[Fanfic] angsty meme stuff

[berseker]

Ok, so there's not way in hell these things could ever be called drabbles by any sane person. But I won't give up. I swear I'll make this work someday, I'll write 100 words and then the universe will explode from my awesomeness /o/


Meanwhile, have ficlets. ANGSTY FICS, 'cause that was the prompt.


(oh, btw, re: the prompts. I sorta missed the point. Just thought you should know ^_^""



For ilye_aru -

Br/Arg, silence/words left unsaid.



Brazil wonders how it must feel to see the world like that. As if everything you do is perfect and everything you say is right and everything goes exactly like it should. How it must feel to be so... insanely brave and to say everything you think, all the crazy thoughts and passing feelings (and petty insults, why not?) and never be afraid of the backslash.

He wonders, in short, how it would feel to be Martin.

He looks at him now, in one of those meetings -you know. Those with the line between them and us clear on the table and stretching to the ground and going up the walls and closing on the ceiling, full of numbers and rates and words like loans and interest and words like third world country and all the stuff they're already used to. He and Martin and this side of the line, that is.

So, one of those meetings.

Martin faces them head on, of course, and Luciano can't help but stare. And see how he speaks, and how he glares, and how he never look down and he's so- brave, and so awesome, and so strong, and Luciano tries to ignore it, but the jealousy burns, and how must it feel to be like this, to live your life like this?

Later, Martin is in front of the stupid coffee machine down the hall, the one that usually swallows his coin and has to be, erm, persuaded to give back the coffee you just bought, and Luciano hates the thing, but anyway, Martin is buying his coffee and he's not having any trouble at all – even the machines respect him, Luciano thinks, stung, now how fair is that? Martin glances at him and then looks back at the cup.

He's holding it too tight, Luciano thinks. He's also gritting his teeth and he looks tense all over, and if that's because Luciano's here now then he's being a total jerk, Luciano didn't even look at him. And he's not planning to, either. So there.

Then suddenly Martin says:

“You want to say something, don't you? Just go ahead. Let's hear it!”

He glares at him, them, and Luciano sees the lines of tension around his mouth, and his eyes look- tired, yes, and there's something else there that Luciano can't understand, something that's both wild and frail, but it must be a trick of the light. And he knows that, if he decided to say something, tell him how... good he looked up there, and all that stuff about bravery and awesomeness and everything, Martin would just look at him in that smug way of his and say something stupid and Luciano is not in the mood to feel smaller than he already does.

So he rolls his eyes. And brushes past him to get his own coffee – and he'll kill this machine if it doesn't work – and just tells him they're waiting for him back there.

Martin doesn't say anything. But his hand tightens around the cup as he goes back to the meeting room, all straight back and head held high.

Luciano sighs, then, watching him go. He's not even angry when the machine swallows his coin (but he kicks it anyway).





For galatea_dnegro -

Triple Alliance war – Paraguay/Argentina

(that would be the meeting in Yatayti-Corá in sep/1866, after some heavy defeats on Dani's side)

And then they were fighting, and people were dying, and suddenly this looked like it would be a little more difficult than than Daniel had thought. He would do it. He would win. He had to- but it would be harder.

(he's still hurting, he feels the blood filling his mouth, hears their voices, his soldiers dying for him and he can't unsee it, can't unhear it, he tries to but he can't)

He'll see them today.

Well, some of them. Brazil won't bother coming. Daniel looked at him, there on the battlefield, and there was this glimpse of the person Luciano was, the would-be-friend who had been the first to recognize his independence, who was so slow to react and unexpectedly strong when he decided to do so- and then nothing but a fierce warrior and Daniel wasn't... afraid of him, not that, but-

He wouldn't bother with the meeting, Luciano. There was nothing he wanted to say, and nothing he needed to hear. Daniel wasn't surprised. He was almost relieved.

He didn't want to see him anyway. To look at him.

Not after that battle.

Martin had come. And Sebastian, his precious friend, the beautiful two-faced little traitor, but he had left early. Daniel was left alone with Martin.

