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Poland/Ukraine - hatesex.
Poland trying to reign in pissed off Confederate!Ukraine and failing miserably, and Ukraine showing her loud, angry side and generally giving as good as she gets. Poland can use domestic violence if anon wants, but Ukraine has to hit first or at least hit back. Bonus points if neither of them successfully tops and the whole thing is just a messuntil Russia steps in, and it gets worse.
Poland trying to reign in pissed off Confederate!Ukraine and failing miserably, and Ukraine showing her loud, angry side and generally giving as good as she gets. Poland can use domestic violence if anon wants, but Ukraine has to hit first or at least hit back. Bonus points if neither of them successfully tops and the whole thing is just a mess
It just occurs to the OP that anon probably wants some background for this, whut. Wiki has this to say: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confederation_of_Bar
*has no idea how accurate this article is, having not read it >.>*
That said, if there's any confusion, anon can ask OP~ ^_^
*has no idea how accurate this article is, having not read it >.>*
That said, if there's any confusion, anon can ask OP~ ^_^
Okay, I know this really isn't a kink... but I thought of it awhile ago and it hasn't left my mind since.
...PANGEA...
Ya know, when everyone was stuck together on one big landmass? I don't care how it's done-- but it MUST be done! ...please?
...PANGEA...
Ya know, when everyone was stuck together on one big landmass? I don't care how it's done-- but it MUST be done! ...please?
"PANGEEAAA!!!!"
She turned and put down the basket of washing she had been hanging up to dry. The centre of the garden was always the warmest place to be.
Kneeling down, she scooped the baby into her arms as he continued wailing. He was certainly a long way from his part of the house, she thought, rocking the brunette as he yelled.
Another toddler came running up to her ankles, pouting furiously, dark hair swinging., dark skin shining in the bright sun.
"I've told him befooorrreee!!!" the toddler yelled over the brunette child's cries, "He's not allowed in my room!"
She sighed and took the stick from the dark-skinned toddler who pouted furiously again, but gave her ankles a quick hug before running off.
Turning away from her 200 pairs of socks hanging on the washing line, she strode across the garden and back into the house as the yelling brunette subsided into quiet sobs.
Making her way through the corridors, she took glances either side, seeing cots with sleeping babies, and more toddlers.
She smiled, hearing quiet gurgling and the shakes of rattles all around.
By the time they reached the brunette baby’s room, he was fast asleep in her arms. Small hair curl quivering as he breathed.
While she tucked him up in his cot, she glanced over at the other cot in the room, where this toddler’s brother sat, staring out the bars at her. She laughed, quietly, and was reminded slightly of one of the other children, who always sat and stared. He was in one of the coldest rooms, and Pangaea was always slightly worried to leave that boy. But the scarf she had made for him helped, and he was always wearing it.
Going over to the other cot, she settled the other baby before checking her watch and, scooping her dark hair back, she sighed. It was time to do the rounds again.
Day in, day out, Pangaea would make over 200 bottles of milk and take them to every baby in her house. She couldn’t remember exactly when this had all started, and her home became more like a giant crèche, but she knew that before, she had been lonely. So desperately lonely.
The vast expanse of a mansion was scary for a baby girl, and she had stayed in the centre of the house where it was warmest for as long as possible.
Slowly, though, as she grew, something changed. And it seemed as if all at once she was mother figure to around 200 babies and toddlers. Sometimes she would be doing the rounds with the bottles, and unexpectedly walk into another room, which she could have sworn was not there yesterday, and there was always another baby, crying for her attention and care.
Pangaea didn’t mind. She loved them all, they kept her busy, kept her happy. She knew that she had to raise them right. And though she never spoke a word, the babies understood her.
Only a couple of the children could talk. One was the dark skinned boy who had been beating up the brunette boy earlier and the other was...
Of course, she grinned, there was that one with the black hair, who seemed to only be only capable of one word. Aru.
She turned and put down the basket of washing she had been hanging up to dry. The centre of the garden was always the warmest place to be.
Kneeling down, she scooped the baby into her arms as he continued wailing. He was certainly a long way from his part of the house, she thought, rocking the brunette as he yelled.
Another toddler came running up to her ankles, pouting furiously, dark hair swinging., dark skin shining in the bright sun.
"I've told him befooorrreee!!!" the toddler yelled over the brunette child's cries, "He's not allowed in my room!"
She sighed and took the stick from the dark-skinned toddler who pouted furiously again, but gave her ankles a quick hug before running off.
Turning away from her 200 pairs of socks hanging on the washing line, she strode across the garden and back into the house as the yelling brunette subsided into quiet sobs.
Making her way through the corridors, she took glances either side, seeing cots with sleeping babies, and more toddlers.
She smiled, hearing quiet gurgling and the shakes of rattles all around.
By the time they reached the brunette baby’s room, he was fast asleep in her arms. Small hair curl quivering as he breathed.
While she tucked him up in his cot, she glanced over at the other cot in the room, where this toddler’s brother sat, staring out the bars at her. She laughed, quietly, and was reminded slightly of one of the other children, who always sat and stared. He was in one of the coldest rooms, and Pangaea was always slightly worried to leave that boy. But the scarf she had made for him helped, and he was always wearing it.
Going over to the other cot, she settled the other baby before checking her watch and, scooping her dark hair back, she sighed. It was time to do the rounds again.
Day in, day out, Pangaea would make over 200 bottles of milk and take them to every baby in her house. She couldn’t remember exactly when this had all started, and her home became more like a giant crèche, but she knew that before, she had been lonely. So desperately lonely.
The vast expanse of a mansion was scary for a baby girl, and she had stayed in the centre of the house where it was warmest for as long as possible.
Slowly, though, as she grew, something changed. And it seemed as if all at once she was mother figure to around 200 babies and toddlers. Sometimes she would be doing the rounds with the bottles, and unexpectedly walk into another room, which she could have sworn was not there yesterday, and there was always another baby, crying for her attention and care.
Pangaea didn’t mind. She loved them all, they kept her busy, kept her happy. She knew that she had to raise them right. And though she never spoke a word, the babies understood her.
Only a couple of the children could talk. One was the dark skinned boy who had been beating up the brunette boy earlier and the other was...
