#we were rooting for her to dip out but seeing her growing success i think she eventually gave in :(

[papirouge]

i think one of the reason ill never take the "attack on white cis man" thing is that a "culture" whose purpose is to mock & degrade its own people is nothing exceptional or unique to White cis male

Black women in the western diaspora have to deal with the influence of rap/hood culture, degrading them into the most abject behavior (thankfully Africa is for the most part spared from this trash)

I think Sexxy Red being the growing star of the rap rn tells everything about how bad it's become for us

and you know how the same men (crying over the "oppression" they face) usually react to it? that it's only but Black people's own fault for entertaining this mess, how Black hood culture is trash, etc. Which is true on some level if we're being honest, but then why don't they keep the same energy whenever they whine about the medias and corporations (allegedly destroying the image of the White cis man) owned by WHITE.CIS.MALES and try to make it EVERYONE'S PROBLEM?? last time I checked those CEOs aren't blue haired queers or woke "leftists". They push that agenda because they have an objective benefit to do so. And the irony is that it's most likely the same demographics owning rap music companies (I heard the there was an overlap between companies owning rap music majors and those having stakes in the prison industrial, which is absolutely not surprising). This hard reality is the reason why so many white men try to cope by pulling out crazy conspiracies trying to prove how aktchually the Jews control the world (and manipulate those poooor white puppets) : they refuse to accept that white would destroy themselves by their own greediness. Which is a trait they're more comfortable imputting onto African who sold each others as slaves :)

In the end of the day, it's just karma biting their butt. They're just mad because *this time*, they're the ones having to deal with a bad PR. And ngl it's pretty entertaining to see them being humbled :)

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I the scholar interlude

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Bruce Banner angst (&POV). Because our boys are sad and writer has a saviour complex. That's about it.

For the longest time, Bruce Banner considered himself unwanted, unloveable, undesirable. He would've been just as happy to be ignored as he was content with existing only within the confines of his own lab, his presence on this planet only marked by the ever growing pile of projects and articles with his name on them.

Dr. Robert Bruce Banner. He wanted nothing to do with his father's name so he dropped it years ago but one look at his government ID still made him sick deeply in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes, being the Hulk had it's advantages, and by that he meant, it was good that people mostly left him alone.

But his life was built on exceptions and he knew that sooner or later, the carefully maintained balance would tip one way or another. The exception came in a form of a fellow brilliant scientist and innovative engineer - just like multiple times before, he'd worked side by side with Tony without a second thought, not expecting much more than the feeble attempts to make friends and subsequent abandonment once Tony got what he wanted from him.

Bruce failed to take into account, perhaps, the most obvious thing: Tony was a man who had everything and nothing. Bruce didn't expect Tony's deeply rooted loneliness to affect him; after all, he was used to being alone himself, alone was safe, for everyone, not just him. But Tony's smile was a little wicked, and it knocked and knocked on his doors until he had no other option but to let Tony in.

"PUNY BANNER ALWAYS AFRAID," Hulk mocked him inside his head. Despite wanting to blow out his brains every single day, Bruce sighed and soldiered on, focusing on his research instead of answering to his green problem. It was all pointless anyway.

Days blended into one another like they tended to do when one had no destination; achievements and professional success stacked up on top of each other but it was all a tapestry, background noise to his ever-living cacophony of problems and struggles with fighting with himself. Every day, he wanted just to lay down and die.

In times like these, the Hulk took the wheel, dipping Banner nose-first, like a misbehaving pet, into the fact that he had nothing to live for. Nothing to look forward to. The meaninglessness of his life.

"Maybe, the destination isn't that important," She was a child, a girl little out of her teens, and it alarmed Bruce how much she seemed to agree with him sometimes. It seemed wrong for someone so young to be so disillusioned with life. "Maybe it was the shawarma we ate along the way," She shrugged, not noticing how those words seemed to affect Bruce at all. These days, it seemed, children crawled out of the womb already bitter and disappointed.

It went on like that for ages. She was a contradiction, very much like Tony, with a grin that was a little wicked and a mouth that was a little shameless. She bore no expectations towards him and seemed to be slightly afraid of herself; the longer he thought about it, the less sense it made. He was a logical man, left-brain-dominant, and he was entirely sure it should have been the other way around.

The Hulk, however, didn't seem to agree with him. As usual, he wanted to say, the green beast was just making his life difficult because he - he was the anger, the grief Banner himself hadn't been allowed to express - but the more he was forced to listen to the Hulk's ramblings, the more terrified he found himself. Because he agreed.

She'd smile at him over the top of the beaker and Bruce'd smile back before he could catch himself. The guilt always came and went. It was hard to feel guilty when she refused to. The carelessness that all young people possessed was blossoming in her; only later he found out how wrong he was - there was no carelessness, there was no youthful joy, she was just as afraid and confused as he was.

"Puny Banner afraid," Hulk remarked, thoughtfully.

Yes, yes, he was afraid. He was afraid he'd tainted her somehow, but Hulk violently rebuked the thought, refusing to let him out for several hours, taking control almost pleadingly as the green beast attempted to convince Banner befriend the girl. In the end, he gave in. He always gave in.

He was afraid many times after that one, but it was a different fear. Fear of loss wasn't anything either Banner or Hulk were familiar with so the learning process took even less time than they both predicted; somehow, the woes of figuring out a friendship with an outsider united the man and the beast more than any battle against a common enemy. It was puzzling but also incredibly rewarding; the joys of a common success elevating both persons stuck in a single body.

"Banner afraid?" The Hulk asked, seeing the Asgardian trickster himself enter the lab.

No, Bruce said, because Loki looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but in the green beast's lair; something important was on his mind and if they had to guess, it was their Princess.

"The Widow asked me a favour," Loki began, eyeing the various contraptions in the lab. "Although, I must admit, I have no idea why she thinks you can do serious damage. The beast is merely a beast and you, Banner, would rather shoot yourself in the foot than harm anyone but yourself," The man's tone was bored.

"I don't understand..?" Bruce was confused, temporarily losing the guarded attitude.

"I think you do. And it's about time you stop making other people save you from yourself," Loki's green eyes caught his own and Banner's breath got stuck in his throat; there was something intimate, a very familiar expression on Loki's face. It disappeared as soon as Bruce quietly acknowledged it. "I, for one, have no desire to lose this... Sense of companionship that has been cultivated recently." With that, the god turned around and promptly exited the space, taking any possibility of explanation with him.

"Banner afraid of himself," The Hulk concluded, uncharacteristically mellow in the back of his mind. Bruce cursed wordlessly, the green beast merely laughing in response. "Princess isn't afraid of Banner, isn't afraid of Hulk," The Jolly Green boasted, feeling way too satisfied for someone who'd made their first friend.

The childlike joy was infectious, it turned out, and day after day it became easier to breathe around here. Only his darker part wasn't as under control as it used to be and continuously craved more and more; as soon as Bruce acknowledged she was no child but rather a very capable, intelligent woman who's been forced to grow up sooner than strictly necessary, the desire consumed him, turned him careless and sloppy.

It didn't help that Tony had come to the same conclusion. Hulk all but forced Banner to go out and confess and clear his conscience; it seemed that lately, out of two of them, Hulk was the adult and Banner was the child being egged on to finally grow up by a persistent, supportive parent. Hulk and supportive? More likely that you'd think, especially when the green creature itself was interested in a positive outcome.

"Banner afraid?" Hulk's quiet words provided him with the strength he needed to meet her eyes, wide and round, as she wordlessly pleaded with him to help her. No, he was not afraid, not anymore. He believed her, he believed himself. For the first time in ages, he had a reason to be.

Banner wasn't afraid anymore. That said, it wasn't as if he suddenly became careless and sloppy - more like the opposite. Turned out, he was living his life without a care in the world but his paralyzing fear of himself. It was hard to be afraid under a thousand-watt smile, it was impossible to stay invisible seeing yourself reflect in eyes that shone brighter than the stars.

He'd always considered himself to be a hopeless romantic to the point of ridicule. He'd reached a point where love songs made sense and no poet was quite skilled enough to capture the sweet storms raging behind his ribs. If anything, she returned the sentiment tenfold, quietly and shyly.

Love didn't scream from the rooftops and didn't force him to fall head over heels only God knew where; it had been next to him the whole time, quiet and drowsy, waiting, expecting. Over dinner or under florescent lab lights, the Beast and his Beauty shared the conversations, ate the soul food.

"I think, if I had to ask for a portrait of Us, I would have to request the painting twice," She said, puzzling his mind (as usual). He remained quiet, expecting her to explain. "There are the public Us, the ones that wear their suits and smiles like warriors wear armour. That's the way I want the world to remember me, pretty and smiling. I don't want people to cry at my funeral, I want them to dance and be happy because I existed," She caught his stare, smile a little too teasing and eyes a little too serious. "And then there are Us that only we see. It's intimate and I don't think the whole world has earned the privilege to see me like that. I don't think some paper shark should have the honour to see the way Tony's eyes light up for you or the way Loki gets gentle around Wanda. Things like that are earned," It was bizarre, it was strange and it made all the sense.

Perhaps, it was the fact that his Princess was just as weird as the rest of them that made her fit in so quickly, so easily. And he was afraid - it was only a matter of time until the idyllic atmosphere would turn into something heavy and difficult.

It did, but not in the way he thought it would be. For the first time in years, Banner was angry. Not Hulk - Bruce was angry, and he allowed that anger to flow, to course through his veins like molten lava. He didn't fight it, he wasn't afraid of it. Not anymore.

She took it away, too. In the end, she was the bandaid to his bleeding wound, the lullaby to soothe his fear - Banner was angry but Hulk was afraid. They both knew they were helpless, having to rely on others to make sure they will never, ever feel that way again.

So when the female-looking symbiote landed on the patio of the residential floor, Bruce's heart skipped a single beat only. Tony's prone form raised a reasonable amount of concern, but their attention quickly turned to the girl-no, woman, standing still, both terrified and fearless at the same time, as she once again took his fear and anger away.

She was beautiful, like a goddess, like a Valkyrie from Thor's tales, dropping the enemy at their feet like a cat brought his prey to it's owner; her actions screamed "love me" but her words knew it might as well be the last time she'd see them be warm towards her. Much like Banner, she was afraid of herself. Of what she's capable of.

"Bruce, don't tell me you're okay with this," Tony pleaded. Banner knew Tony, he knew how sensitive was the engineer to his personal bubble being broken and he knew, she knew it, too. If she was willing to take the risk, they meant more than life to her. It was an honour, really.

"I'm not but I have to be," He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "I can't risk it, Tony. If we reject her now, we'll never see her again. She's just as terrified as we are, if not more. We've been living like this, what, five, ten years? And it never gets easier. I know it, you know it." The more he spoke, the surer he became. "She accepted us, our shit and all. For once, I'll be the better person and do the same." With that, he departed for her, hugging her from behind as Natasha and Loki stood by her side with Wanda holding onto the Asgardian.

Bruce held his breath until Tony joined in, hiding his silent tears in his shirt. Neither of them could decide what hurt more - losing her or the potential of facing the very unforgiving reality of their life. Bruce had to trust Tony to pick the right option, to do the right thing and it was terrifying, it was skin-frightening but sometimes, there was just no other way.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-two - a brother’s promise

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

DEIMOS ROARS WHEN he enters the villa in Phokis, knocking over a weapons rack in the courtyard —chest heaving in his rage. Everything was predicated on a lie. He shouts again, lashing out at the cold, iron brazier. It topples to the tiled floor, spreading ash and coal over the white stone slabs. The words of the Cultists play over in his mind. Tightening the laces of his cuirass, Deimos sets his mind on finding Lesya —he does not know what he will say, nor if he will be able to tell her she is right. He just knows he needs to see her. Sliding the Damoklean sword into the sheath on his hip, Deimos sets off to Kirrha with fury and cold determination. 

Kirrha’s Harbor is always bustling with merchant ships —pilgrims who come to seek the wisdom of the Pythia. Among them is a trireme with three masts, a gilded figurehead, dark Tyrian red sails. The vessel once belonged to Elpenor, though now it fully belongs to the Cult. The Areion remains a fine ship. “Deimos!” Labdakos exclaims, the captain had not expected to see the champion so soon after Kleon’s messenger departed. 

“Prepare the ship,” Deimos announces, ascending the short staircase to the helm of the trireme. Labdakos barks orders at the crew and they bustle around the deck, securing lines and arranging the barrels of freshly fletched arrows. The horizon is dark, mimicking the raging storm within his heart and mind. 

The captain stands behind his chair, hand resting on the carved back. He knows something is wrong —that Deimos is not falling in line with the given orders. “Where do we sail?” Labdakos asks. 

“Keos,” Deimos answers. He will sail to where Lesya is, or at least where she is rumored to be.   

“But Kleon’s orders–” Labdakos trails off —a fool to fear Kleon more than the unhinged demigod before him. Deimos seizes the captain by the neck, fingers tightening around his throat until his pitiful cries for air are nigh silent wheezes. “Fuck his orders,” Deimos spits, throwing the captain back to the deck. “Take me to Keos or I’ll see the sharks have their bellies filled.” It is not so much a threat as it is a promise. 

Labdakos dips his head low, hand rubbing the tender places of his neck. “Of course, champion.” But the appeasement is insincere. Kleon has paid enough to sail the champion to Athens regardless of the champion’s wishes to travel to the Pirate Islands. Deimos can tell the captain’s loyalty no longer lies with him. He places his hand on the back of the Labdakos’ head, forcing him to his knees, then twists to the left with the other —then a little farther. Deimos does not even strain and with a quick, final jerk there is a crack and the captain’s head snaps around to face backward. Stepping back, the Labdakos’ head loosely rolls back to the front, then lolls —his neck hanging at an angle with white bones poking through the skin, leaking scarlet blood. 

The body flops forward onto the deck. Deimos looks at the frightened deckhands and the lieutenant of the vessel —he steps toward the second-in-command and motions at the captain’s chair with his bloody hand. “You’ve just been promoted to captain,” he announces with a grim smile.

“THANKS,” LESYA SAYS when Kassandra hands her the other blade. It had been buried to the hilt in the back of an Athenian spy. Save for the corpses, the camp on Keos has been emptied. Xenia’s lieutenant will offer a hefty reward for helping him remove the Athenian thorn from her side and it will put Kass closer to earning the drachmae to pay for information about Myrrine. 

Kass eyes the pair of daggers again —she has noticed the strange glint of the metal several times, it is similar to her spear and the sword Deimos had carried. There had been a cast for a dagger the same shape and size in the Ancient Forge as the two Lesya carries. “What’s so special about them?” She asks, though she knows they never need to be sharpened or honed, much like the Spear of Leonidas. 

Lesya holds out the blade, balancing it on two fingers. She remembers the stories Chrysis told about the daggers and the Damokles sword. Mighty weapons from long ago. It was only after she and Deimos had been named champion that the Cult gave them the blades. “They belonged to the Amazon Penthesilea,” Lesya explains —a daughter of Ares and queen of the Amazons but slain in battle by Achilles. “Or at least that is what the Cult claims.” With ease, Lesya spins the dagger between her fingers and sighs. There is something special about the weapons, she can feel the difference with a normal spear or kopis in hand. “I believe it though, whenever I use these it’s like I can see my opponent’s next move before it comes.”

Smoke lingers in the battered streets of Koressia, masking the foul stench of death. Barnabas had spoken of the horrors committed in the polis before the Adrestia docks three days ago. Pirates had taken the city by force, but a shortage in food could mean starvation and the rise of sickness. The elder denizens within the city were forced to drink hemlock tea, culling the population of the city. Merchants said Aphrodite had forsaken Keos after that. The misthios leaves to report their success to the lieutenant and collect on the deed, but Lesya wanders the ravaged town. 

Tucked away near the white cliff-face is a sunken pit, with stairs carved into the rock. Pirates surround the pit, watching one of their brethren fend off a wild boar. Wagers are made and collected on who will emerge from the fight victorious. Given the size of the beast and the bloody gash in the man’s side, Lesya already knows who will win the fight. It happens quickly when the boar charges —its sharp tusks sinking into the fighter’s gut and pinning him against the smooth wall. Red streaks the white marble and when the boar halts the assault a bloody mess of entrails are left strewn across the white sand. 

“Are there any other challengers who wish to face this mighty descendant of the Erymanthian?” Lesya looks down into the pit at the beast roaming around its freshest kill. She and Deimos had skewered plenty of boar in the past —and a rasher of fried back fat does sound good. Stepping forward to the edge of the rope fence, she calls out. Accepting the challenge. The organizer thinks her a fool for not taking the leather-and-metal cuirass they offer. All she takes into the pit is a wooden lance affixed with a rusting leaf-shaped spearhead and her twin blades. 

The beast does not notice when Lesya steps into the arena —it is busy rooting around the guts of its last victim, but she knows better than to strike first from behind. Moving around in a low crouch, she clicks her tongue —drawing its attention to her. The boar charges and Lesya rolls out of the way and reaches behind her, unsheathing one of the daggers. 

Weighing the blade and the opportunity, she throws it. The boar squeals when the dagger buries itself to the hilt in its flank. A wave of chants and cheers sweeps through the rabble above, but she tunes them out —eyes narrowing on the beast as it returns its raging black eyes on her. Stamping its hooves into the sand. When Lesya rolls to the side again, she reaches for the second dagger on her back —cutting a deep line into the boar’s side, it rears up and cries as though it had already been skewered. 

The beast readies to charge again, but Lesya is done with the spectacle. Crouching, she adjusts her grip on the spear and faces down the boar as it races toward her, bloody mouth agape. Lunging as it nears her, she thrusts the spear forward and up —pressing into the wooden lance with a loud cry. The crowd above grows silent as the boar halts, its squeals of pain turning to silence. Metal glinting with red pushes through the top of the boar’s skull —twisting the spear, she jerks it free and drives the bloody point into the ground next to her foot. 

Tundareos is there when she emerges from the fighting pit, grinning —his clear blue eyes like a sparkling sea. Sandy blond hair windswept and loosely tied back from his face. He is so much like the lively boy Lesya remembers from a distant childhood, but a pang of despondency rises in her chest. Tundareos has not led a gentle life either, that much is evident from the deep scar running across his left cheek down to his lips —half-hidden by a scruffy beard a shade lighter than his hair. “You’re insane,” he laughs, clapping her on the shoulder, having watched the fight from above.  

The purse is heavy with silver and gold —from the prize and the bets even if the organizer is reluctant to part ways with the pay. Her brother trails along as she returns to the Adrestia, tossing the earnings down at Kassandra’s feet. It will put her closer to paying Xenia’s hefty price.  

FOR WHEN TUNDAREOS is not at sea, he has a small house in Koressia beneath the Temple of Athena Nedousia. He pours two cups of watered wine and lays the thick-cut slices of boar fat into a bronze tagēnon to fry and render over an earthen brazier. The supper of fried back fat, brown bread, olives, figs, and honey is taken in silence —though Tundareos and Lesya exchange quick looks and small smiles. It is the first time either of them has been with family in over a decade and had been longer since sharing a meal. 

Lesya does not part ways for the night as she had initially planned, instead, her brother leads her up to the roof. A full moon hangs in the clear dark sky, pocked with the twinkle of a thousand stars. Tundareos looks out over the sea, a deep sorrow washing over him. “Sister,” he breathes, “tell me what happened to you after that night.” He has heard stories of a ghost with copper hair, fighting like a demon —after witnessing her kill the same beast who gored countless men there is not a doubt in his mind the stories had been about his sister

“Tundareos,” Lesya shakes her head, laurel gaze darting down to her palms. Remembering is one of the hardest things to do, but forgetting is even harder. “I–” she pauses and when Lesya begins again, the words come pouring out as a torrent. Lesya tells him everything and it feels good to have someone to confide in without fear of judgment. 

His face twists in anger —no one would have hurt his sister if his father had not given her up as a girl. “What can I do to help you stop these people?” He asks but Lesya does not have that answer for herself either. Luck leads her to some Cultists and Deimos to others. The only way to stop them from choking Hellas was to cut the head from every serpent. “I’ll do it. I promise,” Tundareos says, voice reflecting his iron will. “They all deserve to die and rot in Tartarus.” A good number already were. 

Then something stirs in the pit of her stomach, rising to seize her heart. “Deimos doesn’t,” she says, softly. Deimos was the only person who knew what it was like to be a weapon, to be twisted into something valuable from a young age, to have freedom and humanity stripped away. Lesya cannot stop her heart from aching every time she thinks of him —can not stop hoping their paths will cross sooner rather than later. Tundareos looks at her oddly for a moment before he begins to understand what the pause and the rose color on her cheeks mean. “His name is Alexios,” she tells her brother, smiling. I love him. 

@wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fjor-ok-skadi @fucking-dip-shit

[gucciwins]

World Cup - Lyon, France

Y/N roots for USA and Harry is the best

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: The World Cup is my favorite. Harry is also add them together and it is a match made in heaven. The perfect opportunity presented itself and I could not let it go by. England vs. USA was an intense match but these teams played their heart out. 

Happy Reading !

July 2, 2019 11:00 am

You have the TV turned on to Fox Sports channel and are listening to the commentary before game time. Harry is upstairs doing god knows what but he said he would join you shortly. You think he agreed to join you because you made your famous cheese dip that he seems to enjoy. 

Honestly, you don’t think you will be eating at all this game. Not because you don’t want to ruin your USA jersey that proudly shows of number 17 and Heath across your back but because this game has you anxious and really want your team to make it to the finals. 

Harry told you it was just futbol but for you it was more than that. It is the sport you have played since you were six years old. The sport that made you strong and reminded you why friendship and teamwork is important. That communication is the key to success in everything you do. Overall, it shaped you to be the person you are today. Harry cried when you finished explaining what it meant to you and then agreed to watch it with you. 

You were upset that you couldn’t go to France for this world cup. Harry saw how upset you got when friend’s of yours sent you videos and pictures because you couldn’t make the trip due to a work issue that finally got resolved last week. It bummed you out but what did make you cry is when your friends got their Jersey signed by Christen Press and Alex Morgan. 

You claimed something was in your eye but Harry felt your pain. He promised to himself that he would go with you to the next one no matter where it was. Honestly, it led to some mind blowing sex. If you asked Harry.

11:55 am

“God Save the Queen” starts to play and you are staring in awe at the television. The stadium is packed in Lyon. You sing along quietly to “The Star-Spangled Banner”. You look at the starting line up and can’t help but smile at these twenty two women  who are about to fight for a spot to the finals.

This will be a long 90 minutes.

1’

“HARRY!” you yell wanting him to come as it’s starting.

“I’m coming, love.” He says sitting next to you pulling you close.

