✎ Fel's Creative Journal (tinfoiltennis) wrote,
✎ Fel's Creative Journal

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✎ fanfic - hetalia - the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented

Title: the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: /DEEP BREATH/ England, Portugal [OC], Ireland [starsandauras’s OC], Australia [unspeakingly’s OC], Prussia, France, Wales [crownings’s OC], Spain, Romano, Scotland [eats_typos’s OC], America, Sealand, Canada, Italy, Germany, Northern Ireland [later_days’s OC], GOD, JUST EVERY NATION EVER AT SOME POINT OR ANOTHER. Other people’s OCs are used with varying degrees of permission but with no less love or gratitude. <3
Pairing?: England/Portugal with a bit of background Spain/Romano.
Rating: PG for a bit of language.
Summary: They’d wanted something quiet. Well, that was never going to go according to plan. Especially when Ireland’s got her heart set on playing the role of the weathered old sea captain.
Timeframe … I do not even know, lmfao. 2010 OR 2011.
Word Count: 5105
Notes: This is TV Tropes’s fault. God damn you, Married At Sea trope, for being perfect for these two. Also god damn you people on Plurk for trying to push me into writing marriage!fic for these two ever since That One Bit Of Legislation got passed. :| I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY, Y’BUGGERS. Also a lot of the texts were lifted directly from people’s contributions on Plurk, and for that I thank them and apologise. <3

… oh yeah, and for those curious, the title is from a quote by Heinrich Heine: “Here's to matrimony, the high sea for which no compass has yet been invented!”
Warnings: A clusterscrew of Hetalia OCs, far too much crack in one fic to be legal, a buttload of clichedness and sap, Ireland in a speedboat and sunglasses, and the finer workings of Australia’s text message inbox.

✎ ✎ ✎

“So, I hear you’re making an honest man out of me brother finally?”

There was a laugh like dancing water in Brigid’s voice that was clear even down the phone as she said that, not even bothering with an opening hello. Luís, taken aback, blinked, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. He was taken aback for two reasons, really. One was that he hadn’t really expected that to be the first thing out of his close friend’s mouth. The second was that he hadn’t expected it because she shouldn’t have known about it in the first place.

Although really, on second thought, maybe it wasn’t all that surprising. She was Ireland, after all.

“Good evening to you too, Brigid,” he replied dryly, with a smile. “Did you hear that from him?”

She chuckled again. “From Arthur? Me dearest brother that has problems admitting even that he smiles sometimes? ‘Tis either a fool you are or love has blinded you more than usual. Nay, I have me sources, but t’wasn’t any Nation that told me. Word spreads fast among the Fae and they do so like to gossip.”

He had a feeling that he should have expected an answer like that as well. It probably said something about how much time he’d spent with the sort of company he kept that he hardly bat an eyelid at the explanation. He’d long since chalked up Arthur and his siblings’ (probable) shared hallucinations as ultimately harmless and even a little endearing. Besides, he’d learned that it was a losing battle even suggesting that their fairy friends were anything less than real.

“There really is no hope of keeping anything quiet on this continent, is there?” he sighed good-naturedly.

“Think of who’s living on it, me dear brother, and then ask that question again. Take it that means you haven’t told Antonio yet then?” she asked impishly. He could just picture the smile she was probably wearing at that moment; her eyes would be positively sparkling with mischief, he warranted.

“You’re joking, aren’t you? I should think we would have far more problems on our hands if I had.” The first among them being the hours, no, days, of near-constant begging not to do it that he’d have to put up with.

“Aye,” she agreed, sounding far too cheerful about the prospect. “It’d break your wee brother’s heart it would, if he didn’t just try to drag you away from the altar first.”

“A fate worth avoiding, I think,” he chuckled. “Which is why we were hoping to keep this quiet until afterwards.”

“Marrying in secret’s a fine thing as long as it’s done properly. Though ‘tis a little hurt I am that I would have been left out of proceedings.”

Something else he should probably have expected, there. As nice as it was to know he had Ireland’s blessing, she did have a tendency to get a little over enthusiastic sometimes. And it looked as if now was going to be one of those times.

