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plazaservicedapartment · 1 month

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5 Reasons why Madame Tussauds should be your next weekend gateway

If you want something quieter and less harsh than exciting coasters and waterslides, make sure Madame Tussauds Wax Museum is on your bucket list. This museum is worth the visit as it has about 250 wax sculptures and is the main attention of everyone.

Madame Tussauds is a well-known wax museum in London. It has a growing collection of lifelike wax figures. You can take selfies with wax figures of renowned persons. They include Queen Elizabeth and stars like Audrey Hepburn and George Clooney. This informative article will discuss the top five reasons why you should choose Madame Tussauds for your next vacation. No need for extensive travel plans; simply book your stay at the nearby Kensington Grand Plaza Residences for a convenient and hassle-free experience.

Reasons to Visit Madame Tussauds London

Madame Tussauds London is a hidden gem waiting to be explored by visitors and locals. If you plan to visit later in the day, set aside at least 90 minutes to view all of your favorite waxwork celebrities and idols before the doors close for the day.

Let’s find out the top five compelling reasons why you should visit Madame Tussauds.

Meet Your Stars at Madame Tussauds:

Meet your favorite stars at Madame Tussauds. Get up close with your top music icons, history figures, and sports heroes. From music fans to history enthusiasts to movie lovers, there's something for you. The wax figures look just like your idols. You can take selfies with your top singer, strike a pose with a legendary sports hero, or shake hands with a famous historical icon.

Join the World of Interactive Fun:

No more passing by simple, stand-still displays. Madame Tussauds is now a fun, lively place full of interactive surprises. You can dive into amazing virtual reality activities with superheroes. Maybe even jam with famous musicians during a virtual gig. These exciting events make your visit way more engaging and fun-filled!

You can also read: How to Spend Easter in London - Weekend Adventures

A Good Time for Everyone:

Madame Tussauds is a family favorite place. Kids will love the realistic figures and fun dress up activities. They can join cool games that suit their age. Adults will love seeing familiar faces from history. They can also reconnect with favorite movies and music from their past. Fun photos can be taken too. Madame Tussauds is full of joy for all ages. It's captivating and enjoyable, no matter how old you are.

Visit Many Displays:

Madame Tussauds is more than stars and history. Each site has themed displays for different likes. Maybe you like superheroes, pop culture, or sports. There's a display to grab your interest. These specific areas let you dive into your hobbies. You can learn more and find new likes.

A Perfect Short Break:

With spots in major cities worldwide, Madame Tussauds is within easy reach. It's your go-to for a swift, effortless weekend escape. No need for lengthy travel plans; you can go to Madame Tussauds without going far from your house. Besides, mixing fun, learning, and interactive events ensures a good weekend away. Make the most of your extended stay in London apartments by including a visit to Madame Tussauds in your itinerary.

Conclusion

Get away from the normal stuff! Start a unique trip at Madame Tussauds. Catering to family fun, a different date night, or a lone outing, this celebrated museum has something for each person.

#WeekendGetaway #MadameTussauds #TravelDestination #MemorableExperiences #ExploreLondon #WeekendFun #CelebEncounters #InteractiveExhibits #FamilyTravel #TravelInspiration

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justakpopfic · 4 years

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Boss by Night Chapter 7

Nct mafia!au

(I don’t own any of the pictures used. Please don’t repost)

Summary: Taeyong lives a double life. In the day, he’s just a normal guy taking care of Jisung, an orphaned boy that Taeyong took under his wing. At night, he’s the leader of the notorious Mafia, NCT. When Jisung grows suspicious of what Taeyong does for his job, and when a deal goes wrong, Taeyongs two worlds begin to slowly collide.

Genre: mafia au, angst

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, suicide and violence.

Masterlist/Next

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Jisung POV

After finally fiddling with the lock, I threw the front door open. The house was empty, with no sign of anyone breaking in. I was all alone, and still not used to the dead silence I was greeted with.

I closed the door behind me, kicking off my shoes. I moved through the house slowly, as if I was an intruder.

My thoughts were the only thing I could hear in the house, which was unsettling, to say the least.

Why am I here? I thought to myself. I walked up the stairs, letting them creak beneath my feet.

I needed to know the truth. Taeyong was in Japan. If he also lied about him going to Japan, then I had no idea where Taeyong was.

Did he…leave me? No, he couldn’t have. He would never do that.

I tried to convince myself that, but it was getting harder to believe it.

I figured there was only one way to find out where Taeyong was. I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone. My fingers dialled Taeyong’s number. I held my breath as I brought my phone up to my ear. How was I going to bring up the question of where he was?

I waited. And I waited. And I waited some more.

“The person you’re trying to reach, is unavailable right now—“

I hung up. Why did it go to voicemail? Taeyong can’t be busy with work.

He’s avoiding me.

That thought made angry. Angry to the point that I dialled his number again.

“The person you are trying to reach—“

Hung up. Dialled again.

“The person you are trying to reach—“

I tried again.

“The person you are—“

I tried again.

“The person—“

“Why aren’t you picking up?” I said out loud to myself. Seriously, what could Taeyong be doing that would prevent him from picking up? He wouldn’t ignore me unless…

Unless he was hurt. But he couldn’t be. I tried calling him one more time, just to see if he’d pick up.

I heard ringing. Not from my phone, but a different one. I turned to the living room phone. It’s not ringing. The sound was faint. I followed the ringing upstairs.

If I saw anything that looked like a human, I was getting out of here and calling the police.

I didn’t find anyone upstairs, but I did find where the ringing was coming from. It was Taeyong’s room, and there was the phone, ringing throughout the room.

I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t pick it up. I don’t have time to take unwanted calls. After the ringing finally stopped, I stood in the middle of Taeyong’s room, staring at everything.

It hasn’t changed one bit. It was like a museum of Taeyong when he was in high school. The walls and shelves held every award for dancing that Taeyong received in his lifetime. A skateboard that he only used once leaned against the wall. His bed was perfectly made, and his desk was almost clean, except for his computer that sat there.

It was so strange. It’s like I was seeing snippets of the old Taeyong. The Taeyong that wasn’t embarrassed when I was with him, and the Taeyong that would hold me when I cried.

It has just came to me, that I’ve never seen Taeyong cry. Something tugged at my heartstrings, as I pondered that thought.

I walked around the room, studying every bit of it. My eyes landed on his desk, which had multiple drawers, and his computer.

I suddenly had an idea. I began opening every drawer that Taeyong had. Taeyong would’ve had to have a place to put his stuff for work in. Whatever is in here, it might help me.

I couldn’t find anything that told me why Taeyong would lie to me. I closed the last drawer, frustrated that I reached a dead end. I sat in Taeyongs chair, face in my hands, until I looked up to see his computer.

Of course. His computer. He has to have something in there.

I lifted the lid of his computer. I was greeted with a log in screen, asking for the password. Taeyongs password. A pang of guilt swirled inside of me. I realized that I’m going into Taeyong’s personal stuff, invading his privacy.

My need to know the truth overpowered my guilt, and I typed in Taeyong’s password.

The screen brought me to the desktop. It seemed quite simple, with a default background. Everything was organized.

My eyes searched every inch of the screen, thinking of where to start first. They landed on his emails. I clicked on it.

As time passed, the more dead ends I kept walking into. I couldn’t find anything, that even mentioned Taeyong’s job, or what his plans were or anything. I tore my eyes away from the screen, groaning softly into my hands. I decided to try one more place.

Taeyong’s search history.

Clicking on the internet browser, I was shaking. I shouldn’t be doing this. But he wouldn’t know, right? If I find nothing useful, then he’ll never need to know.

The page loaded up, and I went and clicked onto his search history. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I felt like ripping out my hair. What was going on? Where was Taeyong?

I shot up from the chair, lying down on Taeyong’s perfectly made bed. I tried to piece together all of the clues that I had. Taeyong lied to me about his job. So that either means he lied about going to Japan, or he’s in Japan for a different reason.

Then I remembered something. Something that Renjun told me.

“Maybe Taeyong works for the government. That’s why he can’t tell you.”

I sat up so quickly. Everything was slowly coming to place. But there were still missing pieces left.

I walked around Taeyong’s room, drinking in every detail. I stopped at a shelf. There were pictures of him from when he was a child, to high school.

One picture of him must’ve been taken when he was in elementary school. He had on a school uniform and a huge smile. His father stood next to him, his hand on his shoulder and wearing a expensive looking suit.

The next pictures were similar. Taeyong wearing a uniform, and his father wearing a suit. I noticed how even though he had his hand on his shoulder, Taeyong’s dad always stood at least an inch away from him.

Taeyong never told me about his parents. His mother died when he was young, and his father was almost always working. Maybe that was why he always hung out with me.

Seeing Taeyong’s father nudged something at my brain, but I didn’t know what. I looked to the last photo on the shelf.

Taeyong’s father was not there. Instead, there was a teenage Taeyong wearing a high school uniform. One hand held up a peace sign, and the other hugged a much younger me close to him.

I smiled at the memory of that day. That year must’ve been my last year of middle school, and Taeyong’s senior year. But still, where did his father go?

I knew that he wasn’t the most present in Taeyong’s life, but he was in the other photos. Where did he go?

Taeyong never told me about his father. All I knew about him was that he was a very successful businessman.

My brain felt like a camera, slowly focusing on the picture. I went back to the computer, and I searched up Taeyong’s father.

I was brought to a page with a picture of Taeyong’s father. But instead of a blurb explaining his job, I found something really…disturbing.

After getting caught by the police after a major drug deal, he was arrested on the spot. He shot himself before his interrogation…

Drug deal? Arrested? Shot himself? My hands were shaking as I read all of this, but I kept reading. I had no other choice.

After his death, he left his bar, The Rose, to be inherited by his only son, Lee Taeyong.

It was almost like someone had punched all the air out of me. I blinked multiple times, reading the words again and again. Nothing changed. It really said that.

