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onaa-ohokthen · 1 year

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Alright, as heard of/remember swedengate, right? Someone posted about how as a kid, they waited in their friend's room while the family ate dinner. Cue, a country of stingy assholes who should be shot, how dare you not stuff six servings of food info any child that goes within a mile of your house that's what we do in my country you are WRONG, outrage etc. So what's going on?

As someone born in the mid-80s, I have definitely experienced this and find it completely normal. I can also say, after asking around, that it's not really a thing anymore, for reasons that will become obvious.

Ok. So why is this happening and why aren't Swedes "feeding their guests" ?

1: In these cases, children aren't really guests: Guests are invited ahead of time, and you know they're there. Unlike in the US, where distances and social norms seem to have required play dates from pretty early on, kids in the sixties through nineties moved really independently. Often you would just show up, either after stopping by your own home or just joining your friend on the way home from school. You, much less your friend's parents, wouldn't know ahead of time that you were going to be around.

2: Family structures where both parents worked: Women joined the work force earlier and to a greater extent in Sweden compared both to the US and the rest of Europe (for a number of reasons, not the least a population decline forcing the state to offer more generous parental leave), so it was likely that both of your parents worked away from home. Smaller children may be in after-school daycare, but latchkey kids were numerous. You couldn't call your mom and ask if you could eat at your friend's house, because she was at work, or on her way home, and already had dinner planned. Both parents working also meant that dinner may be the only time on weekdays the whole family was sitting down in one space and spending time together.

3: A history of poverty and self sufficiency: Sweden is wealthy now, but that has only been true since after WWI. Historically, there was a very real pride in one's own independence and ability to feed one's own family - to feed someone else's child dinner was insulting to them, since you were implying they weren't capable. Also, you now owed them one (there's an interesting reason behind this too, which involves both religion and land reform, but it would be a giant digression.)

4 Food Culture: Swedes tend to eat a cold (as in not cooked) breakfast of soft or hard bread with toppings like cheese, boiled eggs, or lunch meats, and yogurt or fermented milk with cereal of some kind, etc. Lunch tends to be warm/cooked. Restaurants are often open for lunch, serving "dagens rätt" (today's dish), one or two options of a main course, a drink, coffee, and a salad bar, at a set price. Employers used to offer "lunch coupons" as part of benefits, which could be used to pay for it. In the days prior to the microwave (and it didn't become common until the late 80s), leftovers for lunch was not really a thing for the average office worker. When you cooked dinner, you made exactly the amount your family was going to eat, no more and no less.

So imagine you're an 80s parent. You and your spouse work until 5, pick up groceries on the way home and cook a pre-planned dinner. You're going to sit down, all of the family, and eat and hear about everyone's day. And then your kid comes home and tells you they already ate at their friend's house? Wouldn't you be irritated? At both your kid and at their friend's parents?

The unwillingness to feed other people kids was out of respect for their parents and their own dinner setup.

"Ok, but if your friend was going to eat, why didn't you just go home?" That was an option! Usually an undesirable option, because if you paid the price of waiting for 20 minutes, you could buy another half an hour, or even hour, of play time, depending on your parents' hours and commute. Once you left and went home, play time was over and you had ceded fun for the day.

So Swedes never feed people who are at their house? Of course they do. In high school, my best friend's commute was 30-45 minutes in the opposite direction of mine, so we couldn't hang spontaneously. We would join the other on the train home on Fridays and spend the night. Since it was pre-planned, we ate dinner as well as breakfast at each other's houses. When I was younger, planned events such as sleepovers obviously involved food.

And, of course, there's fika. Fika is coffee (lemonade for the children) and baked goods (cinnamon buns or cookies or maybe small sandwiches) and can be had at almost any time other than before breakfast. Everyone always has coffee, the lemonade is bought or made as a syrup, and buns or cookies can be warned up from the freezer in minutes. Fika is small enough not to prevent you from having dinner later, or at least provide plausible deniability, and doesn't require planning. Everyone is invited for fika, even if they happened to stop by when everyone was already eating. In the summers, when we had fika outdoors, the neighbors were invited (by means of shouting) just because they happened to be out in their garden, within visual range.

In the 2020s, children don't roam quite as freely, cell phones mean that they can access their parents before dinner is already made, and microwaves in lunch rooms mean that dinners have to be less precisely planned. As a consequence, the dinner wait isn't nearly as common anymore. But it was never that strange.

#food history #sweden #swedengate

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matsbarzal · 3 years

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Number 9 from fluff with Elias Pettersson, please?

fluff #9. "i know i just spilt my drink all over your brand-new shirt..."

word count: 1.1k pairing: elias pettersson x reader

Elias Pettersson prided himself on three specific things.

One, he was a damn good guy, raised well with good manners and a polite attitude. Two, he was a damn good hockey player with good puck-handling skills and the statistics to prove it. And three, he damn well knew how to dress himself better than any of his teammates and friends, or so he thought.

There was a slight chance that Brock and Quinn disagreed with his opinions about their style, the jokes about the length of his pants and the bagginess of his shirts an ongoing topic of conversation. Regardless of what they said, Elias Pettersson prided himself on his style, and the abundance of clothes he ordered weekly.

He wouldn’t necessarily consider it anything special, his style, but it wasn’t basic, or the same clothes he saw on every other person in the city of Vancouver. It was the same outfits his friends wore back at home, the same shirts his brother would send him asking him whether or not he liked it. It wasn’t anything special, but he prided himself on it regardless.

Elias would be lying if he said he didn’t pay a significant amount for the clothes he wore on the daily. If you had the money, why not spend it on the things that brought you joy?

There was a chance… a small chance, that a 300-dollar shirt from a boutique in the heart of Stockholm may have been an unnecessary purchase. A small chance.

There was an even larger chance that you were now staring directly at said 300-dollar shirt which now contained the remnants of your coffee, something that most definitely did not fit the style of the outfit the blonde wore. The look of shock on your face was mirrored identically in the face of the man in front of you.

The blonde to the left of the man now wearing your coffee held an equal look of shock, and then humour as the emotions crossed over his face.

Spluttering as you tried to grab the napkins from the counter beside you, you pressed them forward.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize how close you were behind me, I’m so sorry. This shirt looks so expensive, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt, or a new outfit… oh my god I’m so sorry.”

The man in question took the napkins from you politely and disposed of them in the garbage, not even attempting to pat at the stain that now covered the bottom half of his shirt.

“That shirt was so ugly. Thank you for ruining it, I’m so glad I didn’t have to,” the blonde was clutching his side as he laughed, a wide grin plastered on his face while the man with the coffee-covered shirt just glared at his friend.

“I’m seriously so sorry, let me buy you a new one? You obviously like your shirt, I totally didn’t mean to,” shrugging his shoulders, Elias allowed the dry laugh to bubble up from his throat.

“Unless you plan on going to Stockholm soon, I doubt you’ll be able to buy this shirt,” he quipped, a slight edge to his tone which elicited a frown on your lips.

“Okay well… I know I just spilt my drink all over your brand-new shirt, but there’s no need to be rude. It was an accident, and you were standing right behind me, it’s really your own fault if you look at it,” crossing your arms in front of you proudly, you stared at the man, waiting for him to quip back.

There was one thing Elias Pettersson did not pride himself on: his version of flirting. Compared to Brock, or Quinn, or even Emil, he couldn’t flirt to save his life.

Frowning, he crossed his own arms over his chest in response. “Okay, fine. How about you make it up to me with dinner? This time something that maybe you won’t spill all over my clothes?”

You were immediately taken aback by his words, the delivery of them so formal all while simultaneously having a snooty tone to the way he asked. It was impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

“Jesus, Petey. Be a little nicer, would ya?”

Your own arms were still crossed over your chest as you looked at ‘Petey’, your confused expression an exact opposite of the stoic facial features in front of you.

“Anything with tomato sauce is probably a no-go, then?”

Losing the shirt was a real shame but gaining you in the process was something that Elias couldn’t find himself regretting. You had happily exchanged numbers with the Canucks forward, a promise that the dinner wouldn’t involve anything that could be spilt on him or ruin anymore of his outfits.

You had slyly suggested he could just come to dinner shirtless, no need to worry about ruining any of his shirts if there was nothing there to ruin; just for him to respond back with a link to a pair of pants. A very expensive pair of pants. Obviously, you could still ruin other parts of his outfit, because apparently all he owned were expensive articles of clothing from Sweden.

Somehow, you weren’t surprised when it wasn’t you who managed to ruin his shirt on your first date. The glass of red wine falling directly into Elias’ lap when a couple accidentally bumped into the side of your table, the red immediately staining the bottom of the baby blue shirt he had put on for the occasion.

“Oh my god, not again,” quickly jumping up and pressing the linen to the bottom of his shirt to no avail. The red wine had most definitely stained through the shirt, permanently.

What you were surprised to see was the amusement evident in the Swede’s eyes, a small grin floating across his cheeks as he observed your flustered movements. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from inside of him, the annoyance washing away as he realized for the second time in two days, you had somehow been involved in the destruction of one of his shirts, although this time indirectly.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, because if this keeps going, I’m probably going to have to buy a new wardrobe from the looks of it.”

The surprise didn’t last on the second date, when you watched the tree branch rip right through the side of his hiking jacket.

note: thank you for sending one in!! i hope it's perfect to the request <3

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the-necessary-unnecessary · 4 years

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On World Cup Kisses

Women's World Cups are notorious for their sporting excellence, the unmatchable atmosphere within women's sports that they create, the rivalries, their solidarity, their badassery, their skill, their dedication, their sacrifice... and their kisses.

Abby Wambach and Canadian goalkeeper Erin McLeod's set the precedent in 2015. The latter had kissed her soon to be wife during a round of sixteen match, the moment famously being dubbed McLeod going over to celebrate “with a fan” by getty images. Abby, then went over to the stands and kissed her then wife, Sarah Huffman, after having helped the US to their third world cup title. She did it as any other couple would, with all the normalcy and assuredness that a player who has just won a world cup and wants to celebrate with their partner would. But this kiss wasnt like any other, it was a kiss that reverberated around the world. It was riding off the back of the passing of Supreme Court legislation a few days earlier over the legalisation of same-sex marriages in the US, making the moment all the more poignant and groundbreaking.

Such moments of symbolic importance were also present at the world cup 4 years later. Norway's Isabell Herlovsen was the first to kiss her wife last summer - not even after a match but in fact half way through one. After scoring a penalty she raced over to celebrate with her wife by kissing her in the stands, a celebration does not get more iconic than this. This kiss didnt get as much coverage as some of the later ones did, maybe because she and her wife are not as well known, maybe because no big photographer properly captured the moment, but that is a moment that wholly reveals the culture of normality and acceptance within women's football - both of themselves and each other.

The next of world renowned impact was the one shared between Magdalena Eriksson and Pernille Harder after Sweden knocked out Germany in the round of 16. The photo made waves around the world not only because two women were kissing but also because of the fact that Pernille is Danish and was decked out in a swedish kit, swedish flag nails included, to support her girlfriend. This transcended gender barriers and became a photo of love and pride. A kiss also followed at the 3rd place play off, solidifying their place on the kiss wall of fame. In this case, it's not only about the kiss, it's also about the impact they've had afterwards, they took the power and visibility of the kiss to join common goal, to speak openly about their sexuality and become the ultimate role models for so many people

Also from Sweden was Lina Hurtig, who again kissed her wife in the stands after the match. With less of a wide reaching impact than her teammate's kiss, it still goes a long way to show the visibility and normalcy in such small yet powerful actions. Nilla Fischer, one of the greatest pioneers and advocators for lgbtq rights in itself, went one further than a stadium kiss and kissed her wife in front of the thousands of Swedes who had gathered to celebrate their team's world cup success.

The aftermath of the final was also filled with kisses, Netherland's captain Sherida Spitse still went up to kiss her wife - although out of consolation rather than celebration. Adriana Franch also went over to nonchalantly kiss her soon to be wife after winning the world cup for the first time resulting in a moment of elation which although in the moment would not have held much weight meant so many things to so many people watching on.

Next is Megan Rapinoe, the outspoken, strong willed, skilled purple haired warrior who had stood up to Trump and won not only the world cup but also the battle he'd begun to wage against her. There was no better way to seal her victory than to kiss her basketball superstar girlfriend Sue Bird. A momentous snapshot on all fronts. Another post-world cup kiss starred Dutch player Merel Van Dongen and her Spanish girlfriend Ana Romero who hadn't been able to go and watch her play as she'd been commentating all the Netherlands' matches on Spanish television. Ana surprising Merel and then kissing on camera without a care in the world is iconic behaviour, and is another important example of acceptance and normalisation.

