He was also no longer going to work at all. He simply had not the heart anymore to see his coworkers or face the place he’d once called his second home, and he simply had not the physical strength to, either, since he was constantly tired and fatigued and sleepy. He took up a small room in the basement of an elderly couple who did not bother him and paid his measly rent every month using the money he’d saved up in his emergency bank account. His things were still in the small bag he’d taken with him when Arthur had kicked him out. He hadn’t even bothered to unpack them.
He and Arthur talked once every week or so, probably just to make sure the other was alive and kicking. Arthur never asked Francis about his living accommodations or what he was doing with his time, so Francis never bothered to bring it up. The two simply made small talk; it was nothing more than a simple How are you today? Good. And you? Good. Weather’s nice, before one of them (usually Arthur) hung up after a few minutes of stifling awkwardness.
Francis couldn’t complain, though. At the very least he had to have the pleasure of the illusion that they were trying — that they were somehow going to make it work, that with these slow baby steps they’d end up mustering the conversation both of them knew they’d eventually had to have — or else he would have nothing left going for him. He was withering away every hour, and he could feel it in his bones. He was slowly falling apart — jobless, practically homeless, friendless — and if it wasn’t for these calls, he’d probably be very much lifeless as well.
Francis was aware of the fact that he should probably be at least a little bit concerned that he was having those thoughts, but for some reason he could no longer summon the strength for that either.
-
Somewhere along the way of all this, Francis thinks about calling Chel. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told him or if she knew at all. He wanted to blame her, to give her a piece of his mind, to ruin her like she had ruined him.
At first, he thought that she couldn’t have known about the HIV because it was illegal not to disclose information as imperative and life-threatening as that to your bed partners — but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to dismiss that excuse.
Because it was Chel. If there was anyone in the world more lonely than Francis, it would be her. And Francis didn’t want to patronize her anymore.
In the end, it wasn’t her fault. Countless nights were spent with Francis tossing and turning in bed, thinking about pulling on jeans and marching outdoors and using a public telephone to make the call. Sometimes he’d have to roll over and stare at the ceiling and count down slowly from twenty because the urge was so tempting and Francis had already decided long ago that he wouldn’t.
Even not knowing where she was now — what she’s doing, how she’s faring, if she really did know about the HIV, if she’s still spreading the stuff around, if she’s up like he is feeling guilty — even that, the unknown, was killing him. There was nothing worse than not knowing.
It wasn’t her fault, not really. It was time for Francis to own up and stop pushing the blame on other people.
By God, he was trying.
But it wasn’t easy.
-
“Antonio told me you were sick,” came Arthur’s accusing voice through the phone immediately after Francis answered.
Francis was too tired to realize that perhaps this was Arthur showing genuine concern, and too tired to be upset with Antoine. After he’d moved out, he’d stopped talking to the man at all. “I’m not,” he replied uselessly.
“You’re a pathetic liar.”
“And you, you’re nothing but an Englishman,” Francis chuckled.
“Shut the hell up,” came Arthur’s voice, sharp and cruel. “I’m not joking around here, Francis, and I don’t want to start a banter. We can’t — we can’t be like that anymore, not until we’ve — well, you — fix things. I know we have our problems and our differences —”
He and Arthur talked once every week or so, probably just to make sure the other was alive and kicking. Arthur never asked Francis about his living accommodations or what he was doing with his time, so Francis never bothered to bring it up. The two simply made small talk; it was nothing more than a simple How are you today? Good. And you? Good. Weather’s nice, before one of them (usually Arthur) hung up after a few minutes of stifling awkwardness.
Francis couldn’t complain, though. At the very least he had to have the pleasure of the illusion that they were trying — that they were somehow going to make it work, that with these slow baby steps they’d end up mustering the conversation both of them knew they’d eventually had to have — or else he would have nothing left going for him. He was withering away every hour, and he could feel it in his bones. He was slowly falling apart — jobless, practically homeless, friendless — and if it wasn’t for these calls, he’d probably be very much lifeless as well.
Francis was aware of the fact that he should probably be at least a little bit concerned that he was having those thoughts, but for some reason he could no longer summon the strength for that either.
-
Somewhere along the way of all this, Francis thinks about calling Chel. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t told him or if she knew at all. He wanted to blame her, to give her a piece of his mind, to ruin her like she had ruined him.