Taeyong’s father killed himself, after getting arrested, and left Taeyong alone.

If everything could’ve gone worse, it did.

I brought my eyes to the screen again. I looked for where his death date was.

I now know why Taeyong’s father wasn’t in the last photo. He died a month before Taeyong started school.

I sucked in a breath, my breathing sped up. How did I not know about this? Why didn’t Taeyong tell me that his dad died?

Even more questions were raised now. Did my parents know? Where did Taeyong live for his last year of high school? How come, after everything we’ve been through, Taeyong never told me?

Has he really been lying to me this whole time? Has he always been lying? I brought my hand to my mouth, trying to hold back a sob. My eyes were getting clouded by tears. What was happening?

I let myself take a breather. Once I could breathe properly I stared back at the screen, rereading everything.

The Rose. Apparently that belonged to Taeyong’s father, but now it was Taeyong’s. I searched in that name, wondering what The Rose could be.

The search led me to a map. The blue dot sat on the map. After looking closely, I saw that it was downtown. I leaned back in my seat, exhaling.

So many things have been thrown at me. They swirled around my mind as I tried to make sense of it all.

“Taeyong’s father got arrested for dealing drugs,” I said to myself. “He then shot himself and gave Taeyong ownership of a place called The Rose.”

Looking at the location of the bar, I could tell that it was in a dangerous area.

I changed into some different clothes, typed The Rose address into my phone, and left the house.

I have a feeling that I’m close to the answer, and that answer can be found at The Rose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list. Also, happy early Easter. :)

Tag list: @btm-taeyong @boiolay @ty-boiolay @haechandesal @king-eddiie

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soijusthavetoask · 5 years

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98. “The store ran out of Easter eggs.” Logan and Roman? :3

I am so sorry you probably forgot that this existed.

Patton dragged Virgil home excited to show his dads all of the stuff that they made in school.

“Do we have to run?” Virgil asked quietly.

“Yeah! It’s Easter tomorrow! I want to show dad and dad what we did!” Patton held Virgil’s hand tighter.

They burst through the door almost causing their dads to fall over.

“Hey guys what’s the rush?” Dad was wearing the prince outfit for the play that was going to happen sometime soon.

“It’s Easter tomorrow!” Patton yelled unzipping his backpack, “We made stuff!”

“Wow.” Teacher dad said, “This is some great art, it belongs in a museum.”

Virgil brought out his drawings slowly, “I know they aren’t as good as Patton’s.”

“What are you talking about Virgil? These are great pieces of art! The way you drew the cake! The sprinkles! The eggs! Why there’s no reason that your art shouldn’t be in a museum!” Roman said, meaning all of it. Virgil had a knack for drawing, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“Now, dad and I are going to be busy today. Don’t worry, we will be home tomorrow. So you are going to be staying with Remy. Ok?” Logan said, trying not to worry Virgil too much.

There was a knock at the door. “Gurl, are you going to let me in? I have some kids who are waiting for me.”

Virgil and Patton ran up to the door and basically knocked Remy over.

“Hey! You almost spilled my coffee. You guys want some candy?” Remy asked, still being smothered by the two kids.

“Yes candy, candy!!” Patton yelled, running to the car.

Virgil nodded excitedly, clinging to Remy as they both walked over to the car.

---

“How could we have forgotten Easter?” Roman yelled.

“I don’t know! We were busy! With your play and the new job…” Logan threw his head into the couch.

“We should wait a few minutes before going out, just so the kids don’t expect anything,” Roman said, “And besides, I shouldn’t wear an outfit like this to the store.”

“Why not? The kids will love you,” Logan said, “Though the crown is a bit much.”

Roman ran upstairs and changed outfits. Wishing that they had more time to do everything. They did have actual plans today, after all this was their anniversary.

“Roman, you just need to change clothes, not your entire wardrobe. Hurry up,” Logan yelled from downstairs, “I’m already completely dressed.”

“I’ll only be a minute!” Roman yelled.

“Mine, or yours?” Logan asked.

“Mine?” Roman said, realising the difference.

“Well then we’re not getting anything done!” Logan said in a fake annoyed tone.

Roman ran downstairs, “See I can be fast!”

Logan handed him his wallet, “Sure you are Roman. Now I already started the car, you can get in.”

Honestly this is what Roman loved about Logan, and everything else of course. But the fact that he can stay so calm in situations like this, that was a miracle. Almost as big as him saying yes when Roman pulled out the ring.

“Hey is this a bad time to turn the radio on? Like I know we’re panicking right now but I want to listen to music,” Roman said.

“You can’t even last a minute,” Logan said shaking his head, “But yes, you can Roman.”

Mission successful! Roman turned the radio on, Shut up and dance. Perfect.

“Just keep your eyes on me. I said your holding back. HE” Roman yelled over the radio, “said shut up and dance with me!”

Roman glaced at Logan, he was red in the face. “What, do you not remember high school?”

“I’d rather not remember high school if you keep bringing this up.” Logan looked like he was about to burst out laughing.

“The night you asked me out, this song.” Roman sighed, “Oh the memories.”

“The memories indeed, I can’t believe I was the one who asked you out,” Logan said, “And that you didn’t understand that when I asked you to prom, I meant a date.”

“Hey! You weren't the best at explaining it,” Roman said.

“Hey Roman, would you like to go to the dance with me? It wasn’t that hard.” Logan said, jokingly.

“Well I didn’t know you were gay!” Roman laughed, this was something that he loved to bring up.

“I asked you to prom. What else do you need?” Logan asked.

“Well a sign would have been nice.” Roman smirked.

“This happened fifteen years ago and we can still argue about it like it was yesterday.” Logan said, finally giving in and laughing.

“Great!” Roman said, “Now the songs almost over. Look what you’ve done.”

“It was your fault!” Logan yelled jokingly.

“My fault! I was just singing!” Roman joked back.

“Well let's stop yelling, we’re here now.” Logan said kissing Roman on the cheek. “Now please tell me you have your wallet, I forgot mine.”

Roman felt around in his pocket, “Yep I have mine.”

“Great, now I’ll get the Easter stuff, you get the actual groceries.” Logan said getting out of the car.

“Why do I always get left with the boring stuff?” Roman asked.

“Because you let me make the rules, that’s why,” Logan said, “Now please, get actual food this time.”

“Of course my prince,” Roman said bowing. He loved watching Logan blush over the pet names.

“Don’t get lost brave knight.” Logan said, smirking when Romans face turned bright red. Then speed walking away to get the Easter supplies.

Roman went the other direction, where there was a nice little grocery store that had a sale before most big holidays. He got most the items on the list, and some that weren’t when he got a call, Logan, that’s strange he normally texts.

“Yes Lo?” Roman asked.

“The store ran out of Easter eggs.” Logan sounded on edge, like he was trying to stop himself from panicking. “And now we will have to go to another store, and they might not have them there, and”

“Logan breathe. It’s going to be fine.”

“Falsehood.”

“I falsehood your falsehood. But really Logan, it’s going to be ok.”

“This store always has eggs. The others probably won’t either and then the kids will be so sad…”

“Cognitive distortions Logan.”

Roman heard a slight chuckle coming from the other side of the phone, “That’s my thing.”

“Well I thought you could need it. Wait at the car, I’ll be there in a second.”

“Ok see you then.” Logan said, then hung up.

Roman got the rest of the list as quickly as possible and put some Crofters in the bag, Logan seemed like he could use a pick me up. Then he went to the car as fast as possible.

Throwing himself and the bags in the car Roman said “Ok, I’m here, I’m queer, let’s drive.”

“Do you always have do be so dramatic,” Logan said with a fake sigh.

“No, but what’s the fun in that?” Roman said, “Now drive!”

Logan sighed and pulled out of the parking lot, “Where do you think we could get eggs?”

“I don’t know, you’re the smart one.” Roman said pulling out his phone, “Any places you can think of before I pull up every store in the state?”

“How about Walmart?”

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pennywaltzy · 5 years

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Alternate Beginnings, Alternate Endings, Alternate Universes (3/5 - An “Adventures In Unexpected Places” Story)

we’re winding down on kid!Amy and kid!Rory for a bit, but they’ll come back in flashbacks in other fics, I swear! But here’s another old chapter of @fadeddreaming‘s crossover story…

Alternate Beginnings, Alternate Endings, Alternate Universes - After being sent to the worst school in the whole of England, Amy meets up with the man whose fault it is that she’s there, and things go vastly more differently than anyone expected.

Valentine’s Day went well. The girls at school had had a blow-out party while Amy and Rory went to New York City to sightsee with the Doctor. It wasn’t as though he was really chaperoning them, but was there with his sonic if they needed it. They went to a museum of art and then a concert of Amy’s favorite band. Rory didn’t set foot on the school grounds at all, and the next day she acted as though everything was normal and not that she’d had the best first date ever.

But her life went back to normal. Mels had found the person the Doctor suggested, and they were hatching up all sorts of schemes, and Amy watched on with amusement. It was clear that Mels really was a criminal mastermind, and while it was nice to see her excel Amy also hoped she knew when to get out before it was too late.

Winter ended and spring arrived, and soon it was time for Easter break. Rory’s parents had accepted that their son was in a long distance relationship with Amelia and invited her to stay with them, and Mels had gotten her parents to offer the same, but Aunt Sharon had finally decided that maybe she should see how her niece was, so she was going home for the break.

Home…it seemed strange to her, but now St. Trinian’s was home, and the only thing Leadworth had to offer was Rory. It would be very strange to be back for two weeks, but the Doctor had promised he would try and visit, make things a bit lively, and she knew she could trust him to do just that. As she set her duffel bag on the floor of her old room she looked around. Aunt Sharon had come in to dust, but everything had been left more or less as she had left it. It saddened her a bit, to think that her aunt missed her so little that she hadn’t spent time among her old things.

