#I love how Alfred looks but HATE how Arthur turned out

[mommytauriel]

+ · 。~ promised to another p3

pairing: sihtric x female! reader | genre: forbidden romance? Angst, fluff | warnings: none that I know of | wc: 6.3k |

synopsis: eight months since everything in your life has changed, and it seems like things won't stop changing.

request: yes

note: I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out! I was just really struggling on writing this part! This is more like a filler part. I do still hope you guys enjoy it!

Part one Part two Part three

The first week being back in Winchester was hard, actually the first few months being back in Winchester was hard…in many different ways.  Mentally you were exhausted, staying up late at night and stressing yourself to sleep thinking about Uhtred, and what he's going through. You didn't even want to think about how emotionally hard it was for you. The guilt you felt, the pain you felt with Uhtred gone and you leaving sihtric. 

It was physically hard because you were exhausted. You spent your nights staying up late, crying and thinking about Uhtred and sihtric. And when you did finally fall asleep, you didn't get to sleep for long because Lady Aelswith would make sure you were up so you could join her for morning prayers and breakfast with Aethelflaed. 

The fourth month you were tired of being sad, so you forced yourself to leave your room more. It wasn't healthy to lock yourself up in your room and avoid everyone. Matthew was happy to see that you were starting to get better, he had missed you. Matthew was against it at first because he was worried you would get hurt, but the two of you would go on walks through the village of Winchester. He noticed that it was helping you so he kept his worries to himself and just stayed alert. 

By the six month you were feeling more like yourself. You still had your moments of sadness; you just now knew how to handle them better. You have started doing many things to distract yourself from your feelings, you did a lot of reading, most of them being books that King Alfred has suggested. You spent more time with Matthew and Aethelflaed, Aethelflaed even joining you and Matthew on your walks. It was nice. 

The seventh month is when things started to feel more real for you. King Alfred had been lenient with you for the prior months but now that you seemed more yourself, he wasn't going to hold back. Whenever he had time, the two of you would be in his study, reading and learning more about history. And you enjoyed it most of the time, but when he would bring up Arthur and your future with him…your enjoyment turned to dread. You didn't want to talk about Arthur and the doom of your future with him. Lady Aelswith would try to talk to you about Arthur too, telling you about her and the king's betrothal and how she didn't like it at first but it was her duty to become a good wife to him. She even offered to teach you some ways on becoming a good wife, and well you couldn't exactly decline. You didn't want to learn how to be a good wife, you didn't want to be a wife in general! 

The eighth month was no different. 

Throughout those eight months you barely saw Arthur. Then again, you were also actively avoiding the blue-eyed man. It also helped that Arthur was very busy, busy with the king or busy going back and forth from Mercia and Winchester. You weren't complaining. The two of you have talked a few times, well more like he talked, and you just ‘listened’. A small part of you felt a little bad for treating Arthur like that, a very small part. Arthur has been kind to you, and you hated it. 

The garden in the back of the castle had quickly become your place of solace and solitude. If you went early enough in the morning, you would be completely alone…besides the times Matthew would join you. It was a very peaceful place; you could walk around and look at the flowers or sit at the bench and read…or just sit there and think. Today you were reading. 

Before you met sihtric you enjoyed reading love stories, but now you couldn't bear to read one. Just like how you couldn't dare to see public affection, it all reminded you of sihtric. And how you couldn't be with him. It hurt seeing or reading someone being so happy and in love when you weren't. You would feel a tug at your heart and soon your eyes would water it really hurt. So now you stick to history books, they aren't as fun but now you don't have to worry about crying while reading it. 

“What book are you reading today My lady?” A deep and familiar voice breaks you out of your thoughts. You blink a few times and look up from the page you have been reading over and over again. You squint your eyes from the bright sun that shines, when you look up at Matthew's figure. He was standing in front of you, clad in his black leather armor with his hands behind his back, a small smile on his face as he looked down at you. 

“The same book I was reading yesterday Matthew” You retorted with a sigh, closing the book and playing with the leather corners of the book cover. Matthew hums in remembrance, his eyes looking over your figure. He was happy to see that you look way better than you did months ago, you looked well rested. But he could still see some sadness in your eyes. 

“Lady Aethelflaed requests you to join her for breakfast” Matthew tells you, watching as your eyes lighten up at the mention of your dear friend. You stand up from the bench and with your free hand that's not holding your book, you fix your dress. You offer Matthew a small smile “Let's go then, wouldn't want to keep the princess waiting.” 

Matthew nods and leads the way towards Lady Aethelflaed’s room, She had breakfast sent to her room for the two of you. The two of you enjoyed your mornings where you had breakfasts together, the safety of being alone in her room let the two of you gossip as much as you wanted without getting scolded by Lady Aelswith. 

The two of you stopped in front of Aethelflaeds’s room, you greeted the guard who stood out of her room with a small smile while Matthew greeted him with a nod. Matthew softly knocked on the lady's door for you before he stepped back. You heard the sound of feet rushing towards the door and not even a few seconds later the wood door was being opened quickly. A smiling Aethelflaed greeting you.  

“Y/n! I've missed you, come in” Lady Aethelflaed smiles as she grabs your arm and pulls you into her room, you laugh at her eagerness and let her drag you into her room. You glance behind you to see Matthew giving a smile before he closes the door, leaving the two of you alone. You look back at her and see a wide smile on her face and a giggle escape past your lips. “You saw me yesterday Aethelflaed.” 

“I know that but still, i missed you” She giggled herself as she let go of your arm and walked towards the table in her room, which the two of you have eaten at many times before. You set your book on her bed before you follow her across her room. The princess’s room had a bunch of vases of flowers that the two of you had handpicked, her room was so fresh and comfy. 

“This looks delicious” you tell her as you look over the spread of food and drinks on the table. Athelflaed smiles and sits down at the table, pouring herself a cup of water “I asked for some of your favorites.” 

“You truly do spoil me” You send her a teasing wink as you sit down in the chair across from her, popping a green grape in your mouth. Athelflaed blushes and starts eating some of the fruit on her plate. You smile at her shy antics before you start digging into your food. It wasn't long before the two of you jumped into a conversation. 

“I know I have said this hundreds of times, but I'm so glad that you're back. It's nice to have someone I can talk to without worrying, mother is going to find out about what we have talked about” Aethelflaed tells you with a genuine smile after the two of you stopped laughing from the conversation beforehand. (The conversation being about a cute stable hand boy that had caught Athelflaeds attention) It was adorable seeing her so flustered talking about him, it kinda reminded you about how if was for you and sihtric. 

Athelflaed’s words comforted you and made you sad at the same time. They were comforting because you truly did miss her too, but they were sad because if it was up to you…you wouldn't have come back. Sometimes at night while you lay alone in your dark room, you would think about what you would be doing now if you never left, if Uhtred was never sold. You would have nights filled with laughter at ale houses with Uhtred and there was no doubt that you and sihtric would become closer. Maybe I would have told him I loved him already…I’ll never know now. 

“Speaking of missing you, I may or may not have overheard Arthur talking with my dad last night” Aethelflaed’s sweet but mischievous voice breaks you out of your sad thoughts. You blink a few times and look up from your plate to her. You raise your eyebrow at her words, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes at the mention of Arthur. You grip your fork tighter and give her a faint smirk “Overheard? You mean you eavesdropped?” 

“Y/n” She said with an embarrassed whine, gently kicking you under the table before continuing with a mischievous grin on her face “Don't you want to know what they were talking about?” 

“I have a feeling you were going to tell me anyway” You recalled from past memories, you knew she was going to tell you anyway. Aethelflaed doesn't pick up on the sarcasm in your town and she leans forward, excitement in her tone “They were talking about you, well more like Arthur was talking about you…he seems quite smitten with you.” 

“I don't know how he could be, we've barely talked” You responded with a confused look and annoyance in your tone. How could he be smitten with me? You made sure that the two of you had barely any chance to talk. You don't want him to like you, no you want him to hate you…it would make it easier if he did. It didn't feel right knowing that someone was liking you like that, it felt as if you were betraying sihtric in a way. You didn't like this feeling. 

“Arthur is a really nice guy y/n! You should give him a chance, who knows you might even find yourself liking him” Aethelflaed says cheerfully, again not noticing your tone. Aethelflaed has always wanted to fall in love, to have someone by her side for everything. Her desire to have that kinda love, blinded her from the negative parts that came with it. She didn't see the negative parts of your betrothal to arthur. But how could she? She didn't know about me and sihtric. 

She didn't know about how you were feeling, the feeling of being trapped in a relationship you didn't want, the heartbreak you felt with sihtric. There was no chance that you could find yourself liking arthur. To you, Arthur was just the guy that's ruining the happy future you hoped you and sihtric would have together. Maybe it was ruined the moment you left eoferwic. 

“Not likely” 

It seems my luck has run out; you think with a bitter sigh when you see who's standing at the other end of the hall. You had just left Aethelflaed’s room a few minutes ago after spending a few hours laughing and talking, you then parted ways with Matthew who was called off to do something. You were in a happy mood but that quickly joined to a mood of annoyance when you see your betrothed standing across from you, a smile on his face. 

