This is so arleady heartbreaking to read! I just wanna squish Arthur!
I can't wait to read the love triangle part! I love how you write
I can't wait to read the love triangle part! I love how you write
No promises, but this potential Author Anon might try to work something up for this. It would be an AU set in the US
Potential Author has a few questions.
Do you care what time period it is set in?
I'm contemplating a mystery story and taking the prompt and setting it as a human-based AU that takes place in the U.S. around the 1930's) But I need to know a couple of important details.
Do you want a happy ending or can the disappearance be permanent, such as the characters finally discovering his death/murder and searching for the culprit if set in a human-based AU?
I'm trying to work out a plot, but need to know if the mystery AU set in the past interests you and if so what type of ending you might like? I think I could do either, happily ever after or bittersweet depending on your taste.
Do you care what time period it is set in?
I'm contemplating a mystery story and taking the prompt and setting it as a human-based AU that takes place in the U.S. around the 1930's) But I need to know a couple of important details.
Do you want a happy ending or can the disappearance be permanent, such as the characters finally discovering his death/murder and searching for the culprit if set in a human-based AU?
I'm trying to work out a plot, but need to know if the mystery AU set in the past interests you and if so what type of ending you might like? I think I could do either, happily ever after or bittersweet depending on your taste.
New Zealand woke up. Her stomach was in knots, and had been all day. It had been hurting all day; it felt like she was sick, but she didn't want to tell England about it. If he knew then she would have to eat his 'get well' soup. She rolled her side; all she had to do was hold on for a day more and it would surely go away. New Zealand brought her knees up to her body, tucking into a ball. She paused, then moved her thighs. They were wet. She didn't think she had an accident, but her stomach was hurting terribly. She felt around, and yes, it felt damp. Oh, England was going to be furious that she wet the bed; the laundry was just done two days ago.
With a shaky hand she lifted her sheet; she didn't see anything, but then again it was dark. She scooted to sit up, trying not to disturb her sheep; England already made such a fuss about letting him in the house that bleating int the middle of the night would not win any favors. New Zealand tip toed across the room to turn on the gas light. She winced in the sudden brightness. Her hands! She flipped them over, but they were still tinged red. She glanced back at the bed and hurried over to it.
"Baaa," her sheep bleated, annoyed at having been woken up in the middle of the night.
"Shhhhh!" she hissed back. There was no noise of England getting up, but that didn't mean he wasn't awake. Another moment passed in sleepy silence. New Zealand let out a quiet sigh. She turned back to her bed and pulled down the covers.
Blood! Why was there blood on her sheets? She lifted the hem of her night gown, and yes, there was blood. The sheets fell back to the bed with barely a whisper. What was she going to do? If she was bleeding it must be serious. Why, oh why hadn't she gone to see England the moment the pain started? What was he going to say? New Zealand bit her lip; she would not cry, crying only made things worse. A stiff upper lip, that's what England always said. She sniffled back the sobs and quickly wiped her face.
"What are you doing out of bed, Zea?" came a voice behind her. New Zealand whipped around. Australia was standing in the doorway, still ribbing sleep from his eyes.
"Nothing, what are you doing up?" Had she made sure the blood was covered? She didn't know and arranging the sheets now would look odd. Oh, she hoped Australia didn't see.
"I had to pee and I . . ." Australia trailed off, his brow scrunching, "Is that blood on your night gown?"
New Zealand looked down. Shoot! She forgot it was on her night dress.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Lay down, I'll go get England," Australia said frantically, already turning in the door.
"NO, no he can't know. He'll be so angry that I didn't tell him right away," New Zealand said.
"I'm already angry that you two are not in bed where you belong," came England's voice. New Zealand sighed; Australia jumped at the sudden new voice. England was standing right behind him in the doorway.
"Off to bed, now," he said pointing towards Australia's room. Australia looked back at Zea and mouthed "sorry" to her before shooting out of the room for his bed. England watched him go before nodding and turning back to New Zealand. She, shifting her weight from foot to foot, played with her dress,
"Why do you have blood on your dress?" asked England. She looked up to find him frowning at her.
"I , I don't know. I just woke up and there was blood on my sheets and on my dress. I don't know," she almost wailed; she didn't wail she reassured herself, waling did not go with a stiff upper lip.