Their first dinner together was awkward. There was so much going on that Amy simply couldn’t tell her about, like the trips with the Doctor or Mels zany schemes or the times she actually got to see her boyfriend out of the blue. So she stuck to the simple stuff, and Aunt Sharon tried to fill in the gaps with what had been going on since she had left. It was with relief that Amy went outside to the old swing set that was still standing back there, and sat down on the swing.

It was times like today she wondered what had happened to her parents. She had bare memories of them, but nothing concrete. She remembered her mum was thin, and her dad was on the fat side. She remembered hazy smiles, but that was it. There were no pictures of them around the house, and when asked her Aunt Sharon always changed the subject, as if she didn’t want to talk about them, and didn’t want her talking about them, either. Would her parents have sent her to St. Trinian’s? Would they have just believed her about what she knew now was the truth, that he was real and that she could travel through time and space when she was with them? Or would it be exactly the same as it was now?

The familiar vworp-vworp-vworp of the TARDIS materializing got her attention, shaking off the melancholy thoughts. Sometimes, she swore, she just had to think and her Doctor would make himself known. The doors swung open and she jumped off the seat and ran in, throwing her arms around the surprised man’s chest. “It’s only been three weeks, Pond,” he replied, still giving her a hug.

“It’s like you just know when I need you,” she said, letting go.

“But haven’t you figured out yet that I do?” he said, grinning at her. She grinned back, and he clapped his hands together. “So! What do you want to do today?”

“I want to see my mum and dad,” she replied.

He frowned. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Amelia.”

“Why not? We can go in the past, right?” She walked over to the console. “Shouldn’t be hard.”

“Amelia,” he said quietly. “I have looked. God knows, I have looked. And I simply can’t find them. They’ve never existed.”

“Then how am I here?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t know, but I have a theory.” He looked at her, then moved her towards the chair near the console. She sat down and looked up at him. “The crack in your wall…I’ve seen others like it, all over the universe. I watched someone touch it, then disappear in a bright light, and then no one remembered him. There was no record of him. I think, perhaps, that your parents…the same thing may have happened to them.”

The crack. It still gave her nightmares, even now that it was sealed. And to think that it swallowed up her parents… “I don’t understand,” she said.

“I don’t either, not entirely, but I’m doing everything I can to figure it out. I promise, if I can bring your parents back I will.” He knelt down in front of her and grasped her hands in his, squeezing. She looked him full on in the face, knowing he was being earnest and truthful. But…she liked her life as it was now. How drastically would it all change if her parents were back? Would she still have Mels as a friend? Rory as a boyfriend? Would she still go to St. Trinian’s? Most of all, would she still have met the Doctor and had the wonderful, brilliant maddening adventures she’d had with them.

“I don’t want things to change,” she said, shaking her head.

“But if it would fix things, it’s what I should do,” he said.

She pulled her hands away and stood up. “No. I like this life. I have a home, I have friends, I feel like I belong somewhere. If you bring them back, what happens then? Do I lose all this? Does it never take place, and I’m different? I don’t want to be different.”

“But maybe it will be better,” he replied.

“And maybe it won’t!” she said. She could feel tears slipping down her cheeks. He didn’t care if it hurt her, he was going to do it anyway. He was her friend, and he was going to hurt her. “Maybe everything will be horrible! Maybe Mels will never come to Leaadworth and Rory won’t like me and I’ll never meet you and I’ll be boring and ordinary and I won’t…I won’t…” She couldn’t get anymore out.

He came up to her and wrapped his arms around her. She pounded at his chest slightly, but he didn’t let go. “I can’t imagine to know how you feel, Amelia,” he said quietly. “But if this is a mistake, if this is something I can fix, then I must fix it.”

She stopped fighting and instead cried, her face buried in his shirt until there were no more tears left. She pulled away, wiping her still moist eyes with the back of her hand. She looked at him closely, and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to do this. She had no say in it. She turned around so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Please don’t come back for me.”

“Amelia…” he said quietly.

“If it all changes, don’t come into my life, okay? Just leave me be.” She started walking to the door. Her life was going to change. Someday, she was going to wake up and it would be different. And she had the gut feeling only she would remember. And she would be looked at as the weird little girl in Leadworth who talked of things no one else could understand all over again.

“I’ve seen your future. Your correct future,” he called out as she had her hand on the handle. “Do you want to know what happens? I hadn’t planned on telling you. I perhaps would have, later, when you were older.”

She lowered her hand and turned around. “Tell me.”

“I show up again when you’re nineteen, not twelve. We save the world from Prisoner Zero, and then I disappear again for two years. I come back the night before you marry Rory, and you run away with me. Then you try and kiss me, and it’s a mess, so I go pick up Rory, and…he dies. But he comes back, and then you die, and then we seal you up and wait nearly two thousand years for you to wake up. But the universe stopped existing, and an exploding TARDIS is the only thing warming the Earth. But then I fix things, and disappear, but you bring me back. But you also bring back your parents, and you seem happy when I drop in on your and Rory’s wedding.”

She stumbles a bit at the weight of the information. That’s what’s supposed to happen to her? That’s her life? A life of waiting, to be replaced with a life with her parents? “And what happens to this life?” she asked.

“It’s like the others. You remember it in your head. Rory will probably remember it, too, with enough prompting,” he said as he walked towards her. “But the life with your parents…you seem better in that life. More fulfilled. Happier.”

“But I wouldn’t see you again until I was twenty-one,” she said. “And Rory is going to die? And I’m going to die?”

“But you come back,” he said. “Of course, that life may never happen. After all, it’s nine more years until my enemies set the trap. And I know about it now.”

“How did you find out about it?” she aasked.

“My friend River, I’ve mentioned her before?” She nodded. “She’s a time traveler, going in the wrong order. The first time I meet her is the last time she sees me. She got a hold of me not long after I met you in Camilla’s office. She has a book where she records her adventures, and said suddenly she was remembering different events then were in her book. We had a long talk and that’s when I got the gist of everything that changed.”

“I had no idea,” she said quietly.

“And I didn’t want to tell you until you were older, until I learned more. No one should know more of their own future than absolutely necessary, especially in your case where it’s so drastic of a change. Even my records have you with a different future then the one I just told you. About the only thing that remains the same is that you have Rory to help guide you through things.”

“Should you tell him?” she asked.

“Yes, perhaps I should,” he replied. “It wouldn’t be good for you to have to keep such a heavy burden to yourself, and he would understand.”

“What about Mels?”

He paused. “The less she knows, the better,” he said after a moment. “Her future is…complicated. And the less you know of it, the better. I already made a hash of things, and it may turn out differently in the long run anyway.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“Let’s just say she’s got one of her own and leave it at that, shall we?” He put a hand on each shoulder and looked at her intently. “Should we go find Rory?”

“Yeah, probably,” she said with a sigh, looking down.

“Amelia.” She looked back up. “Before I go fix this problem, if I can fix it at all, I will tell you. I will have you be as prepared as I can for the changes that are going to come, whatever they might be. I will not leave you to face it all alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go get Rory.”

“All right then. Off to go fetch Rory.” He put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the console. A small but heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. At least she would have warning. At least she could prepare herself. Or at least try. But she knew at the core of her being that things would never be the same again.

#doctor who #st trinians #amy x rory #fanfic #fanfiction #amy pond #the doctor #eleventh doctor #multipart: alternate beginnings alternate endings alternate universes #my au: adventures in unexpected places

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gracia-suficiente · 6 years

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So here’s a long and detailed post of my 2017!

In years past, I’ve kept a good things jar which is nice because it helps me keep track of all the good things that happened during the year. Something like that would’ve helped a lot this year because although this year wasn’t awful, it was a challenging year. The year started off really great but then slowed down and got stressful. Towards the end though, it came back up and I’m so excited for 2018. I did keep a good things jar the first couple months of 2017, but I stopped soon after the year started. So if the rest of my post after those months isn’t that detailed, it’s because the rest of the year was a blur.

January started off so strong! I spent New Year’s Eve with my cousin Isaac and family and I actually had a lot of fun! I even got a Native American blessing from my cousin’s wife’s grandfather who is Native American! Bailey and I talked a LOT in January; I have an embarrassing amount of good things papers about phone calls and facetimes with him. Speaking of Bailey, the app that we met on, Beme, died in January which sucked but everyone in the beme community spent the last few days sending each other fun reactions. I started my internship with my (now) previous employer on January 3! Even though I started my new internship, I went back in January for an exit interview with my old job at my university and it was so great to see my old coworkers. They were seriously some of my favorite people to work with. Also! The Catholic Campus Ministry (CCM) planning meetings for Awakening retreat began in January (tbh I forgot I served on team this year!) There were also a lot of birthday parties (James, Jayden, Alice) and even a few anniversaries (my parents and my brother’s godparents).

February started off on a sweet note because Bailey was my Valentine and that made me really happy. Speaking of notes, my little brother had an orchestra concert this month as well! My bestie Vivian turned 24 and I had fun at her dinner; I wish I could’ve gone out with them though. I especially hated having a curfew this past year.

March was long and stressful. Work got hectic, school got difficult, and life got hard and depressing. But March ended up being redeeming also; I got asked to be an ash distributor for the CCM campus wide Ash Wednesday mass! I also served on retreat at the end of March and it was beautiful. God’s timing is perfect and that retreat helped me so much; God is good.

April was fun because I went to two concerts! My sister and I saw The 1975 and we were in the pit; I’ve never been so up close for a concert before. I also took my mom to see Chris Tomlin and that concert was so beautiful. It was also fun to do something with my mom! Easter happened right before all of the concerts and Easter is probably my second favorite holiday; I love it so much.

May was a good month; I graduated from college with my master’s degree! All of the graduation festivities were so much fun; there was graduation mass with CCM, the College of Business hooding ceremony, and then the big graduation ceremony. My family and I had a nice graduation dinner after the ceremony with a lot of family. I also got offered a full time position with the accounting firm I interned for. I started working full time after I graduated. I was so grateful for the position because I struggled to find a job when I graduated from undergrad. Job security is nice.

