#sunorweek2023

[i-am-a--lionheart]

@sunorweek2023 - as an addition for my fanfic entry for day 5

Another entry commissioned by me for the Zine and ofc just my dear little fanfic Gravity by Inko_Dokotei on Insta (honestly they make the most amazing original stories and fanarts)

[sunorweek2023]

🇳🇴SUNOR WEEK 2023 THEMES 🇸🇪

thank you all so much for voting and i really hope you guys have a good time this year but here are the official results of the poll

Day 1 - Taking Care of Iceland

Day 2 - Keeping Secrets from Denmark

Day 3 - Kingdom of Sweden and Norway

Day 4 - Winter Sports

Day 5 - Kalmar Union

Day 6 - Independence Day

Day 7 - Free Day

thank you all for voting and i hope you're happy with the the results!! happy making!!

remember it's ‼️ 7 - 13 of August ‼️

[miramizar]

@sunorweek2023

Day 2: Keeping secrets from Denmark

(Takes place during DenSuNor's childhood.)

~~~

Eager and Satisfied

“What are you doing?”

Both of the boys jump in surprise, the smaller one turning to give him a dark look before returning to his work.

“Hey, I want to see!”

He tries to peek over their shoulders, only catching a small glimpse of white and blue before he’s shut off once more.

“Come on, why can’t you tell me what it is?”

“Because I'm not making it for you.”

Never has such harsh words sounded so soft, and the small smile appearing on the bigger boy’s face has him sighing in awe.

“Okay, I won’t ask any more then.”

~~~

(crossposted with notes on AO3)

[i-am-a--lionheart]

Gravity

@sunorweek2023 Day 5 - Kalmar Union (with delay, obvi)

Originally written for @sunor-hq Zine in 2018, with minor alterations (ever asked yourself why some nations need glasses? Here is a possible explanation and it is eh, no fun)

Names:

Kjetil - Norway

Björn - Sweden

Christian - Denmark

TW: abuse, hinted SA, post torture

R: T+

Everything was dark in this chamber; the air was as cold as ice and still so full of humidity that breathing had become a terrible exercise for him. Breathing in, breathing out, and in again.

This was nearly the only thing he could do, the only thing he could do except from experiencing this terrible pain in his whole body.

There was something cold dripping on his surely bruised cheek, something even colder than the air and the cold floor made of stones in his back. If Björn hadn’t been able to hear just the softest, the faintest of sobs, he would have thought those cold drops were plain water from the ceiling and nothing else.

The dark that surrounded him was so deep without even the slightest source of light and he was not sure anymore if it was the natural dark of the cellar he knew so well by now or if he had been blinded. He had tried to open his eyes a couple of times already since he had awoken from his painful slumber, but it was absolutely useless. His head ached so much while he tried to remember what had happened yesterday. Yesterday? The day before? He was not even sure when exactly Christian had locked him in here after another violent fight that the Swede had lost against his elder. Björn had lost his sense of time and not only this sense – the only thing he could smell was dried up blood and the fould scent of a cell that was all moldy and cold, the only thing he could feel were the cold stones in his back and the chill metal around his wrists and, of course, those cold drops that fell so steadily on his face. His mouth tasted like death to him – what differed this from death anyways?

His heartbeat was slow and shallow, his lungs were ripped, his breathing rigged, his body torn – now what was different? Everything was cold, everything felt meaningless except for the warmth he could suddenly feel on his broken arms. And those quiet sobs that echoed so loudly between these walls of stone, those sobs gave all of this a meaning. If even always-not-caring Kjetil was crying, Christian must had beaten him to the very verge of dying.

Strangely the sadness, the desperation and fear that he could sense in Kjetils behaviour made him angrier than the fact he had been abused and locked away again.

Honestly, by now Björn was used to it, was used to the weekly arguments, the fights – he had always known that a union between the three of them would destroy their bonds rather than strengthen them. It had been tough during the Viking ages once they had drifted apart and what started as the idea of a united, strong North, had ended in violence and anger.

Those arguments would always star slowly, but exploded within mere minutes into unfair fights, first with insults and accusation. But since a few months it never stayed verbal at all.

They were nations – that was the reason his weak, hurt heart kept beating – they were nations and they were bound to be brutal, merciless creatures.

