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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 1 year

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Note: request by @bubblyabs! thank you so much!! I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: SKMD SPOILERS. fluff/smut 18+, a lot of fourth wall breaking and my infamous attempt at humor.

pairing: SKMD!Sihtric x Modern!You (f)

summary: The fictional man of your dreams was suddely not so fictional anymore.

wordcount: 5,2k

'You looked really hot there.'

There you were again, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, ready to once again finish another binge rewatch of The Last Kingdom. You just couldn't stop yourself. Ever since you became obsessed with the show, you could watch nothing else. No other series appealed to you anymore, and you kept going back to the very first episode, pathetically anticipating the second season, because that's where your favourite character comes in; Sihtric Kjartansson. The man needs no introduction, if we're honest.

You don't know what exactly it is about him, but you were smitten. Each time he appeared on screen, you needed a glass of water and a cold shower afterwards.

You thought the actor who played him was cute too, you just couldn't really recall his name, you only remembered he had some complicated last name, Federsomething. However, cute or not, nothing was better than the rugged look of that pretty Danish rat boy in that medieval Netflix show. And so, only several weeks since your last rewatch, you were watching the movie again, which was the very last taste of the entire show you would ever get. Until they'll make some lousy remake in 10 years or something, which you would obviouslly not watch because you couldn't stand the thought of all those actors being replaced. Not on your watch.

Anyway, you had cried your absolute eyes out during the movie when you saw it the first time. But more importantly: whoever was responsible for Sihtric's haircut in the movie, was an actual blessing from the lord. Every time you saw his very first scene in that movie, where he walks up to Uhtred, with that long, loose hair, you simply just slide down your couch, being a whole hot mess. The things you would do to get that man in your bed, and the things you would do to him… oh, if only he wasn't fictional. You'd let him rail you, but alas.

And that made you groan each time. The most beautiful and perfect man you had ever seen was freaking fictional! It seems ridiculous, but Sihtric just ticked all your boxes.

He was funny, brave, loyal, adorable, hot, sexy, maybe not the smartest but you had no problem taking care of that man, he was good with weapons, he was protective and a real family man. What else could a you possibly want? You cursed Bernard Cornwell for coming up with the character and whoever casted that actor, as they are clearly responsible for you being forever single. Because you would never settle for anyone who was not Sihtric Kjartansson; fictional character and the goddamn love of your life.

And just like two weeks ago, you finished the movie and switched off your tv, while being a sobbing, snotty mess once again. Your three week holiday had just started, and your initial plan was to stay up late each night, but you had a headache from crying, so you decided to go to bed when it wasn't even close to midnight.

The next morning you woke up early because of some loud banging. You figured the toddlers of your upstairs neighbours were at it again, banging their fists on the wall, running through their apartment. You could hear their little gremlin claws stomp and scratch everywhere they went. But you had to admit, they were louder than usual today, and it actually sounded like they were kicking and stomping at your front door.

You groaned and got dressed for another day of simply doing nothing. You started your coffee machine and opened the door to your little hallway, which led through the front door. You hadn't checked for any mail downstairs in a few days, and it was time to leave your cave for that little adventure to the main hall of your apartment building.

But you would not get there, at least, not any time soon. No. You were about to get the biggest jump scare of your life, to which you would scream so loud, it would without a doubt wake up the entire city. And after that, everything would turn black in front of your eyes.

During your unconscious state you had the weirdest dream. You had opened the door to your hallway and found the cause of that weird banging noise. The noise came from your own apartment. The noise was created by a man, kicking at, and rattling your door, in a pathetic attempt to open it. And it wasn't just any man.

You recognised him from the back within a split second. It was the fictional man of your dreams, dressed in the red-brownish leather armour he wore when you last saw him on your tv, his hair braided and his face bloody and bewildered. You screamed so loud when you saw him, that someone probably called the cops, because it was a horrible, distressing sound. And it also scared the hell out of Sihtric, who turned to face you while reaching for the hilt of his sword as he stepped closer. But after a second, his expression changed from anger to astonishment, and he stared at you, all confused and wide-eyed. You stared into his mismatched eyes as he was merely two paces away from you.

'Lady?' he said, with the voice and accent that simply set your body on fire whenever you heard it.

And you randomly thought how Sihtric looked taller on tv than he did in real life, in your hallway, and then everything just turned black.

And it turned out that it wasn't a dream. But it all had actually happened before you passed out, in your hallway. Sihtric had been quick to catch your fall and caught you in his arms. While still completely confused, and in shock, he had carried you into your living room and carefully laid you down on your couch. And as it would take a good five minutes before you regained consciousness again, Sihtric took a quick look around your apartment, growing more confused and concerned with every passing second.

And you suddenly opened your eyes again as he had his back turned to you.

You blinked rapidly, your eyes trying to focus on the backside of the man in armour, which you recognised all too well. It hadn't been a dream, it all actually happened. And it was still happening apparently. How the fuck was this possible? Did someone prank you? Did someone pay a ridiculous amount of money to hire the actual actor, just to scare the shit out of you and to mess with you? Breaking your heart in the process as you could never be with the man of your dreams? What a sick joke.

While that medieval looking hunk stared at your family pictures, you quietly took your phone from your pocket and opened instagram. Your eyes grew wide when you saw that the actual actor, who you knew played Sihtric in the show, had posted a story just a minute ago, announcing that he was currently in some country, far away from yours, at a comic con.

'No way,' you whispered, 'but then who the fuck-', you looked back at Sihtric again, who had made his way over to your Last Kingdom book collection.

He stared at it, but as you couldn't see his face, you had no idea what he was doing because you remembered he shouldn't be able to read. You followed his movements with huge eyes, completely in shock, and without realising it, your phone slipped out of your hands and dropped on the floor with a loud thump. You spooked Sihtric, who slightly jumped, and was quick to turn around, again ready to draw his sword.

'Where am I?' he asked, trying to sound calm.

'W-what… uh, England?'

'England?'

'E-England,' you said again.

'What is the year, lady?'

'2024.'

'What?'

'No, sorry! Sorry, I- I mean 2023!'

Sihtric stared at you, and you thought if he wouldn't blink soon, his eyes would dry out.

'H-how did you get here?' you asked.

'How did you get here?' he asked cautiously.

'I… live here?' you frowned.

'Why?'

You blinked. 'Because… I… pay to live here?'

'Oh,' Sihtric said, then nodded, 'that seems fair. What is that?' he asked, pointing to your tv.

'It's a t- uhh,' you figured that if for some reason this really was Sihtric, the medieval dude from your favourite tv show, he would not know what a tv is, so for the sake of playing it safe, you lied, 'it's a… art.'

'Art?'

'Yes, like a drawing,' you panicked.

Sihtric looked at the tv, then back at you, and said, 'but it's all black?'

'Well, it's… modern… art? It's really expensive,' you said, hoping he would not try to break your tv for whatever reason.

'Expensive?'

'Yes,' you said, 'it's, uh, over a six hundred poun- pieces of silver.'

Sihtric looked back at your tv again, scratched his forehead, and then locked eyes with you again, 'Lady,' he snickered, 'I think someone has fooled you. That drawing is not worth that amount of silver.'

