#at least women's basketball is like. well established at this point

[machinecreature]

its mad weird to me when people meet new excitement about women's sports with "well so and so was a pioneer FIRST and we been out here so miss me with this NEW PERSON" as if progress isn't a continuation of what came before... like talk about interpreting shit in bad faith and being paranoid....genuinely if you think people being excited about caitlin clark somehow means they're not respecting the wbb stars of yore.....re fucking lax. people have to get in at some point !!! and then from there they learn the history, just like with anything else. what a concept.

but there's always going to be people unwelcoming to newcomers i guess. Sad!

#seen some posts on the xitter that pissed me offff #at least women's basketball is like. well established at this point #unlike with all the infighting and stupid shit with women's hockey where theyve had so many leagues fold and then get reborn bc people cant #just fucking relax #and do what's best for growing the game

[female-buckets]

It’s Oct. 8, 2021, and the Phoenix Mercury are one possession away from an improbable return to the WNBA Finals. The Las Vegas Aces get the ball to A’ja Wilson going toward the hoop, and the reigning MVP is met by the long arms of Brittney Griner, who rejects the shot attempt and secures her team’s victory.

Five days later, Griner is on a roll to start Game 2 of the finals. She has scored six straight points, and then two more come in spectacular fashion with the first dunk in WNBA Finals history. It’s the 24th dunk of her career, but she’s always proud of any that come in the playoffs. As she would tell members of the Mercury, “If I still have the legs at the end of the season, watch out.”

Phoenix would go on to lose the finals, but Griner cemented her return as one of the league’s greats. A year after having to leave the WNBA bubble to address her mental health, Griner was a starter on the Olympic gold-medal team and an all-WNBA first-team selection — and as bouncy as ever. Turning 30 didn’t mean that Griner was past her prime, not in the slightest.

Griner has not returned to WNBA action since. She has been detained in Russia for 293 days — a detention the U.S. has deemed wrongful — and she’s currently working in a penal colony almost a year since being arrested on drug charges after Russian customs agents found hashish oil in her luggage in February. Still, no player mattered more to the WNBA in 2022 than she did. Griner’s absence was the biggest story of the year, making her The Athletic’s WNBA Person of the Year.

The exceptional outcry from the women’s basketball community on her behalf speaks to who Griner is as a person. The WNBA is a league of minorities, and Griner has proudly embodied several of those identities since she was drafted in 2013. A one-of-a-kind individual and player, it was easy for many to see parts of themselves in her and take pride in that representation.

“BG’s lived experience of being different and sounding different and looking different didn’t harden her. It made her more accessible. It made her more empathetic,” Mercury president Vince Kozar told The Athletic. “It made her more of all of the things that people respond to when they meet her or think about her. And so she came to understand herself as someone who provided this visibility and representation for other people that was so important to other people.

“Whether it was meeting people in person and having them tell her that, or so much of the fan mail she received or we received on her behalf, or the outpouring that she always felt on social media, where she was active, she came to understand that, like, just being herself, whether that was being 6-(foot-)8, whether that was presenting fairly androgynously, whether that was being an out and proud lesbian who not only wanted to speak out on behalf of LGBT rights and causes but also just live out loud with her wife. I think all of those things people responded to, and I think she did that and lived like that because that’s just who she is, but I think also she came to understand, like I said, that it was really important to so many people.”

Griner’s fate could have befallen any number of WNBA players. The majority of the league heads overseas during the offseason to supplement their income and have an opportunity to play year-round. Griner earns a supermax salary from Phoenix but has played in Russia for UMMC Ekaterinburg since 2014 for a contract rumored to be at least four times that number. That team specifically recruited her and her skill set to win EuroLeague titles and establish dominance as the best club in the world.

Her detention is a reflection of the worldwide nature of basketball, as well as the specific geopolitical circumstances of 2022. Her arrest took place as Russia was preparing to invade Ukraine, which has received billions of dollars in aid from the U.S. since that invasion began. Yet, while citizens of Russia faced punishment for speaking out against the government, Griner’s teammates and general manager advocated for her as character witnesses during her trial.

“The ironic thing that I tell people all the time is that she loves Russia. She loved going over there; she loved that and not being away,” Kozar said. “It has an expiration date, right? Because it’s a hard lifestyle being away from family. But that situation, that team, those accommodations, that salary, which demonstrates how much they value not only women athletes but her in particular … that team from this small, little oil city in the middle of Russia multiple times won EuroLeague.

“That organization, that city, those teammates love her, and she had a great deal of pride in, as her wife had said, when her career started playing overseas, the goal was to be one of those players who a Russian team wanted, right? And this Russian team wanted her. She not only became that player for herself, she became that player for that team.”

In June, Tina Charles requested a contract divorce from the Mercury. Phoenix attempted to construct a superteam in the offseason, reuniting the frontcourt of Charles and Griner, Olympic teammates for three gold medals. Instead, the team had a year from hell, falling to the No. 8 seed, and Charles asking for a buyout midway through the season. There was no reason to stay without the person she came to Phoenix to play with.

“At the very beginning of this, I was super hesitant to talk about BG in terms of basketball at all, because of the humanity of it and what she’s enduring. Basketball is, like, the very last thing on the list that matters,” Kozar said. “But the more time has passed, and frankly, the more letters I’ve gotten from her, I’ve been reminded she’s had a lot of things taken away from her — family, freedom, friends, all of that — but she’s had basketball taken away from her.

In July, Chicago played host to the 2022 All-Star Game. Griner, an eight-time All-Star who had been selected to the game every year of her career, was instead an honoree. The players wore her jersey number during the second half — and all Griner could do from Russia was later hold a photograph of the No. 42 All-Stars at a pre-trial hearing while in a cage.

Three months later, the U.S. defeated China in the championship of the 2022 FIBA World Cup. Griner had represented the United States at every major international competition from the moment she turned pro. In a letter she wrote to President Joe Biden on July 4, she said that her family traditionally spent the holiday honoring those who served the country to protect their freedom. Her opportunity to serve her country came in the form of USA Basketball, and this was her first absence from the national team.

Kelsey Plum, who was on Team USA in 2018 with Griner, said that Griner built community within that group when she and her wife Cherelle led card games with the American players and their families. Plum’s best memories of Griner come from playing Phase 10 and Uno those nights in Tenerife.

That’s the Griner that people around the WNBA talk about, the one who disarms with her kindness and her humor. She’s always looking out for others, even now, when she would have every reason not to.

“She spends her letters, just like she spent her time in Phoenix, and how she has spent her life, concerned about other people,” Kozar said. “Her letters ask me how I’m doing. Her letters ask me about her teammates. Her letters ask me to make sure we are all taking care of Cherelle. And her letter to President Biden was also about all of the other people in the same situation that she is in around the globe. That’s authentically BG.”

#wnba #brittney griner #phoenix mercury

[adamwatchesmovies]

A Wrinkle in Time (2003)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Between the 2018 big-budget film adaptation of A Wrinkle in Time and the 2003 made-for-TV version… you’d be better off reading the novel by Madeleine L’Engle. This is the better of the two adaptations but you’ve got to sift through horrendous special effects, unconvincing performances, many plot holes and a frustrating climax to see the source material shine through.

Following the mysterious disappearance of her father (Chris Potter), Meg Murry (Katie Stuart) struggles at school and with her inner thoughts. When three strange women, Mrs. Whatsit (Alfre Woodard), Mrs. Who (Alison Elliot) and Mrs. Which (Kate Nelligan) summon Meg, her telepathic, genius-level little brother Charles Wallace (David Dorfman) and their new friend Calvin O’Keefe (Gregory Smith) are sent on a mission to rescue Dr. Murry. In the process, they oppose an embodiment of evil known as the Black Thing. Though Charles Wallace is the rare person who can stand up to the sinister force, his sister is the one who will play a key role in this battle.

Conceptually, there’s plenty to like. Most YA novel adaptations feature a seemingly ordinary child who is revealed to be anything but ordinary. Here, Charles Wallace is the “chosen one” but he's so young and impressionable his normal sister becomes the more active character. Meg is relatable. She’s filled with self-doubt and feels inadequate compared to her brother. She doesn’t feel pretty is frustrated by a world that doesn’t understand her and is still reeling from her father's disappearance. Katie Stuart is ok in the role. Not spectacular but usually fine.

The troubles begin as soon as the three guardian angels/witches enter. After bringing the children to a fantastical world, Mrs. Whatsit transforms into a winged centaur-like creature. The special effect is so terrible it’s impossible to ignore. I don’t like harping on special effects. Ultimately, the writing, story and performances make a movie. The eye candy is extra but someone should’ve said something. If you're still hesitant to call this take on A Wrinkle in Time bad at this point, just wait. While no other visuals look quite as awful as that nightmare beast, none of what follows looks or feels quite right. The story is rushed and besides Meg, no one receives the characterization needed for you to latch onto and love them. Charles Wallace is bullied by other children because he refuses (at least at the beginning of the film) to speak to anyone outside his family. Why does his mother (Sarah-Jane Redmond) still send him to a normal school? We’re told The Black Thing is a threat to the entire galaxy… but for the most part, the three children battle it on their own? What are the three ladies doing in the meantime? I'm almost certain the four-hour miniseries cut fixes many of these issues. As-is, 124 minutes is far too short for the material. Paradoxically, too much of this film’s plot is dedicated to elements that ultimately lead nowhere and are a waste of time. A planet with Wookie-like creatures and the aforementioned flying beast don’t serve much of a purpose in the grand scheme of things. They certainly don’t give the people watching much of a spectacle.

You can see why someone green-lit this production. There’s a gem of an idea at its core. At one point, our heroes travel to the planet Camazotz, whose people are forced into a conformist society controlled by IT/The Black Thing. Everywhere, there’s a certain rhythmic noise. It’s the bouncing of basketballs, the tapping of fingers on the desk, the footsteps of the people IT subjugates. The evil's suffocating control is brilliantly done. In terms of what you can look forward to, there's little else. A Wrinkle in Time simply isn’t well translated to the screen. The urgency we should be feeling during the climax is absent. This makes you realize how lacklustre the performances are and how thin your patience is getting. If I never hear someone yell “Charles Wallace!” again, it’ll be too soon. You find it hard to care about anything despite the promising beginning.

Most hilariously, the people at Disney Marketing knew they had a hard-sell on their hands, which is why the image of a castle and a pegasus (neither of which appear in the movie) are plastered all over the DVD. Even if you go in with low standards and understand the limitations of a made-for-TV movie, 2003’s A Wrinkle in Time disappoints. (On DVD, December 27, 2019)

#A Wrinkle in Time #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #John Kent Harrison #Susan Shilliday #Katie Stuart #Gregory Smith #David Dorfman #Chris Potter #Kyle Secor #Sean Cullen #Sarah-Jane Redmond #Kate Nelligan #Allison Elliot #Alfre Woodard #2003 movies #2003 films

[damm16ross]

Just about everybody has at the very least a rudimentary notion of what basketball is all about. However, several folks are intrigued in taking their being familiar with of the activity to a full new degree. If you are amongst those wishing to find out far more, this posting can provide as a quite practical resource going ahead.

Exercise catching the basketball though you are moving and stopping chilly for a shot. Basketball is a rapidly paced game, and the consistent motion can toss your shot off through activity time. This is primarily correct if you've got practiced your shooting standing even now. That is not as popular in a game encounter. Get the come to feel for moving, halting, and taking pictures. If you feel you've got been investing as well considerably time on the the bench, request your basketball mentor what you can do to enable the team the future time you are in practice. Cling on each individual word he or she says. This will display your intense curiosity in helping the staff acquire by bettering your personal perform and must get you additional video game time! When rebounding, begin transferring as shortly as the shooter uncoils. When you respond and shift faster, you better foresee their moves and get far more rebounds. When they get started to uncoil, commence contact by blocking them out. Make sure to do the very same point on offense due to the fact the shooter will most very likely consider to uncoil just after the rebound. This can enhance your quantity of rebounds. When you are enjoying in a sport, try out your best to fail to remember your misses. Nothing superior can appear from you dwelling on the last shot you skipped or the last twenty you skipped. Every shot is a new opportunity to score. Keep clam and preserve striving even if you skip a several. Dwelling on the miss will direct to you overreacting and lacking even far more. When prepping for the basketball year, stroll all around with the basketball as often as you can. Choose the time to throw the ball from a single hand to the other, and even flip it all around your again. Your objective is to strengthen your hand/ball coordination so that the ball feels as if it can be portion of you. One particular of the very best ideas for improving upon your shot is to observe. As very simple as it may appear, this really is helpful. The moment you get a feel of exactly where to stand and how to stand, it will be much easier for you to make shots. Have a mate protect you to get much better practice. If you want to enhance your soar shot, check out shooting absolutely free throws blindfolded or with your eyes shut. Your free of charge toss percentage should to be quite good just before you try this. However, at the time it is, you can use this system to seriously get down a fluid and instinctive taking pictures motion with your arms and body. Just make certain to do this by yourself in a gym, as to not errantly damage anybody or split a window. The place free fitting shorts and a athletics shirt that lets you transfer. Basketball is a extremely bodily activity. There is certainly a ton of operating, a great deal of bodily get in touch with, and a ton of jumping. Xiaomi Redmi Note 11 Pro+ 5G specs want to wear outfits that enable you shift as perfectly as possible. If you really don't, you will find your time on the courtroom to be very depressing. As the previous saying goes, there is no "I" in group. So never focus solely on seeking to be the one to make all the profitable details. Make absolutely sure you are just as established to assistance your team users rating their profitable details as properly. Being a crew participant signifies the entire staff doing the job alongside one another, each individual taking part in their possess element to gain the game. There may well be sneaky or subversive moves that you can make in an try to received a sport but they are not worthy of it. Your teammates and fans have earned a player to be happy of, not one particular whose actions they have to defend. Be a participant that your staff and the opposing group can both of those regard. Most men and women understand the activity of basketball on at the very least some amount, but that is not to say that they are satisfied with their existing degree of information. By understanding as a lot as probable about basketball, one's pleasure of the sport can expand to a surprising degree. Hopefully this write-up has offered the basis for a extended-long lasting enjoy affair with basketball.

#Xiaomi Redmi Note 11 Pro+ 5G specs

[orbitguideofficial]

Zaporizhzhia State Medical University

ABOUT UNIVERSITY

 Zaporizhzhia State Medical University is located in the small town of Zaporizhzhia, Ukraine. It has the highest level (fourth level) accreditation from the Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine. The temperature of Zaporizhzhia is moderate all year round, a little less during the winter. The crime rate is low and safe for students to roam the city. ZSMU has its own dispensary for preventive treatments. In addition,it has a sports and health center on the Azov coast.

Zaporozhzhia State Medical University is considered among the best medical schools in Ukraine offering MBBS, MD and numerous therapeutic courses. ZSMU is one of the most established advanced medical education organizations in Ukraine with the highest level of accreditation among Ukrainian medical universities. ZSMU started in 1903 for the compound Women's Courses in Odessa. Later, in 1959, the university was changed from Odessa to Zaporozhzhia  and renamed the Zaporozhye Pharmaceutical Institute. At that time, after ten years in 1969, the name was changed to Zaporozhye Medical Institute. Finally, the organization obtained the status of Zaporozhye State Medical University in 1994.

 The university began with the goal of providing the best medical education to aspiring physicians around the world. ZSMU has become a well-known preparation focal point for MD, Master of Pharmacy and Bachelor's degree for university students from Ukraine and other nations.

Why to choose Zaporozhye State Medical University ,Ukraine for MBBS?

· Fourth level accredited university

· Offers affordable MBBS programs with no donation or capitation fees.

· The students are made up of the best medical scientists, doctors who work in different countries.

· Highly efficient and qualified teachers

· It has visiting faculties from many foreign countries, including international medical scientists, professors, physicians, and surgeons.

· International links with other foreign universities

· It has five hostels that host about 3,000 students.

· It is recognized by the WHO (World Health Organization) and NMC.

· It offers international seminars, workshops, exchange programs, partnerships with many renowned medical universities around the world.

· The applicant is not required to sit for any language test like IELTS, TOEFL.

Eligibility criteria for admission to MBBS:

-The applicant must have passed two more with Physics, Chemistry, Biology, English as subjects. 50% grades are required for students in the general category and 45% of grades are accepted for the reserved category.

-Applicant must be at least 17 years old by December 31 of the year of admission.

-Applicant must have passed the NEET exam for admission to MBBS.

- MBBS program duration: Six years (5 academic years + 1 year of internship)

Medium of education: English, Ukrainian, Russian

Infrastructure and facilities:

Ø Three academic buildings

Ø five hostels

Ø Laboratories with modern equipment and facilities.

Ø Accommodation in a nearby hostel with WIFI and other facilities

Ø Affiliated hospitals

Ø Medical Center

Ø Computer labs

Ø Spacious auditorium

Ø Well stocked library

Ø World-class classrooms

Ø Coffee shop

Ø Canteen

Ø Mandatory health checks for students

Ø Its sports complex consists of a stadium with courts, volleyball, handball, basketball, mini-soccer, soccer field, etc.

Ø It has three gyms, tennis courts, shooting range, pool, chess and draft club.

Ø It has a gym.

Ø It has a student club for amateur activities, including dancing, singing, and playing musical instruments.

Ø The university's diagnostic complex consists of a functional diagnostic division, an endoscopic examination room, a clinical, biochemical laboratory, the physiotherapy and rehabilitation department, and an X-ray room.

Ø For foreign nationals, there is an Internet room on campus.

Ø It has libraries of scientific and belletristics literature with reading rooms and computer room.

Ø Student sanatorium-dispensary

Ø Shoe and clothing repair shop.

Courses offered:

-General Medicine (MBBS)

-odontology

-Pharmacy

-postgraduation

-Lodging house:

-It has five hostels that host about 3,000 students.

-Hostel rooms are available individually and shared (2-3 students per room).

-The hostel rooms have internet access.

-It has 24 hour security and video surveillance.

-A hostel has an Indian cultural center.

-Internet rooms for foreign citizens.

Visit orbit guide for more information.

#MBBS abroad consultants #mbbs abroad #mbbs in ukraine #best mbbs consultancy in delhi #best mbbs abroad college #MBBS from Ukraine #vipul dixit #orbit guide

[normal-thoughts-official]

With a little help from your friends (the help is praise kink and the friend is your boyfriend)

Who would have thought that fucking your boyfriend senseless cures dysphoria.

Alternatively: being a dom is actually something that can be so gender,

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Pairing: Andy Kang/Tom Sato

Additional tags: let's see, mild mentions of transphobic and racist comments, Comfort Sex, the filthiest comfort sex uve ever seen but WHATEVER, dom andy kang, sub tom sato, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Dom/sub Play, Collars, Praise Kink, basically someone says transphobic shit and then tom rides him and talks about how wonderful andy is, except tom has also been in denial for a few days and he's super horny, and andy gets in domspace and everything is great and nothing hurts, Fluff and Smut, Humor, cuz u know these two are incapable of taking anything too seriously, Established Relationship, oh they're both in college and they go to the same college cuz i said so, set after the events of it lives beneath, that's it I think, trans author if that matters to you

Read it on Ao3

Andy isn't having a great day. It's not a terrible, clawing-at-his-chest-trying-to-deal-with-dysphoria kind of day, but he's been trying out this "not comparing everything to the worst possible scenario" thing his therapist has been talking about, so still, not a great day.

The thing is, he thought college would be easier. And it is, in a lot of ways. For starters, there is no evil monster spectre trying to kill him, which gives college at least 5 points over high school. And his uni has a pretty solid queer club, so he knows other trans people there. Some of them are even non-white. Some of them he even actually, truly likes. And most of the time, he feels like he has a place to turn to, and people to support him. He's not alone. He has people who get him. And that makes all the difference.

