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phyripowritesthings · 6 years ago

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@eternal-night-owl! hello! this is your gift in the @aphgenficexchange, ft the Baltic trio as childhood friends, and, vaguely, a high school AU... and I guess this counts as historical but proBABLY not in the way you’d expect. for some reason, I decided this had to be set in the nineties. in 1997, to be exact. the setting in terms of location is a nonexistent Generically European location. but uhh expect a lot of denim, and the macarena. and a title referencing friends, because of course :) I hope you like it!

No One Told You

characters: Lithuania (Tolys), Latvia (Raivis), Estonia (Eduard), mentioned Poland (Feliks) and Finland (Tuomi)

word count: 4436 summary: Before Eduard and Tolys graduate from high school and leave their hometown for brighter places, they and their best friend Raivis decide to take a road trip together. It’s not like they’ll never see each other again, but it feels like the end of an age all the same.

“This is a bad idea.”

Tolys receives an unconcerned grin from Eduard over the roof of his mother’s old Škoda. He pulls a pained face back.

“Don’t worry, Tolys, it’ll be fine. Besides, look at it like this; it can’t be worse than when you and Feliks went hitchhiking.”

He promised not to mention that. Tolys groans. Feliks has refused to come with them this time, and he suspects it’s in part because of the hitchhiking disaster, which he’s been trying to forget happened since the minute they were picked up by a truck transporting geese.

“Geese,” he groans out loud. Eduard just grins more, pushing his glasses up. “And anyway, that’s honestly not much of a reassurance. I don’t think it can get worse.”

“Don’t jinx it,” says Raivis, walking out of the garage of Tolys house holding a duffel bag. “Where can I put this?”

Tolys gestures him over to the car so he can put it in the trunk while Eduard ducks into the passenger seat to start fiddling with his eternal cassette tapes. As outraged as he was to find out that the Škoda doesn’t have a cassette deck, he seems to have circumvented it with his own equipment easily. Raivis, meanwhile, has been wearing his Discman headphones around his neck everywhere, generally without the Discman actually attached, because it doesn’t fit in any of his pockets.

They may be Tolys’s first and best friends, but that doesn’t mean he understands them.

His mother comes out of the house after a minute and fusses over them for a while—especially Eduard, who hits his head on the roof of the car for the umpteenth time when he gets out—until Tolys can convince her that they’ll be fine and they’ll call if anything does happen. Here, Eduard proudly shows off his mobile phone, also for the umpteenth time.

He hits his head again when he gets back into the passenger seat and starts to curse before he realizes Tolys’s mother is still watching from the front doorway. Raivis snorts as he climbs into the backseat.

Well, here they go.

He’s certain they prepared their little road trip as well as they could have, but Tolys still feels a little nervous as he takes his place behind the wheel, buckles his seatbelt, and starts the car. For one, he’s never actually driven so far before—and he will have to do all the driving, because neither of his friends have their license yet—and for another, they’ll have to be back in time for his and Eduard’s official graduation from high school, and he knows the three of them. They’re bound to get distracted on the way.

“Relax, Tolys,” Eduard says. “No need the break the wheel.”

Taking a deep breath, he tries to ease his death grip. He’s looking forward to it, so he’s going to have fun.

They drive past Eduard’s house, where his brother and half-sister are waving a little too enthusiastically in the garden, with Tuomi clutching his chest dramatically like Eduard might never return. Eduard ducks his head and starts fiddling with his cassettes.

As they pass Raivis’s house on the corner of the street, where it’s silent, he presses play, and the Rembrandts start blaring through the car.

“I made a mixtape,” Eduard announces. Tolys grins. Raivis claps along from the backseat. Ironically.

There isn’t a set itinerary, but it’s May and all the campsites along the river are open for business, so as long as the weather stays mild, the three of them have nothing to worry about.

Tolys relaxes quickly after they leave town, sings along to Eduard’s mixtape while Raivis pretends to hate the pop songs but can clearly be heard humming along. He pulls his pointy knees up to his chest, where they poke through the holes in his jeans. Eduard, who is presently wearing a multicolored Nirvana shirt underneath a denim jacket, rolls his eyes fondly and reaches over to poke him.

“No sulking over the Backstreet Boys, Raivis.”

“Maybe I’m sulking because you’re here, Eduard. You ever think about that?”

Tolys can’t help but snort.

They’ve been friends practically their entire lives, the three of them, having grown up on the same street, and although they’re steadily growing more and more into vastly different people, they’ve remained close through all of high school. Tolys would trust Raivis and Eduard with his life, if not necessarily with his possessions. They’re like brothers to him in many ways, and as someone who grew up alone with his mother, that’s more than he could have asked for.

The first stop they have to make is a department store off the highway, because Raivis realizes he forgot to pack his hay fever medicine.

They tour through the store as if that’s their entire road trip. Eduard pokes an electronic thing in the toy section that starts singing at him, and he nearly falls over. Tolys wishes he had a camera with him. Well, he did pack the video camera, promising his mother to be very careful with it, but it’s in the car right now.

Somewhere between the medicine aisle and the clothing department, they lose sight of Eduard. When they find him, he’s holding up two graphic T-shirts and looking contemplative, the TL lights reflecting in his glasses.

“Hey guys, what do—”

“No,” says Raivis. “You don’t even watch MTV, Ed.”

Sticking his tongue out, Eduard obediently puts one of the shirts back on the rack. Tolys liked it, really, even if it said ‘Yo! Raps!’ in bright pink letters. The rest of it was a nice blue color. Nevertheless, he’s pretty sure Raivis is right and Eduard doesn’t like hip-hop. At least, not as much as he likes other kinds of music.

The second shirt has the Jurassic Park logo on it, and Tolys has the feeling he’s seen Eduard wearing one exactly like it before, but alright. He puts his hands deep into the pockets of his own overalls.

“We’re not here for you to be a nerd,” Raivis teases.

“We’re not here for you to be an unsupportive friend either,” Eduard shoots back. Raivis smiles.

They go to pay. In the queue for the cash register, after pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket by the chain attached to it, Eduard picks up a candy bar.

“Hey,” he says, “we should do something reckless like they always do in movies.”

“Dude, you’re not thinking of stealing a candy bar. That’s a terrible idea,” Raivis says, and Tolys is on the verge of protesting the idea as well when he realizes that he doesn’t always have to be the voice of reason.

“I agree, it’s a bad idea. Raivis should do it.” He relishes the incredulous looks he receives. “Ed and I are adults, but if you get caught, you’ll be tried as a minor.”

“I turn eighteen this year,” Raivis grumbles, while Eduard snorts and puts the candy bar on the conveyor belt.

“Maybe we should stick with something reckless that’s less illegal,” he says, and the cashier gives him a withering look that has him pulling a guilty grimace at Tolys and Raivis.

When they finally make it back to the car, Raivis gives it a considering look and starts to say something, but Tolys forestalls him.

“No, neither of you is driving my mother’s car. That’s definitely illegal.”

“Spoilsport. Can I at least have shotgun?”

They both look at Eduard, who is putting the new supplies in the trunk, ducking a little to avoid hitting his head. It’s so strange. He used to be the shortest of the three of them until they were about thirteen, when he suddenly shot up like a weed and started hitting his head on everything. He hasn’t stopped in the five years since.

“Well,” Tolys says, “if you want to talk reckless, that’s definitely it.”

Raivis grins and shoots into the car at top speed.

“Booyah!” he shouts, and Eduard knocks against the roof when he jumps.

“Oh, no, Raivis,” he whines, but Raivis just grins smugly and stretches his legs out, so Eduard is forced to fold his gangly legs into the Škoda’s backseat, from where he digs out a bag of Bugles and starts throwing them at Raivis. Raivis eats them.

“At least put some music on,” Tolys says, so Raivis hands Eduard his cassette deck, and he carefully selects a new tape.

They arrive at a campsite to the Macarena, which even Raivis has given up on pretending he doesn’t know the dance to.

When Tolys has confirmed that they can stay there that night, Eduard leafs through flyers for local attractions in the reception area, happy to stretch his legs, while Raivis searches through the car for the tent.

“Hey,” he says when Tolys walks over to him. “Look, they’ve got geese here.”

“I hate you.”

Chuckling, Raivis turns back to the car and continues dragging the tent out, the poles rattling in the bag. Tolys hopes the thing is complete; last he heard, Eduard’s sister had taken it to some festival, and the music taste in that family sure is… Something. It’s just another way the three of them are completely different. He pulls a hair elastic out of his pocket, pulls his hair away from his face, and sets to work helping the tent get set up.

By the time Eduard saunters over, holding several flyers that he’s probably going to put in one of his scrapbooks, they’re nearly done with the tent, which thankfully isn’t missing anything and looks clean. The last time all three of them slept in it was several years ago, but it was after Eduard’s growth spurt, so Tolys feels pretty confident that they’ll still fit.

“Looks good,” Eduard says.

“You’re going to be the one to break it up tomorrow,” Tolys tells him. He’s not going to get away with hiding at the reception so easily.

“Alright, fine. Look, there’s a pizza place by the river!” He holds one of the flyers up.

They go to the pizza place.

As always, Tolys finds himself in a heated debate with Eduard about whether pineapple is a good topping for pizzas or not—Eduard claims it’s ‘so eighties’, which apparently makes it a bad thing, like he didn’t grow up during the eighties. Raivis gleefully steals slices of their pizzas during this argument, as always.

It’s going to be weird, not being around them so much anymore from next year on. They’ll be on opposite ends of the country, just about, with Eduard going to his fancy university to learn all kinds of nerdy things about computers and whatnot, Tolys hopefully studying to be a nurse, and Raivis finishing high school. Even after that, he probably won’t come either of their ways again, because Raivis has a curious mind and boundless creativity and will be… Who knows, writing a book?

Maybe Tolys should get a mobile phone as well, to stay in touch.

“What are you thinking about?” Eduard asks as they walk back to the campsite. The sun is setting, glinting off the plastic frame of his glasses and the pale hair that covers his forehead.

“Mobile phones,” he replies distractedly, and so he spends the next twenty minutes listening to Eduard raving about technology, not understanding about half the words he says but happy that he’s so passionate about something.

The tent is a nice temperature to sleep in, but it takes some time before they get to it, because Raivis has commandeered Eduard’s cassettes and insists on playing and replaying Wonderwall when he finds it on a tape, while Eduard protests halfheartedly. Tolys, caught in the middle of it, tries to ignore them and read a book. It’s a good thing there are no other campers nearby—it’s too early in the season for that—or he’s sure someone would have come to complain by the seventh rewind. It’s the first time Raivis has managed to stop the cassette exactly at the beginning of the song, preventing them from having to listen to the ending of a No Doubt song again.

“You have to admit Gwen Stefani is hot,” Eduard says.

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Raivis returns. “Tolys, what do you think?”

“I think you two should shut up, is what I think. Didn’t you want to go to that aquarium a few towns over tomorrow? I’m not driving you there if you wake up after noon.”

“Alright, mom,” he says. There’s a lot of shuffling, Oasis clicks off—“rewind the tape!” Eduard hisses—and then, eventually, they settle down.

“Goodnight, guys,” Eduard says.

Raivis pretends to snore demonstratively, and Tolys smiles at the canvas ceiling.

In the morning—barely still in the morning—Eduard manfully drinks coffee, which Tolys knows he hates, Raivis finds out that he also forgot his hair gel after he takes a shower so he makes a detour to the camp site’s little shop, and Tolys finds a sad, flattened candy bar underneath the air mattresses in the tent.

“Eduard can put that in his scrapbook,” Raivis comments, walking by with his hair parted neatly down the middle again.

That doesn’t sound like a very smart idea. Tolys puts it in his pocket and helps Eduard break down the tent despite his threat from yesterday.

They make it to the aquarium by noon. Raivis, again in his ripped jeans and wearing combat boots that seem too warm for the May weather, is suddenly not so concerned about appearing aloof anymore and takes pictures of fish so enthusiastically that his camera roll is full halfway through, but that’s alright, because Eduard apparently carries new ones around in his deep pockets.

“Come on, Raivis, I’ve known you longer than today.”

