#and the norwegian side only got here like... 2 or 3 generations ago? it was my great grandparents who moved here in adulthood i think

[ouroboobos]

being american is sucks as hell. it genuinely pains me to think about the customs and language i could have grown up with if my family had stayed in ireland or scotland or norway however many generations ago. and it really bothers me to consider what the evolution was like for my family from whatever they were before to what they are now. like were they always this bad, or is it partly the result of growing up in a conservative american environment?

[okietokiee]

from the 45 otp prompts, 25 w skwistok? :D

25. “I can’t be mad at you.”

This prompt is so cute and became long, shameless Fluff :’) 

Skwistok / Anniversary 

Skwisgaar was extremely proud. Though that was arguably his default mode, he had an extremely valid reason at the moment (other than being the fastest guitarist to ever grace the earth). 

His and Toki’s one-year anniversary had been fast-approaching for the past month. But now it was finally the day-of, and he was the most prepared he could ever possibly be. 

He wasn’t known as an esteemed playboy without good reason; he truly was a romantic at heart. And, though he could admit past romantic endeavors were mostly shallow and just a means to an end, he could honestly say this time was different. This time he was out to woo Toki and absolutely reinvent the world’s idea of romance. In a good way. 

And it started with an -eughhh- healthy breakfast in bed. 

After a klokateer handed Skwisgaar the impeccably prepared tray full of assorted fruits Toki was annoyingly fond of in addition to his favored brand of sugary cereal, Skwisgaar was on his way. 

Toki was still deeply asleep, spread out like a starfish smack-dab in the middle of Skwisgaar’s four-poster sized bed, where he had previously left him to retrieve his first surprise. 

The swede smiled fondly and set down the tray by the bed, plopping down and peppering Toki’s face with a multitude of quick, sloppy kisses. 

Toki was slowly stirred awake, and he giggled, returning Skwisgaar’s smooches with his own. He even started making some moves bring his kisses a bit lower, and he was incredibly surprised when Skwisgaar stopped his movements with a small push and cough. 

“Whats wrongs?” Toki asked, sitting up and stretching his sore muscles.

Skwisgaar grinned. “I gots yous breakfast,” he declared, as he picked up the tray from the floor and set it on Toki’s lap. 

To say Toki was confused would be an understatement, but he was never the type to look at a horse’s gift on the mouth. Or however that phrase went. Especially when that horse was an incredibly sexy Swedish guitar God with a tray of Toki’s absolute favorite foods to start the day with. He wasted no time and was munching happily. Skwisgaar even humored him and was currently eating a crisp red apple with no complaints. 

“Afters yous done gets yous swimsuit readies, we goinks somewhere,” Skwisgaar said with an air of nonchalance, sneaking glances at his boyfriend. 

“Where’s we goins Skwisgaar?” Toki asked after finishing his glass of orange juice. 

Skwisgaar smirked. “You’ll sees.” 

An hour later, if Toki’s excited, ear-splitting screech was anything to go by, he was pleased with this surprise. 

“I can’ts believes you buys de whole Splasharoonie Water Parks!” Toki yelled gleefully, already tearing off his clothes and eyeing the tallest waterslide. 

Skwisgaar gave a nonchalant hand wave. “Pfft, it no big deals. Nots dat expensives anyway. Besides now we cans come here whenever we wants,” he finished with a smile. 

And though both boys could rest assured that they could now visit the famous waterpark whenever they felt like it, the day was not wasted and by the end of the day they both tried every waterslide at least twice and were comfortably exhausted.

After a couple hours of lying close together on a beach chair, idly playing with each other’s hair and laughing about any stupid subject or observation that comes up, Skwisgaar surprised Toki once again. 

“You hungries?” Skwisgaar asked, combing his fingers through Toki’s chocolate locks. 

“Starvings! You wants to heads back nows?” Toki answered, sitting up a little. 

Skwisgaar grinned. “Nos, stays down, I gots it,” he said as he grabbed his Deathphone from the nearby side table and sent a quick text. 

Within minutes, a group of Klokateers approached and began setting up a picturesque picnic right in front of them, complete with a woven basket, Norwegian delicacies, and a generous assortment of booze. It was heaven. 

Toki was both incredibly overjoyed and completely bewildered now.

“Skwisgaar…”

Skwisgaar beamed, expecting his well-deserved praise and kisses right about now. “Yes Toki? It’s nice, ja?”

“Ja, it’s amazings! Buts…” 

This caused Skwisgaar to pause. He gave his man a scrutinizing stare. “What ams wrong? Dey forgets de stinky herrings? Gotdammit! I tolds dem dams klokateers-”

He was cut off from his rant by Toki’s light tugging on his arm. “No, no! It ams absolutely perfects! It’s just…”

Skwisgaar was confused and frustrated now. “Whats? Spits it out.”

Toki was flustered and finally got out a strained, “Why?”

For a painfully long moment, Skwisgaar had no idea how to respond. He briefly considered the idea that Toki was pulling his leg, and he let out a scoff. “It ams obvious you dildos. You knows what days it is.” 

Toki still had that annoyingly confused look in his big blue eyes. “I’m sorries Skwisgaar, what’s you mean?”

That was definitely the straw that obliterated the camel’s hip, and Skwisgaar angrily replied, “Our one years anniversaries you dildo!” 

Toki paled. “That ams today?”

Skwisgaar let out a frustrated groan. “Yes, it ams been on dis day for de past, I don’t know, year?” He said snidely, his good mood ruined. “I can’ts believes you forgets!” Outraged, the Swede pushed Toki off him and stood up, marching away.

Toki scrambled up, chasing after his boyfriend and trying to apologize. “Toki ams so sorries Skwisgaar! I aments goods at rememberings dese tings, and I didn’t realize you was de type to wants to celebrates dis!” 

Skwisgaar abruptly turned around. “Of course I wants to celebrates today! It’s my first anniversaries with someones I-” Skwisgaar paused, cutting himself off. He flushed red with anger and maybe a hint of something else. “Euuuuughh, it don’ts matters anymores… I ams goinks home…” He finished dejectedly, blocking out whatever fervent apologies and promises Toki made. 

The following day was full of Skwisgaar, understandably, locking himself up in his room with just his guitar for company to sulk, avoiding the object of both his affection and ire in every way he could. 

It was also full of Toki desperately trying to make it up to his man, in whatever way he could. He’d already caused the deaths of 2 klokateers after an attempt at baking Skwisgaar a cake, and he was prepared to lose more if needed. 

But his current plan (to the relief of his manager and employees) did not involve any potentially life-threatening machinery. 

He was dressed in a strikingly similar fashion to his Steve Vai phase years ago, but this time in a blindingly bright, glittery red 4-piece suit with his flying-V tucked under his arm. 

He looked cartoonishly absurd, and the rest of Dethklok was not blind to that. 

“Er… Toki, you sure Skwisgaar will appreciate this, uh… what are you doing again?” Nathan asked, already pretty used to the Scandinavian couple’s lovers quarrels. 

“I’m goins to serenade him,” Toki declared proudly.

Pickles gave a big laugh, and walked up to give Toki is supportive clap on the back. “You gett’em kid. He’ll love it.” 

Murderface rolled his eyes and mumbled vaguely encouraging, vaguely insulting platitudes Toki’s way. 

Toki, emboldened by his friend’s support, marched confidently up to Skwisgaar’s door and gave it a hard succession of knocks. 

“Gos aways!” Was his only muffled reply. 

With a nervous sigh, he plugged his guitar into a nearby amp brought by a klokateer and he prepared to make a complete and utter fool of himself. 

Within moments, the halls of Mordhaus was flooded with the smooth, dramatic sounds of Air Supply partnered with Toki’s broken, tone-deaf english. Which was quickly followed by Pickles’ barely contained laughter. 

“Ams all outta loves! Ams so losts wivouts you! I knows you was rights-”

Toki was so lost in the sappy music, he didn’t even notice as the Swede’s door slowly creaked open and the object of his desperate love slowly stepped out into the hallway to bear witness to his passionate tribute. 

As he finished with an intense improvised guitar solo that honestly rivaled his best live shows, he was surprised to hear the melodic laughter of his song’s intended recipient. 

“Skwisgaar!” Toki cried, throwing his guitar aside and shamelessly wrapping his arms around the taller man. 

“Toki ams so sorries! I never wanteds to forgets our anniversaries! I does anyting-”

He was cut off with an abrupt, fiery kiss from the Swede himself, and when they both separated after a long, amazing moment, he completely forgot what he was saying. 

“Toki… I just can’ts be mad at yous can I? You dumb dildos,” Skwisgaar said fondly, holding his idiot boyfriend in his arms. 

“Sos yous forgives mes?” Toki asked hopefully, smiling widely. 

Skwisgaar laughed. “I guess, afters a performance likes dat. Why can’ts you play dat well in rehearsals?” He teased. 

“Oh, shuts up,” Toki laughingly replied.

He playfully shoved his Swedish boyfriend straight back into his room where he followed, and he made sure to shut the door tight. 

Within moments, the halls of Mordhaus were filled with even more romantic sounds, although these sounds were more reminiscent to a dirty video than an 80s love song.

