hetalia_kink | Hetalia Kink meme part 15

Hetalia Kink meme part 15

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hetalia kink meme
part 15

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Ahh yeah that is the super duper delayed Christmas reveal for 2009 LOL...just found the time to finish it now...
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The time when he delivered the revelation, France wasn’t entirely sure how to say, or what to do afterwards. He expected it—very much—to be so hard on the nation before him to receive. A breakdown or maybe even pushing all the blames on him (which really were his, France admitted) were what he readied himself to accept. Nonetheless, it didn’t go as well as he predicted. Not with the blank stare Italy gave him, nor the stillness in his movement as though the Italian had transformed into a stone. But somehow, young Italy’s lips managed to part in a reluctant U-shape.

“It’s not like I didn’t know what to come, Big Brother France,” shaky, yet for the first time in his life France was surprised to see the strong part of Italy—fortitude it was, something that rarely to apprehend from the weak nation in its teenager form.

“Italy, I want you to know that although it is my responsible, but—“

“Nations like us have nothing to say about what the people choose…”

Yet again, France was clammed up; he had lost to Italy, not physically, but the child was actually more than his look. Had he really missed something? Or was it all the work of his arrogance and indulgence in the long war that caused him to oversee Italy’s depth?

“I’m sure Holy Roman understood what becoming of him. His fate as a nation.”

And with the lines, Italy traversed the corridor that used to belong to a nation named Holy Roman Empire; gradually disappearing under the darkness some parts of the house emitted. Shaking his head in sheer stupefaction and guilty as he was, France couldn’t muster himself to do anything more.

Pitiful for him, considering how he had practised countless times of what he should do when the time had come.

ーーー

Maybe, Romano was the first one to realize something negligible in his brother.

The thing in the way he spoke, perhaps. It occasionally messed up, and clearly Romano could see Veneciano wasn’t paying attention to him, to anyone.

Or maybe it was in the way he walked. The clumsy Veneciano was an everyday show, but this time he was alert. He didn't—or maybe hadn't done anything stupid all day. But Romano would want to think that it was merely Veneciano's lucky day, despite how ridiculous it sounded even to his own ears.

However, the way Veneciano missed his siesta, or the visage that sometimes lost its cheeriness and easiness, maybe the most convincing things above all other matters Romano would notice. Perhaps, again, Veneciano was really not being himself—

“Brother, look!”

That smile came back to him, Romano stared with narrowed eyes.

But were his eyes also participating in his smile? Romano was thinking, very hard even, but it wasn’t that easy for him to read whatever behind Veneciano’s gleaming gaze was.

Was it because of his years of experience for being an ignorant person, or was it really his ability to read people was as low as the Italian blood running inside his vessels allowed him to, that he really couldn’t guess what weird with his brother was?

“Ve~ Isn’t he cute?”

The cat purred inside Veneciano’s embrace, as minutes later the North Italy began to roll over the grass, ignoring how dirty and messy his clothes—his apron would get.

And seeing how the felicity had claimed over Veneciano’s entire being again, Romano bit back all of his thoughts almost too immediately. The heat must have made him think of the things that unsuited him. Maybe it was better for him to start undo his clothes and surrender to the sun above.

But it was unfortunate for him, to miss the whisper Veneciano had slipped out of his lips while laying on his side, eyes half-lidded with a part of his face buried by the grass that smelt like the sun.

“Holy Roman.”

Hungary and Austria tried hard to understand him. Very hard. But he wasn’t North Italy, if he were that easy to understand.

Sometimes they exchanged words; Austria would secretly ask of what Italy was doing while Hungary was alone with the dirty dishes in the sink, and she would sigh and shake her head in the same amount of confusion, saying that once again she had not understood what the boy was thinking.

Holy Roman Empire did not occupy a small part of Italy’s heart, because he had taken the whole little Italy’s heart, and he still did in the current Italy. But post Holy Roman Empire dissolution, did Austria and Hungary ever see Italy cry?

He was such a cry-baby, the entire world must have known the fact. But now, seeing how Italy managed to stay calm and how he was able to endure the cruelty of their fates as nations—Holy Roman Empire’s fate, silently the two countries grew a tiny bit of respect to Italy.

Looked like the tiny useless country wasn’t all tiny inside.