The last one of the bunch is none other than Kelley O'Hara's. Not only was this moment meaningful for the kiss itself, it was revolutionary as it doubled up as her public 'coming out' moment. To be able to do something so big with such a small gesture is truly powerful. Publicly coming out with an interview or a statement is important, but moments like this which appear to be just a matter-of-fact action are equally essential in moving past the idea that all lgbtq people owe society a big coming out moment. It is the simplicity of the action which makes it so monumental. Plus, she not only won the World Cup and 'came out' by kissing her girlfriend that day, she also went on to party like a maniac despite a probable concussion - something which I thought deserved a mention

Woso Pride Month 2020 [Day 7/30]

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ask-oresund-bridge · 2 years

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January, 2019

Mikkel blushed when Berwald asked to be his boyfriend. He could even see that the Swede was blushing. One word escaped Mikkel’s lips and that’s, “Yes.” Surprised, Berwald stared at him for a moment before hugging him. Someone… wants to date him? That thought alone made Mikkel blush more as he hugged Berwald. What’s more is that it’s another guy that wants to be with him. He wasn’t complaining, but it had caught him off guard.

February, 2019

As Mikkel read the Valentine’s letter left for him, he smiled and blushed. There was only one person that could’ve written him a letter this lovey dovey. And he just so happened to have walked through the door with a couple presents. Mikkel walked up to Berwald and wrapped his arms around the taller male. Berwald hugged him and smiled.

“Hi, beautiful,” Berwald said. This made Mikkel blush. “I’m not beautiful,” Mikkel said. “What are you talking about?” Berwald asked. “Of course you are.”

On the date of their one month anniversary, Berwald had gotten Mikkel a gift. The two met up at a restaurant.

March, 2019

Hands got hold of the back of Berwald’s shirt. Surprised, Berwald looked over his shoulder to see Mikkel half out of bed and with tears in his eyes. He’s also trembling. He could tell Mikkel needed him, so he sat on the edge of Mikkel’s bed and pulled his boyfriend onto his lap. Sniffling, Mikkel curled up to Berwald and rubbed his eyes. A hand gently ran up and down the Dane’s back as he was held close.

“No one’s going to hurt you, Mikkel. It’s just you and I here.” Mikkel buried his face into Berwald.

April, 2019

On the date of their three month anniversary, Berwald had come bearing another gift for Mikkel. When he found Mikkel, he put a necklace around the Dane’s neck, doing up the clasp. Mikkel touched the necklace in surprise. It seems to have a heart shaped gem on it. He looked at Berwald and smiled.

“It’s a moonstone,” Berwald said. “It’s good for soothing stress and emotional instability, as well as promoting love and positivity.” This had Mikkel blush a bit.

Berwald had taken Mikkel to the aquarium. He watched as Mikkel looked around in awe. Mikkel really is adorable and Berwald felt lucky that this is his boyfriend.

May, 2019

Berwald rushed to find Mikkel as the Dane made his way to work at the hospital. He’d forgotten their four month anniversary and he knew that the Dane would be upset about that. When Berwald found him, it had happened by chance and there are tears in the Swede’s eyes. Mikkel’s eyes were bloodshot and it looked like there was dried tear stains on his cheeks. He’d been crying as well. Berwald did apologize profusely for forgetting, but stopped when Mikkel hugged him. They felt a bit better after talking a bit and Mikkel had even let Berwald stay with him during his shift. At lunch break, Mikkel took Berwald to a nearby street vendor. As the Dane was ordering his food, Berwald had gotten to one knee. When Mikkel looked at the Swede, he saw the other holding up a small box that has a ring in it. This caught Mikkel off guard and he placed a hand over his mouth. He… he’s really proposing? Right now? Tears pricked the corners of Mikkel’s eyes.

“Would you do me the honor of marrying me?” Berwald asked. You’re perfect just the way you are. That’s right, Berwald had said that to him. No words came out of Mikkel’s mouth. Instead he just nodded. The ring was taken out of the box and put on Mikkel’s ring finger. The tears in his eyes started falling. Berwald stood up and hugged Mikkel. Said male hugged Berwald and clung to him, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. Other people who saw the encounter cheered for them. Wiping his tears, Berwald tilted Mikkel’s head up and kissed him. Mikkel kissed back with as much love as he could muster.

June, 2019

“I can’t believe our birthdays are during pride month,” Mikkel said with a smile. “I know,” Berwald said. “It’s perfect, just like you.” This made Mikkel blush. “I don’t think I’ll get used to you saying that.” Berwald smiled. “Good. That means I’ll get to see your adorable blush more often, then.” Mikkel’s blush darkened and he hid his face with his shirt. Berwald chuckled and hugged Mikkel. “You’re adorable.” Mikkel hugged him, glancing at the ring on his finger. He couldn’t believe Berwald had proposed to him. Or that he’d been taken to a pride parade.

The two of them ended up getting their faces painted with the pride flags that represent them. For Berwald, it’s the gay pride flag. Mikkel has the pan flag and the Demisexual flag. A kiss is pressed to Mikkel’s head.

July, 2019

Berwald had surprised Mikkel by coming over with not only roses, but a stray Norwegian forest kitten. Mikkel smiled and took both, letting Berwald in for a bit. The flowers were put in a vase with water before the kitten was taken to the vet. Poor thing has fleas and is dirty. When asked for a name for the kitten, the first thing that came out of Mikkel’s mouth is Artemis. Berwald waited in the waiting room while Mikkel took the cat back. Artemis was given a flea bath and as soon as she got out, she was clinging to Mikkel and wrapped in a towel. Mikkel smiled and gently towel dried Artemis. As he held her, she was given some shots.

August, 2019

Mikkel was at work when someone from the orphanage brought one of their little girls in. A little girl that, as Mikkel noticed, has a similar hairstyle as himself, but in Berwald’s color as well as glasses and purple eyes like Mikkel. As it turns out, she’s deaf and barely anyone can speak to her. Getting the girl’s attention, Mikkel signed to her, asking what her name is. Her eyes widened and she responded with Bitta. Mikkel had also gotten the feeling that she’s not like a normal human.

Berwald had walked in in an attempt to surprise Mikkel. Instead he was the one surprised to see his fiancé using sign language with a little girl. A soft sound escaped the Swede. Purple eyes of Mikkel look at him.

“Hej, sunshine,” Mikkel said. “I didn’t know you knew sign language,” Berwald said. “Oh, yeah. I learned it for situations like this,” Mikkel said. “This girl is deaf and knows both Danish and Swedish sign language. And she’s an orphan.” Hearing she’s an orphan pulled at Berwald’s heart strings. More so when Mikkel gave him the puppy dog eyes. How can he say no to that look? Especially when it’s Mikkel giving it to him.

After Mikkel got off work, Berwald and Mikkel had found themselves going through the process of adopting Bitta. The girl in question smiled brightly and clung to her new parents. Mikkel looked at her when the process was over and picked her up, hugging her. Bitta smiled more and hugged Mikkel. A happy sound escaped her.

September, 2019

The second child that Mikkel encountered at work is a seven year old boy by the name of Christian. A human boy that arrived with his uncle because his parents had passed away. The first thing Mikkel noticed is that the boy is trying to hide a couple bruises. He’d done that exact same thing more times than he can count. Purple eyes look at the uncle.

“Do you mind if I give him his check up on our own?” He asked. “Why?” The uncle asked. “Wouldn’t want any contamination, now would we?” Mikkel asked. The uncle huffed, but complied and left the room. Mikkel tried to ask Christian something for the boy to not understand. Then he tried in Danish. Christian sort of understood. Then he switched to Swedish and the boy understood him completely. So that was it. Language barrier. Mikkel tried to ask about the bruises, but Christian didn’t seem to want to answer. Not at first, anyway. Either way, Mikkel didn’t push him for an answer. Wanted to give Christian enough time and space to answer if he wanted to. As they went on with the check up, Mikkel did message Berwald and asked him to come over. Even told Christian that since his uncle wasn’t in the room this is a safe space for him.

When Berwald got to the hospital, he did ask which room Mikkel’s in and went to the room given. Once there, he saw someone standing outside and gave no thoughts to him. Upon entering the room, Berwald saw he was talking to a boy in Swedish. Aqua eyes of the boy look at Berwald. He hid behind Mikkel, peering at the taller male. That’s when Mikkel noticed Berwald’s there. A smile crossed his face and he stood up.

“What’s this about?” Berwald asked. “I have reason to believe the boy is being abused by his uncle,” Mikkel said. Berwald tensed a bit. “What did you see?” “He was covering bruises and refused to answer when I asked,” was Mikkel’s response. Berwald glanced at the door. “Yes, that’s him out there,” Mikkel said.

It hadn’t taken long for Berwald to end up taking the boy’s uncle to court. Mikkel was in the crowd, Bitta sitting next to him. In the end, the boy ended up being removed from his uncle. Now he would need a new home. Aqua eyes glance at Mikkel. What had he suggested? Christian being adopted by him and Mikkel. This made Mikkel’s eyes widen. The judge asked Christian if he would like that and Christian nodded. With that, they went through the adoption process. Mikkel and Bitta had joined Berwald and Christian at the front.

October, 2019

The first time Mikkel’s celebrating Halloween and he now has a reason to. At the moment, he had finished putting on his costume. It was something he was hoping Berwald would like. Berwald had helped Bitta and Christian with their costumes. Peter and Erland were trick or treating with Beck and his kids this year. When Mikkel walked out to find Berwald, he saw the Swede finishing helping Bitta with her costume. Bitta smiled when she saw Mikkel and a happy sound escaped her. Berwald looked to see Mikkel standing there nervously. He’s wearing a sexy bee costume. A faint smile crossed Berwald’s face and he blushed a bit, standing and heading towards Mikkel. Purple eyes of Mikkel look up at Berwald.

“You look great,” Berwald said, placing his hands on Mikkel’s waist and pulling him close. Mikkel placed his hands on Berwald’s shoulders. He smiled a bit. “Thanks.” He rested his head on Berwald.

November, 2019

Mikkel cried and clung to Berwald. He wanted to help Christian, but at the same time he knew the boy needed time and space before he opened up to them. He was the same way. A kiss is pressed to Mikkel’s head.

“I know, Mikkel,” Berwald said. “I know. But you know he needs time.” What neither of them realized is that Christian was peering in at them, so he saw Mikkel crying. The next day, when Berwald and Mikkel were preparing lunch for everyone, Christian joined them and caught Mikkel off guard by hugging his leg. This made the Dane pause and look down at him. A bright smile crossed his face and he gently placed a hand on Christian’s head. “Jag älskar dig, Christian.” Aqua eyes of Christian look up at Mikkel.

The following night, Mikkel was working on something when he heard a faint sound. Looking in the direction, he saw Christian standing there and he looked upset. Looking at him fully, Mikkel asked him what was wrong. The response he got from Christian was that he had a nightmare. Mikkel held his hands out to Christian. Christian walked to Mikkel and took hold of his hands. The two stayed like that for a while before Mikkel asked if Christian wanted to sleep with him and papa. There was a nod from Christian. Standing up, Mikkel took Christian to his and Berwald’s room, where Berwald looked at them. Mikkel explained that he had a nightmare and wants to sleep with them. Berwald lifted Christian onto the bed, where Christian got under the covers after crawling to the middle. Mikkel and Berwald laid on either side of the boy. Christian looked between the two and smiled a bit.

“Jag älskar dig, pappa. Jag älskar dig, far.” This made both Mikkel and Berwald smile. He loves them. “Jag älskar dig, Christian,” Berwald and Mikkel say.

December, 2019

This is the first Christmas Mikkel celebrated with others rather than by himself. Now, he’s engaged and a father. To make matters better, Berwald’s two kids Peter and Erland had moved in with them at this point. Peter had been more than happy to call him dad while Erland was taking a bit more time. He didn’t mind waiting for Erland to get used to him being with Berwald.

“Our wedding’s in a week,” Berwald reminded. Mikkel smiled and looked at the ring on his finger. In a week, that ring would be replaced by a wedding ring. He couldn’t wait until that happened.

New Year’s Eve

Wedding day. Mikkel couldn’t believe today’s the day he gets married to the love of his life. He could already feel the butterflies in his stomach. Bitta looked up at him and smiled. She’s dressed in a pretty white dress and holding a basket filled with flower petals. She’s the flower girl and her brother Christian is the ring bearer. Mikkel got to her level and she signed that he looks handsome. He smiled and thanked her.

Christian had been with his papa as he finished getting ready. Berwald also seems to have butterflies in his stomach.

As soon as Berwald saw Mikkel, he blushed. Talk about handsome. Bitta and Christian look cute as well. The two kids joined Eirik when they reached the end and Mikkel joined Berwald, taking the Swede’s hands.

As soon as midnight hit, that’s when Mikkel and Berwald shared their first kiss as a married couple. The crowd cheered for the two of them. Berwald picked Mikkel up bridal style and carried him out of the church. There wasn’t really much to the reception, considering they had four kids that needed to get to bed hours ago. So instead the happy couple went home with the kids and put them to bed after getting them ready.

As they sat on the couch together cuddling, Mikkel looked at the ring on his finger and smiled brightly, a loving look in his eyes. He’s now married to the love of his life and he couldn’t believe it.

