Too much salt in the earth and the crops wont grow, too much salt in the body and one can experience nausea, muscle cramps and electrolyte deficiencies in turn can lead to neurological problems... Denmark isn't crazy though, the steady saline drip of his thoughts is in time to the tears of the people as each day they withdraw further inland, leaving behind farms, leaving behind home. At first he thought he would like the heat but as dikes began to fail, and the engineers began to give up, beaten down by how the dikes broke again and again now no longer able to keep away the rising ocean, he began to dispise with a passion the warmer, more friendly summers, as much as he hated the colder, more violent winters that came along with them.
His wrists have swollen up from the amount of salt, he's the first country in the world to beat Alfred with how many gastric ulcers he's had now. His bones ache, his heart flutters sporadically, unable to work properly because of the hypertension, because of the left ventricular hypertrophy which is slowly squeezing the struggling organ to death from inside. The salt gets everywhere, on his tongue (and he's dying for a drink but knows that alcohol wont go well with the taste... save tequila, and he drank the last bottle Mexico gave him a few months back), in his clothes, in his hair, coating everything and leeching the moisture from it, leeching the life. The EU has called a emergency meeting on the issue of his slow decline, on the slow disappearance of his country into the ocean. He wonders if he'll be able to make it, every step sends pain through his feet straight to the top of his skull and back down again. His boots squish. The water gets everywhere... he goes to sleep, having furiously towelled himself dry and used a hair-dryer till his scalp burns, only to wake up with wet sheets, wet hair, wet feet, salt water seeping through everything, another mile gone in the night, another inch of his body consumed.
Sweden comes for him eventually, held up from finding his lover by the chaos of Greenland's sudden, violent denuding, the small pale nation now skeletal with the loss of his glaciers, Sweden isn't doing so well himself, though he is far better then the soaked figure with the chapped lips and eyes so salt encrusted they're sealed shut, the figure lying on a sea water soaked bed, breathing wheezing in and out, a hand curled against his chest, rubbing at the ache of a straining, barely coping heart.
--
Sweden does not cry for him, when he takes Denmark forcibly away from his waterlogged house, back to Sweden's house where soon the beds all smell of brine. Sweden doesn't cry because he knows that Denmark has had enough of salt for the rest of his life, and so doesn't waste precious saline for him as each day he rises and rolls off their soaked mattress, goes to the bathroom and runs a bath of fresh water. From there on he picks up Denmark, washes off the saline and works in moisturiser into chapped, cracking skin and makes Denmark wish that he had enough strength to push the other down because it's far too erotic to feel warm familiar hands smooth over every inch of his skin before gently wrapping around his engorged length and finishing him off. It's the sort of loving thing that calls for mutual worship of every inch of the former viking's body. Sadly he can't even raise his arms before feeling the strain, feeling the salt clogged veins and arteries in his body begin to panic as the blood flow is changed but they can't handle it. It becomes a habit, even when Denmark no longer has the strength to form a erection, to press against Berwald and kiss along a clenched jaw, nibble at flushed cheeks and enjoy the embarrassed rumblings of the big bear like nation when he presses what's left of his frame, let the other grind against him and enjoy the soft growls he gets from the nation he used to bully so frequently...
