Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2012-06-03 02:55 pm

Hetalia kink meme part 24

axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 24


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Pain threshold | 1b/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-02 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Antonio doubted that such a pretty boy from these kind of quarters - even if he was taciturn and sharp - had never dropped to his knees in a back alley somewhere. But he wasn't there to pick a fight, so he simply shook his head and kept smiling. "All I'm asking for is a dance." A thought struck him and he leaned a little closer. "And your name, if you don't mind."

He looked down, chewing his lip while his shoulders tensed and he hunched a bit, and Antonio was sure that he threw the dance floor a longing look. But still the jerking beginning of a head-shake threatened, and he decided to chance it. So he grabbed that warm hand again, starting to unceremoniously pull the other with him. "My name is Antonio," he offered.

For a moment he was sure that this amazing find was going to run off on him, and maybe give him something to remember him by in the process, but then he finally relaxed a little bit. He looked up, giving Antonio a look that dared him to think that he had been defeated, and then rolled his eyes when all he got back was a grin. "Lovino," he said. "If you dance like an idiot I'm leaving. If you step on my feet I'll kick you."

Even drunk with wine and the evening and the hazel eyes of his companion, Antonio was confident in his dancing, and as he pulled Lovino a bit closer he was pleasantly surprised by the sureness of his step. They moved together well, and soon a couple of people stopped what they were doing and watched them. He could swear that the idiot whistling from the other end of the room was Alfred, but he kept his eyes on Lovino - like a love-struck fool Gilbert claimed later, and Antonio couldn't even deny it. In that moment, he swore he could have stopped breathing air and drinking water and it would not have mattered as long as they kept dancing.

And later that night be breathed and drank Lovino, took him in any way he could, in a hot press of bodies among the scented cushions of a room rented only for the night. He covered his skin in his hands like shielding petals, built imperial roads across it with his mouth and took him apart bit by bit with his kisses. Lovino trembled and drew breath like one who had never known pleasure before, and Antonio poured it over him eagerly, taking joy in the giving like he never had before.

They fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and only awoke when the morning maid drummed on the door and demanded they leave. And though Lovino was awkward and abrupt, he left Antonio muttered address and a clumsy kiss, and he cherished them, both for how genuine he was in the giving, and because he was sure his heart would've broken without them.

Falling in love, he would reflect later, was easy. It was what came after that was hard.

~*~

So I went the AU route, and somewhere in the first lines it clearly got away from me and started living its own life. NONETHELESS, I promise you, my most patient OP-nonnie, that I shall fulfill the prompt. I just needed for the story to get started first ^^;;

OP

(Anonymous) 2013-02-02 11:16 pm (UTC)(link)
omg, I love this story. It it just perfect, thank you so much for writting the fill. I just love how you wrote everyone and there dynamic! It's perfect! Thank you, can't wait to read more!

Parta is Finnish for... (Microfill)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 12:26 am (UTC)(link)
It was a usual Nordic Council reunion--no, strike that, it was going to be, or better yet, it had been going to be, if that kind of English is in any way acceptable, a normal Nordic Council reunion, and then... well, then, Norway dropped Denmark's tie, Iceland dropped his Puffin, and Denmark dropped his cool with a particularly high-pitched squeal. Another thing to drop was Sweden's jaw.

"Moi!" Finland said, as cheerful as ever, as if he hadn't just altered the order of the world, quite possibly even brought forth the apocalypse. If one had been to inspect Sweden right then, they would have found that he had fainted; but no one did, because Mr. Puffin, flying up to Iceland's shoulder again, remarked "Dude. There's something on your face".

Finland blinked. He dropped his bag on the conference table and lifted his hand to his cheeks. He practically beamed. "Oh, you noticed!"

And how couldn't they. Sweden's face, after somewhat coming to, had turned some color that was not even on the spectrum (most probably a kind of greenish- yellow purple, though only Norway could have said its name, and he was certainly not looking at Sweden), and Denmark was apparently turning into a goldfish, if the repeated opening and closing of his mouth and the unblinking, wide-eyed stare were any indications. Norway had to be held by his nisse so as not to fall.

Iceland, then, did the unthinkable: he approached Finland.

Then extended a tentative hand.

Then slowly, hesitantly...

touched...


Denmark jumped into Norway's arms. Sweden's glasses cracked from the sheer force of his stare. Iceland's fingers gently tocuhed... the hair on Finland's cheek.

It was not a wiry, dark blond viking beard; it was neither a white soft peach-fluff, as one would expect from his boyish features. It was a sort of three-day stubble, contouring his face and making it edgier and harder and... quite masculine.

Cue Denmark hiding his face in Norway's chest, Norway patting him on the back with an affection he would have never shown otherwise, and Sweden, finally grasping what was going on, blushing like a schoolgirl.