You smiled, simply agreeing, while anticipating his next move.

'Is that,' he squinted his eyes and walked over to your kitchen, 'Uhtred?' he frowned, looking at your coffee cup which had a picture of Uhtred's face on it, 'why?' Sihtric asked as he looked back at you.

'I, uhh…' were you going to tell him they didn't have a cup with his face on it, and that you had sent an angry email to the company? Maybe not. You cleared your throat, but before you could speak, Sihtric's eyes found the large framed poster of him, Finan and Uhtred on your wall. And his eyes grew wide.

'Where did you get that? Why am I… why are… wh-,' Sihtric stopped talking, then eventually said, 'who made this painting?'

'... Google?'

'Who is Google?'

'It's, well, so,' you stammered.

'You paid six hundred pieces of silver for this too?'

'Wha- no, more like…seven.'

'Seven hundred?' Sihtric gasped, 'lady,' he smiled, clearly flattered.

'No! I mean like seven pou- bloody pieces of silver!'

'Seven?' he frowned, suddenly offended, 'only seven? Yet you paid six hundred for that?' he pointed at your tv.

'Sihtric, look,' you sighed.

'How do you know my name?' he asked, frightened.

Okay. This had to stop, right now. What the fuck is going on?

You told Sihtric to shut up, a little harsher than you really meant, but so be it. You took his hands and sat him down on your couch. For some reason he kept holding your hands, which you obviously didn't mind, and you tried to explain how you knew who he was while desperately not trying to get distracted by his appearance. Those tattooed fingers, the tattoo on his neck, and all those scars. He was even more handsome in real life. If this was real life, of course.

'You… you have seen my life?' Sihtric frowned, 'on… the black painting?'

'Yes, it's called a tv. Here, I can show you,' you took the remote, and Sihtric gasped when he suddenly heard noise and saw moving images on the previously black screen.

'Sorcery,' he whispered with big eyes, squeezing your hand.

'No, not sorcery,' you said, remembering how awfully superstitious he was in season 3. And how cute he looked in season 3. Well, he was cute in every season.

'The… the people,' Sihtric suddenly said, 'are they s-stuck?'

'Stuck?'

'Are they stuck in the painting?' he asked, concerned.

'What? No… no, it's… oh god,' you sighed, 'the people are fine,' you smiled.

You quickly switched on Seven Kings Must Die, and you thought Sihtric was going to pass out. He jumped up when he saw Finan and Ingrith, near the beginning of the movie, in Uhtred's hall, your favourite scene, and he ran to the tv.

'Finan!' Sihtric yelled, 'is he stuck?' he looked back at you, worried, 'can he… can he hear me?'

Sihtric turned to the tv again and pressed his fingers against the screen.

'No! Don't touch the screen!' you yelled, worried he'd damage it with his rough fingers, and Sihtric was quick to pull his hand back with a flinch. And you felt horrible for making him flinch, but before you could apologise, Sihtric had composed himself again.

'But… F-Finan?' he asked, 'is he okay? Where is he?'

'Finan is fine! He's not stuck! This all already happened… right?' you grimaced, hoping you were right somehow.

Sihtric looked at you, confused, then back to the screen, and he stumbled backwards when he saw his own face appear on the magic painting. He watched the scene unfold, and he didn't know what to say, he just stared at the screen as he reached for your hand again.

'You looked really hot there,' you blurted out, and you felt yourself blush.

'Hot?' Sihtric frowned, 'I wasn't hot, lady. It was a cold night! Can't you see the furs?' he scoffed.

'No, I mean, you- … no, you're right. It must've been… really cold that day.'

'It was,' Sihtric said sternly, and looked back at the screen again, 'I remember this,' he gasped, 'Finan said he only fell asleep once,' he said, just seconds before Finan said the line on tv.

'See!' Sihtric gasped and looked at you again, 'he actually has fallen asleep many times, lady,' he grinned.

Holy fuck. You didn't even think about that. Sihtric obviously knew everything that had happened, the whole story, not just the bits and pieces you saw from their lives on tv.

'H-has he?' you asked, cautiously.

'Yes, lady,' Sihtric said, 'it often happened because he had too much ale the night before. And because he's old,' he winked with a grin.

'Oh,' you snickered, 'I see. And… you never fell asleep?'

'Me? no, never,' he said with confidence.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, lady.'

You hummed and skipped to the scene where both Finan and Sihtric had fallen asleep, while Uhtred was awake.

'So…' you smiled, pointing at the tv.

Sihtric gasped, 'No, that… see! See, I'm awake. I was merely resting my eyes, I was… in deep thought,' he lied.

'Okay,' you laughed, 'if you say so.'

You watched Sihtric's face, which went from mildly ashamed to a light chuckle, and soon he laughed softly along with you. He still had no idea how it was possible that he could see his own face on your expensive painting, but Sihtric was a simple guy; he saw a pretty lady and he was smitten, not caring about much else anymore, except for winning your heart. He clearly didn't know you were basically ready to marry him on the spot. And for some reason you both just seemed to accept the situation, no questions asked. You watched the rest of the movie together, and it was surreal. Sihtric remembered everything, told you little anecdotes and simply seemed to enjoy seeing his friends on your screen.

'So… did Uhtred die?' you asked when the end credits were shown on screen.

'Uhtred died?!' Sihtric gasped.

'What? No, I mean, I'm asking you!'

'Uhtred was alive when I last saw him!' Sihtric said, and so you found out Sihtric had ended up in your world only hours after that heartbreaking last scene in the movie.

'Okay, then I'm sure he's, uh, fine,' you tried to convince yourself as much as you tried to convince Sihtric. 'Also,' you cleared your throat, 'what happened to your wife and kids?'

'Oh,' he said, 'we had a rough divorce. She broke my heart and took the kids,' he shrugged.

'Oh,' you blinked, surprised, 'I'm… sorry?'

'Are you married?' Sihtric blurted out.

'Uh, me?' you chuckled, twirling your hair, looking the handsome Dane up and down, 'n-no, I'm not. Why?' you kicked your feet.

Sihtric stared at you, he just couldn't believe his luck after being strangely teleported into a different year and world, ending up with a beautiful lady who wasn't married. But then he thought that was odd, because why weren't you married yet? A pretty lady who was clearly rich, at least that's what he thought, who lived in a nice home, was of marriage age, who was also very kind and funny, and with a body which he would undoubtedly be thinking of later that night. Why has no one married you yet, he wondered.

'Are you cursed?' he said without thinking.

'What?'

'Cursed,' he said again, 'you're not married. Why?'

'Uh, well,' you cleared your throat, 'I'm… picky.'

Sure, picky. You were simply in love with the medieval, fictional man on your couch, and you would never settle for anything less.

'Picky?' Sihtric frowned.

'Yes,' you replied, 'only a certain kind of man could win my heart,' you grinned, mindlessly twirling your hair around your fingers again.

'Oh?' Sihtric raised an eyebrow and smirked, clearly intrigued.

And he thought of it as a game now, a game he desperately wanted to play, because he wanted to know if he could win. And gods, how he wanted to win you and take you back home with him. Or stay here with you, he really didn't care, not after you just batted your eyelashes at him. No, he would do everything for you now.

