#at least not without obstructing the view of the ring which is important to see so ya | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drabbles-of-writing · 3 years

Text

Electric Love

This is part of my Wing AU

AO3

Masterpost

Summary: In Amity's defense, Luz would've flown into that thunderstorm if she'd agreed to it or not. The least she could do was be there to make sure nothing bad happened. Though, this was Luz she was talking about. Crazy things would happen with or without supervision.

Dry thunderstorms were nothing new to the Isles. They were among the most common storms, really. If there was lightning, then there was a relatively decent chance there’d be no boiling rain.

Which also led to a rather popular game among the young and reckless known as Thunderdiving. A sport where one would fly into the center of the thunderstorm and spend however long they deemed necessary dodging and flying through strikes of lightning. Flying through a heavily clouded sky is already dangerous enough, what with the possibility of smacking into whatever else was flying or getting lost and crashing. But to fly among conditions such as that plus lightning? It was practically a death sentence. No wonder teenagers liked daring each other to play it.

Now, Amity had never taken interest in it. Her parents would’ve murdered her if they were to find out she tried to Thunderdive. Didn’t stop the twins, though. Amity can name three separate times the twins came back from a dry thunderstorm, shaken up but still whooping and cheering at having survived it with whatever group of equally idiot teens they went with. Only after the third time, when Emira narrowly avoided getting her wing shot like a lightning rod, did they call it quits.

And Amity was fine never knowing anything else about the sport. Even if her siblings hadn’t come back shaken up, she wouldn’t have had any interest in it. Who, pray tell, would be idiotic enough to know the dangers of Thunderdiving and still want to participate? It was absurd!

Unfortunately for her, Amity had a nasty habit of being surrounded by those kinds of people.

A clap of thunder roared through the air, making Amity pause. She leaned up from her bed, peering out her window. Sure enough, the ominous clouds from earlier had descended upon Bonesborough in no time. There didn’t appear to be any rain, so Amity simply shrugged and sat back in her bed, continuing with reading the Azura book that Luz had gifted her. She finished it long ago, but rereading it wouldn’t hurt.

And that would’ve been her whole day; reading as the dry thunderstorm passed overhead, with nothing but the occasional lightning out her window to distract her.

If it hadn’t been for her crystal ball to begin ringing.

Amity’s wings twitched at her sides and she sighed. She cast a glance to her bedside table, expecting someone like Boscha. It’d be on-brand for her to call in the middle of a storm when bored.

Instead, she saw the name Luz spread across the crystal ball.

Amity jerked up, wings snapping to her sides as she completely ditched her book in favor of wildly reaching for the crystal ball. She nearly knocked it off her table in her haste, but managed to secure a good hold on it before yanking it back towards her.

She takes a moment to pause and take in a deep breath, checking her reflection in the crystal ball. She ran a hand through her hair, making sure none of it was sticking up. She hoped her wings were neat enough that, should they be seen through the clear ball, she wouldn’t look as much of a mess as she felt.

With that, and a slow inhale, Amity accepted the call.

“Hi, Amity!” Luz beamed, her face quickly overtaking the ball. She continued speaking before Amity could even think of responding. “So, out of curiosity, did the twins happen to mention anything important to you about dry thunderstorms?”

That caught Amity’s attention. Luz was known for odd questions here and there, but typically not so specific. The mention of the twins immediately put the kestrel on edge.

“Luz,” Amity said, a warning laced into her tone. “What are you doing?”

“Me? Nothing! I’m--I’m not doing anything.” Luz stuttered, her eyes darting everywhere but at Amity. “Just thought that, y’know, since we have a thunderstorm with no rain going on, might as well check to make sure there’s no like, secret about these things that could mangle me.”

“And why would the twins know this?” Amity asked patiently, despite all her internal alarms going off.

“Well, I sorta,” Luz’s hand came into frame, scratching at the back of her neck. Amity could see the faint outline of her wings twitching behind her. “I heard that they, uh, had experience with dry thunderstorms.”

“Only really with--” Amity paused, trailing off as the piece clicked in her mind. “Thunderdiving,” She said blankly. “You mean with Thunderdiving.”

“Oh, is that what they did?” Luz asked in a far-too innocent voice. “Had no idea.”

“Luz,” Amity growled, her ears flicking back as her eyes narrowed. “What,” She repeated, with an edge to her tone. “Are you doing?”

Luz stared back at her, eyes wide and guilty. She could see her wings hunch up to her shoulders, like she could shield herself subtly and avoid getting called out. She mumbled something under her breath.

“Luz,”

“It sounded fun--”

“Oh for the Titan’s sake.” Amity groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I’m coming over, don’t you even think about flying in this.”

“Maybe I’ll be in the air by the time you get here,” Luz snorted. “Unless, of course, you flew here…” Luz trailed off, her voice taking on a hopeful tone. “But then that would make you a hypocrite, wouldn’t it?” She added teasingly.

“You know, I’m starting to regret learning to fly.” Amity muttered, swinging her legs off the side of her bed and standing up.

“No you don’t.” Luz cheerfully singsonged.

“Debatable,” Amity shrugged, despite the smile on her face. “Point is, do not fly until I get there.”

“So I can fly after you get here then?” Luz asked excitedly.

“Absolutely no--”

“Too late! No take backs!” Luz crowed. With that, and a fast flourish of feathers through the crystal ball, the call abruptly ended.

Amity, not for the first time, was left wondering why Luz, of all people, just had to be the one she was so fond of.

Amity did not fly to the Owl House, thank you very much. She may have, however, simply ‘boosted’ herself along by flapping her wings. She knew Luz said she wouldn’t fly in this storm (for now), but she also knew Luz wasn’t known for patience.

Lightning flashed, striking some part of the ocean in the distance, causing Amity to flinch for barely a moment. Thunder rolled overhead not long after, almost being mistakable for an earthquake.

She slipped through the trees that surrounded the old house, cursing quietly as he tugged her foot out of a small thicket of brambles. She stumbled, catching herself on the trunk of a tree. Grumbling, she looked around it, trying to judge how far she was from the house.

Turns out, not far at all. Because immediately upon seeing the structure, her vision was quickly enveloped by the bane of her existence.

“Hi, again!” Hooty yelled, or at least sounded as such. He always sounded like he was shouting. “Luz told me not to kick you out, so we can chat now!” He said gleefully.

“Get out of my face,” Amity hissed, her wings flaring behind her as they puffed up. “Before I rip off yours.”

“Hooty! Leave Amity alone!”

Luz’s voice had never been so divine. With great reluctance, Hooty retracted his face and looked back, up to the roof of the Owl House. Amity, with her sight no longer obstructed, could see Luz sitting on the very edge of the roof, her legs dangling off. Her wings were relaxed at her sides, almost draping as she lightly swung her feet.

“I was just saying hi!” Hooty complained.

“And you did a great job, Hooty.” Luz said patiently, if not exasperated. “Go back to the door, please.”

“Hmph! At least someone appreciates me around here.” Hooty grumbled, his weird tube body retracting back into the front door, where he continued to mutter to himself.

“Eugh,” Amity shuttered, her wings lying flat once more. She hated that thing.

“Sorry about him,” Luz said, her voice drifting and faint from the distance between them. “But you should come up here! Views great,” She added happily.

“You're going to get struck by lightning,” Amity sighed.

But even she couldn’t deny the request. Her dyed-green wings spread, creaking in protest at the movement. Even with her flight nearly back to normal, they still weren’t used to being opened completely. She figured (read: hoped) it would get better with time.

Amity stepped out of the trees with a flourish of her wings, rising to the air with minor difficulty as she soared towards the roof. Luz’s grin brightened as she approached, and Amity squandered down the little jump her heart did at the sight. Land first, panic about the cute sparrow later.

Amity folded her wings back as her feet brushed the tile of the roof, holding her arms out to keep her balance as she dropped back down via gravity.

“Personally, I think you could balance better by keeping your wings spread.” Luz said, looking over her shoulder from where she sat as Amity reoriented herself. “Tilts things around better. Though that's more a preference.”

Amity turned, huffing good-naturedly as she let her arms fall.

“I’ll keep that in mind!”

Amity’s sentence was cut off as thunder roared overhead, even managing to make the ground tremble slightly. She stumbled, her hands quickly connecting with Luz’s wing. The human had raised it up to catch Amity, blinking in concern as Amity clung to it for a few moments until the thunder faded out.

“You alright?” Luz asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

“Fine,” Amity said curtly, quickly letting go of Luz’s wing. Even knowing that Luz wouldn’t have offered it if she didn’t feel Amity had the right to touch her wings, it still put her on edge.

“I’m not typically out during thunderstorms.” She mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Which you shouldn’t be, either.” She added right after, fixing Luz a pointed look.

“Hey, it's a storm with no boiling rain!” Luz persisted, getting to her feet as she gestured out to the sky. “You expect me to sit inside when I don’t have to?”

“Please note that there is still lightning.” Amity said, pressing the palms of her hands together. The sky flashed white for a brief second, enunciating her point.

“I mean, in the human realm, the chances of getting struck by lightning are pretty slim.” Luz shrugged, her wings mimicking the gesture. “Unless you're at a high point with metal. Which I will not be taking with me up there.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How much do I have to stress that this is a horrible idea for you to go back inside?” Amity asked, her wings squeezing tighter at her sides. “Just because the twins Thunderdived doesn’t mean that it's a good, or safe, idea. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Too late, made up my mind.” Luz teased, her wings raising slightly over her back as she looked back to the sky as a less-destructive clap of thunder sounded overhead. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

“Your idea of fun is sitting in the maw of a hungry demon and daring it to eat you.” Amity deadpanned. “Where’s Eda, anyway? Surely she’s at least a little responsible with Thunderdiving?”

“Eda’s out stealing with King, I think.” Luz said, face scrunched up in thought. “She just said it had to do with business and left. Which either means she got a deal on something or felt like pestering the Warden again.”

“It’s a miracle you're still alive.” Amity groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll say,” Luz agreed, looking down to the ground far below. “Now, since you're here, I believe there’s some lightning that needs to be evaded.” She said, her wings arching and opening up as she crouched on the edge of the roof like a feathery gargoyle.

“Don’t you dare,” Amity growled, reaching for Luz.

In the same movement, Luz pitched over the ledge. She dove up almost instantly, but the sight still gave Amity’s stomach a sharp drop for a solid second. Luz flew just out of reach, spinning around and hovering in the air with a wide grin plastered on her face.

“Tell you what,” Luz said, mocking the impression of being deep in thought. “I won’t Thunderdive, if,” She raised a finger at that, despite Amity not even attempting to interrupt. “You can catch me.” She said, smirking like she’d made the deal of the century.

“...are you seriously gambling with your life on a game of tag?” Amity demanded incrudeously, once again questioning why this was the person she cared a stupid amount for.

“You make it sound so dramatic,” Luz whined, crossing her arms. “Plenty of people survive Thunderdiving.”

“Surviving is not the same as avoiding plummeting into the ocean.” Amity stressed, seconds away from knocking her head against something.

“Guess you’ll have to be fast then.” Luz said with a shrug, her tail flaring out. “Race you!”

With that, Luz shot off into the air, causing a breeze to ruffle Amity’s hair and wings. For a sparrow, she was remarkably quick at how she sped into the air and up towards the looming darkening clouds, thunder booming around them.

“Luz!” Amity snapped, more annoyed than anything. She leapt off the roof as well, taking half a second more to orient herself in the air before shooting off after her.

Now, being a kestrel, Amity obviously had the upper hand on speed. No matter how fast Luz boasted she could be, she was still a sparrow. In a straight-line flight, Amity would’ve caught up with little effort, even with her wings limited use.

However, what Luz lacked in speed, she made up for tenfold in agility and tricks. Amity blamed Eda for all of that.

So it was no surprise (albeit it still frustrating) that when Amity found herself surrounded by swaths of storm clouds, Luz was already long hidden. The dark masses providing perfect cover for her duller feathers. And while Amity could scarcely tell up from down, Luz never seemed to be bothered by it in the slightest.

“Luz!” Amity called, deciding it best to glide in a large circle. “I thought this was tag, not hide-and-seek!” She gruffed, eyes scanning the clouds.

Another point to Amity’s team. She had far sharper vision. Meaning that should Luz stray so much as a hair too far out of her cover, Amity would spot her in seconds. Hopefully.

“But it makes it so much more fun!” Luz crowed, causing Amity to spin around.

Luz flew like a bullet, a mere few meters away, as she ducked and dove through another clump of clouds.

Thunder roared in Amity’s ears as she sighed, tucking in her wings and diving after her. Amity broke from the dark mass and came to a cleared-out section in the sky. Clouds were still all around her, but the storm seemed almost hollowed-out, leaving rolling stretches of clear sight.

And with a strike of lightning in the distance, Amity’s eyes instantly locked onto a distant shape flying right through the middle of it, closer to the lower-level clouds.

Amity took off, keeping high as she began to overtake Luz. The human appeared oblivious to where Amity had gone, her head moving back and forth as she scanned everywhere but up.

Amity squandered the impulse to call out. Instead she took a deep breath, reigning herself in before sharply yanking her wings to her sides, nearly folding them completely.

She dropped like a stone, careening straight down towards Luz. Her wings tensed, ready to flare out and stop her descent at a moment's notice. She wanted to catch Luz, not strike her out of the sky.

Perhaps it was the sound of her diving, or maybe it was simple intuition, but just as Amity was nearly upon Luz, the sparrow spun around. Her eyes widened right as lightning flashed. Amity was close enough she swore she could see it reflect in her gaze.

At a speed Amity would chalk up to magic if she weren’t human, Luz rolled out of the way, her wings whirling as she dropped for a second before darting to the side. Amity flared out her wings as she missed, almost giving herself whiplash at how quick her descent stopped.

“That’s the spirit!” Luz cheered, flying around Amity as she shook her head and steadied herself.

“Spirit, huh?” Amity parroted, taking the moment to twist around and lunge.

Luz, completely unbothered, simply rolled out of the way again with a laugh, rising a few feet in the air. She gave a happy chirrup, now tauntingly flying in a circle around Amity.

“That's the best you got?” Luz teased, doing a cocky flip in the air.

Thunder rumbled around them. Amity was very aware that Luz was purposefully egging her on, getting both of them caught in Thunderdiving.

She couldn’t find it in her to care right then.

“You wish,” Amity huffed, bolting towards Luz in the same instance.

Luz squealed excitedly, almost getting a wing to the face as she ducked and shot up back into the clouds, Amity close behind.

