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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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Prime’s enshittified advertising

Prime's gonna add more ads. They brought in ads in January, and people didn't cancel their Prime subscriptions, so Amazon figures that they can make Prime even worse and make more money:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/10/amazon-prime-video-is-getting-more-ads-next-year/

The cruelty isn't the point. Money is the point. Every ad that Amazon shows you shifts value away from you – your time, your attention – to the company's shareholders.

That's the crux of enshittification. Companies don't enshittify – making their once-useful products monotonically worse – because it amuses them to erode the quality of their offerings. They enshittify them because their products are zero-sum: the things that make them valuable to you (watching videos without ads) make things less valuable to them (because they can't monetize your attention).

This isn't new. The internet has always been dominated by intermediaries – platforms – because there are lots more people who want to use the internet than are capable of building the internet. There's more people who want to write blogs than can make a blogging app. There's more people who want to play and listen to music than can host a music streaming service. There's more people who want to write and read ebooks than want to operate an ebook store or sell an ebooks reader.

Despite all the early internet rhetoric about the glories of disintermediation, intermediaries are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

The problem isn't with intermediaries per se. The problem arises when intermediaries grow so powerful that they usurp the relationship between the parties they connect. The problem with Uber isn't the use of mobile phones to tell taxis that you're standing on a street somewhere and would like a cab, please. The problem is rampant worker misclassification, regulatory arbitrage, starvation wages, and price-gouging:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

There's no problem with publishers, distributors, retailers, printers, and all the other parts of the bookselling ecosystem. While there are a few, rare authors who are capable of performing all of these functions – basically gnawing their books out of whole logs with their teeth – most writers can't, and even the ones who can, don't want to:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

When early internet boosters spoke of disintermediation, what they mostly meant was that it would be harder for intermediaries to capture those relationships – between sellers and buyers, creators and audiences, workers and customers. As Rebecca Giblin and I wrote in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism, intermediaries in every sector rely on chokepoints, narrows where they can erect tollbooths:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

When chokepoints exist, they multiply up and down the supply chain. In the golden age of physical, recorded music, you had several chokepoints that reinforced one another. Limited radio airwaves gave radio stations power over record labels, who had to secretly, illegally bid for prime airspace ("payola"). Retail consolidation – the growth of big record chains – drove consolidation in the distributors who sold to the chains, and the more concentrated distributors became, the more they could squeeze retailers, which drove even more consolidation in record stores. The bigger a label was, the more power it had to shove back against the muscle of the stores and the distributors (and the pressing plants, etc). Consolidation in labels also drove consolidation in talent agencies, whose large client rosters gave them power to resist the squeeze from the labels. Consolidation in venues drives consolidation in ticketing and promotion – and vice-versa.

But there's two parties to this supply chain who can't consolidate: musicians and their fans. With limits on "sectoral bargaining" (where unions can represent workers against all the companies in a sector), musicians' unions were limited in their power against key parts of the supply chain, so the creative workers who made the music were easy pickings for labels, talent reps, promoters, ticketers, venues, retailers, etc. Music fans are diffused and dispersed, and organized fan clubs were usually run by the labels, who weren't about to allow those clubs to be used against the labels.

This is a perfect case-study in the problems of powerful intermediaries, who move from facilitator to parasite, paying workers less while degrading their products, and then charge customers more for those enshittified products.

The excitement about "disintermediation" wasn't so much about eliminating intermediaries as it was about disciplining them. If there were lots of ways to market a product or service, sell it, collect payment for it, and deliver it, then the natural inclination of intermediaries to turn predator would be curbed by the difficulty of corralling their prey into chokepoints.

Now that we're a quarter century on from the Napster Wars, we can see how that worked out. Decades of failure to enforce antitrust law allowed a few companies to effectively capture the internet, buying out rivals who were willing to sell, and bankrupting those who wouldn't with illegal tactics like predatory pricing (think of Uber losing $31 billion by subsidizing $0.41 out of every dollar they charged for taxi rides for more than a decade).

The market power that platforms gained through consolidation translated into political power. When a few companies dominate a sector, they're able to come to agreement on common strategies for dealing with their regulators, and they've got plenty of excess profits to spend on those strategies. First and foremost, platforms used their power to get more power, lobbying for even less antitrust enforcement. Additionally, platforms mobilized gigantic sums to secure the right to screw customers (for example, by making binding arbitration clauses in terms of service enforceable) and workers (think of the $225m Uber and Lyft spent on California's Prop 22, which formalized their worker misclassification swindle).

So big platforms were able to insulate themselves from the risk of competition ("five giant websites, filled with screenshots of the other four" – Tom Eastman), and from regulation. They were also able to expand and mobilize IP law to prevent anyone from breaking their chokepoints or undoing the abuses that these enabled. This is a good place to get specific about how Prime Video works.

There's two ways to get Prime videos: over an app, or in your browser. Both of these streams are encrypted, and that's really important here, because of a law – Section 1201 of the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act – which makes it really illegal to break this kind of encryption (commonly called "Digital Rights Management" or "DRM"). Practically speaking, that means that if a company encrypts its videos, no one is allowed to do anything to those videos, even things that are legal, without the company's permission, because doing all those legal things requires breaking the DRM, and breaking the DRM is a felony (five years in prison, $500k fine, for a first offense).

Copyright law actually gives subscribers to services like Prime a lot of rights, and it empowers businesses that offer tools to exercise those rights. Back in 1976, Sony rolled out the Betamax, the first major home video recorder. After an eight-year court battle, the Supreme Court weighed in on VCRs and ruled that it was legal for all of us to record videos at home, both to watch them later, and to build a library of our favorite shows. They also ruled that it was legal for Sony – and by that time, every other electronics company – to make VHS systems, even if those systems could be used in ways that violated copyright because they were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" (letting you tape shows off your TV).

Now, this was more than a decade before the DMCA – and its prohibition on breaking DRM – passed, but even after the DMCA came into effect, there was a lot of media that didn't have DRM, so a new generation of tech companies were able to make tools that were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" and that didn't have to break any DRM to do it.

Think of the Ipod and Itunes, which, together, were sold as a way to rip CDs (which weren't encrypted), and play them back from both your desktop computer and a wildly successful pocket-sized portable device. Itunes even let you stream from one computer to another. The record industry hated this, but they couldn't do anything about it, thanks to the Supreme Court's Betamax ruling.