"Does your stomach hurt? Was the blood between your legs," relied England. New Zealand nodded.
"Well, don't worry, it's completely normal."
"Normal?" gaped New Zealand, "How can bleeding be normal?"
"Well, sit down," England picked her up and set her on the bed. He sat down next to her after moving her sheep. He put his hands to his knees and looked at her.
After a deep breath, he started, "There comes a time in a girl's life that she starts becoming a woman. You might have noticed how much you grew, or uhmm, developed, lately. This bleeding comes along with the, ah, other stuff." He waved his hand at her 'developing stuff'.
"So you mean I'll bleed all the time now?" she looked desperately at him.
With a shaky hand she lifted her sheet; she didn't see anything, but then again it was dark. She scooted to sit up, trying not to disturb her sheep; England already made such a fuss about letting him in the house that bleating int the middle of the night would not win any favors. New Zealand tip toed across the room to turn on the gas light. She winced in the sudden brightness. Her hands! She flipped them over, but they were still tinged red. She glanced back at the bed and hurried over to it.
"Baaa," her sheep bleated, annoyed at having been woken up in the middle of the night.
"Shhhhh!" she hissed back. There was no noise of England getting up, but that didn't mean he wasn't awake. Another moment passed in sleepy silence. New Zealand let out a quiet sigh. She turned back to her bed and pulled down the covers.
Blood! Why was there blood on her sheets? She lifted the hem of her night gown, and yes, there was blood. The sheets fell back to the bed with barely a whisper. What was she going to do? If she was bleeding it must be serious. Why, oh why hadn't she gone to see England the moment the pain started? What was he going to say? New Zealand bit her lip; she would not cry, crying only made things worse. A stiff upper lip, that's what England always said. She sniffled back the sobs and quickly wiped her face.
"What are you doing out of bed, Zea?" came a voice behind her. New Zealand whipped around. Australia was standing in the doorway, still ribbing sleep from his eyes.
"Nothing, what are you doing up?" Had she made sure the blood was covered? She didn't know and arranging the sheets now would look odd. Oh, she hoped Australia didn't see.
"I had to pee and I . . ." Australia trailed off, his brow scrunching, "Is that blood on your night gown?"
New Zealand looked down. Shoot! She forgot it was on her night dress.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Lay down, I'll go get England," Australia said frantically, already turning in the door.
"NO, no he can't know. He'll be so angry that I didn't tell him right away," New Zealand said.
"I'm already angry that you two are not in bed where you belong," came England's voice. New Zealand sighed; Australia jumped at the sudden new voice. England was standing right behind him in the doorway.
"Off to bed, now," he said pointing towards Australia's room. Australia looked back at Zea and mouthed "sorry" to her before shooting out of the room for his bed. England watched him go before nodding and turning back to New Zealand. She, shifting her weight from foot to foot, played with her dress,
"Why do you have blood on your dress?" asked England. She looked up to find him frowning at her.
"I , I don't know. I just woke up and there was blood on my sheets and on my dress. I don't know," she almost wailed; she didn't wail she reassured herself, waling did not go with a stiff upper lip.
"Does your stomach hurt? Was the blood between your legs," relied England. New Zealand nodded.
"Well, don't worry, it's completely normal."
"Normal?" gaped New Zealand, "How can bleeding be normal?"
"Well, sit down," England picked her up and set her on the bed. He sat down next to her after moving her sheep. He put his hands to his knees and looked at her.
After a deep breath, he started, "There comes a time in a girl's life that she starts becoming a woman. You might have noticed how much you grew, or uhmm, developed, lately. This bleeding comes along with the, ah, other stuff." He waved his hand at her 'developing stuff'.
"So you mean I'll bleed all the time now?" she looked desperately at him.
"No, no, don't worry. It's only once a month, a week normally," he reassured her. She looked around, lost. She gathered up her sheep in her arms and snuggled her face into him. He squirmed for a bit, but soon quieted down. She couldn't comprehend, bleeding for a week? Every month? That couldn't be normal no matter what England said. England put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into his side.
"It's going to be alright." She snuggled closer to him. After a moment he looked down.
"You need to get changed," he said. She pulled away. That's right, she was still bleeding. England go up and went to her chest of clothing; he pulled out a new night dress.