But basketball is still a nightmare, and his knee still hurts when it's cold, and winter is officially starting now.

People still hesitate to pass the ball to him, and it's frustrating, because Andy fought so hard to earn his old team's trust and now he's back at square zero. And well, Andy has been gaining this team's trust, because he's good, goddamn it, and his team owes at least the last three victories to him. He's not hesitant to say that, especially because otherwise no one will. And he can see that they look at him differently now - nod at him in the hallways, at least, talk to him in the locker room, pass him the fucking ball if his position is very, very open.

But if he weren't trans and Asian, he wouldn't have had to work so hard to get all of that - or well, just that, really. He has a full sports scholarship despite the fact that he had a broken leg, had to retake his last year of high school, and doesn't even have the body type for basketball. If he weren't Asian, if he weren't trans, his team would have assumed his greatness from day one. Instead, he has to show it to them time and time again only to get them to reluctantly admit maybe he's not bad. No one calls him "triple threat" anymore, but he still has to work three times harder than anyone else, and it's frustrating.

And usually Andy can deal with it, but right now his knee hurts, and he can't afford that because he'll lose everything he's worked for if his teammates know that his fucking knee hurts. So, he braved training and then he got the fuck out of there without even changing so no one would see him wince. Which means he's still in basketball shorts, which are short, in the cold, which means his leg hurts more.

At times like these, he's thankful he never got the chance to go through with his promise to break his other leg kicking Noah's ass. Because he would have, and then both his legs would be hurting right now, and two legs that hurt every time it's cold is just too many legs.

No comparing to the worst possible scenario, he tells himself. Therapy is so hard. If he had known there would be homework, he would have thought twice about going.

And that's, apparently, the cue for his phone to go off. Andy smiles, knowing who it is even before he opens the message, because only one person messages him during class, and it's the only person he wants to hear from right now.

Tom <3 sent you a message

Grinning like a fool, he opens it.

Tom <3: dude, im horny af rn. the fuck

Finally, good news, Andy thinks, smiling. Then he remembers why Tom is so horny, and suddenly this day is great, actually.

He quickly types a reply.

You: who wouldve thought that 3 days of denial would make this happen

Tom <3: ill have u kno i was very good at holding it together before today

You: yeah, dw. soon u wont have to hold it anymore ;)

Tom <3: that flirt was terrible, dude

You: said the guy whos calling me dude for the second time in this conversation

Tom <3: what else should i call u? 😩

Andy thinks for a second. Tom and him do longer-term denial every once in a while, but they aren't in a 24/7 relationship. Does Andy really want to go there right now? Yes. Well, that was fast. Okay then.

You: how about "sir"

Tom's reply comes fast as lightning.

Tom <3: Yes, Sir.

Andy smirks at himself.

You: uve been hoping that id say that, havent u?

Tom types for just a little longer this time.

Tom <3: Yes, Sir.

----

Many things are wrong with the world, and Andy doesn't mean to make light of the other things, but the fact that Andy can't simply go and fuck his boyfriend whenever he wants is definitely one of them. It should be, like, financial compensation or something. We're so sorry the school environment is transphobic, here, have a free sex pass. Sounds fair to him. But instead, he still has two hours of classes to go through, and Andy is a better guy than he wishes he was, so he tells Tom to pay attention to class instead of sexting him, because he doesn't want Tom to struggle even more with his course when he had already had to leave it once. God damn true love or whatever.

The point is, by the time classes are finally over, his day is back to not being that great; he's tired, and his leg hurts. He gets to their car after Tom does, and Tom takes one look at him, and says, "I'm driving".

Andy crosses his arms. "Why?"

"Because your leg hurts," Tom answers, rolling his eyes and taking Andy's bag from him and putting it in the trunk.

Andy looks down at his legs. He wasn't limping. There aren't any bruises. How the hell-

"It's cold and you're in shorts. I'm not an idiot, dude."

Right. Yeah. Right. Of course. Tom knows. It's… It's alright.

"Bad day at training?" Tom asks, slowly, sympathetically, and Andy feels himself settle in his skin a little bit.

"The usual," he answers, getting inside, and, as always, Tom gets the hint.

---

Their uni's dorms are gender-segregated because these guys have still not gotten the memo that people of the same gender fuck; and Andy wasn't willing to deal with cis college guys' bullshit, much less cis college girls' bullshit; and the uni wouldn't let him simply pick Tom as his roommate. So, they rented out a beat up apartment right next to it instead. It took a little longer to get there, but it wasn't a lot longer, and well, it was worth it.

Tom gets inside, still carrying Andy's bag because he's transphobic and unfair and had taken it and bolted up running so Andy wouldn't have a chance to argue with him. And Andy can't run after him with his leg hurting, which kind of proves Tom's point that he should carry Andy's bag. All in all, Tom is the worst, and he turns up the heat as soon as he gets inside and sits Andy down on the bed, kneeling in front of him to take a look at Andy's knee.

He's silent for a while, massaging his knee until Andy sighs and throws his head back, before Tom plants a little kiss on his knee and looks up at him. Andy's knee always stops hurting when Tom kisses it better. It's a little embarrassing, if Andy is being honest, but still- nice. Really nice.

They stay for a little longer like this, Tom humming and massaging his knee and Andy not meeting his eyes, until the question inevitably comes.

"What happened?" Tom asks, not letting up with the smooth movements of his hands, his eyes big and sincere with worry.

"Nothing. Just the cold. You know how my knee gets."

"I meant, for you to leave practice without putting some warmer clothes on."

Andy looks away. "It was nothing."

"Dude, are you expecting me to go, 'okay, yeah, that totally makes sense and I believe you', or…?"

Andy laughs, despite himself, and throws his good leg up in an almost-kick to pretend he's retaliating. "Don't be an ass."

"I'm not. Come on, Andy. You know you can tell me."

"It's nothing, it's just- Kyle-"

"Oh boy."

Andy laughs. "Yeah." But then he grows serious, "the thing is, he doesn't mean any harm, you know? I know he's not saying it to hurt me, and so that just means that, like... that it's true."

Tom's hands stop their movements, rubbing soothing circles around his knee instead. "What did he say?"

Andy doesn't look at him. "He asked me why I didn't stay on the women's team. Said that I could have an advantage, cuz Asian people are androgynous anyway, so no one would notice that I was taking hormones."

Tom just stares at him in shock for a moment.

"And I was like, 'dude, I've been on T for three years, I'm pretty sure they would notice the changes'. And he was like, 'yeah, but you still look like a lot of Asian girls with short hair, you could write it off if you wanted', and I just…" He trails off.

Tom waits in silence for a second, seeing if Andy finds his words, before asking, "Is Kyle, like, okay?"

Andy scoffs. "I didn't try and fight him, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I mean, does this dude have a screw loose or something?"

"He's very bad at figuring out what is or isn't offensive, yeah, but it's not like he really cares, he just won't go out of his way to antagonize me."

"No, I just- Andy, even when you were a little kid with huge pigtails, anyone would have to be crazy to see you as a girl."

Andy bites the inside of his lip. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not. It's just wrong, man. It was so obvious that it was wrong. Anyone could tell. There's nothing about you that says 'girl' to anyone who's looking."

Andy sighs, finally risking looking at Tom's eyes. There's overwhelming sincerity there, and Andy instinctively looks away. "I guess. Maybe. I don't know. It just got me thinking... Maybe T didn't change anything. Maybe I look exactly the same, maybe it was just hopeful thinking that had me thinking it would change anything, maybe it's just- pointless to even try-"

"No, no, come on," Tom says, and the interruption is so sudden it makes Andy look at him again, just in time to see Tom shaking his head vigorously. "There's no way you believe that. What about this bad boy over here?" He smiles, reaching out softly to caress Andy's neck. "You have more of an Adam's Apple than me, dude. And we both know you don't need T to be a guy, but thinking it made no difference is just crazy and you know it. What about those dry pecs? These broad shoulders of yours? Your voice, I mean, come on. You even smell different, man. How can it be pointless, if even your scent is different?"

Andy looks to the side again, but he can feel himself smile. "Well, when you put it like that..."

Tom gets up, but stays close, putting his hand on Andy's cheek, slowly, as if testing the waters, before turning him slightly to look at him. "Andy. Kyle is an idiot and a transphobic racist who's too damn lazy to realize how fucked up he is. And you shouldn't have to deal with that, and I'm sorry, and I will set him on fire."

Andy laughs. "You can't keep threatening to set every shitty teammate I have on fire."

"I can, because it keeps making you laugh," Tom says, smiling. Well. Andy can't argue with that. "My point is, you wouldn't listen to a word this dude says if it were about anyone else, so don't listen to him when he talks about you, okay? T or no T, you're no girl, and you don't look like a girl, and regardless of whether or not Kyle's dumb ass noticed it, your transition has been doing you good. Remember when your voice started to crack and get all weird? I've never seen anyone be that happy about it."

Andy laughs. "It was pretty awful."

"No, it was great, 'cause you loved it. Do you want me to pull out the 'before' pictures we took in case this happened? Look at yourself, dude. You fit so much better in your own skin, you know? And like, you've always been gorgeous, but-"

"Come here," Andy interrupts, pulling him down because Tom is standing and Andy is sitting and Andy is already height-challenged. And Tom goes willingly, carefully straddling Andy's lap and meeting him in a kiss. Finally, Andy thinks.

Tom kisses him softly, slowly, one hand resting on the back of Andy's head and the other draped lazily over his shoulder, as he usually does, all gentle and a little hesitant, and Andy is having none of that. So he grabs Tom's hair and deepens the kiss, bringing him closer until their chests are flushed together and he can feel Tom's hips mindlessly making little circles against Andy's belly.

They separate - or well, stop kissing, really, because Tom is still as close to Andy as physically possible, and Andy feels about ready to shoot anyone who tries to push him further away. Tom's a little breathless, and his hips are still making these almost imperceptible movements against Andy, and Andy realizes that he's still grabbing Tom's hair and that he's a little breathless, too.

Tom looks down at him for a second, as if debating something with himself, before saying, "and like, not to be horny during a serious moment, but since we're talking about the effects of T... Andy. Andy. Your clit. Fuck. It's so huge now, and it's got a visible head and you can fuck my face and everything, and I could sing it praises for a week and probably will if you don't stop me right now."

"Hmm, but I like it when you sing me praises," he smiles. "Keep going."

"God, I was hoping you'd say that. Do you have any idea how much I've been thinking about it today? I didn't hear a single word anyone said to me, all I could think about was you fucking my face, pulling my hair, making me worship you and beg to be allowed to suck you off, I wanna serve you like you're my God." Tom's hips start to jerk up, more visibly this time, shameless, and see, this is why Andy's been really, really liking this whole denial thing - Tom has only started to explore his subby side recently, a little ashamed of it to admit it to anyone, even himself. But when he's horny enough, he gets shameless and desperate about what he wants, and god, nothing is more beautiful than Tom when he asks for what he wants. He feels something growing inside of him, not sure if it's warmth or heat, but seeing Tom like that, wanting him, needing him, definitely makes him feel so much better.

"Yeah?" Andy asks, tracing a finger over Tom's shoulder, close to his neck, just to give him goosebumps.

"Fuck yes, I want it so bad, and you deserve it too, Andy… Sir. You're the best Sir I could ask for, I just want… Want you to use me, want you to cum on me, want to kiss you all over and worship you and pleasure you, you're so gorgeous..." He hides his face in Andy's shoulder for a bit, but his hips don't stop moving. He whines, "Andy..."

"Address me properly," Andy snaps, feeling the edges of worry clear from his mind and giving way to that wonderful feeling of clear-mindedness, of power, where nothing matters but his own pleasure. "And maybe I'll give you what you want, if you earn it."

Tom nods, hips full on thrusting now, and Andy snaps again. "Stay still."

And he does, immediately, without question, biting his lip and keeping his eyes shut with effort. Andy can feel his thighs clenching and spasming over his, trying to keep himself from moving, trying to be good. He hums in appreciation, but doesn't praise him for it, not yet.

"I'll get you ready," Andy explains, before reaching to Tom's hair, and starts to undo his bun, as slow as possible, just to watch him squirm. He gets so impatient when Andy undresses him, which is why Andy never misses a chance to drag it out.

He begins by removing Tom's jacket, sliding his hands slowly over his shoulders, then down his back, feeling the firm muscle there, digging his nails just a little bit so he can see Tom's eyes flutter in bliss. When the jacket falls to the floor, Andy begins circling the hem of his shirt, sliding until his hands are back on front, fingers just close enough to Tom's cock for him to feel Tom tense in his hands, so damn sensitive to his touch, so needy. God, he can't get enough of this, but he pretends that he doesn't notice, lets Tom try and keep himself together as Andy's hands slide over his belly, then chest, over the shirt, collarbone, wrapping and resting on Tom's throat just so he feels the threat of it, before Andy finally grabs the back of the shirt's collar and tugs, taking it off. Then he slides his hands back down, making sure to run a finger just over the sensitive spot where his pecs end, then lower, over his ribcage, belly, hips, next to the bruises where Andy had grabbed him the night before, then back to the middle, just over the bulge in his pants, and Tom finally breaks and jerks up slightly, letting out a little moan.

"Sir," he whines, "please, please, I-" Andy continues to circle the head of his cock with his finger, "please!"

"Patience," is all he says, before going back to his painfully light movements, imagining Tom's needy cock twitching under his fingers, imagining the effort Tom makes not to thrust up or keep begging for more, just because Andy told him not to. "You know how much I like playing with your pretty little cock. You said you wanted to serve me, didn't you?"

"Yes- yes, Sir."

He hums, noncommittally, not looking at him. "Good." He teases the tip of his clothed cock some more, enjoying the way his mind zeroes on that, the way he feels like he has all the power and the time in the world. Finally, he pats Tom's thigh once. "Get off, and take off the rest of your clothes. Get the lube and a condom."

Tom gets up, a little shaky, and does as instructed, while Andy reaches down to the drawer under the bed where he keeps his dick's spine and a few of their toys. He gets the spine, then adjusts his packer briefs so he can put it on - best purchase of his life, really, those briefs. So much easier to use than a regular strap-on and it makes the packer sit over his clit just right, making a little suction and pressure. Andy couldn't be happier that he was already wearing them.

Tom gets back with everything he asked right in time for Andy to finish making his dick hard, and goes on to put the condom on and cover Andy's cock in lube with the kind of attention that makes Andy hold his breath. Tom's so careful, yet eager, and adoring, about it. Andy feels like the hottest guy in the world.

Once he gets permission, Tom sits on his cock, slowly, getting adjusted to it - admittedly, Andy went a little overboard when he bought his first cock. Andy waits until Tom is fully seated, littering his neck with little kisses and praise for how well he's taking him, how pretty he looks, until Tom looks fully comfortable and ready to start complaining if Andy doesn't start fucking him in earnest soon. That's when Andy shows him the other item he pulled from the drawer - Tom's favorite collar.

Tom's reaction is instantaneous. He throws his head back, moving over Andy's cock as he lets out a breathless, almost choked moan; the hands he had resting on Andy's shoulders suddenly squeezing full force in his need.

"God, you're such a whore," Andy says, casually, and Tom nods, even as he flushes. The collar is just a simple black one, with a little hoop for the leash, but inside they had it engraved with the words Andy's whore, and it left visible marks that could be seen for a few hours after they took it off. It never failed to drive Tom crazy, so it always drove Andy crazy, too. "Stay still," he warns, and Tom nods, breathing heavily, gripping Andy's shoulder as tight as he can as he stays frozen in place. Andy slowly puts it around his neck, checking with his finger to make sure it's not too tight, and the second he clasps it in place, Tom's whole body relaxes, a content little sigh escaping his lips, his face slack and blissed out. He likes being owned, so much. Andy can't get enough of it. "Good?" he asks, just to make sure it's not too tight.

"Perfect," Tom answers, the words leaving him in a sigh. Andy then ties the leash to the headboard, making sure that they're just far enough from it that he'll be feeling its pull the whole time. Tom lets out a moan. "Thank you, Sir."

Andy smirks. "Now, here's what I want you to do," he says, "you're going to ride me, just like that, and you're not going to come until I tell you to. You're definitely not going to come before I do. If you come close, you'll have to tell me. I want to hear you scream, so make as much noise as you want. Do you understand?"

Tom nods again, almost dizzyingly quick. "Yes, Sir."

"Good, then get to it."

Tom doesn't need to be told twice. He starts riding him, slowly at first, trying to find the perfect angle for Andy - not himself, Andy notices, pleased. Once it's perfect, Andy orders, "faster, slut,” and Tom obeys, as always, working up speed as he tries to keep himself upright, feeling the tug of his leash with every movement, moaning the whole time. “Good boy,” Andy says, and Tom’s responding whine is high pitched, embarrassing, needy. He gets even faster then, starting to babble as he keeps on working, and Andy just stays casually in place, not having to do a single thing while Tom works to give him pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so perfect, did you know that?" Tom asks, quickly sliding down on Andy's cock, making sure he puts all this weight in the end so Andy's cock will press down against his clit just the way he likes, making sure to go as deep as possible, "I've been dreaming of your cock for days, god, Sir, nothing's better than this," he hides his face in Andy's shoulder, speeding up even more, thighs shaking with the effort, and Andy puts a fist in his hair and pulls, watching as Tom throws his head back and lets out a scream, working even faster on Andy's cock. "Sir!," he whines, "oh, thank you, thank you, feels so good, oh my god, please, I'm gonna-"

"No, you won't," Andy interrupts, "I'm not even close to coming yet. Keep working, slut."

"Y-yes, Sir," he whines, going faster, deeper, and Andy makes it harder for him, keeps pulling at his hair to expose his neck, litters kisses and bites on his exposed throat, grabs his thigh and squeezes hard enough to bruise so Tom remembers he's his, his whore, his toy.

"I love it when you get like this," Andy says, doing his best to keep his tone even, even as he's a little breathless from pleasure, from power, "I bet you want to come so bad, don't you? If I'd just give you the word, you'd be making a mess of yourself, coming on my cock right now-"

"Fuck! Yes, yes, Sir, please, I'm so close."

Andy smiles. "No."

Tom whines, so cute, adorable, and Andy is nice enough to leave a little kiss on his shoulder, grounding, calming him down. Before going right back to torturing him, "no, you don't get to come for a long time yet. I want you just like this, on edge, tasting it…" Andy grins. "Tell me how close you are, baby."

"I'm- I'm so close-"

Andy slaps him in the face. "You can do better than that."

"Fuck, I feel like I'm going to explode, I'm so close, I want it so bad, and you feel so good, God, you have no idea what you do to me, Sir, your cock is so perfect, it hurts, I need it- need to cum on your cock, Sir, please-"

"No."

Tom chokes on a moan, and starts to go even faster. He lets out a little whine, something Andy thinks was supposed to be a word, but doesn't come close.

"See," Andy says, "this is why I won't let you come. Look at you - every time I tell you no, you get so desperate, so obedient - it's what you want, isn't it? You want me to keep telling you no, you want to know your pleasure doesn't matter, that you're just here to serve me."

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes-"

"Good, then keep going. And beg all you want- I like telling you no, too."

Tom does. He begs, and he says thank you when Andy denies him, again and again and again. Thank you, Sir, thank you for using me, for putting me in my place, I'm yours, I'm yours. And he keeps on praising Andy, praising his cock, his body, the way he fucks him and uses him, no one else makes me feel like this, no one deserves to be worshipped and served like you, Sir, I want to make you feel good-... Until even the clear-minded state of domspace begins to crumble and Andy feels nothing but pleasure, and confidence, and power, and he cums to the sound of Tom praising him and begging, once, twice, three times, until his head is clear again and everything, even the need to chase his own pleasure, is gone, and he just feels perfect.

