#AND THEN i remembered i have my swedish final on monday and i have to make a speech and i havent even chosen a topic yet

[wishchthumblr]

on todays episode of "mental health issues that could easily be solved by one single thing that i dont have", GET A MICROWAVE!!!

i just know SO many of my eating related issues (not all obviously but a LOT of them) would be solved if this house just had a goddamn microwave

today i ate like... 1/4th of those small frozen pizzas, 1/3rd of a grilled cheese, and 1/3rd bowl of macaroni and meatballs. and yall wanna know why i didnt eat the whole thing of any of them? its cause my stupid adhd ass took too long to eat and the food got cold. and then i Cannot Eat That anymore. so even though i was still hungry i didnt eat the rest of it and just went back to rotting on youtube shorts and being too hungry to do anything and feeling dumb and unproductive and being guilty of making food that i dont eat. just... feeling like a big ol' waste

but the thing is, if i just

✨owned a microwave✨

i could just reheat the motherfucking food and still eat it and not feel like ive wasted that food. ((because since that food is wasted i feel guilty about making it, so i dont make any more food until next meal time, but then i didnt finish that either cause im stupid and eat too slow.))

but we dont have a microwave. only an oven. and yeah maybe i couldve reheated the 3/4th pizza or the grilled cheese in the oven, but then again the oven uses a lot of electricity. and my mom is always complaining that i turn the oven on, forget that its on for a while, and that im wasting electricity. and i was too tired and hungry to deal with that possibility. plus with the oven theres a chance i forget it too long or have it too hot and burn the food and that would just make me feel worse

but we dont have a microwave, because my mom thinks having a microwave leads to "eating more unhealthy foods that you just heat up" instead of "real food". so i didnt reheat any of my food. so i didnt eat it. it got to the point where it got cold and gross so i just threw it in the trash and hope my mom or grandma doesnt notice.

but if i had a microwave, i couldve reheated that food. and i couldve eaten it. ((and yeah, maybe i wouldnt have ate the whole thing, but maybe half at least? that counts right? well it dont really matter if it counts or not cause it didnt happen.))

and then maybe i wouldnt have been feeling like im gonna faint the whole day and maybe i wouldve gotten literally anything done instead of just scrolling on pinterest and youtube shorts for hours and feeling worthless. and maybe if i ate i wouldnt have hurt myself today

but nope. no microwave. it leads to "unhealthy" habits. i guess not eating enough to count as even ONE full meal is healthier since its not "microwave food"

thanks mom

[contentment-of-cats]

On bed rotting, a day of rest, and an anniversary.

I can't remember the last time I voluntarily spent the day in bed. My grandmother, born in 1906 spoke of 'taking to bed' - something the energetic but sickly child I was could not understand unless one was ill. As I grew older, weekends became productive time - to study, do homework, write papers, maintain my living space, run errands. The cup of life ran over and drowned the calendar. No rest, or precious little of it even as my body began to fail under a diagnosis of fibromyalgia in 2007. I'd had viral meningitis in 2004, and my immune system never turned off.

Then there came the time when all I could do was rest, but it was miserable instead of restorative. Sickness, growing debility that I tried to deny and rationalize and bring to a doctor. Then hospitalization, tests and scans, diagnosis, preparation, and Stage 4a aggressive treatment. I came home and would sleep until I had to wake up and take Zofran, or in the really bad cases Ativan, or Clonazipine in order not to vomit myself into dehydration. After surgery, nothing but bed. Unable to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk from November to April.

Today is second Monday in November, the anniversary of my big surgery, the removal of six feet of colon and intestines followed by a resection that literally gave me a new asshole. They removed my uterus and ovaries where the cancer had begun to spread. They re-sectioned my left ureter and bladder because the cancer was spreading there, too. They placed a uretal stent while I healed. I had an ileostomy done so my stitched-together innards could close. Finally, they removed 22 lymph nodes of which seven were found to be precancerous or cancerous. They say you forget the pain, and to an extent that is true. You forget the physical sensation, but you never forget waking up screaming, passing out, waking up again, and begging to die.

I know what a ten on the pain scale is like now. It's been revised up and up. Just when I thought I knew ten, I found out differently. My torso is marked by scars that look as if they were drawn in black Sharpie. I'm in remission, and far from wanting to be the busy, productive person I used to be, I find that I don't want to be anything. With my mother's death in the spring, the burden of daughterhood to a cluster b disordered woman, of shepherding her through dementia as I shepherded myself through cancer was lifted. I grieved the mother I wished for and she could sometimes be, but I was relieved that this stranger who came to wear my mother's body was finally gone. She could rest, and now so can I now that her energy has returned to the universe.

I am still working, but I am selfish now. My weekends are just for me. Despite being in remission, I don't know how many more I will have. That makes them precious. I cook, make jewelry, and 'watch telly' as Gran used to say. It was while I was rotting in bed on Sunday - my pre-Recession habit revived - that I came upon this interview in the Washington Post. Susan Gubar was a formative writer of my teen years, a time when the ERA failed because the male-dominated worldview (with a pushback spearheaded by 'traditional' women) didn't think we needed more rights than we already had, if anything they thought we had too many.

The Madwoman in the Attic, For Adult Users Only: The Dilemma of Violent Pornography, No Man's Land: The Place of the Woman Writer in the Twentieth Century : The War of the Words all ended up in my mother's shelves - she laid claim to my library when I moved out. With her death, I now get them back, plus more. My ten boxes of books donated in the first spate of Swedish Death Cleaning are nothing compared to my mother's hoard of books over her 80+ years of life. On top of that there are the books that she borrowed from me, that somehow also became hers.

Susan Gubar is a cancer patient in remission, and I have downloaded her two books on cancer and survivorship. Memoir of a Debulked Woman: Enduring Ovarian Cancer, and Reading and Writing Cancer: How Words Heal. I plan to rot in bed this pre-Thanksgiving weekend, and read. Also of note, her recent book Still Mad: American Women Writers and the Feminist Imagination. I'm delighted to find her all over again, a writer whose 1979 work spoke to me as much as Virginia Woolf's 'A Room of One's Own.'

Hey. Mom had my copy of that, too, dangit.

Perhaps I can get my library back. A snapshot of myself circa 1991. I know she borrowed my Bell Hooks and Audre Lorde. Angela Davis was someone Mom knew somehow and bought her books on principle. I read a lot of Second and Third Wave feminism, queer theory, psychology, sci-fi, fantasy, and comic books. My first copy of 'Our Bodies: Ourselves' - Mom had to buy that one for me, the bookstore owner refused to sell it to me despite my being female I was not a woman. My old D&D guides.

Perhaps my remission Sundays need to be spent rotting in bed, rediscovering the voracious reader I was all those years, before the busy-ness of life nibbled my time away.

It's a resolution, voted, and carried.

[scotianostra]

 Happy Birthday Scottish singersongwriter  KT Tunstall

Edinburgh born singer-songwriter KT Tunstall is one of Scotland's most successful musicians having sold over six million albums worldwide.

Kate “KT” Victoria Tunstall was born on this day 1975,  her birth mother was a  Hong Kong-born exotic dancer, who put her up for adoption her parents David and Rosemary Tunstall adopted her and raised her in St Andrews, she has always been aware that she was adopted. 

Strangely enough for a musician of her magnitude, KT Tunstall did not grow up in a musical household. Her parents’ only tape was a Tom Lehrer album on tape, leading Tunstall to discover the world of music entirely on her own , but it didn’t hold her back, KT was musical from an early age, learning to play piano, flute and guitar as a teenager.

KT moved to the USA, hungry for experiences and independence, she gained a scholarship to Kent School in Connecticut, New England. Whilst out there KT spent time on a hippy commune and formed her first band, The Happy Campers, she also spent a lot of time on busking in Burlington, Vermont.

After her time in the U.S she enrolled in a  music course at Royal Holloway College in London, before finally moving back to St Andrews, she joined a group of folk musicians from around the East Neuk  called The Fence Collective, which included the very talented Kenny Anderson aka King Creosote, in time she decided folk music was not for her and went on her way.

She began writing projects with Swedish songwriter/producer Martin Terefe and London-based Orcadian Jimmy Hogarth and London’s Tommy D. She started work on her debut album with her new band and legendary U2/New Order/Happy Monday’s producer Steve Osborne at the helm. ‘Eye to the Telescope’ saw her whittle down a massive catalogue of over 100 songs to just 12.

Luck played a part in her big break when due to another artist pulling out she appeared on  'Later With Jools Holland’ performing ‘Black Horse and the Cherry Tree’ it went on to become one of the most played songs of the summer. Her double platinum selling debut album 'Eye to the Telescope’ was nominated for the prestigious Mercury Prize. 

KT has now had 6 top 20 albums, the latest, Wax was in 2018, it reached number 6 in Scotland and 15 in the UK charts, her new album, Nut, is due out in September.

I remember her being interviewed on The Proclaimers, This is the Story documentary in 2017, where she chose their excellent song Scotland’s Story, commenting “Scotland’s Story just really struck me as quite a different song for them, that they were really saying something incredibly poignant and quite brave. It’s quite a critical song of the way that Scotland’s history is logged.

“Here we are in 2017 and it couldn’t be a more poignant, relevant song for what’s going on in the world and I just thought for right now, it’s an amazing song to sing.”

KT  has suffered hearing problems since 20n July 2021, she announced that she was having to pull out of her summer tour dates and permanently avoid lengthy runs of closely consecutive performances, citing issues with her right ear which were "exactly how the breakdown of my left ear began"  In July 2021, she announced that she was having to pull out of her summer tour dates and permanently avoid lengthy runs of closely consecutive performances, citing issues with her right ear which were "exactly how the breakdown of my left ear began"   Hearing problems have always been a worry to her; her brother  was profoundly deaf since

KT is touring just now, dates are all over the world, North America next month, then back home, she will n=be in Ireland, England and back in Scotland for the Belladrum Tartan Heart Festival.

The song is a duet of Caledonia with Alan Cumming.

[myladyofmercy]

I got tagged by @tessabennet to do a

8 shows to get to know me

list and she did it as a kind of watch history and I loved that method so I am copying it

1. h2o: just add water

this show defined my childhood. i was obsessed. i remember only being allowed to watch the rewatches on saturday mornings but not the premieres that came mondays through thursdays. when s3 came around my parents allowed me to record the episodes on vhs and then watch the episode the next day. when the finale aired i had a friend come over after school the next day and we watched the last two episodes even tho she already watched them the night before. in the scene where lewis walks down the stairs in slow mo she pulled out her flip phone and recorded the scene because she thought he looked so cute.

also rikki made me gay and i was always her when we played mermaids in the pool.

2. glee

my first big teenage obsession. i think i started watching when season 2 was airing. the last two seasons took so fucking long to come out dubbed that it was the first time i streamed an episode right after it aired in the us even tho my english wasn't that good yet. i also got my mom and my aunt to watch it. my aunts favorite was finn and when i read that cory had died i called her right before bed to tell her and she told me later she couldn't sleep that night.

my favorite characters were quinn and kurt. quinn made me gay(er)

also i wasn't in fandom spaces back then so i managed to escape all the crazy shit that went on in the fandom back then but i have met some new friends recently who were in it and told me some horror stories and i really feel like I dodged a bullet.

3. gossip girl

i only watched this show after it aired but it's so messy and a definite guily pleasure.

also unpopular opinion but my favorite character was jenny (i am also obsessed with her band and their music and covered two of their songs in my school rockband)

4. the originals

i always preferred the originals over the vampire diaries because i just liked klaus and the other mikaelsons more than elena and co. i also became obsessed with the soundtrack of the show and used to listen to the tracks on youtube and would then convert my faves. that's how i discovered my love for ruelle.

5. shameless

another big obsession I discovered between s4 and s5 airing. i remember crying real tears when ian and mickey broke up in s5. i think gallavich was the first pairing i watched fanedits on youtube for and also how i discovered twenty one pilots and my ultimate beloved florence and the machine. i also had a fan account on instagram at one point that got some likes from emma kenney.

6. supernatural

oh supernatural.

i discovered the show at a very low point in my life and bingewatched 10 seasons back to back while staying home from school. destiel was the first ship i ever read fic for (twist and shout anyone?) and even tho this show went on for wayyyy to long and made some very questionable choices it still has a place in my heart.

