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Single Door Fridge | Direct Cool Refrigerator
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Why Choose a Single Door Fridge? If you have a small kitchen or limited space, a single door refrigerator is the ideal choice for you. Sathya online shopping provides a variety of options, including the coveted direct cool single door refrigerator. These compact wonders, including the efficient direct cool single door refrigerator, are tailored to seamlessly integrate into confined spaces without sacrificing functionality. Its sleek and slim design ensures easy accommodation in any corner of your kitchen, all at an affordable single door refrigerator price. And the best part? The single door refrigerator price is budget-friendly. Desire a fridge that does it all? Single door refrigerator excel at storing your favorite foods and drinks while seamlessly blending into your compact kitchen. Concerned about preserving the freshness of your food? Worry not, these refrigerators, including the efficient direct cool single door refrigerator, are crafted to uphold the ideal temperature. This feature guarantees that your edibles stay fresh for an extended period, all at a reasonable single door refrigerator price. Purchase your single door fridge online today and experience the convenience and freshness it brings to your home. By choosing a direct cool refrigerator, you're not only saving space but also saving on your energy bills – a win-win situation for your wallet and the environment.
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Futuristic Fost free Samsung Refrigerators - Trend setter
The Samsung Side-by-Side Refrigerator is a stellar addition to any kitchen, marrying form and function seamlessly. This cutting-edge appliance combines sleek aesthetics with advanced technology to offer a truly exceptional cooling experience.
One of the standout features is its impressive capacity. With a spacious interior and adjustable shelving, you can effortlessly store groceries, beverages, and frozen items. The side-by-side design splits the refrigerator and freezer compartments vertically, ensuring easy access to everything you need.
Advanced cooling technology is at the heart of this appliance. Equipped with multi-airflow systems, it maintains consistent temperatures, preventing temperature variations that can affect food quality. The built-in water and ice dispenser adds to the convenience, supplying chilled water and ice at your command.
What sets this refrigerator apart is its integration of smart features. With Wi-Fi connectivity, you can control and monitor your refrigerator remotely. Adjust settings, check the temperature, and even receive alerts if the door is left ajar, all from your smartphone. This not only saves energy but also provides peace of mind.
In summary, the Samsung Side-by-Side Refrigerator is the perfect combination of style, technology, and practicality. It's an asset for those who appreciate a well-organized kitchen, longer-lasting freshness, and the convenience of smart home appliances. Make your kitchen cooler with Samsung.
#home appliances#frost free refrigerator#samsungrefrigerator#bestrefrigeratorinindia#samsung side by side fridge#technology
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5 Best Refrigerators To Keep Your Food Fresh And Chilled
A refrigerator is an essential appliance in any household. It keeps your food fresh, chilled, and safe to consume. With the advancements in technology, refrigerators have also evolved to become smarter and more energy-efficient. Here, we will take a look at some of the best refrigerators in India that will keep your food fresh and chilled. For more information please visit the website now.
#3 star refrigerator#frost free refrigerator#French Door Refrigerator#fridge online#best refrigerator#best refrigerators in India
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Best Double Door Refrigerators of 2022
A double door fridge is not only aesthetically pleasing, but also loaded with features that a normal single door refrigerator doesn’t have. If you are planning to bring home a new fridge, then you can definitely go for a double door model. However, choosing the best one among the myriad brands available can be a daunting task. To save you time, we have listed the best double door refrigerator options. Read on to know!
1. Panasonic Double Door Refrigerator 336 litres
The Panasonic Double Door Fridge comes with innovative AG clean technology that eliminates harmful microbes like mould and bacteria, ensuring your food stays fresh for longer. The frost free refrigerator offers gentle surround cooling, which surrounds the stored things with cold air that is blown to the sides from the back panel, creating even cooling as a result. The fridge comes with a 3-star rating, but the inbuilt inverter technology helps the compressor and fan to operate at varying speeds depending on the temperature. This feature makes it nothing short of a 5 star double door refrigerator. Some of the key features that make it one of the best double door refrigerators are: large door pockets, toughened glass shelves, retractable ice trays, and shelves that can be adjusted in height.
2. Godrej Double Door Refrigerator 236 litres
The Godrej Double Door Refrigerator is ideal for you if you've always desired more storage capacity. This frost free refrigerator has a large vegetable tray, so you have room for all of your vegetables. Your food will stay clean and fresh, thanks to its antibacterial gasket and silver ions. It comes with 2.25 litres of aqua space, that lets you store your water bottles or aerated easily. Best part: The Godrej Double Door Refrigerator has toughened glass shelves that can hold up to 150 kilos of weight. What’s more? This fridge inhibits the formation of ice thanks to its advanced auto-defrost feature, and comes with a large freezer space that provides uniform cooling.
3. Whirlpool Double Door Refrigerator 265 litres
Whirlpool is another brand that you can count on.
Equipped with technologies like Zeolite, Microblock, and FreshFlow AirTower with Flexi Vents, it lets the freshness of the food last for up to 15 days. The Microblock technology eliminates up to 99% of bacterial development, preserving freshness for a long time, and the Zeolite technology prevents over-ripening of fruits and vegetables. The FreshFlow AirTower is another distinct technology engineered to ensure uniform cooling. The Whirlpool Double Door Refrigerator is also equipped with three IntelliSensors that monitor the load, weather, and usage patterns to provide the best cooling. Best part: This fridge maintains a balanced air-flow and ensures maximum freshness.
4. Haier Double Door Refrigerator 256 Litres
The Haier Double Door Refrigerator comes in an elegant and sleek design. Its compressor and fan are powered by Twin Inverter Technology, which allows them to operate at adjustable speeds depending on the load, guaranteeing optimum energy consumption. The refrigerator can sustain lower temperatures effectively for greater cooling since it has thicker PUF (Polyurethane Rigid Foam) insulation. Best part: Heavy pots and pans can be easily placed on the shelves, as the shelves are made of toughened glass. What’s more? This refrigerator is spacious and comes with a large vegetable compartment that can accommodate your week’s veggies.
