid her hand on his and their looks met, all the agitation in Shade's body seemed to flow directly into Diana's stomach. What a fool, she developed a crush during the Olympics.

It was all over. The competitions, the awards, for her the Olympics had ended. Perhaps that was the reason she scanned the room with her eyes, looking for her parents, her brothers, Kilorn and everyone who really cared for her. Her eyes, however, before those of anyone else crossed those of Cal, the uniform of the American team on him, and a broad smile. He clapped as she held the gold medal between thumb and forefinger, lifted it proudly in front of the cameras. She was not made for that kind of thing; she liked snowboarding, not being photographed. Yet she satisfied everyone, and as soon as she managed to free herself from the journalists, Cal was the first person she reached. She had tried not to think about their brief, though stimulating, encounter, but the idea that he had bet on her and not on his compatriot had plunged into her head, from time to time, especially at the least opportune moments.

"I knew I had bet on the best." Cal said, and if possible, his smile became even wider. His Olympics were not over, and Mare was sure she would see all the matches, now that she had time.

"So I did not disappoint you." she answered, and it was not a question, nor was she talking seriously, but he still gave her a sincere answer, which made her blush to the tip of her ears.

"You could never disappoint me."

When Mare turned, she noticed the expression of disbelief in her brothers’ eyes while her father was indecipherable. Her mother, on the other hand, had the air of someone who has just understood a big secret. Mare frowned. Where was Kilorn?

"I'm going to the Canadian’s hockey match with Lucas!" Maven shouted, hoping his mother would not make a fuss. He had waited for the right moment, just as she had decided to go for a shower, while Cal was not in the room. He did not wait for an answer, the black jacket already on and the phone in his hand.

"How come you did not tell me before?" Elara asked, coming out of the bathroom wearing only her bathrobe. Maven flushed with embarrassment.

"He only asked me now." he lied shamelessly. He hated when she was so close to him. It wasn’t a secret that she scared him.

She waited at the window, patiently. Her son was not so stupid as to decide to leave from the main entrance, and those idiots had given the athletes the best rooms, forcing the staff, and therefore the coaches, to settle for the view on the back. In the end, that situation had made her comfortable.

She knew that Maven had lied to her; she read it in his eyes every time he did, since he was a child and said he had not eaten chocolate when he had done it. Elara did not really allow him to lie: he let him do it and she waited for the right moment to punish him so that he would not repeat the same mistake again. So that day she watched as he walked away from the hotel, then picked up the phone and called a local reporter, the same to whom she had make a tip on Thomas.

"Maven Calore is coming out of the Olympic village." she simply said, when he answered, and then hung up. If she were wrong, it would not have been a big deal, just a journalist wandering near the entrance, if instead she had seen right, the next day she would discover the reason why her son was lying to her.

Once he left the Olympic village, Maven put a heavy black cap on his head: that day it was colder than usual, and covering his distinctive raven hair would have helped him to go unnoticed. Moreover, thanks to an annoying white light, caused by the sun hidden behind a thin blanket of white clouds, he also had the chance to wear his sunglasses. Yet, despite this, he still felt observed.

He reached Thomas in a dark and damp alleyway, which should never be exposed to sunlight, judging by the snow that still had difficulty melting, collected in grayish and disgusting piles near the walls. Maybe it was wrong to make him stay so close to the Olympic village, yet he needed to know he was there, that he was be able to keep close to that boy who made him feel so strong and reckless to lie to his mother.

They kissed passionately, and Thomas almost had to back off to keep his balance. The light was not the best, but Elara had chosen one of the best assault reporter, who simply rounded up the salary by following famous people and selling their photos to the highest bidder, so that would have been enough. Of course that Thomas had to be a real thorn in the side, both for Canada and for the U.S.A.; he made a deal with the US hockey coach just to slag it on worldwide vision, then he was kicked out from the team, someone had pressured him to return to Canada, and Maven Calore, the spearhead of American and world figure skating and son of the aforesaid hockey’s coach, still kept him there at his expense but did not reveal their relationship to the world. That was really one of the strangest stories he'd ever had to follow, and he was sure that it had absolutely nothing to do with sport.

When they finally parted, Thomas's lips were numb. He liked Maven's kisses; he was both smaller and younger than he was, but he took control so easily that it was impossible for him to say no when he nearly begged him to stay at his expenses.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked practically breathlessly. He knew Maven knew what he was talking about. Maven smiled, and looked like a cat with its own prey. Not that Thomas was sorry when it happened, once Maven managed to get him, it was a pleasure for both of them.

"Because I'm the best, and I can have anything I like." replied Maven, with the hoarse voice.

Thomas smiled, and it was not difficult for the other to understand that he had just made the partner really horny. He found himself thinking that he should have been a politician if his words made that effect to people.