“You’ve just proved yourself that news travels fast,” he pointed out. “At this rate, half the world will know by tomorrow morning.”

“Now, would I do that? All I want is at least a chance to congratulate you. Though incidentally – ” and here he imagined her expression taking on a piercing note that invited nothing but a truthful answer – “What ‘tis it that you are planning? Since you both seem so set on all this secrecy that rules out most civilised places.”

“You’re quite forgetting about the ocean, irmã,” he said, a smile in his voice. “It wouldn’t be the first time people have married at sea, and I doubt it would be the last.”

“Acting in the best traditions of both sides of the family then, I see,” she said approvingly. “Aye, I have to admit it suits you both, couldn’t imagine a more fitting place. Makes me wonder where you’re going to find a ship’s captain willing or able to perform such a marriage, like.”

“It’ll probably just be a matter of looking hard enough.”

“Hmm.” Something about her tone suggested that she knew that his answer was mostly to appease her and all her questioning. “Well, if you do have trouble, you know there’s an old captain not far away who wouldn’t mind offering her help.”

Briefly his mind flashed backwards and he remembered; Ireland had been quite the pirate herself, back in the day. But then that meant… “You’re quite serious about that, aren't you?” he said, caught somewhere between taken aback and touched.

“And why not? I don’t think anyone could argue with a marriage carried out by Ireland herself,” she said, a grin in her voice. “Not even the Vatican, and you know how he can get.” He did know, of course, quite well; Vatican City was difficult to please at the best of times. Goodness knew Ireland had been on the receiving end of some of his more finicky whims herself. His past refusal to dissolve her own disastrous (and mutually unwanted) marriage to her own brother, for example. “Besides, ‘tis the least I can do for me brother, seeing as how I missed out on the opportunity to ask you about your intentions back when the question was still pertinent.”

“Personally, I would be honoured if you were willing to do it,” he said warmly, side-stepping her last comment. “I can’t speak for Arthur, of course, but I imagine convincing him may be the difficult part.”

She laughed. “Aye, ‘tis always that way with him. But I’m sure the lack of decent captains around’d work on him sooner or later.” Unseen, he shook his head slightly at her characteristic simplification of it all.

“As long as we both manage to get at least a word or two in about our own wedding, Brigid,” he teased gently, knowing that she would catch the seriousness in the statement as well. The wicked grin in her reply was almost tangible even down the phone line.

“Oh, of course, Luís. You have to say ‘I Do’ after all!” He couldn’t help it – he laughed at that, a full one that rang out.

“At least do me the favour of not letting this spread for a while,” he told her once his laughter had subsided.

“Don’t worry. Not a soul will know.”

✎ ✎ ✎

xx-xx-201x 9:22am
mum finally getting hitched, v.
exciting :D!!! xxx

from: cool runnings
xx-xx-201x 9:24am
finally! so which 1’s de wife? >;) x

from: auntie badass
xx-xx-201x 9:26am
Aye, Terra, I know since I was
the one that texted you and
told you.

from: japan ♥
xx-xx-201x 9:29am
san, I don’t think I quite

from: pasta boy
xx-xx-201x 9:29am

xx-xx-201x 9:29am
LOL I know that auntie,
just sent it to everyone on
my call list is all xxx

xx-xx-201x 9:30 am

from: mapley
xx-xx-201x 9:33 am
Really? That’s great! ^_^

from: auntie badass
xx-xx-201x 9:35 am
I do hope you didn’t send it to
Arthur and Luis then.

from: BALLSY
xx-xx-201x 9:36 am
inglaterra and pai? ur joking
right? :/

xx-xx-201x 9:37 am
England and portugal, japan!
Theyre finally tying the knot!

