#Hildur and Pierce

[bethanvalerious]

OC time \o/

Meet Hildur Karfiol, the divorced barbarian, who needs a nap.

She got the septum pierced after she left her ex, she secretly regrets it, but won't take the jewel out. She looks at it as the token of her freedom.

Hildur desperately wants to find her identity and others to accept that identity. Highly neurotic and excessively irritbale.

personal notes: i can't fucking render stuff for the life of me, i swear to god i am SO bad at this

[builder051]

Nov(emeto)ber day 30: sick caretaker

Warnings: Emeto

Fandom: My OCs (Bostonians)

@xxx-cat-xxx This one’s for you.  Based on a prompt you sent a long time ago. 

______________

Hildur is asleep when Pierce leaves for work.  If she was awake, she might’ve asked him to stay.  She tells herself she would’ve, but really she’s not sure.  The throb in her head and the feverish ache in her bones are of the sort that makes her more stubbornly wishy-washy than usual.  The idea of getting up, picking out clothes, even choosing a mug for her tea seems overwhelming.  She’d rather stay in bed.  

So she does, until the baby monitor on the bedside table rouses her with an echo of Lars’s vocalizations.  He’s not crying, and he’s still too little to really be babbling, but Hildur understands.  I’m awake, Mom.  Are you?

Hildur sits up against the pillows, and a slew of questions hits her along with an uncomfortable hitch in her gut.  She hasn’t considered how an illness, mild as it may be, could topple their fragile routine.  How strong is the immune system of an 8-week-old infant?  Can she pick him up without passing on her germs?  Can she breastfeed?  There’s no formula in the cupboards, and Hildur has yet to figure out the pump apparatus still in its box in her closet.  She feels woefully unprepared again.  Of course she’s destined to be a terrible mother.

Hildur reaches for her phone, wondering if she can find some answers with Google.  But how will she know if the results are accurate?  Most of the time she gets by with her limited computer skills, but today it’s just another failure.  

She should call Pierce.  If her own aching head and gurgling stomach were the only problems, Hildur wouldn’t bother.  But with their son’s health possibly at risk, she can’t stay quiet.  

“Ok…”  Hildur breathes.  Her throat burns, and she has to couch to burst a bubble of mucous somewhere between her lungs and her mouth.  She selects Pierce’s contact and holds the phone to her ear, the screen cold against her flushed cheek.  Hildur’s hair flickers to white-blonde around her shoulders, and the resulting swirl of anxiety leaves her head throbbing anew.  She presses the heel of her hand to her temple as she listens to the line ring out.

Hildur glances at the clock as the call goes to voicemail.  Pierce is in class, probably walking between the desks, giving kindly-phrased feedback as the students work on their final projects.  Hildur remembers the days when she was one of those students, simultaneously relishing and dreading the moments when he stopped beside her easel.  It had been a phone message that started their romance nearly two years ago.  Funny how things come full circle.  

“Um, hi, Pierce,” Hildur says quickly at the sound of the beep, “I’m ok, I, um, I think I have a cold or, uh, something…”  She draws in a slow inhale, willing herself to speak less frantically.  “I just don’t want Lars to get sick, and I don’t know if it’s ok to hold him, or, uh, feed him, or anything…  Or what meds I can take.  So, uh, don’t come home or anything.  Just, call me?  If you can?”  Now to sign off, the part she’s worst at.  “Sorry.  I don’t want to worry you.  Just, um.  Ok.  Love you.  Bye.”

Hildur’s out of breath by the time she hangs up and drops the phone into her lap.  Another ripple of nausea comes up from her stomach.  It’s impossible to tell whether illness or anxiety is the nexus; they combine in a vicious cycle that leaves her hair shimmering silver and her hands the color of paper.  

The sound coming from the baby monitor changes.  Lars is wailing now, and insistent.  Where are you, Mom?  A breathy hiccup punctuates the cries, and Hildur knows he’s hungry.  

“I’m sorry, my love,” she murmurs, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.  Maybe if she just holds him while she looks on the computer, she can figure out a plan.  

As soon as she’s on her feet, though, Hildur’s thoughts scatter.  The bedroom walls blur and spin around her as hot bitterness tears through her chest and bursts over her tongue.  She clutches her phone tightly in one hand and instinctively claps the other over her mouth as she bolts for the bathroom.  

It’s mostly acid that comes up, with a few dregs of last night’s dinner and strings of mucous that threaten to choke her.  Hildur wraps her arms around her stomach and sinks to her knees in front of the toilet.  She heaves again, and her head throbs so hard in response that her vision bursts into stars.  

Lars shrieks from his crib.  The sound echoes off the bathroom tile and makes Hildur feel as though she’s being assaulted from all sides, like the clapper in a church bell.  Guilt follows the pain.  It seems wrong to wish her son to be quiet.

“I’m so sorry,” she groans into the toilet bowl.  “I’m coming.  I’m coming…”  Hildur spits and wipes her mouth.  Every inch of her body trembles.  She squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them, her fingertips are sea-glass blue and only marginally opaque.  “No,” she complains.  “Oh, no, I can’t.  Not now.”

Hildur feels as if she’s stuck in quicksand.  If she stands up, she’ll fall.  If she goes to Lars, she’ll pass on this flu.  If she stays still, she’ll disappear.  She could call Pierce again, but it’s too soon.  He’ll still be in class.  She remembers the advice Kris gave her in the early stages of her pregnancy, about the importance of having relationships with family and friends.  A card sent to her brother had seemed good enough at the time, but when it comes down to it, Hildur’s failed.  Of course.  She always does.  

Her phone begins to slip out of her sweaty grip.  Hildur’s ready to drop it on the bathroom carpet, but on a whim she looks down at the smudged screen.  She has a number for Kris.  Or for the prenatal clinic, at least.  She’s not technically a patient anymore, and she doesn’t know if phone consults are part of their offerings, but she’s desperate.  She’ll try anything.

Hildur scrolls through her contacts and drops the pad of her thumb down on Kris’s name.  Vertigo flares, and she drops her forehead to the toilet seat, her heart pounding with anticipation.

“Prenatal care, Kristina Tyler speaking,” Kris answers in a rush.

Hildur’s so relieved she can barely speak.  “Hildur Gorisdottir,” she breathes.  “This is, I mean…”  

“Ok,” Kris says a bit more calmly. “What’s going on?”

“I...he…”  Hildur swallows the urge to gag.  “He’s crying, and I’m sick, and I don’t know if I’m allowed--”  A dry heave bursts from her chest.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Ok, Hildur,” Kris intones.  “I hear you.  I hear Lars.  I need you to breathe.  Is Pierce at home?”

“He’s at school.”  Hildur pulls in a shallow inhale.  “I mean, work.”

“Alright, we’re gonna figure this out.”  The sounds of shuffling papers and a chair scraping across the floor come over the line.  “Are you in a safe place?  You’re sitting down?”

“I...yes.”

“Good.  Thank god I have a lunch break today.  I’m gonna come get you sorted out, ok?  Is that ok with you?”

“Yes, but…”  Hildur fumbles with the words.  “Don’t leave work for me.”

