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monabela · 4 years

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hey uhh..... advent denest!! this is just the first chapter, every day from now until christmas there will be a new one featuring a christmassy/wintery prompt for that day, but I won’t bother you with that here--check out the ao3 link! :D (maybe I’ll get some other chapters on here too, just to remind everyone, but I’ll think about that)

Snowfall Music

pairings/characters: Denmark (Søren)/Estonia (Eduard), mentioned Finland (Tuomi)/Sweden (Torbjörn), Sealand (Peter), Ladonia (Lars), Vietnam (Vinh), Czechia (Kveta) word count: 4782 summary: Eduard has enough to occupy him this December without having to look after his young cousins, or trying to organize events on his radio show, or having to field strange phone calls day after day, but it seems the end of the year has it out for him.

And somehow, Søren manages to brighten every dark day. Hopefully, he'll stick around for a while.

also on AO3 - further chapters posted there!

“Today on Radio 8, I have some pretty special guests on the show. Now, this was a surprise for me as well—” Eduard opens the audio channels of two of the other microphones in the studio— “but I’m excited they’re here, so welcome to my cousins, Pete—”

“Once removed,” Lars interrupts, raising his eyebrows and wrinkling his freckled nose as if he thinks Eduard is a bit dim. He probably does, come to think of it. The boy is just at that age.

“Alright,” he amends anyway, “my first cousins once removed, Peter and Lars. They’re my first cousin Tuomi’s sons. Is that better?”

“Yes,” Lars replies imperiously. Peter is rolling his eyes, and Eduard has to stifle a laugh while he turns on some background music.

“Their parents are on a trip out of town for the week, so Peter and Lars have been entrusted to Uncle Eduard for the time being—first cousin once removed Eduard, I know, Lars, but I’ll start saying that when you start calling me that.”

“I will.”

“I don’t doubt it. Why don’t you two introduce yourselves, and then you can think of a song you’d like to hear.” He prays Tuomi hasn’t managed to instill too much of his taste in music in his sons just yet, because although they’re ostensibly a rock station, he doesn’t think his listeners are quite ready for metal that heavy.

“I’m Peter,” Peter all but shouts into his microphone, so Eduard lowers his volume slightly. “I’m twelve, and I, ah, I play hockey, I guess?”

That sounds about right.

“And Lars?”

“Well, I’m Lars, I’m also twelve, and I have a podcast.”

“A podcast, really? What’s it about?”

“School and things,” he replies, and nothing else.

“That’s great,” Eduard enthuses anyway, because he does think it is. “You must be excited to visit the studio, then. Would you like to work in radio someday?”

Peter is shaking his head quite frantically and making slashing motions with both hands, but the damage is done, as Lars huffs, wrinkling his nose again and leaning in close to the microphone.

“Radio is very different from podcasts. You just talk around the music.”

Eduard blinks. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Eduard looks helplessly over at his production assistant, who seems uncharacteristically amused by the whole exchange, her eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.

“Where did you get that sass from?” He knows it must be Tuomi, unless his husband, Torbjörn, has very deeply hidden depths. And, before Lars can actually reply, “Peter, what should we listen to? What music do you like?”

Lars is opening his mouth, but Peter forestalls him, yelling, “Imagine Dragons!”

So Eduard starts a jingle as he lines up an Imagine Dragons song from the station’s playlist and an older rock song to play after that, pushing the slides for the microphone channels down. When he looks at Lars, the boy is just glancing away, attempting to seem disinterested in everything going on by crossing his arms and pressing his lips together. Eduard shakes his head fondly as he scrolls through some of the messages people have sent the show, including some asking if his cousins will help him judge his weekly dumbest pun contest, which he doesn’t imagine will benefit the already low bar for that one, so that’s perfect.

When he asks the boys about it, Lars starts to say something undoubtedly disparaging about how his podcast never has puns, but Peter quickly interrupts again. Eduard is around them enough that he knows this has been their usual behavior for the past few years, and more often than not, the brothers remind him strongly of himself and Tuomi at their age. They always were more like siblings than cousins, and when their older cousin Erzsébet was asked to babysit, she never seemed inclined to stop them.

Granted, he wasn’t doing podcasts when he was twelve, but he does remember using the house phone to call the local radio station multiple times until his parents started threatening to take the phone bill out of his allowance, and then how was he going to buy CDs? The radio show hosts actually wondered what happened to him after a couple of days without word and his parents had to call in to explain. It’s a fond if embarrassing memory.

The show continues in a slightly messier fashion than usual, mostly due to Peter’s attempts to interrupt every single sentence his brother starts to say and Lars stubbornly talking over him, but it’s fun. Eduard reminds himself to make a compilation or something to give Tuomi and Torbjörn when they get back home.

He lets Lars pick a song as well, as his afternoon show nears the end of its first hour. While the mildly surprising requested obscure progressive rock plays, he becomes aware of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, Eduard huffs a laugh when he spots the sheepish-looking freckled face peering through the studio’s windowed door.

“Boys,” he says, ignoring that Lars just glares at him for daring to interrupt his very intent listening, “looks like your uncle finally showed up.”

Peter’s face lights up when he sees the man on the other side of the door, waving enthusiastically. Søren waves back, face splitting in a grin. Although he is Torbjörn’s brother and not a cousin, he doesn’t bear much more resemblance to his brother than Eduard does to Tuomi. He’s tall, but not as tall as Torbjörn is—or Eduard, for that matter—and his eyes are a darker blue pronounced by nearly-black eyebrows that don’t match his coppery hair at all. Eduard has always thought of him as not handsome necessarily, but definitely interesting, and he’d be lying if he said he minded having to look after his cousins with the man.

They’re not close, but he and Søren have spent some time together, albeit mostly when Tuomi and Torbjörn needed someone to look after their sons for a while.

Now, Peter is moving his hands in a flurry of signals Eduard can’t make much of, except that he points at him at the end, and Søren is quickly signing back, his eyebrows jumping wildly.

“He can come in, you know,” Eduard tells Peter, slightly bewildered. He ignores the annoyed look his production assistant is giving her soundboard. At least, he thinks it’s annoyed. It can be hard to tell, with Vinh.

Peter dashes to the door to let in his uncle, who ruffles the boy’s unruly blond hair, waves at Lars—who ignores him—and grins at Eduard with a sheepish edge to it.

“Hey,” he says, “thanks so much for looking after ‘em! Sorry I couldn’t get there in time. Hope they didn’t cause too much trouble for you.”

“Lars is having loads of fun,” Peter declares, then proceeds to duck out of the way when Lars throws a wad of paper at his head. Eduard shrugs at Søren.

As Lars’s song ends, a commercial break begins, and Vinh wanders away to grab some tea and probably gossip about him with the other hosts, so Eduard puts his headphones down and turns his attention fully to Søren. The man is dressed in the same leather jacket he always seems to be wearing and a T-shirt, but doesn’t appear to be cold in the slightest. He has stuck both hands into the pockets of his jacket, but he still moves them wildly when he speaks. A backpack is slung over one shoulder.

“Thanks again. I really couldn’t get out of work, so I’m glad you could take the boys to yours.”

“Of course, no problem.” Eduard pushes his glasses up. “We did have fun, right, boys?”

Predictably, the response is lackluster, since Peter and Lars are too busy swatting at each other with Eduard’s papers.

“I promise we did,” he tells Søren a little forlornly, receiving a full laugh in response, blue eyes glittering in the studio’s bright lights and crinkling up at the corners.

“One day, they’ll learn to appreciate us, Eduard.”

The dubious expression he pulls in return must be funnier than he imagined, because Søren laughs again, extracting a hand from his jacket to clasp his shoulder. He smells pleasantly like the winter air outside, and like hair gel.

“I aspire to help ‘em keep as many secrets from their parents as possible, so they’ll be forever in my debt.”

“You have to wonder if that’s worth incurring Tuomi’s wrath.” Eduard turns back to his soundboard and patches the newsreader in from another location.

“I can take Tuomi.”

“I think that’s your brother’s job.”

Søren makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh and that makes Eduard grin, shaking his head.

“Are you staying for a while? The boys have a pun contest to judge, and I’m sure my listeners would like to hear from you.”

“Sure, sounds great,” he says, his grin softening surprisingly. “I just gotta ask you to keep the background music to a minimum, if you can.” He gestures vaguely at his ear, and Eduard remembers something.

“Right, you don’t hear so well, do you?”

“Practically deaf without my hearing aids, kind of a bummer when you’re on a radio show, I imagine.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling up.

“That’s why pa taught us sign language,” Peter pipes up. “Dad is so bad at it. Uncle Søren, I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Sign language,” Eduard repeats, because of course that’s what that was, but also, how has he never realized that before now? He’s more-or-less known Søren for over fifteen years by now. “Well, I’ll watch the music. Let me know if it still bothers you.”

Vinh returns just as the short second commercial break is ending, inclines her head towards Søren, who waves and does not seem the least perturbed by her lack of outward response, and they set off on the second hour of the show. Eduard lowers the volume of the background music to nearly zero, gesturing at Vinh to leave it.

“While we were away, my first cousins’ once removed actual uncle finally showed up, after he promised he’d pick his nephews up from school—”

“Hey,” Søren interrupts, “you’re painting me in a bad light here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s the light of truth.”

Astonishingly, Lars snickers at that. He apparently doesn’t care who gets made fun of as long as it’s not him.

“Well, he’s here now, so hello, Søren. He works for the same company my cousin does, so… Is it your fault that we’re saddled with these kids now?”

“Well, I did introduce their parents to each other, so I suppose…” Søren winks at Peter, who sticks his tongue out. “Hey, Eduard, I hear these two got to pick a song to listen to. Do I get a go at that?”

Eduard laughs. “No, no. You need to do a better job of picking them up from school for that. Maybe next time. Actually, I think we’re overdue for some Christmas music. It’s December, after all!”

Peter crows triumphantly. Søren just grins, shaking his head at Eduard, who shrugs in turn, amused.

The hour goes by fairly quickly. Søren animatedly asks the boys questions about their school day during songs that even Lars answers sometimes, and Vinh doesn’t seem to mind him, which is high honor.

By the time the host of the early evening show has arrived and is setting up her stuff while the last song of Eduard’s show plays, he has received quite some messages asking if his cousins or their uncle, who, according to one of his frequent listeners, ‘sounds like a rad dude’, will return. He gestures Søren over from where he’s now already making merry conversation with his colleague, who looks more bewildered than anything.

“What’s up?”

“Well, it seems my listeners like you more than they like me.” Eduard gestures at his computer screen, and Søren grins as he leans over next to him to read the messages. He’s taken his leather jacket off. There are freckles on his bare arms too, and he is making Eduard cold just by looking at them.

“Y’know, the only way to make ‘em rethink that is if I do come back, ain’t it? I can just be an all-round terrible co-host.”

“I like that idea,” Eduard replies, before turning his microphone on as the song ends. “Bruce Springsteen and Born to Run, and it’s the end of another afternoon. Kveta just got here—” he turns his attention to the next host, who nods— “Kveta, anything we can look forward to today?”

“No family members, I think, unless anyone wants me to prank call my stepbrother again.” She laughs. “I’ve got some great new tracks, and there might be some live music going on.”

“Very nice.”

“Of course. So, Eduard, are your family members coming back?”

Søren, who is still next to Eduard, pokes him in the side, then leans further forward to speak into his microphone.

“I’ve always dreamed of being a radio star.”

“I think he’s coming back to usurp me.” Eduard turns to Søren, almost poking his nose into the man’s spiky hair. “He’s already using my mic. And who knows what Peter and Lars will do, they’re twelve.”

“I guess that’s true,” Kveta replies. “Wow, Eduard, he’s really up in your face. I feel like someone should be shielding your cousins’ eyes.”

Peter laughs from where he’s now standing next to Vinh, peering at her screen. Vinh raises her eyebrows at Kveta, who smiles, bites her lip, and looks away. Eduard has to smother a laugh.

“Again, they’re twelve. And I think it’s time we all start heading home, so I’ll leave you to it, Kveta. Please don’t bother your stepbrother too much.” He tilts his head towards Vinh, quirking his mouth, and Kveta glares but sounds upbeat as ever when she replies.

“Can’t promise anything. Now, next hour, we’re starting off with some new music, so stay tuned. Eduard will be back tomorrow afternoon at four.”

The commercial break starts, and Eduard sets about packing up his things, gesturing Peter away from Vinh so Kveta can talk to her a bit before her own production team takes over. Most days, he’d stay at the studio for a while, but he decides to go home right away—Lars and Peter left some of their school supplies at his house that they’ll probably need tomorrow. So, after saying goodbye to Vinh and Kveta, he herds his cousins and Søren out of the studio and towards the elevator, which they ride down to the parking garage. Søren swings his backpack around and pulls out a knit red scarf.

When they reach the garage, the man grasps Eduard’s shoulder as they exit the elevator, stopping him in his tracks. The boys are already racing towards the car, which Eduard also wouldn’t have taken on most other days, preferring to use the bus, but he figured it’d be smarter to take his cousins that way.

“Hey,” Søren is saying, “I biked here, so—”

“In this cold? Do you want a lift?”

He blinks. Scratches his temple.

“There’s a bike carrier on my car,” Eduard adds. “It’s pretty new, I—”

“Uncle Eduard!” Peter calls, waiting by the back door of the car. Eduard holds up a hand—while Lars reminds his brother it’s first cousin once removed Eduard—and pulls the key fob out of his bag to unlock the door for him, then turns back to Søren.

“It’d be no problem; I could take you all over to your place after we stop by my house.”

“We should do dinner,” Søren says, à propos of nothing, his face bright in the gloom of the garage. “Yeah? I owe you one. What kinda food d’you like?”

“I… No, it’s fine, they’re my cousins, it was no trouble at all! I don’t need anything, Søren.” Eduard laughs awkwardly, fiddling with his glasses and looking towards his car. Peter is peering over the backseat.

“We could take the boys out somewhere—this weekend, maybe, before Tuomi and Torbjörn get back. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” His hand, still on Eduard’s shoulder, squeezes gently with every other word as if Søren is trying to get his usual gestures across that way. Or, now that he thinks about it, those are probably actual signs. He smiles.

“Well, maybe. I don’t have a show on the weekends.”

“Yeah?” When he pulls his hand back, Søren’s fingers glance off Eduard’s neck. They’re warm. “I’m sure we can find something even Lars will approve of.”

That sounds dubious, but Eduard will hold out hope. Søren agrees to a lift, though, and they figure out how to put his bike on the carrier without difficulties before piling in and driving over to Eduard’s house.

Søren traipses inside after Lars and Peter, peering around curiously.

“Nice place,” he tells Eduard, who waits in the hall while his cousins collect their things. And, “Hey, you should stay for dinner at mine.”

“Søren…”

“Just sayin’, why eat here all by your lonesome when there’s plenty of food at mine? You gotta go there anyways.” At this, he pokes Eduard’s arm gently. “I mean, if you need some alone time after dealing with those two, I ain’t judging.”

Huffing a laugh, Eduard shakes his head. “I don’t know how Tuomi and Torbjörn do it.”

“Together, and with practice, I guess. Wanna come?”

Eduard contemplates it for a moment, looking into the living room and thinking about the leftover spaghetti he has in the fridge.

“Alright. Thank you, Søren.”

Søren smiles, softer than seems to be the norm for him, his cheeks dimpling gently. It’s like a little ray of sunshine on a December day.

“Boys!” he yells, clasping Eduard’s shoulder again when he winces. “Sorry. I’m no good at regulating my own volume.”

Lars is glaring at his uncle, having already been standing in the doorway to the living room with his school bag in hand and having heard him loud and clear.

“Sorry,” Søren repeats, this time signing it as well, putting his hands together as if in prayer.

“What?” Peter yells back from somewhere else. Seconds later, he skids into the hall, his sneakers leaving black marks on the wood floor. “What.”

“Eduard’s coming over for dinner. Got everything?”

They both nod, and Peter claps Eduard on the back as they all head back out. Søren laughs. He takes his scarf off when he gets into the car this time.

“Hey, are you allergic to anything? Or vegetarian?”

“I’m not, don’t worry.” He checks over his shoulder that his cousins have their seatbelts on, then starts his car. “I mean, I don’t eat a lot of meat these days, but I won’t say no.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s good. I oughta be better at that.”

With Søren’s instructions—gestures included—Eduard finds his building on the outskirts of one of the older suburbs easily. Søren tosses Lars the keys to his apartment and the boys run off while Eduard helps him get his bike down from the car, then waits while he parks it somewhere in the shared storage space.

“Alright! C’mon, Eduard, I don’t really want ‘em to break my kitchen down.”

After taking the stairs, they reach Søren’s apartment on the second floor. The door has been left open, and little lights twinkle around the frame.

“Hey!” Søren says, surprised, as Eduard curiously looks around the narrow hall. It’s much neater than he somehow expected, probably just because of Søren’s slightly chaotic mannerisms. Since he sees that his cousins have lined their shoes up by the door, he takes his own off as well, putting them next to Peter’s.

Entering the living room, he understands Søren’s surprise. Peter and Lars are rushing to set the table, apparently trying to outdo each other in speed. There is a tiny Christmas tree on a dresser that suddenly seems quite precarious.

“Be careful,” Eduard says, a little feebly, and Peter grins at him, his hands stacked with far too many plates for four people. It seems to be going alright for now, so Eduard leaves them be to seek out Søren.

“Uh, Søren?” He walks into the kitchen. It’s a surprisingly large space, and Søren already has some pans out and is reaching up for a cutting board. He doesn’t appear to have heard Eduard over the clattering happening in the living room.

“Are you sure about… That?” Eduard asks, when the man has a hold of his cutting board and spots him.

“What, the boys? They’ll be fine.” Something crashes loudly, and Søren pulls a rueful face at the door. “I jinxed it.”

“We’ve got it, Uncle Søren!” Peter yells.

“I’m gonna just… Hey, Eduard, can you get some water boiling while I go check on that?”

“Of course,” he replies, holding a thumb up. Søren pauses on his way out of the kitchen and smiles.