To be fair, Tolys also spends a long time staring up at the animals in the underwater tunnel, especially the squid sort of hovering by a rock, staring back at him.

Silently, Raivis sits beside him and draws the thing in a sketchbook Eduard was apparently also carrying around. Tolys bets he also has bandages and painkillers and pens rattling around in those pockets. Eduard is like that.

“Man,” says the boy in question, over their heads, “that thing is giving me the wiggins. Oh, hey, that’s a good drawing, it’s just as creepy.”

“Thanks,” Raivis says. He catches Tolys’s eye and shrugs, obviously amused.

“Are you guys hungry? I’m really hungry.”

“Yeah.” Raivis closes the sketchbook and looks up at Eduard. “Fish, I think?”

Fish, of course. But first, Tolys buys a mood ring shaped like a dolphin from the aquarium’s gift shop and watches it indicate that he’s… Somewhere between angry and sad, he thinks. Oh well.

“They don’t even have dolphins,” Eduard says, inspecting the ring. “Oh, this is like those shirts we all wore when we were like twelve. You know, the ones that changed color?”

“You were the only one who wore those, Ed,” Raivis replies. He’s rolled the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows, but looks quite warm all the same. From experience, Tolys knows he won’t take the shirt off, so he leaves it alone.

After they eat fish, they realize they don’t have a place to spend the night yet, and Tolys had enough of camping out in the wild with Feliks last year, so they pile back into the Škoda and drive around for a while looking for a campsite. He refuses to drive back to where they came from—because then what’s the point of a road trip?—and eventually, they end up quite a lot further up the river, where the landscape already starts to get more hilly as it leads up to the mountains in the north.

“We should go skiing sometime,” Eduard says, looking out over the campsite they choose as if he can see the mountains. It’s a beautiful spot, on the banks of a brook leading to the river, the grass blindingly green in the evening sun. Raivis huffs.

“You know we can’t afford that, Ed.”

He smiles softly. “Maybe not now.”

“Can you guys help me with this tent?” Tolys shouts.

The next day, with Eduard somehow having woken up at the crack of dawn and freaking Tolys and Raivis out by being unfindable for a good two hours, Raivis really gets stuck on the idea of doing something reckless.

“I should get a piercing,” he says, and Tolys says, “No, you shouldn’t,” and Eduard says, “Oh, I kinda want a tongue piercing.”

“You what?” Tolys swivels his head around to stare at him from where he’s eating the bread rolls his friend was buying at the local bakery while he was still asleep.

“Yeah.” He grins, showing teeth. “Tuomi got a tattoo, you know, when he turned eighteen.”

“Yes, but Tuomi is…” He waves his hand around, throwing crumbs everywhere on the grass. Something catches his eye, and he thrusts his hand in his friends’ direction. “Look, the ring says it’s a bad idea. I’m upset.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess we have to listen to what your ring says. Not!”

“Well, I’m not driving you there.”

After a fight for the car keys when both Raivis and Eduard insist they’ll drive themselves, thank you very much—which ends with Tolys shoving the keys into his overalls—the two of them grumpily decide to walk into town, leaving Tolys to clean up the tent. He hopes they don’t actually get holes poked into themselves, but you never know with them. They’re somehow always bringing out the most recalcitrant side of each other, egging each other on. No one ever believes Tolys when he tells them this, because everyone knows Raivis and Eduard as quiet, polite guys.

They are, but they’re also teenage boys and trying to be cool in their own ways.

This is nice, too. Quiet. No Spice Girls or No Doubt blaring. Just the water and the birds.

Tolys’s mood ring tells him he’s still upset.

What a great buy.

Raivis comes back a few hours later without a piercing but with his hair dyed black. It’s still styled the same way, but now paints a stark contrast with his light eyebrows, and there are smudges of dye all along his hairline and on his ears.

“Oh, this is way worse.” Tolys pushes his hands through his own shoulder-length hair.

“No, it’s not; your ring says you’re happy.”

“My ring says you’re an idiot, is what is says.”

Raivis just grins. “Wait till you see Ed.”

Tolys groans. They should have done this last year, before he and Eduard turned eighteen, because he swears being a legal adult has made his friend more childish somehow.

“Come on, Tolys,” Raivis says, softer. “You don’t always have to be the responsible one. Everybody already knows you’re a great guy, including us. We’re not going to stop thinking that if you do something dumb every once in a while.”

Smiling slightly, Tolys leans against the hood of the car. He’s going to miss Raivis. Underneath all the plaid and combat boots and black hair, he’s the most sensitive one out of the three of them, and also the one who’s been through the most trouble in his life. He’s the silent little boy that brought them together in the first place, alone on his front stoop and looking decidedly lost there.

“Was the mood ring not dumb enough?”

Raivis laughs, sits on the hood next to him. The smell of hair dye wafts over.

“Behold!” comes Eduard’s voice from up the slope. Tolys closes his eyes for a second, bracing himself. “Does anyone have some ice water?”

Oh, god.

“Stop sticking your tongue out, Ed,” Tolys says when they finally get on the road again, having recovered a little from the fact that he actually went and got his tongue pierced. “People are going to think you’re being rude to them.”

From the passenger seat, Eduard sticks his tongue out at him.

“It feels weird.”

“I could’ve predicted that.”

“Are we there yet?” Raivis asks from behind him, mock-whiny.

“The ring says no,” Eduard replies. They don’t even know where they’re going other than further north.

Tolys snorts. “The ring says you’re both idiots and I don’t know why you’re my friends.”

That earns him a chorus of booing and some Bugles thrown at his head from where they were lying on the floor under the passenger seat.

They stop at a gas station, because Eduard is hungry again and because the car needs gas, and find a flyer advertising a nearby hiking trail, which they decide to take a look at. It’s good weather for hiking, and at least Raivis’s boots are suitable for it.

The area is beautiful, too, and Raivis takes lots of pictures again. Tolys hauls the video camera up into the hills, checks that there’s tape in it at Eduard’s insistence—“we don’t have any footage of my sister’s band because we forgot once”—and captures some of the hike, including the view over a brook they find as Eduard splashes through it with his Converses in hand, getting even his Crystal Pepsi shirt wet but grinning, and himself and Raivis belting out Barbie Girl at top volume.

Tolys is Barbie, because he has long hair, apparently.

“And a mood ring,” Eduard adds sagely.

And a mood ring. Tolys suspects that’s going to be what he’ll always remember of this trip. Eduard’s piercing, Raivis’s dye job, and his mood ring.

He loves it.

That night, Tolys wakes up when it’s still dark outside, and blinks blearily at his nearly invisible surroundings.

Raivis is gone.

There is shuffling outside, the stones on the path leading up to their new campsite scrunching. Eduard breathes deeply and steadily on the other side of Raivis’s mattress.

After a minute, Tolys goes outside, wrapping his sleeping bag around his shoulder to ward off the chill of the night. It’s not really summer yet.

“Hey,” Raivis says from where he’s sitting on the hood of the Škoda, knees pulled up to his chest and bare feet against the yellow paint. His hair looks like an ink stain in the darkness.

“Hey. Be careful with that car, hm?” Tolys sits next to him. “It’s almost an antique.”

Raivis lets out a puff of air. “So are you.”

“Don’t be rude to senior citizens, young man.” He nudges his shoulder against Raivis’s. “What’s up?”

For a while, it’s silent, and the two of them just look out over the hills, at the shadows of the mountains in the distance and the vast garden of stars overhead, brighter here than even in their small town. Eduard snorts in the tent.

“Just a dream,” Raivis eventually says. “Could’ve been worse.”

Tolys hums. “It’s gotten better, hasn’t it? The past years?”

“Yeah, definitely.” A pause. “I’m going to miss you. You and Eduard.”

He glances at Raivis, who’s now tilting his head back and looking at the sky, his skin very pale in contrast with his newly dark hair. He’s wearing an overlarge sweater Eduard got him for his birthday ages ago—his fourteenth, maybe?—that has Mariah Carey’s face on it. For some reason. Tolys can’t even see it; he knows it’s there.

“I’m going to miss you two as well. It’ll be weird.” He sighs, drags his fingers through the dust on the car. “You guys are like brothers to me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve got other friends, but it’s…”

“It’s different.”

The zipper of the tent.

“What’s going on here?” Eduard asks, sounding extra bleary because of his thick tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, Tolys sees Raivis smile as his friend lies back, resting his head against the windshield, which is probably a bad idea, but it doesn’t matter all of a sudden.

“A party,” he tells Eduard, “for cool people.”

“Guess you should come back inside, then.”

Raivis laughs, sounding carefree.

On his way back into the tent, grumbling about the cold, Eduard trips over a guy-line, and Tolys starts laughing as well. He lies down on the hood of the Škoda and looks at the stars.

They try to prank call Eduard’s brother from a payphone the next day, but they run out of money to throw into the thing halfway through, and anyway Eduard keeps giggling in the background, so he probably didn’t fall for it.

A while later, when his mobile phone rings, Eduard pulls a face at it and doesn’t pick up.

“Tolys’s ring says you’re a coward,” Raivis says, sounding dead serious.

“Tolys’s ring should know that Tuomi is kind of scary when he wants to be.”

That’s true.

Somehow, Eduard still hasn’t run out of mixtapes. Tolys’s favorite is the one he’s titled ‘That’s So Pizza Hawaii’, which apparently refers to songs from their childhood, and also the Rembrandts, who are on every single cassette. When asked why, Eduard just grins.

“Is it ‘cause we’re friends?” Raivis asks from the backseat, grabbing Eduard’s baseball cap off his head.

“I don’t know, what does the ring say? Give that back.”

“The ring is withholding comment,” Tolys tells them. And, “Ed, don’t— Keep your seatbelt on. Come on, I’m not your mother.”

Eduard sticks his tongue out again. It’s probably good Tolys isn’t his mother, because the poor woman is going to freak when she sees that piercing.

They barely make it back in time for the official graduation, in the end, going to their high school without stopping by any of their houses first, so Eduard is wearing an Aerosmith shirt and baggy jeans with one leg rolled up and Tolys had to borrow Raivis’s Mariah Carey sweater because someone spilled their energy drink on his own clothes—thanks, Raivis.

As Tolys drives through the town, Eduard fumbles with his cassettes until he finds the last one, forwards through another round of I’ll Be There For You, and grins when the second song starts playing, obviously proud that he captured no talking from the radio show host.

“So deep,” Raivis says, smiling, and he doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t know how it goes as they pull up to their high school.

“Mmmbop!” Eduard shouts.

“Du ba dop, ba du bop,” Tolys and Raivis chorus, and then all three of them are singing through laughter, startling several passersby.

“Du ba dop, ba du bop, du ba dop, ba du, yeah!”

They’ll never forget them in this town.

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orbitinghetalia · 7 years ago

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a @aphgenficexchange gift for @apoaeon. Left the pairing open, so it’s up to you.

#aph russia #aph belarus #aph ukraine #aph slav siblings #my stuff #my aesthetics #aphgenficexchange

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alyfa · 8 years ago

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Ciao! Hey @the-awesome-sia guess what? Yeah! I’m your partner for the @aphgenficexchange this year!! I really really hope you like this! I choose Lithuania and Poland as childhood friends in the nyotalia AU from all the things listed.

Basically the idea was to show them as child and then once grown up to focus on the fact that they’ve been friends since childhood and nothing changed that : (sorry my shitty handwriting but it’s almost 2 am xD) Time will pass and seasons will come and go, I may not always be there with you, but i will always be there for you (i hope we’re friends until we die. And then i hope we stay ghost friends and scare the shit out of people) take this also like it’s from me for you ;3 ... seriously it’s already a whole year omg... i still remember finding out you were the one who wrote that fic for me :’) Also sorry if it’s a bit messy but you know i had some things going on in real life ... but i still put so much effort in this >.< you deserve even better tho

#aphgenficexchange #aph lithuania #APH Poland #aph nyo poland #aph nyo lithuania #hetalia axis powers #My Drawings #the-awesome-sia #alyfa #aph #hetalia #hetalia drawing #nyotalia

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hehebread · 8 years ago

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This is my @aphgenficexchange gift for @hinotorihime . I chose to do Liet and Bela in a fairy tail!AU. I really hope you like this!!