Indeed, they eventually swallowed their bile and started selling their products through the Itunes Music Store. These tracks had DRM and were thus permanently locked to Apple's ecosystem, and Apple immediately used that power to squeeze the labels, who decided they didn't like DRM after all, and licensed all those same tracks to Amazon's DRM-free MP3 store, whose slogan was "DRM: Don't Restrict Me":

https://memex.craphound.com/2008/02/01/amazons-anti-drm-tee/

Apple played a funny double role here. In marketing Itunes/Ipods ("Rip, Mix, Burn"), they were the world's biggest cheerleaders for all the things you were allowed to do with copyrighted works, even when the copyright holder objected. But with the Itunes Music Store and its mandatory DRM, the company was also one of the world's biggest cheerleaders for wrapping copyrighted works in a thin skin of IP that would allow copyright holders to shut down products like the Ipod and Itunes.

Microsoft, predictably enough, focused on the "lock everything to our platform" strategy. Then-CEO Steve Ballmer went on record calling every Ipod owner a "thief" and arguing that every record company should wrap music in Microsoft's Zune DRM, which would allow them to restrict anything they didn't like, even if copyright allowed it (and would also give Microsoft the same abusive leverage over labels that they famously exercised over Windows software companies):

https://web.archive.org/web/20050113051129/http://management.silicon.com/itpro/0,39024675,39124642,00.htm

In the end, Amazon's approach won. Apple dropped DRM, and Microsoft retired the Zune and shut down its DRM servers, screwing anyone who'd ever bought a Zune track by rendering that music permanently unplayable.

Around the same time as all this was going on, another company was making history by making uses of copyrighted works that the law allowed, but which the copyright holders hated. That company was Tivo, who products did for personal video recorders (PVRs) what Apple's Ipod did for digital portable music players. With a Tivo, you could record any show over cable (which was too expensive and complicated to encrypt) and terrestrial broadcast (which is illegal to encrypt, since those are the public's airwaves, on loan to the TV stations).

That meant that you could record any show, and keep it forever. What's more, you could very easily skip through ads (and rival players quickly emerged that did automatic ad-skipping). All of this was legal, but of course the cable companies and broadcasters hated it. Like Ballmer, TV execs called Tivo owners "thieves."

But Tivo didn't usher in the ad-supported TV apocalypse that furious, spittle-flecked industry reps insisted it would. Rather, it disciplined the TV and cable operators. Tivo owners actually sought out ads that were funny and well-made enough to go viral. Meanwhile, every time the industry decided to increase the amount of advertising in a show, they also increased the likelihood that their viewers would seek out a Tivo, or worse, one of those auto-ad-skipping PVRs.

Given all the stink that TV execs raised over PVRs, you'd think that these represented a novel threat. But in fact, the TV industry's appetite for ads had been disciplined by viewers' access to new technology since 1956, when the first TV remotes appeared on the market (executives declared that anyone who changed the channel during an ad-break was a thief). Then came the mute button. Then the wireless remote. Meanwhile, a common VCR use-case – raised in the Supreme Court case – was fast-forwarding ads.

At each stage, TV adapted. Ads in TV shows represented a kind of offer: "Will you watch this many of these ads in return for a free TV show?" And the remote, the mute button, the wireless remote, the VCR, the PVR, and the ad-skipping PVR all represented a counter-offer. As economists would put it, the ability of viewers to make these counteroffers "shifted the equilibrium." If viewers had no defensive technology, they might tolerate more ads, but once they were able to enforce their preferences with technology, the industry couldn't enshittify its product to the liminal cusp of "so many ads that the viewer is right on the brink of turning off the TV (but not quite)."

This is the same equilibrium-shifting dynamic that we see on the open web, where more than 50% of users have installed an ad-blocker. The industry says, "Will you allow this many 'sign up to our mailing list' interrupters, pop ups, pop unders, autoplaying videos and other stuff that users hate but shareholders benefit from" and the ad-blocker makes a counteroffer: "How about 'nah?'":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

TV remotes, PVRs and ad-blockers are all examples of "adversarial interoperability" – a new product that plugs into an existing one, extending or modifying its functions without permission from (or even over the objections of) the original manufacturer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interop creates a powerful disciplining force on platform owners. Once a user grows so frustrated with a product's enshittification that they research, seek out, acquire and learn to use an adversarial interop tool, it's really game over. The printer owner who figures out where to get third-party ink is gone forever. Every time a company like HP raises its prices, they have to account for the number of customers who will finally figure out how to use generic ink and never, ever send another cent to HP.

This is where DMCA 1201 comes into play. Once a product is skinned with DRM, its manufacturers gain the right to prevent you from doing legal things, and can use the public's courts and law-enforcement apparatus to punish you for trying. Take HP: as soon as they started adding DRM to their cartridges, they gained the legal power to shut down companies that cloned, refilled or remanufactured their cartridges, and started raising the price of ink – which today sits at more than $10,000/gallon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

Using third party ink in your printer isn't illegal (it's your printer, right?). But making third party ink for your printer becomes illegal once you have to break DRM to do so, and so HP gets to transform tinted water into literally the most expensive fluid on Earth. The ink you use to print your kid's homework costs more than vintage Veuve Cliquot or sperm from a Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbred.

Adversarial interoperability is a powerful tool for shifting the equilibrium between producers, intermediaries and buyers. DRM is an even more powerful way of wrenching that equilibrium back towards the intermediary, reducing the share that buyers and sellers are able to eke out of the transaction.

Prime Video, of course, is delivered via an app, which means it has DRM. That means that subscribers don't get to exercise the rights afforded to them by copyright – only the rights that Amazon permits them to have. There's no Tivo for Prime, because it would have to break the DRM to record the shows you stream from Prime. That allows Prime to pull all kinds of shady shit. For example, every year around this time, Amazon pulls popular Christmas movies from its free-to-watch tier and moves them into pay-per-view, only restoring them in the spring:

https://www.reddit.com/r/vudu/comments/1bpzanx/looks_like_amazon_removed_the_free_titles_from/

And of course, Prime sticks ads in its videos. You can't skip these ads – not because it's technically challenging to make a 30-second advance button for a video stream, and doing so wouldn't violate anyone's copyright – but because Amazon doesn't permit you to do so, and the fact that the video is wrapped in DRM makes it a felony to even try.

This means that Amazon gets to seek a different equilibrium than TV companies have had to accept since 1956 and the invention of the TV remote. Amazon doesn't have to limit the quantity, volume, and invasiveness of its ads to "less the amount that would drive our subscribers to install and use an ad-skipping plugin." Instead, they can shoot for the much more lucrative equilibrium of "so obnoxious that the viewer is almost ready to cancel their subscription (but not quite)."

