Hetalia kink meme part 23
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hetalia kink meme
part 23
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In which Romano contemplates his fate
In the land of Impor, it is terribly bad luck to be the oldest of three, and Romano Vargas had the misfortune of being just that. And he was not happy about it. Ever since he could remember, he was passed over by lucky, lovely Feliciano, the middle child, and Seborga, luckier still, the youngest.
Everyone knew the youngest of three would inevitably go on to see his illustrious fortune, and that fortune would be even greater still for Seborga, for he was the youngest orphan, too. Some people just had all the luck.
Romano wasn’t one of them.
At eighteen, his only prospects involved inheriting his dying grandfather’s hat shop while his lucky younger siblings were allowed to live out their lives in adventure. And he was neither graced with lovely Feliciano’s good looks, nor with Seborga’s famous charm, so he wasn’t even afforded the opportunity of marrying up in life, unlike his grandfather’s ridiculously young wife, Alfie.
Alfie, pretty Alfie with the brown hair and all the intelligence of one of the lovely hats she so often wore, had raised the boys along with their ageing grandfather and, thus, it was she who sat down with them to discuss their grandfather’s plans for them when he, at long last, succumbed to his illness.
They sat around the kitchen table after the funeral, black clad and somber. She cleared her throat wetly.
“Now, boys,” she began, and promptly started crying. That got Feliciano started again, who had only stopped whimpering into his collar a moment ago, and Seborga, too, suppressed a sob. Romano rolled his eyes. The old man had been hanging on for a thread for years; he was probably relieved it was all over.
“N-now, boys. I kn-know we-we-we all expected this,” she said, after a few false starts. “S-so, your grandfather and I set up some plans for you for…for…for…for-after!”
And there she was off again, crying into the tablecloth. Seborga, the simpering little suck-up he was, patted her hand gently while she composed herself.
“It’s okay, Alfie. It’s okay. He’s in a better place, now,” he said and his voice pitched into something that was equal parts soothing and tragic. Romano tried not to scoff.
The widow Vargas dabbed her eyes becomingly, for everything she did was becoming, and ploughed on.
“So, we thought it would be best for Seborga to go work with Miss Belgium.”
“Isn’t she a witch?”
“Indeed she is, and a very smart witch, too, Seborga! She will teach you well, and feed you, I might add!”
So Seborga nodded, still managing to be his usual charming self, though Romano thought he caught the suspicion of a frown playing around his mouth.
“And we decided that Feliciano,” and here Feliciano looked up with his pretty, stupid face, “yes, you, sweetie, should go to work at Oxenstierna’s bakery, because I do know how you like to bake!”
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“Thank you,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Alfie’s beautiful, painted cheek. “I’ll look forward to it, ve.”
She smiled through her tears. “I’m glad to hear it! Now, that just leaves Romano….”
Romano breathed out slowly.
“Well, your grandfather and I discussed it, and, well, since you’re the eldest, it only seemed fair that you’d inherit the hat shop! You’ll be my apprentice! Now, isn’t that lovely?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Romano, don’t swear,” Alfie said, more out of habit than anything else.
“Mmhmm.”
-x-
The next day, Alfie packed the boys up and off they went to seek their fortunes. And then she put Romano to work.
“Romano, dear, I think you should work on the raw hats and I’ll work the shop, because we know how you get on with people,” she said as she shuffled him off into the stuffy back room with the unfinished hats and all the odd, faceless heads.
“Not at all?”
“Exactly, sweetie.”
And that was how Romano spent his days and nights, hunched over women’s hats, resigned to his fate as the eldest.
So, to pass the time, he talked to the hats.
“You’re one ugly bastard, aren’t you?” he said to one particularly garish hat, all done in ostrich feathers and blue bows. “I think your only hope is to marry some ugly old noble, don’t you think?”
The hat, being a hat, said nothing. Romano placed the hat on one of the faceless heads and peered at it. He added a few plastic cherries, to complete the look.
“There. Yeah…only a crazy girl would wear you.”
He very nearly smiled and moved on to the next hat. This one was all pink lace and girlish charms, and he told it so.
“Now, you’re a pretty one. Trying too hard to be feminine, though, you asshole. But you’ll find a good boy someday. Maybe he’ll see you for what you truly are, the sop.”
Then, as he had done every night for several weeks, he laid his head on his table and fell asleep amongst the hats.
