#top right: david hockey painting

[debbiechanclub]

Murky Waters, Part 2

A Bullet Club horror AU

Pairings: David Finlay x OFC; Jay White x OFC; past Matt Jackson x OFC Word Count: 2,656 Warnings: Only alcohol use and language in this part

The group arrives at the cabin, and an unwelcome guest turns up.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist

Tag squad: @aussiearrow @statdaddy @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09

The sun had just kissed the horizon when they arrived at the lake, and it cast everything in a soft golden glow. The water sat still and sparkling and deep, and tall pines trees reached up toward a clear blue late summer sky. Even the cabin looked surprisingly quaint and inviting, and it almost felt like they’d stumbled into a fairytale after a long journey.

But Chloe hoped it was the watered-down Disney version and not the horrifying original.   

“Haunted or not, this place is sick,” Riley decided as they entered the cabin. It looked like a mountain lake house Pinterest board come to life, cozy and rustic with pine-knotted walls and themed décor. Large picture windows flooded the two-story living room with natural light, and French doors led out to a deck with a fire pit table and a large hot tub. The kitchen was small but fully equipped, with a live-edge wood bar top and forest green cabinets. A narrow staircase to the right of the entrance led to an open loft with both an air hockey table and a full-size arcade cabinet. They might be in the middle of nowhere, but they’d have absolutely no problem entertaining themselves for the weekend.

“Alright, there’re two bedrooms down here and two upstairs,” Nick explained as they all gathered in the living room.

“So we’re short a bed, then,” Riley figured.

“Chloe and David can share,” Jay smirked.

“Subtle,” David returned. Chloe just laughed to herself.

“Well, the couch is a pull-out, so not really,” Nick informed them with a point at the couch. “But you guys can work that out yourselves; I automatically get a bed because I drove.”

With that, Nick disappeared upstairs to stake his claim, and the rest of them looked hesitantly around at each other. It seemed obvious that either Riley or David would end up on the pull-out; as the only couple, Jay and Alyssa were entitled to a bed, too, and no one was so cruel as to make Chloe sleep on the couch.

“I’ll take the couch,” David finally offered.

“Works for me!” Riley proclaimed, and he grabbed his bag and bounded upstairs; he’d obviously been hoping David would volunteer. Alyssa rolled her eyes as he ran off.

“I guess that means we’re choosing from the two rooms down here,” she stated.

“I’ll take whichever’s smaller. Which is probably this one,” Chloe said with a nudge of her chin at a room just off the kitchen.

“Where’s the other one?” Jay wondered, and he and Alyssa went in search of the second bedroom while Chloe went to inspect the first. Like the rest of the cabin, it was charming and snug. A full-sized bed took up most of the space, and a window on the far wall offered a view of the lake through the trees, still glittering in the late afternoon sun. The water was a lot closer than she’d realized, just a stone’s throw from the house, and a small pier led out from the sloped backyard into it, an old canoe pulled up onto the rocky shore. It painted a peaceful, serene picture. It was beautiful. But the longer Chloe looked out at the lake, the more a niggling feeling grew in the pit of her stomach that something dark lurked just beneath the surface.

Knock, knock.

Someone knocked lightly on the open door. She turned around and saw David in the doorway, two beers in hand.

“I figured you could use one of these,” he said.

Chloe breathed out in appreciation. “You figured right.” She took one of the bottles and twisted open the cap. It was lukewarm from the drive, but the familiar rich, malty taste helped settle her nerves, if only a bit.

“Unlike Jay, I didn’t want to just assume you’d be okay with sharing a bed,” David said.

Chloe coyly tucked her hair behind her ear. “I appreciate that,” she nodded. “But, you know… we’ll see how the night goes.”

She smirked at him, and David returned it, an unspoken sentiment between them. They both knew damn well he wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch.

Smack!

“Jesus!” Chloe jumped and put a hand to her chest at an unexpected sound from inside the room. Her heart hammered under her palm. “What the fuck was that?”

“It sounded like something fell in the closet,” David said. He pivoted toward the closet and slid open the pocket door. “Oh, shit.”

Chloe didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

David bent down and picked something up off the closet floor. A long, flat box—and Chloe froze when she saw the word printed on the side of it. Ouija.

“Our creepy friend at the gas station wouldn’t be happy to see this,” David quipped.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Chloe breathed. Her heart was practically thrumming out of her chest now. “It just fell? From where?”

David peered into the closet. “The shelf, I guess.”

Chloe crossed the room to get a look inside herself. The closet was small and simple, with a single shelf and rod. Unless the box had already been teetering on the edge, she wasn’t sure how it could have fallen, much less with as much force as it had. It had sounded like someone had shoved it. Like something had wanted them to find it.

“It looks like it’s been in there a while,” David noticed. He wasn’t wrong; the box was old and covered in a thin layer of dust, one of the corners ripped and flimsy. It could’ve been sitting there decades, for all they knew. The sour taste of warm beer crept back up Chloe’s throat.

“Well, it’s not gonna be in there anymore.”

She took the box and walked back out into the living room, looking for somewhere to quickly stash it out of sight. Her eyes landed on the entertainment center; that was good enough. She opened one of the cabinets, pushed the Ouija board inside, and firmly shut the door. No one else needed to know it was there.

“Feel better?” David asked.

“A little,” she said, wiping the dust from her hands on her jeans. “But you might as well just go ahead and put your stuff in the room now. I’m not sleeping in there alone.”

* * * *

The temperature dropped with the sun, and once they’d all settled in, everyone gathered around the fire pit on the deck, drinks in hand, music streaming from a portable Bluetooth speaker Riley had brought; and between the alcohol and the atmosphere, the White Lady wasn’t a thought in anyone’s mind.

“Whose turn is it?” Jay asked.

“Mine,” Nick answered. He leaned forward and drew a card from a stack on the table—a drinking game that Alyssa had purchased just for the occasion. “The person who most recently used the bathroom drinks,” he read. He looked over at Alyssa. “Bottoms up.”

She rolled her eyes and took a drink. “Shouldn’t have broken the seal!” Jay proclaimed.

It was Alyssa’s turn next. She drew a card—and her expression went flat. “Everyone who is shorter than you drinks.”

Riley laughed. “So no one then.”

She just flipped him off.

“Draw another one,” Chloe said, but Alyssa was already on it.

“Flip a coin. If it’s heads, you drink. If it’s tails, everyone else drinks,” she read.

Riley groaned. “These are boring. Where’re all the sexy cards?” he complained, but Alyssa paid him no mind.

“Does anyone even have a coin?” she asked.

“Here,” David grabbed a discarded bottle cap and tossed it to her. “Top is heads, bottom is tails.”

She balanced the bottle cap atop her thumb and flicked it into the air. It landed on the deck top-down. “Drink up, bitches!” she proclaimed, and everyone else took a drink; some larger than others.

Riley was up next. “Alright, give me something good,” he willed as he drew a card. He flipped it over with a flourish—and a mischievous grin spread over his lips. “Okay. The person after you can ask you any question. You can either answer truthfully or refuse to answer and drink.” He looked at Chloe; that meant her. “Don’t disappoint me, Chlo.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes at him, thinking. Knowing Riley, he wanted her to ask him a certain kind of question; and luckily for him, she had enough of a buzz going that she was willing to oblige.

“Alright. Tell me, Riley: do you have a daddy kink?”

“HA!” Jay laughed out loud. “Come on, you can’t just tell he does? It’s practically stamped on his sleazy, mulleted forehead.”

“Well, he needs to answer or drink,” she said. Riley smirked at her.

“I don’t know, Chlo. I could answer now… or you could find out later.”

David and Alyssa both scoffed. But Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re even good enough to get me to call you that.”

At that, everyone loudly oooed and winced and laughed at Riley's expense. “Jesus, where the hell has this Chloe been?” Jay asked.

“For real. Matt was hiding her, apparently,” Riley remarked.

“Alright, if you’re not gonna actually answer, you might as well drink,” Nick said, and the mood notably shifted. Riley shot him a sidelong glance and took a drinked of his beer. Chloe shifted awkwardly in her seat and pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands.

“It’s your turn, Chlo,” Alyssa urged to get the game back on track. Eager to do the same, Chloe drew a card and cleared her throat.

“Everyone who is single drinks,” she read.

“Cheers,” David said to her, and they clinked their beer bottles together and drank. On the other side of the circle, Nick and Riley drank, too.

David was up next. He picked a card, and a slow grin pulled at his lips as he read it to himself before reading aloud.

“Pick someone and guess the color of their underwear. If you guess correctly, they drink. Otherwise, you drink.”

“Chloe,” Jay coughed. Chloe bit her lip and fidgeted in her seat again, fighting back the blush creeping its way into her cheeks. But she lost the battle when she noticed David studying her.

“I’m gonna say… gray,” he guessed.

There was a pause as everyone waited to see if he’d guessed correctly—and then Chloe drank.

“Nice,” Jay smirked.

“They’re gray with black flowers on them,” she revealed.

David just grinned at her. Her blush deepened.

“My turn!” Jay announced, and he eagerly pulled a card from the deck. His eyes lit up in the firelight when he saw what it said. “Oh, here we go. Pick someone to dare. They can either perform the dare or refuse to and drink.”

“Just drink?” Nick questioned. “That makes it way too easy to get out of the dare. You should have to shotgun a beer, or something.”

“True, but I’m daring Riley, and we all know he’ll do anything.”

Riley nonchalantly beckoned Jay with a hand. “Bring it, then.”

Jay watched him for a minute, drawing it out. And then he said, “Why don’t you go for a little dip in the lake?”

There was a pause as the legend of the White Lady was suddenly brought back to the forefront, the danger of going for a swim after dark.

But Riley wasn’t nervous about it. “Fine. I’ve never cheated on anyone, so I don’t have anything to worry about.” He stood up and removed his beanie and hoodie and toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks.

“Okay, White Lady or not, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Alyssa said. “It’s pitch black out there and you’ve been drinking.”

“So come supervise, then,” Riley said, and before Alyssa could point out that she’d been drinking, too, he started down the steps off the deck that lead to the water.

“Actually, we probably should make sure he doesn’t die,” Jay said, and he got up and went after him. Alyssa followed, and Nick went, too, leaving Chloe and David alone by the dwindling fire.

“You don’t want to go?” David asked her.

She quickly shook her head. “No. I’d rather go get in the hot tub.” She stood up and sent him a look over her shoulder. “Want to join me?”

A corner of David’s mouth quirked up. “Absolutely.”

* * * *

David changed in the bathroom so that Chloe could change in the room. When she returned to the deck, he was climbing into the hot tub.

“Did you have any trouble getting it going?” she asked as she walked over.

He shook his head. “Nah,” he returned, and he did a double take when he saw her in her bikini. It boosted Chloe’s confidence. That was the reaction she’d been hoping for.

She climbed up onto the edge of the hot tub, and David offered her his hand as she slid into the bubbling, illuminated water next to him. They sat close, his arm resting behind her, their knees touching under the water, and Chloe couldn’t help but notice that she’d never felt as comfortable in her own skin with Matt as she did with David right now.

“Are they still out there?” she curiously asked. She’d thought the others would have returned by now from Jay’s dare. But they weren’t, and the only thing Chloe could hear other than Riley’s playlist still streaming through the portable speaker was the distant song of crickets and frogs in the night.

David turned and looked behind them into the dark, in the direction of the water. “I guess so,” he said. “They can take their time, as far as I’m concerned.”

Chloe bit back a grin. Part of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind and kiss David right then and there. But he spoke again before she could.

“So… I know things didn’t end well between you and Matt, and I know it hasn’t been long since all that happened, so I completely understand if you don’t want to get into anything right now. But… I’m just letting you know that I’m interested, because I’d kick myself if I didn’t.”

Chloe looked bashfully down into the water. “Oh, so you’re interested?”

“I’m very interested,” he confirmed with a grin.

She looked back up at him. “I am, too.”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “What happened with Matt is over and done with; I’ve processed it and moved on. And if I’m being honest… I don’t think he and I would have ever gotten together if you hadn’t gone to Germany, anyway.”

David didn’t hesitate. “I know you wouldn’t have.”

There were the tingles again, all over, a warmth spreading out from Chloe’s core, and then David was leaning in. She closed her eyes and tilted her mouth toward his—

“Is anyone out here?”

Chloe reopened her eyes and whipped her head around in shock. It couldn’t be—but it was. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. “Matt?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” David breathed.

Matt walked out onto the deck, a delighted smirk on his face at finding Chloe in the hot tub. But it visibly faltered when he realized she wasn’t alone. “Hey, Chlo. David.”

David didn’t respond. Chloe wasn’t much more welcoming.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Matt’s eyebrows arched. “It’s nice to see you, too.” He eyed them, David’s arm still around her. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Little bit,” David muttered just loud enough for him to hear. Chloe tried not to laugh and put her hand on his thigh under the water. She wanted him to know that Matt’s sudden appearance didn’t change anything of what she’d said.

“Okay,” Matt breathed, deliberately ignoring the remark, “well, where’s everyone else? I didn’t see any—”

“AHHHHHH!”

He didn’t get to finish his question. A blood-curdling scream ripped through the night—and it came from the direction of the lake.

[eppysboys]

Aesthetic Moodboards ➣ Brian Epstein

[wild-aloof-rebel]

the first time that patrick takes david back home to his parents’ house, david commits himself to giving patrick all the cheesy, stereotypical teen couple moments that patrick either experienced but didn’t really enjoy to the fullest or never got to have at all

on friday night, he gets marcy’s help to pack a basket of snacks--red vines and smarties and sour patch kids, crackers with cheese and hummus--and reusable water bottles full of wine, and he takes them out to the old drive-in the next town over, where they make it less than twenty minutes into the double-feature before they lose interest in what’s on screen and climb into the backseat to make out to the soundtrack of cheesy sci-fi dialogue broadcast through the pair of tinny window speakers

saturday evening they stop at polly’s, a little roadside ice cream stand painted in the glow of a giant neon parrot sign. they eat a basket of fresh-fried mozzarella sticks that don’t taste like freezer burn at all and a couple of cheeseburgers so deliciously greasy and salty that patrick has to order another round of sodas for them halfway through. david plays footsie with him under the table and holds his hand across the top, thumb brushing against his wedding ring, kissing his cold, sweet mouth between shared bites of peach soft serve

they’re driving past the high school on sunday afternoon when david makes patrick pull into the lot behind the building, near the baseball field, dragging him over until he can push him up against the cinder block wall of the dugout and kiss him senseless. they make out under the bleachers, too, and later with patrick pressing david right into the fence behind home plate. their tour takes them inside then, through a door david finds unlocked, where they sneak through the darkened halls hand-in-hand to find patrick’s old locker and christen it with kisses as well. the gym comes last, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space as david pulls patrick out to center court. he starts up his favorite early 2000s playlist and holds his husband close, swaying them together at their own private prom

and that night while patrick’s in the shower, david digs through the closet in his old bedroom to find his varsity jacket, patches for baseball and hockey stitched on the arms, brewer in white, block letters sewn across the back. there’s no way it would fit him--it wouldn’t even fit patrick now with his beautiful, broad shoulders and well-sculpted arms--but david arranges himself on the bed so that his back is to the bathroom, drapes it across his shoulders as best he can, and waits for his husband to open the door

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part i

Quick note: This is taking place in the 2020-21 season, as if the Islanders still play at Barclays; I know they won’t in actuality. In the story, I’m also going to be taking some liberties with what the duties of a team’s general counsel and legal team would actually be in charge of. My understanding, as a pre-law student, is that it’s more on the corporate angle, dealing with contracts and stuff — in addition to that, Cass will also be dealing with some more immigration and employment law as well. 

part i

October 1

“Adiós, mamá. Hablamos pronto. Te amo.” Cassidy hung up, breathing out a tense sigh and rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. Talking to her mom usually helped to calm her down, bring her back to Earth, but for whatever reason it wasn’t taking. She took a brief glance at the casebook open on her dinged-up Ikea desk. Federal Indian Law. She liked the class, genuinely, but her day had started off bad and gotten worse pretty damn quickly. First she was out of her favorite tea, then her advisor cancelled their meeting, then it started raining as she walked back to her MTA stop, so she had missed the train. Another came fifteen minutes later, but the damage was already done. The only bright spot in the day, aside from calling her mom, had been the cute guy at the Polish deli down the street who had put extra peppers on her Philly cheesesteak. She unwrapped the sandwich, taking a moody bite out of the end. A caramelized onion dropped to the floor. Sighing, she leaned down to pick it up, hurtling it in the direction of the trashcan but only half-looking to see if it reached its target destination. Despite the name, Cass had never had a cheesesteak before she moved to New York, and it wasn’t even because she wasn’t a sandwich person. No, Cass loved a good sandwich, but between her proclivity towards a good BLT and her mom’s homemade Mexican food, she just hadn’t gotten around to it. 

Her laptop dinged with an email notification. What now? She swiped over to the mail page, taking another bite as she read the subject line. Experiential learning requirement - unmet. Her brow furrowed. Unmet? Clicking it open, she scanned the email, clearly something automated from the registrar’s office. Yet to complete Columbia’s experiential learning requirement...We suggest you connect with professors...You have until October 8 to submit...Cassidy never finished her sandwich. “Oh my God,” she muttered to herself, feeling her cheeks heat up. “How could you do this? How could you be so stupid, Cass?” She was normally so on top of everything, never missed a date, never forgot an assignment, so how could she have missed one of the only things left to do to graduate? Her law school required all of the graduates to complete some sort of experiential learning requirement — some kind of externship, clinic, summer associate position, anything to get them “out in the real world.” That’s when it hit her. She had coached her high school’s mock trial team the summer after her first year, and interned at the Hartford County DA’s the summer after. But they paid her. Her school had a weird ‘double-dip’ policy, where you weren’t allowed to take a position for class credit and get paid at the same time. It was a confusing rule, convoluted and bizarre and probably a little bit elitist, but it was a rule. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, and then somehow it did. 

Turning to her laptop, she started searching for just about anything that could possibly help her. The school’s website, the Manhattan District Attorney’s, state offices, NGOs, federal prosecutors, anyone that might have a lead. Frantically dragging over her resumé and throwing together a cover letter that probably (hopefully) looked way more interesting than it actually was, Cassidy fired off email after email after email. Two hours later, she had sent off some twenty-odd applications, hoping that at least one or two would end up panning out. Glancing at her watch, she let out an exasperated breath. 12:22 A.M. Her classes didn’t start until nine, but it took almost an hour and a subway connection to get to Columbia, and she had to eat and shower before. So, really, it meant getting up at about seven. She needed to go to bed. 

Stomach reeling and feeling more resigned than anything, Cass haphazardly brushed her teeth, flossed — it didn’t matter how tired she was, she’d never forget to floss — and clambered into bed, wearing a faded, way-too-big Rangers t-shirt. I’ll be okay. She took a deep breath. It’ll be okay. It has to be. Cassidy Cabrera Shaw was tough as nails and stubborn as hell, and she wasn’t going to let everything she had worked so hard for fall apart so easily. 

Whenever Cass was nervous, or anxious, or afraid, she was never able to sleep well. She ended up waking up at ten past six, sitting in her bed for fifteen minutes praying that she’d fall back asleep, and finally accepting her fate that sleep just wasn’t going to come. Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from where she had left it charging on the nightstand. Nightstand was maybe a generous term for it; technically, it was a wooden milk crate that she had spray painted white when she and the other girls had moved into the apartment two years prior. She had a little bit of money set aside from college, but every penny possible was going towards tuition and those ungodly-expensive books that she had to buy every semester. The mattress and frame were from Ikea, and Cass had brought some things like bedding and a desk from her old room. The rest of it — rugs, lighting, and decorations like her six-inch ceramic peacock (his name was Charles) had come from a combination of Goodwill runs and senior citizen yard sales. 