That's pretty much exactly how Kelly Day, the Amazon exec in charge of Prime Video, put it to the Financial Times: they're increasing the number of ads because "we haven’t really seen a groundswell of people churning out or cancelling":

https://www.ft.com/content/f8112991-820c-4e09-bcf4-23b5e0f190a5

At this point, attentive readers might be asking themselves, "Doesn't Amazon have to worry about Prime viewers who watch in their browsers?" After all browsers are built on open standards, and anyone can make one, so there should be browsers that can auto-skip Prime ads, right?

Wrong, alas. Back in 2017, the W3C – the organization that makes the most important browser standards – caved to pressure from the entertainment industry and the largest browser companies and created "Encrypted Media Extensions" (EME), a "standard" for video DRM that blocks all adversarial interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This had the almost immediate effect of making it impossible to create an independent browser without licensing proprietary tech from Google – now a convicted monopolist! – who won't give you a license if you implement recording, ad-skipping, or any other legal (but dispreferred) feature:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

This means that for Amazon, there's no way to shift value away from the platform to you. The company has locked you in, and has locked out anyone who might offer you a better deal. Companies that know you are technologically defenseless are endlessly inventive in finding ways to make things worse for you to make things better for them. Take Youtube, another DRM-video-serving platform that has jacked up the number of ads you have to sit through in order to watch a video – even as they slash payments to performers. They've got a new move: they're gonna start showing you ads while your video is paused:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2024/09/20/youtube-pause-ads-rollout/75306204007/

That is the kind of fuckery you only come up with when your victory condition is "a service that's almost so bad our customers quit (but not quite)."

In Amazon's case, the math is even worse. After all, Youtube may have near-total market dominance over a certain segment of the video market, but Prime Video is bundled with Prime Delivery, which the vast majority of US households subscribe to. You have to give up a lot to cancel your Prime subscription – especially since Amazon's predatory pricing devastated the rest of the retail sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

Amazon's founding principle was "customer obsession." Ex-Amazoners tell me that this was more than an empty platitude: arguments over product design were won or lost based on whether they could satisfy the "customer obsession" litmus test. Now, everyone falls short of their ideals, but sticking to your ideals isn't merely a matter of internal discipline, of willpower. Living up to your ideals is a matter of external discipline, too. When Amazon no longer had to contend with competitors or regulators, when it was able to use DRM to control its customers and use the law to prevent them from using its products in legal ways, it lost those external sources of discipline.

Amazon suppliers have long complained of the company's high-handed treatment of the vendors who supplied it with goods. Its workers have complained bitterly and loudly about the dangerous and oppressive conditions in its warehouses and delivery vans. But Amazon's customers have consistently given Amazon high marks on quality and trustworthiness.

The reason Amazon treated its workers and suppliers badly and its customers well wasn't that it liked customers and hated workers and suppliers. Amazon was engaged in a cold-blooded calculus: it understood that treating customers well would give it control over those customers, and that this would translate market power to retain suppliers even as it ripped them off and screwed them over.

But now, Amazon has clearly concluded that it no longer needs to keep customers happy in order to retain them. Instead, it's shooting for "keeping customers so angry that they're almost ready to take their business elsewhere (but not quite)." You see this in the steady decline of Amazon product search, which preferences the products that pay the biggest bribes for search placement over the best matches:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

And you see it in the steady enshittification of Prime Video. Amazon's character never changed. The company always had a predatory side. But now that monopoly and IP law have insulated it from consequences for its actions, there's no longer any reason to keep the predator in check.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

#pluralistic #amazon #enshittification #ads #prime #ad-tech #discipline

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c-e-d-dreamer · 7 months ago

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Top Shelf Love: Prologue

A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU. For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.

The city that never sleeps indeed.

The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.

“Nesta! You finally made it!”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.

So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.

“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.

“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.

“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.

“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.

Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.

Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.

But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.

“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”

“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”

It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”

“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”

“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”

“At least they make the playoffs.”

Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”

“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”

“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.

“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”

“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”

Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.

“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.

Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.

“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.

“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”

“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”

Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”

“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.

“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”

“Emerie and Gwyn did.”

Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.

It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’

Cassian Valdarez.

Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.

Nesta had done a lot of staring.

Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.

“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.

“And what?”

“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”

Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”

“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”

“Feyre, don’t you think—”

“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”

Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.

Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.

Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.

He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.

“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”

“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”

“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”

Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.

The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.

Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”

Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”

Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”

“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”

Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”

“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”

“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.

“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”

Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.

She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.

Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.

She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.

“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.

Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”

Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.

“Wait. Where are the keys?”

“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”

Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.

And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #hockey cassian #top shelf love #my fic

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toasttt11 · 9 months ago

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reunited

December 14, 2023

Gemma grabbed all of bags off the airport conveyer belt, she had just landed in Toronto being home for two days.

Gemma originally was suppose to be on a plane right now on the way to Sweden and she wasn’t going to be able to make it to the Blue Jackets at The Leafs game to be able to see Adam playing in the NHL at their home stadium.

Gemma luckily asked her coach if she could come two days later and be able to watch her brother play in the NHL for the first time.

Obviously she got the okay and immediately booked her ticket to come home and she contacted the Blue Jackets media team to keep her ticket that Adam had originally gotten for her and made sure no one knew she was coming to see him play.

Gemma got an uber to her child hood home and carried all of her bags up into her room and luckily for her, her family had already left for the game. Gemma quickly put on a pair of black skinny jeans, a blue hoodie with Adam’s jersey over and slipped a pair of black converse on.

Gemma called for a cab to take her to the stadium. She paid the fee and walked up to the stadium through the crowds of people, she scanned her ticket and headed to her section and she smiled seeing many people that she knows in the section and saw her parents, Luca and Nick sitting in a row and a seat empty next to her dad.

She walked down the the stairs quietly not catching anyone’s attention and walked into the row her ticket was at, “Is this seat taken?” Gemma softly questioned making her parents and Luca heads all snap up to her.

“Gems!” Her dad happily exclaimed pulling his only daughter in a tight hug.

“Hi Dad.” Gemma giggled and hugged him back before letting go and hugging her mother tightly.

“My Gem.” Her mother happily cooed as she held her youngest in her arms before letting her go to Luca.

“Hi Lu.” Gemma smiled widely at her big brother, Luca smiled shaking his head in disbelief pulling his baby sister into a tight hug.

