#hwsocshipweek2021

[agentomato]

May, 1898

He is charming, she finds-- all bright smiles and youthful promise and burgeoning power underneath. He, who challenges a crumbling empire, their common enemy, who she hopes understands the cause for the liberty that he had fought for and that she now fights for.

(She pauses and mulls over the the last few phrases in her mind. He is bright smiles and youthful promise and burgeoning power underneath-- and no matter what she does, she can’t help but feel uneased.)

@hwsocshipweek | Day 1: First Meeting

#hetalia #hetalia OC #aph america #hws america #aph philippines #hws philippines #usph #amephil #well this first meeting isn't particularly shippy but #we'll get there #hwsocshipweek2021 #historical hetalia

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek | Day 6: Birthday

Georgia is giving a lovely toast to Ukraine as they celebrate her birthday with some not-pictured friends (Lithuania, Poland and Belarus).

#hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #hws ukraine #geoukr #hwsocshipweek2021 #aph oc georgia

[mmishz]

Day 3: Flowers @hwsocshipweek

Finally i can draw today, so, quick drawing of my main OTP🇷🇺🇮🇩

#hwsocshipweek2021 #russindo #russia x indonesia #hetalia world stars #hetalia oc #hws indonesia #aph indonesia #hetalia indonesia #aph russia #hws russia #hetalia russia #ivan braginsky #aph oc

[coffeebleeds]

 @hwsocshipweek Day 4: Historical | Domestic

June, 1865

Soft humming floated through the house, along with the scent of warm peach pie. Alfred listened idly as he read through the stack of letters on his dresser. Flecks of black wax stuck to the blade of his penknife. It was a letter from Matthew, which was odd, as Matt hadn’t written to him in months. He must have heard that the war was over and was congratulating him on the success.

The words on the page fit the black seal. Unnatural. Heinous. Evil. These accusations Alfred could brush aside. His brother didn’t understand. He was doing the girl a favor. If she remembered who she was, what she’d done, she’d return to her own people. He couldn’t have that. Besides, she was happy here! She didn’t need to know that she wasn’t mortal. 

‘She’s going to find out. Either you’re going to tell her or she’ll remember on her own. If it’s the former, you can try to explain your actions. If the latter, may God have mercy on your soul. You’ve invited an angry viper into your bed.’

Alfred swallowed the hard lump in his throat, tucking the letter into his breast pocket. Matt didn’t know what he was talking about anyway. He rose from the small armchair by the dresser, closing the rest of the letters into the top drawer and locking it with the small key that hung around his neck. “It’s classified, darling.” He’d explained when she asked a few weeks ago why he locked things away from her. “And with your memory so weak after the accident, I don’t want you reading them and repeating anything.” That answer seemed to satisfy her at the time. She didn’t ask again.

He descended the stairs, the buttery scent of fruit and pastry getting stronger with each step. A swish of skirt and apron caught his vision, small clouds of flour lingering in the air, resting like soft snow on her dark brown curls. Her pink lips spread into a wide smile upon seeing him, the song stopping. Which was a shame, since he didn’t get to hear the chorus.

“Alfie!” The way she spoke his name almost sounded like a laugh, like a songbird. Her hands on his cheeks were like soft petals, peach blossoms that left hints of juice on his skin. And her kiss tasted like a fresh bushel from the orchard, sweet, delicate, bursting with joy. And this is a viper?

His hands rested so naturally against her waist, as if they were always meant to be there. No, Matthew was wrong. There was nothing evil about this. Nothing unnatural about the way he kissed his wife and held her close. Matt just didn’t understand. “Is there anything I can help with, Kitty?”

She let her hands drift away from him, her attention back to the baking. Her absence was agony. “I think I’ve got most everything sorted. Though I did want to ask you something.” She certainly did seem to have everything sorted. All the baking residue was caught somewhere on her person, either dusted in her hair or smeared across her apron. The counters were wiped clean, the knives and rolling pins washed and put away, only the heat and scent of the pie baking in the oven gave an indication that this kitchen was put to use.

