#wr matty

[mjfass]

New ask game: Reblog and add a pic/gif of what would be the reaction of your favorite wrestler if they saw your blog.

[bornagainmurdock]

four times matt put his hand around your neck & one time you had to beg

author's note: at this point it's canon this man is obsessed with having his hand on people faces/neck, so i've decided to fed the beast and cause myself emotional pain thinking about matt's hands again

contents: 18+ ONLY, smut, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, dom!matt, choking (both sexual & non-sexual), no sex, possessiveness, grinding, shower sex, begging, size kink, use of 'bunny' (once), dumbification, desparation

work count: 1.4k

Matt adored your neck in every way possible. He would do anything to kiss your neck, bite at your skin and watch you squirm under his touch. He also had the bad habit of touching the back of your neck in public setting, rubbing at your muscles until you moans just loud enough for only him to hear. But most importantly, he liked holding your neck. Not necessarily choking you, but holding you there in front of him unable to move unless he let you.

You were laying on the couch when Matt got home, barely conscious and blinking incredibly slowly drifting between sleep and reality. Matt knew you were exhausted after the last two weeks you had at work, and decided to let you rest. But there was something about how innocent you looked curled up in a ball lightly snoring.

He leaned over the back of the couch and brushed your hair oh so gently, removing it from in front of your face.

"Matty," you whispered, "how was work?"

"I love you baby. Get some rest."

"Nooo, c'mere." You reached up and grabbed his face forcing him to lean down towards you so you could give him a kiss.

You meant it to be gentle, but Matt had other plans.

He pressed into you with a bit more force than you were expecting, but it wasn't unwanted. He deepened the kiss until you were whining against him begging for more. Matt eventually climbed over the back of the couch to hover above you. His body warm and lucid covering you.

While he shifted, he moved one arm to hold him up, and the other one up your body until it sat at the base of your neck, gentle and waiting. He felt you shudder under him when he finally made contact and it sent fire through his body.

"Mine."

----

Matt loved showering with you. He would often sneak in and join you, which was where you were tonight, pushed up against the shower wall with Matt grinding against your ass. Both of his hands were on your hips, keeping you from falling over.

Matt had snuck in only a minute ago and skipped the pleasantries, biting at your neck until there were imprints in your skin blushing bright red.

He was moaning into your ear and unable to focus, already so far gone inside his own head thinking about how hot you looked under him like this.

"You have no idea how good you feel." His right hand gripped tighter on your hip so the other could find your neck.

Once he reached the base of your neck he squeezed gently as a warning, an opportunity for you to take a breath before he grasped you tighter.

You took your last deep breath before his pointer finger and thumb dug into the sides of your neck, pressing into the arteries there.

You whimpered and Matt increased the pressure once more before giving you another second to breathe.

"Deep breath. So good for me." And then your eyes rolled back as far as they could into your head moaning Matt's name until he growled in your ear.

----

You had gotten into bed at a reasonable time tonight, but as much as you wanted to, you couldn't sleep. Matt was out on patrol with a promise to be home by 2am, no matter what and it was only a couple minutes until his deadline. You kept glancing at the clock on your phone, trying to go a full minute without checking, but failing every time.

At 1:59am you heard the door open and Matt slink through the door. You heard the slide of the zipper of his suit and the plop of it against the ground.

Matt finally entered the bedroom and without hesitation found his comfy spot next to you as the big spoon, pulling your body into his, and wrapping his arms around you.

He seemed frustrated but you didn't bother asking. Patrol was physically and emotionally taxing for Matt and the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. So, you allowed him to move you into his arms and hold you there, that was until you started to feel him grind against your body and groan into your ear.

"Matt."

"Had a bad night. Really want you."

"Then have me." And so he did.

His grinding got more intense, pressing his hips into yours desparatly for any amount of touch, your skin against his.

And then, as usual his hand snaked it way up your body, stopping at your waist, then at your collar bones, and then reaching for your neck, using that leverage to pull you closer against him. His forced pulled your head back to, exposing more of your skin to him to grab for.

He was rough and messy and it was exactly what he needed after a long night.

"Take off your clothes"

----

Today was both of your days off from work. Planned of course, never would you be lucky enough to have the same days off during the week. You woke up slow in Matt's arms enjoying the rising sun flood into the bedroom window.

Matt was slowly making his way to conciousness when you left bed to suprise him with breakfast. With his super sensitive hearing it wouldn't be a suprise, but it was the thought that counted.

When he finally rolled out of bed, you served him the coffee and eggs you made and forced him to sit on the couch with you to relax. You weren't about to let him out of your sight today. Matt needed a break and he knew that, too.

Throughout the morning and into the afternoon, Matt and you had tangled yourselves together eventually falling off the couch and onto the floor in a giggle fit over a game of rock paper scissors.

Eventually y'all settled back down, your head on his shoulder feeling his vocal chords vibrate and humm under you while he told you stories about the office drama, college with Foggy, and growing up in the orphanage. When he finished telling you for the third time about why Fog took Punjabi instead of Spanish, silence fell over the both of you.

The sun was beginning to set and Matt and you had gotten comfortable, falling asleep on and off in each others arms. At one point when waking up, you felt Matt's hand around your neck. Not squeezing, just holding. It was a gesture of his love.

When you had wiggled enough in his grasp, Matt woke up and threw his hand from your body.

"I'm sorry I was asleep."

"I know. You can put it back." And so he did.

----

"Matt please."

"You want it so bad, then beg. Tell me why you need my hand around your throat." Every word he said went straight to your core, warming you up from the inside out, burning like a fire.

Matt was standing over you, your body kneeling at his feet in desparation.

"Please, I need your hand around my throat. I need you Matt. I need you to choke me until I cry and can't speak and can't remember anything but how good you make me feel."

"So good for me. Look at you, such a mess at my feet."

Matt bent down to stroke your cheek, a gentle offering before finding your neck with his hand. The force pushing you down on your back, excitement-fear in your eyes.

He held you there as he got down oh his knees, straddling your hips, now only a few inches from your face.

"Is that what my baby wanted? To be treated like my plaything?"

"Yes, oh my god Matt." Stars were floating around you from the pressure on your neck. The blood flow making you dizzy and thoughtless.

"Dumb bunny." With his other hand he grabbed your jaw and shifted your head around while he let go of your neck, feeling you shake and squirm on the floor.

"Please, again."

"Then beg. Again."

[ughgoaway]

you're just a stranger I know everything about.

Content warnings; sadness lol, confrontation, crying, a few Taylor references because I am unbearable, swearing, shouting, and just general angst. (no happy ending either oops)

a/n; day 1 of the matty 35 celebration! and what better way to start it than with some teacher au angst?? I know my birthdays always have an air of melancholy, so I feel like this is appropriate. I fear this is rushed and SO bad, but eh, too late now!! anyway, enjoy! maybe? if you can?

word count; 3.5k ish

(this fic is an extension from the "don't you think of me?" universe, which you can read here.)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The text sits on your phone. Every time the screen starts to dim, you tap it to keep it illuminated, yet you don't reply. You can't. Every muscle in your body feels frozen except that one finger. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You watched the phone dim, but the name of the contact seemed to stay just as bright, even when the light is as low as it can be, “Matty. DO NOT TEXT.” glows on your screen. The warning was added against your will after a few too many drunk almost-phone calls. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

It’s an hour later when the phone dies. You knew it was coming, watching the percentage of charge drop slowly. You got the 15% warning. Then the 5%. But still, you did the same thing until the screen finally went black.

 Tap. Tap. Tap.

You don't need the phone to be lit up to remember what the message said anyway. You’d read it a thousand times over already. You’d analysed it, broken it down, performed autopsies on every single word, each letter was scorched into your brain. 

“Hey y/n, long time no talk. 

I hope you got my letter, if you didn't read it, that's okay. You already know everything I said. You always knew me better than I did. 

Anyway, I know this is a long shot, but it's my birthday party next week, and I just can't imagine celebrating without you there. All I can think about is my last birthday, me and you in Hawaii. I don't expect it to be like that, but I would love it if you came. Even if you just had one drink, we don't have to talk. You can wave at me across the room and stay far, far away. Treat me like I've got the plague for all I care, but just come, please. 

Give an old man his birthday wish?

See you there, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

Matty x” 

You want to do the same to the text that you did to his letter, burn it to a crisp. But that doesn't exactly seem feasible, considering your phone was £500, and probably not flammable. plus, you had blisters on your fingers for weeks after the letter, and you dont know if it's worth it again.

But you can't deny that the blisters were oddly comforting. Reminding you what you did every time something brushed your digits, that he was gone, and you had the power. The ball was in your court, and you intended it to stay there.

And it was there for months. But Matty ruined that by sending that message, he got the power back whether he intended to or not. And it was made even worse by him telling Charli, and her endless phone calls begging you to come.

You’re so good at telling her its not going to happpen, and every message that comes in gets a firm “no.” or just gets point-blank ignored. She begs, saying that she needs a friend there and that she'll even let you choose a few songs for George’s DJ playlist. But you stay strong, shaking your head and sighing, insisting you've moved on, that chapter of your life is closed, and you'd like to keep it that way.

So you can't help but wonder how you ended up dressed up on a Saturday night standing outside of Matty’s house, bottle of wine gripped in your shaking hands and the distinct noise of your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk towards the house you've done everything you can to forget. 

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

As soon as you walk in, you can tell the house is different from how you left it. Obviously, the strobe lights and birthday balloons were new, but even ignoring those, the whole space felt wrong. Even more unforgiving and cold, which was impressive considering every inch was covered with people, dancing and chatting. Still, a lifeless air hung around. 

Your eyes darted around, finding the places that you used to occupy. The painting you bought Matty no longer hangs on the wall, replaced by yet another award. You can't help but feel bitter when you see the poster celebrating the album full of songs about you. The spot where your mug used to sit on the counter was empty, but the dark stained ring of coffee remained, forcing you to fight a small smile. maybe he hadn't completely erased you, even if he tried.

People recognise you immediately, and they don't hide their shock well. They might think that they do, smoothly recovering from their initial surprise, but they don't. You see their wide eyes and disbelieving glances, each person acting like you're a ghost haunting the house you once lived in.

You play pretend along with them, smiling as best you can and answering all their questions.

"How's work?"

"How have you been?"

"you seen any good films lately?"

but, you both know you're dancing around the one question they really want to be answered.

why the fuck were you here?

Eventually, the people stop coming, and Charli finds you, plying you with drinks and half-slurred thanks as she begs you to stay for just 5 more minutes. You agree, only because you have yet to catch a glimpse of the birthday boy, and that made everything just bearable.

You quickly regret that decision when you see him not even a minute later, standing by George in the DJ booth smoking a cigarette and laughing in that contagious way he always did. High pitched giggles and his head thrown back.

But he doesn't see you, so it's still okay. You can hang on a few seconds more. Your chest might be tightening with every moment, but you're not suffocating yet.

However, when a tall blonde girl walks over and starts making out with him, it suddenly starts to feel like the room is on fire, and you’re choking on the invisible smoke. The burn of the flames starts to feel all too real when he pulls away from her, though, and his eyes find yours as if they're magnetised together. 

The realisation falls over his face immediately, dropping his hand from around her waist and trying desperately to weave through the crowd surrounding him. You don't stay to see if he breaks through the sea of people, already rushing out as fast as you can, forcing your cup into a stranger's hand and moving as fast as your legs can take you.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

“y/n, stop.” You hear Matty’s voice behind you as you storm out his front door, but you don't turn. It sounds muffled, like you're being pulled underwater, and someone is screaming at you to get up. But the waves keep on pulling you deeper, and his voice becomes more faint with every step you take.