Luz twisted and dipped through the sky, trying and failing to give Amity the slip. And despite Amity’s best efforts to treat this seriously, she couldn’t help but laugh alongside her. It was fun, dare she say it. Though never in the proximity of the twins. She’d never hear the end of it.

Luz darted around Amity again before shooting into the air, diving straight up before pausing, her momentum slowing. Amity tilted her head as she watched, admittedly intrigued.

When Luz hit the peak of her ascent she trilled, tucking in her wings and flipping backwards before diving back down again. She flew right over Amity’s head as she passed, giggling and, though Amity couldn’t be completely sure, a little nervous.

“What are--”

Amity’s amused inquiry was cut off by a roar of thunder, feeling like her brain was rattling in her skull. Luz, unbothered as ever, swung back around in her flight to cuff the tip of Amity’s wing with her own, whooping gleefully.

“Wha--unfair!” Amity shouted, fumbling in the air for a moment before shooting after her.

Luz cackled and flew up again, wings tucked close as she flipped through the air. Lightning struck in the distance, highlighting both girls for mere moments.

Once again, Luz cheerfully chirruped when she reached her peak and dove back down, ruffling Amity’s feathers as she zoomed by.

It was a pattern Amity had seen before from other birds of prey. Usually at some dinner party or get-together her parents hosted. Typically from the other snobby rich kids who wanted to impress the eye of a Blight. It had always been one of the most shoehorned spectacles Amity had the misfortune of witnessing.

And as Luz made a noise similar to a chatter and dove right by Amity, throwing taunts behind her, Amity wondered if she was aware of this. She was quick to dismiss the thought and shook her head, calling back to Luz with a jeering crow.

Luz did things that sparrows normally never even thought about all the time. The few times anyone had pointed it out, Luz had always stared back blankly. Luz was just, well, Luz. She did whatever she felt like doing with the only reason being because it was fun and she wanted to.

She simply didn’t know.

Didn’t mean Amity was gonna stop her, though.

Amity shook out of her thoughts before beating her wings and soaring after Luz, who had flew around a spiral of clouds with a mischievous grin.

“And you said this was a bad idea,” Luz teased, ducking to the side as Amity flew right by her.

“It is.” Amity huffed, tilting her wings to glide back around, allowing for their game to pause. Because it was hard to talk while chasing after an uncatchable human, of course, why else?

“You sure?” Luz asked, giving Amity a smug look over her shoulder that did not make her wings falter, that would be ridiculous. “Because I’d almost say you're having fun.” She teased.

“That doesn’t mean this isn’t an awful idea,” Amity reminded, the thunder rumbling around them enunciating her point. “We could go flying any day, but in a thunderstorm is the worst time.” She said, forcing herself to let her wings relax when Luz began flying at a leisurely pace, resisting the urge to chase after her again.

“Hey, we haven’t been struck yet.” Luz pointed out, turning so that she could face Amity while flying backwards (how she managed that so casually, Amity wished she knew). “The twins must’ve taught you enough then, huh?”

“The twins have taught me a total of three things in my life.” Amity said, a bitter tone not going unnoticed. “Don’t trust them with anything of importance, how to sell any absurd lie, and that Thunderdiving is a terrible, Titan-awful idea.”

“Can really feel the familial love,” Luz said blankly. “Look on the bright side, now that you're here, we both get a learning experience.”

Lighting struck twice in the distance, catching the girls eyes for a brief second.

“How fun,” Amity sighed, slowly tearing her eyes away from where the lightning had been. “I still don’t know why you thought it would be a good idea to ask me for the twins. Even without a dry thunderstorm, that's gotta be the most suspicious thing you could ever ask.”

“Heh, yeah, well, we’re here now.” Luz said, glancing to Amity for a quick second before tilting her wings until she was flying a few feet below and to the left of Amity, her gaze pointed forwards.

Amity narrowed her eyes, positive that Luz knew she was staring at her now and was ignoring her. There was something nagging at the back of Amity’s mind, and from experience, it was probably best to follow thoughts like that.

“Hey,” Amity said, her voice slow as memories were pushed to the front of her mind. The way Luz’s entire body tensed so violently that she almost froze midair was so comical Amity almost lost her train of thought to snort at it.

“Don’t you have the twins' numbers?” She asked, raising a brow.

“Oh, do I?” Luz said, her voice a few octaves higher as she looked sideways towards Amity, her eyes notably wider.

“Yeah, didn’t you share numbers with them when I was preparing you for Grom because they thought it’d be fun to grab you for some scheme if you survived?” Amity said, not even bothering with a suspicious tone. She could tell from the first tense she had been right.

“Huh,” Luz said, visibly swallowing as she looked away. “Weird. Must’ve forgotten.”

Amity gave Luz possibly one of her best unamused expressions to date, which she had the audacity to refuse to look at.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Amity deadpanned, the realizations coming to her mere moments before she said them. “You,” Amity blinked, her words coming out as shocked and maybe a little impressed. “You wanted me to come here!”

Luz turned her head to Amity then, looking guiltier than Gus after being caught trying to get petty revenge on Mattholomule for the third time in a week. Her hands fiddled together as her wings looked like they wanted to hunch up, but couldn’t due to them being the only things stopping her from plummeting.

“I mean…” Luz said slowly, her eyes darting this way and that. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Amity, if anything, was far more dismayed that she’d fallen for the most basic trick in the book than the fact Luz had goaded her into doing something as recklessly stupid as Thunderdiving. And that must’ve shown on her face, because Luz looked like she didn’t know if she should laugh or be concerned.

“You sneak!” Amity cried, taking Luz’s unsure state to tuck into a dive right for her.

Luz yelped and barely managed to dodge, her tail feathers brushing the tips of Amity’s fingers. Luz whirled around from where she escaped a few meters below Amity, fear flashing across her features for a swift moment until she saw the determined smile on Amity’s face.

“You're just mad that it worked!” Luz laughed, with only a hint of worry in her tone.

“Just for that, I’m going to tell Willow about this.” Amity said, raising her chin defiantly before darting towards Luz once more.

“You wouldn’t!” Luz gasped in playful offense. “Willow would know that you were out here, too!”

“I’m not the one who wanted to fly in a storm!” Amity shot back. “I’m innocent by reason of trying to do the responsible thing.”

“You're still here, though.”

“Because you won’t stay still!”

They went around in circles, making themselves dizzy as they dodged and dove between darkened clouds. The only way to tell up from down was by pausing the beating of their wings and letting gravity overtake them before they went right back to doing loop-de-loops.

Luz shot up through a swath of clouds, wings arched slightly as she rose into the air with the dark, almost black, clouds at her back. Amity tilted her head up, letting her wings pause briefly in the air as she watched, maybe a little entranced. Possibly.

Luz turned, gazing down to grin at Amity as her descend paused.

And lightning lit up practically on top of her.

She swore in that moment that it looked like the lightning had cut right through Luz. She shut her eyes a moment after, the light blinding her momentarily as she jerked back and rubbed at them.

“Luz?” She called, blinking her eyes rapidly a moment later. “Luz! Where--”

The sparrow wasn’t there. Amity whirled around, wings almost failing in keeping her upright due to the speed at how fast she looked all around, not knowing if she should be relieved or not she couldn't see anything plummeting to the ground. Did the clouds swallow her up? Was she already on the ground? Were they over the ocean? She couldn’t see--

“Amity!”

She startled, feathers flaring up as Luz appeared from a cluster of clouds. Shaken, clearly, her eyes were heavily contracted and darting about. But flying, albeit wonkily, and that was the important part.

“Great Isles!” Amity breathed, not even aware of her wings moving until she was right in front of Luz, grabbing at her arms and flicking her eyes over her for any mark that wasn’t there previously.

“I’m-I’m okay, hey,” Luz shook her head, tail twitching. “Barely even grazed me, I promise.”

“Barely is not the same as didn’t,” Amity stressed, eyes finally landing on her right wing.

Three secondary feathers were gone, instead replaced by smoldering black stumps. The ends of the feathers surrounding it were tipped with ash, too. Lucky it wasn’t any primary feathers, or Luz might have actually begun to fall.

“Oh Titan,” Amity murmured, eyes locked onto the hole through Luz’s wing. She could see now Luz was favoring her right wing.

“You weren’t kidding about lightning being nasty, huh?” Luz said, following her gaze and looking over the blackened feathers. “I mean, I knew it was, but I wasn’t expecting it to, you know, be out for blood.”

“Please don’t joke about being hit by lightning,” Amity said quietly, shoulders hunching.

“Hey, hey,” Luz pulled an arm free of Amity’s grasp, also grabbing at her and getting her to look away from the missing feathers. “I’m fine. Nothing that won’t grow back.” She assured.

Thunder rumbled through the sky, causing both of them to flinch. Their eyes darted to the sky for a moment, antsy and waiting for the flash of lightning.

It lit up the sky further away, highlighting the two of them before it died out.

“I think I’ve had enough Thunderdiving for today.” Luz eventually said, tearing her gaze away from where the lightning had hit and back to Amity. “Besides,” She added as she rose up her arm, showing Amity was still tightly clinging to her. “You caught me.” She said, giving a small smile.

Amity blinked, staring at where she was hanging onto Luz so tightly her claws looked close to piercing the skin. She jerked her hands back, offering a nervous, apologetic smile.

“Yeah, right, course.” Amity nodded, flying a few paces back. “Gotta get that wing checked out, and...all that.”

“Think I could spin it off that Hooty was the reason for this?” Luz asked, readjusting her wings so she was flying more towards her uninjured side.

“I’ll be your witness,” Amity agreed, glancing back as thunder rolled through the sky.

“Cool,” Luz smiled, shaking her head and flickering her distant gaze away from the dark clouds. Amity almost asked if she was alright again before she called out; “Last one to the House has to get in through the window!”

Luz took that same moment to tuck in her wings and plummet.

“Wh--don’t dive on a wing with missing feathers!” Amity squawked, feathers fluffing up as she dove right after her.

Luz’s laughs answered her. Leaving Amity wondering, for possibly the fifth time in two weeks, how Luz had lasted things long to begin with.

But hey, if Luz can survive a run-in with lightning, she could probably survive anything.

77 notes · View notes

thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

I will search the world, I will face it’s harms

A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve ever written lmao. Please let me know what you think. Can also be found on ao3: [I will search the world, I will face it’s harms]

Summary: Richie pushes Eddie out of the way in the nick of time but get harmed in the process.

The deadlights are by far the weirdest experience Richie has ever been through. His awareness is muffled, and the things pennywise shows him appear secluded from him by murky and unpassable water. It’s not like virtual reality, it’s more a television show Richie follows intently, and can’t see to tear his eyes away from. He is the main roll, but he’s viewing himself from a third party.

IT’s inspirations are clearly running dry, he repeats the same things over and over again, until even with only half a mind present, Richie notices that nothing that is happening is real. Unfortunately, that doesn’t take the fear away, rather adds something extra. The time Richie devotes to separate reality from illusion is time easier access to the deepest parts of his brain, the spots that sting the most when they’re touched upon, and Pennywise exploits with glee.

Eddie taunts him, more than a few times, sometimes about his personality and how he’s too fucking annoying to be friends or something more with, other times it’s simply about him being gay. The circumstances change, Richie confessing to Eddie after Neibolt, or Richie phoning in on Eddie from a thousand mile away, and rarely, Eddie and Richie are dating as Eddie packs his bags and tyrants over the fact that he can’t stand to be in the same room as the man who gets under his skin like a persistent itch, something that pricks and prods until you can’t stand it anymore.

Those situation are few and far between, and they’re the easiest for Richie to conform untrue, for a relationship with Eddie is something he prayed for every night as a kid, but also something he knows will always be out of reach.

When Pennywise gets bored of impersonating Eddie, he resorts to the other losers instead. There’s no other people in Richie’s life that have the ability to hurt him after all, in LA the he hardly has acquaintances. Bev kindly showing up to his apartment, her drawing the short straw, to tell him that he can’t hang out with the group anywhere, because Eddie feels uncomfortable with him now.

When Richie throws his all to promise that he won’t do it anymore, that he never planned on telling Eddie his true feelings in the first place, Bev pats his knee sadly, telling him that it’s too late to change now. She, nor any of his other friends, are ever disgusted by the fact that he’s into men, just revolted that he’s into Eddie specifically. Smart thinking on IT’s part, since Richie knows deep down his friends could never hate him solely for the type of person he falls in love with.

The illusion blur together, repeating themselves faster and faster and freezing all notions Richie conceives and he longs to bury himself in the water so this hell ends faster. Richie is pretty clueless about what happened to the kids Pennywise ate, but he hopes they died instantly and without long to worry about what was taken place.

Eddie, or at least Pennywise adaptation of him, turns his head ever so slightly to look real Richie in the eyes, his smirk so open it rips the side of his mouth and turns into carved smile– Richie still believes him to be handsome, and that’s pathetic – then says; ‘Richie. You’re going to let me die too?’

Richie frowns, disorientated, because that’s new. IT’s never addressed him before, and then he falls down harshly, his legs roughing the force of it all and docking on his back with a loud smack. His head slams the surface, brittle pricking his back and possibly leaving tiny indents from the force on which he landed on them. The drop skidders Richie after he already came to a stop, echoing and prolonging his suffering.

Eddie crawls on top of him, hands located on either side of Richie’s head to stabilize himself, crowding over him and in doing so obstructing his view of Pennywise. He’s but a breath away from actually nudging against Richie, and Richie urges to turn his head and connect their skin.

‘Rich, Rich.’

Richie squeezes his eyes shut to ground him, the images flashing in his mind rendering him delusional and unable to focus on anything, except Eddie when their eyes connect.

‘Yeah, there he is.’ Eddie beams, so different from the person IT represented him to be. His words echo in Richie head, ‘you’re going to let me die too’ sounds like a warning, and if Richie could hold on to a thought for longer than a second he might be able to process it and do something about it.

‘I think I did it, I think I killed IT’, he’s so proud of himself, and brave and Richie wants to thank him, longs to reach up and tangle his fingers in Eddie’s hair and draw their faces closer, to kiss him, and he does, tugging on Eddie’s cloths to have him lean in, but then the words repeat and he chooses to instinctively push Eddie off of him with all the might he possesses.

Not that that’s much, compared to Eddie Richie’s physic is one of a sad old lump of potato’s and there was no way Eddie didn’t work out every day, - god wouldn’t that be a sight to see- so it’s only by the surprise that Eddie lets himself roll to the side, his eyes wide and unclear about Richie’s intention.

Richie’s unsure of his own intent, just that it was something he needed to do to keep Eddie safe told to him by a feeling in his gut, but when he rolls over to guard Eddie with his body, his leg protests painfully. Broken, most likely, after the fall, but the moment of hesitation is enough to have Pennywise viciously strike. Then his broken leg and the brittle, more obnoxious than anything else, is the least of his concerns. Any lingering doubts about this being another show from a different caliber in the death lights evaporate like the wind.

