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
Weep, Little Lion Man 6b/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:21 am (UTC)(link)The clouds, upon entering into London, were a grey and murky sort. Considering it was the middle of August, it made the heat rather stifling to most natives, though to Alfred there was a bitter chill in the air. He wasn't quite sure why that was, however.
England lived somewhere in a building down on the outskirts of the city. It was an old stone house, something that the man himself probably built with his own bare hands. It had actually managed to stand all this time; miraculously, even through the worst of the Blitz.
The windows to the building had the curtains peeking open, and there was a car in the drive. Some signs of life, then.
Feeling suddenly rather breathless (even after hailing a cab to the station, fidgeting so much on the train over the channel that the Frenchwoman sat opposite him was eyeing him rather suspiciously and practically running from the station what was probably over a mile to Arthur’s house), it was only as he reached the rather pathetic picket gate at the end of his front garden did his lungs contract and all the breath was punched out of him.
He couldn’t just knock on the door and demand to be let in, could he?
Jumping over the gate, he slowly scuttled over to the front window, peeking conspicuously (or so he hoped) through the gap in the curtains.
He jumped back instantly.
Arthur was stood in the kitchen, wrapped in a dressing gown and hovering over the electric kettle that was plugged into the wall. Alfred knew by his more-mussed-hair-than-usual that Arthur couldn’t have been moving around too much this morning.
His breath quickening, he ran a hand through his own blond locks. Could he?...
He yelped as the front door was wrenched open at the side of him, freezing against the wall. Arthur looked wearily to the side of him. As he spoke, he sounded bleary and stuffed.
“Alfred, I know you're there. Come on.”
The door was left open, and he disappeared inside.
Alfred stared at the wallpaper of the Briton's hallway, dumbfounded.
He was... meant to go... in?
Blinking, the American entered into the hallway, passing down the hall until he reached the kitchen. Arthur was still stood there (leaning, Alfred noted, at the hand he saw resting against the counter) and slowly made himself a cup of tea. Alfred, still shocked, shuffled uneasily beside the fridge next to him, which was smaller than even Arthur. He never comprehended how the older man could manage with such a small refrigerator.
There was a soft clink as the spoon was discarded to the side, and Arthur picked up and took a sip of the tea. He breathed out a sigh.
“India's was always an odd day. Sometimes I get just a headache and a dead arm, other times I wake up with a fever, dead arm and my hand feeling like it’s going to be pulled off.”
He found himself staring at Arthur’s arm, though he couldn’t even tell right now whether he was in pain or not. England himself had his eyes closed, and continued to take a slow sip of his drink.
“With Australia it’s always my leg. Horrible, horrible pins and needles. A lot of the time it’s horribly hard to walk on. If I’ve had to work or go out and about on those days I’ve usually had to borrow a crutch or a walking stick. Rather irritating, really.”
However, he paused to smile, fondly.
“But since your brother was the only one to ask for independence rather than fight or demand it, he… I don’t get any pain.”
Arthur looked at the other for a moment, before turning around and opening a cupboard, which contained an assortments of tins. He pulled out some hot chocolate, a mug from the shelf below, and started spooning in some hot chocolate in for the other, absent-mindedly. Alfred could only really watch him do this, and become increasingly irritated with himself.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6c/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:27 am (UTC)(link)America's hands clenched, and he suddenly strode forward to snatch the spoon from him.
“I can do it.”
Arthur looked up.
He stepped away. “Fine, go on.”
It took the American a second to, but he apprehensively lifted the spoon and dumped the powder back in, making sure to fill a good third of the cup up. He honestly didn't know what it was, but food at England's house was never as sweet over here.
He still ate his food though; he called it bland and horrible, but it was clear that when Arthur cook he did try his best and did make an effort with it. He'd generally bring over a rather large pot of stew and dish it out and have seconds and thirds available all for America to down and eat. If he was having a meal at say, France's or Italy's or most other countries, he'd be given a large plate with a few crumbs dotted about. It was very well cooked; almost into an art – but it never seemed to be cooked with the same way that Arthur's was.
Ah, damn. He didn't like this all one bit.
He only stopped spooning hot chocolate in when he felt England cough beside him. Alfred quickly poured hot water in, put milk in, stirred, before lifting up the cup to take a sip from it.
He took a sip from it, yelped as his tongue burnt, and fanned it profusely. Arthur, at this point, was leaning against the counter at the side of him, sipping his own tea indignantly.
“You never were very graceful or patient.”
America frowned, grumpily.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Suppose not, but it probably didn't help you in a few things. You were always headstrong.”
“Huh.”
“And always very keen to not admit to things you didn't want to believe.”
