Forgotten Juliet [7/?]
anonymous
June 12 2010, 16:48:14 UTC
England made a noise between irritation and disgust. “No more than you have.”
“You’re a witch,” Spain spat, teeth red with blood. His patented smile was nowhere to be seen this time around. “If he falls, it will be your doing.”
Cocking an eyebrow, England smiled derisively, adding lewd tones to his voice, “I have not done anything to your brother that he has not asked me to do to him.” Trailing gloved fingers down Spain’s chest, he toyed with the flimsy buttons of the poet shirt. “You yourself know how pleasant a host I can be, or would you like me to refresh your memory, hmm?”
Spain’s face shuttered close, green eyes darkening with his anger. England’s lips curved into a smirk. “We’ve had fun times together in the past, have we not? Tell me what I want to hear, and I will trade your chains for the comfort of my bed. I can assure you you’ll prefer my chambers to this dungeon.”
Spitting out a mouthful of blood before England’s feet, Spain clenched his hands. “He loves you.” Gritting his teeth, he repeated, “He loves you, and you don’t even give a damn, do you?”
England’s mouth twitched, his mood gone sour. “I fail to see how this is relevant to the matter at hand, my little bumpkin. My patience with you grows thin.” He stood, taking several steps back, his expression merciless, hard. “I’m sure my boys would love to have some fun with you, so choose. And be quick about it.”
“What do you want me to say?” Spain hissed, yanking at his chains. It was a fruitless effort, and he knew it. But Spain was the country of passion, and England knew he was just as zealous in his anger as he was in his love. “I am the one in chains, am I not? What else do you want from me?” His anger made his accent thicker, his eyes come alive with green fire.
Grinning wickedly, England nudged him with the toe of his boot. “For starters, you could bow your head and lick my shoes. How does that sound, poppet?”
Scowling, Spain glared at him. “You’re going to have to untie me first, princesa.”
Taken back, England blinked. This was…unexpected. He had not expected such an easy surrender, not from a man who he knew as well as the back of his hand. Spain was known for being a resilient son of a bitch, since when had he bent over backwards for anyone? Brow furrowed, England pursued his lips. “Pardon me?”
“Did you come here just to gloat?” Spain snapped, obviously frustrated. “You’re despicable! Just bend over so I can kiss your ass already, I’m tired of looking at your ugly face!”
Closing the distance between them, England dropped to one knee in front of him, his infamous temper flaring to life. He was terribly angry at this turn of events, and also terribly disappointed. He’d been expecting Spain to put up more of a fight. Spain was a downright pain in the ass, but he was better company than France, and he was ever so lovely when provoked. Just as lovely as his brother, and twice as strong; England loved strong men, loved the challenge they provided him with. He specially loved breaking them. This time, though, it seemed someone had gotten to Spain before him. “So you’re just going to do as I say, is that it?”
Spain refused to meet his eyes. “You make it sound as if I have a choice.”
Forgotten Juliet [8/?]
anonymous
June 12 2010, 16:55:13 UTC
England gazed at him, green eyes half lidded. He pressed his lips together, a bitter taste in his mouth. This was not what he’d expected. This was not what he’d wanted. Silently pulling the ring of keys from inside his coat, he unlocked the collar around the taller nation’s neck. “Get out,” he said simply, his hands shaking with his anger. “Go back to your country--and if I catch you anywhere in my waters I won’t hesitate to blow you sky high.”
If Spain was surprised by the island’s nations quick mood change, he did not show it. England quickly rid him of the chains attached to his wrists, throwing the keys at him for him to get rid of the rest. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned around.
With his back turned to him, England said, “You…have gotten weaker.”
Spain clicked his tongue in disdain, gingerly getting up, mindful of his wounds. “That’s none of your business, reina,” he said, voice dry.
“You should get rid of that brat,” England went, not even listening to him. “Look at what he’s done to you, you used to be twice the man you are now---” He stopped, falling silent at the fond expression that washed away Spain’s anger and replaced it with what could only be genuine fondness.
England knew that look on Spain’s face. He recognized the soft, gentle expression, the warmth of his eyes…he just never thought he’d see it on Spain. And that smile, since when had Spain been able to smile like that? The Spain England knew did not smile like that. There was love in that smile, but Spain loved nothing more than his hordes of colonies and mountains of gold.
The sight of it left England feeling vaguely empty.
Smiling his first real smile since he’d been captured, Spain rubbed his sore wrists. “Don’t say things like that, Eyebrows. Not when it’s your fault I’ll get yelled by Romano when I come home looking like this.”
“If you’d just given up on that brat from the very start, you wouldn’t be in this position,” England remarked. He leaned against a grimy wall, averting his eyes from the ridiculously fond expression on the Spaniard’s face. “It’s no like you’ve gained anything from him. I would have gotten rid of him; I have no interest in useless brats.”
Spain laughed, all traces of his dark mood gone at the simple mention of his favorite ward’s existence. It was unnerving, and England’s heart ached at the happiness he saw on his face. “You never did like children, Inglaterra.”
