#I mean arthur has had like three emotional breakdowns at least and no one wants to take him off the team even tho he might need it

[wackachewbacca]

The Dracula men: You’ve done your work Mina but now it’s time for us men to do the rest and for you to leave the plot relevancy so you will not go into womanly hysterics

Mina, who has compiled together the entire record of Dracula up to now, has lost her dearest friend and had to take care of her husband going through anxiety and shock: okay…

Dracula watching from the sideline: Wow that’s super fucked don’t worry I’ll keep you in the plot ;)

Mina: Oh thank you that’s very kind— WAIT

[variousqueerthings]

Tom Hardy Movies rated least to most queer

I made a list of some Tom Hardy movies and I rated them based on my own, non-specific criteria about what makes a movie queer. Results below the cut.

(Some films not included, because I haven’t watched them yet, because Mr Hardy’s only in them for a few minutes, because the subject matter doesn’t lend itself to this list, or because I just don’t want’em here. TV series also not included. The list is organised into both groups and ratings, because I’m doing The Most.)

Movies are divided into four groups and rated from 0 – 10 on the Queer-Scale, scroll down to the bottom if you want the ratings without the commentary.

Disclaimer: This list is subjective. Don’t come at me because I didn’t rate Inception higher, Nolan himself is as queer as cargo shorts. 

1. This movie would make more sense if it were queer

If this movie were queer it… might not become a perfect film all of a sudden, but it’d make a hell of a lot more sense than what’s actually going on. With an occasional dose of “are the cis-straights okay?”

This Means War (2012): So Chris Pine and Tom Hardy are ostensibly both in love with Reese Witherspoon, but say “I love you” to each other pretty much constantly throughout the movie and their friendship is often presented as a domestic partnership. Cool, cool, cooool.

Queer Rating: 2 out of 10. This movie hate-crimed me by having Tom Hardy literally spell out his relationship with Chris Pine, only for the script to then have him say… “can you imagine all that… but with a woman…” Later on the movie explicitly denies polyamory is possible. Fuck this film.

The Dark Knight Rises (2012): Batman movies should always be queer. Mr. Hardy’s the only one who acceptably camps it up, despite Nolan’s best attempts to make him “acceptably gruff.” No matter what you do, Bane is a massive daddy in a mask and thanks to Mr Hardy’s honestly iconic fucking speech pattern in this film, it goes from pretty atrociously straight to just queer enough to imagine a future where Robert Pattinson plays batman and maybe adopts a bunch of kids.

(the only truly decent mask in this franchise tbh)

Queer Rating: 3 out of 10. Mr Hardy’s back is the one that’s actually broken carrying any semblance of fun in this overly long movie all on his own.

Lawless (2012): Wow, this really was the year of the not-queer-enough, wasn’t it? Look, it’s “based on a real story,” but it’s also a movie and movies don’t need to stick to the truth, and this one certainly doesn’t. Was the guy queer in real life? I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that it’s just kind of an eh movie and maybe being queer would add something to it. One of those “but why make someone queer? because it’s always more interesting to do so,” movies.

Queer Rating: 3 out of 10. It’s just not queer. But Tom Hardy wears cardigans and described his character as a “mother figure,” which adds an interesting dynamic to him.

2. Actually Queer but in a homophobic way

Tom Hardy plays a canonically queer character, yaaay. The whole movie contains a strange sense of the director being too not-queer to actually engage with that and everything around him is almost aggressively straight, noooo.

RocknRolla (2008): Honestly this movie has the funniest coming out scene ever + that familiar undertone of “all these manly men secretly want to fuck each other” is only heightened by one of them actually being gay and in love with his best friend. It’s such a fucking… it’s such a movie. Personally I find Mark Strong, Idris Elba, Thandie Newton, and, of course, Tom Hardy to be really hot in it, so that’s a plus. There’s a scene in which Strong’s character teaches another gangster how to do a proper backhand. It’s really gay of him. Also slow-dancing at a gay club. Butler’s character needs to get himself together, you really don’t think 2008 Tom Hardy is hot? Mate.

(left to right: functional queer, disaster queer, distinguished queer)

Queer Rating: 6 out of 10, for having an actual gay character who is played by Tom Hardy doing a sexy phonecall voice to another guy, but then there’s that feeling you can’t shake that the whole movie is vaguely uncomfortable about it, like a family member awkwardly patting you on the shoulder after they found out you were queer second-hand, but they’ve still got 50 years of bias to unlearn. Also Thandie Newton is killed, fuck that noise. 

Legend (2015): If I had a nickle for the amount of times Tom Hardy’s played a gay gangster, I’d have two nickles. Which isn’t a lot, but weird that it happened twice (looks at Peaky Blinders and thinks it ought to be three times). I’ve watched Legend three times and every time it just… loses me. And because this is a biased list, I’ll only specifically mention that it fails to make Ron’s queerness anything but a way for him to shock others. Gangsters could be gay? Gasp! On the upside Tom Hardy has so much sexual tension with everyone in this movie, including himself (why would you do that? Asks Ron, bemused. Because I can’t kill you, no matter how much I fucking want to, hisses a blood-soaked Reggie right into his ear. It’s hot).

Queer rating: 5 out of 10 because the film is just not very queer for a movie with several queer men in it.

3. Straight as a forced family dinner

It’s straight.

Locke (2013): He’s a married man who had an affair and trying to deal with the fallout of it. This isn’t a spoiler for most of the movie, it’s a pretty neat movie where we look at Tom Hardy having a bit of a mental breakdown and taking lots of phonecalls (my personal hell). Is it queer? Not in the slightest.

Queer Rating: 2 out of 10 for Hardy’s face being in almost every shot.

The Revenant (2015): Yeah, yeah, DeCaprio’s and Hardy’s characters are obsessed with each other, yeah it’s a man’s world where the only women are dead wife, kidnapped sexually assaulted native princess, or background whore, yeah, they fight each other and there’s a ton of grunting, but also… I just fucking don’t like this movie. The thin line where a storyline like this one becomes queer might be crossed for others, but not for me. Fuck these guys and their stupid  bear fights.

Queer rating: 3 out of 10 for it being about dirty men in the middle of nowhere (but you could just watch Brokeback Mountain or The Lighthouse or God’s Own Country or any Mad Max, or, or, or…)

4. Queer? Queer. Queer? … Queer…

The plots, aesthetics and/or characters played by Tom Hardy lend themselves to a queer reading, even if there is no overt intention towards queerness. Often this is because of a deliberate lack of heterosexual and/or cisgender writing, which in this day and age is still pretty uncommon not to include within a plot.

Inception (2010): Okay, I don’t even need to write about the added “darling,” or the “go to sleep Mr Eames.” I don’t need to go on about the absolutely bonkers amount of fanfiction written for Eames and Arthur, based on a few minutes of film and a boatload of chemistry. It’s queer.

Queer Rating: 7 out of 10, because the actual plot of the film isn’t very queer, but between the Arthur/Eames dynamic and Elliot Page, Nolan was really given a gift he didn’t deserve.

Warrior (2011): Okay, so first off, this might be my favourite Tom Hardy film, at least some part of my brain is fixated on it at almost all times and I’m considering watching it for the third time in two weeks. I don’t only consider it queer based on Mr. Hardy’s character, although he has no romantic or sexual interest and could be read as aroace, but because of the themes, especially those surrounding said character, who is coded as a caregiver to women and through close emotional connections to men. It’s got possibly unintentional deconstructions of masculinity and two men (brothers) who need to forgive each other and can only do so through the catharsis of violence. It speaks to me as a transmasc with several cis brothers, struggling with my own masculinity. It’s not at all written for me, but I find myself all over it. I could talk about this movie forever.

Queer Rating: 8 out of 10. I’m not allowed to say any more or I’ll never stop writing about it. I love you Tommy…

The Drop (2014): Bob’s lack of sexual and/or romantic interest in Naomi is so strange to her that she doesn’t know what he would want from her otherwise. Bob really just wants to raise a dog with her (and also forgiveness for past sins). Bob is such a rare ace and possibly aro coded character, it really throws me every time I watch this film how obvious it is. Bonus points for also being autistic-coded and not in the stereotypical ways.

(Tom Hardy’s most challenging role: pretending he doesn’t know dogs)

Queer Rating: 9 out of 10 because it’s so fucking rare to see ace and aro coded characters that aren’t, you know…. serial killers. Also Tom Hardy adopts a puppy and has a very cute, kinda lispy voice. How often does Tom Hardy play softer men like this?

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015): Very deliberately no sexual or romantic writing included in Max’s and Furiosa’s relationship. Sure, there’s not a lot of time for that in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, but it was also done with a purpose! “It was always going to be two warriors on par, starting off with very little respect for each other and ending up with a massive respect for each other.” - Charlize Theron. “So of course they meet, of course there’s a relationship, an unspoken understanding. A recognition.” - Tom Hardy.

Queer Rating: 9 out of 10. It’s not just the characters, but the world and it’s apocalyptic BDSM leather scene, the questions it asks about sustainability and about people as tools, and the found family. It’s about overcoming violence through multiple kinds of love. And it’s about watching a guy playing flame-thrower guitar. What could be queerer?

