![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[fic] Drabble dump 1 - Anon meme / G to PG
Okay, I decided that I should collect the drabbles from the meme and fix some damn spelling errors so you'll get a dump here.
This is the (almost) work safe dump ;)
Nobody ever calls me - Sealand, other nations
[ring ring]
"Hello! This is the Principality of Sea-"
"Yeah, right, hi squirt."
"Hello Mr America! How are you-"
"Look, you've got England there? I need to talk to him urgently."
"...he's up at Uncle Scotland's today."
"What? They're arguing again? Okay, I'll try his cell."
"Bye!"
[click]
An hour later
[ring ring]
"Hi! This is the Pri-"
"This is the Federal Republic of Germany speaking. Please connect me to England."
"He's no-"
"It is very urgent!"
"Jerk England's not here!"
"Thank you for your assistance."
[click]
"...stupid Germany."
A little later
[ring ring]
"Yes, what?"
"Ve! Is Germany there?"
"Italy?"
"Germany?"
"No! I'm Sealand! And this is that jerk England's phone!"
"Veee~ Sorry, sorry, England!"
"No, look I'm Sealand!"
"I'll say hi to Germany from you!"
[click]
"Okay, you all suck!"
One minute later
[ring ring]
"ThisisSealandandnotthatJERKENGLANDsojustgoaway. And die."
"Pfft, is that any way to answer the phone, brat?"
"Huh?"
"Don't you recognize my awesome voice! It is I, the Kingdom of Prussia!"
"...you don't exist any more."
"Ahahaha! I'm here, aren't I? As long as I can be awesome, I am!"
"Heh. 'kay. Hi, Prussia. And I'm not England, in case you were confused."
"Course you're not. England would never want to come over and help me raid West's secret cake stash, while my macho brother is out trampling through mud and looking for your sheep-molesting relatives, would he? Now, you gonna come over for some awesome-cake or not?"
"I'll be right there! Don't eat it all before I arrive!"
"HAHAHA! Then you'd better hurry, brat!"
[click]
The cowboy rides again - America, England, Other nations
"Ohh, that's a wonderful pose, America! Hold it just a little bit longer!"
"It's a bit hard to hold a pose when you're on a bucking horse, Japan..." England groused. The next moment he continued yelling at America. "You're going to break your soddding NECK, you wanker!"
"Yehaaa!" America thundered past again, straw hat swinging in one hand while the other clutched the wild mustang's mane. "Go screw yourself, old man," he called, "this is life!"
England sputtered angrily, while Japan made an impressed sound and kept pressing the shutter of his expensive, high-speed camera.
The horse bucked even wilder and suddenly America was flying through the air. England screamed (not at all like a little girl, he would later insist) and ran over to America. Japan's smile turned slightly disturbing as he followed, camera still clutched in his hands.
"Hmpf," Germany said, arms crossed forbiddingly, "I told him that horses were no viable alternative to electric cars."
America cracked open an eye and waved off England's concern. "But they are so much cooler..."
This paradise island, this treacherous sea - France, Seychelles
"Aaahh!" France jumped at least three feet into the air and fell back into the water with a loud splash.
"It burned me!" he moaned and hurried out of the water, the rose in his hair drooping sadly. "Your water bit me!"
"Silly papa," Seychelles said, "that was just a little jellyfish."
"It was a huge ocean-monster," France muttered and plopped down on the beach. "I don't understand why you are so fond of all this water. It's so... unrefined. And full of Englishmen."
"Aww, poor papa," she also came up from the water, his brilliant little girl. Of course she had managed to catch three fish in the time it took him to stub his toe, utterly fail to catch anything edible on his own and get burned by a jellyfish.
"Let me bring some ointment for you."
"Non, non," France said, "it was mostly my pride that was stung."
And it was, the burning feeling was already fading. A lucky thing too, because he had heard that there were giant poison medusas in these seas that could kill a man with one sting.
"However, dear heart," he admitted, "I think I am simply not cut out for life as a fisherman. Ah, but 'tis nothing to shed tears about!" he added when her adorable face fell. "For I am a most excellent cook! If you catch the fish, I shall prepare it for you and then we can dine together."
"Oh, that sounds like a splendid idea, papa."
"My dear, you should know by now that your father's ideas are always splendid!"
Once Seychelles had caught enough to feed even the hungriest two nations in the world, they walked together towards her house. France, of course, insisted that he carry all the truly big fish since they were so very heavy.
That this gained him impressed glances from most of the locals had nothing to do with it whatsoever - and if several of them winked knowingly at the little girl trotting after him? Well, the sun was still shining, soon they would have fine French cuisine and what France didn't know, wouldn't hurt his pride in the least.
Family argument - The Baltics
When Lithuania comes to Estonia's house for their quarterly family dinner, nobody opens the door. Slightly puzzled, he knocks louder, then tries the handle. The sounds that meet him almost makes him wish he had taken up Poland on that offer to join him and the Czech Republic for a movie night. Alas, Lithuania let his duty get the better of him and so here he is, with what sounds like a full-blown family row at his hands.
Latvia's face is red as he struggles to put on a coat and Estonia looks unusually stern, arms crossed and glasses gleaming dangerously.
"You're mean!" Lithuania's youngest brother cries, though he trembles and stutters pitifully all the while. "I ddidn't say I wanted to go back to Ru- Russia!"
"You said it was easier beneath him!" Estonia says, sneering at the trembling nation. "Coward!"
"Estonia! Latvia!" Lithuania tries to go between, to calm them down, but they only turn to him and ask for his support in a flurry of tears and long harangues.
"I didn't! I didn't!" Latvia keeps blubbering while Estonia's lecture rises in volume until Lithuania thinks his head will split.