I saw Miike Snow in June! That was a lot of fun! It was also my first time at one of the smaller venues in my city. I racked my brain, and other than that, I can’t remember anything significant that happened in June.

In July, I finally went to the new baseball stadium in town with my family; I say “new” but it’s been open for a couple of years now and I just hadn’t had the opportunity to go. Going to the game made me remember how much I love baseball. We went over the 4th of July weekend so we got to see fireworks too! Speaking of the 4th of July, my family and I went on the military base where my city’s symphony orchestra had a free concert and fireworks show! It was fantastic and the best 4th of July at home I’ve had in a long while. My little brother turned 15 in July! I went to a job interview with Whole Foods corporate in Austin in July and I didn’t get it. But it ended up working out for the better! And lastly, I saw Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness in July and that was probably the best concert I went to this year. I’ve never had so much fun at a concert. Also, I got to meet The Greeting Committee and A R I Z O N A afterwards too!

What happened in August? I have no idea. According to my memory, calendar, and photo albums, not much.

But not to worry! September made up for the lame August I had! My cousin’s cousin (who is my age and I kinda grew up with) got married the first weekend in September! I turned 24 in September and I spent my birthday at my city’s art museum and I had dinner with my grandparents and family at my favorite restaurant. My parents’ birthdays followed soon after and were fun as well! And then came my Richmond adventure with Bailey! Such. a. great. weekend. After that, my sister and I saw Two Door Cinema Club!

October was hectic with work but I did get to see Portugal. the Man on Friday the 13th! Near the end of the month, my other cousin’s fiance had a bridal shower and it was so much fun getting to know her a little more.

November was fun because my sister turned 21! I also began taking Christian Formation classes at my church in order to become a Eucharistic Minister. I loved learning about my faith and getting to interact with other Catholics. My cousin Nicole had her last high school football game EVER (she’s in marching band) so my family and I went to cheer her on. I went to a job interview mid-November for the job that I currently have now. God is so good and I am thankful that He opened up this door for me in Austin. My family and I spent Thanksgiving at my cousin Isaac’s house and it was so much fun!

December was a whirlwind. I saw Pale Waves with my sister on the 4th. I got assigned to a really big audit at work and I put in my two weeks notice. That was rough. My bestie and I took a trip to Santa Fe to go to a museum. My cousin Nicole turned 18! My little brother had his Christmas orchestra concert. I went to my previous employer’s Christmas party and then the happy hour after. I was invited to be a part of my middle school’s career day (how old am I??). My family and I moved all my stuff to my new apartment in Austin. We spent Christmas with my two aunts who live in the area. Then we came back to go to my cousin’s wedding at the end of the month. I visited an old friend in the hospital with my bestie because she had a beautiful baby boy. And we spent New Year’s Eve at my house with my cousins and tias. December was so wild and I never had a month fly by so quickly; there were so many people I wanted to say goodbye to but I didn’t get the chance. I’m so excited for the new year and what the change will bring for me!

A few lists of things I saw/read/listened to in 2017 (probably not complete as my memory is awful and I didn’t keep track of anything):

Movies I saw: The Accountant, The Infiltrator, Lego: Batman Movie, Thor Ragnorak, The Hitman’s Body Guard, The Big Sick

TV shows I watched: Sherlock, Stranger Things, American Vandal, Over the Garden Wall

Books I read: Journal 3 by Alex Hirsh, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

Concerts I went to: The 1975 (with Colouring and Pale Waves), Worship Night in America (Chris Tomlin with Phil Wickam, Big Daddy Weave, and another band I can’t remember right now), Miike Snow (with The Other Half), Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness (with A R I Z O N A and The Greeting Committee), Portugal. the Man, Pale Waves (with The Candescents) [I had tickets to see Foster the People and Atlas Genius but both shows got canceled]

Albums I bought: Gracetown - San Cisco, Harry Styles - Harry Styles, What If Nothing - Walk the Moon, Reputation - Taylor Swift, Sacred Hearts Club - Foster the People, Kaleidoscope EP - Coldplay, Melodrama - Lorde, Unpeeled - Cage the Elephant, GALLERY - A R I Z O N A, Meeting People Is Easy - The Greeting Committee, Gameshow Live at KCRW - Two Door Cinema Club

#2017 #personal #audit life #bailey

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dailybooth · 7 years

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Dan and Phil’s Liveshow // 4.27.17

First liveshow in the new house

Dan is wearing the pink Sydney shirt

Phil is wearing a new grey/blue/green? hoodie

Random box of shit that they went through

Many box paper cuts

Moving video recap

The London Apartment was like the F.R.I.E.N.D.S apartment

They’re still going to be making videos and they brought their stuff no need to fret

The new house is a duplex

They’re still renting RIP to the dog dreams for now

They’re drowning in cardboard boxes

There’s a semi transparent glass door in the lounge

Easter baking (Phil still doesn’t know what they’re called)

“Whisk it harder” -Phil

Phil’s bedroom is going to be pretty much the same don’t get too hyped about new interior design

Dan’s bedroom will be almost completely different (apparently it looks like the moon?)

Dan got rid of the bedspread but Phil kept his (he secretly has 2 the entire time)

They are yet to meet the neighbor

“’When will you get a dog?’ I guess when the house is bought and there’s no landlord.”

The gaming background will look weirdly similar

“Gaming lighting will be dank”

Dan’s filming area is through the door thing through the longue

Dan didn’t want to play i spy on the flight back from Singapore what a bitch

They watched Fantastic Beasts (3/5 stars), Lion (ugly crying), Hacksaw Ridge (Dan cried the entire second half of the movie) on the flight

They went to a night zoo in Singapore which was really cool

Phil was convinced an elephant was trying to come after him

Dan wanted to see absolutely everything

They haven’t listened to the new Fall Out Boy song yet

They’re enjoying the new place a lot just getting adjusted

Phil will still film in his bedroom (apparently the landlord thought he was going to film a porno)

They have a Lounge and a chill lounge (currently they’re in the chill lounge which is where they’ll film)

Dan got a white piano

Phil is constantly taking creepshots

Maybe they’ll get a fish

The Art Science Museum in Singapore was lit

Phil the Photographer

Phil’s hood has gone up #news

Dan did a lot of crying on that trip

Basically Singapore was just really cool

Dan stuck his foot through the leg of the ripped jeans

“What is it with Australia inspiring me to paint my nails”

#cocktus

Phil may attempt to curl his hair for a video at some point

Phil will be away in Florida after Playlist with his family on holiday so he’ll tweet about when he’ll do the next liveshow

The 1D poster is gone #rip

The last gaming video was a good send off

This year is very much about them and their lives

Dan got a bonsai for is desk

Dan has one more dinof video filmed in the old house

This one isn’t a forever home

“You sneaky weasels”

“It suits him. Embrace the natural curls.” Phil on Dan’s curls

The new place doesn’t really have a name but Thor is a possibility

Phil probably wouldn’t paint his nails because he doesn’t like having stuff on his (like tattoos or pen marks) just as a personal preference

DINOF video most likely on Monday and Dan liveshow on Tuesday

“We hope that we’re been two virtual buddies to you”

“Goodbyeeeeeee”

#was dailybooth #dan and phil #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #dan howell #phil lester #i hate doing all the tags for joint liveshows rip #phil's younow #dan's younow #younow recaps #phil's liveshow #dan's liveshow #liveshow recaps #4.27.17 #27.4.17

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cassidy-malta · 7 years

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April 15-17: Amster-damn!

I just can’t use that pun enough.

Lets do some math, shall we?

1 girl turning 21 + 1 city full of prostitutes, weed, alcohol, and culture + 1 Easter weekend + 2 bff cousins = 3 spectacular days.

Okay, so I didn’t smoke any weed, nor did I spend time with the prostitutes, but it’s nearly impossible to talk about Amsterdam without mentioning those aspects.

I shockingly really enjoyed Amsterdam. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought that I wouldn’t like it. Maybe that is because of the rather “x-rated” reputation, or simply because I didn’t know much of the city’s history. Either way, I went in with very low expectations.

I arrived in the afternoon on Saturday, April 15 and was greeted by my cousin, Kathryn! Kathryn is one of my biggest role models and has been for almost my entire life. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a big sister and in her mid-twenties, she is successfully and happily employed and an experienced world traveler. She’s funny and oh-so-smart. When I reached out to her a few months ago about joining me on my spring break, she had plane tickets booked within 5 hours. So yeah- she’s pretty freakin’ cool.

My first half-day in Amsterdam pretty much was the two of us recovering from our journies to the city. We explored the bloemenmarkt before making our way to the Red Light District. I’ll admit that I was pretty nervous about going to the illicit corner of Amsterdam but it ended up being one of my favorite places. It was the most intriguing place of the city, the lifestyle so different that it was faciniating. The women stand in glass doors, beckoning to men. Peep shows, live porn, and sex museums are scattered among the women-filled doors. Pictures are strictly forbidden but I snuck a few. Kathryn and I were completely intrigued- what inspired the women to do this? What all happens in a peep show? What happens when a man goes into a room? How much money circulates in this district? I would like to think of us as amateur anthropologists, sitting on a bench and watching the exchange of money and curtains closing.

(”Sex Palace”, offering live peep shows for only 2 euro ($2 USD))

(a forbidden photo taken of a few of the prostitutes)

(the streets were crowded with men and bachelor parties, but also tourists and guided tours. The women seemed unfazed by the tourists)

We woke up far to early the next day to an international holiday- my 21st birthday (and Easter Sunday, but let’s prioritize). We started the cold rainy day as sophisticated adults and went to an art museum- VINCENT VAN GOGH’S ART MUSEUM. Although sleepy, I was pretty jazzed to see paintings that I’ve only dreamt about viewing by my favorite artist. I was a little disheartened by the fact that my favorite painting, Starry Night, wasn’t in the museum, but we still saw plenty of masterpieces.