“Un-uh.  My choice,” Kris says.  “I could be going through the drive-thru, but I’m choosing to do this.  Your address is still the same as what’s on your patient forms?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.  Stay put,” Kris issues the gentle command.  “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.  We’ll see if we can get Mr. Pierce the rest of the day off.”

“Ok…”  sour saliva floods over Hildur’s back teeth.  “I’m just...sorry.”

“Hildur,” Kris says.  “You’re gonna be fine, ok?  I know it’s scary when this kind of stuff happens, but you gotta believe it.”

Hildur hesitates.  Swallows.  Then murmurs, “Ok.”

[moshifresh]

Killing Eve BAFTA nominations

LEADING ACTRESS

Jodie Comer - Killing Eve 

Glenda Jackson - Elizabeth is Missing 

Suranne Jones - Gentleman Jack 

Samantha Morton - I Am Kirsty 

EDITING: FICTION

Dan Crinnion - Killing Eve

Ellen Pierce Lewis - Giri/Haji 

Gary Dollner - Fleabag

Simon Smith, Jinx Godfrey - Chernobyl

ORIGINAL MUSIC

David Holmes, Keefus Ciancia - Killing Eve

Adrian Johnston -  Giri/Haji

Andrew Phillips -  War in the Blood

Hildur Gudnadottir -  Chernobyl

PRODUCTION DESIGN 

Laurence Dorman - Killing Eve

Luke Hull, Claire Levinson-Gendler - Chernobyl 

Martin Childs, Alison Harvey - The Crown 

Samantha Harley, Miri Katz - Sex Education 

[musicollage]

Arve Henriksen. Towards Language, 2017. Rune Grammofon. ( Guitars, Electronics – Eivind Aarset )  ~ [  Album Review |      1) Pitchfork  +  2) All About Jazz  +    3) Headphone Commute   ]

1) Arve Henriksen makes jazz for people who like ambient music. This might sound like an unintentional insult—the Norwegian trumpeter is well trained and celebrated in jazz circles, and he often performs among Scandinavia’s most prominent younger players, such as Christian Wallumrød—but it’s also hard to deny. Towards Language, Henriksen’s ninth album under his own name, begins with a slumbrous murmur of bass and an unfurling trumpet theme, and this mesmeric register never wavers throughout the album. The melancholy saunter of Henriksen’s lines is isolated and sculpted by glimmering, whirring atmospheres full of emptiness and portent. Testing different ways to contrast eloquent material and enigmatic medium, the record plays like some lost collaboration between Wynton Marsalis and Brian Eno circa Ambient 4: On Land.

Henriksen’s long association with free-improv supergroup Supersilent and its influential label, Rune Grammofon, were his gateways to esteem in circles beyond jazz. But he has earned his wider attention with a trumpet tone so communicative it’s almost psychic, which he has described as being modeled on the breathy, insinuating timbre of a wooden flute. *Towards Language *would be the perfect album title imaginable for Henriksen if he hadn’t already made one called Chiaroscuro. Sometimes augmented by his ethereal vocalizations, his instrument always seems on the verge of speaking, writing a smoky legato calligraphy on the air. If the language is obscure, the emotions are instantly legible—romantic seclusion, piercing beauty, and a steadfast determination.

Henriksen is joined by Jan Bang and Erik Honoré, two old friends who’ve appeared on some of his greatest albums (Chiaroscuro, Cartography, Places of Worship), as well as the ECM-affiliated jazz guitarist Eivind Aarset. Together they gin up brooding, minimalist chamber music in which the simplest melodies whisper of unfathomable depths of feeling. The outstanding “Groundswell” is a dusky jungle seething with hidden birds and snakes, slow trap claps, and lapping waves of mysterious tonality, before Henriksen fills it up with his leafy curlicues and looping vines. “Demarcation Line” is a showpiece for his signature physics, how he swoons from interval to interval and bends pitches so sweetly it almost cuts.

*Towards Language *is also infused with a deep sense of history, like an excavation standing open in layers. It’s both personal—the atmosphere of “Hibernal” is tuned by a rusty harbor-bell clank, a device heard as far back as 2007’s Strjon, which suits Henriksen’s noir-ish style so well—and cultural. Album closer “Paridae,” turns a traditional song in the Kven language of Henriksen’s ancestral northern Norway (sung by Anna Maria Friman of Trio Mediaeval) into a waterfall leading to another world. Henriksen creates the feeling of an opaque jazz album you can walk right into, all timbre and feel instead of time and modality, the edges and angles sublimated into aching curves. You don’t need to be able to identify a head melody or count off arcane rhythms, but only to know the way you feel when you see fog slowly seeping through a valley, or smoke curling off a cigarette in the lonesome glow of a streetlight.

2) Following hot on the heels of Rimur (ECM, 2017), Towards Language is Arve Henriksen's second album of 2017 and brings his tally of releases to ten in the past five years. One of the more remarkable things about Henriksen is that even though the quantity of releases increases, their quality remains as high as ever. All of the hallmarks that make his music distinctive are still in place, as good as ever—the haunting melodies, soaring falsetto vocals and exquisitely beautiful trumpet. His sound is as individual as a fingerprint, the true mark of a great player.

Studio-recorded over two days in August 2016, Towards Language consists of nine tracks, of which the longest runs for just seven-and-a-half minutes. Such concentrated, economical music has typified Henriksen's output on such classic albums as Places of Worship (Rune Grammofon, 2013) and Chiaroscuro (Rune Grammofon, 2004). Henriksen has always stressed the importance of his collaborators in the creative process and, as on those two albums, here he is again joined by the team of Jan Bang and Erik Honoré of Punkt, the presence of whom is practically a guarantee of success. As before, the pair display their knack of constructing uncluttered environments that perfectly frame Henriksen and allow him to be heard to best advantage. Guitarist and electronicist Eivind Aarset is also present on every track and was involved in writing each one; he adds subtle shading without in any way deflecting the limelight from Henriksen.

Anna Maria Friman of Trio Mediaeval (with whom Henriksen recorded Rimur) sings on the album's closing track, "Paridae," a traditional "kven" or ancient Nordic song, her voice and Henriksen's trumpet combining in a perfect blend. On other tracks, it is left to his own voice and trumpet to conjure up an ambiguous mix of emotions that include melancholy and wistfulness. The end result is yet another stunningly beautiful set from Henriksen.

3) So here is how it goes… In terms of extended control of a single solo instrument, we’ve got Nils Frahm on the piano, Hildur Guðnadóttir on the cello, Mario Batkovic on the accordion, Andrea Belfi on the drums, and Arve Henriksen on the trumpet. [Please don’t all at once jump on me and point out other artists that I’ve missed or misplaced – this was more of a compliment and recognition of the above, versus an offensive statement to the ones I have omitted. Deal?] If you’ve been following these pages, and listening to the music contributing towards the evolution of this Norwegian trumpet player, then, at least you should agree, that, when it comes to breathy brass works, where the instrument completely merges with the voice, Henrikson is unlike any other.

