top of page
  • Writer's pictureHenry Cavanaugh

RT Sports: Part III

Updated: Apr 29, 2020

Running the animation department at Rooster Teeth was wearing Miles Luna pretty thin, although he was doing his best not to show it.

In the past decade since he had first joined the small-time gaming and entertainment company their cult following had boomed, funding from outer sources increased and expectations rose as a result. It was no longer a case of just balancing work on Red vs. Blue and RWBY anymore, there were at least six other projects all demanding Miles’ attention at once and he’d lost more than a few nights of sleep trying to keep up with the workload.

In addition to that pressure was the creeping voice at the back of his mind that whispered that he wasn’t doing a good enough job as a leader. He’d never had any intentions of being a boss, the position had sort of fallen into his lap and he’d been working on the mindset of “fake it until you make it” ever since. He was well aware that there were guys and girls out there who’d actually taken business management and leadership courses - courses which the amount of work he had to deal with on a daily basis prevented Miles from attending - that would probably be better suited to the position but Burnie and Matt had specifically chosen him and the thought of bailing on them was mortifying. That said, he still felt like he was in imminent risk of disappointing them anyway; it was a tough push-and-pull circumstance.

One of the most challenging things about being responsible for an important part of what had become a digital powerhouse of a company was that Miles still had to balance his professional responsibilities with the various conventions he was scheduled to attend. Rooster Teeth insisted that they keep a prominent presence at as many nerd culture events as possible and as a long-running member of the team who had previously showcased himself to be comfortable (if not awkwardly charming) in front of crowds, Miles was one of the usual picks when the higher ups were choosing who would best represent the company.

As such, Miles had once again ended up out on the road, this time from Rooster Teeth’s home in Austin, Texas to a convention in Tampa, Florida. The first day of the convention had finished up and Miles was tired as hell after spending hours taking selfies with panels, answering questions about the shows he was writing and being interviewed for various online media sites. Just because the convention was closed until the next morning though didn’t mean his work was over; Miles was sat at the desk in his hotel room with his laptop open in front of him and was slowly working through the forty-three emails he had found there, all waiting for his urgent response.

It wasn’t long before Miles had a bottle of beer beside him, taking long sips after each major decision he made to try and fight off the anxious thoughts leaving him to question if he had made the right choice. How do people do this so easily? The question floated around in his mind for a while as he leaned back in his chair and looked above the desk at the mirror hanging upon the wall. He hardly even recognised his own appearance: he looked so tired that it made him appear older than he actually was and he could swear that his hair was thinning. While he’d never been a gym addict like his friend Blaine, he’d always enjoyed going for a run and weight training a couple times a week but since his promotion neither of those things had been a possibility and as a result he had gained a fair bit of weight. His diet of energy drinks and high-sugar snacks just to keep him going for eighteen hours a day certainly hadn’t helped and he was left with a sad bulge of fat around his midsection and pudgy thighs complimented by a flat ass. Just looking at himself in the mirror was a miserable experience and prompted Miles to take another long swig from his bottle.

Glancing at the clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop, he chuckled as he saw the time read 11:11. Make a wish, he told himself. “I wish I was a natural born leader,” he remarked after a moment. He laughed again and shook his head. “No, that sounds lame. I wish I had a body that would make other men envious! Too egotistical? How about: I wish I was always calm and in control of any situation-- ah, minute’s up.” A long sigh left Miles’ lips following his minute of speaking to himself and he shook his head in a tired manner. Of course none of those wishes had come true, but they’d illuminated just how badly he needed to sleep.

Unsurprisingly Miles was welcomed by the sweet embrace of his dreams almost as soon as his head had made contact with the pillow and minutes later deep rolling snores began echoing around the hotel room. Inside his mind though was an unbelievably peaceful experience, so far removed from the turbulence of his daily life. He was face-down on a massage bed with a strong pair of hands working out all of the knots in his back muscles and sending waves of relief rushing through his body as if he was really living that dream moment.

Even as he began to truly relax and lose himself, the world around him changed in a flash and suddenly he was in a gym, totally alone but surrounded with state of the art equipment. He felt compelled to use each machine in turn - the chest press, the lat pulldown, the leg extension - and even spent time in the squat rack and with the dumbbells. Despite the body in the mirror being as unimpressive as it had been before he fell asleep he felt strangely energised and was throwing around weight far more than he knew he was actually possible of. Squatting 280lbs at full range without totally blowing his knees out? Yeah, that was only going to be happening in his dreams.

