#Vance ’’I will stab you’’ Hopper

[jeireilostt]

When Finney started crying

(Satire is my favorite)

Vance: STOP FUCKING CRYING BITCH-

Finney: I-

Vance: WA WA WA

Vance: I DONT WANNA FUCKING HEAR IT!?

#the blackphone #inncorrect quotes #finney blake #tbp finney #tbp vance #vance hopper #i love them so much dude #WA WA WA I DONT WANNA FUKCING HERE IT #Vance ’’I will stab you’’ Hopper

[marksbear]

Could I request a Vance Hopper x Male reader (boyfriends)? Plays a few months after Vance got kidnapped. The reader gets kidnapped too (and gives the grabber a really hard time because he doesn’t back down) and Vance ghost uses the chance to properly say goodbye to his boyfriend and helps him to get out of there. A lot of angst and heartbreak (the readers usually a tough guy too and doesn’t show much emotion but completely breaks down in the basement after Vance called him the first time) the grabber could show him the spot where he killed Vance to mock him idk make it hurt 💔💔💔I hope you have a great day and thank you!! <3

Sorry this took a while I took a lil break! But I really hope you enjoy this and that I wrote everything you asked for!

And I write this in a way so you won’t get much spoilers.

Warning:Angst! Mentions a toxic home, evil stepdad, kidnapping,trauma, grieving, sad and emotionless reader, blood, stabbing, survivor guilt.

GHOST VANCE HOPPER X MALE READER.

Y/n was inside his room laying on the floor as the TV played. Y/n's eyes bore into the screen not noticing a muffled shout from downstairs. The TV screen played Y/n favorite show ever.

Sadly it was hard for Y/n to even pay attention to the show. Y/n kept glancing around his room looking at the pictures hanging around of his boyfriend.

Every time Y/n caught himself looking at the pictures he’ll whip his head around as his mind runs wild about his boyfriends disappearance.

“Vance… We we’re supposed to runaway with each other. Get out of this stupid town together.”

Y/n thought to himself knowing deep down inside that Vance would never leave him on purpose. Y/n knew it was a deeper meaning as to why his boyfriend disappeared. But sadly it’s been months and most people stopped caring for the missing teen. It wasn’t like many people was searching for Vance anyway.

The door swings open hitting the wall on impact.

“Y/n! Your mom has been calling your name for the past three minutes! Go down there before she starts getting on my ass!” Y/n’s step dad says staring at Y/n.

“There’s something wrong kid? All the sudden you can’t hear?” His step dad says with a mug on his face.

Y/n rolls his eyes and stands up from the floor walking up to his TV turning it off. “And good lord take your boyfriends pictures off the wall son he left you.” Once those words came out of his mouth Y/n shoved his stepdad out of his room before slamming the door shut.

“You brat!”

His stepfather calls out slamming his hand on the door before walking away.

After making sure his stepdad was completely away Y/n opens his door walking downstairs to see what his mother needs.

When Y/n made it to the bottom of the staircase his mom was already waiting for him.

“Glad to see your dad listens to me.”

“He’s not my dad… And I’m sorry for not hearing you earlier.” Y/n responds back crossing his arms as his mom rolls her eyes.

“I need you to go to the store. Get some groceries and then get you and your sister some snacks to eat. And after that go to the corner store and get me and your dad some cigarettes.” She says before grabbing Y/n’s arm using the pin in her other hand writing the list of groceries on him.

After she was done she gave Y/n the money and extra just in case.

Y/n grumbles complaints under his breath as he takes the money and go back up stairs to change.

After changing Y/n goes back downstairs and walk to the front door about to leave.

“And please Y/n, come straight home. No looking for Vance or clues for his disappearance. I know you miss him honey we both do. It’s just that he’s gone now Y/n. He ran away…” She says before giving Y/n a sympathetic look.

Y/n listens to her words before leaving shutting the door behind him.

Digging inside his pockets Y/n gets the Walkman out and puts on the headphones before putting it back inside his pockets.

TIMESKIP

Y/n was finally halfway to the store walking on the sidewalk as he blasted music through his headphones. Y/n eyes were glued to the floor as he walked not bothering to look up.

Suddenly tapped into Y/n's foot.

Stopping in his tracks Y/n looked to see what touched him. It was a can and a few other things behind it. Y/n looked up seeing a man in white face paint on the sidewalk trying to but clumsily picking up his things.

Usually Y/n would have just avoided helping. Like going to a different direction or just out right to ignore them completely. But this time Y/n couldn't just fake his way out of this.

Y/n crouched down picking up the items that were scattered around the sidewalk. The stranger puts the fallen nearby items inside his bag before walking up to the teen.

Y/n hands him the items while imagining how Vance would have picked light fun at him for helping calling him "soft."

"T-thank you so much! Please let me pay you back for your kindness." The stranger says grabbing the teen's arm forcefully trying to pull him to the van.

"Hey man get the hell off of me!" Y/n shouts as he yanks his arm back. The man lunges for Y/n wrapping his arms around him. Y/n tries to fight back by kicking and stomping on the man's foot and also by scratching his arms.

The man swung the teen around in his arms yanking him to the van.

Y/n swung his head straight back hitting the man with the back of his head causing his nose to bleed.

"You brat!" The man shouts as he uses one of his free hand to pry open Y/n's mouth before using his other one to spray something inside his mouth.

Y/n continues to fight and sway around until his own body gives up on him slowly becoming unconscious the man swings open the van door angrily tossing Y/n inside of it before slamming it shut.

TIMESKIP

Opening his eyes slowly Y/n raised his head from the dirty mattress he laid on. As he looked around the more his brain processed what just happened before he got unconscious.

The walls were dirty and rusty and so was the floor. The only thing that kept Y/n company was a black phone besides the mattress on the wall. Y/n sat all the way up leaning his back against the wall.

The only door insight began to unlock and twist open.

Y/n quickly stood up and clenched his fist. Sure Y/n didn't fight much, but all the times he did he won and thankfully his boyfriend was a fighter so he knew a thing or two about beating the hell out of someone.

With the door opening Y/n got into a fighting stance just as his boyfriend taught him.

A man stepped into the empty basement staring at Y/n menacingly.

"Step any closer to me i'll kick your ass." Y/n says not even trying to threatening him. The teen told the man as if he was stating a fact. The man only laughs and step a few feet closer.

"Kick my ass? How cute." The grabber teases.

"Trust me I've been doing this for a long~ time. You won't be the first kid I snatched who fought back." The grabber says before adding."hmm... You know you sounded just like a boy who I kidnapped a few months ago. That's right Vance Hopper."

Y/n's fist clenched tighter as his whole body went into a state of shock and pause. "Y-you what." Y/n says with his voice cracking slightly.

"Vance~ I remember the day I kidnapped him. When I was driving around in my van I saw you two hug and kiss outside of your house. Y'all two looked so inlove as you wished each other bye. Even after he left after walking you open he still had a dopey smile on his face." The grabber says as he smirked behind his mask.

When he thought he would get an outburst from the teen Y/n stayed silent and on guard not even flinching.

The grabber lets out a frustrated noise before turning away leaving slamming the door shut.

With the new information Y/n lets go of the breath he was holding as he laid back down on the mattress thinking. As he thought his eyes wondered around looking before landing on the telephone.

Getting up Y/n walked over to the telephone picking up the phone and dialing 9-1-1. Much to Y/n's guess it didn't work and Y/n put the phone back into its place before sitting back down on his mattress.

TIMESKIP

For the past few days it has been weird and scary for Y/n. For numerous times him and the grabber fought and argued. Y/n refused to eat and drink and even one point threw the tray of food at the grabber once he came to collect it.

And even one time Y/n had gained advantage on the grabber taking him to the floor, but sadly he sprayed the same thing that caused Y/n to be unconscious the first time in his mouth.

The teen even met the ghost of the Grabbers old victims. They taught and helped Y/n against the grabber. Giving the teen tips and how to avoid the same fate they met.

The grabber haven't checked on the kid all day, so Y/n was just in the basement looking at the open scars from the previous fight he and the grabber had.

*riiing* *riiiing*

Y/n head whipped around looking at the black phone that was shaking. The teen quickly got up and walked to the phone. Picking up the phone Y/n glanced to the door making sure the grabber wasn't there.