'So,' he cleared his throat, shifting a little closer next to you on the couch, 'what kind of man would that be?'

'Hm,' you hummed, thinking as if you weren't looking at that specific man, 'a man who is… kind,' you said, 'loyal and brave,' you smiled at him.

Sihtric hummed and licked his lips as he gave you a playful look. He knew he was kind, loyal and brave, so he figured his chances with you were pretty good right now.

'And… someone who is not afraid to take charge,' you teased, seeing if he's willing to take the bait.

Sihtric grinned and slightly adjusted his position.

'He also has to be protective,' you said, 'and strong,' your eyes trailed down to his clothed biceps, knowing very well what's underneath all of that fabric he was wearing.

'Well,' Sihtric smiled, a little cocky, 'I might just be the man for you then.'

'You think so? I'm not sure…,' you played it cool, but inside you were going stark raving mad, this surely had to be a dream.

'I think I am,' he gave you a smirk and winked.

You were absolutely ready to pull that man in your bed, but it was only noon, you had just met him a few hours ago, and everything was just really freaking weird. So you held back. You told him you'd think about it, to which he frowned, playfully offended. You bickered a little and eventually ended up discussing what on earth you two were going to do now. He had nowhere to go, and you didn't want to kick him out, but he was still a stranger. Even though he had lived in your head rent free for years already. You told him first things first; he had to get into different clothes. Which he agreed to. You did some digging and found some sweatpants you had bought online years ago, which turned out way too big for you, and you had forgotten to return it, which came in handy now. Unfortunately, the sweatpants were pastel pink, and Sihtric clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply as he grabbed them out of your hands. You snorted, and to make it worse, the only thing you owned which he would possibly fit in, was a matching sleeveless crop top.

'No,' Sihtric said sternly, looking at the top you held in your hands.

'Guess you're not brave enough for me then,' you taunted.

Sihtric huffed and snatched the shirt out of your hands. You pointed him towards your bathroom, where he stayed for quite a while, simply admiring every foreign object before he even thought of changing clothes. And when he finally walked out, you thought you were going to pass out again.

He had untangled his previously braided hair, wearing it down now, which you loved so much, all while wearing that sleeveless crop top, which barely covered half of his insanely toned upper body. And the matching sweatpants hung on his hips, low enough to reveal he wasn't wearing any underwear, which made sense, as you had no underwear that would possibly fit him.

He raked his fingers through his hair, exposing even more of his trained torso when he did, and every single filthy thought you ever had about that man crossed your mind at once. You desperately tried to shake your thoughts and took him back into your living room, where you sat down and simply talked. He wanted to know all about you, and even though he didn't understand a lot of the things you mentioned, he knew he was going to marry you. Somehow.

Later you made him dinner and as promised, Sihtric slept on the couch. And you had to fight the desperate urge to find him in the night and lure him into your bed, which Sihtric would have gladly allowed to happen.

A few days passed and Sihtric seemed to adapt decently. He was not as dumb as Uhtred and Finan always made him seem, but he was definitely as clumsy as expected. Knocking over drinks, breaking small objects which he wanted to look at but his hands were too rough, things like that. But you couldn't give a shit, you were madly in love with him, and you couldn't wait for him to break you-... your bed.

Sihtric was very flirty too, and loved brushing his fingers over your face, arms, or well, anywhere he could really, whenever he could. But he was also a true gentleman, and slept on your couch each night, for nearly a week.

One evening he asked if he could see one of those Last Kingdom episodes you had talked about, and you agreed.

It was still unreal to watch an episode with the one and only Sihtric Kjartansson next to you, and it still felt like a dream. You switched on a random episode, and it happened to be the one where his father, Kjartan, ends up getting killed. At first Sihtric had been watching in awe, amazed that he could relive parts of his life like that.

But when he realised where it was going, his face became more and more deprived of emotions. You noticed it quite late and wanted to switch the tv off once you saw it, just before Kjartan got killed, but Sihtric stopped you by taking your hand in his. And he held your hand tightly as he watched the scene unfold. He showed no emotion, which told you he was more or less at peace with it, but it still was a rough moment to sit through.

When the episode was over, Sihtric looked at you, and you could finally do what you had always wanted to do after seeing Sihtric in that terrible scene; you pulled him in your arms and held him tight.

'Are you okay?' you asked after a moment.

'Yeah,' he said quietly, enjoying the feeling of having his arms around you.

He softly hummed as you brushed your fingers through his long, wavy hair, which was simply another dream come true, and he held you tightly for a long time.

'Can I stay with you?' Sihtric suddenly asked a few evenings later as you had just watched another episode.

'What?' you asked.

'Can I stay here? With you? I mean… I- I like you. I like being here,' he said, 'and, unless we find out how I got here, I have nowhere to go.'

'Y-you want to stay here? With me?' you frowned.

Sihtric wasn't wrong, he truly had no place to go and you also still had no idea how on earth he had gotten here, which you both quickly stopped questioning as it drove you mad. And naturally you wanted him to stay, but it would be a hard thing to explain to your friends and family, who knew all about your (unhealthy) love for Sihtric, who was, until last week, non-existent in the real world.

'I'd like to stay,' Sihtric smiled sweetly at you, 'with you, lady.'

And you just couldn't resist him anymore. With his long, wavy hair, those mismatched eyes, that smile, and the pink crop top he kept wearing once he realised you liked it on him. He did swap the pastel sweatpants for a black one, after you had bought it for him a few days ago. He was simply the most mesmerising man you had ever seen, and before you knew it, your lips crashed together into a heated kiss. And you tore each other's clothes off as fast as you could. You've been waiting years for this dream to become a reality, and you absolutely would live your fantasy to the fullest right now.

Sihtric seemed just as desperate as you, but before he pulled your panties down, you ran to your bedroom. He was still a medieval man, who knows what he caught in those days and you wanted to limit the risk of catching something as much as you could, and also you did not want a baby, yet, so you grabbed a condom. Sihtric frowned at the package, and you quickly understood he had never seen such a thing. You chuckled a little awkwardly and opened the package.

'It's protection,' you explained, but you didn't want to spook him by talking about STDs, knowing he would probably think it's a curse, so you simply said, 'it's so you don't put a child- I mean, pup in my belly,' you frowned a little as you said the ancient words.

'You do not want my pups?' Sihtric asked, and he almost sounded hurt.

'N… I… well,' you cleared your throat, 'not yet,' you admitted.

Sihtric started to ramble and question you, and you politely asked him to stop talking. You asked if he was okay with everything, to which he then nodded with a smirk, and he allowed you to put the condom on him. And the low hums he let out when you did so, were enough to turn your insides into jelly, and the pressure between your thighs was immense and unbearable. And as you wanted to take your hands off him, he quickly held onto your arm, keeping your hand in place.

'Please,' Sihtric said with big, darkened eyes and a sly smile.

