Old drabbles
Feb. 10th, 2012 06:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lattice_framesI've got a couple old things floating around online that don't make me want to run screaming in the other direction so I figure what the hell.
Quiet Understanding
Hetalia: Axis Powers kink meme fill
PG-13, Sweden/Finland
Really, he was used to odd crashing sounds and loud voices at night. It's just that they usually came from the other end of the Denmark's house rather than outside his door. The only other nation on this end of the hall was Sweden and he was far too quiet to have caused that godawful crash. Right?
A muffled cry of pain had Finland out of bed and pulling on a robe before he realized what was happening. He opened the door to Sweden clutching at the wall to keep upright with one hand and failing to keep his blood in his body with the other.
“Shit, Sverige!” Finland rushed to the taller nation's side and ignored Sweden's flinch as he guided him to a chair. “What on earth did that bastard do to you? Don't even try to move, you're likely to pass out if you do,” he commanded as he gathered bandages and water.
Finland tried to inventory the bruises, scrapes, and gashes visible on Sweden's body as he removed clothes and washed away blood. Fist-shaped bruise with small, thin, deep gouges – a punch from a ringed hand; vaguely triangular bruise on Sweden's torso – kicked while down; some were remnants from Sweden's usual sparring and tussles but most were fresh and still oozing blood.
This was something more than Denmark's usual temper or the normal fights that occurred when Sweden finally snapped. Those left Sweden unable to stop smirking or scowling, depending on how they ended. This- this made Sweden's already imposing face close off even further. More was damaged than Sweden's pride and physical well-being.
“Sverige, what did-” Finland shut up at the look on Sweden's face. He hadn't been aware that the other nation could look more dangerous than before. “Sorry, it's not my business.”
Finland tied the last bandage around Sweden's torso and fussed with the getting blood out of the shirt he'd removed. He was starting to piece together what had happened, but not why. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Sweden didn't have any of the usual bruises from fighting back. There wasn't anything Denmark could threaten Sweden with that would make Sweden stand down, was there?
“Right, let's get you to bed. You need your rest if you're to heal.” He held out a hand to Sweden, then remembered that this is Sweden, the stubborn motherfucker who only accepts help if it's forced upon him. He revised his plan, swung Sweden's better arm over his shoulder, and hoisted Sweden out of the chair.
“'m sorry.” Sweden mumbled, “I couldn'-”
“Hush, you've probably got a cracked tooth and your lip is bleeding. Talking's not going to help.”
They manoeuvred awkwardly to Sweden's room where Finland tried to keep Sweden's collapse onto his bed gentle. “You need to stop being stupid about provoking him. One of these days I'm not going to be able to patch you up, and then where will you be?” Finland demanded as he shoved the covers over Sweden.
“'s'worth it.” Sweden said, blushing as Finland turned to leave.
“Honestly, it's like you've got no self preservation.” The snick of the door closing ended the half-hearted argument.
When I make a break from here, Sweden thought, I'm going to have to take him with me, I can't leave him here with-.
Untitled ST-XI fic
G, gen fic
This got posted as comment fic somewhere on dA ages ago and for the life of me, I can't find it again as it wasn't on any of my works. This was written on a trans-Atlantic plane flight after watching the film seven times (four of those times on the plane).
Later once he'd had a moment to sit and breathe, Jim Kirk would be able to name the myriad emotions flooding his soul. Now though, all he can identify is guilt. An overwhelming guilt that resonates like the third voice echoing through his skull. He attempts to focus on the cartwheeling images and rushing information but the one thing that rises to the forefront of his conciousness is that this is Spock. These are Spock's emotions; his grief, his guilt, his pride (apparently in response to Jim, but he can't quite tell), that strange ephemoral emotion that dances at the corners of Jim's mind and refuses to be identified. These are all Spock's. An older, exhausted Spock, but it's still Spock - the programmer and assistant professor that was known as "Ice Man" behind his students' hands in conspiratorial whispers in order to avoid retribution by the administration. Of course, Spock would never bring a complaint against a student for speaking ill of him, that would be petty and illogical. (What Jim doesn't know is that it took far worse to elicit an emotional response, one that triggered a vow never to allow petty words to compromise him again. Spock doesn't know that in just over an hour he'll break that vow.)
But this - this overwhelming flood of emotions from such a stoic man is such a shock that the only words he can form when he resurfaces - and "emotional transference" is as much an understatement in describing this deluge as "particularly troubled Romulan" is in describing Nero - the only words are "So you do feel", setting a new low in Jim's record of inappropriate responses (a list carefully maintained by Bones, for blackmail purposes of course).
Later, on the Narada, Jim will be glad he is asking old-Spock for an explanation on what just happened; but now he's just confused. His entire view of Spock just slipped sideways in a kaleidoscopic mess and he is starting to believe that old-Spock wasn't lying when he'd said that they'd been friends.