Consequently, they started to forget the worries, started to take everything easily, and failed to notice the battles inside their object of concern. That time, with the help of less custody as Austria and Hungary were too busy in their own personal matters, Italy had gone to where his mind told him to.

France.

ーーーーーー

Dark. Dull. Those two words should be the ones that described a normal situation in every residence late after midnight. But France’s house was always luminous, completed with the glorified Baroque Music in somewhere of its ballroom. As expected of the French. Every night was party time.

He wasn’t wearing any formal or fashionable outfits one should wear in a ball, Italy did not own any of those, nor did he foresee about the party. All messy and sweaty from running, he came in his simple shirt and a pair of pants Austria bought him.

But years of knowing France made Italy know where to head, without letting himself to be seen. He did not come to attack, or do something dangerous to the citizen of France, thence he wasn't scared even if they did see him. A simple talk. Yes, Italy merely needed a simple conversation with France. A quick one at that, and he would leave.

“You got me surprised!”

Wide eyed and baffled, France exclaimed with his nonchalant attitude as he dragged his half-drunk self to anywhere private.

“I never thought you'd visit me, and did Austria even give you his permission?”

“Well, Big Brother France, no matter what, I feel like I must see you,” smiling as gleefully as ever, Italy followed behind, until they stopped in where Italy knew as France's chamber.

Losing a part of his ability to think properly, France swayed inside, stumbling into his own bed, somehow managed to not crash onto the bed's pillars. Not long after France had the difficulty to part himself from the deliciously puffy and comfortable bed, the sound of a door shut closed and locked echoed.

“But I didn't know that you'd be this drunk, Big Brother.”

Slowly opening his eyes, France was still lying on his stomach. His ears could faintly hear the soft thuds Italy made as he walked behind him. He couldn't decipher what probably Italy was talking about, the temptation to give up on a slumber had almost got the better of him.

“Big Brother France.” Said nation's breath caught on his throat as Italy's warm breath tickled his now overly sensitive ear. The feeling of Italy's flesh against his back wasn't entirely unpleasant, but the way the younger nation talked was...

“Have you ever wondered if Holy Roman ever had the chance to know how it feels to be drunk?”

And France was up completely. Eyes snapped open widely in an instant, but still stayed in an exact same position under the pressure given by Italy. Crawling on the bed, Italy now sitting on France's calves, backing him; legs swinging playfully by the bed side.

“I know Big Brother France is not at fault. But it is sad to think that Holy Roman had never been given the chance to grow up.”

Striving hard to tilt his head as far as he could that he sensed his neck tremble from the attempt, France felt something was blocking his throat.

“Ita—“

“There are voices.”

“...What?”

Allowing a good silent moment passed by, Italy skipped to the floor, giving France the freedom to turn around and sit properly.

“There are voices inside me. I tried to ignore them, but they're getting louder.”

“What kind of voices?” France wasn't sure what to response Italy with, he didn't even get where this conversation would be going to. And Italy, he was still wearing the same expression, the same reluctant smile France failed to notice under the influence of alcohol.

“Why Holy Roman had to vanish, why he was given such fate while I'm still here despite my weakness, why I let him go that time...”

“Italy, that—“

“—why must big brother France kill him?”

Even opening his mouth to express how pained he was, felt like something impossible for France to muster now. The chill of sheer cold as though he was in the middle of war in the land of Russia crawled over his skin, albeit summer was never known for its cold. No, summer was not winter, even France knew that.

Italy's smile faded ever so slowly, slamming his gaze onto the floor and bringing hands to his head; fingers tangled between the brown-strands. “I can't get them out of my head, I can't calm down, I tried to convince myself that it wasn't big brother France's mistake, but...” He looked at France's shocked eyes, as for the first time in his life France shivered under Italy's eyes—and really, the Italian wasn't smiling.

“Italy...”

“But it was big brother France's mistake, wasn't it?”

France sucked a deep breath, and swallowed.

“I—Italy... Look, I—“

“Did you hear Holy Roman's cry?”

France's lips halted in guilt, losing at words. His heart stirred and something ugly was twirling inside his stomach, urging the two litre red wine to escape from his mouth—but France fought it.

It wasn't implausible if the one he was talking to was England. The manipulative and stubborn nation was born as he was, and France wouldn't be surprised to know England snap and lose to anger. And God, they weren't enemies for nothing.

...But Italy?