Yet, as soon as the cold air fills your lungs and his skin finally touches yours, you're pulled out. You spin around as soon as his fingers graze your shoulder, acting like even his touch is painful as you wrench away.

It was finally here, the time you were dreading. The time when it was just you, him, and everything that remained unsaid.

His eyes held yours as the silence of the night surrounded you, and you couldn't help but study him like you always did. He looked different. Not better or worse, just different. The colourful lights in the house had been hiding his features. 

He had more lines on his face, deeper ones on his forehead, but the ones around his mouth had lightened, his smile lines fading. You could still tell even when it was slicked back with heavy gel that more grey streaks danced through his curls.

His eyes were the same, though. Always so telling, so revealing. If you wanted to know exactly what Matty Healy was thinking, look in his eyes. They spoke more than he did. Which sounds absurd if you’d ever had a conversation with him, but you'd bet your life on it.

You almost start to soften at the sight of him, old memories flooding back. Flashes of warm sun and hot kisses, filthy sex followed by soft breakfasts in bed. But then he speaks. Why do men always do that? Just as you're thinking about saying something and trying defusing the situation, they open their stupid mouth.

“Where are you going?” he asks softly, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in oxygen, his lungs fighting to catch up.

“Home, Matty. I shouldn't have come. I don't even know why you invited me.” You try to spin and walk away, to finally move on. But of course, Matty’s voice drags you back under once again, and the same water fills your lungs.

“stay, please. i dont know why i invited you either, but I did. I didn't expect you to come. I just-” Matty stutters as he speaks as if his brain can't catch up with his mouth, things pour out that he doesn't mean. And he knows it. It's crystal clear as soon as his wide eyes shoot open, processing what he had really just said. 

He didn't expect you to come? He put you through all this and didn't think you'd show up? What was the point then? Was it just to hurt you? Did he just want to see if he could? to see if his name popping up would have the same effect it always did, make you come running to him?

Your body moves without thinking, turning to face Matty with fires burning in your eyes, "You didn't think I would come? Then why the fuck did you even invite me, Matty?! to flaunt your new girlfriend? to try and "win" the breakup? Well congratulations, you've fucking won. I'm sure that model hanging off your arm is just perfect for you.” sarcasm drips from your every word, burning Matty like acid rain.

“No! It's not like that. I don't know. I think- I think I was just scared we’d never be in the same place again. That I would love you for the rest of my life, but I’d never see you again.” his voice softens as he speaks, and you almost want to give in, to crumble at his gentle tone and warm eyes. But he can't still love you, it seems impossible when you go back and see the destruction he left behind.

“That's what a breakup is, Matty. And did you ever think about me? About what I want? I can't help but think that maybe that would've been better. If being in the same room as you means feeling like this, I don't ever want to see you again.” You spit back angrily.

Matty's nostrils flare before he speaks, and you can see the anger building inside him. It takes a lot to get Matty to shout, but you can tell with every second you're making him inch closer. And you don't know why that makes you feel so good, but if you're honest, you don't want to know.

You want to keep going, keep pushing. You want him to act like he did that night. You needed to see it again. You needed to know he couldn't ever forget the night you're forced to remember. 

“y/n, I don't- I just don't know what to say to you. What do you want from me? Do you want me to say that saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do? That it ripped my heart out of my chest? That it fucking destroyed me? It did. Of course it did, you always made me feel everything. Losing you was no different.” You heard the way Matty’s voice cracked the more he spoke, but you ignored it. If he wanted to pull the dagger out of your heart, it was his job to deal with the bleeding.

“It didn't feel that hard when you stopped coming home at night. Or when you were fucking screaming at me. Or even that night when you walked out the door, you made it look pretty fucking easy that night. Because that's how it was Matty, you left. So don't come to me bitching and whining that it destroyed you. It's your fault. All of this is your fault.” you feel your voice wavering, but you suck in another breath, refusing to let him see you weaken, to see that wall you built start to break down. 

“I deserved a better goodbye, Matty. If the goodbye you gave me hurt, the one I deserved would have fucking killed you.” You poke Matty in the chest harshly, pushing him back on his unsteady feet. 

Streetlights flicker above you, the severe light dancing across Matty’s features. As long as you can remember, this light was busted, flicking on and off at will. It used to annoy you, distract you at night when the light poured through the curtains of Matty's bedroom.

Tonight, however, you loved it. No one could hide what they were really feeling under the harsh yellow glow. It seemed to pull every emotion to the surface of your face, illuminating even the darkest parts you wanted to hide.

So it was easy to spot when anger reared its ugly head in Matty. This time, he doesn't push it back. He physically can't.

He needs you to know that it did kill him to say goodbye, and that you can see that. he needs to understand how you can’t you see that he's the shell of the man he once was as he stands here?

“I apologised to you. I know you got my letter. Thanks for the response, by the way, a great way for us to get closure for whatever the fuck this was.” venom drips from every word that falls from his lips, and you have to fight to hide the smirk brewing on your face. 

Finally. Finally, he was angry. He was pissed off. This is what you needed. You need the big fight, the final breakdown. Just one more time, you tell yourself, just one more screaming match, and you can move on.

A scoff involuntarily is ripped from your chest, as if you can't believe the utter bullshit coming from the man across from you. “I'm sorry, you think you deserve a response? What would I say in it, “Oh Matty, I'm so sorry! You're so right. Please let me come over so we can fuck all night!!” I know I'm not your usual airhead type, but you have to think more of me than that”

Your voice is high and piercing as you speak, and you know it. It always was when you started to get riled up. However, in this moment, you didn't care. You just needed something to happen, for him to get just as annoyed as you've been for fucking months.

“You don't think I deserved anything, though? Not even an acknowledgement?” his incredulous eyes met yours, begging you to take everything back and say you're sorry too, that it wasn't just his fault, even if he knew that wasn't true.

“Why should I? You never acknowledged my feelings. I don't think you asked me how I felt in the last month of our relationship.” Wet tears start brewing at your lashline. You want to fight them falling. But you can't, your resolve weakening with every second he stands in front of you.

“you know, that night we broke up, I realised something. you hadn't said you loved me in weeks. I said it every morning. But you'd hum back, or nod, or hug me. But you never actually said it.” Matty tries to cut in, and you already know what he wants to say. But you don't let him, powering through his half started words and desperate eyes.

After a few shaky breaths, your words start pouring again, “You treated saying “I love you” just like how you treated saying sorry. Like it would kill you to even think it. You've still never properly apologised for how you treated me, never said it to my face. But when we were together, I found myself saying sorry thousands of times over for feeling anything. I felt guilty for being pissed off at you, like I was doing something wrong. But I had every right to be! You had become a man I didn't even recognise, and for some reason, I still loved you, even when I shouldn't have. But at the time, I didn't see that. All I saw was you hurting. And because all I do is care, I wanted to stay. To stay for you, for us. Our family.”

Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes. The harsh wind blowing between you whistling through the street. Your eyes can't be dragged away from Matty’s, tears falling freely between the two of you.

And suddenly, you don't want him to be angry any more, you don't want this all to happen. You wish you could go back, never come here. But time doesn't work like that, so you’re stuck with tears pouring down your face as you stare at the man you once thought was the love of your life.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” Matty whispers, and you could see the desperation on his face, wet eyes tracing your every feature.

In that moment, he didn't know what he wanted your answer to be.

If you said no, it would kill him. Every ember of hope smouldering inside him would be burnt out, never to be relit.

But if you said yes, he doesn't know if he can let go. If you say you still feel anything for him, he knows he’ll be looking for you in every universe until he finds the one where you stay.

“I won't ever not love you, Matty. No matter how many times I tell myself I've moved on or that my life is better without you in it. I will always love you, and that's fucking agonising.” you sniffle as you speak, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How did you go from screaming at each other to professing your everlasting love?

Matty wants nothing more in that moment than to start begging you to come back, telling you how you can make it work, to talk about what he would do to get you back. But he knows he shouldn't, so he doesn't.

“Annie still thinks about you all the time you know,” Matty says, and your chest hurts from the whiplash of this conversation, jumping between memories of your old life so fast its almost unbearable. But you knew Matty. He needed to jump around to stay sane, so you jumped with him.

“I know, I remember you saying in the letter that she stopped asking when I was coming back. Is that true?” your voice drops again, as if you were sharing secrets at a sleepover.

“I thought it would be easier when she stopped asking, maybe then I'd not spend every waking hour thinking of you. But when the day came, it wasn't easier. It was like watching you leave right in front of me all over again. It brought me back to walking into the house for the first time after you left, looking at the empty space and trying to figure out how to fill it. Annie was filling it by asking about you, but suddenly she wasn't, and that glaring hole in my life was back." Matty's voice breaks as he speaks, but he clears his throat and tries to ignore it.

"I realised then that I'll never not think about you. Even if no one talks about you. Even if I never see you again, I'll still think of you.” Matty sucks in a shaky breath as soon as the words stop pouring out of him. His lungs seemed like they were sticking together with every word he said, and it felt like death. But he couldn't stop the rush of words, so he let the death surround him.

“Tell her I said hi” you reply meekly, not sure what to say in response to Matty’s outpour.

“I won't” matty says, forcing a half smile and chuckle that you half-heartedly return. 

Once again, the blanket of silence surrounds the two of you, enveloping you in a way that feels all too familiar. So you break it, not letting yourself fall back into old patterns.

"i just dont understand how it all happened so quickly. how did you go from a stranger to the love of my life, only then to become someone I wish was a stranger all over again?" You whisper, your shaking hands coming to cup Matty's wet cheeks as you step closer. His hands wrap around your waist instantly, pulling you in and holding you so tight it almost hurts. 

Silence hangs between the two of you. But its no longer painful or awkward, stilted or angry. It was a silence of acceptance, an acknowledgement that this had to be the final goodbye. There was no erasing the past, the demons that followed the two of you couldn't be ignored. So you were done, this was it.

Eventually, you pull away, and your face hovers in front of Matty’s for a few beats too long. You want to give him a final kiss, a proper goodbye. and you swear you can almost feel his lips against yours, taste the salty tears that would fall from your eyes. You don't, though. Your hands drop from his wet cheeks, and you walk away.

Every fibre inside you wants to turn around and go back to him. It feels impossible to face the future with the person you planned to spend it with standing 10 steps behind. But you do, moving forward and trying not to mourn the life you know you can never get back.

[sc0tters]

Opposing Teammates

the one where Matthew and Billie have been rivals their entire lives so what happens now when they are both playing for the Maple Leafs?

intro ☆

➞ meet billie

blurbs ☆

➞ did matthew ever place against billie in college?

➞ how did matthew and billie play each other?

➞ the time they got caught in the weight room

➞ matthew lectures her after the wr

➞ how do the guys see it?

➞ billie moves in with the marners!

➞ matthew fought for her

➞ everyone loves them

➞ when mitch caught them

➞ the fight about the kiss

➞ green isn't the look for matthew

➞ billie being a shit pre interviews

➞ more weight room content

➞ the time john caught billie and matthew

➞ jealous matty

➞ willy and billie become besties

➞ matthew gets rough in sweden

➞ billie and willy are the power duo

billie goes to the panthers

➞ billie gets traded

➞ billie moves in with matty t

➞ things that happen when she is gone

➞ matthew gets jealous

➞ how do they get back together

social media edits ☆

➞ coming soon

[aroace-cat-lady]

so uhhhh ahhh long rant incoming sorry~

I'm sure you're aware of this whole Matty situation...

