Denmark x England

"Nnnnnghhhh..." The Nordic country moaned loudly. She sat up, rubbing her head with a black-gloved hand. She had tried a teleportation spell to get to Norway's house faster. She wanted to impress Norway and his fairies and the others so they'd finally stop ignoring her. Also, there was another she wanted to impress. Someone who she had always admired and loved from a far.

So far the attempt had messed her short, pale blonde hair, caused her eyes to refused to focus-oh, wait. There, that's better.-and she had a terrible headache making it impossible to focus for very long.

She sighed. No way would she impress her special someone at this rate.

Someone brave, strong, courageous, sweet, gentlemanly and with no ability whatsoever to hold his liquor

Someone with amazing green eyes like the plains and forests of his country. And hair paler than sunlight. And eyebrows thick enough to be their own territories. Someone far out of her reach.

Someone who she used to hate. She first hated him for stealing the attention and love of her siblings when they were both still small nations. Someone who had abused her in his wild teenage years. He pillaged and ravaged Finland and Norway and she had been powerless to stop him.

But when he grew out of it, he offered a savior's hand. His pirate days had left her country and many others in shambles. He pulled them from the edge and saved them as recompense for what he could not undo.

But he was still handsome even when he acted out.

She could remember, he grew his hair out again-successfully that time-when he donned the tricorn-hat with blood-red and black speckled plume, the deep crimson trench coat, poofy shirt and tight black trousers and boots.

She had fallen in love with the man she hated most.

The dread Pirate Kirkland.

Of course, he wasn't called that anymore. He was just Arthur now. Occasionally, when they were only slightly over their limits or he was particularly nice, he was 'Artie' or 'Iggy' depending on how she chose to react. If a more general, public setting was the case, she chose the generally used 'Iggy' short for Igirisu, which everyone called him.

When she found herself blessed to be in his presence alone, she would call him 'Artie' to which he'd roll his eyes and ask why she hadn't outgrown calling him that yet. She would calmly shrug and continue asking him things. There was so much more that he knew even though he was probably centuries his junior. The Nordics had always existed in some form or other. He was almost as strong as his brother America...probably was the way America's economy was failing. Not only that, America was on the fringe of Communism... he was now a Socialist like his twin brother Canada... but she was getting distracted. Was that why the others hated her? Her complete inability to focus in times when it wasn't necessary to do so?

Is that why her sister, Finland was so easily married to Sweden? Is that why the twins Norway and Iceland looked upon her as if she was the most worthless thing in the world?

'Oh, man, If I continue this thought train...Well, I'll need my own Emo corner won't I?' She shook her head and stood up, checking out her surroundings. She was in an attic or storage room, the temperature was well below freezing, indicating it was both winter and that this room probably wasn't insulated. She shivered but shook her head. This cold was nothing compared to the others.

She started to stalk around quietly among ceiling high towers of boxes. (Way too much practice from trying to be near her Nordic brethren had made her into quite the stalker. Why, she almost rivaled Japan in her ability to shift around soundlessly and quickly. Japan was still faster, that kid.)

Some were worn and some were even wooden. There were some chests (think treasure chests) and wardrobes as well as miscellaneous books and paintings lying around. She soon found a window and gazed out. It was frosted and fogged. She rubbed furiously

at it until a circle of clear glass formed. She gazed out onto someone's yard... a familiar yard... wait...was that? those were ice fairies! But this wasn't Norway's yard! Oh no!

She groaned and slapped her forehead. She was in Arthur's house, in his private attic,- probably, this was where he kept his past-and she had practiced magic under his roof.

'Not good. Not good. Not good!' She groaned. Suddenly, The stairs at the far end of the attic began to creak. Someone-probably Arthur-began to approach. Denmark did not want to stick around to find out who it was but with no means of escape, she chose to find a place to hide.