“Of course,” he repeats, moving his hand forward while he first holds just his pinkie up and then opens his whole hand. He does it again, slightly slower, and Eduard tries to replicate the sign. “Hey, great!”

Before he rushes off to assess the damage, he makes an okay sign with one hand.

Eduard fills a pan with water, assuming it’s for the rice Søren’s put on the counter, and turns the stove on to heat it. Søren returns quickly, carrying almost all of the plates Peter was hauling around.

“I think Tuomi and Torbjörn are raising ‘em too well,” he says, putting the plates away. “I don’t think I ever voluntarily set the table until I moved out. Can you slice these peppers?”

Eduard can, while Søren pulls some chicken out the fridge to fry it.

“They’re just hungry. Besides, didn’t they just break a plate?”

“Just the one, it’s fine. I definitely wouldn’t have done a chore if I was hungry. Gotta wonder how Torbjörn turned out so decent.”

“Keeping you in check?”

Søren laughs heartily at that, leaning his hands on the counter so that his shoulders shake visibly. He’s just in his T-shirt again, and Eduard can see now that it is merch of a band he plays sometimes and likes well enough, although he wouldn’t call himself a fan. He slices the bell peppers and some cauliflower, and smiles as a delicious spicy scent fills the kitchen a while later.

Peter sidles into the kitchen as Søren covers the pan to let it simmer for a while. He looks like he’s about to lift the lid again.

“Hey, hey, watch out,” Søren says, pulling his hand away. “That’s hot.”

“I just wanna see.”

He’s always done that, as far as Eduard knows. He can clearly recall a load of pictures of toddler Peter pressed up against the glass of ovens and washing machines and microwaves. He wonders when he’ll grow out of it, or if he’ll be like Tuomi, who still watches whatever he’s cooking for at least ten minutes, but then Tuomi is bad at cooking and might just be making sure it’s not going to explode.

Peter stubbornly crosses his arms and stares at the pan.

“Are you planning on staying there?” Søren asks.

“Probably,” he replies brightly, turning his head to address his uncle. Søren throws a fond smile at him and ruffles his hair before he can duck away.

“Eduard, by the way, I still think we should get dinner this weekend,” he says, pointing a finger at Eduard, who accepts that with a helpless gesture, mostly aimed in an amused Peter’s direction.

“Is that where you get that stubborn streak from?” Eduard asks him, and both Peter and Søren burst out laughing at that.

“It’s like you’ve never even met his parents!”

“Pa says no one is allowed to play Monopoly anymore.” Peter shrugs. “Not that I wanted to, Monopoly’s boring, but Lars got real upset about it.”

“Dad stole all my hotels!” Lars yells from the living room, sounding extremely indignant. Tuomi really is that sort of person, Eduard thinks, glancing at Søren in amusement, but Søren is narrowing his eyes and looking at Peter questioningly.

“Dad stole Lars’s hotels,” the boy relays, and Søren nods, now returning Eduard’s look.

“No Monopoly, got it. I’m sure I got some other games, though, we’ll check it out later.”

Peter grins, nodding. Eduard fears that both his cousins have inherited Tuomi’s competitiveness.

Dinner is good. Eduard is used to eating by himself, or sometimes with Vinh or another coworker, often the early afternoon duo—he tends to spend that time looking at his phone, or, in the latter case, trying to mediate yet another argument between them. It’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of just listening to music or reading news articles.

Søren still gestures wildly while he’s eating, cutlery and all, sometimes even half-forming signs, but he somehow manages to avoid flinging any food as he does so. He says it’s an acquired skill, then launches into a story about throwing soup into Torbjörn’s hair when they were teenagers that has Peter laughing so hard he nearly chokes and Lars, in turn, yelling at him not to throw up or he’ll kill him.

“I’m not,” Peter replies, glaring fiercely even as he breaks out in a hacking cough again, and then quickly signs something at his brother that makes Lars glare back. They definitely inherited that from Torbjörn. Eduard gently claps Peter’s back, and even though he doesn’t think it’s helping much, Peter eventually quiets. His breathing settles back into a normal rhythm, and he takes a large gulp of his water.

“Peter, don’t confuse your cousin,” Søren says, making a downward slashing motion with both hands.

“Sorry, Uncle Eduard,” Peter tells him. He picks his fork back up.

“It’s fine,” Eduard replies, after realizing Søren is talking about Peter using sign language, which he doesn’t understand. Lars, on the other side of the table, rolls his eyes and touches his hand to his shoulder, which makes Søren sigh and shake his head at him.

“It is difficult, Lars.”

Eduard gestures for him to leave it be—wondering as he does so what his gesture might actually imply—and Søren doesn’t say anything else about it, but he does grumble, later, while they load the dishes into the dishwasher, that he knows his brother made it a point that they shouldn’t use sign language to exclude anyone on purpose.

“Probably ‘cause our parents had the same rule,” he explains, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. His T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, quite nicely, Eduard thinks. “Although that was mostly ‘cause we were better at it than them. Still are, and my mom would still put me in timeout too, 39 years old or not.”

“That sounds fair. I really didn’t mind, though.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, y’know?”

There is a ruckus from the living room. Søren raises his dark eyebrows questioningly.

“They’re, ah… They’re arguing over which game they want to play.”

“Yeah, that seems about right. Are you staying longer or are you heading home?”

“I should probably be going, I like to do some preparations before I go to sleep.” He adjusts his glasses. “Thank you for dinner. You’re always welcome at mine, too.”

“Might take you up on that, Eduard.” Søren runs a hand over his hair and pushes away from the counter. “I’ll probably see you around before the end of the week, I need your help with those kids.”

“Like I said, their parents do it together too.”

That gets him a lopsided grin and a wink that he doesn’t know what to think about but quite likes anyway. Eduard goes to collect his coat and shoes, bids his cousins a good night before they both try to convince him their choice of board game is the right one, and heads out. Søren walks him down to the parking lot.

“I’ll see you, then,” he tells the man, biting his lip when he gets another lopsided smile.

“See you ‘round, Eduard.” He waves shortly when Eduard pulls up in his car, illuminated for a moment by the headlights as he turns off the parking lot. Still just in his T-shirt.

Back home, Eduard leans over to get his papers out of the glovebox, and his hand brushes against something soft. Blinking, he picks it up from the passenger seat and lets the soft wool run across his hands. Søren’s scarf, he realizes, and takes it inside with him.

He’s sure he’ll have the opportunity to return it soon enough.

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oddsnendsfanfics · 5 years

Text

Unraveling at the Seams

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: I started this two years ago, found it again, and decided to make something of it.

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header :D

Catch Up Here

Wednesdays for the last month and a half had been absolute hell, nearly twenty hour days, non stop costume changes and repairs, a steady flood of people coming and going out of the mid sized trailer serving as a dressing room on wheels. Nell Stewart had become accustom to the chaos and frantic pace that her job provided each and every day, grabbing a cloak from the rack labeled “Ubbe” she held the soft fur in her hands, marching it to the man who would display the glorious piece on screen.

“Thanks, Nell.” the smooth mix of Scotland and Australia met her head on.

“No problem,” Nell smirked “and Jordan, this time, don't drop it until after the shoot.”

“I make no promises.” Jordan chuckled, glancing down at the woman who fastened the broach on the grey and tan fur.

“All set, go on with ya.” Nell waved the actor out of her “office du jour”.

Next up to dress would be “Ivar” - the name always made her smile thinking of her son's not so far off name of Ivan. Ivar was undoubtedly one of the best characters to create, and one of the most annoying actors on set. Nell sighed, fingering through the pages on the cupboard before her. One last glance over the costume that she would be putting on the young Danish man.

Alex tried, he really did, yet somehow he always ended up offending the woman. How was he to sit there while she dressed and prepped him, and not want to talk to her? He had watched her with the other actors and crew, she was obviously sweet and a gentle soul. Somehow every time he got close to Nell, she ended up looking like she wanted to beat him with whatever heavy object was closest.

Taking his chances, Alex cautiously stepped into the costume trailer. He had been here seven hours and had another ten to go. Such was life, for anyone who thought acting was glamorous, fools. Whistling a merry tune with a pep in his step despite the hours he had spent crawling around in the mud on set, Alex was determined to make today different.

This was going to be the day that he got Nell to laugh with him, not at him, or worse stand stone faced while he attempted to make jokes.

“Hey, Ne...” He was met with a glare from the costume designer, her phone to her ear. “Sorry.” he muttered softly standing by the door, not daring to step any further with the mud on his costume. He had been lectured before about dragging mud through the trailer.

This woman treated him like he was her son, not somebody she worked with. A disappointing scenario.

“Are you still there, Janelle?” The man on the phone called her attention. She hated when he called her by her full name, more so she hated the feeling of electricity it sent racing through her.

Nell glanced at Alex, lowering her eyes and voice. Her private business didn't need to be aired through the entire lot.

“I can't talk right now, I'm at work.”

“I will only a take a moment, I promise. Is Ivan with you?”

“No, he's at school. Why?” She found the pants, cloak, and jerkin she would need in order to dress the man waiting for her. Handing them to Alex, she motioned for him to use the space on the left. It was the easiest room to clean later. “And don't get mud on the new costume.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Continue.” She returned to her call.

“I only wanted to speak with him, see how he is doing. How's school, the usual. I don't want to take your time, but I wanted to let you know that I have a bit of time off and...”

“And you wanted to see him?” Her ex had a habit of doing this to her. It was always the same story, they would go months upon months without seeing him, then he would call her and ask for a visit. In truth, she couldn't really complain about a man making an effort to see his son, but it would be nicer if it wasn't a once a year thing.

“If I could, yes. He can come to me, or I can come to you. Whichever works. Think on it and let me know.”

Nell tried her best to hide the sigh.

“Send me the dates. I don't want him missing school.”

“It would be next month. I believe he is on holiday then. I will have the dates sent and we can discuss it, when we're not sneaking away to take calls at work. Chat soon?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Freshly dressed from his base layer to the hooded wool cloak, Alex emerged after giving her a breath or two alone to regroup, her call hadn't sounded pleasant. He didn't want to pry, yet he felt sorry for the single mother. Alex knew her son, the bundle of energy that would sometimes tear through the trailer, accompanying his mother to work. Ivan's dark curls were as wild as he was. Alex liked the kid, he was funny.

“Alright, what do we need to adjust?” Nell turned to Alex, her phone in her pocket and her mind somewhat on work.

“It feels good.” Alex raised his arms, bending at the waist, and moving about to prove his point. “The boots, tough.”

Nell nodded. “What about them?”

More than once she had accidentally pulled the wrong boots, trying to fit Alex's feet into a pair meant for someone else.

“I can never get these done up, can you?” Alex blushed at the confession. The boots were double laced and the laces in the back were his kryptonite. Nell instructed him to sit and keeled down to assist. As a mother dressing someone was a second nature.

“You know,” Alex glanced down as she fitted his boots. “We've worked together for almost two years, I know nothing about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Her focus was on the laces of the knee high boots.

“Mmm.” He nodded, his dark hair escaping his pony tail. “Let's play a game. Three things about our self. I'll go first,” Alex made his suggestion. She was shocked he could put his phone down long enough to chat. “When I was a little boy, I wanted to be a doctor. I love anything to do with Space, and my best memory is a family trip to the beach, when I was eight.”

“Such detail.” She mocked, a smirk gracing her lips.

“I reached deep for those,” Alex nudged her with his foot. “Your turn.”

“Fine.” She huffed, sitting back on her heels. The second boot could wait, while she found three things to shut him up. “I have worked in costume design for four years full time, I hate small talk and nosy people, and I hate cake.”

“You hate cake!” Alex exclaimed wide eyed with disbelief. “What? What do you have on your birthday?”

“Pie.” Her answer was flat.

“Huh.” Alex mused, he couldn't get over the last statement. “Do you at least make cakes? You know, for when your family or friends want a birthday cake?”

“Nope.”

“Never?” She shook her head. Alex huffed. “Not even when your son asks?”

“He doesn't like cake either.” Her voice softened.

“He doesn't like it, or you don't let him have it?” It was Alex's turn to smirk. “You know, since you hate it and all.”

“You're annoying.”

“When's his birthday? I'm going to buy him a cake, a big one! Loaded with frosting and chocolate, sprinkles galore.” Alex continued his chatter. Mainly to hear himself speak.

“Look,” She sighed, finishing up the boot lace. “I enjoy working with you and I like my job, but can we leave my son out of this? Please.”

“O-Okay.” Alex frowned. “I'm sorry.”

“It's just...it's complicated and the last thing he needs right now is...forget it.” Nell rocked back on her heels. Admiring her handy work with the costume.

“I'm sorry, truly.”

“It's fine. I've just...never mind. You're good to go.” Nell stood up, wiping her hands on her pants out of instinct.

Alex sat for a heartbeat, trying to find another way to express his apology. The crease and frown on Nell's face told him to quit while he was ahead. He could take a hint. Rising to his feet, he cleared his throat and thanked Nell for helping.

Alone with her thoughts for a moment, Nell rubbed the heels of her hands across her eyes. It would be another late night. The push to get these scenes filmed in the last season, in order for the cast and crew of Vikings to take their short term summer break. Her initial plans for the few weeks off was to pack up Ivan and take off for a vacation home.

A few weeks visiting her parents and the rest of her family, back in Canada would be ideal. She hadn't been back since Easter, when Ivan had gone to spend time with his father's family, and she wanted her son to visit his grandparents. So much for that plan, after the phone call from his father; Ivan wouldn't want to do anything other than visit his father for a few weeks.

Despite the unconventional relationship, her son idolized his father. As a boy should.

Why did he make everything complicated? This man's name came up and as if by some curse everything in Nell's world would begin to fall apart, all over again.

“I see your boyfriend was in.” Nell pushed her hair out of her eyes and slowly looked up at her co-worker. She hadn't heard Rayna come in.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at the teasing. “He's not. He is however annoying.”

“Aww, he's just trying to get your attention. Come on, Nelly, throw the kid a bone.” the seasoned designer laughed, handing Nell a cup of shitty set coffee.

“He's too young.”

“You're not exactly an old maid.” Rayna continued to laugh.

Nell shook her head, daily she endured a teasing from the other woman, among others on set. Alex Høgh Andersen turned into an absolute fool and a puppy around the costume designer, everybody but Nell seemed to notice his affection. What she passed off as annoying banter, was the Dane's way of flirting. A skill he needed to work on, with women who were immune to actor's charms, and on older women in general.

Thirty was far from old. So Nell was constantly told.

It had to do with having a son at twenty three. She had grown old and boring faster than she had ever wanted. Another resentment that Nell held toward her ex, he had gotten to go off and do whatever he pleased, while she had raised their son. Whoever said older men were more mature was full of shit.

“Whatever, we have work to do. I need to finish mending those dresses for next week. I don't think our extras want to come in and be naked all day.”

“Some of them might.” Rayna joked, sitting her coffee down and grabbing her sewing kit.

Throughout the day Nell continued to dress cast, principal and extra alike. She enjoyed her job, the creativity and the structure. The pride and joy when a new costume was put together, nothing beat seeing her work on the screen and in the media.

She'd once been asked why she wanted to design costumes, simple. Without a good costume, nothing would ever be accomplished. There would be no life or charisma to a story being told on the screen. Costumes had been a last resort once, when she'd auditioned for a school play and was rejected for a role on stage. Even the chorus didn't want her, leaving her to help the costume department. Nell got hooked.

Alex had gone out to set, coming back only twice that Nell had been in the trailer. He tried his hardest to strike up another conversation, but the two times they were in the same proximity, Nell was too busy to chat. He felt horrible for making her feel like he was prying earlier and needed to tell her.

Wisely, advised against it, Alex kept his head low. For now.

Knocking off nearly twenty one hours after arriving at work, Nell stretched her arms and groaned. Tomorrow was a later start for her, which meant she would be able to walk Ivan to school and spend a little time with him. He was in bed when she'd left and would be in bed when she arrived home.

Thank god for their Bridie. Nell would be lost without the saint of a woman.

Dropping her keys on the stand inside the door, her bag was next. Letting go of the bag felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her body. The house was quiet and smelled delicious. Bridie was in the kitchen, tidying up when Nell poked her head in.

“He's in bed, has been since eight.” the well put together blonde woman smiled affectionately. She looked like she should be a CEO or investment banker, not a full time live out Nanny. “Long day?”

“Extremely. I am going to run up quick. Thank you!” Nell held her hands together as if in prayer and smiled.

Tiptoeing up the short flight of stairs she followed the path to her son's room. Her bedroom at the other end of the seven foot hallway beckoned her. Not yet. Soon, bed, soon. As expected, Ivan was sleeping soundly, a Captain Underpants book fallen open on the floor and his blankets half tossed off. Her son slept like whirl wind.

Picking up the blanket and draping it over her son, Nell smiled. Dark curls sprung across his head and his tiny arms were wrapped around his pillow, snoring away somewhere in dreamland. As adorable as he looked, it hurt her heart to be gone all day. Since the final season had been announced to the cast and crew, the days at work had become longer and the time for anything else seemed nearly impossible.

Only a few more weeks and Nell would be home for a break. Except...She wanted to groan, instead opted for an eye roll.

Ivan stirred, shifting around in his bed but not waking. Tucked in and kissed by mom, he was good to resume his slumber uninterrupted. Slumber. In the hall, Nell heard her bed calling once again. A loud Siren Song.

Soon!

Downstairs a cup of tea waited on the counter, while Bridie fished around for a plate to put the freshly made sandwich on. Nell's heart swelled and her shoulders sagged, overwhelmed by the gesture. Bridie was here to look after Ivan, bless her for always watching out for Nell, too.

“I know you're going to say you've had dinner, but you need something hearty.”

“Actually, I missed dinner. I had a fruit bar and an orange that one of the lighting guys shared with me.” Nell slid onto the stool at the breakfast nook, accepting the peppermint tea and chicken sandwich. Not at all embarrassed by the moan when she took the first bite, causing Bridie to laugh.

