Kafye

RussEng; Ch. 1???

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Mine to Hold

Bear with me. I’m not entirely sure this will end up chaptered, but I hope to make it such. Name is subject to change

Ch.1; To Dream a Dream

It was a cheerful looking sunny Monday.

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Some Writing Prompt Generators

needlekind:

Serendipity (names, places, mapbuilding, etc.)
Quick Story Idea
Full Story Idea
Writing Challenges
General Character
Quick Character
really just all of Seventh Sanctum
RPGesque generators
Writing Prompts
Inspiration Finder
Story Arc
Fantasy Story Situaton
Adventure
Chaotic Shiny is just really good in general
Random Plot 

(Source: needlekind)

vodkakol:

Sorta going on my own with this one, kinda going off of this’un.
Original
_______
America was feeling uneasy. He was chained the floor. He had been for hours, days, maybe even a week or two. He could never tell. Russia kept the room pitch dark save for a bright light shining right on him. No windows, nothing. Not even a visible clock, though there was definitely one in the room. It’s monotonous ticking was starting to grate on his nerves. No, it had been getting on his nerves. It was just starting to really piss him off.
He had been getting a break for a few days from any other torment, though, so he was feeling nervous. He didn’t know when it would start again.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
This ticking didn’t sound like the clock. America had been in his own world to the point where he hadn’t heard the opening of the iron door. It was Russia. He was stepping lightly, almost with a giddy air to him. America couldn’t see him, but he knew it was. He knew it.
“Fredka, my darling!” Russia’s voice was so condescending. “You look so cute all beat up on the floor like that.” He crouched down in front of America, whose eyes were glazed over with dilated pupils, and grabbed his chin firmly. “Look at those lovely eyes of yours.”
America tried to pull his chin away, but the grip that Russia had was far too strong for him in such a weak state. “Can’t… Th-they’re my eyes, Vanya.”
“I suppose that is true.” Russia got to his feet again, watching Alfred’s head slump again. “Alfred, Alfred, Alfred…” His heels clicked in time with the name as he walked a circle around him, arms behind his back. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”
“What do you mean?” His voice was weak, quiet, and sounded quite broken. He just wanted him to get it over with and to sleep. He wanted to eat. He just wanted something good to happen. Maybe to die. This was too hard. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the revenge to his revenge.
“What will I do with you? You are still so infatuated with me, even though I beat you senseless.”
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
America’s time was running out. He could feel it. He remained silent.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
The clock and Ivan’s heels were irritating him.
Clickclick.
Ivan had halted near him, heals clicking together and toes facing out, then turned to face him. “You are not going to answer me?”
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The ticking was getting louder, he thought. He grunted in annoyance. “That ticking. What is that ticking?” Suddenly, he felt a hard object slam into his upper back. He cried out.
“Do not avoid answering my questions, my little pet pig.”
America slumped with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure… Wh-what you’re going to do with me, babe… What are y—” He was cut off by another crack across the back, causing him to scream loudly.
“There is no ‘babe’ here.”
Alfred heaved a heavy sigh. “Wh-what are you going to do with me?”
“I am glad you asked.” The Russian reared his pipe. “I am going to beat you. I will beat you until you bleed. Nyet, until you break. Nyet! I will beat until you are dead. Just as you had killed me. Now it is your turn to die.” With that, Ivan kept true to his word. He began to smack the pipe across his upper back and his head. Hard.
Alfred’s vision went blurry, tears flowing freely from his eyes. It hurt so bad. He felt something in his shoulder crack and warm blood start to soak up into his coat. With each hit to the head, his eyesight was clouded by pain and then black for a split second.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
And that incessant ticking.
It was something Ivan used. It drove them mad slowly, but surely. More so than silence. Then the ticking would remind them about this. The clicking of his boots and the ticking of the clock sounded similar. This way, his victim was never sure if it was him that was coming from the shroud of darkness, or just that stupid clock on the wall.
America felt a blow to his lower back. His neck. His arms. His head again. His upper back. Things were cracking. He could feel them. Hear them. He couldn’t do this anymore. Suddenly, the beating stopped. Alfred looked up, his eyes fuzzy from both pain and the fact that Texas was somewhere, smashed on the floor. His blue eyes searched frantically. “Where are you…? Where the fuck are you?!” The ticking of the clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Was that the clock? Or the Russian’s boots? He couldn’t tell. Russia had done his job well. “Where did you go? Where are you?” His heart was starting to race. He was panicking and he was panicking badly. He turned his head forward to squint in front of him and then…
Crunch.
The pipe. The end of the pipe. It was in his back and had broken through a rib or two. Russia was slowly twisting it in from behind. America’s eyes went wide and he felt some liquid trickle from his mouth. Probably blood. He’d been hit in the mouth once or twice, but he was sure that if it was blood, it was from his lungs. He turned slightly to see the cruel beast behind him.
“V-Va… yagh…” He gurgled it out. Russia jerked it out and hit his head one more time, jerking it forward and down. Yeah. It was blood. He could see it now. It was coming out of his mouth in a steady stream. Not dripping. Flowing from his mouth.
A crack to the jaw and then a foot to the shoulder, Russia shoved him back onto his ass. “And now I leave you with that, pet.” He then removed himself from the room to allow the man to die.