Natalya is the mysterious mountain witch and Toris the fearsome knight on his way to save the royal prince from the clutches of the evil dragon. They meet by accident when Toris catches the witch on one of her hunts. Although Nat seems reluctant and apathetic at first, she agrees to help him with the goal of obtaining the beast’s scales for one of her potions. They have a pretty good deal, except Natalya does not account for the blooming friendship that later develops between her and the knight with the soft eyes. Was this a trap?

#aphgenficexchange #platonic hetalia #aph lithuania #aph belarus #hetalia #aph #Axis Powers Hetalia #toris laurinaitis #natalya arlovskaya #the unprecedented camaraderie between a kind hearted knight and a beautifully deadly witch #fairy tail au #the prince is toris' best friend btw #icicledraws

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wandschrankheld · 8 years ago

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The trees are in their autumn beauty

Characters: APH Australia, APH Cameroon, APH Canada, APH England, APH Kenya, APH Seychelles, APH New Zealand (ment.) Wordcount: 2.8K Summary: Arthur Kirkland lived an isolated life on the outskirts of the fringe. He spent his life building an existence from nothing to raise his children, and now he is waiting for them to come home. Content Warning: Death mention, Alcohol mention, loss of a loved one. Human names used: Australia - Nicholas; Cameroon: Adolphe Karim; Kenya: Faith Endana; Seychelles: Victoire; New Zealand: Zea.

Here it finally is - my @aphgenficexchange gift for @kuzeykirkland ! I’m so awfully sorry it took me so long. I hope you will enjoy this piece! I took a very liberal approach to your Autumn + Post-apoc prompts, and wrote this piece about an old dad and his gaggle of kids.

An old man sat on his porch and waited for his children to come home. He had not seen them in a while, and was eager to wrap them in his arms once more, to hear them talk of their lives, their failures and victories. A stiff wind blew through his greying hair, and its cold crept into his bones. He pulled a quilted blanket around his legs, knocked over his cane and cursed. As cold as the wind was, he did not dislike it; he hoped it would urge his children to fasten their steps and find their way back to him faster.

As he sat waiting, his rum spiked tea warmed his hands and heart. His eyes searched for figures walking the horizons and his mind wandered the bronze plains to the edges of his farm. He had never been sure how big it was, exactly, had fenced in as much as land as he had found trees to make posts from all those years ago. Not thought about it since. No one had ever dared ask about it, either. Everybody in these parts knew it was his land; Old Arthur’s cursed land, they called it, the few who had settled down near the fringe as he had. They didn’t come near it, for fear of the fog that would sweep through the mountains and leave a copper smell.

He shifted his legs and downed the last sips in his cup. The land had been good to him and his family, and the fog had always left enough for them to survive. Ever so often, they would have to replace fenceposts and shingles that had been ripped apart, and bury livestock and shovel mud from the well. But hail would not touch his corn and foxes would not take his chickens and wolves would not feast on his sheep. The old man mused to himself; truly, he had been blessed to find this heaven on the outskirts of the fringe, and blessed again for having made it his own.

The first one of his children arrived as he was stepping back outside with a new cup filled to the brim with spiked tea. He returned her excited waving with his cane and didn’t bother sitting down before she had arrived, so he could sweep her up in his arms as soon as she was at arm’s length. Victoire smelled of salt and beeswax, and her thick black curls tickled his nose and cheeks. “You’ve grown taller”, he says, and she laughs, as she always does, and replies “And you’ve shrunken, dad.” She was the one he saw most often, as she had not strayed far from home. She lived in the town a mountain over, where she had taken over the only pub to be found in miles. Victoire brewed her beer herself, with the technique his late brother had taught her, and he couldn’t be more proud. A crate of the stuff now rested on the porch, and he tapped his cane against it feigning annoyance.

Her laugh was brighter than the sun, and he couldn’t help cracking a smile himself whenever he heard it. “How are the bones?”, she asked. He shrugged, and fell victim to her silent worry.

“Would you go on to the kitchen, dear, and prepare the table? The stew and the bread should be ready by now, and I would like to stay out here to wait for your siblings. “

Victoire pat his back, and stayed until he had taken his place on the old wooden chair again. “Sure thing, dad.” She smacked her lips and helped him put the cane away. “I don’t want to hear a word about how I didn’t set the table right.” She closed the door behind her, and a waft of warmth streamed out. She could always see through him like none of the others; as much as it pained him to admit, lifting those steel pots and pans had gotten harder with every passing year.

The sun shone its brightest rays onto his land as two silhouettes appeared at the cusp of the hill. Both were carrying luggage larger than themselves, both were in a tireless sprint. He could hear them call to each other, echoes of their voices on the mountain walls, but couldn’t make out their words until they passed the gate and the orange apple tree.

“Cheater!”, yelled Nicholas, a smile in his voice. His cowlicks bobbed up and down in the rhythm of his steps.

“You tripped”, Adolphe laughed and cemented his lead by taking a big leap atop a mud puddle in the middle of the stone path.

Arthur yelled at them to simmer down, and berated them for tracking mud all over his dusty porch. They stood before him in their dirty shoes and weather worn coats with the same glint in their eyes they had sported since their youth, when they would reach just about up to his navel. The two of them would run across the fields, trying to chase the sheep around and competing over catching bugs and grasshoppers. He had invented many a game to keep them occupied, but they ones they had loved the most had always been those that posed the most danger. Arthur got up out of his chair, and set his cup aside.

Even though he was panting heavily, Nicholas swept him up in his arms with ease. They were thick as tree trunks, and they had better be, what with the animals and creatures he had taken on himself to care for. Arthur protested the hug with a grumble, but returned it with little prompting even as the life was squeezed out of him. “Aw man, I’ve missed ya, dad!”, his boy said, giving one last squeeze before he returned him to the earth. Arthur coughed.

“I see you’ve been well”, he said, and earned a booming smile. “Karim, you as well.” Adolphe nodded, and he smiled at his father still refusing to use his first, French name. Arthur was pulled in for a second strong hug, and left just as breathless as before. Adolphe had been the oldest out of all of them when he had found him – Arthur estimated at thirteen or fourteen years old. He had always worried the boy would never think of him as anything more but a guardian, a friend.

“Is your back doing alright? I’ve got a few exercises that would set it back a good twenty years.”

Unfounded worry, he realized anew every time he came to visit.

It was hard work convincing Adolphe he did not need the exercises, and harder work pretending not to fret about Nicholas’ as he showed off his newest scars. He fuzzed over Adolphe’s short curls, and sternly reminded both to pack thicker clothing next time, and what did he knit those sweaters for if no one of you brats wore them? They shared a look, and he huffed. Nicholas excused himself to “go greet Vicky”, and his brother, after unloading his luggage next to the crate of beer, took the old rake and shovel to make a round on the property. Arthur sat back down, and let the lukewarm tea soothe his bones.

The sun was starting to set on the surrounding forest’s golden leaves when Matthew set his suitcase down quietly, yet close enough to his chair to startle Arthur from his slumber.

“You’ll catch a cold…”, Matthew’s soft voice nearly got lost in an oncoming gust of wind. Arthur grumbled, half asleep, and chugged some of the ice cold tea in the cup that might as well have been frozen to his hands. The oldest of his children smiled at him in the way only he could; barely there, and yet so full of love and concern, it warmed him right up to his core. Matthew pulled a heavy blanket from the bag slung around his shoulders, and tucked him in it before he could refuse.

He was the first one he had found. In his darkest hours, he could still trace their encounter moment for moment, breath for breath. Arthur hid his mouth behind the frayed edges of the blanket. He would never forget the cries of the boy, sitting amidst rubble and corpses, still clutching tightly to a dismembered hand roughly the size of his own. Matthew shoved the suitcase with his foot and sat down next to his dad.

They watched the sun go down over the mountains. Matthew told him of the furthest edges of the fringe that he had seen on his travels, of the few people that had made their peace with the edges and the fog and the things that came with it as their family had. He told of the big cities, talked of the makeshift communities and governments spreading and falling throughout the land. He told of the sea, and of the mountains, and his voice gained strength with every word, as if he had to relearn how to talk to another human being. Arthur listened to his stories, and told a few of his own, all of which he knew the boy and all his other children had heard enough to tell alongside him. Still, Matthew smiled and nodded along intently. The entirety of their talk, Matthew held on tightly to Arthur’s hand.

The porch was lit in the dim yellow light of the lanterns Adolphe had lit by the time that Faith arrived. She seemed like a lighting bug at first, the large lantern illuminating her path obscuring the rest of her figure. But the closer she stepped, the more familiar each of her features became, and soon he recognized what used to be the little girl that had jumped into his lap and clung to his leg, the girl that could run laps before she said her first word. He rose before she had set foot on the stones leading up to his house, and both of his blankets unceremoniously hit the ground, stirring up dust and feathers. He hadn’t bothered with cleaning after plucking clean the two chickens for today’s feast.

“Faith…”, he called out to her, and she set down her lantern.

“Dad.” She smiled, and reached for his hand. “I’m home”, she said, and squeezed it tightly.

Arthur pulled her into a hug with a huff, and hid his large smile in her shoulders. She towered over him, just slightly shorter than Nicholas’, and stank of sweat, blood and the marshlands. Her boots were covered in thick mud, as were the tools poking out of her various bags and backpacks. She never would tell him just what it was she was working on.

It didn’t matter; it was Faith, Faith Endana Kirkland, the girl who had chosen her own name. He would trust her with his life, to the end of the earth and the bottom of the fringe. The light cast her dark skin in a soft glow, and he fixed her dirty collar. “You’ve grown so much”, he mumbled, unaware of his words, and she let him speak to himself. They shared a quiet moment. Arthur sneezed, abruptly ending the somber atmosphere, and Faith gently nudged him towards the door.

He shook his head. “I’m still waiting for one more.”

Faith furrowed her brows, and let her hand linger on her father’s shoulder. “Are you sure, dad? It’s getting colder, and the sun has long set…”

He nodded, and she let him go. She vanished inside, and after the stream of warm air from his home had passed, the cold engulfed his body anew. With the bright light of her lantern gone, it was too dark to see more than a vague outline of where he knew the mountains to be. The few stars blinking atop the vast sky were obscured by thick clouds, and the moon’s light barely reached through either. Apart from the muffled conversation and laughter he could hear from his children welcoming Faith home and preparing for the celebrations, it was dead quiet.

It was quiet nights like these he most remembered the time before. There had been no shortage of sounds then, at any given time. Chirping, growling, beeping, constant talk, constant high. There had barely been a night, not if compared with the utter darkness he had grown so accustomed to out here. Sometimes he would allow himself to wonder what would have become of him if it hadn’t happened, and the world had stayed the same.

Arthur sat on his porch and waited for the last of his children to come home. He leant forward in his chair, his arms wrapped tightly around himself to shield from the cold, and trained his eyes on the trail towards the valley. Zea had always been the shortest of his children; if he wasn’t careful, watching like a hawk, he would miss him in the dark. Arthur stood up, and strained his back to light another lantern hung up on the ceiling. They would lead him home; they had to.

Zea had always been the last to come home when he had called, to make sure the candles had been extinguished properly - and always to first to sneak into the kitchen when Arthur was baking. Zea would pretend to help just so he could nip at the dough and watch the bread and cake and pastries rise and fall over the fire. If it was him, then for sure, he would come home one of these quiet nights.

The cold nipped at his skin, and he started shivering. The first of the candles had burned down completely, and wax dripped onto the porch. Arthur stared into the darkness. The door opened, and a stream of warm light fell onto him and his chair. He had to blink, and watched his children pour out one by one. Faith and Nicholas’ grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him off the chair, while Matthew collected the blankets and Adolphe picked the empty tea cups off the window sill. Victoire waited until they had successfully bullied him inside, and extinguished the candles one by one.

As her fingers hovered over the last one, she let her eyes trail over the horizon one last time. The dark stood perfectly still. Victoire extinguished the candle with two fingers, put it back inside the lantern, and closed the door behind her.

