#i mean it's set in toronto but so is everything
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Top Shelf Love: Prologue
A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU.
For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek
Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part
Nesta
Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.
The city that never sleeps indeed.
The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.
“Nesta! You finally made it!”
It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.
So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.
“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.
“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.
Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.
“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.
“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.
Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.
Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.
But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.
“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”
“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”
It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”
“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”
“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”
“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”
“At least they make the playoffs.”
Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”
“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”
“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.
“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”
“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.
“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.
“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.
“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”
Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.
“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.
Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.
“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.
“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.
“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”
“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”
Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”
“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.
“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”
“Emerie and Gwyn did.”
Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.
It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.
But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’
Cassian Valdarez.
Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.
Nesta had done a lot of staring.
Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.
“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.
“And what?”
“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”
Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”
“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”
“Feyre, don’t you think—”
“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”
“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”
Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.
Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.
“Looking for me, sweetheart?”
The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.
“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.
Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.
He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.
“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”
“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”
“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”
Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.
The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.
Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?
“You know what they say. No time like the present.”
“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”
Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”
Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”
“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”
Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”
“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”
“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”
“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.
“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”
Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.
She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.
Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.
She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.
“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.
Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”
Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.
“Wait. Where are the keys?”
“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”
Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.
And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.
—
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies
#NestaWeek2024#nessian#nesta archeron#cassian#acotar#acosf#nessian fanfiction#nessian fic#nesta x cassian#hockey cassian#top shelf love#my fic
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Since netflix has to have a certain percentage of canadian shows now I'm watching more canadian tv and a lot of these shows are just dropped all at once and what I'm saying is I'm binge watching a hospital show with ghosts that aired in 2012 and it's not bad
#i mean it's set in toronto but so is everything#also the government guy from Murdoch mysteries is there and he's a psychic/mediun#saving hope
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Lies, damned lies, and Uber
I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 10-11), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!
Uber lies about everything, especially money. Oh, and labour. Especially labour. And geometry. Especially geometry! But especially especially money. They constantly lie about money.
Uber are virtuosos of mendacity, but in Toronto, the company has attained a heretofore unseen hat-trick: they told a single lie that is dramatically, materially untruthful about money, labour and geometry! It's an achievement for the ages.
Here's how they did it.
For several decades, Toronto has been clobbered by the misrule of a series of far-right, clownish mayors. This was the result of former Ontario Premier Mike Harris's great gerrymander of 1998, when the city of Toronto was amalgamated with its car-dependent suburbs. This set the tone for the next quarter-century, as these outlying regions – utterly dependent on Toronto for core economic activity and massive subsidies to pay the unsustainable utility and infrastructure bills for sprawling neighborhoods of single-family homes – proceeded to gut the city they relied on.
These "conservative" mayors – the philanderer, the crackhead, the sexual predator – turned the city into a corporate playground, swapping public housing and rent controls for out-of-control real-estate speculation and trading out some of the world's best transit for total car-dependency. As part of that decay, the city rolled out the red carpet for Uber, allowing the company to put as many unlicensed taxis as they wanted on the city's streets.
Now, it's hard to overstate the dire traffic situation in Toronto. Years of neglect and underinvestment in both the roads and the transit system have left both in a state of near collapse and it's not uncommon for multiple, consecutive main arteries to shut down without notice for weeks, months, or, in a few cases, years. The proliferation of Ubers on the road – driven by desperate people trying to survive the city's cost-of-living catastrophe – has only exacerbated this problem.
Uber, of course, would dispute this. The company insists – despite all common sense and peer-reviewed research – that adding more cars to the streets alleviates traffic. This is easily disproved: there just isn't any way to swap buses, streetcars, and subways for cars. The road space needed for all those single-occupancy cars pushes everything further apart, which means we need more cars, which means more roads, which means more distance between things, and so on.
It is an undeniable fact that geometry hates cars. But geometry loathes Uber. Because Ubers have all the problems of single-occupancy vehicles, and then they have the separate problem that they just end up circling idly around the city's streets, waiting for a rider. The more Ubers there are on the road, the longer each car ends up waiting for a passenger:
https://www.sfgate.com/technology/article/Uber-Lyft-San-Francisco-pros-cons-ride-hailing-13841277.php
Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops. After years of bumbling-to-sinister municipal rule, Toronto finally reclaimed its political power and voted in a new mayor, Olivia Chow, a progressive of long tenure and great standing (I used to ring doorbells for her when she was campaigning for her city council seat). Mayor Chow announced that she was going to reclaim the city's prerogative to limit the number of Ubers on the road, ending the period of Uber's "self-regulation."
Uber, naturally, lost its shit. The company claims to be more than a (geometrically impossible) provider of convenient transportation for Torontonians, but also a provider of good jobs for working people. And to prove it, the company has promised to pay its drivers "120% of minimum wage." As I write for Ricochet, that's a whopper, even by Uber's standards:
https://ricochet.media/en/4039/uber-is-lying-again-the-company-has-no-intention-of-paying-drivers-a-living-wage
Here's the thing: Uber is only proposing to pay 120% of the minimum wage while drivers have a passenger in the vehicle. And with the number of vehicles Uber wants on the road, most drivers will be earning nothing most of the time. Factor in that unpaid time, as well as expenses for vehicles, and the average Toronto Uber driver stands to make $2.50 per hour (Canadian):
https://ridefair.ca/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Legislated-Poverty.pdf
Now, Uber's told a lot of lies over the years. Right from the start, the company implicitly lied about what it cost to provide an Uber. For its first 12 years, Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar it brought in, lighting tens of billions in investment capital provided by the Saudi royals on fire in an effort to bankrupt rival transportation firms and disinvestment in municipal transit.
Uber then lied to retail investors about the business-case for buying its stock so that the House of Saud and other early investors could unload their stock. Uber claimed that they were on the verge of producing a self-driving car that would allow them to get rid of drivers, zero out their wage bill, and finally turn a profit. The company spent $2.5b on this, making it the most expensive Big Store in the history of cons:
https://www.theinformation.com/articles/infighting-busywork-missed-warnings-how-uber-wasted-2-5-billion-on-self-driving-cars
After years, Uber produced a "self-driving car" that could travel one half of one American mile before experiencing a potentially lethal collision. Uber quietly paid another company $400m to take this disaster off its hands:
https://www.economist.com/business/2020/12/10/why-is-uber-selling-its-autonomous-vehicle-division
The self-driving car lie was tied up in another lie – that somehow, automation could triumph over geometry. Robocabs, we were told, would travel in formations so tight that they would finally end the Red Queen's Race of more cars – more roads – more distance – more cars. That lie wormed its way into the company's IPO prospectus, which promised retail investors that profitability lay in replacing every journey – by car, cab, bike, bus, tram or train – with an Uber ride:
https://www.reuters.com/article/idUSKCN1RN2SK/
The company has been bleeding out money ever since – though you wouldn't know it by looking at its investor disclosures. Every quarter, Uber trumpets that it has finally become profitable, and every quarter, Hubert Horan dissects its balance sheets to find the accounting trick the company thought of this time. There was one quarter where Uber declared profitability by marking up the value of stock it held in Uber-like companies in other countries.
How did it get this stock? Well, Uber tried to run a business in those countries and it was such a total disaster that they had to flee the country, selling their business to a failing domestic competitor in exchange for stock in its collapsing business. Naturally, there's no market for this stock, which, in Uber-land, means you can assign any value you want to it. So that one quarter, Uber just asserted that the stock had shot up in value and voila, profit!
https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2022/02/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-twenty-nine-despite-massive-price-increases-uber-losses-top-31-billion.html
But all of those lies are as nothing to the whopper that Uber is trying to sell to Torontonians by blanketing the city in ads: the lie that by paying drivers $2.50/hour to fill the streets with more single-occupancy cars, they will turn a profit, reduce the city's traffic, and provide good jobs. Uber says it can vanquish geometry, economics and working poverty with the awesome power of narrative.
In other words, it's taking Toronto for a bunch of suckers.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible
Image:
Rob Sinclair (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Night_skyline_of_Toronto_May_2009.jpg
CC BY 2.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#uber#hubert horan#fraud#toronto#geometry hates cars#urbanism#ontpoli#olivia chow#self-regulation#transport#urban planning#taxis#transit#urban theory#labor#algorithmic wage discrimination#veena dubal
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THE BEST DAY
summary: older hughes sister and her mama ellen hughes ⭐️
pairings: ellen hughes x daughter!hughes!reader
fluff fluff fluff its also lowkey so bad n short
five years old
it was getting cold in toronto. your big coat fell to your knees as you looked up at your mom with a big grin on your face. she held your seven month old brother as your father held quinn’s hands, helping him skate.
you carefully moved around on the ice, scared to fall. you do well for a solid few seconds before falling straight on your butt, causing your mom to laugh.
instead of crying, you look up smiling at her, immediately getting up from the ice. you quickly skate past her before slipping again. another laugh erupts from your mothers throat.
the sky is slowly turning gold as it sets, signaling it was time to go home. you whine as your mom takes your skates off.
your dad holds baby jack now. quinn is sitting beside you, legs kicking back and forth as he waits for help. your mom slides your boots on and immediately you get off the bench, hugging her legs with a whine.
“i dont want to leave yet.” you groaned. your words muffled due to her pants. she just chuckled and helped quinn.
then, on the ride home, you were fast asleep.
when you woke up, you still had five minutes left until you got home, and both quinn and jack were asleep.
you wondered why the trees changed colors over time, watching them as you passed by each and every one.
you also wondered how your mom wasnt scared that your dad was driving, he speeds!
you rub your eyes.
“i had the best day today” you yawned.
thirteen years old
your friends were mean. really mean. they kicked you from the lunch table, stopped inviting you to hangouts. every class you had with them, they’d ignore you or leave you alone during partner projects.
it came to the point where you were crying as you got home. you opened the door, tears falling down your cheeks as you threw your bag to the floor.
upon hearing the sound, your mother rushed towards you. “hey, hey, honey whats wrong?” she asked.
she immediately pulled you into an embrace. you cried on her shoulder, “why are they all so mean mama? im nothing but nice!” you cried.
she sighed and held you tight. when she pulled away, her hands stayed on your shoulders. “lets go for a drive, okay?” she spoke.
you nodded and wiped your tears as she grabbed the keys.
you both drove and drove until you were a few towns away, where no one would know you guys. you talked, and talked, and talked.
you told her everything that had been going on. everything that they were saying and doing to you. after ranting, she took you window shopping until you forgot all of their names.
when you made it home, you got scared. who were you gonna talk to at school? but then you remembered, you still have the laughter when you’re with your mom.
it may take awhile to feel better but,
“i had the best day with you.” you told.
you have an excellent father. one whos strength makes you stronger. one whos smarts may not always be at its peak but hits it every now and then. one whos cared for you to his very core.
you have perfect younger brothers, who you believe are better than you, inside and out. but altogether you guys are a perfect family.
you grew up in a pretty home, one where you had space to run and hide, and call yours. one where you were able to paint your room a bright pink.
and that place, was where you had the best days of your life.
twenty five years old
you were searching through your old stuff. there you found a camera and immediately you got to charging it. you were three, your mother was still pregnant with quinn.
she set up your paint set in the kitchen, knowing it’d be easier to pick up. in the video, she talked to you. asked what you were painting. to which you responded, “a princess!”
it was a bad painting of a princess on a pirate ship, a really bad painting. so bad, you laughed through your tears as you watched it in your lonesome apartment.
the camera zoomed in to your mother, your father obviously being the one to take the video. shes the prettiest lady in the whole wide world.
now you know why the trees change colors. you know your mother was on your side, even when you were wrong, like when you pushed a kid for calling a teacher ‘stupid’ in the fourth grade.
you were grateful for her, for her watching you shine and become who you were today. you dont know if she knows, but, you always had the best days with her.
ynhughes
liked by elblue_06, jackhughes and others
ynhughes you always know how to make me laugh. miss u mama, better visit more
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is this like.,, good..,
tags; @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @outrunangelss , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @p3nislawd , @queenmendes , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot ,
#hockey#jack hughes#nhl imagine#nhl hockey#nhl#new jersey#new jersey devils#quinn hughes#luke hughes#ellen hughes#older hughes sister#hughes sister
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John Lennon talking about "the Beatles break up" in 1970
Breakdown:
Jann asks about the Beatles break up and John says he told Paul he is leaving (like they are the only two people in the band?)
