really-not-that-stoic - Tumblr blog

[really-not-that-stoic]

✎ (@really-not-that-stoic) ? c: love your art. hope you're doing okay.

//He’s smiling. a lil bit. maybe just in his head. also thank you 

[really-not-that-stoic]

It’s all Berwald can do to whip his glasses off his face (and luckily having them hit the table) before he nearly burrows himself in Hugh’s neck, because his eyes are burning. He won’t cry, he refuses to, but... he has to take some more drastic measures than usual for that, apparently.

No one has ever said something like this to him, or treated him so tenderly without having something to gain from it. Hugh is the first, and he’s falling hard for him because of it. (The fact that he’s rather good looking doesn’t hurt, either.)

He enjoys the feeling of the fingers in his hair, and concentrates on that to get himself back to normal.

When he feels like he has his voice under control enough to get out more than a few wheezing sounds (it feels like it’s been hours while in reality it’s probably been no more than a minute), he clears his throat and decides to... take a chance.

“I... I do like it, when ya touch me. It’s comfortin’ ta me, ‘cuz it’s you.”

He wants to say more, but his throat is closing up again, and his heart is beating so loud he’s sure Hugh can hear it, especially considering how close they are to each other.

Threats can easily become promises, the Scotsman is as free with his words as he is his body. Affection costs nothing so he gives it freely. Perhaps it is because Hugh learned the language of love in France. It is easy for him to love, much more difficult for him to commit. Why should he not reward someone who shares his body with his adoration? They deserve his worship in exchange for their trust.

“Alrite.. let’s see it.”

Even though the Swede is comfortable he shifts, placing fingers beneath the strong line of his chin so he can tilt it up. Emerald eyes bore into him, inspecting every line, intense with concentration. It’s as simple as breathing to him - it’s almost a need - if there is something he can do then he must.

“I mean.. I think yer handsome. No scary at awl.”

To prove it he kisses Berwald’s brow. If it would help he’d kiss every inch because Hugh simply does not see what Berwald sees. Fingers retracted, resuming sifting through blond strands, letting Berwald retreat into the crook of his neck if he wants.

“Well ye seem nice n’ comfortable rite the noo so I’m gonnae mek ye put awp wit my touchin’.” Simply because he was enjoying himself.

[really-not-that-stoic]

The Swede leans into the fingers carding through his hair, almost subconsciously, even as he’s still blushing from the Scotsman’s words. (Promises, his mind whispers. He does the mental equivalent of a headbutt and hopes that’ll shut it up.)

“Nah... ‘m not good at makin’ contact with people. An’ so I don’t feel comfortable with ‘em, and they don’t with me. They like doin’ business with me - but I know most still think I’m scary. Can’t blame ‘em, ‘s my face.”

And here he's complaining again. He should just stop talking, he isn’t usually so bad at being quiet. But talking with Hugh is nice. Though maybe not quite as nice as just being with him like this. 

The heat from Hugh’s hand on his hip feels like a blessing, and he shifts his arms until they are both circling the Scotsman’s waist. His head buries in the crook of his neck as far as his glasses allow him without hurting either of them (he should take them off, but for that he’d have to move) and he sighs contentedly, again.

Well when he’s going to say cute things like that.. how can a man resist? Hugh is not a man who denies himself many pleasure, though he’s not hedonistic, his wants are simple. Good company, good alcohol, good food and good sex. It doesn’t take a lot to make him happy and the warm weight of the Swede.. is no exception to this. “If ye keep bein’ cute like that I cannae be held responsible fe whit I dae te ye.”

A smirk, a slow lean forwards to encourage Berwald’s arm to drop from his shoulder to his waist so his head is more comfortable, braced against his own shoulder.

“Dae ye no git te dae this often?” In his mind it’s more a statement than a question, Hugh already knows the answer. What he really is asking is.. why? The Swede is tall, attractive… There ought to be a queue of people who would curl up on the couch with him. 

Almost as though he can sense Berwald’s need for touch, his hand lifts to gently push leather clad fingertips through short blond strands. 

[really-not-that-stoic]

Looking over to the young woman (barely an adult even by human standards, and didn’t that call his parenting instincts to life), Berwald gave a thoughtful humming in response.

“Not that often, actually. There’s so many places ta see, I tend ta change it ‘round whenever I actually have the time ta go for a walk. ‘s still one o’ my favorites, though.”