“Lady y/n, I've been meaning to talk to you” Arthur says with a sweet smile as he steps closer to you. Your grip on your book tightens and you hold it to your chest, you offer him a weak smile. 

“I apologize but I have to get going, maybe another time” You spoke quietly as you tried to walk past him, only to stop dead in your tracks when you felt Arthur softly grab your arm to stop you. You let out a sigh, you knew you couldn't avoid him this time. You turn to face him and see him giving you a pleading look. You sigh again and move your arm out of his grip and mutter “You only have a few minutes.” 

“That's all i need” He replied with a charming smile, he cleared his throat before continuing “I wanted to apologize, I've been busy these past months and i haven't spent much time with you, I haven't gotten to know you.” 

“There's not much to know” you say in a dismissive tone, making it your mission to look anywhere but his face. You settle on the flower painting on the wall behind him. Arthur notices the dismissiveness in your tone and your actions, but he still tries to keep the conversation going. So, he ignores it and keeps the smile on his lips. “I don't know about that; I have a feeling there's a lot to know about you.” 

“Feelings can be wrong” You snapped as you finally looked at him, the two of you locked eyes. Arthur could tell that there was more to your words, a lot more meaning. I want to find out, he thinks. “You don't like me, do you?” 

“Is it that obvious?” You ask him sarcastically with a bitter tone as you tilt your head. Arthur stills for a moment and all the confidence he had going into the conversation with you disappears, at the sound of the bitterness in your tone. King Arthur had told him you would not be happy about the betrothal, but he didn't think you would be this difficult, especially with him being so nice to you. Is it going to be like this every time we talk? he thinks with a disappointed sigh. 

“Anything else?” You snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“Your friend uhtred, I saw him walk into the king's study” Arthur spoke with little emotion in his tone, it was obvious you didn't want this…he wasn't going to try so hard for nothing. He was tired of making the first move, one day you were going to realize that whether the two of you like it or not, you will be wed. He will just have to wait until you're willing to try, or when you're in a better mood. 

“Uhtred? He’s here?” your stone-cold persona dropped as soon as his words came out. Chills of shock run through your body, and you find yourself dropping your arms to your side, your grip on your book loosening. Uhtred, the Uhtred who you thought of as a brother was here in Winchester, in the castle? I have to see him. 

“The King doesn't want anyone to know yet, but I thought you should know. I know you guys were close, you must have missed him” he tells you in a soft tone, offering you one smaller smile before leaving you. You stood there for a few moments as you watched him walk away, you watched as his strong posture faltered and his hand moved up to rub the back of his neck. 

There was no denying that you felt bad about how you treated him, he went out of his way to tell you that Uhtred was back. He told you when the king told him that no one must know. He did that for you and all you did was treat him unkindly. You don't let yourself stand there guilty for much longer. I have to see Uhtred. 

You rushed down the hall towards the king's study, holding onto your dress so you won't trip. Your footsteps echo through the hallway, you make an abrupt stop as you turn the corner to the hallway that leads to the king's study. Just as you turn the corner the door at the end of the hallway opens and out steps steapa and matthew, following them is Uhtred. 

You hold your breath and your eyes immediately water at the sight, you pay no attention to steapa and Matthew, you just look straight at uhtred. You couldn't believe it. You watch as he looks up from the ground, he has a look of anger on his face but when he notices you standing at the other end of the hallway, his face softens, and his eyes widen. 

Before you could think, your legs were already rushing towards him, and he met you halfway. You closed your eyes as you threw your arms around his shoulders. You let out a sigh of relief when you felt that he was truly there, he's really here. Uhtred wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close. The pain he felt when you jumped in his arms did not compare to the feeling of relief that he was feeling, you were okay, you were safe. Uhtred tightens his hold on you and just closes his eyes and relishes in the moment. you were really here. 

“Oh Uhtred” You sniffle out, a few tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, you had imagined this moment for months, but this was better than anything you could have imagined. To have him really back. One of his hands moves to cup the back of your head. His heart hurts when he hears you sniffles of sadness, he whispers soothingly “Shh, it's okay little flower, don't cry.” 

“I didn't think i would ever see you again” You cried quietly, your hold on him not loosening. You were afraid to let go, afraid that if you let go of him, he would disappear. Matthew and steapa watch from afar, both of their hearts warm at the heartfelt reunion. 

“It's okay y/n, i'm here now.” 

But for how long was the real question? 

Uhtred didn't stay long. You got the answer to your question.  You tried to be understanding, you knew that what he was going to do was important, important to the king and important to him. But you couldn't help but feel a little upset that he left you so soon. I didn't have enough time with him. After the two of you reunited, you spent the next few hours together talking. Well, more like you talked and he listened. You refrained from telling him about Arthur, you didn't want to ruin the moment. You were surprised when he told you that Lady Gisela was here with him, you would have to see her soon, you missed her. 

He then left you after he promised to see you soon, the next time you saw him was the next day when he was getting ready to leave. You found out two new things that morning, he was leaving, and he had gotten married. You were hurt by the new information. Hurt that he was leaving so soon and hurt that you weren't invited to his and lady Gisela's wedding. But like you said, you tried to be understanding. 

It's okay y/n, he’ll be back soon. You think to yourself as you stand by Lady Aethelflaed’s side, watching as Uhtred and his company leave Winchester. You glance at Gisela who's watching Uhtred leave, a look of sadness on her face. You truly felt for her, her husband just got back, and now he's leaving. You glance at Aethelflaed to see her watching Uhtred go, a look of adoration on her face. Your eyes widened, she looked lovestruck. How interesting. 

You glance back at Uhtred, and you can't help but feel a little emotional as you watch him ride out of sight. You let out a sigh before turning around and walking back into the castle, Matthew following behind you. Both of you were feeling quite down at the moment, you because of Uhtred and him because of Hild..he would never say it aloud, but you knew the truth. 

“Are you alright my lady?” Matthew asks behind you, his voice gentle and worried. You sigh and fold your arms in front of you as you walk towards the gardens in the back of the castle, in the need of some solace. 

“I’m just tired Matthew, I’m just tired.” 

The next day you spent your morning eating breakfast alone in your room, you didn't go out to the garden, instead you read in your quiet room. You didn't really want to see anyone; you also didn't want to run into Arthur. You knew you had to talk to Arthur soon, you had to apologize. But you just weren't ready for that. 

You were peacefully reading until Matthew knocked on your door and let you know that Lady Gisela would like to see you in the village. For a second you considered declining, you were in no mood to be around anyone. But it was Lady Gisela, she knew no one here, she probably felt so alone and out of place. So, you told Matthew yes and you got out of your bed and walked towards your door. 

Matthew greeted you with a small smile when you opened your door, and you greeted him back with a smile of your own, a weak smile. Matthew grew a little worried, he didn't want you to go back to how you were months ago. He wouldn't let that happen, not again. The two of you walked in silence through the castle and to the steps at the entrance of the castle. Standing there at the bottom of the steps was Lady Gisela, a smile forming on her lips when she sees you approaching her. She had missed you. 

“Y/n! thank you for joining me” Gisela beamed as she pulled you into her arms for a hug. You smile softly and hug her back, relaxing into her comforting embrace. After a few moments you pull away and link your arm in hers, the negative feelings you felt earlier were slowly leaving you. “Thank you for inviting me, it will be nice getting out of the castle.” 

“Do you not leave often?” Gisela asks you as the two of you start walking, Matthew walking a few steps behind you. Lady Gisela thought about you a lot through the eight months, like others she was worried about you and how you were taking this change. So, she was happy to see that you were okay, well at least seemed to be okay. 

“Me and Matthew go on walks out of the castle quite a lot, sometimes aethelflaed joins us. But I haven't really had a chance these past few days” you tell her, and she smiles at your words. 

“So, tell me, how has it been living back here in Winchester?” 

“It's definitely been different since the last time I was here, I lived carefree. But now it's…oh never mind” You let out an annoyed sigh when you couldn't put your feelings in words. Gisela frowns and squeezes your arm reassuringly and when you look at her, she gives you a comforting smile.

“It's okay y/n, just tell me what's on your mind” Gisela said softly as she looked at your side profile. What was bothering you so much? She wonders. 

“I am betrothed to Arthur of Mercia” you say quickly before you could stop yourself, you needed to get this off your chest. There was no one else you could talk to about this. You didn't look at Gisela when she gasped at your words, you just kept walking. Gisela’s eyes widen at your words “What? When did this happen?” 

“The king told me the day I came back” You frowned as you looked back on that day, so much sadness and heartbreak. Everything changed that day. 

“And how do you feel about this?” Gisela frowned as well, she had an idea on how you were feeling, and she knew it wasn't a good feeling. She continued to rub your arm reassuringly as the two you walked, she waited for your answer. 

You let out a heavy breath before responding. “I feel a lot of things, but it doesn't matter how I feel, the king has made it clear that it's my duty to marry, my duty to marry Arthur.” 

“Oh y/n, have you told Uhtred? If you are not happy with this you know Uhtred will find a way to stop this” Gisela halted her steps, causing you to stop as well. Matthew stopped a few steps behind the two of you and he looked around, making sure there was no danger to you. You look away from her when you see the look of pity she gives you. I don't want pity; I want a way out of this betrothal. 