“Yes? What is it?” He asked, his arms still trying to find purchase around her form, even as she turned around and pulled her hair up and out of the way, exposing her neck.

She ran her fingertips over a scar at the base of her skull, circular and old. “Do you know what this is from? I found it this morning, but you were busy so I didn’t ask.”

This question wasn’t new to him. He’d answered all her questions about the life she’d forgotten, explained away every scar on her body (a riding accident), named every relative she loved and forgot (your brother-in-law, Matthew), the town she grew up in (St. Augustine, darling), where her father lived (Spain, my love), how old she was (you’ll be nineteen next April), and how long they’d known each other (we grew up together, as neighbors). He had answers for it all, even if he had to make them up on the spot. This was one of those questions.

He knew this scar. She’d told him about the source of it nearly fifty years earlier. A gunshot wound. She got caught trying to free slaves and the owner shot her from close range. Left her dead in the woods. She had to walk back to that man’s house, her own house too at the time, wearing a gown drenched in rain and mud and her own blood.

Kitty didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know that there was a time when she wasn’t loved, wasn’t respected, wasn’t free to do whatever she wished. She didn’t need to know that she was the embodiment of the very men who slaughtered her when she disobeyed them.

“A burn.” He answered, then pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. He could listen to the sound of her shaking breath all day. “Your mother accidentally burned you with a curling iron when you were fourteen.” The lie flowed effortlessly from his tongue. “You were so upset by it that you refused to go to the party that night. When you didn’t show up, I visited you. Which you hated, telling me that I should leave immediately or you’d send the dogs after me.” He blinked, realizing exactly how ridiculous the story was.

“Oh, alright.” She let her hair fall back down, hiding the ‘burn’ scar. “I think I remember that. My mother is in Spain too, right?”

“Yes, she is. Your parents fled to Spain when the draft started.” He’d settled on that part of the backstory within the first week since she arrived. He’d told her that her parents had let them marry so that she could get his military income. He’d have to add this anecdote to the journal in the locked drawer, so he didn’t forget it.

She nodded, turning back around. “Right, yes. I think you said that before.” Her dark brows knit and she chewed her bottom lip. “I... I’m sorry if I forget things like that. I’m trying to do better. And I think that I am, most days. I remembered the song I was singing just before you came in.”

“Really?” He’d once heard that musical memory remained where the rest of the memory did not, and he supposed it must be true.

“Mhm!” She took a breath, then started to sing.

“Raccoon has a bushy tail - Possum's tail is bare - Rabbit's got no tail at all but a little bunch of hair.”

Alfred listened, watching her as she grabbed a towel from the counter. She wrapped it around her hand, then opened the oven. The heat and sweetness of the pie filled the room, along with her song.

“Bile them cabbage down, down - Bake that hoe cake brown brown - The only song that I can sing is - Bile the cabbage down!” Alfred’s blood ran cold, his stomach flipping over itself. That was a slave song. She sang and laughed and danced about the kitchen, blissfully unaware of where she heard that song. No doubt from the domestic slaves who worked in her patron’s house.

She didn’t need to know that either.

#iced i. #drabble #hwsocshipweek2021 #hws america #hws dixie

[cougarofthesun]

I’ll be Your Protector

Day 1 prompt- ‘First Meeting’

Ignore the title I’m a dumbass and couldn’t think of anything better. Switzerland x Idaho. Beginning of a new fic I’m working on. Interpol/international diplomacy au deal. Sebastians a Swiss diplomat, Liams the body guard assigned to protect him after European diplomats are being attacked left and right. Enjoy~

The news of the day probably should have worried Sebastian Zwingli at least a little bit. Attacks on European diplomats were becoming disturbingly frequent lately. A category that Sebastian fit quite well as the Swiss representative to the United Nations. But he wasn’t too concerned. He spent his time in the Swiss army, he could take care of himself.

And yet, his government and officials within Interpol and the UN insisted on an increase in the number of armed guards around UN facilities and diplomats. Including Mr. Zwingli. He found the situation aggravating. Wouldn’t it have been easier to simply allow the diplomats themselves to be armed, especially the ones that had former military experience? But apparently that was a security risk in of itself so here he was, doing his best to ignore the uniformed man behind him.

