Welcome back dead inside fairy nordic boi

  (∪_∪†)৩°Nordic 5. DenNor main. Simp for Norway. 

[miyanoru]

Divorce 

[miyanoru]

Dec 2021 - Jan 2022 New year, new Norge 

[miyanoru]

Regular meeting 

[propagandistisk]

[miyanoru]

[propagandistisk]

DAY 2 : night-time

[miyanoru]

[propagandistisk]

[miyanoru]

Nothing, just my babe

[miyanoru]

September 2nd 

[propagandistisk]

god bless your art style bro 😫😫

oh man thank you bro im glad you enjoy it!!

[miyanoru]

[propagandistisk]

Hey I am sorry if you don't like these kind of questions... Is your ask blog still active and do you still welcome asks?

i am s o sorry for the late answer

yes my blog is still active and i still welcome asks, i just usually draw a bunch of comics at the same time ergo it's all just sooo slow i'll try to find a way to post more often - both here and there, i promise

[simple-persica]

I uh...I made more for the Fantasy AU....

[denshi-streetart]

背景練習でデンノル（描き込みはまだまだ全然）

「今日のメシなんだべなぁ～」とかそういう感じでも良いよね_(:3｣∠)_

[hetastupidmemes]

Today I was inspired… even though I have no crush XDD  

[a-luran]

DenNor + indulgence

It’s been a while since I thought of the Nordics! But I do have an indulgent wee headcanon for them I hope you'll enjoy <3

Contrary to popular belief, we know from surviving accounts that the food consumption of the Early Middle Ages (and onwards) in the Nordic Region is not quite as austere as commonly thought; and the history of food is a rich one across the board. But it is fair to say, I think, that all nations have known extended periods of deprivation. So a lovely headcanon I keep is this:

A thick dollop of cream over ripe summer berries. Honey swirled rich and golden over porridge. Warm slices of bread cut thick and pushed across the table. Denmark learns to cook, to bake, to warm a blanket near the radiator before draping it over Nor’s shoulders. Learns the feel of Nor’s softened waistline under the breadth of his palms like a comfort and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck grateful for what they have.

Through the haze of Denmark’s booming laughter, over rich ale (so different from what they drank once, nonetheless familiar), Norway takes a moment to simply look at him. At the shape of his smile and the fondness of his unguarded eyes. Takes note of how his posture has changed, how he sinks into his seat with the confidence of someone who knows himself safe. Subtly brushes his thumb over the palm of Denmark’s hand—where it has reached across to hold his, in thrilling open affection—and feels the calloused edges softened by time spent at ease.

They indulge in light and warmth. Burning beeswax candles well into the winter months knowing there is no danger now of scarcity. Keeping a fully-stocked pantry and rich pastries on the kitchen counter for Denmark to have with breakfast, golden-crusted and sweet. Who in turn is now able to brew up a scalding hot bath for Norway with the turn of a tap.

Small indulgences, born from times when the best they could give each other were small tokens—hard cheese and stale bread wrapped in linen during lean seasons, pressed into Norway’s hands before he could protest. Wax and oil worked into Denmark’s cracked hands to sooth away the sting of sea salt and the burn of grinding manual labour in the quiet before dawn. A freshly mended shirt; a good pair of woollen socks. A finely carved set of antler fastenings. Waxed leather gifted to be strewn over a tent or fashioned into a cloak; to keep dry and warm. Luxuries for a life spent moving forwards held dear now, in memory, and kept alive with acts of service and affection.