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You included the fact that English almost fell out of use.
Dear lord, I love you so much right now ♥
England, you're such a word whore XD
Write more~~~ :3
Dear lord, I love you so much right now ♥
England, you're such a word whore XD
Write more~~~ :3
Guys, just want to say that I love the support <3
I know I've been rather slow but I'm still working on it!
I know I've been rather slow but I'm still working on it!
Oh Alfred. :( If he isn't ready to tell him, then he isn't ready to tell him.
I'm glad that Mattie's getting friends though, even if it is pushing him away from Arthur (which could't be helped regardless).
Good job anon~
I'm glad that Mattie's getting friends though, even if it is pushing him away from Arthur (which could't be helped regardless).
Good job anon~
Oo PsychicFemaleAlfred. Nice.
Those last four words kinda gave me a chill.
I kinda want to see Englands, or Russias, magic mixing with Alfreds. What would they do?
And is it me or is Alfred getting less evil?
Those last four words kinda gave me a chill.
I kinda want to see Englands, or Russias, magic mixing with Alfreds. What would they do?
“You're still warm.”
“I'm supposed to be warm. You're the one that's cold.”
The demon frowned at that, and he reached for Arthur's hand. “You're too warm.”
“I'm normal,” Arthur protested. “The fever's gone now. You can go back to whatever it is you do, and leave me alone!”
The bedroom fell silent, and the demon looked away. Arthur was still curt, never wanting to deal with him. It was uncomfortable, stuck in that tiny bedroom with the angel that had raised him early in his life.
“I don't want you to leave,” the demon admitted, and he continued before Arthur had a chance to interrupt. “I mean, I missed you, and I've been looking for a long time! It was hard! Everyone told me to just eat you, but I said no and they-”
“I don't want to hear it,” Arthur protested weakly.
“I just want you back.” The demon lowered his head. “I didn't want to kill you. That was an accident, I swea-”
“Your accidents always left me with broken bones and bruises. The last time you maimed me.”
“But I didn't mean it!” the demon whined.
“You left me to die in the forest!”
“I was scared!” The demon looked back up and tried to catch Arthur's eye. “I thought you'd come after me! You always did!”
“I was dying! How could I possibly find you?”
“Because that's what you did!” The demon didn't know when he'd stood, or when Arthur had tossed aside the blankets to sit up in the bed. “That's what you always did! If I ran away, you'd find me! When I got scared, you'd come get me!”
Arthur said nothing. He couldn't think of a response that sounded right in his head. He wanted to fight the demon and show him how wrong he was, but it was impossible. Anything he could think of sounded cruel even to the demon before him. Arthur slowly sank back into the bed, and he pulled the blankets back up around himself.
“Go away.” Arthur couldn't deal with the demon at the end of the bed. He couldn't understand the demon at all. His childishness confused him, and Arthur could only react by pushing him away. “I'm leaving. I can't deal with this.”
“Where are you going to go?” the demon demanded. He started to reach for Arthur, but stopped when Arthur pulled away. The demon stopped moving, and swallowed. “You can't go back up there. You're not a human. You're not a demon. You're...”
“You did this to me,” Arthur hissed.
“And you did this to me.” The demon clenched his fists and turned towards the door. He moved his lips as if to say something, but then stopped. He did nothing; he couldn't think of anything to say. He hesitated, and then shook his head and walked to the door. “My name's Alfred.”
Arthur was left alone. He looked down at his hands and blinked. If he could leave...
Arthur could find help. He knew he could. He would run as far away as he could, and once he was outside the perimeter of his enchantments, he could call for someone. Anyone. Roderich, or Ludwig, or even Kiku. Even if he couldn't return to the clouds, they could help him hide.
Right?
“I'm supposed to be warm. You're the one that's cold.”
The demon frowned at that, and he reached for Arthur's hand. “You're too warm.”
“I'm normal,” Arthur protested. “The fever's gone now. You can go back to whatever it is you do, and leave me alone!”
The bedroom fell silent, and the demon looked away. Arthur was still curt, never wanting to deal with him. It was uncomfortable, stuck in that tiny bedroom with the angel that had raised him early in his life.
“I don't want you to leave,” the demon admitted, and he continued before Arthur had a chance to interrupt. “I mean, I missed you, and I've been looking for a long time! It was hard! Everyone told me to just eat you, but I said no and they-”
“I don't want to hear it,” Arthur protested weakly.
“I just want you back.” The demon lowered his head. “I didn't want to kill you. That was an accident, I swea-”
“Your accidents always left me with broken bones and bruises. The last time you maimed me.”
“But I didn't mean it!” the demon whined.
“You left me to die in the forest!”
“I was scared!” The demon looked back up and tried to catch Arthur's eye. “I thought you'd come after me! You always did!”
“I was dying! How could I possibly find you?”
“Because that's what you did!” The demon didn't know when he'd stood, or when Arthur had tossed aside the blankets to sit up in the bed. “That's what you always did! If I ran away, you'd find me! When I got scared, you'd come get me!”
Arthur said nothing. He couldn't think of a response that sounded right in his head. He wanted to fight the demon and show him how wrong he was, but it was impossible. Anything he could think of sounded cruel even to the demon before him. Arthur slowly sank back into the bed, and he pulled the blankets back up around himself.
“Go away.” Arthur couldn't deal with the demon at the end of the bed. He couldn't understand the demon at all. His childishness confused him, and Arthur could only react by pushing him away. “I'm leaving. I can't deal with this.”
“Where are you going to go?” the demon demanded. He started to reach for Arthur, but stopped when Arthur pulled away. The demon stopped moving, and swallowed. “You can't go back up there. You're not a human. You're not a demon. You're...”
“You did this to me,” Arthur hissed.
“And you did this to me.” The demon clenched his fists and turned towards the door. He moved his lips as if to say something, but then stopped. He did nothing; he couldn't think of anything to say. He hesitated, and then shook his head and walked to the door. “My name's Alfred.”
Arthur was left alone. He looked down at his hands and blinked. If he could leave...
Arthur could find help. He knew he could. He would run as far away as he could, and once he was outside the perimeter of his enchantments, he could call for someone. Anyone. Roderich, or Ludwig, or even Kiku. Even if he couldn't return to the clouds, they could help him hide.
Right?
The demon never returned. Arthur was left alone in that room, never forced to endure the presence of the other. Meals would be left just inside the door. Arthur would pick through them for the greens that the demon had scavenged, and then leave the tray and climb back into the bed to plan for the future. Eventually the meat stopped coming with the meals, and Arthur had to spend less time picking through the greens for something edible.