5. Panasonic 307 L Frost Free Double Door 3 Star Refrigerator
It comes with a sleek double door design and a storage capacity of 307 litres. The jumbo storage also enables you to store 2-litre beverage bottles easily. The auto-defrost technology helps prevent ice build-up inside the fridge, eliminating any need for manual clean-up. The appliance also utilises Surround Airflow cooling technology to provide an even temperature across storage spaces, and the AG clean technology to inhibit bacteria and mould build-up inside up to 99.99 percent*, making food stay healthy and hygienic for longer periods. If you are looking for a refrigerator with the best price, you should consider this one.
Choosing the right fridge is crucial because it is an appliance that serves you for years and is nothing less than an investment. Make sure to make a wise choice. Go for the one that makes storing food easy and is a 5-star refrigerator double door model that saves you money on utility bills. So, with this guide at your disposal, hope buying the best double door refrigerator becomes easy-breezy for you now.
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Westinghouse Electric Corp, 1952
#refrigerator#ad#1952#midcentury#vintage#frost-free#1950s#housewife#fridge#advertisement#mid-century#freezer#appliance#free#house wife#advertising#mid century
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Whirlpool 240 L Frost Free Multi-Door Refrigerator
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Designed to be the coolest appliance for your home, Haier has launched it's brand new Big Top Mount Magic Convertible Refrigerator. With built-in triple inverter technology, 10-in-1 convertible modes, and magic cooling abilities, it is sure to make your life more than just convenient.
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Frigidaire upright zer with digital display manual
ezers. Figure 1. TEMP ALARM (ELECTRONIC MODELS).
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North To The Future [Chapter 10: Scar Tissue]
The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.
Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, and you don’t get any plot hints this time you just have to read and suffer and yes there will be ANGSTTTTT!!!!
Word count: 6.2k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
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You’ve counted the scars on his chest until you know them by heart. There are twelve exactly, which feels significant; it’s the last week of the twelfth month of 1999, it’s the end, it’s the beginning. You read them with your eyes and your fingertips and your lips, these knots of corporal memory that form a constellation, not the shape of a hero—Hercules, Orion, Perseus, Achilles—but the footprints of ghosts.
The Juneau magnet has joined the rest of his collection, places he blew into like a storm and then abandoned, wreckage in his wake, downed trees and snapped powerlines and shingles ripped from roofs, finally at peace in his absence and yet somehow less. There is a jar on top of the refrigerator that already has your half of the money for the San Diego trip squirreled away in it. Aegon puts in a little at a time—a quarter here, a five-dollar bill there—and yet there’s never any doubt that he’s committed to it. It’s the same way he is with you. There are no grand gestures, no expensive gifts or intoxicating declarations. There are only small, feather-light moments as faint as the lines in your palm. You could stack up a million of them and they would never feel heavy. They would never feel like a cage.
Aegon is an open door, and together you are a dream: whispers and guitar strings, tangled sheets and refracted light, snow falling soundlessly beyond frosted windows, fog so thick it erases the stars.
~~~~~~~~~~
“How dare you,” Heather says when you enter Caribou Crossings. It’s Wednesday, December 29th. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and surrounded by boxes, an island in a sea of Juneau-themed souvenirs. “You float in here on a cloud while I’m sad, single, all alone in the world except for these hideous snow globes.” She holds one aloft for emphasis. “Why would anyone want a snow globe with a salmon in it? A salmon?”
You smile. You smile a lot these days. “Tragic.”
“No pets in need of your medical expertise?”
“Not really. Ms. Larson’s box turtle had a shell fracture, but now I’m free until 2:30.”
“How’s the making Cobainbies going?”
“No babies,” you insist. “Not of any variety.” Aegon as a father, as a husband? The prospect is horrifying. When you’re reminded of this—of the impossibility of a future beyond the next three months—you try to bury it like…well, like a body in a lake; each time it surfaces, you tie another stone around its ankle and sink it back down into the darkness.
“Is that what cracked Trent’s already less-than-impressive brain? You and Aegon?”
“Trent doesn’t know about Aegon. He just thinks we’re taking things slow. Honestly, I tried to break up with him about a week ago and…he got scary.”
Heather puts down the salmon snow globe and looks at you. “What did he do?”
“The same thing he did at the bar the other night. He was like…aggressive. Intimidating. But also apologetic and oblivious. It’s really disorienting. It’s hard for me to figure out if he’s…” What’s the right word? Dangerous. But you’re not sure if you can say that to Heather. “Seriously angry. I don’t want him to go all Stone Cold Steve Austin on Aegon.” Or me.
“That moron,” Heather sighs. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to him.”
“Uh, don’t do that.”
“No, it’s fine, I know how to put it in a way he’ll understand.” She stands, hands on her hips. “It’s just…you know…when Trent played football, if he was bored or pissed off he could run around and tackle people and knock them unconscious, and that’s how he learned to deal with things. And now he doesn’t have that anymore. He’s got friends and hobbies and a job, but I don’t think he knows what comes next. That happens to everyone, right? We all wake up one day and realize we’re adults and we’re supposed to have life figured out but we just…don’t. Trent’s a dumbass, and he needs to leave you alone if that’s what you want, and I’ll make it happen. But I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt somebody.”
“I hope not,” you say softly.
Heather smirks. “So, are you enjoying all the super kinky sex with that Greek boy? Has he bent you into a pretzel fifty different ways? Has he dislocated your hips yet?”
“It’s not really like that,” you tell her. “It’s intense, but it’s…I don’t know. Different.”
The truth dawns on her, sunlight sparkling on waves. “When he leaves, you want to go with him.”
“Yes, but I can’t.”
“Why not? They need vets everywhere.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Look, obviously I don’t want you to leave. I’d be freaking heartbroken. Those four years of vet school were bad enough, and I always knew you were coming back. But if you feel like there’s something else out there that you need to experience…” She gestures vaguely, meaning the world beyond Juneau. “I would want you to have that chance. And then maybe you could end up back here one day knowing that this is really what you need after all.”
You shake your head, watching flurries wheel through the frigid wind outside. “My parents would be devastated. I don’t have any siblings, there’s nobody else, there’s just me. And Aegon…” He’s been running for six years and he’ll never stop. “He’s not the type to settle down.”
“Maybe he’ll get the whole alcoholic homeless rockstar thing out of his system and be totally normal by the time he hits thirty,” Heather says hopefully.