from: best mardi gras ever
xx-xx-201x 9:40 am
OMG WAT???!!!! Ha ha lyk, no
way, Terra ur ttly j/k rofl <3

from: little sis
xx-xx-201x 9:41 am
Papa and Inglaterra? That’s
wonderful ☺

xx-xx-201x 9:42 am
… don’t think I did… xxx

from: japan ♥
xx-xx-201x 9:43am
(○A○)Ah, I see! I must
remember to congratulate
them both…

from: kiwi
xx-xx-201x 9:44am
About bloody time, isn’t it? ;)

from: US of Awesome
xx-xx-201x 9:50am
… we have a mom, aussie??
since wen???? :O

xx-xx-201x 9:55am
im talkin about england +
portugal ya boofhead! xxx

from: mon ami ♥
xx-xx-201x 10:01am
Vraiment, cherie? Non, you
must surely be joking!

from: US of Awesome
xx-xx-201x 10:09am
… I didnt know they were
dating… :S

from: auntie badass
xx-xx-201x 12:12pm
… Terra. I need you to be
sure here. Did you send it to

xx-xx-201x 12:28pm
phew! Bloody oath you had
me worried there. we r clear,
spain didnt get it xxx

from: auntie badass
xx-xx-201x 12:31pm
Good. I better tell Preuben
not to breathe a word to him
either, shite.

from: kitchen sink
xx-xx-201x 3:15pm

xx-xx-201x 3:20pm
England and portugal are
getting married, boofhead!

from: kitchen sink
xx-xx-201x 3:25pm

xx-xx-201x 3:30pm
… maybe? ^^;;;

from: date???
xx-xx-201x 8:31pm
dfhdhddfhd why would you
send me a stupid text like
that???!!! Its not even
important damn it

xx-xx-201x 8:45pm
Awwww, are ya jealous~?

from: date???
xx-xx-201x 8:49pm

from: xmas dinner
xx-xx-201x 9:01pm
Eh? Orangey finally got
İngiltere tied down?
… so we’re all crashing
this right >:D

xx-xx-201x 9:02pm
Duh! xxx

✎ ✎ ✎

“Irlande must be taking things very seriously,” Francis commented as he settled himself carelessly in a seat next to Gilbert. Gilbert, who was lounging and taking up two seats just by himself, raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“What makes you say that?”

“My dear Prusse, she is wearing trousers.” Francis indicated the petite redhead leaning over the side of the ship to help Lichtenstein onto the deck, sure enough resplendent in breeches, an officer’s jacket and a tricorn hat from the old days. Gilbert’s smirk widened into a devilish grin.

“’Course she’s taking things seriously. Brows and Luís are finally tying the knot,” he smirked. “Toni’s probably back home crying himself into an early grave over it,” he added with relish, cackling a little at the thought.

“If he even knows,” Francis agreed. “After all, the only reason I am here at all is because of Australie’s text, and –”

“And even then it was Douglas that had to speak to her and stop her gutting you with her knives while she told you not to strip here, right?” Gilbert interrupted, still sniggering. Francis looked affronted.

“Gilbert, I am hurt! Angleterre and I may not be the best of friends –” Gilbert snorted at the understatement “ – but I am not one to stand in the way of l’amour.”

“Sure. That’s totally the only reason you haven’t just gone ahead and told Spain anyway already,” Gilbert smirked.

“Ay, what?” Terra’s arrival was announced by an arm slung around each of their necks from behind. The two of them glanced up to find the cheerful Australian grinning, her hair neatly brushed and she herself in a dress for what would be probably the last time in her life, although there was a hint of worry in her eyes. “Who’s tellin’ Spain what?”

“Ah, no one,” Francis assured her, while Gilbert let out an appreciative whistle at her dress. “I doubt that poor Espange would be able to find his way here in time to object even if he were to discover Brigid’s plan.”

“’Course not!” Terra declared cheerily. “There’s a reason Auntie just texted us all where it’d be personally! ‘Sides, we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere, Spain couldn’t find us if he tried!”

‘The middle of bloody nowhere’, as it happened, was a large galleon in the middle of the Atlantic ocean that Brigid, through means that no one was sure they quite wanted to ask about, had managed to acquire and modify slightly for the occasion. The Irishwoman had undertaken her practically self-appointed role as wedding officiator very seriously, and most people knew better than to stand in Ireland’s way when she got an idea in her head. And woe betide anyone indeed who did so when that idea had to do with matchmaking. The fact that it was the wedding of her little brother and one of her closest friends, long-overdue in the eyes of half of Europe as it was, meant that everyone was giving her even more wide of a berth than usual.