Inside, the green tiled stove bristled and crackled away at the wood it was fed. Faith led her father into the large room that served him as both kitchen and living room, and Nicholas gave him a heavy pat on the back. The large wooden table dominating the right half of the room was filled edge to edge with food: Loafs and bread in all shapes and sizes, peas and corn and apples in bowls and on wonky handcrafted plates, fish on spears and potatoes and pumpkins carved and wrapped and mashed and baked. In the center of the table lay the two chickens he had plucked and marinated and cooked as best he could, adorned with flowers and herbs. There was hardly enough space for their plates, seven of them with chipped gold rims in the greying porcelain.

Arthur hid his face pretending to cough, and made his way through the room under the knowing smiles of his children. They were chattering among them, Victoire commandeering as the rest brought more and more from the kitchen to the table still, and each one had brought a gift with them, an offering for this harvest feast. Victoire poured her brew generously, and Adolphe ushered everyone to take their seats while Nicholas attempted to show off his scars to an unimpressed Faith. Arthur took his place at the head of the table, and waited for his kids to simmer down.

When everyone was seated and the light from the kitchen extinguished, he let his gaze strive around the table. Victoire, hand already twitching to be the first to go for the fish. Nicholas, scratching at the bandages covering his forearm. Adolphe, with his leg bouncing under the table as if a second of standstill would be his end. Matthew, a soft laugh on his lips as he listened to Faith reprimanding her brother, and Faith herself, not a second later, pulling faces at the carved pumpkins. Zea, on who’s plate they had lit a single candle, and placed the best piece of each of their gifts.

Arthur sat at home, surrounded by his children. Food, drink and company warmed him to his bones, and their smiles were contagious. They linked hands as they thanked the land for the successful harvest, and held on longer, waiting for their father’s tears to dry. He listened to them talk of their lives, their failures and their victories. And when they would wave goodbye, he would once again sit on his porch, waiting for the wind to bring them home.

#hetalia #aph england #aph kenya #aph canada #aph australia #aph cameroon #aph seychelles #kuzeykirkland #aphgenficexchange #this kind of grew into a beast #hell Yeah thats a lazy wild swans at cool reference #hell Yeah do I have in depth thoughts about literally everything ive alluded to in this thing #i could write a whole solo series about each of their lives tbh lmao #Anyways BOY i sure am a sucker to take post acop settings and turn them into quiet and somber character pieces huh!!!!

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missbelgium · 8 years ago

Text

These Usual Motions

Summary: It takes place every weekday evening, without fail. What can he say? ‎‎Sadık is an interesting conversation partner, even if the topics are usually ridiculous. Heracles doesn't mind being in elevators as much as he used to.

Characters: APH Greece (Heracles) and APH Turkey (Sadık)

Notes: This is my gift for @pygmalionart; it's my fic for this year's @aphgenficexchange. The prompts from you that I used in this are: Greece and Turkey as frenemies, elevator conversations, and the protective friend/sibling trope. I tried my best to capture their dynamic. This was fun to write, and I really hope you like this!!

If one were to ask Heracles about his favorite time of the day two months ago, there would be no hesitation. He would say that it is evening. Heracles enjoys the atmosphere to evenings, calm and relaxed. It is peaceful then, and he delights in the quiet. Silence does not feel heavy to Heracles; instead, it is as if a light blanket has fallen over the world. He doesn't think it is necessary to push it back.

But now, Heracles would hesitate if asked the same question. And two words sum up the reason why: ‎‎Sadık Adnan.

It takes place every weekday evening, without fail. It's so precise that Heracles could almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Really, what are the chances? And with ‎‎Sadık, of all people... Heracles sighs, and steps into the lobby of the apartment complex. As he nears the elevator with its doors still open, he groans. Heracles would never admit it out loud, but by now, the irritated groan is partly for show.

As always, he relents and steps into the elevator, and ‎‎sees Sadık standing in the corner, grinning. Heracles takes his place next to him, and they count in unison. "One, two, three!" Heracles leaps, and manages to push the elevator button before ‎‎Sadık reaches it. However, he had not landed the way he'd expected to. Now, a twinge of pain shoots through his foot, but he ignores it. Smiling in triumph, Heracles pushes the button for the seventh floor as the elevator door closes. Of course, he has to live on the same floor as ‎‎Sadık. Turning around, he says smugly, "I beat you." Heracles walks back to the other corner, and leans against the elevator's handrail. The metal is cool against his hands, which rest on the handrail. He closes his eyes, and begins to breathe. He focuses on the subtle sound, the way it brushes the air and disturbs it ever so slightly. But he's jolted from his meditation when ‎‎Sadık speaks. "I'll beat you next time, brat!" ‎‎Sadık tells him this with conviction in his voice. Yes, every weekday evening, they have this competition. Whoever gets to the first elevator button presses the other. They keep this agreement, due to grudging respect and their codes of honor. "I'd like to see that," Heracles answers, confident ‎‎Sadık won't win tomorrow evening. Heracles usually wins the button pushing race, which is what he calls it in his mind. He's quick and agile, more so than ‎‎Sadık. "I'm sure you will, when you lose tomorrow." ‎‎Sadık smirks at him, wanting him to take the bait. Heracles doesn't reply to this jab, and closes his eyes once more. He is not a person who enjoys taking elevators with other people, unless he is friends with them. Heracles usually waits if there are people already inside. He doesn't like awkward elevator talk, doesn't like being in close quarters with them. He had never encountered this issue before when returning to his apartment complex. Not before two months ago.

—

two months ago

That evening, Heracles was deep in thought about his weekend plans. Looking forward to returning home, his feet led him to the elevator, but they didn't stop like always. He had looked up, and realized his mistake. The elevator door had been open, which left no barrier for his feet to meet.

But worse, he was officially stuck in the elevator with a stranger. Heracles's first thought had been to remain wordless all the way up to the seventh floor. Wait, what floor was this stranger going to? He had looked up to see the numeral glowing above the elevator buttons: 7. Of course. Of course. Heracles had accepted his fate, and slumped ungracefully against the elevator. That had gotten the stranger's attention. "You doing okay?" "I'm all right," Heracles had mumbled. He took this chance to meet the bright hazel eyes of the man, who gave him a smile. "Who are you?" Heracles detests small talk, and this certainly counted as small talk in his mind. But he detests coming across as rude even more, so he might as well speak. The man had rolled up the sleeves of his olive green shirt, and answered, "I'm ‎‎Sadık Adnan. I'm new to the area and these apartments. It's a pleasure to meet you, even if our first meeting happens to be in this elevator!" Heracles allowed himself a small smile at ‎‎Sadık's enthusiasm. ‎‎Sadık was looking at him expectantly, and Heracles scrunched his brow in confusion before realization. "Oh. I'm Heracles Karpusi. I've lived in this town since I was a child, and in this building for three years." Heracles finally peeled himself off the elevator wall, and made his way to ‎‎Sadık. The two shook hands, and Heracles realized that his hands were...cold, at least compared to ‎‎Sadık's. Feeling self-conscious, he had rubbed them together, letting the friction create warmth. Heracles glanced up at the glowing numeral, which had now evolved into a 4. He edged closer to the closed doors, thinking of nothing but sleep in that moment. Exhaustion had caught up to Heracles. In his tiredness, he did not notice the elevator doors glide open. ‎‎Sadık walked past him, and left Heracles with two words. "I win!" This pulled him from his hazy thoughts,. With clarity, Heracles watched ‎‎Sadık turn right and vanish from his sight. As Heracles finally stepped out of the elevator, one thought formed, and it immediately escaped out through his mouth. "You won't next time!" he had yelled at ‎‎Sadık's back. ‎‎Sadık's head turned, and Heracles was quite sure he heard a chuckle from his now rival. Heracles raised an eyebrow in challenge, and turned left, ready for tomorrow's competition. — So now, Heracles opens his eyes when he hears ‎‎Sadık begin a sentence. "Have you ever noticed that every single elevator looks the same?" Heracles gives ‎‎Sadık a judgmental look, and says, "No, I haven't. Glass elevators exist, you know." "I know they do! What I'm saying is that there isn't much variety out there. We need to have more creative elevators! It's boring when it feels like you've only ever been in two different elevators in your life!" The hand gestures, wide eyes, and vehement tone make up around seventy percent of Sadık's arguments, Heracles thinks. Heracles doesn't know the point of this conversation, but this is better than any other elevator conversation he's ever had. There are many things he can say about ‎‎Sadık, but boring and awkward do not belong on the list. "The function of an elevator is to transport someone. Not to be creative! It gets its job done, so it doesn't need to be fancy!" He rolls his eyes, and runs his fingers through his brown hair. Not finding any knots, Heracles puts his hands in his pockets. ‎‎Sadık pouts, looking disgruntled. "Heracles, you're so boring! What do you think about all day? Not about elevators, huh?" "Who has time to think about elevators but you? And you wanna know what I think about all day? How annoying you are. Haven't caught a break from you since two months ago." Heracles sighs, and stretches his arms above his head. ‎‎Sadık is annoying, but he's actually started to look forward to evenings with him. What can he say? ‎‎Sadık is an interesting conversation partner, even if the topics are usually ridiculous. ‎‎Sadık gasps, and places his hand on his chest in exaggerated indignation. Heracles would laugh, but that would only earn him a disapproving look. "I'm offended," ‎‎Sadık says, over-exaggerating his tone. "Thought you were gonna say that the reason I don't think about elevators is because I don't have thoughts. Or a brain," Heracles answers dryly. He sees ‎‎Sadık's grin, and immediately regrets his words. "Well, that too. You're brainless, Heracles. I can't believe you've managed to survive like this for so long." ‎‎Sadık leans closer to Heracles, and slings his arm around his shoulder. But Heracles doesn't push the arm away. "Shut up, ‎‎Sadık." "Never!" — The world sheds its starry cloak and shines instead. It is a complete, gentle glow, unlike the dots of concentrated intensity that are the stars. Now is when Heracles likes to wake up on Saturdays. When the world seems almost uninhabited but for the swish of trees, a sort of life on their own. And of course, trees are alive, but they are a different kind of life. A quiet life, easy-going and gradual, longevity unparalleled if not disturbed. Heracles envies the lives that trees lead sometimes. But he supposes that it would be boring. A life fixed to one place, a life with no movement but towards the sky? No, he'll take this life instead. Early mornings are best for refreshing his mind, so Heracles sits up. He doesn't use an alarm for this; his internal clock knows to obey its owner's will. It's much better than that terrible grating noise of alarm clocks. No noise, just consciousness and opening his eyes. Easy. He doesn't bother to have breakfast first. It is much too early for that, so Heracles dresses, chugs some water, and leaves the building. His footsteps are soft, and cool air hits him as soon as he's outside. Heracles walks, walks walks walks until he reaches his destination. There, he sits, and though his eyes are open, he doesn't truly see. There is an ocean view in front of him, and Heracles is sitting on a spot a safe distance away from the edge of the cliff. He comes here to calm himself. It is a ritual—like weekday evenings in the elevator, he realizes. Heracles shakes his head, as if that would empty his mind once more, but it does not work. He resigns himself to thoughts, and stares out at the shimmering ocean. There are dots of glitter where it catches the sunlight. The endless, repetitive, fluid motion of the water draws Heracles in. From the corner of his eye, Heracles sees a person. They stand to his right, a bit too close to the edge of the cliff. He looks at them, seeing familiarity in that height, in the way the person stands. Ah. It is ‎‎Sadık. Heracles stands up, and jogs over to him, yelling, the words leaving his mouth and rushing into the silent air. "‎‎Sadık! I can see you and your dumb face from over here, you know!" He allows his legs to move faster, and begins to feel a hint of fatigue. Slowing down, Heracles can feel his heart pounding; running is always exhilarating, taking energy from him yet reviving him. When he stops, he takes a few seconds to breathe, giving his lungs time to take air. "Don't you dare call my face dumb! What are you doing here, Heracles?" ‎‎Sadık raises an eyebrow, looking at Heracles but seeming..off. Heracles isn't sure how to describe it. ‎‎Sadık looks like he isn't quite present mentally, in a focused state but not focused on Heracles. Heracles takes a step closer, wanting to know why ‎‎Sadık has this faraway look in his eye. As he examines the man, he realizes that ‎‎Sadık doesn't look as put together as usual. It is as if he threw on whatever he found first in his closet. Heracles asks, "No, what are you doing here? This is my place, not yours. I come here every Saturday morning." This seems to surprise ‎‎Sadık. "Really? You always gave me the impression that you'd rather be asleep than anything else. And are you telling me that your eyes are not capable of seeing the camera that stands behind me?" He shakes his head with a wry smile. A camera? Oh yes, there it is. "My eyes are perfectly capable, ‎‎Sadık," Heracles retorts. "So, you're a photographer, trying to get some morning shots of the sea." "Exactly!" ‎‎Sadık exclaims, gesturing to the view before him. "Look at this beauty. Right in front of us; how could I resist this chance to get some photos?" "Well, you get used to it when you can see it every week. You're just an overenthusiastic idiot," Heracles says, but now he eyes the waves intently. ‎‎Sadık has reminded him how fortunate he is to have this. He stares as if he's a tourist who won't ever have this chance again, seeing the ocean in a new light. ‎‎Sadık rolls his eyes in slow motion, and turns to his camera with a sharp, loud sigh. "Heracles, I can't believe you. That is no way to see the world! There's wonder in every moment, a chance to be thankful for what you have. Don't get so used to things that you can't see their value anymore." Heracles doesn’t have anything to say in response, so he moves closer to the edge of the cliff. Sadık’s words have made him painfully aware that he’s been...ungrateful. There is nothing like deep morning thoughts to provoke Heracles’s mind and make him uncomfortable. Heracles has to face uncomfortable truths though, so he breathes, “I know.” In his contemplation, Heracles steps too close to the edge and his stomach drops for a moment. At the same time, Sadık yells, a panicked look in his eyes. “HERACLES! What do you think you’re doing? You could have died there! Fallen off the edge of a cliff and died! Then when the authorities came I would've had to tell them about your stupidity and they would ask me ‘why didn’t you save him?’ Do you think I wanna see your dead body at five in the morning? No! In fact I don’t wanna see your dead body now or ever, thank you very much! Why can’t you be more careful? You’re an idiot and I can’t beli—” “Calm down. I didn’t die. I’m okay, ‎‎Sadık,” Heracles says, face hardening. "Why are you so worried? You're overreacting." He crosses his arms over his chest, and lets his right hip jut out as his left knee bends to accommodate that. Sadık stares at him, and blinks several times. "Heracles...you're an idiot," he sighs, shaking his head. "You're an absolute idiot. You almost fell off a cliff, and yet you say I'm overreacting?! It only seems that way because"—he leans in close to Heracles's face—"you're under-reacting!" Heracles jerks his head back. "You're an idiot too. You almost let me fall!"