You can see it in a flash too sudden to hide from yourself: a house by the beach, white-blond children chasing Sunfyre around the backyard, golden-sun days and hot chocolate at night, cooking in the kitchen together like your parents always do. Aegon wouldn’t even have to work. I could still be a vet and he could take care of the kids and perform in some local rock band once or twice a week...and we could all be happy. You can’t believe that—not for more than a few reckless seconds, anyway—but you need to kill this conversation before it kills you. “Sure, maybe.”
“We should do something fun,” Heather pivots cheerfully. “While Aegon’s still here. While you both are. It’s the start of a new millennium, bitch! If we were characters on Friends or Buffy or whatever, we would be doing something fun and glamorous. We wouldn’t be sitting here in grandma sweaters surrounded by boxes of salmon snow globes.”
You laugh, although you are admittedly partial to grandma sweaters. “What do you want, a New Year’s Eve party? Flutes of champagne, glitter and fireworks? People making out at midnight?”
She grins. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“I could probably make that happen, actually,” you realize. “My parents keep bringing up the idea of having people over. They love any excuse to ply guests with food and rock music. I said I just wanted to watch ABC 2000 Today with them and Aegon.”
“Great! You can still watch ABC 2000 Today, just with thirty of your closest friends.”
“You are well aware that I possess, at the absolute maximum, like four friends.”
“Everyone is friends with everyone on New Year’s Eve. And guess what?”
“What?”
Heather’s face is determined, insolent, fierce. “We’re not going to invite Trent.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“New Year’s Eve?” Aegon echoes doubtfully. You’re curled up on the couch together watching the X-Files, Sunfyre sprawled across your lap, your head on Aegon’s bare chest; he has one hand in your hair, the other holding a rum and Coke. He doses himself with it like morphine, but he is far from drunk. He’s seemed better since he almost drowned. You wonder if it reminded him that alive is something he enjoys being.
“Yeah. My parents are so excited about it. They’re trying to plan a menu, but my dad has literally fifteen different appetizers he wants to make.”
“Sounds like he’s handling retirement well.”
“He likes to stay busy.” You sit up to look at Aegon. The light of the television flickers on his face, but his eyes are glassy and far away. As far as Miami? As far as six years ago? “So? What do you think?”
“About what?”
“The New Year’s Eve party, obviously.”
He shrugs, sips his rum and Coke, licks his lips slowly. Then he comes back to you, a moon growing full again after starving away. “Totally, Appletini. Let’s do it.”
“Yay!” You are shocked by your own enthusiasm; it’s very unlike you. Sunfyre’s tail thumps against the couch in approval. You turn Aegon’s face and kiss him, feeling the strange barely-there smile of his lips on yours. “And Trent won’t even be there, so we don’t have to be subtle about anything. We can hang out together, dance, cuddle, feed each other Swedish meatballs on cute little toothpicks…”
“Sneak up to your bedroom while everyone else is busy watching the countdown in Times Square…”
You giggle, settling against Aegon’s chest again, nestling into him. He’s warm and pliable and fits with you like the interwoven opalescent threads of the Northern Lights. His free hand pulls you closer; the ice cubes in his glass clink. The jar on top of the refrigerator gets fuller each day. “Everything is falling into place. Everything is going to be perfect.”
“Perfect,” Aegon agrees; but you can hear that he’s far away again.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Bitch,” Heather gasps when she sees you, awed and incredulous. She’s carrying a massive tray of miniature quiches: smoked salmon, ham and cheddar, crab and tomato. “Bitchhhhh!”
You’re wearing a red dress you bought for a winter formal during vet school and haven’t touched since. You went with a sweet soulful boy from Iowa who you felt absolutely nothing for. He would have made a good husband, you realize now; he would have come home every night and helped the kids with their math homework and spent his weekends fixing fences and grilling steaks. You wonder if people like that are born without any darkness in them, or if they just learn to drain it from their veins like poisoned blood. You wonder if there is some reservoir of malignant self-destruction in everyone just waiting to breach the levees. “I look okay?”
“You look delicious. You look sinfully slutty. I wish I was into women, that’s how good you look.”
“Thanks, Heather.” You have lingerie on to match. You’re red all the way down: satin, lace, blood. You’re even wearing strappy crimson heels. It’s something you can’t stop thinking about: Aegon slipping every layer off of you later. You take the tray of quiches and beckon Heather inside.
The house is decorated—to a truly excessive degree—with balloons, banners, and confetti. Welcome, 2000! one banner reads. We hope the Y2K bug doesn’t destroy civilization! Your mom and dad are frenetically readying appetizers in the kitchen. When they finish each dish, you bring it out to the dining room table: deviled eggs, crab dip and toast points, ham salad sandwiches, stuffed jalapeno peppers, chicken liver mousse crostini, reindeer sausages, bacon-wrapped scallops, Swedish meatballs, homemade Rice Krispies Treats, Tongass Forest Cookies, a towering Baked Alaska. There are chilled bottles of wine, beer, and champagne, beads of condensation snaking down the glass. The ABC 2000 Today special is on tv, but guests are only half-watching. Your dad’s newest Red Hot Chili Peppers album is spinning on the record player; to you, their songs sound like California, or at least what you imagine California to be. The plucky guitar notes of Scar Tissue tiptoe through the house like footsteps in sand.
There are people in the dining room, people in the living room, people huddled in their parkas and smoking cigarettes around the crackling firepit in the backyard. They’re talking about 2000, of course, and the presidential election next year, and the Olympics, and the internet, and their own mundane tribulations: knee replacements, gallbladder removals, hyperactive grandchildren, marriages and divorces. But they’re talking about the Ice Fisher too.
“Who do you think it could be?” you hear Dale asking some of his bowling league buddies on the other side of the living room. They’re all broad, bearded men in flannel and jeans, guzzling beers and weather-beaten by their work as fishermen, loggers, oil riggers. “Ex-military? Some drifter? Someone just not right in the head? You know, I saw this 60 Minutes episode about a brain disease—what was it called, Earl? CTZ? CTE?—and athletes can get it from having concussions all the time. Boxers and football players and such. You think something like that could make someone violent…?”
