#player is so flabbergasted talking to her its great

[grahamcarmen]

[theultrablog]

Pulp Storytime #20: The Shadow Over Kafiristan by Gareth Hanrahan

The hopheads and juicers seemed far out… And they were. Adapting modules is often a challenge. The default version of this adventure is set in the 2010s in Afghanistan, from a British perspective. In this version, we focused on Javid, an Afghani sniper who fought the British...in 1935. So the entire first third of the module went out the window. It still went great though! (Especially since I lost two players an hour before game time and had to switch over from my Hawaiian adventure.) The group was in a remote village in Afghanistan, a place known for mysticism and strangeness. Javid had gathered his outsider friends for some tense political dealing: tribal loyalty and alliances could easily cascade and disrupt the currently peaceful nation. This time Javid, Aleksandra Pavlovic (the tour guide from the Ireland adventure), Inspector M’tombe, and Querida Wilcox were joined by the Negro League's first female pitcher, Connie Johnson. Young and with a chip on her shoulder, she excelled at all physical and charm challenges, but seemed the most flabbergasted by the ridiculousness around her. And it was ridiculous! The village, despite being above the snow line, grew fields of blinding white poppies. The leader of the tribe, Alga Alkhan, was followed around by pshur, or wise man, who seemed to be tuned to the wrong frequency. An afternoon of tea and sympathy with M'tombe revealed a startling truth: the pshur was at the back and call of mysterious spirits! Meanwhile, the players made adequate first impressions but were banned from the temple at the top of a nearby peak. Locals only. No exceptions. The ban didn’t last long. A mortar attack from a rival tribe interrupted the welcoming feast, nearly exploding the party. Another pshur said to follow her in a strange, British voice. Most of the group did, with Javid returning sniper fire and helping defend the village. A ball of opium in a brazier led the players to a city… I might as well let the module describe it. (It’s the only module I’ve ever run where I wish there was more gray box text!)

The smoke grabs your mind and whisks it far, far awake. You feel euphoric, lighter than air and full of energy. It’s wonderful. You—all of you—find yourselves in a marvellous sunset city. The streets glitter in the orange light of the setting sun. Minarets and elegantly curved domes are outlined against the purple sky. The music of flutes and delicate bells can be heard in the distance. In a square, you see some of the people of this wonderful city. They are all young and beautiful, dressed in rich robes or nothing at all.

The players met Daniel Dravot. He first arrived in the village in 1894, on a mission from her Majesty, but was betrayed by his partner ‘Peachey’ Carnehan, who left him with the mystics. Not wanting a political incident, they kept him physically alive but banished him to the city. Could everyone be so dear as to retrieve his body, reunite it with his soul, and get him out of here? The group agreed, although Connie let out an opportune “What mystic nonsense is this?” What followed was a series of mindfucks, interrupted by intense mountain climbing. The temple? Guarded by a single monk, staffed by three sages high on opium. Inside it was a pit, filled with corpses of those who have been sacrificed while high on the drug, their spirits ascended to the secret city to serve as aides and courtesans. The detective, not squeamish, investigated the pit. He emerged with what he was looking for: a British skull and a cigarette case labeled DD. They had been talking to a dead man. Miss Pavlovic, master of ancient languages, decoded a painting deep in the temple. The hidden city wasn’t a drug haze, it was a flicker in the mind of a mad god. Anyone suffused with the local poppies had their mind trapped and eventually stolen. And the 300-person village was eager to sell its goods throughout the nation. The final pshur was an ageless initiate, threatening to throw a ball of opium into a nearby fire pit. Cowgirl Querida lassoed it away from him. The numbers advantage still favored the party. In the temple, at least. The big challenge was lying their way out of the village. Javid’s heroics, combined with a series of denials and pantomimes, paid off. The group had merely climbed the mountain to chase infiltrators! Who they slew! The next step was bribing local warlords to raze the poppy crop and salt the earth. The villagers could be paid and integrated into other tribes, but the mountain had to be abandoned. Then the players had another idea. (So, I mentioned that the module was adapted, and that gets rid of the last fifth of the module as well. In the original, the agents have to justify their behavior to a Department that knows full well about extraplanar entities. I was out of adventure. But the players were sharp.) "So the only other person who knew about the plants was 'Peachey’ Carnehan, right?" Asked the tour guide. Silence. The players called in favors and did some excellent investigating to find him at his manor house in Sussex. After being greeted, announced and fed, all the players had to do was convince a retired British spy to admit culpability based on specious evidence. Easy. (That’s right, social combat! The new players hadn’t played Fate before. Unlike other systems, it’s relatively easy to improvise any kind of combat, whether social or mountaineering.) It took a while for the players to even pierce their foe’s defenses. He buffeted the agéd inspector with compliments. Querida’s insinuations were met with performative fogginess. Abashed and confused, the players scoured his gallery for clues. That’s when they discovered their host’s weakness: flattery. Connie, used to sucking up to team owners and sponsors, started complementing his sporting equipment... The arquebus, the fencing sabers, the Bengal rug. Javid and the inspector, who tried threats, were 'politely' asked to stand outside and wait for a cab. The others were given a tour and assured, after a bit of whiskey, that the smoky death cult would stay out of Peachey's memoirs. Aleksandra Pavlovic was created by JC Connors:

[youeverfeelcursed]

On The Narrative of The Last of Us 2 (1 of 2?)

I am impressed by how many people are hating on this game and its narrative when I’m finding it how amazing its written even though it broke my heart in so many pieces I’m not sure I’ll be able to stick them together for a while. Reading most of the arguments against the game it feels like people are simplyfying the story of both game to worrisome levels.

This is going to be a long text, and obviously, it’s going to be FULL of spoilers so: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Let’s start by going back a bit and into the Last of Us.

Naughty Dog and the importance of being human: The Redemption of Joel

I think before we start we need to talk about the most important detail of The Last of Us franchise - onwards TLoU -  and that is that its never been about zombies, or survival, or Joel or Ellie but about humanity, or better yet, about what is being human and what makes us human. It doesn’t matter if its Part 1 or Part 2 but keep in mind that this concept is the driving force of this story, subtly hiding in our protagonists and their friends stories. You wont find easy blacks or whites in their storytelling, because being human is not that simple.

Now that we have that clear, keep in your mind too the word monster.

With TLoU - Part 1, we get in the skin of Joel Miller, an assholish smuggler based in Boston. From the beginning we can see that Joel is not a good person and through the whole game is heavily implied that he’s been less that nice to humans to survive. The player can “easily” forgive these flaws of him because we can empathize with the lost of his daughter during The Outbreak but even if we empathize we can’t just ignore that Joel is not a hero, he’s just a broken survivor.

Many people think that TLoU is all about the connection of Joel and Ellie, but in the end it’s all about Joel and his “redemption”, his coming back up from being a murderer, a smuggler, a shitty person to a human with feelings again, with so many feelings he makes the worst decision for the survival of humanity: he saves Ellie. He saves Ellie because he cares, because he learnt to care so much  that he put his own selfishness above humanity’s well being. He’s battled thousand of zombies along the way but we know they are mostly not aware of their actions anymore, they can’t choose to hurt people, they just do it because it’s what they do but Joel made a conscious decision. A horrible decision.

And after, he lies to Ellie. He takes the chance of deciding about her own life only because he desires to keep her alive. And this is what it is about, how beautiful can it be to be human, and how horrible can it turn into.

TLoU Part 2, the death of Joel and the descent of Ellie.

We begin Part 2 with Joel narrating what happened in the hospital to a flabbergasted Tommy. I’m not sure how most people felt during this sequence but during it I felt shitty for actually being happy that he saved Ellie, which was alleviated by Tommy’s acceptance of it (”I can’t say I’d have done different”). I’m not sure if I were to be Tommy I would have reacted the same way, but props to him for forgiving his brother.

So times passes and we land on Ellie. This is where everything begins.

The transformation of Ellie is like a trainwreck, you know it’s going to end badly but you cannot stop looking.

When we get control of Ellie we get our old Ellie back, maybe a little less cheerful but it’s normal, she’s already 18 and she’s been hit hard by life, multiple times. Still we can see that underneath all that tough and grumpy behaviour (I mean seriously, she’s just like Joel) there’s the Ellie we loved from the first part.

Up to the point Joel is killed.

Oh how I fucking hated that moment and it’s not because it felt stupid - it truly didn’t to me - but because I was at the same time expecting it, and not expecting it. Because that’s how death gets to you and I found the setting horribly marvelous.

Many people think that his dead was stupid, that he didn’t go in a grand way but just simply got his face smashed by Abby. I hated it, because the whole scene I was like Ellie hoping for Joel to pull through and save himself, I couldn’t believe he would die in the first 3 hours of the game!! Naughty Dog what the fuck!?

But you know. That’s it. That’s the point. Things come and go and most of the time we don’t really expect what happens. And it’s traumatizing, it’s unbelievable, it’s shitty. But it’s life. One night I was saying goodnight to my dad, the next day he was dead. It happens. Death is not grand, death is not heroic most of the time, it just is.

And that’s the feeling that they manage to convey, that it’s not real. We are feeling the same feelings as Ellie, thinking that somehow, in some crazy way he’ll be back to come back. But he won’t. There’s a grave. And yet the feeling is there. If Joel’s death had been shown differently, we - as players - could find some closure, but this way? This way we are stuck. Just like Ellie.

Just like the beginning of the end of Ellie. Because the next part is all about losing yourself. We can see it in tiny details like Ellie’s hair. In Jackson, she’s got a tight bun, controlled and when she and Dina are getting to Detroit, part of that bun is loose as an analogy of her slow demise, how she slowly loses control. It’s also represented by the weather, with one of the most ruthless scenes happening during the huge storm of Detroit: Mel’s death. 

It would be easy to just blame this turning into a monster on Joel’s death, but there’s multiple factors affecting Ellie during this time, apart from the trauma from watching Joel be killed in front of her own eyes. 

The first one is that she was forced to miss the chance of being useful, useful as a cure for the whole world, for her life to have meaning. It must be really hard to love someone so much - Joel - and hate them at the same time, and plus to all of that, you dont get the chance to forgive them because it was ripped from your own hands.

Next is what she deems as a betrayal from Dina, her pregnancy. This is where the queer theme comes strong, because who hasn’t been in a situation in which we feel we will lose our loved one to the straight ex? The feeling of being powerless specially because Jesse is her friend. She loves him, she loves them both. But it’s obvious she doesn’t feel worthy of Dina, and when the pregnancy comes, it just pulls at her strings. She starts to go alone on missions, reckless crazy missions distancing herself from both of them to the point she crashes hard and makes Nora talk. 

Ellie much to our liking and hate, grew up under the care of Joel, a sweet and wonderful man with his own troubles but a great problem of sharing his feelings, something I feel was passed to Ellie. She doesn’t speak of her feelings, she keeps them inside until they break her apart, so this descent wasn’t caused by just one simple happening, it was a collective of shitty feelings. And we could argue, “but its obvious Dina likes her!”. Well yeah, it’s obvious to us, but for someone that lost so much so fast, how obvious can it be?

Finding Abby is not just about revenge, is about having control over her life. That’s something she can do, she can find Abby kill her and get revenge for Joel. It keeps her grounded while slowly plummeling her into turning a monster. Because sometimes we hold onto the most stupid things just for the sake of being grounded, even if that thing destroys what’s left of us.

I know many people were angry at how a LGTB+ was treated but I personally don’t think this demise would be as hardcore if it had been a straight white girl. If this representation is good or bad its up to everyone’s opinion but I personally think Naughty Dog did a good job in here. I know people are tired of traumatic stories, but there’s a lot to chew in this game to just reduce it to “sad gay story”. For the instance, Ellie is consciously destroying her own life, personally I think because she felt she should be dead plus everything mentioned beforehand. When she leaves Jesse behind to go get Abby instead of saving Tommy that’s the point of no return.

Well, there’s more to unravel but I feel this post is long enough already and we still have Dina, Tommy, Jesse and Abby to talk about. So I’ll take a breather and keep writing later. Sorry for typos and keep safe.

[jonogueirawrites]

Save me from myself

Chapter 13.

AO3.