"Here, put this on. In the morning, I'll have one of the servants go into town and pick up the supplies you need," he said. New Zealand nodded with no idea what supplies were needed for this. She took the new night gown and thanked him.
He stopped at the door, "Would you like India to come and help you? She knows more about these things." New Zealand looked up.
"Yes, I would like that very much."
England nodded,"Good night." He quietly shut the door. New Zealand quickly scrambled into the new gown, and then into bed. She pulled her sheep closer. Wait, New Zealand sat up; she forgot to ask him about the stomach pain, and what was she to do about all the blood?
"Baaaa," bleated her sheep; he nuzzled his head into her. She grinned and fell back down. She would ask in the morning.
BONUS:
"You want me to wear that?" New Zealand pointed to the contraption the maid was holding.
"Yes miss," the maid nodded.
"Now come on New Zealand. This is what women wear during their time," England prodded. New Zealand looked up at him, horrified at the thought.
"How do you even put it on?" she questioned.
"This belt goes around your waste and this pad goes between your legs," the maid explained; she held out the strange object to New Zealand. New Zealand took it with disbelief still on her face. She turned it in her hands a few times, trying to figure out what the maid meant.
"Well, go and put it on New Zealand. We can't have you running around, you know," England said. New Zealand nodded and went to her room to put it on. She twisted the thing around and slowly buckled it in place. She tried to adjust it under her skirt. It felt like someone had stuck a towel between her legs.. Maybe if she talked to Australia about being a boy, she could stop this. New Zealand sighed and tried adjusting it one more time. She was most definitely going to ask how to be a boy if it could stop this.
"It's going to be alright." She snuggled closer to him. After a moment he looked down.
"You need to get changed," he said. She pulled away. That's right, she was still bleeding. England go up and went to her chest of clothing; he pulled out a new night dress.
"Here, put this on. In the morning, I'll have one of the servants go into town and pick up the supplies you need," he said. New Zealand nodded with no idea what supplies were needed for this. She took the new night gown and thanked him.
He stopped at the door, "Would you like India to come and help you? She knows more about these things." New Zealand looked up.
"Yes, I would like that very much."
England nodded,"Good night." He quietly shut the door. New Zealand quickly scrambled into the new gown, and then into bed. She pulled her sheep closer. Wait, New Zealand sat up; she forgot to ask him about the stomach pain, and what was she to do about all the blood?
"Baaaa," bleated her sheep; he nuzzled his head into her. She grinned and fell back down. She would ask in the morning.
BONUS:
"You want me to wear that?" New Zealand pointed to the contraption the maid was holding.
"Yes miss," the maid nodded.
"Now come on New Zealand. This is what women wear during their time," England prodded. New Zealand looked up at him, horrified at the thought.
"How do you even put it on?" she questioned.
"This belt goes around your waste and this pad goes between your legs," the maid explained; she held out the strange object to New Zealand. New Zealand took it with disbelief still on her face. She turned it in her hands a few times, trying to figure out what the maid meant.
"Well, go and put it on New Zealand. We can't have you running around, you know," England said. New Zealand nodded and went to her room to put it on. She twisted the thing around and slowly buckled it in place. She tried to adjust it under her skirt. It felt like someone had stuck a towel between her legs.. Maybe if she talked to Australia about being a boy, she could stop this. New Zealand sighed and tried adjusting it one more time. She was most definitely going to ask how to be a boy if it could stop this.
Oops, forgot to add, if you want to see what New Zealand is being forced to wear, here is the link:
http://www.mum.org/gerbel94.htm
http://www.mum.org/gerbel94.htm
great job!!! i cant wait to read more, and i hope I figure out how to follow this story soon too. lol i am new to this site >
Wow,first let me say how happy I am that you're considering it. Thank you :) I think I would love you to death if you chose the plot you suggested, mystery taking place in the past. I like that idea a lot. I actually hate fairy tale endings to be honest :P Especially when the whole story is dark and then suddenly everything is pink and rosy in the end.
I'm not too sure if the main character has to die though. I mean maybe Eduard could be found but just really really damaged you know ... but that's just a thought. I am very sure that I would still be very happy with the story if it had the dharker ending with the death. Yeah, very happy indeed.