“I didn't want him to worry” You shake your head no; you feared Uhtred might try to kill Arthur if he found out. I can't tell Uhtred, not yet. You move to continue walking but Lady Gisela stops you by gently holding onto your arms. You look at her and she gives you a look a look of sympathy and says “He will always worry about you y/n, you know that.” 

“If you ask him to get you out of the betrothal, he will do everything he can to get you out of it” Lady Gisela tells you, her tone serious. You nod and continue walking, Gisela walking by your side. You think about her words, Uhtred has made it clear that he would do anything for you. Would he hurt Arthur? Would he argue with the king? Would he take you away from the castle? You didn't know what he would do, but you knew that what he would do, no matter what it is, would only cause more problems. I didn't want that. I just want my life back to the way it used to be. 

“That's what I’m afraid of” You mumble to yourself as the two of you continue walking. Was there a way to save me from this situation, without things getting bad? There is no way King Alfred would give up on this betrothal, it meant so much for him…well it meant so much for England. You weren't stupid you knew why this was happening, it was for alliances, it was for resources. It wasn't for love. 

It would be love if it was sihtric…

“Who is it?” Her calming voice broke you out of your sad thoughts about your lost lover. You tilt your head and give her a confused look. “What do you mean?” 

“I can see it in your eyes, you're in love. So, who is it?” Lady Gisela repeats her question, watching your side profile for your reaction. So much has happened, she felt bad that she wasn't there to help you with it. Matthew, who overheard the question, stiffened. 

“It’s…it’s sihtric” You whisper to her with a flustered smile. This was the first time you said it aloud. You of course thought about it, you thought about it a lot. But saying it out loud, it made it more real. God, you missed him, every day you wished that you had more time with him. 

“Sihtric?” She repeats his name as she slows down her steps. She had a feeling there was something going on between the two of you, but still. She had hoped you didn't say his name when she asked you. 

“Yes, sihtric he’s- Gisela what's wrong?” You ask her when you noticed she stopped walking with you. She holds onto your forearm and looks at you with sympathy, she didn't know how to tell you this. “Oh y/n i…” 

“What is it?” You give her a confused look, but you start to worry when you notice the look on her face. Why is she looking at me like that? you think anxiously. Matthew took a step forward to the two ladies’, concerned as well. 

“I’m sorry y/n, before I left, I saw him with a woman…they were quite close” Gisela tells you in a soft tone, hoping that it would break the news to you easier. Matthews's grip tightens on the hilt of his sword and his jaw clenched in anger at her words. You felt your arms drop to your side and your heart stop at her words. No no no, sihtric he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't do that to me. You didn't think you knew words to describe how you were feeling at that moment, all that you could say was a quiet and emotionless “Oh.” 

“I could be wrong, sihtric is a good man, he wouldn't do that to you” Lady Gisela says quickly, feeling terrible when she sees the storm of sadness in your eyes, but the emotionless look on your face. She couldn't just not tell you; she couldn't do that to you. But like Gisela said, sihtric is a good man, he wouldn't do that to you, right? Did she see wrong? 

“Are you sure it was him?” You ask her in a weak tone, your eyes begging her to realize that she did see wrong. You don't think you could handle another heartbreak, not like this. You move your hand to your side, finding it hard to breathe with the tight dress and your panicky state. I’m not okay, everything is not okay, I can't do this anymore. 

“Yes…but like i said, i could be wrong” Gisela tells you, but you don't focus on her words, in fact you couldn't really focus on anything. It felt as if you were stuck and everything was moving past you, you were stuck…you were alone. You started to feel overwhelmed and started to breathe heavily as the sounds around you got too loud and the sound of your heartbeat was pounding through your ears. I need to get out of here.  

“I apologize Lady Gisela, I'm not feeling too well, I should retire to my room” You weakly voice out, your eyes averting to the dirt ground they were standing on. You couldn't look at her, you couldn't let her see how hurt you were. I don't want anyone to see me like this. 

“Oh, of course. I hope you feel better” Gisela tells you with a worried smile, she wanted to say more, to have you stay with her, but she just didn't know what to say. She knew you were feeling heartbroken, you needed some space. You don't wait for her to say anything else before you turn around and walk back to the castle, your dress ruffling against your legs as you walk quickly. You averted your eyes from Matthew when you passed him, Matthew was right, sihtric wasn't good for me. 

Every step you took your heart pounded harder in your ears and your heart broke even more. You bring your shaky hand to wipe off a tear that escaped from your watery eyes before anyone could see it. Like Lady Gisela said, she could be wrong about sihtric. 

But it was too late, the doubt had already sunk in. 

You didn't know what to do. You had become so dependent on the thought that sihtric cared for you too, that you were special to him. So, hearing Lady Gisela's words really hurt, in ways you weren't prepared for. Did I really spend these eight months being heartbroken for a guy that didn't even care about me? You think bitterly as you stare down at the bush of flowers. 

You have been in the garden for an hour or so. After you left Gisela you went to your room, and cried in your bed until your cheeks became sore, but you soon felt trapped in your room and with your thoughts. So, you decided to take a visit to the gardens. It was difficult to convince Matthew to let you go on your own, but he reluctantly agreed when he saw your watery eyes. You needed to be alone, in a place you felt comfortable. You had a lot to think about. 

There was a part of you that believed that Lady Gisela simply saw wrong and that he cared about you. But the other part of you knew that he was a man, and you have heard many stories about man and how unfaithful they are. Sihtric wasn't like that, he was different right? He had to be. You were so caught up in your depressing thoughts that you didn't hear the upcoming footsteps, you only noticed that someone joined you, when they sat by your side on the stone bench. 

You wipe your cheeks, making sure there was no evidence of you crying before you looked up at the person sitting next to you. You sniffle and tilt your head to see the side profile of Arthur. He was looking down at the bush of flowers, his hands folded in his lap, and he had an emotionless look on his face. But when he feels your stare, he turns his head to look at you, giving you a small smile. He had noticed your red eyes, but he didn't say anything about it. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Lady Aethelflaed said I would find you here. It's a nice spot” Arthur mused as he looked around the garden, he had seen this place many times, simply just walking past or walking through. He's never really spent any time there, he can see why you like it. He had seen you on the same bench the two of you were sitting on, many times before. He just never had the courage to talk to you, you always looked so content. He didn't want to ruin that. 

“It is very peaceful” You voiced out quietly, taking a deep breath, smelling the many scents of the flowers that surrounded the two of you. It truly was peaceful. You look towards the willow tree that gave the bench you were sitting on, shade. It was a hot evening, but the shade made the weather feel perfect. Arthur watched your side profile, watching as you close your eyes for a second to take another deep breath. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful. 

“I wanted to apologize” Arthur started as he broke the silence. You look away from the willow tree and to him, a confused look on your face. When you see the sincerity in his blue eyes you can't help but feel guilty. You cut him off quickly, before he can say anything else. “You have nothing to apologize for Arthur” 

“I should be the one apologizing, i have done nothing but treat you terribly when all you have done was treat me nicely” You continued, you tone soft and guilty. You couldn't look into his eyes anymore, you felt guilty for the way you treated him. You look down at your lap where your fidgeting hands rested. You clear your throat before you look back up, tilting your head and locking eyes with blue eyes. “I really am sorry Arthur.” 

“I forgive you y/n, and I understand why you did” He nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. How could he be so understanding? So sweet? I wouldn't be if i were him you thought. 

“A person with no sight could see that you aren't happy with this betrothal” Arthur began after he let out a tired sigh. You look down at your lap again, feeling bad. He was right. Arthur continues, his tone kind and promising. 

“I know I am not the person you want to marry, but I promise I will try to be someone you would actually like to be around.” 

“I don't hate you Arthur” You spoke softly, as you shook your head no. His words had comforted you in a way you didn't expect. But your words were true, you didn't hate him. He was kind, understanding, and handsome. You couldn't hate him, you tried to…but you just couldn't. Things would be easier if I did. 

“You just hate the thought of being with me” he says straightforwardly. Arthur watches as your lips part and your eyes soften, he knew he was right. And it hurts. He really wanted you to like him, because he liked you. He barely knew you, but the things he had heard about you, he liked. There was just something about you, your aura. 

“Arthur I-” 

“It's okay y/n, I understand. I really do” he tells you with a nod and fake smile, his tone a lot sadder than he wanted it to. He looked away from you and back to the bush of flowers, beautiful purple violets. He loved violets, he had a feeling you liked them to. 

“Can, can we start over?” You broke the silence with your hopeful tone. You knew that there wasn't a way to stop you and his betrothal, so there was no reason to keep up this stone-cold act anymore. The hope you had was gone, just like sihtric. It's time for me to move on. His eyes widen at your words, and his look of shock turns to a content smile. “I'd like that.” 

“Friends?” Arthur asks you with his charming smile, holding his hand out for you to shake, his eyes not leaving yours. A laugh escapes your lips, and you offer him a smile of your own, shaking his hand. I'd like that.