“What were you doing up there?” You question not looking away from the screen in front of you.

“I had some phone calls to make.” He reassured you.

Rose Lavelle cut of a player and in she goes. She crosses and it’s blocked. You jump up from your spot and startle Harry. 

“Wow, that was a close one.” Harry chuckles and rubs your arm gently calming you instantly. 

“Good thing I don’t got any popcorn in my lap or it would have gone flying” Harry jokes and you can’t help but laugh. 

There is not much talk from you anymore mostly listening to the commentators and what they think of this game.  

“I have a question.” Harry begins. He’s sees that you won’t answers and keeps talking. “Why do they-“

“YES!!!” you scream. “Goal, you go Press!” You cut Harry off but that goal was beautiful. Rose Lavelle let the ball go allowing O’Hara to send a beautiful cross and Christen Press was there to header it into the back of the net. 

You sit there looking at the replay and just stare at awe in that teamwork. This team needs to stay strong to make it through. 

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to interrupt but it was bad timing.” You lean over to give him a kiss. Harry pouting not used to sharing your attention. 

“I just wanted to know why the US has different captains.” 

“Oh, they got co-captains. Morgan and Rapinoe lead the team but only have one on the actual field. Like in high school I was co-captain with Tiff and we passed it onto the next who had the potential and the growth we saw in ourselves.” Harry gives you a forehead kiss and thanks you quietly.

“Did you see that shot? Lavelle, needs to be kept tight or she will score. Fast and agile she needs to be marked good.”

18’

A long beautiful cross and and another one to center field. White gets a touch on it and in it goes. 

You sit there shocked. That was a nice play but the US’s mistake was leaving them open. Harry waits for you to freak out and yell at the TV.

“Nice goal. This game is only going to get tougher.” You see that Harry is surprised at how calm you are. 

“H, me yelling at a television does nothing.” He chuckles and you both continue to view the match. 

“Oh hell no!” You yell. “Not a penalty. Don’t go there, England. You are better than that.” 

25’

“Oh my Alex is down.” Harry is confused at how you see that. 

Two players going for the ball and getting headed by a head rather than a ball can leave you hurting. She gets checked on and looks away. 

“It’s her birthday, love.” Harry nods his head to Alex Morgan.

“Yeah, could be a good or bad day for her.” You tell him. 

“I wouldn’t like to play on my birthday. Years later I’d remember that day forever if it was a bad time.”

You laugh at him. “At least the type of playing you do always leads to good memories.” You remind him. 

30’

Horan has the ball. She sends a cross into the box and Alex Morgan is there to finish the job. 

“GOAL!!!!” The television yells. “A very happy birthday for Alex Morgan.” 

You sit there shocked. Not expecting that at all. Harry can’t help but get excited because he may not know who to root for but he can celebrate a nice goal.

“This is too much.” You look over at Harry tears in your eyes. “This will hurt if we lose.”

Harry feels for his love. He knows what it is like to be all in for a team but mostly a passion. This is your passion that you care for. “I’m here to support you, love.” 

40’

Smack to the face. Bright arm up hits Morgan in the face. 

“Hey, that’s a yellow.” Harry yells.

You snicker quietly but Harry nods proudly when he sees the yellow given to Bright. 

Right after Horan and Scott are in a foul. It looks bad on both sides but England is given the kick. 

“This game is getting dirty.” Harry agress and says he doesn’t like it as well. 

45’

The whistle is blown and that is halftime. You sit back and breathe. You look over at Harry and smile at him. 

“That is what I call intense.” Harry says to you.

You laugh but agree with him. You get up and stretch your hands over you head. Walking towards the restroom. 

“H, this is break time. Use it. Don’t think I’m letting you get up second half.” You tell him with a smile.

“Can we do other fun stuff during this time?” He yells at you. 

“Get me a drink and refill the chips you finished and we’ll see.”

Harry could not move any quicker.

45’

“Harry.” He doesn’t answer and keeps kissing your neck. You are enjoying this, but the game is on in like a minute. 

“Harry!” You exclaim pulling his hair that makes him let out a loud moan. “The game started. Keep your hands to yourself.” 

He pulls away and sits on the other side of the couch. “Fine, no kisses or cuddles for you.”

“H, it goes both ways. You know that.” Not looking away from the screen. Wincing out loud when you see what almost played out a goal against your team. 

55’

You lean in closer seeing the Lavelle sprinting down the center of the field the ball at her feet. She never gets the chance to do much with three around her. 

You sit back defeated. 

You start getting a bit thirsty and reach for the Ginger Ale Harry brought for you when he moves it out of reach. 

“No, drink for you.” He tells you. You sit back upset but decide not to fight him on it. “No chips neither. I got those.” 

You look over at him and smile. He doesn’t like this smile. 

“No dip for you, I made it.” Harry grows sad quickly.

“Can we talk this out?” 

You dip a finger in the delicious cheese dip. You pop the finger in your mouth and pull it out slowly.

“I don’t think so.” You saw with a smirk and look away.

Harry sits there upset. What else is he supposed to do, he got himself in this mess. 

65’

Lavelle is subbed out for Mewis. She did well but it gets tough being a target. Right after O’Hara is fouled outside the box. Heath is taking the shot. It does not lead to a goal but it was beautiful.

“Why is Heath your favorite?” Harry questions knowing it could make you happy talking about a player you like.

Before you can think to answer. England scores. You sit back not knowing what to do. You stare at the replay and see Scott give the small touch and White takes the lead and gets it past Naeher. 

You and Harry sat in silence for the next minute when you hear the commenters say that it will be watched back by VAR because it could be offside. 

You wait and wait when finally it is announced that White was offside. You don’t know what to do in this situation. You hate this but you also don’t want to celebrate a goal being taken away. VAR is new technology that is definitely changing the game. 

“Do you want a cuddle?” Harry asks because he can feel the stress you feel from where he’s sitting. You nod quietly and he moves closer. 

You lay your head on his chest and curl your legs close. “I always want cuddles.” 

75’

This heatwave has not been kind to Europe. You’re thankful you don’t play but what a dream it would be to play on the USA team or at least meet them and tell them how awesome they are doing not only for the game but for women and fighting for equality.

Heath is out for Lloyd and you hope this hero can score. Grand applause for both but you are nervous for what the call may be prior to the subbing. It didn’t look like a penalty but it could be called as anything.

“Harry, hold me tighter.” You say.

“I got you, love. No matter what it is you’ll team will be fine.”

82’ 

A penalty is given and Sauerbrunn receives a yellow. You don’t like this one bit. This changes everything. 

You sit there wrapped up in the safest arms on earth and watch what could be a game changer.

Houghton, England’s captain takes the shot but it is blocked.  Naeher saves the US from a goal. USA celebrates  quickly and is ready for the attack. 

You let out a breath you were holding. Harry rubs his hand up and down your back. “All good, love.” He reminds you. “Let’s hope they stay strong.”

85’ 

England is getting a bit dirty but you think nothing of it. Bright and Morgan go for a ball and Bright hits her in the shin. A straight yellow, it seems show doesn’t remember the previous yellow before until she’s told and the England player gets the red. 

Well shit, you think. 

“Harry, Krieger is going in.” You tell him although he could see this.  You were just excited to finally get her on the field. She is also one of your favorites. That worn out jersey in your closet it proof. 

“She’s great, Jill Ellis doesn’t play her much anymore.” 

Morgan is fouled again. You're not surprised many have said Alex Morgan is the one to watch with and without the ball. England is not taking any chances.

90’

Harry seems to hold onto you tighter waiting for the whistle to blow expect it doesn’t.

“Why are we still going?” Harry questions.

“Extra time for what was stopped during the game. Stoppage time and such.” You explain.

“Okay, we can do this.” He tells you.

“We” you tease.

“Yes, after all this stress it’s we.” You snuggle closer and place a kiss on his chest letting him know you like that. 

Parris is a strong player but you are surprised at the fouls she is doing. The pressure is making her crack. 

England has control of the ball but does not use it well. You don’t know what to do. Expect wait for time to stop. 

Dunn gets head on ball and gets it out. Foul after foul USA and England both don’t stop fighting. 

96’

With seconds left, you sit up but Harry doesn’t let you go. You are waiting for the sweet sound of the whistle to blow. Come on. Come on. Blow it already.

The referee blows the whistle loud and clear. You stand up quickly and run around the living room. Yelling a bunch of nonsense.

Harry sits at the couch looking at you with the biggest smile on his face. You’ve got too much energy and there is only one person who can help you properly to release it.

You stop cheering and lock eyes with Harry. In the next few seconds you are wrapped up in his arms. Kissing him with all the joy that is running through your veins.

Harry pulls away. His pink lips swollen but a large smile on his face.  He runs his thumb down your cheek and lets out a dimpled smile when you kiss his thumb. 

“Do you fancy a small holiday, love?” He asks. 

“With you, anywhere in the world.” You promise him.

“How does Lyon, France sound?” He says with the biggest smirk on his face. “I have two tickets reserving us seats for the final.”

You stare at him in shock. Harry did what. You can’t believe he did this for you.

“Will you were a jersey for me?” That is the first thing out of your mouth.

“Why of course.” He says with a smirk. “Horan, on my back will make everyone go crazy.” You laugh at how cheesy he is.

Lyon here we come.

Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed reading it. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

[artificialqueens]

Bring It On: Fight to the Finish pt 5 (Branjie) - Ashley

A/N: so this is my longest chapter yet and has been my fave to write so far ft some heavy fanservice, cute branjie moments and a hint at potential scyvie. There are only 5 bring it on films (#worldwide cheermack DOES NOT count) so I only ever planned for there to be 5 chapters titlewise, meaning I’m just gonna have to get creative with sports idioms from here. Should be one or two more after this then maybe some one shots, who knows..hope you like, thanks for all the love so far. P.s: I have a sideblog now if anyone wants to chat bring it on/branjie in general - xoxo Ashley

“Hey, you’re actually really good at that!” Brooke found herself surprised as she watched Silky play around with the batons left over from the marching bands session in the gym as they waited for Vanessa to turn up.

“Girl, we’ve all got hidden talents,” Silky laughed in response as she continued to twirl the batons with great precision, throwing and catching them to the beat of the song that played.

Not shortly after, a crowd had formed around the girls and the squad all began to dance together in their own silly ways, throwing aside the rigidity and cheer-nature of their usual routines. Feeling herself start to let loose to the music and really connect with the squad - Brooke watched some of the other cheerleader’s personalities shine and allowed herself to see a more of a unique side to her teammates.

Although she thrived on the nature of competition and routine, a part of her relished the time they were spending simply having fun. Seeing Jaren do a double pirouette from the corner of her eye, Brooke shook her head at the boy and wagged a finger in his direction, before throwing herself into pirouettes and fouettes till they were having their own little dance-off in front of the squad - Brooke leaping across the hall in a way she just felt so accustomed to. Despite the fact that she had dove headfirst into cheer and carried on swimming strong for the past few weeks, Brooke knew her love for the classic beauty of ballet would always hold a special place in her heart - messing about like this giving her the sensation of an old friend coming to visit, the warmth of nostalgia arising like she was sipping a cup of tea.

Suddenly interrupted by a single stream of claps from across the hall, Brooke stopped and turned to see Vanessa making her way over, the usual twinkle in her eyes shining bright as she watched her squad embrace themselves. Ever since her reconciliation with Jovan and performance at the pep rally, Brooke had noticed the vulnerable and kind side of Vanessa that she usually kept closeted start to spread around the school. Whilst she still had her moments of ferocity, Brooke had noticed the dilapidation of Vanessa’s guns-a-blazing approach, the girl’s highly protective defence barriers starting to lower, exposing more of her real self to the squad. Vanessa had learned that in order to succeed, she didn’t need to rule with an iron fist, instead lending that hand to the others around her and helping to push them to new heights. Pushing Brooke to new heights.

“Okay, so when we’re ya’ll gonna show me this shit?” She exclaimed towards the group with a sense of dumbfoundedness. “You know, I was just about ready to come and scream at yous that we need to step our pussies up after seeing this hoe on the cover of American Cheerleader,” Vanessa help up a magazine that Brooke was unfamiliar with, “but I think we might be able to use some of this.”

Watching the cogs turning in her friend’s brain, Brooke couldn’t help but mentally swoon at the way Vanessa scrunched her face up when she concentrated - almost as if Brooke could visibly see all the pictures she painted inside her mind.

“Is that Vick?” Akeria snatched the magazine from Vanessa’s hand in order to get a closer look at it, Brooke joining her in tandem.

Vicky Taylor, Brooke recognised the girl on the cover from her “Cheer 101” with Vanessa when she had first joined the squad. The ruthless leader of the Vixens, Brooke knew the girl had a reputation of ferociousness and a willingness to fight. The sly fox of the Cheer world, it was a well know fact that Vicky did not shy from addressing the lingering elephant in the room at any circumstance. Not only were the squad an intense rival for the Amazons but the feud between Vanessa and the other captain seemed to be deep-rooted into the woods of the competition.

“She’s not that bad,” Jaren rolled his eyes as the members of the squad gaped at the cover, “she can be a real sweetheart.”

“Just cause you taught her how to rap like 2 nationals ago,” Monet nudged her friend in the ribs, resulting in a squeal from Jaren’s behalf.

“Irregardless, that should be me on that cover,” a wave of determination crashed over the captain, “Ever since she made me drop the spirit stick at camp, we have always come in second place to that girl. We’ve been looking at this all wrong. I spent so long trying to be like the Vixens, trying to do what they do - but we need to be different, we need to take what we got and make ourselves unique.”

Jay nodded adamantly in the background; “For the first time ever, I think you’re speaking utter sense, Vanjie.”

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re here to cheer first and foremost - but if we use the talents that we all got and learn how to apply them to the competition, I think we could hit the jackpot. Those judges sit and watch repetitive moves all day - if we throw in a couple of Brooke’s ballet moves, a few of Silk’s batons and a death drop here and there then we got the recipe for success.”

“Maybe it’ll undo that curse!” Silky boomed, garnering laughs from the entire squad.

A pang of longingness hit Brooke - although she was now more a member of the squad that she ever had been - she felt a hint of jealousy at the thought of the years they had all spent growing up together in the smaller neighbourhood. She was suddenly struck by the fear of all the memories she had missed, feeling envy at the thought that some of these girls had spent their whole lives knowing Vanessa. Even though she was usually having fun herself, Brooke was a long time sufferer of the fear of missing out, and coupled with the intense crush she had developed on the cheer captain, she knew she’d have given anything at that moment to have spent those nights at cheer camp, sneaking out of dorms and telling legends with Vanessa and the squad.

“Get warmed up then we’ll see what we can do,” Vanessa set the squad away at stretches and laps of the gym before pulling Brooke to one side.

Despite being exposed to her increasingly more, Brooke still felt that rush of blood go to her head every time Vanessa spoke to her, every time she felt her smooth skin so much as brush against her own, every time she heard her distinctive laugh or voice fill up the room.

“You okay?” Vanessa asked her, clearly noticing the slight dip in Brooke’s disposition.

“It’s fine, you know how I overthink things,” Brooke brushed off her anxieties, longing so much to open up to the girl right then and there. To give her everything and more. Every inch of her thoughts, feelings, body, mind. It was all hers.

“You’re a star, Brooke Lynn,” Vanessa looked dead into Brooke’s eyes with a confidence that could shatter glass, “Don’t ever stop thinking it. Now hurry up so you can teach me all this ballerina shit!”

Enlightened by the other girl’s simple yet meaningful words encouragement, Brooke’s smile beamed from cheek to cheek: “And then the student became the master.”

***

“Do I look okay?” Brooke asked her best friend as she examined herself in her full-length mirror, her need for perfection driving her to change her outfit 5 times before he arrived and grab her hairbrush to fix any strays every time he ushered her to leave. Finally deciding on a denim off-the-shoulder dress that exposed the majority of her back, she raked around her room looking for a bag to match.

Beep. The horn sounded outside.

So maybe it wasn’t just her own battle for perfection driving her to look her best.

“For the last time, yes!” Jovan grabbed her arm and ushered her out of the house and into the car, where his sister waited impatiently for the pair.

“You get lost in there or something?” Vanessa barked at her brother whilst shaking her eyes at Brooke.

“It’s not my fault,” he raised his eyebrows at his sister - Brooke happy to see that the siblings held a much closer relationship than they had when she first moved to Tampa. Even though they annoyed each other from time to time, the love between the two was evident and Brooke enjoyed nothing more than being able to spend time with both of them.

“We’re picking Brad up on the way,” Vanessa informed the pair - a part of Brooke sinking at the thought of having to sit in the back of the car with Vanessa’s douchebag boyfriend.

Despite knowing her crush on the girl was never something she’d indulge in and that Vanessa didn’t feel the same way, Brooke still knew Vanessa was better than Brad. Seeing and hearing the way he treated her and dabbled with other girls when Vanessa wasn’t around, Brooke found herself continually baffled at how one of the strongest and most determined women she knew - in fact, the strongest and most determined woman she knew - allowed herself to be walked all over by a high school has been waiting to happen.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” Vanessa blurted as she started to pull out of the street, her eyes focused on the road ahead of her.

“How could even you see that I’m rolling my eyes?” Brooke responded. Reason number eighty-nine why she believed Vanessa was some form of superhuman.

“Cause I know you,” Vanessa retorted - remembering the way Brooke consoled her after she confided in her about Brad’s cheating.

“She’s right,” Jovan piped in, “I don’t know why you give that boy the time of day.”

“You don’t understand,” Vanessa responded abruptly, an awkward silence lingering until they pulled up to the front of Brad’s house and he entered the car.

Sitting next to Brooke was reason number one - in fact, the only reason - why she believed Vanessa was the stupidest person on the planet.

“Hey babe,” he greeted Vanessa, before turning to Brooke and smiling.

“Brooke, you ready to get pissed?” he pulled a can of cider from his backpack and tossed it to her.

“I’m good - practice and everything,” Brooke responded through gritted teeth, taking her every ounce of self-control not to slap the bones out of him.

Okay, maybe it did have a little bit to do with her crush on Vanessa.

“I’m sure Vanj will let you have a night off, won’t you babe?” he grinned at Brooke.

Boy was she wishing she’d spent longer getting ready.

***

Not only had half of their year gathered to celebrate Akeria’s birthday but there was also a wide range of people Brooke had never met from neighbouring schools and the world of cheer combined. A bittersweet taste lingered in her mouth - here she was with all of her friends, her best friend and the girl she admired so much yet she felt as though she wasn’t fully there, never fully present. Lucky to have Jovan by her side to keep her grounded, a familiar newcomer to the life parties and high school socialising, Brooke was starting to wish she’d taken the cider from Brad nonetheless, longing to rinse away her anxieties in the short term at least.

“That boy has his eye on you,” she pointed out to her friend, taking note of the glances that kept getting thrown in their direction from across the room.

“Him?” Jovan nodded his head in the direction of the long-haired brunette, clearly panicked at the thought of interaction with him.

“Yes, but don’t stare like that you’ll freak him out!” Brooke laughed at her friend who was now taking suspicious looking glances at the boy in red.

“Oh my god,” Brooke gave him a light slap on the face, “Just go say hi!”

“Easy for you to say,” Jovan’s huffy side started to come out, Brooke finding pleasure in watching him get all nervous and flustered in the presence of a good looking boy. “Look at him. He’s like a fucking pristine Prince I don’t know why he’s looking at my shabby ass,”

“Maybe he’s into a bit of grit,” Brooke responded before realising that the boy had started to make his way over to them. “Just be cool.”

“Hi, do I know you?” he asked Jovan, his eyes scanning Brooke’s friend’s body up and down.

“I don’t think so,” Jovan looked down to the floor. Brooke swore she could see his cheeks turn a deep scarlet. She would never let him live this down, she thought to herself as she began to make an exit, ignoring her usual brazen friend’s sudden pleading eyes as they screamed at her for help. Giving him an assuring nod (you’ve got this), she set off to find Vanessa, desperate to tell her all about the cute boy her brother was talking to.

“Hey, you seen Vanessa?” she asked Monet after searching the kitchen, garden and living room for the dark-haired girl.

“I think I saw her and Brad upstairs,” she responded with a smile, pointing Brooke in the right direction.

Although she knew she may end up third wheeling the couple, Brooke fruitfully believed she was doing Vanessa a favour by dragging her away from Brad - having not seen the couple at all since they arrived at the party.

Going to walk into the first door she came across, Brooke stopped dead in her tracks as she opened it, seeing Brad - topless, kissing someone, someone who wasn’t Vanessa.

“Shit,” the girl muttered before grabbing her clothes and running past Brooke, leaving a purple balconette bra on the floor.

Frozen in place, Brooke didn’t know how to react.

Yes, she already knew that Brad had been unfaithful to Vanesa, but something about seeing him with the girl when Vanessa was in the same house, when she’d driven him here, something about seeing it with her own eyes, something about the bottle of lube on the table, the tacky violet bra on the floor made her want to give him a piece of her mind. And that she did.

“You want a piece, Brooke?” he laughed as she strode over to him, a kilogram of fury in every step.

“She deserves so much better than you,” Brooke jabbed at his chest, a sudden urge to protect Vanessa coming over her, the way the girl repeatedly brushed off his cheating, the way she told Brooke not to phone him when she was upset, playing on her mind.

“Oh, you want to get handsy?” he grinned at Brooke, placing his own hand on her arm.

A ball of slime fell straight from his mouth and Brooke was revolted.

And then Brooke’s world came crashing down.

“Hey, Monet said you we’re-” she started. But didn’t finish.

Turning around, Brooke saw the pain in her eyes, instantly realising the mistake - the image that lay before Vanessa. The shirtless boyfriend. The blonde best friend. The removed bra. The lube. The fucking lube. She watched the heartbreak play across the theatre screen. She wanted to pause. To rewind. But she couldn’t. Before she could even think the credits were rolling and Vanessa was fleeing the screen, desperate not to get stuck in the aisles giving way to slow paced families and chattering gaggles of teens. She had upped and left.

“No, Vanessa,” she chased her out of the room and down the stairs, repeating it till she turned. Praying she would turn. Not a care in the world who heard or whether she was making a scene because all she needed was for Vanessa to turn.

She didn’t.

“I didn’t do it!” She shouted after the girl. They were outside now, Vanessa running to her car and jumping into the front seat.

“Please.” Before she knew it she was stood in front of the bonnet. Headlights bright in her eyes but she could still see Vanessa’s face. The haunting look of someone who had been crushed into a million pieces and tried to stick themselves back together with fluff-covered sellotape.

Vanessa revved her engine.

Brooke stayed still.

“Move!” she shouted.