I'm not too sure if the main character has to die though. I mean maybe Eduard could be found but just really really damaged you know ... but that's just a thought. I am very sure that I would still be very happy with the story if it had the dharker ending with the death. Yeah, very happy indeed.
Great! I will start working on the story then. I won't say what ending I'll go for since if it's to be a mystery that would spoil the ending but I can say that I won't make it thoroughly depressing since I don't like to write those kind of endings. A little happy mixed with a little sad as the time period calls for it. Thanks for being open to my suggestion.
No, thank you! I'm so excited, can't wait but I'll do my best to stay calm and patient :)
I love that you chose New Zealand A!a and that England was so sensible!
Is also its greatest strength:
It defies reason
I had fallen in love with him, not on first sight. It was that second gaze, the one that occurred when I contemplated if I'd been right to discard him the first time. The reason behind that second gaze might have been a chuckle, a playful grin, his expression when he looked at something he loved, or the simple way he was himself. When you watch a person, sometimes, you catch a drop of their essence. It was that essence that could cause a second gaze, and the drop that you caught by accident could turn into a steady stream straight into your heart. A steady stream of wrinkling your eyes with a smile because that's the effect they have on you. That's love.
Ask a Dutchman today about the year 1600 and without fail they will all respond Battle of Nieuwpoort. What they fought for or who, they won't know, but they remember that date as if it's important. For me, however, 1600 is the first time I ever saw a man with red hair, or a Dutchman for that matter. I even remember the human's name: Willem. The name of the ship he arrived on was the Liefde, or love. How ironic. 1609, and the Dutch were trading alongside the Portuguese. They were different. Instead of nanban, they were komo. A distinction that spoke volumes, with nanban meaning southern barbarians and komo red hair.
I met Stijn that year. I was expecting another barbarian that smelled like sweat and ass mixed together, whose clothes were unwashed, who would eat everything with his hands in disgusting fashion, and whose face could be read like an open book, yet could not even read. I had the decency to disguise my contempt for them. João was sitting, legs splayed wide open and his hair uncombed and unwashed. He had just come off of his dear ship, but he was angry. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for his translator to come.
"Finalmente!" João exclaimed turning around, grinning. His expression soured quickly, and I cocked my head.
A tall, muscular man walked in. His boots came to his knees, and with every step, a thud resounded through the room. He looked ridiculous, even more so than the man sitting in front of me. European fashion. But he was different from João. He was taller, his nose thinner and pointier, his jaw squarer, his skin whiter, and his hair was yellow and his eyes green. This man was not human, nor Portuguese. He was a different nation.
I looked at João to gauge his reaction. Judging from the narrowed eyes and the pursed lips, they were not allies. The stranger smirked at him, and crossed his arms. They spoke in a language I didn't know, but it ended with João standing up and snarling threats and insults.
"Please welcome the Dutch representative, Constantijn Hendrikszoon," his interpreter said, bowing as João finally shut up.
The Portuguese one then entered the room, and sat down next to João. Angry, hushed whispers that were barely whispers at all filled the room.
"We have come to appeal against other foreigners stealing Portugal's trade with Japan. One of those foreigners is the man here with us, uninvited."
"Appeal? If it is against your wish, then perhaps you should control your trade routes," I said. "Who is this Constantijn? State your intentions."
"We are here to officialize the start of diplomatic and trade relations between the Dutch Republic and Japan."
The Dutchman's language was different from João. It was guttural, and in a way angrier than the insults they'd exchanged.
"Tell Portugal that any trade relations at all simply exist because they are beneficial to Japan. We do not care about your benefit, and that is your own concern. The more extensive our foreign trade, the more profitable, it would seem," I said calmly. "Please leave. The conversations with the Dutch Republic will continue in private and I will speak with you afterwards."
Our discussions were just as boring as I'd expected, but instead of leaving immediately, he lingered. From his jacket, he revealed a porcelain spoon in Chinese style, but with queer paintings. A foreign flower was painted on it.
"Tulp," the Dutch Republic said, pointing at it.
"Turippu," I repeated, rolling the foreign vowels experimentally in my mouth. "Thank you."
