#nordicphile

[koooolaaaaa]

Here you go! Forgive me for the bad quality. I need to scan the sketches next time.

[hazlelnoot]

hey bellamy, you make the cutest fairy in that costume (sorry, i am slow OTL)

^u^ thank you so much! It was a fun costume that's for sure (don't worry dear, sorry for not answering til much later OTL ) 

[foolsfires]

Gravity

Gravity: Were you ever in a situation that forced you to stop being scared?

Nope, I don’t think so. I mean, there’s been lots of situations that forced me to ignore the fact I was scared as fuck and do the thing anyway, but. The fear never goes away by simply forcing it to, huh? Or at least it doesn't happen for me just like that, haha.

[merriecana]

|| Becoming || Chapter Four

Long overdue fic for nordicphile it’s so damn late and I’m super sorry.

Prompt: Nyo!DenNor. Denmark’s a knight, gets hurt and is found by Norway and is helped. The two begin visiting regularly etc.

She was going insane. This woman was haunting her for some reason that only the gods could understand. Kjetil could hardly leave her room and even there she wasn’t safe. Not in her sleep, not when she was in the ring, not when she was eating: Ane stayed just out of sight, but made her presence known well enough it was like she had her in a headlock.

           Kjetil broke.

           There was no way she could handle this when her next assignment would take her to Agion to train in their courts. Who the hell would allow a maddened female knight to train in their palace grounds? No one sane would permit her to stay on the premises let alone get near their equivalent of knights. She was at her wits end. It wasn’t as if she was going away to fight—no she was going away as a diplomat. Kjetil would put the nation in a very precarious situation that could lead to the severing of ties and then lead to a war and that weight could not rest on her head. She would die before dragging her country down in a fit of madness.

           That was it. That was what made her decide that she must return to the woods and seek out Ane and force her to remove this … This curse! Not even the day after the idea had come to mind she began preparing supplies for her trip. She did not know the length she would be staying, nor if she would be coming back, but the Gods knew that she was going to find her no matter what it took. She would pass out of exhaustion, wake up, then continue on her search: this damned woman would not allow her to fall into madness! (Unless you already consider the state she was in madness, because there was a thin line and she was inching her way closer to crossing it with each toll of the watchtower.)

It was no surprise to her when Nami demanded to know where she was going, or told her that she was accompanying her, the stony look did not faze her. Instead Kjetil stared back at her with a blank look, tired and worn, so old for such a young face. In the end Nami did not accompany her, but she took her horse and saddle with words of warning about the forest ringing through the training ground as she tore out the gates.  She would find the witch and burn her out if she had to!

~

Kjetil had been moving through the dark forest at a slow pace, much slower compared to the breakneck speed at which her mule had been gravely injured, when shit began to happen. He slow progress was mostly because the horse she was on was Nami’s, and the woman would actually string her up by her toes, slit her throat, let all the blood run out of her body and wear her skin as a suit. But all of that was beside the point.

           Wandering aimlessly through the forest on horseback became a struggle sooner rather than later. Going just a few meters was slow and tedious work; making sure the horse didn’t lose her footing, making sure she herself didn’t lead the two of them into a tree or into a spidril nest…  She couldn’t let her mind wander even for a few moments. Even if it was just to focus on the curious heavy atmosphere of the woods. And by curious she meant terrifying as hell.

Eventually her eyes became so tired there was nothing she could do but stop and get some rest. She had no clue as to what the time was: in the forest there was no true day or night, only the dimly lit part of the day and hardly lit part of the supposed night. Even the three moons could not shine through in some parts. The forest was rumored to be enchanted (which would explain a lot about Ane) and Kjetil was inclined to believe the rumors at this point. Even the trees seemed to have something wrong with them; their smooth, purpling trunks that seemed to go up and up forever without even a single branch interrupting their upward climb looked sinister. Especially when she was alone in the damned woods with nothing but a stupid horse and (maybe) a witch somewhere in the heart of these woods.

Kjetil unsaddled and unbridled the mare, watching the poor beast carefully. From the moment they’d stepped into the woods the whites of the horse’s eyes had been rolling and it seemed to be  just a matter of time before she bolted.  With this in mind, Kjetil made quick work of removing anything that could be useful for her travels through this hellscape. For a few moments the mare seemed alright, with the saddle off her shoulders seemed to relax a bit but the horse never once bent its head to eat a bite of the small plant life that managed to grow in relative darkness.