"Would you just shut up!" he finally screams at his brother, and has the fleeting pleasure of seeing the usually composed Balt fall silent. He hugs Latvia close and shushes him, feeling his body tremble violently in his arms.
"Calm down," Lithuania sighs, "please?"
"He started it," Estonia mutters. Latvia only shakes his head and whimpers.
"What were you even arguing about?"
"We were discussing the economic crisis, like independent and responsible nations," Estonia explains. "Then, he had the gall to say that he had preferred it beneath Russia, just because he didn't have to handle his own crises!"
"'s not true. Only said simpler..."
"Come on, tell us what you meant, hmm, Latvia?"
His younger brother finally manages a few words and he nods in agreement, recognizing his own conflicted emotions.
"He's right, you know," he finally says to Estonia. "It was simpler back then." Lithuania closes his eyes. "Nobody had anything and none of us had any say - how could it have been more difficult than today, when everyone has too many opinions and options?"
Estonia huffs and shakes his head. "But we are free!"
"I know."
Latvia swallows and scrounges up some more courage. "F- f- freedom is also hard."
God yes. "Especially when there's a global crisis," Lithuania agrees.
"...but I still like it better. Even when it is more difficult."
Estonia is silent and he an Lithuania share a look, before he shrugs. "See, now, if you could just have told me that at once..."
"We can discuss the details over dinner," Lithuania interjects quickly and herds his troublesome siblings toward the kitchen. "What are we making?"
Really, he thinks, it was simpler in some ways under Russia. Nobody dared to argue back then. But, as Estonia begins peeling potatoes and Latvia furtively pokes his tongue out at his brother's back, Lithuania agrees in his heart that this time, the more difficult option is infinitely better than the alternative.
Learning the piano - Austria, Germany
Germany stared at the score. He knew the names of all the notes, how to draw them and read them. He had a perfect theoretical knowledge of how they were supposed to sound.
"See, it is not so difficult," Austria concluded his latest lecture on the art of playing the piano with a small demonstration.
Cold sweat broke out on Germany's brow.
"Now, do you think you could try to play that one?" For once, Austria looked at him with an almost friendly smile.
"Yes. Maybe." Germany nodded. God, where was his interfering brother when you needed him?
Austria helped him place his fingers, telling him to press once, just to get a feel for it. Germany did so. Nothing had exploded so far...
"Go on then, play the tune I just showed you," he was urged. "Don't be afraid to make mistakes, they are part of the learning procedure."
"Ah, yes." Germany bit his lips and stared at the piano, feeling as if the keys were dozens of malevolent eyes just waiting for him to fail.
It wasn't as if he was tone-deaf, he tried to tell himself, he could recognize tunes quite well. When, and this was the important part, someone else played them.
Germany's fingers, feeling like packages of frozen sausage, moved clumsily and the piano clinked out, well, call it 'a tune' and be kind.
"I see..." Austria pushed back his glasses and patted the piano carefully. Probably, Germany thought with bitterness, to make sure he had not killed it.
"And that was supposed to be 'Baa Baa Black Sheep', according to you?"
He wondered if it would be more or less humiliating to admit that he had been aiming for Frère Jacques.
The sound of his laughter - Italy, Germany, puppies
Italy had a whole mental catalogue of German facial expressions. There were the many kinds of angry, upset and disappointed. Those didn't make him very happy, but he prided himself on having come quite a long way when it came to finding appropriate remedies for each one.
There were the proud, pleased and accomplished ones. He liked them, especially the rare and precious times those looks were directed at him. Even if they weren't, he still loved watching Germany work on something.
If only he could learn to have a bit more patience, because before Germany allowed himself to feel proud of his work, he wanted to be at least almost finished and before that he tended to look so very stern and forbidding that Italy began to babble and tease him and, unfortunately, this rarely produced a pleased look and more one of those "why am I friends with this nation again?" stares and those... those kind of scared Italy. A lot.
He didn't mind the "why have I been saddled with this accursed brother of mine?" or the "God help the EU, am I the only one to take things seriously anymore?" looks quite as much. Because, after those Germany would usually come to Italy and, while never quite asking for comfort and reassurance, he ate more pasta than usual and very slowly, he would begin to relax. Sometimes they even played football and then Italy would get to see Germany's very secret playtime face.
That one usually only came out when he was out running with his dogs or making pretty cakes. Although once, Italy could swear he'd seen a glimpse of a similar, but subtly different one, when his hair got stuck in a chandelier while at Austria's party and a slightly tipsy Germany had to help him get it untangled.
But, no, no, don't go there! Because thoughts of his hair and Germany tended to remind him of the one catalogue that was entirely empty so far and he wasn't at all certain what to do about filling it with memories. If he even wanted it filled with memories, but it was okay if it was for scientific purposes, wasn't it? That was, after all, what big brother France always claimed...
This look, however, this was completely new.
And for once, Italy felt no need whatsoever to interrupt, to change the look or turn it his way or do anything but plop down right where he was standing (ouch, hard threshold! next time, plop slower) and just admire it.
Because Germany was playing with four half-grown puppies, being soundly defeated by them in an all out battle of doggy-kisses and clumsy wrestling, and he was laughing loudly despite his apparent defeat.
His face was so beautifully carefree and happy that Italy knew it would be terribly unfair to the world, to stick this image into a hidden album that nobody else would ever see. Although he had a feeling that if he ever showed the portrait called Joy to anyone but Germany, he'd be getting the lecture to end all lectures.
But that was okay, Italy thought and petted the puppy that came over. Germany looked at him, hesitating for a moment, but then the remaining three dogs resumed their attacks and he just shook his head and laughed again, and Italy knew then that he didn't mind at all, that this could be their little secret and it was beautiful.