All it took was for Miles to wipe his face with a towel for the world to shift once again - this time he was in a barber’s shop with an apron over his front and a well-groomed young man shuffling around him and tidying up the wild mop that Miles had long since given up trying to tame. They made conversation about sports of all things and Miles surprised himself with how much he knew about the NFL trades happening at the time. When the conversation continued onto his own move to Florida, he hardly even acknowledged how inaccurate that was and merely replied with a simple “I’m just excited for all the opportunities and leading a new team.” Even as he said them, Miles knew that he completely believed the words too which was even stranger. The dream suppressed his confusion under a sudden wave of calmness though and as he settled further back into the leather chair, he closed his eyes for a brief moment to properly enjoy how relaxed he felt. It was a nice break from the constant tension he was under.

The sensation of lips around his cock was not one that could be mistaken and with a jolt Miles’ eyes snapped open to take in the sight of a blonde woman on her knees between his legs, bobbing up and down on his shaft. A flick of her tongue over the head of his cock prompted a gasp and a ripple of pleasure throughout his body that caused him to tighten his grip of the chair’s arms. He was so distracted that he hardly noticed that he was no longer in the barber shop but instead in what he could only presume was the bedroom of a very expensive home - one way out of his already generous pay-grade.

At first Miles didn’t recognise the woman pleasuring him, even when she momentarily lifted her eyes to him and pulled off of his cock to ask if he was enjoying himself. Words failed him as he attempted to speak so instead he merely nodded and allowed her to return to work. The longer he regarded her though, the more his brain began to propose her identity: his supermodel wife. That was absurd though, he didn’t have a wife - especially not one who was also a supermodel! Moving his hands to brush through her hair though, he spotted a wedding band on his ring finger and her hand on his strangely muscled quad displayed one too.

Just as Miles felt ready to blow, his head thrown back and desperately panting, everything changed again. The pleasurable sensation of a pair of lips around his shaft was gone but his whole body hummed with a post-sex haze. Instead he was in an office sat across from a man who was once again unknown to him and yet strangely familiar somehow. He was middle-aged and his physique had clearly seen better days but he seemed happy and healthy and managed to conduct an aura of professionality about himself. Miles was compelled to listen as he spoke about “plays” and “fakes”, remaining engrossed even once he had worked out they were discussing football, a sport which he had only minimal knowledge. Strangely though, every time Miles was prompted to respond with suggestions and ideas, he found them flowing forth without a second thought. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d sat down to watch a game - probably a Super Bowl a few years previously - and yet he was able to suggest plays like he’d been a meathead jock back in his college days rather than the anime nerd he really had been.

“It’s a pleasure having you on board, son,” the man declared as their conversation reached its conclusion, reaching out his hand. Miles leaned forward to grasp it for a firm shake, surprised by the strength of the other. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll be doing great things together. The boys needed a leader badly and you’ve got all the tools and talent in the world. This is gonna be magic, mark my words.”

Magic. The word echoed through Miles’ mind as he finally sunk back into complete darkness. Magic. He’d spent so long as a child believing that there really was magic in the world but the tiring reality of adult life had worn away a lot of that optimism. Magic. He only wished he could go back to that carefree state of mind. It bizarrely seemed like a possibility too - the darkness that surrounded him was surprisingly comforting and warm, almost like a welcome embrace from a lover after a hard day of working. If magic was real, Miles was certain it would feel just as good.

Finally his time in the strange labyrinth of his sleeping mind came to an end and he was gently steered back into the waking world. The presence of another individual in the bed with him didn’t quite come as the surprise that it should have; indeed having his arm wrapped around the slender body pressed against his own felt like the most natural thing in the world to wake up to. As he opened his eyes he was greeted by long blonde hair and with a small craning of his neck, he identified his bed partner as the woman from his dream. She was just as beautiful in reality as she had been when she’d been sucking his cock - perhaps even moreso now Miles was certain that she was real.

Except, of course, her presence in the hotel room should have been impossible. Upon last checking, Miles hadn’t been in a relationship for a while and his sex life had been miserably dry too. Where had such an inexplicable beauty come from and why on earth would she settle for a slum like him? She didn’t look like the type who belonged in such a mediocre hotel room - although now Miles’ eyes were further open, he noticed even that had changed too. He was instead in the well-furnished bedroom from his dream, the one that had almost made him wince just thinking about the price of!