Except for Elizabeta. But then again, Francis had seen her flitting around earlier holding a video camera, and had a sneaking suspicion – confirmed by Prussia – that Hungary was planning on filming the entire thing.

Terra, her arms still slung over both of the men’s shoulders, was looking around the deck with an impressed look on her face. “Cripes, almost the whole world’s here, innit?”

Ie, we’ve been waiting for this for over six hundred years, you know,” said Llewellyn, his eyes twinkling along with his trademark gentle smile as he passed them.

“Yeah, maybe you have. Someone of us ain’t even been around that long, mate!” Terra laughed impishly at his back. Not that that really had any bearing on anything; as she’d just said herself, the galleon was almost overflowing with nations who had any connection to either of the soon-to-be-married. Peter was looking very odd out of his sailor suit (although he’d managed to hang onto his hat) and was currently engaged in trying to rile up Connor somehow, while Douglas egged him on shamelessly. Sadiq – thankfully, nowhere near Heracles, who was dozing in a chair near the back row – was joining Marcia in roaring with laughter at Elizabeta animatedly explaining her video camera, and her plans for it, to them. Alfred, Matthew and Raul were chatting animatedly – or rather, Alfred and Raul were chatting while Matthew tried valiantly to remain a part of the conversation – and even Erik had put in an appearance, as he’d declared loudly to anyone who’d listen, “for old time’s sake”, and was now cheerfully making conversation with anyone who wandered near – which at the moment included Feliciano, Kiku, Ludwig and Roderich. Typically, Feliciano was the only one responding to Erik with equal enthusiasm; the other three were all looking as if they’d rather be somewhere else.

Pretty much everyone she knew and then some was there, and Terra thought they’d probably be lucky if her dad didn’t just kill them all on arriving, since she vaguely remembered hearing something about how they’d wanted this to be a quiet affair. He would probably start with Francis, who was now busy recounting tales of England’s youth.

“Ah, yes, I remember it well,” he was saying, and she couldn’t help giggling as he winked at her, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “Back when Angleterre was a young, shy and inexperienced thing and the two of them spent almost a century and a half dancing around each other while he nursed that ridiculous crush of his.”

“He thought he was so good at hiding it, too,” Gilbert sniggered. “But even Antonio picked up on it, and you know it’s bad when he gets it before anyone else does!”

“Really, the true miracle is how on Earth Luís had the patience for him,” Francis agreed. “But then again Antonio is, how do you say, head over heels for Romano himself, so I suppose that something must run in the family.”

Ja. Or they were dropped on their heads as kids and it screwed up their ability to think.”

Oui, or that. But then Angleterre, on the other hand, has always been a little strange. My dear Australie, did I ever tell you about the time when he tried to grow his hair out to look like m –”

“They’re coming!” came a loud shout from above – Luciano, perched in the crow’s nest with a telescope and a thermos full of coffee. Brigid had taken it upon herself to station him up there almost as soon as he had arrived, and since she had a sword strapped to her belt to complete her old captain’s outfit along with her usual hidden knives, the Brazilian had thought better of arguing with her.

At his shout, there was a sudden flurry of activity as everyone stopped socialising and made their way as fast as they could to the nearest seat they could bag. Australia vanished from behind Prussia and France and went to retrieve the tiny bouquet that Brigid had given her. There was a small tinny beep as Elizabeta set her camera to ‘record’. Finally, the soft thud of another boat hitting the side of the great galleon could be heard.

It was really only typical, what happened next.

Arthur’s head appeared over the side of the ship. There was a pause of about five seconds, during which his eyes widened, his cheeks coloured, his famously impressive eyebrows vanished into his hair, and his expression kaleidoscoped between stunned into silence, awestruck, and completely furious.

By the time he spoke, it appeared he’d decided to mostly settle on the latter.

“Oh, you have got to be having a fucking laugh.

Several people smiled, or stifled giggles; Prussia cackled openly, and Ireland herself, from the space she’d cleared near the wheel, beamed and let out a clear laugh.