I last visited with Henrikson’s music, released once again by Rune Grammofon, back in 2014, with Places Of Worship which derived its inspiration from the literal places of worship, sharing ten tone poems set around holy places. On his ninth album, Towards Language, we find this “major representative of a golden generation of Norwegian jazz musicians” supported by his longtime collaborators, Jan Bang and Erik Erik Honoré, as well as the “ECM-associated guitarist extraordinaire“, Eivind Aarset, exploring the language of music through the partnership with others. Improvised music, and in particular jazz music, has always established its own set of musical words, phrases, and sentences, exchanging ideas between each performer through predefined queues. A great example of that, of course, is none other than Miles Davis, who often recorded his sessions (like the Bitches Brew in 1969) without much advance notice or direction to the musicians.

“To express something on your own can be quite challenging at times.” says Henrikson, “I have for years been in creative collaborations with musicians and producers that have encouraged and inspired me. With this help and inspiration to discover new sounds and music, I have struggled and made my way to gradually be able to create some sort of language and a way of telling stories with my trumpet and singing. They have all coloured and gradually transformed me through different artistic timezones that I have passed through. All the information, concerts, discussions and impressions have had a significant impact on the process of gradually coming closer towards the core of communication through music.”

It’s fair to admit that I fail to recognize whether or not some of the music on Towards Language is improvisational or not, but what I can clearly hear is a conversation between the instruments sharing the same story. This conversation, of course, can not happen without a predefined lingo, without question and answer, without the space set to say something and, in turn, the space left to listen. It’s probable, that as an active listener, conveyed through this musical account, I, too, become part of the language, interpreting tales, narration, and chronicles, as they fit into my own sound-colored world, where certain notes trigger a feeling, a memory, or a response deeply buried inside my own psyche. For this to succeed, the artist’s ability to properly communicate must be splendid. And as a listener, I’m part of the music, of course, because, without language, the message is lost.

[apunctureinthesky]

Chernobyl nominated 14 times in the TV BAFTAs 2020!

Winners of the 2020 British Academy Television Craft Awards will be revealed on Friday 17 July and the Virgin Media British Academy Television Awards on Friday 31 July.

LEADING ACTOR

CALLUM TURNER The Capture - Heyday Television, NBC Universal/BBC One

JARED HARRIS Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games, HBO/Sky Atlantic

STEPHEN GRAHAM The Virtues - Warp Films, Big Arty Productions/Channel 4

TAKEHIRO HIRA Giri/Haji – Sister Pictures/BBC Two

MINISSERIES

A CONFESSION Jeff Pope, Paul Andrew Williams, Tom Dunbar, Johnny Capps - ITV Studios, Urban Myth Films/ITV

CHERNOBYL Production Team – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games, HBO/Sky Atlantic

THE VICTIM Rob Williams, Niall MacCormick, Sarah Brown, Jenny Frayn – STV Productions/BBC One

THE VIRTUES Shane Meadows, Jack Thorne, Mark Herbert, Nickie Sault - Warp Films, Big Arty Productions/Channel 4

SUPPORTING ACTOR

JOE ABSOLOM A Confession - ITV Studios, Urban Myth Films/ITV

JOSH O’CONNOR The Crown - Left Bank Pictures, Sony Pictures Television/Netflix

STELLAN SKARSGARD Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games, HBO/Sky Atlantic

WILL SHARPE Giri/Haji – Sister Pictures/BBC Two

COSTUME DESIGN

CAROLINE MCCALL His Dark Materials - Bad Wolf/BBC One

JOANNA EATWELL Beecham House – Bend It TV/ITV

MICHELE CLAPTON Game of Thrones - Bighead, Littlehead, Television 360, Startling Television/HBO/Sky Atlantic

ODILE DICKS-MIREAUX Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

DIRECTOR: FICTION sponsored by 3 Mills Studios

HARRY BRADBEER Fleabag – Two Brothers Pictures/BBC Three

JOHAN RENCK Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

SHANE MEADOWS The Virtues – Warp Films, Big Arty Productions/Channel 4

TOBY HAYNES Brexit: The Uncivil War – House Productions/Channel 4

EDITING: FICTION

DAN CRINNION Killing Eve (Episode 4) - Sid Gentle Films/BBC One

ELEN PIERCE LEWIS Giri/Haji – Sister Pictures/BBC Two

GARY DOLLNER Fleabag - Two Brothers Pictures/BBC Three

JINX GODFREY, SIMON SMITH Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

MAKE UP & HAIR DESIGN sponsored by MAC Cosmetics

DANIEL PARKER, BARRIE GOWER Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

INMA AZORIN The Trial of Christine Keeler - Ecosse Films, Great Meadow Productions/BBC One

KIRSTIN CHALMERS Catherine the Great - New Pictures, Origin Pictures/Sky Atlantic

LOZ SCHIAVO Peaky Blinders - Caryn Mandabach Productions, Tiger Aspect/BBC One

ORIGINAL MUSIC

ADRIAN JOHNSTON Giri/Haji – Sister Pictures/BBC Two

ANDREW PHILLIPS War in the Blood – Minnow Films/BBC Two

DAVID HOLMES, KEEFUS CIANCIA Killing Eve – Sid Gentle Films/BBC One

HILDUR GUDNADOTTIR Chernobyl- Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

PHOTOGRAPHY & LIGHTING: FICTION sponsored by ScreenSkills

ADRIANO GOLDMAN The Crown - Left Bank Pictures, Sony Pictures Television/Netflix

JAKOB IHRE Chernobyl - Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

JOE ANDERSON Top Boy - Cowboy Films, Easter Partisan Films, Dream Crew, SpringHill Entertainment/Netflix

SUZIE LAVELLE His Dark Materials (Episode 3) – Bad Wolf, BBC Studios, HBO/BBC One

PRODUCTION DESIGN sponsored by Microsoft

LAURENCE DORMAN Killing Eve - Sid Gentle Films/BBC One

LUKE HULL, CLAIRE LEVINSON-GENDLER Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

MARTIN CHILDS, ALISON HARVEY The Crown – Left Bank Pictures, Sony Pictures Television/Netflix

SAMANTHA HARLEY, MIRI KATZ Sex Education – Eleven Film/Netflix

SCRIPTED CASTING sponsored by Spotlight

DES HAMILTON Top Boy – Cowboy Films, Easter Partisan Films, Dream Crew, SpringHill Entertainment/Netflix

LAUREN EVANS Sex Education – Eleven Film/Netflix

NINA GOLD, ROBERT STERNE Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

YOKO NARAHASHI, SHAHEEN BAIG, LAYLA MERRICK-WOLF Giri/Haji – Sister/BBC Two

SOUND: FICTION

DILLON BENNETT, JON THOMAS, GARETH BULL, JAMES RIDGEWAY His Dark Materials – Bad Wolf, BBC Studios, HBO/BBC One

IAN WILKINSON, LEE WALPOLE, FRASER BARBER, STUART HILLIKER A Christmas Carol – FX Productions in association with the BBC, Minim UK Productions, Scott Free, and Hardy Son & Baker/BBC One

SOUND TEAM Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

SOUND TEAM The Crown – Left Bank Pictures, Sony Pictures Television/Netflix

SPECIAL, VISUAL & GRAPHIC EFFECTS

BEN TURNER, CHRIS REYNOLDS, ASA SHOUL The Crown – Left Bank Pictures, Sony Pictures Television/Netflix