Summary:

Dinner parties are great excuses to talk about a million different things, and that is exactly what Bucky and Lillian do. Although they barely share words, what they want to say is laid bare before each other.

TW: mention of death.

Raindrops and tears.

If there was one thing Bucky hated was ties. He hated how he felt constricted like someone was choking him. Not to mention they never seemed to sit right, and he had to adjust them every minute or so.

Steve had insisted that he had to go despite his many, many protests. The super soldier even dragged him to a downtown tailor shop so they would have a suit made specifically for him.

After more than one hour inside the suffocating place, they were free to go to the compound. Bucky, of course, took the way back to bombard Steve with questions as to why he was going to that length to make him look all elegant and pompous when in fact, he was more than happy to wear sweatpants and a nice simple t-shirt all day long. Steve being the best friend someone could have, only dismissed his questions with a “you’ll see,” “I’m sure you won’t regret it,” and not to mention the cryptic  “You’ll thank me later, believe me.”

The last drop was when he had barely arrived at the compound, and Tony looked him up and down with a smirk on his face. The man even suggested Bucky should go to a barbershop and take good care of his beard, but not touch his hair, though.

Sick and tired of all the mystery, he left them talking and headed to his room. Not before letting them know that he was not going to whatever the hell they had planned unless he had all the answers he wanted.

A few minutes later, Steve came knocking on his door with a black envelope in his hands. Inside he found a golden paper decorated with leaves and pumpkins. Stunning lettering invited him for a Thanksgiving dinner held in the most luxurious restaurant in New York. The event was organized by no one other than Tony Stark.

Rolling his eyes at the paper in his hand and giving Steve a tired look, Bucky gave his friend the invitation back and tried to close the door with a light push. He turned his back to all that nonsense as soon as he heard the click, but his body stiffened when Steve’s words reached his ears.

“Lillian asked if you were going.” His voice was muffled on the other side.

Closing his eyes and biting his lip, Bucky relaxed his body and opened the door only to find that Steve was gone, and the envelope rested teasingly on the cold floor. With a shy smile, he picked the annoying thing and placed it on the nightstand by his bed.

And that was the only reason why Bucky had a flute on his hand watching people talking, laughing, and much probably scheming around the fancy place.

His hand reached for his tie and adjusted it for what felt like the hundredth time. Sighing, he walked further into the shadows where he wouldn’t be seen.

He had been there for over an hour and was getting restless. As much as he tried to relax, his body refused to calm down, and his mind kept looking for ways of escaping. Angry at the situation he had put himself into, he walked to the nearest table and placed his still full flute on the soft fabric. Determined to leave the place and already coming up with excuses to apologize to everyone, and especially to Lillian, he walked towards one of the emergency exits. As soon as he turned, he saw her.

She looked beautiful, no, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. Her silver dress was simple but elegant, giving her an aura of peacefulness. Her midnight black hair was braided and decorated with small flowers, which made him chuckle. She looked like an angel sent from the heavens just to look after him, but only a few in there knew that if she wanted, she could knock most of the people present without even a tear in her dress nor a hair out of place. Flabbergasted, he caught himself smiling at her when her eyes met his.

Ignoring everyone around, she walked in his direction. The dark lipstick only enhanced her beauty, and her bewitching smile lit her face. Her perfume envelope all his senses. Its flowery smell, somehow, reminded him of home and safety. Her fingers on his skin were silk against sand. Her voice luring him into abandon. Her eyes saving him from damnation.

“Good evening, James.” His name on her lips made the goosebumps ground him to that moment. “I hope I didn’t ruin your quiet escape.” She tilted her head in the door’s direction.

“To be honest, I was already coming up with apologies.” He traced her face with his fingertips. Her hair caressing his heated skin.

“Oh,…” she lifted her hands and adjusted his tie, making him aware of how close they were, “may I hear the one you were cooking for me.” Her lips close to his ear.

Looking back at her, his mind went blank, and he struggled to form words, so he resigned with a shrug that led her to laugh quietly.

“Mind to keep me company?” She held his arm. Her pale skin contrasted with the black fabric of his suit.

“Gladly.” He reassured her with a smile and allowed her to lead him around the place.

Much to his surprise, Lillian knew quite a few of the people. She explained that they were family acquaintances, and she had to deal with them once or twice, although she preferred to be on a suicide mission, she still had to take care of her family business.

A couple of hours later when the mingling ended, and the guests started to be sited, Bucky found himself admiring her from far away, since his seat and hers were located at different tables. Although the Avengers surrounded him, his body longed for her warmth, and his heart ached for her soul.

Tony gave his speech and reminded everyone of the purpose of the dinner. At the end of his words, the band reorganized to play, but not before one of the players surprised everyone when she invited Lillian to play with them.

Her eyes immediately fell on his. Her cheeks were blushed, and she soon averted his gaze. Apologizing, she turned the invitation down, explaining that she hadn’t played in years and that she was afraid to make a fool of herself. Words that Tony used against her, stating that he never knew she was part of the band and that he would be eternally grateful if she blessed their ears with her talent.

Although she wanted to refuse once again, there was no way she would be able to do it without being rude. And that was how Bucky watched the way she lifted the skirt of her dress to get up on the temporary stage, allowing him a glimpse of her pale skin.

She gave the other woman a tight hug and held the violin in her hands like a mother would do to her child. Her eyes shone under the low light, and her lips turned up in an incredible smile. Bucky could only compare the scene to friends reunited after long years apart.

They whispered among themselves, and he could only imagine they were choosing what to play. As soon as she lifted the instrument and it touched her face, the murmur died down to complete silence.

After a deep breath and a glance towards Bucky, Lilly’s bow caressed the strings. The music was slow at first, and everyone’s attention was solely on her.

Her hands moved like ripples on a quiet river. Her fingers kissed the strings with delicate precision. The bow touched the violin as someone who held to his lover, trying to save their souls. Her body a moving sculpture of an ancient goddess. The dress caressing her body, making Bucky’s fingers tremble with jealously. Her eyes closed, and her mind lost in thoughts that no one could guess, but as soon as the first tear rolled down her face, he knew.

He knew what she was thinking because when the sound of the strings and drums reached him, it made his heart beat faster, and his mind focused on things he could only guess.

Bucky saw a young girl curled on her mother’s dead body while the rain beat the window’s glass. The cold night air assaulting her small frame, sending shivers down her spine. Shivers filled with fear, confusion, loneness, and rage.

A teenager lost without her parent’s guidance. Her first crush, her first love, her first fight.

How her life was turned upside down on her birthday day. A day that was supposed to be happy, perfect. When her innocence and naivety could flourish, and her smile captured in beautiful photographs.

The moment she decided she was going to end her suffering. She was going to end her nightmare by killing him. He could sense inside his heart how much she had struggled and hurt.

Another tear rolled down her face, and the music came to an end. With a glance around, he noticed how everyone was silent, battling their own inner demons. His eyes sought her face, and she watched him.

With a simple bow, she left the stage, and a round of applause filled the place.

Bucky rose from his seat and went after her. He was able to see her dress disappear through a closing door. When he exited the place, she was nowhere to be found. He looked up and down the street with his heart in his mouth.

The first drops of rain fell on his face, and something pulled him down the street, towards a dark alley. The lightning illumined his surroundings, and he saw a figure hunched down in the center of the place. The loud thunder made her shudder, and her silver dress got soaked with the heavy rain that descended upon them.

With just a few steps, Bucky neared her, and his arms immediately embrace her. And although the rain fell heavily on them, he could clearly hear her sobs.

Pulling her body close to his, he lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. And what he saw in there made him break. She looked so fragile and small. Nothing near the strong woman he admired so much.

His trembling fingers tucked her hair behind her ear. And once again, he found himself pulling her closer to him.

He wanted to protect her. To give her peace and happiness. To give her everything he had stolen from her. If only… if only she would allow him.

Bucky was ready to make the changes he needed in order to be a better man, but he needed guidance. He needed someone by his side who wouldn’t let him fall, wouldn’t let him go back to the vicious cycle inside his head.

He also knew that he could help her. He would be there to help with whatever she needed. To talk, to scream, to fight… to love. He could, no, he was going to show her that he was a different man, a man that was ready to bear his heart to her.

He could only hope that what he showed her would lead her to open her heart to him. That she would guide him through the twists and turns, that she would love him as much as he loved her. Because he loved her with all he had.

That thought revealed what his heart already knew, but his mind insisted on ignoring.

His mind came to an abrupt stop when he felt her fingers closing around his lapels. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, but her voice was as clear as the night she saved him from himself.

“I’m sorry.” Another thunder, another shudder. “Please forgive me, Bucky.”

As much as he tried to understand why she was begging for forgiveness, his mind failed to give him answers.

“I should have done more. I should have dug deeper way before-” He cut her words.

“Lilly, what-”

“I should have known you were as much as a victim as I was. I should have saved you years ago.” Her words struck him like the lightning traveling through the night sky. That’s was the reason why she had cried.

“Please, don’t…”

“I was afraid…”

“Lilly, please!” It was his time to beg. “Just… please.” He placed his lips on her forehead, and his tears got lost among the raindrops on his face.

The rain was gone, just like it came. They remained crouched and entwined in the center of that poorly lit alley. Their clothes soaked, but their bodies warm.

He faced her again, and her fingers found his face. Trying and failing, but trying to clean his tears, to chase his demons away.

Her thumb found his lips and caressed them with a delicious feeling. He leaned on her touch and closed his eyes. His flesh fingers massaging her neck while his metal hand kept her close. His body begging her to stay near his forever.

She moved to stand on her knees. Her body towering his. Her hands on each side of his face. Her eyes locked on his. His hands holding hers. Her heart beating as fast as his.

He gave her right wrist light feather kisses. Feeling her pulse with his lips.  His fingers intertwined in hers, pulling her hand close to his face, caressing it with his cheek.

She pulled his face up again. Her nose touched his chin and slowly made its way up to his nose. His breath on her face, the smell of champagne on his lips. His hair curled around her cold fingers.

“James,” she whispered on his mouth and felt him shivering under her touch.

He stood on his knees as well, and then things had changed; he was taller than her. His hand rested on the small of her back, bringing her closer, closing the space until they were one.

His nose touched her lips, and he kissed her chin. His lips trailing her face, leaving a blazing trail on her cold skin.

“James,” her voice so sweet.  All he wanted was to get lost in that moment. Drown in her words, her scent, her body, and her soul, “promise you’ll stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish, so I’ll stay.” He kissed her eyes, and with a swift movement, he stood, holding her in his arms.

She held him close. Her face buried in the crook of his neck. Her warm breath on his skin, making sure he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

The footsteps he had heard before much closer. Turning the corner of the alley, he came face to face with Steve.

Without a word, his friend took them to his car and drove them back to the compound. She slept on his arms all the way over there. His eyes never left her face; his fingers never stopped running over her hair.

He took her to her room, and even after she woke up and left his arms to shower and go to bed, he remained by her door. His forehead resting on the wooden door, his mind back in a poorly lit alley.

I hope you liked.

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Next chapter

[glitterysummerkitty]

Dr Bombshell & Mr Hollywood

A Jake Gyllenhaal Fan- fiction

Prologue// Chpt 1// Chpt 2// Chpt 3// Chpt 4// Chpt 5// Chpt 6

Chapter 7

        Sunday evening was by far the most phenomenal day Candice had, in terms of fun, in a very long time. As soon as the game began Candice fell completely in her zone and she had even managed to impress the hell out of everyone present. At the end of the day Dave had been a proud captain and both Jaylon and Ronnell were all praises with Ronnell even trying to bribe her into abandoning Dave and joining him for the following matches.

      Even Mabel was surprised and after the glorious victory of the Omega- 3’s, the first question Mabel had asked her was ‘Where the hell have you been? Jheez Candy! I didn’t even know you were so good at this sport.’ Candice blushed but didn’t think it important to remind her best friend that she had been the captain of her team college team and they had won several trophies. She even won several awards, which were now displayed proudly in a pristine glass shelf at Washington State University.

      At the end of the friendly match Pizza’s and beers were ordered and jokes and stories about their spouses and children were shared. Candice kept mum and tried to stay out of anyone’s focus but more often it had been futile since she was the star player of today and so everyone’s attention was on her. Especially Uma. Candice had never thought at the beginning of the evening that she would ever be comfortable with Uma but surprisingly at the end she found out how hilarious Uma really was. Basically Uma was Gemma multiplied hundred times. Candice believed she could handle Uma and her eccentric behaviour.