Venom (2018): Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same… No, but Eddie is queer. The only question is whether the sequel will acknowledge that aspect or not, but even if not. Even if it manages to straightly bypass the reality of a symbiotic relationship with a genderless? genderfluid? being from another world that is linked to you down to your very cells and understands you more intimately than any other person possibly could… even if all that: Eddie is queer. Venom and Eddie are in a relationship. Any relationship Eddie ever enters into will automatically become a thrupple. He makes out with Venom in the movie! Eddie is queer.

(aw yeah that tongue is going down his throat)

Queer Rating: 9.5 out of 10, because it’s still coded by the creators in the language of bromance (hey, bro, is it gay if we’re physically and emotionally closer than any other people on earth?), but the movie is so, so camp and Mr Hardy’s acting choices are beautiful – the screaming? The lispy soft voice and lack of taking up space? The lobster tank? The only people who don’t know how queer this is are the people making it apparently. Fingers crossed for that sequel!

Hon. mentions:

Star Trek: Nemesis (2002): Star Trek – even at it’s worst (especially at its worst?) – is camp af + Hardy is a straight-up baby in this film.

Bronson (2008): It’s about a real person who’s still alive, so I won’t comment on the actual man. However the film seems to code the character Bronson along an ace line and also has genderqueering Vaudeville. Someone let Tom Hardy do more of whatever was going on in those stage-bits.

(this right here: this the good shit)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011): Another ensemble piece not massively about Hardy’s character, but it’s a movie that centers around queerness in a strange, depressing way. Tom Hardy’s character isn’t queer. Colin Firth and Mark Strong are though. The book makes me cry.

Peaky Blinders (2013-): Because it’s a TV series I left it out. There’s a lot of straight nonsense going on there, but Alfie Solomens is gay. There’s nothing in the series that disputes that and plenty that lends itself to the reading.

Dunkirk (2017): Tom Hardy plays an RAF pilot in a deep emotional connection with the other main RAF pilot. That’s immediately gay. However he’s not in the movie much because of the way it’s constructed, so I left it off.

Queer Ratings (least to most)

No queer to be found here traveller:

This Means War: 2 out of 10 - illegal movie, Tom Hardy swore he wouldn’t do another rom-com after

Locke: 2 out of 10 - straight Welshman and his straight problems. He pretty though

Lawless: 3 out of 10 - cardigan-Hardy being a mother-hen, but very straight for all that

The Dark Knight Rises: 3 out of 10 - a superhero movie that doesn’t deserve Mr Hardy’s camp talents (unlike Venom)

The Revenant: 3 out of 10 - doesn’t give me what I want out of a movie full of dirty, bearded men

Queer but we deserve more:

Legend: 5 out of 10 - timid homosexuality, considering the source material. 

RocknRolla: 6 out of 10 - hey bro, is it gay if we kill the only female lead in our massive ensemble cast

The queerest of Hardy’s:

Inception: 7 out of 10 - Elliot Page and JGL kissing was an all-around terrible choice that made no sense, we know the truth, Nolan

Warrior: 8 out of 10 - I’m still crying, Edgerton’s crying, Hardy’s crying, we’re all crying, and I think that’s really emotionally healthy and queer of us

Mad Max: Fury Road: 9 out of 10 - non-romantic love in the time of BDSM post-apocalyptic wastelands is something that can actually be so personal

The Drop: 9 out of 10 - “Fucking punk. Go out to dinner dressed like you're still in you living room! You wear those big hippity-hoppity clown shoes! You speak to women terribly! You treat them despicably! You hurt harmless dogs that can't defend themselves! I'm tired of you man. I'm tired of you. You embarrass me!”

Venom: 9.5 out of 10 - Sometimes a relationship is an anxious reporter, the sentient goo inhabiting his body, his kinda-ex-girlfriend and her new doctor boyfriend, and I think that’s beautiful

[eveningspirit]

B, K, N, U for fic writer's asks. :)

Hey hun, thank you for the ask :)

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

None directly, at least none that was ever posted. For me it’s more like letting the subconscious talk about the issues I burried? I guess. I did have one idea for the Gifted, it was AU where John and Lorna were brother and sister and their mom was based on mine, and very recently, for Roswell New Mexico, an idea where Alex’s mom took him away from his dad and brothers when she went away. She wasn’t exactly the mother of the century, although in a much more clandestine way than Jesse. There was no physical abuse at least. 

Honestly? I’m still trying to figure out if my mom was actually emotionally abusive, or did I just make it all up. *shrug*

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Oh. Hmmm... “Year of Hell” is a story with attempted suicide, which in my book is the most tragic place a person can be. “words like silent raindrops fell” is pretty angsty imo – mental breakdown. I also had a couple ideas while in the AoS phase, that I removed later, because I knew I wouldn’t continue them. I seem to remember one where Grant was part of the team, because they needed him for some reason, but they all despised him and shunned him for a long while. I didn’t have a clear plan of where I was going with it, all I know is I wanted to see how cruel people can be to those they deem “worthy” of being cruel to.

I think I’m veering away from all-out-angst lately. I still like to write themes based on hurt (emotional more than physical), but I try to make them more realistic and also give the characters some ways to solve their problems and some support system.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? 

Oh, plenty! Especially considering the tempo of my writing now, ha! It’s the ideas, not so much finishing anything for me, no. :)

I remember a lot of great stories I read in other fandoms, that I’d love to see written again, from a different angles. Opera or Choir AU, Stormchasers AU ( @befitandchase, I think I should talk to you about that one), Ballet AU. I wouldn’t mind if someone wrote the Alaska AU that I started, but only if they wrote it the way I want it to be written, which… I can’t demand that, right? ;)

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Only three? Oh, boyz. There’s a lot more excellent writers in RNM, so. I. Can’t. Literally. Can’t. I will spotlight @emma-arthur , because we’ve met in a previous fandom, and... I think you know anyway, that you mean so much to me, right, Em?

Other than that, off the top of my head, @soberqueerinthewild , @pastelwitchling, @spaceskam , @lire-casander , @beamirang obviously, Anonymous (The Anonymous, I mean), @tasyfa, @queersirius, @befitandchase, @brightloveee, @haloud, @insidious-intent , @hannah-writes and probably many, many more that slipped my mind, but that’s for a moment only.You guys, sorry if I haven’t really been commenting on your stories. It’s executive dysfunction, not me, I swear... ;)

And also you @hithelleth, I really like your writing, but we can’t seem to fall in the same crowds anymore *sadface*

And see, it was three (paragraphs) after all… ;p

[welllpthisishappening]

The Period of the Long Change (6/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: A lot happens this chapter. There are a lot of words.  AN: Today’s update also comes with some promises that what you’re about to read absolutely, one-hundred percent happens in real life. But! If you’re like Laura, that is absurd, these are grown men, not idiots, I would say, au contraire and then present you with these links. One, from the Rangers last year. And the second from the Blues this year, a team that not only got a puppy after this incident, but is now in the playoffs. So, yeah, this happens. I promise. If you’re still reading and clicking, I can’t thank you enough. It’s real nice. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

“Go back to sleep.” “I can’t.” “Swan.” She flipped, hair flying everywhere and almost getting in his mouth, and Killian winced when her knee collided with his shin. “Ah, shit,” Emma mumbled, untwisting the blanket that had, somehow, moved in between them. “I wasn’t trying to do that.” “You mean to tell me you weren’t actively attempting to incapacitate me?” Killian asked, and he knew the joke didn’t land before he’d even finished making it.

Emma laughed, but it was more an exhale and a sigh, and she licked her lips quickly, like she was being timed and that was kind of true because it was Saturday, but she still had meetings with Zelena and Aurora and something with Sam and Joe about MC’ing an event they’d done for the last thirty years.

And Phillip’s memorial or whatever.

That wasn’t the right word at all, but it was some kind of celebration because, it seemed, setting a of rookie scoring record was a pretty good starting point for a career and Phillip had reached three-hundred points before anyone expected him too and, apparently, that meant there had to be some sort of ceremony.

That was the word for it.

It also meant Emma had to plan it and he knew there were, at least, fifty-six post-it notes detailing the breakdown of the whole goddamn thing on every inch of her desk.

She’d run out of floor space two days before. And Merida had to get her a new chair the day before that because Emma kept piling paperwork in her own seat.

Killian wanted to go back to sleep.

“We’ve got time,” he muttered, ignoring whatever the air was doing around them. Filling with tension and bad jokes and he was so goddamn tired of being worried and, generically, tired.

It was a miracle their bedroom door hadn’t been knocked over yet.

Or at least slightly checked against.

Matt liked to try and check the door.

“I have no time,” Emma argued. “I have, like, negative amounts of time. I should be in the shower already.” Killian grinned, tongue against the inside of his cheek and eyes a bit wider than usual, and Emma’s laugh sounded genuine that time. He swore he could feel it, fixing the air and probably all of the greenhouse issues on the entire planet and she closed her eyes when he pulled her against his chest.

“That could be very easily fixed, you know,” he muttered, mostly into her hair. Her whole body shook against him, which wasn’t really helping their cause or his desire to go back to sleep because it was Saturday and there wasn’t a game, and they should be able to linger in each other’s space for awhile.

“I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“How do you figure?” “Are you kidding me?” Emma asked, propping her head on one hand and her hair fell over her arm. “I’m counting the actual seconds until someone throws something at that door.” “I really doubt Peggy’s got that kind of upper-body strength yet. Maybe if we add some weights to her workout.” “Really confident in your own sense of humor, huh?”