“I missed you.” Luca whispered into his sister’s ear, truthfully this year was weird for Luca being completely alone without either of his siblings for the first time in his life.

“I missed you too.” Gemma whispered back hugging him tighter.

Luca reluctantly let her go letting her go hug Nick, “Hi Nicky.” Gemma smiled and hugged her past teammate.

“Hi little Fants.” Nick smiled hugging her back.

Gemma stepped back after the hug seeing her parents scoot down a seat so she could sit between Luca and her mom, Gemma smiled softer at them and sat down having her mother immediately hold her hand.

“I thought you were heading to Sweden right now.” Julia softly questioned her daughter, knowing that her husband and her were planning to join their daughter with Luca coming with after Christmas.

“I was but Coach let me come two days later so i could come to the game.” Gemma explained to her family, squeezing her mother’s hand back.

“We’re glad you’re here.” Giuliano smiled softly at his young daughter, Gemma sent him a smile back.

Gemma smiled cheering as she saw Adam get into the ice for warmups, she smiled at her brother when she noticed Adam seeing her and she waved softly to her brother as Adam shook his head in disbelief smiling widely and waving back at his sister.

The Blue Jackets won 6-5.

Adam got dressed after the game and hurried to the section where his family and friends were all at, he smiled as he walked up the stairs in shock seeing so many people that ending up coming to support him.

He hugged both his parents, Luca and Nick and saw Gemma waiting patiently and Adam tackled her into a tight hug.

“Hi.” Adam voice cracked slightly, Adam has been able to see Luca and his parents more than he has seen Gemma and he hasn’t seen her since she went back to school months ago and it was the longest they have gone with out seeing each other.

“Hi.” Gemma whispered out hugging her brother just as tightly back hating that they haven’t seen each other in so long.

They pulled apart and shared a look and they both grabbed one of Luca’s arm pulling him into a hug, the three all let out an identical sighs as they were all reunited again and all together.

Giuliano and Julia shared a soft look enjoying seeing their kids all together again.

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pedge-stuff · 1 year ago

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trailer reunion (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always. this one skews a little more m! and a little less gn!, apologies if that puts anyone off.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: 5 weeks is a long, long time.

——————————————————————————

Your leg won’t stop bouncing. It’s not your fault, really— it’s the Edmonton Airport’s, for having such a conveniently located Tim Hortons, right outside the baggage claim. After the 7-hour red eye from JFK, with the connection through Toronto, the coffee was necessary.

The caffeine isn’t entirely to blame, though. If the taxi wouldn’t stop going so fucking slow, maybe you’d settle down. But the traffic is unyielding, so the 20 minute drive to your heartfelt reunion is looking more like 45. Apparently, shutting part of the city down to film a TV show really screws up peoples’ commutes. You’d waited long enough (a month and six days, but who’s counting?), surely an extra half-hour won’t kill you. But in the taxi, the minutes seem to stretch into years.

The filming schedule for The Last of Us has been brutal. From what Pedro has told you, there was apparently a strain to film both the first and second episode back-to-back; something about using the same locations and exterior shots. For him, it has meant a marathon of shooting… the only downside to being the star of the show.

SNL’s new season was in full swing anyways, so you’d had plenty to keep you busy. Spent enough late nights at 30 Rock, after many a panicked call to the dog walker, that you barely had to inhabit his otherwise vacant condo. You talked every night, usually Facetiming before bed, but the distance was wearing on you both.

Now, the only thing in between you and your man is this fucking traffic jam.

Though this wasn’t a surprise visit— you’d booked the flight as soon as you’d realized the SNL hiatus week lined up with The Last of Us breaking to change locations for the next episode— you did have one trick up your sleeve. Or, more accurately, under your mask.

You’d been attempting to grow facial hair well before meeting Pedro, but it had been a sparse and largely unsuccessful endeavor until very recently. Your jawline had filled in between your sideburn and chin, albeit slightly patchy. You’d been hiding it over Facetime, opting for regular calls a bit more and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Not the craziest surprise, but still, your heart thrums at the prospect of finally sharing it with him.

Of course, once you arrive to set, the obstacles multiply.

Some college kid in a neon yellow vest stops you before you’ve even managed to remove your duffle from the trunk of the cab.

“Covid testing is this way, please follow me,” he insists tersely. Self-consciously, you adjust the KN95 strap around your ear.

The kid leads you to a tent, where two people in full white hazmat suits, complete with gloves and face shields, ask your name and instruct you to pull down your mask. (There’s a joke in there somewhere, about infection at a show about infected, but you get the sense it might be inappropriate to fool around here.)

Once swabbed and registered, you move to leave, scanning the exit for anyone who might be able to help you navigate onto set. But you are immediately blocked by a hazmat woman.

“You need to wait for the rapid to clear,” she insists, pointing to a row of folding chairs. “Fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes, after 5 weeks. Just fifteen minutes. You resign yourself to a seat by the door.

It’s 4pm. You were supposed to have arrived during a stop down between shots— timed so that Pedro would be in his trailer, and accessible, when you arrived. It feels like that window is physically, tangibly closing as you watch the second-hand tick slowly.

Initially, you’d been hesitant to join him on set at all, but he’d insisted you come meet his “second family.” You’d met several of his colleagues via Facetime, when he’d called you from his trailer. Bella, in particular, you’ve taken a liking to— they pepper you with whispered questions about transitioning and gripes about the gender binary when Pedro has been forced to hand over the phone.

You check your phone. Nothing from Pedro, although his little blue dot looks stationary when you pull up FindMyFriends. The clock ticks. There is a burning sting each time you blink— that third cup of coffee is wearing off, and the 5am wake-up this morning is starting to catch up to you. Really, all you want to do is go back to your partner’s hotel room, said partner in tow, curl up on the king-sized and fall asleep watching some West Wing rerun. (Maybe also shower together, and then some. You can keep yourself awake for that.)

Finally, finally, finally, the hazmat woman returns. “You’re clear,” she announces, handing you a green sticker to adhere on your jacket. You make it through the tent flap, heart in your throat with anticipation—

But you have no fucking idea where to go.

A sea of white tents lays before you, stations with people doing things of varying levels of importance. A neon slip of paper points you towards set, but that’s not where you’re headed. Finally, past a corralled group of extras in some really disgusting mushroom prosthetics, and a tent full of picked-over lunch offerings, you spot some trailers in the distance.

And apparently, a stranger with a duffle bag walking quickly towards actors’ trailers, yields a quick security intervention.

