[ drabbles ] [Hetalia & Gankutsuou ]
1. Hetalia: Greece/Spain; “Sometimes questions are more important than answers.”
for chromatic_coma.
“Do I ever remind you of anyone?” Fingers pressed against warm skin, manipulating muscle, upwards, engineering a puppet’s smile, and Spain utilized his free thumbs to brush the field-roughened fingertips over Greece’s lips.
Mouth occupied as it was, the slight tilt of Greece’s eyebrows told tales.
“Cuz, you know.” The thumbs slipped away, the fingers turned to feathery stroking, now smoothing out the lines caused by the upward motion of the eyebrows. “You’re so old and all.”
Greece gave him a sleepy look.
“S’not an insult.” The reassurance was given absently. “But I gotta wonder, sometimes, if I don’t remind you of anyone else. Like, I’m definitely not Turkey but you‘ve been around the world a few ti-- are you choking? Here, have some water!”
The water was gulped down, the glass slapped against the kitchen counter, and Greece tipped his head back, shoulders trembling with not-yet born laughter. “No,” He said mildly.
“No, what? I don’t remind you of anyone or I don’t remind you of Turkey?”
“Why are we talking about Turkey?”
“I don’t know. Why are you laughing?”
Greece gave him an even sleepier look, mouth curled at the ends by themselves. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“Antonio.”
“Si, corazon?”
“Go back to bed.”
“Aww. You’re no fun.”
2. Hetalia: France/Spain -- Morning light.
for inuyashacooks.
Morning light is the first messenger that the battle, for the moment, is over. There’s no clear winner. No leader standing proud and tall. No noble troops on their steeds, nothing but blood slicking up the hill and the piteous dying cries of once-whole bodies.
Francis is standing beneath a tree canopy when he notices the first ray of sunlight. The rapier in his hand tumbles to the ground. Slowly. His fingers are cramped into claws, knuckles scrapped raw. The long tails of his blue coat are stained with mud and he’s a bit worse for the wear, but alive. Breathing. More than he can say for the Spaniards and Austrians around him.
If he looked to his left, a mile down, he’d see the commander of the French Army is still alive, but barely. He has no impulse to look, however, and even less of a desire to go down and help him up. His chest rises up and down in jerky cycles, exhale disjointed from inhale, and the tension is killing him as his eyes scan the abattoir that the valley has become.
There. The sunshine glints off the edge of an axe, gilding it gold, hiding the blood that still drips off the blade. Antonio is standing the middle of a pile of the dead, staring down at a decapitate head at his feet without much of an expression.
Francis puts his fingers in his mouth, not caring that they taste of dirt, gunpowder and blood. Tongue pressed just right, chest finally syncing in exhale-inhale, he whistles sharply.
Antonio jerks, looks up at him.
They’re two nations in a full-on war to kill each other or die trying. Francis, the other Francis, won’t ever stop until Charles is dead, and the affairs of kings and men are petty to them but oh-so difficult to ignore.
Antonio lifts a hand, waving back in acknowledgment with a smile that disturbs the scabs on his lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The sun shows he’s otherwise unharmed, although his shoulder seems to hang limp. Francis licks his own chapped lips and feels a flower of warmth uncurl in his chest.
Then Antonio grips the heavy two-headed axe with both hands, bringing it down with a meaty thud into the back of the French soldier crawling towards him with a knife between his teeth. A blankness dulls his features again as he struggles to wrench the axe free.
Francis collects his weapon and begins to make his way down to Antonio, using it as a walking aid.
They’ve survived another bloody sunrise.
3. Hetalia: Ancient Greece <- Turkey: “owning the Persian Empire”
For inuyashacooks
Notes: Asia Minor = Turkey. Persians wore makeup and trousers, which were considered strange by the Greeks. Not entirely historically accurate as far as timeline goes but hey, who’s grading me?
“Oh, for the love of the -- Persia, what did you do to him?” Greece licked her thumbs, knelt down, and vigorously wiped away at the makeup on Turkey’s face, leaving streaks of black and white on his tan, gaunt cheeks. She wrinkled her nose at the mess and then without hesitation tore the long end of her silk peplos, and began wiping again earnestly.
Persia rose to his full height, towering over both of them. “I gave him culture, Hellene.” The Empire said haughtily, as much as he could, despite having been freshly defeated. “Something you obviously lack.”
“Oh, please.” A lock of dark hair tumbled over Greece's eyes. She wiped it away absently with the back of her hand. “Go do something productive. Like tending to your dead and getting the hell out of Asia Minor. If I see you around here again, there won’t be a Persian Empire anymore.” She tipped Turkey’s chin up, examining the cleanup. “Understood?”
Persia’s lips tightened. He gave no reply, simply turned and left.
Greece sighed, having watched the exiting nation with one eye. “I do admit, there is something fetching about those garments he’s wearing. They seem comfortable.”
