hetalia_kink

Norway filler!non is here.

((Note: It's in this anon's headcanon that in the case for mythical creatures, they are a bit more “personal” with nations than they are with humans, which is why England's unicorn and Norway's nisse follow them around all the time. Whether or not this is a good thing is a case-by-case situation, but the magical creatures do sort of have a sense that nation-tans aren't human either so they sort of treat them more as equals or slightly-less-sucky, at the very least.

Also, I decided to make Norway's fake human name Magnus in here. Please do not kill me for it.))

Norway didn't enjoy cleaning. Well- he'd never enjoyed cleaning, and with Denmark pestering him at every second, which Norway didn't mind as much as he'd made himself out to look like, and Iceland's visits, which he minded even less...

it was pretty much a necessary task. A necessary evil task, but Norway wasn't about to delve too deeply into the philosophy of the matter. He made himself a quick, simple dinner, and ate it sitting across the table from his nisse friend (who didn't seem to have or need a name). The other creature had never been too fond of conversation with humans, but Norway is no human, and so the nisse was willing to listen to the Norwegian banter and kvetch softly about the day's events.

He would always agree, but never really say much else.

After the dishes were washed and put away Norway moved over to the bookcase, letting his fingers glide over a shelf before resolving to get the feather duster. His fingers were icy as the frigid North that makes up his body. As he wiped them on the five-year-old ruined blouse he keeps to wear just for this purpose, the dust on his fingers left a smear of gray snow across his chest. There were far too many volumes in the shelves to count—Norway wasn't even sure he read some of these anymore, and he made a mental note to see if Iceland would like some of them the next time he came over. Nightfall had passed when Norway found a book of faded burgundy with a cracked spine, the text on the cover near faded to oblivion.

That one's going to get pitched for sure.

The nisse took it from his hands and was about to head straight for the wastebasket when Norway noticed a single pressed flower fall from the pages.

“Wait.”

And the book was placed on the sofa instead, and Norway tried desperately to reconnect with centuries upon centuries of compiled memory. He'd never pressed flowers, and Iceland, while delicate in other respects, had never been fond of it either. Denmark was out of the question.

Oh.

Unwillingly, he opened the book, scanning the age-yellowed pages looking for the one thing he hoped he wouldn't find. He swallowed something nondescript in his throat; his heart wasn't so much pounding as simply growing louder and more demanding in its pulses.

But he'd found it, all right. It was a blank page in the book, scribbled on in loopy, girlish handwriting.

Magnus--

You gave me this over three years ago and you told me I could keep it if I wanted. I don't know if it's still borrowing, since your house is my house too now,
but you seemed to like it so much, so I thought it would be a favor to give it back to you.
You'll probably tell me I can keep it anyway, but that's what I love about you.

Wasn't she ridiculous, back in the days when she was still breathing. Norway held back tears.

Always yours,
Else

And Norway remembered right away who “Else” was. Damned girl always had her head in the clouds for some or other reason, but Norway had always forgiven her for it. Found it charming, even, which was perhaps the reason why she'd been such a good friend back while there was still life in her veins. More than a friend, actually—she'd been Norway's...

and he didn't even think about how much he sounded like Sweden when he played the memories back in his head, but she'd been his wife.

And that is when Norway checked to see if the nisse wasn't looking—he wasn't, just focused on the bookcase again—and stopped trying to hold back those damned tears.

Very interesting!

Norway had always felt comfortable around his people. He didn't so much as even blink when one of them acted up as he did shake his head quietly and ignored them until they went away. He spoke courteously to every one of his citizens, and, short of letting them know he was a nation, always told the truth. And he did whatever small favors he could.

So he was obligated, in a way, to share his umbrella with a girl on the street when she hadn't one herself.

“Th-thank you, sir.”

“Don't mention it.” he replied, not smiling, but still giving her a pleasant look. “It helps to be a bit more prepared than this...”

The girl gave a low whimpering sigh that Norway swore sounded more fitting to a newborn puppy, and spoke again.

“I know! And I keep forgetting all the time so...” her voice was quiet and, for an odd choice of words, feathery, “my father...always nags me about it when I get home if it's raining. Because all my stuff gets wet.”