In their defense, you definitely look like a crazy person.

“Do you have a clearance list, or anything?” You beg, discretely craning your neck to see over the guard’s neck. The trailers are right there. There are only a few, it shouldn’t take any time at all to find Pedro. He’s within arm’s reach and yet he couldn’t possibly feel further away as the guard talks code into a very official-looking walkie talkie.

“Roger.” He looks down at you. “Listen, you gotta go man. It’s a clearance-only set, and they’ve got strict covid rules, so—”

The green sticker may or may not get shoved in the man’s face. There may or may not be angry tears threatening to ruin your cool. “I got covid tested! I’m clean, they let me through. They had me on their list. I’m—”

From behind you, a familiar voice cuts you off. “With me, Robbie.”

You whip around.

Jaw? On the floor.

Pedro looks… really fucking old. His hair has been sprayed gray, wily and wind-swept; the beard, too, is much grayer than normal. It’s all part of a dirty-looking, artificially stained, mostly denim-based costume. You file away for later, how attracted you are to seeing him like this. Jesus Christ.

He looks old, but he is here, and he is grinning at you, and he’s here.

“Aw, shit.” The guard talks into the radio again. “86. Sorry about that.”

Easy to ignore him, though, as you’re preoccupied with staring at your man.

Before you can move to pounce on him, close the final four feet of distance between you, a well-manicure hand splays menacingly out at you.

“Don’t even think about it,” Coco warns. “We have fifteen minutes for touch-ups and I do not have time to fix everything.”

Pedro’s nose twitches, frowning at you. You reach down to hold his hand, but it is… apparently also covered in make-up, looking red, nasty and broken.

Sorry, he mouths dejectedly.

The inside of his trailer is familiar, though it looks a little smaller in-person than it appears on Facetime. A mirror and counter, a decently sized couch, a bathroom, a desk in the corner. Pedro settles in the make-up chair, smiling backwards at you in the mirror.

“Drop your stuff,” he insists.

Little touches of your life together pepper the room in a way that grips your heart a little. A framed picture on the desk, which you recognize from last summer; a particularly nice day in Prospect Park with the dogs, captured in a Polaroid snapped candid by a total stranger. You’d declined it, at first, assuming it was a weird fan thing. But they had insisted, leaving the picture behind and walking away. It was too lovely to leave.

The sweatshirt draped over the arm of the sofa is yours— an old NYU hoodie Pedro usually travels with. He claims it’s a ‘security blanket,’ and honestly, he might only be half-joking. A note you’d recently sent in a package (he’d accidentally left his whole box of contacts at home), taped up on the mirror, alongside a photo strip with Sarah from some gala a couple years back.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Pedro says quietly, watching you look around. “Take your mask off, baby, I’m assuming you cleared testing if you made it through the front.”

In your excitement to reunite, you almost forgot the little surprise. His jaw drops, into an awed smile. With the un-fake-injured hand, he reaches up to palm your cheek. Runs a hand up and down your jaw, scratching lightly along the new hair.

You turn enough to plant a kiss on the pulse point of Pedro’s wrist. Capture his hand with yours, against your face, to feel him for the first time in over a month.

“Oh! The oil is working,” Coco has paused, midway through spraying something silvery and chemical-smelling to Pedro’s temples. She had suggested it surreptitiously a few months back, off-handedly, and you’d been religiously using it since. The woman knows her shit.

Pedro continues to thumb at the new scruff, transfixed. His jaw muscle twitches.

“I’ve uh—” He stalls out. “Uh. Sorry. Dinner. Craig—”

You step backwards, pulling your hand down to hold in his lap, instead. He huffs.

“Craig wants to go to dinner tonight, since we’re wrapping in Edmonton. I guess there’s this restaurant he is insisting we have to try, it’s a whole thing. Big group. I didn’t give him an answer, in case you’re tired and wanna just head back to the hotel? But we can go, either way it’s fine, I figured…”

“Pedge,” you interrupt. “It’s all good. I’d be happy to go, it sounds fun.”

He exhales. “Thank god, because it’s like a spouse-thing, Neil and Craig’s wives are here.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “Spouse?”

Just to get a blush out of the man. You’d discussed it, of course, but had yet to make moves. Being marked soothed any sense of urgency— you were committed by flesh and blood, and that was ultimately more binding than a ring or ceremony. But, still.

“Joking, love." Despite the coffee, a yawn sneaks up on you. "I might crash on the couch for a bit, when you go back."

He glances at his phone. "We only have one more shot to get alts on. Neil swears we have a hard-out in an hour. Close your eyes, and I'll be right back."

— — —

You didn't mean to actually fall asleep. Just lay there on your phone and zone out for a bit. But suddenly, you're waking up, to the feeling of a mouth on your own.

A familiar mouth. Warm, scruffy around the edges, a little pepperminty.

"We're done," Pedro whispers. "Coco says I can fuck up my makeup now."

When you open your eyes, he is hovering above you, grinning like a wolf. He's still in costume, though the denim overshirt is already half-unbuttoned.

"Are you done being gross?"

Sitting up, you find Bella in the doorway. They waste no time flinging themselves at the couch.

"In the flesh!" You both laugh.

"Shorter in person, huh?" Pedro is rewarded by a hearty shove from his costar, as he scrubs a makeup wipe across his face.

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you can tell it's gotten dark outside in the time that you've been asleep. "Craig still insisting on dinner?"

"Mm. It's like fancy Mediterranean, I think."

"Fetaaaaa," Bella pumps the air. "Nice."

The evening stretches out before you— a few more obstacles between you and the hotel bed. But Pedro is here, in the flesh, and he's smiling at you in a way that forms the little crinkles beside his eyes, and you think maybe you can sit through a few hours of fancy dinner and small talk.

You've waited this long, anyways.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #joel miller #joel miller fluff #bella ramsey #bella ramsey and pedro pascal

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somedaysstaygoldforever · 10 months ago

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Have you ever had a bucket list of places you would love to travel to, but never thought you'd have the chance? That was me right before my trip to Hawai'i. When I think about my last vacation I couldn't be more appreciative or thankful for the experience I had. Let's get into it!

November 5th my group of twelve all boarded into a few cabs and headed to Pearson Airport. We were flying from Toronto to Honolulu and heading to Disney's Aulani in Oahu.

The first thing I did once we were settled in our room was head out to Costco (you thought I’d say the beach didn't you?). Nope. Costco. I had never been to an American Costco before but always heard about how great they were! Spoiler alert, when you go to Costco on an island, it’s really not cheaper than at home. (Except for the bottle of 600 tablet Benadryl for $6.99 and the vast alcohol selection).