Not to mention the guard was American. Nearly half a foot taller than him, looked like he spent his entire life in the sun. And way too friendly. Didn’t say much during the meeting, kept quiet except to other guards or into his walkie talkie regarding security updates. And then he seemed awfully upbeat considering the circumstances.

When the conference had finished, Sergeant Davis approached Sebastian and held a hand out to him. “Mr. Zwingli, right?”

Sebastian nodded, shaking the guards hand. He took note of the mans firm grip. “And I take it you’re Sergeant Davis?”

Sergeant Davis smiled at Sebastian, light brown eyes staring right through him. “Sure am. So, where next?” The guards were supposed to be following the diplomats as they attended various conferences within the compound and on the way to and from their embassies and residences.

Sebastian found the guard to be acting a bit too upbeat given the circumstances. He figured if the worst came to happen he’d have to take the Sergeants gun out of its holster and shoot the attacker himself. “Economic reform and assistance in the former U.S.S.R,” Sebastian muttered. This was going to be a long day.

@hwsocshipweek

#Idaho/switzerland #Drabble #beginning of something bigger maybe #hwsocshipweek2021

[kiwiswonders]

Day 3: Celebration & Flowers!  ||  @hwsocshipweek  ||  India is telling her all about Onam as they make a Pookalam! Onam is a harvest festival that’s celebrated in the state of Kerala to welcome the asura King Mahabali who is allowed to visit his old kingdom once a year. (Read more here!) The Pookalam they’re making here is a flower carpet that’s used to welcome King Mahabali. This celebration lasts 10 day and the Pookalam is started on the first. As the days continue more flowers are added until the last day of Onam so that people are left with a large and detailed design! (Read more here!)

#hwsocshipweek2021 #indimex #hws india #hws mexico #hetalia india #hetalia mexico #aph india #aph mexico #hetalia #hetalia world stars #hetalia world twinkle #finally added a background to one of these!

[ask-miraculous-hetalia]

You're Who?

July 20 Prompt: Confessions/Clothes Swap

Pairing: Nyo!Iceland/Königsberg

@hwsocshipweek

Alana had started out as a transfer student from Germany, but then she decided to stay when she met Emilía and decided to stay. It’s been a few years since she had moved to Norway to be with the Icelander. Since then she’s heard of the different miraculous holders such as Bugaboo, Yule Cat, Kilpikonna, and Puppy. Her favorite of them is Puppy and she couldn’t exactly figure out why.

Emilía certainly hadn’t expected to meet someone she would eventually have feelings for, especially at a time when Mountain Goat had started attacking people in his search for the ladybug and black cat miraculous. At some point down the road, someone with the peacock miraculous had become his ally and created sentimonsters as a distraction. Someone by the name of Påfugl. Three years of helping the hero’s and she was surprised when she came into possession of a miraculous herself. A collar looking necklace that she placed around her neck. Out of it came a tiny being that looked a bit like a dog. They said their name is Barkk and told her what to say to transform after explaining what was going on and what her power is. Terra manipulation. Barkk, let’s run! When she transformed she found her hair had gotten longer and was pulled into ponytails and was given some highlights. There were other things she noticed that had changed as well. Soon she was off helping the hero’s with fighting Mountain Goat.

A year after becoming Puppy, Emilía and Alana had entered a relationship with each other. Had Emilía told her about being Puppy? No, she couldn’t. Barkk had mentioned something about not being able to tell anyone of her identity, especially the other holders. That really sucked. She wanted to tell Alana, but she couldn’t.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Alana asked a year into their relationship. Purple eyes look at Alana as the Germanic female let down her snow white hair from its bun. “What makes you say that?” Emilía asked. “I’ve noticed lately how you look like you have something on your mind,” Alana said. Emilía shrugged it off. “It’s nothing important. Alana stared at her for a moment before looking back in the mirror. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