It hurts way worse than it has any right too, but then again, Richie has never been stabbed by an intergalactic demon before, so what does he truly know anyway. The claw strikes him in the stomach, and Richie mistakenly glances down, blood spouting from the wound like a garden hose. His breath hitches, panicky cupping around the claw to stop the bleeding, but all he succeeds in doing is coating his hands in the dark red liquid. The pain radiates from his stomach to the tips of his toe and his head, not a single spot left unscathed, just a competition of which part causes the most anguish.

‘Richie’, Eddie freaks, laying next to him and staring shell shocked at the scene. In the distance, Bill bellows a ‘no’. Pennywise lifts his entire body up from the floor effortlessly, dangling him up like a piece of meat and discarding him across the other side of the cave. He hits the cave wall first, and tumbles down with his side scaling the edges of pointy rocks, scramming his wounds further.

His hands enclose uselessly around air, finding nothing to stop himself from plummeting. The ground awaits him with open arms, Richie’s head ricocheting on a large piece of rock where his head cascades on, splitting open his forehead. Merciless, Richie welcomes the blackness that sinks him into unconsciousness, but not before hearing Eddie agonizing shout of Richie’s name.

----

Occasionally, Richie picks up on bits and pieces of a conversation he actively should be involved in, - this is still a life or death situation - but he’s too far gone in his own head to do anything but bite his lips as an outlet instead of screaming out in torment.

Eddie wills him awake by the sheer force of desperation and howling, his words interrupted by his own sobs and harsh heaving. Richie strains his eyes open, and he’s no longer positioned in the way Pennywise threw him down. He sits up in an enclosed space within the cave, watching Bill’s back step away from him and rush over to follow the only other person he can see, Ben.

He almost screams for them to come back, he doesn’t want to die alone, but then he notices that he’s not alone at all, and that Eddie is fluttering around him, jacketless with a stripe of blood smudge across his forehead. Eddie hates that, he washes away the tinniest piece of dirt to himself up clean up, water costs be damned, but he doesn’t put in the effort to rub it away. If Richie could do it for him, he would.

He’d done it before in middle school, when Eddie in his hast to run away from Richie trying to dry his wet hands on Eddie’s back, collided with an opening door, hitting him full force just above his hairline. He’d frighteningly looked to Richie for guidance, who saw the blood and decided to conceal it, pretending like everything was okay. He’d carried the guilt all day, until Eddie set the record straight and ensured Richie he was not mad at all, he in fact found it quite funny, and swore to Richie that he better watched his back at all times.

The revenge was a push from the quarry cliff with his dry clothes still on, while Eddie stood high and mighty over the edge cackling at his demise.

Richie lolls sideways with most of his weight resting on Eddie, who shrugs it off like Richie weighs nothing and continues to babble, even though the ringing in Richie’s ears is still going strong and he can’t distinct anything tangible. His thoughts are scattered and grasping onto them does nothing, they slip away like sand between fingers.

He focuses really hard, because Eddie always says important stuff, and Richie always listens to him like he hung the moon, so this time shouldn’t be an exception. It might be the last time he’ll be able to.

Thanks to some unforeseen force, his glasses, cracked and skewed, are still on. How they managed to stay tucked on Richie’s face is unbeknownst to him, after the throwing and falling, but Richie’s indebted.

‘Come on Rich, it’s okay. I’ve gathered a plan. We’ll be out of here in no time.’ Eddie remains sturdy, a solid force Richie can tap energy for himself, but the disheveled hair and trembling bottom lip indicate that Eddie is not doing as well as he wants Richie to believe.

Eddie’s jacket serves as a cloth to tampon Richie’s blood, drenched in blood with some of it caked on already. Richie wonders how long he was out for.

‘Eddie, we need you’, Mike beckons him over, pleading Eddie to aid them in the fight. Weakly Richie ushers him off, but this time Eddie is prepared and steels himself, not allowing him to move an inch.

‘They’ll deal with it on their own. I’m staying’, he firmly says, leaving no room for argument, and Richie’s too tired for familiar banter, so he lets the issue rest.

He shrivels the top part of the cardigan up when Eddie’s distracted, so he can prod at his open laceration, in awe of the amount of blood it continues to spew. The injury is large enough that realistically the cloth won’t help much, even Richie can tell, the intestines peek out into the open world, a place they’ve never seen and Richie hoped they never would. ‘Wow’, he breathes lamely, capturing Eddie’s focus.

Eddie shrieks in panic. ‘Don’t touch that Richie. Stop. Is that your thing huh? Pain’, he shoots for a joke but only manages to draw out a chuckle laced with coughs of blood.

‘It doesn’t’, Richie tries, pausing to swallow a large cluster of blood back down.

‘What doesn’t Rich?’

‘Hurt. I can’t feel anything.’

And it’s true, the torment is no longer present to force Richie to suffer until his last breath, a fitting end to his life that proceeded it. In place is left no feeling at all, not even Eddie’s hand who touches his bare skin to steady him. The only thing Richie can definitively notice, is that he’s freezing cold. In a way he’s never been before.

The cold is bone deep, icing in his veins as severe as the time he went sleiing in his yard without putting on gloves or a thick coat to cover him and ended up with pneumonia. He angles for his sweater disposed by the entrance of the cave, but Eddie is blind to see what Richie is trying to convey and his muscles stop cooperating, falling helplessly in a heap on his lap. Tiredness is weighing him down.

Richie could ask Eddie for a hug, he’s that cold that he’s willing to put his dignity on the line, but Pennywise could be lurking and Eddie has to be alert to protect himself, and Richie assumes that not even Eddie’s warmth will heat him up enough to get rid of this chill.

The eyelid of Eddie’s doe eye twitches, defeating the purpose of forcing a smile on his face and a reassuring shrug, and baring his soul to Richie who’s always know all about his tells. Eddie’s worried, never a good sign, and Richie dares to think about what’s going to happen next. His death. There’s no way out with him, the descent down the well alone enough trouble than he’s worth, and if the fucking clown plays hard to get for much longer, the fight will simmer on for a lot longer.

‘Richie look at me, come on asshole look at me.’ Eddie inches Richie’s face his way, the hand on his jaw helping him do it completely numb to Richie. Since Eddie refrains him from poking his wound, Richie nibbles on his bottom lip, biting down hard enough it should leave a small injury for him to distinguish. All it accomplishes is adding more blood pooling in his mouth.

‘Come on Rich. You’re the most talkative person I’ve ever met in my life, tell me about your first stand up performance huh, what was that like?’ Eddie pleads, shoving his fabric deeper into the wound, now Richie confessed he’s unfeeling.

‘No, iss not nteresting enough Eds.’ He might slur, but at this point his surrounding are coated in a haziness Richie can’t shake off. His first stand-up was scheduled two weeks after leaving Derry, and his gags all had been derived of moments shared with the losers. By the time he began spouting off joke after joke he figured he had gotten his inspiration from other people’s life experiences, mind blank on providing clues about his best friends. It’s too sad and frustrating to reminisce on the abandonment that hit him full force for the first time after the show, and wouldn’t leave for a very long time.

The nickname alights something in Eddie, breaks down the last of his defenses of a stoic face and lets him burst out in hysteric tears and weeps, hitting Richie to the deepest of his core.

‘It is Richie. I want to know. I’ll be the target for you to dummy practice your voices and jokes on in the future, and I won’t roast you, I promise.’

‘I lke getting roastd by you Eds.’

Eddie drops his head to heave in a laugh, looking back once to see where there’s friends are and then whisking back as if to prevent Richie from dying the second he refocuses his sight. In any other situation Richie would preen, occupying all of Eddie’s attention, but this is in a slightly different way than Richie imagined.

‘Then I will. I’ll argue with you all night long. I want to discover who you were growing up and the mistakes you made, and I’ll even spill the beans on my greatest failures and trust me’, a humorless laugh, ‘there’s a lot of them. Please give me that change Rich. I can’t have the chance if you die on me now.’

Richie spits out a swath of blood, dripping down his chin before getting swooped up by the back of Eddie’s wrist to clean him.

‘Eddie, I.’ coughing, Richie takes a breather and mulls over what he share with Eddie now. Part of him argues to lock his secret up in a box and hide it ten feet underground – he’ll be buried with it soon – so no one will ever find it and expose it, and so Eddie can remember him with fondness, not with barely concealed revolt that Richie wanted to swipe spit with him. Another part yearns to shout it so loud it echoes the cave and shoves it in Pennywise’s dumb fucking face that he, like Eddie, can be brave too, and was, at the very end.

‘Shh, don’t work yourself up. You’re going to occupy a lot of strength during recovery.’

Eddie talks to him like Richie has the smallest change to survive, which he does not, but it makes Richie calmer, the knowledge that someone believes in him and in how long he can hold out.

Fatigue begins to call on him, angling him away from Eddie to slide down and lay on his side so he can sleep. It’s not rational, if anything he’d rest on Eddie for as long as he’s permitted, but Eddie will be pissed if he sleeps, so maybe he won’t regard it this way.

‘Hell no you won’t.’ A hand on his biceps manhandles, with great fumbling on both parts, him to sit with his back towards Eddie’s chest, giving Eddie the opportunity to both hold the wound closed and Richie to sag in comfort, trapping him between muscular arms he wishes he could feel.

‘Please Rich, tell me what I need to talk about to keep you awake. I’ll talk about fucking bread if that’s what you’re interested in as long as you don’t close your eyes.’

Richie chuckles softly, more exhaling than actually snickering, swinging his head from side to side.

‘alk bready to ‘e.’

‘Your jokes suck even more than usual.’

Ouch, is what Richie tries to say, but his lips tingle and won’t cooperate.

Eddie’s chest puffs up and down, the muscles on his legs locking so tight they vibrate in anxiousness. Richie pulls on a string of textile, tugging it out of place and it gives, then discarding it to the side because Eddie can’t stand his clothes not looking pristine clean. The action is pointless, with Richie’s back now firmly held against Eddie’s shirt there’s no way he won’t throw it out.

‘Okay, then how about this, I’m going to tell you all about how fucking in love I am with you. I’m not doing in some filthy sewer without me kissing you, and I’m not kissing you with all this blood and grey water leeched to you, but I will say it, I won’t loss my nerves again. Kid me envisioned this whole life story you and I would live out when I told you about my crush, in such detail I could have beaten Ben in a story writing competition.’ Eddie pauses, staring off into the distance to relive the memories, then he resumes. ‘And then you can do with that information what you choose, but I can’t do it in here okay?’ Eddie rants, right hand wildly accentuating his words.

Richie stops breathing, the process of Eddie words too hard to handle, then he stops breathing for another reason altogether.

---

He’s resting flat down, breathing in and out in a much easier way than he caught himself doing for a while now, and the pain is mostly gone, leaving nothing but a small ache. His brain begs him to go back to sleep, to forgo any problems --if Pennywise is still alive he peacefully exempts himself from doing anything with that information thank you very much – but the pit on his stomach is swirling and nauseating him, and Richie has a history throwing up during inappropriate times, something he wants to avoid it this time. Sitting up might help, the first step in that being opening his eyes.

The edges of the sheet are tucked in so tightly that Richie finds it hard to move, which is weird because Richie kicks and tousles in his sleep so severe that the only man he ever had a one night stand with abandoned the bed to return home at two in the morning, unable to stand his fidgeting.

The medal bars on the edge of the bed chain Richie in, like he’s a toddler that needs help to prevent falling out of bed. Nothing in the room is blurry, Richie’s glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose.

A metallic taste lingers in his mouth, refusing to disintegrate no matter how many times Richie swallows it down. He aches for relief that comes in the form of drink, preferably ice cold water to sooth the burning pain flickering up in his throat.

His memories are still in his head, loud, clear and pressing, including Eddie’s confession or whatever the hell the last words he heard before tapping out were. Eddie could have said those things purely to amaze Richie so much that he would fight and hold out, not aware of the strain this would put on Richie’s emotions. Somehow Richie feels like he should examine that in greater detail, but there’s a bubble separating his mind and the memory, a cover that can be peeked under but not touched upon, shielding him from what could be a pretty nasty panic attack.

With a tad of force Richie can break the bubble and engage in the meaning behind locution, but he prefers to keep himself calm for a little while longer.

That means there’s only two options, either Pennywise is still alive and Richie is about to get fucked over, badly, or the losers somehow victoried and won, without help from him. Richie pleads for it to be the last one.

He’s in a hospital, that much is obvious by the stench of disinfected clogging up his nose, dampening the excitement of apparently surviving the hell hole Pennywise resided in.

The room, bigger than the previous one he ended up in after an escapade of binge drinking, is empty, exempting the nurse tampering with a machine attached to him by wires pricked in his skin. Richie starts counting how many but loses his record after the fourth tube.

She spares him no glance, full attention on filling in the tempo of his heartbeat, blood pressure and temperature on a nursing sheet.

Outside a group of people buzz in the hallway, sounding like the losers, but they pass Richie’s door without a moment of hesitation.

The television is paused on a crappy music video post, the song background to the wiring and buzzing of the equipment Richie is hooked up to. Robin Thicke’s blurred line annoyingly etches itself to a spot in Richie’s brain to stay for the next few days. The song is so blatantly sexist and over the top loaded with masculinity Richie accidentally let it slip in a few interviews that he liked the song, another way to hide his true self and the person behind the Trashmouth brand.

He tries to speak, but the lack of moisture catches up to him and all his is capable of letting out is a small squeak. The nurse doesn’t pick up on it, walking across the bed and stripping loose the duvet to investigate the cast on Richie’s leg.

Could it be possible that the losers scattered and went home already, unaware if Richie was okay but not caring either? Did they call Steve to deal with the mess so they didn’t have to? He doesn’t think his friends would put him through something like that, but then again, he has no idea what transpired after conking out.

His overthinking about loneliness gives way to overthinking about the state of his friends, if they’re alive and well or if Pennywise struck one last time to off another member of their close knit group.

Maybe this is an illusion, a heartless game that allows Richie to release his worries, think that he’s safe only to pull the rug out under him and dangle him in the reality where all his friends are dead.

He stops his mind before it can spiral further. If that is what happened, Richie will be glad to die too. He can’t go back to greeting people he passes in the street and that being the only communication he has all day, to engaging in a conversation with a stupid mirror because it’s the only one not judging him, spotting ever single detail about him and his appearance that makes people actively circumvent him.