Wincing as she did so, Cass pulled up her email, bracing herself for the inevitable barrage of rejection. After scrolling past ten or so automated “no longer hiring” and “position has been filled” messages, one caught her eye. She had sent a few emails to professors of hers, not expecting to hear anything back for a few days. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but there certainly were advantages of going to school in a city as massive as New York. All of her professors knew someone and had some kind of connection from their own education, or days in the practice, or childhood summer trips to the Hamptons with someone who just so happened to be a judge on the Second Circuit Court — that last one was last year’s employment law professor. One particular subject line caught her eye. Thought you might be interested, Professor Murakami had written. David, as he preferred to be called, was her Sports Law professor from last year. She didn’t go into the class expecting to enjoy it all that much, if she was being honest. She had gotten a crappy registration time and most other classes were filled, so it had started out as a placeholder and nothing more. Over the semester, though, it had quickly become one of her favorites, combining pieces of everything else she had studied into one cohesive course. Cass also wasn’t in a position to be turning down any potential offers, so she opened the email and started reading. 

I got your email, Cassidy, and think I might be able to help. Okay, so far, so good. I happen to have a contact in the counsel’s office of one of the professional sports teams in the city. That’s exactly what Cass was talking about — where do these people meet each other? Is there some kind of exclusive speakeasy you’re given the password to as soon as you’re admitted to the state bar? Chris Cohen works for the Islanders, and I remember you talking about how interested in hockey you are. Okay, true, but the Islanders? She had practically been born with a Ranger’s jersey on. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought. I gave him a heads-up that I’d likely be sending a promising candidate his way, so just let me know if this sounds like something you’d be interested in and I’ll send along your contact information. 

Cass couldn’t respond fast enough. Yes, please! 

---

Wednesdays were her ‘easy’ days, if you could say that. She had Environmental Law and Human Rights back-to-back, but anything after noon was pretty much fair game. That being said, it certainly didn’t mean that she was any less stressed. There were at least a hundred pages to read before class the next day, she had a sample essay due for bar prep, and her mind was still racing about the email. Grabbing a gyro from the cart outside of her last class of the day, Cass stress-ate with one hand while continually refreshing her inbox with the other.  Food wasn’t allowed in the library, so she ate the last few bites right outside the doors, throwing away the wrapper and squeezing past the hordes of clearly overwhelmed first-years running to get to class on time. 

Popping her Airpods out of their case and into her ears, Cass briskly made her way up the stairs to the third floor, crossing her fingers that her usual spot, a big blue chair over by the research desk, was open. She was in luck, pulling out a water bottle and laptop and getting to work on editing. Four hours later, she had reached some semblance of satisfaction with her work, shutting off her computer and making her way to the subway. There was about half an hour before she had to transfer to the line that would take her to the apartment; squeezing into one of the last free seats, she tugged out a textbook and a highlighter. Why her professor insisted on assigning the entire text of the United Nations charter was a mystery to her, but she’d rather jump off a cliff than be cold called on without an answer. Transferring at Grand Concourse took about ten minutes — it was rush hour, so the first train to come was entirely full — and another twenty or so minutes later, she was letting herself into her shared East Bronx apartment. 

Hanging up her denim jacket by the door and toeing off her sneakers, Cass let out a not-so-subtle exasperated sigh. 

“One of those days?” Alicia piped in from the kitchen. Alicia also lived in the apartment, one of the four sorority sisters-turned-roommates who had made the move from Connecticut down to New York after graduation. Cass padded into the kitchen, where she was greeted by Alicia in front of a skillet and rice cooker, intensely sautéeing some vegetables.

“You have no idea,” Cass said, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha making?” There were obviously some nights when not everyone was home — most often either Cass or Ryanne, who was in med school — but they always tried to have a few nights a week where someone would cook a meal for the whole house. 

“Japchae, it’s my mom’s recipe,” she replied. “I called her and asked how much sesame oil to use, and she just said ‘until it tastes right.’ Like, I love you, Mom, but that doesn’t really help my cause, does it?”

Cass snorted. “Oh for sure, it’s the same way with me. Do you remember the first time I made tamales down here?” Cass had grown up eating and making tamales with her mom and abuela, but she had never been allowed to really take the reins. She had the recipe, though, so the first night after they were moved in, she ventured down to the closest bodega, bought the ingredients, and decided to try her hand making them from scratch. The recipe, however, left out the key piece of exactly how much water to use for steaming — Cass didn’t know, and her mom had always just eyeballed it. So she had ended up putting in way too little and setting the stove way too hot, and to make a long story short, ended up setting off the fire alarm. The one saving grace was the extremely attractive police office that came to double-check the false alarm, but even he couldn’t wipe the mortified expression off of her face. 

“How could I forget?” Alicia responded with a grin. “Go put your shit down, it’ll be ready in a few.”

Cass playfully rolled her eyes, heading towards her room in the back. “Yes, mother.” Their apartment was a three bedroom; while obviously it would have been amazing for everyone to have their own, it was still New York City and none of them were exactly rolling in the dough. Cassidy and Ryanne were obviously still students, and while Alicia and Stella had actual jobs  — Stella worked international business down by Wall Street and Alicia did something with satellites in Queens — none of them were exactly inclined to set out on their own just yet. So Stella and Alicia shared a room, and she and Ryanne had their own. She shrugged off her jacket, slinging her backpack onto the bed before chugging the rest of her water bottle and checking her phone. Two new emails. A 20% off coupon to Lush, and one from Chris Cohen. Chris Cohen? It took her a minute to remember, but when she did, she couldn’t read it fast enough.

Honestly, Cass didn’t read the whole thing, but got enough information to know that she had an interview Friday afternoon at the office in Brooklyn, that Chris  — he had said to call him Chris — said she came with a stellar recommendation from Professor Murakami (an old law school buddy, figures) and that there was no way in hell she was going to fuck this up. She wouldn’t let herself. 

---

Cass was lucky her Thursdays were so packed; if she had any extra time to stress over her impending interview, she would have, but she couldn’t. She had two ‘free’ hours in between classes, but after she had scarfed down lunch (Alicia had, mercifully, made plenty of leftovers) it was the only stretch she had to hit the gym. Coupled with the time it took to walk there, change, and shower after, there really wasn’t much in the way of downtime. After classes was her bar prep group, and the day was so exhausting that it was pretty much all she could manage to take the train home, microwave dinosaur chicken nuggets, and stumble into bed. After flossing. 

---

If Cassidy lived in any other city, she would have felt wildly out of place on her morning commute. Who shows up to school wearing a suit? She wasn’t an absolute masochist, so her heels were in her bag. But for once in her life she didn’t feel so out of place among the presumably-highbrow, presumably-making-six-figures crowd surrounding her. The suit had been her first big purchase for herself  — she had scraped by without one in college, but invested as soon as she had a little saved up from her summer job at a boutique in town. Her mother had always told her that it was the woman who made the clothes, rather than the other way around, and Cass always did what her mom said. 

Samaira, one of her friends and another editor on the Columbia Law Review, caught up to her as they both left the twice-weekly morning meeting. “You seem kind of jumpy, Cass. What’s up?”

Cassidy wrung her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I told you that I missed the internship requirement thing, right?” Samaira nodded. “Well, I have an internship in,” she paused to look at her watch, “two hours, and I’m so nervous I’m going to mess this up. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get it. There’s not time to look for something else, there’s no alternative, and I don’t know what to do if my own stupidity and forgetfulness is the only thing standing in between me and something I’ve worked so fucking hard for—”

Samaira cut her off. “I’m going to stop you there. That’s bull, Cass, and you know it. You are the furthest thing from a disappointment. You’re one of the kindest, sharpest, and most creative people I know, and you’re not going to let something as petty as a deadline stand in your way. Time gets away from all of us sometimes, and it’s nothing to beat yourself up over. I want you to be confident and have faith in yourself, because you deserve it, but if you don’t, it’s okay. I get it. I believe in you enough for the both of us.” She squeezed Cass’ hand. 

She managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Samaira.”

“Any time,” she replied easily. “I’ve got to run to class now, but I want to hear how it went the second you get out, okay?”

“I will.”

Samaira rolled her eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to crush this, Cass. Love you!” She added, waving goodbye as she turned the corner.

There was half an hour before Cass needed to head over to the interview, and before she knew it her feet had taken her to her favorite spot on the north side of Central Park. Grabbing a bagel, she thankfully found the bench empty. After finishing the bagel — she would have preferred cheese, but they were out, so cinnamon raisin it was — and the better part of her Hozier-dominated acoustic playlist, it was time to catch the train. She jumped on with barely a second to spare, grabbing a strap and trying to avoid bumping into anyone. 

A seat opened up about halfway to Brooklyn, and Cass took the opportunity to unceremoniously tug off her much more practical flats and switch into the much more professional ankle-strap heels that had been stuffed in her backpack all day. For a fleeting moment, she was worried what everyone around her would think; she was, after all, technically changing on public transportation. A man got on at the next stop who was dressed head-to-toe in neon orange while carrying a Pomeranian in his purse. Nobody batted an eye. She got over herself pretty quickly.

Getting off at the Barclays Center station, Cass pulled out her phone, opening up the camera to give herself a quick once-over. As much as she hated it, first impressions really were everything. Lipstick? Not smudged. Hair? Minimal flyaways. Teeth? No spinach to be seen. Triple-checking that she had the time right, Cass walked through the doors of the office building, Islanders logo emblazoned on the wall behind the secretary’s desk. 

“Hi,” she said tentatively, catching his attention. “I have an interview with Chris Cohen at 2?” 

The secretary nodded, smiling warmly at her. “No problem. I’m Josh, you can have a seat over there,” he nodded to the small waiting area off to the side, “and I’ll call you when he’s ready for you to be sent up.”

Cass didn’t wait for more than five minutes before Josh gave her the go-ahead, and she was soon headed up the elevator to Chris’ office. “Fourth door on the left. It should have his name on it,” Josh had added. 

She raised her fist, knocking quickly on the frosted glass. It swung open a second later, a kind-looking man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair answering. “You must be Cassidy. I’m Chris Cohen, so nice to meet you. Come right in,” he said, ushering her through the room, where several other associates sat at desks, and into his office. 

“David’s always good at keeping an eye out for me in his courses, and I was happy he passed you along,” Chris said, pulling out her resumé. “And you’re a 3L, correct?” She nodded. “Good. So let’s dive right into it. What courses and work experience do you have that you feel best position you for success in this position?” Much though Cass was loath to admit it, if there was anything she was good at, it was talking herself up. There was a reason her high school superlative was “Most Likely to be Able to Talk Their Way Out of a Ticket.” She launched into a well-rehearsed response, making sure to lace in her love for hockey once or twice. If nothing else, it would hopefully at least get her some brownie points. He had a few questions about her resumé, asked about her work on the law review, a few hypotheticals about contract law. She was batting a thousand until he asked the dreaded final question. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

Cass was wracking her brain, trying to come up with some intelligent-sounding thing to ask, but nothing came. “Uh—” she started, but was saved by the bell. Or, rather, saved by a frantic door opening and a panicked-sounding Mat Barzal bursting into the room. “Chris, I’ve got a problem.”

[sundayeb06-blog]

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[truestory1929]

April 9th 2020

Final Blog 1979 to 1983 Emerson and Mary leaving the nest. After 1983 our house just went along just like everybody else!

Left to right back, Jamie, Me, Dad, Rita, front left, Emerson and Dorothy. This pic was just after we met our Father for the first time in 15 years!

THE FINAL BLOG! April 9th 2020

1979 to 1983

Emerson's leaving and Mary is moving in!

     Well here we are January 1979, my oldest son brother Emerson is halfway through grade 12 and wondering what to do in June when he graduates. Emerson took Motor Mechanics in High School this trade is still with him today, saved him tons of money, but he never took it up as a career. We had  rules in our house about education. First; education was more important than sports, two; you can live with us as long as you continue your education as long as you are progressing, this does not mean spending three years in grade 12, third and last; when the education is over, you live with us rent free for one year, get a job, save money for an apartment and move out. Otherwise we believe without these rules [ and we saw enough of it]  your parents will charge you a small rental fee,then you will take your excess money and buy a fancy sport's car with big payments,and a big insurance  bill and now go no where fast. This might be called tough love today. Especially because the average age of moving out is about 27 years old if you are lucky.

    David joined T-ball last year, and Jason joined this year. Sports was not at the top of our list for raising kids. I only played back yard sports. We had a ball field out by the Saint John airport where the car rental company is now. We played a lot of flys and grounders, scrub etc. Pat Riley and Jim Daly both hitch hiked to the south end of Saint John and played Little League. We played pond hockey on Treadwell Lake. I really did love sports but because of my situation I just did not get there. I am not feeling sorry for myself, its just the way it was.The first year I was at my foster home, the boys in Johnson's road talked me into joining school boy hockey. I had no equipment and The Wood's [ my foster parents] where not interested in helping me. I bought old time hockey equipment from the Merzetti's.[ who owned Mutal Jobbing on Douglas avenue] You could use google today and find this hockey equipment from the 50's. Leather helmet, leather pants and size 10 skates when I was a size 8. I loved it, but hitchhiking to Simonds Centennial Arena in the dead of winter was brutal. I played about 10 games. I did not even know what an off side was and I would be standing down in front of the other teams net waiting for the puck before my team mate was across the blue line. After a couple of games I caught on after all the the screaming and yelling from the coach and the players. Its funny now to think back on this stuff. Murray Sewell was responsible for my kids getting into sports. Murray had his t-ball team practicing in the Glen Falls play ground [which was next door to our house]so David went over to see what was going on. He got David throwing the ball and Murray was impressed. Like in the Chevy movie "BING0" this guy could throw a ball voila sports was born into the Reynolds Family.Jean was a good athlete, basically a tom boy until she was 16 years old, then yahoo, the most beautiful girl I ever met, a real lady, dainty, sweet, kind, loving, supportive [ and I mean supportive, I had a lot of crazy ideas and she went along with them eventually]. She was always being picked to be on someone's team at he Allison grounds in Rockwood Court. So its in [watch for the pun] the Jeans! lol

 Now lets go back to the Merzetti's. In my first year with my foster parents, Marion and Fred Woods, Jim Merzetti asked me if I wanted to make some extra money stocking shelves at Mutal Jobbing. Well sure I was always looking for ways to make money. I use to walk the ditches with Jimmy Daly for pop and beer bottles and we we an empty 50 lb burlap bag. We would take them Berry's store across from the airport and cash them in. Pile winter wood for neighbours, run errants for the neighbors, fish trout through the ice and sell them and even cut trees down from other people's land and sell them for christmas trees. We just got inside the door and this elderly gentleman walked in. MR. Merzetti who own the business introduced him to me, his name was Havelock Lane. Tall slim man very nice. Three years later after Jean and I started dating, she introduced me to her grandparents Havelock and Genavieve Lane! Yep, same guy!

    Emerson graduated yahoo, big milestone for any Reynolds to graduate.You know I never said this before,I hated our last name, I swore I was going to change my name when I grew up. We used to get "ren-hole" because we we so dirty and so poor, an I'm sure we were stinky. How do you bath in the winter and wash clothes when I filled the washer up every morning to supply water for Mom for the day out of Treadwell Lake? I remember when I graduated I thought I died and went to heaven! Emerson decided to go to NBCC and Take the one year plumbing course. We were very proud of him  wanting to continue his education. This will make the fourth Reynolds to go to NBCC. Myself, Dorothy and Jamie also graduated from NBCC. He passed in flying colors. He never took up Motor mechanics or plumbing as a career trade, but has saved himself lots of money doing both. Who really knows what you want to do for a living for the rest of your life? Every person I know [and I know a lot of people] are not doing what they thought they might do after the education is over with one exception, My son David, he knew he wanted to be a Doctor in grade 6. Emerson had done many jobs, each jog shaping his skills and shaping his well being. He has found his niche in Ventilation, he is at the top of his game, he  is in upper managment, he creates multi-million dollar bids for his company, he is well respected in his company and his field of expertise! Emerson never took us up on the offer to stay rent free for a year. NBCC let him graduate early as he had a job with Bob Duplussis Plumbing company. Moved out and into his own apartment on Michael Crescent all by the time of his 21st birthday on June 5th 1980. Emerson lived with us for 7 years. He is my oldest son, he is a big brother to my three sons. It was a hell of a run Em!

     Ben now has got into the sports world He joined t-ball this year. Jean is trying to get her drivers licence. Jean is very nervous about theses things. She is now 30 years old. I work shift work so I am not around to drive the kids to their sports for every game. We are going nuts, we have friends and neighbours helping us with driving to and from ball and hockey venues. Kudos to the Sewell's, Goguens, Allaby's, Carson's, White's, Mclaughlin's, Hutchinson's, Doiron's, Stevens, and many more for helping with picking up and delivering our kids to and from the rinks and ball fields. I was driving a 1974 Pontiac Lemans at the time. Big car, Jean failed two road tests up to this point. The car was too big for parallel parking , combine that  with Jean's nerves it was useless. Okay new plan, I called rent-a-wreck to see if I could rent a small car for her to take road test. They said no [remember no speaker phone] as their insurance only covers the driver. I said okay, [I never told Jean the whole conversation] come on Jean we are going to get a small car for you. I told her she could  sit in our the car until I got the rental car, I was not making any mistakes about blowing my scam. I rented an AMC pacer, nice and small, easy to parallel park etc. I left my car in the parking lot and drove home, we already had the appointment made. Jean said she would need to take a valium to calm her nerves just before we leave. The road test was in the West Side Motor vehicle. Now the examiner always asked for the permit and car registation. The registration was just a photo copy. In these AMC pacers they hasd  a tray that ran the entire width of the car under the dash. So I told Jean that it was just laying under the glove box where he could see it, praying that he would not pick it up. Remember Jean has no idea that this whole thing is illegal. Well she took the test and passed in flying colors. Yahoo Jean has her licence, I told Jean the whole story after we got home. The colr drained from her face.

    Okay, we are starting to finish chapters and start a new one. David finally gets his own room at 9 years old after Emerson moved out. We asked him how he wanted his room done. He wanted wallpaper with the old vintage airplanes, De Havilland's etc. We bought him a Captains bed and painted the room. That was one happy kid yahoo! Well the yahoo did not last long. Around Christmas time we got a call from Jean's mother who was living in Montreal at the time. We had just got settled in bed for the night, its was around midnight when the phone rang. We turned on the bedroom lights and Jean proceeded to talk to her mother. No speaker phone then, but I gathered it was Vera. Jean hung up and said her mother was crying and broken hearted. I asked her what was the matter and she said that Mary needed a place to stay until she graduated from high school.[ Quebec passed a new law that year requiring all students to finish their education in French only. Mary was taking hairdressing. Bill 101 was enacted on August 26, 1977. The bill basically was  made to ensure the Province of Quebec became totally French speaking only. The top jobs at the time were held by English speaking Canadians. Bill 101 was to make schooling in French only up to high school. All signages were to be in French only. Then in 1980 they decided that the high schools were to be French only too. Mary needed to move back to Saint John to finish high school.]  Jean said her mom wanted us to talk it over and call her back tommorrow. I told Jean call your mom back right now. You were the one who decided to take in Emerson for me. If you said no it was no. Now it is my turn, we are taking her in. Jean called Vera back and told her we would take care of Mary, and that was that. Now we have to tell David that he will have to move back in the laundry room for at least three years. Poor David, as sad as he was he never complained, he went about his business as usual. He might have said something to his brothers but not us? Mary was in grade eleven and will be going to Saint John Vocational School. Something I forgot to say about Emerson, he did a lot of babysitting, he made his own money as he was a member of the Miltia since he was 16 years old, and bought us very nice gifts [Thanks Em] Okay now, Mary was the same, she helped Jean around the house, she baby sat and made life for us as easy as possible. Mary was 17 years old when she moved in.