“Friends” 

note: sadly no sihtric in this part :( but that’s okay, he will be back in the next part! I’m sorry for all the angst but like it was needed 😫

This is definitely not my best writing, but I just wanted to get this out as fast as I could. like I said at the top note, I was really struggling with this part. I rewrote it like 2 times.

The next chapter will be the three year time skip, and just a warning! Reader will be different, it’s been three years a lot will have changed for her, and her relationship with sihtric will also be different. I hope you guys are excited cause I’m lowkey worried about writing the next part (I have no idea what’s going to happen, genuinely)

I really hope you guys enjoyed this part! Please let me know in the comments how you feel! And feel free to send in some asks about the series, I would love to answer them!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!

taglist: @clairacassidy @mads-weasley @haikyusfics @emilyhufflepufftlk @bubblyabs @kitkat1690 @brianochka @solinarimoon

Copyright ©️ 2023, all rights reserved. You can’t copy, translate, reproduce, repost my fic, use my plot or layout.

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom x reader #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric imagine #the last kingdom fanfic #arnas fedaravicius #sihtric the last kingdom #sihtric tlk #sihtric

[icebear4president]

Short angst fic I wrote in an hour!

Characters: Canada and America

Word count: 903

"He never loved me."

Matthew eyed the empty bottles thrown haphazardly across the room, and back again to his brother slumped against the wall. It was an unusual sight to say the least. Alfred didn't get drunk. Or least to the point where he was barely functioning. He had always been the more paranoid of the two, the one who talked about the dangers of letting his guard down.

It was sad in a way, really.

“He likes me, sure," Alfred continued, talking more to himself than anyone else. Matthew wasn't even sure he knew he was there. "Likes who I am, likes the man I turned out to be. Likes the idea of me as a son."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise at that. He thought his brother was talking about a friend, a lover maybe. Not...this.

"I think he liked raising me. I think he liked-" Alfred sighed, banging his head against the wall. "Liked the earlier days, being my big brother, liked how it felt not having to be alone anymore. Having someone to take care of, you know? I think he liked the thought of saving me from the same loneliness he felt or some other bullshit excuse like that."

Alfred nudged a piece of glass on the floor, idly swishing the liquid in his bottle back and forth. "I think he needs me, but I don't think he loves me."

What was the right response to that? 'Sorry you feel like that' or 'Grow up and stop whining about the past'? Both sounded right and horribly wrong at the same time. This was something deeper, deeper than Matthew could possibly understand He wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

Another thing Alfred and Arthur shared that he would never get to be a part of.

As for now, the only thing Matthew could really think was 'holy shit'. He'd always known Arthur hadn't really cared about him, or at least loved him deep enough, in a way that never had to have excuses for it to be known. But he'd thought...he'd thought if Arthur could find it in his heart to ever love anyone, that, well, it would be Alfred.

"But I can't hate him," Alfred said. "I mean, I love him. He's my dad. But he doesn't, doesn't, love me back."

Alfred finally looked up at Matthew, eyes glazed over, but still analyzing Matthew in a way that made him squirm. "Don't think he ever loved me back, but you. I think he loved you at some point. Maybe still does. You're Matthew after all. Sweet, wonderful, perfect Matthew, the golden child," Alfred spat. "Everyone loves you, and they hate me."

And suddenly Matthew's throat was so painfully constricted, he briefly wondered if he swallowed glass. It was unsettling seeing his brother look at him with so much anger, borderline hate. Except that wasn't right, it was Matthew who should be angry, not the other way around. Alfred didn't have that right. Alfred who had everything.

Right?

Ignoring his brother's internal turmoil, Alfred continued his rant no longer paying attention to him. "He loved that damned pedal stool, the one he put me on, show me off to the world as his best creation." Bitter smile hard with empty amusement, he raised a half-empty bottle. "Alfred Kirkland, best damn soldier there ever was."

Matthew wanted to sock him in the jaw, or flat out run away. He did neither.

Alfred tried to take another swig, but his hands didn't seem to want to cooperate with each other, and he fumbled with both hands until he dropped the bottle altogether. It was sad, really, to see him reduced to this.

And Matthew watched, helplessly, as his little brother started to cry.

"I just don't get it, Mattie." Alfred rubbed a hand against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. “Why doesn't he love me? What did I do wrong?"

Alfred was much, much too out of it to care about platitudes, which was a small mercy since Matthew had none to give. So instead, he sat on the floor besides his brother. And before he could even attempt the hesitantly reach out with an awkward one-armed hug, Alfred tipped over and slumped against him, clumsily grabbing at his jacket.

"I love you, Mattie," Alfred muttered into the fabric. "Love you so, so much, and I'm sorry Arthur doesn't love us."

Matthew wrapped his arms around him in what had to be the weakest, shittiest hug ever. He couldn't even remember a time when they'd properly hugged each other. They were more the type to insult each other, hit each other, or maybe awkwardly say they loved each other before conveniently having to leave at the same time.

"Hey," Alfred said, face brightening. "At least you got other people who love you. Got the whole world. Lucky, lucky you." He chuckled. "You're not the only one who wants to switch places."

Matthew choked on a laugh-sob. "Sure, Al, if you say so."

Alfred looked troubled for all of three seconds before he forgot his train of thought completely. "This jacket makes you comfy. Like a comfy leather couch. I'm gonna take a nap and you can't stop me."

"Okay," Matthew said, for lack of a better response.

It was only after he heard his brother's soft breathing that he let himself begin to cry.

#hetalia #hws america #hws canada #na bros #na brothers

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Some HCs - Arthur Kirkland

It seems I am unable to draw anything these days. It's either a bad case of artist block or any slight skill I had in the drawing department has vanished into thin air. Someone send either an ambulance or Francis ( so I can hit him with my car to calm myself down)

Until then here are some hcs for our favourite pater familias:

Arthur has a hard time falling asleep and has constant insomnia episodes. He's used to them by now and doesn't try to force himself to sleep when he realizes he can't. The one thing he can't do during his no-sleep nights is read. He browses the internet, checks out his kids social media updates, and even sends a text to Francis or Gil in the hopes of waking them up and being a general petty menace. He does everything but read books as they strain his eyes.

He might be the grumpy rat we all know, but he is incredible with children. He doesn't talk to them as many people do with children: childish and condescendingly, but like an adult speaking to an equally intelligent human being. Also, Arthur can make up stories on the spot that will intrigue even the most well-read intellectual and equally bring the most unruly child to sleep. His imagination is something he keeps almost completely to himself though. Least someone might find out he is not completely the stoic, stiff upper-lip kind of person he wants to be portrayed as. Though children are the only people that get to experience his creative, imaginative, and story-telling side. His children had quite the bedtime stories. Especially Alfred.

Trash telly is one of his weaknesses. When the work is done, the dishes are washed, and the paperwork is finished, Arthur will most definitely turn on the news and pretend that's what he is interested in on the tv. When in reality he waits a couple of minutes to switch to some Love Island, Geordie Shore, 22 Kids, and Counting, or even Funniest royal Cock-ups.

Arthur doesn't like being in pictures taken by others. Be it not liking how he looks in them or simply not liking when he's not the one in control of taking pictures but he simply hates being in photographs taken by other people. One can imagine this is just a part of Arthur's controlling side coming out.

When it comes to his kids, Arthur is constantly worried. He of course doesn't show it (the beforementioned stiff upper lip kind of attitude) yet when there is real trouble or he can sense something is amiss, he will do his best to drop his indifferent demeanor to help his child as best as he can without being too emotional. He doesn't admit it to anyone and especially not to himself but seeing his kids hurt or unwell is the one biggest fear he has. This feeling in him conflicts with him being a country and having to put his own people and government before anyone else. He is a past empire and empathy doesn't come easy to him. Yet here he is wondering if Matthew ate his lunch after the meeting or if Alfred got into trouble again with his officials over some tweets. As much of an emotionless bastard as he is and as much of a country as he is, he is family oriented and his kids mean the world to him.

While on the topic of his kids, Alfred is the absolute favourite child, the crown prince, and the firstborn son of the family. Al gets some privileges that his siblings do not. Arthur is especially worried and distressed when Al is in trouble or is hurt. More so than any of his other children. There is some jealousy/envy from the rest due to this of course. More on that in Alfred's hcs.

On a lighter note, Arthur lost his car in a shopping mall parking lot almost a dozen times now.

Also, he refuses to get rid of his 2006 silver Renault Clio. He has a newer car but uses it only for business and when driving longer distances. Matthew is worried the old vehicle will die any day now on the road and keeps urging his father to buy a new car.

Arthur is secretly a big fan of Neil Gaiman and his works but keeps that to himself.

He has an instagram account where he posts pictures of his garden, his book choice of the week, and his kids. The beforementioned kids are not happy with the pictures their father chooses to post on his account. Zee has blocked him.

Arthur buys candles all the time. Any smell, any aroma. And just keeps them in a drawer. He saw an ad for candles online once and now it's something he impulse buys at the grocery store.