-x-
Well. There's a start. I hope Romano was an acceptable choice for Sophie. And, if you couldn't tell, Alfie was supposed to be Fem!America, because I love me some crack pairings. This is just seeming to write itself. Whee!
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I would never have imagined Romano as Sophie, but now I can totally see it! He's absolutely perfect in that role! The remarks he makes to the hats are my favourite bit :)
Can't wait for more! :D
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And I totally love me some crack as well, so don't worry about that xD
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In which Romano finally ventures out
While Romano spent his time talking to hats, the hat shop flourished.
So, it was not terribly surprising when, among the throng of men and women packing the shop was a rather plain young woman looking for the most fashionable of hats to improve her looks.
Her name was Natalia, or, as the townsfolk of Market Chipping often called her when they thought she couldn’t hear, Natalia the Nightmare, and she was stark, raving mad. Alfie spotted her amid the crowd and swallowed nervously when the young nightmare approached.
“I want a hat.”
“D-do you, now?”
“Yes. You will show me a good hat, yes?”
While Alfie may have been terrified of the girl, she still knew how to make a sale. First, she brought her to terribly unsuitable hats, hats for matrons and hats for widows, and then the merely somewhat unsuitable hats, hats in pinks and hats of lace.
Natalia rejected them all.
Finally, after countless un-nightmarish hats, Alfie showed her the perfect hat. She placed it on her customer’s head, adjusted it just so, and plopped her in front of a mirror.
She bought it on the spot.
And, as Alfie watched Natalia the Nightmare leave the shop with her pretty, blond, utterly insane head held high, she contemplated how lucky she was to be rid of that ostrich feathered, ribbon-bedecked monstrosity. It had been scaring the other customers.
-x-
Weeks passed, then months. Seborga and Feliciano sent a letter each. Seborga told of Miss Belgium’s bees and honey while Feliciano extoled the joys of baking and how the other apprentices “were quite nice, really!”
Romano tried not to begrudge them; it was their destiny, after all. But, as he peered at his haggard reflection in the mirror, listening to the gossip from the shop waft into his little workroom, it was difficult.
Sometimes he would listen to the gossip, the tales of adventure that everyone else had the chance to live. For some time the gossip had all been whispered concerns about the Wizard Francis and his moving castle that had moved into the hills by Market Chipping. They all said he was a truly evil wizard who seduced beautiful young women to devour their hearts (“And men, too!” someone would always add in a whisper), and the location of the castle was always a hot topic. And when it was not about the wizard, it was about the Witch of the Waste (“More like, ‘Bitch of the Waste!’”) still at large, or the missing prince. But, now, as he sat stitching a white ribbon onto a black pageboy’s hat, all talk was about how Natalia the Nightmare had met Count Ivan of the North and bullied him into marriage the first night they met (“By God, she moves quickly!”). Someone was also going on about Feliks, who never did conform to traditional gender roles, who had, in his new, and quite lovely, (“Mmhmm!”) pink hat, finally stepped out officially with that nice Toris boy (“Didn’t you know?”).
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“He’s a right cutie, that Feliks.”
“Yes, a much better young person than that horrible girl. A count!”
“Well, I never!”
“That girl? She’s crazy! But I would love a hat like the one she wore when she snagged him….”
“Ooh, me, too! A count you say?”
“A count indeed!” That was Alfie. A moment later she came bursting into the workroom.
“Put down that ugly thing,” she said, slightly out of breath from her dash. “I need you to do two more of those ostrich hats. At least!”
She dashed out again in a flurry of skirts and perfume before Romano could say anything.
Romano sighed and set the little black and white on a head and cocked his own.
“I don’t think you’re ugly. You’re just a shy motherfucker, right? You’ll find love someday. You probably already met them but you’re too shy to say anything,” he said, reaching for some ostrich feathers. “Next time, you will, dumb fuck. How’re they supposed to know if you don’t say anything?”
He knew, somewhere inside, that having most of his social interactions occur with hats was probably a sign of something, but what, he wasn’t entirely sure. As he put together two more of the garish monstrosities, he resolved to see Feliciano that weekend, on May Day.
And he worked and worked into the night, very nearly happy about getting to see a human being other than Alfie and the shop girls.