Only then did he leave, stiffly getting up and leaving the room. The Dutchman was elbowed by his interpreter, and he quickly turned around to bow. I didn't smile, but I was pleased. He smelled too, but like the sea and like pickled fish. However, he was no barbarian. He honored my customs, superior to his own. His scarf streamed behind him, white and blue like the spoon he'd given me. I examined it closely. Portugal had never given me a gift as a thanks for my trade. His gift had come in the form of alien religion and firearms. What a gift that was. I preferred the Dutchman, whose face was set in stone and who came bearing harmless gifts instead of ones that changed my country irrevocably.
"Appeal? If it is against your wish, then perhaps you should control your trade routes," I said. "Who is this Constantijn? State your intentions."
"We are here to officialize the start of diplomatic and trade relations between the Dutch Republic and Japan."
The Dutchman's language was different from João. It was guttural, and in a way angrier than the insults they'd exchanged.
"Tell Portugal that any trade relations at all simply exist because they are beneficial to Japan. We do not care about your benefit, and that is your own concern. The more extensive our foreign trade, the more profitable, it would seem," I said calmly. "Please leave. The conversations with the Dutch Republic will continue in private and I will speak with you afterwards."
Our discussions were just as boring as I'd expected, but instead of leaving immediately, he lingered. From his jacket, he revealed a porcelain spoon in Chinese style, but with queer paintings. A foreign flower was painted on it.
"Tulp," the Dutch Republic said, pointing at it.
"Turippu," I repeated, rolling the foreign vowels experimentally in my mouth. "Thank you."
Only then did he leave, stiffly getting up and leaving the room. The Dutchman was elbowed by his interpreter, and he quickly turned around to bow. I didn't smile, but I was pleased. He smelled too, but like the sea and like pickled fish. However, he was no barbarian. He honored my customs, superior to his own. His scarf streamed behind him, white and blue like the spoon he'd given me. I examined it closely. Portugal had never given me a gift as a thanks for my trade. His gift had come in the form of alien religion and firearms. What a gift that was. I preferred the Dutchman, whose face was set in stone and who came bearing harmless gifts instead of ones that changed my country irrevocably.
"We are very different from the other nations you have been dealing with. Currently, the Dutch Republic is embroiled in a religious war with Portugal and Spain both currently. They are ruthless countries who will do anything to propagate and force their faith onto different nations," the interpreter said. I wasn't watching him though. My eyes were on the Dutchman, who mimicked the way I sat and who spoke quickly. His expression never changed. "The Dutch are different. We believe in tolerance. All we desire is for trade between the great Japan and the Dutch Republic to flourish to mutual benefit."
"We have already realized the threat of the Roman-Catholic belief."
"Of course you would have. We are Protestant, however."
"Is the war between your two nations the reason for your blatant hostility?"
"João is a sore loser who has become so weak I have taken nearly all of his colonies in the East." He smirked when he said that.
"Portugal has neglected to inform me of this," I said coolly. I didn't like being in the dark, especially not when it concerned foreigners.
"He is not trustworthy. What has he ever done to show respect for your culture and nation?"
He looked me straight in the eye, one eyebrow raised. I remembered the spoon. But when I asked Portugal about the same man, I got angry, heated words on how he was an unscrupulous heathen who had no respect for hierarchy. I didn't care. I wanted to see if the freckles he had on his nose were present on his neck, his shoulders, down to his back and everywhere else. Would the hair on his body be as blonde as the hair on his face? I didn't care for the smelly Portuguese man whose chest hair spilled from his shirt and who disgusted me with his presence.
excuse my terrible formatting skills
"We have already realized the threat of the Roman-Catholic belief."
"Of course you would have. We are Protestant, however."
"Is the war between your two nations the reason for your blatant hostility?"
"João is a sore loser who has become so weak I have taken nearly all of his colonies in the East." He smirked when he said that.
"Portugal has neglected to inform me of this," I said coolly. I didn't like being in the dark, especially not when it concerned foreigners.
"He is not trustworthy. What has he ever done to show respect for your culture and nation?"
