#pytmeddet

[sininensalo-a]

pytmeddet replied to your post “YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND???1?/!?!??/!!!11?!?//ONE”

NÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ!!!!!!!!!!

Jumalauta.

[karskeladden]

pytmeddet replied to your post: Why is knitting gay? Gays can't knit for shit.

‘True. Sigge’s straight and he knits me hundreds of things …’

‘Uh. About that-’

[sininensalo-a]

pytmeddet replied to your post: What you need is God.

‘Me.’

‘What are you the patron of? Or whom? Lego? Beer? I need answers.’

[sininensalo-a]

pytmeddet replied to your post: 'What you need is a FIGHT.' Magnus very lightly...

Magnus puffed out his chest. ‘No, in 10 minutes. Be there, or be square.’

You come to his house you tell him how long he can say in the sauna on his own property. ‘... fine. Bring your own birch twigs.’

[sininensalo-a]

'What you need is a FIGHT.' Magnus very lightly slaps Jaakko's cheek. 'Bitch.'

‘Fight–? Voi– perkele!’ He didn’t expect this. But the message is clear and look, he might have responded with something similar to what the Dane’s just done. Except with a fist. Lightly. I promise.

‘Bitch meet me behind the sauna in 20 minutes if you want an ass kicking.’

[strekkingur]

@pytmeddet || cont. from x

Erik let Lars cling on him a minute longer before getting his hands between their bodies and pushing against the older man’s sternum - gently, but with growing pressure - until he was finally released from the hug. He then dusted off his arms where the Dane’s warmth lingered. The action was excessive and most definitely hurtful, he knew, but ever since he had left them, Erik couldn’t help but feel increasingly uncomfortable in his own skin, in this foreign land, and around all the people in his life. Every touch from his family felt like it burnt him, rubbed his skin raw, and it made him want to lash out at them thoughtlessly. He didn’t understand it, but something inside him screamed and cried for him to leave, to fly away and never return to the house that felt so empty and cold without his brother in it. He wanted to go back home, back to his own island up north.

He had been in the middle of a growth spurt the last few decades and could now look past Lars’ shoulder. Erik took this as a sign that he was ready, ready to leave, ready to be on his own, to be an independent nation. He had spent days in his room when his ever-present sickness kept him at bay, composing letters and reading up on national romantic literature that Jón had shared with him. Jón, who told him how his people waited for his return, how they dreamed of ruling themselves. Jón, who had given him letters and poems from his national romantics, all of them praising Iceland’s beauty and character. And every time Jón travelled back to Reykjavík, he took Erik’s letters to be handed to them and most importantly, to his capital personification who was also preparing for his return. It had been over 500 years since he’d last been home...

He scoffed, the need to set his identity apart from Denmark consuming him. “Don’t call me that, you know I hate that nickname”, he spoke, words cutting through before he could stop them. “I heard what happened from the servants. You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I won’t stay for long; I have better things to attend to. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Yet, despite his cold words, Erik took one look at the tears the older man tried to smile through and felt chains wrapping around his heart. His freedom would have to wait a while longer. His damned loyalty tied him to Lars and he couldn't leave him like this.

[paralianprince]

@pytmeddet from here! 

“It’s for my wall!” 

Peter glances over the picture, swiping through the last few blurrier ones, then back to the most recent one (the only picture in the batch which looked halfway presentable), and hands his phone over for Magnus to approve of.  

“This one alright?  I collect pictures, right, up on the wall in my room, all pinned up on a map, and I ‘aven’t any of you yet!” 

[teatimescones]

- Continued { x } // @pytmeddet

Arthur was surprised to say the least; he was expecting a laugh or two — he was often dabbed as an old geezer stuck in time. He was merely saying the notion as an attempt to believe it, but it had already left such a bitter, bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

“Really? I thought it’s a common rhetoric for us to move on; or that’s what I heard. Let things go, they say… but it’s never that easy, isn’t it?” Head lowered, Arthur let out a few mirthless chuckles, contempt evident.

“Sometimes I wonder, is our long lifespan a blessing or a curse? Humans forgive and forget much faster than us, correct?” He had given some thoughts about it before, the life of a human, which would see everything in his lifetime coming to an end short of a century. 

“We have all wronged each other in one way or another… but can we say we have really granted forgiveness or it’s simply a farce for foreign relationships? I can’t tell.” His voice dropped to a low whisper, not wanting to be overheard. He wasn’t entirely sure of whether spilling his heart out to Denmark was a wise decision, him being a nation he used to be terrified of, but someone lending an ear to him was a welcomed gesture.