This is very powerful. I like your Romania voice, his restrained anger, and how he seems to be minimizing what happened to himself in order to cope.
I have an idea for this, if I can get it to work out. Would you mind a human AU, or would you prefer canonverse?
Meanwhile, if anyone else wants to fill, please feel free! The more the merrier!
Meanwhile, if anyone else wants to fill, please feel free! The more the merrier!
Aaaw ... thank you, anon, I love you too ! <3 I'm happy to see you've returned. This episode was great and I don't think A/J/E part sucked, I think it has been very cute so far and I'm quite confident that it's gonna stay cute until the very end. Francis hopped on a stage! Yay! :D If he's the one who called Ivan and reported where Eduard is, then he really is slimy bastard in this story. But that's what I asked for! Some guys just have to be like this ... :D I'm really curious about who Monaco is going to meet ... Anyway, I'm already excited to see what happens next. Take care, anon! I'll be waiting right here ...
*cries*
For that, think of Margaret Thatcher, bent over a desk.
For that, think of Margaret Thatcher, bent over a desk.
again, no one's meant to be evul. I know Arthur comes across as a major douchebag, but he has his reasons--if you want an extra chapter for that, I'll be happy to provide. This chapter mostly focuses on the situations of the three of them and doesn't contain a lot of plot, so, uh, sorry!
“Please.”
“I don’t even get what you’re asking me to do!”
Silence, then, “He’s going to lose his son if you… if you don’t help him. I know you can’t stand me, but he’s a good man.”
A snort. “You talk like I have anything to do with this.”
“You owe me.”
A hard, green glare crossed with his. “I owe you nothing. You tried to steal yourself into my bed immediately after getting my sister pregnant. I sued you so you would learn, you damn frog—I couldn’t have known that you’d already been in trouble, but seeing how you’re behaving right now, you hardly got what you deserved.”
“Arthur, Antonio has nothing to do with us, and you’re a good lawyer, please just—“
“No! This has everything to do with ‘us’! It is about him being exactly as much of a bad father as you are!”
Francis stood up then, got right in front of Arthur. He was taller, not enough that he’d be looming, but enough to try and be intimidating.
“I would be a much better father if you didn’t keep them secluded, like they were yours—I would be a much better father than you if you weren’t the lawyer!”
Arthur stood at full height, too, and they glared at each other. “I bet Alice thought that way too, and that is exactly why she left you alone with them, why she disappeared—because you would be such a good father, and not because, I don’t know, you destroyed her life” there was spittle on the side of his lip, and his words were as sharp as knives, and his eyes were wide and angry.
Francis did all there was in his power not to punch him. They were close enough that he could headbutt him. Or kiss him.
Both would have hurt in the same way.
He did neither.
“You weren’t even close to her. You just took them away because you hate me, because you have always hated me, because you took it to your heart to burn everything I care for—I love my children, but you just have them to show the world how good you are at your job, do you not?”
Arthur stared, breathing heavily unto his face. It smelled like black tea and cigarettes, bitter like the man himself, like the poisonous green of his eyes. Francis hated it and he hated him, too.
They’d hated each other since school, since the very day they met.
He’d been in love with him since then, too.
It was the only reason why he’d slept with his sister, because she looked just like him, because as he had her he could take her glasses off and push her hair back and pretend that it was him he was fucking.
Then she’d gotten pregnant, and he’d gotten himself drunk enough to actually tell Arthur how he felt about him.
All he’d received was a disbelieving stare and a trial, but that was okay. He hadn’t been expecting anything. He and Arthur hated each other, after all. But when the twins were born, Alice had waited long enough to recover from childbirth and then simply disappeared, leaving behind a note telling him that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him or the children, and that no one should look for her.
He had told her how he felt about her brother and why he’d had sex with her when she was still in time to have an abortion, but she’d chosen to punish him this way.
“Please.”
“I don’t even get what you’re asking me to do!”
Silence, then, “He’s going to lose his son if you… if you don’t help him. I know you can’t stand me, but he’s a good man.”
A snort. “You talk like I have anything to do with this.”
“You owe me.”
A hard, green glare crossed with his. “I owe you nothing. You tried to steal yourself into my bed immediately after getting my sister pregnant. I sued you so you would learn, you damn frog—I couldn’t have known that you’d already been in trouble, but seeing how you’re behaving right now, you hardly got what you deserved.”
“Arthur, Antonio has nothing to do with us, and you’re a good lawyer, please just—“
“No! This has everything to do with ‘us’! It is about him being exactly as much of a bad father as you are!”
Francis stood up then, got right in front of Arthur. He was taller, not enough that he’d be looming, but enough to try and be intimidating.
“I would be a much better father if you didn’t keep them secluded, like they were yours—I would be a much better father than you if you weren’t the lawyer!”
Arthur stood at full height, too, and they glared at each other. “I bet Alice thought that way too, and that is exactly why she left you alone with them, why she disappeared—because you would be such a good father, and not because, I don’t know, you destroyed her life” there was spittle on the side of his lip, and his words were as sharp as knives, and his eyes were wide and angry.
Francis did all there was in his power not to punch him. They were close enough that he could headbutt him. Or kiss him.
Both would have hurt in the same way.
He did neither.
“You weren’t even close to her. You just took them away because you hate me, because you have always hated me, because you took it to your heart to burn everything I care for—I love my children, but you just have them to show the world how good you are at your job, do you not?”