The whole thing screams of last chances. A point of no return. But he reached that one a long time ago, Daniel thinks, and he's not sure of what they're doing here, but still, he looks at Martin

He sees Argentina's haughty eyes, the proud raised chin. Daniel knows the only money he has comes from Brazil, and he knows Martin didn't want this war (he's sure of it, Martín loves him, he was the one who took care of him before, and he still wants him back, and Dani doesn't want to go but he knows this must be love, it has to be) but damm him if Martin doesn't look formidable.

Well.

He would, wouldn't he?

Martin tells him to surrender. Tells him he's losing the war. That he can't win this one.

Daniel doesn't listen. He doesn't want to, he can't listen to this. It's high treason, and he won't listen. So he asks him why he's doing this. Why is he allying himself with the Empire, they could work things out between them, Paraguay and Argentina, that is, but Martin just glares at him.

Because, he says, and his green eyes are almost as hard as Luciano's, because I'm not a traitor. Because I'm not a liar. Because I don't break my alliances.

But you are, Daniel tells him. His voice sounds weird, almost forced. You are. And you do.

Martin shakes his head. There's something almost warm in his eyes, like the older brother he used to be before turning into... this. He looks back one last time, and. You're stupid, he says. But you're too stupid to know how stupid you are.

And then he's gone.

Daniel's heart beats fast, he can almost hear his blood pounding. He's hurting, and this is far from over- he'll face them again. And-

He'll win, he knows.

He's just having some trouble believing that.






for b_what -

Lu & sisters, family tiems,


This has to be hurting them, right?

After all, it was hurting him. When Brazil started to hear their people – he wasn't sure how that worked, he only knew it did, and it happened a little with Portugal's people too, at some point they became this... voice-feeling-echo-thing at the back of his mind and he was aware of them - both Portugal's and theirs, that is – and he didn't know what they thought of it. His sisters. And the empire. Maybe they could still hear them too, and maybe they belonged to all of them, maybe?

Or maybe they were his. And not theirs anymore.

Brazil liked that, sort of. And sometimes he didn't. It was so easier before Portugal coming over, starting this (and he has something to do with it and, up to a point, but he won't think about it) because there were lots of wars and stuff between the natives (mom, he thinks, but that's another thing he won't think about now) but not like this, not as... cruel as this.

Well. It wasn't fun, at all.

And it had to hurt them. Because he was very aware of the pain, he could feel it, and part of it was because these people missed his sisters' land and the life they lived there, and the language and the food and the sun and the air and the water and everything that had been their life before him, and Brazil is not sure what to make of this. It's weird, and confusing.

And it's easier to grab Angola's hand and drag her to the garden, and show her a flower she can put on her thick, dark hair, and then climb trees and sulk if she beats him at it and slap her hand when she pulls at his hair and somehow things degenerate and they fall to the floor and try to kill each other and, by the time Portugal calls them inside, they're fine again and plotting some new adventure for tomorrow.

It's easier, this. And fun.

It's just that sometimes she goes so quiet, and he wonders. And. Sometimes she's really angry. She doesn't fight him (her people do, or, well, his people, they fight each other, he's not sure how that's supposed to work). But he knows (because he does that too, revolutions and things and that means anger) that's means she's in pain, right?

But it's all... weird, all the things they don't say and never mention, and all the mixed feelings and everything. Because he's never sure. Because she wasn't his sister before, so it feels just a little forced, when Portugal says that. Because they weren't family, Portugal made them so, he made this up, and it's beautiful, in a way, and really cool, but at the same time it's not because sometimes it feels like it's hurting everyone.

But then, maybe this is family. You hurt and you kill and you take, but you stick together anyway, and this (can't be right, he thinks) is how life is supposed to go. Because he's her friend, too (sometimes) and she likes him (sometimes) and Portugal loves them both (yeah right) and... they're together now, no point dwelling on it. And it's fun, it is. Even if it's... just a little bit to weird (and ugly and violent) for his tastes.

And hers too, probably.