Paul was still making a lot of plans for the band but John was already being stubborn about everything.
Paul probably thought he could/would do damage control while John has not made the announcement yet.
John saying he wasn't angry and then saying "not angry in that way" (what way then, John?) and then slipping to "we" were angry.
Paul calling John on the phone the same day (after crying his heart out for an hour) declaring : he can do the same "John and Yoko" thing
John answering like he was going to be ok with it.
Jann Wenner: You said you quit The Beatles first.
John: Yeah.
Jann Wenner: How?
John:
Well, I said to Paul, I'm leaving.
We're in Apple and I just on the way over to. I knew before I went to Toronto, I told Alan I was leaving. I told Eric Clapton and Klaus that I was leaving and I'd like to probably use them as a group, you know, and it hadn't decided how to do it, to have a permanent new group or or what. And then later on I thought, fuck, I'm not going to get stuck with another set of people in it, whoever they are. So, but I I announced it to myself and to the people around me on the way to Toronto the few days before. And on the plane, Alan came with me. I told Alan, you know, it's over. And then when I got back there was a few meetings and Alan had said, well, cool it cool it because there was a lot to do, you know, business wise it wouldn't have been suitable at the time, you know.
And then we were discussing something in the office with Paul, and Paul said something other, like like to do something or. And I kept saying no, no, no to everything, he said, you see. So it came to a point. I had to say something, of course. And well, what do you mean then? So I said, I mean the group's over, I'm leaving.
And but Alan was there. He'll remember exactly, and she will. This is my how I see it. Alan was saying don't tell.
He didn't want me to tell Paul even you know (pause). And but I couldn't help. So I thought I was out. I couldn't stop.
It came out and Paul and Alan said they were glad that I wasn't going to announce it, that I was going to make an event out of it. Right, but Paul and Alan both. I don't know whether Paul said don't tell anybody, but he was damn pleased that I wasn't, you know, he said, Oh well, that means nothing really happened if you're not going to say anything.
So that's what happened. Well, I mean, like, like anybody when you say divorce, you know, their face goes all sorts of colours. It's like he knew what really that this was the final thing, you know?
And then six months later, he comes out with whatever, you know, I told Ray Connolly. So there's a lot of people knew I'd left, but I was a fool not to do it, you know? Not to do what Paul did, which is use it to sell a record.
Jann Wenner: You were really angry at Paul.
John: No, I wasn't angry. But when he came out with his, I'm leaving. Well, I wasn't angry. I was just shit, you know, I mean, he's a good PR man, Paul. I mean, he's about the best in the world, probably. He really does a job.
I was just. I wasn't angry in that way. I was. We were all hurt that he didn't tell us.
That what he was going to do. But he, I think he claims that he didn't mean that to happen, but that's bullshit. He called me in the afternoon of that day and said I'm doing what you and Yoko were doing last year. And I said good, you know.
Mal Evans during an interview in 1975
MAL (Source): And then… John left. And I remember that well. That was really, truly a heartbreaking experience. We were in Apple, at 3 Savile Row, and John said – “It’s over.” You know? And I drove Paul home. And we got to Paul’s house, and
he spent the next hour in the house crying his eyes out.
And I just wandered around the garden like a lost soul, just crying. It was the end of the world. It was like the end of The Wizard of Oz – when she gets back to the black-and-white reality. All the colour had gone out of life.
#Mclennon Dynamic#John Lennon#Paul Mccartney#Mclennon#1970#The Beatles#things I read to hurt myself#gttr-beatles
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Renegade 2023 Bound Exchange: Strike Anywhere by Mad Lori
My recipient for the annual @renegadepublishing bound exchange this year was @sits-bound, which gave me the chance to explore some new Schitt's Creek fic!
Strike Anywhere by @madlori is a Schitt's Creek AU, where Patrick is a firefighter in Toronto, and David is a municipal engineer called in to consult on structural issues at fire scenes. They HATE each other on first sight, fight constantly… and inevitable end up secretly hooking up… and then secretly dating… and then secretly married, too embarrassed to admit it to their coworkers.
I had fun with the theme for this one, and used a blueprint image for the endpapers, and so many flames. So many! I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end, but there was a moment where things VERY MUCH had not gone to plan.
I like how the case turned out in particular! Too bad that I then had to cut the entire text block out of it and add sixty missing pages the day I planned to put it in the mail.
So let me set the scene. It's Dec 28. Exchange books are due in the mail Jan 1. I have spent several hours the day before finishing off stenciling the cover and spine of both books I'm sending, and am taking pictures before I package everything up.
I flip to the back of the second book, and… huh. I know I formatted the AO3 metadata at the back of the book. Did I miss a page somehow?
It is then that I realize that something has gone badly wrong. On checking the typeset… my printed book ends at page 216. The typeset ends on page 277.
I got the textblock out of the case, sacrificing the endpapers, but with everything else intact. Realized that my pre-cut textblock paper was still sitting on my desk at work. Decided fuck it, I need to reprint the endpapers anyhow, and skulked in to use the big colour copier, even though I was on vacation.
The signatures fit into the case! Some funky cutting and gluing was required to take out the few duplicate pages and the blank pages from the original, make some tabs out of the edges, and glue it all in.
The mull did not come off as well as the endpapers, but it DID come off.
I cut off the sewn endbands, and the bookmark, glue everything back together, and trek back into work the next day to use the big guillotine and retrim the textblock.
The edges are re-speckled! Sewn endbands would mean forcing the needle through multiple layers of glue, and time is tight, so I made endbands out of bookcloth to match the case.
And! It! Fits! Casing in actually went better the second time.
I DID get it into the mail by the deadline, and it safely arrived in @sits-bound's hands, so now I can share the saga. I still can't believe it fit back in the case.
#fanbinding#fic binding#schitt's creek#renegade bound exchange 2023#of narrowly averted disasters#and how I am too stubborn to admit defeat
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Someone Unexpected
Summary: Kira (OC) and Jack met through mutual friends (Nolan Patrick and Nico Heiser) unexpectedly one summer. Feeling an instant connection, they decide to go on a date. Nerves take over as the two set out on what might be their first date of many. **This is a continuation of Kira & Jack from Summer Rituals, it might be helpful to check that out! *Kira's thoughts have been italicized.
Part of the HEART FIRST Series
Note: Thank you so much for all the love on Summer Rituals, I am super excited to continue Kira and Jack's story! All of your support means a lot to me! I have a lot planned with them, if you want to be tagged let me know.
Warnings: mentions of drinking, past relationships
Word Count: 6k
Life can be surreal sometimes with the way things fall into place. There is this saying about dating that I’ve always hated, ‘you’ll meet someone when you least expect it’. That saying has always set me off because it's never been true. I have spent my fair share of time alone and in relationships with shitty guys; yet, I have never met the right one when I’m not looking for anything. That is, until now.
To say I didn’t expect to meet anyone, let alone Jack Hughes on what seemed like a normal summer day was an understatement. I thought it would be a quiet day on the boat where I could read and Nolan could fish. When I showed up at the docks this morning, there he was in all his glory. Despite being completely enamored with Jack from the moment our eyes locked, I kept a safe distance from him when we all got on the boat. If Nolan invited him, I’m sure he wouldn't be an asshole, but I’ve been hurt one too many times to let my guard down. The last guy though, he did a number on me and it took a lot of time for me to heal. Between the cheating, body shaming, and belittling I experienced with my ex I learned to be very wary about trusting men. Even though it's been two years since I left my ex, I’m just starting to feel like I’ve found myself again.
As a protective factor, I kept my distance from the starry-eyed forward and focused my attention on ensuring Nolan didn’t hit any other boats as he backed out of the marina. Still, I didn’t think anything would come from meeting Jack until he sat down beside me and asked me about the book in my beach bag. That question started everything…the perfect day spent getting to know the perfect guy. I explained to him that the book isn’t really a normal book, but it’s actually a collection of poetry.
“So the poems all flow together, but they aren’t about the exact same thing,” I tried to explain to Jack as I thumbed through the book to show him some examples. He was surprisingly eager to listen to my explanation of what was probably one of my favorite collections of poems. Normally guys don’t really care much about my interests…but maybe Jack is different.
“Okay, and they’re all about milk and honey?” Jack questioned while he processed what I was saying. I let out a hearty laugh at his statement; not because he was way off, but because he actually cared. A smile crept across Jack’s face, “what’s so funny?”
“Milk and Honey is the title, but not really the theme,” I smiled while crossing my legs to lean closer to Jack, already starting to warm to him. “They’re about relationships and healing actually.”
“Oh, that actually sounds pretty good,” Jack mirrored my movements, shuffling closer to me on the bench we were sharing.
“Thanks for caring,” I said softly, shooting Jack a more timid smile. Feeling myself retreat to my meek demeanor.
“You like it, of course I care,” the words slid out of his mouth so naturally. Jack Hughes might actually be different.
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about anything and everything. Movies, music, food, some horrific stories I had from my time as a bartender. We even got into deeper topics too; what it was like growing up in Toronto for him, why I decided to get my first degree and my second, what it was like growing up with two brothers, my differing thoughts on only having one brother, and of course, hockey. Despite being apprehensive when I first met him, he was quickly knocking down the walls I built around myself to stay safe.
“So I originally wanted the number 6, but someone already had it when I came to the team,” Jack explained to me after we had been spending some time discussing what it was like being drafted and playing his rookie year.
“How did you come up with 86 then?” I asked as the sun glinted on my sunglasses. It had been a long afternoon on the boat, but we didn’t care. Jack spent the whole time talking to me, even ignoring the offers to try out wake-surfing when the guys asked.
“Well Quinn wears 43 so I wanted something that tied me to him,” he smiled softly as he tucked his wavy hair behind his ear. The wind was starting to pick up as he attempted to keep his flow at bay.
“He must mean a lot to you,” my fingers brushed his arm as I instinctively reached for him to offer some form of reassurance. Sparks shot through me like lightning as we touched for the first time. As I glanced down to where we connected, Jack reached forward to tuck the stray hairs that had fallen in my eyes. Warmth went rushing to my cheeks as my eyes darted back to his, he was watching me closely.
Shaking his head, as if he was in a daze, he refocused. “They both do, just don’t tell them that,” he joked, his laughter sent fireworks through my body.
Somehow he could be so serious yet sarcastic at the same time. The conversation with him just flowed, it felt so normal. He felt so normal with me. I never imagined that someone who is considered a rising star in the NHL could be so normal with me. Nothing felt fake or ingenuine, it all felt natural and comfortable. Feeling this way with a guy was a completely foreign feeling for me. Jack Hughes was a completely unexpected addition to my life, but even in the 10 hours I’ve known him it is beyond clear to me that he is someone unexpected that I was meant to meet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a long day out on the water, everyone was happy to get out of the sunshine and back to Nolan’s cabin. Despite being initially hesitant around Jack, we had bonded so much on the boat that we were basically attached at the hip. He even came with me when I stopped by my families’ cabin so I could change into some clothes for the evening. In the 5 minutes we were in the cabin, Jack was practically glued to the wall of family photos. He kept shouting questions to me while I was in my room, “Kira is this you in the Mickey ears?”. He was surprised to find out that I used to be a dancer, knew how to play hockey, and that I have a niece. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as I gathered my things, Jack actually seemed passionate about learning more about me. He’s the first guy, probably ever, who has made that effort with me.