Of course, she grinned, there was that one with the black hair, who seemed to only be only capable of one word. Aru.
Lithuania/Poland, after Tannenberg.
Kill me with sweet partnership fluff and gentle sex, anon! <3
Kill me with sweet partnership fluff and gentle sex, anon! <3
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5045975#t5045975
Continuously being over-shadowed and chasing after things he will never get, Canada is tired of being non-existent and basically tries to erase himself from the world.
You got it. Suicidal!Canada.
I do realize that there is a similar request in Part II, but this request is inspired from that!
Canada will die in this fic and so will his people and land. :'( and when everyone finds out, it is already too late.
... please? ♥
recaptcha: lowly officials
You got it. Suicidal!Canada.
I do realize that there is a similar request in Part II, but this request is inspired from that!
Canada will die in this fic and so will his people and land. :'( and when everyone finds out, it is already too late.
... please? ♥
recaptcha: lowly officials
I think that the way a country would kill itself would probably start off as murder rates going up, then suicide rates, then small horrible disasters happen (could be anything not just natural) then finaly something REALLY horrible happens which causes many people to die and anyone that survived to move somewhere else, and thus the country in a way, kills itself.
That's pretty depressing :(
That's pretty depressing :(
Unrequited Prussia/Germany- Prussia finds out about Germany's engagement to Italy.
Bonus: Mentioned Russia/Prussia
Bonus: Mentioned Russia/Prussia
The last Prussia sees of Germany is as they both fight back to back in the grimy streets of Berlin, wearing their red arm bands but not really believing in them anymore. They’re both hungry and tired, and Ludwig is losing his concentration through the roar of French and English in his ears, even though Gilbert can only hear Russian.
Then, there’s an explosion from a bomb, and when Gilbert emerges from the rubble his brother is gone from behind him. He turns around to see Ivan standing there instead. Prussia feels his blood freeze and thinks fleetingly, before he is knocked out, that those American bastards had better not hurt his younger brother, or he won’t rest until he finds a way to somehow collectively rape the Allied forces, make them all his bitches and send them to hell.
“Welcome,” Russia says as he gradually awakens, “to the Soviet Union.”
Prussia will remember the smile on Ivan’s face for the rest of his life.
-
“…Hello, Mister…Germany.”
Prussia squints down at the midget in uniform with acid in his eyes.
“…I…I…I think it’s great. That you’ve come to live with…with us.”
Estonia reads his newspaper cautiously across the table while Lithuania cooks over the stove. They both flinch at Latvia’s words.
“…I don’t really think that Mr Prussia wanted to hear that, Latvia,” Estonia says delicately, finally smiling at the tall German in their kitchen. Lithuania brings out a pot of some sort of watery stew that smells like old Kraut, places it on the table and serves it without raising his gaze from the table. Gilbert doesn’t touch his bowl.
When Lithuania wordlessly excuses himself after only a few bites, Estonia and Latvia share a look. “What?” Gilbert demands savagely, fists clenched and fed up with the softly-softly-eggshells air that permeates the house. “What?”
Latvia opens his mouth and seems to wilt, half from fear and half from sadness. Estonia hushes him, but it’s too late.
“Poland.”
Oh.
Silence reigns until Latvia pushes his bowl away. He gives him a pathetic, friendly look. “Mr Russia isn’t around all the time.” Well, duh. Then, his expression brightens. “But…but he might visit you tonight! It’s fine-he….he just sometimes gets lonely. That’s all.”
Latvia skips out as if he is the herald of some good news. Estonia unwittingly meets his eye. “He visits? Like one of those stupid kids who can’t sleep without their mummy?”
“No.” The Baltic nation considers for a moment. “I’d say more like a mother who can’t sleep without her children.”
-
The first few months, Gilbert dreams. His dreams are of Old Fritz, the Rhine and the Lorelei; the beauty of vineyards in the west; the smells and sounds of the beer halls in München; the wild surrounds of Lake Konstanz in the south. When America and his lapdogs come to the border in Berlin, Gilbert catches a fleeting glance of Ludwig, who looks tired but well kept, and wonders if his Brother misses the splendor of Dresden. Then he remembers that Dresden is a bombshell, and there’s nothing really left to wonder about.
In 1948, Ivan catches his fingers as they try to reach out for Ludwig’s shoulder. He doesn't even mean to- his hand moves of its own accord- but Ivan still catches him and twists. There’s a sickening pop, but Gilbert just pulls away with muttered curse words and eyes that would melt glass. Ivan thinks that they should stop meeting America and his friends now, because they don’t understand Russia’s way of rebuilding Germany, and Ludwig is going to be changing anyway, and he’s sure that Gilbert doesn’t want to see him again like that.
He moves the pipe from his left hand to his right as he says this, and that’s that.
-
Then, there’s an explosion from a bomb, and when Gilbert emerges from the rubble his brother is gone from behind him. He turns around to see Ivan standing there instead. Prussia feels his blood freeze and thinks fleetingly, before he is knocked out, that those American bastards had better not hurt his younger brother, or he won’t rest until he finds a way to somehow collectively rape the Allied forces, make them all his bitches and send them to hell.
“Welcome,” Russia says as he gradually awakens, “to the Soviet Union.”
Prussia will remember the smile on Ivan’s face for the rest of his life.
-
“…Hello, Mister…Germany.”
Prussia squints down at the midget in uniform with acid in his eyes.
“…I…I…I think it’s great. That you’ve come to live with…with us.”
Estonia reads his newspaper cautiously across the table while Lithuania cooks over the stove. They both flinch at Latvia’s words.
“…I don’t really think that Mr Prussia wanted to hear that, Latvia,” Estonia says delicately, finally smiling at the tall German in their kitchen. Lithuania brings out a pot of some sort of watery stew that smells like old Kraut, places it on the table and serves it without raising his gaze from the table. Gilbert doesn’t touch his bowl.
When Lithuania wordlessly excuses himself after only a few bites, Estonia and Latvia share a look. “What?” Gilbert demands savagely, fists clenched and fed up with the softly-softly-eggshells air that permeates the house. “What?”
Latvia opens his mouth and seems to wilt, half from fear and half from sadness. Estonia hushes him, but it’s too late.
