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wlntrsldler · 2 months

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poisoned mercury | bad reputation

ii. bad reputation by joan jett & the blackhearts

a/n: andddd we're at chb! reader is mean to luke lol. vaping, smoking, mentions of addiction. crumbs of clarisse x chris!

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“kid, you really need to look at the bright side,” your dad said, taking a sip of his diet coke. “you get to summer in montauk for free. no paying rent, no worrying about what to eat, the world is your oyster.”

“i don’t understand why i have to spend the entire summer here,” you glared at him, close to ripping your hair out.

“you’re smarter than that,” he replied, placing his can down on his table. he kicked back in his chair, letting his sandal-covered feet prop up on his desk. his aloha shirt wrinkled as he placed his arms crossed behind his head. he was taking his camp manager role too seriously. “you got put on probation by your field hockey coach.”

your eyes narrowed, “and?”

“... for punching a teammate.”

“who deserved it!” you argued, huffing as you sat on the seat across from him. if there wasn’t a desk separating you from your dad, you were sure you would’ve strangled him with the camp necklace around his neck. “i promised you i’d be on my best behavior, but no. you decided that i needed to be glued to camp all summer.”

“listen,” he leaned over on his desk, “the girl probably deserved it, but you still got kicked out from summer conditioning, kid– from the top field hockey team in the country! not everyone gets to attend unc but you did and you fucked that opportunity, so until you can prove to me that you have your shit together, you’re stuck in montauk.”

“gods, you’re ridiculous!” you howled, getting up from your seat. “i hate you.”

“love you!” he called out, chuckling to himself. you got your dramatic flair from him so he couldn’t fault you too much for your reaction. he probably would’ve reacted way worse if he was in your position.

“yeah, yeah,” you yelled back, already out of his office. “love ya, too.”

you walked out into the campgrounds, still huffing and puffing at your interaction with your dad. groups of children and teenagers were checking in for the summer. it amazed you how popular camp half blood became over the years. your dad wanted to create a summer camp for aspiring musicians and creatives to meet others and learn from professionals. he already had the network for it given that he used to be a hot-shot producer in the mid-nineties until he fell into his addiction.

your dad never talked much about those dark moments in his life, and not many people knew about it, but he was happy to tell you about what came after it; meeting your mom, falling in love, and having you. his sobriety became his top priority when you were born, after you and your mom, of course. camp half blood started out as a dream your dad had when you were still a child, unsure of what you were passionate about, and he hoped you’d fall in love with music the same way he did. right before you turned four, he opened camp half blood. he said he wanted to have the place up and running and established by the time you were old enough to join. but alas, when you turned six and still had no musical or creative bone in your body, your dad’s hopes of having a musical protégé as a daughter were shattered.

he bounced back from it though when he saw how passionate you were about field hockey. the second you picked up a stick, he saw your eyes brighten and he knew it was lights out from then on. he attended all of your games, bought you the best gear for the sport, and supported you in any way he could. you were thankful for that, for him, but you also knew that he probably would’ve preferred a kid he could talk music with. you saw it when he bragged about the new artists he signed to olympus records or when he talked about the kids at camp half blood.

you took a sharp right turn at the corner of the dining hall, making a beeline to the secret spot by the lake that you stumbled across when you were fourteen. it was the place you retreated to whenever you and your dad fought while you were at camp. fights and arguments between you two happened often. your mom said it was because you were too similar for your own good. it was true. you and your dad were both stubborn, hot-headed, and unable to accept when you were wrong, but it also meant that you and your dad understood each other on a level that not many father-daughter duos did.

even though you refused to tell him–or anyone for that matter– why the altercation with your teammate happened, your dad was on your side. he always was.

you sat on the worn out bench, years of weather damage evident on the wood, taking out your cherry ice vape from your pocket. it was a vice you picked up in college. you weren’t proud of it, and it definitely started affecting your ability to play, but the stress of being a student-athlete, plus all the commotion with your probation started to get to you.

you stared out into the view, appreciating the way the trees framed the lake in a picturesque way. camp half blood was beautiful; nature everywhere, there was utter silence except for the sound of water and birds chirping when you got far enough away from the noise and chatter of the campers, and the weather in the summer months was perfect. you let the smoke escape your lips, watching as the cloud dissipated into the air.

“oh, my bad. i didn’t realize someone would be out here.”

you turned around to see a boy, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. he wore a black, tight-fitting t-shirt and gray sweatpants. there was a silver chain hanging around his neck with a pendant tucked underneath his shirt. his tussled curls peeked under his backwards yankees cap.

“spot’s taken,” you said, facing the view once more. you took a deep breath, sliding your vape in the pocket of the hoodie you wore. “go somewhere else.”

“that thing’s gonna kill you, y’know.” either the boy didn’t hear you or he didn’t care enough to listen because he slid on the bench next to you, taking out a lighter for his cigarette. he closed his eyes, letting the nicotine into his system, “that has like chemicals and shit.”

you scoffed, “like your cig is any better.”

“i know what i’m putting in my body,” he shrugged. he motioned aimlessly in your direction, “you don’t know what’s in there. it hasn’t been around long enough for us to know the long term effects.”

“‘m not planning to be doing this long term.”

“sure,” he smiled at you, unconvinced. “i’m luke.”

you stared at his outstretched hand, shaking your head, “i’m not interested.”

“i was just trying to be polite.”

“if you want to be polite, find another spot to smoke.”

luke eyed you, undeterred by your hostility. he leaned back on the bench, taking another puff, “nah, i’m good right here.”

you took out your vape again knowing that you’ll need it to get through this conversation. the two of you sat in silence as you both smoked, letting the smell of the cigarette mix in with the artificial cherry scent. you tried your best to ignore the boy beside you, but it was hard to when he was so close to you. the bench seemed much larger when you were fourteen, when you were alone as its only occupier.

“so five star, tough day?”

“what did you call me?”

“five star,” luke nodded to your hoodie, flicking off the ashes on his cigarette. “your unc field hockey hoodie? like five star recruit.”

you looked down at your sweater, completely forgetting that you were wearing your team merchandise. you tugged on the collar awkwardly, suddenly feeling like you were exposed. “oh.”

“so, tough day?”

you glared at him, “what makes you say that?”

“well, for starters, it’s the first day of camp and you’re by yourself away from where all the fun shit is happening, smoking a fucking– what is that? strawberry?”

“cherry ice,” you corrected.

“cherry ice vape,” luke continued, “and you’re biting my head off for trying to start a conversation.”

“maybe i’m having a bad day because a boy disrupted my me-time and decided to start a fucking conversation when i obviously want to be alone.”

luke chuckled, pointing to the cigarette between his fingers, “relax, i’ll get out of your hair after this one.”

“don’t make it a habit.”

“what? smoking?” he asked, a boyish smile on his face. “already a habit of mine.”

“interupting my me-time,” you replied, blowing out rings with the smoke in your mouth. “i don’t care what you do to your body.”

“should we exchange numbers and coordinate when we’ll be using the spot?”

you rolled your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice. this guy just doesn’t quit, “no, because you won’t be coming back here.”

“i dunno,” luke looked out into the lake, a soft smile on his face. “i like it here. it’s pretty.”

“i was here first.” you weren’t backing down. this was your spot. your secret spot, at that. not many campers ventured this far out into the woods, too afraid to get caught by their counselors and get in trouble, or too scared to get lost in the maze of trees.

“sharing is caring, y’know,” his tone was playful.

you looked at him, no emotion on your features. you studied his face, furrowing your eyebrows like you were trying to place him. he looked familiar like you’d seen his face before. his eyes were big and brown, innocent looking compared to the smirk on his lips. a scar ran down the side of his face, subtle, but noticeable if you looked hard enough. it was slightly discolored compared to the rest of his face. his jaw sharp and cheekbones defined, with beginnings of a summer blush dusted across the bridge of his nose and the high points of his face. behind his ear, a small tattoo of the number “4” was hidden under his curls. his ears were pierced, two, small diamond studs on each earlobe.

you’d seen him before, but you just couldn’t remember where and when for the life of you.

you blinked, “i don’t like to share.”

he threw the butt of his cigarette on the floor, gently stomping out the remnants of it with the tip of his converse convered feet, “noted.”

you watched as he got up, keeping his promise of leaving you alone after one cigarette. the smirk on his face remained as he turned to face you before he left, “see you around, five star.”

you made an noncommittal noise, not missing the sound of a deep rumble from his chest as he laughed at your dismissal. you watched him disappear into the trees, noting how his back flexed under his tight shirt as he cleared a path to avoid ducking under stray branches.

you waited around twenty minutes before getting up to leave. you didn’t want to risk running into luke again, just in case he got lost on his way back. you were not going to lead him back to the safety of camp. if he got lost after trying to take over your spot, then so be it. that wasn’t your problem.

as you entered the main campgrounds, you saw clarisse, a teammate of yours, who also got put on probation for coming to your defense, leaning against a tree trunk by the registration table. she needed a summer job and housing since she wasn’t allowed to come to practices and live on campus during her probation period, and you were quick to recommend her to your dad to be a camp counselor for the summer. thankfully, your dad was kind enough to say yes. at least you wouldn’t be alone all summer.

you walked over to her, smiling kindly at the young kids you ran into on the way, excited out of their minds to be away from home for the next few months. “what’s up, la rue?”

she smacked your arm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“ow,” you winced, clutching your upper arm. the girl was strong. there were many moments where you were thankful that you played for the same team. you did not want to be the poor girl who stood in clarisse’s way when she was in the zone. “tell you what?”

“poisoned mercury!” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest, “why didn’t you tell me they were gonna be here this summer?”

“oh,” you rolled your eyes, “i didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“not everyone grew up around celebrities, y/n,” clarisse reminded you, shaking her head. “sometimes, i forget that you did. you don’t talk about it as much as i would if i grew up like you.”

“yeah, well, it’s not all glitz and glamor, to be honest.”

you thought about your last relationship– a boy from california that you met during one of your dad’s work trips. it was a whirlwind summer romance that ended in a lot of heartbreak and a promise to yourself that you would never, ever date another musician again. your dad did try to warn you about him, subtly, of course, since he knew better than to butt into a teenage girl’s relationship. the boy had been begging your dad for a record deal for ages and he thought that by dating you, he’d get one step closer to his goal. your dad dangled the possibility of a record deal in front of him like a carrot, his own personal entertainment since he saw right through the boy, and ended up blacklisting him from the industry after he broke your heart.

a little extreme? sure, but it wasn’t like he was that talented anyway. you still cringe when you remember his terrible rendition of “grenade” by bruno mars.

“do you know when they get here?” clarisse asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“i dunno, don’t care,” you shrugged, “when did you become such a huge fan?”

“since i saw how hot their bassist is,” she laughed, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “seriously, y/n, chris rodriguez is fine.”

“enough, there are kids around,” you shoved her playfully, laughing as you motioned for her to follow you into the cabin you were staying in. “i didn’t know they were gonna be here, actually.”

“your dad didn’t tell you?”

“i’ve been on a strict ‘no talking, unless it’s yelling’ rule with my dad the past few months,” you explained, entering your room and closing the door behind you. your bags were messily thrown across the floor, bed unmade, and walls empty. you didn’t get around to decorating and putting things in their place before you gave your dad a piece of your mind. “and i refused to accept that i would be staying here all summer.”

“it’s not that bad so far,” she moved your training bag from your bed, sitting on it, “the kids are adorable little music nerds. i don’t think they’ll cause too much trouble.”

“for your sake, ares cabin head counselor, i really hope they don’t,” you teased, beginning to put your things away. “i’m not worried about the kids, actually. it’s more of the people our age that i’m worried about. musicians can be such dicks.”

“true,” she agreed, “do you remember the kid who acted like he was hot shit when he performed at the fall concert at unc?”

“yes!” you let out a belly laugh, “the one who shamelessly flirted with lena?”

clarisse nodded, falling on your bed in a fit of laughter, “then ran away when he saw charlie.”

“i mean charlie is a scary-looking dude,” you commented, taking off your hoodie and stuffing it into one of the drawers. you fixed the camp half blood shirt you wore under it, “big ass linebacker.”

“but the biggest teddy bear.”

“the biggest,” you grinned, thinking about your friends back on campus. you already missed them and your crazy, late-night adventures in your college town. you and clarisse met charlie the summer before your freshman year at unc during athlete orientation. he shyly asked if he could sit next to you and clarisse in the back row, not wanting to block the view for people behind him if he were to sit in the front. he was a timid guy for someone who could probably bulldoze you and clarisse without breaking a sweat.

he introduced you to his girlfriend, silena, when the school year started, and the four of you became inseparable ever since. you were glad you found a friend group in college, one that you could trust and depend on.

“and this is the cabin where you all will be staying.”

you looked back at clarisse, eyes widening as you heard your dad’s voice in the living room of the cabin. he didn’t tell you that someone other than clarisse was going to be staying in the cabin with you.

“there are six rooms in total. one master and five others. there are three bathrooms. one’s in the master and the other two are out here. this is the living room and the small kitchen is down the hall,” he continued to explain, “my daughter has dibs on the master bedroom, though, so tough luck for you guys.”

“i didn’t know you had a daughter, mr. d.” it was a boy’s voice.

“yeah, i do, y/n,” your dad said. you can practically hear the smile in his voice. “she doesn’t like the limelight so i don’t bring her up too much. i’ll introduce you guys to her when i see her.”

“chris, put that down!” another voice. this time it was a woman. she sounded older, and tired, like she’d said that phrase a million times before. “sorry about them, mr. d. they may all be of age, but i swear it still feels like they’re kids.”

your dad laughed, “trust me, i get it, may. my little girl is turning 19 soon, but she’d give her 12-year-old self a run for her money.”

“i call this room!”

“travis, you can’t just call dibs on rooms when the rest of us haven’t gotten a chance to take a look around.”

“you snooze, you lose, rodriguez.”

clarisse jolted from your bed, jaw hanging as she put the puzzle pieces together. she pointed at the door, whispering, “is that poisoned mercury?”

your dad was in the middle of a conversation with the woman, may, when you opened your bedroom door to investigate. he was nodding along to what she was saying, taking mental notes of her words. you walked towards them, giving may a polite smile when she noticed you coming their way.

“speak of the devil,” your dad clapped his hands, placing a hand on your back to guide you into the conversation. “may, this is my daughter, y/n. y/n, this is may castellan, poisoned mercury’s manager.”

you held out your hand, “nice to meet you.”

“oh god, a teenager with manners,” she exhaled, immediately accepting your handshake, “pleasure to meet you.”

“you know we can still hear you, right, mama c?” a boy with curly hair peeked his head out from the room beside clarisse’s. he was wearing a white tank top, his tanned skin adorned with patchwork tattoos on full display. he had a pearl necklace around his neck, a charm of the band’s logo resting between his collarbones. he had a wide smile as if he wore his emotions proudly on his face. “these walls are thin.”

“you were supposed to hear me, chris,” she replied, rolling her eyes jokingly.

you tilted your head, analyzing the boy. you understood what clarisse meant. he wasn’t your type, but he was definitely hers. she always did like the golden retriever type. you raised your arm, giving him a small wave, “hey, i’m y/n.”

“it’s the famous y/n!” you turned around at the sound of your name to see a boy with dark hair and a vintage iron maiden shirt on. he was leaning against his doorframe, toned arms flexed as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “travis.”

another boy, looking eerily similar to travis popped his head out his door at the sounds of introductions. you cocked an eyebrow, “are you guys tw–”

the boy shook his head, stating “no we’re not,” at the same time as travis nodded, “yes we are.”

you looked at may for help. she shook her head, throwing a pointed look at travis, “they are not. travis is older than connor by a year.”

“which one of you fuckers stole my charger?”

you froze in your spot. you knew that voice. your mind started connecting the dots then– luke castellan, lead singer of poisoned mercury. you’d seen pictures of him on your twitter timeline from both your friends from college and from home. he seemed to be the topic of conversation every week because there was a new thing to write about. his wild rockstar adventures were a crowd favorite.

you once heard that he had a pet monkey that he bought with his first check from their album sales, but tmz reported it so it wasn’t the most reliable source. the last article you saw about luke was titled “leaving a trail of broken hearts: luke castellan’s extensive dating history and how they ended.” typical.

“oh, luke, i want you to meet my daughter,” your dad beamed, none the wiser. he placed his hands on your shoulders, twisting your body to face the boy.

you pursed your lips, biting the inside of your cheek. so much for him getting lost.

“five star, nice to see you again,” luke’s eyes lit up, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile, “looks like we’re roommates.”

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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freebooter4ever · 6 months

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As epic as the hockey was last night - and it WAS lol especially the last period, jeff and i were on the edge of our seats. The best part though was a realization i had about this world im trying to break into.

See, my friend "paul" told me something before he left the city (and then got a new job in Japan a month later and im so jealous, he left me here all alone and sad and now he's off having even cooler adventures) - he said that the only way he got his promotion at his old company was by befriending his boss and going out for drinks after work. Which floored me.

And then thinking about the sculptor at l*ght box who blatantly and without shame announced in his presentation that every job he got, he got through friends that he would go out with to build relationships.

And then listening to the Legend talk about back in the day how the more experienced animators used to take him out to lunch when he was still 18, 19 and get him drunk as kind of a hazing ritual. And while the Legend's stories about being so tipsy he had to crawl back to his desk and then try to sit up and draw were absolutely hilarious, the stories made me despair because in an environment like that im not going to cut it.

My closest friends dont care that i dont drink - they've seen me dance, they know that i can act plenty dumb without a drop of alcohol. But people who don't know me well tend to project their own insecurities about alcohol onto me - if they feel guilt over maybe drinking too much they are going to hate me for my seeming judgement of them. (meanwhile im like man, i had to learn to deal with my drunken mother at the age of 14 who honestly was better when she was drunk because it was when she was sober that she was mean. Dealing with drunken friends who giggle a lot, throw up a little, come find me for help because theyre so high theyve lost their shoes and walked two blocks barefoot, and friends who sometimes need to be coaxed into a shopping cart to wheel them back to the car is easy by comparison, i am having fun, this is endlessly entertaining, im saving up fun story fodder for decades to come, no judgement, trust me)

Anyway, i have spent the past two months utterly despairing over the fact that i will never be the type of person who can 'network' properly, and i will never be able to form those 'genuine' bonds that make people want to find you a job.

BUT but. As i was sitting there during intermissions chatting with jeff (who is essentially my boss if it wasnt a 'volunteer' gig lol) and finding out about when he used to coach college soccer and even won a national title, and chatting about the museum and the next couple of months agenda, and chatting about upcoming events we've both been invited to. And i was like holy shit. This is it. Im networking properly \o/ and not a drop of alcohol required, AND its genuinely just two friends hanging out.

anyway, tldr, people who have already found success are gonna try to tell you that there's only one way to do things, and that if you aren't doing it right you need to change what you are doing and maybe your entire personality and do it correctly. Listen to them with a smile, agree with them, and then go do it your own way anyway. Even if its a little slower and less glamerous

#Journal shit

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missmentelle · 3 years

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Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem.

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial

COVID-19 denial

5G panic

QAnon

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch.

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns.

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food.

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined.

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage - the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there.

Our brains love proportionality.

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event.

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause.

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger.

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon.

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying.

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices.

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it.

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world.

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable.

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan.

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side.

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story.

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult).

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life.

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world.

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true.

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew.

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity.

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity.

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.

There is a strong community aspect to these theories.

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas.

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #conspiracy theories #cults #psychology #science #neuroscience

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homerforsure · 3 years

Text

Whumptober No. 5

betrayal / misunderstanding / broken nose

(Hockey AU)

***

He’d always thought the night Jay took the picture would be the worst of it.

Buck’s hands were clutching the rails of Jay’s iron headboard, where Jay had wanted them, where Jay had placed them after stripping Buck of his clothes, saying “Don’t let go.” His slow, sexy, predatory smile was the last thing Buck saw before the silky black blindfold was tied in place. Jay was gone after that, climbing off the bed, telling Buck how good he looked and what he thought he might do and Buck had arched into the words until he was begging to be touched.

“Be patient,” Jay had purred, appeasing Buck with a single finger drawn shiveringly down his thigh. Buck could feel that he’d climbed back onto the bed, but Jay was too far away and he wasn’t teasing; he just wasn’t there. Stretching out longer on the mattress, trying to find him, he’d said, “What’s going on up there?”

Then the flash went off, the bright light cutting through the thin fabric of the blindfold. Jay swore, “Shit. Fuck,” and when Buck let go of the bed with one hand (one hand because maybe he misunderstood, maybe it was fine, maybe he’d laugh and put his hand back and they’d-)to push the tie away, he’d seen Jay, crouched above him with his phone in his hand.

If he’d asked, Buck might even have agreed. He liked posing. He liked having his body appreciated. But Jay’s expression was the alarm of being caught red-handed and Buck knew, knew with a sinking feeling of dread and betrayal, that Jay wasn’t just taking a memento to savor later. He was taking a picture of Rangers center Evan Buckley, naked, smirking, and vulnerable, to use exactly the way those kinds of pictures get used.

Buck forced Jay to delete the photo, made him prove that he’d done it, and then had somehow managed to get himself dressed and down to the street to get a ride without throwing up. His face burned the whole drive home and for half of the night.

And that was the worst of it until five years later. In a new city. When Buck was finally playing the way he’d always known he could. When he was finally earning the respect of his team and the hockey world at large. When he started thinking he might stay. That was when the anonymously authored post was retweeted and reblogged and shared and gleefully discussed on all corners of the hockey internet.

MY WILD NIGHT WITH AN NHL ALL STAR

The Good, the Bad, and the Kinky

His agent’s was the first text he saw when he got done with practice: “Do NOT respond yet. Call me first.”

It had taken another couple messages before Buck realized what he wasn’t supposed to respond to and in the meantime, the texts kept rolling in. Half of them from numbers he didn’t even have saved in his contacts.

“Dude, is that shit true?”

“Are you okay?”

“Do you know who it is?”

“You dog 😜”

“You never told me you were into that 👀”

“Ignore it, Buck.”

“We’re all with you.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Hey if you need something to take your mind off of it💋💋💋”

“Evan, Mike from the Tribune. If you want to set the record straight, please give me a call.”

From the looks on the faces of his teammates as they tried to pretend they weren’t stealing glances at him, they were getting messages of their own. Hen was the first one to start to approach him with a look of concern, but Buck avoided her, grabbing his bag and sneaking out the door without bothering to hit the stationary bike like usual.

“What the hell did you do to piss this guy off?” Geoff said as soon as he answered Buck’s call. “More importantly, what else does he have on you?”

“Nothing!” Buck answered, nearly merging directly into another car as his hands shook on the steering wheel. “What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know, Buckley. None of my other clients get up to shit like this. You need to get yourself a publicist. I’m going to get in touch with Grant and make sure they’re not already shopping you.”

His agent hung up and Buck’s phone continued to buzz and chime all the way back to his apartment.

There were cameras outside which there almost never were. Mostly only hockey fans cared about pictures of hockey players and the press was limited to the arena and their official events. Maybe one or two regular guys who Buck knew by name. It was just his luck that he lived in LA where there were almost more cameras than there were disasters to photograph.

“Buck! Do you know who the author is?”

“Have your teammates seen the post?”

“Are you worried about other former partners coming out with similar stories?”

Buck pushed past them, but the questions followed him inside. His phone didn’t stop. His mentions were a nightmare on every platform. He shut Twitter as soon as he opened it and saw his name in the trending topics. The statements put out by the Kings and Buck’s agent condemning the piece and the interest in it were drowned out by outlet after outlet picking up the post and sharing it out wider and wider.