-x-
May Day came and the streets of Market Chipping filled with the hustle and bustle of excitement. Alfie had run out early, leaving Romano with only a few hats to finish. He hummed as he worked, knowing that Feliciano was hard at work, too, for Oxenstierna’s was open until midnight for holidays. Outside his window, brightly clad merrymakers passed, singing and shouting.
When he finished, he threw on a dull grey suit to match the bags under his eyes and ventured out. While everyone else was having a good time of it, he felt overwhelmed by the people. He ducked his head to avoid meeting anyone’s eye, for fear that he would loose all his anger at them.
HE shook his head, confused by his feelings; he had never backed down before. But the months of near solitude seemed to him to have aged him beyond his youth.
Then, he heard the bangs. He looked up, alarmed, and there was the moving castle on the hillside just out of town. It was the first time he had ever seen it and, suddenly, he understood all of the gossip. Blue flames poured from its chimney. Romano did what he did best and ran.
He made it to the square, where young men dressed in their finest and young women dressed even finer still flirted and charmed. He envied them right up until the moment where an older man-well into his twenties!-decided to flirt with him, too. Romano ducked into a doorway.
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“Why so afraid, my sweet?” he said, and his voice was accented in a way Romano had never encountered. “I just want to get you a drink.”
Romano peered up at the handsome face and opened his mouth. “Leave me alone, you bastard! I’m off to see my brother!”
“Not a wizard?”
Romano stared blankly.
The handsome man sighed. “Off you go, then. I shan’t detain you. Unless you’d like me to, of course.”
“No!”
And Romano scampered off again, running all the way to Oxenstierna’s. When he entered, it was packed with drunken merrymakers. Romano found Feliciano easily; there was a throng of young women, and several young men, too, leaning across the counter, shouting lewdly at him. Romano shouldered his way to the counter.
“Hey! Stupid!”
Feliciano saw him and his face split into a grin. “Romano!”
“Can I-fuck, get out of my way, dick rag-can I talk to you? Somewhere?” Romano shouted over the din.
“Just a minute,” Feliciano screamed back, turning to whisper to a man beside him. He laughed.
“You’ll have to have me instead, ladies!”
“But I want to talk to Feli!” one girl shouted.
“You’ll have to wait,” Feliciano said, laughing. “I want to talk to my brother.”
The girls pushed Romano to the end of the counter where Feliciano lifted a flap and beckoned him inside. Once in, Feliciano grabbed his wrist tightly and dragged him to a back room stocked with cakes. He dragged out two stools.
“Sit.”
Romano, for once, did as he said without grumbling. Feliciano shoved a cream cake into Romano’s hands with a bit more force than necessary, Romano thought.
“Feliciano, you ass,” he said, nibbling the cake. “I finally see you again and you’re rough with me.”
His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I missed you. I’m glad to see you.”
“Yes, yes, I did, too,” Feliciano said. “And I’m glad you’re sitting down. You see, I’m not Feliciano. I’m Seborga.”
-x-
Still okay? I hope so. Meeeahhhhh
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And no, I'm not opposed to any France pairings. I'm pretty open about pairings in general :)
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In which Seborga Tells a Tale and Romano's Loses his Temper
Romano stared. He very nearly said “what,” but stopped himself in time to ask the more important questions.
“Why? How? You two are-fuck, what, I can’t, damn-so dumb. God. This is a joke.”
But there was no denying that this Feliciano shaped creature was not Feliciano. This person was too charming, too suave, too focused. He didn’t move as if unsure of where his limbs were at any given time, and his eyes had a cutting intelligence behind them.
“See? I knew you’d do better sitting down,” said Seborga, sitting down himself. “You see, Feliciano and I decided we’d be better off this way.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, ask me something only Seborga would know. Oh, I know. Remember when I was six and I cut the head off of Feliciano’s favorite stuffed cat because I was mad at him? And he cried and cried for about a week? You never told him about that.”
Romano grumbled, placated. “Okay. Fine. Why? How?”
Seborga all but glared.
“I’m getting to that. I don’t want to seek my fortune. I don’t want to be a wizard,” he said, and then added primly, “I want to get married and have ten children.”
“What?” It was nearly a screech. “You want to do what? You’re fifteen fucking years old!”
“I know that. You think I don’t know my own age? But ten kids is a lot. You have to start young, right?”
“Fuck. I’m not dignifying that with an answer. Now, Feliciano? My other apparently totally fucking bat shit insane brother? He’s too stupid to be a wizard. He’d be better off getting married and having ten kids.”