Still, he goes to her bedroom at night, and finds her awake staring at the ceiling, and (she's in pain, he just knows it) she sits up and looks at him, black eyes wide and round (his are starting to look like hers, he thinks) and then he holds her hand, and they go out to hunt fireflies in the backyard.

It doesn't really help, Brazil thinks. But it's easier like that.






for sakuratsukikage (who's probably the only one who'll get what the hell it's going on here) -

Brazil/Argentina, misunderstanding,


They're making out and Brazil has him against the wall. Not that it matters, Martin tells himself, it just happened, he was actually planning to go do... something else, and then Luciano caught up to him and they hadn't see each other for a while and...  well. These things had a tendency to happen, if they spent too long without their meetings.

Business meetings, that is. Or something. Anyway. Now he was trapped between Luciano's body and said wall, and his eyes were closed and he was kissing Luciano's mouth, and holding his black hair on his closed fist and trying not to pull. He wasn't sure why he was holding his hair like that. His hand had closed on its own accord, and Luciano's hair was fun to touch, soft and thick and Martin was almost sure the thing had a life of it's own, from the way it had curls and, erm, not curly parts and anyway, it was a nice hair. So there was that.

And Luciano had one of his own hands under Martin's shirt and was touching his back now, pressing his skin and his muscles, and his lips were warm and wet, covering his, and then kissing his neck, and-

-maybe he had missed this idiot.

Well, no, not really, not in the literal sense of the word or anything, but, you know, maybe just a little, and-

And then Luciano looked up at him, lips almost on his again, and smiled, eyes warm and shining:

“What are you thinking?”

… well. Now he was thinking there should be a law against interrupting kisses to talk. Maybe he could bring this up in the next UN meeting. He was sure France would back him up. Or something.

“... thinking?”

Luciano laughed, and it sounded soft, and weird over Martin's lips, and Martin kissed his mouth again because, honestly. Luciano held his face with one hand (the other was still busy underneath his shirt, Martin couldn't help but notice it) and brushed his fingers over Martin's cheek and that was... very sweet, so, uh, maybe he had missed him too – well, of course he had, how could he not, really, but- the thought was a little exciting, even if it should be obvious, and Martin was sure he was flushing, because his skin was dumb like that.

“Yes,” Luciano said, “You must do that once in a while, right?”

“... more than you do,” Martin said. He was very proud of himself for coming up with it. Hell, he was proud of himself for thinking at all. Luciano laughed again, and held him a little tighter:

“Well, fine. I missed you, you know.”

“You did?”

He was blushing, he was sure of it. And he wasn't planning to ask that. His mouth was being dumb too. And he was sort of panicking. Just a little.

And, of course, Luciano looked very pleased at that:

“Sure I did! You're like... my personal blanket or something” he laughed again, pulling Martin closer to demonstrate, “You're pretty handy, you know.”

About that law. Maybe the UN could add a clause about saying dumb things. If you absolutely had to talk. It was worth trying.

“A blanket,” he said, dryly, “Right. You don't expect me to believe that you were cold, right?”

… that sounded a bit stupid. They should drop this metaphor now. And go back at kissing. That would be nice. Except Luciano raised his eyebrows at him and waited, so Martin was forced to keep talking:

“Well, you weren't alone, were you? I mean- when I was away.”

Luciano kept looking at him. Martin flushed again:

“It's doesn't matter. Anyway.”

Back at kissing? Now, please?

“Uh. That's- interesting. Who do you think I was sleeping with?”

Martin let go of his hair. It was automatic. And Luciano took one step back, which also seemed automatic, but, but what kind of question was that-

“... how the hell would I know? Why did you say this?”

“I'm just asking. You started. Why did you start this?”

He wasn't even smiling anymore, the corners of his mouth turned downward, and eyes big and serious and now Martin wanted to punch him:

“Start what? What's wrong with you? What did I say?”

“I said I missed you! It's not- easy, to say this, you- and that's how you answer me? What the fuck is your problem? Do you think I'm-”

“I don't think anything! Why would I think about who you're sleeping with or what you do on your free time or-”

“So, when I'm fucking you, you're actually thinking that you just happened to be the next one in line?”