- - - - -

I guess I don’t really know what drabble means?? I’m sorry this ended up wayyy longer than originally planned ;-; But I was overtaken by the sap and needed to write it LOL 

Also, I blame @little-murmaider  for her Skwisgaar loving Stevie Wonder hc, because now I’m an absolute sucker for Skwistok interacting with soft, painfully sappy love songs

[divagonzo]

Knight’s Side Castle - Ch. 4 of Beloved

Ch. 1 - Bishop’s Castle Ch. 2 - Pawn Ch. 3 - Knight

Ao3 // FF.net

A/N: In light of the lovely Ace followers, this is the PG-15/15 version of the story. Ao3 has the unedited version for appreciation.

Tagging Tagging @xweasleyfraserx, @remedial-potions ,@weasleymama @kingronw @vivithefolle @austenpoppy @melimelrockswell1204 @ashleopardd @hillnerd since people asked to be tagged when this first went around. (Sorry @justsaya for the extra tag.)

Tags: There’s some serious rowing in this one. So if you’re easily upset at intense arguments, you might want to IM/ask me so I can summarize for you.

“We came as soon as I heard,” Percy and Audrey slipped into the room with the rest of the family. “How is he?” Audrey kept back, looking splendid in her pale blue mind healer robes. “If I’m late for work so be it,” Percy spoke up.

“Alive, thankfully,” Arthur stood up first and went to give his middle son a hug. It wasn’t as awkward like it was years prior but tension filled the room. He hugged Audrey too, smiling at her. They hadn’t been engaged a month yet. “But that’s all we know for now.” Percy bent over to hug his Mum firmly, whispering something in her ear before she said something back too quiet for the others to hear.

“He got hurt on the mission,” Harry added. “We were out chasing a werewolf and – “

“The Healers will try to wake him later,” Molly interrupted, dry washing her hands on her lap.

“The Healers don’t know if he will wake,” Hermione wiped her eyes, for what looked like the hundredth time this morning. “It’s bad, Percy.” Audrey came over and hugged Hermione, whispering in her ear before the younger witch nodded back.

Percy turned and took a long, hard look at his youngest brother. He took his glasses off, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and cleaned his glasses. “How? I mean, how did he get hurt?”

“Our forth was on loan from the Welsh office. He cocked up,” Harry spoke up.

“You never said that git Trowbridge was on loan from the Welsh office.” Hermione’s dark eyes turned towards Harry and he felt the first instinct to recoil. She turned back to Percy. “That git hurt my husband accidentally.”

“Well, he was and it was, Hermione. He screwed up his wand movements and misaimed. It wasn’t intentional. We knew he was not the best but he was all we had available at that time. It’s not like we can ask a loose werewolf to go curl up and sleep while we try to scare up someone more competent than a troll.”

“And you just now thought of telling us, that Ron might die because you couldn’t be arsed to speak up and say, No, that git isn’t going with us.” Some of her hair escaped the wrap around her hair, covering her face before she tried to swipe it away before falling back in her eyes.

“It’s not like we have a choice in the matter, Hermione. It was a werewolf on the loose in a mostly muggle village. We took who we had and went with it. How was I supposed to know that he was completely incompetent? We thought he was only half-way incompetent.”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe tell that witch Jones that you’re not having someone who could kill my husband going out on the mission with you. Did you ever think of the others on your team?”

“This isn’t some cushy desk job where you sit and write legislation all day to protect others,” Harry snarled.

“Enough!” Audrey’s firm voice interrupted. “Harry, take a walk. Go eat something but go take a walk.”

Piercing green eyes turned on his eventual sister-in-law. “I am not – “

“I’m not asking, Harry,” Audrey kept her voice light and jovial but the edge was underneath it. Everyone in the room was watching, much like when he first faced the Norwegian Ridgeback way back when.

“Fine,” he stood and grabbed his jacket. “Rowing with Hermione isn’t how I want to spend my hours worrying about my best friend,” he slid past Audrey and to the door. “But I’ll be arsed if I’m the one to blame for this whole fucked up situation.” He slipped out, leaving it ajar.

“I’ll see if I can sooth his ruffled scales,” Arthur got up, “Maybe get some tea and scones for us,” He slipped out of the room silently, leaving the others behind.

An audible sniff broke the tension in the room.

Percy bent over the end of the bed, holding his head between his hands, saying something under his breath. When he stood up, he pushed his glasses back on. His eyes were puffy and red. “I can’t stay but I’ll be by after work. If anything changes before then, someone let me know,” his eyes fell on Hermione and she nodded in silent agreement.  She sniffed before raking the back of her hand across her face.

Percy went to the head of the bed and leaned over, making sure to not touch his brother’s head. Cracked lips were an inch from the Quidditch helmet covering the bandaging around Ron’s head. The contusions on his face clashed with the bright ginger hair on Percy’s head. He spoke quietly, so quiet that no one could hear him before he stood up and went to give hugs for the others. “I’ll let the Minister know,” his voice was rough.  Percy found Ron’s size 12 feet and squeezed them once. Percy left the room, leaving the women behind.

“Healer Cattermole, how long have you been on duty?”

The junior healer looked up from her expansive parchment at the older woman. “Since 8 last night. Things have been touch and go since Midnight with Auror Weasley.”

Audrey glanced around at the others. Molly was looking at Ron, trying to hide the tears leaking down her face with the handkerchief from her housecoat before tucking it back in and then pulling it right back out. Hermione had her head in her hands, shaking without making a sound.

“Why don’t you take an hour and grab a bite to eat or take a kip?”

“But I am supposed – “

“I’ll cover for you for an hour.”

“But Healer Greengrass and – “

“Nonsense. I can cover for an hour. I don’t want you exhausted and make a mistake. I promise to wake you if anything changes.”

“Yes, you’re right,” She slumped in the chair. “I’ll go get a kip.” The junior healer left her parchment and quill on the desk. She slipped out of the room, leaving the Weasley wives behind.

Audrey picked up the parchment and scanned it. She stopped, looked over the top of it at Ron in the bed and then went back to it, scanning it again.

“What does it say?” Hermione asked.

“Most of it is medical jargon. It’s quite boring,” Audrey looked back at the parchment.

“Rubbish,” Hermione spoke up. “What does it say?”

“Hermione, I – “

“Audrey, my parents are dentists. I read their medical books as a child. I have some understanding, even if it’s not as detailed as you might have.”

“You would,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re not going to like it.” The two women shared a long look, not bothering to look at Mrs. Weasley.

“Please,” Hermione begged.

Audrey pierced her with a hard look before relenting. “Don’t say I didn’t try to protect you.”

“That passed years ago and you know it.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “The Healers, including the junior healer, laid out their diagnoses and what they hope they can accomplish.”

“And?”

“Everything in this says to keep him comfortable and pain-free. They,” her voice broke a moment, “they don’t expect him to wake and eventually succumb to his injuries.”

“They did not,” Molly interrupted. “They said he would wake.”

“They said he probably would,” Hermione spoke over her. “I can’t believe they fed us a line of rubbish.”

“They aren’t, Hermione. What this is discussing is what reasonable outcomes they consider. Of course they want the best outcome. We all do. They aren’t going to give up on him. And it also discusses options when he does wake. You’re getting bent over normal medical information.”

“But that’s not what the junior healer wrote there.” Hermione came over to demand the parchment.

“I can’t let you read it. If you did she would be fired immediately and I would too. I can’t share this.”

“But you said – “

“I can discuss generalities. I can’t discuss specifics.”

“Bullshit,” She snapped. “This is all bullshit. I want answers and you’re feeding us Dragon dung. We need some Neurologists brought in. I’m going to call my parents and get the name of the best one in London.”

“Hermione,” Audrey tried to calm Hermione down.

“No, I won’t. We need them. We need another opinion. Or three. I will not stand by waiting for him to perish when I could do more than sit on my arse waiting on him to wake when it’s not guaranteed, much less expected.”

“Hermione, please, he’s getting – “ Molly tried to quell her.

“No,” she screeched. “He has to get better.”

“Hermione, I’ve read everything on the page, including what happened to him. The prognosis for what they had to do to save his life, it’ll be a bloody miracle he will wake.”

“He has to wake!” She shouted. “I’m not going to sit on my arse and do nothing to help.”

“Hermione, hush. That’s enough. I know you’re -”

Hermione cut across Molly. “No, I won’t. I can’t lose him. I refuse to sit idly by when he’s in this state. He’s come so far,” she yelled. “We’ve come so far.” She turned and yelled his way. “Don’t you dare leave me, Ron Weasley! You promised!”

“Hermione, yelling at him won’t make him wake.”

She turned, snarling. “Yes, it will! It worked for me.” She went up near his head. “Ron, wake up! Ron!” She grabbed his larger than life hand, dwarfing her own. “Ron, please, wake up!”

Molly went to hug Hermione from behind. She shrugged her off, twirling on her. “Don’t you tell me to calm down.” She turned back to Ron and pulled his hand to between hers, squeezing off and on. “He got to wake! I can’t do this without you!”