Arthur stared, breathing heavily unto his face. It smelled like black tea and cigarettes, bitter like the man himself, like the poisonous green of his eyes. Francis hated it and he hated him, too.
They’d hated each other since school, since the very day they met.
He’d been in love with him since then, too.
It was the only reason why he’d slept with his sister, because she looked just like him, because as he had her he could take her glasses off and push her hair back and pretend that it was him he was fucking.
Then she’d gotten pregnant, and he’d gotten himself drunk enough to actually tell Arthur how he felt about him.
All he’d received was a disbelieving stare and a trial, but that was okay. He hadn’t been expecting anything. He and Arthur hated each other, after all. But when the twins were born, Alice had waited long enough to recover from childbirth and then simply disappeared, leaving behind a note telling him that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him or the children, and that no one should look for her.
He had told her how he felt about her brother and why he’d had sex with her when she was still in time to have an abortion, but she’d chosen to punish him this way.
Yet when he’d held both his sons in his arms for the first time, he hadn’t felt punished at all. He’d fallen in love with them, felt a bliss he had never known before. He had felt that they would change his life, that from now on he would be a father and nothing more. They had been his happiness and his blessing… and then Arthur adopted them with law and rights and became their sole charge.
Oh, Francis had visitation rights, and Arthur was enough of a good person to let him have them on some weekends, sometimes even for a week, and they went on trips together…
But Alfred never once called him “papa” like Mathieu did and Mathieu usually introduced himself as ‘Mathew’ and he couldn’t but feel that he’d stolen his children away from him.
But he calmed himself down. This wasn’t about him. This was about Antonio, about how he was being accused of something ghastly, something he didn’t do, something he had nothing to do with, and Arthur being a good enough lawyer to prevent the damage that was to come.
“I’m… sorry” he said, receding slowly. The other’s eyes widened briefly, as if he’d been submersed in his own thoughts, too, but they hardened immediately afterwards again. “Our case has nothing to do with this. Things are as they are. But Antonio didn’t do what he is being accused of, and I… I really need your help.”
Arthur’s mouth was just a thin line without lips, tight and severe. “I know he didn’t do it”, he said eventually.
Francis’ face brightened. “Then you’ll help him, mon ami?”
“No.”
Arthur was gathering his things, prepared to leave. He stood up from Francis’ table, leaving his tea only half drunk behind.
Francis could only stare at him.
“What?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he’d even asked it in English or in French, but he wasn’t really paying attention to anything anymore.
He couldn’t believe that the Britton’s hatred went as far as to let a man lose his son—
“The fact stands that he isn’t a good parent. I can give you the number of a good criminal attorney who will make sure that he doesn’t go to jail, but as a family lawyer, I will not interfere. I think Mr. Edelstein’s claims are considerable… and that the brothers should stay together. A good day, Francis.”
And with that he was gone, leaving Francis to think about the time he’d talked to him about split custody regarding Mathieu, and he’d brought the exact same argument.
He sat in front of his untouched tea—he only had it for when Arthur came to visit and didn’t even like the taste—without moving for a while.
He didn’t notice he was crying until the tears fell on his arms.
***
Gilbert hadn’t left Antonio alone at all. He’d slept on his couch and hadn’t let himself be thrown out.
That was a good thing, because if Antonio had gone as far as to buy the first drugs from the first shady looking guy he’d found in the suburbs right after being kept from his son and told the next legal steps that were to be taken, who knew what he would do later.
Later, when, even though he’d been awake for forty-eight hours, he didn’t stop pacing in his room, biting his nails off until there wasn’t more nail to bite.
Later, when his eyes were so dry they felt like there was sand in them and his head was about to explode yet he still didn’t stop banging it against the wall.
Later, when he finally sat on his bed and thought about Lovino coming in after having a nightmare and clinging to him for dear life and still somehow managing to threaten him with punches if he ever told anyone.
So when he felt the urge to throw himself out of the window or to run outside and get more drugs or maybe a gun to go and kill Roderich or himself, it was good that he remembered that Gil was on his couch and wouldn’t let him go.
He wasn’t alone.
His friends believed him.
Oh, Francis had visitation rights, and Arthur was enough of a good person to let him have them on some weekends, sometimes even for a week, and they went on trips together…
But Alfred never once called him “papa” like Mathieu did and Mathieu usually introduced himself as ‘Mathew’ and he couldn’t but feel that he’d stolen his children away from him.
But he calmed himself down. This wasn’t about him. This was about Antonio, about how he was being accused of something ghastly, something he didn’t do, something he had nothing to do with, and Arthur being a good enough lawyer to prevent the damage that was to come.
“I’m… sorry” he said, receding slowly. The other’s eyes widened briefly, as if he’d been submersed in his own thoughts, too, but they hardened immediately afterwards again. “Our case has nothing to do with this. Things are as they are. But Antonio didn’t do what he is being accused of, and I… I really need your help.”
Arthur’s mouth was just a thin line without lips, tight and severe. “I know he didn’t do it”, he said eventually.
Francis’ face brightened. “Then you’ll help him, mon ami?”
“No.”
Arthur was gathering his things, prepared to leave. He stood up from Francis’ table, leaving his tea only half drunk behind.
Francis could only stare at him.
“What?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he’d even asked it in English or in French, but he wasn’t really paying attention to anything anymore.