Heather is working her way through a gargantuan portion of crab dip. Kimmie and Brad are practically mounting each other on your parents’ couch. Beside them, Joyce is grimacing as she tries to lose herself in a fantast novel with a mostly-naked cowboy on the front cover. She only smiles when Rob brings her a plate of appetizers. You’re on your third glass of bubbly, festive champagne. You keep glancing at the front door.
“They have to catch him soon, right?” Kimmie says in between sloppy kisses: loud smacking noises, lots of tongue. “I mean, he’s killed five people. Five! That’s so many!”
Joyce flips a page. “The police called in the FBI. That’s got to lead to a breakthrough soon.”
“I hope so.” Kimmie shudders. “It’s constant now…I worry when I go out to check the mail, when I put gas in my Land Cruiser, when I’m carrying groceries into the house…I feel like he could be anywhere. Like he’s lurking in every shadowy corner just waiting to grab me.”
“I think you’re safe,” Rob says with a smirk, amused but grim. “No one who goes to Ursa Minor gets killed. Have you guys noticed that? None of the victims had ever been to the bar as far as I know. The Ice Fisher must do his stalking in a different part of town.”
“Weird coincidence,” Joyce mutters.
“Guess I need to start going to Ursa Minor,” Brad says, grinning. “I could use some good luck.” Kimmie squeals with laughter as he paws at her, greedy and frivolous. You think: Please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch…
“Why are the Bee Gees on tv?” Heather complains. “Who wanted that?”
Kimmie asks you: “Can Brad and I borrow your bedroom?”
“No, Kimmie.”
“Not the bed. Just the room. We’ll put a towel down on the floor.”
“Boundaries, Kimmie,” you plead.
“Fine,” she relents, sulking. Kimmie is wearing a glittery white dress and looks very, very young; her eyes are large and blameless, and her hair is secured in two voluminous pigtails. There’s a rhinestone crown on her head that reads Happy New Year! “Is Aegon on his way?”
“Oh yeah, he’ll be here any minute.” You steal another glimpse of the front door, but there are no consequent knocks. You check the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m.
“He’s driving?” Heather says around a mouthful of crab dip, thin eyebrows raised. “He never drives.” Because he’s always drinking, she kindly leaves out.
“He told me he wanted to this morning. He’s been picking up extra shifts at work on whatever boats need another man. Holiday pay is double and we’re saving up for a trip to San Diego, you know.” There are polite—skeptical? pitying?—murmurs of agreement. “He didn’t know when he would get off, so he said I should focus on preparing for the party here and he would head over as soon as he had time to shower and walk Sunfyre. Anyway, he was on a boat all day and I was here helping to make deviled eggs until my hands felt like they were going to fall off.”
“Huh. I hope he’s not passed out in a ditch somewhere.”
“He’s not,” you say, a little more harshly than you mean to. He’s been getting better.
There is a knock at the door, and the closest person—Mark Morehouse from the pawn shop—opens it. It’s not Aegon. It’s Trent. He’s carrying a cheesecake the size of a Pekingese.
“Oh no,” Heather breathes. Kimmie, Joyce, and Rob frown down at their drinks.
“Hey, Trent!” Brad says, blithely unaware of the shift in mood.
Trent, wearing a very stately black button-up shirt, matching blazer, and khaki pants, looks around the room. He sees you, mouths wow, and then gives a tentative wave. He doesn’t come anywhere close to you. He puts his cheesecake on the dining room table and then goes to join Gary and Matt by the record player. Your mom and dad soon appear to greet him, resting their hands on his massive shoulders, asking about how his parents are doing and whether he’s had any luck with the Forest Service. Trent tells them that he finally got an interview that’s scheduled for next week. They reply with congratulations, casting you furtive, appraising glances. Did you invite him? Their eyes say. Do you want him here?
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Heather asks you. “I didn’t tell him about the party, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Of course she wouldn’t; but Juneau is too small for secrets, that feels more true every day. Heather didn’t need to tell Trent, and neither did your parents. Maybe he heard about it through Matt or Gary, or he eavesdropped on a conversation in the Foodland, or someone mentioned it to his parents and they suggested he go without knowing he wasn’t supposed to be in attendance. However it happened doesn’t matter. The damage is done.
Heather’s question reverberates in your skull. Do you want me to get rid of him? “No,” you say. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone.” Everyone but Aegon, you think, and you wouldn’t call yourself concerned yet but you are growing annoyed, little by little like how a clock ticks towards a new hour.
Joyce sniffs. “Hopefully he stays over there.”
And Trent does keep his distance. Now Dale is congratulating him about his interview. “That’s a great sign, Trent, a really great sign! Getting your foot in the door is the hardest part. I’ll call over and put in a good word for you. I still have a bunch of stuff from when I worked as a park ranger…boots, compasses, trekking poles, snowshoes…I’ll bring a box over for you.”
“Aw, Dale!” Trent appears to be genuinely touched. “Thanks, bro! You’re the best!”
“Sorry, what’s wrong with Trent?” Brad asks, brow crinkled, one arm slung around Kimmie. “Did I miss something?”
“He’s just a little obsessed with our gorgeous crimson hostess,” Heather explains, gesturing to you. “Obsessed in a pushy, idiotic, not-flattering way.”
Rob adds: “And he occasionally turns into the Hulk.”
“Maybe Trent’s the Ice Fisher,” Brad whispers conspiratorially, and then bursts out laughing. Everyone joins him except you. You can’t really blame them. Trent is a local hero: a football star, a reliable employee, the son of a normal and respected family, the wearer of his mane of lustrous hair, the object of countless women’s affection, the man who dragged Aegon out of the channel when he nearly drowned. A few mutilated Taco Bell tables aren’t going to change that. An occasional verbal outburst—and from a former athlete no less, fiery and forceful by necessity and thus swiftly forgiven, like a champion thoroughbred prone to biting—isn’t going to change that.
But they haven’t seen everything I have. They haven’t felt it.
You stand. “I’m going to go call Aegon.”