“He doesn't need to worry today, does he?” Norway glanced at her eyes, big and soft like blue marshmallows. “Or it really depends on where you live. I might just abandon you here-”

His voice didn't change too much and he didn't laugh, but it was obvious that was a joke.

Obvious to most, anyway.

“Uwaaah- no! It's just a few blocks from here, so we can walk, and, ah-”

She trembled a bit when she spoke.

“Relax.”

She's cute, Norway thought to himself as he walked her home, and doesn't think much of it until the next week.

~*~

Else, as he'd learned she was called the next time he saw her at the bookstore, was the youngest of three sisters and her mother, five years prior, had been hit by a train. Norway curtly acknowledged his pity and shook his head upon hearing it. She never seemed to make purchases so much as wander about, snatch whatever caught her interest, and stay entranced with it until she went home and left it behind.

He told her to call him Magnus, a name he'd chosen on the spot years before and that had since been used whenever Norway needed it.

She was always fond of children, she'd told him once when he went to visit her elsewhere, and was going to become a schoolteacher once her own studies were finished. A noble occupation, Norway thought as he smiled inwardly. The girl was meek and excitable, but patient and kind with a love for knowledge.

It was unnatural. Norway enjoyed learning about her, and at first he attributed this to curiosity. Or, if nothing else, simple concern from a nation for its people. But after a year or two of knowing her and having been granted permission to visit her home and her family, the rationalization became uncomfortable. He'd embraced her by then, holding her body to his delicately like one would hold a little bird; if Norway could recall correctly, they'd even kissed on a few occasions.

“I don't think he cares. Look, Else, your sweetie's waiting outside.”

One of her sisters said that. Norway had forgotten the rest of the conversation, but he was dumbfounded, unsure if he'd be willing to let himself be called a girl—much less a human girl's—sweetheart. He wasn't anyone's anything, and that was something he'd learned long ago from Denmark and Sweden.

So when Else spoke to him the next time he went to see her, Norway found himself fishing for the right thing to say when she said the one thing on her mind:

“I love you.”

But he always told the truth to his people, and he had nothing better to say.

“I love you, too.”

Awww! More soon, I hope?

Writeranon please write more of this ;A; this anon loves this story so much. Out of curiosity, did you write Finland's aw well? because if you did I love you forever srsly.

No, that was a different anon. But that anon? THEY WIN SO MUCH. WE WOULD MAKE SUCH A CUTE COUPLE, WOULDN'T WE FINLAND!ANON?

Captcha: burton going. Um, I love Tim Burton too, Captcha. I do hope he isn't going anywhere...

“Please marry me.”

Norway blinked when he heard this.

Oh, god, came the flicker in his reasoning again. Please, please let her not be serious.

Instead, Norway said something more diplomatic:

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

“About the last month and a half, or so.” Else said. Her voice was clear and grounded, not at all what Norway expected to come out of her mouth. “We both love each other, Magnus. Is it too much for us to just do it?”

Norway let her finish, then considered what she meant. Denmark had said pretty much the same thing hundreds of years ago. But Else was not Denmark, and it was doubtless that she'd never try to subdue him in the way the other had.

It came as a pleasant bonus that Norway found her far less irritating.

“Magnus?”

Lost in thought. Norway blinked again, and then laced his fingers in between hers.

“I'll consider it.” he told her, and took care to make his voice as gentle as possible. This had been a bit of a surprise.

Upon his return home later that day he retreated immediately to bed, curled up with a book and did not read it. He knew nations married, in a sort of way—partly from experience, partly from observation (Austria and Hungary came to mind), but those had been for purely political reasons. Pragmatic reasons. A union with Else held no advantages, would not further his trade or help his economy, would not change the face of the earth or form any alliances. All they had was love and each other.

He stayed in that house for the next three days.

On the first day he made soup and spent the afternoon watching the slowly weeping snow from his window.

On the second day he repaired the faulty radio that sat by that windowsill and listened to the news all morning. Nothing of importance. He spent the afternoon in the attic and produced from his efforts a heavy silver candlestick, something that belonged to Sweden but had been continually put off whenever the chance to return it came.

Evening came. Norway smiled briefly at his tiny companion, who was attacking a pair of dust bunnies near the entrance to the house, and fell asleep effortlessly on the couch.