Part of the reason Richie limited his social circle has to do with the amount of effort and energy a friendship sucks out of him. Scooping more and more of all the ways that made Richie, so Steve can present a preferred client on front of potential sponsors and fans. He always has to chip away at his personality, and piece together a shell of acceptable features in front of people so he has a chance at getting accepted. While starting out in the comedian branch, Richie truly believed authenticity was important, but years of experience shaved away that idea. It was never like that with the losers. It was never like that with Eddie.

The nurse empties a syringe filled with a sedative, preemptive to the pain shadowing Richie’s body but not yet attacking. His mind fizzles out, the drugs lulling him into a deep sleep.

‘Shit that’s strong,’ Richie croaks out without thinking, incapacitated by the medication. The nurse jumps away shocked, the syringe ricocheting on the ground and her hand jittering.

‘Mr Tozier?’ She inquires, voice pinched, but Richie has already said goodbye to land of the awake.

------

By the time the medication is metabolized, it’s dusk, the entire room blanketed in an orange glow. The tv is switched off. Without opening his eyes, Richie can tell Eddie is next to him, his presence comforting and attention drawing.

He still peeks from under his eyelashes to confirm though, greeted by the sight of Eddie steadily observing him in between heatedly typing away on his phone. He sends out the impression of being calm and composed, freshly showered if the brand new pants and shirt are anything to go by. Upon further inspection, Richie realizes it’s his shirt Eddie is wearing. His heart skips a beat, the heart monitor picking up on it – traitor – and Eddie shoots a dagger towards the machine as if simply glaring at it will be enough to force it to keep beating regularly.

Contradictory to the previous time he woke up, the pain is firing burst of indescribable pain near the area of his stomach, and when that pain ebbs away, the nagging ache remains. Richie groans, squinting on eye open to see that Eddie zeroes in on him, leaning forward on the plastic chair to get a closer look.

He says nothing, perceiving every surface of Richie’s body with a smoldering gaze.

‘Eddie?’ Richie asks eventually, unable to deal with the pain nor the silence filling the room. Eddie blinks in surprise, inching back in his chair startled.

‘Richie?’

‘No, the fucking pope. Who else would I be?’

Eddie laughs, ‘No it’s just that. You’ve opened your eyes a couple of times before, except all you did was stare and then the drugs took you out again before you could say anything.’

‘Oh? I beat the drugs before but you weren’t here so it’s not my first time.’ It’s not intended to sound accusing, but it does. Richie can decipher from Eddie’s facial expression that he’s flabbergasted, the cogs in his head turning. A light-bulb goes off as Eddie rolls his eyes like Richie stated the stupidest thing ever, his hand covering Richie’s to draw his attention.

‘Off fucking course you’d wake up the one time I’m not here. I swear I was here all the time Rich, I only left once to demand more updates on how you were doing.’

Richie nods dumbly, fingers tracing the pattern on the hospital sheets to distract him.

‘Say, did he happen to give you any updates on how much pain medication I’m supposed to receive?’

Eddie hurriedly jumps up, lifting his hand up from where it covered Richie’s, is phone clattering to the ground with a loud bang. Eddie doesn’t check the destruction or even bothers to remove it from the floor, too busy dotting over Richie.

‘Are you in pain? See I knew the nurse gave you the wrong dosage, I fucking told her too but did she listen? No.’

‘Eddie?’

‘Now you’re in pain and we have to do damage control instead of damage prevention and-‘

‘Eds’, Richie successfully ends Eddie tirade and stops him from going after the poor nurse and her carrier, but it drains him from all his energy and renders him exhausted.

‘Right, hold on Rich, I’ll go get the doctor.’ He pets Richie on the arm twice, his fingertips lingering after the second strike as he stares enthralled, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch Richie in that way. As far as Richie is concerned, Eddie is allowed to do anything would him. But after he gets his pain medication.

‘Well doctor K I’m disappointed,’ Richie call to him after Eddie exits the room, ‘I thought you were the one taking care of me?’

The doctor, Nathalie, ups his quantity per his request, but warns him not to request any more, the amount dangerously high as it stands. She’s a nice woman, and has enough human knowledge to scurry away the moment she administers the pain killers, promising to be back to explain his medical condition later. He is notified that he’s been out for two days, resting while the losers gathered his and their stuff and moved into a hotel in the adjacent city so they moved out of Derry, but close enough that dropping by is no trouble at all.

Richie’s grateful, he’s so tired he won’t be able to retrain any information anyway, and Eddie is jumping at the bits for a chance talk things through. And who even does that, articulating their feeling and upsets? Not him that’s for sure, he keeps his feeling repressed like all the cool kids do these days. The pain slowly ebbs away, sometimes back with a fire that has Richie writhing but mostly suppressed by the drugs.

He’s pacing in front of the bed, not even deeming a goodbye to Nathalie, mouthing words and sentences Richie can’t hear. He seems to purposefully twirl the open space around his ring finger, the spot his wedding ring was on but is now absent.

‘So, the others are okay?’

‘Yeah, we’re all tired but good.’ Eddie reassures him, without elaborating on exactly how they managed to stay alive and what Pennywise’s state of being is. Eddie being as unbothered as he is, is an answer to the question all on his own.

‘Aren’t you gonna leave? It’s way passed visitation hours right? Won’t someone come in and escort you out?’

‘No, they gave up on that last night.’ Eddie waved of his concerns, not faltering his step.

‘Okay. That’s some story I’d like to hear.’

‘There’s no story. They told me to leave, I told them to fuck off and that I wouldn’t be going anywhere until you walked away with me.’ The admission leaves Richie speechless, Eddie who once refused to go to the bathroom after stopping by the school nurse because she told them to go straight to class in middle school held his ground and disobeyed a direct order, was indescribable. That amassed with the revelation in the sewers is too much for Richie to deal with, so he aims for a tension breaker.

‘Dude, you’re going to snap in half if you stay as rigid as you are now. I can see the knots in your neck, get some sleep. I’ll be fine.’

‘First of all, don’t call me dude. Second of all –‘

‘You rather have me call you Eds?’

‘Yes, and stop interrupting me.’ Richie didn’t think he could if he tried. ‘You’re worried about me? Look at you. You nearly died Rich.’

‘But I didn’t.’ He shrugged, wincing as the movement irritated his stitches. Ripping out the only thing that keeps him alive would really be the icing on the top to an already dramatized week.

‘Richie stop’, Eddie begged, stopping his frantic stewing to approach Richie. ‘Can we talk about what happened down there?’

Richie frantically denies, ‘Nope’, he overenthusiastic expresses, fearing rejection, burrowing deeper in the mattress to ignore Eddie’s pleading eyes. Those suckers have a way of encouraging Richie to ignore common sense and assist in whatever idea Eddie had designed, but he had no intention of ever addressing this issue. Eddie looks prepared for this, ready to battle with words and get his way, but the heart monitor speeds up a notch. Eddie heaves a sigh, but relents, walking forward and griping Richie’s arm towards him.

He uncurls the tight ball Richie made of his hand, soothing over his skin with his fingertips in a way that resembles a dance. He wields both his hands, one separating Richie’s pinky and ring finger, the other stuck between his thumb and pointer finger, opening up room for him to work with. Careful not to scratch Richie with his fingernails, he swoops the formers arm and hand, slow enough that he can retract if he doesn’t like it.

Bearing down on the underside of Richie’s wrist, in a circle back motion, Eddie repeats the gesture three times before moving up.

The motion’s relaxing, and Richie sags down as the tension in his arm dissipates. Eddie watches Richie with a pleased smile on his face, massaging both firm and light to differentiate the best result.

‘That feels really good.’

‘It’s a hand massage. I’d give your shoulders a rub but then you’d have to move and you cannot move. Moving results in more pain so no matter what you do, don’t move you stubborn idiot. Anyway, it’s good for reducing anxiety. I do it to myself all the time.’

Richie hoots, not deterred by the pinch Eddie gives his skin in response, the word chose too funny to give up.

‘Cave man’, Eddie spews out, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the comment, unnecessary but so Richie it hurts to think they lost this, the easiness and the jabs and the bond, strong enough to sacrifice the one for the other.

‘There are three Yin Meridians in the arm; lungs, heart and pericardium.’

‘The what from the what now?’

‘Yin meridians? Yin as in the up flow of energy in your body? Ying and Yang? ’

‘Eddie, what the fuck about me makes you think I would have any clue about any of this?’ Richie deadpans, his eyes staring at Eddie flatly.

‘Yeah well, tell me you at least know what a pericardium is?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘It’s a double-walled sac containing the heart and the roots of the great vessels, filled with pericardial fluid’, at the ignorant stare he received from Richie he dumbed down his explanation. ‘It’s the sac around your heart.’

‘Oh, why didn’t you start with that? Wait my heart has a sac around it?’ Richie’s smirk grew, but Eddie pulled the plug on that quickly.

‘Beep beep Richie not now. Anyway, shut the fuck and let me do my thing.’

He resumes massaging Richie palm, languidly and without hurry, the sun settling even lower and pitching the room red.

With a big shudder, Richie crushes his eyelids shut to avoid looking at the color as it reminds him of his own blood leaking out of him. It’s irrational, they’re different shades after all, but the thought lingers, like a cyst you can’t get rid of.

The benefit of removing sight is that touch and smell become intensified, the kneading firmer then it felt before. Eddie smells primarily of hospital soap and food, but underlying there’s the scent of vanilla shampoo, the same one Eddie applied as a kid. The sight of his own shampoo in his shower at home pops into his head, suddenly abundantly clear why Richie never contemplated buying another scent but stuck to the same plain vanilla one.

He changes direction by palpating the webbing between Richie’s thumb and pointer finger, prodding the skin from the bottom to the top and then sliding off.

‘I’m supposed to ‘throw away’ the negative energy, connotation marks, but I can’t do that without you making fun of me so I won’t.’

‘You know me so well’, Richie dramatically sniffles, his free hand whipping away a fake tear.

‘Yeah, I really do’, is Eddie responds, stopping his ministration and seeking eye contact with Richie to get his point across.

Richie slides his hand away from Eddie’s, avoiding eye contact by dropping his chin to his chest but being stopped by a hand on his chin, forcing him to stay still.

‘I’m tired, go back to the hotel okay?’

‘I’m divorcing my wife’, Eddie states out of the blue, tracing the edge of Richie’s chin absentmindedly. The intonation of his voice is bland, the same as if he’s talking about the weather, but his eyes are stealthy and Richie knows that he means every word.

‘Wha-?’

‘And I didn’t say this to pressure you into developing feeling for me. I don’t wanna force you to do anything, but I crashed my car in the middle of traffic remembering you all and I realized that I hadn’t been living. That night in the restaurant was the first time in twenty seven years I felt like myself again and was happy. And a clown hunted us down, isn’t that a sob story? Rich, you almost fucking died in front of me and there was nothing I could do.’

Eddie’s eyes dampen suspiciously, blinking one to many times for it to go unseen. ‘And all I could think about was how much of a coward I am, and how there was nothing I could do to stop you from dying.’

‘Eds, that wasn’t on you.’

‘Yes it was. I could have run after you faster, been more brave and stop you from blindly staggering into a trap, or if I clung to you IT might have only hurt me and you’d be unscathed.’

‘Eddie, I would gladly take another skewer to the stomach as long as you’re alright.’

‘But that’s the problem isn’t? You sacrificed your life for me and I froze when IT attacked you, I watched and did nothing.’ Eddie’s voice raised into hysterics, and he was working himself up to the point that he vibrated with consternation.

‘And I would have let you die without confessing. I called your contacts in your phone list and the only one who even bothered to return my calls was your manager, and he didn’t give a shit if you were okay, he just asked when you would be cleared to perform another performance. Said that it was of the upmost importance that you righted the wrong you did on your last stand up.’

Richie face flushed bright red, utterly ashamed that even Eddie noticed how little people are present in his life.

‘They all suck. It’s their loss that they didn’t bother getting to know you, I just wish that I was courageous enough to make you understand that there is someone who adores you, and that person is me. The other losers too but it’s different with me. I hate the fact that you woke up without anyone here to support you. I knew you were going to pull that trick so I even showered in the hospital so I didn’t have to go very far. Showered Richie, in a place full of germs and bacteria. And for the record, for this to be a hospital they have really bad hygiene, if I called a health inspector here they might have to close down.’

Eddie rants, his hand doing the chopping gesture that Richie leered out of him at every turn possible. In the same way that Richie resorts to humor as protection, Eddie resorts to germ facts. Richie brushes the comments on bacteria to the side, more focused on the everything else Eddie vocalized.

‘I lived Eds, so you don’t have to worry about that, and I shouldn’t have said that to you, I really didn’t mind, I was back under in no time.’

‘You’re not getting it. You repeatedly told me I’m brave, and maybe I was but not enough.’ Eddie sinks down back in the plastic chair besides Richie’s bed. ‘I drifted through life with the mentality that my life wasn’t terrible and I would have to be content with that. I never considered the possibility that it could get a hell of a lot better too. Starting today, I’m going to be honest and open about everything, and that starts with divorcing my wife’, he let silence linger a tad, to prepare Richie or perhaps steel himself, ‘and telling you how in love I am with you.’

Richie gasps, even though it wasn’t the first time Eddie uttered those words. In the sewer Richie rationalized that Eddie presumed he was going to die and pitied him, a last friend favor he didn’t know was going to cost him, but now there is no reason for Eddie to lie.

This is all Richie ever dreamth of getting in life, the reciprocated love from the man he cherished deeply, so why did revealing his secret not get any easier?

I love you too Eds. I’ve loved you since you stood by the sidelines of the sandbag, to horrified to join me and Stan because you saw a bandage abandoned on top of the sand and screamed at me to stay away from it when I offered to pick it up and toss it out for you. My whole live I’ve believed I’m this vile and nasty person who loved men the way he should love women, someone who deserved to rot in hell alongside the scum of the earth, but apparently you see men the same way, and how can you be anything other than an extraordinary, bewitching gift from god?

‘Do you got a bae? Or not?’

Eddie frowns, his eyebrows knitting together and his head tilting to the side.

‘I’m sorry what?’

‘Is you tryna date? Or not?’ Richie cringes, idiocy at its finest. ‘I don’t know why I said that, forget it.’

‘What the fuck is a bae? And I am trying to get it on with someone, but he’s dodging any viable answer I can detract from him.’

‘It’s Magcon. They were really popular in 2014, and I involved them in one of my quips which is how I know who they are.’

‘Show me a picture and I still would be lost on who any of them are.’

‘Oh come man, If teenage you would have definitely had a crush on Cameron Dallas or some shot, if you were born in the 2000.’