Evangeline was getting dressed before the last performance. They would have won, she knew it. They were by far the most prepared, and besides they were the only two women to dance together, so their choreography was very different from those of the other participants. Moreover, both were thin as rushes, with beautiful and young faces; in short, the portrait of perfection, and the thing did not seem to displease the judges at all. Evangeline did not care about being perfect. She only wanted to get to the end of that day and unleash Elane's delicate dress, if not tear it to pieces, and stop thinking, at least for a few moments, of expectations, deadlines, competitions and training. When she kissed her, she could not hear her father's voice shouting that she could do better. When she stroked her white skin, when she made her shiver with her delicate fingers, she did not see the disgusted expression of her mother if she saw her eating a chocolate bar. Only Elane made her feel so good, even if she was not the only one who she could be the real Evangeline with. Ptolemus was the best example. He was the other half of the apple, that part of the soul that was not in her body, but in that of her brother, who resembled her so much that many exchanged them for twins, even with the six-year gap. Even with Wren, things were going well: she was good and kind, and when she saw her too stressed, she gave her beautiful shoulders massages. She said that with Ptolemus they worked, and she was not very different from her brother. Wren and Sonya were the only girls he knew and could consider friends. They were the only ones, besides Elane, to have seen behind the facade of hard skater, dedicated to sport and to her perfect relationship with the captain of the hockey team. However, Sonya had a problem: she spoke too much. Therefore, Wren was the only one who knew about her relationship with Elane, besides Ptolemus and her parents. Not that Volo or Larentia were happy: they were the ones who had been orchestrating the farce of the story with Cal and suggesting that Elane should pretend to be engaged with Ptolemus. They would have aroused less suspicion, they said, if they had always gone out together: best friends, partner in skating, and Elane would soon become Evangeline's sister-in-law. They even tried to put pressure on Ptolemus. Perhaps, before Wren, it would work. Tolly was willing to do anything to see her happy but Wren was special and Evangeline didn’t wanted for him to sacrifice her. He deserved to be happy just like she did.

"You're trembling." Elane whispered, turning, and taking her hands in hers.

Evangeline just smiled. Elane knew the reason for her nervousness.

"We'll sort things out, sooner or later. Ptolemus and Wren will help us and you'll see that everything will return to its place. "

Evangeline needed those words of comfort, even if she was sure they were empty, so she came up to kiss the girl, silently thanking her. It was at that moment that the door of the dressing room was thrown open, and Volo Samos, accompanied by his wife, made his triumphal entry. Evangeline saw from the corner of her eye the expression of her father hardened, but said nothing, ready to bear yet another lecture.

Larentia closed the door behind her, or perhaps he blocked it with something, not that it made any difference to Evangeline: she would not have been able to get out of there, if she did not want to get a good deal of slap in the face once the race was over.

"You have to be more careful," Volo began, and Evangeline already knew how that sentence ended, with what accusatory tone he would have told them that if anyone had seen them, their career would be over. It was a lie. They certainly would not have considered them the same way, but a perfect performance was still a perfect performance, from whatever place they came, whatever their sexual tastes were.

"Nobody could enter this room." Evangeline pointed out. "Except for my disturbing parents, of course."

If she had been more careful, Evangeline would have seen Larentia arrive, but she was too focused on holding her father's gaze, to show him that she was not afraid. So the mother hit her with a slap in the face. If she wasn’t heavily makeup, maybe people would have seen the sign of the five fingers, if someone else had hit it, but Larentia Viper had a tremendous passion for the rings, possibly showy and heavy, and if she had only the wedding ring on her left hand, the right hand, with which she had hit her daughter, was a riot of expensive trinkets.

Volo did not seem impressed by the betrayed expression of Evangeline, the pain in her eyes, or by the fact that she was pressing strongly on her sore cheek. He did not seem to feel anything at all, and it gave Evangeline shivers: how could a father not react?

"Move, you are next." he hissed, before turning away from them and leaving. As the couple closed the doors behind them, Elane leaned over her fiancée, who was still with her cheek pressed against her hand, staring at the ground.

"Eve, are you alright?" she asked, and Evangeline nodded, but let Elane hug her anyway. She gritted her teeth hard and at one point, she was even afraid of being able to break them. She did not care. She had to be strong, she had to hold on again for a while; she would have had enough time to cry when she arrived in her room. Yet she felt tears pressing down her eyes and a terrible knot in her throat that kept her from talking.

Ptolemus followed after the usual photos, just as Elane had requested, but took another taxi, to not attract unwanted attentions, exactly as Cal had done. On the way, he sent a message to Wren, asking her to join him in Evangeline's room, and then stood for at least another five minutes with his eyes on the black screen.

He made his way into the hall, almost running, and did not bother to take the elevator-he jumped up the steps three by three, and arrived in his sister's room decisively earlier. Elane only opened the door when she heard his voice, and then she quickly closed the door behind him. Ptolemus could only feel a twinge in his chest in seeing his sister in those conditions. Evangeline had always been beautiful, even without makeup, her white skin perfectly harmonious with her almost white hair, dark gray eyes in marvelous contrast. Nothing could disturb that sharp face that he saw so much like his own, or at least nothing had ever done it before. Wren was dealing with what would become a huge bruise that was beginning to take on shades of purple. Evangeline did not moved, staring down at the floor, tears running uncontrollably down her cheeks. Ptolemus rage was uncontrollable.

"What happened?" he growled, turning to Elane. And the girl calmly began to tell again the truth that could no longer be hidden, in the same tone she had just reported to Wren.

"I kill her." Ptolemus hissed, before leaving the room, slamming the door with such force that Wren thought the walls would collapse. She had never seen him so angry. With an apologetic glance at Elane, she stood up, ready to chase him, but Evangeline squeezed her delicate wrist tightly. It was so strange, the contrast with her clear hand, with perfect nails, lacquered black, compared to her skin, so terribly dark.

