#moment of silence for fellow duke fans

[batdust]

when you read headcanons for the batboy of your choice but it's abundantly clear they are the author's least favorite

[yaachtynoboat711]

At First Glance: Ch.1 ✨💃🏽

A/N: Get ready to learn about the journey out favorite couple has gone on before the Gala! I struggled with this chapter all week. Thank you, @great-neckpectations and the group chat for helping me get out of my block. Love y’all 😭.

Pairing: Winston Duke x Black Plus-Sized! OC

Word Count: ~2.8K

Warnings: language, fluff, Yaa won’t let that petty go 😭

The annual Black Yale Alumni Association Benefit Ball was in full effect.Every year, the BYAA hosted this event to raise funds for their scholarship fund to help Black undergrad and grad students. This was the most anticipated event for Black Yale of the year for both alumni as well as current students. With the event always falling around Halloween, the Ball was a costume party and had a different theme. This year’s theme was “Music’s Icons”.

Even though she had just graduated Yale Law School in the spring and was slated for graduating with her Ph.D. in the December, Khalida Abdullah was NOT missing her first Black Alumni function. Since Yaa had been at Yale, she’d been one of the best-dressed people at the ball. She was always slaying the theme, no matter how vague or specific the theme or the guideline’s would be. It’d helped to have an interest in historical fashion and a sister in the fashion industry. The process for that one night was a strenuous process that lasted for months, with most time being spent in researching ( Yaa’s undergraduate was after all in History, so research came naturally to her in all facets of life). When the theme was announced in late June, Yaa knew she was going as Selena.

The easiest part of Yaa’s decision was picking which musical legend she was going to be for Ball; the hardest part would be which iconic outfit to choose from. Anything Selena put on her body would be replicated by fans and stans for the next 20+ years after her unnecessary death. Either you slayed Selena’s fit or it slayed you; most would fall victim to the latter. Yaa decided on Selena’s outfit from her last concert. It was definitely one of her most iconic and most difficult outfits to pull off. Months of preparation continued until an email was sent regarding the ball. This year’s Best-Dressed would not be granted so easily.

October 26, 2013.8:49 pm, Yaa’s AirBnB.

It was finally time for the turn up. Everything was laid out: the earrings, the custom wig adorned with Selena’s signature bangs, the makeup, even a replica of her lipstick-adorned microphone (Yaa practiced her routine while wearing red lipstick for the effect) were ready for Yaa. Yaa was precise with every detail of the ensemble. In the midst of all the preparation, Yaa’s best friend Tanisha, offered her nervous friend some comedic relief. “

“DAAAAAAAAAAAMN, K.D.! The way you looking and the way this tight ass suit is fitting on ya, you gon’ fuck around and hook a nigga!”

“What are you talking about, Neesh? You always say I’m getting wife’d up at any function I go to. The hell they lookin’ for? I’ve come to this every year since I’ve been in New Haven and nothing. Well, besides being with Quin, but that’s the same as saying nothing. Only reason I’m going is to take pictures, socialize, and say ‘thank you’ to the board and other people for helping me make it through Yale...that’s it. Ain’t no husbands coming this year!” Yaa yelled from the bathroom as she was finishing up her makeup and making her way back into her room. She watched Neesh as she transformed into Donna Summers.

“Do you even wanna get me started?” Neesh inquired as she helped her best friend put on her silver bootie heels, “ Sis, at 22, you were the VALEDICTORIAN of 2013’s Yale Law School class. It was like damn near 700 folks in that hoe and you was the smartest bitch in that bitch, not to mention the fact that you still gotta whole Ph.D. coming in December. You the shit and I just hate that you don’t relish in that. It’s a nigga right now gettin’ ready as we fucking speak going into this function totally oblivious to the fact that a thick ass angel in a tight ass purple sparkly catsuit and a damn wig is finna ‘Bidi Bidi Bom Bom’ her way into his simple ass life. Give it a chance, I know you a young genius but live a little,bitch. He’s gonna be there.”

Yaa chuckled in confusion, “Neesh you dumb as hell for that. Also, you sound pretty confident that he, whoever he is, is going to be there. Please God don’t tell me you’ve played matchmaker again. Bitch I swear to God I’m slappin’ the shit outta you and that’s on muvas.”

“I’m sorry,sis, but I couldn’t let this one pass. He’s the sweetest and most down to earth guy ever. He just graduated with his Master’s in acting in the spring.” Neesh replied.

“Where?”

“Yale.”

Yaa’s reluctant spirit began to soften. “How did I miss him? Is he Black?”

“Bitch, I oughta choke you. Of course he is! Now I must warn you, he, too, just got out of a relationship and he’s never been with a Black woman before.”

Yaa side-eyed Neesh. She knew deep in her heart that Neesh was trying to help. While she appreciated the notion, Yaa was very reluctant to throw herself back into the dating market after her break-up three months ago. “Ok, but please know that you’re still on indefinite suspension from the position of matchmaker.”

The last time Neesh played matchmaker, Yaa’s ex, Quincy ended up being bout crazy as hell. He was very charming, yet manipulative. Yaa was many things, but being to put up with Quincy’s shit wasn’t among them.

At this point, Neesh was begging: “I promise you, K, this one is so much different from Quincy. I’ve been observing him since we started the program. He’s amazing; if I wasn’t such an amazing friend and he hadn’t been in a relationship, I woulda kept him for myself. But I decided not to and we wouldn’t have worked. I know I fucked up but please give this guy a chance.”