Arthur wasn't sure how long it had taken for him to begin wandering the halls of the house, but when he finally ventured from the bedroom, he wasn't met by the demon. He found comfort in that fact, and pushed open the shades on the windows around the house to look outside. The demon remained behind the house, chopping wood or catching food. Arthur watched him, trying to find some pattern. He needed to know what to expect from the demon for when he fled the house.
Surprisingly, the demon was ordinary. The demon would wander back and forth, running his fingers through his hair and kicking at stones. Then he would disappear into the forest and return with small (dead) animals. Arthur never watched him prepare the animals, but he did look back in time to see him put the carcass on the spit. The demon would cook it, and while it cooked he would disappear into the forest. Upon returning, he would be clean and carrying wood that he either stacked by the house or set by the fire.
The demon was so plain that Arthur started to question himself. Had he really tried to lash out at this creature, and blame him for all of his troubles (even if it was true)? The demon didn't move with the grace present in higher beings; if anything, he was childlike, and clumsy. He was strong, yes, but he didn't seem to know what to do with that strength.
Whenever Arthur questioned himself, he would backtrack and scold himself. He had been violated by the demon before him. Staying with the demon would never make that any better. If anything, it was made worse. He would always look at the demon and remember the pain and the suffering, the blood. He knew he had no one to go to, but that didn't mean that he should remain with that demon, in the same house, sharing the same space.
He would run. And this time he wouldn't make the mistake of getting caught.
fail bromance. -flails- sorry!
Alfred was smoking a cigarette, but threw it away with a guilty grin when he saw Arthur come out to his front porch.
"Hey Art!"
The two were as different as friends could be. Arthur immediately brought to mind someone who had been working all night and then sleeping in the bathtub to keep his suit immaculate. His dusty blond hair was perpetually sticking up in strange places, and his green eyes stood out on his pale and harried face. Alfred, on the other hand, was like a hyperactive puppy; he jumped around and spoke a mile a minute, and was hardly ever seen without a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth.
Arthur didn't really know this, but Alfred was only hyperactive when he had stayed up all night.
"I thought you quit smoking," Arthur said shortly. Alfred pouted.
"I'm wounded, Artie," he said, crossing his heart passionately. "I wasn't smoking, see?"
"Of course you weren't. And that isn't a lit cigarette on my lawn," Arthur pointed out with a sigh of exasperation, trying not to think too hard about the possibility of Alfred setting his little house on fire. "Far too jumpy, Alfred."
"I can't help it. I dunno, my mom dropped me on my head when I was young," Alfred said, gingerly picking up the cigarette and waving it out. Before dropping it on the sidewalk again.
Arthur flinched at his inflection. Alfred had the unfortunate habit of slipping into American vernacular, which was highly discouraged, even at the archives where they worked. At the archives, eccentricities were tolerated because the abilities they had, photographic memories and the like. Alfred's eccentricities, however, could be grating.
"It's going to be a hell of a day today," Alfred said, stretching out his arms and starting to walk with his friend. "Elizaveta's got comic books for translation today. Are you excited?"
"Frankly, no," Arthur said. "I hate Fridays with a passion."
"Why...? Oh," Alfred said in sudden revelation. "That's why..."
Every Friday, Arthur had to bring his report to the supervisor, which was far too often, but what could you do in a bureaucracy? And every Friday, Mr. Bonnefoy would smile rakishly and comb back his thinning gold hair with a soft white hand before thanking him for the excellent report. It made Arthur uncomfortable beyond belief.
"Maybe he's sick today."
"That man is never sick," Arthur said. "At least, not in the pharmaceutical sense of the word. God, just thinking about the man makes my teeth hurt."
"I'm there for you," Alfred said in mock-serious tones, and patted Arthur lightly on the shoulder.
Arthur huffed and stretched again, hissing when he felt a bruise in the small of his back stretch. But he wouldn't complain about that to his friend. He knew better than to do anything like that. Alfred could get overly concerned with his friends at time, and Arthur wasn't in the mood to lie about the burn he had from last night's frantic attempt to put out a fire before it spread to other houses.
"Hey, I got tickets for the museum tonight. Do you want to see the new War Propaganda exhibit? I hear they have Uncle Sam posters, even. I bet Uncle Sam's a robot."
At the mention of the museum, Arthur's eyes lit up with excitement. He hadn't been to the museum since God knows when. He had no money for the venture. Alfred saw how much happier his friend was, and indulged in a hug that made several of Arthur's ribs groan from pressure.
"Fagssssssss," someone called from a car going by.
"Dude! That was a totally manly hug!" Alfred yelled passionately, breaking away from Arthur hurriedly. "Only real men hug!"
He decided to ask Arthur about what shampoo he used later.
Alfred was smoking a cigarette, but threw it away with a guilty grin when he saw Arthur come out to his front porch.
"Hey Art!"
The two were as different as friends could be. Arthur immediately brought to mind someone who had been working all night and then sleeping in the bathtub to keep his suit immaculate. His dusty blond hair was perpetually sticking up in strange places, and his green eyes stood out on his pale and harried face. Alfred, on the other hand, was like a hyperactive puppy; he jumped around and spoke a mile a minute, and was hardly ever seen without a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth.
Arthur didn't really know this, but Alfred was only hyperactive when he had stayed up all night.
"I thought you quit smoking," Arthur said shortly. Alfred pouted.
"I'm wounded, Artie," he said, crossing his heart passionately. "I wasn't smoking, see?"
"Of course you weren't. And that isn't a lit cigarette on my lawn," Arthur pointed out with a sigh of exasperation, trying not to think too hard about the possibility of Alfred setting his little house on fire. "Far too jumpy, Alfred."
"I can't help it. I dunno, my mom dropped me on my head when I was young," Alfred said, gingerly picking up the cigarette and waving it out. Before dropping it on the sidewalk again.
Arthur flinched at his inflection. Alfred had the unfortunate habit of slipping into American vernacular, which was highly discouraged, even at the archives where they worked. At the archives, eccentricities were tolerated because the abilities they had, photographic memories and the like. Alfred's eccentricities, however, could be grating.
"It's going to be a hell of a day today," Alfred said, stretching out his arms and starting to walk with his friend. "Elizaveta's got comic books for translation today. Are you excited?"
"Frankly, no," Arthur said. "I hate Fridays with a passion."
"Why...? Oh," Alfred said in sudden revelation. "That's why..."
Every Friday, Arthur had to bring his report to the supervisor, which was far too often, but what could you do in a bureaucracy? And every Friday, Mr. Bonnefoy would smile rakishly and comb back his thinning gold hair with a soft white hand before thanking him for the excellent report. It made Arthur uncomfortable beyond belief.
"Maybe he's sick today."
"That man is never sick," Arthur said. "At least, not in the pharmaceutical sense of the word. God, just thinking about the man makes my teeth hurt."