Seborga rolled Feliciano’s pretty brown eyes.
“Feliciano is a lot of things, but stupid? Yeah. Maybe,” he conceded, “But only when it comes to things like books and whatnot. He has plenty of raw magical talent, and it’s been obvious for years. He wrote to me a lot, and helped me work out the spell to switch us about a week in. I was rubbish at magic.
“Now, Alfie, being Alfie, wanted to get that pretty boy out of her hair and me to go off and become ragingly successful just like everyone always said I would. And it left her to bully you into doing all her work while she goes off to flirt with everyone. Besides, Feliciano’s gay. He’s not having ten kids any time soon.”
Romano squawked. “No! Feliciano? And don’t talk about Alfie that way. She raised us. She’s basically our mother.”
“I know that. And I’m a lot more like her than you are. So, I’d know. Now, it’s been lovely having this chat, but I really must get back to work,” he leaned in and planted a kiss on Romano’s cheek. “And don’t tell anyone about Feliciano. He’d kill me. Or cry. Probably cry.”
And, with that, he shooed Romano back out into the busy May Day streets.
Romano walked back home, slowly this time, while dusk descended around him, and he thought. His thoughts swam with Alfie, and his miserable life talking to hats, and his crazy, stupid, unexpectedly devious little brothers.
By the time he returned, twilight had turned to night. He thought about his hats, which had been his only companions as of late, and walked to the little workroom at the back of the shop more out of habit.
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“God, you look awful. Like an old bastard,” he told his reflection, and the hat. “You need an adventure, asshole.”
And he took the unsuitable hat and twisted it in his hands before tossing it aside angrily. He sat down in a huff. He barely heard the tinkling of the bells that announced the entrance of a customer.
“Shit,” he said, very quietly, realizing with chill certainty that he had not locked the door as he came in. He left the workroom quietly, creeping into the main shop, sickening thoughts running through his mind. He had a pair of large scissors clutched in one hand.
A woman stood in the middle of the shop. She was utterly lovely, with long waves of buttery brown hair and a large grey cat tucked under one arm. Instead of a hat, she wore a green kerchief over her hair.
“You, boy,” she said, and her voice was slick as oil. “A hat for me? Perhaps you’ve noticed I’m distinctly lacking in the hat department.”
She laughed, and it was not a kind laugh. Romano shivered.
“We’re closed,” he said, curt, frightened. “I have to ask you to leave.”
The woman cocked her head, and she looked even lovelier in her contrived confusion.
“Really? But the door was open…. Show me your best hats. Now,” she said, and all the kindness left her voice.
Romano found himself obeying, going through the motions as he had seen Alfie do many times since he was a little boy.
The woman laughed at every hat.
“Pink? Too feminine! It tries too hard!”
Romano grit his teeth.
“Do you think I’m a page? Nice try, but this will never reel them in.”
Finally, he showed her one of the ostrich feathered monstrosities, the ones that had been selling like mad since the Nightmare snagged the count.
“Oh ho. Now you think I’m crazy, do you, little hat boy?”
And that was when Romano lost his temper and, very nearly, his life.
“Yes, I think you’re crazy, you old bitch!” he said with a snarl. “You come in here, I tell you we’re closed, you bother me, you insult my hats. Fuck you. The door is over there.”
Her face contorted then. She was not even a little bit beautiful when she hissed at him, and he knew, terribly and immediately, who she was.
“You dare insult me? Ha, you’re a plucky one, but pluck won’t get you anywhere with the Witch of the Waste!” she flicked one hand at him and he flinched as something washed over him. “There. And the fun thing about that little spell is that you can’t tell anyone about it. Goodbye, Romano Vargas.”
She swept out grandly, her grey cat still clutched to her chest, leaving Romano gaping and confused.
He stumbled back into his workroom and fumbled with a lamp. There were liver spots on his hands. He looked into the mirror with dread and groaned at what he saw.
“Well, isn’t this just my fucking luck.”
So, Hungary as the witch of the waste? I don't know. I know this seems very much so like the book with names switched, but after this chapter it's definitely going to go off in its own direction.
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I like this so much <3 I don't mind that it's been like the book so far, Romano's narration makes me lol every time, and I loved the interaction between the brothers and all the little jabs at Feli xD
Looking forward to seeing what you do next :)
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In Which Romano Makes an Important Decision
Romano stared at his reflection for a moment. Two brown eyes stared back at him from a face full of wrinkles.