(pretty lifechanging stuff here, people!)

We loaded up on coffee and trudged to our next stop- the Heineken Experience. What a cool experience for a 21st birthday! We learned how the beer is made, we got to pretend to be beer bottles, learn how to properly drink a Heineken, and learn the history of the beer. Neither of us being a fan of Heineken before we entered, we both left with a newfound respect and bizarre enjoyment of the beer and it became a frequent drink over the next few days.

(Top Left- the tour ended with the factory’s rooftop bar. Top Right- Cheers to Amsterdam! Bottom Left- beer bottle art! Bottom Right- churning the rather disgusting mix before it becomes the beer we all know and love)

After Heineken, we were re-energized enough to venture out to Keukenhof, the world-famous tulip gardens. Now I’m no flower girl, but holy buckets this was freakin’ GORGEOUS. It seems kinda stupid to use words to describe the vivid colors and amazing beauty, so let me just show you some pictures instead.

(Happy cousins, happy life!)

(Me, learning the secrets of the flowers)

(if the shoe fits....)

(this place was so cute!)

(a giant tulip made of tulips. Tulip-ception!)

So how did I end my first and last full day in Amsterdam? A birthday facetime with my most favorite people on the planet, a visit to the IAMsterdam sign, and a stroll along the canals. The next morning we got up bright and early to take a speed train to our next destination- PARIS!

(these two are my number one source of comfort and support. They mean EVERYTHING to me!)

(I might be the only person on the planet with a picture in front of this sign completely alone. Usually it is swarming with tourists!)

(The beautiful canals and even more beautiful houses!)

#Amsterdam #Malta #Study Abroad #Cassidy #Norse Adventures #NorseAdventures #Luther College #Red Light District #Keukenhof #Van Gogh #Heineken #21 #Birthday #Easter

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minihappybaker-blog · 7 years

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My Story of recovering from Anxiety and Binge Eating Disorder: Part 2- Greedy

It's been a few weeks since my first post. The reason for that is that it is harder than I imagined to write about something so personal. I want to start this chapter by saying that I don't want my story to come across as a 'poor me' story at all. I am extremely lucky that I have a wonderful family, awesome friends new and old and a very supportive husband who pushed me to get help when I needed it most. I just want to tell my story as honestly as possible because I'm proud of how far I've come and because just maybe someone might come across this who is going through some of the same stuff and it may help. Xx

For as long as I can remember I have used food to comfort me. It's easy to see that now that I have an understanding of my illness (chronic anxiety disorder) but at the time I had no idea my eating patterns were in any way linked to anything else. As far as I was aware, I was just greedy. I liked food too much and that was something to be ashamed of and hidden.

I had always been a very nervous and anxious child. My mum tells me that when I was very small (maybe 5 or 6) I was terrified of being left on my own at night and to get me to go to sleep I made her recite a list of various foods, bread, milk, cheese etc. The list had to be in the same order every night otherwise there was no chance of me going to sleep. I'm sure lots of kids have similar bedtime rituals however illogical they may be and I'm not suggesting that there was anything especially unusual about mine. I just think it's interesting, knowing what I know now, that even as far back as that it was a list of foods that soothed me to sleep.

I wont say that I had a difficult childhood because that would be unfair to people who aren't fortunate enough to have the things many of us take for granted. I had loving parents and I never went without food or clothes, but I do think it's fair to say that for whatever reason, I found childhood difficult. My dad was well known in our small town as he was the local vicar. In a small, working class town in northern England, we were painfully middle class and not just that, but we were religious. I was different to my classmates and I felt it acutely.

While my friends mums read magazines and listened to pop music, my parents read books and listened to classical music and church hymns. Conversation in our house often revolved around church politics, sermons or Sunday school. While my friends parents took them on foreign holidays or to holiday parks at the beach, my parents took us to cottages in the countryside or occasionally to Christian retreats. Our holidays were spent going to look at stately homes, museums or churches. My friends went to theme parks and amusement arcades.

I went to church on Sundays while my friends went on shopping trips or were allowed to lounge around until midday in their pyjamas. My friends lived in 2 or 3 bedroom semi detached houses that were pleasantly decorated and cosily furnished. We lived in a large detached 5 bedroom house provided by the church that we didn't own which always felt draughty and slightly shabby.

We also spoke differently. I quickly learned that it was not 'cool' to use the long words I heard at home or not to have the same broad northern accent that my friends had. I didn't understand the swear words they sometimes used and quickly tried to learn them to get up to speed. I was desperate to fit in, to be 'normal'. Being different was the worst thing in the world in my eyes.

Although I can remember feeling like this in primary school, the need to be 'normal' was amplified massively when I started secondary school. My parents were keen for me and my siblings to go to the best school available to us and this meant that they scoured the local league tables and I was sent to a school in a different catchment area to my primary school. This was unusual in my town where the vast majority of kids simply went to the nearest school. This meant that starting secondary school was especially nerve wracking for me as I knew very few people. I soon realised I had the wrong shoes, coat, schoolbag etc. Girls were suddenly talking about kissing boys, something I had no idea was supposed to be on my radar already. I can remember feeling desperately self conscious and as though every day was an effort to imitate the other girls to mould myself into one of them or to not say or do anything that would mark myself out as 'different' or 'uncool'.

I was a chameleon. I played the part of being the same as everyone else. I dumbed myself down so I wouldn't appear posh or 'swotty'. My accent became far more pronounced than my brother and sisters as I subconsciously mimicked the people around me. I desperately studied the latest pop music (something that my parents had no interest in) and tried hard to learn the words to songs that everyone else knew. Even a conversation about a film that everyone else had seen was stressful to me as I pretended I had seen it too for fear that I would be outed as weird or different if I admitted to not having seen it. I pretended to be working class just like my friends. When I heard things that shocked me I pretended not to be shocked. I told no-one about going to church on Sundays or being in the church choir.

I'm sure lots of people have a similar experience at school. For me, putting on a mask didn't end when I left school. Throughout university and my work life, I played a part. I was what I thought people around me wanted me to be. This wasn't a conscious decision for me, I wasn't trying to deceive anyone, it was simply to only way I knew to how to make friends. It made it easier for everyone if I was 'normal'.

Pretending to be someone you're not even for a few hours is exhausting. Imagine doing that for 15 years. I might sound dramatic but I can honestly say that when I met my husband 7 years ago when I was 24, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. Here was someone who had seen through my façade straight away and wanted to get to know the real me. For the first time I could remember I felt like I could relax and be myself with him. I felt like I'd been holding my breath for years and hadn't even realised and I could suddenly let it out.

When you're living this way you are constantly on edge. Looking back now my anxiety definitely stemmed from feeling different and desperately trying to fit in. You get used to living on a knife edge and that becomes your normal. Food, very early on became a way for me to escape the constant effort to be someone else and gave me some comfort. Meals and treats became the highlights of my day, the only time I could fully enjoy something without feeling like I was doing it wrong.

One of my first memories of properly binging was when I was about 12. My dad had just let me start walking home on my own rather than getting picked up. This was very important to me because none of my friends got picked up from school so I felt that me getting picked up was another sign of how different our family was. Even though I lived much further away from the school than my friends my dad reluctantly let me walk home. The walk took nearly an hour but I didn't care, I was thrilled to be one step closer to being just like my friends.

I can remember every day a feeling of a weight being lifted off my shoulders when I passed the point of my journey when there were no other schoolkids walking my route. The pressures of keeping up with everyone else melting away until tomorrow. There was a post office at about this point and I remember going in and spending about £1.50 on sweets. My lunch money was £2/ day so I quickly worked out that if I just had a portion of chips for lunch all day, I could keep the rest of my money for my walk home and buy as many sweets as I could with the change and eat them in secret on my way home. I can remember sitting in my classes dreaming and planning the sweets I would by on my way home and how I could get as much as possible for my money. I would eat them secretly from my pocket on the rest of my walk home and then leave the wrappers in my pocket so that my parents wouldn't see them in the bin. I remember then telling my dad I was starving when I got home so I needed a snack before tea. While I was making a sandwich I would quietly close the kitchen door, stand on a chair so I could reach the cupboard where we kept crisps and biscuits. In our house you were supposed to ask for a treat and not just help yourself as most of my friends were allowed to. I would quickly sneak a handful of whatever was there, chocolate mini rolls, Bakewell tarts, penguin bars or something similar, slip them into my pocket and eat them sneakily after my sandwich when no-one was looking.

I also remember at Easter and Christmas or any time when us kids were given chocolate, I would eat mine piece by piece in one go in secret until I felt sick. Because of my dad's job as the local vicar it meant that a lot of parishioners wanted to give the vicars kids chocolates and treats so this was a lot of chocolate. My brother and sister's supply would last for weeks and mine would be gone within a day or two so I would steal their goodies when they were asleep. I can remember thinking they obviously didn't want it very much if they hadn't eaten it. On more than one occasion my sister ended up in tears because someone had eaten her favourite Easter egg. I never admitted it was me even though everyone knew I was guilty.

These behaviours are probably not too unusual and I'm sure most people snuck treats from the kitchen at some point in their childhood. But for me I can now look back and see that as social anxiety tightened it's grip on my life, food became the only way I knew to deal with life. Food brought me comfort but it also started me on a lifelong cycle of comfort followed by guilt and shame which would impact every part of my life. It would cause me to fail my 2nd year of my degree course twice, end up in an abusive relationship for over 2 years and to fall into a deep pit of depression. It gripped me in a cycle of alternately starving myself and then binging and eventually compulsively exercising and trying to make myself sick to 'undo the damage" I had caused. It also lead me to drink heavily and take a lot of drugs in an effort to escape myself but food was always my drug of choice.

