#aph otp

[local-cryptid-has-anger-issues]

hey there i’m back with my aph drawings i still cannot understand how u guys draw digital arts wtf

well i guess these are matching icons????? and of course you are all free to use them but pls tell me if so, i’ll be pleased!!

[i-am-a--lionheart]

Stjärna

21th of December, 1867 Bergen

 It had been snowing for days now, the white blanket grew thicker and thicker with every passing hour. On Tuesday, the snowflakes had fallen softly, on Wednesday it had turned into a blizzard, lasting for two more days – Lukas was sure his elder wouldn’t make it, not in a carriage at least. The frost was spreading on the shallow windows and he was tracing the crystalline twines and flowers with his eyes. Then his gaze shifted to the tall, dark grandfather clock standing in the edge of his living room – it was still early, far too early. Of course, the sky was still dark, but that didn’t say much about the time during this season. Sunrise would come in a few hours – no, there was no way Berwald would make it. He still could not sense his aura – and the Swedes aura was extremely broad, Lukas was able to sense it over at least 100 miles. Lukas knew, being angry wouldn’t be fair. He was angry far too often, angry because the Swede was too kind while he was being so incredible cold to him. The flowers were fading where his warm hand was resting, melting away. It was always the same, he couldn’t keep them, he couldn’t keep the ice up whenever he was alone, but once he saw the older one again it was as if his heart was turning to ice for whatever reason. Berwald hadn’t treat him bad since that incident a few years ago, an incident that Lukas had literally triggered. He hadn’t force him into anything, he allowed him to keep a government of his own, no matter how unstable it was. But all Lukas and his people were doing, was revolting and revolting again. Of course, many of the younger generations didn’t know how the Danish rule had destroyed their culture, their economy, from the inside out. Lukas knew but during the last decade he had begun to give into his feelings as a nation, feelings that were cold and hot at the same time – he had become even more stubborn and nearly cruel in his ignorance with periods of fierce anger. His breath met the cold glass when he leaned closer to rest his forehead against the window, his dull eyes staring outside into the pitch black darkness of the morning. Why couldn’t he be human? It would be easier to love, it would be easier to hate, it would be easier to live, easier to die. The flowers died so beautifully every autumn and came back even more stunning every spring. Everything in this country could die, could rest under this white, cold blanket of snow. He could die, but he could never rest. He would always come back, scattered, broken, with haunting memories. Lukas sighed, pressing his hands again his head – the grandfathers clock ticked, the hours flew away, but for him it felt as if days were passing, days of complete loneliness.

He had fallen asleep again in this very uncomfortable position, his knees pressed against his chest, because when he woke up a couple of hours later, the first rays of sunlight stung under his eyelids. His hands were cold and wet, the fire in the chimney was long gone and the room had cooled down to such a severe level that even he was shivering. His neck cracked when he moved his head and finally stood up. The nap hadn’t helped at all, he was as tired as before, but there was no way he could let himself fall asleep again. Lukas stretched his arms and legs, made his way into the bathroom, turned the shower on and cursed a little too loud as he realised that he had forgotten to lit a fire which caused the water to nearly freeze. God damn, he should have taken the offer of the mayor and moved in with him and his wife – but of course he was too proud and too independent to do such a thing – or simply to stupid. He bit his lip – since when had he become such a softie towards cooler temperatures (?) – and endured the cold shower. At least it woke him up properly. With a neck that was still hurting and his old, but functional hiking suit, he came back to the living room, staring at the desk with all those letters. Well, he had at least tried to answer some of them – he really did. He tried to write Emil without telling him a bunch of lies, he tried to write Matthias without accusing him, he tried to write Tino to silence the Finns worries, he tried to write Sanders to try and keep contact and he tried to actually tell Berwald with written words that he did not mean to harm him, that he was sorry, oh so sorry for mistreating him when he was good, too good to him. Lukas didn’t deserve him. Tino would deserve him, of course he would, but Lukas was selfish, he had always been selfish, and he wanted the Swedes love for his own despite denying it. For a second he thought about stripping his thick coat and sit down again, but as always, this would end in tears and desperation. And Lukas was sick of it, he was sick of being loved, he was sick of being in love, he was sick of being worshipped as well as sick of being used as an adornment. He needed the fresh air, he needed to sink into the snow, he needed a rest in the cold blanket, even if it will turn him sick. And so he turned around on his heels, leaving the desk with all those lost thoughts and hopes behind him when he closed the door to his little house behind him.