“Pleased that you like it.” Bridie winked. “There are some muffins in the container next to the toaster, blueberry. I made his lunch up, and yours, for tomorrow. Left over shepherd's pie.” She listed off a few other details from the day. “When should I return?”

“I don't go in until eleven, I'll need you to pick him up then you can bring him to me. I'm in the office studio all day tomorrow.” Nell instructed. “Thank you, for all of this.”

“You know I love doing it.” Bridie gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“I know and I love you for loving it.” Nell chuckled. Tucking her hair behind her ears, “Oh, Ivan doesn't know, but in a few weeks his father wants to visit him. I'll let you know when he has the dates sent. I think it will be while we were supposed to be gone, anyway.”

“That sounds...” Bridie paused, watching Nell's face to gauge the reaction.

“It's a good thing.” Nell tried to assure her nanny and herself. “It will be good.”

Fingers crossed.

“Well, if you need me for anything you know how to find me.” Bridie would help hide a body, no questions asked. Nell was certain of it.

“Thank you, but I think we'll be okay.” Nell stood to hug the older woman. “Now, go home. I am sure Joe is missing you like crazy. Tell him that you're his for most of the day tomorrow.”

“Good night, Nell.” Bridie waved disappearing toward the door. Nell heard the final click of the lock, signaling that she was on her own until Ivan woke for school.

Dirty plate in the sink, resting until Nell had the energy to do something about it, the cup of peppermint tea joined Nell on her way to bed. Too tired to shower or move, she kicked off her clothes and reached for an old tshirt to wear. The weather was growing warmer as summer approached Ireland.

Summer in Ireland was majestic, really any season in Ireland was majestic. Nell thought as she crawled into her bed. She had decided that the first year she had come here to be an intern. How giddy and naive she had been back then. How different life had been in 2007. How different Nell had been in 2007.

Something about Ireland and that majesty.

Phone down to charge and her alarm set, she was ready for sleep. Slipping under her duvet, she barely had time to get comfortable before sleep over took her.

@funmadnessandbadassvikings , @kawennote09, @smutgoblin , @nickysurfer28 , @peaceisadirtyword, @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @lif3snotouttogetyou, @akamaiden @angelaiswriting, @neeadinghugs, @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly, @ilvebeenabad , @naaladareia, @imgoldielikehawn @tephi101, @sdcyumyum @unacceptabletatertots, @sparklemichele , @titty-teetee , @smolasianwinterbean , @capitanostella , @captstefanbrandt @bloodyivar , @normanallthewayforever , @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme , @imyourliquor-youremypoison , @nikky-the-writer , @seremedyxiii , @laketaj24 , @deleteidentity , @tornupandbored , @hoeghfabulous , @ateliefloresdaprimavera , @mydarlingwhim , @kenzieam , @jar-of-love , @angelswannawearmyredshooz , @manuugxlvis , @lizency , @lost-in-my-thoughs , @ivars-snowflake , @lisinfleur , @fumblingthroughchaos @pebblesz892 , @angelaiswriting , @nelson-and-murdock , @nothingeverdies, @bluearchersstuff @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone, @ivarlothbroks, @badassbaker @cris101071 @fucktrucks @ohjules @mrsadrianraines @angelic-kisses13 @marthasantos95 @atlanticowe @hows-my-hair @omgshuddupmeg @moviegirl50 @havenoffandoms @gearhead66 @happydaysandersen @rekdreams-fandom @lovemylife2618 @supernaturalvikingwhore @youbloodymadgenius @geekandbooknerd @carlya65

#unraveling at the seams #alex høgh andersen #alex høgh imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #alex høgh #alex hogh andersen #alex hogh fanfiction #alex høgh andersen x ofc #henry cavill x ofc #ivar's heathen army

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hangfiretales · 4 years

Text

I found one of my short stories from a few years ago and was trying to figure out what needed to be polished up. And after spending the last few months complaining about the difficulty I have with using present tense, I discovered (with unfailing irony) that this story needed to be written in the present tense, of course.

*************************************

Anatomy of the Heart

‘That you, pet?’

‘Yes, Nan.’ Who else has a key? I add, but only in my head. She's pretty old. I can afford to be indulgent.

I shut the front door, and the dusty quiet of home and cats and autumn collapses onto me.

The lounge room curtains are closed against the afternoon sun but I can see her, sunk in her chair and dressed in something purple and polyester. Reading, of course, eyeball-deep in a comfortable romantic cliché of unbuttoned shirts and thrusting. There’s always thrusting.

‘Library day, Nan?' I bend and kiss her hair, close enough to smell talcum powder and spearmint.

‘Narelle had a stack ordered in for me.’ She half-closes the book to glance at the front cover. ‘I think I've had this one before, with the duke. He’s got a limp. That's alright, mind, I don't remember all of it so it's like new.’

It might have something to do with a certain sameness of plot amongst her chosen genre, but I say nothing.

‘Long day, pet?’

And it has been, actually, so I tell her; enough to get a bit of sympathy, not enough to bore her.

I’m rewarded with a pat on the arm and a clucking sound.

‘Fancy him saying all that when you've spent so much time on it. Bloody professor should give you marks for effort, is what I think. Tea?’

And at my nod she straightens in slow motion and patters to the kitchen.

I follow her to the bench. ‘Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. I wish it did. I put in more effort looking busy than anyone I know.’

Nan acknowledges my attempt at humour with a nod but I know she doesn’t think of me as the funny one. That's always been my brother's gig.

I open the fridge and get the milk out while Nan conveys sugar from jar to mug. One spoon. Two spoons. Pause. Another little bit of a spoon.

‘I still don't know why you have to get a degree just to read books,’ she says. ‘Why can't you just read them on your own?’ She sniffs twice; once at the education system and once at the milk carton in her hand. She pours it.

‘There's reading and then there's- like a deep critical understanding.’

But Nan shakes her head. ‘If you're not enjoying it, what's the point.’ A statement, not a question. ‘I've read hundreds of books. Thousands, probably, and nobody ever asked me to get a degree first. Waste of time with your degrees for reading, and degrees for making video games, and music and what-not. Here you go, pet, carry those out. I'll get biscuits.’

I take the brimming mugs back out to the lounge room and set them down on the coffee table. My usual seat’s piled up with The Last Cowboy and his horny friends so I sit down on the orange couch. At least one cushion stirs and becomes a cat.

‘Don't sit on Valerie, she doesn't want your bum on her head.’ Nan puts a tray down next to our mugs: biscuits from a home-brand cream assortment; a jam-jar lid, for discarded teabags; two tea spoons. One’s a sundae spoon, actually, longer and handier for stirring a tall mug. I reach.

Nan bagses it smoothly.

‘Sit here. Sit in your spot, love. Move those things-’

I put the stack of books at my feet.

‘And how is Alex going?’

Which is the real question, isn't it, even when she leaves it unasked. The endless questions, filling in her days with thrusting dukes and shirtless cowboys and endless curiosity over other people's boyfriends.

‘Yeah, well, he's- yeah. No, he's good.’

She gives me a look. And harrumphs. ‘What you need is a real man. One who treats you properly and makes a bit of an effort with himself.’

‘Like Jack the Excessively Groomed Cowboy?’ I pick him up and read the back cover. ‘Sorry, Chuck the cowboy. The brooding rancher next door is about to change Gillian's quiet life forever. Can she tame his wild bachelor's heart? Blah de blah.’

‘Don't you be a snob. There's nothing like a good romance to pick you up.’

I put it down. ‘It's a bit different from the novel I'm reading for this assignment.’ I say it more breezily than I should.

‘Oh? Go on then. What’s your one about?’

‘Well.’ I sit back. ‘There's this girl who's in rehab for her broken back and her father is being blackmailed. He's a drug dealer. It's Danish. It’s-’

‘Any romance?’

‘She falls in love with her boyfriend's brother, who's a detective, and she-’

‘Ah, torn between two men. Any sexy bits?’

‘Uh, kind of.’ Thinking quickly, because it's tricky to explain the Scandinavian Noir context of the nude ice-fishing scene. ‘Just, you know, frustrated but not going anywhere.’

‘Hmm. Mine sounds better.’

‘Chuck the Impossibly Tanned? Or this one, the Duke of--’ I check-- ‘Really? Notchester?’

I flip it open. ‘Sheba arched her back luxuriously as the Duke ran lascivious fingers down her flushed throat towards the boundless promise of her bountiful breasts.’ She's going all out, this-- Mirabelle Thorne? That's a terrible pen-name.’

‘I've had a few of hers. She does nice historical ones with lords and that.’

‘Aha, look at this bit. Thrusting with gasping impatience between her yada yada. Thrusting, I told you.’

Nan looks at me, waiting. I haven’t told her.

So I tell her.

She raises a sparsely pencilled eyebrow. ‘You judge the whole lot on one bleeding word? Snob.’

‘I'm not a snob.’

‘Snob.’

‘Don't say that, romances just aren't my thing.’

‘Well, what does that say about you? Can't appreciate the budding love of two young people.’

‘Two or possibly more young people. This one has a heart-wrenching choice between the man who adores her and the man who desires her. One of them's a doctor. Oh. Anatomy of the Heart. I see. And the other one's-- really? An alpaca breeder. What kind of a choice is that?’

‘The doctor's job is to be the rich bastard and the other one's her true love.’ Nan glares over her mug.

‘No, actually, I think the doctor’s poor. The alpaca breeder's fairly well-off.’ I’m skimming through it.

‘Well, that's probably true. You seen what they're charging for an alpaca cardigan? Bleeding rip-off merchants.’

‘She shivered at the memory of his efficient fingers. Efficient--'

‘What you need to do is, you need to sit your Alex down with a couple of nice romances and give him an idea of what you want. Give him a role model. Young lads these days don't have any role models, all these single mums and feefo workers.’

She might have meant FIFO. Which may or may not have been a snipe at both my brother and my mother in one handy package.

‘Who says I want this?’ I look down at the cover artwork, which shows both the devilishly rumpled doctor and the rosy-cheeked alpaca man. Which one has the efficient fingers?

I put the book down. ‘Thanks for the tea, Nan. I'd better get a move on with this assignment. Do you want me to cook dinner tonight?’

Nan finds her place in The Duke of Notchester, picking up the story mid-kiss. ‘No thanks, pet. We've got some spaghetti bol left from last night. If leftovers aren't beneath you.’

‘Sounds fine.’

I take the last chocolate cream biscuit when I leave.

When I come out of my room later to get my reheated spaghetti, I’m not that much further along with my work. I’m still replaying Dr Chase's critique of my draft: unfocused and derivative, showing only a surface understanding of the criteria required.

Yeah, well.

Nan’s watching some cooking show on TV; a wok full of hot prawns and a posh summery voice.

I contemplate the gap between the dinners we all tell each other we're eating and the actual dinner, the one in my hands.

And take the plate back to my desk to eat.

It isn't a desk, it's a card table in the corner, below the clock and the Johnny Cash calendar. I've wasted plenty of time on this assignment already. It’s time to get serious.

I contemplate the gap between the romances that we read and the actual boyfriend, who’s totally committed babe but just super busy right now.

Does the novel's idiosyncratic narrative style add interest to the text, or is it a distracting literary conceit? 1200 words. Use examples.

I go back to the kitchen for a biscuit. All the chocolate creams are gone.

Nan’s watching something about celebrities eating cockroaches.

When I get back to my desk I discover that the assignment still hasn't written itself.

Twenty-four and a half minutes or so later, I find myself chewing on my pen and I’m swearing because it's an expensive one-- I bought it for myself in the hope that it will inspire me to write better. Or more. Or more better. I can't tell if it's worked yet, but the pen’s starting to look ratty.

She shivered at the memory of his efficient fingers. Was his mind elsewhere, as he performed with admirable though robotic fervour?

I go back out to the lounge, which is empty of either cats or Nans. I find Anatomy of the Heart sitting on top of Holiday in Heaven and open it somewhere in the middle.

He watched her through narrowed eyes. Does he find her as one-dimensional as we do? She raised her face, lips parted in surprise, closer to him than--

‘Pet?’

‘What?

Nan’s calling from the kitchen.

‘Tea?’

‘No, thanks.’

I go back to my room. The book is still in my hands.

This one wasn't written by Mirabelle Thorne, I don't have to check the cover to know that.

I check the cover.

April Winter. There’s a definite touch of dryness to her humour; the pseudonym, the title. Or is it a him? It could be. It could be anyone. I've heard a few tales of prestigious authors who churn out romances to stay busy while they wait to get famous. Or to pay bills, between critically acclaimed works that nobody wants.

I sit down again and open it. It’s a romance, yes. The strong-willed city girl who thinks she’s in love with the wealthy country-boy alpaca farmer until she meets the handsome, serious, magnetic, penniless local doctor. Small town. Impossible choice. Whatever. The plot’s predictable and the woman isn't worth the Chapter Eight punch-up over her.

But there’s something about it. Something sly, indefinable. The alpaca man is so smug, and the woman so exhaustingly feisty- when the doctor finally wins her, the town rejoices but I am left uneasy. The doctor has a coolness, a detachment. Even as he's declaring his love to her in the moonlit garden behind the old pub he's keeping something back. He's playing a game.

I wonder if a sequel would unravel this, but of course: romance novels don't have sequels. She gets her man and there's no more to say.

I get out my phone and do an internet search for April Winter, author. Anatomy of the Heart is her only book. Maybe she has other pseudonyms. Other names, under which she slips strange and unsettling love stories into the world. Or is it a he?

The clock says eighteen past two in the morning.

I pick up my pen and begin to write 1200 words on the gap between the type of text that makes a writer look intellectual and the actual books that keep you sitting up reading at your card table, far into the night.

I use examples.

*************************************************

#original writing #original work #short story #anatomy of the heart #writerblr

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vikinglanguage · 5 years

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Got any recommendations for easier languages to learn? Would you ever learn Esperanto?

Got any recommendations for easier languages to learn?I mean, the easiest languages to learn always depend on which languages you already know. For an example, as a native Danish speaker I would most likely be able to learn both Swedish and Norwegian from just exposure, with no formal study what so ever, even at the age of 20.I also find that I understand a lot of written Dutch just because of my knowledge of Danish, English, and German.

In my language learning experience so far, I’ve definitely found English the easiest to learn. The grammar is quite simple when it comes to verbs (though a bit more complicated than Danish, which only has 6 verbal forms, but much simpler than ie. Spanish, which has 58), there are no noun cases outside of attaching ‘s or ‘ to stuff or using different pronouns, nouns don’t even have a grammatical gender, there’s no declension of adjectives, the word order is always SVO outside of questions etc. The phonetics are AWFUL, but the availability of EVERYTHING in English makes up for it fantastically.

I’ve heard that if you are a native English speaker, Dutch and Afrikaans should be some of the easiest languages to learn, though I don’t know if there’s anything to that claim, as I’ve never tried to learn either. They SOUND very similar to English as well. I think if you’re good at finding resources for niche languages, Frisian is the closest relative to modern English, so that should be fairly easy?If you want something that’s easy to spell and also very LOGICAL in my experience, I’d say Spanish is a good bet. Everything is spelled exactly how you’d think, and all the rules that I’ve encountered so far make sense. I cannot remember the last time I guessed the gender of a Spanish noun wrong. However, there are 58 verbal forms, which is... a lot. Like English, Spanish is also a language that has quite a lot of stuff readily available, because it is one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, and there are a lot of people who are learning Spanish.I actually also don’t think Danish should be a very hard language to learn, if you already speak a Germanic language (English, German, Dutch, Swedish). Though we do have some weird sounds (soft d, ø) and our spelling is often completely WACK, we do only have 6 verbal forms, 2 grammatical genders (unless you speak WEIRD AS HELL dialects) and NO NOUNS CASES (Honestly, the cases are my least favourite part of German. I get why they’re theoretically handy, but it’s just... hard). But honestly, I wouldn’t know. I mean, I have no recollection of learning Danish, but it seems to have been a fairly easy feat for my Austrian roommate so far.

Would you even learn Esperanto?BIG TIME YES! As a native speaker of a European language, a fluent speaker of another, someone who won’t get lost in another two European language and also just an enormous language nerd, I think it’s really interesting. It is actually something that I’ve already been dabbling with, but considering where I’m currently at in my life, for now it makes more sense for me to focus on really trying to learn German.That being said, when I first learned that Esperanto existed when I was? Maybe 14 or something like that, I was instantly very fascinated! The main thing about it that bugs me, is that it has noun cases, because it’s the thing I’ve always despised about German and I see no reason to include it, when you can... not... However, I do think that the spelling and pronunciation is 👌👌👌, so that makes it more ok. I think conlangs are super cool and would definitely be very interested in learning Esperanto at some point, but I don’t think that point is right now. I don’t know, I haven’t though about it for a while.

#ask #anon #original #esperanto #general #personal #Anonymous

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yack9999-blog · 4 years

Text

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Do Transportable Translators Like Muama Enence Really Operate?

Let’s overlook all the other Muama translator recommendations for any 2nd and concentrate on the very notion of a translator system. Many people would request (and rightfully so) if these products are in fact helpful or even they’re simply a method to get money from unsuspecting people. Properly, we are here to describe how these products are perfectly safe to purchase. But do they really functionality?

Surprisingly, that has been certainly one of several queries The Huffington Post asked for after they looked after the disclose in the Ili back 2016. They didn’t such as the point how the business that produced the Ili skilled a streak of failures previously. Moreover, they found the Ili advertising creepy—it had been a male who wanted to demonstrate the gizmo did the trick effectively by asking for randomly women to kiss him and permitting these devices convert.

Regardless of these red flags, HuffPo ongoing being cautiously confident about portable translators total. Right now, you can find numerous businesses that make these products. It’s a developing market made up of nevertheless to obtain its highest.

Why Would You Use the Muama Fast Translator? Why Not Applications?

Muama Enence Translator Reviews

Programs are perfect and, but they have one main flaw greater than easily transportable translators. They are not that nicely produced to enable them to work properly. Additionally, which they will need regular updates. When talking with regards to their own personal items, Gmyle put out a wonderful record on why handling application aren’t as fantastic as cellular translators. Look for facts about it in this article.

