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hetalia2011-04-12 11:15 pm
talis-art.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-04-12 11:15 pm
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Three short fics
Over the past couple weeks I've written three short, rather introspective fics to gain better understands of certain hetalia characters. I couldn't really post them alone, they're far too short. But perhaps together they're just enough to make a mouthful...?
Title: Remembering Names
Author: Just me
Characters:France
Rating: PG-13 (I guess? I mean, France is France, so sex is vaguely alluded to)
Warnings: Human name is mentioned? Oh, and a few unnamed citizens are mentioned to have died
Summary: France can remember the names of every single citizen he ever had...
France remembers their names. He remembers the names of every village girl who returned his sly sideways glances, and who usually ended up in his bed (or in a haystack, or against a wall in an alley, or…)
He remembers the names of the young men who turn a fascinating shade of pink when he winks at them across the café, and also the names of those with the audacity to wink back.
He remembers her name, the woman he still doesn't fully understand, even hundreds of years after she lived and died for him. But then again, everyone in France remembers her name.
He takes special care to remember the names of those who die alone. When he tries to sleep at night, he feels the last breaths of his citizens who died that day. The rasping of the homeless woman, hunched in a doorway; the unconscious child on a hospital bed, finally being unplugged from those beeping machines that had postponed death; the young man bleeding out in a dark street as a shadow makes off with his wallet.
France also knows the name of the shadow; murderer or not, he is still one of his people and France loves him.
It is because of his people, because of the names and faces he remembers, that he chooses a name for himself: Francis Bonnefoy. He chooses it when he is young and wide-eyed, still trying to make sense of all those faces and people and names in his head.
And it is because of them that he introduces himself with a flourish, with a rose, with a smile. Because maybe, if he does his best and makes an impression, once he has faded and disappeared, maybe there will be someone who remembers him.
Title: Dispassionate
Author: Me again, funnily enough
Characters: Iceland, Denmark, Norway is mentioned. Unrequited Iceland>Denmark and unrequited Denmark>Norway.
Rating: PG...?
Warnings: Uh. None?
Summary: By now, Iceland has gotten very good at pretending he doesn't care...
"He's so cold, yaknow? Well, I guess you do know. He is your brother, after all."
Iceland crossed his arms and kept his face carefully still. How had he ended up in this situation? One moment he was crouched in the hallway, delicately dangling a tiny fish over Puffy's open beak, and the next he was suddenly being complained at by an overly emotional Dane.
Damn it.
"I just wanna cuddle him and watch that grumpy look melt off his face," Denmark continued, not noticing that the smaller man had a bit of a grumpy look himself. "But he won't let me! Every time I try to get close, he hits me! I have bruises all over…"
If he didn't shut up soon he was going to get a few more.
Denmark had always been overly concerned with Norway's wellbeing. He was a rough man, and clueless, but always ready to fly to Norway's defense, whether the stone-faced nation needed it or not. Iceland remembered the moment he had realized that Denmark was only protecting him to score points with his big brother. His lavender eyes flickered to the large man's face, and he couldn't hide the scowl growing on his face.
The selfish man was still whining.
As time had gone on, Denmark, never exactly subtle, had let his feelings become more and more blatant. Whereas before he had focused on bringing the Nordics back to his house as a family, now his pleading was addressed solely to Norway. These days, when he greeted Iceland's brother, his overly enthusiastic exclamations were more often than not coupled with a huge bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. Iceland got a handshake, if he was remembered.
The pale boy shook such thoughts out of his head; moping wouldn't get him anywhere. He glanced over at the bear of a man. At some point during Iceland's inattention, he had gone from "Why doesn't Norge love me" to "these are all the reasons I love Norge". Iceland sighed. He knew that the Dane could ramble on and on about this, for hours if need be.
He looked away, fixing his gaze on the wall opposite. Lying was so much harder when he had to look at that open, earnest face.
"Big brother…I am certain big brother cares about you." He mumbled, the empty words hanging in the air between them like smoke, for just a moment. Once was sure his expression was as blank as he'd practiced it to be, he glanced over at Denmark.
Oh. He was smiling. He was downright grinning, his eyes glowing with happiness. "Really?"
Not trusting himself against that damn smile he nodded, scowling.
Denmark reached over and ruffled his hair, large fingers mussing the combed-flat grey locks, and Iceland couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, leaning his head into the warmth of his hand. It was gone almost immediately, much to his relief and disappointment.
"You're amazing, Ice!"
Yes, lying to him for hundreds of years. Amazing. Iceland glared down at the floor.
"I'm gonna go find him! Thanks!"
And Denmark was gone.
Iceland reached up, threading his fingers into his hair. His hand was small and cold and nothing like Denmark's.
Puffy, at his feet, hummed and rubbed black wings against his boots. The pale boy bent down to pick him up.
He was being silly again, that was all.