He looked me straight in the eye, one eyebrow raised. I remembered the spoon. But when I asked Portugal about the same man, I got angry, heated words on how he was an unscrupulous heathen who had no respect for hierarchy. I didn't care. I wanted to see if the freckles he had on his nose were present on his neck, his shoulders, down to his back and everywhere else. Would the hair on his body be as blonde as the hair on his face? I didn't care for the smelly Portuguese man whose chest hair spilled from his shirt and who disgusted me with his presence.
excuse my terrible formatting skills
/is virtually hugged
I'm happy you enjoyed it! I'm Dutch, so I love the relationship between the two!
I'm happy you enjoyed it! I'm Dutch, so I love the relationship between the two!
Re: Immortalia: Story The First - Lien And The Dragon (D)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-17 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)This has a very fairy-tale feel to it. I like.
lol this is arleady too funny cant wait to read more
Yes! Fill! This is really good too. I like the set up and the voice of the story, you've captured Isolationist Japan (or at least my head canon of him >>) very well! Can't wait to see more!
Re: Immortalia: Story The First - Lien And The Dragon (D)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-17 09:15 pm (UTC)(link)Arthur you meanie D:
I like how she's letting Lithuania trail along despite the fact the he annoys her XD
I also like the take you have on the 'fortune teller' thing, having her not be all-knowing and needing background info.
I'm assuming the "precious parts of her life" are her siblings, no? I'm curious to see what you have in store for us :)
I like how she's letting Lithuania trail along despite the fact the he annoys her XD
I also like the take you have on the 'fortune teller' thing, having her not be all-knowing and needing background info.
I'm assuming the "precious parts of her life" are her siblings, no? I'm curious to see what you have in store for us :)
I hope OP or first A!A doesn't mind a second fill.
It wasn't often that he picked me up anymore. Years and years ago he had me in his hands every day, for hours on ends; now, I'm lucky if he remembers me once every few weeks. But today, oh today, he came to me like it was yesteryear.
He gently pulled back the cloth cover, wiping dust away as he did so. His hands lifted me up; so white, and gentle. He must have just washed them clean, but they would be stained black soon if I have my way. They caressed my neck, sliding up the back to my scroll. His right hand slid across my body, pluck pluck pluck pluck. His hands stilled, pluck; he twisted a knob, pluck, there all better. He rolled his shoulders and settled me into place. How sweet a feeling; it was too long since I was here where I belong.
His left hand curved around my neck. The fingers that were always tapping, always moving, stilled before arching over me. Some called his hands brutish, thick or indelicate, but not here. Here, right now, they were just right, bent and delicate, soft and firm, quick and elegant. His fingers slid up and now, a light pressure. There was no grabbing or pressure from his thumb, his fingers were only there there to dance, never to hold. And how they danced. His fingers pressed down and let up. The nails on his hands cut short, shorter on the left hand by a hair, never so short anyone might notice.
His right hand grasped the frog; his pinkie on the screw and his index finger on the grip with his two middle fingers grouped in equal distance from each. First, pressure on the screw, then on the grip, back and forth, back and forth, until he had it down. His arm came up. Finally! His left fingers raised to arch over my neck. Open, first finger, second finger, third finger, next string open, first finger second finger , third finger. Third finger, second finger, first finger, open string, switch third finger, second finger, first finger, open. Over and over, forwards and backwards till his fingers raised along, a gentle drumming. His left hand slowed, stopped; his right hand took a hold and adjusted me. His left elbow went up and again, and we were off. His hands moved with lightening speed, up and down my neck, with a light bounce here and there. And then, he stopped. His beautiful hands stilled, and he turned his head. I was slowly pulled away from him.
No, no, no, no! It couldn't be time already! But, it was. He laid me in my case; his calloused hands ran down my neck to my body before he again pulled that cloth over me. His left fingers turned the screw to loosen the hair. Then he slid the bow into its position. With two quick zippers and one snap, I was firmly back in my case, locked away from him and his beautiful, dancing fingers.
It wasn't often that he picked me up anymore. Years and years ago he had me in his hands every day, for hours on ends; now, I'm lucky if he remembers me once every few weeks. But today, oh today, he came to me like it was yesteryear.
He gently pulled back the cloth cover, wiping dust away as he did so. His hands lifted me up; so white, and gentle. He must have just washed them clean, but they would be stained black soon if I have my way. They caressed my neck, sliding up the back to my scroll. His right hand slid across my body, pluck pluck pluck pluck. His hands stilled, pluck; he twisted a knob, pluck, there all better. He rolled his shoulders and settled me into place. How sweet a feeling; it was too long since I was here where I belong.