“Poland.”
Oh.
Silence reigns until Latvia pushes his bowl away. He gives him a pathetic, friendly look. “Mr Russia isn’t around all the time.” Well, duh. Then, his expression brightens. “But…but he might visit you tonight! It’s fine-he….he just sometimes gets lonely. That’s all.”
Latvia skips out as if he is the herald of some good news. Estonia unwittingly meets his eye. “He visits? Like one of those stupid kids who can’t sleep without their mummy?”
“No.” The Baltic nation considers for a moment. “I’d say more like a mother who can’t sleep without her children.”
-
The first few months, Gilbert dreams. His dreams are of Old Fritz, the Rhine and the Lorelei; the beauty of vineyards in the west; the smells and sounds of the beer halls in München; the wild surrounds of Lake Konstanz in the south. When America and his lapdogs come to the border in Berlin, Gilbert catches a fleeting glance of Ludwig, who looks tired but well kept, and wonders if his Brother misses the splendor of Dresden. Then he remembers that Dresden is a bombshell, and there’s nothing really left to wonder about.
In 1948, Ivan catches his fingers as they try to reach out for Ludwig’s shoulder. He doesn't even mean to- his hand moves of its own accord- but Ivan still catches him and twists. There’s a sickening pop, but Gilbert just pulls away with muttered curse words and eyes that would melt glass. Ivan thinks that they should stop meeting America and his friends now, because they don’t understand Russia’s way of rebuilding Germany, and Ludwig is going to be changing anyway, and he’s sure that Gilbert doesn’t want to see him again like that.
He moves the pipe from his left hand to his right as he says this, and that’s that.
-
Austria using musical terminology during/to describe sex (like crescendo, telling his partner to be quiet by saying pianissimo, anything like that).
Can be paired with anyone,or alone, Anon doesn't want to be too picky! (Human or country names don't matter either.)
I hope this hasn't been requested before...
Can be paired with anyone,
I hope this hasn't been requested before...
So...I went with German, because its the language of love....raw, gutteral, face-twisting love. Also, I apologize for the fail!porn *hides*
****
The door shut not-so firmly behind Austria. It would be beneath him to go around slamming doors, especially every single time Prussia attempted to push his buttons. Tonight, it was particularly tempting to open the door again with the express purpose of slamming it shut. Hopefully in his face. Austria could never remember a time when he was this worked up. Of course he didn’t show it outwardly, it would be undignified. But inwardly, he was burning.
He contemplated the fact that Prussia came over. Again. Uninvited. For the third time this week since Elizaveta went to visit a friend. The indigo eyed nation placed the lit candle he was carrying on the bedside table, and then moved to his closet. He unbuttoned his blue coat, hanging it neatly in the closet next to all the other hung neatly there. His skin was hot, something he was not used to; arousal was a different feeling with Elizaveta. Arousal. He pushed the word out of his mind. All because of him. Thinking about the incident made his discomfort worsen.
The incident in question had only happened moments before, in the parlor. Austria had been reading over a new score, sipping his tea in silence when Prussia had burst in, tracking mud from God only knows where and insisting on God only knows what. Prussia had taken his score to get his attention, so he got up to get it back, and somehow had gotten trapped between the annoying red-violet eyed nation and the piano. Prussia’s gloved hand had gotten dangerously close to Mariazell when it wound its way behind his head to pull him close.
Their breath mingled between them. Prussia moved his head, angling it for a kiss.
“Please let me go.” The Prussian looked at him, smirked and dropped his hands.
Smartly, he didn’t follow when Austria picked up the since discarded score, placed it neatly on the table, and walked out without another word.
Now in his room, removed his cravat since it was hard to breathe, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, putting everything in its proper place in his closet
He walked to the upright piano in the corner of his room (complete with score paper and pen for midnight epiphanies), cheeks flushing with the mental image of himself from moments ago, the piano, and him. He sat on the bench to remove his boots, standing them upright next to the wall. He sat in the semi-darkness and willed his mind to forget about warm gloved hands in his hair, the scent of German beer, and a particular muscular frame that held him against his beloved piano.
****
The door shut not-so firmly behind Austria. It would be beneath him to go around slamming doors, especially every single time Prussia attempted to push his buttons. Tonight, it was particularly tempting to open the door again with the express purpose of slamming it shut. Hopefully in his face. Austria could never remember a time when he was this worked up. Of course he didn’t show it outwardly, it would be undignified. But inwardly, he was burning.
He contemplated the fact that Prussia came over. Again. Uninvited. For the third time this week since Elizaveta went to visit a friend. The indigo eyed nation placed the lit candle he was carrying on the bedside table, and then moved to his closet. He unbuttoned his blue coat, hanging it neatly in the closet next to all the other hung neatly there. His skin was hot, something he was not used to; arousal was a different feeling with Elizaveta. Arousal. He pushed the word out of his mind. All because of him. Thinking about the incident made his discomfort worsen.
The incident in question had only happened moments before, in the parlor. Austria had been reading over a new score, sipping his tea in silence when Prussia had burst in, tracking mud from God only knows where and insisting on God only knows what. Prussia had taken his score to get his attention, so he got up to get it back, and somehow had gotten trapped between the annoying red-violet eyed nation and the piano. Prussia’s gloved hand had gotten dangerously close to Mariazell when it wound its way behind his head to pull him close.
Their breath mingled between them. Prussia moved his head, angling it for a kiss.
“Please let me go.” The Prussian looked at him, smirked and dropped his hands.
Smartly, he didn’t follow when Austria picked up the since discarded score, placed it neatly on the table, and walked out without another word.
Now in his room, removed his cravat since it was hard to breathe, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, putting everything in its proper place in his closet
He walked to the upright piano in the corner of his room (complete with score paper and pen for midnight epiphanies), cheeks flushing with the mental image of himself from moments ago, the piano, and him. He sat on the bench to remove his boots, standing them upright next to the wall. He sat in the semi-darkness and willed his mind to forget about warm gloved hands in his hair, the scent of German beer, and a particular muscular frame that held him against his beloved piano.
Re: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 06:27 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 06:43 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 07:02 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 13:04 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 13:04 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-08 18:05 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-10 20:30 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-03-11 19:50 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-04-15 03:31 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Once more, with feeling (part 3/3) Forgot to add - Translations at the bottom!