Title: Night Was For Dreaming
Author: Meeeeee~
Characters: Sealand. Finland and Latvia mentioned in passing.
Rating: PG...?
Warnings: Dark thoughts from such a cheerful boy...
Summary: Sealand is not afraid of the dark, and this is why.
Sealand wasn’t afraid of the dark. He appreciated the night light that Finland left in his room when he stayed with them, sure. He also understood Latvia’s nightmares, and held him close when he woke up screaming during a sleepover. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fathom the idea of being afraid of the dark. No, that wasn’t the case at all.
The simple fact was that darkness held a promise of freedom. When he stood on the deck of his metal body during the day, he could see the rust spots and hastily cobbled-together railings. However, when night fell, and he lay in his plastic race car bed (“positively gaudy,” Jerk England always called it, but Sealand was proud of it.) he shut his ocean-colored eyes and dreamed. With his eyes shut, he could feel not only the soft sheets pressing against his skin, but also his other body. He felt his metal toes pressing into the sand, the saltwater sloshing about his waist. Breathing in, he could smell the sea, no matter where he was.
He wondered if other nations felt this way too, if their landmasses were like an extension of their physical body. Did his artificial status make him different? But he never thought about the others for long. Nighttime was for dreaming. With his eyes shut, he was no longer a tiny scrap of metal, lost in an ocean larger than even the biggest countries.
In the dark, Sealand was a country too. In the dark, before he slept, he pretended. He pretended that he’d be the first space-station country, that he’d hit a growth spurt, that the sea floor beneath him would suddenly rise and cause him to have land of his own.
In the dark, he could pretend that those things were going to happen before he’d fall apart.
Uh, all of these can also be found at my fanfiction.net account.
Title: Remembering Names
Author: Just me
Characters:France
Rating: PG-13 (I guess? I mean, France is France, so sex is vaguely alluded to)
Warnings: Human name is mentioned? Oh, and a few unnamed citizens are mentioned to have died
Summary: France can remember the names of every single citizen he ever had...
France remembers their names. He remembers the names of every village girl who returned his sly sideways glances, and who usually ended up in his bed (or in a haystack, or against a wall in an alley, or…)
He remembers the names of the young men who turn a fascinating shade of pink when he winks at them across the café, and also the names of those with the audacity to wink back.
He remembers her name, the woman he still doesn't fully understand, even hundreds of years after she lived and died for him. But then again, everyone in France remembers her name.
He takes special care to remember the names of those who die alone. When he tries to sleep at night, he feels the last breaths of his citizens who died that day. The rasping of the homeless woman, hunched in a doorway; the unconscious child on a hospital bed, finally being unplugged from those beeping machines that had postponed death; the young man bleeding out in a dark street as a shadow makes off with his wallet.
France also knows the name of the shadow; murderer or not, he is still one of his people and France loves him.
It is because of his people, because of the names and faces he remembers, that he chooses a name for himself: Francis Bonnefoy. He chooses it when he is young and wide-eyed, still trying to make sense of all those faces and people and names in his head.
And it is because of them that he introduces himself with a flourish, with a rose, with a smile. Because maybe, if he does his best and makes an impression, once he has faded and disappeared, maybe there will be someone who remembers him.
Title: Dispassionate
Author: Me again, funnily enough
Characters: Iceland, Denmark, Norway is mentioned. Unrequited Iceland>Denmark and unrequited Denmark>Norway.
Rating: PG...?
Warnings: Uh. None?
Summary: By now, Iceland has gotten very good at pretending he doesn't care...
"He's so cold, yaknow? Well, I guess you do know. He is your brother, after all."
Iceland crossed his arms and kept his face carefully still. How had he ended up in this situation? One moment he was crouched in the hallway, delicately dangling a tiny fish over Puffy's open beak, and the next he was suddenly being complained at by an overly emotional Dane.
Damn it.
"I just wanna cuddle him and watch that grumpy look melt off his face," Denmark continued, not noticing that the smaller man had a bit of a grumpy look himself. "But he won't let me! Every time I try to get close, he hits me! I have bruises all over…"
If he didn't shut up soon he was going to get a few more.
Denmark had always been overly concerned with Norway's wellbeing. He was a rough man, and clueless, but always ready to fly to Norway's defense, whether the stone-faced nation needed it or not. Iceland remembered the moment he had realized that Denmark was only protecting him to score points with his big brother. His lavender eyes flickered to the large man's face, and he couldn't hide the scowl growing on his face.
The selfish man was still whining.
As time had gone on, Denmark, never exactly subtle, had let his feelings become more and more blatant. Whereas before he had focused on bringing the Nordics back to his house as a family, now his pleading was addressed solely to Norway. These days, when he greeted Iceland's brother, his overly enthusiastic exclamations were more often than not coupled with a huge bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. Iceland got a handshake, if he was remembered.
