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dumb-little-trans-writer · 3 years

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Rust and Black Thorn Trees. Chapter 2.

The girl tiredly wandered, getting increasingly exhausted.

She didn’t know where she was.

She knew nothing.

What Miranda neglected to focus on, however, was the fact that she also transformed when on the brink of death, to attempt to find something, anything, to eat, or to wear.

She saw a pack of lycans.

She silently transformed, as how Mother taught her.

Or, more accurately, beat into her.

She stalked the lycans for the perfect moment.

They grabbed bunnies as though they were chips, the high-pitched screaming echoing through her ears.

As one of the lycans had a rabbits leg in it’s mouth, Dasha struck the lycan closest to her, slashing it’s throat. She quickly moved from lycan to lycan before they could react.

As she transformed back, she immediately started tearing the flesh from the lycans with her teeth. She found that eating right after transforming prevents the nausea and the puking, it doesn’t prevent the leaking of the liquid from her eyes and nose, though.

She binged, knowing that this may be her last meal for a while.

She could smell winter on the horizon, and this was her life for the next six years.

Over these six gruesome years, she was able to find the occasional lost tourist or hunter in the forests surrounding Heisenberg’s Factory.

She stole their weapons, and their clothing.

She found that she preferred men’s clothing.

The girl would transform less and less, using the limited ammo and resources she had.

Karl Heisenberg watched her last hunt, as it was the closest to the factory she’d ever been.

Risky.

Hmm, he thought as he watched her dance with the lycans.

With a shotgun shell to the face, of course.

“Hey, you know, there isn’t anyone who can sell you ammo around here,” Heisenberg said, walking toward the girl. She jumped, cautious, “if you run out, you’re kinda fucked.” he stated, putting out his cigar.

She had heard of Lord Heisenberg. Never met him though.

“What are you implying?” she spat.

“All i’m saying is that running out of shotgun shells during the wintertime, when it’s nearly below zero, can be deadly,” he paused, spitting on the cold leaves, “especially for someone as tiny as you.” he laughed at her glare.

“Don’t call me tiny.” she replied, walking past him.

In the recesses of her mind, she was okay with it.

Heisenberg led Dasha to his factory.

It was loud.

The metal clanging against itself, the periodic releases of steam, and the...chainsaw revving?

Heisenberg opened a hatch, and screamed “SHUT YOUR HOLE, ROTTEN CUNT.”

The revving stopped.

“Is one of your failed experiments down there, Karl?” she teased, taking off her jacket as the humidity made it extremely warm, and uncomfortably sweaty. It revealed how muscular she had grown. She was still slim, but a little buffer from when she was with Her.

He seemed taken aback by her calling him Karl, instead of Lord, or even just his last name.

He liked that she didn’t pay his status any mind, he knows he didn’t give a fuck.

“Maybe. I’ll throw you down there if you decide to say some shit.” Heisenberg said with a slight growl.

“I could take it, i bet.” she purred.

“Don’t tempt me, bitch.” Heisenberg whispered, emphasizing ‘bitch’

The girl lightly skipped down the hallway, amusing Heisenberg.

“If I didn'thave a spare room I'd make you sleep outside.” Heisenberg called. She turned and nodded, “It’s right over here.” he pointed to a door on the side of another hallway. The room they were currently in had the bare necessities, albeit it was a mess.

She really didn’t mind though.

She walked to the room he was talking about, and opened the door to a bed that seemed to be collecting dust.

In fact, everything seemed to be barely touched.

Despite her past with cleaning, she needed to at least dust everything down.

“You got something i can wipe this shit down with? Looks like a tomb in here.” she yelled.

“Yeah, gimme a sec, christ” Heisenberg seemed to be struggling with something. She left the room, confused, and then amused at the sight before her.

He seemed to be trying to fix his oven, or cleaning it, whatever he was doing, he was struggling with it.

“Pfft, need help?” she asked, smirking.

“I’d rather kill myself than get help from you.” he coldly replied, sighing as he took his head out of the oven. His face was slightly stained with ash, and he was sweating. She leaned up again the counter, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Now that she had a closer look, he seemed to be cleaning to oven judging by the ash stained rag soaked in water he was holding.

“This isn’t how you do it, let me help you.” she demanded. Heisenberg was slightly surprised by this, but silently swallowed a bite of his pride, and stood up, arms crossed.

“So how do YOU do it?” Heisenberg asked in a condescending tone.

“You got baking soda?” she suddenly asked, “’cause we’re gonna need a decent amount.” she added, taking out the oven racks.

“I have a lot of it, i guess.” Heisenberg replied, slightly confused.

“Do you realize how much of a fire hazard this is? I might scrub your entire fucking house down at this rate.” Dasha exclaimed, “where’s the baking soda?”

“There.” he pointed to a cabinet. She opened it and grabbed the tin, holding it for a moment to see if she’d need another one.

“Vinegar?” she asked.

“In the same cabinet.” Heisenberg said, annoyed and impatient.

“This is gonna take a day, I hope you know.” Dasha laughed.

“Fucking WHAT?” Heisenberg asked, shocked.

“Yeah. I have to-”

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME AND YOU’RE CLEANING MY OVEN.” Heisenberg said, frustrated.

“...Do you wanna know my name?” she asked, pouring baking soda and water into a cup, “or how to clean your own fuckin’ oven?” she said, sarcastically.

“Both’s fine I guess.” Heisenberg rolled his eyes.

“Dasha Jelíneková. That’s my name.”

“Dein Name ist schön...” Heisenberg muttered.

“...what?” Dasha asked, confused.

“Nothin’. Explain why it’s gonna take a day.” he quickly changed topics.

“Well, wiping down the interior with a soaked rag might get some of the grime off, but it won’t get it all off,” she paused as she mixed more baking soda in with the water to make a paste, “deep cleaning your oven like this also helps heat disperse evenly.” she explained.

“Seriously..?” he muttered, thinking about how his last meal was damn-near raw in some spots, and burnt in others.

“So, you take baking soda and water, make a paste with it like this,” she stuck the cup in his face, “you got rubber gloves, right?” she asked.

“Take a fuckin’ guess.” Heisenberg laughed at the question.

“Hand ‘em to me, dickhead.” she said, making a poor attempt to hide a smile.

“By the way, dunno if this has anythin’ to do with you, but i’ve been finding pretty large lycan carcasses that are either brutally killed and then eaten, or seemingly killed in self defense, all of ‘em had gnarly claw marks,” he paused, “know anything about that?” He asked. Her blood ran cold, but she tried to keep her composure.

