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hetalia2011-05-03 08:57 pm
snowshoebombay.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2011-05-03 08:57 pm
Entry tags:
[ Fanfic] Kink Meme Deanon: A Ship on the Shore
Title: A Ship on the Shore
Characters: England, Denmark
Rating: K+/T
Summary: The first time England saw Denmark he just knew the other was going to be trouble.
The first time England saw him they weren't face to face.
He had been collecting mushrooms and other herbs and plants to make himself dinner and perhaps a little medicine. But the forest made it a little hard on him. The leaves still speckled with rain drops, the soil underneath his feet warm and wet, stones leaving little wounds on their sole and both his cloak and his stupid dress – it was getting smaller and barely reached his middle thighs by now – getting caught in branches.
When he had been hit by a strange feeling he had searched for a cause for it. Around him the forest had been still and silent, an unusual silence that never fit into his woods and he had frowned. It wasn't right. England had concentrated more on the feeling and surprisingly he had known that it didn't come from something in the forest but something on the shore!
Scrambling he had made his way to the nearest cliff with sight on his shores. When he arrived there he looked down only to see a gigantic ship, even as small as it seemed from his height.
Its sails were magnificent , the wood was strangely black and what scared him a bit was the figure perched on the front of the ship. A gigantic dragon head out of wood, its greedy little eyes frozen in wood for how long the ship would exist, and sharp teeth perfectly carved and the horrors the real thing could cause could be perfectly understood thanks to the great details in it. Like the blown nose holes or the two-split tongue rolling out of its mouth.
England had shivered and he knew – just knew – that every person coming off the ship would be trouble. He had to gulp when a big piece of wood was so arranged that it could serve as a bridge to his lands.
The men jumping on land were all big and brawny and had rough clothing on as well as helmets out of wood and metal and skulls and bones. They also had either black, brown or red hair. He couldn't hear them talking but imagined their deep voices. He didn't know why. Perhaps they sounded more like demons that way.
One last person jumped off the ship. It was just a teenager , scrawny. He shouldn't be as intimidating as the other strangers, not even close to , as his appearance was the exact opposite of the others.
He was gangly and like all teenager his limbs were a bit longer than they should be. He wasn't as tall as the others and his hair, it was a dirty blond.
Yet, yet England sensed that this teen was the most dangerous. He was confused. Why not one of the gigantic men? Why did he feel fear stir in his gut at the sight of the other blond?
However, when his emeralds connected with ice blue eyes miles away he knew the answer.
These eyes were too old to belong to a mortal, this teenager wasn't a teenager but like him. And he was older, just like his brothers! And from the smirk curling on his lips – that the island could even see from so far away – he hadn't come to play around but with the intent to harm.
Arthur ran away from the cliff as fast as he could and hid deeper in the woods.
The first time they met face to face – not long after they had first seen each other – England was so scared he didn't know what to do.
He had been wandering through the forest ignoring the phantom pains of the ire of his people and their suffering when he had been suddenly assaulted by another person. England had of course tried to struggle but it was as successful as fighting against the sea when the mighty lady was in one of her moods. Absolutely unsuccessful.
When a gruff voice had asked him something he couldn't answer. One, he was buried in the ground and two , he hadn't even understood the words. His enemy – anyone who attacked him was his enemy – had realized the former problem and had released him. He stood up only to see an axe pointed at him and the grinning teenager at the other end.
England was once again asked something in that gruff, harsh language but could just furrow his overly large eye brows not understanding one thing.
The other nation had sighed then and switched into another one. One much more fluid and it didn't have a name, Scotland had explained to him in one of his rare nice moods, but it connected all nations and every nation understood it and could speak it. Humans would only hear them speaking rubbish, however.
“ So, little brat, you are one of us, aren't you?” The teen's voice lacked the deep tone it had in his own language and therefore was rather high. He was grinning at him.
If he hadn't been at a disadvantage England would have scoffed and said “ Obviously since I'm not flattened on the ground or dead because the force you used would have killed a mortal.” but he knew when to argue and when not and now was one of the times were it'd be more prudent to hold his words in. So he only nodded.
The others lips curled into a smirk again and a strange glimmer had entered his eyes as he stared at the boy's exposed legs. England didn't what to make of it. His brothers hadn't ever looked at him in that way.
“ Well, squirt, I hate to break the news to you but you belong to me now,” he was informed in a tone that was anything but sorry.
In outrage the island had screamed the he belonged to no one else but himself and would have told the other nation nation in detail where he could go to but he was shut up fast by said other nations choking him with one hand on his throat and hissing in his ear.
“You should not be so cocky brat, especially not dressed like that.”
The hand not holding his throat slipped under the dress gazing his barely developed manhood and igniting a strong panic in England that was mirrored in his eyes and only served to make the teen turned on.
The first meeting would have ended disastrous for England hadn't the other nation been called in his strange language in that moment. The teen stood there undecided for a moment before growling
“ Your luck this time, brat. Next time you won't be. Then I, Denmark, will show you what it really means to be invaded.” And let him go.