His left hand curved around my neck. The fingers that were always tapping, always moving, stilled before arching over me. Some called his hands brutish, thick or indelicate, but not here. Here, right now, they were just right, bent and delicate, soft and firm, quick and elegant. His fingers slid up and now, a light pressure. There was no grabbing or pressure from his thumb, his fingers were only there there to dance, never to hold. And how they danced. His fingers pressed down and let up. The nails on his hands cut short, shorter on the left hand by a hair, never so short anyone might notice.
His right hand grasped the frog; his pinkie on the screw and his index finger on the grip with his two middle fingers grouped in equal distance from each. First, pressure on the screw, then on the grip, back and forth, back and forth, until he had it down. His arm came up. Finally! His left fingers raised to arch over my neck. Open, first finger, second finger, third finger, next string open, first finger second finger , third finger. Third finger, second finger, first finger, open string, switch third finger, second finger, first finger, open. Over and over, forwards and backwards till his fingers raised along, a gentle drumming. His left hand slowed, stopped; his right hand took a hold and adjusted me. His left elbow went up and again, and we were off. His hands moved with lightening speed, up and down my neck, with a light bounce here and there. And then, he stopped. His beautiful hands stilled, and he turned his head. I was slowly pulled away from him.
No, no, no, no! It couldn't be time already! But, it was. He laid me in my case; his calloused hands ran down my neck to my body before he again pulled that cloth over me. His left fingers turned the screw to loosen the hair. Then he slid the bow into its position. With two quick zippers and one snap, I was firmly back in my case, locked away from him and his beautiful, dancing fingers.
oh I missed this! (I think you forgot to put the 'pairing' and 'kink' in the title on the update page, I just happened to remember what you named this story and clicked on it.)
This is pretty hilarious. Feliciano arguing with Tony is so damn funny. Interested to see who this Sututz fella is!
This is pretty hilarious. Feliciano arguing with Tony is so damn funny. Interested to see who this Sututz fella is!
Re: Grandpa Rome/Germany & Germany/Italy - highschool AU
(Anonymous) 2012-12-18 09:12 am (UTC)(link)Seconded! I really want to see Ludwig flirt!
Oh God, this is hilarious. (and the perfect excuse to read that book)
OP, I am so tempted. Fem!America and Germany perhaps...
OP, I am so tempted. Fem!America and Germany perhaps...
Romance is complex.
The problem is that whenever the subject of romance is broached it seems most people only assume there is only one type, the romance which spans a wide range of emotions, social conventions and… ‘Implications for reproduction’.
There is a single symbol which we associate with roomace:
But truthfully there is more to it than that.
The romance we know of is the ‘True Love’ type, denoting a root of extremely positive emotions and the subject of many of our literature, music and art. This is one people rarely find, if at all, and is said to happen once in every person’s lifetime. When two people find themselves in this type they are normally referred to as a ‘couple’ or, if reproduction rituals have been performed, ‘lovers’.
An example of this would be the relationship between Italy and Germany, though both seem to be too embarrassed to really act on it yet.
Then you have the lesser form of this, the ‘Bro-love’ type. This type is used to denote a strong, yet more platonic, love type in which two people seem to be drawn together by some imaginary tie and develop a strong ‘friendship’ with no sexual implications and/or an eternally running competition of ‘one-up-man/girl-ship’.
On the rare occasion this does lead to sexual activities however, the polite and dignified terms of ‘having a mistress/sir’ is used, though, in less polite society, ‘fuck-buddy’ is the common lingo.
An example of this type is the heavily denied ‘bro-love’ of France and England – seriously, if they weren’t drawn to each other why would they keep meeting up!
Then you have the more negative love types.
The most recognizable, though not in a romantic sense, is the ‘Love to Hate’ type. This type is deeply rooted in negative emotions, or at least what we see as negative. This type is similar to its polar opposite, the ‘True-love’ type, in the way that this pure kind of hatred or rivalry can only be sparked once in a person’s lifetime and will stay with them both forever, even if the two parties are forcibly separated.