Of course as the child who wasn't even overweight, sneaking treats from the kitchen cupboard, I had no idea that my behaviour was setting myself up for an addiction to food that would take over my life until I reached my 30's. I had no idea that the cravings I felt were actually due to a chemical imbalance of serotonin in my brain. To me I was just greedy and even before I had any awareness of my body or the label 'fat' I knew it was something to be very ashamed of.

Thanks for reading. I'm so excited to be sharing my story now that I have come out the other side. I feel so fortunate to be living the life I am now and I'm a firm believer that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Looking forward to sharing the next chapters and sharing my story of recovery.

xxx

#binge eating #anxiety #recovery #my story #nodiet #weightloss #health #depression #help #strong #courage #happiness

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dabblinginmarvel · 7 years

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We Take Care of Each Other

Request: Request! 🙃❤️ Y/N is an Avenger who never really got along with Bucky because during the whole events of Winter Soldier he shot her twice... (Wolverine level healing factor FTW!), but waaaaaaay later on she sort grows a bit fond of him and develops a low key crush on him and she can't stand hearing all the not so subtle verbal jabbing SHIELD agents make about him, so one day she finally snaps and lashes out verbally at those agents in front of Bucky and Steve.

Blog Tag: @sarazzprime

A/N: Must. Protect. Bucky. Barnes.

Warnings: A few bad words.

Word Count Total: 1004

Short Imagine #97

Title: We Take Care of Each Other

You and Bucky had a rough start, beginning with when he shot you – twice – as the Winter Soldier. You had healed because you have a speedy healing ability, but being shot hurts. After he became Bucky Barnes again, he never did anything to show you that you could not trust him. So, after developing a sort of friendship, you became protective of this man.

Granted, he could probably squish you if he tried, but you felt you needed to protect him anyway. This friendship had grown into a sort of fondness on your end over time, but you weren’t going to tell him that. You knew he wasn’t the sort of person to actively pursue a relationship anymore, so you stayed your distance.

The SHIELD agents who worked with the Avengers team weren’t as nice to him, save for Maria Hill, but even she toed the line sometimes. It was probably fear on her part, and you saw that Bucky understood. He told you the comments stopped bothering him some time ago, but you had trouble with letting the others and their comments go because you saw the he lied every time. The comments still bothered him, and more than he would ever care to admit. He just accepted them because that was what he felt he deserved and that wasn’t right.

So instead of letting it go like he asked you to, you stored the situations away.

But it all came out eventually.

- - -

“Seriously, though, this doofus still hates grabbing a parachute! He thrives off adrenaline, gets high off of it or something. I don’t know why he thinks he’s invincible.” You poked Steve in the chest

“Maybe because I’m Captain America?” Steve shrugged and Bucky laughed.

“You reckless jerk,” Bucky said.

Steve chuckled.

“Well, just because you’re Captain America doesn’t mean that you are immune to everything. I’d rather not turn around one day and see you broke something just because your dum-dum self can’t be bothered with safety.” You rolled your eyes.

“Dum-dum?” asked Steve.

“Yes. You dum-dum.”

“What are you, an Easter Island Head from Night at the Museum?”

You laughed. “You bring me gum-gum.”

Bucky grinned. “Is that the movie with the living museum?”

“Yes, and we will introduce you to it soon.”

“I think I’m busy that day.”

“Hey,” you turned around to poke him in the chest, “no one turns down a Robin Williams movie. It’s against the law.”

“Of what?”

“Um, the natural world?”

“Oh, fine.”

You fist pumped in victory, then looked at Steve, whose attention was at the end of the hall. A couple of SHIELD agents were approaching the three of you. Anxiety seeped into the pit of your stomach, ready for a fight.

“Cap, Y/N, can we speak for a moment? It’s Avengers stuff.” One of the agents asked.

“Sure,” you locked arms with Bucky to make sure he came instead of automatically turning away.

“Oh, it’s only for Avengers.”

“Bucky is an Avenger, so he’s coming.”

“This isn’t for terrorist ears.”

That was the last straw. Your anger boiled over. “Excuse me, James Buchannan Barnes is an Avenger. A hero. He is not a terrorist. If you can’t be civil to a hero, then you can be replaced, easily. I am tired of you treating him like the scum of the Earth. If necessary, I will get Maria Hill, who outranks you, to inform us personally. Now, are we going to have a problem?”

They grumbled.

“A little bit louder, please.”

“No, ma’am. We won’t have a problem.” The first agent said.

“Good.” You smiled sweetly. “Now proceed. Avenger business, correct?”

- - -

“Did you really?” Natasha asked. You had met her in her room after the encounter to let off some steam.

“Yeah. I’m tired of their attitude toward him, so I just went off.”

“Wow, Y/N the Badass.”

“I thought you were the badass.”

“We both can be badass.”

A knock came on the door.

“Enter,” you said.

The door opened and Bucky poked his head in. “Could I steal Y/N for a moment, Natasha?”

“By all means, take her.” She winked and your cheeks flushed. Natasha knew about your crush on Bucky, so she took every chance that she got to slip an innuendo into a conversation that included you and Bucky. You stood up, ignoring the eyebrow waggle she gave you as you did so, and walked out of the room.

The two of you walked quietly down the hallway to the kitchen.

He turned to you and rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.

“Thank you for standing up to those agents.”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I did. I couldn’t stand how they treated you and enough was enough. It was time to change their attitude or change their profession.”

“You’d get them fired?”

“No, just transferred. As Avengers, we are supposed to be open-minded to all sorts of possibilities. I mean, space portals, alien armies -”

“Cyborg raccoons with rollerskates?”

“Probably. I think I heard about one just recently, in fact, traversing the galaxy with a motley crew of characters.”

A small smile broke in his face.

“Anyway, if we have to be open-minded, so do the agents who work with us. If they can’t be, then they need to work elsewhere.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends. We take care of each other, right?”

“Right.”

He looked to the floor and seemed to be struggling with what to say.

“Is something else wrong, Bucky?”

“Kind of.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing, really. Just something on my mind, but it isn’t bad. And when I say that, I mean your definition of bad.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Um, anyway, thank you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek and left. Your hand flew up to your cheek and you smiled. That was the first time he had done that.

You hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

- - -

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chipsanddespair · 6 years

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{Go to Part II} {Go to Part III}

The balsa wood dream

The classroom door opened and the short, stout, bald-headed figure of Mr Kempson leaned in. The class fell instantly silent, well aware by now of Kempsons volcanic temper.

This time, however, the demeanour was not punitive, not even mildly threatening, but, Chris noted, puzzled. Then he realised that two other adults were standing behind Kempson, outside the room, almost hidden from sight. As he identified his Mum and Dad, Chriss heart started to race.

Kempson was asking a question of the class, Does anyone not have something in the exhibition?

Chris dropped his head so as not to catch his teachers eye and willed his arm to stay down. Nobody else raised theirs. After a minute, during which Chris could feel Kempsons gaze sweeping over the classroom, the teacher turned to the two figures, shook his head, reinforcing the gesture with some words that were inaudible inside the room, and left, closing the door behind him.

A cold sweat had broken out all over Chriss head and body. His head was swimming and his eyes wouldnt focus. A watery sensation filled his mouth warning him that he might be sick. If he had been untruthful before, to a teacher, or to any other adult, he couldnt recall it. Other children, he knew, lied easily and almost constantly but he did not. He was proud, and protective, of the appreciation he received from the grown-ups around him for his manners, his respect and his semblance of precocious maturity, and he had taken great care not to jeopardise their willingness to embrace him. That privilege, he understood, had a price tag: he had to maintain their trust. Now, he felt as if he had fallen in an instant through into another world where everything was familiar but nothing could be relied on, including himself. It scared him. He wanted not to be there, wanted the old order to reach down and save him. And if that could not happen, then he wanted them to come back and confront him so that he could confess the truth, be forgiven and, hopefully, be rehabilitated in their eyes.

But they didnt come back. All day nothing was said. He thought, they must have known, gone back to check again among the paintings and models on the table in the hall, found no label bearing his name. At any moment, Kempson would come bearing down on him, drag him from the room, as he had seen him do with others, roaring his disgust into his face. It had never happened to him. The dread of it, of the humiliation of it, like the thought of being hauled in front of the class and slippered, was enough to keep him well-behaved, dutiful.

When that didnt happen, he expected to go home to be told of his mothers disappointment, a punishment felt far more keenly than his fathers angry hand. But no, there was just a faint chill edge of forced normality, and even that had gone by the next morning.

The hanging silence brought no relief, however, still less any pleasure; no internal voice crowing that he had got away with it. Instead, the feeling grew in him that they had quarantined him, that they had sealed the tear through which he had slipped, leaving him now forever trapped in this strange back-to-front world: a world where deception had ousted honesty as the common language, where trust had given way to wariness where they would always be watching him and where he would never again be at ease.

It should not have been like this. At the start of the summer term, Mr Kempson had announced to the class that there would be a display of work at the end of it and that parents would be invited. Everyone was to make something to put on show. It could be a piece of art or a poem or yes, Janice, it can be crochet dont be foolish, Dobson This is your last term before you head off to big school next year. This is your chance to show your parents how well you have progressed here at Christchurch.

Chris had known at once what he wanted to do. At Easter, he had been taken to the Motor Museum at Beaulieu where he had fallen for a gleaming, green liveried Renault AG from 1910. He had bought a postcard of it and fixed it in his scrapbook. Now, he would make a model of it. Out of balsa wood. Yes, he would need balsa wood, a Junior hacksaw, a modelling knife, sandpaper and glue. And a pot of Humbrol paint, British racing green. Paintbrushes. And maybe a pot of gold for the coach lines, if Dad could be persuaded to fork out the money. It would be perfect and Mum would give him one of those misty-eyed smiles of approval and even Dad might nod his head at a job well done. In his mind, he saw Kempson, too, beaming for the first and only time, and the rest of the class looking on, uncomfortably aware of how their own meagre efforts had been outshone.