While the issue isn’t just ‘why not use software?’ Additionally it is ‘why make use of the Muama Enence translator whatsoever?’ So let’s check out the system itself and find out just what makes it tick.

In-Variety Muama Enence Review: Specs and has

Described formerly, the Muama immediate translator can cope with over 40 different languages, which include:

•Arabic (Egyptian, Saudi, and Global)

•China (Cantonese, Processed, Sichuan dialect, Typical)

•British (Australian, Chinese suppliers, Indian native, BE, and AE)

•French (common and Canadian)

•Portuguese (standard and Brazilian)

•Spanish (standard and Mexican)

•Bulgarian

•Catalan

•Croatian

•Czech

•Danish

•Dutch

•Finnish

•German

•Greek

•Hindi

•Hebrew

•Hungarian

•Indonesian

•Italian

•Japanese

•Korean

•Malay

•Norwegian

•Improve

•Romanian

•Russian

•Slovak

•Swedish

•Tagalog

•Thai

•Turkish

•Ukrainian

•Vietnamese

Any time you take into account one check out the Muama Enence translator, you’ll be very satisfied to see that this will sustain every one of the dialects in the above list. It is barely bigger than an more mature MP3 player. Of course, the measurements works to its acquire it won’t use up an abnormal amount of place in your pocket or perhaps your case.

How Muama Enence runs is incredibly effortless. You may have two control tactics, imaginatively called the A combined with the B key. When you need to status one thing to the specific particular person before you, press the Some handle, and communicate your term. Once you relieve the move, it translates the sentence for your interlocutor. When they need to answer you, retain the B option whenever they communicate. Their key phrase will review you within your vocabulary. We must discover that one could even discuss a variety of phrases in a row using this translator.

Will It Go A Long Way That Nicely?

muama enence instant translator

Oh, it absolutely does. The respond time period of Muama Enence is in most 1.5 secs. Furthermore, it’s a system which can carry on for four full time prior to the electric battery quickly scans the blogosphere. All it will require then is really a fast charge.

But which is not the end of Enence’s great characteristics. You can even call for a image of some written text in the unfamiliar terms, and also the little translator will explain what’s published. You must hook it up to the smartphone via Bluetooth.

Muama Enence is likewise exceptionally tough. When it was sector-assessed with a group of interested end users, a few of them dropped these units on the sidewalk. Even after this challenging treatment method, the translators did the trick just like a allure.

You can’t really surpass modest, resilient, and handy in relation to interpretation products. But, even Muama translator’s prices are great it is neither too expensive nor economical.

We must also speak about the range. The Enence translator can choose your dialog up far of 2 m (6.6 ft .). Additionally, it provides a wireless network sending extended extended distance of 10 m (32.9 feet). Additionally, it performs effectively even though you’re in the bundled location with plenty sound. Roads and pathways early spring to mind, as do cusine establishments and pubs. Put just, places through which lots of people are conversing as well, however, you simply have to know the individual directly in front of you.

Experts:

•Above 40 diverse spoken languages available for handling

•Mobile sizing allows you to hold about

•It is difficult

•Good transmitting collection

•Very lengthy electric battery life-span

Disadvantages:

•It mistranslates from time to time

•Not to work with in daily living-or-reduction in existence circumstances

Which Are The Flaws for the Muama Enence?

As fantastic since the Muama Enence translator is, it’s not greatest. As one example, you will get situations when the product will mistranslate a key phrase. That typically takes place when somebody mumbles when they discuss or should there be excessive disruption given by other individuals near by.

One more serious problem is essentially which you shouldn’t use the translator in everyday life-or-loss of life situations. If someone is hurt or unwell, you must choose a medical doctor that talks their terminology. Depending on a translator for any kind (app or product) might cost somebody their lifestyle.

Which Can Muama Enence Help the Most?

We are all aware studying another terms is truly the smart choice for anything at all. If you want to touring or predict operating overseas, you must know the essential principles inside the not familiar terminology. But some folks are hardly intended for comprehending them, and that’s perfectly normal. These represent the standard those who would take advantage of Muama Enence essentially the most. They could quickly hold the common words across to people they’re talking with without worrying that they’ll receive everything poor.

Enence can also be ideal for individuals who don’t have the time and effort to be common with a brand new language in addition to individuals who be aware of very fundamentals from it. It’s an awesome shortcut when you’re in a dash or can’t added at any time.

If only to purchase Muama Enence. Can Anyone Help Me To Get It?

Though it comes with its defects, Muama Enence is a great modest translator. It genuinely works effectively, functions a long time before its up approaching fee, and it’s sturdy for its sizes.

If you’re considering buying a Muama Enence translator, look into our storefront beneath. For those who call today, you will definately get a 50Percent cheaper and cost-free freight. Furthermore, when you select three Muama Enence translators, you may definitely get two far more free of cost. If you’re unsatisfied because of their performance, you will have a 60-working working day money-back guarantee.

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moogarry-blog · 4 years

Text

Muama

Muama Enence Translator Review 2020- Easily transportable Interpretation Accomplished Straightforward

It’s quite frustrating if you want to journey but don’t know the vocabulary of the nation you’re visiting. That’s why people often use translation apps, and before these, they utilized to depend upon pocketbooks of useful terms.

Fortunately, that’s where by Muama Enence will come in.

The Muama Enence translator is more than just another gadget from the extended line of portable language translation products. It might translate a wide array of different languages for people, a lot more than 40 actually. We no more should spend our time to know the local greengrocer or salesperson in this spectacular country we are going to. A click of a button is all it takes.

Do Transportable Translators Like Muama Enence Actually Work?

https://apnews.com/3e4a288891bb76a64e2b8a8ebdca110e

________________________________________

Let’s disregard all the other Muama translator testimonials for a 2nd and focus on the very notion of a translator system. A lot of people would ask (and rightfully so) if these devices are in fact useful or maybe they’re just a method to get dollars from unsuspecting individuals. Nicely, we’re here to explain how these units are perfectly secure to purchase. But do they function?

Surprisingly, which was certainly one of many inquiries The Huffington Post requested once they taken care of the reveal of the Ili back 2016. They didn’t like the point that the company that manufactured the Ili experienced a streak of failures previously. Furthermore, they found the Ili advertising creepy—it had been a man who wanted to demonstrate the gadget worked well by requesting random girls to kiss him and letting the device convert.

Despite these red flags, HuffPo continued to be cautiously confident about portable translators overall. At the moment, you will find a large number of firms that make these units. It’s a growing market containing yet to attain its maximum.

Why Should You Use the Muama Quick Translator? Why Not Programs?

________________________________________

Applications are good and, but they have one main defect more than portable translators. They are not that nicely developed to allow them to work properly. Moreover, that they need frequent upgrades. When talking about their own personal products, Gmyle put out an amazing report on why interpretation software aren’t as great as mobile translators. Search for information on it in this article.

Although the concern isn’t just ‘why not use applications?’ It is also ‘why use the Muama Enence translator at all?’ So let’s look into the device itself and see exactly what makes it tick.

In-Range Muama Enence Review: Specifications and has

________________________________________

Mentioned previously, the Muama instant translator can deal with above 40 languages, including:

•Arabic (Egyptian, Saudi, and Global)

•China (Cantonese, Refined, Sichuan dialect, Conventional)

•British (Australian, China, Indian, BE, and AE)

•French (typical and Canadian)

•Portuguese (typical and Brazilian)

•Spanish (regular and Mexican)

•Bulgarian

•Catalan

•Croatian

•Czech

•Danish

•Dutch

•Finnish

•German

•Greek

•Hindi

•Hebrew

•Hungarian

•Indonesian

•Italian

•Japanese

•Korean

•Malay

•Norwegian

•Improve

•Romanian

•Russian

•Slovak

•Swedish

•Tagalog

•Thai

•Turkish

•Ukrainian

•Vietnamese

Whenever you consider one check out the Muama Enence translator, you’ll be very impressed to see that it will maintain every one of the dialects listed above. It is barely larger than an older MP3 player. Needless to say, the dimensions works to its gain it won’t use up an excessive amount of area in your pocket or maybe your bag.

The way Muama Enence operates is very easy. You might have two control keys, imaginatively called the A along with the B button. When you wish to state something for the particular person in front of you, push the Some control, and speak your phrase. After you release the switch, it translates the sentence for your interlocutor. When they would like to answer you, support the B option when they communicate. Their phrase will revisit you in your terminology. We should notice that you can even talk a number of sentences in a row applying this translator.

Can It Really Work That Well?

________________________________________

Oh, it absolutely does. The reply time of Muama Enence is at most 1.5 seconds. In addition, it’s a device which will go on for four total time prior to the battery goes out. All it requires then is actually a swift charge.

But that is not the end of Enence’s wonderful features. You can also require a image of some written text in the foreign words, as well as the small translator will tell you what’s written. You must connect it to the smartphone via Bluetooth.

Muama Enence is likewise exceptionally durable. If it was industry-analyzed by a team of curious users, a few of them dropped these devices on the sidewalk. Even after this difficult therapy, the translators worked just like a allure.

You can’t really surpass small, resilient, and handy when it comes to translation units. But, even Muama translator’s prices are awesome it’s neither too expensive nor inexpensive.

We need to also speak about the range. The Enence translator can select your speech up far away of 2 meters (6.6 ft .). Additionally, it features a wireless transmitting extended distance of 10 m (32.9 ft). Furthermore, it really works properly even though you’re inside a packed region with plenty of sound. Streets and sidewalks spring to mind, as do dining establishments and pubs. Put simply, places in which a number of people are conversing as well, however you only have to comprehend the individual directly in front of you.

Experts:

•Above 40 different languages accessible for interpretation

•Mobile sizing makes it easy to carry around

•It is tough

•Good transmitting range

•Very long battery lifespan

Negatives:

•It mistranslates occasionally

•Not to use in daily life-or-loss of life circumstances

What Are The Flaws for the Muama Enence?

________________________________________

As wonderful because the Muama Enence translator is, it’s not best. As an example, you will have occasions when the device will mistranslate a phrase. That typically occurs when someone mumbles while they talk or when there is too much disturbance provided by other individuals close by.

Yet another major problem is basically that you shouldn’t utilize the translator in everyday life-or-death situations. If a person is hurt or unwell, you must locate a medical professional that speaks their vocabulary. Counting on a translator of any sort (app or device) could cost someone their lifestyle.

Which Will Muama Enence Help the Most?

________________________________________

We are all aware that studying another words is usually the best choice for anything. Whether or not you like to traveling or anticipate operating abroad, you need to know the basic principles in the unfamiliar terminology. But some individuals are just not designed for understanding them, and that’s perfectly regular. These are the basic individuals who would benefit from Muama Enence probably the most. They are able to quickly have the standard phrases across to individuals they’re talking with without worrying that they’ll obtain it all improper.

Enence is also great for individuals that don’t get the time and energy to become familiar with a new vocabulary as well as individuals who be aware of very fundamentals from it. It’s an awesome shortcut when you’re in a rush or can’t extra at any time.

I wish to Buy Muama Enence. Can Anyone Help Me Have It?

________________________________________

Though it comes with its flaws, Muama Enence is a superb small translator. It really works properly, operates a very long time before its up coming charge, and it’s resilient due to its dimensions.

If you’re interested in investing in a Muama Enence translator, take a look at our storefront below. In the event you call now, you will get a 50Percent discounted and free freight. Furthermore, if you opt for three Muama Enence translators, you will definitely get two a lot more free of charge. If you’re not satisfied with their functionality, you have a 60-working day cash-back guarantee.

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kristoffxannafanatic · 5 years

Text

Second Chances

Happy Kristanna Christmas in July @epbaker. I am your Secret Santa. I hope you like this little modern au. Thank you to @lukin08 for proofing and helping to make it gift worthy.

Kristoff hated bartending but, it was a job and he had to earn a living somehow. Thank goodness his family always had jobs for him when he was in need. He was scheduled to take the civil service exam in a month. He already had points in his favor for his military service. Hopefully he would get onto a police force or fire department in the area. “Have faith, baby.” That’s what his mom always said. He tried to stay hopeful, but it was getting harder and harder.

During the day he did handy work for Dad’s contracting business and tended bar at Pabbie’s at night. He liked that it kept him busy. It’s not like he had any kind of social life since Rebecca left him while he was deployed. That had been a huge mistake and he regretted dating her. She was nothing like the one that got away from him 10 years ago.

Anna couldn’t believe she was back in her childhood hometown. She thought she would never come back after her parent’s unfortunate accident. But life hadn’t turned out the way she dreamed when she was 15 years old.

Getting back in touch with her old high school friends seemed like a good idea when she first got to town. She found out right away they were all too eager to catch up. But going to meet up with them, she wondered if they had changed at all. Back in school, she had “ran in the right circles”. It was what was expected of her, even if she never had much in common with her friends. But she had changed more than she ever could have expected, and she could hope they had as well.

“Anna, I can’t believe you are back here after 10 years in Europe!”

“OMG! I know! What happened with that Danish prince?”

“I read that you guys were engaged.”

“Oh…yeah we were but only for a hot minute.”

“Eeekkk!! Tell us about it!”

“Sorry Christine, I had to sign a nondisclosure…can’t talk about it.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Brittany, these aren’t just rich people, they are royalty. Look at everything with Harry and Meghan!”

Anna remembered quickly why she hated hanging out with these girls. They were vapid…. still! She was hoping they had matured since she left but…NOPE!”

“Anna why are we going to Pabbie’s for drinks?”

“Pabbie was close to my Dad. Plus, they charge a fraction of the price for the same top shelf cocktails and wine.”

“Like money is a problem for us.”

“Stop Christine, you’re such a snobby bitch.”

Anna tuned out the two girls plus she couldn’t tell them one of the reasons she was moving home was because her trust fund was running low due to that damn Prince. She had to move back into her family’s home and was going to work with Elsa at their parents’ business, Arendelle Investments.

Christine and Brittany walked into the bar all loud and rude. Kristoff looked up at the unusual disturbance and saw the girls walk in. Bad tippers, he thought to himself and went to go back to work. But who came in after the girls is what nearly makes him drop the drink he is making.

Anna Arendelle

She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Anna looked around the bar and saw an open table. “Come on ladies, I found a table.”

“Anna seriously?! Let’s go clubbing in the city?”

“I like it here plus the club scene is so played out.”

“This place is so lame! The only one in our age bracket is Kristoff Bjorgman.”

Anna’s head spun around. “Wait…what? Kristoff Bjorgman is here?”

“He’s the bartender. I guess the Army didn’t find any use for him just like that skank that he dated. Anna, please don’t tell me you still have a silly crush on that loser.”

“You know what, you guys are the losers! He was kinder to me than either of you ever were. You only looked me up because you wanted to find out about Hans and why I let it fall apart.”

Kristoff watched the exchange go down. He was proud of Anna for telling off those idiots.

“How dare you Anna? Everyone knows he cheated on you and your trust fund is nearly gone.”

“Yeah! And you had to crawl back to your big sister. Go ahead and go lay in the gutter with your maid’s son!”

“You know what…you’re not worth our time. You are a charity case. A broke has been hiding behind a good name.”

Pabbie walked over and interrupted the tirade. “Young ladies, I can’t have this in my place. You are going to need to leave.”

“No problem old man!”

Anna scampered off in the opposite direction to the ladies’ room. She was so stupid to reach out to her so called friends. What made her think anyone in this town could have changed for the better? Pabbie walked over to Kristoff and gave him that an all-knowing smile.

“Son, I’ve got the bar. Go check on your friend.”

“Grand Pabbie, we were childhood acquaintance not friends. I haven’t talked to her in ten years.”

Grand Pabbie rolled his eyes and laughed at Kristoff. He pointed to the ladies’ room. Kristoff knew there was no point in arguing. He gave up and headed in that direction. Kristoff heard Grand Pabbie mumble,” acquaintance my ass.”

Kristoff didn’t have a clue what to do. He didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say to Anna when they were younger, always stumbling over his words. He wasn’t good talking to girls but with Anna he was a complete idiot. Just being in her presence made him tongue tied.

Anna sat there sobbing and feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t want to call Elsa because she would give her that I told you so speech. She had warned her that those girls had not changed one bit since she left. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of Pabbie’s without looking like a fool especially in front of Kristoff. Just then there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Anna? Are you okay?”

Anna covered an audible gasp when she heard Kristoff’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Do you need me to call you an Uber or…”

Kristoff wanted to be the one to take her home, but he didn’t want to sound like a creep.

“Or what?” Anna’s voice was soft, but she couldn’t hide her curiosity.

Kristoff took in a deep breath. “Uh…maybe…maybe I could drive you home? That is…if you are comfortable with that.”

Anna’s heart soared. She loved how he was always so shy for such a tough looking guy. She has had a crush on him since she was 10 and he was 13. The last ten years had been extremely good to him. He had grown at least 6 more inches and filled in nicely. While she still felt like that plain, freckly 15-year-old.

She remembered the day they met. He had come with his mother, Bulda, to their house to give homework to Elsa when she had missed school for a prolonged illness. Bulda was their maid and cook, his Dad, Cliff was their handyman. She thought back to how kind both of them always were to her. Pabbie even was a good friend of her Dad’s.

“I would love for you to take me home, Kristoff.”

Kristoff’s elation quickly changed as his heart dropped. Now he had to figure out what the hell he was going to talk to her about.

“O…ok. Let me tell Grand Pabbie and we can go. My truck is parked out back, so you don’t need to walk thru the bar. I’ll meet you right here when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Kris.”

His knees went weak when she called him Kris. She was the only one he ever let call him that. He rushed back to the bar to tell Grand Pabbie he was taking her home.

“Good luck, son.” Grand Pabbie winked at him as he went back to the bathrooms.

Anna washed her face and cleaned herself up before waiting for Kristoff outside the bathrooms. She fidgeted with her jacket while she waited. She had no idea how to talk to him.

“Are you all set?”

Anna looked up into those kind, brown eyes and nodded her head and he guided her out the back. They walked up to his black truck…. used but clearly well cared for and loved. He surprised her by opening her door for her and lending her a hand for her to climb up into the cab.

