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n. the indescribable euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.


((i tried so hard

heckle yeah hetalia rp go))


It was raining.

Water pelted the stone walls of the large grey castle, and large, dark curtains drew across a once bright blue sky. Raindrops splattered down in merciless waves, effectively reducing her layers to nothing as her clothes stuck to her skin, chillingly cold.

Norway pushed locks of platinum blonde hair from her face, surveying her surroundings with calculated indifference. Her heart thumped against her chest with the quick pitter-patter of raindrops, yet nothing showed on her face as she slowly trudged forwards.

The female stole a glance at the one beside her; Sweden lugged a suitcase, heavier than hers, slowly up the stones. His face was stony, sharp blue eyes filled with inner anger as they neared the ominous palace.

Denmark's house--a large castle situated in the middle of nowhere, the only thing seen for miles being large expanses of forest. They couldn't even run if they wanted to--where would they go? Denmark--the place--was an unforgiving land, the relics of their Viking ancestors still strong in the blood of the citizens and the nature itself.

Norway thought back to Denmark--now, the person--armed with a large battle axe, with a crown flattening his gravity-defying golden locks and, as always, that annoying, annoying smile.

The Kamar Union. To join three countries together, become an indestructible force.

That still didn't make staying at Denmark's for forever any better.

Norway shivered as she drew her furs even more around herself, attempting to block out the rain. Raising a gloved hand, she gave Sweden a doubtful look before knocking on the grand wooden double doors.

That idiot, she thought, he's probably all the way upstairs sleeping away. There's got to be a better way to enter than this.

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((dude the title of this rp is beautiful <3 <3 <3))


Denmark was not sleeping.


In fact, Denmark was napping.


A blonde, tall man with long limbs was sprawled across his king-size bed. His mouth was open, betraying him as it allowed soft snores to escape. Honey blond hair stuck up in all directions, and his bright red sheets were rumpled beneath him. No woman slept beside him - instead, an empty tankard of beer rested in one long-fingered hand. At the sound of his door being knocked on, he stirred from his light sleep.


He slowly blinked his dark blue eyes open, and stared up at the curtains of the four poster. Someone was at the door... It was raining outside; he could hear it... Who was he expecting again? His thoughts, fuzzy from sleep and a small hangover, struggled to collect themselves. It was important, he knew it. Someone was coming around.


Sitting up, he stretched and yawned. Then, setting his tankard down, Denmark reluctantly rose from his reverie. It was cold; he put on his pants and pulled his black coat over his bare chest. He didn't want to keep them waiting for too long in the rain. All set (or so he thought - his hair was still sticking up all over), the blond hurried down to the front door. He still couldn't remember who it was. As he opened it, his memory conveniently caught up with him.

"Norge!" he yelped, opening his arms wide to sweep her up in an embrace. Okay, it was probable they didn't want to be here - but he didn't see why. It would be like a big holiday together! Forever! With him ruling over them!

Edited by Chicogal

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omg friend thank you <33 ))


Norway scowled as the seconds ticked on, the raindrops falling steadily onto her head. She was glad she had the sense to take off her precious beret to avoid the thing falling during their rush--she didn't want to have it damaged in any way, of course. Still, it wouldn't kill Denmark to be at the ready to receive guests--he never was, no matter how back she attempted to remember to.

Lost in her thoughts, the female jumped as the door was suddenly flung open carelessly, a loud "Norge!" called out before there was a swirl of dark fabric and arms enveloped her from all sides, pressing her into the other nation's chest. Denmark was quite a bits taller than she was, a trait the other never let her forget, and despite much struggling and harsh words Denmark never failed to completely, utterly suffocate her every time they met.

He probably considered it a hug, but with how eager he was combined with his monstrous strength, Norway felt the gesture was more deadly than welcoming.

"Denmark," she returned, attempting to push herself from the other. "Please stop. Your hugs are annoying."

Insulting Denmark was practically an instinct by now, honed from centuries spent with his stupidity. Still, Norway remembered with a sharp wince that Denmark had power now, power greater than Norway and Sweden combined, and ultimately had the power to do anything to the two under his command.

She tacked on a quick "plus, I'll get you wet," just as a reason for her release.