      After such a beautiful Sunday came Monday bringing along with it, its infamous blues. Candice groaned as she reached out and shut the alarm. She tilted her head and looked outside the window. It was still dark out there and although it wasn’t snowing anymore it was drizzling. Candice saw the little droplets of water glistening under the streetlight against the glass surface. Candice sighed. Strange fact check about Candice- she hates rain. Yes, she loves snow but hates rain. Why? Don’t ask because even she didn’t have a reason for it.

      With the comforts of her warm sheets and Mr Ruskin’s hot body pressed against her sides, Candice didn’t feel like getting up. But work was work and so she closed her eyes counted from five to one backwards and then hopped out of her bed.

      She barely got time to breathe on Mondays as she had three classes to teach and the clinic is almost always full on Mondays, filling up her schedule for early evening to late night. The first class was with master’s student and their class had been on a topic which was more challenging and close to her heart- Maternal Nutrition and it’s consequences. They had discussed and critically analysed some of the studies out there and compared the methods and their varied results. It was fun.

      But then her next class was with first year Grads and that wasn’t something she enjoyed especially considering she would have to face Zachary. After that day, when she had kicked him out her class, she hadn’t seen him and it made her slightly nervous. Also, after just having such a challenging class, to have to talk about the process of digestion wasn’t something appealed to her.

      Mentally preparing herself, Candice pushes open the door to the large hall and entered it. As she did, the rambunctious class fell to a low hush. As usual, on the very first row at the very centre the seat was occupied by one of her least favourite students Brianna. Candice had observed how the slightly obese girl with a bad case of acne and a harsh expression, never mingled with her other classmates. She always sat by herself and had minimal to no contact with her mates. Candice had also made an observation as to how Brianna seemed to have a problem with her although she would never understand why.

“Good morning class. I hope you all had a great weekend.”, she started as she scanned the class and found it devoid of Zach. She didn’t know if she should be relieved by it or not.

“We sure did!”, someone said but Candice couldn’t point out.

“How was yours Dr Averell?”, a slim, blonde seated two rows up from the front row asked in her sweet voice as she twirled a piece of hair in her finger.

“Better. Thank you Cameron.”, Candice smiled back.

“So... Today I am going to talk about the whole process of digestion, absorption and Metabolism.”, there were some groans, some exited rustling of pages showing eagerness to write down notes while some just sat straight with their nose buried in their phone screen.

“Digestion is the first crucial stage where food is broken down to smaller chemical constitutes for absorption. There are two ways this is achieved- Mechanically and chemically.”, Candice moved to the next slide on her presentation, when the door to the hall opened and in strode Zach. Instantly every girl’s, except Brianna, attention was consumed by him and Candice felt compelled to roll her eyes but she didn’t.

“Sorry I am late, Dr A. I was eating breakfast and went in deep thought about all the things I could do during the time I waste during your class and lost track of time.”, he smirked as she took to his usual seat. Immediately the class broke out into an “Ooooohh” and “Burn”. Candice gave the entire class a sharp look before finally settling her glare at the infuriating boy.

“Really?”, Candice feigned surprise, “Well from observing Mr Meyer’s performance in class for an entire year one would assume that he’s incapable of deep contemplation but I am glad to know you can.”, with that Candice turned her attention to her PowerPoint. She ignored the snickers and Zac’s stabbing glare as she went on about peristalsis.

      Candice decided to grab lunch from the ‘Four Hundred Guild’- a restaurant within the campus that served exclusively to the faculty and staff of Pruitt and Hearst University- before going to her next class. She shot Mabel a text, letting her know where she was and then decided to call Bethany to check up on her aunt. Apparently Aunty Aubrey wasn’t doing so well. Her latest cycle of chemo had left her very weak. It had Candice worried but Bethany assured her that she and a few women from the church were doing everything to help her through this. Candice end the conversation with a promise to send some more money by the weekend and also a request to fill her hospital room with some Calla Lily. “She loves them.”, Candice said.

      Over a lip smacking lemon thyme chicken, Candice narrated the whole incident over Zach to Mabel, who was flabbergasted by Zac’s audacity and also found it hard to believe that Candice had stood up against him.

“While I am very proud of you for what you have done, I am also worried. What if he decides to take action on his threat? In my opinion you shouldn’t continue to antagonise him. It’s a question of your career.”, she advised as she shoved a brussel sprout in her mouth.

“I know. It’s just he’s so infuriating.”, Candice grumbled.

        At half past three Candice left from the university. Once again she made a stop at Starbuck on her way to clinic and faced the same server as the last time. She placed her order without making much eye- contact and then sat down at the table. This time Candice had time enough to have her drink at the café.

      As she waited for her Tarragon Chicken Salad Sandwich and a tall cup of Americano she got her laptop out to check her e- mail. There lay a tiny dose of happiness waiting for her and Candice grabbed it.

  From: reader1980@fmail.com

To: lbrooks.lkb@cjg.com

Date: 19 Feb 2018, 10:00 am

 Dear Lynne,

    I have finally got time today and I am determined to spend the day reading and hopefully get to the end of your book. As I am typing this mail, on my desk lies your book, a tall mug of coffee and a lot of snacks. Believe me when I say that I am on a mission to finish this book today.

      You can expect to hear from me by tonight on my opinions on what I thought about the book. Until then I am signing out! Xoxo

                                                  Regards,

                                              An Avid Reader

        Candice grinned. She loved the reader’s enthusiasm and could only hope she felt as enthusiastic once she finishes reading the book. Candice wasn’t one to care much about what other’s opinion. She wrote ‘Love Knows no Bounds’ because it was something she believed and something that she wanted to write about. It didn’t matter if others didn’t buy what she had to sell. But for some unknown reason ‘An Avid Reader’s’ opinion mattered to her very much. She giggled silently to herself at the (xoxo) part making her wonder who the reader could be. Was it a man or a woman? Was he/ she old or young? Which part of US was this person writing from?

 From: lbrooks.lkb@cjg.com

To: reader1980@fmail.com

Date: 19 Feb 2018, 3:45 pm

 An Avid Reader,

  Your enthusiasm towards my work is encouraging. For any artist, I believe, appreciation of their work means above all and they while they can do without it, when a reader like you shows so much eagerness it really gives much pleasure. I hope you continue to show similar gusto until the end and after that too.

      I will be waiting to hear from you as well. Until then happy reading!

                                                Regards,

                                            Lynne Brooks

                                              (Author of-

                                         “Love Knows no Bound”)

        As she ate she went through some more fan sent e- mails and replied to few. She reached clinic on time and Ashley greeted her with a great news that owing to the bad weather, Mrs Laine had cancelled her appointment and so had two other patients.

“Dr Averell. Do you think I could leave early today? Actually it’s my boyfriend and I seven month anniversary.”, Ashley asked. In the three months that Ashley had been working here this was the first time she had asked for anything so Candice didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Sure. Oh and I probably think it’s a good idea because on Wednesday I need you here late. I want all the patient files organised and prepared for the next month’s audit.”, Candice informed. The red head looked happy.

      Candice saw the few patients who had braved the weather while using her free time to update her patient’s information into the software. The said task was mundane and taxing to Candice but something that she had to be done. When only one file was left on the table she opened it and the name sent both, shivers down her spine and anger through her veins. Candice marvelled at being able to experience two varied emotions belonging to different spectrum, simultaneously, at the sight of the same name.

      There is a knock on the door and Candice looked up, expecting to see Ancil walk in but it was Ashley.

“Dr Averell your seven o’ clock is here. I just wanted to ask if it’s alright if I leave?”, Ashley fidgeted with her fingers. Candice thought, amused, if she came off intimidating to Ashley.

“Of course you can leave. Thank you Ashley.”, she smiled. Ashely smiled back nervously before scrambling out the room. Candice wondered what she ever did to intimidate the poor girl.

“Good evening Dr Averell.”, that familiar baritone voice filled her room making her tremble in her seat.

“Good evening Mr Dumont. Please have a seat.”, she mumbled as she motioned for him to take a seat. It didn’t matter if Ashley found her intimidating or not but Ancil managed just fine to drain every ounce of courage she possessed.

“You look gorgeous. As always.”, he lowered his voice and by the time he said always it was merely a whisper. Candice squirmed in her seat as she felt her muscles in her stomach and everything south of it clench.

“Thank you... How are you today?”, she said a little out of breath and blushed deeply. She kept her gaze fixed on the file before her.

“Better than I have been in days.”, he replied.

“Good. How much of the plan have you been able to follow?”, she asked as she made notes on her file.

“Hhhmm...”, Ancil trailed off forcing her to look up when he didn’t say anything for a while. Candice watched mesmerized as he tapped his lean finger against his lips. His face looked like he was genuinely trying to recollect. Candice wanted those lips wrapped around her own, she wanted to run her tongue over it, she wanted to...

      Candice flushed as she found him smirking at her, apparently having caught her staring at his lips. While she knew her body had its natural cravings, she chastised herself for fantasizing about her patient right in front of him. Embarrassed she turned her attention back to the file and for the rest of the session didn’t look up until necessary.

[chaoticfoxx]

Poker

So I headcanon that Sherlock loves poker. Like he still loves science and he still works with the yard but he really loves poker too. While he was in his drug phase it was a quick and easy way to win a lot of money from stupid people. Now though he does it for fun, if asked why he loves it he wouldn’t actually know since it should be everything he hates, but now that he’s clean and has been for a while it’s just something he does to occupy himself when he’s bored and doesn’t hate people as much.

So just imagine him at a poker game, but not like the small games at local casinos I’m talking highroller bond movies kind of poker. The kind where you have to have like half mil to even buy-in. And he’s obviously good at it, its just simple math and probability, but he gets the most fun out of watching the other players and getting under their skin (he doesn’t mind that he was labeled as a bully and tag early on, it’s not his fault that some players are so easy to tilt). He doesn’t win every time, not that he couldn’t but the one time he won every hand when he first started they accused him of cheating so now he strategically loses and makes sure to make almost double the next time he wins a hand. 

Anyway he’s at the table and in walks this small unassuming blond, in an awful oatmeal colored jumper (not like all the fancy over-priced suit and dresses most people wear to these kinds of games), why he immediately catches Sherlock’s eye is beyond him, especially since no one else was important enough for him to even look up at, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone is sitting and the game is on. And it’s while he’s checking everyone (some that he’s played with before and others are new faces) over now that he notices the smiling unassuming blond from earlier is completely still and blank faced. He watches his cards and everyone around him, but other than that nothing. No micro-expressions to read from him, no nervous ticks or fidgeting, no shaking hands or overt sweating like you get from some amateurs, there is zero to read from him in that moment. His poker face is as good as Sherlock’s when he wants it to be (because sometimes faked nervousness or frowning is a great bluff).

The game is almost over, whatever hand Sherlock didn’t throw the blond had won, and now they were on the last hand of the night, all but three players have folded and bowed out, now it’s a redhead that he’s played with before, Irene if he remembers correctly, the blond, and himself. All the others players have stayed to watch. Sherlock wants this hand and he knows he won’t lose so he goes on playing. Irene knows when she’s beat and folds her hand as well. Now it’s just him and the blond. The river is dealt. Sherlock goes all in and the blond follows. Sherlock smirks to himself. This was a good game and he wouldn’t mind playing with him again. Sherlock thinks to himself that it’s almost a shame that he’s about to take all this money from him, but then the cards are shown and it takes a moment to realize that what he’s seeing is royal flush, and it is not his hand. The dealer declares the winner to a round of formal applause, and Sherlock is honestly flabbergasted, how on earth did this man beat him? There’s no way this bloke got the last ace of the deck. The blond gets his ticket from the dealer as everyone else is dispersing. 

Sherlock gets up in a huff, ready for a nice strop at home. It’s as he’s leaving that he runs into the blond, quite literally too. The blond steadies him with surprisingly strong hands. After taking a few steps back, the blond gives himself a look over before doing the same of Sherlock himself. As he recognized Sherlock the blond comments to him that he played a good game, and Sherlock who’s headed towards a tantrum deduces the man within an inch of his life in retaliation. He’s seen people fall to their knees in tears when he was done with them, but all this man says is “brilliant”. Sherlock is honestly baffled. At that point the blond introduces himself as John. Why Sherlock shakes the man’s hand is beyond him, but since he’s got John’s attention he might as well ask.

