Losers Part 1 Quotes

Wasn't learning to lose gracefully part of your training?" "No," she said sourly. "Arobynn told me that second place was just a nice title for the first loser.

I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too.

Do you remember what I used to tell you?” Manson said. “When we were teenagers and we’d drive out here to talk about shit…you’d tell me you didn’t want to see another day…” I remembered that, of course I did. I remembered the despair I felt, the pain we shared, how hopeless I’d been. “If you can get through the night, you’ll see the sun again,” I said, repeating the words he’d told me back then. “Keep chasing the next sunrise.” I closed my eyes as I exhaled. “The night feels really fucking dark, Manson, but I’m still chasing sunrises.

Manson would wait for you in the dark and you’d never see him coming; while Lucas would come in broad daylight, smash your windows out, and set your house on fire.

Absolutely. I love all those bastards, obviously, but love is a little different with every person you share it with. Sometimes it’s passionate and romantic, or deep and platonic, or any combination in between. A lot of people don’t understand it, but I don’t need anyone’s understanding. I accepted that a long time ago

The night feels really fucking dark, but I'm still chasing sunrises.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Then with the losers let it sympathize, for nothing can seem foul to those that win.

When the fight ends you can afford to relax. That’s the worst part. Winner or loser you have again eyes to see around you. Blood, butchered bodies, bodies pierced by arrows. You stir inside, your heart tightens, the feeling of loss wells up. The sense of smell is the next thing to revive, adding a new dimension of pain. I closed the eyes of the last cadet, blue eyes, unseeing, his body, so small, almost a child, the youngest cadets were all gone, their faces surprised in death. Cold lips never able again to kiss a girl. It’s then that the emptiness swallows you and you mourn inside. Damn you, Scharon. No! Damn you, Travellers.

If a guy couldn’t play with my masochism as enthusiastically as he played with my pleasure, then I didn’t want it. There simply wasn’t a nice way to tell your mother that you wanted a guy who could spank you as well as he could fuck. A man who was as comfortable with whips and chains as he was at candlelit dinners. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take control but wasn’t going to make the relationship feel like a cage. Laroux, Harley. Losers: Part I (p. 34). Kindle Edition.

Sometimes the winner are the loser and the loser are the winner

There was probably a psychology student out there who could write their entire thesis studying my horny brain.

Speaking truth to bullshit and practicing civility start with knowing ourselves and knowing the behaviors and issues that both push into our own BS or get in the way of being civil. If we go back to BRAVING and our trust checklist, these situations require a keen eye on: 1. Boundaries. What’s okay in a discussion and what’s not? How do you set a boundary when you realize you’re knee-deep in BS? 2. Reliability. Bullshitting is the abandonment of reliability. It’s hard to trust or be trusted when we BS too often. 3. Accountability. How do we hold ourself and others accountable for less BS and more honest debate? Less off-loading of emotion and more civility? 4. Vault. Civility honors confidentiality. BS ignores truth and opens the door to violations of confidentiality. 5. Integrity. How do we stay in our integrity when confronted with BS, and how do we stop in the midst of our own emotional moment to say, “You know what, I’m not sure this conversation is productive” or “I need to learn more about this issue”? 6. Nonjudgment. How do we stay out of judgment toward ourselves when the right thing to do is say, “I actually don’t know much about this. Tell me what you know and why it’s important to you.” How do we not go into “winner/loser” mode and instead see an opportunity for connection when someone says to us, “I don’t know anything about that issue”? 7. Generosity. What’s the most generous assumption we can make about the people around us? What boundaries have to be in place for us to be kinder and more tolerant? I know that the practice of speaking truth to bullshit while being civil feels like a paradox, but both are profoundly important parts of true belonging.

That’s why the ladies call me Daddy Longlegs,

Normal people didn’t do that. Maybe normal people were boring.

You need someone to punish you properly, fuck you good, and care about you enough not to let you hang out with friends who will stab you in the back the first chance they get.

Girl, we broke into your house, shoved ice up your ass, and fucked you over your mother’s kitchen table. Eat some goddamn cookies.

She is the sun that shines on my path, chasing away any shadows. She is the laughter that fills up the gaping holes, without which I would be a basket case. She is the reason why I love my job. The best part of my day is drinking a coffee, eating a chocolate treat and listening to great music, while sitting with Genevieve Cain. She appreciates life, she grasps it and makes it what she wants. Sure, she's hit a few bumps recently, what with her loser ex, but Gen's a survivor. And not just any survivor, she's a survivor with dignity and pride.