I just need to say that I cannot support Taylor after this, for me, this is absolutely where I draw the line. Personally, I believe that knowingly dating a bigot, a racist for example - this is someone who has unashamedly admitted to watching racist torture p**n, imagine how twisted you have to be to do such a thing - it automatically means that you are also racist, because, as per *my* definition of racism, racism doesn't have to be outright saying racial slurs and actively harassing poc, I definitely classify this indifference and condoning of bigotry as racism too. You *cannot* claim to be an activist and proceed to associate yourself with someone who is against everything you apparently stand for, unless it is of course, purely performative and somewhat for your own benefit. You cannot seriously claim you stand with people of colour, trans people, jewish people, muslims, every marginalised group basically, yet associate yourself with someone who clearly doesn't??

I understand some people are conflicted, I mean so was I for perhaps an hour after it was confirmed, it is hard when someone who you might idolise, who you believed would advocate for you is actually incredibly apathetic, and who has proven that countless times but especially this time, that they didn't truly mean what they claimed... But how can one not draw the line at bigotry? You can't just shrug it off by saying "I love her but this is wr-" that means nothing, you can't seriously call her out for something and say you love her in the same sentence, does that even count as holding her accountable? Equally bad are those who are "looking the other way" so you simply just don't want to hold her accountable and then be held accountable yourself for not doing so.

Additionally, if you're going to date a literal bigot, and you are aware of the colossal platform and influence you hold, why would you do it publicly- oh and with a fanbase obviously including the groups said bigot has openly discriminated against?

Unfortunately, the main responses I've seen to this situation are: swifties who idolise taylor to an unhealthy extent attempting to defend and condone even matty's actions, the performative activists who pretend they care but continue to talk about how much they adore her and basically just shrug it off, those who are fully aware its wrong and look the other way, and the literal minority who hold her accountable. Oh, said minority's feelings tend to be dismissed and invalidated and belittled by the former 3 groups. Oh, and also, said minority is primarily poc. hmmm.

Something particularly annoying that people are doing is attempting to making this about misogyny when it quite obviously isn't ("ofc you guys are blaming a woman for a man's actions"). I swear, I have seen not one person who has even implied that Taylor is to blame for Matty's actions. We are holding them both accountable because they are both shitty. Matty is unquestionably worse, but does that mean Taylor shouldn't be held accountable? Really? People saying this either... have zero understanding of the situation OR just don't want to hold her accountable and want to *out-woke* us or something and I think most of them are guilty of the latter

btw you don't have to comment on this or anything idk I'm just upset lrpekfos;rjdlgi

Oh I'm commenting don't worry about that

Just!!! Ugh!!!

I'm so. Outraged. And disgusted. He's just another privilege white guy who doesn't care at all about making fun or offending ppl that are different from him and that doesn't even try to understand or respect them. He's the worst brand of white bread out there.

And most white fans are being so awful about this. Oh you're just making it about yourself oh she's just not thinking oh he's not that bad oh I actually think he's becoming a better person because of her. Shut up. Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.

I really don't know how to feel about Taylor right now. Like, all I can think about now is how a lot of ppl have said for years she's racist cuz she has never toured on latam. How there's literally no explanation for that. And I ignore all of that cuz, dude, it's Taylor??? She's one of the few ppl that actually try.

But. Is she?? Cuz she isn't trying a lot right now. She apparently doesn't care. Sure, she stands for human rights and say Vote Blue!! and all that, but at the end she doesn't seem to think that being racist antisemitic islamophibic etcetc count as a red flag.

I just hate feeling like this. I've always respected and admired Taylor, but I really just can't respect her right now. But I don't seem able to pull away from her.

I mean, I literally love her songs so much I learned a second fucking language thanks to her. My relationship with my sister got a lot better because of her music. I've met incredible ppl because I started blogging about her.

I guess I'm so disappointed and kind of heartbroken right now. Like, I got this feeling of you didn't just betrayed me, you betrayed all of us and, worst of all, you betrayed yourself

It's just a lot.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

1836 Oct[obe]r Thurs[day] 27

7 55/..

12 40/..

V

V

L

N

N

No kiss fine morn[in]g – d[o]wnst[ai]rs at 8 3/4 – Ch[arle]s How[ar]th and W[illia]m Keigh[le]y h[a]d been wait[in]g for me 20 min[ute]s –

set the form[e]r w[i]th his son Ja[me]s to hang the gate at the top corn[e]r of Conery Ing and took W[illia]m K- [Keighley] to cut

off a few brok[e]n branches of an oak at the bot[tom] of Pearson Ing (n[ea]r the larch tree) and then w[e]nt

w[i]th h[i]m to Spa h[ou]se to shew h[i]m A-‘s [Ann] four larches to be cut d[o]wn -he will cut them d[o]wn

on Mon[day] – ho[me] at 9 55/.. Mr. Husb[an]d and Dobson (the stone merch[an]t) wait[in]g for me - told H- [Husband]

I w[oul]d ha[ve] a warm bath in the pres[en]t kitchen - alter the stab[le]s and turn the pres[en]t front stab[le]

int[o] a manserv[an]t’s bedr[oo]m – w[oul]d n[o]t ha[ve] the gr[ea]t oak King posts squar[e]d or alt[ere]d to ma[ke] mo[re]

r[oo]m at the end of the gall[er]y lead[in]g the red r[oo]m and north chamb[e]r - to be cas[e]d ov[e]r in their pres[en]t shape -

Dobson want[e]d to kno[w] the date of his last bill for insides (st[one] for the Long goit) –

Look[e]d ov[e]r my acc[oun]ts and ga[ve] him the informat[io]n he want[e]d – br[eak]f[a]st at 10 3/4 - Mrs. and

Miss Briggs call[e]d at 11 – wait[e]d 10 min[ute]s in the h[ou]sekeep[e]r’s r[oo]m till we h[a]d br[eak]f[a]st[e]d –

the 1st ti[me] of their com[in]g here s[in]ce they left us - we were ver[y] civ[i]l to them and I st[ai]d w[i]th

them till n[ea]r 12 - they remain[e]d so[me] ti[me] long[e]r w[i]th A- [Ann] - out fr[om] a lit[tle] bef[ore] 12 (ab[ou]t)

till 1, then n[ea]r an h[ou]r w[i]th A- [Ann] then out ag[ai]n till ca[me] in at 5 50/.. at the meer-drift and in the gard[e]n and ab[ou]t – dress[e]d –

wr[ote] 1 3/4 p[ages] to ‘Mrs. Lawton, Lawton hall, Lawton, Cheshire’ and s[e]nt it tonight – we

shall be delight[e]d to see h[e]r on the 2[n]d or 3[r]d of next m[on]th i.e. next Wed[nesday] or Thurs[day]

hope she will n[o]t disap[poin]t us if she can help it - she h[a]d best ta[ke] her pl[a]ce

in the mail to Bradford, - tell the guard to blow his horn, and let her alight at

the Lodge - will prepare her old fr[ien]d Matty Pollard for her arriv[a]l and I mys[elf] will

ta[ke] ca[re] she (M- [Mariana]) does n[o]t lose hers[elf] bet[ween] the Lodge and the h[ou]se – wr[ote] no[te] to ‘The Rev[eren]d Rob[er]t Wilkins[o]n Heath’

to ask h[i]m ‘to co[me] whenev[e]r m[o]st conven[ien]t to him bef[ore] Wed[nesday] (b[u]t n[o]t on Mon[day]) respect[in]g

the will of my late a[un]t - and wr[ote] no[te] to ‘Mr. Lister appraiser Halifax’ to ask him

to co[me] at 3 p.m. tomor[row] or Sat[urday] to val[ue] the wardrobe of my late a[un]t – seal[e]d and

direct[e]d all the ab[ov]e (let[ter] notes) at the din[ner] tab[le] and s[e]nt them off by Frank soon aft[e]r

7 – din[ner] at 6 35/.. – coff[ee] upst[ai]rs - A- [Ann] r[ea]d Fr[en]ch al[ou]d as us[ua]l – 1/2 asleep on the sofa

till 10 - then wr[ote] all the ab[ov]e of today - Booth here this morn[in]g - at Hilltop in the

aft[ernoo]n – settl[e]d - Mr. Carter h[a]s no object[io]n to the new barn and h[ou]se being in a line w[i]th his

moth[e]r’s cot[tage] and so it is to be - 2 masons (Amos and Jos[e]ph Sharpe) at the west tow[e]r –

2 d[itt]o flagg[in]g the new court – Rob[er]t Mann + 4 low[erin]g and level[in]g in front of the h[ou]se and g[o]t

the hall-cellar-drain dry out so as to drain off all the wat[e]r (6in. deep) out of the cellar –

Rob[er]t Schof[iel]d and his man Joseph help[in]g the masons at the west tow[e]r – pull[in]g d[o]wn the gard[e]n terr[a]ce

wall and dress[in]g the st[one] (Jos[e]ph w[a]s help[in]g the gard[ene]r in the morn[in]g) - the gard[ene]r and John Booth and Ch[arl]es

and Ja[me]s How[ar]th stubb[in]g up the old apple-trees in the orch[ar]d and clear[in]g the gr[ou]nd - Frank cart[in]g

st[one] for the dry arching 2 l[oa]ds rough throughs fr[om] Hipp[erholme] quarry and the rest st[one] fr[om] the gard[e]n wall –

Ch[arle]s and Ja[me]s H- [Howarth] at Hilltop all yest[erday] and Tues[day] aft[ernoo]n pull[in]g d[o]wn the old cot[tage]s and barn – Ingh[a]m + 2

men and a boy wall[in]g east parapet wall along the outside arch - 2 York joiners in the hall and 2

Hilltop cot[age]s and barn

pull[e]d d[ow]n

251

1836

Oct[obe]r

jobb[in]g as us[ua]l - the gallery all tak[e]n d[o]wn yest[erday] to the red r[oo]m and n[or]th chamb[e]r and no gett[in]g int[o] eith[e]r

b[u]t by a ladd[e]r int[o] the lit[tle] sq[uare] lobby open[in]g int[o] them - a new beam put up today for the fut[ure]

gall[er]y floor - Mark Hepw[or]th and the N[orth]g[a]te carts cart[in]g soil in front of the h[ou]se topp[i]ng up the gr[ea]t

embankm[en]t – ver[y] fine day F[ahrenheit] 32° now at 10 50/.. p.m. the 1st ti[me] this seas[o]n of being at the freez[in]g point –

my no[te]s tonight writ[ten] in the 1st pers[o]n - will n[o]t wr[it]e Miss L- [Lister] mean[in]g to ta[ke] the brevet

immed[iatel]y – No[te] fr[om] Mr. Wilkins[o]n to say comp[limen]ts and he will co[me] at 11 a.m. on Sat[urday] Mr. List[e]r

will try to co[me] tomor[row]

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open. 

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought. 

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck. 

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…” 

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing?  She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things. 

Relatable. 

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?” 

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp. 

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm. 

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse. 

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly. 

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue. 

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.  

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming. 

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit. 

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.  

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.” 

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

[cerys07]

just saw someone say yungblud is the new gerard way

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Famila Ch 37: The Prodigal Son (Part 2)

The Prodigal Son (Part 2)

“Mrrmmf!”

Héctor woke up from a sound sleep when something heavy and fuzzy plopped down hard on his chest and then spread out over his face. When sharp claws began to knead into his neck he flung it off him with a grunt, a small mewl of protest carrying over to the other side of the room. Sitting up in the bed and rubbing his stinging neck he looked out into the darkness to see two glowing eyes staring at him, a low disgruntled growl breaking the silence.

“Damn it Pepita.” Héctor whispered, trying not to wake Imelda sleeping next to him. “Why do you always want to sleep on me? Sleep on Imelda, she likes you!” 

The gray tabby cat simply looked at Héctor for a moment before turning towards the door and rubbing up against it. Ah, she wanted out. She had been in the bedroom probably all day. Rosita had told them earlier that she would take the cat home with her for the entirety of Matty’s stay, so as not to upset his allergies, but apparently that didn’t end up happening. She seemed a little… distracted by Martín’s surprise visit. Understandable. He had never seen the girl so enraptured and giddy before.