When Yaa met Neesh , Neesh was in her final year in Yale’s Theatre program. Neesh was a graduate assistant and the creative genius behind every Yale production. She mastered everything: makeup, costuming, wigs, lighting, you name it. However, she loved costuming and makeup. The two met at an Alpha party the semester Yaa arrived to Yale. Being that they were both SGRho’s and had much in common ,the pair had basically been inseparable since their first conversation. Since graduating, Neesh moved to New York where she became the Creative Director for an off-Broadway theatre company.

Yaa felt sorry for her friend pleading the way she was. Yaa wanted to be stubborn but something was telling her to meet this mystery guy. She finally broke her contemplative silence: “What’s his name,sis?” Neesh was radiating with joy. “His name is Winston. Winston Duke.”

Yaa’s eyebrows went up in curiosity. “Hell kinda name is Winston?” Yaa asked as her head fell back in laughter. Yaa was now wondering what this Winston character looked like. He clearly had to be attractive, or else Neesh wouldn’t have given him a second thought. This was definitely a move of redemption. As the two friends took pictures, Yaa began to get excited about meeting that Winston fellow? Was he tall? Was he Greek? She’d figure out at the ball.

10:54 p.m., The BYAA Ball

The function was going up by the time Neesh and Yaa arrived; that was the plan all along. The vibrations of the loud music pulsated against the walls and floors of the venue. Waves of excellence and Black splendor filled the room.The pink and purple lights juxtaposed the white curtains and couches throughout the club in which gave the space an inviting and jovial energy.

The DJ was blasting that good shit and everyone was going up.

All eyes were on the pair; Donna and Selena were in this bitch and everyone took notice. They took pictures at the photo booth and went their separate ways to socialize with their separate circles. Yaa was the belle of the ball; the moment she walked into the room, Winston saw her and let her and her tight ass purple ass catsuit Bidi Bidi Bom Bom her way into his heart. He watched as she basically floated across the room,socializing with everyone that knew her. Then she smiled. Winston was slightly turned on by the warmth and calming beauty in this Cinderella girl’s candy apple red-colored trillion dollar smile and angelic glow of her caramel hue.

“Wow”, he thought to himself, “She’s a vision of beauty...is that—is that a dimple? GAH!!! It’s just one? My God, she’s perfection. She’s so fuc—GET IT TOGETHER, DUDE!” If there were a control center operating his brain right now, they’d be in overdriven crisis mode. Never had Winston ever felt butterflies for anything other than maybe an audition, but here he was, falling madly in love with a girl that just walked into room. Then she turned around—my God. Winston just about died. Winston wasn’t a guy that obsessed over body features on a woman, but trust Khalida Abdullah’s ass was too much for him.

“Well,I’ll be damned; this tree ass nigga here fine as hell! If he keep looking at me like I’m a jug of water, he gon’ have to buy me dinner. Mmm! Chocolate ass. ” Yaa mentally stated.

The man in question was a rather tall individual. He was clean-shaven, a beautiful milk chocolate toned and had a rather ambitious,yet shy energy about him. Judging by the outfit, Yaa figured he was dressed as Don Cornelius. While he was looking away, she saw him smile and saw only one thing: a gap. Yaa was mysteriously obsessed with gapped teeth, especially on guys. She didn’t know this man from Adam, yet she was feeling him from a distance.

Completely entertained by the mutual eye fucking before them, Neesh and one of Winston’s colleagues and friend, Lupita, smirked to themselves as they mentally devised a plan to get Yaa and Winston together. “Peet, we better not be thinking about the same thing.”,Neesh remarked with a smirk. Lupita chuckled,”Yes. They need to be next to each other. She’s perfect for him!” The friends gravitated towards their gentle giant of a friend. Winston looked at them with confusion,”What’s up, ladies?” Lupita and Neesh looked at each other before Neesh spoke:

“ You remember that lawyer friend I was telling you about?”

Winston nodded,”Yeah, I remember. You never confirmed nor denied if she was cute. I’m still waiting on your answer,Tanisha.”

Neesh rolled her eyes, “ Boy, shut up and follow me.”

The thought of finally meeting Neesh’s lawyer friend made a usually calm Winston a little anxious. The walk across the venue made his chest tighter the closer he got. He still didn’t understand why he was so nervous. His loud friend didn’t settle his nerves either as she practically yelled towards her lawyer friend.

“AYO, K.D.!” Yaa almost got whiplash from turning her head at the rate in which she did. Her eyes widened as the fine guy she was looking at earlier was coming towards her. Her heart almost stopped when he stopped in front of her. He was much taller than she’d imagined, but you wouldn’t catch her complaining. Sis was completely shook. Neesh cleared her throat louder than normal to break the two from the trances they were in.

“Wow. You’re tall.” Yaa stammered.

“Nah, I’m Winston.”, he replied as he smiled and shook her hand. She was NOT about to be out-pettied by this man. If it was a petty war he wanted, then by all means a petty war is what he was going to get.

“Wow, that was corny. That’s what they teaching y’all in the theatre program now?” Winston’s heart fluttered as Yaa’s Southern accent got the best of her. It only came out when she said certain words or phrases.

“Ok, Elle Woods, I see you got jokes, too.”