7. 911

at this point in time this show is probably my biggest obsession right now (probably because a new season is airing right now) i saw gifs of buck and abby on tumblr when the first season was airing in 2018 but only started watching when the spin off started and i rediscovered it via tumblr during s3. i have done multiple rewatches at this point and this show can truly make you laugh, cry, look away in disgust and believe in humanity at the same time.

also either buddie is the best slow burn of all time or the biggest queerbait since destiel and i am down for the ride.

8. young royals

where do i even begin with this show. it showed up on tumblr in july of 2021 and then i watched it the second weekend of the month and my life changed. since then i have started being truly active on tumblr, creating content myself, reading fanfic earnestly and by some great writers who i can call friends now, learning swedish (even tho the bird scares me), found a bunch of friends from all over the world and flew to fucking canada all on my own to visit people i met through this show. like what the fuck. even tho my obsession is a bit dormant right now they have just started filming the third and last season and as the amount of content will grow my obsession will too. i know it.

-

okay so this was a fucking essay but i really enjoyed this little deep dive into my watch history and even tho i don't expect anyone to do this I'm gonna tag some of my lovely friends (who i may or may not have found through that small swedish show at 8.)

@tooindecisivetopickaurl @i-love-semicolons @prince-simon @angelbabysimon @cloudywilmon @royalwilmon @oatmilkovich @ungaroyals @aro-of-artemis @little---versailles @cantputitintowords

[decorworks]

Hannes' Cosy Swedish Apartment with a Yellow Kitchen

Do you remember the Helsingborg home of Hannes Mauritzson? It's hard to forget with his adorable pooch! Well, Hannes sold the apartment a couple of years ago and moved to Gothenburg where he snapped up a beautiful living space as well as a very cosy 'kolonistuga' (allotment cottage) which has become a bit of an instagram sensation. And now he's on the move again! Hannes has put so much love into his Gothenburg apartment, that it must be with a very heavy heart he has decided to sell it. I guess, he has a great plan - and I can't wait to see more. But one man's loss is another man's gain, as they say - and this means his beautiful, warm and 'mysigt' (cosy) home is waiting for a new owner. I am pretty sure it will be snapped up quickly - not least because if you're anything like me, you could move in and not have to change a thing - the colours and wallpapers Hannes has used are lovely! It's just a shame it won't come furnished as it's fill of the most amazing pieces from design lamps by the likes of Flos and Gubi to an array of vintage and antique furniture. Ready to take a peek?

Charming in every way, don't you think? I absolutely love these 'sekelskifte' (turn-of-the-century) apartments with all their incredible period features. Sadly, the house in Malmö from this period are eye-wateringly expensive to buy as they are in such high demand - it doesn't stop me from heading to the odd viewing though. Do you do that too? Is there anything that stood out to you about Hannes lovely apartment? Could you imagine living here? If so, you can see more pics and all the details over at Entrance. You might also like to head over to Hannes instagram to check out his little cottage and wait to see what he does next! But I'd rather you stay here and enjoy a little Swedish apartment love fest (I hope that didn't come out wrong - dreading where I might end up on google searches now!). Here are a few homes to love this weekend: And how about taking a tour of some Swedish and danish allotment cottages? They are most likely closed for the season now, but they are great for small space inspiration; The good news? It's Friday with two whole days to relax! My weekend will be filled with games of padel (does anyone else play? I love it!), taking my older daughter to a swim meet in Kristanstad, meeting a couple of friends in a British pub in town (to recharge my english batteries!), no doubt moving a few things around at home (completely unnecessarily, of course) and maybe, just maybe getting round to finally planting some spring bulbs (I keep putting it off, it's getting ridiculous now - do you do the same?). I hope you have got a couple of nice things lined up for the weekend too! Thank you so much for all your amazing comments this week- I'm looking forward to reading through and responding over the weekend. See you Monday! Photography courtesy of Entrance, with thanks Read the full article

[apexart-journal]

Hanna Saarikoski in New York, #Day 14 &15

I had trouble getting to sleep when I finally got to the apartment, and on Monday, my day off, I was so tired that I basically just rested and tried to recover. I did some laundry and cleaned up a bit though. In the evening I luckily had enough energy to go and listen to Ross Perlin with Jason Diamond talking about Ross Perlin's Language City: The Fight to Preserve Endangered Mother Tongues in New York. It was so interesting that I bought the book and have been carrying it around with me and reading it whenever I have a chance. To my surprise, Ross Perlin mentioned the same language-based performance that Kewulay Kamara had told me about; they were both involved in it and knew each other. What a coincidence!

The next day, my 15th day of the fellowship program, I started by learning to juggle in Bryant Park. It was a great fun, I enjoyed the state of focus it required, and it was physically relaxing as well. Of course, I didn't get very far with it, but that wasn't the point. It would be nice to learn more, and I got many useful tips on how to practice at home.

In the afternoon I did the Financial District Walking Tour. Some of the sites I had already seen a week ago when I walked back to my apartment from the Staten Island Ferry, but it was good to see them in daylight. World Trade Center, Memorial Museum, Trump Tower, New York Stock Exchange, Racing Bull. Those invasive insects I first wondered about and then learned what they were, the spotted lanternflies, were everywhere. When they're not flying, they're pretty gray and camouflaged on the streets and sidewalks. With their wings open, they have bright red, black and a hint of blue on their wings, the difference is captivating and eerie. Remembering that afternoon, they fly over every picture.

Later in the evening I attended the BlaBla language exchange event at Blaggard's pub. It was an exciting experience, but it could have been more fun if the music wasn't so loud that you could barely hear what the person next to you was saying. But at the same table there were at least Chinese, Japanese, German, Italian, Spanish, Hungarian, Finnish, Swedish, French and English speakers. I didn't stay that late, I was a little afraid that the insomnia would take over again. It happens to me easily, especially when it's hectic and emotionally charged, as this kind of program inevitably is sometimes. That's why it's great to have regular meetings with Nancy in therapy, she's so warm, insightful and encouraging.

[alexbkrieger13]

M's mother is from finland. https://yle.fi/urheilu/3-12609281

oh wow thats interesting

Sweden's superstars are waiting to face Finland after the European Championship disappointment - a surprising revelation from the Chelsea captain: "My mother is Finnish"

The Finnish women's national football team ends the World Cup qualifiers on Tuesday in Tampere against Sweden. Having reached the semi-finals of the summer European Championships, Sweden wants to return to the path of good results.

The Finnish women's national football team no longer has an athletic stake in the final match of the World Cup qualifiers, but the test is one of the toughest possible. Sweden reached the semi-finals of the European Championships and holds third place in the Fifa world rankings.

On Monday, a number of the world's top players were seen at the Ratina stadium: Kosovare Asllani, who moved to AC Milan, Barcelona's Fridolina Rolfö, Chelsea's Magdalena Eriksson, Arsenal's Stina Blackstenius and so on...

Although Sweden has already secured its place in next summer's World Cup, the team is not just going to walk into the final game of the World Cup qualifiers.

- We have a revenge spirit after the European Championships. The races did not end as we would have hoped. Now we have to get back up to speed and this team is also important in that sense, Blackstenius talked.

Sweden lost to England in the European Championship semi-final with a score of 0–4. The team received some criticism for its EC performances even before the loss against England, even though before the semi-final it had played 34 matches without a loss in regular time.

- It was really miserable to fall with such a loss. When the matter had been processed for a few days, I thought that we were one of the teams that made it the farthest. We also had our good moments against England, but the small margins were decisive, Eriksson summed up.

- This year it wasn't our turn, we weren't good enough and England was fantastically good.

After the European Championships, there have been many changes in the team: Hedvig Lindahl , who carried the mantle of the number one goalkeeper for years , has left the national team uniforms behind, at least for the time being. Sofia Jakobsson , who plays in the USA, is not at least in the World Cup qualifying match, and long-time captain Caroline Seger is on the sidelines for the rest of the season due to injury. Nilla Fischer was already absent from the European Championships citing family reasons.

- We are missing two very strong leaders (Seger and Lindahl). Our team is now a bit younger, although there are still many seasoned players who have played a lot of international matches, Eriksson, who will possibly play her 90th international match on Tuesday, said.

Finland has succeeded in defeating Sweden only once: in Järfalla in 1976. The Helmarei's games have not gone smoothly this year, as the team has only been able to win one of the matches they have played. In the World Cup qualifying match in April, the three points came against Georgia, the group's toss-up.

Despite that, the Swedish players don't go into the match with their jackets open. The previous meeting between the teams in Gothenburg in November ended with a 2–1 victory for Sweden.

- I believe that the match will be really tough. In Gamla Ullevilla Finland put up a serious fight and made the match difficult. In the European Championships, Finland was in one of the most difficult groups. We know many good players from the team, and many of them play in Sweden. The match is a good test for us and I believe that the game will be of high quality. And it's a derby too! Eriksson rejoiced.

The match has a special charge for the Chelsea captain.

- My mother is Finnish. We have a large family in Åland. I have spent all my childhood summers there. I remember them very fondly. We have been on cruises in Turku a lot. I feel at home here, Eriksson revealed.

Enskede IK's product would certainly have been used in the Finnish national team as well. Eriksson, who moved to Chelsea in 2017, is the captain of the London giant, who has celebrated with the club, among other things, winning the Superliga four times.

She has been awarded, among other things, Sweden's best player 2020 and he was part of FIFPRO's 2021 star field. Eriksson has also been talked about as one(you switch to another service) One of the best toppers in Europe's current best series.

In addition to her athletic performances, Eriksson has become known as a defender of sexual minorities. She has given numerous interviews together with her partner, clubmate Pernille Harder, and the life of the duo is closely followed in the media.

The Swedish defender says that she asked her mother to watch the match, but unfortunately she couldn't make it.

- I asked her who he was rooting for, and she answered Sweden, Eriksson laughed.

Eriksson revealed that she followed Helmareite's performances in the European Championships as well.

- I wished Finland a little success in the European Championships. Finland is a bit like my second home country.

[pinkiepiebones]

1. Ily 💙💙💙

2. If you have the time/energy: i havent been keeping up with ghost shit since like the pandemic started or the last tour with Copia as a cardinal? Idek. So like lore and story stuff im completely out of the loop. If you would like, i would appreciate any explanations, summary, whatever you want. Or recommendations on things to watch/look at. (No pressure of course. I just thought you might like to talk about it and im genuinely lost)

There’s not too much to catch up on. March 3 2020 Ghost played only one show for the year, in Mexico. Halfway through his sax solo in Miasma, Papa Nihil fucking died on stage. A perplexed Copia was then surrounded by a dozen skull-faced nuns and was magical girl transformed (with ABBA’s Arrival playing) into Papa IV, in the glittery blue robes that I’ve mentioned were coronation attire.

Then for a long time nothing happened. Because COVID. Though judging by my phone’s photo reel Tobias got a Swedish music award thingy in October? (I honestly don’t remember that year)

Also going by my photos (so glad I barely ever delete anything)… January 2021 Papa IV emerged from hiding to appear on a Swedish game show without his ghouls and he did a cover of Sympathy for the Devil that really needs a proper studio recording and released like damn

In February Ghost was officially introduced into Batman comics canon. Yes, really.

In April Tobias was spotted in the wild and I made an excellent humour post about how he has access to skinny jeans tech we can only dream of

In September a spicy new picture of Coronation Copia Papa IV dropped and Ghost’s co-headling tour with Volbeat was announced and I got my tickets to a show that happens NEXT MONDAY AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Also a single was released- HUNTER’S MOON. It was attached to the movie Halloween Kills and the music video was weird but the big takeaway for the fandom was that Copia and Michael Myers definitely at least dated somehow

In October the character of Papa Emeritus IV was added to the Iron Maiden RPG gacha mobile game LEGACY OF THE BEAST (which is actually kinda fun despite being a gacha?). His storyline involved travelling inside his own mindscape to confront the personification of his anxiety and self-doubt, the dreaded CARDINAL IMMORTUS. I still have all the Papa IV dialogue from the final fight if anyone needs me to type it up……

And then the tour started and today a phone number dropped for you to text the word GHOST to to sogn up for a newsletter(?) and also be absolved of sins.

No new lore. New ghoul outfits, new ghoul (a ghoulette! She has about seven thousand nicknames but I like Sunshine because we “met” her the same day that single dropped)

So yeah. Ghost. Make with the lore.