“Christ, what are you doing, I didn't say anything-”

“You didn't,” he looked away, closed his eyes for a second, and then took a deep breath “Fuck this, look, I'm sorry. You're right, you didn't say anything. I just- need to rest.”

See, see, that's why that law would really come in handy. Martin wanted to punch him, or shake him until his brain jump-started, or- anything.

“Rest from what? All this because I said you're not- pining after me? Are you really that crazy?”

And then he dared to call Martin insane. But Luciano cringed, and looked so wounded for a second there that Martin just blurted out:

“Come on, you're not saying you actually were, are you?”

“I'm not saying anything,” Luciano said, and now he wasn't even looking at him anymore, he ran his finger through his hair and then took another step back and just said “Well, this was fun. See you around, then.”

“... where are you going?”

“None of your business. Why?”

He wasn't going to bite that. He wasn't going to- he- now he wanted to know what he had said to cause this just so he could say it again because fuck he couldn't believe he had come here for this,just to watch Luciano PMSing and fuck why did everything had to be so complicated-

“See you tomorrow, ” Luciano said, after an awkward pause, and then he left, and Martin sagged against the wall.

Well, fuck this shit, then. He didn't want to spend his time with that idiot anyway.

... and he would totally be passing that law as soon as it was possible.






for vasilina0946 -

Mex/Chi - high school AU


Manuel sits in the park bench, and he thinks... well, now he thinks about how it should be raining, with thunders and lightening and everything, and how the water should be running down his face and his uniform and... making his clothes smell weird, now that he thinks about it. This always happens. But that's only because the dorm room is too small and he can't be bothered to find a sunny place to dry it.

But it's not raining, that's the problem, the day is perfect, like something out of a cartoon, blue skies and green grass and pink butterflies and little white fluffy clouds and a smiling sun.

Ok, the sun is not smiling. But it feels like it.

And Manuel hates the sun right now. And the clouds and flowers and all that crap, and his dorm room too, and his clothes and the stupid weather that refuses to match his mood, and he hates this bench and hates himself for being here.

That's the most important part, really. Because he is here. And he'll stay here, looks like it, he'll stay here and feel miserable and alone and full of hate for the sun (… that's a nice name for a band, if he ever decides to make one. Hate for the sun. Interesting) and he also hates his boyfriend, who happens to actually have a band (but it's not called HtS. It's called something else. Something stupid) and who happens to be very late and who happens to be...

No, Manuel thinks, he won't go there. Pedro wouldn't do this to him. He's sure of it. They're together. They're-

Well.

It's just that Pedro is so fun, and loud, and... fun. But he is, he laughs and rants and he's fun and even when he's angry he's just so... loud.

It can get tiresome, sure, and it does. But sometimes Manuel wonders if he's not too... dark, and boring, for a person like that. If his eternal bad mood won't end up driving him away -but then again, he thinks, not everyone can be the best clown in the circus, right? So, he's quiet, and moody, and... sort of trying to be Gothic only without the make-up and fishnets and stuff some people like to wear. Sort of. The point is, Pedro was the one who came on to him, and wouldn't leave him alone until he caved, and he really really really wanted Manuel, and Manuel knows this for a fact, because he kinda punched Pedro's nose the first few times the idiot tried to kiss him (who does that anyway, tries to kiss people without asking first?) so Manuel is absolutely sure that Pedro wants him.

Even if he's in a stupid band that everyone seems to like, and even if he keeps... talking with other people and he's friendly, he's a friendly person (he tried to kiss Manuel, after all) so of course he would have friends. And of course he would be close to these friends.

It doesn't mean he doesn't like him.

It doesn't mean he'll leave him.

So he waits. Pedro will be here (he's just late, that's all). Then Manuel will try to be... not angry, and not so serious, he'll try really hard, and- why isn't that bastard here already?

He'll wait a little longer.

-but seriously, why can't he have just a little rain? The sun, bright and smiley (or not, but whatever) seems to mock him and, as the time passes by, he finds himself wishing more and more for one hell of a storm.








~*~