"Stop," he orders Tom, who's still babbling more and more incoherently, endless praise and worship, and Andy finds that he worships Tom right back. "I want you to get my cock as deep inside you as you can, and stay still. I'm going to play with your dick for a while, and when I tell you to, you can come. You did well today, baby."

Tom nods, suddenly struggling to use his words. "T-thank you, Sir," he says, already frozen in place, thighs clenching with the effort not to move and also shaking with all the effort he did before.

Andy coos. "Poor baby. You were so good to me today. Let me take care of you."

"You always- always do, Sir," Tom replies, and Andy smiles.

He gives Tom a long, slow handjob, making sure Tom stays still through it, enjoying the way his thighs shake on top of Andy's, the pressure of Tom sitting tight on his cock, the way his arms also shake with effort where they rest around Andy's neck; Tom's pretty, exposed throat all marked up around his collar, his breathless little whines as Andy makes sure to do it just the way he likes it, makes his cock turn red with need; watches Tom bite his lip, because when he has to keep still he becomes so quiet and needy, even as the little whines go through his lips… Until Andy finally says, "come for me, baby," and Tom screams through an orgasm that lasts almost a minute, hanging on to Andy as tightly as he can to keep himself anchored through the pleasure.

And then Andy holds him, and Tom holds him back, and they hold each other.

----

A while later, they've cleaned up Tom's cum so it doesn't get all sticky on Andy's chest, and Andy's finally taken off those damn briefs - they're great for sex, but get pretty tight when you wear them for a long time - and Andy holds Tom against his chest. He's humming, contently, and if anyone had told him at the beginning of the day that he'd be comfortable enough to have someone close to him while he's fully naked, he'd - well, probably assume they meant Tom, but still be skeptical.

"How do you feel?" Tom asks after a little while, finally opening up his eyes and saying hello to the world.

"That's supposed to be my line," Andy laughs.

"I feel great. Perfect. Next time, I wanna do it for longer. A week? Let's try a week. Or two weeks…?"

Andy laughs. "Let's not make too big of a leap yet."

"Fine. A week sounds good. Great. And now that we've established that denial is totally bomb for me, how are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I'm feeling great, too," Andy admits, playing with a little stray of Tom's hair, swirling it around his finger, "I think I needed that, a little bit. Who'd have thought that having you ride me and praise my cock cures dysphoria."

"Every trans top on every forum I've ever visited."

"Let me have my moment of realization," Andy mumbles, faux-annoyed. Tom just laughs, holding him closer.

"I'm just glad I could help," he says.

"Please tell me you didn't ride my cock just to help."

"Well, no, in case you hadn't noticed, I was horny as fuck. I just tried to, you know. Use that to give you a little push. Since you wanted to. Y'know. Also, it was all true. So..."

"Thanks, love," Andy says, earnestly. "I love you."

"I love you more."

They bicker about it, and Andy's smiling the rest of the day.

#it lives #tom sato #tomoichi sato #andy kang #tom x andy #andy x tom #it lives in the woods #ilitw #it lives beneath #ilb #it lives anthology #smut #i am back on my bullshit ig

[imaginingsoftly]

Crossing Borders - Mat Barzal

Type: established relationship

Requested: Yes!

Warnings: none

(Y/N = Your name, Y/F/N = Your friend’s name)

A/N: Sorry this took so long; I struggled through how to best write this one! Enjoy

The semester was dragging, and you could feel the stress of work and classes and being on the other side of the country from your support system that was doing it. U of Toronto was a great school, and you loved your major, but it was hard to be so far away from your family and friends. Even Mat, who was just down in New York, was more than a day trip away. You were handling it mostly; it was the asshole in your Leadership class that had really done it. He’d snickered through your presentation on managing gender-related conflicts, and then dared to tell you that most women were lying about discrimination. Your professor had tried to cut him off, but you had reached the proverbial end of your rope and had gone off. She dismissed both of you from the class early, so here you were sitting in your car sobbing over the class and your week to that point. You never got kicked out of class. You were the type to show up twenty minutes early just to make sure you weren’t late, and you were sure to participate in every discussion politely. It had been one hell of a week, and getting kicked out of your first class ever was how you knew it was just the universe out to get you. Thankfully, it was Friday, and you tried to calm yourself with the thought of a couple of days to take a breather. 

Mat called like he could sense you spiraling, and you tried to calm your breathing before picking up. “Hey, hotshot,” you said, trying to hold your voice steady. “Hey Y/N. I don’t have long to talk, but I wanted to see if your week had gotten any better.” Well shit. He had a knack for asking how you were doing in the most inopportune of moments, like this one. “It’s been a day, Matty, not gonna lie, but I’m okay. I’m gonna watch my favorite hockey player kick ass tonight, you know how much that always makes me smile.” You could feel him smiling through the phone as he answered you with a chuckle. You smiled slightly into the phone. All it took was his laugh and you could feel your chest becoming less tight. “Go get ready for your game, hotshot. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Well know that I know my biggest fan is gonna be watching me, I have to do well.” Mat’s voice was light and teasing, and you were relieved that you’d managed to hide how anxious you were feeling. You didn’t want to have to convince him you were fine and you didn’t need anyone to come out, because you knew that he worried about your stress way more than he needed to, though probably less than you should be. “Love you, Y/N”. You stared out of your car window into the Toronto sunlight. “Love you too, Matty. Kick ass tonight.” 

You drove back to your apartment with a lighter heart, even as you yelled into the Toronto traffic angrily. Toronto housing was way too expensive for your college budget, so you trudged into the mildly sketchy U of T dorms begrudgingly. At least this year you got one of the apartments, which you shared with 3 other girls that you really didn’t talk to that much. They were childhood friends, and the three of them didn’t really include you in their planes, which was fine. You worked for athletics, part of the marketing crew, and you were pretty much always working anyway. 

As you entered your bedroom with a sigh, you noticed the calendar on the wall. The basketball and hockey teams were away this weekend; you had no shifts at work, and no classes until Monday afternoon. An idea began to form in your head. 

Please convince me driving to NYC is a bad idea. You texted your best friend with the hope that she would convince you not to be an idiot.

She responded in seconds. Driving to NYC is a great idea and you should do it right now. 

Your phone was ringing before you could respond. Y/F/N didn’t give you a chance to say anything as you answered, immediately beginning to speak. “You need a Mat hug, babe. You’ve had a bad week. Maybe that’s what’ll help you chill.” You sighed. She was right, even if it meant you were about to subject yourself to an eight-and-a-half hour drive. “If I’m going, I need to leave now. I’ll text you when I get there.” She cheered, and you had to hold the phone away from your ear so she didn’t burst your eardrum. “Be safe, don’t do anything that I wouldn’t!” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, like there’s anything you wouldn’t do.” Y/F/N giggled on the other end of the line. “Love you, babe. Drive safe.” 

The drive sucked just as much as it always did. Crossing the border felt like it took a million years, and then you had to drive across the entire damn state of New York. There was construction somewhere outside of Buffalo, because of course there had to be construction when you were in a hurry, and two logging trucks had blocked you behind them somewhere in the middle of the state as they drove well under the speed limit. You were a little over an hour out when the game started, and announcing duo of Chris King and Greg Picker filled your car as you listened to them call Mat’s game. The boys were up by two on the Caps when you finally arrived at Mat’s house, sitting in your car until the media break before running inside to turn on his TV. 

His house was just like the last time you had been there, with the exception of a new picture hanging in the living room. It was the two of you, a candid shot his mother had taken that summer. You could remember the moment exactly, sitting on the dock at the cabin his family had rented for the week of Canada Day to watch the sunrise. Mat had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and your head was resting on his shoulder. You hadn’t even known that she had taken the picture. 

You watched the end of the third on his couch, and then it was time to wait. Mat usually called you as he was leaving the arena, trying to catch you before you went to sleep, so you anxiously awaited his call. It came about 45 minutes after the game ended, and you had to stifle a giggle as you answered. “Heya, hotshot. That was one hell of a game, eh?” He had scored two of the five goals the team got, and had assisted on Tito’s power-play goal. “I heard my biggest fan was watching. I had to make sure she got a good show.” You could feel Mat’s smile as he talked. “That fan sure is lucky, yeah? The great Mat Barzal scored two goals for her!” The two of you laughed, and you could hear Mat’s voice change as he turned on the car and his phone switched over to Bluetooth. 

It was only about two minutes from Barclays to Mat’s place, so you settled into the couch and tried to stifle your laughter when you heard Mat’s muffled “what the hell” as he pulled in and saw your car. “What, Matty?” you asked in response. He mumbled a response, and you saw headlights pull into the driveway as you stood, not even trying to hide your grin. Mat threw the front door open, and stopped short when he saw you standing in the hallway. “What, you, your,” he looked between his phone and you, and you could practically see his brain short-circuiting. “I had a really rough week. Y/F/N said I needed a Matty hug, and I think she was right.” Your words broke the spell, and Mat came flying in your direction. His hug knocked the breath out of you. His arms were wrapped tightly around you and his hands were tangled in your hair. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he mumbled into your hair. You smiled into his shoulder, tucking your chin into his neck and taking a deep breath of Mat’s cologne, a comfortingly familiar smell. You had forgotten why you were even stressed in the first place. It would come back later, when the moment had passed, but for now Matty was there and you felt like you could take on the entire world. “This is exactly what I needed.” 

#Mat Barzal imagine #NHL Imagine #nhl imagines

[thebrideofthewizardhowl]

Basketball, game played between two teams of five players each on a rectangular court, usually indoors. Each team tries to score by tossing the ball through the opponent’s goal, an elevated horizontal hoop and net called a basket. Basketball was invented by James Naismith on or about December 1, 1891, at the International Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) Training School, Springfield, Massachusetts, where Naismith was an instructor in physical education. Basketball is the only major sport strictly of U.S. origin (although Naismith was born in Canada).

Basketball grew steadily but slowly in popularity and importance in the United States and internationally in the first three decades after World War II (1939–45) as a result of television exposure. However, with the advent of cable television, the game’s popularity exploded at all levels, especially during the 1980s. A basketball court is 91.86ft long and 49.21ft wide. The total playing area for a court is 4520.43 ft² and 7290.5ft² if run-offs and sidelines are required. The main materials used in playing basketball (training or match) are the crucible and the ball. Other basketball equipment and materials are determined as crucible, hoop, ball transport cart, under-pot cushion, hoop net, tactical board, scoreboard. The team's head coach determines when players go in and come out of the game. Reserve players enter the game through a process called substitution. Substitutions can only occur when play stops, such as during a timeout or when the referee calls a violation.

 Each player on a team is categorized by position. There are five positions on a traditional basketball team:

·        Point guard - This player is typically the best dribbler and passer on the team. The point guard is sometimes called the floor general, which indicates the key role that the point guard plays.

·        Shooting guard - The shooting guard, also called the two guard, is typically a team's best outside shooter on the team. This player flanks the point guard and moves around the court to try to create some space to take a shot that is uncontested by the opposition.

·        Power forward - The power forward is usually near the basket and moves from one side of the basket to the other to try to get free from the opposition player that is guarding him. Power forwards also are skilled rebounders.

·        Small forward - The small forward is typically a better outside shooter than a power forward and is usually smaller than a power forward.

·        Center - Traditionally, the center is the tallest player on the team. The center's role is to establish a position near the basket to allow him/herself an easy jump shot. On defense, the center attempts to block shots and grab rebounds.

Basketball equipment are needed and these are the following;

·        The Ball - The most important thing for training is the ball. There are certain guidelines which one needs to follow when buying a basketball. For practicing, one can play with a rubber ball. For professional competitions, one needs to use an inflated ball made of leather. Official size of a basketball is 29.5 to 30 inches in circumference for men’s game and 28.5 inches in circumference for women’s game. It should weigh 18 to 22 ounces. When bounced off 6 feet from the floor, a well inflated ball should bounce 49 to 54 inches in height.

 ·        Shoes - One needs specialized shoes when playing basketball. It should be able to give better support to the ankle as compared to running shoes. The basketball shoes should be high-tipped shoes and provide extra comfort during a game. These shoes are specially designed to maintain high traction on the basketball court.

 ·        Uniforms - When one starts coaching a basketball team, the most important requirement for a team is to have a uniform. This helps one differentiate teams from one another. A uniform consists of a jersey (shirt), shorts, numbers on the front and back of the shirts for identification.

 ·        Shot Clock - The offense is allowed a maximum of 24 seconds to have a ball in hand before shooting. These 24 seconds are counted on the shot clock. If the offense fails to shoot a ball that hits the rim, they will lose the possession of the ball to the other team.

 ·        Whistle - The coach or referee uses a whistle to indicate the start or end of a game. S/he can even use the whistle to stop the play in the middle of a game. Whistle also helps to indicate fouls, timeout, or out of bound balls to the players. In order to get the attention of the players, many times coaches use the whistle to gather the players. It does not matter if one does not have every object mentioned in the list above. All that is needed is a hoop, basketball and proper shoes to practice the game. Hope the above information is helpful to those who are trying to hone their raw talent for a professional career.

 Scoring

The ultimate objective of basketball, like most team sports, is to outscore your opponent. In basketball, players score points by throwing the ball through the basket, an act known as shooting. Different points are awarded to players based on where they are when they shoot the ball. Here is a breakdown of scoring:

 ·        3 points - Awarded to players who successfully shoot the ball through the hoop from behind the three-point line.

·        2 points - Awarded to players who successfully shoot the ball through the hoop from anywhere inside the three-point line. This can be done by shooting a jump shot, laying the ball into the rim, or slamming the ball through the hoop.

·        1 point - When players are fouled, they get free attempts to shoot the ball, which are called foul shots. A player is given one point for every successful foul shot.

When a player is shooting a foul shot, the remaining nine players on the court must stand in designated locations. They can stand in the blocks along the sides of the free-throw lane or back behind the free-throw shooter. The team whose player is not shooting free throws must be allowed to stand closest to the rim during the shot.

Basketball is a fast-paced game that requires the knowledge and instinct to perform quickly and properly. The sport of basketball requires five basic skills. While some players might be more experienced with some skills than others, it is best to have at least some ability in all five areas.

 Dribbling

Dribbling is an important skill for all basketball players. This skill will allow you to move up and down the court, maneuver past defenders and execute plays. Proper dribbling requires ball-handling skills and knowledge of how to spread your fingers for ball control. It is also best if you know how to dribble equally well with both hands.

 Shooting

In order to score points in basketball, you need to shoot the ball into the hoop. This requires the ability to properly hold and throw the ball into the air toward the basket while avoiding defenders. A proper shot requires precise aiming, arm extension and lift from the legs. There are different types of shots you need to learn, including jump shots, layups and free throws.

 Running

Running is a big part of basketball. In a full-court game, you will find yourself running back and forth as the game quickly transitions between offense and defense. When you have the ball, running will help you to avoid defenders and get to the basket quicker. On defense, you often will find yourself needing to run after the opponent, especially during fast breaks.

 Passing

Passing is another skill that when mastered can help you become a complete basketball player. Basketball is a team sport that involves finding a teammate who is open for a shot. The ability to pass the ball to this player can make the difference between scoring and not scoring. Really great passers are an important part of a basketball team and usually the ones who set up scoring plays.

 Jumping

Jumping is another skill that can define how good a basketball player is. Jumping is involved in offense during the jump ball in the beginning, while taking shots and sometimes while trying to catch a pass. On defensive you will need the ability to jump when trying to block a shot or a pass. Being able to out jump your opponent for a rebound also is important.

 Technical skills (such as dribbling, shooting, and rebounding) are examined in depth, as are the tactical skills (such as the give-and-go, backdoor cut, and trapping).

A give-and-go, or one-two, is a fundamental maneuver in many team sports which involves two players passing the ball or puck back and forth. The player who has the ball or puck passes to a teammate and then repositions in order to receive a return pass and possibly create a scoring opportunity.

The backdoor cut - is used when the defender is over-playing in the passing lane denying the pass. Depending on your offence, this will leave a big hole to cut into between. If you are being denied the pass you will be able to backdoor cut.

A trap in basketball is a defensive strategy used to force a turnover by surrounding the ball-handler at a specific location on the court making it difficult for him to escape, a true trap.

The rules of basketball can vary slightly depending on the level of play (for example professional rules differ from college rules) or where the game is played (international rules are different from USA professional rules). These rule differences, however, are usually just variations on the basic game of basketball and the majority of the rules discussed below can be applied to most any game of basketball played. The winner of a basketball game is the team with the most points. You get points by throwing the basketball through the opponent's hoop or basket. In regular play a basket made from within the three - point line is worth 2 points and a basket shot from outside the three - point line is worth three points. When shooting a free throw, each free throw is worth 1 point. Rules for the offense. The basketball team on offense is the team with the basketball. When a player has the basketball there are certain rules they must follow:

1.      The player must bounce, or dribble, the ball with one hand while moving both feet. If, at any time, both hands touch the ball or the player stops dribbling, the player must only move one foot. The foot that is stationary is called the pivot foot.

2.      The basketball player can only take one turn at dribbling. In other words, once a player has stopped dribbling they cannot start another dribble. A player who starts dribbling again is called for a double-dribbling violation and loses the basketball to the other team. A player can only start another dribble after another player from either team touches or gains control of the basketball. This is usually after a shot or pass.

3.      The ball must stay in bounds. If the offensive team loses the ball out of bounds the other team gets control of the basketball.

4.      The players hand must be on top of the ball while dribbling. If they touch the bottom of the basketball while dribbling and continue to dribble this is called carrying the ball and the player will lose the ball to the other team.

5.      Once the offensive team crosses half court, they may not go back into the backcourt. This is called a backcourt violation. If the defensive team knocks the ball into the backcourt, then the offensive team can recover the ball legally.

Defensive Rules The team on defense is the team without the basketball.

1.      The main rule for the defensive player is not to foul. A foul is described as gaining an unfair advantage through physical contact. There is some interpretation that has to be made by the referee, but, in general, the defensive player may not touch the offensive player in a way that causes the offensive player to lose the ball or miss a shot.

Rules for everyone

1.      Although the foul rule is described above as a defensive rule, it applies exactly the same to all players on the court including offensive players.

2.      Basketball players cannot kick the ball or hit it with their fist.

3.      No player can touch the basketball while it is traveling downward towards the basket or if it is on the rim. This is called goaltending. (touching the ball on the rim is legal in some games).

 Every player on the court is subject to the same rules regardless of the position they play. The positions in basketball are just for team basketball strategy and there are no positions in the rules.

 Basketball is a fast indoor game played with two teams of five players each. The importance of good basketball officiating involves with rules in playing a basketball game. Without competent officials, the game will not be a success. Different errors can be committed in a basketball game if not officiated appropriately. Players should accept the decisions of the officials if there are errors committed. This shows respect to the authority of the game.

 The best officiating brings out the best playing ability of each player, while poor officiating can easily ruin a game. But good officials are not made instantly. They are the result of many years of study and practice gained through actual officiating.

 A game of basketball is presided over by a referee and an umpire, along with a timekeeper, a scorer, and a thirty-second operator. The officials should wear uniforms distinct from those of either team. They should report on the playing court at least 10 minutes before game time.

 The following are the officials of the game and their functions.

The Referee

 A referee is the official in charge during and after the game. He is the official who watches a game or match closely to ensure that the rules are adhered to and sometimes to arbitrate on matters. He has the full responsibility to enforce the rules and maintain the order of the game. The referee has the final say on disciplinary matters. He also controls the game and takes up positions on opposite sides of the court.