Can you guess this NHL player by his sexcapades? (Hint: It’s exactly who you think)

Hockey players used to be the humble, hard working gentleman of sports. What happened?

Should the Kings trade Evan Buckley? Can they?

Nash should make Buckley sit for embarrassing the team like this.

Aw, man, don’t do that. Sitting’s a little tough for Buckley right now

🤣

And I thought it couldn’t get worse than the time he fucked that mascot in Carolina

{This post may contain explicit content}

😵‍💫

🤮

Excuse you, Gritty has standards

[98 more posts]

Whether from a latent masochistic streak or just because he didn’t want to look away and find that the story had gotten bigger while he was gone, Buck couldn’t stop refreshing the pages. He read Jay’s words over and over again as his stomach roiled. If it had all been lies, Buck wouldn’t have spent the morning pressed into the corner of his couch, hoodie pulled up over his head like armor. If it had all been lies, he could have made a fiery statement, condemning the mystery author and condemning everyone who thought they had a right to consume and critique another person’s sex life.

There were some lies, of course, but it was true enough that Buck’s heart clenched with it. True enough that he could remember how he felt when it was happening, during the three times they’d been together before the photo. Soft and desired and joyful. There was a part of him that was still exposed to Jay, that always would be, this man with the sharp wit and the sharp smile who got Buck bare, begging and biddable all to make him a joke. As he read the smug asides in the unforgiving narrative, he could hear Jay’s voice in his ear.

The sixth time he read it, there was an addition.

Edit: Ha ha wow this really blew up. Doing an AMA at 6 eastern if you’re looking for more dirty details.

And for the first time, Buck felt the burn of tears in his eyes. Furious. Powerless.

The buzz of his phone started making his skin crawl so he shoved it between the couch cushions and tried not to think about it. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around, rocking just a little as he felt panic creeping in.

What else could Jay possibly have to say? Would he make up more and more audacious lies as long as he had an audience? Would an NHL team want to touch Buck when he was done?

Were there more pictures?

It was the fourth night, the night that Buck caught Jay. Not the first night with the blindfold. What if? Buck shuddered, sinking lower, deeper into the couch, folding himself tighter and smaller, trying to crush the mounting, hopeless fear. He was there for a long time.

When the gentle knock hit his door, Buck jumped and then crouched tighter into his ball. He didn’t answer. There was no one he could face right now.

The knock came again.

Then the door opened.

Buck was up like a shot, nearly falling over the coffee table as he whirled around toward the intruder. Eddie stood in the doorway, holding up one empty hand and pulling his key out of the door with the other.

“Just me.”

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to hide the fact that he’d been digging his nails into his palms for the last hour.

“Well, you took off. And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Hot shame flushed across Buck’s skin. Eddie knew. Eddie had seen the article and the articles about the article and the tweets about the articles and been shouted at by the cameras outside and Buck wanted to sink into the floor.

“Notice you didn’t take the hint.”

The attitude in Buck’s response didn’t faze Eddie at all, “Do I ever?”

And that almost made Buck feel like smiling, because no, no he didn’t. He said, “No. But there’s always a first time.”

Eddie came a little further into the apartment and Buck felt crowded. Eddie always seemed to take up so much space around him. Maybe it was just that Buck felt his presence most strongly than anyone else’s. Especially when he was like this: arms crossed, focused, not letting Buck wiggle out of a conversation that he didn’t want to have.

This time was no exception. When Buck turned and went back to the couch, compulsively refreshing the comments on Jay’s post again as he went, Eddie followed right after him.

“I came by to make sure you were okay,” he said and Buck flinched again, hating that Eddie knew. Hating that the team knew.

“I’m fine,” he answered, keeping his eyes down and away from Eddie. “Coach is going to rip me a new one tomorrow, but my agent hasn’t called me to tell me I’m being traded so yet so I guess that’s-”

“Who the fuck said you were being traded?” His voice was loud enough that Buck looked up, surprised to see the intensity of anger in Eddie’s face.

“THN. NHL Network did a round table on it too, but they didn’t think anyone would take me. Oh, then Kirk Davis did a radio interview.”

Everyone had picked up those soundbites. Even through the heavily bleeped broadcast, the future hall-of-famer’s opinion on Buck had been crystal clear. At least that wasn’t new information for Buck. Davis had all but refused to shake Buck’s hand when he first joined the Predators and was a big part of why his tenure there had only lasted until the trade deadline.

“Kirk Davis is a fucking asshole. There’s a reason they never made him captain.”

“He’s not the only one who said it.”

“Then he’s not the only fucking asshole out there.” When he didn’t respond, Eddie came around the couch to stand face to face with him, noticing the open comments page as he did. “Christ, have you been reading that shit all day?”

Somehow it made Buck laugh. “It’s the same shit I’ve been reading for 8 years. Since I got drafted. Buckley’s a distraction to his team. Buckley’s an embarrassment to the game of hockey. Buckley cares more about getting laid and partying than he does about winning. It’s guys like Buckley that hurt the NHL.”

His voice pitched up as he recited the familiar accusations, staring somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder because Eddie already knew all this about him. Eddie was the opposite of Buck in every way. He would never make himself the center of attention. He’d never do anything to make his teammates ashamed to play with him. He’d never be so stupid as to go home with a guy like Jay.

“Buckley’s finally getting what he deserves.” Buck whispered.

“Look at me,” Eddie said. When Buck couldn’t, Eddie reached out, setting a light hand on his shoulder that got tighter when Buck tried to shrug out of the hold. “Hey. Look at me.”

He moved his head into the space where Buck was staring into the middle distance and waited. Until Buck couldn’t help but flick his gaze to meet Eddie’s. Once he did, he found a furious compassion that startled him.

“You don’t deserve this, Buck. You did nothing to deserve this. It is not your fault. Nobody in our room thinks it is. Bobby doesn’t think it is.”

Buck shuddered under the weight of the words. He wanted to pull himself free and he wanted to step in closer, “My agent told me I should own it. Post a couple thirst traps and a middle finger on instagram and just wave it off like another classic Evan Buckley weekend.”

There was a time when he would have. Times when he had. But this wasn’t a ridiculous paparazzi photo outside a bar, it was… It was private. It hurt.

As if reading his mind, Eddie said, “That’s not what this is. Fire him if he wants to make you pretend this is okay.”

“I just keep thinking if I was anyone else. If I was someone good, they’d all go after him and not me. I didn’t even do anything to him, Eddie. I didn’t-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie tugged him forward and his arms were tight around his back. Buck should have tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help but fall against his chest and cling on. “You are someone good,” Eddie said, making Buck’s breath hitch. “And if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. It’s wrong. They’re wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted him,” Buck confessed into the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I was so stupid back then. I just wanted- I wanted him to like me. And I’m still- It still hurts that he didn’t. How fucked up is that? He did this. And I still just wish he liked me.”

One of Eddie’s hands moved up to cradle the back of Buck’s head. They were swaying, just a little, Eddie rocking them gently. “I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

He managed to keep from crying, but Buck couldn’t stop his breath from coming out in soft, stuttering gasps. Couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Eddie’s back. If he thought about it, he could imagine this post too (Evan Buckley cried like a baby on my shoulder AMA), but Eddie would never do that. The warm heat of him against Buck’s chest was like a blanket hiding him from the world. It was the most vulnerable he’d been all day and the most sheltered.

Eddie didn’t let go until Buck pulled back and even then he didn’t go far, “Have you eaten since practice?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to without throwing up,” Buck said honestly.

“Do you want to order something from-”

The timer on Buck’s laptop shrieked and they both jumped. Eddie recovered quickly, but Buck’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d almost forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Pulling away from Eddie, he turned off the timer and refreshed the post, looking for the link he knew would be there.

“Come on, Buck, really?”

Eddie reached out to slam the laptop closed, but Buck shoved his hand in the way. “I have to, Eddie. He’s doing an AMA. I have to-”

“I’m not going to let you torture yourself reading what a bunch of sick assholes have to say, Buck. No way.”

“I have to.”

“No, you-”

“Yes, I do!” He shouted it, standing up to look Eddie in the eye. “I have to read it. I have to see it now because if- if- if I wait and it gets reposted- I have to know if he has- I have to-”

“Buck,” Eddie said, putting his hands on Buck’s arms, trying to rub calmness back into him even as Buck’s heart-rate accelerated. “What does he have? What could be worse than what he already-”

“Pictures,” Buck yelled. “I have to know if he has pictures.”

A dark, dark look came over Eddie’s face and he stopped rubbing Buck’s arms to squeeze instead. “You think he has pictures?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Buck whimpered. He saw himself as if from above, stretched out long and lewd against Jay’s sheets. He imagined ten thousand other people seeing it. “He took- I caught him taking one. Once. But I don't know if it was the only one. I don’t- I can’t let them get out. If he has them, I have to know. I have to report the post. I have to-”

“No,” Eddie said.

“Yes, Eddie. I have-”

“I hear you. Okay? I hear you, but I’m not letting you do that. I’m not letting you put any more of that garbage in your head.”

“Eddie.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll report every goddamn post.” Lifting one hand, Eddie stroked a thumb softly along Buck’s hairline. “Let me do it. Let me protect you.”

Buck swallowed hard, fear and relief and longing fighting for control of the tears that were building up again. He didn’t want Eddie to see any of that. He didn’t want Jay’s words in Eddie’s head. But Buck really really didn’t want them in his own. He wanted someone to protect him. “Thank you,” he said, falling forward again to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie replied, rubbing his hands firmly up Buck’s back.

Eddie wouldn’t let Buck sit on the couch while he monitored the thread. He fished Buck’s phone out of the couch and made him answer the important messages. From Maddie. From Bobby. From Hen and Chimney. Then he’d told him to order food from the Lebanese place they always ordered from when Eddie came over, asking for extra of the pickled turnips. All the while, Eddie’s fingers slammed onto the keyboard, that sound the only reaction he gave to any of the posts.

It should have been unbearable, letting Eddie comb through the messages. Even without seeing them, Buck knew what they were like. He blocked people every week for the same kind of thing. But Eddie had a defense against them that Buck never had: he didn’t believe they were true. Not even a little bit. He didn’t believe there was a chance that Buck was getting what he deserved for being a show off, for never being a points leader, for being open and soft hearted, for being himself. Eddie believed Buck deserved to be protected and he was ruthless about it.

“No pictures,” he said, a while later, when Jay had finally stopped replying to every comment on the page. “And the rest of it is… well. It’s nothing new.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s done.”

Eddie closed the laptop as if by making that gesture of finality, he could make the words true. Buck, allowed back on his own couch, let himself believe it too. Let himself lean into the safety of Eddie’s arm over his shoulders, breathing in a deep sigh of relief as they caught the Canucks game.

The next morning, Jay’s story was hardly anywhere to be seen. It was replaced. By an essay in The Players’ Tribune. It excoriated Jay. It called out Kirk Davis by name and hundreds of online posters by their bad intentions. It praised Buck’s grace, tenacity, and backhand shot and it demanded respect and compassion and privacy from anyone who called themselves a hockey fan. And it wasn’t anonymous.

#whumptober2021 #no. 5 #betrayal #fic #911 #hanging out at the angst end of the spectrum #911fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hockey au #allison can’t write a short fic to save her life #minimal edits #messy ending #questionable formatting #230 am #😴

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miracleonice87 · 3 years

Text

Secret

a Mathew Barzal one shot

a/n: and here it is! the recent news-inspired secret baby fic. Huge thanks to all who reached out and encouraged me to write it and to those who gave me ideas and advice. completely fictitious timeline and hockey-related events here, and we’re pretending the pandemic is not a thing in this one.

summary: Mat Barzal and his longtime girlfriend welcome their first baby after keeping her pregnancy well-hidden from the public eye.

warnings: morning sickness and childbirth (nothing graphic or detailed). dad Barzy, which deserves a warning. swearing. super fluff.

_____

Never in your life did you imagine that you would be attempting to conceal your first pregnancy — or any pregnancy — from members of the media.

Then again, you never could have predicted that you would end up being the long-term girlfriend of one of the most recognizable figures in the National Hockey League, and, more specifically, on the New York City sports scene. But if there’s one thing you had learned over the course of your more than four-year relationship, it was that life is full of the unexpected.

Currently, that aforementioned figure was whipping his car as quickly as possible into a private parking area at New York Presbyterian, glancing at you every ten seconds as you breathed through the early stages of labor with your firstborn baby, your water having broken just as you and Mat were settling in for sleep around midnight.

Only a small, select group of people knew that you and Mat were expecting, and as you checked in to the maternity ward just before one o’clock in the morning, you were grateful that there were very few people around you. You were hurried to your private room, Mat faithfully carrying your bags and nearly stepping on the heels of the poor nurse pushing your wheelchair, refusing to let you out of his sight for even a second.

Only once you were settled into bed, changed into a most unflattering hospital gown, hooked up to several monitors, and examined, did you allow yourself to look up at Mat and announce your practically inevitable victory.

“As long as that nurse doesn’t moonlight as a reporter, I think we did it,” you ventured with an incredulous chuckle. Mat shook his head in disbelief as he stood next to your bed, holding one of your hands in both of his.

“Don’t wanna speak too soon, but yeah, I think we did,” he agreed. “I can’t believe we managed to keep this a secret.”

_____

Six weeks

It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d ever had your head hanging above a toilet bowl on New Year’s Day.

But it sure as hell was the first time it had ever happened when you had no hangover to speak of.

In fact, you’d only had two sips of champagne the previous night before you felt weirdly dizzy and passed out in bed watching the Isles battle the Bruins.

The next thing you knew, you were being gently roused from deep sleep by your boyfriend, whose brow was creased with concern as he leaned over you.

“Sweetheart?” Mat spoke softly when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smoothing your hair against your heavy head. “You okay?”

You inhaled deeply, feeling completely off. “Yeah... yeah,” you insisted softly. “What time is it?” you asked, discombobulated.

“It’s almost midnight,” Mat answered. “How long have you been sleeping?”

You slowly pushed yourself up on your elbows in bed. “Uh... I don’t know,” you admitted. “I watched the first period... I think.”

That wasn’t like you, and Mat knew it. A lifelong hockey fan, you kept close tabs on not only Mat and the Islanders, but the scores from around the entire league each night. Coming from a hockey-loving family, watching highlights on NHL Network was your late night routine. On top of that, you looked flushed to him, and dark circles hung around your eyes, a rarity for you except when you were ill.

“Baby... are you sick?” Mat shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it on the end of the bed and quickly taking a seat next to you on the edge of the mattress. He put the back of his hand to your forehead and studied you carefully. “You don’t feel fevered.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a cold,” you replied, remembering the strange feeling that had overcome you when you sipped your champagne earlier. “I do feel kinda dizzy... nauseous.”

Mat nodded, eyes still full of worry. “Maybe you’re getting the flu,” he suggested. “That’s been going around lately.” You nodded too, yawning.

“Well, listen,” Mat continued, motioning for you to lie back as he pulled the covers over you again. “Go back to sleep, and tomorrow if you still aren’t feeling well, I’ll run to the pharmacy and get you some medicine and stuff. Okay?”

You nodded again, overcome once more by exhaustion as you settled back into your bed. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thanks, babe. Hey, did you win?”

Mat smiled. “Yeah, baby, we won. Now get some rest. I love you, sweet girl,” he said, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

“I love you, Maty,” you breathed. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, my love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip slowly as you immediately drifted back to sleep.

And now here you were, seven hours later, heaving into the toilet as Mat dropped to his knees behind you on the tile, gathering your long hair into his hands as quickly as possible.

“Oh, honey,” he groaned, rubbing your back. “You poor thing.”

After flushing the toilet several times to get rid of the contents, you finally sat upright, cautiously, slowly.

“God, I feel like shit,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your forehead as Mat ran his hands back and forth down your legs, trying to soothe you.

“I can tell,” he said sadly, standing. You looked up at him helplessly as he said, “I’m gonna go get you flu meds from the pharmacy. Let me just get dressed.”

You nodded once, feeling too lightheaded to move your head any more than that. You didn’t budge from your place on the floor as Mat took his robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around your shoulders, kissing the crown of your head before exiting the bathroom. You heard him shuffling around in his drawers as you closed your eyes, willing the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach to cease.

Moments later, Mat called out to you from the bedroom.

“Do you need anything else from the drugstore while I’m there, baby?”

You opened your eyes to glance around the bathroom, trying to keep your head as still as possible. You saw toothpaste, Tylenol, and... did you have enough tampons?

You reached next to you to open the drawer that held your monthly supplies, and you were surprised to find two boxes of tampons, not even opened, along with a plethora of pads and liners.

Finally, it hit you like a crashing wave. Suddenly, your world started spinning, and it wasn’t because of the nausea.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, slamming the drawer shut.

“Maty...” you called out hoarsely, causing him to rush back toward the bathroom. Your heart was racing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously as he appeared in the doorway, ready to take up residence on the floor with you again if necessary.

You bit your bottom lip and inhaled a shaky breath before answering, sounding much more calm than you felt.

“I need you to buy me a test,” you said matter-of-factly.

At first, Mat wore a blank expression. “What kinda te— wait…” he said as you watched the wheels turning in his head. You couldn’t help but allow a small smile to spread across your lips as the realization hit him, too. He froze, mouth slightly agape, wide eyes searching yours to try and determine whether you were serious. Reading him, you nodded, which caused his eyes to widen even further.

“A pregnancy test,” you confirmed in a shaky voice.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered familiarly, his own smile beginning to play on his lips.

_____

“That was Liana,” Mat said, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his sweats after ending the brief call. “She’s catching a flight in the morning.”

You nodded gratefully as Mat returned to your side, dutifully grabbing your hand and running his other over your rounded stomach.

“She said to tell you she loves you, and baby, too,” he added with a warm grin. “And that she—“

Mat stopped short the second he heard you groan softly, the smile you’d worn upon hearing Liana’s name having morphed quickly into a wince.

“Another contraction?” Mat asked, hastily pulling the stool by the bed closer and taking a seat.

“Mhm,” you confirmed tightly, rolling on your side to look into his eyes, seeking a diversion. The pain in your face absolutely shattered Mat’s heart. He despised how helpless he felt watching you.

“Just look at me. Breathe, baby,” Mat coached before breathing in and out just as your Lamaze instructor had taught you both, nodding his head to urge you to mimic him. You did your best, squeezing his big hand hard enough that Mat saw his fingertips turning white, though he was too smart and too concerned with your labor pains to point that out.

“Good girl. Breathe, sweetheart. Good girl,” Mat encouraged. “That’s my girl,” he added softly, lightly dragging his fingernails along your scalp, combing his hand through your hair, in an attempt to comfort you.

“I seriously hate you right now,” you spat between pants and gasps. “You did this to me.”

Though he tried to hold back, a breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nose. “Yeah, my mom warned me you might say that,” he told you. “I’d hate me right now, too,” he added, running his fingers along your forearm lightly as you grimaced in agony.

Finally, your muscles relaxed as the contraction passed. Your face softened and your eyes fluttered open to see Mat staring at you intently, concern etched into his gorgeous features. You reached out your hand to run a thumb over his strong jaw.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, giving him your best smile as you caught your breath.

Mat nodded. “I just hate seeing you hurting,” he whispered back. You gave him an understanding look and then grinned brightly.

“But it’s gonna be worth it,” you assured, making Mat’s eyes light up. He kissed your palm and you asked, “Now what else did Liana say? Distract me.”

With a smile, Mat said, “That she can’t wait to meet this little one.” He leaned his head forward to kiss your belly sweetly as you smiled softly, leaning back against the mattress to rest up momentarily before the next wave, as the memory of telling Liana the news months ago came to mind.

_____

Twelve weeks

Your phone buzzed on the dining room table, vibrating against the glass top. Normally, you would never answer a call during a Valentine’s Day dinner with Mat, even at home, but these particular circumstances allowed for an exception.

“It’s Liana,” you smirked, swiping to answer the FaceTime call as Mat muttered, “Nice of her to call you and not her own brother.”

You ignored his complaint and smiled at the woman who was basically your sister-in-law.

“Hi, Li,” you said happily. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Liana didn’t even let you finish your greeting before she asked hurriedly, “What the fuck is going on?”

Mat leaned closer into you in order to be included in the camera’s view. “That’s rude,” he chirped, trying to sound angry, but being betrayed by the smirk twitching at his pink lips.

“No, seriously, you guys,” Liana continued, sounding anxious. “What does this mean?” She lifted the card from the full bouquet of blush pink roses before her. “‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Li,’” she read. “‘We’re so excited to give you another member of the family to love this August.’ And it’s signed from you guys and ‘Baby B...’”

Liana’s eyes flicked back up to your own and she couldn’t stand still, pacing her kitchen. “It’s not funny to joke about this,” she insisted, sounding confused and slightly offended.

“It isn’t a joke, dude,” Mat giggled. “We’re having a baby.”

Liana started screaming after “having.”

Laughter racked your body as you watched her jump up and down, tears streaming down her face as she squealed and asked a dozen times whether you were serious. You nodded each time until her hysteria finally subsided.

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Liana asked with a quaking voice, wiping the dampness from her cheeks.

“Yeah, they know,” you confirmed, swiping at a couple of your own fallen tears. Damn hormones.

“But listen, Liana,” Mat interjected, putting on his most serious tone. “They know, and her family knows, but past that, we haven’t told a soul. We honestly might not tell anyone else, depending on how soon she starts to show. We don’t want crazy fans or, God forbid, the media to get ahold of it and just be intrusive. We’ve seen how that goes. We just want this to be as private as possible. So you can’t post anything, can’t tell any of your friends. Okay?”

Liana nodded, sniffling throughout her brother’s command. “Yeah, totally,” she immediately concurred. “I get it. I think you guys are smart for doing it this way. This is like Kylie Jenner shit.”

You and Mat both snickered at that comparison for multiple reasons, then Liana began truly processing the news.

“Wait... so,” she began. “How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you replied. “So barring anything out of the ordinary, that kind of means we’re in the clear, risk-wise.”

“And you’re okay? Everything is okay?” Liana asked nervously.

Mat nodded, appreciating his little sister’s obvious concern for you and the baby. “She’s okay, Liana,” he assured as you smiled at him. “She’s perfect,” he added, picking up your hand to press a kiss to your fingers, causing Liana to tear up once again.

“You better take such good fucking care of her, Mat. You hear me? She doesn’t have her mom or any of us nearby, so she needs you,” Liana said firmly to her brother. You warmed at her display of womanly solidarity, ever thankful to have an ally in her.

Mat rolled his eyes. “Yes, Liana, I’ve been taking care of her for years,” he said, unamused.

“Yeah, well, it’s different now,” Liana pointed out. “Now she’s carrying my niece or nephew!”

You and Mat grinned at each other once more, Mat rubbing his hand slowly across your lower belly, which was mostly still flat, save for a slight, bloated curve.

“Yeah, she is,” Mat said airily, gazing into your blue eyes deeply as his sister resumed her squealing in the background.

_____

“Can I please have more ice chips?” you asked as you came down from yet another contraction, sounding whinier than you meant to and slightly hating yourself for it.

Mat smiled warmly down at you, pushing some of your hair back from your forehead and tenderly placing a kiss to your temple.

“Yes. You get all the ice chips you want, sweet girl,” Mat cooed, nuzzling his nose in your hair before stepping back and winking at you, grabbing the ice bucket from the bedside table. If there was one thing you had enjoyed most about the experience of pregnancy and labor, it was the way Mat spoiled you, ever attentive to your needs and wants. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have that baby while I’m gone,” he instructed, pointing at you.