They were walking in one of his many national parcs; it may have been rather tiny but offered a multitude of different sceneries to enjoy. 

Taking another look around, he thought for a moment before continuing. “There’s a nice place for resting up ahead, we c’d even make a little campfire if ya want to. An’ I brought coffee an’ kanelbullar.”

Self-made, of course. The store-bought stuff was never quite up to standard, in his opinion. And it was about time for a fika, in his opinion.

for @really-not-that-stoic : firstinteraction

Being around new people was fun; if anything it was quite the challenge for Hilda. Upon initially establishing the little… project she did, she admittedly didn’t think too far into the future, just focused on the task at hand. The thought of being acquainted with a number of new people was a thought that genuinely didn’t cross her mind, yet here she was, essentially a member of a family she felt rather displaced in. For her, admittedly, time spent around them, minus Magnus, for her was nearly agonising due to how awkward she was.

Though, there was another exception to this, and much to Magnus’s shock it was Berwald she’d taken some sort of interest in. Normally, Magnus would have spoken up, but seeing as she was communicating with another member of the Nordics on a semi-regular basis, he chose to leave them be. He also figured that in a few ways, they were rather similar, so perhaps it could help her open up to the rest, he hoped.

Hilda appreciated Berwald a lot. He was patient and understanding, and that was something she appreciated. In return, she did her best to be as patient and understanding of him as she possibly could. Not to mention, she enjoyed tagging along with him to go do things every now and again, be it building furniture or even out hiking– to which they were currently going on a little hike together again.

It was relaxing; while there was little conversation currently between the two it was evident that Hilda was enjoying herself. Taking in the various sounds surrounding them as well as the scenery. She always appreciated these little outings; it really did give her some kind of sense of belonging within the family, even if it was just one person.

Upon making it to a nice little spot, Hilda paused in her tracks, taking in the scenery once more– but now that they were in a clearer spot she could see even more. A rare little smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she took a deep breath before drinking a bit of water. Then, she spoke up, peering over in Berwald’s direction. “Again, thanks for inviting me out here. Hiking with you is always nice. How often do you come to this trail?” Yes, she decided, maybe starting a little conversation would be nice. It would add more to the moment, she figured.

[really-not-that-stoic]

Headcanon: Mun doubts themself too much and doesn't see what an amazing person they really are and should practice self love and self confidence more

// gsgcjcgshv what a callout 😅 I guess I should practice that, yeah... I try XD

And on that note, thank you so much!!! 😭😭🙏

[really-not-that-stoic]

Can you please draw aph Norway in casual clothes 👉🏻👈🏻🥺

I tried so hard on this, but complex backgrounds are just not my jam 😔

[really-not-that-stoic]

Send a headcanon you have about the MUN!

I’m curious as to what you have in mind. They don’t have to be serious!

[really-not-that-stoic]

Was... was he just quite unceremoniously included in a prank? Berwald couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. And he was even getting food out of this. “Deal”, he murmured quietly. 

The coat he was handed and his current carrier’s words made the plan quite obvious, and he readily shrugged on the garment, closing it in the front to hide the woman. He made out the apparent ‘victim’ of this little play (they were walking straight towards the guy) and did his best to exude a threatening ‘Ex-Berserker’ aura onto him.

Frosty, greenish-blue eyes fixated on the (now) smaller man, and he let out an ‘unhappy’ grumble.

♞ -Sridevi (,,,just consider some tiny Indian woman picking up a confused Swede and carrying him on her shoulders- all to become the ultimate trench coat giant, because the image got stuck in my head and I absolutely require it- also I hope it's okay to send this ahah)

Berwald is understandably baffled. This… Is definitely a first for him.

He tries to make himself somewhat comfortable.

“Uhmmm, wha’s happenin’?”, he murmurs softly.

[really-not-that-stoic]

The blanket is soft and smells nice. It’s quite comfortable, but... It’s still far, far better when Hugh returns and hugs him again. He immediately slings an arm around Hugh’s shoulder, leaning into him and slightly bowing his head in the same direction.

He blinks when the Scotsman starts apologizing for the coffee.

“‘m sure it’s fine.’s not important. You are. And...”, his voice lowers until it’s barely audible, “...I did. Miss you.”

Berwald isn’t quite sure what led him to admit that, but... It’s the truth. Now that he’s back, that they’re hugging again, that he can feel the warmth the Scotsman is emitting... Berwald isn’t sure he can remember a time he felt more comfortable and content.