The cold air hit his face like a sharp knife – the wind had calmed down, but it still carried frost and snow with it. Lukas could see his breath in front of his face, and once he stepped from the last step of the staircase, his legs sunk into the snow, with the white mass nearly reaching his knees. He had a couple of skiers behind his cabin. Since he preferred living as far away from the city without fully losing contact, he had reactivate one of their old Viking logs, located on the foot of the Ulriken. Whenever the hills were covered in snow, he used skiers to drive down to the village of Bergen. It was solstice and although he liked his loneliness from time to time, he wouldn’t celebrate on his own. As always he was carrying his aura close around his body – in contrast to Matthias and Berwald that kept them as broad and majestic, making sure that everyone knew who they were, Lukas tried to merge with the crowd as often as he could. To be honest, he did a poor job, no matter how he hard he tried – he stood out too much. Maybe today, if he tried and keep his hood down, his scarf over his nose, it would work out for once. Lukas fastened the straps of the wooden skiers around his boots and placed them on top of the snow – he was a good skier, although he would have preferred to ride. His horse, a grey stallion called Ragnarök, stayed in a stable in the midst of Bergen since he lost his last horse, Baldur, in a blizzard a few years ago. The wind got sharper when he begun to speed up down the hill and after a little while he arrived, his face reddened and frozen, at the edge of the city. He knew Bergen by heart, it had been his capital for a while before he had become part of all those different unions – the streets were decorated with little lights here and there, mostly lamps fuelled by oil, sponsored by the few rich of the town. On the marketplace near the haven, he noticed a tall fir tree, with hanging branches, bending under the heavy weight of the snow. A few wooden balls and figures had been bound on the larger branches, and he spot three bows in the colours of the Norwegian flag, all frozen. The town was busy with the weekly market, buying groceries for the solstice feast in the evening. Lukas knew that he should probably buy something as well, but despite being rather decent at cooking, his low will to even eat a thing kept him from spending money on food. He strolled through the different stands, his hood still deep into his face and emerged from the crowd of people to make his way down to the port. It didn’t matter how sad, depressed, angry or furious he might be, looking at the boats being cradled by the water caused him to feel freed from all his worries even if it was just for a few minutes. The port was nearly as busy as the market had been with the fishing hall at its centre, and because the docks were narrow, he had a hard time trying to get through the moving mass. The people were chatting quite loudly because the wind had begun to howl again and he had to keep his hood down with one of his gloved hands. With his vision limited through the hood in front of his face and despite moving away from the main attraction and onto the jetties, it didn’t take long for him to bump into someone.