Despite the discomfort you felt, you still breathed a laugh and rolled your eyes at him, Mat positively beaming at you as he walked backwards out of your suite, then turned down the hall.

As you rested your hands against your belly and your head back on the pillow, spotting the big bouquet of flowers Tito had sent for you, another memory from the past several months flashed in your mind.

_____

Twenty weeks

“I’m sorry,” Tito choked out once he stopped coughing on the Easter ham you’d made for a small group of the Isles boys, who had just begun playoffs and therefore weren’t traveling for the holiday, and their significant others. “You’re what?!”

You and Mat giggled, Mat squeezing your thigh under the table reassuringly. Sydney, late in her own pregnancy, jumped from her seat, tears springing to her eyes, and squealed as she ran to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders as you sat grinning at the others — Tito, Marty, Anders, Grace, Josh, and Meg — whose mouths hung open as they tried to process your announcement.

You turned back to Mat, the same broad smile seemingly permanently plastered on his handsome features the past few months stretching across his face once again.

“You wanna show them?” he asked softly, the tone in his voice telling you the decision was yours completely. You nodded, grasping the fabric of your knit sweater, the same casually chic, baggy style that you’d stocked up on to hide your growing stomach.

Sydney let go of you, allowing you to stand from your chair, as she nearly shouted, “What do you mean, show us?! How pregnant are you?!”

You bit your bottom lip, still smiling from ear to ear, and turned sideways, lifting your sweater to reveal your noticeable, ever-rounding bump beneath your high-waisted leggings.

A collective gasp sucked the oxygen from the room, Mat smirking at your friends, as you quietly admitted, “I’m twenty weeks...”

Tito pounded a fist to the table in disbelief and let out a holler. Anders raised his own fists over his head so fast that he knocked off the black baseball cap he wore. Josh and Marty couldn’t stop yelling, “No!” and “No fucking way,” respectively. Meg and Grace immediately leapt to their feet, too. “You’re halfway?!” they shouted in unison.

All Mat could do was beam proudly at you, bringing your waist close as he pressed a reverent, chaste kiss to your stomach over your sweater.

“Surprise!” you sang softly to the onlookers, your voice watery as a couple of happy tears escaped your eyes. The girls all embraced you, taking turns rubbing your belly, as the guys uttered boyish praises to Mat, joking that they didn’t know he had it in him.

Besides your and Mat’s parents and siblings, you still hadn’t told any friends of your pregnancy — making this sacred time that much more special for you and Mat.

But it was time to tell this circle. It had gotten more and more difficult and complicated to refuse drinks when the wives and girlfriends met for brunch, and even Mat was struggling to come up with excuses for why he wanted to rush home from the arena when the rest of the guys his age wanted to go to the bar to celebrate big wins. This close-knit group knowing the truth would help combat that.

You certainly didn’t plan to tell the whole team — quite frankly, there were some recently-added guys you just didn’t know well enough yet, along with some newer girlfriends who seemed a little suspect when it came to keeping team matters close to the vest. You and Mat agreed that you’d tell your close group of Isles friends and leave it at that. And that group, this group, these friends who had become much more like family — these felt like the right people to let in on the secret.

_____

“I’m scared,” you whimpered. “I don’t know if I can do it.” The pain was excruciating now, the pressure was building, and your doctor had just informed you that it was time to push. You felt like crying, but you were so paralyzed by the fear that gripped your chest that no tears were flowing.

“Hey…” Mat began softly, gently taking your face in both of his hands and angling it to look up at him, his eyes radiating confidence and pride. “Listen to me, okay? You’ve been so strong throughout this whole pregnancy. I know better than to believe that that’s gonna end now. You can do this, my love. I know you can,” he encouraged. “And I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You nodded, still feeling completely unprepared but somehow strengthened by Mat’s faith in you. As the doctor approached, gowned and gloved, she looked at you with anticipation.

“You ready, sweetie?” she asked. With one last look up at Mat, who nodded and kissed your knuckles, you turned back to her with a nod of your own. She patted your knee and said, “Okay, let’s have a baby. On the count of three, I want you to push, just the way we talked about. Daddy, you hold this knee. Ready? One… two… three… push.”

_____

Twenty-three weeks

The Isles had lost in the second round of the playoffs. Mat was obviously disappointed, but he was also more excited for this offseason than he’d ever been for a summer before, which certainly softened the blow. You were having his baby in just three more months, and he absolutely could not wait. Mat was ready to commence full dad mode — getting the nursery ready, reading the books, and most importantly, keeping a close eye on you every moment that he could.

On the same day the guys were cleaning out their lockers and giving final interviews following the end of the playoff series loss, Mat had scheduled a meeting with the coaching staff and team public relations executives to inform them of your pregnancy. He wanted them to be aware of the situation in case the news got out before the birth, especially as your baby bump was getting harder to hide. Since the two of you had decided to stay in New York for the summer instead of returning to British Columbia, to avoid travel late in your pregnancy, he knew that the chances of someone spotting your round stomach and starting to talk about it was higher on Long Island than in Coquitlam. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the news got out, but if you and Mat could help it, you’d much prefer that it didn’t. He wanted this experience to be peaceful for you and as enjoyable as possible.

The meeting had gone well, which was unsurprising. The staff was thrilled for the two of you and promised to keep a tight lid on the information until you were ready to share it publicly after the baby had been born — they also agreed to evade any questions that their office might encounter on the topic during the summer.

Mat had thanked them profusely and said his goodbyes before leaving the building, heaving his heavy equipment bags into his trunk, and heading back home to you. A few minutes later, his phone dinged with a text from you and he glanced down at it at the next stoplight. It was a photo of the two of you in front of Big Ben on a rare sunny day in England, Mat hugging you close to his chest.

“This just popped up in my memories. Four years ago today we were in London and you told me you loved me for the first time. Look at us now. 💋”

Mat grinned at the message before returning the phone to his cupholder, his mind traveling back in time to that first big vacation the two of you had taken together. He knew your affinity for English culture — the fashion, the history, and, of course, the royal family, so he decided to take you on a trip across the pond a couple of months after you started dating.

It was one of the best decisions he’d ever made, as it brought the two of you much closer in those early days of your relationship — so close, in fact, that he found himself professing his love for you over a candlelight dinner on your last night in London. You had frozen, just for a moment, before a broad smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling.

“I love you, too, Maty,” you’d said softly, allowing Mat to finally exhale as he basked in the knowledge that you felt the same way as he.

London was a landmark in your love story. Mat blinked a few times at that thought, an idea suddenly coming over him.

London…

_____

London Riley Barzal, named for the city where you fell in love and given your current last name as a middle name, was born August 15 at 8:13 p.m., after twenty hours of labor.

You and Mat had never known a love like the one you found the moment your baby girl was laid on your chest, and he had never been more fiercely in love with you than he was as he watched you snuggle her close.

“God, she’s so beautiful,” Mat breathed, voice quivering as he realized that this tiny girl belonged to him — to both of you.

“She’s perfect. Just perfect,” you agreed as her strong cries suddenly quieted into small whimpers.

Immediately, Mat looked you in the eye. “She knows your voice,” he said in astonishment.

As your baby blinked and squinted before opening her eyes for the very first time, she seemed to look directly up at her daddy. You smiled knowingly at Mat, who was frozen in place as he locked eyes with his baby daughter for the first time.

“I think she knows yours, too,” you suggested, the two of you smoothing your fingertips over her tiny face and hands in wonder.

You spent several minutes soaking it all in as a brand new family of three, both talking to London softly and placing kisses on her tiny head, before the nurse took her from your arms to take her vitals and give her a brief exam.

As you watched your healthy, gorgeous baby being fawned over by the medical team, you breathed a deep sigh of relief and a silent prayer of gratitude before opening your eyes again to see the love of your life staring down at you in absolute amazement.

“You did so good, baby,” Mat said through tears of pure joy. He pressed his lips to your damp forehead, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You did so good. You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m so goddamn proud of you,” he praised.

“We have a baby, Maty,” you said with an awestruck, tearful chuckle. “I just had our baby.”

Mat nodded, grinning. “We have a daughter, my love,” he said. “Our little London.”

_____

One week later…

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thanksjro · 3 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #31 - Ammo and the Anti-Glowup

So, the Lost Light disappeared, stranding all the crew in space in their little escape pods. 200-some robots just lost their homes and worldly possessions. That’s absolutely horrible. What a devastating thing to happen.

Anyway, here’s Drift with a flashback sequence.

No hips, fingers all the exact same length, hockey pucks embedded in his forearms- Rojo, this is a crime you’ve committed. When will the long arm of the law stop your sinful, pancake-shaped hands?

About two years prior to current events, Drift, Riptide, and Pipes- yes, Pipes!- were wandering around trying to find a ship for the space yacht trip. The gang’s here to see who owns the big honkin’ ship outside. Problem is, Drift is unintentionally terrifying because he has a great deal of swords.

Now, you may say to yourself “isn’t it a bit odd that the species that has members who literally turn into guns would be nervous around a guy with swords?” This is a valid critique, until you remember that at least some of the folks who turn into guns were born that way, and Drift was very much NOT born bladed the fuck out. There’s an entire miniseries devoted to explaining this, it’s called Drift. The swords are a choice, one that he makes every day.

Drift is willing to pay an honestly absurd amount of money for the ship, if he can just find the dude with the paperwork- don’t ask where he got the money. Pipes isn’t being terribly helpful in finding them, so Riptide decides that now is the time to start practicing being proactive and pulls a Coyote Ugly.

No, no, he doesn’t.

He does climb up on a table and start yelling for the ship’s owners to reveal themselves, though. Which they do.

Now it’s time for the world-building portion of our comic issue. Let’s learn about chirolinguistics.

Drift, staying true to his Mary Sue nature, uses his near-perfect Hand skills to strike up a deal with the owners of the ship. This would be impressive, if it didn’t just look like the most convoluted hand-holding session in the friggin’ universe.

Still, Drift is rich enough to make Jeff Bezos weep with envy, so the arrangements are made and the lads go on their way, talking some mad shit about the original name of the ship as they do.

So it is revealed to us that the Lost Light is named after a festival for honoring the dead and disappeared, which makes the fact that Rewind and Chromedome were there all the more sad.

Back in the present, Megatron tells Riptide to shut up so they can figure out what the hell they’re going to do about this whole “our home and also ride has ceased to exist” situation. He’s putting an awful lot of distance between himself and the rest of the Autobots as he does it, something that isn’t lost on the more bitter people of the crowd.

But why were we even talking about the Lost Light in the first place? Not to reminisce, believe it or not. See, it’s time for Nautica to get a little panel time, and she’s going to use it to be a massive fucking nerd and explain how the quantum engines work. As she does, Ratchet notes that his hands feel funny. Must be the weight of his hand-stealing sins manifesting itself in his joints.

Nautica explains that the engines run off of improbability- it is highly unlikely, but not impossible, that the ship can reach light speed, and riding the fine line between what can happen and what can’t, results in the creation of power for the engines. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Brainstorm gave us a watered down version of this explanation back in issue #2. If it sounds familiar for a different reason, it’s because this is how the Heart of Gold runs in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Again, I’m not sure why it is that the British love this concept so much, but there you are.

Oh, it appears someone has a question. Let’s see what they want to know about, shall we?

…Rojo, what the fuck is this.

Our muppety friend here isn’t too keen on how much of a smarmy asshole Nightbeat is being right now, though I’d assume it actually has something to do with the fact that Nightbeat got smacked around with the pretty-boy stick while Getaway very much did not. While the two bicker- there’s a lot of bickering in Season Two- Nautica presents a theory on what happened to the ship; it went too far in the direction of “can’t” and made itself cease to be.

Megatron gives not a shit about quantum improbability, though. He only cares about how they’re going to get out of this mess. Which, y’know. Valid.

Blaster picks up a radio from Rodimus, who tells the gang that they’re to meet up on a nearby planet to regroup and figure out their next move. The call drops before he can get more than a couple Megatron-directed insults in, however. Megatron, in response, tries to be the bigger person, and almost immediately fails. We do get a headcount though, which is good, logistically speaking. This information is communicated to us by way of a splash page full of character head shots. We’ve got 20 ‘bots on board this ship.

Yep. 20. No more, no less.

As our friends approach the planet, we’re informed that it’s actually a Lectureworld- a planet devoted to the study of a single field. Except it’s actually a Smartplanet now, and it’s been privatized by the Galactic Council, so you’ve got to pay to go there. Cyclonus thinks that that’s bullshit, and I can’t help but agree. Crosscut tries to network with they guy about his play, probably because word got around that Cyclonus is rich as hell, when the lights cut out. When they come back on, Crosscut is nowhere to be found.

It’s time for a Whodunnit.

Tailgate immediately pegs Megatron as the culprit in this disappearance, and breaks out a gun over the matter. Megatron thinks that this is absolutely adorable, which only serves to further infuriate our marshmallow friend. I guess he’s still mad about the whole “I was a Decepticon for five minutes and got brainwashed over it” thing, and wants someone to pin the anger on who’s socially acceptable to hate.

Cyclonus and Ratchet both think that Tailgate’s not going about this the right way, but the guy is simply too het up to listen to them. Tailgate suggests that they lock Megatron in the engine room for the time being and-

OKAY WHO LET HIM HAVE THAT

Riptide breaks out his gun, and soon we’ve got a standoff going between the three of them. Cyclonus tries to deescalate, which makes Gears and Huffer break out their guns. Then Hound breaks out his gun, though he seems to be doing his own thing, by pointing it in Nautica’s direction.

Broski, I think that might be animal cruelty.

Megatron manages to shoot Ravage “unconscious” and catches him by the friggin’ throat, stating that he has zero idea how this guy got here. With the heat off the two of them for a moment, Megatron communicates to Ravage to play ‘possum for the time being. Ravage responds, and I wonder exactly how he’s doing that, considering I don’t think he has enough fingers to effectively utilize Hand as a language. Or fingers at all, really.

While this is going on, Cyclonus snatches the gun out of Tailgate’s hand, admonishing him for being reckless about picking his fights. Generally speaking, you don’t want to try to go toe-to-toe with a guy who’s responsible for the deaths of literal billions. Getaway swoops in to comfort Tailgate, calling him gutsy. I wonder if this will become a trend.

Swerve says a thing, as he is wont to do, and it’s made known that multiple folks have disappeared during this incredibly brief standoff.

Wow, Chromedome just fucked off, huh? He wasn’t even in that sequence, just left.

Everyone’s positively baffled by the current happenings. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to who’s being taken. I guess we’ve got a mystery on our hands.

And who better to solve a mystery than a detective?

Nightbeat wrangles all the leftover folks into a corner of the room, so they can figure out what the common denominator is with all the disappearees. He starts with the easy stuff.

And by “easy”, I mean the super-special racism Tyrest subscribed to.

If you’ve read Eugenesis, you know that Nightbeat was also part of the first wave of cold-constructed bodies there. However, the general populace wasn’t nearly as chill about it as they were in IDW. Also, Wheeljack was his dad. No word on if that particular tidbit made it into IDW lore.

It’s at this point that we learn about M.T.O.s- made to order soldiers. They were cold-constructed ‘bots created en masse during the war in order to keep up with the demands for troops. Pretty fucked up, if you think about it, being born to die like that.

Now where have we heard that name before…

Chromedome, can your love life not be part of the plot for five minutes, my guy?

Nautica makes the honestly horrific claim that a lot of folks owe their existence to Megatron being a warmongering fuck, and even Megatron himself seems rather uncomfortable with the idea. Some thoughts we keep to ourselves, Nautica, even if they might be technically true. And even if Ammo wants to tack on his two cents on the matter.

What did they DO to you, Ammo? You’re supposed to be hot! Where are my three-paragraphs of description as Hound stares slack jawed the entire time? I miss Polyhex Wars.

Anyway, it’s Megatron’s turn to get poked with the questioning stick, and he’s not having it. He claims that by revealing his mode of creation, he’s risking a repeat of Functionist ideology. This would be valid, if people weren’t literally disappearing without any sort of explanation as to why. As it is, he’s being a stubborn asshole, but I guess he didn’t get his reputation by being a decent person who knew when to back down, now did he?

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers he knows all the info Nightbeat’s looking for, and the conversation on Megatron’s birth is shelved for another day. I’m sure it won’t be a major plot point later, not in the slightest.

As it turns out, Nightbeat’s theory doesn’t hold water, and folks are still popping out of existence. We get another splash page, this time with everyone’s mode of creation listed under their names, and we move on to other theories about what the fuck is going on. While Nightbeat has a minor crisis over what the answer could possibly be, the MTOs in the group reminisce on the Ten-Step Program, a series of tests they were put through to make sure they worked well enough to get handed a gun and shoved out the door. Riptide wasn’t a fan.

Riptide has more wood panelling than a 70’s-style ranch house, and I think that’s very brave of him.

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers it’s been quite a bit since he last shat on religion, and takes the time to do so while informing the reader about Information Creep. This is a concept we’ve seen mentioned previously, during Chromedome’s runaround in Overlord’s brain, but it’s here where we get the juicy implications.

Because memories can become corrupted in the brain due to extreme age, what ought to be objective fact has to be reinterpreted due to missing pieces. This is why nobody knows what the Knights of Cybertron got up to, or if they’re even actually real at all.

The lights go out again, and when they cut back on, Cyclonus is missing, leaving only his sword behind. Tailgate is extremely distraught by this, but Nightbeat gives not a fuck about Tailgate’s impending breakdown. He only cares about the truth!

And then a giant eyeball shows up.

It’s Ultra Magnus, coming to us live from his shuttle, via holomatter avatar! He shrinks down to a far more reasonable size, in a panel reminiscent of the first time IDW readers saw Megatron.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a neat parallel, I’m just… not terribly sure why it’s happening. One could say it reflects a reversal in power dynamics, but that theory gets tossed out the window when you remember that this isn’t actually Verity. I suppose it’s just a cool little thing.

Because the comms aren’t working, Ultra Magnus has been forced to use this avatar to communicate with the folks in the Rod Pod. Megatron asks just what the hell is going on, but unfortunately Magnus isn’t sure either. Then his shuttle disappears, and it’s bye-bye grunge girl Magnus.

It’s at this point that Nightbeat decides it’s time to stop pussyfooting around and get serious. He tells Ratchet to throw HIPPA directly in the garbage and write down everything he knows about the Autobots who crewed the Lost Light. And he does mean everything, as we get the splash page again, this time with lots of neat info on our friends, including spark type.

Spark types will become plot-relevant in the storyline after this, but for now let’s focus on some weird gender essentialism that got slapped into the first print of this issue.

As we know very well by this point, Transformers as a franchise has a tumultuous relationship with the idea of women existing. You would think that the awkward introduction of other genders we got in “Dark Cybertron” would have been the end of things being weird in IDW. However, you would be wrong.

In an effort to explain why genders exist, Roberts had the idea to make it spark-based. Nautica, in the solo print of this issue, has an estriol-positive spark. Estriol is a type of estrogen, which is the hormone that develops and maintains feminine secondary sex characteristics, when present in certain levels, in conjunction with other hormones. Biology

This “spark = gender” idea is, generally speaking, not a great idea to be presenting us with, especially when the writer is a cishet male, because it implies biological essentialism- the idea that a personality trait/quality of a person is innate and predetermined by their biology, as opposed to social, cultural, or individual experiences. Because this story doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s irresponsible to reduce the experience of being a woman to a single, physical, unchangable asset, especially when all other assets of the same class have zero effect on one’s gender identity. You don’t exactly see many nonbinary robots running around, now do you? And there are definitely more than two spark types, despite the Transformers as a species being... very binary.

It also makes female Transformers into an “other”, which is a problem that has existed from the very start of the franchise, in some form or fashion, and really doesn’t need to be perpetrated anymore than it already is.

The estriol spark type was removed in the trade edition, and Roberts has expressed regrets over its inclusion, having realized that it was potentially offensive.

Getting back to the story, Swerve, Tailgate, and Ratchet have disappeared, though Ratchet seems to have left his hands behind. His stolen, Pharma-original hands.

That’s still fucked up to me. I don’t think it’ll ever not be fucked up.

Riptide reveals the reason that he wasn’t in Season One of MTMTE was because when he went back to grab a receipt for the ship two years prior, he’d discovered that the original owners were worshipers of Mortilus, Cybertronian god of death, and knew about the nasty little problem that was the sparkeater from the first storyline. When Riptide went to confront them about it, they beat him up so bad he was unconscious for two solid days.

Which is a long-ass time to be unconscious. That might have been a coma, Riptide. Jesus, I hope someone got him to a hospital after this beatdown happened, or at least scraped him off the floor.

With this last piece of the puzzle, we finally have the common denominator in this big ol’ mystery. Everyone who disappeared was on the Lost Light when it took off from Cybertron in issue #1, and everyone left behind- Skids, Getaway, Nightbeat, Nautica, Megatron, and Ravage- didn’t join until afterwords.

Of course, having the answer doesn’t do us much good when everyone is still missing, and Megatron seems to agree with me, because he’s about to throw hands, when Nautica lets them know that they’ve arrived at the rendezvous. Problem is, so has something else.

...

I’m sure it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine!

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #issue 31 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #comic script writing

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polar534 · 3 years

Text

Jersey Stealing Pt. 3

This one is loooooong. I mean it. Probably longer then part one, but it's worth it. If you all were waiting for the bullies comeuppance, this part is for you.

Amity. Is. Pissed.

***

Amity leaned against the cold steel of the flagpole, her eyes peeled. Normally the witch hated using the internet to look up people. The human world's connected network was so filled with obnoxious jerks that it was no wonder Luz had one of them as a grom fear.

This was different though. She had to find what this girl looked like. As she stared into the endless amount of students milling out of the school her mind began to drift back to the night before.

As expected, her conversation with Luz didn't exactly lead anywhere.

***

"Hey Luz? Can we... can we talk?" Amity asked hesitantly, watching as Luz got ready for bed. The witch had been patiently waiting for the right time to approach her about this, and now was as good of time as any.

Luz blinked in the mirror, before turning around and facing Amity, her toothbrush still hanging out the corner of her mouth.

"Mhmm?" Came the muffled reply as Luz adjusted the brush in her mouth to scrub at the other side.

"I can wait until you're done you know." Amity rolled her eyes with a smile.

Luz made a face behind the toothbrush.

"Mhhhm. Mhmm hhmmmm!" She argued fiercely as she turned to face the sink again.

Grabbing the water nearby, Luz cleaned her mouth and spit out what was left of the toothpaste, turning to Amity with a grin.

"No no!! See! All done!" Luz beamed, flashing her minty smile and making Amity laugh. She leapt from the bathroom to the bed and sat cross-legged facing Amity.

"Whatcha wanna talk about?"

"I want to talk about what happened a couple of nights ago."

Luz's eyes widened before she waved her hand in front of her face.

"Oh that? It just caught me off guard. I'm fine now-"

"No you're not!" Amity said quickly, before Luz could try denying it all again. "You haven't been acting like yourself lately and I'm not the only one who noticed."

"Amity. I'm fine. It's all in the past anyways." Luz assured her, her smile fading to a small sliver. "Like I said, I just wasn't expecting to see them ther-"

"I know what happened. At the game. What they said to you." Amity interrupted her again, her voice coldly serious.

Shock registered on Luz's face before her hands found the blanket underneath them and gripped it tightly. She looked down at it as her face hardened, her expression guarded.