[espejonight28738]

Family Reuinion

A.K.A: Eurovision 2021 in the Nordic's House

You can also read it in Ao3

Pairings: None really, just some squint and you miss it DenNor and SuFin but can be read as platonic.

Iceland arrived to Denmark's house two hours before the Eurovision final began. He had wanted to come earlier, but he had been very busy in previews days and there hadn't been any earlier flies that day.

He let himself into the house with his own keys, and the moment he opened the door he felt the hit of the sweet smell of danish pastries being made. 

"Hej, lillebror. Had a good fly?" He heard Norway asking him from the living room.

Iceland sighted at the question, remembering the disagreement he and Mr. Puffin had before Iceland left his house.

Iceland walked to the voice, to find Norway in the largest sofa in front of the television, already in his pajamas. He had been here all week, with Sweden and Finland arriving on Wednesday.

The house was big enough for the five of them, seven when Sealand and Ladonia came along, to be without getting on each other's space, which was the reason Denmark hosted most of their reunions.

"It was good. Were you banned from the kitchen again, Nore?" Teased Iceland, knowing his brother couldn't help but eat whatever ingredients were at his reach, which lead him to be banned half the times Denmark baked.

"Not this time, I was waiting to give you your uniform," was the response Iceland got. Before he could ask what Norway meant, however, the nation handed him a sweater.

A greenish, bluish sweater. With a simple pixel-art drawing of his face. Like the ones from his entry.

"When did you even get this?" Asked Iceland, not sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.

"I have my ways, now go change."

"I don't see you with angel wings..." he complained, but still went to his room to change. The only thing more ridiculous than his brother's dress up games, were his methods of persuasion to make him play along.

He changed to the sweater and changed to the rest of his pajamas he had in his room before going back downstairs.

Finland was now sitting on the two-person sofa, also in his pajamas, no sign of any “uniform” to cheer for his country.

"Finland, you left me to be Nore's dress up doll by myself?"

"Hey, Ice!" Greeted him Finland, not answering to the accusation. "We missed you on Thursday's semi-final. Tanska would've probably been happy enough for you not to cry so much about not qualifying himself."

"He always cries," teased Norway.

"Mr. Puffin didn't come with you?" Asked Finland.

Iceland shook his head, already used to the aggressive behavior of the bird. 

"Are you really not going to go with me? You're supposed to support me, and you like Danmark's house," tried to argue Iceland.

"Your stupid song is lame, I don't want be associated with it," growled the bird. Iceland had been hearing this for weeks, apparently Mr. Puffin had strong opinions on how much better the entry from two years ago was to this one. "Tell Finland his entry is my favorite."

"We have matching sweaters, Ice!" Exclaimed Denmark. Indeed, they had.

"Uh, no. He didn't like my entry. He liked yours, though," said Iceland, answering Finland's question.

Norway and Finland nodded, already used to Mr. Puffin moods, even if just by second-hand anecdotes, as he still refused to talk in front of the other nordics.

"Iceland! You're finally here!" Screamed Denmark, coming from the kitchen to the living room, Sweden behind him.

"Hi, Dan–" He interrupted himself when he finally looked at the danish nation. "What the hell–?"

But the moments he took to formulate his thoughts were enough for Denmark to put the small pastries, which smelt delicious, on the central table and throw his arms around Iceland.

Iceland corresponded the hug automatically, already used to the nation's antiques, but his brain was still processing what he saw.

Once they finally got Denmark to sit down, they spent the remaining time until the beginning of the contest discussing other countries' entries.

Denmark was wearing the same sweater Iceland had, the one from his entry, just that his had the pixel-art of his own face. Once again he wondered how did Norway get not only one, but two sweaters for the final.

But that was not all, Denmark also had some cheap angel wings in his back, in behalf on Norway's entry, he guessed, and a leather bracelet with spikes, for Finland's entry.

"Where did you even get all of that?" Was what Iceland finally settled on after Denmark stepped back.

"Don't recognize your own wings?" Asked Sweden. Iceland looked confused for a second, before finally remembering he had used an angel costume for Halloween a few years ago.

He had gotten rid of the wings early in the night, as those were very uncomfortable, and he had left them somewhere in Sweden's place.

"If you don't remember," added Norway, "Danmark has the photos in the Halloween album."

Denmark's eyes shined at the idea, but Iceland grabbed him by the sleeve before he could go for the album. He had no wishes of relieving the most embarrassing costumes Denmark and Norway had gotten him into.

"And the rest of the... outfit?" He asked to redirect the conversation.

"Norge got both of us the sweaters, and the bracelet is from the things he keeps from his black-metal phase from a few decades ago." Denmark smiled with amusement, probably remembering said phase.

Even Iceland had a few photos from that one. It was a bit unfair though that Norway looked too good for them to actually be considered embarrassing photos.

"Nothing for Sverige?"

"He tried," explained Sweden, taking a seat next to Finland, "but the clothes aren't very exciting."

"I brought my swedish mini-flags," added Denmark, pointing to the lamp table next to the sofa where there were two small swedish flags.

Iceland nodded, deciding that all in all it was a very Denmark thing to do.

Iceland sat in on of the extremes of the sofa Norway had claimed, leaving the other side for Denmark. The danish nation went back to running around the kitchen, although Iceland couldn't tell what more was he doing, but he took the chance to whisper to Norway,

"You got the sweaters to cheer him up, didn't you?" 

Norway gave a self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of how well it had worked.

"I also got one each for the rest of us, we are taking family pictures on those," at Iceland attempt to interrupt, Norway raised his hand in a gesture to stop him, "and no, it's not a suggestion. Everyone loved the sweaters; we are doing it. You can go back to being a moody teenager after."

"I'm not a teenager," argued Iceland, but he left the 'moody' part out, knowing that was probably a lost battle.

"Sure, lillebror."

"I can't believe you didn't vote for me, Su-san, I'm divorcing you and taking Sealand and Hanatamago."

"We don't get a say at the jury vote," tried to argue Sweden. 

Every year someone had some version of that same argument, and Iceland was glad it wasn't Norway who started to complain how he hadn't gotten votes from the icelandic jury.

Iceland was feeling kind of smug about having been the only one everyone voted for, even if he didn't win in the end. Only for that we would complain just the minimum for the photos with the matching sweaters.

"Does anyone understand the jokes about calling my guy... Castiel? And saying something about some turbo-hell?" Asked Norway, interrupting Finland and Sweden's bickering.

Norway was leaning on Denmark's shoulder, but still wide awake and checking, Iceland guessed, social media on his phone.

"You don't want to know"/"Long story" Denmark and Sweden answered simultaneously.

Iceland couldn't help a small laugh at that, but that ended in him yawning, which apparently was everyone's sign to go to sleep.

They all congratulated Iceland for being the highest-ranked nordic of the year, so only after his obligatory line of hugs he could go to his bedroom.

He kept yawning on his way upstairs, and collapsed on his bed as soon as he closed the door behind him. On Monday he would have to fly back to his home, but after all these months barely seeing each other, Iceland just enjoyed the feeling of being asleep under the same roof as his family.

[amyonrails]

Traveling to Sweden by train

Things are slowly calming down again so I decided to spend a one week vacation in the Swedish city of Gothenburg. I want to share this journey with people as I promised friends to take lots of pictures anyway and because it personally means quite a lot to me to finally get out there again. Not only is this finally a proper vacation after a year and a half of sitting at home a lot with the coronavirus pandemic making it unfeasible to travel anywhere farther than where the S-Bahn could carry me. But this is also my first international journey in just over 10 years. Finally I feel comfortable taking on such a trek and because I am apparently a bit silly and like trains I decided to do this journey (nearly) all by train.

Planned route

Now how does one get from Berlin to Gothenburg by train? The route I will be taking starts in Berlin from which I will first board an ICE (InterCity Express; the German high speed train class of DB) to Hamburg to change to an IC (InterCity; a high-ish speed service) which is a joint operation by DB and the Danish national train service taking me all the way to the Danish capital of Copenhagen. From there I can take the Öresundtåg (literally Öresundtrain) over the Öresundbridge across the (can you guess it?) Öresund between Denmark and Sweden. The Öresundtåg stops in the city of Malmö, where I get a high speed train by the Swedish operator SJ that will get me to my destination.

This is quite a trip with a few changes and because I planned this with change times of at least 30 minutes in case there are delays the whole journey will take about 13 hours. The straight distance between the two cities is about 580 kilometres but due to the detour over Jutland the distance actually traveled is closer to 1000 kilometres.

(the route vaguely traced in Google Maps)

I booked the tickets online a few weeks ahead and paid for all second class tickets about 70 € in total (and again about 70 € for the return trip). This was actually quite pleasant. The whole first part of the journey up to Malmö I was able to plan with the website of DB, which cooperates nicely with services of neighboring countries. The booking website of SJ was also easy to use, very user friendly and has a good English translation.

The paperwork

So because this is an international journey we have to consider paperwork of course. You can’t just travel to another country, surely there is a bunch of hoops you have to jump through, right? Well, because of the circumstances, kinda but not really.

First off: no visa required. I am a German citizen and am thus allowed to travel freely within the Schengen-area and the only required document is my ID card. And that is only in case I actually get carded. On train connections that is only done occasionally, but of course I will have my ID with me, so that will not be an issue.

Due to the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic it is also necessary to bring either a negative test result when crossing borders or a certificate of vaccination against the virus. Which I got. You can have it in paper or digitally and two weeks after your second shot you are free to travel again. No quarantining or anything. I got vaccinated anyway, so this was no issue at all.

Over all this got sorted pretty easily and I quickly had everything I need.

As a slight hint for anyone traveling to Sweden for the first time: paying in cash is incredibly uncommon especially in the cities there so I very much advise getting a credit card. I used a simple card I could charge with a bit of money, which I got from my bank with no additional cost and due to the limited money on it, losing it would not have been that bad as well.

Potential obstacles

But of course, stuff happened. Or rather, would maybe happen. I am writing this portion slightly ahead and at the end of reading this you will know, how it actually played out. As will I know, because by then I hopefully will have arrived.

Over the summer of 2021 the train drivers union GDL started talks with DB about raises and compensation over the additional hours drivers had done during the pandemic. Talks broke down though and thus they started striking.

There are more internal factors at play here as well but I am not in the know enough to properly judge or even explain the whole picture. But in the end it also does not really matter because I can’t really change it that quickly. So I have to live with the potential of the trains in Germany being canceled due to strikes. Only in Germany though. As soon as I reach Denmark I will be fine.

The strikes are not full time. They usually go on for two or three days and then normal service resumes within a few hours. And they tend to stick to work days. Which might mean I get lucky as I will depart on a Saturday. But I will watch the news closely and may have to rapidly come up with a backup plan.

Additionally and a bit hilariously I will have to switch onto a rail replacement bus on my journey to Gothenburg. Just on the weekend where I will travel they are doing some bridgework between Malmö and the town of Lund. This is certainly an inconvenience, but I just hope it will work out okay, as it is not that far to Lund. If this was not the case, I would have been able to make this journey exclusively with electric trains.

The strike

And of course it had to happen. On Monday the 30th of August the union announced a strike that would cover a whole week and with that, cover the weekend I wanted to travel on.

But no reason to panic yet. This gave me a few days to figure out how to navigate around this. By Tuesday afternoon DB had figured out which services would still be running.

I got pretty unlucky though. During this strike no DB service would run from Hamburg to Copenhagen. So it became necessary to find another way.

Thankfully I remembered the provider Snälltåget. They run a night train from Berlin all the way to Stockholm with stops in larger cities. Like for example Malmö.

And so for an additional price of just 10€ in total I got my DB ticket refunded, bought a ticket for the Snälltåget service from Saturday 7 in the evening to arrive on Sunday at around 8 in the morning and shifted the ticket I had bought with SJ to a train on Sunday.

Overall that was not nearly as bad as I initially feared and by Tuesday afternoon I had rescheduled.

The journey

Saturday came and in the evening it got time to head out. Due to the strike the S-Bahn service in Berlin was also pretty dodgy so I opted for a route with U-Bahn and bus. Which worked pretty well. The bus was a bit crowded but the whole trip was only a few minutes slower than any S-Bahn connection available to me.

