Past-Part Fills Part 5 [Closed]

Feb 27, 2011 12:29



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It's a Trap [pt 6/??] anonymous January 10 2011, 04:04:31 UTC
They ran after him, but France had already locked himself into his room and would not open the door no matter how much they pleaded. Finally, he shouted out something in French, translated loosely as “Go fuck yourselves” by a helpful servant passing by, and Prussia and Spain shuffled off ashamed.

Perhaps it was because they were not the brightest boys ever, but they did not give up. Of course it would be bad for Spain if negotiations began to break down between the two neighboring kingdoms, but more than that, they had to get their friend back.

Prussia attempted to get an audience with the dauphin, and because they had interrupted the prince during a moment of intimacy with someone of indeterminate gender, he grudgingly listened to their story. Even though he had no idea about a solution, since he barely understood the whims of his own nation at the best of times, the dauphin explained to Prussia and Spain that France had no friends, not even among the isles to the north, and it sounded like he had been friendless for most of his life. This would be the first time that he got a chance to play with any nations his own age, so he will most likely get over his anger out of boredom, but until then, they must suffer through it.

“What should we do?” Spain wailed in despair. “France hates us. Now my boss will hate me!”

“I can’t believe he’s being such a girl about this,” Prussia grumbled. They did not have enough money between the two of them to buy France any jewels or suchlike, which had been suggested by a popular troubadour. Spain’s attempt to charm his way back into France’s heart by singing under his balcony at night had resulted in a chamber pot being thrown at them with distressing accuracy. (As proud as he was of his skills, Prussia knew better than to risk getting covered in excrement.) Now they were sitting together in Spain’s room, gloomy and discouraged, knowing it was their fault things had turned out so badly.

“Wait, Prussia, we’re going about this the wrong way!” Spain said in a rare moment of insight that will likely not be replicated for years. “France isn’t really a girl. He’s a boy!”

“Uhh yeah, we figured that out yesterday.”

“Well, what do boys like? What do we like?”

Prussia’s eyes widened in understanding. “You’re right! That means… We have to fight France to get him to like us again!”

They punched each other in the shoulder in a gesture of masculine congratulations.

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It's a Trap [pt 6b/??] anonymous January 10 2011, 04:05:42 UTC
Using the techniques of the famed Hashashin of Araby, which Spain had encountered during Moslem rule and which Prussia had seen during his crusades to the Holy Land, they noiselessly lowered themselves on a rope from the window above to France’s balcony. Silent as shadows, their weapons muffled with silk, their shoes padded with fur, they slipped into his room. On either side of the sleeping beauty, they paused, their eyes darkly glittering in the moonlight. Spain nodded to Prussia once, and then they attacked.

Only to have France retaliate, screaming and punching and kicking like the berserker his mother had been. But Prussia did not become a mercenary order because he was slow, and he grabbed France around the waist, bearing him down into the bed. Spain dodged the punches and placed his hand around France’s throat, his other hand gripped tightly about his wrist.

“You are our prisoner now, France!”

“Do as we say, or we’ll cut off your balls!” Because he had those now, of course.

France stopped struggling and glared at them hatefully. Finally, he sneered. “What do you two want?”

“We just want you to listen.”

“There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear,” France began haughtily, then noticed Prussia unsheathing a very sharp dagger. “But go ahead and talk, and I shall be quiet.”

“We promised to be friends, we won’t go back on that promise, not ever.”

“You being a boy doesn’t change anything between us, France. You’re strong and funny and nice and the best friend we can ask for. A-and if you still want me, I would love to become one with you…”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t going to talk about that!” Prussia yelled, headbutting Spain in the kidneys.

France burst out into giggles at this, and encouraged, Spain tickled him along the ribs, and Prussia was obligated to join in the tickle fight until all three of them nearly passed out from laughing too hard.

Next door, the dauphin sighed and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. At least their fight seemed to have been resolved, now if only they will stop jumping on the bed.

It would take years before France told Spain or Prussia he loved them, and he would have been the first. It would be decades before Spain remembered to say the same thing, and Prussia never really confessed aloud because that was not his style. But that night was the first they thought it, draped all over each other comfortably, snuggled together like tired puppies and smelling a bit like them as well.

[Damn you comment limit! As you can see, I worked on a little more, now we're almost done, huzzah.]