But Amity wasn't done.

"Lokte asked their brother if he heard anything and their brother told me." She continued a little more softly, reaching out to put a hand on Luz's knee.

"I asked your mother about Sasha. I think I have an idea of what she meant to you."

"Amity..."

The blanket twisted harder, Luz's fists balling it into a small knot.

"It's ok to be upset. But you've got to let me in on these things, how else am I supposed to help?"

Luz finally looked up to her. Brown eyes met amber ones and Amity realized with a shock just how watery they both had become.

"Can we... can we please not talk about it? It's in the past. Anything she might have meant to me is all gone now, right? So why bother?" She practically mumbled, defeat dripping from her voice.

"Well it's not in the past to me! I'm still learning about all of this. And they can't keep treating you like that!" Amity argued.

"They don't matter to me. I've got Willow and Gus, and Eda and Lilith." Luz said quietly, slowly unwrapping her hand from the blanket to grab Amity's, a slow grin reappearing on her face.

"Annnnnnd I've got you." Luz waggled her eyebrows playfully causing Amity to choke out a laugh past the knot in her throat.

"Luuuuuzzz." The witch groaned as her girlfriend's grin grew bigger.

"I'll be fine, perfectly fine, so long as I've got someone as wonderful as you taking care of me." Luz teased further.

Amity groaned again and gave her a light shove.

"You're such a cheese."

"You're right, I am a cheese. A big cheese to everyone who counts!" Luz shot back, straightening up and leaning dramatically on Amity's shoulder, crushing her into the bed.

"And you loooooovvveeeee me." Luz sing-songed as she flipped over and laid on Amity's chest, looking her in the eyes.

Amity stared back into those big, dopey brown eyes and obnoxious grin and felt her heart flutter. Her face went red as she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. I do." She chuckled, leaning forward to kiss Luz on the forehead and making her girlfriend squeak in delight.

"Which is why I'm letting this go for tonight. But this isn't over Noceda!"

Luz merely grinned.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Blight."

***

A sharp whistle jolted Amity out of the memory. She sneered at the guy responsible as he winked at her and disappeared inside the school.

The sooner she found Sasha, the better.

Another wolf whistle had her moving up and into the school. Navigating the hallways of the human school was a lot like finding her way around Hexside. The only problem was, she had no idea where Sasha could be. A thought crossed her mind as she made her way to the back of the school. If there was anyone who knew where Sasha could be, it was Bryce.

And Bryce was the star player of the football team.

Amity pulled plenty of attention with her wherever she went. If she wasn't recognized for Hockey, her hair caught enough attention. Even though the dye job had faded just to the very ends of her hair, the bright green attracted many eyes.

Despite all of this, she thankfully wasn't stopped as she made her way through the school and past the bleachers to the team currently practicing out on the field. She found Bryce fairly quickly.

Or rather. He found her.

"Oh would you look at that boys! This is the babe I was telling you about!"

Amity growled in her throat as a bunch of sweaty football players started running towards her. Their leader, the person she assumed was Bryce, had his helmet off and was walking calmly over to her, a disgusting grin plastered on his face.

"Is it true you checked Ricky Gormley so hard that he cried?"

"I heard that you're the best shot on the team, why are you only on defense?"

The questions swarmed her ears as the boys surrounded her. Instead of addressing any of them, she glared at the player without the helmet.

"I assume you're Bryce."

Bryce's grin grew as smugness flashed in his eyes.

"Why, have you heard of me?" Bryce acknowledged her with a wink that made Amity's skin crawl.

She pushed through the unease and disgust.

"I've heard... some things." Amity admitted, keeping her face blank.

Bryce nudged his friend in the ribs. The known bully leaned against the other player as he waggled his eyebrows at Amity.

"So whatcha doing round here?" Bryce teased.

"I heard you might know where I could find Sasha. I've got a few questions for her."

The football player deflated for a moment before quickly recovering and sliding off his friends shoulder with a smile.

"Yeah. I know where she is. But it's going to cost ya" He grinned wickedly. "How about a date with me. Next Friday after the game. I'll even let you wear my jersey." He winked as his friends loudly gasped and laughed.

Amity smiled and used her finger to draw Bryce is close. As he leaned in, he moved his head so she could whisper in his ear.

"I have a different proposition. How about you tell me where Sasha is, and I won't embarrass you in front of your entire team." Amity growled lowly, making sure only Bryce could hear her.

To her annoyance he simply straightened and flashed her another insufferable grin.

"Ohh. That sounds like fun. I accept your terms hockey girl." He taunted loudly, getting into a ready stance.

His posse seemed to get even more rowdy at this, not having heard what Amity said and jumping to their own conclusions.

Amity rolled her eyes. Turning as if she was going to leave (a chorus of boos sounded behind her) she quickly whipped around and caught Bryce off guard. Using her shoulder to send him sprawling backwards while sticking her foot behind his own, he crashed to the ground in an instant. Amity took a step forward and stood above him, arms crossed.

"Tell me what I want to know or it's going to be more then just the wind getting knocked out of you." She snarled, stepping back and allowing him to get up.

Bryce blinked from his grounded position on the field.

"Hot." He breathed out, a little dazed.

Amity growled as Bryce leapt to his feet, showing no signs of any injury or slowing.

"Alright. You got me. Sasha is usually in the art classroom after school talking with the teacher. Don't know why, but I also don't care."

Amity rolled her eyes and turned to walk away, fighting the urge to make another comment or throw another punch. If Luz could keep her composure around him, then so could Amity.

That was, until the brute grabbed her arm. She reluctantly let him swing her around and to her surprise Bryce looked almost... shy.

"Wait. So about that date..."

"You've already been told I'm taken. I doubt it takes long for even an oaf like you to figure out I don't like guys." She snarled back at him, taking his hand off her arm and twisting it painfully until he crumpled forward in pain.

"You're going to leave my girlfriend alone from now on, or I will come back." Amity threatened lowly, releasing his wrist and pushing the football player back as he stared blankly wide-eyed and nursed his hurt wrist. "And next time you touch me, I'll break your wrist."

Amity turned around and started walking back up to the bleachers, the stunned silence of the team following her. Despite how good it felt to put Bryce in his place, to wipe the grin off his face, she immediately began to worry that she crossed a line. What if he came after Luz for the things she said?

Taking a quick glance over her shoulder the witch saw the injured player grinning at her once again. He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled back up at her.

"Playing hard to get eh? I'll see you again hockey girl. I know you can't wait!" He yelled up at her before turning to his teammates.

His voice was faint but it carried up to Amity's ears nonetheless.

"She must've heard about that creep Luz hitting on her. Honestly had me going for a second. Good to see she's got a sense of humor though!" He laughed to his team.

Amity wished, not for the first time that the human world had just a little magic.

She would give anything to be able to burn the bully to ash.

***

Luckily doodles and posters adorned the 'art' hallway like signs pointing Amity where to go. It was far more quiet here then any of the other sections of the school and Amity almost felt like a ghost, hearing her footsteps echo loudly around her as she walked swiftly through the hall.

Her ears twitched from under the bandanna she wore like a sweatband. Following the faint sound of laughter, Amity found the girl she was looking for standing at the front of a large classroom with double doors.

Peering into the room Amity could see that Sasha was talking with an older woman with graying hair and kind eyes. They were both laughing at something the younger girl had pulled up on her phone, neither of them noticing the intruder.

Amity took the time to analyze her target. Sasha seemed to be a much different person now then how she appeared in her photos. Instead of the flowery and airy style she carried and wore in all of her pictures, she was dressed casually, wearing sweatpants and a bulky sweatshirt that almost threatened to consume her thin frame. It wasn't the wardrobe that drew Amity's eye however, it was the small almost barely visible strip of pink that waved in her otherwise blonde hair.

Unconsciously, Amity's hand went to the remainder of her own dye job.

The movement was enough to garner attention as both teacher and student turned to face the doorway. As Sasha's green eyes met her amber ones, Amity remembered why she was here. Her blood began to boil. Here she was, so calm and collected, so... confident, while Luz had been quiet and withdrawn for days now. It wasn't fair.

Not waiting to be addressed, she strolled straight into the room.

"Can I help you miss?" The teacher asked kindly, freezing Amity in her advance. The witch stiffened. Collecting herself quickly, Amity turned around with a wide smile.

"No it's quite alright. I'm sorry I was in such a rush! I must've forgotten my manners. I just really would like to talk to my friend over here."

"Is that alright Sasha?" The lady turned to the blonde haired girl with a raised eyebrow.

Sasha looked between the two people in front of her before shrugging casually.

"I'll be right back Ms. Reinard. Me and... uh, Amity, right?" Sasha looked over at the witch for reassurance and got a stiff nod as a response.

"Me and Amity are just going to step out into the hallway real quick." Sasha finished politely as she stuck her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked Amity out into the hallway.

"So... um. Why is the lead star of the hockey team wanting to talk to me?" Sasha asked quite shyly when they were far enough out of earshot. Not knowing where to stand, she settled with leaning against a locker.

Amity did not follow her lead. Instead she tore off the jersey she had on, leaving her standing in the hallway in just a white tank top and blue jeans. Sasha stared at her curiously as the witch began to fidget with the jersey.

"I wanted to ask you about something that happened at my last game." Amity said coolly, her tone level.

"Oh. You must've heard about Luz..."

Amity's heartrate spiked at the name of her girlfriend but she kept her face straight. Eyes half lidded. Don't show any emotion. Gain as much information as you can. That was the way of the Blight.

"One could say that." Amity replied casually. "What do you think of her?"

Sasha's eyes widened almost guiltily as Amity continued turning her jersey over in her hands.

"She's... she's nothing you should worry about. Luz is mostly harmless." The girl sighed, looking down at the ground and avoiding the witch's intense stare.

Amity's hands gripped tighter into the fabric of her jersey.

"That didn't answer my question." The witch ever so subtly growled.

"I don't understand what you mean?"

"My question was what you thought about her. Though in all fairness, I guess it doesn't matter. Luz never really cared about what everyone else seemed to think about her. Everyone except you."

Sasha stared at her with wide eyes as Amity's face twisted into a frown. Amber eyes drifted down at the jersey.

"Are you... ok?" Sasha asked after a moment. When Amity didn't answer right away, the girl took a step forward.

Reacting quickly, Amity side stepped the hand that was coming down to rest on her shoulder and instead tossed her jersey up in the air.

"Yeah. Hold that for a second would you?"

Sasha lunged forward to catch the jersey just in time as the fabric unraveled in her hands. Suddenly, the tag attached to the back was sticking out. Sasha eyes locked onto it immediately just as Amity knew they would. After all, the colors Luz chose were hard to miss.

"What is this?"

"First you don't answer my question, now you're you saying you can't read either?" Amity snapped.

The witch knew what was on the tag. Knew that Sasha would've understood it. Should've understood it.

When Amity had first gotten her jersey she had been a little nervous. A new jersey meant a new team. A new chance for her to get her teammates injured again.

Luz didn't see it like that however. She was ecstatic, making sure it fit Amity well and making sure that she was plenty excited about her new jersey. When her girlfriend still had some reservations about it, Luz claimed it was simply because she hadn't made it *hers* yet. Taking some markers and dashing out the door with the shirt, Luz emerged from wherever she had been hiding a few minutes later with a very bright and colorful tag that read:

'Property of Amity.' With a small drawing of a hockey stick and puck.

A couple of weeks and jersey stealing incidents later and there appeared another line on the tag.

'Property of Amity. And Luz! (her amazing wonderful girlfriend).'

The understanding quiet that swarmed the hallway was deafening.

"So she was telling the truth..." Sasha spoke quietly, thumbing the tag gently.

Amity leaned forward and plucked the jersey out of Sasha's hands. With her arms exposed, she cut an intimidating figure, the muscles she had gained from training and practice obvious. The movement seemed to startle the blonde-haired girl as she looked up in alarm.

"Look. I'm sorry, but you don't understand. You couldn't. The situations she's caused and problems... You haven't known her as long as we-"

"I don't need to." Amity interrupted calmly, gently sliding the jersey back over her head. "In the amount of time I've known Luz she's nearly gotten me killed in a library, almost got my siblings eaten alive, nearly set us both on fire-"

"What kind of camp did you go to?!"

"-and almost terrorized an entire town with their worst fears." Amity finished, ignoring Sasha's question entirely. She held up a lazy hand gesturing to nothing. "And that's just the short list."

"Then... why?" Sasha asked after a short pause, her eyes lingering to a specific spot behind Amity's head where the jersey's tag would've been.

Amity laughed, a sharp and cold sound in the mostly quiet room. Sasha flinched, her back hitting the locker she was leaning against with a loud and hollow bang.

"You know the thing about you bullies, is that the one thing you never did was give Luz a chance. I almost didn't either. That was a mistake."

Sasha looked up curiously, a large range of emotions flashing through her eyes. The girl's submissive stance was familiar to Amity. Uncomfortably familiar. Flashbacks from her days of sullenly stalking around Hexside flashed in her head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Luz was always the one who got us out of each and every situation. She's always willing to help fix her mistakes." Amity stared at Sasha pointedly. "Always willing to look for the best in people."

The blonde haired girl in front of her hung her head.

"You threatened to call the cops on my girlfriend." Amity told her plainly.

Sasha didn't say anything, but instead sighed heavily and nodded. Her silence only irritated Amity more.

"You know I asked around. I've seen Luz deal with bullies before. I know it usually doesn't ever get to her. I know about Bryce, about the brute he is. But you were 'different'. You meant something else to Luz."

"I..." Sasha blinked, genuinely confused, "... what?"

"Tell me, since you've known her for sooo long. Have you ever seen Luz quiet?"

"Quiet?"

"Yeah. Quiet. Withdrawn. Sad." Amity listed, annoyed.

"No, she's... she's always been really out-going and kinda loud if I'm being honest. Even when everyone was so clearly annoyed with it, she didn't stop." Sasha admitted. Her face grew with a sad smile. "Nothing really got her down."

"Well it has now. You have." Amity said coldly.

The blonde girl's eyes widened, but the witch didn't let her say anything.

"Luz has faced a lot of things, none of them pretty, and still come out the same person as before. I've seen her do it. But the idea she had of you, the hope she had... you were different in her eyes." Amity explained shoving her hands deep into her pockets to prevent them from clenching into fists. A lump formed in her throat, the anger and empathy she felt balling tightly there and making it difficult to speak or breathe.

"But I see now you're just the same as the rest of them." Amity growled.

The sentence clearly had an immediate effect on Sasha who's eyes flashed in anger, she rose up to defend herself but Amity was already done. Her anger was quickly fading, leaving her body cold and numb. All she wanted was to go home. To go home to Luz. With a short decisive wave she cut off anything the other girl could've possibly said and took a step closer, purposefully drawing herself up to look as intimidating as possible.

Even if it couldn't stick with Bryce, she would make sure it stuck here. The last thing Luz needed was more of a reminder of just how badly the human world failed her.

"Leave my girlfriend alone. Tell all your friends that if they come near Luz again, they'll get to experience exactly why I'm the best defensive hockey player in the division."

Amity turned sharply, her footsteps filling in the silence left behind from the threat. She heard the door of the art class room open again after a pause and the teacher's kind voice drifted through the hallway.

"Sasha... you're crying. All you alright? Did something happen?"

Amity didn't stop as Sasha hesitantly answered. She refused to hear her excuses, her mind stuck in the past. Stuck to the night Amity found her girlfriend nearly freezing to death, staring up at nothing. The night she saw Luz's hope for something die.

#toh #toh au #hockey au #the owl house #lumity #the owl house au

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brekkercookie · 3 years

Note

what would happen if the earth and all terrestrial objects suddenly stopped spinning, but the atmosphere retained its velocity?

ok this is oddly specific

but i have the answer

if you don’t like science, or don’t like extremely large posts, i suggest you keep scrolling

by the way, i took the answer out of a book i have, so this isn’t mine, it belongs to what if? by randall munroe

to answer your question anon, “nearly everyone would die. then things would get interesting

at the equator, the earth’s surface is moving at about 470 meters per second—a little over a thousand miles per hour—relative to its axis. if the earth stopped and the air didn’t, the result would be a sudden thousand-mile-per-hour wind.

the wind would be highest at the equator, but everyone and everything living between 42 degrees north and 42 degrees south —which includes about 85 percent of the world’s population— would suddenly experience supersonic winds

the highest winds would last for only a few minutes near the surface; friction with the ground would slow them down. however, those few minutes would be long enough to reduce virtually all human structures to ruins.

my home in boston is far enough north to be just barely outside the supersonic wind zone, but the winds there would still be twice as strong as those in the most powerful tornadoes. buildings, from sheds to skyscrapers, would be smashed flat, torn from their foundations, and sent tumbling across the landscape.

winds would be lower near the poles, but no human cities are far enough from the equator to escape devastation. longyearbyen, on the island of svalbard in norway–the highest-latitude city on the planet–would be devastated by winds equal to those in the planet's strongest tropical cyclones.

if you're going to wait it out, one of the best places to do it might be helsinki, finland. while its high latitude–above 60º N–wouldn't be enough to keep it from being scoured clean by the winds, the bedrock below helsinki contains a sophisticated network of tunnels, along with a subterranean shopping mall, hockey rink, swimming complex, and more.

no buildings would be safe; even structures strong enough to survive the winds would be in trouble. as comedian ron white said about hurricanes, 'it's not that the wind is blowing, it's what the wind is blowing'

say you're in a massive bunker made out of some material that can withstand thousand-mile-per-hour winds.

that's good, and you'd be fine...if you were the only one with a bunker. unfortunately, you probably have neighbors, and if the neighbor upwind of you has a less-well-anchored bunker, your bunker will have to withstand a thousand-mile-per-hour impact by their bunker.

the human race wouldn't go extinct. in general, very few people above the surface would survive; the flying debris would pulverize that wasn't clear-hardened. however, a lot of people below the surface of the ground would survive just fine. if you were in a deep basement (or, better yet, a subway tunnel) when it happened, you would stand a good chance of surviving.

there would be other lucky survivors, the dozens of scientists and staff at the amudsen-scott research station at the south pole would be safe from the winds. for them, the first sign of trouble would be that the outside world had suddenly gone silent.

the mysterious silence would probably distract them for a while, but eventually someone would notice something even stranger:

the sun isn't moving

the air

as the surface winds died down, things would get weirder.

the wind blast would translate to a heat blast. normally, the kinetic energy of rushing wind is small enough to be negligible, but this would not be normal wind. as it tumbled to a turbulent stop, the air would heat up.

over land, this would lead to scorching temperature increases and — in areas where the air is moist — global thunderstorms.

at the same time, wind sweeping over the oceans would churn up and atomize the surface layer of the water. for a while, the ocean would cease to have a surface at all; it would be impossible to tell where the spray ended and the sea began.

oceans are cold. below the thin surface layer, they're a fairly uniform 4°C. the tempest would churn up cold water from the depths. the influx of cold spray into superheated air would create a type of weather never before seen on earth — a roiling mix of wind, spray, fog, and rapid temperature changes.

this upwelling would lead to blooms of life, as fresh nutrients flooded the upper layers. at the same time, it would lead to huge die-offs of fish, crabs, sea turtles, and animals unable to cope with the influx of low-oxygen water from the depths. any animal that needs to breathe — such as whales and dolphins — would be hard-pressed to survive in the turbulent sea-air interface.

the waves would sweep around the globe, east to west, and every east-facing shore would encounter the largest storm surge in world history. a blinding cloud of sea spray would sweep inland, and behind it, a turbulent, roiling wall of water would advance like a tsunami. In some places, the waves would reach many miles inland.

the windstorms would inject huge amounts of dust and debris into the atmosphere. at the same time, a dense blanket of fog would form over the cold ocean surfaces. normally, this would cause global temperatures to plummet. and they would.

at least, on one side of the Earth.

if the earth stopped spinning, the normal cycle of day and night would end. the Sun wouldn't completely stop moving across the sky, but instead of rising and setting once a day, it would rise and set once a year.

day and night would each be six months long, even at the equator. on the day side, the surface would bake under the constant sunlight, while on the night side the temperature would plummet. convection on the day side would lead to massive storms in the area directly beneath the sun.

in some ways, this earth would resemble one of the tidally locked exoplanets commonly found in a red dwarf star's habitable zone, but a better comparison might be a very early venus. due to its rotation, venus — like our stopped earth — keeps the same face pointed toward the sun for months at a time. however, its thick atmosphere circulates quite quickly, which results in the day and the night side having about the same temperature.

although the length of the day would change, the length of the month would not! the moon hasn't stopped rotating around the earth. however, without the earth's rotation feeding it tidal energy, the moon would stop drifting away from the earth (as it is doing currently) and would start to slowly drift back toward us.

in fact, the moon — our faithful companion — would act to undo the damage this scenario caused. right now, the earth spins faster than the moon, and our tides slow down the earth's rotation while pushing the moon away from us. if we stopped rotating, the moon would stop drifting away from us. instead of slowing us down, its tides would accelerate our spin. quietly, gently, the moon's gravity would tug on our planet . . .

. . . and earth would start turning again."

there you go anon! sorry for everyone who still stayed here and hate science, but the ones who enjoyed i hope you liked your science lesson!

if you don't have the book or want to see the source you can read it, here!

#cookie answers #hell this is long #long post #if you dont like science or VERY long posts #please steer clear from this post #cookie going scientific

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

Text

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 33

Word Count: 2,479

POV: Tyler

Warnings: None this is complete fluff

Nervous Regrets Masterlist

TYLER'S POV

You tip-toed into the house, partly in case Jace was asleep and the other part hoping that your wife was. After the scene you made earlier about not wanting to leave the house, you had a feeling she'd still be awake even if she had to keep her eyes open with toothpicks. Though the whole drive home after your interview, you prayed she would be fast asleep, for you knew she was going to kill you the moment you walked through the door.

As you snuck in the house, you noticed that the television wasn't on, so maybe you did luck out and she was sleeping. Gerry came to greet you and you patted the dog on the head before making your way through the house. She was just walking out of your bedroom, baby monitor in hand, and a scowl on her face. You tried to head her off before, she could start yelling at you. "I know, I fucked up. I'm sorry." She still wasn't smiling even after you apologized. "Baby, you don't know how sorry I am. I know I screwed up. I'm gonna make it right though." You reached for her and she went easily into your arms, so she couldn't be too mad.

"I can't believe you just let it slip that we're married." She pressed her forehead into your chest, and you leaned down and kissed her head. "I had to put my phone on silent, so it wouldn't wake up Jace." You winced, before pulling her back, so you could look her in the face.

"I'm so sorry, babe. How is my lil man doing? Did he like watching his daddy play?"

"Yeah, he loved watching you. Though he hates the way I celebrate when you score." You laughed. "I guess I got a little too excited and maybe a hair bit too loud…and well he started crying."

"Great, you're going to make him hate when I score." She swatted playfully at your chest. "Ouch."

"Oh, stop that didn't hurt, and at least I didn't tell the world we secretly got married."

"Ok, now that did hurt. I didn't do it on purpose." You maneuvered her hips, and lead her over the couch to sit down. "So who all have you ignored so far."

"Well, I did take Jenna's call, but I let the one from Anna, Liv, and my brother Sean go to voicemail." She rubbed the bridge of her nose; a telltale sign she had a headache coming on. You scooted her so that you could massage her shoulders, it was the least you could do, considering how bad you'd fucked up.

"I've had both my sisters and Brett, though I'm not sure if he was calling as a friend or for management." You could feel some of her tension melt the longer your fingers kneaded into her neck. "Any ideas on how we want to handle this?"