Since Lukas had hurried, feeling uneasy surrounded by so many people, the clash nearly sent him backwards to the hard, wooden ground. Surprisingly he didn’t fall, despite not having the time to steady himself. There were two rather strong hands clenched softly around his shoulders and he tried to stand up on his own and shake them off when he realised the familiar scent of liquorice and forest. But no, he was sure this couldn’t be – especially since he had never once missed auras out before – well at least not during the last visits. Lukas focused on the wooden planks below, blinking his dark blue eyes a couple of times – his heart felt far too warm, his vision was blurry for whatever reason. Those hands were still holding him, even though the other surely knew that the Norwegian was able to stand on his own. He both hated and loved the Swedish Kingdom for taking so much care. It wasn’t needed, Lukas wasn’t the broken person that had been forced into this union over half a century ago. Both of them did not say a single word, it wasn’t needed. And ever so slowly, ever so carefully (why, he didn’t deserve it, he really didn’t) one of the hands let go of his shoulders. Lukas wondered why he didn’t feel caged or kept in place because normally he didn’t like to be touched for longer than half a minute, especially not from a stronger companion. Maybe it was too surprising for his frost to take over his heart. Right now he didn’t mind that Berwald was actually keeping him kind of close and that his free hand had moved his hood just a bit, more or less urging Lukas to look up at him, realising that he was indeed there. It had been more then half a year by now that they had even seen each other, both being quite busy with their governments and meeting just occasionally when one of the royal children celebrated their birthdays or when official meetings were to be held. With the royal offspring being adults and moving from the palace in Stockholm, the only two times they were supposed to meet were the king’s birthday and Midsommar. Lukas had invited him over because it was a tradition to spend the soloistic together (or at least it had been a tradition in the past) – or at last this was what he tried to tell himself. Slowly the younger one lifted his gaze – he already knew that the Swede was really there, but looking at him was making the whole thing even more difficult. He nearly felt like a teenager again, a rare feeling, once his dark eyes met the sea blue ones. Of course he hoped that Berwald wouldn’t realise the slight film of tears causing his orbs to look a lot less dull than usually, and of course he was mistaken. “I said I would come, didn’t I?”, it took Lukas a while to understand that his partner was actually speaking Norwegian, his heavy, deep accent seeping through this surely barely used language. They never spoke in Norwegian, especially since no one was actually sure anymore which type of Norwegian to use. With a bit of a shock Lukas recognised the words of the Swede as Nynorsk – he had actually taken the time to learn this new yet old language. On Lukas’ tongue it still felt new and strange, even stranger as Swedish. He cleared his throat with a small cough and forced his gaze back onto the others face with this slight but sadly stunning smile that was so typical for the Swede. “I…I should have known.”, he answered, in Swedish, his eyes focused on the barely noticeable tuck of the corner of his lips. Anyone that didn’t knew Berwald as well as he did wouldn’t have been able to see this smile. It was a rare sight for him, well the Swede was a rare sight anyways. He was wearing a rather casual outfit, if anything Berwald wore ever was casual – his coat was from a strong, ocean blue colour with two golden strips on its collar, his tie was nearly black and too neat, considering the weather they had been through – Lukas knew that the Swede would never just stay safe in his cabin once the boat got into a storm. His eyes however, looked a bit too tired and a bit too worn out, the wrinkles on his forehead seemed permanent, telling the younger one just how worried he was. Not that this shocked Lukas who never wrote back a single letter since inviting him over three months ago. It had worsened since then, his heartache, his confusion, his mixture of anger against others and selfloathing. Lukas was constantly exhausted, something that Berwald, of course, realised as well as the other could sense his worries. His smile faltered which saddened Lukas a bit, but naturally he wouldn’t show the other. “Are you alright?”, Berwald asked, ready to be confronted with a lie because this was all Lukas did during the last few years. He always lied but he knew him better, he could see through every single lie. Despite Matthias, he could see the true colours of the Norwegian and maybe he loved him for them and maybe he didn’t. But he had always known that his heart belonged to the younger and this was one of the reasons why he couldn’t let him go. Why he couldn’t let him down – at least not again, because if he counted the timed when he had let him down, he would surely be either depressed or incredibly furious. “Kind of.”, Lukas tried to answer in Norwegian but found himself uttering those words in a weird mixture of their languages. He supressed the sigh that wanted to slip through his lips, moving his head to see if there was anyone staring at them. Surprisingly no one seemed to care for them, mostly because they were metres away from those humans that were far too busy to spy on them. “Kind of.”, Berwald furrowed his eyebrows, his left hand still resting on Lukas’ shoulder. Even when they weren’t watched, Berwald still fought the need to pull him close, even though he wanted to, even though he needed to. It was always the same between them – Lukas drew him in, half knowing, half obvious to how much he needed him. How much he would always need him, like the moon needed the night sky to even shine. And what pained him was that he never knew if Lukas needed him as much as he needed him. He did. He just wouldn’t say so. “Are you coming with me?”, Lukas asked, untouched by the furrowed eyebrows and the overall askance look on the taller one’s face. “Or do you plan to have the solstice fire on the water?”, he had thought that this was obviously a rhetorical question, but he seemed to have guessed right because Berwald just turned his head into the direction of two boats carrying the Swedish flag. One of them was a common destroyer – it wasn’t unusual for the Swedish king to send his nation on a war ship to demonstrate their power. The other one was a completely new ship, a bit smaller, radiating an aura of elegance and might. “Actually, yes.”, it hadn’t been unusual for them to have a fire on a boat back then in their Viking days. But this era was long gone. “Or do you think a fire in the snow would be a better idea?” It would probably not last longer than an hour, Lukas had actually considered lightening one with his magic. “Well…I guess I don’t mind.”, he answered after a while and analysed the new boat from the distance. He was so focused that he didn’t even realise that the other had already walked down the port towards the ships. With a small, nearly annoyed sigh, the younger one hurried after him.