“Why do you think you’re alone in this, Hermione? We’re here. It’s not like – “

Hermione huffed, trying to regain her composure and failing. She turned on Molly. “Oh, like how you had no qualms listening to liars trying to cause strife and not asking me? How you were more than happy to send Harry and Ron monstrous amounts of sweets at Easter and barely anything for me, all because of that dung beetle Skeeter writing rubbish about me.” Hermione started shaking. “How about when I sent my parents off to Australia and when I arrived at your home you barely acknowledged me for the first week and only when Harry arrived that you deigned to speak with me? And I won’t even discuss how you intentionally kept me apart from Ron then, when nothing was happening between us, thinking me a scarlet woman already?

“If anything did happen to Ron, I would not be welcome anymore. You’ve shown me that time and time again.”

“That’s not true,” Molly hissed.

“Really? I remember you screaming at me to not hurt George when he was pissed at Harry’s birthday party, or how you branded me a scarlet woman, chasing me off because you couldn’t cope with Ron choosing me over you. And let’s not forget you telling Ron to abandon me to come live at home with you and Arthur and Ginny when he’d already told you what he was going to do and it wasn’t that. Or don’t you remember those terrible things you told me the week before we left to go to Australia to find my parents? Don’t you remember those horrible things when we came back? Or how you didn’t give a damn about me, only the rules of your home?”

Audrey stepped between the two witches, feeling the animosity bouncing off of her. She chose to focus on Molly. “Molly, how about I join you for some tea and then you run home to get changed? I know you want to be here today and wearing your housecoat and slippers won’t be that comfortable.” how about I join you for some tea in a moment and we can leave Hermione here with her husband a bit?”

Molly ignored her sodden handkerchief and focused on Audrey’s suggestion. “Yes, I think I will do that, and come back in an hour or so too.” She stared past Audrey, seeing Hermione falling apart. “Maybe having some tea and toast this morning will help.”

When she turned back, Hermione was bent over the edge of the bed, slowly soaking the white blanket covering his feet. Audrey understood that the two witches with her were on edge but the two of them would break if they kept at it.

Molly wiped her face before stuffing the linen handkerchief back up her sleeve. “Tea and a shower would be nice. Yes, I think I will.” Molly picked up her purse and slung it up onto her shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it, shaking her head in grief.

Audrey went behind Molly, closing the door yet leaving a crack. “Hermione, you’ll call us if anything changes? I will be back in five minutes.”

She ignored them when they left the room.

Hermione moved to the side of his bed, taking his left hand and rubbing her fingers over the hand-carved goblin silver band that he never took off. “Please, come back to me.” Hermione knelt down at the side of his bed, holding his hand. “I can’t lose you.” She kissed it gently before taking his hand and placing it on her face.

“Ron, I’m going to be late!” Hermione tried to throw Ron’s arm off of her but he held her tight, snuggling closer under the covers.

“Ten more minutes. I just got here.” His face was muffled in her hair but she learned to understand him with a mouthful of her hair in his face.

“It’s been two hours, Ron. I have to get up.”

“Call in, Hermione. I’ve not seen you in a week.”

“And I’m in the middle of a project for work.” She slid out from under his arm to the edge of the bed. “I’m due to present it Friday morning. I’ll take off after and spend the next few days at home with you. I’ll take off three days for you.”

He groaned. “Don’t bother. I’m being sent out Wednesday on a mission and don’t know when I will return.” Ron pulled the pillow over his head. “I get it. Isalright,” he mumbled before drifting off to sleep, missing her stricken expression and a tear falling down her face.

Hermione collapsed on top of him, completely satiated. It had been a week since they’d done this and her heavy breathing betrayed how much she did need him that way.

An enormous hand worked its way down her spine, resting low on her hips. “Do you have any idea how much I needed that shag?”

“Probably more than I did,” she replied back, trying to gather her wits about her from such an energetic session and failing miserably.” Hermione looked up at the blue eyes she loved and saw mirth dancing over his face.  “Then again, I did miss your hands on me.” She blushed and turned away from his face. “They are amazing hands, so talented.”

She lifted her head and saw his other hand pulling the hair away from her face and threading it behind her ear. “Oh so you liked that earlier when I  - “

She looked away. “That was different, absolutely.”

His eyes creased. “You, you didn’t like that? But I saw you reading in that book and – “

“That? And you read it too?”

“Well, yeah. I even made note of the bookmarked page so I could read that. Last Mission was bloody boring when I wasn’t on surveillance. So I thought I’d pluck up a copy and see what was so fascinating to you. Once I read that, I said why not try it and see?”

Hermione blushed hard. “It wasn’t like that, Ron.”

“It wasn’t?” His voice cracked and blanched.

“No,” she dropped her eyes to his chest and toyed with the smattering of gold hairs cresting his chest. “I was reading up on it because of something Gi – “

“Please don’t mention anyone in my family right now,” He groaned. The pillow exploded under his head, compressing down. “It’s not that I don’t know you compare notes with the others but damn, that’s barmy.”

“Anyway, someone we both know mentioned something interesting happened and it got me curious so I found that book at the local library and was reading up on it while you were away the last time. I found it academically interesting, not necessarily something I did want to try. I thought about it and discarded the idea. I didn’t realize that it might be something that would interest you.”

“So I nicked that book and read that rubbish, thinking that was something you wanted to try and it wasn’t?” He tossed his head back into the pillow, groaning from what happened. “And it was your curiosity to get you to read it? Merlin, I’m such a tosser.”

“Ron, it’s fine. It surprised me. That’s all.”

Ron lifted her arm off of his body to sit on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. I should have asked instead of trying to surprise you with something like that.” He looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed with him. “I know you aren’t fond of surprises or anything you don’t bring up first.” He got up and went to the loo. Moments later, the shower turned on, leaving Hermione boggled at what just happened.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Ron popped his head into her workspace known as an office. Books and parchment were stacked everywhere. “Want to pop over to the Leaky for a bite before I go on shift?”

“I’d love to but I have to finish this report tonight. We busted an elf smuggling ring and brought in a dozen elves that had been trafficked in from Belgium. My report to Cutcliffe is due in the morning.”

“Oh.” Ron’s face fell.

“But I can bring dinner by for you once I finish with this. It won’t be but an hour or so.”

“No, it’s fine.” He sighed. “Jones has us out for a training session tonight. I dunno when I’d return so don’t wait on me in the morning.” Ron disappeared before Hermione could move her chair back from the desk. By the time she got to her door, knocking over half a dozen sheets of parchment Ron was already in the lift at the end of the hallway, looking forlorn before the doors closed with a thud.

“Ron?”

“Hmmm.”

“We’ve been invited over to my parents for brunch today.”

“Hmmm.”

“Would you come with me? I don’t think I can handle Mum right now. She’s on a tear and I dunno if I can cope with her criticism today, not after the week I had. At least with you there, you know when it’s time to fake an emergency and we have to go.”

Ron put down the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, scanning the Saturday Quidditch scores. “Sorry, Hermione but I can’t.” He picked the paper back up and continued to read.

“Why? You actually love my Mum’s cooking. Dad enjoys spending time with you, too.”

“I promised George I’d be at the shop at 10 to work today so he could take the day off. He’s not had a day off in three weeks.”

“Ron,” she whigned. “An hour then?”

“I can’t, Hermione. I wish you’d have asked me Thursday. I could have told George no or made other arrangements with him.”

“I didn’t find out until Thursday evening. It slipped my mind until this morning.”

“Sorry, love, but I promised.”

Ron got up from the couch, pointed his wand at the wireless to turn off the Quidditch recap. He folded the paper back up the way she liked and put it on the coffee table. “Maybe next time, perhaps?” She was left standing in the living room, wondering where she went wrong.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Harry kept writing, trying to finish his thought for the report due in an hour.

“Harry, when is he coming back?”

Harry kept his eyes on his parchment, writing while also considering what Hermione asked. “I dunno, Hermione. He was called into Robard’s office along with Williamson and they were in there a while. When they did come out, Ron went home, was gone maybe ten minutes tops before returning with his Ruck. They left this morning and I’ve not heard a thing since.” He kept writing, hoping to finish with -

“It’s not like him to not tell me when he’s sent off on a mission.”

Harry finally looked up, tossed his quill down on the desk and pushed his chair back. “These things happen from time to time.”

“But he always tells me when he’s sent off. He knows I go mental if he leaves without saying something.”

“I dunno what I can tell you, Hermione. I don’t even know what he was sent off for. It’s not like they run every mission by me, you know? I’m only a junior Auror myself. I have no control over who is sent off on a mission, much less knowing everything happening outside of this department.”

“Yes, I know,” she huffed. “I wish he’d at least have sent me a memo.”

“Maybe there was no time? They did leave in a hurry from the portkey office.”

“Maybe,” she looked over at his desk, seeing how organized it was and tidy, too. “It looks like he won’t be back for a while, the way his desk looks.”

He saw Robards starting out from his office. He was on a short leash today it seems. “I dunno, Hermione. Sometimes we plan on being gone a month and its two days. Sometimes it’s 2 days and turns into weeks. We just don’t know until we get into the situation. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

She sighed again. “Dinner then, after work?”

Harry grimaced. “Sorry but Ginny is back from Berlin and I promised her a fancy dinner date in Soho. Who thought being a professional Quidditch player would change your tastes in food?”

“Oh, ok. Well, have a good time tonight.” She picked up her briefcase and walked out of the department while trying to hide the tears that were falling down her face.