Killian hummed, smirk back on his face and something that might have actually been butterflies in his stomach, which didn’t make any sense at all because he was flirting with his own wife and talking about their thirteen-month-old attacking the half-closed door on the other side of the room, but it was nice in a way that home was nice and comforting and safe and maybe he could hide Emma’s phone.

That seemed kind of immature.

“Occasionally,” Killian said, dropping his hand to trace over the curve of Emma’s hip. Her eyes fluttered again, teeth finding her lower lip and the butterflies disappeared almost immediately.

“Sometimes,” Emma amended, and her voice was just a bit breathless. He was going to count that as several different victories. “You know she almost kept her balance without holding onto anything for, like, a solid two seconds yesterday afternoon.” “What?” Emma nodded, smile wide despite her obvious efforts to stay cool and Killian was only slightly worried that his heart was going to do permanent damage to his chest cavity. Ariel would be pissed about that.

He’d walked too quickly on the treadmill yesterday, so she was out for blood.

“Yeah,” Emma continued. “You were making jokes about upper-body strength, but that kid is ridiculously strong. Like He-Woman or something.” “Is that a compliment?” “It is when I’m saying it.” “Ah, of course,” Killian chuckled, kissing between Emma’s eyebrows before he could stop himself. Maybe they didn’t have to go back to sleep. Maybe they could just evolve into some kind of picture-perfect family of his fluff-type dreams and he wouldn’t miss Peggy’s displays of upper-body strength because he was trying to keep his heart rate at a medically approved level.

It wasn’t at the moment.

He was sure.

“So, we were in my office and Zelena was waxing poetic about food choices, which is absurd because we’ve done this before and the food is always the same and Gotham has, like, one catering option and--”

“--Focus, Swan.”

She stuck her tongue out. He kissed her jaw. He kind of wanted to kiss everywhere else.

“You are impatient,” Emma accused, and Killian couldn't really argue with that. “Anyway, we were in my office and I was ignoring Zelena and Pegs totally pulled herself up, waddled around for approximately two and a half seconds and then promptly fell over. But it was a very impressive two and a half seconds.” “Two and a half, huh?” “Eh, maybe closer to three. We'll round up for the kid, you know?”

“Naturally,” Killian muttered, but he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening to his entire body and it felt like a mix of happiness and disappointment and a little frustration and he wished he could just pick one emotion and stick with it.

He wished he hadn’t missed that.

He wished he didn’t have more PT that afternoon.

“Hey,” Emma said, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt she could tug on. She settled for brushing her fingers over his forehead instead and, that time, it was Killian’s turn for his eyes to flutter shut, a ragged breath falling out of him and he wished he had the answers for several dozen questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “You ok?” “You keep asking me that, love,” he muttered. He hadn’t opened his eyes.

“It’s because I’m consistently curious. And worried. Probably more than curious.” “I know, Swan. I don’t want you to worry though. You’ve got enough to think about already. Zelena shouldn't be talking about the food. It’s the same every year.” “That’s true,” Emma agreed. “But, strange as it may seem, I’m almost ok with worrying about you. It’s part of the deal.” Killian opened his eyes, arching an eyebrow and he wasn’t entirely prepared for the slightly nervous look on Emma’s face. “The deal, huh?” “Yeah, you know, indefinitely or whatever. For concussions or worse.” “I don’t think that’s exactly what we said.” She couldn’t shrug when she was on her side, but she certainly made an effort and Killian briefly wondered if maybe that was where their daughter got her distinct lack of balance from. Emma wobbled a bit, eyes widening a fraction of an inch and it was all green and emotional and for concussions or worse didn’t really sound that bad.

“Semantics,” Emma mumbled. “Worrying about you isn’t...it’s not a job. It’s instinct or something that sounds way less lame than that.” “That doesn’t sound lame,” Killian said, and he probably shouldn't have responded that quickly or that enthusiastically, but he’d kind of lost control of everything and the world consistently felt as if it were spinning out of orbit, even when he was walking as slowly as possible. So, really, shouting emotions in Emma’s face was kind of a return to the usual.

She laughed softly, a sound he would have been more than willing to hear for the rest of forever if that weren’t even more lame than what Emma had just said.

“When’s the last time you had a headache?”

Killian clicked his tongue, trying to think back through the last week and they’d played in Vegas the night before, a loss that was dangerously close to a blowout and Jeff had broken his stick after the final whistle and Arthur had, undoubtedly, broken several whiteboards, but Husinger had gotten another point and it was a good assist.

They were going to be back on Garden ice that afternoon.

Will had texted him when they landed.

Robin complained about Husinger talking loudly on the flight.

“Not in awhile,” Killian said when Emma made an impatient sound at his silence.

“That’s not a date.” “I’m not writing it down, Swan.” “Shouldn’t you be?” “Those weren’t part of the instructions. I was told to stay off the ice and not walk too quickly and take medicine. I’m doing that. I was not told to document symptoms.” She didn’t say anything immediately, eyes tracing over his face as soon as his jaw snapped closed and the whole thing had been kind of ridiculous. This wasn’t the doctor’s fault. Well, not completely. It wasn’t even that kid’s fault – even if he’d led with his shoulder and he probably should have gotten fined. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

It had happened.

And he hadn’t done anything about it because he was…

It was fine.

That Husinger guy couldn't get a point in every game. That was impossible. And he talked too loudly on the team plane. Arthur wouldn't let that happen on another road trip.

He wouldn’t be first line very long.

And Killian couldn’t get playoffs, at the earliest, maybe out of the back corners of his brain.

It was fine.

“You know I bet we could get Pegs to weeble around the apartment for a little while,” Emma said. Killian grinned. And kissed her. Again.

“Weeble?” “Yeah, you know, weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. She kind of looks like a weeble in a ridiculous amount of Jones-branded merchandise.” “Jones-branded?” “Please,” Emma scoffed, sliding across the bed and slinging one arm over his middle. It was difficult to keep up with what she said next when her fingers started tracing over his spine, drawing patterns that weren’t much more than straight lines, but felt a bit like vaguely emotional brands and it was way too early for those kind of pointed thoughts.

“Neither one of them realize there’s another person on this team,” she added. She’d moved again at some point, legs tangled with Killian’s and head tucked against the curve of his neck. He could feel her breathing, not entirely sure if the brush of her lips against his skin was wishful thinking or actually happening, and it didn’t really matter because Matt had thrust a piece of paper into Killian’s stomach when he picked him up at school the day before.

Of the New York Rangers winning a Stanley Cup.

And Killian in the middle.

Next to Matt.

They were stick figures and not quite an exact likeness, but there was some dark hair and a few shakily-drawn twenties drawn in open space and he’d folded it up and put it in his wallet.

He didn’t think he’d ever take it out.

Maybe he was just thinking pointed thoughts at all times now.

“He told me about the picture,” Emma whispered. Her lips were definitely touching his skin. “He was super proud of it. Wanted to make sure I knew it was him and you and Uncle Will. Robin will probably be very disappointed he wasn’t included.” Killian laughed, but it turned into a bit of a grunt as he snuck his arm around Emma and she mumbled a quiet apology when she landed on his chest. “I’m totally going to brag about it to Locksley.” “I mean, he’s your kid, and your his hero, so I think you’re getting a bit of an unfair advantage.”

Killian didn’t say anything, wasn’t entirely sure he could over the rather large lump of emotion that had landed in the middle of his throat, and Emma’s fingers had moved to his stomach, dancing over skin and muscle and an appendectomy scar that she always liked to linger on when they had a few moments to breathe.

He wasn’t sure he’d really, truly breathed in the last two weeks.

“I love you,” he whispered, finding his voice and Emma’s fingers froze. “Just...more than anything. You know that, right?”

Emma tilted her head up, lips brushing across his collarbones and the scruff he’d been far too lazy to shave. His hand shifted again, flat against her back like he was trying to keep her there or next to him and it was decidedly possessive and a little absurd because he knew neither one of those things were in danger of changing. There were several different and meaningful things to prove that, least of all the name he could feel on her back and the Stanley Cup ring currently pressing into his sternum, but the world was still out of orbit and not skating felt a bit like not breathing and, well, he was kind of a selfish asshole.

He wanted to win.

Again.

Indefinitely.

God, he hated that word.

“I know,” Emma said, voice a little shaky and eyes a little glossy and he wished he could stop making her cry. They were both going to be late. And something was probably wrong because no one had attacked their door yet.

Killian nodded, clenching his jaw and the question had been lingering on the tip of his tongue since Wednesday, but Emma hadn’t wanted to talk and didn’t have time and he hadn’t really forgotten, but then their kid started drawing Stanley Cup stick figures and he’d missed their other kid weebling and it kind of felt like something short circuited.

Her breath caught when he moved, flipping on her onto her back and moving into the cradle of her hips and her fanned across several different pillows at once.

“And here you were advocating the benefits of going back to sleep,” Emma muttered, and he didn’t have to look at her to hear her smile. It was another absurd thought, but that seemed to be par for whatever course Killian’s life had become, and he nipped against her neck when her fingers found his hair.

She rocked up at the same time he moved down and it was all friction and heat and something that might have been desperation, but that sounded decidedly negative and that wasn’t what this was. At least not entirely.

This was how much everything had been out of control and out of their control, a slim difference that seemed to make all the difference and Killian was more than willing to suffer through an entire PT of Ariel cursing him to a variety of different hells if it meant Emma made that noise as her right leg wrapped around his calf.

