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hetalia2010-06-30 12:23 am
talkjive.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2010-06-30 12:23 am
Entry tags:
[Fic] Three Drabbles
Three short drabbles, no theme other than "stuff I did when I was supposed to be writing something else."
Title: That's Gonna Leave a Mark
Characters: Germany, Prussia, England
Rating: PG
Summary: Celebrating after the game.
There are times--
--when the sink explodes, when birds nest in his closet, when Bavaria drags out an old mace and threatens to become his own country again if that Saupreiss passes out in his garden one more time, when he falls in love with Lena Meyer-Landrut and tries to get Germany to use his connections to find her phone number, when he finds out they made a musical about Empress Sisi and nearly starts an international incident with Austria over it, when he shoves the jar under his shirt and won't give it back until until Germany says die Nutella--
--there are times Germany almost wishes Prussia would just go away. Almost wishes some enterprising young Ossie would raise the black eagle and send Prussia crusading across Europe again. At least until Germany finished his book.
But then there are times when Prussia kicks England's feet out from under him and plants a football cleat on his chest and blows a vuvuzela in his face until Germany's ears pop.
"Auf gehts, Deutschland, auf gehts! Football's going home, Inselaffen!"
There are times when he couldn't hope for a better brother.
"It was a good game," Germany says after, shaking England's hand and trying not to smirk.
Holy footnotes. Okay.
Saupreiss = pig Prussian.
Lena Meyer-Landrut is the winner of Eurovision and is from Germany.
Sisi was a famous Empress of Austria and kind of historically disputed. What is known is she had a massive boner for Hungarian culture and didn't so much for Austrian. Take that as you will.
The grammatical gender of Nutella is subject to debate.
"Football's coming home" is an English soccer chant. Football's going home was the German response.
Inselaffen = Island monkey, aka Englishman.
Title: Principal
Characters: England, Liechtenstein
Rating: PG
Summary: Mistaken impressions.
Mr. England had been staring at her all through the meeting. It was verging on rude. Sure, usually she skipped out on these boring things and decoded Switzerland's notes after, but she wasn't that unusual. She wasn't the Principality of Dancing Bears, or something. Liechtenstein scowled and pointedly refrained from drawing a bow on her bear doodle. It was going to be an angry bear. A bear full of righteous indignation.
Liechtenstein approached him after the meeting. "Mr. England--" she began.
"You've a tear," he said.
"--What?"
England reached out and took her wrist and turned it over. There, just over the jut of her wristbone, a seam had come loose. Liechtenstein flushed.
"I was trying to remember if I had my sewing kit in the car, but as it happens it was in my briefcase," England said, still holding her wrist. "Shall I get it?"
"Please," she whispered.
England turned back from rummaging in his briefcase to see Liechtenstein shredding a sheet of notebook paper into tiny pieces. He was able to make out the words maybe dinner and actually five hundred years and if you and, bizarrely, a bear's head, before the pieces disappeared into her pocket.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing," Liechtenstein said, and thrust out her wrist. He took it carefully and started lining up the raveled edges of her sleeve.
Title: Dignity and Class
Characters: Finland, England
Rating: PG13
Summary: The prompt was "shotglass" and I seized the opportunity to be crass.
"Fucked by a Polar Bear," Finland says, to every visiting nation. "Trademark shot."
It goes like this: they have to turn around while he pours it, and promise to immediately throw it back without looking at or sniffing the contents. Then he fills a double shotglass, heavy bottomed and cold, with tequila and a mint lifesafer. After that he lifts bottles up and down for a while and clinks wineglasses with a spoon and mutters darkly in Finnish, before ordering them to turn around and turn it up.
When they down it they grab for the bar and a shudder, a whole body jerk like they are a sheet being shaken out.
"Now," Finland says. "Don't you just feel like you got fucked by a polar bear?"
Filmy eyes and vows of eternal hatred and lies about their alcohol tolerance inevitably follow, counterpoint to Finland's high and tinkling laugh.