           If anything, it was the horse that was making her feeling of unease grow more and more as she began making camp. She knew animals had much keener senses than humans and they could sometimes be used to detect the presence of witchcraft.

Trying to ignore the damn horse, the fearless lady knight unrolled her blanket on the ground of the forest, taking in where she would be exploring for the next few days: the ground covered in smatterings of small plant life, large roots, and decaying leaves, the smell of fresh dirt and pine invading her nostrils.

Pine? There are no pine trees here.

Kjetil’s line of vision zeroed in on the mare. Its ears were pinned to the back of its head while it seemed to do a jittery dance, not seeming to notice the plants that were being crushed under heavy hooves. That was her second warning; the third came mere moments after the second warning. All noise in the forest came to a sudden halt.

[iridescentleaf]

Doodles for an amazing nyo!dennor fanfic called "becoming"!!!!

[merriecana]

|| Becoming || Part Three

Long overdue fic for nordicphile it’s so damn late and I’m super sorry.

Prompt: Nyo!DenNor. Denmark’s a knight, gets hurt and is found by Norway and is helped. The two begin visiting regularly etc.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three

“You had lost your tunic, your horse, and broke a few ribs. Yet, they are set, you made it out of the woods, and you’re telling me there is no story behind this?” Nami’s eyes pierced into what felt like her soul. She made Kjetil feel like she was a child again, coming to ask her to be her squire for the first time.

But she had to hold her ground. No one could go out there to see that witch. Ane would kill them and the guilt would be on Kjetil’s mind all the time: for such a well-known knight who’d fought in so many different battles she had a very strong sense of morality when it came towards death and murder. “The horse rolled his ankle, I had to get out from underneath him but it took me a damn long time, Nami. When I was out, I realized I had to do something about my ribs if I wanted to get back here. So I took off my tunic and used the cloth. I know it was a present but—,” Nami couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at that, raising a hand to keep her on track. “Anyway, I fixed myself up, killed the damn mule then took off towards the village. But, I mean, I really was just trying to get through the woods. I had no idea where to go if we’re being honest here.” Kjetil pulled a face at her mentor and with an exaggerated shrug she turned to retire to her chambers. A firm grip on her shoulder stopped her, then she was turned to face Nami once more.

“If you think that I will not investigate what has happened to you, you are wrong. You may be equal in rank but I hold far more status than you. Do not play with the truth, the gods look unfavorably on those who chose to twist the reality of our world with their words.”                 Cold guilt twisted and rolled in her gut as the knight walked away from her, dress billowing behind her as she moved. Nami was a frightening character, which was understandable. To get respect as a female you had to be—but it wasn’t as if Nami was acting a part. She was a scary woman who took no horseshit. She could halt an uprising by her mere presence. She scared Kjetil shitless most of the time. Gods, I want to be just like her.                 Once she was out of view Kjetil sucked in a deep breath and retired to her chambers. She flopped down onto her bed and crossed her arms over her chest, gripping each forearm as she stared at the ceiling, taking a mental inventory of what was left to do before she was sent away on a new assignment with Nami. (Even though they both were knights the two were normally stationed together, Kjetil suspected this was because they were both women but chose to ignore it because being stationed with Nami simply meant that she had to be less careful about the male knights.) But she couldn’t help but let her mind slip from the sword practices with the squires –and finding a squire for herself—to the cottage in the wood. The more she thought about it the more uncomfortable she became.  Gooseflesh prickled her skin and her room, which normally was as hot as balls, felt like the temperature was dropping rapidly. She felt as if she was sitting in the cottage again, on the hard stool instead of her bed. Ane was watching her again with those luminescent eyes, looking straight into her body. She felt naked and defenseless in front of her—more so than when she was with the male knights. Cold sweat was now trickling down her neck as she stared at the ceiling, unable to move, stuck seeing through her minds eye.

                Ane tutted and looked around the cottage, eyes drifting over Kjetil once more before she turned to the table. There was a moment of tension in the air, then the woman turned around and this time she resembled her birds; feathers in place of skin on her face, beady black eyes, a gruesome beak that was stained with something rust colored.                 That was enough to break her out of her trancelike state and as soon as she did her eyes met with a blackbird that was sitting on her windowsill, watching her with head cocked. Kjetil sat up, letting out a loud shriek, moving quickly to shoo the bird away and was met with an unpleasant surprise when the bird didn’t even flinch until she actually touched its feathers. With an unhappy caw the bird took off into the air, a feather or two falling into her room as the bird moved just out of her reach in the tree outside her window.