He couldn’t believe that the Britton’s hatred went as far as to let a man lose his son—
“The fact stands that he isn’t a good parent. I can give you the number of a good criminal attorney who will make sure that he doesn’t go to jail, but as a family lawyer, I will not interfere. I think Mr. Edelstein’s claims are considerable… and that the brothers should stay together. A good day, Francis.”
And with that he was gone, leaving Francis to think about the time he’d talked to him about split custody regarding Mathieu, and he’d brought the exact same argument.
He sat in front of his untouched tea—he only had it for when Arthur came to visit and didn’t even like the taste—without moving for a while.
He didn’t notice he was crying until the tears fell on his arms.
***
Gilbert hadn’t left Antonio alone at all. He’d slept on his couch and hadn’t let himself be thrown out.
That was a good thing, because if Antonio had gone as far as to buy the first drugs from the first shady looking guy he’d found in the suburbs right after being kept from his son and told the next legal steps that were to be taken, who knew what he would do later.
Later, when, even though he’d been awake for forty-eight hours, he didn’t stop pacing in his room, biting his nails off until there wasn’t more nail to bite.
Later, when his eyes were so dry they felt like there was sand in them and his head was about to explode yet he still didn’t stop banging it against the wall.
Later, when he finally sat on his bed and thought about Lovino coming in after having a nightmare and clinging to him for dear life and still somehow managing to threaten him with punches if he ever told anyone.
So when he felt the urge to throw himself out of the window or to run outside and get more drugs or maybe a gun to go and kill Roderich or himself, it was good that he remembered that Gil was on his couch and wouldn’t let him go.
He wasn’t alone.
His friends believed him.
He remembered cradling Lovino in his arms, having him sit on his lap, stroking his hair, feeding him tomatoes and telling him that since he was apparently Italian he would call him his little “Romano”, his little Roman; he remembered peppering his little face with kisses and hiding his face in his brown hair and holding his hand.
He had never once thought about how someone else would have seen it. He’d just thought about how adorable his son was.
He needed him. He needed his little Romano by his side. No one seemed to understand that. They all saw him happy and cheerful all the time, but it mostly was because he had someone to come back to at the end of the day—a child that would tell him that he was stupid or a jerk sometimes but crawl into his bed after a nightmare or a bad day, a boy that, while difficult, was worth all effort he was putting into his education because when he smiled it made Antonio so happy that he felt that not a single thing was wrong with the world.
He was certain that he had made his parents feel the same way, that every parent in the world felt the same way, because their children were the most important thing to them and they needed them as much as the children needed them. At least, he had been certain, because now they all wanted to take Romano away from him, as if his feelings hadn’t been natural.
As if he’d ever touched him somewhere he shouldn’t have.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. Parents didn’t think about that sort of thing, or at least so he’d thought, but they were all suspicious now, so they had to have thought about it, after all.
They had always been sceptical. Since the very first day when Antonio had adopted the stray child he’d found on the street six years ago filthy and hungry and with a dying baby in its arms, they’d been sceptical. They’d said the kids would be okay if he just left them to the foster services, that they would find them a family that wasn’t just one Spanish immigrant who had only recently gotten his papers and was obviously too immature for children. But Antonio had fought, and eventually it was Lovino who said that he wanted to go with the guy who’d given him tomatoes when he was starving.
Feliciano they had given to the Edelstein-Hédérvarys, because Erszébet was barren but they were very able to raise children and the boy was too small and sick to place under Antonio’s single care; but it had never mattered, because Roderich and him got along very well and the boys could always visit each other.
Or so he’d thought.
Now Roderich wanted Lovino as well, and if they’d ever been friends it was gone now, because when he’d asked him what this was about, Roderich’s face had been one of utter disgust and hatred and not a single friend would look at another like that. Not even Arthur and Francis looked at each other like that.
Antonio felt like a monster for something he hadn’t even done, and it was just because of that ice cold glare.
It wasn’t until the first hours of sunlight that he’d finally fallen asleep, and it wasn’t even real sleep. He kept dreaming about Roderich glaring and Romano clinging to him and Gilbert accusing Francis of rape, but it was all mixed and some things made no sense. When there was a knock on his door, he immediately answered like he hadn’t been asleep at all.
Gilbert came in with breakfast. “I made churros! Ha! I’m awesome!”
He butchered the pronunciation, making it sound a bit like “Tshuggos”, but the fatty, burned, amorphous goods he brought with him along with simple cocoa (as opposed to hot chocolate, as it should have been) made up for it.
They tasted like ashes, lack and swallowed tears, but somewhere there was a glimpse of hope.
Gilbert made him give him a brofist to congratulate him for how good they were, and he complied, lamely.
He meant well, he always did.
They tasted a bit like brotherly love, too, and he guessed he needed that right now.
***
At some point in the afternoon, while Antonio was fast asleep again, Francis came back.
Gilbert turned of the TV. “Did you talk to Browsie?”
Francis flinched.
Oh. Yes, yes he had.
He had never once thought about how someone else would have seen it. He’d just thought about how adorable his son was.
He needed him. He needed his little Romano by his side. No one seemed to understand that. They all saw him happy and cheerful all the time, but it mostly was because he had someone to come back to at the end of the day—a child that would tell him that he was stupid or a jerk sometimes but crawl into his bed after a nightmare or a bad day, a boy that, while difficult, was worth all effort he was putting into his education because when he smiled it made Antonio so happy that he felt that not a single thing was wrong with the world.
