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thanksjro · 3 years

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Dark Cybertron Chapter 11: The Word “Logic” Doesn’t Even Mean Anything Anymore

Our issue opens up with a flashback to establish some things. 

Because despite the six literal issues of prelude, and all the ham-fisted exposition we’ve gotten throughout the “Dark Cybertron” event, we still don’t have all the information we need to understand what the hell’s happening.

I have a feeling this won’t quite cut the mustard, either.

Anyway, back during the events of MTMTE #1, when Rodimus was making his call to action to his fellow Cybertronians (and by “Cybertronians” I, of course, mean “Autobots”, because prejudice is a hard habit to kick, even for the best of us) Brainstorm was doing science on Hardhead. He was doing this science to make sure that the Dead Universe hadn’t killed him without him realizing. This is a very common issue in the world of IDW2005 Transformers, considering that zombies are a part of canon, so it’s just best to be sure. Nova Prime’s lifeless body sits in the corner like the world’s worst coffee table book.

This will take some explaining, because this is Phase One related.

In Spotlight: Sideswipe, Nova Prime beefed it, except he didn’t, because his “essence” returned to the Dead Universe. This is because he was chosen by the Dead Universe to enact its will on the other, much cooler, Not-Dead Universe. In short, he’s a weird robot zombie-ghost with a save point in the Dead Universe.

Brainstorm has his corpse in his lab to make sure this bastard is true and proper dead, or that the body he left behind is at least. That, in combination with Hardhead proving to be very much alive, means that today can be counted as a win for everyone! The “Alive-People-Counter” machine proves it!

…This is why we can’t have nice things.

Brainstorm being undead does have some precedence within the narrative, given what happened in MTMTE #3.

Though I can’t help but wonder what the guy’s been doing for the last year and a half, that he didn’t notice being dead, when his soul is a large, glowing orb with physical presence. I dunno, he just seems like the sort of guy to keep up to date on that sort of thing, if only for scientific purposes.

In the present day, in the beautiful city of Iacon, everything’s gone to shit, and Whirl’s gotten hot for some reason, as billions of Ammonites fall out of the sky.

Who friggin’ drew this-

I should’ve known.

Up on the Lost Light, Ultra Magnus is breaking out the fancy swears, as a… tornado, I guess, of Ammonites hits the underside of the ship. Bumblebee wants to evacuate the friggin’ planet- which, I don’t know if you know this, would be a little difficult to do, even with a ship the size of NYC. Unfortunately, that’s not gonna fly, however, because all the stars in the sky are blue-shifting.

Wikipedia tells me that this is probably a bad thing, and Perceptor agrees, calling it “the end of everything.”

Over in Shockwave’s Lair of Villainy and Magical Bullshit, everyone’s favorite purple science gremlin has stabbed a “time drive” into his chest. Galvatron is laying dead on the floor in the foreground, but this isn’t about him. Shockwave orders Jhiaxus to activate the time drive, I guess because he doesn’t have long enough arms to do it himself. Jhiaxus warns Shockwave to be mindful, lest he lose himself in time, and then we get a return to a Roberts writing staple that we haven’t seen in quite a while.

Waxing poetic on the nature of time- this time, in a visual medium!

Awful lot of fixating on your ritualistic amputations there, Shocky-boy. I suppose this is ONE way to try to cope with a lack of control in your life.

Of course, to those on the outside of Shockwave’s brain, this doesn’t look nearly as impressive- it actually just looks like him screaming really loud at the ceiling. Bludgeon isn’t sure that this course of action is a healthy one to take, but Jhiaxus is too busy being sapiosexual to worry about that.

I-

Sure. I’m not even going to bother trying to understand this anymore.

Jhiaxus orders Monstructor to go keep the Autobots away from Shockwave.

Also, Galvatron isn’t dead. Good for him, I guess.

Over inside Metroplex, Windblade’s face seems to be stuck in the generic “I am a nice, nonthreatening female character who is also pretty” position, as Ultra Magnus tells her that the universe is ending. Chromia watches in the background as this happens, likely wondering if being relevant in modern media again is worth this bullshit.

Hearing that Bumblebee plans to take the fight to Shockwave is enough to get Metroplex back on his feet, which is good, because I don’t think we have a lot of time to convince the guy to do anything- this event ends next issue.

As Metroplex windmills his arms through swarms of Ammonites, the Lost Light lands, and Bumblebee, Megatron, and all their experts disembark. Bumblebee makes an unsolicited comment about Megatron’s body. They go to meet Soundwave, who isn’t terribly thrilled with Megatron having become all buddy-buddy with Bumblebee. Megatron mentions that the Decepticons are going to have to rethink their strategy once this is all over, with the implication being that they’re going to- gasp- work together with the Autobots.

Then Starscream shows up with Metalhawk, Skywarp, Rattrap, Waspinator, and Scoop for some fucking reason, in tow. Skywarp is going to teleport everyone into Shockwave’s Bastardization of the Concept of Science House, even though he pretty clearly isn’t feeling too well. What a guy.

Starscream and Megatron have a bit of banter that won’t set your hair on end with how awful they are to one another, Metalhawk tries to apologize for attempting to kill Bumblebee, and we really don’t have time for this shit right now. The narrative knows this, because it shifts to focus on Prowl and the Constructicons. Things are looking real rough just about everywhere, and it’s coming down to the wire, so they gotta do the thing.

The thing Prowl really doesn’t want to do.

The thing he said that he wouldn’t do again.

So anyway, they form Devastator.

As Monstructor gets ready to get punched in the face by a bunch of construction workers and a cop, everyone down below is firing off laser blasts and gearing up for a teleporting adventure. However, there’s a small problem- there are too many people to teleport! Oh no! The only solution is for Soundwave and his cassettes, Scoop, Getaway and-

Excuse me, Hook?

Hook, my dude? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be a leg right now, motherfucker, why are you here? GO HOME, HOOK.