With a sigh Héctor opened the door and let the cat slink off into the night, stepping out himself and breathing in the warm mid-May air. He didn’t know what time it was, but it probably wasn’t that long after everyone had turned in for bed. He found himself walking towards Matty’s bedroom with a smile. Now that his boy was finally home, safe and sound, he wanted to see him sleeping in his own bed. Just to be sure.

Peering into the window his smile faded when he saw Matty’s blankets rumpled and turned out, but the bed empty. Glancing about the rest of the room he saw no sigh of his son. Héctor stepped back and looked around the courtyard. Where was he? At this time of night? The bathroom? That seemed the most plausible. He couldn’t think of any place else-

“YIP!”

“Gyah!”

Jumping nearly out of his skin, Héctor looked down to see Dante standing next to him. The dog grinned and panted happily up at him, his crooked tail wagging hard. As his heartrate came back down to normal rhythm his eyes narrowed as he looked at the dog critically.

“You’re not really the same dog, are you?”

Dante didn’t answer, not that Héctor was expecting an answer, but instead trotted over to the exit of the courtyard. It was then Héctor noticed that the green doors were slightly ajar. Dante looked back at Héctor, spun in a circle, and jumped a little with that same goofy smile.

Follow me.

Héctor sighed wearily but went after the dog as he made his way down the deserted streets of Santa Cecilia. He was wide awake now so sleep wouldn’t come back to him easily, and at the very least he could make sure Dante didn’t disappear again for another two years. But instead of wandering about aimlessly looking for a place to leave his mark, Dante looked like he was headed to a very specific place. And soon that place revealed itself to Héctor.

Panteon de Santa Cecilia.

He balked at entering the cemetery, never having been keen on visiting the site that held the remains of his baby girl, and even more so now. With Ernesto’s giant mausoleum taking up so much space, sticking out in its size and grandeur and making sure it was the first thing that caught your attention, Héctor’s stomach curled in sourness as he gazed at it. This used to be their playground, he and Ernesto, when they were little kids. Despite the morbid atmosphere they had some good times. Now his dead body, and his daughter’s, had tainted it forever.

But the gate to the cemetery was also open, and Dante made his way in and towards Ernesto’s gravesite without hesitation. As he watched the dog weave around the various crypts and gravestones, Héctor could see that Dante was not the only occupant there this late at night.

There, sitting on one of the gravestones directly in front of the mausoleum, was Matty. The sight of his son made Héctor relax a little and with a little shake to prepare himself he made his way in. Moving closer to him Héctor could see that Matty was staring up at the lifelike stone bust of Ernesto perched above the entryway, absently patting Dante’s head once he had reached him and put his snout on his lap. He was leaning, nearly fully sitting, on one of the tombstones situated at the front with his crutches laying on the ground, with only the tiny embers of his cigarette giving off a faint glow in the night as he sucked down a puff-

CIGARETTE?!  

“AHA!”

Matty whipped around to see his father staring at him and erupted into frantic, hacking coughs as he hastily flung the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Mierda!”

Héctor crossed his arms and laughed. “I knew you smelled funny as soon as you got off the train! And here I was thinking someone else had smoked and gotten the stench on you. Tsk tsk tsk…”

“It’s nothing!’ Matty insisted as he caught his breath and wiped the tears from his eyes “Just a simple luxury when I had nothing else! I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Mmm hmm, sure.” Héctor chortled and waved the lingering smoke out of the air. “I’ll just keep a wide berth until then, eh? Couple of arm’s length so I don’t choke around you?”

“… Don’t tell Mamá, si?”

“Oh, I won’t have to. If the crushing guilt doesn’t compel you to tell the truth, your ashy fingers, smell and charred vocal cords will give you away in the end.”

Matty growled and shook his head. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I should ask you the same thing.”

In an instant Matty’s face softened and he looked back up to the bust of his godfather. A fleeting expression of grief changed into a sad, wane smile. “I came to thank Tio Nesto.”

Héctor blinked. “For what?”

“For a few things.” Matty scooted along the gravestone and gestured to the empty spot. “Sit. I already apologized to this chica uhh… Nieve, so I don’t think she’ll mind you sitting down too. Plus she’s been dead for over forty years, so…”

With a chuckle Héctor took the offered seat next to his son, tapering off as he too looked at the bust of Ernesto. That charming smile and faraway, confident look that charmed the world over. Charmed him as well. Fooled him, for so many years. “So, what do you have thank… him for?”

Save for a brief look from his son, Matty didn’t address nor question the slight bitterness to his voice. He simply started his story.

“When I first heard that Tio Nesto died about two months had passed since then. Word travels slow in the trenches that doesn’t include wartime activities. Especially frivolous topics like the deaths of famous people, and extra especially those who are not from Hollywood, like native Mexicans. So, when I finally heard about it, I… did not take it well.”

‘Probably better than I did,’ Héctor thought, but he kept listening.

“I lashed out at everyone, intentionally got into fights. Martín tried to stop me, but I was just so angry I ended up fighting him as well. It got us both sent to the infirmary, where of course Wanda was there to tell me off for how foolish I was being… I said some things, called her names I’m not proud of… and she just lit into me.”

“Now keep in mind up until this point I respected her as a nurse, but thought she was just a sheltered privileged white woman from America who came running to me because I spoke ‘Mexican’. But she was quick to point out I was the sheltered privileged one… And I must admit she was right. Then in the span of about thirty seconds she told me an abridged version of her life, which I won’t repeat out of respect, but… It was rough. It was bad Papá, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially a little girl!”

Suddenly Matty lurched forward and began to breathe hard, his hands clenching into fists on his knees and shaking. Héctor rubbed a hand on his back, whispering soothingly, “It’s okay… I understand, it’s okay.”

Mumbling a terse apology, Matty reached a shaking hand into his jacket pocket and pulled another cigarette. Héctor chose not to say anything as Matty lit it, especially since he was able to relax once he had sighed out another cloud of smoke. He’d let him be this once.

After a few seconds pause Matty then smirked a little. “After all of that she said I was a spoiled little rich boy whose father was King of the Mexicans- something I’ll start calling you now, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“And then she screamed at me, ‘You are the sorriest son of a bitch on both sides of the Earth, and I pity the lowly cow who will be unfortunate to be your wife!’ And then she… uh…” With a cringe and nervous laugh, he smoked another drag. “She threw a bedpan at me.”

Héctor’s eyes bugged out and he cringed too with sympathy. “Ah… A, um… a clean one I’m hoping?”

“Nope.”

“Uy…”

Matty hummed a chuckled and flicked away some ash, his smile growing warmer. “Anyway… After ignoring her for a few days I finally came around to apologizing to her properly. We talked more about her life and about mine. When she learned about Leti and Tio Nesto she apologized as well, and ever since then… we clicked. I started thinking about her more and more, and she said the same about me. I even learned-”

Matty stopped short with sigh and shook his head. He didn’t think Héctor wanted to know that he had learned to play all of Cole Porter’s songs on the trumpet for Wanda. Even if one occasion had him blasting out ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’ while doing a lazy soft-shoe dance that had her in hysterics. He couldn’t, not after what Mamá had told him.

“-Well we learned a lot about each other and from each other… And when I was hurt and dreaming, I felt a kiss on my forehead and such soft words that made me feel better… ‘You feel better’… and for the first time in my life I didn’t immediately think of my sister and feel better. I thought of Wanda. And when I woke up… she was there. She came to me, in my dreams and in real life, and I…- I love her Papá. I never thought I would ever love someone as much as I do her.”

Héctor wrapped an arm around his son. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Me too. For the longest time I thought I would never feel anything for anyone. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Oye.” Héctor said sternly. “There is nothing wrong with you. You just… had to go to the other side of the world to find the one for you. And even if you never did find someone there’d still be nothing wrong with you. Claro?”

Matty nodded with a smile, leaning into his father’s hug, and looked up again at Ernesto’s bust. “So that’s one reason why I have to thank Tio Nesto. He was sort of the catalyst for me to get to Wanda.” With a hard swallow he reached into his pants pocket with a nervous fumble. “The other reason was… I had to thank him for uh… saving my life.”

“Saving your life? What are you-” Héctor asked, but his words trailed off as Matty dangled something in front of his face, and confusion turned into silent horror. It was his pocket watch: the same one Ernesto had given to him when he was seven years old to celebrate the premier of their first movie. Shiny, golden and encrusted with diamonds with the words ‘Seize your Moment’ engraved into it.

Except now it was bent and warped into a misshapen, puckered mess. The diamonds had broken off and the gaps filled in with caked dirt, the glossy sheen scratched to oblivion. And in the center of the broken timepiece was a mutilated silver bullet slug, permanently jammed into the mess of metal. The words were lost forever.

Héctor numbly took the chain from Matty and placed the watch into his hand, and a slight tremble of fear of what could have been made him gasp. “Mateo…”

Matty stared down at the watch blankly, one hand coming up to rub his right pectoral, and continued.

“We were ambushed at Anzio, after weeks of no activity. Martín, several other soldiers and myself were held up in an abandoned town street behind a barrier when suddenly a grenade landed on our side. We were able to scramble away in time except for Martín. He was blasted into a wall, caved into a house. I could hear him screaming. He was alive, I had to get him. The others told me to retreat, but I couldn’t. I promised him I would bring him to Santa Cecilia.”

“I managed to snag a morphine syrette from a medic and made my way back to him. I was able to calm him down with a shot, but while I was digging him out I didn’t notice a Gerry coming in behind me. He shot me in the leg, I turned around to shoot, but then he popped me in the chest.”

“It was a cheap pistol but it did the trick just fine. I fell back. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react when he stood over me and aimed at my head… That’s when Martín managed to recover enough to gun him down… So, like I said earlier he saved my life too. The last thing I remember I was being carried away. I woke up on the deck of a ship sailing away from Italy, with Martín lying next to me and Wanda by my side. Out of commission for good.”

“If it had been a more powerful gun then this watch wouldn’t had made any difference. But because it was, and because I had it in my breast pocket that morning, I survived… With half my ribs broken and a badly bruised lung, but I survived… So, in a way, Tio Nesto saved me. He let me keep my promise to you. I came home.”

Héctor stared at the watch as he took in Matty’s story, his fingers closing around the twisted metal. His one true fear ever since the day Matty had left nearly came true. Someone shot his son. Aimed a gun to his head. He would have to thank Martín profusely when he woke up in the morning. Staring up at the bust himself, Héctor took in Ernesto’s smile and kind eyes… and felt nothing. Martín saved him, not Ernesto. No matter what Matty thought, a well-placed watch did not give him the honor of being his son’s savior. This changes nothing, Ernesto. I can’t forgive you.

“I know you think I went off to fight in the hopes I would end up dying. Right?”

Looking back at Matty he handed the watch back to him. He didn’t feel like holding it anymore. “No… Well, I-…”

Pocketing the watch, Matty shook his head. “No, I don’t want to die. Even when Leti did and I felt like I deserved to die instead, I didn’t really want to. I guess I went off because I wanted to save people. I thought if I could save one person, that I could prevent their death, then I could feel better about my own loss. And I did save people. I saved a lot of people.”

“And how do you feel now?”

The cigarette was now down the butt, and Matty stared at the dying embers with a shrug. “Leti’s still dead. Barto’s still dead. Now Tio Nesto is dead. And while I helped a lot of people, I also killed a lot of people. They were the enemy sure, but I wonder if some of them were not the fanatics the news reels made them out to be. Maybe they were just boys who were forced to serve their country, with family hoping they would return home too… Ay, you were right. Many people were forced into this war, but I wasn’t. I was being stupid.”