The Wurstwandlung - Italy, Kafka pastiche
One morning, when Italy Veneziano woke from pastafilled dreams,
he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic wurst.
He lay on his soft back, and if he lifted his head a little he could
see his wrinkly belly, slightly bent and showing marks of grilling.
The bedding was hardly able to cover his new elongated body
and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His legs had moulded
together and the wurst-rosette that were his feet looked pitifully
unable to carry him, waving about helplessly as he looked.
"Ve, what's happened to me?" he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room,
a proper Italian room with tomato plants in the window-sill and
football posters on the wall, lay peacefully inside its familiar borders.
A collection of pasta samples were spread out on the table
- Italy was a gourmand - and above it there hung a picture that he
had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.
It showed a German fitted out with a cap and a iron cross who sat
upright on a tank, the muzzle of which covered the whole of his lower
leg and pointed accusingly towards the viewer.
Dazzling dress - Poland, Latvia
"But it's, like, so you."
"N- n- no!" Latvia shuddered and tried to escape from Poland. Why couldn't he go back to teasing Lithuania again?
"But babe, you'd look so sweet in this." Poland shook the sparkly turquoise fabric in front of Latvia, probably hoping that it looked tempting.
"I'm totally not able to carry it off," he sighed sadly, "and it cost, like, a fortune!"
"Then give, give it ttto another na- nation!" Latvia protested. Suddenly, his eyes grew wider. "H- Hun- Hu-"
"Hungary? Are you, like, completely wacky?" Poland pressed the fabric into his hands. "Look at this! The shine, the colour, the way it'll like accentuate your slim hips; it was made for you? But Hungary..." He shook his head and hid a giggle behind a well-manicured hand. "She'd like utterly ruin it, precious! Besides, it's not her colour atall."
"Hu- Hungary!" Latvia managed to squeak while he continued to back away from Poland, who was now sporting an almost deranged grin.
"Tsk, she'd totally look like a beached whale in this, toots, and I'm like not trying to diss the whales or anything. Now!" He grabbed Latvia's jacked and tried to unhook the buttons with one hand, while pulling the dress over the struggling blond with the other. "Like, stand still!"
"Poland," came a cool voice from behind him. "And here I thought that there was only one moron in this world who'd dare imply that I am... Not of a perfect weight."
Not letting go of his prisoner, Poland turned around and smiled. "Oh, hey, Hungary! Do you like, maybe want to help me with Latvia's dress? Eh..."
Of brothers - Germany, Liechtenstein
"And he calls them Gilbirds?"
Germany nodded. Somehow or other, during a recess in a world meeting, he run into Liechtenstein. They had come in on the topic of brothers and how charmingly annoying they were.
"It's not that I mind pets, but who do you think has to clean the cage?"
Liechtenstein's smile was very understanding. "At least my brother only keeps guns, and I'm not even allowed to touch them. But, he acts like I'm made of glass..."
"Be grateful," Germany grumbled, "mine used to use me for target practice and called it training."
"Yes, but he's going too far! I was going to have dinner with that sweet Greece boy, but Switzerland had heard some rumour and then, he just called him and cancelled everything! Just like that!"
Considering the rumours Germany had also heard, he couldn't quite blame him, but he nodded in sympathy and patted her on the shoulder.
"Does he complain if you dare tell him you like him, and then mope around if you leave him alone too?"
"Oh yes! But he loves gifts, at least."
"So does mine..."
"Really? I gave Switzerland a nightshirt once." She smiled shyly. "Do you want to see a picture?"
"Sure." Germany admired the image and refrained from mentioning how much like a girl Vash seemed with all those frills. He made a pretty cute girl, anyway.
"What do you give your brother, to cheer him up?"
"Mostly beer. Or food. Although," he dug for his wallet with the photo in, "I kinda let him raise a bear-cub once. He named it Knut."
"Ooh!"
10. Pfft, dead? - Prussia, Germany
1990
"But why do I get the small bedroom?"
West just gives you that look, that fondly exasperated one that tells you that although you've only been reunited for one year, your ungrateful little bastard of a brother is already contemplating shipping you back to Russia in a crate. Except, of course, you're not a wimp like Italy Veneziano, and there's no-fucking-anybody in the world who can squeeze you into a crate.
"We only have two bedrooms and the other one is mine," West points out, pinching his nose like he always does when he's worried. "Besides, I've seen your old apartment. Most of it could have fit in here."
"Yes, but," and you let your voice waver just a little, "that wasn't really... my apartment. I couldn't even lock the door." You swallow as if choking back old unshed tears. Refrain from mentioning that it was because you lost the key while drunk and after you broke the door open, couldn't be arsed to fix it again.
"And all my things, my diaries, my history... they weren't there."
West fidgets, smoothes his overgeled hair back and looks around with an ever-deepening frown.
"I- I guess that's true." The muscular shoulders slump a little more. "Maybe, ah, Sweden could help us build a new bathroom on the other side. Then we could move this wall?"
"Awesome, little brother!" You clap West on the back and smile at him, realising that the planned smirk of triumph has turned into something else, but not really caring.
1994
"God, brother, how can you drink this?" West shudders like a little girl and you squash the urge to smack his sissy Wessie ass.
"It's the taste of awesome! You're just too much of a wimp to admit it!"
"Tastes like battery acid," he murmurs, but tries another sip.
The Vita Cola has revived. Even if you know you were damn tired of the taste back in the eightes, and would gladly have traded a whole truckful of them for one bloody bottle of decadent, imperialistic Coca Cola... Right now, it tastes just right. Not too sweet, a little tangy and each mouthful is another memory of days that, in retrospect, weren't that bad. Whole lot better than the thirty years war, or the first world war (talk about a downer), and those crusades? Yeah, a bottle of Vita would have been just the thing when running around all of the Holy Land and getting sneered at by the Templar or shot at by Muslims.
