frozen thanksgiving


For those people saying Rotten Tomatoes ratings are only based on critics’ reviews, check again. They also count audience opinions. Anybody can rate a movie and leave a review, not just professionals. And so far Moana’s ratings are higher than Frozen’s.

Of course Frozen has already finished its theatrical run and Moana has just started this week. We don’t even have weekend box office numbers yet. Moana’s ratings are bound to fluctuate as more time passes and more people see the movie. Nonetheless, Moana is off to a very solid start.

Do You Wanna Go Watch Frozen?
Giselle Taraboletti
Do You Wanna Go Watch Frozen?

[Happy one year anniversary, Frozen! It’s been a great year, and I’m sure there will be many more to come! This little song is for all the people still finding themselves loving Frozen after all this time]

Elsa? Do you wanna go watch Frozen?
Yeah, I know it’s been a year
And I know what you’re gonna say
Don’t be that way Cuz I won’t disappear
We used to sing the duets
And dress up too
But now you’re over the hype!
Do you wanna go watch Frozen?
I bought the Sing-Along for Frozen
(Just get over it!)
Okay bye

Do you wanna go watch Frozen?
It’s the 10th anniversary!
I hear they’re gonna make a brand new doll
I wanna bring them all
When we see Frozen 3
(With Hans, maybe!)
I know that you are busy
And you have a life
So I’ll wait for your reply

Elsa? You won’t take my phone calls
You know it’s been like 30 years
I haven’t heard from, you in all this time
And I’m trying to talk to you, through Frozen tears
I used to be obsessed and I swear I’ve changed
But just for old time’s sake
Do you wanna go watch Frozen?

XF Writing Challenge - Touch

Loosely related to @leiascully ’s XF Writing challenge, from @jodiefoster ’s post about Mulder and Scully having leftovers together.

She drives home from her mom’s house stuffed and sleepy, and it vaguely occurs to her that she probably shouldn’t be driving. The leftovers her mother had packed her are in the passenger seat, still warm, but she’s too full to think about eating them. Her eyelids droop and she widens her eyes, sitting up straighter in the seat.

She calls Mulder to keep her awake. Two rings in, she realizes she might be interrupting his dinner but he picks up before she can end the call.


“It’s me,” she says, phone clamped between her shoulder and ear. She tries not to sound guilty. “I’m sorry, I called before I realized you might be doing something for the holiday.”

He pauses, and she can hear every mile crackling between them on the line. “It’s okay, I’m just at home.”

He sounds rueful, too casual. She realizes that he has no one to spend Thanksgiving with. “Did you have dinner?”

“I thought I’d make something from the freezer,” he answers, clearing his throat, and those miles on the line are suddenly too many.

She glances again at her container of leftovers. “Mulder, you can’t have a frozen dinner on Thanksgiving!

"No, I never eat them. It’ll be special.”
It’s all I have, echoes underneath his statement. She can feel his discomfort.

“Have a happy Thanksgiving, Scully,” he says, quietly, and she barely gets out a reciprocating “you too” before he hangs up.

Her mind was made up as soon as he said he was at home. She changes lanes, and thinks briefly how natural it feels to be driving to Alexandria.

It’s dark by the time she parks in front of his apartment building. The leftovers congeal in their container as she stands alone in the elevator, watching the numbers go up. What if he thinks she pities him?

He opens his door and stands stunned for a moment, staring at her and the food in her hands. She feels pinned by his gaze, and backpedals.

“My mom gave me all these leftovers, and you said you were alone, and I couldn’t eat all of this by myself, and you were going to have a frozen meal-”

“Scully,” he says, and she stops.

He’s still looking at her with something almost sad in his eyes, but then he smiles and it disappers. “If there’s gravy in there it might be love.”

She laughs, filled suddenly with warmth, and steps into his apartment.

There is gravy. She unpacks the container in his kitchen and he smirks at her when he sees it. Surprisingly, there are clean plates in the cabinets and she heats them both up a big serving of leftovers.

The clock on the microwave blinks 10:00 at her, and Mulder slides on his socks out of the kitchen.

“Don’t drop your plate,” she warns. He shoots her a glance over his shoulder that says he does this all the time, and she is charmed by the idea of him sliding around as a little boy, as a teenager.

It’s amazing the things Mulder does that charm her.

She sits down beside him on the couch and they turn to face each other, plates on their knees. She can feel the heat itching her skin through her jeans. His sock foot edges its way between hers.

They eat, and he moans quietly at his first bite of her mother’s pumpkin pie. She’s surprised at how much she can eat before she gets full again.