(Anonymous) - 2009-06-29 23:04 (UTC) - ExpandFirst request from me, anons, and I really need some straight-up Korea/China. Korea finally gets fed up with China brushing him off!
needs to have Korea being all like, "I've always loved and admired aniki the most! why don't you love me?? WELL I'LL MAKE YOU LOVE ME!" yandere etc...leading to noncon maybe? But not too brutal please, maybe China can accept his feelings towards the end.
needs to have Korea being all like, "I've always loved and admired aniki the most! why don't you love me?? WELL I'LL MAKE YOU LOVE ME!" yandere etc...leading to noncon maybe? But not too brutal please, maybe China can accept his feelings towards the end.
This kink meme needs more Korea/China.
FUCKING SECONDED.
FUCKING SECONDED.
France/Spain
What must life be like with your brother/neighbor always trying to jump you? Basically, I want to see all the little grope fests that have left Spain immune to France's "skinship"
What must life be like with your brother/neighbor always trying to jump you? Basically, I want to see all the little grope fests that have left Spain immune to France's "skinship"
After reading this (http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5033175#t5033175) I want Bowser!Russia, Princess Peach!Lithuania, and Mario!America like burning. I don't care what the context just please anon deliver.
Austria/Hungary - the first time he heard her sing
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=60283705#t60283705
England tries to negotiate something or the other with America, and ends up being fucked on America's desk.
Needless to say, the negotiations went smoothly. 8D
Needless to say, the negotiations went smoothly. 8D
(screened comment)
Are you happy, being alive? Die With Smile, if you are the Japanese cherry blossom.
(Anonymous) 2009-03-06 05:58 am (UTC)(link)Russia/Japan: (or Russia + Japan)
Japan's cultural romanticism of double-suicide. I have no preference as to whether they actually commit suicide, but I would very much enjoy something very depressing, even if it is just a chat.
References to Osamu Dazai or Soseki's "Kokoro" would be bonus, also Usamaru Furuya or "Noriko's Dinner Table"-esque items if you wish. Neon Genesis Evangelion, Geneshaft, Vladimir Nabokov, and Serial Experiments Lain are other things I would enjoy, too.
Please, no rape or mental abuse or some such, I'd like a clean pairing with this. Creepiness with Russia is fine, I'd just like no blatant abuse/torture/whatnot. (Meaning if it's only hinted, then I'm all for it I suppose.) Sex is optional, but if you do include it, I'd rather it not be explicit. Art is lovely as well.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_suicide_rate
Japan's cultural romanticism of double-suicide. I have no preference as to whether they actually commit suicide, but I would very much enjoy something very depressing, even if it is just a chat.
References to Osamu Dazai or Soseki's "Kokoro" would be bonus, also Usamaru Furuya or "Noriko's Dinner Table"-esque items if you wish. Neon Genesis Evangelion, Geneshaft, Vladimir Nabokov, and Serial Experiments Lain are other things I would enjoy, too.
Please, no rape or mental abuse or some such, I'd like a clean pairing with this. Creepiness with Russia is fine, I'd just like no blatant abuse/torture/whatnot. (Meaning if it's only hinted, then I'm all for it I suppose.) Sex is optional, but if you do include it, I'd rather it not be explicit. Art is lovely as well.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_suicide_rate
Japan masturbates to the thought of Prussia. As we all know, Japan based his military system after Prussia's, so this anon calls for some "self-disciplining". Japan imagines Prussia as a sadistic, dominating drill sergeant. Throw in some gunplay and I will love you forever.
Germany & kid!Prussia. Crack. Will Germany be able to handle kid!Prussia from getting himself into trouble?
some japanese fanart to inspire you, Anon. www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=3218268
some japanese fanart to inspire you, Anon. www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=3218268
A/N: … probably not what OP expected.. D for Drama
*
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
– Shakespeare
Cast a Dark Shadow
*
The forest was quiet as the tiny figure walked.
The snow crunched almost inaudibly beneath small feet and the blue hue of the air was an ill omen drifting across the ground. The little country tried to ignore the frightful feelings as he picked up branches that had fallen from the bare trees for firewood. It was more out of nerves than real necessity though, and as the child continued on slowly, it became more and more obvious that this path had not been used by anyone for a while.
“Bon-Bonjour?” Canada questioned into the empty woods, wide eyes searching for any of his French settlers. He had been seeing fewer and fewer of his caretakers as the days became longer, and finally the little nation had ventured out for fear of being alone in the vast, wild land.
Blond hair shifted in the cold breezes and the child’s breath froze faster as he made his way deeper down the path.
“Bonjour?” Canada’s calls came more frequently, and he stumbled through the trees more quickly, fear creeping on his heels. So caught up in moving, the small nation was unprepared for when the path suddenly opened up into a wider clearing, and let out a tiny sound of surprise.
There, in the centre of the path – he had happened across a strange man.
Canada held his breath. The man was a towering presence against the snow. His cloak was long and dark, whipping in an invisible wind as he stood. His bushy moustache was brittle, small icicles hanging from sides. Wrinkles and crows feet around eyes belied his age. He had the appearance of a military man.
“M-monsieur…” Canada spoke up shyly to the imposing figure. “Bless you. H-have you seen-….”
The rest of the question faded away when baleful, black eyes turned themselves on him. The wind picked up and seemed colder, and Canada was stuck shivering, unable to break the frightening stare.
“Hmph.” The man muttered, voice accented in a language the small nation did not know. “The ones you are looking for,” The man’s words were like ice. “I took their lives.”
Canada’s light blue eyes went wide and the small nation dropped the bundle of wood from shaking hands. He took a step back.
The man’s voice was thick and deep.
“And one day, I will come to take yours.”
Canada turned and ran.
*
The small nation ran until he had reached the safety of one of his settlements, and not too soon after, Canada’s feet dug into the snow as he trekked desperately to meet with one of his Indian nation friends. The tiny country passed the path into the forest with his eyes lowered, remembering what had lain down there.
“Who is he?” Canada asked timidly, sitting amongst the only people he could rely on now.
