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 Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 8:51 pm
conquistando HISTORIAS
página por PAGINA
conquering STORIES
page by PAGE So. Fan-fiction thread, huh?
Sweet.
Um. I don't update fictions regularly, and I barely write. BUT.
I do have some fictions that I have written and wouldn't mind sharing with you guys.
I will only put up my Hetalia ones, I suppose. And that's exactly three stories. So..hahah.
Now. I may also put up Kingdom Hearts, since that's what most of my stories consist of. It depends.
One more thing.
I am Spanish and I also speak French along with some Italian. So there will be lots of phrases in foreign languages in most of these Hetalia stories.
Next post will consist of the Index. On a semi-related note;
Most of these stories have been posted on Fanfiction.Net.
I am under the alias of xConquistadora.
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Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 9:31 pm
leyendo BIBLIAS
de AMOR y VIRTUD
reading BIBLES
of LOVE and VIRTUE You Will Not Be Ignored
France x Canada [Main]
Allies, Kumajiro [Mentioned]
Francis seemed to be the only one that knew he was still there.
Of Pictures and Attention
Spain x S. Italy [Main]
Germany x Italy [Mentioned] [Blink and Miss]
He was considering the option of taking those turtles home and making himself some soup. Some nice, hot, delicious turtle soup.
And He Snaps
Spain x S. Italy [Main] [Blink and Miss]
He's staring into the eyes of a true conquistador, a true conqueror.
O, Canada
France x Canada [Main]
Kumajiro [Mentioned]
It had been a lullaby once- now, it was an anthem.
Pero, Te Amo
Spain x Taiwan [Main]
France, China, South Italy, America, Canada [Mentioned]
Nations are of Hetalia: Next Generation.
Fantastic Day to be Early
France [Main]
Spain / Taiwan [Mentioned / Main]
Nations are of Hetalia: Next Generation.
He Plays the Violin
Austria/Prussia [Main]
Prussia can't play the violin. This drives Austria mad.
Restoration at Negative Percent
Spain x Taiwan [Main]
Organization XIII, Diluxia [an Original Character] [Mentioned]
Nations are of Hetalia: Next Generation crossed over with Kingdom Hearts II.
3/?
Format:
Title
Character / Pairing
Other Starred Characters
Summary/Notes
Notes:
[Main] --> Self Explanatory, Main Focus of the Story
[Mentioned] --> Self Explanatory, Mentioned Characters in the Story
[Blink and Miss] --> Usually Hinted or Discreetly-Mentioned; Can be Characters or Pairings
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Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 9:43 pm
you will not be IGNORED
France x Canada
Human and Nation Names At Use
Oneshot.
"AND IN conclusion- England, you can also be my back-up!!"
Four seated characters groaned faintly, two of them lowering their heads to rest it on the conference table beneath them. Did any of their small meetings ever turn out differently? The loud-mouthed superpower always felt like he had to be their 'hero' to save them from the 'evil' powers of the Axis, and no strategy plans would be made, no new possible ideas for new alliances- nothing. America was the Hero, every one else followed, and that was that.
Beside the self-appointed Hero, a quiet figure sighed and reached out a hand, tugging at the leather bomber jacket as a sign of wanting attention to turn to him. "Alfred... don't you really think you should.. plan that out better?"
"Ah, chéri, let it go." came a voice from across the table, and the frenchman's head lifted from the table to look over to the head of the room. Blue eyes met cobalt and something in the quiet nation's throat hitched, as if he simply couldn't breathe anymore. Francis's voice was the only one that Canada now heard [even if his brother's was currently at its most obnoxious level while he ranted on] and he watched quietly as the other blonde's lips slowly moved. "Vous savez qu'il ne va pas écouter..."
Upon hearing France talk in his native tongue, even America paused. "France," the superpower said, with a seemingly worried expression. "Who are you talking to?"
"Me! Ca-na-da!" the younger brother whined, reaching up to tug on America's jacket. "Kumajiro! Tell him!" he exclaimed, even as America paid absolutely no attention to his own brother.
"Who?" came the polar bear's quiet reply as he slid off the chair and sat down, pawing at his own nose. It was then that Canada groaned and decided to pick up the soft white bear as he exited the room. Why did he even come to the meetings? No one ever noticed him there, anyway. Other than Francis. Francis seemed to be the only one that knew he was still there.
Shortly after exiting the room, Mathieu swore he heard England mutter "Bloody hell, Alfred, how do you ignore your own brother?" and Francis's loud, often-dramatic sigh fill the room. But he didn't turn back, and just went straight home.
--
Flipping through the channels at home, Mathieu could only sigh. Nothing on, figures. There was never really anything on. So he turned off his television set and turned to pet his polar bear gently, running his hands through the matted fur, shaking his head. "You need a bath," he commented, to which the polar bear whined a bit. "Don't want one," said the bear as he pawed at Mathieu's lap, curling up, obviously tired.
They stayed like that for a while, resting, before the Canadian heard a knock at his own door. He didn't feel like moving yet, and he knew he hadn't locked it [a bad habit of his, he knew, he knew...], so he just called out "It's open!"
The door soon swung open and in walked the country that had once been Canada's caretaker all those decades and centuries ago. France.
"Salut," the frenchman said oh-so casually as he shut the door behind him, and unlike Canada, actually locked it before going inside the house. "You should learn to lock your doors, chéri. It's not safe knowing anyone could just waltz in."
"Je sais," Mathieu murmured, unknowingly speaking in the tongue that Francis had taught him so long ago. He didn't use it as much anymore, but often, it slipped, and he didn't bother to stop it. It was just who he was.
It was quiet as Francis walked towards the couch that the strawberry-blonde was slumping upon, and he looked over to the bear in his lap. "Kumajiro," whispered the older nation. "Off, please."
The polar bear grumbled something sleepily then but obliged to the request, waddling off of his master and heading over to a little corner, where it was warm and nice thanks to the way the heating in this house worked. The white creature wallowed around a little then, rolling its paws around and soon letting out a yawn that ended in a mild squeak before plopping over to try and fall asleep properly. Watching his comrade do such a strangely-adorable routine before going to sleep made Canada chuckle faintly and in turn, France smiled.
Afterwards, Canada glanced up once he felt some weight placed upon his hips. There he saw France, effectively straddling the younger country, his hands slowly shifting to rest near his chest while he leaned forward and worked on getting Canada's tie off. "I don't know how he cannot notice you," muttered the lightly-bearded nation, watching his fingers work meticulously as they slid the tie out of its hold. "With you dressed so nicely...très beau..."
There was a sigh, which fogged up Mathieu's glasses faintly. Now due to the suddenly blurred vision, he decided to close his eyes as he whispered. "I'm used to it by now, papa." he felt France's fingers pause in their work, and he knew that last word had struck something deep in the blonde. It'd been so long since he'd been called that.
"Rest assured, you will not be ignored by me." came a husky whisper then, and soon, the Canadian felt some weight being taken off the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes to see, and he was glad that he was at least able to see very well up close, for when his eyes opened he saw those metallic eyes he so dearly loved gaze back at him with such splendor, such need, and he felt his heart skip multiple beats at the sight. "You are far too special to be ignored by me."
Mathieu smiled widely then, his hands slowly beginning to move upwards so he could thread his fingers through those golden, shining locks that could belong to no one other than his Francis. "Je t'aime, François." he whispered then, and the whisper ended in somewhat of a giggle because while he'd spoken, Francis had tilted his head to begin kissing at his neck; a sensitive, ticklish spot of Mathieu's, known only by very few and taken advantage of only by one.
Kisses turned into licks, and licks turned into nibbles, and by the time Mathieu's head was swimming with pleasure he could barely hear "And I you, mon petit chaton," before he felt France lead him into a world of bliss.
Vocabulary
chéri- beloved
Vous savez qu'il ne va pas écouter- You know he will not listen
Salut- casual way of saying "hello"
Je sais- I know
très beau- very handsome [in this context]
Je t'aime, François- I love you, Francis [François would be the generic French form of his name]
mon petit chaton- my little kitten
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Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 9:58 pm
of pictures and ATTENTION
Spain x S. Italy
Human Name for Spain, Romano is used for Italy
Oneshot.