"Hello?" Y/n says into the phone.

It was silence for a while until...

"Y/n you still sound like a fucking dork."

That's what caused Y/n to freeze. From everything that Y/n went through for the past few days this is what shocked him the most. The voice that he loved and cried for months.

"V-Vance! Is that you?!" Y/n's own voice began to betray him as tears threatened to fall.

"Yes babe it's me!" Vance's voice rings out through the phone causing Y/n start to break down.

"Vance! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I wasn't there. For months I used to believe that you ran away without me. I-I'm so sorry Vans." Y/n sobs out as he spilled out the nickname he used to call him.

"Babe, don't start crying. I don't like hearing you cry." Vance says as his own voice began to crack.

"I miss you so much...I-I *sniff* " Y/n couldn't even finish his own sentence as he cried leaning his body against the wall.

"I know... I miss you everyday. And I guess it's my fault that we couldn't run away with each other as we planned---"

"Don't say that. It's neither of our faults okay!" Y/n cuts him off as he tried to wipe away his tears.

The phone grows quiet.

Finally breaking the painful silence.

"Promise me Y/n that you'll kick this guy's ass. Do it for the other dumb asses here... Do it for me." Vance says softly.

"I promise. You have my word babe." Y/n voices crack out knowing that he'll have to hang up soon.

"You better god damn it! I'll be there with you okay!?!..."

The two grow silent once again.

“Don’t go…” Y/n breathes out to the phone clenching onto it tightly.

“I have to.”

“Don’t please…even if I— I survive I won’t be able to live without you Vance! You told me that we were soulmates!” Y/n begins to sob again.

“Goodbye Y/n…”

With those last few words the phone rings silently.

With tears blocking his vision he drops the phone letting it hang. Y/n began to cry and shout screaming and cry out for his boyfriend.

“So you do cry?”

Y/n’s head whips around looking at the man that stood by the door.

“After everything this what makes you break? You miss your pathetic boyfriend? Well your in luck because I feel a bit generous today.” The grabber teases before walking towards Y/n.

Once he was close enough Y/n tries to push him away, but the grabber was fast taking a fistful of Y/n’s hair yanking him to him.

The grabber pulls Y/n to the bathroom area.

“This is we’re he died.” The grabber says yanking Y/n’s head to the wall forcing him to look at the pool of dried blood on the walls.

“I took his head just how I am with yours and banged his head against the wall until he was bloody and limp.” The grabber says whispering into Y/n’s ear.

With the picture painted in his mind Y/n eyes started to water as the grabber went on and on about how he killed him.

TIMESKIP

Since his last call Y/n and the ghost began to communicate more and more.

Their calls became more helpful and strategic preparing for what’s about to come or really the day he’s supposed to be killed. Y/n had been staring at the door for the longest.

Y/n looked to the side of the room seeing all the ghost standing by the wall. Who really stuck out to Y/n was his boyfriend looking at him with so much guilt and confidence.

Vance’s eyes softened once him and Y/n met eyes. Y/n gave Vance a small smile before turning back around looking at the door again.

With the door slowly opening Y/n stands up from the bed.

Bracing himself Y/n gets ready to fight with everything he got. With the door opening Y/n’s eyes glare.

First a dog steps inside the room with a steel chain wrapped around his neck. The grabber walks inside behind the dog with a smirk.

“You really are just like your boyfriend. Never backing down from a fight.” The grabber taunts as the dog bark and growl.

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth.” Y/n says with a straight face showing no emotion.

The grabber ties the chain around a pipe as he takes a knife from his back pocket.

“Too much of a little girl to fight me with your fist.” Y/n says as he’s the one who’s taunting now.

Out of nowhere the grabber strikes pouncing in front of Y/n before swaying the knife to Y/n’s arm. Y/n dodges just in time right before the grabber tries to stab him again.

As the grabber misses a swing Y/n winds up his own arm before giving him a quick hook to the cheek.

The grabber reacts fast using the closeness to his advantage giving Y/n a quick slice to the arm.

As the two fought the ghost watch in different parts of the room. Watching intensely.

Soon enough The grabber begins to play dirty by tackling Y/n onto the hard cold dirty floor. Raising the knife above his head The grabber swings his arm down directly at Y/n’s face.

With luck Y/n swiftly moves his head out of the way making the knife dig into the floor. As the Grabber tries to pull it back Y/n punches the man straight in the stomach causing the Grabber to hunch over and gasp.

Y/n pushes the grabber off of him before quickly climbing on top.

Similar to how Vance got arrested Y/n started to punch the living shit out of the grabber. The grabbers face quickly became bloody.

Once the man under the teen became weak Y/n stood up walking to the knife that was stabbed into the floor he pulled it out before walking back to him.

“You killed those innocent boys… More importantly you killed my boyfriend.” Y/n says as he crawled onto him.

Sitting in his stomach Y/n wrapped both hands around the knife handle bringing the knife above his head he angled the knife above his heart.

Without any more words Y/n plunged the knife deep inside the man’s chest. Y/n drive the knife deep before pulling it out and back inside stabbing him repeatedly.

“You killed my boyfriend you fucking asshole!” Y/n shouted as he stabbed him again and again.

Finally calming down Y/n dropped the knife before getting up and looked around.

With all the ghost staring at him Y/n knew what they wanted to do. Y/n ran up the stares leaving the basement before running to the front door that was surprisingly unlocked.

The only thing Y/n could do now was shut and find someone.

Sprinting out of the yard Y/n ran with all his might. What Y/n didn’t notice that his boyfriend was in the middle of the street watching him run away watching Y/n with a proud expression.

“Good job babe…”

THE END

#vance hopper x reader #vance hopper x male reader #the black phone #the black phone x reader #the black phone x male reader #x male reader #male reader #the bear club

[kaylinlmao]

Fight *Edited*

Warnings: swearing, violence, r is 17, boys are 18

Summary: The new kid doesn't know any better and challenges the toughest crew in school, so they come to teach her a lesson in front of everyone. What they didn't expect was the new kid can fight.

"Hi. I'm Y/N L/N." I said quietly. I've gone to a new school every year of middle school and the first three in high school. Now that I'm in my last year of high school and 18 years old, I should be used to getting up and introducing myself right? Wrong. I still get anxiety talking in front of friends but a full classroom of teenage assholes? No way.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. Have a seat back there by those boys" Mr. Rogers, the English teacher said. I weaved through the desks swiftly with my eyes glued to the floor. I sat down, took out a notebook and pen and started doodling. I was drawing a pretty flower when I heard snickering behind me. Those boys who Mr. Rogers told me to sit by were staring at me and laughing. The one with short black hair was talking to the boy with dirty blondish hair. One with short curly hair was laughing with a guy with long black hair. Then there was a guy right behind me with long curly blonde hair. He was boring holes in the back of my head. Lastly, the boy sitting across from me. He had ginger hair and was chuckling at a joke one of his friends made.

DING DING DING. The bell rang, signaling lunchtime. I got up and walked outside. I found a nice tree, sat underneath it, got my lunch out, ate, and just people watched. There was a group of girls giggling at a table not far from me. Then one girl caught my eye and came over to sit beside me.

"Hello. I'm Donna! What's your name?" "Y/N" She was really sweet and we talked for a while during lunch. While we were talking, the group of boys walked out the lunch room doors and everyone scurried to get away from them like they had some sort of virus of something. "Who are those boys?" I asked Donna. "Oh. Um, they're bad news. You should stay away from them." She said, quietly. "I will if you tell me who they are and why everyone avoids them like they have the plague"

"Ok. Well, you see the one with the short black hair?" I nodded. "So, that's Bruce Yamada. He plays baseball and is like a serious ladies man. He'll pretend to be your friend then totally stab you in the back. The one with the dirty blond hair. Not the one with curly hair, the one with the Letterman jacket. That's Billy Showalter. He's the local paperboy. He's kinda mean. They're all really mean which is why I said you should stay away from them." I nodded my head and waved my hand impatiently.