Upstairs in your bedroom, you assess your reflection in the mirror lined with photographs: the past and the future, friends and family and that magazine cutout of the Ford Mustang convertible barreling down the Pacific Coast Highway. You touch up your hair and makeup, then admire your dress. It occurs to you that almost everyone downstairs is wearing black or white or silver, cold wintery colors, New Year’s colors. You are the only one in red. When you got ready hours ago, you had felt powerful and sensual and elegant. You had imagined disappearing with Aegon into this room just after midnight, his hands skating up your thighs as cheers and toasts rumble through the floor. Now, when you imagine your exclamation-point red dress in a sea of cool, sleek shades of darkness and light, it strikes you as perhaps trying too hard. Desperate, even.
You pick up the phone on your nightstand and dial Aegon’s number. The line is busy.
Who would he be talking to? you wonder, perplexed. Everyone he knows is here.
You can’t drive over to pick him up; not until some of the champagne leaves your system, anyway. And you could never ask someone else to take you. You have no idea what you’ll find when you get there. You hang up the phone and stare down at it for a while.
So this is what it felt like. All those nights when Mom was waiting for Jesse to come home and he never did, all those times they had plans that he forgot. She’d be sitting on the couch or at the dining room table trying not to lose her mind as the hours crept by, and the whole time he’d be off getting wasted somewhere.
You physically shake your head to chase the vision away.
Aegon is going to be here. He has to be here. He’s been getting better.
“No luck?” Heather asks when you reappear downstairs, trying to sound neutral. You know she’s not actually neutral. You know exactly what she’s thinking.
“I’m sure he’ll be on his way soon.” You plop down on the couch next to Joyce and gaze at the television without really seeing it. You are vaguely aware of the entertainers flitting in and out of the little black box: Neil Diamond, Faith Hill, Enrique Iglesias, Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, Aerosmith. Around you, the party rolls on. You chat less and less and consume only water. You’re losing your appetite, and you want to be able to drive by the time midnight strikes. It’s 11:00, and then 11:15, and then 11:30, and eventually 11:45. More Juneau residents filter in, but none of them are Aegon.
“You okay, ladybug?” your dad asks as he moseys by the couch, and you send him away with a peppy affirmation and a too-wide smile. Your mom tries next, with similar results. They know you aren’t okay, but they can’t say anything about it. Neither can Heather or Kimmie or Joyce. You become a blip on a hectic radar, an island in the South Pacific so small the rest of the world flies over it without even looking down. The house is hot and teeming with bodies: friends and lovers laughing together, touching each other, chatting, kissing lips and throats and cheeks. The living room suddenly feels like it’s on fire, like there’s searing smoke pouring into your lungs. You tell your friends you’re going to the bathroom so they’ll leave you alone, and then you squeeze through the crowd and flee out into the backyard, which is blessedly empty. Everyone else has crammed inside to watch the tv as the clock nears midnight. No one wants to miss the ball drop. You couldn’t care less.
You plod through the snow in your ridiculous red heels until you reach the firepit, and you stand there glaring into the blaze with your bare arms wrapped around you. There is light snow falling, but you don’t even feel cold. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, like you’ve swallowed the same flames that are dancing across your face.
He’s not going to show up, you are certain now. He’s really not going to. And he knew that all along, which is why he didn’t want me to drive him.
You feel furious, you feel ruined, but most of all you just feel stupid. You’ve heard this story before. You were a part of it, you were built by it. And yet somehow you thought you could change the ending.
Wind howls through the evergreen trees, and now you are cold. You clutch yourself tighter, shivering viciously and covered in goosebumps. You’re stuck out here; there are tears spilling down your cheeks, black trails of mascara that will scream to anyone who sees you that you’ve been crying. Crying over Aegon. Crying over some fucking alcoholic loser who stood me up.
Of course, you don’t actually think he’s a loser. That’s the problem. Everyone seems to understand exactly who he is but you.
You hear the back door of the house swing open, and there are heavy footsteps crunching through the snow. You sniffle, trying to wipe the tears from your face with your fingers. You imagine that you’re only making it worse: stained foundation, smudged eyeliner, lip gloss worn away. You expect to see your dad when you turn around, but you don’t. You see Trent.
“Don’t freak out,” he says, and holds out your parka to you from several feet away. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just saw you run outside and figured you might need this.”
“Did anyone else see me?”
“I don’t think so.”
You grab the parka from him, yank it on, and zip it shut. You sniffle some more, mopping tears from your face. The stars and moon are almost fully obscured by clouds; the only light in the world is fire. After a while, you ask Trent: “What did Heather tell you?”
“She said that you are a mature, responsible, logical person, and that if I want to have any shot with you at all then I have to be the same way. And she was totally right. Losing my temper is immature, being jealous is immature. So now I’m giving you the space that you asked for. I get it now. I’m not going to try to tell you what you want. You’re too smart for that. You have to decide what you want for yourself.”
I’ve already decided, and I chose wrong. I chose so, so, disastrously wrong. “I appreciate that, Trent,” you say in a hoarse whisper.
He turns around to go back inside, then hesitates. “Look, I’m glad that you and Aegon are friends now. He’s not a bad guy. But he’s…I mean, he’s a mess, you know? And he’s always going to be a mess. And you can’t expect him to not be a mess. I’m sorry if he ruined something for you tonight. I know your family has sort of temporarily adopted him, and I know you like to fix things. But sometimes there are no bolts to tighten or nails to hammer in. Sometimes people just are who they are.”
You consider Trent, a mirage of bitter cold and firelight. He shrugs, offers a sheepish half-smile, flips his hair, and then retreats inside the house. Minutes later, as you try to choke back sobs under blind stars, you hear cheers and applause when the new millennium arrives.
As car doors slam and guests rummage through piles of coats, you slip mostly unnoticed into the kitchen. You pour yourself a full glass of water, drink all of it, and then make for your purse where your Jeep keys are stashed. You are intercepted in the dining room by your parents and Heather. You try to hide your face, but there’s no point. You are as clear as glass under the yellowish artificial light.
“Oh, ladybug, are you okay?” Your mom engulfs you in a warm, comforting hug that is also constraining. I have to try to find Aegon. I have to confront him. Not who I want him to be, but who he really is.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll be back in like a half hour, and then I’ll help you clean up the house.”
“The house!” your dad bellows, barking out a laugh of disbelief. “We aren’t worried about the house! What can we do, ladybug? Is there anything we can do?”
“No, really, I can handle it.”