Hermione jumped into Ron’s arms, peppering his face with a plethora of kisses. “You were gone so long,” she cried into his neck. “You never sent word while you were away.” She burrowed into his neck absorbing the sweat, stink, smoke and just how Ron naturally smelled.

Ron lowered her to the ground and buried his nose in her hair. The weight of the cocked up mission fell off of his shoulders. “I couldn’t. Robards forbid us from making any contact with anyone who wasn’t an Auror, and even then, only him or Jones. I couldn’t even tell Harry about it.”

Hermione pulled back from his jumper and looked at him with concern. “Ron, you smell of fire and of blood. What happened? Are you hurt? Is Harry hurt?”

“I… I can’t talk about it.”

“But I’m your – “

“Mission orders, from Kingsley himself.” He slumped slightly. “Merlin knows I want to tell you. God knows I do. But I can’t talk about it. I just can’t.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah, it was.” Ron threw his cloak and jacket off. “And I need a shower. It’s been too long without one.” He pulled the jumper off and grimaced.

“You’re hurt.” She looked up at him, studying his face.

“Yeah, I am. But I’ve been checked out by a healer and I have a few days off. It’s nothing a few days of rest won’t help.”

“Well, let’s tend you in the shower and see how badly you’re hurt.” She reached her hands to the vest on his body and he caught her hands, holding them like you’d hold a baby kneazle. “As much as I’d love a leg over tonight in the shower, I’m completely knackered. So if you want to scrub my back and let me sleep the next sixteen hours, I’ll make it up to you in the morning.”

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from screaming. But if that’s what Ron needed, she’d do that for him, even if it meant missing him for another week.

She couldn’t bear to tell him that she was leaving in the morning for a conference in Florence and would be gone until Friday evening.

Audrey held two cups of tea, one fresh and one tepid. The day old scones, freshened up slightly for crème tea were her second favourite for breakfast but in this case, anything is better than nothing. She bumped the door with her hip to quietly slip into the room and froze for a moment, thinking that everything went to hell. Hermione was laying her head under his hand, crying. “I can’t lose you. I need you. We need you. You have to come back to me, to us.”

[eurosong]

ESC 2018 vs 2019 - Semi-final 2

Good afternoon, folks! A few days ago, I took a look at the songs of Eurovision 2019’s first semi-final, comparing them with songs from the same countries in 2018 and sharing my verdict on which year was better and why. Now it’s the turn of semi-final 2! Again, I try to see as much good as possible in each song and I mean no offence to anyone who disagrees with these opinions. 

·        Albania – 2018 – Albania had always been a bit of a bête noire for me at this contest, because they would so often pick fabulous songs at their long-running Festival i këngës national final, only then to completely mutilate them musically and (with the help of Bing translator, lyrically) in the revamp. Last year, that trend hopefully came to an end in the most glorious fashion when Eugent Bushpepa didn’t make any major change to Mall, one of the songs that most impressed me in this era, a soaring, moving, poëtic cri de cœur of a song. This year, they have also opted to neither translate nor musically mutate. I like their 2019 song a lot, but it’s a Scafell Pike to last year’s mighty Everest.

·        Armenia – 2019 – as a glossophile who always advocates the use of national languages over English, I have some respect for Qami, the only song Armenia ever sent entirely in their language. Respect, but no love, because I found it merely ok and rather repetitive. I thought this would be a second year in a row that I’d be underwhelmed by Hayastan, but whilst this year’s offering cannot shape up to the majestic Fly with me, it’s become an earworm and I enjoy the fiery defiance of Srbuk’s lyrics and the incorporation of traditional instrumentation into something otherwise decidedly contemporary.

·        Austria – 2018 – I seem to be one of very few people rating this year’s gentle, stripped-back but impassioned Austrian entry. It more than tilts its cap in the direction of Kate Bush, but I am down with that. However, it would really take some doing to beat last year’s Austrian song, Nobody but you, in my estimations – a worthy winner of the jury vote and probably the ESC’s best ever gospel-infused song for my money.

·        Azerbaijan – 2019 – I’m not as won over by this Azeri effort as many people that I know. I was expected something rather different from their snippet (a word I wish I will never hear again given the amount of them this year). It’s not bad by usual standards though, and is certainly a class above Delete My Heart and its bizarre computer-generated lyrics last year.

·        Croatia – 2018 – Last year’s Croatian song was a rather lame reimagining of Sam Brown’s Stop. I didn’t like the original and I sure didn’t fancy the semi-skimmed version that much either. Having said that, Franka, all is forgiven. Your song is a delight compared to the demonic screeching of this young budding ego ironically wearing (fluffy) angel wings. I thought Jacques Houdek had unleashed enough hell with his Maa fwenn/Moy frennddd but it was nothing compared to this abomination. It’s so bad that it almost scares me how bad it is.

·        Denmark – 2019 – Another one where I go against the grain is Denmark. I never got the hype for Rasmussen, whose song sounded like a soundtrack for some 90s direct-to-video movie about Vikings. The only thing is that they managed to make even Vikings feel lame. It all seemed a little OTT and gimmicky to me, and the amount of repetition and the clich�� pitch shift both annoyed me. On paper, this hyper-sweet Danish song should also grind my gears, but in a subpar year, I’ve actually grown a fondness for it. Maybe the Frenchness of it all was what won me over. I hope they’re not actually going to sway side to side on a big chair in the actual final, though.

·        Ireland – 2018 – Two decent songs in a row from Ireland and it’s difficult to choose between them, even though neither set my world alight. I still think the staging of last year was rather cynical – two enamoured lads who had little to with the song about heartbreak, but did seem to win over some folk who otherwise would have dismissed it as a boring ballad. Seeing it live, it was quite moving, and I was able to put this incongruousness out of mind. This year’s entry has rather less artifice and a low-key charm, but I have to go for ’18 as having more depth as a composition.      

·        Latvia – 2018 – Despite never having reached the heights of Aminata who pulled them up from the non-qualification doldrums, I’ve enjoyed every subsequent song from Latvia, even though the standards of Supernova have dropped since the Riga Beaver stopped delighting us in the ad breaks. This year’s Latvian song is delightfully low-key, the kind of thing I imagine hearing on the radio late at night, driving in the rain. At the minute, though, I have to say I still prefer the sultry, tempestuous Funny Girl – though Esam­iba would have topped both.

·        Macedonia – 2018 – Macedonia, perhaps the country at the contest who least has received their dues despite some excellent songs, is a perfect illustration of how difficult these 2018 vs 2019 choices can be. Their entry this year, “Proud”, is touching and impactful on first listen, but I’ve seldom sought out to listen to it much since then. On the other hand, I was absolutely obsessed with last year’s “Lost and found”, bewitched by its changes in style and tempo. Unfortunately, the live version of 2018 was an absolute clusterfuck; it felt as though someone had been deliberately tasked with ruining their qualification chances, and that casts a shadow over the song in retrospect. I wouldn’t be surprised if 2019 is a more effective song on the stage, but for the time being, I prefer 2018 musically.

·        Malta – 2019 – There is absolutely no contest here for me. This is the first song sent by Malta that manages to hold my interest since “Tomorrow” way back in 2013. It’s more daring and contemporary than I ever imagined would be their choice. In a different universe from the screechy “Taboo.” It’s also refreshing to have a Maltese song that doesn’t try to get brownie points from their message.

·        Moldova – 2018 – A truly plague vs cholera choice. 2018’s bizarre Kirkorov-spawned ode to the ménage-à-trois versus this year’s painfully, painfully dull ballad-by-numbers with rhyming-also-by-number (rhyming say with stay, never with forever. Troolee jeenyuss.) I have to go with 2018, which creeped me out, but at least was kind of interesting in its own weird way, and its staging showed ingenuity despite limited resources.

·        Netherlands – 2018 – I’m sure for a lot of people, this choice is a no-brainer, but for me, it is very much a difficult choice. I really loved “Outlaw in ‘em”, Waylon’s country style is up my street and, whilst I still think “Thanks or no thanks” would have been a cannier choice, I appreciated one of the few moments last year in which one could rock out. “Arcade” is a different beast entirely, so comparisons are odious. Both are stirring, but OIE is riotous and defiant, whilst Arcade is poignant. It’s hard to choose just one, but I have to go for the one I’m more likely to have on repeat, last year’s song.

·        Norway – 2019 – Oh, Norway. For a few glorious years, with Margaret Berger, Karl Espen and then especially Mørland, they were the coolest thing going out of the Nordics – but how the mighty have fallen. I haven’t really liked a single one of their entries since then and once again, I am faced with a choice between two unsavoury options. Their entry this year sounds like Aqua went into the woods for a spiritualistic retreat, came back, wrote a shitty b-side about the experience and then decided not to release it, only for some Norwegians to find it about 20 years later and pass the song off as their own. Everything about it makes me cringe on an almost existential level. It appals me that the “come on barbie, let’s go pardy”-style joiking is being compared to JHF who actually representing joik in a classier way. I say all this, and yet, this year’s offering is still not ás bad as 2018’s “That’s how you write a song”, a “children’s TV show theme” song whose cosmic irony would be funny were it not so tragic.