“How did you do it, no one has ever beat me before.” It almost sounds petulant under the accusatory tone.

And John just kind of shrugs his shoulders with a tilt of his mouth.

When Sherlock gets a text from Lestrade at that moment instead of turning away he looks John up and down and says, “You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an army doctor.”

John nods his head hesitantly, “Yes.”

“Any good?” Sherlock asks in response.

“Very good.” Sherlock has him.

“Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths.”

“Well yes.”

Sherlock takes a few slow steps towards John. “Bit of trouble too, I bet.”

“Of course. Yes.” John responds. “Enough for a lifetime, far too much.”

Sherlock allows the smallest quirk of his mouth as he asks, “Want to see some more?”

John’s instant retort of “Oh God, yes.” is so very satisfying.

[gloster]

Call it What You Will, a fem-Harry drarry story dedicated to my dear and incredible friend, Sammie aka @dreamydrarry. Sammie, I am so so so sorry it took forever for me to get this done. Hope the story makes up for it. 

Summary:  She hates Malfoy. Malfoy hates her. Yet...in between moments of glaring and taunting and occasional punching, they always came through for each other when the other least expected it.

Call It What You Will

First year, a month after she was taken from the ordinary world of chores and Dursleys to one of magic and wonder, Aria Potter felt like a zombie. A calm, rational zombie, staring straight ahead, putting one foot in front of the other, following behind as Hagrid led the detention group back into the castle.

Hagrid was muttering about centaurs and their riddles. Hermione and Ron were close behind him, getting into another argument over Ron's lack of wrist movement. She was far behind, half-heartedly listening to the commotion with one ear, holding herself tightly as another shudder broke through her body.

From the freezing autumn wind whipping against their cheeks and through their hair. From memory of the slain unicorn they found with its neck torn open. From the vivid crimson eyes glowing from the pale-faced, hooded-figure that was biting into its' neck.

She was so calm. Brave even, according to Ron with a bright grin after they found her. Definitely braver than the blonde-haired, snotty scaredy-cat that fled the second the stranger flashed those burning crimson eyes at them. Maybe she was brave for standing her ground, not looking from him. Only now it was all the calm she possessed during that time vanished with the fear knocking into her at full force, spreading ice through her veins as those burning red eyes flashed through her mind-

A hand reached out to pull her hand away from her side and hold it in his own.

Stunned, she turned over to see Draco Malfoy by her side. "Wha-"

"Don't think too much of it, Potter." he said.

"Said the one who grabbed my hand." she snapped.

"Call it needing an inexpensive source of warmth," he said.

The fact he refused to look at her hinted on the warmth was intended for. She won't deny that he managed to take her mind away from burning red eyes and spilled unicorn blood. That his hand, despite every other revolting thing he was, did feel nice. Warm and soft.

But it was Malfoy, the Prince of Prats that had been an absolutely git to her since day one. She didn't need to stroke his ego anymore than it already was.

So she did the logical thing. She squeezed his hand tight, making sure it hurt. A smile touched her face when she heard a satisfying yelp.

Second year, Draco Malfoy kept his head low, eyes focused on the brownish-green grass as Father stood across from him, mentally peeling the skin off his bones as he recounted every single mistake done on Draco's part during his miserable Quidditch match.

When he managed to push past the pain throbbing down below from his fall, Draco looked up to see the glare firing in Father's eyes that demanded a "talk" afterwards. Three hours in, Father was still listening out his faults. His words the hammer and Draco the nail, being knocked deeper and deeper into the ground with each verbal, stinging lash.

"It isn't enough that you were proven woefully inadequate to a measly, irrelevant Mudblood flea that somehow came out on top academic-wise."

Only because the stupid pest spends every waking second in the library, devouring books like crazy, Draco argued in his head. If he were a bit braver, he'd voice it out loud, but past mistakes and faded bruises taught him that speaking out when Father was in a mood only worsened the consequences for him.

"Everyday this past summer you've been pestering me nonstop for a new broom, promising you'll bring victory to both the Slytherin house and the Malfoy name. Yet you couldn't even do that, failing once again."

It was all because of stupid Potter. Because that bludger was meant for her head and he was the innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. Because somehow she was able to manipulate the wind to her advantage, adding more speed to that twig of a broom. Because she-she-

"Ow!"

Both father and son blinked at the cry, halting Father's rant, halting Draco's wishes of melting into the ground.

Low and behold, when one spent so much time cursing out Potter in their head, she'd appear like clockwork. Still dressed in her Quidditch uniform, dirt dusted onto her cheeks and clothes, her arm set in a cast.

Father's eyes narrowed as they took of it. "Sports' injury, Potter?"

"Unfortunately," she scowled, jerking her head towards Draco. "Courtesy of your son."

Courtesy of whom?!

She looked at him, holding up her bandaged arm, her too-green green eyes flashing. "Congratulations, Malfoy. I thought the upper-class players were brutes. Apparently I was proven wrong."

Flabbergasted, Draco looked to Father, watching the heavy sheer of disappointment and fury roaring in his eyes slowly chip away. First to astonishment, and then to something else: grim satisfaction.

"Really?" He glanced over at Draco, then looked over at Potter. "Perhaps you should take it as a warning, Ms. Potter," he smiled, the curled corners of his mouth sharp as a blade. "Certain people of a frail, delicate structure as yourself shouldn't be playing such a rough sport."

Potter returned Father's smile with a sweet one of her own. So greatly, irritatingly sweet that Draco's teeth ached from looking at it, feeling cavities being drilled into his molars. "But then creatures such as myself won't have the pleasure of showing bigots such as yourself how delicate when I knock them flat on their arse and win the game."

Draco bit down his lip to stop the curl from unraveling across his lips, carefully avoiding Father's eyes as fury shaped his face once more.

"Always a pleasure, Potter," Father sneered. "Draco," he nodded, and then took his leave.

Potter was about to take one of her own until Draco grabbed hold of her hood, stopping her in her tracks.

"We both know I didn't do that," He jerked his head towards her cast.

Her response was a simple shrug.

"Why?"

Potter shrugged with one shoulder, her bright green eyes focused on her muddy shoes. "Call it giving a dog a bone. I could hear his barking from the other side of the field."

That should have been enough, yet…"Why?"

Potter opened her mouth, then closed it, thinking over her answer before finally saying, "I don't like bullies, Malfoy."

He didn't know what to say to that.

"Besides, we both know if it's anyone's job to knock you down a peg, it's mine."

He did however know what to say to that. "You won't be so smug next time, Potter, when I knock you off your broom."

"To do that, you have to know how to actually use one, Malfoy."

He sneered. With a triumph smirk, she left.

Third year, Aria could still feel the cool touch of the Dementors seeping into her bones, chilling her heart. She could still feel the ice turning her muscles, her limbs into lead as she was stuck on her seat, completely trapped. She could still hear that poor woman screaming.

And that bright flash of green-

She shook her head to clear the cluttered thoughts, and continued walking down. She wanted to talk to Dumbledore, but he vanished the second the Welcoming Feast was over. She wanted to talk to Professor Lupin about what happened and the spell he used to drive the Dementors away, but he was swept into a conversation with both McGonagall and Hagrid and she didn't want to intrude.

Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she couldn't stand being in the Great Hall a second longer, knowing a solid ninety-five percent of the conversations and looks going around were centered on her thanks to the train fiasco.

She went to the library for safe haven, relieved to see not too many people there. Probably getting ready for the first day of class tomorrow or, if they were Ron, catching up on their nap-time. She wandered over to one of the fictional shelves and ran her finger through the spines, hoping an interesting one would pop out.

"You never answered my question."

And out pop the cockroach. She groaned inwardly, directing her attention to the blonde-haired git leaning across the bookshelf behind her, smirking at the razor-sharp glare she shot him.

"You never answered my question, Potter," Malfoy repeated.

"Yes, Malfoy, I think you're a great pain in the arse."

"Believe me, the feeling's mutual."

Well, clearly the library was now out. Maybe she could catch up with Hermione; she did mention that she planned on spending the rest of the night in the common room. Or the Patil twins. She moved over to the door, but Malfoy grabbed hold of her wrist.

"Is it true that you fainted?" He asked again. "I mean, actually fainted?"

It was the change of tone, snarky taunting dimming down to something else that kept her there. It was the way he looked, not nastily but almost…worried that made her answer, "Yes."

"Are you okay?"

It was odd that out of the questions that had been asked about what happened, that one hardly anyone wondered about. Even odder that Malfoy was the one to ask it.

"I-well, I'm not dead." she finally said.

"That-that's good." He cleared his throat, toying with his collar. "Really good."

Merlin, she had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for why Malfoy wasn't acting or looking like an irritating git, but like a person, one that almost cared.

Then just as she was beginning to process the mind-bobbling change, a curve grabbed hold of his mouth, shaping it back into his infamous smirk.

"Then it looks like my job is done."

She knew it was too good to last. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she asked, "And what would that be?"

"Call it checking on the well-being of my favorite source of entertainment."

She scowled.

"Oh come on, Potter. With you dead, I'll have nothing else to bade my time with."

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the thickest hardcover she could find on the shelf and swung it hard against his arm, smirking at the pained yelp that burst from his mouth.

Fourth year, Draco had a good idea of how the Yule Ball would be like. Elegant, sophisticated, a night to remember as Mother often said, reminiscing about her own Yule Balls Father had taken her to. He spent the following years beforehand planning it all out: he'd have a custom-made suit that, he'd have the most beautiful and perfect girl as his date, and they would be the envy of the all as they danced the night away. He planned, hoped, and dreamed that it would be one of the best nights of his life.

Instead what he got was a complete mess.

Thanks to Parkinson, a last-minute date who attached herself to his arm the second they walked into Potions and throughout the day, begging and weeping and full-on screaming until he finally said yes to get her to shut up. And spent nearly forever getting ready, which made them two hours late to the event.

Thanks to Weasley and some buffoon from Durmstrang who got into a fist-swinging, hex-shooting match. Ordinarily, Draco would be all for it, especially with the way the Durmstrang oaf was pounding Weasley's face in repeatedly. But not when they fling themselves at the punch bowl where he and Parkinson stood two feet away, getting splashed with the juice. Ruining Pansy's lacy, frilly mess of a pink dress, which contributed to Draco's eardrums nearly being ruined by her shrieking.

Thanks to stupid Potter who didn't trip like he hoped she would when Tournament champions came in, who didn't make a complete fool out of herself as she danced with her date, a fellow dark-skinned Gryffindor whose name he couldn't remember or cared to. Who looked like she was having the time of her life while Draco was having the worst of his. Who-who-

Who now looked just as miserable as he was, watching Granger run up the stairs, with the skirts of her blue dress held in her hands, face streaked with tears and mascara. Potter watched her go and sighed heavily, tilting her head back, as if all the burdens of the world were stacked on top of her.

For once the misery on her face didn't delight him. If anything, it left a heavy, unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

Before he could think it over, he walked over to her and offered her his hand. She looked just as surprised he was to see him there, with his hand out. What was even more surprising was the fact that, unlike first year, she accepted it.

He led her to back to the Great Hall, where the ball was still going on, the musicians still playing and several couples left on the floor, even though they were more interested in each other's tongues than the music. Draco took Potter to the center of the floor. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, he settled his arm around her waist.

A shared glance, a questioning glance answered with a nod, and they were off, settling into a slow but easy step, following into perfect sync.

One two three, one two three, one two three.

It was funny how Potter was only a half-blood with hardly any dance experience, as far as he knew, but she was able to follow his lead a lot better than Pansy, a pureblood with seven years of dance class under her belt, who couldn't move without stepping on his feet or nearly tripping on her own.

"Have a nice night?" she asked.

"Pleasant," he said, letting the grim smile show how great of a night it was for him. "And you?"

"Swell," she replied. "Like getting teeth pulled out."

Potter's sense of humor never ceased to amaze him. He spun her out of his reach and brought her back in.