"It grows on you," you insist, "give it a little while."
West looks sceptical, but he keeps on drinking, and so you pretend not to notice that he's sneaking increasing amounts of something high-proof into his glass.
"Yeah... Tastes pretty damn awesome, really," you murmur and remember red, red days.
2001
"I don't see why we have to change currencies again," you whine to the wavering image of West slouching on a bar stool. "S a good one, the D-Mark."
"Pro'ress," West mumbles, speaking as if his tongue is two sizes too large for his mouth. "The boss is very, very, very... Very."
He waves his empty beer glass at the bartender, who gives you a calculating glance. What he sees, two extremely inebriated brothers is enough to make him hesitate, but what you produce - a handful of crumpled, and soon-to-be worthless, D-marks - helps him make up his mind in the right direction.
"The bosses're always very," you proclaim and empty the last of your own beer before accepting another one. "Gotta stand up to them, West! Be a man, damnitall!"
"But's... supposed to be good for peace." West burps a little. "Sorry."
You forgive him with a imperial wave of your hand; what's a little burping between brothers? As long as he doesn't repeat the Incident where he puked on your twelfth-century armour, you're prepared to forgive most drunken mishaps. Besides, he's been gracious enough to forgive you when you fell asleep in the wrong bed, woke up with a fucking awful hangover, thought he was Russia and proceeded to kick him in the balls before he even managed a "Good morning" and that's pretty fucking decent of a man. Only one you ever forgave for kicking you in the balls was Hungary, and that's because she hadn't realised that just because her didn't hurt much, didn't mean that those of other guys did. Not, you reflect, that Hungary ever had balls, although her methawhatchamacallthemorical were awesomely huge.
"What?" you ask, realizing that West's slurring something to you, very earnestly and very difficult to understand.
"Last one," he promises, "last one for a while, bro'er." He lifts his fingers - no, wait, he only has one index finger, doesn't he?
"For West and East and Middle Germany... this is the one we'll keep. Yeah."
"...well, they've got a lot of pretty colours to pick from, at least."
2009
"Brother! BROTHER"
"Wha?" You stumble blearily from bed, narrowly missing to step on a yellow chick that chirps adorably at you. "Waaah!"
The panicked flailing is, admittedly, a little less than awesome, but at least you manage not to turn the fluffy bird into chick-pancake and you always considered that vase hideous anyway.
West storms into the room and only your lightning-fast reflexes (and perhaps the panicked shriek) stops him sweeping the door over the chick.
"Your birds," he growls, "have escaped. Again."
He's got two chicks sitting on his head, has three hens in his arms and the oldest dog comes trotting after with another two hen utilizing the Alsatian Taxi. It's too bloody cute and- ahaha, oh, the look on West's face! It's priceless, and you're digging for your cellphone before remembering that you're still in your pyjamas.
"What are you laughing at, brother?" West glares so well that you hardly even care that it's at you, and you can only laugh harder until you're almost in spasms on the floor, while the birds gather around you, clucking and chirping in slight worry.
"Are you alright?"
"Hahahaaaa!" You take a deep breath, trying to control yourself and nod. West worries so and it doesn't get easier when idiots like the yank open conversations with the words, 'So how 'bout your bro, Germany? Still ain't dead, huh?'.
You would have kicked his ass yourself, except England and France got there first. For once the old bastards even teamed up. That was kinda touching, but... Ah. It was also yesterday, so perhaps that's why West is looking at you as if he's about to cry?
"I'm fine, West, I'm just fucking fine." You give him a blinding smile and you must be looking exceptionally awesome today, even lying on the floor with chicks all around you, because West relaxes and almost smiles back a little.
"I guess nowadays even a chick can fell the mighty Prussia, huh?" he quips and you punch his leg playfully.
"They may fell me," you reply and jump to your feet, "but no-one can keep my awesomeness down!"
Your laughter mix together and when the dog joins in with happy barking, the chicks scatter and flutter everywhere and all in all, you know of worse ways to start a day.
ETA: Ah, I forgot one! Added now. ^_^;;
This is the (almost) work safe dump ;)
Nobody ever calls me - Sealand, other nations
[ring ring]
"Hello! This is the Principality of Sea-"
"Yeah, right, hi squirt."
"Hello Mr America! How are you-"
"Look, you've got England there? I need to talk to him urgently."
"...he's up at Uncle Scotland's today."
"What? They're arguing again? Okay, I'll try his cell."
"Bye!"
[click]
An hour later
[ring ring]
"Hi! This is the Pri-"
"This is the Federal Republic of Germany speaking. Please connect me to England."
"He's no-"
"It is very urgent!"
"Jerk England's not here!"
"Thank you for your assistance."
[click]
"...stupid Germany."
A little later
[ring ring]
"Yes, what?"
"Ve! Is Germany there?"
"Italy?"
"Germany?"
"No! I'm Sealand! And this is that jerk England's phone!"
"Veee~ Sorry, sorry, England!"
"No, look I'm Sealand!"
"I'll say hi to Germany from you!"
[click]
"Okay, you all suck!"
One minute later
[ring ring]
"ThisisSealandandnotthatJERKENGLANDsojustgoaway. And die."
"Pfft, is that any way to answer the phone, brat?"
"Huh?"
"Don't you recognize my awesome voice! It is I, the Kingdom of Prussia!"
"...you don't exist any more."
"Ahahaha! I'm here, aren't I? As long as I can be awesome, I am!"
"Heh. 'kay. Hi, Prussia. And I'm not England, in case you were confused."
"Course you're not. England would never want to come over and help me raid West's secret cake stash, while my macho brother is out trampling through mud and looking for your sheep-molesting relatives, would he? Now, you gonna come over for some awesome-cake or not?"