Mountain Goat and Påfugl were attacking the city. Puppy was fighting alongside Bugaboo (the current ladybug holder), Karhu (the current bear holder), and Sleipnir (the current horse holder). Påfugl’s sentimonster, in this case it’s a giant version of Heiðrún (the last goat holder before Mountain Goat) that the peacock holder is controlling, swiped their hand at the holder heroes. Bugaboo and Karhu jumped out of the way, but Sleipnir and Puppy were knocked aside. The two of them collided with a nearby building and were promptly knocked out. While Sleipnir managed to keep her miraculous on her face, Puppy’s somehow managed to slip off her neck and fall to her lap. As Emilía’s eyes closed, she saw a female figure rush over. A female with white hair, a scar across her nose, and an eyepatch over her right eye. Ah, crap. It’s Alana she thought as her eyes shut.

When Emilía awoke, she had found herself in the hospital with bandaging around her wrist. She looked over to see Alana sitting there and holding her miraculous. Without looking up, Alana asked, “When were you going to tell me you’re Puppy?” A sigh escaped the Icelandic female. “I wanted to, but no one should know my identity. Guess my secret’s out.” A blue eye looked at Emilía. “Well, you’re lucky I was there to help when I could.” She turned on the tv that’s in the room and changed the channel to the news. It was a scene from after Emilía was knocked out. Alana had dragged both her and Sleipnir out of harm’s way before taking the collar miraculous and putting it on. She had then called out, “Barkk, let’s run!” And then transformed into a dog themed heroine. She walked out to where Bugaboo and Karhu were fighting Mountain Goat and Påfugl’s sentimonster. “Bugaboo, Karhu, hold on to something.” Bugaboo and Karhu looked at doggo Alana and saw her raising her hands. The two of them hurried to the nearby railing and held on. “Earthquake!” She exclaimed and slammed her hands on the ground. The ground then started shaking, knocking both Mountain Goat and the sentimonster off their feet. Purple eyes of Mountain Goat look at Alana as he propped himself up. “I see Puppy got a replacement.” “Just for now,” Alana said. “Until she’s feeling better you’re going to have to deal with Hündin. Rocky road!” She clawed her hands into the ground and twisted. The ground broke into pieces all the way to Mountain Goat and the Heiðrún sentimonster, trapping them. “Bugaboo, get the amok!” “On it!” Bugaboo sauntered over to Mountain Goat and took the amokitized item from around Mountain Goat’s neck. “Syn’s truth!” Mountain Goat said and touched Bugaboo’s leg. Bugaboo gasped a bit, then froze as his eyes fogged over. “What’s you’re real name?” Mountain Goat asked. Just as he was about to say, something struck the goat holder’s forehead hard enough to knock him out. His grip on Bugaboo’s leg enough to free him. His eyes returned to normal and he shook it all off.

“Right.” He smashed the amokitized item and a feather flew out of it. “Time to de-evilize.” The tv was then turned off and Alana looked back at Emilía. “Hündin,” the Icelandic female said. “Maybe one day she should return.” This brought a faint smile to Alana’s face. “Maybe we could alternate.”

#hwsocshipweek2021 #nyo iceland #hws königsberg #aph königsberg

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek | Day 2: Clothes Swap

An excuse to draw Ukrainian and Georgian folk costumes? Hell yes.

#hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #hws ukraine #geoukr #aph oc georgia #my art #hwsocshipweek2021

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek | Day 7: Pride

An AU where Ukraine and Nyo!Georgia are dating!

With this prompt, I feel it necessary to speak about what’s happened recently in Georgia and do some good with my platform. If you aren’t aware, a couple of weeks ago far-right groups attacked Tbilisi’s Pride march and completely destroyed Tbilisi Pride’s headquarters. The organization needs help with rebuilding, so if you can, please donate or share their donation link around! ❤️

Some positive updates under the cut!

#hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #hws ukraine #nyo georgia #nyotalia #hetalia #geoukr #aph oc georgia #hwsocshipweek2021 #donations #homophobia cw #violence cw #just in case

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek | Day 1: First Meeting

While Georgia and Ukraine have had contacts for centuries, their major interactions began in the 19th century. Many Georgians came to Ukraine for education (specifically at the Kyiv Theological Academy), and through this, a cultural exchange began. Some Georgians brought translated Ukrainian literature with them when they returned home, and these Ukrainian works were popularized through the Georgian press. Many notable Ukrainian scholars and writers also travelled to Georgia to study its culture, history and literature in the late 19th century.