“He has many names.” A young native girl handed the small nation preserves of vegetables and fruits. “But he is Winter. He will always be there.”
Canada stayed silent for a long moment, chewing his small lip uncertainly. “And how… How do you fight Winter?”
The girl blinked at him incredulously, and Canada felt cowed. “You can’t fight Winter.” She replied.
That night, back in his own place, the tiny nation peeked out between the drafty wooden boards of the shelter, out into the darkened blue snowy world.
General Winter was a shadow amongst the trees, and their eyes met for a chilling second before Canada whirled away from the crack, heart racing in that small chest. The wind howled outside as the child stared into the flickering fire.
*
*
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
– Shakespeare
Cast a Dark Shadow
*
The forest was quiet as the tiny figure walked.
The snow crunched almost inaudibly beneath small feet and the blue hue of the air was an ill omen drifting across the ground. The little country tried to ignore the frightful feelings as he picked up branches that had fallen from the bare trees for firewood. It was more out of nerves than real necessity though, and as the child continued on slowly, it became more and more obvious that this path had not been used by anyone for a while.
“Bon-Bonjour?” Canada questioned into the empty woods, wide eyes searching for any of his French settlers. He had been seeing fewer and fewer of his caretakers as the days became longer, and finally the little nation had ventured out for fear of being alone in the vast, wild land.
Blond hair shifted in the cold breezes and the child’s breath froze faster as he made his way deeper down the path.
“Bonjour?” Canada’s calls came more frequently, and he stumbled through the trees more quickly, fear creeping on his heels. So caught up in moving, the small nation was unprepared for when the path suddenly opened up into a wider clearing, and let out a tiny sound of surprise.
There, in the centre of the path – he had happened across a strange man.
Canada held his breath. The man was a towering presence against the snow. His cloak was long and dark, whipping in an invisible wind as he stood. His bushy moustache was brittle, small icicles hanging from sides. Wrinkles and crows feet around eyes belied his age. He had the appearance of a military man.
“M-monsieur…” Canada spoke up shyly to the imposing figure. “Bless you. H-have you seen-….”
The rest of the question faded away when baleful, black eyes turned themselves on him. The wind picked up and seemed colder, and Canada was stuck shivering, unable to break the frightening stare.
“Hmph.” The man muttered, voice accented in a language the small nation did not know. “The ones you are looking for,” The man’s words were like ice. “I took their lives.”
Canada’s light blue eyes went wide and the small nation dropped the bundle of wood from shaking hands. He took a step back.
The man’s voice was thick and deep.
“And one day, I will come to take yours.”
Canada turned and ran.
*
The small nation ran until he had reached the safety of one of his settlements, and not too soon after, Canada’s feet dug into the snow as he trekked desperately to meet with one of his Indian nation friends. The tiny country passed the path into the forest with his eyes lowered, remembering what had lain down there.
“Who is he?” Canada asked timidly, sitting amongst the only people he could rely on now.
“He has many names.” A young native girl handed the small nation preserves of vegetables and fruits. “But he is Winter. He will always be there.”
Canada stayed silent for a long moment, chewing his small lip uncertainly. “And how… How do you fight Winter?”
The girl blinked at him incredulously, and Canada felt cowed. “You can’t fight Winter.” She replied.
That night, back in his own place, the tiny nation peeked out between the drafty wooden boards of the shelter, out into the darkened blue snowy world.
General Winter was a shadow amongst the trees, and their eyes met for a chilling second before Canada whirled away from the crack, heart racing in that small chest. The wind howled outside as the child stared into the flickering fire.
*
Greece/Liechtenstein
He's 35. She's around 16.
c'mon <3
He's 35. She's around 16.
c'mon <3
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/4567.html?thread=5078231#t5078231
Denmark/Norway, sharing an umbrella on a rainy day...
Uwaah, I'm so scared. T_T I almost didn't post this because I'm such a pussy.
I’m sorry if it’s crappy. ;_; But I really wanted to give this one a try (such a cute idea…).
And I’m anonymous anyways, so no one will know who I am, heehee. Also, please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes.
Looking at it now, it seems like I screwed up. Both their personalities and the request. I had no idea how to end it, so I ended up just writing more and more… ;_; Sorry OP! I hope you still enjoy it at least a little.
Bergen = A city in Norway
Fortunen and Småstrandgaten = streets in Bergen
“Denmark/Norway, sharing an umbrella on a rainy day...”
Norway’s small fingers clutched around the wooden handle of an old-fashioned umbrella. His fingers were starting to turn red and numb from the cold weather. The rain was pouring down, something that wasn’t very unusual in the city of Bergen. In fact, they probably had more rainy days than sunny ones. That was why he insisted on bringing an umbrella when Denmark said that he wanted to see his beautiful city. They walked side by side through the empty streets of Bergen, the water splashed around their feet, making their shoes soaked with water. There was no one else outside except for the two nations, everyone else were seeking shelter from the rain inside of their warm homes.
When they reached the well known dock in Bergen, the older nation had grabbed one of the younger one’s hands, carefully warming it with his own big hands.
“Danmark… Slutt med det der.” Norway said and pulled his hand away from the other nation.
The two pair of blue eyes met each other as Denmark replied “Men du er kold. Your fingers are all red, and you’re shivering.”
“I’m not.” Norway said, even though he was freezing. His pride would never let him admit that to Denmark. He knew that Denmark would just call him a wuss and ask what happened to his Viking blood. After all, he should be used to the cold weather and the rain after living here for so many years.
“Norge?”
“Ja?”
“May I hold the umbrella instead? You’re shorter than me, so you keep hitting me in the head with it.” Seconds later a light blush adorned the Norwegians face. His height was one of the things he didn’t like to be reminded of. How come that he had to be shorter than both Denmark and Sweden? After all, the Norwegian average height was just as tall as both of the other countries’. At least he could still poke fun at Finland’s height. Even though he was somewhat afraid that the other country might grow taller, just like Iceland had done.
The Norwegian opened his mouth to say something back to the other nation, but decided against it in the last second. He couldn’t be bothered with having a fight with Denmark. All the fighting he had done when he was younger had made him grow tired of it.
Norway handed the umbrella over to the taller nation. Denmark could clearly see that his little Norway’s hands were shaking as he reached out to grab the umbrella.