~~                 The birds continued to follow her for the next week. She said birds because after she had tried to hit the first one out of her window there was never just one. She was beginning to get paranoid, convinced that the witch would soon be showing up to have her way with her. Her figure haunted her peripheral vision; her voice could just barely be heard among the conversations in the dining hall. Not loud enough to be noticeable, simply enough for the words to catch in her mind and make her head spin as she tried to pin down where the bodiless voice originated. The birds were just the icing on the cake, adding to her insanity. Many squires were starting to regard her with care, making a point to steer clear when she began casting glances above and behind her.  Not that she had taken the time to notice. Whenever she was not indoors she moved as quickly as she could without breaking into a run to get to her destination.

                Trainings had become problematic: Kjetil was too distracted to actually be of any real use except as a sparring dummy. Yet, she stood in the ring, leaning on her sword, nonetheless. “Alright, first one up, enter the ring.” She called, trying to ignore the soft caw above her. “Those blackbirds really seem to like you, Kje--,” a young squire began to point out only to be silenced by a cold glare from the knight. “You will call me Mistress or nothing at all. I was going to let you choose among yourselves, but it seems this boy has decided for you. Into the ring.” She pointed at the ground before her with the tip of her sword.  She was at least trying to seem rather relaxed--.

“Sword up!” She called, adjusting her hold on the sword and bringing it up before her face. The sandy-haired boy mimicked the movement. Right away she noticed issues in his grip, but he would learn quicker by having his sword fly from his hand or crack his wrist bone than her teaching him how. “Go!”                 Above her the crow cawed loudly and she couldn’t help but look up—her sword was nearly torn from her grip as the boy slammed his own into her Named Sword. Brought back to the moment she sidestepped him, watching him barrel on through, stumbling and trying to right himself before it was too late. Distracted as she was, Kjetil was talented with the sword. And she easily made an example of this boy; taking her anxiety out on him. Slamming the pommel of her sword into the hollow of his back, knocking him flat onto his face. She waited for him to get back up; then, rammed him again, batting his sword from his hand like a cat playing with a dustball in the stables. He let out a soft whimper as the sword was jarred from his grip, his fault, she thought unsympathetically, he was the one with the improper grip.                 Leaving him clutching his wrist she ducked out of the ring, calling behind her, “If I see you hold your sword like your cock in your hand I’ll knock it out harder and faster. Next group into the ring!” 

[merriecana]

|| Becoming || Part two

Long overdue fic for nordicphile it’s so damn late and I’m super sorry.

Prompt: Nyo!Dennor. Demark’s a knight, gets hurt and is found by Norway and is helped. The two begin visiting regularly etc.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three

As it turned out, there was far much more behind the young woman than Kjetil could have supposed. As they entered her home chills danced their way up her spine. Uncaged birds sat upon the rafters, watching with the two with  interest as their mistress brought a new guest into the house. Ane spat some assortment of words at the birds that sent them spiraling out of the cottage and Kjetil after them.                 A meal was too much to ask for, wasn’t it? From a stranger in the woods? Of course it is, Kjetil, her inner thoughts replied.                 Ane roughly grabbed her shoulder to stop her from leaving, this prompting Kjetil to fall to her knees, doubling over with pain. Clutching at her ribs she moaned and let herself be dragged back into the cottage by this twiggy woman with incredible strength…

“Sit your ass into that chair and wait.” Ane instructed, pointing to a rickety looking stool that sat near the hearth. Begrudgingly, Kjetil made her way to the stool, letting her legs collapse when she was sure she was positioned over it. Ane was rummaging through some cupboards collecting a rather impressive pile of herbs on the table. The herbs weren’t all, it seemed. She also took down a cloth that hung from the rafters and tore it into one long stip. Her face was impassive as she moved methodically, practically silent as she moved through her home.

                This woman seemed to have a sort of grace that was not bestowed upon humans. No, instead she resembled… Well, the closest creature that Kjetil’s brain could come up with was the Wood Eladris, but that was a bit of a long shot. She did not have the height of the creatures and her ears were not split. Maybe her clear skin and large eyes—never mind that! It wasn’t as much her appearance as it was her movement. She had the grace of an immortal being. And it made Kjetil both intrigued and disturbed.