vodkakol:

Sorta going on my own with this one, kinda going off of this’un.

Original

_______

America was feeling uneasy. He was chained the floor. He had been for hours, days, maybe even a week or two. He could never tell. Russia kept the room pitch dark save for a bright light shining right on him. No windows, nothing. Not even a visible clock, though there was definitely one in the room. It’s monotonous ticking was starting to grate on his nerves. No, it had been getting on his nerves. It was just starting to really piss him off.

He had been getting a break for a few days from any other torment, though, so he was feeling nervous. He didn’t know when it would start again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

This ticking didn’t sound like the clock. America had been in his own world to the point where he hadn’t heard the opening of the iron door. It was Russia. He was stepping lightly, almost with a giddy air to him. America couldn’t see him, but he knew it was. He knew it.

“Fredka, my darling!” Russia’s voice was so condescending. “You look so cute all beat up on the floor like that.” He crouched down in front of America, whose eyes were glazed over with dilated pupils, and grabbed his chin firmly. “Look at those lovely eyes of yours.”

America tried to pull his chin away, but the grip that Russia had was far too strong for him in such a weak state. “Can’t… Th-they’re my eyes, Vanya.”

“I suppose that is true.” Russia got to his feet again, watching Alfred’s head slump again. “Alfred, Alfred, Alfred…” His heels clicked in time with the name as he walked a circle around him, arms behind his back. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was weak, quiet, and sounded quite broken. He just wanted him to get it over with and to sleep. He wanted to eat. He just wanted something good to happen. Maybe to die. This was too hard. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the revenge to his revenge.

“What will I do with you? You are still so infatuated with me, even though I beat you senseless.”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

America’s time was running out. He could feel it. He remained silent.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The clock and Ivan’s heels were irritating him.

Clickclick.

Ivan had halted near him, heals clicking together and toes facing out, then turned to face him. “You are not going to answer me?”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The ticking was getting louder, he thought. He grunted in annoyance. “That ticking. What is that ticking?” Suddenly, he felt a hard object slam into his upper back. He cried out.

“Do not avoid answering my questions, my little pet pig.”

America slumped with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure… Wh-what you’re going to do with me, babe… What are y—” He was cut off by another crack across the back, causing him to scream loudly.

“There is no ‘babe’ here.”

Alfred heaved a heavy sigh. “Wh-what are you going to do with me?”

“I am glad you asked.” The Russian reared his pipe. “I am going to beat you. I will beat you until you bleed. Nyet, until you break. Nyet! I will beat until you are dead. Just as you had killed me. Now it is your turn to die.” With that, Ivan kept true to his word. He began to smack the pipe across his upper back and his head. Hard.

Alfred’s vision went blurry, tears flowing freely from his eyes. It hurt so bad. He felt something in his shoulder crack and warm blood start to soak up into his coat. With each hit to the head, his eyesight was clouded by pain and then black for a split second.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

And that incessant ticking.

It was something Ivan used. It drove them mad slowly, but surely. More so than silence. Then the ticking would remind them about this. The clicking of his boots and the ticking of the clock sounded similar. This way, his victim was never sure if it was him that was coming from the shroud of darkness, or just that stupid clock on the wall.