‘Teenage me had a crush on you. I had it so bad that I never had a celebrity crush right up till college and forgetting you.’

Richie shuts up again, his heart growing in size multiplied by eleven. All this time all it took was Richie getting his head out of his ass and they could have been dating for years.

‘Look Rich, I’m sorry for dumping this on you. It’s not fair and I solemnly swear I won’t let it affect our friendship if you won’t?’

‘No Eds, wait just give me a second, dude, let me try that again.’

‘Don’t call me Eds.’

‘I thought you avowed that you preferred Eds to dude?’

‘What’s up with the fancy word choice dumbass? No wait stop changing the subject’, Eddie hisses, his hands twisting together in his lap the only indication of how nervous riddled his body.

‘I feel the same way’, Richie remarks, tone quieter then Eddie has ever heard. ‘I’ve never had someone that I loved and sure as hell no one who told me they loved me so I don’t know how this goes.’

Eddie laughs breathlessly, a huge burden lifted off his shoulders. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah Eddie Spaghetti, believe it or not there’s not been one other person that fell for my good charms.’

‘I was talking about you feeling the same way, dude. And euh.. neither have I. With a guy I mean, and my marriage with Myra wasn’t exactly a prime example of love, so how about we figure it out together?’

‘We can start a celibacy club. Until one of us gets pregnant by cheating on the other with their best friend and then hides it by claiming that we got pregnant via the hot tub.’

‘Okay what the fuck are you quoting now?’

‘It’s Glee’, Richie grins, leaning into Eddie’s touch when he caresses his cheek.

‘Idiot’, Eddie whispers affectionate, shaking his head like he can’t believe this is the man he fell in love with.

‘Love that nickname Eds.’

‘Yeah yeah’, Eddie dismisses, withdrawing his hand and ignoring the pout Richie’s wears because of it. He’s so soft next to Richie’s bed, open and venerable in a way he learned to hide from the ripe age of nine, the exact same time Sonia claimed that crying was a side effect of an illness Richie couldn’t bother to recall, and any time she spotted the tiniest amount of liquid in Eddie’s eyes she dragged him to the ER.

A feeling in his gut tugs, desperate to connect his lips with Eddie’s, to experience first hand how a kiss shared out of love manifests. Sure, it’s not Richie’s first kiss, but his previous kisses were either with a woman or a men dared by his friends, snickering and unknowingly shoving him deeper into the closet.

Richie prepares to leans forward, scrambling himself up by his elbows to get better access, and plonks back down with a pained yelp, his stomach flaring up in a burning sensation.

‘I told you not to fucking move’, Eddie chastise, instantly on high alert and checking Richie over to make sure nothing’s wrong. All the wires are still attached, which Richie is a plus in Richie’s books, but Eddie

‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to kiss you.’ Richie admits, though the words set fire to his ears and neck, the first spots to light up in self-consciousness.

‘Then asks and I’ll bend down for you. Are you hoping to get another surgery?’

‘No, but asking for a kiss isn’t exactly romantic now is it? Fuck me for striving to keep the romance alive.’

Eddie swoops in fast, their teeth clinking together from the force of which he comes in, their lips linking in an awkward angle.

He back-paddles, inhaling deeply and guffawing at Richie’s jaw slacked expression, then reconnects their lips properly this time. The kiss is wet, Richie stroking at the nap of Eddie’s neck and applying slight pressure to keep him positioned the way he is in. There’s too much smile for it to be a good kiss, but the simple reality that Eddie is letting Richie smooch him makes up for it. With a prodding tongue Eddie ventures out to take the kiss a step further, and Richie gracefully reciprocates.

It ends with a quick nip from Eddie’s teeth gliding over Richie’s bottom lip, and a hand forcefully pinning Richie down when he again tries to keep the kiss going by chasing after Eddie’s lips.

‘Stop moving.’

‘I’m sorry’, Richie says, and is rewarded by another small peck to satisfy him. Their faces remain in proximity, not kissing but breathing in each other’s air. Eddie untucks a piece of his hair, finger twirling the curl around and around ‘till Richie is dizzy from following the movement and is in danger of falling asleep while in the midst of a such a wonderful moment. The drugs are taking effect, and the satisfaction washing over Richie adds to the overwhelming amount of tiredness weighing Richie down. Eddie chuckles, charmed by the sleepy haze clouding Richie’s eyes.

‘You should get some sleep.’

Richie whines like a petulant child, scratching the area surrounding his eyes to help him fight of the fatigue. With an eyeroll Eddie kisses him on the forehead, above the bandage covering up the wound created by the stone in the cave, something Richie hadn’t even been aware of. He lingers above it, mounting words on the skin, little declaration of love.

Richie sniffles, harboring his eyes closed to stop the tears burning at the brim from spilling. Then, to distract Eddie, he chuckles, lining up the next best jab he could improvise at the spot.

‘Hey, now we’re finally at the same height for you to reach my forehead.’

Eddie pinches Richie’s neck, softly enough that it tickles and pulls giggles from Richie’s mouth.

‘Get some sleep sweetheart, you’re exhausted.’

‘Sweetheart? Eds you’re stealing my bits. I’m the one who petnames you. Cutie.’ He pinches the side of Eddie’s face and is rewarded by a loud groan, though Eddie doesn’t call him off for it.

‘Too late.’

‘Spoon me?’ Richie questions him, patting the space next to him as an invitation.

Eddie declines, ‘With your broken foot? No way. I’ll spoon you after you get better.’ Oh yeah, Richie forgot all about that.

‘How about I do this?’ He unfastens the metal bars to ease his access, then slides his arm under Richie neck to pillow him, while his other hand hovers over Richie’s wound. It’s probably done without thinking, but the small gesture, like he’s protecting Richie from more harm, soothes Richie.

Richie tucks his head in the nap off Eddie’s neck, delving in as far as humanly possible. Eddie’s hanging half of and half on the bed, in a position that must result in muscle cramps in the morning, but he’s doing it for Richie, because Richie requested it.

Security and warmth cage him in, the remnants of the chilling cold shooed away by the living furnace Eddie provided.

‘I’m really glad you’re okay Rich’, Eddie whispers after such a long time Richie believed he had fallen asleep.

‘Yeah me too.’ Richie agrees, thankful to the universe for giving him a chance with the love of his life.

The same curl Eddie untucked before continues to get the same treatment, round and round, nudging him over the edge into sleep.

‘Goodnight baby’, Eddie whispers to the top of Richie’s head, tucking the curl behind his ears. Too tired to guard his honor of the nickname king, Richie doses.

#reddie #reddie imagine #My writing #richie tozier imagine #eddie kaspbrak imagine #the losers club imagines #it chapter two imagine #fix it #sort off #hurt/comfort #richie get's stabbed instead of Eddie #but he lives #so it's all good

51 notes · View notes

shahzadarsi17-blog · 4 years

Text

Private Branding: A Complete Manual

Without a doubt, we all have a personal brand name. You have a personal brand and also been sharing this brand using everyone that you have ever are in contact with. The way you choose to portray by yourself is your personal brand. At this point, the question is can you agree with this brand? Is it a real representation of who you are?

What exactly is Brand?

Your brand is actually people say about you when you are not in the room" : Jeff Bezos, Founder associated with Amazon

Actually a brand is completely anything, the mere proven fact that you know that one thing is certainly not the other, is branding. As a result a brand is a name, a thought, design, symbols, attributes, status and quality that separate one feature from yet another. That is why Apple's identity differs from the others from Samsung's, even though they offer, essentially, the same idea. Very same ideas, but different strategies to presenting them. That's the things that make the each one unique. Customer avatar

Think about Personal Branding?

"All individuals need to understand the importance of logos. We are CEOs of our very own companies: Me Inc. To stay in business today, our most crucial job is to be head online marketer for the brand called An individual. " - Tom Peters

It is the same concept, the sole difference is that it is now over a personal scale. Your personal label is your brand name. You look completely different from everyone else, therefore your physical appearance is your brand design. You will have different parents, fingerprints, prices, personality, voice, qualities, notion and elements than all others. Therefore , you are unique.

This is just what personal branding is about, currently being your original authentic do it yourself and presenting yourself as a result. You do not see Apple as well as Samsung showcasing their manufacturers in a similar manner, even though they are fundamentally selling the same idea.

You might have the same qualifications, knowledge and you might even have gone for the same learning institution because the candidate you are competing to the job with. Who and then gets the job? It is just about all up to your personal brand.

"Personal branding is about managing your own personal name - even if you may own a business - inside a world of misinformation, disinformation, and also semi-permanent Google records. A weight date? Chances are that your "blind" date has Googled your personal name. Going to a job meeting? Ditto. " - Claire Ferriss

Why is a great private brand important for your career?

Top rated tips:

CVs or resumes are no longer enough. In fact , I actually predict that in the years into the future, resumes, as we know them nowadays will cease to exist. Be steady in the manner you sell your own brand. Showcase your ability and become a leader in your area associated with. Sell your unique promise. Speak your true values, guidelines, ethics and integrity successfully and consistently.

Focusing on all these strategies will help you get, not merely any job, but a career that is best suited for you. Just how is that? Because the manner in which anyone communicate your brand will be specific and unique to you personally. And you might have the exact requirements with your job competitor, nonetheless your attributes would be diverse. This way, you are not a duplicate regarding another, as that can be seen as boring and predictable. Additionally, this strategy allows you to attract the proper employer that appreciates along with values your brand assure. Digital marketing service

So what would make your company stand-out? What makes you dissimilar to anyone else? And why is it important build your personal brand? Discuss will help you build an authentic in addition to marketable personal brand. The following are the tips to help you be unique industry by storm competition.

Looking At Your Talents

This is an important factor in personalized branding. It is not an idea simply centred on your own perceptions, but in addition of those who know you actually well.

Those with a solid particular brand, know who they are and exactly they want in life. In fact , these are crystal clear on that. This is how you get to understand and identify your unique selling points. So that you can help you with this important activity, I have compiled several concerns for you to help keep you give attention to identifying your true talents:

What was/were the highlight/s of my career, as well as why am I so pleased with these moments? What was one of the most fulfilling task or job I have ever worked on, and also why was it rewarding? What role do I constantly play in group jobs, and how do others inside the group view me? How can you overcome the most challenging obstructions? What tools do I make use of? What do I enjoy doing the almost all (business or leisure) Only were to talk to someone regarding the subject that I enjoy the nearly all, what would it be? Merely were to accomplish something involving great significance to me, along with there would be no obstacles connected with any kind to stand in your path, what would it be? Currently, try to think of 10 one-word descriptions of your strengths at the. g. creative, compassionate etc Choose people who know a person, your friends, family and colleagues and enquire of them to each give you their very own insight of what your benefits are. After doing in which compare your lists having theirs. Share your record with them and see if they see you the same way as you look at yourself.

"Emphasize your strong points on your CV, in your protect letters and in your job interviews. It may sound obvious, yet you'd be surprised how many people basically list everything they've ever before done. Convey your interest and link your advantages to measure results. Organisations and interviewers love tangible data" - Marcus Buckingham

Now that you know what your talents are, use them. Utilise these as part of your strategic plan in the daily activities as well as with possible employers. Let the right customers know these gifts. Converse them effectively using every single relevant resource available to you. You should use your CV to highlight your current strengths, online profiles and also you must unquestionably have a individual website as your digital CURRICULUM VITAE. Just remember your values in addition to ethics when communicating in your audience. This will set an individual apart.

Know your Constraints

We all have weaknesses, nonetheless it is not always easy to approve them. It is in your welfare to be completely honest along with your self about what your limits are or you will set yourself on the spot for significant disappointments. Remember that a weak spot is anything from staying utterly uninterested about something in life to having limited expertise to do anything of interest.

"My perspective is that if you push us towards something that you think is actually a weakness, then I will convert that perceived weakness directly into strength" - Michael Jordan

Why don't help you identify these flaws:

Which aspects of my career/ education that I like the the very least, and why? Am I somebody who believes completely that I should have more and better? Do I come to be debilitated by the thought of the need to perform certain tasks? What type of tasks? What were time points in my career, as well as why? In a group circumstance, which role/s do I just like the least? What was the least successful task/project I have ever done, and why did it are unsuccessful? In the face of obstacles, what makes my family give up? What is the most uninspiring subject to talk about for me? Exactly what do I think are my 15 weaknesses? Be honest with yourself. Since on question 9 throughout strengths, only substitute weak point for strength.

Do not waste material your time with weaknesses which often not hinder your specialist goals. Establish what restriction you can turn into strengths so that you can jump-start your career. Learn the relevant skills that will help you progress. Put your self in uncomfortable networking scenarios if you need people skills as an example. Remember to mainly focus on weak spots that hold you back coming from achieving your potential.

Major tip: Your strengths are generally what gives you an edge in fact it is crucial that you use them to your advantage.

Prices

Knowing what your values usually are, is knowing who you are and you stand for. Having solid values, help you establish and also navigate your thoughts so that they are usually in synergy with your passion along with essence. In other words, before you require yourself in anything at all, consider, "is this in connect with my values and exactly I stand for? "

Principles are essentially a set of key points that you live by. They will define the codes this determine your personality, approach, actions, reactions and so on. Consider it this way; perhaps the reason you will be unhappy at work is because your own personal values are not allied with the information you do. Having values, consequently , is standing-up for what you imagine in. It is crucial to align you with what you engage oneself in.

"Love is the manifestation of one's values, the greatest incentive you can earn for the moral features you have achieved in your figure and person, the mental price paid by anyone for the joy he or she will get from the virtues of a different. " - Ayn Rand

Define your values

There are numerous of places in the internet who have great resources on how to create your values for your private brand. These are in a kind of a list of adjectives that talks about your values. Find a collection most suited for you and by a task of elimination, choose the leading 5 words that wedding rings true to you and you. Establish why you chose these words and define whatever they mean to you. Use them to create your personal mission statement in addition to hold yourself accountable if not respecting your values. These kinds of values should be communicated with your CV, website, social media websites and blog posts.

Passion

Have got passion for what you do! That is why biggest secret. It might seem to be difficult to reconcile the idea of enthusiasm and work. However , carry out establish that which you enjoy carrying out. That which gives you joy. On top of that, consider topics that charm you, that keep you motivated and wanting more.

Should you be still confused about what your love might be, think about a time once you could not wait to do anything or read about something. Take into account the time you could not hang on to get out of bed, and about the things which moved you to tears. Remember the projects that produced feel creative and had anyone filled with ideas. When you sense stimulated and motivated to accomplish something, then you are excited about it.

Ask yourself:

What do I enjoy about my current career? If I were to volunteer, which usually charity would you choose? Exactly why? What do you spend most of your time and energy doing?

