#kongerigetdanmark

[coffeenuts]

Hammeren Fyr by diwan https://flic.kr/p/2ksPQnr

[kanaalreiziger]

kongerigetdanmark replied to your post: [text] Sorry I got drunk and texted you about my...

[text] harsh. i thought we had something special. [text] beer later?

[text]: How did you expect I’d respond to that? 

[text]: Sure. We can talk more about your sex life.

[koffiehuis-love]

kongerigetdanmark heeft gereageerd op je bericht: [Text] what would ya say if I told you I woke up...

[text] the one who gets wasted with me

[text] I have to say I don’t care.

[text] Better you than my husband

[islandiis]

closed | @kongerigetdanmark | sentinel/guide AU

Realistically, he knows he should probably be paying attention. He can't afford to miss too much - he is in university to learn, after all - but at the same time, doing this at home or in calmer environments does him a disservice; he needs to learn to control his powers in a buzz of activity, so he can be prepared for anything. It's also not like their tutor will notice, since it will likely to look as though he is daydreaming rather than using his powers.

Under the desk, Fannar rubs his fingers together, and ice crystals begin to form. They're small, and he keeps it that way; he doesn't want to overdo it, just practice a little bit. All he's really focusing on is the thrum of cold energy in the tips of his fingers, and then the distance which begins to work itself into his vision. It's as though clouds roll in, coming on gradually and yet he only notices once they are there. Suddenly, he is so distant from the classroom he sits in, and Fannar stares vacantly at the front of the room as both his hands cease their movements.

Okay. Okay — this is good, this is where he wanted to be. Ice is his weakest element, and it can be too easy to go further than he means to with his ice powers. But, no, he's okay. This isn't too deep; he can find his way, here.

His brother might not approve of this — or maybe he would? He's always telling Fannar that guides can be dangerous, and should be given a white berth. Maybe he would disapprove of Fannar training in such a public space, or maybe he would think it is good that Fannar is opting to train himself, rather than depend on a guide. Either way, Fannar knows he is right, and knows why he is so quick to warn Fannar about it all. There have been online forums and support groups for sentinels, too, although Fannar always keeps a timid distance — but they make good points, that guides can have ill-intentions and too much power, and sentinels are at their mercy.

Now he needs to get back out. He can tell where he is going and how he needs to get there, but it's hard. It's always hard. It's like seeing the surface of water and yet struggling to swim up to it against the currents. But he's done it before, and he knows he can do it again; he's just got to focus. He's not too deep. He can do this, as long as he just—

Suddenly, he's blinking, and the world comes fading back to him. That surface, just out of reach, is gone and his head is well above water again. What the hell? What just happened? Fannar blinks, although it quickly becomes evident: it was the guy sitting next to him. Mads, wasn't it? Although he had been just as quick to draw his hand back when Fannar had snapped back to reality, he had been poking at his cheek in an attempt to bring him back.

Fannar blushes, picking his pen up and resting his cheek in one hand. Not totally sure what to say, he drums his pen against the table and opts for a quiet, "I could do it."

[islandiis]

[ text ] okay, that’s it. I’m coming over.

texting starters | always accepting

[ it's the first time he's replied in a day and a half, and even now, it's an hour after the message was sent. It's a frustratingly familiar routine: Fannar will shut others out, intent on dealing with everything himself. He's been ignoring his phone all this time. ]

[ texti: Mads ] Don't, please. I'm okay.

[islandiis]

[final] //destroy me

letters meme | selectively accepting

Mads, kjære, elskan mín...

Why am I even writing this? I don't know.

You always knew I was better at writing than I ever was at speaking. You always knew so much about me, you know. All the time we spent together, you knew me so well at times I wondered if you knew me better than I knew myself.

I hate that I have to write this in the past tense.

I don't know what to say. It doesn't get easier. I tried going to grief counselling, and I've been off work for the past month. I just can't come to terms with it. This isn't about me, obviously, but I just... I miss you so much that every second of every day, it hurts. It hurts more than anything I've ever gone through, Mads, and I so desperately just want to be there with you. Wherever there is, I know it's not here. It's a debilitating type of pain.

I keep a photo of us on my desk, that one we took out at Tivoli gardens in the summer. Do you remember it? I never understood why you liked it so much, that photo. You took a selfie of us, but I was looking at something while we were walking, and you caught me completely off guard. I wasn't even looking at the camera. I still don't know why you liked it so much, but I got it framed.

I feel so empty without you. Why am I writing this?

Jeg savner dig.

— scrapped.

[islandiis]

[ SORRY ]

types of hugs | always accepting [ SORRY ] for a hug that precedes an apology

1952

Emotion gnaws at Fannar's insides. So many feelings that it's hard to actually pin them down, and they all war for dominance inside of him. He feels guilty, so guilty, and yet he knows he can't apologise for any of this. He won't. He feels endlessly proud of everything his nation has become, born of centuries of suffering and hardship, and yet feels the overwhelming urge to make himself small — as if sharing these accomplishments would be like salt in the wound to the man he broke away from.

He's known this day would come, eventually. They couldn't be strangers forever (although with their history, could they ever really be strangers in the first place?) and they would have to make contact again. It isn't even that Fannar doesn't want that; he does, he so terribly does. Being apart like this has felt so abnormal, like a piece of him is missing, even knowing this was an important separation to be had.

But now the time has come, his chest is so damn tight, and he can barely breathe. He's been shaking all day, and he can't seem to stop it. It's so frustrating, because he wants this to go well, and he wants a clean slate. He wants them to be okay, and yet he can't seem to control himself enough. He doesn't want to ruin this before they can even speak, but guilt makes every word in his brain suddenly leave him, and the silence is suddenly too much —

He starts coughing, ducking into his sleeve to muffle the grating sound of it. Before the fit has come to an end, there is a hand on his shoulder, and it draws him into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, ducking his head in embarrassment; he can feel himself blushing. He doesn't have the air he needs to say much more, but thin arms - terribly hesitant - wrap back around Mads' waist. "Nervous."

[cmessage]

#Engineers make #Terror in #Denmark #kongerigetdanmark https://www.instagram.com/p/B1suVlRhFtT/?igshid=1v70x7e0iarx8