America felt a blow to his lower back. His neck. His arms. His head again. His upper back. Things were cracking. He could feel them. Hear them. He couldn’t do this anymore. Suddenly, the beating stopped. Alfred looked up, his eyes fuzzy from both pain and the fact that Texas was somewhere, smashed on the floor. His blue eyes searched frantically. “Where are you…? Where the fuck are you?!” The ticking of the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Was that the clock? Or the Russian’s boots? He couldn’t tell. Russia had done his job well. “Where did you go? Where are you?” His heart was starting to race. He was panicking and he was panicking badly. He turned his head forward to squint in front of him and then…

Crunch.

The pipe. The end of the pipe. It was in his back and had broken through a rib or two. Russia was slowly twisting it in from behind. America’s eyes went wide and he felt some liquid trickle from his mouth. Probably blood. He’d been hit in the mouth once or twice, but he was sure that if it was blood, it was from his lungs. He turned slightly to see the cruel beast behind him.

“V-Va… yagh…” He gurgled it out. Russia jerked it out and hit his head one more time, jerking it forward and down. Yeah. It was blood. He could see it now. It was coming out of his mouth in a steady stream. Not dripping. Flowing from his mouth.

A crack to the jaw and then a foot to the shoulder, Russia shoved him back onto his ass. “And now I leave you with that, pet.” He then removed himself from the room to allow the man to die.

(Source: cadmiumbq)

vodkakol:

In response to this.
Original
_______
With his arms tied behind the chair and his feet to the legs, the Russian was pretty much useless. He struggled, but to no avail. It only served to tire him more.
By this point in time, his lips were chapped and the corners of his mouth hurt. Only now was he regretting the things he did to his little Fredka, his little pet. Alfred was only treating him like this out of revenge. He certainly wouldn’t do this on a normal basis.
Just as America had been left waiting, so had Russia. America had left about an hour ago (or so he thought, as he wasn’t sure) to fetch the two something ‘nice to eat’. Of course Russia doubted that tonight his food would be anything near that. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. He didn’t whisper for help. He knew it wouldn’t come. There was no one to help him. Not this time.
The wooden door squealed open at an almost deafeningly high pitch. It needed to be oiled. Alfred took a slow step in, letting it scream like a banshee as it slowly shut behind him. “Vanya. How are you?” That cocky grin appeared over the American’s features.
Russia hated it.
He missed that Hollywood smile he used to get. But no. He got no such thing. No kindness. None.
“I asked you a question, Russki.”
“Hum? Oh. I am… well.” His response was dull and monotonous. There was no trace of that sweet, cheery tone he usually had sprinkling his words.
“Good! I brought you a snack!” Ivan had just now noticed that his captor had a McDonalds bag in his hand, though that was quickly put to the side. Instead, he watched the blonde reach into his pocket as he strode over. His eyelids drew themselves wide as he watched a small black object be removed in Al’s palm. A gun. Something inside him panicked, and his mouth shot open.
“Nyet! Nyet, do not shoot! Pozhaluista, do not shoot!” He didn’t know why. That little bit of him inside was wondering why he felt like he needed to plead, to beg for forgiveness. To beg him to stop. Maybe it was his lack of proper nutrition. It was making him act odd. He wasn’t sure. “Do not shoot me! Pozhaluista!”
Alfred gave a chuckle and fiddled with the weapon in his fingers. “I shouldn’t shoot?” He peered over the black metal slightly to watch the federalist nod vigorously. “Really?” Another nod. This time, instead of just saying something else, there was a loud sort of thud noise.
The shock Ivan felt from the pistol smacking him in the jaw sent his mind reeling. He spat on the floor a mix of drool and blood. As his now hazy eyes looked back up, he saw that cruel smile on Alfred’s face. He hated it. He spat another reddish concoction up into that grin.
Needless to say, America didn’t like that shit. He didn’t like it one bit. His grin immediately faded as he shoved the barrel of the gun into Russia’s mouth, reveling in the startled and pained squeak he made. His other gloved hand moved up to wipe his face of saliva and he got about eye level with his hostage. The hand then shot to the back of his head and gripped his hair tightly.
“Careful there, ol’ buddy. I reckon you won’t like me when I’m pissed off too much.”
Russia’s panic levels rose. He started to struggle and squeak and squeal.
“Be still now, Russki! I’ll shoot!” His words fell upon deaf ears. Russia struggled harder, trying to get free and tears now streaming down his cheeks. ‘Do not shoot, do not shoot! Bozhe moi, do not shoot! Pozhaluista!’ was all that he could hear, his mind roaring in his ears. Finally, he managed to brake one free and grabbed at America’s wrist.
Bang.
The hand fell limp at his side again and he slumped in the chair, blood dripping down the back of his neck and spattered on the wall behind them.
“Who’s the pet now, Russki? Who’s the fuckin’ pet now?”