"Do not do it, or you'll end up being injured too. When he’s like that, he doesn’t know how to stop." Evangeline said, without even looking up. At least she had stopped crying.

"Maybe, but it's worth trying." Wren replied, and slipped away from Evangeline's grip. She realized only when she reached the hall that she had no idea where to go.

"Miss." the receptionist called her. Wren turned, ready to paint on her face the kindest expression she had and to ask her for directions on where a handsome, light-haired boy, looking decidedly hasty, could have been. However, the woman did not ask her where she was going, or if she were to call her a taxi. She told her she was bleeding. Wren looked down at her wrist. Evangeline had squeezed with such force that while Wren had freed herself, she had left four deep cuts in her flesh.

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likehephaestionwhodied15 · 3 years

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Alec Lightwood Hockey AU

[threads can start anywhere in the story after Alec is an Adult, and do not have to follow this exact story line]

[very long post under the cut]

Alec grew up playing pond hockey in Northern New York. His father expected great things from him, expected Alec to win the Stanley cup he never did. Alec ends up disapointing his father at every turn.

He turns down the chance to join any of the Major Junior teams, avoiding the draft completely, instead playing for his High School team. Its less risk, he tells himself, less pressure. If anyone finds out he’s gay- well there will be less of a spotlight. And if he keeps the lid on it plenty of kids have gone on to the NHL with out playing Major Juniors.

After graduating High School Alec again turns down the chance to play in the Canadian Hockey League, deciding instead to go to College, Boston College in fact. “A good hockey school.” He promises his father it doesn’t make things any better.

Alec goes un-drafted, his father blames him, tells Alec that he should have done better at the draft combine, that he probably had shit interviews with the teams “If any team wanted to talk to you anyways.” Alec is secretly relieved. He wants to play Hockey for the rest of his life, or as long as possible anyways, but the burden of his father’s expectations, and the thought of being the only queer player in an entire league are heavy. He knows he wouldn’t be the only queer player statistically it’s impossible but that’s all he has to go off of, statistics. He and math have never been friends.

When the call for the National Team comes Alec isn’t sure who is more suprised, him or his father. The American team could fill up with boys from the National Program, boys in the CHL, boys who’ve been drafted, and boy playing in the NHL right now. It’s not a chance he can turn down. He doesn’t even want to, playing on the second largest international stage should terrify him, his carefully held secrets. But it doesn’t, he takes the chance.

After his spectacular play in the international tournament offers from teams start rolling in. He knows his father scowls as he turns each one down “I want to finish my education first.” He could be letting go of his shot at the NHL, his father tells him, and maybe he’s right but Alec wants this, a degree is a sure future, an NHL contract is not.

Alec gets the call for the National Junior team again the next year. This time, not only does he play for his country, he captains the team, after all it might be the last time he gets to wear the stars and stripes. And just like the year before the offers from teams come rolling in. He tells them what he told them the year before “two more years, and then I’ll think about it.”

The Winter of his Senior year he takes a leave from school to go play in the Olympics. He doesn’t know how he made the cut, there are so many Americans in the NHL, not even the CHL boys make the cut, or the National program boys. So there’s no way Alec can say no. He gets more calls from more NHL teams, even after a Silver Medal to Canada. He has less than a semester left, he won’t give up now.

He graduates on a Saturday, after he walks across the stage he walks out of the arena and into the locker room. He gives the Logo in the middle of the room a reverent kiss on his way out, stuffing his cap and gown in his back pack before getting a cab, hoping on a plane, and goin to Ukraine. He has one more international tournament to play in before he makes a choice about the NHL.

In Ukraine he meets with executives from half a dozen teams. He almost wishes he had his dad around, to help him listen, understand what was being said. Wishes he had the money for an agent. Instead he had to go with his gut, he signs with the Edmonton Oilers.

Alec realizes that his hopes of staying out of the spotlight are gone as soon as his plane touches down in Edmonton. He’d stayed out of the public eye so far, doing as few interviews as he could get away with. Letting the others on his team shine, doing his best to direct all the attention to his defense partner. But now, there are reporters with cameras, and he doesn’t know how they found out what flight he was on. He goes into a cold sweat while answering as few of the million questions posed to him as possible.

After his frist week of training camp Alec wonders if he ought to have signed in Montreal, maybe not knowing French would get him out of most of these questions. He envies the guys from overseas, the ones he knows are pretending not to know English to avoid the media. He had always hidden himself but now he works overtime. His phone’s pass key switched for a finger print. Any possible incriminating message deleted after he reads it, refusing to even think about his private life around reporters, his team mates.

it goes well, until it doesn’t. Half way though the season Alec loses his footing both figuratively and literally. Literally he slips, his foot slamming into the board his ankle going wonky, a team mate has to help him off the ice. Figuratively he pulls even further away from his team mates. Even after he is all healed up he doesn’t play right. Like he is out of sync.

From here it’s whatever the thread wants it to be. Alec can come out or not. He can get back in sync or not. I don’t have any other set ideas about Alec in the NHL

#Alec Lightwood rp #The archer || about #verse: hockey #gods I forgot how much i love hockey AUs #this was gonna be queued but I can't wait for it to come out

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biofunmy · 4 years

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A Reworked Davis Cup Requires Some Patience

MADRID — Nerves have been part of Davis Cup since tennis’s oldest team competition began 119 years ago.

