#well not in gotheburg

[raincitygirl76]

Can you move aquarium fish to another country? And if so, how? I mean, I know they need a filtration system. So could you put their tank in a car/moving van/trailer hooked up to a car, and hook it up to a portable generator? And would you be able to get the tank through customs?

See, I’m working on an embryonic fic. My first in well over a decade. Damn, right now the fic is terrible, and may never see the light of day. But I have writers block because I’m stuck on logistics.

But in my fic idea, Wilhelm and Simon broke up during the university years. At 29 they run into each other again, perhaps at Felice’s wedding, perhaps at some other plot device to get them in the same room. And there are still sparks. They have a quickie in a closet and after that it’s really awkward. But eventually they start talking, texting, etc. And eventually decide to give it another shot.

But in this fic idea, Simon left Sweden as soon as he graduated from the Royal College of Music, because it was too painful seeing reminders of Wilhelm everywhere in Stockholm. He bounced around Europe for a few years before settling down in Berlin. Simon’s been working there as a singer, songwriter, and music producer. And he has a tank of tropical fish he adores and wouldn’t dream of just giving away.

After he and Wille have been doing the long distance thing for a while, Simon decides to move back to Stockholm. Wilhelm wants him to move in with him at Haga, but Simon is cautious, arranges to sign a 6 month lease on an apartment of his own. If things are still working out after 6 months, he’ll move in with Wilhelm in Haga.

But he has these fish, with a specially designed custom tank that was a present from Simon to Simon when he won his first major award. I’m pretty sure he can’t fly from Berlin to Stockholm with the tank in the cargo hold. Even if the airline would agree to take it, the unheated hold and the changes in air pressure during the flight might kill his tropical fish. I don’t know that for sure, but im thinking if air pressure on flights makes people’s ears pop, what coulf it do to poor innocent Nemo.

So I devised this plan for Ayub to fly to Berlin and help Simon drive from Berlin to Stockholm, with the fish and a portable generator.

They could drive from Berlin to Kiel, then take an 14 hour overnight ferry to Gotheburg. Did you know that on long ferry trips you can book a cabin so you can sleep during the voyage? So I’m envisioning Ayub and Simon checking on the fish on the vehicle deck every so often. And then in the morning they disembark.

They drive the car and trailer, or moving van they’ve hired or whatever, from Gothenburg to Stockholm. Where they can unload the custom fish tank and plug it in at Simon’s new apartment. And unload all the other crap they’d brought all the way from Germany.

But I’m not sure if that’s even possible. Would a ferry company agree to take a tank of live tropical fish on the vehicle deck, even contained? I know you can get portable generators that are electric rather than diesel. A good solar generator with the battery fully charged could keep the filtration system ticking along for a long time before needing more sunlight to recharge.

And now I have writers block because I’m stuck on the logistics of how to transport the fish. I have already considered (and discarded) the ideas of Simon not having fish as a 29 year old. Or of him giving them away to fellow fish fanciers in Berlin. An empty, unplugged custom fish tank would be much easier to transport. But I am stubborn.

This is the fish tank I had in mind, by the way. Because in my headcanon, future Simon also has a cat. Who he got after he already had fish.

The whole custom fish tank idea is a blatant ripoff of a ficlet written by….someone on Tumblr. There was this non-royal AU where Wilhelm lives in one of the fanciest apartments in a building, while Simon has a shoebox sized apartment in the same building. Wilhelm’s cat keeps escaping out the window to visit Simon, so he assumes it’s a stray and starts feeding it. He already has a tank of fish.

Simon and Wilhelm eventually meet in person (through “their” cat), and start dating. When Simon finally moves into Wille’s ridiculously large penthouse, Wilhelm orders a custom fish tank so Simon’s fish can be safe and have plenty of room to swim around. But Wille’s cat can enjoy aquatic observation.

I should note that the fic I’m working on stole ONLY the idea of a custom fish tank and a cat and a tank of fish coexisting. The rest is different. And if you’re the person who came up with the idea of Non-Royal Wilhelm’s cat deciding to set him up with Simon, please let me know. I can edit the post to link to your fic and credit your username.