Brooke stayed still.

“Fuck sake,” she could make out the movement of Vanessa’s lips as she got out of the car, a sense of hope filling in Brooke’s mind, only for Vanessa to stride straight ahead of her.

“Guess I’m walking home,” she laughed to herself as she built pace on Brooke.

God, she was fast. Reason number 90 why Vanessa is superhuman.

“Vanessa!” Brooke shouted after her friend, “Can you just stop so I can explain what happened you’ve got it all wrong.”

She kept walking.

“Vanessa,” she called again, the girl gaining pace, Brooke wanted to try and tell her about the other girl but knew she was too far away to hear.

She stopped.

“Fuck you,” Vanessa responded.

The words stung. Although Brooke had understood what it looked like from Vanessa’s point of view, she found herself getting frustrated at the girl, did she really not trust her? She knew he cheated, she already knew.

“Was that your way of showing me I’m too good for him? Cause it fucking worked Brooke, ” she said to the girl, her voice rising mid-sentence.

About the ask the girl how she could assume the worst of her so quickly, Vanessa started to let loose at Brooke.

“It wasn’t me Vanessa,” she shouted - her usual polite manners and calm reasoning were thrown out the window. She knew from an objective standpoint that she should just sit down and tell Vanessa what happened but in the heat of the moment when Vanessa was shouting and Brooke started to feel hurt at the accusations, everything was jumbled and a logical approach wasn’t even in the distant horizon.

“You knew anyway!” she found herself getting mad at the girl, mad at the girl she cared for so much letting her boyfriend stomp all over her tiny frame, “You fucking knew!”

“But it’s you,” Vanessa responded, clearly coming from that same place of hurt Brooke had witnessed the night she fought with Jovan, “You don’t understand shit Brooke, so stop acting like you know everything.”

“I understand plenty. You let your boyfriend cheat on you again and again with no consequences but then take it out on me with not an ounce of blame on precious Brad. I get that you feel betrayed but it wasn’t even fucking me, Vanessa.”

“God,” Vanessa was delirious, her eyes looking up to the sky, a laugh escaping her hoarse throat. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Her stomach full of butterflies, Brooke wanted everything to go back to the way it was. She wanted that magic remote to alter time. She wanted to pause and stay with Vanessa, calm her down, make sure she was okay. She wanted to kiss her, to kiss her till she couldn’t yell anymore, till she believed Brooke, till she understood that all Brooke ever wanted to do was look out for her.

She imagined it, her lips on Vanessa’s the way they had been in the night club - but for real.

The butterflies escaped; punching holes in her skin.

She imagined holding her, hands in her hair. Not the way Brad had been with the redhead - she’d hold her tenderly like a China doll, so brittle that it could break in her hands. She’d run her hands through her dark hair and kiss her with passion, with promise, with whatever it took.

Brooke knew there was nothing more she wanted at that moment than to kiss Vanessa Mateo.

And then Vanessa kissed her.

For real.

She wanted to pinch herself but her hands were glued to Vanessa, magnets unable to resist the gravitational pull.

It was everything she’d imagined and nothing like it at the same time.

Because it was real.

She tasted like artificial cherries. Sweet. She was so sweet.

If Vanessa really was a China doll then Brooke would have broken her by now. The pressure they exerted on each other getting larger and larger, they both gripped tightly as if their lives depended on it. As if they’d been waiting for it, starving for it.

Brooke had, she thought to herself. Had Vanessa?

She didn’t want to question it. All she knew is that it was happening and she wouldn’t stop our of fear that it wouldn’t happen again.

Vanessa’s hands spitting flames everywhere.

She was submerged in the heat, plunged deep into the fiery pit.

Vanessa’s hands on her. All over her.

She was in heaven. Or was it hell. It didn’t matter, because Vanessa was there riding that same train. Until it stopped and left them deserted in a neutral limbo. They heard shouting, their names. Footsteps. They broke apart.

Brooke was confused at where they had arrived and lost in this new world, a familiar voice snapping her back to reality.

Jovan.

Everything flooded back to her. Jovan. Brad. The Redhead. The Amazons.

Vanessa.

“Are yous okay?” he ran over to them, putting an instinctive arm around his sister.

“Brad cheated on me again,” she whispered, barely making eye contact with her brother as he shepherded her away to the car, Brooke in tow.

“Brooke saw him, with another girl.”

Dramatic irony loomed over Brooke, casting a shadow behind her. Vanessa didn’t care about Brad. She cared about Brooke.

The silence was abundant as they sat in the car, Jovan about to turn the engine on before he stopped and turned to the girls: “I’ll be two seconds.”

And he was gone. And they were alone.

“It wasn’t me,” Brooke whispered even though no one was there.

“I know. I just thought it was and it made me-” she stopped mid-sentence. Brooke could almost sense that painful look from the backseat.

“You need to break up with Brad,”

“I can’t,” Vanessa whispered - her fears a can of worms starting to spill out of her. “Brooke, if you tell anyone, if anyone knew,-” she stopped herself again. Brooke could hear her trying to fight the tears, the build up in her throat, she could make out her hands on her eyelashes, willing herself not to cry.

“You need to break up with Brad,” she repeated.

“I think that’s fucked now anyway,” Vanessa responded, “What am I gonna do? Brooke, you can’t tell anyone about that, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

But Brooke’s mind was out of answers, out of solutions, out of reasoning. The only fact her brain could discern was that kissing Vanessa was a lot better than not kissing Vanessa. Now that she’d had a taste of the forbidden cherry she needed another bite. And she’d take one even if it killed her cause god did it taste sweet.

And then Jovan returned. Brooke couldn’t focus on the grin on his face, the happiness he was radiating because her mind couldn’t focus on anything but Vanessa and before she knew it she was outside of her own house, time playing its part as the cruel mistress.

She didn’t sleep that night.

Often she dreamed of the head cheerleader and couldn’t wait to fall asleep so she could nourish in all of her feelings without the guilt. Tonight, the dream was real life and she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head - right until the “what was I thinking”. The painstaking cruel “what was I thinking” that kept it from being a dream after all. But Brooke knew that no matter how much that part hurt, it was worth what came before. She didn’t care about getting burned when she got to dance in the embers - for her, that was enough.

***

Brooke waited and waited the following Monday. She wouldn’t show, she figured. Because she hadn’t texted, she hadn’t called. She’d left Brooke a glass slipper then disappeared once the clock struck midnight.

“Look, we’ll just do some more practice of our routine, it doesn’t look like she’s gonna show and there’s no point in learning something new,” Akeria announced to the group as time started ticking even more and there was no sign of their captain.

“Maybe she’s just late?” Brooke asked with a sense of hopefulness - her mind was at a loss over the weekend, circles of confusion running around her.

She didn’t want to see Vanessa because she had such strong feelings for her, she needed to see her because Vanessa, too, understood what was going on and there was no one else Brooke could talk to about how fucked up her head was since Friday. Everything that had built up since she moved to Tampa had all released at once and she was left feeling empty. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Brooke wanted to know more than anything - did she feel the same, had she felt the same all along. Unanswered questions made list after list in her head till she found herself starting to walk to Vanessa’s house, always too scared to enter, always too scared to knock, always turning back and taking the smoothest course home instead of the dark, winding, forbidden path to the girl who had kissed her, always too scared of tripping on the branch of an uprooted tree and falling to her demise.

And then all of a sudden she was in front of her. But the spirit that once filled her till she might burst, the pep she carried on her back to practice wasn’t. The things that made Vanessa herself were nowhere to be found - just the shadow of a girl who wanted to be different, who wanted to stand out and be a team, who wanted to kiss Brooke.

“Get in position for a 360 helicopter,” she shouted towards the group - no welcome, no team talk, no look in Brooke’s direction.

“Girl, you know that’s illegal,” Monet looked shocked at the captain.

“Yeah,” Silky chimed in, “I know you’ve been through a breakup but you’re not really thinking straight Vanjie,”

She had broken up with Brad, Brooke realised - her heart began to warm. But then she remembered that she hadn’t texted, hadn’t called. She remembered the “I don’t know what I was thinking.” It didn’t matter that Vanessa had broken up with Brad because she didn’t seem to want Brooke either way.

“This is nothing to do with my breakup. Sure, it’s all fun and games being team spirit and doing grand-jetes but is that really gonna make us beat the Vixens? I’ve been rethinking and we need extreme,”

The squad looked at her with a gulp of astonishment and surprise. There was that sneer of cold command - gone the kind diplomat who the group had began to know.

“We’ve spent weeks learning that stuff, Vanjie,” Jaren gave her a pointed look, clearly fed up with her hot and cold antics. “You can’t change it again, this close to nationals.”

“Why aren’t you in formation for a 360 helicopter?” she responded, ignoring the squads clear discern with her sudden change of pace and heart.

“Brooke, are you gonna get into base position or just stand there letting your ass form it’s own Instagram?”

If she thought Vanessa’s last words to her stung. Then these ones ripped through her skin like she was being stabbed. Quickly and sharply, Vanessa left her to bleed out.

Vanessa was a ball of sporadic blaze and Brooke didn’t know how much longer she could take the changes in her mood. One minute she was beaming with all the heat of a thousand suns. The next she was an icy queen readying to crack anyone that got in her way.

So Brooke did one of the most difficult things she had done in her life - she walked away from Vanessa, straight out of practice, straight out of school, as far away as she could get from the girl who could make her so elated one minute and so beneath her the next. She felt like walking all the way to Toronto and back to her old life, where she had never felt the sinking of heartbreak like this, her naive mind a place of utopia.

***

Her time giving up on Vanessa didn’t last long. 3 days to be precise. After trying and failing miserably to avoid practice, avoid her in the corridors and even avoid Jovan - Brooke had tipped over her boiling point. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, she knew she was supposed to be resisting her temptation, but before long she was back walking on that gloomy path, her ability to control her desires out of the window. She had walked away from Vanessa that Monday afternoon but knew she wouldn’t be able to do it again - the need for answers and the lack of knowledge about her own life driving her insane, she needed to know why Vanessa had kissed her, why she acted that way at practice.

Without out even processing where she was going, she made her way to Vanessa’s house, almost like muscle memory had taken her there. Except, this time she didn’t turn around and take the steady course - she dove into the unknown.

She made her way to the girl’s window and tapped, and only then did she realise what she was doing, but it was too late to go back. She’d already taken the gamble and all that was left to do was to wait in nervousness for the result.

Before her was the face of the girl she’d tried every precaution to avoid. As she opened the window, leaving only the density of air between them, Brooke couldn’t tell if she’d won or lost her bet either way.

Bags under her eyes and hairs falling stray from her ponytail, Vanessa looked like she hadn’t slept in a week but Brooke still found herself mesmerised nonetheless.

“I have a front door, yanno,” she broke the silence first.

“Didn’t think my ass would fit through,” Brooke raised her eyebrows at the girl. She may have spent the past few days living and breathing Vanessa but her feelings of passion and desire to kiss the girl again did not fully overshadow the harsh words Vanessa had uttered to her. She wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily.

“Touche,” Vanessa opened the window wider before looking down at Brooke’s asset in question, “Think it might just fit through here.”

“Why would I wanna come in your room, Vanessa?”

“The same reason why you’re outside my window at 2AM,” she responded bluntly.

“Touche,” Brooke rolled her eyes, unable to help herself from falling back into that natural lull of playfulness with Vanessa as she climbed through the frame and into the room, holding onto the other girl’s hand for balance.

That spark never did go away.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Brooke stated, unsure how to approach the situation, unsure of how to be so close to the other girl without pinning her arms against the wall and kissing her until her jaw ached.

“Shoot,” Vanessa responded, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hands playing with the cuffs of her oversized jumper. What Brooke had realised to be her own jumper from the night Vanessa had slept at her house. It probably smelt of cherries now, she started to get herself chased away by her thoughts before remembering why she was there.

“Why did you kiss me?” Brooke asked, joining Vanessa on the bed and pressing on the bottom of her chin with her finger so that they’d be making eye contact. She needed Vanessa to look into her eyes and tell her she meant it, tell her she really didn’t know what she was thinking in order to stay that least bit sane. In order to get out of the horrible limbo that she had been floating around in.

“Why do you think?” Vanessa gave Brooke a pointed look.

“I want you to tell me,” Brooke responded, placing a reassuring hand over Vanessa’s, the way she had when she’d watched the girl open up previously.

“I thought you’d got with Brad and I think it just made me see how real it all was,” her voice started to break.

“All what?”

“All this. You, Brooke. From that first time I saw you in the cafeteria, you stood out to me from everyone who watched us, something about you just caught my eye and then you were here in my kitchen and I just about died. I had it all under control, I had a boyfriend who no one questioned, I was captain of the Amazons, I could focus on that. And then I saw you and I just thought ‘god, this girl’s gonna fuck it all up’”

“You didn’t like me,” Brooke said, her mind not fully adjusting to what was happening. She thought she was coming for closure but was now opening Pandora’s Box for all the baggage to spill out. “You didn’t want me on the squad,”

“You really are a dumb, blonde cheerleader, aren’t you?” Vanessa shook her head and laughed to herself like she had when Brooke had asked her about Brad, about why this was any different to what she already knew. “Fucking hell, do I have to spell this out for you?”

“I’d like that,” Brooke laughed, “In a cheer.”

“You just did something to me Brooke, and it scared me. It really fucking scared me and it still is. I tried to push you away but felt guilty so I tried to be your friend, tried to fight it. I let go at the club, but the thought of you with Brad just sent me insane and I couldn’t anymore,”

“It doesn’t matter Vanessa,” Brooke gave Vanessa a reassuring squeeze on the hand. “I’m just glad I wasn’t making all of this up. No one cares. Everyone knows you’re a boss ass bitch and you’d stomp on anyone who got in your way, I don’t think they’d say anything to you. And your parents wouldn’t mind, look at Jovan. You don’t need to keep putting up these defences and trying to push me away every time you show your feelings, there’s nothing wrong with it,“

“I don’t care what people would say about me Brooke, I care about what they’d think. I wanna be known for my talent not who I like. I know it’s 2019 and all this bullshit but I just don’t want that Brooke, I’m ashamed of it. And my parents are different, they love Jovan.”

“They love you,” Brooke pleaded with the girl.

“I don’t want to talk about them,” Vanessa responded and Brooke knew that she had reached her breaking point, with nothing more to do than to pull the other girl into a hug.

And then they were kissing.

If she thought that she’d felt the most passion she was ever capable of feeling on Saturday, then she was wrong. Vanessa was extremely dehydrated and all she had left was the tall glass of Brooke, right there on her bed - and Brooke just couldn’t help but just give herself away.

She kissed with intensity and passion. If an earthquake came and the walls around them started to fall then Brooke wouldn’t have noticed - she was fully engrossed In Vanessa. Vanessa’s mouth pressing against hers. Vanessa’s tongue sliding its way into her mouth with careful precision and warmth. Vanessa’s teeth pressing softly onto Brooke’s bottom lip.

“God, I’ve wanted you to do that for a while,” Brooke whispered to the girl, holding her face between her palms, looking deep into her dark eyes, just stopping to make sure it was all real.

“What about this?” Vanessa asked, a sultry look melting over her face as she ripped the bobble out of her hair and pushed Brooke onto her back, legs either side of her. Slowly she made her way on top of the girl, taking the time to note every detail about her - the look on her face, the way her blonde tendrils spread across the pillow so haphazardly and neatly at the same time.

Although fully aware that she was staring at the other girl, Brooke couldn’t bring herself to close her eyes as Vanessa pressed her body against hers and kissed her again. She watched as Vanessa’s dainty hands made to the edge of her shirt. The fireworks were bigger, better, hotter and all over Brooke’s body. She was fully submerged in the inferno, riding the train down to hell, knowing yet not caring about the consequences.

Nodding her head in consent, the unspoken bond between the two was clear as Vanessa moved her hands up Brooke’s pale chest, caressing her the way no boy had ever done before. So careful and graceful yet so hot and lustful in synchronisation.

The reasons why Vanessa was a super-human built and built till the number reached infinity and the mental list combusted into a million fragments of the beautiful Latina.

Brooke’s back arched with the need to be with Vanessa, to give her everything and more, to release all of the emotions she’d had since that first day and show her how she really felt in a way that transcended the English language.

Her hands made her way through the girl’s dark hair, down to her lower back, exploring Vanessa’s body in a frantic exciting way - unable to stop and stay anywhere at the thought of what lay beyond.

They were two athletes, two perfectionists, pushing themselves to further and further limits till the race was over and they didn’t even know who had came in first place, who had crossed that barrier before the other, but it didn’t matter, because as they lay there holding one another in the beautiful catastrophe of Vanessa’s bed, the only thing that mattered was that they had done it together.

[grace-ko]

Small Steps | Grace + Devon

"You’re late.” Grace didn’t bother glancing over their shoulder as they heard Devon’s footsteps approach and his deep laugh fill their senses. 

“Can I be forgiven? I came bearing gifts,” he informed them as he took a seat and held out the box of cookies towards them with a grin, Red Velvet’s logo bright and distinguished on top of the box. It was still weird to go into the bakery and not be greeted by Anna but given the information Jess had just given them, he had a feeling as to why she was avoiding the general public. But he had agreed to respect all boundaries and he would stand by that.

“Dammit, did Anna tell you black and white cookies were my favorite?” They reached for one of the cookies. “Fine you’re forgiven this time but next time you better bring something else I might not be as nice,” they teased and nudged him lightly. “You look good, how’s the new place, you sleeping alright?”

Devon nodded along to their words, thanking them as they offered the box of cookies and he took one. He preferred these meetings to the one with his parole office, that was for sure. He hadn’t been mandated to meet with Grace but it had been suggested and Grace had been happy to make the time. They liked keeping up with their students and the few programs they taught in prison were near and dear to their heart. They knew Devon’s story well, had taken the time to get to know him, especially after making Eden’s their home. He had been one of their more favorite students, a quieter man, a man who just seemed to want to get home yet accept his punishment all the same. Just like Chase they had helped him prepare for his parole hearing, practice his speaking, his writing, anything he needed to convince them to give him his life back, to give his his freedom. 

“The apartment is nice, kind of place I always wanted when I was in high school. Brooks and I used to talk about getting an apartment together. We’d both get football scholarships and then get an off campus apartment.” He laughed softly as the memory before he brushed some cookie crumbs off his chest. “But it’s cool, to like not be in the way but shit my..sister’s husband just left so that’s been..that’s been hard. I feel bad almost now, you know? Now that I moved out it feels like real fucked up timing,” he admitted and reached for another cookie. "I’m just trying to keep my head above water, you know? Keep the apartment clean, make the most of it, have a place for my kids to hang out, you know?”

Grace nodded in understanding, helping themselves to a few more cookies as Devon spoke. “And your kids? Have things improved with your son at all? I think I saw him zipping by me in a motorcycle the other day. Very cute,” they joked, glancing over at him with a sweet smile. They had known Devon for almost 7 years, the entire time they had been in North Carolina. He was younger when they met him, the creases in his forehead a little more smoothed out but his eyes had been darker, hopeless, nothing like they looked now. They were rooting for him, hoping they could do something to make his life just a tiny bit easier.

“Yeah, yeah, that was probably Jax. Which his sister has been amazing, always wanting to spend time with me. It’s nice. I mean sometimes I think she makes too much time for me, should probably be hanging out with friends more but I’m not complaining. What dad would be mad about his little girl wanting to spend time with him, you know? And it’s been nice to get to know her life, I mean she’s..a grown woman now,  so, I’m trying to adjust to that and also try not to see her as the baby girl I held in my arms all those years ago. My son though, he’s..god, he’s tough,” he admitted and brushed some hair out of his face again. “Part of me gets it and part of me is fucking annoyed and I feel terrible for saying that, I do. I get it, I’m the one who got locked up but jesus, does he have to be such a dick about it, you know? I mean I tried my best, I-I can’t change what happened and now that I’m here it’s like he’d rather me be back in there, you know? Like I’m fucking inconveniencing him. I mean I get to have a life too right? I don’t know, I don’t want to yell at him or get angry, I want to understand but it’s like impossible to get him in a room with me for longer than a half hour. it’s like he’s taken it as his personal goal to express how fucking pissed his mother is at me.” He sighed and shook his head, feeling bad to admit all of this but he knew Grace would understand, especially because they were a parent themself.  

“Dev, I’m gonna tell you something parents don’t even want to say but kids are assholes. Like yeah they’re amazing, wonderful, human beings but they’re assholes. Selfish, clueless, little assholes. I mean look, your kids are in their early twenties, they’re like basically still teenagers. They’ve been without you for a long time and they’re figuring out what their world looks like now that they have you back, for good. You’re back for good and you’re not disappearing again and that’s hard. It’s a new normal. But your son is being an asshole and it’s okay to tell him that. Honestly. I have a sixteen year old son right now and believe me, he’s the definition of asshole. All he does is stink and give me sideeye as if I didn’t push him out and suffer the consequences of his bigass head,” they added with a laugh and reached out to give his arm a squeeze. “Next time he tries to dip out on you don’t be afraid to be honest. Don’t be afraid to tell him that his actions are hurting you, he needs to know. You did your time, he shouldn’t punish you any further because he’s not mature enough to grasp the gravity of the situation. But give yourself grace, Dev, don’t allow yourself to be walked all over. You’re the parent, remember that.” 

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he admitted with a laugh, feeling like they had put words to his thoughts and made him feel less guilty all the same. 

“Yeah well I know a thing or two. I like to think I’m a pretty decent parent but we all have shit we regret. I mean I just went through a shitty divorce and I’m trying to figure out what my life looks like. I hardly feel like I’m getting it right all the time so go easy on yourself, you know? Take it slow, Devon, take it slow,” they reminded him and gave him a look before laughing. “Now my favorite subject, your love life, how’s the post breakup world treating you, hm?” Grace had never been a fan of Devon’s relationship with Bella not because they didn’t like her but because they didn’t think it was the kind of relationship that would be supportive to Devon re-entering the world in a way that made him successful. They were sad his heart had been broken but assured he’d be okay, assured he was better off single as he tried to piece his life back together. 