“Maybe it was a mutated Lycan.” she quietly said, applying the paste to every crevice in the oven. Heisenberg was confused as to why she was acting strange, and more importantly, how she knew the Lycans were caused by...that.

“Well, uh, keep an eye out, yanno?” Heisenberg uncomfortably laughed in the awkward silence.

“Can you plug the sink, and pour some baking soda on ‘em? Then pour the vinegar on ‘em.”

“Okay...what now?” Heisenberg asked.

“Wait for it to stop foaming, and stick em under the water. In the sink, i mean.” she explained, finishing applying the last of the paste.

“Okay...” he muttered.

“Now, we wait for at least ten hours.”

“...Are you serious?” Heisenberg asked, seemingly shocked.

“Why wouldn’t i be?” she replied, confused.

He looked down, “That doesn’t seem reasonable-”

“You don’t seem to be either, Mister Heisenberg.” she smirked at him.

“You know...” he started, “You should be happy I haven’t chucked you down that chute.” he threatened, towering over her small frame with a hand in her hair, mimicking a ponytail, pulling her close to him. He outwardly smelled like cigar smoke, gasoline, and sweat. His breath reeked of whiskey, his hot breath on her cheek. But she smelled more than just that, due to the experimentation with the Cadou.

She could smell what people feel, she always sort of could, but this was heightened by the experimentation.

This was new, it smelled like a heavy, rich devil’s food cake.

It smelled like sin.

She glanced downward at his crotch, and he was definitely pitching a tent.

“You really don’t want this, Karl.” she whispered. It was true, at least in her mind.

No one should want a monster.

She didn’t even know what she wanted, outside of Her dead.

Staring directly into his eyes, she gently placed her hand on the hand he was using to grip her hair. He violently let go, glaring and walking outside.

He hated how similar, yet different they both were. He wanted her to stay with him, despite barely knowing eachother.

It was a bag of mixed emotions.

Dasha followed behind, she found Heisenberg collecting firewood.

“I’m makin’ hotdogs.” he stated.

“On a fire, I’m assuming?” she asked, “i had to learn how to make a fire by myself. Got good at it too.” she bragged.

Heisenberg ignored her comment, “Can you get the ‘dogs and the buns for me outta the fridge?”

“Sure, what rack are they on?” she asked.

“Figure it out.” he coldly replied.

She scoffed, and went back inside, muttering to herself.

Heisenberg thought for a while while she was inside.

Why did she know about the Cadou? Why does she live in the forest? Is it by choice? I wonder if she’s useful...I wonder if Miranda- he thought. He zoned out, and realized his hands were dangerously close to the fire. He nonchalantly pulled them away, added a little more wood, and grabbed a chair. He thought for a moment, and pulled another chair over from the wood pile.

She came back, hot dog buns and hot dogs in tow.

Heisenberg used his powers to make two metal sticks come to him.

“What the fuck.” she whispered, taken aback.

“Oh. Here.” he said, handing one to Dasha.

“No, what the fuck was that-?” Dasha nervously laughed.

“Oh, yeah. I can do that. Only metal though.” Heisenberg explained.

“Huh.” she replied, giving a bun and a hot dog to him. He stuck the tapered metal point through the middle of the hot dog, and stuck it over the fire.

Dasha did the same.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like a hour, but really was five minutes.

Heisenberg, obviously, was the first to break the silence.

“So I know you’ve never really mentioned it, but I’m thinkin’ you LIVE in the forest, right?” Heisenberg asked.

“Yeah. Why?” she asked, holding the hot dog above the fire.

“Just haven’t really seen anyone willingly live in the forest.” Heisenberg shrugged. There was another period of silence between them as the fire popped and crackled.

“Do you live in the forest willingly?” Heisenberg asked, taking his hot dog off the metal stick, placing it into the bun.

She looked at him, and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words to describe her situation. She blinked a couple times, trying to find the words.

“I don’t know.” she furrowed her brow, and had an unmistakable look of i’m-remembering-things-i-don’t-want-to-think-about. Heisenberg wasn’t amazing with emotions, despite being able to read someone like a book.

“Sorry.” he quietly said, looking away from her.

“You had no way of knowing. It’s fine.” She leaned towards him. Then, she took her hot dog away from the fire, and just ate it off the stick. This sight amused Heisenberg.

“How long have you lived in the forest?” Heisenberg asked with his mouth full.

“Around six years? Hard to keep track.” she said, after swallowing a bite.

“Damn. So how old are you now?”

“I don’t know, around twenty-three, i think?” she replied.

“That checks out.” Heisenberg smugly joked.

“At least I don’t look like I’m from World War II.” she retorted, laughing.

“And what if I am, huh?” Heisenberg joked, knowing he was in fact born around when WWII ended.

“I was kidding, shut the fuck up.” she laughed. Heisenberg realized that he really, really liked her laugh. Maybe it’s from the isolation in the factory, and now he finally has someone that seems to enjoy his company. This feeling scared him, just a little bit.

“Yeah, sure.” he laughed. There was silence again.

“This might be coming out of nowhere, but could you...refer to me as a boy? I know this is strange coming from someone who looks like me, but-” he got cut off.

“I get it, it’s alright. No worries. You got a new name?” he asked.

“Dimitri.”

“Still a pretty name.” Heisenberg muttered.

“I heard that.” Dimitri laughed.

“Oh.”

The both of them finished their hot dogs, and they went inside. It was getting cold.

“Starting tomorrow, you’re gonna help me around the factory. Otherwise I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Heisenberg threatened.

“Alright, you’re gonna have to show me how it works around here though, depending on my job.” he replied, taking his jacket off. He got into his room and rummaged through his bag, looking for a tank top or something. He found a black one that he looted off of a tourist, and swapped into it. Even when it was freezing outside, it was mildly uncomfortable to wear a sweater like he was. He didn’t even think about his immense number of scars being visible, from various creatures and pitiful self-defense attempts. One benefit from the Cadou was that it gave him a healing factor. The only downside, in his eyes, was that killing himself was impossible. He walked out of the room, and into the living room. Heisenberg was making multiple small metal parts like gears and screws float in a certain fashion, making outlines of various things.

He sat on the couch that looked as though it was about to fall apart.

“You’re almost as scarred up as me,” Karl laughed as he pulled up his shirt, revealing a multitude of scar marks, and a happy trail.

Fuck, okay maybe I do know what I want... he thought. He felt a small tingling around his cheeks, as he laughed. He turned around and pulled up the back of his shirt to reveal some of the worst scars he’s gotten. Heisenberg felt himself tense up, his cheeks went red too.

“Can i..?” he asked as he reached his hand out halfway.

“Touch them? Sure.” Dimitri replied, scooting backwards.