These days he has the energy of a divorced housewife with an elderly dog

#i cant draw and its killing meeeeee #why art so hard??? youd think after thousands of drawings id know something and be able to draw something well enough to post #but oh nooooo #untill i get back on my feet have some shitty sketches #myart #my art #hetalia headcanons #hetalia #my headcanons #hws england #arthur kirkland

[myrddin-wylt]

having a very entertaining time imagining Arthur bringing Alfred to Europe for the first time. it’s 1617 and King James is struggling to rule two kingdoms who refuse to be unified despite his best efforts. Duncan can be a stubborn bastard, sure, but Arthur is just fucking mean, as well as arrogant and vindictive and generally as unpleasant and combative as possible toward the king and his new arrangement. it gets to the point that, fuck it, when Arthur asks to be allowed to go to the colonies in the new world, the king immediately jumps on the opportunity for a having a little bit of peace and quiet without feeling Arthur’s glare boring holes into his back all the time.

at first, Arthur’s absence is a relief. it’s quiet, more or less. the English are still as uncooperative and murderous as ever, but that wasn’t going to change just because Arthur went on vacation. and then a year passes, and another, and another and still Arthur isn’t back, Parliament is completely unmanageable, James’s court is hated as a pit of corruption, depravity, and murder that will take more than a commissioned Bible to forgive, they always seem to be out of fucking money, and then-

and then Arthur comes back with two things he’s never had before: a baby, and a smile as wide as the horizon.

“the new colony lives,” he reports happily, cradling the sleeping infant against his chest, “despite nature’s best efforts.”

Morgen doesn’t need to be won over - she immediately falls in love with baby Alfred, and Arthur only needs a little convincing to allow her to hold him. Erin and Duncan, on the other hand, aren’t so sure how to feel. it doesn’t help that the moment they approach, Arthur turns from happy and genial to overprotective, paranoid, and angry - he doesn’t even let either of them get close enough to look at the baby, much less hold him, before puffing up like an angry cat, hissing and spitting at them to back the fuck off.

“you’re such a vicious little cur, you know,” Erin complains. “I’m not going to eat him.”

“well,” Arthur growls, “I can’t be sure with you.” (”you’re the one acting like a beast!”)

ah, Duncan realizes, his eyes briefly meeting that of the king’s and a few other courtiers. this is going to go poorly.

#historical hetalia #kirkland family #aph england #hws england #arthur kirkland #hetalia headcanons #hetalia hcs #aph scotland #hws scotland #aph ireland #hws ireland #aph wales #hws wales #british isles siblings #baby alfred #ratman and ratson

[fumblingmusings]

Cardverse Week 2023

@aphcardverse-week

Day Seven: Folklore and Mythology - Fairy tales | Magical

A story of why weeping willows cry at the river's edge. A story about a fallen King and Queen. Teen | USUK | Major Character Death (This one is saaaaaaaaaaaaad)

There once was a prince who deeply loved his betrothed and was deeply loved by his betrothed in turn. They had been promised to each other from a very young age, and grew up knowing only each other for company.

“Arthur!” came Alfred’s loud but far away voice.

Arthur looked up from his book, seeing the young prince running towards him across the soft hill. Arthur was perched underneath the willow tree which swayed gently against the brook. 

He had specifically come out here to recharge his ability to deal with… people, but it seemed Alfred would not be kept from his side for long.

“Careful,” Arthur said as Alfred slipped through the thick grass. “The river is faster and deeper than it appears. Fall in and I cannot pull you out.”

“I’m fine,” Alfred grumbled, collapsing in a heap on Arthur’s lap. He lay there, Arthur holding his heavy book aloft, as if he were much smaller than his age of thirteen. “Whatcha reading?” he asked.

“A book.”

“Har har. What is it about?”

Arthur lowered it, using Alfred’s face as a rest. “Fairy tales.”

“Why am I not surprised,” was Alfred’s squished retort.

Moaning, Arthur slammed the book shut, knocking Alfred’s nose out of joint. He slapped it down into the reeds, the weight of it holding it in place on the bank.

“Why did you come looking for me Alfred?”

“Bored.”

“You’re spoiled.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Arthur began to move away, dodging Alfred’s attempts to tug him down into a kiss. He had just turned a teenager, and had just discovered how good kissing could feel. As a result, he had become something of a pest. All Alfred wanted was Arthur’s attention. It always had been that way, ever since they were small and Arthur had been lifted up to see Alfred’s cradle. To see the boy to whom he had retroactively been engineered for.

If Arthur wanted to begrudge the way his life had been predetermined, if he wanted to hate Alfred for becoming the sole point of his existence, Arthur could not find it in him. Their grandparents and guardians plan had worked, and the fifteen year old could now barely go a day without Alfred prattling in his ear about one of his science lessons.

Alfred did not pay much attention to literature or magic. That was certainly Arthur’s remit, and, if he were to be Queen (which neither boy had any cause to doubt), doubly so. 

Still, Arthur knew there was a time and place for frivolity, so rolled away, shuffling back to the tree's roots.

“Not here.”

Alfred laughed, “But there’s no-one around.”

“That’s not the problem. Not under a willow tree.”

“What’s wrong with a tree?”

Arthur pushed Alfred’s hands away.

“Go away Alfred, I came out here to be left alone.”

“I’ll pull you into the river,” Alfred threatened.

The urge to call Alfred a brat rose. Because he was. A selfish brat. He always got his way and was never told a flat ‘no’. Even the rare occasion where he was usually resulted in Alfred immediately turning to threats. It was cute, initially. Every rejection was positioned simply as an alternative that the Prince had to consent to. Honestly, it sometimes felt as though Arthur was the only one who had the courage to look the Prince in the eye and tell him to piss off.

“I said no Alfred. Go bother Yao.”

He ignored Arthur, going to grab him once more. In no mood for games, Arthur picked up the heavy book and threw it at the Prince’s head. It smacked Alfred right in the temple, and he fell backwards, glasses broken.

He lay there for a moment, quite bamboozled at the direction their interaction had taken. 

“Geez,” he muttered, “point taken.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

Arthur was above him then, carefully closing and setting down the pages of the book to ensure the paper was not crinkled. He then carefully set Alfred’s glasses straight.

The young teenager was smiling, love and dumbstruck.

“I deserved it,” he admitted, for once being humble. He then pouted, mood changeable as ever. “But why the willow tree?”

“It’s for the dead to rest, Alfred. Spirits rest at the river, take the shade of the branches and leaves. You really think they want to see frivolity and love here? Something they will never have again? The dead are jealous, Alfred. They want what they will never have. Sometimes they just want company by the river. What they don’t want is two teenage boys making out on their banks.”

Alfred only became more confused. “I don’t care how many times other people say you can see them, I think you’re making it up.”

“You can think that all you want. So long as you respect it.”

Alfred grumbled. “Can I at least sit with you?”

“If you are quiet and let me read my book, yes. Take a nap.”

“On your lap?”

“Pushing it.”

Alfred rolled up and over, enjoying the breeze and the tickling of the hanging branches on his skin. He listened to the water running by, the warmth and gentle puffs of breath from Arthur next to him, reading his heavy book on fairies.

Maybe he could see the connection to the dead. At that moment, it certainly felt like heaven to the Prince.

When the old King died, his grandson, the Prince, found himself wearing a heavy crown. His betrothed and he were not yet married, as a neighbouring Kingdom thought the time was right to invade, to take advantage of the young King’s inexperience and the fragile nature of the transition of power.

Arthur was waiting by the willow tree. He was dressed incredibly finely, with a waistcoat that pinned his torso tightly, a jacket that was embroidered with such detail that Alfred knew the only one capable of such love was Arthur himself.

“You look lovely,” Alfred said as he approached.

Arthur smiled miserably. “My wedding clothes,” he admitted, nose turning red. “I wanted you to see them before you leave.”

Arthur tapped three times against the King’s breastplate. Not too elaborate, not too showy, no, this was the armour of someone intending to fight, not just sit on their horse and watch from the sidelines. Still far finer than any average soldier however, not to mention the heavy weight of a crown on his head that he wore well. Standing tall, standing straight. So very lovely.

“I’m sorry that we could not have it done before I had to leave, but I have been told you are Queen in all but name.”

“I will keep the ship running until you return. Victorious.”

Alfred nodded, looking more confident than he felt.

“Then you can wear those clothes for real at the cathedral, and I can give you your crown, as it was always meant to be.”

Arthur exhaled, holding his hands out for Alfred to clasp. His bare hands, long fingered and pale, held onto Alfred’s leather gloved palms very tightly.

“Well, if I am your Queen, if I am your husband, let me give you my blessing.”

Alfred looked around. “Under the willow tree.”

“Let the dead bear witness.”

The seriousness of the promise struck Alfred. To swear upon the dead was not an oath taken lightly. Failure to keep it would end in only one path for either party.

Alfred felt no hesitation in accepting the blessing. Even if he did not truly believe in Arthur’s stories, he respected them, as he had always been badgered to.

Slowly, like an old man, Alfred unsheathed his sword, stabbing it down into the soil, went down to one knee, and bent his head in front of Arthur.

“I ask for my Queen’s blessing for the war ahead. I ask for your protection and faithfulness. I ask that you wait for me, until I return, when all things shall be well again.

