[Fanfic] Portugal's Visit
Another one-shot, because these things just keep on frickin coming.
Title: Portugal's Visit
Author: meeee
Characters/Pairings: England, little!America, (OC) Portugal, hints of Portugal/England if you like
Rating: G~
Warnings: fluffy stuff
Summary: A social call. England's new colony is something to be seen.
All Portugal could think, upon first sighting the pair of them, was how incredibly large and blue-so blue, like autumn skies-the child’s eyes were. They were striking, and he couldn’t look elsewhere. They stared at him with such awe that they seemed almost to protrude from the child’s face, and Portugal got the feeling he was staring straight back with identical wide-eyed wonder.
When he finally tore himself away, he noticed England was giving him a look-a suspicious one that might’ve been saying “whatever you’re thinking right now, I don’t like it.”
Portugal smiled congenially, and climbed the porch steps, giving England a friendly kiss on his forehead.
“Olá, meu caro,” he greeted, resting his hand on England’s shoulder. He peered at the child in England’s arms again, and the child turned his head into England’s shirt shyly. “And to you, o pequeño.”
England tsked lightly, looking up at Portugal with a half smile. “Great to see you,” he said.
“It has been too long, dear Inglaterra,” Portugal agreed, as England turned and led them into the large house.
Portugal had been to England’s house probably hundreds of times since they first began their friendship, and though it was not large, Portugal was always impressed with how ornate it was, with detailed woodwork and antique but immaculate furnishings.
This house, however, was one he had never been in before. It was modest in size, slightly larger than England’s, but very sparsely decorated. In the few rooms whose doors were not shut, there were a few scattered chairs and side tables-the few pieces of furniture that Portugal assumed England had been bringing over on his many visits.
They walked straight through the house to the other yard, where England sat down on a patio chair and invited Portugal to the one next to him. There was already the beginning of a flower garden to their right, but the massive lawn-which, beyond the thin border of hedges, sprawled out into endless forest-was mostly overrun with wildflowers. Leave it to England, Portugal thought with a warm smirk, to plant a garden before he even had the house furnished.
“What a beautiful house this little one has,” Portugal thought out loud to himself.
“Indeed,” England agreed, but Portugal saw that he wasn’t even looking out at the yard. The child-who, Portugal noted, was really beautiful, now that he was looking at him-had begun to fidget in England’s lap, and England was bouncing his knees, trying to get the child to take his face out of England’s shirt.
Portugal laughed in an “isn’t that cute” way, and England rolled his eyes a little.
“He is really never this shy. Though I suppose he is not accustomed to visitors.”
Portugal leaned closer carefully, and encouraged by England, the child finally turned his head to look at Portugal. His mouth was turned down slightly, and his eyes were red as if he was tired.
Portugal laughed again, and England chuckled despite himself. “That is not a pretty face,” Portugal cooed to the child. “May I see a smile?”
The child turned his head into England’s shirt again, and pulled himself closer to the larger nation with his tiny hands around England’s neck.
“Say hello to Portugal, please,” England muttered firmly but gently.
“Hewo,” the child mumbled into England’s shoulder, and Portugal snickered quietly.
Portugal held out his hands to England, and England reluctantly gathered the child into his arms, mumbled something inaudible into his small ear, and handed him to Portugal. The child still stared at England from Portugal’s lap, as if he had been betrayed, and looked for a moment as if he might cry.
After a tense minute, Portugal found the boy’s armpits with the tips of his long fingers, and finally the child laughed. He scrunched up his face adorably, as if he knew how a smile should look but didn’t quite know where the muscles were. Portugal let his fingers skitter up and down the child’s sides, until high-pitched, squealing laughter rang out over the yard.
“I never knew you to be good with children,” England said with amusement, after the laughter faded and the child began to explore the colorful embroidery on Portugal’s vest with curious fingers.
“I could say the very same of you, meu amigo.”
Portugal didn’t have to look at England to know that he was flushing. He ignored the protest he knew would be coming-because it was true, England had more children than the old woman in the shoe, and they all adored him-and instead lifted the child slightly so he could stand on Portugal’s lap.
“What is your name, meu querido?” Portugal said to the child, who smiled again, his large eyes twinkling.
“Al-fed!” the child yelped, so excited about this fact that he began to wave his small arms excitedly and squeal.
“Alfred,” England corrected gently, looking glowing and proud. “Alfred Fae Jones.”
“Alfred,” Portugal repeated, and rolled the “r” with his deft tongue, to the child’s obvious amazement. “É bonito.”
The child became amused with Portugal’s hand and took into his lap, picking up the fingers individually and pulling at them. Portugal buried his face in the child’s hair; it was wonderfully soft against his lips, and the unmistakable “baby smell” filled his nose, masked thinly by other scents-wet grass, wild flowers, and, faintly, ocean salt.
