aphanon_meme | part 353 whalers on the moon

part 353 whalers on the moon

We've been here over a year now! I can hardly believe it! Dreamwidth's been pretty good, I'd say, with almost no downtime to speak of and all that! Anyway... how is your spring going? Or I guess it's almost summer, isn't it? Hopefully it's been well! I've been catching up on work and new movies, all very exciting stuff, I'm sure.

Enjoy part 353!

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Here we go again! :D

Here is the last thread: http://aphanon-meme.dreamwidth.org/92278.html?thread=909217654#cmt909217654

Check out these great fills!

Bleu de Prusse: http://aphanon-meme.dreamwidth.org/92278.html?thread=909249910#cmt909249910

Kaffee und Kuchen: http://aphanon-meme.dreamwidth.org/92278.html?thread=909286518#cmt909286518

(Note I am linking not reposting because... I realized since this is not twitter reposting something would only make it so that you end up with two separate commenting areas and make everything sloppy. I will continue to link all fills to these in the future so as to highlight them, though! Basically I don't want people to feel they have to be around "in time" for one of these threads to post results or else have their results overlooked. And just to preemptively cover my butt: please keep in mind warnings are at fillers' discretion only, I'd assume most people would put warnings if applicable in the header or at the start of their fic or whatnot BUT regardless you click and read solely at your own risk.)

Annnnnd let's do this again! Now that it's the weekend I hope I can kick my own lazy butt into contributing something this time *cough*

1. Reply to this thread with prompts. Please keep in mind that this is not a request thread, so please keep your prompts very open, so that people can fill with different characters, pairings, and so on if they want! The prompt should be inspiration, not too much restrictions.

2. Pick a prompt, then write/draw for 60 minutes about it.

3. Post your results under this thread AT ANY TIME in the next 24 hrs!

4. Tomorrow night around this time, I will post a new thread and we'll repeat! I would like to also link to all the individual fills at that time.

I only said "relationship", so it could be as easily an enemies relationship as a romantic relationship!

More bad older brothers eh.

Munich, 1990

It’s been an odd century, East can’t help but to think. He feels weird, because he still isn’t sure about whatever it is that is happening with him at the moment, if he misses the past or hopes for a bright new future now. Maybe a mix of both.

He leaves Berlin from Alexanderplatz in the earliest hours of the morning. It’s just Berlin, now, he can’t help but to think. There no East, no West, only the sun over Tiergarten, the sounds of the construction sites that haven’t stopped ever since the war and a large, still burning scar that he knows will probably never heal. He’s left the car next to his flat on Karl-Marx Allee, because he couldn’t possibly bear having his brother laugh at him for taking pride in such a shit car. The train ride is a long one, from Berlin to the south, but it feels nice, in a way, to be able to leave the city and see the countryside rolling under wheels of steel.

He’d rather not think about the last time he came here, really, but he has to, in a way. He’s spent the last forty years convincing himself that he was something he wasn’t, with the same efficiency he’d shown in the art of war, peace and politics, back when his name, his real name, still meant something. He can remember the flags, now, the sound of that Wagner’s operas and speeches that they all listened to with a frightful obedience.

It’s funny because West and him still haven’t talked about it, about the war and about how all of them wished so hard that they would take over the world. East doesn’t know if he wants to talk about it, about the other names he once bore and about the terrible winter that had been the downfall of the monsters they had all become.

When the wall fell, West had rushed to Berlin in his shiny car, his blue jeans and his expensive shoes, and East had been happy to see him, even though it seemed like they didn’t really speak the same language anymore, words the same but their meaning somewhat different to their ears. West had grown softer around the edges, in a way, quieter, humbler, and doting, asking East strange questions about Russia’s treatment of him and if he could do anything to help in any way. East would have laughed, really, because West had always been so clueless. While it had been shit to wait around in line for a new pair of shoes, to attend those godawful meetings they would hold once in awhile in Moscow or to watch out for whatever would come out of his mouth whenever he’d find that a few of the books in his personal library had been switched around, he couldn’t really say that it had all been terrible, the summers in the Datsche Russia had gifted him on a whim and the evenings spent trying to figure out how to repair that cardboard car’s motor on the kitchen table. He’d missed West and he’d hated the empty comedic speech of socialist officials, and he had been scared, sometimes, of the grey men in their grey lives, watching him and his shitty plastic furniture in his bugged apartment and waiting for an excuse to send him back to the empty cell and the empty corridors of Bautzen.