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Denmark laughed loudly, as he always did. "You think I mind?" After a moment, he released his friend - she was uuncomfortable. Not all men greeted their female friends with hugs, but this was different. They'd known eachother for so long; they'd all been Vikings. Ah, Norge. She was a funny little thing, with her beret and curl. He pulled a face at her, but was unable to keep it for longer than a few seconds. The blond was back to his infectious grin again, his white teeth glinting. "You say that every time," he commented, in response to her insult. They didn't hurt; he knew what she thought of him.


He quickly greeted Sweden, giving him a thump on the back before releasing him.and bounding back to Norway. "In you two come! It's cold!" he exclaimed, motioning excitedly. "You're just in time some beer!" Denmark spoke as he walked inside. It was always beer time in his castle. "I will be cooking fish stew for tonight - it will be good and warm for you both. And it'll be flavoured with beer - mmm..."


((Night smile.gif))

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Norway sighed irritably, crossing her arms as soon as Denmark released her. "Childish," she said in response to the face he pulled at her, but couldn't help smiling gently as she watched the other bound excitedly to Sweden, greet him, and return to motion about them coming to live with him.

Well . . . there were worse places to be.

"You need better decorations," she remarked as they stepped in and she noticed a terrifying large portrait of one of his bosses from long ago hanging on the wall. She peeled her wet gloves from her fingers and casually tossed them at Denmark--they'd known each other for long enough to throw anything at the other, honestly--and slipped her beret from within her pack, fixing it atop her wet blonde locks. Following Denmark further into the castle, she made small remarks both in her thoughts and out loud as she took in Denmark's palace.

Admittedly, it wasn't half as bad she expected--though she'd never admit it, of course. The place was surprisingly orderly and very grand, tapestries hanging from the stones and carpets laid out with expensive furs and weapons on display.

Norway couldn't help but give a long, exaggerated sigh at the mention of beer. Of course--Denmark's favourite drink, food, pasttime, and every other thing. The blond-haired nation was never without a tankard in hand, and it was surprising he managed to drink as much as he did normally and still be able to function. Norway did drink beer on formal occasions, yes, but her tolerance wasn't anything near the extremity of Denmark's.

Well, admittedly, her tolerance was hardly anything.

"No beer," she ordered, determined to have her way for this one. "You'll get drunk and decide to have a battle and I'll be the one that has to clean it up."

At the mention of fish stew, Norway relaxed, beer aside. She was hungry after a few days spent travelling, and fish did sound pretty good. Then, the female looked up in surprise and met Denmark's gaze--what?

Wait, Denmark can cook? She thought back to when they were children--when they weren't busy insulting each other, it had always been either her or Sweden that had prepared the meals.

I suppose he has grown, in a way . . .



ahh goodnight!! ; v ; ))

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Denmark rolled his eyes as the two wet gloves landed on his chest. He peeled them off the coat, holding them between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't like the painting too much either, but it was of one of his kings, after all. From the Viking times too. Ah, such memories... At her not wanting to have beer - and not wanting him to have beer, of all things - he glanced to the side and pouted.

"I love beer! I had so much last night, but I'm totally over the hangover now. Besides, I'm the leader now," he sniffed, crossing his arms. "And, I'm the oldest so you have to do what I say."

It was sort of true. His Queen Margaret now ruled over all three of them. Therefore, he had some sort of authority over them. Okay, she hadn't directly said so, but... Anyway, he was the oldest here! And the most fun, in any case. They both looked so miserable. Except now, Norway looked surprised. Huh. At the mention of fish stew?

"Do you not like fish stew?" he asked, frowning. He was quite sure that she had liked it a few decades ago, when he visited her and she made it for them. "I can make something else. I don't mind..."

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Norway sighed with irritability--the worst part was that he wasn't wrong. Queen Margaret had control over all three countries now, thanks to the Union, so Denmark was technically in control of everything.

Technically. Judging by Sweden's stony face and Denmark's oblivious laughter, this wasn't going to be pretty.

"You being oldest doesn't mean a thing," she declared. "Fine, fine. Just add beer into your share if that's what you want. You're going to drink yourself sick someday, I swear . . ."

Norway shook her head as Denmark suddenly frowned--no, that expression didn't suit him at all--and in her haste she spoke rather . . . bluntly.

"No--I--er--it's not like that--" She wondered how to place this. "I just . . . didn't know you could . . . make . . . any kind of food."

She paused. Oh lords, could he?