When Iceland retired his hand and showed it to the others, undamaged, they slowly started to regain composure. Denmark even lowered his feet to the ground, though he still held onto Norway for dear life. Sweden, feeling bold, beckoned the Finn closer.

Finland looked at them, puzzled, but obeyed. When he was right in front of Sweden, still smiling a now slightly confused smile, the taller man bit his lip, and slowly said, "M' husband...".

The other Nordics fled the room as Sweden practically jumped a clueless--while not at all unwilling--Finland, and wild, passionate sex on the table ensued. Denmark did not even find any sassy thing to say, and Norway had to support him while they tumbled out of the room.

The End

I hope this counts! Parta is Finnish for beard. I just didn't want to spoil it. (Also, who can spot the gratuitous Pratchett reference? :D) I generally dislike the wife-calling thing, because Finland is way too badass for that, but it just fits the "plot" so much. I'm not a native speaker and this isn't beta'd (it's actually filled on the spot), but I hope Anon still likes it!

I loooooove you~! [GerIta] [Part 1/?]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
It was a good day to be outside.

The spring sun was bright but not burning, the wind was gentle and the smell of flowers was wafting in the air gracefully. While Feliciano wasn’t the brightest nation in the world, not that Ludwig minded, he sometimes did have good ideas.

Like coming to a field of flowers that had been set up in Italy by some flower lovers and opened for rented private use. It had cost a fair amount to book the whole field for one day but, as Ludwig sat underneath a shady tree and looked over the field of bluebells, violets and periwinkles, it seemed as if it was all worth every single euro.

There had been no shortage of work lately, especially with the Eurozone crisis going on, but, against all odds, Feliciano had convinced Ludwig’s bosses to give him a day off, how he would never know.
The personification of the Italian nation aforementioned was currently running around the field in front of the large tree which Germany was sat down near to, smiling and laughing.

Feliciano looked back to Ludwig and grinned wider, raising him arms playfully and waving them around like an over-excited child.

“Ve~ Luddy! Look at how beautiful this field is!”
“Yeah…” Ludwig said back.

Ludwig had never been a big fan of flowers, not because of any of that I’m-a-macho-man-so-i-hate-flowers crap like his brother spouted (shortly before buying a whole bouquet for his Canadian boyfriend), he’d just never been a round them enough to like them. But as he watched his little Feliciano practically roll around in the flowers he did something what most people would claim to be very un-German-like… he smiled warmly.

He couldn’t really explain it himself, why he was smiling. Maybe it was the way the sun touched the shaded ground underneath the tree’s leaves and made the ground spakle, or maybe it was the way every little draft of wind made the whole field flex like ocean waves or maybe it was his lovely little It-

He was stopped in the middle of his quiet musing as the phone in his pocket started buzzing. His smile turned back to its inset frown again as he moved one hand towards the pocket where the rude interruption lay.
He swore that he’d told people not to call him today unless it oh-my-god-its-a-nuke alert. As he took out his phone, a good dependable model, he both sighed and glared at the caller id.

It read:
Prussia.

Dummkopf.


If Ludwig had owned a list for the worst people to call him at this moment Prussia would have taken the top spot, closely followed by France and America. He let the phone vibrate until it stopped, then breathed a sigh of relief, thinking his brother would just leave him alone.

Of course that was wrong and a split second after the first call failed his brother called again and again… and again.
By the fifth or so missed call, Ludwig was getting irritated and eventually gave in, forgetting Feliciano for a moment as he went to press the ‘answer’ button.

I loooooove you~! [Part 2/3]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
Feliciano was loving this. He had wondered whether coming to a flower field was the best idea for a date with Ludwig, but now it seemed like there could be no better place to be today. The flowers were pretty and colourful; the sky was the same colour as Ludwig’s eyes and even Ludwig, the legendarily tight-ass German personification, was relaxed and enjoying the scenery.

Feli looked over to where his German lover was sitting underneath a tree and instead of having those sky blue eyes look back at him like he had expected, he saw him with his phone out and while Feli couldn’t really hear what he was saying from where he was he could tell the other was frustrated by the way his forehead was wrinkled and his eyebrows were furrowed.

He walked closer, hoping the other nation would look up at him as he approached, but that didn’t happen and as Italy walked closer and closer and was less and less noticed he started getting a strange feeling.

Jealousy. Not England-bad jealousy, mind you, but jealousy all the same. Despite what most people said about him, Feli could emote further than crying, laughing and asking for sex. He could be jealous or surprised or (occasionally) wise and right now he was going for the former.

He continued to walk forward and as he did he could hear more and more of the conversation taking place- well, more like an argument.
“For the last time, bruder, I told you not to call me today!... I told you you couldn’t come with me!... I don’t care how lonely you are, don’t disturb me when I tell you not to! Go and hang out with your Canadian lover if you want someone to play with!”