To see Italy—the ever cheerful country was now like this because of him, France couldn't deliberate what to say. What he feared was... whether Italy with his naiveté could handle the anger as fine as other people did or not. But... What could he do? What could he do to comfort the boy who was now cutting their distance?

“No, I think he wouldn't cry,” Italy chuckled with a fist before his lips, jolting France back out of his thinking. The brown-haired nation looked sweet as ever, but with all the things he had said, it was starting to give a creep out of France to see. “He is proud. He is Holy Roman Empire after all.”

It was hard. It was hard for France, but...

“Italy, I understand how you feel. And I understand how Holy Roman Empire felt. I had no choice either, I mean... I really didn't mean to...”

Tilting his head to the side in an arm length distance away from France, Italy's eyebrows curled and his feature screamed for sorrow mixed with incredulity.

“How could a killer understand how the victim felt?”

Gaping like a fish without water was probably what could describe France's state the best. He moved his mouth in attempt to say anything, yet no words succeeded to slide out of it. Curse the wine, the liquid he was always so proud about. He had just dug his own grave.

Italy continued to stare, his eyes sparked something unreadable, and suddenly his hand slipped inside the trousers' pocket and scooped a tiny transparent bottle out of it. The thing inside it seemed like water, France was lost at understanding what would come next. He only knew, that his shoulder was grabbed out of a sudden, and Italy was now right before him—so close that Italy’s faint scent tickled his nostrils.

The younger boy flipped open the bottle with one hand, one of his legs had climbed on France's lap. And before France could blink, Italy had poured all the liquid into his own mouth, crushing it to France's right after. Bloodshot eyes were the only thing France could express. And it was then that he realized the scent was not belonged to Italy. It was the liquid.

The numb feeling inside his mouth failed him to taste whatever Italy had made him drink. His throat burnt, and he choked of air as he coughed and coughed, trying to spit out whatever it was that felt like killing his senses. But as his whole body shook in pain, Italy locked him into a tight hug—so tight that it hurt.

His breathing was clogged, it was like there was a huge stone that was pressing his chest, and at the same time a flame started to rage inside him. His skin itched; it felt like millions of ants walked across every inch of him, crawling under his skin, bursting into his vessels and biting the surface. He wanted to scratch. So bad. Yet his hands went limp as the remaining energy was kicked out of him. He dropped his back on the bed, breathing harsh and heavy that it sounded like an old kettle, mind clouded but eyes were forced to wide awake.

Because it itched. It pained. It hurt. He needed to scream. But yes, he couldn't.

“Big Brother France,” Italy pressed the little of his back harder on France's lap, fingers now embracing the tiny bottle carefully, whilst the blonde merely granted him wide eyes, completely wrecked and confused. “I took a little of Austria's collections. It's the essence of alcohol. A hundred percent at that.”

...And why would you give it to me? France desperately wanted to shout, but surely he was still forced to listen in silence with the ants on his skin now had started piercing and daggering his whole body.

“It's bad you know, alcohol essence is not to be drunk by itself. But Big Brother France even has had wine before this, so the effect is doubled.”

Sliding his fingers down to France's wildly pumping chest, Italy let the bottle unceremoniously hit the floor in a loud 'clank'. He travelled the thin white shirt France was wearing slowly, opening the button and spreading the fingers to cup France's warm chest, ignoring the flimsy hair his palms could sense.

“But no matter bad it is for humans, Big Brother France would still life, right?”

He griped the skin harshly in a flash as he spoke, digging the nails into France's surface in process—resulting said blonde to open his mouth wide and scream, inaudibly.

Ten red scars claimed their glory over France's bosom, across the nipples, traversing the chest hair. Droplets of blood could be seen sliding down the surface, soaking the white fabric France wearing. And the ants, the ants that made France want to roll aimlessly, madly, only to make them go, now clawing their tiny little feet on each scar, burning them, causing France to almost lose his sanity. If only he didn't lose the ability to move, he was surely going to grab a knife and rip his own chest open.

“I'm sorry...” Now the teenage Italy started to weep, fingers still deepening their ways into France's flesh, as though he wanted to break it apart and steal the pulsating heart out of France. “I'm sorry, but if I don't do this, I might hate Big Brother France forever...”