"So," she said after a minute of silence. "What do you call this?"

That was a question he had to think on for awhile, finally settling for: "Call it misery seeking out company."

She scoffed under her breath, but he detected the smallest hint of laughter attached to it.

He was distorted by the sound. Just as he was by her appearance. He was distorted by the way her red dress looked on her, simple but captivating with thin straps, the color going well with her golden skin-tone, the dress showing off her figure. Still petite, but no longer bony, starting to fill out into a more slender frame. The way her messy black hair was set into polished, loose ringlets, entwined with braids. The way she looked that moment, eyes soft and gleaming by the candlelight, black ringlets framed around her face, and lips painted a glossy pink. So unbelievably, painfully pretty.

Throwing their way of normalcy completely off balance.

Balance that was restored a week later when he flashed the Potter stinks button her direction as they passed by each other in the hallway and she dismissed him with an eye-roll.

Fifth year, Aria came to a conclusion. Voldemort was a monster. There was no doubt about that; a ruthless, terrifying monster. But months into the new school year, Aria came across a monster that may be just as bad. Maybe even worse.

A ruthless, vindictive, pink-clad sadist of a nightmare with sharp grins and sweetly-poisoned words who was determined to silence any and all whispers of Voldemort's return by silencing her.

Slowly, painfully.

By taking away points-hundreds of points-from Gryffindor any chance she got.

By assigning her days' worth of detention if she sensed Aria was even a toe out of line.

By having her write, I MUST NOT TELL LIES over a thousand times with those blood-engraving quills that carved the words onto her hand like a tattoo.

Tonight's detention had to be the worst yet.

Not only did she have to use those quills again but she also had to copy every word of the massive, thick books Umbridge handed over to her that covered every aspect of torture the Ministry done to prisoners and traitors alike, dating back to the early Middle Ages. In full, terrifyingly-descriptive, explicit detail.

She had written so much that the words stretched out onto her arms, nearly reaching her shoulders. Had written unwillingly digested so much, images filled of her head of what she read.

Of snakes being shoved down the prisoners' throats one by one until their bodies were swelled up with them. Of having their arms and legs stretched out by the turn of a wheel until they felt or had their bodies snap into pieces. Torture that was similar to ones that were played out in her dreams, of Voldemort-no, of her, looking down at Muggles and witches and wizards, smiling in delight as her hands slashed them into ribbons.

Nausea twisted her stomach on the slow way back to her room. More than once, she had to push down the bile racing up her throat, swallowing it hard. At one point, she was so tired, so weak, so sick, she had to use the wall for support, the nausea and exhaustion weighting down on her body like a heavy cross.

"No late-night wandering," drawled a familiar voice behind her.

Hand pressed against churning stomach, Aria turned over, her blurred vision making out a tall figure and white-blonde hair. But at the moment she didn't really see him. All she saw was a body hung by his neck, serpents gliding underneath his skin, consuming him from the inside out.

And suddenly she was falling.

"Potter!"

Quick action and strong arms kept her from crashing face-flat to the ground.

It took a minute for her vision to clear, even longer for the nausea to pass.

She looked up at him. Malfoy's arms were wrapped around her waist, holding up her limp body.

What happened to you? Those gray eyes asked. Nothing, not a spell, not a charm, not even Malfoy himself, could hide the shock and concern that shaped his face as he took in her appearance.

"I thought you hated me." she said.

"Call it an intense dislike." Malfoy said.

"So why are you helping me?"

His eyes scanned her face as if she could find the answer there. She didn't realize till then how clear his eyes were. "I don't know."

He didn't say another word the whole walk back to her room, though she noticed the tension stiffening his body when he saw the marks marred onto her skin.

Sixth year with only a handful of weeks left of the semester, Draco decided right then and there that cruel was completely, utterly cruel to him. It had always been mean, always nasty, but this time he had the full taste of its cruelty.

He pulled his eyes away from the empty sink and looked up. He almost didn't recognize the corpse-pale, terrified boy that stared back at him.

The same one who had a mission to fulfill or lose his life in the process.

The same one who watched his once powerful father, a man he believed was untouchable, sink to his knees and groveled for mercy at the hands of the Dark Lord.

The same one who had a crazed aunt that was delighted in telling him the entire summer the ways she'd make his mother bleed and scream for hours if he failed.

The same one who had his life hanging by a thread, on the whim of a madman who could easily kill him if he wished, successful mission or not.

He gripped the sink as if it were his lifeline.

The mission was simple: kill Albus Dumbledore. It should have been easy. The headmaster was a fool, an old sentimental fool who only had time for his few favorites while he left the school and the rest of the students exposed for potential threats to easily waltz right into. Draco clearly didn't have any care for him, much less lost love or respect. But it was one thing to wish a person gone and another to be the one to actually do it. Which was why he tried to make his attacks indirect, so his hands wouldn't be stained red. With poison, with the necklace, anything he could think of that would get the job done and keep his hands clean.

Yet each attempt to bring Dumbledore down had been compromised, derailed, and ruined. And the latest attempt was a complete failure.

And if the Dark Lord heard a word about it…

Tears poured down, burning his cheeks like acid. He bit his bottom lip so hard, blood nearly gushed out, as images popped into his head. Of Father down on his knees, begging for mercy, and the Dark Lord smirking down at his pathetic form before presenting to his snake her latest snack. His mother, strong and beautiful Mother, defiled and violated by the monster before she was handed over to his devoted followers as a chew toy. Of being forced to watch it all unfold, and then being killed himself.

A sob ripped through his throat, followed by another and another until-

A pair of arms was wrapped around his shoulders.

Bewildered, he looked over his shoulder to see Potter behind him, her arms clasped around his shoulders like a trap.

That was how he realized that fate truly hated him. Having Potter herself witness his complete humiliation, his breakdown.

Stupid, bloody Potter who was always the cause of his problems.

He fought against her, trying to break free. He fought, he snarled, he tried to reach for his wand. The sounds that came out of his mouth weren't the cultured tongue of a pureblood heir, but of a wild, savage animal fighting tooth and nail. But Potter was as stubborn as ever, holding onto him tight, refusing to let go.

Draco resisted, fighting all the way, until the energy completely left his body, until his throat throbbed from the frustrated screams and curses and sobs he had been trying to keep locked for the past year, until he was a mess of hot tears.

They sank to the ground, his head buried against her shoulder, and Potter's hold steady as a life raft, still holding on.

Hours later, his body boneless, his eyes puffy and raw, she offered him her hand.

"Call it a another option to consider."

He stared into her eyes, glanced down at her hand, and took it without a second thought.

"Call it a pursuing a shared interest," Draco said, volunteering to help Potter and her friends find the horocruxes.

"Call it a nerve reaction," Aria commented on the way her body broke into shivers as Malfoy zipped her up into the white and gray dress she chose to wear for Bill and Fleur's wedding, his hands lightly brushing against her bare back before he pulled up the zipper.

"Call it a way to let out steam," Draco grinned, catching up with her after her horrible fight with Ron, challenging her to a duel to take their mind off things.

"Call it me finally finding a way to shut you up!" Aria said after she kissed him in heat of the moment, noticing how close they were to each other as they were trading insults back and forth. Only for Draco to yank her back into another one, a longer, deeper kiss.

"Call it-call it…" Draco struggled and failed to find the words to describe the feelings slamming inside of him as he entered into her for the first time. He tried to say it what words couldn't through his lovemaking, with each slow, deep thrust.

"Call it…call it…" She tried to smile, her lips quivering, eyes burning with tears, as Draco crashed her body into a tree and crashed his lips onto hers before she went out to face Voldemort. Each kiss a desperate plea to stay.

"Love." Draco said, joining her by the bridge after the war, reaching out for her hand.

"Love?"

He nodded. She glanced at their joint hands; fingers laced through each other's, and then looked up at him.

"Love." she agreed with a smile.

[dat-imagine-tho]

Foul Play

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Gifs are not mine. This was requested by an anon, although it is extremely late and I stupidly thought I knew the request well enough to write the fanfic without checking. And I got it wrong. Original request:  Draco and the reader are the most talked about couple at Hogwarts. He's very protective over his girlfriend. Even though she's the beater for the same house team. Until one day after they win, the Ravenclaw beater pushes her off her broom. Yeah, I strayed quite a bit from that, but I hope you really like it regardless. Sorry, though.

Enjoy!

"Have a good game, stay safe." Your boyfriend said while looking into your (e/c) eyes and holding your hands in his. 

"I will." You leant in and kissed his cheek in reassurance. 

"I'll be watching from the stands cheering you on." He stated. 

"Alright Slytherin, time to go! let's get out there and win!" Marcus Flint's voice echoed through the tunnel. 

"Bye!" You said quickly to Draco and chased after your teammates. 

"Hey, (y/n)!" Draco's voice echoed, you spun around, and he continued, "Kick some Gryffindor butt!" You laughed. 

"Will do." And with that you left. 

Out on the field you were overwhelmed by the roaring and cheering of the crowd. Adrenaline engulfed your being, you were pumped for the game to begin. 

You clutched your broom tightly in excitement, "And so we begin another quidditch match, Gryffindor verse Slytherin," Dumbledore's booming voice announced, "May the best team win." Madam Hooch took that as the signal to start the game. After a quick brief of stressing how vital it is to play fair and safely, everyone mounted their brooms on her signal. 

She blew her whistle and everyone took off into the air. You shot into the sky above the game, from this vantage point you stayed out of harm's way and could scour around for any signs of the golden snitch. 

You whizzed through the air quickly and skilfully with a natural elegance, your broom felt like an extension, a part of your body. 

Moments had passed and you still had not seen the flying golden object. You quickly glanced at the opposing Seeker, wondering if they knew something you didn't. A flicker of light glittered just behind the Gryffindor boy. It moved fast.

Heading towards you, the snitch took a sharp drop, diving down. You followed in it's wake. The air whistled in your ears and whipped at your face. The force pushed your goggles into the surrounds of your eyes as you swooped down in chase of the golden glint you saw seconds before. 

Cheers roared through your eardrums, the crowd stomped on the stands and banged the walls. Green and scarlet blurred around you as you gave chase to the elusive golden snitch. 

The golden snitch was just in sight, you dove after it, picking up speed. The grass-patched ground came closer and closer into view, 'Abort, abort!' You mentally screamed but you pushed it out of your mind. You were dangerously low now. Faster and faster the ground became your imminent threat. You pulled up harshly, narrowly missing the solid turf, now parallel to the ground. 

The Gryffindor Seeker came hurdling towards you swoosh you veered right but their broom clipped you, you fell to the ground. It was only thirty centimetres roughly, but given the abruptness and unpredicted collision, you had fallen awkwardly and had rolled half a metre from the original crash site. 

Now lying on your back. Your broom lazily continued forward on its own accord and dropped near where you lay. 

You stared at the grey sky, heavy rain drops exploded icily across your face. Players zoomed past above you, zipping this way and that. Throwing the Quaffle to one another while opposing players would occasionally intercept it. 

You held your eyes closed tight to brace yourself to get back into the game. You opened your eyes to see a bludger heading straight towards you, instinctively you rolled to your right and was covered in dirt for your troubles. 

You got up immediately and searched for your teammates, "Oy, watch it!" You yelled to your Beaters who hadn't stopped the bludger from almost smashing your skull, quite literally. 

"Sorry." One of them called back simply. You angrily picked up your broom stretched your shoulders but pulled your left back sharply as pain shot through it. You clenched your teeth but mounted your broom anyway. You were not about to give up or let your team down. 

Soaring into the sky you flew above the game and circled above looking for any hint of the snitch. Time past and it felt like a long time with nothing gained for your team. 

Gryffindor was well in the lead according the announcement Lee Jordan just made over-excitedly. You groaned. Becoming increasingly annoyed and frustrated, “I should just join the game and try and score some points for us instead. The golden snitch doesn't seem to be anywhere.” 

You scanned the abundant student-filled stands, Gryffindors were screaming and yelling in supportive glee, while Slytherins were yelling with anger and frustration which was evident on their distorted faces. Bombarding the team with strategies and critiquing certain plays, you assumed. 

Scanning around the stands in desperate hope for the winning object, you noticed the professors huddled in the stands trying to fight the cold. It was at this moment you realised from lack of movement that your body temperature had dropped, you shivered and wished you could take off soon and find that darn snitch. 