As he untangled himself from the beautiful woman he already knew would be wearing an identical ring to himself, Miles made another discovery, this time about himself. His pale skin had adopted a light tan and his weak arms had been replaced by the powerful limbs of an athlete: built forearms and football-sized biceps and triceps. His torso had followed suit too, the spare tire around his waist that had caused him such anxiety had vanished and instead he was completely lean with even a suggestion of abs under the minimal amount of body fat he now possessed. Even his love handles had been replaced by carefully sculpted obliques that made a v-line down into his boxers!

Pulling himself out of the bed, Miles rose to his feet and took notice of two further things: his quads were built just as powerfully as they had been in his dream, and he was a fair few inches taller. It took him a moment to find his balance but when he did he immediately began his search for a mirror. It didn’t take long either, as he had soon entered the bedroom’s en-suite bathroom and closed the door behind him. It was a good thing he had too as an audible gasp escaped his lips when he finally came face to face with his reflection.

The seemingly random pieces of his mysterious dream finally fell into their correct places to complete a puzzle Miles hadn’t even known he’d been working through and as he stared into the piercing blue eyes of Tom Brady, everything finally made sense again. Tampa, the football talks, the supermodel wife… he was Tom Brady!

Such a realization should have felt like being hit by a wrecking ball but instead a resolute calmness flooded through his mind. A voice in the back of his brain told him that he had a twenty-year career behind him that proved he was a damn good leader and one of the best to ever lace up the cleats so what did he have to be nervous about? His worries from the night before had been washed away like dirt in a bath and even though he was perhaps about to face the biggest challenge of his forty years of living, he was ready to tackle it like the professional he was.

No, this isn’t right, another voice chimed in and although Miles recognised it as his own voice, it sounded unfamiliar. Remember who you are! This isn’t you, you’re not Tom freakin’ Brady!

“Tom freakin’ Brady,” he repeated out loud, the words rolling out of his mouth in a deep Californian drawl that was so far removed from the high-pitched squeak he’d heard in his mind just before. “I’m Tom freakin’ Brady!” Who else was he supposed to be? The more he considered his dream from the previous night, the more he knew them to be his recent memories. The real dream had been that he’d been an overworked head of an animation department at some entertainment company barely just breaking through into the mainstream.

No, that wasn’t a dream, the first voice stated with a hint of ridicule in its tone, That was a damn nightmare. Why would you want that when you’re a millionaire with a gorgeous wife and the respect of the whole NFL? There was no arguing with that - it was crystal clear just which life was more preferable to live and Tom was thankful that it had all just been a dream, that he wasn’t really some nerdy nobody whose name he had already forgotten!

Returning to the bed, he wrapped his arms back around Giselle and pressed his morning wood against her backside. The action was enough to make her stir and she turned to face him, reaching a hand down to stroke the proud length through his boxers. “Morning,” she purred, looking like a dream come true even moments after waking. “Did I hear you talking to someone?”

“Just psyching myself up for another big day. I’m meeting some guys from the team later and running through some drills,” Tom replied without overthinking, “How about we focus on having a big morning though, if you know what I mean.” He was packing some serious heat and morning sex with his beautiful wife would always be his absolute favourite way to start the day. After all, didn’t doctors recommend a bit of rigorous cardio in the morning to get the body moving?

Over on the other side of Tampa, the overworked Rooster Teeth employee woke up from one of the worst dreams he could ever remember having: he’d flashed between endless meetings where he was being berated, having people talk about him behind his back and slumped on a well-worn sofa with an extra large pizza all to himself. Those dreams in addition to the absolute thundering in his head helped to make it one of the worst mornings for him in recent memory but that was truly solidified when he discovered that not only was he alone in bed but he also hadn’t woken up in the luxury hotel suite he’d fallen asleep in the night before and his body was pale, out of shape and altogether disappointing.

Lurching out of bed in a fury, he soon found himself in front of the mirror and horrified by what he saw. Gone was his traditionally handsome face with his square jawline, piercing blue eyes and heavy brow. Instead his features were soft and round, almost boyish rather than the refined maturity he was so well known for. The hair on his head was wild and there were uneven patches of body hair across his chest, stomach and even his shoulders! He gripped at the paunch of his stomach, distraught at the fact that he could easily get a whole handful of fat. He’d never been in such a poor shape in his whole life!