Llewellyn, who was one of those who had laughed openly, smiled at his brother. “Really, brawd, you didn’t think you’d be able to make any of us miss this, did you?”

It was at that moment that Luís’s head popped up over the side of the ship as well, and his own eyebrows flew up at the sight that greeted him. “… So,” he said eventually as he helped himself up onto the deck, and to his credit he only sounded slightly annoyed at the state of affairs. “Not quite so secret after all, then.”

“I’m going to kill her,” England was muttering darkly, his face still blazing bright red. “I’m actually going to kill her.”

“If you must, can it wait until after we’re married?” Luís said evenly, quietly enough so that only those closest to them could hear. “I would hate to spoil the day with a murder.” Arthur rolled his eyes and scowled briefly before he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Wales shook his head fondly at this obvious display of attempting to calm down before adding:

“You know, I think Brigid had her heart set on me being the one to give you away, but you two seem to have got round the need for that part.”

Arthur spluttered slightly, indignation back in full force. “Give me awa – I’m not some blushing bride, for Heaven’s sake!” he hissed as Llewellyn’s lazy grin took on a wicked edge. Portugal smiled wryly and nudged England gently on the arm.

“Perhaps not a bride, but you are blushing,” he teased lightly. Luckily, before the conversation could deteriorate any further, there was a loud shout from the ship’s wheel that made most of the assembled nations jump.

“Oi! Are the two of ye going to let me marry you both or is it forever that you’re just planning to stand around down there?”

The two of them turned and exchanged a glance that was sheepish, almost guilty, before Arthur sighed impatiently. “Oh – alright then, come on,” he said decisively, hesitating for only a moment before he added quietly, “It’s been too long anyway.”

Luís grinned and the two of them walked towards the beaming redhead, who tipped her hat at them slightly as they drew near.

“’Not a soul will know’, hmm?” Luís murmured pointedly, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Aye, well, things snowballed slightly, they did,” Brigid admitted. “But really now, Luís, ‘tis years now that the pair of you have been as good as married anyway, and that’s hardly been a secret. At the very least you can let us see it become official without any risk of An Spáinn objecting.”

“I should bloody well hope not,” Arthur said sourly, and there were a few laughs from those who were sitting closest to the front and could hear.

“And if you would just hush, me brother, I could get on with the business of marrying you,” she added, though it was with a smile and a light voice that she said it. Arthur gave her a look but didn’t say anything, and Brigid, supremely unfazed, cleared her voice before continuing.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two together in marriage,” she began, reciting the words from memory. She paused for a moment, a twinkle in her eye, and added, “Traditionally I believe ‘tis customary here to give a summary of how serious the sacrament is and what it all involves, but it seems to me that after so long together you both know that part anyway from experience as is, so I reserve me right as captain to skip that part. And I assume since Antonio is nowhere to be seen that no one has any objections.”

No one said anything; although really, with the glint in Brigid’s eyes that was only just hidden by her warm smile, it was doubtful that anyone would have dared even if they did have any kind of objection. At the uniform silence, Brigid’s smile became more relaxed. “Wonderful,” she said pleasantly. “That being the case, I’ll invite Arthur and Luís to make their vows.”

The two of them turned to look at each other, Luís with a small smile, Arthur almost with a look of apprehension at the prospect of saying something as personal as an effective declaration of love in public. But when Luís picked up on it and took his hand with the tiniest, almost imperceptible squeeze, his expression settled a little. Still smiling, Luís began to speak slowly, making sure every word was clear.

“I, Luís Valdez, give to you, Arthur Kirkland, a promise that really isn’t that new at all. A long time ago, I promised to love you no matter what else happened. And today, I take you as my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” He paused slightly before saying in a softer tone, “Whatever the future may hold for us, we will always have our love. It is enough.”

Subconsciously Arthur held the hand within his a little tighter as the other man finished before he spoke the vows himself, his voice clear and sharp and betraying none of the nervousness that had been on his face a moment before. There was a kind of focus in the air between the breeze that wound through the masts, a shared held breath as everyone’s eyes were trained on the pair, unable to pull away. Ireland beckoned quietly to Sealand who was sitting nearby, and the small boy rushed forward with the simple rings. There was an easy, almost content quiet as the two slipped the bands on each other’s fingers.