Berlin central station is a very modern steel and glass construction that is very vertical with platforms going east-west above ground and platforms going north-south below ground. Due to the strike there were only few trains around but there were still some passengers taking the few trains in service.

(a view along the upper platforms at Berlin central station with the low sun shining through the glass roof)

About 20 minutes before departure my train pulled onto the platform. Four carriages pulled by an electric loco. Very quickly I had found my seat and was happy to see us depart perfectly on time at 19:02. But then had to stop for twenty minutes just after leaving the city behind, because unauthorized people were on the track.

For this section with Snälltåget I had booked the most basic seat. Fortunately the person who boarded the train in Hamburg at around 22:00 seated next to me found another free seat, so neither of us had to be crammed in our seats and attempt to sleep.

Ah yes, sleep. As this was a night train a reasonable thing to do is to sleep. Unfortunately a few things got in the way of that. Firstly, the cabin light in the open saloon was never turned off. It was comparatively low, but still bright enough to disrupt sleep.

And then came the stop just behind the Danish border. In the small town Padborg, the loco that had hauled us all the way from Berlin got replaced by a Danish locomotive. This is due to a difference in voltage between the countries’ catenary equipment. That alone would have been fine, but unfortunately the Danish border guards deem it necessary to check every single train. And if that means disrupting 200 peoples sleep each night at 2 in the morning then they will do it. Which is what they did.

(empty platforms at Padborg, only some bright lamps break the darkness in the dead of night while the border guards board the train)

(the sun is just barely rising over the flat and still dark Danish countryside)

During the next few hours I managed to catch a bit of uneasy sleep until the early dawn. Because I realized, that we were nearing Copenhagen I decided to just stay awake and watch the landscape zip by as the sun crept up. And it was worth it.

(banks of mist over fields)

Fields covered in mist like ghostly apparitions. And right as the sun really rose and made it easy to see, we crossed the Öresundbridge. A wonderful view.

(the metal frame of the Öresundbridge with the sea visible in the background, the sun is shining just out of frame to the right)

After the bridge it was not far to the city of Malmö. Unfortunately we were delayed slightly again. Slowly I felt like fate was trying to keep me from reaching my destination.

But because I was cautious this delay was not enough to mess with my plans. The train arrived slightly delayed at around 08:30.

(the loco that had pulled me through the bit of Sweden I had crossed this far sitting at a platform in Malmö)

I did not take time to look at Malmö central station, but from what I saw it is a nice station with the older platforms being complemented by a modern building housing some shops. But I had a bus to catch, so I headed for one of the exits.

Some helpful staff was able to point me to the replacement bus I now had to take to get to Lund. The bus trip, while a bit inconvenient was actually a nice change. And I got dropped off right in front of the train station an hour before my train was due to depart.

And that last leg of the journey was very pleasant. The X55 even in second class was wonderful to ride. Good leg space, large windows, pleasant decor and a comfortable ride paired with sunny views of the Swedish countryside. This train made it immediately clear to me, that Swedish rail has a wider loading gauge than most other countries and the cars are built accordingly with lots of room. Zooming through hills and past fields at not very high speeds was just a delight.

(a bit of Swedish countryside with fields and farm buildings under a blue sky, in the distance one can just about see the coastline)

And after about 2 and a half hours my final train for that day pulled into Gothenburg central station. Which is a wonderful old station that has been maintained very well. The main concourse still has it’s original dark wood framing and large murals show different old railway lines all under an iron and glass ceiling, which makes it feel large but still cozy. Even tired as I was, I was surprised by how nice this station is.

(the main concourse in Gothenburg central station)

(the front of Gothenburg central station in broad daylight)

From the central station one can easily get anywhere in the city with the many trams or a bus which stop just a hundred meters from the station entrance.

In conclusion

This whole trip is now about two weeks in the past and I had some time to think about it. In general I still think this is a good way to get to Sweden, especially if you are on a budget. Next time I want to try out a proper cabin with a berth on the night train, because I am just too tall to sleep in any way comfortably in a seat.

[puckmeupfam]

Emotion | Andre Burakovsky

Word Count: 3064 Note: I’m a sucker for soulmate AUs and this has been in my head for awhile. Excuse any spelling/grammar errors because I barely edited it. Sorry I couldn’t find a way to include Burky getting into a random car thinking it was his Uber or Backy calling him his “baby boy.” 

Growing up, no matter how confusing everything else seemed to be, you knew one thing for certain: everyone had a soulmate. You could purposefully communicate with your soulmate no matter how far away they were and any especially strong emotions were shared whether you wanted them to be or not. There were some rules that had always seemed rather nitpicky to you. You couldn’t communicate where in the world you were, or your full name, or anything too identifiable. But other than that, the whole thing always seemed amazing to you - there was someone out there who you would know better than you knew yourself, someone meant for you. 

There was one major problem in your personal circumstance. Your soulmate was much, much further away than you would like. As early as pre-school you remembered getting feelings of your soulmate’s emotions before dawn. Excitedness at breakfast. Boredom while you brushing your teeth in the morning. Sometimes you would even be woken up as early as three in the morning with exuberance and for hours you would be too jittery to get back to sleep. 

Around the time you started school ou had begun receiving messages from him. You were forced to the conclusion at just six-years-old that your soulmate was a complete idiot. The messages he was sending you were in utter gibberish. Your first real encounter with your soulmate consisted of him waking you up early with his words that made no sense. It was annoying and you had to go to school tired. In the car, there was more and you sighed. But by the time of your spelling test, you had had enough. You were trying to focus and there was a voice in your head interrupting your thoughts. No one had ever officially taught you how to send communications but you couldn’t sit back and let him bother you any longer. You closed your eyes tightly and focused as hard as you could. 

“Could you please shut up!” Yes, you had been taught not to say things like that to anyone let alone your soulmate but drastic times called for drastic measures. Luckily for you, your soulmate finally stopped talking. You did feel a wave of… something, but while it was odd and made you feel slightly shaken it was now time for recess, and all of your soulmate problems were soon forgotten as you ran for the swingset.

Later, as you grew up and learned how to articulate the millions of emotions that encapsulated your life, you would be able to classify that feeling better. Apprehension.

The next day was a Saturday and the weather was nice enough that you got to color outside. You sat criss-cross applesauce on the grass even though it made you a bit itchy. As you were deciding which shade of pink to use you felt a tumbling in your belly that you usually associated with the first day of school or singing a song at camp all by yourself. Nerves.

That’s when it came through. The stuttered, “hi.” The word didn’t sound like you had ever heard it before. Not clear like your teacher or confident like the boy who sat across from you in class. But whether or not it sounded like he was eating saltwater taffy, this was an improvement to you. So you squared your shoulders and sent back a hi of your own. Unlike the first time, the feeling that washed over you felt good. This time it felt… cheery. The feeling egged you on so you sent another message.

“My name is (Y/N).”

His response came, still not clear but slightly less timid, “‘m Andre.”

—

Over the years your Andre had become more and more fluent in English. After you’d grown up a bit you had asked him enough roundabout questions and done enough research that you had determined that what he was speaking was not gibberish but rather Swedish. While the difference between the two wasn’t that big to eight-year-old-you, it was still an improvement. 

It was when each student in your class had to do a report on a country of their choice that you had to come to terms with the logistics. When the teacher announced the project you had been quick to raise your hand and request Sweden. But when you sat down to do the research you discovered the startling fact that you were about five thousand miles away from the country. For Andre, it was around dinner time when he must have felt your thunderstorm of emotions. Disappointment. Frustration. 

“What is wrong?”

You sighed and replied sadly, “you’re far away.” His response was slow and when it came back it was just a solemn, “very far.” For a minute you just sat and stared at the wall. Before Sweden had seemed like this fun, magical place where your soulmate would live until the day you were both ready for him to appear on your doorstep. It wasn’t until this random Monday that it occurred to you that it might not be that easy. That you were separated by oceans not streets. That you may very well never be able to find him.

That’s when his words came, “It is very far. But we are soulmates and I will come to you.” He sounded more certain in those big plans than he ever was before and you genuinely felt like if anyone could make something like that happen it would be Andre. 

You tried your best to transmit all of those feelings and hopes to him and thousands of miles away, on a completely different continent you knew he would sense it. Reassurance.

When you were in your teenage years it was a definite fact that Andre was your best friend. He had always been your soulmate and you’d always had a certain affection towards him with his goofy jokes and dumb ideas. But over time he had become your confidant and he had become yours. You’d become decently proficient at Swedish- enough that he could complain to you about his parents or his totally unfair and definitely rigged penalty. It had also become your party trick at school to teach everyone the Swedish swear words that you had learned from Andre. 

You knew that he played hockey and that it dominated his time and his thoughts. You’d felt waves of excitement, disappointment, and pure adrenaline throughout his games. But it was in 2013 that, together, the two of you came to terms with the fact that he was going to be drafted. While you were so proud that he was going to be living out his dream, another part of you was full of nervous excitement because not only would he be playing professionally… he would be playing professionally in North America. 

In the weeks leading up to the draft, there seemed to be a constant flurry of nervousness coming through your connection. You did your best to take deep breaths to send back as much calm energy as you could muster. There were times when you knew he was sitting awake. Trepidation. 

“It’s going to be fine, ‘Dre,” you would tell him, “you’ll go where you’re supposed to be.” 

“But what if no one takes me,” you would hear in his nervous whisper. 

“From everything you’ve told me about yourself you’re really good so unless you’ve been lying to your dear and beloved soulmate, someone will pick you,” you were trying to come off as cheeky, trying to make him smile even if you couldn’t see it for yourself. His anxiety was starting to diminish but your own mind was filling up with something else… something that you spurred you on to say more. To make him understand.

“Andre. At the end of the day, if all else fails, just know that I will always pick you.”

Both of you were swimming in emotions. There was a crushing weight of something in your chest that almost brought tears to your eyes. The feelings were all new and unfamiliar and it made you feel too overwhelmed to try and categorize. So you chose one of the simpler ones. Bliss.

The day of the draft you had practically glued yourself to the TV. You swore you could feel Andre’s nausea. As it was all gearing up you made sure to tell him how proud of him you were no matter what happened. You sat through most of the first round chewing your lip before the twenty-third pick came up and with absolutely no preamble you heard it.

“Washington takes Andre Burakovsky.”

The camera panned to the player and his family. Your jaw dropped as you practically drowned. Disbelief. Glee. Euphoria.

You knew but asked anyway, “is that you?” You swore you saw him laugh before he said “yeah.” The voice in your head was full of happiness and tears sprung your eyes as you laughed. Anyone watching would think you were deranged but there he was. Still not with you, though you chose not to dwell on that, but he was real. And you had to say it, “you’re so hot.” Through the screen, he shook his head jovially while the wide smile seemed unable to leave his face. As the Canucks took the stage for their pick you were still stunned. Andre was chattering to you happily but you couldn’t quite focus. “It’s you,” you were interrupting his rambles and he paused. While you had already established that the Andre on the TV screen was your Andre, he knew what you meant.

“It is me… and it’s always been you.”

—

During his time on the Otters you let him focus on hockey while simultaneously teetering on the edge of Something. He was on the verge of making it and you didn’t want to complicate that, but you were both acutely aware of each other. For as long as you could remember Andre was yours and him being in the NHL didn’t change that. Over time you’d gone from kids who could barely conceptualize that the voice in their head was a real person to teenagers who were friends and now you were adults who were a bit more. You were falling for your soulmate. 

On the night of his debut with the Caps, you were bubbling over with delight. You were sitting on the floor in front of the same TV that you watched him get drafted on. The camera followed him as he did his first lap on NHL ice and like the first time your mind went blank except for Andre. You were enraptured watching him during the anthem and when the game started your eyes didn’t follow the puck, instead they stayed trained on number sixty-five. 

Suddenly there was a turnover by the Canadiens and there was Andre with a one-timer and you actually screamed as you watched your soulmate score his first goal just six minutes and forty-three seconds into his NHL debut. As he jumped the boards you did your best to focus enough to send him a clear message. He was tackled by his team so you weren’t even sure if he got it until he emerged to high five everyone on the bench. That’s when you heard him. Short and tooth-rottenly sweet. 

“For you.”

Pride.