“Fuck,” he said, very quietly. And then, louder, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!”
After he spent several minutes pacing the floor, his swears increasing in volume until he was shouting, he made a decision, and it was a decision that would affect the rest of his life.
He decided to find the wizard Francis.
Romano stumbled, blind with rage, out of the shop and headed into the hills, grumbling to himself all the while. He was surprised to find that, while he may have become an old man, he was not frail by any means. He stomped purposefully through knee high grass. The castle was, from his estimate, only a mile away.
His face contorted into a determined smile. The smile slid off his face almost immediately, though, when he heard the sad mewing of a cat and his thoughts turned to the Witch. He picked up his pace then, nearly at a run.
And, then, quite suddenly, he was staring up at the slowly moving castle. Up close, he thought, it was a very ugly castle, made of dingy, creaking black bricks, and he told it so.
“You are one ugly son of a bitch,” he said, mostly out of habit. “Now, where’s your door…”
He saw what appeared to be the main entrance and he strode up to it, but he found himself unable to come within several yards of the door. He swore, loudly, and went around looking for the back door.
That, too, was blocked. He swore again, even louder, and walked around, looking for another entrance. He did not see one. Finally, he went around to the back door and shouted.
“Open up! Open up, you miserable bastard, open, open, open!”
To his immense surprise, the door did open. A bespectacled young man with wavy blond hair peered nervously out at him.
“Why are you shouting?” he said, reasonably.
Romano ignored his question and surged forward, shoving one foot in the door.
“I’m here to see the Wizard Francis. Let me in, boy,” and he put on his best old man glower. “Now.”
The boy swallowed thickly and let Romano bully him out of the way.
“He…he’s not in, right now,” said the boy, but Romano only had eyes for the large armchair seated in front of the fire. He sat down in it heavily, only just realizing how tired he was.
The young man stood nervously beside him, clearly uncomfortable. Romano took pity on him.
“What’s your name?”
“Matthew,” said the boy, now identified as Matthew. “I…I really should ask you to leave. Francis will be so mad at me….”
Romano, whose eyes were swimming sleepily, mumbled, “Well, tell him I forced you, or something. Tell him Romano has business with him. The damn bastard. And would you really turn and old man out into the night when the Witch of the Waste is prowling around? What a heartless child you are.”
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“Yeah,” he muttered, “The little purple flames are your hair, and the orangey bits are your eyes. And damn, look at those eyebrows….”
“What did you say about my eyebrows?” snarled the fire with a voice like crackling logs.
Romano blinked.
“Did you say something?”
The fire stared back at him defiantly. “Yes, I did. I’m Arthur, the fire demon extraordinaire. ”
“Oh. Well, fuck me.”
Romano was far past the point of disbelieving things.
“Yes, fuck you, indeed,” the fire said with a genteel sniff. “You’ve got an ugly curse on you. A couple layers. I’m sure you can’t tell anyone about it, right?”
Romano leaned forward, his old bones creaking.
“You’re right. Can you break it?” he said, almost ashamed of how eager he sounded.
The face in the flames took on a devious expression. “I could. But I’d need something in return. Quid pro quo, and all that. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, eh? I need you to break my contract with that son of a bitch Francis. If you do that, I’ll break your curse. Promise.”
“Fine! I’ll break your contract, and then you’ll break my curse,” Romano said, eager to have an ally in this situation.
“So we have a deal?”
“Yes!” Romano said. “Now, how do you break your contract?”
“Well, I can’t tell you that,” said the little flame primly. “It’s part of the contract.”
The fire shrunk considerably when Romano threw his shoe with a surprisingly strong overarm throw.
“You little shit,” he growled, standing up. “I’m leaving. Break your own damn contract.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Arthur said, growing back again. “You can figure it out. If you would just stay around…. And that will give me more time to examine your curse. Think about it….I need someone to get me away from that fucking frog, and you need someone to break your curse. Please? Please?”
Romano sat down again, with a steely look in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay. But you’d better make this worth my fucking time or I’ll dump a bucket of water on you first chance I get.”
Arthur seemed to pale at that. “I will, I will!”
“Good,” Romano said. “Now, I’m going to sleep. It’s been a long fucking day.”
And, with that, Romano curled up and went to sleep.
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