But the edginess has a different source than usual this week in Madrid, where Davis Cup’s final rounds have been radically transformed by an unlikely partnership between the International Tennis Federation and Spanish soccer star Gerard Piqué.

The suspense, for a change, seems less about who will win the big, gleaming trophy and more about how much anyone will care who wins the big, gleaming trophy.

It makes for an odd vibe, and opening day on Monday was, first and foremost, about evaluating the size and passion of the crowds, not about scrutinizing the forehands and backhands.

The first impression was clear: Attendance was underwhelming at the Caja Mágica tennis complex, with all three of its covered stadiums far from full for the day’s three head-to-head team matches.

But in this new and uncertain era, it would be unfair to judge the product too quickly, even if, at this stage, the only matches that are sold out this week are the two involving Spain and its very popular leader, Rafael Nadal.

In all, there are 18 teams gathered for this final phase, including two nations that received wild cards: Argentina and Britain, which has Andy Murray back on its squad as he continues his comeback from major hip surgery.

Whether or not you relish the wild-card concept — and I certainly don’t unless it’s the host nation — the 18 teams are divided into six groups. The group winners and two next best teams will advance to the quarterfinals, which begin Thursday. All matches are best-of-three sets, and each head-to-head team matchup comprises two singles matches followed by a doubles match.

It feels like a sprint compared to the long-form Davis Cup duels of the past, which were best-of-five sets and contested over three days with four singles matches and a doubles match. At the top level, there were also four rounds over the course of a year.

But with the top players playing the event only intermittently and with long-term viability and revenue a concern, the I.T.F., led by its American president David Haggerty, voted to change the format beginning this year after receiving a lucrative offer from Kosmos, the investment group presided over by Piqué.

“I think you’ve got to look at it as a whole, look at the big picture,” said Mardy Fish, a former top 10 player who is the new captain of the United States Davis Cup team. “It feels different, a little different, sure, but the bones are there. The playing for your country is there, and the team part is there, and it’s always special putting on the flag and putting on the jacket. There is something very powerful about the American flag and having it on your chest.”

The United States, featuring two Davis Cup rookies in Taylor Fritz and Reilly Opelka, will make its debut in the new format on Tuesday. The U.S. will face Canada, which defeated Italy on Monday after another of the game’s bright young talents, Denis Shapovalov, clinched the victory over the new Italian star Matteo Berrettini, 7-6 (5), 6-7 (3), 7-6 (5), in what amounted to the new Davis Cup’s first thriller.

Participation of star players was one of the big justifications for messing with the Cup’s rich tradition, but only five of the current top 10 are in Madrid.

Though No. 1 Nadal and No. 2 Novak Djokovic are here, No. 4 Dominic Thiem and No. 6 Stefanos Tsitsipas, who dueled Sunday at the ATP Finals, are not because their countries, Austria and Greece, did not qualify. No. 5 Daniil Medvedev, worn down from a successful fall, withdrew and was not on the Russian team that beat Croatia on Monday. And Davis Cup refuseniks Roger Federer and Alexander Zverev are providing plenty of social-media competition with a big-money exhibition tour of Latin America.

Tennis Channel in the United States will show one of those exhibition matches on Sunday after failing to agree to financial terms with Kosmos on the rights to Davis Cup. Instead, Fox Sports 2 will broadcast the American team’s matches and the championship match in the United States.

“People go to Tennis Channel to watch tennis, and they have exhibitions on there instead of real stuff,” Fish said. “It’s disappointing, and I know the guys are disappointed.”

Eric Abner, a spokesman for Tennis Channel, said: “We’re disappointed, too. We want to show Davis Cup. It comes down to resources.”

Less extreme options were considered for the Davis Cup format: making it a biennial instead of an annual event; or having the semifinals and the final at a neutral site with two earlier rounds played in the traditional home-and-away format.

And if you listen to the skeptics, less extreme options may eventually be reconsidered.

“I will bet you anything you like that in maximum two years they are going to change the format again,” said Ion Tiriac, the former Davis Cup star for Romania, in a recent interview.

Tiriac is a longtime tennis coach and agent, who is also the owner of the tournament held in Madrid in the Caja Mágica each year in May. For Tiriac, 80, the Davis Cup transformation is a travesty.

“It is a joke and a disgrace,” he said. “They have ruined the jewel of tennis.”

Piqué, in an interview earlier this year, played down Tiriac’s criticisms.

“He’s very old school in the way he sees things and at the same time being in Madrid, both of us, is something that doesn’t help,” Piqué said. “Maybe if instead of Madrid, we were playing the first two years of this even in France, he would have a different feeling.”

For Piqué, more accustomed to dealing with opposing strikers than tennis power brokers, his Davis Cup journey has been quite a steep learning curve.

He approached leaders of the I.T.F. and the men’s tour, the ATP, with Kosmos’s concept of a World Cup-style team event. But even after the I.T.F. became Kosmos’s partner, negotiations continued with the ATP.

With the parties close to an agreement in 2018, the deal collapsed. The ATP created its own men’s team event, the ATP Cup, which will be held in early January in Australia with 24 teams and, for now, commitments from nine of the top 10 men in the rankings.

That will make for two very similar competitions within seven weeks of each other, which is, naturally, far from ideal. But Piqué has continued to express his belief that a merger or joint deal can eventually be completed.