“You get it from me.”

This caused Matty to laugh softly, with Héctor joining him, as he stubbed out the cigarette at last. “Si.”

“And it turned out fine in the end!” Héctor said. “Just think: You and Wanda will one day get married and we can be the family she never had!”

Matty’s smile turned forced and he chuckled nervously, gripping his wrist. “Ah, yeah… About that…”

“What.”

“Wanda and I… are kind of… already married?”

“… What?”

“W-well, you see!” Matty stuttered while still maintaining a too-wide grin. “I was hurt, si? Emotions were running high; it was spur of the moment. A priest was there-Oh! She’s Catholic, you’ll be happy to know! Anyway, a priest was there giving last rites to soldiers, so he was more than grateful to perform a small wedding ceremony. Martín was my best man, even though he was laying out on a cot and delirious the whole time, but he was still a witness! Anyway, we don’t have a certificate yet but a los ojos de Dios… She’s a Rivera!”

As his boy rambled on, Héctor was pleased to see more of his own mannerisms being shown on full display in Matty. Both so different from each other except when it came to love: It made them both idiots.

“I see… Doesn’t count.”

Matty blinked stupidly. “Que?”

“It doesn’t count.” Héctor said, crossing his arms. “You are not truly married until you tell your Mamá, who in turn is going to want to give you a big fancy wedding and invite everyone in town. Ceci will make Wanda’s dress, we’ll have a grand feast with lots of presents and your Mamá will wail and grieve over the loss of her son while clutching Miguel close to her vowing to never let him go. It will be beautiful.”

Matty laughed and nodded in agreement. “Si. It would be nice to have a real wedding… But there’s also one other reason why it doesn’t count.”

“And what’s that?”

“I need to make Wanda some shoes.”

That was exactly what Héctor wanted to hear. Héctor’s heart melted and he smiled warmly at Matty, pulling him into the biggest hug he could give him. They sat there for a moment, holding each other, when Héctor noticed three other cigarette butts among the other two. “How long have you been here?”

“…About two hours. And it took half an hour to get here. It was a mistake to come here alone, I lost my wind and have been stuck here ever since.”

“You stubborn little- All right, wrap your arm around me and lean in. Papi will take you home, cielito.”

“Callate.”

With one arm around his son’s waist and the two of them each holding onto a crutch, they slowly started to make their way back to the house. “And it’s not just you and Wanda. Martín is quite taken with our dear Rosita, and I think the feeling is mutual. Two new romances in one day! It’s very exciting, no?”

“No.” Matty said with a huff, panting a little in exertion as they walked. “It was maddeningly irritating. Every day it was something else with him: ‘What’s her favorite color? What does she like to do? How tall is she? Is her voice low and sultry like a vixen or sweet and clear like a faerie?’ It’s kind of high and squeaky. ‘Ay! Like a faerie then!’ He drove me crazy Papá!”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Sorry, but I don’t want to tell him what her favorite food is while we’re under heavy fire.”

“…Okay that’s bad.”

As the two laughed down the street Dante followed close behind them, sniffing the air as they walked past and whining a little at what he smelled. His boy was older now and hurt. When he had disappeared so long ago, to place where Dante could not follow him, the old dog’s heart ached for him. But whether he would come back to their small town or to the Land of the Dead, Dante would be sure to greet his owner with much gusto as well as many happy licks. He was a good boy, after all, and that’s what good boys did.

But he was tired, his sight was failing, and his bones had ached something fierce. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could exist amongst the living, so the choice to go to the Land of the Dead had been an easy one. As his body regained it’s strength and his eyes became as sharp as they were in his puppy days, Dante was content to wait for either outcome of his master’s fate in the company of skeletons and fantastic creatures.

But then earlier today he had felt it. The boy was back home where he belonged, and Dante wasted no time in tearing across the marigold bridge to get back to him. And he did greet him with plenty of slobbery kisses and received many hearty pats and rubs. It felt so good to see him again.

But his boy was different now.  

Ever since he had known him the boy had a storm brewing inside of him, so dark and heavy that sometimes not even the best licks on the face or the funniest tricks could get him to smile. He was a good owner, yes, but he was so sad at the same time. So broken. Dante didn’t know what he could do for his boy and it broke his heart.

But now… aah, that was a little better. The storm was not completely gone, but now it was more like a cloudy day with a few drizzles. And streams of sunshine were now breaking through the clouds. Dante guessed that had to do with his boy’s new mate. She smelled nice and her voice was pleasant to hear. Had to work on her petting though. Very amateur, but she showed some promise. But the way he looked at her made the sun inside of him shine brighter, so she was a keeper in Dante’s mind.

His boy was going to be okay now. He didn’t have to worry about him anymore

The old man on the other hand?

Woof…

As Dante watched Héctor walk his son down the road, he was startled when something snaked against his side with a soft purr. Looking down he saw gatita arching her back up his flank and rubbing her whiskered cheek against him. With a smile he gave her a sloppy lick on the forehead in return. With a growl she glared at him then sat down to get to work on cleaning off the slobber. As the two animals watched the men walk off into the night, Pepita turned towards Dante.

‘So what are you thinking?’

‘I think… that I have a new boy to look after!’

‘… A rather old boy.’

‘A boy is a boy! Even girls are boys! It’s a fact.’

‘Hmm. Well, it’s going to be difficult to guide him. I’ve been with him for over a year now. Not only is he hurting, but he’s stubborn.’

‘It’s okay. I’m a good boy who always helps his master. No matter what.’

And with that the two animals followed the two men on their way home, both of them unaware that they were being scrutinized by beings more powerful than they could possibly comprehend.

------------------

“What is this?”

“Um… a ball?”

“Good. And what color is it?”

“Red.”

Victoria turned toward Miguel and gave him an affirmative nod, who eagerly scratched out a big checkmark onto the piece of paper in front of him. Wanda was sitting across from them both at the kitchen table, with Héctor next to her reading a newspaper. Every so often however he would lower the paper to watch his granddaughter rummage through her small pile of trinkets and treasures laid out in from of her, chuckling with mirth. As Miguel finished making the mark on the page, he looked at his pencil and gasped.

“Ooh! Victoria! Ask her about this!” he said, holding up his pencil.

“Okay.” Victoria nodded, and again spoke to Wanda in her limited, but very articulate English. “What is that?”

“A pencil.”

“And what color is it?”

“Yellow.”

“Oye oye…” Matty hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches, freshly shaved and cleaned for dinner with Facundo, Julio and Coco trailing behind him. Looking at all the random junk scattered on the table he turned his attention to the two children, frowning. “What are you two doing?”

“A scientific experiment, mijo.” Héctor said as he folded the newspaper up.

Matty blinked. “Scienti- what?”

Pointing the pencil directly at Wanda, Miguel said, “She has blue eyes!”

Matty glanced over at Wanda, who as if on cue blinked her large blue eyes curiously at him with a slight flutter of her eyelashes. With a slight sag Matty momentarily grinned and chuckled dumbly at her, then with a hard shake and throat clearing he glared down at his brother. ”Si, she has blue eyes. Your point?”

“We were wondering, since her eyes are blue, if she saw things differently than us.” Victoria spoke up, smiling proudly. “So we’re showing her things to see if she can tell us what she sees. If she gets it right she gets a check mark.”

Matty spluttered. “What the-? Why in the world-? How long have you been doing this?” Glancing down at the paper in front of Miguel, he gaped at the page filled with over fifty tally marks on it. “Ay Dios mio! Yes, her eyes work just the same! Experiment over, now stop pestering her and clear off this mess. Ahora, chapparitos!”

As the two children scooped the items into their arms amidst their giggling, Matty made his way over to Wanda to finally explain what they were doing to her in English. She tipped her head back in laughter as Matty shook his wearily and rolled his eyes, apologizing for his brother and niece. Wanda grabbed his chin to look into his eyes.

“It’s cute.” Wanda insisted.

“It’s annoying, is what it is.”

“Speaking of annoying,” Wanda suddenly whispered, drawing him away from Héctor slightly. “Have you talked to your father about this whole ‘no music’ thing?”

“…No.”

“Why not? Matthew it’s been over a week.”

With a sigh Matty shook his head. When Mamá had told him how Ernesto’s death had hurt Papá so much that he had grown to despise music, he was determined to help him in any way he could. Possibly even get him to change his mind about it. He had the perfect moment at the cemetery to ask his father if he had anything else to tell him. A way of getting him to talk about his problems with music.  

But when Héctor had looked up at Ernesto’s bust in the mausoleum, Matty didn’t just see grief. He also saw anger, bitterness and even a little wild fear. Papá wasn’t just heartbroken over Tio Nesto’s death. He was traumatized. Something Matty all too well understood, and he knew at that moment he couldn’t just force him to confront the past.  

Not yet anyway.

“You can’t push these things, sweetheart.” Matty whispered. “I will one day, but not now. You understand, right?”

Wanda raised an eyebrow at that, but with a hum she smiled. “Claro.”

As the two of them kissed sweetly Imelda came in at that moment carrying two plates full of food. Seeing her son with that woman made her poor heart ache and she let out a long-suffering sigh, causing Matty to pull back from his girl with an annoyed sigh of his own. Setting the plates down she reached over and grabbed Miguel’s face, smooshing his cheeks together and making him look her in the eye. “Miguel, you are never going to get married. Understand?”

Miguel nodded with puckered lips. “Shi, Mba-mbá.”

“Mamá, where’s Rosita?” Coco asked as Miguel rubbed his cheeks back into place. “I thought she said she would help you with dinner?”

“Ay, who knows. That girl’s head has been in the clouds all week.”

Julio shook his head. “No, she’s probably just taking a nap. I’ll go get her.”

Julio walked off towards Rosita’s bedroom while the rest of the family settled down to dinner. Helping himself to a large portion of chicken Facundo leaned over to Matty. “Alright, so you don’t want a parade in your honor. That’s fine, actually humble of you. Then how about a ceremony at the plaza where I personally give you the key to the city and unveil plans to erect a statue in you likeness. It can go next to Ernesto’s! In fact, I have a plan to erect statues of all of the people that have made Santa Cecilia the fastest growing town in Oaxaca!... Which is basically all of the Riveras.”

“Si si, that’s great Facundo, but let’s talk business!” Oscar said, both he and Felipe huddled close together with glee. “Matty, Felipe and I thought up another brilliant idea this afternoon and we need your opinion!”  

Ignoring the groans from everyone else, Felipe held up several different colors of leather swatches. “What do kids like to collect these days? Marbles, baseball cards, stamps, et cetera. Well, in order to capitalize on that, we present to you the latest upcoming trend… Rivera Collectible Shoe Tongues!”

“…Ay…”

Before anyone could wrap their heads around how ridiculous that concept was, there a loud commotion coming from down the hall. First that was the hoarse shout of a man, then another, a giant thud that rattled the walls, and finally the high-pitched screaming of a woman. As the screaming continued a bolt of terror raced through everyone and caused them to leap from their seats and race down the hallway.

It was coming from Rosita’s bedroom.

Héctor was the fastest, reaching the door before anyone else, and ran into the bedroom. “Rosita, mija, are you all- AAAH NOOO!”

He immediately covered his eyes and tried to burn away the image from his brain, but the damage was done. Rosita was in bed, in perfect health, pulling the blanket high enough to cover herself but leaving her bare shoulders exposed. Julio was splayed across the floor, staring up at the ceiling and looking dazed. And on top of him was Martín, naked as the day he was born except for the wrapping around his amputated leg, both hands covering his privates in a futile attempt to keep his modesty. And all of them were screaming hysterically.

Imelda was the next to come charging in, pushing past her gagging husband. In one millisecond she was able to take in and process the scene in front of her, spin around, catch Miguel as he tried to come in, and fling him back out into the hallway. Matty came in next and also covered his eyes in disgust.