"I'm there for you," Alfred said in mock-serious tones, and patted Arthur lightly on the shoulder.
Arthur huffed and stretched again, hissing when he felt a bruise in the small of his back stretch. But he wouldn't complain about that to his friend. He knew better than to do anything like that. Alfred could get overly concerned with his friends at time, and Arthur wasn't in the mood to lie about the burn he had from last night's frantic attempt to put out a fire before it spread to other houses.
"Hey, I got tickets for the museum tonight. Do you want to see the new War Propaganda exhibit? I hear they have Uncle Sam posters, even. I bet Uncle Sam's a robot."
At the mention of the museum, Arthur's eyes lit up with excitement. He hadn't been to the museum since God knows when. He had no money for the venture. Alfred saw how much happier his friend was, and indulged in a hug that made several of Arthur's ribs groan from pressure.
"Fagssssssss," someone called from a car going by.
"Dude! That was a totally manly hug!" Alfred yelled passionately, breaking away from Arthur hurriedly. "Only real men hug!"
He decided to ask Arthur about what shampoo he used later.
Alfred strolled casually into the Starbucks, and took his place in line for a cup of joe. He was greeted with a few friendly hellos and saw some young girls watching him and giggling in the corner. He’d become a little extra popular over the past couple weeks, with the release of his DVDs and books racking up a whole lot noise from the fan base. Even some of the older adults gave him a quick head nod as they passed by. Hmm, they probably have kids who know me and that’s how they recognize me.
The release of the DVD in his home was actually kind of why he was here. He called up his new favorite person in the world and agreed to meet him here just to hang out and chat and stuff. He looked around for him, but didn’t seem to see him. He checked his watch for the time; maybe he was a little late, about five minutes late. Fortunately, the man he was looking walked out of the bathroom with his finger rubbing his eyes.
“Hey, Mr. Vale! How’s it going, man?” He called out with his hand waving in the air. His new friend waved back and pointed to the table he’d saved for them, still rubbing his eyes as he did so. Once Alfred got his coffee, he took his seat across from his voice actor and properly introduced himself.
“It’s great that we could meet up here, Mr. Vale, I’m Alfred F. Jones, but you can just call me Alfred.”
“Oh, well it’s so nice to meet you in person, Alfred. You don’t have to call me Mister, just Eric is fine.” The friendly voice actor held out his free hand for a shake.
“Really, cool!”
“Yeah, it would feel kind of weird being called Mister by someone hundreds of years older than me.”
“Haha, when you say it, it makes me sound old, but that’s nothing compared to my friends in the EU. I’m a kid compared to them! Maybe that’s why I still get carded at bars. Is something wrong with your eyes, Eric?”
“Yeah, sorta. Allergy season makes my eyes act up, and that kind of makes my contacts hurt sometimes.”
“Ooo, ouch. That sounds pretty bad.”
“It’s alright, though, “Eric pulled out a glasses case from his back pocket, “I took them out a few minutes ago and brought these as a back up.”
As he slipped his glasses onto his face, Alfred laughed and commented, “Pretty spiffy frames you got there. If you slicked your hair back and grew a moustache, you’d look like Teddy Roosevelt!”
Eric chuckled along with him and retorted, “I like your glasses, too. You already kind of remind me of a young Teddy Roosevelt, if I concentrate hard enough.”
“Aw, that’s really sweet of you to say, honestly. I like you already, Eric! So tell me, how does it feel to literally be the voice of the nation?” Alfred asked, with his fists under his chin.
“It kind of feels like when I was in elementary school and I was Uncle Sam in the school play.” They both broke out into light chuckles.”
“Ahaha, good old Uncle Sam! He may be a little senile, but I still love that old geezer!”
“So Alfred, how does it feel to finally speak in your native tongue?”
“It feels awesome, dude! It kind of felt weird not being able to say my own words properly. I mean, I couldn’t even say “Hello” or “Okay” without sounding off. Don’t even get me started on when I told Lithuania I could handle cleaning my storage!”
The release of the DVD in his home was actually kind of why he was here. He called up his new favorite person in the world and agreed to meet him here just to hang out and chat and stuff. He looked around for him, but didn’t seem to see him. He checked his watch for the time; maybe he was a little late, about five minutes late. Fortunately, the man he was looking walked out of the bathroom with his finger rubbing his eyes.
“Hey, Mr. Vale! How’s it going, man?” He called out with his hand waving in the air. His new friend waved back and pointed to the table he’d saved for them, still rubbing his eyes as he did so. Once Alfred got his coffee, he took his seat across from his voice actor and properly introduced himself.
“It’s great that we could meet up here, Mr. Vale, I’m Alfred F. Jones, but you can just call me Alfred.”
“Oh, well it’s so nice to meet you in person, Alfred. You don’t have to call me Mister, just Eric is fine.” The friendly voice actor held out his free hand for a shake.
“Really, cool!”
“Yeah, it would feel kind of weird being called Mister by someone hundreds of years older than me.”
“Haha, when you say it, it makes me sound old, but that’s nothing compared to my friends in the EU. I’m a kid compared to them! Maybe that’s why I still get carded at bars. Is something wrong with your eyes, Eric?”
“Yeah, sorta. Allergy season makes my eyes act up, and that kind of makes my contacts hurt sometimes.”
“Ooo, ouch. That sounds pretty bad.”
“It’s alright, though, “Eric pulled out a glasses case from his back pocket, “I took them out a few minutes ago and brought these as a back up.”
As he slipped his glasses onto his face, Alfred laughed and commented, “Pretty spiffy frames you got there. If you slicked your hair back and grew a moustache, you’d look like Teddy Roosevelt!”
Eric chuckled along with him and retorted, “I like your glasses, too. You already kind of remind me of a young Teddy Roosevelt, if I concentrate hard enough.”
“Aw, that’s really sweet of you to say, honestly. I like you already, Eric! So tell me, how does it feel to literally be the voice of the nation?” Alfred asked, with his fists under his chin.
“It kind of feels like when I was in elementary school and I was Uncle Sam in the school play.” They both broke out into light chuckles.”
“Ahaha, good old Uncle Sam! He may be a little senile, but I still love that old geezer!”
“So Alfred, how does it feel to finally speak in your native tongue?”
“It feels awesome, dude! It kind of felt weird not being able to say my own words properly. I mean, I couldn’t even say “Hello” or “Okay” without sounding off. Don’t even get me started on when I told Lithuania I could handle cleaning my storage!”
LOL
Poor Alfred, another victim of Engrish
Loving this.
Poor Alfred, another victim of Engrish
Loving this.
“Thanks, dude. It was so awesome being able to let it all out with you. I just hope your brother likes me as much as you do.”