In my headcanon, I believe Giorgi would have officially met Iryna when he visited Kyiv in the 1870s. The two had a lot in common both in their interests and personalities, and Giorgi became quite smitten with her almost instantly. Iryna was flattered by his interest in her art, but she didn’t know much about him yet (as Ukrainian interest in Georgia wouldn’t occur for another decade or so).

#hwsocshipweek2021 #hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #aph russia #geoukr #giorgi stop flirting with my sister challenge created by russia #aph oc georgia #i am not rly proud of this but i hadnt drawn in a long ass time cringe

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek | Day 5: Favorite AU + Free Day

I was going to draw an entire family picture for this, but I lost motivation. Instead, here’s a little focus on my GeoUkr baby, Sofia!

Sofia (usually called “Sopo”) is often attached to my AUs in some way, but the AU here takes place vaguely in the 1860s-1870s. Giorgi (Georgia OC) is a widowed Georgian prince, and Iryna (Ukraine) is an infamously unmarried woman from a noble family whose head is working in the administration of the Tiflis Governorate. The TL;DR of the whole story is that Giorgi courts Iryna (against the wishes of her brother, Ivan) and the two are eventually married because Iryna’s father is fed up with her. Then, Sofia is born! She very much takes after her father in looks and has Giorgi wrapped around her finger. After Sofia, Giorgi and Iryna also have two sons — Illya and Teymuraz.

Coloured image under the cut!

Secret fact: I had this AU in my head for a long time before I found out something like this had happened in real life. A Russian princess and a Georgian prince fell in love, and the princess chose to give up her dynastic rights in order to marry him. They also had a son named Teymuraz!

#hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #hws ukraine #geoukr #hwsocshipweek2021 #oc sofia #aph oc georgia #my art #ok but what the fuck were people dressing their kids in this outfit ref made me die

[mmishz]

Day 5: Free @hwsocshipweek

#hwsocshipweek2021 #russindo #hws indonesia #hws russia #ヘタリア #hetalia #hetalia indonesia #aph indonesia #aph russia #hetalia russia #russia x indonesia #hetalia world stars #hetalia axis powers #aph

[kavkasia]

@hwsocshipweek​ | Day 3: Celebration

“They said that in Moscow there wasn’t one dark window. In every city … nobody slept, the army never slept, citizens didn’t sleep, everyone sat and listened. When they told us about that, we literally had tears in our eyes.”

Fun fact: the USSR was the first winner of UEFA Euro! The victory against Yugoslavia in 1960 is considered by some to be the USSR’s greatest football achievement, and I would agree considering that after being runners up at Euro 1972 the USSR would fail to qualify for consecutive tournaments.

The 1960 team consisted of football players from Russia, Georgia and Ukraine. These nations in particular were known within the USSR for their skills in football, with Ukrainians being known for their tactical discipline and Georgians being known for their skill!

Another fun fact: when Ukrainians played against Russian teams during the USSR, Georgians would often cheer for Ukraine as a way to express their opposition to Russian hegemony.

#hetalia oc #hws oc #aph georgia #aph ukraine #hws ukraine #hmmm can you tell i was thinking about euro when i made this #aph oc georgia #my art #hwsocshipweek2021 #giorgi your soviet stache kills me bro

[coffeebleeds]

@hwsocshipweek​ | Day 2: Confessions | Clothes swap

After weeks of travel, the group finally had a respite in the city of Charles Towne. The nights were full of dancing and merriment, the days far more dull. The adults were in constant meetings with the locals. Washington especially wanted to inquire about the state of the farms upriver. He had some ideas for a canal placement and the whole town was eager to offer their input.

All of this bored Alfred to death, and so he politely declined his father’s offer to follow him this morning to yet another discussion on the proper storage and shipping of golden rice. But because the new President knew better than to let Alfred stay by himself, he requested that Cait stay and ‘keep him out of much trouble.’