By now, Feliciano was almost right next to Germany and still he wasn’t being noticed, Germany looking at the ground and arguing into the phone.

As Feli pouted slightly, crossing his arms in disapproval he hoped the other was sensing, he got an idea. An idea that would sort this entire thing out.

Without any prior warning to the other, who was still arguing with his brother over the phone, he walked right into the vicinity of his lap and stood for a second before slipping down and sat precariously close to the other’s crotch.

I loooooove you~! [Part 3/3 Final]

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
Ludwig was distracted from the argument with his brother as he felt a warm and soft weight sit on his lap. He looked up to see Italy now sitting on his laps, his face extremely close and his eyes more clouded than usual. He paused for a second as his brother ranted on about how awesome he was and then felt Feli’s soft lips touch his own.
His eyes widened for a moment, in slight shock, before going back to normal and then closing slowly. He felt arms wrap around his neck and wrapped his own muscular ones around the Italian’s small and slightly girlish frame.

It stayed like that for a moment before Feli drew back for breath and they both panted slightly.

Feli snuggled into Ludwig’s face like an over-affectionate cat and, to complete the image, purred out a small sentence.
“Can you stop the call now?”

Ludwig didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped the phone onto the ground. Italy smiled and chuckled and Ludwig did as well as he laid onto the ground, pulling Italy down with him and started kissing him again.

On the other side of the phone, Prussia was slightly confused as to why Ludwig had stopped answering and then why he heard a clunking sound of something being dropped and then nothing again.

“West! West! Why aren’t you answering the awesome me!?”

But all he would have heard was muffled chuckling and then one clear remark in a suspiciously Italian accented voice.
“I loooooove you Ludwig~”

Crappy!Artfills Ahoy!

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
Crappy, not as in "I think I can't draw", but as in "there's lines on the paper and the edit is bad". This anon couldn't stop thinking about this, drew it while she wasn't home, then actually liked the drawing and thought it would be a waste not to use it xD

http://s963.beta.photobucket.com/user/spg107/media/moimoiman006-Kopie.jpg.html?sort=3&o=0

There. I changed it from Moi Moi man to Moi Moi Super Quick Exploding Pain Catapult Slasher Kitten Man because I think that he probably named himself. Don't ever let that happen. Finland is serious business. I also included every stereotype for Finnish badassery I could remember (puukkos, Molotov cocktails, sniper rifle) :D

http://s963.beta.photobucket.com/user/spg107/media/moimoiman005.jpg.html?sort=3&o=1

I REGRET NOTHING

!!!! flabbergasted

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 01:36 am (UTC)(link)
I will rectify this as soon as I can. SORRYYYY

Re: Unlucky Hands 8b/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
Oh god. Poor Alfred. Though we know what happens, still. *cringes*

So, he got an "official letter" from Francis first. Interesting.

“Well, I’ll love him to have him. I’d LOVE to have him.” Arthur mused.
I love this line. It seems to sum up the whole fill, and its prompt, so far, so very well. Arthur, if you want to keep him you'll need to love him more. Again, poor Alfred.

Re: Who's Your Hero? 3c/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
I'm all sorts of scared for America and Canada now. That was creepy. Tony was creepy.

Eeek! Cliffhanger extreme!

I can't wait to read more. This is so exciting.

Corrections;;

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 03:19 am (UTC)(link)
Catching my grammar fails was never simple for me LOL.

A!A here-

He captured the rose between his index and middle finger.

He didn’t know how, but somehow he hoisted his Queen off the stool and dumped him onto their bed. Alfred sighed softly from the kisses.

OP

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 03:35 am (UTC)(link)
Just exactly what I wanted! I love how you set up everything so far. I just want to squish Alfred and Arthur here. Did post this in the Fill List for fills and fill updates A!A?

Re: Love Tropes

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 03:51 am (UTC)(link)
A!A Here!

The fill isn't done! :) I was evil and only gave you the prologue!

Love Tropes 3: The Adventure Begins

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:01 am (UTC)(link)
(Many thanks to the anons who love this fill. :) And no! It's not over yet OP! There's more where the first part came from!)

All Love is Unrequited in Imaginary Love Triangles

With a long swallow of his beer, Prussia smiled. He was hanging out with his two best friends in the world, France and Spain. The three amigos were all laughing and smiling, and all three were quite thoroughly snockered. With happy grins fueled by good beer, they sang songs and told stories as was their wont during their biweekly get-togethers.

“So how are things with Belgium?” France asked Spain with a sloppy grin.

Spain dramatically slapped a hand over his heart. “Mi Corazón grows prettier with each day. Her brother is a pain in the ass, but then again what’s new?”

“Too true,” Prussia said. As the talk had turned to his friend’s budding relationship with the female Nation of the north, his mood had soured slowly.