There was no way that anybody would look at him and believe that he was really Tom Brady, one of the all-time great NFL quarterbacks and the new locker room leader of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers! All they would see was… Miles Luna. Wait, where did that name even come from? “Miles,” he whispered, wincing at the unfamiliar voice that spoke the name and also his own brain’s confirmation that it was now his name. It felt so familiar and that terrified him - why was he so accepting of a name that had never belonged to him?

Staggering back out of the bathroom, he caught sight of the empty beer bottles piling up in the bin beside the desk. Well that explains the headache. Hungover, great, he thought miserably. Even as he considered it, he could somehow remember necking the bottles the night before just to relieve some of the stress that came from answering business emails. Shit, the emails! His body worked on autopilot as he booted up the laptop, logged in with a password his fingers seemed to instinctively input and refreshed his inbox. As a notification popped up alerting him to “twelve new emails!” his heart sunk. Was he ever going to get a damn break?

Before he could even begin contemplating a plan of how to get back to his body though, another notification appeared on screen to announce that a brand new episode of Steven Universe had been released. Even though Tom had never even heard of the show before his heart rate picked up and he immediately clicked on the notification. Just a few minutes later and he was watching some animated show about magic gems and yet it all made perfect sense to him, like he’d been watching the show religiously from its very first episode.

He was so engrossed in the programme that a whole thirty minutes passed before he even noticed. It was only when his phone began to ring that he caught sight of the time: eight-thirty in the morning. Shit, I’ve gotta be at the convention in an hour! A moment later and he was left to wonder exactly what convention he was expected at and why his brain had supplied such a suggestion.

Before he could remind himself that he’d be answering the phone to a complete stranger, Tom accepted the call and was immediately greeted by a male voice - Blaine, his memories somehow supplied him - asking him when he was coming down to breakfast. “Be there in five,” he mumbled, bluffing through a short conversation before hanging up. Going down to breakfast with Miles’ friends was a terrible idea but even as he thought about skipping out on them his stomach growled and he knew he would simply have to fuel up if he was going to face a full day at the convention centre.

The fight had seemingly drained out of him though and after finding some fresh clothes, he trudged out of the hotel room, into the elevator and made his way to breakfast. As he sat with people he didn’t know at all and yet felt strangely familiar with, it dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, his early morning confusion had all been the result of a dream. After all, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t really Tom Brady, wasn’t it? Who would ever believe such an insane claim?

No, he was very clearly Miles Luna, the head of animation at Rooster Teeth - although he was strongly contemplating stepping down from that position nce he had returned from the convention appearance, just for the sake of his own sanity - and anime nerd extraordinaire. Not everyone at the Rooster Teeth offices was lucky enough to be invited to be official guest representatives at comic conventions and meet their fans so he considered himself lucky for such an opportunity. Thinking about it, comic con felt like a much more fitting location for him than a football stadium. The thought of being there as a fan was bad enough, let alone being a player! Besides, shouldn’t a quarterback like Tom Brady be able to name plays at the drop of a hat? He certainly couldn’t; he didn’t have a brain for sports at all. Was that not proof enough to settle that wild suggestion?

“Hey, where are you at, Luna?” Blaine asked through a mouthful of food, swatting him on the shoulder with more strength than was probably necessary. “You’re staring into space.” Sometimes it was hard to believe that a well-built guy like Blaine was just as much a nerd as the rest of them. There was no doubting that he was the hunk of the offices for sure. Blaine never had issues picking up girls. He’d even offered to train some of his coworkers at their local gym and that was beginning to sound like a promising adventure.

“Just thinking about a dream I had,” Miles replied, shaking himself back from his daydream. “Brains are darn crazy, right? Anyway, you were saying something about Steven Universe. You’ve seen last night’s episode, right?”

As the conversation continued into nerdier realms, Miles finally let go of the last parts of his consciousness that were gripping onto the absurd idea that he had once been Tom Brady. There were much more pressing things for him to think about and besides, in twenty-for hours he’d be out of Tampa and back home in Austin. Hopefully he wouldn’t even have to hear Brady’s name again until the next football season started - not that Miles had any intention of watching! Football had never been his thing anyway, but then neither was being a leader. Once he was back in Texas he’d be making some big changes: back to the gym with Blaine, more time to hang out with his coworkers as an equal and play some of the video games he hadn’t had the time to touch.

It was weird, but in some ways it really did feel like a new beginning for Miles even though he was certain that nothing had actually changed!

1,444 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page