His hopeless thoughts were suddenly ripped into pieces by a sharp pain coming from his eye sockets – the warmth of Kjetils hands was gone and instead he could sense a cold liquid pouring on his face and into his opened, bloody eyes. The sobs hadn’t stopped completely but they were disrupted by chanted words uttered by a shivering voice. Björn had opened his cracked lips, probably in an attempt to scream because the pain was worse than anything, but a soft hand was clenched onto his mouth while a second pressed his jaw back with gentle force.

“Quiet.”, the Norwegian’s voice was back to his usual cool tone as far as Björn was able to hear it with the exploding pain in the back of his head. If he had listened more closely, however, Björn could have heard that the fear still stained his heavy, melodious tone. But the only thing that kept the Swede busy was pain, pain, and even more pain.

Was that even Kjetil? Why would he hurt him like that? Especially in this state?! Especially even when he always proclaimed that he loved him even though he behaved so cold most of the times.

His anger got worse, filling his veins with burning blood, but a small voice inside of him told him that it was probably just a way to quicken his healing progress. Kjetil was a healer after all.

And it was just this.

When the explosions in his brain finally had stopped, his vision had begun to clear up. Björn wondered if his eyes had ever been closed at all or if they had been bloody sockets with a mess of flesh inside of them. He still wasn’t able to see the lines of the stones at the ceiling, but the face of his companion appeared in front of his now restored, sea blue eyes.

Kjetil looked sick, his face even paler as usual, his dark blue eyes held a shade so red that they stood out like drops of blood on fresh snow. On the left side the red, puffy eyes were accompanied by a deep purplish greed spreading around it. Unshed tears still filled the deep orbs of the younger, whose face was stained by those he had shed and his whole figure was shaking, from fear or cold, Björn couldn’t tell.

He felt the need to sit up and pull him into his arms but a hand on his chest stopped him from doing so.

Just now he realised the soft blue light radiating from the places that the younger one had touched.

His arms didn’t feel as cracked as before and even though his clothes were still stained by his dried blood, he could imagine that his ribcage was closed again, with fresh, sensitive skin stretching over healed bones. Björn didn’t want to imagine what amount of energy sick, sick Kjetil had used to repair him like that. And even though he tried to raise his voice to tell him to stop, it was as if Kjetil controlled every movement of him.

It took hours and hours for him to heal, even with the energy and the chants of the Norwegian and after a while the both of them could hear hard and heavy steps coming down the stairs. Kjetils eyes – now even more tired looking than before, shifted from his patient to the metal door that separated the cell from the hallway. He froze for a second – of course he should have thought about this more closely, the sleeping potion did not last as long in Christian’s body than it did in Emil’s. The Norwegian wanted to stand up but a hand around his wrist kept him on the ground – even though Björn had looked so weak and destroyed during those hours he had spent by his side – he still was far stronger than he himself war. The Swede had finally managed to free his tongue from whatever Kjetil had used to keep him quiet. “Stay.” He could not even bear the thought of Kjetil going out there, having to face this monstrosity of a nation alone. “Please.”

Kjetil turned his gaze downwards to him again, his face softer than it had been in a very long time. He looked him with a mixture of warmth, desperation and the quietest love while his lips had curled into half of a smile. “I can’t. I am sorry.”, the younger one reached down with his free hand and loosened the grip of his elder, intertwining their fingers for the shortest of moments. “I can’t.”

The sounds had become louder, and Kjetil stood up, his eyes gleaming as he tried to pull all of his courage together. For little Emil, for Björn, even for little Tino. Then he went to the door once he knew that Christian had stepped onto the last stair, opened it and locked it behind him, very well knowing that once his mostly muffled screams had reached the inside of this cell, Björn could break his chains.

[sunorweek2023]

🇳🇴 Sunor Week Themes Vote 2023 🇸🇪

keeping in minds last years critique of having repetitive themes I’ve tried to make them personal to sunor! ❤️

this one is going to be up a lot longer! 🇸🇪🇳🇴

vote here!

[sunorweek2023]

❗Sunor Week Official Date 2023 ❗

so after looking at the votes it's actually pretty tied so this was a hard decision to make but I decided to take into account usual exam times. So, Sunor week will take place

7th of August - 13th of August 2023

I'm sorry if you still can't do this but I do take late entries and if you need that late entries time extending just let me know ❤️‍🩹

Thank you everyone!!!

[sunorweek2023]

💌 Sunor Week 2023 💌

hello everyone! I know it's slightly early to be thinking about this but I think making it earlier will give people a chance to schedule and figure out what they are going to do! So please fill in the survey if you're interested in anyway :)

answer it here!

