Hetalia kink meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:47 pm
hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:47 pm
Hetalia Kink meme part 15
axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 15
hetalia kink meme
part 15
Ahh yeah that is the super duper delayed Christmas reveal for 2009 LOL...just found the time to finish it now...
clean wallpaper version HERE
clean wallpaper version HERE
gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-23 09:40 pm (UTC)(link)Nothing is visible down here; he listens, instead, as his brother comes close, as his brother lays into his unbruised ribs, pins his arms above his head to keep him from protecting himself. He listens to his own whimpers from somewhere far off.
He listens to the thud of the door closing, the click of the lock.
Scotland never had the coal-room for a cell. His cell had a window, even, a tiny barred window, and hangings on the walls, and England would bring him supper every day, the same supper he and Wales ate upstairs, because Wales had long since stopped struggling.
--
There are no bruises on his face. When they return Wales and North do not comment on how stiffly he moves, or how eagerly he eats. England feels lucky: he didn't have to clean the carpet, Scotland did it himself before he let England out. There's still blood and worse on the coal-room floor, but he can take care of it after everyone else is in bed.
--
England reminds himself that he has no right to resent this. He remembers how carefully he drew the net close. He bound Scotland to him, sapping his strength by degrees, cutting off all other avenues of succor. There was no battle, in the end, just a helpless capitulation. Economics is more powerful than war; that, Rome had taught him, and England had learned well. He had brought Scotland to his house as a brother, then, had welcomed him, earnestly, and ignored the way Scotland shook with anger to ask England for the things he needed to live. When Scotland ran off, taking England's horse and sword, it stung.
When the Jacobite rebellion was put down, when his brother was dragged home again, he'd locked him away. For safety's sake. So there would be no question of rebellion.
When the Scottish Parliament gets to its feet, there will be no keeping Scotland in the house. A year of this is nothing, England thinks. Better this, than to lose that last year with Scotland. It's nothing he doesn't deserve.
--
Ireland looks askance at him, but her eyes are only for North. North submits to an embrace with good grace. England clutches his teacup with shaking hands, and wishes that the girl had become as strong as America. She was as old, more or less. It would have been appropriate.
But resentment solves nothing.
It isn't until afterwards, when they shake hands and promise to get together again soon, that his sister asks him: "Are you feeling well? You look tired."
"Busy," he lies. "I'll be fine next year."
Her eyes narrow, and he thinks she knows he is lying. But Ireland says nothing.
--
It's a strange kind of reassuring, that Scotland never uses anything but his hands. It makes the matter more intimate, the only kind of initmacy England can hope for.
North can't be gone all the time. But the room next to England's belongs to Wales. England submits to a gag, and muffles his screams in the pillow, and if Wales overhears them, he says nothing. There is little enough to say, after all. In a strange way they are both getting what they need.
--
It is autumn in Paris. Not nearly so romantic as April, but the weather is fine, and England walks along the canal with his hands shoved in his pockets. There is no trace of a limp. He is proud of himself for that. He should be limping, but a bit of concentration is all it takes to keep things secret.
France takes a drag of his cigarette, and taps the ash off over the handrail. "You should not worry so, my dear," he says softly. They have not spoken in several minutes. France is wearing a soft turtleneck sweater, sky-blue, that brings out his eyes. England wishes he could borrow it to wrap himself in.
"You should not tell me what I can and can't do," England answers.
France says nothing to that, only blows a smoke ring. But a few streets down, he absently remarks, "You know you are always welcome here. We have known each other for a very long time, and I think your ambitions are dead. Here, or at any of my houses. You understand that, don't you? I do not consider your presence an imposition."
England wonders if he has been letting himself limp. He straightens his spine. "Thank you," he says, as much as it grates to thank the frog.
It's fine. The offer will never be taken up, after all.
--
Re: gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-23 11:23 pm (UTC)(link)I also quite love the fact that most of the darker instances of the story are implied rather than wrote out. Good as smut and violence can be, it's lovely that you left it to the audience's imagination. So much more effective this way. And people's imagination can be as harsh or soft as they want~<3.
Alrighty. In short, this fill is amazing. I love it. I'm sure everyone reading loves it. And I hope, dear Gosh, that the next update will be just as satisfying. I'm absolutely positive it will <3.
Re: gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-23 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)ecstatic!OP is ecstatic
(Anonymous) 2010-11-24 12:52 am (UTC)(link)Re: gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-24 01:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-24 04:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: gang aft agley [2/4?]
(Anonymous) 2010-11-24 03:00 pm (UTC)(link)"When the Scottish Parliament gets to its feet, there will be no keeping Scotland in the house. A year of this is nothing, England thinks. Better this, than to lose that last year with Scotland. It's nothing he doesn't deserve."
Oh man, my heart, she is broken. If only it were true. D:
ILU anon. Seriously. ILU.