[Fic] Four Drabbles
Four threesome drabbles, in an attempt to get my rusty writing muscles oiled again.
Title: Polish-Hungarian Friendship Day
Characters/Pairing: Poland/Hungary/Lithuania
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None.
Summary: Prompt: anything goes. In which Lithuania does the crossword, and Poland puts hos before bros.
Lithuania was doing the crossword puzzle. Poland and Hungary were arguing over his head, but it was hardly the first time he'd ever heard someone debate the distribution of his wealth, so he kept at it until he heard something that almost made him misspell Vilnius. (32 Across Popular tourist destination in Eastern Europe.)
"Come on, Poland," Hungary said, in that just to the banks of the Nieman, surely that's not too much voice.
"Friendship Day, lady, not stare at my boytoy's totally cute behind Day," Poland said, and added "Geez," when that obviously was not scathing enough.
"I like to pretend boytoy is the Polish word for valuable ally," Lithuania confided to the air. "--But I know in my heart that it isn't so."
"Lengyel, magyar két jó barát--" Hungary started.
"Do not even," Poland said, planting his hands on his hips. "Oh my God, I mean, using centuries of alliance to justify watching me nail my boyfriend is totally tacky. No means no."
"Poland," Lithuania said. "I don't think she wants to watch."
Poland blinked down at his bent head. "What?"
"I think she means 'Slav sandwich with Magyar filling'," Lithuania said. "I'm not going to stretch the metaphor to mustard." He capped his pen and carefully set his paper aside. "Well?"
The tackle knocked him out of his chair and made him skin his elbows on the carpet, but damn if it wasn't worth it to top, for once.
----
Lengyel, magyar két jó barát, együtt harcol s issza borát- Pole, Hungarian, two good friends. They fight and drink their wine together.
Hungarian proverb.
Also, uh, apparently Lithuanians aren't Slavs. I found this out after it was already written, and I couldn't think of a new joke. Sorry, guys.
Title: Typhoon
Characters/Pairing: HK/Taiwan/Japan
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Death, storms.
Summary: Prompt: a Spring thing. April showers bring... flooding and landslides.
That year the spring comes with storms, and one day Taiwan drops to the floor in her kitchen, vomiting salt water all over the tiles. One hundred people are dead, in the first estimates; Taiwan could tell them it's actually one hundred and four if she weren't busy trying not to scream.
Hong Kong comes to her first, helping her stagger to the bathroom. She needs a shower but she can't stand the thought of watching the water come rushing out of the faucet, immersing herself in it, watching it come towards her face-
One hundred and seven people dead.
-so she just dries herself. Hong Kong doesn't bother trying to convince her to stay inside until she can walk straight; he just throws all of her shoes out the window when she's in the bathroom. He's a dick, but he's a dick who cares, so Taiwan only punches him once before passing out.
Japan goes to the relief efforts, first, coming to her apartment after she's sleeping, and she wakes up to that calm voice in the pre-dawn dark, a quiet sussuration of this much aid from China and the US, blood drives in Taipei and Kaohsiung, electricity out to 2,000 homes. (One hundred and 16 dead.) He has also, he added, brought along some boots; Hong Kong mentioned she might need them today.
She does need the boots, and the aid, and the blood; and she needs them for those weeks they stay in her little apartment and don't say a word about her unwashed hair or the way she counts her fingers, certain that she is falling into the sea. In peaceful times they can be friends and lovers and siblings, but when the rains come they are islands, and they know intimately what it is to drown.
----
Not based on any real life storms.
Title: It's All About the Renminbi, Baby
Characters/Pairing: US/China/UK
Rating: PG13
Warnings: implications of sexy time, Chinglish, and period racism
Summary: Prompt: money. England isn't sure about all this.
England was certain that this was not about sex.
Despite the sale of bleaching creams and pale-haired models on his walls, England did not think China saw them that way. He remembered that sharp impassive face staring across the ridge of a fan, remembered long nose and dead ghost man and barbarian barbarian barbarian-- no, China didn't want them that way. This was something else.
"I beg your pardon?"
"This you fault," China repeated. (America- who ought to know better- thought his voice was funny. He didn't seem to realize what it meant that China hadn't had to speak any language but his own for centuries.) "Meigguo like you son, learn you bad habits, should beat more."
America looked at England. England looked at America.
"Should beat more now," China clarified.
"How much debt are you forgiving, again?" America said, and shouted as the rattan came down on his shoulder.
"Enough talk!" China said. "You get to work, you in no position make deals!"
England sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. This is not about sex, he told himself again, and if he had to spend the next hour thinking about Princess Anne naked to keep it that way, then by God-
He dropped his trousers and took the cane from China.
-England prevails.
----
Renminbi is the Chinese currency.
Title: Home Field Advantage
Characters/Pairing: Hungary/Ukraine/Austria
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Crack, insanity
Summary: Prompt: "linguistic goodness". I substituted linguistic awfulness because I am fail.