·        Romania – 2018 – I didn’t think this would be such a tough decision when I found out the results for Selecţia Naţionala, and was absolutely amazed that the public had only 1/7th of the result, and that the juries had catapulted a song that only picked up 3% of the televote (Laura Bretan, the televote winner, got a 42% share, in contrast) on the back of a rather dubious live performance. I’m still not sure why Ester puts on a vocal affectation that makes her sound like she’s having a tantrum, but somehow the song’s dark ambiance and the hilarious video won me over. It still can’t compare to last year’s emotional, underrated effort which brought to mind departed friends.

·        Russia – 2019 – Sergey’s return is a little pompous and will certainly be wrapped up with unnecessary staging frills; that being said, it’s a decent song, which is more than I can say about the truly ghoulish “I won’t break,” whose only virtue for me – being slightly better than the hideous and ungrammatical “Flame is burning” – was removed when I saw that impossibly bad staging, confining their singer almost embarrassedly into the background.

·        Sweden – 2019 – For the first time in a few years, Sweden have sent an artist and song that I don’t find completely objectionable. That isn’t to say that I don’t find any objection at all – soul is not really soul when it is so heavily manufactured, and I cannot help but feel that they’ve taken more than a fair amount of inspiration from both Austria of last year and Bulgaria of 2016. Nonetheless, I can bear it a lot better than Dance you off.

·        Switzerland – 2018 – For once, I actually had a little bit of hope for Switzerland, who have been going through the motions with some turgid fare for the last number of years, with the only exception for me being Hunter of Stars. Going internal made me feel they had something exceptional, and I guess they thought they did, but for me, instead they brought a thinly veiled male take on Fuego and little more. Last year’s effort also didn’t impress me much, a dirgey bit of trust fund faux-rock (frock?), but I’ll take it over the Chernobyl levels of radioäctive smugness exuded by this latter Swiss attempt.

And as for the automatic qualifiers:

·        Germany – 2018 – When I heard that Barbara Schöneberger, she of the eyes that are bigger than Lake Baikal and seems permanently traumatised, was coming back after a year’s absence as host, I joked that I was amazed she was given back the gig given that every year she’s been in charge, there’s been an abject failure and the one edition where she was absent, Germany managed to get a fantastic result. I feel they’re back to their losing ways with Sister, a song performed by a group called S!sters who have only known one another for a few months if that. It’s one of many songs this year with decent verses but a horrible chorus. It’s supposed to be a celebration of sisterhood, but it feels moreso like these two want to scratch the other’s eyes out whilst they stand there, wailing at one another. There were things that annoyed me about last year’s German entry too, particularly the large section in which he merely said “whoahaoaoaoa” as if he’d run out of ideas for lyrics, but it was otherwise a stellar, well-written effort. In another league to these imaginary sisters.  

·        Italy – 2019 – Italy is one of the very few countries where I prefer 2019 to 2018, 2018 to 2017, 2017 to 2016 and 2016 to 2015! They just get better year on year. I adored “Metamoro” and still consider their song a huge highlight, one of the best of last year and of recent years. It’s incredibly difficult to choose between them and Mahmood’s Soldi, but he somehow managed to win me over even more with his anthemic, autobiographical song which has a contemporary edge but also the timelessness and quality of San Remo orchestral compositions. My number one this year so far.

·        UK – 2019 – Eurovision: You Decide got even drearier than usual this year. Whilst other countries like France increased the number of songs from which their viewers could choose, BBC cut their choices down to three, got two sets of people to perform each song in a different style pastiche and then didn’t even allow the viewers to choose which rendition they preferred. We ended up with a bog-standard “X factor winners’ single”-style song that SVT told John Lundvik not to perform for them. It has the edge because it at least “hey muvva, bruvva” lyrics or random Casio noises in the background like Surie’s song. She really deserved more.

[olivereliott]

Island Hopping In The Midnight Sun

   [NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the ninth in the series. The other stories are here.]

Several years ago in a conversation, a friend said something along these lines: I think it’s funny that in the United States, we don’t think you’re worldly unless you’ve traveled a bit and have a passport, but often times, when we travel, we go halfway around the world to out-of-the-way places and meet people who have never left those places, and we come back and tell stories about those interesting people who have stayed in one place their entire lives. But if they lived just down the road from us, would we think they were interesting at all?

I grew up in a small town in the middle of America, and sometimes when I travel to small towns in other places that feel exotic to me, I catch myself thinking, “This is a great place. I wonder if I could live here?” And then I wonder if the people who live there think their little town is as amazing as I do, or if they wish their town had a movie theater or more things going on, like I did when I was growing up. Maybe both.

—

Hilary and I walked our bikes into downtown Svolvær, Norway, in the late evening, looking for a spot to sit down and eat “lunch” out of our panniers before riding another 15 miles to the village of Henningsvaer. Svolvaær, population 4,700, is a small town similar in size to my 3,000-person hometown, but is surrounded on one side by 2,000-foot rocky peaks dropping straight into the ocean, and on the other by the open waters of the oceanic seas of the Vestfjorden, separating Norway’s Lofoten archipelago from the mainland by a 2-hour ferry ride. Around 200,000 visitors pass through the town each year, including Hilary and me, on day five of our bike tour, having pedaled just over 180 miles in between three boat rides between islands.

We chatted briefly with Ulke, a man we met, about where we’d camp for the night, as he was also looking for a spot. He was hitchhiking his way through Lofoten on his way to Svalbard, having left Turkey, almost 3,000 miles away, a month and a half ago. He mentioned a place near town, and we said we’d planned to ride a bit more south and then find a spot. As he walked off, I was a bit in awe of his adventure, and smiled that we had crossed paths with him on our own—much smaller-scale—trip, just 300 miles across eight islands. I mean, Ulke’s trip was not a vacation—that was a journey. The type of thing you quit your job to do, move out of your house, maybe never come back.

As we rolled our bikes up to a picnic table, a Norweigian couple asked us where we were headed on our bikes, and where we were from. I said we were from the U.S., and the woman replied, “Kardashians, that is all we know about the United States,” and we all laughed. I commented how beautiful Svolvær was, and she said she had grown up there but had been living in Oslo for almost 40 years. We chatted a bit more, then sat down to eat, and then pedaled south.

The sun hung low in the sky as we wound our way down the E10, and then on a smaller road toward the village of Henningsvaer, where we’d spend the night. We hadn’t been in much of a hurry most of the trip, because it was June, during the midnight sun—at this latitude, eight degrees above the Arctic Circle, the sun doesn’t set between May 25th and July 19th. We had no real reason to stick to a schedule, aside from riding through towns when grocery stores were open. We hadn’t been to bed before midnight since the trip started, and on Day 2, we’d slept off our jetlag from 12:40 a.m. until 1:40 p.m. On Day 3, as we sat and ate lunch at a table outside a convenience store in a small town, I commented on how quiet the little town was, then laughed as I looked at my watch to notice it was almost 10 p.m.

If you catch a few days of sunny weather during this part of the year, the result is the longest “Golden Hour” you might ever see, unless of course you live here, or Alaska, or somewhere else in the high northern latitudes. You look at the horizon and your brain thinks it’s seeing a sunset, and the deep amber and orange light just stays that way … for hours. Normally, if I saw a lovely sunset while camping, I’d rush to grab my camera or my phone and snap a photo of it. That evening while I was cooking dinner near Henningsvær and looked over the calm water to the glowing rocky peak of Sørfjellet, and had that same pang of urgency, but then remembered, no hurry—just take a photo in the next hour or so.

We had planned out our trip to give us plenty of time to hang out, shoot photos, explore a little bit, drink coffee in cafes, and in general not be in a hurry. Three hundred miles over ten days equaled thirty miles per day. I had found someone’s route starting in Tromsø and ending in the village of Å, and it looked perfect. Fly into Tromsø, rent touring bikes, ride to Å, jump on the ferry to Bodø, fly back to Tromsø, and then head home. If you mention Norway in a traveling context, the first thing people will usually say is, “Isn’t it expensive there?” And yes, it is, but in a country where you can camp anywhere because of something called “allemannsretten,” which means “all man’s right,” any place you like can be a campsite, as long as it’s 150 meters from the nearest building. So it’s kind of a dirtbag touring cyclist’s dream.

Many of the islands are connected by bridges or tunnels, but those that aren’t require a ferry to get across. Our second ferry of the trip, from Gryllefjord to Andenes, took us across open sea, and was the first time I’d ever seen motion sickness bags hanging on the walls. We strapped our bikes to a wall in the vehicle hold downstairs, then sat at a booth in the bistro and watched chairs slide back and forth across the deck and people stagger back and forth from the snack bar as the ship pitched and rolled. I ate a waffle and drank a cup of coffee, and then put my head down on the table and passed out for a half an hour—the jet lag was finally catching up with me.

On the ferry, almost everyone was local, heading down and getting into their cars when the ferry docked at 8:45 p.m., and we headed down to find our bikes and wait our turn. When all the cars had driven off the boat onto shore, we pedaled out, a little surprised to note that eight other touring cyclists had been on the ferry. The door had opened facing almost due west, and as we rode out to see the cluster of buildings of the town of Andenes and the jagged peaks behind it, the sun washed everything a golden orange. We rolled off the boat and onto land, pedaling on a narrow asphalt road into town, the whole thing feeling like we were at the edge of the world. Of course, to most of the people on the ferry, it was just part of another day of getting back and forth between home and work, or home and some errands. Our adventure, someone else’s commute. We ended up camping about 100 feet off the road south of town that night, cliffs dropping down to the Norwegian Sea on the other side of the road, and a moose strolled through our campsite as we cooked dinner at 11 p.m., the golden hour still hanging on.