“And you France? How is life with Eyebrows?” Spain said with mock severity.

The beautiful lady of France’s smile turned up several watts at the mention of her centuries-long lover. “Ah, as well as anything that involves my British Angel. He is in North America this weekend visiting our sons.”

Prussia tried his best to sound chipper. For some reason tonight, he just felt down. Perhaps it was because it was June 18, the anniversary of the Battle of Fehrbellin, or because he’d walked through France’s rose garden and seen Damask roses the same shade of delicate pink as the one he’d given away so long ago. He’d been able to shake the feeling when they’d been joking and laughing and making fun of their siblings and friends, but now that talk had turned to the heart, his depression came back full force. “That’s nice.”

Spain and France both gave him a look. Instead of sitting in the middle as was his wont, Prussia had taken the end seat. His face was sad, and he sipped at his beer rather than chugged. All signs of a depressed German indeed. “Come now,” France said jovially, her elegant hand patting him on the back, “There must be some pretty young lady who has captured your eye.”

“Yeah,” Spain pushed, “I know you have to be thinking of a woman. Your face screams it.”

Usually, this was the moment in a conversation they’d had several times now that he would laughingly ask why they were having such girl talk when there was good beer to be had, but this time he didn’t avoid the question. “I fell in love once.”

This admission shocked his two friends. Not that he’d fallen in love, but that he’d admitted it. Prussia’s besetting sin was pride. He generally admitted nothing that was even remotely embarrassing; not that he couldn’t talk to pretty women – France excluded -, not that he had no idea how to work the microwave at Germany’s house, nothing. Really, the only thing they knew about his love life was that he was predominately heterosexual.

There was a moment of silence before Spain waved his hand in the air. “Well! Who man?! Who?!”

Love Tropes 3: The Adventure Begins Again

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:02 am (UTC)(link)
“Hungary?” France guessed. “She seems right up your alley.”

“No.”

“Liechtenstein. She is a pretty little thing,” Spain tried.

“No.”

“Ukraine? You did spend way too much of last century at Russia’s house,” France said with a crinkled nose.

“No.”

“Well, what about Russia herself?” Spain asked.

“No.”

“Italy Venezia!”

“Japan!”

“No.”

France held up a hand to Spain and began to list off female Nations. “Monaco, Latvia, Lithuania, Taiwan, Australia, Vietnam, Seychelles, Mexico, Argentina, Guam, Chile, Sudan, Egypt, Greece, Ghana, Gabon, South Africa, New Zealand.”

Prussia only shook his head.

“Oh good Lord, it’s not me is it?” France snapped.

“No.”

Spain’s eyes grew huge, realizing that France had forgotten one pretty prominent female Nation of Europe. “It’s Sweden isn’t it?”

Finally, Prussia nodded. “I fell in love with her the first time I saw her during the Thirty Years War.”

Spain nodded. “She is beautiful in an Amazon warrioress kind of way.”

France cocked a brow. “Why didn’t you court her?”

Prussia glanced up at the back wall of the tavern they were sitting in and remembered the day his heart broke. “After the Great Elector had driven the Swedes from my lands in 1678, I went to Sweden’s house to court her. But I saw her with Denmark. Every time I see her, she’s with Denmark.”

Spain and France shared a look. Spain was about to tell Prussia that Denmark and Sweden were not romantically involved when France nudged him under the table. Wisely, the Spaniard interpreted that to mean he needed to keep his trap shut.

Sensing that he’d ruined all chances of spending the rest of the evening in jovial companionship, Prussia got up from his quaint barstool. The tavern the three liked to frequent was a place in a small French backwater town that was run by an old American expat. Decorated to resemble a 1930s American speakeasy, the place was a favorite because of the great beer and the atmosphere. Prussia placed his money on the bar and nodded to the bartender, the grizzled man who had told the three his story once when America had come to a night out with his mother. Taking one look at America, the old man had sworn that he had stormed the beaches of Normandy with a guy named Al who looked just like him. That’s when he’d told them he was a WWII vet who had managed to get himself enlisted by lying about his age and saying he was eighteen when he was really a kid of sixteen. He’d spent two years fighting in Europe, and met his French wife here. After the war, he had come back here to be with his wife, settling in to run this tavern and raise several children.

Prussia knew many stories, and he was glad that this man’s had ended happily. He kind of wished his own would.

Re: Who's Your Hero? 4a/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
“You were waiting for me….?” England asked curiously. “Why?” England said, wondering why Tony was shooting the wall.

“Hfdewofgbf.” Tony said, returning to his alien language.

“English, please…?” England asked, not sure if he could speak it or not.

The alien stared at the nation trying to remember the English language. With America, he could just speak his language because he understood, but not all nations are like that… “I needed to get your attention,” The alien looked down to his arm that wasn’t holding the gun, indirectly showing England his wound. England also noted that the alien’s left leg didn’t look in good shape as well.