"And?" "And then there's the guy with short curly hair. That's Finney Blake. He's more low-key mean then the other guys. Like he'll degrade the shit out of you while his friends beat your ass. Then the little short one with ginger hair. That's Griffin Stagg. He's more of the stalker. He'll be the one to figure out where you live and what your schedule is so they can jump you without getting caught. The there's those two boys right there in the corner." "The one with the long curly hair and long black hair?" I asked. "Yes" she confirmed. "They are Vance Hopper and Robin Arellano. They're the fighters. They're the ones who fight most of the fights."

"So why does everyone avoid them? They don't look very scary. They also seem like an unexpected group of friends." I said. Donna gave me the side eye. "Well, something happened three years ago and nobody's really over it" Now we're getting somewhere. "There was this guy. His name was Albert Shaw but he was nicknamed the Grabber. He would snatch up boys from off the streets and kidnap them. What he didn't think through was he kidnapped too many boys at once." "Who did he kidnap?" " Bruce Yamada, Vance Hopper, Billy Showalter, Griffin Stagg, Robin Arellano, and Finney Blake." I nodded my head and snapped my fingers. "So that's why they're all friends. To bond over the trauma" We looked at each other a moment and laughed.

"In all honesty though, they look like a bunch of douches." What I didn't know was that their stupid group was walking behind us and heard the last part of the conversation. Then they went back there and started making a plan to jump me after school and teach me a lesson in front of everybody.

DING DING DING. The bell rang for last period. "What class do you have next?" Donna asked. I looked at my schedule and groaned. "Math." "Oh me too! We can go together then!" "Ok" We walked in and sat down together. I just doodled on my arm and wasn't really listening until I felt something hit the back of my head. It was a note from the boy behind me.

"Just warning you. The dead kids group plan to jump you after school and beat your ass in front of everyone to teach you a lesson. -Wyatt"

"For reals? Why? That's ok though. I can fight. -Y/N"

"All six of them? Because they heard you calling them all douches -Wyatt"

"I'll be fine. Thanks for the warning. Wyatt. -Y/N"

I was in the middle of an internal battle for the rest of math class. Anxiety and confidence were fighting. For a second I was like "yo, I got this." Then anxiety kicks in and now I'm thinking "in front of an audience? I've never fought in front of people before!" I was about to have a panic attack when I remembered something my dad said. "When you're fighting, remember to focus on your opponents fighting style. They use their fists often, go for the legs." I was so zoned out remembering all of my dads fighting tips I didn't even notice that the bell rang and everyone was filing out of the classroom.

"Y/N? Are you ok?" Donna asked sweetly. "Yeah I'm fine. Just tired." "Ok. Lets go then." We walked out together to the crowded parking lot. As I rounded the corner I saw the boys waiting for me. I decided just to try and walk around them just to test them. I swerved around but one of them caught me by my wrist. Robin. "Yes? How can I help you douches?" By then a large crowd was coming over to see the fight. For some odd reason all of them looked at me with pity. "What'd you say?" Robin said dangerously slow. "How. Can. I. Help. You. Douches? Did your dumb little brains get it that time?" Now, I may have been cool and calm on the outside but I was fucking terrified on the inside. Why the fuck was I making them even madder? Omg. I was gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.

They all looked at me livid and red with anger. I was just waiting for someone to swing first. Finally, Vance did. He swung but he put too much emotion into it. Emotion is weakness. I dodged it easily, grabbed his arm and pulled it behind his back. Then I wiped his legs out from under him so he hit his head on the concrete, blacking out. I then felt someone grab my hair and pull me up. I looked up to see Finney with his hand in my hair. I whimpered quietly but he heard it. So now he thinks I'm submitting and giving up. Wrong. And now I just move a little bit to the side over here, bring the heel of my foot up and kicked him with my heel right where the sun don't shine. He doubled over, falling to his knees and letting go of my hair.

2 down 4 to go. Billy and Bruce both started swinging. Now, if I'm being honest, they got a few really good punches in. But I noticed that Billy was fighting leaning on his toes. So if I just slide under his legs and pull then he falls over. Now Billy's down too. I also saw that Bruce wasn't completely focused on me. He was more focused on the crowd surrounding us. So I ran and tackled him. He fell straight down and hit his head. Robin now. He was gonna be a tough one. He's a damn good fighter. I swung first just to test my theory. He dodged and punched back. Yup! My theory was right. He pulls his punches. They last too long and go further then necessary.

When he punched my eye, I won't lie. I almost blacked out. But I had enough in me to pull his arm and flip him across. He landed on top of Vance who was just coming around. They were all on the ground except for Griffin. I walked over to him and socked him straight in the chin. He walked backwards and tripped over Bruce's leg. Done. It was absolutely silent. As I was waking away, I heard someone say "how did she beat all six of them?"

I walked over to the boys helping each other up, furious. I pointed at Robin. "You pull your punches. It gives more time to grab it and get you back before you can punch again." I pointed at Billy. "You fight on your toes which gives you terrible balance. Fight on the balls of your feet, not your toes." I point at Bruce. "You kept focusing on the crowd, not your opponent. It gave me a chance to take you by surprise." I point at Griffin. "You rely too much on your friends. You can only rely and trust yourself." I point at Finney. "You need more confidence. Be confident in your abilities." I point at Vance. "Lastly, you. You fight with too much anger and emotion. Emotion is weakness." I walked away quickly to my car and hopped in. My parents were at work and so was my sister. When I got home, I went to the bathroom to see how bad it was. I looked and saw I just had a black eye and a bloody nose. And scratches and bruises all around but. I cleaned it and sat down to read, not knowing that at the moment, 6 boys were developing an unhealthy obsession with me.

So. This is my first imagine. It was kinda long and it sucked. But I tried. All parts up to 9 are posted! Love y'all! :) -Kaylin

#finney blake x reader #robin arellano x reader #vance hopper x reader #billy showalter x reader #griffin stagg x reader #bruce yamada x reader #the black phone x reader #the black phone #yandere billy showalter #yandere vance hopper #yandere bruce yamada #yandere robin arellano #yandere finney blake #finney blake #robin arellano #vance hopper #bruce yamada #billy showalter #yandere griffin stagg #griffin stagg #yandere the black phone x reader #yandere the black phone

[ihavenolife346]

One hell of a fight

Vance Hopper x f!reader

Summary: Y/N was the first female victim of The Grabber, she was also Vance’s girlfriend. After the grabber had finished Y/N off, Vance came next. Y/N was determined to get him out of there, but in the end they finally got to be together just not how they planned to be.

Side note: In this one-shot, Vance can hear the phone and talk to the dead just like Finn. Also be aware that I am making this decently filled with gore.

Warning: Does contain swearing and detailed death and graphic explanations.



“Come on fucker. Just open the door.” Y/N mumbled to herself, tightening her grip on the broken glass from the soda bottle she had broken not long ago, getting herself into the perfect position behind the door when it would open. Hearing the click of the door being opened, Y/N steadied her breathing, only knowing one thing, if she was going to die today, she was going to put one hell of a fight is she was going to be murdered. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl while I’ve kept you here.” The grabber spoke is his cheerful voice, finally opening the door with his eyes closed in excitement, a large knife in hand. “And naughty girls must always be punished for those things.” The grabber took a step closer, shutting the door behind him, just now noticing that the girl was nowhere to be seen in front of him.

“Today’s the day you son of a bitch!” Y/N kicked the older man’s leg, landing him on the ground, knife still in hand. “Oh you naughty girl.” The grabber let out a chuckle, immediately reaching behind him, hearing the girl step closer and closer to him. “Not a good choice.” The grabber mumbled, grabbing Y/N’s ankles, putting her on her back. “Asshole!” Y/N kicked, landing a shot on his stomach, stopping him from coming any closer, hurrying to get back on her feet. Next thing the girl knew, the pair were all around the basement, slamming each other against walls, trying to kill on another while tossing each other on the floor, Y/N biting, the grabber cutting, it was all a mess. Finally Y/N had managed to stab the man’s side with the half bottle, immediately getting thrown to the floor.