I felt like I was being left behind. He was able to do what I couldn’t, and although he kept trying to drag me along with him, I still lived with the fear that eventually he’d fix himself and I’d still be broken.

I think we’re all hypocrites, in one way or another. As we grow up and figure out who we are, sometimes our thoughts change before our behavior does. It’s not pretty, and it can be fucked up, but we’re not perfect.

I whimpered as I obeyed. Lucas leaned close, and spat Manson’s cum into my mouth. It dripped down my chin, too much for me to take. It was disgusting — God, it was so hot. It was truly repulsive — it made me shiver with ecstasy.

THE UNOFFICIAL AND UNWRITTEN (but you better follow them or you’re going to get beaten twice as hard) SPOKANE INDIAN RULES OF FISTICUFFS: 1. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 2. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS GOING TO INSULT YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 3. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 4. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS ANY OF YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE GOING TO INSULT YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 5. YOU SHOULD NEVER FIGHT A GIRL, UNLESS SHE INSULTS YOU, YOUR FAMILY, OR YOUR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HER. 6. IF SOMEBODY BEATS UP YOUR FATHER OR YOUR MOTHER, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE SON AND/OR DAUGHTER OF THE PERSON WHO BEAT UP YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER. 7. IF YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER BEATS UP SOMEBODY, THEN THAT PERSON’S SON AND/OR DAUGHTER WILL FIGHT YOU. 8. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY INDIANS WHO WORK FOR THE BUREA OF INDIAN AFFAIRS. 9. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY WHITE PEOPLE WHO LIVE ANYWHERE ON THE RESERVATION. 10. IF YOU GET IN A FIGHT WITH SOMEBODY WHO IS SURE TO BEAT YOU UP, THEN YOU MUST THROW THE FIRST PUNCH, BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY PUNCH YOU’LL EVER GET TO THROW. 11. IN ANY FIGHT, THE LOSER IS THE FIRST ONE WHO CRIES.

There simply wasn’t a nice way to tell your mother that you wanted a guy who could spank you as well as he could fuck. A man who was as comfortable with whips and chains as he was at candlelit dinners. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take control but wasn’t going to make the relationship feel like a cage.

I had a thing for spanking, undeniably. But telling partners I liked to be spanked usually resulted in a few little smacks during sex and nothing more. It was hard to find the words to explain that I didn’t want a swat; I wanted a fully-fledged, bent over, legs kicking, doubting-my-own-endurance spanking.

Spanking and handcuffs felt acceptably kinky, even a little trendy. But there were fetishes for stalking, kidnapping, and captivity, all of which had me practically shivering with desire. They fell under the umbrella of “consensual non-consent,” which involved the submissive person roleplaying that they weren’t willing. All of it got a five out of five from me.

Sounds like compersion,” he said. “It’s when you feel happy for someone else’s happiness. Like when Vincent flirts with you, I know he’s enjoying himself and enjoying your company. So it makes me happy.” “I had no idea there was a word for that,” I said. “It’s like the opposite of jealousy.” “Yeah, it’s like that. Finding joy in other people’s joy. That’s part of why the four of us get along so well. We really want to see each other happy.

Martin Luther King’s legacy, as its keepers know, is profoundly at odds with the historic American order, and that is why they can have no rest until the symbols of that order are pulled up root and branch. To say that Dr. King are the cause he really represented are now part of the official American creed, indeed the defining and dominant symbol of that creed – which is what both houses of the United States Congress said in 1983 and what President Ronald Reagan signed into law shortly afterward – is the inauguration of a new order and the things they symbolized can retain neither meaning nor respect, in which they are as mute and dark as the gods of Babylon and Tyre and from whose cold ashes will rise a new god, leveling their rough places, straightening their crookedness, and exalting every valley until the whole earth is flattened beneath his feet and perceives the glory of the new lord.