At first, he thought that she couldn’t have known about the HIV because it was illegal not to disclose information as imperative and life-threatening as that to your bed partners — but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to dismiss that excuse.
Because it was Chel. If there was anyone in the world more lonely than Francis, it would be her. And Francis didn’t want to patronize her anymore.
In the end, it wasn’t her fault. Countless nights were spent with Francis tossing and turning in bed, thinking about pulling on jeans and marching outdoors and using a public telephone to make the call. Sometimes he’d have to roll over and stare at the ceiling and count down slowly from twenty because the urge was so tempting and Francis had already decided long ago that he wouldn’t.
Even not knowing where she was now — what she’s doing, how she’s faring, if she really did know about the HIV, if she’s still spreading the stuff around, if she’s up like he is feeling guilty — even that, the unknown, was killing him. There was nothing worse than not knowing.
It wasn’t her fault, not really. It was time for Francis to own up and stop pushing the blame on other people.
By God, he was trying.
But it wasn’t easy.
-
“Antonio told me you were sick,” came Arthur’s accusing voice through the phone immediately after Francis answered.
Francis was too tired to realize that perhaps this was Arthur showing genuine concern, and too tired to be upset with Antoine. After he’d moved out, he’d stopped talking to the man at all. “I’m not,” he replied uselessly.
“You’re a pathetic liar.”
“And you, you’re nothing but an Englishman,” Francis chuckled.
“Shut the hell up,” came Arthur’s voice, sharp and cruel. “I’m not joking around here, Francis, and I don’t want to start a banter. We can’t — we can’t be like that anymore, not until we’ve — well, you — fix things. I know we have our problems and our differences —”
“Then why won’t you let us talk about them?”
“— but once upon a time I cared about you.”
And that, that hurt. The dull ache in Francis’ heart returned full force with those words, and there were just so many things wrong here. So much lack of communication — lack of trust — lack of will to bother. Just a week ago Francis had thought they were getting better because they were talking more, but in the end it turned out they were just right back where they started.
“Once upon a time?” Francis whispered.
He could only hear steady breathing now, and he tried to follow that pattern with his own lungs to calm himself down. In, out, in, out. Soon they were breathing in sync, quietly but thunderously through the public phone.
“I can’t do this right now, Francis,” Arthur said.
Before Francis could answer, there was a click and his time had run out. The Frenchman cursed and dug around his pocket for more spare change, but Arthur never ended up picking up. He slumped against the nearest wall, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing once again. The adrenaline rush was gone, and he was once again sleepy, and he was once again just a weak-kneed homeless destitute broken in every which way.
In, out. In, out.
Fucking Antoine.
“— but once upon a time I cared about you.”
And that, that hurt. The dull ache in Francis’ heart returned full force with those words, and there were just so many things wrong here. So much lack of communication — lack of trust — lack of will to bother. Just a week ago Francis had thought they were getting better because they were talking more, but in the end it turned out they were just right back where they started.
“Once upon a time?” Francis whispered.
He could only hear steady breathing now, and he tried to follow that pattern with his own lungs to calm himself down. In, out, in, out. Soon they were breathing in sync, quietly but thunderously through the public phone.
“I can’t do this right now, Francis,” Arthur said.
Before Francis could answer, there was a click and his time had run out. The Frenchman cursed and dug around his pocket for more spare change, but Arthur never ended up picking up. He slumped against the nearest wall, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing once again. The adrenaline rush was gone, and he was once again sleepy, and he was once again just a weak-kneed homeless destitute broken in every which way.
In, out. In, out.
Fucking Antoine.
France and Spain’s Matchmaker Quest
Watching Prussia walk out, Spain looked over at France. “Why did you stop me?”
France frowned, her pretty face distorting into an expression of annoyance. “How much do you want to bet that that imbecile did something to show his interest, somehow botched it, Denmark got wind, and you know that those blasted Vikings are extremely protective of Sweden even though I’m rather sure she could utterly destroy all of them?”
“So, you think Denmark is deliberately giving off the illusion that he and Sweden are involved?”
France made a moue with her lips. “It wouldn’t be all that difficult. Sweden is a stoic. She won’t show much of her emotion on her face unless it’s extreme annoyance. Think Germany in that respect. And you know that Denmark is so naturally demonstrative and cuddly that she probably doesn’t even notice when others take his brotherly love for romantic love. He must encourage the reaction.”
He took a sip of his beer. “How do you get all that?”