BUT, I’m getting off-topic here. Once I got back from Costco I headed to my first booked activity - Family Fun Animation. We learned how to draw Pua from Moana (Did you know Moana is the first Disney movie to be dubbed in the Hawaiian language? Auli'i Cravalho who does the voice of Moana also voiced the Hawaiian dub!)

After being awake almost a full 24 hours I couldn’t wait for my head to hit the pillow.

Once the sun decided to rise the next day, I was on my way to the beach. Looking out to the line the sky meets the sea you could see some of the Naval ships patrolling the waters and a brief look into the sky would reveal Army jets flying overhead. It was only then that I remembered we were in a US State with a Naval Base nearby. As a bit of a history buff, I appreciated the chance to see the vessels in real life, even if my ears didn’t appreciate the sound of the jets.

I treated myself to a Stitch Dole Whip and spent by day by the water while the rest of the group went out and explored the Island.

Day Three was a water/pool day and a few laps on the Lazy River. I enjoyed a Mickey Shaved Ice and even paid extra for the Mickey Ears. It was delicious.

This was also the day I discovered the delicious mozzarella sticks! I explored the resort and learned a lot about the history of the Island. We got to experience a real Ukulele lesson from an Island local and it was an experience I’ll never forget!

Did you know Maui is a huge part of Hawaiian Culture? His story is told everywhere throughout the Island.

Thursday marked the halfway point through our week, but was the day I was looking forward to most. That evening we were going to a real Disney Hawaiian Luau!

The day was wonderful and I made it my mission to meet as many Disney characters as possible. Goofy, Minnie, Stitch, Mickey, Chip and Dale and Moana were on the list for the day. Moana asked if Toronto was like Elsa cold and I laughed at the comparison - yes Moana, yes it is.

Yes, I am 38 years old. Yes, I met the characters alone. No, I did not regret it at all! What I did regret was my inability to not yell “ITS MICKEY” out loud.

The Luau was incredible. We were able to get Hawaiian “tattoos”, try Tarro, and get lei’d before the show began. There was a full Hawaiian buffet dinner with Hawaiian drinks and a Luau. The food was delicious and I even ventured away from my normal picky eater menu items. We experienced an amazing performance and storytelling all in the styling of Disney.

I legitimately sat at the table, felt the breeze, heard the sounds, tasted the food, and just took in the full Hawaiian experience.

On the list for the next day were, Daisy and Donald Duck, Angel, Pluto, and Max (and yes I asked him about the “Leaning Tower of cheeza”).

youtube

I also was so looking forward to seeing the sunset that evening… I don’t know about you, but there’s something about seeing the sunset over the horizon and all the colours dancing in the sky that makes me so happy. I took 100+ pictures of the view and helped myself to a pizza with Hawaiian Pineapple on it. This is the ONLY time pineapple is acceptable on pizza by the way.

My final full day on the island was filled with more sand, sun and water… plus a few more Dole Whips and Shaved Ice. It was also the day I realized my sunburn was way worse than I originally thought.

A beautiful sunset and poolside show tied the day, and the week together nicely. With that, I prepared myself for the long haul home.

I thought my fun vacation was over until we had our ten-hour layover in Vancouver. While the rest of the group rested, I explored the airport a little. I was looking for directions when I heard a familiar voice behind me - it was KallMeKris! (click her name if you're not sure who she is!) We had an awesome conversation and I was elated. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Once we boarded our flight the reality set in that I was going home. But I was going home to my dog, my animals, and my bed and I was so grateful that.

Have you ever gotten to travel somewhere you never thought you’d see? Where? Let me know in the comments!

#Youtube #hawaii #aulani #kallmekris #wanderlust #disney

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ppenvs3000w24 · 10 months ago

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Blog 3: The Privilege of Driving to Nature

Mcintosh described privilege as “an invisible knapsack of unearned assets ... of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks” while Oxford describes it as “a special right or advantage that a particular person or group of people has” (Noel, 2000; Oxford University Press Editors, 2024). My personal definition of privilege kind of relates to my country, Nepal. When I think of privilege, I think of the rich tourists who go to Nepal to summit Mount Everest. Not only can they afford the expensive tickets, but they are also able to sit around doing nothing at the base camp while waiting for ideal weather conditions to summit the Mountain. They don’t even have to carry all their heavy equipment; that’s the job of the Sherpas; all they must carry is whatever they feel like carrying. At the same time, the Sherpas must plan their whole year around when and how many rich tourists they can help summit the Mountain. They are not afforded the opportunity to worry about their lives or how taxing carrying all the heavy equipment is on their body. If they don’t risk their lives, the families that rely on them risk starvation for the season, as growing their own food and making money through alternate pathways is nearly impossible. I am frequently reminded of the video where a Sherpa carried a dying tourist all the way back to safety, only for the tourist to go back home, become a celebrity, and not acknowledge the Sherpa who saved their life until the internet forced them to (Zachary Rogers, 2019). I believe the ability to scale Mount Everest, sometimes multiple times, without putting in much effort is the best representation of privilege for me.

A Sherpa carrying a heavy load for a climber on Mount Everest summit

Privilege plays a huge role in nature interpretation since people who are not privileged enough to experience nature interpretation do not even know what nature interpretation means. To the immigrant parents living in the Greater Toronto Area, nature and nature interpretation are not even in their mindset. Their mind is filled with how to support their family, whether they can afford rent this month, and if they can finally buy a car to open more job opportunities. I witnessed my parents go through this as my dad would work night shifts at a Petro Canada and then go to college all while relying on whether this bus would arrive on time. This posed an economic barrier for my parents to experience nature and nature interpretation, which was one of the five factors mentioned in this week’s assigned reading on ‘Why Don’t More Minorities Come?” (Beck et al., 2018). In the same chapter, the authors proposed that public transportation from urban areas to interpretive facilities would greatly alleviate the car economic barrier (Beck et al., 2018). I believe this is a great idea, as I experienced this myself while living in Ottawa, where I did not have a car. I wanted to visit Gatineau Park however, you cannot reach the park without a car or paying for a cab. The city provided free shuttle buses from urban downtown Ottawa to Gatineau Park to alleviate this barrier.

Shuttle bus at Gatineau Park

References

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For a Better World. In Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For a Better World. Sagamore Publishing LLC. https://sagamore.vitalsource.com/reader/books/9781571678669/pageid/152

Noel, J. (2000). Notable Selections in Multicultural Education. Dushkin/McGraw-Hill.