“You can’t go anywhere alone,” Heather says. “It’s dark, it’s super late.” The other fact hangs in the air like snowflakes. The Ice Fisher might be out there somewhere, just waiting to snatch you off the sidewalk and sink you into a lake.
“It’s just across town, it’s a ten-minute drive, it’s not a big deal.”
“You can’t go out alone,” your dad insists, looking gratefully at Heather. Your mom nods along. “I’m sorry, but if something happened to you, we’d never be able to forgive ourselves.”
“I’ll go,” Heather says. “I think I’ve had too much champaign to drive, but I can ride along and walk you inside.”
“That’s completely unnecessary. I have my bear mace.”
“Then I’ll wait in the Jeep!” Heather throws up her hands, exasperated. “Look, bitch, one way or another someone is going with you. I’ll make sure you get up to his apartment—that’s where you’re going, right? I think we all know that’s where you’re going—and then I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait five minutes, I’ll wait five hours, I really don’t care how long it takes but there is no fucking way you’re driving off into the night alone.”
You aren’t leaving this house without a chaperone. That’s pretty obvious. Aegon doesn’t care where I am or who I’m with. He didn’t even care enough to call and say he wouldn’t be here. “Fine. Okay. But we’re leaving right now.”
You grab your purse and Heather follows you out to the Jeep, struggling to keep up. “I would not have guessed you could move so efficiently in heels,” she puffs, climbing into the passenger’s seat. You tear out of the driveway, tires chomping on salt and ice and snow. Heather tries to make conversation. You don’t quite ignore her; it’s more like you don’t hear her at all. You hear the wind and the snow and the blood rushing in your ears. You hear the shrieking hollowness left by what could have been.
You park under the streetlight outside Aegon’s apartment building, murky luminescence flooding the cabin of your Jeep. Heather sees the inky tears on your face…and she sees the rage too: raw, brutal, razor-sharp rage. “Well, Jesus Christ, don’t kill him or anything.”
You don’t reply. You venture out into the savage cold, your heels leaving deep punctures in the ice-coated snow like stab wounds.
Upstairs, Aegon’s apartment door is locked. You can’t hear anything on the other side. And as you rattle the key he gave you into the jagged slit of the knob, you feel a dark premonition sinking in: a pebble through waves, a body into the depths. There is an instinctual warning that hums from your skin all the way down to your bone marrow.
There is no coming back from this moment. It’s like balancing on a ledge. There is something terrible here that I will never be able to unsee, to undiscover.
What is it? What the hell is it? That Aegon’s drunk? Would that really be so out of character, so inconceivable?
Maybe he’s with another woman. Maybe he’s already left Juneau. Maybe he’s dead.
You open the door; and in the silent florescent light of the kitchen, the first thing you notice is that the jar on top of the refrigerator is gone. Then you spot it: it’s open and sideways on the countertop, and it’s empty. Sunfyre lies on the kitchen’s tile floor with his scarred muzzle resting on his paws. He whimpers, large dark eyes troubled.
“Aegon?” you say. You step inside, your red heels clicking on the scuffed wood. You close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the dimly-lit room—guitar, bed, lifeless television, phone he left off the hook, couch—until you find him. He is a pale, crumpled figure on the floor. “Aegon?!”
You rush to him, dropping to your knees so hard you bruise them. He groans when you roll him over onto his back, so he’s not dead. He’s half-dressed: red leather pants, combat boots, gold chain necklace, no shirt. When you lift your hand from him, blood stains your palm.
“What—?”
And then you see the stripe of maroon dripping down from the crook of his left elbow. There’s a bloodied needle on the floor beside him, a lighter, a spoon. There’s a small transparent baggie half-filled with white powder.
Aegon blinks at you through his tangled hair, pulling himself upright with great effort. Everything about him is heavy, hazy, like trying to run through water. He doesn’t seem aware of the blood. It’s in his hair, you realize; and there’s a smear on his neck, a splattering on his bare chest. “What are you so dressed up for?”
You can’t answer him. You’re so full of horror and rage that if you open your mouth you might start screaming and never stop.
“Oh,” Aegon remembers listlessly. “Party.”
“I watched the door all night like an idiot, like some desperate little kid”—waiting for their father to come home—“and the whole time you were here shooting up.”
He gazes at you, but from a distance, like he’s looking up from the bottom of the ocean and you’re the shadow of a ship. His voice is slow and muddled. “Yeah.”
“And I guess that’s where all the money went. The money for the San Diego trip.”
“Yeah.”
“How fucking dare you,” you hiss. You grab the baggie off the floor.
Aegon’s hand darts out and closes around your wrist. “No—!”
You rip your arm away from him. “This is heroin, right?” You catch a fistful of his hair and yank his head back so you can check his eyes. Aegon flinches and yelps, but he doesn’t struggle. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils pinpricks in an ocean of deep blue. “How fucking dare you,” you say again. “How fucking dare you.”
You take the baggie to the kitchen sink, shove it down into the drain, turn on the garbage disposal. You run water down the drain until any trace of it is gone. When you return to Aegon, he’s watching you with those dazed, other-world eyes. He’s still slumped over on the floor; he doesn’t seem to be able to stand. He keeps trying to and flopping over.
“If you’re so mad then hit me,” he says. “Just hit me. Just fucking hit me.”
“Why did you have to come here?” you ask, wrenching the question out of you like extracting a molar or a bullet. Fresh tears brim in your eyes; embers kindle in your throat. You think of how hundreds of years ago doctors believed that you could bleed a patient to rid them of poison or disease, and you wonder how much of yourself you would have to spill into a bowl to forget Aegon. You wonder if your mom has ever forgotten a single thing about Jesse: his voice, his fingertips, the way his hair fell across his face. “If you were just going to make me want something that was never possible, if you were just going to show me what it felt like to be real and then take it away, what was the point? What was the goddamn point? Why did you have to come here and ruin my life?”
“You didn’t like your life before I showed up and you won’t like it when I’m gone.”
“I hate you,” you choke out.
Aegon’s jaw falls open. He can’t believe you said it. Neither can you.
“I want you to leave,” you tell him. “Tomorrow when you sober up I want you to pack your things and get on a plane and leave Juneau like you left everywhere else. I don’t want to know where you go next. I don’t want to know anything about you. I never want to see you again.”