You caught a glint of spectacles, Professor McGonigall. She seemed pleased, in her ever so reserved way. Beside her Dumbledore sat with a jovial smile. Unlike Professor Snape; who sat to McGonigall's right, who looked displeased. Although it was hard to see any difference in the man's facial expression, you were sure Slytherin's loss of their earned title from the past years was not helping the usual sour man. 

You felt the burden of Slytherin's jeopardised reputation, "I have to do something while the snitch is momentarily gone astray." It had become a habit of speaking your thoughts aloud on the quidditch field given your ample time away from other players, circling above. 

Back to using your vantage point as a means of betterment for your team, you decided to help your teammates by shouting out plays and advice. This lead to a quick, well-deserved two points. Still you were behind Gryffindor by a rather large sum, but not impossible to catch up or beat. 

Gryffindor took possession of the quaffle. "Another great goal by Gryffindor, by a very talented, and dare I say, pretty Chaser." You heard Lee say, rolling your eyes in response when you caught something. A moment of distraction seized your attentiveness; you saw the familiar blond hair in the sea of people. You noticed how he kept up his high spirits and screamed in support of you and the team. You smiled. "Y/n! What are doing, we're dying down here, find the snitch!" a teammate yelled. 

You set your features to look firm with fixed attention. Again you saw the recognisable glitter of the snitch, swooping low and fast you hurtled towards it. With an outstretched hand the golden snitch came closer and closer, your heart beat through your fingertips. Just in reach. Your fist closed when a force knocked you from your broom. 

Nothing was recognisable, you couldn't comprehend shapes, you lost the ability to distinguish between earth and sky. Your breath left you. The wind distorted in your ears. You were free-falling. Your body spun as you flailed in mid-air. After what you guessed, was coming close to the impact zone, you reflexively stiffened your body to embrace for impact. Unbeknownst to you, this is the worst thing you could do, but given the height, it didn’t matter. Everything went dark.

Eyes fluttering open. Bright lights caused you to close them again and then blink rapidly and then slowly until they adjusted. The deep smell of industrial cleaning chemicals entered your nostrils, you had to be in a hospital wing. 

You looked around dazed, turning your head to the left. You saw glittering blue eyes, a mop of light blond hair and a kind smile, "Hey, how are feeling?" "Draco?" Your mind was still trying to register things. 

"Yes, love it's me." He moved his chair closer to the bed, resting his palm gently on your forehead and moving it back to stroke your hair. 

"The game?! What happened?!" You urgently stated, going to sit up, that was a bad idea. Draco jumped slightly at your movement, before gently coaxing you to lie back down. 

"Er well, we lost." You looked horrified. Defeated and absolutely gutted, you had let your team down, you had let Professor Snape down and you had let down the entirety of Slytherin. He let out a slight laugh, you looked at him confused, why would he be laughing. 

"(Y/n), you were knocked off your broom!" He said flabbergasted. It suddenly came back to you, the unrelenting force that knocked your breath right from your lungs. Spiralling out of control. But, how you ended up here exactly, you didn't know. "And you're worried about a game?" 

"How did I get here?" You said just above a whisper. 

"Dumbledore saved you. It was not a pretty sight, seeing you falling from such a nasty height. It would have been lethal, sudden death for sure," It got quiet as you thought over his confronting words and as he willed himself to speak again. In a cracked voice as he held back tears he spoke, "Time didn't seem real. I couldn't comprehend anything. I was in complete shock. I was utterly and completely helpless, there was nothing I could do (y/n). Nothing I could do to help you, I didn't have the knowledge or the willpower to break free from the binding paralysis of shock." 

"How- how did Dumbledore save me?" Tears brimmed your eyes from his words as you queried him on your salvation. 

"He used the stopping of momentum charm with the incantation 'Arresto Momentum'," Draco smiled softly at you before adding quickly, "Oh right, I brought you these!" He gestured to your bedside table and sure enough there were flowers there with get well soon cards and loads of sweets from friends.

"Congratulations Qudditch Champion." He said so casually that you almost missed it. 

"What?! I thought we lost the game? Did I catch the snitch?!" 

"We did lose the game." you scrunched your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed, "You almost had the snitch," Malfoy gritted his teeth, "that git of a Gryffindor Player purposely knocked you off your broom." 

"So, how are Slytherins champions if we lost the final match?" Nothing made sense, how did losing the championships equate to winning. Malfoy seemed amused with a sly grin plastered on his face, he enjoyed his use of verbose, purposefully keeping you in the dark of the game's eventual outcome. 

He finally relented, "There was an uproar in the stadium after the initial shock of you falling and then realising you were ok, of course. Snape was furious and demanded justice on your behalf, even McGonigall was speechless. Although knowing her, she would never tolerate any kind of misbehaviour, even if it is a Gryffindor and would cost her the Cup. There was absolutely no way the Player would escape justice. Or her wrath." He smiled amusedly to himself. 

“Slytherin were awarded the golden snitch as compensation at Dumbledore's request. So, congratulations Champion." You were absolutely speechless, you hugged Draco, you were completely over the moon. 

"Ouch!" You pulled back wincing as your shoulder experienced sharp pain. "Careful, you need to take it easy." 

You turned back to your table, "Can you please pass me the cards, I want to read them." Draco leant over and sat them on your lap. 

You came to a peculiar one, a name you didn't recognise, you noticed it was also on a rather expensive looking box of chocolates as well. "Who is this from?"

"The Gryffindor who knocked you off your broom," Draco said flatly. 

"What made him do this? I mean he did knock me off my broom in the first place, he didn't strike me as the remorseful type." 

"Oh I hexed him, he won't be bothering you again," Draco said shrugging and giving you a satisfied smirk. 

You smiled, "Thank you." 

"For what?" He questioned. 

"For looking after me." 

He leant down to you capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, "Up until that moron knocked you off your broom, you had a great game, babe. Get some rest, I'll see you tomorrow." He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. "I love you." 

You didn't reply as your recovering body succumbed to sleep, but Draco knew how deeply you held him in your heart.

More?

[willstilladoreyou]

1. Elevator

True events reimagined.

No elevator Will take you to the top of whatever you think up and down is

I make a pact with myself. “Even if none of them are actually staying at the hotel, I will still have a great time. I am creating a fairytale for myself - for myself for a change”. 

Still, justifying a flagrant expense does not come particularly easy. On the way to the hotel, I triple-check for any evidence of my transparent passion, but it seems like all signs of the concert have been carefully hidden - apart from the mad pumping of adrenaline that’s going through every tiny capillary.

Do I look respectable enough? My suitcase is orange and slightly battered, graced by a space panda sticker; the guitar case is elephantine in comparison to the travel guitar it holds, but my coat is flawless, and my shoes are cool - and those cheekbones tell a tale of elegance even in the weirdest of circumstances.

It’s after midnight, and it’s a quick ride; London gently gleams under a young crescent moon.

As we pull up in front of the gorgeously festive entrance, I notice a familiar figure standing outside - Samuel Bañuelos III, smoking. My heart simultaneously falls and soars. The tour manager is always a good sign.

Get out of the cab, as gracefully as you can (note to self: keep trying) Do I have everything: guitar on one shoulder, a bag on the other and the suitcase. Make your way in Smile calmly, as if it’s all part of a routine Don’t let them know you’re an impostor (note to self: what?!)

Elevator. Historic elevator. Quite an old elevator. A pretty slow elevator. A madame in pearls, waiting. “Oh, coming in late, dear?” “It’s been a long day.” “Well you are sure to get some good rest here.” I wonder if she can tell that I’m in the middle of an adventure of a lifetime. Please keep being polite to me, it makes me feel like I can fake being natural superbly well.

Our chat is interrupted by the sound of voices approaching.

“Hey man, why are you coming in so late?” Samuel Bañuelos III appears, followed by none other than the cause of this entire insane campaign, Mister Josh Adam Klinghoffer. A cool jacket, one of many signature hats, a rectangular guitar case. “…Because of all the fffffffucking people” he mutters, with a tired temper. I allow myself a sly little half-smile in his direction.

Perhaps ‘mutters’ is not the right word here, for the madame immediately turns her head and splashes him with a look of sheer condemnation.

Well I feel like an antelope hiding in the bushes. If anyone looks me in the eye, I will be immediately, hopelessly found out. However, I can’t help but notice (thank you, Nature, for the corners of our eyes) Josh instantly going slightly red (probably cursing himself in his mind). Despite being embarrassed, his eyes wander to my guitar case. I guess curiosity is the best cure for embarrassment.

Finally, the marvelous elevator arrives. Inside there is gorgeous gold, a velvet bench, endless mirrors and enough space for three. Madame embarks. “I’m afraid there isn’t enough space here for us all to be transported comfortably. Good night”. There’s definitely place for me there. She pushes the button to close the doors quicker, but hastily pushes the opposite button and spends another 10 painful seconds avoiding looking at us, her brutal offenders.

Finally, the legendary golden doors conceal the madame as she is solemnly taken up.

I look over my shoulder and cast a quick, warm, understanding smirk at my fellow travelers.

“I’m sorry,” says Samuel Bañuelos III. “I’m not,” say I.

He laughs; Josh gently smiles, looking somewhat relieved. His eyes keep moving between two points in space: my guitar and my face. I notice that Samuel Bañuelos III notices it. Seems like he notices that I notice it, too.

Did I mention this luxurious elevator is…slow? Back in its day, it must have been a technical marvel of immense speed, but in 2016 it reminds us of a more elegant era when the perception of time was drastically different.

As we continue our wait, the tour manager/genius 35mm photographer quietly reminds the guitar player of the details of the next day, which can be summed up thusly: just be at the venue by 5.

Josh lets out a series of short, somewhat absent-minded ‘mmmmhm’s and I can feel both of their eyes on me.

Our ornate mode of transportation comes back to the ground floor and opens its shining doors.

I take a step forward, but my suitcase does not follow my lead: one of the wheels decides to take the night off.

“Let me help you with that,” Josh says in a quiet, sweet baritone. “Thank you so much.” I flash him with one of my best smiles.

I enter the lavish little room of elevation, J follows.

Samuel Bańuelos III does not. He’s standing there, failing to hide his smirk. “Might as well take the stairs, much quicker. I’ll see you tomorrow, man! G’night, miss”.

“See you, good night!” I smile. The doors close.

The insane serendipity of the situation flabbergasts me to the point of numbness. The odds of this happening were less than minuscule - and yet here we are. I am in the same elevator as Josh Klinghoffer. It’s just the two of us. He doesn’t seem to mind. I push 5. He asks for 6.

“Well, you are quite the suitcase tamer.” “It’s -,“ he clears his throat, “- it’s one of the few talents that I have mastered over the years.” Smiles are exchanged.

6 seconds of silence.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice your guitar - do you play?” I can almost see him mentally facepalming himself. “A tiny bit. I’m actually learning how to play bass, and this is the closest thing I have here”.

“Oh, bass, cool! It’s not exactly the same, though…” Beat. “……What do you mean?” It became a signature joke - pretending to be absolutely serious. He falls for it for three seconds, confusion followed by laughter.

“I know it’s pretty ridiculous, but it’s still better than nothing.” A pause, in which he looks at me with a spark in his eye. “I guess so”, he says, smiling and nodding. “I love bass…Are you in a band or - or just learning for yourself?” His voice is melodious and soothing. I notice that I feel oddly comfortable being one-on-one with him. “I am learning to join a band that consists entirely of wonderful friends.” “Wow, sounds excellent!”

Floor 5.

“Thank you so much, it was lov-“ “Oh, I’ll help you with the bags.”

We both step out of the exuberant mechanical wonder. I take a moment to fully look at him. Here he is, right in front of me, guitar case in one hand, my slightly scruffy orange suitcase in the other. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to know that chivalry isn’t dead.” “Oh, my pleasure.” We follow the arrows. Silently. “What - khm - what is the name of the band?” “We’re called The ************,” I say, unable to hide my gleaming pride. I’m in a dream come true, talking about another dream coming true.

“The ************…cool name.” “Thank you, we like it too.”

An exchange of smirks. His eyes are deep brown, with faint glimmers of deep gold. The charm of his smile drastically exceeds my (already high) expectations.