The bruise on her thigh had long since disappeared, but his hand drifted toward the spot anyway, some type of feelings-based magnet and how much he wanted her to be ok, and Emma inhaled sharply when his fingers grazed over the jut of her hip.

“It’s fine,” Emma muttered, the words sounding bigger than that and they weren’t talking about some ridiculous mechanical bull anymore.

She probably knew he kept the picture in his wallet.

She definitely knew he kept the picture in his wallet.

“That’s true,” Killian agreed, chuckling when Emma tried to swat at his shoulder. He caught her hand mid-air, brushing his lips over her knuckles and lingering under her ring She pulled her lips behind her teeth, tension almost visibly disappearing and back arching slightly and he was only ever going to be able to think about whatever the hell her leg was doing for, like, the rest of his waking days and possibly several lifetimes after that.

So, really, it didn’t matter where Ariel cursed him because he’d have this to remember and think about and he probably shouldn’t have been thinking about PT while trying to actively undress Emma.

“That wasn’t even clever,” she accused, nails scraping lightly on the back of his neck. Killian hissed, gaze meeting hers and she looked almost triumphant, smile wide and eyes unfairly bright. “And I really don’t think this is part of the post-concussion--”

“--Fine, Swan,” he interrupted.

She stared at him, like she was waiting for a different brand of honest or the actual reason he’d never told her about the headaches and the terror that seemed to rise up his spine and linger in the forefront of his brain every single night, like some kind of twisted hockey-future clockwork, but she either didn’t find it or wasn’t willing to wait any longer and Killian exhaled when she tugged him down and kissed him.

Hard.

And, really, that should have been it. It should have been kissing and getting rid of t-shirts with his name and number on it, but they were both kind of worried about the inevitable four-year-old attack and looming schedules and budgets that were probably changed, again, and the question seemed to fall out of Killian before he’d really decided he was going to ask it.

He’d been thinking it.

And Emma had been avoiding it.

“What exactly was the job?” he asked, leaning back to meet her slightly stunned and clearly frustrated gaze.

“What? Why aren’t you kissing me still?” “You’ve got to shower.” “And you made some terrible joke about showering with me before trying to take your shirt off. I thought we’d moved passed the shower thing.” “My shirt?” Killian asked, and Emma squeezed her eyes closed.

“It is kind of weird that you own t-shirt jerseys, but I was changing last night and you and Matt were watching film and it was the first thing I grabbed. You really couldn’t tell? It’s way bigger than usual.”

“I wasn’t really concerned with the size, honestly,” Killian admitted. “My mind tends to go blank when I realize the name on the back.” Emma opened her eyes, gaze a bit softer and eyes just as green. “Seems kind of clingy, Cap.” “Yeah, a little.” “A very quick agreement.” “No point in arguing that when I was making veiled allusions to showering together, right?” “Were they veiled?” Killian shook his head, nosing at the bit of skin just behind Emma’s ear. “You’re avoiding the question, love.”

“That’s because you’re a really bad interviewer. Maybe you should get Rubes to give you some pointers or something.” “I don’t think Red would appreciate her interrupting PT like.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Emma mumbled. “And I’m not avoiding. Technically. I’m trying to deflect and distract with your own name.” “Yours too.”

He kind of shouted those words too, but it kind of felt necessary and another instinct because he wanted everything with Emma, including hockey and whatever promotion she could get with the league and maybe if he just followed Peggy around with his phone all day, she’d wobble or wobble on camera and he’d be able to see it.

“Ah, that was stupid romantic,” Emma said. Her fingers carded through his hair again, moving across his shoulders and another scar, courtesy of a particularly hard check when he was fifteen and some kid from at the Team USA camp didn’t appreciate how good Killian was at scoring.

“Charming,” he corrected softly. “We’ve been over that so many times, Swan.” “True. You’re not going to let the job thing drop, are you?” “I don’t know why you want me to.” Emma sighed, but she didn’t try to push him off her and he was more than content to linger on top of her while discussing some nebulous future that was only sort of overwhelming. He really wanted to shoot at something.

“It’s not so much that,” Emma started. “It’s just...there’s so much here and so much to do and I really think Mer is sleeping in her office again.” “I doubt that.” “Have you met Merida?” “Strangely enough, I have,” Killian nodded. “And I know she’s not sleeping in her office because she told me that she was going to Gristedes last night to make sure there were bags of dried cranberries in your office for the next week.” “Did you ask her to do that?” Killian glanced up at the sound of the question, Emma’s voice shaking slightly and cracking a bit and his mouth dropped when he realized what she was doing to her lower lip. He moved his thumb over it, doing his best to pry it away from her teeth without causing any more damage and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

He’d been telling Merida to make sure Emma ate since he got hurt, and even before then – when playoffs got crazy or she ordered the same salad from Pret the entire time she was pregnant with Matt and that was just part of the deal, slightly different versions of vows he’d promised twice.

And she still looked kind of stunned.

He needed to get back on the ice.

He needed things to be normal again.

“You’re deflecting again, Swan,” he muttered, and not kissing her was a very specific type of challenge. “What did Tink say?” “C’mon answer, the question. And please don’t talk about an attempted set-up while you’re also being charming. It’s a lot of mixed signals.”

He chuckled against her hair, fingers working back under her shirt and maybe he was the one deflecting. “What was it you said? I wanted to have kids with you, so I think you won, Swan.” “Ah, it sounds crazy when you say it like that.” “Maybe a little clingy.” “Oh my God.” “The job, love,” Killian said, pulling back and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated Emma’s laugh.

“You went all dad face on me. I couldn’t take it seriously.” “That doesn’t bode well for the future.”

Her expression changed again, a blink and a twitch of her lips and it would have been great if the Earth’s atmosphere stopped abruptly shifting like that. It wasn’t helping his lungs at all. Or his head. Tuesday. That was the last headache he’d had.

“That’s not true at all,” Emma said softly. “And, uh...the job is basically what I’m doing now, just...everywhere.” “Everywhere?” “This would probably be easier if you didn’t just repeat everything I was saying.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Emma was smiling again and her fingers were incredibly distracting. “So, the idea is to kind of grow the fanbase I guess. Especially the youth fanbase. Which apparently, rumor has it, I’m great at.” “But,” Killian prompted.

“How do you know there’s a but?” “Swan.” She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes and it looked a bit like Peggy when she didn’t appreciate that they were were feeding her cut up sweet potatoes again. Emma Swan and Peggy Jones both hated sweet potatoes.

Killian didn’t say that out loud.

“It’s just a lot,” Emma said, probably waving her hands through the air over his back. “There’s a lot of kids and a lot of would-be fans and...I don’t have time to think about that now. I can’t think about that now. Not when everything is so…”

She gritted her teeth, the rest of that sentence practically flashing on a neon sign above her head. It was a pretty good imitation of what her desk phone usually liked.

“Emma,” Killian said, and she groaned loudly, an arm draped over her face and a pillow falling on the floor and they were on borrowed time already.

The door swung open, slamming into the wall hard enough that it probably left a mark and Killian winced when a four-year-old threw himself at his left leg.

“Dad, Dad,” Matt yelled, somehow getting the sound to move directly into Killian’s ear at the same time he dug his feet into his calf. “Are you awake?”

Emma laughed, turning her head into a pillow so it wasn’t incredibly obvious, but Killian was still half on top of her with his hand under her shirt and they were going to have to come up with a better way to avoid ruining their kid’s psyche.

Maybe after they dealt with everything else.

He still needed to get a tux for Casino Night.

“We’re very awake, Mattie,” Emma promised, twisting around to tug him further up the bed and Killian was sure one his kidneys suffered for the effort. “The real question is why are you awake? And what are we going to make for breakfast?” “I’m hungry!” “Yeah, I kind of figured that’s what this was about.”

Emma glanced at him, lips ticking up and whatever they’d been treading towards with the job discussion had been appropriately deflected. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to regret that as much as he did.

“What do you say we make breakfast today, Mattie?” Killian asked, sitting back on his heels and it was a precarious position, but that felt like a metaphor and he ignored it completely.

Matt jumped up, just barely missing both of Emma’s knees in the process, and Killian could hear Peggy yelling a few feet away and they were going to have to buy a real bed eventually because that kid really did have an absurd amount of upper-body strength.

“Yeah,” Matt yelled, but it came out a bit like a question and Killian was almost ready when a head collided with his shoulder. “Mattie, be careful,” Emma chastised. Her hand moved, hovering over Matt’s back and another Jones-branded t-shirt, but Killian shook his head deftly.

Another deflection.

Another slightly selfish move because that seemed destined to end with him half choking to death, but he hadn’t had a headache in days and maybe indefinite could end a little earlier than scheduled.

Probably after they ate their weight in chocolate-chip waffles.

“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian said, pleasantly surprised when he absolutely meant it and none of his joints cracked when he stood up.

Emma stared at him incredulously. “He’s gone full koala on you. I really don’t think that can be healthy. Physical activity was, like, at the absolute bottom of the list.” She groaned when he grinned, eyebrows twisting and there were so many pillows on their bed. He barely heard when she fell back against them. “You know what I meant,” she mumbled.

“I did. But I’m not all that concerned with the list at the moment.” He took a step forward, Matt still clinging to his side, and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She smiled. “Go shower, love. We’re going to eat way too much chocolate.”

