Hetalia kink meme part 21
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hetalia kink meme
part 21
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Of course, Ivan loved Yao. He wanted him- all of him, the wastelands and the rivers and the ports. He wanted China's huge lands that didn't match his silky dark brown hair or his pretty, pretty gold eyes. He liked Yao's bravado, both false and true. He liked his hot temper and his failures to hide his fear and his outspoken ways. Yes, he wanted him. (He'd take him too.)
So Russia sat and waited, a slow sleeping dragon in the north, and watched. He watched his lovely Yao go insane with rage. He watched when he killed his brothers, every last one of them, and he watched as he poisoned his own body. He smiled when Yao's lovely fair skin was marred with pretty purpleblack bruises.
And now that Yao had gone and done it- poisoned his own people- it would be so much easier to take him for his own. But of course, Yao was strong, he thought with pride. He would never just lie down and allow Ivan to take him for his own. And then, of course, he did look so beautiful when black and blue...
It was a slip.
He’d meant to strike for the area of China that was still weak from the radiation fallout from Hong Kong’s death, but the missile would land just shy of China’s borders. It would fall in the area of Asia that was in between Tibet, Nepal, and India, which was not a terrible place to attack. And India would be furious, standing to her full height and declaring that Russia would regret pushing that button. She would be defiant in the face of death, and she wouldn’t bother to disguise her limp.
And the other countries would inevitably intercede when they discovered Russia’s unwarranted attack- Alfred; rash and bold as always, and the rest would follow. It would mean war- started by a simple slip of the finger. No doubt America would be his largest opponent, arguing about why he had no right to press that button. He would tell them that he’d intended to weaken Yao before he could cause any more damage, and yes- he’d meant to fire that shot. Someone had to stop him, da?
But not India, da? That was not my intended target. He’d smile at them, knowing that there was no way they could tear him down. A lovely lot of hypocrites, they were, and they deserved to learn a lesson. India was slip of the finger, da?
“Whoops,” Russia said, giggling to himself as his finger hit the wrong button. “I guess I missed.”
-|-
Her brother had been wrong to believe that his actions would go without repercussion, Ukraine thought, while she stood clutching her pitchfork to her chest and watched Natalia tear at her beautiful long blonde hair. She’d always been jealous of that hair, she thought wistfully; like long corn silk, where hers was just straw that had been bleached in the sun. Her little sister was such a pretty girl, not with grotesquely oversized breasts, nor the strong figure that Katyusha had gained from years of working the land.
It was a shame that it would go to waste.
And they’d liked Alfred too, Katyusha thought. Or at least, she believed that Natalia had liked him, anyway. Ivan had of course hated him. They’d been enemies ever since she’d left the house, happy to be her own person once more. And America had been so kind to them, (the bereft sisters, Belarus and Ukraine, oppressed under Soviet Russia) she remembered. Despite Ivan’s hatred, she really did like him.
So she supposed that it was fitting he’d be the one to finish Ivan off; to make Natalia wail in a mix of horror and grief, make her tear at her pretty hair and scratch her pretty pale face. Ivan, though, had been foolish- this much Katyusha acknowledged. And his greatest enemies would be the one to strike him down in the end.
“Natalia,” she said softly. “Please... don't..."
“I’ll kill them,” whispered Natalia under her breath, still kneeling over Ivan’s ice cold body. Katyusha couldn’t bring herself to look at his glassy violet eyes or his deathly pale skin.
“Natalia, please.”
“Anyone who dares to hurt brother. I’ll kill them. I will.” Her voice trailed off into a chant. “IwillIwillIwill…”
Soon, Yao joined his brothers.
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Yao was one of the nations that had always believed in this sort of death- not death, per say, but a passing on into new enlightenment. And oh, he'd done a lot of awful things in his four thousand years of living, but it was pleasant to know that even so, he could have this last chance at happiness.
"Where am I?" he asked.
Yong Soo answered him, "You're dead."
And Yao had already known that, but it was still halfway between amazing and terrible, and he covered his eyes with his hands.
His brothers were there (of course, he'd killed them) and his beautiful sisters Vietnam and Taiwan. (There was Taiwan and Hong Kong.) And in all his oh, four thousand years of life, Yao had had plenty to say on the subject of wisdom to everyone but himself. And for it all, he was no wiser. There was Hong Kong, who he'd forced to remain under his care for ages after he was ready to grow up. And Taiwan- he'd subjugated and ignored and ignored her, and part of wisdom was knowing when to let something go.
