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konstantyaTitle: It's a Bittersweet Timpani
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: Humor, romance.
Characters/pairings: Austria/Hungary (AusHun).
Rating: PG
Word count: 384
Summary: Hungary plays the timpani for Austria, and shenanigans ensue. (Based on a tumblr prompt.)
Period: Modern.
"Are you certain you know how to play the timpani?"
"Sure," Hungary said, with an easy wave of her hand. "They're just drums."
Austria huffed. "They're not just drums. Timpani occupy a very unique and important place in an orchestra, effectively bridging the gap between bass and percussion—"
"Okay," she amended, cutting him off with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, "so they're drums with a great personality."
Austria frowned, blushed a little despite himself, and let the matter drop. He knew she wasn't really so dismissive of the instrument, and that her interrupting him was less an active attempt to be rude and more her own gentle way of teasing him. In a way, he supposed he deserved it; he admittedly was prone to lecturing.
"All right, all right," he relented. Resigned, he gestured towards the instrument. "Show me what you've got, as they say."
Hungary gasped in mock horror as she made her way around and sat down. "Mr. Edelstein! Such scandalous colloquialisms!"
He shot her a dry smile and Hungary laughed. And then, without further ado, she picked up the mallets and began. At the end of it, she set the mallets back down with a flourish and leaned back in clear self-satisfaction. "Well?" she asked. "What did you think?"
"…I think there aren't enough colloquialisms in existence to properly describe the bizarre conglomeration of emotions I'm currently experiencing. Did you honestly just play 'Rock Me Amadeus' on the timpani?"
Hungary grinned. "What? You don't think classical instruments have potential when it comes to modern music?"
" 'Potential,' " he repeated diplomatically. "That's a good way to phrase it."
She rounded the instrument again and gave him a playful swat on the arm. "Oh, don't be such a snob. I've heard you playing your violin along with Parov Stelar."
"That's different," he insisted.
"Uh-huh," she said. Fondly, she looped her arm through his and began steering him towards the door. "Enlighten me, Professor, as to why that is. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Parov Stelar is an electronic artist while Falco was pop-rock."
She'd asked for it, Austria reasoned; it was only polite for him to oblige. "Parov Stelar isn't just an electronic artist. He's a pioneer of the electro-swing genre as a whole…"
-----
A/N: Confession time: I was mildly horrified upon receiving this prompt, because I know next to nothing about music. (My formal musical education consists of four years of extracurricular choir in grade school.So why did I end up choosing Austria as a favorite character, you might ask? I DON'T KNOW. I'M GOING TO GO WITH MASOCHISM. WHICH WAS NAMED AFTER AN AUSTRIAN, SO LIKE, WE'VE COME FULL CIRCLE, YEAH?) So when I read the prompt, I was like, "Oh, shit. I don't even know what the timpani is are. I am so screwed." But thankfully the internet is, in fact, for more than just porn, so with a little bit of research, I learned enough to at least be able to fake it for the sake of this ficlet. I was also able to crowbar in the long-standing head-canon I've had that says electronica is one of the few modern music genres that Austria actually really enjoys. (Electronic music is pretty damn big in the country, after all. I imagine it took him a little while to warm up to it, but you just know he's, like, the biggest techno snob out there now, pfft.)
Falco and Parov Stelar were/are Austrian artists, and I like to think that Austria's particularly proud of the latter. (He's no doubt proud of Falco, too, in his own way, but Falco's definitely more of a guilty pleasure. Austria might have once attended a Falco concert in disguise, but he will NEVER ADMIT TO IT.)
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: Humor, romance.
Characters/pairings: Austria/Hungary (AusHun).
Rating: PG
Word count: 384
Summary: Hungary plays the timpani for Austria, and shenanigans ensue. (Based on a tumblr prompt.)
Period: Modern.
- It's a Bittersweet Timpani -
"Are you certain you know how to play the timpani?"
"Sure," Hungary said, with an easy wave of her hand. "They're just drums."
Austria huffed. "They're not just drums. Timpani occupy a very unique and important place in an orchestra, effectively bridging the gap between bass and percussion—"
"Okay," she amended, cutting him off with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, "so they're drums with a great personality."
Austria frowned, blushed a little despite himself, and let the matter drop. He knew she wasn't really so dismissive of the instrument, and that her interrupting him was less an active attempt to be rude and more her own gentle way of teasing him. In a way, he supposed he deserved it; he admittedly was prone to lecturing.
"All right, all right," he relented. Resigned, he gestured towards the instrument. "Show me what you've got, as they say."
Hungary gasped in mock horror as she made her way around and sat down. "Mr. Edelstein! Such scandalous colloquialisms!"
He shot her a dry smile and Hungary laughed. And then, without further ado, she picked up the mallets and began. At the end of it, she set the mallets back down with a flourish and leaned back in clear self-satisfaction. "Well?" she asked. "What did you think?"
"…I think there aren't enough colloquialisms in existence to properly describe the bizarre conglomeration of emotions I'm currently experiencing. Did you honestly just play 'Rock Me Amadeus' on the timpani?"
Hungary grinned. "What? You don't think classical instruments have potential when it comes to modern music?"
" 'Potential,' " he repeated diplomatically. "That's a good way to phrase it."
She rounded the instrument again and gave him a playful swat on the arm. "Oh, don't be such a snob. I've heard you playing your violin along with Parov Stelar."
"That's different," he insisted.
"Uh-huh," she said. Fondly, she looped her arm through his and began steering him towards the door. "Enlighten me, Professor, as to why that is. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Parov Stelar is an electronic artist while Falco was pop-rock."
She'd asked for it, Austria reasoned; it was only polite for him to oblige. "Parov Stelar isn't just an electronic artist. He's a pioneer of the electro-swing genre as a whole…"
-----
A/N: Confession time: I was mildly horrified upon receiving this prompt, because I know next to nothing about music. (My formal musical education consists of four years of extracurricular choir in grade school.
Falco and Parov Stelar were/are Austrian artists, and I like to think that Austria's particularly proud of the latter. (He's no doubt proud of Falco, too, in his own way, but Falco's definitely more of a guilty pleasure. Austria might have once attended a Falco concert in disguise, but he will NEVER ADMIT TO IT.)
All other fics can be found here.