   Well Mary graduated in flying colors in June 1982. Mary decided that she really did not want to be a hairdresser. Jean was working at the Top of the Town restaurant. This was located on Main st. on the roof of Keddys Hotel. I talked to the superviser of the down stairs coffee shop and dining room off the main hotel lobby and was able to talk her into hiring Mary as a cashier. She eventually became a waittress. Jean introduced Tony Kane to Mary. Tony was working in the banquet department. The next year I got her an apartment in east Saint John and her and Tony moved in together. Mary moved out the end of September 1983. Before she moved out I got Mary to teach me how to cut hair.[ I just cut Jeans hair yesterday as we are quarantined]. David is now 12, Jason is 11 and Ben is 6. cutting their hair became another job for me for years to come. Emerson was getting married on Oct 8 1983. I was the best man at the wedding. It was a blast. When we got home we found our house was in  shambles. Some one broke into our home and ransacked the place, stole our stereo system and all my 8mm home movies from 1979 to 1983, Christmases, birthday, sporting events etc. We were heart broken. You never really get over something like that. It was like somebody tearing your heart out.

     Well David gets his room back again, he is now 12 years old. You are a good man David.We have been married now for 13 years Dec 12, 1983. We started this journey moving people into our home in 1973, two and half years after we were married. We were married December 12 1970. We will be married 50 years this December. We were going to go on a cruise, but we think in lieu of what is happening right now with the coronavirus that cruising is out for a long time for us. We have no desire to even fly overseas. We will stick to North America thank you very much!

   This will be my last blog, hope you guys found something that interested you. I can't sign out before I mention the foster parents. May of 1967 I went to Fred and Marion Wood on Johnson Road, where I grew up with  their youngest son Gerald. He introduced me to motorcycles, he would let me ride all of them, he had 4 different bikes in my time there. I never had an older brother so now I do. Gerald or Woody which he prefer, we still bike around today.  Dorothy and Emerson went to the Donnie and Jean Armstrong's, god bless them they 7 kids of their own. Jamie went to the Baxters Len and Mertle, who had at least 8 kids of their own.[The Baxters and the Armstrongs lived across from each other on the Loch Lomond road beside the Norris road.] Then Emerson went to the Morris's, and Dorothy went to the Websters. Then Emerson went back to the Armstrongs and then to me and Jean May 9th 1973. So from May 1967 to May 1973 Emerson moved 4 times in 6 years. Dorothy then went to Godin's and then to our place on Cooks Lake road off the Norris Road in August 1975 to attend NBCC. We lived in a small house we were renting from Dawn and Vince Dempsey. They were our Landlord and Landlady for our first 7 years of our marriage. After Dorothy graduated she and her boyfriend, John Sullivan, got an apartment on the Loch Lomond Road. People can say all they want about foster parents, some good stuff and some bad stuff. Without them, where would we be today. Mr amd Mrs. Wood taught me every thing I know. learned manners, building, [ I used all the tools to build an addition on the back of their house. which launched me into the Oil Refinery], I learned how to plAy chess, learned how to play a guitar etc. We had three square meals a day, we were warm, were clothed, we had it all. Yes we were separated, yes the love was not the same as we got from mom. But man, these people took us into their homes and took care of us. We were backward, dirty, angry, at times just plain bad, neglected, dressed in rags, if you can think of it that was us, but they took us in anyway, GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

    I wanted my grandchildren to have some history about their grandparents and their parents. I knew nothing about my grandparents, little about my aunts and uncles, cousins etc. They all lived in Nova Scotia. The only relatives that came to see us was Mom's parents Fred and Margie Hayter, they came in 1961 a year after Dad left, just for the day, and my Aunt Goldie in the late 70's at Todd Street in Glen falls. I started this project in the fall of 2013, I do not know where the time goes.I was going to quit a few times, I stopped writing for a while, but my grandkids urged me to finish. At times it seemed that I was just whining or feeling sorry for myself or sometimes it just made me sad. Thanks you for urging me on, it was good therapy for me, it made me realize how lucky we are, to have the family we have and all the good people I have met and all the things we have done! I am a lucky man to be so rich with LOVE!

    I never thought I would live long enough to receive an old age check, we have been getting it three years now. Its great to be a Canadian. After living in USA for the last several winters you know how lucky you are. They do not have free health care [ I know what you are thinking its not free , we paid high income tax compared to the Americans but that was a good thing, just ask an American.] and we have the Old Age check. They do not have this. They have social security, which is based the same as our Canada Pension Plan, a working persons pension. [ notice I did not say working man's pension lol]. Our old age check is an  awesome bonus. Canadians do not contribute financially to it, you only need to be 65 years old,and be a Canadian citizen for 5 years. Yahoo. I hope you all get to collect it someday.

      We will continue to quarantine ourselves after our mandatory quarantine on April 15th. We may be carriers so we do not want to pass anything on to you. We will continue the 6 feet or 2 meters social distancing,and we will wear a mask when we are out. We will visit out in the yards at your place or ours for the good of all of us! We love you all very much!    

    Your grandparents Nana and Papa! oxoxoxoxoxoxoxo see you soon!

[josiebelladonna]

I can’t stand them as a newspaper--too hysterical and too over the top--but their personal column usually has some fascinating, often profound things in it. So I’m thinking of pitching this to the Huffington Post for their personal section because my story needs to be told from a big outlet such as that and I feel like my experience could help someone. I don’t care if no one sees this, but if you do, I’m trusting you and I want to know what you think.

I used to be a STEM student with huge promise. Here’s why I’m now an artist and a novelist.

(I mention suicide and cutting here, so read with caution)

I graduated from a community college with my associate degree in general art studies. When I got out of school, I shook some hands and the people behind those hands gave me congratulations. But those congrats were short lived as they were soon followed up with “okay, so when are you getting a job? What are you going to do about work?” Questions I wish I had answers to, but every single time, I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders.

Prior to my switch to the arts, I was at an engineering school with so much promise behind me.

I was that kid in high school who was always reading books and had the answers to all the math questions. I didn't like speaking in front of the class: I just wanted to curl up in the corner with a copy of Nat Geo or the Deathly Hallows with Stone Temple Pilots, Nine Inch Nails, and Metallica playing in my ears. I wore these plum colored rectangular framed glasses and when the weather permitted, I wore my hair in a loose ponytail so I had this odd Yoko Ono thing going.

I was a total geek but I was a total tomboy and a neo hippie, too: I almost never wore dresses and I had a dresser drawer full of oversized shirts. I played softball and field hockey. But whenever I did “girly” stuff, I painted my nails striking colors or with odd designs like fuzzy dice or stripes or the Scandinavian flags (I look at fancy nail designs on Pinterest now, and I think “not to be arrogant, but I was ahead of my time back then”), or—I read fashion magazines like Cosmo. 

But my big obsession at the time, aside from academia and rock n' roll, was Formula 1, both for the cute boys driving and for the radical weird science behind it. The problem I had with F1 was, at the time, being an American motorsport fan led to the assumption that you watched stock cars, and it was more so the case if you were young: attitudes have changed significantly with the explosion of the Internet, the building of the race track in Austin, Texas, and the introduction of American teams such as (appropriately) USGP before morphing into Brawn GP back in 2009 for a stellar season before vanishing two years later, and Haas as of 2014. But once those high rev 1.8 liter V8 engines fired up in those haunting banshee shrieks to kick off the new season, the doors closed. The results and events happening with Sunday's race circulated between my parents, a couple of dad's friends who watched, and myself.

It was the engineering aspect that brought my attention to the sport at first: the commentators at the time—Bob Varsha, David Hobbs, and Steve Matchett, or my third favorite trio behind Nirvana, Ed Edd n' Eddy, and Clarkson, Hammond, and May—often made serious (and sometimes hilarious) note on how F1 was the pinnacle of modern engineering. This was 2007, too, back when the biggest buzz in the world of science and technology revolved around the iPhone hitting the market and the demotion of Pluto. Even then, when you said “weird science”, older folks thought of the Oingo Boingo song or 2001: A Space Odyssey. Younger people and my classmates thought of comic book nerds and basement dwellers. Any context you put it in, Formula 1 was radical sci fi: far too weird for normal people.

Therefore, I was a geek, literally right before it was considered cool to be one. I was the new girl, too: my parents and I moved to California in 2003 from northern Nevada, in the middle of the school year. Since their technology is eerily similar to that of airplanes and rockets, I soon learned the gateway into being an engineer in F1 was a bachelor's in mechanical engineering followed by grad studies in aerospace. Once word had gotten out to me, I spared no expense. Here I was, an American bespectacled geek who excelled so much in eighth grade physics and algebra, that several of my teachers recommended me to a brand new engineering program at the high school (I grew up in a small town in the mountains of California, so it was THE high school and everyone knew what went down there). But I saw the future: I witnessed it every other weekend on our TV screen in places like Melbourne, Australia and Spa in Belgium (which, to this day is still my favorite track).

Things went well throughout high school, in fact, quite well. There were some hiccups, like I was still that geeky chick who barely spoke to anyone and wore weird band T-shirts and Chuck Taylors. But I made honor roll all four years, and I graduated twenty ninth out of some three hundred students: grade point averages were down to the one thousandths, i.e., half of a whole point average separated me from valedictorian. I still have memories of getting letters, catalogs, and emails from schools all over the country who wanted me, from Caltech, to University of Hawai'i, to Purdue, to Virginia Tech, even Stanford. I had my eye on University of Washington in Seattle for a couple of years because of Boeing. I eventually decided on Oregon Tech in Klamath Falls, a small school of about two thousand students in southern Oregon, six hundred miles away from home.

Everything good about my senior year went down the tubes with my parents' separation, my dad's confession that he had been using drugs since he was fifteen and kept it hidden from my brother and me all these years, and he and I spending six months in near homelessness, dealing with resentful relatives and nearly losing everything in a raging wildfire which I totally forgot about until just recently. And while my dad tended to his own circumstances in September 2011, I left for school, an eighteen year old on the Amtrak en route to Oregon with the clothes on my back and a bookbag full of school supplies and textbooks ready to move into my dorm, alone. I had the help of my aunt upon moving in, but I was still alone, just thrown out into the great wide unknown with what I had.

Things went well for the first fall term of school: I enjoyed my classes, and always sat in the front of the room, and answered questions. I got on well with everyone. I even joined an engineering club at one point, and I recall their goal in mind was to build a Formula SAE car (about three steps down from Formula Three, another two steps down from Formula 1).

Then the shift came when my counselor asked me how things were going and I said “great!” And, since survivors never forget, and I'm a survivor, he said the one thing I will never forget that made me rethink my choice: “oh, you'll be regretting you said that.” He kind of laughed, too, so it almost felt like Patrick Bateman saying that.

It was one of those moments of synchronicity where thereafter it got worse: my roommate moved out over Christmas, and I never found out why. Everyone either had their nose in their books or up each other's ass. Everything became a test of your own ego more than your intellect.

I found myself either bored out of my wits with nothing to do or in over my head. But the cost of school freaked me out more than anything: I spent my childhood in a trailer park, and then as I got older, my parents and I lived with my grandparents, my uncle, and then in a low income apartment complex, so whenever I thought of the total cost of the whole experience from tuition to where I got food, I felt terrible. I felt guilty that I was doing this to myself and to my parents. There were some nights during the spring term, around my nineteenth birthday, I would cry myself to sleep because I felt so unprepared. 

But the bright side is this was where I discovered art. Aside from the sciences, I had been drawing on and off my whole life: nothing major, just doodles and light sketches. Although I have attempted to do illustrations for books I thought of writing at the time, it was nothing huge, and nothing ever saw the light of day. When I was in eighth grade, and I hung out with the manga and anime kids, I tried my hand at manga, but I couldn't draw the eyes too well, so I made a character that had that spikey hair and a round face, but with “Jordan almond” eyes as I call them: I even started my own comic series called Life in the Paddock, which revolved around—you guessed it—the F1 circus at the time.

I discovered music two years before, with my favorite band Soundgarden, then Metallica and Green Day, and then the flood gates opened after that: I remember winding up alone at my grandmother's house at times and putting on Sirius Lithium to keep me company. When I was a junior in high school, I took art class as an elective, and I remember it was at the end of the day, right after intermediate algebra. Since it was an entry level high school class, the criteria covered all of the basics from shading to doing watercolor. In my senior year, I took stained glass just on a whim.

So on this warm evening in the end of May, and I had nothing better to do, I sat down at my desk with a sheet of paper, a mechanical pencil, and a ball point black pen, and drew a cartoon of Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. Once he was done, I thought “I'll keep going.” And I drew Kim, Ben, and Matt the next day. 

Come the summer, I moved off campus and started making more cartoons based off of the grunge scene instead of F1 drivers: it wasn't until two years later when I gave them a moniker, “rag dolls” after the Aerosmith song. But once my sophomore year began, there came a point I thought, “you know, I really don't want to do this anymore. I feel better making art even if it doesn't get me anything.”

I'm sure everyone has had “that one class”. You know: you walk into the room, have a seat, and feel like it's going to be a tough ten weeks or semester from the material of the course, or—worse—the teaching skills (or lack thereof) of the instructor. I took differential, or the basics of calculus in the spring of my freshman year and barely passed with a “C” grade (I had the coolest professor, though: he always made me laugh); but when I took integral calculus, the next level up, that autumn, I had an instructor who... I don't know what her deal was, but she did a shoddy job of teaching. She was one of those teachers who threw the concept out in the open and partially expected you to know it at first glance while doing the bare minimum to—you know—actually do the teaching part, especially with those of us who are new to this high of a level of math. Thus I bombed that class, so hard.

Add to this, in October, I started feeling down, because I had less time to make my cartoons and speak to people on the music forums. I felt like I had a chain around my neck and that sound you hear was my counselor laughing to himself as my blood spilled onto the linoleum of the aeronautics lab. I wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough. Not prepared enough. Not pretty enough. Not perky enough. I tried speaking to people about it. Oh, did I try to speak to people about it. But no one listened, or I was brushed off, that I should just suck it up and do it and be grateful because we're all spending thousands of dollars on our bloody education. Fucking whiny ass bitch.

If I told my parents about it, my dad would go on some tirade about his circumstances, and my mom was stressed out with school herself and having to work at the same time. If I told my brother or his wife at the time about it, they'd tell me to suck it up. My counselors stared at me, dumbfounded.

I used to cut and starve myself in middle school, too: right after my grandpa passed away and with the edges of paper and pushpins. I was going to do it again, but with a chef's knife and in a bathtub full of cold water. If that was how everyone was going to treat me, then I might as well go out in a cold fashion. I tried it twice. Add to this, I returned to not eating, either: I have a softball player's body and I always have been very heavy in terms of build, so to be my height (about 5'7”) and at 139 pounds, that's utter misery. This was in 2012, too, the whole insanity about the end of the world: I never believed it, but it did seem likely something big would happen for a while there. But I was going to die: I wanted the pain to end, the pains in my body and the pains I felt in my daily life as an engineering student.

But on the other hand, Soundgarden and Deftones were releasing new albums; then later on, I was actually going to see Soundgarden for the first time up in Portland, so of course I needed to stick around.

The other good thing that came out of that dark time was my trip to the Oregon coast over Thanksgiving break, to this little town called Newport. The coast is a mecca for all manner of artists, be they painters, musicians, glaziers, ceramicists, writers, toy makers, craftsmen and women, it didn't matter: if it was art, they collected there. I have been madly in love with the Oregon coast since then.

My depression caused me to have nightmares, which in turn caused insomnia: the one thing that could put me to sleep was Metallica's song Ride the Lightning, dear God, I wish I was making that up. On the other hand, I had mornings I wanted to stay in bed with the blankets over my head. All the while, I had the urge to cut my wrists and lay down in the snow and the howling subzero winds: if I wasn't going to bleed to death then the cold would bury my withered body. No one listened to my cries for help, anyway: I had my doubts that anyone would miss me.

But the class that hammered the final nail in the coffin was statics, or physics but dealing with stationary objects instead of moving ones. Very math intensive and very dry, even for those proficient in math. Depression interfered with my train of thought, even with the most seemingly basic of equations, like “I should know this, why am I coming up short? Why do I keep missing this?”

And I distinctly remember thinking that I didn't want to wake up one day twenty years down the road and feeling like I took the wrong choice.But I knew it was bad when there came a though where I knew what I would wear when I hanged myself with the pull cord of the blinds over my bedroom window.

The tipping point, though? I lied to my mom about registering for classes for the spring term and then she caught me and yelled at me for it. Needless to say, I totally lost it and I thought for sure I was going to end it: hang myself on the window and end it while still a teenager. I hated myself for what I had become—I lied to my mother, for God's sake—and for the dry environment I forced myself into when it just felt obvious to me. But the kicker—and this was when I knew for a fact nobody listened to me—when I said I didn't want to spend another minute in engineering school and I wanted to go into art, everyone I knew went “what? You weren't happy? The fuck, Hannah?”

But I made the switch, that radical switch to the other side of my intellect and it's done wonders for me since then. I've met so many people and in that first year alone, I advanced so far in my drawing skills that my portraits went from rough, out of proportion, childlike drawings to near photographic drawings with this soft impressionist haze around them. My cartoons were eventually recognized by Soundgarden themselves: I even talked them into making a follow up to King Animal, and there was a rumor I would contribute to the artwork of the album.

The silver lining in Chris' passing in 2017 was I turned to writing: I wrote and self published four novels in his wake, and I have no intent on stopping, either. My craft as a whole has become so much darker, intense, and raw, but also more emotive and tenderhearted. I know I'm doing something right because it's all incredibly satisfying and liberating, even if I don't make a dollar off of it.

But in spite of everything I've been through, I still have a deep love of science: I look at the arts as a form of science. It's human (rightfully so), it's tentative, it's controversial, and no matter how you see it, it's based off of observation. There have been artists who have injected science into their craft; you can actually write music using calculus. Tool even has a song, “Lateralus”, that's based off of the Fibonacci pattern. I love reading about earth science and chemistry and biology: when I'm waiting someplace like to get hair trimmed or a tetanus shot, if there isn't Cosmo or Glamour, I'm looking around for Astronomy. There is a ton I learned from school that have stayed with me, like the laws of thermodynamics, how to write chemical formulas, how to read nuclear isotopes, and everyone's favorite thing: how to do trigonometry. My first novel Aunt Anesthesia had a sci fi flavor to it, and the follow up Blue Monday was strictly sci fi. I have a mad scientist inside me, even as I write narratives and draw cartoons. But at the end of the day, I am an artist.

The switch has still left a bad taste in people's mouths: every time I speak to my dad now—he denies it and I don't think he's even aware of it, but I can sense it—I have this nagging feeling that he's still slightly disappointed in me.

Most of the questions I received upon graduating the city college came from my own relatives, albeit with a mindset of “oh, so you're an artist now? Tell me more about you're just barely making ends meet. Get a real job and a life, loser.” or “oh, so you're an artist now? Well, excuse me, Miss Big Shot.”

I still feel strange responding to that hoary old question, “so what do you do?” because it's usually followed up with “oh, what kind of art?” as if we need to keep splitting hairs and slapping labels onto things: art is art. If it came from the heart and soul and from a place of loneliness, it's art.

I talk to anyone my age about it and they get this deer in headlights look on their face, which is then followed by rapid fire questions like “don't you want a house? Don't you want to make money? Don't you want to live comfortably? Don't you want the good things in life?”

God forbid I ever bring up the fact I used to be an engineering student; I made that mistake once and the girl looked as if I just insulted her dead mother. 

Granted, it's not the only controversial thing I've done in my life: when I was in high school, I took French class all four years when everyone told me, “you should be learning Spanish!” I speak Spanish (also Italian and Latin) now because of my proficiency in French, but I still think it's poor taste to tell someone what you think they should be learning because everyone else is doing it. On that same note, in the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I taught myself German; in my senior year, I had a Russian literature obsession; my cartoons have a manga feel to them and I love Asian cultures, so I know some Japanese; and this past October, I started teaching myself Danish to speak to Lars Ulrich of Metallica “in his essence” as I put it. I guarantee had I not learned French first, I never would be saying all of this. But I still got flak for it all, because it's “not what everyone else is doing.”