Jack and I walked back to Nolan’s cabin hand-in-hand, which captured the stares of our friends. I knew why my friends were surprised, I honestly haven’t shown any interest in another guy since my last breakup. I’m also not usually one for PDA, but there’s something about Jack that pushes me out of my comfort zone. We settled on a giant lawn chair big enough for two around the firepit and got cozy while everyone got ready to roast hotdogs. This was a typical summer night at the lake that I’ve always loved, with the welcome addition of Jack by my side.
As the night carried on, there was a slight chill in the nighttime breeze that sent shivers down my spine as I watched Nolan tend to the fire. Sensing my sudden chill, Jack pulled me into his side as we shared the plaid tattered blanket that was in the bed of Nolan’s truck. My body froze for a second at the sudden closeness of Jack, normally I was not one for any cuddling or closeness to any guy, let alone someone I just met. Yet as I gazed up into Jack’s soothing blue eyes, I relaxed almost instantly into his warmth. Our friends have been giving us both strange looks all day, clearly shocked at our instant connection. Cuddling under a blanket by the fire was sure to raise some eyebrows.
I didn’t care at all though, completely oblivious to the smirks and pointed looks of our friends as Jack and I settled into comfortable conversation while we roasted marshmallows for smores. Talking to Jack was so easy, maybe because I’ve never met a guy this interested in my life before. We spent the evening chatting about college, hockey, family, travel plans, and much more long after the sunset. We were so caught up in each other, we didn’t even notice that most of our friends had trickled inside or out to the dock.
Taking the final gulp of my beer while Jack told me a story about the lake house he was planning to buy with his brother, I finally noticed that Jack and I were alone by the fire as I set the bottle down. Glancing around over my shoulder to see where our friends had gone brought the same realization to Jack’s attention. Silence filled the air between us for a moment, tension buzzing between us like electricity.
“Soo…,” Jack trailed off as a smile graced his lips. “Guess they ditched us,” he smirked as my lips turned up into a smile to match his.
I let out a slightly nervous chuckle while I regained my bearings. Jack made me nervous, but not in a bad way. Not in the way I was uncomfortable with, but in a way that excited me. “Guess so, jerks,” I joked sarcastically. Jack let out a boisterous chuckle that sent fireworks right to my heart. I would love to hear that laugh for the rest of my life. Jack’s laughter didn’t last long as a serious look that I didn’t recognize graced his features.
“Actually, I was hoping to get you alone tonight,” Jack stuttered. He started scratching the back of his neck while fiddling with the ends of his hair. Suddenly I recognized the signs, he was nervous. It was actually quite sweet watching his demeanor shift.
“Oh yeah?” I questioned as I raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to explain himself further.
“Uh yeah,” he nodded for a moment. “Kira, there’s something I want to ask you.” His speech stopped as he waited to gauge my reaction.
“Go on Jack,” I encouraged, reaching for his hand that was resting on my shoulder to give it a squeeze.
With my reassurance, a smile formed on his lips once more. “Well, I was wondering if…” he paused to take a breath and perhaps gain some confidence. “Would you like to go out on a date with me?”
As the words left his lips and the sound met my ears, shock fell upon my face. My mouth went dry as I scrambled to find the words to answer his question. When was the last time someone asked me on a date? How do people usually respond to these questions?
“Shit, I freaked you out. I know we just met…” he trailed off. My shock was obviously spreading to him in the form of insecurity as his eyes dropped from mine. My mind continued to race as I struggled to find the words to convey my feelings on the matter. Oh god, what if he regrets asking me out?
“I’m not freaked out,” the words tumbled from my mouth without thought. Jack’s eyes lifted from my tattered black converse. “Surprised maybe, but not freaked out,” I commented while sending a warm smile his way.
Jack’s smile mirrored mine once more, god he has a beautiful smile. Moment of truth, time to answer a question that might change my life forever. “I would love to go on a date with you,” I let out a shaky breath as relief filled my body once more.
“Really?” Jack beamed.
“Absolutely Jack,” happiness filled my entire body like a tingle as I watched the gorgeous hockey player’s excitement grow.
“It’s not too soon?” He rebounded quickly.
“Jack, not at all,” I let out a breathy chuckle. “Would I say yes to anyone who asked me out on the first day we met?” I paused for a moment as curiosity filled his eyes. “Definitely not, but there's something different about you, Jack Hughes,” I commented as I stared longingly into his eyes.
“There’s something different about you too Kira,” his voice was but a whisper as he leaned closer to me to brush a few stray hairs behind my ear. His eyes darted to my lips before meeting my gaze once again. Before I could nod in silent permission that he could kiss me, Nolan’s deep voice shook me from my thoughts.
“Yo Kira, your car is blocking Jayden in,” Nolan shouted as he approached us from the cabin. My eyes rolled back as Jack dropped his head in defeat. I let out an exasperated sigh, fucking Nolan.
“Okay, I’ll move it,” I called back before smiling softly at Jack once more before throwing the blanket off my lap and pulling myself from the chair. I guess I’ll have to wait for our date for another chance at a kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A whole 12-hours have passed since my late-night cuddles by the fire with Jack and with that, our first date grew closer. 12-hours felt like an eternity since I last saw Jack, I miss those blue eyes and his smile. Neither Jack nor I wanted to wait long to have our first date, so we planned to have it the very next day. Since I was the resident expert at the lake, I planned our date because I know all the good spots. I also have my family cabin to myself for the week, meaning there won’t be any more interruptions from anyone else, especially Nolan.
As the clock struck 2, I nervously climbed into my hatchback feeling my heart race as I pulled out of the gravel-road makeshift driveway by our cabin. The drive to Nolan’s cabin was short, mere minutes, this didn’t help ease my nerves as I stopped in front of his cabin. Getting out of my car, I rounded the front and leaned against the passenger side to wait for Jack. As I was waiting I started nervously picking my nails, a bad habit I picked up many years before. Pulled from my thoughts as I heard the cabin door swing open, I glanced up and was graced with Jack’s heartstopping smile.
“Hey beautiful,” He smiled as he jogged down the few stairs on the deck and pulled me in for a hug before I could react. Inhaling for a moment as I felt his warmth, my nostrils were met with the soothing smell of his cologne, which could only be described as hot boy cologne.
Recovering from my initial shock, “don’t flatter me, I’m just in comfy clothes,” I retorted. Jack pulled away from our hug, I felt disappointment creep into my bones wanting to pull him closer once more. He eyed me skeptically before glancing down at my outfit; I was sporting lavender leggings with a matching sports bra and a loose white crop top.
“You make comfy clothes look good,” his voice filled with desire as he leaned in once more. He was so close that I could feel his breath dancing across my skin. “You look beautiful,” he whispered before pressing his lips to my cheek and pulling away. My hand shot up to my cheek, skin burning from where his lips once were.
Shaking myself from my momentary trance, I dropped my hand from my warm cheeks. “Well, let’s get going. You’re going to love this hike, it’s my favorite,” I commented as I made my way back to the driver's side to hop back in the car.
“Nice ride,” Jack commented as we were buckling in. Glancing up at him I sent him a warm smile as I started the vehicle before putting it in drive.
“I mean, it’s no Range Rover but it gets me from point a to point b,” I chuckled as we moved away from the cabin. Jack and I chatted comfortably on the short drive to the hiking trail, discussing the lake and its cutesy shops. I was focusing on the road but the few times I glanced over at Jack I caught him staring; he would always look away quickly but I did notice blush creeping up his neck. Maybe he had the first date jitters too.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly the rest of the short drive, I turned into the parking lot by the trail, relieved to see there weren’t any other cars parked. That meant the trail would be quiet, which is perfect for a first date. We both got out of the car as I made my way to the trunk to pull out the small backpack I brought with me. Jack offered to carry it as I reached back into the trunk for the bug spray.
“Did you use bug spray?” I asked softly. Jack scrunched up his face, clearly unhappy to see the repellent.
“No, I hate that stuff,” he mockingly gagged as I shook the can at him. I let out a laugh, my nerves slightly easing at his distaste.
“Well, unless you want to be eaten alive, I would use it,” I commented as I stepped back from him to spray myself down. Once I was done I handed him the can which he reluctantly accepted.
“This is necessary?” he questioned as he hesitated with the spray.
“Welcome to Canada,” I joked as I nodded my head. He sprayed himself with the bug protectant before tossing it back in my trunk. We locked up the car and headed over to the start of the trail just off the parking lot.
“So, you bring a lot of first dates here?” he teased. My cheeks felt flush as I glanced up at the hockey player who was towering over me. After staring into his eyes for a moment I determined that he was joking, we’re still figuring out these quirks about each other.
“Only the ones who are worth it,” I shot back as we started making our way onto the trail. “So my family normally comes on this trail every summer. It’s not super long or uphill but there is a gorgeous lookout point about halfway through,” I explained as Jack and I matched each other's pace. He seemed to enjoy my explanation, listening eagerly when I told him the story of how our family dog jumped into the pond on the side of the trail when she saw a butterfly one year.
“I see why you like this hike,” Jack commented. His voice was a little shaky in a way I didn’t recognize. “Worth it for the bug spray,” he chuckled. I let out a snicker at his clear hatred of bug repellent.
“You lived in Canada before, this can’t be your first experience with bug spray,” I teased. As we continued on the trail I started picking at the hem of my shirt, noticing a few rouge strings pulling away from the material.
“Doesn’t mean I like it, it feels greasy,” he scoffed. I nodded in agreement, he wasn’t wrong. As we rounded a corner venturing deeper into the trees, I stepped over a large tree root.
“Just be careful,” I commented, glancing up at Jack who was staring at me intently. “There are a lot of roots to watch out for…” I trailed off. Just as I was warning Jack about the trail I caught him catching a tree root with his shoe out of the corner of my eye. As Jack started to tumble down I instinctively reached out to grab him with both arms. He gripped my arms tightly as he went down on one knee, his cheeks were red when he met my gaze once more. “Are you okay?”
He took a moment, “Yeah, just my first time walking,” he joked sarcastically. I threw my head back in laughter for a moment before helping him get back on his feet. “Good to hear your laugh,” he smiled as he brushed himself off.
“I did try to warn you,” I feigned, throwing my hands up in mock defense.
“I just meant, you seemed…tense earlier,” he commented as he tried to gently find the words to point out my nerves. Pursing my lips I debated in my head for a moment, do I tell him?
“I’m a bit nervous,” I hesitantly replied, deciding to go with honesty.
Jack let out a long sigh of relief, “So am I, first dates ya know?”
“Oh I know,” I agreed as I felt the tension melt away from my body. Just admitting to the nerves helped relieve them.
“You have nothing to be nervous about Kira,” Jack’s voice was soft as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side as we started to walk again.
“Oh yeah?” I questioned, glancing up at him in uncertainly.
“Yeah, I like you,” he stated matter of factly, so sure of himself. I do love the confidence, he’s not even cocky at all.
“I like you too,” I feel a smile spreading across my face as I glance at the ground making sure we don’t take a repeat tumble. We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, Jack’s arm still wrapped around me tightly. “So, are you going to hold onto me for the rest of this hike?” I teased.
“I’m not falling again,” he joked sarcastically. I echoed his laughter, feeling bold I wrapped my arm around his lower back as we continued walking. We spent the rest of the hike with our arms wrapped around each other, not caring that doing so slowed down our pace significantly. We just enjoyed being close to each other, it felt comfortable. The silence in the trees was filled with our discussions about our favorite summer memories with our families, he shared a lot about his summers in Michigan and I feel that I grew to know him even more with those stories. Despite being so hesitant yesterday, Jack was easily proving that we could have a normal connection despite his hockey superstardom.