“Ay, cochino!” Matty cried out. “Guácala! Amigo are you serious?! In my house?!”

“I am so so sorry!”  Martín cried out, trying to keep himself covered with one hand while gesturing wildly with the other. “We were sleeping, and Julio came in and shouted and I panicked! My first instinct was to tackle him! I didn’t know it was him at first! I am so sorry!”

Matty’s brows raised. “You tackled him with one leg? That’s actually impressive.”

Beneath him, Julio wheezed, “Get… off… of… me!”

Martín rolled off Julio and huddled into a curled position on the floor, his one knee drawn up against his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

By now the rest of the part had managed to cram their way into the bedroom. Coco gasped with her mouth covered and looked at Rosita in shock, who had now begun sobbing in earnest. Wanda buried her face into Matty’s shoulder as she tried to keep herself from laughing, while Oscar and Felipe groaned in disgust.

“Honestly, what is it about these people? Why do they think they can do this while there are children present?”

“It must be the house. It might have a lustful curse on it.”

Facundo marched over to Martín, his face growing redder by the second, and growled at the poor boy. “You… you vile, repugnant little cretin! How dare you lay with my daughter! And under the same roof as our generous hosts! How dare you insult them like this! Committing carnal sin without the sanctity of marriage!”

Coco and Matty exchanged looks at each other, then towards their parents with cocked brows. Héctor and Imelda both flushed red and lowered their heads in shame. “It’s fine, no comento…”

“It is not fine!” Facundo roared out, reaching down to grasp Martín by the hair and wrench his head back painfully. “You desecrated my daughter! You deserve to be thrown out into the streets, you disgusting, putrid-”

“Papá stop!” Rosita screamed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “He loves me and I love him! He asked me to marry him and I said yes!”

“-beautiful, thoughtful, blessing in disguise! Come here, mi hijo!”

Facundo grabbed Martín and crushed him into his chest, squeezing hard as the boy gasped for air in pain. “Ay, you beautiful, beautiful man! Thank you for making my dreams come true!” Raising a fist into the air, Facundo happily crowed, “Do you hear that Vicky? Our Rosita is to be wed! You can now rest in peace! Ay, Gracias a Dios!”

“Papá are you insane?!” Julio asked in disbelief, having finally pulled himself off the floor and leaning heavily against the dresser. “They’ve only known each other for a week! This is madness! Mamá Imelda, please say something to end this!”

Everyone looked towards Imelda, who in turn nodded and raised her head high. Clearing her throat, she walked over to glare down at Martín, making him shrink in her presence. Kneeling down she place her hand on his shoulder. “Tell me niño… Do you have any interest in the shoe business?”

Julio sagged back to the floor with a pitiful sob and Coco launched herself onto the bed to hug her best friend, unconcerned with her nakedness. “AAH! Rosita this is so exciting! We’ll get Ceci to make you a wedding dress, but better than mine ever was! Twice as frilly, twice as lacy, twice as… No four times as many flowers! And with diamonds! This is going to be the greatest day of your life!” She hugged her some more with an excited squeal as Rosita hid her beet red face in sheer embarrassment.

With a smirk Matty walked over to Martín. “Well amigo, you wanna have a double wedding with me and Wanda?”

Near tears himself and still in the iron clad hug of his future father-in-law, Martín cried out, “What I want are my pinche pants! Por favor!”

Outside of the bedroom and down the hall, two little children and a baby listened to all the screaming, yelling and laughing that came behind the closed door. Soon enough little Elena grew bored and began to tuck into her dinner, which consisted of rice and beans strewn about her highchair table. The other two tried to make sense of what exactly was going on with all the grownups.

“What did you see?” Victoria asked, having stayed behind to watch over her little sister while the adults decided to act like children themselves.

“Not a lot.” Miguel shrugged. “I think Señor Reyes and your papá were wrestling, but your papá was losing.”

Victoria nodded sagely. “Papá doesn’t fight. I don’t think he knows how.” Having grown bored herself, she jumped off her chair and brushed off her dress. “I’m going to go to bed.”

Miguel blinked. “Before dinner?”

Victoria shrugged. “Abuelo Facundo said I could rest in peace now that Tia Rosita was getting married, so I guess I have to. Buenas noches, Miguel.”

“Buenas noches, Victoria.”

After Victoria had left, Miguel peered down the hall to where all of the adults were still gathered. He didn’t know how long they would be gone for, but it would give him some time to work a little before they came back. Shushing Elena to keep this between them, Miguel pulled out his pencil and a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Laying it flat onto the table he looked at his work so far.  

The figure he had drawn was nice, but it was missing something. Ah si! A moustache! Nice and thin, almost like a second mouth. No, better make it a little thicker. And a big circle over his head like a halo! Add a little lump on top and now it’s a sombrero!

He’d have to put it away soon, but Miguel was more than pleased with the progress he had made so far on his drawing of Tio Nesto. It was almost perfect!

He couldn’t wait to add it the other items of his shrine!

[thedenfantasyleague]

The Den Fantasy League Recap: Championship and Year End

Gentlemen, 

We’ve made it to the end of the road. The finals and the final recap of the year. Let’s get to it.

The Perfect Ten v. Debbie Rowe

The last two teams to make the playoffs found themselves facing off in the championship game. This game, like our whole season, was riveting. Ian took the early lead throughout the day with massive games from guys like Watson, Hopkins, and Ertz. E found himself in a comfortable spot to be in, only looking at SNF guys on Jane’s team to step up; and boy did they. Sure, Jake had good games from Matty Ice, Michael Thomas, and Falcons D, but two guys kept him in it: Damian Williams and Douggy Baldwin. It was a shootout that Jake desperately needed but the clock struck midnight when Doug Baldwin caught a BOMB, only to be tackled right after the reception at the one-yard line. THE ONE-YARD LINE. Jake was 36 inches away from stealing this victory. Unfortunately for Jake, the reverse jinx didn’t work this time as E was crowned champion for the second time in three years. 

The Biggest Winner

We welcome back a familiar face but this time on the other side of victory. The champion: E Birch.

Final Recaps

Like last year, I’ll now take this time to look at each team: drafting, how they performed, etc.

The Perfect Ten 

E capped off an incredible comeback after losing seven consecutive. He was able to sneak into the playoffs after Vinny came up just short. That’s all the space he needed. E was led by the trio of his running backs with big games from his WRs and TE when he needed it most. After sticking with Mitch to start the year, the change to Deshaun was all he needed to capture his title. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Amari Cooper, 3rd Round // Adrian Peterson, 10th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Chris Thompson, 8th Round // Tyler Eifert, 9th Round

Debbie Rowe

Jake found himself in the middle of the pack all season. He was led by his RB who will not be named and left him in a bind. He was able to claw his way back to an untimely loss in the championship game. 

Best Draft Pick(s): George Kittle, 14th Round

Worst Draft Pick(s): Rounds 4-8 (Royce Freeman, Corey Davis, Devin Funchess, Rashaad Penny, Ty Montgomery)

Kalabar’s Revenge

G put his hope in his trio of Pats but the lack of success of Gronk left him shy. The King of Kurses saw his take place at the most opportune time but saw himself not make the championship. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Ty Hilton, 3rd Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Rob Gronkowski, 2nd Round

Virginia Kuppcakes

The newcomer found himself with an interesting team. Early on, I’ll admit there were doubts. He was able to make his way into the playoffs with a good team but lost to the eventual runner-up. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Aaron Jones, 14th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Devonta Freeman, 2nd Round

Mr. Magorium

What a disappointing end to a promising season. Gabe made a splash early on by make a deal to get Gurley in a blockbuster deal. Gabe was at the top all season long but, in a twisted turn of events, received the unwanted #1 seed. Gabe found his season crash in a first-round exit. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Saquon Barkley, 1st Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Jordan Reed, 8th Round

Mixon It Up

Like Gabe, Robbie wasn’t able to continue his regular season success into the playoffs. We all knew it was too good to be true. Rob found great success but came up short. 

Best Draft Pick(s): James White, 10th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Chris Hogan, 5th Round

Team Timshel

Mike, like most teams, stayed in the middle of the pack. He was up and down all year but untimely injuries let him down in the end. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Ravens D/ST, 15th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Le’Veon Bell, 1st Round

A Team Has No Name

Another middle of the road team, every week was a frustrating bout for me. DJ was definitely the wrong choice but there was always hope. I found my way into the 6 seed but that didn’t matter. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Travis Kelce, 2nd Round // Adam Thielen, 3rd Round Worst Draft Pick(s): David Johnson, 1st Round // Matthew Stafford, 9th Round

VP

Just missing the playoffs, Vinny was on the other end of the blockbuster trade. He let go of Gurley early only to receive Diggs and Mahomes (we won’t count Ajayi). Vinny fought towards the end but was the best loser. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Gurley, 1st Round (Yes, I know he didn’t end up with him but he was able to leverage it and avoid the end of year Gurley Kurse) Worst Draft Pick(s): Jerick McKinnon, 3rd Round

Hank Mardukas

Someone who we all thought had the potential of the Cabana Boy was able to sneak by. Scott’s team was a rough one but after he beat JP in the head-to-head battle he delivered the blow that would send JP to the Cabana. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Kenny Golladay, 9th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Marvin Jones, 4th Round

2-2-1 (0.500) PVO

Dylan, another leader in the shot for Cabana Boy, had all but accepted his fate. Struggling all season, he found himself working on drink menus and picking out banana hammocks only to (not-really) shock the world by beating Rob in the final week of the season. 

Best Draft Pick(s): Jared Goff, 12th Round Worst Draft Pick(s): Christian McCaffrey, 2nd Round (Only because he later got rid of him before he hit his stride)

Wilmore Cinderella 

Jarrod went from the ultimate high to the ultimate low. After being champ last year, he found the weight was lifted off E and onto his shoulders. The breaking point was when Gabe beat him and Saquon scored that two-point conversion on MNF. He was never the same and spiraled into our inaugural Cabana Boy.

Best Draft Pick(s): Dak Prescott, 16th Round (only because he turned into a viable QB although JP didn’t keep him) Worst Draft Pick(s): Dalvin Cook, 1st Round & everyone else that got good after JP traded them

I’m honored to have shared the season with you all and I look forward to continued success in 2019.

Your beloved Commssioner,  Jared R. Mosqueda

[dalihdgaming]

EKO Acropolis Rally Greece 2021 | Psatha | WRC 10

EKO Acropolis Rally Greece has just been included in WRC 10 with the latest November update!

New 2021 Rally -EKO Acropolis Rally Greece (9 stages)

New Historical Events -Argentina 1994: Didier Auriol / Bernard Occelli - Toyota Celica Turbo 4W -Argentina 2004: Carlos Sainz / Marc Martí - Citroën Xsara WRC -Kenya 2000: Richard Burns / Robert Reid - Subaru Impreza WRC -Deutschland 2002: Sébastien Loeb / Daniel Elena - Citroën Xsara WR -Mexico 2016: Jari-Matti Latvala / Miikka Anttila - Volkswagen Polo R WRC

Vehicle -1 new Historical car has been added to the game: -Subaru Impreza WRC - 2000 (Richard Burns & Robert Reid)

Fixed Dirts on vehicles -Improved car engine sounds for the Porsche 911 & Ford Fiesta Rally 2

Clubs -New Mode: Realistic Mode -In this mode, vehicle damage is carried over between stages -You can add service parks to the stage to repair your car -Certain service parks are automatically added when you change surface, while others can be added manually as desired. -If you car becomes unfit to continue during the special stage, you will be disqualified from the current event -You have only one attempt for each special stage

https://store.steampowered.com/app/1462810/WRC_10_FIA_World_Rally_Championship/

#rallyacropolis #wrc10 #JimmyDali #Nacon #kylotonngames #simulation #racing #rally #acropolisrally

[whatdoesshedotothem]

1836 Oct[obe]r Thurs[day] 27

7 55/..