“If they aren’t of any use to me, then I have no need for them.” England snorted, suddenly uncomfortable. He did not know this Spain. This Spain who smiled and laughed so easily and carelessly, England did not know him. When had he been left behind? Then again, when wasn’t he.
“But one day you will.”
England’s shoulders tensed, not liking the Spaniard’s new tone of voice. Furrowing his brow, he grumbled, annoyed, “What?”
Forgotten Juliet [9/?]
anonymous
June 12 2010, 16:58:58 UTC
“One of these days, you’ll understand too.” Spain was still smiling, although there was a hint of something in the gesture that made England feel all the more uncomfortable. “And that person will make you smile. Or I hope they do, or else your face will get stuck looking like that.”
“What the hell are you talking about, dumbass?” Thoroughly annoyed now, England glared at him. “And I thought I told you to get out.”
Spain pouted, also looking annoyed. “No wonder you have no friends. Fine, fine, me voy.”
“Good riddance,” England groused, uncrossing his arms. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out; I don’t want your stink on it.”
Puffing his cheeks out, Spain scoffed in disgust. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be here.”
As England watched him leave, limping, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and none of the old spark left in him, he felt a thorn in his heart. Another day, another old love who left him. England should be used to the feeling by now, but it still stung. It always hurt, much more than he’d ever admit.
And didn’t the stupid bumpkin know England didn’t believe in fairy-tale endings?
By God, did England need a drink. Or a good fuck, though that chance had just walked out the door like nothing.
Looking over his shoulder at the door, England gritted his teeth.
If he couldn’t have a good fuck, then maybe sinking more of the idiot’s ships would make him feel better.
---
Sorry for the late update! Finals and school are finally done, so I’ll try to update regularly :D I have two other fills I’m doing, but I won’t forget this one~
Re: Forgotten Juliet [9/?]
anonymous
June 14 2010, 10:33:45 UTC
Yay you updated! Anon never loses hope, no, really.
Love how England and Spain interact, the way Spain softens and brightens when England mentions Romano and that he tells England one day he will hopefully understand.
"One of these days, you'll understand too. And that person will make you smile. Or I hope they do, or else your face will get stuck looking like that." This! <333333
And it gets me thinking, though one may consider that to love at the same time means to let open for hurt, but that's how it works, right? The worst and most wonderful thing.
I'll be here looking forward to your installment about England's realization, dear author!anon~:D
Re: Forgotten Juliet [9/?]
anonymous
June 15 2010, 13:22:46 UTC
Gosh I have been looking SO LONG for a perfect characterization of Spain, one that connects the cheerful side we see in Hetalia to the gold-chasing conquistador image I'm more familiar with. This.. this was wonderful. Too wonderful for words. I look forward to the next update!
Re: Forgotten Juliet [9/?]
anonymous
July 27 2010, 19:59:57 UTC
The way you express England's feelings is really heartbreaking, how he feels unloved and left behind by Spain who found love. Both Portugal and this time period are scarcely written about, so it's refreshing to hear a story from the perspective of empire-orientated England. I really can't wait until England and America meet! Certainly, when they break apart I suspect England will return to these earlier feelings...
England made a noise between irritation and disgust. “No more than you have.”
“You’re a witch,” Spain spat, teeth red with blood. His patented smile was nowhere to be seen this time around. “If he falls, it will be your doing.”
Cocking an eyebrow, England smiled derisively, adding lewd tones to his voice, “I have not done anything to your brother that he has not asked me to do to him.” Trailing gloved fingers down Spain’s chest, he toyed with the flimsy buttons of the poet shirt. “You yourself know how pleasant a host I can be, or would you like me to refresh your memory, hmm?”
Spain’s face shuttered close, green eyes darkening with his anger. England’s lips curved into a smirk. “We’ve had fun times together in the past, have we not? Tell me what I want to hear, and I will trade your chains for the comfort of my bed. I can assure you you’ll prefer my chambers to this dungeon.”
Spitting out a mouthful of blood before England’s feet, Spain clenched his hands. “He loves you.” Gritting his teeth, he repeated, “He loves you, and you don’t even give a damn, do you?”
England’s mouth twitched, his mood gone sour. “I fail to see how this is relevant to the matter at hand, my little bumpkin. My patience with you grows thin.” He stood, taking several steps back, his expression merciless, hard. “I’m sure my boys would love to have some fun with you, so choose. And be quick about it.”
“What do you want me to say?” Spain hissed, yanking at his chains. It was a fruitless effort, and he knew it. But Spain was the country of passion, and England knew he was just as zealous in his anger as he was in his love. “I am the one in chains, am I not? What else do you want from me?” His anger made his accent thicker, his eyes come alive with green fire.
Grinning wickedly, England nudged him with the toe of his boot. “For starters, you could bow your head and lick my shoes. How does that sound, poppet?”
Scowling, Spain glared at him. “You’re going to have to untie me first, princesa.”
Taken back, England blinked. This was…unexpected. He had not expected such an easy surrender, not from a man who he knew as well as the back of his hand. Spain was known for being a resilient son of a bitch, since when had he bent over backwards for anyone? Brow furrowed, England pursued his lips. “Pardon me?”
