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valmoraTitle: Stepsiblings
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sealand-centric, England, Finland/Sweden, Åland
Disclaimer: not my characters, for the most part - there's no canon Åland yet - and I didn't make money.
Notes: originally posted for this prompt here at the kink meme and indexed here.
Also, after some rigorous thinking and soul-searching over being American, I made the judicious decision to translate Sweden's Tohoku regional accent (in the Japanese) as very casual, slightly Southern, American English. I would normally do a deeper Southern accent - Georgia or Alabama, likely - but I don't have enough confidence in my ability to show the inflections of those dialects that I opted not to.
(this is why I think it is bad and wrong to translate a Kansai accent as "Southern". The emotional inflections are wrong. Kyoto should be translated as Boston Brahmin, and Osaka and Kobe should be Chicago or New York, or maybe New Jersey. Edokko should really be New York.)
Sealand’s collar dug into his throat, almost choking him, but he resolved that he would never surrender, not to imperialist powers that denied the capability of Nations for self-determination-!
“You utter brat,” England snarled, “I should have taken a wrecking ball to you the moment I saw you, but I thought you’d be useful. Should have known you’d be at least as annoying as Åland and good riddance to that wanker’s militaristic ambitions. Should give all you proto-nation whelps to the fags; at least you’d learn to behave properly if only Finland would get off his back long enough to discipline you properly.”
Sealand tried to kick England, or wriggle out of the hold; instead England shifted his grip so he had Sealand in a neck lock. He dragged Sealand to the door of his house and tossed him out.
Sealand spilled out on the beach, hitting his tailbone on the way down. It stung.
“Tell Finland he’s bollocksing up his second chance at parenting,” England yelled out at him, and slammed the door.
Sealand stuck his tongue out at the closed door and thought about flipping England off, but then remembered that Finland washed his mouth out with soap the last time he caught Sealand doing that.
What did that even mean, second chance at parenting? He didn’t have any brothers, unless England counted, and he really didn’t because England was way too old. Plus, Finland didn’t raise England; that was Rome.
Sealand stomped off to Finland’s to settle this. England was a jerk for lying, and Sealand wanted to prove it once and for all.
“Finland! Fin-land!” Sealand yelled once he’d closed the front door and taken off his shoes. There was no response, so he shouted again and tramped into the kitchen.
“Y’din’t need t’yell,” Sweden told him gently, from where he was leaning his hip into the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee while Finland kneaded rye bread for dinner. “We’re right here.”
“I couldn’t see you,” Sealand mumbled, embarrassed.
Sweden grunted.
Finland gave the dough a final fold and stood back to brush flour off his hands. “You're back early. What’s so important that you came running all the way home?”
“Well, I was visiting England,” Sealand said, “and he said some mean things that I didn’t answer aren’t you proud of me Sweden but do I have an older brother?”
Finland and Sweden did that weird married-people communication-thing where they looked at each other and had a whole conversation without saying anything.
“You’ve met Åland,” Finland said carefully. “Remember Christmas dinner?”
Sealand thought back. There had been someone else at Christmas dinner, but Sweden and Finland always invited their counties and administrative divisions to holiday parties. Sealand just assumed that that the stranger had been having a bad fiscal year and Sweden and Finland were feeding him out of kindness.
“Kind of. Who’s he?”
Finland tucked a lock of hair back behind his ear, smearing rye flour across his cheek and in his hair. “Well,” he said, “he’s an island about halfway between me and Sweden. He’s technically one of my administrative divisions, but he’s officially autonomous.”
“If he’s part of you then how come he’s my brother?”
Finland bit his lip. Sweden stared into his coffee mug.
“Culture mixing,” Sweden said finally. “He’s more like me than like Finland. We both raised ’im.”
Finland opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, then shut it.
“But just b’cause we raised 'm doesn’t mean we don’t love y’,” Sweden added quickly. “You’re our son too.”
“How come he’s never here?”