“You’re my husband now,” he said, looking at Berwald with the same loving look. “You like saying that, don’t you?” Berwald asked. Mikkel nodded. “Husband.” “Well, I like hearing you say it,” Berwald said. “Good,” Mikkel said. “Because you’re my husband and nothing’s going to change that.” Berwald smiled, giving Mikkel a squeeze. “And I can’t believe I married someone so cute yet so handsome.” Mikkel blushed a bit and pointed at himself. “Me? I’m handsome?” Berwald nodded. “Ja, you are. Especially when you’re dressed up as you are.” That resulted in a kiss from Mikkel. Berwald gladly kissed back. Shortly after, Mikkel yawned. “Maybe we should go to bed,” Berwald suggested. Mikkel nodded. Berwald picked up Mikkel and carried him to their room.

In the morning, Mikkel woke to being curled up to Berwald. A smile crossed his face. He’s really married to this sweetheart. This is his husband now.

#2p denmark #aph oresund #hws oresund #aph sweden #hws sweden #aph uppsala #hws uppsala #aph Sealand #hws Sealand #aph Ladonia #hws Ladonia

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shiversdownyerspine · 3 years

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5. Deprived

Gettin a little hot in here. :B

18+

The kittens arrive in the quiet of the night, stars dotting the deep dark blanket of sky. Sleep had failed to find you, and so you had shuffled your pajama-clad way to your kitchen with a chunky knit blanket wrapped around your chilly shoulders. The thick charcoal colored material dangles to the backs of your knees as you wait impatiently for your kettle to boil water for a big cup of chamomile tea.

As the water softly bubbles to your earnest desires of being lured to sleep, you find yourself distracted by a soft knock on your front door. You perk up, knowing by experience that this would be your nameless, faceless animal transporter. And just like with every other task animal, when you open the door you find nobody in sight, just a randomly sized pet kennel resting on your doorstep. You kneel and scoop up the crate to bring it inside.

Excitement momentarily stealing away your drowsiness, you quickly switch off the heat of your stove and carry your cargo to your room. Tea can wait a moment, the water will still be plenty hot by the time you're done. Closing the door behind you, you take a quick peek to find two fuzzballs huddled together at the back of the crate. The kittens are awake but clearly tired, and judging from their quivering bodies, probably a little bit stressed. Not wanting to cause more discomfort, you quietly unlock the kennel door to slowly reach in and gather them up for a quick health check.

Eyes, ears, and noses look clear and healthy, tiny claws and whiskers and tails are where they should be, no bumps or scratches to be seen. You briefly tut at the lack of towel or blanket in their kennel, worried about the absence of warmth and comfort. You've tried requesting some basic amenities for when your task animals are being prepared for delivery, but your needs have yet to be met. You're fairly certain by now that they never will be.

Both kittens are male and look to be around seven weeks old, still a bit too young to be neutered. As a matter of fact, they are still too young to be away from their mother, but some things just can't be helped. Judging by the pale bodies and dark brown coloration of their ears, face, tails, and paws, they are chocolate points. Satisfied, you pop the babies back inside and grab up the fluffy towel waiting on your dresser, carefully pushing it in and around the kittens before moving them to your bathroom.

Nestling their kennel in the corner of their 'room', you drape another blanket over them to offer privacy and leave the crate door open a crack for if they choose to explore. Softly closing the door to your bathroom, you head out of your bedroom and step once more to your kitchen to finally fix your mug of tea. Hot drink in hand, your gaze settles on the stove clock which reads 4:57 AM. With a sigh, you sip your tea and tug your blanket further up your shoulder, lamenting the lack of sleep you will be suffering from come morning. You suppose in the end you'll just have to rely on good ol' fashioned coffee to offer you any sort of alertness today. Resigned, you wander off to your bedroom, but are interrupted before you can make it there.

Midstep, you nearly drop your mug when the door to your guest room opens and there in the doorway stands a groggy, long john wearing Otto. Long hair ruffled and eyes half-lidded, he peers down at you questioningly. You freeze, your eyes sweeping up and down over his defined muscles before a blush rises to your cheeks and you drop your gaze to your feet, murmuring an apology for waking him and quickly explaining away the disrupted sleep because of the kittens arrival. You apologize once more and quickly scurry to your room as a befuddled Otto looks on, wondering why you had been up long before the kittens arrived.

Three cups of coffee in, the morning comes and goes relatively uneventfully. You do have to insist to an avidly interested Oscar that he wait just a little while longer to meet the kittens as they are still waking up and quite uncertain about their new home. You promise after their breakfast he can visit, lightly patting the grumbling man's back in reply as his brothers drink their coffee. With kitten food in hand, you hope this will help coax the babies out of their kennel. You amusedly eye Butternut and Pumpkin who are crowded around the door to your room, smelling intently.

You nudge them away with a hum of, "In due time you goofs."

To your delight the kittens perk up noticeably after feeding, and after some consideration you poke your head out your room to softly call for anyone interested to come see. As long as they keep the other cats out, that is. Oscar is naturally the first one up out of his chair while Axel and Otto hesitate before joining their younger sibling. They were simply bored, but they did have some interest in the mystery surrounding you and thereby extending to your room as well.

You tell the brothers to mind their feet before noticing Otto subtly eyeing your odd assortment of bits and bobs you have collected in a small jewelry box that had long since lost its shine and its lid. As Oscar and Axel carefully slip into the bathroom, they linger to watch you curiously from the doorway as you step to Otto to reach in your treasure box.

"I'm a bit of a collector, if something has a good texture and makes an impression, I tend to keep it."

An old bullet casing brushes your searching fingertips; you hold up the item for Otto to take, which he does, warm fingers brushing against your own slender digits. He rolls the hollow shell between thumb and forefinger as he inspects it closely. Perusing your other little knickknacks, you muse aloud how you never really plan to do anything with the trinkets, just allow yourself to indulge in an odd whim every once in a while.

Hearing the squeaky inquisitive sounds from the kennel in your bathroom, you and your little entourage find your attentions being redirected. With a gentle bump of your knuckles against Otto's wrist, you motion to follow you. Behind you the man's eyes drag up and down your figure in a surreptitious slide, settling minutely on the full curve of your rear before forcing himself to focus instead on the little jewelry box as he returns the tiny article to its rightful place.

With curiosity sated and more information shared about the tiny fuzzy additions to your home, you usher your guests out of your room as the kittens settle in for a much needed nap. You're tempted to follow their lead and crash on your bed, but you have a couple more things to do. One task being to introduce the towel you had rubbed the two kittens down with to your cats as a pseudo meeting. The Swedes watch in the living room from the sofa as Pumpkin takes a whiff, fluffs up, and slinks away while Butternut just plops herself down next to the towel like it's the most interesting thing she's ever smelled.

The other task? Well, technically you owe Axel and his brothers a tidbit of information after you refused to answer a question about your feathers during his 'interrogation'. And as you admit to the Swedes that you owe them some extra information, Oscar jumps right in.

"What is...favorite animal..no..task animal?"...It's technically against the rules, but it's a good question so you'll allow it.

Excited, you gush, "My pekin duck! Now, I love all my animals, but being my very first task, she's special. Most likely she was going to be prepared for food but the target never made it to dinner. She was wild-caught so it wasn't difficult to rehabilitate and release her. Good thing the woods have a lake. Well, more of a glorified pond really, but she loves it."

Axel side-eyes you slyly, "Duck makes good meal, shame."

You gasp, "No!..Well okay, probably, but I could never eat Ducky!"

Simultaneously, Axel's brows lifted high, Otto choked, and Oscar gasped, "Ducky?! Her name?"

You hesitate, ears red, before exclaiming proudly, "Yes, Ducky. Ducky the Pekin duck...come on this shouldn't surprise you, I named my cats after squash! Don't you dare laugh!"

Otto was roughly huffing into his fist as you floundered. Oscar had shifted closer to you with a wide grin, bumping his knee against yours.

Axel smirked, teasingly sounding out the two syllables, "Duck-y..."

The glare you send his way is intended to be irritated, but is quickly ruined by your twitching lips fighting back a smile.

"I-It's a childhood thing! I couldn't bring myself to call her anything else!" You rub your cheeks, as if that would somehow lift the vivid color from your face.

"The lake by our orphanage had a variety of birds, and every single one in that water was Ducky. I was too young to really care about the differences. Also it drove our poor caretaker crazy, which ah...kind of enforced the habit."

Your mirth falters as you process your little slip up...that's what your lack of sleep gets you, you suppose. Okay, no use fretting. Push on.

"So when I saw my first animal, her name was already decided really." You smooth the material of the towel in your hands, relaxing your posture.

"Chickens." You blink, looking quizzically to Axel. He nods towards Oscar.

Otto shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands tugging his suspenders as he adds, "Chicken thief."

Your gaze settles on the youngest Swede with a playful gasp, "Oscar, really?"

The man meets your feigned incredulity with his ever-wicked smirk and declares with devilish pride, "Salt and Peppar."

It clicks, "...You named them after seasoning. Because you were going to eat them?"

Axel drags his eyes from Oscar to you, "Eventually."

You can't help but giggle, the three men twitching at the sound, "So, when you were younger you stole chickens? Wait wait, I'm going to guess...it wasn't just Oscar..and he roped you two into it?"

Oscar barks a laugh as the other two sigh and nod. You grin, "Goodness, chicken thieves in my home. Did you all get caught?"

Smug, Oscar shook his head as Otto responded, "Nej. Too fast. We...kept for eggs, ate later...old age."

You bump your elbow gently against Oscar's arm, immediately drawing his attention to you, "I've never had chickens before, but my old Ducky does have a bit of an attitude. How were Salt and Peppar?"

Axel snorts, leaning forward, "Angry. Not bad killing mice. Also good flavor."

Otto folds his arms across his chest, nodding in agreement. You chuckle, "Okay if any of you see Ducky, you can't eat her. It's just not allowed."

Still staring, Oscar licks his lips, "..Can we eat you?"

Axel and Otto tense, eyes boring holes into the scoundrel. You scoff, completely missing the lewd innuendo, "Oh ha ha clever; I have feathers, like poultry. Very funny."

You stand with a smile, realizing you should really grab some kind of food mat for the messy eaters resting in your bathroom before lunch time rolls around. You retreat to the kitchen to search while the brothers linger in the living room, staring Oscar down. Butternut in his arms, the youngest removes himself from the floor just to lazily stretch out on the sofa, innocent as can be as he ignores his brothers obvious ire. Pumpkin slips out from under the coffee table to hop up and settle on his stomach in classic cat-loaf position.

Axel begrudgingly turns his attention to you, recalling your cheeky attitude and fiery stubbornness concerning his prior questions in the kitchen a good while ago...yes, he won't deny how heat had pooled in his loins at your antics, bubbling even more when he glimpsed charming pink shyly sweep between your lips. But obviously it wasn't enough to tempt him; no, he didn't imagine himself seated at that very same chair, boots planted firmly on the kitchen floor as his hands squeeze your rear, bouncing you naked in his lap, fucking the defiance out of you as you moan and beg and promise you'll be good- he sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. Taking a moment to reign in his hormones, he stalks off to the garden for fresh air, scowling all the while. Oscar.

Otto grimaces at Oscar's impertinence and clenches his hands, hesitating as remorse unsettles his stomach as he remembers the feel of you, your back against his front, his hands holding your body helpless and trembling with distress...and wonders instead about making you shake with something else; smoothing his hands over soft fabric to push under your sweater and up quivering belly to gently palm your breasts, pushing fabric away to bare them to his touch, fingers brushing your nipples, lightly pinching and plucking as your head lolls back, your hips rolling to push your ass against him- he exhales, trousers feeling just a tad uncomfortable. With a rough swallow, he lumbers off down the hallway to their room to...regain his composure. Fucking Oscar.

Oscar knows damn well what he's done. He's noticed the way his brothers' eyes linger on you, their growing infatuation not nearly as hidden as they thought. At least not from each other. Now they won't be able to get some rather debauched ideas out of their heads; just like he can't get rid of the thought of your pretty startled eyes blinking up at him, but instead of up, you're peering down, doe-eyed as he moves down your body and between spread legs, preparing to demonstrate the actual meaning of his joke as his hungry mouth hovers teasingly over your panties, just close enough that he can smell you as the heat of his breath warms the dampening fabric.

Oscar strains his neck to sneak a glance at you in the kitchen, adoration softening his expression as he hears your joyful exclamation when you track down the food mat for the kittens. It's possible you were just doing your hostly duties, but they all notice how you blossom as you accept their presence and he and his brothers gradually accept yours. He has no doubt his brothers are subconsciously beginning to consider you theirs; he saw with his own incredulous eyes as big, brutish Otto held you still, firm but careful, not a single feather crushed under fist...or how Axel, steely, stern Axel, was opening up to you about their own lives, tiny piece that it was. He had almost been stunned into silence with that one.

The thought of you in their beds had been just that; a tempting thought, conjured by night and temporarily sated come morning. But seeing his brothers' walls cracking, little by little? How curious. He can't resist giving his stubborn brothers a little push, jostling their imaginations, maybe some taunting thrown in to strain those cracks?...oh, this will be fucking fun.