“I’m very confident that in the future we can do it,” he said. “I can tell you that we have tried, and we will keep trying, because we believe this is the way to go, but at the same time we have to face reality.”

For now, the reality is that the Davis Cup finals will be staged in these less-than-ideal November dates in Madrid this year and next year. But Kosmos and the I.T.F. could choose a different venue or different dates in the future.

“I see it with a long-term view,” Piqué said. “The deal is for 25 years.”

The long-term view certainly seemed the more pleasant view when the opening ceremony took place on Monday afternoon in a main stadium that was less than half full.

But by the time evening arrived, there was the 20-year-old Shapovalov holding off the 23-year-old Berrettini and howling with unfeigned delight before celebrating with his teammates and a small but rowdy group of red-clad Canadian fans.

Mixed signals? Get used to them.

Sahred From Source link Sports

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loveaudienceblog-blog · 6 years

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In my last blog post I briefly mentioned media rating and how it is hard to actually depict how many viewers there are, how actively engaged they are or if they even like the show. This blog posting will go more in depth to ratings and the purpose or lack of purpose they serve. Sullivan states that “ratings serve as extensions of the needs of media corporations and advertising- to facilitate transactions” (Sullivan 2013, 83). Therefore, stating that audiences are measured for a few different reasons. One of these very important reasons would be for advertising in specific, such as narrowing down target markets for advertising agencies. These advertising agencies want to advertise products to the right target market, therefore they would not advertise Budweiser beer during a children’s program because chances are kids are not looking to get lit… nor do they know what that is… maybe they do, who knows really. But in all seriousness advertising through the wrong channel and to the wrong target market is a waste of advertiser’s money. That is why ratings are measured through quantitative analysis so people can be grouped into number sequences and broken down into importance. With these numbers agencies are able to see which ads would be most effective during a certain program. I know this sounds like summarizing the obvious but I am getting to the point, bare with me.

Since being in audience studies I have noticed advertising to target markets countless amount of times. One example would be that I was home for reading week with my family and there was nothing on the TV that we could all agree on to watch, so, we put on a show called Modern Family. During the commercial breaks we saw many advertisements but the large majority of the advertisements were directed at activities that families could do or things that families could own. We saw advertisements for Great Wolf Lodge a family water park, and commercials for the SPCA letting us know that dogs were ready to be adopted into loving family homes… if those don’t scream obvious target market (middle to upper class family homes) then I don’t know what does. Clearly advertising agencies had bought the ratings of Modern Family air time and recognized that they had a large target market of middle to upper class family’s that were tuning in, this is how they decided what advertisements to play and at what time.

So here’s the thing about ratings not being exactly accurate, let me break it down. First, my family and I aren’t regular viewers to the show Modern Family. Second, we didn’t even really watch the program we mainly talked the whole time during it, it was simply background noise. Third, 3 out of 4 of us didn’t like the show and thought it was cheesy. However, us tuning into the show that day counted as their ratings and probably helped the show to look popular with its peak in ratings. Through these three examples it is seen that we didn’t even pay attention to the show nor did anyone like it…but our viewership helped the show to look better. Sullivan says it best when he states, “…companies and advertisers was guided by the ratings numbers themselves, not actual audiences viewing” (Sullivan 2013, 83). Only furthering the point that some of the people tuning into the show that day are not fans and not even really an audience they’re just ‘watching’ it for convenience. Therefore, the advertisements played during that program may not even be reaching the targeted audience they were striving for.

I should’ve mentioned this earlier but I guess there’s never a wrong time to talk about monopolies. Are you asking yourself how all these ratings collected and by who? Probably not you’re the TA and your educated in this stuff, but anyway… So the two primary companies for rating collection are Nielsen and Arbitron. These guys have created monopoly in the industry and are making bank off our information. Now, is this right in my opinion? Heck to the NO! First of all, this is public information literally the publics information and they’re jacking up prices to buy it. Second, if other smaller companies cannot get in and collect the same data, how do we knows that Nielsen is being honest with it? How do we know that they’re not fixing the numbers to make the data look better than it is and therefore more valuable? We don’t know this… That is why laws and regulations should be implemented to safe guard our information at a fair price, and also allow the public to access their own data. As mentioned in lecture, in European countries they are able to access their own information and what sort of consumer they are and how much their data is worth based off of their ratings. I believe Canada and the United states should ultimately adopt a similar model because I feel that it is morally right and just seems like a good idea in general.

One thing that was brought up in lecture and really sparked my interest was that Nielsen will be able to accurately read the ratings of Netflix, Amazon and Hulu streaming sites. I’m not to sure what the future of cable TV looks like, but I’m guessing it may become obsolete soon because of these streaming sites mentioned above. These sites are airing the same shows as the ones currently on cable, they’re airing reruns of old shows, and even creating and developing their own. These streaming cites are charging like max $15 a MONTH. People are paying cable bills that can sometimes exceed over $100 a month, and they might not even find anything on the TV that sparks their interest and just end up reading a book or going outside and enjoying fresh air… EW. With a $100 cable bill no wonder people are dropping their providers like its hot and switching to streaming sites that are not only cheaper but literally have so much to choose from it can become overwhelming. So what’s the deal with Nielsen reading their ratings? Well, if cable becomes obsolete advertisers are going to have to find new ways to advertise their products and they’re not just going to drop bank on advertisements for Netflix if no one is even watching. Not only is Nielsen doing advertisers a favour by telling them the ratings of the steaming shows they’re doing all of us a solid and actually showing us how good these programs are. We get to be in the know and see the ratings for ourselves, including peoples binge watching habits. As I mentioned above, as viewers we should be able to see that data that we contribute too. If you’re a subscriber to any of those sites you will be able to see some of the data that you have contributed too. As a student in an audience studies I feel as though this should be something we get excited about... like heck ya show us how good Netflix actually is instead of them telling us how good they are, ya know? We should be excited about the evolution of reading ratings especially for new things such as streaming sites that are really only a couple years old. With all these quick advancements I hope that we are able to read ratings accurately, but who knows man, who knows.