He felt his calloused hands gently trace over all of his scars, even the smaller ones. Despite Karl’s rough and mean demeanor, he was so gentle. His hand gently ran down to his waist. He was surprised, but it was calming.

Karl pulled away, fearful of being intimate with him. He had just met the guy, why did he feel this pull?

“I was okay with that, you know.” he said, facing him and letting his shirt fall back to it’s place. He moved a bit closer, wanting the closeness of someone that he never had. “...Please?”

Heisenberg was confused. He was reluctant because of trust issues, yet Dimitri was the polar opposite?

Why did he come here..?

I wanted to use him as an experiment, why-?

“No.” he stated, “I can’t.”

He wordlessly left, Dimitri assuming into his room.

He sighed, and left into 'his' room too.

"Shit." he muttered, thinking about how bad that was. Dimitri went to sleep, trying to forget the entire damn day.

#karl heisenberg #daddy heisenberg #resident evil #resident evil village #fanfic #heisenberg x oc

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lilacmoon83 · 5 years

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A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 12: Game Changer

"Come on...let's head to Granny's," she suggested, as they walked back into town with Wilby, just in time to meet Emma, August, and little David in front of the diner. But before they could go in, they heard someone calling for help.

"Hey...help! Help me!" a male voice called, as Emma hurried into the street. And she stunned by the person running toward her.

"Oh my God…" Mary uttered, as she saw him too. The man stopped and gawked at the blonde in front of him.

"Emma…" he uttered.

"Neal?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"What are you doing? How are you here?" she continued.

"Yeah...I sort of got brought here against my will. By him," Neal said, as he gestured to the other man that was running to catch up.

"By the Harbor Master?" David asked in confusion. But now Neal's eyes were fixated on the little boy in the stroller.

"Emma...whose kid is this?" he asked. She swallowed thickly and was sure the answer was written all over her face.

"How old is he?" Neal questioned again.

"Almost two," August answered and Emma sent him a glare.

"Emma...is this my son?" Neal asked.

"I'm not doing this right now. Tell me your name so I can properly read you your Miranda rights," she said to the dark haired man. Hook smirked at her and his gaze on her was almost predatory.

"Captain Hook…" he said, making it sound like a joke, though she knew it was no joke.

"You know which name I mean," she growled.

"Ian O'Malley, love," he replied, in a goading manner.

"Fine, Mr. O'Malley...you're under arrest for kidnapping," she stated.

"And assault," Neal hissed.

"And assault," Emma parroted and noticed Neal's eyes were still fixated on her son.

"Is he really little David's father?" David whispered to her and she nodded.

"Yes," she stated.

"And he didn't know?" David asked.

"We couldn't find him. He left Emma before we knew," Snow spat, as she glared at him.

"Mom...there's more you need to know," August interjected, as she looked at her son.

"I screwed up...but I think you need to go get Gold from the hospital," he told her. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What does Mr. Gold have to do…" Snow started to say, but she stopped mid sentence and suddenly put it all together. She looked back at Neal.

"You're Mr. Gold's son?" she asked. Neal looked at August.

"Mr. Gold?" he asked and August nodded, confirming what the other man was really asking.

"Yes...I am," he replied.

"And you knew?" Snow asked her son.

"I screwed up...I tried to find him when I found out…" August responded, as he tried to explain.

"Okay...we're going to have a very long talk about this later. Right now, you're going to follow Emma to the station and watch the baby, while she puts Mr. O'Malley in jail where he belongs," Snow said.

"And while you're explaining things to your sister, David and I will go pick up Mr. Gold," she added. Emma was refusing to look at August and she knew there was definitely going to be a blow out between them that she would need to mediate.

"Let's go," she said to a confused David, as they left to return to the hospital.

"Emma…" August started to say.

"Not here," she snapped, as she put Hook in the back of the squad car.

"Get in," she told them and they obeyed her, as she drove to the station.

~*~

A glass flew across the office and shattered against the wall. Sidney Glass barely had time to duck to evade the object and he looked back at the Mayor with terrified eyes.

"I should have known not to trust Ian O'Malley to do anything without mucking it up," she growled. He swallowed, afraid to speak, but knew that his silence wasn't good either.

"Madam Mayor...the situation isn't a complete loss," he offered, but she turned sharply to look at him with scrutiny.

"I have no control over Gold's son now. They will be reunited and I have nothing to hold above him," she responded.

"There is Lacey. He will be none too happy about that," he reminded, but she scoffed.

"That will merely be an annoyance to him and only serve to make him work harder against me," she snapped in return. He would be livid when he discovered she had given his precious Belle false memories. The shock of finding out she was alive was enough to incur his wrath upon her. She had planned to have Neal waiting in the wings to hang over him and force him to work against the Savior. But now that was lost and she was scrambling to figure out her next move.

"There are good things. I have written this piece about Mary Margaret Swan. It's quite scandalous. Half the town already thinks she's a cradle robbing harlot and this will seal that," he offered, as she looked at the story. She had purchased him a small printing press to run out of his apartment so he could publish a competing paper to keep her propaganda out there. He was calling it the Glass Gazette.

"As a waitress in a seedy bar supporting two children with no husband, Mary Margaret Swan hardly seems like the kind of woman that belongs in our fair town's leadership," Cora read.

"This misstep on Deputy Mayor Regina Mills' part in her inclusion of Ms. Swan in her campaign efforts will only serve to sully her own reputation. Does Storybrooke really want their new Deputy Mayor to be a former waitress, who has seduced a man the same age as her son?" she continued to read.

"Mary Margaret Swan seems better suited for the open waitress position at the Rabbit Hole than the one in our town government. Her talents would certainly be better used there," Cora finished and smirked.

"I do like how you basically called her a tramp without outright stating it," she complimented. He smirked.

"I've been following them and they are very cozy. These pictures will turn the people against them," he offered, as he showed them kissing in the streets and walking closely, holding hands as they walked some dog.

"Good...unfortunately, there are some that will not turn against her. I need to get rid of Mary Margaret Swan," she said, as she was deep in thought. There was always Kathryn to exploit and she had been thinking, more than once, about killing her and framing Mary Margaret for it. Seeing her leave Storybrooke to go to prison for murder would certainly see that she and David were ripped apart forever. But Cora wanted her to suffer more than that. She wanted to participate in torturing her step-daughter and make her watch her torment her beloved husband even more. She wanted to drive her to the brink of insanity.

"Do you have orders for me?" Sidney asked.

"Yes...it's time to make Mary Margaret regret crossing me and show her why this will always be my town," Cora replied.

"What will you have me do?" he asked.

"I want you to abduct Mary Margaret Swan the next time she is alone. You'll take her to the abandoned library and chain her up in the clock tower. I'll take it from there," she replied.