 The duties of the Referee include the following:

 a. Inspects and approves all equipment, including court, baskets, ball, backboards

 b. Inspects timer’s and scorer’s signals

 c. Designates the official timepiece and its operator

 d. Designates the official scorebook and the official scorer

 e. Responsible for notifying each captain three minutes before each half is to begin

 f. Decides whether or not a goal shall count if officials disagree

 g. May forfeit the game when conditions warrant

 h. Decides upon matter on which the timers and scorers disagree

 i.  Has the power to make decisions on any points specifically covered by the rules

 j.  Determines of ground rules are necessary

 The Timekeeper

 The timekeeper also called Timer is charged with certain duties, according to the rules of basketball. The timekeeper should be familiar with all of the rules and obligations in the game. Mastering these rules and regulations can help avoid confusion during the game for both the officials and the timekeeper. He keeps a record of playing time and stoppages in play, and times the time-outs, and indicates when each half or overtime ends.

 The Timekeeper also keeps and show the time of a basketball game to ensure that all quarters are played evenly and to indicate the end of the game or quarter. If there is a timing mistake in the game, the official timekeeper must also inform the official of any specific knowledge relating to the mistake. The timekeeper has the responsibility of notifying the officials that time has run out and helping them determine if a goal should count.

 The Timekeeper duties include the following:

 a. Consults officials as to signals used to indicate a time-out and resumption of time

 b. Keeps eyes on the officials throughout the game

 c. Checks on the duration of time-outs, substitution, etc.

 When to start clock:

 1. When ball is legally tapped on all jumps balls

 2. When ball is touched in bounds, if resumption of play is by a throw-in after clock has been stopped

 3. When ball is legally touched after a missed free throw and ball is to remain alive

 When to stop clock:

 1. When time expires at the end of the period

 2. When an official signals a foul

 3. When an official signals a jump ball

 4. When a violation occurs

 5. When an official orders a time-out

 The Scorer

 The scorer also called scorekeepers keeps a record of points scored, all fouls called against each player, timeouts charged to each team, notes the starting line-ups, and keeps a record of all substitutions.

 Scorekeepers should also refrain from any other distracting activity, such as texting, chatting, or talking during play. It is also advised that the responsibilities for bookkeeping and timekeeping not be delegated to just somebody else for the protection and confidentiality of the scores. Scoring for individual players is least important.

 The Scorer duties include the following:

 a. Obtains names and numbers of all players who may participate in the game at least ten (10) minutes before the start of the game. At least three (3) minutes before scheduled starting time, have each team designate its first five players. He also reports any failure to comply referees.

  b. Records field goals made, free throws made and missed, running summary of points scored, personal and technic

CITATIONS: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtm0khT1qec

https://basketball91.com/coaching/guidelines-on-how-to-officiate-basketball-game/index.html#:~:text=A%20game%20of%20basketball%20is,10%20minutes%20before%20game%20time.

https://www.ducksters.com/sports/basketballrules.php

https://www.rookieroad.com/basketball/coaching/trap/#:~:text=A%20trap%20in%20basketball%20is,to%20escape%2C%20a%20true%20trap.

https://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/basketball5.htm

https://www.britannica.com/sports/basketball

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/coaching-basketball-technical-tactical-skills-1

https://www.sportsrec.com/8072917/the-five-basic-skills-of-basketball

#basketball

[adamwatchesmovies]

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003)

Maybe male audiences would respond better to the words “romantic comedy” if someone made them heartfelt and/or funny. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is a perfect example of a would-be date movie whose reliance on clichés and contrivances infuriates. There’s an inherent nastiness to this story.

Aspiring writer Andie (Kate Hudson) is told to write an article titled “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”, which she’ll do by picking up a man and then making the same mistakes “all women do” until he’s forced to break up with her. The man she's chosen is Benjamin (Matthew McConaughey), himself on a mission: to woe a woman and make her fall in love with him in a week and a half.

There’s an effort to make the plot seem less manufactured by having a middleman (well, middle women) bring Andie and Ben together, but that doesn’t make it any less preposterous. I could get over this if the film was sweet but it isn’t. When Ben accepts the bet, he looks around the bar and rejects several women because they’re not to the supermodel standards of the main cast. It already shows how mean-spirited this film but the real villain is miss “I’m working at a magazine that promotes shoes and 10 new sex tips every month but what I want is to write about politics”. She decides to pick a guy at random and put him through hell. Not only does she make him believe she’s genuinely interested, she invades his privacy, stalks him at work, pushes him into fights with strangers, and even involves his family in the con! Imagine if Ben had gotten fired from his job, or grievously injured! I know he's “asking for it”, but there’s a big difference between trying to get a girl to fall in love in 10 days and making someone’s life so miserable they can’t stand you anymore. The film is so dissociated with reality it doesn’t even realize that by the end, Andie becomes a true villain. Ben gives her two tickets for a basketball game dated after his bet has ended. That means he genuinely likes her – if the fact that he was previously bending over backward to accommodate her outrageous demand didn't make it obvious enough.

It’s about as romantic as a heart-shaped chocolate that’s gotten a bite taken out of it and unfortunately, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is rarely, if ever funny. There’s a running gag about dog urine and a farting uncle – hurray! As crappy as they are, at least biological functions could be conceptually funny to 5-year-olds. Every other gag has a deeply unsettling core thanks to the premise. At one point, Andie buys a horrible dog to scare off Ben? What was her plan after the 10 days were over? To put it down? Talk about cruel.

The match that lights the bonfire is the ending. It’s predictable but let's be kind and say it's no big deal since we are watching a romantic comedy. What's worse is that it's neither genuine nor satisfactory, since several loose ends go unresolved. After Ben and Andie realize they've both been conned, they're hurt. Both developed feelings for the other by this point. Ben chases Andie as she heads to the airport. He stops her from leaving the city and after a callback to a scene that established him as someone who can't be lied to (the irony is too good to be true), the lovers embrace. Why? What do they have in common? We know they both enjoy lying to members of the opposite sex and the New York Knicks, but how do THEY know this? As far as they’re concerned, they don’t know anything about each other!

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is agony. It’s not funny or sweet. It was ill-conceived from the beginning, but not necessarily doomed to fail. This could’ve worked as a dark comedy. This? It’s an insult. (On DVD, October 1, 2017)

#How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days #movies #films #romantic comedies #rom-coms #Donald Petrie #Kristen Buckley #Brian Regan #Burr Steers #Kate Hudson #Matthew McConaughey #Adam Goldberg #Michael Michele #Shalom Harlow #2003 movies #2003 films

[superdorkcat]

Upcoming Disney+ Originals (TV Shows)

One Day at Disney (December 3, 2019) - The documentary follows employees across the various divisions of the Walt Disney Company, taking a look at a day in the life of their jobs.

Diary of a Female President (2020) - The series is told through the narration of a Cuban-American 12-year-old girl’s diary, as she navigates the ups and downs of middle school and her journey to becoming the future president of the United States.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2020) - Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes deal with the aftermath of Avengers: Endgame, in which Wilson was handed the mantle of Captain America.

Monsters at Work (2020) - Six months after the events of Monsters, Inc., the city of Monstropolis is now fueled with the sound of laughter. Tylor Tuskmon, a mechanic on the Facilities Team, dreams of working alongside his idols Mike Wazowski and James P. “Sully” Sullivan.

Earth to Ned (2020) - The comedic half-hour series follows Ned, a blue-skinned alien and his lieutenant Cornelius, who were sent to scout Earth for an eventual invasion - but instead became obsessed with our popular culture. Now, they host a talk show, broadcast from the bridge of their spaceship hidden deep underground, where they interview our most precious commodity, celebrities, to talk about Ned’s current pop culture obsessions. Ned will be bringing real-life celebrity guests to his ship from across the known universe and interviewing them, late night talk show style, in hopes of producing the ultimate talk show - making Ned a celebrity and putting him further off mission. And the more Ned learns about our human culture, the more obsessed he becomes.

Short Circuit (2020) - A program where anyone at the Walt Disney Animation Studios can pitch an idea and potentially be selected to create an original short film with the support of the Studio and their fellow artists.

Muppets Now (2020) - An unscripted series, the premise is unknown. The show will feature celebrity guests.

Be Our Chef (2019-2020) - The series invites families from diverse backgrounds to join a Disney-inspired cooking competition at Walt Disney World that’s positive and playful in tone. In each episode, two families will participate in a themed challenge based on their family traditions and the magic of Disney. The finalists will apply what they’ve learned to create a dish that represents their family through a Disney lens.

Cinema Relics: Iconic Art of the Movies (2019-2020) - An anthology series that takes a unique look at beloved films through the props and costumes that made them unique - from the craftspeople who created them, the actors who interacted with them, and the collectors/archives who own and cherish them

Into the Unknown: Making Frozen 2 (2019-2020) - As never before in its near-century long history, Walt Disney Animation Studios is opening its doors, allowing cameras to capture in intimate detail how the voice cast, directors, and team of artists come together to create “Frozen 2”. This multi-episode documentary series shows the hard work, imagination, heart, fun, and intensity that go into making one of the most anticipated Disney Animation features of all time.

Magic of the Animal Kingdom (2019-2020) - In the heart of Central Florida, a team of more than 1,000 highly respected animal care experts, veterinarians, and biologists perform groundbreaking work at Disney’s Animal Kingdom theme park and Epcot’s SeaBase aquarium. Now for the first time, National Geographic will offer viewers an all-access pass into the 24/7 world of the incredible animal caretakers running one of the most advanced veterinary facilities in the world.

Marvel’s 616 (2019-2020) - An anthological documentary series from Marvel New Media in partnership with Supper Club that explores the intersection between Marvel’s rich legacy of stories, characters and creators and the world outside your window. Each documentary will dive into the rich historical, cultural and social context that has become inseparable from stories of the Marvel Universe.

On Pointe (2019-2020) - The series will follow a year in the life of students at the New York City school as they go through rigorous training, auditions and preparations for the New York City Ballet’s annual performances of “The Nutcracker”.

(Re)Connect (2019-2020) - In each episode, a family will disconnect from their busy lives, devices and outside influences in order to address a relatable issue that’s driving a wedge between them. With the help of a specialized expert, each family will go on a unique journey to confront the family’s dilemma head on. 

Rogue Trip (2019-2020) - Renowned journalist Bob Woodruff travels the world with his 27-year-old son, Mack, and visits all of the places your average tourist is least likely to venture - the roguish, often misunderstood and frequently overlooked corners of the world whose hidden corners surprise, amaze and inspire.

Shop Class (working title) (2019-2020) - A new competition series featuring teams of inventive students, who are tasked with designing, building, and testing new contraptions. In each episode a panel of experts will rate their work based on engineering, design, and the final test of the build.

Untitled Chip ‘n’ Dale series (2019-2020) - Plot unknown, the series will feature “classic style comedy”.

Loki (2021) - The series will follow the Loki who stole the Tesseract in Avengers: Endgame. Additional plot details are unknown, but the series will tie in to Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.

WandaVision (2021) - The series will be a take on a superhero sitcom. Additional plot details are unknown. Similarly to Loki, the series will tie into Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.

What If...? (2021) - The series explores what would happen if major moments from the Marvel Cinematic Universe occurred differently.

Hawkeye (2021) - The series will focus on Clint Barton passing the mantle of Hawkeye to Kate Bishop.

Untitled Cassian Andor series (2021) - The series is billed as a rousing spy thriller that will explore tales filled with espionage and daring missions to restore hope to a galaxy in the grip of a ruthless Empire.

Ink & Paint (2020-2021) - The documentary series, based on the book of the same name, tells the story of animation at Disney, and how an unsung workforce of trailblazing women helped create some of the greatest animated films of all time.

Earthkeepers (working title) (2020-2021) - The series is a cinematic documentary series that enters the adventurous lives of the people changing the way we see the animal kingdom. The episodes focus on conservationists and the animals they’ve devoted their careers to studying, diving deep into the personal trials and professional breakthroughs of protecting the planet’s most endangered species.

Big Shots (TBA) - The series follows a temperamental college basketball coach who gets fired from his job and must take a teaching and coaching job at an elite all-girls private high school.

Lizzie McGuire revival (TBA) - An update of the classic Disney Channel series that will follow the title character as a 30-year-old millennial navigating life in New York City. 

Love, Simon (TBA) - The series is set in the same world as the 2018 film and focuses on a new student at Creekwood High School, Victor. The series follows his journey of self-discovery: facing challenges at home and struggling with his sexual orientation. He reaches out to Simon when it seems too difficult for him to navigate through high school.

Moon Knight (TBA) - The plot is unknown, but the series will introduce Moon Knight (Marc Spector) into the MCU.

Ms. Marvel (TBA) - The plot is unknown, but the series will introduce Ms. Marvel (Kamala Khan).

She-Hulk (TBA) - The plot is unknown, but the series will introduce She-Hulk (Jennifer Walters).

Untitled Obi-Wan Kenobi series (TBA) - The series will take place eight years after the events of Revenge of the Sith. The rest of the plot is unknown.

Becoming (TBA) - Each episode of the documentary-style series, shot in vérité, will visit a celebrity’s hometown, touring important locations that were central to their upbringing. A supporting cast of family members, coaches, teachers, mentors, and friends will also be interviewed, sharing anecdotes and insight into the star’s “becoming” story.

Behind the Attraction (TBA) - The series takes viewers into the history of how popular Disney attractions and destinations came to be, how they have changed over time, and how fans continue to obsess over them. The series will feature interviews with fans as well as Disney Imagineers and other people behind the scenes.

The Big Fib (TBA) - In this game show, two grown-ups claim to be experts on a topic and one of them is lying. It’ll be up to a kid contestant to try and figure out which one is telling “the big fib”.

Marvel’s Storyboards (TBA) - This series will follow Joe Quesada, Marvel’s Chief Creative Officer, as he explores the origin stories and creative drives of storytellers of all mediums, backgrounds, and experiences.

People & Places (TBA) - The series will present true stories from all around the glob about real - and extraordinary - people who embody the Disney ethos. A mix of up-and-coming and established filmmakers will be featured.

Explorer Academy (TBA) - The series will be “fact-based fiction”. The plot is unknown.

Life and Deaf (TBA) - The series is a comedy about a kid growing up in the ‘70s with deaf parents - and the mischief that ensues when, as their ears and mouthpiece, he’s given the “keys to the kingdom”.

The Proud Family revival (TBA) - The series will be revived according to the VA of Oscar Proud, Tommy Davidson. What the premise will be is unknown.

Untitled Mighty Ducks series (TBA) - The series focuses on a 13-year-old boy when he gets kicked off the junior division Mighty Ducks team, his mom decides to start their own team, finding players, a coach, and a place to play.

Untitled The Sandlot series (TBA) - Plot unknown, the series will be set in 1984 and focus on the kids of the original.

Untitled True Lies series (TBA) - Plot unknown. Mostly a reboot.

Untitled Willow sequel series (TBA) - Plot unknown.

#disney #disney+

[kumkaniudaku]

Our Thing

Happy Valentine’s Day, guys. Here’s one of the two things I plan on writing. I consider all of you my Valentine’s since I never have one, so here’s something before the clock strikes 12. 

Work Count: 2k

Warnings: Not yet proofread

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“What? Of course, it’s a good idea! I’m the king of good ideas!”

Voices bounced off of the walls of the Brooklyn apartment building as Chad and CoCo walked side by side to the apartment at the end of the hallway.

The snow lining the sidewalks outside were typical of mid-February, giving Tasha more of a reason to stay inside on the cold Friday. But her friend insisted she leave the dark cocoon she had created for herself in her apartment just across the water in New Jersey.

Valentine’s Day was the designated time of the year to celebrate love. Chadwick had a reason to celebrate, but CoCo could no longer say the same. After months of turmoil and emotional abuse, she was a single woman again and dreading the mere thought of loving someone else. So, she planned to avoid all mentions of love and relationships for the foreseeable future. Even if that meant neglecting tradition.

“Look, Chad, we can celebrate on the 15th! This feels so...weird.”

“We celebrate Valentine’s Day together every year. We can’t skip out this year.”

“I feel like having a girlfriend is the perfect reason to miss a year,” CoCo deadpanned as they reached their intended destination. She could practically feel the excitement buzzing from the other side of the door in the form of Toni Braxton’s greatest hits so far, and started to feel bad for the woman she’d come face to face with for the first time.

“Why miss a year when we can celebrate together? And you get to meet my lady for the first time. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun my ass,” Tasha mumbled into the thick scarf around her neck, earning a look from Chadwick.

“Wanna share that with the class, Miss Greene?”

“Knock on the damn door!”

A muffled feminine voice announced that she was gearing up to answer the door adding to the uneasiness in the pit of CoCo’s belly. She knew that if she was on the other side of this encounter, seeing a woman with her boyfriend on date night would insight a riot.

When the door opened to reveal the woman she only knew as Jay, she was more than shocked at what met her. Jay was beautiful. Her slim figure came with a few curves to compliment her height. She was graceful beyond compare and impeccably dressed, making Tasha feel incredibly bland in comparison.

“Hi, baby,” Jay sang as she wrapped her arms around Chadwick and went in for a kiss. If Tasha had rolled her eyes any harder, they would’ve fallen from her skull and rolled all the way back to New Jersey to beat her home. Catching wind of another presence, Jay offered a courteous smile.

“Oh, hi! Did he forget to give you a tip downstairs?”

“A tip,” CoCo asked, obviously offended and a bit confused.

“A tip for the cab ride. I know it was hell driving in this snow. Just let me grab my purse.”

Chadwick could see Tasha’s struggle to maintain her composure, her mouth opening and closing with words she couldn’t produce.

“You know what? I’m going home. Call me to let me know you got back to your place safely.”

“No, wait,” he exclaimed before grabbing Tasha’s elbow and pulling her back to her original spot despite her struggle to pull away. Noticing the commotion, Jay turned back to Chadwick and Tasha with her brows quirked in confusion.

“Am I missing something.”

“Nope. I’ll just take my tip and be on my w-”

“Jay, this is my best friend Tasha that I’ve been telling you about. Co, this is Jayme Dubois, my girlfriend.”

A brief and unpleasant stare off preceded a chipper energy shift as Jayme went in for a hug. “CoCo, how are you! I have heard so much about you.”

“Yeah well, don’t believe any of it,” CoCo forced out between fake laughter while she made faces at Chadwick over Jayme’s shoulder.

“I’ll keep that in mind. So, what brings you over? Do you have a date in this complex? I always knew white boy Rick liked Black women.”

“Actually, Muffin, I was thinking she could spend Valentine’s Day with us. It’s been tradition for us to spend the holiday together and we don’t wanna break it.”

“So you want Tasia -”

“It’s Tasha,” CoCo interrupted in the most obnoxious tone she could muster.

“Right...Tasha. You want Tasha to spend Valentine’s Day with us? Tonight? Even though this is a couple’s holiday? Couple as in two, mind you.”

“Yes, Jay. It would really mean a lot to me.”

Jayme looked between a visibly annoyed Tasha and the pleading eyes of her boyfriend before letting go of a long sigh and stepping aside to usher her companions for the night inside.

Tasha took in her surroundings and quietly marveled. Though small because what seemed to be standard in New York, Jayme’s dwelling was equal parts colorful and classic. Had she not started the interaction on such a bad note, Tasha would’ve complimented her on the statement couch that matched her ornate rug, but she kept it to herself out of spite.

“So since we have one more, what are our plans for the night, honey bear?”

Chadwick caught the slight scrunch in CoCo’s face and ignored it to refrain from explaining the embarrassing nickname. “Well, we can still go see Definitely, Maybe like you wanted, but instead of dinner in the park, Tasha got us a reservation at this really nice Italian spot in the city.”

“I called in a favor from work. It was no big deal.”

Jayme disregarded CoCo’s smile as she took a sip from her water bottle and sat on the arm of the chair Chadwick occupied. Her hands rubbed patronizing circles around his shoulders and back, forcing Tasha to look away to save the awkward moment.