And granted, I'm somewhat more comfortable about it now and my history with Chris and Soundgarden, my tie to Lars, and four novels to my pen name have definitely helped matters, but I still feel anxious about it.

Even as I post a new work in progress or a piece of writing, I still wonder “is anyone going to give a shit about this? Is anyone going to take this and the blues I feel every day seriously?”I have a love/hate relationship with sites like Tumblr because of this: if your characters don't have red noses and don't have a similar “look” to them to appeal to the masses, they're nothing. If it doesn't revolve around the dankest meme at the time, it doesn't matter. Do you paint? Okay, now, is it pretty? If it isn't, nobody cares no how much soul you put into it. I have lost count how many times I've seen someone tell me, “you should do it for yourself! Who cares what anyone thinks!” because it should seem obvious.

On the other hand, these days I look around at statistical stories making claims such as “we need more girls and women in STEM” and I can't help but think why? Why is it so Goddamn important to emphasize and dictate what my career should look like, or the career of some other teenage girl out there watching Formula 1 and thinking the same things I did whenever Matchett opened his mouth about nose cones or wings? Because feminism? Really, why do we keep pressing on this at every whim?

If you ask me, we need more female artists like myself who have been through a lot in life and all we can do is vent out our raw emotions in the vein of Frida Kahlo. We need more girls and women to pick up the 6B graphite or the paintbrush and just do it without worrying about arbitrary bullshit like “is this pretty enough? How does this look? Is this okay?”

The most profound thing I heard while at the city college came from my watercolor teacher when he told us: “I don't want a bunch of Picassos. I just want everyone here to relax and feel the paintbrush in the way you feel it.” That's stayed with me since I took that class in the spring of 2013, so much that I pass it on to other artists in my position. If it feels right to you, roll with it.

So as a disclaimer, I'm not trying to talk anyone out of going into science, technology, engineering, or mathematics: that's your own personal decision and I will never someone to tell you what to do with your life. But I want the world to know that you have got to look before you cross the street. The modern world we live in still fails to understand that some things are simply not right for everyone, and it took me to stare at death in the face to understand this.

[andremarcusburky]

David Pastrnak as a boyfriend

yeeeahh bet you saw this coming (also a little inspired by a scene in Gilmore girls)

masterlist

he was really pretty there ok

so as you all know he’s a little weirdo

he was lost in a mall and looking for a store where they sell kids toys (for some teammates kids birthday)

so he went up to you to ask for help but it was literally just behind him

“oh, okay. thank you. you’re pretty by the way”

smiled at you with those chipped teeth as he walked away

you then went to whatever store you were headed to and then to starbucks for a coffee

and about five seconds after you've entered the line there he is just behind you

“oh, its pretty one again!”

you laugh at him but you start talking

then you order your coffee and tell them your name

“oh, Y/N? pretty name for pretty person”

he then pays for your coffee along with his own despite you arguing

he got a pumpkin spice latte btw

so when youre waiting you ask about why he was buying toys and he tells you about the little girls birthday party and how apparently he babysits sometimes 

and then he goes on to tell you how he thinks everyone’s gonna get her princess stuff so he bought her cool shit like a Spiderman figure and a remote controlled helicopter 

and you fell right then and there

so when he asks for your number you dont hesitate for a second

oh and I feel like I should tell you he did not try to hide the hockey thing for even a second

you went on your first date and its like the first thing he tells you about

“you should come to game someday, I think you’d like it”

“i’d even start a fight with someone if you like that”

and then he goes on to tell you about how the little girl loved the toys 

oh and the date wasn't like super fancy or anything he just took you to a diner and you got fries and chicken wings and milkshakes

but it was perfect

and then you took a walk and happened to go by a cinema

“omg have you seen the new ‘the incredibles?’”

and you said no and before you know it youre both in the theatre so fucking excited and you get so into the movie

then when its over you both keep talking about it and he says something about elastigirl being super hot and youre like yeah obviously 

and you tell him you wanna do that again sometime and he agrees and suddenly youre kissing 

and its nice

and then you pull away and youre smiling at each other like idiots before he takes your hand and you start walking back to the diner because thats where the car is

and its a little more quiet now after the kiss because none of you know what to say but youre both still smiling

the next date was a dinner date and he spent the night at your place

there wasn't ever a “what are we” conversation until like 4 months in when you met his parents

and they dont really know a lot of English but his mom just said “ah, girlfriend! Y/N!” when she saw you and you were like FUCK YES because obviously youre mad about him

turns out he’s just assumed youre in a relationship the whole time 

so that night when you talked about it he was like ????

“you dont think im your boyfriend? have you been seeing other people??”

so sweet

you obviously haven't 

and I mean you've been to his games countless times wearing his jersey etc

so you were in a relationship it was just a little unclear

and there was this one time I wanna tell you about

you were cooking together and he was making rice

and he burnt the entire thing because he barely used any water

you called him an idiot (in a very loving way)

“but you love me, though”

“do i?”

“yeah. and I love you”

YES YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU KNOW WHAT JUST HAPPENED

you looked up at him and he wouldn't meet your eyes because he was so scared

and he turned around to cut some veggies on the counter behind him

so you went and sat down on the counter right next to him

waiting for him to look up at you 

but he just wouldn't 

and he was lowkey freaking out because you hadn't said it back yet

AND HE JUST WOULDNT LOOK UP 

so you grabbed his chin and tilted his head up to meet your eyes

“I love you, you idiot”

and he cut himself. 

yes.

so youre running to get bandaids and he’s trying to stop the bleeding and then eventually you got it all fixed and through the entire thing he hasn’t stopped giggling and smiling

“you really are an idiot”

“but you love idiot”

“yeah, i do”

i realize this is getting long but there’s more

so the more basic boyfriend stuff

gets you flowers at least once a week because he has no idea how to spend his money

he’s always planning your future

like a Dalmatian walks by and he’s staring at it and then

“we get those”

??

“Dalmatians. we should have Dalmatians someday”

“and then when we know we can handle dogs we have kids”

“also if youre freaking out about pregnancy and pushing baby out we can adopt”

“but also im just sayin, a baby that looks like you would be a good baby”

he’s also always buying you the weirdest shit

like he sees something that reminds him of you and he’s like yeah ill get it

a fucking sweater with a Dalmatian on it

“it’s our future child!”

you were once singing along to Britney Spears from the top of your lungs together in the car

the next day he’s got tickets to her show

imagine a 10 year old millionaire 

thats pasta

on your birthday he got up in the middle of the night and painted “HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N” in big bold letters on his wall so when you woke up it’d be the first thing you saw

YES HE RUINED THE WALL JUST LIKE THAT

“I can get it painted, it’s worth it”

he’s also big on cuddling with your boobs in his face

like he’ll just lie down on top of you and shove his face into your chest and 5 minutes later he’s asleep like that

“if we have a kid we should name it spagetti”

“if we have two we can make one macaroni”

“or do you want them to have your lastname?”

“come on it’s fun”

“middle name?”

you end up naming the dogs gemelli and fusilli 

you call them gem and fuss though

[aion-rsa]

Disney+ Christmas Movies for Kids: The Best Family Films to Watch this Holiday Season

https://ift.tt/2WazCa1

It’s the time of year when you can’t enter a store without hearing those familiar holiday jingles as your shopping soundtrack. With many families reducing their gatherings this year, it’s a good time to snuggle up, stay in, and share some Christmas movies with your kids. Here are some of the best that Disney+ has to offer.

Lego Star Wars Holiday Special

This season’s brand new holiday special features the cast of the Star Wars Sequel trilogy celebrating Life Day. Rey feels she’s failing Finn as his teacher in the ways of the Jedi, so she seeks out an ancient technique at an old temple—which sends her through Star Wars history, witnessing moments in the training of Anakin, Luke, and Obi-Wan. When Darth Vader follows her from the second Death Star, chaos ensues, and a chase through the various Star Wars properties—including The Mandalorian—brings her back into conflict with Kylo Ren, once again with Luke Skywalker at her side.

Meanwhile Poe, Finn, and Rose host a Life Day celebration with Chewbacca’s family on Kashyyyk. The nods to the original (and deservedly maligned) Star Wars Holiday Special are sure to delight viewers who suffered through those very long two hours. While a rendition of “Jingle Bells” in Huttese will entertain, it’s Finn finally getting his Jedi training that makes this special really standout. Now, if only we could see that in live-action…

Once Upon a Snowman

Also new to Disney+ this season is a new short featuring everyone’s favorite snowman, Olaf. This new tale is set during the events of Frozen (also streaming on Disney+, along with its sequel and its previous holiday short “Olaf’s Frozen Adventure”). After Elsa creates Olaf and continues up the mountain, Olaf is left wondering who he is and what he’s supposed to do with himself. He’s also after a nose, but when he arrives at Oaken’s (where viewers get a quick glimpse of Anna, Kristoff, and Sven), there are no carrots left.

Various nose possibilities reveal how Olaf came to love summer, and why the wolves ended up running after Kristoff’s sleigh. If you’re planning a full family movie marathon, these four related films and shorts will make for a fun event! Top it off with the Arendelle Castle Yule Log as a background for your family celebration.

Noelle

When Kris Kringle is ready to retire, his son Nick plans to take over—but when he can’t handle the pressure, it’s up to his sister, Noelle (played by Anna Kendrick) to save the day. Originally slated for a movie theater release, Noelle instead became one of the first original films to be released straight to Disney+ when the streaming service debuted in 2019. While the film has gotten mixed reviews, Anna Kendrick as a female Santa is enough fun to make a great family movie night.

On Pointe

Missing your chance to see The Nutcracker live this year? Disney+ is taking viewers behind the scenes with this brand new, unscripted series. Over six episodes, the show follows ballet dancers auditioning and preparing for the performance of The Nutcracker in New York City. Episodes start streaming on Dec. 18.

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms

If the behind-the-scenes of the ballet doesn’t fill your Nutcracker craving, you can also stream The Nutcracker and the Four Realms, starting Dec. 4. This twist on the original ballet features a young Clara traveling to a land her mother created where toys are brought to life. The Sugar Plum Fairy convinces Clara to go retrieve a key from Mother Ginger, who is at war with the other kingdoms, so that the other realms can be safe. With plenty of nods to the original ballet, the fantasy features music from and inspired by Tchaikovsky’s famous score.

Babes in Toyland

For another film full of toy soldiers, the classic Babes in Toyland is an option that parents may remember with either full nostalgia or terror—in no small part because it’s one of the creepiest family Christmas movies this side of The Nightmare Before Christmas (also streaming on Disney+).

Read more

Movies

Frozen 2: ‘Show Yourself’ Song Was Almost Cut from Movie

By David Crow

Movies

New Netflix Christmas Movies in 2020 Ranked from Best to Worst

By Delia Harrington

The strange plot features a pair of lovers who are separated by a villainous wretch who wants the woman for his own bride. When the lovers end up in Toyland, they end up offering to help the Toymaker, whose toys have been destroyed. The Toymaker has also made a shrink-ray, but when the villain gets control of it, it’s the hero who gets cut down to size. It’s a strange film that may or may not hold up well to the test of time (some stereotyped references to the Romani people definitely do not hold up). But it’s an old classic that may be enjoyed by a new generation.

Miracle on 34th Street

Fewer films are as classic as Miracle on 34th Street, which, as another Den of Geek writer pointed out, is as much a Thanksgiving classic as it is a Christmas film. In the movie, the real Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn in an Oscar winning role) is hired as Macy’s Santa and ends up spreading goodwill and cheer despite the commercial nature of his position.

Read more

TV

The Odd Places It’s A Wonderful Life Has Turned Up

By Louisa Mellor

Movies

New Christmas Movies to Stream: A Holiday 2020 Streaming Guide

By David Crow

The woman who hires him, Doris (Maureen O’Hara), has raised her daughter, Susan (little Natalie Wood), not to believe in fairy tales, so when Kris tells Susan he is the real Santa, she worries that he’s mentally ill; but Doris’ neighbor, a lawyer named Fred (John Payne), has more faith, and ends up representing Kris in a case to prove he is the one and only Santa Claus. While there have been remakes of this film, the old 1947 classic, which is the version available to stream on Disney+, still stands out as a Christmas favorite.

Pluto’s Christmas Tree

Speaking of holiday classics, this 1952 short is another familiar feature, with Pluto vying for Christmas Tree superiority against Chip and Dale. Although it’s always fun to root for those two rascally chipmunks (who were such great characters they went on to star in their own Disney afternoon show, Chip and Dale’s Rescue Rangers, also available on Disney+), Pluto’s need to protect his Christmas with Mickey is really relatable. Of course it ends with the message that sharing makes the holiday more worthwhile, and everyone wins.

Santa’s Workshop

For an even deeper dive into Disney’s collection of animated shorts, this 1932 celebration of Santa and his elves features some wonderful bass voices and elves reminiscent of Snow White’s dwarfs. The assembly line work is clever, with dolls getting their curly hair because the elves scare them with spiders, and checkerboards painted with checkered paint. Because it was made in the 1930s, it does feature outdated depictions of gender and some ethnic stereotyping among the toys, but it’s interesting to see how far Disney’s animation has come since those early years!

Winter Sports Shorts

Though technically not holiday titles, Disney has made several animated shorts featuring winter sports over the years. “Mickey’s On Ice” is an ice skating story where Mickey shows his skills on blades, and Donald’s prank on Pluto goes awry (warning: there are depictions of tobacco products).

“Donald Duck Hockey Champ” pits Donald against Huey, Dewey, and Louie in a hockey game that quickly becomes an extreme sport. The boys are brattier here than their Duck Tales incarnations, and the cartoon violence rivals Looney Tunes, with plenty of wacky antics and draw laughs. The Art of Skiing is classic Goofy, featuring his typical attempts to follow the narrator’s advice (and fail completely). 

Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas

In 1999, Disney collected some of their newer shorts into a holiday special just over an hour long. Huey, Dewey, and Louie wish every day was Christmas and have a Groundhog Day style learning experience in “Stuck on Christmas.” The second short, “A Very Goofy Christmas,” features the Goof Troop version of Goofy with his son, Max, celebrating their holiday together with all the expected mishaps. Max struggles with the idea that Santa might not be real—and nearly ruins Christmas for both of them.

Read more

TV

Christmas Movies and TV Specials: Full 2020 Schedule

By Den of Geek Staff

TV

DuckTales’ Most Deep Cut Disney Reference Yet

By Shamus Kelley

“The Gift of the Magi” is a retelling of the O. Henry story, in which both Mickey and Minnie give up something precious to give the other the perfect gift. Each of the shorts runs about twenty minutes—almost long enough to be a special on their own—and short bridges, presenting each one as a present beneath a Christmas tree, provides the segues between them. 

Mickey’s Twice Upon a Christmas

This 2004 special moves from the traditional 2D style of animation for Mickey and his pals, depicting them closer to their styles in Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Like Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas, this collects several shorts as well. “Belles on Ice” pits Minnie and Daisy, who are best friends, competing for the spotlight in their figure skating performance. “Christmas Impossible” shows Huey, Dewey, and Louie first ruining Christmas for Donald, Daisy, and Scrooge, then ending up at the North Pole to save it.

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Charlie Brown Christmas Special: Where and How to Watch

By Alec Bojalad

Movies

Best Thanksgiving Movies to Watch This Holiday Season

By David Crow and 3 others

“Christmas Maximus” features a Christmas between Goofy and an adult Max, who brings home his girlfriend for the holiday. “Donald’s Gift” features a Donald bah-humbuging his way through the holiday, but eventually discovering that bringing people together is the way to find the Christmas spirit. Finally, “Mickey’s Dog-gone Christmas” is another Pluto and Mickey story, but when Pluto almost ruins Chirstmas, he has to go all the way to the North Pole to make things right—and seeing Pluto flying with reindeer is sure to please!

Prep and Landing

One of Disney’s newer animated Christmas specials is the Prep and Landing series, in which high-tech elves have to save Christmas for everyone. The original special features two elves—a grumpy veteran, Wayne, upset to be passed over for promotion, and an idealistic rookie, Lanny—whose mission goes awry. In the sequel, Prep and Landing: Naughty vs. Nice, Wayne and Lanny return to recover specialized North Pole technology that has fallen into the hands of a naughty kid hacker. The mix of spy adventure and traditional Christmas elves is clever, and these computer animated films make a nice counterpoint to the more traditional 2D specials.

Mickey’s Christmas Carol

While Charles Dickens’ classic A Christmas Carol has been told in many versions, and Ebeneezer Scrooge has been played by many actors, one of the most memorable of these is the version with Mickey Mouse as Bob Cratchitt, and Scrooge McDuck playing his namesake. The special, which runs 26 minutes, first debuted in 1983, so the nostalgia for children of the eighties runs very high. It’s also just a fun adaptation, particularly because there’s no character more perfect to play Scrooge than Scrooge!

The Muppet Christmas Carol

It just isn’t Christmas until Kermit, Gonzo, and the gang sing “Wherever You Find Love, It Feels Like Christmas.” In this version of Dickens’ classic, Gonzo plays Charles Dickens himself, narrating events, while Kermit and Piggy play the Cratchitts, and Robin, Kermit’s nephew, plays an excellent Tiny Tim. The human cast here, led by Michael Caine as Scrooge, is also excellent, and the mix of Muppety humor and optimism fits the classic story perfectly.

A Christmas Carol (2009)

For an all-human version of the Dickens classic, Jim Carrey’s A Christmas Carol rounds out the Disney+ retellings. Here, Carrey stars (in heavy CGI and motion capture) as Ebenezer Scrooge, with Colin Firth as his cheerful and Christmas-loving nephew, and Gary Oldman as his beleaguered clerk Bob Cratchitt. Other members of the cast include Cary Elwes, Bob Hoskins, and Robin Penn, making this one a star studded adaptation.

Home Alone

The Home Alone reboot may be a topic of heavy debate, but the original is up on the streaming service in all its nostalgic glory. The story is about a boy, Kevin, who is accidentally left at home by himself in the chaos of the annual huge family Christmas trip, and who ends up defending his home from burglars (through Looney Tunes level violence and Rube Goldberg-like traps).

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By Robert Keeling

Kevin’s adventures continue the next year when he manages to get on the wrong plane for the family vacation in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. (A third installment, Home Alone 3, features a different child also outsmarting a gang of criminals, and doesn’t take place at Christmastime.)

The Santa Clause

Fans of the Toy Story franchise may recognize Buzz Lightyear in the voice of the man who becomes Santa in this series of films, starring Tim Allen. When Santa Claus falls from Scott Calvin’s roof, Scott has to put on the suit and take on the mantle of Santa, much to his son Charlie’s delight. Scott then has 11 months to put his affairs in order before he comes to the North Pole full-time—but it’s going to take Scott that long to accept that it isn’t all a dream. Allen returns as Santa in The Santa Clause 2 and The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause for a possible Santa-centered movie marathon.

Other Holiday Celebrations

While Disney+ doesn’t feature any films for holidays other than Christmas, two Disney series feature episodes of other holidays celebrated at this time of year. In Even Stevens season 1, episode 15, the characters celebrate one “Heck of a Hanukkah.” The Proud Family celebrates the “Seven Days of Kwanzaa” in season 1, episode 11. Viewers can hope that this will expand to full on feature films in the future, but for now, these specials do offer a little diversity for the holiday season.

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[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (22/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: This is, actually, the shortest chapter in the entire fic. So, fun fact, the two POV’s in this chapter were actually part of separate POV chapters as per usual, but then those chapters would have been, like, 13K each and that’s just...a lot of words. So here’s the new, shorter version with lots of emotions and spiked eggnog. I can’t thank you guys enough for just being the best. Same goes for @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan.  Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

“I swiped us eggnog,” Emma said, knocking the door closed with her side. Killian stared at her from the bed, legs stretched out in front of him as he knocked off, at least, half a dozen decorative pillows onto the floor.