The new boat was called Stjärna – stars – and seemed to belong to his Majesty, the Queen Sofia, or at least that was what Berwald told him as he showed him around. It had quite a cosy, nearly rustically interior and appeared more like one of the house boats Sanders used to tell him about. Lukas was both fascinated and confused – the ship had no motor, it was a frigate and once more he felt a bit envious about the amount of wealth the older one possessed. The large living space was even provided with a chimney, holding a warm and pleasing fire. The Norwegian took his coat off and put it over one of the chairs. “Do you like it?”, Lukas wanted to roll his eyes on that question. Who wouldn’t like a boat like this? It offered comfort, privacy and with the upper deck, enough space to actually lit a fire during the nearing evening. “No, not at all. What a question.”, he smiled a little into Berwalds direction, leaving him at least as stunned as the Norwegian had been before. “Frigates like these are modern now in Stockholm.”, Berwald explained while stroking the table as if it was alive. The older had always had a deep interest in creating things. The Swede wasn’t good with words, but he was great with his hands. “I made the furniture myself. Well, not the armchairs but everything else.”, the Swede seemed so focused that Lukas didn’t even know if he was actually talking to him or rather to the table. Even though he couldn’t really describe with how much more awe he looked at things, knowing that Berwald had created them. This explained the rather broad and noble charism of every single object here. Lukas had stopped in front of a small bulg eye from which he could look at the rough sea. The blizzard would surely come back during the next few hours – he had always been quite sensitive towards the weather. “I have something for you.”, apparently Lukas’ senses today were a bit dulled or else he would have realised that the other had come over to him, standing in his back. He turned around and cocked his head a bit to the side. “Why?”, Lukas knew that they barely gifted one another. Occasionally they would buy a present for their birthday, but nothing much. Berwald shuddered his shoulders while he walked over to a tall cupboard. “Just felt like it. I was in the workshop anyways.” With that he took out a rather fragile looking case and brought it over to Lukas that still seemed a bit confused. “It ain’t much.”, he underlined while watching Lukas a little too closely. Whenever Berwald said that something wasn’t much, Lukas had learned that it was worth more than he wanted to know. He reached to take the case from his partner’s hands, it was from a rectangular shape and made from a dark, nearly Bordeaux wood. With the care he normally had solely for his horses and his brother, he opened the case and regretted not having sat down before. Not that it was knew to him that Berwald was incredible talented, but he had to admit that he hadn’t suspected him to be as calm to create any frail item, yet alone an instrument. The violin was a bit too huge than normal violins, it had an incredible elegant curve in its bout and it was decorated with different paintings that seemed so realistic that he thought, just for a moment, that the deer on the middle of the upper bout was moving. Lukas did not realise that he was staring at the fiddle for what felt like hours, his jaw a little loose. It isn’t much, the other joked, didn’t he? Figure wise the instrument wasn’t shaped quite right and somehow Lukas was pretty interested if it was even able to produce a single sound. When he had finally closed his mouth again and raised his eyes up to the Swede, his expression was a mixture of confusion, happiness and annoyance. “Your interpretation of ‘not much’ is weird.”, he stated, unusually soft. This was enough to make Berwald feel more than a bit embarrassed and Lukas couldn’t help but consider it a little cute how the taller one rubbed his neck and turned his gaze away too quick for his own good. “If it’s enough to make you smile, I guess it’s true that it’s more than ‘not much’.”, he answered genuinely. Lukas felt weirdly reminded of the way they had flirted back then when they had been much younger, much more light-hearted and not dragged down by memories and atrocities. The warmth had suffocated the ice inside of him and he smiled back at him while holding the violin in position under the left side of his jaw. The bow had stunned him as much as the instrument itself and strangely enough, Berwald seemed to have picked the right amount of horsehair. Lukas wanted to say something as heart-warming as the other had but, of course, he did not manage to. Actions were so much easier than words. With a deep breath that filled his scarred lungs, he lifted the bow, laid it down on the strings and closed his eyes as he begun to move the bow in slight and sharp motions. The fiddle actually produced a melody, despite its shape, but its voice differed a lot from anything he had ever listened to. It was deeper, bordering to constant melancholia with a warm undertone that caused a slight shiver to run down his spine. Lukas barely played music according to cords, he simply closed his eyes and let himself be leaded by everything that moved him, down to the chore. Those deep, longer notes were followed by brighter ones – he would not concentrate on how he moved his fingers, or in which angle the bow was meeting the strings. The melody was soft, bit quiet, but it still possessed the ability to fill the room, overpowering the crackling fire with its wavy, fluid like character. It was just like him, like water, wind or sand. One could feel them, one could hear them, but one could never hold them. No one could ever hold the notes of the melody, cage them in a sheet, no one could ever reproduce those melodies, not even himself. It was the only way he could allow his heart to speak and without an instrument he had felt shallow, but he had never once dared to even think about buying a violin. It was too expensive, and he was still a very poor man.