Re: Sweden and Denmark and dealing with death
anonymous
May 14 2010, 03:28:21 UTC
He got growls then too, but he has always preferred the growls he gets from Sweden when the other is aroused, especially the sharp low one when he tenses and there is a wet, incriminating heat against Denmark's hip. It's the one kind of salt he doesn't mind at all. Tino and Sealand, or Peter isn't it? Doesn't matter, Denmark's never acknowledged him before so had no need to know his name, cope with brine smell and the presence of death remarkably well, even Sealand can sense the feeling in the air and doesn't complain too much as he helps Berwald and Tino hang out the daily washed sheets in the yard, Denmark propped up on plastic made pillows out on the sun warmed, ~dry~ grass. Yes Sealand...perhaps he does not complain because he already stinks of brine and rust, the true smell of the ocean clinging to that ridiculous sailor suit even when it's been dry cleaned. Soon Denmark wonders if it will be the little child country that will begin to drip sea water everywhere and slowly waste away into a pillar of salt next.. though it seems strangely unlikely even if Sealand is not really a country and stands above the greedy ocean on trembling metal legs. That's just the thing though, that metal can be replaced, made taller, made stronger, resisting the rust and decay so long as they're quick and catch onto it. Sealand is stronger then him, it's galling to this King of Northern Europe to see the little twit stand tall and defeat what has brought Denmark low. More months pass. The pillows he rests on in the garden are made by Kiku and sent as a free trial, a new design, apparently water resistant without sacrificing too much comfort. It's a nice gesture from the island nation who has his own issues regarding the aggressive hungry sea. Denmark spends as much time as he can in the garden, where the earth is still fertile and the smell of life drowns out the smell of brine, and he spends as much time as he can with Swiss, greedily stealing him away from his "wife" to bask in the warm presence of the Conqueror of the Baltic sea just one more time... just one more time... each time feels like the last. Sweden is careful with him, each passing day the salt grows and his body shrivels even more yet Berwald does not move rooms, or sleep in another bed, putting up with the salt and the sea water, each morning gently working in a whole bottle of moisturiser in a attempt to stop more of the cracking and breaking of formerly strong skin which is now as fragile as tissue paper. -- The end, is inevitable but still shocking. The news papers scream of the last quarter mile of Denmarks land finally having been consumed by in rushing water. The country is no longer a country, more a massive gouge in Europe which is filling higher and higher with seawater, its dirks defeated, it's land dead, it's people fled to the surrounding countries who in turn have watched this with horror, unable to stop it no matter what aide they sent. Sweden had hopped, perhaps, when Denmark died, like a fairytale, he would be returned to how he was before it began, strong and mighty in his last repose. Or at the very least, his body be there, shrunken to smaller then Peter, hands like claws the way the dried skin pulled his fingers in painfully, skin wrinkled, eyes closed against the injustice of nature and of mankind's ruin of mother Pangea. But no, he wakes to dry sheets that are gritty beneath his hands, sea water all across the floor but the bed strangely dry, salt everywhere, nearly breaking the bed with how much of it is pooled on the sheets. As the world cries out for the loss of a country, finally confronts once and for all the horror that they have brought upon this world, Sweden cries out in grief for a old friend, old conqueror, his lover that has disappeared and will not be known to the world again.
The King of Northern Europe is Dead, there is no other to replace him.
Re: no worries mate XD
anonymous
May 14 2010, 07:20:30 UTC
8DDDD Things are good! I LOVE the design we got but I wish he got more love from the fandom D: I'm dying for a proper strip with him and for a NZ character! Cos I think they'd be bros having friendly arguments but also fuck buddies XDDDD
Re: no worries mate XD
anonymous
May 14 2010, 07:45:08 UTC
awesome!
I got this scene in my head of a cartoon style fight cloud, you know with fists and boots coming out of it and cuss words, and UK is all "now now chaps, no fighting"
And the cloud clears and OZ and NZ are clearly... not...fighting...
haha sure XD though it would probably only be a small, crackish scene. But you request it and link it here and I'll try and get it done in between writing my assignments this weekend XD
(Captcha: Editor Asimov.. sounds like the sort of guy you don't want to be late handing into)
Out of all the gutwrenching in here, there are two things that really kill me. First, the whole Sealand business.
And then, the thing that really gets me: he died alone. *sob* I know there's that saying that even when others are with us, we die alone... But he was completely alone.
Do you have any idea how IRONIC it is that 'Keep Holding On' (the Glee version) was playing as I finished reading this? Oh gods... And then followed imediatlg by 'Fields of Hope'. Aiya... Gonna go have a good cry now.