The wheat blight accomplished what tanks and armies and Mongols and nukes didn't; Europe fell for want of bread, and the power of toast crushed the might of the atom.
Austria and Hungary were in a little cafe drinking coffee and not eating breakfast when the news broke. They stared up at the TV screen in silence for a long minute.
"Fuck me, I did not see that one coming," Hungary said.
"Most unexpected," Austria said. Coffee dripped onto his lap.
On the TV above the bar, President for Life Tymoshenko began reading a list of provinces in the new Ukrainian Empire.
"West Zakarpattia?" the nation formerly known as Hungary said.
"...Wein Oblast?" Austria said, clutching his cup.
*
"I'm good," Hungary said in English, and Austria flinched. Ukraine's face fell.
"Z-Zakarpattia," Ukraine said. "Why would you say that? W-was I not g-good to you?" She dragged the blankets up over her chest. (They used to joke about her abundant plains, but now every ex-nation in the empire was suckling at the last fertile land in Europe, and no one laughed anymore.)
"D-do you want to leave me?" she said. "I a-ask you for so little-"
"Dobre," she said quickly, and continued in her halting Ukrainian. "I- so sorry, Ukraina. Please forgive." But she wasn't fast enough and Ukraine's shoulders started hitching again and again like a nervous horse.
"Ja ne rozumiju," Hungary said helplessly as she started crying. I don't understand.
"Shush, shush," Austria said, stroking Ukraine's hair. "We're not leaving."
We couldn't if we wanted to, Hungary thought, and climbed back onto the bed.
*
It seemed to snowball, after that evening in Ukraine's bed; Austria asked her if she wanted some coffee and tak slipped out, automatic and thoughtless. She wondered if he felt hurt; she'd never said ja so easily under him. But he had his own problems, down in the Southern Provinces, where his children squinted and asked him to speak German more slowly.
"They could fight you," she whispered, careful careful not to wake Ukraine. "They can't fight their own hunger." Except she called it holod, and he didn't ask for translation.
*
Two hundred years later, and there is one upside, West Zakarpattia thinks, to newspapers in Cyrillic and Wein Oblast's thin face over Ukraine's bare shoulders and the unromantic stutters of Ja tebe kochaju it takes to keep the cafes open; bread line jokes really are funnier in Ukrainian.
----
This is scattered and crap and I don't even know. I'm sorry, I couldn't squish it down into a coherent drabble. "Ja tebe kochaju" means "I love you".
Title: Polish-Hungarian Friendship Day
Characters/Pairing: Poland/Hungary/Lithuania
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None.
Summary: Prompt: anything goes. In which Lithuania does the crossword, and Poland puts hos before bros.
Lithuania was doing the crossword puzzle. Poland and Hungary were arguing over his head, but it was hardly the first time he'd ever heard someone debate the distribution of his wealth, so he kept at it until he heard something that almost made him misspell Vilnius. (32 Across Popular tourist destination in Eastern Europe.)
"Come on, Poland," Hungary said, in that just to the banks of the Nieman, surely that's not too much voice.
"Friendship Day, lady, not stare at my boytoy's totally cute behind Day," Poland said, and added "Geez," when that obviously was not scathing enough.
"I like to pretend boytoy is the Polish word for valuable ally," Lithuania confided to the air. "--But I know in my heart that it isn't so."
"Lengyel, magyar két jó barát--" Hungary started.
"Do not even," Poland said, planting his hands on his hips. "Oh my God, I mean, using centuries of alliance to justify watching me nail my boyfriend is totally tacky. No means no."
"Poland," Lithuania said. "I don't think she wants to watch."
Poland blinked down at his bent head. "What?"
"I think she means 'Slav sandwich with Magyar filling'," Lithuania said. "I'm not going to stretch the metaphor to mustard." He capped his pen and carefully set his paper aside. "Well?"
The tackle knocked him out of his chair and made him skin his elbows on the carpet, but damn if it wasn't worth it to top, for once.
----
Lengyel, magyar két jó barát, együtt harcol s issza borát- Pole, Hungarian, two good friends. They fight and drink their wine together.
Hungarian proverb.
Also, uh, apparently Lithuanians aren't Slavs. I found this out after it was already written, and I couldn't think of a new joke. Sorry, guys.
Title: Typhoon
Characters/Pairing: HK/Taiwan/Japan
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Death, storms.
Summary: Prompt: a Spring thing. April showers bring... flooding and landslides.
That year the spring comes with storms, and one day Taiwan drops to the floor in her kitchen, vomiting salt water all over the tiles. One hundred people are dead, in the first estimates; Taiwan could tell them it's actually one hundred and four if she weren't busy trying not to scream.
Hong Kong comes to her first, helping her stagger to the bathroom. She needs a shower but she can't stand the thought of watching the water come rushing out of the faucet, immersing herself in it, watching it come towards her face-
One hundred and seven people dead.