“What happened to you?!” England asked, stunned. So it was Tony’s blood on the stairs?

“Attacked on my vacation a while ago,” He replied, still trying to remember all the words to convey his message, “Followed that guy here, but too late, too late. Searched everywhere but it was too late.” England saw the corner of Tony’s eyes getting watery, but he had to know what exactly happened. But England also worried about Tony’s health….

“What was too late?” England asked as he walked over to Tony to check out his injury. Tony just held out his hand, indirectly telling him to stop. “Fine, I’m fine.” He said as he then continued his story, “He already took America before he could figure out who he was.”

“America knew about this?!” England asked in a yell, stunned once again. Why didn’t he tell me about this?!

Ignoring England, Tony asked a question, “Can you save America?”

“I was planning on it!” England said a little too excitedly. “Hey, is this connected to that le-”

“Thank you.” Tony turned his head out towards the window. “Go. I have to go home,” Letting out a sigh he finished, “To recover.”

“….How will you get home…?”

Tony pointed outside to the window. England squinted his eyes but still, he didn’t see anything. “What is it?” He asked curiously. With a snap of Tony’s fingers a sudden space ship was seen. “Oh…”

Looking at the current condition of Tony England guessed that he wouldn’t be able to reach his space ship. It must be because of the situation I am in for even considering this…. He walked closer to Tony then once he was close enough he held out his hand. “I’ll help you get to your space ship. You can’t walk all that way and not hurt yourself with that injury, right?” Tony looked up into England’s eyes then nodded.

I know you can save America, England…..Tony thought as England bent down to help lift him up. Tony’s good arm went around England’s neck then they started to walk downstairs.

England had a difficult time giving support to Tony but he managed to do so. Well, until they reached the beginning of the stairs. Looking at them questionably he wondered how this would work. If he made one mistake that led to them crashing down, then that would be bad, that would be very bad. After thinking some more, he finally decided to take the first step downwards. Unlucky for him, his first step was where the forgotten blood laid. Unprepared to face such a challenge, he crumble downward.

For England, the fall was in this slow motion, slow, torturous motion. He at least managed to curl up into a small ball so he wouldn’t get hurt that bad. Tony, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. See, England had thought about this ahead of time of the possibility of falling so he prepared for that, his little creature friends would carry Tony down the stairs if he were to fall. In this plan, he wouldn’t have to worry about Tony coming along with him if he would crash down.

But if England thought that far, why didn’t he just have his friends carry the alien in the beginning?

Re: Who's Your Hero? 4b/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
[In front of America’s house]

“Canada! Canada! Are you here?!” France yelled out. He had been worried about the other nation for a while now; he was acting weird by not allowing him to go hang out with him and saying that his phone was not working so he couldn’t text message/call back. So when he lent out his phone to Canada and he still didn’t reply back he decided to go visit him. What he found out was shocking…

Crumbling the letter in his hand France called out Canada’s name again. Canada’s not at his house, so he should be here talking about these notes with his brother….Right?France tried not to think of what the worst could happen, like the younger nation getting kidnapped or killed and just continued with his search.

Where are you, Canada?

“Finally!”

France looked over at the front door, seeing England and…..What is that creature? I remember seeing him somewhere….. Wait, that creature is bleeding! Just what happened here?!

England noticed France standing near America’s house. What is he doing here? He thought, losing track of what he was supposed to do.

“What happened?” France asked, getting closer to the two.

“Stay back! This is none of your business!” England yelled out, annoyed.

“Have you seen Canada?” France asked, ignoring England’s comment.

“Shut up! I’m busy right now!”

Getting annoyed at the other nation, France continued to call out Canada. He just had to be here! He wasn’t with any other of the nations, I already checked!

“Stop that and leave! I am doing something very important right now!” England snapped, not wanting to deal with France right now. He had other things to do, like getting Tony to his space ship so he can start looking for America!

“What do you mean by that?!” France snapped back, getting frustrated with England. Like he was the only one that had something to do?!

“Go away if you’re just going to bother me!”

“Because you are the only one that has things to do?”

“Well, I know you have things to do, but, I am the only one that has important things to do!”

England and France just starred at each other for a moment. What is this guy’s problem? They thought in unison. Then, as if on a script, they both yelled at the same time,

“America has been kidnapped!”

“I think Canada has been kidnapped!”

Death Is Nothing To Us (4)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:49 am (UTC)(link)
Uh, I had good steam and then... I wasn't sure where to end it. If I ever de-anon, probs re-write the ending.

For the fourth time in seven minutes, Alfred pressed his fingers to Matthew’s neck. Alfred just wanted to be completely sure, even if he hadn’t felt a pulse since he brought Matthew upstairs.