[museofvoid]

hardladybanana replied to your post “hardladybanana replied to your post “I’m by the sea atm and suddenly...”

theres sea in gothernburg?

yea

[cosmologicalhedgehogephemera]

So earlier this year a tax was imposed on the kind of plastic disposable bags you find in the geens and veggies section of the grocery stores here in Sweden, which I heartily applauded. Most big chains rapidly supplied sufficiently durable paper bags, with a few models that handily double as compost bags for the kitchen compost. Of fucking course the right wing dude, formerly the head of the youth group of the largest rw party, now head of... some other fucking bourgeoisie propaganda organization comes out decrying this in several papers, talking about the horrors of taxation and the burden(!) imposed on the taxpayer. Now, plastic is rather ubiquitous in our societies, and I’m sure you all have seen some report or other that they’ve found plastic particles in the intestines of penguins  on fucking Antarctica or something. Well, something more close to home is the fact that the dirt used for flowerbeds, lawns and graves in the graveyards here in Gotheburg commonly has scraps of plastic bags in it. The sorting machinery they use can’t really get it out. The compost heaps are full of it, since visitors insist on throwing their plastic garbage in the clearly marked compost bins. Can’t be got rid of. And that’s just macroplastics. So when you die, you can be more or less sure that you’ll be buried among the refuse and debris of a society that has come across materials it simply was not suited to handle. It is fucking disgusting. Anyone trying to impede the shift away from plastics is either a brute or an imbecile.

[kiiruna-a]

`  ☆┆THE MINIMALIST , ABOUT .

full name : henry kempe. nickname : n/a. specie : human. age : thirty-one. gender : cis male. pronouns : he / him. nationality : swedish. residence : värmland, sweden. occupation : farmer & swing dance teacher.

hair : shoulder-length, light brown hair usually tied up in some way. eyes : hazel, a mix of green & brown.  skin : pale skin which is often sun-kissed, with prominent moles & birthmarks scattered all around his body, as well as a few on his face. tattoos : a world map with the text “ die with memories not dreams “ on his upper back, “ breathe “ written on the side of his right hand, a bee on the inside of his left wrist, a plant & a beetle on the outside of his lower right arm. body type : 180cm, slender but with toned muscles, narrow shoulders & generally rectangular frame.

favorite color : green & brown. favorite animal : cat, dog, sheep & cow. favorite food : sweet potato, soup of all kinds & homemade bread. favorite drink : tea, coffee, elderflower cider & beer. favorite place : home, wheat fields, untouched forest, library/bookshop, plains, a cliff with a view & around animals. favorite sparetime : swing dancing, working in the garden, reading, cooking, having a cup of something on the porch, attending random study circles & lectures, cleaning the house, wandering, take care of animals, listening to music, biking & pottery.

positives : generous, open-minded, adventurous, creative, down to earth & charismatic. negatives : stubborn, predictable, unstable & unorganized. fears : needles, climate change & darkness. theology : agnostic. orientation : biromantic bisexual. shipping status : dualship, single in both verses.

     henry was born & raised in gothenburg, sweden. he was always a creative kid going the artistic route. his parents introduced him to music. they were both lower middle class parents working their asses off to provide for henry & his two sisters. the parents were rarely home, leaving the children to take care of themselves. the group of siblings had to grow up fast, cooking their own meals & putting themselves to bed. however, as fast as the parents were home, the empty apartment became full of life, & music was always blasting. everything felt more alive. to hang onto that feeling, henry would grow up with his headphones constantly plugged in. he found excitement & inspiration in music, started playing guitar, bass, switching from instrument to instrument hoping to find his calling.      growing older, henry was a part of a small band with other teenagers, notoriously making dansband music. you either hate it or you love it. however, it was not a kind of music for the big city. to get people to listen to them, the band would often perform in the outskirts. two hour long bus rides were common for them to find the stages they were welcome on, that or boat rides out to the small islands outside the gotheburg coast. having grown up in the middle of the buzzling city, henry had a picture of the countryside as dead & boring, but when he came out with his band he got a whole new picture. there, people were always happy, dancing, everyone knew everyone, the atmosphere was absolutely magical. it was also there where he started to realize he was a little jealous of the people in the crowd. where he stood, strumming on his guitar, he looked down on big dance floors full of people dancing. his crowd was usually that of people in all ages doing swing, fox trot, line dancing, & the boy always felt a need to join them. that’s where his passion for dancing started. even when his band wasn’t performing, henry would take those two hour bus rides out to renovated barns & town cabins to dance. he started taking swing dancing lessons on the side, slowly but surely getting so invested that the guitar started to dust. he left his band, he left his city, & instead he dove head first into the dancing community.

     henry wasn’t very popular in school, he would usually have a hard time relating to his classmates. he was a hyperactive teenager with his mind all over the place, he would talk too much & think too little. being the outsider didn’t bother him too much though, cause he had both a good family & a good chunk of friends outside of school. studying was a bigger issue though. his parents didn’t like that his grades, that were barely average to begin with, were only getting worse as he was practicing dancing rather than studying. however, they were very open minded, & really wanted henry to get an education while also not letting him lose his soul & passion. the young man dropped out of high school, only to join community college instead, where they had a dancing program. he could work on the necessary grades for a high school degree while dancing on the side. this community college was also in the middle of nowhere, plains stretching as far as the eye could see, & henry moved to the school dormitory as it was way too far into nowhere to travel back & forth every day. a new life.