Anyway, I’m really glad we wasted the time establishing that Soundwave and his band of merry little men were coming along on this trip, only for them to not come along after all. Love that shit.

I don’t actually love that shit. I’m sorry for lying.

With the load lightened, Skywarp teleports the rest of the gang to where they need to be, and Waspinator is immediately stabbed with a massive raging poisoning sword of doom. Bludgeon’s here to greet everyone, and Metalhawk is gonna try his damnedest to get the guy to come around to their side.

You remember when Metalhawk did things like connive, and scheme, and actually had more depth than a sidewalk puddle? Because I remember. Now he’s just... Beast Wars Silverbolt, but he’s not even attempting to be charming. I bet he wouldn’t even call his evil girlfriend “my soul’s delight.” Lame.

Bumblebee, Megatron, and friends book it for Shockwave, while Magnus and Skids get ready to kick some ass. Brainstorm isn’t feeling so hot, but this isn’t about him.

Starscream is having a minor crisis over the fact that Scoop stayed behind in a literal war zone for Starscream’s sake. I dunno that he did it specifically for Starscream, but Starscream seems pretty convinced that he did, and who am I to argue with the leader of a whole friggin’ planet?

The gang makes it to Jhiaxus’ ship, where they find-

I swear to god, if there’s not a fucking explanation for what the shit is happening right here I’m going to scream.

…So anyway, Metalhawk and Jhiaxus start beating each other up, Starscream gets bent out of shape by Jhiaxus’ trash talk, and we get an explanation for his new look.

Which, y’know, thank fucking god.

Jhiaxus has new reactive armor, which takes anything thrown at him and adapts it to his own body for personal use, which feels like some Grade-A Kids Playing Pretend bullshit, but WHATEVER.

While this is going on, Megatron and Bumblebee have run into the center of Shockwave’s Laboratory of Morally-Abhorrent Mystical Buffoonery Masquerading as the Scientific Method. Dreadwing tries to make a case for self-defense of his property, but unfortunately he doesn’t understand how property rights work, and gets blasted for his troubles. Galvatron reveals himself to be alive to Megatron, who immediately grabs the dude by the throat.

Galvatron’s feeling pretty down about having inadvertently helped end the universe, and is throwing himself a little pity party. Megatron’s not having it, however, tossing the man into the ground and revving up to fusion-cannon him to death. Bumblebee stops him, for some reason, and then starts rambling, I guess STILL trying to be Optimus Prime 2.0.

Bumblebee, you put bombs in people’s heads to make them fall into line. You don’t get to talk to Captain Warlord about moral nuance. And weren’t you also berating Metalhawk for trying this same thing not five minutes ago?

Bumblebee’s words reach Megatron, and instead of annihilating Galvatron, he offers the dude a hand up.

Then Bumblebee gets shot and dies, while Shockwave just… stares menacingly, I guess.

Cool.

The death of his very best friend in the whole wide world sends Megatron into a rage, and he punches Shockwave in the face. This doesn’t really faze him much though, as he bats Megatron across the fucking room like he’s made of papier-mâché and dreams, going on about how the universe will save Cybertron by being its power source “in an endless forever.”

Shockwave, you’re a man of science. You ought to know that “forever” as a concept, doesn’t fucking WORK scientifically. It’s nonsense. You’re nonsense, and I hate you.

Back with the Bludgeon Ass-Kicking Squad, Brainstorm’s having a bad time, while everyone else sort of awkwardly poses. Skids gets stabbed. Skids falls down. Brainstorm falls down. Ultra Magnus is concerned, but he’s too busy not being stabbed to help anyone.

Brainstorm’s in a lot of pain, and then a hand bursts out of his chest and-

GODDAMMIT JAMES.

Fucking- Team -Imus burst out of the Dead Universe from Brainstorm, who I will remind you, is undead thanks to Dead Universe lightning bullshit, making him a link between it and the much cooler Not-Dead Universe. Everyone is posing, even Cyclonus, who absolutely should think that sort of thing is beneath him, but whatever.

That’s the end of the issue. Go home.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #dark cybertron #issue 11 #rid #exrid #issue 27 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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monochromemedic · 4 years

