#sigmund castillo

[voxisour]

A castle has landed in the outfield, it's Siggy.

[idonthaveanyurlideas]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Wrote a story about Passenger (lonely lil shadow guy, missing its bestie, perceives itself to be enemies with 95% of everyone it used to know now) suddenly encountered with little presents showing up on the doorstep :) a mystery!! how strange how curious i wonder what they are

also eugenia garbage and sigmund castillo are there. randy and emmett also show up for like five minutes

[thehallstara]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

things feel suffocating, almost. seeing the pacific when you awake is a reminder, and not quite a kind one. it's– there's a sense of loss in the core of it, when you interrogate the chasm in your chest. tides are changing, and there's no going back.

(baby triumphant, and a series of conversations)

-

i love these guys that’s all lmao (12x100, cws for smoking, swears, and brief mentions of skin picking)

[waveridden]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Snow weather is fickle; some days nobody gets frozen, and some days a lot of people get frozen. Today, Theo stood and watched four out of the five pitchers get frozen, and half the lineup to boot. There are only five of them left on the field, looking between all the icicles of their partners.

Or: the Lovers cool down, and warm back up. One of two gifts for @ardentlytrans! <3

[enhancedpartytime]

why does want that clutch wooden rock ring

[broken-ridge-jazz-hands]

Fall Ball: Fall 4 Recap

There is a Tower in Breckenridge, Colorado. There was not always a Tower. There was not always a Breckenridge either, but the Tower is more recent still (before you ask, yes it is a Tower, no it is not a tunnel or a spire or a sepulcher. It is a Tower and there is no debate about this). There was something here before the Tower. A house, maybe? Or a store? We're not really sure. There is a Tower in Breckenridge, Colorado. It's here now and we accept that. If you ask someone what was here before the Tower, they'll give you a confused look like they're trying to remember something. Then they'll mutter something like, "Oh yeah, the Tower. I forgot that was there. Huh. I don't know. Maybe the Beau Jo's? Or was that down the street. I miss their crust..." It's less that they don't like to think about it and more that they can't hold it in their mind for long. It's easy to forget a building, but not the Tower. No matter where you are in town, no matter what direction you're facing, you can see the Tower. But people forget. Not our players. Our players never forget about the Tower. Neither do I. I live here. I don't think I always lived here. I couldn't have. The Tower has only been here since season 11, and I'm definitely older than the Internet Blaseball League. Maybe it was my home that was replaced by Tower. But when I think back to a time before season 11 all my memories of home are here, in the Tower. I didn't come here with the Tower. I grew up in Breckenridge. But as best I can remember, I also grew up in the Tower, the Tower in Breckenridge, Colorado.

There is a new door in the Tower. The Tower has lots of doors but very few of them go anywhere interesting, and this door was not here a few days ago. Friday morning there it was. A bright red door along the spiral staircase. On the outside wall. The paint was old and chipped, but not faded in the least. And when I opened it, instead of the air seven stories above the streets of Breckenridge, on the other side was a hallway. A hallway with deep carpets and walls covered in richly colored tapestries depicting the greatest triumphs and calamities in Blaseball history.

As I walked the hall I passed so many doors. Doors that only a giant could open and doors only the smallest creatures could pass through. I tried opening some. The first opened onto a prairie where grass as tall as a horse and as red as rust swayed in the breeze. The next opened onto a beach where waves pummeled volcanic stone. Yet another brought me to a desert where the night sky was illuminated by planetary rings and scrub brush luminesced pale green on the dunes. Still other doors opened onto other halls, and I made the mistake of walking through these. I wandered for a long time before realizing I was no longer in the same castle, and longer still until a familiar red door brought be back. I'm sorry that I'm plosting so long after this weeks Fall, Jazz Fans. I was in there for a long time. More time, I think, than had passed when I returned to the Tower.

I walked the hall, staying cautiously on the one path, until it lead me to a landing at the top of a great staircase in a grand room. Torches and braziers illuminated the space. Rather than descend I crossed the landing and laid my hands on a massive pair of double doors, easily half again as tall as I was. Before I could lay my weight into them a voice, close behind me but sounding like it was echoing from far distant, intoned "Don't. The people who live in the Western Wing value their privacy." I turned but there was no one behind me. The voice was echoing from every hall at once, and was most resonant in the room I had just passed through. I returned to the stairs and descended to what seemed to be an entry hall flanked by suits of armor and tattered flags bearing the insignias of the San Fransisco Lovers and the Hellmouth Sunbeams. I opened the grand doors and in the distance I saw the Tower. There is a Tower in Breckenridge, Colorado. And you can see it from wherever you stand. There is a Castle now too. There is a Castle in Breckenridge, Colorado. And a Tower. Each inside of the other. I don't know how that works. I'm not a blarchitect. Or a phylsicist--not anymore anyway.

Welcome to the team Sigmund Castillo. We're happy to have you.

Who's New

This week the Jazz Hands gained Sigmund Castillo (they/them). Castillo is a castle containing doors to every other reality, including every other version of themselves, which in turn also contain every version including the version in our world (this is known as the Sigmund paradox, exciting!). Castillo has no legs, so when asked how they run, the only answer that everyone can agree to is "very quickly." Castillo does, however, have arms that have been best described by San Fransisco Lovers player Milo Brown as very good at "hugging during Cuddle Puddle Time."

Castillo has formerly played on the San Fransisco Lovers as well as the Hellmouth Sunbeams , where they were a pitcher.

Where Did Former Jazz Hands Go?

No players from the pre-blackhole Jazz Hands roster fell this week.