“Did you come here just to gloat?” Spain snapped, obviously frustrated. “You’re despicable! Just bend over so I can kiss your ass already, I’m tired of looking at your ugly face!”
Closing the distance between them, England dropped to one knee in front of him, his infamous temper flaring to life. He was terribly angry at this turn of events, and also terribly disappointed. He’d been expecting Spain to put up more of a fight. Spain was a downright pain in the ass, but he was better company than France, and he was ever so lovely when provoked. Just as lovely as his brother, and twice as strong; England loved strong men, loved the challenge they provided him with. He specially loved breaking them. This time, though, it seemed someone had gotten to Spain before him. “So you’re just going to do as I say, is that it?”
Spain refused to meet his eyes. “You make it sound as if I have a choice.”
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England gazed at him, green eyes half lidded. He pressed his lips together, a bitter taste in his mouth. This was not what he’d expected. This was not what he’d wanted. Silently pulling the ring of keys from inside his coat, he unlocked the collar around the taller nation’s neck. “Get out,” he said simply, his hands shaking with his anger. “Go back to your country--and if I catch you anywhere in my waters I won’t hesitate to blow you sky high.”
If Spain was surprised by the island’s nations quick mood change, he did not show it. England quickly rid him of the chains attached to his wrists, throwing the keys at him for him to get rid of the rest. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned around.
With his back turned to him, England said, “You…have gotten weaker.”
Spain clicked his tongue in disdain, gingerly getting up, mindful of his wounds. “That’s none of your business, reina,” he said, voice dry.
“You should get rid of that brat,” England went, not even listening to him. “Look at what he’s done to you, you used to be twice the man you are now---” He stopped, falling silent at the fond expression that washed away Spain’s anger and replaced it with what could only be genuine fondness.
England knew that look on Spain’s face. He recognized the soft, gentle expression, the warmth of his eyes…he just never thought he’d see it on Spain. And that smile, since when had Spain been able to smile like that? The Spain England knew did not smile like that. There was love in that smile, but Spain loved nothing more than his hordes of colonies and mountains of gold.
The sight of it left England feeling vaguely empty.
Smiling his first real smile since he’d been captured, Spain rubbed his sore wrists. “Don’t say things like that, Eyebrows. Not when it’s your fault I’ll get yelled by Romano when I come home looking like this.”
“If you’d just given up on that brat from the very start, you wouldn’t be in this position,” England remarked. He leaned against a grimy wall, averting his eyes from the ridiculously fond expression on the Spaniard’s face. “It’s no like you’ve gained anything from him. I would have gotten rid of him; I have no interest in useless brats.”
Spain laughed, all traces of his dark mood gone at the simple mention of his favorite ward’s existence. It was unnerving, and England’s heart ached at the happiness he saw on his face. “You never did like children, Inglaterra.”
“If they aren’t of any use to me, then I have no need for them.” England snorted, suddenly uncomfortable. He did not know this Spain. This Spain who smiled and laughed so easily and carelessly, England did not know him. When had he been left behind? Then again, when wasn’t he.
“But one day you will.”
England’s shoulders tensed, not liking the Spaniard’s new tone of voice. Furrowing his brow, he grumbled, annoyed, “What?”
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“One of these days, you’ll understand too.” Spain was still smiling, although there was a hint of something in the gesture that made England feel all the more uncomfortable. “And that person will make you smile. Or I hope they do, or else your face will get stuck looking like that.”
“What the hell are you talking about, dumbass?” Thoroughly annoyed now, England glared at him. “And I thought I told you to get out.”
Spain pouted, also looking annoyed. “No wonder you have no friends. Fine, fine, me voy.”
“Good riddance,” England groused, uncrossing his arms. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out; I don’t want your stink on it.”
Puffing his cheeks out, Spain scoffed in disgust. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be here.”
As England watched him leave, limping, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and none of the old spark left in him, he felt a thorn in his heart. Another day, another old love who left him. England should be used to the feeling by now, but it still stung. It always hurt, much more than he’d ever admit.
And didn’t the stupid bumpkin know England didn’t believe in fairy-tale endings?
By God, did England need a drink. Or a good fuck, though that chance had just walked out the door like nothing.
Looking over his shoulder at the door, England gritted his teeth.
If he couldn’t have a good fuck, then maybe sinking more of the idiot’s ships would make him feel better.
---
Sorry for the late update! Finals and school are finally done, so I’ll try to update regularly :D I have two other fills I’m doing, but I won’t forget this one~
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Love how England and Spain interact, the way Spain softens and brightens when England mentions Romano and that he tells England one day he will hopefully understand.
"One of these days, you'll understand too. And that person will make you smile. Or I hope they do, or else your face will get stuck looking like that." This! <333333
And it gets me thinking, though one may consider that to love at the same time means to let open for hurt, but that's how it works, right? The worst and most wonderful thing.
I'll be here looking forward to your installment about England's realization, dear author!anon~:D
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