AN: Since FF[dot]Net wont allow you to put links in your work I will have to copy and past this here from my writing journal so those who are reading understand roughly how the hell this happened.

Before you read anything, there's a few things that needs to be noted about the situation that these two are in. Obviously they aren't from the same canon. They are in fact role-play inspired from an LJ Panfandom Role-play game. So, I'm going to be using the game's atmosphere and such for these fictions. Its pretty simple, the game is known at DISCEDO LJ but if you don't know it I'll give you a basic run down:

Post-apocalyptic; a closed off decrepit city where a bunch of scientist overlook it from who knows where. Powers are suppressed by a chip planted inside of them that they are unable to feel. Some have had them removed but many have not. There are often murderous outbreaks, monster attacks, lack of supplies personal/food/everything; and so on.

This being said, there are a few changes that Yuriy has adapted to. His bitbeast Wolborg is outside of the chip as an eight-foot wolf, however she is powerless. Just a wolf. Due to obvious Army training since young he took up a pistol and is ironically working with/under Ocelot.

On Prussia's side he is, well, Prussia; and has decided that he rules the city and is seizing the wrong vital regions the end.

So, I hope you enjoy the serious of small drabbles I will hopefully get to writing; with all its bickering, and violence, and so on.

Enjoy.

Title: Already Tradition
Author: Michael LJ
Pairing:Yuriy/Prussia
Fandom: Beyblade/APH
Rating: PG-13
Theme: 08. Never.
Summary: Words lie. Fists rarely do.
Disclaimer: Beyblade and Axis Powers Hetalia do not belong to me. Discedo setting does not belong to me. For more information on how and where, click here:

F-fuck. He let out a heavy breath and staggered a bit from the crunch of knuckles hitting his face. This kid hits hard, Prussia noted to himself; though he wasn't about to admit that. Instead, the Great Nation Prussia laughed, and retaliated with a blow of his own. His fist came around to slam into the slightly taller man's stomach; evening out the odds in their height. Kid was more like it. He thought, as he watched. Weak little Russian Welp. That was his title now. Prussia laughed again as Yuriy, the receiver of his glorious fist, doubled over with a hard grunt and a furrow of his brows. His face twisted up in, what Prussia thought as, a beautiful expression of pain.

The Nation turned his head to spit out the blood and saliva that had gathered in his mouth; inhaled deeply as he brought his face back in line with the boy leaning against him. A wicked smile tore up on Prussia's face. Yuriy's breath was heavy, hard. He coughed as the fist came against his stomach and made his body fall forward. His knees felt weak. His vision blurred. Neither were going to give up until they couldn't move; both of them were so exhausted that they couldn't think fast enough to block or move out of the other's path anymore. They'd been fighting full contact for about an hour now, and it was slowly creeping up on them. These encounters were tradition by now. When something went wrong, when one of them was lonely, when one of them were irritated or upset. They'd cover it by yelling, and fighting. It never got boring. It never got tiring.

"Aaah!" Yuriy breathed out -- His hair, fire red locks, tugged back by an eagerly violent iron grasp; his counter-attack swept away in this. Vibrant blue eyes looked upward at the dark slate-blue sky. Blood splattered the snow below their feet. Somewhere along the way they'd managed to lose half of their attire. To make it easier to move. To discard things that got in the way. A blue cloak, a pistol, a rapier, a pair of gloves, a hat.

Crisp cold air was taken in quick gasps. It's sound pleased the nation.

"How did a kid like you think you could win against me. Prussia. A Nation," he laughed; scarlet staring down at the squirming figure with cruel satisfaction. Prussia wanted to hear this shithead scream god dammit. Not once, not once did the persistent and prideful bastard scream in pain. Not once. "You think you're so tough. You're nothing but a little commoner. Nothing but a little spec of useless dust. Nothing at all."

Yuriy didn't understand anything Prussia said other than maybe 'me' and 'Prussia' and 'you' and 'you're' and other words here and there. He didn't speak enough German to understand, and Prussia didn't speak any Russian at all. Though, they yelled at each other in their native tongue and somehow ended up understanding in one way or another. SO it wasn't hard to guess what was being said, and the boy pulled back a snarl. His eyes narrowed in response.

The struggle Prussia mocked, "awe, am I hurting you?" He taunted, coldly. "Would you like me to go lighter on you little Russian boy? Poor little pathetic Russian boy." He laughed, "all you have to do is admit defeat. I can be merciful sometimes you know."

Prussia wanted to hear it even though it was clear that he, Prussia, was the superior one. The thought of this Russian trash crying out how pitiful he was in comparison filled the Nation of Prussia with unfathomable amounts of glee. It warmed his body with a delicious sensation; Prussia felt to laugh more, it was too wonderful. This little bastard had been challenging and mocking the authority and obvious superiority of Prussia since he had arrived. It'd been a month already. Truthfully, Prussia was frustrated, for more reasons than one, and this little Russian served to be a perfect punching bag to get that frustration out on.

Unfortunately Yuriy had no intention on doing what Prussia told him to. He'd been against stronger hands. Balcoff's punishments for when you were out of line were absolutely brutal. Yuriy was no little welp even if he was only sixteen. A sixteen year old boy going up against a well aged personification of Prussia. He was prideful, like Prussia was prideful. Yuriy had seen his fill of battles. Lost his share of comrades because they weren't good enough. Had an unstoppable need to be on top, to be powerful and strong, to be acknowledged. No way in hell some fucking German piece of shit was going to take him down. Even if said German was a Nation, apparently.

His arms, a little weakened and shaky, rose. His hands snapped around the Nation's neck and for just a moment he saw slight panic in those scarlet eyes from the bottom corner of his own. It made him smirk.

"In your dreams, pighead," Yuriy said, though he made certain to say pighead in German. With that, he rose a knee to square right in between the legs. Prussia's immediate curl in reaction made damn sure to involve bringing that head of red hair to met the ground as he cried - a manly cry at that - "Motherfucker," and almost laughed a little after the initial gasp. "You cheap little bastard!"

Although Yuriy's body was brought down to the ground, the grasp on his hair loosened just enough for him to move. He snapped the hand away and quickly reached out to grab and pull an ankle. A squawk pipped out of the Nation as he hit the ground, and was quickly straddled and knocked in the face soon there after. He panted, and his bare hands crunched into the snow right beside the Nation's face. His arm was shaking; weight leaning on it. Yuriy could barely feel the cold.

Blood red looked at the trembling wrist. His light blond hair almost disappearing in the snow. The light sweat on his back turned cold. His breath a bit harder than he'd admit to.

"Victory," Yuriy said thinly, "is all that matters." Prussia rolled his head to look up at the half-lidded blues. A smirk tugged back on his lips. "I. Don't. Understand you." He laughed a little, quietly. It looked like this kid was going to pass out.

There was silence, until Yuriy spoke again, "I win." and collapsed.

" . . . " Prussia looked up at the sky for a moment. He hurt more than he was going to own up to, although he didn't particularly feel it to its full extent right now. Not when his adrenalin was so high. For a moment he considered . . . Haha, fuck that! HE WON. The Nation laughed and he pushed the young boy's unconscious body off of him, and, shakingly, got to his feet. "Haha!" Prussia shouted, "This proves that I am superior you stupid Russian!"

Not as if Yuriy would hear him. Prussia didn't care about that. He turned toward where he'd tossed his rapier and cloak and collapsed about a foot away from them. Fucking Russian. Who the hell was this kid. Haha. Hahaha. That was a good fight.

This would never get old. Never.