UNF. Yes, that's right. It's Spain. Go on, take another look at it, maybe save it, because DATASS is sexy.
...anyway. *ahem* I want something with Romano finding this picture and ogling it madly (while trying to deny that he finds it hot). It's anon's choice if Spain catches him doing so.
super-bonus I just thought of now: Romano tries to save picture, accidentally hits 'send picture' (I do that all the time! Why do save and send have to right next to eachother on my computer??), accidentally sends it to someone/everyone.
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [1/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 06:03:45 UTC
I-I couldn't help but try and fill out this fill. Though this writer!anon is so out of practice, she must warn readers beforehand of strange grammar, tangents, messiness and overall awkwardness all around. Other than that, I hope OP!anon enjoys it, even if I didn't include the bonus.
Part One: In Which Lovino is in Denial
It wasn’t really that attractive.
Then again, he disliked thinking anything belonging to a man was too attractive, instead choosing to feign nonchalance whenever someone even barely suave passed his way. It was-how was it? -unmanly, dammit, admitting other men good-looking, but he really couldn’t help it. The bathrooms didn’t allow too much personal space, after all.
“You like, cheri?” chattered that infuriating Frenchman over the phone, pride evident high in his voice. “I found it in one of my albums and scanned it in. And then I thought maybe you’d like to see it
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [2/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 06:09:41 UTC
It was gorgeous, and he couldn’t look away, and dammit all Francis had sent it-he knew it, that pervert; only he would be sending out emails of people’s behinds on the world wide web-and that wasn’t even the worst part.
It was Antonio’s ass.
He didn’t know what frightened him more: the fact that he thought it was gorgeous, or the fact that he had recognized that flawless piece of ass. Did he really look at that kind of thing that often?
(No, it was not gorgeous nor flawless, his damn mind was tricking him-it was Antonio’s! Stupid, idiot, bumbling, Antonio, with those dark curls so soft and fine, bronzed skin, beautiful smile, warm chest, so comforting to press against-and these were all objective observations, mind. He was an idiot, and Lovino wasn’t stupid enough to spare some care for an idiot).
“You like, cheriNo, no, he didn’t like, he never would. Antonio, the bumbling idiot, was not attractive. Neither was his behind
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [3/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 06:12:15 UTC
There was a bit of shuffling, the pitter-patter of feet, and he stepped into the office, looking faintly puzzled at Lovino’s strange reaction.
(Lovino, who was caught like a deer in headlights frozen at the computer, mouth open, eyes wide, looking increasingly incredulous and guilty and dammit go away right now).
His hair was tousled, shirt messily buttoned-it was buttoned wrong, a few holes here and there, and the chest revealed made the Italian’s mouth dry, though really, not because of, well-and there was a tomato stain on his left pant-leg. A hand was casually tucked into a pant pocket, green eyes genuine as always-oblivious, oblivious, idiot, unsuspecting, stupid Antonio.
It was like a fairytale, the object of his fantasies-no, no, no, they were not fantasies, they were musings, because never in his would he fantasy about Antonio’s ass because he just wouldn’t-appearing suddenly out of the blue. Then again, perhaps it was just a cruel coincidence.
There was a bit of shuffling, the pitter-patter of feet, and he stepped into
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [4/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 06:18:20 UTC
The Spaniard looked a bit stunned, if not slightly hurt. Lovino resolved not to let this bother him. “It’s nothing! Don’t barge into people’s houses without permission, bastard. It’s none of your business what I’m doing.”
“But you were about to go to my house, weren’t you?” Antonio pressed, and he leaned in to wrap his arms around Lovino, who immediately stiffened against him. He could feel his chest pressing up against his back, firm and strong and reassuring-how many times as a child he had hidden in Antonio’s arms, not because he was afraid of something but because Antonio insisted on hugging him? The carefree Spaniard, who easily let him in his bed when the damn lightning kept him awake, who despite that uselessness of his was still somehow so comforting, who Lovino did not care about because-well, because-it was unmanly.
The bastard.
“I was not,” he squawked, face no doubt a deeper shade of red than it was before (stupid, stupid, why was he so red?) “Why the hell would I want to visit a stupid bastard like you? Idiot! Dumbass
( ... )
Re: In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [4/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 08:36:03 UTC
Ooo. I like this, anon. Both Lovi and Antonio are hopeless, sometimes, I think- but perhaps that just makes them all the more charming. Silly boys. And Francis is *such* a troublemaker.