This seat taken?" My eyes grazing over the only other occupant, a guy with long glossy dark hair with his head bent over a book. "It's all yours," he says. And when he lifts his head and smiles,my heart just about leaps from my chest. It's the boy from my dreams. The boy from the Rabbit Hole,the gas station,and the cave-sitting before me with those same amazing,icy-blue eues, those same alluring lips I've kissed multiple times-but only in slumber, never in waking life. I scold my heart to settle,but it doesn't obey. I admonish myself to sit,to act normal, casual-and I just barely succeed. Stealing a series of surreptitious looks as I search through my backpack, taking in his square chin,wide generous lips,strong brow,defined cheekbones, and smooth brown skin-the exact same features as Cade. "You're the new girl,right?" He abandons his book,tilting his head in a way that causes his hair to stream over his shoulder,so glossy and inviting it takes all of my will not to lean across the table and touch it. I nod in reply,or at least I think I do.I can't be too sure.I'm too stricken by his gaze-the way it mirrors mine-trying to determine if he knows me, recognizes me,if he's surprised to find me here.Wishing Paloma had better prepared me-focused more on him and less on his brother. I force my gaze from his.Bang my knee hard against the table as I swivel in my seat.Feeling so odd and unsettled,I wish I'd picked another place to sit, though it's pretty clear no other table would have me. He buries his smile and returns to the book.Allowing a few minutes to pass,not nearly enough time for me to get a grip on myself,when he looks up and says, "Are you staring at me because you've seen my doppelganer roaming the halls,playing king of the cafeteria? Or because you need to borrow a pencil and you're too shy to ask?" I clear the lump from my throat, push the words past my lips when I say, "No one's ever accused me of being shy." A statement that,while steeped in truth, stands at direct odds with the way I feel now,sitting so close to him. "So I guess it's your twin-or doppelganer,as you say." I keep my voice light, as though I'm not at all affected by his presence,but the trill note at the end gives me away.Every part of me now vibrating with the most intense surge of energy-like I've been plugged into the wall and switched on-and it's all I can do to keep from grabbing hold of his shirt, demanding to know if he dreamed the dreams too. He nods,allowing an easy,cool smile to widen his lips. "We're identical," he says. "As I'm sure you've guessed. Though it's easy enough to tell us apart. For one thing,he keeps his hair short.For another-" "The eyes-" I blurt,regretting the words the instant they're out.From the look on his face,he has no idea what I'm talking about. "Yours are...kinder." My cheeks burn so hot I force myself to look away,as words of reproach stampede my brain. Why am I acting like such an inept loser? Why do I insist on embarrassing myself-in front of him-of all people? I have to pull it together.I have to remember who I am-what I am-and what I was born to do.Which is basically to crush him and his kind-or,at the very least,to temper the damage they do.

Speaking truth to bullshit and practicing civility start with knowing ourselves and knowing the behaviors and issues that both push into our own BS or get in the way of being civil. If we go back to BRAVING and our trust checklist, these situations require a keen eye on: 1. Boundaries. What’s okay in a discussion and what’s not? How do you set a boundary when you realize you’re knee-deep in BS? 2. Reliability. Bullshitting is the abandonment of reliability. It’s hard to trust or be trusted when we BS too often. 3. Accountability. How do we hold ourself and others accountable for less BS and more honest debate? Less off-loading of emotion and more civility? 4. Vault. Civility honors confidentiality. BS ignores truth and opens the door to violations of confidentiality. 5. Integrity. How do we stay in our integrity when confronted with BS, and how do we stop in the midst of our own emotional moment to say, “You know what, I’m not sure this conversation is productive” or “I need to learn more about this issue”? 6. Nonjudgment. How do we stay out of judgment toward ourselves when the right thing to do is say, “I actually don’t know much about this. Tell me what you know and why it’s important to you.” How do we not go into “winner/loser” mode and instead see an opportunity for connection when someone says to us, “I don’t know anything about that issue”? 7. Generosity. What’s the most generous assumption we can make about the people around us? What boundaries have to be in place for us to be kinder and more tolerant? I know that the practice of speaking truth to bullshit while being civil feels like a paradox, but both are profoundly important parts of true belonging. Carl Jung wrote, “Only the paradox comes anywhere near to comprehending the fullness of life.” We are complex beings who wake up every day and fight against being labeled and diminished with stereotypes and characterizations that don’t reflect our fullness. Yet when we don’t risk standing on our own and speaking out, when the options laid before us force us into the very categories we resist, we perpetuate our own disconnection and loneliness. When we are willing to risk venturing into the wilderness, and even becoming our own wilderness, we feel the deepest connection to our true self and to what matters the most.

In the Fire Nation, hair was heavily linked with honor. She’d heard that sometimes the losers of an important Agni Kai would shave parts of their head bald, laying patches of their scalp bare to symbolize an extra level of humility from their defeat, but the topknot was always sacred. It was never touched except in circumstances akin to death.

He was intoxicating, a flawed god I couldn’t resist worshiping. His imperfection made him sacred, his strength made him holy. But the lust he inspired in me made him wicked, and the ease with which he bent me to his will was the closest thing to divinity I could imagine.

To the losers, the freaks, and the outcasts. Keep chasing sunrises.

God, I’d even let the word “Master” roll off my tongue as I’d said my goodbyes to Manson.

I’d wasted all my time getting an education when I should have been pursuing my true calling of becoming a trophy wife and grandbaby-producer as quickly as possible.