“He has his own house. He and I had a diplomatic incident after I left Russia, because he wanted to live with Sweden and I wanted him to stay with me. So now he lives by himself.”
“Huh.” Sealand noded, picking a cookie off a plate on the counter and eating it. “Is it okay if I go take a walk outside?”
“Sure,” Sweden said. “But bring‘n umbrella 'n don’t go past th’borders of the North Sea.”
Sealand rolled his eyes a little as he went to pick up his umbrella. He wasn’t a baby, after all.
It was a small house, but looked snug, and had lots of windows. Most of them faced out at the sea.
The doorbell chimed when he pressed it, and a bird cheeped from the roof while strutting about.
“Can I help you?”
Sealand jumped and turned, surprised to find the door open and someone looking confused at him.
“Hi um I’m looking for Åland?”
“Speaking.”
Åland looked a lot like Sweden, actually, but he was a lot younger and wasn’t as tall and didn’t constantly look like he wanted to cook you and eat you for dinner. And he didn’t speak in mumble.
“I just wanted to say hi because I don’t think I’ve met you. I guess I’m your little brother?” Sealand stuck out his hand to shake.
“We’ve met,” Åland said shortly. “I’ve got something on the stove. You coming in or you leaving?”
“Coming in,” Sealand said.
Åland stood aside so that Sealand could come in, then strode off towards the back of the house. Something smelled good, so Sealand sniffed his way down a well-lit front hall into the kitchen, where Åland was stirring a soup pot.
“I’d offer you a cookie or something,” Åland said, “but I know that they leave them sitting out on the counter as snacks so you know whose fault it is if you eat yourself sick. So I bet you don’t want one. Something to drink?”
“Just water, please,” Sealand said, to be polite, and sat down at the kitchen table.
Åland plopped a glass of water down on the table in front of him. No ice. “So what brings you here?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see my big brother, I guess.” Sealand shifted in his seat and drank a little of the water so Åland wouldn’t notice him blushing.
“Huh,” Åland said, the way Sweden would. He sat down at the table across from Sealand and folded his arms on top of the table, and for a minute he looked a lot like Finland, but with just-darker hair and narrower eyes.
“And Sweden and Finland I think wanted to go have sex,” Sealand added, to be honest. “Finland was going to have to wait for the bread to rise and the lube and condoms were in a corner of the counter, like they think I’m not going to notice.”
Åland laughed so hard he fell out of his chair onto the floor. Sealand ended up calling Sweden and Finland to say he was eating dinner with his brother.
Fandom: Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sealand-centric, England, Finland/Sweden, Åland
Disclaimer: not my characters, for the most part - there's no canon Åland yet - and I didn't make money.
Notes: originally posted for this prompt here at the kink meme and indexed here.
Also, after some rigorous thinking and soul-searching over being American, I made the judicious decision to translate Sweden's Tohoku regional accent (in the Japanese) as very casual, slightly Southern, American English. I would normally do a deeper Southern accent - Georgia or Alabama, likely - but I don't have enough confidence in my ability to show the inflections of those dialects that I opted not to.
(this is why I think it is bad and wrong to translate a Kansai accent as "Southern". The emotional inflections are wrong. Kyoto should be translated as Boston Brahmin, and Osaka and Kobe should be Chicago or New York, or maybe New Jersey. Edokko should really be New York.)
Sealand’s collar dug into his throat, almost choking him, but he resolved that he would never surrender, not to imperialist powers that denied the capability of Nations for self-determination-!
“You utter brat,” England snarled, “I should have taken a wrecking ball to you the moment I saw you, but I thought you’d be useful. Should have known you’d be at least as annoying as Åland and good riddance to that wanker’s militaristic ambitions. Should give all you proto-nation whelps to the fags; at least you’d learn to behave properly if only Finland would get off his back long enough to discipline you properly.”
Sealand tried to kick England, or wriggle out of the hold; instead England shifted his grip so he had Sealand in a neck lock. He dragged Sealand to the door of his house and tossed him out.