“Oh god talk about not taking it slow,” he admitted, his cheeks a bit red as he thought about it. He didn’t want to mention Anna, knowing the two were friends and knowing they wouldn’t look favorably on the idea of him kissing a married woman whether she initiated it or not. “Some hookups, uh, I kissed my high school ex-girlfriend which wasn’t..bad but not my best choice. She just..got me in all of my feelings,” he added  with a soft laugh, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair again. “I just..I don’t know, back in high school I was popular, you know? I wasn’t clueless that all these girls wanted to be with me, I mean i was the fucking quarterback. But I don’t know, you grow up with your dad telling you premarital sex is a sin and you’re not exactly jumping into bed with everyone, you know? Kalani and I were..always intimate, she was my first time, yanno? And uh, then Mel and I dated and I really liked being in a relationship, I liked not having to wonder, I liked the security, I wasn’t interested in anyone else. When we broke up I didn’t even want to go out there and hook up with people, I just had Kal and Kal and I found our way you know? And then...then shit got bad when I got injured and then I was out there. Parties, clubs, wherever, making out with whoever until Kalani found out and came back to pull me back to her,” he added with a sad laugh. “So being in this headspace now after years of like not even imagining being close to a woman again it’s..it’s overwhelming. It’s like I’m noticing for the first time in my life the way women look at me, like really look at me, you know? And I want to be smart but I also want to have..fun, that’s not bad, right? If she’s into it and I’m into it then is there any harm in that? I don’t know, I’m an emotional guy, I’ve never denied that.” 

Grace smiled softly as he rambled on about his love life, sounding like a teenage boy who had just discovered his sex drive. “Thank you for that thorough run through of your love life but I’m going to tell you the same thing I just told you, slow the fuck down, Dev. I mean look, get your rocks off, make sure you’re having fun but women are still women and feelings still get all fucked up if you get involved enough so just be careful, okay? And don’t be surprised so many women want you, you’re gorgeous, smart, kind, a little mysterious, they think you’re a bad boy even though you wouldn’t hurt a fly, You have so much to ffer but don’t let anyone throw you off course, okay? Be in love with yourself, the most important thing you can do is ensure that you stay on a safe path. Devon, look at me,” they told him and met his eyes,”You have time, you have time,” they repeated and reached up to pat his cheek lightly. “You have time, don’t rush.”

“Did you say I was gorgeous? Teach are you hitting on me?” He laughed as they swatted as his shoulder and hie felt some of the weight he had been holding leave his chest. He felt himself get a bit emotional when they reminded him that he had time, most days feeling like he might run out of it. He took a deep breath and before he knew it there were tears in his eyes and he was hanging his head as he felt Grace’s hand on his back, tears falling as he pressed his hands to his face. It was unexpected, not even knowing consciously that he had those fears and doubts rising to the surface, that they had put a name to the kind of fear that lived in the pit of his stomach, made him look over his shoulder, made him stand up straighter whenever a cop walked by him or a cop car zipped past his own. “Fuck I..how’d you do that?” He sniffled and wiped quickly at his eyes, a bit overwhelmed by his own reaction. 

“I have that affect on people and also my voice is calming, “they teased and reached up to cup his cheek, offering a soft smile as they tucked some of hair behind his ear the way they would for their own son whenever he got upset, whenever they noticed his hair getting a little too long. “Rebuilding a life isn’t easy. I’m finding that out the hard way right now. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, a single parent, a divorcee. I hate it. All of it. And most days I find myself wanting to just ask my wife to come back, ask her to just...put this behind us, to move forward. Some days I can’t stand the fucking thought of her. Most days I’m trying to find a healthy balance. I don’t always have the right answers, and I’m figuring it out but I am..determined to do so. For my kids, for myself. Because my life isn’t over,because I dont want to spend the rest of my life in pain. I decide to reclaim my life, to reclaim the power my wife took from you and you have to reclaim your power too, Devon. You are not defined by the time you spent inside. You are defined by the life you’re going to make for yourself now.”

Devon didn’t reply, just turned to Grace and wrapped them up in a hug which they happily responded to, holding him as much as he was holding them. “We;ll be alright,” they mumbled and he nodded, both of them pulling away laughing slightly as they wiped their eyes. 

“God, you’re going to mess up my makeup,” they teased and shook their head. “Come on, let’s go do something fun. How about...bowling? Yeah, let me kick your ass at bowling,” they joked, discarding the now empty box of cookies as they took his arm and they headed towards the bowling alley, both of them feeling a lot lighter, a lot less in their head and a lot more hopeful to make use of the time the universe had given back to them.”

[scullyy]

Holding Out For A Hero

Title: Holding Out For A Hero

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 1031

Summary: When on watch one night, Louis and Clementine enjoy a little dance to a classic song.

A/N: Thank you to @savage-scraps for the cursed idea. I had a lot of fun writing this! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you all enjoy it :D

-

When being put on night watch with Louis, you never know what's gonna happen. A simple card game? A fabulous story? It's what made being in his company so enjoyable, at least for Clementine.

She thought very carefully about her next question, Louis had stolen all the good ones early on in their game. "What do you miss about the old world?"

The twinkle in his eyes matched the moon above, night watches were always more fun with him. "I'd have to say...music. I know there's the record player but we don’t have a wide variety of records, gets a bit boring after a while."

"We also have you," Even if the other kids grew bored of his tunes, Clementine always believed in him and the power he held when sat at the piano. "Any songs you miss in particular?"

He hummed over his answer, there were so many. "I'm gonna go with...’Holding Out For A Hero’ by Bonnie Tyler."

Clementine giggled. "I remember that song, my dad loved it," He would always play it whenever they went for a drive, it seemed to make the trip go by faster. "Good answer."

He wanted to get her laughing again, their relationship was always different at night, the shadows hid away, no longer posing a visible threat. Clementine was more relaxed and Louis talked freely about anything and everything. Besides, who could deny the romantic prowess of the moon?

"It's pretty upbeat, hard not to love it," Louis gave in to his deep-rooted temptation and leaned closer to her ear. "Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?"

Clementine slowly backed away from him, unsure of his intentions. "What are you-"

In an instant he had jumped to his feet, the wooden boards creaking beneath him. "Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?" Louis jumped down the ladder and almost buckled beneath the sudden landing.

"What the fuck are you doing Lou?" She hissed as she quickly climbed down the ladder. "You gotta keep your voice down."

He held his hand out for her. "Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?" His eyebrows wiggled dramatically, bringing out a free laugh from Clementine.

"Late at night," She began to whisper. "I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need." Her confidence in her voice was non-existing until Louis gasped. It was the voice of an angel; a totally badass, scary and charming angel.

He leapt up onto one of the rickety tables in one bound. "I need a hero!" Lous still kept his voice under wraps, despite having a strong desire to belt out the lyrics. "I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night!"

Clementine joined him on the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. "He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh for the fight," Her hushed voice was oddly alluring to him, it only caused his heart to beat faster. "I need a hero-”

"-I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light," The oncoming moonlight created a magical spotlight for them (or maybe Louis was just over-analyzing). He pulled Clementine back up and spun her around in small circles. "He's gotta be sure-"

"-And it's gotta be soon-" Her voice suddenly grew louder, without a care in the world she allowed herself a moment of freedom.

"And he's gotta be larger than life!" He matched her tone and pulled her in closer. A small squeal escaped her when he suddenly performed a successful dip, her hat almost tumbled off her head.

Clementine couldn't hide her nervous gulp. "Larger...than...life," She mumbled, noticing how close Louis was holding her - not that it was a bad thing. "Hi there."

"I..uh, sorry for that-"

There was nothing to be sorry for and she showed him that by locking him into a rare kiss that made the stars above blush. She buried her fingers within his tangled dreads, letting the kiss speak the words she couldn't bring herself to say during the day.

"Thank you."

"I can’t imagine not being here beside you."

"Hell I think I’m falling in love with you."

Louis didn't mean to pull away first, he would gladly kiss her all night if she let him. "Gee, I didn't think I was that good at dancing." He pulled her back to her feet yet kept a gentle grip on her waist.

"Oi, you loud fucks!"

Both lovebirds slowly turned to the school where an angered Violet brooded over the cracked steps. "People are trying to sleep and Bonnie Tyler isn't helping!"

Clementine clasped a hand over her mouth to tie down her laughter. Maybe she did let herself go a little too far.

"Sorry Vi!" Louis called out. "You know how once I start I can't stop rolling with the beat." He was a music man at heart and his feet always had a mind of their own.

Violet wasn't impressed, choosing to flip him off before trudging back into the school. Was it too much to ask? For one damn night of peace...

Clementine swallowed down the last of her chuckles, tears of glee prickled the corner of her eyes. "This was fun." She pulled her hat back down onto her head firmly, choosing not to look away from Louis and his ever-so-charming smile.

"The pleasure is all mine darling, it's good to see you like this," He walked alongside her back to the watchtower, letting her climb back up first. "My turn now for our original game; has the end of the world brought you any good?" It was always healthy to focus on the positives, even if they were rare. Clementine seemed to be filled with tales of tragedy, there had to be a good memory within her head.

Her answer needn't any consideration. "It brought me to you."

Louis tried to play it off as if he didn’t almost choke on air, she had the power to win him over way too easily with her words. He tugged at his coat collar playfully. "I could say the same, Clementine."

The sun would soon rise and the shadows would grow, reminding them of what horrors were waiting. But here they were, in their own corner of the world that no one could take away from them.

[rizzizzsins-blog]

From the Ashes, Ch 8

Wanna read this on Archive? Click here.

 The shopping trip was a success. Asher rediscovered his love of cyberpunk, and he looked like an extra out of      Akira    . After he and Cinn had lunch at the food court, much to Edge’s dismay, everyone piled into Edge’s Jaguar, and they were off.

 “You both have such nice cars,” Asher marveled a bit.

 “Don’t compare my brother’s hunk of junk to my marvel of nature!” Edge frowned a little.

 “Listen ‘ere, that Pontiac took me an entire year to restore. I’d like to see ya try it,” Cinn smirked.

 “That’s not fair! You know I’m not a tinkerer like you!” Edge protested.

 “Then quit throwin’ shade at my baby. She’s perfect the way she is, save fer a little dust from this one,” he nudged Asher with his elbow.

 “Oh, sorry,” Asher apologized; Cinn shook his head. “I’m just jokin’, princey. It’ll be alright. ‘S a memory, that’s for sure.”

 A memory, huh…

 “This may be a bit of a drive, so feel free to fall asleep,” Edge remarked, adjusting his mirrors a bit before driving off.

 “You got it, bro.”

 “I’m not talking to you! I need your help with the directions! The place doesn’t appear on my map apps, since it’s technically a closed business.”

 “Yeah, alright. Make a left, then stay on 64 for about 10 miles.”

 Asher slowly sunk into the Jaguar’s leather seats. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. The shopping trip had left him completely drained.

     Asher was in the community garden; the sun was slowly coming up. Dew dotted all of the leaves, and the tulips were lazily opening, one petal at a time.  

     It was around the time to harvest the dandelions. Apparently humans treated them as pest plants, but they were quite a good food source, so his glen grew them. It was best to pick half while they were flowering and half afterwards.  

     As he reached out to them, they shrank away. Asher moved his hand closer, and the plants leaned further away. Frustrated, he reached out and snagged an apple off a tree. As he was about to put it in his mouth, he felt something wet and sticky in his palm.  

     The apple was decomposing rapidly in his hand, until it melted into a viscous, black sludge. Asher turned to see where he’d walked; the grass was dead in every area where he’d stepped.  

     “Samara! You’re ruining everything!” His mother shouted, her hands in her hair.  

     “Mom! I’m sorry! I----” The rot spread faster and faster, crawling up his mother’s roots.  

     “You ruin everything, Samara. Everything.” Her flesh rots, and her teeth fall out one by one.  

 Asher screamed himself awake.

 “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Edge pulled over hard, turning off the ignition. “WHAT’S HAPPENING?” His eyelights glowed intensely, and the magic of battle brewed in the air.

 “I’m sorry, mom… sorry….” Asher mumbled. He was awake. It was over.

 “I shoulda fuckin’ warned him about the nightmares, Boss. It was my fault.”

 “No, I could have done so as well.”

 Asher shook his head. “Don’t worry… I can’t remember the last good dream I had. They’ve just never been that bad.”

 “Yeah… our dad never talks about his. Makes sense, though, since he doesn’t fuckin’ talk about anythin’.”

 “Hmph, it is frustrating. I can tell that it’s bothering him. He has the same microexpressions as I do when I’m upset. But he just shoves it all down and acts like an asshole. That’s going to blow up in his face some day.. I hope I’m not around for that,” Edge sighed.

 “So… we almost there? Sorry for scaring you.”

 Edge restarted the car, and they were off. They were pretty out of the city; the interstate was mottled with wildflowers and tall grass. Large houses with acres of property made up most of the landscape.

 “Yes, just one more turn off this exit and it’s the first place on the left.” They rounded the hill next to the exit and…

 Jesus Christ. The house was an absolute horrorshow. It looked like the kind of place that a church would run a haunted house in to raise money for charity. How it hadn’t been condemned or demolished was beyond Asher. The shutters were slowly sliding off their windows. Some windows were missing panes altogether, covered by plywood instead. The parking lot was full of luxury cars and retrofitted antique vehicles.

 “This is… a little worse than I expected, Edge.”

 “I know it looks a bit haunted on the outside, but that’s simply because they don’t feel like fixing it. The inside is a lot nicer,” The captain assured him as they pulled into the lot.

 He checked his phone. Goddamn it, a whole bunch of them had dipped out of lunch. Including Vanilla.

 Fuming, Edge smiled at Asher. “Excuse me for one moment, Asher.”

 “Easy, bro.”

 “NO! THEY SAID THEY WERE COMING! WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE TAKING RESPONSIBILITY?”

 Edge basically slammed his fingers into the keypad as he dialed someone Asher didn’t know.

 “VANILLA! WHAT THE FUCK GIVES?!”

 “What can I say? Not interested.” Looks like Edge hit the speaker button in his hurry.

 “YOU COULD APOLOGIZE!”

 “I’m not the one doing something wrong. You’re introducing some decomposing rando into a house of already half-functional skeletons. And now the queen wants to throw in that psycho? Count me the fuck out.”

 “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT PSYCHO.” Edge’s eyelights went out.

 “Oh, you haven’t heard? He just got released from prison, and that’s what Fafriel wants to do with him. You should probably make peace with your old man before he’s wiped off the face of the earth.”

 “RIGHT. AS IF YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO LEAVE HIS HOME JUST BECAUSE OF TWO NEW PEOPLE. NOT EVERYONE THROWS IN THE TOWEL WHENEVER THEY FACE ANY LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY, SANS.”

 The line went quiet.

 “If I have to drag my dad out of that building by force, I will. I’m not losin’ him after just getting him back.”

 “OH, YOU’RE GONNA DRAG HIM OUT? HE’LL JUST TELEPORT BACK. OUR FATHERS ARE EVEN BETTER AT TAKING ON CHALLENGES THAN YOU ARE AT RUNNING AWAY FROM THEM. GOOD DAY, SANS,” Edge hung up with a wicked grin.

 “Who was that?” Asher asked, wrinkling his nose.

 “Vanilla. Cinn’s Tale Kingdom counterpart. We’ve both been on the Surface for the same amount of time and he hasn’t evolved or matured one bit in that time. I for one, am proud of all the progress my brother has made. Vanilla and Honey just seem to go backwards, frankly. I feel sorry for Papaya and Azure.”

 “There’s no need to feel sorry for me, Edge! Sans is just going through a rough patch!” A skeleton in a suit jacket, leather elbow patches and plaid orange dress pants put his hand on Edge’s shoulder.

 “NYAAAGH! DON’T DO THAT, PAPY!”

 “See? You don’t like it when you’re talked about      behind your back    , do you?” the other chuckled. “Don’t worry! I would have dragged Sans by the ear here if I had to. Brother, come out of the car!”

 A dark blue-eyed skeleton skulked out of his brother’s Ferrari.

 “Coming.”

 “Hello, little dryad! My name is Papaya Aster, Esquire. It is truly an honor to meet you!” He seemed so excited he could barely contain himself, pulling out a fidget spinner to burn off the extra energy.

 “Go on, Papaya. It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Edge clapped him on the back.

 “A-ARE YOU A HUGGER? E-excuse me, I tend to be a little too clingy sometimes!” Papaya smiled apologetically.

 “Oh? Sure. Haven’t been hugged too often, but I like trying new things, hahaha.”

 Papaya scooped Asher up and spun him around, before setting him down carefully, making sure he landed properly.

 “Jeez. Can’t say I’ve ever been hugged with quite so much enthusiasm. Thank you, Papaya.”

 “It’s no issue! If you’re ever wanting a hug, I am always ready to give!”

 “Yeah, and that’s just the issue,” his brother muttered. That must be Vanilla.

 “Nice to meet you,” Asher smiled, offering a hand.

 Vanilla takes it. The others seemed to have expected something to happen, since they were all cringing. But nothing happened.

 “Nilla’s the name. I’m one of your landlords, I guess.”

 “Right,” Asher swallowed.

 “Is anyone else planning on showing up?” Edge sighed, pinching his nasal bridge.

 “I believe Azure is coming in. Honey’s… a little impaired at the moment.”

 “You can say      drunk    , Papy,” Edge spat.

 “I don’t want to make a bad impression!” Papyrus responded. They weren’t upset, not with each other, at least.

 “Considering the unpleasantness that was the phone call with your brother, I think that we can drop all pretenses.”

 A car braked hard in the parking lot. A pair of heels stuck out of the door, as well as… a riding crop?

 “ESPRESSO! CORTADO! GET OUT OF THE CAR, THE TENANT IS ALREADY HERE!” He shouted, a curt rasp in his voice.Two thumbs up popped out of the windows, before two long, yellow eyed skeletons stepped out of the car. The one yelling stepped out last, needing assistance from one of his brothers to get down from their enormous Lexus GX.

 The smaller seemed to be in charge, the other two trailing behind him. One of them was hunched as he walked, his hoodie dipping just a little over his eyes. Headphones sat squarely on his shoulders. The other was much dressed like his brother, walking straight, in a rather futuristic black trench.

 “ESPRESSO! PICK UP THE SLACK! WE ONLY HAVE A LIMITED AMOUNT OF TIME TO ASSESS THE TENANT BEFORE YOUR THERAPY SESSION!”

 The hunched one nodded, running a little to catch up with his brothers.

 The two militant ones squinted at Asher hard.

 “CORTADO. HIS STATS.”

 Wait, Asher’s stats?! What the hell did they need those for? Were they about to fight him or something?

 “Illegible. Nothing but VOID-garbled gibberish, Captain.”

 “THEN GIVE ME AN ESTIMATE!”

 “Uh… do I need to do something here?” Asher asked Edge.

 “No. This is just… their routine. Riesling, do you intend on wasting all of lunch staring at our tenant, or will you introduce yourself like a normal person?”

 “THIS IS PERFECTLY NORMAL! CORTADO, I GROW IMPATIENT.”

 “DEF 50. ATK 30. HP 30/30. Soul of Justice.”

 “PATHETIC! A COMPLETE AND UTTER WEAKLING! GOOD. YOU ARE OF NO THREAT TO OUR FATHER AND MAY PROCEED.”

 “Al...right?” Asher wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. Maybe a little bit of both. He wasn’t a complete weakling, right?

 “WE MUST WAIT FOR THE LONE COMMANDER, AS WELL AS OUR COUSIN AND HIS PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A COMPANY,” Riesling sighed.

 “You know Scamp and Sliv are always late. Let’s just go inside and get this over with,” Nilla sighed deeper. Cinn gritted his teeth.

 “You’se guys go on ahead. I’m gonna need a moment.”

 “Fine,” Edge nodded. “Asher, would you mind staying for a moment with my brother? I would like to make sure our fathers aren’t doing anything abnormally dangerous, and set up a bit, before you enter.”

 “Alright, sounds good.”

 Everyone except Cinn and Asher went into the house. The door practically screeched whenever it was open and shut.

 Cinn pulled out a cigar and sat on the hood of the Jaguar. “Y’ want one?”

 “I can’t smoke. It’s really bad for plants. Even though I’m more rot than plant, I still don’t want to risk it,” Asher declined.

 “Suit yaself.” He snapped his fingers and the tip of the cigar lit up. So he knew a little fire magic…

 “.... So that was… a lot. Are you all related? Or what’s the story?”

 “We’re all counterparts. It gets kinda messy. Our names started out as nicknames, but eventually we had ‘em all legally changed. Got sick of gettin’ ‘calls for Sans and Papyrus’. How was we supposed to know which pair people wanted?!” He chuckled a bit.

 “But, yeah… I’m sorry yer havin’ to go through all this. I’d hoped this would be a little easier than you livin’ on yer own, but all I’ve done is complicate the shit outta your life. This one’s on me, princey.”

 Asher shook his head.

 “You know, it’s at least been different. I got so used to my routines with Theo that I kind of forgot what life was like outside of that. Sure, not everything’s fun, and certainly not Vanilla, but it’s been different, and in that sense, refreshing. It helps me keep my mind off… this,” he smiled, gesturing to his broken body.

 “Yeah. That’s what velcro shoes an’ jackets are for. Ya look right outta Blade Runner.”

 Asher’s smile grew a little bigger. “I have mixed feelings about that film, but the aesthetic is top notch.”

 “Yeah…” Cinn drew in a big puff, before blowing it out in the shape of a heart. “Hehehe, I still got it.”

 “Can you blow it out your eyes?” Asher had to ask.

 “Hell no! Shit burns like a motherfucker. Who showed ya that?” Cinn shuddered.

 “Me. Nyeh heh, didn’t mean to set the bar too high for ya, shorty,” Scamp popped in and noogied Cinn mid inhale, giving him a coughing fit and stealing his cigar.

 “You sack of fuckin’ shit, you planned that!” Cinn growled. Asher could kind of tell they were playing around.

 “Brother. Please. We arrived with a duty, and we must perform it.”

 “DON’T TREAT IT LIKE A DUTY, TREAT IT LIKE AN ADVENTURE! WE GET TO MEET A NEW FRIEND! HOPEFULLY CRIMSON WON’T INSULT THEM SO MUCH THAT THEY LEAVE CRYING THIS TIME!” It was odd. The two voices sounded like they were from the same person, yet one of them was heavy and flat, and the other was bouncing off the walls. Eventually, Asher was able to see the two skeletons talking. They had showed up in a sporty motorbike and sidecar, removing their helmets before coming to say hello.

 “Nyeh heh, you Blue’s      side    piece now?” Scamp joked with the quieter one. The two motorcyclists looked almost inverted. The quieter one with muted purple eyelights robotically shook Asher’s hand, before the bright-eyed one grabbed Asher’s other hand and shook it vigorously.

 “HELLO! I DON’T BELIEVE WE’VE MET! MY NAME IS AZURE ASTER, AND THIS IS MY FRIEND, SLIVOVITZ ASTER!”

 “Yeah, here’s my big bro. Well, big metaphorically.”

 “Hardee har har. Because I’m short. Very original, brother,” Slivovitz sighed. “I would at least like to supervise Edge making the food, even if he will no longer let me assist.”