After our hike, we planned to head back to my cabin for dinner. As we parked out front and pulled ourselves from the vehicle an idea crept into my mind. “Still feel greasy from the bug spray?” I questioned as he shut my car door. Nodding his head vigorously he swiped some of the bug spray off his arm as evidence. “You know we could go for a quick swim?” I gestured to the water just off the cabin. My family was lucky enough to have a lakeside cabin with a private dock that I spent most of my summers sitting on.
“I don’t have my swim trunks,” Jack commented hesitantly. I smirked at him for a moment before I started toying with the bottom of my shirt.
“That’s never stopped me before,” I teased before pulling my crop top off and tossing it at the hockey player. Jack’s eyes were wide for a moment as he mentally processed the shock from the shirt hitting him in the chest. He was quiet for a moment as I stared at him, hands on my hips waiting for his response.
“Yeah, I’m in,” he shrugged as a playful smile grew on his lips. We both quickly shed the rest of our clothes before we were left standing with him in his briefs and me in my underwear. Thank the gods that I chose cute underwear today. We both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, I had to try very hard to not openly gawk at his abs. Damn, he is gorgeous.
After taking in all of his beauty, a sly smile crept onto my face. “Race ya,” I shouted without warning as I took off for the water. Jack chased after me as I shot across the grass and to the wooden dock. I should’ve known he would be faster than me, I thought as he quickly caught up to me. He grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off the ground to spin me around. I couldn’t help the fit of laughter that spread through me as Jack twirled around while I was safely in his arms. “Jack, put me down,” I playfully smacked his shoulder as he carried me towards the edge of the dock.
A mischievous smile crept onto his lips that let me know that it was payback time. “Put you down? Are you sure?” He taunted as he held me over the water. I clung to him tightly as nerves spread through my body. He better not.
“Jacky don’t!” I pleaded as he swung me over the water haphazardly. He was obviously having a good time with this, laughing as I clung to him like a fearful koala bear. “Jacky please!” I begged.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” his voice dripped with sarcasm as he set me down on my two feet. I instantly stepped out of his hold and crossed my arms over my chest, inadvertently pushing my boobs up which caught Jack’s attention. Smirking as I noticed his distraction I quickly shifted all my weight forward and shoved him off the dock; I knew it was deep enough to be safe, having jumped off this dock my whole life.
“Shit!” he cried out as he stumbled backwards into the water, fully submerging beneath the surface. He emerged within seconds, a pouty look forming on his face. “That wasn’t very nice,” he whined. I chuckled, crouching to my knees to lean over the edge of the dock.
“Sorry Jacky,” I mirrored his pout. Before I knew what hit me, he smacked his arms against the water to splash me. Letting out a small scream as the cold water hit my skin, “meany,” I pouted.
“Sorry babe,” he teased but I didn’t care. Hearing the pet name shot butterflies to my heart and maybe elsewhere. He reached his hand out for me, which I naively assumed was to pull him out of the water. Using all of his strength, he pulled me off the dock and into the water as I crashed into him. Pushing my hair out of my eyes and sputtering water as I emerged from the surface, I gave him a playful shove.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I huffed as I sent some water splashing his way.
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” he said between fits of laughter.
“Oh yeah, very funny,” I scoffed as I treaded water. “I thought you liked me,” mock sadness filled my voice.
“Babe, I like you, like a lot,” Jack commented as he swam closer to me, catching me with his arm and pulling me to his firm muscular body. My hands rested on his bare chest as I felt the butterflies once more. There we were staring into each other’s eyes on a beautiful summer day in the water. I couldn’t help but feel this wouldn’t be the last time this happened.
“I like you alot too,” I smiled softly. “But only if you stop splashing me,” I followed up quickly as I traced random shapes on his chest.
“Deal,” he snickered. We spent the better part of an hour swimming around, laughing, inevitably splashing each other more, and drying off in the sun on the dock. Our conversations continued to get deeper as we surpassed the surface level aspects of getting to know each other. He listened intently while I explained why I wanted a career where I could help people. I couldn’t hide my smile as he described having his dreams come true when he was drafted, hockey clearly brought him so much joy. We spent time discussing different sports we loved playing, and even more importantly, the sports teams we loved watching.
Our conversation never died down or got boring, I never want this date to end. After a while, my stomach started to grumble. I decided it was better to get started on supper before I got hangry as I shifted from Jack’s arms and pulled myself to my feet. Offering my hand to him to help him up, “how do you feel about steak?” I asked once he was on his feet towering over me once again.
“Like you might be my dream girl,” he smiled as we wrapped our arms around each other and walked off the dock together.
“Good, I might need your help with the broccoli though. It’s pretty tricky,” I joked sarcastically knowing it would get a rise out of Jack. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, stopping me with him.
“Did Nico tell you about that?” his voice was full of embarrassment. I smiled and leaned into him, wrapping my other arm around his waist as I nodded.
“I think it’s cute though,” I reassured him as he let out a sigh of relief as we stopped to collect our clothes before heading inside.
Once we were back in comfortable dry clothing, we got started on supper. Jack was surprisingly helpful in the kitchen, washing the lettuce and putting together a salad with my guidance. He was incredibly impressed that I could work a grill as well as I could and gave me endless compliments on my steak. Even joking that I needed to come live in Jersey to cook for him during the season. The dinner conversation was comfortable as we chatted about my plans for my final year of school, my tattoos, what it’s like to travel so much in the league, and our surprising shared love for fantasy football. Jack very passionately described all the fantasy leagues he is in while he cleaned up the whole meal. He insisted I sit down while he washed the dishes because I cooked such an amazing meal.
“A man who does chores, you truly know the way to my heart,” I joked as he topped up my glass of wine and started cleaning.
When everything was dried and put away, I felt dread seep through me, not wanting the night to end. I suggested we go sit on the dock to watch the sun set, an opportunity that Jack eagerly jumped on. So we dragged deck chairs down to the dock and comfortably settled in as the sun made way for the stars.
We sat in comfortable silence, my feet dangling in Jack's lap as he traced shapes on my ankles over some of my tattoos. He broke the silence first, “This connection is crazy.”
“Hmm,” I hummed as I tore my gaze away from the sun setting on the water to pay attention to Jack.
“The connection between us,” he reiterated. “I don’t know how you feel, but it feels strong to me,” he commented as his hands stilled on my legs. His gaze was soft, reassuring.
“I feel it too, feels like we’ve known each other way longer,” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I leaned back in my chair. “I feel comfortable with you.”
“Me too,” he smiled while giving my leg a little pinch, maybe to reassure me. I have never felt so comfortable with a man this quickly, not in any of my past relationships. It feels like there is this force pulling Jack and I closer, it’s what’s made our connection so strong. This feels so different for me, maybe he’s different from the other guys. I have a feeling he is. “Kira?” Jack’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as I let out a shaky breath. “You okay?”
Nodding silently, I try to muster up whatever courage I have within myself. “I was nervous today,” I start, Jack nods encouraging me to continue. “I was nervous because…” I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. Jack pulls me from my chair and into his lap, his arms feel like home. “Well, my last relationship ended quite badly. He really hurt me, I think intentionally and it’s just…just hard for me to open up to people,” letting out a shaky sigh as the words tumble out of me. It feels freeing actually, getting all that out, so it isn’t a secret looming over me.
Jack shifts me in his lap so I can meet his eyes, “I don’t know what happened in your last relationship, but Kira, I promise you I will never do anything to intentionally hurt you,” his words pierced my soul as his thumb grazed my cheek. “I can’t guarantee I won’t fuck up sometimes, but I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
His eyes were locked on mine as I melted into his touch. “I know you will Jacky, I feel comfortable around you,” my voice is small as my eyes break from his and dart to his lips. He seems to pick up on my gesture as he takes my face in his hands.
“Can I kiss you?” Jack asks gently. I bite down on my lip to try to hide my smile as I nod my head. Time stops as Jack leans down to connect his lips to mine, his lips are warm against my own as they move in unison. Jack’s tongue ran across my own as I granted him entrance; he tastes sweet, like the wine we were sharing earlier. Our lips locked for a while before we both pulled away for air, huffing as we did so.
“That was…” I trailed off, resting my forehead against Jack’s.
“Pretty damn amazing,” Jack finished my sentence. We stayed like that for a while, foreheads resting on one another; the sunset in the distance long forgotten.
“You know,” Jack’s voice broke through the comfortable silence. “You got to plan our first date, it was cool to see your favorite spots,” his breath tickled my skin as we remained close.
“I’m glad you liked it,” I smiled as I pecked his lips gently.
“This just means that I need to plan a date where I show you my favorite spots in Michigan,” he smiled as a playful energy danced through his eyes.
“Bold of you to assume there will be a second date,” I teased. Jack threw his head back in laughter, enjoying the playful jokes we were already comfortable sharing.
“If you’ll have me,” he pouted jokingly.
“Oh I guess, if I must,” I mocked, unable to hide my smile.
“If you must,” Jack scoffed as he brought his lips back down to mine. Resuming our passionate makeout session, pulling away a few minutes later we were both panting like teenagers with no stamina.
“Okay, fine. I’ll go on another date with you,” I commented as our lips were still attached.
Jack smirked against my lips, “Good, glad I could convince you.”
“You are very convincing,” I said before pulling him in for more. We spent the rest of the night kissing and cuddling underneath the stars, enjoying each other’s company and growing closer than I ever imagined.
It’s hard to believe this was only our first date, everything is so comfortable between us. Feeling hopeful that there would be another date with the gorgeous hockey player, I can finally smile when thinking about meeting someone when I least expect it. Jack truly came into my life when I didn’t expect it and I hope that he’s here to stay.
#jack hughes#my writing#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes fluff#jack hughes imagines#jack hughes fic#nhl imagine#nhl#nhl hockey#hockey#nj devils#new jersey devils
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Bang Bang BBQ
Jay White x F Reader
Minors DNI 18+
@midwestmade29 @madhatterbri
“Which one of you is manning the grill today?” Colten asked walking into the backyard with a cooler. Jay was busy spraying his beloved plants, while I was prepping the grill. “ She is” spraying me with the mister. “ I learned a long time ago not to argue with her over the grill, potato salad , iced tea or what goes in chili. She might brand me if I tried to take those tongs away from her.” his attention solely dedicated to the marigolds. “ I like her meat better anyway….” Jays glare on Colten “ I mean her cooking “ I laughed at the scene, Austin in a pool floaty, Juice coming down the slide in to the pool. Colten in trouble as usual,, and Jay relaxed mostly. “ Jay leave him be, bless his heart” as I put the steaks on the grill.
Jay came up behind me “ if I leave him alone, then my attention is going to be solely on you” I jumped when I felt an ice cube, between his lips as he ran it down my neck. “Behave” I whispered, “ No” as he dropped the cube down my back. “ You’re the one who wanted to have a bbq remember” as I turned to face him, ��True but you weren’t thrilled with the idea of Toronto and being without me. So this was the compromise a few steaks, a few drinks, some sunshine, the boys it’s going to be fun.” Kissing me, and slapping my ass as he went to jump in the pool.
The afternoon passed easily and I was setting the table for dinner , all the stuff I knew they loved but didn’t treat themselves to. Steak and chicken , potatoes, corn, cole slaw, banana pudding . “Boys dinners ready” the conversation flowed easily as everyone filled their plates. “ Jay says that it was his promo skills that made you fall for him. Is that true?” Colten asked cutting into his steak “ No, that would’ve meant that. I fell for King Switch and not Jay” my hand reaching for Jays. “ Now that is some revisionist history” Juice choked out “Truth is boys , there was no separation between King Switch and Jay. Do you remember the promo you cut on Great O Khan, and her face turned so red, I don’t even think they’d been on a date yet. He was talking about how he was the dominator, and to get on your knees open your mouth . Hell phantasmo didn’t know what to say. Hell she didn’t know where to look.” his laughter cutting off the story. “ Juicey, she can tell her version, and I’ll know what really happened.” His wink made the table laugh squeezing my hand.