Sadık's dark eyebrows knit together immediately, and as Heracles looks into his eyes, he doesn't see anger. Hazel eyes illuminated by the morning light glow with worry instead. Sadık looks at Heracles and conveys the message silently, yet it's so clear, clearer than words can be. He sees this in its simplicity; it is not complicated because it's bare and right there and real. Sadık's lips part, and he lets out a soft sigh, nothing overdramatic like before. He moves a hand to Heracles's shoulder, and tightens his grip. Sadık sets his chin, and tells him, "I know. I know that I almost let you fall, and I want to say that I'm sorry. Please be careful." This surprises Heracles; Sadık is not usually one to be so serious. Their conversations and arguments are always lighthearted, but he supposes this is something important. He could have died, he really could have died, so quick in one moment. He could have had the life smashed out of him, ebbing away like the constant, shimmering waves that he's seen so many times. Heracles wouldn't have had another chance to have those waves, a constant presence in his life since the beginning. "Can you do a favor for me and not die, Heracles?" And just like that, it's over. Heracles looks at Sadık's obnoxious grin, and remembers why he...well, has strong feelings towards it. "Fine. I won't die if that means I won't have to hear you yell at me," Heracles declares, turning to the camera that still stands here, forgotten. "You're loud enough that I'll hear you from the afterlife. Now, I thought you said you're a photographer? You don't seem to be photographing, though." He fiddles with the camera's various buttons, and does his best to take a quality picture of the sea. Sadık shoves him to the left with his wide shoulders. "Let a master show you how it works." And so, they focus like the camera, and the photography goes well. They lose themselves in intent conversation and the feeling that's only derived from absolute, undisturbed concentration. A common goal unites them, and as the sun starts to rise in the sky to its everyday throne, Heracles and Sadık bicker like always. But they return home satisfied. — How predictable are some parts of life. Constant and always, permanent. Heracles has stepped into this lobby countless times, endless repetition of these movements carrying him from day to day. It's routine now to see that face, but Heracles never really knows what it's going to be each day. He forgets to groan, lost in his thoughts as he is. "Finally happy to see me?" asks Sadık. "You didn't groan today." Heracles looks at him blankly. "I forgot, so I'll do it now." After the customary groan, they carry out the competition. Heracles is glad; he won't say it aloud but he does enjoy Sadık's company and these usual motions. They stand in silence, but it's not silence that fills the rectangle of empty space that carries them upwards. Music wafts from some hidden speaker, and Heracles sees Sadık look around to find the source. "Don't know where it's coming from," he concludes, still staring at the ceiling as if it would give him the answer. "I like it, though." Heracles purses his lips in disapproval. "I can't believe you actually like this. This is terrible." Still, he finds his head nodding to the beat, an almost subconscious motion. The rest of his body joins in, and Heracles starts to dance. It's more like swaying right now, and he is about to stop himself but then he sees Sadık. Sadık is dancing too, and Heracles looks at him in awe. His movements are expressive and fluid and match the music so well. This is what the music would look like in a physical state.

Now, Heracles is nothing if not competitive with Sadık, so he continues his dancing, trying to match Sadık's level and go even past that. They bump into each other a few times, but it doesn't matter, no. Dancing to elevator music in an elevator is surprisingly fun. Heracles never considered doing this, but here he is, enjoying himself with Sadık, a semi-rival that he only knows from this elevator. This is all so ridiculous, but Heracles decides not to think about it. It ends all too soon, and the elevator dings as the doors slide away. Heracles turns to Sadık and grabs his arm. "I'm gonna show you what real music sounds like." He drags Sadık down the hall, and relinquishes his grip when he realizes that Sadık's feet are moving by themselves. Heracles shrugs in his mind; he'll take it. "Well, bring it on," Sadık replies. "I can't wait to destroy your music taste." He grins wide, and Heracles does the same. "I feel the same way." He's grown used to not knowing what to expect from ‎‎Sadık, Heracles thinks as he unlocks his apartment door.

#aphgenficexchange #aph greece #aph turkey #today's themes are routine and change #this gets more poetic as it goes on #the beginning isn't much when it comes to that #i do like writing in a more poetic way #my original compositions #hetalia fanfiction

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aphgenficexchange · 8 years ago

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It’s time! Welcome to the third annual APH Gen!Fic Summer Exchange! :>

What’s this?

A fanwork exchange celebrating non-romantic relationships of all kinds! Family, platonic relationships, quasiplatonic relationships, rivalries, enemy dynamics and any relationship that doesn’t include romantic attraction.

How can I participate?

- Read our about, guidelines & check out our answered asks tag - Fill out this form & submit it to this blog before the submissions deadline ends - Create a gift for your partner :> Check out our art & fic tag for inspiration

What’s the timeline?

The deadline for signing up is Tuesday, August 15th. The deadline for submitting your gift is Friday, September 15th. If you need additional time, please give us a heads up.

If you’ve got any additional questions, don’t hesitate to send us a message.

#hetalia #aph exchange #platonic hetalia #hetagen #aphgenficexchange

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italiancherrybombs · 8 years ago

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FicGenExchange

Belarus & Estonia as neighbors/coworkers + Supernatural AU (the TV show or just supernatural in general, whichever you prefer)

Recipient: @phyripo

Characters: Belarus, Estonia, Finland (mentioned), Ghost (interpret him as whatever character you want)

Notes: I’m so heckin proud of this. I’ve always wanted a chance to practice characterizations with the Easter Europe countries, and I finally got it. I hope you all enjoy it!

A ghost haunted the NewFont Press.

Or, just the building at least.

It started when bags of coffee and packed lunches started disappearing from the cafeteria. Then, the printer started printing items all by itself, usually pages completely blacked-out by ink, until a printing error (and someone’s collection of pens stuffed into the feed) made it useless altogether. The lights’ flickering used to be a normal thing – they couldn’t afford better lighting – until there were blackouts almost every week.

Eduard couldn’t believe it.

Sure, the inconsistent coffee in the cafeteria irritated him, and the way his computer monitor would be covered with colorful post-it notes with looping scribbles overnight was a pain to remove, but he couldn’t quite believe that something supernatural haunted the various cubicles and offices. And, despite the fact that he did a personal blog of his own, he wasn’t a journalist. He was just some random IT guy, there to make sure that the NewFont website didn’t collapse on itself. He didn’t have that mystical passion to investigate the living daylights out of a subject like a few higher-up journalists employed there.

He didn’t want to believe it.

So, perhaps sitting with Natalya Arlovskaya during lunch that particular Friday afternoon was a big mistake on his (belief’s) part.

Normally, he didn’t eat at the cafeteria. His cubicle was a perfectly good enough eating space, or if he wanted to splurge a little he went down to his cousin Tuomi’s place. But, after multiple conversations with peers outside of work concerning his introverted nature (and maybe a bet on whether he can make friends or not), he mustered up the courage to finally bring his homemade lunch there. No, he was not trying to prove a point. He was simply… Trying new venues.

… Even if he didn’t want to.

Nevertheless, the only reason he decided sitting with Natalya was a good idea was that she was sitting by herself in her small, circular table. Eduard himself knew the loneliness of sitting alone at a table. So, after some inner debate (did it have to be her, isn’t anyone else better), he unpacked his small lunch box then and there.

He didn’t know much about the journalist. All Eduard heard about Natalya was that she wrote about the local crime in the city as one of the few investigative journalists on the Press. The gossip said that she had familial troubles at home, which was why she came early and worked late. A more toxic rumor speculated that she had an intimate relationship with her half-brother, but no one wanted to know for sure. For all he knew, Natalya was just like him: shy, lonesome, and lacking in social grace.

That wasn’t quite the case with Natalya Arlovskaya.

Six minutes into the lunch break, the lights blinked out. A few employees looked up at the ceiling concerned, but otherwise, no one made a fuss.

Unconcerned with the lights, Natalya checked her watch. She then took out a little notepad and a pen, and she wrote something down.

Curious, Eduard asked, “What’s that for?”

She stopped writing, violet eyes flicking up.

“… You mean this?” She asked, waving the notepad a little. She didn’t respond to Eduard’s nod at first, but after a moment she wrote something else down and spoke again. “I’m marking times.”

“Times?”

“When the lights go out.” Natalya checked her watch. “I don’t think I caught your name, mister…?”

“von Bock, ma'am. Eduard von Bock.” Ed took another bite of lunch. “What’s it for?”

“The ghost.”

Eduard almost choked on his food. He suppressed his coughs until he could breathe properly, all while Natalya looked on. Did he hear her right? “I’m sorry, what?”

Natalya narrowed her eyes at him. “If you think I’m crazy, you don’t have to sit by me. I never asked you to.”

“No, no!” He couldn’t lose this! “No, I’m just… Curious, you know? Why you think the lights going out has to do with ghosts.”

Natalya dubiously stared at Eduard for a little longer (he swore he felt chills from those cold, blue eyes) before sighing. “It’s just one ghost, von Bock. They seem to cause electrical problems wherever they go, with enough tangibility to hold onto items. Thus, the missing coffee.”

“… Why would it steal coffee?” Eduard asked, unsure.

“The same reason we drink it: they like the taste.” She closed her notebook and put it away. “I doubt it means any maliciousness, or else it would’ve killed someone already.”

… What?

“That… That sounds great,” Eduard coughed awkwardly. Maybe it wasn’t too late to switch seats. “What are you planning to do about it.”

Natalya nodded. “I plan to catch the ghost.”