"I'll be right there! Don't eat it all before I arrive!"
"HAHAHA! Then you'd better hurry, brat!"
[click]
The cowboy rides again - America, England, Other nations
"Ohh, that's a wonderful pose, America! Hold it just a little bit longer!"
"It's a bit hard to hold a pose when you're on a bucking horse, Japan..." England groused. The next moment he continued yelling at America. "You're going to break your soddding NECK, you wanker!"
"Yehaaa!" America thundered past again, straw hat swinging in one hand while the other clutched the wild mustang's mane. "Go screw yourself, old man," he called, "this is life!"
England sputtered angrily, while Japan made an impressed sound and kept pressing the shutter of his expensive, high-speed camera.
The horse bucked even wilder and suddenly America was flying through the air. England screamed (not at all like a little girl, he would later insist) and ran over to America. Japan's smile turned slightly disturbing as he followed, camera still clutched in his hands.
"Hmpf," Germany said, arms crossed forbiddingly, "I told him that horses were no viable alternative to electric cars."
America cracked open an eye and waved off England's concern. "But they are so much cooler..."
This paradise island, this treacherous sea - France, Seychelles
"Aaahh!" France jumped at least three feet into the air and fell back into the water with a loud splash.
"It burned me!" he moaned and hurried out of the water, the rose in his hair drooping sadly. "Your water bit me!"
"Silly papa," Seychelles said, "that was just a little jellyfish."
"It was a huge ocean-monster," France muttered and plopped down on the beach. "I don't understand why you are so fond of all this water. It's so... unrefined. And full of Englishmen."
"Aww, poor papa," she also came up from the water, his brilliant little girl. Of course she had managed to catch three fish in the time it took him to stub his toe, utterly fail to catch anything edible on his own and get burned by a jellyfish.
"Let me bring some ointment for you."
"Non, non," France said, "it was mostly my pride that was stung."
And it was, the burning feeling was already fading. A lucky thing too, because he had heard that there were giant poison medusas in these seas that could kill a man with one sting.
"However, dear heart," he admitted, "I think I am simply not cut out for life as a fisherman. Ah, but 'tis nothing to shed tears about!" he added when her adorable face fell. "For I am a most excellent cook! If you catch the fish, I shall prepare it for you and then we can dine together."
"Oh, that sounds like a splendid idea, papa."
"My dear, you should know by now that your father's ideas are always splendid!"
Once Seychelles had caught enough to feed even the hungriest two nations in the world, they walked together towards her house. France, of course, insisted that he carry all the truly big fish since they were so very heavy.
That this gained him impressed glances from most of the locals had nothing to do with it whatsoever - and if several of them winked knowingly at the little girl trotting after him? Well, the sun was still shining, soon they would have fine French cuisine and what France didn't know, wouldn't hurt his pride in the least.
Family argument - The Baltics
When Lithuania comes to Estonia's house for their quarterly family dinner, nobody opens the door. Slightly puzzled, he knocks louder, then tries the handle. The sounds that meet him almost makes him wish he had taken up Poland on that offer to join him and the Czech Republic for a movie night. Alas, Lithuania let his duty get the better of him and so here he is, with what sounds like a full-blown family row at his hands.
Latvia's face is red as he struggles to put on a coat and Estonia looks unusually stern, arms crossed and glasses gleaming dangerously.
"You're mean!" Lithuania's youngest brother cries, though he trembles and stutters pitifully all the while. "I ddidn't say I wanted to go back to Ru- Russia!"
"You said it was easier beneath him!" Estonia says, sneering at the trembling nation. "Coward!"
"Estonia! Latvia!" Lithuania tries to go between, to calm them down, but they only turn to him and ask for his support in a flurry of tears and long harangues.
"I didn't! I didn't!" Latvia keeps blubbering while Estonia's lecture rises in volume until Lithuania thinks his head will split.
"Would you just shut up!" he finally screams at his brother, and has the fleeting pleasure of seeing the usually composed Balt fall silent. He hugs Latvia close and shushes him, feeling his body tremble violently in his arms.
"Calm down," Lithuania sighs, "please?"
"He started it," Estonia mutters. Latvia only shakes his head and whimpers.
"What were you even arguing about?"
"We were discussing the economic crisis, like independent and responsible nations," Estonia explains. "Then, he had the gall to say that he had preferred it beneath Russia, just because he didn't have to handle his own crises!"
"'s not true. Only said simpler..."
"Come on, tell us what you meant, hmm, Latvia?"
His younger brother finally manages a few words and he nods in agreement, recognizing his own conflicted emotions.
"He's right, you know," he finally says to Estonia. "It was simpler back then." Lithuania closes his eyes. "Nobody had anything and none of us had any say - how could it have been more difficult than today, when everyone has too many opinions and options?"
Estonia huffs and shakes his head. "But we are free!"
"I know."
Latvia swallows and scrounges up some more courage. "F- f- freedom is also hard."
God yes. "Especially when there's a global crisis," Lithuania agrees.
"...but I still like it better. Even when it is more difficult."
Estonia is silent and he an Lithuania share a look, before he shrugs. "See, now, if you could just have told me that at once..."
"We can discuss the details over dinner," Lithuania interjects quickly and herds his troublesome siblings toward the kitchen. "What are we making?"
Really, he thinks, it was simpler in some ways under Russia. Nobody dared to argue back then. But, as Estonia begins peeling potatoes and Latvia furtively pokes his tongue out at his brother's back, Lithuania agrees in his heart that this time, the more difficult option is infinitely better than the alternative.
Learning the piano - Austria, Germany
Germany stared at the score. He knew the names of all the notes, how to draw them and read them. He had a perfect theoretical knowledge of how they were supposed to sound.