A very poor man holding the favour of someone who was richer, mightier, stronger.

Berwald had not cease to watch him for a while, but those unsung songs urged its audience to close their eyes sooner or later. The waving melody painted powerful pictures in front of the Swedes vision, rough cliffs, the sharp edges of mighty fjords, valleys that lied cosy and protected amid the mountains. Colours emerged with every passing second and the images changed with the falling and climbing of the octaves – Berwald had never been too interested in music but listening to Lukas was like listening to the sounds of nature, was like listening to those emotions that seeped through the notes, was like finally getting everything he had yearned for in years and years.  

[tomatoandlettuce]

idk which one to post

meet my second otp!

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

Gerita 02

Germany: I'm not gay

Italy: Hi

Germany: I may be gayer than originally planned

[eli-place]

Otp random things

[local-cryptid-has-anger-issues]

dennor headcanon #15

Norway’s headphones are barely working, but he is too lazy always forgets to buy new ones. Only one of them is really working. When Nor watches films together with Denmark, he always gives him that working one, but Den doesn’t know that Nor cannot hear anything. For him it’s enough to understand the plot of the film by only watching on the screen and by Den’s emotions clearly appearing on his face. But still, though he cannot understand everything, somewhere in the middle of the film he begins just staring at Den, while he doesn’t notice a thing.

[local-cryptid-has-anger-issues]

dennor headcanon #12

One time when Norway was really ill so he couldn’t take part in the meeting, Den just drew him on a piece of paper and put this small Nor where Nor was sitting usually

[local-cryptid-has-anger-issues]

dennor headcanon #16

At these times when Den isn’t able to see Nor, he sends tons of senseless pics every day with signs like ‘look thats me’ ‘and thats me on the street’ ‘and thats me on the other street’ ‘lol look i’ve just frostbitten my nose’ ‘boiii just look at how precious dis frozen puddle is’ and Nor is just like ITS TIME TO STOP U PIECE OF SHIT k go on hate u