"Kidnapping?" he asked in alarm.

"Grow a spine," she snapped.

"The future of our town is on the line and she threatens everything. It's time that she finally pay for everything she's done," Cora added. He swallowed thickly.

"Yes, Madam Mayor," he relented. He would go back to following them and watching them closely. And the moment she was alone, he would strike and not without hired hands to help. He was under no illusion that he could handle the amount of muscle needed for this task and would be prepared. He would not fail the Mayor like Harbor Master O'Malley had so spectacularly.

~*~

David kept stealing glances at Mary, as they walked into the hospital, hand in hand. His head was still reeling a bit with everything that had just happened and questions were swirling in his mind.

"You must have a lot of questions," she voiced and he looked at her in amazement.

"I'd ask you how you know that...but I think I'm finally accepting that we're just that in tune with each other," he replied and she smiled at him.

"We are pretty amazing together…" she agreed.

"So...that was little David's biological father," he stated.

"I'm afraid so," she replied.

"He broke Emma's heart...didn't he?" David asked. She hummed.

"He did...he was a thief, but Emma fell for him and thought she could help him turn his life around. I think it was working for a while...but something changed and he left her. I think August knows more about that then he let on," she replied.

"Maybe...but I mean August is a really good man. Maybe he was just trying to protect Emma," David offered. Snow nodded.

"Oh I know he was...Emma won't see it that way. But he's my son and whatever mistakes he's made, I still love him," she replied.

"You're amazing...you don't even know what he did yet and you've already forgiven him," he marveled.

"He's had a bit of a problem with lying in the past. It's something he'll always need to work on, but I could never turn my back on him, even if he knew more about Neal's disappearing act and hid it," Snow said.

"So this Neal Cassidy is really Mr. Gold's son too?" David asked. She laughed at that.

"Yeah...I'm just finding that one out too. Fate is…" she mused.

"A bastard?" he asked and she snorted.

"I was going to say tricky bitch, but bastard works too. It's truly surreal...I share a grandchild with Mr. Gold," she realized.

"We share a grandchild with the Dark One," she thought silently to herself. Boy, fate sure did have a twisted sense of humor.

"Well, for what it's worth...I actually don't think he's as bad as people think. I don't know, maybe I'm being naive," he lamented.

"No...I don't think so. I think you're right. I think he can be as bad as people think when he wants to be, but there's always two sides to a coin. Family can really change things," she offered. He smiled.

"I know what you mean," he agreed, as he looked at her and she smiled back, as they took the elevator to Mr. Gold's floor. They made their way to his room and found him awake.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he mused.

"We need to talk," Mary said, as they entered his room and prepared to tell him that his son had arrived in Storybrooke.

~*~

The ride to the station had been silent and uncomfortable. He could almost see the waves of fury radiating off his sister. She parked the car and he sighed.

"Emma…" he started to say.

"Nope," she refuted, as she got out and roughly hauled the pirate that was parading himself as the town Harbor Master out of the backseat. He groaned, as she was not at all gentle with him, which he seemed to like.

"You like it rough...don't you love," he leered, but winced as she squeezed his arms and marched him into the station. She was stronger than she looked. August sighed and picked his toddler nephew up out of his ca seat.

"Can I hold him?" Neal asked.

"That's Emma's call," August replied.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Neal questioned.

"Tell you what?" August inquired.

"That Emma was pregnant," Neal countered.

"I didn't know! And when I found out, I tried to find you! But you were gone...it was like you disappeared into thin air," August argued.

"And you didn't tell her that you found out who I was?" Neal asked. He sighed.

"No...I didn't tell her or Mom. I didn't think we'd ever see you again and Emma was devastated. She put all her energy into little David and finding Storybrooke at that point, so I didn't say anything," August confessed. Neal sighed.

"So...how much does she hate me?" he questioned.

"Hopefully a little more than she hates me right now," August retorted. Neal snorted.

"Well, then I'm screwed, cause I think she wants your guts on a stick," he quipped.

"Maybe...but I'm still her brother. You're the ex that left her without an explanation," August reminded.

"She's gonna kick my ass," Neal realized fearfully. August allowed himself a chuckle.

"Probably and we know she's going to kick mine. I really hope Mom gets here soon," he said. Neal chuckled.

"Are you seriously going to hide your twenty-seven-year-old ass behind your mother?" he questioned.

"Emma is scary...of course I am," August replied unapologetically and Neal almost wished he could hide behind someone too at this point, but he doubted Snow would quite feel the need to protect him the way she would her son. They entered the station to find that the blonde hurricane they feared had put the pirate in a cell already, while she was furiously doing the paperwork. They were about to try and talk to her when Graham walked in.

"I heard what happened…" he said.

"Yep just doing the paperwork here and then Mr. O'Malley can have his day in court tomorrow," Emma replied.

"That won't be necessary. Mayor Mills has ordered his release," Graham said regrettably and Hook smirked.

"What?" she growled.

"I'm just delivering her orders," Graham muttered.

"He kidnapped me and brought me here against my will!" Neal cried in outrage.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Hook said innocently.

"The Mayor says it's a case of he said, he said. She claims she sent Mr. O'Malley to New York on a business matter for her and she has the paperwork to prove it," Graham replied, as he showed the document to her. But Emma didn't want to hear or see it.

"This is crap!" she raged and she got up to face her boss. She would be damned if she was going to back down on this one.

~*~

"Bae...Neal is here?" Gold asked, as he carefully corrected himself. David wasn't awake so he really couldn't call him Baelfire.

"I'm afraid so. Mr. O'Malley kidnapped him and brought him here, probably on the Mayor's orders, though we have no proof," Mary answered.

"We don't need proof...she's behind this," he hissed.

"Yes, but fortunately your son got away before he could be locked up. I'm sure that was her plan," Mary offered.

"Where is he?" Gold demanded to know.

"He went to the station with Emma and August," she told him, as he started getting out of bed and went to the bathroom to get dressed.

"There's more," Snow called through the door.

"I don't care...I'm going to see my son and then kill the Mayor," he growled.

"You're going to care about this," Snow admonished, as he came out, dressed in his usual suit and walked toward them with his cane, expecting a quick answer.

"Your son, Neal Cassidy, is the man that fathered Emma's son," she informed him. At that moment, Gold looked like his head might explode, as he tried to wrap his mind around that.

"Did…" he started to say, but the curt shake of her head answered his question. This was the first she was learning of it as well. Of course...because she would have never made the connection between Neal Cassidy and Baelfire. It was not often that the Dark One was stunned...but this was truly shocking and possibly changed everything.