They did, in fact, eat way too much chocolate, Matt’s lips covered and, somehow, his chin had gotten into the mix, perched on the counter next to a bowl of batter with even more chips in it.

“Dad, can Mar have some too?” Matt asked, trying to yank the spoon out of the bowl and Killian wasn’t sure what his plan was, but he assumed it was flinging waffle batter at his sister. It’s probably what he would have done.

“Hey,” he said sharply. Matt’s shoulders slumped. “What did we say about sitting up here?” “Not to touch.” “Yuh huh.” “And not to swing.” Killian nodded, eyeing Matt’s swinging feet intently. They sounded incredibly loud when they collided with the front of the cabinet and he thought he was being very impressive when he snuck his hand into the bowl, grabbing a few chocolate chips that hadn’t mixed in yet.

“You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are,” Killian muttered, and Matt widened his eyes in a way that was equal parts familiar and entirely uncharted territory. And it probably counted as physical activity, but his kid was laughing and smiling and happy and it didn’t really take much to sling Matt over his shoulder, socked feet bumping against his chest and fingers gripping at the back of the shirt he’d finally put on.

He hoped they didn’t burn the waffles.

Matt kept laughing and Killian, somehow, managed to get Peggy to eat a handful of bananas, some of which inexplicably ended up on his elbow, but it was good and healthy and-- “Dad,” Matt asked, moving to hang off Killian’s back and he’d gotten surprisingly good at that in the last few months. Maybe all their kids were just ridiculously strong.

“Yeah, kid.” “Did you like your picture?”

He wished he didn’t have banana on his elbow for this conversation.

“Of course,” Killian said, hoping his voice stayed even and confident and Matt wasn’t done. It was, he assumed, because they’d lost last night and Matt probably had the Rangers practice schedule memorized at that point and the prospect of hanging out with Leo Nolan that afternoon wasn’t nearly as fun as taking slap shots on Garden ice with Roland.

“Do you...do you think you’ll win?”

Killian had to take a deep breath before he answered, closing his eyes and trying to remember all the good things and the confidence he’d been flushed with that morning.

No headache since Tuesday. Good heart rate on the treadmill. Minimal glares from both Ariel and Regina in the last week.  

Husinger’s pass had been ridiculous.

“Dad,” Matt whined, tightening his hold.

Killian flinched when someone knocked on the door, biting his tongue in the process and he never actually answered Matt’s question, peering through the peephole to find it covered with what looked like a handmade sign.

He knew who it was when she kicked at the door.

“Oh my God,” Killian muttered. “Mattie, don’t try and climb over me when I open this door, ok?”

It was a pointless request – Matt was four and had no control over his limbs ever and he probably should have been more concerned about Anna anyway because she practically leapt at Killian as soon as there wasn’t a door in between them.

Killian groaned when her body collided with his, arms around his middle and more hair in his face. He stumbled backwards, wincing when Matt likely did permanent damage to his right eardrum.

The shower turned off down the hallway.

“KJ, is that banana on your elbow?” Anna asked.

“Did you bring a sign?” he countered. “This is not JFK. A sign seems unnecessary.”

“Ok, this is super cute and you know it. So don’t try and tell me that you’re not charmed. I can see it in your face and your banana elbow.” Killian rolled his eyes, but Anna was, well, Anna and she was already talking to Matt. “My guy,” she grinned, trying and failing to pry him away from Killian’s back and that was only because she didn’t have the kind of upper body strength either of the Jones kids seemed to possess. “You trying to choke your dad?”

“Anna, Anna, Anna,” Matt chanted. She beamed at Killian. And let go of him so she could crouch to Matt’s level and hug him tightly, peppering his head with kisses until he found that decidedly unpleasant.

“What are you doing here, Banana?” She laughed, tilting her head up to him and he was, somehow, holding her sign. “It’s almost like you planned the food shenanigans to match up with even more absurd nicknames.” “Several habits make it a difficult habit to break.” “That’s kind of my excuse too, honestly.” “What?”

“Anna?"

Emma was standing on the edge of the kitchen, hair still in a towel and bare feet and it took less than a full second for even more hugging and questions and Zelena’s meeting schedule was going to be completely pointless after this.

Killian looked at the sign in his hand, biting back a smile and a laugh when he processed the words: HERE TO FIX YOUR LIFE, KJ.

They didn’t burn all the waffles, cleaning Matt’s face and Anna kept Peggy on her knee the entire time they ate, updates on several different mountains and a spread in Condé Nast, because that was the kind of person she was and she hadn’t been to New York in months.

She’d come to New York to fix his life.

The sign wouldn’t have lied.

Anna wouldn’t have lied.

“Alright,” Emma said, nearly an hour and two slightly dramatic baths for both kids later. “Let’s move out, team.” “Where are you going?” Anna asked, and Killian knew he didn’t imagine the disappointment in her voice. He smiled.

“I’ve got forty-two Casino Night meetings and I’m sure Aurora has opinions about Phillip’s ceremony she hasn’t actually voiced yet and--” “--God, there’s more?”

Emma made a face. “So I’m going to bring Mattie and Pegs to Reese’s and David’s because he’s got a day off for the first time in forever and--” “--Why can’t KJ and I watch ‘em?” “I’ve got PT in an hour, Banana,” Killian explained, but Emma’s shoulders sagged a bit. “So you better explain yourself pretty quickly or Red will throw a treadmill at you too.” “Yeah, I’d like to see her try.”

“Wily.”

“Don’t be a jerk, KJ.” He flashed her a grin, turning back to Emma when she grabbed her keys and two different phones, one of them already lighting up in her hand. “Hot chocolate later?” she asked, a note of something in her voice that didn’t sound like confidence and he was nodding before she closed her mouth.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Swan.” “Good,” she said, kissing him quick and leaning towards him so he could make a face at Peggy and Anna might have awed when he worked a rather loud da out of her. “See you later, Anna.” Anna hummed, waving and settling herself into the corner of the couch. She dug her heels into Killian's thighs. And, to her credit, waited for the door to close before she started talking.

“I brought chocolate,” Anna said, and that might have been the last thing he expected her to say. She smiled when Killian blinked. “Yeah, not what you were thinking, right? Teach you to assume you know my conversational tendencies. I figured it was about time I repaid the favor or something.” “It wasn’t a favor Banana. It was a very vocal demand of yours for fifteen years.” “Not that long.” “You’re right, longer.”

“Don’t be like that. I made you a sign.”

“A rather opinionated sign.” “Liam yelled at you over the phone!"

“Not really,” Killian argued. “He advocated for making out and dates and getting away from practice.” “You follow through on any of that?” “At least the first two.” Anna clicked her tongue, another heel press and expressive look and he kind of expected her phone to ring earlier, honestly. “Is this why you came here?” Killian asked, swatting at her leg when her feet started masquerading as fifty-pound weights. “God, move your legs, Banana. I am on IR.”

“Because of your actual brain, KJ,” she countered. Elsa sighed on the phone screen.

“Are we fighting already? That was not part of the plan.”

“The plan was unnecessary,” Killian growled. “I’m serious about your feet, Banana. Did you come here just for this? That’s worse than the sign.” “The sign was nice!” “The sign was kind of judgmental. And kind of backed you into a corner. Here to fix my life?” “Aw, Anna,” Elsa groaned. Anna blushed. “That’s not what we agreed on KJ. Although it’s nice to see visual proof that you’re alive. How’s your head?” “No headaches in awhile,” Killian said, and Anna was never going to move her feet. Like, ever again. “So as good as can be expected.” “You snuck on the ice yet?” “Who do you think I am, El?” “I know exactly who you are, KJ,” Elsa answered evenly. She was in her office. There was snow on the mountains behind her. “Which is why I’m asking that question.” “Rude,” “Honest,” Anna corrected. “And I’m not totally here because of you. It’s been a while since I’d seen Kris and we’ve been talking about…”

Killian snapped his head around so quickly, he was sure he’d need PT for that too and Anna’s cheeks were red enough that it was difficult to differentiate between her face and her hair. “Talking about?”

“Not that.” “You haven’t actually said anything, Banana.” She groaned, slumping in the couch and he should have made her get the chocolate first. He couldn’t eat more chocolate. “I’ve just been thinking about home, and missing home and Mattie’s a cute kid and,” she rolled her eyes, “shut up, KJ.” “I didn’t say anything.”

“Nah, you’re really bad at lying KJ,” Elsa muttered, and he jerked back when Anna thrust the phone in his face. “And Anna’s even more sentimental than you are and totally homesick. It just helps that you’re part of home so now we can tag-team you.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Anna groaned.

Elsa shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to make a sign.”

Killian chuckled, some of his frustration dissipating and it might have been because of the copious amount of chocolate he’d eaten that morning, but he was fairly certain it was also because Elsa and Anna Vankald resolutely refused to let him be anything except happy.

“You guys know you’re kind of late to the intervention party, right?” Killian asked. “I really haven’t gotten on the ice.”

