Sorry for this bit of micro fail. Someone competent should definitely do a proper fill.
This isn't how it was supposed to end up.
He cannot recall immediately just how it was supposed to end up, his mind as well as his body rent from war, but he knows that this is wrong. He is the Holy Roman Empire, and he was never meant to be laid out this way, bleeding into dirt already thick with blood, knowing more clearly than he has ever known anything that this is the end.
Think, he tells himself, flinching from the old self-command to rise. Remember why you're here, why you fought, why you're dying. At least know that much...
But there are only whispers breathed across the broken landscape of his consciousness, too soft to catch. It is defeat that fills his mind, defeat that fills his mouth, tasting of blood and bile. Utter defeat, if he cannot even remember--
"I'll wait, I'll always wait."
The words are like morning sunshine and certainty, and they hurt. All the things beyond his mental reach, why does he have to remember him now
( ... )
Footsteps like thunder come upon him, loud with the weight of victory behind them. It is a slap how easily he is overtaken, and then his graying vision is overtaken by boots crusted with mud and gore. He grits his teeth as he looks up, up, past the boots and the gaudy uniform into the face of the enemy. And the Holy Roman Empire has never begged, but he is already on his face and he wants so very badly to see Italy again.
"F-France..." His chest burns with the effort of croaking out that much. "France, ple--"
"Non, non, non, Holy Roman Empire," France admonishes, waggling one finger and smiling a smile that lights his eyes like hot steel. "I'll hear none of that. It would break my heart to have to look upon you so
( ... )
Second Author!anon would like to say in return...
anonymous
February 13 2010, 17:59:57 UTC
Thank you! I'm still new to this fandom (my second Hetalia fic, the above is) so I was worried. And I almost had a heart attack when I posted and saw someone had beat me to it, what with my first note up there ^o^;
Anyway, I'm just about to read and comment on your fill, thought I'd answer this first. Thank you again for your kind comments~
"noxious answer"? C'mon, Captcha, it isn't that bad!
This isn't how it was supposed to end up.
He cannot recall immediately just how it was supposed to end up, his mind as well as his body rent from war, but he knows that this is wrong. He is the Holy Roman Empire, and he was never meant to be laid out this way, bleeding into dirt already thick with blood, knowing more clearly than he has ever known anything that this is the end.
Think, he tells himself, flinching from the old self-command to rise. Remember why you're here, why you fought, why you're dying. At least know that much...
But there are only whispers breathed across the broken landscape of his consciousness, too soft to catch. It is defeat that fills his mind, defeat that fills his mouth, tasting of blood and bile. Utter defeat, if he cannot even remember--
"I'll wait, I'll always wait."
The words are like morning sunshine and certainty, and they hurt. All the things beyond his mental reach, why does he have to remember him now ( ... )
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Footsteps like thunder come upon him, loud with the weight of victory behind them. It is a slap how easily he is overtaken, and then his graying vision is overtaken by boots crusted with mud and gore. He grits his teeth as he looks up, up, past the boots and the gaudy uniform into the face of the enemy. And the Holy Roman Empire has never begged, but he is already on his face and he wants so very badly to see Italy again.
"F-France..." His chest burns with the effort of croaking out that much. "France, ple--"
"Non, non, non, Holy Roman Empire," France admonishes, waggling one finger and smiling a smile that lights his eyes like hot steel. "I'll hear none of that. It would break my heart to have to look upon you so ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Anyway, I'm just about to read and comment on your fill, thought I'd answer this first. Thank you again for your kind comments~
"noxious answer"? C'mon, Captcha, it isn't that bad!
Reply
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