"Take me to the station," he ordered. They obliged and joined hands, as they followed the older man to the elevator.

~*~

"You can't be okay with this," Emma hissed, as she glared at him.

"Of course I'm not okay with it," Graham answered.

"But my hands are tied...there's nothing I can do," he added. But that just made Emma want to explode more.

"You could stand up to her and stop doing her bidding like an obedient lap dog!" she shouted.

"That's not fair!" he roared, but she was done hearing it and by now, her son was fussing from all the commotion.

"Emma...where are you going?" August questioned, as she got her coat.

"To confront our Mayor...I'm not letting this stand," she responded.

"Emma...she's not going to change her mind," Graham admonished.

"He's right...but maybe we use this. I can splash this miscarriage of justice all over the front page of the Mirror for tomorrow morning's edition. And tomorrow is election day," August reminded and she sighed.

"That will take you all night," she replied. He smiled.

"It will be worth it once Regina is Mayor and reverses this decision," August said, as he looked at Graham.

"And when she makes you Sheriff...this kind of thing won't happen again," he added. She sighed, as Graham unlocked the cell and let the pirate out.

"Enjoy your freedom for now, Mr. O'Malley, because the minute Regina gets elected, I'm tossing your ass back in that cell," she warned. He smirked.

"We shall see, Deputy," he leered, as he left quickly, passing the Crocodile and the couple behind him as he left.

"Emma...we need to talk," Neal said, as he turned his head and saw his father for the first time in almost three hundred years.

"It's true," Rumple said, as his eyes watered and he finally saw his son. Everything he had done and everything he had worked for came down to this moment.

"Yeah...it is and if I hadn't just found out that I have a son of my own, I'd walk away from here right now," Neal said angrily.

"Please...I know that you're angry and you should be. Letting you go...it was the biggest mistake I ever made," Rumple replied.

"Auggie...did you know?" Snow whispered to him and he looked down shamefully.

"I'm sorry Mom...I should have told you. I should have told you both," he said.

"You think?" Emma snapped.

"I tried to find him after we found out you were pregnant, but I couldn't," August responded. Emma sighed and felt like a caged animal.

"I need some air," she announced.

"Mom...can you watch the baby?" she asked.

"You know I can...but sweetheart…" she started to say, but her daughter put her hands up.

"Please Mom...I just need some time," Emma interrupted, as she walked out. Mary sighed and David put his arms around her. She took comfort in his embrace and welcome it when he pulled her flush against him in a hug.

"I need to go to the office and get that story out," August said, as his mother took the baby from him.

"Okay...but we are going to have a very long talk about this," she admonished. He nodded numbly, like a scolded child.

"Does this town have a hotel?" Neal questioned.

"Yeah...I can show you to the Inn," August replied.

"I...I want to know my son," Neal said, as he looked at Snow.

"I know it's Emma's call...but," he continued.

"I'll talk to her," Snow agreed. Neal nodded and started to follow August.

"B...Neal…" Gold called, as he corrected himself once again.

"I'm here for my son...it's the only reason I'm sticking around. You can go to hell for all I care," Neal said coldly, as he walked out, leaving his father behind and utterly broken. Gold stormed out after that, intending to likely go home, while Mary and David took the baby home. It was a night that had been life altering and Snow knew this could possibly be the beginning to the end of the curse...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #August W. Booth #evil Cora #CORA cast the curse #AU #warning #mentions of abuse #nothing graphic #romance #adventure #family #A Darker Curse

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goodgreycious · 7 years

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How to Succeed in Fangirling Without Really Trying

[Insert nervous laughter here]

I guess we should start with the basics like introductions and the more important things you need to know about me. Hi, my name is Grey. I am a person of the adult-ish variety who is, more importantly, a fangirl. Very soon, I will be graduating from college with a degree in history. And yes, just history. And no, I do not want to be a teacher. (This is important to the overall narrative I’m trying to create here, but we’ll get to that later.) I am a Hufflepuff and I take almost as much pride in that fact as I do about my remarkable ability to eat and drive at the same time (my friends might say otherwise, but they’re lying to you). My idea of a “lit” night is when the light radiates from my Netflix account. I love a good book and a bottle of dry, red wine. Preferably together. If there is one other thing I know for sure about myself at the ripe age of “almost-22,” it’s that being a fangirl is all I really know how to do. Maybe through this blog, I can take people on a journey they can relate to. Maybe if I share my story, it can help someone else who is out there feeling the way I’m feeling. Maybe they’ll even start a blog. It’s what I did.

To kick off this shindig, there is a little bit more you need to know about me. Like where and how my story starts. From a young age I was encouraged to be the best I could be. Not the best out of everyone, but my parents knew what I was capable of and they wanted me to do well for me, not anyone else. However, I was an awkward kid. No matter what my parents say. Isn’t everyone? Throughout my K-12 education, I somehow managed to stick myself right in the middle of the herd. I guess the more appropriate description would be “average.” I played one sport in my four years of high school, so I was not jock material. I was in choir, but not a soloist. I was in the musical, but felt more comfortable being part of the stage crew. I spent most of my lunches in my school’s library. The average high school student will experience some form of bullying and I was no exception. Not to the extent that others were, but it was enough to scar me so that my goal for that part of my education was just to get through it with as few waves as possible. So, I adapted and figured out that being stuck in the middle of everything is what made me happy. I didn’t want to be the center of attention. That would’ve been my worst nightmare. I hated myself back then and I had already given people enough of a chance to hate me in my earlier years. It might not have been bad, but it was enough.

I, also, might not be able to remember all the details, but I can pinpoint the moment I knew I was a fangirl. I was in 6th grade and I held in my meaty little hands a copy of The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. I read the opening part of the first chapter entitled “I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher” and it is, to this day, the closest thing I can equate to finding myself. Tiny little me, reading a book about a kid not much older than her who feels it in every fiber of his bones that he is different and can’t do a damn thing about it at that moment, it just felt like coming home. I inhaled the words on those pages. I injected them into my bloodstream once every month. No other book could ever compare as I reread it over and over and over again. It was Wonderland and I was Alice, falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole and but with no intention of ever stopping the free fall. And as I grew older and wiser, and my tastes expanded, I started to realize that I had always been like that. Disney movies were (still are) the pinnacle of my movie tastes. I wouldn’t watch anything other than animated movies until I was well over the age of 12. My mom begged me to play outside as a kid when all I wanted to do was sit down and watch Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, or the Disney Channel. Percy Jackson and his journey finally put it all into perspective for me. And I’m still spiraling. I started to consume knowledge about Greek Mythology more than my studies. I read anything fantasy based that I could get my hands on. Harry Potter, Fablehaven, Peter and the Star Catchers, Oh. My. Gods., House of Night, the list is as endless as it is ongoing. As I grew, my tastes expanded. I got into anime, sci-fi, comics, crime, true crime, literally anything that took me away from the normal life I was leading. What I wanted more than anything in the world was to be there.