There’s a quote from Andy Warhol’s book America that I think about a lot when I think about living somewhere else, or being somewhere else:

“Everybody has their own America, and then they have pieces of a fantasy America that they think is out there but they can’t see…So the fantasy corners of America…you’ve pieced them together from scenes in movies and music and lines from books. And you live in your dream America that you’ve custom-made from art and schmaltz and emotions just as much as you live in your real one.”

That passage can have many different meanings depending on when you read it, and Warhol’s 1980s America is of course far different than the one we live in now. But when I first read it, what struck me was the idea that I could only live one place at a time—no matter how much I fantasized about other places and what it would be like to stay there for a month, or a year. And as I’ve made my way through the middle part of life, I started to understand that I was never going to live in, say, New York in my late 20s or early 30s. And I was probably never going to live in a lot of places, for that matter. But I could travel, and see places, and try to experience a little bit of them for a few hours or days, and know a little bit more about the world because I’d been there and talked to a few people, and navigated a city, and ordered coffee, and maybe haggled with a cab driver.

I don’t know why we travel; just that we’re lucky to be able to do it at all, if and when we can. I can’t say “I love New York,” or “I love the Lofoten Islands,” like the people who call those places home, and do so because they were born there or because they chose to move there. I don’t know exactly how to communicate my feeling for the places I’ve been, but it’s something like this: I’ve been there, count myself lucky to have gotten to experience it in a small way, and even though I’m not there right now, it makes me happy that it’s still out there happening right now, without me. I got to dip in, have the time of my life there, and dip back out, and life kept going on as it was before I arrived, probably changed not at all by my brief presence there.

Bike travel, I think, makes the world feel bigger, because its slower pace forces you to pay attention. A town that’s a half an hour away by car or bus can be half a day away via bicycle—both in our backyards as well as halfway around the world. Biking to the next town over wakes you up to things you’ve missed while flying by at 35 mph or 65 mph dozens of times, and the process of exploring your home territory can make the whole place feel bigger. Which is travel, too. But when we’re close to home we usually have our travel brain turned off, and we’re less open to discovery, and wonder. And maybe that’s why we feel bored with where we live, even though it’s probably more interesting than we give it credit for. I think part of what my friend was saying, when he was talking about us traveling the world to find people who stayed in one out-of-the-way place their whole lives, is that you don’t necessarily have to travel the world to be worldly.

If you timed it right, you could almost get through our entire 10-day, 300-mile Norway bike trip in a single day driving a car on the exact same route. But experiencing it at 11 mph over a week and a half means more images have stuck with me for years afterward:

Looking back at Hilary pedaling an all-but-deserted road in late evening, dodging not cars, but sheep, wearing Gore-tex mitts over her cycling gloves. Riding through a dark mountain tunnel under construction, water dripping everywhere, no lights inside, hoping no cars came through. Sitting at the top of Reinebringen, a steep hike to a peak, where the clouds parted for a few minutes so we could see mountain-ringed inlet and the town 2,000 feet below. Lying in the tent scratching the dozens of welts on my legs from some sort of insects that bit me while I was cooking dinner and Hilary asked, “Do you want to put on some pants?” to which I replied, “Nah, I think they’re just gnats or something.” Trying to sleep on the popular Kvalvika beach after watching the sun “set” sideways at midnight, only to be awoken by the dozens of sheep bleating through the night as they grazed around us, keeping the grass as trimmed as a golf course green. Jumping into the freezing surf for four seconds just so we could say we swam in the Arctic Ocean, and then wondering if it was technically just the Norwegian Sea, or if the Norwegian Sea was considered part of the Arctic Ocean. Looking to the west and remembering that over the next ridge, there was nothing but open ocean for 1500 miles to Greenland. A man dropping a 100-Norwegian Krone bill out the window of a pizza restaurant in Bodø to a street musician who had just packed up his steel drums to leave for the night after playing for a couple hours on the plaza below.

On our third-to last day, we stopped at a small tourist shop in Ramberg for coffee and waffles, and chatted with the man tending the register, Henrik, who had been born in the house across the street in 1943 when it was full of German troops during World War II. His mother had fed some of the 500 Russian prisoners in the town, and had been taken away by the Gestapo, and was supposed to be sent to Auschwitz, but was not. Henrik had become a driftwood artist, and his eyesight had been fading the past few years. He came out of the shop and sat at our table to talk for a few minutes in the sun before we headed on our way again.

We bought a small glass fishing float from the shop and packed it in our panniers, hoping it would survive the next few days of our ride so we could take it home. When I see it on our bookshelf next to some other knick knacks, the float always reminds me of being halfway around the world, talking to a guy who had seen a lot in his 72 years, but could still point across the street to the house where he was born.

Thanks for reading. These posts are able to continue thanks to the handful of wonderful people who back Semi-Rad on Patreon for as little as $1 a month. If you’d like to join them, click here for more info—you’ll also get access to the Patreon-only posts I write, as well as discounts to my shop and other free stuff.

—Brendan

The post Island Hopping In The Midnight Sun appeared first on semi-rad.com.

[thisdaynews]

Man Utd 2-2 Aston Villa: Red Devils held by resolute Villans

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/man-utd-2-2-aston-villa-red-devils-held-by-resolute-villans/

Man Utd 2-2 Aston Villa: Red Devils held by resolute Villans

Tyrone Mings’ first Premier League goal came in his 31st appearance in the competition

Manager Ole Gunnar Solskjaer says Manchester United’s league position is not a concern after a home draw with newly promoted Aston Villa left them ninth after 14 games.

Tyrone Mings’ first Premier League goal levelled the scores shortly after Victor Lindelof had given United a 64th-minute lead, though, the England defender did have to wait to see if it would be ruled out by the assistant video referee (VAR).

But the assistant referee kept his flag down and VAR proved he was correct to do so as Villa avoided defeat at Old Trafford for the first time since 2009.

Villa skipper Jack Grealish gave his side a deserved lead with a magnificent curling shot after 11 minutes only for United to equalise against the run of play just before the interval when a Marcus Rashford header hit the inside of a post before bouncing in off the back of former United keeper Tom Heaton.

Ole Gunnar Solskjaer’s men pushed forward looking for a late winner but Anthony Martial failed to convert their best chance as United had to settle for a second successive draw against a promoted team.

United have now taken just 18 points from their opening 14 league games. That means Solskjaer must guide them to wins in their next three games if they are to surpass the 26 points Jose Mourinho amassed when he was sacked after 17 games in 2018-19.

“I wouldn’t have sat here and talked about us being fifth if we had got that one goal extra, so the league table at this point is not the biggest concern because it is so tight,” Solskjaer said.

“I just need to make sure that we get performances and get three or four performances after each other – and results.

“So far we have had the lead in so many games and we haven’t been able to win those games, six or seven times we’ve been 1-0 up, or 2-1, or 3-2 like last week.

“We should be better at seeing those games into wins.”

As it happened: Man Utd 2-2 Aston Villa

No improvement from United

Media playback is not supported on this device

Manchester United 2-2 Aston Villa: Ole Gunnar Solskjaer says his team have to be better

Seven days ago, Solskjaer said he could have replaced all 10 outfield players after an especially dismal first half at Sheffield United.

The general feeling in the media room – from journalists, former players and staff alike – was that their performance before the break here had been no better.

There was no obvious benefit gained from Solskjaer’s decision to excuse his entire starting line-up, plus coaches Michael Carrick and Kieran McKenna, from the draining midweek Europa League trip to Astana.

United’s equaliser came against the run of play and the lack of invention in midfield contrasted sharply with the threat posed by Grealish.

There were sporadic boos for the home side at the final whistle but in a period where Tottenham and Arsenal have both sacked their managers, United are behind both in the table, putting Solskjaer under scrutiny, even if the United hierarchy remain supportive of the Norwegian.

Grealish a throwback

With his socks rolled down and his shorts pulled up, Grealish looks like a throwback to a different era.

He plays a bit like it too. Pulling wide to the left of a three-man support line to lone striker Wesley, the Aston Villa skipper seems a peripheral figure for much of the time.

But somehow, when Villa spark into life, he is central to it. United’s midfield were petrified every time Grealish ran at them. Most of the time, their only way of stopping the danger was to foul him.

For the goal, Grealish chased down an over-hit Anwar el Ghazi cross before fronting up Andreas Pereira on the edge of the penalty area, beating him with a deft feint to the right and finally sending his curling shot over David de Gea and into the roof of the United keeper’s net.

It was magnificent, way beyond anything produced by the hosts during another tepid 45 minutes.

Gareth Southgate was not at Old Trafford to witness it but it was another of those moments that makes you wonder how Grealish is still waiting for a senior England cap.

Had the 24-year-old turned home Trezeguet’s deflected shot shortly before Lindelof’s header, it would have been the first time he had ever scored twice in a game.

‘Multi-year squad evolution analysis’

With his best two midfielders, Paul Pogba and Scott McTominay, both missing through injury, Solskjaer again had to rely on Andreas Pereira and Fred in his midfield.