Oxford University Press Editors. (2024). Privilege - Definition. Oxford University Press. https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/english/privilege_1

Zachary Rogers. (2019, June 6). Man saved from certain death on Everest criticized for thanking sponsors instead of savior sherpa. ABCNews4. https://abcnews4.com/news/nation-world/man-saved-from-certain-death-on-everest-criticized-for-thanking-sponsors-instead-of-savior-sherpa-mount-ravichandran-tharumalingam-gelje-zone-rescue

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lingocurio · 2 years ago

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My imaginary trip to the Azores starts in 10 days! Let's figure out what it would cost.

TLDR estimate of per person per day cost: CAD $235/USD $172 for solo travellers; CAD $205/USD $150 for dynamic duos.

Read on to see how I arrived at those numbers.

I already have my flights in and out of Terceira, my accommodations, transportation and activities. The only thing left to figure out is how much food is going to cost.

I first used Google maps to find restaurants in Angra do Heroismo. For some of them I was able to see menus. It seems that most entrées range in price from around €15 to €24. I can probably estimate an average price of about €20/day for a nice dinner.

I would opt to have a hot meal at a restaurant as my mid-day meal when possible. Oftentimes lunch menus have cheaper items available than dinner menus.

For breakfasts and suppers, I would shop at markets and grocery stores. My accommodations has a kitchen with a fridge, stove, microwave and basic cookware, so I can easily whip up some easy meals and store food.

I found this website that gives the cost of common grocery items. Here's a sample grocery list for the week that would provide for hearty breakfasts and simple suppers:

1 liter of milk, €0.69

2 loaves of bread, €1.44

500 g (1 lb) of rice, €0.54

A dozen eggs, €1.98

500 g (1 lb) cheese €3.86

500 g (1 lb) chicken €4.00

500 g (1 lb) apples €0.72

500 g (1 lb) bananas €0.32

500 g (1 lb) oranges €0.72

500 g (1 lb) tomatoes €0.72

Bottle of wine (mid-range) €5.29

Domestic beer (0.5 liter bottle) € 1.89

The grand total for this list is €22.17, or €2.77 per day (my stay on Terceira is 8 days long).

I always like to round-up when estimating to allow for unexpected expenses. So let's say I need about €3/day for breakfast and supper.

It also occured to me in the meantime that if I'm eating at a restaurant, there's going to be tax added to the bill. I thought I saw somewhere that Portugal has an 18% VAT (Value-Added Tax). So a €20 meal is going to come to €23.60.

Then we also need to figure in tips. In Canada, I usually tip about 15-20%, so let's just use the VAT rate of 18%. That means we have to add another €3.60 to the €23.60 meal (€20 entrée + €3.60 VAT) for a grand total of €27.20, on average. Again, I like to round up when estimating, so let's call it an even €30.

So altogether we're looking at about €33/day for meals (€30 restaurant meals + €3 groceries). For the 8 days that comes to €264.

Let's add it all up!

Meals: €264

Cab rides to and from the airport: €40 + tip = €47.20

Guided tours: €279 + tax + tip = €379.44

Bike rental: €45 + tax = €53.10

So far the total is €743.74. Let's convert that to Canadian dollars. The current exchange rate is about CA$1.46 per Euro. So the total in Canadian dollars is going to be about $1085.

Now let's add the accommodations and airfare, which I already have in Canadian dollars.

Accommodations: $296 + tax = $349.28

Airfare Terceira to Ponta Delgada (taxes and fees already included): $107

Airfare Toronto to Terceira (taxes and fees already included): $341.

The grand total to the nearest dollar is: $1882, or $235.25/day. In US dollars that would be about $1377, or $172/day.

This estimate is for a solo traveller. If you are travelling as a couple or with a friend or family member that you can share accommodations with, the per person cost will be cheaper since the cost of accommodations will not be double the amount for two sharing a room. I think the accommodations I pretend-booked can accommodate two people with no change in price. For food, you would obviously need twice the amount, but often with groceries buying double the amount doesn't necessarily mean double the price, since you usually pay a premium for smaller packaging. For restaurant food as well, you can sometimes get shared platters or a set dinner for two that is cheaper than buying two individual meals. And obviously for a cab, the fare is the same whether there is one passenger or two.

So let's say that food for two adults might cost around €60/day (€55 restaurant meal + €5 groceries), or €480 for 8 days.

Cab rides to and from the airport will still be about €50.

Guided tours and bike rentals will be doubled at €760 and €106 respectively.

Convert the subtotal of €1396 to Canadian dollars at the current exchange rate of $1.46 and you get $2038.16.

Accommodations stay the same at $349.28. Double the airfare for the two flights to get $214 and $682. Grand total is: CAD $3283.44, or CAD $1641.72 per person (about $205/day per person). In USD that comes out to $1201.40 per person, or about $150/day per person.

And there you have it! Now I can start saving up for a real trip one day!

Next stop: Ponta Delgada.

#azores #trip planning #travel #travel budget #vacation costs #portugal #terceira

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thatrickmcginnis · 27 days ago

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VOIVOD Montreal 1989

Sometimes I forget how ambitious I was when I was young. I had sold a portrait or two from the film festival to the Village Voice in the fall of 1989 when Edna Suarez, their photo editor, called me from New York to ask how hard it would be for me to get to Montreal to shoot a band. I didn't tell her that it was no small trip given Canadian distances, but I wanted the job really badly, so I mumbled something about taking the train and got the assignment to photograph Voivod, a heavy metal band from Quebec who had just shifted from noisy thrash to a complex prog metal that would give birth to a whole subgenre. I got the phone number for the band's manager and arranged a day for the shoot, then got on the phone with VIA Rail. (Canada's Amtrak. Keep in mind this was the pre-internet world, and my only other option would have been going to a travel agent or down to Union Station to book a ticket, which I'd have to do anyway to pay for my fare once it was reserved.) I was on an overnight train from Toronto to Montreal - over eight hours in a coach seat, but thankfully they didn't charge for baggage, and I would be bringing most of my studio with me - two cameras, light stands and the ProFoto ProAcute 6 strobe kit I'd just bought with money I'd inherited after my mother had died.