"Do you need help in the kitchen or anything?" Although placed as a question, Norway was pretty sure she wanted to be there to see just how Denmark made the stew.

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Denmark grinned again, rather triumphantly. She wasn't going to even going to try to get in the way of his beer! Great! If he was honest with himself, he was... an addict. Maybe because it dulled out all the horrors he'd seen in war. Other countries survived through it, or didn't let it bother them - but he heard them. The screams of victims. The cries of his warriors as they bled out on the floor. He drank for comfort, for the way it distracted him from his feelings. The tavern gave him entertainment, both in the way of beer and girls. The others might not know it, but it had gotten worse. His tolerance was extremely high, and he kept on having to have more to get his fix. Despite being a country, it was a bit strange his liver hadn't given up on him yet... Ah, well.


The blond fixed a look of indignance on his face. He drew himself up to his full height, a hand on his chest. "Me? Need help cooking? Not able to make food? Why, I am offended." He looked down at her haughtily for a few moments before breaking the facade. He laughed, giving her a heavy clap on the shoulder - sometimes he forgot his strength. "You're welcome to come through. Women are meant to be in the kitchen anyway... I got tired of my old cook," he admitted.


((Since it's medievalish times. xd.png))

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Norway stared at Denmark as he grinned, finally free to drink as much beer as he pleased. Why do you drink so much? she wanted to ask. Can't you see it's only destroying your insides?

She's seen men before, drunk and wandering around the streets, with only a bottle being their salvation and absolutely nothing left in the world. She'll be damned before she sees Denmark end up like that--being a country was hard, she knew, but they were Vikings and Vikings were supposed to be tough. Not victim to a pint of alcohol, nor caught up in past memories of days when nothing was okay. And she still isn't sure if everything is peaceful once more, to be honest.

She remembers a distant memory--something she's tried to push out before, she knows--of a large, black overcoat, of a great battle axe, and blood on the floor, walls, everywhere.

No matter how she looks at it, no matter if they count the years they've been alive or not, to her some part of Denmark still seems childish and that child is lost.

Which is why she lets him continue drinking away his woes without much complaint. Shall he make a drunken scene, though, she'll torment him so that he'd wish for some kind of mercy.


Norway staggers as Denmark slams her shoulder, laughing manically as he did so. The small blonde winced, rubbing the area--really, Denmark was too strong for his own good sometimes. Just why did he insist on such hearty gestures, especially when his strength could--and has--felled many men?

She rolled her eyes at his comment, though it wasn't entirely false--women had little to do other than cook and raise children, of course, and the only reason she wasn't busy being a housewife was due to the unfortunate living-representation-of-a-country status. In fact, Norrway wasn't even sure she could physically have children.

Not that she ever wanted any, anyways. Noisy little brats, really. She was never as good with them as Denmark was.

"I'll come," she declares, "just to make sure you don't burn anything down. I still don't trust your cooking skills--please don't mix up the salt and sugar."


(( did they even have salt and sugar i think so

but yass medieval times indeed

also i've always wondered can countries have children??? i honestly don't think so ))

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Hmm. I don't think so. In the old RP, they would give birth to like a province or region. But I don't think it really works in canon in any way...

Also: Norway's vision should be some dramatic scene. Let me think up something... He could have a sad time when he's drunk.

Also: Playing a dude is nice for a change. Huh. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy playing canon!Denmark.))


Denmark gave her a nod. Then, with a grin, he bowed slightly and linked his arm through hers. "M'lady?" he teased, blond hair all of a flutter all over his head. He was completely oblivious as to the thoughts racing about her head. His bright blue eyes shone with mischief. In the background, Sweden heaved a great sigh, picked up both of their bags and set off down the hall to find an empty room. There were a couple made up in this large, draughty castle. For the Dane, it would be nice to have some people in to liven up the place... His old maid was like a mouse, and he'd recently fired the cook. It would actually be nice to have one - after having hunted for prey in the nearby woods, he could just sit back and let them take care of dinner... Hm.


Whether or not she was happy with his actions, Denmark started marching down a corridor. This one in particular was dedicated to one or two suits of armour, swords on the wall, and a couple of hunting trophies as well. He put up his free hand to twang an arrow in a bow and arrow set, chuckling at the sudden loud sound echoing down the hallways. "Sometimes it gets very quiet in here. And cold," he remarked, not looking at her. "It's a large castle for just one person. There used to be many, but..." But the Viking ages were over now. No longer did he host large parties, or share stories with the elderly men who used to serve him. They were gone. That was over.


