Rating: E
Pairing: France/Lithuania, background/implied Prussia/Lithuania
Length: 4.4k words
Warnings/Tags: Non-Con, Napoleonic Wars-era, oral sex, anti-Napoleon sentiment
Summary:
Francis was drawing him up by his shoulder, and lightly holding Tolys’s chin between his thumb and forefingers.
“Lithuania, I presume?” he asked, in French. Tolys nodded, taking a moment to remember the language of Ivan’s court and hoping that his accent did not betray how little he enjoyed practicing the foreign tongue.
“If it please you, sir, Vilnius welcomes you,” he managed to say without any stuttering, which seemed to satisfy Francis greatly.
“It does please me,” he said, with a chime of amusement in his tone. He used the light grip on Tolys’ chin to turn his head and kiss his cheek, and then the other. His lips were soft, windbitten, and lingered and Tolys could feel the curve of his smile against his skin.
June 1812. Lithuania comes under new management.
Terrible, no good, awful FraLiet. Blame @doomspiral for this one.
they officially met in 1790. easy date to remember for both of them because of the happenings around that time.
it started with both of them having pretty high respect for each other. a bit of admiration, too. passing advice, and compliments. you know, one nation to another.
after meeting, they didn’t see each other at all for about a century. when they did see each other, it was just a glimpse. they both shared their own pitiful glance, and moved along.
another century passes, and francis seeks tolys out after hearing word that he has been hanging around arthur.
francis would visit during tolys’ outsourcing. originally when they caught up, it was pretty hard for both of them. memories, and all.
alfred overheard their talks occasionally, and the first time he realized the extent of some of their history, he would go out of his way to do small things for them. of course, francis figured it out. tolys didn’t want to look the gift horse in the eye, though he did feel guilty for taking up alfred’s time.
come modern times, francis is offering advice to anyone who needs it. he helped feliciano out multiple times, tries to guide alfred along, hangs with gilbert, or afonso, and has even taken tolys under his wing too.
they don’t speak constantly, but if they are ever nearby, they’ll go out for dinner, and have a nice chat.
francis feels bad for tolys, among some others. francis knows he isn’t perfect, but he doesn’t have a low opinion on himself. he thinks he is still in a really good place.
tolys looks up to francis, partially out of curiosity. he finds it hard to understand how francis seems to have it made. he is very grateful for their friendship, though, no matter how stressful it can be.
Ahh thank you ;v; It’s been a while since I drew a request and this is super messy tbh but I really liked the idea of a fralietpol ballet AU.
I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for OTL.
Feliks is Francis dance partner but he gets injured and asks his best friend who never really danced ballet before to take his place. So they have to practice a lot for the big show but it all works out nicely in the end :V
characters/pairing: nyo!france/nyo!lithuania. YUP.
summary: it’s a poem! France glorying in love with Lithuania while she stays at her house for a bit -- possibly right after Poland did... -- in the 1800s. Sort of exploring some ideas from way back here, and the idea of Liet duelling with the sword at the slightest provocation and despite her precarious state as a nation/a mortal at the time.
words: 216
Inspired by prompts from @hetaliawritersdiscord (which I’m a very lax and timid member of) OTP (which i mean… nyo!FraLiet isn’t exactly, but it’s a ship I do enjoy a great deal…) month.
There are women who are poems, and women who are blades.
Lady Victory,
Let me but hymn your praises a little!
read on on ao3 because I guarantee tumblr will eat the formatting
There are women who are poems, and women who are blades.
Lady Victory,
Let me but hymn your praises a little!
In the lamplight as I return,
you wield your needle, sewing
Blue serge, mending
Your uniform. “Duelling
Again?” I ask.
(You like that I don’t stop you risking your neck, and as for me I preach
Liberty besides which I like to be liked.
Still, damn your physical courage.)
“I was wondering when you’d get home,” you say, and smile, and disarm me utterly.
Can I say your eyes are
the colour of the storm that brought you?
Ferocity so contained,
Dignity dressed in rags, you made
the considered offer of yourself, for a time,
(For a time -- Darling, that's all I ask.)
There are women called poems
No, I am not your Lady Fortune and
You would never let me bind your wounds.
Yet here you are, sitting sewing
in the quiet, wondering
about me, when I’d come home,
my home a hundred times home for your presence.
There are women called poems and
women called blades, but the wisdom
is this: we each are all in all
though we must obey the time.
Set down your work, lay
your head in my lap.
Fatalistic lady,
Victory-in-exile,
Brave soldier, bide a while here with me.
A/N: let’s see... We can have Poland and Lithuania’s names being Felicja and Viktorija, rendered as Felicité and Victoire aaaand they’ve got some lovely unsubtle meanings there.
it’s a weirdly fixed headcanon of mine that France totally had a thing for, and with, both of them--whilst at the same time and after being the biggest shipper of their relationship...