“--Okay, okay. I know you like pointing things out that you know me and all that and stuff and how I 'never changed' even as a kid but there is a reason I'm here Arthur--- and that isn't to listen to you berate me like you always do--”
“Then why are you here?” Arthur turned to look at him, “If there's one thing I know about you, Alfred F. Jones, is that you don't like dealing with things that you're afraid of.”
“I'm not scared!”
“Oh? Your actions over the past couple of days say otherwise, ever since your birthday. Your bloody hand is shaking right now.”
America promptly put down the cup, and turned to step and face right in front of England, almost as though he was towering over him.
“You know what? Fine. I saw you in agony. I tried talking to you about it. You basically told me to ignore it. I.... can't. You told me that it was part of life and blah blah --- y'know, I don't care. There--- there must be something I can do – there must be some way we can work out to fix these sorts of things – if – if we can get people on the moon then surely we can fix just a little pain---”
A hand took a hold of his arm. He stopped. Arthur sighed.
“You really never changed. You always wanted to try and fix things...”
“But I can fix this, I'll make sure I can--”
“-- Alfred. Have you ever seen, on the streets, in houses, wherever – children? Children playing, children with friends, children with parents.”
“What about it?--”
“Their parents are always there to look after them. They pick them up, let them play in the streets, protect them, nurture them, show them love – right?”
Arthur's other hand raised up to rest on his other arm, so they were both stood in front of each other, his hands held gently around America's wrists. He looked up towards the American, and held his gaze deeply.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6d/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:30 am (UTC)(link)I know we tend to use all these bloody formalities about relations and refer to each other as siblings but you were the closest thing I ever had to a son. You were the only one that chose me.”
His hands tightened.
“Yes, I do think you were a twat. Yes, you did break my heart when you declared independence – and succeeded. Yes, I did hate you for the longest time. We had our arguments, but I suppose in a way that should be normal, what you did, if I'm really going to say you were a son to me.
But after the war, when we were forced together, when we had to band together, when I was forced to rely on you. After the war ruined me – my empire over, when I had to give up all my colonies at the end, it was clear then that you had succeeded me. You've been two hundred and twenty four years as a nation exactly – yes, I do remember. It is rather hard to forget for me, isn't it? - but you've become the next superpower. Whether you were prepared for it, I don't know. It's hard to watch it from a parental point of view. But please, if I've watched you manage to fight and become the only superpower in 200 years of being a nation, when it took me God knows how long – how could I not be proud at the same time?
On your birthdays, when I do have to go through a lot of pain, I could roll about and think about what sort of pain you put me through and why the hell I have to go through it all the time, but that would hurt me more because I'd be lying to myself in a way, I suppose. You want to know I get through it? When I was bringing you up as my own I was happy. I thought someone did care about me. I had someone to care for who appreciated it. To be honest, Alfred, it never changed. I do care for you. I hope I've showed that since, but you know how terrible I am at that thing. But I remember those times. I remember WHY I'm still in pain even now. You are my son. You can think whatever the heck you want at the end of the day, Alfred, but you're my son. You'll always be that and there's nothing I can stop from being in pain because of it. But at the end of the day, when someone becomes a parent, they sacrifice themselves, no matter how that is. And to be honest? If I wasn't prepared for that from the beginning, I would have let France keep you.”
He kept his gaze on Alfred, and kept hold of his expression with a long look. There was an eventual sigh, and he patted his arms slightly.
“You never stopped being a child – my – child to me. I know you feel guilty for what this is, I know you want to do something about it, but … don't worry. This is me you're worrying about here.”
He chuckled.
“You might understand one day, if you bring up a nation or someone for yourself. You might actually understand a word I'm on about. Though that thought is rather odd...”
Alfred didn't even speak, but instead flung his arms around the other in a rushed motion, with a force that pushed them both against the counter.. His grip held tightly and he buried his head desperately in against the Briton's shoulder – feeling the slight scratch of an unshaven cheek, coolness of his neck, and that slight, tired warmth that reverberated from the worn softness of Arthur's dressing gown. He buried himself in against it, deeper, deeper into the safety and bliss that was Arthur's shoulder.
Then again, thought Arthur, actions do speak louder than words.
Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:34 am (UTC)(link)He sniffed, and all Arthur did was smile lightly to himself. He reached around, and rubbed Alfred's back in a soothing motion.
“Idiot,” he said.
-----
finishedfinally.<3 i did enjoy writing this. any comments/questions/etc are appreciated. hope you all enjoy <33
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 01:57 am (UTC)(link)Beautiful job, anon. You've made me completely incoherent. ♥
Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 06:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Weep, Little Lion Man 6e/6
(Anonymous) 2011-06-25 11:47 am (UTC)(link)