FRAMESTORE, PAINTING PRACTICE, REAL SFX, RUSSELL DODGSON His Dark Materials – Bad Wolf, BBC Studios/HBO/BBC One

LINDSAY MCFARLANE, CLAUDIUS CHRISTIAN RAUCH, JEAN-CLÉMENT SORET, DNEG Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

MILK VISUAL EFFECTS, GARETH SPENSLEY, REAL SFX Good Omens – Amazon Studios, BBC Studios, Narrativia, The Blank Corporation/Amazon Prime Video

WRITER: DRAMA

CHARLIE COVELL The End of the F***ing World – Clerkenwell Films, Dominic Buchanan Productions/Channel 4

CRAIG MAZIN Chernobyl – Sister Pictures, The Mighty Mint, Word Games/Sky Atlantic

JESSE ARMSTRONG Succession – HBO Entertainment, Project Zeus, Hyperobject Industries, Gary Sanchez Productions/Sky Atlantic

SHANE MEADOWS, JACK THORNE The Virtues – Warp Films, Big Arty Productions/Channel 4

Good luck to team Chernobyl!

[x]

[addictedforbooksquad]

king of scars ♫ ♫ ♫ fanmix

the golden age woodkid / lacrimosa apashe / breath of life florence + the machine / become the beast karliene / bær hildur guðnadóttir / the wolves cyrus reyn feat. keeley bumford / you are a memory message to bears / nina cried power hozier / weapon of war cat pierce / shadow preachers zella day / come fly with me ruelle / intro the darkness the phantoms / the beast jóhann jóhannsson / caught in the fire klergy / war lord 2wei / habanera joseph william morgan / whiplash black math

Listen here

[trackunknownblog]

Last Month In Review_1019

Tame Impala - It Might Be Time

Alfie Templeman - Tragic Love

Allah-Las - Star

Mating Ritual - King of the Doves

Nilüfer Yanya - H34T RISES

Men I Trust - Say, Can You Hear

Stereolab - The Flower Called Nowhere

Angel Olsen - Too Easy

Chromatics - You're No Good

Låpsley - My Love Was Like the Rain

Art d'Ecco - This Flight Tonight

Banoffee, Empress Of - Tennis Fan

Vagabon - Water Me Down

Barrie - Drag

Clairo - 4EVER *10/15 @ The Wiltern

Bayonne - Uncertainly Deranged (Yumi Zouma Remix)

Black Marble - Feels

Georgia - 24 Hours *10/08 @ The Moroccan

Charli XCX, HAIM - Warm *10/01 @ The Wiltern

Blue Hawaii - Trust

Spang Sisters - King Prawn the 1st

Moreish Idols - Mobile Phone

Oracle Sisters - Spotlight

MOTO BANDIT - KEANU: WEAPONIZED

GRMLN - Skeleton

BRONCHO - Boys Got to Go (Computer Magic Remix)

Caribou - Home

Caroline Polachek - So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings

Cass McCombs - Confidence Man

Mamalarky - Hero

The Drums, Jonny Pierce - I Didn't Realize

The Growlers - Truly

The Limiñanas, Lionel Limiñana, Étienne Daho - One Blood Circle

Cherry Glazerr, Portugal. The Man - Call Me *10/01 Fashion Pop Up Event @ Fred Segal

Peggy Sue - Motorcade

Penelope Isles - Leipzig

Cigarettes After Sex - Falling In Love *10/03 @ The Wiltern

Hildur Guðnadóttir - Bathroom Dance *10/12 Joker @ Los Feliz 3

Perfume Genius - Pop Song

Miya Folick - I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Korey Dane - The Big Undone

Michael Kiwanuka - Piano Joint (This Kind Of Love)

Kurt Vile, The Sadies - Baby's Arms

Primrose Forever Sanctuary, Korey Dane, Alyssa Miller - Lonesome Town

Steve Gunn - New Familiar (Acoustic Version)

Courtney Barnett - Keep On

Destroyer - Crimson Tide

FINKEL, NNAMDÏ - J Walk

Kilo Kish - BITE ME

FKA twigs - home with you

Tei Shi - Alone in the Universe

Sudan Archives - Glorious

Floating Points - Falaise

Frank Ocean - DHL

Toro y Moi Feat. Old Grape God - tron_new_rose_hifi_v2

Free Nationals, Chronixx - Eternal Light

Whyte Horses, John Grant - Hard Times

The Never Ending Fall - Trisha

Jacques Greene - For Love

Tyler, The Creator - EARFQUAKE (Channel Tres Remix)

Little Dragon - Tongue Kissing

Local Natives - Gulf Shores - (Tiger & Woods Remix)

Keep Shelly In Athens - Caryatid

Project Pablo - Sofware

Teebs, Panda Bear - Studie

King Princess - Useless Phrases

TOPS - Seven Minutes

Younghusband - Translation

Weyes Blood - Wild Time (Rough Trade Session)

Wilco - Love Is Everywhere (Beware)

illuminati hotties - I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart - Free Fallin

Lucy Dacus - In The Air Tonight

SuperM - Jopping *10/05 @ Capitol Records

[monthofsick]

Day 17: Sleepless

Warnings: emeto mention

Fandom: My OCs (Bostonians)

Find character info here.

_____

The movie ended an hour ago, but Pierce hasn’t bothered to stand up and turn off the TV.  The soft music that accompanies the main menu on the Out of Africa DVD is soothing anyway.  His sketchbook is open in his lap, full of low-quality squiggles, but he’s not out to create anything good tonight.  He just wants something to keep his hands busy. And his mind.

The cat is curled on the floor between his feet, but she jumps up as a door opens and shuts down the hall.  Hildur shuffles into view, looking like a ghost in one of Pierce’s t-shirts, her long blonde hair hanging in curtains on either side of her face.  “Are you ok?” she asks sleepily. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Pierce answers automatically, though his throat is still raw when he swallows.  “Just didn’t want to, uh, disturb you.”

“You know I’m up and down all night,” Hildur says, looking down at the baby monitor in her hand.  She squints at Pierce. “Are you sure you feel alright? Is it, you know, your head?”

Pierce does have a headache, but not the kind Hildur’s asking about.  “Oh, no, no,” he assures her. “I just…probably got something from a student.  A virus, or something.” He’s suddenly embarrassed. “My stomach was…” He shakes his head.  It’s still sloshing, threatening to send him back to worshipping the porcelain throne. “I don’t want to pass it on to you.  Or to Lars.”

“Do you want something to drink?”  Hildur’s already on her way to the kitchen.  “A piece of toast?”

“I’m ok.”  Pierce digs between the couch cushions for the remote.  “I’ll turn this off. Just go back to bed, sweetheart.”

Hildur returns with two glasses of water.  She shakes her head. “I’m up now.” She looks at the highly-colored landscape on the TV screen.  “I’ve never seen this. Is it good?”

“You’ve never seen…?”  Pierce trails off. If they’re both going to be up for a while yet, he may as well give her an education.  “It’s a good one. A classic.”

“Sounds lovely.”  Hildur trades him one of the cups for the remote.  “You drink up. And rest. I’ll watch.”