Re: In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [4/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 14:15:23 UTC
I think what really makes this fic is the way S. Italy is at once thinking and not thinking - that is, although the story is set in his perspective, it's very much allowing his own instincts to come through as the side notes. The perspective here is really cleverly done. This from someone who usually quits out of fics that use parentheses in text!
Re: In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 1 [4/4]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 17:45:16 UTC
I'm flattered you like the way I organized the perspective.
I'm actually the same way: I usually don't read/use parenthesis but I thought it more fitting with the way this story was going. I'm glad you like it so far.
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 2 [1/3]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 16:42:12 UTC
...and here is Part 2!
...and Antonio actually has to make an effort
It was a good picture.
The right angle, that good lighting-it was impressing, especially since Antonio had no recollection of Francis ever taking such a picture of his behind, which wasn’t that unusual as Antonio usually had no idea how anything was ever done. It wasn’t a surprise anymore, finding strange images on the internet, because he knew of his own uselessness in detecting subtlety and, no doubt, he’d let France get a hold of his camera while he, the victim, was being distracted somewhere else.
It was so easy to be distracted. When it really didn’t matter anymore-it really didn’t matter.
This should bother you, Lovino had once shouted at him after finding pictures of a naked Antonio scattered all across the internet. The boy had been red, mouth thinned in a line, fists trembling by his side in that classic tantrum-like fit he’d throw every so often, and Antonio remembered being mildly touched by the cuteness of it all. Why don’t you care, don’t you have
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 2 [2/3]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 16:44:06 UTC
“Lovi, I know what you were looking at!” Might as well spit it out. He could imagine Lovino’s shocked, blushing face behind the door, and the silence that responded to his declaration confirmed it.
“Loviiii-” Antonio leaned against the doorframe, feeling frustration tingeing his mood. The Italian had always been difficult, rambunctious, capricious, saying one thing and meaning another, yet Antonio really was having the most difficult time wrapping his mind around this new phenomenon.
“Lovino, why are you so embarrassed?” After a moment of thought, “Si quieres màs fòtos de mì, I can show them to you!”
“Who would want pictures of you, you idiot!” came a-embarrassed, guarded, defensive, vague-screech from the other side of the door
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: Part 2 [3/3]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 17:19:51 UTC
“I-do-not!” he squawked, and Antonio was again startled by a kick to the door. The ringing silence after such a heartfelt declaration hung between them for a moment
( ... )
In Which France has a Brilliant Idea: End [1/1]
anonymous
September 26 2009, 17:22:53 UTC
End: In Which Francis Receives an Email
The email was short and abrupt. When Francis had merrily pulled up his browser-in the middle of brushing his hair and singing his favorite song under his breath, half-dressed and too-chipper for anyone, really-he’d been instantly alerted that his email to Romano had a new reply.
With a smart click, he pulled up the new message, and was pleasantly surprised when he realized he’d received a picture in return.
It was a tomato. It wasn’t a remarkable one, not any more luscious or red or well-shaped as any other tomato. It was lying on an island counter next to a bowl of leftover pasta, a mess of sauce, everywhere, but still. It was a tomato.
Grinning wolfishly, he exited out of the browser and returned to brushing his hair.
If Antonio was replying Lovino’s emails, something damn good must have happened last night.
UNF. Yes, that's right. It's Spain. Go on, take another look at it, maybe save it, because DATASS is sexy.
...anyway. *ahem* I want something with Romano finding this picture and ogling it madly (while trying to deny that he finds it hot). It's anon's choice if Spain catches him doing so.
super-bonus I just thought of now: Romano tries to save picture, accidentally hits 'send picture' (I do that all the time! Why do save and send have to right next to eachother on my computer??), accidentally sends it to someone/everyone.
Reply
Part One: In Which Lovino is in Denial
It wasn’t really that attractive.
Then again, he disliked thinking anything belonging to a man was too attractive, instead choosing to feign nonchalance whenever someone even barely suave passed his way. It was-how was it? -unmanly, dammit, admitting other men good-looking, but he really couldn’t help it. The bathrooms didn’t allow too much personal space, after all.
“You like, cheri?” chattered that infuriating Frenchman over the phone, pride evident high in his voice. “I found it in one of my albums and scanned it in. And then I thought maybe you’d like to see it ( ... )
Reply
It was Antonio’s ass.
He didn’t know what frightened him more: the fact that he thought it was gorgeous, or the fact that he had recognized that flawless piece of ass. Did he really look at that kind of thing that often?