I might have bawled my eyes out once or twice writing this... but then I was reading poetry about death right before I got online ( the poetry is for class, honest, I am convinced the lecturer is determined to drive at least one of us into severe depression with her topics this year)
Re: Sweden and Denmark and dealing with death
anonymous
May 14 2010, 06:42:43 UTC
Hetalia!Geology is a severe kink of mine. OTL
I love what you've done with this prompt, even if DenSu isn't completely my cup of tea. Very nice fill. And I wish it weren't so, well, plausible, dammit.
Captcha says: Erosion favor! Damn straight Captcha!)
Too much salt in the earth and the crops wont grow, too much salt in the body and one can experience nausea, muscle cramps and electrolyte deficiencies in turn can lead to neurological problems... Denmark isn't crazy though, the steady saline drip of his thoughts is in time to the tears of the people as each day they withdraw further inland, leaving behind farms, leaving behind home. At first he thought he would like the heat but as dikes began to fail, and the engineers began to give up, beaten down by how the dikes broke again and again now no longer able to keep away the rising ocean, he began to dispise with a passion the warmer, more friendly summers, as much as he hated the colder, more violent winters that came along with them.
His wrists have swollen up from the amount of salt, he's the first country in the world to beat Alfred with how many gastric ulcers he's had now. His bones ache, his heart flutters sporadically, unable to work properly because of the hypertension, because of the left ventricular hypertrophy which is slowly squeezing the struggling organ to death from inside. The salt gets everywhere, on his tongue (and he's dying for a drink but knows that alcohol wont go well with the taste... save tequila, and he drank the last bottle Mexico gave him a few months back), in his clothes, in his hair, coating everything and leeching the moisture from it, leeching the life. The EU has called a emergency meeting on the issue of his slow decline, on the slow disappearance of his country into the ocean. He wonders if he'll be able to make it, every step sends pain through his feet straight to the top of his skull and back down again. His boots squish. The water gets everywhere... he goes to sleep, having furiously towelled himself dry and used a hair-dryer till his scalp burns, only to wake up with wet sheets, wet hair, wet feet, salt water seeping through everything, another mile gone in the night, another inch of his body consumed.
Sweden comes for him eventually, held up from finding his lover by the chaos of Greenland's sudden, violent denuding, the small pale nation now skeletal with the loss of his glaciers, Sweden isn't doing so well himself, though he is far better then the soaked figure with the chapped lips and eyes so salt encrusted they're sealed shut, the figure lying on a sea water soaked bed, breathing wheezing in and out, a hand curled against his chest, rubbing at the ache of a straining, barely coping heart.
--
Sweden does not cry for him, when he takes Denmark forcibly away from his waterlogged house, back to Sweden's house where soon the beds all smell of brine. Sweden doesn't cry because he knows that Denmark has had enough of salt for the rest of his life, and so doesn't waste precious saline for him as each day he rises and rolls off their soaked mattress, goes to the bathroom and runs a bath of fresh water. From there on he picks up Denmark, washes off the saline and works in moisturiser into chapped, cracking skin and makes Denmark wish that he had enough strength to push the other down because it's far too erotic to feel warm familiar hands smooth over every inch of his skin before gently wrapping around his engorged length and finishing him off. It's the sort of loving thing that calls for mutual worship of every inch of the former viking's body. Sadly he can't even raise his arms before feeling the strain, feeling the salt clogged veins and arteries in his body begin to panic as the blood flow is changed but they can't handle it. It becomes a habit, even when Denmark no longer has the strength to form a erection, to press against Berwald and kiss along a clenched jaw, nibble at flushed cheeks and enjoy the embarrassed rumblings of the big bear like nation when he presses what's left of his frame, let the other grind against him and enjoy the soft growls he gets from the nation he used to bully so frequently...