Coffee forgotten in the wake of his introspection, he sighs and fully lays his head on Hugh’s shoulder, contentedly closing his eyes. He tightens his grip on the other man ever so slightly, other hand reaching over under the blanket until his fingertips are just barely brushing him as well.

“Here ye are big man.”

Spreading the blanket to the extent of his stretch he places it over Berwald, the faint scent of heather infused into the fabric. It would have to hold the Swede until he, himself, returned. Disappearing into the kitchen he stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back as the can of instant coffee shouted “fuck you Hugh” from the shelf. Alas, it was all he had and if Berwald wanted fancy he’d have to go to Starbucks on the Mile.

Spooning it out he located the biggest mugs he could find which were unseemly by any standard and made one white and one black, figuring the Swede was the black coffee type. Just in case he located a frilly bowl he’d probably got in France at some point and filled it with brown sugar.

Triumphantly he returned and set the coffee down. Just look at this man, looking at him.. like that. It’s all Hugh can do not to climb right into his lap but that might be too brazen even for him. Lifting the blanket he contented himself with laying against Berwald’s side, an arm looped casually about his waist.

“Ye miss me? N’ fer whit it’s worth.. I think ye wis talkin’ fine te me. Sorry aboot the coffee.. it’s the only thing whit I had in.. I’m no a fancy pants when it cems te that..”

[really-not-that-stoic]

“An’ I wish I could talk properly.”, the Swede grumbles softly when Hugh mentions his own problems. Still, he probably shouldn’t talk so negatively - Hugh was right, in this day and age, at least, things were easier dealt with via email than via direct talk. He was in the better position here. And still Hugh didn’t even complain, really.

Also, did he just hear coffee? This was getting better and better.

While the Scotsman is springing into action, he fishes for a pen (always in one of his pockets) and a piece of paper (thankfully still one in his wallet) and writes down his number, putting it on the coffee table, then sits down to wait.

He’s still feeling a little guilty, not helping out with anything. But Hugh had sounded rather determined, hadn’t he? And he doesn’t exactly know where anything is. So he’ll just... be patient. He’s good at that, at least. Still, he’s already missing contact with the other man.

Being able to look forward to more of that in a few moments makes him indescribably happy and content, and his gaze softens when he sees the Scotsman coming back into the room.

“I wish it wis like that fer me..” Just how much could he help his capital if he could deal with emails and the written word? Just once, when Aidan was thoroughly done with his nation, Hugh had taken over his office. It wasn’t that the Scotsman was incapable of managing people, in fact he was an adept leader. The problem was that everything had to be done verbally. The modern world was not set up to work in a way that suited Hugh. After two days he’d walked out and made things even worse with Aidan.

As their frames split apart he was sure he caught a minute smile on Berwald’s lips but he wasn’t sure. Hugh had yet to learn the microshifts in the Swede’s expression, but given time he would. Even that much was enough for a warm grin to lift to his expression. Whatever Denmark said.. Hugh wasn’t put off by Berwald’s resting bitch face, after all the energy he exuded was not threatening. 

Aside from that Hugh was a reckless fool and saw courting danger as a sport, rather than something to be avoided.

“Aye, ye write me yer number doon, git yerself comfy n’ I’ll mek some coffee n’ git some blankets.” Hugh was totally going to cuddle him on the couch, that’s the sort of shit he did with people he liked.

Popping the kettle on he took on the stairs two at a time, rifling through his airing cupboard for a moment to find the softest tartan blanket he owned. Yeah this was the one, perfect for warming up any cool spring morning.

[really-not-that-stoic]

Straight to business? How refreshing. Berwald was ever so slightly amused by the brashness of the young nation, but it wasn’t like he minded - the earlier they could come to a solution, the better.

“O’ course. To th’ study, then.”

With sharp blue eyes he sized up the men following Ludwig. If they stayed with the young empire, it might put him at a... disadvantage. Business deals were still battles. Numbers meant something, even here.

“Perhaps your, ah, entourage’d like to wait outside th’ study? ‘s not that big a room. I’ll have some bev’rages and food brought for ‘em.” He motioned to a table with several chairs, just off to the side of the door that lead to his personal study.

@sicherheit-und-ordnung

Stockholm, September 1914

Berwald was worried. 

He had been confident it was the right decision to stay neutral in this war, and in all honesty he didn’t want to give his neutral status up right now. But it seemed he hadn’t quite… thought through the financial repercussions the war had.