[littlecrookedheart]

Creation Inspiration

Heading Home / Julianna Barwick • Reckoning Inspiration

Cherry Wine / Hozier • Rum on the Fire Inspiration

5AM / Amber Run • Like You're Made of Glass Inspiration

Holding / Grouper • Unfolding Inspiration

Stay Away from my Friends / Pierce the Veil / Cover by Severine Opsteyn • Blood Inspiration

• • • •

Cinder and Smoke / Iron and Wine •

Me / The 1975 •

If I Get High / Nothing But Thieves •

Antichrist / The 1975 •

Apollo 'For What it's Worth' / Think Up Anger ft. Malia J •

I'm Clean Now / Grouper •

Heyr Himnasmiður / Hildur Gudnadottir •

Bær / Hildur Guðnadóttir

Significance / NieR Automata OST • *thank you @noahpologiste for this recommendation

¤

Spotify Playlist

[j-andesine-blog]

A series of sketches I did for the lovely @builder051, of her OCs

Top left are Mel and Todd, top right are Hildur and Pierce, and bottom row are Jason, Mike, and Colby

[builder051]

I do! My OC Pierce is 40, and his partner Hildur is 29. I’m not really a kink blog, but I’m happy to fill a niche here. :)

Emeto fics with older men?

You know what I’d like to see more of? Original puke without plot stories about older guys. Here in the emeto community we definitely favor writing younger characters, and I am definitely included in that camp. My regular male OCs are all younger than I am. Dallas is the youngest at 18 and August is the oldest at 24. My oldest OC (Lisa) is 27, but I’ve never whumped her.

I don’t know how old all of you guys are, but I’m 28 and I find men of all ages attractive. I drool over 20 year olds and 55 year olds alike. If I find a man even slightly attractive I’m going to fantasize about him puking at least once, regardless of age.

I’ve read a hell of a lot of sickfics on this site, but I’ve only seen a grand total of two emeto fics starring men 30+ years old….and they were both written by me. They’re on my main blog. I’m sure there’s plenty of fanfic that meets this criteria, but 99% of the sickfics I read on here are OC centric.

I’m in the middle of writing a million different things right now, but I’ve got an idea for a sick fic where the sick guy is in his mid thirties.

Does anyone else want more older guys in sick fics or am I all alone?

[builder051]

Flight, part 3

This is the last “real” episode in H and P’s pregnancy arc.  There will be a short epilogue coming tomorrow, and that’ll be a wrap on this 9-month storyline.  Just to reiterate, I will absolutely still write for Hildur and Pierce, and they will have 2 timelines for future prompts: pre-baby and post-baby.

This chapter is pretty long, and, as with all my arcs, it achieves my eventual goal of briefly placing all 5 characters in the same place at the same time.

A couple quick warnings:  We’re still having a baby, so mentions of associated anatomy/gore/medical procedures ahead.  Also mentions of Pierce having medical issues of his own, but the specifics don’t factor in, so the mentions are vague.

Find the previous installment here.

Find character info here. (You will have to scroll down.)

Catch up on the arc here.  (Scroll down to Bostonians, and see the fics under Multi-character arc.)

_____

“Ok.”  Pierce sniffles.  “I’m just…I’m really happy.”

“I’m happy too,” Hildur whispers.

Kris pops her head around the curtain.  “That’s what I wanna hear.  You ready to have a baby?”

“Yes,” Hildur says.  It’s soft, but there’s no hesitation.

“Yes,” Pierce echoes.  “We are.”

_____

“How do we feel about music?” Kris asks.  She holds up a Bluetooth speaker with one hand as she fixes a surgical cap over her tight curls with the other.

“Yes,” Pierce answers immediately.  “Please.”  The hushed voices and clatter of surgical instruments on the other side of the curtain send his happy anticipation back toward the realm of fear.

Hildur nods.  She looks to Pierce.  “I mean, if you want.  I’m alright, really.”

“Pain meds are wonderful things,” Kris says with a laugh.  “What do you like?  We pay the big bucks for premium streaming.  All the channels.  No commercials.”

Pierce barely understands the technical jargon, and he doubts Hildur does at all.  She still plays records on her turntable at home.

“Like…the radio?”  Hildur cocks her head.

“Jazz,” Pierce says definitively.  “She, um.  Likes jazz.”

“Can do.”  Kris disappears around the curtain, and after a moment the swell of a saxophone fills the room.  “It’s gonna be a party in here.”

Pierce chuckles nervously.

“Hey.”  Hildur leans into him.  “I feel…a lot better.”

“I’m glad,” Pierce says.

“It’s not completely gone, the…you know…”  She blinks and trails off without finding the words.

“Hm.”

“Well, you don’t, but…I’m ok.”  A crease appears between Hildur’s brows.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not…making sense.”

The way the drugs have loosened her up is nothing short of amazing.  Even her hair seems closer to gold.  Pierce is seized with the urge to draw her again, to capture her raw beauty and joy before they’re once again masked with anxiety.

“No, it makes sense.”  Pierce smiles.  “This is…really happening.”

“Yeah.”  Hildur beams.  Pierce can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen such a jubilant expression grace her face.

“Alright, Hildur,” Kris says from the other side of the curtain.  “Here we go.  Your numbers look much better.”  There’s a bit of mumbling between the nurse and the surgeon, then Kris continues.  “You tell me right away if something doesn’t feel right, ok?”

“Ok,” Hildur agrees.

The song tapers off with a long note, and there’s a beat of silence before the next one begins.  Pierce is positive he hears metal on metal.  He tries not to imagine a scalpel gripped in a gloved hand.

“Number one thing is to keep breathing,” Kris reminds them.  “No holding your breath, ok Hildur?  And you too, Pierce.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”  Pierce quickly exhales and forces himself to breathe in again.  He listens to the percussive beat in the music, letting it carry him along.  It works for a while, but then his heartbeat rises to a pace faster than the tempo, and he feels clammy sweat beading on the back of his neck.

“Ok, there we go,” Kris’s voice murmurs.  Then her tone imbues with excitement.  “I see him, Hildur.  He’s beautiful.”

Hildur gives a little gasp of happiness.  She squeezes Pierce’s arm.

“Here he comes.  I got him.  He’s beautiful.”

“Go hold him.”  Hildur lets go and all but pushes Pierce off the bed.  “I want to hold him.”

When Pierce stands up, he feels like he’s moving under water.  The curtain ripples slightly, and the motion carries to the drab beige walls and pools up on the floor.  “Ok, sweetheart.”  His voice is loud in his own ears, but Kris’s continued commentary fades to a faraway echo.  Pierce steps around the divider, blinking hard to clear his head.

“Here he is.”  Kris turns 90 degrees, and Pierce’s breath catches in his throat.  She holds the baby, supporting his tiny head and shoulders in her gloved hands.  He sees Hildur in the shape of the nose, maybe himself and his brother in the lips and chin.

He is beautiful.  But his skin is blotchy and wet.  The umbilical cord hangs along with something else loose and fleshy, dripping blood onto the crisp blue surgical sheet before they disappear inside Hildur.