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #...sleep deprived and sex deprived ;D

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jossambird · 3 years

Text

To feel his Love

This Fandom (or me) needs fluff today after last night 😞

No mention of specific Swede name x Reader

(In my mind, of course, it was Otto x Me 🥺❤️)

Sometimes, it was the way he held you, rough hands trailing down your back and holding your head close, allowing you to crumble against him as the blinding onslaught of depression hit you, letting you know he was here for you.

Sometimes, it was the way he looked at you, his blue-gray orbs filled with pride, listening as you explained something you had just learned while out, soaking in the joy you radiated.

Sometimes, it was simply the way he kissed you. Soft, pressing just enough for you to know he was there as you both laid in bed, hot lips against your shoulder, the man behind you half asleep yet seeking you out, needing you close.

He had never been much of a talker, silently reading his days away since he and his brothers had quit the Commission, assassination days behind them. You would often read with him outside on the porch, adoring how his hands trailed slowly up and down your legs that he had forced you to prop them over his thighs.

He had asked you one day “Why do you love me?” It had been the easiest thing you had ever answered in your life, words coming naturally.

“Because you are you. When I needed to be strong, you were there for me, uplifting me and loving me. When I needed you to be soft, you knew, and handled me with such care, protecting me from harmful words and people, trying your best. It was the simplest thing my heart has ever decided, to fall in love with you.” You had answered, watching as for once, your lover crumbled, hands seeking you out and pulling you close, holding onto you as if you were his world, just as he was yours.

#Emotional support husband #the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua otto #tua axel #tua oscar #ikea fam #otto x reader #axel x reader #oscar x reader #depression tw #depressed reader tw #depression #jossambird fic #fluff #Swede Fluff

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isaacsapphire · 3 years

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I want to take the “white American culture is incredibly diverse” claim seriously, but the fact that there are now lots of Confederate flags as far north as rural Maine and Idaho feels like a subtle disproof of that. White Southern culture, both upper class and working class, is eating everything in sight and the Republicans and populists are actively complicit.

So, first thing to address here is, I never said White American culture. I said American culture.

America has always been an ethic blend, including groups who were not, and are still not considered White, with the Native American tribes being culturally (eg. "Indian pudding", clothing and decorative motifs), linguistically (eg. squirrel, half the place names in New England), and even politically influential (Cherokee governmental system is considered influential in American political development). Not to mention that there have been Africans in the territory that became the US since very shortly after Europeans arrived, who have also been influential in the development of the shared American culture.

Why are you adding "white"? What racial/racist views are you, consciously or unconsciously, innocently or nefariously, seeing the culture through and putting in other's mouths?

So, right out of the door you are very intentionally conflating eg. Louisiana Acadians with NYC Orthodox Jews with California Okies with the Texas Germans with Minnesota Swedes with Afghani refugees who got airlifted here last month. They're all "White" and a bunch of those groups have their own dialects, religions, costumes, and cuisines.

The use of a common symbol does not necessarily indicate a shared culture. The Confederate flag is used by a freaking European subculture, and they're still Europeans and didn't magically start eating grits and collards and speaking English with a drawl.

Also, Southern culture has been primarily spread throughout the rest of the US via Black internal migration, not White. If you can find Southern restaurants elsewhere in the US, it's usually because of Black restaurateurs.

I share your antipathy towards the appearance of the Confederate flag outside Confederate territory, but... Sigh, I don't really want to defend it at all but I gotta a little: The meaning has shifted since the Civil War, and at least in some cases at some times, it's just Southerners who moved elsewhere expressing their pride in being Southerners, which considering the hatred for "White trash", who were even called "White N*****" in the past, I can't object to them having some pride. It can also be used to represent a particular rural libertarian pro gun/hunting/farming type political cluster or just edgelording. And, I don't disagree with all of the things it's been used to represent. I don't think it's a good symbol to use to represent those things, for multiple reasons including but not limited to the whole slavery/racism thing and the treason thing.

#whither whiteness #whither american #race in america #native americans #native american cuisine #confederate flag #raggare #american culture #oh geez i can tag asks now #class in the us #race and class

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frangipanidownunder · 5 years

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msr au: mulder is a prince about to ascend the throne, scully is his brilliant tutor

Weird little five para AU set somewhere in Wales in some unspecified medieval time…

She noticed the painting on the wall first. An oversized, gold-framed family portrait looming over guests at the top of the stairs that were the focal point the opulent entrance hall. The King stared down, crown gleaming atop his dark hair, beard neatly trimmed, mouth closed, hand resting on his heart, fingers splayed so that the tips brushed the ermine collar of his cloak; the Queen was standing by his side, face inclined to her husband but her eyes were looking past him, wistful, her silvering hair was looped under her crown, hands clasped in front of her. Seated in front of them, a young boy, around twelve maybe, dark hair waving around his face, soft skin, kind eyes of the most brilliant green, nose just on the point of being too large. His long limbs were tucked away neatly, like the painter had placed them there under strict orders for him not to move. Prince Llwynog. The Little Fox. She had expected a red head. Had looked forward to a camaraderie based on shared hair colour.

The butler asked her to wait. And so she did. For a long time. The domestic staff milled to and fro. She heard horses outside and wondered if her own mare, Missy, were growing restless.

When the seneschal walked down the staircase with a menacing tread, she found herself standing to attention.

“I am Gwallter, his highness’ steward. Follow me, Sir.”

Dana dipped her head and kept her first thoughts trapped in her mouth. Gwallter was a giant.

The room was cavernous. Spectacular but so large and noisy that Dana pulled her cap further over her ears. The feast smelled divine. She saw whole pigs, lamb, beef on silver platters; piles of round baked breads between each guest, turnips and swedes and carrots falling off plates. It had been hours since her last meagre meal. The din was cacophonous as she followed Gwallter past the gentry seated at the high-backed chairs. In the far corner a group of musicians played, instruments Dana had only seen in paintings. The whole scene was so replete with sensory experiences that she hadn’t realised the they had arrived at the head table. Gwallter announced her.

“Your highness, the tutor has arrived.”

The King was watery-eyed, picking at a bone on his plate. The Queen was dabbing at her mouth. Dana assessed that they both looked much older than the painting, and immediately felt foolish at her naivete as a blush spread across her face. To the King’s right was a wily man, grey-haired, sallow skin, smoking an ornate pipe. To the Queen’s left sat the Prince. Llwynog, The Little Fox, who was now…not so little.

“Who is this young fellow, Gwallter?” The King appeared unfocused, annoyed. The man with the pipe puffed and smirked at her.

“This is Deiniol Scully, the best tutor in the land,” the Queen said to her husband.

“He’s here to teach Llwynog.”

“What use is that?” King Gwilym snapped. “The boy is a dreamer.” He smashed his hands down and bowls and cutlery jumped and rattled. Almost as suddenly, he slouched over and began to eat the vegetables on the plate, gnawing carrots like a rabbit might.

Gwallter turned to her and offered her an almost sympathetic smile.

“Your highnesses, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. It has been a long journey.” She bowed and her hair fell from her cap. Gwallter loomed over her, squinting at her red curls. The Queen gasped so loudly the diners fell silent and Dana felt their heads turn towards her. The King continued to eat his meal and mumble to himself. Llwynog stood up and walked around the length of the table, leaving the hall so that his echoing footsteps sounded eerily for the longest time.

When they quieted, the smoker laughed. “A girl, Gwilym? You’ve outdone yourself this time, brother.”

The door to the Prince’s chambers was so heavy she had to use all her might to open it. Gwallter was standing on the other side and barely moved to let her past. She spotted the Prince in the far corner, lounging on a chaise near a window. Outside, rain had left the gardens bedraggled and the sky frosted silver.

“Prince Llwynog,” she said when he sat up on his chaise, “I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

He ignored her proffered hand, draping his own down to reach a pile of manuscript papers from the floor. “Oh, isn’t it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? Under whose penance are you here, Scully?”

She held her ground, tilted her chin. “I am here of my own free will. I am employed to be your tutor. Someone who can give you the intellect desired to enable your succession to the throne, when the time comes.”

He stood then, still holding the papers. “I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me. At any rate, you have misrepresented yourself to my parents.” He glanced at her attire. A velvet green dress, fastened under her bust and flowing the floor.

“Deiniol Scully? Really?” Gwallter said from behind her.

“I did not write that in any of my letters,” she said. “I referred to myself as D Scully. If there has been a mistake, it is not on my part.”

The Prince laughed. “An omission that is just as culpable as a misrepresentation. What else might you have omitted to tell us, Scully?”

“If you have any doubt about my credentials,” she started but he cut her off, shoving the papers into her hands.

“Maybe I can get your opinion on this?”

She looked through some pages of cursive, elaborate writings from the heart. She read and re-read the prose and looked up at him. “An allegory, a praise poem, maybe? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Gwallter crossed the floor and stood between her and the Prince. She heard his low, urgent whispers and Llwynog retorts. The Prince stepped to the side and smiled at her, taking the papers back.

“My parents will pay you handsomely to teach me things I do not wish to know. Had my brother Samuel been with us still, it would have been his place to sit with you and learn. But he has vanished and along with him, my parents’ pride and strength. My uncle is waiting in the wings for me to fail, so you have a task ahead of you, Scully.”

“I am equal to that task,” she said. Gwallter went to open the door. Llwynog edged closer to her, so that she could see the different colours in his eyes. “The manuscript. It is beautiful. You write very well.” And with that, she nodded her head.

He smiled at her. “I will see you bright and early in the morrow, Scully.”

She became accustomed to Gwallter accompanying her on her morning walk around the gardens. He told her about the older Prince Samuel and his strange disappearance, how the Queen had taken to her room for weeks and how the King had slowly crumbled from commanding leader to demented soul. The smoker, the King’s brother, Lord Carl, had arrived unannounced and fancied himself the next-in-line. Gwallter had grave fears for Llwynog.

“Fox is a sensitive and passionate young man. He is driven by a different energy to most of us.”

She nodded, smiling up at the huge, bald man. “He is a romantic. I can see that. But he is also strong. He has an openness that others might mistake as a vulnerable side, but it is this transparency that gives him his strength. He will be a good leader for the people. He has empathy.”

“I cannot agree,” Gwallter said. “There are those who would seek to make his life a misery should they find out about his…empathy and most especially his writings. He is under the strange impression that others might wish to read his work. What is the future in reading other people’s imaginings? It is senseless.”

“I have discovered many writings that lift the spirit, touch the heart and challenge the imagination in a way that even scripture and other religious texts cannot. It is a good cure for many ills. There is a sense of camaraderie. That one is not alone in this world. I feel there is no harm in letting him dream.”

Gwallter stopped. “You surprise me, Scully. You are sounding more and more like Fox by the week. Has he begun to mesmerise you with his words?” She laughed. Mesmerising was an apt descriptor. The Little Fox was the most unique, infuriating, stubborn, generous man she had ever met. “Next, you will be telling me that you believe his stories about lights in the skies.”

“I want to believe.”

A flurry of movement over by the stables caught her attention. She moved forward but Gwallter grabbed her arm. She saw the puff of smoke float over the half-door. Heard the Queen’s tinkle of laughter between the horse’s braying. “You will not speak of it,” Gwallter said. “Llwynog must not know. He will put it into one of his tales and that would spell danger greater than the would-be conquerors at our borders. War by weapon is valiant. War by words would be catastrophe.”

She let the pages fall together with a pleasant whump. The lesson was over. And she had learned more than her pupil. He was kneeling at the foot of the chaise, smiling up at her with his eyes sparkling and his mouth open in wonder. It was as though he had never heard the tale before. And yet it was his own story, put together from the stirrings of his heart and inspired by his eyes. He knew of his mother’s affair, he knew of his father’s emotional and mental decline. He knew of Gwallter’s noble desire to protect his young charge. Fox knew it all. And he had written every word. From Samuel’s vanishing into the bright white light one wintery night to the scheming brother who had planned it and more, his manuscript was a ride into lunacy.

“You must burn this,” she said.

“Why?” he cried. “It’s the truth.”

She rubbed her knees, trying to find the right words. “Your highness,” she said, but he caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth.

“You can call me Llwynog, Fox…if you prefer. I have long since thought of you as Dana.”

A tremor ran up her spine and she shifted back in the seat, but left her hand at his lips. His generous mouth pressed harder against her knuckles and she licked her own lips. She had grown fond of him, with his grand ideas and wild explanations for the most mundane of life’s occurrences. She struggled to work out why they should have such a strong bond, given their different upbringings and personalities. But she came to the conclusion that he made her feel things in a new and interesting way, he challenged her as much as she challenged him. And he made her smile.

“This could ruin you. This could be the lever that your uncle has been looking to release, to unbalance your father so that he tips into insanity. With him gone, it will be just you and Lord Carl. And he has no conscience. He would stoop as low as he needed to ensure you would not stand between him and the throne. I’m afraid for you, Fox.”

Fox leaned up and kissed her. Her first instinct was to pull away but she liked the feel of his breath in her mouth and his evening shadow bristling against her skin. The way his fingers walked up her thighs and teased her belly. She felt a hot rush between her legs and understood that she must end the kiss but it felt so good and right that she found herself nestling closer to him, allowing him to swallow her in his warm embrace.

