#sometimes I think football seasons are the only thing that keep me from spiraling into a full blown seasonal depression

[kananjarus]

ready for that one specific feeling you get watching football that first sunday afternoon in september when the season has just started and it’s still hot and sunny outside, not too overbearing, but fall is just within reach and the leaves are starting to turn and everything just feels right with the world

[wheresmynaya]

Lost in the Lights Ch.1 | Brittana

Looks like I’m back at it again! Honestly it’s only because it’s currently (American) football season and I’ve been wanting to write QB!Britt for SO LONG and Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince gave me lots of feelings about it.

 Also the Steelers are still undefeated so I’ve been in a good mood. 

Summary: Brittany S. Pierce is new to WMHS and quickly finds that the students there aren't as open-minded as the ones she's used to, especially when she takes over as the Titans' starting quarterback. Many heads are turned including Cheerios Co-Captain Santana Lopez who has some obstacles of her own to tackle.

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) 

Once Brittany taped up the last box and set it aside for the movers to take, she took the rare moment she had alone and reminisced. She knew this day was bound to come. Since her father’s passing earlier in the year, Brittany’s mother – Whitney – had begun making the arrangements to move closer to Brittany’s grandparents in Ohio. Aside from a handful of friends, they didn’t really have anyone else close by and with Brittany’s little brother – Pete – still too young to stay home alone and Brittany busy with school, Whitney needed the extra help.

The move made sense, but Brittany dreaded it in silence. She was going into her Senior year and being the new kid at school wasn’t how she planned on spending it. She kept her feelings in check though as she boxed up her whole life and said goodbye.

Brittany didn’t want to make things harder by digging in her heels, so she put on a brave face for the sake of her family and finished her Junior year without making any complaints. Instead, Brittany did everything she could to help make the transition a little easier.

With a light knock on Brittany’s door, Whitney made her presence known.

“You ready to go, Britt?” Whitney asked gently.

Brittany could feel her throat tightening. Was she ready? The answer was obvious and deep down, Whitney knew that. She closed the distance and gave her daughter a hug.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Whitney whispered.

Brittany just nodded and held on tighter.

\\

It had been a long drive and it seemed like everything started to look a little greener the further they got from the coast. Even the trees changed from the bushy palms Brittany grew up with to tall oaks, but after what felt like a million hours the Pierce Family finally made it to their destination.

“It’s a good looking house, right kids?” Whitney asked cheerfully as the family stretched their achy limbs in front of their new home.

It wasn’t anything special, just a typical three bedroom, two bath. The siding was white, the shutters were blue and the wooden fence looked relatively knew. At a quick glance, the house looked like any other on the block. Brittany didn’t have any complaints though and when she glanced down at Pete, neither did he.

“It’s cute,” Brittany agreed with a smile then nudged her brother, “What do you think, Petey?”

“I like the windows,” Pete pointed up at the shutters, “Blue’s my favorite color.”

“Mine too,” Brittany winked.

“Well, go pick your rooms,” Whitney instructed.

She didn’t get a chance to tell them that they were the exact same size, one just faces the backyard and the other faces the front. The two took off towards the house giggling the whole way while Whitney just shook her head and trailed after them.

\\

It took them a couple weeks to settle into their new place with the help of Brittany’s grandparents, but it was finally starting to feel like home even if she felt like something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

Some nights she could hear the soft whimpers coming from her mother’s room and some nights Petey makes his way into Brittany’s bed because the dreams keep him up at night. Everyone misses him and that makes the transition a little harder. The nights are usually hard for everyone, but they manage to get by together.

It’s better during the day when it’s light out and there’s less time to overthink things. An Ohio summer has nothing on a Florida one, but Brittany doesn’t complain about that either. She can catch a tan wherever the sun shines, so she does just that.

She and Pete find a park within walking distance of their house and visit often while Whitney is out job hunting. Most days, Pete has more energy than Brittany can keep up with so the park really comes in handy. On the rare occasion, Pete sometimes would rather sit with Brittany on a blanket under one of the big trees there and color.

Sometimes, Brittany joins him because as Pete would say, “You’re never too old for coloring.”

\\

One day while they’re at the park, Brittany spots a couple of guys that look to be around her age. They’re a little ways away, tossing a football back and forth. She can just barely hear their voices, but they’re muffled and mix with the sound of her music playing from her phone.

“How’s this look, Britt?” Pete asks as he holds up his coloring book.

Brittany nods, “Excellent color choice for the hair.”

“I thought so too,” Pete grins and goes back to his scribbling while Brittany lazily flips through the latest issue of Sports Illustrated.

She switches from reading articles to watching the guys play. She notes their form and posture and she can’t help but critique them. Their throws are pretty average, but they aren’t too bad and she goes back to reading.

“Watch out!” Brittany hears one of the guys yell. She braces herself and holds out a protective arm over Pete’s head. Soon a football bounces down just a couple feet away from her blanket and rolls to a wobbly stop beside her.

“Way to go, Sam! You almost hit them,” The lean guy yells back to the shaggy-haired blonde.

“I thought you had that!”

“It was overthrown! Do you think I’m seven feet tall?”

“You could’ve jumped.”

“This is why you’re third string when we don’t even have a second.”

“Whatever Mike, I’m just having an off day,” The blonde grumbles as he trails his friend.

“You always say that,” Mike shakes his head and starts to jog over to Brittany and Pete, “Sorry about that!”

“That’s alright,” Brittany smiles as she reaches for the ball and pushes to stand. The leather feels familiar in her hands and it’s just now that she realizes she hasn’t picked up a ball in so long. Her fingers automatically slide into position between the laces though like they’re magnets being drawn together.

Brittany sets her eyes on Mike and draws her arm back to throw a perfect spiral.

The pass connects with the intended target – obviously – but the looks on both of the guys’ faces is priceless. Brittany smiles proudly as they whoop and holler. She didn’t realize she kind of misses that.

“Show off,” Pete teases though he matches her proud smile.

“That was an awesome throw!” Mike applauds as he rushes over, “Like Woah! Sorry, I’m Mike. That’s my friend, Sam.”

Sam’s still a little ways away but he waves as he jogs over, his blonde shaggy hair bouncing with every step. He kind of reminds Brittany of a golden retriever, eager and a little dorky.

“I’m Brittany,” Brittany greets and pats Pete’s head, “This is my brother, Pete. We just moved here.”

“Oh, I think we’re neighbors!” Mike grins, “The house with the blue shutters?”

“Yeah, that’s us.”

Sam finally joins the group, “Great throw! Can you do that again?”

Brittany shrugs casually, “Yeah. Probably.”

Mike and Sam drop their jaws in disbelief.

“My sister’s a quarterback,” Pete informs them, “She’s the best at school.”

“I was the best at our old school,” Brittany corrects and ruffles up his blonde hair.

“You were a,” Sam blinks, “I’ve never met a girl quarterback.”

Brittany tries to keep from gritting her teeth at the way he says girl. She knows he didn’t mean any disrespect, but it still makes her skin crawl. She forgets that some places aren’t as progressive as her old school, so she keeps the polite smile on her face.

“You have to try out,” Sam insists, “You’re better than half of those guys and no girl has ever tried out before. It would be so cool!”

“You saw me throw one time,” Brittany chuckles.

“Exactly, that’s how much we suck!”

“Hey!” Mike shakes his head and gives Brittany an encouraging smile, “You’d be great on the team.”

Mike seems genuine enough, they both do, but Brittany’s unsure of how she’ll be received here. She’s already going to be the new kid in school, she didn’t really want to add on to that by being the first girl to try out for the team.

“I don’t know,” Brittany looks unsure and glances down at Pete, “I wasn’t planning on playing this year.”

“You’ve got to,” Mike adds, “You have a killer arm.”

“Would totally bench Hudson,” Sam jokes with Mike.

Mike nods, “Without a doubt.”

“Is Hudson your current QB?” Brittany wonders.

“Yeah, for three years and we haven’t made a single playoffs appearance,” Sam answers with the shake of his head.

“Sam was going to try and play him for the starting position,” Mike explains, “Clearly he needs some work though.”

Sam scoffs and punches at Mike’s shoulder.

“Clearly,” Brittany chuckled. She liked these guys. They were kind of dorks but harmless and they seemed friendly.

“Well, we don’t want to pressure you if you don’t want to play,” Mike says a little more seriously, “But if you change your mind, try-outs are next Tuesday at William McKinley High at noon. See Coach Beiste.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brittany replies, “Thanks.”

“Cool. Well, how about one more for the road?” Mike suggests and holds out the ball to Brittany.

Brittany was happy to oblige and slaps her palm against the leather, “Go long.”

The guys took off running, playfully shoving at each other as Brittany took her stance and got into position. She let them get a few more yards further before drawing back and letting the ball fly.

Again, it was a perfect throw.

When Sam caught it this time, Mike cheered while Sam did a celebratory dance. It wasn’t the smoothest thing Brittany had ever seen, but it was the funniest and it had her and Pete laughing harder than they had in awhile.

\\

That night at the dinner table with Whitney, Pete talked animatedly about his and Brittany’s day. Brittany always loved how excited he got about the smallest things and he always told stories with so much detail. They were worried that it would fade with their dad’s passing but Pete was still so full of love and light.

“We made friends at the park today too!” Pete said which piqued Whitney’s interest.

“Oh really?” Whitney smiled and looked to Brittany, “Making friends already?”

“I wouldn’t call them that,” Brittany chuckled as she picked mindlessly at her plate, “A couple guys from the high school here were playing catch. Apparently one of them is our neighbor too.”

“Mike!” Pete clarified.

“Yeah, Mike and Sam. They tried talking me into trying out for the football team,” Brittany explained, “I don’t think I’m going to play this year though.”

“What? Why not?” Whitney asked worriedly, “You’ve played every year since middle school.”

“I know, but I want to be able to help out here if you need me to,” Brittany reasons and glances over at Pete, “I don’t want to get stuck with football like I always do.”

“You love it, Britt, and you’re good at it,” Whitney tells her, “You should try out.”

“What about Pete?” Brittany questions, “No one will be home when he finishes school.”

“Gran will pick him up,” Whitney suggests easily.

“But – “

“No buts,” Whitney gives her a stern look, “It’s your Senior year and you love the game. If you want to play, you should. Isn’t that what your dad always said?”

Brittany feels something clench in the pit of her stomach and she isn’t sure if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. She can still hear her dad’s voice gently guiding her and maybe that’s what helps her decide this time too.

“Okay yeah, I’ll try out,” Brittany announces and it’s the first time she finally feels like herself again since moving to Ohio.

\\

It’s a muggy Summer’s day when Brittany arrives at her new school for try-outs. She can already feel all eyes on her as she walks through the gate and joins the others on the field. She spots Mike and Sam with a few others and they wave at her while the others give her curious looks. Brittany gives them a nod but stays focused. It feels like it’s a hundred degrees there, but she’s use to the heat after growing up in Florida. She stands tall with her chin held high as she makes her way over to the Coach.

She’s pleasantly surprised when she finds that the Coach is also a woman.

“Coach Beiste?”

“Cheerios try-outs are held in the gym,” The woman tells her without a second glance.

Brittany bites her lip and tries to shake the nerves, “I’m not here for a cereal ad, Coach. I want to try-out for the team.”