The pale boy shook such thoughts out of his head; moping wouldn't get him anywhere. He glanced over at the bear of a man. At some point during Iceland's inattention, he had gone from "Why doesn't Norge love me" to "these are all the reasons I love Norge". Iceland sighed. He knew that the Dane could ramble on and on about this, for hours if need be.
He looked away, fixing his gaze on the wall opposite. Lying was so much harder when he had to look at that open, earnest face.
"Big brother…I am certain big brother cares about you." He mumbled, the empty words hanging in the air between them like smoke, for just a moment. Once was sure his expression was as blank as he'd practiced it to be, he glanced over at Denmark.
Oh. He was smiling. He was downright grinning, his eyes glowing with happiness. "Really?"
Not trusting himself against that damn smile he nodded, scowling.
Denmark reached over and ruffled his hair, large fingers mussing the combed-flat grey locks, and Iceland couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, leaning his head into the warmth of his hand. It was gone almost immediately, much to his relief and disappointment.
"You're amazing, Ice!"
Yes, lying to him for hundreds of years. Amazing. Iceland glared down at the floor.
"I'm gonna go find him! Thanks!"
And Denmark was gone.
Iceland reached up, threading his fingers into his hair. His hand was small and cold and nothing like Denmark's.
Puffy, at his feet, hummed and rubbed black wings against his boots. The pale boy bent down to pick him up.
He was being silly again, that was all.
Title: Night Was For Dreaming
Author: Meeeeee~
Characters: Sealand. Finland and Latvia mentioned in passing.
Rating: PG...?
Warnings: Dark thoughts from such a cheerful boy...
Summary: Sealand is not afraid of the dark, and this is why.
Sealand wasn’t afraid of the dark. He appreciated the night light that Finland left in his room when he stayed with them, sure. He also understood Latvia’s nightmares, and held him close when he woke up screaming during a sleepover. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fathom the idea of being afraid of the dark. No, that wasn’t the case at all.
The simple fact was that darkness held a promise of freedom. When he stood on the deck of his metal body during the day, he could see the rust spots and hastily cobbled-together railings. However, when night fell, and he lay in his plastic race car bed (“positively gaudy,” Jerk England always called it, but Sealand was proud of it.) he shut his ocean-colored eyes and dreamed. With his eyes shut, he could feel not only the soft sheets pressing against his skin, but also his other body. He felt his metal toes pressing into the sand, the saltwater sloshing about his waist. Breathing in, he could smell the sea, no matter where he was.
He wondered if other nations felt this way too, if their landmasses were like an extension of their physical body. Did his artificial status make him different? But he never thought about the others for long. Nighttime was for dreaming. With his eyes shut, he was no longer a tiny scrap of metal, lost in an ocean larger than even the biggest countries.
In the dark, Sealand was a country too. In the dark, before he slept, he pretended. He pretended that he’d be the first space-station country, that he’d hit a growth spurt, that the sea floor beneath him would suddenly rise and cause him to have land of his own.
In the dark, he could pretend that those things were going to happen before he’d fall apart.
Uh, all of these can also be found at my fanfiction.net account.
no subject
I like the France piece because that's kind of my headcanon - that the characters know every one of their citizens to some extent. And I love how, in your piece, France adopts a name to become one of his people - he is France but he is also French - and to become someone worthy of remembering; France will be remembered as a country, and Francis will be remembered as a person - just the way he wants it.
I don't ship DenIce/IceDen in any form, but I like the feelings of longing - on both ends - conveyed in that piece.
As for the Sealand piece, I love how you extend his dream of becoming a Power Ranger with the help of Japan to something much bigger... while facing reality. You ended it in a good place, leaving a darker side of Sealand exposed but not delving into it.
(Ah, I bookmarked these, and I'm going to add them to my favorites on FFNet as well. c:)
no subject
That's definitely my headcanon too, and something I wanted to convey... to me France is so much more than the creepy pervert fandom can sometimes make him out to be.
Actually, I don't ship 'em too hard either, but I wrote it because my friend mentioned them, and I thought it sounded interesting...
And I'm glad you liked the Sealand piece :3 He's really such an adorable character~
(thank you again for the super-amazing comment ;A;)
no subject
I definitely have a soft spot for France. That was the piece I wanted to read originally, but after I read it I just continued on to the others, and was not disappointed. :3
no subject
I second the comment about how it is my headcanon that the countries know their citizens, and I love how poetic his reason for choosing his name is.
And Sealand's... It's so sad. I love the way you wrote his relationship with the dark, and his dreams... I particularly love the paragraph where you described his connection with his metallic body. The way you wrote it is beautiful!
no subject
They're all so lovely, but since I hold a special love for France being portrayed as more than just a cheerful pervert, the France fic is my favourite one. France with all his flourish really just wanting to do his best, to make a lasting impression so someone will remember him as he remembers his people, that is so sweet and yet sad.
Iceland broke my heart a bit and Sealand... oh, sweet little Sealand.