And you understood he seemed to like the feeling of your hand working his length. You had to admit, all those fanfic writers did not lie about his size; you had nothing to complain about here. God, the way you enjoyed having this man on your couch, completely naked, except for the Mjölnir pendant around his neck, with his head thrown back as he smiled while soft moans escaped his slightly parted lips, enjoying the way you made him feel. And it didn't take long before Sihtric came, and the sound of his low groan was pure bliss to your ears, and even more arousing than you already had expected it to be.

After a short moment, Sihtric was quick to push you up and make you sit back against the couch. He kneeled down in front of you, on the floor, and he carefully spread your legs with a smirk. He threw one leg over his broad shoulder, and before you could grasp that your wildest fantasy was coming true, his face was already buried between your thighs. He nipped your sensitive skin with his lips before he softly kissed your wet folds, followed by running his tongue over your core, making you exhale sharply as your hands found his hair. Your body trembled in no time as he sucked, kissed and licked your clit, as if you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life. And just like Sihtric, it didn't take long before you came with a desperate moan, pulling his hair to which he groaned.

You both ended up laughing softly as Sihtric sat back next to you, giving you some time to recover, while you both realised how insane this was. But in less than a minute he already took your face in his hands and pulled you closer, wanting to kiss you like there was no tomorrow. And as soon as you felt like you could take him again, you climbed on his lap, to which Sihtric smirked. He watched you with half open eyes as he bit down on his lip. His hands settled on your hips while yours found support by holding onto his muscular shoulders. His body was even more impressive than you imagined, and you cursed Netflix for never giving the audience a shirtless Sihtric scene.

And then you finally sank down on his cock, you both gasped at the feeling, hands desperately squeezing and scratching each other to display pleasure. And Sihtric was vocal, moaning and cursing with a smile as he enjoyed the way you were riding him, his eyes fixated on you, darting between your eyes, your lips, your breasts and down to your core, loving the view of how you took his length.

'Gods,' he moaned, out of breath, and then he hummed with a light chuckle.

'Fuck,' you muttered under your breath, digging your nails in his shoulders as you tried your hardest to not finish right there and then.

'Hm, I want to fill you up,' Sihtric whispered with ragged breath, and your attempt to not finish before him was to no avail, as his words were enough to make you cry out his name while your walls clenched around his throbbing cock.

'Fuck, sorry,' you said, panting, riding out your own high while feeling a little embarrassed you finished so fast.

But to your surprise, and pleasure, you felt Sihtric's grip on your hips tighten up and he let out another hard, deep groan as he threw his head back, finishing only moments after you, just as he had hoped he would. You both tried to catch your breath as you embraced each other for a little while. Then you took a shower together and dressed in some comfy clothes. You grabbed a few drinks and some snacks, and made your way into your bedroom, telling Sihtric to come with you. And on your bed, you'd talk and joke around for hours, if you weren't too busy kissing each other or cuddling that is.

'If you had the chance,' you asked, hours later, as Sihtric held you in his arms, 'would you go back home?'

'Only if you'd go back with me,' he said, without any hesitation or doubt, and he squeezed you a little tighter against his chest, 'but if you wish to stay here, then I will stay here, even if I could go back.'

'Why?' you asked, surprised but happy to hear his answer, and you felt a little emotional all of the sudden.

'Because,' Sihtric smiled, moving up a little to look into your eyes, 'because I like you,' he lovingly brushed his fingers over your cheek, 'I have lived my life there, back home,' he said, 'there's not much there for me anymore. I would rather stay here and have you, have someone to take care of and to provide for, then going back without you and just… feel alone again at night.'

'I love you,' you suddenly blurted out.

Sihtric's jaw dropped slightly as he looked at you with big eyes, and then he smiled softly, 'I love you too,' he said, 'and I just want to be wherever you are.'

'Sihtric,' you whispered, cupping his cheeks as you stared into the warrior's vulnerable eyes, 'I will simply follow you anywhere you decide to go.'

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lovelessthan · 9 months

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After our little Tavastia adventure, I ventured northwards towards Rovaniemi on an 11 hour bus ride. Yes that’s right, 11 hours. And every minute of it was beautiful, except that I came woefully underprepared under the assumption that the driver would make occasional stops and let us off to top up on food and water.

I survived, anyhow, and so we move forward with The Finland Chronicles Part 2: Lapland

(Disclaimer: anyone on here who also has me on socials knows how much I loved this place and posted about it, so I promise this is the last you’ll hear of it from me…at least for a couple months)

So I arrived at around 7 in the evening, and the city is surprisingly quite walkable (barring the moments you're wheeling around a suitcase in the snow). This was a little plaza right around the corner from my guesthouse and I fell in love right away. Look how cute it is!

My first full day in Rovaniemi was a bit slower because there was laundry to be done and very few machines to go around between the guests, so I did set off a bit late. Mind you, at that point in January the sun would rise close to 11 am and set close to 2 pm so we'd get 2.5 hours of sunlight MAX. The above image is the neighborhood around my guesthouse close to 4 pm. Night. Nevertheless, I made the most of it and visited the Arktikum Museum, which is beautiful architecturally but also provides the public with interesting exhibits on the history, culture, flora and fauna of Finnish Lapland, as well as the impacts of climate change on the region. I didn't get any particularly noteworthy pictures except for one of a giant amethyst (Does anyone else think Abigail from Stardew Valley would've loved this place?) and a modern twist on the traditional clothing of the Sámi, the indigenous people of Lapland.

Afterwards, I caught a bus to the Santa Claus Village, which yes, is quite the tourist trap, but is so completely and utterly cute, and if I had to live somewhere that looked this magical (preferably sans tourists) I would not complain. A lot of shops, restaurants, and activity points in the village close quite early, so I didn't get to partake in activities like petting Santa's reindeer, but I enjoyed browsing the remaining open shops, having a quick dinner and visiting the spot in the village that marks the point of entry into the Arctic Circle.

The next day was my last full day in Rovaniemi, so to start I went on a tour I'd booked to visit Korouoma Nature Reserve, which is over an hour and half's drive away from Rovaniemi. Walking through this place filled me with a sense of happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time, it was like I'd suddenly found myself in Narnia. I feel like experiencing the rugged yet ethereal beauty of the nature firsthand also really helped me understand the mindset a lot of my favorite Scandinavian/Nordic artists, so I edited some snippets of our hike to the opening notes of "Crown" by Danish artist Myrkur.

And yeah, here's me posing on a little bridge (sidenote: those snow pants are not the most aesthetic, but when I tell you that winter gear is EXPENSIVE...these guys were so reasonably priced and they did their job well in the near -30 temps we were experiencing every day, so for that I salute them).

There are many beautiful frozen waterfalls as well as stalactities all around the reserve, but the most famous one is Charlie Brown, which preserves the beautiful blue shade of the water in the dead of winter. Having seen the main points of interest, our guide led us to a campsite, where he provided us with some tea and ginger biscuits, and grilled some sausages over a fire. I can't remember the last time I'd ever been so content.

Later that evening I set out for the last activity of my brief visit to Lapland: Aurora Hunting. The guides drove the various groups some distance outside of Rovaniemi to a spot with minimal light pollution and clearer skies, and proceeded to prepare us a meal of (yet again) grilled sausage, but also salmon and potato soup, and hot blueberry juice (which I loved). Upon realizing that the first spot would not render us any results in our hunt, they drove us to a second location, near a frozen lake, where several more groups had gathered.