The woman pauses and eyes Brittany curiously as she says, “This is football try-outs.”

“I know,” Brittany nods resolutely, “I’ve played before.”

“Position?”

“Quarterback.”

Coach looks impressed, “What string?”

Brittany smirks, “I was the starter.”

The woman blinks and it’s similar to the look Sam gave her.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Brittany. Brittany S. Pierce.”

“You just move here or something?” Beiste asks as she jots down Brittany’s name on the clipboard, “I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yes,” Brittany nods, “I just moved here from Florida.”

“Alright. Well, you won’t get any special treatment on my field,” Beiste tells her sternly, “You’ll run the drills, same as everyone else and I’ll see how you go. You throw up, it’s an automatic out.”

“Of course,” Brittany grins, “I don’t want it any other way.”

\\

It’s no surprise to Brittany when she aces try-outs. She’s always been pretty athletic and she starts every morning with a run so she’s in tip-top shape and breezes through the drills. Even the team’s resident quarterback – Finn Hudson – struggles to keep up with the others. Brittany notes how uncoordinated his movements are and starts to understand why the team hasn’t made a playoff appearance.

Finn’s saving grace though is that he has a pretty good arm, but Brittany is confident that hers is better. Actually, she knows it is. If they’re going to compare stats, Brittany has him beat in every category but she lets her talent speak for itself. No one likes a cocky new kid on the block.

“You’re promising, Pierce,” Coach Beiste tells her after the third day of try-outs, “Between you and me, you can run circles around Hudson and I have no doubt you can outshine him.”

“I appreciate that, Coach.”

“But, he’s been our starter for nearly three years now. He’s got the team’s respect and trust,” Coach Beiste reasons.

Brittany nods. She hates how she has to start from scratch here. At her old school, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, they just knew she was talented because they grew up with her. Here, they don’t know anything about her and that puts her at a real disadvantage.

“You can’t just come in like a bat outta hell and snatch it from him,” Coach continues, “You’re going to have to play for it; prove yourself to me and the team that you can do a better job. You’ve got to really earn this.”

Brittany saw that coming too so she nods, “I understand.”

“I took a look at your record. I hope you don’t mind,” Coach Beiste says, “It’s very impressive, Pierce. I haven’t seen talent like yours in awhile around here. I almost forgot what it was like to see stats like yours.”

“Thank you. I’ve been playing for a long time.”

“I can tell, so this is what I’m going to do. There’s a pre-season game coming up,” Beiste tells her, “I want to put you in, see what you can do. If I like what I see, you might just be able to nudge Hudson out. There are a lot of Seniors on this team, I know they’d love to see the Championships and I think you can get them there.”

“I know I can,” Brittany says without a second thought.

Coach pats her hard on the shoulder pad, “That’s what I like to hear. Go get cleaned up.”

\\

While Brittany gets packed up a little while later, she feels someone standing close by. She waits for some off-handed comment – she’s heard a few of the guys mumble them under their breath – but it never comes. She figures it’s either Mike or Sam but when she turns, it’s neither of them.

“Hi,” The guy greets. His voice is meek, almost angelic and it takes Brittany by surprise.

“Hi,” Brittany smiles back though as she stands.

“I’m Kurt,” He says and does a showy kick, “I’m the kicker.”

Brittany notes his small stature compared to the other guys. There’s not an ounce of muscle on him it looks like, typical for someone on special teams.

“I’m Brittany,” She replies, “Not sure what I am just yet.”

“I hope you’re going to be our knew QB,” Kurt grins and takes a seat next to Brittany’s duffle as she continues packing up, “I’m rooting for you. I know there are a few others that are too, they just don’t want you to know about it. I don’t really understand the point, we all want to win.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” Kurt nods and starts to admire Brittany’s keychain, “Oh! We play for the same team.”

“Obviously or this would be pretty embarrassing,” Brittany says with a straight face.

“No, I meant – “

Brittany grins slyly as she watches his face turn red. She glances down at her rainbow unicorn keychain in his hand and meets his gaze, “I know what you meant.”

Kurt laughs it off awkwardly and tries to recover, “It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to on the team.”

Brittany can hear just a hint of sadness in his tone and looks up, “They don’t talk to you?”

“They do, but it’s not the same. We don’t have much in common. All they want to talk about are video games and hot chicks,” Kurt scrunches his nose like there’s a bad taste in his mouth but then he looks at Brittany and relaxes, “Then again, you might be able to relate with that last one.”

Brittany chuckles as she reties up her hair, “You think so?”

Kurt eyes her and nods to the keychain again, “I don’t know many female quarterbacks that are straight. Actually, I don’t know any female quarterbacks.” Kurt ponders for a moment then looks to Brittany apologetically, “I’m sorry, that was intrusive. I apologize.”

Brittany gives him a pat on the knee as she stands. She pulls up her heavy duffle and adjusts the strap on her shoulder, “You’re not wrong, but I’m here to play football. Not drool over girls, no matter how pretty they are.”

Kurt smiles, “Good to hear. It would be nice to win for a change.”

“I’ll do my best,” Brittany tells him, “I’ll see you at practice.”

\\

Whitney and Pete are in the stands along with Brittany’s grandparents on the day of the game against Crawford County Day. Brittany’s been sitting on the bench for a whole quarter and her knees are bouncing at the opportunity to get on the field.

She watches her team in action and it’s almost embarrassing how ununified they are. It’s like no one’s taking charge – no one’s leading – and it hurts to watch.

“Blitz! Blitz!” Coach yells, “Watch the blitz!”

Brittany can see it coming, but Finn doesn’t change plays.

The ball is hiked and Finn hands it off to their Running Back – Noah Puckerman – but the defense slips through from all sides. Puckerman is swallowed up in an instant.

It’s a loss of three yards, third down.

Brittany glances over at Coach and her face is beet red.

The next play is even worse. It’s meant to be a simple slant pass, but the lack of communication between Finn and the receivers – Mike and Sam – has everyone on different pages. When Finn drops back, no one is open and the pocket collapses in on him for a sack.

Brittany cringes at the hard hit and shakes her head.

“Damn it, Hudson!” Coach snaps and throws her hat on the ground.

The Titans finish the half down by 13 points.

\\

It’s the longest twenty-minute halftime Brittany has ever endured. Coach just tears into the team for being so sloppy. Apparently Crawford County Day is meant to be one of the easiest teams on their roster so the fact that the Titans are behind already isn’t really a good sign.

“Good thing this is just a scrimmage!” Beiste yells, “I’ve never seen so many poorly executed plays in my entire career. What the hell was that out there?”

“They’ve gotten better, Coach.”

Brittany presses her lips tight together to keep from laughing at Finn’s excuse.

“I am captain of the U.S.S. Kick Ass, not the U.S.S. Back Talk,” Beiste said pointedly and looked at Brittany, “Pierce, your starting.”

“Wait, Coach!” Finn argued, “You can’t start her, she’s…she’s –“

Brittany arched her brow at him, waiting for a lame insult to come tumbling out.

“She’s gunning for your job, Hudson,” Beiste cut in.

“You can’t be serious!” Finn crossed his arms, “We don’t even know if she can play.”

“You just keep your eyes on me then,” Brittany smirked as she pulled on her helmet, “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Woah!” Sam cheered and high fived Mike.

“Shut up,” Puck shoved at them both, “Have some respect.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kurt replied meekly.

Puck rounded on him, “What was that, Hummel?”

Kurt just lifted a dainty hand and admired his nails quietly.

Brittany just smirked. Maybe she didn’t have the entire team on her side yet, but she liked her odds so far.

\\

At first, things were a little rocky. It seemed that the offense wasn’t use to someone taking charge – they weren’t use to her taking charge – but Brittany kept at it and it started to pay off.

Once she got into her groove, she could read the defense so easily and adjust accordingly. She’d hear the grunts of disbelief whenever she’d call an audible, but by the last quarter she felt like she had finally made ground and gained some of the team’s trust.

Because by the last quarter, the Titans were up by 3 points.

She could play it safe with just seconds to go, but this was just a scrimmage and she wanted to make a lasting impression. She didn’t just want to win with a field goal attempt, she was confident that she could put more points on the board before the final.

Brittany straightened up and motioned for a timeout. The ref blew the whistle and Brittany gathered the team for a huddle. She took out her mouthguard and looked around at her teammates.

“I want to try Blue 80,” Brittany tells them.

“You’re ballsy, Pierce!” Matt Rutherford – the Tight End – said but it came out as a compliment.

Mike and Sam looked between each other before Mike spoke up, “We’ve never made a completion with this play.”

“Guess we should change that,” Brittany shrugged.

“You really want to blow the lead?” Dave Karofsky – the Right Guard – mocked.

“It’s the last play of the game,” Sam defended, “The worse that could happen is it gets intercepted and they run it all the way –“

“Shut up, Evans!” Azimio – the Left Guard – snapped, “Don’t jinx us.”  

“It’s all or nothing,” Brittany reasoned, “Scared QBs don’t make plays and I think we can put more points on the board. You with me?”

She held out her gloved fist and waited for the other’s to join her.

Puck was the first to hold out his fist, “You pull this off, Pierce, and I’ll tell Finn myself that you’re the better QB.”

“You’re on,” Brittany smirked and watched as the rest of the team joined her, “Titans on three. One…two…three!”

“Titans!” They yelled out in unison. Brittany was impressed, she was already making them a more cohesive team.

\\

Everyone got into their positions, what looked to be a simple running play. The defense fell right for it and adjusted accordingly. When the ball was snapped, Brittany faked the hand off to Puck and swiftly dropped back, watching as the other team went after him instead of realizing she still had the ball in her possession.

Meanwhile, Mike and Sam broke away from their defenders and jetted up the field. Both were wide open, but Mike crossed into the endzone just before Sam did. While the pocket still held, Brittany made her decision and let the ball fly before it could collapse in on her.

She hoped and wished and prayed to anyone who was listening that Mike would catch this thing. So much was riding on this; the team’s trust, their respect, solidifying her position as the new quarterback. Mike needed to catch this.

The relief she felt when he did was unmatched!

The crowd roared and Brittany’s chest swelled with pride. She glanced up at the sky and smiled, her dad would’ve loved that play.

Soon she was swarmed by her new team and they hoisted her up on their shoulders as they chanted her name, “Pierce! Pierce! Pierce!”

“Hate to say it, bro,” Puck said as they carried Brittany off to the sideline where Finn was close to throwing a tantrum, “But the girl’s got mad skill. She’s got my vote.”

“Who cares about a vote. That’s not how we do things,” Finn scoffs, “It’s up to Coach.”

“Easy, Hudson, you could learn a lot from her. Kid’s on fire,” Coach Beiste smiled proudly and patted Brittany on her helmet, “You got the job, Pierce. Titans, your new quarterback.”

“Thanks, Coach!” Brittany grinned while most of the team cheered.

\\

After the game once everyone had changed out of their uniforms, Brittany was surprised to see Puck approach her with an interesting offer.

“Yo Pierce! Wait up,” He called after her.

“Hey,” Brittany nodded.

“I’m throwing a party this weekend before school starts up again,” He says, “I wasn’t going to invite you because didn’t know if you were cool yet.”