“Well, it seems like you too already have this figured out, so I’ll just grab my coat. Do you have any more suggestions, CoCo?”

“Nooope.” Tasha sang the word through gritted teeth forced into a smile. Chadwick gave her a sympathetic look before helping Jayme into her coat and ushering each woman safely out of the building.

Tasha remained the front wheel of the tricycle, preferring to stay in front of the couple to refrain from looking like the unwanted third party. With every audible kiss and nauseatingly affectionate gesture, CoCo felt her heart tighten. It wasn’t seeing Chadwick with another woman that had her fighting back tears in the theatre. She needed the sight to push her feelings for him to the furthest corner of her mind. It was the pain of knowing that she had just detached from one of the worst situations in her life, yet wanted to be with him to cure the loneliness she felt.

If she had it her way, she’d cry it out until the work week resumed on Monday in the comfort of her own home, but continued to engage in the conversation when the moment presented itself to appease Chadwick.

In a restaurant full of couples, Jayme, Chadwick, and Tasha were the only threesome in the center of the establishment. Nervous energy characterized the silence left behind when Chadwick excused himself to the restroom, leaving the women in his life to avoid eye contact.

Relief came in the form of a stout waiter visiting the table to collect dinner orders. Without realizing that the order would be incomplete without the third member of the group, the women ordered traditional dishes and wine for the table.

“And the young man? What will he have?”

“Oh! Ummm, I’m not sure,” Jayme responded as she fumbled through the menu. “Maybe you could come back in a few minutes?”

“He’ll have the Parmigiana w/ Pasta, but please be light on the sauce. He gets heartburn from all the tomatoes.”

The waiter took heed of Tasha’s warning before walking away, leaving Jayme to burn a hole in the top of Tasha’s head while she sorted through emails on her cell phone.

“How long did you say you and Chadwick have been friends?”

“Since Fall 1996. So coming up on 13 years,” Tasha answered, looking up to find an indecipherable look on Jayme’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I just - you know him so well. His favorite candy, where he likes to sit in the theatre, what he eats at certain restaurants. I don’t know if I can keep up.”

The process of finding the right words to assure Jayme, Chadwick returned to the table and unknowingly ended the conversation before it could truly begin.

“Never in my life did I think I’d have to stand in line to use the men’s restroom. I applaud y’all for doing that,” he complained as he took his seat. “Has the waiter come back for orders yet?”

“He did actually. Tasha got you Parmigiana w/ Pasta.” Jayme secretly hoped that Chadwick would reject the choice and ask for a second go at the ordering process. She was met with the complete opposite.

“Hell yeah!” His fist met Tasha’s across the table in his childlike excitement. “I love that shit.”

“Language, honey bear.”

“Sorry, Muffin.”

“Wow,” Tasha whispered to herself, unaware that the others around the table could hear her.

“Did you want to say something, Tasha?”

“Noooope.”

The table fell silent to give way to the idle chatter in the area around them. Chadwick looked between his girlfriend and best friend trying to find a way to get them to interact with each other cordially.

“So, Co, Jayme has been trying to get into basketball lately.”

“Oh really.” Tasha was clearly uninterested as she continued to read emails on her phone from weeks ago. A subtle kick underneath her table made her look up and noticed Chadwick’s non-verbal urging for her to at least pretend to care. “Which team are you interested in, Jayme?”

“I really like the Nets! Trenton Hassell to be exact.”

“Do you? Because he averages less than two points a game. There’s not much to like.”

“Trenton is your friend’s boyfriend right, Jay?”

“Does it matter now? Tasha basically called him a bad player.”

“Not bad, per se. He’s terrible. That’s a better adjective.”

“Oh-kay,” Chadwick interjected to end the escalating conversation. “Jay, how’s work at the fashion house going?”

“Ugh, it is amazing! We got some new pieces last night and they are beautiful. Maybe you could come browse one day, Tasha. Style can always use an update.”

“I consider myself more Maxine than Regine. Thanks though. I’m sure the pieces are nice.”

Tasha successfully contained her laughter at Jayme’s expression, feeling her first surge of happiness for the day.

Chadwick felt helpless as the night continued and each attempt at joining two of his favorite women ended in a snarky comment or shady look. Dinner provided a welcome activity that didn’t require group conversation, giving him the opportunity to cater to each woman. The longer they sat and contemplated grabbing cheesecake inside the restaurant or settling for ice cream on the way home, the more he could feel Jayme disconnecting.

“Muffin, do you want the strawberry cheesecake for here or to go,” he asked as she slid her coat from the back of her chair and collected her purse.

“Actually, I don’t feel so well, honey bear. I’m gonna head home.”

“What? So soon? We didn’t even get to dessert.”

Tasha watched Jayme put on her best “sick” face and gagged internally at Chadwick falling for the charade. Jayme was far from physically sick. If she was feeling anything, it was annoyance at the fact that her boyfriend’s best friend had spent the most romantic night of the year taking the attention from her.

“Well, let me walk you outside and wait for the cab to come.”

“Thank you, honey bear.” Jayme accepted Chadwick’s help into her coat, purposely ignoring Tasha until the last second. “Good night, Tasha. Maybe we’ll see each other for another occasion. Hopefully in a less...crowded environment.”

Tasha released a short chuckle before plastering on a fake smile, “Right. I’ll pencil you into my calendar.”

Jayme offered another fake smile and nod before leading the way out of the restaurant into the Brooklyn streets.

“I’ll pencil you in and the erase that shit. Fuck her.”

Time started to drag as she sat at the table alone, looking more foolish with three plates crowding her space than playing seat warmer for the world’s cutest couple. A glance out of the window gave her access to the tail end of Jayme’s departure. Her inability to peel her eyes away from the private moment showed her two things: Chadwick was far more interested in Jayme than she was in him, and she was clearly upset despite the kiss and hug she provided before disappearing into the backseat of her taxi.

Moments later, Chadwick took the seat directly across from Tasha and sighed.

“Go ahead. Tell me that you told me so.”

“I’m not gonna say that friend,” Tasha smiled. “All I’ll say is you’re gonna need one of these cheesecakes to go because mama is PISSED.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. But, I’m here to help with gift ideas to make up for this dumbass idea. And I ordered us dessert.”

Chadwick’s ear perked at the sound of a sugar rush to end a night full of terrible decisions. “Did you get the cookie thing with the-”

“The vanilla bean ice cream on top? C’mon now! You know me!” Without hesitation, the pair completed their signature handshake before sitting back in their seats.  “Sorry for ruining your date, Aaron. I’ll pay the tab as a peace offering.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll make it up to her. You know there’s a reason she calls me honey bear.”

“Gross. Please, don’t finish that sentence. And what the fuck is Muffin? Are you a white TV dad now?”

Chadwick’s deep belly laugh at CoCo’s expense continued until their shared dessert was placed between them. Instructing Tasha to pick up her spoon, Chadwick began a pseudo-toast.

“To another Valentine’s Day spend together and many more to come!”

Their spoons clinked together in solidarity before the argument of who would get which portion of the cookie began, ending the most romantic day of the year the only way they knew how: together.

                                  _______________

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[quicksilversquared]

How to Fake a Marriage Outtakes Ch. 5

Gabriel had had a plan for how Adrien's life would go, ever since his son turned eight and Gabriel knew what he could accomplish and be if he was molded and steered in the right direction. It was a good plan, all of the details ironed out and put in place with a mind for Adrien's future success and happiness.

He would pick up Mandarin, after mastering English and Spanish. He would be active, winning awards from basketball and karate and fencing. He would be accomplished, talented at playing the piano for a cultured crowd and above age level in his studies. He would know world history and be up-to-date with fashion trends and know who to pay attention to in order to make the right connections. He would have impeccable manners and handsome looks, and everyone would admire him as Adrien came into adulthood.

The first hitch came when it became apparent that, unlike his parents, Adrien had no flair for designing. His drawings were... well, childish, despite the art classes that Gabriel had insisted he take as a child. Emilie had been the one to allow Adrien to discontinue those courses after he complained about not liking it, which Gabriel hadn't been thrilled about. But she had been right- they had both been drawn to art from a young age, and the fact that Adrien wasn't suggested that designing simply wasn't his calling. Besides, the drawings that Adrien had done had been utterly unimaginative, drawings of what he had seen instead of inspiration for what could be.

But Adrien was showing a head for numbers and an ability to pose and model, and so Gabriel simply altered his son's life plan. Instead of design school and a place as a lead designer in the company, Adrien would start modeling early and then take business school when the time came. He could still be the head of Gabriel once Gabriel retired, keeping the business part of the company in hand and leaving the actual designing to others. It would be a good set-up, since Adrien would earn a generous salary quickly, acquiring savings that his peers could only dream of.

If all went to plan, Adrien would graduate from the younger grades early, heading straight into business school and balancing it with his modeling with all of the ease that Emilie and Nathalie were working hard to drill into him. He would be popular, but undistractable as he graduated with his degree at only twenty years old. There would be a few months of an internship, perhaps, just to stave off talk of favoritism, and then Adrien would rocket through the ranks of the company until he worked under only Gabriel and Emilie. He would meet a woman when he was well established in his career- twenty-seven or twenty-eight, perhaps, old enough to be established but not old enough that the bachelor status wouldn't be regarded as a positive thing anymore- and then get married, with his parents designing the outfits for the entire wedding party. They would have a child, a golden-haired Agreste heir, and that child would grow up just like Adrien, well on the track to success.

And then Emilie vanished, and that was when Gabriel's well-laid plans started to go off of the rails. An injury in karate meant that Adrien had to be pulled from that before he could further harm himself. Adrien insisted on going to public school, where his tutors couldn't continue to push him ahead of the curve. He got distracted by new friends and got his first crush.

Gabriel had hoped that it would be a full decade more before Adrien started to get his head turned by women. Fortunately, the crush was on a superhero, and therefore she was out of reach and Adrien's pining was a harmless celebrity crush. Still, it was only a matter of time, surely. Adrien had some perfectly nice-looking classmates both in collège and lycée, and unlike Ladybug, they were accessible.

Still, Gabriel's plan stayed largely on track. Adrien was a popular model already by sixteen, and there was talk about him even starring in some movies in the future once he had finished university. He was top of his class, and was fluent in Mandarin (and English, and had at least a decent understanding of Spanish), and a star player in basketball and fencing. His piano was fabulous, and Gabriel had even had him play at the runway for a couple years before his son reached the age and height to be able to join the other models on the runway. Adrien applied and got into business school, and flew through while balancing an increasingly heavy modeling load, even modeling for other companies that weren't Gabriel's direct competitors. He graduated-

-and that was where Gabriel ran into an unforeseen snag. Adrien had evidently decided that a business degree- the business degree that his parents had been preparing him for for his entire life- just wasn't enough for him, and so he had applied to a school in London to get a Physics degree.

Not even a school in Paris. No, Adrien wanted to leave and go to London, of all places, opting to stay a student instead of sliding into the fast-track job that his father had prepared for him.

Gabriel tried to talk him out of it. He pointed out every logical point of why Adrien shouldn't go, why he should just stay and not move to another country and get another (completely unnecessary) degree, but his stubborn son just wouldn't listen to him. No doubt his so-called friends had his ear, insisting that he cling to his completely unnecessary dream instead of thinking logically.

He had known that he should have insisted that Adrien be sent to a private school instead of going to public school when his son pushed to end his homeschooling. No doubt the company that Adrien would have found at a private school would be more inclined to listen to logic and know that going into business was a much better route than going for some low-paying Physics job.

Nathalie had talked Gabriel into a compromise of sorts- if he let Adrien go and even helped fund the little spurt of rebellion, then Adrien would try out the degree, realize that it wasn't what he had expected, and come home. If Gabriel continued to dig in his heels, then Adrien would turn up the stubborn as well and insist on finishing up the degree just out of spite. So Gabriel backed down, but only just.

Surely he could make his son see reason. He wasn't going to sabotage Adrien's arrival in London, though. If he cancelled Adrien's apartment or didn't have Nathalie sort other moving details out, that could put Adrien in danger, and he wasn't going to let anything happen to his son.

But even with his conviction that Adrien would drop the program in short order, Gabriel couldn't help but think up worst-case scenarios.

Adrien might decide to finish the program and spend three years away. He might get a Physics job in London and permanently relocate there. He might not finish the degree but find a woman to date there, and knowing Adrien's romantic tendencies, he would agree to move there and get a job in Business in London instead of bringing her back to Paris. Adrien might go a little crazy with his newfound freedom in London and get picked up by the gossip rags there, the ones that were widely considered to be some of the worst in the world. He could get in so much trouble, and there would be no way for Nathalie and Gabriel to do damage control in time to do any good from all the way over in Paris.

So perhaps he went a little over the top with a list of rules for Adrien but really, they were all common-sense rules. Ones that were in place to protect Adrien. Really.

After all, if Adrien were serious about the degree, surely he wouldn't want to get distracted by a relationship, right? He would stick his nose in a book and study like a good boy.

Except Gabriel didn't take into account Adrien's streak of mischief, or his annoyance at being given a list of rules. The fake marriage had sent Gabriel into a tailspin, scrambling to try to fix it before Adrien ruined his life. It was a prank, of course, but Gabriel had learned one thing, something that kept him up at night worrying.

One of Adrien's longtime friends had already chosen to move to London and had a job there. To make matters worse, she lived right next to Adrien, literally just across the hall from him, which meant that they saw each other all the time.

Gabriel could see the probability of Adrien staying in London rising by the minute. Adrien's friend- Marinette, Gabriel thought she was called- might persuade Adrien to stay in London with her long-term instead of returning to Paris. She would lessen the chances that Adrien would get homesick and move back to Paris, and she no doubt was one of the friends encouraging Adrien to stick with his Physics degree, so there was less of a chance that he would get frustrated and drop out without working on it.

And Gabriel could see the fond way that Adrien looked at his friend. If they spent too much time together, the chances of Adrien falling in love with her would be pretty high. And though they could move back to Paris- after all, Marinette was a native French speaker- she did already have a job at Madam Rosalie's fashion house and if the conversations that he had had with his wife's old friend were anything to go by, it was a very good fit.

As in, Marinette would probably stay there and if Adrien fell in love (when Adrien fell in love, because who was he kidding? Adrien was clearly already fond of Marinette), then he would get a job in London just to stay with her, and Gabriel would barely ever see his son. The last bits of his plans for Adrien- the dropping Physics and returning to business at Gabriel, the modeling until Adrien had aged out- would fall to bits. There would be no family legacy unless he tried to foist the fashion house off on Adrien in his will (and what would the point of that be, if Gabriel weren't there to see the transition and make sure that Adrien wouldn't just sell the fashion empire?). There would be no molding his grandchild to follow in his footsteps, either, not at that distance.

And if he just had to guess, Gabriel assumed that Marinette would do all of her own designing for her wedding and her future family. Maybe Adrien would continue modeling, but it would be for Madam Rosalie's fashion house, not Gabriel.

All of his work was falling to bits, and there was nothing that Gabriel could do to stop it. Nathalie had warned him that pulling Adrien's funding could easily lead to an unrepairable rift between father and son, and there was no way to change Adrien to another building without his permission. After all, Adrien was an adult.

Gabriel grumbled at that. Adrien had been much easier to wrangle as a child, so eager to do the things that his parents wanted.

He wondered if they could have kept Adrien on his plan if Emilie hadn't vanished.

After the wedding prank, things just kept on coming up in London. Tabloids were running pieces about Adrien and his friend, and Gabriel had to apply pressure to make sure that Adrien would take care of the mess that he had created. It was clear that Adrien wasn't happy about it- no doubt he would prefer that Nathalie and Gabriel clean up after his stunt, Gabriel thought sourly- but he did it.

Gabriel could still get his son to do some things, it seemed. That was a relief, even if Adrien seemed to be trying to stay in London as much as possible, away from Paris. He was even modeling for Madam Rosalie's house.

It seemed like Gabriel's worries were coming true. Adrien was getting integrated into things over in London, setting up the connections he would need for a longer stay there.

There were more tabloids, more articles romantically linking Adrien and Marinette. Gabriel called Adrien up every time, heart in throat, terrified that this time, the papers would be right and Adrien would never return to Paris. They were never right- well, not that Adrien admitted, anyway- and Gabriel always beat himself up a little bit for paying attention to them, but they were getting a bit too close to his worries.

He had already lost his wife. He didn't want to lose his son, too, but Adrien was drifting away too far, too fast.

Then Adrien decided to get a summer job in London, a position using his Business degree. Gabriel had argued, pointing out that it would make much more sense for Adrien to come back to Paris for the summer and work at Gabriel. Adrien could see what it would be like to work at Gabriel, and perhaps he would decide to stay, away from the allures of London and the wide smile of his friend who lived there. But Gabriel's arguments were to no avail, and Adrien accepted the office job.

At least he had agreed to come back and do some summer photoshoots before starting the job, though. Adrien was still willing to be part of his father's company, and that was a huge relief.

Despite Gabriel's best efforts, Adrien went back to university for a second year, then a third. He got a summer Physics job between the two of them and slowly, slowly, Gabriel began to admit that there was probably very little chance of Adrien returning to Business as a career.

At least Adrien hadn't started dating that friend of his. As far as Gabriel knew, Adrien would be returning to Paris and moving back into the mansion.

There was no reason for Adrien to decide to live elsewhere, after all. Apartments in Paris weren't exactly cheap- particularly the high-end ones that were fitting for an Agreste- and whatever job in the Physics field that Adrien might have been able to snag surely wouldn't comfortably cover that, even if Adrien was going to be modeling as well.

Gabriel sent Nathalie a quick reminder that he wanted to have a whole slew of outfits ready for Adrien to get fitted when he got back. There was no point in him sitting around while he looked for a position, after all.

When Gabriel heard that Adrien was back in Paris and had arrived at the mansion, it was as though a mountain of stress had fallen off of his shoulders. Adrien hadn't stayed in London after all, which was what Gabriel had worried and worried about.

Of course, his worries weren't entirely gone. He had only learned a couple days prior that apparently remaining entirely single until one's late 20s was no longer in style, which meant that Adrien's image was in danger and as Gabriel's main model, his image was important. That change was ridiculous and annoying- Gabriel had remained single until his early 30s, when he met Emilie when she modeled for him, and there hadn't been a single comment then- but entirely fixable. A couple short stints of dating- or appearing to date, anyway- would put the press off, and if not, well, that was what Nathalie was for.

And then, when Gabriel called Adrien into his office to welcome him home and instruct him to get settled, his son had a huge bombshell to drop on him.

"Father, I wanted you to meet my fiancée, Marinette."

His fiancée. They had been dating after all, keeping it a secret and out of the tabloids as much as they could. A secret from him.

Just like he feared, Marinette was going to whisk his son back to London, where Gabriel would only rarely get to see him. There would no doubt be a switch from modeling with Gabriel to modeling with Rosalie, and- and-

And then Adrien mentioned the curveball that apparently shouldn't have been a curveball at all: Marinette's presence in London hadn't been permanent at all. They were both coming back to Paris, and Gabriel breathed easier.

Well, mostly. Apparently his son- his handsome, innocent son- was going to be sharing Marinette's old room at her parents' house until the two of them found an apartment to move into in Paris. Gabriel protested- he and Emilie hadn't moved in together until after the wedding, after all- but apparently Adrien couldn't be persuaded to stay at home until he was actually married.

The choice to stay at the Dupain-Cheng home was truly an odd one, if Gabriel thought about it. The Agreste mansion had far more room, including guest rooms for Marinette to choose from while they were there.

"He is an adult, Gabriel," Nathalie reminded him as Adrien left the mansion, hand-in-hand with Marinette. They were clearly close, the picture of young romance."He's going to be making his own decisions now, and it's not going to go over well if you try to direct him, particularly if you want to direct him away from what he wants to do."