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Tino and Sealand, or Peter isn't it? Doesn't matter, Denmark's never acknowledged him before so had no need to know his name, cope with brine smell and the presence of death remarkably well, even Sealand can sense the feeling in the air and doesn't complain too much as he helps Berwald and Tino hang out the daily washed sheets in the yard, Denmark propped up on plastic made pillows out on the sun warmed, ~dry~ grass. Yes Sealand...perhaps he does not complain because he already stinks of brine and rust, the true smell of the ocean clinging to that ridiculous sailor suit even when it's been dry cleaned. Soon Denmark wonders if it will be the little child country that will begin to drip sea water everywhere and slowly waste away into a pillar of salt next.. though it seems strangely unlikely even if Sealand is not really a country and stands above the greedy ocean on trembling metal legs. That's just the thing though, that metal can be replaced, made taller, made stronger, resisting the rust and decay so long as they're quick and catch onto it. Sealand is stronger then him, it's galling to this King of Northern Europe to see the little twit stand tall and defeat what has brought Denmark low.
More months pass. The pillows he rests on in the garden are made by Kiku and sent as a free trial, a new design, apparently water resistant without sacrificing too much comfort. It's a nice gesture from the island nation who has his own issues regarding the aggressive hungry sea. Denmark spends as much time as he can in the garden, where the earth is still fertile and the smell of life drowns out the smell of brine, and he spends as much time as he can with Swiss, greedily stealing him away from his "wife" to bask in the warm presence of the Conqueror of the Baltic sea just one more time... just one more time... each time feels like the last. Sweden is careful with him, each passing day the salt grows and his body shrivels even more yet Berwald does not move rooms, or sleep in another bed, putting up with the salt and the sea water, each morning gently working in a whole bottle of moisturiser in a attempt to stop more of the cracking and breaking of formerly strong skin which is now as fragile as tissue paper.
--
The end, is inevitable but still shocking. The news papers scream of the last quarter mile of Denmarks land finally having been consumed by in rushing water. The country is no longer a country, more a massive gouge in Europe which is filling higher and higher with seawater, its dirks defeated, it's land dead, it's people fled to the surrounding countries who in turn have watched this with horror, unable to stop it no matter what aide they sent.
Sweden had hopped, perhaps, when Denmark died, like a fairytale, he would be returned to how he was before it began, strong and mighty in his last repose. Or at the very least, his body be there, shrunken to smaller then Peter, hands like claws the way the dried skin pulled his fingers in painfully, skin wrinkled, eyes closed against the injustice of nature and of mankind's ruin of mother Pangea. But no, he wakes to dry sheets that are gritty beneath his hands, sea water all across the floor but the bed strangely dry, salt everywhere, nearly breaking the bed with how much of it is pooled on the sheets. As the world cries out for the loss of a country, finally confronts once and for all the horror that they have brought upon this world, Sweden cries out in grief for a old friend, old conqueror, his lover that has disappeared and will not be known to the world again.
The King of Northern Europe is Dead, there is no other to replace him.
(Captcha: Merely that)
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Just for the future- you've mixed up Swiss with Swede :D
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I must remember that!
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I'm dying for a proper strip with him and for a NZ character! Cos I think they'd be bros having friendly arguments but also fuck buddies XDDDD
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I got this scene in my head of a cartoon style fight cloud, you know with fists and boots coming out of it and cuss words, and UK is all "now now chaps, no fighting"
And the cloud clears and OZ and NZ are clearly... not...fighting...
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(Captcha: Editor Asimov.. sounds like the sort of guy you don't want to be late handing into)
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http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15068.html?thread=40858844#t40858844
(my captcha says tomahawk in.... in where? in the face? in the butt? D:
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Done! It's not great but I enjoyed it more then my assignment!
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And then, the thing that really gets me: he died alone. *sob* I know there's that saying that even when others are with us, we die alone... But he was completely alone.
Do you have any idea how IRONIC it is that 'Keep Holding On' (the Glee version) was playing as I finished reading this? Oh gods... And then followed imediatlg by 'Fields of Hope'. Aiya... Gonna go have a good cry now.
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I love what you've done with this prompt, even if DenSu isn't completely my cup of tea. Very nice fill. And I wish it weren't so, well, plausible, dammit.
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