I was about to give up hope, and my guide had come to call me back to the car, but luckily I had run into my guide from the hike earlier in the day (who also does Aurora tours) and he pointed out a glimmer in the sky off in the distance. So I snapped this picture. Something I learned on this tour is that oftentimes you do not see the Aurora Borealis the way your camera does, and while it is possible to get crazy lightshows, those usually happen further north of places like Rovaniemi, where the magnetic field is even stronger. So it's not my best picture, and I didn't really have time to mount my phone on my little tripod (I also could have brought a better camera, tbf) but I'm glad to have had the opportunity nevertheless, and hopefully this is not the last time Miss Aurora and I meet!

Another thing to note is that Aurora tours have become very popular, and because all these different companies try to maximize how many people they bring along with them, it can feel like a very impersonal, crowded and rushed experience. I'm sure there are private tours you can take, where you can take your time scouting different spots and taking photos, but they very likely cost a pretty penny. Nevertheless, I'm once again glad I had the opportunity and here's to next time.

And just like that it was time to leave. I was sad, but my eyelashes certainly weren't. I hopped on a bus back to Helsinki, this time better prepared for the journey ahead, but with an ache in my heart for what I was leaving behind. Lapland, I will return. Who knows, perhaps in summer.

And to conclude this chapter, here’s a little Rovaniemi haul (does not include the Reindeer chips and Reindeer jerky that I consumed on the spot after purchasing).

Until next time!

#finland #rovaniemi #lapland #scandinavia #nordic #winter #travel #photography #korouoma #waterfall #nature #aurora borealis #northern lights

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eyssant · 6 months

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Exploring the Rich Tapestry of the Faroe Islands History, Culture, and Weather

Nestled in the North Atlantic Ocean between Norway, Iceland, and Scotland, the Faroe Islands constitute an archipelago of stunning natural beauty and captivating history. These remote islands, characterized by dramatic cliffs, lush green valleys, and picturesque villages, have a unique cultural heritage shaped by their Norse origins, rugged terrain, and maritime traditions. In this article, we delve into the fascinating history, vibrant culture, and ever-changing weather that define the Faroe Islands.

History:

The history of the Faroe Islands dates back over a millennium, with evidence of human settlement dating as far back as the 6th century AD. Originally inhabited by Gaelic monks, the islands were later colonized by Norse settlers from Norway in the 9th century. These settlers established a distinct Norse culture and language that still prevails today.

Throughout the centuries, the Faroe Islands were subject to various external influences, including domination by the Kingdom of Norway, followed by the Kalmar Union with Denmark in the 14th century. In the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation, the islands came under Danish control and remained so for several centuries.

In the 20th century, the Faroe Islands gradually gained greater autonomy within the Kingdom of Denmark, culminating in the establishment of Home Rule in 1948. Today, the Faroese people govern their internal affairs, including cultural and economic matters, while Denmark retains responsibility for foreign affairs and defense.

Culture:

The culture of the Faroe Islands is deeply rooted in Norse traditions, with a strong emphasis on community, storytelling, and the sea. The Faroese language, closely related to Icelandic and Old Norse, is the official language and serves as a symbol of cultural identity.

Music and dance play an integral role in Faroese culture, with traditional folk songs known as kvæði and chain dancing still practiced during festivals and celebrations. The islands also have a thriving contemporary music scene, with local bands gaining international recognition for their unique blend of traditional and modern influences.

Fishing has been a cornerstone of the Faroese economy and culture for centuries, shaping the way of life and providing sustenance to the islanders. The annual Grindadráp, or pilot whale hunt, is a controversial tradition that continues to divide opinions both locally and internationally, reflecting the complex relationship between tradition, sustainability, and modern values.

Despite its remote location, the Faroe Islands have embraced modern technology and innovation while maintaining a strong connection to their cultural heritage. This blend of tradition and progress is evident in everything from architecture and design to cuisine and literature, making the islands a dynamic and intriguing destination for visitors.

Weather:

The Faroe Islands' weather is characterized by its maritime climate, with mild winters, cool summers, and frequent precipitation throughout the year. The islands are often shrouded in mist and fog, lending an ethereal atmosphere to the rugged landscapes.

Due to their location in the North Atlantic, the Faroe Islands are subject to rapid weather changes, with sunny spells giving way to sudden squalls and shifting winds. This unpredictable weather adds to the island's allure but also presents challenges for residents and visitors alike, requiring preparedness and flexibility when exploring the outdoors.

Despite the ever-changing weather, the Faroe Islands offer a wealth of outdoor activities, from hiking and birdwatching to sea angling and kayaking. Each season brings its own unique charms, whether it's the vibrant colors of spring, the endless daylight of summer, or the dramatic storms of winter.

In conclusion, the Faroe Islands stand as a testament to the resilience of a people shaped by their environment, history, and cultural heritage. With its captivating landscapes, rich traditions, and dynamic climate, this remote archipelago continues to enchant and inspire all who venture to its shores.

#faroe islands #faroe #travel

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avierysims · 1 year

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20 culpepper chic reno | avierysims

hi so i built a shitty apartment with way too much CC in it but it's on the gallery if anyone wants to use it. i don't really have the energy to find the links to every single item i used so i listed them :( gallery id - dynastiana | office

pierisim - the office desk thekalino - ficus lyrata plant pralinesims - flocati 2 rug marvell-world - marlon paintings harrie - brownstone collection wallpaper felicandre x harrie - livin' rum danish shelf 1 simcredible - vienna tripod vase 1 pierisim - mcm extravaganza wig collection harrie - shop the look david bust syb - clarrise flower vase harrie - octave modern double door

| kitchen

harrie - octave bookshelf harrie - brownstone collection (fridge, island, hob, counters) felixandre - paris cabinets littbowbub - home barista severinka - bottle fridge stand simcredible - enigma vase harrie - parquet flooring simcredible - keep life simple kitchen dish washer

| dining area

myshunosun - gale dining chair syb - laundry lemon tree syb - annie bouquet felixandre - florence fontana painting harrie - brownstone sofa felixandre - colonial foot stool pierisim - tidying up flowers

| living room

felixandre - paris sofa pierisim - livingroom minikit coffee table felixandre x harrie - livin' rum tray, simsung frame tv, 3d leaning artwork and rocking chair harrie - shop the look decorative candle tray simcredible - vienna plant large 2

| bedroom

rubyred_crescent - upholstered bed frame pierisim - mcm double bedding myshunosun - lullaby end table sixamcc - hotel lamp peacemaker_ic - myra's living origami chair sixamcc - lux marble vanity felixandre x harrie - harluxe vanity stool peacemaker_ic - cutout dresser simcredible - keep life simple plant syb - nothing to wear clutch bag marvell-world - marlon box sixamcc - suitcase severinka - dayana livingroom wall mirror pierisim - mcm curtains store medium

| bathroom

platnumluxesims - luxe bathroom counter (left single and right) peacemaker_ic - toilet roll holder sixamcc - marble lux bathtub felixandre x harrie - bafroom wall shower platnumluxesims - stone paving floor

#the sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 build #ccbuilds

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birchkillchronicles · 2 years

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Getting to Marigold

Chapter One

Mushroom, Raw Umber, Tobacco

A mole’s nest.