It's all too quiet in that big, cheerful house and usually by this time, the brown-haired nation has already heard a cry of "ROMANO!!!" and he should be in that idiot's arms by now, but he's nowhere to be found. And he's not worried -pffft, of course not! Why would he worry about that jerk?- but he's very, very curious, and thus he wanders deeper into the house, making sure to lock the door behind him -why does Spain leave it unlocked? That s**t is dangerous!-
Slowly he begins to glance around, seeing that this house... it hasn't changed at all. Portraits still adorn the walls, portraits of past kings and Antonio in past formal wear that would often strike fear into the hearts of his opponents, portraits of himself in younger clothing that made him look a little bit too feminine and that, he decides, it the reason he hated wearing those maiden outfits when he was still small and growing up in this Spanish household.
He notices that although things have stayed the same, there are also minor differences. There's not as many pictures of the older Italian brother as there once was. Romano is sure he's partially to blame for that- he's seen too many pictures in this household that he just absolutely did not like and so calmly told the Spaniard to burn at once. And so now, the picture of Romano uncharacteristically smiling while he's in the Spaniard's arms isn't on the main table. The picture of the two Italian brothers kneeling in a field, one looking at the camera with eyes wide and filled with sun and delight, the other with an utmost look of surprise on his face; that's gone too, burned, just like the other pictures he'd picked out.
And just for a second- for a mere, half second, Romano frowns upon this fact. Because where those pictures were, there are pictures of another set of things. Some things that aren't ******** turtles.
"OI! b*****d!!" he yells into the house, and the frown deepens when he hears no reply. "What's the deal with the pictures, eh?! Get your a** out here!!"
Still, there's nothing. Romano growls something in his native tongue and he runs a hand through his hair, pausing for a moment and feeling his breath hitch as his fingers clumsily swoop over a single strand of hair. Damn curl. It was always getting in his way, and that Spaniard b*****d would always tug it... and why was he turning red at the thought, damn it!!
"Antonio, where in the world..." the Italian snarled as he stalked through the house, checking the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, the guest room- damn it, anywhere he thought the Spaniard could be. He needed to have a serious talk with him about putting pictures of turtles on his coffee table.
After searching the house thoroughly, the most logical next step was to go out to the backyard, which he so promptly did, huffing once he went outside and saw Antonio lying on the grass, hands neatly propping his chin up and legs idly kicking behind him. He seemed to be staring at a few moving figures on the grass, and wasn't noticing his visitor yet.
WHAT.
Antonio would always notice him the second he entered a room! And why not now? This was unacceptable.
So Romano trudged forward with a look of utter disgust on his face and he made sure to oh-so-nicely dive forward and headbutt the nation. Hard. "b*****d, why are you out here!!"
Naturally, Antonio's reaction to this headbutt was a loud 'Oof!' and him rolling a few feet to the side. Shortly after that happened, he swiped at his own cheek, flicking a little piece of grass away and he smiled up towards his guest. "Pues, buenos dias, Romano. I didn't know you were going to stop for a visit. Oh and be careful with where you step! You might stomp on Javier or Miguel."
"Damn it, I did NOT come for a visit- ...what?" Romano had to stop himself from going on a full rant as he heard those names slip out of the other's lips. Javier? MIGUEL? ".. Did you name the God-forsaken turtles!?!" he screeched, and he couldn't understand how Antonio just sat there and smiled at him and nodded.
"And then, you take PICTURES of the turtles, and they replace the ones of me on the table?!" he was seething, and he could practically feel the emotion of rage bubbling up inside him, coming up almost to a boiling point when the Spaniard only laughed and cooed, "Hey~ you look just like a tomato."
"FINE! Have fun with your stupid turtles!" Romano almost had half a mind to kick one on his way out, but that would really just be uncalled for. So he stomped himself out of there, fuming as he heard the other brunette nation call out, "What'd I do? Romano, stay with us for a little while!". Like hell he was staying with him for a little while. He was going home, damn it, and he was not coming back for a while, because he decided that he was mad at the other male, so he wouldn't go anywhere near his house for a very, very long time.
--
That long time being about an hour later, when he realized that his younger brother had gotten home and just accidentally failed to mention that he was bringing his German comrade over and they were going to do unforgivable things on his couch.
So he was back at his former mentor's door, waiting for the door to be opened, having knocked only about seventeen times already!!
And on the eighteenth knock the Spaniard opened the door. Romano was kind enough to mumble "I'll stay for a little while, dammit." but he realized the other hadn't listened, since the second he'd opened the door, he'd run back into the house and yelled something about not going near the plants.
Romano stood at the door for a while, then glared. Oh. ******** no. He was still playing with the turtles, wasn't he.
At this realization he slammed the door shut behind him, ran behind the Spaniard, out towards the backyard, and saw him patting one of the turtles towards a little pool, where a few other turtles swam along happily. He seethed. Oh how he seethed. The b*****d was paying more attention to turtles than a guest!
"Are you STUPID or something?!" Romano cried out as he plopped himself down by the Spaniard and just glared at the turtles. He was considering the option of taking those turtles home and making himself some soup. Some nice, hot, delicious turtle soup. "Focus on me for a second, damn it, not the amphibian things!!"
"Oh, Romano," laughed the tanned man beside him and soon, he felt lips upon his cheek, which made him sputter and curse and turn to just about a billion shades of red. "They're reptiles., not amphibians."
"It doesn't matter!!" Romano screamed as he shoved the other away, eye twitching. How dare he just randomly kiss him like that- how DARE he! "They're stupid turtles!! You don't need to give them names and take pictures of them and put them on the table so you can see how ugly they are every day!"
It was quiet after that until the Italian heard a snicker. "Roma~ are you jealous?" came the other's voice, smooth and warm like the sun that always reigned over his country.
Naturally, it just made the other grumble and curse some more. "NO, you ********! Why would I be jealous of a turtle and its pictures and how it gets your attention and-"
The lips missed his cheek this time, he noticed. He wasn't sure if they were supposed to land on his own lips, but they did, and his eyes widened and he couldn't move for a second, because he didn't want to move, because he was finally getting some attention, damn it.
"You talk too much," the lips above his own soon grinned, and Romano felt himself shudder a bit and possibly get much redder than before. How this dunce was able to make him stop talking with that and suddenly make him begin to wobble like goo was beyond him. "¿Sabes que? The turtles have pictures on the main coffee table, because your pictures are in my room. They're the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning, Romano."
Thank God, the Italian thought to himself, that the idiot's not dumb enough to mention just how much he must look like a ******** tomato right about now.
And then it hit him.
Romano suddenly yelled. "You never got rid of those pictures?! b*****d, I specifically told you to burn them!!" and now he was pushing the other back onto the ground and beating his fists into his chest, much like a stubborn child. He was mildly -mildly!- surprised when Antonio just laughed and pulled him close, hugging him affectionately. No other words left the two, and Romano decided after a while that if he just relaxed, he might have enough energy to beat him up later, so he rested upon the other and watched the turtles swim with him, smirking all the while.
Let's see them get this close to the b*****d. Yeah, that's what I thought. Stupid turtles.
Vocabulary
Pues, buenos dias- Well, good morning.
¿Sabes que?- You know what?
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Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 10:14 pm
and he SNAPS
Spain x S. Italy
Nation Names At Use
Oneshot.
It's quiet in the large house, and a swelling urge to break the unnerving silence rises in the Italian's throat. Why is it always so quiet, especially when he cleans? Sure, it's nice to work without interruptions, but this is getting far too ridiculous. It's the same thing every time he comes over. He doesn't have to clean up when he comes visit Spain's house, but some nostalgic feeling in him takes over and he cleans anyway, just as he used to when he was younger and wearing those despicable maid clothes.
And, every time he cleans, Spain is in the other room, reading, or maybe just staring out the window in silence. It’s one of the few times that he sees the sunny nation in a solemn mood, almost as if he’s reminiscing and thinking of younger, more carefree times.
Romano does not like this.
He supposes that, of course, the best way to break the silence is to hurt Spain and annoy him.
Sometimes, he comes up to him and smacks him upside the head, emitting a cry of "Oy! Get up and do something productive, dammit!".
Once he poked him with his own deck brush, hard, and yelled something about him being too lazy and never cleaning his own home.
Every time, Spain does nothing but smile and laugh. It's as if there is absolutely no anger in the brown-haired nation. There is no rage, no lashing out at his Italy.
Today is the same. Romano goes over and bumps his shoulder with a fist, muttering curses and insults at the other, telling him to go get him some food or something. The other laughs and, naturally, nods and leaves to get them tomatoes.
And after a while, when Spain comes back from the kitchen claiming that he's out of tomatoes at the moment and they should go get some at the market, the Italian's hair bristles and he bounces to his feet, yelling at the other.
"DAMMIT, you even forget to stock up on your own groceries?! How incredibly stupid are you, anyway!?!"