Brittany gives him an unbelieving look but it goes over his head.

“The whole team’s going and considering you’re our QB now I figured it was only right that I let you in on it,” Puck then gave her a sly grin, “Lots of hot babes will be there if that’s your thing. Is it your thing?”

Brittany chose to ignore the question, “Thanks for the invite. I’ll try to swing by if I can.”

“Not to brag, but my parties are usually pretty awesome,” Puck flaunted, “If you want to start off on the right foot at this school – being the new kid and all – you’re gonna want to show up.”

She couldn’t decide if that was meant to be a threat or that he just sucks at persuading, but Brittany shrugged it off. She was beginning to get the impression that Lima might live up to the stereotype of being a small town.

Brittany didn’t waver though, “I’ll keep that in mind, Puck. I’ll see you around.”

\\\\\

As a Cheerios Co-Captain, Santana Lopez knew that there were certain social obligations that she had to keep up with. One of those obligations being the End of Summer party Puck always threw. Only the top dogs of McKinley were allowed to attend and if you didn’t it was basically social suicide.

With everything that happened last year, Santana couldn’t afford to miss it no matter how much she hated going. It was like her reputation had been in freefall and she was barely holding on. She couldn’t have that – not for her Senior year – so she sucked it up and told her parents she was sleeping over her best friend’s house.

Quinn Fabray – the other Co-Captain of the Cheerios – was the only person it seemed like that kept Santana sane. They considered themselves the hottest bitches McKinley had to offer and most of the student body couldn’t help but agree. They had the looks, the smarts, the snark; they were the perfect duo and were set on ruling the school.

Santana hoped that last year was just a minor blip in their legacy. She had high hopes coming into Senior year, she already felt like she had hit rock bottom and she was over feeling sorry for herself.

The best way to feel on top again? Attend Puck’s party.

Of course, it was easier said than done.

\\

The music is loud and there are people everywhere. Honestly, Santana has no idea how these things have never been shut down. She thinks maybe the dopes down at the Lima Police Department are just too swamped with real crime-fighting to deal with Puck and his shenanigans for the millionth time.  

That’s obviously a joke. Nothing interesting ever happens in Lima, the LPD are just a bunch of lazy fucks who apparently don’t care about a couple dozen kids drinking underage.

Santana sits with Quinn at the edge of Puck’s pool and they just people-watch as they dangle their feet in the cool water. It’s a hot night and there are already a couple drunken idiots wading in the shallow end, singing along to the music at the top of their lungs.

She looks down at her red solo cup and swirls the amber liquid. She barely has a buzz so she takes another gulp in hopes that she’ll catch up and finally start enjoying the party.

Quinn watches her wearily but does the same. Neither of them want to be there but appearances are important, especially to them.

Speaking of appearances, Santana spots a leggy blonde across the way through the glass double-doors. She’s dressed casually in cut-off jean shorts and a white t-shirt. Santana raises her brow; she wishes she could show up to a party looking like that. It took her an hour alone to do her make up, let alone pick out the right outfit.

Santana continues to watch her – though she feels a little weird for it. She’s never seen the girl around here before and decides that’s the reason why she can’t take her eyes off of her – she’s just curious. A little piece of her deep down inside calls her out for lying.

Still, Santana just assumes the blonde came with one of the football players since that’s who she seems to gravitate to. She notices the familiar faces from the football team – Sam Evans in particular – and watches as he hands the blonde a red cup.

The girl smiles in return and wow, Santana’s a little star-struck by its brilliance. Sam must’ve said something dorky because now the girl’s laughing and shaking her head at him. Santana’s never seen someone so effortlessly beautiful and she has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling too. This girl, she has one of those infection kind of smiles and it’s trouble.

Mike Chang walks up next and clinks his cup against the girl’s and together they begin to chat.

Santana quickly glances to Quinn to catch her reaction. Mike and Quinn aren’t exactly official, but it’s obvious they have a thing for each other.

Quinn’s not looking though and Santana feels a little relief. She can’t deal with a jealous Quinn tonight, and a little part of her doesn’t want this new girl to have to deal with that either.

When Santana glances back, she recognizes Sugar Motta – McKinley’s resident Richie Bitch – pulling the blonde girl in to dance and suddenly Santana’s watching a little too closely.

This girl can clearly dance and the way she moves with Sugar is so graceful. Sugar on the other hand isn’t as fluid, but their hands smooth over each other teasingly. When the blonde’s hands land on Sugar’s hips, they start to sway together and Santana can just tell that the blonde’s the one leading now.

Santana can feel this coil within her tightening the longer she watches, her mouth getting drier at the way she takes control.

Then the song changes and the two laugh and carry on so carefreely as if nothing happened. Their moves mimic the steady rhythm and they start to bounce with their fists pumping at the air in time to the pounding bass.

Santana frowns at the slight pang of jealousy; she used to be like that, so uncaring and full of life. She danced with whoever she wanted – boy or girl – and it didn’t matter, but now…now it does.

“Who’s she?” Quinn asks, her gazing lining up with the blonde talking to Sugar.

“No idea.”

“Should I ask around?”

“No!” Santana blurts and Quinn eyes her suspiciously. Santana adjusts, “No. I’m sure we’ll find out sooner or later. She’s hanging around Sugar and you know she can’t keep her mouth shut for more than two seconds.”

Quinn smirks, “True.”

\\

When Puck finally rears his ugly mug, Santana’s surprised they were able to dodge him for so long.

“Hey ladies,” He greets with his signature smirk, “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

There are beer stains on his open button-down and Santana can smell the tanning oil on him from where she sits. He’s got a nice body or whatever, but that doesn’t mean he needs to strut around basted in Hawaiian Tropic. She can’t really talk though, she and Quinn have both made out with him at some point in time.

“Scram, Puckerman,” Santana replies with a roll of her eyes, “I’m not drunk enough to deal with your lame ass.”

“Is that any way to talk to the host?” Puck mocks and squeezes in to sit between the Co-Captains.

Santana groans and shuffles away from him, but he throws a heavy arm around her and Quinn’s shoulders. She can smell something stronger than beer on his breath and scoffs as she gets out from underneath his arm, “You’re gross.”

“Whatever. I’m not here for you anyway,” Puck brushes off and leans heavily against Quinn instead, “I know you’re not on the menu anymore or has that changed?”

Santana’s taken aback but her heart begins to pound wildly at the accusation.

“Choose your next words carefully,” Santana warns.

“What?” Puck laughs, “You still trying to hold out on me?”

“Puck,” Quinn snaps and shrugs out from under him too.

He’s too drunk and wrapped up in his own bullshit to notice that he’s crossed a line, but his voice grabs the attention of those surrounding them.

Santana suddenly feels small, trapped even. It feels like everyone’s staring now and listening to Puck’s drunken words.

“All I wanna know is if that phase is over with now?” He says and it’s like the final blow for Santana.

She shrinks back and her vicious words that use to come so easily for her die on her tongue. There’s a crowd gathering now and she notices the blonde girl from before eyeing them too.

“It’s not a phase, asshole,” Quinn snaps and surprises everyone watching by pushing him into the pool.

Santana’s eyes go wide as she sees the big splash. She’s never been so thankful to have Quinn as her best friend.

“What the hell, Quinn!” Puck grumbles as he resurfaces, “I had my phone on me still!”

“Shouldn’t have been a dick then,” Quinn shrugs and hooks her arm with Santana’s, “Let’s go, the beer’s flat here anyway.”

Santana finally kicks into gear and nods, “Yeah. I’m not trying to be hungover for practice tomorrow.”

Santana doesn’t know why, but as they turn to leave she looks around for the mysterious blonde. To her disappointment, she’s nowhere to be found.

They make their way to the street and begin the short walk home in silence. Santana’s heart is still racing even though they’re so far away now that she can’t even hear the low thrum of the music emanating from Puck’s place. She hopes that no one saw her choke on her words, maybe they’ll be too distracted by Quinn’s actions to remember.

It’s not until another ten minutes later when they’ve arrived at Quinn’s house that Santana finally finds her voice again.

“Thanks Q,” She says quietly. She knows she doesn’t need to elaborate and she’s thankful for that too.

Quinn only lifts her shoulder in a lazy shrug, “You would’ve done the same for me.”

\\\\\

The first day of school rolls around quickly for Brittany, but despite being the new kid she makes friends relatively easy. Kurt’s in her first class and she’s honestly so relieved to see a familiar face.

He takes it upon himself to show her around and introduce Brittany to his friends. So far, Brittany’s met a Tonya or Taylor – she’s not very good with names – but she’s nice. There’s also Mercedes – she remembers that name – who Brittany met in her Astronomy class and alongside Kurt guide, they guide Brittany through McKinley High.

It’s a total Mean Girls moment and Brittany finds herself laughing at how eager they are to show her around.

When they get to lunch, she notices that everyone is pretty cliquey which is something she isn’t use to. At her old school, everyone mingled with everyone. It didn’t matter if you played sports or if you were considered cool, people just hung out with whoever they wanted.

At McKinley High, that’s clearly not the case.

All the football players sit together but instead of joining them, Kurt leads Brittany and Mercedes to a different table close by. They get a couple of curious looks, but all Brittany can focus on is what they’re wearing.

“Why have they got on their letterman jackets?” Brittany questions with a laugh, “It’s so hot outside, they have to be melting.”

“How else do expect them to establish dominance?” Kurt says sarcastically, “I only wear mine on game days. You don’t have one yet, right?”

“No,” Brittany answers, “But I do have my own number now.”

“Oh good,” Kurt grins, “It’s official now.”

\\

Kurt and Mercedes are still trying to give her the rundown, but Brittany’s starting to reach her peak when it comes to taking in all the new info. Whatever they’re saying now is kind of going in one ear and out the other, the only thing that brings her back is spotting the familiar brunette she saw at Puck’s party.

Even if Brittany drank a little more than she anticipated, she was still sober enough to remember the saddest looking girl at the party.

“And those are the Cheerios,” Mercedes tells Brittany as if she could read her mind, “McKinley’s cheerleading squad and top of the social food chain.”

“I haven’t seen them at any of the games,” Brittany looks to Kurt for an explanation.

“They don’t bother with pre-season,” Kurt answers, “They’re basically the only ones here winning any titles. Coach Sylvester practically lets them get away with murder.”

Brittany notes all the high ponies and uniforms, everyone’s make up is on point and there’s not a single hair out of place. They all look immaculate, but Brittany focuses on the two that she’s most familiar with.

“Who are they?” She asks.

“The blonde one is Quinn Fabray,” Kurt informs her in a hushed tone, “She’s Co-Captain along with the brunette – Santana Lopez – and both of their families are loaded. They’ve been best friends since ever, you rarely see one without the other. Quinn’s kind of a prude and Santana’s – “

“A complete bitch for no reason most of the time,” Mercedes finishes for him.

Kurt shakes his head, “She has a reason.”

His cryptic words interest Brittany. Hell, she’s been interested ever since she saw Quinn push Puckerman into the pool.

“Doesn’t give her an excuse to terrorize us,” Mercedes reasons, “The girl is trouble.”

Kurt bobbles his head from side to side and looks back at Brittany, “It’s best if you stay out of her way, Brittany. It’ll make your life a whole lot easier.”