Most people in this type are referred to, depending on the severity of it, are called either ‘rivals’ if more platonic and flirtatious, ‘enemies’ if fairly serious or ‘worst enemies’ if it is to the extent of wishing to kill the other and/or cause them great pain.
An example of this is the dislike and rivalry between America and Russia.
In all these love types there are misunderstandings, infidelities and uneasiness. Two people in one type or relationship could think they are in another, a couple could have one person with ‘true love’ feelings while the other has ‘love to hate’ or ‘bro-love’ feelings and then you have the relationships that go completely out of control, flipping from ‘true love’ to ‘love to hate’ in seemingly a matter of seconds and then switching back again.
This leads on to the final main type of relationship, known as the ‘threesome’ or ‘counselling’ type. This, while not always having prominent romantic implications, is an important part of the relationship types.
This is the type of relationship in which two people with a particularly unstable relationship are monitored by someone known as a ‘peace-keeper’ or ‘councillor’ who works to stabilise the relationship to ideally fit and stay in one of the other types or, less ideally but more commonly, stay in a kind of limbo where either the two are separated without knowing how they feel or simply don’t know how to interact with each other and lose interest.
To explain this relationship, which is probably one of the most interesting and complex of all of them; it seems better to me to tell you of one in more detail.
Let me tell you about Greece, Turkey and Japan.
The problem is that whenever the subject of romance is broached it seems most people only assume there is only one type, the romance which spans a wide range of emotions, social conventions and… ‘Implications for reproduction’.
There is a single symbol which we associate with roomace:
But truthfully there is more to it than that.
The romance we know of is the ‘True Love’ type, denoting a root of extremely positive emotions and the subject of many of our literature, music and art. This is one people rarely find, if at all, and is said to happen once in every person’s lifetime. When two people find themselves in this type they are normally referred to as a ‘couple’ or, if reproduction rituals have been performed, ‘lovers’.
An example of this would be the relationship between Italy and Germany, though both seem to be too embarrassed to really act on it yet.
Then you have the lesser form of this, the ‘Bro-love’ type. This type is used to denote a strong, yet more platonic, love type in which two people seem to be drawn together by some imaginary tie and develop a strong ‘friendship’ with no sexual implications and/or an eternally running competition of ‘one-up-man/girl-ship’.
On the rare occasion this does lead to sexual activities however, the polite and dignified terms of ‘having a mistress/sir’ is used, though, in less polite society, ‘fuck-buddy’ is the common lingo.
An example of this type is the heavily denied ‘bro-love’ of France and England – seriously, if they weren’t drawn to each other why would they keep meeting up!
Then you have the more negative love types.
The most recognizable, though not in a romantic sense, is the ‘Love to Hate’ type. This type is deeply rooted in negative emotions, or at least what we see as negative. This type is similar to its polar opposite, the ‘True-love’ type, in the way that this pure kind of hatred or rivalry can only be sparked once in a person’s lifetime and will stay with them both forever, even if the two parties are forcibly separated.
Most people in this type are referred to, depending on the severity of it, are called either ‘rivals’ if more platonic and flirtatious, ‘enemies’ if fairly serious or ‘worst enemies’ if it is to the extent of wishing to kill the other and/or cause them great pain.
An example of this is the dislike and rivalry between America and Russia.
In all these love types there are misunderstandings, infidelities and uneasiness. Two people in one type or relationship could think they are in another, a couple could have one person with ‘true love’ feelings while the other has ‘love to hate’ or ‘bro-love’ feelings and then you have the relationships that go completely out of control, flipping from ‘true love’ to ‘love to hate’ in seemingly a matter of seconds and then switching back again.
This leads on to the final main type of relationship, known as the ‘threesome’ or ‘counselling’ type. This, while not always having prominent romantic implications, is an important part of the relationship types.
This is the type of relationship in which two people with a particularly unstable relationship are monitored by someone known as a ‘peace-keeper’ or ‘councillor’ who works to stabilise the relationship to ideally fit and stay in one of the other types or, less ideally but more commonly, stay in a kind of limbo where either the two are separated without knowing how they feel or simply don’t know how to interact with each other and lose interest.
To explain this relationship, which is probably one of the most interesting and complex of all of them; it seems better to me to tell you of one in more detail.
Let me tell you about Greece, Turkey and Japan.
Page 32 of 293
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