When Norway awoke it was midnight of the third day. He tried to fall asleep again but couldn't, and so wrote two letters. The first, addressed to England, was perfectly formal and businesslike. Norway refused to let himself or his curious mind ask about Elizabeth.

The second, for Iceland, was pleasant enough. Norway wished to see him again and told him so, but did not tell him what had been on his mind for the past two days.

He went to bed and fell into a more proper sleep, and in the early morning made a phone call to Else's father after breakfast. He asked to speak to the man's daughter, a luxury which he was permitted.

“Magnus! I thought you wouldn't call me, I mean- you just vanished for two days and-”

“Calm down, Else.”

“Sorry. If you're going to see me today, now's a bad time. I've got work in the next hour.”

“And I scarcely think they would appreciate you tending to important matters at work.”

“Just what I was thinking. But I'll be home all afternoon so it's not a total loss!”

“I'll see you then.”

“I-I'll be waiting. God, you always sound so calm. It's kind of scary, well, it's really scary, I'm sorry!”

Norway silently agreed, then got to the point.

“Do you still have that book I lent you three years ago?”

“Yes. You told me I could keep it. I can give it back to you if want, but there's a crack in the spine and I don't know if I can fix that—“

Well, Norway did appreciate her honesty.

“Magnus? Do you want it back?”

Norway felt his lips curl into a slight smile, even though Else couldn't see, and answered her back.

“No.” he told her. “and it doesn't matter much anymore anyway. I accept your proposal.”

anon demands MOAR! Authoranon! You have me hooked on this! ILU! *anon tries to hasten authoranon with some psychic!waves*

Much later Norway took the candlestick he'd unconsciously stolen from Sweden and had it melted down and forged into a pair of silver rings, identical in all but size. He and Else married October of that year in a quiet way that suited them both, made love the first time the morning after, and carried on with their lives much the same way they always did, albeit while living in the same house.

It was a Sunday afternoon a year and a half into their marriage when she came home beaming.

“I got the job.” she nearly squealed, something Norway had never heard her do before. “I got the job.”

Norway nearly tripped on electrical wire when he came to greet her. By the time his pace quickened again and he was just a few feet from the door he tripped on absolutely nothing. At least Denmark wasn't around to see it.

Denmark.

Fuck.

Still, he smiled at his wife's news and pulled her onto the sofa with him. There was just the two of them for now, with him in an exhausted heap and Else running her fingers through his hair and playing with the cross nestled on top.

They stayed there for a good five minutes, doing absolutely nothing.

It wasn't that Norway didn't care whether or not Denmark found out about this—he'd have to keep such thing secret if he wanted to be taken seriously. He'd simply let his guard down, which was understandable, given he was in his own home.

That didn't get rid of the Dane's bad habit of dropping in uninvited. Or, for that matter, without even knocking.

The door came swinging open. Norway knew Denmark was going to say something. Knew it, expected it, closed his eyes in exasperation and anticipation of what was to come. But Denmark said nothing, mindful of the stupidly complicated masquerade he and all other Nations were responsible for perpetuating.

He was polite enough in front of Else, and used the fake names he and Norway had agreed upon years ago. Still an idiot, still giving Norway that slap on the back that had always been too hard and keeping his voice too loud for comfort. Denmark bit his lower lip in a certain way when Norway introduced Else as his wife, and finally made himself truly heard once he and Norway were out of the house.

“You're married?”

“I thought that was made obvious just a few minutes ago.” Norway retorted, crossing his arms as they both walked. “But yes.”

“That's just-”

Norway didn't cut him off here. To hell with the damned potato-in-the-mouth statement; Denmark's words only came out like he was choking on a stack of marbles and trying desperately to keep them from rolling out of place.

“This isn't like ya, Norge.” he finally managed.

Norway didn't bother to look at this time. Didn't Denmark undestand, he thought, how important this was to him? To live by someone else's side with no political conditions or strings attached? To share someone's bed for the sake of pure companionship?

He finally said something, and it probably wasn't what Denmark wanted to hear.

“Danmark.”

Denmark looked at him with an expression of the worst kind of disbelief.
Norway knew what that disbelief was for, of course. He'd landed himself in a very special kind of betrayer's circle, and his accomplice wasn't even a proper nation. If anything, that would have made it more understandable.