 “MAYBE IF WE’RE LUCKY WE CAN SNEAK MAKING A FEW SIDE DISHES. COME ON, SLIV!” Azure grabbed Sliv’s hand and basically Naruto ran to the door.

 “Well, princey, whatcha see is whatcha get. You still wanna go in that house?” Cinn checked. “Y’ can say no. I’d fuckin’ say no.”

 Asher shook his head. “I’m ready. I want to give this a try.”

 Without realizing it, Asher took Cinn’s hand, and they walked inside. It was lunchtime.

[turningpagebooks]

BLOG TOUR | REVIEW AND Q&A: “Courting Darkness” by Robin LaFevers

Title: Courting Darkness Author: Robin LaFevers Series: Courting Darkness duology (continuation of His Fair Assassin) Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers Source: Raincoast Books Publication Date: February 5th, 2019 Format: ARC Page count: 512 (hardcover edition) Plot summary: Death wasn’t the end, it was only the beginning…

Sybella has always been the darkest of Death’s daughters, trained at the convent of Saint Mortain to serve as his justice. But she has a new mission now. In a desperate bid to keep her two youngest sisters safe from the family that nearly destroyed them all, she agrees to accompany the duchess to France, where they quickly find themselves surrounded by enemies. Their one ray of hope is Sybella’s fellow novitiates, disguised and hidden deep in the French court years ago by the convent—provided Sybella can find them.

Genevieve has been undercover for so many years, she struggles to remember who she is or what she’s supposed to be fighting for. Her only solace is a hidden prisoner who appears all but forgotten by his guards. When tragedy strikes, she has no choice but to take matters into her own hands—even if it means ignoring the long awaited orders from the convent.

As Sybella and Gen’s paths draw ever closer, the fate of everything they hold sacred rests on a knife’s edge. Will they find each other in time, or will their worlds collide, destroying everything they care about?

Courting Darkness on Goodreads | Chapters Indigo | Amazon CA

When I first read the His Fair Assassin trilogy, I was in love. A dark, lush world with real struggles and compelling characters. And romances to die for (oh, the puns). I kept telling friends to read this series about assassin nuns. Fast forward to 2019 and those same friends started reading the original series so who's laughing now, huh? *cackles and smugly sips tea*

If you haven't yet, I highly suggest you read the original series. If you HAVE read it, then you need this new sequel. Tip: you should read the first three books in this world first so you better understand character and plot backstory.

I received an ARC from Raincoast Books in exchange for an honest review.

I absolutely love the history and the belief systems in this world. First of all, historical fiction is my jam. Second of all, having convents or people that are sired by various gods, one of them being Death, is so cool. The belief systems and history are woven together well, and make for an interesting and intricate setting. This book focuses a lot on politics, and how royal marriages are really power games being played by various royals and courtiers. If you enjoy these kinds of stories, you'll love this.

This book, once again, tackles corrupt people with power over others. More often than not, these characters are men. Let's be real: some men use their power over women to control them, dismiss them and silence them, or worse. These books, Courting Darkness included, choose to talk about this and how wrong it is. That's powerful, and really resonates with me. But of course, there are also women who are corrupt, who choose to hurt other women, etc. I like that the book has characters question those in positions of power, and belief systems. It's something very relevant today.

Of course, it's been wonderful seeing some beloved characters from the His Fair Assassin trilogy. Sybella's story in this book is compelling and, quite frankly, riveting. I was rooting for her and hurting for her (and swooning over her scenes with Beast). I was immediately hooked to Genevieve's story. She wants so badly to be free AND to serve the convent after all these years. But she has a lot to learn, but I think that's kinda refreshing.

Courting Darkness is different than the His Fair Assassin books; the character arcs won't end with this first installment. But it was a joy being back in a world I love, and I look forward to seeing where the next book takes us.

When I heard there was an upcoming spin-off duology, my pterodactyl screeches could be heard for miles. I did a happy dance when the folks at Raincoast Books announced they'd be doing a blog tour, and again when I found out I'd get to be a part of it. Long story short: this made me so happy. I struggled to narrow down what I wanted to ask Robin because I love this series so much. But I finally settled on:

What has been your favourite part of writing about this world and these characters again, and what are you most excited for readers to experience? What do you hope readers take away from Courting Darkness? Why do you think it's so important to write about questioning beliefs and people in power, and fighting for what's right?

Oh wow. That’s a BIG question!

As I was recovering from both ergonomic issues and creative exhaustion, Sybella began whispering in my ear. (All my characters whisper in my ear all the d@mn time—it’s very distracting!) She kept badgering me, complaining that her story wasn’t over. While I’d completed the arc of the trilogy, her personal story had ended rather abruptly. And she was right. So one of my absolutely favorite parts was being able to go back in and continue her story. Recovering from trauma doesn’t stop with an epiphany, or even a single transformational moment. When we change, or try to change, something that fundamental inside us, the Universe is quick to shout, Change back! It takes constant awareness and discipline to keep from falling back into the person we used to be, from falling back into the damaging self thoughts and patterns that were part of our interior landscape for so long. I welcomed a chance to continue Sybella’s journey through that portion of her healing process.

And of course, it felt like I had only touched the surface of what the His Fair Assassin World had to offer, so any excuse to dip back in there and do more exploring was a welcome one.

As for what I hope that readers will take away? That’s a harder question to answer because I believe the writer only writes the first half of the book. The second half is written as the reader reads it.

I guess one of the things I wanted to explore was what happens when someone makes all the wrong decisions for all the right reasons. How a character reacts to that tells us much more about her than the mistake she made. And I wanted to show teen girls that mistakes are not only okay, but necessary.

I think today’s world allows teens so little room to experiment or fail, and there are so few opportunities to embrace our own imperfections. How can anyone possibly learn and grow without those experiences? The idea that all our choices and our decisions must be perfect is paralyzing. I wish someone had told me how very much we can learn from our biggest mistakes, and how when we break things they almost always can be put back together. Sometimes, our mistakes even lead directly to our biggest successes.

But at the core of every one of the books I’ve written in this world is the idea that we must all wrestle with our own faith rather than accept what’s handed to us and swallow it whole. Faith is not faith unless we grapple with it and make it our own. Honor is not honor unless it tests us in hard ways. Heroism is not only found on battlefields and council chambers, but in small every day rebellions that allow us to maintain our integrity. Fighting for what’s right isn’t always about the big gesture, but about the small stubborn defiance of living our own truths. But that doesn’t come easily to all of us, and my hope is that my books can act as a roadmap for readers who are struggling with that.

Thank you, Robin!

[carriecourogen]

In Times of Chaos, Maggie Rogers Serves a Much-Needed Catharsis

Three-quarters of the way through Heard It In A Past Life, Maggie Rogers recalls words of wisdom implored decades before her: Standing, staring straight ahead, listening when Stevie says: Come out of the darkness.

Rogers isn’t the first millennial to look to the past — or Stevie Nicks, in particular — for inspiration. But on her full-length major label debut, she voyages to the lighthouse and returns to report on the revelations made in ways that feel not derivative or contrived, but fresh, invigorating, and necessary for our times.

We are living in an increasingly unstable world, and those of 24-year-old Rogers’ generation are bearing the brunt of it. We’re the first generation all but guaranteed not to be more financially successful than our parents, the ones navigating an imploding and underpaying job market, the ones facing the downright terrifying possibility that the world will encounter apocalyptic climate crisis before we’ve even reached retirement age. Can you really blame us for being the most anxious generation yet? After all, on top of trying to clean up the world’s messy shit, we’re still 20-somethings with personal crises of our own.

It makes sense, then, that the current musical landscape seems a little bleak — and not just in the resurgence of intimately emotional indie singer-songwriters. Pop music, once considered to be joyous, saccharine stuff, is getting sadder. A recent study found that pop songs’ mood has been trending downward considerably in the past few decades, with fewer songs conveying “happiness” or “brightness” and more ticking off the “sadness” box. In 2014, the Billboard Hot 100 chart was topped by Pharrell Williams’ infectious, sunshine-kissed bop “Happy” (I swear, you can’t make this stuff up). Five years later, the number one song is Halsey’s “Without Me,” a brooding breakup track released via a tweet that said “Here are my insides. Handle them with care.”

Maybe this is why Maggie Rogers feels like such a breath of fresh air. Rejoice, our times are terrible, indeed, but her music is a spot of brightness in a world that seems to be growing more grim every day. Her music is the stuff of joy, hard-won optimism in the face of challenge. It’s the kind of cathartic dance party you throw in spite of — and sometimes because of — darkness, not in ignorance of it.

Rogers’ story goes a little like this: The rural Maryland native enrolled at NYU to study at the esteemed Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music. Nicknamed “Banjo Girl,” she played the requisite Brooklyn and East Village venues with her folk band, but living in the city, as well as a semester in Paris, exposed Rogers to hip-hop, dance, and electronic music. Though revelatory, it led to confusion about what kind of artist she wanted to be. Rogers put music on hold for a few years and instead pursued a journalism career, interning for Elle and helping Lizzy Goodman with her oral history of New York’s music scene in the early-aughts, Meet Met In The Bathroom.

All that changed in 2016, when Pharrell appeared as a surprise guest at the then-senior’s masterclass to critique students’ work. Rogers played a demo she wrote in 15 minutes and finished just moments before the class started. A video of that exchange, in which the veteran producer’s reactions flash across his face in real time as he listens to “Alaska” — surprise, awe, amusement, moved — was uploaded to Reddit. “I’ve never heard anything that sounds like that,” he concludes, telling her he has absolutely no notes for her. Days after she graduated and moved home, the video went viral and, suddenly, Rogers was the subject of a major label bidding war.

The catapult to fame and a career — a rushed EP, a year-long world tour, and multiple TV appearances — left Rogers panicked and overwhelmed, feeling like her life was happening to her, completely out of control. Heard It In A Past Life is loosely a concept album that reckons with the aftermath of virality, one that declares agency in the face of such radical upheaval. Musical reflections on the trials and tribulations of fame can be hit or miss, more often ringing “woe is me” than not. But Rogers’ youth is her benefit; at the end of the day, it’s an album not so much about fame as it is about change.

A track like “Overnight” may explicitly be about the bizarre ways Rogers’ life, and the people in it, changed abruptly with fame. But it also shares a feeling of camaraderie for anyone in this quarter life stage beginning to grasp the breakneck pace of life when pausing briefly to look back, realizing that the people we were or the people we loved just a short time ago feel like strangers.

On “Fallingwater” Rogers speaks to the imposter syndrome that can cripple us in the face of success, the way we can feel confused or ungrateful for allowing terror to dominate our emotions even when things are objectively good. Go on and tell me just how I could allow, she sings, all this light to end up somehow where it’s getting darker.

She works through the complicated emotions more explicitly on “Light On,” sharing glimpses of scared tears shed in bathrooms, the strangers telling her she must be so happy with her newfound success. Rogers recognizes the give and take of the universe, that neither light nor dark can exist without the other. There’s a gratitude that her love of music — which radiates throughout the album — has gotten her this far. But she acknowledges that there may be more moments of uncertainty or doubt, hoping that she — and listeners — will remember to keep a light on to safely guide herself back home.

These contrasting shades of light and dark weave their way thematically through the album. They take up residence within her lyrics: the warmth of a sunlit lake after dark days, the slinky confidence that comes out in us when the sun goes down, the shadows of our minds, and the burning flames of happiness and love. But they also exist in the contradictory nature of her music itself. To define it strictly “pop” is a disservice to Rogers’ artistry and her knack for twisting a listener’s expectations, be it reaching back into her folk roots with deeply confessional, Laurel Canyon-reminiscent lyrics and soulful vocals that get paired up with pulsating synths and electronic beats, dipping into R&B slow jam territory, or combining organic, world music rhythms like spoons, jars, and hand claps with more traditional, infectious pop melodies. Because in the end, it’s not genre (nor even the at times imperfect production) that matters, but what each song evokes: an urgent, immediate need to move your body, a freedom that comes only with feeling lost enough within the music to shake off whatever it is that haunts you — even if just for a few minutes — and dance.

There’s a metaphor Jane Fonda uses when speaking about personal growth that I’ve been thinking about a lot when listening to Rogers’ album. You can, as Fonda recalls doing for many years, drift through the current of life like a leaf. Or, you can choose to put your oars in the water and try to “determine what direction you want to go in” and move with intention, refusing to settle “for what people tell you you’re supposed to be.”

On the album’s clincher, the standout anthemic battle cry that is “Back In My Body,” Rogers offers a powerful reclamation of her voice, her story, her life. Over thumping, militaristic drum beats that gradually build, she recounts a series of panic attacks experienced while on tour before determining that she won’t allow fear to coax her into easily giving up on what she loves and holds so dearly. This time, I know I’m fighting, she sings. The past is out of her hands now, but this time, she can control her present and her future. 

With Past Life, the 24-year-old Rogers has her oars firmly placed in the water. She is the captain of her career from here on out. The water might be choppy and uneven, the ride never perfect, but it will be exciting to see where she steers to next.

[weelittleweasley]

Refreshments | Sweet Pea x Reader

Prompt suggested by two anons: At Reggie’s annual pool party, some Serpents crash making it quite the interesting party. While you’re there, you figure flirting with a Serpent couldn’t kill you, right?

Request status: Closed

Warning: Smut, profanity, underage drinking

Dipping your toes in the pool, you sat next to Veronica who laid her head on your shoulder with a sigh. It was a warm July day and there was nothing like persuading your friend to throw a pool party for your grade. Reggie wasn’t that hard to convince to throw a party--the suggestion of alcohol and cute girls in bikinis was something he found hard to say no to. Within an hour of texting people Reggie’s address and what to bring, the party was packed already. Boys splashed in the pool as girls squealed at the their antics. People drank spiked lemonade, provided by Archie, ensuring that everyone was loosened up and sociable. “How many people do you think are here?” Veronica asks before sipping her drink.

You shrug, taking a sip from your drink, slightly making a face. You didn’t drink often, but when you did it was at parties. The taste of alcohol wasn’t a favorite of yours, but when it was mixed with a sugary drink, you could bear the face. “I’m sure the whole grade is here,” you tell her as she laughs at your reaction to the alcohol. “Sorry, it’s just...how much is in here?” you ask.

The two of you talk casually, enjoying the feeling of the hot sun’s rays warm your body and the cool pool water dancing around your feet. The party was definitely becoming a little more rowdy as Reggie became more drunk, caring less about who was at his house. This made it easy for some unexpected guests to arrive in his backyard. The Mantle’s backyard gate swung open and one by one, a group of Serpents slithered their way in. You and Veronica just watched the people around you as they looked towards them, then to Reggie, only for him not to notice and the party to proceed forward. If Reg wasn’t gonna give them a hard time, then there was no use in picking a fight. “Let’s hope Arch doesn’t see them,” Veronica sighs. “We all know he’ll try to pick a fight.”

But you tuned out Veronica as your eyes landed on a Serpent who caught your eye. You had seen him in the halls a few times, maybe. He was a friend of Jughead’s, close friend--his name was Sweet Pea. Who knows if it was the alcohol or the way he walked in, but there was something so compelling to him that you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He or his other Serpent friends were decked out in leather jackets and jeans; Instead, they opted for sleek black suits. But you could see the faint outline of his muscles through his sheet white shirt. He parked his things in the back, away from Reggie to avoid confrontation, talking to his friends with a small smile on his face as if to say, Told you we’d be fine. And God, were you happy they showed up. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want a refill?” Ronnie asked as you handed her your cup. “Really?” she asks happily, surprise you took her up on the offer. “Damn girl, alright. Now it really is a party.”

As the party progressed, you sipped on more lemonade, the effects of the alcohol making you a little tipsy, but not enough to get you drunk. You chatted some more with Veronica, as well as talking to Toni who came along with Sweet Pea. The two of you talked, but you couldn’t help but steal glances of Sweet Pea whenever the opportunity came about. He sat near his friends, sipping out of a red solo cup which you assumed was filled with a beer. His tan skin seemed to glow under the July sun as you bit your lip lightly, checking out how built he was. No one would ever know since he is too busy covering himself up with leather. Toni noticed how distracted you were and turned her head to see what you were staring at. “Enjoying the view?” she laughed as you blushed. “Come on, spill,” she coaxed you, folding her arms across her chest.

“Nothing,” you hiccuped, making her laugh again. You couldn’t really conceal the fact that you were a relatively new drinker. “I can’t check out a hot guy?” you teased.

Toni fake gagged. “He’s like my brother. Hearing you say that makes me feel uncomfortable,” she shivers before taking a sip of her own drink.

Shrugging, you sigh, “Well, your brother is hot.” Toni shook her head. “I’m not saying I wanna date him, but I’m not opposed to the thought of hooking up...” you trail off, trying to plant the seed in her head. 

She got the message loud and clear. “Good to know,” Toni tells you, slowly backing up towards her friends as you smirk. 

You turn back towards Veronica who chatted with some other River Vixens, you joining the conversation. Of course, you didn’t pay attention to a damn thing they were saying. You just watched as Toni made her way back to Sweets and his friends, sitting next to him, then whispering into his ear. Biting your lip with anxiety, you wished that you could hear what they were saying. The two of them went back and forth for a few seconds before Sweet Pea turned his attention towards you. A smirk crept its way onto your lips as he stared at you, taking his time to check you out. His eyes met yours as you laughed, turning away from him and back what to Veronica murmured about. In your hands, your phone buzzed with a text from Toni. Thank me later. You smiled to yourself, sipping on your drink. This party was about to get very interesting. 

For the next fifteen minutes, you and Sweets checked each other out, shamelessly as he sent a few winks your way. You would casually “drop” your cell phone, bending over to pick it up as he watched you the whole way. The sight of you teasing him drove him up a wall. He wanted you badly and that was an empowering feeling. 

The next time you looked over at him, he bit his lip hard, eyes pleading you to do something. Turning to Veronica, you tell her, “I’m gonna grab another lemonade. I’ll be back soon.” She smiles, as you turn to Pea, telling him with a nod, Let’s go. You escape into the house, the kitchen counter filled with various liquors and beers to select. As grab a beer can, Sweet Pea follows you into the kitchen, a smug smirk on his face. 

You pretend to not notice him as he approaches you, grabbing another beer for himself. “I have to admit it,” he sighs as he pours the beer into his cup. “Mantle knows how to throw a party.”

Hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen island as he pours his drink, you speak, “I have to admit that I didn’t think a Serpent knew how to make an entrance like that.” 

He chuckles, “We’re sneaky little shits.” His remark makes you laugh as you sip on your beer. “I was surprised when Toni told me what she did,” he places his hands on either side of you. “A little Northie shouldn’t be mixing herself up with a Serpent.” You bite your lip as he stares into your eyes, filled with hunger and lust. “A Serpent has a poisonous bite, princess. You sure you can handle it?” he lifts his hand up, his thumb tracing the outside of your lips.

“Prove it to me,” you challenge him as he smirks.

Within seconds, his lips are on yours as your fingers tangle themselves into his hair, tugging at the roots. His lips are cool, his breath is a fresh mint. His tongue parts your mouth, sliding into yours, as he rests his hands on your lower back, pulling you into him. The two of you continue to heavily kiss before parting, him saying, “We should find somewhere a little more private, don’t you think?”

He basically drags you throughout the house, desperately trying to find an available room. With no success of course; everyone had the same plans as you. Begrudgingly, Sweet Pea opens the bathroom door, pulling you in with him. “This’ll do,” he sighs before pushing you against the closed door, smashing his lips on your demanding. You moan at how his hot skin feels pressed against yours as he gropes your breasts outside of your bikini top. You tilt your head to the side so he can have more access to the skin at your neck. His lips bite and suck and the exposed skin, causing that familiar purple bruise to appear on your skin. After he makes his mark, he blows cold air on the spot making you audibly gasp as he chuckles. With some swift movement, he drops to his knees and removes your bottoms as they dangle around your ankles. “You ready, princess?” he asks you, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

But he gives you no time to reply because his mouth is already on your wet core. His mouth feels fucking incredible on your wetness as you lean your head back, hands tangling themselves in his hair again. “Oh my God,” you whine as his tongue licks up your slit then pressing flat against your clit, driving you wild. “You’re so good,” you moan, your commentary encouraging him to do more. As you buck your hips up to him, he pressed your stomach down with his forearm as you whine. You craved more friction and he knew that. He just wanted to be a tease. “Fuck, Pea, I need more,” you pant as he obliges, using his right thumb to work on your clit as his tongue darted in and out. Your eyes were squeezed shut as he worked on your pussy, moans escaping your parted lips. “Don’t stop,” you tug on his jet black hair. You can feel your knees buckling, growing weak. He loves knowing that you’re so weak for him and he furthers that feeling by humming against you, sending you over the edge, loosing it. You come all over his tongue, him lapping it up happily.

Sweets wipes his mouth after finishing a cocky grin on his face as he sees you struggling to catch your breath. He presses his lips to yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue as he mumbles against your mouth. “I warned you,” he bites your lip hard as you scratch down his back, not caring what people had to say outside. 

Proving to him that you weren’t all he expect, you drop to your knees and his eyes widen. He didn’t expect this at all, but he wasn’t against it. “For fuck’s sake,” he sighs as you pull down his trunks, his erect member hitting his stomach. You look up at him from your eyelashes, a playful smirk on your face. It was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his damned life and he wish he could have that face fucking framed to show to all his friends. Without warning, you wrap your mouth around his hard cock, his head thrown back as he grabs your hair in fist fulls. “Christ,” he groans as you take his full length in your mouth. Pea hadn’t been blown in what seemed like ages and it felt god damn euphoric. You start to bob your head on his member as he sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he exhales as you lick up his shaft before sucking on his tip. “You and that pretty little fucking mouth,” he tells you as you continue to suck him off, tongue swirling around his cock. He creates a ponytail in his hands, lightly thrust in your mouth, wanting much more than you were giving him. Like he did for you, you slap his hand away, continuing to suck him off as the grip on your hair grows tighter. “Faster, baby girl,” he urges you as you obey him, you bobbing on his cock. “Shit, you feel so good,” he says. You can feel his cock twitch in your mouth, signaling he was close. Within seconds, he fills your mouth and you happily take him all in, wiping your mouth clean when you are finished. 

As you rise from the floor, he is breathless and he has a smirk plastered on his face. “You good, tough guy?” you tease him, kissing his parted lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He nods his head before kissing your mouth again firmly.

“Just caught me off guard,” he tells you between kisses before you press yourself against his body, his hand squeezing your ass. You slide your tongue in his mouth, kissing him hot and heavily as he smiles into your kiss. 