“One, my name is Khalida Abdullah. Two, coming from a nigga named Winston, I know you got jokes.” Both Lupita and Neesh were damn near on the floor laughing at the exchange. They both knew Yaa was going to win this fight.

“I’m glad they taught you how to be observant in law school.”

“Yeah, of fucking course. You seem to be pretty damn good at observations too, nigga.” Winston was shocked. His train of thought stopped as he realized his attempts at sneaking looks at her failed. He hid his shame and defeat with a rather stoic stare; Yaa returned his stare with a petty stare. After what seemed like forever of staring at each other, Yaa walked closer to Winston and signaled for him to match her height. “You actin’ like I didn’t see your tree ass eye-fucking me all night from all the way over here. Yes, I’m short, but that doesn’t mean I don’t peep shit, Big Fella. I’m about to head to this here cash bar. You coming or not?” Yaa whispered in his ear. She walked away with an extra pep in her switch. She wanted him to know that the ass he was staring at all night wasn’t restrained by the confines of a Spanx. He followed her like a little puppy.

After getting drinks, they began talking; their connection was instant. He found himself making jokes just to hear her infectious laughter. She found herself falling in love with his gap-toothed smile and hearty laughter. They discussed each other’s costume and found many common interests.

“So you’ve really been a Selena fan your entire life?”, Winston inquired, “ I just saw the biopic two years ago and I’ve been a fan ever since. I don’t speak Spanish, but her music is everything.”

“Yeah. When my dad was teaching me Spanish, my personal goal was to translate Selena songs without a translator. It also improved my Spanish skills before I needed them.” Yaa answered.

“So you’re fluent now, yeah?”

“I’m fluent in four languages.”

Winston was shocked, “Seriously?!”

“Yeah, there are a lot of things, you’ll learn about me.” She winked.

Suddenly, “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom” came on. The DJ acknowledged Yaa as she made her way to the dancefloor, mic in hand. The DJ started the track back again. Yaa transformed into her idol and the force of the Tejano Queen was with Yaa. She glided as she danced around the dancefloor. Winston watched in amazement. When she finished, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Winston was the first one to greet her she left the floor. He told her how amazing she looked and how he felt like Selena was on the floor.

For the remainder of the night, Yaa and Winston talked on the balcony of the venue in the cool nighttime October breeze. They exchanged numbers and social media handles as they walked towards Yaa’s car. He almost stepped on her to get the door for her. “I’m sorry, but you won’t touch that handle, at least when I’m around.” Yaa looked at him with a shocked expression on her face. “You sound pretty confident you’re staying around, Mr. Duke. Tanisha didn’t tell you I drop niggas like a bad phone call?” Winston smirked. “She did,but that doesn’t apply to me.” He closed her car door and waved as she drove away.

When Yaa finally got home, Tanisha was on the couch waiting for her.

“BITCH! You got that nigga in love with your little ass.” Neesh interjected as her head fell back in laughter.

“Whatever. I hate to say it, but you were right: he ain’t that bad. Quincy could never.”

“Yeah,yeah. Thank me at y’alls wedding.”

Yaa rolled her eyes. “Bitch, fuck you.” she laughed. “We have a date in three weeks.”

Neesh’s eyes and grin grew wide. “A WHAT?! Does he know you’re in D.C. now?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t know how my situation would be.”

The two talked about their night and how boo’d up Yaa was. Though she wanted to deny it, her glow and goofy grin were saying otherwise. “I think it’s him.”

The The peanut butter to my jelly:

@great-neckpectations @randomwordprompts @blackgirloneshots @babygirlofwakanda @kumkaniudaku @royallyprincesslilly @eriknutinthispoosy @teheeboo @texasbama @wakandan-flowerz @soldierandawar @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @vanitykocaine @sarahboseman @niquelafleur @blackpantherismyish @pastelastronomy24

[nightingaletrash]

PatD lyric prompt for any of your OCs, if you feel inspired! "fifty words for murder, and i’m every one of them”

I know I’m basically showing up 15 minutes late with a starbucks, but I swear I tried

A little AU-ish piece where Isreli is present during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts 

The flurry of whispers hushed into a deathly silence at the clicking of heeled boots across the marble tiles and the glinting of a silverite gryphon, but even behind the masks she knew their eyes followed her as she passed. It wasn’t long after she was what the Orlesians presumed to be out of earshot that the whispers returned to accompany the lingering eyes and pointing fingers.

Not that she cared. Let them talk and stare all they liked. It didn’t change the fact that she could reduce them to ashes with the snap of her fingers. Though that was probably why they didn’t dare speak to her for more than a few moments and always chose their words so carefully, terrified that one badly worded phrase would bring her ire down on them.

They were right to be. Her history spoke for itself.

Isreli continued her brisk pace down the side of ballroom, passing by a dismayed-looking Cullen and his flock of adoring fans and plucking a wine glass from the tray of a passing servant in one fluid motion. As she did so, she gave the Commander a look that was both piercing and utterly deadpan, not stopping as she continued on her way despite (or rather, because of) his harried appearance.

The air was thick with lavender perfume and across the hall the band was playing a rather solemn piece that reverberated through the room, accompanied by the buzz of conversation. Wine glasses clinked as the Orlesians toasted one another with feigned comradery. The centre of the dance floor was illuminated in a pool of silver moonlight shining down through the elaborate skylight in the centre of the ceiling whereas the rest of the room was dimly lit by the glow of what had to be hundreds of candles.