"See, it is not so difficult," Austria concluded his latest lecture on the art of playing the piano with a small demonstration.
Cold sweat broke out on Germany's brow.
"Now, do you think you could try to play that one?" For once, Austria looked at him with an almost friendly smile.
"Yes. Maybe." Germany nodded. God, where was his interfering brother when you needed him?
Austria helped him place his fingers, telling him to press once, just to get a feel for it. Germany did so. Nothing had exploded so far...
"Go on then, play the tune I just showed you," he was urged. "Don't be afraid to make mistakes, they are part of the learning procedure."
"Ah, yes." Germany bit his lips and stared at the piano, feeling as if the keys were dozens of malevolent eyes just waiting for him to fail.
It wasn't as if he was tone-deaf, he tried to tell himself, he could recognize tunes quite well. When, and this was the important part, someone else played them.
Germany's fingers, feeling like packages of frozen sausage, moved clumsily and the piano clinked out, well, call it 'a tune' and be kind.
"I see..." Austria pushed back his glasses and patted the piano carefully. Probably, Germany thought with bitterness, to make sure he had not killed it.
"And that was supposed to be 'Baa Baa Black Sheep', according to you?"
He wondered if it would be more or less humiliating to admit that he had been aiming for Frère Jacques.
The sound of his laughter - Italy, Germany, puppies
Italy had a whole mental catalogue of German facial expressions. There were the many kinds of angry, upset and disappointed. Those didn't make him very happy, but he prided himself on having come quite a long way when it came to finding appropriate remedies for each one.
There were the proud, pleased and accomplished ones. He liked them, especially the rare and precious times those looks were directed at him. Even if they weren't, he still loved watching Germany work on something.
If only he could learn to have a bit more patience, because before Germany allowed himself to feel proud of his work, he wanted to be at least almost finished and before that he tended to look so very stern and forbidding that Italy began to babble and tease him and, unfortunately, this rarely produced a pleased look and more one of those "why am I friends with this nation again?" stares and those... those kind of scared Italy. A lot.
He didn't mind the "why have I been saddled with this accursed brother of mine?" or the "God help the EU, am I the only one to take things seriously anymore?" looks quite as much. Because, after those Germany would usually come to Italy and, while never quite asking for comfort and reassurance, he ate more pasta than usual and very slowly, he would begin to relax. Sometimes they even played football and then Italy would get to see Germany's very secret playtime face.
That one usually only came out when he was out running with his dogs or making pretty cakes. Although once, Italy could swear he'd seen a glimpse of a similar, but subtly different one, when his hair got stuck in a chandelier while at Austria's party and a slightly tipsy Germany had to help him get it untangled.
But, no, no, don't go there! Because thoughts of his hair and Germany tended to remind him of the one catalogue that was entirely empty so far and he wasn't at all certain what to do about filling it with memories. If he even wanted it filled with memories, but it was okay if it was for scientific purposes, wasn't it? That was, after all, what big brother France always claimed...
This look, however, this was completely new.
And for once, Italy felt no need whatsoever to interrupt, to change the look or turn it his way or do anything but plop down right where he was standing (ouch, hard threshold! next time, plop slower) and just admire it.
Because Germany was playing with four half-grown puppies, being soundly defeated by them in an all out battle of doggy-kisses and clumsy wrestling, and he was laughing loudly despite his apparent defeat.
His face was so beautifully carefree and happy that Italy knew it would be terribly unfair to the world, to stick this image into a hidden album that nobody else would ever see. Although he had a feeling that if he ever showed the portrait called Joy to anyone but Germany, he'd be getting the lecture to end all lectures.
But that was okay, Italy thought and petted the puppy that came over. Germany looked at him, hesitating for a moment, but then the remaining three dogs resumed their attacks and he just shook his head and laughed again, and Italy knew then that he didn't mind at all, that this could be their little secret and it was beautiful.
The Wurstwandlung - Italy, Kafka pastiche
One morning, when Italy Veneziano woke from pastafilled dreams,
he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic wurst.
He lay on his soft back, and if he lifted his head a little he could
see his wrinkly belly, slightly bent and showing marks of grilling.
The bedding was hardly able to cover his new elongated body
and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His legs had moulded
together and the wurst-rosette that were his feet looked pitifully
unable to carry him, waving about helplessly as he looked.
"Ve, what's happened to me?" he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room,
a proper Italian room with tomato plants in the window-sill and
football posters on the wall, lay peacefully inside its familiar borders.
A collection of pasta samples were spread out on the table
- Italy was a gourmand - and above it there hung a picture that he
had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.
It showed a German fitted out with a cap and a iron cross who sat
upright on a tank, the muzzle of which covered the whole of his lower
leg and pointed accusingly towards the viewer.
Dazzling dress - Poland, Latvia
"But it's, like, so you."
"N- n- no!" Latvia shuddered and tried to escape from Poland. Why couldn't he go back to teasing Lithuania again?
"But babe, you'd look so sweet in this." Poland shook the sparkly turquoise fabric in front of Latvia, probably hoping that it looked tempting.
"I'm totally not able to carry it off," he sighed sadly, "and it cost, like, a fortune!"
"Then give, give it ttto another na- nation!" Latvia protested. Suddenly, his eyes grew wider. "H- Hun- Hu-"
"Hungary? Are you, like, completely wacky?" Poland pressed the fabric into his hands. "Look at this! The shine, the colour, the way it'll like accentuate your slim hips; it was made for you? But Hungary..." He shook his head and hid a giggle behind a well-manicured hand. "She'd like utterly ruin it, precious! Besides, it's not her colour atall."
"Hu- Hungary!" Latvia managed to squeak while he continued to back away from Poland, who was now sporting an almost deranged grin.