Her brow cocked and her expression became amused. “China tried to do the same thing to America to keep him away from Japan. Maybe Denmark really does have deeper feelings for Sweden, but you and I both know that they are not a couple. For one thing, Denmark would have been screaming it from the rooftops if they were.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
France’s face grew devious. “We’re going to prevent the Scandinavians from keeping Sweden and Prussia apart. Think about it, they’re perfect for each other!”
“You’re right about that,” Spain agreed. “She is so much like Germany, and Germany is one of the few Nations other than us who can tolerate Prussia’s bullshit.”
“Here-here!” France agreed. “Now, all we need to do is decide how we’re going to go about doing it.”
Spain screwed his face up in thought. “Well, we need a venue where all of us will be together.”
“World Meeting, Olympics . . .” France mused aloud. “What about this week’s EU summit? We’ll all be there. You and I could distract the Nordics while Prussia gets a chance to talk to Sweden.”
“Perfect! But how are we going to pull it off?”
The lady laughed heartily. “The meeting is being hosted by Germany this week. We simply ask Prussia to fetch Sweden tea or something and keep her overprotective brothers busy while he chats her up!”
Spain – ever the most sane of the trio (though this author admits that isn’t particularly saying much) – pointed out the one flaw. “Okay, but are you sure he’s not going to do something ridiculous like throw the tea at her in nervousness? I mean, you and I both know that Prussia can’t talk to women to save his life. That whole starting life as a warrior-monk thing.”
His companion had nothing to say to that. “Okay, we make sure it’s cake or something that will be an inconvenience but won’t scald her.”
You're doing a good job with some extremely OC countries, A!A.
I love the snippet, anecdotal feel of these parts But, at the same time, the short updates are so torturous!
This update is golden.
I love the snippet, anecdotal feel of these parts But, at the same time, the short updates are so torturous!
This update is golden.
Of course! (they totally get together and play those)
this is so sweet and cute anon! i love it :D
I just can't get enough of this fill, even if it's starting to make feel a little claustrophobic because Arthur's household feels like a small world of its own from where there is no escape. The way he behaved in this chapter was chilling, and I truly feel sorry for Francis for having to marry him. I can't wait to see how things will develop.
Authornon, this is heartbreaking. I can't help feeling sorry for Francis - he fucked up, sure, but what a punishment. The way he's cut himself off from everyone, it's almost like he's gone away to die. I'm curious as to whether Antonio just told Arthur he's sick or whether he told him Francis is seriously/terminally ill. I'm hooked and awaiting more.
Just curious...Are the bad touch trio going to make an apperance as well? :)
First-time filler is glad this is anonymous.
Alfred threw his head back and groaned. A ten-inch tall inflatable Statue of Liberty slid slightly further into his welcoming cavern. “F-Francis,” he moaned, bringing the other’s photograph to his lips and gently kissing it. “I swear, this is the last time I’m letting you do me in the Oval Office.”
He laughed breathlessly and slid the inflatable doll almost all the way out before slamming it back in. He thrust his hips into the air and whimpered. “Please, Francis, I’m so c-close-”
A knock sounded on the door and Alfred wiped his bangs away from his forehead angrily. “Who is it?” He asked between clenched teeth.
“It’s me,” a distinctly British-sounding voice said from the other side of the heavy oak doors.
“Arthur?” He frowned up at the ceiling and tried to hide the photograph of Francis somewhere under the stacks of paper-work and war declarations from Germany and Japan.
“You ask the same thing every time,” a very annoyed Winston Churchill drawled as he entered the room and closed the doors behind him.
“You Britishes. All sound alike,” Alfred said somewhat breathlessly.
Churchill rolled his eyes and blew a puff of cigar smoke in the American’s face. “Sign these,” he said, thrusting a stack of papers into Alfred’s hands along with a heavy pen.
Alfred hastily scrawled his signature, rolling his eyes in return. “Why is it that you always want me to sign things for you when I’m clearly busy?”
“Because otherwise you would never approve two billion dollars worth of military aid to the United Kingdom.”
Alfred sat up and immediately regretted it as the doll in his ass rubbed against him in exactly the right way and he made an embarrassing noise. “What?”
“You heard me.” The Prime Minister winked. “Ta-ta.”
Alfred groaned and reached across the desk for Frank’s bobble-head doll of Winston Churchill.