How none of the delicate silk streamers that were draped between the marble columns spaced along the balustrade hadn’t yet caught fire was beyond Isreli, at least not until she passed close enough to feel the hum of a magical barrier between the fabric and the flame. How perfectly Orlesian to employ magic for such a trivial thing.

Suddenly the band stopped playing briefly to strike up a new piece. The strings were undoubtedly much higher than before, played to a more optimistic tune, and then the rest of the musicians joined in and the music swelled. There was a great deal of movement as within moments, nobles from all corners of the ballroom flocked to the steps leading down to the dance floor.

At the head of the crowd was Empress Celene, arm-in-arm with Grand Duke Gaspard. Even from where she was standing, Isreli could see the stiff tension in their form and their tense smiles. A show of goodwill, not an indication of how the talks were proceeding. They took to the floor, alone before the music swelled again and the next couple joined them, accompanied by a round of applause and cheering from the onlookers.

It was all a bit too much for Isreli’s tastes, and she decided it was time to find a quieter spot.

As she resumed her swift pace towards the doors, she caught sight of the Inquisitor taking to the dance floor on the arm of Grand Duchess Florianne. Isreli raised an eyebrow but continued on her path to the Vestibule before a drunken noble could get any ideas about even attempting to pull her onto the floor. 

Apparently murder only suited the Orlesians if the circumstances were mysterious and worth gossiping over.

Once out of the crowded ballroom, Isreli planted herself on the couch situated in the darkest corner of the Vestibule she could find and took a sip of wine before almost immediately furrowing her brow. It was fruity in flavour but not particularly strong. Alorith’s stock had been far stronger and that had always been the cheap, nasty stuff that humans didn’t want.

Perhaps the Empress wasn’t willing to risk a drunken brawl and ordered the servants to water the wine to keep her guests orderly because they couldn’t hold their drink. Or on the off chance that someone would challenge someone else to a duel because they dared to pick the strawberries off of their cream tart before eating it. Or, most likely, because she just didn’t want to spend money on other people.

The more time Isreli was forced to spend in the presence of Orlesians, the more she could understand Loghain’s vehement hatred for them. And realising she was at all closer to understanding Loghain of all people was enough for her to take a deep swig of her wine in the hopes that some alcohol made it into her system quickly enough to wipe the notion from her mind.

The noise from the ballroom was muted in the Vestibule, enough to be quiet even as the crowd watching the dancing went wild with applause. Then the doors opened a crack as a gaggle of young nobles retreated from the ballroom, briefly piercing the muffled quiet with the cheering and celebration before being sharply cut off to a muffle once more.

The group kept glancing over in Isreli’s direction as they ventured over to the balustrade overlooking the stairs leading up from the main doors. They didn’t even try to disguise their pointing and whispering, still young and ignorant enough to think that subtly was beneath them as far as elves were concerned.

Then one of them broke off from the others, some watching eagerly and others clasping their hands over their mouths and exchanging nervous glances. Isreli rolled her eyes, folded one leg over the other and turned her gaze away from him, raising her wine glass to her lips, intent on ignoring him. The last thing the Inquisitor needed was her getting them all thrown out for blowing up at a stupid, drunken noble.

“Why’re you sitting down, you lazy elf?”

His face was half-hidden by a mask, but nothing could mask the fact that he was drunk. Aside from the fact that he slurred thickly as he spoke, he was also swaying rather drastically on the spot. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was standing on a ship’s deck rather than in the Winter Palace’s vestibule. He was also looking at her with the most repugnant and accusatory look that anyone had dared to give her all night.

Watered wine was down to light weight Orlesians, it seemed.

“Are you deaf, knife-ear?” the noble snarled when she didn’t reply. He towered over her even though it looked like his legs might give out any second. “Why are you sitting when you should be serving?”

She finally turned her gaze - blunt and uninterested - to meet his, cocked an eyebrow as she looked him up and down, then returned her attention to her glass.

That was the noble’s breaking point as he suddenly reached down to seize Isreli by the upper arm and jerked her up from her seat, causing the wine glass to slip from her hand and shatter on the ground with the sharp tinkle of breaking crystal.

“I’ll teach you to disrespect me, you stupid little-!”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence before Isreli pressed her hand to the centre of his chest and focused her magic into her palm.

The noble was flung backwards by an invisible force, crashing into the couches behind him which promptly smashed under the force of his impact, leaving him lying in a pile of splinters and split pillows leaking goose feathers.

There were screams as the other young nobles leapt away with wild eyes that flew from Isreli, whose eyes were bright with fury and whose fingertips were beginning to smoke, and their companion who was slowly trying to pick himself up from the floor. He nearly got himself upright before he caught a silk pillowcase under his boot, slid, and fell back down onto his backside. The nobles watching were staring at the smoke twisting around Isreli’s fingers with indescribable horror and yet, somewhere behind her, someone laughed.

“Well well,” said an all-too-familiar voice. “What have we here?”

The smoke dissipated as Isreli spun on her heel to face the speaker, an opportunity the nobles took to haul the drunken fellow up and away from the mess before he could draw her ire again.