He was certain that he had made his parents feel the same way, that every parent in the world felt the same way, because their children were the most important thing to them and they needed them as much as the children needed them. At least, he had been certain, because now they all wanted to take Romano away from him, as if his feelings hadn’t been natural.
As if he’d ever touched him somewhere he shouldn’t have.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. Parents didn’t think about that sort of thing, or at least so he’d thought, but they were all suspicious now, so they had to have thought about it, after all.
They had always been sceptical. Since the very first day when Antonio had adopted the stray child he’d found on the street six years ago filthy and hungry and with a dying baby in its arms, they’d been sceptical. They’d said the kids would be okay if he just left them to the foster services, that they would find them a family that wasn’t just one Spanish immigrant who had only recently gotten his papers and was obviously too immature for children. But Antonio had fought, and eventually it was Lovino who said that he wanted to go with the guy who’d given him tomatoes when he was starving.
Feliciano they had given to the Edelstein-Hédérvarys, because Erszébet was barren but they were very able to raise children and the boy was too small and sick to place under Antonio’s single care; but it had never mattered, because Roderich and him got along very well and the boys could always visit each other.
Or so he’d thought.
Now Roderich wanted Lovino as well, and if they’d ever been friends it was gone now, because when he’d asked him what this was about, Roderich’s face had been one of utter disgust and hatred and not a single friend would look at another like that. Not even Arthur and Francis looked at each other like that.
Antonio felt like a monster for something he hadn’t even done, and it was just because of that ice cold glare.
It wasn’t until the first hours of sunlight that he’d finally fallen asleep, and it wasn’t even real sleep. He kept dreaming about Roderich glaring and Romano clinging to him and Gilbert accusing Francis of rape, but it was all mixed and some things made no sense. When there was a knock on his door, he immediately answered like he hadn’t been asleep at all.
Gilbert came in with breakfast. “I made churros! Ha! I’m awesome!”
He butchered the pronunciation, making it sound a bit like “Tshuggos”, but the fatty, burned, amorphous goods he brought with him along with simple cocoa (as opposed to hot chocolate, as it should have been) made up for it.
They tasted like ashes, lack and swallowed tears, but somewhere there was a glimpse of hope.
Gilbert made him give him a brofist to congratulate him for how good they were, and he complied, lamely.
He meant well, he always did.
They tasted a bit like brotherly love, too, and he guessed he needed that right now.
***
At some point in the afternoon, while Antonio was fast asleep again, Francis came back.
Gilbert turned of the TV. “Did you talk to Browsie?”
Francis flinched.
Oh. Yes, yes he had.
“He won’t help” he said, dryly. Gilbert wanted to say something, but the Frenchman swiftly continued, “How is Toni?”
“Sleeping. Wanna…” he motioned his hands, awkwardly, “…talk, uh, about it?”
Francis helped himself to a glass of wine—cheap recent Rioja, 2004—from Antonio’s pantry. “Non, not at all.”
Gilbert was a bit relieved, but it was his duty to keep asking. “C’mon. What is it? Did he ditch your poor ass again?” he said, teasingly.
Francis downed the wine in one go, and glared at him. His eyes were all red, as Gilbert noticed just now. Fuck.
“Do you really think I would try something right now? Do you think I’m that shallow?” he hissed, serving himself more wine.
Gilbert sighed. He was prepared for scolding. For angry, drunk babbling. For recriminations and curses.
Not for silence, tears and raw honesty.
“Maybe I am.” He downed another glass of wine like it was a shot. “I just wanted… I wanted help. I care for him.” Then he poured himself another glass, and snorted a little, sarcastic laugh that was never a good sign in him, “I love him. I would… I would fuck him if I could, or have him fuck me, or whatever. I wish we could have raised my… our children together”. He shook his head, bitterly, and drank and drank and drank. “Mais d’accord. I can’t have that, because I’m a whore and all. I’m lucky as it is that I even get to see them as often as I do. I have helped raising them, and least. Mathieu is very good at French, and Alfred understands most although he doesn’t speak it. But you’d think that he would, at least… at least care for me long enough to…” he groaned. The tears fell silently down his progressively reddening face. “We’ve known each other since we were nine, and I considered him something like a friend. I thought he would do this. I really, really thought that he would do this. I might have underestimated just how much he hates me.”
Gilbert patted his back awkwardly after his monologue. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him cry.
Sometimes he felt like an idiot.
Francis was pretty much constantly being treated like shit by the person he’d been in love with since… well, who counted, anyway. He didn’t have all that much trouble with his children, but that was mostly because he was used to it. Beside that, he had the reputation of a rapist. But, because he was as he was—light-handed, flirtatious, romantic—he didn’t often think about how much everything had to suck for him.
Antonio, on the other hand, was poor as anything. Anything he had he gave to Lovino. He’d worked his ass off for the kid and had big financial problems because of it. No one gave a fuck, though, because apparently the poorer Antonio was, the more he randomly burst singing folk tunes in the middle of the street, or telling jokes that probably only made sense in Spanish but reached an entirely new level of funny when sloppily translated. And now, after being almost on the street a few times, they threatened to take his son away. He’d come crashing down, and Gilbert felt stupid for seeing it as weird.
There he was, trying to help them both, trying to decide who needed him the most. Yeah, good luck with that.