“That’s actually pretty impressive,” Elsa said, ignoring whatever he did with his face at that. “But, uh...not entirely, no.” Killian tilted his head, eyes flitting from the phone to Anna and her pursed lips and Elsa looked nervous. “What’s this actually about?” “The plan kind of evolved in the last few hours,” Anna muttered. “Although there really is an offer to watch your painfully cute kids because Emma sounds super stressed out in the group text and you’re not great at dealing and--” “--How can she sound stressed out in a text?” “It’s a feeling, KJ.” “A feeling?” “Killian,” Elsa snapped, and he nearly jumped off the couch. Anna hissed. “This really isn’t about the semantics of the text messages.”

“Although you should really be aware of how stressed out Emma is,” Anna mumbled.

“I know, Banana,” Killian said. The frustration was back. It kind of felt like fury.

And he didn’t hear Elsa at first.

There was probably a scientific reason for that.

Complete and utter denial and the desperate desire to deflect this entire conversation.

Probably.

“I said, have you seen The Post today?” Elsa asked softly. Killian shook his head. “You, uh, you might want to look at it.”

It took a moment to find it – searching and scrolling and his phone had been off, his quiet fuck when he landed on the Q&A sounding impossibly loud in the now-silent apartment.

He’d seen the feature before, a Saturday spread two pages from the back with a color headshot for the columnist and splashy photos for the subject and he’d answered those questions more than once in the last decade and a half.

It was the headline, really, that got the laugh out of him, slightly manic and a little surprised and he knew Elsa tried to glance at Anna through the phone.

Harping on Husinger: How the Rangers call-up is making this his team

“His team?” Killian asked. He didn’t take his eyes away from his phone, grip tightening and the words felt like acid working out of him. He was glad he didn’t melt. That’d probably ruin the couch. It’d at least scandalize Anna.

“So he says,” Elsa muttered. “Several times.” “He says this shit more than once?”

She made a noise, an agreement and a slight whimper and Killian’s lungs had never collapsed before, but this kind of felt like that. Or the world falling into a black hole.

Anna sniffled.

“He’s a dick, KJ,” she shrugged. “Just...forget the goals and that pass last night. He’s...trying to make it sound like you know you won’t come back and it’s his spot and his playoff run and..”

She didn’t finish. Killian wished she finished, but his eyes were scanning sentences and proclamations and promises, swallowing when they landed on my line’s been great, it’s been so easy to settle into the scheme and Arthur’s an incredible coach, and I can only hope I keep finding the back of the net. This is the moment I’ve been waiting my whole career for, I don’t intend to backtrack.

“This is bullshit,” Killian said, voice low and he kept shaking his head like that would get rid of the ringing in his ears. “It’s not his team.” “We know, KJ,” Elsa promised. “He’s just trying to get his five minutes.” “Or his minutes until the playoffs.” “What?” “That’s as soon as I can get back. Maybe.” “Maybe?” “That’s what they told me, El,” he growled. She widened her eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I just...how did you find this? Were you looking for headlines? And why didn’t Lucas tell me?” “I don’t think she knew Husinger was going to say all that. And you’re kind of terrifying, KJ.” “And Belle texted me,” Anna added. “That’s why the plan changed. I think she was trying to talk Scarlet out of killing this guy at practice.”

There wasn’t much thought after that.

It was just anger and red on the edge of his vision and Killian stuffed his phone in his pocket, mumbling I’ll be back later when both Anna and Elsa questioned where he was going.

He left his wallet in the bedroom.

“Hey, uh, you see that story this morning, Cap?” the driver asked, and Killian grunted or nodded and neither one of them said anything else the entire drive down Columbus Ave.

He didn’t say anything to the security guard either, just tugged up the collar of his jacket and kept walking, eyes on his shoes and mind nowhere near rational. He could hear pucks hitting the boards already.

The tension was obvious, even through Killian’s own cloud of anger and fury and several other words that were equally irrational. Will was standing on the far edge of the ice, helmet off and stick clutched in his hand tight enough that Killian would have bet him several different things his knuckles were white under his gloves.

Robin was taking faceoffs, Husinger just outside the circle and neither of them looked particularly pleased to be sharing the same few feet of space. Phillip kept glaring at them both.

Arthur blew his whistle.

“Again, Locksley,” he growled. “And try not to fuck it up this time. You looked like shit last night.” “He won more than half Arthur,” Will pointed out. Another whistle blow.

“I’m not paying him to win half. I’m paying him to win seventy-five percent. At least.” “You’re not really paying him at all, you know, unless you got a promotion none of us heard about.”

Arthur let go of his whistle, the stupid bit of plastic landing on his chest with a soft thump and Husinger chuckled. And, for half a second, Killian was worried the whole goddamn team was going to kill him.

Phillip’s eyes narrowed and Will dropped his stick, Robin standing up to his full height and rolling his shoulders – the same exact way Roland did when he didn’t like a call on the ice.

Arthur skated across the circle.

“You want to try that again, Husinger?” Arthur muttered. He laughed. Again.

Killian swallowed. And swung his legs over the boards.

He was always better on ice than he was anywhere else, more confident and more controlled, and, admittedly, more talented, but in the moment, he was simply thankful he kept his balance, a distinct lack of traction that may have been due to the excessive beating of his heart.

“Cap,” Will gasped. “What the hell. Get off the ice?” Killian shook his head, certain he would fall over if he stopped moving and Husinger stopped laughing when he saw him.

He hadn’t actually seen him in person yet.

He wasn’t that big, no taller than Killian and a little stockier, leaning on his stick with half a smile on his face and a confident attitude that was treading dangerously close to complete and utter dick. He clicked his tongue when Killian was a few inches away, jaw tight and eyes tracing across his street clothes and sneakers.

“Looks like you’re still not quite ready to suit up, Jones,” Husinger grinned.

Will nearly jumped forward.

Killian shook his head, crossing his arms lightly and he still couldn't really come up with any coherent thoughts. “What the hell is your problem?” he asked, ignoring both Robin and Phillip when they mumbled Cap under their breath.

Arthur looked torn between blowing his whistle and making them all skate blue lines.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do,” Killian muttered. “Or you wouldn’t look that nervous.” Husinger blinked, smile wavering for half a moment before he schooled his features and pursed his lips. He shook his gloves off. “I’ve never met you before, man,” Husinger continued. “All I know is the legend.”

“There’s no legend.” “Ah, sure there is or you wouldn’t be here to defend it. You worried about your squad? Is that what it is?” “It’s not your team.”

“Not yet. You see that pass last night? Rocket right across the ice. That’s what they were saying on all the talk shows this morning.” “A spot on SportsCenter’s not going to get you a Cup.” “And yet you’ll still be on the bench no matter I do, won’t you?” Husinger asked. Killian fisted his hands at his side, biting on the inside of his lip and he could hear Will breathing behind him. “It’s a talkative team. Not really like that in Hartford, but they do talk about you Hartford and you’re out of commission for awhile.” “Seriously, what is your problem, man?” Phillip balked, huffing when Robin pushed his hand into his jersey.

Husinger shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care about Jones. I don’t care about his fucking brain or his cognitive reasoning or the kids everyone keeps talking about. This is a a hockey team. And it’s supposed to win. I’m here to win. I don’t care about anything else.” “That’s not how this works,” Killian muttered, voice barely audible and Arthur stared at him. “You can’t win if you’re just here for you.”

“Did you miss the part where I don’t care?” “Nah, I heard you. Strangely enough the concussion didn’t affect my hearing.”

Will tried to turn his laugh into a cough, but he was grinning when Killian glanced at him and he’d never picked up his stick. “That was funny, Cap,” he said. “You hear that Locksley? Cap’s making jokes about concussions.” “Don’t tell Emma,” Robin yelled.

Killian rolled his eyes, but Husinger was still standing there and, presumably, still a piece of garbage, absolute dick looking for a moment in the spotlight and they all really should have expected it.

It had already been in print.

“This is my spot now, Jones,” Husinger said, shrugging like it was obvious and Arthur put the whistle back in between his teeth. “And I’m not going anywhere. You can come back and it won’t matter. You’re gone. Might as well get used to it now. Make it easier to explain to your kids next season.”

It wasn’t really red.

It was kind of like...magenta. Burning and searing and so goddamn hot Killian had to glance down at his hands to make sure they hadn’t exploded into flames.

And Killian barely heard Will, a quiet “ah, fuck that guy,” in the background when he walked forward, lifted his hand and punched.

A right hook, straight to the jaw.

Everything went to shit after that.

Killian landed another two punches before Husinger reacted, a fist in his stomach and the side of his cheek and he swore he heard something crack, the pain rushing straight through him. He was never entirely sure how he kept his balance, slipping and sliding and gripping the front of Husinger’s jersey like a goddamn anchor.

He didn’t stop.

He felt an arm around him, trying to pull him away and he didn’t know if it was Will or Robin, didn’t particularly care either way, particularly when another blow landed on the side of his ribs. That made it more difficult to breathe.

And keep fighting.

Arthur blew his whistle.

Phillip cursed when Husinger elbowed him, trying to fight him off as he worked to stay on his skates and there was blood dripping into Killian’s mouth.

He could feel the bruise blooming under his eye, and it was a bit like being thrown into ice-cold water. His legs shook under him, suddenly incapable of supporting his weight and Will mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

Arthur was shouting, yelling instructions and something that sounded a bit like get this asshole the fuck off my ice and Killian exhaled, desperate to blink away the spots in front of his eyes.

Will kept mumbling ambulance.  

“No, no, no,” Killian argued, shaking his head. That was a mistake. Weebles wobble and they absolutely fall down.

“Cap.” “No, no, just...just go find Emma.”

