...perhaps more bittersweet than cute, and I hope others fill this prompt, OP!She is like a mermaid.
From Liechtenstein’s viewpoint, that’s impressive. It’s not common, back home, to hear of such things, to treat them as creatures existent and creatures close – there are no oceans around Liechtenstein regardless but now, water is the only thing she sees. The salt of it has become the only smell, the blue of it the only gleam.
This is Seychelles, child; Liechtenstein bows her head and listens. This is an Earth beyond your comprehension, and we are not the same.
Liechtenstein has never seen a clearer sea. She’s had water in her glass at her brother’s house, his money pumped into ensuring such a supply is clean, healthy, but it’s always a transparent sort of sight. The glass is just as clear as its contents when she takes a drink back home; it doesn’t catch endless skies, summer shades in eternal July.
Seychelles is islands, a conglomerate. She smiles when stepping between them, mere stones to her, and they belong beneath her skin where she carries them, martyred. Exposed to the product of alkali plasma and sandy beaches, Liechtenstein feels like time is endless here, her toes hidden beneath those very sands – and all the while she watches the mermaid twirl, waist-deep, in the ocean she claims as her very own.
This is the end of the world.
Seychelles stands in her depths and stares to the clouds. It’s raining, but everything’s still so bright, the downpour minimal and attitudes unchanged – the quiet acceptance is not one fit for the catastrophe, but fit for a learned distance they’ve lived with for centuries. What lies beyond is indeed beyond, and these islands are situated too far away from the coast for isolation to seem like an absurd concept.
Those are Western issues, child; such an attitude means nothing here. Seychelles drifts across a nation full of workers, united only in that they are going to be alone. Liechtenstein can’t fathom it, and she’s more concerned about the way her dress clings to her, hurts, a garment of fabric unworn in a place like this. Ill-equipped, that’s how Liechtenstein feels, but Seychelles is nothing if not accepting and the tourists can have their aesthetics but this, this sand is going to be home until the very end. No dress-code required.
It hasn’t been long since the tide was in, if that’s anything to measure time against. Liechtenstein watches, silent, as her own toes wiggle and dislodge wet clumps, the geography of a beach being foreign language to her.
All rain goes back to the sea; each storm is a child returning to its mother. Seychelles welcomes it. She knows where it’s been, every last droplet, how far it managed to get and how it nearly didn’t make it, but she smiles and her eyes say Koste Seselwa.
Liechtenstein feels cold.
“You've realised what I am, child,” Seychelles murmurs, and then she, mermaid, grows legs while she makes her way back to trapping shores. Tall, that’s what she is; Liechtenstein slowly gazes up at her, hears the rush of those islands shifting against the continental shelf through the noise of Seychelles’ steady heartbeat.
Liechtenstein’s hair sticks to her cheeks and she feels awfully rosy, so that’s what she might well be. Seychelles has warm hands, African summer in the skin of a Brahmin; Liechtenstein knows this from Seychelles reaching out to tip back her European eyes, chin pushed rearward through only the ghost of a touch.
A kiss. Warm salt, bumpy like ocean coral. Seychelles pulls back, says, I know you were really no child.
I clicked on that prompt because, uh, femslash is so rare and I thought, ffff, what the heck, I don't know the pairing or anything but it says microfill so I'll just spent a few seconds there and.
And.
Never had I expected something such as this, dear anon. Never. This is the sort of story that makes me stay on the kink meme forever. This is the sort of story that makes me think good writers don't need a big name.
This is the sort of story that makes me believe in fairytales for adults.
I love how you wrote Seychelles--a deep, old, even ancient creature, more like an old goddess, carrying the faults of her lands and the fate of her people (the line "[...]workers, united only in that they are going to be alone" still has me shivering, anon) without really having a fate herself (even though the "this is the end of the world"-line), and how vivid yet mythological her description is. The aspect of her personification is plastic and visible, and still manages not to be silly.
And then Liechtenstein: lost and gazing, with thoughts that could seem childish and frightened, yet are adult at other times. Like the protagonist of a fairytale. Wonderful.
I would ask you to kindly fill every prompt on the kink meme (at least mine!), please, or give this one more dept, or link me to more of your stories, or deanon so I can give you my undying love.
TL;DR: Ermahgerd tht wus AWSUMZ Hav m bbies plz <3333
Oh goodness, I admit I wasn't expecting a comment at all, and this is glorious to come back to! Thank you so much. I'm blushing. It's high praise indeed and really, my Seychelles bias might be showing - African history is full of impressive, strong women and I think she'd be much the same. Liechtenstein has to be one tough cookie herself to put up with such boisterous siblings! I feel I might elaborate on this someday, perhaps to explain with a Germanic is in Africa for such an event!
As for entertaining thee further, I admit I haven't written much femslash here, if that's what you're after the only other fic I could think of that's in this sort of style would be a (completed) FrUk fic called 'deporvue, chers': http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21125.html?thread=83835525#t83835525 If you search for it on the pit of voles fanfiction.net, my account's there - and this drabble has been deanoned also. But anyway, if that doesn't interest you, I'd love to write more here if you had a prompt you wanted filling, I'm coming back to writing after a relative hiatus - feel free to link me! I can't promise anything, but I'll give it a shot. :3
I can hardly hope to follow the other anon's comment, so I will just say, YAY, and also, THANK YOU! Bittersweet is my favorite kind of sweet, so even though this isn't the fluff I had in mind when I prompted, I rather adore it. Lovely writing, author, I wish I could wrap myself in your style.