“No.” You can’t tell if it’s defiance or denial or confusion. You don’t stay to argue with him.
You go to the apartment door, open it, and call to Sunfyre: “Come on, buddy.” He rockets off the tiles and trots over, tail wagging cautiously.
“Hey, hey, you can’t take my dog!” Aegon shouts, dragging himself towards you. His hands and knees thump against the wooden floor.
“Yes I can. You can’t be trusted with him. You don’t deserve him.”
“Please don’t,” Aegon whispers huskily. “Don’t take him away. Please.”
You twist his apartment key off your keyring and pitch it at him. It strikes his shoulder and ricochets off, clattering across the floor. He looks at it, not understanding. It’s a dead language, it’s an ancient rune he can’t read. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. “Goodbye, Aegon.”
You slam the door, fly down the building staircase, break into the cold all-consuming darkness with Sunfyre on your heels like a shadow made of gold.
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Pas de Deux - William Afton x Female Ballerina Reader ~ A Ballora Origin Story
Chapter Two
Rating - Explicit
Warnings - none for this chapter
Also available on AO3
On a Friday afternoon you find yourself tucked into a corner booth at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.
A double shift your mother picked up at the last minute has you waiting for a ride to the studio after the Aftons have agreed to provide transportation. You imagine Mrs. Afton scowling when she’d received the phone call, beginning to think you were more trouble than you were worth, while her husband murmured in the background he’d do it, it wasn’t any trouble, he didn’t mind an extra trip back and forth.
You consider your backpack and wonder if you could get some homework done but instantly dismiss the idea; between the noise of the arcade machines, the excited yelling and talking among the children gathered around two long tables pushed together to accommodate the guests of a birthday party, and the performance of the trio of animatronics onstage, moving jerkily in time to the music to mimic dancing, mouths moving to lip sync the lyrics to the song, the sheer volume of cacophony would make it impossible to try to block out and concentrate.
After a time William emerges from a hallway leading to the dining room. He’s different here, you notice; the environment has clearly affected him. A young girl struggles with the paper wrapping around a yellow crayon and he graciously stops to peel it for her, exposing the waxen tip. A woman nearby murmurs something to him and he smiles. It’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely happy and you feel something flutter in your stomach. A latex balloon grazes him arm and he playfully bats it back to the sender, another young guest at the party.
William’s eyes find yours staring at him and he gestures for you to follow him back into the office area, long fingers curling in an invitation. You grab your things and slide out of the padded yellow seat, weaving your way between the clusters of children and adults and find yourself in a part of the restaurant you’ve never seen.
He’s still ahead of you, holding up a hand to halt your progress and then he dips inside an open doorway. There’s a faint clicking sound as ceramic plates are shifted and he emerges with a pair balancing on top of a white pizza box with the Freddy Fazbear logo printed in red ink.
“Perks of being the boss. Unlimited fresh pizza. Let’s eat in here.” He leads you to a room with a frosted glass door eased open slightly with the word Manager printed on it. He shoves it open further with one shoe and unloads everything onto a large steel desk, inviting you to sit down as the door closes with a soft click behind you.
You tuck your bag underneath the steel folding chair as best you can and sit, watching him remove a pair of slices from the box and set one onto each plate. It looks like it’s loaded with cheese, perfectly toasted, and your stomach grumbles. You duck your head in embarrassment and he laughs softly, handing a portion to you. The edges of his slice fold together as he lifts it to his mouth and he takes a large bite, sighing in contentment.
“We’re on a health kick at home and it’s killing me. I needed something with grease and carbs.” He takes another bite and then eases back in his office chair, swiveling until he’s facing a small mini refrigerator. “Is Coke okay?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” You try the pizza and find it’s as delicious as it looks. He hands you a can and a napkin and you wipe your fingers off before cracking open the top of the soda can. “It’s really good.”
“Damn right.” The older man takes a long swallow of carbonated beverage and watches you as you eat, an unreadable expression on his features.
“You’re really good with the kids,” you say before taking a sip of your drink. “I get why you opened this place now.”
William nods but says nothing, demolishing what’s left of the first slice before lifting the lid of the box and sneaking another piece free. His eyebrows raise but you shake your head.
”I have to watch what I eat.”
”Your figure is perfect.”
You blush, feeling as if he’s waiting for something, but you don’t recognize the cue. You trace a random pattern in the gathering condensation on the scarlet and white patterned aluminum. “Listen. About what happened the other night…”
His hand freezes mid swipe of napkin. “What did happen the other night?”
“You kissed me,” you say softly, nudging at the remnants of crust on your plate.
“It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Your eyes lift to find his. “I’m not. You really think it was a mistake?”
“No. I lied.” He pushes back from the desk slightly and adjusts his tie before inhaling deeply. “I’m married—”
“I’m aware,” you interrupt.
“—and you’re still in high school—” he continues to argue. You think he’s been struggling with these thoughts in his own head long before he’s voiced them out loud.
“In my senior year. And I’m eighteen,” you counter.
“Thank God for that,” he mutters.
You set your plate down on the desk and lean forward. “Do you…do you love your wife?”
“Of course. I mean. Things are different now. She’s got the studio to run and I have this place. It’s complicated.” He sighs, worrying at the tab on the soda can until it snaps free with a sharp metallic click. “That sounds cliche, doesn’t it? I’m not putting all the blame on her. I think we’ve both let our careers lead us away from one another.”
“Do you ever talk to her about it?”
“I wouldn’t use the word talk. Argue is more accurate.”
“Ouch. Maybe counseling?”
“She won’t. She finds it…distasteful to air out grievances to a complete stranger.”
“So what now?”
“I don’t know.” He crumples up his tomato sauce stained napkin and drops it onto his plate. You notice a new cut on his hand and he sees you staring. “A drawback to this job. Out there on stage it’s all wonder and magic. Behind the scenes you have to work with a lot of mechanics and circuitry. It’s dangerous,” he warns, stroking a thumb over the injury, his eyes locking with yours.
You think he means more than just his labor and you signal your understanding with a nod, watching him gather up the remnants of your shared meal. He drops the dishes off in the kitchen while you retrieve your school bag and then you follow him to the car.