A dark, stuffy mole’s nest.

That’s what Bernie’s bedroom is, sniffed Jeanie Dinmont.

A dark, stuffy mole’s nest where—for the last fourteen years!—my daughter has chosen to burrow her silly head.

Gazing around the offending room, Jeanie was stumped.

Why, she wondered for the trillionth time, had Bernie—back when she was a cantankerous sixteen-year-old—cruelly demanded that they chuck the lovely ivory-and-cream French Provincial décor—with pops of cherry-blossom-pink!—which her mom had so lovingly designed?

And for what?

For the Gothic-Victorian-techno mishmash of her current dismal lair?

What a waste of effort! Jeanie had mourned at the time. And, frankly, she hadn’t seen the need to let Bernie have her own selfish adolescent way. In her opinion, the sweetly feminine bedroom had been perfect for a young lady of tender years and, at the time, she’d wished that her daughter would just leave it alone.

Yes, well…

As Jeanie’s mother would say, ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.’

The hollow-eyed teen had moped and sighed and sulked and pined, until—bowing to her best friend Sylvie’s parenting advice—Jeanie had yielded to Bernie’s unfathomable desire to transition her room into a ‘more grown-up space.’

Still—loathe to give up all aesthetic control—Jeanie had energetically counselled her daughter on how to curate her attic retreat.

“Now, kidlet—with these small windows and sloping ceilings,” she’d cautioned, “you’ll want to keep everything light. A neutral palette is the ticket here. So, if I were you, I’d switch out those ivory pieces with a blond Danish-modern suite. And then freshen up that matte cream wall paint with a semi-gloss buttermilk hue...”

But had her daughter listened?

Nope.

Not a chance.

Stubbornly insisting on her own dour notions for the space, Bernie had pushed her perplexed mother to repaint and then cram far too much dark-walnut furniture against stodgy mushroom-gray walls.

Next—during an increasingly rare mother-and-daughter shopping jaunt to Sears—the cranky teen had opted for equally bleak soft furnishings.

Then, she’d staged a weekend hunger strike—which her scrawny body could barely abide—in order to gain a plush area rug in a regrettable shade of raw umber.

And, to complete the desecration, she’d insisted that her pleasant sitting area be transformed into a video gaming lounge!

So, now, an olive-drab duvet smothered the heavy Victorian double bed. A battleship-grey slipcover obscured what had once been a delicate ladderback desk chair. And over Bernie’s flat television screen lurked ugly posters featuring the sombre wizards, pointy-eared boys and snarling white wolves from her ghastly video games.

The window treatments were no better.

Inky-black roller shades masked every pane. And tobacco-brown curtains shrouded each implacable shade so that Bernie could never be startled awake by even the slightest stray hint of rosy dawn.

No sunlight. No birdsong. No air…

Gee whiz, grimaced Jeanie. I’d go mad if—even for a single night!—I had to endure this frumpy old nest. Let alone for the past fourteen years…

Still—once she’d let Sylvie persuade her to allow the gawky girl dress her third-storey refuge to her own leaden taste—Jeanie had to concede that her best friend had been right.

Concede that Sylvie had understood far better how to assuage the pain of Bernie’s murky adolescence and her ensuing prickly twenties than Jeanie had ever wanted to.

Concede that Sylvie—a seasoned campaigner in the teenage wars with her flamboyant son, Nick—had been entirely correct when she’d warned Jeanie to forfeit the small battles to Bernie and save her energy for the big conflicts to come.

Yes, but—

Where was Sylvie now?

Gone.

Gone forever…

And that, decided Jeanie—vigorously refusing to be slurped into an insidious bog of regret—that abandonment, no matter how involuntary, certainly meant that now—right now!—Jeanie was allowed to decide for herself that enough was enough!

With her usual deliberate stride, she wooshed across the deep-piled rug to the window, threw back the heavy curtains, snapped up the roller shade and wrenched open the double hung window.

A waft of mid-July heat met the chill of the air-conditioning and died on the sill.

“Jessica Bernadette Todd!” she carolled in her cheeriest voice. “Rise and shine!”

Beneath the heavy duvet, a slight figure stirred. Then, an unaccountably tidy head of dark-brown hair turned to reveal hazel-grey eyes peering dully out of a small pale-white face.

“Mom.”

With that single word, Bernie neatly expressed everything she wanted to say.

Don’t fool around with my window. Leave me alone. Go away.

Jeanie decided to ignore it all.

“The day’s a-wasting!” she chirped. “It’s time to greet the sun!”

Her beloved kidlet—never ‘Jessica’ since that September afternoon when she’d announced that, with three other Jessicas in her fifth grade class, she would henceforth be known as ‘Bernie’—dropped a limp hand over to her bedside table to consult her phone.

“Mom.”

It’s only nine-thirty on a Sunday morning. Close my drapes. Leave me alone.

Bernie’s pallid face swivelled inexorably back towards the wall.

Jeanie decided to ignore that too.

Leaving the window wide open, she nipped over to her daughter. Tugging off the unspeakable duvet to reveal Bernie’s frail powder-blue flannel-wrapped back, she plopped herself down on the bedside for a bracing chat.

“Look, Bernie—” Jeanie began. “If our loopy-neighbour-from-three-doors-down, Lindy Styre, can get over herself long enough to write a summer play, you can get over yourself long enough to get up and go see it.”

Bernie’s hibernation remained undisturbed.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, kidlet!” Jeanie continued, relentlessly. “According to the radio, Loopy Lindy’s done such a cracker-jack job, her theatre group’s gone and scheduled a whole extra matinee in the Glebe today! Now, the show starts at one. And I know that—if you stop for breakfast—it’ll take you at least an hour to get up and out. So, I thought that, after you’ve had your shower and got dressed, we’d hike over to Starbucks for our coffee and then trot across the Bank Street Bridge. Once we’re in the Glebe, we’ll pick up a snack—and then window-shop our way up to the park—”

Heaving a deep-dark sigh, Bernie flopped back over to confront her intolerably perky parent. “Mom. There was a headline in the Old Ottawa South paper that said Excursion Theatre’s coming to Windsor Park in early August. Why can’t we go then? It’s not as if this matinee’s a case of now-or-never.”

Delighted with this multi-sentence response, Jeanie seized upon her daughter’s argument with gusto. “See? You’re planning to go see Loopy Lindy’s play. Why not take advantage of this lovely golden day? That August date could be rained out and then we’d miss everything!”

“Mom—”

“So why not sling our folding chairs over our shoulders and march on down through the Glebe? We’ll buy fresh bagels, and it’ll be so much fun—!”

“Mom—” groaned Bernie, attempting to retreat beneath her bedclothes once more.

But Jeanie had scented victory in her daughter’s former lengthy reply.