vodkakol:

In response to this.

Original

_______

With his arms tied behind the chair and his feet to the legs, the Russian was pretty much useless. He struggled, but to no avail. It only served to tire him more.

By this point in time, his lips were chapped and the corners of his mouth hurt. Only now was he regretting the things he did to his little Fredka, his little pet. Alfred was only treating him like this out of revenge. He certainly wouldn’t do this on a normal basis.

Just as America had been left waiting, so had Russia. America had left about an hour ago (or so he thought, as he wasn’t sure) to fetch the two something ‘nice to eat’. Of course Russia doubted that tonight his food would be anything near that. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. He didn’t whisper for help. He knew it wouldn’t come. There was no one to help him. Not this time.

The wooden door squealed open at an almost deafeningly high pitch. It needed to be oiled. Alfred took a slow step in, letting it scream like a banshee as it slowly shut behind him. “Vanya. How are you?” That cocky grin appeared over the American’s features.

Russia hated it.

He missed that Hollywood smile he used to get. But no. He got no such thing. No kindness. None.

“I asked you a question, Russki.”

“Hum? Oh. I am… well.” His response was dull and monotonous. There was no trace of that sweet, cheery tone he usually had sprinkling his words.

“Good! I brought you a snack!” Ivan had just now noticed that his captor had a McDonalds bag in his hand, though that was quickly put to the side. Instead, he watched the blonde reach into his pocket as he strode over. His eyelids drew themselves wide as he watched a small black object be removed in Al’s palm. A gun. Something inside him panicked, and his mouth shot open.

“Nyet! Nyet, do not shoot! Pozhaluista, do not shoot!” He didn’t know why. That little bit of him inside was wondering why he felt like he needed to plead, to beg for forgiveness. To beg him to stop. Maybe it was his lack of proper nutrition. It was making him act odd. He wasn’t sure. “Do not shoot me! Pozhaluista!”

Alfred gave a chuckle and fiddled with the weapon in his fingers. “I shouldn’t shoot?” He peered over the black metal slightly to watch the federalist nod vigorously. “Really?” Another nod. This time, instead of just saying something else, there was a loud sort of thud noise.

The shock Ivan felt from the pistol smacking him in the jaw sent his mind reeling. He spat on the floor a mix of drool and blood. As his now hazy eyes looked back up, he saw that cruel smile on Alfred’s face. He hated it. He spat another reddish concoction up into that grin.

Needless to say, America didn’t like that shit. He didn’t like it one bit. His grin immediately faded as he shoved the barrel of the gun into Russia’s mouth, reveling in the startled and pained squeak he made. His other gloved hand moved up to wipe his face of saliva and he got about eye level with his hostage. The hand then shot to the back of his head and gripped his hair tightly.

“Careful there, ol’ buddy. I reckon you won’t like me when I’m pissed off too much.”

Russia’s panic levels rose. He started to struggle and squeak and squeal.

“Be still now, Russki! I’ll shoot!” His words fell upon deaf ears. Russia struggled harder, trying to get free and tears now streaming down his cheeks. ‘Do not shoot, do not shoot! Bozhe moi, do not shoot! Pozhaluista!’ was all that he could hear, his mind roaring in his ears. Finally, he managed to brake one free and grabbed at America’s wrist.

Bang.

The hand fell limp at his side again and he slumped in the chair, blood dripping down the back of his neck and spattered on the wall behind them.

“Who’s the pet now, Russki? Who’s the fuckin’ pet now?