Well, what are two teenagers bored out of their skulls going to do in a seaside town, with an entire morning to themselves? Whatever they damn well please.

“This is a horrid idea.” Cait repeated for the fifth time that morning, grunting from the effort of trying to lace up her stays.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re doing it!” Alfred laughed, which was cut off as the air was forcibly squeezed out of his lungs. “Not that tight! I don’t have a lady waist!” He smacked her hands away, pulling the laces looser so he could breath again.

“Which is why I was tightening it, you turkey! Everyone will know immediately that you aren’t a woman when you’re built like that!” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her chest and shoulders looked far smaller now than when she wore her gowns. Dressed in Alfred’s shirt and waistcoat, her hair braided and pinned up to hide under his hat, she looked more like a decrepit orphan child than a lady of high station. Her gowns didn’t fit Alfred anyway, so they had to borrow one from the lady who owned the home they stayed in. It was a decent gown, now laying on the bed and waiting to be put on, the small red flowers seemingly crying out for help from their cream field, knowing that they were going to be stretched into oblivion on this boy’s form.

“At least I don’t look like a printer’s apprentice wearing his master’s clothes.” Alfred laughed. He had half a mind to poke her inflated cheeks. Every time she pouted at him, she looked like a pufferfish. “Help me get this petticoat on.”

Cait obliged, tying it around his waist and over the padding on his hips. Their plan wasn’t really a well-thought out one. Since there wasn’t much to do that day, and no visitors were going to stop by, they decided to come up with a game. Cait had wagered that Alfred wouldn’t last an hour in her gowns, and Alfred countered that he could last a whole day in all those layers. But to make the wager more amusing, she would wear a boy’s outfit and prove that she could function just as effectively in any garment. But already, the frustration was evident. She patted her hips, frowning. “Your pockets are too small! I can’t fit anything in them!”

Alfred laughed, sticking his hands in the pockets at his side. “Yours are practically buckets! I could fit a whole chicken in here!”

Cait scrunched up her nose. “I’d never get the smell out if you did. Here, let me pin the stomacher on.” Alfred jumped back when she took a straight pin from the dresser and came toward him. “Oh, relax, will you? I do this every day to myself. It isn’t going to stab you.”

“Not on accident, I’m sure. But you’d do it on purpose.” Alfred watched her warily, stepping back whenever she got too close with the instrument of doom.

“I’d do a lot more than stab you with a pin if I were doing it on purpose. Stop being a baby and get over here.” She grabbed Alfred’s arm, pulling his close enough to pin the piece of decorative fabric over his chest. “There, see? No blood, no fuss. All that’s left is the gown.”

That part was easy. Once he slipped his arms through the sleeves, he let Cait lace and pin the front edges of the gown closed. “You wear this many pins every day?” He asked, flinching as he was sure that one was going to stab him right in the chest.

“Every day. That’s what the stays are for. They do more than just keep everything in, they also keep pins out.” When she finished, she took a step back to admire her work. An amused grin played on her too-feminine features. “You make a hideous girl, Alfred.”

Alfred curtsied to her. “And you make a miserable boy, miss.” He grinned broadly, excited to start their challenge. “So, what should we do now? What weird girly activities do you think I can’t manage in a skirt?”

Cait laughed in that unlady-like, snorting way that he liked much better than the one she used in gentle company. “Oh, I know exactly what to do! Let’s see you try to garden!”

“Garden?” Alfred scoffed. “How hard can that be?” He’d done that plenty as a boy! “I accept your challenge.”

Cait’s grey eyes glinted mischievously. “But you can’t get the hem dirty. Ladies don’t do that. You’ll have to harvest today’s vegetables without getting mud on you.”

That might prove problematic. But if she could do it, so could he! “You’re on!” With this new goal in mind, he raced down the stairs and toward the back door of the rented home.

But as he reached the last step down, he heard the front door’s hinges creak open. The world slowed down to a heartbeat an hour, each second agonizingly long as George Washington stepped inside. The man’s eyes scanned over Alfred, then Cait behind him on the stairs, then back to Alfred.