Turkey ventured to speak. “They’re not, really.” He looked down at his own pair, tight fitting, shaped to each of his legs. He licked his lips, unsure if he was about to be punished.
“Hm. I’ll take your word for it. Well. Let’s get you some new clothing and make sure Persia doesn’t get any sneaky ideas, hm? I‘d hate to find myself dealing with a Trojan horse just when I got you back.” Greece placed his small hand in hers. He was amazed at her long slender fingers marked with calluses, and as she stood the light glinted off a sword hooked to her hip, half hidden under the fold of the fine robe.
Turkey sighed involuntarily, reluctantly filled with admiration. True, he was being passed around without his consent between these two great nations. But at least Greece seemed to genuinely care for him. And he had to admit… she was beautiful.
“I…” He said, stuttering, and Greece looked down at him. Patiently.
Turkey flushed. “IhopeIgetmarriedtosomeonelikeyouinthefuture.”
She studied him pensively and then gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll have children one day. Why don’t you give them a try when they’re old enough?”
4. Gankutsuou: Franz/Albert; “Alcohol”
for perfectdays
“You’re a terrible drunk, Albert.”
“I… am not.”
“My friend, that is the wall you‘re speaking to.”
“Well, stop moving!”
“That’s a window. I’m not moving.”
“… are you laughing at me?”
“Yes. Want to prove you’re not a bad drunk? Try to walk over to me.”
“Well. Alright. Yes. I can do that. Perfectesly fine. Per… perfectelsy…. Perfect…”
“Albert.”
“Mmn?”
“Focus.”
“But I don’t wanna. Oh. Are we outta wine already? Awww, I want s’more and Franz, did you move again?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“S’not funny to tease me, Franz!”
“On the contrary. One step forward, Albert. Yes. That way. Two more to your left, then to your right. Watch out for the--”
“Ow!”
“Desk corner. Never mind.”
“Ow. Franz, I dun’ care what you say, y’re totally moving.”
“No, you’re just imagining it. Now, lean back. Put your hand on my elbow. We’ll be here all night if I make you walk across the room all by yourself.”
“… where we going? I wanna sleep, Franz, I’m sleepy.”
“To bed.”
“With you?”
“… there’s only one bed. You could put it that way. Wait, keep your hand there. See? Now I can grab you around the-- Albert?”
“M’sleepy. Your chest is comfty.”
“…You are such a poor drunk.”
400 watchers! Thanks, guys!
for chromatic_coma.
“Do I ever remind you of anyone?” Fingers pressed against warm skin, manipulating muscle, upwards, engineering a puppet’s smile, and Spain utilized his free thumbs to brush the field-roughened fingertips over Greece’s lips.
Mouth occupied as it was, the slight tilt of Greece’s eyebrows told tales.
“Cuz, you know.” The thumbs slipped away, the fingers turned to feathery stroking, now smoothing out the lines caused by the upward motion of the eyebrows. “You’re so old and all.”
Greece gave him a sleepy look.
“S’not an insult.” The reassurance was given absently. “But I gotta wonder, sometimes, if I don’t remind you of anyone else. Like, I’m definitely not Turkey but you‘ve been around the world a few ti-- are you choking? Here, have some water!”
The water was gulped down, the glass slapped against the kitchen counter, and Greece tipped his head back, shoulders trembling with not-yet born laughter. “No,” He said mildly.
“No, what? I don’t remind you of anyone or I don’t remind you of Turkey?”
“Why are we talking about Turkey?”
“I don’t know. Why are you laughing?”
Greece gave him an even sleepier look, mouth curled at the ends by themselves. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“Antonio.”
“Si, corazon?”
“Go back to bed.”
“Aww. You’re no fun.”
2. Hetalia: France/Spain -- Morning light.
for inuyashacooks.
Morning light is the first messenger that the battle, for the moment, is over. There’s no clear winner. No leader standing proud and tall. No noble troops on their steeds, nothing but blood slicking up the hill and the piteous dying cries of once-whole bodies.
Francis is standing beneath a tree canopy when he notices the first ray of sunlight. The rapier in his hand tumbles to the ground. Slowly. His fingers are cramped into claws, knuckles scrapped raw. The long tails of his blue coat are stained with mud and he’s a bit worse for the wear, but alive. Breathing. More than he can say for the Spaniards and Austrians around him.
If he looked to his left, a mile down, he’d see the commander of the French Army is still alive, but barely. He has no impulse to look, however, and even less of a desire to go down and help him up. His chest rises up and down in jerky cycles, exhale disjointed from inhale, and the tension is killing him as his eyes scan the abattoir that the valley has become.
There. The sunshine glints off the edge of an axe, gilding it gold, hiding the blood that still drips off the blade. Antonio is standing the middle of a pile of the dead, staring down at a decapitate head at his feet without much of an expression.