Or at least that was what Norway thought Denmark was reaching out to grab, but instead the taller nation surprised the Norwegian by curling his long fingers around his thin wrist.
“Denmark, what are yo--“Norway didn’t get to finish his sentence as the Dane quickly tugged him towards his chest. Norway still had the umbrella in his grasp, but it wasn’t above them anymore, shielding them from the rain. The rain now freely poured down onto the bodies, soaking their hair and clothes. The Dane reached his left hand down to grab the umbrella out of the younger nation’s loose grip. When he got his hand on it, he simply just threw it away.
Norway’s eyes met Denmark’s and gave him a questionable look.
“Isn’t it said that kissing in the rain in Bergen is one of the things you should do before you die?” The Dane said. The Norwegian didn’t have time to answer before a soft, but slightly chapped, pair of lips were covering his own. He decided to just play along, and let Denmark have it his way for once.
I’m sorry if it’s crappy. ;_; But I really wanted to give this one a try (such a cute idea…).
And I’m anonymous anyways, so no one will know who I am, heehee. Also, please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes.
Looking at it now, it seems like I screwed up. Both their personalities and the request. I had no idea how to end it, so I ended up just writing more and more… ;_; Sorry OP! I hope you still enjoy it at least a little.
Bergen = A city in Norway
Fortunen and Småstrandgaten = streets in Bergen
“Denmark/Norway, sharing an umbrella on a rainy day...”
Norway’s small fingers clutched around the wooden handle of an old-fashioned umbrella. His fingers were starting to turn red and numb from the cold weather. The rain was pouring down, something that wasn’t very unusual in the city of Bergen. In fact, they probably had more rainy days than sunny ones. That was why he insisted on bringing an umbrella when Denmark said that he wanted to see his beautiful city. They walked side by side through the empty streets of Bergen, the water splashed around their feet, making their shoes soaked with water. There was no one else outside except for the two nations, everyone else were seeking shelter from the rain inside of their warm homes.
When they reached the well known dock in Bergen, the older nation had grabbed one of the younger one’s hands, carefully warming it with his own big hands.
“Danmark… Slutt med det der.” Norway said and pulled his hand away from the other nation.
The two pair of blue eyes met each other as Denmark replied “Men du er kold. Your fingers are all red, and you’re shivering.”
“I’m not.” Norway said, even though he was freezing. His pride would never let him admit that to Denmark. He knew that Denmark would just call him a wuss and ask what happened to his Viking blood. After all, he should be used to the cold weather and the rain after living here for so many years.
“Norge?”
“Ja?”
“May I hold the umbrella instead? You’re shorter than me, so you keep hitting me in the head with it.” Seconds later a light blush adorned the Norwegians face. His height was one of the things he didn’t like to be reminded of. How come that he had to be shorter than both Denmark and Sweden? After all, the Norwegian average height was just as tall as both of the other countries’. At least he could still poke fun at Finland’s height. Even though he was somewhat afraid that the other country might grow taller, just like Iceland had done.
The Norwegian opened his mouth to say something back to the other nation, but decided against it in the last second. He couldn’t be bothered with having a fight with Denmark. All the fighting he had done when he was younger had made him grow tired of it.
Norway handed the umbrella over to the taller nation. Denmark could clearly see that his little Norway’s hands were shaking as he reached out to grab the umbrella.
Or at least that was what Norway thought Denmark was reaching out to grab, but instead the taller nation surprised the Norwegian by curling his long fingers around his thin wrist.
“Denmark, what are yo--“Norway didn’t get to finish his sentence as the Dane quickly tugged him towards his chest. Norway still had the umbrella in his grasp, but it wasn’t above them anymore, shielding them from the rain. The rain now freely poured down onto the bodies, soaking their hair and clothes. The Dane reached his left hand down to grab the umbrella out of the younger nation’s loose grip. When he got his hand on it, he simply just threw it away.
Norway’s eyes met Denmark’s and gave him a questionable look.
“Isn’t it said that kissing in the rain in Bergen is one of the things you should do before you die?” The Dane said. The Norwegian didn’t have time to answer before a soft, but slightly chapped, pair of lips were covering his own. He decided to just play along, and let Denmark have it his way for once.
Latvia/Sealand with tsundere Seakun and flower play
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?view=38284837#t38284837
Hope you enjoy, OP.
Hope you enjoy, OP.
Basically as the subject says, UK and HK having phone Sex. Bonus points if it is implied that this is a reoccurring problem for Hong Kong, who feels reluctant to give in but does so anyway (as old habits die hard).
Oh yes, to clarify for clarities sake, HK is the abbreviation for Hong Kong. Also, no, Anon does not care if country names are used or personal names.
Fem!N.Italy/Fem!Greece- War, History, etc. Seriousness is a must.
N.Italy/Finland/Canada- Italy and Canada finally snap (what causes it is up to anon) and join with Finland to show the world how much made of badassery they really are. In other words? N. Italy, Finland and Canada beating the shit out of everyone. Bonus points if they cause WW3.
this is partly based on the fact that, according to Finland's profile- "His awesome strength at the scene of a fire isn’t half-assed.", and "he’s strangely strong in the cold".
this is partly based on the fact that, according to Finland's profile- "His awesome strength at the scene of a fire isn’t half-assed.", and "he’s strangely strong in the cold".
Aaand... here it is. :D
...
Always overshadowed.
Never given a second thought.
His bear doesn't bother remembering his name.
His brother won't acknowledge him.
He knows he's meek.
He knows he's annoying.
He wants to be noticed.
But he can't change that.
...
Tino sits in his favourite chair, looking at his fellow nations. He sees their thirst, their hunger for power, for revenge.
"We want you to join us." Matthew says.
"Why?" Tino asks, cautious.
"Because you've felt it too, haven't you? You keep being left behind and ignored, too." Feliciano answers. Tino's never seen him so serious.
"They've hurt us. They keep on pushing, and we're about to break. They keep betraying us, like we don't even matter." Matthew's voice shakes.
Tino can understand their point of view. After all, it wasn't so long ago that Estonia- Eduard Von Bock- had stolen his rightful title.
His rightful title... He should have been the one to--
No. No. Don't think about that. You'll end up miserable and broken like them.