He grew quiet, and they reached the kitchen. He let her go, then went to open the cupboards. The blond man drew out a jar of slimy looking orange-ish meat. "Pickled herring," he declared. An onion, a horseradish and a few potatoes came to join it. The dish was simple, but he made it work. Out came the soup pot, and Denmark began to chop up the various ingredients (there weren't very many). He smiled sideways at Norway and nodded toward the other knife he laid out.


((I was too lazy to search up legit Danish stew- /shot))

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hohoho children angst

omg yass i like the idea of denmark being all angsty bless

SAME TBH well same but opposite--i haven't rped many nyo! countries so this is nice like whoa

thiS REPLY is a monster i'm sorry ))


Surprised at his sudden actions, Norway didn't have time to react before Denmark was accompanying her down a hallway, chatting all the while. What? The old . . . the old Denmark would never have done anything like this, not back in the Viking ages when the only thing accompanying his hands were a casket of beer and his war axe in the other. Gods . . .

"The years really have changed," she murmured quietly, more to herself than Denmark. She gazed into his bright blue eyes, meeting sparkling colour-of-the-sky with her dark, dark cobalt, and she was reminded of their differences.

In the background, she heard Sweden sigh--more loudly than needed, honestly--and pick up the bags, dragging them across the floor as he scuffled to find a room, but the female paid no heed to the other country's actions as she looked at the country before her.

If she was feeling poetic, she would compare herself to the moon and Denmark to the sun. The nordic country was so bright and lively, able to light up any place he visited with his tales of women and battle. And her? She was dark, mysterious, and magical--not a good omen around these parts, when talks of enchantresses with long, fair hair the colour of the moon was so commonplace. Such tales bred suspicion and misery, and for a second the female wondered what it would be like if they switched places. If she became the eager albeit battle-hungry Denmark, and he became the kingdom of Norway.

She wasn't sure she could handle all the power, in all honesty--ever since they were kids, Denmark was eagerly--or not so--ruling over all of them. And although Sweden had seen it fit to challenge his claim, Norway had never been able to see the allure of a position of power.

The bowstring echoes through the halls as Denmark speaks, and through his words she finds a fading, short-lived sense of peace. Ah, that was so long ago . . . when horned helmets adorned the chairs, weapons strewn about the feast hall, and tales of adventure to unknown lands ran rampant. Where had it all disappeared? Just as quickly as her memories came, they disappeared. The Viking ages . . . so long ago had they been, filled with blood and battle and war yet strikingly alive.

And now? Peace meant being a, for lack of better terms, prisoner in Denmark's house, living a make-believe family life that seemed too happy for countries. To be a country . . . that meant seeing--feeling--death, no matter what age or era.

She could only pity what ever countries there may be that have lived upwards to thousands of years--her own simple, short life has already been too much.

She could only shake her head and laugh--of course, and here she had been expecting him to prepare a feast fit for Odin himself. No, of course not--if it was just them, a homely little meal would be well suited. And of course, this meant Denmark's chances of messing something up had been vastly subdued.

She nodded in response, picking up the knife. She gathered up the items, chopping them with expert speed, and she laughed to herself--of course, Denmark and Sweden were so used to having it just be the three of them that often, they forgot Norway had been trained both to be a country and a housewife. Despite being possibly the most important person in the entire palace, her bosses had all insisted that a woman was still a woman, after all. And as for her . . . she had mixed feelings, but knowing how to serve a meal wasn't half bad.

Edited by Lady_Lunevis

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((omg I LOVE your monster replies. :’D Just don’t expect me to live up to yours lol. I can post longer ones on weekends though, when I’m not so tired from school. 12am now –sigh-))


Denmark glanced sideways as she joined him. She handled the task with remarkable skill. Her hands, although small next to his own large long-fingered ones, looked so dexterous as she cut the vegetables. There was a sort of beauty in her sureness, her confidence. He blinked down at her neat work, and went back to his. Huh. His were sort of lumpy and uneven… He’d been hoping to show off his skills. Oh well. Women were better at this sort of stuff anyway.