Juice could tell by my face that I really wanted the topic dropped “ Boys, I think I’ve got that video bookmarked” his eyebrows wiggling at me, I loved and hated everything that Juice was at times like this. I started to get up from the table to get something from the kitchen, when Jay leaned over to whisper “Stay, he’s just messing with you, besides that promo brings back some memories “his grin mischievous as a wave of heat ran through me. Juice managed to play the promo over the Bluetooth speaker, Colten and Austin couldn’t stop laughing at the King Switches Bitch, meanwhile my mind drifted to a different set of memories. I had never been one for casual hookups but there was something about the aura of King Switch when he came to pick me up for dinner that night we never made it. I had been so forward that night driven by pure lust, I knew even if it was a one night thing I would’ve had no regrets about being King Switch’s Bitch.
About the third time through, Jay looked at me and nodded we both got up from the table. Juice clearly entertaining the boys .
“Jay what are you doing ?” as he pulled me inside the pantry, his mouth on mine kissing me deeply. “ Sweet girl, if they only knew, who the real dominator in this relationship is.” his hands reaching for the strings of the bikini top, untying it as his hands moved , down my body. “ that I may be King Switch but I’ve always been your bitch” as his mouth moved down my breast grazing his teeth along it, he planted hurried kisses, down my stomach,his arm swiping items off the counter as he picked me up and put me there. “Jay someone is gonna hear us” my words coming out shaky, as he undid the swimsuit bottom. “ It wouldn’t be the first time Juice had heard us, I’d dare the other two to even mention it. “ his beard nuzzling the inside of my thigh,his hands parting my legs, “ Sweet girl, I’m on my knees , my eyes open, thanking you” as his mouth found my clit, I moaned my hands in his hair, he continued licking and sucking, my hands pulling him in deeper. “ Jay, please need you” he continued until my legs started to tremble. He inserted two fingers pumping in and out his forearm flexing his mouth sucking a little harder as I came hard, his mouth and fingers fucking me through it. “You’re so fucking beautiful, if we had more time, I’d fuck you properly.” kissing my thigh. He handed me a bottle of water, as he cleaned me with paper towel. He retied my swimsuit, kissed me again as I nuzzled into him. “They’re gonna know” I said into his shoulder his laugh “ Oh sweet girl, there’s no denying it. Absolutely not one bit. “ taking my hand and leading me back outside.
#jay white x you#switchblade jay white smut#jay white fanfiction#king switch#jay white imagine#jay white smut#aew fanfiction#aew smut
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okay so i was trying to do pact book club with my roommate b4 we had a falling out (unrelated) and i have cool Pact Motorcycle Analysis from rereading chapter one. (see below)
PMT “set [their bike] on the lawn, leaning against the inside of the fence.” leaning is the key word here. why are they leaning the bike on the fence? does it not have a kickstand? most street bikes have kickstands. the only ones that don’t are for extreme motorcross, not street legal, and built solely for dirt. So it would look something like this:
worth noting that this is a KTM 300 which is really nice and PMT's bike is "...about the shittiest, smallest, cheapest bike ever, and it’s used..." so assume much smaller and shittier then this one. But also, please note: No kick stand, and especially nothing that makes it street legal (plates, headlight, taillight, signals, mirrors)
Okay, so what? Well, PMT then begins "...Unlocking and lifting the seat of the motorcycle, [to] retrieve the shirt [they] had stowed away..."
These hardcore enduros, and even most sport, naked, and cruisers Do Not have under seat storage, especially locking under seat storage. The only thing that does? Scooters.
Eat your heart out, taylor hebert.
Brief Side Notes here: While our protaganist is referred to as Blake in this chapter, we can assume this is world-editing fuckery, given the snip doesn't happen until 4mo later with Molly's death. Also, we do see them mention a helmet. However, they are also wearing paint covered "...jeans, the lap striped with narrow streaks in various colors." This means that either PMT doesn't wear gear (squid status confirmed) or they wear armored jeans around regularly to the point of getting paint on them from the Toronto artists/dykes.
Later on in the chapter, though, the bike has been "Tipped over in a way that had scraped it hard against the stone wall. Headlight and taillight broken." So it does have lights, and is thus street legal.
In conclusion: Given the text in this chapter, we can assume the PMT/Blake's bike is either 1) a plated, street-legal converted dirtbike with no kickstand (It is mentioned as leaning against the fence twice, proving "Leaning" is a deliberate choice) and the seat thing is a continuity error. or 2) the bike is a shitty scooter with no kickstand. or 3) the kickstand AND seat are both continuity errors and blake rides an older model cruiser (my personal HC given. Everything about PMT)
See the storage saddlebags BESIDES the seat, not below. So yeah. Either the bike is a magic fiction model macguffin that doesn't exist and just does whatever it needs for narrative purposes. OR (more likely) Wildbow just doesn't know how to write bikes.
Thanks for reading. Follow for more Pact Motorcycle Analysis.
#pactblr#pact web serial#pact by wildbow#pact spoilers#blake thorburn#pre meiosis thorburn#PMT#motorcycle#wildbow#john wildbow mccrae
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rotwm series: mountain with a view — q.hughes
based on mountain with a view by kelsea ballerini
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It's 7 a.m. and I'm on a mountain with a view. I'm the only one, alone, at a table meant for two. Big Sur looks beautiful this morning and I should be missin' you, I should be missin' you.
You sat in the window nook of your Airbnb. In all your time travelling around after Quinn you’d never truly experienced California, how beautiful it was.
It was the same Airbnb that you’d stayed in together on your honeymoon.
The honeymoon you had to settle for when your luxurious all inclusive honeymoon was ruined. Quinn had decided to go back to Vancouver early to start training and after a lot of back and forth arguments he agreed to a long weekend in California.
You thought you’d be sad to return, this time without him but you weren’t. You did everything you wanted to the first time round that Quinn deemed
“Not fun”
“Boring”
And “a waste of time”
You didn’t miss him and you felt so happy.
You're across the pond at a show, I think, in Amsterdam and the pictures look pretty, at least they do on your Instagram We say good morning, then goodnight I wonder if you even know where I am, where I am
You couldn’t even remember where he was playing tonight. You were only reminded when you saw he had reposted a picture from Brock’s story onto his.
They were out at some restaurant all smiling and laughing.
You’d actually only checked instagram when your mom had asked you where Quinn was playing that night and you couldn’t even answer her.
You used to follow him around when he went on roadies, travelling to New Jersey and Toronto just to support him and now you didn’t talk whenever he was on the road, he’d ask what you got up to whenever he got home but you knew he didn’t really care and just wanted to fill the silence.
I'm wearin' the ring still, but I think I'm lyin' Sometimes you forget yours, I think we're done tryin' I realize you loved me much more at twenty-three I think that this is when it's over for me
Whenever you did finally do something together it was a work event — the canucks annual charity ball.
“Oh my goodness I can’t ever get over how gorgeous this ring is!” Brock’s girlfriend smiles, grabbing your hand and admiring your wedding ring.
“Thank you!” You replied, blushing and leaning into Quinn’s side.
She scowled “Quinn you’re not wearing yours?” You looked down at Quinn’s left hand to find the gold band gone.
“Oh! I must’ve forgot it” he brushes it off, giving a tight smile.
You didn’t reproach the situation that night.
But you watched him across the next few weeks every morning as he brushed over his wedding band in your jewelry box.
He never put it on.
“Hey, why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?” You asked one morning, brushing your hair in the mirror.
“It’s not a big deal” he grumbled.
“It’s our wedding rings Quinn, it is a big deal!”
“God why are you such a bitch lately? Why can’t you be chill like you used to?”
You look at him, wide eyes “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“Like why can’t you just be like when we first got married? Silent and Supportive!”
You didn’t even reply, simply turning to leave the room before you burst into tears.
I think that this is when I cut the ties I think that is when I set myself free One day you'll ask, "When was it over for you?"
I'm takin' the ring off, I'm finally cryin' Don't try to find yours, no reason to fight it
You'll say I'm crazy for bein' the one to leave Scream I'm just like my parents and givin' up easy
But you never took that last flight to see me.
“Babe come on you don’t have to do this!” Quinn cries, following you through the house.
He’d come home from practice to find your suitcases by the front door and you standing at the kitchen counter waiting for him.
He asked why your suitcases were outside, what was wrong. You never answered, simply sliding your wedding ring along the granite and he groaned lowly.
“Baby…”
“Don’t Quinn!” You snap “It’s over”
“It Just just be over!” He screams “We are married!”
You look at him waving his arms around wildly and tears drop down your cheeks
“Quinn… let me go please”
His eyes soften and he steps around the counter “Baby please… why?”
You looked at him, he could feel the pain you were in just by your face. He wanted to reach out and hold you.
“Quinn… you never come home anymore”
“I’m always home?!” He screams, hands waving around.
He wasn’t screaming in anger, he was scared screaming. Screaming to hold onto what was slowly slipping away from him.
You sniffled, hands shaking as you reached up and held his face
“I don’t know the man that walks through those doors anymore… but it’s not you that comes home to me”
The tears were streaming down his face as well as yours as he mumbled
“You can’t leave me”
“Quinn I should’ve left a long time ago”
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Since I'm going through everything about Viggo & Orlando anyway, I might as well bring out the gossip that used to surround them. I don't put a lot of trust in blind items from Ted at E!Online and it's impossible to know if he actuallly had any real intel, or if it was just idle gossip about popular celebs. But it does say one thing for certain: that this was something people talked about back then (in 2004, mostly). That it wasn't just the "Viggorli tinhats" talking. And that, in itself, is interesting.
And I think it's beyond doubt that it WAS Orlando and Viggo that he was talking about here. Regardless if the gossip was true.
From 2004:
We still need to zero in on Grimy Gus and Harland Fuss (or as they're known to their most secretive of buds, Gussy 'n' Fussy). G. 'n' F. have been on location recently. Well, one of them has, at least. Don't think too many folks know that Fuss has joined his good bud Gus for a little mattress messin'.
Look, I'm the first to give a hearty shout-out to two guys who want to do what they want, sexually speaking. But when both--all right, make that one--of these men go to great lengths to make the public believe he's bedding down with rising supersweet starlet Eartha Bertha, well then, I get a little pissy.
Although it sure was romantic when Gus 'n' Fuss went to such a Secret Service-defying to-do while Gus was out of the States (in a film-friendly environment) making his latest butch-it-up celluloid job.
Public lobby and elevator trips at the sumptuous Springtime Suites hotel with Fuss 'n' Eartha were arranged. Photographers just happened to be around, sorta the same way Rock Hudson lived his whole fake life. But I'm getting terribly off the point here, aren't I?
At this time, Orlando was (very) publically dating "starlet" Kate B, and Viggo was filming History of Violence (playing a "butch" character) in Canada. And they were both at the Toronto film festival that year, where this supposed secret romp happened. Also, the nicknames seems to refer to the whole "Prissy elf" and "Filthy human" thing they had going on the set of LotR. And during LotR PR, there was very inane gossip about Viggo seeing L, a woman around O's age, but that they broke up because V didn't care about his personal hygiene. If you look at gossip rags from around 2002-3, it was mentioned a lot...
So yeah, no doubt that it's O, V and K referred to. It's generally considered a "solved" blind. Again, doesn't mean the gossip is true.
In 2010, Ted mentioned HF again, just around when Orlando got married. In this one, there's no mention of "Gus", so of less interest to me. It's all about HF being bi, and how he and his newly wedded wife got hitched because they both needed a career boost (and HF needing a "beard"). A whole lot of nothing really. But again, quite obviously referring to Orlando.