12 40/..

V

V

L

N

N

No kiss fine morn[in]g – d[o]wnst[ai]rs at 8 3/4 – Ch[arle]s How[ar]th and W[illia]m Keigh[le]y h[a]d been wait[in]g for me 20 min[ute]s –

set the form[e]r w[i]th his son Ja[me]s to hang the gate at the top corn[e]r of Conery Ing and took W[illia]m K- [Keighley] to cut

off a few brok[e]n branches of an oak at the bot[tom] of Pearson Ing (n[ea]r the larch tree) and then w[e]nt

w[i]th h[i]m to Spa h[ou]se to shew h[i]m A-‘s [Ann] four larches to be cut d[o]wn -he will cut them d[o]wn

on Mon[day] – ho[me] at 9 55/.. Mr. Husb[an]d and Dobson (the stone merch[an]t) wait[in]g for me - told H- [Husband]

I w[oul]d ha[ve] a warm bath in the pres[en]t kitchen - alter the stab[le]s and turn the pres[en]t front stab[le]

int[o] a manserv[an]t’s bedr[oo]m – w[oul]d n[o]t ha[ve] the gr[ea]t oak King posts squar[e]d or alt[ere]d to ma[ke] mo[re]

r[oo]m at the end of the gall[er]y lead[in]g the red r[oo]m and north chamb[e]r - to be cas[e]d ov[e]r in their pres[en]t shape -  

Dobson want[e]d to kno[w] the date of his last bill for insides (st[one] for the Long goit) –

Look[e]d ov[e]r my acc[oun]ts and ga[ve] him the informat[io]n he want[e]d – br[eak]f[a]st at 10 3/4 - Mrs. and

Miss Briggs call[e]d at 11 – wait[e]d 10 min[ute]s in the h[ou]sekeep[e]r’s r[oo]m till we h[a]d br[eak]f[a]st[e]d –

the 1st ti[me] of their com[in]g here s[in]ce they left us - we were ver[y] civ[i]l to them and I st[ai]d w[i]th

them till n[ea]r 12 - they remain[e]d so[me] ti[me] long[e]r w[i]th A- [Ann] - out fr[om] a lit[tle] bef[ore] 12 (ab[ou]t)

till 1, then n[ea]r an h[ou]r w[i]th A- [Ann] then out ag[ai]n till ca[me] in at 5 50/.. at the meer-drift and in the gard[e]n and ab[ou]t – dress[e]d –

wr[ote] 1 3/4 p[ages] to ‘Mrs. Lawton, Lawton hall, Lawton, Cheshire’ and s[e]nt it tonight – we

shall be delight[e]d to see h[e]r on the 2[n]d or 3[r]d of next m[on]th i.e. next Wed[nesday] or Thurs[day]

hope she will n[o]t disap[poin]t us if she can help it - she h[a]d best ta[ke] her pl[a]ce

in the mail to Bradford, - tell the guard to blow his horn, and let her alight at

the Lodge - will prepare her old fr[ien]d Matty Pollard for her arriv[a]l and I mys[elf] will

ta[ke] ca[re] she (M- [Mariana]) does n[o]t lose hers[elf] bet[ween] the Lodge and the h[ou]se – wr[ote] no[te] to ‘The Rev[eren]d Rob[er]t Wilkins[o]n Heath’

to ask h[i]m ‘to co[me] whenev[e]r m[o]st conven[ien]t to him bef[ore] Wed[nesday] (b[u]t n[o]t on Mon[day]) respect[in]g

the will of my late a[un]t - and wr[ote] no[te] to ‘Mr. Lister appraiser Halifax’ to ask him

to co[me] at 3 p.m. tomor[row] or Sat[urday] to val[ue] the wardrobe of my late a[un]t – seal[e]d and

direct[e]d all the ab[ov]e (let[ter] notes) at the din[ner] tab[le] and s[e]nt them off by Frank soon aft[e]r

7 – din[ner] at 6 35/.. – coff[ee] upst[ai]rs - A- [Ann] r[ea]d Fr[en]ch al[ou]d as us[ua]l – 1/2 asleep on the sofa

till 10 - then wr[ote] all the ab[ov]e of today - Booth here this morn[in]g - at Hilltop in the

aft[ernoo]n – settl[e]d - Mr. Carter h[a]s no object[io]n to the new barn and h[ou]se being in a line w[i]th his

moth[e]r’s cot[tage] and so it is to be - 2 masons (Amos and Jos[e]ph Sharpe) at the west tow[e]r –

2 d[itt]o flagg[in]g the new court – Rob[er]t Mann + 4 low[erin]g and level[in]g in front of the h[ou]se and g[o]t

the hall-cellar-drain dry out so as to drain off all the wat[e]r (6in. deep) out of the cellar –

Rob[er]t Schof[iel]d and his man Joseph help[in]g the masons at the west tow[e]r – pull[in]g d[o]wn the gard[e]n terr[a]ce

wall and dress[in]g the st[one] (Jos[e]ph w[a]s help[in]g the gard[ene]r in the morn[in]g) - the gard[ene]r and John Booth and Ch[arl]es

and Ja[me]s How[ar]th stubb[in]g up the old apple-trees in the orch[ar]d and clear[in]g the gr[ou]nd - Frank cart[in]g

st[one] for the dry arching 2 l[oa]ds rough throughs fr[om] Hipp[erholme] quarry and the rest st[one] fr[om] the gard[e]n wall –

Ch[arle]s and Ja[me]s H- [Howarth] at Hilltop all yest[erday] and Tues[day] aft[ernoo]n pull[in]g d[o]wn the old cot[tage]s and barn – Ingh[a]m + 2

men and a boy wall[in]g east parapet wall along the outside arch - 2 York joiners in the hall and 2

 Hilltop cot[age]s and barn

pull[e]d d[ow]n

  251

1836

Oct[obe]r

jobb[in]g as us[ua]l - the gallery all tak[e]n d[o]wn yest[erday] to the red r[oo]m and n[or]th chamb[e]r and no gett[in]g int[o] eith[e]r

b[u]t by a ladd[e]r int[o] the lit[tle] sq[uare] lobby open[in]g int[o] them - a new beam put up today for the fut[ure]

gall[er]y floor - Mark Hepw[or]th and the N[orth]g[a]te carts cart[in]g soil in front of the h[ou]se topp[i]ng up the gr[ea]t

embankm[en]t – ver[y] fine day F[ahrenheit] 32° now at 10 50/.. p.m. the 1st ti[me] this seas[o]n of being at the freez[in]g point –

my no[te]s tonight writ[ten] in the 1st pers[o]n  - will n[o]t wr[it]e Miss L- [Lister] mean[in]g to ta[ke] the brevet

immed[iatel]y – No[te] fr[om] Mr. Wilkins[o]n to say comp[limen]ts and he will co[me] at 11 a.m. on Sat[urday] Mr. List[e]r

will try to co[me] tomor[row]

[mor-beck-more-problems]

@likeamattoutofhell

Right? The more I see of this hellhole, the more painfully fuckin’ obvious it gets that this town seriously needs to kick up the whole mental health situation, around here. You know? Given all the freaky shit that keeps happening, too, like, come on.

Yeah, you’d think there’d at least be a cheesy pamphlet for, “so you or someone you know lost a limb to a watermelon/lobster/sea-worm/whatever.”

[racingtoaredlight]

RTARL’s 2020 NFL Season Week 3 Extravapalooza

Immediately coming out of Week 2 the national conversation was focused mainly on the fact that my picks went a very respectable 10-5. But, after running out of superlatives to describe my handicapping skills, the discourse shifted in the direction of the absolutely brutal spate of injuries that took place. Saquon Barkley, Nick Bosa, and Courtland Sutton were all lost for the season with torn ACLs, and Christian McCaffery, Brandon Scherff, Jimmy Garoppolo, Drew Lock and a whole bunch of others went down with various tweaks and tears that will keep them out of game action for multiple weeks. That’s a lot of really good players! And Jimmy Garoppolo! 

There seemed to be a desire to chalk up a lot of the injuries to a lack of preseason game action, but I’m not smart enough to know if that theory has any merit. Hopefully, it was just a freak occurrence and we won’t see another week like that any time soon. If I can make a bold statement that I’m sure nobody has ever mentioned before: the NFL is a lot more fun when the best players are on the field.

My picks are in BOLD, and the lines come to us courtesy of our friends at Vegas Insider. I use the “VI Consensus” line, which is the line that occurs most frequently across Vegas Insider’s list of sportsbooks. Your sportsbook of choice may offer a different number, and if you’d like my opinion on said number A) you are insane, and B) leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer at some point before things kickoff today.

EARLY GAMES

Los Angeles Rams at Buffalo Bills (-2)

The Bills have looked great in their first two games, no doubt about it. BUT, those two games were against the incomprehensibly shitty Jets and a Dolphins team that I don’t think anyone would call world-beaters. The Rams represent a huge step up in weight class, and I’m not sure how the Bills will handle it. I still love Josh Allen and believe in the Bills in general, but this game might be a little shock to the system for them.

Chicago Bears at Atlanta Falcons (-3)

I’ve read a few takes saying that a trip to Atlanta to play against a ghastly Falcons secondary is going to make Mitchell Trubisky and the Bears offense look much better than they are, but what this pick presupposes is that a meeting with Mitchell will make the Falcons secondary look better than they are.

Washington Football Team at Cleveland Browns (-7)

I know they gave up 30 points last week, but The Football Team’s defense has played really well through two games so far. They mauled the Eagles in a Week 1 victory that saw them sack Carson Wentz 8 times, intercept him twice and hold Philly to 57 rushing yards (3.4 yards per attempt) TOTAL. In Week 2, they held Arizona RB Kenyan Drake in check for the most part (86 total yards, 4.3 per rush) and managed to pick off Kyler Murray once while sacking him three times. Washington was done in by Calimari’s running ability, which is gonna happen to a lot of teams, I reckon. Baker Mayfield is no Kyler Murray when it comes to his wheels, so I’m taking the 7 points.

Tennessee Titans (-2.5) at Minnesota Vikings

Minnesota has looked DREADFUL so far, getting whomped by the Packers and then the Colts. I honestly don’t have a great reason for picking them, other than thinking “they can’t be THIS bad.” If this year has taught us anything, it’s that thinking things can’t get worse is pretty stupid, yet here I am. The only aspect of this game I have any confidence in prediction-wise is in saying that it’ll be the first early game to wrap up. These teams are gonna run, run, and then run some more.

Las Vegas Raiders at New England Patriots (-6.5)

Last week, I once again picked against the Raiders, and they once again made me look stupid by not only covering, but winning outright. So help me if Cam Newton leads New England to an absolute thrashing of this collection of assholes he will immediately become my favorite Patriot ever. 

If I wanted to give a non-spite related reason for my pick, I’d mention that Las Vegas will be without rookie WR Henry Ruggs , LB Nick Kwiatkoski and T Trent Brown, and that G Denzelle Good, T Sam Young, TE Darren Waller and RB Josh Jacobs are all Questionable as of this writing. I’m totally picking against them out of spite, though.

San Francisco 49ers (-3) at New York Giants

The Niners were absolutely wrecked by injuries last week, and now they’re playing again on the same turf that they feel took out their comrades. I can’t help but wonder if that’ll be in their heads a little bit, and if there’s anyone who knows the minds of NFL players, it’s a guy who’s never even attended a school at any level that fielded a football team. Nick Mullens is a pretty good backup QB, and it’s not like he’s replacing Russell Wilson, but still. I can’t take an injury-riddled road favorite starting a backup QB. Seats are rapidly opening up on the Daniel Jones bandwagon, but I remain resolute...for now.