Spain's mouth twitches slightly.
"Ah, but Lovi, that's why we're going righ-"
"NO, there is no 'we'. It should really be just YOU, you b*****d! YOU go get your own food, and don't drag me along like I'm your little b***h or something!"
It twitches again. And it's not tilting upwards.
"Lovino, that's not cute at ******** DAMMIT, stop acting like I'm still a child! " And now Romano's stomped his way over to Spain, and he's slapped the older nation across his face, hard, wanting to teach him a lesson. However, there is no lesson to teach, Romano is simply angry.
Spain takes the blow and is astounded. Romano had attacked quickly- he hadn't seen that coming at all. He stands there, unsure of what to do as the older Italian brother shouts "I'm not a kid anymore! You have to understand, dammit!" and he listens, eyes wide, not knowing what to feel or how to react. But then, instinct begins to take over and something begins to bubble in the Spaniard…something he… he hasn't felt in years, in centuries. The last time he recalls feeling anything even remotely close to this was during the conquering of those Aztecs, those Incas, those natives down in parts that had been unknown to him at the time. It's some sort of strength, and his eyes narrow as they become jaded, dull. Then, the next thing he knows, he's grabbed the Italian's neck, and he's pushed him off and whirled them around and Romano is slammed into the wall.
Romano's breath hitches in his throat, caught helplessly as hands press into his neck and keep him pinned to the cold wall behind him. His eyes widen and they search Spain's eyes, hoping to see them change, hoping that they'll widen as well and he'll jump back and cry out 'I'm sorry, Lovi! and he'll see that weak Spain again.
But it doesn't happen. The green eyes he's looking into don't appear to be regretting anything. He's staring into the eyes of a true conquistador, a true conqueror.
"Don't you dare hit me like that again," comes Spain's voice. It's hushed, almost threatening--so different from what Romano's used to.
It sends frozen shivers down his spine.
Then, just like that, Spain has pulled back, his hands gone to rest by his sides and he moves towards the door. Romano watches as Spain grabs an odd pouch and the keys from the table, and when the green eyed man opens the door, the Italian tries to call out his name, but the door has already closed. There is no doubt in Romano’s mind that Spain is probably going to the market or something...alone, just as the Italian has oh-so politely screamed at him.
Now alone in the house, Romano shudders and he stands there for a few seconds before reaching up to rub at his neck, his fingers skimming over the area where Spain's hands had been not too long ago. "...You b*****d..." he begins to choke out, his hands slowly beginning to trail up to his face, where warm tears slowly crawl down and slither atop them.
"I'm so sorry."
--
For an hour, Romano sits on the couch, waiting for the Spaniard to come back. He's still waiting to see him running to him, saying he's sorry and possibly coming over and hugging him to death. He's never wanted Spain's hugs- they're always so tight and they almost crush him. But right now, he really needs one.
He hears the doorknob rattle a bit and his head jolts up, his heart races and all that goes through his mind is s**t s**t s**t I really hope that's him.
It is.
In comes Spain, carrying a brown paper sack which he places on the nearest table, setting the keys down beside it. Afterwards his hand is running through his hair, and a sigh escapes him as he turns to look at the figure on the couch. His eyes aren't hazed over anymore, and Romano's eyes widen as he realizes that they're actually shining, they're puffy... he's been crying. Spain's been crying.
“Lovino,” Spain says, and this time there is no threat. His voice is soft, and it's the calm voice that the Italian is used to. Thus, Spain doesn't even get a chance to finish his statement, for the other has run into his arms and he's clinging close, holding him tightly and burying his nose in his shoulder, nuzzling, tears breaking the dam and flowing again.
"I'm sorry, dammit! Don't do that to me again!" he almost, almost wants to hit him, because this last hour has been hell for his heart and he wants to release some of that anger at Spain. But he can't because if he does, history will repeat itself, and Romano isn't sure if his heart could take something like that.
Spain is quiet, still, and the emotion that bubbles up inside this time is not that of a conqueror. It's not of a conquistador at all. It's of a father, a caretaker, a friend who smiles sadly and hugs the boy affectionately, reaches down and kisses his head.
"Compre tomates romanos. ¿Quieres uno?"
Romano nods, and he grumbles a string of curses while his cheeks flare red, mainly due to the fact that Spain has picked him up in a bride-hold and taken him over to the kitchen, where he sets Romano on the countertop and allows him to help wash tomatoes. It’s silent again, and again, Romano feels the urge to break it. This time, however, he doesn’t yell at Spain or even poke him. He simply leans over and gives him a small kiss on the cheek, then turns away and blushes brightly while Spain's laugh echoes throughout the kitchen.
A laugh is a better way to break a silence.
Vocabulary
Compre tomates romanos. ¿Quieres uno? - I bought 'Roman Tomatoes'. Want one?
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Posted: Sat Sep 12, 2009 10:25 pm
o, CANADA
France x Canada
Human Names At Use
Oneshot. A quiet day in a quiet home. It wasn't an unusual sight, but still rather peculiar. One would think that, when a host had company at their home, there would be conversation, laughter, some form of interaction. And yet, somewhere amidst the many rooms of the large house two figures sat, silent, each involved in his own activity requiring no sound, no need for words.
A slightly-bearded blonde, the older of the pair, had taken up residence on a maroon loveseat idly placed not far from a flickering fireplace. Blue eyes locked onto dark lettering upon creamed, wrinkled pages- worn from age, from repeated use. The story remained the same, however. Always enticing, surprising him every time he picked up the book.
A second blonde, a younger, spectacled one who also acted as the host of the house, sat not far from the other. His own bright eyes weren't focused on literature, but rather, life. His hands were moving without a sound as his fingers threaded through soft white fur belonging to his beloved pet. Occasionally, his lips would part, as if he wanted to release a small chuckle at his pet's antics when he scratched in just the right spot, but it was a silent laugh. No real sound ever escaped- he feared if he did, he may just break the serene mood that had been set.
It surprised him when, upon opening his lips to release one of those unheard laughs, the sound that escaped him wasn't that of his own voice. It was deeper, more toned, and soon Matthew began to hear words, thick with accent and song-
"O Canada, terre de nos aïeux..."
He made not a sound as his hands paused in their roam over the soft terrain of fur and his eyes flickered upwards to the male on the couch. What he noticed right away was that the book that the Frenchman had previously been reading wasn't in his hands anymore, but rather, in his lap. The book was still open, pages crumpling a bit due to its new shift in position, and Matthew frowned a bit. He hoped they wouldn't become too wrinkled, for that book was priceless.
"Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux..."
Ah, the singing commenced once again. The frown was neatly tucked away after that, due to the sudden realization of what, exactly, the other was singing. Many times had that song been whispered in his ear, during restless nights when he was young and could not let slumber come. It had been a lullaby once- now, it was an anthem.
"Car ton bras sait porter l'épée, il sait porter la croix-"
But all too soon, Francis was stopping. Matthew blinked curiously and tilted his head, looking at his former mentor, and they shared this unspoken conversation with their eyes. Why were you singing that? And why'd you stop?
I do not wish to sing alone, chéri.
It was comfortably quiet for a while. Francis's blue eyes locked onto almost-mirror images of their own, focusing on its beautiful hue- a lavender diamond only nature could create. And that blush that slowly began to creep onto the younger blonde's face once he realized that the spotlight had been placed upon him... Such a stunning array of colors. Just for him.
"T- ton histoire est une épopée... des plus brillants exploits..."
Matthew's meek voice finally peeked out, wavering, unsure of how he sounded, if he was even pronouncing the French right. But it seemed to please the bearded man, and a smile came onto his features once he saw the Frenchman get down from his position on the loveseat, crawling towards him slowly, much like a lioness making her way to future prey.
"Et ta valeur, de foi trempée, protégera nos foyers et nos droits."
The words were practically being whispered now, rather than sung. They were soft and husky against Matthew's ear, and he shuddered as he fumbled around to lie down upon his carpet in a more comfortable position. His snow-colored pet even rolled off to the side to give him room before moving to curl up near the fireplace. Its beady eyes watched the scene, shifting occasionally to look at its owner and the man that was now leaning over him.
"Protégera nos foyers et nos droits." Matthew quietly sang, oh-so thankful that he'd gotten the last line. The young blonde was also glad he'd even remembered the lines Francis had indirectly appointed him to sing. Canada's anthem, although recognized by millions, wasn't usually memorized by everyone.