More interesting to me, but also a bit more confounding, are some questions answered around 2009/2010:
Dear Ted: Since you dusted off the old Harland Fuss B.V., can you give us an update on his relaysh with Gus, please? Are they still together? If not, who broke up with whom? And who is Fussy seeing on the DL, then, if not Gussy? —Agusta
Dear Gus Who: Long over, babe. Too bad, too, because they were way too hot together, but it was always more of a short-term (very) steamy hookup sitch. Neither dude expected a serious relaysh to come of it, just sex, sex and, oh yeah, more sex.
Dear Ted: This is a question about an old blind item that I don't expect you'll answer but I thought I'd give it a shot. Are Harland Fuss and Grimy Gus still together? —Silver
Dear Oldie: No. Nor were they ever.
Dear Ted: Has Viggo Mortensen ever been a B.V.? I absolutely love him, and he did spend several years with those B.V.-worthy Hobbits in Middle Earth. Did they rub off on him? —LOTR Lover
Dear Viggo Go Go: Oh, yeah. One of my (and readers') all-time favorites!
Again, quite clear this blind item was about Orlando and Viggo. This idea that they were just meeting to hook up, short-term (not sure if it's short term as in short meetings, or if it's short in terms of how long this relationship went on), feels a bit off for these two. But it fits that they lost touch (as per Orlando himself) sometime after 2008 or so. And what do I know, really?
No one but them knows. I'm just here, speculating wildly and letting my imagination run free.
(And I looks like I need to keep posting about them - until I've completely exhausted the subject. Or myself. Or tumblr.)
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Lego Surprises - Joseph Woll
[gif credit goes to @mitchmarner]
summary: after the news of the injury, you had a surprise up your sleeve for your boyfriend...
You wake up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the window, a warm weight pressed against your side. For a brief moment, you think it might be your pet, but as you turn your head to the side, you find yourself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes. Joseph Woll. The 25-year-old goalie from St. Louis, Missouri, who plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs. The same Joseph Woll who's been nursing a high ankle sprain for the past few weeks and has been nothing but a grumpy mess since.
Your heart swells with gratitude as you remember the Lego set you'd seen him eyeing at the store the other day. You knew he'd been a fan of Legos for as long as you'd known him, and it was the perfect way to cheer him up. You carefully extracted yourself from under the covers and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him up.
You crept silently into the living room, your bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. The sunlight streaming through the window cast a warm, golden glow over everything, making the room feel alive with possibility. You picked up the Lego box from the coffee table. You admired it for a moment, savoring the anticipation of giving it to him.
You heard a rustle from the bedroom and hurried back to your spot by the window, pretending to be engrossed in a book. A few seconds later, Joseph shuffled into the living room, still half-asleep. His hair stuck up every which way, and his eyes were bleary with sleep, but a slow smile spread across his face as he saw the Lego set on the table.
"Wha-what's this?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Just something I thought you might like," you said, trying to sound casual. "No pressure to open it now, or anything."
Joseph looked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to gratitude. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Thank you, that's… that's really nice of you."
You shrugged, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It's no big deal. I just thought it might help take your mind off of things for a while."
Joseph laughed, the sound filling the room and making you feel warm all over. "Well, in that case, I think I'll open it right now." He carefully tore open the wrapping paper, revealing the massive Lego set inside. It was the Millennium Falcon, the most expensive and detailed Lego set Joseph had ever wanted.
Your heart swelled with pride as you watched his eyes widen with excitement. "I can't believe you did this," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is amazing."
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm just glad it made you happy. Now, what do you say we build something together?" You asked, gesturing to the box of bricks. "I could use a distraction from everything too."
Joseph looked up at you, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "Really?" he asked, unable to hide his excitement. "That would be amazing."
You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Of course. I mean, I'm not the best at Lego, but I'm sure I could learn."
Joseph's face lit up, and he excitedly clapped his hands. "Really? That would be great! I've been wanting to build this for so long!" He scooped up a handful of bricks and started examining them, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay, so here's how it goes…"
#joseph woll#joseph woll imagine#joseph woll blurb#nhl imagine#nhl imagines#nhl blurb#nhl blurbs#hockey imagine#hockey imagines#hockey blurb#hockey blurbs#toronto maple leafs
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Roommates | Joseph Woll x OC
Summary: Jane Cambell is Mitchell Marner's best friend, and when he asks her to let the rookie goalie stay in her guest room, who is she to say no?
Word Count: 1704
By: M
Mitch and I had grown up next door to one another. There wasn’t a birthday party, school event, or family function where we weren’t together. We were inseparable. So, when Mitch got drafted to the Leafs, it made sense for me to follow him and attend the University of Toronto. I loved being around the team and doing homework at practices. I was thrilled to interview Mitch for my final papers, to spend time with him again. Once I graduated, I went on to work for the team, Mitch and I stayed close. When Mitch met Steph, I was overjoyed. She was perfect for him, but it left me with more time to myself. Something I didn’t understand what to do with. I found myself wandering aimlessly after work, never having plans.
When Mitch told me the team had called up a new goalie, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Since he had recently moved in with Steph, he had asked me if the new guy could use my spare room until he got on his feet. I, of course, said yes. Mitch had always been a great judge of character and if he felt comfortable letting him stay with me, then I felt comfortable. What I didn't expect, however, was for this man to come through the door with lego boxes stacked above his head. And like… goalies are tall, but I couldn’t even see his face.
“Hey! Thanks for letting me crash, let me just set these down in the room and we can properly introduce ourselves…” He said, his voice muffled by the many boxes in front of him.
“Oh yeah of course, um it's the door to the left of the TV.” I replied, stepping aside so he could walk in. It took him about five minutes to set the boxes how he wanted them, the echo of fallen boxes and muttered curse words heard throughout the apartment.
“Can you help me grab my bags? I don’t really have that much stuff yet… I mean I’m not really new to Toronto but I just lived with teammates when I was on the Marlies so like…” He said, rambling on as he stepped back into the main room. His blue eyes caught mine and he quickly lost whatever thought he was about to share. Like seriously are piercing blue eyes mandatory to be on the Leafs? Because, wow.
“I’m Joseph… Uh Woll… yeah. But I mean most people call me Joe haha…” He said, his left hand scratching the back of his neck and holding his other out awkwardly.
“Jane, but my friends call me Janie.” We shook hands. Joe and I found our rhythm easily. He would leave before I got up in the morning and I would meet him at the office for lunch before going to meetings. We’d head home together on off-days, laughing about anything and everything. I felt like that missing piece I’d been searching for had been found.
The hard-part was always away games. Joe and Mitch would spend weeks away, traveling for games whilst I was left in a mostly empty office, planning future events and booking flights. When the boys are away Steph and I usually grab dinner and talk, but I was hesitant to have to answer questions about my relationship with Joe. He and I had gotten increasingly close and several of his teammates had picked up on some of the underlying tension on my end. It was clear to me, at least, that Joe wasn’t interested in me, despite what Kniesy kept saying. Kniesy and Joe are pretty close, but I can’t help but feel like he’s just messing with me. Plus, I mean I don’t even know what Mitch would do about me dating a teammate of his. I mean he was always protective growing up, purposefully keeping me from his teams. The one time I did go out with someone from his team, we realized we’d be better off as friends, which is how I ended up with Matthew Tkachuk as my fantasy football teammate.
I decided to go to dinner with Steph anyway, as I wanted to catch up with her. When I sat down across from her at the restaurant, my phone started buzzing. I mouthed, “hold on” to Steph as I stood up and answered the phone.
“This is Jane Campbell speaking…”
“No I know, Janie it’s me, I- I just needed to hear your voice” The voice on the phone, Joe, said clearly out of breath.
“Joe what’s going on? Are you okay?” I started panicking, why was he calling me. He never calls.
“It’s. I’m fine. I just- Did you see the game?” I hadn’t. I was so busy getting ready to see Steph and finishing work, that I’d completely forgotten to tune in.
“No- I- Tell me what’s happening.” I felt like screaming, what wasn’t he telling me? The walls felt like they were closing in.
“It’s Kniesy.” Two words that first had me breathing a sigh of relief and then feeling guilty as the walls crashed in once again.
“Okay,” I took a breath, “okay. What do you need from me? What happened? I’m with Steph. Do you need me to get there?”
“Just stay on the phone please. He’s. He just collapsed. I mean the hit didn’t look that bad but I guess it was? I- I don’t know Janie. I don’t know.” A sob erupted from him as he tried to keep himself composed. Where was the game again? I could have sworn I’d written it down somewhere… I looked through my bag, dumping the contents on the table in front of a concerned Steph.
“Are you still there?” His voice almost whispers, having been wrecked by his sobs.
“Yeah, I’m here Joey. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” The nickname escaped me before I even knew I was saying it. Shit.
“Joey?” His quiet voice still shaking.
“I- I mean…”
“No- I- Uh- I like it- It just caught me off guard that’s all.” His smile was clear even through the phone.
“Okay wait- The game’s in Buffalo right? Let me just… I’ll see you in a few hours, okay? What hotel are you in?” I blurted out, before I could even process what I was saying. All I know is that Joey needs me and I want to- no, have to- be there.
“You don’t have to come, I mean it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” He rushed, trying to convince me not to go, but it was too late.
“See you in a bit Joey, bye.” I quickly said, trying to hang up.
“I L-” I hung up.
“Okay Steph, I gotta go. I- uh- I’m so sorry, I’ll venmo you for the salad.” I said, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair and shoveling everything back into my bag.
“Is everything okay?” Steph said, panicking.
“Yeah, Joe’s worried about Matthew, apparently he got hurt during the game. I’m just gonna fly out to Buffalo to be with him.”
“You and Joseph, huh?” She said, winking, “I mean I told Mitch y’all were a good match, but he didn’t think it would happen this quickly…”
“Oh- Um. No, we’re not together. I mean- I don’t think he even likes me like that… Not that I like him or anything.”
“Mhm, and he called his ‘platonic roommate’ for comfort when his best friend got hurt, and, said ‘platonic roommate’ is flying to another country to check on him… Okay!”
“That’s exactly what’s happening. Plus, New York is barely another country.”
“Sure… Sure. Have a nice flight Janie.”
“Thanks.”
The flight went quicker than I expected. I sat in my seat, my knee bouncing as I waited to see Joe. I was still unsure of what happened to Matthew, but if Joe was worried, so was I. The little pest had started to grow on me.
I rushed into Joe’s hotel, asking the front desk to let me through. Joe had let them know I’d be coming and to let me in. When I got to his door, I took a breath before knocking.
“Janie, thank god.” He said, opening the door and scooping me into a big hug.
“I’m here Joey, I’m here.” He stiffened at the nickname as he released me.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Nothing… I- I just like when you call me Joey, that’s all.” He said, letting me into his room.
“How’s Matthew?” I asked, grabbing his hand for moral support.
“The doctor said he’ll be okay, just a concussion. It just really scared me, you know? I mean one moment we were laughing about him asking a girl out, and the next he’s on the ice.”
“A girl?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.
“Yeah, I mean it feels silly now but he wants to ask the barista at the coffee shop by the rink for dinner.” He smiled, squeezing my hand.
“That’s such a good idea omg! Not silly at all, I mean she’s really pretty and nice.”
“It just got me thinking, you know? Like what if he wasn’t okay? What if he never got to tell the girl? It feels so trivial to worry about rejection at this point.”
“But he will get to tell her Joey. And she’ll say yes and it’ll be great and they’ll be together!” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’m doing my best to reassure him that Kniesy and the Barista will get together in the end.
“Will they?” He asks, furrowing his brows.