The teenager’s cheeks burned bright red. “I- I can explain!”

The President was silent for a moment, building up to something. Perhaps to yell at his son for being foolish. But what he didn’t expect was uproarious laughter. The older man doubled over, chortling like Alfred had never heard before. But with Washington’s size now diminished, Alfred could see the other adults behind him who all now caught a glimpse of these two teens. Alfred felt like he might die of embarrassment!

When his father had finally composed himself, he walked over to the young nation to set a hand on his shoulder, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Son, you’re a really ugly girl.”

#iced i. #hwsocshipweek2021 #drabble #is this a shameless plug for my fanfic on ao3? #yes of course #if you want more idiot teenagers come find me #my name is fyreflare

[coffeebleeds]

For Day One of OC Ship Week 2021 | First Meeting

The long journey across the ocean finally ended with solid ground under his feet. It felt odd, like his legs weren’t quite working right. It felt like land, but it wasn’t his. And he didn’t like it.

“Calm down.” His guardian chided him, leading the young boy along by the hand. “You’ll get used to it. Travel makes you grateful for home.” The Englishman’s long strides toward a waiting carriage were uncharacteristic, and Alfred wondered if this is just what Arthur is like when on his own land.

Alfred squirmed and fussed the entire ride, leaning out the window, asking a million questions about anything and everything he could think of. What was that building? Who were those people? Why is it raining? When will the sun come out? Is it lunchtime yet? By the time the pair rolled up to the manor, Arthur was about at his wit’s end.

“Alfred, please. Take a breath between questions, at least.” He again took Alfred’s hand in his to walk the boy inside. And while Alfred was sure that he received an introduction to the servants, he scarcely remembered it. All he heard was ‘you’re free to play outside’ and everything beyond that was meaningless.

The boy rocketed out of that stuffy manor as fast as his little legs could carry him. Finally! Freedom! He ran through the gardens, his palms brushing against all the shrubs and bushes he could find, happy to finally have some living matter around him. Weeks of sea travel exhausted him! He didn’t even care about the cuts and splinters in his skin. They’d pop out or close up eventually.

The only thing that stopped his wild escape was the body of another person. Specifically, a girl that he hit full force while rounding a corner. His head bonked against something hard in the front, then even harder in the back when he fell, slamming his skull against the stone pathway. He laid on the ground, dazed, his vision doubled. Twice as many raindrops.

“Would you please watch where you’re going?!” That voice didn’t sound like a Londoner. He’d heard the voices of the people on the ship and the servants in the house. She didn’t sound English at all!

Alfred sat up, his head still spinning and throbbing, all three of this girl coming into focus in front of him. “Huh?”

Judging by the way she was also sitting on the ground, he could only guess that he’s knocked her down too. And she looked mad. And... sick. The longer he stared at her, the more he felt like he was staring at a corpse. Her skin was almost gray in paleness, and her hair was dark as night. Like a doll left out in a storm to rot. “You ran right into me, estupido!” She definitely didn’t sound English when she spoke like that, but he could guess pretty well what she meant.

“I’m not stupid! I’m not the one standing around waiting to get run into!” 

A fistful of mud was her reply, right to his face, before she ran off toward the house. “Mr. Kirkland! Mr. Kirkland!” She yelled his guardian’s name as she ran. Her voice pierced his ears with its shrillness. “Mr. Kirkland, there’s a savage boy in the garden!”

@hwsocshipweek

#hwsocshipweek2021 #drabble

[coffeebleeds]

 @hwsocshipweek Day 3: Celebration |  Flowers

June, 1856

Relations between the two halves of the fledgling union had slowly deteriorated. What started as a compromise for survival and opportunity soon turned into bitterness. Neither side wanted to budge. Fights broke out in the capitol on an almost weekly basis. Victory for the North was defeat for the South, and the same in the reverse. Compromise was the only option, and that tasted like sharp, acrid metal in the mouths of all involved.