Gabriel knew that, deep down inside. That didn't mean that he wasn't going to be irritated by it.

"Being an adult hardly means that he's suddenly mature," Gabriel sniffed, turning his attention away from the security camera footage as Adrien and Marinette headed out of range of the cameras' view. "This surprise engagement nonsense- that's something a kid would come up with. He should have told us that they had started dating."

"Sir, with all due respect, you did forbid dating."

"So that he wouldn't run off with some English girl, obviously," Gabriel sniffed. "Had he made it clear that Marinette was going to be coming back to Paris once he finished with school and she finished her internship, I would have approved it from the start. She would bring him back here to stay. An anchor, of sorts." He paused. "Do you think she would accept if I offered her a position at Gabriel? I could keep an eye on them that way."

Nathalie's expression went even flatter. "Not if you phrase it that way, sir. And if she didn't apply for the opening that we had for the designer position, I'm assuming that her answer will be 'no' no matter what."

"She might have just not advanced enough for me to see the portfolios. It was quite a competitive field." Suddenly focused, Gabriel headed for his computer to ask for a list of names of all of the applicants, just to see what his chances of success were, if Nathalie's hunch was correct.

He would still ask, of course- Gabriel could be very persuasive, it was how he got his fashion empire started after all- but he liked to know more about his targets before approaching them.

Once the email was sent and both Nathalie and Gerald had left for the night, Gabriel went to wash up for bed, planning on how he was going to approach Marinette and persuade her to join Gabriel for the good of the company and the Agreste family (as long as she hadn't been hired elsewhere, of course). He went to bed with a smile on his lips, new plans for Adrien and his bride-to-be dancing in his head.

Marinette, advancing to head designer. The fashion papers, singing the praises of fashion's new power couple, designer and model. Gabriel getting to stay in the family, except with an interested party. Adrien eventually leaving his Physics job so that he could work in the same company as his wife, and their child following in Marinette's footsteps. Probably not golden-haired- Marinette's hair was too dark for that to be a high probability- but between her and Adrien, the genetics would be gorgeous. They would go into modeling first, then start designing- all with their Grandpa Gabriel's oversight, of course- he would pay for art classes as Christmas presents, maybe- before joining the company.

Perhaps it wasn't quite what he had initially planned or expected, but this new future looked bright.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #How to Fake a Marriage #How to Fake a Marriage Outtakes

[kierkehaard]

Do Facts Care About Your Feelings?

Facts Don’t Care About Your Feelings (or, for short, FDCAYF). 

We’ve all heard this sentiment echoed before. In Ben Shapiro’s PragerU episode of the same name, on his Twitter feed, from the mouths of the millions of conservatives and alt-righters who tune in to his podcasts - the right wing has essentially heralded it as the be all and end all of one-liners to ‘destroy libtard SJWs’. At first glance, it seems like an impenetrable argument: after all, if facts did care about one’s feelings, then they’d cease to be objective. 

One thing I’ll credit Shapiro with is how effective this phrase is at conveying what he’s trying to say. It accomplishes multiple things at the same time. 

It:

1. Labels his opposition as ‘emotional’,

2. Makes a statement about the nature of facts, 

3. Establishes the possession of facts as incompatible with his opposition, and

4. Therefore implies that his opposition is blinded from the truth by feelings.

Hold up. Let’s take a look at Point 2 for a moment. It almost seems like FDCAYF is an epistemic claim; he’s discussing how facts work, and how we can get to know them.  I thought it might be interesting to see just how much this one-liner holds up to philosophical inspection.

Spoiler: eh, not much. 

How The Argument Works

First, let’s talk about what exactly Ben is saying here. He’s making an analysis of what facts are, and proposing a certain feature that all facts share (that feelings do not affect them). In order to figure out whether this is correct, we of course need to understand what a fact is. 

Many people, including some academic philosophers, would roughly define a fact as ‘a proposition that is true’. What this means is that, for something to be a fact, it must be truth-apt (be a statement that can be true or false), and it must be true. The reason why the first criterion is important is because it discounts statements that simply cannot possibly be true or false, like instructions or exclamations. ‘Go do your homework’ cannot be a fact because it doesn’t propose anything; likewise with something like ‘oh my god’ or ‘blimey’. On the other hand, a statement that does propose something that can be true or false like ‘tigers have four legs’ can be facts, as long as they’re true. That last bit is why ‘tigers have four legs’ is a fact, but ‘the grand canyon is a species of tiger’ is not; the former is a true proposition, while the latter is a false one. 

I would think that most supporters of Ben would agree with this idea of what facts are; I imagine most people would. But this poses a problem for FDCAYF. After all, there are some true propositions where feelings and perspectives do matter. The statement ‘Billy loves basketball’ proposes something that could either be true or false. Let’s also assume that Billy does, in fact, love basketball. The truth of this claim does depend on feelings - in this case, Billy’s. Going by this idea of what facts are, we have to accept that ‘subjective facts’ do exist, and that therefore there exist some facts that do ‘care about your feelings’. Many philosophers are comfortable with accepting this, but obviously a hardcore Ben Shapiro fan would want to defend the FDCAYF. Admittedly, this idea of ‘subjective facts’ is quite nitpicky when looking at the facts Ben Shapiro usually refers to when he raises FDCAYF; stats, scientific studies - objective facts. So for the sake of good faith, maybe we can raise a definition of facts that’s more charitable to Ben Shapiro: ‘facts are propositions that are objectively true.’ What we mean by objective here is mind-independent, with the truth of the statement not depending on any feelings. This way, the only ‘facts’ that we have to deal with are the ones that Ben Shapiro actually approaches. It also means that he by definition cannot be wrong about facts not caring about your feelings, which is basically shooting this entire analysis in the foot, but bear with me. In the next few sections, we’ll discuss how even this charitable idea of what Ben Shapiro means by ‘facts’ doesn’t really give us the full picture of how facts work. 

(PS: it’s worth noting that someone who sees the world as something leaning towards Idealism would reject this new definition as incoherent altogether, since under Idealism there would technically be no such thing as a mind-independent, wholly objective fact. But that’s besides the point, so we’ll save Idealism for another future post.)

Fact Versus Ideology

So. Let’s pretend everything we said earlier didn’t matter. We assume that facts by definition don’t care about your feelings, and so accommodate what Ben Shapiro uses as ‘facts’. Here’s the irony, though: it’s precisely by accommodating what Ben Shapiro says in context that we see this idea of facts fall apart too. Let me explain why.

The running trend with Ben Shapiro is that he’d claim some fact, then he’d promote it as an objective reason to support some conservative stance. For the sake of example, we’re gonna talk about the topic he arguably most famously does this with: transgender rights. More specifically, when he talks about trans people, he would point to the fact that they’re ‘biologically male/female’ to justify not referring to them by their preferred pronouns. (case in point here and here). He would use some biological fact, like how a male-to-female trans person would still possess XY chromosomes, to say that the conservative stance towards trans people is factual, and therefore conclude that those who disagree are simply ‘being offended by facts’ and ‘factually wrong’. 

Going back to our Shapiro-approved definition of facts, we can see that his claim on male-to-female trans people possessing XY chromosomes is indeed a fact. However, Ben is trying to push for something deeper than just stating a fact; he’s also making a call to action. The argument he’s forming here is that ‘trans women are biologically male’, ‘therefore trans women are men’, ��therefore we ought not to call them women’. This is the part where it becomes real messy, because we realise we aren’t just dealing with facts in and of themselves, but rather their political relevance. And while the facts themselves could be independent of how one feels, the political values that one infers from them - as we will see - are not. 

What makes the fact ‘male-to-female trans people possess XY chromosomes’ more politically relevant than, say, the fact ‘koalas have smooth brains’? It’s the context under which we perceive the political. In other words, It is what we deem as politically problematic or politically relevant that leads us to decide which facts matter. The fact that trans men possess XY chromosomes might be a matter of huge importance to a neoconservative like Ben Shapiro, who thinks that one’s identity is defined biologically, but that fact would be less politically relevant to a more progressive-minded person - at least in determining a trans person’s identity - because they think that identity is primarily defined socially. It simply goes back to one’s ideology, and one’s general worldview of how society operates. Another example would be how the fact that ‘there are 6 times more empty homes than homeless people’ would be a matter of huge relevance to a communist, or a left leaning liberal, but would at the very most be a matter of curious interest to a conservative, simply because their ideology already inherently constructs an ‘if you didn't earn it, you don’t deserve it’ mentality. A fascist would find the fact that ‘African Americans, despite forming 13% of the population, constitute 50% of the prison demographic’ to be extremely politically relevant, while a socialist democrat would not, seeing that as explained ideologically through systemic oppression and injustice in the judicial system. There are countless examples we can choose from, because there are countless ideologies that each enable and are enabled by the facts that they find important. This isn’t to say that all ideologies are the same and that the one we choose to lean towards is a matter of subjective taste; it simply means that we shouldn’t deceive ourselves into thinking there is a fact-based reason to subscribe to one, and that people of other ideologies are not beholden to facts. In actuality, political discourse isn’t about what the facts are, it’s about which facts are important and give motivation to act. Ben Shapiro may be right in claiming that ‘[certain] facts don’t care about your feelings’, but how we use these facts does care about our values and worldview. 

Reason Versus Feeling

Our earlier paragraph discusses how he conflates possessing facts with possessing rational beliefs about what these facts mean, and we have gone through why this is problematic. But in making this assumption Ben actually commits to a more fundamental claim about rationality, and that is the drawing of a dichotomy between rational action and emotion. That is, he’s saying that one cannot be both emotional and rational. To be fair to him, this is not a very uncommon idea; think of the many times we’ve seen people say ‘stop being so emotional and use your head’. But that way of thinking, of ‘Reason versus Feeling’, might not be as clear and obvious as we think. 

Let’s start with understanding what it means to be rational. I think it’s fairly uncontroversial to say that to be rational is to act in accordance with reason; that is, to do what one has more reason to do. The prospect of getting a free chocolate bar could give me a reason to steal from the convenience store, but the stronger motivations of not wanting to be arrested for theft and not wanting to do something morally wrong would give me more reason not to steal, making not stealing the rational decision for me (well, assuming a perfectly normal circumstance). So what exactly is a reason? Such an abstract concept might be hard to define. But looking at the previous three reasons we’ve raised, we can try to come up with some necessary features of a reason. For example, we know that a reason can’t exist in and of itself. There’s no such thing as simply ‘a reason’. It’s always ‘a reason to do x’, or ‘a reason to believe x’. Reasons are always predicated on some other action or thought. This brings us to our second, and more important, feature of reasons: they always exist to justify or motivate a certain action or thought. They inform us about our motivations in acting on/believing something, and it’s through weighing our many reasons for and against this that we decide what is reasonable and rational. This obviously means that reasons are extremely diverse, and is the reason why philosophers like to make different categories of reasons when analysing them: we’ve got object given reasons (reasons derived from certain features of the object in question), state given reasons (reasons derived from the current state we’re in), hedonic reasons (reasons that involve our own personal pleasure and happiness)… but the category of reasons we’re gonna talk about today is much, much simpler than all of that: what about emotional reasons?

When we get ‘emotional’, it usually doesn’t just happen randomly out of the blue. Something happens, or we’re in a certain state of mind that makes us react emotionally. Certain states of affairs gives us reasons to act emotionally, and then we evaluate whether or not said emotional reaction is a justified response. Granted, many times we end up acting emotionally and irrationally. But that doesn’t mean that every emotional reaction is not reasonable or rational. If Steve steals my lunch, it is reasonable for me to be annoyed and tell Steve off. It’s not reasonable for me to murder him in a ravenous fit of wrath, but that’s because I can evaluate that this emotional response in particular is not warranted. In fact, think about every time someone got mad and asked one of his friends ‘was I being unreasonable for acting that way?’, or every time a parent had to ask themselves whether they were too harsh in their reprimanding of their child. If emotional reasons didn’t exist, then these questions would be useless and meaningless, since every emotional reaction would be irrational. Arguably, the whole subreddit r/AmITheAsshole deals with the problems of sorting out emotional reasons and deciding whether or not the emotional reaction these reasons led to was reasonable. The assumption about the distinction between rationality and emotion that Ben Shapiro makes when he says ‘Facts Don’t Care About Your Feelings’, then, while not one that is altogether uncommon, is not really all that sustainable, since our feelings and the way we act from them can be evaluated from a rational lens. 

As a matter of fact, even our favourite neoconservative himself does this evaluation all the time. Every time Ben decides that a condescending retort is in order, every time he reacts with incredulity at another ‘outlandish leftist headline’, he is deeming this specific emotion as an appropriate reaction. But we usually don’t think of these things as acting emotionally. The point I’m trying to get at here is more than just Ben’s inconsistencies with his own dogma; it’s driving more towards how we treat emotion as a whole. We don’t usually think to call contempt and condescension emotional, despite the fact that they technically are. In fact, we’d celebrate them as ‘savage’ or ‘absolutely destroying’ someone (think ‘Ben Shapiro versus SJW cringe compilations’). On the other hand, we’re quick to see those who express outrage and anger and compassion as being emotional (and, to some, therefore irrational). Our discussions and analyses about what exactly constitutes reason and how emotion fits in are all well and good, but the discussion simply wouldn’t be complete unless we also talk about how we as a society approach this issue. And judging by the looks of it, we evaluate what is ‘emotionally irrational’ based not on what actually is emotional, but rather based on what emotions are socially approved. Delivering a ‘sick burn’ is perfectly reasonable and great, but getting ‘triggered’ is uncool and going off-the-hook. Worryingly, what we judge as being an irrational emotional response isn’t just about the scale and extent of the response, but the type of emotional response itself, and it’s not altogether clear why we should believe that some emotions are simply inherently more irrational than others. Natalie Wynn, better known as Contrapoints, puts it better than I think I ever could

Perhaps a more accurate, albeit less catchy, phrase that describes what Ben Shapiro means in FDCAYF is that ‘Rationality Doesn’t Care About Your Feelings’. But the line he draws between the rational and the emotional, as we’ve seen, doesn’t really work all too well. Practically speaking, when we’re dealing with issues as sensitive and important as politics, sometimes being emotional is precisely the reasonable thing to do. 

Conclusion

Writing what’s essentially an entire essay on one single statement, on hindsight, might have been a bit of an overkill. But I do think there’s a lot to be said about FDCAYF and how it’s used. I absolutely agree that we should be looking at hard truths instead of what our ‘feelings’ would want us to believe, and I absolutely agree that people can sometimes get unreasonably emotional. But the truth isn’t as simple as that. Emotions aren’t something to be reviled and altogether avoided in politics, and we can’t separate facts from the ideological context that enables them to be political. And while Ben Shapiro and his followers aren’t particularly known for their attention to nuance, I think it is at least important that this nuance be known. 

#ben shapiro #liberal #ethics #shapiro #america #usa #conservative #ben #sjw #progressive #left wing

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 27: The Start of Winter Break

Masterlist

“Hey Ms. C, you got any fun plans for break?” One of Lucy’s students asked during the last hour of the last day of class before break.

“Not really, just hanging out with some friends. Grading projects, binging Netflix, the usual.” Lucy replied. Even with almost half of the high school staff knowing about her relationship with a famous actor, they had respected her wishes, and kept that information from the kids.

“Does anyone have big plans for break, it’s a long one this year, enjoy it.” Several kids spoke-up about trips with their families, basketball tournaments, or work. Lucy found herself counting the minutes until the bell rang. Henry, along with Kal, would be flying in the next day before they spent the rest of the day celebrating Christmas with her family. It had only been 4 weeks since Thanksgiving, but she missed him terribly, and felt almost giddy about being able to spend 2 solid weeks with him.

Once the bell rang, and all the students had left, Lucy took a few minutes to organize her room, and gather anything she would be needing over break. She was just packing the last of her things into her teacher bag, when Ryan appeared at her door.

“You ready to go?” He asked bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Yes I am. You’re in a hurry today.” She commented to him as they walked down the hall.

“Andi and I are going skiing over break. We leave tomorrow morning, so we’re driving to Minneapolis tonight. I want to get on the road.” He explained,

“Henry flies in tomorrow, then we’re flying to London on Monday night.”

“So just the two of you for Christmas?” Ryan asked.

“No, we’re going to Jersey, and spending Christmas with his whole family; his parents, all 4 of his brothers, their spouses and kids.” Her nerves evident in her voice.

“4 brothers?” he asked, his eyes wide. “That should be interesting.”

“At least I’ve already met his mom, and she likes me. I haven't met any of the rest of his family though.” They stopped outside the Library to wait for Mindy.

Lucy waited impatiently for Henry’s flight to unload. It seemed forever between watching the plane touch down and drive to the gate, before the doors were actually opened.

She saw his head over the others walking up the jetway. She waved to him and his mouth widened into a grin. He released his hold on Kal’s leash and let the dog run to her. She knelt down to envelope Kal into a big hug. The dog had such an expressive face, he grinned at her, happy to see her again. Once her arms released Kal, Lucy felt a pair of strong hands under her arms, lifting her to Henry’s mouth. His lips were warm and soft and welcoming.

“Welcome back, Darcy.” Lucy finally greeted

“It’s good to be back, Pumpkin.”

Lucy and Henry loaded his bags and Kal and into her car, and pointed it North. Lucy updated him on their agenda. She had managed to convince her mother to agree to early Christmas, but Lucy had to agree to spending 2 nights at her parents’ house during the weekend.

“So tonight we’ll get there in time for dinner. Tomorrow morning we’ll all go to church, before coming home to do presents from each other, then a big family dinner with everyone, plus grandma and mom’s sister Izzy and her husband and 2 kids. Then we’ll do more presents, from grandma and such. I had to promise mom we’d stay Sunday night too, so Monday morning we’ll have breakfast then leave, so I can do laundry and pack for our flight.”

“So we’re two nights at your parents’ house?” Henry asked, sounding very dejected about the idea.

“Kal will love it, lots of room for him to run around, snow to play in, and kids to play with.”

“I’m sure he will, but it’s been over a month since I’ve seen you, touched you, held you, kissed you.” He murmured, his voice going deeper with each word.

“That’s why we’re not going straight there. I made some time for just us, before we go celebrate Christmas. Our own private celebration.” She smirked at him.

“Ever the planner, aren’t you.” He smiled at her.

“You love it.”

“I do love it, I love you.” He leaned across the console to kiss her. She linked her fingers with his while she drove, needing to have some kind of connection with him.

Later, after Henry and Lucy had their private celebration, as Lucy was moving Christmas from under her tree to a box to be brought to her car, she set a box aside. Once their bags were loaded, Lucy pulled Henry to sit with her on the couch. She handed him the small box she’d set aside.

Henry looked at the box with it’s blue snowflake paper, and silver bow, then shook it. It rattled a little. The box couldn't hold much, it was only about 4 inches square, he puzzled about what she might have given him.

“It’s not much. You’re an incredibly hard person to buy for.” She pouted a bit. “Anything you want you could buy yourself, or I couldn't afford. So, I went with this. I hope you like it.”

“Darling, you didn't have to get me anything. And I’m going to love whatever you give me.” He gave her a quick peck. “Can I open it?” He asked with all the glee of a 4-year-old.

“Please do.” Lucy held her breath as she watched him tear the paper on the small box. He set the paper aside, and pulled the lid off. Inside, nestled on a bed of fluffy, cottony, filler, were 2 keys on a Minnesota shaped key ring. He picked them up, and eyed them.

“Are these the keys to your heart?” Henry asked with a slightly confused, slightly silly look on his face.

Lucy gave a short giggle. “I suppose you could say that, but they’re actually much more practical than that. They’re the keys to my house. I wanted to show you that you’re welcome here anytime.” She explained worrying her hands in her lap. Had she been totally wrong in thinking he’d like the gesture?