“He is beautiful, Arthur,” Portugal said sincerely, and his soul exalted at the pure adoration in England’s eyes-for both of them, but mostly for the child. He had not seen his dearest friend so happy in a very, very long time.
Portugal lifted the child once again, and looked into his soft face with conviction. “You will do wondrous things for your Inglaterra,” he told the boy, and recognition sparked in the child’s eyes briefly before Portugal handed him back to England.
The child made a small sound of desperate affection at being back in England’s arms, and England kissed his head soundly, smiling until it reached his eyes and filled them.
This wasn’t England’s colony, Portugal thought suddenly to himself, as he watched them embrace and giggle together. This was his brother, his baby. Never had two nations been so finely tailored to fit as perfectly together as these two. They would do amazing, wonderful things together, Portugal knew.
This bond, the likes of which he had never seen, would not be broken.
It comforted Portugal immensely, and also made him slightly sad; he could see England needing him a lot less, now. But as long as this child remained to make England so unendingly happy, Portugal could accept it.
He would be the best godfather he could be for this amazing child.
“Should we be expecting one more at the supper table tonight, then?” England said as he stood, and Portugal looked from England’s expression of mirth to the child’s of expectance with an obvious answer on his tongue.
“Claro que sim, meu caro. I shall always stay, as long as you will have me.”
England smiled then, the smile that Portugal recognized from when he agreed to stay the night with England, from when he agreed to stand his army beside England’s until the battle was through. And as he took England’s hand and kissed the child’s golden head, he knew there would always be a place for him beside them.
A/N:
1) I'm sorry they didn't talk much in this chapter. I wanted more dialogue, but this just sorta happened.
2) I'm also sorry for any mistakes in the portuguese--I had to look up conjugations for a few of the verbs, and I'm not very confident in it, but feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes.
3) There may also be a few general spelling mstakes, because I'm eager to get this out for my friend, so I wasn't patient enough to proofread the whole thing.
4) Referring to Alfred's middle name--I hear "Fae" commonly used as a lengthening to the abbreviation "F." in Alfred F. Jones, and I'm not clever enough to come up with anything else (I kept on coming back to "fucking," hahahaha) so I used it. It seemed like something England would do, anyway.
5) Some translations, for the confused or curious:
--“Olá, meu caro” ~ Hello, my dear
--"o pequeño.” ~ little one
--"meu amigo.” ~ my friend
--"meu querido?” ~ my darling
--“É bonito.” ~ It's beautiful.
--“Claro que sim" ~ Yes, of course
6) As per usual, I hope you guys liked it~! And feel free to make any corrections. I look forward to your feedback!
Title: Portugal's Visit
Author: meeee
Characters/Pairings: England, little!America, (OC) Portugal, hints of Portugal/England if you like
Rating: G~
Warnings: fluffy stuff
Summary: A social call. England's new colony is something to be seen.
All Portugal could think, upon first sighting the pair of them, was how incredibly large and blue-so blue, like autumn skies-the child’s eyes were. They were striking, and he couldn’t look elsewhere. They stared at him with such awe that they seemed almost to protrude from the child’s face, and Portugal got the feeling he was staring straight back with identical wide-eyed wonder.
When he finally tore himself away, he noticed England was giving him a look-a suspicious one that might’ve been saying “whatever you’re thinking right now, I don’t like it.”
Portugal smiled congenially, and climbed the porch steps, giving England a friendly kiss on his forehead.
“Olá, meu caro,” he greeted, resting his hand on England’s shoulder. He peered at the child in England’s arms again, and the child turned his head into England’s shirt shyly. “And to you, o pequeño.”
England tsked lightly, looking up at Portugal with a half smile. “Great to see you,” he said.
“It has been too long, dear Inglaterra,” Portugal agreed, as England turned and led them into the large house.
Portugal had been to England’s house probably hundreds of times since they first began their friendship, and though it was not large, Portugal was always impressed with how ornate it was, with detailed woodwork and antique but immaculate furnishings.
This house, however, was one he had never been in before. It was modest in size, slightly larger than England’s, but very sparsely decorated. In the few rooms whose doors were not shut, there were a few scattered chairs and side tables-the few pieces of furniture that Portugal assumed England had been bringing over on his many visits.
They walked straight through the house to the other yard, where England sat down on a patio chair and invited Portugal to the one next to him. There was already the beginning of a flower garden to their right, but the massive lawn-which, beyond the thin border of hedges, sprawled out into endless forest-was mostly overrun with wildflowers. Leave it to England, Portugal thought with a warm smirk, to plant a garden before he even had the house furnished.
“What a beautiful house this little one has,” Portugal thought out loud to himself.
“Indeed,” England agreed, but Portugal saw that he wasn’t even looking out at the yard. The child-who, Portugal noted, was really beautiful, now that he was looking at him-had begun to fidget in England’s lap, and England was bouncing his knees, trying to get the child to take his face out of England’s shirt.
Portugal laughed in an “isn’t that cute” way, and England rolled his eyes a little.