“Of course, if they’re meant for eachother, it’ll happen.” I smiled, looking up at him, my hand still in his.
“Will we?” He asks.
“Will we do what?” I ask, confused.
“Will we get together?” He asks and my stomach flutters.
“Joey?” I feel like I’m hallucinating there’s no way he means what I think he means.
“Jane. Janie. I love you. Every moment we’re apart is like I'm drowning and you’re my air.” He grabs my face, angling my eyes up to his.
“Joey… I love you too.” I closed my eyes as our lips met, fireworks erupting as the butterflies dissipated from my stomach.
#joseph woll#joe woll#joseph woll fanfic#hockey fanfic#toronto maple leafs#mitch marner#steph la chance
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tell me about kit!
*cracks knuckles* You have fallen into my trap. Prepare to hear about the singular best character that has ever been created.
Kit Baxter, also known as the Flying Squirrel, is the sidekick to Canada's greatest superhero, the marvelous masked man known only as the Red Panda from the radio show Adventures of the Red Panda. She is also his chauffeur for his secret identity (which remains secret even to the listeners for most of the show.) One other important bit of context is that the show is set during the great depression in Toronto, Canada, so life kinda sucks ass a little bit.
Kit is a first generation Russian immigrant, her father ran a boxing ring and taught her to drive. She's quick witted and quick on her feet, can throw a mean right hook, and drives better than most other people in the city, which earned her a spot as a taxi driver. Panda ended up in her car in his Secret Identity, asked her to drive (recklessly) to a crime scene he wanted to stop, and she, obviously, refused. She wasn't going to be running around like an idiot for some rich asshole. Panda than waved some money in her face to try and get her to listen, and what did she do? She said no, because she isn't some trained dog that'll bark for some rich asshole the moment he gives her a bone. She'd rather go hungry tonight than do that kind of shit for him, and if he's gonna act like he doesn't even know what manners are, he can get the hell out of her cab. (Once he says sorry and asks nicely, than she puts the petal to the metal.)
She's also like. So smart and cool and good with people, she's a jokester and flirtatious (mostly with Panda because she likes flustering him, its really funny) but she's allowed to be all of those things without ever feeling like "Oh she's just there to be the attractive side kick." Kit is very much her own person, its just that she happens to like being a thorn in Panda's side and sometimes that means batting her eyelids (and climbing up walls in a skintight cat suit).
Kit became the Flying Squirrel after, and I quote "I figured out your secret identity and then blackmailed you into letting me play." She cares so, so deeply about the people of her city, especially the people on the streets she comes from because she did not grow up in a nice area of town, and she is constantly trying to fight for the most vulnerable parts of town, despite many of them looking down on her as a woman, especially a woman in her field. She never takes anyone's shit, either towards herself or anyone else, and she is always ready to throw hands with someone she thinks deserves it.
(I'm going to be getting into spoiler stuff underneath the cut. I am asking so very nicely for you to listen to the Adventures of the Red Panda. They're on spotify here ad free, and you can also find them on their website decoderringtheatre.com along with all of their other shows and their audiobooks. It truly is one of the most impressive, fun, and thrilling stories I have ever read, watched, or heard, and it is Criminally Underrated. If you think this is even like. A Tiny Bit Interesting, throw on the first episode, its only 20 minutes, see if you like it. If you don't mind spoilers, or ended up not liking it, keep going.)
Something that I really, really like about Kit is how she's handled later on in the story, once we get into WWII. Her and Panda get married, and she ends up pregnant right as he ends up MIA (presumed dead by most of the world) and she is left to try and defend all of Toronto largely by herself with a child on the way and Archangel, a nazi spy whose manipulating p much everything, bringing havoc upon her city.
It would be super easy to let her fade into the background during all of this. It would be so, so easy to write her off as so many different things do as a mother and a wife and leave her at that. But they don't. She steps up as the mastermind behind everything, pulling the strings of their connections they've forged over the years, continues to fight in her suit until she physically can't anymore, working as hard as she can in and out of costume to make sure that her city, because with Panda gone (not dead. She never believes he's dead for a second and has and will fight anyone who says otherwise.) It is her city and her people and she will not let it fall to ruin. She will not let anyone else, Nazi or American or Canadian or anyone take her city from her.
Katya Baxter is a wonderful character who is just so, so funny and amazing and if anybody knew what the Adventures of the Red Panda were she would be an absolute HIT of a character on here. I love her so, so much.
#also i love you for asking.#i never expected anyone to actually DO it yknow#but shes just#shes so COOL man#i need more people to love her like I do because i've literally never had another person to talk to about this that isn't my dad.
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Writing Patterns
tagged by @batrachised, ty!!! :3
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!
cheated slightly bc some of my last 10 fics were started like...over a decade ago (help) and my writing has changed a bit since then, so i included the most recent chapter too
how certain the journey (AOGG): "What does that mean?" Una asks. "'Wounded and missing.'" / The train rumbles steadily around them as they pass through Quebec, the sun beginning to set on this leg of the journey.
you said you like my stockings better on the floor (AOGG): It's snowing on the Island, Di had written last week, but not here in Toronto — instead it is only pouring freezing rain, threatening to storm.
the more that you say, the less i know (Uglies): David is on watch when he feels it.
there's another, not a sister (AOGG): The first dream comes the night after he sees a shell go off.
the clocks are black (Midnighters): Dess sighs, rubbing her eyes, trying to push sleep away.
leave me the way i was before (Uglies): David sees Shay again in the last place he thought he would, stumbling around the forest on the edge of the city.
think i could try this once again (Midnighters): For the first time in her life, Melissa is woken up by knocking on her bedroom door.
what they call hard feelings (Midnighters): Dess hates how normal everything becomes, afterward.
Arco Iris (AOGG): It's a full moon tonight, over Ingleside. / The clock has ticked into the morning, and Walter is still awake.
but i don't know who you are (AOGG): Walter looks fondly on Alice Parker from the moment she smiles at him instead of mocking his name.
it looks like i feel like "setting the scene" usually means either jumping in right before the action starts or laying out the scene by describing the weather (lol). also generally my opening sentences are shorter than the rest of my sentences, although they're still not super short or punchy usually.
also i guess i tend to start in the POV of the same characters (walter for aogg, dess in midnighters, and david for uglies), which i didn't notice i did so consistently! i think it's bc i mostly write romance where canonically, only one half of the pairing has feelings (una for walter, shay for david) and i like to write about the other half's perspective as they grow to return those feelings. so that's the reason for that, haha.
tagging @librarylexicon @noneedtoamputate and...i think i've seen this on all my other writing mutuals' blogs already? lmao feel free to do it/not do it if i missed you though :3
#(jess is not into dess canonically BUT does want her approval/friendship more than vice versa)#(also the fics that start in dess's perspective are romantic anyway so that still checks out)#arco iris is the oldest fic here so i've been kicking my fics off with the weather for over 10 years. amazing#meme#fic ramblings
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By: Allan Stratton
Published: Jul 23, 2023
Toronto is one of the most tolerant, multicultural cities in the world. And yet, according to many of its progressive journalists, academics, and politicians, it’s actually a den of systemic racism, sexism, homophobia and transphobia. Unless you’re a straight white man, daily life is supposedly an exhausting and dangerous struggle. If you live in the United States, the UK, Australia, or elsewhere in Canada, I’m guessing you’ve been told similar things about your own society.
I’m a gay man for whom these reports bear no relationship to the real world. Certainly, hate-crime statistics show a sharp increase in physical and verbal abuse against specific demographics, including my own. And there are even rare incidents of murder and arson. But to suggest that minorities live under constant threat from a bigoted majority is apocalyptic nonsense. This is especially true of Canada, an especially open, diverse, and welcoming country. Western nations, more generally, are incontrovertibly the most tolerant on the planet.
My heretical view (among fellow progressives, at least) may be due to my “positionality” (this being a faddishly woke jargon term that most English speakers would call “perspective”). The Holocaust and the internment of Japanese North Americans ended a mere six years before I was born. The pass system that turned Canadian Indigenous reservations into open-air prison camps was still in force. The United States was segregated by Jim Crow and redlining. Cross burnings and lynchings went unpunished. Marital rape was legal. Spousal abuse and unequal pay were commonplace. Gay sex and cross-dressing were criminalized, with outed individuals losing their jobs and children. “Fag bashing” was treated as public entertainment.
In the relatively few decades since, western governments have implemented universal civil and human rights protections for racial and sexual minorities. The speed and depth of this transformation has been so remarkable that it seems inconceivable that we ever lived as we once did. Has any other culture critiqued its failings and set about reforming itself so quickly?
This is not to suggest that everything is sunshine and lollipops. Human nature has not been repealed. Police departments without effective civilian oversight, for instance, continue to invite corruption and abuse. Nonetheless, we now have the tools to press for accountability, such as human rights tribunals and whistleblower protections.
It’s also important to acknowledge that while the relative increase in reported hate crimes may seem shocking, that rise is based on a remarkably low baseline. For instance, 2021 saw a 65 per cent increase in incidents (over 50 per cent of these comprising verbal slurs) targeting Canada’s LGB and T communities. But that still represents just 423 cases in a country of 40-million people. That’s hardly a “tsunami of hate.” The number is infinitesimal compared to the 114,132 domestic assaults and 34,242 sexual assaults recorded against women.
One often hears that a reversion to the backward ways of the past is just around the corner. And it is true that abortion rights now hang in the balance in many conservative U.S. states. But the idea that any Western country (especially Canada) is on the cusp of a wholesale rejection of liberal principles is absurd. Women will never again need their husband’s signature to open a bank account. Racial segregation is unthinkable (except, ironically, in certain progressive institutions). Marriage equality for same-sex couples is constitutionally protected in North America, and enjoys a historic 70 per cent level of support in the United States.
So, unlike those on the left who came of age in the 90s and the decades that followed, I don’t see an intolerant society destroying civil rights and minority safety. Rather, what I am now witnessing is a period of progressive overreach, led by ideologues with no (apparent) historical memory or understanding of how our liberal social contract evolved. They have turned language inside out so as to render words such as “woman,” “safety,” and “genocide” essentially meaningless; pursued policies that lock one-time progressive allies in a zero-sum culture-war conflict; recast free speech as hate speech; confused wishes (and, in some cases, fantasies) with rights; and punished dissenters from their Borg-think with social exclusion, “re-education,” and firing.
This radical attempt to unilaterally impose a new social order based on race and gender essentialism has ignited a widespread public backlash, which has been weaponized by the far right, destroyed public goodwill, and done more damage to the progressive cause than anything its reactionary enemies have done in recent years.
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The civil-rights movements of the last century won victories by liberal means based on liberal values. This included an insistence on free speech and civil liberties; and an appeal to the universal values of dignity and equality, which in turn underpin the case for protecting individual human rights and freedoms.
In part, this was because we liberals understood math. We needed white, straight, male legislators to support our causes, a project that could only be engaged through free and open debate. Empathy-based co-operation enabled us to create bridges among our diverse groups: The Gay Liberation Front raised money for the Black Panthers. In turn, its leader, Huey Newton, supported the gay liberation and women’s liberation movements. Meanwhile, Jewish groups applied their historical understanding of discrimination to help lead the fights for women’s rights (Betty Friedan), gay rights (Larry Kramer), and black voting rights, with some even giving their lives as Freedom Riders
By contrast, today’s illiberal left explicitly rejects the principles of free speech and universality. It ignores the lessons of past civil-rights successes, often denying that such successes even took place. After all, how can one insist on the dismantling (or “decolonization”) of a system that has shown itself capable of self-correction and continuous improvement? The only framework that validates the progressive narrative of ongoing oppression and white supremacy is one that ahistorically presents mainstream liberal values as a failure.