Arthur's hands were then in Alfred’s hair, carefully removing the crown. Alfred did not look up, but was able to hear over the sound of the river, Arthur kiss the centre emblem, then place the crown carefully, but deftly, back onto the King. His fingers trailed down, over Alfred's cheeks and across, until his own hands curled over the King’s, both of them gripping the sword.

“I freely and openly give you my blessing, the blessing of a Queen of Spades. This oath I swear in front of any who witnesses. Come back to me, my love. Even if not in victory, come back to me.”

Arthur stepped back, and Alfred rose to his feet, sheathing the sword.

“Am I still forbidden to kiss you here? To seal the deal, you know?”

His flippancy was all at once funny and heartbreaking. Arthur laughed, but it was utterly lacking in humour, and instead sounded half like a sob.

“Just once. Just once Alfred.”

To be held by Alfred was to be held as if something precious, something irreplaceable that he would never find again or wish to find elsewhere. Arthur had forever fought the urge to stand on his toes with each kiss from the moment Alfred’s height had overtaken his own, so giddy and full of hot air with each press of his lips.

“This is not goodbye,” Arthur insisted.

Alfred shook his head, agreeing. “No. It’s an ‘until I return home’. Keep the Kingdom safe with Yao until I do.”

Another kiss, then Arthur stepped closer to the river, closer to the whispers of ghosts and the water. Alfred stood at attention, then bowed.

The Queen watched the King leave, and, only upon Alfred disappearing over the hill, ready to climb on his horse and ride to war, did he allow himself to weep.

He could not help but feel like he had already lost Alfred, as if the grieving had already begun. 

And thus the soon to be Queen waited. He did his duty well, kept the nation working as smoothly as it could throughout the war, taking care of the home to ensure there was a Kingdom for his King to return to. He worked long and hard everyday, and each night he waited by the river under the willow tree, listening to the souls that drifted down after each and every battle. “Tell me your news,” the not yet Queen would ask the resting souls, “What of the King?” and every day there would be stories to tell. The King gave a grand speech. The King fought bravely and boldly. The King will not lose hope. So the uncrowned Queen remained at the river, asking each every day for the news that would drive him to despair. 

It was the one hundredth and twelfth night of their separation. Arthur remained under the willow tree, brushed and caressed by its branches. He sat on his knees, watching the water drift by. It was perfectly clear, and perfectly dark. For all that the seasons had changed, the tree had not died for winter. Its leaves clung on, stubborn through the orange autumn and white winter. With each breath creating a cloud of steam, Arthur remained utterly still, simply watching, waiting.

The foam and curling water that rippled over the rocks looked like limbs, faces appearing and gasping for breath, only to be dragged back under. Arthur was right, if you fell in, the spirits who did not quite understand that their time had come, would grasp and drag the living down with them. A drowning creatures panicking and scrambling, as if it ever stood a chance to begin with.

It was not just Spade’s own soldiers that drifted down. Men and women from the invading armies also would appear, screaming that they had been given no choice, that it was not fair.

Arthur watched them impassively. No, it was not fair. 

There was some that curled into inlets, swirling in circles, waiting to be caught by another soul and dragged down the path. Arthur always took the time to speak to them. They, even in death, were in awe. The Queen had come to bless their journey. For that, most were grateful. Some however, spluttered and spat, dampening Arthur’s shoes. He did not rise to the bait, for how would he react, if thrown to his death for a Crown he had never seen?

“Before you leave,” he muttered as always, “have you news of the King?”

You do not know? replied one.

“I trust first hand accounts more than the reports which arrive on my desk daily. They tell me of numbers and provisions and manoeuvres. I wish to know about his person.”

The ghost said more, drifting away. Arthur waited for another, then asked again.

You do not know? said that one.

Arthur’s heart stuttered.

“Know what?”

But the spirit moved on, giving no more of a response.

Frozen amongst the frigid ground, Arthur’s stomach sank deep, deep into the earth itself.

“No,” he muttered. “No, I would have heard. Others would have said. No…”

He waited for yet another ghost to drift by. There had been no surge of the fallen to consult, no great battle for Alfred to fall under. Arthur repeated this fact until it convinced himself to believe it. And yet, when another spirit twisted and turned close to Arthur’s hands, he moved until he was leaning over the bank. Ink darkness swirled below.

“I beg you, as the Queen of Spades, have you heard news of the King? Is he well?”

A face appeared in the water, a young woman, mournful and reluctant, and Arthur knew the answer.

He is dead.

The Queen screamed. The Queen cried. The Queen waited by the river’s edge. Each person who passed had no interest in consoling him, for why would they care? Arthur was alive. They were not. Why should they care of his broken heart?

But still, Arthur did not move. Alfred may yet come by. This was the path that many took. Arthur waited, and waited, and waited, sending away each and every courier sent to retrieve him back to the palace.

Just a bit more time, he asked.

He would not have forever. Soon he would be required. A new King would be sought. Arthur was still Queen, he still had a job to perform. 

A Queen who had never been married, who had never been crowned. Finding a replacement King perhaps was the simplest option.

The thought made Arthur's tears all the more bitter.

Arthur had no desire to rule anymore. He was unable to stop his sobbing, for he could not bring himself to have hope, could not find it in himself to cease his grief. Until finally, one night, the sight which he had simultaneously been dreading, and longing for more than anything, came by.

The King drifted along, and became caught into a rock pool.

“Alfred!” the Queen yelled, standing up and leaning over the bank. He held on tightly to the streaming branches of the willow tree. 

I said I would return to you.

“Your majesty!” cried a voice from over the hill. Arthur did not dare look back, too afraid to take his eyes away from Alfred. The moment he looked away, the King would be lost from him once again. 

“Not like this, no, never like this. I waited so long…”

Arthur, you promised.

Arthur leaned closer over the river, tears joining the icy water as if drifted by. He smiled again, for the first time since Alfred had last kissed him. Suddenly the blessing and oath made so much sense.

“So I did.” 

I think it was always supposed to be this way.

“Arthur come away from the river!” screamed a member of the household. Who, Arthur did not care. He could hear though, more than one set of footsteps approaching. They were coming to drag him away from the King. 

“You came back for me,” Arthur murmured, leaning ever closer. His hands slid down the hanging branches, pulling off leaves as the tension grew tauter. 

You said the dead were jealous. I cannot leave without you.

“Arthur please!” screamed the staff.

An awful calm spread over the Queen. Of course. Such a simple solution. His smile grew broader. 

“Oh my love. You have me. Always have. Let’s leave together, okay?”

Okay.

The Queen let go of the willow’s leaves, and fell into the river.

Crying out, the Jack, Yao, who had been rushing to the Queen’s side as soon as news had reached the capital of the King’s death, collapsed under the tree. He was not quick enough, for the river was deeper and had a far faster current than it appeared. Unable to reach the Queen in time, the court watched, dismayed, as Arthur was dragged under, pulled away from the Kingdom he had sworn to protect.

So consumed with love and grief for the King, and keeping that solemn oath the two had made under the swaying tree so long ago, he had made his choice.

What became of the Kingdom upon the death of its King and Queen was lost to time. The war was won, the land was lost. The tree and river remained as it always had, unchanging, uncaring, drifting and swaying with each season that passed. No more were people allowed to approach. It was forever known as the place where a weeping Queen drowned to follow a murdered King. A place for sorrow, for madness, for a lost love.

Thus ends this tale of why we call the trees that bow over rivers as weeping willows; to recall a clever grieving Queen and the handsome brave King who died far too young.

#hetalia #hws england #hws america #usuk #cardverse week 2023 #cardverse #major character death #:| what a way to end BUT HEYO ENJOY #thank you for hosting what fun!!! #fanfic #op

[aurumacadicus]

Pairing: Justice league competing with each other to win Tony's heart. Who he ends up with is your choice. For example, one or more or just becomes the league's boyfriend. Title: "Love Olympics"

Me: *frantically googles who all is in the Justice League*

This is more the pre-competing than actual competing, but that's mostly because Bruce needs to give each member a shovel talk and there simply isn't enough room for his threats in this.

Love Olympics

Tony Stark was in the Hall of Justice.

Ostensibly it was because Bruce had found evidence of his weapons not only in Gotham, but also in Metropolis. 'Tony will be absolutely insufferable if I don't bring him in on this,' Bruce had said. 'Which would be more annoying than working with him.'

They were pretty sure it was a booty call thing though. When Tony was out of the suit, he was all over Bruce, regardless of when Bruce was out of his own or not (although it was usually not, because Bruce hated being vulnerable, even in the Hall)--sitting in his lap, draped over his shoulders, once Bruce had even sighed and picked him up in a bridal carry because Tony "wanted to smooch." He came limping out of Bruce's bedroom each morning despite the fact that there was a perfectly serviceable guest room, and he'd had a bite mark on his shoulder he was complaining about one day.

"It's nice, you and Tony," Diana told Bruce. She offered Tony a smile. "You work really well together."

"We are not partners," Bruce told her sternly. "Tony is a slut and I'm comfortable with him and that's all."

Diana stared at him, speechless.

"Bruce!" Clark exclaimed, horrified.

"Tony, say something," Bruce said, unconcerned.