Sweets duck himself back into your neck, leaving yet another hickey. He wanted to show all of those Bulldogs that he snagged your ass tonight. Not them. “Pea,” you tug on his hair as he hums against your skin. “Ronnie is probably looking for me. I was, shit, supposed to be getting a drink,” you moan. He groans before kissing your lips again. 

He huffs, “Fine.” You smile before pecking his lips with a wink as he smiles. “Don’t think you are leaving this party without giving me a proper goodbye.” 

You scurry out of the bathroom, down the stairs, back outside to Veronica. She looks at you, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!”

Giving her an small smile, you speak, “I told you. Refreshments.” You feel someone slap your ass and you see Pea walking back to his friends, traces of fingernails down his face as you smirk. Veronica looks at Sweets, eyes wide and mouth agape. She slaps your arm as you laugh, “Gotta keep myself hydrated.”

[youhearstatic]

{11}

After being missing for three days, Barry has been mysteriously de-aged. Now he looks 20 years old and doesn’t remember anyone. Lup, Kravitz, and Taako are trying to figure things out.

Now officially called “Losing Time” and up on AO3 if you’d prefer to read there.

Part One  | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

Eleven:

“Damn,” Kravitz says as his attention returns to the group.

“Fuck,” Lup says more vehemently as her focus settles on them as well.

“If one of you doesn’t start talking I’m going to have to find a new boyfriend AND a new sister,” Taako threatens.

“The reaper who reported the original necromancy that Sildar went to investigate was just found,” Kravitz tells them. “Dead - or soulless - which shouldn’t be possible. Now all reapers are to report to the Queen.”

“Is this a covering-tracks situation or a reaper-serial-killer situation?” Taako asks.

Kravitz’s mouth sets in a hard line as his jaw clenches. “Unclear,” he answers.

“Okay, how about this,” Lup suggests. “We go to this round up - just you and me, Kravitz - and we let whoever did this think they were successful with Sildar. Do you think the Queen will go along with that?” Her face turns guilty as she looks at Taako and Sildar. “Do you think you both could…”

“Yes!” Taako responds instantly. “At least that would give us some kind of advantage in this shit show.”

“Sildar?” she asks.

“If it gives us an advantage, it’s worth trying,” he answers.

“So where do we stash them?” she asks Kravitz.

“Give me a moment,” he tells them, a subtle smile lighting his face. “I have an idea.”

Lup, Taako, and Sildar watch in various levels of anxiety as Kravitz’s eyes once again focus on nothing in particular and his attention divides. After a few moments he steps closer to them and pulls them into a small huddle. “Be still a moment,” he instructs and suddenly the space around them shivers with energy. The area that was once an empty expanse suddenly becomes a narrow alcove in the back of a large and open room. From their vantage point they can see the rear of the Raven Queen’s throne and her empty court beyond.

“Now we go make our appearance,” Kravitz tells Lup. He turns and makes a small portal in the rear of the alcove. “The Raven Queen’s magic will protect this space and close it off as soon as we go through. We’ll meet up as soon as this is over. I’d suggest you keep quiet back here,” he finishes, directing the last at Taako.

“I’m insulted…” Taako says. “Fine,” he adds when Kravitz doesn’t change his expression. “We’ll behave.”

Kravitz still doesn’t move. “ I’ll behave,” he says. “Temporarily.”

The reaper moves forward to kiss his boyfriend. “Thank you, love,” he tells Taako. “You’ll get to raise all kinds of hell soon, I promise,” he offers.

Lup and Sildar look at each other. He’s moved as far from the open portal as the small space allows. Her eyes dart to her brother and his boyfriend and back to her husband. She leans forward and kisses Sildar gently on the forehead. “Hang in there, babe,” she tells him softly. “Just a little longer, okay?” He nods and puts on a tense smile for her.

Kravitz enters the portal and Lup pauses for a moment, looking at this younger version of the man she’s loved for so long. Finally she smiles and nods once then follows Kravitz through the portal.

As soon as the portal closes, the space around them hardens, solidifying into walls that thrum with the power of the Raven Queen. Taako delicately touches a finger to the surface nearest him. He can feel the energy and see it gently surrounding his hand.

“Okay, then,” he tells Sildar. “Guess we wait.”

“Is this…” Sildar starts. He looks away, to where the open end of the alcove had been. A shimmering, translucent wall stands between them and the larger space. They can see others gathering in the space though there’s not yet sign of Kravitz and Lup. “Is this how things always are for you guys?” He swallows nervously then amends, “For us?”

Taako shrugs and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve with great attention. “Sometimes,” he answers. “I know we gave you the abbreviated version back there. For example, Lup left out the decade you two were separated and most of us forgot either of you existed.”

Sildar’s eyes grow wide. “We had a decade apart?” He closes his eyes, focuses on more understandable portions of the story. “And there are… seven?”

“The seven birds,” Taako says, remembering the prophecy from Maureen Miller’s soul crystal. “The twins, the lover, the protector, the…” Taako stops, his expression hardening. “Yeah. Seven of us.”

Sildar leans back against one wall then slowly lowers himself to the floor. He straightens his back with a wince. “Are they - Are we - good people?”

Taako narrows his eyes, looking the other man over. He’s seen Barry move this way for as long as he’s known him - mindful of stiff joints or tender muscles - so it doesn’t seem right for a man who’s physically lost half his age. But then, this has been a hell of a day for the uninitiated. He moves to sit beside Sildar, angling so they can both see into the other room beyond the Raven Queen’s throne. “Mostly,” he says in answer. “Best intentions, I guess, though you didn’t hear that from me.” He sighs and examines his rings, buffing one with the edge of his sleeve. “It’s a long story.”

“But we beat whatever that was we were fighting and running from?”

“Yeah. We won.”

“Mmm,” Sildar responds.

Taako looks over at him again. Sildar has leaned his head back against the wall and his eyes are unfocused, aiming up into the shadows above them.

“You doing okay over there?” Taako asks. He starts rooting in the satchel at his side. “I think I have a health potion or two in here. Might not be a bad idea to…”

“I don’t think that’s gonna do much,” he answers. He pulls off his glasses. “These aren’t helping much either,” he says and tucks them into the pocket of his shirt. “Just giving me a headache… Making me dizzy, too.”

Taako checks the other room. Kravitz and Lup have arrived and are now near the center of the group gathered at the foot of the Raven Queen’s dais. Lup wears fury like a mask and Taako realizes she has to perform right now. She’s playing the grieving widow. His stomach clenches. Beside his sister Kravitz’s handsome face is cold and unreadable. It looks wrong to see the reaper looking impassive. Taako knows him so well now. He’s not that at all. He’s warm and funny and caring and… Taako cuts off the thought. He can’t contemplate any of this right now.

He turns back to the man beside him. “Fuck, Sildar, my dude… you’re not looking so hot.”

“I’ll be okay,” he says. “Just need to rest.”

Taako dips his hand back into his satchel. “Yeah, let’s try that health pot, okay? Can’t hurt, right?”

“Sure, Taako, whatever you say.”

At last, his fingers find the heavy pottery container and pull it loose of the chaos of assorted belongings crammed into his bag. He pries out the cork and holds the potion up for Sildar. “Too bad there’s not room to pop up the old Pocket Spa in here. You’d get more benefit from that thing if you drank it in there. But… maybe it’s a good idea to steer clear of pocket dimensions, come to think of it.”

Sildar’s hand wraps so loosely around the jar that for a moment Taako is concerned he’s not going to be able to hold it. Sildar manages to take a small sip then lowers it again. “Go ahead and chug it, dude,” Taako instructs. He’s getting truly worried now.

“Yeah,” Sildar says. “Just a little…uh…little hard to swallow.”

Taako looks back to the other room. They need to wrap this shit up in there.

He watches Sildar slowly drink the potion. His attention is caught between making sure the potion is consumed and checking for signs the Raven Queen’s meeting is concluding. Finally Sildar finishes the liquid.

“Help any?” Taako asks.

“I think so,” he answers. He looks at the empty ceramic container, rubbing his thumbnail along one side. “Don’t tell Lup, okay?” he asks, looking up to meet Taako’s eyes. “She’s worried enough already.”

“Yeah, she’s not the only one, my dude. Taako’s startin’ to feel pretty nervous too.”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats.

“Okay, but…” Taako starts.

Taako’s stone of far speech crackles and Angus McDonald’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“Sir! I think I found something!”

“Shit,” Taako says, scrambling up. The group in the other room have all turned their attention to the space where he and Sildar are hidden. He doesn’t think anyone can see them but they definitely heard something.

“Not now, Ango!” Taako whispers and shuts off the stone.

There’s something going on in the other room but it’s impossible to tell what from this angle. “Can you get up?” Taako asks Sildar, already yanking at his arm. “I think we’re about to have a situation.”

Part Twelve

[fans-of-fiction]

Tozier, Meet Right Hand - Richie Tozier x Reader (IT)

I owe the anon that requested this an apology because this imagine is over a month late. I feel so guilty for not getting this out sooner but I’ve had a whole slew of mental and physical health problems over the past 4-6 weeks and my emotional PTSD has been weighing me the fuck down. I hope you know that your requests mean more to me than you will ever know. With so much love, E <3

Prompt/Plot: #3 - Anxiety/Panic Attack. Richie has a very hard time admitting his love for Y/N—especially when she seems so close to Bill—but after she shows up at his house in a snowstorm, and helps him after he has a panic attack in Neibolt, he’s ready to make an exception.

Warnings: Richie has a panic attack. Swearing and mentions of masturbation (it’s Richie. What canya do?)

A/N: Written in Richie’s POV. There’s a flashback to the snowstorm that’s acknowledged with time marks. Not a BillxReader though it may seem like so at first.

Words: 5659

July 1989

“Fuck,” I mumbled as Bill, Eddie, Y/N and I stepped into Neibolt. The stale and visibly dusty air wafted around us like smoke in a wind-tunnel. “Wonder how many lepers’ve died in here.”

“Sto-” Eddie gagged audibly. “Stop with the leper talk, Richie! It was,” A click-wheeze came from Eddie’s aspirator as he breathed in deeply. “It was one time!”

I chuckled and looked over at Y/N. She laughed as she knelt down to tie her shoelace with a happy tranquility that almost made me forget we were standing in the middle of a crack-head house. If it wasn’t for the creaking of the heavy, wooden door struggling shut behind us—locking us away from Beverly, Ben, Stan, and Mike—I could have easily thought that we were standing in the middle of the old, dark section of the library where they keep the original copies of Shakespeare, right next to Jesus’s passport.

Bill—our own fearless leader—turned and spoke once he found his bearings. “Guh-guys,” He croaked. We could all tell he was scared, but he stood his ground and hid it well. “I th-thuh-think we sh-ssh-shuh-” He couldn’t get it out.

Y/N stood beside him and slung one arm over his shoulder to calm him. Something bubbled in my stomach. “It’s alright, Bill.” She reassured, her voice soft. “Take your time.”

Bill smiled down at her and she smiled back. The bubbles churned. It was like someone was boiling a kettle in my guts. I looked at the word Freese’s on my shirt. What the fuck? I asked, almost out loud. You’ve had beef burritos before. Would you cool it?

“Th-thanks, Y/N.” Bill managed, ready to start again. “I th-think we shuh-should split up.” His stutter had nearly disappeared with Y/N at his side. Yeah, I chimed in my head. Let’s all split up, Bill. I’ll bet my allowance you and Y/N will find each other anyway. Something clicked in my head. I didn’t do it often, but I found myself stopping to think, and suddenly the feeling made sense. It wasn’t the burritos. It was seeing Y/N help Bill. It was watching Y/N hug Ben when he gave her his spare change for gum. It was hearing Y/N say, ‘I’d hop in Brian’s parachute pants.’ when we watched The Breakfast Club on VHS in Beverly’s apartment. It was because I don’t look like Brian from The Breakfast Club, or Bill, or Ben. Fuck, I thought. The realization crashing over me like a black, choking wave. Richie Tozier, you jealous shit. I could feel my cheeks going red and my pants growing hot. Fuck, I groaned. Fuck. No. Not here. Not in fucking Neibolt. Run your mouth, Tozier. Crack a joke. Spit a remark or something. Do a voice. Do a voice, Richie.

And like that I was Shaggy. “Like zoinks, Fred!” I carolled. “It’s like, get another catchphrase or something, huh-ha!”

Y/N chuckled—Success—but quickly shrugged it away so she wouldn’t make Bill feel bad, but Bill didn’t care. He was determined to find this made-up, whack-job clown. “Ruh-Richie and E-Eh-E-” He tried.

“We get it, Bill.” Click-wheeze. “ Richie and I can stay Can stay on the ground floor if,” He pointed a finger at Bill and Y/N. “You two wanna go upstairs.” The kettle clicked on again broiling harshly. It was so hot that I almost missed the joke opportunity. That’s my cue, I thought.

“Yeah,” I laughed, wrapping my arms around Eddie. “Oh, Bill!” I squeaked. “I’m so scared, Bill! Won’t you hold me?” I shuffled my arms dramatically up and down Eddie’s back and hair, making loud kissing noises. “Mwah mwah Mwah! Oh, Bill! Mwah mwah mwa-”

“Richie!” Eddie shouted and squirmed. “Richie my hair! Have you even washed your hands in the past twenty-four hours, Richie? Richie!” He pushed away, hands rushing up to his head to fix the mess. I doubled over,  laughing so hard I could barely breathe. All the heat left my stomach. I managed to stand up and wipe my glasses off, but looking at Y/N I saw that her cheeks were red. Really red. She was embarrassed. Welp, I concluded. That’s it, Trashmouth. You threw away any shot you had. Tozier, meet Right Hand.

Bill put an arm around Y/N’s shoulder and they turned towards the rickety staircase. Wanna go for broke, Tozier? My thoughts were coughing at me. I know well enough that my mouth’s a badly cracked dam, and it’s impossible to stop the leaks.  “Be safe you two!” I spurted as they walked away. “Use protection!”

There was a scoff from Eddie. I grinned a Trashmouth’s grin at him but turned back around to find Y/N looking at me. She was disappointed. I would have walked back to my house and locked myself away until I died if Eddie hadn’t scolded me once she and Bill were out of sight. “Are you serious, Richie?” He chided. “Would you just tell her you like her already?”

I turned to Eddie so that I could glare at him through my thick frames. “Gee, Eddie.” I quipped. “Let’s see, if you’re the only Loser I’ve confessed my love for Y/N to, and believe me, I regret that… well… I suppose two and two equal no. Fuck no. Never.” I adjusted my glasses, which were sliding down my hot face. “She’ll never know because she’ll never feel the same way.” I turned to walk away. Anywhere but there under Eddie’s decrypting gaze. “And that’s the story, Eds.”

I made my way to a small alcove—It looked like a living room. In the middle, a lone chair sat in a slew of tangled roots and dead vines, sprouting from the ceiling—but I didn’t make it far. “Richie,” Eddie called. His voice sounded different. Less frustrated and more confused.

It enticed me to look at him again. “What, Eddie?”

He stared at me, eyebrows furrowed. “Richie, you said ‘love.’”

When did I say Love? I thought. I tried to remember but I felt about as confused as Eddie looked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Eddie suddenly smiled. His cheeks turning up to mock me. “You finally said it.” He chirped. “You wouldn’t admit it before, but you just did. You said ‘my love for Y/N’, Richie.”

A floodgate opened. I did say that. Richie Tozier is a bastard in love, Ladies and Gents. I could feel my cheeks catch fire, probably a vivid crimson, and as I mulled over Eddie’s words I could hear his voice, somewhere else, somewhere distant, somewhere on the other end of a telephone line.

Winter 1988

“Richie, could you tell Mrs.Douglas that I won’t be in class tomorrow?” Eddie said into the receiver.

I chuckled. “What’s the matter, Eds? Rather tickle your pickle while your mom’s at work than sit through math?”

Eddie when to sigh but his shitty lungs spat a wheeze instead. “No, you idiot.” Click-wheeze. “My mom’s taking me to the doctor.”

“Why,” I quipped. “Dick stuck in the VHS player again?” He scoffed, but I laughed.

“Richie! That’s gross!” He wailed. “I’m going to the optometrist, dip-shit. My mom wants to make sure I don’t need glasses.”

“Just where my extra pair,” I suggested.

It was Eddie’s turn to laugh. “I can see Jupiter in those fuckin things.”

We both giggled, but the moment was cut short by the doorbell. I listened closely to see if I could hear my mother’s footsteps, wondering if she was sober enough to be awake. Silence. “Hold on, Eds.” I sighed, knowing very well that she was unconscious. “Doorbell.”

Put the phone down, but didn’t hang it up, and ran down the stairs. The front hall carpet was cold, a sign that the snow storm blowing outside was as bad as the weather goons had predicted. Putting a hand on the cold, brass doorknob I noticed that I never knew who to expect when opening the door. It could’ve been a salesman, or a dinosaur, or God himself. Frankly, I would have expected anyone else before I expected her.

It was Y/N. I knew her face immediately because whenever she passed in the hallway it was all I could see, though Eddie was the only one who ever caught me staring. She looked cold. So cold that she was shaking, her hands clutched to her chest. Even with frostbite, she was stunning. So stunning that I forgot to crack a joke, or at least say Hey.

“Richie!” She exclaimed, her voice barely audible in the wailing wind. I noticed her teeth chattering in between words. Don’t be a pussy, Tozier. Let the pretty girl in.

I moved out of the way and put one hand on her shoulder, guiding her into the house. “Holy shit, Y/N,” I said, stunned. “What the hell are you doing outside in that storm.”

She chuckled. My concern wasn’t a joke, but even in the cold, her laugh was warm, like Saturday morning sunshine. “It wasn’t this bad before.” She assured. “It was nice enough to walk to Mr.Keene’s, but all of a sudden the wind picked up and the next thing I knew I was on your doorstep.”

I chuckled, feeling an odd sense of honour that she recognized my house and felt safe enough with me to seek shelter from a snowstorm with me. “You can stay here until it passes if you want.” I offered, hoping and praying that the storm would last forever. Now’s your chance to get to know her, Richie. I thought. Now’s your chance to impress the hell out of a pretty girl from the safety and comfort of your own home.

Y/N smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Richie.” She said. “I really appreciate it, especially because,” She paused. “Well, I guess we don’t know each other that well, do we?”

I thought about it for a second, but only because it took me aback. I felt weird to think that I’d known her for any less than forever. I shrugged my shoulders. “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” I lulled casually in my best Clark Gable impression before turning towards my kitchen. She chuckled. I felt a sense of success I rarely felt with my parents. My Dad always working, my Mom always drinking. It made me feel good. Hopeful. Like I’d been working in a sulfur mine all my life and just caught my first breath of fresh air.

I was looking at her differently now. I didn’t just see a beautiful girl I’d love to parade around the school beside. I saw a beautiful girl who—despite being frozen—radiated warmth and light. I felt a sudden urge to sweep her up in my arms. Shut up, Trashmouth. My head spat. You’ll only ever be the kid who lived in a warm house when she got caught in a snowstorm. The thought hurt, and though I tried to push it out, it pushed back. You shouldn’t flatter yourself, Richie. The least you can do is help her enjoy her stay in your dark and lonely house before she forgets all about you. Now, go be a man. I took a deep breath. “You look freezing.” I acknowledged, motioning to her shaking hands.

She chuckled. “I guess so.” I could still hear her teeth chattering. At the bottom of the stairs sat the clean laundry my mom was going to take up before she popped the cork on what was probably her second bottle of wine that day. I grabbed a blanket and walked over to Y/N, pulling it around her shoulders.

“Here,” I mumbled bashfully. “You should probably warm yourself up.” Her face was so close to mine that I could smell her chapstick. Cherry. She smiled as we made eye contact and then reached up and fixed my glasses, which were sliding down my face. I chuckled. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Her smile grew. “Thanks for letting me stay for a little while.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to calm the goosebumps. “No problem.”

We made our way into the kitchen. I flicked the kettle on. As I was searching through the cupboards for the box of hot chocolate mix, Y/N took a seat at the table. I could hear her pull the wooden chair out and sit down on its creaky seat. I looked for the hot chocolate a little harder, with hopes that I’d find it soon and could distract Y/N so she couldn’t notice how dusty and cold the house really was.

As if to confirm my worries that she was looking around, eyes scanning the walls and shelves to find some secret part of my backstory that she could crack, I heard her chair push back on the linoleum floor. I heard her step around the table to the wall with the family photos on it, her socked feet making only soft sweeping sounds. Please, I begged, practically tossing bowls and cups across the floor. Please don’t look at those. They’re not me. I’m not my family. I’m not my mother, the alcoholic, or my father, the worker who ignores his trashmouth son. I’m not them. They’re not me. They’re not-”

“So this is your family, huh?” Shit. Her voice was soft and polite. Enough so that I ignored her almost presumptuous question.

“Yeah,” I joked, ignoring the mess of kitchenware and the fact that I probably had no hot chocolate to begin with. I walked over and stood with my back to the photos, facing Y/N. I smiled an overdramatic grin. “Don’t we look alike?”

She chuckled, seeing clearly that my parents and I held little resemblance. “Are either of them home?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing. She was wondering why she hadn’t thought of asking earlier.

I debated lying to Y/N. Telling her that both my parents were in Venezuela on an expedition or something. But looking into her eyes I found something pure. Something whole that said ‘I won’t judge you, Richie. You can trust me.’ And so I trusted her, but not with the whole truth. “My dad’s at work,” I explained. “My mom’s having a nap in the den.” Quick thinking, Richie. If you were only that quick on your feet, maybe you’d have less trouble with Bowers. My stomach hurt just thinking of the mulleted asshole, so I focused on Y/N. I studied her face and found no signs of judgement, only curiosity and beauty.

“Oh,” she said. “Will she be mad if she sees a girl in the house?”

I thought about it for a second. The answer was yes. She would probably be appalled. She may even throw Y/N back out on the street before she could slip her boots on again, but she would definitely notice me. Maybe even see my cry for love and attention and give me some for once. But it would take something drastic. Something that I wasn’t willing to drag Y/N into. Something that I hadn’t even noticed was about to happen anyway, because I hadn’t heard the TV click off, or the scuffling of my mother’s slippers. I hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway, already positioned—slightly off-kilter with the wine in her system—to rip both Y/N and I apart.

“Richard Tozier,” She tried to boom, but it only came out as a deep slurred mess. I could smell the alcohol on her breath from several feet away, and with Y/N standing unfortunately in between the two of us I knew that she could smell it too. She was probably already figuring out the basics of the Tozier household. Drunken mother, working father, under-acknowledged Richie Tozier. “Did you think you could sneak some tramp into the house without my knowing?” Her eyes were distant, glazed over, never quite finding what she was looking at.