Voivod are, in my opinion, one of a half dozen really original bands that have come out of Canada. (Also on that list: Simply Saucer, NoMeansNo, Death From Above 1979.) I'd liked them since early, abrasive records like Rrröööaaarrr, and wasn't the only one intrigued by their new, prog-ier direction, as they'd caught the attention of the music critics at the Village Voice enough to warrant a feature in their end-of-year Pazz & Jop poll, for which I was providing the photos. I arrived in Montreal early on a Saturday morning to find that the city had just been blanketed by a snowstorm. I hauled all my camera gear upstairs from the Gare Centrale to the dining room of the Queen Elizabeth hotel for breakfast, to wait for Voivod's manager. He showed up just as I was finishing, and helped me carry my gear to his car, and we set out for the band's rehearsal space in a big complex out in a Montreal industrial suburb. Everyone seemed baffled but flattered that a New York magazine would send a photographer all the way from Toronto for a photo shoot, but I scoped out the room - your standard stark cube in an old warehouse building, with windows high on one wall and egg cartons covering the other walls to provide cheap acoustic insulation.

I worked hard to deliver a lot of options from my photo shoot with Voivod in their Montreal rehearsal space. Thankfully I had the luxury of time and subject who were, most of the time, engaged with the task at hand. I also lit the hell out of it, using all three of the heads in my strobe kit to provide everything from flattering soft light, moody "horror movie" light from below, and hard light shooting almost directly into my Nikon F3 to make the lens flare. I had the band pose in the usual, full-length band shots, looming above me as I kneeled on the floor, and huddled together screaming their lungs out. But my most successful set-up was composed with my new Rolleiflex - the band lit from above against a backdrop of egg crates, looking up into the light as if they're about to be raptured, or abducted by friendly aliens. That was the one I was certain that Edna at the Village Voice would like the most, and I was right. (I'd prove it to you if I could find the tearsheets which, I fear, may be long lost.) I definitely lost money on the gig after paying for cabs to and from the train station, my ticket, and breakfast at the Queen Elizabeth. But I seemed to pass the test and continued to get work from Edna for several years, first at the Voice and then at the New York Times when she moved there. Voivod are still together, and released Morgöth Tales, their 16th record, last year. Sadly guitarist Denis "Piggy" D'Amour died of colon cancer in 2005.

#portrait #portrait photography #photography #rolleiflex #black and white #film photography #some old pictures i took #voivod #heavy metal #canadian music #montreal #musicians #band photography #nikon f3 #profoto #early work #village voice

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ulkaralakbarova · 4 months ago

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A somewhat daffy book editor on a rail trip from Los Angeles to Chicago thinks that he sees a murdered man thrown from the train. When he can find no one who will believe him, he starts doing some investigating of his own. But all that accomplishes is to get the killer after him. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: George Caldwell: Gene Wilder Hildegard ‘Hilly’ Burns: Jill Clayburgh Grover Muldoon: Richard Pryor Roger Devereau: Patrick McGoohan Bob Sweet: Ned Beatty Sheriff Chauncey: Clifton James Mr. Edgar Whiney: Ray Walston Professor Schreiner & Johnson: Stefan Gierasch Chief: Len Birman Plain Jane: Valerie Curtin Rita Babtree: Lucille Benson Ralston: Scatman Crothers Reace: Richard Kiel Jerry Jarvis: Fred Willard Burt: Delos V. Smith Jr. Blue-Haired Lady: Mathilda Calnan Mexican Mama-San: Margarita García Conventioneer: Henry Beckman Conventioneer: Harvey Atkin Porter: Lloyd White Benny: Ed McNamara Night Watchman: Raymond Guth Engineer #2: John Daheim Fat Man #1: Jack O’Leary Fat Man #2: Lee McLaughlin Red Cap: Bill Henderson Cab Driver: Tom Erhart Moose: Gordon Hurst Waiter (uncredited): J.A. Preston Shoeshiner: Nick Stewart Conventioneer: Steve Weston Film Crew: Casting: Lynn Stalmaster Original Music Composer: Henry Mancini Executive Producer: Martin Ransohoff Writer: Colin Higgins Set Decoration: Marvin March Hairstylist: Joan Phillips Director of Photography: David M. Walsh Editor: David Bretherton Makeup Artist: William Tuttle Stunts: Alan Oliney Producer: Edward K. Milkis Producer: Thomas L. Miller Executive Producer: Frank Yablans Stunt Double: Jeannie Epper Stunts: John Daheim Stunts: Nick Dimitri Stunts: Bob Herron Director: Arthur Hiller Production Design: Alfred Sweeney Stunt Coordinator: Mickey Gilbert Production Manager: Peter V. Herald Production Manager: Jack B. Bernstein Stunts: Janet Brady Sound: Harold M. Etherington Movie Reviews: Wuchak: **_Drama, romance, crime, mystery, comedy, adventure, suspense and action on a train_** A book editor traveling from Los Angeles to Chicago by rail (Gene Wilder) supposedly witnesses a crime while partying with a secretary (Jill Clayburgh). He suddenly finds himself embroiled in a dangerous conspiracy. Richard Pryor plays a helpful thief, Ned Beatty a passenger, Patrick McGoohan a smooth art expert, Richard Kiel a heavy and Len Birman a cop. “Silver Streak” (1976) meshes Hitchcockian murder thriller with the amusing antics of Wilder and Pryor for an entertaining train flick. As my title blurb states, it expertly mixes genres into a fun and compelling rail ride. If you like train flicks like “Runaway Train” (1985), “Transiberian” (2008), “Train” (2008), “Night Train” (2009), “Beyond the Door III” (1989), “The Cassandra Crossing” (1976), ��Breakheart Pass” (1975) and “Horror Express” (1972) you’ll also enjoy this one. It’s as good or better than most of ’em. It just includes amusement along with the life-or-death thrills à la the 80’s Indiana Jones adventures. The film runs 1 hour, 54 minutes, and was shot in SoCal, including Century City (studio), Union Station in Los Angeles, South Pasadena (New Mexico train stop), the Mojave Desert (the ranch with the plane) and Brea (the redneck sheriff’s office), as well as Alberta (the prairie scenes), Locust Hill in Ontario, Union Station in Toronto and Northwestern Station in Chicago. GRADE: A-/B+

#false accusations #kansas #semiautomatic pistol #sleeping car #theft #Top Rated Movies #Train #two man army #USA

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burlingtoncabservice · 8 months ago

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#burlington taxi #burlington cab #airport taxi burlington vt #burlington shuttle #airport shuttle #airport taxi cab burlington vt #burlington taxi service #burlington airport shuttle #cabservice #burlingtoncabservice

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eleventaxi · 9 months ago

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