There weren’t matching pajamas, but there was a theme and, of course, it was hockey – team-branded t-shirts and they all had numbers and their names on them and Mrs. Vankald absolutely made them all pose together before they were allowed to go to sleep.

Or, at least, to bed.

Emma was far too wired to even consider the possibility of sleeping, eyes darting around the room as she tried to take in everything that was the childhood of Killian Jones. There were more pillows at the foot of the bed and an absurd amount of blankets. The walls weren’t covered – Emma could easily make out the paint underneath, the light blue that was probably a bit faded at this point – but there were a few photos and a handful of posters. The Rangers winning the Stanley Cup in ‘94 seemed to play a very prominent role in the room’s decoration tendencies.

Killian followed her as she moved into the space, eyes tracing down her body and the leggings she had on before working their way back up to the glasses she had gripped in her hands.

She tried not to actual show how self conscious she felt, but it probably didn’t really matter in the long run – he was some kind of mind reader.

He held out his hand when her knees hit the side of the bed and Emma handed him the glasses, doing her not to spill eggnog on the sheets. She climbed next to him, swinging her legs over his and taking back her drink without a word.

Killian lifted one eyebrow, the side of his mouth pulled up into that absolutely infuriating smirk as he took a drink. He blinked once and Emma couldn’t quite stop herself from laughing. “Is there...rum in this, Swan?”

Emma nodded. “Not a ton. I didn’t want your entire family to think I’m some sort of alcoholic, but I kind of figured you might be able to use it.”

“Ah, but you didn’t have to do that, love,” he said, leaning over the side of the bed. Emma followed him, stretching her neck slightly to see what he was doing.

“Are you ripping apart the floor?” His shoulders shook when he laughed. “No, but there’s a loose floorboard here and if memory serves...ha!” Killian twisted around triumphantly, eyes as bright as Emma could remember ever seeing them. “Oh my God, is that a flask?”

“It is. What do you say, Swan, willing to test some questionably old rum?” Emma eyed him – as calm and at ease as he’d been since the set-up all those months ago. He was on his own turf, so to speak, or home ice or whatever sports cliché she could come up with. Killian kept smiling at her, shaking his hand as if she hadn’t heard the question and Emma nodded.

“Let me see it,” she said.  

He handed her the flask and nearly fell over when she realized the top just popped off.  She took a deep breath and it shouldn’t have felt quite as romantic as it did, but of course that was exactly how it felt. Nothing quite made sense when it came to romance anymore and Emma was more than willing to just accept things as they were.

And if Killian Jones kept staring at her like the goddamn center of the universe, well, then, maybe it was ok to believe in a few things.

She flicked her wrist, squeezing her eyes shut when the rum hit the back of her throat and she tried not to actually gag at the taste. Instead she twisted her shoulders, shaking her head slightly and Emma was almost positive she could feel the alcohol land in her stomach.

Killian laughed at her, a quiet sound that seemed to take up residence right next to the rum and it almost had the same effect. Emma could feel every single one of her nerve endings.

“God, how old is this?” she asked. “It’s disgusting.” “It’s supposed to get better with age,” Killian said, pulling the flask out of her hand and Emma nearly jumped when his fingers brushed against his. He took his own drink and he didn’t make a face at the taste, just did something absurd with his eyebrows as he closed the top and tossed the flask back in the direction of the loose floorboard.

“I might just stick to slightly spiked eggnog,” Emma muttered. “How come you have flasks hidden in loose floorboards? And how are there even loose floorboards in this house? It seems too fancy for that.” “It’s old, love. That’s why. Old houses have loose floorboards. It’s a rule.” “I didn’t know houses like this existed outside of real estate magazines. I thought they were some lie realtors made up to prove that it was some kind of real profession.”

“Are you insulting the real estate profession?”

Emma shrugged and he couldn’t move his eyebrows like that while he let his hand wander across her thigh. They were in his bedroom. There were painfully adorable four-year-old twins down the hallway.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, coming up decidedly on the wrong side of breathless. That smirk was stupid.

Killian stared at her for a moment, fingers tapping out a quick rhythm against her leggings and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to decide if he should answer. He was trying to save face.

“Hey,” Emma said, eggnog forgotten on the floor as she moved towards him and tugged on the front of his t-shirt. “It’s really ok.” “It’s bordering somewhere decidedly close to wallowing.” “You’ve listened to every single one of my sob stories and you haven’t judged. That’s a two-way street, you know.” Killian widened his eyes, but he moved his hand off her leg and wrapped his fingers around Emma’s. And she was fairly positive she nearly melted into the bed when his lips brushed over her knuckles.

Until I met you.

“I came back here after,” Killian whispered. “After I got hurt. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever play again and it didn’t seem fair to Scarlet to saddle him with that while they were still trying to make a playoff run. So I came back here and I moved back into this room and I snuck flasks underneath loose floorboards. It felt a bit like being a teenager again.” “Are you trying to tell me you snuck alcohol in here when you were a kid?” Killian nodded and his smile wasn’t quite as nervous anymore. “How very apocalyptic of you.”

“We’ve been over this Swan, horsemen. It’s different.” “She called you that today. When the Chinese food came. She said if any of the horsemen want to eat or something like that.” “Old habits,” Killian mumbled, eyes ducking away from hers.

“No, no, it was sweet,” Emma said quickly. “Like tooth achingly sweet. I’m serious, you guys give Reese’s and David a run for their money.” “I’m not sure if that’s actually a compliment, Swan.” “Trust me, it is.”

He stared at her again, something on his face shifting and Emma felt as if they’d crossed some sort of line she’d only been vaguely aware they were skating towards. And it all felt like it clicked at once – Killian Jones was a bit desperate for a family.

He had one here, in this brownstone with foster parents who used biblical terms as endearments and quasi-siblings and nicknames and a questionably intense air hockey tournament, but that hadn’t always been the case. And when the quasi-siblings left and Christmas was over, he’d still have the team and the game, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Robin had a family. Will had a still-yet-to-be-defined relationship. Even Phillip the Rookie was, according to that one rumor Ruby had told Emma two weeks before, about to move in with Aurora.

He had and didn’t all at the same time and Emma wasn’t sure if that was, somehow, worse than simply not having at it all.

She’d never been more determined in her entire life.

She was going to tell him.

If she ever got the chance – Killian moved before she could, lips catching hers and she probably shouldn’t have had that shot of absolutely disgusting rum because Emma could feel him everywhere, all at once.

Her hands traced along his side, fingers finding skin and making him jump. Emma laughed against his mouth, feeling a bit more drunk than the small amount of alcohol she’d had should have allowed. She could taste the rum on him and it felt like a shock to her entire system, particularly when his teeth moved against her lip.

She yelped – yelped – hips moving of their own accord and Killian groaned softly, mouth moving away from Emma’s until he landed on her neck. “You’ve got to be quiet, love,” he said said softly, fingers back on her thighs.

Or in between her thighs.

She was a bit preoccupied with whatever he was doing with his mouth. “You’re going to leave a mark,” Emma mumbled, fumbling with the top of the sweat pants he had on.

“Take off some of these clothes and I can make sure it’s somewhere no one actually sees.” Emma gasped – but she wasn’t sure if it was from the words or the look he gave her, smile doing something absurd to her pulse as he moved down, tugging on the top of leggings. “You’re a menace,” she accused and the smile widened.

“I can stop if you want.” “Don’t you dare.” He laughed against her, sending a wave of something she couldn’t quite name down her spine and Emma gasped when she felt lips – and teeth, jeez – on her waist, shirt pushed up until it was doing more to try and choke her than actually serve any sort of actual purpose.

He was taking his time, she thought, scrunching her nose at the realization. He was absolutely trying to drive her insane and if there was some sort of home ice advantage in this brownstone, Killian absolutely had it.

He moved his way back up towards her, mouth somehow working in the opposite direction of his hand and Emma’s clothes were a lost cause – half on and half off as she tried to kick the leggings off her ankles.

It didn’t really work.

Killian laughed again, breath warm against her neck. “Were you going to take this shirt off or not? It’s kind of getting in my way.”

“That so?” Emma asked. “Ah, well I’m sure the shirt is very sorry for whatever inconvenience it’s caused you.” “Off,” he said, tugging on the bunched up fabric. Emma shifted her shoulders, somehow finding an inch of space between the pillows and the blankets and Killian to pull the shirt off over her head, tossing it off the side of the bed.

It landed dangerously close to the eggnog.

“We need to work on your aim, Swan.” “I was a bit preoccupied.” “That so?” he asked, hand moving again and Emma gasped again. “With what?”

She didn’t answer. She should have. She should have been able to form some sort of coherent sentence despite the circumstances, but if Emma knew if she actually started talking it would turn into something that was, decidedly, not talking.

It was safer not to answer.

She rocked her hips up instead, meeting his hand and everything seemed to recenter for a few moments. He kissed her again, lips moving over hers so quickly Emma couldn’t even begin to doubt what he was trying to do.

He was trying to get her to believe.

He’d brought her home.

Emma still wasn’t convinced she hadn’t melted into the bed, but then he pulled away from her and his eyes were soft and she could see every single emotion she’d been desperately trying to ignore for the better part of the last three months reflected in the way he kept looking at her.

And all she could think was tell him, tell him, tell him – but then he kissed her again and all she could think was get him out of so many goddamn clothes.

“We’re not exactly on even footing here,” Emma said, pulling on the front of his shirt again and somehow he’d found his way above her, legs on either side of her hips and hair falling across his face.

“What exactly is it you’re implying?” Killian asked, grinning when she rolled her eyes in response.

“That you’ve managed to get me nearly naked, but you’re, somehow, still wearing all of your clothes. Seems awfully one sided.” “Ah, well, I do have to admit that was my goal.” “See,” Emma said, moving her hand down and trailing her fingers against the front of his sweatpants. His breath caught in his throat. “You’re a clothing menace.”

Killian hummed, but his teeth bit into lower lip when her hand moved again. “Ah, well,” he mumbled, voice strained just a bit. “Because I was also slightly preoccupied.” “With?” “You, obviously.” It was a line – and not even a very good one – but he kept staring at her and Emma’s heart kept doing that weird thumping thing in her chest and she couldn’t quite catch her breath. So she came back with her own line.

Even footing. Or something.

“So prove it,” Emma said.

Once upon a time, in a corner of a restaurant and a party Emma didn’t actually want, that smirk had absolutely failed to do anything except make her roll her eyes and be vaguely certain that Killian Jones was every rumor she’d ever heard about him.

And then things changed and he’d worked his way under her skin and into her life and everyone knew and the smirk had turned into something else completely. It made Emma want to stay in that moment forever and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever felt that way.

Never. Actually.

“Always,” Killian muttered before spending the next several hours, quietly, proving his point.

It must have been an absolutely ancient house because everything seemed to creak or make noise. Emma was never going to fall asleep. Not that she was particularly trying to fall asleep – not when Killian kept pulling her closer to his chest and trailing kisses along the back of her neck, chuckling slightly when he noticed the goosebumps he left in his wake.

“You know we’re going to have to get up early tomorrow,” Emma mumbled into the pillow. “You’re going to fall asleep in the middle of opening presents.” He laughed again, humming against her. “We can go to sleep, Swan.” “Actually,” Emma said quickly, twisting around to look at him before she could lose her nerve. “I was thinking maybe we could do something else.” Killian lowered one eyebrow and Emma sighed. “Not that,” she muttered.

“I’m not entirely opposed to that.” “Insatiable.” “When it comes to you, yes.” “Laying it on almost too thick, don’t you think?” Killian shook his head. “Nah, just honest. What did you have in mind then, Swan?” “I got you something.”

“What?” Killian asked, voice low and Emma wasn’t quite expecting the surprise there.

“What do you mean what? It’s Christmas.” “I’m aware of the date, Swan. I just didn’t think…’ She cut him off by kissing, trying to pour something into the movement and she was certain it had worked when his hand found its way back to her hip. “I promise, it’s not that big of a deal.” He looked skeptical and Emma couldn’t quite cope with that, jumping off the bed towards the duffel bag he must have brought upstairs earlier that night. She pulled out the four shirts and the jeans, ignoring Killian’s quiet laughter as he sat up, the creak of the bed giving him away completely.

She took a deep breath before she turned back around, trying to straighten her shoulders or her spine. “Emma?” Killian asked quietly and she spun on the spot, pillow gripped tightly in her hands.

And if the whole word had moved before or recentered, then it seemed to freeze in that moment – Killian’s mouth hanging open and Emma’s teeth biting dangerously hard against the inside of her cheek. He’d called her Emma.

Killian moved, the bed creaking again when he kicked the blankets off his legs, walking around the mattress slowly until he was half an inch in front of her. He lifted his hand like he was nervous the stupid pillow would disappear if he touched it too hard or too quickly and Emma’s mouth was absolutely bleeding.

“You know they sell them at Chase Square?” Emma asked, not sure why she felt like she had to talk. Probably so she could distract herself from the look on his face.

He shook his head, fingers finally falling on top of hers. “I didn’t.” “Yeah, they do. I saw it and I just…” She cut herself off, silently cursing herself for those nerves that wouldn’t ever seem to completely disappear. She believed him and in him and about him and anything else Emma could come up with. She’d agreed to spend the night on Christmas and hadn’t actually run away from the absurd amount of emotion every single one of their conversations seemed to be charged with.

But the moment she’d been waiting for – in the middle of the night in his childhood bedroom – had arrived and Emma found herself frozen with a forty-dollar pillow gripped tightly in her hands.

“Thank you, love,” he said, fingers working their way into her hair.

Emma had been holding her breath. She nodded once, ignoring the concern that flashed across Killian’s face, and her grip on the pillow tightened just a bit.

Tell him.

“I love you.”

He wished he was on ice.

Garden ice if he was going to be specific.

Things were easier on the ice.

If he’d been on the ice, Killian was almost positive it wouldn’t have felt like his knees were giving out or he would have been able to breathe a bit easier or his heart probably would have kept beating.

It wasn’t.

Or at least it didn’t feel like it was.

Emma kept staring at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed and she didn’t look like she was breathing either. She looked a little disappointed.

No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

This was supposed to be better. This wasn’t supposed to happen in his bedroom in the brownstone. It should have happened in his actual apartment with a view of Lincoln Center and there probably should have been flowers or something.

Emma shifted, shoulders twisting and it took Killian half a breath to realize what she was doing – and that he’d actually started breathing again. She was trying to move, to take a step back away from him and he hadn’t actually said anything back.

Idiot.

She tried to pull out of his grip and he just tightened his hands around her, fingers moving up until they were wrapped around her waist, thumbs brushing just over the edge of her ribcage. Killian shook his head slowly.

“Emma,” he muttered, voice sounding far too loud in this otherwise silent childhood bedroom. There should have been flowers. And she’d caught him entirely by surprise.

Again.

She kept doing that.

He’d loved her for months, months, had thought things that were decidedly on the wrong end of pushing since she’d grabbed his jersey and kissed him in Tarrytown and then she said it first. He should have expected that.

She’d bought him a pillow. For Christmas.

Emma Swan was standing in his childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve – or maybe it was Christmas Day now, it must have been late – and Mrs. Vankald gave her a Rangers shirt with her name on it and she loved him.

Say something back, idiot. Don’t mention this would be easier on ice.

“Emma, love, stop moving,” Killian said again and Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, narrowing her eyes. She shifted her shoulders again, but she didn’t try and step out of his grip and that seemed like a step in the right direction.

“What?” she asked and if his voice had been loud, Emma’s was the opposite, quiet and nervous and Killian could barely hear it even just a few inches away from her.

Killian let out a soft laugh and the room felt like it was spinning. Fuck, he was happy. “This would be easier if I was on skates,” he mumbled.

Idiot.

He shook his eyes again and Emma was staring at him as if he’d just plotted out some journey to space. It kind of felt like that. “Wait, what?” she asked, voice getting a bit louder with the weight of her confusion.

Say it back.

“Skates,” Killian repeated. “If I were on skates I’d be able to stand up easier.” “Are you having trouble standing up?” “A little, if I’m being honest.”

She bit her lip and neither one of them was really wearing clothes – bits of fabric between them that didn’t really do much to prevent his hands from landing on Emma’s skin and maybe they should sit down. She was still holding the pillow.  

Killian tugged it out of her hands and put it down on the edge of the bed and Emma was staring at her feet, eyes boring a hole into the floor. “Emma,” he said. She stiffened at that – both lips pulled back behind her teeth now – and shook her head quickly, hair hitting over her shoulders and against her cheeks.

He pulled his hand away from her waist, thumb pressing underneath her chin. “Come on love, look at me.”

She sighed softly, but lifted her head up to meet his gaze straight on and he really did nearly fall over at that – the force of everything on her face making his breath catch in his throat again. “You’re staring again,” she mumbled, eyes tracing across him and Killian could feel the smile tugging on the ends of his lips.

And he still hadn’t said anything back, was far too distracted with the green in her eyes and the shirt on the floor that had her name and a 19 on the back – the fact that Mrs. Vankald had picked the number just before his hardly lost on him as soon as the t-shirt was pressed into Emma’s outstretched hands.

God, he wanted her there, and everywhere if he were being perfectly honest, and he should probably tell her that.

He didn’t get a chance – and for someone who was always getting up far too early and ready for seemingly just about anything, Killian was decidedly unprepared for Emma to start muttering apologies and explanations in front of him.

“You don’t,” she started, words a bit jumbled since she hadn’t actually stopped biting her lower lip. “You don’t have to...I mean...it’s only been a couple of months and we were doing that whole under the radar thing and it was just kind of making out and…” Killian pulled his head back, blinking once and he felt his shoulders move when he took a deep breath. It still wasn’t enough oxygen.

“Emma,” he said, a bit more force in his voice than normal. She pressed her lips together. “It was never just anything.” “Stop calling me that.” “What?” “You never call me Emma. Or at least you don’t when things are normal. You only did once before...when…” He knew when – after the opener when he’d asked her to stay and she had. This felt bigger than that.

And there was, suddenly, a surplus of oxygen in his childhood bedroom and it felt like he’d just taken a shot of that questionably old rum he’d found in his floor, something that felt a bit like fire or emotion or something equally absurd, shooting through every single one of his veins and possibly his arteries as well.

“I love you,” Killian said and it was the easiest sentence he’d ever uttered in his entire life.

He didn’t say too and that felt important. There was no I love you, too , because it wasn’t that – it wasn’t some sort of call and response.

This was...everything.

He still kind of wished he was on skates.

Emma didn’t move. If anything she looked like she’d frozen a bit – everything except her eyes. Her eyes kept moving and she kept blinking, gaze darting anywhere except back towards him. “Swan, c’mon, look at me,” Killian said.

“What?” she asked.

“Was that a question about wanting you to look at me or…” “What?” “Emma, you’ve got to say something else. I don’t even know what you’re asking me.” She shook her head and exhaled loudly, still blinking as quickly and as often as ever. He grinned at that, thumb grazing just over the curve of her cheek and his left hand was still on her hip. “I love you,” he said again.

She rolled her eyes, head moving with the force of it, and her hand fell on his chest. “Well, that’s not even fair, you can’t wait ten thousand years to say something back and then say it twice in the span of two seconds.”

“I hardly think it was ten thousand years.” “Felt like it.” Killian laughed softly and Emma bit her lip again, but there was a smile just on the edge of her mouth. Her head fell forward slightly, forehead resting against his and this might have actually been the greatest night he could remember having in years – or ever,  but they’d already notched one sort of vaguely, overwhelming emotional moment in the last few minutes. One step at a time.

“I really do love you,” he muttered and she was far too close to him. She’d bought him a pillow and they still hadn’t sat down.

“That’s three times now,” Emma said, scrunching her nose slightly as she knocked her knuckles across his shoulder.