It’s perfect and natural and gorgeous, but seeing it so close is strange.  The text and cartoonish drawings in the pamphlets he’d perused are nothing like the real thing.  Pierce’s stomach rolls just as the baby begins to wail.  Pierce wants to hear it.  He wants to hold his son and comfort him and welcome him into the world, but different instincts take over before he can stop them.  He rushes for the door.  His hands tremble so much he can barely get it open.

“Pierce?  You ok?” Kris calls after him as he trips out into the hallway.

Pierce can’t answer.  He can’t swallow.  He can’t breathe.

There’s a lounge at the end of the hall with a water cooler and coffee maker.  Pierce hopes there’s a trash can too, but he doesn’t get the chance to find out.  He only gets halfway when his stomach can’t take it anymore.  He braces against the wall and retches hard, but all that comes up is bitter saliva.  At first he’s grateful.  Then he realizes he hasn’t eaten at all today.  They left home before breakfast, and who knows what time it is now.  There he goes again, not taking care of himself.  Ruining things for their little family.

“Whoa, man, you ok?”  Somebody touches Pierce’s shoulder.

“Hm?  Ugh,” Pierce chokes.  He isn’t sure if he wants to swallow or spit out the acid coating his tongue, especially now that he has an audience.

“It’s alright, bud.  Trust me, you ain’t the first guy to get overwhelmed.”

Bile runs down Pierce’s chin.  He shakily wipes it on his sleeve.  “Um.  Thanks,” he mutters, straightening up.  The hand keeps a grip on him until Pierce is steady on his feet.

“Sure.  No problem.”

Pierce removes his glasses and scrubs at his streaming eyes, then puts them back on to take in the concerned face looking up at him.  The young man has a whispy moustache and dreadlocks pulled into a short ponytail.  There’s a young woman behind him, holding a cardboard tray of Starbucks cups.  Pierce doesn’t know her, but the man is familiar.

“You…work here, right?” Pierce asks, eyeing the man’s scrubs.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Well, not here here.  General ward.  Upstairs.”  The young man nods.  “I was your nurse, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah.”  Pierce remembers him now, but not his name.  “You let Hildur in to see me.  I…thank you, for that.”

“For sure.  It was the right thing to do.  You’re Pierce, right?” he asks.  “I think I’m good with names, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were, like, Kevin or something.”

“No, Pierce is right.”  Pierce smiles.  “And you’re…?”

“Oh.  Khalil.”  He holds out his hand.  Pierce rubs his sweaty palm on his pants before shaking it.

“And this is my girl Jamie.”  Khalil puts his arm around the young woman’s shoulders and pulls her slightly forward.  “Well, our girl.  Hooking me and Krissy up with the good stuff today.”

“Hey.”  Jamie lifts her tray in greeting.  “How are ya?”

“Yeah, how are you doing, man?” Khalil asks.  “It’s good to see you on this side, instead of as a patient.  But you feeling alright?”  He narrows his eyes as if doing a visual health check.

“I, uh, yeah,” Pierce stutters, embarrassed.  “Just…the baby, and the…and the blood…”  He shakes his head, hoping to knock some sense into himself.  “I should be in there, with them.”

“Ay, congratulations!” Khalil grins.  “But like I said, it’s overwhelming.  You dizzy?  Or sick to your stomach?”

“I’m ok,” Pierce says.  “I just… she went into labor first thing this morning, and I just… I’m fine.”

“No, you’re all shaky.”  Jamie makes a sympathetic face.  “Here, you like frappuccinos?  If Kris is in a delivery, she’s never gonna sit down and drink it before it melts.”  She offers Pierce one of the drinks.

“No, thanks, I’m alright,” Pierce tries to say again, but Khalil cuts him off.

“You really look like you could use something to raise your blood sugar.  I may not have prescribing power, but I do have power of suggestion.”  He pushes a cup into Pierce’s hand and unwraps a straw for him.  “And right now, salted caramel mocha is good medicine.”

Pierce looks down at the swirl of whipped cream.  The nausea crashing against his ribs turns toward starving, and he takes a long sip.  Almost immediately his vision clears; his brain feels a little less like it’s vibrating inside his skull.  “I’m…  God. Thank you.  So much.”

“Yeah, of course.  It’s a big moment.  We’re really happy for you,” Jamie says.

Pierce takes another draught.  A door opens down the hall, and Khalil waves at someone over Pierce’s head.

“I wondered where we lost you,” Kris says, bumping Pierce’s elbow with hers.

He nearly chokes as he tries to swallow.  “I’m sorry I left, I, um, I couldn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”  She looks to Khalil.  “Thanks for finding him.  And feeding him.”

“That’s your drink we sacrificed,” Khalil says with a joking smile.

“Hey, if you’re fueling up Mr. brand new daddy, I’m happy.”  Kris laughs.  “Thanks for coming to see me, guys.  But I gotta go back to work.”  She starts to walk backwards.  “Pierce, whenever you’re ready.  The nurse cleaned him up a little bit, and we’re finishing getting mama patched up now.  It’s gonna be a lot calmer from here on out.  You have a healthy, beautiful son.”

Pierce nods as he lets it sink in.  “I have a son.”  He follows Kris down the hall, suddenly in a rush to catch up to her. “Come on,” he says to Khalil and Jamie.  “Come see my son.”

“It’s ok, bud.  Go ahead,” Khalil says, staying put.

“No, please.  Come meet him.  You’ve really helped us, more than once now.”  Pierce pauses outside Hildur’s room.  “Come meet Hildur.  Meet our family.”

“I’m good with it if you’re good with it,” Kris says with a shrug.  She enters the room ahead of Pierce.  “Hildur, baby, you got some visitors.”

“I guess we’re visiting, then.”  Khalil holds the door for Jamie, but they both hang back while Pierce bounds up to Hildur’s bedside.

The curtain is tucked back into the wall, and clean blankets cover her legs and still-swollen belly.  Hildur’s hair is shiny and straw-colored, and she’s still smiling.  A bundle of sky blue rests in her arms.  Pierce can just see the small face between the folds.

“Pierce,” Hildur breathes when she sees him.  “Come see.”

He kisses the top of her head first, then turns his attention to the baby.  His cheeks are round and a bright, healthy pink. He stirs in Hildur’s arms and flutters his fine blonde lashes.  Pierce doesn’t want to look away, not even to blink.

“Oh my goodness.  He’s adorable,” Jamie whispers from across the room.

“He is,” Hildur agrees, still remarkably calm despite the presence of these strangers.

“Sweetheart, this is Khalil, my nurse from, you know, when I was here,” Pierce quickly explains.  “And his, uh, friend Jamie.”

“Kris is my sister, too,” Khalil adds.  “And he is adorable.  All of you guys are.”

“Thanks,” Pierce says softly, looking down again.

“What’s his name?” Jamie asks.

“We hadn’t decided for sure…”  Pierce meets Hildur’s eyes, hoping to cram apologies for everything left undone into a single glance.  “But, is…the one you like?  Is that what you want to do?”

“Mm-hm,” Hildur breathes.  “Yes.  Lars.  And for his middle name, Pearson.  Like the Icelandic tradition, but spelled like the American last name, not like your name.  So his teachers don’t mess it up.  And he’ll have the double-P in his initials to keep up your family tradition, too.  Kind of.”