Uses and Gratification theory is a pretty obvious and simple one, basically stating that we watch different types of media to satisfy different types of wants and needs. However, is does grow more complex when applying Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and the MAIN model.

For example, I would like to talk about the recent death of Canadian icon Gord Downie. Regardless if you were a fan of the Tragically Hip you would have heard about the passing of the bands lead singer Gord Downie through social media plat forms, at school, the office, grocery stores, and print media. Every single one of us in the days after his death became audience members of the tragedy. The reasons for listening or watching the Tragically Hip can be applied to Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, as stated, the hierarchy starts off with basic needs and then moves up, you cannot move up the pyramid if you haven’t satisfied the current need. Thus, someone may listen to the band to satisfy their safety and security needs, listening to the band may help with anxiety or freedom of fear. Another person may not even know of the band but then starts listening to the music so that they can relate to people when they converse about it, therefore creating friendships or giving a sense of belonging. It could even be possible that someone listens to the Hip because it gives them some sort of self-confidence, they find truth within the lyrics which helps them to boost their esteem (Sullivan 116, 3013).

In the Uses and Gratification chapter I found a definition that really opened my eyes and never really how true it was to me until now. Alan M. Rubin and his students were mentioned in the chapter for having discovered some of the motives behind watching television and more specifically how there can be two types of people can be classified. One is instrumental audiences; these people will search for specific content so that they can be more engaged with the content that they’re watching. The second is ritualized audiences, these people will watch television for background noise or to consume their time (Sullivan 117, 2013). I defiantly fit in with the ritualized audience for numbers of reasons, one reason being that I use it as a procrastination tool… instead of starting this blog I chose to binge watch Stranger Things 2 which was AMAZING btw. Another reason being that when I get ready for school in the mornings (or afternoon) I turn on The Office for back ground noise, this is also satisfying my safety and security needs because it makes me feel protected when I hear other noises (Kind of weird but don’t judge me). So yeah basically reading that made me feel a little stupid because I just watch television to waste away my time pretty much… thank you Alan for making me feel like a brainless tool bag.

The thing with being an audience member is that you’re always engaging is someway, whether it is consciously or subconsciously. Some media and its contents require you to think a little harder about it than others but when it comes down to visual aids, you see what you see and you interpret it in your way. Sometimes the way you’ve interpreted is similar to others, and sometimes its completely the opposite. In first year university my film prof repeated over and over again that film and television are not mindless entertainment everything put out there is meant to make you think or feel some way, and since he said that I’ve always carried it with me. This relates to a Carls Jr and Hardees commercial that I wrote a paper on last year. In this commercial a beautiful woman is walking naked through a farmer’s market, in this farmer’s market her genitalia are covered by fruits and vegetable as she walks past them. As she’s walking past the produce men are grabbing the food items and talking them away. One of my class mates saw this commercial as harmless, he thought it was trying to promote that the restaurants use farm fresh produce and the naked girl was just there to sell the burger being advertised. He saw it at the denotative level, the literal universal meaning of the signs. I however saw it at its connotative level, essentially the subtext or societal meaning. In my eyes the produce was representing the female’s genitalia, and the fruits and vegetables were literally being man handled by the males in the commercial. I saw this as a women’s body being there for the taking and that the men could pick things out that they liked… If that isn’t messed up and degrading I don’t know what is. Clearly this is a very aggravating topic, but this is an example of how people interpret media texts in different ways.

Well I hope you learned a few things today kids! All in all that’s ratings, uses and gratification and interpretation of media text. Well I don’t have anything else to say, so thank you for reading :)

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rebeccahpedersen · 7 years

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Liberal Government’s “16-Point Plan” Comes Up 14 1/2 Points Shy

TorontoRealtyBlog

I’ve had the weekend to digest the “Ontario Fair Housing Plan,” the title of which sounds eerily-similar to the “Ontario Fair Hydro Plan,” and I’ve come to the sad, yet somewhat expected conclusion, that the entire thing is just political rhetoric.

Save for a foreign buyer’s tax that might affect a couple people here and there, and rent controls, the rest of the “plan” is a list of vague, rambling, hollow, and incomplete “points” that don’t specify actual action to be taken, or a timeline, or a plan for implementation.

Mumbo-jumbo. Gobbledygook. Hocus-pocus. Blather.

What else would you expect from Kathleen Wynne?

“You can’t tax your way into a cooler market.”

That’s what I’ve said all along.

From the moment the rumblings started about the government “taking steps to cool the market,” through the speculation about what measures they would take, right up to last week when their 16-point plan was announced, I’ve continued to reiterate that the government simply can’t tax their way to a cooler market.

It’s naive. It’s novice. And it’s insulting to the constituents of the province.