“Stupid Britishes,” he muttered. He gave the pump a few more squeezes and promptly came all over the Prime Minster’s face.
Alfred threw his head back and groaned. A ten-inch tall inflatable Statue of Liberty slid slightly further into his welcoming cavern. “F-Francis,” he moaned, bringing the other’s photograph to his lips and gently kissing it. “I swear, this is the last time I’m letting you do me in the Oval Office.”
He laughed breathlessly and slid the inflatable doll almost all the way out before slamming it back in. He thrust his hips into the air and whimpered. “Please, Francis, I’m so c-close-”
A knock sounded on the door and Alfred wiped his bangs away from his forehead angrily. “Who is it?” He asked between clenched teeth.
“It’s me,” a distinctly British-sounding voice said from the other side of the heavy oak doors.
“Arthur?” He frowned up at the ceiling and tried to hide the photograph of Francis somewhere under the stacks of paper-work and war declarations from Germany and Japan.
“You ask the same thing every time,” a very annoyed Winston Churchill drawled as he entered the room and closed the doors behind him.
“You Britishes. All sound alike,” Alfred said somewhat breathlessly.
Churchill rolled his eyes and blew a puff of cigar smoke in the American’s face. “Sign these,” he said, thrusting a stack of papers into Alfred’s hands along with a heavy pen.
Alfred hastily scrawled his signature, rolling his eyes in return. “Why is it that you always want me to sign things for you when I’m clearly busy?”
“Because otherwise you would never approve two billion dollars worth of military aid to the United Kingdom.”
Alfred sat up and immediately regretted it as the doll in his ass rubbed against him in exactly the right way and he made an embarrassing noise. “What?”
“You heard me.” The Prime Minister winked. “Ta-ta.”
Alfred groaned and reached across the desk for Frank’s bobble-head doll of Winston Churchill.
“Stupid Britishes,” he muttered. He gave the pump a few more squeezes and promptly came all over the Prime Minster’s face.
Alfred dragged Francis into an empty Oval Office. “Second time’s the charm,” he shouted, practically tearing off his clothes and spreading himself out upon the desk for his lover.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, mon amour? The President will be in any moment and-”
Alfred pulled Francis on top of him and kissed him soundly. “That’s the point. Now fuck me.”
Francis grinned. “Who am I to ignore such a glorious request?”
Alfred wriggled his eyebrows and purred invitingly.
Francis had just gotten to work nibbling and sucking every inch of his lover’s skin when the doors swung open.
The President momentarily looked torn between running away and passing out. He coughed politely and let the doors swing shut behind him as he stepped forward into the center of the room. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet for a moment before his eyes met theirs. “Mind if I join?”
Alfred threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve been waiting since 1942 to hear those words.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, than,” the President said, loosening his tie and winking.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, mon amour? The President will be in any moment and-”
Alfred pulled Francis on top of him and kissed him soundly. “That’s the point. Now fuck me.”
Francis grinned. “Who am I to ignore such a glorious request?”
Alfred wriggled his eyebrows and purred invitingly.
Francis had just gotten to work nibbling and sucking every inch of his lover’s skin when the doors swung open.
The President momentarily looked torn between running away and passing out. He coughed politely and let the doors swing shut behind him as he stepped forward into the center of the room. He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet for a moment before his eyes met theirs. “Mind if I join?”
Alfred threw his head back and laughed. “I’ve been waiting since 1942 to hear those words.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, than,” the President said, loosening his tie and winking.
No one pretended to be able to understand it.
It just didn’t really make sense to anyone else…
“Three half pound burgers. Medium cooking with extra french-fries and lettuce, tomato and onion. Two large Coca-Cola’s and a rootbeer on the side don’t forget the pickles.”
It just wasn’t normal.
Alfred returned from the bathroom a couple minutes later, taking his seat next to Ivan at the table. “You guys order already?”
It was Arthur who answered, looking a bit uneasy. “Yes… Russia ordered for you.”
Alfred didn’t look concerned with this at all, simply leaning back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “Sweet, thanks Red.” He didn’t bother asking what he’d gotten him. as if he’d been there… honestly he might as well have been.
It wasn’t normal
Ivan simply, nodded, that small, childish smile set on his lips. “You are being welcome Fredka~”
A hand full of them had gone out to dinner together… both Alfred and Ivan tagging along. Arthur didn’t mind eating with Alfred, as annoying as he was… but it was just weird having both of them there.