The tears that were dropped from Italy's eyes as he pleadingly stared at France's frightened gaze were not helping France at all. It worsened the burning feelings, in fact, and France could hear the imaginary hissing sounds from the scars. His vision started to spin, and his own breathing echoed within his head like a never ending funeral anthem. And God, his blood, it felt like his blood was boiling and fighting to explode themselves out of the fragile arteries.

“I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I promise I'll be a good boy again starting tomorrow...” the Italian continued to cry, carried on to clasp France's body, “I... I don't want to hate Big Brother France, I really don't, but the voices... My head hurts...”

But Italy paused his sob for a moment, softening his gaze and pressed his chest on top of France's.

“Big Brother France's willing to help me, right?”

Nothing came out from France's mouth, obviously. Only a horror expression and emotions between regret, fear and anger that radiated from the blond nation. Subsequently, a smile made its way back on Italy's lips. The same, idiotic smile he always showed every single day.

“I wonder why we, nations, wouldn't die even though we are going through the conditions humans could die from,” he murmured tenderly, shutting his eyes and leaning his cheek to listen to France’s frantic breathing. “But we can easily be killed by a single paper and signatures. Like Holy Roman.”

As hard as France wanted to admit, Italy's words were like salt, they worsened his wounds. Very much.

Sighing as he straightened his back into a sitting position again, Italy shook his head, before fully turning on his heels still with his lips' corners tugged upwards. “So rest assured, Big Brother France. You won't die. Look, the scars are healing, right? Even though maybe you’re still feeling like dying.”

Yes. Die. Why did it sound so good now? France really felt his life was starting to leave his body...., or so he hoped. But they both knew it wouldn't; as long as his people and towns were left unharmed.

Raising his brows lightly at France's suffering, Italy simply stepping backward, taking the transparent bottle and spun around to open the door by the time he felt his back had met the end of the room. He did glance over his shoulder, nonetheless, as his hand had turned the door knob. Soft were his eyes; overall expression was a mixture of something one would not be able to guess. And of course, France was no exception, moreover with his current state. Italy's figure was something he couldn't see from where he was lying on.

However, on the verge of losing his consciousness, France had sworn, that a whisper had managed to greet his ears vaguely.

“I'm sure Big Brother France would taste what Holy Roman felt someday.”

ーーー

Cracking noises resounded here and there—before him, and behind him. Giant flames danced over the night sky, the remaining of the burning town was almost couldn't be seen. It was smoke everywhere, ashes all over the place. And Italy was standing in silence, observing the chaos he had caused just earlier.

“Italy!”

Sensing a firm tap on his shoulder, Italy turned his head to face the tall, muscled man with blue eyes and golden hair. The way the man stared at him in deep worries and care sprayed water to his heart. The heart which was aching and crying until just now.

“Ve~ Germany. You come to fetch me?”

The blond nation suppressed a yelp as Italy wrapped him in a tight hug, practically jumping and crashing their bodies together.

“We—well, it is rare to see you this useful, but this is enough. We shouldn't go too far, otherwise everything will backfire us,” light pink blushes tainted his cheeks as the guy tried to push Italy away, grabbing the Italian's shoulders gently. “It's better for us to come back and make further plans.”

“I see. But isn't this great that we achieve this far?” Italy spread his arms open, grinning just too wide to Germany's liking. The nonchalant nation might not understand the danger of his action, but again, Germany was more tickled about the fact of why Italy suddenly got the spirit regarding the World War Two they were currently in. Moreover, it was France that they were attacking now. Wasn't the country close enough with Italy compared to England, Russia or America?

“You know, it's saddening to hurt Big Brother France,” Italy spoke up out of the blue as though answering Germany's thought; his eyes back to scanning the raging flames behind them. “But it is something that Big Brother France must experience.”

“...What do you mean?”

Shifting his eyes towards the puzzled nation, Italy's visage was gentle, and Germany would swear that he had almost mistaken Italy's gaze as love... or something along the lines. Or could it be...?

But responding to Germany's question, Italy just chuckled and grinned his trademark idiotic face, walking towards where they should retreated to. And when Germany shouted and followed him, nearly losing his patience for guessing about what happened with Italy, the brown-haired nation widened his laugh and hooked Germany's arm with his own.

“Grandpa Rome said, a nation should know what the other nations go through in order to grow!” he exclaimed childishly although his eyes didn't fail to see how Germany's face changed due to his respect for the Roman Empire. “And this is only a tiny bit of what Holy Roman Empire went through.”