She only heard the door click shut. She rubbed at her mouth and patted down her hair, while the Prince looked outside.

“I saw nobody.” His voice was breathy when he returned, his face panic-stricken. She looked at the table by the window. It was empty. “The manuscript is gone.”

Later that night, when her heart had stopped thumping in her chest, she heard a rattle at her door. In her haste to light a candle, she tripped and before she could right herself, a hand clamped over her mouth.

She struggled free, crawling towards the still open door, and yelling, “Llwynog, Fox! I need your help.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #medieval au #msr #weirdness abounds

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jamesv-t · 4 years

Text

Gig Survey 2019

Top 5 shows of the year?

Zara Larsson, Electric Brixton, 22nd May

Carly Rae Jepsen, XOYO London, 29th May

Rammstein, Franchise FC stadium Milton Keynes, 6th July

Kylie/Clean Bandit, Brighton Pride, 6th August

Aly & AJ, Scala London, 11th July

Lucy Rose, Barbican Theatre London, 4th December

Anavae, Concorde 2 Brighton, 6th November

Marina, Brighton Centre, 5th November

Jenny Lewis, Concorde 2 Brighton, 24th July

Ariana Grande, O2 London, 19th August

Total number of shows?

Seventeen, up six from last year.

First show of the year?

Lucy Rose at Resident Records, Brighton, on the 22nd March.

Last show of the year?

Lucy Rose at the Barbican Theatre in London, 4th December.

Most surprising show?

Zara Larsson. I was gently bullied into going - Dana suggested it, and then prodded me towards going in the hope that I’d be disappointed and ramp down my listening of her. Instead I was surprised at how good she was, and how much I enjoyed the set!

Most disappointing?

Lucy Rose in Brussels, through no fault of the artist herself - I overheated and fainted for the first time in my life three songs in, and so missed a large chunk of the set due to recovering in the foyer.

Farthest travelled?

Ancienne Belgique in Brussels - 255 miles or 409 km away from home.

States attended shows in?

Cheerful, grateful, euphoric, terrified, bored, knackered - and new for 2019, unconscious!

Venue most visited?

Concorde 2 in Brighton, twice.

Worst injury?

Nothing! I did bang my head when I fainted at Lucy Rose, but I totally calculator pineapple.

Most expensive ticket?

£60 plus fees for Rammstein. Worth every single penny.

Band seen the most?

Lucy Rose 2.2 times, just ahead of Anavae with two complete sets.

Best new discovery?

I was vaguely aware of Clean Bandit before due to them featuring artists that I care about (and Demi Lovato) on their album, but I didn’t click with them until their Pride set. Other than that, I’ve stayed fairly within my lane.

Bands seen this year that also broke up this year?

None!

Friends made at shows?

Every gig I went to was either with Dana or my family, save the Zara Larsson gig and I was feeling too anti-social to interact with the posers or the stans who filled the first few rows around me.

Band members met?

Becca and Jamie from Anavae, and Lucy Rose - but I feel like it doesn’t count when they either took your wedding photos or have been shown them after a gig! Apart from that the obligatory Carly Rae Jepsen photo in a Rammstein t-shirt post gig, a brief exchange with Jenny Lewis before her set, and some grateful smiles from both Zara Larsson and her younger sister (supporting) at me actually enjoying myself during their sets.

Best souvenir from a show?

I didn’t get that much from shows this year. Zara’s shirts were not to my tastes, we’d got all the Anavae merch they were selling, and while I liked the dual pastel pink/faded orange Ariana Grande shirt, I didn’t like it enough to drop £35 on it. I had no such problems buying another Carly Rae Jepsen t-shirt, and a medium hoodie that was far too small for me in May but fits me now; I also got a Rammstein tour tee which features a very me design. Away from shows but still music related I received a Romance shirt from the Camila Cabello listening party that exposes my belly in a way that flatters nobody. I also went a bit crazy on new years day when, after watching the Taylor Swift reputation tour movie on Netflix for the fourth time, I got an email advertising discounts on her store. I picked up two more rep era t-shirts and some additional items when I realised I could spend £40 on shipping or the same amount on the softest, most comfortable hoodie I’ve ever worn!

Longest time in line?

About three hours before Carly, but it was completely worth it. We were on the barriers at Pride about eight hours before Kylie hit the stage, but we had other acts that we were interested in playing beforehand so that doesn’t count.

Shows seen from the barricade [front row]?

Oh, that’s a nice segue. Kylie from the pleb barrier, Lucy from the front row at the Barbican, and Jenny Lewis. We’ve also been very near the front at Anavae, Zara, Carly, and Aly & AJ.

Most shows in one month?

May had 3 and a half.

Most shows in one week?

Two, Marina and Anavae in successive days in November.

Biggest crowd?

Rammstein had 32,000 in Milton Keynes. No crowd size given for Kylie at Brighton Pride, though.

Any drunk encounters?

I’m fairly certain that the beer and chocolate tour around Brussels before Lucy Rose didn’t help my situation. I demonstrated that my lesson had been learned by having several beers before her gig at the Barbican in December - however these were free, courtesy of Camila Cabello’s record label.

Top 5 best 2019 concert moments:

1. In keeping with my habit of wearing Rammstein shirts to pop gigs, I decided that it was only fair to wear a pop shirt to the Rammstein gig in July. After several Twitter polls I settled on my new Carly Rae Jepsen t-shirt. As you’d expect, this got me a few odd glances, as well as some positive comments (several people declared it the most metal thing they’d seen) but one in particular stood out. Passing the merch queue while looking for our seats I was suddenly yanked into a handshake and a hug by a very tall bearded gentleman, who explained that among their group of friends they were having a competition for band t-shirts, awarding each other points for each nominated artist spotted. They’d also picked a surprising artist each, on the proviso that they’d get 250 points (a near unassailable lead) if it was spotted - and this gentleman had picked Carly Rae Jepsen as his choice!

2. Zara Larsson. I know I shouldn’t be surprised that a Swede does pop well, but I was going in expecting Dua Lipa levels of charisma, and was surprised at her energy levels, enthusiasm, and general commitment!

3. Speaking of enthusiastic performances with high energy, Carly brought her traditional levels to London for a set that showed just how good she really is, and how much the general public are missing out by sleeping on her.

4. Marina (formerly of & The Diamonds) impressed me. Aided by a very enthusiastic crowd (it was the first time she’d performed in Brighton in seven years, and many of those attending didn’t look old enough to have gone to that last gig) it became a positive feedback loop - everything would galvanise the crowd, which she’d feed off of and up her game, which just excited the crowd further!

5. I got to see my childhood crush perform 15 minutes walk from my flat, and she included the campest, Euro-poppiest album track in the encore as a nod to the audience.

Top 3 worst 2018 concert moments:

1. Fainting was weird. I don’t much care for it.

2. I didn’t get home from Rammstein until half past 3 in the morning. I’m not young enough to cope with nights that late any more!

3. Genuinely can’t think of anything else negative to put here. Let’s see off the year on a high then!

#gig survey

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furbyfubar · 4 years

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How's Sweden? 🇪🇺🇸🇪❤️

In what context? Do you mean for the country as a whole or what? Big question...

Never mind, I get few enough asks here that I can give you a more comprehensive answer. I'll use it as an excuse to take stock of my personal trends against those of my country? Sorry not sorry for the incoming wall of text. Note, this is why you shouldn't say "How do you do?" to anyone from Sweden; we're tragically likely to give you an honest answer!

Weather for Sweden: You're UK based, so lets go by stereotypes and start with talking about the weather I suppose? It's winter, so the weather here is *usually* quickly summed up as "dark". Right now Sweden has between ~7 hours 15 minutes of time between sun up and sun down in the far south of Sweden, and "fuck you" minutes of sun on the far north, where it's currently polar night until about two weeks into January. On top the normal lack of sun, Sweden got an early Autumn this year and had less actually sunny days than usual in October and November due to clouds. So yeah, vitamin D deficiency for about 25% of the population according to my doctor. And many of the ones avoiding a deficiency are doing it by eating supplements. On a longer time scale, ”climate” not “weather”... Yeah, we’ve been having heat records broken and all that shit here the past few years as as well while having some winters be worse due to the Gulf stream being messed up..

Rating: 3.5/10 – It sucks, but it's not much worse than the expected level of suckiness?Weather for me personally: I'm based in Stockholm and we're currently at 6½h of sun up time per day, but like I said, it’s been cloudy. Not so cold so far though. The problem for me personally is that when the sun goes down at 14:52 I often miss out on the sun completely due to my fucked up sleeping patterns. Or the sun is up but covered while I’m going to work and that's it for sunlight that day. I'd likely suffer from winter depression if only I could separate it from my normal depression. We’ve had some snow that stays on the ground, but we’re somewhat surprisingly not in the hell that is streets filled with snow-water slosh yet.

Rating: 3.5/10 – I don’t think the weather sucks more or less for me than it does for the country on average. (Places north of the polar circle excluded; I would really no be able to stand months of polar night.)

Health for Sweden: Sweden made #6 on the Bloomberg 2019 Healthiest Country Index, up two positions from 2017. Up from a score of 88.92 to 90.24 out of 100, so apparently it's not just other countries having worse health, things have gotten a bit better here.Rating: 9.24/10 – Well, Bloomberg hopefully put a lot more effort into their score than I’ll ever do, so I’ll just re-scale and steal it.

Health for me personally: I had to basically skip a year due depression and exhaustion. Not being able to work due to a non-functioning brain obviously sucks, but to bring this back to how Sweden is: Being able to be on sick leave for almost a year and thus being able to focus on getting medication that works for me and not being worried about getting evicted for not making rent is a blessing. I'm back to working part time since October while still on sick leave for 50%, trying to ease me back in to the productive work force. So far going well. If I’d been forced to somehow work or starve, or live off my parents or something instead, I’m pretty sure I’d either be much deeper in depression right now, or be dead. I’ve still not really found meds that work great for me, but I'm feeling much better than I was a year ago.

Rating: 3/10 – I'm as optimistic as a clinically depressed person gets to be.

Status politically for Sweden (as I see it personally): It's getting more fucked by the day. The Moderate party just broke their campaign promise to not cooperate with the Sweden Democrats, a party born from neo-Nazi and white power movements. For UK context, think of the British National Party. Now imagine them going from a fringe group in the '90s to getting 20% of the votes in recent polls. They've been doing this all while having a whole bunch of scandals that would've hurt or killed the credibility of any non-fascist party. They're racist, homo- and transphobic, and operate their own alternative media that have ties to Russian disinformation efforts. So yeah, as a gay guy who's seen the inside of a few history books: Outlook not great.

Rating: 2/10 – If only because it can still get worse. Think first act of Cabaret.

Love life for Sweden: Hmm, check in on satwcomic.com I suppose?

Love life for me personally: Yes please? I've been single for longer than I'm willing to admit. I've barely dated anyone for ages due to my aforementioned depression making me not feel like someone worth dating. Also, there's some types of vitamin D deficiencies that eating supplements won't cure...

Rating: I really don't want to put a number on this so I won’t. Honestly, graphing out my love life numerically doesn't sound all that productive. But somewhere at the edge of the Bell curve is the guy for me?

Economically for Sweden: Sweden's been in a upward business cycle since 2016, but it's ebbing out and is expected to be balanced sometime next real. Ie, things have been good, but things aren't quite yet bad. Rating: 5.5/10 – I suppose? Not really my area of expertise.

Economically for me personally: Not complaining at all on this front. I got an IT job four years ago after having worked part time in retail for a bunch of years and having been a student before that. I've managed to not raise my monthly expenses even nearly as much as my pay went up. So while I’m not wealthy, I'm still surprised by being able to have a savings account that grows steadily and still having more spending money over each month.

My rating: 8/10 – This quote by Charles Dickens comes to mind: “Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pound ought and six, result misery.”

Social life in Sweden: According to this article I just Googled up from half remembering reading in 2015, “The expat quality of life survey" published by HSBC, Sweden was the worst country for the category "Making friends". Looking at the data on HSBC's website we're apparently no longer dead last as a place to be making friends, we're now 31st out of the 33 countries listed, with Japan at 32nd place and Saudi Arabia last at 33rd. The United Kingdom is at 29th.

It is close to impossible to make friends here by talking to random strangers in most situations, as only weird people talk to strangers. Of course that mentality is self-fulfilling since if you assume any stranger talking to you is weird, drunk, or high, you will not want to make friends with strangers that talk to you, and you won't want to talk to strangers more than you have to or risk being branded weird. Even striking up random conversations at a pub will be more difficult here.

But don’t despair, there’s a trick! Find the few social situations where Swedes want to talk to people they don't know: This is done by joining some organization or club of some sort. It doesn't really matter if it's a board gaming group, a student group, doing volunteer work for the local Pride or some other NPO or if it's a club for people who really like a certain breed of dogs. Once we've decided that we're among our own kind of people (and I don't mean "other Swedes") we'll happily talk to strangers, and not only about subjects related to that specific organization. Step two is converting them to be your friends and not just some randos you can talk to at some club meeting. I’m sad to say that traditionally this is done with alcohol, either by dragging people along to a pub/bar, or by inviting them or being invited by them to some sort of party. Without alcohol the fallback is fika. If the organization you’ve joined is something that you will naturally be spending time doing outside of the organization or club meetings that’s also ideal. Once you’ve invited or been invited to a few things outside of the organization it’s not strange to invite them to other social things than what the organization cares about.

For fairness to anyone reading this that didn’t read the article: I should probably also mention that the same HSBC study had Sweden as the top country in Europe for “overall quality of life” for expats here. And third best in the world, just behind Singapore and New Zealand in the same category. "Swedes make great friends but terrible strangers”.

My rating for making friends in Sweden is : 3/10 - Join a club, any club.

Social life for me personally: I have a few great close friends and a bunch more not quite as close friends who are also great. Come to think of it, many of them I've met through one of the three different organizations I've been most active in, and most of the rest I met through those friends. I'm really thankful for having friends who are still around even after I've spent way too much time feeling too bad to be very social or friendly at all.

My rating of my friends: 10/10 - No, I'm not biased.OK, so let’s average those numbers up and pretend the averages mean something!

Sweden: 5.81Me: 6.63Wait what? I’m winning?

#personal #depression #Sweden #Stockholm

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okietokiee · 5 years

Text

Tokigail / Post-Doomstar

@edgtheow I always see your Tokigail posts and tbh that’s one of my favorite rare pair ships too!! But their ao3 tag is practically empty ;o; so I wrote a sappy post-dsr fic because this rare pair deserves some love :’)

This is set during Doomstar when the Dethlights happened and then immediately after. And some headcanons I’m using for context: both Toki and Abigail were brutally tortured by Magnus and MMA, but the Dethlights ordeal healed most of Toki’s physical injuries

Rating: T

Abigail’s POV

Abigail was a logical woman. Growing up, she prided herself for her rationality and sensible nature. She’d see something unfamiliar and a majority of the time she was able to analyze the issue or situation and decide what to do next.

This was not one of those times.

She could still hardly even believe those selfish, narcissistic assholes actually even showed up. And with such stupidly dramatic timing too, when she had already fully resigned herself to her painful, brutal end in this dungeon at the hands of a man she hardly knew.

And now, looking up at this blindingly bright beam of light levitating those assholes and making them look like some kind of godly celestial beings, she was half convinced this was all just a wild fever dream she was experiencing moments before her death.

It didn’t help that after the sudden burst of color, everything was a literal blur of empty scenes and lost time. She felt nauseous and lightheaded, a state she’d become accustomed to after months locked up. After an indefinite period of time that could’ve been five minutes or five hours, she was drowned with a litany of random voices she couldn’t distinguish.

The only distant, grounding voice that broke through the fog was a warm, familiar, “Abigail, we ams safe now…”

And that familiar sound was enough to convince her that yes, this was real. This was it. The whole world could fall to complete shit, but she’d recognize that voice anywhere. She let out a deep, contented sigh, as she was hoisted up by a taller body.

She closed her eyes, finally embracing the exhaustion that’s been permeating her whole being for what felt like eternity.

——————

A few weeks later, Abigail awoke to the faint whirring of machinery and nauseatingly bright hospital lights. She frowned, feeling something weighing down on her left side, and she chanced a small movement of her head to see, to her relief, a sleeping head with long, chestnut brown hair.

Toki had a firm hold of her hand, their fingers interlaced in a familiar grip. She chanced a small smile, feeling her body relax fully into the hard hospital mattress.

Seeing Toki somehow alleviated a lot of her sudden fear and anxiety. Not all of it, no, not by a long shot. But they were each other’s only solace down in that hell, and it seemed her brain still recognized him as such.

She was surprised to see that Toki looked infinitely better than she remembered. Though it was expected since they were finally being treated, she didn’t think it was possible for him to gain back all that weight so fast if what she could see of him was anything to go by. His sallow, sunken cheeks looked full and healthy again, and his previously corpse-like pallor had returned to a state similar to before the kidnapping.

She had a passing idea that perhaps that blinding beam of light had something to do with this, but just thinking of that ordeal gave her a splitting headache. She sighed weakly, untangling her fingers from the guitarist’s to instead idly stroke his hair in familiar movements.

She had no idea how much time could have possibly passed, Toki’s soft breathing and her own idle ministrations the only thing she felt rooted her to reality. And Abigail was startled to hear an abrupt cough, and she sat up a bit to see one Swedish guitarist looking more uncomfortable and awkward than she’d ever seen him.

Skwisgaar nervously shuffled closer to her bed. “Ah… I sees you ams awakes.” He cast an unreadable glance at Toki. “He woulds nots leaves you alone. We ams glads you ams all rights.”

Abigail was not impressed and gave Skwisgaar a look that screamed, ‘Really? That’s all you have to say?’

Skwisgaar physically gulped, his guilt and discomfort apparent. “I… no, de whole bands, we wishes we came earlier. We ams all stupid idiots. Ams all so sorries, ands I know dere is no way to evers really apologizke for dis, buts I just…” He faltered. “He… Toki I means, he so worrierds and keeps saysing he woulds never have mades it wivout yous. I just wants to takk, uh, tanks you for beinks dere for him. We knows it was hells for you too, you didn’ts need to do so much, buts you dids.”

Abigail let a small grin grace her deadpan expression. She chanced a reply, not surprised at how sore her throat felt and her weak, cracked tone of voice. “There’s no need to thank me Skwisgaar. Toki and I… we, well, we needed each other to stay sane down there.”

Skwisgaar gave her an unidentifiable look in return and seemed as though he were about to say more, when Toki began to stir awake at Abigail’s side.

“Abbygale?…Yous awakes!” He exclaimed after blinking the sleepiness from his eyes. He shot up from his chair and held Abigail in an excited, surprisingly gentle hug. He was muttering gibberish as he held her, an enthusiastic mixture of Norwegian and English and everything in between.

Abigail chuckled warmly, returning the hug as best she could with an IV up her arm.

Satisfied, Toki backed off, but kept his hands on Abigail’s shoulder moving in soothing ministrations. His face was close and expression simultaneously joyous and anxious.

“Abby, Toki ams so happies yous wakes up! De doctors, de says dat if you sleeps for too longs it woulds be real bads, buts I knew you woulds wakes up! Toki knows! How ams you feelings? Anyting hurts? Ah, but de doctors! I go gets dem, dey needs to sees you, but Toki don’ts wants to leaves yous! What we do-”

Abigail gave Toki a fond, exasperated look. She was about to mention that Skwisgaar could alert the doctors, but when she looked to her side she was confused to see the spot empty, the Swede having made a hasty, unnoticed departure.

Within moments a team of medical professionals rushed in to check up on Abigail’s condition.

After they left satisfied with their findings and to prepare some further tests, Abigail heaved an anxious sigh. From what the doctor had said so far, it seemed that physically she was doing well considering what her body had been through, but she’d still need quite a bit of physical therapy and further tests. Psychologically though, that was to be determined, and considering the paranoia and anxiety permeating through her body, she did not have high hopes for that.

But, despite whatever trials awaited her, one look at Toki’s eager, hopeful, and absolutely radiant smiling face made her feel like it would be ok.

They made it out of one hell alive, they’d make it out of this too.

——————

Toki’s POV

Toki saw a blazing, blindingly bright light flash before his eyes and then he felt weightless. He felt it tear through his flesh, simultaneously eviscerating his very being but also creating something new with the ashes. It was disorienting how suddenly it came, and even more so how abruptly it passed. Before he knew it he was back on the floor, fallen to his knees, overcome with exhaustion.

Everything was a blur. His bandmat- no, his brothers breaking into the room and freeing him and Abigail, the sudden lights that seemed to come from the heavens, and the dizzying aftermath of that. If he was to be completely honest, the only constant, grounding thought that helped him regain his bearings was the person who’d been his only comfort for months on end.

“A-abigail!” He cried, seeing her on the sidelines looking near death. He rushed to stand up, but almost went tumbling down from his shaking legs. Nathan was able to grab hold of him and steady his balance just in time.

“Abigail! We ams safes now!” Toki yelled. He saw Skwisgaar gently help Abigail up and was immediately distressed to see that it seemed she’d passed out.

And everything moved so much faster from there.

But regardless, from the warehouse, to the helicopter, and right to the hospital, Toki did not stray far from Abigail’s side.

——————

Numerous doctors were astounded by the state Toki was in, and not for the reasons everyone was expecting. Though he wasn’t in perfect health, he was exceedingly better than seemed possible for someone stuck in the conditions he was in.

However, though physically he healed up miraculously fast, he was becoming a nervous wreck. Each day that passed with Abigail still asleep with no signs of waking up made Toki feel like he was slowly but surely suffocating.

And of course, there was the rest of Dethklok too. His brothers. They were as supportive as a group of traumatized, emotionally-stunted man children could possibly be.

It was strained at first, four members expecting some kind of (well-deserved) anger and resentment from Toki’s side. Being tortured while their bandmates party around the world in a drug-fueled haze would put a bad taste in anyone’s mouth.

But the elation of finally being reunited with his dumb family soothed whatever jagged edges there were and Dethklok had a brutal (read: tearful) homecoming for their rhythm guitarist.

However, despite their high spirits, Toki couldn’t be content. No, not yet.

After being cleared by astounded doctors with a clear bill of health after just a few days, he spent his time in Abigail’s room, reading, coloring, sleeping, waiting… always waiting.

It was on one of those quiet days when Skwisgaar and Nathan came to visit, the latter of which threw a surprisingly soft, familiar lump at him.

“Wowee! Yous guys brought me mines Deddy bear! Takk!” Toki exclaimed with glee, holding his fluffy friend tight.

“Yeah, we, uh… well, we thought you’d miss him. Since you haven’t been to your room since you got back and everything.” Nathan shrugged, trying to hide a pleased smile.

“Ja, ands we cames to check ups on yous,” Skwisgaar added.

Toki stiffened. “I ams doins fine.” He said with a rigid tone.

“Yous havent’s left dis rooms in weeks.” Skwisgaar sighed. “We knows you ams worries about hers, but you needs a breaks sometimes.” Toki frowned. “Ams fines. I needs to do dis.”

Nathan coughed, sensing the tension in the air. “Yeah, to be fair Toki, you haven’t even stepped foot in Mordhaus since you got home. And that’s, uh, saying a lot. Since our hospital is attached to Mordhaus and everything.”

Toki visibly deflated, his expression taking a somber turn. “Abigail… shes was always there for mes, now I needs to bes there for her…”

Nathan stole a glance at Abigail, his gaze softening. “Yeah, I get it.”

Skwisgaar, on the other hand, stole a glance at Toki’s downcast face. “Tokis, she wills be alrights…” He tried to say confidently.

Toki gave him a broken look. “Ja, she has to bes…”

After a few more hushed, somber conversations, Skwisgaar and Nathan were on their way, sensing that Toki wanted to be left alone.

Though the others visited often, Toki truly didn’t mind some solitude. It wasn’t like he was completely alone anyways. As long as Abigail’s heart was still beating, she was still with him, and he’d stay by her side as long as she needed him to.

And apparently she only needed him to wait just shy of 4 weeks.

He was stirred awake by a melodic, albeit weaker voice. He thought he was dreaming for a moment, but was awestruck to see that wasn’t the case. His voice going a mile-a-minute in a mix of every language he vaguely knew. And his emotions were going haywire, his arms both desperate to hold her and scared to death of accidentally hurting her.

He was infinitely grateful when the doctors rushed in so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.

After a short check-up and learning that Abigail really was going to be fine, he beamed and was blushing with pure, unadulterated joy. Abigail was awake. She was ok. It was going to be alright. He felt a heavy weight of worry and anxiety lifted off his chest.

They were both going to be alright.

--------------------

I still plan to add their road to recovery and Dethklok’s POV of their relationship, but I got excited and wanted to share what I had so far so it still has some weird mistakes but aahjkgfure I really like writing Toki smitten with Abigail bc I’m smitten with her too :’)

Also, I left room for possible Skwistokgail because @calliopinot made that one of my all-time favorite OT3 pairings :^) It won’t happen in this fic probably, but the subtle implications !!

#metalocalypse #mtl #tokigail #toki wartooth #abigail remeltindtdrinc #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #my fanfic #dethklok #fanfiction

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valhallamercury · 5 years

Text

musically inclined | boh rhap!roger taylor x f!reader

Summary: The reader is the lead singer of a girl group that mostly preforms covers of songs at local pubs. Roger, John, Brian and Freddie decide to take a break from all their constant shows, enjoying themselves at a pub (where the reader’s band happens to be playing at.)

A/N: so, this is my second Queen fic, so I hope you guys enjoy! The songs that the band covered are Mamma Mia by ABBA (Mamma Mia cover) and Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA and Hooked On A Feeling by Blue Swede. I know Gimme came out in the 80′s, but for the sake of this story it came out in the 70′s.

Warnings: Mild language, smoking, drinking

Word Count: 1,631

The amount of glitter on your skin made you feel sticky and itchy. Your eyes were decorated with glittery gold eyeshadow and your lips were covered in a thick paint-like red gloss. You wore high-waisted, wide legged jeans that were embroidered with sunflowers, a yellow button-up that you had tied around your waist, and brown platform boots. You felt anxiety bubbling in your stomach, but it was overflowed with excitement.

“Y/N! We’re on in a few!” Tonya called from outside of the bathroom. Tonya was one of the backup singers and the band’s lead guitarist. “Alright, Ton’.” You called back, turning to yourself and looking in the mirror again. “You got this, Y/N.” You whispered to yourself, holding your head up high. You gave yourself a confident smile, turning away and walking out the bathroom.

Roger climbed through the overcrowded pub, grumbling something under his breath. “Would you be quiet, Darling? You’re going to enjoy yourself tonight, Rog.” Freddie grinned at one of his best friends, clapping his hand on Roger’s back before climbing into a booth directly across the stage.

“Besides, they say the band that’s playing tonight is really good.” Brian said, sliding in on the other side of the booth as Deaky slid next to him. Roger rolled his eyes, sliding next to Freddie. “I have a lot of other things I could be doing right now,” Roger began, turning toward the stage as the band came out. “And I could give you their name’s right now.”

Roger could practically feel the eye roll of the other boys, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the band. A very pretty girl walked out onto stage, picking the mic up from the stand. She sat down at the piano, adjusting the mic to the stand next to it. He watched her take a deep breath, looking back at her band mates, before beginning to play the notes of the song.

“I’ve been cheated by you since you know when,” She began, her voice soothing his sour mood. “So I made up my mind, it must come to an end. Look at me now, will I ever learn? I don’t know how but I suddenly lose control.”

Roger watched as the woman turned to look at the crowd, the two meeting eyes. She gave him a wink and he felt heat rise to his face.

Roger grinned as he looked over at the woman, drinking his beer as he watched her play the piano gracefully from across the bar. He needed to meet her after the show.

“There’s a fire within my soul...”

The beat kicked in, and the overcrowded pub went wild. The woman stood up from the piano, snatching the microphone from the stand again and walking over to the front of the stage.

“Just one look and I hear a bell ring, just one look and I forget everything.” She sang along happily, swinging her hips to the music. “Mamma mia, here we go again. My, my, how can I resist ya?”

Roger grinned devilishly as he watched her dance and sing across the stage. He needed to meet her after the show.

“How’s everybody feeling tonight?” You asked into the mic, grinning at the positive remarks from the audience. You swung your body, picking up the mic. “Make sure to tip your bartenders tonight, alright?”

“Now are last song for the night is for the single ladies tonight, including myself.” You winked out to the crowd, hearing a few whistles that made your eyes roll internally.

Your drummer, Diana, began the beat of the next song. You hummed along to yourself, waiting for the moment for you to jump in. You looked into the crowd again, locking eyes with the shaggy blonde haired man again. You felt your cheeks get red, glad that you had base on to cover it up.

“Half past twelve, and I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone, how I hate to spend the evening on my own.” You sang softly, tracing your hand down the microphone, knowing the blonde man was watching you.

“Autumn winds, blowing outside the window as I look around the room and it makes me so depressed to see the gloom.”

“There’s not a soul out there,” You sang along with Diana and Tonya singing along with you. “No one to hear my prayer.”

“Gimme! Gimme! Gimme a man after midnight, won’t somebody help me chase these shadows away,” You sang along, listening to the cheers of the audience as you held the mic close to you and waltzed around the stage. You met the eyes of the blonde man once again, smirking as he watched you. You winked at him, watching his face turn as red as it did when you had first winked at him. You watched as his friends began to tease him, making your smirk only grow. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme a man after midnight, take me through the darkness to the break of the day.”

Roger watched as the band exited the stage, keeping his eyes on the main singer. He took a swig of his beer, turning back to his friends. He needed to meet that woman, or else he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life.

“You had quite the fun tonight, Rog.” Freddie teased, elbowing his companion. Roger rolled his eyes, setting his beer down on the table. “I’m gonna go smoke.” He said, getting up from the booth and walking through the overflowing pub. He made his way towards the back exit, looking around and seeing if anyone could help him find the band.

Roger turned to a well-dressed man, who he recognized as the man who had introduced the band before they preformed. “Excuse me, mate? Know where I could find the band?” He tapped the man’s shoulder. The man turned, exhaustion under his eyes being as clear as his sour mood. “They’re usually out there. They may be packed up by now so I would hurry if you’re trying to catch them.” He said in a monotonous way. Roger nodded as a thank you before beginning to head out to the exit that the man had pointed at.

He smoothed down his hair, making sure that the collar of his shirt was pressed down and that his jacket was straightened. He walked out the exit, only to have the woman’s beautiful voice fill his ears once again.

“IIIIIIIIIIII’m hooked on a feeling, I’m high on believing, that you’re in love with meeee,” You sang along, Diana drumming along against her thighs and Tonya strumming along on her guitar as the three of you sat on the trunk of your car.

The three of you laughed, grinning at each other as you calmed your singing. You took the cigarette from Diana’s mouth, taking a long drag for yourself. You heard the door open, looking over to see the blonde man walking out, hands in his jacket pockets as he searched around before locking eyes with you.

“There’s your lover boy.” Tonya teased, jabbing your side with her elbow. You shot her a dirty look, turning back to the man who was now walking towards you.

“Hey, Di, let’s go get drinks, okay?” Tonya said, reaching past you and tugging on Diana’s sleeve. Diana furrowed her brows in confusion as she looked up at Tonya, raising up the beer that she had in hand. Tonya tilted her head towards the man and Diana’s eyebrows shot up in understanding. “Right! Let’s get drinks!” Diana said, setting her beer down and hopping off the trunk before following Tonya into the pub.

“You did really well out there tonight.” The man said, once he was finally close enough. “Roger. Roger Taylor.” He said, the now familiar devilish grin plastered across his face as he held out his hand. “Thank you.” You smiled, reaching out for his hand and shaking it. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

“So, Y/N, still looking for a man for after midnight?” Roger asked, his grin only growing. You rolled your eyes. You had dealt with his type before: cocky, egotistical men who thought they could charm their way into a woman’s pants. Not you though, you were just as clever.

“Not quite midnight, is it though?” You said, feigning innocence as you arched one of your brows. “Besides, wouldn’t want to keep you from all of the millions of ladies who line up at your door, just begging to be fucked by the Roger Taylor.” You kept your composure calm, but the smirk that tugged in your lips was enough to say it all.

Roger raised a brow, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. “You put a dent in my pride, Miss L/N.” He playfully put a hand over his chest, pretending as if he had been struck right in the heart. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips and the small smile that was forming across your face. Damn Roger Taylor and his shaggy blonde hair and undeniable charm. Damn him.

“Roger! Roger!” Another man, tall with curly black hair, stood outside the door and called for the blonde man. “C’mon mate! We gotta go!” He yelled, waving for him.

“I think that’s your cue.” You said, your own small smile forming on your lips. Roger sighed, looking down at his shoes before looking back at you. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asked, the hopefulness in his eyes too cute to ignore. Damn him.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You said back nonchalantly, leaning back against your hands. Roger grinned, turning and running toward the dark-haired man. As you watched him run away you felt a warm, bubbling sensation in your stomach that leaped up and splashed against your heart.

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #boh rhap!roger taylor #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #queen imagines #roger taylor imagine #gwilyn lee #rami malek #joe mazzello #queen #queen band #queen band imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie

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clouds-of-wings · 5 years

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How to have an argument without offending a Swede

Italians get worked up when discussing pasta sauces. The Brits and French have arguments for fun. But in Sweden, even raising your voice is like taking a glass and smashing it on the floor. Here is The Local's guide to the delicate art of having a discussion with a Swede.

This is interesting, I fully approve of point 4-6 actually, I could deal with 2 and 3, but 1..? That would be difficult for me.

Full text under the KR because Paywall…

How to have an argument without offending a Swede

If you're British or French, debate is almost a national sport. People play 'Devil's advocate' (or l'avocat du diable) just to stoke up the passion in the room. If someone loses self control and raises their voice a bit, that's OK, at least between friends. It's a sign of engagement, a sign that they care.

In reserved, conflict-shy Sweden, however, things are very different.

You only have to compare the angry jeering in the UK's Houses of Parliament to the staid Swedish party leader debates on TV, or seminars at Swedish universities with the way UK students are trained to to argue for positions they disagree with. You could also study Sweden's softly spoken court lawyers with their bombastic, adversarial UK and US equivalents.

Swedes hate to express disagreement and after eight years living here, I feel that they don't, or perhaps can't, separate intellectual disagreements from actual personal conflict (as I instinctively would as a Brit). For a Swede a disagreement is a disagreement, and therefore unpleasant, no matter what it is about.

There's also less of a tradition of argument as competitive sport. There are no winners once a debate gets heated. People just feel upset. The Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgård describes going to bed after a boozy supper with literary Swedes thinking he'd had a great evening, only to wake to find his hosts feared relations had been irreparably broken.

The positive aspects of all this can be seen in the lower levels of hypocrisy in Swedish national life. A figure like UK PM Boris Johnson is so steeped in Oxbridge debating culture that he can breezily dash off articles both for and against leaving the European Union. In Sweden, this would be almost unfeasible.

So how should you approach holding discussions with a Swede?

1. Know the consensus

Swedes hate people talking about it, but as a foreigner in Sweden it's fairly clear that the fabled 'opinion corridor', or åsiktskorridoren, is no myth. There is a span of acceptable opinions and people start to feel uncomfortable if you move outside them.

For big topics, it's quite easy to learn where the boundaries lie.

For the vast majority of Swedes, whether on the left or right, you probably can't get away with, for example, expressing your admiration of US President Donald Trump, arguing that it's bad for children to go to daycare before they're three, arguing that children don't need bicycle helmets, or that it's OK to drink moderate amounts of alcohol when pregnant. For reasons I don't fully understand, it's also appears unacceptable to argue that the state alcohol monopoly Systembolaget has a woefully poor selection of wine. At least, no one will agree with you if you do.

Once you know where the boundaries lie, don't cross them. People won't think you're controversial or interesting, they'll think you're an ass.

As it happens, the corridor can shift. Eight years ago, it was absolutely not OK to discuss setting concrete limits for immigration or the ethnicity of criminals. In 2015, that dramatically changed, with politicians of both left and right suddenly competing to tighten up border controls, and the media pumping out stories of sexual harassment by asylum seekers.

2. Let the Swede lead

The demand for consensus is not limited to the big political issues, but runs deep into things like house decoration, music taste, food and films. Swedes have a natural instinct for knowing what any group thinks about any topic, and assessing what the bounds of opinion are likely to be. This is tricky for a newcomer to grasp, so the best advice is to let the Swede lead. Wait until you have a good idea about what the people you're with think before storming in with your own opinions.

3. Expand and reinforce, don't contradict

Say the discussion gets into what a horrific let-down the last series of Game of Thrones was, and you thought it was well-written, with imaginative plot twists and a satisfying end. Don't contradict your companions head-on. Instead think of something you also felt was a weakness, or add details and new observations to the discussion of the shortcomings advanced by others in your group.

Conversation in Sweden is about arriving at a richer, more nuanced picture of what it is assumed everyone present agrees to be the case, not deciding who or what is right and wrong.

Swedes pride themselves on their ability to ask searching questions, and you can see why, as it is one of the best ways to safely engage in discussions when you disagree with the majority position. Ask your friends what they thought was the worst let-down, or why it is that this or that plot decision was so wrong-headed.

4. Don't interrupt (or do so very sparingly)

Conversation in Sweden doesn't have the same cut and thrust as it does in the UK and some other countries, where it is more common to interrupt, talk over others, or slip in quick details or additional facts that support or contradict what the speaker is saying.

In Sweden, interrupting others is seen as rude, and talking over them ruder still, particularly if you raise your voice to do so. If you've ever been to a Swedish work leaving do, or wedding, you'll have seen how everyone in turn stands up to make a short speech. Imagine group conversation as a less formal version of the same thing.

When someone is speaking, let them finish. The group will then naturally look around for the next speaker, which is your time to make your contribution.

This means of course that when you do speak, you shouldn't go on too long, as there's no way for your companions to shut you up without being rude. Swedes have a natural sense of how much social space each member of a group is getting and will try to make sure it's as evenly shared as possible.

5. Don't raise your voice

It's perhaps telling that the word 'skrika' in Swedish doesn't distinguish between 'shouting', 'screaming' and 'shrieking'. There's a level of raised voice which Swedes experience as aggressive which some other cultures would see as only a sign of mild agitation. If you raise your voice during a discussion, it's almost as if you are banging your hands on the table, so if you can possibly keep yourself under control, don't do it.

If you actually are angry and want to actively offend or put down another person, it's still wrong to raise your voice. It is socially acceptable in Sweden to be quite direct and even rather unpleasant (more so indeed, than in the UK, where it is bad form to drop the pretence of bonhomie and having a 'sense of humour').