The blond cut without thinking, still somewhat preoccupied with her skill. The knife slid off the edge of the hard potato – and into his finger. “F**den!” he swore aloud, dropping the knife and sticking his finger in his mouth. He sucked off the edge, gave the cut a look. It wasn’t large, nor was it deep. Not that it hadn’t hurt. He held his head up, pretending that it hadn’t even happened as he wiped it on his pants. Denmark cleared his throat and looked at Norway. “…Would you mind finishing these? The fire is a man’s job,” he sniffed, his pride hurt. Turning around, he stomped off to the fireplace in the adjoining room.

Honestly, why couldn’t he just be competent? He was seen as the warrior of the three. He was brave, fierce, dashing. Simply a cut above the rest when it came to battle. But actions like these, actions that expressed love and care in general… He always seemed to mess them up. The tall man stooped to light a match and began to burn the kindling. This gave way to the wooden logs that he built up to catch alight. Ah, fire. Destructive. Alive. Beautiful. Not unlike himself, he thought, as he inspected his finger again.


((F**den = censorkip.gif))

Edited by Chicogal

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omg cry bruh thank you <333 sorry about the slow replies tho it takes me a while to type the thing up : ' D

that's no problem!!! i just like writing a lot of stuff, ha : ' D

omg ahh i see i see <33 i cry tho i'm going to be away this weekend--still, feel free to write as much as you like and i'll reply upon coming home! ))


Norway jumped as Denmark swore, brought out of the trance she had entered through the simple motion of move, cut, move, cut, with such crude words.

"Language!" she snapped as she turned around, exasperated, but--

Oh? She blinked, realising that the Dane had hurt his finger. He was currently sucking on said appendage, looking at her with those startlingly blue eyes.

What . . . did she feel? She half wanted to yell at him to be more careful, but looking closely, she saw how disappointed he seemed . . .

She snorted as he told her to finish off the food, claiming he had men's work to be done. Chopping up the remaining vegetables with considerably fast skill, she cleaned up the area, threw the remainders into the pot, and let it boil before wandering off to find a certain country.

She found him staring towards the fire, his eyes lost in the trance that was the dance of bright flames, wisps of deathly destruction spraying into the air and creating sparks. She came up behind him, then stood beside him, both of them silently watching the fire as it cracked.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice half disappointment and perhaps one thirds concern.

When he didn't reply, she sighed and reached for his hand, absentmindedly reminding herself to think nothing of the gesture--after all, if they were to be staying at Denmark's house, they least she could do was make sure their landlord didn't bleed out onto the carpet.

She doesn't remind herself that he'll hardly bleed out from a small cut. Instead, she turns his hand so that his palm is facing upwards, her slender, pale fingers trailing his skin. Momentarily, she looks at the difference between their hands--hers, so small and delicate, with pale fingers and long nails--and his, slightly more tanned, calloused from days spent gripping weapons, and with his fingers so long and nails so short.

Annoyed, she pokes at the corner of the cut, ignoring his yelp. "Be more careful next time!" she says, tapping the centre of his palm. "The kitchen is a serious matter. You could cut off a finger, just as on the battlefield." An annoyed huff. "By the gods, you're hopeless."

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He ignored her when she first entered, because – well – he was embarrassed. He was a grown man, a strong man, a Viking warrior who had no business making a fuss about a small cut. A broken bone wasn’t even supposed to be whined about. How pathetic he had been, allowing himself to do that.

He was taken out of his thoughts by her hand taking his, and he turned to accommodate her better. Denmark took her in as she peered over his cut. Her platinum blonde hair lit up from the fire, each flyaway strand like a small strike of lightning. The thought was amusing, and he just smiled simply. The warmth from the recently ignited fire was creeping up his legs, wreathing about the room. The difference between their hands was noticeable when he looked down - he could see his one crooked thumbnail. That had happened when welding his famous axe, actually. It was funny how some things left their mark on you...

The atmosphere was somewhat broken when she poked his wound. "Hey!" he exclaimed, snatching his appendage back from Norway. That hadn't been funny, even if it was just a small cut that hurt. "The kitchen is nothing like battle," he sniffed. "And I'm not hopeless." And although he did not realise it, he was channelling his inner child again. It was something he just did without realising, when he was hurt or embarrassed. Some people did it, some people didn't. He was one who did.

He balled his injured hand into a fist, let it swing down by his side and out of interest. "Anyway. How is the stew looking?" he asked, by way of changing the topic of conversation. "Those are Danish herrings. The best herrings, of course..."