There was a clicking of heels on the marble steps as a raven-haired woman descended the stairs that led to the upper wings of the palace. She wore a red velvet dress, low cut with her hair worn up and a heavy golden necklace hung around her neck. Bright yellow eyes swept over Isreli and once she reached the bottom of the steps, Morrigan placed her hands on her hips and curled her lips into a smirk.

“I must say, I am surprised that Lord Valier retains all of his limbs. I could think of fifty words for murder, and ascribe each of them to you, Warden Commander.”

[daphnewritings]

Chapter 7: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

Summary: Marcus Flint is a bastard on a broomstick

Warnings: One murderous Nimbus 2000

Word Count: 2.6k

- Chapter 6 / Chapter 8 - 

November covered Hogwarts in ice.

In the mornings, every blade of grass and fallen leaf was edged in frost that cracked underfoot. The windows on the greenhouses were so coated in ice every day, Draco couldn’t even stare out of them when he was bored of the endless amount of magical plant talk. Draco particularly hated cold because every time he left the Slytherin common room to venture out into the school for classes or meals, he would go from toasty warm to frozen through. Just because the Slytherin dorms were heated with massive fireplaces didn’t mean the rest of the subterranean passageways under Hogwarts were.

But on the morning of the first Quidditch match of the year, not even the chilled air could bring his spirits down. It was Slytherin versus Gryffindor today, so he was all decked out in Slytherin green, from his scarf to the thick knitted socks he wore. He hadn’t even fought Pansy when she’d shoved a green and grey striped stocking cap over his head and told him to forego the hair gel for the day.

He truly would give up anything for Slytherin pride.

Just like in the common room the night before the match, the air in the Great Hall that morning was charged with excitement. Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, sat holding court in the middle of the house table with his team arrayed around him. Draco couldn’t help but be jealous of Potter in that moment when he happened to glance over at the Gryffindor table and see the other boy wearing his Quidditch uniform, even if he was looking a little pale from nerves.

He loved flying almost more than being the best in Potions. It wasn’t something anyone could study to be good at. It had to be natural talent. And the fact that he hadn’t been able to fly, truly fly, in months should be a crime.

It just wasn’t fair.

What made Potter so special?

Draco watched as the Gryffindor team started to rise, one by one, from their seats and head out of the Great Hall for the Quidditch pitch. Potter got many slaps on the back from around the table and some cheers from his fellow first years as he walked off. As the Slytherin team threw down their own napkins and stood as one, Draco leaned over and said to Marcus, “Flint, do me a favor and take one out on Potter for me, will you?”

Marcus smiled down at him malevolently. “You got it, Malfoy.” Then the team made their way out of the Hall amidst the hoots and the sound of stomping feet and banging fists from the whole Slytherin table. Flint mockingly bowed in the direction of the Gryffindor table once the group reached the entrance and smiled at the sounds of their boos and hisses.

After another thirty minutes had passed, students started to trickle out of the main doors to head to the Quidditch pitch to find seats. Draco stood with the rest of his friends and made his way to the doors, at the head of the pack as always.

At the doors, the Slytherins were momentarily stopped by the Gryffindor first years who were also leaving for the game. Draco sneered at them while he happily allowed Crabbe and Goyle to shove a few of them out of his way. He heard Weasley snarl something under his breath about “pompous asses”, but he chose to ignore it. He was in far too good of a mood to duke it out with the youngest of the Weasley spawn today. With Potter not present, it didn’t seem worth the effort.

Beyond the front doors, Draco felt as if he’d run into a wall of ice. The winter chill was so strong, he was more than glad to have been forced to wear his school robe to the match, something he’d made a stink about earlier in the week.

Finding seats in the middle row of the stands in the Slytherin quarter of the field, Draco felt even more buoyed by the House spirit he was seeing all around him. Both boys and girls had sections of their hair dyed the vibrant green of the Slytherin house colors, with some even sporting a full head of green hair. There was a massive Slytherin flag held aloft in the back row of the stands by some older Slytherin boys who were hooting and hissing, holding on to the flag for dear life in the snapping wind.

One older Slytherin girl was passing out smaller pennant flags with a small, coiled serpent on them whose small silver scales flashed in the sunlight and a roaring lion besides it. “Why the lion?” Draco asked her over the din.

She smiled mischievously. “Watch it when we score and you’ll find out.”

Draco shrugged, accepting a bunch into his gloved hands to pass around to his friends.

In what seemed like no time at all, the teams were walking out to meet Madam Hooch where she stood in the middle of the field, broom in hand and white and black referee robe snapping in the winter breeze.

Once the teams stood fanned out around her in a circle, she called, “Now I want a nice, clean game,” she paused to send a not-so-subtle glare in Flint’s direction, “from all of you.” Draco rolled his eyes. The sheer amount of bias in this school was insane.

She waved her hand over the trunk that rested at her feet and the latches along its front popped open, sending the two Bludgers rocketing into the sky. Draco saw the golden glint that was the Snitch taking off for only a second as it buzzed right in Potter’s face before it zipped away, too fast for the eye to track.

“Players, mount your brooms!”

At the sound of Madam Hooch’s earsplitting whistle, all fourteen players kicked off from the ground and shot into the air.

“The Quaffle is taken immediately into possession by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – a fine Chaser that girl is, and she looks rather good on that broom if you know-”

“JORDAN!”

“Oh, sorry Professor, was only trying to give my personal opinion to the masses.”