"Well, I think we start by telling our families the truth…and maybe groveling a little bit. I'm thinking cute pictures of Jace would help as well."

"Are you using our child to get out of trouble?"

"It sounds bad when you put it that way."

You kissed her neck, before answering back. "Not if it gets us out of the doghouse." She leaned back into your chest then. You could tell she was tired. "How long has Jace been sleeping?"

"Not long. I just put him down a few minutes before you walked in."

"We should probably get some sleep than before he has us up in a few hours." Although, the two of you literally just sat down; you figured if you didn't move now, you'd both end up sleeping on the couch until Jace woke you.

"You're probably right." She eased off the couch, still moving gingerly from all she endured.

When you walked into the bedroom, you headed straight for Jace's bassinet, which was close to your bed. Cash was sleeping on one side and Marshall on the other, while Gerry stayed at your side. You peered down at your sleeping son, who looked so peaceful, and your heart swelled with love. "Hi bud, daddy missed you." Leaning down you placed a soft kiss on his forehead, careful not to wake him. He stirred a bit but continued to sleep.

It didn't take either you or (Y/N) long to get ready for bed. She moved the bassinet closer to her side, before crawling in under the covers. You scooted behind as close as you could get so the two of you could gaze at Jace for a few minutes longer, before falling asleep. It was about four hours later that you were woken up by his soft little cries. (Y/N) got up and quickly scooped Jace up, knowing that he was probably hungry and needed to be changed. You made a move to help her. "It's ok Ty. I got him. Go back to sleep."

It amazed that you that after everything she went through, with Jace's crazy birth, that in just a couple days, (Y/N) made taking care of him seem so easy, as if she'd been doing this for years. She scooted up against the headboard and began to nurse Jace, while you laid there in awe watching your wife and child. You literally had everything you ever wanted right in this room right now, and while you may have screwed up tonight; you had a feeling that if you told both your families this everything would be fine. You nuzzled into her hip and her free hand stroked your hair while Jace fed.

You never heard or felt her get up and change the baby or put him back down, until sometime in the morning when the light started to peer through the blinds. (Y/N) was sleeping peacefully, so you carefully extracted yourself out of the bed and went to check on your newborn son; who was wide awake in his bassinet just looking around. Before he could cry and wake his mama up, you picked him up and headed out to the kitchen, closing the door to let your wife sleep. Jace fit so easy in the crook of your one arm as you marveled at how tiny your little guy was. "Hey bud, are you gonna hang with me for a while so mommy can sleep?" You stroked his little hand and he grasped your finger. "I'll take that as a yes."

Grabbing a juice out of the fridge, you plopped down on the couch and turned the tv on, putting it on mute. You turned the station to the NHL network so that you could catch up on scores from the night before. "Daddy plays the Blues tomorrow night and it looks like they won last night. So, we say boo to that." Jace frowned as if understood and didn't want the Blues to win either. "Don't worry, we're going beat them, just for you."

The two of you finished watching all the scores before they re-aired On The Fly, from the night before. It was about ten minutes into the show when they started to show the highlights from the Stars game. "Watch this here Jace, this is where I scored a goal just for you bud." They continued to show the rest of the goals. "Oh, watch Uncle Chubbs check Josi right there. Daddy should've gone glove side on that one there. I'll teach you that when you get bigger. You're going to have a wicked slap shot?" He made a little cooing noise as if he would and you leaned down and kissed his precious head.

"Is daddy filling your head with hockey already?" (Y/N) was standing in the archway just watching the two of you.

"We're just watching some highlights and I may have mentioned a few things he's going to learn." You motioned for her to come and sit beside you, so you could cuddle both your babies. Her hands immediately went to Jace, just caressing his sweet little face. "Don't worry, I know it won't be for a while."

"Thank goodness for that." She said talking to the baby and not you. "You're just still way too little to even to think about that huh?" Jace's eyes looked around and then fixated on (Y/N), after hearing his mom's voice. She leaned against you, and his gaze followed her. "You didn't have to let me sleep, but thanks."

"Babe, you need your rest. You've been through a lot, besides Jace wasn't fussy; so we were just having some father-son bonding." You could feel her smile into your chest and you leaned down and kissed her head.

"You know we still have to deal with the fallout from last night." She didn't need to remind you. You were sure by now there were messages on your phone from your family, though you'd left it on the charger in the bedroom when you'd come out here with Jace. "I'm honestly surprised my parents haven't called." She was scrolling through her phone. "Should we just get this over with?"

"No time like the present."

She dialed her parent's house, even though it was still a little early in the morning. "Hey sweetheart, how's my new grandson?" Her mom asked through the speakerphone.

"He's an angel. Ty and I are just sitting on the couch with him now. Is dad there?"

"Yeah hold on and I'll get him." It didn't take more than a minute until (Y/N)'s dad was on the phone.

"Hey, guys, everything good up there?"

"Hi Dad, yeah we're great." (Y/N) answered them. "Umm…we just had to call and talk to you about something…well before you hear it someplace else."

Neither of her parents reacted, which you didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one. "There's no easy way to say this," you spoke up since it was your blunder, to begin with. "(Y/N) and I got married, the first of the year." You paused for a second, but when they still didn't say anything you decided to go on. "It was really my idea. I wanted Jace to be born with both his parents having the same last name. I know it sounds stupid because we're engaged and stuff. I just never want him to question that his parents always wanted him. You know?"

Your heart was beating almost as fast as when you'd asked them for (Y/N)'s hand in marriage. Thankfully (Y/N) took over the conversation. "We hope you guys aren't upset, it was completely spur of the moment and just us; and well Jamie and Jenna. They were our witnesses. We still want the big wedding with everyone this summer, this was just something that we wanted to do for us…and well Jace. You're not mad, are you?"

"Oh sweetheart, we're not mad." (Y/N)'s dad answered immediately.

"Honestly, we kind of figured you wouldn't wait." Her mom added.

"Really?" You both said at the same time.

"Sweetie, it's obvious you two are in love, and it only stands to reason you wouldn't want to wait." (Y/N)'s mom paused but then continued. "I mean it would've been nice to be invited." Both you and (Y/N) winced. "But at the same time, we understand."

"As long as I still get to walk you down the aisle, there's no hard feelings."

"Oh dad, of course, you can. I want that more than anything." (Y/N) told him. The conversation went on for several minutes and they planned a time when they could come and see Jace. As soon as you hung up with her parents, it was time to face the music with your mom.

"Hey mom, how's it going?" you asked as she picked up the phone.

"I'm not sure how to answer that Tyler, my phone has been ringing off the hook with a ton of questions, and I don't have any answers." You could hear a bit of irritation in her voice.

"So, I guess you've heard the news then."

"I heard you told reporters you were married if that's what you're referring to. But what I want to know is if this is like that Valentine's Day joke you pulled on me a few years ago." (Y/N) placed a comforting hand on your knee, as she decided to answer your mom for you.

"It's no joke Jackie, we're really married." She then explained the reasoning to your mom just as she had to her parents. "I hope you're not too upset with us?"

Your mom sighed softly into the phone. "Well, it's kind of hard to be when you were only doing what's best for my grandson."

"We still want the big wedding in the summer." You assured her. "In fact, I'm sure you girls will be planning it when you get here in a couple days."

"Oh, I'm sure we will be when I'm not holding that precious little boy. How is he doing?"

"He's so amazing mom. Like, I don't want to take my eyes off of him." You looked down at Jace who had fallen asleep in your arms. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me, mom. Well besides (Y/N) that is." (Y/N) smiled, then leaned over and kissed your cheek.

"Oh honey, you sound so happy." You could hear her get choked up a bit. "I can't wait to meet little Jace."

"We can't wait for you to get here, Jackie." (Y/N) added. "Jace can't wait to meet his Grandma."

"Oh, I can't wait to squeeze him."

"Not too hard mom." You told her with a laugh.

"Don't you start with me Tyler, you're still on my shit list."

"Ouch, and how come (Y/N)'s not."

"Hey don't throw me under the bus Seguin." (Y/N) said as she swatted at your arm, causing Jace to wiggle; so you threw her a look that said 'don't wake the baby.'

"(Y/N)'s not in trouble, she gave birth to my grandson." Your wife just stuck her tongue out at you. "But we can talk about it when I get there. Now, go take care that sweet little boy, and I'll see you three soon."

"Will do. Love you, mom."

"Love you all. Kiss that little boy for me." With that, she hung up the phone.

"Well, that went better than I expected." You told (Y/N).

"I have a feeling this little guy right here helped out a lot." Her hand went to Jace and you could tell she was itching to hold him, though if you were being honest; you weren't quite ready to give him up just yet. So instead, you wrapped your free arm around your wife and pulled her close. You'd never felt so happy in your entire life, then you did at that moment holding everything that you loved the most in your arms.

#Nervous Regrets Series #tyler seguin #tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction

94 notes · View notes

goodbye-space-ass · 3 years

Text

Buster bored

(Brief ment of self harm in #84)

(1) Do You Sleep With Your Closet Doors Open Or Closed?

I dont have closet doors but theyd be closed i got cats

(2) Do You Have Freckles?

(3) Can You Whistle?

Yes and im g at it

(4) Last Song You Listened To.

Other People by LP

(5) What Is Your Favourite Colour?

Red

(6) Relationship Status.

Single and unwilling to trust anyone enough to change that

(7) What Is The Temperature Right Now?

0° c

(8) Did You Wake Up Cranky?

Not today

(9) How Many Followers?

Like 530 something

(10) Zodiac Sign.

Virgo sun gemini moon

(11) What Is Your Eye Colour?

Hazel

(12) Take A Vitamin Daily?

No i do not love myself

(13) Do You Sing In The Shower?

Sometimes

(14) What Books Are You Reading?

Nothing atm but i might read the silm again

(15) Grab The Book Nearest To You, Turn To Page 64, Give Me Line 14

Bluh

(16) Favourite Anime?

Pmmm

(17) Last Person You Cried In Front Of?

My friend dave

(18) Do You Collect Anything?

Random small things

(19) What Did You Have For Lunch?

Arbys

(20) Do You Dance In The Car?

Yea

(21) Favourite Animal?

Snekk

(22) Do You Watch The Olympics?

Only hockey

(23) What Time Do You Usually Go To Bed?

12-2 am

(24) Are You Wearing Makeup Right Now?

No ive been crying all day

(25) Do You Prefer To Swim In A Pool Or The Ocean?

Im landlocked, never seen the ocean

(26) Favourite Tumblr Blog?

Comalard is sick af.

(27) Bottled Water Or Tap Water?

Tap

(28) What Makes You Happy?

Memes

(29) Post A Gif Of What You’re Currently Feeling Right Now.

(30) Do You Study Better With Or Without Music?

With

(31) Dogs Or Cats?

Dont :c

(32) If You Were A Crayon What Colour Would You Be?

Green

(33) PlayStation Or Xbox.

(34) Would You Swim In The Lake Or Ocean?

Sure

(35) Do You Believe In Magic?

Depends.

(36) What Colour Shirt Are You Wearing?

White

(37) Can You Curl Your Tongue?

Yes?

(38) Do You Save Money Or Spend It?

Save unless i need weed or darts

(39) Is There Anything Pink Within 10 Feet Of You?

A stuffy that an ex got me.

(40) Do You Have Any Obsessions Right Now?

The silmarillion and tolkien universe in general

(41) Have You Ever Caught A Butterfly?

Actually i dont think so.

(42) Are You Easily Influenced By Other People?

Kind of. Im an empath, y'know?

(43) Do You Have Strange Dreams?

My dreams are batshit.

(44) Do You Like Going On Airplanes?

The airplane flies high, turns left looks right

(45) Name One Movie That Made You Cry.

Kung fu panda 2

(46) Peanuts Or Sunflower Seeds?

Sunflower seeds

(47) If I Handed You A Concert Ticket Right Now, Who Would You Want The Performer To Be?

A perfect circle or slipknot

(48) Are You A Picky Eater?

Not anymore

(49) Are You A Heavy Sleeper?

(50) Do You Fear Thunder / Lightning?

Noo

(51) Do You Like To Read / Write?

Yea

(52) Do You Like Your Music Loud?

Yes

(53) Would You Rather Carve Pumpkins Or Wrap Presents?

Wrap presents. Im shit at carving pumpkins

(54) Put Your Music On Shuffle, What Is The First Song That Came Up?

Dont stop me now by queen

(55) What Season Are You In Right Now? (Weather)

Winter is ending, spring will begin.

(56)What Are You Craving Right Now?

Nothing i guess.

(57) Post A Screenshot Of Your Tumblr Feed.

(58) What Is Your Gender?

Im nonbinary, femme representing and i use they/them

(59) Coffee Or Tea?

Coffee...

(60) Do You Have Any Homework Right Now? If So, What Is It About?

I need to get a proserve and get a job to be worth something.

(61) What Is Your Sexuality?

Im pansexual

(62) Do You Make Your Bed In The Morning?

(63) Favourite Pokemon?

Fucking... the scared mouse looking one. Big eyes

(64) Favourite Social Media?

This shit unfortunately

(65) What’s Your Opinion On Instagram Stories?

Ive never had instant gram

(66) Do You Get Homesick?

HATE that i read that as homestuck :( only for the stars

(67) Are You A Virgin?

I may be a virgo, but

(68) What Shampoo And Conditioner Are You Using Right Now?

Coconut curls

(69) If You Were Far From Home And Needed To Sleep For The Night, Would You Choose To Rent A Crappy Motel Room For $60 Or Sleep In Your Car For Free?

Depends on if i have enough money but probbly hotel

(70) Are Both Of Your Blood Parents Still In Your Life?

Yes

(71) Whats The Next Movie You Want To See In Theaters?

Idk

(72) Do You Miss Your Ex?

Only one

(73) What Is Your Favourite Quote Right Now?

I dun know

(74) What Eye Colour Do You Find Sexiest?

Brown i think.

(75) Did You Like Swinging As A Child? Do You Still Get Excited When You See A Swing Set?

I did, and no

(76) What Was The Last Thing You Ate?

Arbys

(77) What Games Do You Have On Your Phone?

None

(78) Would You Give A Homeless Person CPR If They Were Dying? Why Or Why Not?

Uhhh i dont know how

(79) Been On The Computer For 5 Hours Straight?

In my life yes

(80) Stalked Someone On A Social Network?

Yes.

(81) Do You Like Meeting New People?

Yes

(82) Do You Wear Rings? If You Do, Take A Picture Of Them.

No thx sir

(83) Do You Sleep With Your Bedroom Door Open Or Closed?

Open. I have cats.

(84) What Are Three Things You Did Today?

Went to a friend's, hurt myself, smoked.

(85) What Do You Wear To Bed?

Pajamas or the clothes i wore that day if they comfy

(86) List All Of Your Different Beauty Products You Have Right Now.

I have like makeup n hairspray

(87) Are You A Day Or Night Person?

Night

(88) List All Of Your Video Games On Your Phone, Console Etc.

Reaper tale of a pale swordsman. Thats literally it

(89) Tell Me About A Dream That You Had And When It Happened.

I was beating the shit out of a friend. Woke up on the floor punching the ground. Happened a few months ago

(90) Favourite Soda Drink?

Root beer

(91) What Sounds Are Your Favourite?

Whatever tf tool got going on

(92) Do You Wear Jeans Or Sweats More?

Sweats

(93) How Do You Look Right Now?

Like a damn mess.

(94) Name Something That Relaxes You.

I dont really relax.

(95) What Tattoo Do You Want?

A tool one

(96) Favourite YouTuber?

Fuckin.. chillz

#me doing an anon ask thing bc no one will ask me anything and i know it

3 notes · View notes

katdvs · 4 years

Photo

When Riley Matthews was in high school her life changed, now as a professional dancer she’s got a new challenge when she’s paired with professional football player Lucas Friar on the latest season. Can they win the season, or will their past get in the way?

Cross Posted to FFN & AO3

Chapter One:

Ever since she was in the eighth grade, Riley Matthews woke up early in the morning. Before the sun would kiss the sky, Riley would take a modern dance class. It was all her own, she didn’t have to share it with her friends. When things got to be too much, she was able to escape in those early morning hours in the world of dance.

It was her sophomore year of high school that one of her friends discovered her sanctuary, Zay who had always talked about dance showed up one morning for the same class. He was in awe of Riley as she showed off a piece she’d been working on for the recital. It wasn’t long before they became dance partners, and both started taking more classes of different styles.

At the end of the school year there was a talent show, Riley and Zay had decided it was a great chance to show off the piece they had been working on. They had kept their partnership a secret until that night. Everyone else had been busy with their own practices to realize that while they were off getting ready for the city-wide science fair, or football and baseball season, or the art shows, they were dancing, choreographing together.

That night Zay and Riley danced to an old Celine Dion song, not only surprising their friends and family—but also being discovered by a television producer.

Everything changed after that night.

Except that Riley Matthews woke up early in the morning. Now at the age of 27 she woke up in a beach house, in Los Angeles. Instead of sneaking off to early morning dance classes she did Pilates on her deck, with the sound of the waves crashing, before Zay would start the blender going with their morning protein shakes.

Today started like any other day, but both were nervous. “If I get another Disney star, I swear I’ll scream. I hate having to stop for snack time.” Zay poured the protein shakes into their travel cups.

Riley laughed, “Please the last three seasons I’ve gotten the old men. Unless they get me like America’s Favorite TV Dad as a partner, I’m back in the troupe week 4.”

Zay chuckled, it was true, neither had gotten the best partners the last few seasons. They were both due for some actual contenders. “At least when you’re in the troupe you get to choreograph the group numbers.”

“I want to win, I know with the right partner I’ll be able to do it.” Riley shrugged before taking a drink from her shake, “We’ll find out in what, two hours when we meet our new partners.”

“Sure will, but you’ll always be my favorite.” Zay chuckled, just as a dish towel was thrown at him.

“I better be.” Riley laughed as she backed out of the kitchen, “I’ve got to take a shower and run an errand before our call time. I’ll see you at the studio though. I hope you get the up and coming pop star.”

“Well I hope you get the sexy athlete who wants to prove he’s more that someone chasing a ball.” He called out as he heard her feet going up the stairs.

Zay started cleaning up when he saw his phone start to come alive and the picture of his best friend, and Riley’s first love came up on the screen. Quickly he tapped to answer, “Hey Man, what’s going on?”

He stood in his kitchen blinking as he listened to his friend on the other side. “Yeah, um, we’ve got a spare room. I’m sure she’ll be okay with it. Why are you in town?”

Zay laughed, “Fine, don’t tell me. Keep your secrets. What time are you going to be in, because I’ll be honest, I don’t know where Riley put the hide-a-key, and I have to check with her.” He waited for an answer, “Oh, yeah one of us should be home by then. I’m sure she’ll be fine with this. I’ve got to get ready for work though, so I’ll see you tonight.”

Riley looked at her phone, she was late. She knew she was late. She’d already called and told them she would be late, and why. Right now, she was waiting for the mechanic to come back with the keys for her rental car while they repaired the heater core in her Jeep.

She’d noticed a leak in the passenger side the night before. She thought it would be an easy fix, she really should’ve googled it first. It would take a few days for it to get repaired.

She had made the mistake of getting a large iced coffee while she was originally waiting, and now the caffeine and sugar were surging through her body. Right now, she should be teaching some former sitcom star the basics of a waltz.

“Here you go.” He came out from the office and dropped a set of keys in her hand, “Sorry it will take a few days.”

“It’s okay, thank you.” Riley finished signing her paperwork before giving him a smile. “Just call me as soon as it’s ready, I love my Jeep.”

“Will do Ms. Matthews, have good rest of the day.” He took the paperwork, watching as she dashed out to the rental car waiting for her.

As soon as Riley was in the driver seat, she texted that she was on her way. She wasn’t too far from the studio but hadn’t been close enough to walk. This wasn’t the way to start a new season. This was not the way to start a season she could win.

She wanted to win.

She needed to win.

Zay had won two seasons before.

Riley had gotten close a few times, she made it to the final three several seasons in a row, but the last few had been relegated to getting the older men as partners, who just no matter how hard they worked, wouldn’t be able to win unless America really fell in love with them, and they hadn’t.

She sighed as she waited in traffic, she could at least keep working on the choreography for that musical the network was producing. Plus, she and Zay were putting together a road show with a few of the other dancers for the summer.

Finally, traffic was moving as she made her way down the familiar streets to the studio, pulling into the lot. Thankful that most of the paparazzi wasn’t aware today was the first day. They at least had a week before the stars were revealed.

She parked in the only free space she could find and quickly moved up the stairs to the entrance. Producers were waiting for her.

“I’m so sorry,” she started as they handed her the mic pack.

“Riley don’t worry. It’s okay. Your partner is in studio 5.” The producer, a woman about her age named Sheryl smiled, “I think you’ll approve of this season’s pairing.”

“Have I ever actually not?” Riley looked to her friend.

Sheryl threw her arm around Riley’s shoulder, “I promise your partner isn’t like the Dad from an old TGIF sitcom. In fact, he might be one of the most sought-after bachelors in America.”

Riley rolled her eyes, “Great, I can’t wait. I can already see the twitter and Instagram messages saying I’m stealing someone’s man.”

They stood outside the studio door, “Actually, I think America is going to love the two of you together. And maybe, if possible, flirt with this guy. Get people thinking something could happen, at the very least it should stir up some fanfare.”

“I’m still doing the cha-cha week one, right?”

“Yes, here’s the music, now go in their and let the sparks fly.” Sheryl insisted.

Riley paused, “If I go in their and it’s some Disney channel ‘tween I’m going to kill you, you know that right?”

“Yes, I promise it’s an adult male, and when you see him, you will drool.” Sheryl was practically drooling herself.

Riley took a deep breath, knowing in a minute she would be on camera for hours while she and someone she didn’t know tried to dance together. She said a silent prayer before she finally opened the door.

Sitting in the middle of the dance floor was a tall man, his back was to the door. His hair short, but a sandy blonde. His shoulders broad, his arms obviously strong, at the very least he probably looked amazing shirtless, that should get them a couple of weeks.

Riley could see the little bit of his wireless earbuds in his ears, maybe he was listening to the music, or a podcast. He was obviously an athlete, not Hockey, baseball maybe, but considering the time of year, most likely football.

She waved to the camera man, motioning for him to not let on she was there as she put her bag down by the door. As she stepped closer to her new partner, she could feel a charge in the air, a wave of nostalgia she couldn’t place considering the setting.

As she moved closer she didn’t see that he had his bag near him, or notice it’s long strap on the floor as for the first time in years, the klutzy Riley of her youth took her over in the blink of an eye she fell into his lap.

Riley was stunned.

This couldn’t be happening.

This couldn’t be real.

This couldn’t be him.

Those green eyes, she would know them anywhere. They were the first eyes she looked into and saw more than friendship. They were the first eyes she had seen heartbroken. They were the first eyes she saw darken with passion.

She smiled, “Hi, I’m Riley Matthews, your new dance partner.”

“Lucas Friar, I’m a football player, not a dancer.”

She felt a chill down her spine, “I’ll make you a dancer.” She stood up, trying to hold her composure while trying to comprehend what was happening.

Of all the men who could end up on this show, of all the men she could be partnered up with, how did Lucas Friar, her first love end up here?

Zay came out of his studio laughing, shaking his head. His partner was hilarious, and if she focused, she could make it a few weeks, maybe even further. He saw Sheryl looking at one of the monitors, a smile on her face. “I know, me and Connie, we’ve got it.”