((No, no, don’t worry about replying quickly! The good thing about the timezones in this case is that no-one waits on the other cause we know something will be there for us in the evening. It works out perfectly because this is the type of RP that needs quality posting. <3 Have a nice holiday!))


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haha yes i agree different timezones make for nice replies : ' D ok but seriously your writing is so nice hhh how <33

thanks!! quick reply before i have to go c: ))


Norway simply sighed--of course, Denmark, although fearless in battle, could so easily retreat when the slightest action challenged his manhood. And she was just beginning to think of him as noble, too . . .

One of these days, she mused, he has to realise there is no shame in being hurt. Good things have come of the change from the Viking era, after all.

But not today.

She watched as he balled up his hand into a fist and dropped it, swinging far from reach. Of course, always so distant when it came to hurting . . .

"It's fine," she replied. "I fiddled around and added some extra spices in there--you'll see when it's time to eat." At his words, she frowned, all previous wise laments forgotten.

"You idiot!" she said, the urge to insult him natural instinct by now. "No way--Norwegian herring is the best. Which you wouldn't know since you have better things to do than visit me, apparently."

Edited by Lady_Lunevis

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((i love yours OuO

Also: I'm setting up a full scale Hetalia RP on another website, if you're interested~ There aren't enough people here, as I've found before!))


Denmark nodded. That sounded good. He wasn't too great with the spicing of things; he generally just left them to spice themselves... Hah. It didn't usually work too well. Norway suddenly flared up, in that way she did whenever he even slightly provoked her. He held up his hands, with a small chuckle. Ah, it was so typical of her. It didn't even surprise him anymore. His dirty blond eyebrows rose at her snipe - she sounded sort of annoyed. Did she think he was neglecting her?

"... You've been wanting me to visit you?" he asked, feeling a bit confused. And conflicted. Then a little annoyed. "You only had to send a letter if you were so wanting to see me. Or you could have come here," he pointed out, turning away from her and back to the fire. As soon as his annoyance had flared up, it faded again. He wasn't one to hold grudges for long. It served no purpose to him.

"Anyway. Nothing can beat Danish." He smiled down at the fire, then back at her with a mischievously quirked eyebrow.

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omg ahh i cry thank you <333

whoa yes please!! OO: can i have a link, please? i'll check it out--unsure if i'll join or not since life is getting a little busy but i'm definitely interested! i'd love to see hh <33))


Wait, what?

Was that what the idiot had gathered from her words? Nevermind the fact Norwegian fish was obviously superior, but that Norway had the slightest inking to want to visit him?

She almost wants to slam her head down on the nearby wall, coughing slightly as she feels a faint blush rise up. Ah, yes--Northern skin, always so delicate.

"It wouldn't hurt once in a while," she replied, keeping her voice level and dripping with sarcasm. "Our countries are allied, after all. Not since the Viking area have you considered sailing into my waters--it's bad rep for my leaders, you know? They think you've completely abandoned the country of Norway."

She faltered as he suddenly turned away from her, staring instead at the fire raging ahead. Complete silence filled the area as she stared at Denmark's back, broad shoulders squared and muscles moving easily under the fabric of his shirt. Why . . . ?

"I would if you ever bothered to check your messengers," she replied, intending to sound angry but the words coming out as simple annoyance without much bite. "And--well--I live here now, don't I?"

She looked down just as their eyes met, with him rolling back his signature smile along with an raised eyebrow. "I still think Norwegian things are better," she muttered.

Edited by Lady_Lunevis

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Denmark shrugged, with a sheepish smile. "You know I'm not good with that sort of stuff. I forget. All the time. I can't help that I'm the oldest," he said, ending with a chuckle. It was true that he was the oldest. Not that it gave him any excuse- but...

He cleared his throat, realising suddenly that she hadn't gotten his joke. Also that he had forgotten to put on underwear, but mostly that she hadn't gotten his joke. And her last comment had actually come out funny, to him.

"Really?" He smiled at her teasingly. You could feel that he was sticking out his tognue, even if he wasn't physically doing so. "I believe that Danish is always better... Do you not see the proof standing right before you?" he purred, mischief in his lips, his eyes, the slinkiness of his step as he reached out to gently caress her cheek.