"I'm sorry." It warranted repeating, so Yao took his hands from his eyes and wiped the wetness off on his soft green uniform. He looked at his family. "I'm sorry."
Mei reached down and gently wiped some tear tracks off his face. "No need to be sorry, Master."
The Koreas hoisted him up from either side and Kiku was right in front of him, and Yao couldn't help reaching out and clutching his brother in a death grip. Where he was, somehow, he knew what Japan was feeling- such regret. And Yao just knew he was blaming himself for everything because that was how he was- always trying to accept more responsibility than was due. So Yao hugged him tightly, half a hug of reassurance, and half because oh fuck he'd thought he'd never see him again.
Kiku was soft but maybe-not-entirely-real, and anyway something was catching his attention, so Yao forced himself to let go. He looked over Kiku's shoulder.
"You tried to kill me," he said.
"I did, da," was Russia's answer, "but because I love you."
Yao didn't say anything in response.
-|-
"I'm going to die," was how it started.
Katyusha pretended not to hear her. Natalia had on a knitted purple cap Ukraine had made her, no blonde hair peeking out from beneath. Vanya's scarf was wound around her neck
"Sister, do you hear me?" it was after that. "I don't have long."
She didn't want to hear her. Natalia's eyes looked stunningly beautiful blue against her paler-than-ever skin.
"I'm going to die, sister."
Pleasedon'tsaythosethings she had thought. Don'twanttohearthem-don'tsaythosethings- Natalia had on a red shirt under her dress. It hid bloodstains.
She said; "I'll be with brother again."
Brotherisdeadandyouwon'tdie Katyusha said in her mind. Soyouwon'tseehim-Iwon'tletyou. Natalia's hands were shaking.
"And someday you'll be happy with us too."
She shook her head and left, with her normal words of farewell. Katyusha promised that she'd be back the next day, but they both knew that she wouldn't. They both knew that she was going to go home and she was going to call Toris and tell him to visit the girl he loved because he might never again have the chance.
And then she was going to go home and she was going to wander in the snow for hours and think about how her beautiful, beautiful sister was still beautiful even when her skin was waxy and pale and her cheeks were sunken. She was beautiful even when her cornsilk hair started to fall out. Belarus would be beautiful up until the moment she died and Ukraine would have to wait (as always) for the fallout to catch up with her.
Alfred probably hadn't meant to kill Natalia, she thought. Just like he hadn't meant to kill Vanya. But Vanya had meant to kill Yao. He hadn't succeeded, but he'd wanted to. Natalia, though, had wanted to kill both Alfred and Yao, and with Yao, she had succeeded. And that was what mattered.
The snow was dreadfully cold.
A!Anon has school troubles.
Thank you mods! You win my undying love!
Recaptcha says: "the undying." o_o T-true?
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Toris had come to see him just before he entered his own house, his jacket unbuttoned and his sweater loose at the sleeves. Feliks knew that sweater. It was the pretty olive-green sweater, that made his eyes look less like a watery blue and more like the bright forest-green color that he adored. He’d picked it out for Toris himself, a sort of placating present. Thanks for putting up with me for so long.
He didn’t know what to say. Happy? No. Sad? Maybe not that either. …Scared? “I bet she was, like, happy you came to see her.”
“Happy? Maybe.” Toris stood awkwardly in front of the couch. “I saw her die.”
“Oh.”
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said to Poland, his words sincere but with some sort of unspoken emotion behind them. Stiff. Formal. “You’ve been getting close lately. I really thought that you could…”
Cure her. Fix her. Save her. All those things Toris couldn’t do. And Feliks had wanted to do those things- he’d wanted to teach her her own language again and let her know that there was more in the world besides her brother. Give her someone to depend on besides Russia. And it would make Toris so happy to know she was okay- “We really haven’t.” Feliks stopped. “Um, are you, like, okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Feliks,” said Toris. “I always am.”
“They bombed her, didn’t they? I mean, the nuclear…”
“Radiation poisoning.” Toris stood silently for a few long moments. Just when Feliks was ready to say something, anything, to relieve that silence, he said; “She didn’t have time to develop cancer, even. They didn’t… they didn’t tell her… That the radiation…”
Feliks had had enough of that subject. Natalia (though he liked her well enough) never failed to ignite anger in his chest with her pretty eyes and her girlish figure and Toris’ heart that she just kept breaking.“Well, whatever. How is Ukraine?”