“You just can’t make this easy! And here I was beginning to like you. I was going to make this quick, but I’m taking my time with you.” The grabber crawled on top of her, placing the knife at her throat. “Your going to hell.” Y/N grinned, raising her knee, kneeing the older man in the one place she knew would hurt like hell, getting herself in the same position he was in just seconds ago. Making only one of the smallest mistakes in the world, Y/N had gotten to close to his face, with the bottle to his throat, the man jerked his head forward, right into the teenage girl’s face. “Son… of… a bitch.” Y/N tried to keep her vision steady, quickly the girl’s vision started getting fuzzy, her head started to fog, and she was back on the ground, The grabber on top of her, the knife back to her throat. “You little bitch! Look what you did to my side! I’m going to have fun with this…” The grabber smirked, starting what he had planned to minutes ago. “I will say you did put up one hell of a fight.” Y/N heard The grabber chuckle, feeling a sharp pain in on her cheek, slowly going up to her eyes.

______________________

Y/N had no idea what the man was doing, all she knew was that it hurt like hell, and that her short lived life would be over soon. The first to go was her eyes, gone, in a second, she couldn’t see anything, it was all black. Y/N could feel the blood on her cheeks start to dry up, The grabber meant it when he said he was going to take his time with her, he sure as shit took his sweet time. The only sounds in the room were Y/N’s cries of pain, and the man’s sinister laughed. That was it, the last thing that would come through Y/N’s ears, the last feeling would be pain, and Y/N hated it. Y/N wanted the last thing she would hear was her boyfriend Vance Hopper telling her that he loved her, she wanted her last feeling to be the feeling of being in his arms, but no, she wouldn’t get that. Hell she didn’t even get to say goodbye to the one boy she had truly loved.

In the girls finally moments, she knew three things and hoped another. She knew that she tried her best to put up a fight, she knew that Vance would be proud of her for trying, even though in the end she lost the fight. And she hoped that Vance would never, ever have yo go though this. She hoped that he wouldn’t do something stupid and get himself put down here. Yet she died knowing that she got to experience what love felt like, that it was like to be in the arms of someone who loved you, that somewhat put her at peace with herself. Yet the very next night, the souls of the past three victims, Griffin, Billy, and Y/N were greeted with another victim. (I believe Griffin and Billy were the first two victims? I apologize if I’m wrong.) The one and only Vance Hopper…

______________________

Vance could hardly remember what had just happened. One minute he had been stopped by some weird dude because he “dropped” something, and the next he was having some weird spray, sprayed into his mouth and being thrown in a black van. (Since we don’t know how Vance got taken this is how I’m putting it.) “Finally! Your awake!” A cheery voice spoke from right in front of Vance. “You we’re taking longer than the other to wake up.” The figure Vance couldn’t quite make out yet, slowly got a bit closer to him. “Now once your vision is back, I want to ask you something.” The man chuckled, crouching down in front of the mattress, giving Vance a better view of his masked face. “You! You son of a bitch! Your that dumbass grabber aren’t you!” Vance yelled, coming to realization, pushing himself back a bit.

“Wow, wow, I’m not going to hurt you yet. Is your vision back?” The grabber asked in a calm tone. “Yes asshole. Now what do you want.” Vance spat, not having the strength to get up yet. “Oh I just wanted to ask, did you know a girl named Y/N? Was she your girlfriend?” The grabber asked, starting to head closer to the door. “The hell do you know about her! How do you know that name!” Vance started getting defensive, not having to have heard your name for the almost three weeks you had been missing. “Girlfriend I see… I just wanted to tell you she put up one hell of a fight.” The grabber giggled, almost happy to remember her efforts to live, closing the door before Vance could say a word. “What the hell does that mean! What the fuck did you do to her!” Vance yelled in anger, not allowing the thought that you could be dead into his head.

______________________

Silence, that’s all it was. Silence, leaving Vance with his thoughts. His thoughts about what the man who just kidnapped him had said. We’re you really dead? Did you really die by yourself, scared, Vance just couldn’t bring himself to believe the fact that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to you, knowing that the last time he got to kiss you and tell you he loves you was almost three weeks ago. He just hated the thoughts, yet he couldn’t get rid of them.

“Ring, ring, ring.” Vance heard the black phone start to ring, thinking he was just making it up in his head. “Ring, ring, ring.” The phone rang again, earning Vance’s curiosity. Pushing himself off of the mattress and over to the phone, Vance hesitantly took the phone and placed it against his ear. “Hello?” Vance spoke after a few moments of silence. “Hi.” Y/N’s soft voice came from the other end. “Y/N! Baby, is that you?” Vance started to slightly panic. “Y/N… yea I think that’s my name.” Y/N mumbled, just barely remembering her name. “What do you mean you think it is? Are you ok, did he do something to you?!” Vance raised his voice. “It’s the first thing you forget here. First it’s the name, you eventually only remember very few things about your past life.” Y/N spoke softly, trying her best to keep him calm.

“What do you mean here?! Where are you!? What else do you remember.” Vance started to really freak out, still not allowing the thought of his girlfriend to be dead. “Sweetheart… I’m gone. You can’t save me. I don’t remember much, I remember it hurt. It hurt like hell. And that I put up a fight.” Y/N gave a light chuckle. “W-what… no, no, no, no, no, no. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” Vance mumbled, sliding down the wall, finally letting his thoughts process it. He never got to say goodbye to her, he couldn’t protect her this time, he blamed himself for that. “It’s ok sweetheart, it’s not your fault. None of this was. I promise you though, I’m getting you out of here.” Y/N crouched down to his level, placing a hand on his cheek even though he couldn’t see or feel her. “Now, hang up the phone. He’s coming down in a minute. I’ll call once it’s safe.” Y/N spoke, starting to hear the stairs creaking.

“Wait- wh-.” Vance started, only to be cut off by the static and the sound of the large metal door opening. “My apologize. I just wanted to tell you the phone doesn’t work. Don’t bother.” The grabber stepped further into the room, a tray of eggs and a soda in his hands. “What the fuck did you put in that!” Vance barked, even more pissed off now that he knew about Y/N. “Salt… and a bit of pepper.” The grabber simply said, placing the tray in front of the mattress, backing away. “Why would I need to drug you? Your already down here.” The grabber laughed, leaving the blond haired boy in the basement once again.

“Ring, ring, ring.” The phone rang again, making Vance immediately reach up to grab it. “Y/N?” Vance asked. “Hi sweetheart.” Y/N spoke. “Eat the eggs. They won’t hurt you.” Y/N continued, remembering one of the few details about her time in the basement. “They won’t?” Vance questioned. “Yes, I’m positive. They won’t hurt you. Now eat, I’ll be here when your finished.” Y/N allowed a small smile to form on her face, watching the teenager dig into the food.

______________________

3 weeks later

(Always gotta love time skips)

Vance had tried everything now, everything that Y/N told him to do. Yet nothing worked. There had been multiple accessions when he had hope of getting out, once when he actually had but was caught again. Then there was the damn freezer, the freezer was the only thing keeping Vance from freedom. Then there was Y/N… he hadn’t heard from her the past two days, he tried to call multiple times, honestly just wanting to hear the girls voice, but there was nothing. At this point Vance, the Vance Hopper, he just wanted to cry. And that’s what he was doing.

“Ring, ring, ring.” The phone finally rang again, making Vance immediately jump up from the mattress, wiping his eyes with his hand before answering. “Y/N?” Vance asked, trying to hide his sobs. “Hey sweetheart.” The one voice Vance wanted to hear finally spoke. “Don’t cry.” Y/N added on, her ghost self taking a step closer to the teenager. “I-I’m not crying.” Vance shook his head, wiping his eyes again. “Yes you are sweetheart. I can see you.” Y/N let out a light chuckle. “Y-you can?” Vance asked, in clear disbelief. “Yes, I’m here with you. I’ve been here with you this whole time. You haven’t been alone on this.” Y/N started getting her voice softer and softer. “I-I, I don’t know what to do baby. I’ve done everything you’ve told me too, I’ve tried doing what you tried to to, nothings worked.” Vance slammed his hand against the wall, allowing himself to fall to his knees, pushing himself up against the wall.

“Nothing, yet.” Y/N mumbled, the ghost of the girl sat against the wall next to him. “What do you mean?” Vance asked the girl. “I haven’t told you what I did yet. I was so close to getting out of here. I was so fucking close.” Y/N mumbled, sounding disappointed in themselves. “What did you try?” Vance asked, eager to know. “The soda bottle. I broke the soda bottle. Tried to use it as a weapon.” Y/N summed it up. “And if I remember right, todays the day he’ll try to kill you. After three weeks that’s when he killed me.” Y/N added on. “O-ok. Yea, yea, I should be able to use that.” Vance nodded, trying to give himself motivation. “I know you can.” Y/N fought back muffled cries, knowing that this was the last call.