Tony blinked tiredly at the group before he took the cup of coffee from Bruce's hand, slurped down half of it, and answered, "I'm easy and Bruce is familiar. And hung," he added, and Barry choked on his scrambled eggs trying to scream in horror. He beamed at the rest of the group. "I'm happy to be the Justice League's bicycle, though!"

"What does that mean, bicycle?" J'onn asked, and then, "Why is Clark turning purple."

"He means everyone can have a ride, J'onn," Bruce said.

"I fucking love how weird you are," Arthur said, honestly delighted. "There's two of you now. I'm so disappointed that Iron Man isn't animal themed though."

"I can put on cat ears in the bedroom if you want," Tony offered, and Arthur threw his head back to laugh.

Diana frowned, looking between he and Bruce again. "But I was so sure..."

"We have a lot of shared experiences that we're simply not going to have with anyone else," Tony explained with a shrug, and Bruce nodded, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "We're comfortable with each other. Which is why I get to do this!" he added cheerfully, punching Bruce in the shoulder.

Bruce leveled him with one short glare before he took a sip of his coffee. "You do it again and I'll throw you out of the Hall."

"I will literally go tattle to Alfred," Tony replied, unafraid.

"Hal is going to be so upset he's missing this," Barry muttered, recovered and tapping on his phone. "Can you punch Bruce again? He'll never believe me."

Bruce leveled Tony with a glare. "I will hit you back."

"You don't pull your punches," Tony muttered petulantly. He took another sip of coffee, then asked, "Is Clark going to be okay?"

"Farm boy morals," Bruce huffed.

"Oh," Tony said, lightly tapping Clark with his foot. "Well, you'll either get used to me or you won't."

Diana finally shook her head, unable to help a smile. "He got used to Bruce, and you're at least friendlier."

"He pretends to be," Bruce allowed. "He's mean in other ways."

"Like tattling to Mr. Pennyworth?" J'onn asked, and Tony laughed.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #fic title meme #ironbat #polydc #kinda

[yorkshire-rockchick]

Please can we know about your OCs, I've seen the odd mention to them in your fics on AO3

Oh, I love my OCs and can say so much about them.

THE PLAYERS;

Harry Winters - Goal keeper who moves up from the academy team at 16. Good frieds with Noah and Drew, boyfriend of Chloe.

Ezekiel Noah Gordon - Goes by Noah because he hates his first name. Came up from the academy. Plays as a right back defender. Good friends with Harry and Drew

Andrew "Drew" Cameron - A Scottish trans player who also went to the AFC Richmond academy. Plays as a striker and looks up to Jamie and Dani. Unofficially adopted by Paul and Tom.

THE FAMILY MEMBERS

Isabella "Izzy" Rosenfeldt - Anders girlfriend, later wife. They've been together since they were 15. You know the woman who hugs Anders at the end of the last episode when Richmond wins? This is her, I just made her interesting. She's half Spanish, half American. Her dad works for the US Government which is how she ended up in London.

Erin Reynolds - Paul Reynolds wife. They met at church and are the only Richmond couple to get married in a church due to both of them having a Catholic upbringing. Erin speaks Irish as a first language and didn't learn English until she was 16 when she decided she wanted to go to law school.

Olivia Catherine "Liv" Reynolds - Paul and Erin's eldest child. Named after her godparents. She is smarter than most children her age, likes hanging out with the team and calls them all her uncles. Based on the line "You told my daughter..." in series 2 when everyone has a go at Jamie

Emily Grace Reynolds -Erin and Paul's youngest daughter. Based on the line "What about sonograms?" when everyone has to delete photos off their phones.

Sophie O'Brien - Tom O'Briens wife. They met when Tom accidentally crashed his car into Sophie's. They get married after 6 months because they both like each other and they think it is a good idea. Sophie has a masters degree in chemistry and teaches at a private all girls school. She eventually gives up her job to focus on her PhD.

Pippa Kukoč (nee Edwards) - Sasha Kukoč's girlfriend, later wife. She is a nursing student who has a placement in the local Accident and Emergency department which means she sees a lot of the Richmond players. She is Jeff Goodmans cousin so he disapproved of her relationship at times.

Elizabeth - the fabulous creation of @orbitalpirate, she is a curvy goddess who is loved by Thierry Zoreaux.

Chloe Morgan - Harry's girlfriend. Knows nothing about football beyond what colours Richmond play in. Grew up in care so had a rough start in life. Rebecca offers her a job working for Richmond as a means to support herself and she loves it.

THE PETS

Spagetti the Corgi - Arlo Dixon's corgi. Occasionally looked after by Olivia Reynolds. Spagetti is a rescue dog, so everyone jokes Arlo is a rescue human after he moved in with Jeff.

Alfred Bumbercatch - Moe's cat. Alfred turned up one day and that was that. He is a Sphynx cat so Moe knits him a lot of jumpers.

Arthur the Rabbit - Tommy Winchester's rabbit. Arthur is spoiled and has free run of the house. Decan claims not to like him, this is a lie. Jamie laughs every time he hears the name.

Marshamallow McAdoo-Bumbercatch - Isaac and Moe's Pomeranian puppy that they get when they get married. Pretends not to like Alfred. Isaac treats her like a princess and it shows at times.

Cleo the cat - Jamie and Colin's maine coon cat. She is stubborn and only likes Jamie and Colin. She has been known to poop in the shoes of people she does not like.

Rocky the horse - Izzy's horse, brought for her by Anders after they found out they couldn't have children. Izzy swaps horse tips with Rebecca after Rebecca also gets a horse.

There are more OCs to be added, both human and pets but they are still in development.

#My OCs #Pets are characters too #You ask #I'll answer

[historia-vitae-magistras]

First and foremost, have you ever considered not killing your audience? One of these days I'm actually going to die from the emotional overload. And then I'm going to have to come back as a zombie to tell you about it. I'm not 100% sure that hasn't happened this time.

"He sucked in air and the wheeze that accompanied it was so horrific Alfred grabbed his shoulders and steered him to a bench as Matthew tried to get his breathe. Air coming in and out rapidly and almost uselessly like Matt was breathing through shredded black smiths billows. Alfred pulled him upright."

Has Matt ever thought that not triggering asthma attacks by ignoring when he needs a rest might be a fun pastime? He should consider it. But jokes aside, this passage really grabbed me - it felt like I went from "Matt being his usual stubborn self" to "holy shit is the baby okay" right along with Alfred. And the imagery - it's so vivid!

“Is that what you think? Fuck you.” Alfred scowled. “You’re such a–” Realization dawned on him and he turned to his brother, grabbing his shoulder again. “You little shit. You’re trying to piss me off so I leave this alone, aren’t you?”

The way you balance worry and amusement is absolutely masterful. You insert so many funny moments - which is 100% realistic - without ever actually dropping the tension.

Also I just really enjoyed Alfred recognizing Matt's tactic and Matt being surprised because he's fallen for it every other time in their lives. I love them so much.

“Will you bite my head off if I offer to make something?” Alfred asked, cautiously toeing off his shoes.

Matt gave a wry sort of look, almost amused. “No.”

“Hallelujah.” Alfred replied, throwing his hands above his head.

“Don’t push it.” Matt said but his face was light.

Again. I adore them. Alfred is often kind of neglectful as a brother, but he does love Matt so much, and Matt will even give in and let himself be taken care of. I just... my heart.

"He still looked like Matt when he was asleep, sweet and still, like the man the cherubic baby Matt should have grown into rather than the wraith that had to shake off their father or the trenches."

I think about here is where I really started dying. The image of who Matt should've been able to be vs. what history has made him, and the equating of Arthur and literal trench warfare as things he needs to shake off - it's true and painful and you always convey such complex things in such few words.

And I feel like there's maybe a touch of unreliable narrator here? Because absolutely, Matt should have been able to grow up gentler and more able to accept affection than he is, but it's not strictly accurate to imply that Arthur's influence and guidance is entirely foreign to his personality. Matt absolutely shaped himself into Arthur's favorite weapon, but I think you've said he also naturally has a number of Arthur's traits. So while he does need to fully shake off what the trenches did to him, and a good chunk of what Arthur demanded of him, he's still going to be more like the limey than Alfred is happy with. But Alfred doesn't entirely believe/doesn't like that, so there's the implication in his mind that "who Matt was supposed to be" is free of Arthur's traits, even though that's not necessarily true.

“Bringing Gilbert’s head back like a fucked up barn cat gave me some leeway.” Matt said, the sly smile on his face fading into something more serious. “But yeah. By the end, by the hundred days, we talked. About what I did. About what he didn’t stop. And I told him to shove it up his ass sometimes. He’s a hypocrite and so am I.”

See, this... I don't know how to feel about this. (Besides love for the writing, obviously.) I feel horrible that Matt had to do such horrible things and live through all of that, and I hate Arthur for putting his kids in those positions. But in a fucked up way I'm glad that it gave them a relationship where Matt can call Arthur out on things? Like, at least it's better than if they did all that and then still didn't talk about anything. It's complicated. I like the relationship development and hate the motivation, I guess.