"Trés bien," came Francis's voice then, and Matthew focused his attention on the older male. A sheepish smile was soon on his face and he could feel his cheeks color brightly as the other praised him with multiple French phrases and kisses here and there.
Soon, the small laughs that he had been holding back for a while came forth in a tiny fit of giggles. "That was so random," chuckled the younger blonde and unknowingly began to tilt his head back, leaving his neck open, much to Francis’ delight. Chaste kisses were soon placed upon the available space, and more giggles erupted.
"The turn of events from it, however, are quite rewarding, non?" Francis smiled at the amusing reactions he received and he stopped the kisses to nuzzle the other softly, feeling his stubble occasionally brush against Matthew's neck which caused him to chuckle some more. A seemingly content sigh escaped him afterwards and the kisses started again, pausing only a few times to hum that special tune.
And while Francis hummed, he swore he heard the blonde beneath him coo.
"Allons enfants de la Patrie..."
Vocabulary
chéri- beloved
trés bien- very good
non?- no?
Notes:
In all honesty, the lyrics to "O, Canada" in French were Googled.
What Matt is singing at the end is the start to France's national anthem, La Marseillaise.
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 9:16 pm
pero, te AMO
Spain x Taiwan [Next Generation Hetalia]
Human and Nation Names At Use
Oneshot.
"No."
One syllable, one shot to the heart. It's a word that Raúl can't wrap his mind around. Such an easily-tossed word, thrown here and there, appearing during trades and questions and laughing gestures. It's a simple form of denial, of turning away something unwanted, of easy corrections.
And it shatters his world.
"No?" Raúl repeats, slowly, and his accent makes it so that the word is still cut short, curving upwards with an odd crescendo before coming to a sudden halt.
Green eyes watch the fidgeting nation before him, the nation that currently has his wrist gripped in his hand, stopping his hand from reaching his hair, where there's one strand of hair that's sticking out and he wants to pull it-
"No." His voice is so much sharper now, and it has.. a venom. An odd spice of venom unknown to the Hispanic nation, who flinches at the tone. It's so unlike him. Taiwan- A-Tsai- isn't normally like this. Not when they're home, alone, relaxing on the couch and slumped against each other, watching some cheesy re-run on television. Why is he different when they're at meetings? Why does he refuse? Why does he say-
"I said NO, Raúl!" and A-Tsai's pushed his hand away, and Raúl immediately grabs it with his other hand, gripping his own wrist, rubbing it, not enjoying the new tingling feeling that courses through it. It's cold, ice cold, glaciers skimming through his veins and suffocating them, and yet it burns, hot coal pressed against his skin, hissing, simmering.
There is silence and nearby, a scoff. "Oi, b*****d, you heard him. He doesn't want you molesting his curl." Yes, leave it to Alvaro to pipe up at the most opportune times. A genuine Southern Italian, not different from his father in the least. True to being South Italy, he manages to belittle Spain whenever he can, and what a better time than this?
"I do not know why he keeps trying," comes another voice, and Spain is quick to recognize that one. France. A voice almost equal to his father's. It's hard to miss. "He's been pushing him away for the past twenty minutes."
"...no?" Again, just to make sure. Raúl is testing the waters now, being careful but still courageous. His heart is brittle, trying to keep its composure as his eyes flicker to meet A-Tsai's dark ones, dark orbs that glare at him.
"NO! I don't- I don't want you touching me like that!" A-Tsai's voice wavers, he notices. It's like he doesn't want to say this. Like he doesn't want to say such words of rejection, but knows that he has to. An odd dilemma.
"Pero... te amo." Raúl's voice is calm, betraying his true emotions, a joyful mask he's perfected. It's easy for him to keep a playful façade, an oblivious tone. He's Spain- the sunniest nation around. It's easy.
And this makes the nation's breath hitch. He can hear it pause in his throat, he can see his eyes widening, he can see the hesitation. So it surprises him when Taiwan- ahem, the new representative of Taiwan, same difference- only screams at him as a reply. "I don't CARE! Just NO, Raúl! NO, NO, NO!!" and after that, he turns away, face beet red as he faces China's direction. Said nation only pats his shoulder and mutters something among the lines of "He's not worth it, aru," before turning to glare at Spain.
A heart can only shudder so much before hypothermia sets in.
The rest of the meeting is then held with silence from Spain's part. Only once does he pipe up to say something in regards to America's thoughts about global warming- it's a negative statement, which gets him Canada's disapproval, and he sighs. Beside him, the Southern Italian only gets another chance to scoff and smirk, but as Spain looks over with a dejected look, the smirk morphs into an odd look of sympathy, and it's silent again.
Once the meeting is over, he hitches a ride home with France and says a farewell to no one but both Italies. He misses the sad look that Taiwan gives him as he passes by him in order to get into France's car and drive home.
--
At home, his expression changes but only for a minute. He puts his mask on only for his father's turtles as he feeds them, praises them, pats their heads and cleans their tank. After that, the mask is gone as he plops down on his couch and slumps there, eyes threatening to droop shut. It's almost 3 o'clock, after all. It's almost time for his nap.
A knock at the door stops his eyes from shutting all the way, and he mutters something. Obviously, the visitor must have not heard, because there is more knocking. And then- his words jumble and for some odd reason, he shouts "I'M NOT HOME!!"
The door creaks open and Raúl inwardly slaps himself for forgetting to lock it.
"Hey," comes a quiet voice once the door is shut and locked, and a dark-haired nation comes in. Unmistakable voice. Taiwan.
"¿Que quieres?"
"I'm sorry."
Jade eyes meet ebony.
"¿En serio?"
A-Tsai begins to fidget at this, and Raúl almost grows nervous. That is, until the shyer of the two nations speaks up once again. "I...I don't know what that means."
Gone then is the cold chill that plagued him earlier, and Spain bursts into laughter. Nice, warm, bubbly laughter, that makes A-Tsai's cheeks burn bright as he nears the other and crawls onto the couch, slumping onto him, squeaking once the brunet hugs him tightly.
"You were so mean earlier," Raúl murmurs, and A-Tsai can only squeak again as their gazes meet. "Why do you-?"
"I- I don't know." it's an honest answer, Raúl can tell, because A-Tsai's blush grows stronger and he looks away. "I- I'm not- you know I'm not used to affection when- when everyone's there! Everyone was there! I- I!"
"You didn't have to be so mean..." Spain whines, and it affects A-Tsai, he can tell that too. Because A-Tsai looks up, and he looks at him with these big eyes, and he leans in and it looks like he's about to give him a small kiss, but he shies away. As usual.
It's quiet until Raúl sighs and leans forward, taking the initiative, stealing that kiss. It doesn't take long for the other nation to kiss back, slowly, muttering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," into the sweet lip lock, over and over.
And A-Tsai knows he's forgiven when he hears "Esta bien, porque yo te amo," somewhere in between those kisses, and he can't help but smile and truly kiss back, determined to make up for lost time.
Vocabulary
Pero... te amo - But... I love you.
¿Que quieres? - What do you want?
¿En serio? - Seriously?
Esta bien, porque yo te amo - It's okay, because I love you.
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2009 7:12 pm
fantastic day to be EARLY
Spain x Taiwan [Next Generation Hetalia]
Human Names At Use
Oneshot.
Behind a closed door, there is much fidgeting. Then, a hollowed noise, something akin to a metal pipe clanging against the side of a wall, and a contrasting hushed groan is heard.
"They'll hear us!"
Shuffling occurs, the sound of clothing folding awkwardly, folding and slipping. If one had a vivid imagination, they could practically see the scene that could be one of many possibilities behind that wooden door.
"I bet no one's even arrived, mi amor..."
And suddenly, a louder sound, one that crackles and breaks at its highest peak, when the moan makes its transition into a whine, filled with ardor and wanton need.
Outside the door, in a large room consisting of one -count it, one!- immense table with over twenty seats, a nation snickered.
"My word," came Léon's voice, bubbling laughter muffled by a hand atop his mouth, "my dear Raúl appears to have finally taken the initiative. This is a fantastic day to be early!"
The blond nation proceeded to then slump against the wall nearest the door, sliding down onto a sitting position and leaning his head back, closing his eyes, silent. Waiting. Occasionally, a sound from within the walls would make the corners of his mouth tilt upwards dramatically, vivid images dancing in his head. When he heard a thump, he could only assume one of the small closet's occupants had been placed against the wall, or had knocked something over to make room. A moan told many stories, and the ones that his mind created for him were all beautiful. A chuckle followed by a groan, something that seemed to occur often, gave Léon even more gorgeous scenarios to ponder over.