“You think?” Mercedes asks, “She’s on the football team, the quarterback even. You think Santana will mess with her?”

Kurt shrugs, “She still messes with me doesn’t, she?”

“That’s true,” Mercedes frowns.

Brittany just nods, but that doesn’t extinguish the curiosity that has blossomed within her.

\\

And maybe someone above is testing her, because when Brittany arrives to her final class of the day she finds the exact person Kurt and Mercedes have been warning her against interacting with: Santana Lopez.

And to make matters even worse, the only available seat left in the room just so happens to be the one right next to her. Brittany shakes her head and glances at the board to double check she’s in the right place.

Creative Writing – Miss Holliday Room 215

Brittany’s definitely in the right place and lets out a sigh.

Might as well bite the bullet, Brittany thinks as musters all the confidence she has left and she approaches the table. She’s been rushed at by guys ten times the brunette’s size moving at full speed on the football field and yet, she can’t help but feel a little nervous when she comes to stand before the Co-Captain.

“Hi,” Brittany greets with a polite smile, “Can I sit here?”

Santana glances up at her like she can’t believe the audacity Brittany has. She eyes her up and down then goes back to filing her nails, “No.”

Brittany nods, so Kurt and Mercedes might’ve been right.

“There aren’t any other seats left,” Brittany adds.

Santana doesn’t even look up this time, “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

Brittany has to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. This girl is something else but Brittany’s never been one to back down.

Unfortunately her teacher – Miss Holliday –  approaches, “Are you seriously starting off the year by being a pain in my ass, Lopez? Don’t give the new kid a hard time. Move over.”

“Fine,” Santana rolls her eyes and slides her books closer to her side of the table.

Brittany looks back at the teacher and smiles, “Thanks.”

“All good,” The woman says casually. She’s young and reminds Brittany of one of her favorite teachers at her old school, “Have a seat, Sweet Cheeks.”

Brittany does as she’s told and gets settled next to Santana. She can feel the tension radiating off the Cheerio, but tries to ease it by introducing herself.

“I’m Brittany,” She tells the brunette and adds a friendly smile for emphasis. If she’s going to be stuck sitting next to her for the rest of the year, they can at least be civil. Right?

Wrong.

“I didn’t ask,” Santana retorts and spends the rest of class giving Brittany the cold shoulder.

For some reason though, that only makes Brittany want to get to know Santana even more.

Afterall, she loves a challenge.

\\\\\

It’s the last Cheerios practice indoors and Santana and Quinn soak up the privilege of conditioning in a space with A.C. There are many reasons why Santana dreads having to join football team outdoors for practice, one being that it’s hot as hell still during this time of year and also she can’t stand the cat-calling.

With Coach Beiste as the acting head coach now, the guys are a lot more tame but Santana still hates how she feels like she’s being watched all the time. Some of the other girls on the squad don’t mind it too much though, they’re all about teasing and the pleasing apparently.

“How’s your schedule this year?” Quinn asks between stretches.

“It’s alright,” Santana shrugs, “Super easy. I got Holliday and Schuester again.”

“Lucky!” Quinn says, “I got Hagberg. I wish she would just retire already.”

Santana agrees then she remembers her last class of the day and how the mysterious blonde from Puck’s party now has a name, “Hey. Remember that girl we saw at Puck’s?”

“The blonde one?”

“Yeah, her. Brittany,” Santana murmurs the name, “I have a class with her.”

“Oh! Is she cool or something?” Quinn’s intrigued, “She’s pretty and she’s got some moves. We could get her on the squad?”

Pretty, Santana thinks it’s an understatement now that she’s seen her up close. She’s never seen eyes so damn blue and that smile – again, wow.

Quinn catches her swept up in her thoughts and quickly plays it off, “Hell no.”

“Really? Why not?”

“She’s just…,” Santana racks her brain for an excuse but she’s blanking, “She’s just not Cheerios material.”

Quinn calls her bluff, “How would you know?”

“I just do,” Santana scoffs and continues to struggle for a reason, “There’s something different about her, okay?”

“Different is good though, right? We could use that.”

“God Quinn, just drop it alright?” Santana snaps and walks off.

Quinn just laughs in disbelief, “You’re the one that brought her up!”

\\

The rest of the week is a little of the same. Santana goes through the motions of her day although a hidden piece of her longs for her last class with Brittany. She still ignores the blonde’s attempts to make conversation, but it doesn’t seem like the girl is giving up anytime soon.

Quinn still presses for Brittany to join the squad, but Santana’s not having any of that either.

Quinn can’t understand why Santana’s being so adamant about the decision. Santana doesn’t know why either. In fact, there are a lot of things Santana doesn’t understand when it comes to Brittany, but she’s not exactly ready to unpack any of that.

If anything, she’s afraid of what it all could mean.

It isn’t until Friday night that things begin to get a little clearer for them all.

\\

It’s the first regular season game which means it’s the first game the Cheerios make an appearance in. The Titans are pumped but Santana isn’t sure what’s gotten into them, they never win so cheering for them always feels like a waste of time. There’s a different air about the team this year though, but Santana doesn’t think much of it as the game kicks off.

Santana and Quinn and the rest of the Cheerios do what they do best and breathe life into the crowd like always, but they find that they don’t need to work as hard to keep morale up because the Titans are actually winning for a change.

In fact, Santana has to check the score twice to make sure she’s reading it correctly.

Home: 9 Away: 0

“What the hell?” Santana bumps Quinn with her pompom, “We’re winning?”

“Weird, right?” Quinn replies and nods over to the Titans’ bench, “Wonder if it has anything to do with that?”

Santana blinks, “Is that Finnocence?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Santana snaps back to the field, “Then who’s out there?”

“Sam?” Quinn questions but they know he’s #6 and #6 is on the other side of the field catching a perfectly thrown pass.

They both look to the quarterback and Santana asks, “Who’s #12?”

“No idea,” Quinn shrugs, “But he’s killing it!”

Santana doesn’t know much about football but she does know a lot about winning and whatever this guy is doing seems to be working.

Santana and Quinn spend the rest of the game trying to figure out who’s beneath #12’s helmet, but decide that someone already on the team must’ve been given a new number with the promotion to quarterback.

There’s really no other explanation.

All that though is quickly forgotten as the game ends and the Titans come away with their first win of the regular season. It’s practically unheard of considering their losing streak. The stands erupt in applause and Santana watches as the Titans go wild too. Sam and Mike hoist #12 onto their shoulders as the quarterback pulls of his helmet.

When Santana sees long blonde hair cascade out from underneath it, she just about faints because the Titans’ new quarterback isn’t some random guy: it’s Brittany.

“Well,” Quinn’s equally surprised and bumps Santana with her shoulder, “Looks like you were right about her being different.”

[bagels-and-seagulls]

Cheerleader matteo and hot jock david!!!??!’mmm

listen listen listen i have so many asks about my au’s that i am ignoring because this has been wearing me down and i feel like if i don’t answer it, i will explode. also, by cheerleader x hot jock i hope you meant enemies to lovers between the over cliche cheerleader captain and quarterback of an american football team because that’s what you’re getting. cheers :)))

-matteo heard whisperings about the new kid in school who was supposed to be fast enough to win a 400m with a handicap and an arm that was accurate enough to throw a 70 yard hail mary in the last three seconds of the game and make a connection that you really had to see to believe. everyone, for some reason, wanted to get matteo’s opinion about it as one of the cheer captains who was inevitably going to have to encourage some sort of enthusiasm in this god given talent of an athlete, and each time he would smile amicably and say that the team would cheer for whoever ended up replacing george, who was out for the season with a broken leg in four places, regardless of how good they were. but when it was just him and his friends, shooting the shit and talking out their asses, he admitted that he didn’t really care about the new quarterback. he was sure he was going to be an asshole anyways. they always were. 

-he meets him in passing, the new guy- well, meet is probably not the best word to use. the defensive captain, one of the left tackles, is talking with this boy that matteo has never seen before but feels like he might want to look at again, at least a couple of times if he were given the chance to appreciate the view, when the tackle bumps shoulders with matteo as he was waiting for the rest of the squad to join him. and matteo stumbles back a few steps as the tackle looks at him with a sneer and an eye roll, over emphasizing a dramatic, anyway, to the boy he was talking to. the boy looks over his shoulder. matteo looks away already making up his mind about who this guy was going to be. 

-later as he’s stretching on the track, kiki points over to the field as she drops into a low split and asks, have you met david yet? matteo looks over the team messing around to see the boy from before throwing the ball in a perfect spiral down the field maybe twenty or thirty yards. david? he repeats, feeling the way the name sounds in his mouth. kiki nods, yeah, the new qb. 

-they get formally introduced in the locker room later- well, formally, once again, probably is an overstatement of their brief interaction. matteo usually tries to avoid the football team if he can, either going before or after them, but he was staying late with sam, who had pneumonia the week before, to help her go over a new routine they were working on and ended up gathering his things right as the team rowdily made their presence known on their way in. david, apparently, has a locker in the same row as matteo, probably because most of the other ones were taken, and he casually says, hey, to matteo as matteo is trying to get his backpack zipped up quick enough to leave. uh, hey, matteo responds and clears his throat. i’m david, he says with a smile that was friendly but on the edge of something else, something with a bit of canine in it. i heard, matteo responds. did you? david asks and now the smile is filled with an arrogance that is too overly done for people like him. oh, one of the other players jeers, if it isn’t the cheer captain! here to give us a dance? he taunts and makes a lewd gesture that has matteo slamming his locker shut with a clang and a thought that he wanted to maybe kick someone’s teeth in. you’d like that wouldn’t you? he throws back and all the team members laugh at his back when he walks away. yeah, matteo thinks, i know exactly who this guy is going to be. 

-are you really the cheer captain? david asks him as he slides into the chair next to him in literature class that was unforntuately permanently assigned to him for the year. after a stilted introduction where the teacher forced david to awkwardly introduce himself to the class by halfheartedly saying he moved from up north and was looking forward to playing football here and that his favorite shakespeare play was romeo and juliet, she pointed to the seat next to matteo that was empty and told him to sit there. what about it? matteo asks in return as he crosses his arms over his chest and watches as david leans in a little further. i just never got your name is all, didn’t think it was leonie, he says with something sparkling in his eyes that makes matteo remember the barbs and gibes from most everyone that runs across the football field with david behind them that make him unsettled and something else entirely, and matteo wants to clench his teeth and say something a little too loud for this setting but all he does is hiss out, right, and i’m sure your the defensive line captain, too. how many tackles you get last year?

-apparently, their lockers are only a few down from each other, because of course they are. why wouldn’t they be? matteo thinks to himself as david says hello to him when he passes by with sly, little smiles tugging at his lips and winks at him when he catches matteo looking his way, even when he’s talking to his football buddies who always make it a point to throw a comment or pointed look  when matteo is caught. just another asshole, matteo answers to jonas one day after he asks who he was looking at. really? jonas repeats. looks like he was checking you out. and matteo scoffs as he shoves his books in his locker and shakes his head because even if david was the most devilishly attractive boy that matteo has come across in a long, long time, he wasn’t a moron, and he didn’t really think jonas was either. the quarterback? please, jonas, screw your head on straight.