Inside, he was barely containing his laughter. Oh, he would be punished, but it was so funny-



Edited by Chicogal

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"You're living proof that the oldest never equals the most responsible," Norway snapped back, matching his gaze straight on as anything else she was going to say suddenly faded away. Deep, dark ocean blue met bright sky blue, and Norway froze.

She looked down as he spoke, a low baritone as his hand reached out to touch her cheek. She felt his fingers, rough and battle weary, as they stroked the delicate skin of her cheek, could imagine the contrast between his tanned skin and her ethereal paleness. Eyelashes fluttered as he spoke, all the while cupping her cheek with a gentleness the female country was not aware her ally possessed.

That is, until she realised what Denmark was actually doing.

"I believe you're proof of the exact opposite," she said, jerking away from him and giving him a small shove, an unreadable emotion in her eyes as she did so. She sighed, exaggerating the noise until she was sure he heard. "The only thing the Danish do better than the Norwegians is seducing and leaving women, which is hardly honourable, my lord."


ahhh omg this looks so cool i'm so tempted to join frickle frackle

i'm so sorry omg but i just can't do a large-scale group rn due to work + school but if my timetable clears up in the near future i will zoom at the speed of light!! : ^ ) i'll probably stalk it tho pfftt it looks amazing <33

GOD YES BLESS APPS that's a godsend indeed considering how much time i spend on my phone tbh ))

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((It seems to be dying already. Oh, well. xd.png I'll do my best to keep it afloat~))


Denmark laughed, deep voice filling the room as he came off balance from her shove. She really had been shocked by him, hadn't she? The look on her face when he'd acted like that~

Underneath, however, he was pushing something down. He'd liked doing that, and for more than just the fact that it had been funny. Her cheek had been soft and gently warm, and the way her light eyes had looked at him... Norway resembled a delicate spirit, from a world other than this one.

When he looked back at her, there was something in her expression that he couldn't figure out. He wasn't the best with understanding other people, but her words were still insults - that meant she was okay, right? The Dane hoped he hadn't hurt her...

"Then we don't have to deal with nonsense later. Or children. See, we are smart," he quipped back, looking at her with that teasing teeth-showing smile of his. He sidled up a bit closer, to give her a teasing nudge with his elbow.

Truth be told, he was longing to touch her again.

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aww ;;;;; i hate it when rps die out then it's like the struggle is too real



Norway sighed, folding her arms in as she dodged his poke, ocean-blue eyes boring holes into the Dane's chiseled features. Truth be told, the female country would rather avoid getting touched by the stupid idiot--his rough fingers sent electricity sparkling through her insides, yet he seemed to think it was all a joke!

She shot him another glare and flicked a sheet of ice-blonde hair over her shoulder. "And that is proof you'd make a horrible parent." The country paused, doubt flooding her head as she contemplated her next words.

"Don't you ever think of having a family?" she asked him suddenly, feeling a familiar painful longing somewhere deep inside that she immediately quenched down. Family . . . it was something she had dreamed about, once upon a time, but through the centuries Norway had long learnt that it was a luxury granted only to mortals. And now . . . did the fact they could never be normal, never be loving, not bother Denmark?

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Denmark blinked, stopping still. That had actually been a bit hurtful. He'd been sort of kidding about the kids thing. The fact that he would watch his children grow old without him had put him into the mindset of not wanting them. It would be even worse than watching the person you loved become grey. He looked at her shimmer of almost silver hair as it obscured her face.

Her question made him glance down, unfold his arms. The Dane cleared his throat, bright eyes going to her again. "Yes. Of course," he murmured, thinking as he just looked at her hair. He turned slightly, reached forward to take a piece of her hair in his hand. Watching as it separated into tiny glints of starlight, Denmark sighed softly, then tucked it behind her ear. His fingers just brushed against her ear, and he took his hand back to himself. This time, he wasn't joking with her, or kidding around. He'd done it without thinking, because he wanted to.

"But there is no point, ja? We are countries, we live forever. I would not watch my child grow old before me. It is... not natural. We are not human, really. We cannot pretend to be, however much we may wish."

His baritone lowered into a mutter at the end, bitterness coating it. It was one of those rare subjects that could bring him down from his eternal high. He smiled grimly, made a start toward the kitchen. "The stew is probably nearly done."