But all too soon, it was over, and his head turned when he heard a click. The door swung open and two nations stumbled out, one desperately trying to fix a tie upon his white collared shirt, the second fumbling with his belt buckle.
A-Tsai was the first to notice the French nation by the door, and his hands paused on his belt, and he just screamed. This caught Raúl's attention, whose hands were still trying to figure out how to put on a tie the right way, and he glanced over to see Léon rising, a smirk on his face.
"I won't tell a soul," the seductive nation reassured them, and while A-Tsai was not convinced (anyone could tell by the way he angrily pouted and blushed tenfold), Raúl only gave a sigh of relief. That is, until he felt his chin being propped up by a hand.
"But you have to demonstrate what you did back there~" Léon's smile was all-too insidious. "How about it, mon peti-"
A-Tsai's eyes widened. Never, never in his life had he seen someone jump back so fast and knock down a person by attacking them with their knees.
"Let's skip the meeting," Raúl said shortly after that, grabbing a stammering A-Tsai's hands and tugging him out of the meeting room. "This was not a good day to be early."
Vocabulary
Mon petit- - My little- (but he was cut off by Raúl's KNEE ATTACK)
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Posted: Mon Nov 09, 2009 7:30 pm
he plays the VIOLIN
Austria x Prussia
Human Names At Use
Oneshot.
And he screamed.
Of course, he couldn't really blame the silver-haired man. Roderich could see it in his eyes and in the way he worked. The man was honestly trying to accomplish the task that had been taught to him- play the violin. Play one song on the violin to prove just how awesome the man really was. And yet there was no elegance, no style. Weillschmidt's fingers were just too clumsy across that neck- they skittered over the strings, his motions shockingly similar to that of a headless chicken clucking across a field. The horse hair tightened on the wooden bow and skid across the silver chords, screeching, releasing a sound of despair which made the Austrian man quail.
And when that bow somehow, somehow, shot off the violin and clattered on the ground, rolling and twisting down the stairs nearby, Roderich just could not keep his composure any longer.
He clutched his hair and he screamed.
"You haughty, atrocious prat!" Roderich's yell was enough to make Gilbert pause and just stare at him in pure, quizzical shock. He'd done many things during their acquaintanceship, friendship, and partnership that could have made the usually-strict man shatter. But never, never in his life had he actually made him snap. This was different. This was very new.
It was interesting.
"What? Freaking out over a violin thing? It just couldn't handle my awesome." Gilbert's egotistical grin was soon plopped upon his face, much to the musician's chagrin, who only scowled. "I mean, did you hear that? That was some amazing s**t right there, Ro-"
"Shut it!" the Austrian was quick to snap in Gilbert's direction and soon he was trotting down the stairs, one hand gently placed upon the rail for support, eyes focused on the steps before him so he would not take a clumsy step and fall. And all too quickly, he was at the bottom, holding the bow in his hands as if it were a priceless jewel. His fingers --graceful, unlike Gilbert's-- slid over the wood carefully, wiping away a small percentage of dust that had gathered on it due to its journey down the stairs. They traveled to a little silver knob at the end of the bow after that and twisted it, loosening and tightening the horse hairs, making sure they were still stable and unharmed.
Upstairs, Gilbert scoffed. "Seriously? Come on..." and soon, he was on his way downstairs, but he did not walk. How could he walk down the stairs when there was a railing right there, upon which he could slide down like the amazing guy he was? So it was precisely what he did- he jumped upon that railing and slid down, cheering with a 'whoop!' as he traveled down, one hand mildly supporting him and the other waving the violin in the air. It took seconds for him to be at Roderich's side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, smirking as the other man stuttered and turned a delicate shade of pink.
"You have to admit, Roderich, that my playing skills on this piece of crap were beyond amazing."
It was Roderich's turn to scoff as he pulled himself out of the silver-head's hold and stepped back, behind him. Within milliseconds, he was positioned with his head on Gilbert's right shoulder, his right arm moving over to control Gilbert's right arm- like a puppet, his own musical puppet- so he switched the violin between hands. It did not take long for the brunet to position their arms just so, to where Gilbert was poised like a true musician, holding his violin and bow as if they were children, simple and beautiful, unique and clean.
"Put your fingers...here," the instructions flowed cooly through the air. They were followed, albeit a bit awkwardly, and the tutor only smiled and used his hand to help his student's, getting them into the right position before moving their joined right hands so the bow could glide over the strings. The lesson was sudden, sharp, and Roderich was not going to waste time with it.
"Hold the neck, Gilbert, do not strangle it.
"Let your fingers drift from string to string, not grind. No, this is in no way able to be compared to skateboarding- this is art. Drift, Gilbert, drift.
"The bow must be able to float gently over the platinum strings, not be unnecessarily crushed onto them. Will you stop that?! Allow me!"
It was not long until Gilbert realized that his partner was serious. Once that was discovered, all arrogance was forgotten, and the man relaxed. Although his smirk did not cease as he noticed that Roderich was furiously flushing throughout the entire lesson, the rest of him was tranquil. He allowed the other to guide his arm over the wooden instrument, he allowed the real musician to tap at his fingers with his own in order to get them into the right place for the correct notes; notes that wouldn't make it sound as if the cat across the street was dying.
No more was the shrill sound that had haunted the house before.
Now, with Roderich's body fitting neatly behind Gilbert's, their arms together, heads bumped against each other and fingers interlocking occasionally as new notes were played. Real harmonies, real music was made.
And this, Roderich thinks to himself, is something he knows Gilbert's going to bother him about later. How they made sweet, sweet music and how girlish his fingers must have been as they elegantly danced over the neck with his own, and how he knew it must have somehow turned him on ("What was digging into my back was definitely not your knee, haha!") but for now, all that doesn't matter. Because Gilbert's actually smiling, not cynically. It's genuine. And it's aimed at him, as he tilts his head for a split second to let his lips brush against Roderich's cheek, muttering something about "awesome music", to which Roderich laughs and turns his head to kiss right back, smiling with the gorgeous melody they play together as it hums in the background.
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Posted: Tue Nov 10, 2009 9:30 pm
restoration at negative PERCENT
Spain x Taiwan [Next Generation Hetalia] / [Crossover with Kingdom Hearts II]
Human Names At Use / Distinctive Nobody Names At Use
Part 1 Do you know who you are?
Raúl sees a bright light and a gloved hand being held out towards him. Leather, black, torn, dust-covered, matted.
"Where is he?" is the first thing that escapes his lips, and it's not his voice. The Spaniard's voice is lighthearted, cheerful, it's smooth and tinted with the beauty and grace of the sun.
This pitch is low. Frozen, of glaciers and blizzards and ice volcanoes.
It's not his.
But it's coming out from his lips...
Why- why is it lower, darker, cold?
Do you know who you are? is repeated, and the glove comes nearer. This voice is similar to his own. It's dramatically lower in tone, but it holds the same emotion-
none.
"Where is he?!" comes Raúl's darker, deeper voice, and it's more scratchy now than it used to be. His voice cracks somewhere in his yell too, not helping matters in the least. His eyes sting, and once he realizes that, he also realizes that his whole body is stinging, his arms feeling as if they're on fire and his torso burning with the sensation that it's going to implode any minute.
The black-haired one?
They know. They know where he is.
"What have you done to him?!!" he screams, tries to swipe out and attack the owner of this mysterious glove, but all that happens is that he falls over and clutches at his side, screaming, pain coursing like thick thorns through his thin veins.
He speaks of Staxia, dude! Y'think they know each other?
Another voice. It's... not as dark as the other one, Raúl notices. Still deep.
He probably doesn't remember.
The first voice.
He totally does. He reacted when you mentioned black hair, man, he totally remembers.
Second voice.
It is not convincing proof, Xigbar.
First.
Proof enough for me, man!
Secon-
"A-TSAI!" he screams, and the pain increases, makes him contort his body in dangerous angles as the fiery sensation of his death reemerges.
And while he withers and shrieks, one of the two voices whistles lowly.
We can use this guy, Superior. He's already a Nobody, and he knows that other guy's original name. This is really awesome.
There is more silence from the two, and Raúl's screams die down as he realizes he can't scream anymore- there's no sound left to release. It's just empty sobs now.
Raúl.
The Spaniard turns sharply at the name. That's his name. Or- it- it feels like his name. All he can remember is the name of A-Tsai- he can't remember anything else. But this word feels like his name, it-
He sees four letters flash before his eyes and he yelps, blinded.