But would that really be such a bad thing? They're gonna be something unique. They'll be noticed. They'll change things.
But on the other hand, they'll hurt people...
...Who've already hurt you. Where's the problem? Exactly. So...
"Let's go." Tino's slightly surprised. He wasn't expecting the hurt, jealous feelings deep inside of him to win. But what would he have done? What would Canada and Northern Italy have done to him, Finland, if he'd refused?
"Good." Matthew breathed. "That's good."
...
It's late at night and Lovino is relaxing in the garden. Candles everywhere, their soft glow illuminates the plants, and the pebbles on the ground are a collection of pale shadows. Cicadas are chirping, lulling Lovino into a half-asleep state of being.
It's warm, and Lovino takes another sip of wine. It's the good stuff; he wheedled it out of Spain. To Lovino, it's a beautiful summer evening.
He hears the crunch of stones grinding together. It's more than one person- three or four, by the sound of things. Damn. Now he's wide awake, and the cicadas sound irritating to his fully-awakened ears.
"What do you want?" he asks, harshly.
"Hello, brother."
"Great. What do you want now, Feliciano?"
"I wanted to show you something."
There's something creepy about Feliciano. He is oddly serious; his smile dark and somehow malicious. There's something similar about... who are they again? Finland... Tino, and... Canada? He can't remember Canada's 'human' name. Whatever. It doesn't matter. It's not like they're important.
"What? Your latest retarded idea for ravioli? Sorry, but I've got better things to do." Lovino turns away, smirking.
Feliciano is quiet. Oddly quiet.
Normally, Feliciano would start crying or whine.
Slightly concerned, not that he'd admit it, Lovino turns again, to face his brother. Feliciano's fist connects with his jaw.
It hurts more than he'd have thought.
"Ow! Why'd you just do that?"
Another punch, this time to his stomach. Winded, Lovino stumbles backwards. He's grabbed by the arms and pulled up again. Noticing who these people were, he wants to know what the hell is going on.
"Wha...?" he croaks. "Canada? Finland? What are you--" A kick, this time. To what Prussia would probably call his 'vital regions'. Lovino barely holds back a shreik of agony.
"Retarded, am I?" Feliciano smirks. That's his smirk! How dare his idiot brother steal his best expression!
Lovino just glares. He's sure his voice is ridiculously high at this point. He nods, slowly.
Feliciano's face is blank.
Lovino smiles arrogantly.
...
There's more to come! ^^ This is probably one of... five?
...
Always overshadowed.
Never given a second thought.
His bear doesn't bother remembering his name.
His brother won't acknowledge him.
He knows he's meek.
He knows he's annoying.
He wants to be noticed.
But he can't change that.
...
Tino sits in his favourite chair, looking at his fellow nations. He sees their thirst, their hunger for power, for revenge.
"We want you to join us." Matthew says.
"Why?" Tino asks, cautious.
"Because you've felt it too, haven't you? You keep being left behind and ignored, too." Feliciano answers. Tino's never seen him so serious.
"They've hurt us. They keep on pushing, and we're about to break. They keep betraying us, like we don't even matter." Matthew's voice shakes.
Tino can understand their point of view. After all, it wasn't so long ago that Estonia- Eduard Von Bock- had stolen his rightful title.
His rightful title... He should have been the one to--
No. No. Don't think about that. You'll end up miserable and broken like them.
But would that really be such a bad thing? They're gonna be something unique. They'll be noticed. They'll change things.
But on the other hand, they'll hurt people...
...Who've already hurt you. Where's the problem? Exactly. So...
"Let's go." Tino's slightly surprised. He wasn't expecting the hurt, jealous feelings deep inside of him to win. But what would he have done? What would Canada and Northern Italy have done to him, Finland, if he'd refused?
"Good." Matthew breathed. "That's good."
...
It's late at night and Lovino is relaxing in the garden. Candles everywhere, their soft glow illuminates the plants, and the pebbles on the ground are a collection of pale shadows. Cicadas are chirping, lulling Lovino into a half-asleep state of being.
It's warm, and Lovino takes another sip of wine. It's the good stuff; he wheedled it out of Spain. To Lovino, it's a beautiful summer evening.
He hears the crunch of stones grinding together. It's more than one person- three or four, by the sound of things. Damn. Now he's wide awake, and the cicadas sound irritating to his fully-awakened ears.
"What do you want?" he asks, harshly.
"Hello, brother."
"Great. What do you want now, Feliciano?"
"I wanted to show you something."
There's something creepy about Feliciano. He is oddly serious; his smile dark and somehow malicious. There's something similar about... who are they again? Finland... Tino, and... Canada? He can't remember Canada's 'human' name. Whatever. It doesn't matter. It's not like they're important.
"What? Your latest retarded idea for ravioli? Sorry, but I've got better things to do." Lovino turns away, smirking.
Feliciano is quiet. Oddly quiet.
Normally, Feliciano would start crying or whine.
Slightly concerned, not that he'd admit it, Lovino turns again, to face his brother. Feliciano's fist connects with his jaw.
It hurts more than he'd have thought.
"Ow! Why'd you just do that?"
Another punch, this time to his stomach. Winded, Lovino stumbles backwards. He's grabbed by the arms and pulled up again. Noticing who these people were, he wants to know what the hell is going on.
"Wha...?" he croaks. "Canada? Finland? What are you--" A kick, this time. To what Prussia would probably call his 'vital regions'. Lovino barely holds back a shreik of agony.
"Retarded, am I?" Feliciano smirks. That's his smirk! How dare his idiot brother steal his best expression!
Lovino just glares. He's sure his voice is ridiculously high at this point. He nods, slowly.
Feliciano's face is blank.
Lovino smiles arrogantly.
...
There's more to come! ^^ This is probably one of... five?
Because crossovers are awesome, might I suggest some Hetalia/Watchmen in honor of the latter's movie debut? Nothing like American paranoia in the 80's, alternate timelines, and superheroes.
Oh jesus fucking christ, yes! Anon would consider doing this, but would like character ideas. Everyone is just so fucked up in that book, I can't draw comparisons well.