"There is no appreciation to be found playing small-in negotiating for a life that is lower than the one you are capable of existing. " - Nelson Mandela

Your job related interests must be in more or less in the following areas:

Research Problem solver Analysing Planning Managing Organizing Mentoring Creating Counselling Instruction Writing

Other ways of connection

Listening Negotiating and many more

Features

What words would you make usage of to describe yourself? Also consider the lyrics that others might value to describe you. Deliberate around the following words without constraining yourself; creative, thoughtful, futurist, ambitious, resourceful, risk-taker, peacemaker, ethical, connected, compassionate, super-hero, worldly, diplomatic and so on. Locate attributes that best represents your personality and utilize them to communicate your manufacturer essence.

Positioning

Once you are very clear about your values, attributes and fervour, it's time to now placement yourself. What does that mean specifically? It is simply means that you should look at how others perceive you actually based on your strengths, principles, mission, attributes and passion. Bear in mind, this is about authenticity. Of work, you have to be consistent concerning who you say that you are.

Create a positioning statement. This specific statement you can use during selection interviews as it is more powerful and new than going on about your tedious career past. It catches your essence and individuality.

Target Audience

At this point you should have everything required in order to attract the right viewers. You must first determine the industry in which you want to work, then search for best organisations you wish to work for. Perform an extensive research on these kind of organisations and establish just what problems they are faced with; you could be a match for them according to your unique strengths, values, article topics and attributes.

With your groundwork done, create a personal model strategy using the keywords with job descriptions to attract all their attention. After all, they want to seek the services of good talent and someone who matches their standards. Still remember to never give whatever you have, reserve some of your personal good selling points for any interview.

1 note · View note

new-moon-over-septarsis · 4 years

Text

(Another writing club snippet for Disgrace; this time the prompt was "Danger". Join us, my dear readers, as Toffee tries for the first time to follow the Call of Magic, only to see there's something much more malicious hiding behind the wonder and delight of this Realm.)

Jester bolted upright. He payed no mind to the splash of water next to him, as Juno weirdly payed no mind to having her head thrown off his shoulder so suddenly. That sound again. He thought it had disappeared the moment he'd set foot in this realm. Now here it was, no longer a ringing in his head, but a call from a distance...one he could finally follow with his ears alone.

Across the flat expanse, he spotted a single unicorn. He could just barely make out dark purple fur against the shallow gold waters, growing smaller toward the horizon. That song went with it, a singular subtle melody now instead of a medley of screeches, though still chaotic and indecipherable as usual. Jester refused to take his eyes off the unicorn lest it fade into the background. He shook Juno by the shoulder, who had snuggled into the sand and gladly let the waters rise and recede around her.

"Look. Over there. I think we need to follow."

"Nuh uh. I'm comfy."

Jester sighed. "Ugh fine. Don't go anywhere."

"Mm'kay."

Jester gave a reassuring pat on her shoulder, then waded through the waters toward the figure ahead, going deeper and deeper the quicker he caught up to it. By the time the water had reached his chest it became clear that the unicorn could walk it like solid land; he would have to swim after it. Just as he was about to start paddling,

he heard a snort off to the side, followed by a growl. An enormous gray unicorn, with a cracked horn and many stitches across his body from what seemed old battle wounds, leered into the distance at the dark one. It didn't seem to take notice of Jester, but the quick Septarian dove underwater to be sure to avoid its malice, as it trotted on in a huff.

He followed their silhouettes as best he could, keeping below the surface as the waters grew deeper, deeper, too deep now to see the bottom. The only indication of which way was up or down were the crystal reefs and landmasses surrounding him. The war-torn horse made a sniffing motion then whipped its head down and submerged it. Jester kicked backward and swam behind a reef. The motions scared a swarm of horned sea horses (Jester would've rolled his eyes playfully at the notion of "sea unicorns"), which luckily provided just enough cover- or at least distraction -to not be noticed. Once the unicorn had its back turned and was far enough away, Jester kicked gently off the reef and lifted his head above water to take a breath.

Meanwhile the creatures spoke.

"Why do you keep coming back here? You're lamenting for something no one knows or even cares about," demanded a stern, gruff voice.

"I care about it." The dark purple unicorn rang with a soothing, majestic agender voice.

"Our roots are here. Our purpose is here. You can't just pretend you have no duty to fulfill."

"That place-" they motioned their head toward a location just barely obstructed from Jester's view from the surface of the water "-is all that's left of what we once were, if we ever were anything. We don't belong here. And even if we do, who decided that for us? Isn't there more to our world than this? Than magic?"

"Magic is what controls this universe," the stern voice raised, almost booming now despite its maintained composure. "And until that changes, all who oppose it have no place in this world."

The dark horse sighed bitterly. "You're just like your counterpart." The white stars that sparkled across their fur began to glow.

"And you're starting to sound just like yours."

"Maybe that's a good thing!"

Their horns began to glow in tandem with the stars as the unicorns bore them at each other.

"Do I need to teach you our place? Or would you rather end up like the one who was supposed to take yours?"

The dark one lifted their head fully, standing ground against their counterpart who leaned forward with aggression. "You don't have power over me while I run this wand. You have no control over what I want for my life."

Around them, the golden waters became a deep violet, slowly spreading outwards. The grey horse staggered backwards desperately, disgusted by the mere sight. The dark magic reached the water around Jester from behind the rock he hid, and he inhaled sharply as a wave of energy rushed throughout his body. Not just invigorating, but familiar. Embracing. Like a lost friend he'd always known and loved turned out to be beside him all along.

Eclipsa...

The aggressive one turned its head toward the sound of Jester's gasp and immediately charged. The swift Septarian dove again and kicked off the reef, swimming for his life. The moment he dared to look back, though, he realized the trail of dark magic he'd left in his wake had thwarted off his pursuer. Jester didn't want to relax, though. He kept swimming, down, down, further down.

Until he noticed a current picking up. It felt to be all around him, all around the area; one enormous circle where all the water pulled gradually to a singularity. Curious, he followed the current to a place where all the water seemed to shoot straight down; a waterfall underwater? And just like a waterfall rages, he couldn't see past it. He only noticed too late that the current had grown too strong, pulling him forward and down towards the unknown once again... only this time he was fully aware.

Jester clung onto the nearest crystal pillar. He tried climbing back to the surface, desperate for a breath, but every time he let go for even a second the riptide threatened to take him. Then he felt a splash from above. The dark unicorn galloped down through the water. They circled, motioning their head up to come with. He quickly grabbed onto their mane and rode up to the surface with them.

Jester gulped in air and climbed onto the unicorn's back as it trotted across the surface. While catching his breath he looked around for the other one. He was nowhere to be found. In his disappearance and in the returning silence, Jester noticed a subtle new sound. The longer he listened, a new sound would come one after another. Whinnying of other horses; hooves against soft, dry ground; tinkling almost like bells; snapping and crackling. But above them all: anvils.

Jester turned toward it, toward the place the two unicorns had been blocking from his sight. At the surface the water continued to pull in its direction, and without him asking, the dark horse walked forward for a better look. They both looked down into the place where the water fell, and he tried his best to comprehend what he saw.

The short and simple answer would be an enormous chasm, a gaping hole in the world in which all the surrounding water would fall in. Yet it didn't simply fade from his sight after falling too far: it disappeared altogether, blinking out of existence behind a black void. Just before disappearing, though, any water touching the walls would start to swirl around the void as if in a whirpool. Upon doing so it would shift from its normal gold color to blue, to violet, to red, then to nothing.

Jester leaned forward just a bit more to better listen, wondering if perhaps this was what he was called to. He closed his eyes to absorb the sensation, and the slightest smell brushed his nostrils: Soot. Soot, coal, burning metal, fire and brimstone. He gave a little smile upon being reminded of the smithing shop he'd worked for. But the whinnying noises began to sound distressed, almost suffering, and those pleasant memories of the forge shifted and distorted into Mewman soldiers dancing crazed around a bonfire.

His eyes snapped open and he desperately tried to shake the memories out of his head. The purple unicorn carried him away in response; he climbed down off them atop a flat crystal mass, and they brushed their face along his in reassuring comfort.

"So..." He began, unsure where to start. "You spoke of your roots, didn't you? Is that where unicorns are from? Eclipsa told me you were all born from the magic." He gasped and turned to face them. "I do know you from somewhere, don't I? Eclipsa: you're her millhorse."

They nodded. "She calls me Orion the Brindle."

"Can you tell me...do you know where she left to?"

"She's safe. And happy. That's all that matters.

Jester huffed. "Hm. Well. Good for her."

Orion stepped forward, regarding him with a curious and anticipating gaze. "I've tried confronting you in dreams before. It's nice to finally meet you, Jester."

His eyes widened. "I knew those visions were real. So, you're the one who's been calling me?"

"Many of us have. But our songs can only reach those who need or wish to be called."

Jester glared. "'Wish?' All I want is for this to stop."

"Perhaps it's a need, then. We have a purpose, and so must you if you have the power to walk through this place without losing yourself. Someone like you must be the key to our salvation."

"Salvation? You're a prisoner?"

Orion sighed. "There's so much I want to explain, and so few ways I know to describe it. I barely understand myself."

"I ..." He thought about Juno waiting for him, wondering why she hadn't come in the first place, after all her adamancy about braving this ordeal with him. "...don't think I have time for the full story."

"You would under different circumstances. I never would've called you had I known you'd bring ... company."

Jester tilted his head. "Why's it important for me to be alone? What kind of trap is this?"

"One orchestrated by the Magic, not by us. It happens to everyone. We unicorns have been here for so many generations we've forgotten our own roots." Orion looked off into the distance longingly, almost in regret. "So too does anyone who stays too long. They have endless fun, then never want to leave. They forget their roots, their purpose, their lives, and eventually lose everything."

They turned back to Jester expectantly. "Except for you, apparently."

The weight of their words took a moment to settle, not because of his own mysterious calling, but because of her.

"And Juno? What's going to happen to her?"

Orion shook their head, their tone growing darker and more serious. "Your friend is in danger. She'll lose herself here...and not just to the magic."

No.

"...I have to go back. Now." Jester took a step backward, ready to bolt.

"Wait! I haven't told you everything!"

Jester snapped. "I can't help you! Whatever your 'salvation' is, I have more important things to worry about right now!"

He turned tail and ran. Luckily Orion had brought him to an area where the path from there to where he'd left Juno was all mostly flat ground and shallow water. He wasn't sure how much stock to put in the unicorn's words, but if what they said would happen to Juno was anything like the way he'd lose himself in those visions and sleep spells, then he couldn't risk not trusting their warning.

This place. All the wonder mysticism of this realm, of magic itself. He'd wanted to believe it could be different from ways he's been wronged by magic in the past. But if Orion's words were true, then it was all true. And, deep down, he felt he'd known it all his life. Magic and all its delight. It wasn't just a lie: it was a trap.

#one pace from disgrace (au)#disgraced archives (writing snippets)#jester cross (toffee)#the disgraced (juno)#the curse that calls (realm of magic)#the jester arc (arc 0)

3 notes · View notes

puppyluver256 · 6 years

Text

Net Neutrality as a grocery store

I normally don’t add to the conversation about important issues, but here’s a metaphor I’ve been stewing up that might help to explain what could happen if net neutrality is dissolved.

Say you’re at the grocery store. It could be any grocery store, the name of the store is not important, what is important is that you’re there to make some purchases. You’ve got your list out and you’re making your way to the deli to purchase some meat. However, one of the employees who is standing nearby is a vegan, and not just a standard vegan (no hate toward vegans, there’ll be a point for you guys to rally behind soon) but one of those vegans who thinks no one should be eating meat ever. So they stand in your way while you’re trying to get to the deli. You politely ask them to move but they refuse, going on and on about how meat is murder and not allowing you to even approach your goal. Understandably, you call for the manager. The manager on duty, let’s call her Nettie for this story, comes over and asks what the problem is. You tell Nettie that her vegan employee is obstructing your ability to shop. Nettie tells the employee to move and allow you to shop the way you want, not just buy what the employee wants you to buy.

On the other side of the store, imagine you’re a vegan customer is looking for vegan products. The employee in charge of stocking the vegan-friendly aisles believes that all vegans are stupid and are ruining their bodies by refusing to eat a balanced diet, so this employee has decided not to bother stocking the aisle. Despite crates of vegan-friendly products sitting out in the aisle, you are unable to put any of them into your cart because the employee won’t even open the crates. You call for the manager and Nettie comes over, you explain to her and she tells the employee to do their job and stock the shelves regardless of their beliefs about the products.

Now here’s a different scenario. It’s a different day, a different grocery run, and you’ve been able to get all the items on your grocery list, including a large box of your favorite cereal: Frosted Flakes. (sorry if your favorite cereal isn’t actually Frosted Flakes, it’s the one that came to mind for this example due to reasons you will see in just a bit) You go to the checkout and start putting your items on the conveyor belt. The cashier starts scanning items, but they put your Frosted Flakes to the side without scanning them. You ask them why they aren’t scanning your cereal and they say they can’t allow you to purchase the cereal. Confused and a little angry that this person is trying to say you can’t have your beloved sugary flake fix, you ask why not. They say they are of a particular set of religious beliefs, and Frosted Flakes...

...is made by a company that supports, or at least has a history of supporting, LGBT rights. (now you can see why I specified Frosted Flakes)

Now your personal stance on LGBT rights is besides the point. The point is you want your flakes and this cashier’s beliefs should not effect your ability to purchase the items you want! So you call over the manager. There’s a different manager on duty today, let’s call him... A.J. So A.J. comes over and asks what the problem is. You tell him that the cashier is preventing you from being able to buy what products you wish to purchase because of their personal beliefs. Instead of telling the employee off and ringing up your cereal like a reasonable manager, A.J. says that the employee is within their rights to refuse to deal with products that conflict with their beliefs. He recommends two other options for you, either change checkout lanes (which is inconvenient because not only are the lines really long in all the other line, but the cashier would have to go through the arduous process of voiding everything that had been scanned previously, and a LOT of stuff was scanned, not to mention there’s no guarantee that the other employees won’t act similarly) or purchase the store brand equivalent instead (which you know from experience to be too inferior to the original to justify the small drop in price).

What you’re not aware of is that A.J. is getting paid under the table by the conservative store owner to act in the interests of conservative employees and certain brands of products rather than the interests of the customers, regardless of whether or not it is morally correct. His loyalty is not to the customers who come to do business. His loyalty is to his pocket and the people who are lining it.