Draco faintly realized that he recognized the voice of the announcer as his eyes traced over the quick movements of the players as they tossed the Quaffle back and forth. It was the third boy that had been with the Weasley twins on the Hogwarts Express, the one with the dreads.

“Look at her, bolting along up there. She passes to Gryffindor Chaser Alicia Spinnet, only a reserve last year, but she’s proving her mettle now. Spinnet passes back to Johnson and – damn, Slytherin takes control of the Quaffle. Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint taking off down the field, it looks like he’s going to score – nope, blocked at the last second by Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood. Better luck next time, Flint.” Draco, along with the other Slytherins, groaned their disapproval.

“Gryffindor takes back the Quaffle, Chaser Katie Bell with the possession and a nice dive around Flint. She’s headed up the field and – OUCH, that must’ve hurt. Bell takes a Bludger to the back of the head and drops the Quaffle into the arms of Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey. He’s racing up the field and – is BLOCKED by another Bludger sent his way courtesy of Fred or George Weasley – can’t tell which, honestly, can anyone?” Draco thought he saw the redheaded twin who had just hit Pucey with a well-aimed Bludger to the ribs give his friend the finger before turning and swatting the other Bludger towards Flint’s head.

“Johnson, back in possession of the Quaffle and off she goes, there’s nothing but clear field ahead – she dodges a Bludger – she’s almost to the Slytherin goal posts – Johnson takes aim – Slytherin Keeper Miles Bletchley dives and – GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”

The stadium was alive with the cheers from Gryffindors and the frustrated yells from the Slytherins. There was a smattering of applause from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff ends of the stadium and Draco wanted to hex the whole lot of them.

Looking up, he saw Potter do a couple of loop-de-loops before he continued his search for the Snitch, way above the players zooming around below. “Absolutely useless,” Draco muttered to himself, focusing once more back on the game.

“Pucey back in possession of the Quaffle – dodges two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and is approaching the Gryffindor goal – wait, was that the Snitch?”

An excited murmur ran through the crowd, all eyes now on Pucey, who had just dropped the Quaffle in his distraction as he whipped his head around, his eyes following the golden flash of the Snitch that was now circling his head.

And then Potter was diving, becoming only a mere red streak as he zoomed towards Pucey, the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, doing the same. Pucey, seeing the imminent danger, dropped down as quickly as he could, which was unnecessary a few moments later when -

WHAM! Draco laughed with the other Slytherins as Potter was thrown off course by the massive form of Marcus Flint, who had pulled his broom up purposefully in his path.

The Gryffindors howled with rage. “Fowl!” they screamed as one.

Madam Hooch, who was already yelling in Flint’s face, called for a free shot to be taken by one of the Gryffindor Chasers. But, in all the confusion, the Snitch has disappeared.

Flint, having received his berating in silence, flew by the Slytherin stands and sent a salute Draco’s way.

Ah, right. He had asked him to do that, hadn’t he?

Draco couldn’t help the smug smile that graced his face, even though Katie Bell made her shot and scored another point for Gryffindor.

The Weasley twin’s friend was now finding it even harder to remain impartial after Flint’s sudden stop.

“So, after that open and obvious moment of cheating-”

“Jordan!” Professor McGonagall snarled.

“Sorry, I meant, after that absolutely disgusting fuc-”

“Jordan!”

“Okay, alright, fine. The Captain of the Slytherin team nearly murders the Seeker for Gryffindor in front of our very eyes, which I’m sure could happen to anyone. Penalty goes to Gryffindor and Bell puts it away nicely, and we continue with Gryffindor still in possession.”

“Spinnet does a nice little back and forth with Johnson and – Graham Montague of Slytherin snatches it from between them – Passes to Flint who gets a Bludger to the face – Nice one Weasley, I hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor, honest -” Draco gasped with the rest of the Slytherins as the Quaffle dropped into open space when Flint had released it to clutch his nose.

“And the Quaffle falls – right into Pucey’s hands. Pucey dodges one Weasley Bludger, swoops under Johnson and – Slytherin scores.”

The Slytherin quarter of the stadium erupted with cheers while the Gryffindors groaned. Pansy and Theo were both hopping up and down together, screaming, and Crabbe and Goyle had both cupped their hands around their mouths to give off this sound that sounded like a foghorn. Draco waved his own pennant flag madly and he saw what the girl had meant earlier about watching it when they scored. Apparently, the snake, flashing silver, bit the lion on the rump whenever Slytherin gained points.

But the Slytherin celebration was cut short when Lee Jordan said, “Hold on – what’s going on with the Gryffindor Seeker’s broom?”

And sure enough, when Draco located Potter in the sky high above their heads, he was doing some weird, jerky zigzagging motion through the air and immediately throwing himself into a barrel roll. “What the hell is he doing?” Draco asked to no one in particular. The broom came to a sudden stop, flinging Potter off the side so he was only dangling by his fingertips and Draco gasped.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked to his left and saw Pansy’s raised brows. “What?” he asked defensively.

“Nothing.”

Shaking his head at her, he looked back to where Potter was still hanging on, the Weasley twins circling beneath him. Every time one of them tried to get close enough to pull him off the Nimbus, the broom shot up another ten feet. Meanwhile, Flint was making goal after goal to which no one was acknowledging.

“Someone should really do something before he falls and kills himself,” Draco muttered, conscious of his friends around him now.

“Worried about your best friend, Dray?” Blaise said, leaning down from the next row of seats behind Draco.