The switch in social-justice circles from liberal to authoritarian ends and means has at least three major causes. The first is structural: As (originally) liberal rights groups such as the ACLU achieved their objectives, they were required to rewrite their mission statements and pretend away their past successes — this being the only way to justify their ongoing existence.
Far from seeking to “burn it all down,” most of us within the original LGB and T movements simply wanted equality within existing social structures. We used liberal “respectability politics” to make our case, and (for the most part) folded our tents when we achieved our goal. The unwitting effect of this was to leave our old organizations to the radicals, who had long condemned us as sellouts to the patriarchy. Their goal is nothing less than the remaking — or “queering” — of society, a vaguely defined project infused with a deep suspicion of, or even hostility to, capitalism and the nuclear family. The liberal LGB and T wish to live and let live is now the authoritarian “live as we live.”
The second factor is generational change. Just as children separate from their parents in their passage to adulthood, so does each generation define itself in contradistinction to its immediate predecessor. Without personal memory of past struggles, present conditions are taken for granted. And so the battle against current injustices (real or otherwise) is seen as humanity’s defining and timeless struggle.
My generation mocked our parents’ conformity and stoic, suck-it-up ethos, forgetting that these traits had been necessary social adaptations during the Great Depression and World War II. Similarly, activists of this generation attack our commitment to free speech and integration within society, forgetting that these strategies were necessary for us to be heard during the Cold War, when outsiders were suspected as potential fifth columnists.
But perhaps the most significant factor has been the academic trend toward postmodernism, which instructs adherents that neither objective reality nor human nature exist in any certain, provable way. Reason, logic, and objective facts are rejected — or at least put in scare quotes — as are appeals to history and science. These are all held to be mere artifacts of language, which is itself presented as a reflection of existing power structures. And since these structures are presumed to systematically oppress the powerless, they must be deconstructed, dismantled, and decolonized, root and branch.
This kind of thinking isn’t just claptrap that flies in the face of day-to-day human experience. It also encourages a kind of intellectual nihilism that precludes amelioration of the injustices and power imbalances that supposedly concern many postmodern thinkers: After all, what could possibly replace our current power-based intellectual constructs except new power-based intellectual constructs?
Nonetheless, postmodern habits of mind (often flying under the banner of “critical” studies of one kind or another) have infected academic humanities and social science departments all over the west, much like the fungal parasite on The Last of Us. Its professorial hosts now work to dismantle their own institutions, attacking the “colonial” concepts of science and empiricism in favour of undefined and unfalsifiable “ways of knowing.” Meanwhile, their students have incubated its spores and spread them into the wider society, including corporate human-rights offices.
Progressives (rightly) have denounced Donald Trump and his supporters for their paranoid belief that the 2020 U.S. election was “stolen.” But these right-wing conspiracy theorists are not so different from campus leftists when it comes to their à la carte approach to accepting or rejecting reality according to passing ideological convenience
In particular, the idea that pronouns serve as magic spells that can turn a man into a (literal) women is no less ridiculous than anything Trump has ever said. The same goes for the mantra that while girls who cut themselves need therapy, girls seeking a double mastectomy require “affirmation.” Likewise: Racial segregation is a bigoted practice … except when it represents the very acme of progressive enlightenment. “Defund the police” doesn’t mean abolish the police, except when it means exactly that.
And then there’s Schrödinger’s Antifa, which presents these street thugs either as a very real force that rose up as a morally laudable reaction to fascism … or as something that exists only in Tucker Carlson’s fever dreams, depending on context.
But postmodernism and critical theory have done more than just damage our societies’ intellectual cohesion. Their denial of universal human nature eliminates empathy as a tool to bridge differences among groups, which are instead presented as warring sects prosecuting unbridgeable race (or gender) feuds. Since power is presented as the singular currency of the realm, the ability to shut the other side up is valued more than the ability to persuade it.
Gay men such as Andrew Sullivan and Andrew Doyle have been among the most prominent dissenters against wokeism — in part because we instinctively recognize the destructive nature of this power-fixated mindset. Our experience suggests that empathy and reason are far more important than threats and cultural power plays.
Dave Chappelle has said that the LGBT movement won public support more quickly than its black counterpart because of racism. But I believe the truth is different: Unlike racial and ethnic minorities, we exist in every demographic, every family, every ethnic category. When we gay men came out en masse during the 1980s AIDS pandemic, all communities realized that we were among its children, parents, and siblings. People have a harder time discriminating against their own than against outsiders.
Traditionally, the left has appealed to a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose. The resulting project of alliance-building has entailed negotiation among different groups, all of which may have different priorities and perspectives. But that alliance-building project becomes impossible when one sect or another demands that disagreement be treated as a form of thoughtcrime. Deplatforming doesn’t just hurt the target; it also hurts the movement, since the summary excommunication of dissidents means that adherents never need to acknowledge or address counterarguments, internal logical inconsistencies, or the off-putting nature of their message.
Indeed, ideologues such as Nikole Hannah-Jones claim that politics has a colour: Blacks who aren’t “politically black” are traitors who collaborate with “whiteness.” As seen through this lens, Asian-Americans who fight anti-Asian discrimination in the context of affirmative action are supposedly puppets of white supremacists, and the LGB Alliance, by standing up for same-sex attraction, is smeared as a transphobic hate group. (For asserting that biology is real, Stonewall UK even tried to destroy the career of one of the LGB Alliance’s founders, Allison Bailey, a lifelong social justice advocate who happens to be a black, working-class lesbian, and the child of immigrant parents. Thankfully, Stonewall did not prevail.)
Opponents of cancel culture often focus on its negative effects on conservatives. But it’s often woke organizations that end up imploding under its strains, typically due to internal battles over victimhood status and linguistic control. In recent years, many of these groups have been driven off the rails by single-issue gender activists who are willing to support misogyny and homophobia in the name of trans rights; or BLM activists willing to permit racism directed at “model minorities.” Even antisemites have been allowed to infiltrate left-wing political parties, the arts establishment, and anti-racist education initiatives. No wonder everyone involved with this movement is always complaining about how emotionally “exhausted” they are: They’re surrounded by toxic fellow travellers who gaslight them as right-stooges if they dare raise a complaint.
Another notable feature of militant social-justice movements is the sheer joylessness of their leaders and supporters, a condition that often seems to blur into a collectively embraced state of clinical depression and paranoia. This posture flows from their presupposition that they suffer endlessly due to the malignant primordial character of “whiteness” and heteronormativity (or, yet worse, cisheteronormativity). The language of individual agency and hope, which animates liberalism, is replaced with a soul-dead idiom by which the activist presents as a self-pitying victim of oppression, constantly at risk of suicidal ideation, erasure, and genocide.
Even privileged “allies” are encouraged to dwell on their whiteness, straightness, cisness, “settler” status, and other marks of intersectional Cain. By erasing the possibility of redemption, the movement alienates liberal allies who are seeking to build bridges with others en route to living successful and fulfilling lives in a way that escapes the politics of identity. The social-justice puritan, being primarily concerned with advancing his status within a cultish inward-seeking subculture that’s constantly inventing new grievances, on the other hand, finds such a goal unthinkable.
The use of words such as “harm” and “violence” to describe the microaggressions known to the rest of us as “daily life” is a particularly unattractive feature of social-justice culture. In the 1980s, gays and lesbians responded to daily discrimination with the chant, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it.” Today, the children and grandchildren of that generation, now enjoying full civil rights and perches within elites sectors of government, culture, and high society, instead tell us, “We’re here, we’re queer, and … we’re terrified to step outside.” As a gay man, it’s humiliating to hear this kind of maudlin rhetoric uttered in my name.
The broad public, long sympathetic and accommodating, has had it. People have no time for hysterical activists who whine, bully, and hector them about things they didn’t do and over which they have no control. This is particularly true when those same activists demand the elimination of women’s sex-based rights, the medical sterilization of children and teens, and the explicit exclusion of job applicants by race. The more that ordinary men and women came to learn about gay marriage, the more they accepted it. By contrast, the more that ordinary men and women come to learn about trans-activist demands and critical race theory, the more they’ve become repulsed.
Support for Black Lives Matter collapsed when the woke trivialized the arson and looting that accompanied the George Floyd protests. The public was completely onside with the left’s demand for police reform, but horrified by the extremist push to dismantle public security, and enraged that the left justified breaking pandemic restrictions for protests while insisting that grieving families be kept from their dying relatives in hospitals.
Likewise, Lia Thomas tanked support on gender radicalism. The public had long welcomed trans civil rights, sympathized with those suffering dysphoria, and accepted that even non-dysphoric trans-identified individuals should be able to live and present as they wished. But the sight of a strapping, butch male taking women’s prizes and opportunities was a breaststroke too far.
Facing resistance, the woke doubled down, insisting on automatic gender affirmation for everyone, including rapists and children. The result gifted social conservatives an issue of concern to majorities across the political spectrum. Now, progressives in the U.S. face a raft of bills that, among other things, resurrect false charges of Alphabet paedophilia. No wonder LGB groups are jettisoning the T: In the space of just a few years, trans activists have undone the good work that gay activists did over multiple generations.
The progressive movement must stand up to its extremists. We must restore the liberal social compact that won our civil and human rights. That means we should root our claims in areas of common ground, demanding fair treatment, but not the right to dictate what others think.
The most intense theatres of culture-war combat involve the education of children, an area in which liberal attitudes must be allowed to hold sway. Popular free speech principles should be applied to school libraries and curricula — which means opposing campaigns to root out books demonized by both the left and the right alike. In classrooms, an open exploration of history can provide a context for kids to discuss how injustices were overcome in the past and how they might be handled in the present. Students can be taught to brainstorm how to use their advantages to help the less fortunate, and how others in their situation have dealt with adversity. But they should never be taught that personal relationships and moral hierarchies are determined by the colour of one’s skin.
Likewise, boys and girls should be allowed to play and dress free of gender stereotypes, with a no-bullying policy strictly enforced. They should learn who they are by themselves, and be taught that they are more than the sum of their parts. They should not be labelled by ideological adults consumed by a mania for gender theory. In school, I skipped with the girls, had a lisp, and liked to play with china elves. That didn’t make me a girl, just as dressing butch and dreading the effects of a puberty doesn’t turn a lesbian into a boy. (I shudder to think what might have happened were I a child today.)
We should also return to the left’s traditional focus on class. Diversty, equity, and inclusion initiatives enrich the small group of well-educated profiteers who proselytize the DEI faith, but they’re actually worse than useless when it comes to workplaces, exacerbating intolerance among the hapless workers forced to submit to tedious seminars and questionnaires. Resources from the DEI industry’s rapidly metastasizing bureaucracies should be redirected to programs that materially help the poor: Unlike affirmative action programs, investments in deprived neighbourhoods disproportionately assist minorities without the creation of double-standards and racial left-behinds that serve to energize white nationalists. They also support social mobility and economic inclusion.
“I just want to say—you know—can we, can we all get along?” is how Rodney King put it in 1991. While many of us might read the underlying sentiment as self-evident, the militant social-justice left now treats it as a forbidden lie, since the entire movement is based on the conceit that peaceful and harmonious coexistence is impossible within a pluralistic liberal society that doesn’t forcibly “queer” itself, endlessly hector citizens about their bigotry, and segregate workers and students by skin colour.
I believe we can all get along. As a progressive, a gay man, a Canadian, and a liberal, I want no part of any movement — whatever it calls itself — that insists we can’t.
[ Mirror: https://archive.is/es3Q4 ]
==
To the extent that liberal principles are actually being rejected, it's coming from both the authoritarian reactionary right, and the authoritarian postmodern left.
#Allan Stratton#liberal ethics#liberal values#liberalism#illiberalism#antiliberalism#anti liberal#critical social justice#social justice#wokeism#cult of woke#wokeness as religion#woke#toxic wokeness#religion is a mental illness
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