Inspired by a thread on the anonmeme: Sealand hears about the beautiful island of San Serriffe (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Serriffe; http://wikitravel.org/en/San_Serriffe), and is determined to track her down and make her his girlfriend. Can just be silly fluff, but I wouldn't object to having Latvia comfort him after he finds out it was all a prank pulled by Jerk UK.
This started as a joke but we ended up liking the pairing along with some friends, so...
Adult!Sealand/Prussia - Sealand magically gained some land (like in Himaruya's comic). Prussia tries to take over in an attempt to start to rebuild his empire, thinking Sealand is weak. Of course things don't go as planned. Sealand tops.
I'm really curious and wonder if ANYONE will feel like filling this request XD. Bonus points if you manage to make it sexy AND funny, dear anon, but anything will make this crazy fangirl happy, really.
Adult!Sealand/Prussia - Sealand magically gained some land (like in Himaruya's comic). Prussia tries to take over in an attempt to start to rebuild his empire, thinking Sealand is weak. Of course things don't go as planned. Sealand tops.
I'm really curious and wonder if ANYONE will feel like filling this request XD. Bonus points if you manage to make it sexy AND funny, dear anon, but anything will make this crazy fangirl happy, really.
Anon can't be the only one who likes slice-of-life fics. Anyone/Anyone, doing mundane things. Making breakfast, waiting for the bus, singing in the shower, WTFing over Lost, etc.
[When I lived near an orchard, going apple-picking was one of my favourite things to do on the weekends. If I went with a group, inevitably the following scenario took place.]
The sky was clear and the sun was bright and the air smelled of grass and leaves.
Canada and his guests set out early in the day. Packed into his old Jeep, a Fables tape blaring from the cassette player, they headed for the orchard just outside of the little town of Wolfville. “It’s a lot of fun, this apple-picking,” Canada had said to Poland and Lithuania. “I drag my brother out to this place all the time. Pay a couple dollars, fill the sack to the brim, whatever kind you like. Can’t get fruit as sweet as this at the grocery store, no matter where you look.” He tempted them with promises of apple tarts, apple cobbler, thin apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.
The orchard was enormous. Its roads led all the way up to the top of a low, worn-down mountain, apple trees of all kinds spreading out as far as the eye could reach. They hiked through the rows with sacks slung over their shoulders, seeking out Cortlands and Macintoshes. After a time, Canada and Poland found themselves alone.
“Eh, where’d Lithuania get to? I think we lost him.”
“Like, who cares – whoa, look at that one!” Poland gestured excitedly upward. “I want it.”
Canada looked up. What he saw was the biggest, reddest, shiniest Cortland apple he had ever seen. It looked mouth-watering, deliciously tempting. It also happened to be at the very top of the tree, far out of his reach. He looked down at Poland and raised an eyebrow. “You want that one?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Poland nodded, grinning. “That one. It’s like totally the best one! Get it for me.”
“But....” Canada sighed, then looked upward again, considering. “Mm. I can’t get up there; the tree won’t hold me. I think it will hold you though. I could give you a boost.”
“Fine. But like, don’t drop me or anything, all right? Seriously.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
They set their sacks aside and made ready for the attack. Canada cupped his hands, steadying himself. “Ready for it?”
“Ready!” Poland set his foot in the hold, bright-eyed and determined. He grabbed a thick, low-hanging branch and with Canada’s help pulled himself up. Sneakers scraped on bark as he scrambled for purchase in the branches but after a moment of struggle he steadied himself. “All right, I’m up!”
“Can you reach it?”
“Not quite... almost!” The leaves rustled as Poland hoisted himself farther upward, straining to reach the bright fruit.
“Careful – you might fall!”
“Pfft, whatever, I’m not going to fall,” Poland called down to Canada, who was looking upward with a concerned expression on his face. “Just, like, wait a sec. Almost got it –“
Crack.
“Aahh!”
Whump.
“Oof!”
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
The sky was clear and the sun was bright and the air smelled of grass and leaves.
Canada and his guests set out early in the day. Packed into his old Jeep, a Fables tape blaring from the cassette player, they headed for the orchard just outside of the little town of Wolfville. “It’s a lot of fun, this apple-picking,” Canada had said to Poland and Lithuania. “I drag my brother out to this place all the time. Pay a couple dollars, fill the sack to the brim, whatever kind you like. Can’t get fruit as sweet as this at the grocery store, no matter where you look.” He tempted them with promises of apple tarts, apple cobbler, thin apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.
The orchard was enormous. Its roads led all the way up to the top of a low, worn-down mountain, apple trees of all kinds spreading out as far as the eye could reach. They hiked through the rows with sacks slung over their shoulders, seeking out Cortlands and Macintoshes. After a time, Canada and Poland found themselves alone.
“Eh, where’d Lithuania get to? I think we lost him.”
“Like, who cares – whoa, look at that one!” Poland gestured excitedly upward. “I want it.”
Canada looked up. What he saw was the biggest, reddest, shiniest Cortland apple he had ever seen. It looked mouth-watering, deliciously tempting. It also happened to be at the very top of the tree, far out of his reach. He looked down at Poland and raised an eyebrow. “You want that one?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Poland nodded, grinning. “That one. It’s like totally the best one! Get it for me.”
“But....” Canada sighed, then looked upward again, considering. “Mm. I can’t get up there; the tree won’t hold me. I think it will hold you though. I could give you a boost.”
“Fine. But like, don’t drop me or anything, all right? Seriously.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
They set their sacks aside and made ready for the attack. Canada cupped his hands, steadying himself. “Ready for it?”
“Ready!” Poland set his foot in the hold, bright-eyed and determined. He grabbed a thick, low-hanging branch and with Canada’s help pulled himself up. Sneakers scraped on bark as he scrambled for purchase in the branches but after a moment of struggle he steadied himself. “All right, I’m up!”
“Can you reach it?”
“Not quite... almost!” The leaves rustled as Poland hoisted himself farther upward, straining to reach the bright fruit.
“Careful – you might fall!”
“Pfft, whatever, I’m not going to fall,” Poland called down to Canada, who was looking upward with a concerned expression on his face. “Just, like, wait a sec. Almost got it –“
Crack.
“Aahh!”
Whump.
“Oof!”
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
(screened comment)
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