England would watch him later leave in his ship so glad that he was gone and wishing him to die. But it wasn't meant to be. Denmark survived and came back to his lands.
And he couldn't escape the next time they met.
Characters: England, Denmark
Rating: K+/T
Summary: The first time England saw Denmark he just knew the other was going to be trouble.
The first time England saw him they weren't face to face.
He had been collecting mushrooms and other herbs and plants to make himself dinner and perhaps a little medicine. But the forest made it a little hard on him. The leaves still speckled with rain drops, the soil underneath his feet warm and wet, stones leaving little wounds on their sole and both his cloak and his stupid dress – it was getting smaller and barely reached his middle thighs by now – getting caught in branches.
When he had been hit by a strange feeling he had searched for a cause for it. Around him the forest had been still and silent, an unusual silence that never fit into his woods and he had frowned. It wasn't right. England had concentrated more on the feeling and surprisingly he had known that it didn't come from something in the forest but something on the shore!
Scrambling he had made his way to the nearest cliff with sight on his shores. When he arrived there he looked down only to see a gigantic ship, even as small as it seemed from his height.
Its sails were magnificent , the wood was strangely black and what scared him a bit was the figure perched on the front of the ship. A gigantic dragon head out of wood, its greedy little eyes frozen in wood for how long the ship would exist, and sharp teeth perfectly carved and the horrors the real thing could cause could be perfectly understood thanks to the great details in it. Like the blown nose holes or the two-split tongue rolling out of its mouth.
England had shivered and he knew – just knew – that every person coming off the ship would be trouble. He had to gulp when a big piece of wood was so arranged that it could serve as a bridge to his lands.
The men jumping on land were all big and brawny and had rough clothing on as well as helmets out of wood and metal and skulls and bones. They also had either black, brown or red hair. He couldn't hear them talking but imagined their deep voices. He didn't know why. Perhaps they sounded more like demons that way.
One last person jumped off the ship. It was just a teenager , scrawny. He shouldn't be as intimidating as the other strangers, not even close to , as his appearance was the exact opposite of the others.
He was gangly and like all teenager his limbs were a bit longer than they should be. He wasn't as tall as the others and his hair, it was a dirty blond.
Yet, yet England sensed that this teen was the most dangerous. He was confused. Why not one of the gigantic men? Why did he feel fear stir in his gut at the sight of the other blond?
However, when his emeralds connected with ice blue eyes miles away he knew the answer.
These eyes were too old to belong to a mortal, this teenager wasn't a teenager but like him. And he was older, just like his brothers! And from the smirk curling on his lips – that the island could even see from so far away – he hadn't come to play around but with the intent to harm.
Arthur ran away from the cliff as fast as he could and hid deeper in the woods.
The first time they met face to face – not long after they had first seen each other – England was so scared he didn't know what to do.
He had been wandering through the forest ignoring the phantom pains of the ire of his people and their suffering when he had been suddenly assaulted by another person. England had of course tried to struggle but it was as successful as fighting against the sea when the mighty lady was in one of her moods. Absolutely unsuccessful.
When a gruff voice had asked him something he couldn't answer. One, he was buried in the ground and two , he hadn't even understood the words. His enemy – anyone who attacked him was his enemy – had realized the former problem and had released him. He stood up only to see an axe pointed at him and the grinning teenager at the other end.
England was once again asked something in that gruff, harsh language but could just furrow his overly large eye brows not understanding one thing.
The other nation had sighed then and switched into another one. One much more fluid and it didn't have a name, Scotland had explained to him in one of his rare nice moods, but it connected all nations and every nation understood it and could speak it. Humans would only hear them speaking rubbish, however.
“ So, little brat, you are one of us, aren't you?” The teen's voice lacked the deep tone it had in his own language and therefore was rather high. He was grinning at him.
If he hadn't been at a disadvantage England would have scoffed and said “ Obviously since I'm not flattened on the ground or dead because the force you used would have killed a mortal.” but he knew when to argue and when not and now was one of the times were it'd be more prudent to hold his words in. So he only nodded.
The others lips curled into a smirk again and a strange glimmer had entered his eyes as he stared at the boy's exposed legs. England didn't what to make of it. His brothers hadn't ever looked at him in that way.
“ Well, squirt, I hate to break the news to you but you belong to me now,” he was informed in a tone that was anything but sorry.
In outrage the island had screamed the he belonged to no one else but himself and would have told the other nation nation in detail where he could go to but he was shut up fast by said other nations choking him with one hand on his throat and hissing in his ear.
“You should not be so cocky brat, especially not dressed like that.”
The hand not holding his throat slipped under the dress gazing his barely developed manhood and igniting a strong panic in England that was mirrored in his eyes and only served to make the teen turned on.
The first meeting would have ended disastrous for England hadn't the other nation been called in his strange language in that moment. The teen stood there undecided for a moment before growling
“ Your luck this time, brat. Next time you won't be. Then I, Denmark, will show you what it really means to be invaded.” And let him go.
England would watch him later leave in his ship so glad that he was gone and wishing him to die. But it wasn't meant to be. Denmark survived and came back to his lands.
And he couldn't escape the next time they met.