[drabble] A drabble dump.
What’s your name? -Jesse McCarty
Red eyes settled down on familiar face as he walked into a buzzing coffee shop. He could see the long, silky curl up over the large line of people and he simultaneously started to try to push through towards it.
Gilbert Beilsmicht was not a shy person. In fact, many of his friends would call him the exact opposite; a bouncing, loud, energetic teen with far too much time on his hands to be safe. He was often seen at parties, asking multiple people out (girls and guys, though, he would deny the latter), so when he saw those beautiful purple eyes and that silky blonde hair- He had to know that guy.
But one thing hindered his quest, one obstacle in his way.
The Prussian (not German.) didn’t know his name.
Every time he saw the small blonde he would either be ambushed by a group of his friends or his unknown crush would leave seconds after, seeming to almost disappear in any large crowd. He didn’t even know his future soul-mate’s name (this of course had been predestined).
Gilbert would catch him this time though; the line was extremely long like it normally was on Saturday mornings at Tim Horton’s (the most likely place to see the blonde; his crush seemed to live there almost) and he had to. It wasn’t an option.
“ ‘cuse me- Comin’ through here! Get outta my way!” he hissed to the now-scowling Canadians, ducking under and weaving through, getting closer and closer to that bobbing curl.
“Hey! You!” the Prussian finally called out, seeing the boy up at the counter, fishing out a few coins for his breakfast (Poutine and a double double, not that Gilbert was stalking him).
He finally caught his break as the Canadian looked over at him, holding his bag of food and disposable cup. The purple eyes looked even better when he was reflected in them. “Y-yes?” and he sounded just like Gilbert knew he would. He had a knack for knowing these things.
Walking up quickly, Gilbert grinned widely, about to ask his name when another loud voice boomed from the door.
“Matt! Come on! We’re gonna be late for the game!”
Matt.
It fit him, Gilbert paused for a second, contemplating.
But to his dismay when he came out of his thoughts, the straw-berry blonde was no longer in front of him and he turned, just in time to see the door open and the silky curl hurry out the door.
Shit.
Garbage - Chairlift
America felt like shit. Or rather to put it more appropriately; like garbage.
He curled up tighter in his bed, eyes closed as a cool, damp washcloth rested on his sweaty forehead. This wasn’t normal; wasn’t Alfred F. Jones the hero. Heroes didn’t get sick (and his economy was not in a recession thank you).
So why did he feel like his insides were trying to escape?
Thinking about it, he supposed he never really felt right. His stomach would always give the usual protests and by now he knew to keep a pink bottle of pepto bismol with him at all times and that normally was enough.
But this was unbearable.
Up again in two seconds, Alfred made a mad dash to his bathroom, kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl and dry heaving again (he’d stopped trying to eat a day ago, he hadn’t been able to keep anything down.)
Only after he gave a finally gag did he feel a light hand on his back, rubbing circles around soothingly. Once glance up confirmed his suspicions. “M-Mattie…” he said hoarsely, throat raw from the acid in his stomach.
“You really are getting bad, eh?“ the Canadian spoke lightly, concern lace in his soft voice. “What’s wrong?”
Alfred shook his head and sat back as his eyes closed. “I dunno…” he sighed, coughing and covering his mouth again with a hand. “M-My stomach…”
The Canadian lifted up a hand, touching his brother’s forehead softly to check his temperature. “You don’t have a fever… and there isn’t a recession,” Matthew frowned, studying Alfred carefully. The American looked positively green, a shade he previously thought only possible on vegetation. “Maybe… you should cut back on all the burgers..?”
Shaking his head quickly, Alfred gave a slight glare to Matthew. “I ain’t goin’ on a-“ he stopped midsentence, quickly gripping the rim of the toilet again and heaving into it. After a few more minutes of dry gags, he managed to pull back, panting and looking worse than before.
“Alfred… Please. Have you seen your cities lately…? It’s all fast food- everything is so unhealthy-“ Matthew rubbed his shoulder lightly. “Not to mention the amount of garbage you just… dump.”
The American frowned, trying to quell his aching stomach. “But… Burgers Matt…” he gagged again, shaking his head. “A-Alright… Alright- maybe… I’ll go eat a salad…”
We Could Be The Same - maNga
“So you gonna tell me your name yet kid?” the Ottoman circles the smaller nation, his predatory gaze roaming over the olive skin and rich brown hair. “Callin’ you Greece is fun and all, but I think we’re past formalities and shit…”
Greece’s eyes narrow as he watches the Empire stop in front of him and he shakes his head. “You know our leaders…-“ he started, only to be cut off by a rough hand pulling his jaw up, chapped lips descending on his own. He hears a low growl resonate from the other man’s throat.
“Just one night… C’mon kid… I know you feel it too,” Sadiq opens his eyes, still holding the boy’s jaw and staring into the green eyes intently. “Stop bein’ a spoiled brat…”
Frowning, Heracles stares back and reaches up to grab the Ottoman’s shirt. “Stupid…” he mutters, stretching up on his toes again.
“It’s Heracles…”