All of these things carried me through my high school career, but not in the way I was expecting. I loved my stories, my otherworlds, more than I ever loved the real world, but it beckoned. Not so much like a siren’s song, more like the annoying alarm clock in the morning that you just perpetually want to turn off, but somehow end up hitting SNOOZE so it keeps waking you up every few minutes. High school was a time where the answer to the question “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” was finally starting to be the most important question you could answer. I’ll give you three guesses as to what girl never, ever had the answer to that question and the first two don’t count… Yup, t’was me. I’m pretty sure every time someone asked me that, my answered changed. The only thing I really knew, at least at that point, was there were two things I loved. History and what I’ve come to now realize is my all-encompassing, heart-stopping, soul-crushing love for the creative process. Everything in this world that is created has a story that I need to know. I fawn over fan art just as much as Picasso or Van Gogh. I think fanfiction and their authors can sometimes be written better than the original. I have music on at all times during the day. If I am not reading, I am watching something. If I am not watching, then I am trying to hone my own creative processes. Everything about being a fangirl appeals me like a drug. Where bullying knocked me down, I bathed myself in fantasy and used it as my armor. When the only thing I wanted to do was just get through, my fandoms taught me how I should live. Whenever I felt like I wasn’t loved or good enough or whatever enough, somehow, some way, fiction would wrap its arms around me, remind me that I was, and lift me up to carry me home.

Sounds like a wonderful thing to make a career out of, right? But if bullying had taught me anything, it was that I wasn't good enough. I was never going to be a content creator. It was always going to be my destiny to be a content consumer. I could never be J.K. Rowling, Chris Hardwick, Wil Wheaton, Felicia Day, Lin Manuel Miranda. If I could go back and tell my younger self anything, it wouldn’t be any of the clichés like ‘it gets better’ or ‘just stay strong.’ I’d tell that little punk to stick it to whoever told her that what was making her feel whole wasn’t worth making a life out of. I would tell my younger self to be brave enough to prove them all wrong. I was constantly told that I could not make a sustainable career out what I loved. So, I did what I do best and adapted. History was the only other thing I really loved. It was the real stories, the non-fiction that inspires fiction. If I couldn’t create the stories, I would learn everyone else’s. That would surely solve that problem? It’d be a good enough substitute, right?

While I love history, it was like going from Ferrari to a Honda. The Honda will most definitely get you from Point A to Point B, but more so because you can’t afford a Ferrari in the first place. Which kind of brings me to where I am now and the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. Here’s me, about to graduate college with a degree in a field I love (even though it doesn’t sound like it) feeling like I’m doing nothing more than staring into a deep, vast, dark thing called The Void of Adulthood when the only thing I really want to do is take a nap. Or curl up with a good book or a new TV show. Forget the horror genre, adulthood, or the precipice of it, is the scariest shit I have ever encountered. And I am looking at this Void, wanting to take a ForeverNap™️, neck deep in a big-girl-full-time job search, wearing a Captain America shirt, Prisoner of Azkaban clutched in one hand, sonic screwdriver in the other, screaming my throat raw about how I am just not ready.

But getting back to the present. I mentioned that my degree in history would somehow be important to the overall narrative I’m trying to weave here. This is why. It goes back to being too scared to do what I really wanted to do. While I love history, it just doesn’t compare to the other thing. But, I was also too scared by real life to ever do anything to change it. I was too scared to tell everyone: “DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR COLLECTIVE ASSES, I’M GOING TO DO THIS.” I never wanted to shake it up, challenge the status quo, and now I’m kicking myself for it. History was a safety net I didn’t realize was there until it was too late. All this suddenly came into perspective because I found my dream job. Given the chance, it would be one that I would be really, really good at… but I can’t get it. I don’t have a degree in a relevant field, I don’t have the job experience. I’m not prepared. And it sucks royal hippogriff.

And that, dear readers who have stuck with me all the way to this point, is why I am here. I started this blog to finally break out of my shell. I am no longer content with being a consumer. I want to be a creator. I want to contribute to the discussions. I want to write things that matter and that people can relate to. I want to be fully qualified. If writing this blog and finally, finally being able to contribute something to the worlds that have loved me when I thought no one else did is the only way I can give back and get experience, then so be it. If it is the only way I can be apart of the things I love right now, then I’m going to do it. This is how I stick it to those people who told me I couldn’t. This is how I throw it back in the faces of people who tore me down. I hope that I can take people along this journey with me. I have some fun things planned. And if there are people out there who are listening to the voices of negativity in whatever forms they take, I hope I can help you realize that you are strong enough to face those demons and win. I hope that together we can find a way to forge our own paths. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like I felt. No one deserves to feel like that.

Hi again, I’m Grey. Welcome home. Here, you will always be encouraged. Here, I promise to help you in whatever way I can. Here, you are safe. And here, above all, you are seen and you are loved.

#grey writes #my stuff #personal post

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ears2seeandeyes2hear · 5 years

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Looking Back and Looking Forward

So this is the second night in a row that I’ve stayed up way too late by choice (😂) but it’s been so interesting to read my old tweets and old posts on my secret tumblr. I mean I was literally blown away by how stupid but also deep I was? 😂 writing was such a HUGE part of my life in high school whether it was poetry or tweets for my hue account or diary posts on tumblr, that’s what was important to me what what I liked doing. Mama knew I wrote poetry and she’s the one who suggested that I even pick journalism as a major because she knew I liked to write. Going down this rabbit hole of the old Miranda has made me miss those nights I stayed up until 4 am thinking and writing and listening to music and dreaming about what my life would be. That was such a simple time and that may have been the time where I was the most in tune with my emotions because I was fleshing them out daily and sending them out into my audiences. When we go to the beach this weekend I really want to write more. I want to go on the beach in the morning and at night and look at the moon and the waves and write. Write about you, write about God, write about life and family and friends and what it’s like to be me. I don’t miss high school at all in any way shape or form, but looking back now that was the truest Miranda I ever was and it was because I was facing myself. I didn’t have Delight or college or work or friends or a boyfriend that I gave my time to and kept me distracted. Everyone and everything in my life now is good and I’m so thankful that I have all the opportunities and the people that I do but I think it’s time to simplify a lil bit and get back into creating. I don’t know where I’m going to work or where we’ll end up or what my purpose is but I know that God made me to create and He gave me the talents to do that in lots of different ways and I need to get in touch with that me. Anyways, thanks for coming to my TED talk that’s all folks

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shareyoursmile · 6 years

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True Concessions: Our Movie-Snacking Behaviors, Ex...