Taking money away from people is not going to help cool the real estate market.

The real estate market, like any market, is about two things: supply and demand.

I know, I know – I’ve said this before a thousand times. And although that’s more of a metaphor, I think over the years, the times I have mentioned supply and demand may now actually add up to a thousand!

In any event, while I didn’t have high hopes for the Liberals’ measures to address the housing market, I did hope that they would do the simplest, easiest, most obvious thing possible and start their “plan” by looking at supply and demand.

Having read through their plan, it’s now clear that they did nothing of the sort.

Friday’s blog, for which I applaud each and every one of you who commented, probably had more meaningful, well-thought-out ideas than every meeting between the Liberal figureheads over the past few months.

Why can’t they see what’s staring them right in the face, and yet we simple folk can?

If you want to cool the market, you need to do one, or both, of the following:

Decrease Demand

Increase Supply

It’s not rocket science, and yet watching the Liberals try and figure this out is like watching monkeys try and put blocks into slots.

All the Liberals needed to do, that is, if they really wanted to attempt to cool the market (many think they weren’t interested in seriously implementing policy change, but rather wanted to hold a press conference and make announcements about nothing), is figure out how to decrease demand, or increase supply. That’s it. It’s that simple.

Instead, what we got last week were 16-nonsense-points, some of which had nothing to do with real estate (elevators???), or were vague, or referenced a future call to action.

Let’s start from the beginning here, and I’m working off the “16-Point Plan” which can be found HERE.

1) Foreign Buyer’s Tax

I’ve been saying all along, that if we want to cool the market – in this case, by decreasing demand, then we can do so rather easily by implementing a foreign ownership ban, that masquerades as a tax.

Because as I’ve said with Vancouver – nobody, I don’t care how rich they are, is going to pay a $300,000 fee to purchase a $2,000,000 property.

That tax in Vancouver is essentially a ban.

And while I can see why governments don’t want to enact “bans,” and thus they’ve implemented a tax that nobody is going to pay, I still can’t see why Ontario, or Toronto, didn’t implement the tax as Vancouver did.

Because make no mistake – our tax is not their tax.

Their tax is a 15% tax on foreign buyers.

Our tax is a 15% on foreign buyers, subject to a slew of exemptions and rebates.

Their tax will have a tangible effect, and already has.

Our tax will have virtually no effect.

The government really dropped the ball here, that is, if they wanted to actually decrease demand with this foreign buyer’s tax.

And personally, I was all for the tax, er, ban.

Canada is for Canadians, or at least it should be. I see no reason why hard-working, tax-paying Canadians should be pushed to the back of the line, because people across the world, who’s currency renders ours Monopoly-money, are buying up our real estate like it’s going out of style.

I know there’s a counter-argument to be made here, and one upon a time, I would have made it. Every country strives desperately for foreign investment, and some time ago, as will be the case in the future, Canadians will be starving for foreign investment.

But that time is not now. Not with respect to real estate.

So while I personally would have supported measures similar to that of Australia, I think what the government did last week – telling constituents that they’re bringing in a tax, when the tax will have a fraction of the implied effect, is gutless.

2) Rent Controls

This is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing the Wynne government has ever done.

Thirty years from now, university students will be reading about this policy decision in text books.

I haven’t seen a single economist who thinks this is a good idea, in fact, every economist out there is saying it will have the complete opposite effect as what was intended.

And let’s not forget, that this whole issue came out of a CBC story that was, in my opinion, flawed journalism.

Back in February, Shannon Martin from the CBC wrote a story about how her rent was going up $1,000 per month, and that led to other stories about rents “doubling.”

As several commenters pointed out on Friday’s blog, this wasn’t about rents going up – it was about getting tenants out so that the landlord could sell the unit.

If you’re a landlord in this market, you know that not only do you need to sell your condo with vacant possession (ie. no tenant attached), but you also need the unit vacant for the sale process so you can clean, stage, and have unfettered access.

So through legal means, you can tell the tenant his or her rent is going up “one hundred billion dollars,” and that will cause them to walk away.

There was zero mention of this in the CBC story, nor was it explained in follow-up articles.

All the media was about how “prices for rentals are doubling,” and all the while I pulled my hair out and tried to find somebody to listen.

I must have told 5-6 media members, through interviews that they solicited, how misleading these stories were.

But nobody reported what was really going on.

And I felt like this:

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How fitting that a Liberal policy change was based on flawed and misrepresented information.

3) Actions To Protect Tenants

The Liberal government is going to give us a “standardized lease,” which might be worthwhile, except that we already have one.

If you do a lease through MLS, you’re signing the standard OREA “Agreement to Lease,” which is subject to the clauses and conditions that the landlord and tenant agree to.

Those clauses and conditions must be variable. They form part of the negotiation, just like the price, deposit, and closing date.

Who is going to create this standardized lease? Who is going to enforce it? How is it going to be implemented? And what if a landlord doesn’t like it?

As it stands now, the “standard” OREA “Agreement of Purchase & Sale” doesn’t stop somebody from taking a ballpoint pen and striking out some of the “pre-printed text.”

What the hell do they mean with this standardized lease?

4) Leverage The Value Of Surplus Provincial Lands

Great idea.

But how long will it take to implement?

This will undoubtedly go through studies, committees, panels, reviews, and eventually fizzle out like most other proposals.

