seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Ireland
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Russia
seen from Vietnam
seen from Serbia
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Ukraine
seen from Germany
seen from China
BUT THE TRUTH IS, ALSO, SIMPLY THIS: LOVE IS INDOMITABLE —Aleksander Haakon Thomassen / @overthefjords
credits: richard siken, “snow & dirty rain” / peder balke, seascape / gabriel mistral, "to declare the dream” / thomas fearnley, monolith & trees / anne carson, trans. of euripides’ orestes / andreas achenbach, storm at sea off the norwegian coast / through a glass darkly (1961) dir. ingmar bergman / norwegian wood, haruki murakami
@overthefjords || aleks is a good hubby
"I'm sorry for starting you, love," Aleks said through a yawn as he settled against Mathias' back, arms winding around the Dane. "Someone decided to stage a conference call forgetting that timezones exist."
“S’okay. Did it go well?” He asked, turning over in Aleks’ arms and nestling up against his husband. Maybe sleeping against Aleks’ chest would help him relax enough to actually fall asleep rather than stare aimlessly at the ceiling.
By some stroke of luck, a letter addressed to Santa himself ended up in Aleks' mailbox, written by one Georgie McBulloch, asking for some very specific things. Resting upon their doormat was a wooden crate painted to look like a gift with the straps criss-crossed on it to look like ribbon. It was quite large, too. Wrapped in the soft handkerchiefs used as filler were likely far too many little packs of camera film, as per request in the letter Aleksander had received. Beneath all of those were a warm quilt, folded neatly and depicting a variety of animals native to those islands that Georgie and their family have inhabited for many years: cows, sheep and the like. Lastly, at the bottom of the crate was a layer or two of properly seasoned firewood and heating coal, set in it's own box as to not smudge the quilt. Tacked to the underside of the lid was a note: God Jul, Georgie! I have checked my list once or twice, and it seems your ratio of naughty to nice has far surpassed your numbers last year! I am quite proud of you. As such, your gifts are enclosed. Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver your Da to you, as he would not fit in the box with the rest of your gifts. I'll build a larger box next year. Father Christmas
Christmas 2021 || no longer accepting
@overthefjords
Georgie's curiosity is immediately piqued upon seeing the crate at their doorstep. It's in far too good condition to have washed up from the sea, and it was too far away from the shoreline anyway. They're not left to speculate for long, however, as it's peculiar paintjob makes it fairly obvious as to it's purpose. Clapping their hands together, they eagerly drag the wooden box inside before the weather can get to it first.
They don't need much help prying the container open, having become quite proficient with a crowbar in recent years, though it's not exactly an elegant process. The pressure of the top finally coming loose sends them tumbling backwards, but they don't care. It's not long before they're able to get it open and sift through it's contents.
The camera film brings an excited smile to their face, and a quietly exclaimed 'yes!' escapes them. The timing couldn't have been better. They're already down to their last roll, and who knows how long it'd be before they could to get more?
That's far from the only thing in the box, though. Further investigation reveals a quilt cushioned beneath the rolls of film, and they immediately recognize every animal portrayed in it's stitching. They've never been a particularly neat person, but something about this quilt prompts them to handle it with more care than usual, even going so far as to gingerly fold it back up before setting it to the side. It was thick and hardy, perfect for cold winter nights at sea.
Speaking of, the gift resting at the bottom was a welcome addition. Wood and coal to help keep the cottage warm during the winter months. They'll try to make it last.
Regrettably, they don't notice the letter taped to the underside of the lid until after they've sorted through all their presents. In their defense, it was pretty easy to miss. But when they do get around to reading it, they can't help but smile. As easy as it would be to speculate the validity of the sender's name, they decide not to. It doesn't matter.
behind closed doors 🥺
a (too) honest opinion ;; not accepting
@overthefjords
It isn't often, Eir knows, that Aleks isn't listening to her. She may whine, yes, she may grumble and grouch and claim him to be purposely ignoring her to wind her up or simply to spite her. Yet, she knows her older brother to be too kind for that, truly. So a chance to talk about him when he can't listen? Is a rare occasion.
Under careful hands a moth, wings still folded - stiff and cold, small and delicate - is lain out on a clean white sheet, the point of a needle gleaming in stark light as if in an operating theatre. Eir snorts.
