(no subject)
author: konbini @ rihiten
fandom: axis powers hetalia
characters/pairings: america, england, japan, spain, oc (philippines)
rating/warnings: pg, some language
drabbles:
1. spain, philippines - it's the wind
2. america, england, japan - hey, i'm no federer
It's the wind (present, spain, philippines)
The skies growl. Where he was from, they called it trueno. Here, kulog, more mimetic of the roaring that Felipe hears whenever the typhoons come. Antonio remembers something rapping at his door, his people giving it no mind. They stopped him from turning the knob, said it was just the wind - the wind crying and pounding desperately: Antonio, Antonio, Antonio. The heavens flash. Thunder. He's on the other side of the door now, soaked, pressing the doorbell once, twice. Felipe answers. Didn't think it'd pour today, he smiles sheepishly. Come in, Felipe pulls him inside, wraps a towel around his shoulders. Come in.
Minutes later, Antonio's in clothes two sizes too big and Felipe apologizes for not having anything else that fits.
"That's Alfred's, he keeps leaving his stuff all over the place." He flushes red as he tries to explain. "He's just as scatterbrained as Arthur, anyway - would you like something to eat? Drink?"
He's already in the kitchen when Antonio says yes.
Raindrops bouncing off the surface of leaves outline the shapes of jasmines and palm trees: blurry silhouettes behind a foggy glass window. Fingers go tap-tap-tap on the bamboo table (how long has it been?) while eyes search for some answer of the ceiling. A towel covers him still; he's cold. Come to think of it, Antonio doesn't remember seeing Felipe indoors during a storm, dry and warm. Felipe comes back with two mugs and a plate of biscuits. As the younger nation tells him of fiestas and telenovelas and Alfred - especially Alfred - Antonio reaches for a piece (the scene is all too familiar) and takes a sip of hot cocoa. It's good.
"Is it always like this? I mean, the weather."
Felipe laughs. "Antonio, Antonio, Antonio."
Hey, I'm no Federer (crack, england, america, japan)
It's June. The sun's glare gets in his eyes, and the British gentleman swings and misses.
"Fifteen love - love - I swear you make the gayest games, Arthur."
"It was Francis' idea, god." Not like he gives a damn about whatever comes out of that wine bastard's mouth, anyway. He serves. Kiku smashes. Damn, he's losing his touch.
"Whatever, I'm still better at tennis than you are," Alfred is not helping.
Wait. "Did you just admit to engaging in an endeavor you consider homosexual?"
"Thirty love - man, I don't even know how people take you seriously. I mean, seriously!" He didn't catch that, obviously.
Arthur takes a time-out to nurse his growing headache. If only the scorer would stop being so annoying.
"Hey, I'm no Federer, but I can serve. Like Roddick. I'll get you served real good." He's talking to himself now, got that smug look all over his face. "Yeah, my man Roddick. He'll hand you your ass before you even see it coming, heh. Damn straight."
Kiku's on the other side of the court making weird poses and yelling Japanese things and Arthur can't believe he's actually losing. "Oh, he thinks he's the prince of tennis or whatever," Alfred shrugs. "Hey, what the hell's a deuce?"
"Shut it."
How could anyone not know Federer and Roddick? Do I have to make a note about this.
fandom: axis powers hetalia
characters/pairings: america, england, japan, spain, oc (philippines)
rating/warnings: pg, some language
drabbles:
1. spain, philippines - it's the wind
2. america, england, japan - hey, i'm no federer
It's the wind (present, spain, philippines)
The skies growl. Where he was from, they called it trueno. Here, kulog, more mimetic of the roaring that Felipe hears whenever the typhoons come. Antonio remembers something rapping at his door, his people giving it no mind. They stopped him from turning the knob, said it was just the wind - the wind crying and pounding desperately: Antonio, Antonio, Antonio. The heavens flash. Thunder. He's on the other side of the door now, soaked, pressing the doorbell once, twice. Felipe answers. Didn't think it'd pour today, he smiles sheepishly. Come in, Felipe pulls him inside, wraps a towel around his shoulders. Come in.
Minutes later, Antonio's in clothes two sizes too big and Felipe apologizes for not having anything else that fits.
"That's Alfred's, he keeps leaving his stuff all over the place." He flushes red as he tries to explain. "He's just as scatterbrained as Arthur, anyway - would you like something to eat? Drink?"
He's already in the kitchen when Antonio says yes.
Raindrops bouncing off the surface of leaves outline the shapes of jasmines and palm trees: blurry silhouettes behind a foggy glass window. Fingers go tap-tap-tap on the bamboo table (how long has it been?) while eyes search for some answer of the ceiling. A towel covers him still; he's cold. Come to think of it, Antonio doesn't remember seeing Felipe indoors during a storm, dry and warm. Felipe comes back with two mugs and a plate of biscuits. As the younger nation tells him of fiestas and telenovelas and Alfred - especially Alfred - Antonio reaches for a piece (the scene is all too familiar) and takes a sip of hot cocoa. It's good.
"Is it always like this? I mean, the weather."
Felipe laughs. "Antonio, Antonio, Antonio."
Hey, I'm no Federer (crack, england, america, japan)
It's June. The sun's glare gets in his eyes, and the British gentleman swings and misses.
"Fifteen love - love - I swear you make the gayest games, Arthur."
"It was Francis' idea, god." Not like he gives a damn about whatever comes out of that wine bastard's mouth, anyway. He serves. Kiku smashes. Damn, he's losing his touch.
"Whatever, I'm still better at tennis than you are," Alfred is not helping.
Wait. "Did you just admit to engaging in an endeavor you consider homosexual?"
"Thirty love - man, I don't even know how people take you seriously. I mean, seriously!" He didn't catch that, obviously.
Arthur takes a time-out to nurse his growing headache. If only the scorer would stop being so annoying.
"Hey, I'm no Federer, but I can serve. Like Roddick. I'll get you served real good." He's talking to himself now, got that smug look all over his face. "Yeah, my man Roddick. He'll hand you your ass before you even see it coming, heh. Damn straight."
Kiku's on the other side of the court making weird poses and yelling Japanese things and Arthur can't believe he's actually losing. "Oh, he thinks he's the prince of tennis or whatever," Alfred shrugs. "Hey, what the hell's a deuce?"
"Shut it."
How could anyone not know Federer and Roddick? Do I have to make a note about this.