“As captain of this ship, then, ‘tis with great pleasure that I now pronounce you married,” Brigid said, with something that was more than a little like triumph in her voice. She spoiled the effect slightly by winking a moment later and adding, “And I’m sure that by now I’ll not be needing to ask you to kiss.”

About that, she was right enough; almost before the words were out of her mouth, it seemed, the two were leaning in for a warm kiss. For once it seemed that any of England’s normal self-consciousness had been temporarily discarded as he kissed his lover with a rare smile that almost matched Portugal’s in its intensity. Smatterings of spontaneous applause broke out from some of the nations below, a few – mostly Alfred and Terra – started whooping and cheering and throwing confetti from bags that had seemingly appeared from nowhere, Prussia, Jamaica and Scotland cackled loudly and joined France in wolf-whistling, and Sadiq raised his voice enough to shout audibly, “That’s more like it, Orangey, it only bleedin’ took yer over six hundred years!”

As the couple broke from the kiss, Luís turned and fixed his gaze on the masked Turkish man, an eyebrow raised. It was only slightly spoiled by the ghost of the smile still lingering on his lips. “Tell me, Sadiq, do you want to be thrown overboard?” he called down, only managing to sound mock-stern.

Sadiq grinned and flashed the three near the wheel the thumbs up. “Nah, I was just congratulatin’ yer!” he yelled back cheerfully. “’Sides,” he added with a grin that managed to be wicked even with only half of his face visible, “It’ll be Fransa you’ll be throwing overboard as soon as İngiltere finds out he’s here.”

Mon Dieu, Turquie!” came the loud, high-pitched and expected protest from the Frenchman that, despite its expectedness, was abrupt enough that it still managed to silence those who had been laughing. “Was there really any need for that?”

There was a long, pregnant silence, during which half of the congregation was looking at France and the other was watching England while they waited to gauge his reaction. A flash of indignant rage had crossed his face when Turkey had pointed out the French nation’s presence, but surprisingly, it morphed into a much safer expression of mere annoyance and irritation within a few seconds.

“Douglas, if you were the bastard who invited him, I’ll have both of your heads when it’s a more appropriate time to give you both the arse-kicking you deserve,” he snapped irritably.

“Is that a promise, wee Arthur?” Douglas called back, a smirk on his face and a snicker in his voice. Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Oh, shut it, you bloody sod,” he said. “I’m not letting you idiots ruin today.”

While more laughter and one or two cheers broke out on the deck below at that, and Ireland and Wales began moving through the lines of nations to begin clearing space on deck for an immediate reception, Luís chuckled quietly and drew Arthur closer slightly.

“Ruin it?” he questioned. “At the moment, I don’t think anything could really ruin today, do you?” Arthur “hmmm”ed and seemed to consider it for a moment before he shook his head, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips.

“Well, the entire world including France of all idiots turned up to crash the bloody thing and I don’t think I’m ever going to live this down,” he pointed out dryly. But he sighed quietly, glancing down at their hands and the rings catching the glare of the sunlight. “But you know what? No. Right now, I don’t think so either.”

✎ ✎ ✎

Meanwhile, somewhere on the coast of Spain…

The sun had not quite gone down completely yet and the sea was making a soothing sound as it lapped the edge of the beach, where only a few stragglers who were determined to make the most of the summer sun lingered. Among the scattered people, Antonio raised his head and looked out at the sea with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Don’t you think it’s been quiet today, Lovi?” he asked. Lovino scowled – more so than usual, if that was possible – and folded his arms.

“Dumbass. It’s been just as noisy as it always is here,” he said irritably, kicking a pebble into the ocean with perhaps more vitriol than was really called for. Antonio looked at him oddly, shaking his head.

“No,” he said slowly, “I don’t mean like that. I haven’t heard from any of the others today at all, have you?”

“D-don’t be stupid!” Romano snapped. “Why should I have heard from those idiotas, they’re probably all somewhere in the middle of the ocean enjoying themselves anyway!”