“She won’t say anything, but I don’t think… without Russia…” He shook his head. “She’d be lucky… and she’s not.”
Silence. Feliks looked everywhere but Toris’ eyes, afraid that he would see that he loved Natalia, and he didn’t want to see that. So he stared at his seat cushions, and picked one up and hugged it to his chest. Maybe sad was the right word. Natalia was no one he particularly liked, though he liked her well enough, but it gave him the chills to think of that beautiful strong girl dying. She’d been impossibly better than him, and he was here and she wasn’t, that wasn’t fair, to her or to Toris. “Well, like, if you-“
“I’m going to go home, Poland.” Toris looked at the door.
Toris doesn’t call him that, not his Liet. They’ve been together since forever, as long as Feliks can remember. Poland is unfeeling, what Russia and Germany called him when they whipped him and beat him into the dirt and ripped him apart. Toris is not cruel, he thinks, and it doesn’t fit him either, with his soft round forest-green eyes and soft curling hair. “You won’t, like, stay? Liet?”
“I’d like to leave.” Distant and cold and unfeeling.
Feliks pressed the cushion to his chest and pressed his lips together in a thin line, curling up tighter around it. His eyes stung and he blurted out; “Are you, like, mad at me or something? Cause if you are, that’s totally-“
“I’m not mad.”
“Then what-?”
“I just don’t think I can be around you, Poland,” he says in a simple tone. Because it’s Liet and it’s not Russia who lieslieslies he knows Toris is being honest.
“I don’t understand,” he says aloud, gulping to hold back tears.
“I just can’t, Feliks. I don’t want to stay the night with you because- you always end up crawling into the guest room if you don’t just force me to sleep in your room, and you steal all the sheets. You’re so attention-hogging and you make light of everything and I hate that you always act so much like a girl- it’s weird- and you always told me to stay away from Natalia even though I love her. And now you’re still-“ It all came out in a single rush of words that Feliks understood horribly clearly. Liet stopped, but it was too late.
A!Anon sucks. WAI SO OOC, LIET.
620 tarrier. Poland's been tarrying 620 years?
He has.
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“It’s not about you, Poland. In fact, most things aren’t.” Liet’s voice was tired, but he loved the sound of it anyway.
Feliks curled into his pillow and sniffed to cover up his tears. “Um, I like, totally don’t. And it’s not because I didn’t like Natalia- I wanted to fix her, for you, Toris. And I don’t wish that I was dead instead and I won’t say I wish I was cause that’s bullcrap. I’m sad she died but I’m happy too, and I’m, like, scared, I guess. Cause Natalia’s like, beautiful, and she’s so, like, girlish or something, and that’s why you love her cause she’s a beautiful girl, and it just kind of sucks. I mean, I get if you hate me, cause, I’m just me. I’m not b-beautiful o-or powerful anymore.”
There was a silence. “You’re fine. Like I said, it isn’t about you.” Liet spoke shortly, words and sentences clipped. “Ukraine, by the way, probably won’t survive the winter. And maybe not me either. If you care.”
He looked up. Liet looked down at him. His eyes didn’t look forest green anymore. His wrists were delicate and slim. Feliks felt like a monster for thinking that he liked those girlish wrists.
“I- I didn’t-“
“I know.”
“I-I love-“
“I know.”
-|-
“Us against the world,” he said. His eyes were blue.
Matthew’s eyes were bleary, dull, kind.
“I- I really messed up this time, Mattie,” Alfred had told him. He’d paced around the green carpet. “I don’t think I can fix it this time, Matt. Artie- the United Kingdoms says that they’re going to stop me. They’ve declared war. I don’t know if I can- Mattie, you’ve got to believe me!-“
“It’ll be okay, Alfred,” Matthew had said. “I know you were only trying to stop Ivan. I know. Je te déteste. I know.”
“And it’s not just him, there’s Spain and even France, I must have really messed up if France is allying with Iggy, and even the smaller states are allying too, the parts of the European Union- you’ll help me, Mattie, won’t you? Us against the world? I love you, bro-“
“J’ai ne t’aime jamais. I’ll help you, Alfred.”
