Title: untitled drabble 1
Characters: Portugal [OC], Turkey
Rating: PG for language + a war.
Summary: Turkey and Portugal on a battlefield in World War One.
Timeframe 1917, during WW1.
Word Count: 627
Holding Turkey at the destructive end of his weapon. Well, that’s something that hasn’t happened in a few hundred years, he thinks as he keeps the barrel pointed at the man’s face. Clearly Sadiq is thinking along the same lines, because instead of having the decency even to look somewhat worried about the gun aimed at his head, he just grins. Obnoxiously.
It’s more than a little annoying.
“Been a while since we met up like this, Orangey,” he grins. They’re both a little worse for wear; Sadiq has more than a few bruises and a graze on his arm where a bullet from Luís’s gun caught him earlier, and Luís can feel a bruise forming on his cheek from where the Turkish man hit him earlier. He thinks he may have a cracked rib from being hit in the chest as well, but he can tend to that later. Turkey, predictably, is still talking. “You pointin’ somethin’ at my head, me windin’ you up, a battle goin’ on around us, it’s almost like old times.”
There’s a loud, deep boom as a shell embeds itself into the earth a fair distance away from where they are both standing. Neither of them move.
“And the bombs?” Portugal says flatly.
“The bombs are new,” Turkey admits, before he kicks out at Portugal’s legs and knocks them out from under him. Luís gasps in surprise, barely managing to keep a tight grip on his gun as he goes down, lashing out at Sadiq with it before the other man can get to his feet. Sadiq grunts as the barrel hits him across the side, rolls as Luís lashes out again.
“Nice to see ya still have it,” he quips, his voice only slightly strained. But slight or not, the strain’s starting to show; he’s not as fast as he should be, and he’s certainly tiring quicker, though that’s something that only someone who’s fought Turkey before would notice. And Portugal has.
“Strange, I can’t really say the same about you,” he shoots back as he scrambles to his feet. “You realize that they’ve taken to calling you the sick man of Europe now?”
Sadiq’s face – or what’s visible of it, anyway – twists before settling into a bitter smirk. “Eh, s’not like I’m the only empire that’s sick,” he shrugs pointedly, rising into a crouch. He doesn’t get any further because Luís is pointing the gun at his head again, scowling, daring him to give him an excuse. “What the hell’re ya doin’ in this war anyway, Portekiz?”
“From here, it looks like I’m holding a gun to your head,” Luís retorts, side-stepping the question. “What are you doing in this war, Turquia?”
Turkey – maddeningly – chuckles. “One thing’s for sure, ‘m not trippin’ over myself to help someone I’m busy pretendin’ to hate.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Sure yer don’t.”
“I’m pointing a gun at your head, Sadiq. Don’t make me pull the trigger.”
“Ya miss him, don’t yer?”
Portugal kicks him in the shin then, and Turkey grunts and falls backwards again. “Okay, that’s a ‘yes, but I’m too proud to say so’, then,” he mutters darkly. Luís glares at him, and for a moment Sadiq thinks that he actually might go ahead and pull the trigger. But instead he just steps backwards, keeping the gun raised, his face almost eerily blank.
“Go crawling back to Alemanha, Sadiq,” he says in disgust. Sadiq snorts quietly.
“Sure, Luís,” he says with a mirthless smirk. “You go crawlin’ back to İngiltere.”
Luís doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but a few minutes later, Sadiq is lucky that he’s wearing a helmet when the piece of debris that hits him merely knocks him out.
- Turkey and Portugal never actually fought in any battles together in WW1, as far as I know (please feel free to correct me if you know otherwise!) but they were on opposite sides so from a Hetalia perspective it's totally possible for them to have run into each other at close quarters at some point. :'>
- Portugal was neutral for the first half of the war but entered it on the side of the Allies after Britain requested that they stop allowing German boats to hide out in Portuguese harbours. Hence Turkey's comment about Portugal helping someone he's busy pretending to hate. :'D Oh, Port, you daft thing, learn to say no. )8
- About that: in my headcanon, Port and England were still not really on speaking terms during the early part of the 20th century thanks to the mess that was the 1890 British Ultimatum.