“Lars Pearson Peabody,” Pierce murmurs.  “That’s perfect.  He’s perfect.”  He leans in to kiss Hildur again.  “You’re perfect.”

She tucks her chin, and a loose strand of hair falls into her eyes.  “I’m not,” Hildur says.  “But…  But this is.  All of this.”

“You’re absolutely right.”  Pierce returns to his place perched on the edge of the mattress.  “It is.”

[lickstynine]

a (belated af) Holiday Doodle for @builder051! Hildur and Pierce are my babes, and I especially love drawing soft squishy babes like Hildur! I hope you like this <3

more holiday doodles should be coming today. no promises that they’ll be the same style or colouration or any of that jazz. but yea.

[jenmedsbookreviews]

Do you like the view? Picture was taken while I was on a walk around Erddig which is a National trust property just outside of Wrexham, about an hour from where I live. Typically, as is normal for me, I have never been before, but this week I managed to make use of the last bits of good weather, courtesy of Mandie and her other half, Ivor, and finally paid a visit. Wonderful woodland and riverside walk, which Mandie’s dog Holly, now renamed Blog-Dog, thoroughly enjoyed, and it was lovely to look around the house too (although less lovely to hear of all the exhibits which have been stolen in recent weeks.)

Little Rory is settling in nicely and she and Luna have found they do actually like each other after all. This is good for them, less good for me when they both decide to have a mad half hour chasing up and downstairs, but rather that than the alternative. Do love my little loony kitties.

Are they not just too cute for words?

No book post this week. In fact, no real post at all. This means no unexpected bills so I’m not complaining. Picked up a few books out and about though so I’ve not gone empty handed. Netgalley saw me pick up two new ARCs – In A House of Lies by Ian Rankin and Down To The Woods by MJ Arlidge.

A few new Amazon purchases too because I am unable to stop myself. Our Little Lies by Sue Watson; Last Night by Helen Phifer; False Witness by Michelle Davies; You Let Me In by Lucy Clarke; Into The Darkness by Sibel Hodge; and A Book Of Bones by John Connolly.

Books I have read

Loner – Hildur Sif Thorarensen

Which is worse, trying to catch a cunning killer leaving decapitated women in the woods, or trying to tame an unconventional forensic psychiatrist that seems determined to go his own way?

The Oslo autumn is creeping in with its cold spells and Homicide Detective Julia Ryland is feeling pretty content with her team of three, but when the FBI behavioral analyst, Alexander Smith, is thrust upon her, the crisp autumn air doesn’t feel as refreshing anymore. A young Icelander is found dead, an arrow piercing his heart and the extensive list of his former lovers suggests that many long nights are ahead. The murdered lothario suddenly becomes the least of their problems as headless corpses start appearing in the woods, positioned in terrifying ways and on their bodies they find messages that don’t seem to have any meaning at all.

Book one in the series, it took me a little time to get used to the narrative styling in this one. An intriguing story but perhaps needed a little clearer translation as some of the phrasing didn’t work so well in English. Two good characters to lead the book though so I’ll be interested to see where the author takes this. You can read my review here and buy the book here.

…

Down to the Woods – MJ Arlidge

There is a sickness in the forest. First, it was the wild horses. Now it’s innocent men and women, hunted down and murdered by a faceless figure. Lost in the darkness, they try to flee, they try to hide. In desperation, they call out for help. But there is no-one to hear their cries here…

DI Helen Grace must face down a new nightmare. The arrow-ridden victims hang from the New Forest’s ancient oaks, like pieces of strange fruit. Why are helpless holidaymakers being targeted in peak camping season? And what do their murders signify? Is a psychopath stalking the forest? Is there an occult element to the killings? Could the murders even be an offering to the Forest itself? Helen must walk into the darkness to discover the truth behind her most challenging, most macabre case yet.

I love this series and Helen Grace has to be one of my favourite characters. The pacing in this book did seem a touch slower to me, perhaps given the break neck speed of the last book in which all the action took place over a single day, but given the nature of the story, I’d have expected a little more pace. That said, I still loved it and there is an interesting new character who looks set to spice up, or perhaps cool down, Helen’s life a bit. You can order a copy of the book here and my review is imminent.

…

False Witness – Michelle Davies

7.15am: Two children are seen on top of a wall in a school.  Shortly later one of them lies fatally injured at the bottom.  Did the boy fall or was he pushed? As a family liaison offer, DC Maggie Neville has seen parents crumble under the weight of their child’s death. Imogen Tyler is no different. Her son’s fall was witnessed by the school caretaker, a pupil is under suspicion, and Imogen is paralysed by grief and questions.

For Maggie, finding the truth is paramount if she is to help the mother. But as she investigates, further doubts emerge and the truth suddenly seems far from certain. Could the witness be mistaken about what happened, and if he is, then who is responsible? And how far will they go to cover up the boy’s death?

False Witness by Michelle Davies is the gripping third novel in the critically acclaimed Maggie Neville series, following Gone Astray and Wrong Place.

This is the first book I have read by this author but it’s the third in the series. Reads perfectly well as a standalone though and I did enjoy my time in the company of Maggie Neville and co. A traumatic case which turns from a potential accidental death into something far more sinister. You’ll be able to read my review later this week as part of the tour and you can order a copy of the book here.

…

That was it for me this week. I am part way through another book which I’ll likely tell you all about next week. My time has been mostly spent going to interviews, learning how to use a slow-cooker (don’t ask) and making low fat, low sugar trifles using an array of alternative ingredients. Oh and trying not to trip over a kitten. Slower week on the blog too with only three posts. Recap below:

In The Silence by M.R. Mackenzie

The Night She Died by Jenny Blackhurst

Loner by Hildur Sif Thorarensen

A little bit more on this week with a few more tours on the go. First up it’s Mandie’s turn to tell us all about The Tattoo Thief by Alison Belsham; I am on the tours for Michelle Davies’ False Witness; The Lion Tamer Who Lost by Louise Beech; The Proposal by SE Lynes. Mandie rounds off the week with a review of The After Wife by Cass Hunter. Hope you can join us.

More interviews this week which I guess is a good thing. Plus I’m going on a little journey at the weekend which I am very excited about but more on that in next weeks post. Hoping to cram in a few books this week, just for a change but either way I’ll be back next Monday.

Have a fabulous week everyone.

Jen

  Rewind, recap: Weekly round up w/e16/09/18 Do you like the view? Picture was taken while I was on a walk around Erddig which is a National trust property just outside of Wrexham, about an hour from where I live.

[builder051]

Art by @lickstynine

Hildur’s due in 6 weeks!  

[builder051]

Drift

The Hildur and Pierce arc, part 16!  Sorry it’s been ages since I’ve written for these guys.  Hildur’s due on October 8th, so we’re getting close.

Character information is here.

Catch up on the previous parts here.

_____

They’re in the waiting room.  Again.  It feels like the hospital is the only place Hildur goes anymore.  If not for one of her own appointments, she’s there for one of Pierce’s.  

He’s doing fine.  The tumor hasn’t changed size or shape or done anything else to set off alarm bells.  His headaches aren’t any worse.  Pierce treats it like an annoyance, and the doctors do too, as if it’s just an ulcer or an ugly skin tag instead of a mass putting pressure on his brain.