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Flashback pt 3

Through the booming music that was beginning to die down, the lights that were beginning to settle, and the loud whistles of a few people from the crowd, two men sat in silence at the back of the karaoke bar. Fallon was deep red in the face, hand brushing through his hair as he slouched over on the table. Silas wasn’t much better. He wasn’t blushing or pale but he was staring off in the distance, arms crossed as he tried to process everything. In the silence of the karaoke bar as another person readied the stage and Dom walked off, back to his table to down a drink, the two men stared at their future friend. He was so different. The Dom they knew seemed restrained, work oriented, hell they never heard him sing before but here Dom was, looking like some heart throb decked out in revealing clothing and piercings. “Maybe we’re in a messed up timeline? Like we’ll leave and we’ll find out that this timeline is the one where there’s was a punk revolution or... uh aliens. And Dom’s just an alien in disguis-” Fallon trailed off as Silas stared at him causing him to cut himself off “Well can you blame me this is... weeiird.” “It is it’s just... no it is.” Silas muttered, rubbing his arm observing the table that Dom was now at. He was smiling, laughing even, as he talked to the other man at his table as they ordered another round of drinks. “He looks happy. I don’t think i’ve ever seen him smile like that.” “Man don’t say that...that’s sad...” Fallon muttered under his breath before standing up and beginning to walk towards the table Dom was at, only getting a few steps before Silas stopped him. “What are you doing man?” “Im gonna go home man. I’m gonna grab that picture and disappear back to my own time, with the grumpy Dom I know, with my shitty bed, and shitty pop culture.” “And just... yoink it from them like a weirdo?” “...Yeah. I mean I’ll touch it and be magically transported back where everything is ok and swell and none of this matters so... I mean does it matter really?” Fallon chuckled, giving a light shrug of his shoulders “But what if it isn’t like that and because we interact with him it messes everything up. Like that thing the... the... uh... damn I can’t think of the term.” “Butterfly Effect? I’d rather deal with that then having to tip toe my way around him and end up fucking myself over and living in the past for the rest of my life Silas. Time Travel is fucky, maybe it’ll correct itself... I mean we gotta hope.” Fallon turned back around to stare at the table, giving a little sigh “I’ll play it like the movies ok? I’ll pretend i’m meeting him for the first time, and we’ll get to know him. We get close, we grab the picture, we zoop back to shitty 2020 ok?” Silas’ fingers tightened around Fallon’s jacket before he too got up, an obvious look of worry and fear visible on his face. “Ok...” The two approached Dom, who turned his head up at the approaching group, a questioning look on his face. “Can I help you?” Fallon almost laughed, the sound of Dom’s voice, although a bit younger and less rough was still the same. Deep, and harsh to him. Just how he liked it. “Hey, I liked your song. It was... interesting. You got a nice voice.” “Oh. Uh... thank you.” “Yeah it’s real nice, I like the style too, real stick it to the man. I noticed you got a few piercings, and well, I was interested in a few myself. How much does it hurt?” Silas stared in amazement at how smooth Fallon was being, and in just as in much shock at how Dom chuckled back, relaxing towards the strangers. At least one of them wouldn’t be a bumbling idiot... “Hurts like a bitch in the moment but, it’s nothing. Unless you’re talking about the tongue piercing?” Dom stuck out his tongue, the bobble of the piercing shimmering with spit in the dancing lights. “That one, that’s nasty haha. Mind if I sit down with my friend? I’m real interested in alternative stuff and you look like a man that would know a thing or two about having a good time with that sort of shit. Plus if I can convince Silas to get drunk enough, I might get him to get a nipple piercing and I need all the info I can to get him to not pussy out.” Fallon said, already talking a seat at the table. “Wa...wait what?” Silas interjected, suddenly aware of the conversation Dom looked away for a moment before giving a nod of approval for Silas to also take a seat, staring at the tow of them carefully. “Yeah, I think that’d be alright. You two seem...” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “Alright enough.” Dom’s friend looked weary though, and gave a look to Dom, to which he quickly gave a wave back, almost telling his friend to leave. Dom’s friend nodded and began to pack up, but not before handing the still fresh polaroid to Dom, which he looked at fondly before pocketing. “Sorry, my friend has to go to work in the morning. He just wanted to come and support me for singing on stage the first time. It’s not you guys I promise.” “First time on stage? Really? You could have fooled me, you acted like a real rockstar up there.” Fallon complimented, eyes focused intently on where the photo was. He thanked god for the sunglasses, or else a stranger glaring at a man’s pants would have been awkward. “Yeah I uh... I practice... um so about the piercing? I’m... Dom by the way.” “Fallon, and this is my friend Silas.” Dom looked over at Silas, eyeing him up and down slowly. Silas could feel a bead of sweat begin to form on his brow as he gave a nervous smile back. “Alright, so what do you want to know?” Fallon did most of the talking, making up bullshit about how for the longest time he was considering some sort of piercing but wasn’t exactly sure where, and how Silas was always a coward when it came this sort of shit, and how Fallon was desperately trying to trick him to get a piercing as a joke. Dom responded in a few short responses only starting to warm up as the conversation continued on. Silas was at least glad that he didn’t seem completely changed, not a complete party animal. It probably helped loosen him up with how much everyone was drinking. At first Dom had just ordered another glass of coke and rum, but soon those glasses were piling up with the money Fallon was putting on the table. He knew what he was up too, and although Silas took a few glasses himself, he had to stay at least a bit sober. And Dom was definitely not that. His tongue rolled and hanged on letters for much to long, the way his eyes beginning to lull close as he laughed far too loud. Fallon was long gone too, laughing just as loud along side him, before hiccuping it and doing it all over again. “Uh... hey... Dom it’s getting late, don’t you think you should be getting home? You got a ride or something?” Silas asked, interrupting the giggle fest the two were having. “Ah... shit yeah, I don’t got a ride I just walk home. I don’t live that far from here.” Dom slurred, his tongue piercing clacking against his teeth. “You need some help getting home I mean... you are kinda sloshed.” “No, no it’s ok, it’s fine...” He groaned as he began to get up, stumbling to his feet and heading for the door. Dom waved the bartender a goodbye, but not before falling against the doorway. “Jesus Christ Dom, you aren’t walking home alone, you can barely stand up.” Silas raced out of his seat, grabbing Dom’s shoulders and steadying the shorter man. “You’re gonna get hit by a car or something.” Silas didn’t have to look back to know that the clattering of chairs and stumbling footsteps was Fallon following behind him, almost running into his friend’s back. “Yeah you look like shit man... let’s get youuuu home haha.” “Well I mean... you guys were so nice I... I guess so. I guess it wouldn’t hurt!” Dom grinned wide and waltzed out to the sidewalk, Silas by his side steadying him. It only took a couple of blocks before they came across a rather shitty looking apartment complex. Dom seemed to B-line up the stairs to a certain door, almost like he had done it a million times before. “Welll this is home. You guys were... great I’m... you’re great.” “It was nothing. I mean you helped us alot, it’s only fair we got you home safe. I just hope we can get home.” Silas told him, eyes darting down to the ground in thought. Dom nodded, poking Silas in the chest as he closed his eyes, his face scrunching hard. “You get back safe ok? You get back... mm safe.” Silas would have felt touched by that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that immediantly after Dom passed out against him, causing him to desperately grab the falling body before he hit the ground. Luckily he did so, but not before Fallon gave a loud gasp of ‘Woahhhh’ in his drunken haze. “Oh my god we killed him! Oh fuck we killed past Dom, we fucked itt... awww....” The dyed hair man sniffled, his face contorted in over-exaggerated sadness as he grabbed the keys that fell from Dom’s hands, starting to try the door as snot began to run down his face. “Gotta hide the body in the house... he died in the house, all drunk and sad.... put him in a bed aw fuck man...” “He’s not... he’s not dead you just kept handing him booze until he passed out! I’m surprised you’re still standing to be honest, let’s just get him inside and grab the picture and bail ok?” “OH shit the picture, I forgot about that.” Fallon laughed, all signs of remorse fading from his face. When they opened the door they found that it was actually pretty clean for the state of the apartment overall. A few clothes on the ground here and there but otherwise everything was stacked neatly and cleanly, far from the look Dom was presenting to the world. Silas had to basically drag Dom to his bed room, tucking him into bed with a kind look of sadness,hand going to move a few strands of hair from his face. “Take it easy Dom, we’ll see you on the other side.” “OH god we’re dying now?” “No Fal, god... why the fuck did you drink so much?” Silas began to dig in Dom’s pockets, pulling out the polaroid and staring at it with a small smile. “Fal?” Fallon moved beside Silas, reaching for the photo and grabbing it. “I wanna go home man, i’m done here...” With that another race of energy overcame the two. A flash of light, the feeling of weightlessness, and then they were back. Flat on the carpet of Dom’s room where they started. As soon as Silas regained feeling back in his body, he threw the picture back in the draw, resisting the urge to burn the thing that sent them back in time to make sure it never happened again. It took a second for Fallon to get back to his feet, still drunk from the drinking spree he had back in time. He grabbed at Silas, clawing at his shirt as he pulled himself upwards. “We did it! We’re home! I... I wanna sleep.” “Yeah I know-” “What are you two doing?” Both of them turned to face Dom, eyebrows furrowed together as he stepped into the room. His face was older, prominent bags under his eyes, his hair slicked back and the scar that was around his left eye still pink and puffy. “We did it... Oh you’re SOOOO old!” Fallon blabbered, racing over to Dom and hugging him close, rubbing his still snotty face against Dom’s well kept shirt. Dom gasped, pushing Fallon off of him and groaning in frustration. “Are you drunk? How the hell did you get drunk- you got... get out.” “Aw I loved getting yelled at!” Fallon chuckled, before stumbling out the room and onto Dom’s couch to lie down. Silas followed not far behind, but not before stopping by Dom as he passed. “I know it sounds weird but it’s nice to see you again. You have a nice voice.” Dom paused, opening his mouth to speak only to close it, his face turning red as he grabbed and played with the watch on his wrist, twisting and turning it as he thought back to his younger days.