And this sort of thing is what could, and has been proven to, happen to websites without Net Neutrality protections in place. Nettie will allow everyone to make their own decisions on what they purchase at her store (view online) regardless of her employees’ (ISPs) beliefs on the products (content), meanwhile A.J. only cares about himself and his wallet and is willing to allow employees to prevent customers from choosing for themselves based on the employees’ beliefs rather than the customers’.

#net neutrality #oh god not more politics #more like oh god stop the injustices

41 notes · View notes

completeautoloans · 5 years

Text

How to Deal with Cyclists when Driving

There are behaviors that are recommended on how to deal with cyclists while driving. To begin with, we try to understand this;

Do cyclists have the right of way?

Like any other person, cyclists have a right to be on the road. Cycling is used by many as a mode of travel. Others do it for fun. Either way, cyclists should be accommodated on the road. It is sad that drivers and cyclists have proved to have some level of animosity between each other. It must come to the attention of the drives and cyclists that safety is the key thing.

Statistics show that a big number of cyclists get involved in road accidents while some of them are reported dead. The growing number clearly shows that there is a need to create awareness on road safety tips in order to minimize these accidents. Programs have been initiated to help deal with this epidemic such as the International lorry week which has helped many cyclists and drivers to identify major causes of road accidents. Some rules have also been set to ensure that both drivers and cyclists freely use the roads without causing tension to themselves and other road users. These rules include;

Fantastic Road Trip Tips

Saving Money on a Road Trip

How to deal with cyclists while driving: Rules for the drivers

Drivers should observe the following rules when dealing with cyclists;

Slowing down and giving enough space

For all road users, no one is considered special than the other. A driver should, therefore, slow down and allow a cyclist to pass when they see them. Oncoming lane can be used if possible. It’s here we seek to understand how far should drivers stay away from cyclists? Drivers should always keep at least a meter away from cyclists in the city to give them enough space. Cyclists are supposed to maintain their lane and possibly at the middle to ensure space is maintained.

Do you Own an Uber? You Need These Apps to Become a Better Driver

Opening doors

Some drivers have the habit of parking the car and carelessly opening the door. It should come to their understanding that they should use the side view mirror to check if there is a cyclist around. In case there is one, allow them to pass otherwise you may cause serious and fatal damages to both the rider and the car as well.

Use of phones

Drivers have a tendency of using their phones while driving which distracts their attention. This may result in knocking down cyclists using the road. Due to this drivers are advised to avoid using their phones while driving.

Patience and courtesy

Anyone can be on the wrong side and at times drivers feel agitated by cyclists on the wrong side. These drivers yell at the cyclists creating a rivalry between them. Drivers are encouraged to be patient and polite to such cyclists. They can take time and talk to such cyclists to avoid repetition of the same mistake.

Use of signals

A number of road accidents have been caused by drivers who fail to use signals appropriately. Cyclists can’t understand your intention if you fail to use signals as it is required. Drivers should, therefore, ensure that they use indicators and lights to warn about any hazard when need be.

Lights control at night

It should run in the mind of the driver that cyclists have equal rights like others to use the road. So, just as they control light at night for other oncoming drivers they should also do it for the cyclists. Headlights that are brightly lighted hinder cyclists from seeing clearly which may result to them having a collision with other users of the road.

Rules for the cyclists

Rules to be observed by cyclists have also been developed. These rules include;

High visibility

There are cases when accidents occur not because drivers are ignorant but because they couldn’t see the cyclists clearly. Cyclists should, therefore, wear clothes that are brightly colored; possibly a reflector jacket. They should ride in a position that is visible and have their bicycles fitted with a lighting system to use at night. Maintaining eye contact with drivers to know if they can see you is also important.

Use of signals

Just as in the case of drivers, cyclists should not assume that everyone understands their intended movement. There are some hand signals that they’re encouraged to use in order to communicate to the drive on what they’re intending to do. Example, extending one arm in a horizontal manner to indicate they are making a turn to the left or to the right. Also rising one arm vertically to indicate they’re stopping.

Rules of the road

Like any other road user, cyclists must have knowledge of the rules of the road. The benefit of knowing these rules is that you’re safe, you can use them to claim legal justice when offended and you can avoid traffic offenses.

Use of bells

Your presence may not be noticed by other road users for one reason or the other. To notify others about your presence, cyclists are encouraged to have bells to ring in such cases. Apart from bells, there are other devices that can be used for the same e.g. physical horns.

Bike maintenance

Some cyclists ride on bikes that aren’t roadworthy. Just as cars are taken for servicing cyclists should also service their bikes before taking a ride to reduce road carnage resulting from the breakdown of poorly maintained bikes.

Listening to music and use of phones

A number of cyclists tend to have earphones on and ride while listening to music. Some even go to the extent of using their phones while cycling. All these activities lead to the distraction of the rider. As a result, the cyclist may collide with other users of the road or even ride on the wrong lane causing inconveniences.

Putting on helmets

The head is the most sensitive part of the human body and it is important for a cyclist to have their helmets on to minimize injuries in case an accident occurs.

Driving with cyclists

Most road accidents involving cyclists are in the form of collision with cars. The following are tips on how to deal with cyclists when driving.

Cautiousness on obstructions

Cyclists collide with vehicles as a result of sudden obstructions that result from drivers who open their car doors carelessly. To minimize this, cyclists should ensure that they’re visible while riding. Drivers should also look on their side mirrors to see if there is an oncoming cyclist.

Right positioning of oneself where there is a traffic light

When traffic lights order motorist and cyclists to stop, it is important that cyclists position themselves in an area they can be seen by the drivers. Cyclists are advised to avoid being at the side of a car because this increases the chances of being knocked down when the green light turns on because a driver may make a sharp turn on them.

Careful overtaking

Careless overtaking is among the leading causes of accidents between cyclists and drivers cyclists are faced with two risks as a result of careless overtaking. First, is when being overtaken by a car where the driver leaves little or no space for the cyclist. The cyclist is forced to deviate from their lane endangering their lives and those of others. The second one is when a cyclist is overtaking a vehicle that is moving slowly intending to make a turn but the drive hasn’t indicated his/ her intention. To avoid such incidences cyclists should ensure they ride at the middle of their lane so that drivers aren’t tempted to carelessly overtake them. The drivers should also signal their intentions.

Mindful crossing of junctions

Most drivers and cyclists have the tendency of just showing up when crossing junctions. They aren’t mindful of the other users who are also crossing the same junction. This may result in fatal accidents. To minimize carelessness while crossing the junction, the visibility of the cyclist is a key consideration. Drivers are also supposed to look on either side of the road before crossing the junction.

When should you pass cyclist?

There are certain factors that a motorist should understand on how to deal with cyclists when driving. These factors include;

Space

When passing a cyclist the driver must ensure that there is enough space for the two of them. It shouldn’t be the responsibly of the rider to get themselves space as a result of a driver passing them carelessly. Leaving this responsibility to them, makes them get into a dilemma since it is usually sudden. Due to this, they may end up colliding with other users of the road.

Visibility

Drivers should only pass a cyclist when they can clearly see the location of these cyclists. If it isn’t clear they should be patient enough.

Bend / junctions

It is important to consider bends and junctions on the road before passing a cyclist. This is because visibility is not clear in such regions and a slight carelessness may result in a terrible road accident.

Dealing with cyclists…

Observation of the tips highlighted above would improve how to deal with cyclists when driving. This would greatly help in minimizing the number of accidents on our roads. Everyone should enlighten themselves to ensure we stay safe on the road.

from Complete Auto Loans http://bit.ly/2RqamcJ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Complete Auto Loans

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years

Text

The Tactical Guide to Holly Holm vs. Cris Cyborg

2017 has been a strange year for UFC pay-per-views. The company lost track of its reliable model of making good fights between good fighters and hoping a few catch on. Instead, they have focused on super fights—and provided very few.

Left scrambling to make up numbers with their year end pay-per-view, the UFC had no one in position to save it. Demetrious Johnson, Tyron Woodley, and whoever the new women’s flyweight champion is, are not the names you would throw out to carry a show single-handed—at least if you wanted to make your money back at the gate. So instead the UFC focused on what it did have.

Holly Holm still has some residual fame from the beating that she put on Ronda Rousey in November 2015, despite four underwhelming appearances since then. Cristiane "Cyborg" Justino is still inexplicably a draw despite having no one her own size to fight and spending her entire career beating up blown up bantamweights. But throw those two together and the fight fan will surprise him or herself: stroking one’s chin and agreeing that one would indeed watch that.

Holly Holm’s knockout of Ronda Rousey was staggering to behold. She fought a near perfect fight, shining a light on every stylistic shortcoming that Rousey had shown and laying each bare for the whole world to see. The high kick knockout that Holm scored in that bout, combined with her many kicking knockouts over nobodies on the regional circuit to make a convincing highlight reel.

The problem is that against anyone who isn’t stuck on the regional scene and brought in to lose to her, or specifically Ronda Rousey, Holm hasn’t been able to do anything like that. There has never been as convincing an argument for "styles make fights" as Holly Holm.

After Rousey, Holm fought a tentative jab-and-side-kick title defence against Miesha Tate before getting caught in a choke in the final round and losing the belt. Then Holm was matched against tentative counter striker, Valentina Shevchenko, and gangly kickboxer, Germaine de Randamie. In both of these matches Holm looked awful.

In the new episode of Ringcraft: The Fall of Ronda Rousey, we examine how handily Holm took Rousey apart through comprehensive mastery of defensive ringcraft. Holm never took two steps in retreat without breaking off the line of Rousey’s attack. Any time she even came close to the fence she either circled out or drew the engagement and weaved out under it. It was the bull and the matador and it was everything that makes the art of boxing more than just the art of throwing hands. There were also reports that the whirring sound which could be heard over Nat Fleischer’s grave, after Rousey appeared on the cover of Ring magazine, had finally subsided .

What doesn’t make sense is that Holm clearly understood Rousey’s great flaw: running in on predictable straight-line charges. Yet when Shevchenko and de Randamie invited Holm to lead, Holm ran in on a straight line, pumping her fists and letting out kiais like she was in a children’s karate class. It was not the offense of a world class boxer by any means. Both Shevchenko and de Randamie caught Holm overextending with easy counter punches and she was reduced to complete passivity by both. Shevchenko and de Randamie aren’t magical—their tactics could be hindered quite easily by good feints and a double jab—but Holm spent both fights standing well beyond range, building up her courage, and making one or two charges a round. It is easy to be pessimistic when you consider that Holm is moving up to the newly invented featherweight class to fight one of the handful of women in MMA who actually belong there.

The Enigma of Cyborg

Here’s the thing about Cyborg Justino: no one knows how good she is or isn’t. They simply cannot know. The vast majority of her opposition has been puffed up 135ers (or lighter) and their skill sets have ranged from mediocre to uncomfortably out of place. They could well be the best featherweights in the world, but if you have seen even a handful of fights between elite fighters and then you saw Cyborg’s opponents you would be left with one question: why is the UFC bothering with this division?

The performances that prop Cyborg’s record up are the two wins that she snagged over Marloes Coenen and the victory over Gina Carano. Coenen was a pioneer in the women’s divisions and the first great 145er, but she also comfortably made bantamweight when she wanted to. Cyborg's second win over an aged Coenen came all the way back in 2013. Her short notice fight against UFC bantamweight Leslie Smith might actually be the best opponent she has fought in some years.

What you do have to admire about Justino is her commitment to improving in each discipline and testing herself in each. Whether it is turning up to suplex her way to a gold medal at purple belt in the Mundials, or kickboxing in Lion Fight in 2013 and 2014, Cyborg always seems game. Her loss to Jorina Baars in that 2014 kickboxing match is an important one to study when considering this bout with Holm. Cyborg had just one means of getting to Baars, stepping straight in on her and forcing her to the ropes. Baars tore Cyborg up with straight blows—jabs, right straights, push kicks to the face and body—but threw plenty of round kicks to the body and legs which Cyborg was able to step up the middle of.

When trying to hit and not get hit against a big banger, the low kick is tempting. The fighter is attacking the closest target to them with one of their longer weapons. The problem is that it is so easy to time and step in on if it isn’t craftily hidden. Tonya Evinger, for example, got slammed with counter left hooks and intercepting right hands each time she threw her low kick.

This is where Holm’s jamming kicks could come in so useful. They are very hard to catch, and they enter on a straight line—meaning that the kick itself obstructs the path up the center line—making it tough to step in on the fighter. In this regard it is like the push kick but without as much danger of being knocked off line. Additionally, by targeting the front of the thigh or top of the shin, the fighter forcibly straightens their opponent’s lead leg, throwing their hips back and taking them out of hitting position. Every plodding banger in the game has proven a mark for the low line side kick and oblique kick when applied well.

In fact the more you look at this fight, the more similarities you see between Rousey and Cyborg. Both like to rush their way into mid-range, both do a lot of their better work from the clinch, and neither is a great ring cutter. And perhaps that is a reason to feel optimistic for Holm in this fight. The long game seems like the best plan for Holm: taking two rounds to simply circle the cage and avoid Cyborg, stomping in the odd kick to the lead leg, then finding the left straight when Cyborg either gets reckless or stops following so readily.

But Cyborg is so much bigger than Rousey. Holm went to the clinch against Shevchenko and de Randamie when she was running low on ideas, and she wound up in the clinch on a couple of occasions against Rousey even when fighting a perfect gameplan. All she need do is make a stalemate of the clinch against Cyborg to extend her past the first round and the champion’s porous defense and hard hitting style may begin to take their toll on the gas tank, but if Holm gets to the clinch and is simply ragdolled or kneed and elbowed from bell to bell that could spell the end of Holm’s chances.

The UFC has done something impressive with this match—it created a Cyborg fight which actually has some intrigue. And a Holly Holm match that has made fans forget just how tentative and tedious six out of her seven UFC appearances have been. Can Holm sidestep the Cyborg we all remember from squashing underweight no-hopers? Or will a more thoughtful, patient Cyborg show some science of her own? Or maybe Cyborg will just smash through Holm as she would anyone else. The most appropriate ending in keeping with the way things have gone for UFC in 2017 would be for Holm to win in incredible fashion, then fight a counter-striker in her next bout and do nothing for a solid twenty-five minutes.

The question immediately after Holm and Cyborg decide who holds the UFC’s not-so-hotly contested featherweight gold will be “who is next?” and the UFC won’t have any reasonable answers. But for one night only it is worth enjoying the spectacle.