"Tsk, she'd totally look like a beached whale in this, toots, and I'm like not trying to diss the whales or anything. Now!" He grabbed Latvia's jacked and tried to unhook the buttons with one hand, while pulling the dress over the struggling blond with the other. "Like, stand still!"
"Poland," came a cool voice from behind him. "And here I thought that there was only one moron in this world who'd dare imply that I am... Not of a perfect weight."
Not letting go of his prisoner, Poland turned around and smiled. "Oh, hey, Hungary! Do you like, maybe want to help me with Latvia's dress? Eh..."
Of brothers - Germany, Liechtenstein
"And he calls them Gilbirds?"
Germany nodded. Somehow or other, during a recess in a world meeting, he run into Liechtenstein. They had come in on the topic of brothers and how charmingly annoying they were.
"It's not that I mind pets, but who do you think has to clean the cage?"
Liechtenstein's smile was very understanding. "At least my brother only keeps guns, and I'm not even allowed to touch them. But, he acts like I'm made of glass..."
"Be grateful," Germany grumbled, "mine used to use me for target practice and called it training."
"Yes, but he's going too far! I was going to have dinner with that sweet Greece boy, but Switzerland had heard some rumour and then, he just called him and cancelled everything! Just like that!"
Considering the rumours Germany had also heard, he couldn't quite blame him, but he nodded in sympathy and patted her on the shoulder.
"Does he complain if you dare tell him you like him, and then mope around if you leave him alone too?"
"Oh yes! But he loves gifts, at least."
"So does mine..."
"Really? I gave Switzerland a nightshirt once." She smiled shyly. "Do you want to see a picture?"
"Sure." Germany admired the image and refrained from mentioning how much like a girl Vash seemed with all those frills. He made a pretty cute girl, anyway.
"What do you give your brother, to cheer him up?"
"Mostly beer. Or food. Although," he dug for his wallet with the photo in, "I kinda let him raise a bear-cub once. He named it Knut."
"Ooh!"
10. Pfft, dead? - Prussia, Germany
1990
"But why do I get the small bedroom?"
West just gives you that look, that fondly exasperated one that tells you that although you've only been reunited for one year, your ungrateful little bastard of a brother is already contemplating shipping you back to Russia in a crate. Except, of course, you're not a wimp like Italy Veneziano, and there's no-fucking-anybody in the world who can squeeze you into a crate.
"We only have two bedrooms and the other one is mine," West points out, pinching his nose like he always does when he's worried. "Besides, I've seen your old apartment. Most of it could have fit in here."
"Yes, but," and you let your voice waver just a little, "that wasn't really... my apartment. I couldn't even lock the door." You swallow as if choking back old unshed tears. Refrain from mentioning that it was because you lost the key while drunk and after you broke the door open, couldn't be arsed to fix it again.
"And all my things, my diaries, my history... they weren't there."
West fidgets, smoothes his overgeled hair back and looks around with an ever-deepening frown.
"I- I guess that's true." The muscular shoulders slump a little more. "Maybe, ah, Sweden could help us build a new bathroom on the other side. Then we could move this wall?"
"Awesome, little brother!" You clap West on the back and smile at him, realising that the planned smirk of triumph has turned into something else, but not really caring.
1994
"God, brother, how can you drink this?" West shudders like a little girl and you squash the urge to smack his sissy Wessie ass.
"It's the taste of awesome! You're just too much of a wimp to admit it!"
"Tastes like battery acid," he murmurs, but tries another sip.
The Vita Cola has revived. Even if you know you were damn tired of the taste back in the eightes, and would gladly have traded a whole truckful of them for one bloody bottle of decadent, imperialistic Coca Cola... Right now, it tastes just right. Not too sweet, a little tangy and each mouthful is another memory of days that, in retrospect, weren't that bad. Whole lot better than the thirty years war, or the first world war (talk about a downer), and those crusades? Yeah, a bottle of Vita would have been just the thing when running around all of the Holy Land and getting sneered at by the Templar or shot at by Muslims.
"It grows on you," you insist, "give it a little while."
West looks sceptical, but he keeps on drinking, and so you pretend not to notice that he's sneaking increasing amounts of something high-proof into his glass.
"Yeah... Tastes pretty damn awesome, really," you murmur and remember red, red days.
2001
"I don't see why we have to change currencies again," you whine to the wavering image of West slouching on a bar stool. "S a good one, the D-Mark."
"Pro'ress," West mumbles, speaking as if his tongue is two sizes too large for his mouth. "The boss is very, very, very... Very."
He waves his empty beer glass at the bartender, who gives you a calculating glance. What he sees, two extremely inebriated brothers is enough to make him hesitate, but what you produce - a handful of crumpled, and soon-to-be worthless, D-marks - helps him make up his mind in the right direction.
"The bosses're always very," you proclaim and empty the last of your own beer before accepting another one. "Gotta stand up to them, West! Be a man, damnitall!"
"But's... supposed to be good for peace." West burps a little. "Sorry."
You forgive him with a imperial wave of your hand; what's a little burping between brothers? As long as he doesn't repeat the Incident where he puked on your twelfth-century armour, you're prepared to forgive most drunken mishaps. Besides, he's been gracious enough to forgive you when you fell asleep in the wrong bed, woke up with a fucking awful hangover, thought he was Russia and proceeded to kick him in the balls before he even managed a "Good morning" and that's pretty fucking decent of a man. Only one you ever forgave for kicking you in the balls was Hungary, and that's because she hadn't realised that just because her didn't hurt much, didn't mean that those of other guys did. Not, you reflect, that Hungary ever had balls, although her methawhatchamacallthemorical were awesomely huge.
"What?" you ask, realizing that West's slurring something to you, very earnestly and very difficult to understand.