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Norway's thinking came to an abrupt halt as the Dane spoke, his voice coated with such hidden sorrow it made her heart ache. He . . . he should never talk like that--it was unusual, too emotional for the usually-cheerful Denmark. Norway blinked as she felt him gently take a piece of her hair between his fingers, separating the strands as he looked down and spoke again.

He . . .

Her throat closed up, and Norway could only stare at the country before her. Of course . . .

She had thought the Dane foolish, running on nothing but stupid promises and short-term dreams. But . . .

How could she never see?

His eyes filled with bitter hatred at the mention of their immortality, his hand tucking the stray strand of hair between her ear. She shivered as she felt his fingers delicately brush her earlobe, a small whisper of a touch as he was gone as quickly as he had come.

She reached up, unsure what she was doing. Only . . .

Please don't look like that.

Please don't talk like that.

Slender fingertips brushed the side of his mouth as he finished, soft fingertips tracing the outline of his mouth. Norway paused, glistening cobalt eyes looking into his, and then . . .

"You're right," she said quietly, dropping her hand and pushing herself from their close embrace just as he turned around. "We don't want . . . keep Sweden waiting."

With that, the female country turned and walked back into the kitchen, heart thumping in her throat. She reached the soup, where she lifted the lid and immediately retreated from the sudden surge of smoke signalling a finished meal. She looked inside as the delicious smell of fish stew filled the kitchens, smiling slightly. Well--a success! The female reached out to grab a couple of bowls, all the while resolutely not turning around and not facing Denmark. Truth to be told--she couldn't. She didn't ever want to see him look like that again.

Edited by Lady_Lunevis

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Denmark could still feel the whisper of her touch upon his lips. As he had talked, he had seen her hand, hesitated briefly as it alighted against the chapped skin. Thin lips tingling still, he paused as she walked, let her go on ahead. He just stood in the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, eyes the shade of a clear winter's day as he absentmindedly watched her lift the lid off of the pot.

Why had she done that? Why had she touched his lips? With her back turned to him, he took in her slender form, the slight curves of her body. He would be a liar to say that they were not enticing. But she was so volatile; and was he simply lusting for the company of a woman again?

Norway was different. Besides, she was under his rule now, and she was now a part of his family (of sorts). They'd known eachother for so long. Maybe it was wrong to consider such things...

He blinked, coming out of his short reverie. Striding forward, he opened up the top cupboards to the right of her. "The bowls are here. Maybe I should put them a bit lower down, ja?" he gently teased, although his voice was quieter than when she'd first arrived. The blond took them down, putting them on the side. He glanced sideways at her, even though she seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Should I- Oh. Sverige."

Sweden had just entered the kitchen. He grunted quietly to them both, before walking off silently toward the dining room. Denmark raised his eyebrows, but shook his head and shut the cupboard doors. As he'd heard, Sweden had been more difficult about this thing than Norway. At least Norway was a help...

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FRICKLE im so sorry school is eating me alive

SSAME oh myg od ))


She could feel him watching her, and the pale-haired blonde busied herself in preparing their meal of instead of facing Denmark. Her fingers tingled from where they had brushed his lips, and even thinking of the event made the female country feel embarrassment beyond relief.

Why had she . . . why had she done such a thing?

She pictured, in her mind's eye, Denmark's ocean-blue eyes. They'd known each other for forever and a day, grown up together, fought together, even slept together when the day was young and the night was cold, so cold.

Now . . . things were different. The end of the Viking era had left them desolate, and as the male country bent down next to her Norway could only gaze away.

They were . . . well, if they were mortal, Norway would have described it as 'growing up'. And growing up is . . . painful, from what she sees.

She sees kings destroyed by their greed, princesses reduced to nothing but a bargain chip. If that was what growing up meant . . . she didn't ever want to leave the comfort of the Viking era, when she was most comfortable feeling the ocean air on her face and with weapon in hand. But . . .

Those days, they were over. And now . . .

She hears Denmark greet Sweden, and Norway turns to offer the male country a nod as greeting. Brushing aside her hair, she helped set up the table and place the bowls of stew down. Sweden sat down, face emotionless as always--but they've known each other long enough to tell that Sweden's features held a tiny bit of anger. And when even his outward expression showed it, it was clear that the country was far from happy.

Norway cleared her throat--what now? How would this work?

They couldn't sit down and pretend to eat happily like humans, could they?

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