—

Not every day was as rejoiceful as that one. His upper-body injury during their 2018 Cup run hit him hard. He had missed time due to injuries over the last two seasons and he had been hoping to prove himself. Healing during the playoffs gave him far too much time to overthink. Every time he told you about a pass that missed or a shot that was saved you did your best to talk him down and convince him to focus on healing. The trouble came when he was finally back in the lineup but seemed to psych himself out of every scoring chance. You watched as he went back to the bench after barely five minutes of ice time. Anger. Desperation. Normally you avoided communicating with him during games but you could tell he needed more than even Nicke or Tom could give him. 

“Andre, don’t beat yourself up. Just focus on the team.”

“You’d pick me?”

“I will always pick you.”

Later that night, even though Andre hadn’t scored, the game was one to remember forever. Your jaw hung open as you listened to John Walton cheer, “The demons have been exorcised! Good morning! Good afternoon! And good night Pittsburgh! We’re going to Tampa Bay! The Capitals have done it!”

Shock. Thrill.

When Washington won the Cup final against Vegas you were overpowered by Andre’s triumph and ecstasy. You couldn’t even tell where his excitement ended and yours started. While he spent the rest of the summer drunk on happiness and an unbelievable amount of alcohol you found yourself oddly jealous. The two of you had never really discussed a plan for meeting. But now you were selfishly upset that he had gone through this momentous life event without you. That he had gone so much of his life without you by his side. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to distract him. You told yourself it was because you had to make your education a priority. But Andre was out there. 

When the season started again with the team affected by their Cup hangover, you could feel Andre’s stress. And though you were wallowing in your own cowardice, you pushed it aside to support him and let him focus on hockey. You did your best to congratulate him on every goal and reassure him about every loss. Even though the team was doing well, even clinching their division title, it was a tough time for your soulmate. He only had twenty-five points through seventy-six games. While you were so proud of him and content with the progress he was making with his sports psychologist, you could feel how heavily it weighed on him. Everyone was telling him that he was supposed to be on the first line besides Ovi. Andre was invaluable on the rush but the constant pressure seemed to do nothing but push him further and further away.

It wasn’t until July that everything changed. You were calmly stirring honey into your tea when it hit you right in the chest. Dread. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. Something was clearly very, very wrong. Worry settled in your stomach and you took a moment to steady yourself before reaching out.

“Are you okay?” 

“I got traded.”

You felt vaguely hollow. Another major life event that you weren’t there for. And this time it wasn’t jealousy that you felt but sadness. He needed you and you weren’t with him. 

“I’m terrible. The Capitals dumped me because they knew I wasn’t good enough.”

“Andre, could you please shut up,” you said, quoting the first time you ever spoke to him, “you’re fucking amazing, I know it, and maybe now you’ll finally get the chance to show everyone else.”

His grief dispelled a bit and he replied, “I miss you.” Your eyes stung as you tried to contain your emotions so he didn’t feel the need to worry about you. 

“You can’t miss me, you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you, though.”

Heartache.

You composed yourself enough to ask him where and when his voice replied Colorado it felt like the decision was made for you. 

—

As soon as the Burakovsky number ninety-five jersey appeared for sale you bought it. When the dates for the pre-season came out you sprung to buy a ticket out to Denver. The travel website asked you when you would like your return flight to be and without even thinking you clicked one-way.

Your knee shook as you sat on the plane, waiting for takeoff. The cabin was tight and full of chatter but you were too busy imagining what it would be like when you finally met your soulmate to care. Eagerness.

“Everything good with you?” Andre asked. He could feel your nervous energy, but you wanted to keep the surprise. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just excited about your first game as an Avalanche,” it wasn’t untrue and you hoped he wouldn’t press for more. 

“When I score it’ll be for you,” he replied. It mirrored his first-ever goal and you laughed lightly, “I have a really, really good feeling.” Giddiness.

You dressed in his jersey and spent longer than usual on your hair wanting everything to be perfect. Standing outside of Pepsi Center hours before the game you took a deep steadying breath as you thought about how your life was about to change. Your soulmate was somewhere in that building and holy fuck this was really happening. 

“I’m here,” you told Andre after you had willed yourself inside. Despite your best efforts, your voice shook on the words. 

“What,” his shocked reply was immediate, “no… where?” You looked up and communicated all of the signs you could see, just hoping that he had learned enough of the building to know where you were. Within minutes you heard the sound of someone running. The door flung open and there was your Andre. Amazement. 

For a minute the two of you just stared at each other. He was dressed in a crisp game-day suit with his usual swoopy, messy hair and he looked so tall in person. You took one step towards him and that seemed to wake him up enough to hurriedly get over to you. Right before he actually reached you, with just a few inches distance between your bodies he stopped again. Looking up at his astonished brown eyes that were so clear even in the harsh fluorescent lighting you saw everything going through his head. It felt different than when you felt his emotions through your connection because there he was right in front of you.

“Hi,” you whispered. Andre smiled and if you weren’t absolutely gone for him before you definitely were then. “Hi,” he murmured back.

Joy.

You reached out and tangled your fingers with his. They were warm and calloused from years of hockey. Andre tightened his grip on your hand and squeezed your hand as if to check if it was really there.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me… and it’s always been you.”

Love.

[scotianostra]

Happy 47th Birthday Scottish singersongwriter  KT Tunstall

Kate “KT” Victoria Tunstall was born in Edinburgh, 1975,  her birth mother was a  Hong Kong-born exotic dancer, who put her up for adoption her parents David and Rosemary Tunstall adopted her and raised her in St Andrews, she has always been aware that she was adopted. 

Strangely enough for a musician of her magnitude, KT Tunstall did not grow up in a musical household. Her parents' only tape was a Tom Lehrer album on tape, leading Tunstall to discover the world of music entirely on her own , but it didn’t hold her back, KT was musical from an early age, learning to play piano, flute and guitar as a teenager.

KT moved to the USA, hungry for experiences and independence, she gained a scholarship to Kent School in Connecticut, New England. Whilst out there KT spent time on a hippy commune and formed her first band, The Happy Campers, she also spent a lot of time on busking in Burlington, Vermont.

After her time in the U.S she enrolled in a  music course at Royal Holloway College in London, before finally moving back to St Andrews, she joined a group of folk musicians from around the East Neuk  called The Fence Collective, which included the very talented Kenny Anderson aka King Creosote, in time she decided folk music was not for her and went on her way.

She began writing projects with Swedish songwriter/producer Martin Terefe and London-based Orcadian Jimmy Hogarth and London’s Tommy D. She started work on her debut album with her new band and legendary U2/New Order/Happy Monday’s producer Steve Osborne at the helm. ‘Eye to the Telescope’ saw her whittle down a massive catalogue of over 100 songs to just 12.

Luck played a part in her big break when due to another artist pulling out she appeared on  'Later With Jools Holland’ performing 'Black Horse and the Cherry Tree’ it went on to become one of the most played songs of the summer. Her double platinum selling debut album 'Eye to the Telescope’ was nominated for the prestigious Mercury Prize. 

KT has now had 6 top 20 albums, the latest, Wax was in 2018, it reached number 6 in Scotland and 15 in the UK charts, her new album, Nut, is due out in September.

I remember her being interviewed on The Proclaimers, This is the Story documentary in 2017, where she chose their excellent song Scotland’s Story, commenting “Scotland’s Story just really struck me as quite a different song for them, that they were really saying something incredibly poignant and quite brave. It’s quite a critical song of the way that Scotland’s history is logged.

"Here we are in 2017 and it couldn’t be a more poignant, relevant song for what’s going on in the world and I just thought for right now, it’s an amazing song to sing.”

KT  has suffered hearing problems since 20n July 2021, she announced that she was having to pull out of her summer tour dates and permanently avoid lengthy runs of closely consecutive performances, citing issues with her right ear which were "exactly how the breakdown of my left ear began"  In July 2021, she announced that she was having to pull out of her summer tour dates and permanently avoid lengthy runs of closely consecutive performances, citing issues with her right ear which were "exactly how the breakdown of my left ear began"   Hearing problems have always been a worry to her; her brother  was profoundly deaf since birth.

Tunstall has recently joined a host of famous faces to create special limited-edition postcards for this summer’s music festivals on behalf of the charity WaterAid. The limited-edition postcards will be officially launched at Glastonbury festival, which kicks off tomorrow. Festival-goers can pick up an exclusive postcard and send one to Boris Johnson calling for the government to take urgent action to tackle the climate crisis. 

KT, who featured water-themed lyrics on her postcard, said: “It’s unacceptable that one in ten people have no clean water, and that these are the same people who are living on the frontline of the climate crisis.

“Water is so key to life, a lot of lyrics in my songs centre around it. My postcard design in support of WaterAid’s climate campaign features every lyric I’ve been inspired to write about water. With clean water, communities can stay healthy now and in the future.”

It’s never easy choosing a song for my posts, especially with someone like KT, who has a great catalogue to choose from , but I've plumped for a cover of a Bruce Springsteen she performed at  The Quay Sessions with another recent birthday girl, Julie Fowlis, it’s called State Trooper. 

[sebastianshaw]

Welcome to Munday! For new followers, on Munday sometimes I just post a bunch of personal things about myself and my life on Mun Monday like this, since it’s an appropriate day for it. I tag it “munday” and “mun monday” if you want to skip it! - I am honestly so in love with D’artagnan, I’m so glad I got him. He’s in my lap cuddling while I write this. -  People are always talking about how everything in Australia wants to kill you because all they know is the spiders and snakes and sharks and saltwater crocs but there is also a TON of cute small animals no one talks about! Pademelons don’t want to kill you! Bilbys don’t want to kill you! Potoroos don’t want to kill you! Numbats don’t want to kill you! Bettongs don’t want to kill you! The abundant species of possums don’t want to kill you! Quolls would probably want to kill you but they’re not big enough so they don’t. - I saw someone post that there’s a big difference in how LGBT fans thirst for Lady Dimitrescu vs how straight fans do, how straight fans are all “mmm big tiddy mommy milkers step on me” and LGBT fans are all “I will love and cherish this woman and help raise her daughters”. . . . bruh, bullshit. I’m a full-ass homosexual woman and I want her to fucking sit on me with her massive dumper and choke me out like any pervy dude. And a lot of people in the notes, I am satisfied to say, was saying the same. Seriously, I get that LGBT people were misrepresented purely as perverts for so long, and often still are, but that doesn’t mean we’re all these wholesome pure angels devoid of carnality, sheesh. Whether or not you’re a nasty little sub like me thirsty for a mommy dom has nothing to do with orientation, and when you say “LGBT people aren’t like THAT” it’s honestly kinda damaging to those of us who ARE. Like, I’m not about to take it all personal-like, but there’s a lot of younger people already struggling with accepting their sexuality, now they’re hearing it’s wrong for an LGBT person to have kinks or overtly sexual feelings, come on. I don’t think this ONE POST is going to damage anyone on it’s own, but it’s part of this overall culture on Tumblr I see that says that “only gross dirty nasty cishets care about SEX ew not like the pure uwu queers who love on a deep ethereal level beyond the mere flesh” and like. . . yeah way to make teens struggling with sexual feelings feel even more isolated and weird and bad there. Let people be shamelessly thirsty for giant vampire mommy dommes, sheesh. - I’m watching this Turkish drama and I mentioned it to my mom, and she started talking about how there was a movie made “about a contemporary of mine” a young man from New York who went to Turkey and stole something from a mosque and got imprisoned with a life sentence and he met a Swedish boy in the jail and they become lovers and he escaped and I was just like WAIT WHOA WHOA YOU KNEW THIS GUY and she was like “well no but I felt like I knew him” when she watched the movie and they apparently like. . . .lived or went to school in the same area once. Mom. Mom that is NOT what a “contemporary” means, omfg.  - The reason I’m watching a domestic drama, which is usually not my speed at all, is that I’m really into learning about different cultures, and for the past few years my focus has been Central Asia, Turkey, and Iran. I’ve always done this via academic-style research, articles and videos as well as reading firsthand accounts, such as Reddit AMAs, of people who live in those countries. But I read about this one, “Ethos”And while I’m sure a Turkish drama is no more realistic than an American one, I do think “Ethos” was a good one to pick because it focuses on people from MULTIPLE parts of Turkish society, from urban educated professionals to traditional rural poor people, a holy man and a woman vehemently opposed to headscarfs, a very rich playboy and a family struggling to get by, a woman dealing with severe mental illness, and apparently we’re going to get a closeted lesbian and a Kurdish family later too. So there’s a lot of diversity, not necessarily in the ethnic sense like you might look for in a US series but in terms of getting multiple perspectives of very different people in very different social strata that’s nonetheless all in or around Istanbul. -Also, I had been meaning to look up Azerbaijan for awhile, since like I said I’m focusing on that area of the world right now, and I finally got around to it yesterday. I learned about mud volcanoes, and that women got the right to vote there before they did in the United States! - I ran across this CLIP FROM FAMILY GUY and I was like “ha ha me” and then was like. . ..wait, that actually was me. I had to have a parapro with me at all times when I was in middle and high school due to my mental issues, and there was a period where my self-harming was so bad they had to go to the bathroom with me. And like. . ..holy shit, I’m doing so much better now. Took like 15 years but damn. I generally DON’T remember most of my pre-college life and I TRY NOT TO for obvious reasons, but in a weird way it was kind of HEARTENING to remember this to be like, wow, it did get better, I did get better. I really hope anyone reading this who is struggling with severe mental issues like I did, knows it can. And I know you don’t believe it right now because I didn’t, I know it’s impossible to convince you, I still kind of can’t believe it, but it CAN. 