Quiet Understanding
Hetalia: Axis Powers kink meme fill
PG-13, Sweden/Finland
Really, he was used to odd crashing sounds and loud voices at night. It's just that they usually came from the other end of the Denmark's house rather than outside his door. The only other nation on this end of the hall was Sweden and he was far too quiet to have caused that godawful crash. Right?
A muffled cry of pain had Finland out of bed and pulling on a robe before he realized what was happening. He opened the door to Sweden clutching at the wall to keep upright with one hand and failing to keep his blood in his body with the other.
“Shit, Sverige!” Finland rushed to the taller nation's side and ignored Sweden's flinch as he guided him to a chair. “What on earth did that bastard do to you? Don't even try to move, you're likely to pass out if you do,” he commanded as he gathered bandages and water.
Finland tried to inventory the bruises, scrapes, and gashes visible on Sweden's body as he removed clothes and washed away blood. Fist-shaped bruise with small, thin, deep gouges – a punch from a ringed hand; vaguely triangular bruise on Sweden's torso – kicked while down; some were remnants from Sweden's usual sparring and tussles but most were fresh and still oozing blood.
This was something more than Denmark's usual temper or the normal fights that occurred when Sweden finally snapped. Those left Sweden unable to stop smirking or scowling, depending on how they ended. This- this made Sweden's already imposing face close off even further. More was damaged than Sweden's pride and physical well-being.
“Sverige, what did-” Finland shut up at the look on Sweden's face. He hadn't been aware that the other nation could look more dangerous than before. “Sorry, it's not my business.”
Finland tied the last bandage around Sweden's torso and fussed with the getting blood out of the shirt he'd removed. He was starting to piece together what had happened, but not why. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Sweden didn't have any of the usual bruises from fighting back. There wasn't anything Denmark could threaten Sweden with that would make Sweden stand down, was there?
“Right, let's get you to bed. You need your rest if you're to heal.” He held out a hand to Sweden, then remembered that this is Sweden, the stubborn motherfucker who only accepts help if it's forced upon him. He revised his plan, swung Sweden's better arm over his shoulder, and hoisted Sweden out of the chair.
“'m sorry.” Sweden mumbled, “I couldn'-”
“Hush, you've probably got a cracked tooth and your lip is bleeding. Talking's not going to help.”
They manoeuvred awkwardly to Sweden's room where Finland tried to keep Sweden's collapse onto his bed gentle. “You need to stop being stupid about provoking him. One of these days I'm not going to be able to patch you up, and then where will you be?” Finland demanded as he shoved the covers over Sweden.
“'s'worth it.” Sweden said, blushing as Finland turned to leave.
“Honestly, it's like you've got no self preservation.” The snick of the door closing ended the half-hearted argument.
When I make a break from here, Sweden thought, I'm going to have to take him with me, I can't leave him here with-.
Untitled ST-XI fic
G, gen fic
This got posted as comment fic somewhere on dA ages ago and for the life of me, I can't find it again as it wasn't on any of my works. This was written on a trans-Atlantic plane flight after watching the film seven times (four of those times on the plane).
Later once he'd had a moment to sit and breathe, Jim Kirk would be able to name the myriad emotions flooding his soul. Now though, all he can identify is guilt. An overwhelming guilt that resonates like the third voice echoing through his skull. He attempts to focus on the cartwheeling images and rushing information but the one thing that rises to the forefront of his conciousness is that this is Spock. These are Spock's emotions; his grief, his guilt, his pride (apparently in response to Jim, but he can't quite tell), that strange ephemoral emotion that dances at the corners of Jim's mind and refuses to be identified. These are all Spock's. An older, exhausted Spock, but it's still Spock - the programmer and assistant professor that was known as "Ice Man" behind his students' hands in conspiratorial whispers in order to avoid retribution by the administration. Of course, Spock would never bring a complaint against a student for speaking ill of him, that would be petty and illogical. (What Jim doesn't know is that it took far worse to elicit an emotional response, one that triggered a vow never to allow petty words to compromise him again. Spock doesn't know that in just over an hour he'll break that vow.)
But this - this overwhelming flood of emotions from such a stoic man is such a shock that the only words he can form when he resurfaces - and "emotional transference" is as much an understatement in describing this deluge as "particularly troubled Romulan" is in describing Nero - the only words are "So you do feel", setting a new low in Jim's record of inappropriate responses (a list carefully maintained by Bones, for blackmail purposes of course).
Later, on the Narada, Jim will be glad he is asking old-Spock for an explanation on what just happened; but now he's just confused. His entire view of Spock just slipped sideways in a kaleidoscopic mess and he is starting to believe that old-Spock wasn't lying when he'd said that they'd been friends.