“He is really never this shy. Though I suppose he is not accustomed to visitors.”
Portugal leaned closer carefully, and encouraged by England, the child finally turned his head to look at Portugal. His mouth was turned down slightly, and his eyes were red as if he was tired.
Portugal laughed again, and England chuckled despite himself. “That is not a pretty face,” Portugal cooed to the child. “May I see a smile?”
The child turned his head into England’s shirt again, and pulled himself closer to the larger nation with his tiny hands around England’s neck.
“Say hello to Portugal, please,” England muttered firmly but gently.
“Hewo,” the child mumbled into England’s shoulder, and Portugal snickered quietly.
Portugal held out his hands to England, and England reluctantly gathered the child into his arms, mumbled something inaudible into his small ear, and handed him to Portugal. The child still stared at England from Portugal’s lap, as if he had been betrayed, and looked for a moment as if he might cry.
After a tense minute, Portugal found the boy’s armpits with the tips of his long fingers, and finally the child laughed. He scrunched up his face adorably, as if he knew how a smile should look but didn’t quite know where the muscles were. Portugal let his fingers skitter up and down the child’s sides, until high-pitched, squealing laughter rang out over the yard.
“I never knew you to be good with children,” England said with amusement, after the laughter faded and the child began to explore the colorful embroidery on Portugal’s vest with curious fingers.
“I could say the very same of you, meu amigo.”
Portugal didn’t have to look at England to know that he was flushing. He ignored the protest he knew would be coming-because it was true, England had more children than the old woman in the shoe, and they all adored him-and instead lifted the child slightly so he could stand on Portugal’s lap.
“What is your name, meu querido?” Portugal said to the child, who smiled again, his large eyes twinkling.
“Al-fed!” the child yelped, so excited about this fact that he began to wave his small arms excitedly and squeal.
“Alfred,” England corrected gently, looking glowing and proud. “Alfred Fae Jones.”
“Alfred,” Portugal repeated, and rolled the “r” with his deft tongue, to the child’s obvious amazement. “É bonito.”
The child became amused with Portugal’s hand and took into his lap, picking up the fingers individually and pulling at them. Portugal buried his face in the child’s hair; it was wonderfully soft against his lips, and the unmistakable “baby smell” filled his nose, masked thinly by other scents-wet grass, wild flowers, and, faintly, ocean salt.
“He is beautiful, Arthur,” Portugal said sincerely, and his soul exalted at the pure adoration in England’s eyes-for both of them, but mostly for the child. He had not seen his dearest friend so happy in a very, very long time.
Portugal lifted the child once again, and looked into his soft face with conviction. “You will do wondrous things for your Inglaterra,” he told the boy, and recognition sparked in the child’s eyes briefly before Portugal handed him back to England.
The child made a small sound of desperate affection at being back in England’s arms, and England kissed his head soundly, smiling until it reached his eyes and filled them.
This wasn’t England’s colony, Portugal thought suddenly to himself, as he watched them embrace and giggle together. This was his brother, his baby. Never had two nations been so finely tailored to fit as perfectly together as these two. They would do amazing, wonderful things together, Portugal knew.
This bond, the likes of which he had never seen, would not be broken.
It comforted Portugal immensely, and also made him slightly sad; he could see England needing him a lot less, now. But as long as this child remained to make England so unendingly happy, Portugal could accept it.
He would be the best godfather he could be for this amazing child.
“Should we be expecting one more at the supper table tonight, then?” England said as he stood, and Portugal looked from England’s expression of mirth to the child’s of expectance with an obvious answer on his tongue.
“Claro que sim, meu caro. I shall always stay, as long as you will have me.”
England smiled then, the smile that Portugal recognized from when he agreed to stay the night with England, from when he agreed to stand his army beside England’s until the battle was through. And as he took England’s hand and kissed the child’s golden head, he knew there would always be a place for him beside them.
A/N:
1) I'm sorry they didn't talk much in this chapter. I wanted more dialogue, but this just sorta happened.
2) I'm also sorry for any mistakes in the portuguese--I had to look up conjugations for a few of the verbs, and I'm not very confident in it, but feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes.
3) There may also be a few general spelling mstakes, because I'm eager to get this out for my friend, so I wasn't patient enough to proofread the whole thing.
4) Referring to Alfred's middle name--I hear "Fae" commonly used as a lengthening to the abbreviation "F." in Alfred F. Jones, and I'm not clever enough to come up with anything else (I kept on coming back to "fucking," hahahaha) so I used it. It seemed like something England would do, anyway.
5) Some translations, for the confused or curious:
--“Olá, meu caro” ~ Hello, my dear
--"o pequeño.” ~ little one
--"meu amigo.” ~ my friend
--"meu querido?” ~ my darling
--“É bonito.” ~ It's beautiful.
--“Claro que sim" ~ Yes, of course
6) As per usual, I hope you guys liked it~! And feel free to make any corrections. I look forward to your feedback!