It had been like this since the cold war.
Every time they went out to eat. One would order for the other.
Every Halloween, Ivan would stuff a rubber spider and a handful of candy into Alfred brief case when he wasn’t looking.
Every Maslenitsa Alfred left a plate of flapjacks (as he called them) on his seat at the world meeting. Inviting him to come take a swim in Cold Bay up in Alaska.
April first was war… in that they both observed it.
It wasn’t just holidays and food though… they knew each other inside and out, upside-down and backwards. Alfred was late for a meeting? Ivan knew why. Ivan was tormenting the baltics again? Alfred knew how to make him stop. They knew everything and anything about each other.
And it down right terrified the world.
It just didn’t really make sense to anyone else…
“Three half pound burgers. Medium cooking with extra french-fries and lettuce, tomato and onion. Two large Coca-Cola’s and a rootbeer on the side don’t forget the pickles.”
It just wasn’t normal.
Alfred returned from the bathroom a couple minutes later, taking his seat next to Ivan at the table. “You guys order already?”
It was Arthur who answered, looking a bit uneasy. “Yes… Russia ordered for you.”
Alfred didn’t look concerned with this at all, simply leaning back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “Sweet, thanks Red.” He didn’t bother asking what he’d gotten him. as if he’d been there… honestly he might as well have been.
It wasn’t normal
Ivan simply, nodded, that small, childish smile set on his lips. “You are being welcome Fredka~”
A hand full of them had gone out to dinner together… both Alfred and Ivan tagging along. Arthur didn’t mind eating with Alfred, as annoying as he was… but it was just weird having both of them there.
It had been like this since the cold war.
Every time they went out to eat. One would order for the other.
Every Halloween, Ivan would stuff a rubber spider and a handful of candy into Alfred brief case when he wasn’t looking.
Every Maslenitsa Alfred left a plate of flapjacks (as he called them) on his seat at the world meeting. Inviting him to come take a swim in Cold Bay up in Alaska.
April first was war… in that they both observed it.
It wasn’t just holidays and food though… they knew each other inside and out, upside-down and backwards. Alfred was late for a meeting? Ivan knew why. Ivan was tormenting the baltics again? Alfred knew how to make him stop. They knew everything and anything about each other.
And it down right terrified the world.
“Dad’s in the shower, but he said you could come in.” Arthur didn’t bother with a hello, just pushed the door open so Francis could come in. He stood aside and glared as Francis came in, holding a tray with some sort of treat on it. The Frenchman had dressed far nicer than he needed to, in slacks and a button up shirt, with his long hair tied back. It made Arthur, in his jean and tshirt, smirk a little.
“Bonjour, Arthur,” Francis smiled as he came in. “Where can I put this?” He’d stopped with the patronizing voice, but the sing-songey quality was worse. Arthur ground his teeth and pointed to the kitchen counter before closing the door and locking it. Then he made his way to the couch and sat down, grabbing his book.
Francis sat down with him a little way away, and Arthur could see over the edge of his book that the Frenchman was looking around. There wasn’t a whole lot to see. On the walls were pictures of Alfred and Arthur on various trips, and occasionally a picture of Alice, though Alfred had taken a lot of those down, since they still made him sad. They had a fairly nice TV and entertainment system, along with game consoles that were covered in dust (they hadn’t seen much use in the last five years, other than from Arthur’s baby sitter, a Japanese boy named Kiku, who would play after Arthur had gone to bed).
But it seemed Francis liked what he saw. Arthur sniffed and turned his attention back to the
book.
“What are you reading?” Francis asked, and Arthur sighed, but he realized that leaving Francis to sit there is silence was rather rude.
“’The Hobbit’.” Arthur told him. “I’m re-reading it.”
Francis looked impressed, “’Re-reading’ it?”
He smiled a bit sheepishly, “Well, reading it for the first time for myself. When Mum was in hospital, Dad would read to her, and I would listen to it. I’ve already read the Harry Potter books, so, I’ve started in on Lord of the Rings.” Arthur flushed, having not meant to say that much. Before Francis could say anything, he got up and stomped to the kitchen to read.
Luckily for him, Alfred came out of the shower, fully dressed, so Francis didn’t follow him. But he could feel his gaze on him, and he just knew that Francis had a smile on his lips.