R a ú l
The letters spin and he can't follow along- he looks away and he sees the owner of the second voice. Eyepatch. Scar. Menacing yellow eye. Sadistic grin. Hood. What appears to be the tip of a ponytail by his neck. Chains. Leather-
X-a-ú-l-r? How the hell do you say that?
Ah, yes. He is the one of the second voice.
Xaúlr. Say it, it is not too difficult.
...whatever. Should we take this kid back?
You know what to do.
Alley-oop, kiddo!
Something purple and silver smacks his head and the newly-dubbed Xaulr is out cold.
_____________________________________________________
It's days before Raúl is able to open his eyes again and when he does, he feels nothing. Absolutely nothing. He's not sleepy, even though he's very sure he's been in a coma for the past two weeks. He's not frightened, even though the odd laboratory-type room that he is could be considered one of the most scary things any man has ever seen.
He.. feels nothing, even physically. His body is weightless. There is mass, but there is no weight, as if gravity doesn't feel like acting upon him, as if it just wants to let him float. But he's not floating...
"Oh shi-! He's woken up! Hey, hey Demyx, he's up!"
"Xaúlr, right?"
The Spaniard props himself up on his elbows and glances around, feeling the sheets around him sink and pool around his hips. They fold, not scrunch- they're so neatly ironed, crisp and perfected.
Everything in this lab, he notices... it looks perfected.
"Hey, kiddo! Welcome back. Damn, we haven't had someone knocked out that long since Roxas- but he was special, so..."
The second voice! He and the first voice were responsible for all of this, he's sure of it.
He glares at him, and another being steps into the picture. The aura of the room suddenly changes- and he sees a lot of himself in this new being. He's sunny and with wild hair, with eyes that sparkle with this mischievous grin in his direction. "Aw, Xiggy- don't bother him, he's new! Hey, you're Xaúlr, right? I'm Demyx!"
"Jeez, kid, don't call me that where everyone can hear," comes the second voice- Xiggy? Is that what he called him? Seems like a pet name- someone with that menacing of a look can't have such a name like Xiggy.
"Y..yeah," he finally says because... Xaúlr.. it feels right. That really feels like his name.
The boy- Demyx- grins at this and steps back, steps into the other being's arms, and looks up at him with this big smile that contrasts the eye patched man's frown. "He seems pretty nice, Xigbar."
"Why are you so affectionate?" is all the second voice- Xigbar- murmurs and the new Xaúlr raises an eyebrow. He seems to act as if he minds the closeness, but he's not really pulling away. He staying right by the bubbly boy and this sparks memories in his mind.
Of two bodies and one Christmas night-
Two lips at a world meeting-
Endless nights of cuddling on the couch-
Where-
who-?
"A-Tsai," Xaúlr breathes, and the two leather-coated beings that are gazing at each other tilt their head to look right back at him. He meets their gaze- a pair of aquamarine orbs and one golden jewel lock with a dark green that's threatening to turn into black.
"Where is he? Where's A-Tsai?"
It's quiet, but Xigbar is the first to snort. "All you can think about is 'A-Tsai' this and 'A-Tsai' that... you should really be asking where you are and s**t, not-"
"Xigbar... he's obviously worried..."
"Kid, he can't be worried. You know why-"
"But he has a heart-!"
"Let's not start this again."
"Xigbar!"
And while the two start bickering, Xaúlr shuts his eyes and tunes them out. Where is he? What happened? Why couldn't he remember anything? He could only remember a name, one name, the one he kept calling out for. And now that he'd slept, he could remember who it was, and why he had cared for him so much, and he knew that he wanted to see him because apparently, he had once meant more to him than life itself.
Xaúlr wanted to see A-Tsai again.
Raúl wanted to see A-Tsai again.
"What's going on?!" the darker of the three finally snaps, and the arguing duo pause to glance over at him again. It gets quiet, too quiet, but neither of them are uncomfortable. They can't be.
"Let's just tell him straight up," the one named Xigbar murmurs, and the other being huddles tighter in the other's arms, as if asking for protection against the truth. He's offered the warmth for a few seconds and soon, he pulls away, waving with a small smile -Even Raú- Xaúlr, can see it is forced- before suddenly disappearing into darkness.
Yes.
Disappearing into darkness.
A large hole of black and purple swirls in front of the boy with the faux hairstyle and he calmly steps into it, as if entering a black hole is the most common thing in the world, and the next thing Xaúlr knows, he's gone.
Like David freaking Copperfield.
Dark green eyes widen and Xigbar chuckles, coming over to him.
"You'll see that a lot, and you'll learn how to do that, too." he waves a hand casually. "You're a Nobody now. It's how we travel-"
"A...Nobody?"
"Oh, right. I should start from the beginning, huh? Well, kiddo, it's a pretty long story, but here goes..."
____________________________________________________
Two days later, after Xaúlr is finally comfortable with the knowledge that Raúl is dead -Spain, the empire of Spain is dead- and the name he keeps remembering, A-Tsai, was once the name of a new Nobody they found a while back -Staxia is his new name. Is Taiwan dead too?- , Xaúlr learns there is more to being a Nobody than just lacking a heart and any feelings to go with it.
Powers.
One can retrieve powers.
He is thoroughly impressed with many of the original 14's powers. Flora, ice, earth, illusions, light, fire, water, space... the list goes on and on. There's so many, and now he's curious as to if he'll ever get one.
A few days after that, he gets a tutor.
Diluxia is her name, a female member of blue hair and green eyes that remind him of the ones he once had. She appears to be dangerous and her subtitle is quite something to infer that by. The Scarred Nightwatcher.
Everyone, along with their powers, gains a subtitle that accompanies their new strength. It makes sense.
For example, his tutor's power consists of the zodiac- she gathers the stars and constellations, plays with the many signs of the zodiac and summons them. As an example and introduction to the fun world of powers and summons, she, on their first lesson, brings down a giant scorpion and sits upon it, beaming down at the bewildered Xaúlr.
"It's just one of many things you'll learn how to do!" she explains with a grin.
For hours they focus on getting him to discover his new skill. They learn about each other during their spontaneous bursts of pausing their training and discussing their past lives.
For example:
Diluxia's original name was Claudia, but upon her naming, the installed 'X' clashed onto the letter C and straightened it, much to Luxord's [another member] amusement. Her name was skewered but the Gambler of Fate [this was Luxord's subtitle] only waved a hand and suggested they keep it.
Xaúlr has regained three more memories since the day he woke from the coma. He's remembered that he was a nation, a concept Diluxia can't grasp but accepts. He's also remembered a new word that's predominant in his mind- vanilla.
The last thing he recalls is that he had a lover who had a rather sensitive curl. Diluxia isn't too sure about this memory either, but she lets it pass.
Regardless, as they continue, nothing appears to work. Xaúlr is focused on only remembering more things, specifically about the one he knew was A-Tsai and is now Staxia. Diluxia wants him to focus on the now, the present, the task of getting him a new power, but nothing occurs.
Until they see another coated figure enter their session.
Black hair.
Bright eyes.
One. Long. Curl.
"XVII!" Diluxia calls out, and Xaúlr glances over with an odd look. He's not sure why she's calling the other member 'Seventeen', because if they had a numbering system, he hasn't been told of it yet.
"XV," hums the boy. His voice is soft, almost timid. He turns to face Xaúlr, and suddenly, there's a hesitation, as if he regrets looking that way, as if he's debating on whether to look away now or not.
There is a pause, and then-
"Staxia, this is Xaúlr."
A magnetic hum rings throughout the training area and Xaúlr feels the metal beads on his cloak start to twitch before shattering out of their hold and falling to the tile floor, scattering in all directions.
Notes
Original 14 is referring to, yes, Organization XIII plus Xion. I have the time set to be the times when she was still around.
Flora= flower. Plants. Marluxia.
Diluxia, as noticed, is not part of the Original 14. She is XV ( 15 ), an OC I made about two years back [and I did actually make her XV because if I made her XIV ( 14 ) , it would have been Mary-Sue-ish ... and.. I wouldn't have liked that. And Xion's here now. So.]
Staxia, in turn, would be XVII ( 17 ) because I'm going to just say that, somewhere in there, there's a XVI ( 16 ). This way things aren't just in perfect order and they joined right after each other and omg what a coincidence.
This will make Xaúlr XVIII ( 18 ). Just in case I say the numeral instead of his name in the following parts to this fic.
Yes, I totally added Xigbar/Demyx in here. Hushhh.
I do not own Kingdom Hearts II. I wish I did. But alas, I don't. I just have the game.