Lucy watched as Henry’s eyes started to shine with water, before he wrapped her in a tender, crushing embrace. “Darling, this means so much. Thank you. You said you didn’t know what to give me. You’ve given me the only thing I want. You.” He said, pulling her in for a kiss that could demonstrate his love more than he ever could with words.

Lucy and Henry arrived at her parents’ house an hour before dinner was to be served. Lucy wanted a chance to settle in and let the kids settle down from their greeting before they all sat down to eat.

There was the usual exuberant greeting from Quinn and Thomas, and hugs from everyone when they arrived. Lucy went to the living room to put all the presents she’d brought, under the tree, and stopped so abruptly that Henry ran into her.

Hanging on the wall where all of their stockings normally hung, was a stocking with Henry’s name on it. While the rest of the family had hand-made stockings that Marie had made, Henry’s was a classic fuzzy red with a white fur cuff, but his name was embroidered on the cuff. “Mom?” Lucy called while walking to the stockings.

“Yes?” She entered the room, seeing Lucy stroking the stocking. “I didn’t have enough time to make a stocking for Henry for this year, so that one will have to do.” Marie explained to her daughter.

Lucy looked at her mother with a tear glistening in her eye. “Oh mom.” Lucy whimpered, wrapping her arms around her mother, touched that she had thought to make sure that Henry felt included. “Thank you.”

“It’s really nothing, honey. There’s no need to get so emotional about it, it’s just a 99 cent stocking.”

“It’s the thought mom. Thank you.” She kissed her mother on the cheek.

“Yes thank you Marie. It’s a lovely gesture.” Henry echoed, giving Marie a quick hug as well.

Dinner was a simple affair, before the orgy of rich food that would follow the next day. Once Quinn and Thomas were asleep, Lucy, Henry, Clint, and Anna all went into the local bar, both Lucy and Clint had plans to see old high school classmates.

The two couples entered the loud, dimly lit establishment together then went their separate ways. Lucy quickly found who she was looking for, “Jenn!” Lucy called, waving her arm high. Jennifer saw her and pointed at the table she and her husband Lee had already claimed. Lucy mimed that she and Henry were going to get a drink first.

Despite the crowd in the bar, they were served quickly and made their way to Jenn and Lee’s table. Jenn jumped up from her stool and squealed when Lucy came close enough to hug. Henry laughed watching the two women devolve into 13 year olds. “Jenn, this is Henry. Henry, my sister, Jenn, and her husband Lee.” She introduced the man still sitting at the table He looked to be about 5 years older than the girls. Jenn wrapped Henry in a hug, and he exchanged a handshake with Lee.

Once they were all seated, Lucy exclaimed, “You didn’t tell me you were pregnant!” She indicated her friend’s prominent belly.

“We decided we were ready for number two. Due in April, so still a bit of time to go.” Her friend said, patting her belly.

“Congratulations! Another baby to spoil! Yay!” Lucy cheered, taking a sip of her drink. “Speaking of number 1, how is my boyfriend doing?” Lucy asked.

“He’s good, adorable as ever. So curious about everything.” Jenn’s eyes lit up as she exclaimed, “The whole troop is getting together tomorrow with the kids. You guys should come!”

“Troop?” Henry asked confused.

“Our Girl Scout troop.” Lucy and Jenn said in unison, which caused them to dissolve into giggles.

“You were a Girl Scout?” Henry asked incredulously.

“Does that surprise you? Really, name a goody two-shoes stereotype, and I probably meet it. I was a very good girl in high school.”

“I’m a good girl I am!” Lucy and Jenn exclaimed, imitating Eliza Doolittle, and erupting into laughter, before Lucy explained why they wouldn’t be able to come.

Jenn wasted no time in grilling Henry for every detail of his life, past and present. She needed to make sure that Henry was “good enough” for her friend, and made no qualms about telling him that. Jenn and Lee announced they could only stay for one drink. Number 2 was doing a number on Jenn, and staying up past 10 any night was pushing it for her.

Lucy and Henry walked them out. There were hugs all around as the four said their goodbyes. Lucy and Henry decided to call it a night then as well. Lucy texted Anna to tell her they were going home. Between him wrapping up filming, and her dealing with kids right before Christmas, they were both exhausted.

Kal met them at the door when they returned to the house. Henry went outside with him, while Lucy got ready for bed. As she was plugging her phone in, Lucy noticed a text from Jenn. “I like him. I give my tentative approval. I reserve the right to withhold full approval until the one year mark.” Lucy smiled.

Chapter 26 .         Chapter 28

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill fan fic #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Carried Away #Kal Cavill

[regrettablewritings]

How You Met AU: Steve Harrington

Lifted from this ship meme

Dustin was a good kid. Sure, sometimes he let a dirty word slip. And maybe on occasion he stayed out too long at Mike Wheeler’s house for a session of whatever game those kids were into. But as a whole, most parents would give an arm, a leg, and an eyeball to have a kid like him!

These were the thoughts Steve Harrington repeated to himself over and over again as he sat outside of the drama teacher’s classroom. Well, that, and also some not so pleasant gripes about the seating options. Apparently, Hawkins Middle had no adult-sized chairs to spare, as evidenced by the only offers being small, plastic, navy blue chairs that obviously had been swiped from some classroom elsewhere. If he could, Steve would’ve opted to just stand and wait. Unfortunately, the sensibility of his sensible shoes had worn away, leaving behind a pain in his soles that threatened to fuck him up if he dared to stand any longer than what was necessary. But then again, it did have more dignity to it; there was something a bit humiliating about struggling to fit one adult-sized butt cheek into the dip of the little stool. 

“Couldn’t bring out some goddamn . . .” he muttered, just barely avoiding kneeing himself in the chin. There was just way too much multitasking going on for his liking: Sitting in this damn chair, trying not to hurt himself while also trying not to panic at the fact that he’d been called in by his son’s teacher.

Dustin had existed for years without coming home with a teacher’s note requesting a meeting. But then, Dustin had also existed for years as a child in a two-parent household. And during all that time, he hadn’t acted out or anything . . . But things were different now. The signs were all there and even though Steve had made himself open to conversation, he simply trusted Dustin to come to him when he was ready. Unfortunately, the teacher’s note came first and that was all Steve needed to be on the cusp of panic that his son was suffering far more than he knew and he had, by default, failed at being a good parent on his own. Cue Steve rapidly relaying the aforementioned declarations to himself once more with double the aggression. It had been both a godsend and a gut-squeezer when the sound of the office door clicking open disrupted his umpteenth run of the mantra. The voice came first.

“Sorry for the wait,” it flowed out. It was sweet, almost melodious, yet seemed to contain a sort of power laying just beneath the surface, giving every syllable a hint of strength. Just what one ought to expect from somebody whose career surrounded conquering the stage.

But what Steve hadn’t expected was the form to whom the voice belonged. The door creaked as it was opened further, followed by the soft tap of a heeled foot stepping forward outside of the threshold.

“But thank you so much for doing so patiently.” A pair of perfectly colored lips smiled at him. And suddenly, for the first time since he’d gotten the letter three days ago, Steve’s rapid heartbeat couldn’t be chalked up to anxiety.

++++++++++

Well, you thought, observing the man before you. At least now I know where Dustin got his hair from. Was it weird to be taking in the father of one of your students? Probably. Maybe. Yes. But you tried to ease off the weirdness by reminding yourself that you’d never actually met the man before. You were simply taking in the features was all. As a teacher for an elective class (and a new one at that), Mr. Harrington had been under no obligation to meet you during open house. Furthermore, you were essentially an outsider to the Hawkins educational circuit: After years of performances at theater companies in a couple of states, you thought it might be time to quiet down in a quiet town which you could proceed to introduce some theatrical zest to. And while Hawkins was definitely a place in need of such vigor, there still was apparently a bit of a culture clash even on your end (well, besides the dramatic shift from city life to whatever the heck this hamlet could be considered).

Specifically, how so many of the people here grew up here and therefore knew one another. Especially when it concerned Steve Harrington. Apparently back in high school, he was The Man™ and had since been established as somewhat of a small-town legend of sorts as a result. And while the man before you wasn’t necessarily the maverick the women around the water cooler had had you envisioning, you had to admit: He certainly was nice to look at. Especially for a dad. Most fathers you’d met during your short time here were schlubby or indifferent at best. But Mr. Harrington held a sort of boyish handsomeness to him, as though time had only done him justice rather than the expected harm. And considering that you’d worked alongside some pretty handsome people during your stint as an actress, that was saying something.

You offered your hand out to him.

“Hi, I’m Dustin’s drama instructor, Ms. (L/N),” you grinned. It required your skills in acting to avoid acting like the giddy schoolgirl you felt yourself threatening to revert to. It was a façade that nearly cracked when the man, grunting as he stood himself to his full, lanky height, accepted it into his own with a firm handshake.

For a former basketball player, his hands were surprisingly soft.

++++++++

Well, Steve thought, following you into your office. They didn’t make teachers like that when I was growing up. Or maybe they did, just not in Hawkins. Frankly, you didn’t look like you belonged in the sleepy town: You could’ve been a star with a face and voice like that. And with a body like that . . . an invasive thought commented, forcing his eyes to watch the sway of your hips as you rounded yourself about your desk.

Oh, shut up, you creep, the more logical part of his mind scolded. We’re not here to gawk, we’re here to find out what the heck the kid did.

“Once again, thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you said, taking your own seat opposite to him. (Steve couldn’t fathom how somebody could actually make the process of sitting down look graceful but you did it.) “I understand that it was a bit last minute, so trust me when I say that it’s greatly appreciated.”

“Oh, no, it was no trouble at all,” Steve found himself insisting. He threw in a smile for good measure, though deep down he knew it was for more than just that. He almost wanted to kick his own ass for it. This was no time to harken back to his playboy days – he had a kid now, and that whom this meeting was about. His poor, sweet kid of whom probably drove this poor woman to drink from a desk flask; this was no time to be focusing on such foolishness as making his availability shamelessly known.

“Well, Mr. Harrington, I’ll just cut to the chase,” you sighed. The puff of air, gentle as it may have been, was more than enough to cause Steve’s own breathing to still.

Oh, god, he grieved, this is it. The moment of truth, wherein Steve would have to confront the fact that he’d fucked up as a father and now his kid was paying the price.

You went on, “You see, Dustin’s –"

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted. For all the acting you had been doing up to that point that evening, even you couldn’t stop yourself from hiding the confusion that interruption had caused. Your rapid blinking went unnoticed by the man before you, however, as evidence by the fact that you’d made an effort to speak further only to be cut off once more.

“I get it if it means nothing, like if it doesn’t fix any of this but I just – ” It all came tumbling down from the inside out. It started as that all too familiar ball of anxiety that dwelled within the man’s stomach, trembling upward into his lungs. It didn’t take long at all before it manifested on his face as an expression of regret and disappointment – all directed at himself. His eyes scrunched closed. All you could do was sit there quietly, watching as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in a failing effort to alleviate the discomfort.

“Dustin,” Steve sighed finally, “he’s a good kid, I swear. But I get it if he hasn’t been acting right lately; that’s my fault. I know I should be more attentive to him but just . . . You know how kids are, they never wanna talk to you even when you wanna talk to them but it’s just all so hard – ” His eyes flew open, revealing hazel hues encased with worry. He opened his hand in defeat, shaking it for emphasis.

“But it’s just like? You don’t wanna force them or anything because shit’s – I mean, stuff is tough. I feel like he hasn’t been the same since – ” He waved a hand in random directions “—since that. But it’s also like he’s hiding things from me. A kid needs his mother but she’s not around anymore so it’s all I can do to at least try to take on that role in some way, I guess. And I’m trying to be a good parent in all this but . . . But it’s hard. Really hard. I’m on my own, nobody taught me how to do this, let alone on my own all of a sudden so it’s like I’m relearning everything from scratch and I’m trying to get our crap together but – And I feel like . . . Like I’m failing him.” He paused, uncertain of where the newly budded feeling of horror within him was sourcing from: That he was really vomiting his emotions out in such a way-too-informative manner, or that he could swear his eyes were beginning to sting with the threat of tears.

Being that the courses you taught were electives (and therefore had little bearing on a student’s report card in most regards), most parents who’d visited you in your brief time at Hawkins Middle didn’t care enough to shed any tears. If there was ever a problem that needed addressing, the typical response from the parents was to get on your case or passive aggressively suggest that perhaps you weren’t cut out for teaching or that theater wasn’t even that important to begin with. It certainly stung and made you feel discomfort on your own part, but it wasn’t anything you weren’t prepared to handle or at least hadn’t experienced in some way, shape, or form before during your professional stint. But honestly, you’d never considered the possibility that one parent would cry. Much less that it would not only be a father, but the legendary Steve Harrington on top of it. And dispensing such information, no less!

Even in all your confusion, you felt deep for the man. And as the realization of the depth of his words settled in, so did a weight inside of you. And yet, in all your uncertainty, you couldn’t think of anything more to offer than, “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. I didn’t know . . .” You awkwardly ushered a small box of tissues towards him. While Steve did accept it, he didn’t make use of it. In fact, he seemed to be making an effort of sorts to do damage control. Of course, there’s only so much controlling that can be done when one dispenses so much baggage in such a scenario.

“No, no,” he sniffed insistently, “it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known, it’s not your job to.” You bit your lip. You wondered if it was appropriate to state that, to an extent, it was. At the very least, if you wanted to be aware of a certain child’s well-being but . . .

Steve cleared his throat, his expression becoming manageable once more. “But whatever it was that he did, I’ll be sure to have a talk with him when I get home.” It’s been long enough, he inwardly sighed with defeat. Painful to acknowledge but necessary.

“Well, actually . . .” You pressed the tips of your fingers together, awkwardly trying to pull the nearly one-sided conversation down a more comprehensible and survivable path.

“I’ve had a chance to see that for myself: Dustin is a good kid.”

Wait . . . What? At the sound of that statement, Steve perked with interest and his own brand of confusion. More specifically one that dared to be hopeful.

“In fact,” you went on, happy to notice the subtle change, “he’s more than just good; he’s a wonderful student. That’s actually why I called you in today.”

Brown brows furrowed over widening hazel eyes.

“I . . . What?” he questioned dully. You offered him a small smile and nodded.

“I’ll be honest, sir, I haven’t been teaching for very long at all. But I’ve been in the theater business long enough to know a true performer when I see and hear one.”

Steve only nodded. It was all he could do, really. He couldn’t find the words, let alone finish piecing thought after thought with ever word you delivered.

“Soooo . . .” you said in a sing-song voice (one that, in spite of his current state, Steve could still compute as lovely and sweet). “I was wondering if it would be appropriate to possibly discuss taking it a step further.” At this point, Steve’s thoughtful state broke with the fluttering of his lashed.

“Pardon?” he asked. “ ‘A step further’ how? Exactly?”

You pursed your lips. “Well,” you lowered your hand to a desk drawer and retrieved a slip of paper. “I thought that perhaps this may be a start. At the very least, it’s something to consider.” Steve accepted it, quick to notice a very familiar image in the header: Two masks, one smiling and one frowning.

“I’ve recently gotten involved with the Hawkins Playhouse,” you explained, allowing Steve the time to read over the information. In grainy but still relatively comprehensible images, he could make out people in whimsical costumes posing and grinning at the camera. Below them, in slightly bulky font, were the words, “Fun! Expressive! Cultured!”

“Normally, kid parts wind up being played by adults because we can’t get enough children interested or involved, let alone dedicated enough to actually stick to it. But Dustin?” You flashed Steve Harrington a grin. “I’ve seen that character of his; I can’t help but feel like it’s a bit too big for just a classroom elective. I’ve seen people like that. They have the potential to go far, if I do say so myself!”

“Hm,” Steve hummed, bringing his eyes back up to you. At the sight of your smile, he couldn’t help but force his eyes back down to the sheet before him. He also may have attempted to lift it closer to his face to hide the blush he feared was beginning to develop. “S-so you’re saying that Dustin . . . might have a chance at this?” That dare to hope had grown, becoming all the more evident in his voice. It made a warmth begin to dwell inside of you, a complete contrast from the mood just moments before.

You nodded. “Pretty much. Of course, it’s all up to Dustin and yourself. And he would still need to audition for shows. But I just wanted to bring this to your attention, if just for thought. Your son has a lot of potential, Mr. Harrington.” You heard a slight huff from behind the paper; maybe one accompanied by a smile, but who knew?

“You should be proud.”

Unfortunately, you weren’t entirely certain if he was or if he wasn’t. Not with that paper still in the way. It was in that break of silence that you observed the man’s trembling ever so slightly.

Uh-oh. Your smile faltered. While the slight breakdown from earlier had been unexpected, you had certainly been prepared for what you assumed was about to happen. The abundance of parents (especially dads) who were against their sons becoming more and more involved in the theater world was near endless. You’d seen far too many disgruntled and intolerant assholes criticize their sons, calling them absolutely horrid names. Sure, Steve Harrington did something most of them would not do (that is, cry and basically vomit up his anxieties), but you of all people knew by now: Tolerance had the weirdest limitations. If one thing was fine to one person, there was no for certain guarantee that something possibly linked was just as acceptable.

You had wanted to believe that maybe Steve would be different, that he would actually be excited to hear that his child was thriving. It certainly beat the alternative that he’d worried about before. But as the silence went on, the more that hope of yours dwindled. After what had felt like an eternity of awkwardness, you couldn’t take any more of it. You just wanted him out of your office if he was going to be like this.

“Mr. Harrington,” you said. Your voice no longer carried the honeyed tones from before. “Are you alright?”

“Mm,” came the hum once more. But this time, you could actually see the face being made as it was produced. The paper lowered to reveal Steve’s face, slightly unfocused but completely awash with something that made the tenseness almost immediately evaporate: Relief.

“I am,” he said quietly, eyes still trained on the piece of paper he held. He nodded. “I am. It’s just . . . Wow.” For the first time since he’d even sat down, he slumped against the chair. His spine was grateful for the relief, but not nearly so much as his nerves were.

“Wow,” he whispered once more. “This . . . This is incredible.” As he delivered that proclamation, you heard a hint of a giggle. “No, really, you don’t get how much this means to me.” In his growing joy, Steve forgot his nerves for a second, allowing his eyes to flicker up back to your face.

“My kid . . . My kid is thriving? Like, he’s not screwing around or anything?” he questioned.

You bit your lip. Perhaps in an attempt to keep from laughing, but you managed to disguise it well enough to pass off as a habit of thought.

“Well, I can’t say if that’s the case with his other classes,” you admitted. “But considering that I’ve never heard anything around the water cooler about Dustin, I’d say that your child’s doing just fine, all things considered.”

A sigh rippled from the smile that was beginning to ease onto Steve’s lips. “Oh, thank God,” he said. He poised his hands apart, gently shaking them as if trying to grab for the right words. “It’s just great to see him thriving. It’s the best thing I could ask for, really. I feel like I should be thanking you, actually.”

At that, it was your turn to feel blush threaten your face. You tensed, waving your hands as if to ward off the suggestion. “Oh, nonononono! It’s no trouble at all, seriously! Dustin is a delight in class and I’m just so used to seeing people waste their potential – I just thought I could do my part and see if that could be avoided in his case.” All the while, Steve nodded. Had this been last week, he would’ve been in too much of a funk to have progressed any further. It wouldn’t be true to call it a complete opposition to how he had been when he was a teenager, but it certainly wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration either.

But in this moment, right now? He was invigorated. He was like a hot rod with a fresh coat of paint and a new engine. It had felt like an eternity since he’d experienced good news but tonight, he felt like he’d hit a triple whammy: He wasn’t failing as a father, Dustin was doing okay, and, most uplifting of all, Dustin had a shot at something that made him happy. It was too much; it needed to be expressed in the most Steve Harrington-way possible.