It was tough on Arthur to be polite when it felt like his home was being invaded. And Alfred wouldn’t let Arthur retreat to his room, even after they’d eaten, and the adults were just talking (Arthur really didn’t have that much to say). So he sat petulantly in an armchair, pretending to read, but really sending death glares Francis’ way every so often.
The frog was really too flirty for Arthur’s liking; it was so obvious that even he could understand it. A brush of a hand here, rubbing Alfred’s leg with his foot here. And his father didn’t get upset, rather, he blushed and seemed to encourage it. It seemed… wrong to Arthur for some reason.
It hit him when Alfred asked if Francis wanted to watch a movie with them before bed. The way that Alfred offered his hand to Francis, and smiled like that… That was how he remembered him helping Alice out of her seat; one of Arthur’s few memories of her. And when Francis took his hand with an easy laugh and nodded yes, Arthur snapped.
He stood up, and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Arthur, what-?” his father started to say, looking at him utterly confused. Arthur cut him off
“Don’t touch him like that!” He shouted. “Honestly, I can’t believe you!” Nor could he really articulate how he was feeling. “I hate you!” That wasn’t right, and judging from the baffled and slightly hurt look on Alfred’s face, it was actually a really bad thing to say. So Arthur ran to his room, slammed the door, and locked it.
From the other room, he heard Alfred saying, “I’m really sorry Franny… I dunno what’s gotten into him.”
“Perhaps I should go,” Francis agreed softly. “Merci for dinner.”
“No problem. I’ll call you later.” Footsteps, a pause, and the front door was closed.
Arthur didn’t even realize that he was crying until he flung himself on his bed, and felt the covers press up against his wet face.
“Bonjour, Arthur,” Francis smiled as he came in. “Where can I put this?” He’d stopped with the patronizing voice, but the sing-songey quality was worse. Arthur ground his teeth and pointed to the kitchen counter before closing the door and locking it. Then he made his way to the couch and sat down, grabbing his book.
Francis sat down with him a little way away, and Arthur could see over the edge of his book that the Frenchman was looking around. There wasn’t a whole lot to see. On the walls were pictures of Alfred and Arthur on various trips, and occasionally a picture of Alice, though Alfred had taken a lot of those down, since they still made him sad. They had a fairly nice TV and entertainment system, along with game consoles that were covered in dust (they hadn’t seen much use in the last five years, other than from Arthur’s baby sitter, a Japanese boy named Kiku, who would play after Arthur had gone to bed).
But it seemed Francis liked what he saw. Arthur sniffed and turned his attention back to the
book.
“What are you reading?” Francis asked, and Arthur sighed, but he realized that leaving Francis to sit there is silence was rather rude.
“’The Hobbit’.” Arthur told him. “I’m re-reading it.”
Francis looked impressed, “’Re-reading’ it?”
He smiled a bit sheepishly, “Well, reading it for the first time for myself. When Mum was in hospital, Dad would read to her, and I would listen to it. I’ve already read the Harry Potter books, so, I’ve started in on Lord of the Rings.” Arthur flushed, having not meant to say that much. Before Francis could say anything, he got up and stomped to the kitchen to read.
Luckily for him, Alfred came out of the shower, fully dressed, so Francis didn’t follow him. But he could feel his gaze on him, and he just knew that Francis had a smile on his lips.
It was tough on Arthur to be polite when it felt like his home was being invaded. And Alfred wouldn’t let Arthur retreat to his room, even after they’d eaten, and the adults were just talking (Arthur really didn’t have that much to say). So he sat petulantly in an armchair, pretending to read, but really sending death glares Francis’ way every so often.
The frog was really too flirty for Arthur’s liking; it was so obvious that even he could understand it. A brush of a hand here, rubbing Alfred’s leg with his foot here. And his father didn’t get upset, rather, he blushed and seemed to encourage it. It seemed… wrong to Arthur for some reason.
It hit him when Alfred asked if Francis wanted to watch a movie with them before bed. The way that Alfred offered his hand to Francis, and smiled like that… That was how he remembered him helping Alice out of her seat; one of Arthur’s few memories of her. And when Francis took his hand with an easy laugh and nodded yes, Arthur snapped.
He stood up, and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Arthur, what-?” his father started to say, looking at him utterly confused. Arthur cut him off
“Don’t touch him like that!” He shouted. “Honestly, I can’t believe you!” Nor could he really articulate how he was feeling. “I hate you!” That wasn’t right, and judging from the baffled and slightly hurt look on Alfred’s face, it was actually a really bad thing to say. So Arthur ran to his room, slammed the door, and locked it.