“Who, Canada? Ah, don’t worry about him! He probably couldn’t get mad if he tried. That dude likes everybody! He’s sure to love you.”
“Yeah...that reminds me… I go on the internet as Americans do…and I found a lot of interesting things.”
“Oh boy, the internet…what is it this time, I wonder…”
“Look, I realize the show was popular, like really popular, even before we got the license, but I found that you’re like on some most eligible bachelors list or something, because a lot of the fans really like to couple you with people!”
“Oh yeah! Yeah…heh…heheh…Oh man…I noticed that, too.”
“Why does everyone ship you with England so much? I don’t really have an opinion on it, but I can’t help but feel something now that it feels like it’s involving me, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know what you mean. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the whole colony thing and those Cleaning out the Storage episodes. In fact, when I first became a nation, I actually had a lot of people who had wanted me to stay with England! Yup, those fangirls have vivid imaginations.” America grinned nervously and scratched the back of his head.
“Don’t they also put us together with Russia? I have a feeling that some rabid fangirl is going to ask me to tell Jerry I love him in your voice.”
“Cold War, y’know? Lots of tension back then, tension that actually had many ways to look at it, I guess.”
“Please tell me I get some girls…please?” Eric clasped his hands to beg.
“Well, it’s not super popular, but there’s a prominent group of people who like us with Belarus.”
“Russia’s crazy sister?! But she’s too obsessed with her brother!”
“She left for a little while, and tried staying with me for a little bit.”
“I see…well, she is pretty cute, and I would totally act something out with Monica if someone asked us to.”
“There’s also some shipping for Vietnam.”
“Ahaha, intense! Is she pretty? I haven’t found a sketch of her.”
“Oh, she basically looks like China, but with bangs and a cuter face.”
“Sweet!”
“It’s get better though, in my brother’s case.”
“Oh?”
“There are so many people who make Canada…and Ukraine a couple.” Alfred gave a little wink as he dropped Russia’s older sister’s name.
“So both Soviet chicks and a cute Asia girl? Nice…me likey…” Eric moaned lecherously with his finger on his chin and his eyes staring off into an imaginary world.
A/N: Um...I just kind of thought of this in only a couple hours, so I hope this is sort of what you wanted.
“Who, Canada? Ah, don’t worry about him! He probably couldn’t get mad if he tried. That dude likes everybody! He’s sure to love you.”
“Yeah...that reminds me… I go on the internet as Americans do…and I found a lot of interesting things.”
“Oh boy, the internet…what is it this time, I wonder…”
“Look, I realize the show was popular, like really popular, even before we got the license, but I found that you’re like on some most eligible bachelors list or something, because a lot of the fans really like to couple you with people!”
“Oh yeah! Yeah…heh…heheh…Oh man…I noticed that, too.”
“Why does everyone ship you with England so much? I don’t really have an opinion on it, but I can’t help but feel something now that it feels like it’s involving me, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know what you mean. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the whole colony thing and those Cleaning out the Storage episodes. In fact, when I first became a nation, I actually had a lot of people who had wanted me to stay with England! Yup, those fangirls have vivid imaginations.” America grinned nervously and scratched the back of his head.
“Don’t they also put us together with Russia? I have a feeling that some rabid fangirl is going to ask me to tell Jerry I love him in your voice.”
“Cold War, y’know? Lots of tension back then, tension that actually had many ways to look at it, I guess.”
“Please tell me I get some girls…please?” Eric clasped his hands to beg.
“Well, it’s not super popular, but there’s a prominent group of people who like us with Belarus.”
“Russia’s crazy sister?! But she’s too obsessed with her brother!”
“She left for a little while, and tried staying with me for a little bit.”
“I see…well, she is pretty cute, and I would totally act something out with Monica if someone asked us to.”
“There’s also some shipping for Vietnam.”
“Ahaha, intense! Is she pretty? I haven’t found a sketch of her.”
“Oh, she basically looks like China, but with bangs and a cuter face.”
“Sweet!”
“It’s get better though, in my brother’s case.”
“Oh?”
“There are so many people who make Canada…and Ukraine a couple.” Alfred gave a little wink as he dropped Russia’s older sister’s name.
“So both Soviet chicks and a cute Asia girl? Nice…me likey…” Eric moaned lecherously with his finger on his chin and his eyes staring off into an imaginary world.
A/N: Um...I just kind of thought of this in only a couple hours, so I hope this is sort of what you wanted.
EPIC.WIN!!!!!!
This request was a love from first sight and IT'S FILLED
ILU so much, author!anon
This request was a love from first sight and IT'S FILLED
ILU so much, author!anon
Glad you like it~
Awesome~
I'm kind of already plotting a trip overseas~XD
I know... *sobs* It's not my fault! He's evolving *wibbles*
Awesome~
I'm kind of already plotting a trip overseas~XD
Way to kill the moment random person who will probably never show up again.
For some reason that last line put a ridiculous grin on my face. :D
For some reason that last line put a ridiculous grin on my face. :D
-lame title is lame-
Kisa Sokolov had the best job in the world.
She enjoyed being Ivan Braginski’s (Russia! He was Russia!) bodyguard. Even though the fact that most of the other guards wrote her off depressed her. No one picked a fight with Ivan; everything went well for her first few meetings. Agent Charles Angel (she was still tickled about that name) assured her though, that once America was well enough to come back to the meetings, she’d understand the chaos.
She laughed at the Englishman, shaking her head. Chaos? Chaos was living in Berlin for most of your childhood, only to be uprooted by American and German soldiers and asked various times ‘Are you German? Are you a German citizen?’ Chaos was your first day at a school in Moscow, speaking slowly so that none of the other students could make fun of your German accented Russian. Chaos was forever being asked ‘You were born in the German Democratic Republic? You’re German?’
Chaos was Alfred F. Jones stepping into the meeting room and spotting Russia. Kisa had been having a mild conversation with Johann, who guarded over both Germany and Prussia, and Charles, England’s guard, when she noticed the blonde storming over to an oblivious Russia.
She’d acted more quickly than anyone had suspected that she would be able to do. Within moments, Ivan had found himself shoved behind Kisa, this barely a meter and a half tall girl, and Alfred’s head had connected with the hardwood table, his hands being tied behind his back. “Confirm, you are Alfred F. Jones, da? United States of America?”
He’d spat out something that was not an affirmative and tried to break the binds on his wrists.
“This can be easy or hard. Confirm your identity. I have jurisdiction to take out any and all threats to my charge.”
“Yes! I’m Alfred Jones!” He finally replied, at which Kisa pulled a knife from her pocket and slit the bindings, stepping back.
“Thank you.” She replied demurely, walking over to Ivan and standing beside him.
“How did you do that, Kisa?” Ivan asked her after a moment, looking up from his chair. “I’ve never seen you move that fast.”