(No, it was not gorgeous nor flawless, his damn mind was tricking him-it was Antonio’s! Stupid, idiot, bumbling, Antonio, with those dark curls so soft and fine, bronzed skin, beautiful smile, warm chest, so comforting to press against-and these were all objective observations, mind. He was an idiot, and Lovino wasn’t stupid enough to spare some care for an idiot).
“You like, cheriNo, no, he didn’t like, he never would. Antonio, the bumbling idiot, was not attractive. Neither was his behind ( ... )
Reply
(Lovino, who was caught like a deer in headlights frozen at the computer, mouth open, eyes wide, looking increasingly incredulous and guilty and dammit go away right now).
His hair was tousled, shirt messily buttoned-it was buttoned wrong, a few holes here and there, and the chest revealed made the Italian’s mouth dry, though really, not because of, well-and there was a tomato stain on his left pant-leg. A hand was casually tucked into a pant pocket, green eyes genuine as always-oblivious, oblivious, idiot, unsuspecting, stupid Antonio.
It was like a fairytale, the object of his fantasies-no, no, no, they were not fantasies, they were musings, because never in his would he fantasy about Antonio’s ass because he just wouldn’t-appearing suddenly out of the blue. Then again, perhaps it was just a cruel coincidence.
There was a bit of shuffling, the pitter-patter of feet, and he stepped into ( ... )
Reply
“But you were about to go to my house, weren’t you?” Antonio pressed, and he leaned in to wrap his arms around Lovino, who immediately stiffened against him. He could feel his chest pressing up against his back, firm and strong and reassuring-how many times as a child he had hidden in Antonio’s arms, not because he was afraid of something but because Antonio insisted on hugging him? The carefree Spaniard, who easily let him in his bed when the damn lightning kept him awake, who despite that uselessness of his was still somehow so comforting, who Lovino did not care about because-well, because-it was unmanly.
The bastard.
“I was not,” he squawked, face no doubt a deeper shade of red than it was before (stupid, stupid, why was he so red?) “Why the hell would I want to visit a stupid bastard like you? Idiot! Dumbass ( ... )
Reply
Eager to read more!
Reply
Reply
Reply
I'm actually the same way: I usually don't read/use parenthesis but I thought it more fitting with the way this story was going. I'm glad you like it so far.
Reply
Reply
...and Antonio actually has to make an effort
It was a good picture.
The right angle, that good lighting-it was impressing, especially since Antonio had no recollection of Francis ever taking such a picture of his behind, which wasn’t that unusual as Antonio usually had no idea how anything was ever done. It wasn’t a surprise anymore, finding strange images on the internet, because he knew of his own uselessness in detecting subtlety and, no doubt, he’d let France get a hold of his camera while he, the victim, was being distracted somewhere else.
It was so easy to be distracted. When it really didn’t matter anymore-it really didn’t matter.
This should bother you, Lovino had once shouted at him after finding pictures of a naked Antonio scattered all across the internet. The boy had been red, mouth thinned in a line, fists trembling by his side in that classic tantrum-like fit he’d throw every so often, and Antonio remembered being mildly touched by the cuteness of it all. Why don’t you care, don’t you have ( ... )
Reply
“Loviiii-” Antonio leaned against the doorframe, feeling frustration tingeing his mood. The Italian had always been difficult, rambunctious, capricious, saying one thing and meaning another, yet Antonio really was having the most difficult time wrapping his mind around this new phenomenon.
“Lovino, why are you so embarrassed?” After a moment of thought, “Si quieres màs fòtos de mì, I can show them to you!”
“Who would want pictures of you, you idiot!” came a-embarrassed, guarded, defensive, vague-screech from the other side of the door ( ... )
Reply
Reply
The email was short and abrupt. When Francis had merrily pulled up his browser-in the middle of brushing his hair and singing his favorite song under his breath, half-dressed and too-chipper for anyone, really-he’d been instantly alerted that his email to Romano had a new reply.
With a smart click, he pulled up the new message, and was pleasantly surprised when he realized he’d received a picture in return.
It was a tomato. It wasn’t a remarkable one, not any more luscious or red or well-shaped as any other tomato. It was lying on an island counter next to a bowl of leftover pasta, a mess of sauce, everywhere, but still. It was a tomato.
Grinning wolfishly, he exited out of the browser and returned to brushing his hair.
If Antonio was replying Lovino’s emails, something damn good must have happened last night.
notes ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment