So the ending was Dong Shancai (SHEN YUE) was told by Ximen (CEASAR WU) that she rejected Daoming Si (DYLAN WANG) and he moved to London.
Then Daoming Si appeared making the same demands of when they met. Shancai denied him and he left. Then Daoming Zhaung (HSU DEE) appeared with two backup dancers and danced to the song RIVER (by BISHOP BRIGGS aka SARAH MCLAUGHLIN) which is a popular song in the states at that time.
She then tried to summon Daoming Si but instead got Hauze Lei (DARREN CHEN) Ximen (CEASAR WU) and Meizuo (LEON LEONG) having to choose one of them to marry. They all make their pitch.
After she turns them all down they summon Daoming Si who appears with every other guy that fell for our heroine Shancai including her best friend Qing He (LIN YIN HAO) Thomas (BLAKE ABBIE) and Tian Ye (WANG RUN ZE)
They were married by Daoming Si's sister without Shancai's parents or Daoming Si's evil mother who by this point wasn't trying to stop them in attendance. But the two mean girls that sent Shancai into a blizzard were there. But like @pose4photoml said...they got their happy ending.
A/N - This chapter is really not where I want it to be. Some of you know I am having problems with my sight. I feel if I don’t just get this posted, my enthusiasm will fizzle altogether. Moodboard by @flowers-in-your-hayr .
Warnings - Violence, explicit sexual content, the historically inaccurate use of the ‘F’ word, Ivar acting like a brat.
Lofn hated being treated differently. Worse, she despised those around her behaving as if she was the same. Welcoming her, smiling, keeping their eyes from wandering to the large black appendages jetting out from her back and towering above of her head. As if they were not there.
She did not feel that around the Lothbrok’s breakfast table though. No one knew how to act or what to say. The atmosphere was tense. Awkward. Sideways glances were exchanged and Ivar’s eyes moved frenetically from person to person, always settling back on her. Sigurd appeared to want to be anywhere but there, Ubbe observed Ivar, observing Lofn and Hvitserk simply ate while Aslaug was already into the mead.
“Lofn, are you comfortable in your room?” Aslaug asked from the end of the table, breaking the strange silence.
“I am, thank you,” Lofn replied looking back to the thick porridge and bowl of apple sauce before her. To allow room for her wings, she sat alone on one long side, the boys across and Ivar at the other end, closest to her. She could feel his eyes on her, constantly.
“How is your pain dear?” Aslaug continued.
Opening her mouth to answer, Ivar cut her off.
“The bed is too small for her. She does not fit.” Lifting his knife from his plate, he pointed toward her wings. “Because of those.”
Closing her eyes, Lofn exhaled wearily before looking back to Aslaug. “I am fine my Queen, truly.”
With a flat smile, Aslaug nodded, her eyes skipping back and forth between Lofn and her youngest son.
“I will be out today,” Lofn spoke up, clearing her throat. “Just…letting you know.”
“Of course, “Aslaug nodded, looking across to Ivar, who began to scowl.
Cocking his head, he stared at Lofn, interrogating her with just his eyes. Ignoring him entirely, she dipped a spoon full of porridge into her apple sauce before taking a bite. With a pinched face, his eyes followed her repetitive movements, dipping her spoon into each bowl before taking a mouth full.
“Lofn, would you like me to accompany you?” Ubbe cut in over the sounds of forks and spoons on plates. “I am quite sure you are capable of going unattended, but I can offer you a ride wherever you are going. With me on horseback or I can arrange for you to ride your own?”
“Ubbe,” Ivar leaned forward, his bright eyes glaring at his brother. “Are you blind or just stupid?” Throwing his gloved hand up, he stopped. “Do not answer. Both,” he quipped. “She has wings. The girl has wings. She does not require a ride from you.” Leaning back in his chair, he kept his eyes on Ubbe.
“Relax Ivar,” Ubbe replied in a calm voice, scrunching his forehead at his brother’s behaviour.
“Actually,” glimpsing at Ivar, Lofn looked across at Ubbe. “I would prefer a ride. I have not lifted my full weight in the air since….” Her head motioned back to Ivar. “I want to go into the hills above the city. Work on getting my strength back.”
“I will take you,” Ivar blurted, straightening, his hand squeezed the armrest of this chair. Looking up to the far end of the table, “Mother!” he called.
Scoffing loudly, Sigurd shook his head, averting his eyes from those around the table. Hvitserk paused, a spoonful of dagmal halfway to his mouth.
Scanning her eyes between her sons, Aslaug lifted her brow. “Ivar will take Lofn in his chariot.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lofn could see Ivar’s posture soften and he bought his cup to his mouth, looking smug.
“He knows those hills better than anyone and…” Ubbe rolled his eyes. “and…” Aslaug continued, shooting Ubbe a look of warning, “it is the least he can do.”
Opening her mouth to speak, Lofn hesitated, looking back down to her half-eaten breakfast. Feeling confronted, she lifted her cup and took a drink.
“I will have the kitchen slaves prepare a basket with food and ale,” Aslaug smiled, leaning back in her chair, taking a deep drink from her cup.
Glancing up to Ivar, Lofn nearly choked at the size of his priggish grin.
Ivar’s eyes flashed at Lofn before he looked back to Aslaug. “Thank you, Mother. That sounds delightful.”
—
The ride into the hills was, in fact, a true delight for Ivar. A black-haired, ebony feathered beauty stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist holding tight. His right hand was holding the reigns and his left squeezing hers for assurance that she would not fall as he purposely hit every divot on the path. The sun was shining, the wildflowers dusting the air with a sweet smell and Ivar had a genuine smile. Lofn was scowling, grimacing, as the wind whipped her long hair into her eyes. Flaring her nostrils, she gasped for breath, feeling as though she might suffocate, asphyxiate, on the sandalwood, or some similar body oil that Ivar had obviously, generously, applied before their departure. Sticking out her tongue, she coughed at its strength. What a prince charming she thought, rolling her eyes at the truth of their situation. Ivar, utterly ignorant of her plans for him.
Letting go of his waste and pulling free from his grasp, Lofn braced, holding the sides of the chariot as Ivar slowed to a stop. Swiveling, he opened his mouth to speak but stopped seeing that she was already off and making her way through the long grass toward a large boulder overlooking the harbour.
Lowering himself to sit at the back of the chariot, he dropped his legs off the end and watched. Climbing onto the rock, she stretched her arms out to either side, wincing at the pain in her chest. Unfolding her broad wings, she opened and stretched them wide on either side, lifting her pale face to the warm sun, and closing her eyes. At such an angle, Ivar could not tell whether she was rigid with pain or savouring the feeling of the sun’s warmth against her skin.
Pumping her wings in fast, downward strokes, her feet lifted from the rock and she drifted slowly down to the grass below. Her large black wings, looking like a sail catching the wind. Over and over and over Lofn repeated this simple exercise, climbing to the top of the boulder and floating to the ground.
Observing every detail of her wings and movements, he could not seem to pull his eyes from her pretty face and pitch-black hair. How her lips pressed together in concentration and the way her dress fitted her body, showing the lines of her figure. Scrunching his brow, he was surprised at her perseverance when it was obvious by her expression she was hurting.
Whistling to her, her head whipped back, looking over her shoulder to Ivar holding the basket up in one hand. Nodding, she straightened and smoothed the skirt of her dress before walking over, clearly exhausted as her hand clutched her sore shoulder.
“I am ready to return to the hall,” she announced, running her hand up and down her tender arm.
“I have not yet asked you any questions." Lowering his chin, he shot her an annoyed look. “I want to know what you did that day? Making everyone still, like they were made of stone.”
“I do not have to answer your questions,” she scoffed.
Sighing loudly, he dropped down from the chariot to the grass and pulled his legs to one side. “Sit and eat. I will bring you back here tomorrow. You can answer me then.”
She was too tired to object or appreciate the sight of Ivar unfolding a large linen cloth from the basket. Carefully he unpacked and placed bread and cheese and meat down with two cups and a corked jug of ale.
“I am not interested in eating,”
Stopping, he looked up, “You do not want to disappoint my mother by ignoring this lunch she organized.” Cocking his head to one side, he raised his brow in questions. “Or, do you?”
With a glare, she pulled her wings tight behind her and lowered to the grass to sit. Again her fingers worked to pull and smooth the long fabric of her dress.
“You are fidgeting,” Ivar said flatly as he hastily poured mead into a cup and held it out to her.
“I will never be comfortable in a dress.” Grabbing the drink, she drank quickly, nearly emptying it.
They ate in silence; Ivar watching her closely as she looked everywhere else, settling her sights on a still raven perched high on a ledge above them.
Finishing her food and cup of ale, she fluttered her lashes at him. “Satisfied?”
“Until tomorrow..," he replied. "I am meeting with the heads of the arriving armies after first meal. I will bring you up following.
Lofn did not respond.
“Yes?” he pressed.
Nodding, she looked down at the small blue wildflower she twirled between her fingers.
“We will talk then.”
She glanced back up to him but said nothing.
The following day proved like the first. The third and fourth too. The rocks got larger and soon Lofn was not only lowering herself down but flying up to ledges and cliffs with only moderate discomfort. At some point on day five, Ivar realized, Lofn’s prickly defense softened after a length of time when he had not probed her for answers. On day eight, she even smiled while flying high in the air, soaring above the tops of the trees. Keeping her arms at her sides and looking straight ahead, she dove down toward the earth, tilting up within feet of the lake and running her fingers across the surface. Water sprayed up, fanning on either side, sparkling as it caught the sunlight. She was ecstatic. Giggling as she zipped over Ivar who whipped his head in every direction, beaming, as he tracked her sharp movements and agile form. He was mesmerized.
That afternoon, the atmosphere felt different. There was a lightness, a playfulness that had never been present. They were having fun.
Sitting on the top of the boulder, Lofn watched the trading ships make their way into the bay and Ivar sat below, leaning casually against the rock, legs stretched straight with his eyes closed, savouring both the day and her company.
“Lofn?”
“Ivar?”
“Can I touch your wings?” Turning, he looked up to her, squinting from the sun which sat high above. The brightness shining behind illuminated the line around her dark wings and shadowed face. The brightness was suddenly shielded allowing him to open his eyes fully and look at her. Her left wing was peaked high, shading him from the direct light. It was not a large smile, but Ivar could see her lips lift with amusement.
“What is so funny?” he asked chuckling softly.
“No one has ever asked me that before.”
Sliding off the rock, she turned to face him and knelt beside his outstretched legs. Lifting her wings, she leaned forward and expanded them in his direction, bringing the tips together. The end feathers touched the rounded sides of the large boulder, creating a soft, feathered chambre around him. Her expression sobered, fascinated watching Ivar’s reaction. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide as he scanned the dark feathers of the enclosure. Studying the layers and layers of soft black that shone iridescent in the sunlight; a purple and blue sheen edged the dark ebony of each individual feather. Looking back to her face, their eyes locked and he let out a shaky breath, noticing the skin of her face. Even it was luminous in the direct sun, shining like it had been dusted with shavings of brilliant quartz. Bringing his hand up, he lightly ran his rough finger down her refined cheek before dropping it further to skim over the inside of her wing. He smiled, feeling how the soft cover concealed the seemingly flexible bones beneath.
“It is beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes shooting back to hers as he cleared his throat. A flash of unease flitting across his face. “Do you tire from holding them open like this?” he asked, steadying his voice.
“Not particularly. It is hard to describe.” She looked down to his hand now resting on his thigh. “I suppose it would be similar to expanding long webbed fingers. The bones are flexible but strong.”
Pulled her wings back to her sides, she ruffled them, before folding them back to rest behind her.
“Who sent you Lofn?” He asked, his voice relaxed.
“You are too intelligent for that question,” she blinked, watching his expression still as his mind connected his thoughts.
“Odin,” he uttered looking down at his crossed legs. “To avenge my father.” He brought his eyes back up to hers.
“To help the true heir avenge him, yes,” she nodded subtly.
“That is me," he said, his voice now strange; a mixture of surprise and defense.
“Well, it is not Sigurd,” she looked up, eyeing the black raven still resting high above.
Lost in thought, Ivar lowered his eyes, watching her fingers softly comb through the dry grass.
“Are you a Valkyrie?” he looked up.
Shaking her head, she tucked the loose wisps of hair behind her ear. “And never will be.”
“This is a disappointment?” his forehead scrunched in question.
“To be a Valkyrie is a great honour. A powerful destiny.” She paused licking her lower lip. “My mother was Svala, was one of the most famous Valkyries of all.”
Listening to her every word, Ivar's eyes stayed focussed on her pale lips as she spoke.
“She was banished by Odin for killing a magical shieldmaiden named Unn. Unn was favoured,” Lofn chuckled, but her face showed her sorrow. “It was said that Thor was in love with her. But Unn killed my father Helgi, a mortal, in battle. So…. my mother killed her. Drove a sword right through her chest and then removed both her heart and her head in order to stop her magic. For good.” Exhaling loudly, she looked down to the grass between her fingers. “Thor was enraged, and I was in my mother’s womb when it happened.” She looked back up, locking eyes with him. “I never met my father," she shook her head softly. "To smooth Thor’s anger, the All Father banished my mother to the top of one of the highest mountains. She was forced to live out her life within a burning round of fire. I was taken away right after being born and raised by other angels in service. I never knew my parents, either of them.”
Ivar listened, studying her face and emotion around her eyes.
“The blood of my banished mother that pumps in my veins prevents me from becoming Valkyrie. Ever. I will never be given that power and wisdom. Never be able to sour above the battlefields, choosing who is ready and who is not. Who is worthy and who is not.” She smiled sadly.
“How do I know you are not something else?” he asked quietly, playfulness back in his eyes. “To fool me?” he smiled. “Secretly choosing to end my life.” His smile widened, showing his perfect, straight teeth.
She could not help but smile in return. “Have you heard me whisper your name in your ear?”
“No.”
Lowering her chin, she eyed him from under her brow. “Then I have chosen you for nothing.”
—
The sun continued to shift in the sky, dampening the light in the clearing.
“It is late,” Lofn uttered glancing up at the fading sun.
Standing, she stretched her injured shoulder, her wings relaxed at her back. Nodding, Ivar’s eyes lingered on her face before he rolled onto his front and crawled to the chariot. Pulling himself up, he stood turning to watch Lofn approach, the picnic basket hanging from one of her arms. Taking the basket from her outstretched hand, Ivar offered his other to help her in. Clutching his hand, she hopped into the chariot, losing her footing as Ivar yanked her forward. Hitting her chest against his, he wrapped his arm tight around her waist and slammed his mouth to hers. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed hard. Pulling her head back, she brought her hand up and slapped him, cracking her palm across his cheek. Stunned, he blinked, his arm dropping from her waist and Lofn watched his face morph from shock, to shame before his brows pinched and his eyes came alive with anger.
With her breath held, Lofn took a step back just as Ivar slammed the butt of his hand into her chest. Knocking the wind from her lungs, she fell backward, tumbling from the chariot onto the hard ground. A muffled cry escaped her mouth as she rolled onto her sore side, painfully pulling her wings out from under her. She gasped loudly, unable to inhale, feeling as though she could not take a breath.
“You appear healed,” he sneered. “You need no ride from me,” Turning away, he roared at his horse to go, snapping the leather reigns.
Heated pricked the skin of Lofn’s neck and cheeks as the muscles in her chest eased, allowing her to take a shallow breath. Scowling, she gritted her teeth and watched the back of Ivar’s head disappear as he made his way down the rough path. A shrill kaaw caused her to snap her head up, shooting the black raven an enraged glare.
“Do not scold me,” she shouted. “This will work! He is destined for the crown.” Coughing roughly, she cleared her throat and spat into the grass. “I will make it so,” she muttered, as she looked toward the empty path.
My thoughts on Strange Ending by #ERPunshon reissued by @DeanStPress #CrimeFiction #BookReview
A review of Strange Ending by E R Punshon – 231021
Never mind a Strange Ending this is a strange book and although a fan of Punshon’s Bobby Owen series is one that I found difficult to get into. This is the thirty-first in the series, originally published in 1953 and reissued by Dean Street Press, and displays some unusual features.
The story concerns the murder of Hugh Newton, although some of…
"How long have we been working together?" He asks, pouring venom straight into my eyes.
"A-about 3 y-years sir" she whispers, feeling her heart rate increase rapidly.
"Ok. Now how many times have I told you not to enter my office without knocking? Look. Do you see what you've caused?" He glares, holding up his coffee stained uniform.
"I-I'm very sorry, sir" After hearing the words come out of my mouth, his large hand collides with my already aching cheek. A gasp erupts from my mouth as I feel something inside me snap.
Everyone was all grossed out about the morphed people, and Ray was like "we have to bring this to people who are holier than us and who are better equipped for something like this" SO HE AND HENRY ROLLED THEM TO A TEMPLE AND JUST LEFT THEM THERE. A PRIEST CAME OUT AND WAS LIKE "TF?" 😂😂😂