“Maybe . . . Buuuuttt . . . I think this still calls for a celebration of sorts.” He flashed you a smirk that had had many years of practice and perfecting, a grin that had been his moneymaker back in high school. And judging by your body language, it still worked.

“I . . .” You stammered. You had to be honest with yourself: While you’d seen many a handsome smile, what with all the actors you’d run into, they had nothing on Steve’s smile. “I wouldn’t say a ‘celebration,’” you said, averting your eyes. But only for a moment. When you returned them to him, they had been renewed with confidence. “But maybe perhaps to discuss looking into the Hawkins Playhouse? A piece of paper can only explain so much, and I’m sure Dustin would like to be in on it as soon as possible.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Steve agreed, that smile and steadied stare never wavering once. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“Indeed, it does,” you said through a smile that threatened to wobble into a pile of goo. You could feel your heart throbbing, but not quite in the same way as it did whenever you got nervous before a performance. That was because you couldn’t act anymore; you were most certainly reverting back to the schoolgirl who freaked out after catching the eye of the school’s heartthrob.

You no longer had any doubts in your mind that Steve Harrington was The Man™ that your peers had talked about.

#single dad!steve harrington is a thing right? #it should be #single dad!steve harrington AU #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #regrettablewritings

[authorbrandondion]

The Black Locust

The wind blew and there it was.

Every insect in the forest came alive in that moment, and whatever was said was deafening.

I took a step backward. Maybe two. The trail was narrow, and there was little space to move. Drops of rain began falling steadily yet lightly. If the sky had turned grey before then, I hadn’t noticed. Whimsical tails began to descend from the clouds in peculiar fashion, much like when threatening circulation before a tornado. The temperature had dropped noticeably. I was shivering, but not from the cool air.

In my visions, it was a snake that I would encounter. A thick black one. It would come upon me suddenly like this, but far less conspicuously. I was conscious of the fact that I was still standing before it in all its inhumanity. Each time I considered how I would react to the snake, I also considered how I would be able to keep myself from fleeing in fear. Now here I was, facing something far more terrifying, and not one fiber of my being demanded I run.

“Why are you here?” I finally whispered.

It didn’t flinch. Cloaked in darkness, I couldn’t make out any of its features, but I could almost see its face through sheer imaginative force. Somehow, I knew it heard me. It understood me. It understood much.

“Do you think you’re the only one?” I asked myself in my own head.

Staying fixated on the being in front of me, I grew immediately suspicious of my question to myself. It was in my head, and in my voice, but the tone was foreign. I quickly realized I was being communicated with telepathically.

“The only what?” I responded audibly, perhaps to ensure that it was by my own accord that I spoke and not the will or whim of this thing in front of me. Without a point of reference by which to identify it, my internal dialogue began referring to it as “the darkness.” That was all it consisted of at this point. The embodiment of darkness. I couldn’t even get a voice with which to identify it. Just a transference of thought that allowed it to stay ambiguous.

It answered me again, but this time in images as opposed to my own voice. I saw women in labor. Women holding just-birthed infants of a peculiar nature. Nothing visible made the babies different, but their fatigued mothers could feel it, and so could I. There was a difference in nature surrounding and inhabiting these infants. Hundreds to thousands of these images flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds.

“But how many of them are standing in front of you at this moment?” I asked the darkness inflicting me with these images. I had no idea what pushed those words out of my mouth. With time to think, I would surely have decided against provoking it with boldness.

Without a motion or sound, the darkness erupted in fury. It remained as still as a statue in front of me, but inside of itself, it had lost control. The light rain quickly escalated, and the wind blew it sideways with great force. I squinted to keep it from pelting my eyes, but with little success. Opening them from a hard blink, I searched for the darkness in front of me, but I could not find its image anywhere in the immediate area. As quickly as it had come, the wind died down, and with it the rain. The darkness was gone.

I had once seen a demon possession and subsequent exorcism twenty-five years prior to this moment.  When I was fifteen years old, I had been sent to a summer camp for juvenile delinquents. Having been caught shoplifting, among other behavioral issues, I was on an impossible trek of trying to fit in with kids that weren’t like me. My dad had exhausted his known options and finally discovered “Camp Awareness.” The next thing I knew I was on my way to a remote location three and a half hours from the safe familiarity of my small hometown. I would be there for a month with roughly three dozen other misfits and derelicts.

When we first pulled in, it seemed like a very desolate and uninviting location. It was just off a rural road, and there were only three unimpressive buildings to behold. The first was a trailer to the left. This was the medical facility for any potential emergencies. I would find out that given the violent nature and background of most of the attendees, this was not all that uncommon. During the next weeks I would witness someone being stabbed with a pitchfork, another individual getting the top part of his ear bitten off, and lastly someone receiving an intentional nine ball to the head from a pool table.

Set a little behind the medical trailer was a larger building that upon further inspection proved to be a former horse stable and exercise area. The grounds the camp sat on had apparently at one time been used as a ranch. Where once animals slept and galloped, activities such as dodgeball among heathens now transpired.

To the right of the entrance was a large square establishment. This was the dining hall. It was here that the only person who expressed a dislike of me put his sentiments on display. Frequently ridiculing me in front of the others, he never missed an opportunity to make me miserable, which often simply consisted of squirting ketchup and mustard on my food. From what I could gather, he was the son of an important person, the art department chair at a university or something like that. He was much taller than I, and there was something about his personality that warned me not to push back.

Each day dragged slowly by. I was the only one there that hadn’t been sent as the result of a court order. The camp had a reputation as being an effective, albeit gentler, alternative to many programs the state had to offer for young perpetrators. Due to the nature of the camp as a rehabilitation center, we were handled rigidly and firmly. Each cuss word resulted in ten pushups, and when attendees got out of hand or unruly, they quickly found several much larger counselors lying on top of them pinning their arms behind their backs. This was more common than not. No one wanted to be there, and we certainly didn’t want our routines and behaviors messed with. Vocal dissent that carried on past an initial warning was a one-way ticket to the sidelines for any activity that we might actually consider “fun.” This could be anything from basketball to canoeing.

My counselor was the largest of them all. Howie had been in the Air Force, and much of his training regimen carried over to the way he handled us. Every morning at 6 a.m. we were outside running laps around our cabin nestled deep in the woods. Howie was stern and forceful, but also compassionate in a guarded way that sometimes unintentionally revealed itself. He once found himself telling us a story about how he had accidentally killed his sister. While driving a boat on a lake as a teen, his sister had protested the speed in which he was traversing the waves. Ignoring her pleas, he turned to see she had fallen out of the boat and was floating motionless in the water. As he jumped in and grabbed her body, his hand sunk into the back of her head. It had hit the propeller of the motor as she fell. For years after, I wondered if he had made that story up or exaggerated it. Early in my adult years, while revisiting the camp experience through research, I would find the validity as I stumbled across a newspaper article recounting her passing.

After we’d been there a couple of weeks, everyone had become somewhat acclimated. It seemed like months, and I would cross the days off on a piece of paper that hung on the wall at the foot of my bed. I was like a prisoner carving marks on the bricks of his cell. Every fifth day went diagonal across the previous four. I had made a few close friends by then, but got along well with everyone except for the art administrator’s son. We passed the days in activities set forth by the camp director. This ranged from swimming in the lake across the road to visiting a prison. The intent behind taking us to places of incarceration was to scare us back into being productive and orderly members of society. For the most part, it hadn’t seemed to be very effective.

One night around this time, halfway through my stay, the director and counselors began to address us after supper. It was at this point that they stepped completely out as being a Christian-run operation. What proceeded was a very lengthy and powerful lesson and testimony, with an invitation at the end to commit one’s life to that faith. Whatever they said during that time was effective, because only about three of the thirty kids didn’t make an outward proclamation in response. I’d had a Baptist upbringing, so these types of situations were all too familiar to me. On a lesser scale, they followed nearly every sermon on every Sunday throughout my youth. I always found them uncomfortable. This night, however, it was a powerful sight to witness from any perspective. Twenty-seven of the roughest kids I’d ever met stood simultaneously to at least express an initial interest in something seemingly intangible.

Later that night, after the lights had been turned out, I lay in the darkness considering the evening’s events. Our old rusty bunkbeds were lined up one beside the other on the outside wall, with a doorway in the middle. My bunk was the next to last one. A partition separated us from another counselor and his group on the other side of the cabin, with an open doorway between us. There was an outside door on their side too, which led directly out to a trail that wound back through the woods toward the main buildings.

I don’t remember exactly what was going on in my mind, but I was staring blankly at a window on that outside wall. Suddenly there appeared an iridescent glowing red face. It came out of nowhere and stayed for no more than a second. Before I could yell, two other kids simultaneously beat me to it.

“Howie!” they exclaimed.

“I just saw a face in the window,” one of them finished.

“I saw it too,” I added.

Clearly annoyed, Howie got up to address us. Given our track record at the camp and all the events that led us there to begin with, it was understandable why he was suspicious of our behavior and claims. Reluctantly he listened, then went to the other side to converse with the second counselor. After a few moments they agreed to take a look around outside. Shortly after Howie left the cabin, a couple of the campers turned their flashlights on, which did not go unnoticed through the window.

“Give them to me,” Howie demanded, walking back in. “Everyone.” Grumbling, we did as we were told. He collected the flashlights one by one and then laid them in a pile on his own bed, which was on the wall across from ours and in the corner down by my end. With a stern warning, he went back outside.

Several minutes went by, and I began to grow restless with anticipation. I knew what I saw. The face had very distinct features and was glowing inhumanly--not like someone was shining a light on it, but a glow that was being generated internally. In addition, the window sat a good height off the floor, and the cabin itself was a foot or more to step up into. There was no gradual appearance of the face. It was there, and then it wasn’t.

The kid in the top bunk in the corner beside me was friendly. He wasn’t terribly bright, but his overall attitude and demeanor more than compensated for his lack of intellect. He and his brother had been brought from a state or two away. Dean was his name, and we got along well.

“Dean, this is crazy, isn’t it,” I whispered into the dark in his general direction. Oddly, there was no answer. I repeated myself louder. “Dean. This is crazy, isn’t it!” Still no answer. I got up and stumbled my way over to Howie’s bed, retrieving a flashlight and turning it on. As I walked up to his bunk, I found him sitting cross legged with his fingers intertwined, save for the index which met each other at his lips. His knees were at about my eye level. Softly he was chanting something I couldn’t make out. Stunned, I stood there holding the light on his face. Several other campers saw what was going on and quietly made their way over, standing bewildered behind me.

“I thought I told you guys no lights!” Howie came storming back into the cabin, making his way toward Dean and me. Getting close enough to reprimand me, he saw what was happening. Slowly he made his way behind and around me, fixated on Dean. Positioning himself directly in front of Dean, he studied him for a moment before deciding to act. Gently, he placed a hand on each of his knees and shook gently, speaking his name. This happened a couple of times before all hell broke loose.

Facing my direction, Dean’s eyes suddenly popped open. He was staring directly at me. There was something missing, or maybe something present in his glare. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were hollow or filled with the unknown, but it was enough to send me staggering back a step or two. From there he turned directly to Howie, their faces inches apart, and began yelling in what I can only describe as a language I’ve never heard. I say language, but I don’t believe the sounds were something that a human could accidentally or even intentionally replicate. It was unearthly sounding, but had a definitive structure and flow to it. He was saying something.

At this, Howie’s body jolted, a backward motion. Even though I didn’t understand at the time what was going on, it wouldn’t have taken much to realize that he was overcome or inhabited by something at that moment. Immediately following this, he began yelling back at Dean in an equally foreign, yet completely different sounding tongue. This went on for a few moments before several of the campers decided they’d had enough. Without any thought, they ran into the pitch black wilderness, escaping whatever was going to happen next. I and two others stayed. While I can’t remember for sure, I always assumed when I retold the story that they were the other two kids that saw the face in the window. We weren’t going out into that long winding trail without giving it more thought. Who knew what else was out there?

After a few more moments, Dean’s body flew off the bed and landed on the ground. Howie and the other counselor converged on him, pinning his arms behind his back. With little to no effort, Dean pushed his arms out, flinging one of the men against the wall and the other across the floor. He was half Howie’s size alone. Scrambling, Dean took off toward the door. Collecting themselves, the counselors got up and drove their bodies into him, pinning his face against a bunk rail on the other side of the cabin from where it had all started. Dean became uncontrollably angry at this point, but they had the leverage. His body was stomach down on the bed and his face lifted against the rail.

Completely terrified and in shock, the two remaining campers and I stood in the doorway on the other side, watching helplessly. Then something ridiculous sounding happened. One of the counselors looked at us and said, “Start chanting na na na boo boo, Jesus loves you.” You could have told me to do or say anything in that moment, and I would have done it. So I did. Dean began screaming as if his flesh were melting. However, it was working, it was, so we kept doing it. His screams escalating, I finally decided that I’d had enough to take my chances outside. Running through the cabin, I raised my hand to push the screen door open to leave, but it wasn’t there. The kids that had run out earlier did so in such panic and terror, they had literally run the door straight off its hinges and onto the ground, stampeding over it.

Other than images of dark trees and my own heavy breathing, I remember very little of the trip back to the front of the camp. As we got near, we noticed a light on in the cafeteria, so that became our destination. Stumbling in, I saw that not only were the kids from my cabin inside, but so were the campers from the cabin on the other side of the woods. The camp director was present and busy fielding demands from scared kids to call their parents. What had been the roughest bunch of teenagers that I’d ever met had quickly become something else. With the help of the other two counselors, the director assured us he would honor our requests, and then the three of them left to see what was going on back in my cabin.

Much time passed before the others finally became irreconcilably stir crazy. One by one they filed out the door and down the country road on which the camp was located. For some reason, I stayed, perhaps because I had no idea where I or they would be going. I was three hours from home, and it was the middle of the night.

Finally, after sitting alone for what felt like an eternity, I decided to leave the safe confines of the cafeteria. There was a light on in the medical trailer and I headed for it. The door was barely open before I noticed Dean sitting to the left, his face buried in his hands. I began to walk backward and pull the door closed.

“It’s ok,” a voice said from inside. Cautiously I pushed the door open further and saw three of the counselors sitting there keeping a watchful eye on him. Howie was among them. Dean slowly lifted his head, his hands keeping their position. I noticed that whatever had been in his eyes was gone. He looked pale. Fatigued. Emotionless.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Howie informed me.

The rest of the events that happened are hazy, but I do remember that they didn’t let us call our parents. My mother still has the letter I wrote her the following day. More than two decades later and well into adulthood, I still couldn’t look out windows at night. There were other events that transpired at Camp Awareness, but for now we’ll leave that subject alone until it is relevant again.

Years passed, and I underwent many personality transformations. Following my awkward early teenage years, I developed into a decent athlete. I won many events in high school and received awards and scholarships. This thrust me into years of battling narcissism, which I never truly won or overcame willfully. Beyond athleticism, my mind took a more intellectual route in the years following my higher education. I became helplessly philosophic. Books were my obsession, and I consumed them carnivorously. At some point, my interests turned to parapsychology. I was looking for explanations. A series of supernatural and paranormal events had presented themselves to me, and while I couldn’t convince others of my experiences, I knew they were legitimate. One in particular took me from being curious to actively pursuing research and practice.

My maternal grandmother had developed Alzheimer’s disease. I loved the woman dearly. When I was in elementary school, I would stick my finger down my throat until I vomited so I could trick my teacher into thinking I was sick on the days I knew she was coming to visit. This way I could get sent home. She was that important to me. Every minute with her counted.

After sliding for several years into dementia, the decision finally had to be made to put her in assisted living.  By then in my mid-thirties, I went to the home to help decorate her room with my mom and aunt. Both were single and had invested the majority of their time into caring for my grandma until it had gotten to this point. I knew they were struggling with guilt over the situation, but she was beginning to forget who they were. On one occasion, she had gotten up in the night and started to call the police on my mom, thinking she was an intruder.

My grandmother had been at her new home in the care facility for several months when one night I fell asleep on the couch at about 2:30 in the morning. That wasn’t atypical for me, as I had always been a night owl, and didn’t have to work until late afternoon the next day. When I woke, I was slightly disoriented by a dream I’d had involving my grandmother, but I quickly shrugged it off. My dreams were vivid and realistic as a rule, so I got up and a short while later I went to work.

I was standing alone in a room when I received a text from my mom. It wasn’t often that she texted, since she hadn’t had a capable phone for long and was still learning how to use it. Opening the text, I was even more stunned to see it was a picture. She hadn’t to this point used her phone that way, at least that I knew of, and had never sent me a photo before this. It was a picture of my grandmother with a stuffed dog under her arm. Shortly after the picture came through, so did an accompanying text. It said something to the effect of: Rough Night. Mom was up and causing a disturbance. Joan had to be called up there at 4:30.

I could feel the color leave my face as my legs became weak. My heartbeat was audible in my ears as I started furiously communicating with my mother.

The dream I had the night before corresponded with the timeframe when my grandma was causing issues. Joan was my aunt. They had called her up there to help handle the situation.

In my dream the night before, my grandma and I were walking the halls of her assisted living building, our arms linked the way a couple does when walking arm in arm. I was telling her in some unconventional way why she had to be there. It wasn’t like a foreign language, and it wasn’t as simple as metaphors. Going to great lengths, I was somehow helping her understand, because she had lost that ability to listen and discern in real life. We did this for a while, when the next thing I knew we were outside of the building, and I was sitting in the backseat of a car on the passenger side. She was outside, looking at me with her arms crossed. I was telling her that I had to go now, and she nodded as if she understood, but she wasn’t happy about it. The car left; when it eventually came to a stop, I got out and was greeted by my mother. She proceeded to tell me that my grandma and aunt had a rough night. I told her that I had just seen my grandmother and she looked better than I had seen her in years. My mom reiterated her point, and soon after, the dream ended and I awoke.

One of the first things that struck me upon this revelation was the fact that my mom had said in the dream that my aunt had a rough night too. She hadn’t appeared anywhere in my dream, yet in reality she was with my grandmother in the wee hours, trying to calm her down. Additionally, the way Grandma was holding the stuffed dog placed her arm in the same position it was in as we were walking the halls in my dream, arm in arm.

A month or two later, my mom and aunt came to visit for Christmas. My aunt had taken video of the incident with my grandmother and insisted I watch. I was reluctant, simply because the whole thing had freaked me out. Eventually I agreed. You could hear my aunt on the video from behind her phone, asking my grandmother who she was talking to. My grandma never answered her, but I hadn’t up to that point realized she was talking to someone or something that no one could see. The assumption was probably that she was talking to the stuffed dog, but she never looked at it or spoke in its direction. What finally sent me over the edge and into tears was near the end of the video when my grandmother walked over to an empty chair in an otherwise empty hallway. She then proceeded to stand in front of it and take the same posture and body language that she had in my dream when she was standing outside the car.

My reality was fractured as a result of this, among other lesser events in my life around this time. In a sense, I was being awakened to things I was unaware of and couldn’t explain. My thirst for knowledge moved from the philosophical and psychological into arenas that I was generally incapable of grasping or understanding, such as physics. I wanted to know if I was in spirit with her at the assisted living, or if she was with me telepathically in my mind and dream. What had happened? How did it happen? Who or what was behind it? Slowly my life began to unravel.

(This is Chapter 1 of the book “The Remote Generation.” To find out what happens next, order it using the link below, or stop in at your local independent bookstore and ask if they carry it.)

https://www.amazon.com/Remote-Generation-Brandon-Dion/dp/1548664359/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1529026756&sr=8-5&keywords=the+remote++generation

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