-they have to work together occasionally on literature assignments since they oh so fortunately sit next to each other, and david spends more time looking at matteo with his lip between his teeth, throwing sarcasticm little comments at him, than he does listening to what matteo was trying to say about the book they were supposed to be reading that week. and matteo was starting to wonder if it was because he liked to hear matteo get mad and bite something back at him that was off topic and not productive or if it was because he liked the way that people would look over their shoulders and snicker at the way they got caught up bickering with each other. they get yelled at by the teacher for not staying on task, and matteo just glares at david for the rest of the day, who seems tickled pink by the whole ordeal. 

-matteo and david will occasionally cross paths as matteo is leaving the locker room and david is just coming in. matteo tries not to stare. really, he does, but when he’s tired, and sore, and sick of not being able to stick the round off triple back hamstring that leonie was certain was going to make the routine a whole other level if him and carlos could just get themselves on the same beat with their dismounts, the way that david’s hair sticks to his face, and the way his skin looks with sweat rolling down his temples, and the way that his flush goes down his neck under his collar, and the way that he pushes up his sleeves up his shoulders, and the way- matteo tries not to stare, but sometimes, just sometimes, he gets a little distracted. it’s not like he’s proud of it. 

-the season starts next week, david says to him one day when the lit teacher is running late and everyone starts whispering that if she doesn't show up in fifteen minutes, they’re legally allowed to leave. i know, matteo responds, making a point to keep looking down at his homework that was really as good as it was going to get at this point. you gonna cheer for me? david asks, and that gets enough of matteo’s attention to look at him with a raised eye brow that david smirks at, his pen flipping around in his hand. we cheer for everyone, matteo responds and flicks his eyes away because david was looking a little too satisfied with himself for matteo to really deal with right now, don’t flatter yourself. and david laughs, just a little like it was purposefully small and just for matteo to hear, well, i’m excited to see your little dance anyways. 

-david is good, like really good, and they win the first three games of the season by a landslide because david is quicker on his feet than matteo has ever seen anyone else before, and the way that everyone starts fawning over him and falling for him makes matteo rolls his fists up and look away.

-did you watch the game last week? david asks him during his usual pre-class routine of asking matteo a stupid question just to watch matteo roll his eyes at him. i go to all the games, matteo responds with a sigh, you know that. and david smiles because matteo has gotten into the habit of not responding to him these past couple of days, so he takes the minor victory where he can. just cause you’re there, doesn’t mean you watch, he responds, you said so yourself, you cheer for everyone. and matteo doesn’t really have a good answer that doesn’t seem too revealing for some reason, too like he’s exposing himself to something he wasn’t ever really going to admit, even to himself, so he just goes, yeah, and? and david looks like that was the answer he wanted to hear because he scoots his chair a couple inches closer, i watch you, you know? you finally got your front flip things timed with that other guy. 

-and matteo stares at him for a second, waiting for the second part of the joke, for the shoe to drop, for him to feel the wave of humiliation that usually comes from when a footballer pays him too much attention. you’re in the locker room when we perform routines, he says instead because he wasn’t going to fall for any tricks. yeah, but you got it in practice on thursday afternoon, so i just guessed, david shrugs and watches the way that matteo looks at the desk and then back at him like he thought david wasn’t done talking. matteo clears his throat and looks to where the teacher started standing up by her desk, you need to watch your right side in the pocket, he says. your ol on that side isn’t as strong, and if you were paying closer attention to the right, you would have avoided that sack in the second quarter.

-something changes between the two of them, and matteo can’t quite place why, maybe it was the fact that he finally gave david the attention he wanted, something other than a scoff and half a glance walking away, or the fact that he answered seriously, admitted to something david has been getting at for a while, or maybe it was because david was tired of playing the game he was, when matteo didn’t know the rules, didn’t know if he wanted to. 

-david’s sly smiles turn into little wiggles of his nose that make matteo laugh the first couple of times, and his winks turn into wide eyes and over exaggerated eyebrow movements like he wanted to include matteo somehow in whatever conversation he was having even though matteo couldn’t hear them. his sarcasm turns into a quiet type of seriousness that makes matteo’s collar feel a little tight and his cheeks a little hot when he compliments matteo on a move or a routine or just something like the color of the sweater he was wearing. his pre-class questions turn from taunting to curious, and he’s asking about where matteo is from, how’s his family, does he like his classes, who are his friends. matteo answers seriously on the days he doesn’t feel like he’s too much of an open book for a guy he can’t even watch make a pass down the field without blushing and possibly dropping one of the flyers. 

-the attention makes matteo feel like he’s floating and at the bottom of the ocean all at once. he doesn’t really know how to come to terms with that, so he decides to just not while he can help it.

-one of the perks for being on the cheer squad is that matteo gets invited to most every party anyone at school throws in one way or another, and when he has a group of rag tag best friends who shoot their shot with people they have zero chances with, he inevitably has to tag alone to whatever social disaster he’s about to face just to watch them try their luck with another unfortunate victim of their attention. this week, it was leonie’s house party because her parents were away for the weekend, and the football team was having a bye week. so they were fit to have a rager that was for the history books, and jonas had convinced abdi to go, who convinced carlos to go, and they all three had to convince matteo to go because he was the one that was going to get them all in after all. 

-it happens during a game of truth or dare, because of course, it does. how cliche this whole thing is.

-matteo, i dare you to sit on david’s lap for the rest of the game, leonie says with a sinister smile, and he vaguely wonders if this was punishment for not going with her plan for a full pyramid during the last game they had. but when he looks at the way she keeps sending david little smiles that has mischief pasted on her teeth, he vaguely remembers that they were actually pretty close friends at this point and thinks there might be something else happening here, like a setup, though he couldn’t decide for who. matteo looks over to david, who was taking a sip of his beer a little too slowly to be real life. and all of sudden, everything happens very quickly. david leans back on the couch and makes some motion to mean for matteo to come over. someone cheers. matteo thinks it’s jonas. david winks and pats his lap. matteo needs a hit he decides but goes over anyways and tries to make himself comfortable as david wraps his arm around matteo’s waist to keep him steady.

-matteo ignores the way that it burns, like he was on fire.  

-this is nice, david says into the fabric of matteo’s shirt and rubs his chin over his shoulder as people are cheering sam while she twerks on a wall somewhere. is it? matteo asks because he’s been trying to hold himself perfectly still to not bother him at all for at least ten minutes now, and david’s forearm flexes where it’s wrapped around matteo’s waist like he was meaning to pull him closer, and responds, yeah, don’t you think? and matteo is sick of whatever is happening, all of it, from the glances to the questions to the way that david sometimes makes him feel like he’s the only person in the whole wide world with just a little bit of well placed attention. and yeah, matteo’s a little buzzed, and it’s making him a little bold. so he asks, are you serious? david does tug him then, just to get matteo’s attention enough to look at him. i’ve been flirting with you since i got here, he says like it was already written in stone somewhere, and matteo blinks at him, is that what you call it? he asks, more in shock than anything else, and david laughs in a way that makes his eyes scrunch up in the corners and take matteo’s breath away. hey, i never said it was good flirting. 

-they make out in the bathroom when everyone else is too busy paying attention to the way that carlos claimed he could do a headstand for at least eight minutes. better than seven minutes in heaven, matteo thinks as david runs his teeth over his jaw. 

[jakesmith-pats]

Turmoil in Tampa

“The most important relationship a head coach has on his team is with the QB. He’s the one who runs the show on the field; he’s the ultimate extension of his coach. If there isn’t a high level of mutual trust between them, both coach and QB will be doomed.”-Bruce Arians- The self proclaimed QB Whisperer

What we are witnessing in Tampa is nothing short of a disaster. Bruce Arians has continually thrown Tom Brady under the bus with taking zero accountability (which he has been known to preach on). Seems as though Arians has been trying to get out in front of all this to make excuses to keep his job. News flash, your offensive scheme blows. There has never been an NFL offense that has had the “no risk it- no biscuit” & won a Super Bowl. The chucking & slinging the ball all over the field has never & will never work. Bruce Arians has been historic in his teams interceptions. In 1998 Peyton Manning threw league & career high 28 picks with the next 2 seasons at 15 a piece. He goes to Cleveland & his QB throws 21, 22, 18 picks. Takes over in Pittsburg in 07 with 14, 15, 14, 9, 15 even with Tomlin wanting a run first offense, Arians allowed for Big Ben to be sacked an astonishing 215 times in just 5 years. Which is an issue in Tampa in itself with there being so much interior rush pressure he can’t step into his throws. News flash if you want to throw deep you have to have protection or use play action. Brady is has been hit the 5th most in the league. Back to the topic in 2012 gets Andrew Luck (the best prospect since Manning) throws 18 picks 1 behind league leader Drew Brees also gets Luck sacked 41 times. Goes to Arizona 22 picks 41 sacks, 12 picks 28 sacks, 13 picks 25 sacks, 17 picks 40 sacks, 18 picks 52 sacks. Bruce then goes to Tampa where his QB throws a historic 30 picks against 47 sacks. The down the field attack DOES NOT WORK.

PLAY ACTION

Play action allows time for the QB to get extra protection by freezing the linebackers and gives the safety’s something extra to think about, allowing the receivers to find open spaces & take those shots down the field. Seems to me when they go play action Brady is able to find the open guy down field between Godwin & Gronk.

MOTION

Everyone & their mom knows you use pre snap motion to be able to determine if the coverage is man or zone. The Bucs lead the league in the lowest usage of pre snap motion. Arians has put Brady on blast for not reading the coverage correctly, hey Bruce it makes it a little easier if you use motion so your QB can get you in the right play. Arians has also said we make our reads after the snap of the ball. What? What kind of offense operates like that. Tom Brady has made his career by knowing what the defense is in and making calls to put his team in the best spots & mythically marching the ball down the field knowing where he is going with the ball before the ball is even snapped.

WHAT YOU SHOULD DO AS A COACH

The thing that separates a good coach from a great coach is the ability to use their roster to its strength. The Patriots operated in a way that allowed for Brady to make presnap calls with routes, line protection, audibles all at Bradys will. With Arians its break the huddle and snap the ball. Literally. There is no looking at the defense making line calls from Brady or Jensen, audibles, hots, nothing. Why have one of the smartest players to ever play the game not use his best asset; his brain. Over the 20 years Tom was in New England I never saw him glaze over his wristband as long as he has to after the huddle breaks. That is a sign that Tom is not comfortable with the play call or he knows it won’t work. Arians & Byron Leftwich calling these plays has to have him thinking “why am I letting this paint drinker & former scrub QB call these plays”.

THERE IS NO SCHEME

There is no game plan each week. It’s the same offensive sets, same route concepts, same predictable play calling. Receivers just running around, not being able to read coverage. Every week I watch this team on offense I see the same plays & a massive inability to adjust during the game. Live & die by no risk it- no biscuit. It is gut wrenching football to watch with all that talent the Bucs have.

WHAT TOM NEEDS TO DO

During this bye week for the Bucs he needs to walk into Arians offense telling him to put down the booze & kit kats & tell him we need to run the offense that we ran in New England. After all why would you bring in Tom Brady and tell him “hey scrap what has made you the greatest of all time and try this”. When Manning went to Denver he walked in the coaches office & told them we are running the Tom Moore offense & guess what, it worked. Why would you ask a 43 year old QB to throw in 50 yards down the field once out of every 3 plays. Doesn’t seem like a good formula.