______________________

“Can you promise me something?” Y/N broke the silence between the two. “Yea, of course. Anything baby.” Vance perked just head up. “Promise me you’ll put up one hell of a fight? Can you do that for me?” Y/N let out a small sob. “Yes. Yes, I will. I promise you. I will.” Vance immediately agreed. “Thank you. Now, hang up the phone, break the bottle. Use the top half. You’ll get a better grip.” Y/N lifted herself up from the wall. “Y-yea. Ok.” Vance mumbled, wanting to hear the girls voice just a bit longer. “When will I be able to talk to you again?” Vance asked, still holding onto the phone. “Vance, baby… this was the last call.” Y/N finally spoke. “W-what.” Vance asked, wanting to make sure he heard that right. “I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. But please, get out for me. I don’t want this fare for you.” Y/N croaked, finally letting a few sobs slip. “I-I will. I’ll get out, I’ll get out for you.” Vance mumbled. “I love you Vance.” Y/N softly spoke, trying to hide her sobs. “I-I love you too.” Vance felt his eyes tear up. “Bye Vance.” Y/N sighed, wishing they could talk longer. “Bye Y/N.” Vance almost whispered, just loud enough for Y/N to hear, finally putting the phone down where it belongs, reaching for his left over soda bottle, smashing it almost angrily against the wall.

______________________

Despite the fact that Vance couldn’t see Y/N, or talk to her anymore, Y/N was still there the whole time Vance and The Grabber were trying to kill each other. Despite the fact that the girl could barely see anything, It wasn’t pretty to watch, it wasn’t fun to watch, but Y/N knew she wanted and felt like she had to be there. She knew she had to.

Only turning away at the ugliest parts, Y/N was there cheering Vance on. Once again, getting to an ugly part, Y/N turned her head, only to be alarmed by a scream, not a scream that would come from some 50 year old man, a scream that would come from a teenage boy. Immediately turning her head around, Y/N almost immediately fell to her knees. Vance was being slowly murdered by the man, he was taking his time with him just like he did her. Fucking Vance Hopper, the boy nobody fucked with, was being murdered.

______________________

“Just like your little girlfriend went.” The grabber spoke in his cheery voice, sending chills down Y/N’s back, crawling over to the boys now almost lifeless body. “What a shame.” The grabber scoffed, starting to head back up stairs. “Asshole! Your going to hell!” Y/N yelled, paying close attention to Vance’s breathing, watching it get slower and slower… until it finally stopped. That was it, first his senses, then him breathing, and finally his heart. It was heartbreaking to Y/N, knowing that she had made a promise to get him out of here, knowing it was her fault that he tried to do everything she failed at, she thought it was her fault.

Within just moments after the boys heart stopped, his soul came next, slowly pushing itself out of the now lifeless body. “What, the fuck.” Vance mumbled, sitting up straight, trying to process what was happening. “Hey baby… don’t be scared. Your just fine.” Y/N soothed, making the boy jump slightly, immediately darting his eyes over to the girl with no eyes, blood covering half of her face, and a few wounds to n her stomach and sides. “Y-Y/N.” Vance asked in disbelief. “I know, it’s not pretty.” Y/N lightly chuckled sadly. “Oh baby. He did this to you… didn’t he.” Made more of a statement rather than question, getting a small nod out of the girl. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Y/N repeated, immediately being taken into the arms of her boyfriend. “It’s ok baby, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry I couldn’t get out. But it’s not your fault.” Vance soothed, placing a kiss on the kid head, just happy to have her back in his arms.

“I love you…” Y/N smiled, moving herself slightly so that she was now in between his legs, just hugging the boy. “I love you too.” Vance mumbled into the girls hair, a huge smile now on his face as well.

#vance hopper #vance hopper x reader #the black phone

[cerealkills]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do Vance Hopper x a reader who has mommy issues? Like they get into a lot of fights with their mom who is rlly verbally and mentally abusive? If this is a sore topic or if you are uncomfortable with writing it then I fully understand, you don't have to write it!! Take care ❤️

"Bitch" vance hopper x reader w/ mommy issues OVER 16 DNI. cws: [slight angst,abusive parents, specifically mother, cursing and yelling]

quick a/n: hey anon! not a problem. i was not uncomfortable writing this at all as i do indeed, have mommy issues myself and found this slightly comforting to write. tysm for requesting ily <3 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N fell to the floor, sobbing. "You piece of shit, you can never do anything right! What the fuck do I work my ass of for at work?! For you to sit around and be a failure?!" Their mom stood there, holding up a report card. They had never been good at math, but somehow, mom always expected them to be perfect. They only had a B-, somehow that was unforgivable. "Well?!" They sobbed, unable to form a sentence without breaking down in tears. Mom never hit them, but her words hurt even more than being stabbed with a dagger. Their mom ripped apart the report card, throwing the ripped up paper at them and storming off, cursing under her breath. Y/N stood up, wiping their nose and face on their sweater sleeve. They picked up their backpack and left out the door, trying to fix their hair and make it look like they were somewhat okay. But of course, they couldn't have nice things. As soon as they stepped out the door, they felt someone grab them from behind and lift them off the floor. You could hear a boy laughing and could feel his blonde curls touching your neck. It was Vance. "Hey, Y/N." He said, kissing your cheek and putting you down. ",,- Hey." You said, in a quiet voice, clearing your throat. You sniffled a little bit and tried not to look up at him since your face was stained with tears and your eyes were red and bloodshot. "What's wrong, Y/N? You aren't normally like this. What's wrong, baby?" He said, slightly lowering his voice and grabbing you by the shoulders. You just cried. You pushed yourself onto him and just cried into his chest, trying not to stain his shirt with your tears. He knew about your mom, but he didn't know too much about how her berating made you feel. "Was it your mom?" He said, shoving a hand in your hair and raising an eyebrow. You sniffle. "Yeah- It's no big deal though..-" He cut you off. "Yes the fuck it is. Whatever the hell she said to you isn't true. You're amazing, gorgeous, talented and she doesn't know you like how I do. Wipe those tears and forget that bitch because she doesn't know one thing about you." He said as he grabbed your shoulders and wiped your tears with his hand. "I love you, gorgeous. But we really should get going because I don't wanna get suspended."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ i tried my best guys <3 tysm for all the love on my vance fic!! i also write for robin too so expect that soon, but ily guys omg ty!!

#vance hopper x reader #vance hopper #the black phone x reader #the black phone #canon x reader #angst #fanfiction #headcanons

[forgetmenots0250]

Platonic Vance Hopper x Steve Harrington HCs

Vance didn’t want to go to that goddamn house so he decided he will wait till midnight to go home

He decided to wait on the curb of some dumb street light

He just got away from getting arrested for beating a guy for messing with his game

He didn’t want to hear that man that is in the law his “father” right now. Not his nagging, not his glaring eyes of hate for something he didn’t do.

He couldn’t help but be away from that man.

If he could he would strangle him till his life ended in his hands but he would much rather not be in cuffs 

They hurt his wrists and would rather not experience them again

Vance sat on the curb with bloody knuckles, from his the guy’s teeth he punched out and the knife that he tried to stab Vance with

He still had the knife in his pocket 

As he sat down on the curb a man walked up to him, he looked young maybe in his early 20s or so

“Hey, you okay kid?”