🤍

[i-am-a--lionheart]

Between Fire and Ice

SuNor week 2023 – Day 3 Kingdom of Sweden & Norway

@sunorweek2023

Stockholm, 29th of December 1827

He was not sure when the fire in the chimney had died down, leaving the room cold, dark and quiet. Lukas was sitting in one of the old armchairs, trying to get at least a bit comfortable. The world outside was grey, he guesses it was late in the afternoon, but he was not sure about this.

This place was absolutely timeless anyways and he could not even remember when he had been allowed to leave his chambers, which obviously meant it had been a couple of years already.

Those wooden doors were always locked, and he was not even sure if Berwald possessed any keys or if the lock was just always frozen. Of course, the Norwegian had tried to use his magical flames to escape a couple of times since he had been forced to stay here, but it was useless. After weeks of cursing and literally destroying half the interior decoration and burning his skin countless times, he had given up. He could have tried to escape through the windows but his chambers were placed in a tower and if he was ever brave enough to jump, the ground below would shatter at least half of his bones. Even though he would not die and possessed healing abilities, they would catch him before he was able to stand up.

Not that he wasn’t used to be caged, but at least Matthias had never kept him in a rather small area in an abandoned wing of his castle. The Dane had always kept him extremely close by his side, which of course had left him with scars and nightmares too, but at least he had never felt abandoned. Not at all. Matthias’ fire had been either a lot weaker than Berwalds or Lukas had grown even more frail. He liked to believe the first option more if he had to be honest.

The whole castle was filled by the cold, bluish-golden aura that suffocated his own with each passing day. He could never know if or when the Swede would come to this part of the castle until he was able to hear his steps on the floor outside.

Since he was shivering all over – nothing new at all – he stood up, his joints cracking in the silence of the room and put a few pieces of wood into the chimney, enlightening it with his own flames.

With a small sigh of relief, he stayed put in front of the growing fire, it was a shame that he didn’t possess enough energy to heat himself up with his magic. But with the little amount of training – basically he had no space to train his abilities at all – combined with his extreme low nutrition income, he didn’t have the chance to get stronger at all. With an extra piece of wood, not much thicker than his thin wrist, he settled down again, his small knife in his other hand.

His rooms consisted of two chambers, both too large for their own good. The little furniture, a desk with a wooden chair, two armchairs on an old blanket in front of the grey chimney. His bedroom was even larger with just a canopy bed that was also too huge. All walls were grey, empty and lifeless. He had tried to decorate them and his desk with those carved pieces of wood. Well, he could have tried and ask for colours and canvas, just to keep himself busy. But Berwald would possibly not grand him any of these things. Sometimes Lukas thought that the older one wanted to drive him crazy in some way, perfectly knowing that Lukas could barely stand being bored.

And still he, as well as his sanity, had survived gods-knows how long.

He had transformed the rough wood into a small bear as he finally heard something other than the crackling sound of the flames consuming the branches. Lukas couldn’t help but quiver a bit as the clacking noises came closer – it wasn’t necessary a bad thing when the Swede came over, once in a while. The Norwegian kept counting the times when the older was nice enough to visit, mostly just to bring him letters from either Matthias or Emil, sometimes little packages from Sanders or even Ivan as well. It had been snowing for at least five weeks by now and since then the older had been here three times. He wouldn’t count one of them as a meet though, he had just woken up the next day to find a couple of letters on his desk. Not that he was too keen on seeing him again, it was just relaxing for his mental health to know that he wasn’t completely alone in this world. Not even servants were allowed to actually interact with him, causing them to mostly refill his storage of bred in the night.

The Swedes Aura was incredible strong as the steps stopped and with a long, hissing noise, the crystals on the locked door begun to melt. Lukas hated this sound more than the individual that caused it. Still, he wasn’t sure how to feel about the other, not at all. Surely, he could hate him for breaking every single promise they had, surely he could despise him for forcing him into this union and locking him away, as far from his lands as Matthias had done. Whenever he was sitting in front of his chimney, thinking about the older one, he could feel his heart getting cold and icy from all the pain that he had inflicted on him in the past ten, or fifteen (?) years. But in the evening when he was laying on this mattress – he had not been sleeping in an own bed for nearly four hundred years – he yearned for his attention. It was more than a bit maddening, he had the feeling he was turning crazy. The noise that turned louder and higher in its frequency did not really help him to clear his mind.