Sealand spilled out on the beach, hitting his tailbone on the way down. It stung.
“Tell Finland he’s bollocksing up his second chance at parenting,” England yelled out at him, and slammed the door.
Sealand stuck his tongue out at the closed door and thought about flipping England off, but then remembered that Finland washed his mouth out with soap the last time he caught Sealand doing that.
What did that even mean, second chance at parenting? He didn’t have any brothers, unless England counted, and he really didn’t because England was way too old. Plus, Finland didn’t raise England; that was Rome.
Sealand stomped off to Finland’s to settle this. England was a jerk for lying, and Sealand wanted to prove it once and for all.
“Finland! Fin-land!” Sealand yelled once he’d closed the front door and taken off his shoes. There was no response, so he shouted again and tramped into the kitchen.
“Y’din’t need t’yell,” Sweden told him gently, from where he was leaning his hip into the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee while Finland kneaded rye bread for dinner. “We’re right here.”
“I couldn’t see you,” Sealand mumbled, embarrassed.
Sweden grunted.
Finland gave the dough a final fold and stood back to brush flour off his hands. “You're back early. What’s so important that you came running all the way home?”
“Well, I was visiting England,” Sealand said, “and he said some mean things that I didn’t answer aren’t you proud of me Sweden but do I have an older brother?”
Finland and Sweden did that weird married-people communication-thing where they looked at each other and had a whole conversation without saying anything.
“You’ve met Åland,” Finland said carefully. “Remember Christmas dinner?”
Sealand thought back. There had been someone else at Christmas dinner, but Sweden and Finland always invited their counties and administrative divisions to holiday parties. Sealand just assumed that that the stranger had been having a bad fiscal year and Sweden and Finland were feeding him out of kindness.
“Kind of. Who’s he?”
Finland tucked a lock of hair back behind his ear, smearing rye flour across his cheek and in his hair. “Well,” he said, “he’s an island about halfway between me and Sweden. He’s technically one of my administrative divisions, but he’s officially autonomous.”
“If he’s part of you then how come he’s my brother?”
Finland bit his lip. Sweden stared into his coffee mug.
“Culture mixing,” Sweden said finally. “He’s more like me than like Finland. We both raised ’im.”
Finland opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, then shut it.
“But just b’cause we raised 'm doesn’t mean we don’t love y’,” Sweden added quickly. “You’re our son too.”
“How come he’s never here?”
“He has his own house. He and I had a diplomatic incident after I left Russia, because he wanted to live with Sweden and I wanted him to stay with me. So now he lives by himself.”
“Huh.” Sealand noded, picking a cookie off a plate on the counter and eating it. “Is it okay if I go take a walk outside?”
“Sure,” Sweden said. “But bring‘n umbrella 'n don’t go past th’borders of the North Sea.”
Sealand rolled his eyes a little as he went to pick up his umbrella. He wasn’t a baby, after all.
It was a small house, but looked snug, and had lots of windows. Most of them faced out at the sea.
The doorbell chimed when he pressed it, and a bird cheeped from the roof while strutting about.
“Can I help you?”
Sealand jumped and turned, surprised to find the door open and someone looking confused at him.
“Hi um I’m looking for Åland?”
“Speaking.”
Åland looked a lot like Sweden, actually, but he was a lot younger and wasn’t as tall and didn’t constantly look like he wanted to cook you and eat you for dinner. And he didn’t speak in mumble.
“I just wanted to say hi because I don’t think I’ve met you. I guess I’m your little brother?” Sealand stuck out his hand to shake.
“We’ve met,” Åland said shortly. “I’ve got something on the stove. You coming in or you leaving?”
“Coming in,” Sealand said.
Åland stood aside so that Sealand could come in, then strode off towards the back of the house. Something smelled good, so Sealand sniffed his way down a well-lit front hall into the kitchen, where Åland was stirring a soup pot.