“I think,” he said, “that I'm free to decide what is and isn't like me for myself.”

“She's a human, Norge.”

“I know.”

Norway let out a single sigh, then walked slightly ahead of Denmark. He knew more than anything. Denmark kept his pace just a little behind Norway as they walked to the harbor to carry on the conversation.

They talked about politics. That was always the first order of business; though being nations, such a thing would be obvious. The second order of business was for Norway to quiet down considerably when Denmark felt the need to bitch and banter about his neighbors—Germany, who Norway had never been too fond of, and Sweden, whom he hadn't spoken with in months. Norway kept his mouth mostly shut, his own fingers pressed to his lips in contemplation. The sun grew heavy and tired and dark in the sky.

Norway rubbed his temples and managed a precious complete sentence. A rarity.

“It's getting late.”

He let out a dragon's breath of icy vapor when he exhaled and stood steely-eyed and just a touch serpentine, waiting for Denmark's response. It took just a second; Norway had never considered Denmark slow in anything but perhaps wit.

“Afraid wifey's gone to bed without ya? Come on, Norge. I've seen her. She's about as sensual as a herring. 'Course, you'd probably be into that sort of thing...”

Norway rolled his eyes.

“Danmark,” he said, voice rising like the tide, “I'm tired.”

“Not tonight then, huh dear?” Denmark didn't hesitate to reply, smirking like an idiot. Wait.

“Shut it.”

Denmark turned his head to feign a glance at the harbor, then crossed his arms. It was clear that he'd won this round; he'd try to push his luck. Denmark was no imbecile, and as much as Norway wished he could be backed up on his claims the other Nation had always found ways to prove him wrong.

“Official meeting's tomorrow.” Denmark said before putting his hands in his pockets. “I'll be sure to see you there, Magnus.”

Norway filled his pockets in much the same way before heading the opposite direction.

“I don't know what I'd do without your kind reminders, Soren. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

They parted ways, neither of them anxious to have the last word after that.

((Anon hopes that OP does not mind fail!characterization. Also, Anon has a bit of headcanon that Nations using each other's human names with each other is kind of an insult. Like, either you're acting too human, or you ain't a nation truly; you're just some dude.))

Very nice!

To be honest I avoided this whole prompt for a while, "what the heck, it's so weird..."

But I really like your fic! ^o^'
Norway's reasoning seems a lot more natural than I expected, and I love your characterization of Norway and Denmark!

Looking forward to the next chapter~!

“Know he c'n be diff'cult sometimes,” Sweden told Norway the next day, when the meeting had been called to a recess, “b't he's got a p'nt. There's a reason most of 's d'nt bother.”

Why, fucking why, had Denmark been cursed with such a gargantuan mouth? And what compelled him to tell these sort of things to Sweden, of all nations?

“No, I understand.” Norway replied. Of course he did. And even if he didn't, for Sweden to agree with Denmark so readily would certainly have convinced him otherwise. He gave a glance at the window at the end of the hall—snow falling like feathers scattered from a burst pillow—before speaking again.

“Island also knows.”

“Ya told 'im?”

“Had to.” Norway said, adjusting his cap. “After I'd actually went and got myself married, of course. He hasn't said much about it.”

Sweden placed a hand on Norway's shoulder. Norway fought every compulsion to flinch and looked away from Sweden's permanent glare. He was looking away, of course, but there was no hint of fear in his face.

“S're he's just worried 'bout ya.”

“You honestly believe that? You and I both know he probably thinks this is the most hilarious thing ever.”

Sweden pondered this thought a long time, and both nations looked out the window again. A bird had collapsed after flying into the pane of solid glass. Norway sighed a sigh of pity before listening to Sweden speak again.

“He c'n laugh all he wants.” Sweden reassured him. “B't from what y've told me he hasn't s'd it to yer face. Y'don't do th't to some'un who fed n' rais'd ya.”

Norway nodded. The silent agreement sat well with him—for Iceland had always been Norway's brother and his precious charge, even before the results from the DNA test had showed up years later. Norway took a cursory glance at the clock before speaking again.

“I think the meeting's about to reconvene. Look, this has been much more pleasant than I'd thought it would be, but we ought to think about more serious matters right now.”