Finally the hissing died down and for a couple of seconds he tried to relax and put on his mask of indifference, but then the silence was broken by the crackling sound of the old door swinging open. Luksa didn’t turn around, why would he? He was never sure if he hoped for a conversation or if he just wished that he would be left alone, because seeing the older one made him feel a toxic cocktail of emotions.

“Norge.”

Well, he had forgotten that they were on such distant terms by now. Still, Lukas did not turn his head to look at him – the other did not deserve talking to him anyways. Either of them had always, always known that, to him, there was nothing as important as freedom. Either of them had known and still both had broken his wings and thrown him in a cage as if his free will meant nothing to them.

And still, he had to control himself to silently stare at the fire in the chimney, watching the shadows the flames casted on the black of the chimney, he had to control himself although…

“I know you hear me.”, another few steps, the clacking sound of his boots would turn him insane in no time, nearly as insane as the silence that kept him caged. With a sound too loud for his good, a couple of letters, no, a whole pack of letters, were slammed on the little, wooden table placed between the armchairs and then, the other one placed himself on the other armchair. The strong need to burn the chair including the Swede sitting on it, filled his mind and he balled his hands to fists. His deep eyes scanned the different letters. It were so many that he could not believe that they were just the once that had arrived during the last weeks. Additional to this, a few of the envelopes had been opened. Lukas’ gaze turned from forced indifference over nervousness to anger.

“What have you done?”, he was always surprised how he sounded – his voice was dark for a person looking as androgynous and frail as he did, and it cracked a couple of times. He wasn’t used to talking at all, having no one around to talk to. He had not seen his magical friends in decades. They had disappeared as the abuse had turned too cruel for them to look at, as his soul had turned to sharp, shattered pieces of glass, cutting everyone that tried to come too close, human or not.

Berwald’s gaze was not friendlier than the one of the Norwegian, not at all. The presence of the younger one in the heart of his country bordered him, the fire he could feel burning inside of his opponent threatened his ice, his aura did not surrender to his own.

“Nothing.”, in contrast to Lukas’, the Swedes voice was clear and sharp as ice.

The coldness in his tone was enough to make Lukas snap, finally, finally. His hand shot forward, got a hold of the letters and brought his gaze up to stare draggers into those ocean eyes.

“You call this nothing?!”, he pulled out one of the opened envelopes, it was from Rosenholm, Emil’s residence in Denmark. “Why are you reading my letters?”, his voice grew louder and he slammed the letters down again. “Isn’t it enough you keep me here? Now you are spying on me as well?”, he could feel his face heat up in anger.

Berwald just looked at him with disdain, neither saying a word nor moving in his armchair even as Lukas jumped out of his own.

“I don’t trust you.”, he finally answered, his tone seeping with a mixture of scorn and dander.

“Oh, you don’t trust me?”, the sarcasm in his voice was stinging, hiding a bitter laugh.

“You don’t trust me? I am sorry, haven’t I been a good little dog, staying in this freaking rooms all the time so that you don’t have to deal with me? What bothers you so much that you read these petty letters that are all I have left from the world outside this disgusting castle?”, dangerous little sparks flew from his tightened fist and slowly but surely he didn’t care anymore that Berwald was probably a whole lot stronger than he was.

“I never trusted you since then.”, he would not lower himself to answer his stupid questions or be provoked by his attempts to play a little game with him. He was old enough to not embark himself in the mind tricks of the younger, knowing how perfectly skilled he was in manipulating others. With or without his magic.

Lukas rolled his eyes.

“Since I chose to stay with him? But what does this count now, Sverige? You are just the same as him. You always think you are so much better, don’t you?”, he hadn’t even faked the grin that appeared on his pale lips as he stepped closer, the sparks in his palm multiplied.

Berwald supressed a mixture of a sigh and a noise of anger as he rose from his seat. He should not have come here, not at all. He did not know why he could not send Lukas back to Christiania, because his presence made him sick, but his absence would probably kill him. He could not be with him, he could not be without him. If he let go of him, Matthias would most likely come and take him back, as always neither caring what either of them wanted. He had never cared. Maybe he was bad in showing it, but Berwald did indeed care. Lukas was just blind and ignorant, like he always was. He walked past him without a second gaze, reached the door and froze as he heard his partners voice again.