“I’d offer you a cookie or something,” Åland said, “but I know that they leave them sitting out on the counter as snacks so you know whose fault it is if you eat yourself sick. So I bet you don’t want one. Something to drink?”
“Just water, please,” Sealand said, to be polite, and sat down at the kitchen table.
Åland plopped a glass of water down on the table in front of him. No ice. “So what brings you here?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see my big brother, I guess.” Sealand shifted in his seat and drank a little of the water so Åland wouldn’t notice him blushing.
“Huh,” Åland said, the way Sweden would. He sat down at the table across from Sealand and folded his arms on top of the table, and for a minute he looked a lot like Finland, but with just-darker hair and narrower eyes.
“And Sweden and Finland I think wanted to go have sex,” Sealand added, to be honest. “Finland was going to have to wait for the bread to rise and the lube and condoms were in a corner of the counter, like they think I’m not going to notice.”
Åland laughed so hard he fell out of his chair onto the floor. Sealand ended up calling Sweden and Finland to say he was eating dinner with his brother.
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no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 01:48 am (UTC)No, no you're not. I may have, um. A slight thing for pumpernickel. As in, I really, really like it. As in, I miss eating it when I have the bread machine at home make it. So, ah. Your reaction would be a desired effect, actually.
I'd been wondering what was up with Sweden's accent.
There's a page on the Tohoku accent/dialect on Tvtropes, and a short blurb on it on Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_dialects#T.C5.8Dhoku_dialect). The impression of being "backwater" and "slow or clumsy" (not to mention occasionally incomprehensible) I think fits in with the stereotypes of people from the Deep South in the US.
(I suspect he'll be dubbed as Minnesotan. If this is indeed the case, I will be very angry.)
This is in contrast to the Kansai dialect, which is often dubbed as slightly Southern, a system I find to be totally inaccurate - Kansai-ben is, depending on the flavor, stereotypically associated with comedians, generosity, warm-hearted people, and businessmen. Also mobsters.
Also given the small geographical area over which there are a significant number of distinct accents - Kyoto is Kansai, but Kyoto-ben is distinct from Osaka- or Kobe-ben, which are also Kansai - I think it should be located further into the Northeast US.
(for the record, the most notable Hetalia characters who speak in Kansai accent are Spain and South Italy. South Italy refers to Spain using a term in Japanese that is used only for one's boss in the Mob. I would have ZERO compunctions translating his accent as New York mobster and Spain as South Side Chicago.)
tl;dr: Sweden speaks in what is viewed in Japanese as mumblegrunt. It's been exaggerated for comedic effect. I've talked with someone who had a light version of the Tohoku accent (but has been living in Tokyo for thirty years), and I couldn't tell the difference but my host brother said it was obvious.
would probably just curl up and die
Yep. One wonders how they can parent like that.
(....and then you realize that Åland's custody battle ended up involving most of North America, Europe, and parts of Asia at the time, and he seems surprisingly well-adjusted.) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansai_dialect)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 01:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 04:18 am (UTC)I might give South Italy a central Connecticut accent (for the miniscule value of "accent" here -- do I speak with an accent? I'm not sure.) simply because my hometown in central Connecticut is heavily Sicilian and has a distinct tinge of underworld to it.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 07:28 am (UTC)That's why I don't make real pumpernickel bread. I make fake pumpernickel bread, and it tastes good, though not as good as the real stuff. =(
do I speak with an accent? I'm not sure.
Not much of one, as I remember. I think, though, that he would need a really obvious accent - I think his Kansai-ben is kind of slap-in-the-face-y (again, it's exaggerated for comedic effect).
no subject
Date: 2010-03-10 02:10 pm (UTC)The problem with a central Connecticut accent is that there really doesn't appear to be one. Le sigh. I think we speak as close to Broadcast English as you're likely to get in this country.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-11 05:29 am (UTC)Broadcast English is, like BBC English, a fiction. Nobody really speaks it - I mean, lots of accents are close, but as with Brooklyn accent, nobody has ALL the characteristics of the accent, only a subset. So. =D