“Thanks.”

Kristoff shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s no biggie.”

She looked at him with those big blue eyes and with all sincerity said, “No it is a big deal and you will never understand what your acts of kindness have done for me over the years.”

Kristoff was confused. He didn’t think a simple act of driving someone home and helping them into his truck was anything but basic human decency. It got him thinking that nobody ever treated her with manners and kindness. He jumped into the driver’s side and they headed towards uptown where Anna lived.

It was quiet the first 5 minutes. Neither of them knew how to start a conversation. Anna decided to jump right into the deep end.

“So, I heard you were in the Army? Did you get sent overseas?”

“Oh, yeah…yeah, I joined shortly after you left for Europe. I figured it was a good way to get money for college. I spent some time in the Middle East, but I was lucky. I got to help people and didn’t get involved in any squirmishes.”

“Have you gone back to school?”

“No, I haven’t had enough money to cover the balance but I’m taking the civil service test soon. If I do well on that, I can get a job as a cop or firefighter. I did a little bit of both in the Army. Then I will be earning enough to go to school. What about you? Did you go to college in Europe?”

Anna was embarrassed to answer him because while he was keeping our country safe, she was partying around Europe with that Euro trash loser.

“No…not yet. I was a little lost, but I think I am finding my way back into the light. I am going to work with Elsa until I figure out what I want to do.”

“Good for you. Most people can’t admit when they have gotten lost. How is Elsa?”

“Elsa is great…she is so happy that I am back. We have been having a lot of fun bonding again. So, I heard you have a girlfriend?”

“Who, me?” Kristoff let out a sarcastic laugh. “UH...no. Rebecca dumped me while I was deployed. She said she needed someone that was going to be there to service her wants and needs. She also wasn’t a fan of the fact that I hated the club scene. I got a nice letter all about it when I was in overseas.”

“I thought the club scene was for me, but it got old really quick. I guess I am a home body, just needed to find my way back home. I can’t believe she Dear Johned you! How could anyone break up with you, you are the complete package!”

Kristoff pulled up to Anna’s house, slammed the truck into park and looked at her. “wait…. what? I’m the complete package? Are you kidding me? You have it all…the sunny personality, radiant smile, great people skills, beautiful, intelligent, world traveled and the most amazing blue eyes I have ever seen.”

“You think I am beautiful?”

Kristoff couldn’t hold back anymore. He leaned in and captured her lips with his. Anna melted into his embraced. They slowly separated after a few minutes. Kristoff touched his forehead to her’s.

“Sorry for being so forward but I have wanted to do that for ten years. Ever since you left, I have regretted the fact that I never told you how I felt about you.”

Anna just looked at him in complete shock. She grabbed onto him and started to cry.

Kristoff started to panic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected that a girl as amazing as you could ever like a bum like me.”

She pulled away from him and cradled his face. “Oh Kris, these are tears of joy…I have loved you since I was 10 years old. I thought you only saw me as a dumb kid.”

“Anna, may we, may I, could we…maybe go out on a date.”

Anna leans in and kisses him again. “We may!”

Kristoff gave her the biggest smile Anna had ever seen. “So, are you glad you came back?”

She returned his grin. “Best decision ever!”

#kristannachristmasinjuly 2019 #KACiJ2019 #epbaker #My attempt at writing

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 24

Chapter Summary - Tom and Alexianna wake up after the night's confrontation with Edward in better moods, which becomes even better again when Tom meets with his old schoolmate.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna

Request if you wish to be tagged

Tom stretched as he woke, grinning as he felt a body beside him in the bed, but groaning as he felt his back ache slightly. Opening an eye, he was delighted to see the brunette hair of Alexianna beside him. She moaned slightly in her sleep a moment later and turned over, her eyes flickering as she woke. ‘Good morning.’ He smiled.

Alexianna groaned and rubbed her eyes. ‘This bed is horrible.’

‘It is actually.’ Tom was forced to admit, he pulled her to him. ‘The company is good though.’

Alexianna curled in close to him. ‘It is.’ she smiled as Tom kissed her head. ‘I need to get up though and go into the bedroom.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Lily might see us.’

‘We are dressed.’ Tom pointed out.

‘I don’t…’

‘Mommy.’ Alexianna swore silently before looking around. ‘Why are you on the sofa bed with Tom?’

‘We fell asleep last night after your mommy made the bed for me to sleep in.’ Tom answered, ‘Good morning Lily.’

She giggled and jumped up next to her mother. ‘Hi.’ She leant in and tipped her nose off Alexianna’s.

‘You need to brush your teeth.’ Alexianna smiled. ‘Did you have nice dreams?’ Lily nodded. ‘What did you dream about?’

‘That you, me, Tom and Nana went to a restaurant and I got a big ice-cream with chocolate sauce.’

‘Well, that was a great dream.’ Lily nodded happily at her mother before looking at Tom too and smiling.

Tom gave her a wink and she giggled. He felt a surge of sensation through his stomach, one he had not experienced before. As Lily leant over her mother and held out her hand in a fist, he could not explain it. He looked between her and her fist expectantly. ‘She wants a fist bump.’ Alexianna explained.

‘Oh right, silly me.’ Tom extended his fist and Lily bumped hers forward before pulling backwards singing slightly, startling Tom before rushing back into the bedroom. ‘What was that last part?’

‘It’s from Big Hero Six.’ Alexianna stretched.

‘Never heard of it.’

‘You will, she’ll make sure of it.’ Tom frowned at the statement, which Alexianna caught. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel pressured.’

‘It’s not that, I just...it’s odd, I never needed to have a child like me like this before, so to have her so accepting…’

‘Tom?’

‘I am in her thoughts, her drawings, her dreams, alongside you and Daniel, her family, it feels...I feel...’

‘Pressurized?’

‘A little, because I feel I have to live up to her expectation of me. She sees me as part of all this now, I feel I could leave her down.’

‘We are all human Tom, we have to accept, even at four years old, that putting people on pedestals only causes us to be disappointed when they err because no one is perfect.’

‘How do you bear it, she idolises you?’

‘I am her mum, I will be there for her when no one else is, when Daniel moves on with his life, when you are not here, I will be.’

‘I am not leaving you.’

‘You will, be it for a movie, for a Marvel press junket, or if you decide you are finished with this, you will leave.’

‘I am not going to just up and leave Lexi, stop thinking like that.’ Tom stated firmly. ‘I have to do things that pull me away, sometimes for weeks on end, but I will return.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I will, it is not always going to be easy, I am not going to lie, and there are going to be strains, but I want this, you and Lily. I love you both so much already.’ Alexianna frowned. ‘I do, I love you. You have been forcing yourself out of your shell so much in the time we have been together and you have instilled so much trust and faith in me, I cannot put into words what it means that you do.’

‘But it scares you?’ Tom looked at her guiltily. ‘Tom, I feel incredibly overwhelmed pretty much every day with raising Lily, and I am her mother, the person she has genetic links to, the human that effectively chose to allow her to exist, I cannot fathom how it is for you, but you can leave if you need to, I won’t blame you if the day comes.’

‘I feel like we’ll be doing this a lot.’

‘What?’

‘Me telling you I am not leaving.’ Tom stopped a moment later when he realised. ‘Of course, I am saying this to a woman that only knows people who leave and abandon her.’

‘I am starting to think it is me.’

‘It is not you, Lexi, your parents and your ex are not nice people. Look at my family, we are actively trying to see more of you.’

‘Are you sure it’s not you that’s defective?’

Tom chuckled, ‘we could easily be.’ He kissed her for a moment.

Alexianna pulled back after a minute. ‘I need to get us some breakfast and you need to get ready, you have another day of mopey Danish prince to train as.’ Tom chuckled and got out of the bed reluctantly.

‘Here you go.’ Tom extended his hand and took the envelope. ‘One divorce papers, with every T crossed and every I dotted.’

‘Jeremy, I cannot thank you enough.’ Tom beamed looking at the sealed manilla paper.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ the other man smiled. ‘So, stepdad, bet you never thought you’d play that role.’

‘It was unexpected.’

‘It makes life fun, the unexpected.’ Jeremy joked before his face went serious. ‘I need to warn you of something Tom, I am not sure you are going to like it.’ Tom felt unsure as to what Jeremy was going to say. ‘Edward Rice, the firm has had dealings with his before, effectively stalking, the whole shebang your girlfriend went through and more, they are, to say the least, bottom feeling, scrupulous scum.’

‘I have noticed.’

‘You need to be careful, he could still make good on his threats.’

Tom pursed his lips. ‘He is going to make it that she will never be free.’

‘Those type seldom do, and the force used to twist his hand into this is not going to help.’ Jeremy pointed to the envelope. ‘Just be careful.’ Tom nodded. ‘I am not the first to warn you of this, am I?’

‘No, and you won’t be the last.’

‘I’m sorry Tom, I just…’

Tom put up his hand and smiled, ‘You’re just looking out for me,’ Jeremy nodded. ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’

‘Anytime, and I mean that. If he rears up again, I will deal with it.’

‘Thank you, Jeremy.’

‘I am glad she got away from him anyway, he does not seem like a nice guy, but why not get money for the kid if it is his?’

‘She wants to keep away from him, he said he would demand half custody and she decided that it isn’t worth it.’

‘That’s understandable, though I think, considering his lack of interest until now, that is just a tactic to stop her considering it. She should have gone for it. Just remind her she still can in the future, should she decide to, but I do believe he will demand a DNA test. A judge would very much be inclined towards having one too in a tit for tat situation.’

‘Okay.’ Tom nodded.

‘Good luck with it all, who knows, you might be giving that little girl a sibling soon enough.’ Tom frowned at the jestful comment as his old friend began to walk off. ‘It’d be handy actually, I need someone to save my kid’s ass in school if it’s anything like me, so if it is the same gender as mine it would be great.’

#Life is a Game of Risks #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #chapter 24

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yasbxxgie · 6 years

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Jazz as Communication

by Langston Hughes

You can start anywhere—Jazz as Communication—since it’s a circle, and you yourself are the dot in the middle. You, me. For example, I’ll start with the Blues. I’m not a Southerner. I never worked on a levee. I hardly ever saw a cotton field except from the highway. But women behave the same on Park Avenue as they do on a levee: when you’ve got hold of one part of them the other part escapes you. That’s the Blues!

Life is as hard on Broadway as it is in Blues-originating-land. The Brill Building Blues is just as hungry as the Mississippi Levee Blues. One communicates to the other, brother! Somebody is going to rise up and tell me that nothing that comes out of Tin Pan Alley is jazz. I disagree. Commercial, yes. But so was Storeyville, so was Basin Street. What do you think Tony Jackson and Jelly Roll Morton and King Oliver and Louis Armstrong were playing for?(1) Peanuts? No, money, even in Dixieland. They were communicating for money. For fun, too—because they had fun. But the money helped the fun along.

Now; To skip a half century, somebody is going to rise up and tell me Rock and Roll isn’t jazz. First, two or three years ago, there were all these songs about too young to know—but. . . . The songs are right. You’re never too young to know how bad it is to love and not have love come back to you. That’s as basic as the Blues. And that’s what Rock and Roll is—teenage Heartbreak Hotel—the old songs reduced to the lowest common denominator. The music goes way back to Blind Lemon and Leadbelly—Georgia Tom merging into the Gospel Songs—Ma Rainey, and the most primitive of the Blues.(2) It borrows their gut-bucket heartache. It goes back to the jubilees and stepped-up Spirituals—Sister Tharpe—and borrows their I’m-gonna-be-happy-anyhow-in-spite-of-this-world kind of hope. It goes back further and borrows the steady beat of the drums of Congo Square—that going-on beat—and the Marching Bands’ loud and blatant yes!! Rock and Roll puts them all together and makes a music so basic it’s like the meat cleaver the butcher uses—before the cook uses the knife—before you use the sterling silver at the table on the meat that by then has been rolled up into a commercial filet mignon.

A few more years and Rock and Roll will no doubt be washed back half forgotten into the sea of jazz. Jazz is a great big sea. It washes up all kinds of fish and shells and spume and waves with a steady old beat, or off-beat. And Louis must be getting old if he thinks J. J. and Kai—and even Elvis—didn’t come out of the same sea he came out of, too. Some water has chlorine in it and some doesn’t. There’re all kinds of water. There’s salt water and Saratoga water and Vichy water, Quinine water and Pluto water—and Newport rain. And it’s all water. Throw it all in the sea, and the sea’ll keep on rolling along toward shore and crashing and booming back into itself again. The sun pulls the moon. The moon pulls the sea. They also pull jazz and me. Beyond Kai to Count to Lonnie to Texas Red, beyond June to Sarah to Billy to Bessie to Ma Rainey. And the Most is the It—the all of it.(3)

Jazz seeps into words—spelled out words. Nelson Algren is influenced by jazz. Ralph Ellison is, too. Sartre, too. Jacques Prévert. Most of the best writers today are. Look at the end of the Ballad of the Sad Cafe. Me as the public, my dot in the middle—it was fifty years ago, the first time I heard the Blues on Independence Avenue in Kansas City. Then State Street in Chicago. Then Harlem in the twenties with J. P. and J. C. Johnson and Fats and Willie the Lion and Nappy playing piano—with the Blues running all up and down the keyboard through the ragtime and the jazz.(4) House rent party cards. I wrote The Weary Blues:

Downing a drowsy syncopated tune . . . . . . etc. . . . .

Shuffle Along was running then—the Sissle and Blake tunes. A little later Runnin’ Wild and the Charleston and Fletcher and Duke and Cab. Jimmie Lunceford, Chick Webb, and Ella. Tiny Parham in Chicago. And at the end of the Depression times, what I heard at Minton’s. A young music—coming out of young people. Billy—the male and female of them—both the Eckstein and the Holiday—and Dizzy and Tad and the Monk.(5) Some of it came out in poems of mine in Montage of a Dream Deferred later. Jazz again putting itself into words.

But I wasn’t the only one putting jazz into words. Better poets of the heart of jazz beat me to it. W. C. Handy a long time before. Benton Overstreet. Mule Bradford. Then Buddy DeSilva on the pop level. Ira Gershwin. By and by Dorothy Baker in the novel—to name only the most obvious—the ones with labels. I mean the ones you can spell out easy with a-b-c’s—the word mongers—outside the music. But always the ones of the music were the best—Charlie Christian, for example, Bix, Louis, Joe Sullivan, Count.(6)

Now, to wind it all up, with you in the middle—jazz is only what you yourself get out of it. Louis’s famous quote—or misquote probably—“Lady, if you have to ask what it is, you’ll never know.” Well, I wouldn’t be so positive. The lady just might know—without being able to let loose the cry—to follow through—to light up before the fuse blows out. To me jazz is a montage of a dream deferred. A great big dream—yet to come—and always yet—to become ultimately and finally true. Maybe in the next seminar—for Saturday—Nat Hentoff and Billy Strayhorn and Tony Scott and the others on that panel will tell us about it—when they take up “The Future of Jazz.” The Bird was looking for that future like mad. The Newborns, Chico, Dave, Gulda, Milt, Charlie Mingus.(7) That future is what you call pregnant. Potential papas and mamas of tomorrow’s jazz are all known. But THE papa and THE mama—maybe both—are anonymous. But the child will communicate. Jazz is a heartbeat—its heartbeat is yours. You will tell me about its perspectives when you get ready.

NOTES

(1) Tony Jackson (1876-1921), American ragtime pianist and blues singer; Ferdinand Joseph “Jelly Roll” Morton (1885-1941) began playing piano in New Orleans’ Storyville at the age of seventeen and was regarded by many as the first great jazz composer; Joseph “King” Oliver (1885-1938), popular ragtime performer with roots in New Orleans.

(2) Blind Lemon Jefferson (1897-1929), early American pioneer of the blues; Thomas “Georgia Tom” Dorsey (1899-1993), African American blues singer, gospel songwriter, and pianist.

(3) James Louis “J. J.” Johnson (1924- ), an American trombonist and composer, and Kai Winding (1922-1983), a Danish American trombonist, formed the popular group Jay and Kai in 1954; Lonnie Johnson (1889-1970), American guitarist and jazz singer.

(4) Jacques Prévert (1900-1977), French poet; James Price “J. P.” Johnson (1894-1955), American ragtime and blues pianist and composer; J. C. Johnson (1896-1981), jazz pianist and songwriter; Willie Hilton Napoleon “Nappy” Lamare (1907-1988), American guitarist, banjoist, composer, and singer.

(5) Chick Webb (1909-1939), American drummer and bandleader; Hartzell Strathdene “Tiny” Parham (1900-1943), Canadian American pianist, organist, and bandleader; John Birks “Dizzy” Gillespie (1917-1993), American trumpeter and bandleader; Thelonius Monk (1917-1982), American jazz pianist and composer.

(6) W. Benton Overstreet, American songwriter; Perry “Mule” Bradford (1893-1970), American pianist, songwriter, singer, and producer; Buddy DeSilva, American songwriter; Dorothy Baker (1907-1968), jazz writer best known for Young Man with a Horn, a novel about the life of Leon “Bix” Deiderbecke; Charlie Christian (1916-1942), American guitarist; Joe Sullivan (1906-1971), American pianist and composer.

(7) Nathan Irving “Nat” Hentoff (1925-), American writer and jazz historian; Billy Strayhorn (1915-1967), American composer, arranger, and pianist; Tony Scott (1921-), American clarinetist and saxophonist; Charlie “Bird” Parker (1920-1955), American alto saxophonist and one of the most influential soloists in jazz; Friedrich Gulda (1930-), Austrian pianist, flutist, baritone saxophonist, singer, and composer; Charles Mingus (1922-1979), American double bass player, pianist, composer, and bandleader.

[x]

#langston hughes #jazz as communication #jazz #communication #black music #music #poetry #black poetry #poem #poems #black poems #poetry foundation #lit #literature #black lit #black literature

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dragonnan · 6 years

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“Shawn. Shawn, get up.” Gus prodded his sleeping comrade, who simply responded by turning over and covering his head with the blanket. Gus sighed and tried again, this time with the added persistence of pulling the blanket off the bed. “Shawn! Get up or we’ll be late! I swear you have 30 seconds to get out of this bed or your precious hair is getting an ice water bath. We can’t be late again!”