‘What kind of music do you play?” “Well, the official formula goes like this: progressive-aggressive punk post-pop cabaret!” “…..Wow. Well, that definitely got my interest!” I wonder if he sees how insanely happy I am right now. I feel radiant. All of a sudden we are standing outside of room 532.

“Five three two…that would be me,” I say softly, casting a gentle gaze upon him.

“Are y-you staying here for long? Sorry, that’s an inapp-“ “Two nights.” He nods, looking at the floor.

“I’m so sorry, taking up your time, it’s late, and you must be tired - not that you look tired -  I mean, it’s almost 2 AM, and -“ “Please don’t worry! Thank you so much for helping me, I really appreciate it.”

My cheeks begin to hurt from all the smiling.

“Besides, it’s you who is truly tired.”

Uh-oh.

He looks at me intently.

“I was”

Pause.

Just as I inhale to continue this dreamlike conversation, Josh mutters good night and leaves pretty abruptly.

I find myself standing in the middle of an empty corridor of a legendary London hotel. Fuck knows what just happened.

I open the door, drag the suitcase into the room, let the guitar slide to the floor, drop the bag and simply freeze, leaning against the door.

Fuck knows what just happened. I just had a fantastic encounter with Josh Klinghoffer… which ended with him running away. Was it because he realized that I follow him? Maybe he got scared of my incredible charm? Perhaps he had to take care of some dark necessities? Fuck knows. Fuck knows. ……fuck knows.

It’s still astonishing, though. It is still mind-blowingly incredible, though. It’s still absolutely bloody crazy fucking fantastic, though.

I put on some music, shuffle at first, but “Eye Opener” comes first and I have no desire to die by melting into this deep blue carpet.

I put on “Love of Your Life,” followed by “Never is a Long Time”. Soothing songs that accumulate that warm feeling of sheer magic. Unpack! Shower! Jump on the bed, celebrating your insane luck! Glee at the marvels of a five-star hotel! Go to bed in your beautiful silk nightgown to feel like a lady! Attempt to sleep and fail miserably!!

I sit up in bed, coming to terms with the fact that sleep seems like the least exciting thing to do right now.

I get up, throw on a black, sheer, floor-length, long-sleeved polka dot dressing gown (thank you, Dita Von Teese), slip into my elegant little slippers, grab a pen, a piece of paper, the door key and head out to wander the exquisite dimly lit corridors.

After all, life is too short to waste it on mediocrity. I dream of living in a Wes Anderson film, and so I create this opportunity for myself!

I slowly make my way through floor five, admiring the early 20th century sketches and caricatures on the walls, occasionally stopping to write down a thought, a line, a poem, a feeling, a spark. My path is deserted, with the exception of a gentleman eating chicken outside of room 502. The attention he gives me is minimal. My ghost-like promenade takes me to the staircase, and I hesitate, deciding whether to go up or make my descent. As I listen closely to my gut, I hear the peaceful wind behind the windows, the light rustling of branches, the mild ticking of a clock standing on a randomly beautiful table by the elevator, the soft humming of the lamps, quiet footsteps…footsteps? Chicken guy coming for seconds? I notice a figure lurking upstairs. A tall, somewhat lanky figure. The pattern of the figure’s movement is hesitant, but after a few pauses, I can hear it advancing towards my location. As the silhouette draws nearer, the floppy hair becomes painfully obvious. He notices me and freezes. Here I am, a sleepless vision, looking at Josh Klinghoffer…yet again.

There he is, in a black long-sleeved top that looks incredibly cozy and pajama pants that can be called ‘slim’ in comparison to his usual stage choices, looking at me.

A few moments pass, and he still hasn’t run away. Either his eyesight is not so good, or he’s not terrified.

He moves one step down. “Hi…” His voice lingers in the air. I take one step up. “…Hi” The night makes my voice deeper. The silence rings in my ears. Or is it the excitement? The adrenaline, perhaps? Does adrenaline ring? Dear brain, Please shut up.

“Can’t sleep?” He hesitates. “Yeah…still not sure which time zone I’m in” Pause. “….and you?” Now it’s my turn to take a dramatic pause. “…The night seemed to poetic to let it pass me by.”

He takes two more steps and murmurs something undecipherable.

“Sorry?” “That is beautiful,” he says, stepping onto the landing between floors. I smile with a slight exhale and stand by a window on the same level as him. I wonder how transparent this dressing gown really is.

“I’m surprised you didn’t run away just now.” His face changes immediately, a grimace of deep discontent followed by an expression of pure downheartedness.

He stares at the floor. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe you’re even talking to me right now. I - I hate the way I am sometimes.I felt as if I overstepped a line and didn’t think of anything better than to flee. Regretted it instantly. Punched a wall. Regretted that instantly. Felt idiotic since then”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that a conversation that I found so pleasant was a source of such agony to you…”

He looks up, comes to the window…stands opposite me. The pale light encompasses us both. We are looking at each other.

How is this not awkward? Magic.

“I never asked you your name.” “You have a chance now.” He smirks and softly shakes his head. “I’m ***. *********.” “Hi, ***” “Hi,” I say, with a secret smile in the corners of my mouth. “And you are?…” We both laugh. He seems wildly relieved. “Josh.” “Well, lovely to meet you, Josh.” I extend my hand. He shakes it with an air of mock-importance. His hands are big, with long, graceful, restless fingers and obvious veins. His handshake is careful yet firm. My handshake is strong and enthusiastic. I celebrate our first physical contact by zapping him with a shot of static electricity. He looks mildly impressed.

“Are you from the States?” “Why do you ask?” “Well…your accent sounds American.” “Yeah…I’m actually *******.” “*******?!” “**!” (yes) “Haha…Your English is superb!” “Thank you! All thanks to my brilliant parents.” “Are they American?” “Nope, my whole family is completely *******, aside from a couple of Jews.” “Ah, haha! So you live in…******?” “I do.” “It’s a beautiful place.” “Thank you! It is as strange as it is beautiful.” “That’s a good way of putting it…” “Coming from you that’s a big compliment.” His eyes become more serious. I hesitate…and dive right in. “I think that you write some of the most beautiful music in the world.” He begins to examine his shoelaces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But it is true…at least to me.” He finally looks up, his gaze fixated through the window. “Someday I will learn to take compliments calmly…possibly” “That might come in handy one day…” He looks at me and smiles, tucking his hair behind his ears. “***? Can I ask you something?” “I don’t see why not” “It might be a bit of an odd question.” “Those are my absolute favourites.” He pauses for a few moments. “What kind of guitar did you bring here?” I laugh, looking at the ceiling. “It’s a travel guitar. Smaller, lighter, waterproof. Perfect for a campfire evening…but I’m not a big fan of camps.” “Neither am I…but I’d love to take a look at it, haven’t seen one of those in a long, long time…if you wouldn’t mind?” I smile softly. I feel as if a little boy asked me to show him a wonderful toy. “Sure.” “So…you’re here for two nights, right?” “Exactically so…sorry, that’s a quote from Alice in Wonderland.” “Oh, you don’t have to apologize for quoting a great book…I’m sorry for not recognizing it!” I grin, he grins, we both look out of the window. Venus is shining bright, like a lighthouse for dreamers.

“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” I hesitate, not believing my ears. THINK OF SOMETHING COOL. “Beginning a wondrous day” Jesus Christ on a motorbike that sounds pretentious as fuck. “Would joining me for breakfast spoil the wondrous day?” “On the contrary, it would make a wondrous day exceptionally fantastic.” He looks mildly shocked and stays silent for a pretty damn long time, paying much attention to his hair. Classic ***: scaring people away with wild enthusiasm since 1991 (c) Well, no point in backing off now! “…Shall we meet…downstairs?” He clears his throat yet again, fiddling the bleached strands of his infamous hairdo. “Actually I was wondering if I could pick you up at, let’s say”, - he checks his simple, elegant, clearly trusted and well-worn black-strapped watch, - “10 o’clock?” “Sounds perfect…I am flattered!” He smiles with a slight air of inhibition. “Believe me,” he says. “I’m the one who is flattered.” We look at each other, unashamedly smiling. I’m the one who breaks the spell. “See you in six and a half hours, then.” His smile becomes wider. To say that he is charming is to say absolutely nothing at all. “Sweet dreams.” “You too…good night.” We hesitate, look at each other and laugh. “Bye!” I start descending. At the bottom of the stairs, I turn around and see him still standing there, watching me. “See you soon…”

You can't concede that you have no control But if your eyes are open, your heart is open, your life is open wide

2.02.2017

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

Here’s how Cam Newton’s sexist comment sounded to women in sports

Quarterback Cam Newton on the field at Bank of America Stadium on Aug. 31, 2017, in Charlotte, N.C. (Photo: Getty Images)

During Cam Newton’s press session on Wednesday, the Carolina Panthers quarterback fielded a question from Charlotte Observer Panthers beat reporter Jourdan Rodrigue. “I know you take a lot of pride in seeing your receivers play well,” she began. “Devin Funchess has seemed to really embrace the physicality of his routes and getting those extra yards. Does that give you a little bit of enjoyment to see him kind of truck-sticking people out there?”

By the time Rodrigue hit the word “routes,” Newton was smirking. “It’s funny to hear a female talk about ‘routes,’” he said. “It’s funny.”

According to Rodrigue’s Observer colleague who wrote a first-person account of the incident, “There was dead silence when Newton proclaimed ‘It’s funny’ — because actually it wasn’t funny at all.”

A few minutes later, Rodrigue sought out Newton after he left the locker room, but according to her account, she didn’t get any more explanation of what he had found funny, nor did she get an apology — though the team says he gave her one. She didn’t let much time pass before she responded to his remarks on social media: “I don’t think it’s ‘funny’ to be a female and talk about routes. I think it’s my job,” she tweeted.

I don’t think it’s “funny” to be a female and talk about routes. I think it’s my job.

— Jourdan Rodrigue (@JourdanRodrigue) October 4, 2017

She also wrote, “I was dismayed by his response, which not only belittled me but countless other women before me and beside me who work in similar jobs.” The NFL’s Ian Rapoport shared her statement on social media.

Statement from #Panthers beat reporter @JourdanRodrigue on Cam Newton’s comments & response pic.twitter.com/vmffxQ7Jra

— Ian Rapoport (@RapSheet) October 4, 2017

While to many Newton’s words may seem inconsequential — he’s a quarterback, not a gender studies expert — they’re being taken very seriously by others. As they should.

Sexism in sports is nothing new, and sexism faced by female sports journalists (as well as nonbinary reporters and reporters of color) is some of the most vitriolic out there. Even while women comprise 45 percent of NFL fans, their devotion and knowledge is more often than not just not taken seriously.

In a video that went viral in 2016, sports reporters Sarah Spain and Julie DiCaro had mean comments that had been written about them read aloud to their faces. They used the hashtag #MoreThanMean to show the level of harassment faced by women in sports. The comments ranged from “I hope your boyfriend beats you” to “This is why we don’t hire any females unless we need our d***s sucked or our food cooked.” While the men reading them aloud were flabbergasted, the point being made was that harassment like this is sadly commonplace for a woman covering sports.

Newton’s comment was not on that level, but the message was arguably the same: This is a man’s world. Get out.

The NFL was quick to denounce Newton’s words. As the NFL’s vice president of communications, Brian McCarthy, tells Yahoo Lifestyle in an email, “The comments are just plain wrong and disrespectful to the exceptional female reporters and all journalists who cover our league. They do not reflect the thinking of the league.”

The people hit hardest by this incident, though, are the women who have dedicated their professional lives to sports and sports journalism. “This was a rude reminder that the playing field is still not level,” Paola Boivin, professor of sports journalism at the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication at Arizona State University, tells Yahoo Lifestyle. “I faced a fair dose of sexism early in my career,” she adds. “Some of it was blatant: I had a jockstrap thrown at me in a baseball clubhouse, followed by a player asking if I was there to look at a bunch of guys’ d***s. Some was more subtle: A basketball coach was talking to a group of reporters about the pick-and-roll and then looked right at me to explain what it was.”