It was rare to catch his counterpart alone. Normally, she stood among her own men, refusing to leave their insular group. Gentlemen all dressed in their finest suits, painted peacocks and aspiring aristocrats. Alfred hated being around them. There were very, very few of her leaders that he could stand. But on this unique opportunity, he managed to corner her in a garden. Away from the influences of mortal men.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, instead her attention was fixated upon a patch of pink blossoms. Alfred took a breath, mulling over what he wanted to say. That this had to stop? That she needed to tell her people to calm down? No, that wouldn’t work. She’d only get defensive and try to blame it on him. That’s what happened every other time. No, he had to be strategic about this.

He cleared his throat, the sound of which made Cait jump in surprise, clutching her fan to her chest.

“Lord, Alfred! You scared me!” She flicked open the fan, the lace breeze pushing her dark brown hair away from her face. “What is it?” The way her head tilted to the side reminded him of a spaniel puppy.

“My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.” How had she not heard him approach? She must have been very deep in some thought. He chewed his bottom lip, wondering how to phrase this question correctly. Ah, screw it. He’ll just ask outright. “Do you agree with Brooks?”

The mid-June breeze blew unseasonably cold. Cait lowered her fan, studying the blades, each delicately engraved and gilded, washed over with cotton-white lace. Her lips twitched into a frown. “I... Well, it isn’t my place to say.”

Bullshit. Alfred took a few steps toward her, the distance between them now only a few feet. “It isn’t your place to think for yourself?” He countered, growing frustrated. She hadn’t expressed an actual, original opinion in God-knows how long.

She flinched as he drew closer, extending the fan and holding it up like a screen between them. “It’s not that simple, Alfred.”

“I think it is that simple.” Undeterred, Alfred approach again, until his nose nearly brushed the lace. “He beat another Congressman like a stray dog. Do you support that kind of behavior?” His voice gained volume.

The target of his frustration shrunk back a few steps, her grey eyes furtively darting back and forth, but there was no gentleman to hide behind out here. “My people generally support-”

“To hell with your people!” Alfred grabbed her hand, which seemed to shock her out of trying to escape. “I don’t gave a damn what Dixie thinks of it. What do you, Caitlyn, think?”

She froze, staring at him, her eyes wide. He’d seen this same look before in the eyes of a trapped rabbit, it’s foot caught in a snare, its chest bouncing with rapid breath, too scared to even run. This was an entirely different creature than the one who stood in Congress and demanded her share of the new territories. That beast sneered and shook her mane, daring anyone to oppose her. This? This was a rodent. He didn’t like either version of her. She stopped being the girl he admired years ago.

Her lips opened, then pressed back together. Her body tensed and pulled, testing to see if he would let her go. He would not. “Alfie.” She hissed, using a nickname that she hadn’t in almost a decade. “I can’t.” Another fruitless tug, then she gave up with a frustrated sigh. “No, I don’t support it. What he did was wrong.” That statement considerably lightened Alfred’s heart, but his grip on her wrist remained when she spoke next. “He should have challenged him to a duel.”

“What?!” Alfred could hardly believe it! “Your only objection is the- the form of violence?!”

“Alfie.” She tugged again, wincing. “Please let go. You’re hurting me!”

Alfred’s hand opened, releasing her. She rubbed her wrist, which bore quickly fading red marks. He did feel a little bad about that. He didn’t want to hurt her, but that seemed to be the only way to get her to stay. A shiver ran down his spine. “What he’s started is a dangerous trend. It will lead to more violence.” He didn’t want to say it. But the word danced across his tongue. War. That’s the last thing either of them needed. If they didn’t sort this out, if they couldn’t come to some greater compromise, if she didn’t give in and admit that she was wrong, war was inevitable. And with war came weakness. A war could very well kill both of them. She knew that. She had to know that.

Caitlyn straightened up, trying to appear less like the rabbit and more like the lion. “If violence starts, it won’t be my doing.” She took another step back, holding up the marked wrist, before running off toward the inner garden. Within a minute, her form had completely disappeared among the flowers.

#hwsocshipweek2021 #tw; violence #drabble #not quite shippy in the traditional sense but we're going chronologically through these days bby