"Last one," he promises, "last one for a while, bro'er." He lifts his fingers - no, wait, he only has one index finger, doesn't he?
"For West and East and Middle Germany... this is the one we'll keep. Yeah."
"...well, they've got a lot of pretty colours to pick from, at least."
2009
"Brother! BROTHER"
"Wha?" You stumble blearily from bed, narrowly missing to step on a yellow chick that chirps adorably at you. "Waaah!"
The panicked flailing is, admittedly, a little less than awesome, but at least you manage not to turn the fluffy bird into chick-pancake and you always considered that vase hideous anyway.
West storms into the room and only your lightning-fast reflexes (and perhaps the panicked shriek) stops him sweeping the door over the chick.
"Your birds," he growls, "have escaped. Again."
He's got two chicks sitting on his head, has three hens in his arms and the oldest dog comes trotting after with another two hen utilizing the Alsatian Taxi. It's too bloody cute and- ahaha, oh, the look on West's face! It's priceless, and you're digging for your cellphone before remembering that you're still in your pyjamas.
"What are you laughing at, brother?" West glares so well that you hardly even care that it's at you, and you can only laugh harder until you're almost in spasms on the floor, while the birds gather around you, clucking and chirping in slight worry.
"Are you alright?"
"Hahahaaaa!" You take a deep breath, trying to control yourself and nod. West worries so and it doesn't get easier when idiots like the yank open conversations with the words, 'So how 'bout your bro, Germany? Still ain't dead, huh?'.
You would have kicked his ass yourself, except England and France got there first. For once the old bastards even teamed up. That was kinda touching, but... Ah. It was also yesterday, so perhaps that's why West is looking at you as if he's about to cry?
"I'm fine, West, I'm just fucking fine." You give him a blinding smile and you must be looking exceptionally awesome today, even lying on the floor with chicks all around you, because West relaxes and almost smiles back a little.
"I guess nowadays even a chick can fell the mighty Prussia, huh?" he quips and you punch his leg playfully.
"They may fell me," you reply and jump to your feet, "but no-one can keep my awesomeness down!"
Your laughter mix together and when the dog joins in with happy barking, the chicks scatter and flutter everywhere and all in all, you know of worse ways to start a day.
ETA: Ah, I forgot one! Added now. ^_^;;
no subject
I also really liked the way you portrayed N. Italy. "The sound of his laughter" might just have been my favorite. It absolutely melted me.
Incredible job. Thank you for these.
no subject
The German brothers are my favorites, but since most of these were written for prompts, I got a lot of different characters... Good training in trying new things! Although some are really tricky to write
no subject
But really, I should have known by now ♥
no subject
I reacted pretty much exactly like anon to those kink-meme fics (that is - BAWWWWW!) so it was a bit of self-healing really...
no subject
*takes a deep breath*
Sorry 'bout the yelling. I just... had to get that out.
The other ones have been awesome as well. :3 I loved the last one for well-known (and probably aforementioned reasons), but the one with the puppies. A must. Must be more of it.
...If only I could write puppies...
thank you!
Re: thank you!
And damn, I can't even write reactions like that. ;^; Really, kids are easier than that, I can make them sweet bastards all the time, but puppies? They're completely imprevedibile. @.@
Re: thank you!
Although I have noticed that many fics don't even mention Germany having dogs... I always try to write where they are
out of the way during sexytimesbecause I can't imagine Germany just forgetting his dogs. Especially not if he's planning to jump Italy or Prussia or whomever I write him withThree big dogs wanting attention = bad for the seduction. Really
Re: thank you!
Oh yeah... I can imagine that.
Oh, the porn I have seen on the internet.The poor dogs though... And I still wish there were more stories with them. I DO wonder about the kink-meme though, but I feel kinda reluctant weeding through the posts. xDRe: thank you!
haven't seen... hm, hardly anything about that.
oh! but but I saw this lovely fanart of what Germany liked to do to relax. It was clean, bake cakes and walk his dogs
Prussia likes to relax by bothering Germany XD
unfortunately, it's saved on my other comp
Re: thank you!
And god, your overthinking is so cute, and I can totally see him fuzzing over stuff like that while trying to do sexy things: 'Did I turn off the stove?' 'Did I feed and lock up the dogs?' '...Do I have enough condoms?'
...Thank god my porn-muses prohibit such thoughts. ^^;
Re: thank you!
There, it helps to pair him with Prussia. Who'll be like "whatEVER, we've thrown the dogs out, I smashed the stove and we're near-immortals who can't get pregnant so forget the condoms let's bloody fuck already!"
Or Italy, who'll take a siesta first and give Germany plenty of time to prepare ^_^
Re: thank you!
Though I can still see Germany argue with him until Prussia snaps and just fucks him. ^^;
Re: thank you!
*adds to rapidly multiplying plotbunny pile*
oh, and I totally agree that they somehow balance each other
Re: thank you!
I can't write kids at all *shudder* I'm so glad there aren't any in Hetalia, except Chibitalia, because they don't really act like normal kids anyway
Re: thank you!
no subject
... this is sad!anon deanoning and telling you again how much it cheered me up, seriously. (I don't seem to be able to stomach two heart-breaking Prussia deathfics in a row without somebody providing counter-fluff. :'D) Thank you so much!
Loved all the other drabbles in this and the other entry, too.
Maybe Germany'd be able to learn the piano if Austria used similar teaching methods on him like on Turkey and Prussia? 8)♥ ♥
I am such a total wuss that I 1) cried for those fics 2) wrote this ficlet, and started another, where he SURVIVES DAMMIT
...strangely enough, Germany+Austria are two nations whom I feel no sexual tension between. Especially not from Germany's side
I think he'd mostly be horrible embarrased or something ^^;;