It wasn’t as though Gilbert didn’t have problems of his own. Oh, he had a brother that pretty much ignored him, his crush was married to his other crush (and currently making the life of one of his best friends impossible) and he wasn’t allowed to fulfil his life dream of joining the army because nature had decided to punch him in the face and make him an albino—thus prone to ocular dysfunctions, already half fucking blind.
But no one was stealing his kids or accusing him of rape.
“Sleeping. Wanna…” he motioned his hands, awkwardly, “…talk, uh, about it?”
Francis helped himself to a glass of wine—cheap recent Rioja, 2004—from Antonio’s pantry. “Non, not at all.”
Gilbert was a bit relieved, but it was his duty to keep asking. “C’mon. What is it? Did he ditch your poor ass again?” he said, teasingly.
Francis downed the wine in one go, and glared at him. His eyes were all red, as Gilbert noticed just now. Fuck.
“Do you really think I would try something right now? Do you think I’m that shallow?” he hissed, serving himself more wine.
Gilbert sighed. He was prepared for scolding. For angry, drunk babbling. For recriminations and curses.
Not for silence, tears and raw honesty.
“Maybe I am.” He downed another glass of wine like it was a shot. “I just wanted… I wanted help. I care for him.” Then he poured himself another glass, and snorted a little, sarcastic laugh that was never a good sign in him, “I love him. I would… I would fuck him if I could, or have him fuck me, or whatever. I wish we could have raised my… our children together”. He shook his head, bitterly, and drank and drank and drank. “Mais d’accord. I can’t have that, because I’m a whore and all. I’m lucky as it is that I even get to see them as often as I do. I have helped raising them, and least. Mathieu is very good at French, and Alfred understands most although he doesn’t speak it. But you’d think that he would, at least… at least care for me long enough to…” he groaned. The tears fell silently down his progressively reddening face. “We’ve known each other since we were nine, and I considered him something like a friend. I thought he would do this. I really, really thought that he would do this. I might have underestimated just how much he hates me.”
Gilbert patted his back awkwardly after his monologue. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him cry.
Sometimes he felt like an idiot.
Francis was pretty much constantly being treated like shit by the person he’d been in love with since… well, who counted, anyway. He didn’t have all that much trouble with his children, but that was mostly because he was used to it. Beside that, he had the reputation of a rapist. But, because he was as he was—light-handed, flirtatious, romantic—he didn’t often think about how much everything had to suck for him.
Antonio, on the other hand, was poor as anything. Anything he had he gave to Lovino. He’d worked his ass off for the kid and had big financial problems because of it. No one gave a fuck, though, because apparently the poorer Antonio was, the more he randomly burst singing folk tunes in the middle of the street, or telling jokes that probably only made sense in Spanish but reached an entirely new level of funny when sloppily translated. And now, after being almost on the street a few times, they threatened to take his son away. He’d come crashing down, and Gilbert felt stupid for seeing it as weird.
There he was, trying to help them both, trying to decide who needed him the most. Yeah, good luck with that.
It wasn’t as though Gilbert didn’t have problems of his own. Oh, he had a brother that pretty much ignored him, his crush was married to his other crush (and currently making the life of one of his best friends impossible) and he wasn’t allowed to fulfil his life dream of joining the army because nature had decided to punch him in the face and make him an albino—thus prone to ocular dysfunctions, already half fucking blind.
But no one was stealing his kids or accusing him of rape.
Ludwig he could deal with; they just ticked differently, but in the end of the day they were still brothers, and there for each other. Erszébet and Roderich, fine. He wasn’t interested in stuff like marriage, so if those were their interest, then they were probably meant for each other. And his eyes… well. The contact lenses corrected his vision enough to allow him to work at the computer, and he got state money for his handicap. He worked out a lot and had martial arts to keep himself occupied.
It was plenty. It was enough.
Luckily for Gilbert, who wasn’t all that good in situations with—yuck—emotions, Antonio came into the kitchen and found the scene as it was: a very uneasy Gilbert, and a progressively drunker and crying Francis.
He just joined them at the table, and asked for the bottle. He didn’t seem to have many more tears to spill, or a voice too scream with.
They opened another bottle when the wine was over. At least they could drink together like they did when everything was inappropriate sex jokes and flirting in loud bars and laughing their asses off playing pranks on the police or their friends or their kids.
At least they had cheap 2004 Rioja, and each other.
STUPID comment limit ARGH.
This is set in the present day, in... uh... I have no idea. I'm thinking Germany, because, I don't know. Uh. Because some people are German, I guess. Or an indescript setting... only that it would come in handy to know where this is taking place because family law depends on the country. Even adoption rights depend on the country.
I also apologize for the gratuitous pseudo-FrUK. But at least now you know about the twins :D
It was plenty. It was enough.
Luckily for Gilbert, who wasn’t all that good in situations with—yuck—emotions, Antonio came into the kitchen and found the scene as it was: a very uneasy Gilbert, and a progressively drunker and crying Francis.
He just joined them at the table, and asked for the bottle. He didn’t seem to have many more tears to spill, or a voice too scream with.
They opened another bottle when the wine was over. At least they could drink together like they did when everything was inappropriate sex jokes and flirting in loud bars and laughing their asses off playing pranks on the police or their friends or their kids.
At least they had cheap 2004 Rioja, and each other.
STUPID comment limit ARGH.