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Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2009 8:37 pm
restoration at negative PERCENT
Spain x Taiwan [Next Generation Hetalia] / [Crossover with Kingdom Hearts II]
Human Names At Use / Distinctive Nobody Names At Use
Part 2 "Seal!" comes a sudden cry as the magnetic hum becomes louder, deafening. Xaúlr is trembling, eyes still wide as he stares at the one called Staxia, because that's- that's the Staxia, the one he keeps wanting to remember more about, wants to learn more about-
And he notices, suddenly, that Staxia is the one that's yelling.
"XVII, you better not!" comes Diluxia's sharp command, and for a second, she moves, as if she's going to run forward but immediately, she stops.
There's a beam of light coming Xaúlr's way and he raises his hands instinctively, crossing his arms in front of him as a makeshift shield. He crouches, spreading the energy, the momentum, waiting.
The light hits his hand and he screams, because it's hot ice, it burns and yet it's cold in his veins and his hand spasms.
"Barrier of Naught!" Diluxia practically bellows in the younger Nobody's direction, and her eyes are glared while Staxia's widen. It's his subtitle- when called upon by a subtitle, usually you are in a lot of trouble. It's more trouble if you're called by your number, but this is just as bad in his eyes.
"He- he was summoning something! I could sense it!" that's Staxia's best defense, Xaúlr notes, but it's not helping the wound that's forming on his hand. A scar is forming on the flesh, where his palm and the back of his hand unite, and it's a large 'x' with one of the lines larger than the other.
The Nightwatcher is enraged. "Don't seal him, damn it! I swear, if you locked away my student's power, I'll kick your a**!" she shakes her fist, and now her attention turns back to Xaúlr, who is clutching his hand and shaking.
"What did he do?" Xaúlr asks, gripping his wrist, rubbing his thumb over the cut that has scarred so quickly, it looks as if he'd only received the wound months ago. "What did he do?!"
Diluxia is just silent as she takes his hand and examines it closely, green eyes blazing, searching for any sign that something may have gone terribly wrong.
"You're so lucky he's still inexperienced," she mutters, "he just gave you a scar..." and as she speaks she hears Staxia stalk over, a frown evident on his countenance.
"Inexperienced?! I've been traini-"
"XVI has taught you nothing!" Diluxia cuts in sharply and Staxia quiets, glares. It is silent until the humming sound appears again and the next thing Xaúlr knows, his attacker is flush against him, chest against chest-
"What in the world?! L-let me go!"
"I-I can't!"
"Your chain!"
The two male Nobodies twist their heads down as best as they can, trying to avoid touching the other's face at all costs, and they glance down at their chests. Staxia's silver chain, the one identical to every other on everyone's cloak, is pressed against the metallic zipper of Xaúlr's cloak.
"Magnetism." the blue-haired Nobody breathes, and a smile graces her lips. "That's so freaking cool."
_________________________________________________
It takes them hours to get Xaúlr in a calm state of mind to the point where the magnetic bond can be released, and after much sputtering and odd blushing is done on their parts, the trio sit down to talk.
Diluxia, however, cannot stay long. She's still amidst her own training, and she disappears in a flash of black to go to her mentor's room: Havoc's Divide.
Staxia and Xaúlr sit in a comfortable silence for an hour.
"A-Tsai," Xaúlr finally says, and his companion stiffens.
"He's dead." the Barrier of Naught has a voice that's as cold as his, but still as soft as the voice his head remembers A-Tsai's to be.
"Raúl is too," the newest member interjects, and he hears an odd sound escape Staxia. It's as if he's choking back a sob- but that can't happen. Xigbar explained to him in detail that they can't show emotion like that anymore, that it's impossible for them to.
"How?" the black-haired Nobody inquires and the darker-brown-haired being glances down. He remembers nothing.
"HOW?" it's more desperate now, and Xaúlr doesn't understand why. They're not supposed to have such vivid emotion, right? Then why does he sound as if he's about to-
"HOW DID HE DIE?!"
"I don't remember, okay?! I don't know!"
And the silence envelops them again, until Xaúlr sighs and locks his gaze with Staxia's.
"All I know is he died with A-Tsai on his mind... because that's the only thing I cared about when I woke up."
_________________________________________________
After a few days, weeks, months, Xaúlr slowly builds a stronger bond with the Nobody known as Staxia. Both of their powers have improved due to a major change in their training- upon the elimination of their sixteenth member ["a tragedy," Xigbar had hummed, but nothing more was said] Diluxia has taken the apprentices in to train them both at once, a task she thought to be tedious at first but quite rewarding as the days went on.
It is simply killing two birds with one stone.
Thus, Staxia and Xaúlr take to be occasionally seen together most of their time as they idle around their considerably-nice castle. They associate and bond before training and after training, but if one were to ask either one of them, both are most likely bound to say that during training is when they really learn more about each other.
Then, there are the missions.
Xaúlr enjoys them as much as a Nobody can enjoy anything.
Which is absolutely not at all.
Staxia seems to have a pretty neutral voice on the subject. If they have a mission, then they have a mission, simple as that. It is rare that they ever share a common task, however. Their Superior seems to take in mind that they are around each other enough already and continues to send them into separate missions as much as possible.
Hence why Xaúlr dislikes them greatly.
It cuts into his bonding time. He still wants to learn more about Staxia, even though he knows he's learned a great deal about him and himself over the time he has joined this odd Organization.
And then, one day, Lady Luck plays her cards in his favor.
It is a Monday. Xaúlr and Staxia are waiting in the Hall of Empty Melodies- a favorite of Demyx's and even more of a favorite of Xigbar's- it is said that the latter would shoot freestyle in this room whenever he could and the former would play a song that would echo for hours.
Regardless.
As they wait, the Barrier of Naught points out that their mentor hasn't arrived yet, and the Newtonian Abyss finds himself nodding and agreeing. [Ah, had he not mentioned? The second week of training, their Superior had finally conjured a subtitle for him, and he felt that it fit rather nicely.]
And so they sit in silence, occasionally prodding each other with their weapons playfully (Staxia's being a staff with an ending blade that could kill, and Xaúlr's being two war-fans with blades sharpened to the point, with each fan having either a negative or positive charge).
That's when they hear it.
Their mentor's unforgettable shriek resonating throughout the large room. "Voy a matarlo!!" the blue-haired Nightwatcher screams as she stalks into the room, and both of the younger Nobodies stare at her.
One has a look of pure confusion on his face, the other of pure shock.
Staxia, the former, speaks up first. "...what did you say?"
Before Diluxia can answer, Xaúlr finds himself answering first. "She's going to kill someone," he breathes, and Diluxia glances over at him, elven ears twitching oddly.
"...you understand?" she practically gasps, and Xaúlr stammers. "I- I guess!"
"You didn't tell me you spoke another dialect," Staxia huffs and leans forward from his sitting position, pushing himself up to his feet. Xaúlr soon follows, shrugging as he stands. "I didn't know!"
"...Awkward," Diluxia drawls out, and her ears stop twitching. "Anyway- yeah. I'm going to kill Xemnas, honestly.."
"Why would you do something like that?" Staxia questions, and he tilts his head in a way that makes Xaúlr's breath hitch for reasons unknown to him just yet. It looks so placid, so innocent and-
Their mentor only groans, her pupil-less eyes flashing. "He's sending you two on a mission... and you two had that freaking agility trial run today!"
Staxia and Xaúlr thank Lady Luck with everything that they have.
"What mission?" Xaúlr pipes up, sounding somewhat intrigued. Anything is better than an agility trial run. Bleh. What even is that, anyway?
Diluxia huffs as she reaches into one of her cloak pockets while the two boys lean forward, interested and somewhat excited to leave the castle and skip a few days of training.
After a bit of rummaging around, she takes out a note and hands it to Staxia, who quickly begins scanning it while Xaúlr peeks over his shoulder.
"Destiny Islands," Diluxia whistles while they read along. "Knock yourself out. Rumor is there's some fruit there that, when eaten by two individuals, interlocks their destinies with each other or something. Xemnas and Vexen want to study the properties of this fruit and see if it can somehow help them with understanding the ways of the future and destiny itself... or if it's just a silly old fruit."
Xaúlr snorts, unconvinced, but Staxia's eyes widen.
"You can leave today, or whatever. But when you get back, you are making up all that missed training!" Diluxia waves a finger in warning and soon she claps her hands, opening a side portal for herself. "I'm going to play poker with Luxord. You two be good and, if you get in any trouble, don't be afraid to call me for backup. Other than that, use what I've taught you guys!"
