#hemma

[mysticmiav]

Drew my oc like I have the fattest crush on her (I do)

[agirl-whosold-theworld]

I've been so tired lately

[dddragoni-drabbles]

Breathing heavily, Hemma held the tip of her knife at the guard's throat. "Drop it. Now." She hoped the voice modulator she'd installed in her mask would hide the quiver in her voice.

For a moment, there was no reaction, the guard's face impossible to read behind their helmet. After a pause that was just a bit longer than Hemma would have liked, the guard opened their hand, letting the bat fall to the ground, then raised both arms above their head.

"Good. Now, up against the wall. No sudden moves, no loud noises." Hemma jerked her head towards the corrugated metal that served as the stronghold's outermost wall.

Another pause, then the guard started slowly walking in that direction, Hemma turning to keep the knife trained on them.

"Okay. Now-

The moment they reached the wall, the guard suddenly dropped down, sweeping a leg out at Hemma's ankles. She hopped back, just barely dodging the strike, but was too slow to react when the guard launched themselves forward, driving a headbutt into Hemma's stomach.

She crumpled, losing her grip on the knife as the air was driven from her lungs. It took the guard a moment to regain their balance, giving Hemma just enough time to turn the crumple into a roll, slipping under their followup strike.

She sprang to her feet and gave the guard a solid kick to the back of the knee, sending them toppling to the ground. Hemma dove after them, grabbing their wrist with one hand and yanking it to the side while wrapping the other arm tightly around their neck.

"Nice try, now telll me where the storeroom is or I'll..."

Henna trailed off, staring at the guard's wrist. As they struggled against her grip, a small strip of skin had been exposed, revealing a distinctive tattoo of a songbird nestled within a star.

"No, that can't... Gori? But... you were dead... How..."

[ebbaagnes]

[alviboi10]

Det är härifrån jag skriver allt om någon undrande😇

[pokemuseumitalia]

Il lavoro di raccogliere informazioni e molto difficile, ma il più difficile è riuscire a raccogliere l'effettivo reperto. In questa immagine possiamo osservare tre versioni di cartoline del libro Pokémon Postcard Book della Golden Books statunitense. Le tre versioni sono rispettivamente la versione Britannica della Scholastic, la versione Italiana della Fabbri Editori e la versione Francese della Hemma éditione. Di recente abbiamo reperto la versione Olandese che attualmente è in viaggio per arrivare agli archivi.

[blamemma]

daniel ricciardo travelling to the shanghai international circuit | 18.4.24

[iridescent-glitch]

NU SNACKAR VI MELLANAKT

[henk-heijmans]

Hemma Magazine, Stockholm - by Gunnar Smoliansky (1933 - 2019), Swedish

[mysticmiav]

Hm oc redesign maybe

[shiroselia]

Okej nu när jag inte är straight på på plats i Malmö arena o kollar Mello live (askul btw, som någon som hatar koncerter var detta typ perfekt för mig, det var riktigt skoj o se det live o vi hade asbra platser trots att man inte Alls kunde tro det)

När Sverige satsar allt på att få hosta Eurovision på ABBAs 50-års vinner ESC-jubileum men ABBA själva (kungar är de) vägrar spela med och har Sagt att de inte kommer vara där oavsett så man får ta in fucking. ABBA lite

[utvarpcity]

FARAH MAD RESPEKT

[ebbaagnes]

[itsnotreal]

Hemmie

Harry and Gemma’s ship name yes 💜

[clyerwolf]

[swedethings]

Borta bra men hemma bäst

"Uh, hej..." The young man stammered, the thickness of his accent clear in his voice after only a word spoken. He glanced around the dimmed vicinity of the bar before his eyes returned to the bartender. He had no idea if his inquiry would warrant any useful information; but he had to ask. "You, uh, you wouldn't happen to know where I can find a Swedish girl with dark brown hair and the brightest blue eyes you've ever seen? She just moved to town maybe a few weeks ago? Her name is Agnes?"

The bartender eyed the strange man for a long moment, trying to determine if he posed any sort of threat to the woman in which he was inquiring. After a long pause, the bartender gestured to where a young woman was sat at a small high-top off to the side of the bar. "You're in luck, bub."

Following the bartender's finger, the young man's gaze shifted towards the table...

There she was. Agnes, the mother of his child.

After thanking the bartender for his help, the young man picked his Heineken off the counter and took a long swig of the liquid courage before slowly making his way towards the high-top...

Taking a deep breath as he neared his target, he managed to find the words to speak. "H-Hej Agnes... Det var länge sedan..."

That voice...

Ocean hues glanced up from her near-empty glass of Maine's signature drink—the sombrero cocktail; and as they landed on the figure of the man now stood before her, Agnes couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Anders..." The name escaped her lips in a barely audible breath. The last time she'd seen him had been her last day at Lund University. He'd accompanied her to the train station so she could return to Falun; and she'd told him he had no obligation to be in their unborn child's life. The one night they had together had been just that: one night. He'd agreed he wasn't ready for the commitment of raising a child; but he'd asked if he could still be given updates on the baby's wellbeing. He made it known that he still cared, even if he wasn't ready to embark on the road to parenthood. He'd agreed to send money to help with the child in exchange for an occasional letter update and maybe a photograph. But that was it. She'd not seen or spoken to the him otherwise. "Vad fan gör du här?" This all felt so surreal. There was no way her son's father was standing in front of her at a bar in Bar Harbor, Maine of all places. How did he even know she'd be here? What was he even doing here in the first place? Why had he come? Had he come for her? Had he come for them, for their family?

There wasn't enough alcohol behind the bar for Agnes to process this unexpected reunion.