[tomhiddlestonfanfic]

A Step Too Far? Chapter Nine A Moon of My Own

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11

TITLE: A Step Too Far? NUMBER OF CHAPTERS/ONE SHOT: 9/? WHICH TOM CHARACTER: Stepfather Tom OTHER CHARACTERS: Benedict Cumberbatch, Andrew Scott PAIRING: Tom/OFC, Benedict Cumberbatch/OFC GENRE: Drama, Hurt/Comfort WARNINGS: Spanking, Infidelity, Sex

CHAPTER NINE A Moon of My Own

Nina spent the weekend at home, bonding with baby William. She sang swedish songs to him and found that Tom was listening intently, trying to understand the lyrics. She ended up translating for him and teaching him swedish nursery rhymes and pop songs.

"I want a moon of my own, that I can go to, and forget that you left me. I can sit on my moon, and do whatever I want, I'll stay there until everything's alright," Nina translated one of her mother's favourite songs for Tom.

"Thank you for translating," Tom told her with a warm smile.

"No problem," Nina replied and continued to sing for her baby brother. "Jag är fattig bonddräng men jag lever ändå…"

"What was that song about?" Tom asked curiously from the sofa where he was laying down and watching her interactions with the baby.

"It's about a poor farmer boy who works hard everyday," Nina explained. "He gets drunk on Saturdays, gets into fights and sleeps with women. On Sundays he sleeps instead of going to church. Then the work week begins again. Eventually he dies and stands before God, regretful of his sins. But God forgives him and welcomes him into heaven."

"Is that really a children's song?" Tom questioned amusedly.

"The farm boy sings it in 'Emil i Lönneberga', so it’s sort of a children's song, I guess. Or maybe it's meant for the grown ups watching with their children," Nina replied. "It's written by Astrid Lindgren, so it’s for everyone."

"I see. I appreciate the existential theme," Tom told her.

"Me too," Nina agreed and smiled at him. She realised that she enjoyed spending time in his company. Things had become different between them ever since they started working together. She felt like she knew him a bit better now, and ever since he became a father, she had seen a more sensitive side of him. He had expressed his worry for her in more tactful ways and they hadn't been arguing as much as they used to do.

“You’ve spent most weekends at home lately, is something up?” Nina’s mother asked her during dinner.

“I’ve just been tired from work, so I haven’t really felt like doing anything on the weekends,” Nina replied with a shrug.

“Perhaps you should work fewer hours if work is making you so tired,” Helena suggested, looking a bit concerned as she gently caressed her daughter’s cheek. “She could do that, right Tom?”

“I’ve already offered that,” Tom replied, also assuming a look of concern as he looked at Nina. “The offer still stands.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Nina insisted.

“But you don’t seem to have any energy left for your friends,” Helena objected.

“Isn’t that what life is like as a grown up? All work, no play, and then you die?” Nina questioned gloomily.

“Nina, are you getting depressed again? Are you taking your medications?” Helena asked concernedly.

Nina sighed heavily in response. “I can’t recall ever becoming undepressed,” she muttered and got up from the dinner table, grabbing her plate and glass. “Thanks for the food.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom replied as she left the dining room.

Nina threw away the rest of the food and placed the dishes in the dishwasher before heading to the fridge, grabbing another one of her precious energy drinks. At least they presented her with some joy in her quite lonely life. She would occassionally call Jim over for sex, but other than that, she spent most of her time alone. Nina’s loneliness had been a source of concern for her mother for many years. It had even gotten to the point that Nina sometimes went out for hour long walks, telling her mother that she was seeing a friend. She had done that a lot during the summer, taking a book with her to sit and read by the sea. Her favourite book was one that Tom had gifted her for her nineteenth birthday. It was called The Stranger and was about the absurdity of life and the feeling of alienation. Nina felt alienated a lot of the time, as though she did not belong anywhere in this world.

During the evening, Tom came by her room to check on her.

“Can I come in?” he requested and Nina nodded at him as she sat up in her bed, putting her laptop aside. “We worry about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Nina told him, pulling her knees up to her chest, hugging them.

“You seem... lonely,” Tom said carefully.

“I need to be alone a lot,” Nina told him. “Being around people takes a lot of energy.”

“Then maybe you should work shorter hours, so you have energy to do fun things with friends and not only work,” Tom suggested. Nina snorted in response.

“What friends?” she asked.

“How about the one you spent a lot of time with this summer? Viktoria?” Tom said.

“Viktoria is not real,” Nina admitted.

“What?” Tom asked confusedly.

“I made her up so mom wouldn’t worry so much about me being alone,” she explained.

“But you were away for hours at a time, sometimes all day and sometimes all night,” Tom said frowningly.

“Yeah, it was kind of fun actually, how you never figured it out when you never got to meet her,” Nina told him with a sad smile. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? Making up imaginary friends when you’re twenty? And still living with your mother because you’re too afraid of what you would do to yourself if you had to live alone?” she confided in him.

“It’s not pathetic,” Tom said earnestly and put an arm around her shoulders. “I had no idea you were feeling that way. I thought you lived with your mom because you were comfortable that way, not because you were afraid to live alone.”

“Please don’t tell mom about this. I’ve told her that Viktoria moved to Stockholm, so please don’t tell her that she never even existed. She was so happy when she thought I had a best friend,” Nina pleaded.

“I won’t tell her. But I think you need to see someone about this. Didn’t you have a psychologist?” Tom asked.

“It didn’t work out between us, so I stopped going,” Nina reminded him.

“Right,” Tom remembered. “How about finding you a new one. I’ll be more than happy to pay for it.”

“You don’t have to pay for it,” Nina told him. “You gave me a job, remember? I can pay for therapy myself now. Especially as I’m living here for free.”

“I want you to save your money for the future or use them to have fun. I’m paying for your therapy,” Tom insisted.

“I never even agreed that I would go see a therapist,” Nina said.

“Please, see a therapist. It would give your mother and I some peace of mind to know that you have someone to talk to about those things,” Tom pleaded.

“I'll think about it,” Nina told him.

“Thank you,” Tom said with an appreciative smile.

The weekend passed and it was soon Monday again. Nina looked up to see Benedict standing by her desk. He didn’t look pleased. He was probably still upset by the fact that she had spied on him and his family.

“I would like to have a word with you in my office, miss Andersson,” he requested calmly, seemingly holding back on his anger. Nina looked up at him defiantly.

“How about no?” she told him irritably. She didn’t want to be alone with him, because she would probably end up almost having sex with him.

“No?” he questioned incredulously and leaned down over the desk, so that their faces were just decimetres away from each other. She could feel the smell of his cologne and felt an involuntary thrill of excitement run through her body as she looked him in his darkened eyes. “My office now,” he told her firmly in a low voice.

“Fine,” Nina finally agreed, afraid that Benedict would make a scene otherwise. He looked like he could barely contain his anger. She glanced over her shoulder at her colleagues as she followed him to his office. They all seemed busy doing their jobs, not taking notice of what was going on between her and Benedict. She felt relieved. It would be embarrassing if they thought she made major work related mistakes that would have one of her bosses get angry with her. While she had made a major mistake, at least it was not work related.

Benedict shut the curtain and locked the door, just like he had done preceding week. Nina swallowed nervously. Was he going to beat her again? She knew she would agree to it, even if she wished she would have had the integrity and self-respect to tell him no.

"What the hell were you thinking sneaking around my house?" he demanded angrily. "What if Sophie had seen you?"

"Then you would probably be able to come up with a good lie to explain my presence. Because it comes naturally to you, doesn't it? Lying," Nina told him bitterly.

"I hate lying to my wife," Benedict told her. "I already told you that."

"Then don't give yourself any reasons to lie," she replied.

He approached her angrily and Nina found herself slapping him hard across the face. He looked at her in astonishment for a brief moment, then grabbed her by the arm dragging her with him towards the desk. Nina felt herself grow moist between the legs and a tingling sensation in her lower abdomen as he bent her over the desk. She shut her eyes tightly as he pressed her face down against the desk surface and she bit her lip hard as she braced herself for the pain to come. Benedict slapped her bottom hard with his hand several times, before undoing his belt. This time, he waited between the lashes for Nina to recover before landing the next one across her buttocks. Nina whimpered slightly as she neared her limit and he stopped hitting her with the belt. He roughly grabbed her ass, squeezing it with his hands before rolling up her tight pencil skirt over her hips. Nina gasped as he unexpectedly ripped her tights open in the groin and put his hand between her thighs.

“You naughty girl,” he told her as he felt how wet she was. He touched her, moved the thong to the side and entered her with two fingers at a time. He fingerfucked her until he felt her convulse around him, she was shuddering with pleasure and panting heavily. “Did you come?” he asked smirkingly as she stood up and turned around towards him. She put her arms around his neck and brought him into a kiss. They made out and she began to feel horny again. She touched his erect penis through his trousers and stroked it eagerly.

“Fuck me,” she whispered lustfully into his ear. She didn’t need to ask twice. Benedict lifted her up on the desk, undid his black trousers and released his erect penis. Nina smiled satisfiedly at the sight of it before it entered her. “Fuck me hard,” she requested, and he did. She had to bite her lip hard to suppress a loud moan as he fucked her quickly. She orgasmed again and he pulled out of her.

“On your knees,” he ordered, his voice demanding and his eyes darkened with lust. Nina fell to her knees before him and viciously smiled up at him. “Open your mouth,” he said and she quickly obeyed. She felt like a porn star as he ejaculated into her mouth. “Swallow,” Benedict said, but she grimaced in disgust and shook her head at him as she got up to spit out his cum into his coffee cup.

“Oh, you naughty girl,” Benedict commented with a grin as he watched her trying to make herself look presentable.

“How’s my makeup?” she asked him and he looked at her closely before running his thumbs underneath her eyes, wiping away some mascara.

“Did you cry?” he asked her surprisedly as he continued to gently wipe mascara from her cheeks.

“A little bit,” Nina admitted with a shrug and managed to smile at him. The guilt had overwhelmed her the moment she orgasmed for the second time.

“Your makeup probably needs some touch ups, but it looks fine,” Benedict told her as he pulled out his wallet from his pocket. He took out a thousand krona bill and handed it to her. “For a morning-after pill,” he explained as she looked at him confusedly. “I think I might have come a little bit inside of you.”

“You’re making me feel like a cheap whore,” Nina muttered, but accepted the money. Benedict pulled out a couple of more bills from his wallet and tried giving them to her. “No thanks,” she told him and refused to take the money.

“Do you promise you will take a morning-after pill?” he asked her as she turned to leave.

“Of course, I don’t want a child with someone like you,” Nina told him irritably.

“Don’t forget to take the coffee cup with you,” Benedict reminded her with a smirk. Nina angrily went back towards his desk and grabbed the coffee cup, before stalking out of his office. What the hell had she just done?

Nina went into the kitchen and angrily threw the coffee cup into the trash. She then proceeded to kick the trash can until a familiar voice interrupted her.

“Did mister Cumberbatch yell at you again?” Stina asked concernedly.