DEFENSE

In 4 of the 5 loses the Bucs have had have been because they have played soft zone & only rushed 3 or 4 guys. Hey heres a great idea, lets sit back in soft zone against Drew Brees, Jared Goff & Nick Foles. Oh here is an even better idea, lets guard Tyreek Hill 1 on 1 with no safety help. I wonder if after they first quarter of that Chiefs game Arians wondered hmmm maybe we should double Hill & Kelce after 7 catches for 203 yards 2 TDs IN ONE QUARTER for Hill alone.

Everything is out of sync for the Bucs, offense, defense, coaching, it’s all the more evidence how much football is culture, coaching & executing.

TOM HAS PART OF THE BLAME

Shame on Tom for thinking he could make this work. To go down to Tampa where Arians has a reputation & offensive scheme that makes no sense. Shame on Tom for being so oblivious to the fact that he would be getting into an offense that is called by Byron Leftwich. Toms arm strength is still good, he still has a lot of velocity on the ball & still throws a tight spiral but the timing with his receivers & communication is very off. Mike Evans looks like he only knows how to run straight. He has no awareness on how to read a defense, get to the hot spot and sit in the correct spot; the guy just can’t figure out what he is supposed to run unless he is running a go. Gronk should have stayed retired, tho he has looked better than at the beginning of the year. The running backs are HORRIBLE. Tom has always had someone to come out of the backfield that can catch little flats, swings, screens, Texas routes etc. It’s pretty clear why no one wanted Fournette, RJ2 is so hit or miss but can’t catch passes either. The Bucs receivers & backs lead the league in drops. Tom has put the ball into tight windows all year, sometimes it comes down to being able to haul in those passes when you have tight 1 on 1 coverage. Toms glazed over look during these games I completely believe is because he knows this offense will not work unless he is the one running it how he wants to run it & unless Arians sobers up & realizes that then Tom will be trying to get Josh McDaniels down there to take over as the next head coach.

Tom Brady is #1 in the NFL in On Target Throws, Air Yards, Air Yards per play, & 2nd in Completed Air Yards. Tom Brady is playing at a high level but they don’t have everything together. They need to take the bye week, have a come to Jesus meeting & decide what they are going to be on offense & who is going to call the shots. I 100% believe if Tom runs the offense the Bucs can win a playoff game or 2. How they are looking now they are almost a sure lock for a first round exit.

[that-quiet-girl-who-writes]

Broken~Part 22 (Jughead Jones)

A/N: I caved and kinda broke my promise about not starting season 3 until I wrote this part, but it was only like an hour before I did so IT DOESN’T REALLY COUNT AS A BROKEN PROMISE

Summary: After Cheryl’s invitation to Jason’s memorial, you have a father daughter conversation with your dad, in which you tell him something important.

Pairing: Jughead x Andrews!reader

Word Count: 1486

Warnings: Swearing I think that’s it?

Masterlist

Broken Masterlist The next morning, Jughead was gone again. So was Archie, he had morning football practice and since nobody thought it was a good idea for me to walk on my own, I went with him. It was cold enough that I needed a sweater and I ended up wearing a light rain coat over top as well. The sky was dark and the grass was covered in dew. The bleachers were also wet, so I laid my rain coat over a small section and sat down with a book. When the first morning bell rang, I snuck away from the field without Archie noticing. I knew it wasn’t the best idea, but it had been a long time since my friends and family had let me walk around on my own.

Of course, I ran into Jughead inside. I was frustrated because I knew he wasn’t gonna leave me until I was in class, but I was also happy to see him and almost relieved because honestly, I hated walking through the halls alone. I knew that, so why did I walk off on my own? I have no fucking clue.

“Hey, what are you doing? Where’s Archie?” He asked when he got close to me. I just stared at him for a second.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Because it’s a school day?” He responded, confused.

“You’re never here this early.”

“Once in a blue moon.” He told me. Liar.

Jughead walked me to our first class and we took our usual seats in the back. It was probably boring as hell, but thoughts kept me occupied. Two classes later, we were sitting on the same bleachers that I had been on this morning, eating lunch with Betty, Archie and Veronica. They were talking about some sort of ‘date’ that Betty had been on until Valerie showed up to talk to Archie.

“I know Ms.Grundy was tutoring you,” Valerie said.

“Understatement of the year.” Veronica said quietly. I brought a hand up to my mouth to keep my laugh from being to loud. Arch was still pretty broken up about this whole thing and I didn’t want him to think I was laughing at him.

“-now you have zero excuse for avoiding music.” Betty finished telling Archie. I noticed that Valerie had left, but it wasn’t long before her absence was replaced by Cheryl Blossom, holding a bunch of black envelopes.

“Sorry to interrupt sad breakfast club,” She said it as an insult, but was it really? “But I’m here to formally invite you to Jason’s memorial this weekend.” Cheryl said as she passed out the invitations. Great, a funeral. With a dead body. That wasn’t going to scare me at all. No disrespect to Jason, but I did not want to go. I would though, I could make myself. He had been a good kid. Or had he? His name had been in that book of conquests after all.

Later that night, both Archie and I managed to sneak people into our rooms without dad knowing. Archie wasn’t really trying to hide Valerie, they just happened to enter the house when dad wasn’t home. I was trying to hide Jughead. I felt guilty about it, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind to be answering all the questions that my dad was sure to have for me. Jug wasn’t there for very long, especially after dad walked into Archie’s room and met Valerie. We could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying from my room downstairs. It was a small house, it wasn’t exactly hard.

“Maybe I should go.” Jughead said. We were sitting on my bed, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

“Maybe you should.” I responded with a sigh. “I don’t want you to though.”

“Do you wanna talk to your dad?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “No, not really.”

“Then ya, I should go before he comes in here.” He stood up and began to open my window. “Hey, are you going to Jason’s funeral?”

“I guess. Why?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, because-“

“Being in the same room as a dead body could send me spiraling into an abyss of sadness and confusion?”

“Yeah.”

“It could, but I should go. Be disrespectful not to.”

“Maybe, but it could be better for you not to.”

“We’ll see.” I said. I said these things without really thinking. I was tired and didn’t really have the energy to talk.

“I was just asking because Betty was talking to one of Jason’s old friends and he said that Jason was acting really weird before he died.”

“You think he was hiding something?”

“Maybe. We’re gonna find out.”

“At his funeral? And I thought I was disrespecting him by not going.”

“So you’re not going.”

“...No. I think I’ll go. To keep you and Betty in line.”

“It’s not like we’re going to vandalize his coffin, we’re just gonna look around his room.”

“For what?”

“We don’t know yet.”

I nodded my head in understanding and Jughead crawled out my window. When he had said goodbye and closed the window, I leaned over and pulled one of my handles that was attached to the curtains. They closed and I was enveloped in darkness.

I think the world is just such a bright place. Some people say it’s dark and cruel and while I agree that it’s cruel, the flashlights and the neon signs and the brilliant sunlight all contradict the darkness. Sometimes I think it’s too bright and I have to sit in my room and turn all the lights just to feel balanced again.

My dad knocked on the door and I knew he was listening for me tell him to come in. I did.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” He asked.

“Cheryl invited us to Jason’s memorial.��� I answered, not really giving him a direct answer, but also telling him exactly what he asked for.

“You don’t have to go, you know that.”

“I feel like I have to.”

“Why?” He asked, sitting down on my bed.

“I don’t know.”

We stayed silent for a moment. It wasn’t silent for though, my brain was still running wild with thoughts. What if Jason wasn’t dead? Well that wasn’t possible. What if we found out why he was acting strange? Who killed him? Was it someone I knew? I wouldn’t sleep for a long time if it was. I wouldn’t trust anyone. What if Jughead killed him? He didn’t. I knew that. What if it was a kid though? What if had been Polly? No, she hadn’t. Polly’s parents? No, they had an image to uphold. Where was Polly anyway? She had been put in a home, but why? Was I going to be put in a home? No. Maybe.

“Dad, would you ever put me in a home? Like where the Coopers sent Polly?”

“What? Why would you ask that?”

“They put Polly there because she’s crazy. I’m crazier than Polly.”

“You don’t know that, we don’t know what happened with her.”

“Would you do it.”

He sighed, “I would only ever think about sending you away, if you got worse. And when I say worse, I mean a lot worse. If you were hurting yourself or somebody else-not that I think you ever would. If it got really bad, so that you weren’t functioning enough to take care of yourself, I might do it. Only to get you help.”

I nodded.

“You’d tell if it’s getting worse, right?”

I nodded.

“You know you can tell me anything?”

I remained silent. I could tell him anything. Wasn’t there something I had to tell him? Something. A lovely, beautiful, happy something and I couldn’t remember what it was. I could figure it out though. Happiness. Happiness was sitting in a booth at Pop’s with fries and a milkshake. But there was something missing from this scenario. I wasn’t alone in Pop’s, Jughead was sitting across from me. Jughead.

“I’m dating Jughead.” I said aloud.

“What?” Dad said, confused. He was probably confused because this was a seemingly random thought, not to me, but blurted out like that, it was definitely random. “Jughead? You’re dating Jughead Jones?”

“Yeah,” I said, still just kinda staring into the dark corner of my room.

“Okay. I guess I should've known that, I mean you have been spending a lot of time together.”

“You didn’t think I was ever going to start dating, did you?” I smiled.

“Well, not exactly-“

“It’s okay, dad, neither did I.” I laughed. He gave me a smile.

“Alright, well, I will leave you to figure out whether or not you’re going to the funeral.”

“Okay.”

He got up and left my room, telling me not to think to hard about it. Like that was even in the realm of possibility.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 23

 Taglist (All Stories): @nerdyandexhausted @runs-with-sciss0rs @kapolisradomthoughts

Taglist (Broken): @natalieroseg @notalwaysfair @nerdyandexhausted @littleghostgirljojo

Taglist (Jughead): @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Challenge: Day 4 - Arguing

Today's prompt is arguing, which is good because in this fic I've been trying to get done since July I have to write a lot of scenes where there's an undercurrent of tension between Christian and Vincent which eventually culminates into a pretty serious argument. I've never really written them so much as disagreeing let alone actually angry at one another, so this fic has been a challenge for me to complete because I think I'm worried it will either not come off strong enough OR it will come to a head too early OR it will be over-the-top and completely overblown, so I've been creeping along in fear that I'll somehow not execute it the way I want to.

That's ridiculous, of course, because as long as I write it out it can be as overblown (or underwhelming, I suppose) as it wants to be and I can edit it when I'm done to give it the right resonance. It's a pretty important argument and this fic is sort of a turning-point/lynch pin in their relationship and how things will be in the future, so I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself to get it exactly right on the first try, which is honestly just a recipe for never actually finishing anything.

So...I'm going to write the scene out here and let it progress how it progresses and do my best to not worry about how it's coming off and trust that I can fix it later. We'll see how that goes. Wish me luck, I suppose.

Also...SPOILER ALERT! There is no way I can write this scene without giving away A LOT of what happens in this fic I'm writing (which will hopefully be out sometime this year still) so if you don't want to spoil that fic and read what will essentially be the turning point and climax of that entire work (and everything that I've set up so far) then probably don't read this since I'm not planning on holding anything back.