A good portion of his finances were dependent on his trade with iron-ore, but now the field in Gällivare (the eastern one of his two big fields) could not export the mined ore to the Allied countries.

At the same time, the field in Kiruna, which had previously shipped almost three quarters of their goods to Germany, had a hard time reaching that country.

It was like being stuck between the metaphorical ‘rock and hard place’. Still, there had to be some way out of this uncomfortable situation. Without making compromises or agreements with Russia, though… He frowned at the thought of that nation.

[really-not-that-stoic]

“Course, I’ll give ya that.” Later, when it didn’t mean letting go. “An’... written words are jus’... easier fer me.”

Is he smiling? Well, it might have to do with the fact that Hugh had essentially just told him, in slightly different words, that he wasn’t scared of his ‘resting bitch face’, as his eloquent Danish friend had put it so nicely once. And while he’d had centuries to come to term with the fact that his looks tended to scare people - had even purposely used it in battle - this was still comforting to hear. 

He only starts to raise his head when Hugh mentions sitting down together. His smile hasn’t vanished yet, though he isn’t sure it’s even visible. It’s more of a mental smile, he assumes.

“Sounds nice”, he readily agrees. The Scotsman willingly wants to continue this? Berwald definitely isn’t going to pull back, then. Not when there’s someone beside his brothers that seems so comfortable with him.

“Ya want me ta help ya get anythin'? Or... should I write down m’ number in th’ meantime?”

The hand in Hugh’s hair draws back, softly caressing his shoulder on the way. Berwald almost regrets it. But they can cuddle some more on the couch, soon. (No no no, he didn’t just use that word in his thoughts. They’re just... having friendly, close, gentle physical contact. That’s... totally different.)

For some reason he hadn’t associated the Swede with humour. It wasn’t that he thought Berwald was without it.. but it came as a pleasant surprise as another chuckle rumbled between them. “I mean.. ye ha’e them blue eyes whit jist stare through people.. but I cannae say it wed shut me awp.” It might do other things.. but Hugh was hard to intimidate. The Scotsman had spent the majority of his life in the full knowledge that his brother would probably murder him, if he could get away with it. “Ye dae the hale email thing?” There’s a subtle sigh, no doubt recollecting the time Aidan tried to make him understand email.. Hugh had deleted his capital’s inbox; it was no wonder the man had high blood pressure.

“I can dae that text stuff. Aidan showed me how te dae video calls n’ send photos. I dinnae git the hale e-mail thing though..” It was the large blocks of texts that intimidated him, he wasn’t much of a reader. “Ye should gi’e me yer number so I can text ye.”

…

“Dae ye.. want te curl awp awn the couch? Git some blankets meybe?” Berwald didn’t want to let him go, every sense was attune to that fact and he wasn’t in any mood to be released either, especially not if Berwald’s fingers kept slipping through his hair. “I mean… I dinnae want ye te stawp.. but it mite be more comfy?” Comfort meant it could carry on for longer and that he could probably get away with draping himself over the Swede.. and nothing could be better in this moment, than that.

[really-not-that-stoic]

Berwald softly huffs in amusement at Hugh’s way of doing politics. Not that he was any different, just a short while ago.

“Well, ta be fair, when I had t’ deal with humans, they tended ta be agreeable if I jus’ stared at ‘em a while. Thankfully. I found talkin’... boring.” He had much preferred being out in direct, honest battle. “Think I’m doin’ pretty good now, tho. Lot of stuff can be dealt with in writing. That’s good. Writing an email is so much easier.” He sure is talkative right now, though.

It might have to do with the fact that hugging Hugh is incredibly comfortable and his face is blessedly hidden. In said Scotsman’s neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind...

Berwald feels daring and starts playing with the hair flowing around Hugh’s neck. His fingers gently brush skin, before they start gliding through the strands. He feels like he could stand here and bask in the Scotsman’s warmth forever.

To Hugh it’s a matter of materials and time, both of which he had an abundance of. Even if it took him days to forge the perfect blade he could lose himself in it, a blessed relief from reality. The real pleasure would be in gifting it. Hugh himself was a man forged by war but tempered by France, even now it is habit to please.