… Wait. “Catch?” Eduard repeated, eyes wide. She wasn’t serious, was she? How could she catch something that didn’t exist?

“Of course. Tonight, perhaps.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t like working with a faulty computer and without coffee.”

The lights soon blinked on.

“If you’d like, you could join me,” Natalya offered. “I wouldn’t mind the help.”

One small problem Eduard had was the fact he worked a little too hard. As in, he worked longer than he was supposed to. A combination of tunes, pressing deadlines, and a lack of need to go home usually made him work for hours on end after lunch. Maybe the sticker on top of the clock on his desktop was also at fault (it wasn’t his fault he liked to watch the time until lunch), but that wasn’t the case right now.

He only thought about leaving when the automatic lights turned off.

Startled from his work, he checked the time on his phone. “Five forty?” He whispered to himself. Forty minutes of unpaid work. For the second time this week, he cursed himself for not having any friends; if he had some, he would’ve had some incentive to get out of work or have someone to remind him to go home. Sighing, he saved his work on the computer and closed it down.

He walked with his bag down semi-dark hallways. It wasn’t too dark since the building had lots of windows for evening sunlight to stream in. Eduard took a flight downstairs and almost entered the lobby–

– just to see an eery light mutely shining from a room.

Now that got Eduard’s curiosity piqued. This section of the building, opposite of the entrances, was one of the darkest places of the office with no artificial light. And even if the overhead lights were on, the spooky blue light would’ve probably overshone everything else. Eduard’s conversation with Natalya about ghosts came to his mind, but he shook it away. No, it couldn’t be a ghost.

… Or could it?

In any case, it could’ve been something else. Like a burglar. No doubt there was someone out there who wanted to infiltrate the building to find more inside scoops. If anyone was there, he could just call emergency services. It was his duty, as an employee of NewFont Press, to protect the building where he worked.

With that excuse bolstering his courage, he approached the room.

He was about to peek into the room when an unholy screech made him jump.

“Let me GO, witch!” An unfamiliar voice shrieked. “You cannot hold me forever!”

“I’m inclined to disagree,” a surprisingly familiar voice replied in a cool monotone. “I will keep you captive for as long as it takes–”

“… What in the world?”

Eduard clamped his hands over his mouth just as he said the words. It was too late, however; both persons in the room heard him.

If Eduard could remember correctly, this room held one of the many copying machines in the office building. However, the room was not being used for its intended purpose; instead, while the copying machine, a table, and two chairs were pushed to the side, Natalya Arlovskaya was sitting cross-legged in front of a large blue circle, the source of light Eduard had previously seen. Inside the circle was a young man furiously banging on invisible walls and three cans of coffee grounds, one in which was already spilling its contents onto the ground. Lit candles surrounded the circle, but their light couldn’t compete with the circle, which seemed to be outlined with chalk.

But now that Eduard’s presence had been announced, both Natalya and the man had stopped their argument to stare at Eduard.

Natalya’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, how convenient.”

The man started banging on the invisible walls again. “Oh stranger, I implore you to help me! This madwoman has trapped me against my will with her black arts and I beg of you, free me–”

“Hush,” Natalya snapped, and the man went silent. She then turned to Eduard. “von Bock. I’m glad you could join us.”

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice steadily rising in pitch. That other man in the circle, that couldn’t be–

“I caught our ghost,” Natalya said as if it was the most normal thing ever. “Care to join?”

The supposed ghost huffed. “Don’t join her side. I’m the victim here, she caught me!”

Eduard couldn’t speak.

“I can very easily exorcise you, you know.” Natalya turned to face the ghost, her expression cross. “But if you can cooperate, we can make a deal. Is that clear?”

The ghost seemed to hesitate at the word “exorcise”, but then he turned away with a defiant sniff. "Oh, please. As if you could help me.“

Natalya grit her teeth."I can very well try.”

Eduard shook his head. This was all too much to handle. “Wait, wait, wait. Could everyone just stop for a moment?” He pleaded, putting his hands up. Whether it was in surrender or in command, even Eduard himself couldn’t tell. “Please?”

The ghost rolled his eyes. “Ah, great. I’m trapped with Miss Witch and Mister Incompetent. Fabulous. I swear I can’t go anywhere without a bit of peace and quiet.”

The nickname made Eduard sputter. “Wh-Why, you–!”

Natalya gripped onto the hem of her shirt. Even her patience was running thin. “Ghost, perhaps you should start speaking about your reason here to make your exit from the world less painful.”

“Less painful, eh?” The ghost snorted. “Sure, anything’s better than having a building full of idiots sitting on top of me.”

“Sitting…?” Eduard mumbled, thinking. He then gasped in realization. “Wait… Are we on your grave?”

“Have been for twenty-seven whole years,” the ghost snarked. “And it kinda hurts, thank you for asking.”

Twenty-seven years… Eduard was surprised that the building was that old. But had they really erroneously erected a building on top of a grave? Did they even know?

“We can’t remove a building for you alone,” Natalya said. “I’m sorry if it is the only way to put your soul to rest.”

“Well that’s just dandy. Then I guess I’ll keep stealing your coffee.” The ghost angrily picked up the spilling can of coffee grounds, plopped himself down away from Eduard and Natalya, and scooped coffee grounds into his mouth. The act both intrigued Eduard and disgusted him.

“So… What are we going to do with him?” Eduard whispered, kneeling down. He kept watching the ghost eat the coffee beans in mortified fascination.

“I might as well exorcise him,” Natalya whispered back. “He will keep on causing issues with the Press until our bosses decide to do something. And that,” her voice dropped lower in disdain, “will not happen soon.”

“But isn’t that the equivalent of killing him?”

Natalya looked up at Eduard, looking impressed. “Look at you, being concerned for a ghost you denied hours ago.”

Eduard gulped. Well, she was right. He really had no reason to feel sorry for a ghost that he didn’t believe in before all this drama. But there had to be some way to ease the ghost’s pain if only for the exorcism…

“Do you have any more coffee cans?”

Natalya made a face. “… There should be more upstairs, why?”

Eduard shrugged. “Just a thought.”

And just like that, the ghost and six coffee cans (not including the opened one) vanished with a poof.

Natalya clapped her hands to get rid of the chalk dust on them. “Exorcising a ghost is one thing, exorcising one with coffee is another…” She sighed, a half smile on her face. “But I’d say that that was a success.”

Eduard massaged his arms. Carrying those cans had been a chore. “Please tell me there aren’t any more ghosts in this building.”

“There shouldn’t be.” Natalya tapped the floor with her boot. “… Unless we have more graves under here.”

“I’d rather move buildings at that point.”

“Likewise.”

There was a moment of silence. Eduard fiddled with the straps of his bag. Natalya stood with her arms crossed.

“… So.” Eduard sucked in a breath. “Now that that’s over.”

Natalya raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have somewhere to go, von Bock?”

“Not necessarily.” Eduard shrugged. “I was actually thinking drinks.”

Natalya blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

Eduard exhaled a short laugh. That sounded awkward, now that he said it. “I mean, after all this, we could be considered friends now, don’t you think? I know a place.”

“Do you now.” Despite the blunt, sarcastic statement, Natalya had a smile on her face. “I wouldn’t mind. A drink would help me forget I had to deal with a bratty ghost.”

“He was kind of bratty, wasn’t he?” Eduard mused, mostly to himself.

After Natalya picked up her book bag (it hid below the table and held the necessary items to catch the ghost, along with her laptop), the two headed out. It was the beginning of a friendship, one that neither had expected, but it was friendship nonetheless.

(And it only took a bet and a ghost to meet.)

#aphgenficexchange #hetalia #aph belarus #aph estonia #aph finland #oneshot #event #gift fic #cherry writings

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katemarley · 8 years ago

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fanfiction: cold morning coffee

Fandom: Hetalia - Axis Powers Characters: France, England Rating: G

Summary: Two worlds collide when Francis Bonnefoy, journalist for the weekly news magazine Lens and proud coffee snob, is assigned to share an office with his colleague Arthur Kirkland. Arthur habitually drinks yesterday’s cold coffee in order to get started in the mornings and seems unwilling to acquire a taste for high quality coffee beans. Then again, there’s more to life (and office mornings) than coffee drinking habits.

Written for @icicle223 for the APH Gen!Fic Summer Exchange 2017 at @aphgenficexchange. The match-up I chose was “APH France + APH England as very close colleagues or best friends”, and the situation/ AU was “Office!AU”.

Francis Bonnefoy was overjoyed when he heard about his upgrade from a desk in the open-plan office to a shared office with one of his colleagues. Arthur Kirkland had been working for Lens for one or two years longer than him, and Francis was getting along with him fairly well. There were some things about the Englishman Francis would probably never understand, such as his love for unfashionable tweed jackets and his sardonic sense of humour. His style of writing, however, was excellent, his articles never lacked depth, and his photographs ... They were outright stunning.

That was why Francis entered his new office with a cheerful “Bonjour”. He was greeted with the sight of a man with tousled hair and dark circles around his eyes. Arthur Kirkland didn’t pay any attention to him but only to the coffee mug in front of him. He emptied the mug in one gulp, giving a content sigh. It was only then that he acknowledged another person had entered the room.

“Oh, Francis,” he exclaimed. “Good morning and welcome to this office! Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Francis said with a smile. “What do you have?” He was too relieved about the friendly greeting he had eventually received to object to the generic supermarket brand Arthur mentioned. Accepting the mug that was handed to him with a nod, he took a first, tentative sip ... and almost spit his coffee back into the mug.

“Mon Dieu! Is that the coffee you made last week?”

“Yes, on Friday afternoon,” Arthur confirmed without batting an eyelash. “Don’t you like it anymore?”

Don’t you like it anymore. Francis was dumbstruck. How could anyone want to drink this awful, old, cold coffee? Arthur was lucky if he didn’t fall ill one day because his coffee became mouldy! Francis made a mental note to bring some of his own high-quality fair-trade coffee the following day ... and to arrive a little early in order to pour away Arthur’s old coffee and to ensure both Arthur Kirkland’s and his own wellbeing.

In the end, Francis didn’t arrive as early as he had intended because the train to London he took every morning had been late. Learning he had still succeeded in arriving before Arthur was a relief. He managed to dispose of the old coffee in Arthur’s pot, brewing some of his own Sicilian roast in a French press he had brought from home.

That was the moment Arthur Kirkland entered the office without a greeting, shuffling to his coffee pot like a zombie. He held it over his mug ... and shook it in disbelief when nothing came out of it. Realising it was empty, he made a sound like a wounded animal.

“Coffee is ready in a minute,” Francis said in order to calm him.

“No coffee!” Arthur sounded as if someone had separated him from his firstborn. Francis sighed, pouring the coffee a little earlier than usual because he was unable to see Arthur suffer for much longer.

“There,” he said, handing the mug to his colleague.

“Thank goodness!” Arthur put it to his lips, downed it without paying attention to either the fact his beverage was still too hot to drink or the high-quality roast, and gave a sigh of relief. Francis was uncertain if he should feel insulted because Arthur didn’t value the coffee’s quality at all or relieved because he didn’t look so unhappy anymore. What he had learned, however, was not to pour away Arthur’s cold morning coffee ever again.

After this incident, they started to gain some routine in their individual morning rituals. Arthur would enter the office and down his cup of yesterday’s cold coffee. Francis would wait until the caffeine started to take effect before addressing his colleague and use his French press to brew a fresh cup of quality coffee for himself in the meantime.

One day, Arthur turned to Francis from his computer screen and said: “I think it’s funny that you’re a Frenchman and you use a device called ‘French press’ in order to make your coffee.”

“Well…” Francis blinked. “It’s just called French press in English, not in French. We call it une cafetière à piston. Also, it was actually invented by an Italian. Unlike many other people, Italians really know how to make decent coffee.”

“Interesting.” Arthur seemed to think about this piece of information. “That’s also why it says ‘Sicilian roast’ on your coffee beans, right?”

“Indeed,” Francis exclaimed enthusiastically. “Sicilian roast is the darkest roast there is, and it’s also pretty strong. Darker roasts are less acidic, so they’re also gentler on the stomach. That’s why I prefer my first cup of the day to be Sicilian coffee.”