Sheryl swatted him, “Look, I’ve got TV gold this season with who I paired Riley with.”

He looked at the screen, eyes wide, “Is that Lucas Friar, of the New York Giants?”

“It sure is.” Sheryl couldn’t wipe the smile off her face if she had wanted to, “Riley went in there, and Zay I’ve never in all these years seen anything like it. It was a legitimate meet cute like in a rom-com. She tripped over his bag strap and fell in his lap.”

Zay covered his mouth, nodding, hoping he wouldn’t give anything away. So, this was why Lucas was in town, oh Riley was going to probably murder him later tonight. While Sheryl couldn’t see it, he could see the terror, the control in both Riley and Lucas. “You know Riley, she is just friends with anyone she dances with. She’s resisted this all these years.” He joked, but he knew, he could see it, Riley and or Lucas were going to end up heartbroken.

“Lucas Friar is considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. He’s sexy, smart, charming, a real Gentleman.”

“Well he always has been.” Zay slipped, “From what I’ve read.”

Sheryl looked at the dancer, “Shouldn’t you get back to Connie, I think you two have what the foxtrot for week 1?”

“We do, I was just going to grab us some waters. She’s not used to this sort of thing, but I think she’s got real potential.”

“She does, and I truly believe that you’re the best pro to bring it out in her. Just like, I think Riley was the right choice for Mr. Friar here.”

“I hope you’re right.” Zay told her before going to the fridge nearby for water, “I really hope so.”

Riley and Lucas were stretching on the floor, she’d gone over many basic moves throughout the morning. This was a quiet time she usually took to get to know her new partners. She’d held herself together for the most part today. She just had to get through a few more hours. “So, why do you want to learn to dance?” she asked everyone the same question—it was expected of her from the viewers.

“I don’t want to make a fool out of my Mom at her wedding” he looked up with a small smile on her face. “She wants to have a Mother and Son dance, and at the very least I want to make it, so I don’t step on her toes. Dancing was never my strong suit, but I swear since college I’ve been even worse on the dance floor.”

His mom was getting married? His parents weren’t together anymore? At one point in her life they knew just about everything about each other, now they were strangers thrown together my television producers.

She couldn’t wait for Zay to find out about this. Did they still talk?

“I promise, at the very least we’ll get it so you and your mom have a beautiful dance together at her wedding.” She stood up, moving across the studio floor to pick up the takeout bag of lunches that had been delivered. “But I also think if you do have the focus, and determination you could win this. I think you just have to believe it.”

Lucas watched Riley moving across the room. Years ago he’d been so bitter about her secret love of dancing, the fact that she took off with Zay on some dance tour, missing homecoming, Prom, the City Championship game that got him recruited to a big college. It wasn’t until his Junior year of college that he saw Riley and Zay on TV, performing together that he finally saw that it was her passion. “You think I could get you the trophy?”

“I think I can get you the trophy.” She smiled, wishing the cameras weren’t here. She just wanted this day over. Her mind wasn’t able to wrap around the idea that Lucas was seriously her partner, she anticipated that she would wake up any moment from this dream, as she always did.

Riley pressed play on a remote, music filled the room. It was the song they would be dancing to. As she sat down, with her food she realized what the song was. The Shoop Shoop Song wrapped around them, this was a nightmare, it had to be. “This is going to be an interesting Cha-Cha.” She laughed as she looked to the camera.

Zay rushed home, he was afraid of what Riley might say if she saw him at the studio. He also wasn’t sure he should really let Lucas stay at the house now. It had never occurred to him that Lucas would be on the show.

But of course, they would pair him with Riley. Put those two in each other’s orbit, and they would immediately be drawn to each other one way or the other. It would forever be out of their hands.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how Riley was going to react to being near him, or vice versa. He didn’t know who carried what animosity towards the other. He could remember how heartbroken Riley had been when Lucas broke up with her, how she’d tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt when she saw the picture on Instagram when Lucas and Maya won Prom King and Queen during their senior year of high school. He could also remember the sound of her crying in her bunk on the tour bus later that night.

“You are so lucky!” Riley’s voice called out from the garage door.

She didn’t sound murderous, so yeah for now he was lucky. He went towards the voice, gathering the grocery bags she carried, “Why am I lucky?”

“Because, you don’t have a past with your partner for the season.” Riley dropped a bag on the kitchen counter a moment later.

Zay knew he couldn’t play dumb, not when Lucas could arrive at any minute. “Who’d you get, Lucas?” he laughed, hoping she didn’t realize he knew.

“Yes.” She sighed, “And it gets better.”

Zay watched as she put food away in the fridge, “How?”

“I landed in his fucking lap.” Riley shook her head, “And the song we’re dancing to, The Shoop Shoop Song.”

Zay began unpacking a grocery bag as a sudden chill swept through his body, he knew he had to tell her. “So, speaking of Lucas. He called me this morning, he asked if he could stay here while in town and I told him yes.”

Riley slammed the fridge door closed as she pirouetted around to face him. “You what?”

“I told Lucas he could stay with us. I didn’t know he was going to be on the show. He didn’t tell me.” He defended as he waved an eggplant at her, “We’re 27 years old. It’s been like ten years since your breakup. Besides I figured you would barely see him because you would go into season mode.”

“Season mode?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“So, you tend to shut down in a way when you spend all day dancing with someone that’s not me.” He shrugged as he put some items away, “Like you still get up super early, do your morning routine, go to the studio, but when you come home you basically have dinner, and disappear into your room for hours on end. I figured if Lucas was here for a week or something shooting a TV commercial, you might run into him like once or twice, and that was it.”

“Zay, no one wants to be around their ex, how would you feel if I said, ‘Sure Claud, you can come stay with us.’ You would be pissed.”

“Yeah that was a year ago.” Zay rolled his eyes, “Not a decade. I mean it’s not like you fell in Lucas’ lap and still felt whatever it was you felt back in the day.”

“I need to lay down.” Riley sighed, “It’s been a long day, and I just need alone time.”

“Riley, can he stay here?”

She stopped at the staircase, “Fine, just can we keep all of this between us. I’m meaning, please don’t mention our past to Sheryl. The last thing anyone needs is to have them exploit the past.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Sheryl a thing okay. If I was going to, I would’ve when she was gushing over how America is going to fall in love with you and Lucas together this season since you fell in his lap.”

Riley spun to him again, “Wait, you knew before I told you that Lucas was my partner?”

“Yeah, I came out to grab waters today and Sheryl was watching you and Lucas on the screen. I kept my mouth shut. I was stunned. I never in a million years thought that Lucas would ever do this show. The man showed no interest in dance at all, so why would he give a damn now?”

“His Mom is getting married, and he doesn’t want to embarrass her at the wedding.” Riley shrugged.

“That makes sense.” Zay, could hear a little voice at the back of his head already sure that wasn’t the reason, “His parents have been divorced since he was in college.”

“I didn’t know you two still talked.” Riley didn’t really feel betrayed, maybe if she found out he still spoke to Maya—but that was a different story.

Zay took a step towards her, wrapping his arms around her, “Not all the time. He’s been my friend since we were riding sheep.”

Riley chuckled, “I know, I just, I guess I thought they were all behind us.”

The doorbell chimed throughout the house. Zay could feel Riley stiffen. “Go upstairs, take a shower. I’ll get him set up in the guestroom. I’m sure he’ll be ready to crash, I know how you work your partners to exhaustion.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a kiss on the cheek before rushing up the stairs.

Zay crossed the first floor, opening the door to Lucas looking half exhausted with his duffle bag over his shoulder. The grin on Zay’s face couldn’t be hidden for two reasons. The joy of seeing his best friend, also seeing how his ex-girlfriend had run him ragged during their first rehearsal. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

Lucas shook his head, “Had a crazy idea of going on a reality show, and pretty sure my partner is out to kill me in the first week.”

Zay chuckled, “Riley always works her partners hard.”

“You know?” Lucas came in the house, taking it all in. The sleek furniture, the crisp white walls, the glass doors leading out to the back-yard pool. “This is amazing, this is nicer than my penthouse.”

“It’s home.” Zay smiled as he walked to the stairs, “Kitchen is here, help yourself. Just if we’re low on the Apricot La Croix, leave it. It’s Riley’s go to after a long day.”

“Good to know.” Lucas followed Zay up the stairs, he could hear the ocean from an open window somewhere.

“Riley’s room is there, I’m down here, and you my dear oldest friend in the world are in here. I had the housekeeper put fresh sheets on the bed for you.” Zay found himself hovering near the door, “What was it like to see her again after all this time?”

“It was nerve-racking. She landed in my lap, and suddenly I was thirteen years old on a subway again.” Lucas released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in, “I just, I don’t know what I was expecting, what I wasn’t.”

“Its been a long time Lucas, just, please remember that.” Zay had a feeling the next few weeks were going to be very awkward and tense. “Hey, why aren’t you staying in a hotel, or at one of Farkle’s houses?”

“Farkle and I are not on speaking terms.” Lucas confessed as he tossed the duffle bag on the bed, “And I’m trying to stay away from the paparazzi. They’re everywhere, and well a certain artist in New York is trying to stir up rumors we’re dating.”

Zay took a few steps into the room, closing the door. “Wait, Maya?”

Lucas sighed, his eyes closed and it looked like he was partially holding back tears, “Yes, she saw a spike in sales after a picture of her, me, and Farkle made it to page six. We’d all been at a fundraiser auction for the Minkus Foundation. Farkle thinks I’m leading her on, Maya thinks we’re actually together, and I’m like no way in hell. We never were together, and we never will be.”

“You guys dated senior year of high school.” Zay reminded him.

“No, I was single.” Lucas stared at his friend, “I dated Chloe in college for like a semester, but that was really it. I’ve been focused on Football all this time.”

Zay took a few more steps towards his friend, “I was with Riley, the phone was on speaker when Maya broke the news to her. I heard it myself.”

“That bitch.” Lucas groaned, “I don’t even know. Its like Riley went on tour with you and no one was around to guide her. It was like she released her inner Regina George.”

Nodding Zay looked to Lucas, “I can see that. She always sort of had that essence brewing inside of her.”

“You two left, and it was, it was awful Zay.” Lucas sighed as he looked out at the view, “Farkle and Smackle ended up barely even at the school since they were in college level courses. Maya, she was always making assumptions about us. It was like we were back in that damn triangle again, I pulled away. I hung out with the football team, I went to parties on weekends. After Riley and I broke up, yeah, I made out with a few girls here and there, but it was never anything more.”

“Like I said Lucas, it’s been a long time. You’re not the same, Riley’s not the same, I’m not the same.” He shrugged, “Maybe this is a chance for Riley and you, me and you, to all become friends again. As who we are, not who we were.”

“For now, I just have to focus on Riley not murdering me during practice.”

“It’s only the Cha-Cha, just wait until Foxtrot, Jive, or Modern. She comes alive during Modern.”

“Why Modern?”

Zay opened the door, looking back at his old friend, “When it’s time, ask her.”

Lucas could only nod as Zay left him alone. He forced himself to get up, going into the sleek bathroom and turning on the shower. His body he hadn’t felt this exhausted since his rookie year playing for the Giants. He stripped out of his clothes, the steam already building up as he stepped into the glass enclosure.

He could finally breathe, relax for a moment. He knew he would see Riley again by being on the show. He just didn’t know that she would be his partner. He had hoped it would be her. Scrubbing his body he couldn’t remember the last time a shower had felt this deserved, this needed in years. He hadn’t worked as hard at anything in a while, not that he didn’t work hard at football, but it was different now.

Rinsing off he grabbed the towel to dry off. He pulled on his pajama pants and grabbed his phone before going out to the balcony. He took a snapshot of the view, the sun setting over the ocean. He thought about posting it on Instagram, but decided it wasn’t worth dealing with Farkle or Maya calling him. If he could stay off the grid for a little bit longer here, it would be better.

The last thing Lucas needed right now was Maya and Farkle invading his life. He was just trying to live his life, support a good cause, and yet was getting dragged into the gossip columns thanks to Maya. It drove him crazy that anytime they were at an event she would start planting seeds they were together. He thought she’d been over it after the triangle, after he and Riley got together.

He felt his phone vibrate as he looked down at the caller id, his Mom. “Hi Mom.”

“Hey Lucas, how did the first day go?”

“I’m exhausted, haven’t been like this since my rookie year.” He told her as he sat in the wicker chair near the door.

“That’s good. Did you call Zay?”

“I did Mom.”

“And Riley, have you seen her?”

Lucas sighed, his eyes catching the light from Riley’s room turn on, “Yeah, she’s gorgeous Mom.”

His mother chuckled, “Did she slap you?”

“No, not even close. She fell into my lap again. She’s my dance partner.”

“Oh wow.” His mother’s voice tensed up, “You know Maya and Farkle are trying to find out where you ran off to.”

“I know, and they don’t need to know. I have never once had any interest in Maya Hart, and if Farkle is going to enable her ridiculous ideas, then I can’t talk to them. I came out here to learn how to dance, I want your wedding to be perfect.”

“Honey, that’s sweet of you, but we both know I’m not the reason you’re doing this.”

“I don’t know what your talking about.” He watched as Riley stepped out on her balcony, her dark curls piled on top of her head. She had a can of sparkling water as she walked over to look out at the view.

“Lucas Friar, I’m your Mother, I know that you are trying to find out if your first love is the one. Remember son, you’re different now. You’re not teenagers. You’re a man, she’s a woman. You’ve had other relationships, you’ve had lovers.”

Lucas cringed as he listened to his mother. Watching Riley’s silohette in the sunset.

“I’m just saying Lucas, that you and she need to get to know each other again. You two had such wonderful conversations when you were younger. Start with that, and then see if anything develops. Lucas I’ve got to get going. I have to get to bed, I have an early meeting in the morning. Don’t worry, no one will every hear from me where you are. Love you son.”

“Love you Mom.” Lucas ended the call, seeing Riley turn around when she heard his voice.

“Hi.” She gave him a soft smile, “The shower pressure good for you?”

“Yeah, it was. Thanks for letting me stay. I’m trying to be as off the grid for a little bit.”

“Things okay in New York, and you know you’re going to be revealed as part of the show in like a week.”

“A week off the grid is better than no time. And once it’s revealed I’m on the show the person I’m hiding from won’t have the guts to show up.”

Riley nodded pretending she understood, “Hey, since the cameras aren’t around can I make a request?”

“Anything Riley.” He meant it, more than he expected as the words came out.

Riley knotted her fingers together as she looked up to Lucas, “Can we not bring up our past in front of the cameras, in front of the eventual press. If Sheryl or any of the other producers find out we were High School Sweethearts, they’ll exploit it. I don’t think that’s fair to you.”

“I won’t say a word.” He promised. He knew he should tell her about Maya, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know where they were friendship wise and one thing, he’d promised himself so very long ago was that he would never come between them.

“The kitchen has plenty of food, just please don’t drink the Apricot sparkling waters.”

“Zay warned me. Thank you, Riley.” He started towards the door before looking to her once more. “I promise I’m going to work hard every day we do this.”

“I know you will. Also I swear I’m not usually so klutzy.”

“I guess I bring it out in you.” He gave her a friendly smile, “Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight Lucas, get some sleep. Today I was easy on you.” She informed him before going to her own door.

Lucas chuckled nervously, but he knew it was true.

#Rucas Fanfic #Rucas #Girl Meets World #Girl Meets World Fanfic #GMW Fanfic #Riley Matthews #Lucas Friar

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captain-mcdavid · 5 years

Text

word count: 3.2k

smut: yes | no

warnings: swearing, angst, seth jones relations (note: the previous chapters can be found on my masterlist linked in my bio)

Seth opens the door, his brows furrowing the moment he sees you. “Uh, hi?”

“Hey,” Is all you can manage to get out, and he gives you a confused look before a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Everything okay?”

You nod dumbly, and Seth just continues to look confused, rightfully so.

“Actually no,” You blurt, and he raises his eyebrows. You really don’t what you were attempting to do coming here, well, yeah actually, you do, but you’re not sure how to get there.

“No?” He repeats, “What happened, what’s going on?”

“Josh and I got in a fight,” You admit, and he oh’s quietly before nodding. “I don’t know, I figured since you’re kinda going through the same thing maybe I could get some advice? Like how to help him?” You’re making up the words as you go, and you hate how good you’ve become at lying.

“Yeah, yeah,” Seth nods, and then jerks away from the door, “Sorry, come in.” You let out a breathy laugh at how polite he is, stepping into his apartment timidly, setting your purse down on the expensive looking table by the door.

The first thing you notice is how clean and modern everything is, and the second is how good it smells.

“Oh my gosh,” You start, “What are you making? That smells amazing,”

Seth smiles and you follow him into the kitchen, ogling at how gorgeous everything is. “Spaghetti.” He responds with a sheepish laugh, stirring the sauce while the pasta boils. “It’s kind of a comfort food for me,”

He looks down at the food and you notice the distress on his face. “Needed it tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, and he shrugs.

“We should have played better,” He goes into more detail, spouting cliches the same way Josh does, but everything is going in one ear and out the other. You can see it on his face, he’d rather not relive what just happened.

“Seth we don’t need to talk about this,” You interject, and he looks up from the food. “I can tell you don’t want to.”

He chuckles, “That obvious hey?”

You just smile, settling yourself against the counter. “No hockey talk, I want the food network. Show me the tutorial!” You clap your hands together with a grin and Seth smirks right back.

“I can’t give you the tutorial.” He shrugs, “This is a secret recipe.”

“Oh please,” You groan, and he laughs trying to look surprised.

“What I’m serious!” He dips the spoon in and pulls up some of the sauce, holding it out for you. “You’ll never taste anything like it.”

You look at him warily, and open your mouth for him to feed it to you. It’s a little weird, and a lot flirty, but you’re not gonna say no, locking eyes with him while you wrap your lips around the spoon. His eyes hold yours, and then they’re flickering down to your mouth. You can see him swallow, and you raise your brows and take in the taste, laughing when you’re pleasantly surprised. For dramatic effect you let out a small moan, “Not bad,” You say, “I’m impressed. What’s in it?” You ask innocently and he laughs, shaking his head.

“I told you, it’s a secret.” His grin is adorable, and you can’t help but smile too, giving his shoulder a playful shove. He grabs your hand, and has full intentions to let it go, but just as you feel it slipping from your grasp, you slip your fingers in between his. He freezes for a second, but you move closer and avoid his eyes so that it seems more casual than it actually is.

He laughs awkwardly and looks down at your hands, he pulls them up and starts to speak but you cut him off, pushing your linked fingers against his chest. “Tell me that you didn’t get that recipe off of Pinterest,” You challenge and his smile comes back.

“It’s not off Pinterest,” He insists, squeezing your fingers before pulling his hand away from yours. He takes the pot to drain the water, murmuring as he passes, “I got it off of all recipes dot com.”

His confession has you laughing again, boosting yourself onto the barstool at his counter. A few minutes later, Seth is serving you a beautiful looking plate of spaghetti, even garnished with a parsley leaf. “Wow,” You say, blinking down at the meal.

“Dig in,” Seth says, moving beside you. He wastes no time, barely even sitting fully before he’s shovelling a bite into his mouth. He groans, a big smirk settling on his face when he swallows. “Man I needed this.”

You watch with a smile while Seth hands you a napkin, putting one for himself over his lap. You eat with light conversation, easy small talk that you find hard with literally anyone else. He’s got to be one of the most easy going people you’ve ever met.

After you’re finished eating Seth invites you over to the couch where you bond over your mutual favourite show. You’re just finished the sixth episode of the office when he finally speaks up, “So what’s the situation with Josh?” His voice shrinks when he asks, like he’s afraid of what you might answer.

“I don’t think it’s working out,” You say, and suddenly you feel like you could burst into tears.

“Why not? You guys seemed pretty solid to me. What happened tonight?”

You raise your eyebrows at Seth, voice cracking when you ask, “Solid?”

“Yeah,” He says, with small shrug, “He was pretty head over heals for you. At least that’s how it’s seemed to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing, “And most of the guys.”

“Solid,” You say again, and then you let out a little chuckle at the irony. Obviously you two were anything but solid if he was sleeping with Lindsay the whole time. “He’s seeing other people.”

Seth furrows his eyebrows, “Uh, really?”

“Yeah,”’ You admit.

Seth just frowns slightly, you see the doubt on his face, he doesn’t believe you.

“What?” You ask, and he just raises his brows. “What’s that face?”

He laughs and shakes his head, “Nothing, I just- I don’t know. What makes you think that he’s seeing other people?”

It’s not Seth’s fault, but it kind of feels like he’s taking Josh’s side, and that makes you angry, so you can’t help the way your words come out, snappier than usual. “Well for starters I found a girls jacket in his apartment.”

“When?” Seth asks simply, and you shrug, annoyed at how nonchalant he’s being.

“I don’t know, like a month ago? Why does it matter?”

Seth just laughs again, leaning back into the couch. He puts one hand on his knee and the other goes to the back rest, and you take notice quickly of the close proximity. “Trust me, it matters.”

“Why?” You question, and he shrugs.

“Cause, Josh might have been seeing other girls that month that you ghosted him,” He says the words with a smirk, and you open your mouth to defend yourself but nothing comes out, so you close it again, shaking your head with a smile.

“He told you about that?”

“Yeah,” He grins, “He had a few hookups but that was only cause you weren’t around. Once you started going out again he was all in.”

You shake your head and Seth leans closer yet again, “Think about it, Y/N. We were in the playoffs, we barely left the rink. Josh had no time for you let alone another girl.”

It’s convincing, it is, but you can’t help but think maybe there was no time for you because of the other girl. Because of Lindsay.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it anymore.” You whisper, and this time it’s you who moves closer, leaning back against the couch and Seth’s arm. He nods and you look up at him through your lashes, his mouth parts slightly and then he’s opening his arms. “You look like you need a hug.” He says, and you lean over without hesitation, latching onto him. He holds you tight against him, and you can’t help but relax into his arms. You look up at him, and when he looks back warmth floods your entire body. His eyebrows furrows like he’s debating something, and then he’s leaning down, eyes fluttering shut. You lean up to meet him, your lips so close, when there’s a loud knock at the door. Seth lets go, eyes flickering between you and the noise.

There’s an immediate feeling of dread that sets in, and you have a feeling you know exactly who’s here.

When he looks back to you there’s panic clear in his eyes, so you say it so that he won’t have to, “He can’t know I’m here. I need to hide,”

Seth ushers you to the broom closet a few feet away, opening the door only to close it immediately behind you. There’s tilted panels covering the door so you can see out, but just slightly. You know Seth is moving towards the door, and you nearly flinch when he opens it. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, maybe for Josh to blow in yelling and throwing shit like before, but it’s actually the exact opposite.

He walks in calmly, hands in the pockets of his grey sweats. He’s wearing a shirt now, shoulders slumped under the black fabric. He looks sad, and if you weren’t so mad at him you might feel a little bad.

“Hey man,” He says quietly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Hey buddy.” Seth responds stiffly, looking almost as uncomfortable as Josh and you cringe from your spot in the closet.

“Uh, hows it going?” He asks, and Seth shrugs.

“It’s okay, why what’s up?” The conversation is rushed and Seth seems like he’s uninterested.

“I um-,” Josh starts, pacing the room like he’s nervous, and you can see his expression change, he looks unsure, eyebrows furrowing in that way that you love, before his entire body goes rigid. “I just, kinda, I don’t know.” He starts, was he about to tell Seth? “Nevermind man, sorry.” He says the words and you can hear the change in tone. It’s light but you’re able to pick up on it, something is wrong.