Y/N turned to look at me. She wasn’t as offended as she was concerned. Thanks for blowing it, mom. I could tell she wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she was smart enough to know that it wasn’t quite right.

My mother spoke again. “Turn the kettle off and get her out of here, Richard.” She babbled. “I want you to do your homework, not this-”

“I don’t have any homework, mom.” I corrected her. “I told you that when I got home.”

She squinted her eyes at me, her eyelashes curling against her eyelids. “Don’t lie to me, Richard,” She tried. “You said that you had a science project, remember?” She sounded so sure of herself that it sparked pity in my gut. Pity for both her and myself and Y/N for having to watch it all unfold.

“That was last week, mom,” I mumbled. “Last week was the science fair. I had to carry my project four miles to the school and back. Remember?” I could feel tears threatening to spill behind my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of Y/N so I held them back. Looking at her gave me enough strength to subdue the urge to let them fly, but it also made me aware of her new expression. Her eyebrows turned up ever-so-slightly. She understood what was happening fully now, and she pitied me. She pitied poor, ignored Richard Tozier, who only craved knowing that his parents gave half a shit about him. She was as witty and observant as I was. I wondered if she also felt like she was too smart for her own good, and as she saw me wonder I saw her scheme.

Her eyebrows relaxed, her eyes gained a sense of confidence they didn’t have before, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a grin. I had no idea what she was planning to do, but the thrill of it was almost enough to send me over the edge.

“No, no,” My mother mumbled defiantly. “No that was today, Richard. I remember it like my own name and I won’t have you lie to me. Now go do your homework!” She tried to raise her voice but only hiccuped instead.

Before she could turn away to return to the den, Y/N stepped back towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist,  pulling me in. Suddenly she wasn’t herself. It gave me a strange sensation, like I was watching myself do a voice or host an impression. She became someone new.

“I’m sorry, Mrs.Tozier.” She cooed, one hand reaching up to pull off my glasses smoothly. “But I doubt that Richie’s gonna get to do any sort of work today.” My mother—though disoriented—was still coherent and fully noticed the handsy actions Y/N was putting out. Her face went red. “I’m afraid,” Y/N continued. “The only thing he’ll be doing today is-”

My mother had had enough. “Young lady!” She managed, though still slurring. “I’ll have you-” Hiccup. “Get your hands off my-” Another hiccup. “Off my son!”

Y/N laughed, and like that, I saw her plan in full light. It was brilliant. She was brilliant. “Oh, I can manage that,” She grinned. “The real problem is keeping Richie’s hands off of me.”

My mother yelped and tried to run out of the kitchen, but she could only manage a slumped set of lunges. “Oh, my!” She cried out. “I need another drink.” The thump thump thump of her crashing steps faded as she left Y/N and I standing together in the fluorescent-lit room.

I turned to Y/N, who was smiling so fiercely her cheeks strained to keep up. “That should get her to pay attention from now on, huh?” She laughed, but I stared in awe, hyper-aware that she hadn’t yet let go of my waist. I could feel her warmth radiating through my Hawaiian shirt. Suddenly the white lights didn’t feel so cold. The room didn’t feel so empty. My house no longer felt lonely. Y/N—with only her smile and her divine presence—filled the void of the house I’d been fighting to fix for years. My house was the sulfur mine, and Y/N was a million breaths of fresh air. I would’ve stood and stared until I died, if she hadn’t pulled away.

“Thanks for saving me from the cold, Richie.” She said, still grinning from ear to ear. “And I’m sorry if I just got you grounded, but I thought maybe-”

“I don’t care if she throws me out.” I interrupted, half aware that my mouth was moving. “That was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N smiled bashfully and looked at her feet. “It was my pleasure.” She assured. “But I should probably head out now. My parents will be worried if I’m not back soon.”

Her smile faded as I nodded. We made our way to my front door. She started to take the blanket off her shoulders, but I told her to keep it for the walk home. “Once again, Richie,” She smiled. “Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I could feel my face go red. She noticed my crimson cheeks and giggled, before stepping out the door, and just like that, she had gone as softly and abruptly as she had come.

“Holy fuck,” I said out loud as soon as the door shut. “Wait ‘til I tell Eddie.” I stopped for a second. “Oh, fuck, Eddie!” I took the stairs two at a time, raced back up to my room, and threw the phone up to my cheek so fast I almost took off my glasses. “Eddie! Shit, man I’m sorry dude.”

Eddie scoffed on the other end of the line. “That was a long time, Richie. Who the fuck was at your door?” He paused. “And if you say something witty like ‘It was Y/N, the hottie that I’ve been eyeing for months. We boned for a while until our love sparked a fire hardy-har-har’ then I will walk to your house and slap you myself, Tozier.” I laughed. Long and hard enough to get Eddie very concerned and very curious. “What the hell are you laughing about, Richie.”

And though it took some convincing and a promise or two, I made it through the story of the past twenty-five minutes. “Jesus Christ, Richie,” Eddie mumbled. I could practically see the dumbfounded look on his face. “I knew you had a crush on her, but shit, the way you’re describing her… Richie Tozier is a bastard in love, isn’t he?”

I laughed, but in surprise rather than amusement. No matter how much I liked Y/N, no matter how much I wanted to scream from the fucking rooftops that I would happily marry her, I would never tell Eddie that I was in love. Not willingly. I would never admit that I loved her—out loud, especially to anyone else—until I knew she felt the same way. “I’m not in love, you idiot.” I spat. “She’s just hot, you know.”

“Oh suure, Richie.” Eddie retorted sarcastically. “You’re not in love and my mother wants me to roll around in the sewers as a hobby.”

I laughed back at him, but it felt forced. I couldn’t let him know. Not now. Not yet.

July 1989

“Okay, so what?” I asked. Throwing my hands up and turning towards the alcove again. “So what if I said it, it doesn’t matter because she can’t hear me and even if she could, she wouldn’t understand.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eddie fought back. Though I was facing away from him I could practically see the scrunched, ‘Would you get a load of this guy?’ look on his face. “You know damn well that she feels the same way about you, Richie. Why would she help you with your mother if she didn’t care? You know she only lives a block away from you, right?” In honesty, I didn’t know that. I would have turned around to look at Eddie and ask how he knew but a piece of paper caught in the dead foliage demanded my attention, though that didn’t stop Eddie from talking. “She could have made it through that storm easily, but no. She remembered where your house was that one time you had that garage sale, remember Richie? She knew where you lived and she took shelter with you because she fucking loves you too, dip-shit!”

His voice sounded distant. It was like this paper, this flyer, had sucked in all of my senses. I reached the roots and plunged a hand in, clutching the sheet and pulling it out to reveal a face I saw every day in the mirror. It was my school picture. I was smiling up at myself through my glasses, which were nearly covered under my hair. At the top of the page, in massive, attention-grabbing, black letters was the word Missing.

My head clouded over as the room began to spin. Eddie was talking but I couldn’t hear him. I could barely hear myself wheezing. Air. Shit. Where the fuck did the air go? Suddenly I found myself craving the old, dusty air of the Neibolt house. I was choking for anything and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t assume control over my body. My heart was pounding so hard I could practically see it. Cold sweat was causing my glasses to slide down my nose, but with my aching hands grasping the paper I didn’t bother to fix them. My diaphragm tried to draw air in but it kept hitching in my throat.

“Richie?” Eddie called over, concerned. “Richie, you look really pale. Are you ok, dude?” I couldn’t answer. My tunnel vision was hyper-focused on the paper. I could feel myself beginning to black out. Eddie screamed something but fuck if I knew what it was. I was too busy shaking to figure it out. My knees were beginning to buckle underneath me and if it weren’t for the hands on either one of my arms, helping me sit down, I would have collapsed. Someone took the paper from my hands. I wished and I willed for my eyes to focus, and after a little while, they finally did. My eyes cleared to reveal Y/N. She had tossed the flyer off to the side and knelt beside me, her hands on either side of my face. She was staring into my eyes and though I couldn’t hear her, I figured she was pleading. Probably for me to calm down, or take a breath, or stay alive. Believe me, love, I thought. I’m trying.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop struggling. I wondered if Y/N had read the flyer and figured out why I’m in my current state. She was certainly sharp enough to do so. As if to prove me right, her voice broke through. “Richie, you’re here with us. Look. Look at us, Richie! You’re not missing!” She hit the nail on the head, and much like when she saved me in my own house, she was saving me now. It was as if I’d been trying to listen to her through fifty feet of water, drowning in the sea, but she managed to swim to my depth and pull me up again. I could see and hear and breathe and for the first time in the past forever I felt calm, though my heart was racing. I raised a hand and pointed at the Missing poster. “B-Buh-But I-I-” Eddie thrust his aspirator at me. I took it graciously.

“You’re here, Richie. You’re right here.” She shuffled forward on her knees and pulled me gently into her chest. “I know that this scares you, but if you ever went missing, the Losers and I would never stop until we found you. Understand?” I murmured. Y/N pulled away for a second to look in my eyes. “You understand that, right, Richie? We would risk life and limb to get you back if that’s what it cost.”

I nodded, still trying to gain my composure. She smiled. “Wanna hear a joke?”

I mustered a half-smile. “You-” Wheeze. “Bet I do.”

She chuckled. “What’s the difference between a tire and 365 used condoms?”

I stared at her for a second—who would’ve guessed that Y/N had any dirty jokes in her arsenal—then shrugged my shoulders.

“One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year.”

I let out a howl of laughter, hunching half in between my knees. Oh, I noted. There are my lungs.

“Fuck panic attacks.”

I smiled. “Y-yeah.” I squeaked. “Fuck” Wheeze. “panic attacks.”

Y/N laughed with me and then spoke. “How about we get you out of here, huh?” I nodded again. Y/N stood up and turned to Bill. “Could you help Richie outside?”

Bill nodded excessively. “Uh-of course.” He knelt down, slung my left arm over his shoulder, and helped me stand up. Y/N helped Eddie crack open the front door. They walked out first and explained what had happened to Mike, Ben, Stan, and Beverly.

“T-thanks” Wheeze. “for helping me, Bill.” I managed. “I r-really” Wheeze. “appreciate it.”

Bill chuckled softly. “That’s f-fine, R-ruh-Rich. I-I know p-puh-panic at-tacks can be s-ss-scary. Yuh-you’re just l-luh-lucky that Eh-Eddie yelled up f-for Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry for joking about you and Y/N earlier, I didn’t mean to-”

He cut me off by laughing. “Th-that’s ok, R-Richie. Y/N was w-wuh-worried about the j-jokes at first, but I just t-tuh-told her it was b-because you l-luh-love her.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? I-I don’t love Y/N.” I shook my head and forced a fake laugh, but it was too late. Bill already knew.

“Th-that’s ok, Eddie. We c-could tell. Th-th-the hard p-part was convincing Y/N ab-bout it.”

“Y/N,” I had to stop myself from screaming. “Y/N knows?! Bill, I totally annoy her, why would the-” His furrowed eyebrows made me stop. “What?”

“You d-d-don’t know?”

I shook my head, lost. “Know what?”

“Y/N l-luh-loves you.”

For a second I couldn’t breathe again. I stopped walking and stared at him. “There’s no way.”

He laughed. “Shuh-she does, R-ruh-Richie” He said matter-of-factly. “Y/N told the l-luh-losers wuh-weeks ago.”

I stared at him. “Weeks ago? Dude, why didn’t anybody tell me?!”

“She w-wanted you to f-fuh-find out on y-your own, Rich.” Bill walked down the stairs and over to his bike. I made note that the rest of the Loser’s had picked theirs up too. Mike, Ben, Stan, and Beverly were all looking at me, concerned.

“You ok, Richie?” Mike asked. I nodded and then glanced at Y/N. She met my eyes and gave me a warm smile, taking the chill out of my chest.

I knew that Bill was telling the truth but there was no way in hell I could accept it. I looked at Eddie. You knew the whole time, didn’t you? I spat sarcastically in my head. Eddie turned as if he could feel my glare and looked back at me, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Asshole. I chuckled and then looked at Y/N again. She was on her bike, one foot on its pedal, ready to ride away. I remembered how she stood up for me in my house, how she radiated warmth and light, how she kissed wrapped her arms around me when I introduced her to the Loser’s and they let her join, how she was my breath of fresh air, both within my house and the Crack-Heads’. Jokes may help you in your sulfur mine of a house, Tozier, but they won’t help under water. I told myself. Go chase your air.

I knew exactly what I had to do. I scuttled down the Neibolt steps, across the lawn, and over to Y/N’s bike. Glancing at Eddie I could see his content expression. He knew what I was doing. Don’t flatter yourself, Eddie Spaghetti. I chuckled in my head before standing in front of Y/N’s bike, my hands on her handlebars.

She put her pedal-foot down and began to speak, but I cut her off. “Y/N, I-I’ve been meaning to… to tell you that… well… I-I kinda-” Once again I couldn’t get the words out, and upon further inspection, I realized that Y/N’s lips were on mine. This is the kinda silence I can get behind. I could taste her cherry chapstick and I could smell her shampoo and I couldn’t help but close my eyes before pulling away. It was as if I’d just taken seventeen thousand hits of Eddie’s aspirator.

“I love you too, Richie.” She chuckled. All I could manage was a wow. She laughed again but louder. I leaned in again to kiss her cheek but the moment was broken by Eddie’s screaming.

“I fucking told you, Tozier!” He yelled, a smile overtaking his face. The Loser’s—myself and Y/N included—burst out in a swell of laughter.

I walked over and gave him a noogie. “I guess ya did Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Richie!” Eddie squealed. “My hair, Richie!” I laughed, reached down, and grabbed my bike. Bill pedalled Silver forward, the first to kick up the gravel of Neibolt Street. The rest of the Loser’s weren’t far behind. With Y/N and I riding in the back, we headed into town. Along the way, I couldn’t help but stare at her. She loves me. Y/N loves the Trashmouth, and the Trashmouth loves her too. And so we rode through Derry, forgetting all about old houses, and dusty air and fucking clowns. Instead, I appreciated the warmth of the July sun, the smell of what Stan calls Phlox flowers, and Y/N, because thanks to her, I can breathe.

I fucking love all of you lovely readers and I wish you all the best in life.

With love,

E

[rennyji]

July 22nd Morning Tweets...

July 22nd Morning Tweets...

---

America is the nation that took everything from me. It wasted my physical and mental health, brought chaos to my home life, coerced my parents into following the directives of abuse towards their son, restricted job ability and opportunity, separated me from time with my sibling and filled their mind with cr*p, put humanity as a whole on one team in belief/practice vs. me…

To the nations misled by America, who take part in this endeavor allegedly”for” me, but which was actually “towards/against me.” :

The Americans are all about pleases and thank yous on the surface, but they lack a culture. Ask what their values/principles are? Ask them specific questions, ask them to elaborate…it’s in their nature to take advantage of lack of interest in detail. The ones that have principle, probably can trace it back to their Greek or Irish or whatever origins. Hitler is blunt and obvious with gas chambers towards the Jews. But the American? They play a long convoluted game, placating the masses for their agenda, so that those in power can continue to exert god like authority at a high salary. I’m supposed to collapse or be mentally ill for their purposes. You have no idea all the angles to this "situation", that the Americans put together, to make this phenomena happen…it is an incomprehensible evil...words cannot express my mind's stomach upset/indigestion with processing the details of evil men like these - not even Satan himself is this clever...where is this coming from, you'll ask? That is because you don't know what is going on, in its entirety.

In Luke 13:31-32

Jesus says,

At that time some Pharisees came to Jesus and said to him, “Leave this place and go somewhere else. Herod wants to kill you.”

He replied, “Go tell that fox, ‘I will keep on driving out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal.’

So American government, law enforcement, and military:

you, in not stopping for a decade, imply you want me to collapse? You want to make me a martyr for a God-less nation? Need a modern day Christ example people can relate to? You blasphemers. If Herod was the fox, you are the swine you eat, as it is you who projected, “you are what you eat.”

In Luke 16:19-31,

It is said:

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day.(A) 20 At his gate was laid a beggar(B) named Lazarus, covered with sores 21 and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table.(C) Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

22 “The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. 24 So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham,(D) have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’(E)

25 “But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things,(F) but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.(G) 26 And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’

27 “He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, 28 for I have five brothers. Let him warn them,(H) so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’

29 “Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses(I) and the Prophets;(J) let them listen to them.’

30 “‘No, father Abraham,’(K) he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’

31 “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Weak minded swine of orchestrators…if a respected 2000+ year old lineage and history can’t be a role model to your nation, and my explanations/elaborations/correlations don’t suffice, then your nation is hopeless, cannot he woken up or guided. The swine want to create a cool martyr that suffered mind reading/mind control? First you fix yourselves, before misleading ur children of a nation and piling on their sins onto yourselves for misleading them. As the last verse of the Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus goes:

30 “‘No, father Abraham,’(K) he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them,

(Like maybe if they’re depicted as cool and suffered something futuristic like mind reading/mind control, …)

they will repent.’

(I.e. under the thinking that The nation will wake up, live a better life through a role model.)

31 “He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

(Not convinced if someone rises from the dead is equivalent to me dying from/overcoming mind reading/mind control, for your “at the surface” public P.R. Image of the “soon-to-become” thought police from “1984.”)

In order protect their grimy a*ses, the orchestrators want to make the entire “situation” about a nice guy or some cr*p…what about in the Old Testament? I have no desire to be the golden calf for the metaphorical Israelites, who were seeking “to create something to 'follow/idealize.' ” Moses wasn’t happy, and Americans, based on what is at the root/heart of this present “situation” - (the destruction of an individual and sanctity of mind, ruining of a family) - I don’t think God wants to be your bandage or coverup, for what is towards the end of your government project and it’s resulting bleeding from the leprosy of sin.

Orchestrators, waste someone else’s time.

To finish my earlier point:

So why stay in America, some may ask? I LEFT this horrid, “drunkedness-in-thinking”country for a year, and the orchestrators brought me back to this unclean place to inflict their sadistic behavior, for, 8+ years?! more…

I’m the guy you work for, orchestrators. Using ur p*ssy psychology as a weapon against me, to enslave me, in action: by denying me my rights as a citizen, is quite something.

Years ago, while upstate by “that” University, I said remember this:

Psalm 3, not words of solace, but a promise. A promise.

---

It is believed those who share in the lineage, those who are a branch of the vine, are priests, prophets, and kings as the Christ figure. While divinity of this figure is questioned amongst different people, it is a fact that this was a man, who served God, tried to get people of the time to “”wake up and was a descendant in the line of King David - priest, prophet,  king. It is also said, Jesus is the truth, the way, and the life. Many believers unfortunately restrict this to meaning salvation - whatever that word may embody - and those of their respective faiths think salvation is meant only for those under the label of Christian, if they be Christian, Muslim, if they be Muslim, and so forth. Which is better, the mere LABEL of Christian/Muslim/Jew, or those who live in the footsteps of the Christ figure? Words/labels are human constructs. What’s more important is the meaning behind them. Someone, merely because, they don’t fall under your label, is not bad, and that judgement is not a right reserved to any human being, with respect to another, his/her equal... For those looking to walk in a straight line, find peace, and achieve salvation, you must be priest prophet & king in nature. As a priest you serve something much greater - not out of an enslaved mentality in thinking of the word "serve" - but as a loving father to son or a loving son to a The Father, you should serve with love. From that, can be derived, you serve each other, because that is part of serving something greater. By the priest mentality, you are humble in attitude, understand there is something greater, that the world isn’t about what you want. You understand there are rules, but their purpose is not to restrict, but to give structure. Growing up/living life is like making jello. To make jello, it needs some kind of container to take shape, as it is flavored water in the beginning. Without a container, its just a mess that spills everywhere. Rules to abide by are our container. That's where the guidelines of religions were supposed to help, but those lacking in insight, turned what was for structure/a path to success to something geared toward restrictions for a life. We are the flavored water in jello to take shape under the structure of "good words/good advice/good principles/good values." There are many containers, as there many religions, giving us jello, merely the illusion of a different shape. What matters is that we have a shape and aren’t messes that spill everywhere…then we’d just be wasted flavored water. Don’t see rules as restrictions. They are there for us to maintain form. Rules at times need to be bent, but that should be out of understanding its purpose and following it with your heart vs. your mind. Nothing is absolute. A container holding jello can be molded to different shapes. But be careful. Mold it for selfish gain and you risk bending the container to such an extent, flavored water and even firm jello can fall out. What prevents this is, following rules with you heart, out of love, for something greater - in which case you’d just changing the angles of the edges or something small like, that with respect to the container, so that nothing loses form or is wasted, with respect to working with rules or adapting them to do what is appropriate for your life. Don’t restrict the concept of priest to celibate people, shaving their heads and/or living in a monastery all the time. Christians believe they are priest, prophet, and king in one being, as we share in the spiritual lineage of Christ, who traces His lineage to King David, and Abraham, the father of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. As a prophet it is your job to awaken &  teach each other truths. You are to stand up for what you believe in, with respect to the free will of another. Don’t bother with the whole "the end is near speeches.” When you start reading a book or watching a movie, the end begins to be near. Sometimes there are sequels depending on the Author’s favor. But no one knows when the ending is, because we don’t know what the Author is thinking. Since the stories of our existence started, the end has been near. It is just the nature of things. There may be a sequel or there may have been sequels. The characters in books and movies don’t bother with such details. They just fulfill their roles in the story and so should it be with you. And finally, as a king, you should live with honor respect and integrity. Kings don’t waste their lives 'in its entirety,' throwing ping pong balls into cups while inebriated. You are a leader. You should make decisions and act in ways that are just and right, for your are a king. Be the best version of yourself. Priests, prophets, and kings, are what we are, and should be.