“Oh no, you don’t!” she laughed, wrestling the awful duvet from Bernie’s feeble grasp and tossing it to the floor. “We’re overdue for a Girls Day Out! So, get cracking, kidlet! And I’ll go rustle up those chairs…”

Filled with happy purpose, Jeanie scampered down two flights of stairs to her blond maple kitchen. There, her husband, Donald Todd—an unpretentious man in his late sixties who’d recently retired from the Federal civil service—sat on a caramel-leather-upholstered stool at the pink-granite-topped kitchen island. He was just as fair-skinned as Bernie and three inches shorter than his long-limbed wife of almost forty-two years. And, as he sipped his second cup of coffee, he was puzzling through the cryptic crossword from yesterday morning’s paper.

Always the intellectual, thought Jeanie, indulgently. Can’t simply do the regular crossword like the rest of us mortals…

Don had popped his golf shirt collar up on one side, so Jeanie straightened it out for him. Then, planting an airy kiss on his greying temple, she offered, coyly, “You’ll be glad to hear that your devoted wife and darling daughter won’t be underfoot for most of the day.”

“But I’ll miss you both so sadly,” returned Don, evenly. Without even a glance his wife’s way, he filled a long word into his puzzle grid.

“We’re having a Girls Day Out. No men allowed!” Jeanie brightly informed him as she disappeared into their recently refreshed mudroom. There, she pulled a couple of bagged folding chairs out of the closet and leant them against the wall. Now, she thought with satisfaction, those will be close at hand...

Returning to the kitchen, she double-checked that the box for today’s date on the Inuit art wall calendar was empty. She wanted to fill it in with the lively acronym ‘GDO!’ But where was the pen that ought to be laying on the shelf nearby?

“Don,” she asked, “have you seen the calendar pen?”

“Mmm…what?”

“The calendar pen. The one that we always leave here on the shelf.”

The pen wasn’t on the counter. It hadn’t been knocked to the floor. So where was the calendar pen?

Had somebody moved it on purpose?

Jeanie felt a buzz of frustration arise in her mind.

“Not this one, is it?” Still concentrating on his crossword, Don waved the pen he was using at her. “I found it over there somewhere.”

Jeanie’s mouth pursed in to a strained smile.

“You know, Don,” she admonished her husband, as if spelling out an indisputable fact to a little child, “you should leave the calendar pen where it belongs. Then—whenever we need it—we won’t have to search all over the house.”

“Sorry, dear.” Don kept reading his puzzle clues and, again, didn’t bother to look up at his wife.

“And I know that you don’t mean to be careless. But it doesn’t take much to throw everything into disarray.” Jeanie didn’t like to be a nag. And since it was only about a month ago that Don had reluctantly retired from the long days of his government career, he could be forgiven for not being on board with her household routines. But there was a limit to her patience. “If you start picking up stuff at random and just using it for whatever, pretty soon the whole system will be in a shambles.”

Don nodded thoughtfully and wrote another answer. “As soon as I’m finished, I’ll put it back,” he said. And—although her fingers itched to grab the pen out of his selfish hand—from long experience with her husband’s talent for sly evasion, Jeanie knew that she had to be content with that.

Restlessly, she surveyed the kitchen. What other mischief had Don been up to? There weren’t any of his used breakfast dishes cluttering up the counter or the sink, so she unobtrusively checked in the dishwasher to see if he’d put them away correctly.

Aha! Don’s cereal bowl was in the appropriate slot on the bottom rack. But he’d stuck his juice glass in the widest row of the upper…

Juice glasses go in the narrow outer row, frowned Jeanie. Any fool should know that.

With an air of great tolerance, she lifted the offending glass and placed it in its proper spot. Then she snapped the dishwasher closed and, with a pen selected out of her cache in her kitchen junk drawer, wrote ‘GDO!’ in today’s calendar box.

With her good mood restored, Jeanie placed the substitute pen on the designated shelf and turned to Don with an unfeigned smile. “Don’t you wonder where your girls are going?”

Don glanced up briefly from his puzzle and took a swig of coffee. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll eventually tell me,” he said.

“We’re off to see that play that Lindy Styre wrote.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s got great reviews, and they’re doing a matinee today in the Glebe. So, Bernie and I thought we’d give it a peek.”

“Great.” Don’s slate-blue eyes drifted back to his crossword.

“It’s supposed to be really funny.”

“No doubt.” He picked up the ex-calendar pen again and wrote.

“But you can’t come with us—”

“Mm-hm…”

“—because we’re having an exclusive Girls Day Out!”

His brow wrinkled in deep thought, Don looked up and past his wife to stare vaguely at a spot over the kitchen stove. So, giving him up as a bad job, Jeanie retrieved her phone from its charging bay to check for messages she might have missed while she was upstairs rousing Bernie.

There was nothing too important. Just a reminder from the clinic about Jeanie’s follow-up mammogram. And a text from her former boss, Roberta Tsang.

Nearly twenty years ago, Roberta had hired Jeanie as a part-time receptionist at her Bank Street interior design company. And, now, she was asking whether Jeanie would like to come bargain hunting at the Westboro garage sale next Sunday?

Jeanie deftly texted Roberta that she’d ‘love to go pickin’!’ and ‘how ’bout lunch too?’ And then stuck the details of the medical appointment into her phone calendar.

‘Done like dinner,’ as Sylvie would have said.

‘All good and proper!’ as Jeanie’s mother would amend.

Pocketing her phone, Jeanie ran up the back stairs to refresh her lipstick in her marbled en-suite bathroom. Once there, however, she paused to admire her newly-dyed hairdo in the vanity mirror.

Keenly aware that her aging Clear Spring complexion now benefitted greatly when she lightened her colour palette to a Pastel Spring’s lower intensity hues, she’d instructed her stylist to tone her hair down to a soft-honey tint. She wasn’t ready to go grey, she’d explained. But she certainly didn’t want to look like one of those desperate ladies in their early sixties who try to offset their wrinkles with a brash shade of copper or platinum blonde…

Then again, Jeanie was a realist, and she wasn’t going to hide from the fact that she was getting old. Yet, even with their fortieth anniversary in the rear-view mirror—and a year’s hiatus during her health scare—she and Don were still having it off a couple of times a month.

I might be vintage, Jeanie reminded the smiling woman in the mirror as she lightly touched up her coral lip gloss, but I sure ain’t antique!

As usual, Jeanie had dressed very carefully this morning and, assessing her appearance in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she was quite pleased. She hadn’t painted too much tawny colour on her cheeks, and she liked the nice summery effect of the plain gold hoops in her ears. Her flowery aqua cotton top bloused enough to disguise any imbalance in the size of her breasts and, with a nod to her mature status, she’d opted for a pair of faded denim-blue shorts which left only a tasteful stretch of her long legs bare. And—playing peek-a-boo with her neatly coral-polished toes—sprightly new espadrille sandals completed her flawless attire.

“You look like a million dollars!” she told her beaming reflection and giggled when it responded with a duck-lipped super-model pose.

Next, knowing that—even at the best of times—Bernie never moved fast in the morning, Jeanie detoured for a few minutes to her craft room, which was located across the hall from the guest bedroom on the second-floor. She wanted to finish cutting and filing a couple of articles from her favourite women’s magazine.