“Josh, you good?” Seth asks, and this time he actually sounds concerned, putting a hand on Josh’s big shoulder.

Your vision is very impaired but you’d be able to see Josh’s body lurch at that touch from miles away. His body goes scarily still, shoulders tense while the both of them stand in silence. About thirty seconds go past before Josh’s body relaxes, and he turns around clapping Seth on the arm with a smile. “Yeah dude, sorry. I’m good.”

And then he walks out.

You open your door as soon as it slams behind Josh, nearly tumbling out of the closet with a staggered breath. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Seth says, and you both just look at each other, plagued with the exact same feelings.

You’re able to ignore that weird encounter quite easily, your feelings occupied mostly by guilt. You’re both ridden with it, standing feet apart like it’ll take back what just happened.

You came here for revenge, but you don’t want it at that cost. That would mean you’d be stooping to their level and while you may have bad thoughts sometimes, you know you’re actually not a bad person. “I’m sorry, Seth.” You mumble, “I shouldn’t have come here. I put you in an uncomfortable position and that was really unfair of me. I’m really sorry,”

Seth just nods, and gives you a tight lipped half smile, staring at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna go,” You say, nodding awkward towards the door. You don’t wait for his response before you stagger over to the door, feeling like you’re about to cry for the untempth time tonight. You’re frustrated with yourself for being so weak. You leave without another word, swiping harshly at the tears threatening to spill over while you rush out of the apartment building.

The whole drive home you’re trying to contain your emotions, push everything away, you can not be weak when you confront Lindsay.

She can probably sense fear.

You walk in the door, standing at the entrance to the kitchen silently, building up your confidence, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at her.

“You didn’t go to see Josh did you? Y/N, it looks desperate. It’s only gonna make him pull away.” Her voice is like nails on a chalk board and you nearly spit out your response, so unbelievably livid with her.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Uh what?” She laughs and drops a butter knife in the sink, turning around with a humorous smile until she looks at you. Her eyes land on the jacket in your hand and the smile vanishes from her face immediately.

“I said, get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You’re expecting her to argue, to grovel, to say she can explain, but she just sighs, leaning back against the counter comfortably. “So you figured it out I’m guessing?”

You look at her, bewildered, “Yeah. I figured it out. Now leave.”

“I honestly thought it’d take you longer,” She chuckles, and takes a bite of the toast she just prepared. She makes no move towards the door and you feel your throat tighten with words threatening to come out. It’s taking everything in you not to knock her out. “Don’t you wanna know what happened?” She asks, holding up a questioning hand.

You shut your eyes for a minute, taking the time to convince yourself that physical violence is not necessary to get her out of your home, even though you really want to slap that smug smile right off her face.

No response from you makes her resume dialogue, and you feel a headache setting in already. “Wait, I’m actually curious as to what you think happened-“ She starts, cutting herself off with a laugh, “Or is happening,”

“I think that you stabbed me in the back.” You say feebly, hating how she’s roaming around the kitchen like she has the upper hand.

“Well I kinda did,” She admits, taking another bite of her toast like this is the most casual situation in the world.

“Lindsay-“ You start with a venomous voice but she holds a hand up to stop you, only making you angrier.

“Chill! Let me tell you what happened. You won’t be as pissed after you hear the whole story.”

“I seriously doubt that.” You interject, and she laughs.

“I’m gonna start off by saying that Josh was mine way before he was yours. So you have no right to be mad.” She says the words completely unsympathetic to your broken heart, and you’re wondering what the fuck you missed. “Basically before you and Josh got together, Josh did the exact same thing that he did to you, to me,” She’s telling you this like it’s office gossip and you’re dumbfounded at how calm she is.

“I didn’t exact him to he so charming, I really fell for him.” She explains, and your chest heats up with anger. “So when you started going out with him, I was pretty pissed off,” She finishes with a laugh and you stare at her with wild eyes.

“And then he ghosted you too, and that’s kinda what brought on the whole fucking with his head, call her daddy thing and that’s why I pushed you to talk to him that one night we were out. I knew that if you were shady enough, he’d go running to the first person who gave him the attention that you weren’t. And I was that girl!” She finishes with a wide smile and you’re so shocked that all you can do is stare, even though you want to deck her so badly. “I honestly thought convincing him would be tough after he saw us together, but he practically jumped on me the second I walked through his door.” She laughs like you’re supposed to be laughing with her, and it makes your blood boil.

She looks you over, and then sighs with an eye roll. It’s clear she feels no remorse, she has no idea what she did wrong. “I’m sorry that you had to be collateral damage, but I did what I needed to do to get him back. You screwed yourself when you caught feelings.” She explains with a shrug.

As much as you want her out of your house, there are things you need clarification on before you never speak to her again.

“So you never went out with Boone?”

“Nah,” She chuckles. “Not my type.”

“And you’ve been sleeping with Josh behind my back this whole time?”

“Yup.” She smiles. You’ve never seen this toxic person before, but you’re glad you’re figuring out who she really is. You shake your head, a breathy chuckle coming out while you step forward.

“You’re psychotic.” You say simply, taking her plate. You dump her toast in the garbage and she watches with wide eyes.

“I was eating that,” She states dumbly, and you raise your shoulders, letting the plate fall into the sink with a loud clatter.

“Lindsay,” You take a deep breath before starting and she raises her eyebrows expectingly, “You are a narcissistic, unremorseful, back stabbing bitch.”

“Oh come on, you’re not seriously mad-“ She starts, but you hold up a hand.

“I’m not done.” Her mouth snaps shut. “I can’t even imagine being insecure enough to stoop to your level. You can talk yourself up all you want, but this situation is the same from all angles. He will never love you the way you love him. You literally devised this whole plan to get back this guy who couldn’t give less of a shit about you! Do you realize how pathetic that is? I feel so bad for you.”

Finally you’ve taken the upper hand, and you can see her guard going up, tears lining her eyes. It makes you feel bad for a second, but not bad enough to stop. “I hope that one day you get the karma you deserve, but until then, if I never see your face again, it’ll be too soon. Now for gods sake, get the fuck out of my apartment before I throw all your shit off the balcony.”

She leaves timidly, grabbing her bag off the counter while she watches you warily.

“You can pick up your stuff tomorrow, I work from nine to five. I want every trace of you gone and when I get home.”

Her response is to just walk out the door, and as soon as she’s gone you feel like there’s a weight off your shoulders.

However that’s gone for only seconds, and immediately comes back as soon as you pull your phone from your purse.

You have about ten missed calls from Josh, and seven text messages.

We need to talk about this. You don’t know the whole story.

Y/N please. I’m sorry I yelled and got mad can we please just talk?

I’m going home in two days, I need to see you before then.

Where are you? I’m worried, can you just answer me so I know you’re okay?

You’re freaking me out.

Y/N I’m sorry please just answer me.

I’m coming over.

#j.anderson #liv writes #yall if the read more doesnt work im sorry but i dont know what else to so #it oiterally just wont do it for me #dont come for me #josh anderson smut #josh anderson imagine #josh anderson #columbus blue jackets imagine #columbus blue jackets #seth jones #nhl smut #nhl imagine

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diarrheaofthekeyboard · 4 years

Text

#41

9.4.2020 - 9.8.2020

At age 5, sometime in the summer of 1983, I went to my first Mets game. I know they played the Montreal Expos. I’m pretty sure George Bamburger was still the manager. Tom Seaver was on the team. I do not know if he pitched that game. But I know I saw him pitch on tv as a Met that year.

My early childhood from that point forward was consumed with baseball (and cartoons) until about 1989 when the Mets were bad again. They just got worse until I went to college, but I still watched. I couldn’t watch Mets games in college, so I mostly forgot about baseball. I graduated in 2000 and came home to the Mets and Yankees in the Subway Series. And I was back in it.

The Mets predictably lost, and it was the worst because the Yankees were dynastic, but something else happened. After raising me as a Mets fan, my father outed himself as a Yankee fan.

My dad was born in Brooklyn in 1950 and raised in Sheepshead Bay, which is close to Coney Island. Story goes he asked my grandfather to go see the Dodgers and was told “next year”. That was 1957. He never got to see the Dodgers in Brooklyn. They, and the New York Giants, moved to California before the 1958 season. This is pretty fucked up. And though I never asked him while he was alive, it would make no sense for my grandfather to have claimed he didn’t know the Dodgers were leaving. It was the biggest news in Brooklyn.

For 4 years, there was only one New York team. The Yankees. They won the World Series in 1958 and 1961. They lost the World Series in 1960. The Mets first season was 1962 and promptly set the record for most games lost in a season, in the modern era. The Yankees beat the San Francisco Giants in the World Series that year. In 1963 the Yankees lost to the Los Angeles Dodgers, but who could root for the Dodgers after they left Brooklyn? That was traitorous. In ‘64 the Yankees lost the World Series to the St. Louis Cardinals. They were terrible after that.

In 1967, Tom Seaver debuted for the New York Mets. They were still the worst team in baseball. In 1969, led by Seaver, the Mets were champions. My dad, by this time in college, became a fan.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in tracing his sports allegiances, it’s that he’s a bandwagoner. We never watched hockey, but for some reason had 4 copies of an Islanders record from the early 80s. We never really watched football, but he did like to watch the Cowboys. Why wasn’t he a Giants fan? Or a Jets fan? It never really made sense.

The entire reason we went to that game in 1983 was my dad got tickets from work. The owner of the company he worked for had box seats about 10 rows behind the third base dugout. We would go once or twice a year and my dad would complain about traffic. We went to Game 1 of the 1986 World Series. I still have my ticket. It was a big moment for me, having just turned all of 9 years old. It’s still a big moment for me. We sat 6 rows from the back of the stadium and couldn’t see anything. But we were there.

I never had reason to believe my dad was anything other than a Mets fan. And then, there I am, freaking out in 2000 as Benny Agbayani hands the ball to a fan in the stands because he thought there were three outs, and my dad is outing himself further as a Yankee fan with every moment.

I don’t remember when this took place, but I know it happened. I was so angry I was raised a Mets fan. But it went something like this:

Why would you do this to your child? You know how bad they are. You read the paper. You never bothered to tell me the Yankees won the World Series in 1978. I could have gone through life as a carefree Yankee fan, not ever having to know the intricacies of the game, and never beating myself up in the years they weren’t competitive because they’re the fucking Yankees! They always come back.

At that point, I couldn’t give up the Mets. For the damage being invested in their losing had done to me, and for what it would continue to do to me. For 20 years until I left New York, I probably watched 150 games a year, whether on tv or at Shea. I didn’t just double down. It became all consuming. And gut wrenching. Hey! You had a shit day at work! Let’s agonize over this garbage team and argue with the tv announcers every day. As I bounced from apartment to apartment, job to job, there would always be the constant, soothing misery of the Mets.

The 2000 baseball season had been my introduction to Tom Seaver the announcer. Keith Hernandez too. I actually got to see him play. He was the quintessential first baseman. Now I got to listen to them regularly. Along with Ralph Kiner, Gary Thorne, and Howie Rose, they were fantastic. They talked about the game like a coach should talk about the game. Every game, regardless of how bad the team was, became a clinic in “How to Baseball”. I loved it.

In 2006, the Mets got their own broadcasting network and consolidated the announcing team. Ralph Kiner’s health had declined over the years and he would only return on home Sunday games. Fran Healy and Tim McCarver were finally, mercifully gone. Seaver left too. He had gone into winemaking in ‘05 and wanted to pursue it full time. Taking over play-by-play was radio announcer Gary Cohen. He had been Bob Murphy’s understudy and was a familiar pick. Keith Hernandez stayed and fellow 80s Met Ron Darling was added as well. They’re still in the booth today, and they’re fantastic.

Seaver would show up from time to time. There was never a down, dull moment with him. You’d get an adrenaline rush just listening to him.

I’m going to say something controversial. I hated Shea Stadium. It was a nasty, ugly place. But there’s one thing about it that CitiField just can’t replace. The entire stadium was built from concrete blocks and it was very closed in. Each entrance to the seating area from the concourse was like its own little tunnel into another world. You come out of the darkness and into the light of the greenest field you’ve ever seen. I got goosebumps and would nearly be on the verge of tears, every time I walked through, from that first game in 1983, until they tore the place down at the end of the 2008 season.

I did make sure to be there at the last game. It was terrible. The Mets needed to beat the Marlins to get into the Wild Card and it didn’t happen. Then we waited seemingly forever for the post-game ceremony to begin, absolutely fuming that we had been duped by this shit team again. Finally, things got started. Mets greats were announced. And Tom Seaver and Mike Piazza closed the centerfield gate together, formally closing the book on Shea. It was a good moment even though the season ended terribly.

We moved to California two years ago. This was my opportunity to finally get rid of the Mets. I was determined to do it. I started watching A’s and Giants games. I even started watching Dodger games. At the start of the season, I was set to ride the A’s and Dodgers all the way to a California World Series. Then COVID hit. The season was cancelled. I lost my job. School was cancelled. Bad news increased exponentially. And when the baseball season finally started in July, my wife said she wanted to watch the Mets. She wasn’t going to give me a choice either.

We met in 2006. She had moved to NYC the previous year and kinda bandwagoned her way into Yankee fandom. Because why not. She was really a football fan anyway. One of her previous boyfriends was apparently a huge Cubs fan. She says every time they lost he’d be upset for days. Which, historically, is a tough place to be as a Cubs fan. As we dated and got closer she saw just how many games I would watch on a yearly basis. It’s a lot.

She got used to me pacing around, guitar in hand, yelling at the TV. She studied for the bar exam through this. One time, I forget what was going on, she’s reading flashcards and I had taken issue with something Gary Cohen said. And I hear quietly, “don’t argue with Gary!” I can still hear the inflection in her voice in my head. I turned around and started telling her why I disagreed with him and her only response was “did I say that out loud?” Gary, Keith, and Ron were hugely important to not only her tolerance of my baseball tv domination, but also her appreciation of the game. She only knew Ralph Kiner as this cute old man. And every so often, Seaver would come back and she’d see me well up with visceral feelings.

I cried when Ralph Kiner died. Around 2014/2015 I wrote a blog titled “The Common Sense Mets Fan”. At the time, I was convinced the Sandy Alderson administration would right the team and keep the Wilpons at bay. I was wrong. Anyway, here’s what I wrote:

On the last day of the season, as usual, Gary Cohen said goodbye to Ralph Kiner. But there was something different about it this time. There was fear in Gary’s face, as though he knew this was his last opportunity to sign off with Ralph. I had seen hints of it in years past, but never like this. Sadly, Ralph passed today, I hope peacefully.

As a Mets fan, this is like losing a grandfather or great uncle. Ralph had always been there. From his stories about Elizabeth Taylor to his willingness to argue advanced metrics and hitting style with Keith Hernandez, he was ever present in the Mets broadcast booth. I’ll never be able to hear the game again the same way. Thank you, Ralph.

At the time, I said to my wife, “the next time I cry about the Mets, it’ll be when Tom Seaver dies.” This was before their 2015 run. Before the Wilmer Flores incident. Before I was sitting on my couch with a 1 year old, watching them in a World Series, as I did my best impression of Randy Quaid from Major League. I refused to allow myself to enjoy the success of the team because I knew they would lose. It was just a matter of when. And of course, they did lose to the Kansas City Royals. But they got a lot further than I thought they would.

When MLB decided to move forward with a truncated 2020 season, I was reluctant to watch. It’s not safe for anyone involved and seems to be all about corporate greed. But of course, like moths to a flame, we watched. And as I mentioned, my wife said, “we’re watching the Mets.” I didn’t want to. But she was right. In a year like we’ve never seen before, Gary Cohen, Ron Darling, and Keith Hernandez did something, and are doing something, nobody else is. They gave us levity and calm. Led by Gary, they are unafraid to address the news of the day while knowing the escape they provide. The BLM t-shirt moment was unparalleled. And unfortunately, they’d have another day to provide calm the next week.

As you well know by now, George Thomas Seaver died last week. He had contracted lyme disease years ago, while working in the vineyards. For some people, lyme goes undiagnosed for years while doctors treat the symptoms without putting it all together. This seems to have been what happened to Tom. It progressed with complications and he developed Lewy Body dementia. His family announced his retirement from public life and the Mets announced they would erect a statue to him outside of CitiField. They changed the address of the stadium to 41 Seaver Way. But in true Wilpon Mets fashion, still no statue.

Finally, last week, Tom died due to complications from COVID. I was sitting on the couch, watching some random baseball game and reading Twitter. I saw the Baseball Hall of Fame announcement on Twitter, exclaimed “oh no!”, and went upstairs to be alone for a minute. My wife was on the phone. She ran upstairs to see me sitting with my head in my hands and asked what happened. I told her and then told her how stupid I felt for letting this get to me. And she said, “yeah, but you said after Ralph died this would happen”.

Our son came upstairs to see what he was missing. I told him. He said “who’s that?” And we had a long talk I think bored him. And it’s then it hit me what had happened. As I’ve detailed in the past 4 pages of text, Tom Seaver meant a lot to me, even though in my experience as a Mets fan, he was really just a peripheral character. I saw him on the field a couple of times. He was talked about. He was an announcer for a few years, and he’s mostly been out of the spotlight for the past 15 years. Here I was, having a visceral, uncontrollable reaction to a childhood figure I never met. How the fuck were people who actually knew him going to keep it together?

They couldn’t do it. Gary and Ron did their best. Apparently, Keith’s mom also had dementia, and he lost it. There was a lot of silence during the game. A lot of big sighs from Keith. A lot of on air hurting. It was gut wrenching. I saw an Ed Kranepool quote that said, “this was a terrible ending to a horseshit year.” And it’s only September!

At this point, nearly a week later, it’s difficult to remember where I saw it. But here it is. The reason I’ve spent all this time spilling my guts about a guy I never met. Tom Seaver was a beacon. He wasn’t just someone who had a talent and pursued it. He was constantly trying to reinvent himself and pursue that passion, whether he was good at it or not. But even moreso, he was a positive influence on everyone around him. I’ve never heard a story about Seaver fighting with anyone. He wanted to be Rembrandt with a baseball. And he wanted to lift people up around him.

I feel isolated and alone. There’s not much I feel like I can control. I can get out my thoughts, I can be a good husband and a good father. I can explore my music. And I can use the latter to pull myself out of the former. That’s what Tom would tell me to do.

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afoolforatook · 4 years

Text

Thank you, Wellies

So. I’ve been trying to do both class work and working on wips and just nothing is clicking. So, I thought I should go ahead and do this post, that I’ve been putting off, because.....it’s next week y’all.... So here goes.

Here’s my original post, that explains what this comic meant to me four years ago.

And here’s what it means to me now. (this is really long, sorry)

Man, I don’t really even know where to start this. How to start to say thank you. To Ngozi, to all of you.... It’s not possible to fully express what all of you have been for me the past four years. What this story has been for me.

So many things have changed since I made this post almost four years ago.

So many things haven’t.

I’ve been way less active in the fandom since starting at SCAD, and I really was never that incredibly active to begin with, outside of my small group of friends on a discord server.

And at times I feel bad about that.

But it’s not because I don’t care about or need this community anymore.

Rather it’s because this community, this story, gave me the strength to keep moving, and now I want to keep doing so, and make something that might one day even barely begin to show my gratitude.

So until then, all I can do is say thank you over and over. I can never possibly say it enough.

But still I wanted to thank you now, and try to explain to you what this comic about hockey and pies has meant to me, one last time before it ends. So that’s what I’ll try to do.

It was surreal rereading this old post earlier this week. Reading

“I think I could write a book just of our history and everything leading up to now and the details of this whole event”

When I wrote this post four years ago, I honestly couldn’t imagine a future where I’d be anything other than incomplete.Or even a future at all. Everyday was just getting up and making myself keep breathing, keep trying to push towards something, even though I had no idea what that could ever be.

For the first year I wrote daily journal entries, telling Emma about what happened that day, screaming at the universe for doing this, trying to help my future self remember little things, because everything was so hard to hold on to.

Update days were always something nearly sacred to me. And really not even from a fan point of view. I don’t read them around other people. I sit somewhere quiet, by myself, and read slowly. Because they are little moments I try to share with her still. The only person I want with me when I read them that first time is her, in whatever capacity I can bring myself to imagine.

A few months after the crash, I found one of Emma’s Spotify playlists. She made playlists for everything; birthday and Christmas presents, mood playlists, friend playlists, monthly playlists.

This was her May 2016 playlist. Last updated May 16th. Two days before the crash.

That playlist was literally the only thing I listened to for months on end. 38 songs.Over and over.

And as I listened I started to think that, just maybe, some of these songs she put there for me.

West Coast; the song me and Emma would send to each other after high school whenever we wanted to let the other know how much we missed them.

All I Want is to Be Your Girl. I mean??

Slowly I found lyrics in every song that even if just in my own fantasy, were little messages from Emma, telling me to keep going, how to stay strong.

I was always looking for stories, books, movies, songs, anything about someone grieving the kind of loss I was. Nothing I found felt like it really represented me. If it was about someone young, it was due to suicide or violence or illness. If it was a car crash, it was about a parent or child. If it somehow fit my other demographics, it was never queer.

I felt totally alone in the exact manifestation of my grief. Like no one else could understand all the tiny details that seemed, to me, to make this all more and more cartoonishly cruel.

(though one of the most touching moments of my life will always be when Emma’s step mom, the only person in her family who knows about us, sent me a book about grieving a spouse. I cried for hours when I opened that.)

I didn’t have outside representation, support. But I had journals. I had Emma’s songs. I had poems and a handful of inktober drawings. I had my little update moments of connection. And I had so much to say.

Months, years, of isolation gives you a lot of time to examine your feelings, to question the meaning of things, to think about what exactly grief looked like to you and about how you wanted to live the rest of your life, as someone grieving a love.

And slowly I began to connect those thoughts to individual lyrics from Emma’s playlist and that helped me actually write all those thoughts out, organize them.

And that’s how The Mixtape Project started (I still hate using the word memoir. I had to find something else to call it). A book about us. About Emma. About all those thoughts I’d had so long to sit with. Structured around the songs from her playlist.

I remember the exact moment that I realized that Check Please was going to actively change my life. I was talking to my dad about it, about why I loved the storytelling, the characters, the art, so much.

I’d told him many times before. But it was always tied to Emma in a way, or to the reasons that I identified with Jack. It was always a little sad in some way.

But this time. This time it was just excitement. It was just a kid who has always loved words, gushing about a story that fascinated them.

And I realized. It was the first time I had been just happy, excited, in the months since losing Emma. I remembered all those ideas Emma helped me with in high school, how we gushed over stories like that. I remembered what it was like to just love something and want to create, just because it made you happy.

I knew I couldn’t go back to UNCA, and none of the other creative writing programs I had looked at seemed like they would fit the new person I was.

So, for the hell of it, looking for some idea at how to start my life over, I looked at Ngozi’s personal story. And there was SCAD. There was sequential art.

Now. I’d never ever considered myself an artist. I went to an art high school, I knew art kids. I was never one of them. But that sequential part? That. THAT was what I wanted. That was what I could still be excited about.

That was how I could pull the Mixtape Project together. The writing, the poems, the art, the music. Comics. Sequential art. A graphic memoir that played with the format. That was the project that kept me going. That was what I was working for. That was the first future I was able to see now that Emma was gone.

So, for the first time since literally elementary school, I took an art class (also took a mythology class at the same time, which really helped keep my art and storytelling tied).