“Matthew, I am so, so sorry,” Alfred murmured. His voice was trembling, although he had calmed down considerably in the last few minutes. Something about watching Matthew’s still form had brought a strange sense of peace to the other nation. “What am I supposed to do now, Mattie? No one ever told me how to handle this…”

“Hush, child, why are you crying?” Arthur whispered as Alfred curled up into the elder’s arms, burying his face in the worn shirt.

“You we-went away and th-then those strange men brought you back, I di-didn’t like it,” Alfred managed through his tears and hiccups. “I said your name, and you didn’t say anything to me!” The wind rattled their weak windows and Arthur could feel the intensity of the cold night through their walls. He pressed Alfred closer to him to keep the child warm.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” Arthur said, wrapping both arms protectively around tiny shoulders. “I had no intention of you ever seeing me like that.”


Matthew’s lips were parted. His teeth were bloody. Alfred stared at his dry lips and wondered if he should… clean him up. Should he prepare the body as if for burial? Without the embalming, of course, he thought dryly. Alfred sighed and slid from the bed, instead heading to his small fire place and stocking it with kindling. He’s not gonna be any warmer when he wakes up, Alfred thought. As he attempted to get the fire going, he had a thought: how was he going to wake up, exactly? As far as Alfred knew, Matthew was dead as could be. Shouldn’t he be… waking up soon? Would he just sit up like he’d woken from a nightmare?

Or would it be gradual? Would his heart return, his breathing beginning slowly, his skin warming gently as blood flowed through his veins once more? Would he wake up in pain from his wound? Alfred had the great fortune of never being killed in his short life, at least not in a violent way like Matthew.

Alfred sank to the floor before the fireplace, looking down at his hands. These hands pushed Matthew. His stupid, foolish strength had brought this upon them. His face sank into his palms and he stared at the planked floor beneath his feet, listening to his own pulse beat in his palms.

When had he gotten so strong? He certainly never worked hard to build such strength. He watched his soldiers train for ramshackle battles and toil underneath the sweat of their brow to bring usher in this… new era of work.

Alfred cocked his head to one side and pushed on either side of his face; each sinew and vein seemed to tense in his hands, forearms and wrists, and suddenly his cheeks ached and the throbbing doubled in his eardrums. How powerful was he, now? He’d caught wind of some Europeans who were itching to get into his business plans, and his industry just grew by the day. He pushed on his face more, closing his eyes. How much damage could he inflict with just his hands? Did he even need weapons anymore?

Death Is Nothing To Us (5)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
“Augh!” he cried, sitting up straight, his chest pumping in heated gasps. The fire had started picking up and he’d been pushing on his own face for long enough that his head was throbbing mercilessly. Sweat dripped down his hands and he closed his eyes, swallowing as he stared at the floor.

The fire cracked at his feet and he turned around again, glancing at his small bed. Matthew’s sock poked out from underneath the duvet, and Alfred concentrated on it for so long he could have sworn he saw a twitch.

“Matt?!” he cried, choking on his own voice. When did he start sounding so hoarse? He scrambled to his feet and bolted to the bed, kneeling beside it. Matthew remained still, his skin completely white and cold. Nothing.

Alfred, coming to his senses, went over to the basin where he retrieved water before and dipped a rag into it, bringing it to Matthew’s bedside. He pressed Matthew’s lips apart and gently wiped his teeth, wiping off his lips and his face as he went. The dried blood dotting his hairline was swept from his light hair and he retained some look of normalcy.

As Alfred worked, he purposefully held the rag as delicately as he could. Now that he was aware of his growing strength, how was he to know what would be too much?

“How many others do you think, Mattie?” Alfred asked as he pulled the duvet up to Matthew’s neck. “How many others do you think I’ve hurt because of this?” There were times, before, when he would grab someone in excitement and they’d wince—times when he push people jokingly, and they’d stumble forward a little too far—

“I-I’m… I’m gonna go cook something now, Mattie,” Alfred murmured, standing up. “Just… come and find me when you… wake up.” But he didn’t move. He just continued to stare at Matt’s body as if he were timing Matthew’s wakening. Alfred stared at Matthew a moment longer, and then ran to his writing desk, grabbed a piece of paper, and returned to Matt’s bedside, gently pushing Matt over and laying down beside him on the bed.

“I’ll… cook later,” he muttered, laying the paper across his britches. “I have something I have to do first.”

--

It was just about nightfall when Matthew first opened his eyes. His throat was dry and every muscle ached in one way or another. His head throbbed and his skin burned, and as soon as he tried to move his head, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his skull. He closed his eyes in pain and buried his face in the soft, warm, firewood-scented mass to his right. That was snoring.