His relief was visible, and Alfred hugged his twin and slapped him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, Matt. I kn-know I kind of suck sometimes, but I do love you.”
“You don’t suck that much, Al,” Matt whispered in his ear, his arms going around him smoothly. “Je te déteste.”
He wondered when Matthew would figure out that he wasn’t really that stupid, that he understood French, that he knew what he said to him when he didn’t think he understood.
-|-
Could he really die if he wasn’t really alive?
It was a question that Gilbert had thought about for ages. He could understand being alive back in the time of the Berlin Wall. He’d never wished more that he was dead. But now, he wasn’t even a nation anymore, he was- what exactly was he? Was he like the Italies? Maybe. Or maybe all that had died was the Prussia part of him, he thought. Maybe he was just plain Gilbert now. A freak. A ghost where he didn’t belong.
Gilbert toed the cliff with the combat boots he loved. It was snowing softly around him, against the bleary gray of the winter background, landing on his eyelashes and melting on his cheekbones to form little drops of water. The snow disappeared over the edge, not fast, leisurely. It was a little bemusing to think that the snow was going so slowly, piling up at the bottom. When he jumped, it wouldn’t take ages. He wouldn’t fall slowly in swirls and drift to a soft landing. He’d fall hard and fast and he’d pass the snow to hit the bottom in a few seconds- and then what? He didn’t know. If he jumped.
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But now, now that he was Gilbert and Prussia was dead, the world had moved on without him. Hungary had become something entirely new. France and Spain didn't care to remember him so much anymore. And his little brother (he'd found and raised him) had become someone he'd never met. The world kept on changing and Gil was still stuck in the moment that Prussia died. He was alone in a time not his own, the people and places the same but with changes. It was more disorienting than being someplace entirely new- it was as if he'd simply skipped out on fifty years of his life. And the world hadn't stopped for him.
He leaned over the edge and spat, a show of defiance against the world, and Gilbert turned back to the forest. He tugged his slightly outdated coat closer around him. It was fine if he was alone.
It was a short walk out of the deep woods and back on to a road, where he waited for a park ranger who was more than happy to drive him back to civilization once he informed of who he was or anyway, who he used to be. The trees they passed were evergreen, but still gray. The snow made their needles look dull, lifeless. And then the city wasn't much better. Gilbert said goodbye to the park ranger, and found a taxi, that he rode back to the house that belonged to his younger brother.
Ludwig was home, and Gilbert greeted him with false bravado. A man sat in the armchair, with solemn old eyes and neat hair. "Brudder, this is our new boss."
"Oh?" He held out his hand for the old man to shake. "Welcome to office, sir. Hope you have a good turn."
"I hope so, as well," he said. "I've met Germany, but what do you represent, Mr. Beillschmidt?"
"Prussia," he said, and saw the confusion of the old man. He kept up his cocky grin, though, just so that neither of them would see how much he hated not being recognized. "You can call me Gilbert, though. Or your awesomeness-"
"I'm sorry," the old man finally said, "but I was under the impression Prussia was dead."
Maybe he was.
Gilbert left Ludwig's house and left him to try and explain how he still existed. Maybe he was a ghost. That was a frightening thought, but one that didn't make sense. Well, he was real, wasn't he? He went out to bars and sometimes spoke with his friends and in the meantime he didn't exist. Maybe he was a ghost. His people were gone, his landmass, absorbed, leaving nothing but the human behind him, nothing but the immortal man Gilbert, forever stuck in time.
He wondered if he could still die. Like the Oriental nations. Like Russia and Belarus and India and Nepal and Tibet and maybe Ukraine and Lithuania and America too. Ludwig and Elizaveta and Prissy could all die too, and if that happened, he'd be all alone. He'd be all that was left.
Gilbert left Berlin, that city that had once been so different. The wall was gone, but he saw it every day. He caught a train to Austria.
Prissy was in his house, that he had been so happy to get back, his hands working methodically up and down the keyboard, playing choral scales and major and minor scales; his face relaxed. Gilbert wondered for a second if he would mind him being there; he hoped that he would. He wanted to make Roderich feel undeniable things; anger, hate, pleasure, love. He wanted to be able to change something.
He entered the room and Roddy's playing faltered but he picked back up. Gilbert placed his hands on top of Roderich's; he bent and buried his face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. The music stopped.