He’d put his hand around my throat and squeezed when he kissed me,

The losers decided to show up.

I wanted to feel it again, feel it harder. I wanted to rip open his viciousness and take it all in. I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too.

I wanted to feel it again, feel it harder. I wanted to rip open his viciousness and take it all in. I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too. But a girl like me wasn’t supposed to be with guys like them.

I didn’t know what the hell I wanted anymore. Except the big plate of biscuits and gravy in front of me. I wanted that in my stomach immediately.

There was nothing there but lust, and what had happened at the party was a result of that. Never mind that I’d never felt so free, so wildly alive as I had last night. Entrusting myself to those boys in the pursuit of pleasure had awakened a part of me I never knew existed.

The only reason I could think of, the one that kept running through my brain again and again, was that she was falling for us as much as we were for her. Not even in a sexual way. The lust was already there; we’d all acknowledged that a long time ago. It wasn’t about that. This was different. It was like she was falling for us, for who we were and what we brought to her life.

When I’d transferred to Wickeston High, Jess and Vincent had been my first true temptations to sin. A seductress and a jester, challenging my carefully guarded thoughts.

I couldn’t live as anything less than fully myself,

Now, the curtain was drawn and the costumes were gone. Jessica was just Jess, a woman trying to figure out who the hell she was like the rest of us.

Fuck me like you hate me, Manson. Make it hurt.

That pussy absolutely needs its own security detail. But I can’t follow you around twenty-four-seven, so…

It felt like such a silly thing to admit that a little cut on my finger made me feel so much. If I’d tried to tell that to anyone else in my life, they would have laughed or been disgusted, horrified, maybe even concerned.

As we grow up and figure out who we are, sometimes our thoughts change before our behavior does. It’s not pretty, and it can be fucked up, but we’re not perfect. We’ve all done it.

Finding myself bent over his lap in the middle of a party had been one of the most defining moments of my life, bizarre as that was.

God, the fact that this turned me on as much as it shamed me was so confusing. There was probably a psychology student out there who could write their entire thesis studying my horny brain.

That was what kept drawing me back in, that was what had intrigued all of us. Jessica went through life wearing a mask, but beyond that mask was a wild, twisted woman, aching for a way out.

Bringing the woman I wanted into the family we’d built, intermeshing our lives and growing a relationship together, felt natural to me. But to most people, it didn’t. Society wanted things to be labeled, to fit into neat and tidy boxes. Sex was meant to be exclusive, romantic, and flawless. Friends were only friends and never lovers, nothing could grow or change. Who you used to be could never be separated from who you’d become.

Reject the boxes you’re offered and people will keep trying to shove you into them. They’ll put their labels on you and demand you adhere to them, and then if you don’t, it becomes your own damn fault that life is difficult.

I couldn’t blame her for ghosting, or for letting down her guard with me for one night and then retreating the moment the sun rose. Boxes were safe and easy. Leave the shelter of the box and the world becomes significantly less friendly.

It’s about submitting. No more running, no more teasing, no more bullshit. You give us what we want, we give you what you need. You’re ours until your debt is paid, simple as that.

In the meantime, you’ll be paying off your debt.” “By doing what exactly?” I said. “Being your on-call Fleshlight?

I’ll pay my debt. I’ll play the game. Until the car is fixed, I’m yours.

Was I broken? Sexuality was nothing to be ashamed of, but it was hard to reconcile that when the friends and family I was surrounded by told me otherwise.

Destroy me. Ruin me. Force me into the corruption I craved.

I’d ghosted them, and yet I was the one who felt haunted.

Yeah, Jess.” Jason meandered closer beside me, sipping his beer. “Can’t even give an inch when Manson gave you eight?

I already couldn’t look at him without my brain becoming a giant marquee that flashed: Pierced Dick, One Night Only, Get Your Fill of Some Prime Pierced Dick!

I needed all of them to get away from me before I fell down into another orgy rabbit hole.

I guess trouble didn’t scare them. Manson had told me as much, hadn’t he? If there’s no risk, where’s the fun?

I didn’t let anyone but the boys sit in this car, but fuck, I could make an exception. Jess could sit her ass on my goddamn face if she wanted.

I’d let Manson fuck me with the knife he’d threatened my ex with. I’d let them cuff my hands and fuck my face, one after the other. I’d crawled, cried, endured, and come out on the other side feeling awakened.

Sticks and stones, man. I wasn’t built for it anyway; I was just a skinny stoner with a fried egg for a brain.

You’re fucking perfect, angel. So perfect you’ll make me lose my goddamn mind.