“Belarus.” She answered, the one word summing up her entire ability to take down the United States.
Kisa Sokolov had the best job in the world.
She enjoyed being Ivan Braginski’s (Russia! He was Russia!) bodyguard. Even though the fact that most of the other guards wrote her off depressed her. No one picked a fight with Ivan; everything went well for her first few meetings. Agent Charles Angel (she was still tickled about that name) assured her though, that once America was well enough to come back to the meetings, she’d understand the chaos.
She laughed at the Englishman, shaking her head. Chaos? Chaos was living in Berlin for most of your childhood, only to be uprooted by American and German soldiers and asked various times ‘Are you German? Are you a German citizen?’ Chaos was your first day at a school in Moscow, speaking slowly so that none of the other students could make fun of your German accented Russian. Chaos was forever being asked ‘You were born in the German Democratic Republic? You’re German?’
Chaos was Alfred F. Jones stepping into the meeting room and spotting Russia. Kisa had been having a mild conversation with Johann, who guarded over both Germany and Prussia, and Charles, England’s guard, when she noticed the blonde storming over to an oblivious Russia.
She’d acted more quickly than anyone had suspected that she would be able to do. Within moments, Ivan had found himself shoved behind Kisa, this barely a meter and a half tall girl, and Alfred’s head had connected with the hardwood table, his hands being tied behind his back. “Confirm, you are Alfred F. Jones, da? United States of America?”
He’d spat out something that was not an affirmative and tried to break the binds on his wrists.
“This can be easy or hard. Confirm your identity. I have jurisdiction to take out any and all threats to my charge.”
“Yes! I’m Alfred Jones!” He finally replied, at which Kisa pulled a knife from her pocket and slit the bindings, stepping back.
“Thank you.” She replied demurely, walking over to Ivan and standing beside him.
“How did you do that, Kisa?” Ivan asked her after a moment, looking up from his chair. “I’ve never seen you move that fast.”
“Belarus.” She answered, the one word summing up her entire ability to take down the United States.
I'm not even into the dubs, but this is really cute. I laughed quite a bit, despite a handfulof initial misgivings.
Well done!
Well done!
I thought Russia deserved some main character agent love.
-Kisa Sokolov - Kisa means "kitty" and Sokolov was apparently the most common last name in Russia in 1994.
-"Chaos was . . . You're German'?" - I wanted to add some historical depth to Kisa; so I'm a history!whore and tacked in the Berlin wall.
-Agent Charles Angel - Kisa's tickled by it because she's seen "Hot Fuzz". Go watch it.
-I might make this into a series of vignettes. y/n?
-Kisa Sokolov - Kisa means "kitty" and Sokolov was apparently the most common last name in Russia in 1994.
-"Chaos was . . . You're German'?" - I wanted to add some historical depth to Kisa; so I'm a history!whore and tacked in the Berlin wall.
-Agent Charles Angel - Kisa's tickled by it because she's seen "Hot Fuzz". Go watch it.
-I might make this into a series of vignettes. y/n?
I've never read this pairing before, and I must say it is awesome! And this is so cute, with hickeys and all <3
Similarly, England had to struggle briefly against the hands on his hips. Not because he didn’t want them there, but because they felt like they fit there perfectly, and that was unacceptable.
Oh England, silly x3
Side note! The anon who asked for France/Russia is superexcited for the smut, just to let you know :D
Similarly, England had to struggle briefly against the hands on his hips. Not because he didn’t want them there, but because they felt like they fit there perfectly, and that was unacceptable.
Oh England, silly x3
Side note! The anon who asked for France/Russia is superexcited for the smut, just to let you know :D
Ooooh, such a great start. I kind of want America to kick German Conferderation's ass for hurting England
Noooo Arthur, don't run! Stay forever and have mpreg'd mutant babehs <3<3<3
...sorry, I'm not in the right state of mind. That said, I'm glad you updated! I'm really liking the progression of this story with both of them trying to convey to the other what and how they feel and all the miscommunication. Really liked Arthur's POV on Alfred, like the part where he's kinda childish and plain.
Please update soon ♥
...sorry, I'm not in the right state of mind. That said, I'm glad you updated! I'm really liking the progression of this story with both of them trying to convey to the other what and how they feel and all the miscommunication. Really liked Arthur's POV on Alfred, like the part where he's kinda childish and plain.
Please update soon ♥
America spent the entirety of his second pregnancy positive he hated his unborn baby.
By turns, the colony was resentful and self-pitying--his bewilderment over how he could be pregnant was brought back full force, with no resolution to be had. He felt guilty for not paying more attention to his daughter. He was so tired that not a day went by without him wanting to cry from being so worn out. Some days America couldn't get up and do what needed to be done. On good days, he'd be able to do the essential, still have time for Virginia, and only catnap for a few minutes while with her. When he had time to rest, contradictorily, he was overwhelmed with urges to clean, or do other more practical things like read to his daughter or fuss over her clothes and the clothing he intended to use for the baby.
Virginia was getting big enough to semi care for herself, and America couldn't help thinking he should have been closer to having some of his freedom back, not needing to restart the routine! He tried to remember that the baby hadn't asked to be conceived, it was his and Netherlands's own stupid fault--but with all that was pervading America's thoughts, he wondered if there'd be any way he wouldn't take his unhappiness out on his poor child.
***
He felt so awful after delivering New Netherland that for a while, America forgot to feel guilty for not being happy about the new baby.
Having Virginia hadn't been this bad. Maybe he'd been in shock at the time and had forgotten how it had gone, or this baby was bigger and hurt worse, or he'd bled more with it, but America was only able to wipe the mess from the birth into a heap of bloody, dampened sheets before collapsing into bed, the baby on his chest. He might have passed out. Later, he became aware that Virginia was in the room and on the bed next to him, bothering the baby, who--from the pain America was feeling--had taken it upon himself to try to get a meal out of America.
Breastfeeding grossed out America more than pregnancy had. It was completely illogical, seeing how much he'd already done that was unnatural, but America didn't want to prolong what his body had been undergoing.
His inclination was to straightaway pry off the newborn. America was tired though, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to get up any time soon. He let the baby continue nursing, intending to sleep and, when he was feeling more alert, instruct Virginia to milk the goat and start feeding the baby on that.
This wasn't a good idea.
When America cut off the supply to New Netherland, more than a day had gone by. America's body was not getting the hint that he didn't want to breastfeed, and New Netherland did not appreciate a glove full of goat secretion being shoved into his face. Virginia took over trying to get her brother to swallow the goat's milk, as America crossed his arms over his aching chest. After two days, America couldn't take anymore--it was scaring him how the baby was vomiting up anything they got into him. The way things were going, the newborn was going to choke to death before he could starve.