“It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“You’re bleeding, come on let me help you with that at least”

Vance struggled before he inevitably let the dude wrap his knuckles in bandages and then help with the slight scarring on his wrists from the cuffs

The man eventually introduced himself as Steve Harrington and Vance after a “little” bit of convincing introduced himself as Vance Hopper

Steve helped Vance up and took him to some grocery store to get this kid a chocolate bar

After a lot of run-ins with each other Vance finally softened a bit

Steve bought Vance food most of the time and they would eat together 

Steve and Vance found a spot in the woods that was a no man’s land and was perfect

It was an unused railroad that ran above a river that wasn’t too far from the river but a perfect place to jump off from and not feel like you got hit in the stomach when jumping in face first 

The bridge wasn’t connected to any railroads so it was safe to just hang out on it

Steve and Vance would hang out with some candles to warm up and blankets and just listen to music and tell stories 

Vance told Steve about how he was kidnapped and stored in some basement with other kids but in the end, there were only 6 victims 

Steve was horrified to see how calm Vance was about the situation and tried to comfort or at least help him realize it was not just some inconvenience 

“Well I wouldn’t say being kidnapped was the best thing in the world but it was just better than life kinda, it’s hard to explain but it was like life had stopped and kinda peaceful. When I say this I mean like when I wasn’t beaten or… other times.”

Steve teared up and hugged Vance who didn’t really get it and didn’t hug back but definitely didn’t push him off

Steve will admit he had been spending a bit more time with Vance than the other and he will admit that it’s unfair 

But he was so traumatized about this kid's life story, it’s not with the upside down where it sort of only happens in Hawkins but this wasn’t some demo bullshit it was real life where anybody could be kidnapped and it’s a regular occurrence that it’s scary. To know he’s gone through that so he sort of implanted himself as mother hen in Vance’s life

He had no one but himself to blame

Vance discovered that without his pinball machine that he fidgets a lot and even fidget with Steve’s hand before Steve gave him some gadgets to distract himself 

Vance lets Steve braid his hair and it’s a really cute moment where Vance is sipping tea that Steve made and Steve trying to get the angle right so the Bobby pins and such stay and look good

Once the others noticed how Steve seemed to be a bit more busy than usual they follow him a bit and discover Vance

“Hey hippety Hopper! I got you some snacks” Steve had a pep in his step as he almost skipped over the bridge 

“Call me that again and I will stab you Steve, don’t forget about my sociopathic tendencies.” Vance glared at Steve with a playful yet serious statement like he could do that but not to Steve 

“Right right now tell me you wanted to talk about your friends? Or the kids with you in the basement” Steve sat down next to Vance opening the bag in his hands 

“Yeah… well, we sort of had a click since we were all kidnapped and stuff so we sort of just stayed together. I think I remember you saying that it’s a trauma response can’t remember, anyway. There’s this boy whose name is Griffin, he’s a few years younger than me and he was one of the ones with me… he’s a small kid and he doesn’t have any friends and I feel bad. I don’t know why but it’s irritating not knowing and it’s got me angry why I feel bad even though I’m sure he doesn’t have a bad home life or anything so it just makes me angry that I feel this way.” Vance talked with pauses as if thinking about how to talk he spoke about his feelings and also fidgeted with Steve’s hand a lot more 

“It’s okay to feel that way so what do you do in this group? Hang out or something?” Steve leaned back to lay on the wooden bridge and Vance soon accompanied him 

“I guess we sort of just hang out in the abandoned house down the road. It used to be the high schoolers hang out before we showed up, I’m pretty sure it's because of me” Vance didn’t seem upset actually kinda proud of himself which reminded Steve of a certain someone he once knew

Vance continued to talk about the others and how they were called the Casper crew for looking like ghosts but it stuck and they take pride in it

Vance talked about being injured and helping the kid who killed their kidnapper and how he had to be carried by another injured guy (Robin) 

Steve when he heard the name Robin immediately went to his coworker robin and told stories about her

Vance listened attentively as Steve ranted 

Max was surprised at how fucking identical Vance was to billy and how his style resembled Eddie, it made some cry while others were completely shocked. 

Vance decided to go a bit early to go to his friend's house so they had their goodbyes early 

Once Steve noticed the party he yelled at them for being so late in the night

#the black phone #black phone #the black phone 2022 #spoilers #vance hopper #vance #steve stranger things #Steve #steve harrington #harrigton #Steve x Vance #Vance x steve #Platonic #daddy issues #mom steve #steve the babysitter #Tbf #stranger things #St

[ilovesvancehopperandbruceyamada]

Mean dark Vance Hopper x reader part 3

Vance pulls you back into his room, and you can see his is mad, madder than when a kid made him lose a game of pinball. You're scared, to say the least. Vance just sat next to you, telling you how much he loved you after he was done. You felt a knife go into your stomach as Vance says, "I gave you time to run," you yell "FUCK YOU" he pins you to the floor and kneed you in your stomach right where he stabbed you he grabs your arm (the left one) "you see this it means you're mine and only mine" he says then he yells "NOW SAY IT " he knees you again you muttered out "I'm your" "good girl" he says as he grabs the bandages and patches you up than he throws you on the bed and forces you to cuddle him

I DO REQUEST NOW

Part 4???????????

#Spotify

[bernadettelovestokiohotel]

Hurt him and you're dead.

It didn't take long for Robin to realize that Vance and Finney had feelings for each other.Though it's in his protective nature,this time it was different.He saw Finney as a little brother he never had,and just the thought of Vance hurting him made Robin go into rage.

One day,while walking to school this morning,he spotted Finney and Vance,laughing together.This threw him into RAGE.What if that blonde motherfucker hurts him?! He'll sure as hell,not let that slide.

Later that afternoon,Finney sees Robin standing alone.

"Robin!Hi!"

Finney yelled as he rushed in to give Robin a hug.Robin obviously hugs him back but barely trying to contain his emotions of anger.

"you won't believe it!"

Finn said,all jumping.

"me and Vance Hopper are now friends!"

He said,smiling the widest he ever did.

Of course,in order to not upset Finney,Robin had to pretend that everything's fine and that he's happy and cool with it.He knows damn well they like each other but,didnt say anything about it

"that's..great!"

He said,trying to hide his anger.

Vance approached them.

"hey Finn"

Vance said as he patted Finn's head.

"oh,hey Vance!"

Finney said,happily.

"I didn't see you all afternoon!"

Finn whined as he clinged onto Vance.

"Wanna hang out after school?"

Vance asked,smiling.

"I'd love to!Can Gwen come?"

Finney asks,he really tries to include his sister as much as he can since she doesn't have many friends of her own.

"of course she can!"

Vance replied,smiling.

Robin inhales angrily.

Finn looks at his watch.

"oh,I gotta go!I have to go.See you guys!"

Finn hugs Vance and runs fastly.

Vance smiled.

"isn't he just the sweetest?"

Vance said,as he stared at Finney.

"too sweet for you,asshole."

Robin grabs Vance's choker.

"listen here you intolerant piece of garbage.If I ever see you hurt,or even dare to say something shitty about him,I'm going to bury six feet under-"

Robin wasn't even done with his "threatening" but Vance threw him to the ground in order to protect himself.

"same goes to you,you little cunt"

Vance said,trying to contain his anger.

Robin gets up from the ground.

"You don't understand.I love Finney like he's my brother.You're just a stranger."

Robin said,being angry but at the same time being very worried for Finney.

" you don't understand how I feel about him either.Finney is the only reason why I'm even alive,for the first time I've been completely over the heels in love!"

Vance said,trying to explain his feelings too.

"How should I know how you feel about him?I mean you're Vance fucking Hopper afterall!How should I know if you're not gonna hurt him?!"

"Because I care about him more than anyone!Morning,Noon,Night..whatever time of the day it is,I will be there for him and love him no matter what."

Vance said.If we're being honest,Robin likes the way Vance speaks, considering he's very well spoken.

"..Please Vance.Im begging you,don't fuck this up.He's already feeling all shitty with his bullies and at home.Be that person who's his escape,his way to calm down and be happy."

Vance smiled at this.

"I promise I'll protect him with my life."

Vance said,confidently.

"I guess..you're not that much of an ass afterall."

Robin laughed.

"I judged you too hard."

Vance said.

"seems like i judged you more.I mean you've never threatened me or-"

"no,but I did have my opinions on you,how selfish you are,how you don't care how people feel.I now understand how you feel when you love someone."

Vance explained.

"Dude I wanted to stab you from how much I hated you,heh"

Robin said,laughing.

That made the two boys chuckle a bit.

"I know we have tough feelings about each other but,let's work them out,for Finney."

Vance said,smiling and stretching out his hand.

"For Finn."

Robin smiles as they shake hands.

"well Hopper,you're not that bad afterall"

Robin stated as he put his arm around Vance's shoulder.