“Ugh,” Matt mumbled and he opened his eyes once more, allowing the room to come more into focus. He was tucked into Alfred’s too-small bed underneath his old English duvet, and he was snuggled into his brother’s shoulder. His brother, who had pushed him so hard he’d smashed his head—but then what? He wasn’t sure. Alfred was laid all over the bed, his legs on top of Matt’s and his arms strewn across his chest. He had four pieces of parchment in his lap and ink all over his britches from where he spilled the small inkwell he was using.

“Alfred,” Matthew said, but his voice came out a harsh whisper. He coughed into his arm and cleared his throat. “Alfred,” he tried again. He nudged his brother with his shoulder and instantly regretted it. A burning pain raced up his shoulder and he hissed into the dark.

Death Is Nothing To Us (6)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:53 am (UTC)(link)
Alfred’s head lulled to one side, and then fell down onto his chest, snapping him awake. He awoke with a start, jumping and immediately turning to his brother.

“Matt—Matt! You’re awake!” he cried, and nearly crushed Matthew as he toppled over him.

“Augh, Alfred,” Matthew whimpered, and Alfred immediately threw himself off him only to land with a thud on the floor. With a groan, Matthew perched himself up on the pillow, rubbing his face in small circles. He placed a hand to his head and felt the bandages, pressing gingerly on the back of his head.

“Matthew, how are you feeling?” Alfred asked, crawling back on the bed. He had fallen asleep long before he noticed any signs of Matthew’s awakening. Matthew cracked his neck and pressed his hand to his neck, breathing deeply. Alfred watched as Matthew’s eyes rolled closed, only to open again in a glossy expression. “Matt…?”

“Still recovering,” Matthew said finally. “Pulse is still slow.”

“Is… that how it works?” Alfred asked in a small voice. Matthew half-shrugged and rotated shoulders.

“There are a lot of factors involved… wait,” Matthew said, turning to his brother. “Do you… not know? How this works?” Matthew asked, groping around for his glasses. Alfred settled down beside Matthew, looking at him as if he were going to melt. Alfred looked away for a moment, sighed, and then looked back at Matthew, who was just staring straight at him.

“What?”

“Have you…. Never experienced this yourself?” Matthew asked, gesturing to himself. Alfred shook his head. “Really? Never? But surely you’ve helped someone recuperate from this…?” Again, Alfred shook his head. Matthew’s eyes widened and Alfred just shrugged.

“I’ve—I don’t know, Mattie, I’ve—during the wars and stuff, either I didn’t fight in them at all or I was by myself away from my allies, and—I’ve only seen this once.” Alfred bit his lower lip and pushed his glasses into his hair, looking uncomfortable. Matthew wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled back into the pillows.

“I’m still coming back. I’ve only done this once before, but I’ve…. Seen it plenty of times,” Matthew admitted. “Europeans find it… important for us to know how to deal with these things.” Alfred cocked an eyebrow.

“Colonies.”

“Right,” Alfred responded, shifting. The air tensed and Matthew closed his eyes once more. Alfred glanced at him, his breath catching in his throat. “Matt—”

“I’m fine, Alfred,” Matt said in a gently voice. “I’m fine, I just…. I need more time to rest.”

“Matt—”

“It’s alright, Alfred,” Matt responded, and Alfred closed his mouth. “You’re young, and you’re strong. I’ve seen this kind of strength in others before, Alfred. You should see the Beilschmidt boy, does he have some muscles. “

“Matt, it’s not alright,” Alfred protested. “Please, I—”

Alfred. I can hear your stomach from here. Go make something for us. If you’re truly sorry, you’ll do that much right now,” Matthew said, and he turned to his other side, sighing into the pillow. “Please. We can talk about it later.” With a defeated sigh, Alfred left the room. Matthew listened to his hesitant steps as he stared at the door, but then finally went down the stairs to the kitchen.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Matthew reached down and picked up one of the pieces of paper that Alfred had been writing on when he woke. It was a letter.

Arthur,

I have not written you in one hundred years.

But I think I need your help.


Matthew folded the note and tucked it into his shirt, not bothering to read the rest.

“I promise, it’ll be alright,” Matthew murmured as he drifted off once more.


I really liked this prompt and I'd love to explore it more! I hope OP somewhat enjoys?

Re: Unlucky Hands 8b/?

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 04:55 am (UTC)(link)
oh nooo
poor alfred

lol serioulsy i say this ever chapter, but I hope Arthur does fall in love with Alfred and not all about competition! But never less I love how you wrote that chapter the banter between francis and arthur were perfect

Berwald is Alfred farther

Francis and Arthur beware

Hope too see more alfred family life

What to do when your tomato gets pregnant (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 05:11 am (UTC)(link)
Hi! Um, this is my first fill, and I am praying I'm doing it right. Mpreg has got to be my guilty pleasure, along with SpUk (Who can't love two sexy pirates?) and I've been waiting for someone to fill this. Sadly, I've decided I couldn't wait any longer. As a side note, I don't know what I’m doing, and this is only the first part. Also, human names are used when speaking. Have fun reading anons~
___________________________________________________________________________________

If there was one thing Romano did not plan on, it was getting pregnant. Yeah sure, he and Spain tended to be together in a bed more often than not, and protection was the last thing on both their minds, but there was the little fact that Romano was male. As far as he knew, getting knocked up was not possible. However, after staring at the tenth pregnancy test that he had finally convinced himself to buy, and eventually believing the little pink plus did not mean infertile, he was starting to think that maybe it might possibly could have been the teensiest bit possible.