It wasn’t until 1978 that female sports reporters were even allowed to interview players in locker rooms before and after games, which, needless to say, put their male colleagues at the advantage for getting the story. As recently as 2015, female journalists were stopped from entering the Jaguars’ locker room after a Jaguars-Colts game, because the usher was not sure if they were allowed.

Women who are sports reporters are now allowed in the locker rooms but still find themselves at a nearly constant disadvantage, with sexism being the number one reason. Things such as the 50 Hottest Female Sports Broadcasters list are not unheard of, and Spain and DiCaro’s video proves that being a woman in the business can feel downright dangerous.

“When I first heard his comments, all the air sort of went out of me and I felt so deflated,” DiCaro tells Yahoo Lifestyle of the Newton incident. “The insanity of the whole thing is that there are probably many guys in that room who never played organized football. But being a male allows them the assumption of competence, while being a woman leads to an assumption of ignorance.”

Of course, not all female sports journalists are in perfect agreement on the issue. Former ESPN reporter Britt McHenry tells Yahoo Lifestyle that while she found Newton’s comments “flippant and unnecessary,” she finds the backlash to be “PC culture at its worst.”

“As a woman in sports media and now political commentary as well, the last thing I want to do is use a crutch for myself,” she says. “We’re all looking to advance as women in the media industry. [We] should be supportive of that, but also not be offended by any and every perceived slight.”

In addition to the league’s speaking out against his remarks, Newton is getting hit where it really hurts: his wallet. Since the press conference, Newton has lost his endorsement deal from Dannon Yogurt. Michael Neuwirth, the senior director of external communication at Dannon, tells Yahoo Lifestyle that the company severed ties with the QB after the remarks, which they “perceive as sexist and disparaging to all women.” He adds, “It is entirely inconsistent with our commitment to fostering equality and inclusion in every workplace. It’s simply not OK to belittle anyone based on gender. We have shared our concerns with Cam and will no longer work with him.”

Katie Sowers is an assistant coach for the San Francisco 49ers and only the second woman to hold a coaching position in the NFL, and she knows a great deal about what it’s like to be a woman not only in sports but in the NFL specifically. She tells Yahoo Lifestyle, “My immediate reaction was truly of disappointment.

“I take it upon myself to do exactly what Jourdan [Rodrigue] decided to do: continue to do my job. By doing something as simple as just getting to work, we are all making an impact, because we are creating a future for all young girls.”

Read more from Yahoo Lifestyle: 

Grandmothers react to ripped jeans: ‘Disgusting’ and ‘a proper disgrace’

This red lipstick line was made especially for dark-skinned women

‘So white’ New York Times wedding announcement mercilessly mocked

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day.

[junker-town]

Morgan William and Mississippi State are immortalized in UConn upset

Mississippi State ended UConn’s 111-game winning streak in one of the most unforgettable games we’ve ever seen.

DALLAS — With 12 seconds left in overtime, Mississippi State head coach Vic Schaefer called a timeout. He took in the situation — the game tied, his leading scorer fouled out, the opponent the historic UConn Huskies — and then he looked at Morgan William.

“Morgan,” Schaefer told her in the huddle, “you can win the game.”

William nodded. When she eluded UConn’s defense and shot the ball with time expiring, her teammate Chinwe Okorie instantly felt it was going in. Okorie knew her team had just beat college basketball’s Goliath as William was mobbed in celebration moments. She was certain, as referees unsuccessfully tried to keep the teams on court as they reviewed the shot, that they would uphold it.

“I heard the referee blowing the whistle,” Okorie said in a joyous post-game locker room. “And I said, ‘I’m not going back.’ And I just kept running.”

But even William herself needed a moment for it to hit her.

“When I made the shot, I was in shock. I’m still in shock,” William said at the post-game press conference. “I’m over here like, ‘Hey, I just won the game.’”

Mississippi State ended UConn’s historic 111-game winning streak on Friday in a spellbinding back-and-forth that left the world stunned. For the first time in five years, the Huskies won’t reign atop college basketball as NCAA champions.

A year ago, Mississippi State played UConn in a game that ended very differently — in a 60-point loss and embarrassment in the Sweet 16. It was a game that motivated the Bulldogs this summer, and something their coaches hyped up to them whenever they could. It was personal, Schaefer told his players, and they should feel that way even if a rematch wasn’t on the schedule.

All of that helped produce a Mississippi State team that was special, and their coach felt it.

“A year ago, I’m showing the [2004 film] Miracle, hoping for it,” he said. “This year I wasn’t showing the Miracle. We weren’t watching any movies. I wasn’t talking about the Philistine slaying the giant, although it was in the back of my mind.”

Make no mistake — the Bulldogs knew all about UConn’s almost unbelievable streak. Of course they did. It’s impossible to avoid it.

“We talked about it before the game. We talked about it yesterday when we were practicing. We talked about it two days,” Okorie told SB Nation. “And we said, ‘Look yourself in the mirror and answer yourself if you can do it.’”

With William’s shot, Mississippi State proved they could beat a team on one of the greatest streaks in sports.

Photo by Ron Jenkins/Getty Images

It was quiet on the other side of the arena. Outside UConn’s locker room, head coach Geno Auriemma interviewed live on ESPN. Down the hall, Kia Nurse watched the interview, slightly tape delayed, on a TV mounted to the wall. After a minute, she turned away and sat down next to Gabby Williams. Both appeared to have been crying.

Auriemma had frontloaded the Huskies schedule with the best teams in Division-I basketball this season, expecting them to lose one of them. He described himself as “flabbergasted” when UConn somehow wiggled its way past them all despite several tight games. He seemed to know the streak would end at some point this year. He was only hoping it would happen earlier than not.

“For some of us, this is one of our first losses, one of our only losses,” said Karly Lou Samuelson, who hadn’t lost as a Husky until this game. “We’ll always remember that we don’t want to be back here.”

Even 111 wins in a row couldn’t wipe away the sting of a season ending in disappointment. Like the hallway outside, UConn’s locker room was mostly silent. Even the interviews happening around the space felt as unobtrusive as possible.

Most of the players were still processing what happened. Samuelson, for one, didn’t know what to think on the court as Mississippi State celebrated around them.

“When she hit that shot, it was just kind of weird,” she said. “I didn’t really know how to act, or what to act. Once you’re walking over here, it really hits you, and it hurts.”

This year’s UConn team was seen as more vulnerable than the years past, after their top three seniors graduated and were replaced by underclassmen, but there was only so much an undefeated squad riding an all-time streak could be looked over. A play or two in a different direction, and UConn could have even slipped by despite trailing 16 points early in the second quarter and eight at halftime. But Auriemma gave all the credit to Mississippi State, and only offered this about his team.

“We're playing way above our years and way above our experience level,” he said. “Tonight it caught up to us. When we really needed to be a little more mature with what we're doing, we didn't have it.”

Photo by Ron Jenkins/Getty Images

The whiteboard was the first victim of Mississippi State’s celebration. “Upset Alert” is scribbled onto it sideways in red marker. Someone else wrote “MO is the G.O.A.T.” in reference to William. In huge lettering is the numbers “111-1” with the “1” circled several times. Mississippi State is that “1.”

“We made history last year,” Dominique Dillingham said. “But we made the good history (tonight).”

William had scored 41 points to help Mississippi State advance vs. Baylor one game before. After this game, she admitted she wasn’t sure how she’d get any sleep. That buzzer-beating shot — a high-arcing, pull-up jumper that couldn’t have splashed through the net any more perfectly — was still racing through her head.

“It’s March Madness,” the 5’5 guard said afterwards. “They say get hot at the perfect time. I guess I got hot.”

Everyone saw how good of a game it was. The final minutes featured several clutch shots and lead changes, UConn temporarily saved their season thanks to an incredible Gabby Williams block to close regulation, and even Mississippi State alum Dak Prescott freaking out on the sidelines. It was a thrilling representation of the sport that even UConn could see.

“Just to be in this moment and share that, you can see how much heart both of these teams have put in,” Samuelson said.

That UConn has appeared invincible for so long played into the dynamics that made this game great. When Mississippi State toppled them in that one fatal shot, it felt like nothing could be better than this.

Mississippi State knows there’s one more game left to play, the national championship. Every player talked about how their season and their mission wasn’t down after this win.

But seconds after the team buzzer, with the team running back to the locker, one player shouted, “Championship, man! Championship, baby!”

In that moment, no one could have disagreed.

[crbrickey]

Busy Few Weeks...

Wow! A lot has happened. I started the last few weeks with a little Birthday trip with Rush, Cris, Kim and Cami down to Shreveport Louisiana. It was a great time minus the casinos. After two trips now, I can now say I have been to Shreveport 2 too many times. I will keep my gambling practices out of Louisiana from now on. Of course, I didn't just go there. I also spent a few days in my favorite city Dallas. I got to see my niece and nephew and relax for a few days. Just what the doctor ordered, or so I thought. 

Two days after returning home, I went to bed early (and when I say early I mean early-before midnight), only to wake up at midnight in the most severe pain I have ever experienced. And I have experienced some pain! I usually consider myself tough, but this had me in tears. The right upper part of my ribs felt like they were being ripped apart with every breath I drew. Wearing a bi-pap only helps you take deeper breaths. Yeah, it hurt! Finally, I decided I better go to the hospital, and thank God I did. To my amazement, the doctor informed me I would be admitted with Pneumonia. I was in profound shock, I consider myself the Pneumonia whisperer. I can usually feel it coming before it even shows up on x-rays or blood tests. Not this time. It was so bad, they put me in ICU. 

Here’s the crazy thing, I never felt congested, my only system was the sheering pain. Well, none the less, after 2 days in the ICU and receiving Iv antibiotics, I was out of the ICU and looking forward to going home. When I get healthy, I hate staying longer than I have to. Besides, KU played Baylor on Saturday, I didn't want to watch it on their 20 inch postage stamp they call a tv. Thankfully, I had a nurse who was a patient advocate and with her help, I was able to get out on Friday afternoon. Talk about the weirdest hospital trip of my life. Completely flabbergasted when diagnosed with Pneumonia, not having to fight to be admitted, two days in ICU, and home on day 3. Minus the pain, I kind of hope the rest of my hospital stays go like that. The ICU wasn't ideal but Wesley Woodlawn ICU has the most comfortable bed I have ever slept on. If you work at Wesley Woodlawn, and you are reading this, if they ever decide to change beds, let me know- I call dibs. 

The next week, my beloved Jayhawks clinched our record tying 13th straight Conference Regular Season Championship. I started joking about this record about 6 or 7 years ago not thinking it would be attainable. The team that set the record was the incredible John Wooden coached UCLA Bruins. This team owned College Basketball for years. There wasn't parody back in the day like there is today. So, to be honest this record 13 is a lot more impressive than what UCLA did. And if you still don't believe me, one more fact: In 6 of he 13 years the Big XII was ranked first or second in BPI. Which is the Basketball Power Index which means it was the best conference or second best conference from top to bottom. (you knew I couldn't do a blog without talking sports)

And now the most exciting time is right around the corner. March! I love this month. We have spring training Baseball, Fantasy Baseball research and drafts, warmer weather, and oh yeah- this little thing called March Madness! With the way my Hawks always fight, this could be a special season. Either way- it already has been. We tied a record, we are ranked #1 and last night we said goodbye to 3 unbelievable seniors including who should be this years player of the year and quite possibly my new all time favorite Jayhawk--Frank Mason III. In today’s age of one and done’s its so nice to see such an accomplished Senior class. Hopefully we have 2 more trophies to win (Big XII Tournament and National Championship). 

Now, before i leave, I wanted to share a wonderful story written by Ken Rosenthal about Tony Beasley the Texas Ranger 3rd Base Coach. This story really resonated with me, because I try to live my life the same way. Win every day!! Here is the link, please take the time to read it. It will inspire you and besides, he’s a lot better writer than myself. This will be a breath of fresh air if you read my blogs. http://www.foxsports.com/mlb/story/rangers-draw-love-inspiration-from-coach-tony-beasleys-health-battle-022817

Well, that pretty much sums up my life the last few weeks, the important thing is - I survived and I will keep doing it. As there is hope on the horizon. I will dive into that topic later, next month my positive-no drama ban will be over and I will dive into some more deeper issues. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep it positive and keep you updated on my beloved Rangers and Jayhawks. You’re welcome!