“Are you keeping track, love?” “No, no, of course not. I mean, maybe, but you know...whatever. It’s not that big of a deal.” It was. It was the biggest deal. It was the only deal that had ever mattered in the history of the entire goddamn universe.

“Of course not,” Killian said, taking a step back until his legs hit against the front of the bed. He took a deep breath when Emma crashed against him and maybe they both would have been better on ice. “God, Swan, you can’t just do things like that.” She widened her eyes and she was absolutely smiling now – any sense of post-declaration nerves brought on by his complete inability to function like a normal human being gone. “See, remember when you were making promises not to throw me into things, I didn’t take into account being tugged into them. Rather forcefully.” “Maybe I’m just trying to get you to sit back down. Or lay back down. I’m not picky.” “Are you?” Killian hummed in the back of his throat, moving his eyebrows quickly and Emma rolled her eyes. “You keep making that face, love,” he said, head bouncing slightly against the mound of pillows pressed up against the headboard.

“Look who’s keeping track now.” “Absolutely.”

He pulled her back against his side, arm wrapped tightly around her waist and he wasn’t sure how he was ever actually going to fall asleep. Emma’s fingers kept moving, tapping out a rhythm against the top of the shorts he’d actually managed to pull on hours before and Killian glanced down, smiling in spite of himself when he tugged her hand away.

And they might have actually stayed that way – his fingers wrapped around hers, thumb tracing across the line of her knuckles – for hours or days or maybe the next Christmas in the brownstone, but Killian would have been more than content with any of it.

“I love you,” he said again. She laughed, body shaking slightly against his side, and he probably wouldn’t ever say anything else again.

“We totally fell for the set-up,” Emma said softly, lifting her head off his shoulder.

“Ah, well you made it easy.” “Charmer.” “No, honest,” Killian countered quickly. Emma’s eyes widened a bit, blinking again as if that might have been the most surprising moment in a day that included everything from pregnancy announcements to Liam’s apparent non-retirement retirement and relationship-changing declarations in the middle of his childhood bedroom.

“Please,” Emma scoffed, knocking against his shoulder again until he dropped back dramatically, head falling in between two pillows.

“I’m serious, Swan. It was...easy.”

He winced slightly at the word and Emma raised her eyebrows skeptically, lips twisted as she propped her head up on her hand.

“It was,” Killian continued. “I mean you didn’t want that party and you’ve done so much for this team already and...this is different.” She blinked once, mouth falling open slightly and for half a vaguely terrifying second he was certain he’d said something wrong. That changed when she started kissing him.

There were pillows everywhere – pressed up against his head and underneath one of his arms and Emma had already kicked two off the end of the bed, muttering something about hoarding under her breath.

And he hadn’t been lying.

It was different.

She’d shown up in New York and flipped the whole world on its head and this was absolutely the year. He’d make sure.

They’d twisted around in what should have been a completely impossible motion, limbs wrapped up in each other and decorative pillows and Killian was half convinced the blanket was actually trying to strangle them both, but then Emma’s lips found his and nothing else mattered or would ever matter as much as that.

Over emotional fool – with a girlfriend who loved him back.

They fell asleep like that, not entirely comfortable, but not entirely willing to actually move either and he couldn’t quite mask his laugh when she groaned as soon as the first Christmas morning knock came on his door.

“Shut up,” Emma mumbled, smacking against his arm.

“You are very aggressive post-declarations, Swan,” Killian laughed, tightening his grip on her waist.

“Shut up.” “See, that’s what I’m talking about. All… prickly.” “Prickly? That’s the best adjective you could come up with?” “A good one I think.” The second knock came quicker than he’d expected, accompanied by Elsa screaming Uncle Killian, we have a lot of presents out here and we’re very impatient and we can’t start without you, just outside the door.  

“C’mon, KJ,” Anna yelled, kicking the door now for good measure. “Mom’s already made coffee. You have, literally, no excuse not to come downstairs.” “At least not one you can mention in front of your nephews,” Emma muttered and he sighed dramatically before flipping her onto her back. And he appreciated her quick intake of breath more than he should have when there was an entire family clamoring for him to come downstairs and open presents.

“Ah, maybe prickly isn't the right adjective after all,” Killian said, smiling as he ducked his head to kiss just behind her ear. Emma’s hips moved and he could feel her gasp. “What did you call me last night, Swan? Insatiable?” Her laugh turned into something decidedly different when his hand moved, fingers trailing over the side of her thigh, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at her lips – particularly when she bit down on the lower one.

“You can’t just use the same word,” Emma argued and she’d closed her eyes. “That’s like using the word in the definition. Cheating.”

The third knock was almost blatantly impatient and just a bit frustrated and Killian shook his head, brushing his lips over hers.

“Ah,” he said slowly, ignoring the knock completely. “Well I’d never cheat. That’s bad form. You’d get a game misconduct for that. Maybe even a fine.”

“You can’t afford a fine.” “Excuse me, Swan, I’m doing perfectly alright. I can absolutely afford a fine.” She shook her head quickly, eyes bright and smile plastered on her face and maybe they didn’t actually have to go downstairs. Maybe they should have just spent the two days they had off for Christmas camped out in his apartment and that very comfortable bed of his and neither one of them would have to put on matching team-branded merchandise.

“That’s not what I meant,” Emma muttered, back arching when his hand moved again. “God you can’t do that, there are children outside.” “They’re preoccupied with presents. What did you mean?” “It’s an FA season,” she said quickly, as if that explained everything. “And you probably shouldn’t be getting game misconducts and fines if you’re trying to max out.” He froze, fingers tightening around her thigh slightly and Emma’s eyebrows lowered in confusion. Fuck.

“Of course I’m trying to max out,” Killian said, rushing over the words so she wouldn’t be able to hear the way his pulse picked up. He hadn’t talked to Regina about his contract in weeks, not since she’d mentioned it in the restaurant, and he should probably pay better attention to those things because Regina was usually better at that.

She’d spent the entire season last year arguing for Robin’s deal.

It didn’t really matter. They’d win the Cup and the Rangers couldn’t let him walk, not after everything he’d done for this team. Probably. They’d probably sign him. He should ask Regina. He’d told Regina to talk to Colorado.

Fuck.

“What’s the matter?” Emma asked, twisting her shoulders slightly.

“Nothing.” “Killian.” “I promise, Swan.” Knock four was Mr. Vankald and that just seemed unfair, the voice on the other side of the door sounding a bit too much like teenage years spent trying to sneak onto public transportation and he’d always known the real reason Anna got food poisoning.

“Now, Killian,” he said and, well, that was that.

Emma laughed, smile doing something very specific to his stomach’s ability to stay in its biologically dictated place. “You look like you just got caught breaking curfew.” “I kind of feel that way,” Killian admitted.

She laughed again, rolling back onto her side of the bed – and they’d managed to do that again, settle onto sides and next to each other and he should really tell Regina he might not be all that interested in getting traded at the end of the season.

[itsyokythings-blog]

My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga. - Travel. Adventure. Yoga.

You might have heard that Canada is an expensive country to visit and that Vancouver is at the top of that list. But it is possible to do Vancouver on a budget! Read this post by a Vancouver local to get creative ideas for free things to do in Vancouver — that are tons of fun too.

This is a guest post by Lesley from Freedom56 Travel. She is an aspiring nomad who currently makes her home in Vancouver.

1. 3. 5. 7.

With a dizzying array of indoor and outdoor activities to try, Vancouver is a playground for locals and tourists alike. If your wallet is fat, there is no end to the exciting restaurants, events and parties awaiting you in this world-class city. 

But, maybe your wallet’s a little slimmer or you prefer to spend your time more sustainably? Or maybe you’re saving for a life of nomadic adventure, like I am? The good news is, there are plenty of fun things to do in Vancouver that cost very little or are completely free.

Grab my suggestions below for budget Vancouver fun, from free yoga, to great game nights, to extreme hiking!

Read on to discover the best…

Free Things to do in Vancouver

Pin this for your Vancouver adventure.

Also don’t miss these posts:

Vancouver Bike Routes to enjoy the city → 17 things to do in Vancouver in the summer → 11 best things to do on Vancouver Island →

1. Test Your Mettle in Vancouver’s Mountains

BCMC Trail

Free, open June–September, daylight hours

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Ben Clarke (@benthomasclarke) on Apr 16, 2016 at 10:53am PDT

One of the best things to do in Vancouver is to get outside into the extraordinary nature surrounding the city.

You might have heard of the Grouse Grind, that famous Vancouver hiking trail where locals secure bragging rights for the fastest time and post sweaty selfies at the top, high-fiving their friends. 

But have you heard of the BCMC Trail? This 4.5km trail offers a less busy, less touristy alternative to the Grouse Grind with the same potential for sweaty selfies and high-fives. Both these hikes are very challenging and steep, so only suitable for fit and experienced hikers with proper shoes!

Open from June to September, the BCMC (BC Mountaineering Club) Trail starts off at the same place as the Grind, which is easily accessible using the local bus. 

The BCMC soon diverts to the right onto the Baden Powell trail. This trail is well marked and leads you to the same destination as the Grind — the Grouse Mountain Chalet.

The BCMC trail is a more technical route than the Grind, with more roots and rocks to navigate, but the terrain is less monotonous than the never-ending stairs of the Grind. You can bring your dog (no dogs are permitted on the Grind), too! The BCMC is slightly longer than the Grind, averaging 10 minutes longer on ascent, around 1.5 hours in total. You can also descend the BCMC, although most opt to take the Grouse on the way down.

The best part about climbing the BCMC trail is that the usual Grouse Grind crowd is absent. It is more of hiking trail and is not marketed as a tourist attraction. 

Both the Grouse Grind and the BCMC trail offer a great workout, but if you’re looking for a more traditional hiking trail without the crowds, try the BCMC trail.

2. Enjoy the World’s Longest Waterfront

Vancouver Seaside Greenway

Free, always open, perfect for a sunset stroll

You’ll get exceptional views walking the seawall in Vancouver.

Vancouver’s Seaside Greeway is the world’s longest uninterrupted waterfront path! It’s a great option for walkers, cyclists, and even roller bladers.

Now 28km long, the Seaside Greenway encompasses the famous Stanley Park Seawall, the Vancouver Convention Centre, and Spanish Banks Park. You can stroll your chosen section or rent a bike to explore the entire path.

(Note: Biking in Vancouver is one of My Five Acres’s favourite activities!)

Be aware that the Seawall is divided along its length to give cyclists and inline skaters their own space. If you’re walking, stay on the pedestrian side of the path. Cyclists should go slowly and watch out for stray pedestrians!

Starting from the beginning at Canada Place in Coal Harbour, you can stroll into Stanley Park and join locals and tourists out for their daily exercise. You’ll get to see the beautiful Lions Gate Bridge and the North Shore s, passing by Second Beach and HMCS Discovery along the way.

Leaving Stanley Park 9km later, you’ll find yourself on the English Bay side of downtown, passing by Sunset Beach Park. If you’re looking for romantic things to do in Vancouver, an evening stroll along this section of the seawall, with the city lights twinkling on the water, is ideal.

From here, you can hop on the Aquabus to go Granville Island. 

Or, keep walking and the route will take you all the way past Science World and into the new Vancouver neighbourhood that was the Athletes Village for the 2010 Winter Olympics. 

If you’re still feeling keen and energetic, continue past Granville Island and into Vanier Park and Kits Beach. Here, you can try beach volleyball, bake in the sun, and swim in the ocean or the iconic Kits Pool. The bike route continues beyond Kits Beach through to the UBC area and Pacific Spirit Park.

3. Walking Meditation in a Greek-Style Labyrinth

St. Paul’s Anglican Church Labyrinth 

Free, Tue–Fri 8:30–9:30am, Sun 10am–noon, 2nd and last Friday each month, 7pm–9pm

The St. Paul’s Labyrinth in Vancouver is based on this traditional style of labyrinth. Photo by David Clay Photography, own work, CC BY-SA 4.0.

If you Google “labyrinth” these days, you’ll find results that include films, artwork, operas, TV mini-series, card games and more.

However, in Vancouver’s St. Paul’s Anglican Church, you’ll find a Labyrinth that adheres to the original meaning of the word — an ancient pattern first found in Greek mythology and widely used all over the world in the decorative arts.

The Labyrinth at St. Paul’s Church is a 13m replica of the medieval labyrinth found at the 13th century Chartres Cathedral in France.

Opened in 1996, the labyrinth is used for a form of walking meditation. 

Painted on the gym floor and almost 500m from start to finish, the labyrinth is open to the public and is used for a variety of purposes, which include reflection, healing, celebration and more.

On the last Friday of every month, there is live music to enjoy while you experience the serenity of walking meditation. Recent guest artists have included cellists, pianists, throat singers, and harpists.

On my recent visit to the Labyrinth, I really fell in love with the experience! There was a soothing atmosphere in the Labyrinth space and the physical movement of walking through the labyrinth seemed to calm my mind. I’ll definitely be returning.

4. Test Your Board Game Chops Against Local Gamers

The Storm Crow Tavern

Mon–Sat, 11am–1am, Sun, 11am–12am 

The Storm Crow Tavern in Vancouver is like a sports bar, but for geeks. Photo via Storm Crow Tavern.

The original Nerd Bar in Vancouver, the Storm Crow Tavern on Commercial Drive has a low-key environment that welcomes everyone from gob-smacked tourists to nerdy metalheads. 

You’ll never see a hockey game on the TV here. Instead, you’ll find Game of Thrones, Star Trek or other science fiction and fantasy shows.

The Storm Crow encourages guests to play board and card games, and has literally hundreds of different games available, divided into appetizers (less than 30 minutes), light fare (up to 60 minutes), and main course (more than an hour). 

Nerd Heaven

Everything from backgammon to Carcassonne to a Lord of the Rings Trivia Game is on the menu. If you’re keen to try something new, you’ll find it at The Storm Crow.

This is technically one of the almost free things to do in Vancouver, because you will need to order something. But the staff won’t mind if you just get a coffee and play a game with your friends. If you’re coming alone, there will be plenty of friendly people (Canadians are the friendliest!) looking to add another person to their game.

The Storm Crow often hosts special event nights, too, so check their Facebook page for all the latest. A visit to the Storm Crow is one of the most fun activities in Vancouver.

5. Move Your Body at a Karma Yoga Class

You can always hold your own yoga session right on Vancouver’s amazing beaches.

If you’ve always wanted to try yoga, or just want a welcoming place to practice while on holiday, there are plenty of places for free yoga in Vancouver.  

Lululemon, which was born in Vancouver, offers complimentary yoga at several locations in and around Vancouver. Confirm with the store if you plan to attend. 

Sundays: 8:45am at Robson Street 9:30am at Oakridge

Mondays: 8pm at Kitsilano

Tuesdays: 6:30pm at Lulu Lab (Cambie)

Thursdays: 7:30am at Robson Street (ESL focus)

Some stores also have running and guided meditation classes, so if you’re looking for other active free things to do in Vancouver, check in with them.

Unity Yoga Tea house on Commercial drive offers weekly Karma Classes that only require donation of non-perishable item for the food bank. 

For a very “Vancouver” experience, try Rooftop Yoga in downtown Vancouver. This is a donation-based studio, with an emphasis on embodiment of self-hood, offers two evening classes alternating weekly. 

6. Take a Free Walking Tour

Various Locations Around the City

Free, a tip is expected if you enjoy the tour

You may well stop by the exceptional Vancouver Public Library on your free Vancouver walking tour.

Central Vancouver is a relatively small area and a great place to walk. There are lots of local walking tour companies offering tours to some of the best Vancouver tourist attractions. While there is no fee upfront, the tour guides welcome tips at the end of the tour if you enjoy it. 

Vancouver’s original free walking tour company is the Tour Guys. They host a variety of tours of downtown Vancouver and Granville Island that run seasonally from March to September. Their walking tour of Chinatown is particularly popular, as Vancouver’s original Chinatown was the largest in Canada, and second only to San Francisco in North America.

Another well-rated free walking tour operator is Freetour.com, who offer a great All-Canadian Free Walking Tour. This 3-hour tour hits all the highlights of downtown Vancouver, including the Gastown Steam Clock, the Terry Fox Memorial, and Dr. Sun Yat Sen park. This introductory tour to Vancouver runs daily (except Mondays).

7. Get Involved in Volunteerism

Various Locations, Go Volunteer Website

Free, choose a time that suits your schedule

There are plenty of people and animals you can meet doing volunteer work in Vancovuer.

If you want to get to know some Vancouver locals while helping others and developing your own skills, try volunteering in Vancouver. Volunteering is a great non-touristy thing to do in Vancouver!

Finding volunteer opportunities in Vancouver is easy thanks to the Go Volunteer website.

You can sort volunteering opportunities by your interests and location, the type of skills required, as well as keywords. If you’re interested in volunteering in a particular sector, like children’s activities or horticulture, search using those terms to find opportunities that interest you.

Short- and Long-Term Gigs

I’ve found both short- and long-term volunteer gigs on Go Volunteer. 

If you’re in Vancouver for a short time, opportunities like volunteering as an usher at the Vancouver Fringe Festival might be for you. If you’re into non-traditional live performances, this is a great gig. Other Vancouver festivals such as the Vancouver Film Festival also use this site as a resource for finding their volunteers. 

If you’re warm-hearted soul, senior’s homes always welcome visitors to help with recreational programming or just sitting down with a resident for a cup of coffee and a chat. 

Visiting Vancouver’s beaches is an exception free activity in Vancouver.

Lesley is a enthusiast, avid motorcyclist and aspiring retiree! She has ed extensively while working 9 to 5 and is looking forward to making ing her full-time job. With Vancouver as her home base, Lesley seeks to share her adventures with the world! She writes about from a mid-life perspective on her blog, Freedom56 Travel. You can follow her there and also on Pinterest and Facebook.

Despite its reputation as an expensive city, these fun and free things to do in Vancouver prove that you don’t need to rely on a big budget to have fun in Canada’s most beautiful city. We hope our suggestions help you have an amazing time in Vancouver.

♥  Happy mindful adventures, Jane & Stephen

We’re not going to lie, it takes a LOT of work to create guides like this. But it’s easy to help us out! If you book or buy something using one of our personal links in this post, we’ll earn a small fee at no extra cost to you. Of course, we would never recommend anything we didn’t 100% believe in! Huge thanks in advance! –S&J

Pin this for your Vancouver trip.

The post 7 Fun & Free Things to do in Vancouver, BC appeared first on My Five Acres. Travel. Adventure. Yoga..

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/travel/atlanta-best-places-to-eat-drink-and-play/

Atlanta: Best places to eat, drink and play

Atlanta (CNN) — Downtown Atlanta is home to a host of densely packed attractions — the Georgia Aquarium, World of Coca-Cola, the Center for Civil and Human Rights, the College Football Hall of Fame and more.

But the city’s real flavor comes from its neighborhoods, and any visit to Atlanta should skew heavy on food and beverage outings, as this guide does.

So while fans in town for the Super Bowl would do well to check out what the area around the new Mercedes-Benz Stadium has to offer, they should also explore a bit beyond downtown.

Grant Park

Zoo Atlanta is home to more than 1,500 animals, including several giant pandas.

One of Atlanta’s most interesting and storied spots, Historic Oakland Cemetery (248 Oakland Ave) opened in 1850, making it the city’s oldest public park.

The graves serve as resting places and reminders of Atlanta’s layered history. Jewish, Confederate and African American grounds are all part of its 48 acres. Mayors, former slaves, athletes and authors are all buried here.

The elaborate Victorian cemetery carries its dual role as a park into the modern era. Picnickers and dog-walkers are welcome, and Oakland Cemetery is host to a whole calendar of events from music festivals to Halloween tours. Tickets for various tours can be purchased in advance.

Memorial Drive near the cemetery runs along the border of the Grant Park neighborhood to Cabbagetown and Reynoldstown, where Petit Chou (662 Memorial Dr) and Home grown (968 Memorial Dr) are top spots for breakfast or brunch.