She’s surprised at how much eating with him feels like eating with family.

There’s a smear of cranberry sauce on his face when they put their empty plates on the coffeetable and she reaches up slowly and wipes it away with her thumb as he settles into the couch. His eyes widen, and follow her hand’s path to her mouth where she sucks the bittersweet sauce from the pad of her thumb.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat, and she bites away a smile, pleased to have surprised him.

They sink into the leather cushions of his couch, sated and full, and she sighs. He yawns without covering his mouth, turning his head to look at her. They talk about everything and nothing, speech easy and content, and she marvels at how close he his, how much of his face she can see in the lamplight.

She tells stories of Thanksgivings past and he laughs, cheeks flushed with sleepiness and good food, and she finds herself leaning closer. Somehow, on Thanksgiving, one cushion is too far.

He seems to agree, and lets her push her stocking feet beneath his thigh as she settes her back againt the arm of the couch. His thumb travels over the seam of her jeans that runs up the side of her leg.

Have they ever been this casual? Has he ever touched her so easily or completely?

All feeling begins at the place where her cold toes burrow beneath his thigh.

To an stranger, what would they look like in this moment? Draped on the couch in the middle of the night?

He almost glows, in the dim light. All full stomach and dark hair and pink lips. He stretches out, exhaling, and she is overwhelmed for a few seconds by the intensity of her feelings for him. When had they evolved to this? Was there a moment in time when she suddenly became aware of the exact shade of his mouth? Or had it been a gradual realization, growing along with the one that she wanted it against hers?

He talks about things that have no right to be interesting but she finds herself rapt, eyes wandering over his face until he quiets and she realizes her eyelids have been sinking closed again. It suddenly feels like a huge task to open them, so she doesn’t.

His hand finds its way to her ankle and cups it, wrapping almost all the way around, and his warmth leeches through her pants like the hot plate of food.

Comfortable silence settles over them, and she finds herself dozing until he speaks again, almost too quietly for her to hear.

“Where would I be without you, Scully?”

And then, an eternity later as she drifts into sleep, “I’m so thankful for you. More than anything.”

She smiles into the space between her shoulder and his couch, and falls asleep.

Happy anniversary to this blog!

One year ago today I returned home from seeing Frozen, and had so many theories and questions swirling around in my head, so I decided to make this blog! In honor of this, here’s some of the first head canons I put on this blog! (The ones that got it noticed haha)

Fun fact: I actually had the ideas, but I just put submitted by anonymous because no one was sending anything in! :p


alright so, i was in the studio most of the day, painting and what not, as im drivin home i think “everythings closed but i bet walmart isnt, i think ill swing on by and get a shitty frozen pizza” you know, thanksgiving dinner and whatever. also get a can of wet food for brock samson, i could get turkey feast for him

so i pull up into walmart right, and i expect it to be empty cause you know its a college town and its thanksgiving weekend, nobody should be here but the international students

no this place was HOPPIN.

i forgot that black friday was a thing and that it happens even before black friday, this place was just LOADED full of families with carts full of giant tvs, huge lego toys, big ol xbox n whatnot, an they had a line swirling through the entire walmart store, complete with kids running around shitting and screaming on each other

and damn i just wanted a frozen pizza, and some cat food, im a simple guy who likes simple things you see

managed to squeeze through to the frozen pizza section, which btw was a complete MESS. there was also a lone giant plasma screen tv laying in the middle of the aisle, my guess being in the scuttle someone dropped it and abandoned it

tried to go back the way i came but lord no, the place was too packed. thought, “the back route, ah of course. simply navigate myself in a horseshoe around the backside of the store” well i finally get my way to the front, by the way the line is so in the building that all sections of the store had do not cross tape so that the store could be better formatted like a line for a roller coaster

so im hopping over tape, holding frozen pizza, mom on the phone drunk talking about my aunts new dog and how big its gotten, its one of those fried chicken looking dogs, anyway i get out into the row of check out aisles, which is sectioned off from public, and this middle aged lady tells me i cannot be here. i try to explain how im just here for a simple pizza, the cat food had to be abandoned as that side of the walmart was destroyed and lost. she wouldnt listen to me, doing nothing but repeating the line “you cannot be here” so i just turned around and walked away from her to the self check out aisle

a woman who normally works later shifts, recognises me as the girl who always buys doritos and my little pony figures welcomes me to an open station, and takes me less then a minute to buy the pizza

i got in my van and drove away, never looking back at the chaos