"What do you want, Gilbert?"
"You," he mumbled.
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“I think I’m a ghost,” he told him.
“That’s absurd,” Roderich said, without missing a beat. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
It was such a strangely good answer, perfect in a weird way, that it made Gilbert laugh. Roderich rolled over under his arm to berate him, his face still flushed and his eyes still bright. He liked his hair too, when it was like this, full of stray hairs and the odd curl. Roddy’s eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pressed together, so Gil kissed him.
The lamp went out.
Swearing, Gil sat up, ignoring Roddy’s tug on his shoulder, and reached over for the lamp. He tried to turn it on, but nothing happened, and the city was dim too. “Did the power go out or something?”
“Leave it, Gilbert. It’s a bomb drill. This house is safe”
Gil stopped. ”Bomb?”
“Yes, Gil.” Roderich sat up with some struggle, and wiped his eyes. “Now that I’ve joined the war, I need to be ready. America could-“
“You’ve joined?”
“I thought you knew that?”
“No,” Gil whispered. “No. I didn’t.”
Later, when Austria had fallen and Roderich had died, lost to a nuclear war, Gilbert would stand at the edge and think about jumping. Prussia would have done it. Gilbert would not.
Okay. Orders of business, I suppose?
First of all, Toris. Oh my god. I have no idea what happened to him. I guess he was really sad? 0.o
PruAus. Oh, yes. I love PruAus. I needs it. Gilbert's section is kind of less warry. Yeah. It's mainly foreshadowing oops shouldn't have said that.
OH, CANADA. What happened to you, too? Did you catch the Toris disease?
What is Canada saying? I feel like I should let you find that out for yourselves. ;)
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I know you're really concerned about the characterization but I feel it fits for the tone of the story. I know French and I was a bit shocked at how frank Canada was being with his French, but I suppose it is one of those situations.
I can't wait to see how this all plays out, and I really do hope it has at least a semi-happy ending *Weeps forever*
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I was honestly more worried about Canada than Liet. He could have passed as simply being tired of Poland's selfishness?. I-I guess that Canada was just pissed off?
Thank you, Not!OP!
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This fill is just so - gah. It's PERFECT, that's what it is. I love how you've chosen to handle this - no-one's skipping through fluffy clouds, no-one's cuddling their loved ones and saying that the little time they have left is precious. It's so real, and you do get the feeling that they all know everything has changed, forever.
Thank you so much for filling, this is better than I ever imagined!
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Although, Gilbo's part was hard. I was terrified he was going to fall off the cliff. I know I would have orz.
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I think this fill has the potential to be something good, but it's just lacking... something. It seems to be rambling more than anything at some parts, and especially at the beginning, it's hard to keep track of who's point of view we're following the story from. The jumps between sections are a bit jerky and cut off, like we're suddenly ripped from that scene and placed into the next without a satisfying conclusion. You do a lot of "telling," try giving us some "showing" instead. Let us see how the nations are reacting, how they're dealing with everything that's happening.
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I agree that I sort of get confused between scenes as to what is happening and it takes halfway down the next scene to figure it out. This pulls me /out/ of the story, because I'm too busy trying to sort out /what's/ going on in the first place. I do understand that the mode for this story works better with snippets rather than connected scenes to express the mood of the situation and the tendency of people to remember only vivid snatches in times of great catastrophe. Just make sure you deal with them in such a way that we know where and when we've jumped to and what's going on immediately so we aren't left completely disoriented.
Anyhow, I felt encouraged to comment after seeing this comment and wanted to elaborate on what I felt needed work. Praise is good (and I do think that this piece is full of potential if cleaned up!), but I hope my suggestions are helpful at the very least.
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This review put the rest of what I couldn't put into words perfectly. Your fill really could be something great, and I'm definitely interested in seeing where it'll go.
Honestly, I originally wasn't even going to read this fill, but after circumstances beyond my control, I read through all 8 parts so far, and you did catch my attention. Please, take this as a learning opportunity, because that's what this was meant to be.
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Yes, I really do agree, actually. I was kind of hasty in writing those parts, and now I wish I could go back and edit them- from Japan to China. If I ever de-anon, I'll definitely change those. Thank you for the con-crit!
Beginnings for me are a rough spot, but I find everyone likes them a different way. Thanks for letting me know.
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