In the evening, Golden Eagle (904 Memorial Dr) serves up expertly crafted cocktails and bites in a knock-your-socks-off space — think plush, retro hunting lodge.

For a kid-friendly outing, Zoo Atlanta (800 Cherokee Ave), located in 131-acre Grant Park, is a crowd-pleaser. The zoo is one of only four in the US to house giant pandas.

Old Fourth Ward

Martin Luther King Jr. was born in this house, right, on Auburn Avenue.

James Duckworth/Courtesy of ACVB & AtlantaPhotos.com

Martin Luther King Jr.’s Birth Home (501 Auburn Ave) is located about a mile from downtown.

The National Park Service offers ranger-led tours that are first-come, first-served and limited to 15 people. Getting to the visitor center early in the morning to sign up is key.

A block south of the MLK birth home, Atlanta’s young (and youngish) gather along Edgewood Avenue.

Among its eclectic bars: “Nerdy dive bar” with arcade games Joystick Gamebar (427 Edgewood Ave) and Sister Louisa’s Church of the Living Room and Ping Pong Emporium (466 Edgewood Ave) — Church, for short — where adult beverages meet ping pong, a church organ and all manner of irreverent religious art.

Also on Edgewood is Staplehouse (541 Edgewood Ave), named America’s best new restaurant by Bon Appetit in 2016.

The Eastside Trail of the Atlanta BeltLine connects several intown neighborhoods.

James Duckworth/Courtesy of ACVB & AtlantaPhotos.com

About a mile and half north, Ponce City Market is a beacon of adaptive-reuse development and premium dining and retail.

Casual chef-driven eateries — fish shack, burger joint, fried chicken, tacos, ramen, doughnuts — dominate the market’s Food Hall, located in the rehabbed 1920s Sears, Roebuck & Co. warehouse.

Ponce City Market sits along the Atlanta BeltLine, a 22-mile urban trail that, when finished, will connect 45 intown neighborhoods. This stretch, the Eastside Trail, is the place to people watch and get a sense of Atlanta’s rapid redevelopment.

A few blocks down Ponce, in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood, the Clermont Lounge (789 Ponce De Leon Ave NE) is a you-have-to-see-it-to-understand Atlanta institution where a 60-something stripper named Blondie crushes PBR cans with her breasts.

Upstairs, the trendy boutique Hotel Clermont recently opened, complete with a sultry lobby bar and a fun rooftop watering hole with great views of the city.

Midtown

The “Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors” exhibit has been a sold-out success in Atlanta.

In Midtown, the fabulous Fox Theatre (660 Peachtree St), has hosted musical acts, theater performances, movies and more in its ornate Moorish- and Egyptian-influenced auditorium since 1929. Ticketed tours of the space can be booked in advance.

The Center for Puppetry Arts (1404 Spring St) is the largest American nonprofit dedicated solely to puppet theater. There’s a museum with a Jim Henson Collection and a Global Collection, rotating performances (for kids and adults), workshops and other programs.

The High Museum of Art (1280 Peachtree St) is wrapping up its blockbuster showing of “Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors.”

Advance tickets are sold out, but for the patient and optimistic visitor, the museum offers 100 walk-up tickets to the Kusama exhibition each day. Lines for those tickets begin several hours before the museum opens. There’s also a cache of tickets going on sale on February 5 for the final week of the exhibition (February 11-17).

Nearby, 200-plus acre Piedmont Park is Atlanta’s biggest city park and a hub for exercisers, meanderers and a host of festivals and events.

Hungry now? Empire State South (999 Peachtree St) serves creative takes on Southern cuisine, while Lure (1106 Crescent Ave) is a stylish seafood restaurant.

East Atlanta Village

Banshee is an upscale restaurant addition to the no-frills East Atlanta neighborhood.

Courtesy Banshee

Southeast of downtown, East Atlanta Village is home to a bevy of casual bars (and food, too) at the intersection of Flat Shoals and Glenwood avenues.

The Earl (488 Flat Shoals Ave) offers consistently good bar food, a winning dive-bar atmosphere and a full schedule of local and national bands in the back room. (Take note: smoking is allowed inside.)

Down the block, the menu at gastro-pub Argosy (470 Flat Shoals Ave) ranges from hot chicken to charred octopus, plus a long list of craft beers.

Across the street and down an alley, Gaja (491 Flat Shoals Ave) offers contemporary takes on Korean classics alongside cocktails, soju shots and so on.

Mary’s (1287 Glenwood Ave) is often voted Atlanta’s best gay bar. Tuesday night karaoke is popular at the 21+ spot.

East Atlanta’s newest and swankiest dining option, Banshee (1271 Glenwood Ave) showcases locally sourced ingredients, plus creative cocktails from its arresting turquoise and indigo bar.

West End

The historic West End neighborhood is a classic Atlanta story — an area that started out as a transportation hub (a trolley stop), hit hard times but is bouncing back strong now.

One thing driving that resurgence is the West End Trail portion of the BeltLine. And for those who find the Eastside portion too crowded, you might find a little more elbow room here.

For a classic soul-food experience, the no-frills Q Time delivers (1120 Ralph David Abernathy Blvd). You can fill up on large portions of delicious Southern favorites such as turnip greens, black-eyed peas, fried chicken and peach cobbler.

If that’s too heavy, the opposite end of the food spectrum is nearby at Tassili’s Raw Reality Cafe (1059 Ralph David Abernathy Blvd), with a menu of raw vegan delights such as Moroccan Couscous or their Original Kale, a wrap with kale salad, avocado and tomato.

West End also has two sightseeing attractions worth a visit:

The Hammond House Museum (503 Peeples St) is an excellent place to learn more about the contributions of visual artists of African descent. The museum has 18 works by influential 20th-century artist Romare Bearden.

The Wren’s Nest (1050 Ralph David Abernathy Blvd) is an Queen Anne architectural pleasure and the former home of Southern newspaper writer and fiction author Joel Chandler Harris of “Uncle Remus” fame. It’s a close-up look at how an upper-middle class family lived at the end of the 19th century.

West Midtown

Howell Mill Road and the surrounding area is a hot spot for shopping and dining.

Long a hub for furniture, fabric and all things design, the Westside has filled in with restaurants, boutiques and chain stores.

Bacchanalia (1460 Ellsworth Industrial Blvd), opened in 1993 by chefs/owners Anne Quatrano and Clifford Harrison, has been at the top of Atlanta’s fine dining scene for decades.

Entertainmentwise, The Painted Duck (976 Brady Ave) offers duck pin bowling in a glamorous venue also equipped with shuffleboard, horse shoes, air hockey, etc.

And in an area teeming with craft cocktails, Northside Tavern (1058 Howell Mill Road) is the spot for a bottle of beer, lives blues and a game of pool. This smoky dive bar dates back to 1972, and it’s holding its own as new buildings rise up around it.

CNN’s Forrest Brown contributed to this story.

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, ABBY! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard PHTHONOS, known as RONAN AVERY-GREENE, with a faceclaim of HENRY ZAGA. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: We will tell you straight up when we see Phthonos was the most difficult decision for us to make. Both apps were so rich in detail and plot, and it physically hurt us to choose one. But Abby, your portrayal of Phthonos just managed to tip the scale. We loved the idea of Ronan having a twin, that she plays such a major role in his resentment. It is clear that Ronan still has so much growing to do, and we cannot wait to watch for how this crew and this quest shape him. Your expansion of connections truly let us envision the sort of person he’s going to be among the crew, the way he’s going to mesh with others, and we can’t wait to see his anger develop and affect those around him. (And, happy birthday!)

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME/ALIAS: Abby AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 21 (today! happy acceptance day lol), GMT sept-dec & feb-may / EST dec-jan & june-aug, she/her ACTIVITY  & EXTRAS: I’m a full-time uni student, so while my schedule is usually pretty busy it is very flexible. I’m typically on at least a handful of hours every day, and more than likely have Tumblr running in the background (whoops?)

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Phthonos CHARACTER NAME: Ronan Avery-Greene AGE & GENDER: 24, cis male FACECLAIM: Henry Zaga, Xavier Serrano, Rome Flynn, Samuel Larsen, Keith Powers

BIOGRAPHY:

It would be easy to say Ronan came into this world screaming, tiny fists raised in the air and already angry at a world that pulled him too soon from the womb’s warm embrace. It would certainly paint a nice picture: Ronan, born screeching and bloody, living and dying much the same. Too nice, perhaps, that the Gods could not give it to him. That the Fates had something else in mind.

It is Eleanor, Ronan’s sister, twin, predetermined better half that comes first, with war and fight already beating in her chest. Ronan is second, one step behind and quarter of an hour later, Nora’s umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny neck.

And so Ronan enters the world like this: already choking where his sister could breathe.

Life before Camp Half-Blood is a blur of mediocrity. The three of them, Nora, Ronan, and their mother make a home northeast of Philadelphia. She’s a teacher, History. Nora takes up soccer and field hockey and swimming. Ronan tries his hand at baseball, but is asked not to return next season after he gives the coach’s son a black eye. Any questions of their father, posed mostly by Ronan, are met with mumbled excuses and hurried promises of when you’re older.

Their mother brings a man home when she thinks they’re asleep. A few months later she introduces him as her friend, David. When they get married, the twins take his name, too, because they’re twelve and despite the storm they summon to fight it get no say in the matter.

The blur comes to a halt. August 19th, 2007. Olivia Greene is born, beautiful and bright-eyed and human, though Ronan doesn’t know yet there’s a difference between what flows in his and his new sister’s veins. What he knows is that she becomes the centre of his mother’s world, and David’s, too, but attention directed away from them is little different than no attention at all. The Avery twins cease to exist in a Greene home.

Nora doesn’t pay it much mind. She’s thirteen now and full of rage. Ronan is, too, sometimes so much he swears the only thing he can see is red, burning red. But Nora has her friends and her sports, her schoolwork or boys to keep her busy. Ronan’s teachers have all but given up on him, and despite the anger that bubbles in his chest he still waits for his mother to tuck him in before bed. He doesn’t know yet what the call the hand that closes over his heart when his mother croons over Olivia’s first word, but fails to notice her son’s slipping grades, poor attendance, rising detention count. He doesn’t know that this is only the beginning, one step down a path that was laid out from conception.

He learns, though. They all pay attention when he puts his hand through the living room wall.

The doctor that bandages his knuckles has stern words and Ronan nods like he listens, but he can’t help the grin that spreads the next time he sees the damage. And again, the next morning, when it’s still there, or the morning after. A monument to his rage and pain and fury. In everyone’s faces, where they can’t brush him aside with not tonight’s and another time’s and your sister, your sister, your sister, so many times he feels like screaming.

David patches the wall, eventually. Paints it over until he can’t even see the seam. But now Ronan knows how it feels to ruin things: a little like fire, a little like ice. Mostly it feels like quiet, just for a second, before the pain hits, and that could almost be mistaken for bliss.

Nora found her fury years ago, but now Ronan has his, makes a home in it, and that’s when the monsters come. Because one is enough for attention, but two, intertwined and blazing, has their hunger. Nora notices they’re being followed first, of course she does. Ronan is always two steps behind, tissue pressed to his busted lip, papers spilling out of his open bag, lacrosse gear swinging wildly off his shoulder. But Nora sees what he doesn’t, grabs his arm, hushes him when he protests to being pulled down an unfamiliar side street.

As it turns out, their new English substitute did take a disliking to Ronan, but not for the reasons he expected.

Their satyr grabs them before anything else can, explains impossible things, gives Ronan more questions than answers. His eyes nearly big out of his head when he takes off his shoes. But Ronan’s body is braced for war and so he wants to fight, argue, shake his head until he can shake out everything the satyr’s said to them. As always, it’s Nora who has the clear head, Nora who dealt the fatal blow to the monster, Nora who decides to listen. And if Ronan could hear anything but the thump thump of his own heart, then maybe he’d realise it felt right. Because nothing except the impossible can explain what their substitute teacher became, and so it is the impossible they must accept.

Fate his kind, just this once, to Ronan and his sister. The house is empty when they arrive, Nora’s splintered softball bat and Ronan’s half-melted lacrosse stick ditched in the dumpster at the end of the street. They make haste, shove only what they can or need into a backpack each. Camp Half-Blood isn’t far, not really, but it still feels like an eternity before they reach the top of the hill, cold and bloody and shivering.

They’re claimed within the day. Well, Nora is, a daughter of Ares, but Ronan is her twin and so, by default, he must be, too. It feels right enough. It feels nice enough, to have a name to the rage that burns like acid in his veins. To have a reason. They make their home in cabin number five, sleep a full night for the first time in too long, are promised safety and training and answers in the morning. And they come, they do, in spades.

Ronan’s weapon becomes the spear, Nora’s the harpe, and together they are a force to be reckoned with. But it is Nora who deals the final blows, who captures the flags, who crosses the finish line, and each time she is lauded, praised, lifted on their shoulders as if weren’t Ronan who got her there. As if he hadn’t weakened their opponent, found the flag, cut down every chariot that came up behind them. He tries not to let the bitterness swell, tries so hard, but even his own victories aren’t met with the same vigour as Nora’s. Ronan wins, all the damn time, but he’s angry and ruthless and cruel, and so it is his sister who wears the crown.

She becomes cabin counselor. There is no other alternative. Ronan doesn’t dare challenge her, because she’s his sister, more than anyone else in their cabin, but more because he knows he’ll lose.

He does his best to ignore the way the crowd ripples when Chiron calls his name. Wills himself not to see the way their eyes swivel from Nora to him. He is not the favourite. He is trouble and dangerous, and hasn’t gotten anyone killed yet, but very nearly. It doesn’t quite fall away when he steps forward, but fades to a static. Because Chiron said his name, and because it can almost sound like his father saying it, too.

And that’s enough. It has to be enough, because if it isn’t, then what does he have left?

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC:

Envy has always been something of a double-edged sword for Ronan; equal parts incentive and obstacle. It’s envy that pits him against his sister, his twin, his partner fused in the womb. It’s envy that keeps him at the arena until the sun is long set, until sweat pours off him, until his palms are raw and bloody. It’s envy that has him running first into battle, always, because when Nora does it she’s praised but when he does he’s brash and careless. Envy is, truly, at the root of all action, whether Ronan knows it or not.

(He doesn’t, he’s never had the wherewithal to stop and consider, even for a moment, why he behaves the way he does; he fights and he ruins and he hates and he seethes because they’re the only things he knows how to do.)

It’s envy that will make him pick up the spear, jump to action, be a hero, maybe. It’s envy that will make him take the wrong step, move a second too late, catch the wrong side of a monster’s swinging fist. Because he’ll see Ambitio, or Dyspistia, or Honos, and think: I can do that too, and better. I will have what they have, finally. Equally, it’s envy that will paralyse him, stop his fighting heart, turn his muscles to stone. It’s envy that will make him think too hard, for too long, turn desire into obsession, miss his mark, kill his friends, kill the world.

Ronan does something because of envy, or he doesn’t do anything at all. It’s all the same, in the end.

EXTRAS

blog tag // moodboard // pinterest

CONNECTIONS, EXISTING (or expanded)

Anasfaleia: Ronan has met plenty of people who don’t like him. It’s in his nature to abrade, antagonise, rile up; the only true gift he considers from his father. His instinctual response has always been to dislike them back. But herein lies the issue: he doesn’t dislike Anasfaleia. Maybe he’s lacking in some respect for them, which he doesn’t feel is unwarranted, but he thinks of all the Greeks aboard the argo he might even like them the most – though that says little when he measures in relative distaste. Still, something familiar flickers in them, and the fact that they’ve rebuffed every attempt at connection only beckons him more. Kindness has always felt clunky on his tongue, strange and unfamiliar. It’s clear, by contrast, that Anasfaleia is unfamiliar with the Ares way of affection – or at least liking. But he also knows that only pushing them further to the edge of the cliff is a sure way down to destruction. He just needs to come to terms with his own actions and, gods forbid, their consequences.

Ambitio: When Ronan is at a loss for how to express himself he becomes cruel. It’s a learned response, because anger is loud and kindness is quiet and because he feels, so he wants others to feel in return. It’s childish, and immature, and a thousand other things Ronan hasn’t stopped to consider, but still he persists. With Laurel it is amplified tenfold. He feels everything, can do nothing, and so he seethes. Quietly, at first, until it isn’t. And then it is loud, burning and raging and filed down to a point. He doesn’t yet know how to get under her skin, how to garner the response he’s looking for, but he’ll keep trying. Eventually, something has to stick. One of his jabs will land, because he’s never known how to relinquish anything, especially pain, and when he does it will likely bring disaster raining on all of them.

Dyspistia: War and strategy, Ronan’s heard the mantra, had it drilled into him from his very first capture the flag. He knows Dyspistia would rather Nora be aboard than him; they’ve not exactly been quiet about it. He wants to prove them wrong, Dyspistia and everyone who dared whisper when he was chosen. He’s meant to be there, he’s earned this right. What has Dyspistia done to be chosen? What accolades have they been passed over for? But Ronan is self-destructive, and maybe he wants to prove them a little right, too. Maybe that’s why he buries his spear in the side of the ship, why he mouths off, antagonises the most volatile of the Romans, why he acts without fear of consequence. Because Dyspistia is right; Ronan is the wrong twin, always has been, and his refusal to cooperate with what should be his better half aboard the Argo II is just one more nail in the coffin he’s built for himself.

Pacis: It’s not the first time someone has tried to make peace with him. But Ronan has war and wolves howling in his veins, chariots pounding in his heart. He has never known peace, likely never will. Those who extend the olive branch only end up getting burned. He understands this quest is bigger than him, bigger than even the Greeks, he does, honest to gods. But his mind is so easily clouded, his gaze so easily distracted. More so, Ronan is suspicious. The Romans are never what they present themselves to be, and though Pacis’ attempt at bridging the gap between camps seems nice enough, Ronan keeps looking for the snake in the grass. He cannot, for the life of him, fathom how someone trained in battle for so many years of their life can be so kind, simply because Ronan has only known it to be weakness, and it leaves him dubious. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, so sure it will.

CONNECTIONS, POTENTIAL

Agapi: Hunters of Artemis are never permanent fixtures in Camp Half-Blood, but when they do visit Ronan is sure to give them a wide berth. Just once, he turns away from the conflict rather than towards it. He knows he’s everything the Hunters are bred to hate, and so when Agapi is chosen beside him he’s already braced for impact. But, maybe, a hunter and soldier aren’t so different, and Ronan has always been a wild thing, so it’s possible he’s been too hasty. They don’t take a liking to each other, but that’s hardly out of character. Still, the age behind their eyes intrigues him. He sees them watching the Romans, but can’t discern if it’s with hate, which he knows, envy, which he knows, or something else entirely.

Amarus: Another Roman who scorns the gods. Is Ronan missing something? Is there some great secret they haven’t let the Greeks in on? Half of him knows already, really. Half of him understands Amarus, because what have the gods given him except a gaping hole? A void he’s forced to fill with violence and anger and pleas that fall on deaf ears. But half of him scorns Amarus right back, because what would they – any of them, all of them – be without the gods? Self-made heroes? What a farce. Something bitter twists in Ronan’s stomach when he looks at them. If he were crueler, he might say they’re only there to be the ship’s lucky charm, but surely even he isn’t so cold-hearted, right?

Anisychia: Ronan has never known them to be timid, or skittish, or anything except overwhelmingly kind. They might’ve even been a friend, once, between bandaging his bruised knuckles and patching up black eyes, if Ronan hadn’t found a gift for ruination, for spoiling all things sweet that came his way. But he knows this: something fundamental shifted in the throne room. He can’t even begin to fathom what Apollo might have given them, as all gifts the Gods grant their children are laced equal parts with poison, but he clutches his spear tighter every night. Thankfully, the Argo II leaves little room to hide, and if Anisychia insists on keeping this secret to themselves, they’ll soon have Ronan biting at their heels.