But that was six weeks ago. Now, on the day of the exhibition, the pieces of his dream lay tucked away at the back of his desk, hopefully out of sight until he could find a way of smuggling them out and disposing of them. So far from bringing him admiration, the glimpse of them induced fear and shame. He had failed. The boy who always did well. The boy who, for four years, had vied each week with Deborah Hills and David Balfour for the prized blue badge that signified top of the class.

He knew he had failed, but nobody else must know. And so began the lie. When the class had been told to line up in pairs and take their work into the hall, he had found a place in the middle of the queue, clutching the white cardboard shoebox in which he had kept his work for the past weeks, as if protecting his entry from public gaze until the last possible minute. As they had shuffled out, he had edged to the side of the line that would mean he did not have to pass too close to Kempson. Out in the hall, he approached the horseshoe of trestle tables and went through the motions of choosing his spot, among the other items, keeping his back between his box and those milling around him, then quickly turned away, ostentatiously replacing the box lid, and marched back to the classroom, where he took advantage of the confusion of the class reassembling to slide scraps of balsa wood into the deepest part of the desk. As he closed the lid, a part of his brain that normally registered his academic and social triumphs, offered the same admiration for the execution of his plan of deception. Ashamed, and not wanting to feel the least bit proud, he tried to shut it out and found, instead, memories of the past six weeks of agony piling in.

What had gone wrong? Everything. From the start. In his head he had expected it to be easy but the moment he looked at the wood and the tools his confidence collapsed. He didnt know where to begin. And, at that moment, he felt Kempson looking over at him from the big desk. He knows, he thought, he knows: he mustnt know. And with that he made a play of getting down to work. A wheel. Thats just a circle. Ill cut out a wheel. But the first attempt was crude and not round. It had to be round. How? Use a compass, that was it. And so he reached for his pencil case, took out his compass, adjusted the pencil and began to scribe a circle. The point of the compass sank through the soft wood. That didnt matter, he would have to pin the wheel to the cars body anyway.

I trust you are not damaging the desk, Hatch, Kempsons voice sounded threateningly across the classroom.

N, no, Sir, Chris responded, cheeks burning.

But then the sharp tip of the pencil gouged into the flimsy plank of balsa, tearing it. He tried again, with more delicacy. The line was faint but visible. He cut round it as carefully as he could and looked at the result. Its imperfection stared back at him mockingly and he felt things he was not used to welling up inside him: doubt and despair.

Setting the disgusting circle aside, he thought to try a simpler part of the model. He looked again at the picture. At the running board, a flat step on the side of the car that swooped up at each end to become the front and rear wings. How difficult could that be? He had watched his dad build a model boat from the same stuff, watched him bend it round to form the elegant curve of the prow. He cut a strip of wood and tried to bend it to shape the way he thought Dad had done it. At first, it was pliable but when he released his grip it started to straighten. He tried again, using more pressure. With a small, sharp crack, the wood snapped. He looked at it in shocked disbelief and realised that he was close to bursting into tears. He fought them back but now his whole face was on fire. He had the feeling that everyone was looking on, witnessing his abject failure. Failure. Him.

Suddenly, the bell rang for the end of the period and Chris quickly and gratefully gathered all the bits together and placed them in the shoe box. He tried to forget the past forty minutes and at the end of the day when his friends asked about what he was making he put on a show of quiet, assured, satisfaction. It convinced them, he could tell, and it almost convinced him. Today was just a setback. Next week it would all come right.

That night, in bed, he looked again at the postcard. What had been a thing of beauty, capturing his heart, now seemed to be aloof from him, mocking his presumption. I am beauty, I am perfection. You think you can recreate me? He studied the wheels and saw the enormity of the task right there. They were not flat, solid pieces of wood. A sunburst of delicate wooden spokes connected the bulbous hub to the rim; and around the rim a fat, black tyre ran. How, ever, was he going to do that?

Maybe Dad could help. Well, not help. This had to be something he did for himself. If he got Dad involved he would take over. Chris would be left standing to one side, watching, like when he got the trainset for Christmas. He would say that he had to make the thing at school, which was not a lie, because that was where the wood and tools were now. But he would ask Dads advice. Dad would like that.

Dad?

Yes? Be quick, I need to go.

Its just this model Im making at school. Im not sure how to make the wheels. Look. Chris showed his Dad the postcard, noticing for the first time that one corner now had a crease in it and was starting to fray. His Dad took it, looked at it appraisingly.

Its the spokes, see, Dad. I dont know how to make them.

His Dad, handed back the postcard without looking down and picked up his briefcase. Turning towards the door, he said, Draw them on. Use a soft pencil, and left.

Chris looked again at the car. Draw them on? Anger mixed with dismay and swirled around inside him, making him feel queasy. Draw? Like a child? Heres the house, heres the door in the middle, here are the windows, two up two down, heres the chimney and heres the smoke. And heres Mummy and Daddy and little baby Chris?

No. No, not good enough. Not nearly good enough.

Next free period, he tried again. But the wood resisted his attempts to cut anything as small and delicate as a spoke. Even the hub was impossible to get right. Then the glue spread as he tried to apply it and, lifting his thumb, he found it stuck to the pieces, which fell apart as he tried to extricate himself. It was hopeless.

Beaten down by this new awareness of his own lack of ability (it could only be that, the image in his head of how it should look was good, perfect), he took up the circle of wood from the previous week and his pencil case and tried to draw on the parts of the wheel. Sitting back, he looked at the result. Awful, a smudged line here, an uneven gap, here. He wanted to crush it and throw everything across the room. As if taking pity on him, the bell went and he quickly put the pieces of wood and tools away.

At home, again he studied the photograph. He tried not to look at the wheels, this time concentrating on the bonnet. It was a simple shape, solid looking. If he cut a piece off the thick block of balsa, it would just be a matter of sanding it into shape.

So next week, that was what he did. He measured, and cut and then took up the sandpaper. After five minutes, his fingers already red and stiff and sore, he looked at the block in his hand. It had hardly changed. Two of the long edges were starting to be soft but it was still just a block of wood. He went back to work.

At the end of the lesson he held the block up over the photograph. The lack of resemblance was horribly evident. The Renaults bonnet had a gentle slope but then dropped away suddenly before flattening out, like the slide in the playground. Chriss block had, by comparison, all the elegance of a brick.

By the fourth week, Chris had realised that sandpaper alone was not going to transform the block. He needed to help it along. If he cut the front of the block at an angle then maybe he could smooth out the hard line into that graceful curve.

At first the cut seemed okay. But, no, a bit too steep, perhaps. He tried a second cut. This time it was too flat but if he tried to rectify that he would shorten the bonnet. Perhaps now he could sand it into the right shape?

He rubbed and rubbed, after each burst, holding the block up to the photo. No, still not enough. No, still not right. No. NO!

The bell sounded but this time, as the class were packing away, Kempson boomed the awful reminder that they had just two weeks left before the exhibition. Make sure your work is ready. If any boy or girl is having trouble or in need of help, come and see me at the end of the day.

To Chris, these words were meant for him and him alone. But to take up the invitation would be to expose how little he had achieved; and worse, to admit that he was defeated, to admit his failure.

It was then that an unworldly calm had come over him. The impossibility of his task fell a way. With it went all recollection of the past weeks of failure. He became focused on one thing. The end of the block of wood in his hand must be made to match the curve in the picture. It must be perfected. He spent the next and last free period sanding and sanding his block, holding it up to the photograph and scolding himself. Not good enough. Wont do.

At the end of the day, with as little fuss as possible, he picked up his shoe box and made to leave. Kempson noticed.

Taking your exhibit home, Hatch?

Yes, Sir. Just some finishing touches.

Make sure they are your finishing touches, Hatch. This is not an exhibition of parental prowess.

Yes, Sir.

The snide inference was not lost on Chris. It stung more than all the misery contained in the box. He could not ask for help. That would be the worst failure of all.

To Part II - A good man

#chips #despair

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help-aqsa · 6 years

Text

Once-sleepy St. Petersburg, Fla., awakens with vibrant arts and nightlife scenes

Paul Abercrombie

Sizing up the triangular downcourt target, I wonder if my wife and teenage son realize what an only-in-Florida scene we make.

Not only are we playing shuffleboard. We’re doing so in downtown St. Petersburg, as card-carrying members of the seaside city’s historic shuffleboard club, the largest in the world. You really can’t get more Sunshine State than this.

While older folks are shoving pucks on this Friday afternoon, most players are far younger, many in their early 20s and hoisting cans of beer. The club and city, it seems, have experienced quite a revival.

Like most of our friends, when we moved to neighboring Tampa nearly three decades ago, my then-girlfriend, now-wife, Gail, and I regarded the half-hour drive across the bay to St. Pete as about as fun as a trip to the DMV. Derelict buildings seemed to outnumber retirees in a town long derided as "God’s Waiting Room."

My. How times have changed.

Today, St. Pete’s arts and nightlife scenes are palpably more vibrant and hipper than Tampa’s, as a result of the young people and entrepreneurial small businesses that have enlivened its walkable downtown. On weekends — and many weekdays – waterfront cafes, restaurants and bars are packed. Hotels grand and small have been refurbished and are newly popular. Fellow Tampans, you’ll hate me for saying this, but you know it’s true: St. Pete is cooler than Tampa.

Hankering to experience more of St. Pete than we’ve been able to on day trips and occasional overnight visits, the three of us decided to stay for a proper weekend. Besides revisiting some favorite places, we’d check out some newer spots we’d heard good things about.

We drop our bags at the city’s iconic pink confection of a hotel, the Vinoy, a Mediterranean Revival-style historic landmark near the bay. Then my wife and I walk with our 15-year-old, Ewan, several blocks southwest to Il Ritorno, a newish restaurant whose riffs on traditional Italian dishes have been getting raves from friends. As spirited as our shuffleboard game earlier in the day, it couldn’t account for how avidly we tuck into a dinner of pan-roasted branzino and rib-eye steak. A shared plate of lovely taleggio-filled agnolotti, flecked with crispy bits of fried lamb belly and charred leeks, is surprisingly light.