“You really are a coffee snob.” A small smile was tugging at Arthur’s lips, and his tone was friendly. That was why Francis smiled back rather than taking offense.

“I guess so, but it’s for a reason. I’m worried you might get stomach ulcer if you continue drinking cold, acidic coffee in the mornings.”

“Um…” Arthur brushed over his hair in what seemed to be a sheepish gesture. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to value your expensive coffee. I just drink it for the caffeine, you know? Most of the time, I drink tea anyway, but if I want caffeine that takes effect fast, I go for coffee…”

Francis bit his lip. He didn’t want to start a discussion about how loose tea was the only tea worth drinking, and how milk and sugar defiled the high-quality variant of this beverage. Arthur and him were having the first discussion on the topic that irked him ever since they had started to work in the same office, and he didn’t want Arthur to call him a “tea snob”, too.

“I mean I’d try drinking dark coffee for a while … so if you’d like me to start putting money in a kitty, so you can buy the same kind of roast for the both of us …”

Oh. Francis’ smile reappeared, stronger this time.

“No, it’s fine. We can just use the coffee I already brought here and see if my dark roast works out for you.”

“I’m sure it will,” Arthur said. “As I mentioned, my standards aren’t high when it comes to coffee. There’s just one condition…”

“Let me guess.” Francis grinned. “There needs to remain some cold coffee for the following day in your pot.”

“Exactly.” Arthur gave him a lopsided smile.

“We can do that.”

“Lovely!” Arthur reached out his hand, and they sealed their agreement with a handshake.

#aphgenficexchange #aph france #aph england #aph fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #my fanfiction #aph #hetalia #fanfiction #//#i also posted this on ff.net and ao3 #@amalie & tanya: thank you so much for reading through this #and telling me your opinion <3 #@raz: i sincerely hope this is all right!

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gerswe · 11 months ago

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2016 Events

Jan 25-31 : asakikuweek | found here

Children

Gakuen

Café

Imperial

Free

0130

Cardverse

Jun 20 - Jul 23 : aphgenficexchange | found here

Jun 26-Jul 2 : hwsrarepairweek2022 | found here

Sports

Dawn and dusk

Water

Culture

Refreshment

Historical | Alternative universe

Gold

Jul 17-23 : amechuweek | found here

Color | Flowers

Amusement | Fair | Lazy | Picnic

Culture shock | School

Fairy tale | Monsters | Creatures

Sports | Domestic

Law enforcement | Café/Coffee shop

Crossover | Free

Jul 17-23 : frukweek | found here

First kiss | Red

“I’m not mad!” | Purple

Body swap | Sapphire

The time you saved my life | Gold

Lying in bed | Green

Music | Gray

Alternative universe | Chocolate

Oct 2-8 : holytaliaweek | found here

Historical clothing

Alternate universe

Cute meal

Angst

Family

Music

Kiss

Dec 2-24 : aphsecretsanta | found here

Dec 3-27 : aphgenficexchange | found here

Dec 18-24 : spamanoweek2016 | found here

Historical

Accidents

Unexpected laughs

Holiday vacations

Alluring dreams

Playful revenge

Holiday cheer

Bonus prompt: Fame

#bookkeeping #events

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phyripowritesthings · 7 years ago

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eyo @aziraphalestudiedtheblade I know this took like a century buT third time’s the charm right?? I started this over a couple times,, ri p. I hope you like it! this is named after [drumroll] Wildfire Pt II by Sonata Arctica, but the subtitles and main inspiration are from Deathaura. anyway, for the @aphgenficexchange, presenting Romania and Moldova as brothers and uhh mainly angst,, but also some ridiculous back-and-forth between them because that’s what you get

(for the sake of) my name

characters: Romania (Alin), Moldova (Andrei)

word count: 2865 summary: Andrei never believed his brother when he said their family was cursed. He should have. It’s too late to stop it now.

warning: (off-screen) character death

[The Premonition]

“Remember when I told you that our family is cursed?”

It’s the first thing Andrei’s brother says when he gets home, his cloak still wrapped tightly around his shoulders to ward off the chill. His eyes are weary, his shoulders sagging. It’s been a harsh winter in the mountains where they live, and spring seems a long way off yet.

“I remember,” Andrei says, standing up to help Alin with the supplies he brought in from the town’s market.

Honestly, his brother has always been prone to dramatizations, so he’s never thought much of the supposed curse. While it’s true their parents have both died before their time, and their mother’s parents went too early too, that’s, unfortunately, how the world works sometimes. They aren’t rich, never have been; there simply wasn’t a way to take care of them, to protect them.

But Alin is sitting down on a rickety wooden chair heavily and pushing a hand through his wispy hair.

“I thought I could do better,” he says, seemingly directed at the small fire in the hearth. Andrei settles on the ground next to it, trying to warm his toes.

“What are you talking about?”

Chewing on his ragged lower lip, Alin is quiet for a long while, which is worrying in and on itself, so Andrei scoots closer and reaches for his brother’s tunic, tugging on the edge of it.

“What are you talking about?” he asks again. He knows Alin keeps secrets from him, it isn’t hard to guess, and he doesn’t begrudge him that even if he feels he’s old enough now to handle practically everything—he could be a squire if they were of higher status—but Andrei’s always thought that it was a scandalous love affair he was hiding, maybe, or just some kind of deal he made to make more money trading fabrics in town. This doesn’t seem like something so inconsequential.

“Listen, Andrei,” Alin starts, “I swore to Mother I would be different, and I’ve tried. But the townsfolk will never see it that way.”

“You’re going to need to start at the beginning,” Andrei says feebly, because he has no idea what he’s talking about. Should he go get the local medic? Well—he knows the man would just say his brother is insane without even coming over, so that’s probably not a good idea.

Alin smiles humorlessly. Clasps his thin fingers over Andrei’s bony hand, his skin equally pale and cold.

“Alright, I’ll start at the beginning.”

[The Witch-hunt]

“Our mother was a witch.”

“What?” Andrei bursts. He almost yanks his hand free of his brother’s grip, but Alin doesn’t let go. No, his mother can’t have been a witch. He knows about witches. He knows how twisted their minds are, that they are incapable of love; he’s heard all of that and more around town his whole life through.

“A natural witch,” Alin says, as if that should make it clearer. “It’s… A gift, she’d say, passed down through generations. But one that inevitably corrupts.”

The only thing Andrei can do is shake his head, his long hair falling into his eyes. No, no, he refuses to believe that this is true. If it is, then why didn’t he know? Why would she have shared this with Alin and not with him? Was he too young? Didn’t she trust him?

“Why…” he starts, but he isn’t sure what he wants to ask. Alin chews on his lip again, and his thin eyebrows make complicated leaps on his forehead.

“You’ve never needed to know. I’ve never wanted you to know, and neither did Mother, because you don’t…” He trails off, eyebrows now drawing together. Andrei raises his.

Because he doesn’t what?

“Look, remember that time you went out to help find the neighbor’s goats? And you—”

“Got lost in the caves and you didn’t get me out until two days later? It’s hard to forget.”

Alin grimaces. “I would never have gotten there in time if I had to find you all by myself.”

“But you did. You said no one wanted to help.”

“Oh, no, no one did, bunch of morons.”

Andrei isn’t sure why he thought the secret might be a scandalous love affair again. It’s difficult to forget that the whole town despises Alin, that they barely stand him. To be fair, Alin doesn’t exactly do his best to endear himself to them most of the time either. He’s unhesitatingly Alin all the time, and Alin is just… Strange. It’s why Andrei loves him, but he understands why it has the opposite effect on the townspeople.

“I got to you because I was led to you by the same thing that killed our family. I thought that maybe I could be different. That we could be different.”

“Wait, what are you—”

“I’m saying…” He takes a deep breath and wraps his hand tighter around Andrei’s. “I’m saying that that gift, that curse, was passed down another generation. To me.”

“You’re a witch?” Andrei’s heart leaps into his throat.

“I…” Alin frowns. “I suppose so.”

“Wait, is that why everyone hates you?”

Now, his brother gives him a flat look.

“You’re saying that as if there are other reasons for people to hate me.”

Andrei shrugs, trying to put on an innocent face.

“Andrei, come on! I’m a nice—I’m a nice person!” Alin waves his free hand around, deep brown eyes wide. “They’d love me if they didn’t know who my mother was!”

“Ehh,” Andrei says, because he doubts it.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I’ve always kept this hidden from you because you aren’t cursed, or gifted or whatever—”

“You mean I’m not a witch.”

“I mean you’re not a witch, yeah.” He scrubs his hand over his angular face. “And you should be grateful for that. It can be useful, it’s helped me to take care of you more than you could understand, but if the slightest rumor of it gets out, there’s no escaping from that.”

[Exposing the Heathen]

To say Andrei is confused would be an understatement. He’s shocked beyond belief, he’s angry somewhere, and he’s a little scared of why Alin is telling him this now, when he’s always been so vague about why he thinks their family is cursed. But more than anything, all those feelings amount to confusion. There must be more to this story. He feels like he’s missing so many parts.

“Why are you telling me now?” he eventually asks, shifting to sit on his knees on the straw mat in front of the fire. That feels like the most important part of it, the one that will perhaps explain some of the rest.

“Because it’s always just been rumors, until today.”

“What did you do?”

Alin throws both his hands up, finally freeing Andrei. “Why do you think it’s something I did?”

Andrei pulls a corner of his mouth up and draws his eyebrows together in a quasi-apologetic look, shrugging. His brother just presses his lips together, obviously doing his best to look disapproving, and failing as always.

“Wasn’t it something you did, then?” Andrei asks.

“Well, no, it was, but… You insufferable child.” Alin sighs, rolling his eyes fondly before quickly turning serious again. “It’s not just rumors anymore because I was caught performing some magic. I couldn’t deny.”

They’re both silent for a while. Andrei knows what the punishment for witchcraft is in the mountains. Of course, he never thought any of it was real—has always thought that the burnings were just an easy way to get rid of unwanted people—let alone that his own brother could end up on the pyre for it.

“Show me,” he eventually says.

[Envy]

“Show you,” Alin repeats flatly. And then incredulously, “Show you? Have you any idea what you’re asking of me?”

Andrei stands, suddenly fed up with the whole situation, and starts pacing around their tiny house. His brother rises too. The flames from the hearth cast flickering shadows on his face, turning him into someone Andrei barely recognizes, so he closes his eyes against it. What this amounts to is that everything he’s been told is, if not a lie, then at least the truth with so many omissions it may as well be. He runs his hands through his hair, working out tangles. If only the metaphorical tangles were as easy.

“I deserve to know,” he whispers into the darkness. Alin doesn’t respond. Andrei opens his eyes as he breathes in deeply. “I’m your brother, I deserve to know. I’ve always deserved to know.”

“It’s better if you don’t—”

“Then you shouldn’t have told me!”

Alin turns his head away, jutting his sharp chin out. His irises are dark in the low light; it’s turning into night fast, and their fire is small. Shadows fill the corners of the wooden house.

A sharp knock against the door. They both jump.

[The Fear]

They’re here. The townspeople, or their leader or whoever—Andrei can see it in his brother’s eyes. They’re here for him.

“We need to leave,” he whispers. Alin visibly grits his teeth, screwing his eyes shut.

“You need to leave.”

“What?”

He turns to Andrei, and his eyes are their normal brown again, like the rust-colored water of the brook behind their house in summer.

“There’s nowhere for me to go.”

“You’re a witch! Don’t have a—a broomstick you can fly somewhere?”

“That’s… That’s kind of insulting,” Alin says, almost as if to himself.

There is a bang on the door again, more insistent now, and then a man shouting to let him in.

“I don’t have a broomstick, Andrei, I’m sure you would have noticed.”

“Yeah, it’d be a lot cleaner around—”

“Andrei!” Alin is in front of him now, gripping his shoulders with a glint in his eye Andrei isn’t sure is caused by the fire, and suddenly his traveling cloak is hung around them and there is a satchel strapped across his chest. “I just want you to be safe. Everything I have ever done since our parents died has been to keep you safe. Please understand that.”