Apatheia: Of all the things Ronan has been burdened with, or otherwise hoisted upon himself, death is not one of them, and for that, perhaps, he is fortunate. But he is still a victim of the crowd, a follower of trends, and for all the summers and years he’s shared with Apatheia at Camp Half-Blood, he’s given them a wide berth through each one. Who wouldn’t, he thinks, with their sunken eyes and raised hackles, always looking like something backed into a corner. They scare some campers, unnerve others. Ronan simply stayed away because everyone did. But the Argo II leaves little room for escape, and Ronan finds himself forced to reconsider: are war and death really so different, after all?

Culpa: Cursed, they say, and Ronan wants to laugh. He looks at her and sees nothing but profound sadness – an emotion unfamiliar on a Roman’s face, but something he knows well enough. If Ivy thinks she’s the one to bring dishonour and disaster to the Argo II, she hasn’t met Ronan, the Least Glorious Child of Ares. Surely no bad luck or ill fate can compare to Ronan’s profound mediocrity, the highest disgrace in his father’s eyes. He wants to spit at her, you know nothing of failure, of fighting for everything only to get nothing in return but scorn and disregard. But Ronan knows better than that. Still, something about her beckons him, like a bruise; to touch, to press, to see where all the hurt is.

Cynici: Envy blossoms in his chest again, this time a different shade. How Ronan wishes he could cast off the shackles of his father, feel resentment or hatred, or Gods even indifference, instead of despair. But he can’t, and he doesn’t, and he hates Cynici all the more for making it look so easy. They despise their godly parent, Ronan thinks, maybe because he’s looking for it, or maybe because violence and anger are the only things he knows how to recognise anymore. He wants to ask how they do it; how they stopped begging, if they ever did, how they learned to live with the burden, if they ever felt one, but that would require a moment alone and a shred of trust, both of which Ronan is lacking.

Honos: Hero, the Romans whisper, as if it’s already decided. He can’t say they look like much, but if appearances were the sole factor determining glory then surely Ronan would be suffocating in it by now. As it stands, he doesn’t know what to make of Honos. Half of him wants to believe they were only chosen for their legacy, because he is, at his core, insecure and yearning for a kindred spirit. But he’s not blind to the way greatness wraps itself around their shoulders like a shroud – or perhaps it’s simply duty he sees; they look so similar to Ronan these days. Regardless, he treads carefully around Honos, watches when he thinks they aren’t looking, waits, but what for he doesn’t yet know.

Othisi: Ronan struggles to feel little more than contempt for the Hermes cabin, and they are no exception. They take nothing seriously, where Ronan takes everything, and Gods help them if they come within sight of his spear. He knows, he knows, the Greeks need a united front if they’re to have any hope against the Romans, but it seems like everything Othisi does is purposely designed to set him off. The cheeky smirks, quick hands, half-truths, each crafted to slip under his skin. Ronan knows he’s not that special, really, but he can’t help the anxiety that builds every time they’re in the room. The only good Othisi has ever done is give Ronan and Dyspistia something to agree on, but perhaps that is a feat all on its own.

Superbia: If Ronan hadn’t been in the room himself, he scarcely would’ve believed Superbia of all people was a chosen hero. Everything about them drips opulence, and though Ronan knows little of quests or glory, he knows battle, he knows war, and decadence has little place in either; sooner would it get you killed than bring you victory. He’s convinced Superbia will stick out like a sore thumb, if only because he fails to see their use. Bacchus is not a warrior god, and in turn has not made a warrior child. It’s likely that Ronan’s own hubris clouds any perceived threat, but perhaps that’s for the better. Of all the Romans on board the Argo II, Ronan can find the fewest reasons to hate them.

[captainswannl29]

Happy Birthday Hollie!

So you know you’re REALLY special when someone who never - ever - makes a post, or finishes any kind of writing and prefers to stick to behind-the-scenes beta-ing goes full out and does a one shot for you!

I know it’s not on YOUR level, but in my defense, i didn’t have a beta as good as you do ;) I hope you enjoy it!! @the-captains-ayebrows

Birthday Fic based on this prompt;

“I’m on a date at a hockey game and my date is being a douche. Now we’re on the kiss cam, but hes on his phone, so i’m just going to kiss you instead, okay?” 

and this post;

http://killianisacupcake.tumblr.com/post/151446047966/frozenmusings-booooost-sympathypaynes

“Great!” Emma huffed, as she slammed her battery depleted phone down onto her thigh. The impact made her skin sting under her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes at the fact that – apparently - iPhone batteries don’t do so well in near-frigid temperatures. The motion caused her to catch a glimpse of Neal to her right. In his worn jersey puffed up atop layers of thermal clothing and backwards baseball cap, perched on the edge of the hard, cold, plastic arena seat he was every bit the Hockey Fan she decidedly was not.

“Come on guys! That’s it!” He shouted through gloved fingers – Jesus, even the gloves were embossed with a team logo. What team is it again? Something red. Damned if Emma could remember. Being at an NHL game with Neal was kind of like being at a little kids’ birthday party… there’s nothing in it for you, but the kid is having a great time so you’re just kind of… there. And freezing. Did she mention freezing? Without the excuse of her touch screen phone to justify her lack of mittens, she was fast approaching frostbite. After tossing her useless phone into her purse, she rubbed her hands together in a failed attempt to warm them, then hugged herself tightly, tucking each hand carefully under her biceps.

“Serve’s you right, Em!” joked Neal, now glancing back at her “I mean, who goes to a hockey game in a tank top and leather jacket anyways?”

“Well, you know, maybe if somebody had warned me they don’t actually heat these places adequately I would have been more prepared” she sighed heavily creating a cloud of frozen breath. “I never have this problem at an NBA game.” Emma arched a sarcastic brow in his direction, but his attention was turned back towards the ice and she was alone in her misery once again. Perhaps a bit disappointed at the lack of engagement with her top-notch banter, Emma narrowed her eyes and began to asses Neal’s profile. The tips of his hair were poking out around the edges of the hat and plastered against his forehead. Several creases around his eyes grew deeper as he concentrated on the players whizzing up the ice, and the line of his nose pointed towards a hinting of a moustache and beard that never quite achieved the whole “meticulously unkempt” look she knew he was secretly going for. Despite Neal’s desire to be the devil-may-care type he really looked a lot more like a boring future in the Hamptons. Which probably explained why her parents, most emphatically her mother, were always “Team Neal.” They just want you to be happy, Emma told herself. And she was, right? It had been 5 years with Neal and things were… they were okay I guess. Her mom was constantly dropping hints about planning a wedding.

“We just want you to have what we have, Emma.” Her mother had said over a blinding smile the last time they’d visited for dinner. “I knew from the first moment your father kissed me.” But the problem with that was there never was or would be another couple so perfectly cookie cutter happy as David and Mary Margaret Nolan. And as much as Emma loved them for it, she always had a nagging suspicion that she wasn’t cut from the same cloth.

“I prefer basketball too, Lass.” A mellifluous voice to her left snapped Emma out of her contemplation. Twisting around to catch a pair of serenely blue eyes she was taken completely off guard.

“Uhhh…”

“Although nothing American could ever compare to a proper match of footy.” The stranger whispered, with a one-sided smirk and eyebrow tilt to match. A few pieces of raven hair fell across his brow and brought Emma back to the here and now. He had a sharp jaw covered in a textbook 5 o’clock shadow, full lips, and a hint of chest hair escaping through the v neck of his t shirt, all wrapped up in a fitted black leather jacket reminiscent of James Dean himself. “Actually, I think it’s Canadian. Basketball that is. Common misconception.” Oh, My, God, seriously, she was mortified at her response before she had even finished it. Professor sexy and his perfection of an Irish accent – British? No, Irish, definitely Irish, is giving her a look that screams everything your mother would never let you date and she comes back with a brief history on the origins of basketball? What she wouldn’t give to be able to hide behind her phone right now.

“Ah, which explains my greater affinity for it I suppose. Never the less, Hockey isn’t exactly my cup of tea but my brother here – “He tilted his head to his left, signalling a curly haired but equally as attractive man “Well, he dragged me here. Afraid I lost a bet.”

“Well, sucks to be you I guess!” she scrunched her nose and raised her shoulders at him.

“Ha-ha, that may be true, love, but at least I have gloves.” He held up one hand and wriggled the leather covered fingers. Touché. “I’m Killian, by the way, and on that note – I hope I’m not overstepping here – but I did a quick run to the canteen just now and… well I couldn’t help but notice you looked quite cold, so if you’d like I grabbed an extra beverage.” He held a red cardboard cup with glorious steam rising from the rim out towards her.

“Oh, thanks that’s really nice…”  Emma was filled with an odd sense of surprise and if she’s being entirely honest with herself, delight, “But what about your brother?” She leaned to glance over his shoulder towards the other man “He looks kinda chilly too, ya know.”

“Not to worry, love, that tosser can fend for himself.” He winked before the tip of his tongue made a brief appearance at the corner of his mouth, which Emma noted, perhaps a little too obviously.

“Thanks.” She smiled sweetly as she wrapped her extremely grateful fingers around the cup, she was in no position to turn down the offering. As it was, the hot liquid inside was already working wonders. Even if she didn’t drink coffee, her hands appreciated the warmth.

“My pleasure, love.” He narrowed his eyes in a positively sinful fashion and followed it up with another smirk as he settled back against his chair, slowly returning his gaze to the ice.

Emma twisted back towards Neal again, gripping the cup tightly and trying to process what had just happened. He noticed she was cold – had he been watching her? He must think she was an idiot in a sub-zero arena dressed like this. Although – now that she thought if it, he was wearing a plain white tee and leather jacket himself. How long was he sitting there? How had she missed him? Now that she knew he was there she was painfully aware that their thighs were practically touching. And that he smelled incredible – like sex in a bottle really. God, had she done anything stupid… Was he hitting on her? He had to notice she was with Neal. Maybe he was just friendly. They do say that about European people, don’t they? God, why was this getting her so worked up? Snap out of it Emma! Get a grip.

In an attempt to ground herself she took a quick sip from her cup and was surprised at the familiar sweet taste of hot chocolate, not coffee. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile and a gentle laugh escaped.

“Em, are you seeing this? Our guys on a breakaway!” Neal exclaimed back at her as one member of the red team charged towards the net on the far side of the arena and shot the puck powerfully towards the Goalie.

“HE SCORES!!” Neal thrust both arms into the air and jumped out of his seat joining the majority of the audience in celebration. Flashing red lights and what sounded like a siren blared over the speakers and Emma had to hold her cup strategically to prevent the liquid from spilling in response to all the jostling. After some raucous high 5s to the strangers with painted faces in the seats behind them, Neal sat back down and casually put his arm around her.

“This is great, babe, it means we’ll have a lead going into the third period!” Neal smiled, and she returned it, her mood drastically improved by her warmed hands and the much-needed sugar rush. Maybe she was being too hard on him earlier. Freezing to death will do that to a person. He cupped her shoulder and pulled her in to a side hug.

“Jesus, Em, you’re freezing!” he recoiled and she fixed him with an annoyed look of contempt. “Sorry, self preservation.” He held his hands up as if he didn’t have a choice and turned back towards the game. Right. Emma sighed and shook her head slightly.

No phone, a total douche to her right and gods gift to women unforgettably on her left, she was forced to actually pay attention to the game. From what she could gather, the score was 1-0 in their favor and they were coming up on a break before the final period. At least then she might have some distraction watching the dancers, lights display and other entertainment. Plus, Neal may be less entranced and actually hold up a bit of a conversation.

Or not! As it turns out, Neal had other plans. As soon as the horn signaled the end of the second period, he pulled out his tablet and started tweeting, blogging, and instagramming his thoughts on the game. Out of the corner of her eye Emma was pretty sure she saw more than one self-assured gif directed towards fans of the opposing team. Whatever, she was two thirds through this and before she knew it she would be at home in a nice bubble bath. Depositing her empty cup by her foot for now, she leaned back and took in the show. Some kids were invited onto the ice to play games for free pizza, and a short man with an apparently cantankerous disposition was hampered with the duty of shooting t-shirts into the crowd out of a giant cannon. When one landed just below them a full-on dog pile resulted – seriously, grown men and their sports paraphernalia. She didn’t think she’d ever get it. All the while Neal remained totally unfazed. Rolling her eyes, she noticed that over the speakers, “We will rock you” was faded out as a poppy rendition of “Love will keep us together” took over. Emma glanced up at the jumbo-tron and saw a heart shaped frame focusing in on random couples throughout the stadium, urging them to kiss to the cheers of the crowd. God, how embarrassing. What if you were there with your brother?

Before she could finish that thought, she was shocked to see herself and Neal, completely consumed with his online trolling, focused on the giant TV. If there was one thing Emma could think of that was more embarrassing than kissing on the jumbo-tron at a professional sports game, it was being ignored on one!

The crowd immediately surrounding them began to hoot and cheer, an electric excitement buzzing and Emma wanted to get the whole thing over with so the camera man could move on to his next victim.

“Neal!” Emma called placing a hand on his forearm, urging him to look up.

“Just a minute babe, I’m right in the middle here.” His eyes were laser focused on the tablet as his fingers danced frantically over the screen. Emma felt her cheeks begin to flush and her heart race in mortification.

“No, Neal seriously, look up!” She pleaded, stretching her hand out to point towards the kiss cam. The crowd kept cheering, but a few were beginning to laugh, some people were pointing, above the roaring noise and blasting music she could make out a chorus of “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

“Emma, 5 seconds, I’m about to make this kid look like a total jack ass!” he snorted. Emma’s breath escaped in a scoff, what the fuck! She was going to kill him! Totally livid, and a bit hurt, not that she’d ever admit to that, she couldn’t help feeling totally alone in the moment. A little bit of panic snuck in and she felt desperately like she was drowning, without a lifeline. Oh God, just get me out of here!

She began to shrug her shoulders and raise her eyes, hands upturned when warm fingers slid gently up her left thigh and paused on her knee with a small squeeze. A shoulder pressed against her own, and a pair of pillow soft lips came to rest aside her ear lobe,

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

The words tickled across her cheek and a thrilling rush of adrenaline shot down her spine as she drew in a sharp breath. In total disbelief of what was happening – in front of tens of thousands of people no less – Emma slowly turned to face Killian. She let go of the breath she was holding, and glanced from his eyes, to his lips, and back up again. He was looking at her in a way Neal never had. Almost like she was something precious. Her heart was pounding in her ears, completely drowning out the crowd. Her head felt fuzzy and her stomach was filled with butterflies. Oh God, she was going to pass out. Yup. That’s about right, that’s how this ends, complete and utter humiliation.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, love, but a woman as beautiful as you deserves a man’s full and prompt attention.” At that he ran his tongue across his bottom lip and curled his mouth into a completely wicked grin.

Emma looked over her shoulder at Neal, who was still oblivious. Then to the Kiss Cam, which panned from left to right, Neal to Killian.

She met his eyes – shock replaced with revelation – and said,

“You’re fucking right!”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips in a fierce and passionate kiss. The crowd went absolutely wild, but all Emma could hear was Killian’s moan of surprise. He seemed a bit stunned for only a second before threading his fingers through her hair and slanting his mouth over hers in a follow up kiss. She steadied herself by splaying her hands against the firmness of his chest while she absolutely melted into him. He kissed her like nobody ever had before. Her entire body hummed with electricity, from her finger tips, all the way to her toes and if she hadn’t remembered she was broadcast over a fucking 200-foot screen right now she would have climbed astride him and took this thing up a notch.

“Em, what the hell!” shouted Neal behind her as she emerged from the haze that had been consuming her. She turned to see him, covered in popcorn and half eaten hot dogs, the subject of jeers and scowls from everyone around.

“What a tool!”

“Jackass!”

“He’s way hotter anyway, hunny!”

Emma started to laugh as Killian began to unwind himself from around her and pull slightly back. She grabbed his arm just before it slipped completely away from her, and a second wind of boldness surged within her as she shrugged at Neal,

“Sorry babe, I’m right in the middle here.” She taunted before pulling Killian back in to another sizzling make out session amidst the hoots and howls of entire stadium.

     Ra���

[colleensheadspace]

AGENTS GRANT WARD AND JOHN GARRETT

Presenting my very first custom Funko POPs!!! I picked this as my first project because (1) it only required black and white paint, and (2) the figures I needed were really cheap on eBay. They’re not perfect, with little smudges and stuff, but I’m still thrilled with how they turned out. For my own use, they’re golden. *grin* They’re also the first of the Season 1 AOS Pops I want to be making. Obviously Skye and FitzSimmons are on the list, but I also have a couple of other designs for Ward I’m hoping to try. We’ll have to see how well I can get all the pieces in place. But after this experiment, I’m definitely eager to move forward.

Click the read more if you want to know about the process and stuff I used.

Okay, so for the base figures I used the David Nix (Tomorrowland), Jonathan Teboews (Hockey) and Superman Soldier (Superman vs Batman) POPs, all of which were pretty affordable on eBay - in fact, the soldiers were only about $5 in a bundle of three. (So there might be a Trip figure joining our specialists in the future!) I bought some black and white acrylic paint pens to use, ; since I’m overseas and don’t know where to find acrylic paints in Kinshasa, that meant shipping them in and the pens were a way to get around the liquids restrictions.

First thing I did was test the acrylic pens. I’d gotten two brands, Sharpie brush paint pens and Uchida chisel tips. I quickly discovered I would need real paint brushes, though. The Sharpie brush pens worked well, but the finish was too shiny for what I wanted. And while the Uchida pens looked better in the finish, they couldn’t get into the tight spots for detail work. So I picked up a “cheap” set in town, and just really worked the pens on a paper plate to get the paint I needed from them.

That figured out, I checked the tutorials and used the boiling method to get the heads off. Worked great on the Nix and Teboews figures, not so much the soldiers. For some reason, the plugs on the heads really didn’t want to come off the necks. The heads came off the plug easy enough - the glue just melted right off. But I had to use a utility knife to get the plugs off. I can see in the third picture how that worked. And speaking of glue, for one of the soldier figures the top and bottom of the body came apart! Turned out they were glued together and, again, the glue melted. This ended up being kind of useful, though, as I’ll explain later.

For painting the bodies, I started just painting the shirt and pants black and leaving the tact gear in the original gray. But once it dried, I decided I really didn’t like the amount of contrast was there. So I mixed some black and white paint to make a darker gray and went back over the bodies again to color in the gear. There is still a little bit of contrast, though it doesn’t show well in the pictures I took.

Originally I was going to just leave the heads as they were, but when I went to check my reference photos I realized that Ward’s hair really is just about black, and leaving it medium brown didn’t quite make it. So I went over the hair and eyebrows with black paint. The hair was easy enough - the eyebrows were a real pain though! I have trouble keeping my hands still, they tend to shake just a little bit, so painting smooth lines is tough. I think it turned out well enough, though.

Once I did Ward’s hair I started thinking more about Garrett’s. He has a dark salt and pepper look in the show, so I mixed up some more dark gray paint and lightly went over the pop, then played with different shades in the lower parts of the plastic. THAT turned out much better than I expected and is probably now my favorite part!

I left the paint to dry for a couple of hours, then came back in. I decided to use the separated soldier body for Ward and try to find a way to add a little height. So I took my hot glue gun and put down a layer inside the “cup” of the bottom piece (wish I’d taken pictures!), let the glue dry, and then superglued the top piece in place. It’s not dramatic, but it did result in a little bit of extra height so that Ward is now taller than Garrett. After that glue was dry, just pop on the heads and PRESTO!

I did pick up a laquer finish spray to use, but after testing on one of the soldier heads I decided it was too shiny and not to use it. I much prefer the matte finish. So we’ll see how well they hold up in the long run.

And that’s basically it. It was a really simple project, with a very rewarding outcome.

[julipennick-blog]

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