“What? Holy—?”

His words were not meant to be finished ever, though, because in an instant Italy had pulled his arm so strongly that made him almost tripped.

“Let's go home, Germany! Let's go home before England comes!”

“Wh—Hey, Italy, stop dragging me, hey!!”

“You might not need it, but this time I’ll work hard to cover you every time Germany in a pinch!” he exclaimed, making Germany to be stunned somewhere along the lines the Italian spoke out. But seeing the felicity Italy glimmered, Germany decided, he wouldn’t ask about the weird statement of ‘this time’, nor would he discuss further about the enigma Italy diffused today. Because his chest simply felt lightened just by staring at the carefree expression, and maybe it was the feeling people called happiness.

Yet, whilst the two axis powers safely strolled out of the borderline with rows of soldiers tailing them behind in laughter and cheeriness, a blond, shoulder-length haired nation cupped his stomach tight, blood streaming from the slightly parted mouth. The legs were shaky as he stalked all the way to where it was the city burnt, and occasionally coughing out smokes he had inhaled.

He bitterly grimaced once another shot of pain strike him, and some reminiscences of the old days he was trying hard to believe as a bad dream started to rush back into vision. Or maybe the fact that his internal organs were bleeding due to one of his vital regions had been crushed down, was what had made him think of Italy’s whisper that time was not just a dream...

“I'm sure Big Brother France would taste what Holy Roman felt someday.”

(--()--)

•    The dissolution of Holy Roman Empire by France was in 1806, (thus I assume Italy was in his teenage form).

•    In the years that led up to World War One, Italy had sided with Germany and Austria-Hungary in the Triple Alliance. That was supposedly the first time he met Germany. In theory, Italy should have joined in the sides of these two nations when war broke out in August 1914. But he did not. What Italy did was wait and see how the war progressed. On April 26th 1915, he came into the war on the side of the Triple Entente – Britain, France and Russia because he was in such a bad shape (Italy's experience in WW1 was disastrous and ended with the insult of his 'reward' at the Versailles Settlement in 1919).

•    Given the fact Italy had been close with France even before the dissolution of HRE, Germany thought France was quite close with Italy, but the WW1 experience only strengthened Italy’s ‘not quite nice’ feeling to France.

•    On 10 June 1940 (World War Two), Italy sided with Germany and invaded France, declaring war on both France and the United Kingdom. Twelve days later, France surrendered and was soon divided into German and Italian occupation zones.

• 　Of course Germany knew about his ancestor （HRE）, but yes, we can think that he was oblivious about HRE's and Italy's relationship, moreover the fact that he was HRE himself.

•    Pure alcohol has very little smell. It is the metabolism of other substances in alcoholic beverages that produces most of the smell. This explains why a person who drinks large amounts of high-proof vodka (a more pure form of alcohol) may have only a faint smell of alcohol on the breath. On the other hand, a person who drinks a modest amount of beer may have a strong smell of alcohol on the breath.

•    Austria produced wine as the wine business boomed in the 16th century. But the Thirty Years War and others of the 17th century took their toll, as much due to the heavy taxation of the period as the direct disruption of war. So I assume at that time (during the HRE dissolution) Austria got plenty of unused ingredients for making wine stored in his house.

o-oh my god this is beautiful

I love this fill! The dialogue and how in-character Feliciano stayed even while being so unsettling and the historical notes are just so magnificent and the shift between scenes and the use of the word "felicity"! You're such a wonderful author!!

This. Just, oh my god... This fill is simply awesome, really.
I loved how you depicted Italy emotions and thoughts along this, and... I liked how much tought he seems to have put into his venceance against France. That thing about the 'voices' in Italy's head, to, that really got me.
And Germany obliviousness about Italy's real motives to do what he did? Loved it, gave a nice felling of normality to the situation, if that's possible.

jgkhdfgkj Holy shit that was creepy. o__o And well-written. Yeah.

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Hetalia Kink meme part 15

Ethereal Threads of Fate [1/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [2/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [3/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [4/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [5/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [6/7]

Re: Ethereal Threads of Fate [7/7]

Facts [Author's Note]

Re: Facts [Author's Note]

Re: Facts [Author's Note]

Re: Facts [Author's Note]