“Ye mustae looked fierce. I remember bein’ a wean n’ Norway wed alwis tell o’ a giant o’ a man who wed eat children who didnae dae as they were tald. I wis pure fearin’ o’ ye back then.” A chuckle vibrated between their frames, that gentle exploration rounding Berwalds thumb. Even as he said nothing the Swede’s body spoke in a simple language directly in a way words rarely would.

Touch me. It whispered in the warm touch of breath against his neck, the way Berwald leaned every so slightly into him. More obvious is the fact that their frames are still entwined, though they have no real reason other than the pleasure of another’s warmth to remain this way.

So Hugh touches him, calmly, carefully.. with affection.

“Te be fair ye cednae go wrang wit a good mace. I settled a few disputes between the Lairds like that..” By which he meant he caved someone’s skull in - at least they got.. the point. “I dinnae ha’e a hed for awl these politics these days, I guess that’s why Aidan sorts awl o’ that.” Hugh would quite happily go back to macing people, it guarenteed he got his way.

[really-not-that-stoic]

♞ -Sridevi (,,,just consider some tiny Indian woman picking up a confused Swede and carrying him on her shoulders- all to become the ultimate trench coat giant, because the image got stuck in my head and I absolutely require it- also I hope it's okay to send this ahah)

Berwald is understandably baffled. This... Is definitely a first for him.

He tries to make himself somewhat comfortable.

"Uhmmm, wha's happenin'?", he murmurs softly.

[really-not-that-stoic]

Hey, mun! Mind if I ask what your stance on roleplaying with OCs is? I can't seem to find anything on your blog.

Ah, yeah, I haven't made a rules page yet 😅

I'd love to rp with an oc of yours! I'm finally in a writing mood again and hoping it'll stay that way c:

[really-not-that-stoic]

Hugh’s finger on his wrist leaves a tingling line in its wake. When was the last time he was touched so gently? Berwald can’t quite remember. It means that his face is now firmly red and staying that way. If he hides his face in Hugh’s neck he won’t see it, right? And that’s totally a normal, innocent move that doesn’t have to mean anything.

It’s worth a try.

The fact that he’s now murmuring his answers practically into the Scotsman’s skin is perfectly standard.

He tries to distract himself by thinking of what Hugh said about snapping blades. Viking age. Wild times.

“Yeah, I think there was a snapped blade ‘r two... switched over ta axes, most’f the time. Less chance of breakin’ that, for th’ heavy guys like me - swords were too expensive f’r that. An’ later, I liked ta use a good quarterstaff.”

No one had been willing to chance good swords on a berserker keeping his strength in check, so axes had been the go-to weapon for the bigger warriors. A fitted sword would have been priceless. All the more reason why Hugh offering it now makes his heart beat a little faster and something warm spread in his chest.

The Swede is so… sturdy. It’s something Hugh appreciates in a man. There is strength in his frame, strength enough for all manner of enticing scenarios.  As he’s pressed closer he allows himself a moment to consider the possibilities. Would Berwald be tender or did a storm brew beneath the placid waters?

A thumb rolls over Berwald’s wrist, affection now rather than calculation.

“Ye’ve ne’er had wan made jist fer ye? Ye mustae gone through a lot.. awn the account that yer a big fella.. Normal blades mustae snapped.. but I guess ye all were pretty.. big.”

How long was it since Norway had come a’viking? Hugh’s memories of those times were faded now, peppered with fond remembrances as the mind was prone to forget tedium and pain.

[really-not-that-stoic]

Nope, he’s not letting go. It feels far too good having the other man in his arms. Not that he’ll say that out loud. (Yet.)

“I’d be honored ta own a sword made by you. It’d be the first one made jus’ for me, too. I’m... grateful.”

Well, that isn’t exactly what he meant (reality was more along the lines of ‘mindblown’ or ‘deeply touched’), but it is the only word he had managed to get over his lips without choking on it. Because feelings were mean, sometimes.

He hugs Hugh a little tighter and hopes to get the meaning across that way.

“Aye.. I mean.. I dinnae ken so much aboot this new stuff.. but the hale while.. we wis.. aboot.. I wis doin’ that kindae thing.” A vague wave of his hand is offered to explain his participation in the many.. unscrupulous things that British Isles got up to. Of course for a very long time Hugh had been unable to forge, he’d been too full of alcohol to swing a hammer. In fact his alcohol content would probably have rendered him flammable. 

“So I can still mek a bonnie sword..” If Berwald isn’t letting go than neither is he. Hugh is a great one for physical affection, especially when it is wanted and reciprocated.