Of course, Jeanie knew very well that this was the age of the computer. But, in some fundamental way, she preferred winnowing real pages to simply downloading images from a screen. And she wasn’t about to give up her favourite hobby just because it wasn’t modern…

In fact—through years of careful scrutiny of homemaker’s magazines—Jeanie had assembled a tangible ‘vision’ of what her family’s life should ideally be. And via scrapbooks, files and inspiration boards, she continued to pursue that vision with passion and zest.

Now, donning her reading glasses, Jeanie flipped merrily through the latest issue’s glossy pages. She clipped illustrated instructions on how to host a gingham-themed summer picnic. And then a page of chowder recipes with both seafood and vegetarian options. She usually filed the ‘Simple Sewing Crafts’ feature, as well as the fantasy vacation pages, so she plied her scissors there too. Then, making sure that the paper remained uncreased, she stashed the articles into appropriately multi-colour-labeled folders, ready to be pasted into one of the many tidy scrapbooks that lined her craft room shelves.

Gratified with this bit of orderly housekeeping, Jeanie skipped up to the third floor to monitor her daughter’s progress. But—

There wasn’t any.

Or, at least to Jeanie’s mind, there hadn’t been.

Perhaps, in Bernie’s opinion, there had.

The window was once more firmly shut. The inky-black roller shade was pulled down and the tobacco-brown curtains had been yanked across. The olive-drab duvet had been restored. And it was painfully obvious from the bedclothes’ unruffled façade that the small silent bulge beneath hadn’t moved since Bernie had rearranged her mole’s nest back to her own heavy dark taste.

Wordlessly Jeanie stood and stared dumbfounded at her daughter’s dead heap. She felt like she’d been slapped in the face with a wet fish…

And then blistering incredulity replaced her initial shock.

How could any kid of mine, gasped Jeanie’s mind, so brutally reject my efforts to engage her in the wonderful al fresco pleasures of life? Haven’t I tried beyond hope to understand her ridiculous reserve? Haven’t I given her the benefit of my sunny philosophy every single day?

So, why this obstinate refusal to participate in a cheery Girls Day Out?

As my mother would say—'What’s the worst that can happen? What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, girl.’

So, get out there in the fresh air and have a ball!

It all seemed so easy to Jeanie. But then again—as she was the first to admit—tolerating the personal quirks of her deeply loved but totally mystifying kidlet had always been the major challenge in her life.

Jeanie had miscarried multiple times before Bernie had finally been born, and the doctors had decreed that she’d have no more kids. So, there went her plan to have a troupe of children skipping through the halls of the three-storey, two staircase, six-bedroom, white elephant of an Edwardian red-brick house that she and Don had optimistically purchased in Old Ottawa South.

Then, Bernie had been a difficult, hyper-sensitive baby, hard to put to sleep and often screaming with colic. And—long past the ‘making shy’ stage—her finicky daughter had strenuously objected to strangers. So, Jeanie’d had to shelve her new scheme of housing international university students too.

No matter, she’d rationalized, and industriously repurposed the four superfluous bedrooms instead. On the second floor, she’d allocated a study for Don and a craft room for herself. And, in the two bedrooms on the third, she’d set up a box room for storage and—in the larger one—a quaint gabled playroom for her only child.

But then it had turned out that Bernie’s immune system had been massively unforgiving of even hypoallergenic pets. Reluctantly, Jeanie’d had to re-home their Labradoodle dog and Balinese cat. And, for the last twenty-eight years, the only animals in their home had been the mindless goldfish swimming endlessly around their bowl in Don’s study.

So, no brothers or sisters or boarders. And not even a furry pet…

With puberty, of course, Bernie had insisted on moving her bedroom up to the third floor. And—remembering her own dramatic middle school years—Jeanie had indulged her twelve-year-old kidlet’s sudden need for privacy. Efficiently, she’d hired a builder to tear down the wall of small attic box room and install another full bathroom for Bernie’s exclusive use. And then she’d happily decorated her daughter’s new en-suite bedroom and sitting area in that delightfully feminine ivory-cream-and-pink colour scheme.

Next, the generous walk-in closet in Bernie’s former second floor bedroom had been renovated to become Jeanie’s and Don’s en-suite bath. And—after purchasing an antique birdseye-maple bedroom set which included a spacious wardrobe—Jeanie had refurnished the remaining space for the use of overnight guests.

But then, as an ungrateful older teen, Bernie had stubbornly chosen that woeful attic décor. And—all the way through her Carleton University days and right into her nerdy government computer system analyst career—she’d persistently ignored her mom’s every encouragement to brighten it up.

Unfortunately, to Jeanie’s mind, thirty-year-old Bernie seemed to be stuck in a teenage funk. And—equally unfortunately—the end of their tense mother-daughter journey seemed to be nowhere in sight.

Which was because—as far as Jeanie knew—her persnickety kidlet had never led a normal social life. No gang of gal pals, no best friend and not even a whiff of romance had given a dash of spice to her daughter’s achromatic existence. Day in and day out, she’d simply slunk off to class or to work. Or sat at a computer. Or stared at a phone…

And when, a couple of years ago—at Jeanie’s urging—Don had offered to help with a substantial down payment, Bernie had balked at moving into her own place.

So, it had become increasingly obvious to Jeanie and Don that their daughter wasn’t planning to decamp anywhere else anytime soon.

Holy doodle, grimaced Jeanie. Imagine a thirty-year-old woman deliberately living at home with her aging parents. Still single and perfectly content to be buried alive in her dark, stuffy mole’s nest—

That was Bernie in a teacup!

And now, Jeanie realized, bitterly, the world’s most exasperating daughter wasn’t even going to disturb her self-centred agenda to venture forth on a rare Girls Day Out with her long-suffering mom!

Swiftly, Jeanie’s incredulity morphed into fury. And—aware that she was on the edge of saying or doing something unforgiveable—she abruptly spun on her heel and swept down the back stairs to the kitchen where Don still struggled with his puzzle.

“Bernie’s not coming!” she snapped. “Your daughter won’t even get up out of bed!”

“She won’t?” returned Don without looking up from his crossword. “What a surprise.” With a grunt of pleasure, he filled in one of the last two answers and, surveying the final clue, nonchalantly offered a helpful suggestion. “Maybe you could call somebody else to go with you. Probably Sylvie—oh, dear god, Jeanie, I’m so sorry—!” Too late Don realized his indefensible mistake and, red-faced, sprang up from his stool to give his wife his full attention. “Jeanie, I didn’t mean to—!”

But there was really no excuse.

“She can’t be bothered—and you don’t mean to—! That’s the story of my life!” snarled Jeanie, snatching her light summer tote bag from its peg. “But don’t let it bug you, Don! Sylvie may be gone. But I’m not beaten yet! I’m going to Lindy’s play—all by myself!”

Helpless with guilt, Don shrank back on his stool.

And, ditching her miserable husband, Jeanie stomped into the mudroom, seized her folding chair and slammed through the side door to face the pitiless hot and sunny world.

Alone.

#original novel #interior design #grief/mourning #satire #family #parenting #home lifestyle #theatre #family reunion #1920s #summer theatre #best friends #gettingtomarigold

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