#dom's tag #fallon's tag #silas' tag

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roseate7 · 5 years

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I was gonna lead off with this about how hockey fandom only just now rising up to protest the Capitals’ long-proposed White House visit after today’s news but uhhhh… I can’t actually see anyone protesting yet lol. Maybe folks were at school and work? Internet outages? Who knows. It’s awfully quiet. As quiet as it has been since the many hits about this visit started coming immediately following the Caps SC win.

Anyway, even if hockey fandom does eventually rise up with equal outrage to the Penguins’ visit I’m sorry to inform you: you’re too late. Your time to begin started a long while ago. I should know because the links I’m about to sprinkle in this post like damning pixie dust are from my long wait for fandom’s political outrage to resurface.

So let’s just run through the usual old acrobatics to try and excuse the utter lack of equal outrage and protest against the Caps that there was toward the Pens. This is also a handy c+p guide for anyone who sees any variation on these excuses.

“Sid and Ovi: different right? Doesn’t that make Ovi better? Come on, help me out I jumped to him and the Caps because I saw he’s super gay with Backstrom and was promised he’s a champion for the gays because Holtby something something!”

Sidney Crosby’s attendance at the WH is no more or less wrong than Alexander Ovechkin’s. It’s way more complex wrt Ovi’s politics, sure. But no, no different in terms of an adult public figure making the decision to do this visit. Also, folks really need to read up on Ovi before calling him their lesbian uncle or whatever the fuck I am forced to see sometimes. Especially when you consider this unneccessarily awful tweet.

“But what if my Liberal White Boy doesn’t go in the end? That means he’s Totally Better, right?”

Nope!

The fandom line taken with the Pens from day one of them being offered an invite to the WH was that by not taking a directly opposing stance from the start, they were to be rightly condemned. Which was correct, and still was correct when some of the Caps said they were excited about a visit and others tried to deflect the topic. And it was still correct when this photo was taken with a Trump holding the Cup (and video).

The Caps already missed their chance at not being condemned, just like hockey fandom has already failed at repeating - what are now shown to be entirely performative - political protest. Devante Smith-Pelly is the only Caps player who deserves credit for protesting this visit. There’s one white Caps player to “join” Smith-Pelly: Brett Connolly who, months later, saw what bad PR it would be to visit suddenly announced he wouldn’t attend, is a flop. No one cares. Every player who towed the “it’s a team decision” or “we’re gonna wait and see how we feel” bullshit - which is all of them barring Smith-Pelly - officially lost their chance at making a valid protest. (And let’s not all play dumb about the fact that Smith-Pelly was put up for trade interest this season, and his situation now.)

I don’t give a crap if Holtby or another “gay icon” still bails last minute. He’s already guilty by demurring the point and refusing to take a stance at all. That’s how morality works, just like y’all decided last year with guys who aren’t your gay icons. If Pens fans had to go through the stages of grief in condemning them even before the visit took place, then so does everyone. I don’t give a damn how much your straight white man dances to your favourite liberal tune for praise and adoration. Current NHL initiatives have a long way to go before they effect real change. I’m not a gay who’s here to divert a single fucking second of my community’s hard work and celebration to allies. If they’re real allies then they won’t need the praise anyway.