This is set in the present day, in... uh... I have no idea. I'm thinking Germany, because, I don't know. Uh. Because some people are German, I guess. Or an indescript setting... only that it would come in handy to know where this is taking place because family law depends on the country. Even adoption rights depend on the country.
I also apologize for the gratuitous pseudo-FrUK. But at least now you know about the twins :D
Firstcommenter!Anon here!
Don't. Don't apologise for your gratuitous FrUK. Everyone here is a closet FrUK shipper deep down in their hearts.
Wow, you did manage to fit in all explanation of their parenting troubles.
Gil's really bi, haha.
Don't. Don't apologise for your gratuitous FrUK. Everyone here is a closet FrUK shipper deep down in their hearts.
Wow, you did manage to fit in all explanation of their parenting troubles.
Gil's really bi, haha.
Author!Anon, I'm ennoying reading this fill more than anything else, even if it almost reduced me to tears more than once. I felt so bad for Antonio, and now for Francis too. Infact now I not only wish for Antonio having his kid back (and a lot of apologies too è__é), but even for an happy ending for Francis and Arthur!
Anyway, at least the beautiful friendship between Antonio, Francis and Gilbert is sort of reassuring ^__^
Anyway, at least the beautiful friendship between Antonio, Francis and Gilbert is sort of reassuring ^__^
You know, I didn't really want to read this because there were a ton of ways in which this could go wrong, but then I read the title while scrolling and got curious...
I'm glad I did. This is very good. Your take on Romania is interesting and his voice is filled with this anger and frustration that I feel are a very realistic and powerful reaction. The last few lines were especially powerful.
I'm glad I did. This is very good. Your take on Romania is interesting and his voice is filled with this anger and frustration that I feel are a very realistic and powerful reaction. The last few lines were especially powerful.
Big Brother
Part Two
"You really seized Austria's vital regions?" Germany couldn't stop himself from asking. Uptight Austria? That just was not sitting well with him, even after the fourth round of stout frothy beer.
Prussia was kicked back on the bar stool next to him, frosted mug in hand, "Ja, I did. The frying pan to the head I got for it was worth it too," He insisted with a cheerful cackle.
Germany paused with his beer raised halfway to his mouth, blinking slowly, "Frying pan?"
"Word of advice from the awesome Prussia, stay away from Hungary, she is the keeper of Austria's vital regions." Prussia informed, switching to morose in 2.5 seconds, but a swig of beer swiftly fixed that.
It might have been the beer, or just because it was his big brother, "I tried to seize Poland once." Germany admitted.
"Bad idea, he's fun and all, but Lithuania is not one to irritate. You think it's easy putting up with Russia? Plus what about your little Italy?" Germany's interest was hard to miss, and boy did Prussia love to tease.
The pale skinned German had a horrible time attempting to hide his reddening cheeks, "What about him?"
"How did he feel about you trying to seize Poland?" The smirk was highly amused, and nearly an entire mug of beer disappeared as Prussia waited for Germany to collect himself enough to answer.
Big tough Germany was refusing to meet his brother's eyes, "Well he tried to seize Egypt! I had to rescue him of course, but still he tried!"
Prussia's cackle filled the bar, "Oh this is priceless West. We're you jealous?"
"No!" The rebuke was quick. Too quick. "Italy is a pain in the neck, why would I be jealous?"
"Oh I don't know," Prussia mussed, "Oh hey Italy! Come join us!" When Germany perked up and tried to find the slight Italian in the bar, Prussia burst out laughing. "You really fell for that?"
Germany hung his head in shame, even he couldn't believe he had fallen for such an obvious ploy.
"Italy is a pain in the neck alright, but he's your pain in the neck," Prussia informed, shoving another mug of beer in Germany's hand.
Germany swiftly drank it down, before speaking again, "Could you do something for me then?"
"Oh no, now what?" This was highly suspicious.
"Tell Spain to keep Romano from killing me? He thinks I'm going to corrupt his brother or something." Germany requested.
Prussia took a moment to contemplate the inquiry, toying with his brother, "You know what, no, I don't think so. You want Italy, you have to get through the whole family thing on your own. How scary could one older brother be?"
"Ah Prussia, you're my older brother!" Germany pointed out.
Prussia blinked, "That's different, I'm not scary, just awesome."
And with that big and little brother shared a toast with the wonderful beer they both loved.
Part Two
"You really seized Austria's vital regions?" Germany couldn't stop himself from asking. Uptight Austria? That just was not sitting well with him, even after the fourth round of stout frothy beer.
Prussia was kicked back on the bar stool next to him, frosted mug in hand, "Ja, I did. The frying pan to the head I got for it was worth it too," He insisted with a cheerful cackle.
Germany paused with his beer raised halfway to his mouth, blinking slowly, "Frying pan?"
"Word of advice from the awesome Prussia, stay away from Hungary, she is the keeper of Austria's vital regions." Prussia informed, switching to morose in 2.5 seconds, but a swig of beer swiftly fixed that.
It might have been the beer, or just because it was his big brother, "I tried to seize Poland once." Germany admitted.
"Bad idea, he's fun and all, but Lithuania is not one to irritate. You think it's easy putting up with Russia? Plus what about your little Italy?" Germany's interest was hard to miss, and boy did Prussia love to tease.
The pale skinned German had a horrible time attempting to hide his reddening cheeks, "What about him?"