---

A person's societal or life role, or lifestyle, adopts the illusion of better/worse class or no class…behind the labels/that role/that position/that lifestyle, behind or through all these things, everyone is living... These things are simply under the illusion of a different form, in a setting/a world/a time, that has the potential of bringing out the best of them. To further elaborate, lifestyle roles/positions in life are quadrilaterals. Quadrilaterals are 4 sided figures. These include, but are not limited to, squares rectangles trapezoids rhombuses rhomboids…all a bunch of shapes that look different to our eyes…they’re illusions…but the truth behind them is that they all have four sides. Such is the nature of a person’s role and different lifestyles…As we are all quadrilaterals, no one shape or person is better or worse. These are just tricks for the mind from our reality. Take pride in who you are, what you do. Things look really different, and maybe seem better, in the life of another, but it’s just a look. Everyone is still doing the same thing: still living. People by default see only the different shapes or differences amongst each other, so that they may never be happy. Such is part of our default nature. We need to willfully rise above it. Systems like the caste system were put into place to preserve order, to force people to carry out their respective roles in society. There were the Brahmins i.e. the priestly class, the Ksatriyas: the warrior class, the Vaishyas, who were the farmers, then there were the Shudras(the laborers/craftsman). It was believed that the societal roles were inherited from merits or lack of them, in past lives. So that eliminates the "why am I this/doing that" thinking. In getting past that, you can now focus on moving forward, on bigger/better things. These systems like the caste system of old seem rigid and they are. But they closed people’s minds to what wasn't their concern or closed off jealousy/envy into other people's lives i.e. closed off to what was outside the realms of their concern. In a sense, by restricting a mind's passion for everything, they brought in focus into what could be changed or what the individual potential left the individual with. These old systems like the caste system are like a parent disciplining a child when they’re young. To get the ball rolling, to get the discipline established, you need to be a stern with it, or perhaps, practice rigidity. On a different note, in Islam, there are harsh punishments for crimes, harsh regulations for women...I mean as Islam in Islamic countries is not just a religion, but a system of law giving structure to society (as all religions aimed to do, going back ages, in uniting a primitive/animalistic/disorganized people, scattered across the world), you have people getting their hands chopped off for theft or some crime. It severely discourages the action. To avoid temptation for men, people of a millennia or two, ago, decided to hide women in long gowns and face/head coverings, where their faces are only visible to their families. Now that the ball is rolling, "we have time to think". Now that people are not as primitive/animalistic/disorganized, you really need to second guess these practices of old...understand why they were put in place, and ask yourselves if somethings just boils down to a weak mind that needs better guidance/training...Religion came into the world so that people would stop eating each other, killing each other, by realizing it as sin...(today, the immature ones amongst humans, have taken it from eating/killing each other, to mind reading/mind controlling others...imagine if these idiots used their intellects for the Golden Rule, to help their fellow man, to help just one of "the least of" His "brothers and sisters"...but I digress...)Religion told people, ultimately aim for a man and woman becoming one in marriage, promoting family structures and support systems for men and women and their offspring, in times where you have people screwing everyone all day/everyday and having kids that weren't taken care of, and a bunch of other chaos like diseases, etc. So, before my tangent, I said: "People by default see only the different shapes or differences amongst each other, so that they may never be happy. Such is part of our default nature. We need to willfully rise above it. Systems like the caste system were put into place to preserve order, to force people to carry out their respective roles in society." It’s expected that people think about, and hopefully understand: why things were done the way they were done. Even a child in passing years, in his/her older years, understands why the parent was hard in the beginning. As years have gone by, since what was implemented ages ago, you need to look at the meaning behind the roles. They close what’s irrelevant in minds, so that there isn’t chaos, and you don’t get distracted, in place of focusing on what lies ahead. Indeed how lucky we are today. The people to whom such systems originated, had it much harder. With respect to such big things affecting everyone, time isn’t measured as it is with the lifetime of a child. It’s measured across generations. Those people the systems and practices originated around, were the children. We are those children as they’re getting older. Despite this, we still have some severe versions of immaturity... With the passage of time, there are evolved teachings. You hear Christ say that each man(yes women too. saying man and woman or human, in place of man, as a term combining everyone, just doesn’t flow…i  know in Spanish,  when referring to men and women, they usually stick with the masculine form of the words…but I digress...anyway…) … you hear Christ say each man is priest(priestess) King(Queen) and prophet(prophetess) (—see what I mean…takes the flow out of writing and speaking). With respect to the older teaching of Brahmins Ksatriyas Vaishyas  & Shudra - those were the four main divisions. There was another role that was outside the system of favored roles, and that was the role of the Untouchable. They handled all the dirty jobs in life. But the truth is, each man is a priest, warrior, farmer, laborer, 'and above all' untouchable ( i.e. untouchable for the sake of a label, because of the nature of their role, by the "perceived as" higher castes in society). Each human being has the responsibility of all those roles, in this day and age, where humanity is older. People are like analog signals. They don’t have fixed states like digital 1’s and 0’s or electrical charges. Roles are like ladders. You can go up and down. But doing the equivalent of jumping up, rushing out of place, risks the ladder falling down on you...or you breaking some of the steps on the ladder with your abrupt move, leading to you wounding yourself. The roles of old are themselves, nothing.

What I'm getting at is, do what all these Hindu and Christian roles represent. Follow the duties of "all those roles." Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty, like a Hindu Untouchable. At the same time, remember you are a king (going back to the Christian notion of priests/prophets/kings) who loves his neighbor to the extent that you are willing to be his servant in concept. By King, you have integrity and should act with it. Don’t let labels go to your head and don’t let them hurt/inflate your ego. Regarding societal roles or jobs, Everyone has to do something. It’s what keeps the world going. Why squares are squares or trapezoids are trapezoids, is a waste of energy. We’re like seeds in a field. Why it rains in some areas, why the sun shines more in others, who knows…they just do… say there’s a seed growing in an extremely hot area…maybe the surrounding plants that were already growing around it or that it found to be planted amongst, gave it shade and allowed it to prosper in an area where seeds usually get scorched by too much sun…maybe the seed kept rolling in the dirt and strayed from nourishment… to think of such "why’s" can only prevent you from "focusing on what’s ahead" as well as hinder your growth. Wherever & whatever your role is, there is no small, there is no big. Focus on your duty to God, self, others, in life. Focus on carrying out your duty. Be all that you are, to the best of your ability in life, while treating everyone else the way you would like to be treated, in each day, each situation, life throws at you.

---

so another thought...

Life is like a field and we are all seeds in that field, trying to sprout, grow, and become something. Why it rains in some areas, more than others, who knows. Why it doesn't rain in some areas at all, who knows. Why the earth under some seeds is more fertile.. who knows. Everyone has something and nothing going for them. As a friend once said, “I’m thankful for the things that I have, but also the things I don’t have. It’s what makes me, me.” Don’t waste time hating someone for what you perceive as them having and not having, because whatever it is you have/don’t have, are the tools you need to sprout, grow, and become something. After all, seeds do not waste time wondering what other seeds are doing.

---

[bunkershotgolf]

V1 Game App Gaining Popularity Among Amateur and Pro Golfers

From Rising LPGA Stars to Recreational Players, Data is Driving Measurable Improvement

The V1 Game mobile app from V1 Sports has been gaining significant traction in the golf world on the strength of its newest cutting-edge features - A.I. Shot Tracking, Virtual Caddie and Virtual Coach. Those features are resonating with golfers of all skill levels, including fifth-year LPGA player Dana Finkelstein, who is having her best season on tour, highlighted by a T-12 finish at the Hugel-Air Premia Los Angeles Open earlier this spring and a T-14 showing at the recent Volunteers of America Classic.

V1 Game, named “Best Apple Watch Golf App for 2021” by GolfPass.com, delivers an innovative combination of on-course GPS data plus deep-dive performance analytics – including numerous Stroke Gained categories – that help golfers understand their on-course tendencies and pinpoint the skills they need to practice most in order to improve. The app requires no external hardware or second screens to provide its A.I.-powered game improvement platform.

“V1 Game uses no hardware on your golf clubs to track your shots,” says Dallas Webster, co-developer of V1 Game. “And, it's totally unlocked for your first two rounds while the GPS capabilities stay free forever. Other technology on the market requires a $300 investment in hardware just to dip your toe into the water. Our artificial intelligence handles shot tracking and makes it intuitive and seamless, so you can focus on golf and put down your phone. Plus, V1 Game makes the data accessible and actionable, analyzing your data and telling you exactly what to work on to make the next leap in your game. Data fanatics can dive as deep as they want.”

UNDER THE HOOD V1 Game’s latest features are revolutionary. A.I. Shot Tracking uses sensors in your smartphone or Apple Watch to detect shots and automatically track your round. An Apple Watch helps V1 Game detect when you swing, marks your location, and emits a soft vibration confirming your swing detection.

“Our integration with Apple Watch obsoletes external sensors,” says Webster. “We detect swings, so you can just play. And when you replace worn-down grips, you don't have to mess with hardware.” Android watch functionality is also coming soon.

If you don't have an Apple Watch, simply start a round and keep your phone in a front or back pocket, or in the cart or golf bag. V1 Game uses the phone’s GPS and accelerometer data, to determine where and when you potentially hit a shot. You may need to do some slight post-round editing - as with every shot-tracking software on the market - by simply dragging shot locations with your finger on the hole map, in places the A.I. marked shots. You can also fine-tune the A.I., depending on if you play fast or not, to further increase its accuracy.

Virtual Caddie goes beyond anything else available, using A.I. to provide adjusted ‘Plays Like’ yardages but also building a history of how you perform from various situations based on club use, lie, distance to the hole and weather conditions. It then offers simplified insights during rounds, giving club recommendations and a quick snapshot of the data – just like a Tour caddie would – so that golfers can make the best on-course decisions. It even warns what to watch for on approach shots, based on miss tendencies from similar previous situations.

The feature-loaded Virtual Coach takes the app to yet another level. While many golf stat apps collect data and then dump it on you to figure out how to apply that to your game, Virtual Coach does the insightful heavy lifting. For instance, it plots putting performance, and uses A.I. to analyze the data and advise specifically what to work on. It displays advice, such as “Work on Approach Shots First” and “You are losing the most strokes on putts from 6-10 ft. Practice this range to improve the fastest.”

Golfers know exactly what to focus on in practice. Because the app also tracks their mistakes, Virtual Coach ‘trends’ plots to quickly see what areas of their game are improving with practice or declining from neglect. Pairing this data with a V1 instructor can further accelerate progress, especially if that teacher is armed with the V1 Coach app for instructors. This companion to V1 Game is a dynamic, data-rich system to help golf instructors and coaches manage their students’ performance data to optimize lesson content, practice plans, course management and scoring habits using the data supplied from V1 Game usage.

THIS TIME, IT’S PERSONAL In the four years since Webster began developing V1 Game with partner Ryan Hebert, he’s personally added 20 yards to his tee shots and cut his handicap by five strokes to below scratch for the first time - all while working two jobs and managing a growing family.

“It provides easy-to-digest data,” says Webster, an engineer by trade who’s now becoming a rising star as a golf tech developer and stats guru. “I didn't want to spend 45 minutes after a round to get to an understanding, so I selfishly built V1 Game to teach me what I did well and poorly, via quick and intuitive feedback. So, now, when I’m standing over a 175-yard shot, Virtual Caddie tells me I tend to miss short and left so I need to take more club and aim right. Easy and actionable. I want golfers to get answers fast and simple. And I’ve learned a ton from our users. I’m constantly in the chat room fielding questions. We take suggestions seriously, and if you have a good idea, we'll try it. If you have a pain point, we work on it. We’ve made many updates this way. We have passionate customers and I leverage them to improve the app for all. We're listening.”

TOUR-PROVEN TECHNOLOGY V1 Game is not just for amateur golfers. LPGA and Symetra Tour pros, including Finkelstein, Marisa Messana, Janet Mao and Vicky Hurst have also begun relying on it. Those tours don’t currently provide Strokes Gained data, so V1 Game is becoming a valuable tool in the hands of its early adapters.

“I love how simple it is,” says Finkelstein. “And I’ve already made a putter change after the app showed how poor my stats are with speed control and 40-foot-plus putts. It’s also showing a positive trend in how my stat tracking from driving and approach shots have drastically improved. That's really cool to see. It's nice to see all of the hard work I put in this offseason starting to pay off.”

Adds Messana: “It’s very helpful for my practice sessions, because I'm all about high performance, knowing myself and my tendencies. V1 Game explicitly says what I need to work on in order to close those performance gaps. People can tell me I’m not making enough birdies, so I therefore need to sink more putts. But really what I learned in V1 Game was that my proximity stats were not where they should be, in order to give myself those birdie opportunities. In other words, it wasn't really my putting, but rather my proximity to the hole on my approaches that I needed to improve. The Strokes Gained insights in V1 Game have already changed my game.”

Strokes Gained is the coveted stat that essentially lets you know how your game compares to other golfers of any skill level you set as a baseline. It helps any golfer. In fact, golfers shooting 100 will likely benefit the most from it because it makes their weaknesses obvious to inform practice sessions.

NEW FEATURES COMING IN HOT

Webster is out to make the V1 Game app even more intuitive. One recent update: As soon a score is entered, the shots graphically populate before one’s eyes. Another fresh feature is Friends Mode, in which golfers and their buddies can link their rounds when they start playing. This allows friends to share a live scorecard between each other and see everyone’s shots tracked on one screen.

V1 Game’s success is another testament to the visionary leadership of V1 Sports CEO Bryan Finnerty, an entrepreneur and former goalkeeper for the Detroit Rockers professional indoor soccer team. Finnerty has led the charge to improve V1 Sports’ technology, sales, service, support and product offerings. New offerings under his guidance include V1 Game, expanding into V1 Baseball, adding the V1 Pressure Mat product and education series. All the while, he’s helped make the V1 Golf and V1 Pro platforms the most commonly used video analysis platforms in golf.

"It’s easy for me to get excited about V1 Sports' vision and the convergence of sports and technology because the root motivation for our work should always be 'Does it make playing the sport more fun?'" he says. "Breaking the four-minute mile. Dunking from the top of the key. The first guy who bent a soccer ball around a wall into a goal. The Pele bicycle kick. I still get chills thinking of all those things because I remember being introduced to them as a kid. Today, with our core products V1 Golf, V1 Golf Plus, V1 Pro and now V1 Game, the market is telling us our vision, to have become more and more consumer-facing over the past five years, truly resonates.”

CONVENIENT PRICING MODEL Par: $1.99/month or $19.99/year – includes 40,000+ golf courses in the V1 Game directory, Accurate GPS Distances, Simple Shot Tracking, Breadcrumbs/Auto Shot Detection

Birdie: $5.99/month or $59.99/year – includes 40,000+ golf courses in the V1 Game directory, Accurate GPS Distances, Simple Shot Tracking, Breadcrumbs/Auto Shot Detection, Strokes Gained Data, DIY Golf Stats

Eagle: $11.99/month or $119.99/year – includes 40,000+ golf courses in the V1 Game directory, Accurate GPS Distances, Simple Shot Tracking, Breadcrumbs/Auto Shot Detection, Strokes Gained Data, DIY Golf Stats, Virtual Coach, Virtual Caddie

V1 Game is a perfect complement to V1’s current line of video analysis software and mobile apps, including the V1 Golf and V1 Pro mobile apps which allow golfers and coaches to conduct online video lessons with advanced feedback including voice-over, telestration and side-by-side swing analysis.

Visit https://v1sports.com/athletes/v1-game-app/ to learn more.

[badprogen]

Spiced W(h)ine Chapter 4: My Business is My Name (I Can See You) Word Count: 1,615 Updates: Bi-Weekly to Weekly {PRELUDE} {<BACK} {NEXT>} {EXITLUDE} 

The wide, winding streets of Lopshide Settlement were almost empty by the time Lyric reached it. Around it, the massive darkly-wooded log wall cast long, pale shadows over the snow and, at the wall’s mouth, two of the posted guards motioned for her to stop. “What is your business here?” said the first guard, a Guardian with blunted head-horns. The other, a jumpy, stringy-looking Wildclaw squinted up at Lyric and wrinkled his snout, “Don’t know why someone like you’d be poking her head into Lopshide so close to sunset.” “Oh,” said Lyric, noticing for the first time that-- if she craned her neck up and out far enough-- she could see past the pointed top of the wall. The Wildclaw’s right hand crossed to his sword, hovering just above the pommel,

“What’re you looking at--?”  “Oh,” Lyric said again and shook her head, hunkering down so that she appeared less threatening, “I already have a place to stay arranged here-- In fact, I came in earlier today...” “Who you lodging with?” the Guardian said. “Yeah... Who?!” the Wildclaw added, wrinkling his snout again so that it looked like a large, white raisin. Lyric liked the thought of that-- A dragon who had once been large and plump but, after spending countless hours in the sun, shriveled down to almost nothing. It’d make a good song, alright...  She shivered and tried to focus on the weight of The Script.  “I, ah. I’m at the furrier’s-- Um, Rootlickt?” she tapped the side of her chin, “Or something like that... It had to be Root-something because I asked them if they had family growing in the Labyrinth and they--” “As long as you’re not here to cause trouble,” the Guardian said, her voice sharper than before, “It doesn’t matter.” She motioned for the Wildclaw to step aside and and he started and hopped out of Lyric’s path, trying to save face with, “Yea, if you go around starting trouble... You- You better watch out.” Lyric considered this for a moment, out of politeness and so she could watch his raisin face flush up through his scales with embarrassment, and then nodded, “Alright and alright,” she nodded to both of them and trotted past, keeping her tail stiff despite her sudden urge to flick it and spray both guards with powder. The Script bounced against her side.    All along the rows of stalls and shopfronts, Lyric could hear the bustle of the Lopshide dragons settling in for the long night. Rootlickt-- or whatever their name was-- had cocked their head to the right and snorted when Lyric had said she was going exploring. “Ya know there’s only 3 hours’a’sun this time’a’year, Imp,” they had said. Then they’d laughed and Lyric had thought of the winds again and the playful, dipping and climbing notes from the flutes and--  Suddenly, Lyric felt something sharp and unpleasant against her side-- as if she’d accidentally scraped up against a mound of pointed stones-- but, before she could turn to see what had caused the unpleasant sensation, it rippled and faded into nothingness. She squatted down in the street and gave her scales a good scratch and felt The Script bounce against her... Of course-- Yes, of course! Springing back onto all fours, the Imperial swung her head in every direction she could think to-- turning back over her own body-- as she tried to see what had caused The Script to... A Tundra was magically sealing away their wares behind a veil of lavender colored runes that swirled and pulsed before dissipating back into the fading light. Two Guardian wyrie wrestled in and out of filthy mounds of cleared snow. Lyric saw one of the posted guards watching her from their perched atop the log wall, and she waved. They looked away quickly and then kicked off into the air. Alright. So it wasn’t anything here... That makes sense, but-- She scraped at the tightly packed, browned snow with her front claws, her mouth ticking up on the left so that it half closed her eye. A breath. Lyric opened her mouth, scenting the sharpness of the freezing air when suddenly, ”Ya gonna stand about in the dark too, Imp?” ”Oh, Rootlickt!” her face split in a bright open mouthed smile as she turned to peer down at the grizzled Spiral, “I guess that wouldn’t be the best way to spend the night. I just was--” ”Gladekeeper’s beard, I dunna care just what ya think explains this or that about how ya carry on--!” they pulled their fur cape closer around their wiry, scarred neck, “I’m heading back to where ya bed is and once I bar that door-- No one comes in or out on accountathe heat creeping out too.” They wrinkled their snout in disgust and began to walk without waiting for Lyric’s reply. And after a moment, Lyric padded after them-- detailing her expedition into the snow while Rootlickt made faces of elderly disgust. ”It’s a display’a’somesort-- A bad one,” they said as they unlocked the massive oak door to equally massive building with ancient log walls and a sloped roof of woven reeds that had been sealed with tar. They waited for Lyric to pull open the entrance-- clicking their small, forked tongue as she struggled with the weight, and continued, ”Ya young wyrms might as well be wyrie with all the nonsense ya indulge in-- back in my age we’d’a’been forced to make a name by now--” Lyric followed the Spiral through the door and then closed it behind her with a grunt. ”What was it like,” she said, shaking some of the snow from her mane, “Being an Imperial back then? I mean, if you hadn’t already been changed yet?” Rootlickt had been tossing the dried innards of one of their last successful trappings into the hearth but paused, their dark green eyes watching the growing flames intently.  Lyric turned her head, hardly daring to breath in the heavy, gathering silence.  Then, after another moment, the Spiral shook their head.  ”Ya dunna understand what kind’a’answer ya asking after...” they hoisted a lumpy, dried root into the hearth, “Ya can’t imagine.” Lyric’s claws twitched, reaching out in the air as if she could pull the conversation back out of Rootlickt-- The hearth cracked and popped and she drew them back, rubbing at a cold spot near the base of her neck. ”Alright,” she said, her curiosity tucked neatly under her tongue, “Do you need help with your meal?” Rootlickt was still crouched beside the hearth and waved a gangly hand dismissively, making a noise that might have been words but was so low and gurgly that Lyric couldn’t pick them apart quickly enough to understand. Instead she just said, ”Alright,” and crossed the room to where Rootlickt had set a pile of unsold furs for her to nest in.  Lyric lifted the top fur, a ragged, white and lavender spotted pelt, and produced a large leather sack that had been sloppily tied off with red dyed twine. Working her claws into the center of the knots, Lyric let the twine fall into the furs and reached inside-- rooting around with her left claw until she found a bundle of fat, pungent mushrooms. ”I think,” she said, examining them, “These would go well with any liver you’d been planning to cook... We could combine them and make a meal out of it...?” No response. Lyric turned to where Rootlickt had been and saw the old wyrm had curled up with their eyes closed; their long, grizzled body rising and falling evenly. Lyric smiled. She selected three of the most pungent mushrooms and popped them into her mouth, chewing until they dissolved into her saliva. She swallowed and gave the rest of the bundle a longing look before she slid it back into her sack and replaced the top-most fur. I’ll need them for the mountain, mostly, her stomach felt smaller and more hollow than a dead rat’s nest.  Then she too curled up on herself, watching Rootlickt shiver and grunt as she drifted off into dreaming....

Bells. The long repeating rhythm of footsteps. Were they large or small or had they changed size at some point?  Lyric saw the indents they made across the shift of the Song-- A sharp, nasty little tune that kept trying to disrupt the wonderful humming refrain that echoed around it. The humming. Warm, familiar. So old it left a light, dusty and sweet taste in her. Repeating motifs so crisply and casually that she wished she could dance-- Please-- Please-- PLEASE-- The shrieks again. Ugly tune. Bumbling, awkward, desperate. Louder. She felt the spikes in her side again and looked for The Script without understanding that there was nowhere to look since-- Please-- Please-- Please-- PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE-- It made her angry and she tried to push out against it, snuff it out right then and there but it only got louder and louder until Lyric felt blood on her-- But she wasn’t hurt, she couldn’t be-- A bridge. A city. No architecture she could recognize-- The Song was humming and shrieking together now. She shouldn’t be here. No, no. Not her-- Someone else. There was-- A small, ugly creature stepping across a body. The clatter of metals. The crooning of water moving deep below the earth. Ripping-- Something thin and living-- Something thick and odious splattering against stone and THEN-- Lyric could see the foggy eye of It. It looked right at her and pulled up its mouth in a smile and said, “I can /s e e/ you.” Lyric awoke with a start in the darkness.  The Script was warm against her side.