(Source: cadmiumbq)

Remember the date

Svetlana’s fingers tapped lightly at the table. Alfred was late for their date. Again. He wasn’t always quite punctual, despite the fact that everyone else in America demanded being on time all the time. Back in Russia, it was more leisurely. She didn’t mind the fact that their date was at Wendy’s, nor did she mind the fact that it wasn’t too romantic. She just wanted to see him again. She scraped lightly at the table with her nail, finally seeing her boyfriend pop through the front door holding a bag. He ran over with rapid apologies and sat down across from the Russian.

"Sorry babe. I didn’t mean to—"

"It is fine," she said, cutting him off with a smile and wave of her hand. She was just glad he was there. "What do you have there in that bag?"

"Huh? What ba— Oh! Pfft— Yeah no. It’s nothin’." Of course his lopsided grin didn’t convince her, but she said nothing.

Their lunch was short, half because Alfred rushed her. ‘Come on, babe! We have to get back to the apartment!’ he kept saying. She wasn’t fond of being rushed, but she could tell he was pumped so she did. She figured he was going to try and woo her, which she didn’t mind one bit.

They climbed in the car and he reached a hand over to hold hers. A smile spread over her face, regardless of his strange behavior. God, he was so adorable. They pulled into the lot and up to their apartment they went, hand in hand. Inside their little abode were a few new pieces that weren’t there when she’d left. A scratching post, food and water bowls… She looked at him with a smile and raised her brow.

"Did you get us—"

"Cats! I got cats! I named mine Hero!" He grinned that brilliant grin and as he did so, a rather fluffy looking long haired cat sauntered up. She was dark with a patch of white on her neck and tail and she sat herself down and peered up at her new owners, a tail curling around her feet.

"Hm… I will name her…" Svetlana reached down and lifted the cat into her arms. "Bulochka." While receiving a strange look from her boyfriend, she laughed and sat down, the cat meowing loudly.

"C’mere, Lana. I got something else for ya!" He put the bag down on the table and tossed out a few cat toys before pulling out a cake decorated with sunflowers. He heard her gasp and just laughed. "Hey— do me a favor and sit down?"

"Sure…?" Confused, she complied and chose to settle on the couch, legs crossed and head tilted.

She wasn’t expecting Alfred to drop to a knee in front of her.

"Svetlana, we’ve been together for… hell, forfive years. I mean… I know it seems like I waited a real long time but… But I wanted to be entirely sure. I didn’t want us to be married for a year and just… entirely crumble, y’know? I just wanted to make sure we’d make the cut because I really do love you so much and I wouldn’t want that for us and— wow, haha. I told myself I wouldn’t start to babble. But uh…" His usual confidence was failing him and he was nervous, she could tell. He held up a little box. "I um… Well— Lana, I was hoping you would… you know… I was hoping you would marry me." Oh, that adorable, lopsided grin.

She uncrossed her legs and pulled him up onto her lap, pulling his face down to kiss him nice and firm on the lips. “Of course,” she murmured, their lips still touching. “Ya tozhe lyublyu tebya.”

I forgot to ask for a pairing to go with it

prompts

qichi:

worldaccordingwrites:

choose one aspect from every category, and i will write a ficlet with those elements.

setting:
red: bed
orange: elaborate date
yellow: school or work
green: house, apartment, blah
blue: a hospital
indigo: on vacation; the beach
violet: watching the sunset
black: in an extreme situation; brink of death, war, etcetera

just after… 
red: sex
orange: a huge fight
yellow: a marriage proposal
green: an encounter with an ex or an enemy
blue: a confession
indigo: a long time without seeing each other
violet: a good cry
black: a traumatic event

include…
red: an extravagant gift
orange: somethnig edible
yellow: pillows and blankets and such
green: a field or a bouquet of flowers; something outdoors
blue: books
indigo: a single word or idea as the underlying theme 
violet: something so cliché it makes you cringe
black: butterfly kisses

AY YO, SO

I really miss writing Hetalia? and I feel bad for neglecting it. so! fill me this out for Hetalia pairings, dudes! (which means yeah you should specify the pairing in your ask) (thank)

Prompts will be done on my time, so forgive me if they don’t get done tonight.

Or if they take a while.

Prompts?