And yet here he is now, in Munich’s main station, with his cheap synthetic clothes and his overnight bag thrown over his shoulder. Time had flown by. Saxony had left, just like the others, at last, on their side of the wall, bidding East goodbye with a tap on the shoulder, a good-natured laugh and the promise that he would kick his ass for all the shit East had done in this life when he’d join him on the other side. It had made East laugh, and promise him to give a good fight, when the time would come.

It’s strange to see him, now that it’s just the two of them and the kid. Bavaria isn’t like West, and he doesn’t forgive or forget nowhere near as easily, and maybe he still hates East. It seems like he is the same as he has ever been, with his short, messy blond hair and his large shoulders, his towering height and his meaty fingers that East, a century ago, would have joked about. He gives East a large wave, an odd kind of surprised expression that felt out of place on his features, and they walk towards each other.

To say that Bavaria and him have history together would be an understatement. East had trouble with West, of course he did, and they would fight and bitch once in awhile, but they haven’t messed each other up nearly as much as East and Bavaria did in the last three centuries. It’s a matter of time, and of occasions to stab each other in the back.

Finally they face each other, in the train station that is slowly filling up with the morning crowd. They observe each other for a moment. Bavaria looks like an American, almost, with his clothes that are far more relaxed and casual than West’s will ever be, and East can’t help but to feel a bit self-conscious about his own appearance. They’re not the same as they were, all those years ago, back when they both had names that weren’t exactly the same, other dreams and the burning desire to strangle each other, when the moment would be right.

“You got skinny,” Bavaria says, and he pinches East’s bicep with a half-smile.
“You got fat.”

Bavaria laughs.

“It’s good to see you again, brother. Even if you’re still an idiot fish-headed northerner with no manners and terrible beer.”
“Same. But you know, without the fish-headed northerner part. You’re an idiot alcoholic southerner.”

It’s not a reconciliation, because there are too many wars, too many scars and too many years between the two of them, and it would be foolish of them to try to forget them, but it’s a cease-fire. They won’t forget, they probably won’t forgive, but they won’t fight, because the both of them know that their time is past, now, and that this, all of this, isn’t about them anymore. And so they talk, as Bavaria drives the both of them to his house, about the years that they spent away from each other, about half-forgotten memories and stories about that time when Austria got so drunk on Oktoberfest Hungary had to nurse his hangover for a whole week, or the funny accent Holstein used to have back when he still lived with Denmark.

It’s an odd century that is coming to an end soon, and East wonders if they’ll manage to get the best out of each other, Bavaria and him, this time around. He hopes they will, for their own sake, and for West's.

*

Omg anon, anon! I love this series of historical germanbros fic you've written, so great!

It was over. It was all over. America groaned and put his head in his hands as the end of the match was announced and cheers went up all around the stadium. Over and done with. The United States was knocked out of the World Cup. The American National Team wouldn't be going to the quarter-finals.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around him and gave him a squeeze.

"Wh-"

Before America could say anything, Belgium planted a kiss on his cheek. "I can't believe it!" she said, lifting her voice so that she could be heard over the loud, busy surroundings.

"I can't believe it either," he mumbled, resisting the urge to groan. They'd tried so hard! Got so far! But in the end, it didn't even-

His train of thought was interrupted when Belgium abruptly turned his head and kissed him. Eyes flying open, he felt himself turn bright red, and it took him a second before he remembered to kiss back.

"Now, don't forget!" Belgium chirped as she pulled away, smiling sweetly as she plucked off her Red Devils headband and stuck it straight on his head. "You owe me breakfast after the Cup is over, okay?"

America nodded, flashing a smile, even if he was painfully aware that he was blushing. "Of course! You don't think I'd back out on a bet, do you?"

But breakfast wasn't all that he would owe her.

A month later, on a bright and sunny morning, America stood in his kitchen wearing nothing but an apron and made pancakes under Belgium's watchful eye. He talked all through it, refusing to be embarrassed - how could he have known he'd lose? It felt like a sure thing! - but that didn't keep him from letting out a yelp when she gave him a swat on the ass as she made her way to the coffee pot.

Just wondering, will you ever do one that has an actual 60 minute time limit instead of 24 hours? ;a; I feel like I would participate then because of the immediacy, where with this I totally forgot, even with the reminder, then said "oh well meh forget it" because I'm lazy

I considered that at first, but the fact is the meme is very slow these days and I feel it'd be pretty difficult to count on enough interested and available people to be on at the same time, even during livehour, to expect results in 60 mins. I tried to do it this way so people wouldn't feel like they had to be on at a certain time to participate. You're supposed to spend no longer than 60 mins on your piece, but you can do it at any time.