It feels strange being in the passenger seat in the front of the sedan. Mrs. Afton’s imagined displeasure at this intrusion into the space she always occupies is almost tangible. It makes you fumble with the seatbelt and William leans over to assist, sliding the metal into place and adjusting the shoulder strap. Every touch lingers longer than necessary. Impulsively you cup his cheek, and he traps your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist gently.
“You’re going to be the ruin of me,” he says, reluctantly releasing his grasp so he can turn the key in the ignition.
***
Your arrival to the ballet studio is early, a good hour before class is scheduled to begin.
You tell William you have to get changed, heading to the dressing room to shed your school uniform in exchange for a black leotard and white tights. You’ve just sat on the carpeted bench and begun lacing your first slipper when he taps on the door.
“Are you decent?”
“What if I say I’m not?” You challenge playfully.
“Then I can’t enter.”
You huff in exasperation. “I’m dressed, you can come in.”
The door cracks open slightly and William’s face appears. He watches you wind the satin in a criss cross pattern around one ankle and he pushes the door open the remainder of the way. “Let me help you with that.”
“I can manage.” You shake your head, about to finish tying the knot in the divot between ankle and Achilles tendon when he kneels down, interrupting your movements.
“I want to do it,” he says, his low tone setting something humming inside of you. “I want to touch you.”
You swallow thickly, surrendering your efforts, the ribbons falling loosely. His fingers massage the muscles of your lower leg as he winds them once again, moving past the knot and caressing your calf. He kisses your knee softly and you feel on fire. He repeats the process for the opposite limb, hesitating, reluctant to stop touching you. You thread your fingers through the raven’s wing of hair falling across his forehead and his grasp reflexively tightens.
“William…” You've never called him by his first name and it seems to ignite something feral within him. He lunges to his feet, pulling you into a standing position in one smooth motion. Your back strikes the mirror on the wall as he shoves you against it. His fingers wrap around your throat, exerting a faint pressure, teasing out a silent question.
You try to swallow, find it difficult with the sudden compression of cartilage. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you nod. He kisses them, captures the salted liquid with his lips, steals the heavy breath you try to inhale when he releases his grip on your windpipe at last. His tongue slides against yours, lips crushing as your mouths collide roughly.
“Hello? Are you in here?”
The muffled voice immediately halts the kiss. William abruptly releases you, his breath still coming in soft pants. “Fuck, she’s early,” he whispers.
“Yes, I’m just…just getting changed, Mrs. Afton,” you manage, struggling to recover your composure.
“Where’s William?”
“Uh…I think he went out back to smoke.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Her disapproving voice trails off as she moves away from the changing room.
William rakes a hand through his dark tresses and adjusts the knot of his tie while you crouch down, relacing the satin ties of your slippers.
“I told her to take the other car today. So when I take you home tonight, it’ll just be us.”
“Okay.” You rise, smoothing out the spandex material until the clinging black fabric is adequately placed. William gathers the hair at the nape of your neck and kisses that vacant spot softly, at odds with his rough demands moments before.
Then he’s gone, leaving you to tame and secure your tousled hair into a bun. You stare at your reflection, thinking your lips look slightly swollen, noting a blotch of red staining your cheeks and throat where his stubble had scratched against you. You touch your neck gingerly and wonder if there will be bruises later.
William was right. This was dangerous.
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Rosehip & Almond Torte
This is the cake I make every year for Christmas Eve. It is a ridiculous beast that is frankly, absurdly expensive to make due to the ingredients but it is so, so worth it, and it's the perfect light, not-too-sweet finale for the monument to excess that is the traditional Ukrainian Christmas Eve dinner as made by my family.
The base of the sponge recipe is from Savella Stechishin's Traditional Ukrainian Cookery, but I've made so many changes over the years that it is no longer recognizable as such. A Torte of Theseus, if you will. The frosting is completely my own invention, with thanks to Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen for the idea to stabilize the whipped cream with sour cream.
Sponge
16 eggs, separated
2 cups powdered sugar
3 cups almond flour
1/2 cup all purpose or gluten-free 1-for-1 flour (whichever you like, does not affect texture or taste at all)
2tsp grated lemon rind
2tsp grated lemon rind
2tbsp lemon juice
Pinch salt
Line 3 8-9" circular cake pans with parchment paper (one circle on bottom, and then a strip around the sides, leaving enough to overlap. Use a plain metal paperclip to hold the ends together if necessary). Preheat oven to 350F degrees.
With a stand- or hand-mixer, beat egg yolks until very light. Add sugar gradually and beat constantly until light and fluffy. Stir in the nuts, flour, lemon rind, lemon juice, and salt. Set aside.
With a meticulously clean and dry bowl and whisk attachments, beat egg whites into stiff peaks.
Transfer nut mixture to a large bowl. With a rubber spatula, gently fold in egg whites one large dollop at a time, being careful not to knock the air out. It will take a while as the nut and egg yolk mixture has the texture of wet concrete. Good arm work out!
Once all egg white is incorporated, evenly divide batter between the three pans. They will be quite thin layers. Bake for approximately 30 min or until golden on top and springy to the touch. They will be domed on the top when they are baked. The sponges will shrink back to flat once removed from the oven. This is normal and will not affect the texture of the sponge. Let stand a few minutes in the cake pans before removing to cool on a cake rack. Let cool completely before assembling.
Frosting
16oz heavy cream
1/8 cup sour cream
1/2 cup powdered sugar
2tsps rosewater
1/4c rosehip fruit spread (D'arbo brand)
NB: you could probably do this with any flavor profile and sub out the rosewater and the preserves but keep the measurements the same; just use seedless jam or fruit spread
Make whipped cream with the heavy cream and the powdered sugar. I use my stand-mixer for this but you could do it by hand. When it is fluffy, add the sour cream, the rosewater, and the rosehip spread. Do not overbeat or you will have very delicious butter.
When assembling the torte I usually add a layer of the rosehip spread to each layer of the torte before adding the frosting, just for some extra zing and moisture.
Ideally you'd refrigerate the cake if you have leftovers and then let come back up to room temp when you serve it, but to be perfectly honest I've left this cake covered in a cool room for a few days and neither I nor the cake suffered for it.
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