"How did he feel about you trying to seize Poland?" The smirk was highly amused, and nearly an entire mug of beer disappeared as Prussia waited for Germany to collect himself enough to answer.
Big tough Germany was refusing to meet his brother's eyes, "Well he tried to seize Egypt! I had to rescue him of course, but still he tried!"
Prussia's cackle filled the bar, "Oh this is priceless West. We're you jealous?"
"No!" The rebuke was quick. Too quick. "Italy is a pain in the neck, why would I be jealous?"
"Oh I don't know," Prussia mussed, "Oh hey Italy! Come join us!" When Germany perked up and tried to find the slight Italian in the bar, Prussia burst out laughing. "You really fell for that?"
Germany hung his head in shame, even he couldn't believe he had fallen for such an obvious ploy.
"Italy is a pain in the neck alright, but he's your pain in the neck," Prussia informed, shoving another mug of beer in Germany's hand.
Germany swiftly drank it down, before speaking again, "Could you do something for me then?"
"Oh no, now what?" This was highly suspicious.
"Tell Spain to keep Romano from killing me? He thinks I'm going to corrupt his brother or something." Germany requested.
Prussia took a moment to contemplate the inquiry, toying with his brother, "You know what, no, I don't think so. You want Italy, you have to get through the whole family thing on your own. How scary could one older brother be?"
"Ah Prussia, you're my older brother!" Germany pointed out.
Prussia blinked, "That's different, I'm not scary, just awesome."
And with that big and little brother shared a toast with the wonderful beer they both loved.
((Different anon but I saw the prompt and couldn't help myself! Warning mini fill))
Greece couldn't wait to get his hands on that Japanese man. Beautiful body and tonight was the night. Greece's half brother Egypt threw a party to celebrate the success for the revolution and invited everyone. Hence the reason Japan was there. Greece eyed him, licking his lips. Japan had proven that he wasn't as bad as a lover as people thought, he and Greece could go on all night. Greece sauntered to the table where Japan was sitting. Japan was seated his the rest of Asia. He was in mid story when he saw the Greek man striding towards him. Quickly excusing himself he ran towards Greece, once he was close he pulled down the taller man into a kiss. Words of love were lost between the lustful kisses. They walked over to a room where Greece had already situated a perfect love.
"Wait this is Egypt's house we can't have sex here!" Japan whispered. Greece rolled his eyes and ushered Japan into the room.
"What he doesn't know won't kill him," Greece assured while kissing his lover. Japan was hesitant at first but reluctantly agreed.
-the morning after-
Greece felt a burning sensation on his manly part. He couldn't figure out why? He had done Japan before and it hadn't burned. He looked ver Japan. He was also in pain, but in the other area.
"Greece what did you use? My butt is on fire!" Japan wailed. Trying to adjust himself so he wouldn't feel the burning. Greece looked over the lube he had used. A simple 'oh' escaped his mouth. Japan grabbed the bottle and examined it. "HAND SANITIZER?" He screamed repeatedly slamming the bottle in the grecian's head. Greece tried to talk himself out of it but failed. Japan grabbed the pillow and was ready to hit Greece with it when the door opened. Egypt stood there a slight blush of embarrassment decorated his cheeks, in his hand was a bottle.
"I think we accidentally switched bottles," Egypt stated. He was now mad at both of them. Japan was just ready to kill himself. His boyfriends half brother knows what they did. His boyfriends Religous half brother. "Why the hell in my room?" Egypt sighed. He looked over both of them and decided that the hand sanitizer was a good enough punishment.
Greece couldn't wait to get his hands on that Japanese man. Beautiful body and tonight was the night. Greece's half brother Egypt threw a party to celebrate the success for the revolution and invited everyone. Hence the reason Japan was there. Greece eyed him, licking his lips. Japan had proven that he wasn't as bad as a lover as people thought, he and Greece could go on all night. Greece sauntered to the table where Japan was sitting. Japan was seated his the rest of Asia. He was in mid story when he saw the Greek man striding towards him. Quickly excusing himself he ran towards Greece, once he was close he pulled down the taller man into a kiss. Words of love were lost between the lustful kisses. They walked over to a room where Greece had already situated a perfect love.
"Wait this is Egypt's house we can't have sex here!" Japan whispered. Greece rolled his eyes and ushered Japan into the room.
"What he doesn't know won't kill him," Greece assured while kissing his lover. Japan was hesitant at first but reluctantly agreed.
-the morning after-
Greece felt a burning sensation on his manly part. He couldn't figure out why? He had done Japan before and it hadn't burned. He looked ver Japan. He was also in pain, but in the other area.
"Greece what did you use? My butt is on fire!" Japan wailed. Trying to adjust himself so he wouldn't feel the burning. Greece looked over the lube he had used. A simple 'oh' escaped his mouth. Japan grabbed the bottle and examined it. "HAND SANITIZER?" He screamed repeatedly slamming the bottle in the grecian's head. Greece tried to talk himself out of it but failed. Japan grabbed the pillow and was ready to hit Greece with it when the door opened. Egypt stood there a slight blush of embarrassment decorated his cheeks, in his hand was a bottle.
"I think we accidentally switched bottles," Egypt stated. He was now mad at both of them. Japan was just ready to kill himself. His boyfriends half brother knows what they did. His boyfriends Religous half brother. "Why the hell in my room?" Egypt sighed. He looked over both of them and decided that the hand sanitizer was a good enough punishment.