Francis puts his fingers in his mouth, not caring that they taste of dirt, gunpowder and blood. Tongue pressed just right, chest finally syncing in exhale-inhale, he whistles sharply.
Antonio jerks, looks up at him.
They’re two nations in a full-on war to kill each other or die trying. Francis, the other Francis, won’t ever stop until Charles is dead, and the affairs of kings and men are petty to them but oh-so difficult to ignore.
Antonio lifts a hand, waving back in acknowledgment with a smile that disturbs the scabs on his lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The sun shows he’s otherwise unharmed, although his shoulder seems to hang limp. Francis licks his own chapped lips and feels a flower of warmth uncurl in his chest.
Then Antonio grips the heavy two-headed axe with both hands, bringing it down with a meaty thud into the back of the French soldier crawling towards him with a knife between his teeth. A blankness dulls his features again as he struggles to wrench the axe free.
Francis collects his weapon and begins to make his way down to Antonio, using it as a walking aid.
They’ve survived another bloody sunrise.
3. Hetalia: Ancient Greece <- Turkey: “owning the Persian Empire”
For inuyashacooks
Notes: Asia Minor = Turkey. Persians wore makeup and trousers, which were considered strange by the Greeks. Not entirely historically accurate as far as timeline goes but hey, who’s grading me?
“Oh, for the love of the -- Persia, what did you do to him?” Greece licked her thumbs, knelt down, and vigorously wiped away at the makeup on Turkey’s face, leaving streaks of black and white on his tan, gaunt cheeks. She wrinkled her nose at the mess and then without hesitation tore the long end of her silk peplos, and began wiping again earnestly.
Persia rose to his full height, towering over both of them. “I gave him culture, Hellene.” The Empire said haughtily, as much as he could, despite having been freshly defeated. “Something you obviously lack.”
“Oh, please.” A lock of dark hair tumbled over Greece's eyes. She wiped it away absently with the back of her hand. “Go do something productive. Like tending to your dead and getting the hell out of Asia Minor. If I see you around here again, there won’t be a Persian Empire anymore.” She tipped Turkey’s chin up, examining the cleanup. “Understood?”
Persia’s lips tightened. He gave no reply, simply turned and left.
Greece sighed, having watched the exiting nation with one eye. “I do admit, there is something fetching about those garments he’s wearing. They seem comfortable.”
Turkey ventured to speak. “They’re not, really.” He looked down at his own pair, tight fitting, shaped to each of his legs. He licked his lips, unsure if he was about to be punished.
“Hm. I’ll take your word for it. Well. Let’s get you some new clothing and make sure Persia doesn’t get any sneaky ideas, hm? I‘d hate to find myself dealing with a Trojan horse just when I got you back.” Greece placed his small hand in hers. He was amazed at her long slender fingers marked with calluses, and as she stood the light glinted off a sword hooked to her hip, half hidden under the fold of the fine robe.
Turkey sighed involuntarily, reluctantly filled with admiration. True, he was being passed around without his consent between these two great nations. But at least Greece seemed to genuinely care for him. And he had to admit… she was beautiful.
“I…” He said, stuttering, and Greece looked down at him. Patiently.
Turkey flushed. “IhopeIgetmarriedtosomeonelikeyouinthefuture.”
She studied him pensively and then gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll have children one day. Why don’t you give them a try when they’re old enough?”
4. Gankutsuou: Franz/Albert; “Alcohol”
for perfectdays
“You’re a terrible drunk, Albert.”
“I… am not.”
“My friend, that is the wall you‘re speaking to.”
“Well, stop moving!”
“That’s a window. I’m not moving.”
“… are you laughing at me?”
“Yes. Want to prove you’re not a bad drunk? Try to walk over to me.”
“Well. Alright. Yes. I can do that. Perfectesly fine. Per… perfectelsy…. Perfect…”
“Albert.”
“Mmn?”
“Focus.”
“But I don’t wanna. Oh. Are we outta wine already? Awww, I want s’more and Franz, did you move again?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“S’not funny to tease me, Franz!”
“On the contrary. One step forward, Albert. Yes. That way. Two more to your left, then to your right. Watch out for the--”
“Ow!”
“Desk corner. Never mind.”
“Ow. Franz, I dun’ care what you say, y’re totally moving.”
“No, you’re just imagining it. Now, lean back. Put your hand on my elbow. We’ll be here all night if I make you walk across the room all by yourself.”
“… where we going? I wanna sleep, Franz, I’m sleepy.”
“To bed.”
“With you?”
“… there’s only one bed. You could put it that way. Wait, keep your hand there. See? Now I can grab you around the-- Albert?”
“M’sleepy. Your chest is comfty.”
“…You are such a poor drunk.”
400 watchers! Thanks, guys!