“And you dare to treat me like that, all while claiming to have freed me and god-knows what else? Just because I am not your little beloved Finland, you think you can just lock me away and let me rot here?”, Lukas couldn’t even blink twice before a sharp pain on his cheek send him to the wall in his back. Of course, he had forgotten this unspoken rule that haunted this place as well as every single location in which the Swede socialised. No one, no one ever spoke about the Finn. It sparked a blinding anger in the Swedish Kingdom, but on the other hand, Lukas knew that it was hurting him and why shouldn’t he hurt him? He left him here, he abandoned him, he did not care at all about he felt, he wouldn’t let him see his lands, he kept him here, suffocating in his own loneliness, turning him crazy from the mixture of love and hate he felt for his keeper.

He had bit his tongue and with a toxic gaze he spit a bit of blood into the direction of the Swede. Berwald was closer now, too close, and the air around him seemed to cool down rapidly. Lukas did not regret provoking him – in a way he was attracted to the danger that radiated from his elder, plus he could see the pain reflecting in his seablue eyes.

“Don’t you dare bring him into this.”, a hand grabbed the collar of his white shirt, pressing him closer to the stones in his back. Lukas raised a hand and clenched it around the taller one’s hand, activating his heat.

Berwald hated it when someone talked about Tino, reminding him how much he had failed the Finn, failed to protect him, failed to grant him a decent life, failed to win his heart, failed to gain anything. He was cursed with Lukas, cursed with his love, cursed with his presence, cursed with the flames that slowly crept up his shirt. With frost spreading over Berwalds skin, the flames were put down again and he lift Lukas up, slamming him against the stones in the hope to whip the grin out of his face. Lukas felt like laughing but he didn’t. He felt like crying, but he didn’t do this either. Instead he continued to stare at him, ignoring his aching back.

“You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone. And you know that, you know that perfectly. Remember Emil’s words? He said you would become a monster as well.”, his midnight eyes lightened up, bringing flames to Berwalds boots what caused the latter to let go of him.

Still, Lukas wasn’t quick enough to escape from the wall that prevented him from eluding, and he knew the silence of the other wasn’t a good sign at all. While Lukas’ tongue turned sharp the angrier he got and Matthias turning all loud in his fury, the Swede got more and more quiet with his actions getting insanely brutal. The ice formed crystals on the ground, frost shed over the stones, climbed over the walls, the armchairs and finally formed small patches of ice on Lukas shoes and pinned him to the wall. He kept his distance to the Norwegian though, avoiding to gaze into his face, because Lukas could easily lit flames with his gaze. Despite being weaker than Berwald physically, his magical abilities were more complex and his control of them was more advanced.

The anger that turned his blood to ice, tainted his vision red, and he was not able to restrain himself. How could the other compare him with this stupid, cruel Dane? He wasn’t like that, he wasn’t like that. Never. Whatever Emil had said, curse him and his fortune telling abilities, curse this little child, god damn. With his vision distorting more and more, the ice was growing and no matter how Lukas increased his heat, he couldn’t escape the crystals encaging him. The coldness was stinging, and he pressed his hands against the ice around his hips, melting it bit by bit with his flames.

“Finally shut up, haven’t you?”, Berwald didn’t really care about the danger anymore that came with the shrinking distance between them. His greenish blue eyes had darkened, his vision consisted more and more of twisted shadows and with one hand he grasped the smaller one’s hand, freezing them above his head in an instant. The other clenched around his throat in a still rather light hold, forcing him to look upwards.

Oh well, maybe he wasn’t that much better than the Dane but what did that matter right now?

Lukas wanted to play this game and now he had to bare the consequences.

The cold drained the Norwegian of his energy and although he tried to focus his energy to produce new flames preferably on the others hair, he wasn’t able to lit any. Instead, the hand around his neck choke him and he had to bite down harshly on his lips to prevent himself from producing any miserable sounds. With blood trickling down his chin and a stubborn, cold gaze, he eyed Berwald.

If he thought this would scare him, he was oh so wrong. His darkened, dangerous eyes, provoked Lukas to mock him more, maybe because he couldn’t stand the indifference the other held for him. He wanted to be loved, he wanted to be hated, he wanted anything, anything.

Not a little sound passed his lips though because from one second to another, sharp teeth made their way into the sensible flesh of his neck, the cold breath of the other mixing with his own heat.

Lukas’ heart stumbled in horror, froze for a second and his eyes turned dull.

  (An extract from an old fanfic of mine written in 2019 when i was still active in the fandom, slightly pinched to fit the theme better)