Cincinnati Bengals at Philadelphia Eagles (-4)

I’m really torn here, because I am all the way in on The Joe Burrow Experience and want good things for him, but if the Eagles come out looking like an exploded diaper again it’s gonna get really awkward and depressing in Philadelphia, and I can’t handle feeling even more secondhand cringe and despair in these trying times. I’d greatly prefer a middling Eagles season that keeps their fans’ rage at no more than a simmer, and for that to be the case they’re gonna need to win decisively here. Sorry, Joe.

Houston Texans at Pittsburgh Steelers (-4)

After dealing with Daniel Jones in Week 1 and the Drew Lock/Jeff Driskel Combo Meal in Week 2, the Steelers defense will now have to contend with DeShaun Watson. In my expert football-knower opinion, this will be a more difficult challenge for them. Conversely, the Texans started their year with games against the Chiefs and then the Ravens, and while I do think the Steelers are pretty good, they’re a step below those two death squads. In what’s become a running theme in my picks this week, I think a bit of equilibrium is restored and the Texans have somewhat of a get-right game while Pittsburgh gets taken down a peg.

LATE GAMES

Carolina Panthers at Los Angeles Chargers (-6.5)

This is a tough one. Conventional wisdom says 6.5 is a pretty big number for a rookie QB in his second start, though like everyone else I thought Justin Herbert looked more than legit in his debut. The L.A. defense has been fantastic, and they’re plenty good enough to paper over any potential rookie mistakes from their QB. 

I’m going with the Chargers less because of them and more because of how poor the Carolina offense has looked so far. Teddy Bridgewater is a great story and I’m glad he got himself a nice contract after his horrific leg injury in Minnesota, but he hasn’t looked like an NFL starter this year. New Panthers OC Joe Brady performed a miracle and gave the LSU Tigers an offense for the ages, so he clearly knows what he’s doing. Maybe the Panthers will get it together as the season goes on, but for this week I don’t see it, especially without all-world RB Christian McCaffery. 

New York Jets at Indianapolis Colts (-11.5)

11.5! That’s a large number for a pro game, and it’s terrible that I didn’t have to grapple all that much with laying the points. The Jets have looked historically awful and I feel bad for everyone on their sideline except for Adam Gase and Gregg Williams. Fuck those two. I don’t have a solid read on the Colts quite yet, but I’ve been around long enough to know that a Phillip Rivers-led squad would NEVER blow a layup like this.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers (-6) at Denver Broncos

I get that Tampa Bay is the road team here, but A) there are no fans in the stands, B) Denver has lost several key players to injury and C) they’re starting Jeff Driskel at Quarterback. The Bucs giving less than a TD seems odd to me. Maybe there’s some concern about the altitude affecting Tom Brady’s elderly lungs, or about the possibility of Rob Gronkowski buying thousands of dollars worth of edibles in Denver and mixing them in with the pregame spread. Classic Gronk move, imo.

Detroit Lions at Arizona Cardinals (-5.5)

I don’t see any way the Lions slow down this Cardinals offense, so their only hope is to outscore them. If stud WR Kenny Golladay were healthy I’d like Detroit’s chances a whole lot more, but he’s listed as Questionable with an injured hammy at the moment and on Friday assessed his situation as follows: “Wouldn’t say it’s 100 percent. I really wouldn’t even put a percentage on it, I just know I’m not 100 percent.” That doesn’t sound great to me, but I don’t come from an All Medical family, so I could be wrong.

Dallas Cowboys at Seattle Seahawks (-5)

The formerly formidable Seattle Seahawks secondary has given up 450 passing yards to Matt Ryan, and 397 yards to Cam Newton in their two games this season, while the Cowboys were also carved up by Matty Ice (lol) in their insanely improbable Week 2 win. Both of these passing attacks are fantastic, so this feels like an absolute orgy of touchdowns in the making. This game has the week’s highest over-under at 56.5, so I’m not exactly breaking any new ground with this analysis. That’s really the main hallmark of this blog series, now that I think about it. 

SNF: Green Bay Packers at New Orleans Saints (-3)

This game would be a lot more fun if All-Pro WRs Michael Thomas and Davante Adams were suiting up at 100% for their respective teams, but sometimes the Football Gods are dicks. Thomas is OUT with an ankle injury, and as of this writing Adams is being called a game-time decision with a bad hamstring. I’m guessing the game is gonna be more Aaron Jones vs Alvin Kamara than the Aaron Rodgers vs Drew Brees matchup it’s being billed as. That’s still plenty good enough to get me to tune in, as those guys are great in their own right. All things being equal, I trust Aaron Rodgers more to make chicken salad out of chicken shit against the Saints D at this point in time, so I’m giving Green Bay the edge. 

Every time Sean Payton takes his 1st ballot Hall of Fame QB off the field in favor of Taysom Hill, an angel gets its oxycodone prescription refilled. 

MNF: Kansas City Chiefs at Baltimore Ravens (-3.5)

My feelings on this game can be summed up by one of the great orators of modern times, “The Nature Boy” Ric Flair:

Last Week’s Record: 10-5

Season Record: 19-11-1

[wrapupfam]

2019 Week 2 Wrap Up

Wow folks, another interesting week of matchups and I feel like I’m in the upside down. Literally, the standings are almost completely upside down from where we ended things last year! We’re going to go team by team this week, doing a little post-mortem on the first two weeks of the season. I have a feeling there are going to be some big changes to rosters coming soon for some folks that aren’t happy with the squad they started with. I expect to be approving some trades here very soon! Let’s get into it. 

Blondes take more L’s What do the bottom 3 teams have in common? Blonde hair, lack of depth, and 0-2 records.

Cry Me More Rivers: I maintain that Mandy’s starting roster is good. Who could have seen a dud performance of the “playoff hopeful” Chargers against the Lions coming? It’s not her fault Jimmy G might actually be a quarterback and she started the nearly 40-year old Rivers instead. Even with a goose egg from Njoku, she almost came back Monday night, making a terribly boring game terrifying. I was refreshing my stat tracker after every LeVeon run, and she would have gotten me if he hadn’t fumbled on the 3 after a great screen play. I think things are going to work out for Mandy, but until then she’s in last place. 

Not Theilen So Good: Attention Jamie’s running backs - you need to play every week. CMC and Josh Jacobs were the highlight of her team in Week 1, and while they didn’t get her the win the first time around, they ensured they wouldn’t be getting it this time around. I think some of you are learning about how difficult it is to be in a 12-team league. Like who is Mike Davis? He rushed for a yard. Jamie didn’t even come close to Dirt this week. She has her two weird QBs (BAKER AND JAMEIS) to thank for that. Send her trades, people. She needs the help. 

Karma’s a Miss: It looked like the trade Emily made with Alex before Week 1 even ended was going to make the difference here. Lo and behold, it wasn’t enough to get over the hump. Surely we all remember the week 1 57 point meltdown, but Em came back to break 130 this week. The double dip strategy of Matty Ice and Julio Jones paid off for a combined 46 points. Did you know that they used to call Julio “Waffle House” in college? Why? Because he’s open 24/7. Unfortunately for Emily, G closed it down with some great subs. I think Emily will get her first win this week, but I hope the Fantasy Football Gods somehow end this in a tie. 

Where’d You Gooooooaat?: Last week, we lauded over Terri’s decisive win and solid roster. But we can thank an awful Thursday Night game for the disappearing act performed by some of Terri’s main guys. Cam has something wrong with his foot and with his mind, resulting in a pathetic non-attempt on that final 4th down play. He’s stepping away from the team this week for personal reasons, leaving Terri to start Cam’s mini-me, Kyler “I can’t throw over my offensive line” Murray. Things didn’t get better for Terri when Kamara didn’t show up either for the Saints in a game where you’d want your rushing attack to be the main feature. Let’s see if there’s a bounce back game in her future. 

MaHopeless to MaHopeful: We were all worried about Dirt last week. An uncharacteristic implosion by a team that on paper, is solid, yet lacks depth. Those things were still true through Week 2, but he just happened to find a dance partner with two left feet that made his win an easy one. Still, questions of depth linger when you are carrying one inactive player and one retired TE that thinks he can cure CTE. Those spots could be used to players that aren’t 3.10 points from Duke Johnson. If your RB got ran out of Cleveland before they were good, that’s not a good sign. Dan finally made use of some of the dead weight he was carrying at QB by trading the vampire Tom Brady to Scott for Calvin Ridley, in a trade that I think makes both teams better, and that’s bad for all of us. He’s turning things around, but I think he might stumble this week. 

Brown Eyed Beast: It’s a sad day when I can’t make fun of my mom for losing in fantasy football. But it makes me happy when she beats T. I just looked at her roster for a solid 5 minutes wondering how we let her draft this team. Then I see guys like CJ Anderson on her bench and it makes me feel better. RIght now, Bob is at .500 all time for her fantasy career. 48 wins, 48 losses. Which way will the scale tip this week? 

Alex, Change Your F*)%$# Team Name: You have so many names on your roster that would make for great puns, it’s such a wasted opportunity. This joker had Lamar Jackson put up 28, Jones with 23, and a million and a half points on his bench and he still couldn’t get the win. Alex should have 6 trade offers in his inbox by tomorrow morning with all that WR depth. He’s got an easy win this week against a team ranked higher than him, but we can’t call it an upset. 

G…. ZZZzzZZZzzZZ: Effortless, just like his team name. Emily was losing her mind making trades and learning about fantasy football last week, and G was hanging out in Phoenix and probably didn’t know when kickoff was due to the time zone change from Florida. He DROPPED Matt Ryan, just to have Emily pick him up. He was happy to let her use his rejects, knowing that it wouldn’t work. I feel like this is a common theme when we jumped to 12, but I’ll say it again. DEPTH, people. I’m scratching my head about the drop of Matty Ice, and keeping Case Keenum, but hey, it’s working. I’m probably going to go in and change your team name to “Kerryon My Wayward Son” if you don’t. I have the power to do that. 

A Kittle Too Close for Comfort: I am without a doubt the worst team at 2-0. I might be the worst team in the league. If we go by points, I am 10 points behind last place. Strength of schedule, folks. If this were college, I wouldn’t even be ranked in the AP poll. I hated my team as soon as the draft was over, but it’s gotten me into a good spot. Weird, but good. Mandy almost had me this week, which makes me sad to say. I am going to say this: I’m open for business folks, let’s talk trades. I’m all ears. 

Cuz I Can’t Think of a Good Pun: Jojo continues to shock the world. She decided to go with the unheard of two-TE strategy this week and boy did it pay off in a big way. Both Kelce and Andrews broke 20 points, with John Ross trailing behind by a touch. Beating a team that I maintain as the deepest in the leauge, Jojo is proving herself against strong competition early on. The exact opposite of what I’ve been doing so far. Now we’re matched up together and I’m shaking in my boots. 

Right Moves Clyde: The auditors have arrived, folks. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. I think we’re going to get an undefeated Scott season and I’m so happy. This man has been working off a dial-up modem and trying to draft players from 1999 since the inception of this league, and he finally hit refresh on his football knowledge and drafted a juggernaut of a squad. He could afford to trade Calvin Ridley, and his team won’t skip a beat. I don’t even think they’ve hit their stride yet. We should all be so honored to lose to Scooter. 

I like the way the schedule looks this week. We’re guaranteed to have a team that stays undefeated AND a team that stays winless. Sorry this came out late, I’m employed again and got ambitious with breaking down every team. Also, can everyone stop complaining to me about the waiver wire? It’s been this way since the beginning, people. Deal with it. See y’all in Week 3, I hope everyone loses :)