From the other room, he heard Alfred saying, “I’m really sorry Franny… I dunno what’s gotten into him.”
“Perhaps I should go,” Francis agreed softly. “Merci for dinner.”
“No problem. I’ll call you later.” Footsteps, a pause, and the front door was closed.
Arthur didn’t even realize that he was crying until he flung himself on his bed, and felt the covers press up against his wet face.
The first one was funny. The second one will require brain bleach to cleanse from my mind.
Denmark and Sweden trying to do dirty talk during sex and failing terribly.
For the past few years the looming economic woes have given many economies a bit of 'cold'. As such, many fics have been written about the woes of America, the EU etc.
Rewind back to the the end of the Cold War, and through the early 2000's (up to about 2006/2007). America as a nation saw an enormous rise in economic standing, must different than now where growth is barely there. I would really like a fic where the world all fought to be chummy with America, offering themselves and acting all 'lovey dovey' with the Superpower. Sort of like the whole 'gold digger' thing. America is a bit oblivious, but does seek actual love.
How you play it is fine, but I don't want any epilogue or ending with 2008's BAM. I like happy endings.
Anon's OTP is USUK, but I'm pretty lenient.
Rewind back to the the end of the Cold War, and through the early 2000's (up to about 2006/2007). America as a nation saw an enormous rise in economic standing, must different than now where growth is barely there. I would really like a fic where the world all fought to be chummy with America, offering themselves and acting all 'lovey dovey' with the Superpower. Sort of like the whole 'gold digger' thing. America is a bit oblivious, but does seek actual love.
How you play it is fine, but I don't want any epilogue or ending with 2008's BAM. I like happy endings.
Anon's OTP is USUK, but I'm pretty lenient.
Based off of this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLGMAw52gjc&feature=youtube_gdata_player with Fem!france as Fantine and Arthur as the captain at the end.
bonus: The two sailors who begin the song are Alfred and Matthew (why when I picture them as sailors do I see them as being dirty boys?)
Bonus 2: Prussia is featured somewhere in there.
Not necessarily looking for a song fic. Just something based off of it :P
bonus: The two sailors who begin the song are Alfred and Matthew (why when I picture them as sailors do I see them as being dirty boys?)
Bonus 2: Prussia is featured somewhere in there.
Not necessarily looking for a song fic. Just something based off of it :P
I've seen fics where Ivan is bullied. I've seen fics wher Alfred is bullied, I've seen fics where Alfred bullies Ivan, I've seen fics where Ivan bullies Alfred.
But I would like to see a fic highschool AU where Ivan and Alfred are both bullies, no one in the school likes them and few even bother pretending to.
OP would love to see them working together, picking on some poor defenseless nerd character of your choice XP I want both of them to be complete assholes.
Bonus: they have an 'I insult you constantly' type friendship.
Bonus 2: they are both on the baseball team. Ivan joined because it let him carry a blunt metal object around without being expelled.
Bonus 3: AmeRus. One of the kids they torture (Arthur perhaps) walks in on them making out in the locker room and from there blackmails them into leaving him (and the other students) alone. Or else.
But I would like to see a fic highschool AU where Ivan and Alfred are both bullies, no one in the school likes them and few even bother pretending to.
OP would love to see them working together, picking on some poor defenseless nerd character of your choice XP I want both of them to be complete assholes.
Bonus: they have an 'I insult you constantly' type friendship.
Bonus 2: they are both on the baseball team. Ivan joined because it let him carry a blunt metal object around without being expelled.
Bonus 3: AmeRus. One of the kids they torture (Arthur perhaps) walks in on them making out in the locker room and from there blackmails them into leaving him (and the other students) alone. Or else.
World War II was like a pickle jar. All of the nations were trying to open it. And when the US just walks along and does, everyone says "We loosened it up for you".
Said by someone in my ROTC class... Please, anything based off of this :3
Said by someone in my ROTC class... Please, anything based off of this :3
Fem!Prussia is in the big house for a crime of the author's choice, major or minor as you like! Enough to guarantee a sentence of a few years at least.
For the thrill, and benefits, she takes about seducing one of the guards she's taken a fancy to (male or female!). Or maybe they set out to abuse the power they have over her.