“You’re bluffing.” Shawn groaned in response, still refusing to open his eyes. “I don’t have any ice in my freezer.”

“Try me.” Gus challenged.

“Bluffer.”

“I’m warning you, Shawn.”

“Bluffy McBluffer.”

“15 seconds.”

“You said 30.”

“That was 15 seconds ago!”

“Nahh.”

“10 seconds.”

Shawn pulled the remaining sheet over his head.

“5 seconds, Shawn.”

Shawn tuned his pesky best friend out, sure that he would soon enough walk out in a huff and give him a blessed 30 extra minutes of rest. Why did Gus insist on getting there so early, anyway?! It wasn’t as if….

“YEEEAAARRGGGHHH!!!!” The involuntary, yet highly powerful scream forced itself out of his lungs as he suddenly found himself jumping up onto his knees- only to get tangled in the sheet and end up falling flat on his back out of bed. It took his mind a couple seconds to register exactly what had happened, but the distinctly wet feeling and his body letting out an unexpected shiver from the cold were enough to clue him in.

“Really Gus?!” He exclaimed, clumsily working to untangle his legs from the sheet as he coughed and sputtered on an errant ice chip that had found its way into his mouth. “Some warning would have been nice!”

“I DID warn you, Shawn!” Gus defended himself, exasperated. “You think I can’t bring my own ice water? I refuse to be late to another training session. Not after what happened last time. I won’t be partnered with Lassiter again.” He shuddered at the thought of having to work with the Head Detective yet again as punishment for arriving late. The man was tall, thin, and lanky, but he had shown no mercy in their combat fight training. At least Gus felt like he now had a new expertise for his other job on pain relievers, anti-inflamatories, and ointments of various types. He stepped aside as Shawn groaned and finally seemed resigned to getting up. Even his best friend couldn’t justify laying back down in a cold, wet bed, after all.

“This is ridiculous.” Shawn whined, shaking out his wet hair. “And it’s all dad’s fault too. Why the hell should we have to take all this training, anyway?! My job is just to offer tips and…consultations. I’m a consultant, Gus. You know, all the fun, none of the green tape. It’s the cops’ job to do all the fighting and…stuff.”

Gus threw some clothes at Shawn as his friend stomped off into the bathroom. “It’s red tape. And he has a point, Shawn!” He called after him. “We’ve gotten into some pretty scary situations, it’s safer for us and the cops if we have an idea of how to protect ourselves out there. What better way to learn than with the cops themselves?”

“Even if I were to agree with you, there’s a major hole in the logic here, just like red tape isn’t logical” Shawn argued from behind the bathroom door. “Why the hell would dad think I of all people need firearms training?! I could teach that class! Hell, I could teach the teachers!”

Gus had to admit Shawn had a point, but he held his ground anyway. “There is always room for learning something new. Besides, you don’t pick up a gun often enough to keep up your skills. Think of this as a good refresher course. And I wouldn’t mind learning a few things myself. You never know when it’s gonna come in handy.” He figured he finally got through Shawn’s thick skull when the sounds of his arguments were replaced by the sounds of the shower running. Whatever the reasoning might have been, Gus knew that the SBPD insisting that they become better trained in basic self defense and weapons skills was a good way to make them more useful to the Department. He even had to admit that he was kind of looking forward to this. At the very least, it would have to be physically easier on him than fight training, right? He wasn’t sure how much more abuse his body was willing or able to take. At the same time, he felt more than a little bit nervous. He had never been one to underestimate the innate power and danger in a gun. Perhaps this training would help him overcome the frequent nervousness he felt at just thinking of having to hold or use one. It was times like these when he wished that Henry had included him in the firearms lessons he’d given Shawn so many years ago, but he assumed his parents would never have agreed to it, anyway.

Gus was relieved that Shawn continued to refrain from further argument once his shower was over. He simply insisted, as he worked some mousse through his hair, that Gus owed him a cheese Danish for breakfast. Gus shrugged and agreed, feeling like he could really use one as well.

“So what are some things that would be helpful to know about guns before we get there?” Gus asked once they were finally on the road.

Shawn pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Dunno. I guess it depends on what guns they want us to shoot. Most likely they’ll have us on a 9mm or a .40 caliber, the kinds you’re likely to see out in the field with cops. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t push you too hard at first if you’re nervous. They’re pretty easy once you get the hang of them. Just point and shoot.”

Typically I don’t read Deathfics. For good reason - they are incredibly sad!

This story is no exception. In fact, it tops my list for most devastating deathfic that I’ve ever read - EASILY. I would put this up against Titanic for the amount of tears it has caused me to shed.

However, it is probably one of the greatest literary creations that my good friend Peazy has ever written. She is on my mind right now - and I wanted to share some of her astounding work. If you have a chance, you really should do yourself a favor and check out her other amazing works, here.

#Psych #deathfic #sad but SO very good

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rubiesintherough · 6 years

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me? making a new muse?? more likely than u think

Meet Trent Gardner. Human. Single father. Vigilante. Rather unskilled telepath and telekinetic, but good enough that he puts it to use taking down small time crime like robberies. Has assisted in stopping a few hostage situations as well, though that hasn’t exactly earned him any favor with the local authorities. They’ve been trying to find out who he is for six years, now, in order to put a stop to him... despite public outcry to leave him be. His main goal is making the city a safer place for his son.

Abilities: is only able to telekinetically lift things that he would be able to physically. Is able to alter how people visually perceive him, making his features seem blurred in their eyes when he chooses. This is what he relies on to hide his identity. Is able to hear the occasional thought, though tries to avoid this as other voices get to be very overwhelming for him.

He has a thirteen year old son, Greyson. Greyson is the ONLY one --- aside from Greyson’s estranged mother --- who knows Trent’s secret. He sees his dad as a superhero, though knows better than to tell anyone ( not even his friends ) who his dad really is.

notes:

Trent considers himself bisexual

Can be easily bribed with a cold beer and those little cream cheese danishes

Greyson is his primary concern. He will ALWAYS prioritize his son’s safety and wellbeing over anyone else’s. He means the world to Trent. And the hero really is dad of the year because there have been times when he’s taking down robbers and his watch will beep to let him know Greyson’s done with school... and Trent will knock ‘em out and race to the school to pick him up, no matter what shape he’s in. ( another reason being able to alter other people’s perceptions comes in handy. he’s been beaten black and blue some days when he picks up his son, but always makes sure no one else sees it. especially not Greyson )

#TAG DUMP:#visage ( trent )#musings ( trent )#aes. ( trent )#thread ( trent )#open ( trent )#meme call ( trent )#starter call ( trent )

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in-the-bookish-dark · 4 years

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Dark re Union - RL

There’s a tree in front of it now. There are trees all over, running up and down the street. Leaves in summer and life standing by in the winter, waiting for the next spring to come and to keep coming. I think I even saw a couple of shrubs behind a bus bench a block over.

I saw pictures of it before I saw it face to face. Google Earth is a handy thing. I got pictures all up and down Union Avenue, and all over Pueblo long before my feet touched sidewalk. Well, before they touched sidewalk again. It had been twenty years and it’s been fixed up, not just the street but the building itself. The ironwork was stripped and repainted and all the brickwork repointed. It’s a boutique now. Women’s things. Accessories, and some cute little books about … I don’t know, fucking rainbows or something. Sorry, it’s nice, and I even told them that when I went in, but … it’s not their fault they don’t know none of that belongs there.

I know it wasn’t, but there are times when I think that place – that whole street - might actually have been in black and white when I went there as a child. I remember it in black and white, at least, like some old, old movie that was way too old for me to be in. Like one of those quarter movies my sister and I would go up to the Uptown and see. Movie, popcorn and a soda for a quarter, like in olden times. At night, it became a different theater. They’d have the kids’ matinees in the afternoon, and then at night, they’d have X rated movies. Two separate realities. Mostly.

Back then, it wasn’t a fancy women’s boutique. It was a beer joint called Al’s Tap Room. They had pool tables, and other tables where old guys would play pinochle or dominos, and sometimes the odd chess game. There was no wine or hard liquor, just beer, and a cooler case where you could buy a Coke or Nehi for your kid if you brought one in. Old style neighborhood tap room where it isn’t unusual to see a guy bring his kid along, that’s the demographic. Was the demographic. These days, the vintage soft drink case, where you paid your dime and then navigated your bottle out of the little maze, would’ve gone for fifteen thousand dollars and would be stocked with wine or premixed artisanal cocktails or some such. They also made burgers and dogs, and you could have chips to go with, but again, that was back then. No burgers and dogs in the boutique.

There was a little pastry shop directly across the street. I could’ve crossed there. Traffic was light. I took my time, though to go down to the crosswalk, then back up the street to it. Given my luck, some overzealous cop would’ve arrested me for jaywalking, and that would’ve messed everything up. I took a little café table on the sidewalk and sat with coffee and a Danish. Back then, this place was a little appliance repair shop. All changed. I’d change too, if I’d seen what you saw, I said under my breath. To a building. I watched the front of the boutique. What I expected it to do, I don’t know. Something subliminal, maybe, a little flash like in horror movies where you see the killer’s face for a single frame.

I drank my coffee. It was heavy and sludgy, and left a bitter residue. I tried the Danish. It didn’t belong. Too sweet. Not like the calories were going to matter, but hey. I slid it off the plate and into the garbage and walked off down the block. I went south, toward the river and the bluffs. I was glad of the light jacket I’d brought. The temps were in the sixties, but I was cold. I’d been cold since I parked, and the coffee had done little to warm me.

When I got to the bridge, I considered continuing up the sidewalk to the library. It was just another couple of blocks, really. I thought about the day I’d "promoted" myself from the Children’s Collection downstairs to the main library above. I felt like I’d be nabbed at any moment by library cops, and forced back downstairs, away from all the power and danger of the grown up books. I’d slip through the stacks like I was looking for somebody, then I’d grab books and park in a back corner. I just decided one day that I was going to have all that grown-up power for myself. I think I was actually a little disappointed that nobody chased me away. I was nine and I had my bold, defiant speech all set, and never got to use it.

A nostalgic trip to the library would’ve just been a diversion, though, so I walked as far I needed to in order to see the water in the river - what water there was - and then turned back. When I was a kid going over the river to the library, that was a dizzying height, though it was probably no more than thirty feet. Still, it was a wide open, and I was afraid the slightest breeze might blow me off the bridge. No more.

It was only then I noticed music coming in from somewhere – had to have been over somewhere on the Riverwalk. I only caught bits of it, but it sounded Irish, even though St. Pat’s day had already come and gone. I had wondered if Al’s had been bulldozed to make way for part of the Riverwalk. I couldn’t remember exactly where it had been, but it – obviously – was still there, closer to the train station than to city hall.

I was stalling, still stalling. I’d been stalling since I’d parked, really. I’d been stalling since arriving in town the day before. Actually, I’d been stalling for years. But I was close now. Closer than I’d been in a long time.

I would have stayed up on the bridge who knows how long if I didn’t have to put up with the wind gusting around the bluffs, or the little individual gusts that accompanied each car coming down the hill.

I zipped my jacket and turned back. No more stalling.

It was time to go. I told myself, "Sure it’s a very nice place, and I’m sure the people who work there are very nice. It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped. Lotta things can’t be helped. They happen to you and you didn’t have anything to do with it."

My cell buzzed. I dragged it out of my coat pocket just in time to see the missed call. Angela again. Twice today. I sat at a bench at the end of the bridge and just texted her, "Sorry, in a workshop at the moment. Conference going great. Call you later. Xoxo"

Liar.

I figured she’d understand, though, when she got the email.

All the preliminaries out of the way, I returned to the building. It was a really nice boutique. There were several purses I thought Angela would really like. I wandered around for a while, making chit-chat. Weather, home towns, how hard it is to shop for a wife, only in town for the day … random stuff. I thought, "Hey, I can ring these things up first, arrange to have them shipped, and she’d get them" but I knew that was stupid. And she’d hate them and never wear them. Maybe from another place. Not here, not now.

I took a purse and a belt and some stockings up to the counter for appearances sake, then as I fished around in my pockets for my wallet, I just asked, casually, if I could use their restroom for a minute.

She pointed me back past the other side of a curtain. "Just straight back" she said. "Past the stairs, and just at the end on the right. It’s just one for everyone." she said. That was different. The "one for everyone" was the same, but the location wasn’t. It used to be at the back and down the stairs. You’d go through the store room then, and it would be right next to the furnace.

At least they wouldn’t get their one restroom messed up.

The stairs had been refurbished. They were nice and solid and quiet. The store room, old store room, was roomier. Less clutter, just a/c filters and such. Where the restroom used to be was a utility room. Reuse the water connection, sure.

I closed the door. There was no latch or lock, but that was fine. Why make it hard for them? I’d be done soon enough. I laid a little board across a mop bucket, one of those rolling kinds, then took off my coat. Probably wouldn’t make much of a mess.

It dawned on me at that point that I hadn’t really taken a breath since I stepped into the room. My pulse was pounding and I’d been pretty much holding my breath. The last thing I needed was to pass out and ruin everything.

Out there in the store room was where Felix had touched me the first time. Just a brush, really, like it was an accident. I didn’t want to make myself sound stupid by saying anything. A month or so later, two or three visits later, he starts talking to me, always down there when I’m coming out of the restroom. "Hey, I can tell the way you play chess, you’re a pretty smart kid – that’s a pretty mature playing style." Things like that. Yeah, I wanted to be smart and grown up, especially if it meant I was smarter than those old drunks up there. He seemed okay, too. Good personality, always interested, always asking questions and complimenting people, y’know? And he always had girls stopping by to see him, to bring him lunch and things like that. The old guys were always giving him a hard time about how many girlfriends he had, but they were also buying him beers for being a stud. Jealous, right?

His dad owned the place, and sometimes Felix would make me a cheeseburger just for the heck of it. Maybe a slopper, which made me feel great, ‘cause that’s how the coolest grownups in town ate their cheeseburgers.

All this was replaying in my head while I settled myself. I had a whole clonopin with my coffee and I was still struggling to get my breathing and pulse under control.

It was only after we were "buddies" that he started suggesting some games we could play while everyone else was playing "their stupid pool games." Everybody does it, he said, but they’re embarrassed, and they hate to talk about it, but it was cool just between the two of us. We just wouldn’t say.

A lot of times, we’d just sit down there and talk, always as I was leaving the restroom. Baseball, fishing, girls, whatever. I was only eight, but the stories he told about girls made me excited. Maybe it was just being trusted with "inside stories." Not all, though. He’d even show me pictures of girls he had sex with, some of them Polaroid pictures with their tops off. Not all. Most were snapshots safe enough to develop at the drug store.

After we’d talk, I’d go upstairs, and sometimes my dad would notice I’d been gone a while and I’d make up some story and he’d say "Ah, ok. Don’t wander off, though, pal" and he’d go back to his beer and pool.

Only one time, though, did Felix talk me into taking down my pants. It was a dare and I fell for it. With my pants around my ankles and my tighty whities on display, he walked over and said, "Tell me if this feels good. This is what a girl can do for you" and he cupped my penis through my shorts. I panicked a little, then I realized it was starting to grow and get hard, so then I panicked a lot. I fell backwards over a case of paper towels and scrambled to pull my pants back up.

I said "I gotta go up!" and started walking fast toward the stairs, and he got in my path.

"Hey, I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean anything by it. Y’know? I was just showing you. Let’s forget it happened, right? No harm, no foul. Really, man, you were acting like you wanted to, and I was just going along."

I slipped past him, and just before I reached the door at the top of the stairs, he hollered up. "I’m not one of those guys. I like girls! Ask anybody."

I still don't know why I bothered, but I stopped and yelled back, "I know!" then went out.

Once I was in the back room, I just froze. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t say anything. It was just such a big mess, and maybe it was me, maybe I tricked him some way into thinking I wanted him to do that, and there was no way anyone was going to believe that Felix had touched a boy between the legs.

I went back out and just sat down where I’d been. He came up maybe a minute later, eyeballing me the whole time. It didn’t take him too long to figure out that I hadn’t said anything.

Dad and I went home a little while later.

The next time we came in, about a week later, Felix was out on vacation, his dad said. Fishing up around Estes Park, he thought. Said to say "hi" to me.

Now, I understand that he was getting some space, a running start, in case I decided to tell on him after my dad and I got home. If the next time he called home, his dad said "David’s father wants to kill you" he'd know not to come back. If his dad said, "David says hi back" he'd know he was in the clear.

He was there the next time we went in, and he was still watching me, but seemed relaxed. After that last time downstairs, though, I always made sure I’d gone to the restroom before we left the house.

Eventually, months passed and Felix and I were kind of buddies again and he was bringing me extra Cokes and a slopper every now and then, and everything was forgotten.

His girlfriends still came and went. I had always watched them because they were fun and attractive. I watched them even closer afterward, though, wondering what they knew and whether he ever did anything unusual with anyone but me.

Nothing, not as far as I could tell, anyway.

A whole year went by and the incident became just a strange little thing that happened. One of those "who knows what really happened" things inside your own head. One of those "I must’ve misunderstood" things that we all probably have.

I started using the restroom there again. It had been over a year, and everything was fine. Nothing happened. No more long chats in the basement.

Until the one time.

I was coming out of the restroom, and he was in the store room by the stairs.

"Hey, buddy." His face was saying something it had only said once before. I realized right then that the other time hadn’t been a misunderstanding, though everything since had been.

I’m not gonna … there’s no need to go into detail, and it was all a blur anyway, and it’s all too late. Way too late. He took a fistful of my collar, said "You and me, we’re gonna play a game" and made me go back into the restroom. The whole thing only took about ten minutes, and I never ever said anything to anyone. Not to a friend or a priest or my parents, or a girlfriend or therapists or anybody. In a way, not even to myself, even though sometimes I would have nightmares. Even then, it was something that was happening to another little boy and I was trying to stop Felix.