Andrei shakes his head furiously, attempting to rip the cloak off his shoulders. He’s either leaving with Alin or staying here with him, because even if he’s not all Andrei used to think he is, he’s still his brother and the only person in this world who matters to him. He tells him as much, and his face softens for a second. He blinks, presses his lips together. Then shakes his head too, sadly.

“I’m so sorry about this.”

“About wh—”

“Remember that I love you, Andrei,” Alin says, and then his eyes flash a very definite red while he brings his hand up to Andrei’s forehead, and everything goes dark.

[The Grudge]

By the time Andrei makes it out of the cave where he came to—the cave, of all places, Alin knows he’s gotten lost in there more than just the once—he isn’t sure how much time has passed. There was some food in his satchel, which is gone now. He hasn’t got anything else now but his cloak and his best boots, which is something, at least.

But then he walks up the road back home, and there is no home.

There’s no house there, the field wiped clean as if there never has been. The bend in the road is deserted, the earth of their little plot turned over, and Andrei has no illusions that the ground there is still fertile. The townspeople would have salted it.

His hands shake uncontrollably when he realizes there is nothing here for him, because if it was just the house, just the land, that would be one thing, but his brother, his only family, left him to build a life from the ground up on his own, knowing everything belonging to him would be regarded as cursed and destroyed, knowing that Andrei would never be certain of his life as long as he stayed here.

Tears burn behind his eyes, and he grits his teeth against them. The air burns in his throat when he takes harsh breaths.

If their family is cursed, Alin has only proven it.

Andrei is strung tight and almost can’t move when someone moves up the path, but he hides away just in time.

This will be his life from now on if he stays.

So he needs to go.

[The Curse]

He can’t go.

He wants to, he does, but the thought of Alin waiting somewhere in town for his own inevitable death pulls at him, won’t let him go until he turns back in the dead of the night with frost clinging to his eyelashes and looks for him.

It’s surprisingly easy to find him.

Andrei has never frequented the town. He always preferred to stay at home and weave fabrics Alin could sell or work on their small patch of land, or help the neighbor with his stubborn goats. Yet, he finds his brother quickly, aided only by the weak light of a half-moon in a cloudy sky, at the edge of the city square, where light flickers through low bars and casts elongated shadows on the muddy ground.

Alin is awake in his cell below, and looking up before Andrei has even made a sound.

“Andrei,” he breathes, casting a weary glance over his shoulder at the door before walking over to the bars and standing on the bench below them so his face is just above ground level. His hair is matted, but his eyes are familiar, the warmth in them reassuring as it’s always been. Andrei feels like he’s six years old again for just a moment when he kneels on the cold ground and reaches for his brother’s bony hand to tangle their fingers together.

“I wish I could get you out.”

“I know.”

A thought occurs to him. “Can’t you get yourself out? You sent me all the way to the caves. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Alin smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“Those things, I don’t know, they seem to work only on you. And you’re welcome.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

He huffs a laugh that seems genuine, and Andrei can’t help but smile a bit as well. It’s something.

“I’m sorry I was so…” He gestures vaguely in the gloom.

“I did deserve it, I suppose,” Alin replies. “Listen, Andrei. I know, it all seems difficult now, but I promise, I promise, I’ll watch over you until you die.”

Without warning, the tears Andrei has been holding in for the past days spill. It dawns on him, with startling clarity, that his brother is about to die, that he’ll never hear his dumb jokes or his reassurances or his terrible singing voice again, that the sparkle in those brown eyes will dim forever, and he isn’t sure how to deal with that. If he can at all.

“You can’t say things like that,” he hiccups. “Alin, you can’t promise that.”

“I can. I love you, Andrei, and I always will.”

Andrei just nods, his hands shaking against Alin’s. He can’t find the words to say what he wants to, to express the sadness and the gratitude and the lingering anger.

“You should go.”

“No, I—”

“They’ll be here come first light.” Alin sighs. “Please, I don’t want you to be here when I…”

He opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. Andrei nods.

“Alright.” He sits forward in the mud and hugs his brother as much as he can, trying to imprint the memory in his mind.

“I’ll see you again someday, Andrei,” Alin whispers. He tugs him towards the bars and kisses his cheek. “I promise.”

[The Flames]

Andrei does leave, then.

He walks down the mountain with a heavy heart while the sun rises to an unfairly clear sky, marred only by the heavy black smoke rising from the town square.

[Endless Inquisition]

There is no safety to find in the next town over, where people have heard his name as well as his brother’s, so Andrei keeps going, carving a lonely path between the mountains until he reaches the cliffs by the sea, weary and exhausted but free.

Not free of the past, which he carries on his shoulders so plain to see that people ask about it in the town where he settles, but free of the infamy his name now brings at least. He never gives clear answers when people ask; it’s not as if they really want to know anyway. It’s not as if Andrei wants to talk about it.

He builds a life there in the face of storms the likes of which he never experienced in the mountains, of the sea whipping at the houses, the people. It’s something of his own, yet something that he wishes his brother could have seen.

[…Together, Today, For All Eternity]

Sometimes, in reflections in the windows of the city hall or the water of the river, Andrei sees his own eyes flash red, and he smiles.

#aphgenficexchange #aziraphalestudiedtheblade #aph romania #aph moldova #Hetalia #np #u: human #u: historical #I don't know exactly when this would take place #but you know it's fantasy so who cares #but also calling ro a witch and not like a wizard or a warlock is appropriate because there was no gender inherent in the word originally #linguistics!#with 'that's what you get' I mean 'that's what you get when you watch thor ragnarok three times in a row'#'let's do Get Help' 'alin I'm not doing Get Help' [ro chucks mol at the oncoming townspeople]#someone save ro from my magic-hating towns tbh #w: 5000 #fin

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orbitinghetalia · 8 years ago

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My @aphgenficexchange gift for @missbelgium. Switzerland and Liechtenstein’s first meeting.

#hetalia events #aphgenficexchange #my drawings #aph Switzerland #aph Liechtenstein #aph alpine siblings

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alyfa · 8 years ago

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@phyripo here's your gift for the @aphgenficexchange I'm so sorry for beign this late... I hope that you like it anyway... From the characters I've choose to use "Finland, Hungary and Estonia as family members" and from the promts "cooking together" and I don't know why but I thought that Estonia would probably follow all the instructions on the recipe but end up with reading thw wrong cooking time and I'd like to think that both Hungary and Finland would just try to confort him :) I really hope you'll like it. ^^

#aphgenficexchange #my drawings #aph hungary #aph estonia #aph finalnd #aph hungary finland and estonia

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wandschrankheld · 6 years ago

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The Importance of Having Avocado

Characters: APH Germany, APH South Italy Wordcount: 1k Summary: Romano meets the worst guy he knows. Prompt: “You took my jacket by mistake. Mine had my keys, which I clearly need. Yours had an avocado in the pocket, which I’m assuming is equally important”

Hey @aphchinass ! I was your secret santa for the @aphgenficexchange and your prompts were a blast to work with. Hope you enjoy! :3

Romano pulled his phone from his front jean pocket, unlocking it with quick slides of his thumb drawing a familiar pattern, and checked the message one last time. The screen was shadowed, hard to see in the bright sunlight. He squinted, shadowed his face with his hand even though he could mumble along, recite the content in his sleep.

“You took my jacket by mistake. Mine had my keys, which I clearly need. Yours had an avocado in the pocket, which I’m assuming is equally important.”

Romano felt his cheeks heat up. The straps of his gym bag cut into his shoulder. He should patrol the area, make sure there were no witnesses around - clearly he would have to murder the fucker who posted this shit to Jodel in the first place.

He did need his avocado back, though.

“I will wait for you at the tracks 15 minutes before practice. Thank you.”

“Thank you”, he mocked the words under his breath. They didn’t seem to care, remained static; taunted him from their throne on his phone. He put it away, banished it back into the darkness of his jeans pocket, too internet-savvy to scroll down for the comments. At least this time.

He rounded the corner towards his school’s courtyard, janky legs taking one step after the other. He was surprisingly early, only five minutes too late, so he let the sunshine ease his embarrassment and himself into the situation. Today had been shitty enough, what with the stupid bullshit chem pop quiz and their dumbass art teacher not getting his project. Who the hell needed a canvas, anyways.

The courtyard soon ended, and greyish asphalt speckled with dandelions and weeds turned into carefully maintained orange rubber. The tracks sprawled out under him, meticulously clean white lines forming long corridors and longer ovals on the ground. Crisscrossing them were other lines in yellow, orange, green, marking different fields for different sports Romano couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about. Basketball was one of them, probably. The blinding sun still high above him, he let his eyes follow along one of the green lines that lead straight up, and his feet behind them. At the outer rim of the yellow basketball court line, he ran into an obstacle.

The worst kind of obstacle.

“Hmhm”, the brick wall in front of him cleared his throat, two crossed arms moving as shoulders were lifted and a deep breath was taken. Romano lifted his head.

“You’re late.”

Ugh. He rolled his eyes, slouched his already chillaxed posture and kicked back his head. Of course. Who the fuck else was it gonna be.

“Chill, fuckface”, he put just enough venom in it to still pass as aloof, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of his hatred. “I got your stupid jacket and your dumbass keys. You got my stuff, idiot?”

Ludwig Beilschmidt, brick shithouse, junior and Romano’s co-bench warmer on the track team, nodded in the affirmative. His mouth, no doubt full of steel muscles just like the rest of his overly Schwarzennegerfied body, didn’t even twitch in the face of Romano’s clever insults. The fucker.

“Yes, I have your…” Ludwig hesitated for a second, paused as if he was embarrassed to say. “Your avocado.”

Romano scrunched up his face and his cheeks colored red.

“You got a problem with my fuckin’ avocado?” He forcibly adjusted his gym bag and puffed out his chest. “You wanna go?”

Ludwig stared at him without as much as moving his eyebrows. His fingers flexed around his bicep.

“Fuck – whatever!”, Romano hurried to give him no opportunity to take him up on his threat, “Just give me back my shit and let’s get this over with.” He slung his gym bag down over his shoulder and ripped the zipper open, then reached inside and pulled out Beilschmidt’s crumpled up jacket, placed lovingly atop his well-used trainers.

Opposite him Ludwig mirrored his motions, pulling a folded, iron pressed jacket from his duffle bag and a plastic bag with an avocado wrapped gently in a hand towel from his backpack. They made the exchange without words and Romano made sure to keep his eyes on Ludwig’s hands, just in case he tried to pull some funny shit. His shoulders tensed up; a sharp breath; then, their jackets and important avocado changed ownership once more, and the critical moment had passed.

Romano pressed his jacket against his chest, unfolding it in the process, and left the avocado bag dangle around his wrist. The jacket smelt faintly of citrus and spring.

He stuffed it in his bag and zipped it shut, a gaping hole opening where the zipper was broken. A piece of the sleeve was sticking out still, jamming the zipper further. He pulled and pushed to no avail, and under Ludwig’s watchful eyes he felt the red spread from cheeks to nose, from nose to ears.

“The hell are you lookin’ at? Fuckin’ dumbass idiot.”

Ludwig- flinched? No, that miniscule twitch around his eyes, that shiver of his shoulders; that must have been his imagination. Ludwig cocked his head, and Romano, fearing that he would open his mouth, shot up his hand.

“Don’t ever take my shit again!”

Before Ludwig could protest or even try to imply that maybe it had been Romano who had hurried to get out of that damn changing room and on the train back home, who had maybe perhaps not paid too much attention as to whose track tam jacket he was grabbing, he stormed past Ludwig and headed towards the club room. The avocado bag fluttered in the wind and hit against his thighs.

Ludwig turned to his side and watched his upperclassman storm away, a crumpled jacket still draped over his hands. What went wrong this time? He had been looking forward to getting to know someone else from the track team. Ludwig frowned, and thought to himself that perhaps it was time to take up his big brother on his offer for friendship coaching advice.

Or maybe at practice, he could at least muster up the courage to ask the boy’s name.

#hetalia #aph germany #aph south italy #aph romano #aph gen #at the same sports team but both suck at it is btw also fucking hilarious #and all high school fic should exclusively be abt that from now on #fanfic

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