"You're not that bad too,Arellano."

Vance replied,as they both walked together,already feeling like best friends.

I know this is a very bad fanfic, @everlyofficial ,I just wanted to say thank you for being a good friend.I have zero problem with writing this again if you need me to.

[pretty-n-plnk]

Vance:wow...i finally get that now

Therapist:I'm glad we made a breakthrough today Mr Hopper...what are you gonna do now?

*Vance looks off into the distance with stars in his eyes*

Vance:...STAB MY DAD!

Therapist:VANCE NO-

#vance hopper #the black phone

[inkdemon666]

Hello people on Tumblr! I'm new person on Tumblr so if i did something wrong while posting please let me know in the comments in not rude way. Please don't judge me 😭. My blog will be about whatever catches my fancy and i won't probably be stick to one fandom.

So i've just recently seen the black phone and it was hella amazing. So, let me introduce you my freshly cooked AU.

In my AU, the ghost boys (or casper crew, shadow kids whatever are you calling i will call them the ghost boys ok) didn't die. The Grabber kept their body's as a trophys frozen in an ice. So they were in some kind of hibernation which caused that they left their bodys for a while (i know it doesn't make any sense but if you don't like it don't read it 🙃 no hate pls). So when Finney gets out of the basement the police and doctors discover that there are five frozen kids in the basement and takes them to the hospital (including Finney).

It will maybe be like a story but i don't really know how long will i keep it up.

Just enjoy 😊

TW: GORE (maybe), MENTION OF ABUSE

*PART ONE*

Finney was sitting in the car of their dad when someone patted his shoulder. It was a doctor.

,,Hey kid. I know you want to go home but you must come with us. We gotta make sure you're okay."

Finney nodded and stepped out of the car. His younger sister Gwen asked the doctor:

,,Can i come to see him in the hospital?"

The doctor said:

,,Of course sweetheart. But we must take him with us now and run some tests to see if he's really okay."

,,Alright."

Finney stepped out of the car when he heard policeman yelling:

,,All of you come here! We need some help!"

Finney was concerned so he stopped for a moment.

,,We got a pulse! Hurry! Take him to the hospital!"

,,What are they talking about?" thought Finney. Then he saw something really shocking. It was Robin. On a stretcher.

,,Robin?!"

Finney started running towards Robin to make sure he is not dreaming.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

,,Woah there kiddo, easy. Don't worry your friend is in good care. We can drive you both in the same wagon."

Then he took Finney inside an ambulance car.

,,You sit here okay. It may be kinda tight since you're and your are not the only ones we found."

Finney was beyond shock.

,,Not the only ones?!"

Then they laded Robin inside as well. Finney couldn't believe his own eyes. How is that even possible? He saw Robin's ghost, he heard him through the phone!

,,Another one."

,,Another?" thought Finney. Then he saw how they laded in Bruce's body. Finney didn't know what was going on, but he was happy that at least those two were alive. He studied Robin's body. Finney was absolutely horrified when he studied closer. Robin had so many bruises all over his body that it was impossible to count them all. He had a blood on his neck and arms as also face. His hair had blood in them also. Finney was lost of words.

,,Another one!"

,,Another one?!" ran throught Finneys mind.

When he saw who they laded in this time he was shocked. Vance. Vance Hopper. But, how can it be?

,,Here he comes!"

They laded Billy in as well. Finney was getting feeling that this is dream more and more.

,,The last one!"

Then he saw Griffin. He studied all of them. Bruce had a nasty scar through his right eye. Vance had visibly broken nose. Billy had a scar on his left cheek as well. And Griffin throat was sliced through. But he wasn't bleeding and still had pulse. How? But they all had something in common: bruises all over the body, and stab wounds.

,,Robin?!" Finney recognized that voice. Robin's uncle.

,,Mr. Arellano?"

,,Finney? Is that you? Oh thank God you're okay."

The doctor asked: ,,You are a family of one those boys sir?"

,,Yes."

,,Then you can come inside."

,,Thank you."

Robin's uncle stepped in.

,,Robin!" He cuddled Robin's head in his and held his forehead against Robin's forehead.

,,Thank goodnes!"

Then Finney heard some other, but also familiar voice.

,,Bruce? Where is he?" There was Bruce's family. His mother, father, and his younger sister, Amy. They were speaking with the doctor.

,,I'm sorry, i'm afraid only one of you can go. We don't have that much space."

,,Can i go mom?" Amy pleaded.

,,Please?"

,,Of course you can sweetheart. Take good care of him."

,,I will."

Then Amy stepped in the car and yelled immediatly: ,,Big brother!" And hugged him. Amy reminded Finney so much of Gwen. And he imagined himself in Bruce's pozition. Amy started to cry.

,,I missed you so much!"

Then there was another voice

,,Let me in! That's my son!"

Then a man stepped in the car. Finney didn't recognized him at first, but he discovered it when they eyes met. Those blue eyes ... same blue as eyes that Vance has.

,,Vance!" the man sat next to stretcher where Vance was lying. He put his hand on his forehead and whispered:

,,My boy..." a river of tears started to flow.

,,Where? Where is he?" another voice, also belonged to a man.

,,There? Thank you."

And Finney saw a tall man step in the car. This was sure on the first sight. Billy's dad.

,,Billy?!"

He hugged him and kissed him on thr forehead.

,,Griffin? Griffin?!"

The last voice belonged to woman. She stepped in and in an instant sat next to Griffin. She hugged him and started to sob.

,,My baby!"

Finney couldn't help but wonder, how it is like to see your child like this. Then the car started to move. And they were heading to the hospital.

Ugh finaly done! Part 2 coming soon. Hope you like it.

#finney blake #robin arrelano #bruce yamada #vance hopper #billy showalter #griffin stagg #tbp #theblackphone #blackphone #blackphoneau #the black phone #black phone

[sersumdeorsum]

@pinball77​​ asked: “i really thought i’d lost you.” 

“i’m sorry, kid.” jim spoke quietly, voice breaking as he looked over vance. he looked so grown up, yet hadn’t changed all at the same time. his eyes glazed over, full with tears as he looked at his son. he had promised to never leave vance, and even though it wasn’t his fault, he had broken that promise. hopper had done everything he could do to get back to his son as fast as he could, but it still took two years too long. “i’ll always come back to you, and when it is my time, you won’t lose me. i’ll be with you. can i--” he wanted to hug the other, but he had no idea how vance was with touch right now; he could be worse or better, but he hoped that regardless it may be different for the man who took on the role of his father. “how are you doing with hugs on a scale of stabbing to hugging?” hopper tried to tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

#pinball77 #threads / 𝙹𝙸𝙼 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝚁 - 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. #verse / 𝙹𝙸𝙼 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝚁 - 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝚂𝟺. #answered

[yinnina]

Ocean Blue Eyes

I was pushed fiercely against the wall of the back of the school, making me slam my head against the cold bricks.

I groaned in pain and displeasure, "You arsehole, you have no idea how expensive hospital bills are."

I looked up at the guy standing in front of me, letting him see the bloody mouth I had gotten from how many times he had punched my cheeks.

"Give it up faggot! You ain't winning for fucking god's sake." He yelled at my face, grabbing the roots of my hair and pulling me up in the air.

"Let go of me!" I screamed. I was pretty weakened up from him hitting me nonstop.

I felt like I was about to pass out.

I looked directly at his beautiful, blue ocean eyes. Oh how much beauty one can hold, but it was only a matter of time where that beauty would come out from the shadows to the light, showing that ugly look deep inside itself.

"You got what you wanted! Now let me go!" I yelled, grabbing the hand that was pulling at my hair, trying to twist it to stop my pain.

He groaned at this but didn't let go just yet.

"Listen here, you little bitch—" But I cut him off.

I had kicked him in the face, and once he let go of me I started punching him in the stomach.

I ignored how my body felt, begging me to rest for a while, and threw him against the wall, much like he had done to me.

"I have no idea what you want, but trust me, you won't get it!" I told him as I continued to punch his stomach, knocking the air out of him and leaving a bloody trail out of his mouth.

He had gotten an internal bleeding, much like me.

After letting him go, thinking that he would finally give in, I came to my shock.

Vance Hopper really wasn't one to give up after all.