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Re: It's a Trap [pt 6b/??] anonymous January 10 2011, 13:51:06 UTC
*cuteness overload*
That was so ridiculously cute and amusing, man. You write kids well! I'd love to see how this reflects on their adult selves and their interaction, or if they've told anyone thisXD

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Re: It's a Trap [pt 6b/??] anonymous January 11 2011, 00:48:13 UTC
Thank you so very much, anon! I am glad you found this amusing, I really enjoyed writing this, it was fun. I will try to write an epilogue just for you.

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It's a Trap [pt 7/7] anonymous January 12 2011, 06:23:13 UTC
The three of them continued to express their mutual affection by repeatedly invading and claiming each other as occupied territories in long and bloody wars throughout the next several hundred years. Nobody seemed to understand how they could still be friends after the amount of damage they inflicted on each other, it was really quite inexplicable. Not that their periods of relative peace were much better for the rest of Europe, as Prussia, France and Spain were inclined to drunken escapades resulting in property damage and various counts of public indecency and requiring bail to be paid by a very exasperated Germany. But no one ever asked about their relationship, and Prussia, France and Spain were not particularly willing to tell just anyone.

One morning centuries later, France woke up in a tangle of mostly naked limbs, the sunlight streaming through the windows much too brightly. With a sigh, he gently rolled Prussia’s dead weight off of his abdomen and extricated his leg from Spain’s clutches. Whatever happened last night must have been exceedingly fun, even for their standards, as he was still wearing a pink lacy bra, and when he looked around, there was an Italian police helmet and a pair of assless chaps strewn on the floor amidst the empty wine and beer bottles. France laid his aching head back down on the pillows, admitting that he might be too hungover to even thinking about cooking breakfast for them, or perhaps it would be closer to brunch by now. At either side, Prussia and Spain slowly resumed their former positions, and France fell back to sleep with Prussia snoring softly into one ear and Spain drooling onto his knee.

When they next woke up, France would be wearing one of the many scandalously revealing maid outfits he owned, ready to serve them a fabulous brunch in bed. Prussia would make a noise of disgust, saying he did not need to see hairy man legs in fishnets first thing in the morning, while Spain would be obliviously scarfing down his portion of eggs and diced tomatoes. Of course, Prussia’s statement would only cause France to sit in his lap, tiny skirt hiked up meaningfully high to expose his vital regions, much to Prussia’s horror and Spain’s snorts of amusement. They would argue next, Prussia claiming that France should be in charge of paying his therapy bills, and someone would shove someone playfully off the bed, and someone else will tackle the other two, and there would be a friendly pillow fight among the three friends until someone’s uptight younger brother walked in, stared at the incriminating scene, and then quietly walked back out.

Surprisingly, not much had changed.

[Epilogue as requested! Thank you all for reading, it was fun writing for this prompt, I hope you enjoyed it.]

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Re: It's a Trap [pt 7/7] anonymous January 12 2011, 10:52:18 UTC
I loved this fic so fucking much! Your headcanon closely resembles mine in all ways, and it's great to see this epilogue as a closing "everything's normal now" end. Man, but France likes to tease, eh? I wonder if he let his beard grow so that no gender confusion would happen againXD
bawww, but did they lose their attraction to France with time? T.T

Thanks for writing this!

Whatever happened last night must have been exceedingly fun, even for their standards, as he was still wearing a pink lacy bra, and when he looked around, there was an Italian police helmet and a pair of assless chaps strewn on the floor amidst the empty wine and beer bottles.

Yep, sounds about right for these threeXD

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Re: It's a Trap [pt 7/7] anonymous January 13 2011, 00:58:39 UTC
Ah, thank you for your comment! This was fun to write, and I always wanted to share my headcanon about how the Bad Friends worked. I do believe Prussia and Spain still are attracted to France, but sometimes his current manliness intimidates them. It intimidates everyone, I feel, haha.

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Re: It's a Trap [pt 7/7] anonymous June 24 2011, 04:14:38 UTC
OMG your headcannon is amazing and about to become mine =DDD Such an awesome and adorable story that had me flailing all over the place (and garnering a bunch of strange looks >>; ) but that was amazingly adorable and funny, and so much love for poor oblivious Spain!

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