[silkygoldmilkweed]

Wine, Inhibitions, drunky Lannisters, Sansa Stark and the Hound

So. I continue to convince myself firmly that alcohol, particularly red wine, is crucial to understanding WTF is the deal with Sansa and Sandor in King’s Landing.

I’ll go over some details herein, but suffice it to say, I think that one or, “worse,” both of them being wine-drunk does what it does with all horny drunk kids everywhere throughout history: disinhibits behavior. (I believe that Sansa’s “outreach” is also amplified by fear and in her dreams when she’s unconscious--unconscious is really Bran is showing us when his eyes go white--but let’s focus on wine herein.) In the specific circumstance of Sansa and Sandor in King’s Landing, with the added aspect of Sansa’s First Men blood and her constantly agitated fight-or-flight response and both of their drinking (him heavily and her infrequently but enough to have an effect), her ad hoc skinchanger connection to the Hound, Sandor Clegane, is strongly amplified.

Very very few skinchangers can do humans, and from what we know it takes tremendous natural talent or great practice or both. Sansa must have some of the first, because she has none of the second. I think the reason Sandor’s consciousness doesn’t outright reject her or go instantly mad or just die, is because (a) he wants/likes/loves her duh (b) his consciousness is that of a fully formed powerful adult male, whereas hers is a confused but also ultimately very good, very kind and very gentle young girl. His consciousness doesn’t perceive it as an attack, as such. I imagine that your mental-emotional soul in this world might be not unlike an immune system: it’s highly evolved to distinguish between like and unlike, friend and stranger. For whatever reason, presumably that the big Hound has unwholesome feelings for the pretty little dire wolf, Sandor’s consciousness does not attack Sansa’s as an invading pathogen, but rather allows her to colonize his mind rather elaborately. She’s a virus, but the genetic material she’s transmitting into his cells is a beneficial mutation. And I suspect that it might be a two-way exchange, but TBD.

ANYWAY WINE:

“Is Joffrey going to kill Sansa’s brother?” “He might.” 

In ep 2x03 “What Is Dead Can Never Die,” Sansa drinks her way through dinner with Cersei and the kids because it’s all lies and next-level imprisonment and abuse etc. She’s wearing a blue dress with a dragonfly necklace.

Awful deleted #SanSan scene? Same dress. She’s crying, just as she should be after Cersei said Joff was going to kill Robb and Sansa would “do her duty.”

She was just thinking about how she’s going to have to fuck Joff. And well, well, well, look who manifests in her hallway: the Hound, and his number one concern? How Joffrey “will be having you soon” and just for good measure, this is where they were going to emphasize that he’s a dog (DOGS ARE THE EASIEST ANIMALS TO WARG, GUYS) and the reason he calls her Little Bird is...because she’s trapped in a cage? IDK IDK they didn’t do so good with the name explanation, but whatever, we know it’s, above all, because he loves her and because she’s his bird.

SUFFICE IT TO SAY, I think he shows up here with the particular concern about Joff’s forthcoming rape of Sansa, because she was drunk and he probably was too, and everything she was afraid of when drunk went straight into his mind. 

The barrier is thin between them to start with, but when she’s drunk she doesn’t withhold and she sends him everything she is feeling. He probably drinks extra when she’s “transmitting” to him, just to try to get the extra voice out of his head. I mean, that sounds like a reasonable plan for self-medication if you ask me.

Their next three interactions are all mostly sober (throne room cloaking, bread riots, “dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats,”) but I will repeat that the music that plays during the rape rescue sequence in the tunnel is the same music that plays in season one when unconscious Bran is attacked by the cutthroat and Summer appears from nowhere to kill him and save Cat. I think, yes, the Hound’s a basically good guy who cares about her wants to save her, but also she’s screaming in fear in his head and he knows exactly what’s happening and saving her is going to help him as much as her because if he doesn’t stop it, he’ll experience all of her suffering in his head anyway.

“Well done, Clegane.” “I didn’t do it for you.”

And then after that, she dreams of the Bread Riot attack the night before she gets her first period, and lo and behold, who shows up? Sandor Clegane, who is either there on behalf of Cersei, or was summoned to Sansa’s chamber by the overwhelming feeling that she was mortal peril, because when she’s unconscious she can’t even begin to control broadcasting her fears and he has the only satellite receiver tuned to the Sansa Channel.

Which brings us to “Blackwater,” and Cersei’s drunk ass pouring cup after cup after cup of red wine for Sansa, who has no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever, while scaring the shit out of her about the outcome of the war, rape generally and the horrifying truth about her forthcoming marriage to Joffrey in particular.

Sandor begins the night of the battle already sauced. “Oh, there’s women in the ground. Put some there myself.” I’ve never understood this scene and it’s always bothered me as “off” in some way that I can’t put my finger on, but one interpretation is that they are illustrating the transition between Sandor early in the battle, who gives zero fucks about anyone, women and children included, to Sandor after a long of night of fire, drinking, killing, and above all, feeling a little girl’s fears about everything, transitioning to being like “Hey you wanna get out of here? We could go somewhere quiet, maybe have a coffee or something?”

Look, enter “the King,” a cunt who names his sword, and the Warrior personified, who ends the night covered in blood because he’s single-handedly fighting Joff’s war for him. Sansa knows what’s up. 

ANYWAY, this whole scene is a riot. We see Joff for the sniveling empty talker that he is, and Sansa is at her very sassiest. She’s starts out pretty strong and so does Sandor. 

But anyway, I think the whole point of this scene in the throne room and the Hound’s presence therein is so we compare the Hound and Joffrey side-by-side, again. Because why? Because it’s love triangle ripped right out of the pages of the most romantic/tragic love story in Westerosi history: the legend of Queen Naerys, her horrible brother-husband King Aegon the Unworthy and her other brother, the great and honorable and self-sacrificing Aemon the Dragonknight. See also Gwenivere, Arthur and Lancelot, but eh. 

“Your king rides forth to battle.” LOL. I bet Sandor was dying inside.

DRINK 1 feat. SER ILYN, who executed Ned Stark and has frightened Sansa from the first. What’s he doing here? “He’s here to defend us...guards we pay. Should the city fall, they’ll be the first ones out of the doors.” Sansa’s internally monologue would be: Gosh I sure which I had someone on my side who’s even stronger than Ser Ilyn and would fight for me without being paid. Or maybe it would be I wonder if paid guard Sandor Clegane would leave King’s Landing if the city fell. Maybe I could leave too? (I know we have Sansa’s inner monologue of this scene in the books, but books and show are different beasts.)

“Here. Sit. Drink...no, not like that. Drink girl.”

DRINK 2 feat. “Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs. Learn to use it. Drink...if the city falls, these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come the morning.”

She’s just plain frightened.

And then the line that I think is the direct reason she refuses Sandor’s offer of rescue in favor of waiting for Stannis. “When a man’s blood is up, anything with tits looks good. A precious thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten.” (Well, this and Shae literally saying, “Stannis won’t hurt you.”)

Meanwhile, the Hound is out at the war, cutting people in two (literally) and generally fighting like the beast that he is and then shortly thereafter having a total nervous breakdown because (a) fire, (b) Sansa’s fucking his head.

What’s the cure? "Fuck the water, bring me wine.” Wine, I think, just serves to make him even more emo and less able to deny his feelings for Sansa and their inexplicable connection.

“Dog, I command you to go out there and fight!” Sandor, totally defeated already, would be having this sort of internal monologue: “But why? So you can stay king and start raping my soulmate, your prisoner whose father you already killed for no reason? 

“Fuck the Kingsguard.” (they’re mean to Sansa)

“Fuck the city.” (the people of this city were mean to Sansa)

“Fuck the King.” (mean to Sansa and not good enough for her anyway)

This part, where she stands a little taller and says, “You won’t hurt me.” She is 100 percent inside his head at that moment, reading his feelings as easily you read these words right here.

BUT WAIT, there’s more. I think this scene is a little bit about the writers, at least, tipping that there’s something we need to know about Sansa and alcohol, and maybe skinchanging or enchanting men, too? Maybe she’s even starting to intuit that inebriated men are even more susceptible to her than usual? 

“Ale?” “I’ll have some.” “Do you like the taste?” “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Why do men love it so much?” “It gives some men courage.” “Does it give you courage?” (5x02, “The House of Black and White”)

And then here. She’s drinking and he’s drinking AND there’s the touching. She convinces him to fight for Winterfell. He does not want to, but she convinces him. I’m not saying that this is magic because the dire wolf and wolf-dragon connection is very likely just normal human kinship, but it might be, at least in part. 

IN CONCLUSION, IF SANSA AND SANDOR ARE NEAR EACH OTHER AND DRINKING IN SEASON 8, WATCH OUT.