And fandom’s choice to fail in addressing or reacting to the many instances of the Caps proving their lack of moral backbone - and their frequent excitement and honour - over this visit, is the definition of performative morality and politics.

“But I want to use black people in other sports to try and further my own wrong opinion like this guy!”

Well, unfortunately you - and he - can’t! Because Trump hasn’t you know, changed? He’s not suddenly pro-kneeling lmao. I know a lot of folks stopped checking in on this topic once the heat of going after the Pens died down, but I’m sorry to inform them that Trump hasn’t suddenly changed or amended his relationship with BLM, anthem protests, or black players who speak out against him. I know that this fact doesn’t help rescue Caps white boys - considering how little some of them they have to do to be considered Liberal Icons, it’s a shock to be denied the chance at praising them - but this avenue of rescue from accountability is as closed now as it was last time!

And um, I’m just gonna hope folks haven’t missed out on the fact that Trump has kind of uhhhh…. quadrupled down on all of his racism, homophobia, and bigotry since those very early days of his in office when the Pens visited it. So yeah, don’t bother with any hand-waving about it being ‘worse’ or ‘better’ to hold audience with him now or then lmao.

“Just because I didn’t protest this year doesn’t change what I said last year!”

Unfortunately, it does. Maybe you were young, maybe your politics were young and uninformed about hockey. Maybe you gave too much trust to fandom and didn’t do your due diligence, or didn’t appropriately withhold your investment and presumed innocence of rich straight cis white men. Who knows why you got it into your head that certain white NHLers wouldn’t align themselves with gross politics in one way or another.

But if you protested the last WH visit and stayed with hockey since then, you don’t have an excuse to keep pretending that there are lovely liberal strongholds anywhere in the NHL. None. Players of color do all their own work, white players get no credit for going along. Franchises doing things that are good PR are just that. This league was never the create-your-own-ideal that - in the almost two decades I’ve watched hockey - it has always tried to present itself as to fans. But the deception never worked on a lot of us, probably in no small part because someone my age started watching hockey before social media went fervently to work in trying to make the league and it’s players seem harmless and friendly in much more effective, albeit just as performative, ways.

Hockey tumblr know this: there are no cinnamon rolls in men’s hockey.

Draw an impermeable line between your fandom-ing of men’s hockey and your real life politics and morals as pertain to the reality of men’s hockey. Fandom is here for fun, but fun is not fun which alters when it performative-action-by-dopey-white-guy finds. I talk about what I find interesting about Sidney Crosby. I talk about what I object to about Sidney Crosby. I fandom wank in silly OTT posts about Sidney Crosby but in ways that doesn’t interact with me holding him accountable for his mistakes and flaws in terms of social responsibility and politics. Replace the name of the NHLer and repeat with your own guys.

The latest controversy that revealed a major flaw in fandom of rushing to exonerate a player rather over addressing the real issue of hurt and upset among LGBTQ+ fans is why this article really did need to get brought back up. There is a very real set of blinders worn by men’s hockey fandom and they need to come off. Even if the decision by most is to in general back off of talking about the gross realities, it needs to stay consistent across the league. No amount of social justice gold stars guarantees you a cinnamon roll franchise, or a cinnamon roll fanbase.

Do not bend and warp reality and accountability of adult men based on your own highly rose-tinted ideals of them.

Oh, and for future interest: should a team or players at some point decide to decline an equally offensive political invitation, that’s also not a “win” for your white boys. It’s proof of nothing more than the league and the franchise or players realising that it’s not worth the knock in publicity anymore.

(Needless to say: anyone attempting to exonerate the Capitals in response to this post gets nothing more out of me than a block. I’ve applied the same politics I’ve always had to the Pens and now to the Caps, as I would any team - and always have over a long time being a hockey fan. If you choose to switch up your politics based on largely white teams then that’s your problem, and not one I’m interested in. I’ve seen all the twisting and turning fans can possible do.)

#original posts #washington capitals

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i-see-you-mendes · 6 years

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Take Care of Me

SEQUEL TO In Your Hands

A/N: After staring at this for like three days straight, scrapping, restarting, and pulling my hair out trying to figure out how to fix it, I’ve realized it can’t be done. This one is unfixable. However, I never intended for there to be a part two so I’m not being too hard on myself. For everyone that asked, here it is:

You came down off the high of the kiss slowly, mind still fuzzy, as you gathered the chunks of glass on the kitchen floor. Shawn had walked out an hour ago and you assumed he went for a drive. You just wanted to clean the mess up and go, like maybe if neither you or it were here when he got back he’d agree to pretend it never happened.

You sigh, sitting back on your knees to take a break. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had worked it all out in your head before you came to Toronto, had come to terms with the fact that you would never mean anything to him, not truly, and had moved on the best you could. Took all those emotions and stuffed them in a box, then buried that box somewhere deep inside. It wasn’t that hard, you had been doing it your whole life really- building up walls, swallowing your feelings, pushing people away whenever they got close enough to call you out on your bullshit.

You try to process everything, try to remind yourself that this was Shawn you were dealing with. Shawn who, realistically, could in no way match the feelings you had been harboring for him. Shawn whose heart was always in the right place, but didn’t understand the Pandora’s Box of self-doubt and uncertainty he had just opened. Shawn who couldn’t love you like you needed him to, even if he tried. Shawn who, by the time he got back from wherever he went to clear his head, will have realized his mistake:

He didn’t want you, he wanted somebody.

It was fine, you didn’t blame him, you were used to it. After all, who would ever choose you? You, with your warped view of believing. You, with all your fears and demons in tow. He wanted somebody, but that somebody couldn’t be you. You wouldn’t let it be, wouldn’t let him waste his time on you.

You stand up, taking the shards you had gathered with you, and dump them in the trash can. You had already cleaned the oven the best you could and should have been done with the floor by now, but every time you thought you were finished you’d spot more. It was like the universe was trying to make you stay, like you weren’t allowed to leave just yet.