She slipped into a wardrobe nearly twice her size and slid in among the cloths. She quietly closed the doors and nearly voiced her relief that she could see out through the slats but anyone else probably couldn't see in. She settled against the back as the footsteps prowled somewhere across from her and hid herself behind a trench coat as best as she could. Suddenly, she froze. The material, rough and well-worn, the scent of salt...oh, great Scott, not his pirate trench. She blushed as she nuzzled it as much as she could without degrading herself to Hungary-level MoeMoe fangirl obsessiveness.

Suddenly the footsteps changed direction, coming ever closer. She froze and nearly cried, did he have it wired or alarmed so that he now knew where she was and what she'd done?

A pair of casual tan trousers stopped just in front of the door. She held her breath for one, two three...at twelve he plopped to the ground unceremoniously.

She could see him so well, he was right in front of her. His messy, blonde hair cut short and framing his face. His emerald eyes holding a myriad of emotions that constantly were shifting. His eyebrows were knit into a kind of worried, shameful expression. She wanted to ease the suffering that caused the worrying, whatever it was. He was wearing a sweater over his buttondown shirt. And she noticed tears along the back. What was that about?

He sighed and suddenly held a pen and book. He flipped through the book to a page and uncapped the pen.

He sighed and began writing. At first, Denmark believed he was reading aloud as he wrote. She soon realiased, his voice was in her head.

For another reason than her inability as a female Hetalian not to be a closet stalker.

Dear Diary,

Today, those ass**** brothers of mine, Scotland and Ireland were bugging me. They are so obnoxious, I wish they'd just go leave me alone or at least go bug America like they used to.

'awww, my poor Artie,' Denmark thought. He continued heedless of her or her unwanted pity.

Speaking of America, he wouldn't stop texting me again. I swear every time he gets a new phone he never stops texting about it and whenever he breaks one he never shuts up. That wanker. I'm glad he's suffering for his overspending all the time.

Speaking of never shutting up, Wales and N. Ireland were also painfully idiotic today, I mean seriously? Don't angels get breaks? Do I have to constantly save them from big brothers?

Oy, Brothers should not exist...things would be so much simpler... Speaking of which, I am very glad to state that Sealand has made some friends and formed a coalition. Unfortunately, the name is so vulgar, I dare not write it on your neverending pages. Let's just say, I had hoped that Seychelles, Canada, Latvia and Lichtenstein would have been better influences on him than that frog. Oh well.

Speaking of Froggy, what is with her? She went to see the Frog Prince with America and came back asking to snog me! Actually that's a lie...she didn't ask...thank Heavens I had my shelaylay.

Denmark scowled, if she wasn't neutral, she'd NUKE France. How dare She.

Speaking of 'neutral' countries, I received a phone call form Norway that Denmark is missing. I thought he hated her but I guess he still cares. Why in the world do they pick on her anyway? She is one of the few Hetalians who isn't completely hopeless. Besides that she's one of an even fewer number that I DON'T Hate.

Denmark perked up at the last one.

She's sweet and kind, she never complains if I get drunk and pass out on her bed, or couch or whatever. She listens when I talk and she is actually not a hussy like so many other countries. Hungary, Taiwan, if you ever read this-you know I'm right.

She's so nice and she's also quite ravishing to look at. I wonder what snogging-erm, kissing her would be like? She's such a cold country too...it'd be interesting too. I bet she's as sweet now as she was then.

he paused...his hand floating over the paper with a mild curse he continued.

She must hate me...I mean...I stole from her, I bankrupted her, I nearly killed her on more than one occasion (all of the Nordics actually, but that doesn't matter) and the saddest part is that I did it just for kicks.

I...really messed up then. I was deplorable, horrible, terrible, despicable, idiotic, and above all, just a terrible person. How many times did she come, begging me to send the pirates away. Hah. The Dread Pirate Kirkland. The Pirate King Kirkland. How many other names did I have?And I didn't do a thing to help her.