    this place was henry’s home for a long, long time. he got to hang out with people that shared passions just like him; there were other dancers, but also painters, sculptors & textile workers. he got to grow up here, with teachers that listened to him, dorm-mates that would always invite him to beer, a nature that was wide, open & exciting, old houses that with wood that would scream as the wind got a hold of them, & a dance studio just outside. he thrived. he fell in love with the school, but he also fell in love at the school. ann-marie, a classmate, became his dance partner for life. the two fell hopelessly in love, & together they were unstoppable. they started competing, driving in an old, rusty renault car all over sweden, winning price after price in couple’s competitions, winning hearts wherever they went. she was the wind under henry’s wings.

     graduation eventually came to place, henry having gotten his grades, & together the young couple decided to conquer the world. after getting a name for themselves in sweden, traveling began to other nordic countries. from the nordics it came to europe. it was a constant fight, but a fight he loved every second of. years went by. flights went everywhere. his girlfriend became his fiance. the peak came; america. dancing among the top stars, people he had looked up to since he was young. the pressure was on. it was a constant fight, & he was really struggling now. the wedding approached, the competitions got tougher, the critics louder, the flights more stressful, the calls more frequent, the voices louder, the music louder, the----      he crash landed. hospital. undernourishment. fatigue. he wasn’t allowed to work any more, doctor’s orders. cancellations. worried voices. tests. even being off from work was too stressful to handle; he shut down. he took his last flight. he shut off his phone. even to his fiance he had to turn ice cold, because she was half his worries. the fear of disappointing her, the stress she had about getting him better, it was all too much. he had one friend, a guy he met at school, that still rented a small cabin close to the place henry still called home. he went there. he slept on a couch, but he got everything served, he didn’t need to worry about catching a single bus to the grocery store; all he had to do was rest & drink tea. the birds were singing outside during the day, & crickets during the night. everything was quiet. he had a cat, a cat that sometimes crawled up on henry’s stomach & purred. bread was freshly baked every morning.

    for the first time in a long, long time, henry felt like he could breathe.

    henry couldn’t go on tours anymore. he couldn’t compete. the moment he even thought about it his heart would start racing at a painful rate. his fiance was heartbroken. he couldn’t do it, not even for her. he wanted to stay like this. he wanted to forget all about conquering the world, cause it was all too big for him. he wanted a house in the middle of nowhere where he could grow his own food & worry about one thing at a time. she thought he was crazy. from the start, henry would always hyperfixate on something. first it was dancing, then it was her, then it was dancing again, & now it was--- this? she couldn’t have it. she gave the ring back. henry was too ashamed to admit it, but relieved at her decision.      the money that was left to him from their savings after dancing was used to buy a really shitty house in värmland, many, many, many hours from home. a completely fresh start. all around the big, run-down building was cow pasture, & the man who owned the cows were extremely kind on him. or, at least took pity on him. he didn’t know how to take care of a house on his own, especially not this old & far away from all things comfortable. henry started working for the neighbor on his farm, & there the other workers would teach him a lot of valuable lessons about taking care of animals, agriculture & a house. it was a rough first two years for henry, but it was a good kind of rough again; a struggle he loved every step of. every morning he knew he would make coffee on the stovetop & drink it on his porch, take on his dirty worker’s pants & work for the neighbor until late in the evening, then go back to bed & start all over again. eventually, his own house & garden also became a priority, a project, something he studied for & practiced, failed, practiced, learned. eventually he could harvest his first own potatoes & cabbages.

     life was regained again, everything balanced, his life absolutely minimalistic & joyous. it was then, when he felt completely recovered from his fatigue, that henry started missing dancing again. his own house was fixed, but he had one little piece left on his land, & it was an old run-down barn currently only used as a dusty, dirty storage. it was his new project. he renovated the place into a simple but fresh location where he could host dance lessons, dinner parties & let bands perform; much like the bands he was in back when he was a kid. the small community was extremely supportive of him, & he would start letting people rent the spot for all sorts of classes & activities. he got to teach old ladies to swing & would then invite them to parties in the weekend, where he would offer them homemade fruit wine. his home became a hotspot for activity & laughter.

     every morning when he sits on his porch, eating freshly made bread & drinking stoven-heated coffee, with a cat purring at his feet, looking out on the pasture & dirt roads around, he thinks about how happy he is to be alive.