Also...I’ve been working on this for three hours now and the end of it keeps not going where I want it to go, so I’m admitting surrender for now and I’ll leave it where it is and fix it sometime later. So...I didn’t get to the MAJOR blowout part of the argument and probably this still needs context even within the scene, but it’s what I’ve got for today.

Laaten we gaan...

"I'm off to bed," Christian said, sticking his head around the corner into his spare room where Vincent was still curled on his sofa, laptop open and resting on his thighs.

Vincent shifted, angling the screen away from the door so Christian wouldn't accidentally catch a glimpse of what he was doing.

"I'll...sleep in here again if you don't mind," he responded, not lifting his gaze from the screen.

Christian said nothing, still lingering in the doorway, and it was all Vincent could do to not look up and meet his eyes.

Maybe he should give in. Ask Christian if they could somehow rewind the past two days and start over. Vincent still had no idea what he'd done to prompt Christian into keeping his distance and pushing Vincent away, but if Christian wasn't ready to give him more than short answers and vague gestures on top of his pointed looks and intentionally hurtful words, then why should Vincent try?

He'd been trying for two days, and all he seemed to be doing was making things worse somehow.

Christian stayed there for long moments, and Vincent swore he could feel his eyes boring holes into the top of his head, but he held his ground. If Christian could be stubborn and hurtful then Vincent could too. It was childish, he knew, and, honestly, he was a grown adult, but he had no idea what to do any more and the most Christian had given him to go on was a heavily implied "I wish I hadn't come back to London." Sadly, at this point Vincent couldn't say he didn't feel the same.

If Christian wanted a holiday, a break from London and Vincent--wanted to hide himself away somewhere else while Vincent bounced around Christian's too big house waiting for someone else to decide where his life would go from here--well, Vincent couldn't say he understood, but...

Without warning, Christian shifted around the doorway in a soft rustle of fabric and the swish of socks against the bare floorboards, then dropped down onto the sofa. He still kept a careful distance, lingering closer to the side nearest the door than the side Vincent was curled into, but it was the closest he'd voluntarily gotten to Vincent for at least a day, which was something, Vincent supposed.

Still, he said nothing.

And if he was waiting for Vincent to speak, well...what was there to say, really.

Silence. Threatening to fill up the space and crush them beneath its weight and Vincent couldn't stand it any longer.

"Maybe you're right," he said.

Christian spoke at the same time, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for earlier."

Vincent jerked his head up from the screen.

Christian was tucked in tightly to the opposite corner of the sofa, his shoulders narrow, his entire body curled into itself. He wasn't looking at Vincent, instead focusing on the sofa cushion's worth of space between them.

"You're...oh," Vincent said. "That's...oh."

He could have let everything go with that--nodded and accepted Christian's apology just like that. Maybe that was all it would take for them to move forward and forget whatever had been driving a rift between them ever since Christian had arrived back in London. Then again, maybe it would just be more days or weeks or even months if the club dragged their feet in the transfer window and for whatever reason Christian would just keep pulling farther and farther away until Vincent decided to look for somewhere else to stay until he could be on his way across the world once more.

Or, maybe, if he opened up the distance between them on his own terms he and Christian would at least go back to the way they were before all of this started. It wasn't what Vincent wanted, of course, but he'd rather be able to call Christian a friend rather than...whatever this was. A former teammate who he'd fallen out of touch with once he left the club. Someone he used to know way back in a different lifetime.

"I've been thinking," he said, shifting around on the sofa to angle his screen towards Christian, although still careful to keep his distance. Christian was still drawn and tight like a nervous cat ready to flee at the slightest movement, and Vincent didn't want to scare him away before he could pitch his idea.

Christian didn't speak, but he did at least raise his eyes to look towards Vincent and slide the tiniest bit closer to his side of the sofa.

Vincent slid his computer off his lap, thankful immediately for the loss of heat and the feel of seemingly cooler air rushing over his skin. He set it on the sofa and nudged it towards Christian, motioning for him to take it.

He flicked a questioning look at Vincent, but pulled the laptop towards him and moved another few centimetres towards Vincent.

"What is...?" Christian asked, staring down at the screen and clicking through the multitude of open browser tabs before once again turning questioning eyes to Vincent.

"You wanted a holiday," Vincent said. "So...I don't know. I thought of some places you might like to go and I thought I'd look into them for you. I didn't know if you'd do it on your own and I thought..."

Questioning eyes now narrowed, Christian slid back away from Vincent, shoving at the laptop and nearly sending it toppling off the edge of the sofa. Vincent only just managed to hook his hand under it in time to save it from crashing to the floor.

"What?" Vincent asked, and the word came out harsher than he'd intended, filled with forty-eight hours of tiptoeing around and holding himself in check and wondering exactly what the hell he'd done that made Christian resent his very presence from the moment he'd stepped through the door.

Christian had invited Vincent into his home. He'd given him a space in his life physically as well as emotionally and the second Vincent turned up to claim that space, Christian had begun shoving him out of it.

"What do you want from me, Christian? Honestly? Tell me what you want and I'll do it, I just...I don't know what to do. I've spent days now trying to make you happy and nothing I've tried has done that and I don't know what else there is so please just tell me and I will do it because right now I just do not know."

He dropped his forehead and rested it against his closed fist, his elbow propped up on the arm of the sofa. His face burned hot and the corners of his eyes stung. Blood pounded in his temples and he could feel a headache threatening to linger at the corners. He forced himself to close his eyes and relax his jaw and at least try to breathe.

Christian, of course, said nothing.

Vincent didn't know why he'd expected anything different.

He concentrated on his breath, doing his best to ignore the fact that Christian sat a metre away staring over at him after he'd finally let out a fraction of the thoughts that had been spiraling around in his mind all weekend and had nothing to say in response.

Breathing under control, heartbeat slowed to a dull thud instead of a roaring in his ears, he shifted around to wipe discreetly at the corners of his eyes and sat up.

Deep breath in, hold it, and let it out slowly.

Once more.

Then again.

On the final out breath, he turned back towards Christian.

"I don't...know what to say. I was thinking about what you said earlier. To Ben. About taking a trip. And I thought maybe that might be good. If you went away somewhere and you could relax and regroup before the season."

"Why would you think that?" Christian asked, his voice measured and flat, that carefully controlled tone he used when he didn't want anyone to know he actually had emotions.

Vincent shook his head. "Maybe because you've clearly been unhappy ever since you arrived home. I don't know why. I thought it was just that I sort of sprung a surprise party on you and you were tired but then today at Ben's...it just seemed like you wanted to be anywhere but here."

Christian huffed out a sharp breath of laughter. "So you thought the solution was, what...to plan me a surprise holiday? Sure, Vincent, that's clearly the solution here."

"Well...you're not exactly being clear on what the solution is, so..."

"There's no solution, Vincent. I told you, it's fine." Christian shrugged before looking away from Vincent once more, eyes now focused on the floorboards at his feet, a telltale sign that he was pulling back and closing up once more--stuffing his emotions back down into the box of repression he stored them in.

Other people might fall for that act, and on another day Vincent might have let it go--shaken it off and let things go and taken whatever Christian was willing to give. If Christian was willing to pretend everything was fine, then Vincent would pretend right along side him and they could go on forever and ever never talking about anything important.

"Sure, Christian," Vincent said. "Clearly everything is fine and no one is having any feelings."

"Flikker op," Christian said, shaking his head and shoving off the sofa. "You sound like Toby. And I don't mean that in a good way."

"Is there a good way to mean that?" Vincent said under his breath. He must not have been as quiet about it as he'd thought he was because Christian spun around to face him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. I see. Who's keeping things from people now?" Christian asked.

"I was trying to help," Vincent said, holding both hands up in front of his face in a gesture of resigned surrender. "You won't actually speak with me about things so I have to go off of what I can hear from other people. You told Ben you'd think about a holiday, so I thought--"

"You thought you'd just plan me a trip to Amsterdam so I can reunite with my ex? We can shop for a flat together and pick out furnishings and do all those things we never got to do the first time around in our relationship. Hey Daley, now that I don't utterly loathe you anymore, why don't we give this another try?"

"No. I just...you said you wanted to go, so...if that's what you want."

"Is it what you want?"

"Since when does anyone care about what I want?"

They both went silent at that, neither of them daring to move, Vincent's words hanging heavy in the air between them. They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Christian spoke first, his voice back to measured, controlled calm. "What do you want, Vincent?"

And there it was. Serves you right, Vinny. You set yourself up to get asked an impossible question that you don't have an answer for.

What did he want?

[nerdyfoodandbeercollector-blog]

Depression Series: A Working Title (part 1)

A fair warning is probably needed, I suppose: This post is not and has nothing to do with feer and bood (or beer and food, for that matter). This is a multi-part series I decided to write about living with my depression. Super uplifting stuff (but seriously give it a shot, you might learn something). I guess this first part is more of a “What is it and why?” part. 

14 years ago, I was first diagnosed with depression. As odd as it sounds, my depression is one of my oldest acquaintances, always around, hovering over me like a cloud, the persistent voice of negativity and self-criticism that I hear all the time, detracting from... the good things in my life... a constant part of my life for as long as I can remember. And not too long after that, and only recently have I discovered this, my anxiety came with it. 

I try hard not to show it or let anyone see it or know that it's there. For a long time, I thought that it was normal. And then, that changed to me thinking that I deserved it, that I was meant to carry it because I wasn’t good enough to be normal, and that if I ever should admit to it, it would shameful (and don’t even get me started on how pressure men in our society to not show emotions, to not be sad, to not be depressed, on how I was supposed to play football and not do theater or how I was called f*g for crying and showing emotion at Timberwolves camp. I still hit the most free throws that summer). if I just pushed through and lived my life it would go away, right? So that's what I did. I didn't talk about it. I put on a smile, kept my chin up and just carried on, like a good British soldier. Tried hard in school, got a job that turned into a career, got a second job for my hobby, went out with friends, married my best friend, and just tried to navigate each day the best I could. 

But it's always been there, my depression, my anxiety, my passengers, with me along the way, ebbing and flowing and crashing inside me. I see them each birthday to remind me I’m a year older and to critique me for what I haven’t done, they’re there every Christmas to make me sad for the state of the world, for the family not there, or for how quick it all goes and how we chase the joy of the holiday season until it fades like sunlight in winter. When a co-worker tells me news I’m hearing for the first time, my depression and anxiety tell me that I should take it personally that no one wanted to tell me, that people are purposefully withholding information from me, that I am bad at my job for being the last to know, that I am probably going to be fired. When my wife asks, cautiously, if I am in a bad mood, I suddenly become enraged even if I was actually perfectly content moments earlier. And then throughout all my days every day, I am reminded of something of my past or play a memory in my head that brings an overwhelming sense of nostalgia over me like a wave, and suddenly I am sad I’m not back there. They seep through, more and more, as the years go on, causing me to lash out, say things I don’t mean, self-sabotage myself in more ways than I even know (I’m still learning about them all). I am self-sabotaging as I write this (I’ve been picking at my beard since I started, my anxiety takes over). 