                As interesting as getting to know this woman would be, some kind of foreboding sense was in the air. Maybe it was the ravens or the artifacts that seemed to be from the Bromitic regions, but something made her feel like this would be—

“Do you have a problem?” Ane was suddenly in front of her, looking annoyed (though that could just be her resting face) with her.

“I-Er, no, sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.” She went to lift her arms to gesture as she spoke but even as she shifted to lift her arms pain rocketed through her ribs.

“You’ll regret moving so much later. Pull your layers off.” Ane watched her with those oddly colored eyes and that blank expression, as if it was not an odd direction to give to a stranger. Kjetil, on the other hand, snorted and …

“You aren’t being serious are you?” Silence. “First off, I cannot lift my damn arms, let alone take off my tunic. Second, I just met you what makes you think—?” She was cut off by Ane stepping forward and drawing her pointer finger in a line down her chest, her nail catching in the fabric slightly. Kjetil was about to ask her what damn fool she pinned her for when her tunic fell away.

                There was a silence between the two where Ane stared boredly at Kjetil’s face and Kjetil stared back, a little more expressive. But only a little. Not by much. Not frightened or terrified or shocked in the least to find that she was in the company of some inhuman monster. Not at all. Nope.

                As the woman leaned over her to get to the hearth where the gods know what was heating over some dull coals Kjetil could swear she heard Ane snort to herself. But she didn’t have time to dwell on this because Ane was pulling something out of the pot and seemed to have the intent of sticking it on her skin—to which she objected loudly.

“You seek my help, yet refuse it when I offer? Tsk, tsk. Your parents must have raised you in a barn.” Ane spoke softly and began pressing the (was it weeds? It looked like weeds) disgusting smelling (weeds) herbs onto her sides.

                Kjetil said nothing in response, simply sulked a bit, because she was right. She had asked for help. She was receiving help (from a witch, but help nonetheless). And when she glanced down at her yellowing ribs she realized that there was no way she would be able to make it out of this forest in the state she as in, that is, if she’d been able to get out from underneath the horse. This habit of losing herself in thought often was her greatest enemy, but in a time when you’re sitting barebreasted on a stool in front of a stranger (who is also an enchantress or demon or something) the trick became useful.

Before she realized it, Ane had wrapped her ribs (surprisingly gently) with a compress of some sort mixed in between layers and had moved away from her to … She wasn’t sure what she was doing now.

                Ane was on her knees a few feet from her, palms touching the ground with neck bent downward, staring blankly at the surface of the earth. She sat like this for what seemed an eternity: but, in that time the sounds of nature seemed to grow louder, the birds of the dark forest chirped a jauntier tune, the insects hummed in a sort of rhythm with each other, the wind stilled to listen and the sunlight filtered through the leaves just to see what all the commotion was about. Not that Kjetil actually knew what was actually going on; she was simply a spectator to this event. And if there’s something she hated more than being simply a spectator, she’d be damned.

“What kind of magic-y horseshit is this?” She asked loudly, interrupting the peace and silence.

Ane’s head shot up at the question, her eyes luminescent and body seeming to emit a dark light. Or, not emit. Not that, it was more like she was sucking in light. And once again she saw the resemblance to the Wood Eladris. But this time she saw the power and the darkness, and  was terrified of what lurked in those eyes. .

                Moving quickly to her feet, she did not stop to think twice about the lack of pain in her ribs. Instead she grabbed the tatters that remained of her clothing and fled the cottage. She was done with the magic-y horseshit, done with the cawing ravens, the beautiful woman, done with damn mules, and most definitely done with shady mule dealers that were cheap and liars.  She would be damned if she stuck around any longer.

                But time seemed to have escaped her inside the light cottage because now that she was in the woods the darkness of the forest overtook her mind and implanted images of shadows moving just beyond her mortal eyesight and sounds of scuttling spidrils and massive Dani just behind her. But it was safer than with the darkness that took the form of a woman. It had to be better than the darkness, right? Right, definitely right. Or—

Or she thought it was. She thought it was right up until a branch snapped behind her and something stumbled and reached for her. No. That was it. She ran then. She would find the edge of this damn forest and be done with ALL of its damn shit! The women, the mules, the Dani, the spidrils, the things that reached for you in the dark, the cawing ravens that she could still hear but no longer see because the canopy let no light in. ALL OF IT.

[toramisha]

 nordicphile said: you look great as Nor!!

Thanks so much ;; w ;; I'm still insecure 'bout cosplaying him though - thinking my face's too round for him and all-  cause I idolize and idealize him too much I guess haha xD