If you raise your voice, you lose. A Brit or American might secretly congratulate someone who stands up and loudly but brilliantly tears strips off someone whose behaviour has been out of order. A Swede would be crippled with embarrassment. Swedes have a reputation for passive aggressiveness for a reason.

6. Don't fall back on lazy stereotypes

Perhaps the best way to annoy a Swede as a foreigner is to bang on incessantly about the "opinion corridor" and "Swedish passive aggressiveness". Don't do it.

Some of the least reserved people I know are Swedish. I know Swedes who revel in controversy, compulsively interrupt others, and get overly heated and shouty at the drop of a hat. I do feel though, that Sweden isn't perhaps the easiest country for them to live in.

Ironically, in the parts of Malmö I live in, where nearly half the population voted for the Left parties in the last election, talking about the opinion corridor is itself outside the opinion corridor.

So if you don't want people to think you're a closet Nazi, pretend it doesn't exist. Everybody else does.

https://www.thelocal.se/20190821/how-to-have-a-discussion-without-offending-a-swede

#sweden #swedish #svensk #swedish culture

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the-outsider-and-other · 5 years

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GunnarxOC fic part du <3

Title: Fight Bar Chapter(s): Two Pairing(s): Gunnar Jensen x Gipsy Rose (OC) Warning(s): Swearing, arguing, harsh words, general bad feelings all around. Note(s): Part 2. Some sweet sweet drama and angst for all <3

Gipsy wasn't sure what time it was when she awoke in her bed. She didn't want to know. For all she knew this wasn't even the same night, but a night a month later where Gunnar was still gone and she was alone with her guilt and shame.

She had just been upset with him. Gunnar was always quick on the trigger, quick to anger when he felt the slightest of insults was flicked his way. Gipsy was just better at blowing things off. She had to be or else should would have had a prison record and murder spree in her past.

Her naked cat, Ramses, slept peacefully beside Gipsy, warmed by his masters body. Gipsy stroked the sleepy thing absently, wanting the distraction.

"Why am I such a fucking bitch?" she asked of her cat, not caring that he couldn't answer.

Gipsy had always had a talent with words. Words to encourage, words to inspire. But sometimes she felt she was best with words that destroyed.

When she was pushed just too far she would unleash a barrage of words or truths or half truths to destroy her targets pride and esteem. And tonight Gunnar had been her target.

She tucked her legs up to her torso and fell over crying, certain she'd never see Gunnar again. She knew all the shit he had been through and all the guilt and regret he carried.

Gunnar deserved some one better, Gipsy thought. Some one that wasn't her. Outside, the familiar rumble of a motorcycle engine crossed the threshold into her drive way. Gipsy knew who's it was and felt her heart jump into her throat.

But as soon as she leapt from her bed her heart plummeted back into her stomach. What if Gunnar had just come to get what few possessions he had stored at her place? Or to just spit in her face and call her a bitch like she deserved?

When she heard the door crash open she ran down the stairs to the lower level of her home. There stood Gunnar inside the small living room, ram rod straight save for his tilted head.

Gipsy approached him slowly, gently grasping his cheeks and tilting his head upwards. His bruises were still there, along with a wetness on his face that wasn't perspiration.

"...I'm so sorry." Gipsy felt her voice break as she spoke.

"I'm not a psycho junkie."

"You aren't, I'm just a fucking bitch." Gunnar wrapped his big arms around Gipsy as she and he started to cry.

Both apologized profusely, their breathing obstructed by their ragged breaths and snot clogging their noses.

"I know I shouldn't be such a rabid dog but I can't help it."

"I know, I know baby. You've been through a lot of shit and-"

"No." Gunnar stopped crying for a moment. "No one has an excuse to act like I did. I wanna be better. I wanna be better for you, Gipsy."

Gipsy felt like her chest was going to explode with emotion. Gunnar wanted to be better... For her?

"I don't deserve a good man like you, baby. I was just-"

"You not gonna leave me, are you?" Gunnar asked suddenly, sounding very much like a scared child.

"No. Never ever, babe." Gipsy grasped Gunnars face and kissed him hard, tip toeing to get a better angle.

Gunnar helped by grabbing her up bridal style and kissing Gipsy back with all he had in him; all of his love and passion.

He brought them both upstairs and shooed Ramses away. Clothes were flung about and by the time the sun rose over the trees both mercs were tired and thoroughly fucked to high heaven.

"Gunnar..." Gipsy whispered into the mans hair as she played with a few blonde strands.

"Lets never fight again, babe." the Swede said lazily.

"Until the next time you leave the mayonnaise out for an hour."

Gunnar couldn't help but burst out laughing.

#the expendables #gunnar jensen #fan fic #oc

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: 2019 Free Agency

The wise words of noted NHL insider Elliotte Friedman go “When you’re drowning in this league other teams don’t throw you a life jacket, they throw you an anchor.” In spite of a handful of decent to great players getting traded in the last few weeks for peanuts, generally speaking it’s very hard to pull off a trade that is a lopsided win for your team. Free Agency is worse. Free Agency is like opening a septic tank looking for a diamond ring and jumping in expecting not to get covered in shit. The last big Free Agency signing the Sabres pulled off was Kyle Okposo. All the off-ice stuff you want to say about the Sex Man aside: that contract sucks ass. It was bad the moment it was signed. That’s what most free agency signings are like. Jason Botterill approaches this offseason publicly saying he wants to focus more on the trade avenue. That’s smart. I’d prefer he not give out too much money in free agency like his predecessor did with Okposo. However we are a fanbase that has run out of patience eight years out of the playoffs. Significant roster moves are paramount right now. How we got here is actually pretty simple. The tank worked (let’s not relitigate it) and rebuild 1.0 was accelerated by Tim Murray with the Ryan O’Reilly and Evander Kane signings at the cost of a wave of prospects and picks. Rebuild 1.0 failed. That failed initial rebuild was what brought Kyle Okposo here as a free agent. He’s now our very own salary cap albatross circling in the skies above the nearly dead Buffalo Sabres that were so stripped down in the tank they’re aimless even with some talent on the roster. We’ve all run out of patience. Rebuild 2.0 under Jason Botterill has gone better but, and this is a big but, the second half collapse of last season was decisive. It ended Phil Housley’s coaching career in Buffalo, and it burned a lot of the fan goodwill Jason Botterill had held onto through the legendarily bad season that earned us Rasmus Dahlin. Another bad season probably costs Botterill his job. This is the situation that gave birth to the buzzword of Sabres twitter: “Roster Surgery”. Bill Schake analyzed it best. Chad DeDominicis’ right hand man essentially said roster surgery is a great way to put it because there is so few tradeable assets left on this team it will take some cunning, creative moves to make real change. It’s truly surgery of the roster because its hard. It’s going to be harder than it’s ever been in the Eichel Era this summer to make this team look competitive past Valentine’s Day. So what changes do we have to talk about as we enter the long, dull portion of the NHL hockey calendar?

Well… Rasmus Ristolainen was the one big tradeable asset I was alluding to… and this past weekend… the Sabres signed Marcus Johansson. Ok so, the trade we’ve been waiting for didn’t happen before the posting of this article. Lord knows it will after this goes up and I’ll have to wait until the Offseason Retrospective to write about it. But let’s not poo-poo a great signing just because it’s not a trade we want. In fact, this specific blog is called 2019 Free Agency so let’s talk about Free Agents for a bit. Marcus Johansson, apart from adding yet another Swede to one of the most swede-heavy rosters in the National Hockey League, adds much needed left-wing depth to the top six. He’s considered a veteran at 28 and has only gotten to twenty goals twice in his nine seasons in the NHL. Nonetheless he was kind of the best guy left to add to the wing for the Sabres once July 1st came and went with pretty much only AHL-level moves. Johansson is defensively responsible and gets those zone entries which is something this team needs guys not named Jack Eichel to do better. Also he is apparently known for his versatility. He hasn’t played at center in recent seasons but that is a trick in the hat knowing Casey Mittelstadt may still not be ready for that 2C slot. That is the topic of some Sabres twitter debate but it seems rather immaterial right now to me with so much offseason left to go. The natural next topic of conversation here feels like it should be Jimmy Vesey and Colin Miller. However, those are technically trades although they were so well extracted they almost feel like signings. As I said earlier, I’m all for not giving up too much money in free agency, particularly if the team isn’t exactly “going for it” right now. So how about I rattle off the free agent signings Jason Botterill did make on July 1st in spite of most of them being long shots for the NHL roster: Goalie Andrew Hammond, Center Curtis Lazar, defenseman John Gilmour, Jean-Sebastien Dea and sorta Dalton Smith (Smith was an Amerk this past season and was resigning technically). Those first two guys are the ones you’re thinking of. Andrew Hammond was the “Hamburgler” in Ottawa a few seasons ago and Curtis Lazar was the guy who ate a hamburger off the ice during that same craze. Just like the Ottawa Senators both guys have not been all that good since. Hammond is the better of the two and is probably going to platoon it in net with Ukko Pekka-Lukkonen in Rochester this coming season. Lazar… is worth a shot I guess. John Gilmour was one of the better AHL defensemen for the Hartford Wolfpack last season and I’m told has the best chance of the group to make the big club. The other two guys I just don’t feel any need to talk about. That feeling is not because they’re minor league moves: you dipsticks complaining about the Front Office making moves mostly helping Rochester need to cool your jets and count your blessings! Take a good hard long look at that Okposo contract and then shut up!

I spent most of last year’s Free Agency article ranting about the Ryan O’Reilly trade. After how his season ended this year that whole conversation turned into a toxic waste dump a la your local minor league baseball franchise announcing a Pride Night on Facebook to absolutely terrible comments from the most bigoted boomers on the internet. I won’t be addressing O’Reilly because I feel we’ve done that to death. This is Buffalo Hockey though so of course there is another retread conversation fraught with potential toxicity to talk about: Jimmy Vesey. First things first, don’t hold three years ago against him. That move for his negotiating rights was the kind of stupid but exciting move that Tim Murray specialized in. That saga doesn’t matter now because Vesey is an established pro now and if we’re being totally real here the players don’t care. Jack Eichel is just happy to have another BU guy, I’m sure! Bury those bad takes next to your Leino jerseys. Nothing screams top line about Vesey’s game so don’t pencil him in right next to Eichel as if it’s a sure thing. I’ve heard him called a middle six acquisition which I think is a great way to put it. We’ll see what Training Camp holds for him. Colin Miller on the other hand you can definitely pencil in as a top four pairing defenseman. He isn’t clearly the best line mate for Rasmus Dahlin but he’s a strong candidate. His trade to Buffalo for a 2021 second round pick and a 2022 fifth round pick is Botts picking on a team in cap jail more than what you might call highway robbery. It’s kinda funny that team in cap jail is the Vegas Golden Knights but after the 2018-2019 St. Louis Blues happened I’m sure they’ll be back in the Final next year. On this team Miller is second only to Rasmus Dahlin on the defensive depth chart and top of the right-handed side of that chart. There are four right-handed defenseman who are NHL likely now beyond Miller: Brandon Montour, Zach Bogosian and Rasmus Ristolainen. The talk about a Ristolainen trade went up naturally after the Miller trade and yes, I’m still on the fence about it. I don’t need him gone, especially with a new coach coming in, but I don’t want 2022 to get here and everyone in the league know he’s ass and end up trading him for a couple of late round picks. If we’re going to get a king’s ransom for Ristolainen, it’s probably this summer or the 2020 trade deadline at the absolute latest. By the time you’re reading this the deal may already be done. Oh, I forgot to mention the Miller trade pissed off Leafs fans! I love pissing off Leafs fans. Fuck them, right?

So there it is: New Look Sabres 2019 Free Agency! Well… how about some fun signings not related to the Sabres? Even after the Leafs traded away Nazem Kadri for a decent to good defenseman there are still smart folks up there saying the Leafs are worse man-for-man compared to last year. Delicious! Robin Lehner openly declared his displeasure for how the Islanders let him go before signing with the Chicago Blackhawks. That’s interesting on two levels because the Isles probably aren’t done this offseason in a big way and Lehner now goes from a great defensive team on Long Island to a very porous defensive system in Chicago. We’ll see how it works out for him; I kinda want him to succeed still but one way or another we’ll see if last season was a fluke or not. Tyler Ennis singed with the Ottawa Senators. That maybe the one weirder jersey to see him in then Toronto. Finally Mike Smith goes from Flames to Oilers while Cam Talbot goes from Oilers to Flames. Should we call that Albertan Roulette? Bringing back home to Buffalo please like, share and comment on this blog. Get that hype going for the new season. I won’t be writing much on this blog until late August, but I think that’s okay because we all could use a break from Hockey. Also if you really want my Sabres takes you can always get them @UttaroSports on twitter. In the meantime, enjoy the summer! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Linus Ullmark was among the Sabres who filed for salary arbitration. I could’ve used this PS to talk about Remi Elie electing for arbitration which is much more humorous but Ullmark is my boy, so I hope everything goes over well for him come these hearings in… August. Huh. Let the long summer begin!

#hockey #blog #nhl #buffalo sabres

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