“No! I’m just saying, it would be a shame if the match had to end because of his stupidity.”

Blaise made a noncommittal “mhm” sound and Draco was glad for the stocking cap since it was surely hiding the burning tips of his ears.

“Okay, but someone should really-,” Pansy started to say, but was cut off by a sudden burst of fire from the teacher’s section. Professor Snape, who’s robe the flames were slowly crawling up, leaped backwards into Professor Quirrell, knocking him and his ever-present purple turban askew.

As Snape stomped out the flames with the help of Professor Burbage, Draco’s eyes darted back to Potter, who’s broom had stopped trying to murder him. He swung back upright, to the collective sigh of relief from the entire school, and was immediately off, speeding towards the ground. Draco’s eyes only caught the briefest flashes of gold before Potter went tumbling off his broom.

“Merlin’s beard, what now?” Draco said, annoyed. Who had seriously thought it was a good idea to put Potter on a broom?

Rising to his feet, hands clasped over his stomach, Potter heaved once and out popped the golden Snitch into his palm. Looking up at the stands, he yelled, “I caught the Snitch!”

And so the game ended in complete chaos.

The Gryffindor team converged upon Potter, slapping his back happily and waving to their fans in the stands as even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw joined in on the cheering.

Twenty minutes later, when students and staff alike were beginning to file out of the stands and back towards the castle, Flint was still shouting to anyone who would listen. “He didn’t catch the Snitch! He practically swallowed it!” But no one was listening.

Gryffindor had still beaten Slytherin one hundred and seventy points to sixty, and no matter what Flint said, Potter had technically caught the Snitch. Even if it was with his mouth and not his hands.

“Well, that was eventful,” Pansy said, allowing Draco to steady her as she hopped down the last few stairs to the ground. Draco could only laugh as Theo tried to do the same thing Pansy did, but ended up stumbling on his landing and nearly crashing to his knees on the cold ground.

Glaring at his friends, Theo stood and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Will you two shut up?” This only made them laugh harder.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing so hard about, Dray,” Blaise drawled as he strolled past him, Morag, who’s dark curls looked particularly windswept, walking beside him. “Theo wasn’t the one who practically jumped out of his skin when Potter was about to fall off his broom.”

“What? I wasn’t about to jump out of my skin!” Draco sputtered indignantly.

“Sure.”

“I. Wasn’t.”

Blaise held his hands up in surrender. “You got it, Dray.” And maybe Draco would’ve bought it if it wasn’t for the fact Blaise wasn’t even bothering to conceal his shit eating grin as he slung an arm around Theo’s shoulder.

Fuming, the laughter from a moment before forgotten, Draco stormed after his friends up the hill and back to the warm castle. “Jump out of my skin, my ass,” he muttered, pulling his stocking cap lower over his burning ears.

< Chapter 6 / Chapter 8 >

[catie-does-things]

Fan Fic: si autem mortuum fuerit multum fructum adfert

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, other Batfam members Summary: Jason Todd’s ordination to the sacramental priesthood. Words: 953

Father Todd AU, part 4

AO3

They spent a week in silence, preparing.

They didn’t say a word to each other. They passed the time in adoration, in prayer and contemplation, in spiritual reading, without a sound.

Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.

It was a silence like the tomb, Father Mark told them in his homily on the first day. Like the tomb of the Great High Priest whose ministry they would enter into soon. A servant is not greater than his master.

Jason knew a thing or two about that.

He used his voice only to sing the liturgy of the hours, and, on the last day, to confess his sins.

-----

There were five of them ordained that year.

Jordan, a convert, whose family refused to attend.

Luis, who was raised by his grandmother, a tiny woman who sat in the first pew.

Michael, whose nine siblings were all present - his oldest brother already a priest.

Dominic, whose family filled out the pew with Luis’s grandmother - his older sister and her husband and their six-year-old son, his twin brother and his wife, and his parents.

And Jason.

Jason’s family was there as well - Bruce and Selina and Dick and Barbara, Alfred, Tim and Stephanie, Damian, Cassandra, Duke, and even Kate. They filled the pew behind Dominic’s family. They stood and kneeled at all the appropriate times. Barbara said most of the responses, the ones she knew. Only Bruce said them all, and softly. Jason couldn’t hear him, but he could see his lips forming the words.

For I have come to set a man against his father...and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.

After the homily, the five of them stood before Cardinal Tolan, their backs to the congregation. They made their vows together, with one voice, promising themselves to the service of Christ and the Church. They knelt before the cardinal’s throne and promised him their obedience.

Then they prostrated themselves before the altar, and the congregation prayed the litany over them. Jason could no longer distinguish any individual voice from the crowd. Face down on the cold stone floor of the cathedral, he didn’t know if any of his siblings joined the prayer. He didn’t know what Bruce was doing. He saw nothing.

For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.

When the litany concluded, they rose, still facing the altar. The went before the cardinal, each in his turn and knelt again. He laid his hands on their heads in silence. The other priests did the same.

When the cardinal sang the prayer of ordination, Jason kept his eyes closed.

It was Michael’s brother who vested them, now a brother priest to them all. One by one, they received the new stole, and for the first time, the chasuble. One by one, they were bound and yoked with Christ forever.

Jason was the last in line. He kissed the cross at the center of the stole and placed it on his neck. His fellow priest lifted the chasuble over his head and smoothed the folds of the seamless white garment over his shoulders.

Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.

When he knelt before the cardinal again, Jason presented him with his hands. They were hands that had fought, and spilled blood. Hands that had grasped desperately for a way out of a coffin, and hands that had struck out in wrath, seeking vengeance. Hands that had been clasped in prayer, seeking forgiveness for all they had done.

The cardinal anointed his hands with holy oil, and wrapped them in white linen.

Those who find their life will lose it, and who lose their life for my sake with find it.

As the mass continued, the newly ordained priests took up their place beside the cardinal, facing the congregation once more. Jason spared a brief glance at the second pew.

Alfred was smiling. Bruce looked solemn. He thought he saw Damian furtively wiping his eyes. Cassandra had put an arm around her younger brother’s shoulders, and he hadn’t pushed her away.

When the time came to distribute the Eucharist, Luis’s grandmother proudly came forward first to receive from her grandson’s hands. Michael’s family and Dominic’s followed, their newly ordained brothers and sons presenting them with each sacred species.

Jordan hung back until it was time for the rest of the congregation to receive. So did Jason. No one in the second pew came forward.

After the mass, there was a frenzy of activity outside the cathedral, as everyone came forward to congratulate the newly ordained priests and seek their blessing. Old women and young children, the Sisters of Life in their blue and white habits, strangers and friends, the younger seminarians and the deacons, newly ordained themselves.

The families of the new priests, who had been first inside the church, were now the last to come out. Jason’s siblings were cheerful, but distant in a new way. He had been set apart from them now, and they all felt it, regardless of what they believed or didn’t.

Bruce was the very last to come forward. He said nothing, but took both Jason’s hands in his own, palms facing up. For a moment their eyes met. Then the man he called father bowed, and kissed his fingertips.

So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!

[proposalessay254]

college essays writing

About me

How To Write The Best College Essay Ever!

How To Write The Best College Essay Ever! Before I may resolve my guilt, I had to broaden my perspective of the world in addition to my obligations to my fellow humans. I became desperately dedicated to my training because I noticed knowledge as the important thing to liberating myself from the chains of ignorance. While studying about cancer in class I promised myself that I would memorize each truth and absorb each detail in textbooks and on-line medical journals. The world I come from consists of underwear, nuclear bombs, and punk rockers. My world is inherently complex, mysterious, and anti-nihilist. I am David Phan, anyone who spends his weekends debating in a 3 piece go well with, different days immersed within the punk rock culture, and a few days writing opinionated blogs about underwear. Volunteering at a cancer therapy heart has helped me discover my path. When I see patients trapped in not only the hospital but also a moment in time by their ailments, I discuss to them. When my dad and mom finally revealed to me that my grandmother had been battling liver cancer, I was twelve and I was indignant--mostly with myself. They had needed to guard me--only six years old at the time--from the complex and morose idea of demise. Hurt that my dad and mom had deceived me and resentful of my own oblivion, I dedicated myself to stopping such blindness from resurfacing. And, as I write these items down, I notice a theme of youth/old age emerging. Note that I couldn’t come up with something for the final one, “knowledge,” which is fine. Take particular care to complete the Feelings and Needs Exercise, as it may be a robust essay-outlining device. Next, the creator used the Narrative Structure to give form to his essay. For six hours a day, 3 times per week, Ivana is surrounded by IV stands, empty partitions, and busy nurses that quietly yet constantly remind her of her breast most cancers. Her face is pale and tired, yet kind--not not like my grandmother’s. The theme of your essay is the thread that connects your beads. Imagine that each completely different a part of you is a bead and that a choose few will present up in your essay. They’re not the sort of beads you’d find on a store-purchased bracelet; they’re more like the hand-painted beads on a bracelet your little brother made for you. As with the Type A essay, complete the brainstorming exercises described firstly of this chapter. No matter which construction you choose, these workout routines assist. Although I’ve lived in the identical house in Cary, North Carolina for 10 years, I actually have found and carved houses and communities which might be filled with and enriched by tradition, artists, researchers, and intellectuals. Read her essay beneath, then I’ll share more about how yow will discover your individual thematic thread. I am a diehard Duke basketball fan, and I can establish all the Duke basketball fans at my highschool on one hand. I want only to smile and say hello to see her brighten up as life returns to her face. Upon our first assembly, she opened up about her two sons, her hometown, and her knitting group--no point out of her disease. Without even standing up, the three of us—Ivana, me, and my grandmother--had taken a stroll together. However, a simple stroll on a hiking path behind my home made me open my very own eyes to the truth. Over the years, every little thing--even honoring my grandmother--had become second to highschool and grades. And as I started to think about my future, I realized that what I learned in school would allow me to silence that which had silenced my grandmother. However, I was targeted not with learning itself, but with good grades and high check scores. I started to imagine that academic perfection could be the only approach to redeem myself in her eyes--to make up for what I had not done as a granddaughter. Gingerly, my grandma stood up from the couch in the lounge, and as if lured by the smell, sat by the silver bowl and dug her palms into the spiced cabbages. As her bony palms shredded the green lips, a look of dedication grew on her face. Though her withered palms now not displayed the swiftness and precision they once did, her face showed the aged rigor of knowledgeable. For the first time in years, the scent of garlic crammed the air and the rattling of the silver bowl resonated throughout the home.