“He did,” Nina replied, her eyes filling up with tears. Stina went up to her and hugged her.

“I’m sorry that he’s being such an ass to you,” Stina told her sympathetically. “If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.”

“Thank you, Stina,” Nina told her appreciatively and tightened the hug. They stood like that for a long moment until another colleague entered the kitchen.

“Nina, what’s the company’s policy on workplace relationships?” Erik asked her provocatively. He must have somehow heard about their date.

“It’s fine, as long as you’re keeping it professional at work,” Nina told him as she stepped away from Stina.

“That didn’t look very professional to me,” Erik told her.

“It was just a hug, Erik,” Stina told him and smiled carefreely at him. “I can give you one too, if you like,” she offered cheerfully. “You look like you could use one.”

“No thanks,” Erik said with a grimace and hurriedly left the kitchen.

Nina and Stina shared amused looks before heading back to work.

Nina felt weighed down by guilt for what she had done, but somehow managed to get through the workday. Benedict cheerfully told her goodbye before heading homewards and she replied with an exaggeratedly gleeful ‘see you tomorrow!’ Her smile faded the moment he turned away from her and was replaced by a dark glare.

“What are you glaring at Ben for?” Andrew asked her curiously and she flinched. She hadn’t noticed him standing there a few metres away, watching her interaction with Benedict. “Did something happen?”

“He yelled at me,” Nina said and noticed Stina looking at them from a distance. She couldn’t exactly tell Andrew the truth, now could she? She felt like she wanted to come clean to someone about it, but didn’t know who.

“What for?” Andrew asked and Nina searched her mind for some error she could have made that would make Benedict yell at her.

“I misspelled his name in an important mail,” she lied. “I wrote Cucumberbatch and he found it humiliating.” She couldn’t help but smile at her own lie. Andrew returned her smile.

“I see,” he said amusedly. “I could talk to him about treating you more gently, if you like,” he offered, but Nina shook her head at him in response.

“I’m fine. Now that it’s over, I do find it kind of funny,” she assured him with a genuinely bright smile. She wanted so badly to believe her own lie. How great it would have been if only it had been true.

But it wasn’t true. On the way home, Tom put on her mother’s favourite song about wanting a moon of your own to go to and stay there until everything was alright again. Nina’s filled with tears as she thought about how she just wanted to escape somewhere far away from everything. She wanted a moon of her own to go to.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked her concernedly.

“Yes, I was just thinking about Ted,” Nina told him.

“Ted Gärdestad? Who sings the song?” Tom asked her.

“Yeah. I was thinking about how beautifully he sang and how sadly he died. He killed himself,” Nina told him sadly.

“That’s very tragic,” Tom replied seriously and threw her concerned looks for the rest of the car ride home.

“I’m going for a walk,” Nina informed her mother and Tom after taking a shower and getting dressed into a pair of jeans and a David Bowie t-shirt.

“But dinner is almost ready,” her mother objected.

“I’ll eat when I get back,” Nina assured her and put her shoes and jacket on. Tom took out the trash bags out of the kitchen bins and put on a pair of slippers, following her out.

“Nina,” he said as they reached the bins outside the house. She turned around to look at him. He had a concerned look on his face. “You’re not thinking about doing something rash, are you?” he asked her seriously. Nina frowned slightly and then remembered their conversation in the car earlier.

“I’m not thinking of killing myself, if that’s what you’re talking about,” she told him frankly.

“Good,” Tom replied with a brief smile. His blue eyes still conveyed concern. “Don’t be too long or we’ll get worried.”

“I’m twenty years old,” Nina reminded him. “Not a kid, I can look after myself.”

“I know. But I still want you to be careful and not stay out too long,” Tom insisted. “Remember that you have work tomorrow.”

“I know. See you in a bit,” Nina told him.

Nina just kept walking as she listened to music and tried not to think too much about what was weighing her down. Eventually, she sat down by a lake and looked at the full moon in the sky. Its light was mirrored by the water surface of the lake and she found it breathtakingly beautiful. She turned off the music on her phone and sang softly to herself where she sat on the rocks. She sang the song about the moon as tears rolled down her face. She imagined what Ted must have felt like during his last moments of life and was filled by death agony. She put her phone and headphones down on the rocks before standing up. She looked at the water surface and dived into the cold water with her clothes on. As she reached the surface, Nina gasped at how cold it was and swam back up to the rocks where she climbed up and grabbed her phone.

She was shuddering with cold as she walked back home in soaking wet clothes. As she got inside, Tom came to greet her in the hallway and looked at her in shock.

“What happened?” he asked frowningly.

“I fell,” Nina lied.

“Should I put your phone in a bag of rice?” he offered.

“The phone is fine,” Nina told him. Tom looked at her suspiciously.

“You didn’t fall, did you?” he asked frankly. Nina shrugged at him. “I asked you not to do anything rash.”

“It wasn’t rash, I spared my phone and headphones,” Nina objected.

“Your lips are blue. Come, let’s go down to the basement so your mother doesn’t see you like this,” Tom told her, putting a gentle arm around her shoulder as he walked her down to the basement. “Clothes off and step in the shower, I’ll get you some dry clothes,” he instructed and respectfully turned away as Nina immodestly began to take her clothes off in front of him. She wasn’t trying to seduce him or anything, she was just too cold to care if he saw her naked body.

Nina took a hot shower and smiled sadly to herself as she found a towel and clothes laid out for her. Tom was always being so nice and gentle towards her. For once she felt grateful that he was a little bit boring and not more like Benedict. She realised that she would never be able to live with the guilt if she managed to get Tom to be unfaithful to her mother. She got dressed and went upstairs to find Tom on the sofa in the living room. She walked up to him and smiled.

“Thank you for being so boring,” she told him, causing him to laugh surprisedly.

“I don’t think I’m that boring,” he objected as she sat down in the armchair next to the sofa.

“You’re just the right amount of boring,” Nina said. “I mean it as a compliment.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Tom told her amusedly. “You seem a bit happier now.”

“I am,” Nina told him with a smile.

[piccadilly-lilly]

“The predicament in which Isolde and I found ourselves seemed fictional, fantastic right from the start. 　 We met while I was on holiday behind the Iron Curtain. I was a Swedish student working for my doctorate in political science. She was a medical student from East Berlin: beautiful, slender with dark hair and smiling eyes. In a few days we were in love and, three months later, visiting her at her flat in East Berlin, I asked her to marry me. 　 "But that is impossible," Isolde said, her eyes brimming with tears. "The authorities would never let me leave the country." 　 I refused to take no for an answer, and finally convinced her that she must try to escape. On a map, we examined the communist borders stretching from the Baltic to the Black Sea and considered how we'd slip out. By that time (July 1965), all the standard means of escape such as a break through the Berlin Wall, were too risky. 　 Suddenly, to my own astonishment, I heard myself say, "I'll fly you out Isolde." 　 Her eyebrows shot up. "But I didn't know you were a pilot." 　 "I'm not," I admitted. I had never been in a cockpit in my life. But I will go back to Sweden and learn to fly, and then I'll fetch you." Isolde looked at me as if I were crazy but before the evening was over, she agreed that a small plane was our best chance. 　 The trouble was that, within an hour of my first lesson in Stockholm, I learned that flying definitely was not my strong point. My coordination was poor, my depth perception and sense of balance wretched. 　 But I kept at it, and eventually I was learning how to execute ludicrously inept landings. My instructor, however, was not encouraging. My persistence in flying too low over the treetops (one day I would have to fly that low to get in under the Communist radar beams) especially upset him. "Higher, higher!"  he'd shout. "We don't want to lose our plane!" 　 It took me nearly a year, 40 training hours in the air, to get my pilot's certificate. One August day in 1966, I got the precious document. I also succeeded in obtaining a tourist visa valid for two entries to Czechoslovakia, which we had decided was the country best suited for the rescue flight. 　 Next morning, Sunday, August 14, I took the train to Vienna and on Monday drove from there to the nearby check border in a hired car.  The frontier police examined my visa and painstakingly checked my car and luggage. I made myself relax. How were they to know that my real mission here was to find a suitable out of the way field in which to land and pick up Isolde? 　 I selected an abandoned pasture north of Bratislava and about 25 miles east of Vienna, near a point where the sombre, wooden guard towers were a little farther apart than usual. 　 Although there were no Cessnas  - the only plane with which I was familiar - available in Vienna, I learned that I could hire one in Salzburg, 155 miles away. I took the train there, and proved to an inspector at the airport that I could handle the plane. Then I managed to navigate the little aircraft back over the unfamiliar landscape to Vienna. 　 Everything was now ready. From Salzburg I had sent Isolde the coded telegram she had waited so long for. "MAGNUS ARRIVES AT 16.40 BRUNO." In the Swedish calendar, of which Isolde had a copy, each day has a special Christian name. Magnus was the following day, Friday, August 19 and I was asking Isoldeto meet me at the railway station in Brno, Czechoslovakia. 　 On Friday afternoon, I sped by car to Brno, 68 miles away. Isolde was there at the station. In our joy at being together again we forgot for an hour or so that the night held any problems for us. 　 By dinner, our laughter was hollow, our smiles frozen. We were aware that we might be celebrating our last meal. After dark we drove to the "escape field." I switched off the lights before leaving the road and crossed the pasture in the dark. 　 There was no time to waste. At any moment the tower's searchlight, slashing about in circles just 330 yards away, might spot the car. 　 "Hide there in the trees until morning," I told Isolde. "I"ll come just before dawn. When you see my plane, wave your scarf to show me where you are. And remember , whatever happens, I love you." 　 Back in Vienna two hours later, I was far too excited to sleep. instead, I wrote a letter to my parents in Sweden, telling them for the first time about Isolde, and asking for their understanding in case anything went wrong. At about 3 a.m. I checked out of the hotel and went to the airport where I explained that "urgent business in Salzburg" required me to take off just as soon as it was light. But I had hardly settled in the cockpit when the sky was split by jagged forks of lightning, followed by tremendous thunderclaps. Then the rain began to fall and I was unable to take off. 　 For two more hours I fumed and fretted, waiting for the storm to abate. Finally, at 8 o'clock sharp, I was cleared for takeoff. 　 Once outside the traffic pattern, I dived to treetop level to slip under the radar surveillance at the border. Hedge-hopping, I followed the main railway into Czechoslovakia, swept in between the two guard towers I'd chosen and skimmed over the empty pasture at an altitude of only 65 feet. 　 No familiar jumper, no waving red scarf. Isolde was not there. I banked, and rolled back towards the two guard towers. Terrified, I fully expected the soldiers, plainly visible on the towers, to open fire. But I had caught them off guard. 　 Safely back in Vienna I was utterly exhausted and worried sick about what might have happened to Isolde. There was only one thing to do. I hired another car and rushed back to Czechoslovakia, to the Bratislava hotel where we had planned to meet if anything went wrong. She was there, safe though badly shaken. 　 In her hiding place she had been drenched with rain, frightened by unfamiliar night sounds, and terrified when, at dawn, she had heard a burst of shots from the near-by border. Remembering our agreement that I would arrive shortly after the dawn she was afraid something had happened to me. Yet she had waited for me until full daylight, only then had she left her hiding place and found a road where, eventually, a motorist picked her up. 　 Despite her ordeal and knowing that a second attempt might be twice as dangerous, Isolde was eager to try again. "What other chance will we ever have, Hans?" She asked. 　 The following morning we set out north along the border searching for a new "escape field". We found it near the little town of Mikulow. It was well marked by a small lake and a tall pine grove which I believed I could easily see from the air. 　 I left Isolde there about 3.30 p.m., again promising to pick her up at dawn the next day, Monday August 22. 　 On the way back to Vienna I stopped briefly in several towns to make small sketches of the distinctive church steeples in each. These, I hoped, would help lead me back to the meadow. It was late afternoon when I stopped at the airport. Because the airport people were still friendly, I knew the Czech authorities had not lodged a complaint about my illegal morning flight. 　 Trying to sound casual, I asked the meteorologist, "What about the flying weather tomorrow, good?" 　 "No," he said. "Low hanging clouds are moving in early tonight." This meant that with my limited experience, takeoff and landing might be impossible by morning. The news hit me like a blow in the stomach. If all our efforts were not to be in vain, I would have to act quickly. It was now 5.30 and soon it would be getting dark. 　 I rushed over to the flight operations desk and tried to keep my voice level as I said, "I'd like to take a little exercise flight just to see the sunset." "Alright," said the flight dispatcher, but since you are not cleared for night flying you must be back by dusk-no later!" I knew I couldn't get back before dark, and I've never flown at night. But there was no time to worry about it. I dashed for my plane and took off. 　 Following the church steeples I'd sketched, I found my stretch of frontier, dived to an altitude of only 30 feet and leapfrogged a hill between two guard towers. Suddenly, right in front of me and less than 100 yards away, was a third tower I hadn't seen before. I missed the tower top by what seemed inches. A soldier opened his eyes wide with terror as I practically flew into his open mouth. 　 But the near-miss disorientated me. Where was the little lake, the tall pine grove where I had left Isolde. Circling, I found one lake, then another, but neither was ours. I broke into a cold sweat the light was fading fast. 　 With shaking hands, I took out my map and saw that there were only three lakes in the whole area. Climbing to get a broader view, I suddenly saw it, and saw to my enormous relief, OUR field beside it, our pine grove… and a tiny figure frantically waving a red scarf. 　 it was certainly one of the worst landings I ever made. I came in too high, overshot the field and had to break heavily to stop. Without a word Isolde jumped into the seat beside me. Almost instantly we were roaring up into the dusk in a take off as bad as the landing. I could almost hear the sound of machine-gun fire as I spiralled up as fast as I could. It was now quite dark and all the familiar landmarks had vanished. I did the only thing I could: took a compass heading of the opposite direction from which I had come. 　 Luck was with us. After some 20 acutely anxious minutes, we spotted in the distance a cluster of jewelled lights – Vienna!  – then the straight, beaded string of lights that marked the airport runway. I made my approach just as if it were daytime. When I thought the runway lights whizzing by looked big enough, I pulled up the plane's nose and made an amazingly smooth landing. 　 One last hurdle remained: the airport authorities must not see Isolde or back she might go. We had planned for her to slip away into the darkness of the big field. But just as she was getting out, a car from the control tower board down on us with blazing headlights. 　 "Hide!" I whispered. Isolde scrambled back into the baggage compartment and disappeared just before a furious air control officer pulled up. 　 "You've put us to a lot of bother tonight," he snapped. "We even contacted Czech Air Control to see if they'd seen or heard you." My heart sank. "They said they had, but only over Austria, and that's a good thing for you, mister. You can get into serious trouble blundering across the border!" 　 He drove away, and I taxied the plane to a hangar. As an attendant blinded by my lights, opened the hangar door, I told Isolde,  "Quick run for it."  She did, without being seen. I met her outside the field and we drove jubilantly into town. 　 Next morning I sneaked Isolde back aboard and flew her to West Germany, where I landed in a field and let her out. After returning my plane to Salzburg I rejoined her. It took her a month to get her papers, and on her 25th birthday she arrived in Stockholm. We were married in the white stone church where I'd been christened, and we left on our honeymoon by car. I no longer fly planes.”