“ANTONIO!”

The shout echoed throughout the large house, out through the door, bounced around the country side and finally reached the ears of the man in question (well, exclamation). Spain, who had been hunched over inspecting a newly budded tomato, straightened up and after debating whether it was a real emergency, or just Romano shouting about the kitchen he was supposed to have cleaned, he put down his basket of ripe tomatoes, and headed inside.

Out of all the things he had expected though, Romano curled in a ball on the bathroom floor crying, was not one of them. “Lovi?!” Spain frantically asked, attempting to pull apart his lover's make shift cocoon of bath towels so he could hug him properly. “Why are you crying? Did you hit your head on the sink again? I told you to let me help when you can't reach the top shelf!” But instead of a response, or an angry shout of 'I am perfectly capable of reaching things on my own! That was one time!', Romano just seemed to cry louder and sink further into the corner of the bath tub and the wall.

Seeming to realize his tactic of guessing what was wrong was only to met with failure (But not after suggesting every other time Spain had found Romano sobbing in a corner), Spain looked around to see if his tomato's cause of distress was still lurking. A quick check of behind the shower curtain proved fruitless, there was nothing but his missing shoe in the bathroom drawers, and only assorted cleaning products resided under the sink. Thoughts of giving up and trying to have Romano tell him what was wrong again were cut short when his eyes fell on the trashcan. It was overflowing with- pregnancy tests? Oddly enough, they were all positive too. “Um, Lovi? Why are there pregnancy tests in the trashcan? Is that why you're crying?”

That seemed to hit the nail on the head, and Romano gave a quick nod. However, this only added more questions than answers. Had Belgium been over? Was she pregnant? Actually, was she even dating anyone? Ruling out Belgium, and really every other women Spain knew, the answer seemed to take form in the shape of a cute, temperamental Italian who was -now- silently crying right in front of him.

Dropping to his knees, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, Spain quietly whispered the question he already knew the answer to. “Lovino... are you pregnant?”

OP

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 05:24 am (UTC)(link)
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH OH GOD
No, seriously, this is so cute and amazing and background prucan I am so happy right now!

A!A

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 06:40 am (UTC)(link)
First of all, thanks for reading :'D

I'm just going to say UKUS/USUK has always been my OTP XD
It's very painful writing mean Arthur -you can tell how bad it is LOL-

I originally didn't want to say anything as to not ruin the surprise or anything, but don't worry. As it progresses, Arthur won't stay ice cold forever etc.

And that just makes things even more messy, eh? x)

Re: Just This Once (2/?)

(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 07:05 am (UTC)(link)
(( A!A apologizes if updates are slower than expected, school is an evil force. ))

Small icons jump as they start up. Beeps sound as email arrives.

Names both foreign and familiar to the house and Roderich appear in the highlighted “von” column. Erzebet. Ludwig. Vash. Lilli. Ivan. Gilbert. The last one makes Roderich frown as he adjusts his glasses on the nose that reminds the house of the prow of a sinking ship. Another cloud passes over, and the room is bathed in shadow.

Roderich sighs, rubs his temples, and decides to get it over with.

The last email is double-clicked.

No description is provided aside from a YouTube link in the body and an email title of “Listen to REAL music, Roddy,” screaming ‘BAD IDEA’ all over it.

Nevertheless, the Bach is paused, and the link is clicked.

Roderich’s hands clap over his ears as they scream in pain when the video begins to play, the harsh lyrics and exaggerated roughness of Till Lindemann’s voice rip through the house, finding every bit of serenity and ripping it to shread with the gnashes of the teeth of heavy metal.

Desperately searching for the little red x in the corner of his web browser, a sigh of relief creeps its way out of Roderich’s lungs and through his mouth as the music video is cut off.

The email is pulled up again.

“Rammstein singing about gore and sex is not ‘real music,’ Gilbert,” he typed back, looking a tad indignant as he clicked the ‘send’ button.

He thought he had all but won when a small ‘ding’ sang of a reply.

“What, and Hadyn’s Fifth Symphony is?”

Roderich sighed—“It is,” he insisted to thin air out loud—and laced his fingers through silky strands still mussed by sleep, pushing the glasses back from his face.

It was the start of a long battle.