I still have the video.” I knew exactly what video she was talking about: me on my knees at Manson’s feet, during the drink or dare game we’d played almost three years ago. I’d kissed his boots in front of everyone. I’d soaked in the humiliation like the first hit of a drug and I hadn’t been able to shake my addiction to it since.

I’m not good at letting go of things I want, and you…I have wanted you for so goddamn long.

I don’t hate you either, Lucas,” she said. “Even when you irritate me, or glare at me, or cheat at games…

You’ve earned the honor of being Lady Fucktoy.” Jason snickered. “It’s a very elevated position.

Gentlemen — and Lady Fucktoy — I propose a toast. To whatever poor bastards have to try to repair Alex’s Hellcat.

Soon enough, I was the last one left awake. But part of me felt like it was worth staying awake just to see all of us so close. After everything that had happened over these past few weeks, it was nice to feel at peace.

He’d been so damn determined to claim his life, to live as he wanted, that it had kept me going too.

That was what I’d always wanted for myself and my boys — safety, peace, somewhere we could exist without constant judgment, without fear.

His imperfection made him sacred, his strength made him holy. But the lust he inspired in me made him wicked, and the ease with which he bent me to his will was the closest thing to divinity I could imagine.

The pain didn’t scare me; in fact, I savored it. It made me feel human. Flesh and blood, mind and soul finally connected into one complete being.

Oh, fuck yeah. Snatch up our pretty little toy and take her away all for ourselves? Sounds exactly like the vacation I need.

She wanted something we could give her. An escape, an outlet for her darkness, a safe place she could fulfill all her filthy desires. I wanted to give her that. I wanted to show her that regardless of her fears, she could have everything she wanted and more. I needed it to be different this time. I’d break every damn rule necessary to win, to claim a prize that had been dangling in front of our faces for years. This was our game, and I didn’t care what it took to make her ours in the end.

I’m good,” he said, holding up a neon green and black energy drink can. “Ah, I see, you prefer to fuel yourself with straight battery acid.

But I couldn’t always cater my life to my mother.

Sounds like compersion,” he said. “It’s when you feel happy for someone else’s happiness. Like when Vincent flirts with you, I know he’s enjoying himself and enjoying your company. So it makes me happy.” “I had no idea there was a word for that,” I said. “It’s like the opposite of jealousy.

It’s no trouble.” Lies. “I don’t mind doing it at all.” This morning was hell. “It feels good to switch up my routine.” Nope, it felt awful.

Beneath that perfect exterior lurked a masochistic little creature longing for someone to take control. It was a side of her I could actually understand, something I could relate to. Something I could play with.

Those men were extremely dangerous, but not in the way she thought. They were a danger to my pride, my reputation, and my panties.

I had to Google the definition of “katoptronophilia,” only to realize it meant getting turned on by having sex in front of a mirror.

If this list ever gets in front of anyone else’s eyes besides you four, I WILL KILL YOU.

This wasn’t the type of speed that would slowly ease me up to an orgasm. It would rip my orgasm out of me and beat me with it.

Good girls didn’t get railed on the kitchen floor while they screamed how much they hated the men fucking them, but there I was.

I wouldn’t survive it; of that much, I was certain. Death via destroyed pussy was impending.

Both of you? At the same time?” I looked at Manson as I said it, wide-eyed, imagining the girth of their cocks side by side. I wouldn’t survive it; of that much, I was certain. Death via destroyed pussy was impending.

Their seed dripped over my cheeks, my lips, my chin. Marking me, claiming me. Reinforcing what I already knew — they owned me.

Frozen Thin Mints and coffee were basically my breakfast of champions for a while.

I used to try to make everyone I met into a friend, regardless of who they were or how they’d treated me. I’d convinced myself that enough kindness could turn anything around, but not everyone was — or deserved to be — a friend. Learning that lesson hadn’t been easy, but painfully necessary.

You’re no distressed damsel. You’re a very dangerous queen bee.

You’re really tall,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. “That’s why the ladies call me Daddy Longlegs,

Sorry, sorry, I…” I licked my lips, uncertain of what to say. “Why are you…I mean…okay, fuck it, I’ll just say. Why are you here?” “To serve you,” she said, with a teasing sigh. “Lucas and Manson said they owed you, so apparently, I’m your interactive thank you present.

If Jess wasn’t reduced to a trembling, empty-headed, orgasm-drunk puddle by the end of this, then I hadn’t done my job.

There was something beautiful in trusting them so damn much that we could share this. Our lives were twined for better or worse, and despite all the bullshit, I wouldn’t have it any other way.