'Artie' she says. 'Artie'. The very same as when we were still children. Back then, we were friends. They all just call me Arthur or England now. Ingleterra, Anlgeterre, Igirisu, it doesn't matter. No one wants to get close really, they know I'll hurt them.

I call myself an angel, but what good have I ever done? especially for her.

I love her so much.

Tears now, streaming silently down her cheeks. She shook her head. No, this was impossible. It couldn't be.

I love her so but I'm sure now. I'm sure that she hates me. How could she not.

'It's not true'

I should go find her now. I must. It's the very least I can do. She'll never love me as she might have-

'No! Please Artie! don't say that!'

-But I still love her. I will protect her now.

I love her as much as she must hate me. I-

"NO! ARTHUR! IT'S NOT TRUE! I DON'T HATE YOU AT ALL!" She yelled out before she realized what she'd done. The doors of her wardrobe were ripped open. The clothes were shoved out of the way. Arthur stood over her, again, emotions raged. This time Rage prevailed.

"What do you think you're soing in my house, in my attic, watching over my shoulder as I write my private thoughts in my journal?"

"I thought it was a diary..." she muttered lamely. He yanked her roughly to her feet by her wrists.

"Ow," She whimpered. She'd seen this side of him before but not in a long time.

"What were you doing?" he hissed.

"I messed a spell ok?" She replied coldly. the winds outside picked up as a storm threatened its existence on the English household. "I wanted to visit Norway...not that he cares."

They were uncomfortably silent until finally, Arthur asked. "what do you even see in Norway? He might have many of the same skills as I do but He's tremendously colder and pessimistic...one might even venture that he is-"

"-Emo?" Denmark interrupted for one. "Yes, I would say so. He's my Idiot of a Brother-in-law, I have to impress him."

"No you don't?"

"Look, things work differently in the Nordic household than they do here in the United Kingdom."

"Not that differently." He replied.

"Yes." She agreed after some time. "Perhaps not."

They were still uncomfortably silent. His hands holding her wrists were gentle now, rubbing where they had almost bruised.

"Did you mean it..." he muttered lamely. "...when you said you don't hate me?"

"Of course," She nodded.

"Why? After what I did?" He shook his head. "I don't understand."

She smiled. "You idiot! I'd always forgive you no matter what."

He looked down at her (she was one of a small few shorter than him).

"Because I love you," She leaned up in a burst of bravery...or possibly stupidity...and kissed him lightly. He felt spirals of cold fill his senses as the snowstorm outside eased to a light flurry instead.

He kissed her back gently. "I love you too," he whispered and hugged her as best as he could. Which for him,also involved wings.

She seemed slightly startled. "Uhh?"

"Long story, I'll tell you later," he replied curtly. The muscles in his wings tensed as he sighed in irritation.

"No need to get your feathers ruffled." She replied equally as curt. then she smiled. "Hey Artie, last one down has to make dinner!"

Arthur grimaced. "Ladies first." She smiled but shook her head. Decidedly, she wasn't the better cook after all.

He grimaced again. Horror-reigned supreme as he understood that maybe, just maybe, she was made for him. And Maybe, that meant he wouldn't get to eat better tasting food after all.

Oh well, sacrifices for true love and what not. Stiff upper lip. Pip pip cheerio and all that rubbish. And Maybe hire Francis as a personal chef.

This was requested by Italy of the South Central Pennsylvannia Hetalia Club. It was the DenmarkxEngland pairing with magic involved.

Sorry that the end was Fail, Italy, I'm inable to write humor it seems. Though the "No more Parties in the USA" has evolved into a pseudo-Godfather-esqe type thing that might on the off chance be good.

So This is for you Little Italy! Hope you enjoyed it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

Also, does anyone know how to spell 'shelaylay'? The blunt club/weapon/thing often used by UK residents to beat others back in like the 1600s. I think it's Celtic. I'm not sure. Help a Girl out.