"Aleks is an ass," she dismisses. "He always has been. When I was a child, when he was young, he lived as if he would never die. Drank in honour of gods which his people believed him to be part of, partied and- no, not partied, what is the word? Revelled? Revelled as if life would always continue this way. It was suffocating, being around him; being in his shadow, being his little new conquer, his sweet plaything with such a funny bark and bite."
Slowly, gently, the wings are adjusted once more, spread and pinned into a position Eir is sure the moth would have appreciated, if it were still alive. It looks about to take flight off her table and she sighs.
"But, he loved me. Loves me, still, doesn't stop showing it, in the most frustrating ways possible, whether it be buying me new socks or letting me stay over when I am ill or pinching my knee under the table during dinnertime. And he let me grow, let me soar above whatever I was supposed to be before he found me. I love him for that."
Glancing from her work, she pushes her glasses back up her nose and rests her eyes on a small photo framed on her wall, faded and dated June 1944.
"I love him. Don't tell him I said that."
@overthefjords
It had been a hectic summer for Matthieu, what with switching jobs and moving cities to become a bush firefighter. He unfortunately felt that he had lost touch with many people in his new, busy schedule of 16 hour work days, and his friendship with Aleks had suffered as a result. It had only taken a brief exchange of texts to decide to visit, and he was looking forward to the vacation.
This was the first time that Matthieu had ever visited Norway, and he was very excited to see how Aleks had been doing over the time that they had been distant. Generally, when he went to Europe he only stayed in France and Holland, so it was nice to have a change of scenery. Much of the countryside had reminded him of home, and the climate felt similar. It felt much less alien to him than Paris or Amsterdam.
After a long day of travels, Matthieu had finally arrived at the address texted to him, and he rolled his suitcase up to the door with a yawn. He politely knocked on the door, and shuffled his feet. He didn’t really know what to expect, but felt a strange, excitable anxiety about spending a week hanging out with Aleks.
continuing from here! @overthefjords
Eiríkur always had a fondness for the autumn months, watching as the colours of the landscape changed from vibrant greens to a medley of reds and oranges. The days were getting shorter, and though it was cold it was not yet the freezing months that those most northern were accustomed to. A nice middle ground, he had always thought. He cradled the mug of cider in his hands, savouring the warmth permeating through ceramic as he took in the Norwegian countryside beyond Aleksander's home with a dozy, half-lidded look that was so common on his face as winter approached.
Aleksander's voice broke his thoughts, and blinking the sleepy look from his eyes he shifted his attention back to his older brother. With a huff of laughter, Eirík indicated to the well-worn lopapeysa - one of many - he was wearing underneath the soon-to-be too-thin jacket. "I'd say I have too many - but that would be a lie."
@overthefjords cont. from here!
“One of a kind, that’s our burden to carry,” Aleks sticks his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall of the embassy. Unfortunately, he was in Sweden and not at home, but such was the way it worked sometimes. Norway had an embassy to Belarus here instead of in Oslo. Something to do with his little brother being EU and himself not. The minutiae of governmental affairs bored the engineer to death. “They look to us like we have the answers when at the end of the day I haven’t been actively invested in national affairs since the 50’s.” He shook his head, moving to grasp the handle of the door and opening it for the young lady.
“No matter. Velkommen. I suppose you’d like to go inside.”
That was enough for Miloslava to let out a huff of bitter laughter as she idly fingered the strap of her purse. It was a bit strange for her to be meeting Norway... not in Norway, but she didn’t care enough to question another government’s choices. She gave him a polite nod as he opened the door for her, and the sound of her heels felt entirely too loud as she stepped inside the quiet lobby.
“Thank you for welcoming me in.” She said, words stiff and expression respectfully blank as the door swung shut behind them. “I also find it rather ridiculous - no matter how many times I insist I wish to have little part in politics, they reel me back in.” Finally, she answered, nodding a bit and grimacing. “And when I do try and make a difference, they just ignore me. Why bother having me there? They treat us like trophies sometimes, I think.”
‘I—did not know they made men in your size,’ Meriset says, a slight inflection of wonder in her voice as her neck craned back to meet the eyes of the beastly (though not unpleasant) man. ‘I must say, you would have been a wonder to witness in my time… the people would have sought you to re-enact the victory of Sekhmet over Isfet at the goddess’ annual festival. They always loved burly men for that.’
@overthefjords started following you