You’re still standing with your back to the door when it swings open. You grip the granite counter-top, squeezing your eyes shut, bracing yourself for what was about to come. You could already hear the ‘I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t think anything of it, just forget it ever happened. It was a mistake’ apology ringing in your ears.

“Listen I-” he begins, making his way to you.

He stops and starts again. “I think we should…we should probably,” He sighs frustrated, and you hold your breath.

“Goddamn it will you turn around and look at me!?” he shouts slamming his fists onto the breakfast bar behind you.

You jump at the sudden outburst, spinning around to face him. His face is drained of color and his hair’s a mess, probably from tugging at it as he drove. His shoulders slump, defeated and despite everything that’s just happened, all the sense you just made of this, you still have to remind yourself not to run to him.

You shake your head slowly, a warning. You don’t need him to explain himself. You understand. You would have made the same decision. He opens his mouth anyway.

“You- you’re…”

You’re not what I want.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?” you blink up at him.

“You’re uh, hand. It’s bleeding,” he sputters out, walking closer.

You panic, looking around wildly, noticing the splatters of blood all over the tiled floor, some smeared on the cabinets. You’re not exactly sure when it happened but, somewhere along the lines of your frazzled attempt to clean up the mess he had made of both you and the kitchen, you had managed to cut your palm.

You were so wrapped up in the thought of him you didn’t even notice how badly you hurt yourself. What a fucking metaphor.

He picks up your wrist gently, examining the gash running across your palm. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go fix this.”

“No!” you yelp snatching your hand back from his.

The thought of him leading you back down the hall and into the bathroom made you anxious. That place was a war-zone, more dangerous than the glass ridden kitchen would ever be. “I’ll, I’ll handle it.”

“Let me help you, you can’t do it all by yourself.”

He was insisting, not offering, and you knew it but that didn’t mean you were going to give in.

“I can do it,” you protest. “I can do it by myself, I don’t need your help. I don’t need you,” you heave, trying to convince yourself that it’s true. Maybe if you say it loud enough you’ll believe it.

Your words set him off, the frustration from earlier rushing back. His posture straightens, eyes flashing with anger as his grip on you tightens.

“Listen you can leave if you want, you don’t ever have to come back, but first you’re gonna stop being ridiculous and let me put a fucking band-aid on your hand.”

You whimper in compliance, sucking in your bottom lip and nodding.

He exhales, relaxing only slightly. His hold on your wrist loosens, but his jaw is still set. He ushers you forward impatiently, and you hold your left hand out, trying to catch the blood that’s dripping from the right. He looks down and snorts at your attempt to minimize the damage, like so much hasn’t been done already.

“Sit,” he says as he pushes you in the door.

You crumple onto the rug in front of the bathtub and sniffle. He rummages through the cabinet, pulling out things and flinging them towards you as he goes. When he turns back around and sees you folded on the floor, fighting to keep yourself from falling apart, everything changes. His face softens as he seats himself across from you. You let him pull your arm into his lap, staring down at the way his hand cradles your own.

“I’m not angry at you,” he reasons. “I’m just, I,” he presses a cloth to your injury and you hiss.

Flinching, you pull away and shut your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he pleads, and you know he’s not just talking about the pain in your hand.

You take a moment, reorganizing your thoughts, forcing them back into that little box that Shawn kept untying, kept dragging to the surface, before you make yourself look at him.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” you tell him, voice full of gravel.

He reaches for your hand again and you’re too tired to object. “You take care of me, I take care of you. That’s how it works,” he grunts, wiping away the excess blood.

“Yeah, but I’m not talking about your shoulder,” you mumble coldly.

His eyes lock on yours, all liquid passion and heat, before answering, “Neither am I, and you know it.”

He holds your stare waiting for you to challenge him, but instead you lick your lips and dip your head in response.

He nods a few times back at you like he’s making sure of something, then he leans further in, back to fussing at your cut again. His curls fall down onto his forehead and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, worrying at it every once in a while. His touch is gentle and you wonder for a second if you’re wrong, because in that moment it’s almost as if nothing else exists for him except you- You and his need to fix every broken piece of you that he could reach, and so just for a little while you give in, you let him try.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” he tells you as he stands to throw the blood soaked tissues in the garbage.

You watch his back as he moves, washing up and putting things away.

You flick your vision down towards your neon color band-aid (your favorite color, he had pointed out) and you have to admit it made more sense now, how he thought for a second he was in love with you, how the closeness was intoxicating.

As you had looked at him hunched over, murmuring to you sweetly just moments ago, you felt it too. There was only one difference. For you it was real, was the future you could never have staring you in the face, for him it was only an illusion.

“Please say something,” he clears his throat, shifting from foot to foot.

You scramble up, hadn’t even realized he was taking to you, and blink away the thoughts of forever that were clouding your mind.

He rakes his hands through his hair and grins at you sheepishly. “I know you,” he says. “And I know that you’re shy and that you like to take things slow, and that it takes you a while to trust people, but you kissed back and I know that you wouldn’t have done that if… if. Why are you looking at me like that?”

You take a step forward, pushing your fingers through his thick curls. “I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out sorely.

He places his big hands on your hips, holding you there, like if he just didn’t let you go then leaving would never be an option.

“For what?” he whispers back, afraid of your response.

“For letting it get this far,” you admit, voice laced with a mixture of desperation and defeat.

“That’s your answer then.”

He hesitates, hoping he’s wrong, fingers digging into your skin.

You shake you’re head because as simple as it would be to lie to him, as much as it would make everything hurt a lot less, you can’t.

“No.”

“Really,” he laughs flatly, “because that sure as hell sounds like one to me.”

You slip your hands to his shoulders and look into his eyes, fighting to make him realize all the things you couldn’t get yourself to say out loud. “I want this,” you promise.

He lets his head fall onto your shoulder because he can hear the ‘but’ coming, recognized it in the way your voice cracked in all the wrong places.