As shots go, it is still less tacky than England's glass of blue Curaçao layered with Jägermeister.
"Deepwater Horizon," he says, and sips.
Title: That's Gonna Leave a Mark
Characters: Germany, Prussia, England
Rating: PG
Summary: Celebrating after the game.
There are times--
--when the sink explodes, when birds nest in his closet, when Bavaria drags out an old mace and threatens to become his own country again if that Saupreiss passes out in his garden one more time, when he falls in love with Lena Meyer-Landrut and tries to get Germany to use his connections to find her phone number, when he finds out they made a musical about Empress Sisi and nearly starts an international incident with Austria over it, when he shoves the jar under his shirt and won't give it back until until Germany says die Nutella--
--there are times Germany almost wishes Prussia would just go away. Almost wishes some enterprising young Ossie would raise the black eagle and send Prussia crusading across Europe again. At least until Germany finished his book.
But then there are times when Prussia kicks England's feet out from under him and plants a football cleat on his chest and blows a vuvuzela in his face until Germany's ears pop.
"Auf gehts, Deutschland, auf gehts! Football's going home, Inselaffen!"
There are times when he couldn't hope for a better brother.
"It was a good game," Germany says after, shaking England's hand and trying not to smirk.
Holy footnotes. Okay.
Saupreiss = pig Prussian.
Lena Meyer-Landrut is the winner of Eurovision and is from Germany.
Sisi was a famous Empress of Austria and kind of historically disputed. What is known is she had a massive boner for Hungarian culture and didn't so much for Austrian. Take that as you will.
The grammatical gender of Nutella is subject to debate.
"Football's coming home" is an English soccer chant. Football's going home was the German response.
Inselaffen = Island monkey, aka Englishman.
Title: Principal
Characters: England, Liechtenstein
Rating: PG
Summary: Mistaken impressions.
Mr. England had been staring at her all through the meeting. It was verging on rude. Sure, usually she skipped out on these boring things and decoded Switzerland's notes after, but she wasn't that unusual. She wasn't the Principality of Dancing Bears, or something. Liechtenstein scowled and pointedly refrained from drawing a bow on her bear doodle. It was going to be an angry bear. A bear full of righteous indignation.
Liechtenstein approached him after the meeting. "Mr. England--" she began.
"You've a tear," he said.
"--What?"
England reached out and took her wrist and turned it over. There, just over the jut of her wristbone, a seam had come loose. Liechtenstein flushed.
"I was trying to remember if I had my sewing kit in the car, but as it happens it was in my briefcase," England said, still holding her wrist. "Shall I get it?"
"Please," she whispered.
England turned back from rummaging in his briefcase to see Liechtenstein shredding a sheet of notebook paper into tiny pieces. He was able to make out the words maybe dinner and actually five hundred years and if you and, bizarrely, a bear's head, before the pieces disappeared into her pocket.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing," Liechtenstein said, and thrust out her wrist. He took it carefully and started lining up the raveled edges of her sleeve.
Title: Dignity and Class
Characters: Finland, England
Rating: PG13
Summary: The prompt was "shotglass" and I seized the opportunity to be crass.
"Fucked by a Polar Bear," Finland says, to every visiting nation. "Trademark shot."
It goes like this: they have to turn around while he pours it, and promise to immediately throw it back without looking at or sniffing the contents. Then he fills a double shotglass, heavy bottomed and cold, with tequila and a mint lifesafer. After that he lifts bottles up and down for a while and clinks wineglasses with a spoon and mutters darkly in Finnish, before ordering them to turn around and turn it up.
When they down it they grab for the bar and a shudder, a whole body jerk like they are a sheet being shaken out.
"Now," Finland says. "Don't you just feel like you got fucked by a polar bear?"
Filmy eyes and vows of eternal hatred and lies about their alcohol tolerance inevitably follow, counterpoint to Finland's high and tinkling laugh.
As shots go, it is still less tacky than England's glass of blue Curaçao layered with Jägermeister.
"Deepwater Horizon," he says, and sips.