There was a very confused pause, and Spain tilted his head in pure puzzlement. “Why would they be in the middle of the ocean?” he said, his voice nothing but pure astonishment.

The Italian nation’s reaction could not be described as anything less than an explosion, and the seagulls that had been perching nearby flew upwards into the sky, squawking in alarm.

Stupido Spagna! Gesù Cristo, they're all there because Inghilterra and your dumb brother Portugallo have finally got married after a trillion years and they wanted to do it somewhere where you wouldn’t interrupt like the dumbass you are! And I should have just gone along too with Veneziano even if that fat potato bastard Germania and that pervert Francia are there because it would have been a hell of a lot better than spending my day with you! Hell, the only reason I haven’t told you already is because Irlanda would have knifed me and you’re a brother-complex freak who’d overreact!”

The silence that followed this pronouncement was deafening. For a few seconds, it seemed as though Spain’s face had been frozen into a wide-eyed look of shock. Then he opened his mouth, possibly to object to his brother being called dumb, before he promptly snapped it shut again. There were a few more seconds before he finally leapt to his feet with a shriek.

¿Qué?” The horror in the Spaniard’s voice was so thick that it was tangible.

“Idiot, you heard me!”

“But he can’t marry England!” Antonio cried in disbelief.

“Too late, he probably already has by now,” Lovino snapped in irritation. “… D-don’t cry about, it, damn it, he can’t hear you from here!” he added heatedly after a moment. For Spain did indeed look caught somewhere between righteous anger and bursting right into tears.

“But Lovi, this is terrible!” he wailed.

Stai zitto, there’s still no point in crying over it! Don’t whine to me about it, whine to your brother when he’s back from the honeymoon or whatever!”

“The honeymoon?” Antonio echoed. His face slowly shifted from horror to nausea. “… I think I’m going to be sick…”

At that moment, there was the fast-approaching hum of an engine, and the two of them glanced back out at the ocean to find a small speedboat drawing close to the shore, creating a rise in the swell that was washing over the sand. The engine cut and the boat drifted, bobbing on the waves.

A second passed before Ireland emerged from behind the wheel, a pair of sunglasses over her eyes. As the two of them stared at her, she lifted them and beamed.

“So,” she said cheerily. “Will it be two marriages I’ll be doing today?”


- Ireland and Portugal: the reason they call each other brother and sister, other than the England connection, is just because they’re bros in general. :|b There’s links between the two that stretch back to pre-Roman times and I found a rather lovely little article, written by an Irishman, while trawling JSTOR one day that draws a lot of similarities between the two nations. So yeah, they’re bros and get on pretty well. :>

- “Her own disastrous (and mutually unwanted) marriage”: For those not in the know, thanks in part to a book by an author we have affectionately dubbed Crazy Ireland Woman, Stars and I interpret part of the 1801 Act of Union that made Ireland part of the United Kingdom as a marriage that England and Ireland’s governments arranged for them behind their backs. Needless to say, neither of them was best pleased about being married to their sibling (even if Ireland and a few others accused England of being in the know for a while).

- Orangey: Okay I swear I have a good (if somewhat obscure) reason for Turkey giving Port this nickname. You know, other than to infuriate him. Back in the day (think middle ages) Portugal used to be well-known for the trade it did in sweet oranges, especially in the south-eastern parts of Europe – so well-known, in fact, that in languages such as Greek and Turkish, their word for orange derives from Portugal’s name. :’> Portugal → Portakal → Orange → Orangey. It’s the sort of thing Turkey would do, okay. /o\

- That One Bit Of Legislation: Basically earlier this year, Portugal joined the ranks of countries who have legalised gay marriage. Which is an amazing thing in itself just on a human level, but naturally the first thing most people on Plurk did was try to enable me to write fic of a shipper-ish nature exploiting this fact. This fic is therefore partly their fault, and I hope they are happy.
Tags: canon: hetalia, character: australia [ichi], character: england, character: france, character: ireland [stars], character: portugal, character: prussia, character: romano, character: spain, character: wales [kyah], fannish, fic, pairing: england/portugal
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