-Hans Christian Cars, from a translation of “Flykten över järnridån”

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - Hitch

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 17 | Part 18 Hitch | Part 19 >

Disclaimer: sad fluff, some body insecurities

Author’s note: Can you tell it’s Monday? It’s Monday. Gosh I feel like I need a hug after writing this. 😭

Word count: 1.764

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

Do you ever look in the mirror, just to study the way you are slowly changing? I don’t want to say older. Just, changing. My eyes are practically always the same shade of brown, like milk chocolate, and my hair is often an equally chocolaty mess, pulled up in a bun. And I like it like that, too. 

And then there is my skin. Sometimes pale like porcelain, sometimes sun kissed with a hundred small freckles, dusted over my cheeks and nose. I don’t understand why people wouldn’t like their freckles by the way. I absolutely love mine. Unfortunately now that winter has come, I mostly look tired. Thank heavens for concealer!

I wonder by the way if men also look at themselves in the mirror like that. Especially since it’s generally far less accepted and normalised for them to wear make-up, even if it is just a simple concealer.

Anyways. It’s winter and I look like a walking, talking zombie, my once fresh looking skin now showing some mean little creases and fine lines. Admittedly, I do sometimes rub my skin with a little bit of extra cream when I see those lines. Not that I am willing to invest in those luxury treatments or get my panties in a twist, but still. It does, in some way or form, influence the way you feel about yourself.

I embrace change, but today? I am most definitely wearing make-up. Thank you very much.

Done-with-winter-already,

Ali

With the loudest of sighs I flung the refrigerator door closed, my shoulders slumping visibly as I plopped down on my chair at the dinner table, dinner long cleared away from the table but my parents still sitting there. 

My mom was the first to pick up on my sulking mood, her careful eyebrow raising up over her reading glasses as she put down her Swedish crossword, pen still in hand.

‘Looking for something?’ She asked casually.

‘No.’ I grumbled, looking over at dad who was still hiding himself behind a folded open newspaper. Mom sniffled and shook her head. ‘Then what is it, Ali dear?’

‘It’s just…’ My lip trembled - not even make-up could make me feel any better today. ‘..things are not working out like I want them to and..’ Sniff. ‘..it’s so frustrating.’

Slowly my dad lowered his newspaper. Usually it was my mom who dealt with any off-days on my end, which truly were sparingly. I didn’t really wish to share my troubles and thoughts with my parents too much, fearing they’d continue to see me as “their little girl”. I wasn’t a little girl for crying out loud. I was a grown woman of 37-years. I shouldn’t need my parents anymore, right?

‘Is this about eh..’ My dad started, squinting his eyes as if looking for any signs that I would go for his jugular right here and now. I didn’t. ‘..eh..Henry?’ He swallowed as I started to cry, shaking my head no.

Mom quickly moved aside her crossword and pen, reaching out her arms to smooth her warm palms over my shoulders. Even through the tight knit of my dark grey sweater I could feel the soothing calm of her touch. ‘What’s the matter baby? Tell us.’

‘UGH..it’s just.’ I sniffled and angrily wiped a few rogue tears away. ‘I..ugh..this feels so stupid. I just thought I had found a place of my own. I’ve been looking at some apartments..and..I thought I had found one. Ten minutes from here. Perfect. Finally. But..’ I furrowed my brows. ‘..I couldn’t get it. The owners chose someone else, despite me being first choice. I just got the news.’

Mom was quiet for a moment and dad swallowed harshly, the two of them deciding on how to go about it. I sniffled again and looked up. First at mom, then at dad, the both at them suddenly looking even older then I remembered them to be.

‘Oh..’ Mom finally exclaimed, seemingly relieved. ‘I thought it had to do with Henry. Woof! Thank god for that.’ She quickly pushed her chair closer to mine, wrapping a bony arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a mom hug. ‘Come here.’ She hummed, squeezing me even tighter to her chest. ‘Hmmm! Well, you know you can stay here for as long as you want. We love having you here with us. Close to us. It gives our life a bit of…’ She leaned back and smiled, shrugging slightly. ‘..joie-de-vivre!’

I snickered, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘You could get a dog too, you know.’

‘Hahah oh we might, we might. We actually discussed it the other day. Would you like that, a dog?’ She asked at me, dad snuffing in amusement - either because he absolutely didn’t want a dog or because this whole shift of moods was amusing him.

Women.

‘That is yours to decide mom…dad.’ I gave him an exasperated look and he chuckled, quickly grabbing his newspaper again, hiding the cheeky grin that lingered on his lips.

‘But really, I am just glad that it’s not Henry. You and him are just such a fine couple together.’

‘Thanks mom.’ I smiled, wiping the last remains of my tears. I laughed. ‘I eh..actually confessed I love him the other day.’

‘OOOHHH.’ Mom near jumped with excitement and my dad quickly duck even further away behind his newspaper - he really felt uncomfortable with all this girl chat. Me and mom both grinned and before long we were deep in conversation about what had transpired between me and Henry the past few weeks. A talk that was long overdue honestly, because of course mom had HEARD  a gazillion things, but in her motherly role she had decided to wait for me to spill the beans.

Well. The beans were spilled. And I couldn’t be happier to hear how enthused and adoring my mom was about everything Henry concerned.

—

Henry carefully read the words on the screen of my phone, the both of us sitting on my parents couch, the rest of the house quiet as my parents were out. 

It was an e-mail I had received that afternoon. Bad news. Again. As if losing that house wasn’t enough, of course more shit had to happen. He slowly furrowed his brows as he licked his lips, scrolling back up - as if checking he didn’t miss anything in his careful read.

‘O..kay..’ He finally said slowly, sighing visibly. ‘Yea..’ I bit my lower lip and reached out for my phone, retrieving it from his hesitant fingers. ‘Are they even allowed to..’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘..make such a suggestion?’

‘I don’t know Hen. Ugh. What is it with this week?! I hate it. Two weeks ago it was all fine and now this? Please let it be over..’ I sulked, reopening the e-mail of the fertility clinic and giving it a once-over. Yep, there it was really in black and white; due to a rapidly growing waiting list they suggested that me and Henry would perhaps first check out “other means of fertilisation”, before enlisting for a sperm donor. Meaning, most probably and quite rudely; just forgo the condom and see where that takes you.

There went my plan B. My back-up plan. At least for another extra 6 months of extended waiting as they had simply pushed me back on the list now I had a “partner”. Could they do that? I don’t know, but it sure was a blow in the gut.

‘What would you do in this situation, Hen?’ I asked quietly, seeing him shift his weight to turn towards me. ‘Well, believe it or not. I think this is my situation too now.’ He swallowed and reached out for my hand, tentative fingertips stroking my palm.

‘True.’ I smiled with watery eyes.

We were after all a team now. Together. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

‘I eh..’ He shook his head. ‘Okay this is going to sound so stupid now, but I want to get it off my chest. Before I did the Durrell challenge, just really a few weeks before, I had a chat with a..’ He sighed. ‘..a woman who would wish to surrogate a ..-’

‘WHAT?!’ I sat up a bit and swatted his hand away.

‘No no..Ali. It..nothing happened. I just..’ He swallowed awkwardly. ‘I guess I just started my very own path in trying to become a father. It’s a thing that’s been on my mind for a long time now. I want it. Though it immediately became clear after that conversation with that woman that I could not do it like that.’ His eyes searched mine, hoping I would not hate him for it, understand him.

I sighed. ’Gosh..I thought you were going to say you had like a kid on the way and..-’

‘Ali.’ He grabbed my wrist and looked me even deeper in the eyes. ‘There is nobody else. There is no kid on the way. It’s just you and I.’ - ‘Okay.’ I quietly nodded and swam through the depths of his stormy blue eyes. I near drowned in them. 

‘So, you want to be a dad, hmm?’ A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it and Henry’s eyes instantly tracked it as it moved over my cold skin. With a tender finger he brushed it off, his lips curling in a sad smile. ‘Badly.’ He swallowed harshly.

He suddenly looked so fragile, like I could see right through those big bulking muscles and handsome features and see within, see the most deep and hidden away piece of Henry that I had ever gotten to see. 

With pensive blue eyes he was looking down, his hand re-interlocking with mine, his other hand now aimlessly hanging by his waist. He looked a bit forlorn, lost at the sea that I had found in his cerulean gaze.

The sea that was Henry. Sometimes calm and soothing, something strong and unbending. 

A sea that wanted what I wanted. Badly. 

Without words I crawled over to him, using whatever strength I had to pull him into my chest, his head resting in the crook of my neck and his breath slightly shallow. He was such a large man that it was hard to actually make him surrender and lean into me. Usually he was the one who was to protect and be strong. Now it was the other way around. Sighing harshly he finally gave in, his nose sniffing as his arms slowly folded around my waist.

‘All I learned is that I don’t want to do it alone.’ He finally gulped, softly.

I closed my eyes and let a hand roam over the soft material of his sand coloured cable knit sweater. Poor bear. My poor bear. I nodded.

‘Neither do I, Hen. Neither do I.’ I pushed my nose in his neck and whispered into his skin: ‘And I think you are going to be an absolutely great dad.’

He swallowed back a cry.

‘In fact I KNOW it is so.’ I smiled, pressing up a number of kisses on his skin until I reached his lips. ‘And all other things are just a hitch, a hiccup. What I really, really need.. is.. you. Let’s..let’s make this work.’ I sniffled. 

--

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