“I really, really want this,” you reiterate, ignoring his lips moving against your collar bone, “but we just can’t have it.”

He freezes, letting out a shaky breath, and his hands slip from their place on your side. You duck out from his grasp, turning your face away so you don’t have to see him crumble, remind yourself that you’re doing him a favor and move out to the living-room to gather your things. Shawn deserved the world, or at least a girl that could give it to him. If leaving was what you had to do to make him see that, then so be it.

He follows you at a distance, you can feel his eyes on you as you pack your laptop and folders back into your bag hastily. You survey everything slowly, looking around the apartment, taking it all in, tying to commit it to memory. This place was your happiness, your “almost home”, at least for a little while.

You’re almost to the door, officially a wreck, emotions frayed, dragging your backpack behind you, when something stops you.

A voice. His voice.

And for the first time tonight he’s not antsy, or angry, or anguished. He’s just Shawn, your Shawn.

The accusation bounces off the walls and you know you have to turn back around, know he deserves an answer. After all, it was his turn to question you, and his choice was simple enough.

“Why?”

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn imagine #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #mendes #mendes army

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feynites · 6 years

Note

au where Thenvunin is the one who wears tons of armour and knows too much of the intimately cruel machinations of Elvhenan, and Uthvir is the pretentious hunter who gets scoffed at by their peers and dresses like a fancy courtesan.

Oh noooo, but also yes? I’m trying to wrap my head around how this would even work.

Thenvunin is probably the easier one, I can just move him over to Sylaise’s service rather than Mythal’s. Maybe Mirena got traded to Sylaise along with Melarue when Mythal was redistributing some of her people to her youngest daughter. So later on Thenvunin is born but instead of being kind of cushioned from things by Mythal’s favour, he’s just interesting as a sob story until he successfully makes it to adulthood, and then Sylaise doesn’t really care anymore.

Thenvunin still gets his body rebuilt and still goes into military service when he discovers that he likes athletics and physical disciplines, but the competition for Sylaise’s attendant positions is steep and he doesn’t really get any openings there. So he just stays in the military, probably meeting yet-more Sethtaren types and occasionally getting used/abused as a pawn, especially by people who see him as a more tractable bargaining chip for influencing Melarue than the likes of Aelynthi (who is much more liable to just tell people to fuck off). Eventually he’d probably achieve his best position as a champion for Sylaise during various tournaments or matches, so he’d just end up playing up the ‘big shiny knight’ type aesthetic a whole lot more.

I can’t really see him going Full Uthvir on the ‘wearing armour 90% of the time’ front, like he’d probably still have his casual evening wear and whatnot, but he wouldn’t have access to an attendant’s wardrobe budget so to speak, and he’d probably want to look very ‘military’ in public. So more dress armour and more armour-as-formal-wear would probably happen for him, and he’d likely take more pride in seeming tough and serious and intimidating. He’d probably be better at lying, too, because he’d likely have been half-raised by Melarue, who would have made it a point to really teach him how to bullshit. They’d probably take one look at his transparent defensiveness, and then at all the sharks in Sylaise’s upper echelons, and go ‘I need to fix this asap’. Mythal’s upper circles let you get away with being eccentric a lot more freely. Sylaise has, like, two people she will tolerate that from, and everyone else needs to tow the line.

Uthvir’s trickier, given their origin story. But, we could always just do away with the Glory stage of their existence, and instead make them a more normal hunter in Andruil’s service. That would also give Andruil far less of a reason to maintain a long-term interest in them. So more likely, she’d be their Sethtaren-esque experience. Uthvir warms her bed for a while and manages to leverage that into some rank and influence, before she gets bored and then moves on to other pastures. They’re still traumatized by the experience but have no idea that they even should be, and don’t have their usual drive to avoid demonstrating any kind of weakness at all. Most likely, they’d be an embodied Sympathy - not an abom, just an embodied spirit with a physical form made by Ghilan’nain as a gift for a spirit that Andruil was semi-fond of.

That would put them in a position of not really knowing the full dangers and tenuousness of their position, and buying a bit more of the Imperial propaganda at face value. They’d probably strive more to be a ‘strong hunter’, but they’d also put their charm to good use in earning social advantages, so overall, I can see them taking on an attendant position and orchestrating more social/diplomatic events, maybe trying to prove that hunters can be just as sophisticated and “city proper” as the followers of other evanuris.

They’d also probably be less scarily competent at killing things, and surviving ordeals, so their reputation among Andruil’s other high-ranking followers would be less ‘oh shit it’s Uthvir’ and more ‘oh look it’s the ~fancy hunter~ who spends most of their time throwing parties in Arlathan’.

They’d probably meet Thenvunin at one of those fancy parties, and Thenvunin would probably be like ‘okay so they’re an event organizer they probably can’t actually fight worth a damn’ but then Uthvir takes offense at that and challenges him to a duel, and the two manage to fight one another to a near-standstill until Uthvir uses a dirty trick and pins Thenvunin down and is just like ‘I win’ and they both get so turned on it’s kinda hilariously awkward. Afterwards Thenvunin contests Uthvir’s win because they fought dishonourably and Uthvir can just shrug because the hunters don’t really care as long they win, and eventually this leads to a series of rematches that become increasingly transparent as a means for the two of them to flirt. No one really cares though because Andruil isn’t obsessed with owning Uthvir and Sylaise is just vaguely pleased that one of her people is winning at least half of their duels with one of Andruil’s people.

When they finally hook up literally no one is surprised. Some of Thenvunin’s peers pretend to be, politely, for his sake. But no one actually is.

#Anonymous

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underthebtree · 6 years

Text

Being a psychologist has ruined me!!

It is so amazing to me, always, that when you start a journey with one thing in mind, how you will inevitably receive things along the way that are unexpected

Some of these changes will delight you

So will not!