Sweden nodded once, said nothing, and followed him back into the conference room.

The meeting was typical enough: discussions of some trade agreements, America blathering for twenty minutes, Norway distracting himself by watching England's fairies flutter mindlessly about his former victim's head. Iceland wasn't there. Still, Norway could picture him sitting across the table, letting his clothes hang off his lanky self and rolling his eyes. It wasn't pleasant. Norway made a mental note to himself to chide Denmark one of these days for his sub-par parenting.

He felt a migraine coming on.

After the meeting was dismissed, Norway spent a few minutes locating his briefcase before starting home. Sweden had vanished somewhere, probably off with Finland (who, whether or not he also knew of Norway's transgression, had his own issues) and probably trying so damned hard to rekindle old flames. Norway didn't blame him. His own union with the larger nation had been a hundred years of dragging on like—well, like the cool and largely sexless marriage it was, and Norway knew that what was there to warrant the qualifier “largely” had been meant for someone else.

Two years passed. Two years passed then blurred seamlessly into three. Denmark came, made constant comparisons of Else to various types of fish, and went. Sweden came, never forgot his manners, and went. Iceland came, sat down to a cup of coffee with Norway once while Else was working late, and went, often using the sort of tone mothers warn their young ladies against. Else looked five years older than she did when they married, but otherwise very much the same. This was a problem for Else's father.

“I don't see why it's such a big deal for him.” Norway said to her one evening, when both of them were sharing the all-important couch. Norway had busied himself with knitting a scarf; Else was reviewing lesson plans.

“You know how antsy he is for grandchildren.” Else said, nibbling on a pen. “I don't really think this is something either of us want. But it's hard telling him the truth, you know?”

Five years had passed and Else had never become pregnant with anything other than distaste for the idea.

“Is that why we're not giving him straight answers, then? You know that I'm not one for that sort of thing.”

They spent a moment in silence. Norway added some new stitches to his scarf--a pretty blue color--before anyone spoke again.

"I don't know what to tell him. I mean, I love children and everything. You know I do. But it's different when you have to see them grow up."

"Sometimes they never do." Norway replied, turning to look at her before setting his gaze back on his knitting needles.

"Like that Danish friend of yours?" Else put her pen down and took a moment to chuckle. Norway smirked and turned again to kiss her when she rested her head upon his shoulder. "I can't stand him half the time. I don't know how you do it."

"He's a bit of an acquired taste. Not unlike hard liquor, and I'm sure that's as appropriate an analogy as it gets."

"I'll say. What're you making?" Else said, taking a piece of the very obvious scarf between her fingers.

"It's a scarf." Norway answered. Any other person on Earth would just try hard not to laugh. But Norway forgave such transgressions. "The old one's nearly worn out."

She laced her fingers into his hair again to play with the cross--damn that trick of hers, worked every time--and chuckled softly. It was amazing what sort of agreements they were always able to come to.

"Your father has Jorunn for that sort of thing." Norway said after putting up the needles and the nearly-finished scarf. Else's sisters didn't exactly share her sentiments regarding children. "He needn't bother us about it for long. March, I think?"

"Her baby's due in April. And that's really a lovely scarf.”

She took the cross from his hair and twirled it in her hands before Norway saw that she'd chosen to nibble on it instead, rather than the pen she'd had seconds ago. Else always had a habit of nibbling and chewing on everything: from the expected (pens, food) to the accepted (fingernails) to the more-than-accepted (ears.) Norway looked around—they were always being watched, but God forbid Denmark barge in uninvited again—and took the other end between his two teeth. They ended in a kiss, predictable but oh so satisfying.

“That,” Norway exhaled, after withdrawing, “could have happened elsewhere...”

“But we're awkward together. That's what counts.”

She took the cross from his mouth and waved it in front of him.

“Like this. See?”

“We look like idiots.” Norway said. His voice held no ill will. Else just giggled softly and wiped the cross on the scarf Norway knitted that evening.

“I know. But you'll always be my favorite idiot.”

And deep in the recesses of his mind, Norway couldn't help but wonder if he was still some other idiot's favorite as well.

D'awwww! Very nice, Anon...

Aaaaa, please continue, I love this story!
And I sort of masochistically look forward to when Else realizes that Norway isn't human...

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=28705061#t28705061