Honestly, I find it so hard to talk about. There are so many thoughts that race through my mind that I probably won’t ever share, I’ll just tuck them away deep within, even if they hurt, especially if they hurt. I struggle to talk about this with my best friends because I feel like by doing so, I’m protecting them. And actually, sometimes they just don’t know how to help or what to say. Why should I care if you think I’m a great person if I hate who I am?

And then I think that I’m probably doing a disservice to someone’s real depression, and so I keep shut, I clam up, I don’t talk about it, I stay in my head and I spiral and my attitude changes and I become irritable and then I start to realize I’m digging this hole and everyone around me isn’t happy to interact with me, like they’re walking on eggshells, and I don’t want that so I start to tear at myself to try and fix it and I’m under so much pressure because I keep looking at how much time I’m wasting being miserable, making you miserable.

Sometimes I am lucky to encounter others like me, with lasting depression as a companion, and for a moment you can be reminded that you’re not alone. And then I look at the numbers, and I can see, I’m not alone: 

1 in 5 Americans will be impacted by mental illness during their lifetime. 

We lose about as many people to suicide each year as we do to breast cancer.

2/3 of people with depression do not actively seek nor receive proper treatment. 

Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death for ages 15-44 (42,773 deaths by suicide in the US in 2014). 

Women experience depression at twice the rate of men. 

There are nine different types of depression a person can be diagnosed with.

Depression ranks among the top three workplace issues, following only family crisis and stress. 

OK, I could go on and on here. One of the things that sparked all this was this article about what it is like to be high-functioning and have depression. Here are some quotes: 

This is the ordeal for millions of Americans who have depression: always "on" because of high-pressure jobs, sleep-deprived and feeling like you just have to continue keeping your chin up. Many don't realize that depression can lurk in the background, allowing you to go through the motions but still depriving you of the ability to live life to its fullest.

On the surface, high-functioning depression may seem like it's easier to deal with, but it can persist for years, leading to more functional impairment over time than acute episodes of major depression... Research has shown that the low self-esteem, lack of energy, irritability, and decrease in productivity that accompanies persistent depression is associated with significant long-term social dysfunction, psychiatric hospitalizations, and high rates of suicide attempts. And, ironically, persistent depression also puts people at a higher riskfor major depressive episodes with more severe symptoms.But the stigma around mental illness—or any signs of weakness—prevents people from revealing their stress to friends and colleagues. 

It hit home to me for so many reasons. I struggle that I am too goddamn self-critical to let me slip up and not be high-functioning. And I hate myself for it. The article resonated with me, as if someone else has lived with similar acquaintances, too. 

Why write this, you ask? Who cares might be a more accurate question (aren’t I uplifting?). Not that people don’t care, just maybe not enough to go read a long-ass blog about this kind of thing. Maybe it’s depressing (humor!).  I ask myself these same questions and even struggled to share any of this at all. For the last few weeks, I’ve had this idea to write a series on my blog (it’s about food and beer, but also now I suppose some random thoughts and happenings in my life) about my depression to maybe have the opportunity to reach out to others that might feel something similar. If you feel like me at all and you’re not talking about it, then hopefully this reaches you. I’m starting to open up to someone who maybe knows what they are doing and progress is slow but hey, I got the courage to write all this, didn’t I? I struggle with how we talk about depression. I struggle that there often isn’t a safe place for people to talk about their depression and their thoughts without being labeled or without being seen as unsafe. 

"If you admit that you're depressed or you have a mental health issue, people on the outside, who are not dealing with that, automatically label you as being crazy," Judge says.

I struggle with how depression is so commonly misunderstood, even by some of my friends and family. I struggle with how it’s been portrayed t is yet another one of those topics we just don’t like talking about enough. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see some thoughts out in the open?

I think that maybe, just maybe, if writing is cathartic, and to me and many people it is, that by writing some of this down it might help me better understand not only my depression, but also myself and who I am. And in the end, isn’t that what we’re really trying to do? 

I don’t know what I am holding onto that makes me this way, but I’m holding onto something and I’m getting tired. I’m trying. 

[badacts]

recovery

noun

1) a return to normal state of health, mind or strength. “He made a full recovery from cancer.”

2) the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost. “A specialised team were sent to ensure the recovery of the body.”

It becomes hard for Andrew to justify putting himself back together at all when he keeps hitting the wall hard enough to break again.

He’d said years ago now to Jean Moreau you can’t cut down someone who’s already in the gutter. Andrew was born there and it took a long, long time for him to crawl his way out, tasting someone else’s blood mixed with his own, like a rebirth. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered. He’s not sure if it’s worth the effort to try it again. Plenty of people have told him he belongs in the gutter, in the grave. Perhaps they’re right.

He would give himself over to it entirely, except he’s spent too much time with people intent on throwing themselves towards the stars these last few years. Renee, Kevin, Neil, his brother - continually reaching upwards, and dragging Andrew up alongside them.

Farther to fall, for all of them. But it’s only Andrew falling, and that’s such a pretty, pretty metaphor for a gore-ugly feeling. Like broken limbs, like bruises, like pain and fear he could never bleed out with the rest. Something people kept teaching him, not taking from him like they did everything else.

Well. Not quite everyone. 

He flips his phone open and shut. He isn’t sure how many times he’s done that, isn’t even entirely sure what time it is, but the motion feels smooth as muscle memory in his hand. He opens it, dials, presses the skin-warm plastic to his face.

The ringing is bright and painful to his ears, but it doesn’t ring long before the line clicks live.

“Hey,” Neil says. Andrew’s senses aren’t discerning - his calm and familiar voice is irritating, too. 

Once upon a time, Neil rang him just like this from outside the Foxhole Court, using Andrew like an immovable object against his ultimately-stoppable force. And he had been a force of nature, drawn to shattering point under the weight of things Andrew understood even without the real specifics. He’d bound Neil in place, with a promise and himself. That’s why they are to each other, by turns.

Andrew’s hands haven’t stopped shaking in days. He can’t remember the last time he slept. Last night he poured himself too much whiskey and thought about dying again, and it’s a force inside himself he doesn’t think he can stop alone. 

He says, “Come and get me.”

Neil flies out, but they drive back to South Carolina. Neil drives, anyway - Andrew wouldn’t drive off the road on purpose with him familiar in the passenger seat, but he might do it by accident.

Without the distraction of driving, Andrew can’t sit still, jittery and grinding his teeth and irritable over the waves of bone deep exhaustion. Dull like this on the inside, every external stimulus is an assault on him. It’s a long drive - Neil can’t do anything for him except keep going, with brief pauses for him to rest while Andrew paces and fumes and occasionally breaks things.

He knows what this is. It’s still a relief to sit in Betsy’s office and hear her say the phrase mixed affective state and finally have it all slot into place in his jumbled mind for a second, switch the labels from this will be the thing that kills me to treatable.

Neil shifts at Andrew’s side. Right now Andrew can’t bear the thought of Neil touching him - even his own clothes against his skin feel too harsh - but he can’t let him out of his sight either. It’s not the first time Neil’s sat through a session with him anyway.

“The way I see it, we have two options,” Betsy says, her stare level, measuring. “The first is that you keep going on the way you have been.”

She doesn’t say until you can’t anymore, but it’s implied so clearly that she might as well. It’s not like he doesn’t see her point - that’s why he’s here again, more than six months after he first told her he was spiralling. 

“The second is that you try medication,” she continues. She doesn’t need to go on. They’ve had this conversation before, more than once. Every time before this he’s said no, because he can’t forget the constant fight for control against court-mandated hypomania, can’t stop remembering what that grin felt like.

Except that months and years later, still struggling, still tasting gutter water and afraid to look at the sky, he has started to think; I won’t wait forever. And I can do better than this - which sometimes sounds too much like I can’t do this.

Neil, who has always dedicated too much of his life trying to defend Andrew, says, “Is that really necessary?” He remembers, too. 

“Whether it’s necessary isn’t really the question,” Betsy replies. “It’s more of a suggestion, and a question of consent. Anyone capable of asking for help is capable of consenting their treatment. That just means it’s a yes or no to the option of it.”

“So what if he doesn’t? Take anything, I mean. If he says no,” Neil says. He must be able to guess, but then again, maybe he can’t - he hasn’t been here before, for the grittiest dirt of it all. Perhaps he just wants to hear it out loud.

“I can’t say for sure. No one can,” Betsy says. “Andrew’s disorder is by nature unpredictable. He could spontaneously improve. He could decline further, which is common in untreated patients. There’s a high rate of compulsory hospitalisation of people with unmanaged bipolar disorder too. As well as the major depressive and mixed episodes he’s already shown, there’s a risk of full-blown mania and psychosis.”

“He’s not psychotic,” Neil says, through force of habit in the face of that old accusation.

“Not yet,” Andrew says. It hurts to talk - he’s bitten the inside of his mouth bloody at some point, though he doesn’t remember when. Eidetic memory is great up until you start losing your grip on reality. His voice comes out rough but unmistakably dry.

“We can wait, of course. But Andrew has already waited a long time," Betsy says, though gently for Neil’s sake. “I wouldn’t suggest it unless I thought it was a worthwhile plan of action. Finding the correct medications can take some trial and error, but it also saves people’s lives.”

Neil looks like he’s about to keep going, scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas like he thinks Andrew needs to be protected from Betsy and all her nasty ways of trying to help him. It’s less irritating than it should be to have him speak around Andrew, and Andrew knows exactly why that is.

When he was sentenced after everything with Nicky, everyone - his lawyer, his court-appointed psychiatrist, Nicky himself - said the medication was his way out, his freedom, his saviour. Even when it became obvious that it was twisting him, that he was a hair’s breath from losing the control they didn’t think him capable of anyway, no one said anything. Andrew wasn’t considered able to speak for himself, but he had no one to speak for him either. At least, no one who said the words that were cramming in his throat, caught up in the teeth he showed in his smile.

Prison wasn’t a great alternative to the drugs, and he couldn’t keep his promises from there, but from the edge of having his sanity stripped from him entirely it looked pretty fucking great by comparison.

Neil Josten might not people’s idea of an advocate, but they probably haven’t met every big-mouthed and protective inch of him. Those people also likely haven’t seen the way he quiets at Andrew’s look, mouth closing as he looks back with his concern written large across his face for Andrew to read.

Andrew hates that expression. He hates that he believed Neil saying I’m here to help months ago, and hates that he was right. I’m right here - that was what he said, and the second Andrew had asked for Neil to come for him, he’d done it, everything else be damned.

“I’ll do it,” Andrew says. When he looks back to Betsy, there’s no surprise on her face - just mild approval in the softness about her eyes. 

“If you’re sure,” she says, offering him an escape exit like she always does. He’s never bothered to answer her before, and he doesn’t now - he wouldn’t have said yes if he had uncertainties.

He leaves Betsy’s office with a prescription that he passes to Neil, unable to stand the crinkle of paper against his palms. Their fingers don’t brush. The light looks strange outside, mostly because he doesn’t know what time it is. It burnishes the reddish parts of Neil’s hair to fire and gold, makes Andrew blink. I’m right here.

“Columbia?” Neil asks. His eyes catch the sun when he looks at Andrew over the roof of the car, turning them nearly translucent. “We can go to a drugstore on the way.”

Andrew gets into the passenger seat. Maybe he’s not immune to looking at stars after all.

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