The reason I came down to the old restroom – the former rest room - though, the reason I sat myself down on the mop bucket and board, and the reason I decided to shoot myself, was that I’d found out almost a year ago and ages too late, that Felix had been arrested for a series of rapes and disappearances. The news said they were police were starting with six rapes and three disappearances. Two boys and seven girls, so far, and they were asking other people to come forward. For weeks, I was excited that justice would happen in the long run, and then came more news. There were three more cold cases that were tied back to him. Within a few days after that, he managed to hang himself in his cell. Snuck away is what he did.

I was all broken up for a long time about what had happened down in the restroom, but I worked through it, mostly, by the time I was out of college. Then all of this new stuff came up, and after reading the stories, it occurred to me that I might’ve been the first. I looked at the dates and they were all after me. All the known dates, sure, but … every single one of them happened later.

I spent months thinking maybe I coulda stopped him before he got started. Maybe I coulda told someone. Maybe I coulda known how to. Eventually, a plan came to me, one that would stop the maybes. That’s how this trip was born.

The clonopin was kicking in and working great. Once I’d gotten to that point, I didn’t have any more anxiety. I was just calm and sad. I was ready to write an ending for one of his stories – the one with me.

I reached into my coat pockets and took out my cell phone and my 22.

One thing at a time. Calm. That’s how it was. I unlocked the phone and pulled up email, then drafts, and then I skimmed the email I’d written for Angela, explaining it all. I scrolled back up and hit send. I’d wanted her to know, but not to know too soon.

I was going to put the phone down right next to me, but thought maybe the gun would fall and it would break it, or maybe blood would get all over it, so I slipped it back into my coat.

I put the gun barrel in my mouth. Carefully. You want to point it upward, the internet said. Don’t make yourself a vegetable by blowing off the wrong part of your brain. It has to go right up into your head. They say the 22 is great for that because it’s less likely to exit, which means it can just bounce around and do lots of damage. Perfect for me. Nice and thorough, and maybe less messy than others.

I took a really deep breath, really deep, and then two more quick breaths and held it all for a moment, and I could feel it taking effect as I exhaled, even as I was blowing the odor of gun oil all over the little room. Vagus nerve stimulation is what it’s called. You can look it up. Great for calming, fighting depression, stimulating digestion – all kinds of things.

I did it one more time. Deep, hold it, then breathe it out slowly.

I pulled the trigger.

The hammer just snapped down. No bang, no blast, no blood. That’s the problem, you see, with rimfire cartridges. You get a lot more misfires than with regular center-fire cartridges. I had six shots, though. What were the chances they’d all misfire?

I took my deep breath again and let it all out, slowly. Everything was still on track.

I pulled the trigger.

Again, snap. No bang, no blast, no blood.

I thought about getting angry, or at least desperate. I thought about firing off the other four shells in rapid succession, but I just didn’t have the energy for an outburst.

Plus, my phone was buzzing, which was an enormous distraction at that point. I couldn’t process both, so I put the gun back in my coat pocket and took out the phone.

Angela.

I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there, but it was long enough for her to get the email, read it twice, and go into orbit. It was long enough for five missed calls, however long that was.

The buzzing stopped. I waited for it to start again. I’d just answer. She needed to know.

Then it dawned on me that she was probably now calling 911 for a city that I wasn’t even in, and trying to get someone to go looking for someone about to kill themselves someplace where nobody was.

I dialed and it rolled to voice mail.

I dialed again and it rolled to voice mail.

I dialed again, and she grabbed it on the first ring. Her throat was tight and her sinuses were filled with mucus.

"Hi ... hi, Angela ... "

"No … No … I'm ..."

"No, I stopped myself. I won't. No, I promise I won’t."

"It’s just … well, I don’t know if I can say it better over the phone than in the email, y'know?"

"I know … it wasn’t fair."

"I’m sorry this happened."

"I’m … yes … my flight is still scheduled for this evening. I might could move it up. Yes, I will if I can."

"Sure, you can meet me there. That would be good."

I said "Yes" a lot, and "No" a lot, and "I’m sorry" a lot, and I agreed to a lot of things before we got off the phone. They weren’t all easy things, but in the long run, they were all good things.

I managed to escape the basement and slip out the back door of the building without anyone noticing.

The rest of the day went smoothly – and according to the new plan.

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wanderbitesbybobbie · 4 years

Text

RECIPE: EASY 4-INGREDIENTS NO-YEAST PIZZA CRUST

The art of kneading (masa in Filipino) dough has been an essential part of my life as a pastry chef. In my previous job in “Oliveto”, an Italian Fine Dining Restaurant in Sydney, I make at least 20 kgs of Ciabatta Dough everyday and every Friday, I make about 70 to 100 pieces of Herbed Focaccia Bread. This has been my ritual every 10:00 AM before lunch service. Kneading has been my best friend more than piping or decorating dainty Italian Pastries. When I relocated by the beach, I found a new job at a pastry shop at Bondi (where I lived in Sydney). They served almost everything, from a variation of muffins and cakes to bagels and sandwiches. I thought I graduated from the kneading part, but guess what? I’m back to kneading… and the funny part? I start my kneading job at 4:00 in the morning before the shop opens at 6:00 AM. It just moved to an earlier schedule! This time, it’s not Ciabatta and Focaccia anymore. I make Brioche Breads, Sourdough, Baguettes, Hand-Crafted Donuts, Cinnamon Sticky Buns and Nutella Rolls. I also make Croissants, Danish, and some other pastries made of laminated dough, which also requires a more complicated kneading technique. But why am I blabbering about kneading anyway?

This is a quick and easy pizza recipe, but though it only has 4 simple ingredients, it still requires you to knead the dough. It’s not just a simple mix-all-ingredients kind of thing. Flour and water when mixed together creates gluten. The kneading process will add the strength and volume to your dough to form just the right amount of gluten to make your pizza crust. Don’t worry, I will assist you step-by-step and just like my previous Cabbage Rolls recipe, I have provided photos to make it easier for all of us. Let’s start unleashing the baker in you! So… Let’s go!

Preparation Time: 20 minutes

Serves: Double Recipe makes 3, 8 inches thin crust pizzas. Single Recipe makes 2, 6 inches thin crust pizzas

Baking Time: BLIND BAKE AT 15-20 mins; FINAL BAKE AT 20-30 mins

INGREDIENTS:

FOR THE PIZZA DOUGH (Double Recipe: Makes 3, 8″ inches thin crust pizza)

4 cups All-Purpose Flour * (prepare additional 1 cup for dusting)

2 cups warm water*

4 tbsp. vegetable oil

1 tsp. salt

FOR THE PIZZA DOUGH (Single Recipe: Makes 2, 6″ inches thin crust pizza)

2 cups All-Purpose Flour* (prepare additional 1 cup for dusting)

1 cup warm water*

2 tbsp. vegetable oil

1/2 tsp. salt

* Chef’s Notes: Your pizza crust texture will depend on the kind of flour you will use. I have specified here All-Purpose Flour because it is the easiest to find in Supermarkets. But, if you want your crust to be more glutenous (springy), you can use Bread Flour or a mix of Bread Flour and All-Purpose Flour in a 1:1 ratio. Bread Flour has more protein content, thus producing more gluten when you knead your dough. Also, make sure you are using WARM WATER. Not boiling, and not too hot, just warm. We need warm water because this recipe does not have any leavening agent like yeast or baking soda or baking powder. The warm water will act as the “natural glue” when we combine all ingredients together. Remember, we are using vegetable oil. We don’t want the oil to solidify while we are mixing everything together, thus the warm water.

PROCEDURE:

FIRST OF, PRE-HEAT YOUR OVEN AT 200*C or 180*C (if you’re using a convection oven)

1. In a mixing bowl, put together all the pizza dough ingredients. Mix them together with a spatula or spoon until there are no flour lumps. The mixture will be sticky at first, but don’t panic. Just keep on mixing. If you have a stand mixer, mix everything using the hook attachment.

Chef’s Notes: If the mixture is still sticky after everything is incorporated together, add a bit of flour little by little about a tablespoon at a time. This dough recipe will tell you straight-forward what it needs. If it’s too sticky, it needs a bit more flour, if it’s too dry it needs a bit more water. Work (knead) the dough until you reach a consistency that doesn’t stick to your fingers or to the bowl anymore. But also making sure that it is still soft to touch. Do not attempt to knead the dough more if you feel like it’s a bit dry already. This might result into an “overworked” pizza dough, making your pizza crust really hard when it’s baked.

2. If you have reached the soft dough stage, weigh your final product. If you are using the double recipe, the final product will weigh more or less 1098 g. Divide the dough by three and knead it into round balls, 366 g each ball to make 8″ pizza crust. The weight may vary depending on how much flour or water you have added into the mixture. After this stage, rest the pizza dough for about 10 to 15 minutes to allow the gluten to relax.

3. While your dough is resting, prepare your toppings.

4. After the dough has rested, dust a flat surface with flour to make sure the dough does not stick on the surface. With a rolling pin, roll the dough into 8″ flat round (or 6″ if you’re using Single Recipe), about 1/2 inch in thickness. The thickness will depend on your preference, but for this particular recipe, it is meant to be thin-crust as it will not rise up with the absence of yeast or any leavening agent.

5. Dust an aluminum pan with flour and carefully transfer your pizza dough into the dusted pan. With a dough docker, or a fork, or toothpick, dock the pizza dough. Docking is the process of poking small holes into a dough. This prevents the dough from puffing up by parts during blind baking. This is a very essential process if you are working with a dough that was kneaded with yeast, but it’s best to apply this practice even without the yeast.

Chef’s Notes: BLIND BAKING is the process of pre-baking the dough without the filling or toppings. This is usually done when your filling or toppings take a shorter time to bake than your crust. You blind bake your crust to make sure it is fully baked before you put the toppings on. Moreover, this gives the extra strength/stability for the crust to be able to hold all your toppings and sauces without the crust getting soggy. Blind baking doesn’t only apply to pizza dough. It is an important step when making pies with pre-cooked fillings like Apple Pie or a quiche.

!!! Blind bake your pizza dough in the oven for about 15 mins. at 200*C or 20 mins. at 180*C. After blind baking, take out your pizza crust to be topped with pizza sauce and your toppings.

6. You can use any Pizza Sauce of your choice. You can make your own pizza sauce from Tomato Sauce, herbs like basil, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, and salt and pepper, or with whatever herbs or spices you would like to add. Or you can use a pre-made one like what I have used. 115 g of pizza sauce can exactly cover an 8″ round pizza crust.

This Pizza Seasoning always comes in handy. *winks*

7. Place the pizza sauce in the middle of the crust. Start from the center and spread cleanly up to the sides.

8. You can do this with a small palette knife/off-set spatula or with the back of a spoon.

9. After adding on your toppings, bake your pizza for about 20 minutes at 200*C or 30 minutes at 180*C.

I MADE 3 FLAVORS FOR MY PIZZA.

YOU CAN FOLLOW MY FLAVORS OR YOU CAN GET MORE CREATIVE AND CREATE YOUR OWN. YOU CAN EVEN MAKE A DESSERT PIZZA LIKE BANANA NUTELLA OR CHOCOLATE MALLOWS PIZZA OR APPLE CINNAMON PIZZA. THE CHOICES ARE ENDLESS! HAVE FUN ON THIS PART!

Bacon Deluxe

4 strips of bacon (sliced into medium dice)

2 slices of ham (sliced into medium dice)

onions (sliced in round)

capsicum (aka bell pepper)

sliced button mushrooms

pineapple tidbits (sorry pineapple haters. pineapple wins. haha)

sliced black pitted olives

cheese (mozzarella/or any quick-melt cheese)

Japanese Tuna Garlic and Corn

Canned Tuna Flakes (hot and spicy)

Corn Kernels

Garlic (minced)

cheese (mozzarella/or any quick-melt cheese)

Japanese Mayonnaise (I put this after baking.)

All-Veggie (Vegan-Friendly)

Sliced Button Mushrooms

Corn Kernels

Garlic (minced)

Onions (sliced in thin rounds)

Pineapple Tidbits

Capsicum (sliced thinly, please don’t copy my laziness in slicing. Haha)

Tomatoes (sliced in wedges)

sliced Black Pitted Olives

DO YOU HAVE EASY PIZZA RECIPES OR TECHNIQUES YOU WOULD LOVE TO SHARE?

DID YOU TRY THIS RECIPE? OR PLANNING TO TRY IT?

HOW DID IT GO? DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS?

LET ME KNOW! I’D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU!

RECIPE: EASY 4-INGREDIENTS NO-YEAST PIZZA CRUST was originally published on WanderBitesByBobbie

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high5nerd · 5 years

Text

The Misadventure of Fanty and Loki---Chap. Two

Fanty closed the fridge door quietly, chewing on the last of her strawberry danish. Yeah, it was four in the morning, but she couldn't sleep. Neither could her friends, since they felt like they were missing someone. They were, they were missing their friend, the Boogeyman. Fanty sadly sighed, missing her dear friend already. Her apartment already felt bigger and emptier without Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, filling it up with his rants on the Guardians and snickering on Fanty's quirky behavior. He was crude at times, but nonetheless a good friend.

Just as she turned around, a flash of blinding green light struck the middle of the kitchen, causing her to scream and fall onto her bottom in utter surprise. The bright light only lasted for a good two seconds before it disappeared without a trace, and left in it's place was a crumpled body of a man in..rather...strange looking clothes.

"The hell?" Fanty choked on her own words, grabbing whatever she could that was nearby as a weapon of self defense.

The figure on the kitchen table groaned and fell to the floor, clearly exhausted by something that tired him out. Fanty pointed the wooden stirring spoon at the man's raven black hair, watching his every move so he doesn't strangle her.

He finally looked up, and came nose to nose with the wooden spoon. Watching his eyeballs cross at the spoon, Fanty finally found her courage and demanded, "Who are you!?"

The figure, or otherwise this strange and dark man, chuckled as if she were stupid. "I should not be surprised one would not recognize the form of a God by now. Yet I am."

Loki was expecting her to shake with fear, and cower in submission to his ego and rather skilled looking form, but he was appalled and shocked silent when she burst out laughing. He stood up furiously, his energy revived after teleporting to her location. He glared at her as she held her stomach at the aching pain of laughing too hard.

"L-let me guess!" Fanty giggled, "You're cosplaying as a god? Gods really wear that sort of thing?! Haha!"

Loki looked down at his robes, clearly offended by this meager girl's remark. He grit his teeth and looked up, and was again, shocked to see her so composed all of a sudden. Her face was stony and pissed off, and she pointed the wooden spoon at his face again.

"This is the second time some crackpot broke into my home and wasn't human. It's getting old." she smirked at her own bravery.

"Believe me, I am more human than you think." Loki tried calming her down by touching the spoon, but Fanty quickly moved it out of his way in a circular motion, and fwapped him on the side of his cheek, right on that rather fabulously carved cheekbone.

"Heh." Fanty smirked, watching Loki stare at her in pure horror for lightly slapping her, "that was fun."

She fwapped him on the other cheek, causing him to gasp out in pure shock she had the audacity to strike him again. "Your reaction is quite funny!"

"Give me that!" Loki grabbed the spoon out of her hands, and held it out of arm's reach.

"Give it back!" Fanty barked, and knocked it out of his hand, letting it clatter to the linoleum floor.

Loki glared at her. Fanty grinned at him, knowing full well exactly who he was.

Meanwhile, Mystic was happily sleeping on her couch from watching a movie when she heard a piercing scream from across the hall. She slowly woke up, rubbing her eyes and grumbling about Fanty's odd behavior and more strange people that find their way into their life. She blew purple hair out of her face before getting up, so badly craving for more sleep. It was four in the morning for goodness sake!

Luckily, Mystic was like the caretaker of everyone in the establishment, so she had all keys to everyone's apartments. Her own, Fanty's, Angel's, Drago's, Xion's and Star's. Heck, they all had extra keys. Come on, those keys would come in handy if they accidentally dropped it in the storm drain on the streets-or in Star's case-accidentally flushing it down the toilet because it fell from the shelf where she put it.

She opened the door to Fanty's apartment and felt her eyes widen.

Now, she wasn't surprised at any crazy antics Fanty did, but this was dangerous.

She was cat fighting the God of Mischief, slapping at each other's hands as if they were mere children.

"Filthy mortal!" Loki snapped, opening one eye to glare at her.

"Ha ha! Jokes on you, cause I just took a shower!" Fanty jeered, swatting at his nimble hands.

"Fanty!" Mystic yelled, terrified for her life.

Immediately, Loki and Fanty froze, their hands up in the air as if they were paused on a television show. Fanty blinked, wondering why Mystic looked so terrified.

"Do you even know who that is?!" Mystic squeaked, afraid Loki could whip out a knife and stab her right on the spot.

"The...isn't he the son of Odin? The crow told me-" Fanty stammered.

"He's the guy that nearly destroyed all of New York City!" Mystic pointed an accusing finger at him, and Fanty looked at him, too terrified to form an expression on her face.

Loki smirked at her, standing taller and lowering his hands as if he was expecting her to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness. Fanty stood there, unsure of how to react. Without a final thought, she punched him right in the face, sending him careening backwards into the table and hitting the back of his head against it, groaning in pain at the harsh impact.

"You're dead. He's going to kill you." Mystic sounded sorrowful when she peered at Loki's dizzy body, and then looked up at Fanty curiously, "Why do that?"

"I dunno, something told me to. Hey, he deserved it, right?" Fanty smirked at her bravely, and Mystic encouragingly smiled as she patted her shoulder.

Loki furiously shook his head and looked up at the two girls angrily, black hair drooping into his forehead, making him look disgruntled.

Fanty folded her arms, not afraid anymore. She's dealt with evils such as Loki, and we're not talking about the end of humanity and taking over the world. She wasn't afraid anymore.

"You're going to tell us exactly why and how you're here, you got it?" Fanty said seriously, showing that the God of Mischief had no means of escape.