- Orangey is Turkey's semi-affectionate nickname for Portugal, on account of the fact that the Turkish word for orange, portakal, comes from Portugal's name. This is due to the trade in sweet oranges that Portugal use to be famous for in the middle ages - in fact a lot of south European languages take their word for orange from Portugal's name.
- As a point of interest, I have Turkey speak with a bit of a rougher accent because modern Turkish derives from the rougher, common speech spoken by ordinary people during the Ottoman era.
- Turkey is a troll. :|
Title: untitled drabble 2
Characters: Portugal [OC], Macau [OC]
Summary: Portugal meets bitty!Macau, who instantly latches onto him like a latching thing.
Timeframe about 1552/1553
Word Count: 437
Portugal first meets the small boy when he turns around from unloading his ship one day and finds a large pair of eyes staring at him from behind a box. When the eyes realise they're being stared back at, they quickly vanish. But Portugal is curious now, so he makes his way over to the box in question and peers around it.
What he sees is a small Chinese boy in unkempt, scruffy clothes and sporting an unguarded look of curiosity on his face. In the same instant Portugal's eyes take this sight in, he's hit by that sudden jolt, that inexplicable feeling that means that this child is one of them. He crouches down so that he's on the boy's level, and fixes him with a curious look of his own.
"What are you doing here?" he asks after a moment's thought, in somewhat halting Cantonese.
"China told me not to talk to you," the boy immediately replies. Portugal's eyebrows fly up into his hair.
"And so you're talking to me anyway?" he asks, bemused.
"I wanted to see if you were really all that bad," the boy shrugs. "'Sides, you're interesting." He looks directly into Portugal's eyes and offers a toothy grin before launching into a river of Cantonese that Portugal struggles to keep up with. "China's all stuffy and boring. Did you really come all the way here just by boat?"
"If I say yes, does that still make me interesting?" Portugal asks once his mind has processed the Cantonese into something more manageable. He can't help smiling, though, simultaneously touched, amused, and bewildered by the boy.
"Yes!" the boy says with a laugh. "Tell me about it! Please?" he says, adding 'please' almost as an afterthought, like he's been taught to be polite to his elders but hasn't quite retained the lesson.
"I have to be somewhere right now, I'm afraid," Portugal replies almost regretfully, thinking of the meeting he has with the Chinese traders.
"Can't I come with you?"
"Not really," he says with a rueful smile and a headshake. "But if you want, I promise I'll come back and tell you later. Deal?"
The boy pouts and folds his arms, kicking at the ground mulishly. "Fine," he says sulkily. "But only if you promise."
"I will," Portugal says reassuringly, before he rises to his feet and starts to walk off.
When he catches a small body following along some way behind him out of the corner of his eye, he tries not to smile. Alright then, he thinks, deciding to pretend he hasn't noticed, let's see where this goes for now.
- Macau is like Portugal's version of Hong Kong, for those not in the know. ^^ He was also the spoilt brat of the family - Port spoiled that kid rotten, you have no idea. He's crap at pretending he doesn't play favourites.
- Bitty!Macau is an adorable yet frightening demon child with a heart of gold. He hasn't changed much really except that he's also picked up a gambling habit and a fierce attachment to his adopted Papá.
Title: untitled drabble 3
Characters: Portugal [OC], Turkey, Ireland [starsandauras's OC]
Rating: PG for slight language.
Summary: Ireland, Turkey and Portugal in the meeting room after one of the meetings to discuss Turkey's accession to the EU.
Word Count: 458
“As Allah’s my witness,” Sadiq said in frustration, “These talks just keep gettin’ to be more an’ more of a headache.” He loosed his tie and undid the collar of his shirt as he said it. His formal jacket had already been discarded – very informally – over the back of an empty chair in the almost-empty meeting room. “Yer’d think they were tryin’ to make it more difficult for me to get in.”