5% of the units will be “affordable ownership,” they say. What does that mean? Tax-payers subsidize the ownership of a handful of units for people who essentially win the lottery?

5) Vacant Land Tax

This is how the point reads: “Introducing legislation that would, if passed, empower the City of Toronto, and potentially other interested municipalities…”

“If passed.”

So the Liberals are taking credit for allowing Toronto City Council to potentially vote on something like this, at some point, maybe.

Classic politicking.

6) Property Tax For New Multi-Unit Residential

Hilarious!

This is a joke, right?

The Liberals think that point #6 still applies, despite point #2.

The point reads: “This will encourage developers to build more new purpose-built rental housing…”

Really?

But you completely discouraged them from building rentals when you brought in rent control!

Oh, Liberals!

7) Rebating a Portion Of Development Charges

$125 Million over 5 years.

Isn’t the GDP of Ontario about $800 Billion per year?

Who cares about $125M, especially when it’s “in those communities that are most in need of new purpose-built rental housing,” which essentially means they have no idea where they’re going to implement this yet.

Once upon a time, $125 Million over 5-years was significant.

Now it’s what Kyle Lowry is going to sign for this off-season…

Oh, and by the way – that $125 Million is being rebated to developers. So the Liberals will have to replace it with…….more taxes on us?

8) This BS:

“Providing municipalities with the flexibility to use property tax tools to help unlock development opportunities….”

Seriously?

This is such politicking!

This doesn’t even MEAN anything!

It’s just words, strung together, sounding important!

Remember what I said about crazy pills???

9) Housing Supply Team

This makes me want to puke:

“Creating a new Housing Supply Team with dedicated provincial employees to identify barriers to specific housing development projects and work with developers and municipalities to find solutions.”

Great. So they’re creating another wing of government, that will create more new and useless jobs, that taxpayers will foot the bill for.

And more nonsense/meaningless rhetoric: “…identify barriers to specific housing development projects….find solutions.”

It’s like in Grade One, when the teacher says, “Break into groups, and discuss.”

Except this isn’t Grade One – this is the adult world, and the Liberals want to create a wing of government, to……….break into groups, and discuss.

10) Paper Flipping

Once again, the point doesn’t lay out any action, but rather implies that maybe, at some point, something will happen:

“The province will work to understand and tackle practices that may be contributing to tax avoidance and excessive speculation in the housing market such as paper flipping.”

What is this crap?

“Work to understand,” they say.

How many panels, committees, groups, and boards will be created to address this topic?

11) Double-Ending

They want to end, double-ending?

The public doesn’t like it?

Well neither do I, and neither do most agents.

But the truth is, folks, if Realtor Bob wants to double-end his listing, and he can’t represent buyer and seller, he can always find some rookie in his office to submit the offer for his buyer, and pay a referral fee.

Agents will find a way around this, just as foreign buyers will find a way around the tax.

Sorry – but don’t shoot the messenger.

That aside, I do like the idea of a complete overhaul of the system that governs us. REBBA 2002 was written in, well as you might guess, 2002.

I have no idea why this legislation is so out of date.

But wait…..wasn’t the Condominium Act written in 1998?

12 Housing Advisory Group

Great. More government.

13) Educating Consumers

What?

When?

How?

Where?

These 16-points get worse and worse as we move to the bottom.

It’s just hollow, mindless drivel at this point.

14) Partnering With C.R.A.

I suppose if we all pay more tax, then somehow, magically, we’ll be able to afford real estate?

15) Some BS About Elevators?

Come on, Liberals!

You’re not even trying anymore!

You’re so desperate to flush out your 16-point plans that you put something in here about elevator repair!

16) Growth Plan

When I see words like “understanding” and phrases like “working with,” it just shows me, once again, that they’re not actually outlining any specific proposals, but rather are going to give us a long paragraph that we get tired of reading halfway through, and simply give up, and assume they’re doing……something.

Although the last part of this paragraph does specify that “nothing” will happen to the Green Belt, which, of course, is one of the most frequently-suggested solutions to our housing woes.

–

Phew.

And here I thought I might come off as being cynical for a change…

Look, I don’t want to turn this into a political debate, but at the same time you can all infer that I’m not a Liberal supporter.

Kathleen Wynne has set this province so far back with her actions over the last four years, and now she’s standing up in front of a podium, promising things she can’t deliver, with “policies” that have no teeth, and essentially taking credit for future successes at the municipal and provincial levels.

If the government wants to cool the market, they have to do one of the following:

Decrease Demand

Increase Supply

Aside from a foreign buyer’s tax that might take a handful of buyers out of the market, these policies do nothing to decrease demand, or increase supply.

And the only one of the 16-points that has any teeth – the rent controls, will ultimately lead to lower supply in the long term.

This is 16-points of bullshit, in my opinion.

The irony is – I haven’t found a real estate agent out there who thinks this “16 point plan” will have an effect on the market. Nor do I have one single buyer who wants to change his or her plans.

Sure, sellers are asking, “What impact will this have?”

But the early results out there – from opinion pieces in the media, suggest that most people don’t think this 16-point plan does anything to address the “crisis” we’re in, let alone take steps to “cool the market.”

This will cease to be a story in two weeks.

I’m sick about this. It makes me want to bury my head in the sand.

How did we get here?

Who voted for this woman?

And what else will she do in the next 13 months to try and win favour with the voting public?

I shudder to think…

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