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True Concessions: Our Movie-Snacking Behaviors, Ex...

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[Illustrations: Vivian Kong]

Serious Eats staffers work very closely together, if not always in the same room—but, as in all healthy long-term relationships, we somehow still manage to surprise each other, in good ways, bad ways, and purely head-scratching ways. A very long and aggrieved Slack thread unspooled once we discovered some potentially embarrassing gaps in each other’s eating histories: Until recently, Stella had never eaten a classic NYC bacon, egg, and cheese, and Niki was unclear on the proper use of a Panera-style bread bowl. The revelation that, despite repeated admonishments on this very site, only a few of us actually owned a mortar and pestle prompted similar outrage (from Kenji, at least).

One of the latest rabbit holes of confession and mock shaming we threw ourselves down revolved around our respective movie snacks of choice—not just the specific items we like to munch on in the theater, but where we get those snacks from, and whether we even snack at all. If that doesn’t sound like something to get all worked up about—well, it isn’t, but that’s never stopped us before. It turns out that we, and perhaps all moviegoers, divide pretty neatly into four distinct camps, with very little crossover: those who buy the typical popcorn, boxed candy, and big sodas at the theater’s concession stand; those who don’t eat at the movies, period (really!); those who sneak in their own modest, easily hidden snacks; and those who make a point of smuggling in the biggest or messiest or otherwise most outlandish spreads they can muster. (Of course, “outlandish” is a relative term—one of us seemed surprised to learn that a bottle of Champagne qualified.) Since it’s Oscar season, a time when lots of us try to cram in as many theater outings as possible, we figured we’d take the opportunity to share the shocking results of our internal survey.

The Sushi Smuggler

Growing up, I thought the phrase “dinner and a movie” was actually “dinner at the movies.” Sure, we’d occasionally sneak in traditional snacks, like cheesy popcorn and cans of soda, but if the movie happened to coincide with a mealtime, we packed accordingly. My family’s go-to movie theater dinner was sushi—something I didn’t contemplate much at the time, but I now see it as a stroke of unparalleled genius on my parents’ part. A prepackaged roll combo is, without doubt, the Platonic ideal of a stealthy movie theater meal.

Before you roll (no pun intended) your eyes, consider the following: It’s compact, and thus easy to hide at the bottom of a purse; it’s sufficiently odorless to avoid attracting attention or offending your neighbors’ sensibilities; it is, if properly selected, devoid of any crunch, making it a virtually silent, interruption-free dining experience; the pieces are bite-size and therefore can be eaten with your hands, minimizing the potential mess of eating, say, noodles, in the dark; and it’s a cinch to clean up and dispose of without attracting notice as you exit the theater. (I should add that I’ve also been known to bring along a cleverly concealed bottle of wine to wash things down.) My husband finds the whole sushi/sneaking-in-food thing gross and embarrassing, so these days we tend to go to theaters that actually serve all sorts of fancy food and alcoholic beverages above board. But, as the saying goes, when the cat’s away, the mouse goes to the movies and stuffs her face with sushi. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, executive managing editor

The Cherry Picker

The rest of the Serious Eats team judged me pretty harshly on my pick, but I stand by it: fresh sweet cherries. Sure, they’re messier than other snacks, you have to have somewhere (that isn’t the theater floor) to spit out the pits, and they’re not what one would consider an indulgent snack, but I’m hooked. A, they’re delicious. B, the act of eating them takes some time, so they last longer than the popcorn you mindlessly shovel into your mouth. C, they’re good for you! —Vicky Wasik, visual director

The Traditionalists

I’m not an avid movie theater–goer, but every so often, I will indulge in a little weekday-afternoon alone time in a near-empty, darkened room illuminated by brightly colored, flashing images, accompanied only by a bucket of ultra-fake-buttered and salted popcorn on one side and, on the other, a Coke in a giant plastic vessel that could fit a bathing infant. The expense I gladly eat, literally and financially, for the illicit thrill invoked by residual school-age guilt for “playing hooky” and doing something so luxurious and truant. Everyone’s gotta get their kicks somehow, right? —Marissa Chen, office manager

I have to start by saying that I’m a pretty fast movie-snack eater—so much so that when I was little, my dad would ration my popcorn by putting a handful in my lap at a time. Otherwise, it would be gone a few minutes after the previews. That said, as an adult, I am 100% dedicated to Milk Duds, and, while I hate paying for them, I do anyway. I know my colleagues may look upon my choices with disdain, but alas: I buy my Milk Duds at the concession stand, like a total sucker. Then I eat them all before the movie even starts. —Ariel Kanter, marketing director

I believe the majority of the fun of going to the movies is to hit up the concession stand. I’m that person who arrives 30 minutes early to stock up on overpriced cardboard boxes of Mike and Ike and Sour Patch Kids—because I’m convinced they taste better out of a box. I’ve broken up with boyfriends solely because they took the thrifty route and chose to buy snacks at the bodega across the street instead. However, I’m a strict non-eater once the movie actually starts—the snacks are all about the pregame, to nosh on while watching the previews and side eye–ing anyone who tries to snag the seats in front of me. —Sohla El-Waylly, assistant culinary editor

I love movies, but more than that, I love the experience of going to the theater. It’s not just that it offers me an excuse to opt out of social media and email for a few hours, nor is it really about the superior picture and sound (even a basic theater is better than my garage-turned-den). It’s not just the excitement of seeing a brand-new release, and it’s definitely not about sitting with fellow theater-goers (thanks, guy sitting next to me during Black Panther who felt compelled to read every single piece of on-screen text out loud). It’s about one thing, or rather, one greasy bag of many things: movie theater popcorn. I’m attracted to the smell of diacetyl and coconut fat—the secret combination of artificial flavorings that produces that distinct movie theater aroma—like my daughter, Alicia, is attracted to the dogs’ water bowl. I can make all the promises to myself I want about saving room for dinner, but those promises go out the window as soon as I step through those doors. My feet start heading for the concession stand, and the rest of my body has no choice but to follow.