"I will say nothing at all." Loki sneered, but then fell to a look of curious fear as Fanty looked to Mystic with a smile of pure mischief.

He liked mischief. So why was he feeling a tingling of terror in his stomach?

"Get the girls. We're bringing out The Worst." Fanty smirked at Loki, who curled his toes in his boots, not liking where this was going.

"NOOOO!" Loki screamed, struggling in his bindings.

Star faced his head towards the television screen again, so he could witness Barbie magically turn into a glittering mermaid with a sparkly pink tiara. Mystic chuckled darkly and gave Xion a hasty high five before remaining composed and Fanty paused the movie, bending to Loki's height as he sat in the binded chair.

"Now will you talk? Just fyi, we're not like most Midgardians. You should know that we're not all the same." Fanty said with a hint of tease in her voice.

"That is one lesson," Loki struggled against Drago's grip on his wrists, "I shall never forget."

To his surprise, Fanty beamed happily. She finally stood up and nodded to Drago, who immediately let go of his wrists. Loki glared at all of them as he stood up, mostly trying to intimidate Fanty with his height, but he saw her bravery. She wasn't afraid.

"Why let me go?" he asked stiffly.

Fanty watched him for a second, before honestly replying, "You said you learned something. In a sense, you are biased about us Midgardians, so my duty is to make you realize we are no different than Asgardians."

"We are capable of war like you," Xion nodded, "and maybe even more violent in ways."

Loki knew that for a fact. He had the scars from the Iron Man's attack to prove it. Drago agreed with Xion silently, and then softly spoke up, "We know what it's like to be abandoned and without hope. We all have."

"But that's what brings us together. That's why we're all friends here. And most importantly, that's why we're helping you." Fanty poked his chest, and Loki blinked slowly at what they were saying.

They were...helping him?

"You just have to tell us how you got here, and that's all we need to know. Fanty is the expert in this arena, trust us." Mystic said, gesturing to her.

"...What if I betray you? What if I choose to refuse your help because you do not mean anything to me?" Loki said coldly, not feeling like he should so easily trust them.

They were silent for a while, Mystic looking a little pissed that he was actually thinking of doing that. Finally, Fanty said, "We'll punch you. But then somehow, we'll forgive you."

Loki looked at each of them, still unsure if this really was the path he must choose. Odin banished him with them anyways, so what was the point in declining? He was stripped of all self defense, all magic and all confidence in himself. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Most importantly, no one to care about him. Fate only gave him these six girls to deal with, and that was it. From appearance, they looked normal citizens of a community he would demolish...but maybe they were right.

People used to think lowly of him anyways. They still do. Maybe he could earn his respect and title as king by dealing with the Midgardians in a different way.

"...Then I shall commit to this," the six girls cheered at this, but then Loki cut in harshly, "But! Certain guidelines must be enforced."

"Dude, drop the middle age language. This is the twenty first century." Angel said, casually leaning against a doorframe.

"Middle age?" Loki asked, and Fanty waved away her comment and was about to touch his shoulder, but he grabbed her hand roughly, stopping her, "The first rule is that I shall never be touched. Ever."

"Got that. Okay, let go of me now." Fanty said, wiggling her fingers in his grip.

Disgusted, he released her hand and folded his arms gruffly. "Secondly, I shall remain in this very room for my rest."

"Gees." Xion muttered, looking at Fanty for a reaction.

"Anything else, your Highness?" Star asked, not really liking his tone of voice.

Loki thought for a moment before shaking his head. So the girls agreed to this, though Fanty a little less happy about Loki taking up her apartment space. Pitch didn't do that, at least to her knowledge. The last thing she wanted was Loki trampling around and destroying things when he was angry or irritated. Or worse, raiding her fridge and eating all the pastries she's gotten from Angel and Star at the local bakery.

But more serious things came to matter, as Loki told them his woe. He told of his adopted father, rather contemptuously, and explained how his father contains his powers and took away all protection he had before him.

"That's sad, to be stripped of all you knew most." Drago said sympathetically, and Xion nodded along with her.

"We can help you, Loki," Angel said encouragingly, and Mystic, Star and Fanty smiled brightly in unison.

"There is no hope for me, I am afraid." Loki said, albeit emotionlessly, but Fanty could somehow sense he truly did feel hopeless about that.

"Bull roar!" Fanty punched her hand, accidentally making Xion jump at the sudden gesture, "I know for a fact you'll learn to stop being so egotistical. It may be a challenge, but we can do it!"

"Fanty," Drago rested a hand on her shoulder, "He's nothing like Pitch. He'll be more work, more challenges than before. You'll be dealing with most of him. Are you ready for that?"

"Heck yes! I know I can, right Loki?" Fanty smiled at him brightly.

Loki paused, staring at her as if she were one of the strangest beings he's ever seen. Strange, but interesting. Why were they all being nice? Don't they know he's killed eighty people in two days, nearly destroyed a city, betrayed Asgard and was born a monster? It's as if they all threw that aside, only wanting to see him be renewed and forgiven. Loki finally made some sort of head gesture between a nod and a sad look at the ground, to which Fanty leaped for joy.

"We shall start tomorrow! Or eh...this afternoon!" Fanty declared, standing in a pose that resembled George Washington.

Mystic yawned, proving her point that they all wasted two hours of sleep over the God of Mischief.

Loki's humor was far distant than what Fanty and the others know. And he'll soon learn that getting to know the girls...had their price.

Sorry this chapter is kinda serious, too, in a way. But I swear by the mighty Mjolnir-even if I can't even lift it and it's not even mine-the next chapter will cause a few giggles and chuckles!

#fanfiction #fanfics #crossover fanfic #crossover fanfiction

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paulwhitewriter · 5 years

Text

This post does not start from where you may expect it would, which, I suggest, would be Fort William or aboard the Corran Ferry heading for Ardgour. For most travellers, either of these would be a sensible place to start an article about the road to Adrnamurchan.

I, however, have never professed to being sensible or, for the record, predictable, so my account starts a little further afield, right across the other side of the country, on the east coast of Scotland, 225 miles away.

My start point is Peterhead bay. In fact, it is a small area of Peterhead bay right at the end of the industrial area of the docks. It is by no account of anyone’s imagination a place of beauty. But it is, at least for me, a place of interest and that is why I arrived there.

You see, this particular spot of Peterhead is the easternmost point of mainland Scotland and my plan for this road trip is to venture from there, across the country to Adrnamurchan point, which is the westernmost place on the mainland.

I arrived in Peterhead on the second day from leaving home. On the first, I took a small

Part of Hadrians Wall at Steel Rig

side trip to see the part of Hadrian’s Wall at Steel Rig, (near Sycamore Gap), before heading further north and bedding down for the night just outside of the little village of Peebles.

The following morning, we, (my wife and I), set off for Peterhead Port, which we considered to be the true ‘starting point’ of this road trip. However, we did make one slight detour on the way and that was to see Dunnottar Castle, a worthwhile deviation.

Dunnottar Castle, Scottish Gaelic Dùn Fhoithear, meaning “fort on the shelving slope“, is a ruined medieval fortress on a rocky headland on the north-eastern coast of Scotland, about 2 miles south of Stonehaven. Dunnottar is probably best known as the place where the Honours of Scotland, the Scottish crown jewels, were hidden from Oliver Cromwell’s invading army in the 17th century.

It is a dramatic and evocative ruined cliff-top fortress, which was once the home of the Earls Marischal, historically, one of the most powerful families in Scotland.

Dunnottar Castle

The stop at Dunnottar meant our arrival in Peterhead was early afternoon. We drove to the far end of the docks, to where a company called ASCO Oils have their ‘North Base’. This area of the docks has restricted access, but we had special permission to enter and take some photographs.

Yours truly by one of the plough anchors on the dockside at Peterhead

Looking out to the North Sea from Peterhead dockside

Chains and more anchors on Peterhead docks Copyright PaulWhite2019

As I said above, this is not a tourist destination. It is a working industrial dockland servicing the oil industry and I do not recommend you visit on a casual basis.

After leaving Peterhead we drove a short distance to a small town called Westhill, which is about 9 miles inland of Aberdeen. Here, the Hilton hotel group have a ‘Hampton by Hilton’ which is a very competitively priced hotel with excellent facilities for a short stay, such as a gym and lounge. They provide extensive hot and cold buffet-style breakfasts. It is spotlessly clean with friendly, efficient staff who certainly make you feel welcome.

The following morning our aim was to reach Newtonmore, a small village in the Cairngorms. Once I had eaten a ‘full English’ breakfast (and two dainty Danish pastries) washed down with plentiful mugs of hot coffee, I was set to face the day ahead.

Now, if you follow this, my Wild Geese blog, you will know my routine during a road trip is to head in the general direction I intend, but allow myself to get waylaid by almost anything and everything that grabs my, or my wife’s attention, along the route.

Today was no exception.

There are not many routes across the Cairngorms so, my rough plan, as we were coming in from the east, was to drop down to the villages of Ballater and Braemar before doubling back to Crathie, head north to Cock Bridge and Tomintoul then east to the whiskey distilleries of Speyside before finally getting onto the main road, the A9, southwards until we reached Newtonmore.

It may sound complicated, but unless one stays for a leisurely lunch in Braemar, (which I highly recommend by the way), this is an easily achievable journey to do in a single day, without rushing.

At this point, I must say Braemar is one of the most picturesque villages I have seen anywhere and I would recommend you make a detour to visit. It is definitely worth a detour from any schedules you may have.

Braemar is situated in the heart of the Cairngorms National Park, close to Balmoral Castle in Royal Deeside. Braemar has its own community-run castle, a Highland Games exhibition centre and the acclaimed and refurbished Fife Arms Hotel.

The River Dee runs through the centre of Braemar Village.

All was going well with the day as we point the car towards Tomintoul… until we reach Cock Bridge, where we find the police have closed the road because of an ‘Incident’. (We later find out a cyclist had a life-threatening accident. I do not know the outcome but do hope they survived.)

The closure knocks our plan out of kilter. The options open to us add a minimum of 45 miles as a detour to our (roughly) planned route. Alone, this inconvenience is not too far regarding distance, but as much of the driving is on smaller and single lane roads, it pushes the time, our ETA at Newtonmore, beyond comfortable; so, after some deliberation, we decide to return to the Hilton at Westhill rather than stress about the situation.

As seasoned travellers we know delays, impediments, inconveniences and hold-ups are all part and parcel of life and not worth getting flustered over. Besides, stopping at the Hilton meant I had another rather large breakfast to look forward to in the morning, (every cloud).

Later the following morning we arrived in Speyside, (The Land of Whisky), without a single hindrance and browsed a few whisky’s, before purchasing a limited numbered edition, presented in a hand-filled stone flagon, as a birthday gift for our son. After which we made a beeline for Newtonmore.

The reason we wanted to stop at the village of Newtonmore is, it is the nearest place to the geographical centre of mainland Scotland. The actual centre is a short distance south of the village; it is marked by a relatively unremarkable but large stone and plaque. The stone is about 150 yards from the Clan Macpherson monument, (it is believed Newtonmore is the original home of the clan and the village houses the Clan Macpherson museum).

It is this central stone we were heading to but did not have the exact coordinates, so we stopped at the Newtonmore Grill on Perth Road, which is a homely, no-frills truck stop style cafe, but one where the food is fresh and the owner friendly and helpful. She knew exactly where we wanted to be and gave us precise directions and written road names.

Back on the A9, for a few hundred yards, before turning onto the Glen Truim Road, a short pleasant drive and we were at the stone. (Easily passed if you’re not paying attention).

Me, in the very the Centre of Scotland

Now, before anyone comments this place is the disputed centre of Scotland, allow me to elucidate on the subject and why I refer to it as the most central ‘mainland point.’

There is some debate as to the location of the geographical centre of Scotland. This is due to the complexity of the calculation, the different methods of calculating the centre, and whether surrounding Scottish offshore islands are to be included.

One method is deemed to be the point farthest from the boundary of the country, either the sea or, in the case of constituent countries, a land border.

The Ordnance Survey are reluctant to install a permanent monument because the precise spot moves over time.

Their spokesman was quoted on the BBC as saying, “It would only ever be absolute using a given method at a given time. As soon as that time of measurement passed, it would be somewhere else. This is because of factors such as the tide, erosion and accretion, which gradually change the shape of Scotland’s coastline.”

Whatever the arguments might be, this spot is good enough and close enough for me and, I expect, the majority of those who wish to visit Scotland’s most central point.

By the time we mooched around, taken photographs, visited the Macpherson monument and drove towards Ardnamurchan, which we would visit tomorrow, the day was getting shorter and we needed somewhere to stay. This is where online booking sites come in handy if you can get a mobile/cell phone signal. Today we were lucky and connecting to the net was not an issue.

We found ourselves at Ards House (B&B), in Connel, near Oban. A delightful property right on the bay’s edge and overlooking the sea. We were welcomed with a nice glass of wine, a super touch from the landlord, Steve.

The location was excellent for us as one of our favourite seafood restaurants, EE-Usk is

Image courtesy of EE-Usk (Copyright)

on the waterfront in Oban. Once we had booked our accommodation we immediately booked a table at the restaurant. Once again EE-Usk did not disappoint; the hand-dived scallops, which one man gathers just for this restaurant were sweet and juicy, the hake amazing and tender. I am sure it will not be our last visit as we intend to go again on our next trip, which just happens to be in a few weeks’ time.

The following morning, after another fine breakfast, we drove the few miles north and crossed Loch Linnhe on the Corran-Ardgour ferry. Luck was on our side, we arrived in perfect time to drive straight onto the boat. Being the last car to board for the crossing to Ardnamurchan, no sooner had we stopped, the ferry was on its way across the narrow waterway and a few minutes later we were heading towards our day’s prime destination.

The ferry to Ardnamurchan

From disembarkation at Aedgour, the easiest way east is to turn left off the ferry and follow the A861 to Salen and then take the B8007, which ends at the Ardnamurchan Lighthouse. However, we were not in any hurry and neither do we (often) drive directly to our destination. Our way is to take lesser-used circuitous routes to wherever we may be headed. By doing so, we have found many wonderous and amazing sights, usually missed by those who are more tourists than independent travellers.

Today was no exception.

At Inversanda there is a left-hand road junction where the B8043 joins the A861. We took this much lesser used single-track road, which heads south for a few miles before curving west to meet the north/south A884. We then drove north along the A884 to re-join the main route (A861) to continue our journey to the west.

I highly recommend you take this route if… you are not in a hurry and not in a motorhome/RV or towing a caravan/trailer. The B8043 is not suitable for large vehicles.

Part of this road is along a very narrow track with a wall or a drop to the beach on one side and large boulders and jagged rocks, some protruding into the road from the cliffside. I have included a photo of part of this track.

Part of the cow road jam

Goats on the beach

An ‘easy’ stretch of the road where we took a short break from driving.

The second reason I mentioned is if you are not in a hurry. Besides wanting to stop frequently to take photographs, we needed to sit and wait for a large heard of cows to idly wander pass us along the track to whichever grazing area they were headed. This was just after stopping to allow some outward-bound types to safely abseil down a sheer cliff face onto the road.

Shortly after which, we needed to drive along at a crawl to allow a very large and laid-back bullock to stroll along the road until he reached his harem of cows who were enjoying a lazy day sunbathing on the beach, as were many of the sheep and goats which are scattered all along the roadside, cliffs and verges.

This is definitely not a road where any form of progress could be referred to as ‘rapid’. Please note, this comment is made without the mention of the tight turns, bends, inclines, dips, narrow passing places and the (very) occasional oncoming motor vehicle you may encounter.

It is, however, a route you should take for the experience and enjoy some amazing scenery.

As many people do, we were heading for the Ardnamurchan lighthouse which has, according to the official site has, “been guiding ships safely through the waters off Scotland’s west coast since 1849”.

However, this is about the only true statement on the official website, which is as outdated and unkempt as the lighthouse and surrounding facilities themselves.

To say I was disappointed is a vast understatement.

Even the dated images on Google maps, which are poor at best, make the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan point look more inviting than it really is.

For instance, the ‘exhibition centre’ is but a few small, damp, smelly and dismal rooms with old faded information panels, a selection of ancient tv/computer monitors which no longer work along with defunct, non-working buttons and lights on the displays.

As for the ‘restored engine room and workshop’, I’ll leave you to draw your your own conclusions. As for learning “how the original foghorn operated and how keepers kept it all in working order”, there was no information whatsoever.

The £7.50 charge for access to climb to the top of the tower is overpriced for what is on offer and, in reality, extortionate as the cost is said to include entry to the ‘Visitors Centre‘, which is the exhibition and engine room mentioned above, both which are wide open, unmanned and obsolete.

From the severely rusting fuel tanks outside to the tower itself, the place is dirty, litter-strewn and in need of several coats of fresh paint. Further proof of the poor conditions is the old wind turbine which still lays from where it fell some time ago. It is now rusting away and has been ‘graffitied’.

The whole place is, I am afraid, a majorly disappointing and disgusting eyesore.

If you are visiting Ardnamurchan I suggest giving the lighthouse a miss. There are many other wonderful places to visit on the peninsular which have better views, better seascapes and vistas… all for free too.

Although Ardnamurchan point was not the end of this Scottish road trip, it is the end of this post I titled ‘On the road to Ardnamurchan‘ and all those miles of wonderful memory building I travelled with my wife. In my mind that really is the point of travelling, to experience adventure, to see, feel, taste and do wonderful things, to build memories and share life with those you love.

Please, get out and see the world. Because it won’t come to your lounge.

I shall write next about my wonderful experience travelling ‘On the road to Kinloch Hourn’, which is all part of the same trip, a post I am certain you will not want to miss.

Kinloch Hourn Copyright PaulWhite2019

Keep happy, Paul.

Please feel free to visit my website, http://bit.ly/paulswebsite where you can find links to my other blogs, my photographs, artworks and books, both fiction & non-fiction.

See you there.

On the road to Ardnamurchan This post does not start from where you may expect it would, which, I suggest, would be Fort William or aboard the Corran Ferry heading for Ardgour.

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