I'm glad you liked it! I did try to make it fluffy and cute, but nope, Armageddon wanted an insight. I might expand it if I have time, I'm oddly intrigued by this pairing - and of course, thank you for leaving a comment!
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Seychelles/Leichtenstein - a kiss in the rain
(Anonymous) 2013-05-02 05:07 am (UTC)(link)Plimsole [1/1][Minifill]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 05:49 pm (UTC)(link)She is like a mermaid.
From Liechtenstein’s viewpoint, that’s impressive. It’s not common, back home, to hear of such things, to treat them as creatures existent and creatures close – there are no oceans around Liechtenstein regardless but now, water is the only thing she sees. The salt of it has become the only smell, the blue of it the only gleam.
This is Seychelles, child; Liechtenstein bows her head and listens. This is an Earth beyond your comprehension, and we are not the same.
Liechtenstein has never seen a clearer sea. She’s had water in her glass at her brother’s house, his money pumped into ensuring such a supply is clean, healthy, but it’s always a transparent sort of sight. The glass is just as clear as its contents when she takes a drink back home; it doesn’t catch endless skies, summer shades in eternal July.
Seychelles is islands, a conglomerate. She smiles when stepping between them, mere stones to her, and they belong beneath her skin where she carries them, martyred. Exposed to the product of alkali plasma and sandy beaches, Liechtenstein feels like time is endless here, her toes hidden beneath those very sands – and all the while she watches the mermaid twirl, waist-deep, in the ocean she claims as her very own.
This is the end of the world.
Seychelles stands in her depths and stares to the clouds. It’s raining, but everything’s still so bright, the downpour minimal and attitudes unchanged – the quiet acceptance is not one fit for the catastrophe, but fit for a learned distance they’ve lived with for centuries. What lies beyond is indeed beyond, and these islands are situated too far away from the coast for isolation to seem like an absurd concept.
Those are Western issues, child; such an attitude means nothing here. Seychelles drifts across a nation full of workers, united only in that they are going to be alone. Liechtenstein can’t fathom it, and she’s more concerned about the way her dress clings to her, hurts, a garment of fabric unworn in a place like this. Ill-equipped, that’s how Liechtenstein feels, but Seychelles is nothing if not accepting and the tourists can have their aesthetics but this, this sand is going to be home until the very end. No dress-code required.
It hasn’t been long since the tide was in, if that’s anything to measure time against. Liechtenstein watches, silent, as her own toes wiggle and dislodge wet clumps, the geography of a beach being foreign language to her.
All rain goes back to the sea; each storm is a child returning to its mother. Seychelles welcomes it. She knows where it’s been, every last droplet, how far it managed to get and how it nearly didn’t make it, but she smiles and her eyes say Koste Seselwa.
Liechtenstein feels cold.
“You've realised what I am, child,” Seychelles murmurs, and then she, mermaid, grows legs while she makes her way back to trapping shores. Tall, that’s what she is; Liechtenstein slowly gazes up at her, hears the rush of those islands shifting against the continental shelf through the noise of Seychelles’ steady heartbeat.
Liechtenstein’s hair sticks to her cheeks and she feels awfully rosy, so that’s what she might well be. Seychelles has warm hands, African summer in the skin of a Brahmin; Liechtenstein knows this from Seychelles reaching out to tip back her European eyes, chin pushed rearward through only the ghost of a touch.
A kiss. Warm salt, bumpy like ocean coral. Seychelles pulls back, says, I know you were really no child.
Re: Plimsole [1/1][Minifill]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)And.
Never had I expected something such as this, dear anon. Never. This is the sort of story that makes me stay on the kink meme forever. This is the sort of story that makes me think good writers don't need a big name.
This is the sort of story that makes me believe in fairytales for adults.
I love how you wrote Seychelles--a deep, old, even ancient creature, more like an old goddess, carrying the faults of her lands and the fate of her people (the line "[...]workers, united only in that they are going to be alone" still has me shivering, anon) without really having a fate herself (even though the "this is the end of the world"-line), and how vivid yet mythological her description is. The aspect of her personification is plastic and visible, and still manages not to be silly.
And then Liechtenstein: lost and gazing, with thoughts that could seem childish and frightened, yet are adult at other times. Like the protagonist of a fairytale. Wonderful.
I would ask you to kindly fill every prompt on the kink meme (at least mine!), please, or give this one more dept, or link me to more of your stories, or deanon so I can give you my undying love.
TL;DR: Ermahgerd tht wus AWSUMZ Hav m bbies plz <3333
a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)I'm blushing.It's high praise indeed and really, my Seychelles bias might be showing - African history is full of impressive, strong women and I think she'd be much the same. Liechtenstein has to be one tough cookie herself to put up with such boisterous siblings! I feel I might elaborate on this someday, perhaps to explain with a Germanic is in Africa for such an event!As for entertaining thee further, I admit I haven't written much femslash here, if that's what you're after the only other fic I could think of that's in this sort of style would be a (completed) FrUk fic called 'deporvue, chers': http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21125.html?thread=83835525#t83835525 If you search for it on
the pit of volesfanfiction.net, my account's there - and this drabble has been deanoned also. But anyway, if that doesn't interest you, I'd love to write more here if you had a prompt you wanted filling, I'm coming back to writing after a relative hiatus - feel free to link me! I can't promise anything, but I'll give it a shot. :3OP
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)a!a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:57 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Plimsole [1/1][Minifill]
(Anonymous) 2013-05-31 10:56 am (UTC)(link)Beautiful.