The Tactical Guide to Holly Holm vs. Cris Cyborg published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

amtushinfosolutionspage · 6 years

Text

The Tactical Guide to Holly Holm vs. Cris Cyborg

Holly Holm still has some residual fame from the beating that she put on Ronda Rousey in November 2015, despite four underwhelming appearances since then. Cristiane “Cyborg” Justino is still inexplicably a draw despite having no one her own size to fight and spending her entire career beating up blown up bantamweights. But throw those two together and the fight fan will surprise him or herself: stroking one’s chin and agreeing that one would indeed watch that.

It is easy to be pessimistic when you consider that Holm is moving up to the newly invented featherweight class to fight one of the handful of women in MMA who actually belong there.

The Enigma of Cyborg

The performances that prop Cyborg’s record up are the two wins that she snagged over Marloes Coenen and the victory over Gina Carano. Coenen was a pioneer in the women’s divisions and the first great 145er, but she also comfortably made bantamweight when she wanted to. Cyborg’s second win over an aged Coenen came all the way back in 2013. Her short notice fight against UFC bantamweight Leslie Smith might actually be the best opponent she has fought in some years.

The Tactical Guide to Holly Holm vs. Cris Cyborg syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

0 notes

imnotthomasrhodes-blog · 7 years

Text

Alter Pt. 1

Spirits loom in watchful doubt as the door shrieks open on a new day. A new life. Such spirits hide in plain sight, observant of the young girl and the old man on the rickety boat. Gliding solemnly towards what would be their light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, the end of the tunnel is dark, just like the tunnel itself. From darkness the boat emerges, only to find a new kind of darkness. The dark presence of a city, shimmering just before the morning sun. The dark skies framing the monstrous industrial complexity of such a city. The darkness of the huge body of icy waters, reflecting only the glow of the city lights dancing on the waves.

The spirits continue to follow, leaving behind the cold isolation of the tower with the boat. The tower is tall and broad, a cylindrical body rusting in the pressure of the open seas. A tower identical to the dozen other towers in parallel just off the coast of the city. But is this a city?

Well, what makes a city?

A city is a snapshot, a neatly composed display of generations of craftsmanship stacked up against each other. Neatly cramped structures and houses showing age and character. To walk a street in a city is to witness time showing itself to you.

Not here, though.

Not across these icy waters.

Because of course, this isn't the light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps it's just more of the tunnel. If so, where is the light?

In this case the light is blocked by the dense flock of shiny grey, unappealing yet clearly cost efficient industrial structures, parallel to one another. Then, in the centre is the darkest feature of all. If there was to be light at the end of this tunnel it'd be the kind of light to blind sailors as it's reflected off the awful exterior of this glossy watchtower. It perches itself above the rest. It is above all the rest, in all respects. The eye of the city, observing all from a cosy office complex.

Physical light is blocked, what of a more symbolic light?

That light lies patiently on a boat, with an old man in uniform. Leaving the tunnel and drifting slowly towards shore.

Out of the dark of the tunnel and plunged back into the dark- this time of the city, the girl sleeps. The man on the boat however speaks. His muffled grizzly tone echoes down the radio he has held to his ear, avoiding the sting of the electrical Ariel poking out the top end. Unlike the city, this radio does not denote craftsmanship, it sizzles ghostly whines and sometimes might even sound like the voice at the other end.

"Hello, Bill? It's Rolland." The old man muffles.

"Yes, hello I'm hearing you." Replies Bill sizzling on the other end. Audibly exhausted.

"You didn't have to do this y'know? Extra hours. I mean, I'll admit I ain't complaining" says Bill.

"Ach don't you worry. I ain't got much at home for me, you got a family to tend to. Speaking of which, how's the missus?" Replies Rolland playfully, ending in a chuckle.

Bill chuckles back. "Listen mate, how's the shift? How many you got? They been ticked off?"

"I got just one", replies Bill. "A girl. Baldy. She wasn't on the list but that ain't my area, I'm just now getting her to the station. Call it a retirement gift from me to you", he laughs at that.

"All you gotta do is show er' the ropes, yeah? Make sure she has her housing an' that sorted, then you're done". "No problem mate I'll see you on the other~" Bill starts to break up. Rolland accepts this and ends the call, leaving the radio on the seat beside him.

Observing the bald girl on the other side of the boat, he ponders. So many people that he's taken, so many boat trips back and forth. Not once has he ever gotten to know his passengers. He's carrying human lives from misery to hope without knowing so much as the sound of their voice. He wonders, is that wrong?

Steadily, they accelerate, the boat's path becomes weary upon exiting the tower. All they have to guide their path is water and a foggy visual of 'the station', a fenced warehouse on pier with a searchlight. Rolland has faith in the boat to steel itself. This is the 20th century after all.

The bald girl, through it all, continues to sleep. Rolland remains in peaceful consideration, what would happen if he woke her?

Waking up the newbie a little early can't do any harm. He thinks. Rolland, of course, isn't of a high enough stature to be rule-breaking. If there was a pecking order even the lowest eat Rolland.

When has that stopped you?

It certainly doesn't stop Rolland.

He reaches his bony uniform-clad arm out towards the bald girl, giving her a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

And another.

From the darkness, her eyes creak open- allowing the faint and blurred blocks of colour and shape to register before shutting them again. They creak back open, this time she registers value as the sunlight gleams down onto the glittery waters around her. They shut again.

"Ello' darlin'. Now, I shouldn't be waking ya just yet but I guess it's Christmas come early for you. You made it!" Exclaims Rolland with jittery excitement.

This almost registers in the fiery clockwork of the bald girls mind. She turns to the source of the sound.

"Ya' hear that? Ya made it! My names Rolland an I'm taking you to mainland where I'll hand you over to Bill who will get you sorted in terms of~" his voice fades.

The bald girls mind is a circus, a million shouts of a million questions. The world is like an explosion in her brain, registering concepts of auditory and visual information as they come.

'The sky, it meets the water. The water reflects light. Light comes from the sky. There's a big, black shape obstructing the view of such a light source. Why is the big black shape glowing? It's a city. Cities-windows-lights. Buildings. Buildings in the way of the light. Light-sun.'

"Boat!" shouts the bald girl.

"Uh yeah that's right, we're on a boat. Won't be long now till we reach mainland. Like I was saying the people you mee~" his voice fades.

She continues processing what's around her and her attention is drawn to the source of the noise, the old man.

'He's got lines on him, his- face? It's attached to his armour? Wait- no it's attached to his body. His body is wearing clothes. Clothes? Armour? Armour-fighting. He's not fighting. Is he? Is that what the noise is? No, hold on- that's talking not fighting. What's the difference?'

"You're talking!" She cries.

"Yeah I am, uh are you listening? This stuff is quite important." He replies with caution.

"Me, I- I'm talking! You, listening, no. we are talking, together”

"Urm, listen ma'am".

"No! I- and you. You and I. We're talking on a boat. That's a city!" She gestures the breadth of the city stretching the horizon.

"But, we, no- you. You look, angry?"

"Right no", declaring authority, he exclaims, "you need ta listen to me darling or else I'm gonna file a bad reference~" his voice fades.

'Wait,' she thinks, 'he's angry, that's a city, we're on water, water is wet, then- what am I? No- who am I?'

"Who-who am I?" She asks.

"Wait, y-you're serious?”

He stops to tink a moment, the bakd girl remains in a state of panic.

“Well I dunno who you are Miss, you weren't on the list."

But then, who is she? Sleeping through the tunnel, sailing to mainland. Awakens to the suns heat piercing the cracks between buildings. All of that, what is it, when being observed by a shell? The bald girl, the girl without thoughts. The girl with no past, little present and a future of mainland, Bill and housing. What if the observer, is not really here?

If so then who is the old man? The noise. The fighter in armour.

"Who are you!?" She cries.

"My name is Rolland an I'm here to transport~"

Rolland.

"Rolland~" she begins. "Am I-"

She doesn't continue.

"Listen, urm, miss." He begins with soft compassion. "Are you okay? Do you know where you are?"

She wonders. 'Do I know where I am?'

Well, no. She doesn't. She knows as much as an infant escaping the womb. She knows the world as a foetus understands there is more to life that the dark inside.

"No" she finally replies.

"Oh, Christ I'm so sorry." He answers her with a dark tone of sincerity.

He returns to his seat at the back of the boat and sits, head in hands. The girl ponders this. 'He's sad,' she thinks. 'Why?'

He reaches for his radio once more and unsheathes its aerial. Seeming to button in a code, he waits as the device rings and fizzles again, hoping to hear a voice on the other end.

"Yeah, hey Rolland I hear ya" says the voice at the other side crackling in audio.

"Hey uh, listen Bill I got a poor sod here who doesn't know where she is. Hell, she don't know er' own name she's sitting there shouting these words and she's making no~" his voice fades, once more.

The call ends and the girl is approached once more by Rolland. He softly holds one of her hands, kneeling in front of her. He holds the radio to her ear with his free hand.

"Hey darlin' my names Bill I'm the guy on the radio, obviously. So, anyway you got some sorta, mental defect I'm guessing yeah?"

She ponders this. 'Is this true? Am I ill? Is this a dream? Am I gonna wake up at moms, sick bowl on one side and a nice hot bowl of soup on the other? Do I have a mom?'

"I don't know" she finally replies briefly.

"Uh I'm gonna need some more details darkin' you sure you ai~" his voice fades.

His voice grows louder and angrier. "Hey! Lady! Do you know who you are? If not you're as good as-"

He is cut off as Rolland pulls back the radio to himself.

"That's quite enough we don't need to scare her" Rolland tell him.

He sighs, bows his head in consideration of what to say next. "Okay, listen. You're on the Dead sphere. A world, outside our earth. You paid to be here, or at least I hope you did. This is a parallel world open for imports of citizens from our earth" he gestures to the tower they came out of. "You came outta there, their machines beam you across realities. Basically darlin', you paid to come here to escape Earth. The place we're headed to, the mainland. It's called the Alter. It's walled off from other areas, built specifically for humans of our earth. When we arrive you'll get a house, a job etc. You won't get paid mind you, all you need will be dispersed by the state. You work the hours, they supply the goods. Now, problem is for you- people with, urm" he wonders how to put it delicately, "issues, don't tend to make it through vetting. I dunno how you made it here, but on the Alter they only take the strongest and brightest which, I'm afraid to say doesn't seem like you."

She ponders this, understanding some but not all of what she was told. She is learning fast, too fast. She can't be new, surely. She must have a life, somewhere buried in her mind.

"What happens to the weak?" She asks delicately.

"Well we don't really know. We've never had any yet, and this place as' been open a good couple decades."

The girl is worried now, fearful of a future she might not have, just like the past she does not have.

"I can, pretend?"

"Pretend?"

"Pretend to be strong. Pretend to be wise. Pretend to, be. Then maybe I'll make it. Im going to do it. Just you watch, Rolland. I can do this." She looks at him.

The radio sparks on the floor. A brief blue pop of energy. Enough to throw it across the boat. Rolland observes this, puzzled.

Another spark, this time electrifying the steel lining of the boats sides. Blue illumination fries the metal to black. Rolland, visibly frightened, looks at the girl. Unnatural electrical patterns, all of which circle the bald girl.

"Is this you? This is you ain't it?" asks Rolland with authority and a hint of underlying fear.

'Finally', she thinks. 'Finally I can answer a question.'

"Yes".

Blue energy escapes the girl in flashes of blue, sparkling nebulas of electrified currents travelling the breadth of the boat. She cries, slapping her glossy hairless scalp expecting hair to latch onto. It hurts, everything hurts. The energy, the motion and Rolland's look of dread at the very sight of her.

A deafening scream sends more waves of static energy hurtling in circles around her.

She stands, Rolland falls to the ground gazing up at her in anticipation and fear.

"I know who I am!" She roars.

"I... am...-" she cuts herself off as a bright gold figure abruptly escapes her body, leaving her lifelessly drooped over the edge of the boat, her hands softly trickling the surface of the water. Her dead eyes stare into her own shimmering reflection.

Rolland is shaken, eyes steeped in awe as he scurries backwards. The golden figure looms over him, staring.

Plunged back into darkness. Was it real? Was the bald girl on the boat really on a boat? Rolland, the Alter, anything?

She wakes to the soft noise of calm waters. The icy sting of the water on her hands focuses her. Her eyes open to the sharp visual of her own frail, yet content reflection distorted in the water. The boat continues onwards.

She topples back, securing herself upright. She observes the environment around her. 'Closer to the city'. She thinks. 'All I need to do is pretend'

She looks down at Rolland's corpse, dispersed along the floor of the boat. Eyes rolled back into his skull, hands locked in panicked grip. Terrified in lifelessness. Frozen in death.

"Rolland?" She cries as she slumps to her knees before him.

"Rolland! Please Rolland!" She grabs and shakes his hand in a vain attempt to wake him.

In a moment of grim realisation, she accepts. 'I did this. I killed him.' She ponders further. 'I'm closer to the city, almost there. Bill. He'll be there, the man on the radio. He'll know it was me. What will happen?'

'That's it,' she thinks. 'I know now, I know who I am. I am the girl that will not let a man die in vain. I know who I am. I'm the girl who's gonna make it, at any cost. I'm going to find out my name, find my family and make it home'.

The boat is approaching the pier, she can see the station. The gleam of flashlights distorts her view, behind the flash lights are men, silhouettes of men anyway, shouting.

She looks up at the sky, its calm and clear. Pale blue and pink hues refect in the waters below. Stars are still out, vaguely. “I’ll call myself, Mars”

"That's all I have for tonight kids"

"But always remember. For everyone, there is a moment. A brief, unsavoury moment of dread. Existential realisation of the one great truth. The only truth. What makes us, us. What makes life, life. There is one brief, unsavoury, dreadful moment where we realise, the world isn't white, it's not black either. There is no light, no dark. Truth lies in realisation. Realisation of colour- the lights, the darks. The harmonies and contrast. There is no black and white, they're ideals. In truth, there is no ideal. Only choices. Choices are what make us. Sometimes the choices you make are wrong, and that's okay. Because look at us now!"

"Alright wrap it up Mars it's time for switch off." Booms the guard from behind her.

Mars is sitting, surrounded by the youths gaze ordered in a circular fashion, observant and listening.

They let out a disappointed deflation in unison at the guards statement. Of all ages, from children bewildered to teens and even young adults moved by her stories.

"Tell us another story tomorrow, won't you Mars?" Asks the smallest child.

"Well" she chuckles. "I got no more non-fiction left I'll have to start reading books" explains Mars.

The children leave as the metal cage door slams behind them. Mars faces away from the light as it shuts off. Peering through the barred windows, she reflects. Upon that night, the boat, the old man. Rolland. The only past she has.

She ponders- no past, no present, no future.

Might as well go out with a bang.

#shortstory story nover horror scifi character author writing literature novel critique criticism youngauthor young read

0 notes