But you can never tell what it is all going to be when you start, there is literally no predicting what is going to happen – you can make educated guesses – but you can never be sure!

You can never be certain.

It has been said that the map is NOT the territory.

Equally the brochure is NOT the place, and if you have done any travelling you may have indeed heard the odd tourist exclaim

This was NOT IN THE BROCHURE!!!

You might have even said this yourself – as you expected one thing, and got quite another hitting a road block, detour or major diversion!

Something that just came up, that could not have been planned for, but which may surprise and delight you, or disappoint the hell out of you as it was NOT what you expected.

Always learning!

As much as I know this, it still continues to surprise me, and no less so than in recent years as I left my psychology practice to have children and entered what I now call ‘the real world’!!!

I had grandiose plans for what this was going to look like – a brand new phase of my life, new opportunity for connections and relationships, happy days hanging out, playing my children, discussing the deep issues of life with other mothers with whom I was traversing this major life change

I was optimistic

I was excited

I was delusional!!

As this certainly has not been my experience, not by any stretch of the imagination!

I am sure that the reasons for this are myriad, complex and multi-faceted but in recent reflections I have come to point the finger at one primary cause:

Being a psychologist has ruined me!!

It really has ruined me in so many ways, but the most pressing, the most obvious has come up very recently

As I have once again been triggered by the mothering set

Once again been triggered by the parenting ‘experts’

Once again, been triggered as fuck to the point where the only option is transmutation, transformation, renunciation of the whole previous 4 years of my life

As I have seen reality

Seen things clearly for the first time

Seen ‘the real world’ and the true depth (or lack there of) that seems to characteristic those who have not committed to a personal growth journey!

OR those who have committed to a personal growth journey but who cling to dogma, ideas and specific ways of doing things such that it is completely DEVOID of human connection, love, support

Lets just call it devoid of humanness!!

And so now, being the blamer that I am, I have to blame something, and I choose psychology!

That’s easy and convenient right!?

But it is true.

Working and studying psychology for 10 years prior to having children, and committing myself to a personal growth journey for decades more, has completely ruined me; making it IMPOSSIBLE for me to tolerate

Superficiality

Tokenism

A lack of true connection

Basically I cannot tolerate BULLSHIT!

It is now evident to me that there is a fuck load of bullshit out there that can leave people feeling (and me included in this set!)

Isolated

Disconnected

Disenfranchised

And basically just not good enough

And so although I smelled a rat, but could hardly believe it when I came to the full realisation that there are so many people out there who really just don’t give a shit about others, not really, not deeply, not authentically!

And yes I have talked about this before, it does appear to be the theme for the week, but it is IMPORTANT!

Because as social creatures, we have a social brain, and if you surround yourself with people who say one thing and do another this is very fucking confusing!!

And when there is confusion, you will return to your default position, whatever that is for you

Defectiveness

Unworthiness

Inadequacy

Failure

And so it needs to be talked about – it needs to be made very very clear that not everyone will have your best interest at heart – not matter what they SAY

It only matters WHAT THEY DO

And how you FEEL!

Behaviour is ALWAYS the best indicator of whether or not someone gives a fuck about you or not, and if their behaviour says they don’t, then words are wind!

Words will not make up for the behaviour that gives you the clear message that you are just not that important, just not that relevant, just not at all significant.

So psychology has ruined me

Because I can no longer tolerate the bullshit and just get along!

I can’t just tow the party line and pretend all is well

I can’t just keep my mouth shut (evidently!) and continue to tolerate ANYTHING that is less that ideal

And so, with that said, forgiveness practiced, the next step?

RENUNCIATION!

Renouncing circumstances are less than ideal

Renouncing relationships that no longer serve

Renouncing all the internal workings that would tell me to remain in a situation that is, lets face it, SHIT!

No matter the sugar coating, shit is shit!

So yes, what I have embodied and come to expect, through my practice and the epically awesome connections, deep conversations, and true and meaningful reflections on the things that ACTUALLY MATTER in life

I just cannot tolerate any and all of the above.

It is just no longer me, as there was a time when I would have stuck it out

There was a time where I would have assumed it was me

There was a time I would have tried harder to make up for perceived inadequacies

But not any more, I am totally ruined in my capacity to walk through the world in this way! And as much as this has led to disappointment, the motherhood journey is NOT what I had expected, it is also liberating!

To know that I no longer have to just put up and shut up

To know that I can say, this is shit, and get the fuck out of there!

To know that I am not bound, internally or externally, to ANYTHING less than the BEST!

So yes, here it is, renunciation of anything less than ideal, anything less that the best, be gone!

Be off with you,

BE GONE!

And so it is, with an invitation for you to do the exact same:)

Remember that Bodhi starts with you!

Toni-Anne

PS: If you would like to know more about how I can help you step into your power and renounce that which no longer serves, contact me!

[email protected]

PPS: I have a major announcement coming VERY SOON!! After spending the last week releasing, letting go, renouncing and INVITING IN totally new circumstances - it has arrived - and I have been given an amazing, lets call it a divine download, about my next step and where this train is a'goin! I am totally humbled, excited and a little trepidatious, but it is EXACTLY right, and the culmination of my life's journey - leading me to here, right now and it is HUGE - far bigger than I had even imagined when kicking this whole thing off!

I know I won't be doing it alone, and I am putting it out there, that this is something that I will need help with from an amazing community of change and difference makers!!

So strap your seat belt on because it is soon to be announced, and it may involve and include you, if this is your thing!!

One cure for a disconnected world:)

Disclaimer: This information is in no way intended to replace psychological treatment should you be suffering from clinical depression and anxiety and be in need of personalised, individual therapy. This information can be used as an adjunct to your therapy and you can feel free to raise it with your therapist should you have one. If you are in any way suicidal, please contact your therapist or emergency support services.

#personalgrowth #happiness #change #anxiety #depression #unexpected

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