This is not a secret. Movie theater popcorn is my go-to comfort food. That I get to watch a film every time I eat it is just the icing on the cake (or the diacetyl on the kernels, perhaps). —J. Kenji López-Alt, chief culinary consultant

The Cheapskates

Listen. Just last night, I didn’t prepare before going to the movies. I am now out $13.95 for a medium popcorn and a bottle of water. This is the polar opposite of my M.O., which is to shamelessly sneak my own bag of popcorn and seltzer into the theater. My usual strategy is to pick a theater near a Trader Joe’s, so I can stop in and get a bag of cheddar cheese popcorn, or their insanely delicious Cornbread Crisps, and a Cranberry Clementine seltzer. And those crisps make a bomb vehicle for transporting your homemade chili to your mouth. Trust me. No local TJ’s? A bag of Buncha Crunch and a Sprite from the drugstore will do. —Kristina Bornholtz, social media editor

Like all right-thinking Americans, I was raised to believe that sneaking food into the movies is as natural and healthy as a long walk in the sunshine, and that buying concessions at the theater is for chumps. It helps that I’m not wild about popcorn and instead gravitate toward Junior Mints, Combos, and Raisinets, all of which are conveniently available at the Dollar Tree that’s a stone’s throw from our default movie theater in Atlanta (and you know that location isn’t an accident). And, while I’ve never ventured to smuggle anything more elaborate than a deli sandwich into an indoor cinema, no rules of restraint apply when we visit the Starlight Six Drive-In, a blessed local relic from another time, where summertime patrons regularly tote in full coolers of beer and Weber grills for a tailgate/movie night hybrid. —Miranda Kaplan, editor

You will rarely find me in a concession line: I’m too cheap for those overpriced goods, and too paranoid about candy-induced sugar highs. Not the biggest fan of popcorn, either; my junk food needs an edge. My ideal movie date involves a quick bodega trip beforehand, where I procure seltzer and—wait for it—pretzel M&M’s. That is my junk-food staple. I tell myself they aren’t as bad as regular M&M’s, and they hit my requirement for a savory/sweet combo. The seltzer is key, too—like clockwork, a pending movie stirs a deep thirst in me for carbonated water. Sitting through a movie whilst thirsty and hungry is my personal version of a horror film. —Natalie Holt, video producer

I’ve discovered that using your kid as a candy mule is the white lie of retail economy. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be an honest, upstanding citizen, like you. For most of my adult life, I either purchased popcorn or, more often, didn’t eat at all. But, once we got married, my wife started sneaking candy into the theaters to quell her sweet tooth and—well, I’m not turning down Twizzlers. Who would?

When we first started bringing our daughter to the movies, we’d casually present the goods after the previews. Now that she’s older, she’s part of the scam/effort. We have a perfect record of sneaking in candy because, really, is the high school kid ripping stubs while he checks out Instagram going to stop a seven-year-old and poke her coat? I load up on a package of some chocolate-covered nut, my wife keeps it classic with M&M’s, and my daughter’s the wild card—sometimes it’s gummy bears, or it could be Reese’s Pieces. —Sal Vaglica, equipment editor

If it were just me, I wouldn’t be eating anything. I’m too cheap to even glance at the outrageously priced concession stand items, and too lazy and bagless to smuggle snacks in. My significant other is often not bagless, however, so when we go together, we sneak all kinds of things in. My favorite is the massive, Costco-sized bag of M&M’s: easy, clean, delicious. The most memorable snack we’ve ever brought was a full bag of Hurricane popcorn, which technically we smuggled all the way from Hawaii. The Li Hing–flavored version is vibrantly red, and we did not bring napkins, which made for a messy-fingered second half of the movie. Totally worth it, but word of advice: No matter what you bring, prep for the mess. —Tim Aikens, front-end developer

The Takeout Taker-Inner

When we were—well, I won’t say kids, since I was old enough to drive, but…younger than we are today, my brother and I were notorious for sneaking Chinese takeout into the movie theater. I’m talking pot stickers, egg rolls, spicy noodles, kung pao tofu, scallion pancakes, the works. We’d just stuff all the containers inside this gargantuan yellow puffer coat he had (ah, the ’90s), using it like an insulated pizza-delivery bag. As it turns out, those iconic Chinese takeout containers are just the right size to nestle down into a movie theater cup holder, so we’d set up a little buffet using four consecutive arm rests. Chopsticks made it easy to eat in the dark, and we’d pass the containers between us during brightly lit scenes.

In warmer weather, lacking the proper outerwear for smuggling, we’d stick to popcorn (extra “butter,” please) and Milk Duds. —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

The Killjoys

If I could ban all eating in movie theaters, I would. I don’t want to hear some sloppy-ass mofo smacking on popcorn in my ear when I’m trying to watch a movie. I’d give up all snacks for silence. All you movie-theater eaters can BURN IN HELL. (I have issues.) —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

I’m cheap. I also don’t like candy. I’m not a big fan of popcorn, either. I smuggle in a water bottle, but then I drink from it only if I’m terribly, terribly parched, because the one thing I hate more than watching a movie in a packed theater is having to get up to go to the bathroom in a packed movie theater. Sometimes I’ll bring with me a small, smooth stone, which I will suck on from time to time, and sometimes swallow, if the movie is going long and I’m really bored. I’ve had that stone for 10 years now. —Sho Spaeth, features editor

I’m almost always on the do-not-eat team—I’d rather spend my $20 on better food before or after the movie (I see you, Battery Park Shake Shack!). But occasionally, I succumb and buy popcorn and a Coca-Cola Classic. Ideally, this happens at a theater with self-service “butter,” and, even more ideally, I’ll get a cardboard tray to help me shift the popcorn around, so I can properly spread said butter to the deepest reaches of the bag. —Paul Cline, developer

I only snack on chips and anything crunchy, but the sound of me munching distracts me from the movie. So, no snacks. —Vivian Kong, product designer

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cucinacarmela-blog · 6 years

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True Concessions: Our Movie-Snacking Behaviors, Ex...

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[Illustrations: Vivian Kong]

The Sushi Smuggler

The Cherry Picker

The Traditionalists

The Cheapskates

The Takeout Taker-Inner

In warmer weather, lacking the proper outerwear for smuggling, we’d stick to popcorn (extra “butter,” please) and Milk Duds. —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

The Killjoys

I only snack on chips and anything crunchy, but the sound of me munching distracts me from the movie. So, no snacks. —Vivian Kong, product designer

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jmuo-blog · 6 years

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New Post has been published on https://jmuo.com/true-concessions-our-movie-snacking-behaviors-ex/

True Concessions: Our Movie-Snacking Behaviors, Ex...

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[Illustrations: Vivian Kong]

The Sushi Smuggler

The Cherry Picker

The Traditionalists

The Cheapskates

The Takeout Taker-Inner

In warmer weather, lacking the proper outerwear for smuggling, we’d stick to popcorn (extra “butter,” please) and Milk Duds. —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

The Killjoys

I only snack on chips and anything crunchy, but the sound of me munching distracts me from the movie. So, no snacks. —Vivian Kong, product designer

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