“Hello, America,” Taiwan said with a smile as she took a seat next to him.
“Hey, Taiwan, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, I wanted to pre-order the newest Lady Gaga CD. I’m a really big fan of hers.”
“You couldn’t do that online?”
“Well, I could have, but I wanted the experience of going to an American mall.”
America shrugged as he took a sip of his coffee. It was Starbucks.
Taiwan frowned, she had hoped America would have noticed the cute dress she was wearing. Okay, maybe she had been expecting a bit too much, but she had been saving this dress just for this.
“So, what are you doing here, America?”
“I’m going to buy some new video games. I beat the old ones.
“What system do you use?”
“I have one of each. I don’t like missing out on new video games.”
Taiwan giggled and got up. “I’ll see you later America,” she said before walking away. She meant that literally, she was planning to accidentally run into him again when he was leaving the video game store.
The unsuspecting America finished his coffee and tossed the paper cup into a garbage can when he walked past it. He had a mental list of the new games he had to get. He couldn’t think of a genre that he didn’t love so he usually got a little bit of everything. When he got to the store he began browsing. Sometimes he could find a good deal on a game he had missed.
“Is this a good game?” a female voice demanded. A video game case was shoved into his face.
America turned his head. The game was being held by an unsmiling Belarus. “It is a good game, but it is really hard for beginners.”
“Then what games are good for beginners?” While it was phrased like a question, the tone of voice sounded more like an order.
“How about Atelier Rorona? It is one of Japan’s games. It is fun and colorful.”
“Is their fighting?”
“Well, there is a combat system.”
“Is it bloody?”
“No.”
“I want one that is bloody.”
“Well, what about-“
“No,” Belarus snapped, “I want the first one you suggested.” Belarus took a step closer to America and she grabbed Atelier Rorona from his hand.
“Okay.” America thought it was a little weird, but not so much that he spared it a second thought.
Outside of the store, Taiwan was fuming. Belarus did that on purpose. Well, two could play at that game.
“Hey, Taiwan, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, I wanted to pre-order the newest Lady Gaga CD. I’m a really big fan of hers.”
“You couldn’t do that online?”
“Well, I could have, but I wanted the experience of going to an American mall.”
America shrugged as he took a sip of his coffee. It was Starbucks.
Taiwan frowned, she had hoped America would have noticed the cute dress she was wearing. Okay, maybe she had been expecting a bit too much, but she had been saving this dress just for this.
“So, what are you doing here, America?”
“I’m going to buy some new video games. I beat the old ones.
“What system do you use?”
“I have one of each. I don’t like missing out on new video games.”
Taiwan giggled and got up. “I’ll see you later America,” she said before walking away. She meant that literally, she was planning to accidentally run into him again when he was leaving the video game store.
The unsuspecting America finished his coffee and tossed the paper cup into a garbage can when he walked past it. He had a mental list of the new games he had to get. He couldn’t think of a genre that he didn’t love so he usually got a little bit of everything. When he got to the store he began browsing. Sometimes he could find a good deal on a game he had missed.
“Is this a good game?” a female voice demanded. A video game case was shoved into his face.
America turned his head. The game was being held by an unsmiling Belarus. “It is a good game, but it is really hard for beginners.”
“Then what games are good for beginners?” While it was phrased like a question, the tone of voice sounded more like an order.
“How about Atelier Rorona? It is one of Japan’s games. It is fun and colorful.”
“Is their fighting?”
“Well, there is a combat system.”
“Is it bloody?”
“No.”
“I want one that is bloody.”
“Well, what about-“
“No,” Belarus snapped, “I want the first one you suggested.” Belarus took a step closer to America and she grabbed Atelier Rorona from his hand.
“Okay.” America thought it was a little weird, but not so much that he spared it a second thought.
Outside of the store, Taiwan was fuming. Belarus did that on purpose. Well, two could play at that game.
oh i love cardverse. espescially cardverse fruk. seconded so hard. there needs to be more fruk cardverse and amechu.
No brain bleach available, unfortunately, but the 'can't get Lyndon's Johnson's dong out of our heads' party above has some alcohol left over. You don't have to suffer alone and sober.
omg. okay I am interested in this and I haven't really paid much attention to AG stuff in a while, so I went on the site to research it and whatever, and! Other than discontinuing Felicity they also took away Kirsten and Samantha (whyyy she was like the most popular! they were all. my favs. AURGH.) and I am /quite/ displeased.
But yeah, so you want one of the girls to have been real? I'm gonna keep researching and stuff (to get a better feel for the stories, I never really got much deeper than the summary in the catalogue), and try to do something with this because it's a cute prompt!
But yeah, so you want one of the girls to have been real? I'm gonna keep researching and stuff (to get a better feel for the stories, I never really got much deeper than the summary in the catalogue), and try to do something with this because it's a cute prompt!
(now i'm imagining Ireland looking at Ahern, Cowen and Kenny and thinking "jaysus i haven't had a looker since poor Mick got shot")
Can this be a historical fill or do you want it set in modern times? Also, how do you feel about original character nations?
So sorry to hear that anon :( hope you feel better soon.
mine too! Long live matchmaker france!
This OP doesn't have a problem with historical or modern times. :)
And she doesn't have a problem with OC nations too, as long as they aren't the focus. But if you want to add them, no problem!
And she doesn't have a problem with OC nations too, as long as they aren't the focus. But if you want to add them, no problem!
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