I loved it. I was actually happy with my work, surprised by my work and how quickly I felt like I improved (I wouldn’t learn about aphantasia until I got to SCAD, and understand that that drawing 1 class had been so fun, and in a way, easy, because it was all direct observation, and that drawing from memory and imagination would be a much steeper learning curve for me.)

So, when the class ended I thought ‘you know, maybe some kind of art school could be a good idea.’

And then one of my life long best friends, a SCAD animation student, encouraged me to apply, to just go for it.

And I did. It was a long shot, I was sure. We couldn’t afford it. Why would I get that in that kind of commitment, debt, after 1 art class? It wasn’t logical. But it felt good. So I did.

And then I got accepted, and the initial excitement soon fell away, to me and my parents knowing that it really wasn’t doable.

But we went to admitted students day, just to see. And when we got home, both of my parents cried for a long time. The first happy cry in our house for over two years.

Because they had decided that they had to figure out a way to make it work.

Because standing in Haymans hall was the first time they had seen me excited about the future since Emma died. It was the first time they’d seen me feel like there was somewhere I was meant to be, that there was somewhere I could fit again.

So we made it happen. I’ll still be in debt for years, and it’s not necessarily something I’d wholeheartedly recommend to kids getting out of high school, that debt isn’t worth it for many people.

For me it wasn’t really even worth it exactly for SCAD itself, and you’ll have plenty of professors tell you here that really what you pay for isn’t the education but the networking.

But for me. For me it was worth it.

Because I wasn’t wasting away in my basement.

And I really wasn’t where I’d have liked to have been, ideally, before starting. I was a BRAND new artist. My portfolio for my application was solely my writing work. I hadn’t ever done anything more than scribbled fan comics in my sketchbook. I was coming in wayyyyy behind where most other people were. But I couldn’t wait to feel like I was good enough to be there. There was a strong chance that it was quite literally, a matter of survival. I was reaching a breaking point after nearly three years of isolation and grief with no outlet. The future debt was less of a concern than making sure I didn’t have a complete mental breakdown or worse.

Now, of course, it hasn’t all been easy or fun or happy once I got here. I’ve doubted myself, I’ve had awful weeks, months, been stressed, unmotivated, in pain, near burnout.

The first quarter I was absolutely miserable because I had literally no social life.

Because I was an agoraphobic 23 yr old, living with 17/18 yr olds fresh out of high school. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d dissociate so easily. I’d let myself believe that I was still a teenager fresh from high school. That the past three years of agony hadn’t happened. That I could call Emma and it would ring again. She would answer again. And that illusion was a dangerous pit to fall into.

And it wasn’t until this fall that my social life really started to improve, beyond one or two close friends. And even still, while it’s much better, it’s nothing like UNCA, like the tight knit family I had that made me identify with SMH and the Haus atmosphere so much.

But I was moving forward. Agonizingly slowly sometimes. But still forward.

And then last Spring quarter, just about a year ago, I was in Survey for SEQA. Basically comic book history class. And our final was a 4 page research comic on a comic artist we admired. So of course, I was going to do mine on Ngozi.

The comic was due at the end of the quarter, the end of May.

Now, that quarter was the first time I was actually in SEQA classes; Survey, and Intro.

And those four pages would be the first fully colored, refined comic pages I had EVER done. It was intimidating. I didn’t want to mess it up. Especially because this wasn’t some big name of some far off artist you would never have any connection to. This was someone who all my professors knew.

I ended up getting extremely lucky and had the chance to email Ngozi and ask if she’d be able to give for a quote for the project, advice for current SCAD students.

She replied to my email the weekend of the 3rd anniversary. (I then spent hours on a thank you email - because that’s who I am, I can’t not over analyze anything I’m sending to someone important - and then I managed to save it to drafts instead of actually sending it...something I would not notice until literally months later and be absolutely mortified about my apparent rudeness of never thanking her.)

I still am not really happy with how that project came out. I still had (and have) a lot to learn, and it shows. I have, in no way, become an amazing comic artist overnight. I wasn’t expecting to.

But that short email exchange, falling on that weekend; it felt special. It felt like some speck of proof that I was doing the right thing. That things could actually go well in my life again. That if I kept going, I might actually get somewhere that I wanted to be. That maybe I really could make The Mixtape Project happen, if I just kept at it here.

And then I found out that in the fall, Ngozi would be the SEQA mentor.

Unfortunately by the time I had all the details about how to apply, the quarter had started and there were only a couple of weeks before it was due, and the only pages I had even anywhere close to being portfolio ready were either my research comic or a few older Check Please fan comics, none of which I would even have considered putting in that portfolio (I’m not 100% certain it would actually have come across as sucking up but it sure felt like it would have). And despite my best efforts, it just wasn’t possible, with how slow I work and having to keep up with classwork, for me to get a portfolio ready in time.

That hurt for a while. I felt like I had this clear sign of perfect timing. How could I pass up that chance? How could I forgive myself for not doing everything I could to earn that experience? How was I not letting Emma down if I ruined this opportunity?

It took a while to get out of that negative thought spiral. But I did, and it’s still a bummer, but it’s okay.

And something that really helped?

In October, Ngozi still came to campus to give a lecture. And that would have been good enough; just sitting in on that helped me feel excited, encouraged again. But then, after the lecture (with my amazing roommate waiting patiently behind with me, to make sure I didn’t actually have a panic attack on the way home) I got to talk to her.

We all hope to one day get to talk to the people who inspired us, whose work we love, to tell them how much they mean to us. And yes, I was a little version of starstruck.

But that wasn’t why I was shaking. That wasn’t why I told her I was going to do my best to get this out without crying (and I did, I’m proud to say).

It was because I had the opportunity, while at the school that had given me a chance to start my life again, to thank the woman who was in all likelihood, one of the main reasons I was even still alive. If it had not been for Check Please I wouldn’t have had that good thing to keep sharing with Emma. I wouldn’t have found sequential art, at least not for a while longer probably. I wouldn’t have been able to finally picture a future I wanted to get to.

And I’ll be honest, I don’t remember 90% of what I actually said that night to Ngozi.

But I told her my story. I told her about Emma. About how Check Please was the last thing we got to share. I thanked her. And she was wonderful and kind and emotional and hugged me a couple of times, and even though I don’t remember a lot of what I actually said; it was something that will be one of the most important, affirming moments of my life.

I didn’t have a panic attack on the way home. I somehow managed to not cry until we were back to our dorm. But I was stunned.

Not even because of the amazing moment I had been able to have with Ngozi.

But because it hit me.

I was doing it. I was there. I had actually made it this far.

Somewhere that just over a year ago I never would have believed was possible.

A time when, two years before, I hadn’t even been sure I could make it to alive.

That weekend was my 24th birthday. And it was the first birthday since I left UNCA at 19, that I didn’t just hate the fact that I was getting older. That I was moving away from the happiest parts of my life so far.

Yes it still hurt getting further from Emma, putting another tick on the years that I got that she didn’t.

But I was actually finally excited at the idea of even having a future, let alone having an idea of what it could be.

February was a difficult month for me. I have another (entirely way too long) post about why everything that happened with RWBY and Fairgame was so difficult for me, but to put it simply; my hope for the future was shaken.

I was back in the toxic negative thought spirals I had fought for years to train myself out of.

I was seeing Emma, or her brother, or her mom, in crowds; something I hadn’t experienced since the first few months after the crash. I was in one of the biggest crisis moments I’d had since Emma’s death.

But I was more experienced than when I was 20.

It wasn’t fun, a lot of it probably wasn’t the ideal way to cope, but I did it. And I kept up with my work. I isolated more, but not completely. I made myself vent on snapchat or tumblr, and not worry about oversharing or annoying people, because it was either get it out or let it fester in my head. And I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

In mid March, I made a pitch packet for my comic scripting final.

It was for The Mixtape Project. It was hard, and nerve-wracking, and there’s still mountains of work to be done.

But after my initial synopsis (first of like seven versions, cause trying to put this thing in a good synopsis format is a nightmare) my professor told me that he thought my story had potential.

That he could see it being published. He suggested, knowing that I was planning on taking his advanced scripting course this quarter (hey remember how mid march was only a few weeks ago?? Huh?? wild), that I keep working on it, and see about taking it to Editor’s day (SEQA students’ opportunity to basically pitch themselves and their ideas to publishers).

Now, my professor is by no means an overly harsh critic, and is plenty supportive in general.

But I also knew that that was not just something he said to students all the time. That he meant it.

Editor’s Day (now online) is in mid May. The week of the 4th anniversary of Emma’s death, to be exact.

Everything is a mess right now, and I’m stressed and tired and scared and heartbroken (this will be the first time since I was 9 that I have not had Merlefest; the highlight of my year, and since Emma’s death; the last big happy thing before I plunge into the nightmare that is May).

Tuesday will come. Check Please will end. I will continue to support Ngozi and her work after Bitty’s story ends.

But it will be sad. It won’t be easy.

This thing that has been my tether to the most important person in my life, will still be there, but it will be over.

It will have a concrete end. It will no longer be part of the future I am pushing towards.

But I am a different person than the shattered kid who wrote this post four years ago.

I’m not who I was before Emma died. I never will be. I’d never try to be. I want Emma back more than anything. But that won’t happen. And as long as this is all real, I never want to pretend this didn’t happen.

That I didn’t shatter in a way that will never heal like people expect.

I’m still all those shattered pieces that wrote this post. Maybe a few have had the edges dulled, maybe I’ve lost a few, glued a few together perfectly, maybe picked up a few stray pieces that didn’t come from the me from before.

But I will be those shattered pieces for the rest of my life.

They won’t magically fuse back together. I work every day to hold them, to keep myself in some shape that resembles a functioning person.

Some days I fail. Some days, I am too tired to even try. Some days, I am so angry, I’d rather hurl the pieces at whatever power or fate or god or chaos decided that I got to live and she didn’t.

But those days pass.

And I learn how to hold the pieces better, how to avoid the sharpest edges, how to take care of the wounds when I inevitably cut myself on one, how to allow other people to help me hold them, how to accept that some pieces may feel safe and smooth and comforting but they are traps, illusions that are the easy way to do things, but not the healthy way, not the way that will help me achieve my goals.

That person, made of all those unholdable pieces, four years ago, was staying alive for everyone else but themself.

And some days I still am.

For my parents. For Emma. For all the other queer, mentally ill, grieving kids and young adults and just people, who are looking for the same representation I was, who feel as alone as I still do so often.

But some days.

On those really good days.

I’m alive, carrying all those pieces, just because I want to be. For me.

I want to spin around in the morning, singing along to my bluegrass spotify. I want to get excited over finally figuring out how to write that line that was giving me so much trouble, or finish that sketch that I never thought I could manage. I want to hope that despite how awful everything seems, there’s still a good future out there. It’s still possible to be happy some days.

I want to cry because I get to see Jack and Bitty get the happy ending that me and Emma didn’t.

And now, unlike that version of me from four years ago, when it ends, I will have things still.

Things that I have worked everyday to reach, to deserve, to hold out to people and say

“Hey, sometimes everything hurts and you know that things will never be what they were, and parts of you will always miss that. But there are still things you can find that hurt less, that ease the hurt, that teach you how to better hold the hurt, to stop trying to say it doesn’t exist or trying to get rid of it completely and hating yourself when you can’t. You can still be hurt, be irreparably broken in so many places, and still find the happy things. You are still worthy of love, no matter how broken you are. Your worth is not tied to how much you are able to heal. You are worthy of so much love, just because you are still here, no matter how many tiny pieces you are in.”

The thing is, I will still always have a future that includes Emma. Because I couldn’t tell you exactly which of my pieces are from her, but so many of them are.

There is no version of me, from here on to the day I die, that does not have her influence embedded in every piece.

These days I try to be a little kinder to myself. It doesn’t always work, but I try.

Because, to Emma, I was Bitty. I radiated that “thing”.

Whether or not I saw it in myself, doesn’t matter, because she did.

But to me she was the one who radiated.

And she is a part of me. She can’t radiate that “thing” herself anymore.

But I can, at least I can try.

Because If this person I loved and trusted so immensely, saw something worth loving in me? There must be something there worth loving, right?

And if she is a part of me for the rest of my life, how can I hate myself? How can I do anything but keep going so that, even if just in my head, a part of her gets to keep going too.

My family and friends joke that every friend group I’ve ever had calls me something different. And really it’s not a joke. In middle school I was CB #4 (that’s a long, terribly embarrassing, story). In high school I was Pond (and many variations there of: Pondala, Pondy, Raindrop, Puddle, you get the picture). At UNCA, when I came out as nonbinary, I started going by Auden. When I went home it was back to Meagan; Meagan always felt right with my parents.

With Emma I was always Meagan. We were Meagan and Emma. Megma. Meagan and Emma have online adventures!

After she was gone, Meagan didn’t really feel like me anymore. I loved Meagan, I missed Meagan, I wished I could still really fully be Meagan, and I’m okay still being Meagan sometimes.

But that real Meagan. The Meagan that was Emma’s Meagan. Doesn’t exist anymore. I lost that Meagan somewhere in that first night of screaming and trying to break my hand against the wall, so I could just feel something other than the agony of Emma being gone.

When I joined a Check Please chat group, a few months after the crash, we gave each other hockey nicknames. I was Farley.

My second quarter at SCAD, I started going by Farley. It stuck.

That’s who this version of me is. This new artist, still figuring things out, but still going.

I may not always stay Farley (other than ya’know artist ‘branding’. We’ll see) but that’s okay. Farley is who I need to be right now.

Farley is who will finish The Mixtape Project.

(because of two people mishearing both my nickname and last name I will, at least once in my career, use the pseudonym Fartley McFarmland and no one will stop me).

I can’t imagine what, who, will come after Farley, if anything.

But Check Please will always be a part of making Farley, and every future version of me, exist.

I could go on and on about how beautiful this story and these characters are, how inspiring Ngozi is, how genius her storytelling is, how powerful and important her work is. I could go on for days about all of that. But this is already so long, and I know that so many of you can go on about that probably way better than I could currently.

But, as many of my professors tell us over and over, only I can tell this story. My story. Emma’s story. Our story. And it’s one I plan on telling for the rest of my life.

And Check Please, Ngozi, will forever be the thing that made that possible.

So thank you. Those two words that are way too small to say it all.

Thank you.

Every fic writer

Every artist

Every rper

Every chat friend

Every shitposter

Every theorist or meta poster

Every fan

Thank you.

B. “Shitty” Knight.

Larissa “Lardo” Duan

Adam “Holster” Birkholtz

Justin “Ransom” Oluransi

John Johnson

Ollie O'Meara

Pacer Wicks

Jenny and Mandy

Nicholas and Jean-Claude

Coach Hall

Coach Murray

Suzanne Bittle

Richard “Coach” Bittle

William “Dex” Poindexter

Derek “Nursey” Nurse

Chris “Chowder” Chow

Kent Parson

Alicia Zimmermann

“Bad” Bob Zimmermann

Tony “Tango” Tangredi

Connor “Whiskey” Whisk

Denice “Foxtrot” Ford

Fry Guy

Georgia “Georgie” Martin

Alexei “Tater” Mashkov

Sebastian “Marty” St. Martin

Dustin “Snowy” Snow

Poots

Randall “Thirdy” Robinson

Jonathan “Hops” Hopper

River “Bully” Bullard

Lukas “Louis” Landmann

(I’m almost certain I had to have missed someone)

Thank you.

Jack “Zimmboni” Laurent Zimmermann

Thank you.

Eric “Bitty” Richard Bittle

Thank you.

Ngozi Ukazu

Thank you. For everything.

For having my back. I’ll always have yours.

Always yours,

Farley M.

#Check Please #omgcp #my person #my writing #meagan and emma have online adventures #-slaps me- you can fit so many confused emotions in this thing

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kyliexc · 4 years

Text

AYOOOOOO, it me, mini from the blockkk ~ and im here to give you a very bratty kid. she’s rude, unfiltered, ride or die and a hell of a fighter. truly, i hate her but i hope you enjoy her and i wanna plot with everyone new and old pls.

chicago’s very own kylie castillo has been spotted on madison avenue driving a bentley continental gt, welcome ! your resemblance to becky g is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty first birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re hot tempered , but being brave might help you . i think being an aries explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be a bottle of patron, messy makeup brushes and a joint. & ( female + she/her ) + ( mini , 23, she/her , est )

We got a pinterest board right here ! Besides that, give this a like and i’ll mssge u!

Basic Information

Full Name: kylie valentina castillo

Nickname(s): ky, kyky, k, kybby

Age: 21

Height: 5 ft

Date of Birth: April 15th 1998

Zodiac sign: aries

Hogwarts house: slythindor (slytherin + gryffindor)

Ethnicity: mexican

Nationality: american

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bisexual

Religion: agnostic-catholic

Tattoos: a peach on her ass, #2 tramp stamp and canon becky g tattoos

Language(s) Spoken: english + spanish

Accent: american with a hint of spanish

Favourites

Weather: fall

Colour: yellow or pink

Music: sebastian yatra, reik, travis scott,

Movies: halloween or selena

Sport: soccer, basketball, hockey, volleyball

Beverage: tequila

Food: chicken or carne asada tacos

Animal: lions + dogs

Family

Father: alejandro castillo, soccer player (jersey #7)

Mother: lupe castillo (molina), seamstress/designer

Sibling(s): ricky castillo

Step Siblings: jesse james altera, elissa altera

Pet(s): sushi and lola (dogs)

BIOGRAPHY

FAMILY HISTORY

kylie castillo is 2nd generation American, meaning that both pair of her grandparents immigrated to the United States a looong time ago from Mexico, and both her parents grew up in the USA.

Her dad, alejandro castillo grew up in Los Angelos, California working to be a big time soccer player, and he got scouted but he ended up playing for MEXICO, and when he wasn’t playing for the official team, he played for Barcelona FC. So her dad made a name for himself in soccer.

Her mom, lupe castillo molina grew up in Chicago, Illinois. She went to school and started up her own fashion brand, it was small and slowly growing as she was working as a seamstress for different companies all over Chicago. It took awhile to take off, but it did, and she had a shop in Spain bc she was illegal in the US and it was easier to stay in Spain and gain citizenship. ANYWAY, her shop blew up in Europe before getting big in the US.

Both met in Barcelona where lupe was just a fan. it suddenly became more after they got pregnant, and after they married with their first child they decided to settle in Chicago.

They were together until Kylie was 12 years old and her mom started seeing angelo altera, eventually marrying him for a few years. This means that she’s step siblings with lennon james and elissa altera!

That marriage didn’t last that long, so right now both her parents are single, separated and living in different households that share the same customs. EXCEPT, kylie’s mom and dad seem to be sorta reconciling~

lupe castillo currently lives in New York for her step kids and kids while alejandro castillo still resides in Chicago, and sometimes Los Angelos.

WHO IS KYLIE CASTILLO?

kylie was born in Chicago and she had a pretty normal childhood. she grew up in a house with her parents, siblings and grandparents under one household, growing up with hispanic traditions. She grew up speaking latin american spanish meaning she’s bilingual and is 100% PROUD of her ethnicity even though she has been told the typical slurs from ignorant people, but you know, it happens. it’s really only made her stronger as a person.

kylie has always been the closest to her dad and he implemented not just in kylie but in all of his kids that if you work hard you can achieve anything. to not let anyone tell you that you can’t do things. this was especially true with sports. ofc having a soccer player for a dad, kylie was automatically interested in soccer, all of her siblings were and are. they were known as the sports family on the block.

while her dad taught her sports and to toughen up in any situation, by no means does this mean she was a tomboy. she can play a game of soccer in 6 inch heels. if you don’t think so, she’ll prove it to you! So while her soccer interest grew, her mom would introduce kylie to clothes, makeup, cooking. all of that stuff so kylie always knew to be presentable. ‘let them judge you by what you wear so you can prove them wrong with who you are.’ is one of a thousand quotes her mom would tell her about life.

even if kylie grew up comfortable and in a good position, her parents instilled the value that you gotta work hard to get what you want. if you don’t implement blood, sweat and tears, you haven’t earned it. So if you know kylie, she’s a partier mixed with a workaholic sometimes mixed with a UFC Fighter dEKJGDKJFSGH

When her parents broke up, she went on a rebellious streak, more of a streak than the one she’s always on. she had family that weren’t the safest but for kylie it was safe. so she got involved with some shady characters, and she’s done some stufffffffffff. hmu if you wanna know more. FKJGHDFKHGJ that went on for awhile, she was wildin and she settled into her new home with her step siblings and step dad.

Kylie is still very much closer to her dad than her mom but she loves them both, bouncing between houses and states (since her mom lives in NYC now) to hang out with each of them often.

In a grand total, she’s a problem child that just likes to have fun.

CAREER

There was at one point where she wanted to be a soccer player like her dad but for a women’s team. although there were times growing up where she would definitely show guys she could kick their asses in the sport. she still can!

When her dad found out what she wanted, he made sure and he worked with her everyday to make her a better player, EXCEPT, kylie overworks herself, A LOT, even when her dad didn’t schedule practices. it didn’t work out for her in the end because during a game she really messed up her knee where she had to give up the sport.

She was DEVASTATED, and she moped for about a day before she found something else, which was makeup. She actually rlly slowly got into it, watching tutorials, practicing on her lita’s, siblings, tia’s, mom, etc. By networking through her mom’s connections, she landed a couple of gigs to do makeup for a couple of backstage things and movie productions. she was getting around to a lot of stuff.

For awhile she was an MUA, and works with a lot of different people. she doesn’t care who you are as long as you’re chill, but then she wanted to try something different and went into music. She is step siblings to lennon james, and there is a lot of musical influence in her life, so of course she was going to dip into that.

Her style of music is primarily in spanish, targeting that market and since it’s being big in the US, she’s definitely one of the prominent artists since she’s one of the few born in America that makes this type of music. So currently she’s working out stuff with music, working on collaborations, and then doing things in other fields.

Kylie doesn’t believe in limiting herself, if she wants to do something, she’ll do it. She also very much loves to work with charities and going to marches for things she believes in, using her platform for things like that ... even if she isn’t the best person to look up to.

PERSONALITY

kylie is literally F I E R C E. she’s got two types of personalities, one where she’s a home body and loves her family, will beat you in a quick game of soccer. she’s that bubbly girl with the laughter, sarcastic remarks followed by a smirk at the end of it

BUT

she is also that girl that when it’s time to work, she is scary. she knows what she wants, she knows how she wants it and she will get flustered when it’s not like that. she’s got a whole ‘that BIIITCH’ personality, like when she’s on the red carpet, she just has it going for her kind of thing.

but she’s a goof, and that’s something everyone will notice. she loves to make people laugh and smile.

if you’re an asshole, those are her favorite types where she’s just drawn to those people. she really does love a challenge.

A big thing for her is she is really hot tempered. talk shit get hit, is kinda her thing. if you wanna start an argument, don’t expect to come out of it without a scratch on you when you’re with kylie. she just has that mentality that if you don’t wanna talk it out she already has her hands up to start swinging.

If you’re close to her, she will ADORE YOU. This girl is ride or die for anyone she loves, she doesn’t care what you did, or how other people perceive you. if you’re close with kylie, that’s all she cares about. she’s too loyal.

connections?

old school friends

old school enemies

makeup clientele

squad?

ride or die

drunk friends

sibling like friends

exes ( good + bad + messy + angsty )

crushes ?

former lovers to friends

um, anything? let’s brainstorm ! :)

#i wrote a whole ass novel again #some things changed #ish #FDKJGHDKF #wealthyhq:intro

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