They’re at the clinic for Hildur today.  She doesn’t want to be there, but Pierce had begged her.  He’d called to make the appointment after seeing her breathless getting out of bed one time too many.  

“I don’t think this is normal, sweetheart,” he’d said.  “I’m…I’m worried.”

Hildur had shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I think I’m ok.”  But her heart had been racing, her vision blurring around the edges.  “I just…stood up too fast.”  Never mind the fact that the beach ball-sized swell of her stomach keeps her from moving faster than a tortoise.

“Do you think you should see Kris?  Or at least call and ask?”

A rush of nausea had saved Hildur from responding.  But through the closed bathroom door, she’d heard Pierce answering his own question, barely stuttering as he’d checked the schedule with the receptionist.  

“You thought about it any more?” Pierce asks, laying his hand over the fist Hildur has clenched on the arm of the plastic chair.  “About, uh, what you want to call him?”

Hildur looks down at the bump straining at her sweater.  It’s riding up, showing the elastic band of her maternity jeans in a way that seems less than dignified.  She slides her hand away to pull her top down enough to cover it.

“Not really,” she murmurs.  

“You and your siblings, you all have, uh, Icelandic names.”  

“Mm-hm.”  Hildur knows Pierce is just trying to occupy her, to cheer her up and distract her from the anxiety that naturally hangs around the hospital, but she doesn’t have much patience for it today.  “They got misspelled a lot.”  She thinks of school forms that inserted extra letters to make Gunar’s and Palina’s names into Americanized bastardizations.  She thinks of the medical assistant her in the prenatal clinic calling her Hilda.

“My family’s tradition,” Pierce says.  “It’s stupid.”  He shakes his head.  “Peabody starts with P, so all the first names do too.  My initials, uh, they spell PEP.  My brother’s do too.”

“Hm.”  Hildur already knows.  She already knows Pierce doesn’t want to continue the pattern with their son.  

“He could have your last name,” Pierce prattles on.  “Or we could, um, hyphenate…”

“He can’t have my last name,” Hildur says.  The words come out a little rougher than she intends, but she’s having a hard time controlling her breath.  “Gorisdottir is only for girls.  Gunar’s name is Gorisson.”  She shakes her head.  “It comes from the father, see?  And Pierce-son…It doesn’t really work.”

“Oh.”  Pierce finds Hildur’s hand again.  “I guess…Peabody would be easier.”  He pauses.  “You could…um…  You could have my last name, too.”

“Pierce…” Hildur sighs.  “Can we please?  Not now.”  Her hair ripples toward tow-headed blonde.

“Alright,” he says quickly.  “I’m sorry.”

“Hildur?”  The medical assistant appears.  She’s learned from her earlier mistakes.  Hildur wishes Pierce would too.

“Ok.”  Hildur uses the arms of the chair to heave herself to her feet.  Her head swims for a second, and she sucks in a breath before slowly waddling toward the hall to the exam rooms.

“Ok?”  Pierce hovers his hand above her shoulder, ready to help, but respecting the distance.  He’s the picture of love and devotion, and Hildur instantly regrets wanting him to change.  She’s the one who’s in the wrong.

The medical assistant takes Hildur’s vitals and scribbles them down on her clipboard.  All the time in doctor’s offices has made her an expert in interpreting the hidden messages in the tilt of a head and the scratch of a pencil as a digital readout becomes a conclusion and a label.  Healthy or not.  Concerned or not.

“Alright,” the medical assistant says quietly. As she disengages the Velcro on the blood pressure cuff.  No smile.  Just a little exhale, then she stands up.  “Your midwife will be in to see you shortly.”

The wait truly is short, and Hildur’s grateful.  She doesn’t think she can stand the tension in the room, feeling her heart beat and wondering if she can actually hear it or if the physical sensation’s just carrying up her throat and jaw to her ears.  Her sweater feels too tight.  Hildur hooks her fingers over the neckline and pulls it down an inch.

“Good morning!”  Kris opens the door, the cheer in her voice matching the lively autumn floral on the blouse beneath her lab coat.  “We’re in the home stretch.”  She nods at Hildur’s stomach, then rolls her stool into place.  

Pierce makes a sound of amused agreement.  Hildur stays quiet.

“How’re we feeling?”  Kris’s brown eyes are wide and clear, her expression blankly expectant.  

Hildur’s usual response of fine dies on her tongue.  “I.  Um.  I don’t know.”  She gives a tiny shrug.  It’s a teenagerish response, and a stupid one.  She fails at everything, even talking to her doctor.  She loves Kris.  She trusts her.  Hildur doesn’t understand why speaking to her is so hard.  

Pierce exhales.  Hildur feels sick.

“Well.”  Kris looks down at her clipboard.  “Your blood pressure is high.”  She returns her gaze to Hildur’s.  “Not dangerously so, but high enough that I’m concerned.”

“Ok.”  Hildur doesn’t know what she expected to feel, but the emptiness that washes over her is decidedly not it.  

“That can sometimes lead to other complications if we don’t get it under control, ok?” Kris explains.  “It can develop into preeclampsia and cause some other problems.”

Hildur nods slowly.  She understands.

“Have you been feeling sick?  Dizzy?”  Kris asks.

It’s Pierce that answers.  “Yes.  Unsteady when she stands up sometimes.  And sick to her stomach, like the, uh, like the morning sickness again.”  He leans forward to give Hildur’s knee a gentle touch.

Hildur stiffens.  “It’s…I’m ok,” she whispers.

“No, it’s, this could be serious.”  Pierce looks at Hildur, then to Kris, and back.  “This has been going on for almost a week.  I’m really worried, sweetheart.  I’m worried about…”  He nods to the baby.

Hildur presses her lips together.  Nausea rises along with renewed frustration.  “I’m worried about you too,” she murmurs in a rush before tears can take hold.  “You keep playing down your health and putting mine first, but, but…”  

Hildur tastes bile.  She can barely breathe.  Her hair goes silver and her fingers are transparent as she clutches the rim of the trashcan that’s suddenly in her lap.  She coughs and gags, and once the panic dies down, she’s grateful for the warm, steady hand on her back.  

“I’m sorry,” Hildur chokes as she sits up.  “I just…”  

“It’s a lot,” Kris says.  She moves the bin to the corner of the room.  “I know it’s a lot.”

Tears run down Hildur’s cheeks.  She tips her aching head back against the exam table angled up behind her.  

“You need to take care of each other.”  Kris gives Pierce a long look before she meets Hildur’s eyes again.  “You already do that, but it’s more important than ever right now.  And you need to take care of yourselves.”  She’s not butting in and organizing their lives, though Hildur wouldn’t blame her if she did.  Her message is simple.  Eloquent.  And it’s what they need to hear.

“I’m going to give you a couple medications, Hildur.”  Kris pulls a pad from her pocket.  “And I’m going to prescribe bedrest.  We want you to stay comfortable and safe for these last couple weeks.  Ok?”

“I.  Um.”  Hildur swallows, her throat raw and dry.  “Ok.”

Pierce moves his hand to stroke Hildur’s hair before he echoes, “Ok.”