[sherristockman]

How to Increase Your Sense of Gratitude Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola Thanksgiving — celebrated each year on the fourth Thursday of November — is perhaps one of the most cherished of American holidays; it’s a time when family and friends gather over ample amounts of food and give thanks for the blessings in life, including each other. As explained by University of California psychology professor Robert Emmons, one of the leading scientific experts on gratitude and author of several books on the topic, gratitude involves two key components:1 It’s “an affirmation of goodness;” when you feel gratitude, you affirm that you live in a benevolent world It’s a recognition that the source of this goodness comes from outside of yourself; that other people (or higher powers, if you prefer) have provided you with “gifts” that improve your life in some way An Attitude of Gratitude Fosters Health and Happiness The practice of openly sharing what we’re grateful for is by many accounts one of the healthiest aspects of our annual Thanksgiving festivity. According to psychologists, it’s a ritual that fosters both happiness and health. It’s unfortunate that most people reserve this gratitude ritual for Thanksgiving Day only. While giving thanks once a year is beneficial, doing it more often could be life changing.2 At least that’s what science suggests. Studies have actually shown that the psychological state of gratitude has beneficial implications for every major organ system in your body.3 So, if you’re serious about your well-being you’d be wise to increase the frequency at which you feel and express gratitude. Adopting the ritual of saying grace at every meal, for example, is a great way to flex your gratitude muscle on a daily basis,4 and will also foster a deeper connection to your food. When you reflect on all the things that went into its creation, from the sowing of the seed, to the harvest and the cooking, you’ll realize just how much work — by both nature and man — went into creating the meal before you that will now provide you with nourishment. Considering a breakdown anywhere along that chain would result in scarcity and hunger, there’s a lot to be thankful for in each plate of food. The First Thanksgiving Thanksgiving is celebrated in remembrance of the first recorded feast between the British pilgrims and Native Americans in Plymouth. The year was 1621, and the pilgrims had just reaped their first successful harvest in the New World. While the history of this first Thanksgiving celebration is sketchy, eyewitness accounts claim:5 The feast was attended by at least 50 English pilgrims and 90 Wampanoag Indians, the latter of which walked for two days to attend. In addition to food, marksmanship games and running races were also enjoyed. The celebration lasted three days. Venison was the highlight of the meal, brought by the Wampanoag tribesmen. Other meal selections included fish and fowls (wild turkeys, ducks and geese). At the time, the get-together was not called “Thanksgiving,” and it did not become an annual, national holiday until 1863, nearly a century and a half later. In fact, the feast in 1621 appears to have been a singular event. Unfortunately, the peace between pilgrims and the Wampanoag tribe was short-lived, and Thanksgiving is for many Native Americans a controversial holiday tainted by ancestral pain. According to Time:6 “Early European colonizers and Native Americans lived in peace through a symbiotic relationship for about 10 years until thousands of additional settlers arrived … Up to 25,000 Englishmen landed in the New World between 1630 and 1642, after a plague drastically cut the native population by what’s believed to be more than half … The arrival of new settlers prompted a fight for land and rising animosity. War exploded in 1675 … Many Native Americans have long marked Thanksgiving as a day of somber remembrance. Jacqueline Keeler, a member of the Dineh Nation and the Yankton Dakota Sioux … observes Thanksgiving with her family but doesn’t think of it as a national holiday … ‘Thanksgiving tells a story that is convenient for Americans. [But] it’s a celebration of our survival. I recognize it as a chance for my family to come together as survivors, pretty much in defiance.’” Be Sure to Keep the ‘Thanks’ in Thanksgiving Depending on the kind of year you’ve had, you may or may not feel like you have a whole lot to feel thankful for. Whether or not you should express thanks if you feel you have nothing to be thankful for is addressed in a previous New York Times article. In it, Arthur C. Brooks writes:7 “It’s best to be emotionally authentic, right? Wrong. Building the best life does not require fealty to feelings in the name of authenticity, but rather rebelling against negative impulses and acting right even when we don’t feel like it. In a nutshell, acting grateful can actually make you grateful … Evidence suggests that we can actively choose to practice gratitude — and that doing so raises our happiness … If you want a truly happy holiday, choose to keep the “thanks” in Thanksgiving, whether you feel like it or not.” One way to flex your gratitude muscle when life events leave you uninspired is to identify and express gratitude for seemingly “useless” or insignificant things. It could be a certain smell in the air, the color of a flower, your child’s freckles or the curvature of a stone. Over time, you’ll find that doing this will really hone your ability to identify “good” things in your life. In fact, you may eventually find that “bliss” is closer than you imagined. Health Benefits of Gratitude Aside from making you feel better about your life, feeling and expressing gratitude has been found to have a wide range of beneficial health effects, including:8,9,10 Stimulating your hypothalamus (an area of your brain involved in the regulation of stress) and your ventral tegmental area (part of your brain’s “reward circuitry,” an area that produces pleasurable feelings)11 Improving your sleep12 (especially if your mind has a tendency to go into overdrive with negative thoughts and worries at bedtime) Raising the likelihood you’ll engage in healthy activities such as exercise Raising your relationship satisfaction Raising your work performance (in one study, managers who expressed gratitude saw a 50 percent increase in the employees’ performance) Reducing your stress13 Enhancing your sense of general well-being14 Improving your heart health15, reducing the likelihood of sudden death in patients with congestive heart failure and coronary artery disease Producing measurable effects on a number of systems in your body, including the neurotransmitters serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine (involved in mood regulation), inflammatory cytokines, reproductive hormones, the stress hormone cortisol, the social bonding hormone oxytoxin, blood pressure, cardiac and EEG rhythms, and blood sugar levels 10 Practical Strategies to Build and Strengthen Gratitude Like a muscle, your sense of gratitude can be built and strengthened with practice. Here are 10 gratitude practices you can experiment with: Keep a daily gratitude journal This can be done in a paper journal, or you can download a Gratitude Journal app from iTunes.16 In one study, people who kept a gratitude journal reported exercising more, and had fewer visits to the doctor compared to those who focused on sources of aggravation.17,18 Write thank you notes or a thank you letter19 Whether in response to a gift or kind act, or simply as a show of gratitude for someone being in your life, getting into the habit of writing thank you letters or notes can help you express gratitude in addition to simply feeling it inside. Nonverbal actions This includes smiles and hugs, both of which can express a wide array of messages, from encouragement and excitement to empathy and support. Be sincere, and choose your words wisely While it’s easy to say words like “please” and “thank you” in passing, these courtesies can become potent acknowledgments of gratitude when combined with eye contact and sincerity. In other words, say it like you mean it. Research20 also shows that using “other-praising” phrases are far more effective than “self-beneficial” phrases. For example, praising a partner saying, “thank you for going out of your way to do this,” is better than a compliment framed in terms of how you benefited, such as “it makes me happy when you do that.” The former resulted in the partner feeling happier and more loving toward the person giving the praise. Focus on the benevolence of other people instead of being so self-centered Doing so will increase your sense of being supported by life and decrease unnecessary anxieties. Cherishing the kindness of others also means you’re less likely to take them for granted.21 Avoid comparing yourself to people you perceive to have more advantages Doing so will only erode your sense of security. As Emmons notes in his book, “The Little Book of Gratitude,”22 “Wanting more is related to increased anxiety and unhappiness. A healthier comparison is to contemplate what life would be like without a pleasure that you now enjoy … Gratitude buffers you from emotions that drive anxiety. You cannot be grateful and envious, or grateful while harboring regrets.” Prayer and/or mindfulness meditation Expressing thanks during prayer or meditation is another way to cultivate gratitude. Practicing "mindfulness" means that you're actively paying attention to the moment you're in right now. A mantra is sometimes used to help maintain focus, but you can also focus on something that you're grateful for, such as a pleasant smell, a cool breeze or a lovely memory. Create a nightly gratitude ritual This suggestion was given by Dr. Alison Chen in a Huffington Post article.23 “My colleague has a bedtime routine with her [3-year-old] and it includes recognizing what you are grateful for. When this part of the night comes, you can't shut him up,” Chen writes. “There are so many things that we take for granted and when you listen to the long list that a child can come up with you realize the possibilities for gratefulness are limitless! Take a couple of minutes each day to stop and reflect; taking regular pause is an excellent way to bring about more feelings of gratefulness in your life.” One suggestion is to create a gratitude jar,24 into which the entire family can add notes of gratitude on a daily basis. Any jar or container will do. Simply write a quick note on a small slip of paper and put it into the jar. Some make an annual (or bi-annual or even monthly) event out of going through the whole jar, reading each slip out loud. Spend money on activities instead of things According to recent research,25 spending money on experiences not only generates more feelings of gratitude than material consumption, it also motivates greater generosity. As noted by co-author Amit Kumar, postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Chicago, “People feel fortunate, and because it’s a diffuse, untargeted type of gratitude, they’re motivated to give back to people in general.”26 Interestingly, generosity has also been linked to happiness, which may seem counterintuitive since giving to others means sacrificing some of your own physical or emotional resources. This experience has now been validated by science showing that generosity and happiness are actually wired together in your brain. 27 Tap forth gratitude The Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT) is a helpful tool. EFT is a form of psychological acupressure based on the energy meridians used in acupuncture that can quickly restore inner balance and healing, and helps rid your mind of negative thoughts and emotions. In the video below, EFT practitioner Julie Schiffman demonstrates how to tap for gratitude. Cultivate an Attitude of Gratitude Year-Round Your future health and happiness depends largely on the thoughts you think today. It’s worth remembering that each moment of every day is an opportunity to feel and express gratitude. Doing so will, over time, help you feel happier, strengthen your relationships and support your health. By focusing on what’s good right now, in the present moment, you become more open to receive greater abundance in the future. So, remember to say “thank you” — to yourself, the universe, and others. And with that, I want to say THANK YOU to you, my readers, for your continued support throughout the year, and I wish you all a Happy and Healthy Thanksgiving!