Both have been heavily criticised this season as part of an underperforming squad containing players some feel are simply not good enough who have, nevertheless, been awarded new contracts in recent times.

Pereira signed a four-year deal in the summer. Phil Jones, the one man dropped from last week’s largely dismal draw at Sheffield United, was given a new four-year deal in February.

Both decisions seem odd. Executive vice-chairman Ed Woodward explained the principle in an interview with fanzine ‘United We Stand’.

“It’s a multi-year squad evolution analysis,” he said.

“It’s hard enough to get three players done in a transfer window. To get six or seven done is extremely difficult if you are getting proper talent.

“If you choose to churn every player because they are not good enough and you’re not extending contracts, you are putting yourself at risk of execution. Sometimes you have to take a broader view.”

Man of the match – Jack Grealish (Aston Villa)

Aston Villa’s skipper has been directly involved in seven goals in the Premier League this season (three goals and four assists) – no English midfielder has been involved in more

‘We huffed and puffed’ – what they said

Aston Villa defender Tyrone Mings:“It’s a tough point and a well-deserved point. We made a few mistakes in the build-up to their goals, and they had a few chances, so we are satisfied with a point.

“I thought I was onside for my goal, but I didn’t want to celebrate just in case. I got back into position.”

Manchester United defender Harry Maguire:“As a team we are improving but we want to improve a lot more. To not win games at home is disappointing. We huffed and puffed but we need to do better and Wednesday [home to Spurs] gives us a great opportunity to put that right.

“We were poor after their first goal. It knocked us and we were edgy and nervous. To concede straight away after going in front its disappointing.”

United fail to keep clean sheet again – the stats

Manchester United have won just 18 points in the Premier League this season; their fewest after 14 games of a top-flight campaign since 1988-89 (18), when they went on to finish 11th in the table.

Aston Villa avoided defeat against ‘big six’ opposition for the first time since November 2015 in the Premier League (0-0 v Man City) – they had lost each of their previous 11 such games coming into today.

Since keeping three consecutive Premier League clean sheets in February, United have only kept two in their last 25 games in the competition (36 goals conceded).

Excluding penalties, Aston Villa have conceded more goals from set-pieces than any other team in the Premier League this season (nine).

There were just 112 seconds between Manchester United taking the lead through Victor Lindelof (63:21) and Tyrone Mings levelling for Villa at 2-2 (65:13).

Victor Lindelof’s goal was just his second in 84 appearances for United in all competitions. They’ve both been scored at Old Trafford past goalkeeper Tom Heaton – the other coming when he was in goal for Burnley in January.

Villa named an unchanged starting XI for the fourth time in the Premier League this season – as many as they did in their 49 games in the Championship in 2018-19 (including play-offs).

What’s next?

Manchester United are next in action when former manager Jose Mourinho takes his Tottenham side to Old Trafford on Wednesday (19:30 GMT). On the same night, Villa visit Chelsea (also 19:30).

Read More

[skinzchoerim]

25 questions tag

tysm @bimicdrop for tagging me!

I tag everyone who wants to do it bc I have no friends, the link to the original post is here

Question 1: do you have any pets?  Two cats who really dislike each other but i love them a lot

Question 2: name three things that are physically close to you. My phone, a usb and tissues

Question 3: what’s the weather like right now? 

The definition of the word 'meh'

Question 4: do you drive? If so, have you crashed? 

I don't and tbh i don't think i will, it's stressful man

Question 5: what time did you wake up this morning?  I went to sleep around 2 and woke up a few times but in the end i got up around 10

Question 6: when was the last time you showered?

yesterday

Question 7: what was the last movie that you saw?

I saw like 10 mins of some norwegian movie my mom was watching, idk if that counts but i don't watch a lot of movies so that's the last thing i remember (as an afterthought: i went to see the new thor a few weeks ago an it was awesome)

Question 8: what does your last text message say?

In translation: A duty of all students, one is chosen from a specific class in a specific month. Thank you and you too! Have a good day! - without context it must sound wild

Question 9: what is your ringtone?

Something generic, it's a new phone and i still haven't changed it (but if i did, it'd probably be critical beauty)

Question 10: have you ever been to a different country? 

Oh man yes, where do i start: Germany, England, Czech Rebublic, Slovakia, Serbia, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina and some other balkan ones

Question 11: do you like sushi? 

sometimes

Question 12: where do you buy your groceries? 

Ladybird, how does that sound (in all seriousness, it's a supermarket)

Question 13: have you ever taken any medication to help you fall asleep faster? 

Yeah I just started taking it a few days ago

Question 14: how many siblings do you have? 

Two older brothers, they're both home now which is a rare ocasion as one is already 30 and lives on the other side of the coutry and the other goes to a university in a bigger city near, but still comes home only for weekends

Question 15: do you have a desktop computer or a laptop?  Laptop

Question 16: how old will you be turning on your next birthday? 

17 while my whole class is gonna be full of legal adults (18)

Question 17: do you wear contacts or glasses? 

Neither although i probably will have to start wearing glasses at some point

Question 18: do you colour your hair?  I wish i could, i'll probably do it purple or blue after my grandparents die cause they'd make my life a living hell if i did something like that (mostly my grandma)

Question 19: tell me something you are planning to do today.

Visit my lovely, lovely grandparents. Also, play my family a calming jazzy kpop playlist i made so my father and brothers finally understand what music i actually listen to lmao

Question 20: when was the last time you cried? 

Like twenty minutes ago?

Question 21: what is your perfect pizza topping?

Oh my god now im hungry - a lot of cheese, ham or chicken and pineapple, the highlight of my life

Question 22: which do you prefer, hamburger or cheeseburger?  Would i get killed if i said i've never eaten either of them and don't want to? I grew up not eating fast foods at all and now looking at all that fat makes me sick

Question 23: have you ever had an all-nighter? 

A few times, mostly during holidays or when i'm really stressed out and decide to watch movies all night, it works really well

Question 24: what is your eye colour? 

Greenish greyish something, it's cute tho

Question 25: can you taste the difference between Pepsi and Coke?

I think i can but when i try to actually name what's different it becomes difficult. Im pretty sure coke is more fizzy but also sweeter? Idk man

[allthesedetails]

09 November 19

Part 4  The creepy policeman 

I hope you’re sitting back in your chair and that you have some popcorn because this is the weirdest and creepiest conversation I’ve ever had with a policeman. I don’t know how the police are acting in other countries, but in Norway, they’re someone we can trust, someone that helps us when we need them, and someone you feel comfortable talking to. This policeman was none of the above. So I was sitting in this police office about to tell the policeman everything that happened in order to get a report for my insurance company. Everything went down in French, but I’ll translate it into English so that we don’t have to start using Google Translate again.

Policeman: So, Charlotte, where are you from? Me: Norway. P: Norway? What Norway? Me: I’m Norwegian. Like from Norway.

He looks at me confused and I’m sure he’s joking.

P: Ah, Norway. That’s not in Europe, right? Me: Well yes, it is, it is in the north of Europe, next to Sweden. P: No, you’re wrong. It goes Sweden, Denmark, Finland.

He points to the countries in front of him in the air, so they make up a perfect line next to each other. I’m starting to worry that he isn’t joking, after all, so I laugh kinda nervously at what I was hoping was an attempt of being funny, and he looks offended.

Me: No, it’s Norway on the west coast, then Sweden, then Finland, and Denmark is south of these countries. P: I don’t think so. Norway is in the United States, right? Me: No, it’s in Europe. P: It’s in Europe?! Me: Yes, in the north. P: Ah, so it’s cold there now, right? Me: Yes, we have snow now, and it’s dark all the time.

Btw, a thing you need to know about me is that I am the most sarcastic person ever, and I was struggling so hard not to offend this police officer with some snarky comment.

P: Snow? Wow, that’s different from here. And what do you mean “dark”? Me: Like there’s almost no daylight in the north of Norway now. We have like 2-3 hours of daylight back home. P: WHAT?! But that’s not possible, how do you survive? Me. Well, winter depression is a thing in Norway.

Can I just point out that we have been sitting here for like 10 minutes NOT talking about anything related to why I’m there? We kept talking about Norway for a while and then we went… well not back on track, because we never were on track, to begin with, so I guess we just went on track.

P: So, someone stole your wallet. (I’d told this to the lady at the reception). What did he look like? M: Well, he was a lot taller than me. He had curly brown hair on top of his head and the sides were shaved. He was wearing a black wafer jacket and beige pants. 3-day beard, brown eyes, kinda skinny. He spoke to me in Spanish, so I’m guessing he’s Spanish. P: I’m half Spanish. Me: Okay, I’m not blaming Spanish people in general. I’m just explaining that he spoke to me in Spanish. P: My mother is Spanish, and my father is French. And now we’re talking about his family for a while, and I am wondering if I will ever get out of there. At this time my friend has come back from the store, and her head appears in the door opening, and she’s like “Excuse me, can I come in?”

P: Well, no? Me: Oh, but that is my friend that can translate if something is unclear! P: Well, you don’t need her. Me (To my friend): Maybe you can wait outside, and if there’s a problem, I’ll come get you? Friend: Sure! Let me know if you need me! P: So, what is your number, Charlotte? Me: Actually, I’m always struggling to say the numbers in French, so I’ll write it to you, give me a sec. P: No, Charlotte, look me deep in the eyes and say your number.