Both Nobodies nod and as Diluxia disappears, they snicker and bump their fists together. Staxia stuffs the note in his pocket and flicks his head, motioning for Xaúlr to follow along as he runs out of the room and begins to head out of the castle.
Vocabulary
Voy a matarlo!!- I'm going to kill him!!
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Posted: Wed Nov 25, 2009 8:06 pm
restoration at negative PERCENT
Spain x Taiwan [Next Generation Hetalia] / [Crossover with Kingdom Hearts II]
Human Names At Use / Distinctive Nobody Names At Use
Part 3
Staxia had insisted he be the one to send them on their way to Destiny Islands. His advancements outmatch Xaúlr's and he was absolutely sure that he could get them there safely. Xaúlr, however, is eager to see if he can make a dark portal that will lead them to the islands, and he actually does it, grinning as his hand outlines a circle and makes a large path for them to walk through.
They land in the middle of the ocean and Xaúlr gets slapped.
Hard.
"I did not deserve that!!" the newest Nobody cries, and all Staxia can do is roll his eyes before he starts swimming towards the island, grumbling against the waves. Occasionally, his grumbles are garbled, and that is purely the water's fault coming into his system. On those rare occasions when Xaúlr hears a garble, he also hears coughs that follow, and the Newtonian Abyss frowns.
He wants to feel remorse, regret for being so reckless as to attempt a portal that he knew wouldn't come out right, knew would not go in either of their favor.
Yet, he can't. And he sighs at this, because Staxia deserves an apology, and Xaúlr can't bring himself to say it.
______________________________________
It is approximately half an hour until they reach an area relatively close to shore. Both of them have the same unspoken idea of relaxing within the twenty-foot vicinity of the beach and they let the tide carry them in. Soon, they are washed up on shore, Xaúlr laying on the sand face down while the Barrier of Naught is on his side, panting, coughing periodically and hacking up unnecessary water.
Xaúlr frowns yet again, cringing during one sudden violent spasm which brings him to his knees and crawling over to Staxia. The Nobody only scoots away and glares, sitting up and beginning to shed his coat.
"Thanks," spits the dark-haired one, and he takes off his leather cloak, frowning at all the sand that sticks to it. Leather plus wet plus sand equals... a horrible laundry day.
The neophyte says nothing as he too shimmies out of his coat. Rather than lower the zipper and take it off, he tucks in his arms and crawls out the bottom, letting the cloak rest on the sand for a while before bringing it over to the edge of the island and soaking it in water.
"What are you doing?!" Xaúlr hears his comrade snap, and the boy sighs once he gets out of the not-so shallow water, holding his dripping cloak at arms' length.
"Letting the sand slip off," he explains, and walks more into the beach, looking around, wondering if there's someplace to hang this up and let it air dry. He finds a particular palm tree that's curved horizontally and he lets it rest on there.
He hears some sloshing around far off and turns his head, just in time to catch Staxia doing the same thing he'd been doing- rinsing off the sand and soon coming up to him to let their cloaks dry together.
They're silent for a while until Staxia climbs up on a dry part of the tree and sits on it. Xaúlr rests his crossed arms against the trunk and looks over at him, watching as his comrade idly kicks his feet.
"Now the note inside is wet."
"Did we really need it?"
"It had the mission..."
A forced laugh escapes the Spanish Nobody.
"Find the fruit, bring it back. That's it."
He looks up to see Staxia smiling over at him, shoulders up as if he had been shrugging. "You're right. Can't be too hard."
"Not at all."
______________________________________________
Back at Castle Oblivion, their temporary home until Xemnas finishes creating that world he has been working on for weeks, Diluxia laughs as she takes off two earrings and tosses them towards a cloaked member, who catches them with ease.
"You are a cheater, Luxord!" her elven ears twitch and behind the large hood, there is a grin.
"You are just horrible at this game," hums the golden-haired member, and soon turns to look at another member, Xigbar. The eye-patched man is frowning down at his cards and in a split second, he tosses down the little white rectangles.
"To hell with it!" he grumbles, and looks over to Luxord, snorting. "Diluxia's right. You're a freaking cheater, man."
Luxord merely shrugs, and his attention turns to Diluxia, whose ears are still twitching, unaccustomed to lacking earrings.
"Diluxia, love, why don't you invite your underlings? I'm sure they're more fun than cyclops."
"Watch it, you jerk."
"XVII and XVIII? They left for their mission today."
It suddenly becomes very, very, very quiet, and Diluxia's ears stop their little spastic twitches.
"...for Destiny Islands?"
"That's the one."
Xigbar breaks the tense mood by laughing, but after he stops, the tension comes back, stronger than ever. "Oh s**t, Di! That island's still infested with Heartless, remember? They're evolving and adapting in that world! Your neophytes are in some deep-"
"They'll be fine!" Diluxia insists, and Luxord shakes his head as he finally puts down his cards. A royal flush.
Of course.
But no one's interested in the game of poker anymore- instead, all eyes are on the Gambler as he sighs.
"Do you know why they got that mission? That was XVI's mission, Diluxia. The one he failed. That's why Xemnas passed it on to those two."
It's quiet again, and Diluxia groans as her forehead connects with Luxord's shoulder, eyes shut as she takes in everything she just heard. Her mind is slowly piecing the information together.
She feels a hand on her head- Luxord's, and it's patting her head. She can practically feel his smirk as he speaks.
"You made quite a mistake, love."
"British-man is right, kid. Those two are as good as gone. Hey, more hearts for us!"
_________________________________________
"So hey, Xaúlr. You know what?"
It has darkened on Destiny Islands. Time goes by fast in different worlds, they notice. It's gone by especially fast since they have been occupied with making a shelter for the night, and all of the other nights that will surely follow. Since they've been working for hours, amidst the forced laughter and smug looks, the element of time has whizzed by, something they are thankful for. They're beyond exhausted.
Now, as they lay in their new shelter [nothing more than a canopy amidst a few palm trees, their cloaks as their beds, the sand beneath them sculpted to be pillows], the two neophytes resort to talking. The question breaks the status quo of speech and Xaúlr tilts his head, wondering.
"What?"
"I just realized something."
The newer of the two Nobodies stiffens. Something in Staxia's usually-cold voice has changed, and not in a positive manner.
Bad news are ahead. He can sense it.
"We know we're looking for a fruit," Staxia explains, as he shifts around and positions himself on his side so he can face his partner better. Dark eyes meet, and Xaúlr has to look away, much to his comrade's chagrin.
Those eyes are too intense but so empty. He still isn't used to the dead look that every Nobody's eyes hold.
"But we don't know what fruit." Nevertheless, the holder of the XVIIth number speaks. "And we are on a tropical set of islands. There have to be thousands of fruits! How do we know when we find the one we're looking for?"
"It's supposed to be a myth, right?" Xaúlr speaks as well, but he doesn't look up. His eyes stay down, interested in the multicolored specks of sand, ranging from white to gray to light or chocolate brown. "So we ask around, get information about a 'mythical' fruit, and then look for that."
"Ask around? ASK AROUND? Xaúlr. Look at us. We're two guys in dark cloaks swooping around with weapons. I don't think we can just ask around."
It grows painfully quiet after that.
"We'll be here a while, then." Xaúlr mutters, and he curls up, struggling to keep in all the warmth he has. Being a body-less being, however, proves to be a con when it comes to keeping warmth. He has no blood to run through his veins, he has no central heating core. He has nothing but darkness.
Staxia does as well. It explains why, after a while, Xaúlr's shivers are outmatched by his comrade's.
Both of them are too stubborn to say anything about the matter, until Xaúlr feels a body against his own. There's a head against his shoulder, nose nuzzling into his bicep and legs entwining with his own.
"Say anything, and I'll seal you for life." comes the warning snarl, and the darker-skinned of the two Nobodies glances down in time to see eyes shift back up to look at him.
They're not as dead, and the pale skin upon them has softened so a pink hue is visible, even in this darkening night.
"You can seal me all you want, as long as you're warm," he whispers, and lowers his head, feeling his nose brush a few strands of dark hair that smell of ocean and magic.
They are not cold until morning.
Notes
The horizontal palm tree is where Riku, Sora, and Kairi are seen while in Destiny Islands during the game. Also, Axel, Roxas, and Xion share that same spot when they go there once.
Destiny Islands in this installment will consist of mostly the beach, as usual in the games.
The Final Fantasy characters that lived there in the first game with Sora and co. will not be there, mainly because they're probably in the town area and not near the island... and because I can't really do their personalities that well!
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