If you want to post a similar thread yourself that's got an actual time limit from the start of the thread, go for it! I'm not like "in charge" of this idea or these threads at all, anyone feel free to make 'em!

Just realized - what if, I post a reminder about an hour or two before I'm about to post results on new thread tomorrow? That way, then you'd have a time limit to get your fill in before previous day's prompts are "closed"! :)

noo that's okay! the immediacy just isn't there, but thanks anyway! :)

i actually really appreciate this and it makes it so that i can participate
thank you op

"Now, just how long can you keep yourself in check?" Norway mutters in Germany's ear. He stays close, trails his fingers over broad shoulders, and waits for the answer.

It's a second or two before Germany says anything. He breathes deeply, and when Norway tilts his head to look up at him, he seems to be considering the question carefully. That isn't how Norway meant him to take the question, but it doesn't surprise him, either.

"As long as you need me to." Germany's voice is rougher than it usually is. He's holding back, and they've barely even started. Norway ducks his head, hides a smile, and lets his hands trail along his body.

"Okay," he says, and nudges Germany down against the mattress. "That's fine by me."

At the start, Norway had blindfolded him, then stripped him down to his underwear. Batted his large hands away when he tried to do the same. As far as Norway was concerned, he didn't need any help undressing, thanks.

Now, after taking care of that himself, Norway sits back and takes a look at what's in front of him. The only light in the room is a small bedside lamp, and it washes a warm glow over Germany's body. Norway looks at him, lets his gaze slide down, taking in every inch of muscle before glancing between his legs.

He's aroused already, and Norway hasn't even touched him. The front of his underwear is tight; beneath the fabric his cock is a firm, blatant bulge. Norway wets his lips and lets his hand dip down to trace the outline of it. He hears Germany gasp and from the corner of his eye catches sight of large hands bunching the sheets.

Hardly anything. He's hardly done anything yet. If it weren't for the blindfold, Norway wouldn'5 allow himself to smile. But Germany can't see him, so he does. Then he dips his head and slowly trails his mouth downward until he reaches fabric and the shape underneath it.

He's big. Huge. It's one thing to see it; another entirely to press his lips against it and mouth at it through the fabric. Listen to him gasping, then trail his lips along the shape. Nuzzle against it. Press his palm to Germany's crotch and feel every inch of him. Norway could go at that all night, tease him until he begs, but the damp patch at the fabric over the head is not from him licking there. As he presses a kiss there and slides his fingers over Germany's thighs, firm and tense and trembling, he decides to reward his patience.

The underwear comes off in a second. Norway doesn't waste time with it. As soon as it's gone he's down between Germany's legs again. Big though it looked before, Germany's cock is even bigger when it's free from restraint. Norway presses his mouth to the tip, tilts his head to trail his slick lips downward, down along the entire thick length of it. Slides a hand downward and cups at his balls, gently kneading while he explores the rest with his mouth, his tongue. Listens to Germany groaning, and holds back the desire to do so himself, settling for a soft sigh.

He doubts he can fit all of it in. Doubts it. Parts his lips to let the head slide past, and dips his head to take him in, and doubts it. Still, Norway moans softly in spite of himself, echoing the moans of the man beneath him. Can't help it. It's a mouthful and even if he can't fit every damn inch of it past his lips, it doesn't matter.

He's going to try anyway.

Well now. Keeping an eye on flat view certainly paid off. :)a

Sometimes it has its uses. 8) Thanks, anon!

go big or go home, norwee

good stuff, anon!

"go big or go home" askdfkdkk ANON

TY! /o/

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part 353 whalers on the moon

ITT: Meme 60 minute write/draw challenge!

tentacles

Rekindling an old relationship

München Hauptbahnhof

Re: München Hauptbahnhof

Fighting

world cup

2 nations 1 cup

Re: world cup

Re: ITT: Meme 60 minute write/draw challenge!

OP

OP again, better idea (well possibly better)

Re: OP again, better idea (well possibly better)

/diff

voice lessons

At the supermarket

magic

a giant penis

Re: a giant penis

Re: a giant penis

Re: a giant penis

Re: a giant penis

Re: a giant penis

little furry naked mute person