The hell with indignity. America didn't want his baby suffering.
Knowing that even in the lowest moments of his resentment, he didn't wish any harm on this second child eased America's guilt. Within days, he forgot that he'd ever felt any unhappiness toward the baby.
***
He still wasn't happy, but feeding the baby and arguing with Virginia exhausted America so much that he was in too much of a daze to recognize he was feeling discontentment.
This trance-like state lasted until the day America heard the door to the house open and he was greeted by not Virginia's voice but England's. The country was calling America's name and then saying something about tea as America--for the first time in months feeling something other than dreariness--headed for his guardian, overjoyed that England had returned. His children were the furthest thing from his thoughts as England stammered in shock over how much America had grown, and America didn't even care that he was acting like an overeager puppy as he threw himself at England.
"You got so big!" England finally managed to voice coherently.
"You were gone a long time!" America responded, accusingly.
By turns, the colony was resentful and self-pitying--his bewilderment over how he could be pregnant was brought back full force, with no resolution to be had. He felt guilty for not paying more attention to his daughter. He was so tired that not a day went by without him wanting to cry from being so worn out. Some days America couldn't get up and do what needed to be done. On good days, he'd be able to do the essential, still have time for Virginia, and only catnap for a few minutes while with her. When he had time to rest, contradictorily, he was overwhelmed with urges to clean, or do other more practical things like read to his daughter or fuss over her clothes and the clothing he intended to use for the baby.
Virginia was getting big enough to semi care for herself, and America couldn't help thinking he should have been closer to having some of his freedom back, not needing to restart the routine! He tried to remember that the baby hadn't asked to be conceived, it was his and Netherlands's own stupid fault--but with all that was pervading America's thoughts, he wondered if there'd be any way he wouldn't take his unhappiness out on his poor child.
***
He felt so awful after delivering New Netherland that for a while, America forgot to feel guilty for not being happy about the new baby.
Having Virginia hadn't been this bad. Maybe he'd been in shock at the time and had forgotten how it had gone, or this baby was bigger and hurt worse, or he'd bled more with it, but America was only able to wipe the mess from the birth into a heap of bloody, dampened sheets before collapsing into bed, the baby on his chest. He might have passed out. Later, he became aware that Virginia was in the room and on the bed next to him, bothering the baby, who--from the pain America was feeling--had taken it upon himself to try to get a meal out of America.
Breastfeeding grossed out America more than pregnancy had. It was completely illogical, seeing how much he'd already done that was unnatural, but America didn't want to prolong what his body had been undergoing.
His inclination was to straightaway pry off the newborn. America was tired though, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to get up any time soon. He let the baby continue nursing, intending to sleep and, when he was feeling more alert, instruct Virginia to milk the goat and start feeding the baby on that.
This wasn't a good idea.
When America cut off the supply to New Netherland, more than a day had gone by. America's body was not getting the hint that he didn't want to breastfeed, and New Netherland did not appreciate a glove full of goat secretion being shoved into his face. Virginia took over trying to get her brother to swallow the goat's milk, as America crossed his arms over his aching chest. After two days, America couldn't take anymore--it was scaring him how the baby was vomiting up anything they got into him. The way things were going, the newborn was going to choke to death before he could starve.
The hell with indignity. America didn't want his baby suffering.
Knowing that even in the lowest moments of his resentment, he didn't wish any harm on this second child eased America's guilt. Within days, he forgot that he'd ever felt any unhappiness toward the baby.
***
He still wasn't happy, but feeding the baby and arguing with Virginia exhausted America so much that he was in too much of a daze to recognize he was feeling discontentment.
This trance-like state lasted until the day America heard the door to the house open and he was greeted by not Virginia's voice but England's. The country was calling America's name and then saying something about tea as America--for the first time in months feeling something other than dreariness--headed for his guardian, overjoyed that England had returned. His children were the furthest thing from his thoughts as England stammered in shock over how much America had grown, and America didn't even care that he was acting like an overeager puppy as he threw himself at England.
"You got so big!" England finally managed to voice coherently.
"You were gone a long time!" America responded, accusingly.
"I was. I'm sorry." England hugged America tightly, and America got why England had been so stunned--he was actually a little taller than England now. When had that happened? He remembered when England left, hadn't he only come up to England's chest then?
For a few minutes, America experienced bliss, in the comfort of England's embrace. Everything was going to be alright, America was certain; England could fix all of America's worries: Virginia's disobedience, how exhausting caring for the baby was, all the hiding America had had to do from the countries and his citizens, how he was going to continue providing for his children now that there were two. All that was over now.
Or so he thought. America hadn't considered he might be investing too much faith in England.
Virginia walked into the room, carrying her baby brother. Confused over why her father was hugging this man she'd never seen before, she simply stared at England, who, for his part, took one look past America at Virginia and couldn't not notice that this child had suspiciously similar eyebrows and eye coloring.
England let go of America and lost all coherency once again. America was wondering how badly England was going to take this when England was able to quit stammering and nervously demanded, "Who are these two? You know the settlers aren't supposed to be here! Why are you inviting them to the house? How often have you done this?"
Damn. That bit of happiness had been short lived. "They live here."
"What would possess you to do such a thing?"
"Relax, they're not settlers."
"Then what are they?" England appeared to be in no mood for games.
In America's defense, this wasn't a game. It had been so long since he'd seen England that he'd never bothered to think how he was going to break the news of Virginia to the country. "They're mine," he answered, deciding being short and to the point would be best, in this situation.
"Yours. Funny. Whose are they really?"
"They're mine. Seriously." America was a little concerned that England wasn't believing him.
England gave America an impatient look like this was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard anyone say. "You took in settler children? Has it even occured to you just how bad an idea that is? Where did you get them from? They need to go back!"
"Go back?" Virginia said. "I'm not going anywhere, this is my home! Why don't you go back? Alfred, why is this man yelling and giving orders? Who is he?"
For a moment, America thought England was going to direct his yelling at Virginia, but then he focused his gaze back onto America. "See how rude that one is? You're a bad influence already! Those children need to go to people who will discipline them!"
"I do not need discipline!"
"They're not going anywhere. When I said they're mine, I didn't mean I found them and took them in. They're mine."
He could tell England was trying to come up with any other possibility, rather than take America's words at face value. Did he truly not believe him, or did he just not want to believe him? "They're...yours?"
"Yes." Was he actually accepting it?
"You...had them? You did?"
"Yes."
Virginia frowned. "This is my father? He's England?" She glared at England. "Why are you yelling at America?" It was the first time she'd ever called her father by his real name.
England did not seem to hear his daughter. He was staring at America in shock. "Why aren't you dead?"