Over time however they both start to realise their feelings are growing rather more serious and alongside struggling to keep their arrangement hidden things get rather more complicated.
Rip my heart out or give me a happy ending. Sexy forbidden prison romance please!
For the thrill, and benefits, she takes about seducing one of the guards she's taken a fancy to (male or female!). Or maybe they set out to abuse the power they have over her.
Over time however they both start to realise their feelings are growing rather more serious and alongside struggling to keep their arrangement hidden things get rather more complicated.
Rip my heart out or give me a happy ending. Sexy forbidden prison romance please!
Okay, so I've read quite a few fanfictions where Alfred and Ivan are in a relationship where Ivan is abusive. This OP would like to see a fic where it's the other way around and Alfred is abusive of Ivan. Verbally and physically, non-con is not necessary, but it isn't frowned upon. Yandere! Or simply snapped!Alfred is a must. Possible victim blaming, but be sure to include proper warnings for whatever for the sake of other anons.
Bonus: Someone (my first born for Lithuania, but one of the other baltics, or even England or Francis will do) discovers the abuse, but is hesitant to say anything, either because they're hesitant to help Ivan or because they're scared of Alfred. Or perhaps a little of both.
Bonus 2: the abuse started gradually, beginning with verbal insults and increasing gradually from their. So that Ivan refused to believe it was abuse (pride perhaps) until something happens to force him to believe it.
Bonus 3: despite the abuse, Ivan still feels that he is in love with Alfred. Which is why he stays with him.
OP realizes that this is a very difficult prompt with their personalities. But I know that someone out there can do it :3
Bonus: Someone (my first born for Lithuania, but one of the other baltics, or even England or Francis will do) discovers the abuse, but is hesitant to say anything, either because they're hesitant to help Ivan or because they're scared of Alfred. Or perhaps a little of both.
Bonus 2: the abuse started gradually, beginning with verbal insults and increasing gradually from their. So that Ivan refused to believe it was abuse (pride perhaps) until something happens to force him to believe it.
Bonus 3: despite the abuse, Ivan still feels that he is in love with Alfred. Which is why he stays with him.
OP realizes that this is a very difficult prompt with their personalities. But I know that someone out there can do it :3
What it says on the tin. The Hetalia cast in a spoof of none other than the movie BIRDEMIC: SHOCK AND TERROR. (If you haven't seen it, go rent it or watch it online or however you prefer to watch your movies and laugh hysterically.)
Bonus one: Either America or Denmark as Rod. (If you go with America, I'd prefer no USUK, but any other pairings are fine.)
Bonus two: Include the "Hangin' Out With My Family" scene.
Bonus one: Either America or Denmark as Rod. (If you go with America, I'd prefer no USUK, but any other pairings are fine.)
Bonus two: Include the "Hangin' Out With My Family" scene.
Prussia sneaks into Austria's house to steal some cake and maybe untune his piano when he hears creaking and moans coming from the bedroom. At first he thinks he's caught Austria having one off the wrist, but then he hears Hungary's voice and realises he's walked in on a heavy sex session. So Prussia gets himself a snack and has a listen.
Bonus 1: Prussia doesn't get aroused, he just finds the whole thing funny.
Bonus 2: Hungary comes out, sees Prussia, and just shakes her head at his behaviour.
Bonus 1: Prussia doesn't get aroused, he just finds the whole thing funny.
Bonus 2: Hungary comes out, sees Prussia, and just shakes her head at his behaviour.
RusAme, RusCan? - Matthew=Alfred, multiple personality disorder
(Anonymous) 2013-02-09 02:04 am (UTC)(link)Human AU. Where Alfred is Matthews alternate persona. Matthew doesn't realized Alfred isn't real and thinks he is his twin brother. It doesn't interfere because they have completely different friends, work hours etc. Matthew knows Alfred is in a relationship with a guy named Ivan but has never met him before... Until he wakes up naked as a new born baby curled up next to him.
Human AU
Bonus: Matthew is strait. Making it all the more awkward.
Bonus 2: Everyone else thinks that Matthew is simply distant and proanned to talking to himself.
Bonus 3: Ivan knows that Alfred/Matthew has a split personality (Alfred told him about it.) But he'd never meet 'the quite guy' before.
Arthur Kirkland is England top bodyguard/assassin his newest mission is to make sure Alfred Jones is safe without blowing his cover.
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