“Well, that’s probably because França and Grécia are trying to make it more difficult for you,” Luís replied without much apparent interest as he shuffled together his papers and tried to disguise the fact that he’d started doodling on them at some point during the meeting. (He could try to hide it all he liked, thought Sadiq in amusement, but the Turkish man had caught the moment that Luís’s attention had begun to wander. It had happened sometime in the middle of Francis’s pretty little speech about why exactly he was opposing Sadiq’s bid to get in with Europe. Poofy French bastard.)
“Aye, but ‘tis nothin’ new for Heracles, that is,” Brigid shrugged as she abandoned decorum for a moment to slide across the table closer to the two men and sit there swinging her legs slightly. “Been tryin’ to make it more difficult for you since Day One, he has.”
Sadiq cast himself into an empty chair with a grunt and immediately started swinging on it, leaning back carelessly. “Yeah, yeah, I wouldn’t expect anythin’ less of that Greek bastard,” he grumbled. “I’m tryin’ my best to get straight with all your bleedin’ requirements as it is, yer’d think I’d get a little more support.”
“’Tisn’t as if you have no support at all, you know, Sadiq,” Brigid said pointedly.
“Ah great, that’s just my luck,” Sadiq groaned with a wicked grin. “İngiltere’s pint-sized sister and his Catholic wife jumpin’ up to defend me. I won’ hold my breath about gettin’ in any time soon, then.”
Sadiq suddenly crashed backwards as soon as the words had left his mouth, which may or may not have had something to do with Luís applying a bit of timely pressure to the back of his seat.
“Damn it all, Orangey, what the heck was that for?!”
Luís grinned. “I’m sorry, Turquia, I could have sworn that you fell back of your own accord. It’s dangerous to swing on chairs, you know.”
“If we were a few centuries younger, I’d kill ya right now.”
Brigid rolled her eyes, but laughed all the same. “You cannae say you weren’t askin’ for it, you chancer,” she said to Sadiq with a twinkle in her eye.
But she offered her hand to help him up all the same.
- Turkey's EU bid: the earliest Turkey will be able to get into the EU at this rate is 2013, and that's only if they manage to comply with all of the EU's terms for being a member first. Ireland and Portugal are, if I remember rightly, two of Turkey's strongest backers, although at the time of writing quite a few countries are supportive of Turkey's bid. France and Greece, however, are decidedly not.
- Oh Port and Turkey. Even nowadays when you're getting on you can't resist winding each other up, can you?
- God help me, I think part of me is starting to ship these three together. /)____(\
Title: untitled drabble 4
Characters: Portugal [OC], Ireland [starsandauras's OC]
Summary: Ireland, Portugal, an old Irish folk song, and Port's fail pronunciation of Gaelic.
Word Count: 161
"I'm sorry, what?"
Brigid's fingers suddenly stilled on the strings of her harp, cutting the music short as she blinked at her friend. "Hmm? What 'tis it you mean, 'what'?"
Luís gestured helplessly in the general direction of the harp. "I'm afraid you've lost me a little there."
"Lost you where? 'Tis only the final line of every verse, Luís, 'tisn't as if 'tis that difficult."
"Easy enough for you to say, considering it's your native tongue," Luís reminded her teasingly, nudging her slightly.
"Oh, come on, me brother, 'tis simple enough. 'Tis only 'Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan', aye?"
"Just try repeatin' it, 'tis soon enough it'll be stickin' with you."
Doubtfully, hesitantly, he did so, and was rewarded for his efforts by an incredulous look from Brigid, her expression speaking volumes about the state of his attempt.
"... Alright, then," she agreed finally. "Maybe we should ought to be takin' this one a little slower."
- The song they're attempting to sing together is Siuil A Run. It's a really beautiful song and that version in particular is gorgeous. ^^ A-anyway, the mental image of Port and Ireland dueting something together for the pure fun of it is one I've had for a while. A lot of Ireland's songs seem like the sorts of things Port would like, actually.
- Gaelic is an awful language for trying to figure out how it's all pronounced, sob.
- These two are bros forever and nothing anyone says will convince me otherwise. :> Also, it may be apparent by now that I like silly fic.