Unable to believe he'd heard right, America watched England uneasily, hoping he'd laugh awkwardly and say it was just a bad joke, or he'd apologize and try to help America figure out how this had happened.
Virginia was angered enough to challenge England's question when America could not. "Why would you say something like that? How dare you go on about rudeness, then ask him such a thing! What's your problem?"
England gave no answer.
For a few minutes, America experienced bliss, in the comfort of England's embrace. Everything was going to be alright, America was certain; England could fix all of America's worries: Virginia's disobedience, how exhausting caring for the baby was, all the hiding America had had to do from the countries and his citizens, how he was going to continue providing for his children now that there were two. All that was over now.
Or so he thought. America hadn't considered he might be investing too much faith in England.
Virginia walked into the room, carrying her baby brother. Confused over why her father was hugging this man she'd never seen before, she simply stared at England, who, for his part, took one look past America at Virginia and couldn't not notice that this child had suspiciously similar eyebrows and eye coloring.
England let go of America and lost all coherency once again. America was wondering how badly England was going to take this when England was able to quit stammering and nervously demanded, "Who are these two? You know the settlers aren't supposed to be here! Why are you inviting them to the house? How often have you done this?"
Damn. That bit of happiness had been short lived. "They live here."
"What would possess you to do such a thing?"
"Relax, they're not settlers."
"Then what are they?" England appeared to be in no mood for games.
In America's defense, this wasn't a game. It had been so long since he'd seen England that he'd never bothered to think how he was going to break the news of Virginia to the country. "They're mine," he answered, deciding being short and to the point would be best, in this situation.
"Yours. Funny. Whose are they really?"
"They're mine. Seriously." America was a little concerned that England wasn't believing him.
England gave America an impatient look like this was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard anyone say. "You took in settler children? Has it even occured to you just how bad an idea that is? Where did you get them from? They need to go back!"
"Go back?" Virginia said. "I'm not going anywhere, this is my home! Why don't you go back? Alfred, why is this man yelling and giving orders? Who is he?"
For a moment, America thought England was going to direct his yelling at Virginia, but then he focused his gaze back onto America. "See how rude that one is? You're a bad influence already! Those children need to go to people who will discipline them!"
"I do not need discipline!"
"They're not going anywhere. When I said they're mine, I didn't mean I found them and took them in. They're mine."
He could tell England was trying to come up with any other possibility, rather than take America's words at face value. Did he truly not believe him, or did he just not want to believe him? "They're...yours?"
"Yes." Was he actually accepting it?
"You...had them? You did?"
"Yes."
Virginia frowned. "This is my father? He's England?" She glared at England. "Why are you yelling at America?" It was the first time she'd ever called her father by his real name.
England did not seem to hear his daughter. He was staring at America in shock. "Why aren't you dead?"
Unable to believe he'd heard right, America watched England uneasily, hoping he'd laugh awkwardly and say it was just a bad joke, or he'd apologize and try to help America figure out how this had happened.
Virginia was angered enough to challenge England's question when America could not. "Why would you say something like that? How dare you go on about rudeness, then ask him such a thing! What's your problem?"
England gave no answer.
Another loud burst erupted from the battlefield, nearly deafening the blonde-haired nation as it impacted against his whole body and sent him flying backwards. He skidded on his back through the slippery mud, the cold liquid finding its way through his tattered uniform and onto open wounds. He had turned his head to side mid-fall, causing some mud to get in his mouth as well. He nearly choked on it as the cuts flamed up in rebuke, making the German Empire writhe in pain within the puddle he lay in.
Germany’s soldiers were flanked a few feet away from the nation’s collapsed position, knelt over with rifles in their hands as they crouch in a trench shooting away at the enemy line. They clenched their weapons furiously as they shot away at the enemy, but troop morale was quickly dimming as German soldiers began to drop one by one. In the midst of the shoot-out, one happened to notice wounded Ludwig, crawling low enough to avoid gunshot and patting his country on his side in worry. Still young on the battlefield, Germany would’ve begged to be taken away to regain himself for a moment, but a loud voice boomed from elsewhere, commanding the soldier back into the offense. The same man also barked at Ludwig, telling him to man up for the reward of victory was worth every last bit of strength.
Ludwig bent his head back, glaring at the albino man with the unsheathed tongue and eyes a piercing red. Usually the Kingdom of Prussia was a man who was fired up in a boisterous, spiriting attitude but today he was extremely stoic.
Perhaps he had grown so serious from Germany’s failing war force. The way the nation was looking at him right now gave him the impression, so to avoid looking weak any longer, Ludwig forced himself back onto his knees and picked up the rifle he had flung to the side from the explosion. It hurt incredibly all over the pubescent body, but he felt the need to prove to Gilbert that he, in fact, could run an empire. Fueled with determination, Ludwig began dispensing all he had in his rifle at the enemy line. He could still feel the ruby eyed staring boring into his back, but he ignored it. Now was the time to prove that he too could be just as brave and powerful as he knew Prussia to be in old times. Now was the time to prove that, despite their differences at times, their kinship was something to be impressed and feared by.
Germany stopped shooting and watched to see any damage he had caused, a hand wrapping around a grenade cautiously yet anxiously.
Germany’s soldiers were flanked a few feet away from the nation’s collapsed position, knelt over with rifles in their hands as they crouch in a trench shooting away at the enemy line. They clenched their weapons furiously as they shot away at the enemy, but troop morale was quickly dimming as German soldiers began to drop one by one. In the midst of the shoot-out, one happened to notice wounded Ludwig, crawling low enough to avoid gunshot and patting his country on his side in worry. Still young on the battlefield, Germany would’ve begged to be taken away to regain himself for a moment, but a loud voice boomed from elsewhere, commanding the soldier back into the offense. The same man also barked at Ludwig, telling him to man up for the reward of victory was worth every last bit of strength.
Ludwig bent his head back, glaring at the albino man with the unsheathed tongue and eyes a piercing red. Usually the Kingdom of Prussia was a man who was fired up in a boisterous, spiriting attitude but today he was extremely stoic.
Perhaps he had grown so serious from Germany’s failing war force. The way the nation was looking at him right now gave him the impression, so to avoid looking weak any longer, Ludwig forced himself back onto his knees and picked up the rifle he had flung to the side from the explosion. It hurt incredibly all over the pubescent body, but he felt the need to prove to Gilbert that he, in fact, could run an empire. Fueled with determination, Ludwig began dispensing all he had in his rifle at the enemy line. He could still feel the ruby eyed staring boring into his back, but he ignored it. Now was the time to prove that he too could be just as brave and powerful as he knew Prussia to be in old times. Now was the time to prove that, despite their differences at times, their kinship was something to be impressed and feared by.
Germany stopped shooting and watched to see any damage he had caused, a hand wrapping around a grenade cautiously yet anxiously.