-so she just dries herself. Hong Kong doesn't bother trying to convince her to stay inside until she can walk straight; he just throws all of her shoes out the window when she's in the bathroom. He's a dick, but he's a dick who cares, so Taiwan only punches him once before passing out.
Japan goes to the relief efforts, first, coming to her apartment after she's sleeping, and she wakes up to that calm voice in the pre-dawn dark, a quiet sussuration of this much aid from China and the US, blood drives in Taipei and Kaohsiung, electricity out to 2,000 homes. (One hundred and 16 dead.) He has also, he added, brought along some boots; Hong Kong mentioned she might need them today.
She does need the boots, and the aid, and the blood; and she needs them for those weeks they stay in her little apartment and don't say a word about her unwashed hair or the way she counts her fingers, certain that she is falling into the sea. In peaceful times they can be friends and lovers and siblings, but when the rains come they are islands, and they know intimately what it is to drown.
----
Not based on any real life storms.
Title: It's All About the Renminbi, Baby
Characters/Pairing: US/China/UK
Rating: PG13
Warnings: implications of sexy time, Chinglish, and period racism
Summary: Prompt: money. England isn't sure about all this.
England was certain that this was not about sex.
Despite the sale of bleaching creams and pale-haired models on his walls, England did not think China saw them that way. He remembered that sharp impassive face staring across the ridge of a fan, remembered long nose and dead ghost man and barbarian barbarian barbarian-- no, China didn't want them that way. This was something else.
"I beg your pardon?"
"This you fault," China repeated. (America- who ought to know better- thought his voice was funny. He didn't seem to realize what it meant that China hadn't had to speak any language but his own for centuries.) "Meigguo like you son, learn you bad habits, should beat more."
America looked at England. England looked at America.
"Should beat more now," China clarified.
"How much debt are you forgiving, again?" America said, and shouted as the rattan came down on his shoulder.
"Enough talk!" China said. "You get to work, you in no position make deals!"
England sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. This is not about sex, he told himself again, and if he had to spend the next hour thinking about Princess Anne naked to keep it that way, then by God-
He dropped his trousers and took the cane from China.
-England prevails.
----
Renminbi is the Chinese currency.
Title: Home Field Advantage
Characters/Pairing: Hungary/Ukraine/Austria
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Crack, insanity
Summary: Prompt: "linguistic goodness". I substituted linguistic awfulness because I am fail.
The wheat blight accomplished what tanks and armies and Mongols and nukes didn't; Europe fell for want of bread, and the power of toast crushed the might of the atom.
Austria and Hungary were in a little cafe drinking coffee and not eating breakfast when the news broke. They stared up at the TV screen in silence for a long minute.
"Fuck me, I did not see that one coming," Hungary said.
"Most unexpected," Austria said. Coffee dripped onto his lap.
On the TV above the bar, President for Life Tymoshenko began reading a list of provinces in the new Ukrainian Empire.
"West Zakarpattia?" the nation formerly known as Hungary said.
"...Wein Oblast?" Austria said, clutching his cup.
*
"I'm good," Hungary said in English, and Austria flinched. Ukraine's face fell.
"Z-Zakarpattia," Ukraine said. "Why would you say that? W-was I not g-good to you?" She dragged the blankets up over her chest. (They used to joke about her abundant plains, but now every ex-nation in the empire was suckling at the last fertile land in Europe, and no one laughed anymore.)
"D-do you want to leave me?" she said. "I a-ask you for so little-"
"Dobre," she said quickly, and continued in her halting Ukrainian. "I- so sorry, Ukraina. Please forgive." But she wasn't fast enough and Ukraine's shoulders started hitching again and again like a nervous horse.
"Ja ne rozumiju," Hungary said helplessly as she started crying. I don't understand.
"Shush, shush," Austria said, stroking Ukraine's hair. "We're not leaving."
We couldn't if we wanted to, Hungary thought, and climbed back onto the bed.
*
It seemed to snowball, after that evening in Ukraine's bed; Austria asked her if she wanted some coffee and tak slipped out, automatic and thoughtless. She wondered if he felt hurt; she'd never said ja so easily under him. But he had his own problems, down in the Southern Provinces, where his children squinted and asked him to speak German more slowly.
"They could fight you," she whispered, careful careful not to wake Ukraine. "They can't fight their own hunger." Except she called it holod, and he didn't ask for translation.
*
Two hundred years later, and there is one upside, West Zakarpattia thinks, to newspapers in Cyrillic and Wein Oblast's thin face over Ukraine's bare shoulders and the unromantic stutters of Ja tebe kochaju it takes to keep the cafes open; bread line jokes really are funnier in Ukrainian.
----
This is scattered and crap and I don't even know. I'm sorry, I couldn't squish it down into a coherent drabble. "Ja tebe kochaju" means "I love you".