And I’m like no, and I write the number on my phone and hold it out to him. He then continues by writing down the information in my passport, and then he studies my picture.

P: You look incredibly cute in this picture. Me: Well, that’s from 2014, so… P: That’s 5 years ago. Me: Yes, you’re right, that’s some fast math. P: … So! What was in your wallet? Me: Okay, so it was all my cards, my driver’s license, my… (I’m counting on my fingers while I’m reciting what was in my wallet, and he stops me and takes my hand by the wrist.) P: What is this? Me: (Looks confused down on where he’s stroking my wrist with his fingers). Well, that is my tattoo. P: Yes, I can see that, but what is it? Me: A key. P: Yes, but what significance does it have to you? What does it mean? (He’s still stroking my skin).  Me: That actually is a long story. P: Maybe you can tell me another time. Me: (Laughs nervously again) I don’t know how to answer that. P: But what is this? (He points to a point of my tattoo where the ink has bled) Me: Oh that was my first tattoo, and I didn’t know how it was supposed to look like, so it’s just a part of the tattoo now. P: Did you take it in Norway? Me: Yes, but I don’t think that matters.

And I hold out my hands like you do when you shrug, like ¯_(ツ)_/¯, and of course, he then sees the tattoo on my other wrist, and he takes that hand and rolls up my sleeve up to my elbow. This one has writing on it, and he asks what it means. I translate it into French for him, and he asked where I got that one.

Me: In Australia, I went backpacking there. P: Oh really? Alone? Me: No, with a friend. P: I bet you learned a lot. You learn a lot about yourself whilst traveling. We get a deeper meaning of life. (Of which I agree, but could we maybe talk about my thief now? Me: So is there anywhere I could go to get my stuff back. Like a lost and found or something?

Again, I knew that this existed, I just wanted to get back to business. The policeman looks at me, and then he says:

P: Do you speak English in Norway? (………… I mean???) Me: Yes, we learn it pretty early, but it is not our main language. We have our own language. Norwegian. P: Oh, really? How do you say “Hey” in Norwegian? Me: Hei. P: “Ei!” And how do you say bye? Me: Ha det. P: “Adé”. And thank you? Me: Takk. P: Toc. … So, you’re sure you’re in Europe. Me: Pretty sure, yes. But we’re not in the European Union if that’s what you mean? P: So, you are not in Europe! I knew it! Me: Well yes, we are, just not in the union. We have our own agreement with the European Union. 

He blinks slowly, maybe trying to figure out what I mean.

P: What else was in your wallet. Me: Okay so my cards… P: Yes, you already said that. Me: Uhm… My ID? P: Yes… Me: And 60€… P: Hah, see! Norway is in Europe! Me: Yes it is, but we don’t use Euros in Norway, we use the Norwegian krone (crown). P: Well then why did you have Euros. Me: Because I live in France now, and here you do use Euros. P: But Sweden uses Euros, so why don’t you? Me: But they don’t though. They also have their own money. P: So, they are not in the European Union. Me: Yes, they are, they just have their own money. P: Finland is using Euros. Me: (Super confused about this whole conversation). That I actually don’t remember, I think they might, yes. P: … What else was in your wallet. Me: My tram card, my fidelity cards, Mastercard, boat license… P: Boat license...? Me: Yes.  P: You drive boats? Me: Yes. Only one at the time though. P: Oh, Norway is the country with all the fjords! Me: That’s right, and the coastline. P: Do you fish? Me: Me personally or Norwegians in general? P: You personally. Me: Well not right now, but yes, I do know how to. Been doing it since I was a kid. P: What fish? Me: Uhm, I don’t know the name for all the fish in French. Salmon? P: Do you know all salmon are damaged because of these bacteria that live in all fish and that’s why we avoid them in France? Me: No, never heard of that, I’ve been eating it a lot and I’m fine. My family fishes a lot of salmon because they live on this island, and it’s all fine. P: On an island?! I love the savage life. Maybe you could take me one time. Me: …

He then starts talking about one time he went to a country in the north and it was snowing a lot and he saw the northern lights every day, so how did he not know about the darkness of the north?

P: Do you cook, Charlotte? Me: Yes? P: What do you like best about French culture? Me: Am I supposed to say the cooking? P: Yes! You know, I am a perfect chef! French men are really good at cooking, you know. Me: So I’ve heard.

He now takes up his lunchbox, and I’m like is he going to start eating his lunch now? Are we done, or are we going to keep talking during his break? He then picks up a piece of really dry chocolate cake from a plastic bag inside of his lunch box and holds it up in my face.

P: Here, have some cake! Me: Oh, no thank you. I’m really not hungry. (And I really don’t want to eat cake from your hands). P: Yes, it’s for you. I made it myself! (He takes my hand again and puts the cake in my palm).

I’m sitting there looking at the cake not sure what to do next. I really didn’t want to eat it, but I felt obliged to, now that it was in my hand, so I break off a little piece and puts it in my mouth. It grows in my mouth like a disgusting lump, and I swallow hard. It’s not that the cake wasn’t good, well it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t terrible. I just felt so uncomfortable. The policeman watches me eat a few more pieces before saying:

P: Do you know what’s in there? Me: No? (Unsettled). P: Have you ever heard about coconut sugar? Me: I don’t think so. P: You can eat it if you’re a diabetic too, cause it’s not normal sugar, you see.

And then… okay, this is like the weirdest part of this whole thing… then he bends down to his bag on the floor and picks up a little plastic box with a green lid. He opens it and holds it up to my nose.

P: This is coconut sugar, smell it. It smells weird, right? Me: (Trying to smell the sugar without it coming up my nose). I guess it does, but I don’t really remember how normal sugar smells like.

The policeman then bends down again and takes up another small container from his bag.

P: Here you go. This is normal sugar. Do you smell the difference?

Okay, so looking away from the fact that he gave me a piece of cake and made me smell his sugar… Why, WHY did he have all that sugar in his bag? Did he bake the cake down there? Is it only me that feels that it is super weird to make someone smell the ingredients of a cake you’re basically forcing onto someone?

P: Do you know what else is in there? “Poire” and nuts. Me: Okay P: How do you say “poire” in English. Me: Pear. (Getting more and more confused. We’ve been speaking French for this entire time, and this is the word he really wants to know in English?) P: Pear. Yes, that is my secret. (I have no finished the entire piece of cake). Delicious, right?

I nod. He looks down on my passport again, studying it.

P: So, Charlotte. Are you married? Me: No.  P: You’re Norwegian, but you’re not married? (He said this in a tone that implied that this was really uncommon, that he’d never heard about a Norwegian person that wasn’t married. I find this really bizarre, considering that about 30 minutes ago he didn’t even know what or where Norway was.)

At the beginning of this conversation, I’d been really prepared to tell him about the theft and the Spanish guy and all that, so I’d been leaning a little forward like I was invested in the conversation. Now I was sitting all the way back in my chair, with my head held up high and my back straight. The policeman looks me up and down and asks:

P: Do you do Yoga? Me: Yes. P: What kind of Yoga? You do a lot of stretching, don’t you? You have good posture. Do you go to Yoga here? Me: No, I haven’t signed up for anything yet. P: I do a lot of yoga. You can come with me if you want. Me: (Still trying not to be rude to the police.) The problem is I can’t sign up for anything seeing as all my cards are gone and all. 

I don’t remember exactly what we talked about here, but I got to say what was in my wallet, and a little more of what happened. When we’re starting to wrap it up, the policeman looks at me and points to my chest.

P: Why are you all red? Are you shy? Am I making you a little… nervous? 

My entire life, people have asked me if I’m part Asian because of my looks. I don’t know why, but people find it hard to believe that I’m all Norwegian. I used to care more about this before than now, and now it has become a joke amongst my friends that I’m part Asian. Now, when I get stressed my chest gets really flushed. This also applies to when I drink alcohol, which is commonly known as Alcohol flush or the Asian flush. So, when my chest reddens, I just say: 

Me: Oh no, it’s just the Asian flush. P: The what? Are you Asian? (Probably still trying to place Norway on the map in his head.) Me: (Getting really tired of having to explain stuff not related to my case). Yes, someone on my mother’s side is probably from China. P: Oh really. (Nods as if that makes sense.)

He then holds out his hand, as for me to shake it. I take his hand and shake it. He takes his hand away, turn mine with the palm down, and then he slaps it. He slaps my hand. As if to say: You’ve been a bad girl.

Me: …??? … Uhm? P: That is so you’ll be more careful next time. And don’t trust people. Behave. Me: Okay? Well am I done here now? P: Yes, you’re free to go. Goodbye, my little Norwegian girl. 

LITTLE NORWEGIAN GIRL???

I swear I’m not making this up. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. It’s not that any of these things were mean or anything. I just felt like he was being so unprofessional, and I felt super uncomfortable. And also, it would have been one thing if I’d come in there and told him what happened, and he’d been like “oh, I’m so sorry this happened to you. I actually baked some cake yesterday to bring to work, do you want some?” But the way he gave it to me, the way he touched my wrist and the way he talked to me and didn’t listen to what I was saying. It was all so uncomfortable and off-putting. I don’t know if I’ll ever go to the police here again.