Feeling horribly hollow all of a sudden, America brushed past England. He went to Virginia, taking the baby from her, and holding New Netherland with one arm, America grabbed Virginia as well and left the room with both his children. Virginia was bombarding him with questions about why he was allowing England to talk to him like that, but America was having trouble concentrating on his daughter. He brought the children into his bedroom, closed the door, let go of Virginia, then sat down on the floor with his back to the door, in horrified silence. New Netherland--who had been looking drowsy throughout the drama--fell asleep pressed up against his father.
"...America...?"
"You can't call me that when anyone else is around," he said. Strange, he sounded perfectly normal. "It was fine in front of England, and when you, me, and your brother are alone, but not in front of anyone else, do you understand?"
She nodded, looking as upset as he felt. "Why would he ask that?" she said, in a very small voice. "Does he want you dead?"
America motioned for her to come sit with him. She burst into tears and sank down on the floor beside him, burying her face against his shoulder. He held her close and stroked her hair, his hurt being replaced by anger--he didn't care how big a shock this was to England, what was he thinking talking like that in front of children? Couldn't he have waited two minutes till Virginia and New Netherland were out of earshot?
"England's been gone eight years," he told Virginia. "You get priority over him. You and your brother both. Don't worry about what England says, I'm the one taking care of you and I won't let anything change."
Virginia clung tighter to him. New Netherland kept on sleeping peacefully.
***
It was only after Virginia stopped crying and calmed down that America left the bedroom, looking for England.
The country hadn't left the room they'd been talking in. He was standing still, for all appearances arguing fiercely with himself.
"There was no leeway in how I worded that! I made sure there wasn't! But then how could this happen? Twice! What did I say?"
What was this all about?
"Was I still drunk? Did it turn out to the opposite effect?"
The hell with this; England could worry out loud later, after he was gone. America wanted a word with him over that bit of nastiness England had pulled in front of their little girl, and then he was making England leave. If England wanted ownership of the house, he should have stayed here, not taken off for nearly ten years. "England!"
England turned around. He was pale and something in his eyes made America hesitate. The colony was about to go through on telling his guardian to get out, when England suddenly said, bluntly, "I used black magic on you."
Caught off guard, America was silenced. Wasn't magic just a lot of fancy hand tricks? What did England's hobbies have to do with America's current problems?
"I wanted to protect you," England continued, haltingly. "Even if I never drank again, how was I to know I'd never lose control some other way? Look how little it took for me to lose inhibition! What if someone else tried to do to you what I'd done? So I called on the arts, on your behalf. To give you protection from everyone."
Was this some elaborate way to regain his trust? "You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?"
"I know you think magic isn't real, but look at the facts! Our kind aren't supposed to procreate! It usually kills any of us! For you to do it more than once, without being harmed--I caused that. The timing of my incantation...I said it incorrectly, or I panicked and my intent was unclear. Whichever it was, something about the way I was trying to protect went wrong, and I gave you the ability to procreate instead."
So he hadn't been paranoid for no reason, in trying to keep his children a secret. He really wasn't supposed to be able to have the children he'd had.
"...America...?"
"You can't call me that when anyone else is around," he said. Strange, he sounded perfectly normal. "It was fine in front of England, and when you, me, and your brother are alone, but not in front of anyone else, do you understand?"
She nodded, looking as upset as he felt. "Why would he ask that?" she said, in a very small voice. "Does he want you dead?"
America motioned for her to come sit with him. She burst into tears and sank down on the floor beside him, burying her face against his shoulder. He held her close and stroked her hair, his hurt being replaced by anger--he didn't care how big a shock this was to England, what was he thinking talking like that in front of children? Couldn't he have waited two minutes till Virginia and New Netherland were out of earshot?
"England's been gone eight years," he told Virginia. "You get priority over him. You and your brother both. Don't worry about what England says, I'm the one taking care of you and I won't let anything change."
Virginia clung tighter to him. New Netherland kept on sleeping peacefully.
***
It was only after Virginia stopped crying and calmed down that America left the bedroom, looking for England.
The country hadn't left the room they'd been talking in. He was standing still, for all appearances arguing fiercely with himself.
"There was no leeway in how I worded that! I made sure there wasn't! But then how could this happen? Twice! What did I say?"
What was this all about?
"Was I still drunk? Did it turn out to the opposite effect?"
The hell with this; England could worry out loud later, after he was gone. America wanted a word with him over that bit of nastiness England had pulled in front of their little girl, and then he was making England leave. If England wanted ownership of the house, he should have stayed here, not taken off for nearly ten years. "England!"
England turned around. He was pale and something in his eyes made America hesitate. The colony was about to go through on telling his guardian to get out, when England suddenly said, bluntly, "I used black magic on you."
Caught off guard, America was silenced. Wasn't magic just a lot of fancy hand tricks? What did England's hobbies have to do with America's current problems?
"I wanted to protect you," England continued, haltingly. "Even if I never drank again, how was I to know I'd never lose control some other way? Look how little it took for me to lose inhibition! What if someone else tried to do to you what I'd done? So I called on the arts, on your behalf. To give you protection from everyone."
Was this some elaborate way to regain his trust? "You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?"
"I know you think magic isn't real, but look at the facts! Our kind aren't supposed to procreate! It usually kills any of us! For you to do it more than once, without being harmed--I caused that. The timing of my incantation...I said it incorrectly, or I panicked and my intent was unclear. Whichever it was, something about the way I was trying to protect went wrong, and I gave you the ability to procreate instead."
So he hadn't been paranoid for no reason, in trying to keep his children a secret. He really wasn't supposed to be able to have the children he'd had.
"I can leave," England said unhappily. "If you want me gone, America, I would understand completely."
"No," America said, reluctantly, knowing Virginia wasn't going to like the change of plans. "I have questions for you. You're going to stay and explain everything to me. And if she'll have anything to do with you, I want you to talk to Virginia. She has a right to know her father, and she probably has questions too."
***
"No," America said, reluctantly, knowing Virginia wasn't going to like the change of plans. "I have questions for you. You're going to stay and explain everything to me. And if she'll have anything to do with you, I want you to talk to Virginia. She has a right to know her father, and she probably has questions too."
***
Oh shit, we're getting an explanation? Awesome! <3 (But dear god, England, learn to word things more carefully.)
Males technically can lactate, in weird circumstances, so it's certainly more likely the actual pregnancy! So, uh, even though it's "gross," there's no reason to complain about implausibility if you can accept mpreg, I'd say. OTL
Males technically can lactate, in weird circumstances, so it's certainly more likely the actual pregnancy! So, uh, even though it's "gross," there's no reason to complain about implausibility if you can accept mpreg, I'd say. OTL
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