I let out a yell in pain after getting punched across the face, making me lose my balance.

He took that to his advantage and slammed my head against the concrete floor.

"Whatever the fuck I want, is whatever the fuck I get!" He yelled in my ear, slamming my head repeatedly against the school's floor.

I was almost sure that I would get a concussion after this, but I ended up with a bloody, fucked up face, and an even more fucked up forehead.

Everything started spinning once I gained consciousness of the situation once again and I could only hear a buzz like sound.

Last thing I remember seeing was Vance's lips moving, telling me something I couldn't hear due to the annoying sound of ringing inside my ears.

I didn't pass out, but I could move my body with the amount of pain given to me. I spent hours there, it wasn't until what seemed like 4 hours of laying on the dirty floor that I was finally able to move my muscles.

Every time I took a breath, I could feel nothing but pain, and I was getting worried that I had broken a rib.

I would have to check with a doctor if things got worse.

I had never broken any bones, much now I had a broken nose, a most likely cracked skull from all the head slamming onto the floor and the walls, and probably a broken rib, which was the one that worried me the worst, knowing that it was dangerous to have a broken rib, especially if it was near your heart.

You wouldn't want to get stabbed in the heart by the bone that is meant to protect it after all.

After I was able to move, I headed home through the safest alley, making sure no one was following, for it could bring trouble knowing how weak I was at the moment.

After that day, I made sure to make the maid call a doctor, letting the doctor tell me that I only had a broken nose, but that my skull could've been cracked if I wasn't too careful.

And that broken rib, it wasn't really broken, but I was pretty hurt near the area of it, making the doctor feel disappointed in me for letting someone get the best of me.

It's not like I could do much about it, I was basically jumped by him. The fight took place at a random moment, taking me aback onto why Vance wanted to fight me.

From what I heard from Ren, no one really knew, not even his own little gang.

I always had my suspicions that Vance was bipolar, but I always shrugged that off just thinking it was just his anger issues.

'I'm probably just over thinking it.'

I sighed and got up from my bed, heading down to the kitchen to pick up some food but noticed how there wasn't much to pick from.

I sighed once again and decided to go to the Grab-N-Go, since I couldn't carry much weight with my weakened body.

As I got there, I asked for the phone from the cashier, who gave me a dirty look and simply nodded.

"Adalyn?"

"Hey bad bitch." She told me over the line.

"Meet me at my house to watch a movie with Gabriela?" I asked, hoping that she would say yes and I wouldn't have to spend the day alone.

She laughed lightly, "You got it, we didn't even want to go to school anyways. We'll see you in fifteen."

I hunted up the phone and got us all snacks along with some drinks.

The cashier bagged up the supplies and went back to reading a comic, which seemed to be Batman: The Caped Crusader, Volume 1, which was when Batman first appeared.

It was an old comic but a good one.

I grabbed my stuff and started heading to the exit, excited that I wouldn't have to be alone today.

I was about to leave but was soon grabbed by the neck of my collar.

I looked behind me to meet once again with those beautiful blue eyes that brought peace to me.

"What the fuck do you want now?" I asked, clearly pissed off.

He did say anything, simply staring at me with his eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought before shaking his heading, shrugging what he did off and going back to his pinball game machine.

I found it odd, but then again, everyone and everything could be odd in one's eyes.

I went outside, taking a deep breath and heading home.

'Can this week get any weirder?'

[robertvasquez763]

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

–

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

–

–

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

–

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

–

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

–

–

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

–

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

–

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

–

–

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

–

–

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

–

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

–

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

–

–

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

–

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

–

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

–

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

–

–

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

–

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

–

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

–

–

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

–

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

–

–

The Motor Company is banking on the XG750R to sell Street Rods, which is a little like Chevy using NASCAR to move Camaro ZL1s. There is, to put it bluntly, not a lot of commonality. The engines are somewhat related, they’re both rear-wheel drive, they both wear bow ties, and that’s about it. The Street Rod is not a bad bike, but the FZ-07 is a better one that costs hundreds less. To make another automotive comparison, if the Street Rod is a Mercedes-Benz CLA250, then the Yamaha is a Volkswagen GTI—a more competent all-around machine without the luxury-brand cachet. A toned-down XG750R, on the other hand, could be a bike worth saving the extra coin for, offering the same sort of lifestyle-accessory prestige as Ducati’s Scramblers. It’d be a bike to cast a showroom halo over the other Street models and bring some additional cachet to the Revolution X motor, a good powerplant that’s getting short shrift due to its low position in the line and its break with Milwaukee tradition.

–

–

–

Hog Calling: The Ford F-series’ Chief Designer on Motorcycles, Pickups, and the Importance of Function

–

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

–

Sidecar Racing at the Isle of Man TT Is Insane (and Insanely Cool)

–

–

–

Perhaps I’m naïve about all this. Undoubtedly, both Polaris and Harley have run the numbers and feel that, while the race programs are worth sinking dollars into, the real money is in cruisers and tourers from the Scout/Sportster class on up. But it seems to me that an affordable, American-built street tracker with real racing heritage is not only a very usable everyday motorcycle, but the sort of thing younger motorcyclists could get very invested in.

–

After all, if you ask a Harley hater if they’ve got any exceptions to their generalized distaste for the brand, they’ll invariably allow one: the XR750. Why not make its heir a cornerstone of a Harley-Davidson retooled for the next generation?

–

from remotecar http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/caranddriver/blog/~3/-Q7Le2KQUMs/

via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/09/23/the-son-and-the-heir-riding-harley-davidsons-latest-factory-flat-tracker-the-xg750r/

#Engines #car #engines #motor #remotecar #The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Facto

[jesusvasser]

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

-

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

-

-

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

-

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

-

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

-

-

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

-

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

-

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

-

-

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

-

-

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

-

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

-

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

-

-

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

-

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

-

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

-

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

-

-

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

-

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

-

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

-

-

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

-

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

-

IFTTT

#IFTTT #Performance Junk WP Feed 4

[eddiejpoplar]

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

-

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

-

-

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

-

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

-

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

-

-

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

-

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

-

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

-

-

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

-

-

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

-

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

-

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

-

-

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

-

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

-

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

-

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

-

-

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

-

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

-

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

-

-

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

-

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

-

IFTTT

#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger 6

[robertvasquez763]

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

–

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

–

–

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

–

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

–

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

–

–

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

–

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

–

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

–

–

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

–

–

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

–

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

–

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

–

–

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

–

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

–

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

–

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

–

–

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

–

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

–

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

–

–

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

–

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

–

–

The Motor Company is banking on the XG750R to sell Street Rods, which is a little like Chevy using NASCAR to move Camaro ZL1s. There is, to put it bluntly, not a lot of commonality. The engines are somewhat related, they’re both rear-wheel drive, they both wear bow ties, and that’s about it. The Street Rod is not a bad bike, but the FZ-07 is a better one that costs hundreds less. To make another automotive comparison, if the Street Rod is a Mercedes-Benz CLA250, then the Yamaha is a Volkswagen GTI—a more competent all-around machine without the luxury-brand cachet. A toned-down XG750R, on the other hand, could be a bike worth saving the extra coin for, offering the same sort of lifestyle-accessory prestige as Ducati’s Scramblers. It’d be a bike to cast a showroom halo over the other Street models and bring some additional cachet to the Revolution X motor, a good powerplant that’s getting short shrift due to its low position in the line and its break with Milwaukee tradition.

–

–

–

Hog Calling: The Ford F-series’ Chief Designer on Motorcycles, Pickups, and the Importance of Function

–

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

–

Sidecar Racing at the Isle of Man TT Is Insane (and Insanely Cool)

–

–

–

Perhaps I’m naïve about all this. Undoubtedly, both Polaris and Harley have run the numbers and feel that, while the race programs are worth sinking dollars into, the real money is in cruisers and tourers from the Scout/Sportster class on up. But it seems to me that an affordable, American-built street tracker with real racing heritage is not only a very usable everyday motorcycle, but the sort of thing younger motorcyclists could get very invested in.

–

After all, if you ask a Harley hater if they’ve got any exceptions to their generalized distaste for the brand, they’ll invariably allow one: the XR750. Why not make its heir a cornerstone of a Harley-Davidson retooled for the next generation?

–

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