A post-dinner stroll along Beach Drive to our hotel takes us through a lively crowd of genial revelers old and young, dressed up and down and everything in between. The strumming of the handful of guitar-playing buskers we pass is pleasant enough, but it’s the dapper older guy seated at a table covered with several dozen wine glasses of various sizes that compels us to stop. Above the vessels, half-filled with water, his hands whirl, fingers tracing the rims, producing a spot-on musical sampling of everything from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony to the "Star Wars" theme song. Awed, we linger to listen and to chat. He tells us his name (James Turner), and about the art of playing the glass harp, which he says he has done on big-time TV shows in the United States and abroad. We agree this was yet another reason to stay the night.

The next morning, we drink coffee on our hotel balcony, admiring how eclectic the town has become. In the pool below, a half-dozen aging athletes move more or less in unison to the commands of a much younger water aerobics instructor. Across the street, in the bay, an armada of toylike sailboats navigates around sleek motor-powered yachts. About a mile farther south, propeller planes take off and land from the city’s tiny bayside airport, just beyond where, a little more than a century ago, the world’s first commercial passenger flight took place — a small, wooden seaplane that went to Tampa. To the south, the landmark St. Pete Pier awaits its snazzy redevelopment. To the west, the first of a dozen-odd planned new buildings, some of which will be high-rise condos and apartments, soars above downtown St. Pete’s once-modest skyline. But I’m pleased to know the city’s quirky neighborhoods remain intact.

By the time the seniors cede the pool to young kids and their parents, we remember we have an appointment to keep. Hoofing it several blocks southwest, we meet St. Pete-born muralist Derek Donnelly in an alley off Central Avenue. It’s in these back streets that he and a few other artistically inclined teens began experimenting with cans of spray paint. A decade later, his formerly "semi-legal" public art career has gone legit. Today, he juggles commissioned painting gigs with the city-sanctioned tours he leads of St. Pete’s outdoor mural scene.

Through once-seedy downtown passageways, we stroll as if through an open-air art gallery with our amiable, tattooed docent. Derek points out examples of his own work, but seems most enthusiastic talking about murals done by the growing number of fellow hometown artists, as well as national and international ones. No two murals seem similar. And none is blessedly of the "beaches and margaritas" Florida genre Derek says some tourists expect. We pass ’60s icon Twiggy, painted by local artist Chad Mize, gazing dreamily from an alley wall, and Los Angeles graffiti artist Shark Toof’s fearsome red and black shark splashed across the backside of the State Theatre.

As if on cue, a city bus pulls up to a stop nearby. It’s wrapped with an image of the same swirly, multicolored mural that covers a wall of a three-story building in front of us.

"This mural stuff is contagious," Derek says with a laugh.

At lunch on the covered outdoor patio at nearby FarmTable Cucina, we compare photos of murals and marvel at the food. We take turns trying to describe the fried cauliflower’s flavors, which seem to outnumber its ingredients, including finger lime, golden raisins, guanciale and sea urchin aioli.

"Don’t you feel like we’re not even in the same state anymore?" Gail asks. To which we all agree.

If I hadn’t recently visited — and very much enjoyed — the city’s Morean Arts Center collection of fantastical glass sculptures by Dale Chihuly, I might stupidly have begged we skip the mile-plus-long amble up Central Avenue to the just-opened Imagine Museum, which showcases studio glass artworks. Over the hour we spend browsing the museum’s collection, I lose count of how many times we say "That’s cool" and "That’s amazing." Among our favorites are the rumpled vessels fashioned from glass threads by Toots Zynsky and the sea-creature-like sculptures of William LeQuier.

Wandering back down Central Avenue, we pass shops and restaurants old and new as if time-traveling every few paces.

Several bayside blocks from our hotel, we pop into the fittingly odd-looking Salvador Dalí Museum, packed with more of the mustachioed artist’s works than anywhere outside of Spain. Though it’s among our favorites, we’re feeling a little museumed-out, so we cut short our visit to seek out an encore performance by our glass harpist pal on the way back to our room.

Having been content to explore the compact downtown by foot, we agree with some reluctance to drive six miles west to the Reading Room for dinner. The new restaurant, which says it strives for "a modern approach at nostalgic tastes," has been gushily praised by friends and media getting gushy praise from friends and media alike.

I can’t remember a dinner conversation focused so much on what’s on our plates and in our glasses. Gail says her sgroppino cocktail, garnished with a mint leaf affixed to the rim with a tiny clothespin, is better than any she has had in the drink’s Italian hometown of Venice. We debate whether the quirky and delicious beets and berries dish would work as well for breakfast as it does for dinner. Yes, we decide. We concur at first bite that the browned butter and persimmon cake, topped with a scoop of delicately funky La Tur cheese, is among the best desserts we’ve ever tasted.

Sunday morning brings fresh balcony-side theater. Below, hotel staff scatter and hide hundreds of multicolored plastic Easter eggs in preparation for kids to hunt. A gaggle of millennials arrives at the downstairs restaurant, their laughter and casual dress signaling that they’re in search of a post-night-on-the-town brunch and Bloody Marys. Skyward, we spy an osprey that has swung by for breakfast and is flying northeast with a freshly nabbed fish in its talons. It reminds me of the places we didn’t get to on this trip: the white sugar-sand beaches and the mangrove-lined waterways that can be explored by kayak. We’ll be back; after all, they, too, are only a short drive from home.

—-

IF YOU GO:

WHERE TO STAY

– The Cordova Inn

253 Second Ave. N

727-822-7500

Refurbished, homey, 1920s-era hotel with 32 rooms, which start at around $110. Complimentary breakfast includes fresh pastries from nearby Locale Market.

– The Vinoy Renaissance St. Petersburg Resort & Golf Club

501 Fifth Ave. NE

727-894-1000

Landmark historic waterfront hotel that appears to be made from pink meringue. Amenities include a day spa and five restaurants. Rooms start at around $200.

– Avalon Hotel

443 Fourth Ave. N

727-317-5508

Despite its South Beach-like art deco decor (plus a bunch of other styles), it’s cozy and laid-back. Guests are welcome to use the pool and other amenities of its sister Hollander Hotel next door. Rooms start at around $100.

WHERE TO EAT

– Il Ritorno

449 Central Ave.

727-897-5900

Updated takes on traditional Italian fare, served by friendly staff in spare-but-not-austere digs. Open Monday through Thursday, 5 to 9:30 p.m., Saturday and Sunday, 5 to 10:30 p.m. Entrees start at around $19. A five-course tasting menu costs $75.

– FarmTable Cucina

179 2nd Ave. N

727-523-6297

Casual, Italian-inspired restaurant located on the second floor of Locale Market. Its expansive and comfy outdoor patio seating is ideal for dining or drinking from the restaurant’s impressive cocktail and wine lists. Open Monday through Thursday, 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., Friday and Saturday, 11 a.m. to 11 p.m., and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Entrees start at around $21.

– Reading Room

6001 Central Ave.

727-343-0052

Eclectic dishes emphasizing local ingredients, many of which are grown on the restaurant’s property. Open Wednesday through Sunday, 5 p.m. till late. Small plates start at $15, entrees $27.

– Paul’s Landing

501 Fifth Ave. NE

727-824-8072

Casual and family-friendly, this newest restaurant at the Vinoy is no mere hotel brunch spot. Great bayside views aren’t wasted on a menu that includes inventive riffs on old Florida cuisine. Open Sunday through Thursday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., and Friday and Saturday, 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Smoked fish spread with crunchy, pickled veggies and grilled bread ($14) and grilled rock shrimp, served with avocado and pickled onion atop toasted slices of bread ($12) are especially tasty.

– Bodega

1120 Central Ave.

727-623-0942

Casual, Latin American-inspired restaurant with a deservedly cultlike local following. Open Monday through Wednesday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m., Thursday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to 11 p.m., and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Popular dishes include the Lechon platter, slow-roasted mojo pork with grilled onions ($9.25), grilled tempeh with sweet and spicy slaw ($9.50) and maduros (fried sweet plantains, $4).

WHAT TO DO

– St. Petersburg Shuffleboard Club

559 Mirror Lake Dr. N

727-822-2083

Founded in 1924, the oldest and largest shuffleboard club in the world has, in recent years, experienced a renaissance (and inspired a copycat club in Brooklyn). Open to nonmembers Tuesdays and Thursdays, 6 to 9 p.m. ($5 per person), and Friday, 7 to 10 p.m. (Admission is free, although a donation of $2 per person is suggested.) Alcoholic beverages aren’t sold, but visitors are free to BYOB.

– St. Pete Cultural Tours

727-212-7280

Local artist-led guided walking tours of the city’s several dozen outdoor murals. Regular tours run Saturday and Sunday mornings from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. $20 for adults, $5 for children 5 to 18 and free for younger kids. Private and group tours can be arranged for other days and times.

– Imagine Museum

1901 Central Ave.

727-300-1700

New museum showcasing contemporary American studio glass, with (so far) more than 500 artworks by more than 55 artists. Open Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Thursday, 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., and Sunday, noon to 5 p.m. Admission: $15 for adults, $10 for children 7 to 18 and free for children 6 and younger.

– The Salvador Dalí Museum

1 Dali Blvd.

727-823-3767

Home to the largest collection of artist Salvador Dalí’s works outside Europe, the bayside museum also hosts visiting exhibits of various artists, often contemporaries of Dali. Open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., except Thursdays, when it’s open from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Admission: $24 for adults, $17 for students 13 and older, $10 for children 6 to 12 and free for children 5 and younger.

INFORMATION

Abercrombie is a writer based in Tampa. His website is paulabercrombie.com; find him on Twitter: @paulabercrombie.