"Matt was trying to rally himself, push Alfred off and reach for the tea, muttering about how he was fine when there was a loud crack. The windows rattled and suddenly he had his arms full of his brother, shaking like the last maple leaves on the trees, eyes screwed shut and mouthing something in French Alfred couldn’t make out."

Sobbing Matt thinks someone's shooting and his first instinct is to grab Alfred... my heart.

Matt leaned in more, burying his face in Alfred. “You don’t let anything happen to me.”

“Never have, never will.”

This one especially hurt me because it's... not strictly true. Alfred has let stuff happen - has been the bad stuff happening to Matt at times. But he never wants it to be like that. And he means what he's saying even if it's not true, sort of?

And I guess it feels true for Matt too, because despite being in the throes of PTSD his brain is still saying "Alfred's safe, trust Alfred." I just... I'm sobbing.

“No.” He burrowed against Alfred more tightly, like he was four, barely spoke English and it was a cold morning he didn’t feel like greeting just yet. He’d always had a streak of stubbornness.

Matt rolled over towards him, hugging his side, demanding warmth and making a contented sound when Alfred let him with a snort. “You always were a snuggly baby.”

The juxtaposition of Alfred remembering baby Matt and noting the mannerisms that have persisted vs. Matt as an adult trying to recover from being essentially the perfect soldier is... I need to lie down. It's so soft and so devastating at the same time.

I know I say this every time, but it's because it's true - I love your work so much. You balance all these factors and tie all these threads together so expertly, it's stunning.

The inhuman sounds of joy make when I read one of your comments 😭😭 thank you so much.

#the ask box || probis pateo #why i write #naxos

[sparklingbluerose]

Allied Forces x Reader

"Surrounded by all those whom she had loved the most,

They felt the same and took care of her with no cost."

A/N: STAN HETALIA IT CURES ILLNESSES.

☆

TW: Slight Smut At The End, Cursing, Badass Reader

Fem! (Y/N) 《Other Genders Will Also Be Made》

☆

"YOU MOLDY FROG! WHAT DID YOU?!"

...

Hehe..moldy– ahem.

Anyways, it was a normal day at the house of our (Y/N), 'normal' meaning chaos and complete destruction. But you had been rich enough to pay for damages at least. I hope you are...

"Guys, c-calm down." You sigh, with another attempt to stop them from running around and ruining the house.

The attempt as you can see...was in vain.

Rolling your eyes, you gave a big sigh. Since when and why were you born as a goddamn human feline...ah yes– i haven't told you about you yet. Well, you see..you are what they call a neko. Somewhat human with animal features like cat ears and a tail.

The same applies for the six extra mouths you feed as well which you are well annoyed with. This was sooo bullshit man...your eyebrow twitches, ready to kill them.

"One." You count out loud, making sure to give them the counting as a warning sign to stop running. It was a getting out of hand, and you were ready to beat their asses for it.

Arthur and Matthew clearly heared your voice, and immediately turns to you with wide eyes. "Guys! Stop it!" Matthew hisses.

"..Two." Your voice calls out. Holy shit, since when were you even this intimidating? In a calm manner, Ivan just smiles and forcibly makes Alfred stop moving around.

Lips twitching into a big smile, you look like a psychopathic chesire cat ready for blood. Oh...oh no.

Matthew clasps his hands in a praying position, just muttering some sort of prayer. So this is when it gets serious, huh.

"THREE." In a swift notion you immediately pulled Alfred and Francis by their ears, earning a cry from both as you pin them to the floor with the scariest face you could ever make...

"D-Dudette! We could l-like! Talk about this..righ-right!?" With a sweatdrop, the American attempts to wiggle out of your grasp.

Oh, but it wasn't working..."I suggest that you..maybe apologize like the good kitties you guys are and i'll let you off the hook..?" You make an eerie smile, suggesting ever so calmly.

You were being scary again! Nobody liked that. Of course well, there was no escape to the wrath of neko (Y/N) once you hit her final nerve...apparently. It was all fun and games..

..Though that all ended when your breath hitched, smelling an all too familiar scent, eyes widened as well as everyone else.

"..The fuck–" You stood up, looking down at the two with very furrowed eyebrows and a confused reaction. You were keepjng track of the schedule...you knew it wasn't today, right?

Nope, you were sure. You double checked the calender on the wall and confirmed. Their heat was somehow starting today..

"Wow, so much for my apology." You huff in annoyance, ears flattening before you look around for the cabinet.

"H-Here, love." Arthur obediently gives you the heat control kit and you take it from him with a thankful smile. Now, it wasn't a big problem, now you just...

Ah, nevermind. This'll be hell. "(Y-Y/N)!" Alfred stutters, eyes cascading over your body and you almost choke from how..submissive he was being. You haven't lived with them more than 7 months yet, so they haven't had their heat much but–

Holy shit were you seeing this right? Did you really just feel this victorious over some stuttering and pleads? Oh, my...you wouldn't forget this day for as long as you lived!

"Hmph.." A bit of pink tints your cheeks, and you take out the heat control pills needed for their problems.

This'll last for a week, but you've had your experience. Yours was a lot later than them, so basically you'd have yours next month.

'Calm down. Give the pills, just shove it down their throat and run away like an ugly bitch seeing their boyfriend with another girl she hated– wait what?' You stop in your tracks, holding in your hysterical laughter.

"Okay, okay.." You give a long inhale, and kneel down to the boys in need but...

...

You were pinned.

...

Shit.

"Uh?– Alfred...guys?" Now you felt so inferior, under the warm arms of the animallistic male. His ocean blue eyes were beautiful to stare at, you agreed. But was now the fucking time?

You shake your head, and gasped when you felt...ah, no..there wss definitely something poking you in the thigh!

"S-Sorry aru, it seems like it's starting again." Yao breathes out, the six unable contain themselves to just feel the certain warmth of another person. Anything— that would be fine.

Your eyebrows furrow. "If it's starting, get off me and ask each other to fix it!" You exclaim, not taking this very well yourself.

Though, the attempt didn't last so long, as you felt it growing and the whimpering sounds of the males that you once lived your life with– all being so damn clingy because of this heat...

Gah! You slapped yourself straight in the face, eyes looking at the pitiful sight. Well, you'll be damned..

"I'll help okay– just stop squeezing me before i pass out!" You bonk Alfred on the head, and he reluctantly lets you go. Well, there was really no other choice in the matter. If this was the way out for you then so be it!

"Now.." You mutter, with a hesitant sigh and frown upon them. You could only remember the last time you were being so hazy and out of breath..maybe the sound of pleasurable mewling?~

(HOLY CRAP I'M SORRY I CAN'T DO LEMONS I AM TOO MUCH EMBARRASSED FOR THAT ToT)

Taglist: @stygianoir

#hetalia #smut #fanfic #x reader #cat boy #cat girl #why do i do this to myself #lol

[charlotte--kensington]

Oh, look, a Christmas fic in January... Let's act like I was punctual for once in my life.

For four years now Arthur has fallen victim to the recurring trend of his neighbour's overzealous decorating. Year after year the amount of lights and decorations grows, and year after year Arthur cannot help but compete.

This is the story of the year they went overboard.

---

This fic is NSFW near the end, but mostly fluff and humour. You'll see.

---

Snow fell silently onto the roofs of the duplexes that seamed Holyoake Road.

Within a matter of hours the city of Oxford had turned from a sombre, rainy town in Britain into a winter wonderland. Each and every surface was coated in a thick blanket of snow, and though whatever had been on the streets had already begun to turn into nothing but brown sludge, anything out of reach of kids or cars had remained a pristine blanket of fluffy white.

It almost felt like the snow alone had made the world slow down and become calmer, not just because people drove more carefully. Given that they were already past the first advent, it did not surprise Arthur, yet he enjoyed the soft atmosphere of it all.

Almost all of Oxford had become quiet like this. Most students had returned home for the holidays, some earlier, some later. The few that had remained spent their time either holed up in their dorms or apartments with blankets and warm thoughts, or in the campus library as they prepared for their last exams of the year.

Personally, Arthur was part of neither group. He didn't have the option of going home, at least he didn't unless he planned on wasting the train fare and spending his Christmas all alone in his family home. With all four sons spread out across the UK, Mr and Mrs Kirkland had taken the chance to spend December on their first couple's vacation in 30 years - the first time since Arthur's oldest brother, Alistor, had been born.

As for exams, Arthur, being done with his degree by several years, didn't have to worry about that. Not even work required any special effort of him these days. There wasn't much of anything left for him to do, leaving him not only calm for the holidays, but also bored out of his mind.

The presents for his family were currently distributed between Amazon fulfilment centres all over the country, just waiting to be delivered to him only to then be sent away once more. He'd made Christmas cookies, prepared whatever ingredients he already knew he'd need for his Christmas dinner, he'd even gone as far as to develop his annual hatred for Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey a week early. And thus all that was truly left for him to do in preparation for Christmas was the one holiday activity he loathed with all his heart.

Decorating.

Now, no matter how his hatred for certain annually returning artists and all things decorating might make it seem, Arthur did by no means dislike the holidays themselves. Fine, he was the proud owner of a Grinch pullover and he had been compared to the character on numerous occasions, but at the end of the day he loved it as much as anyone. No, it was just the decorating that he despised.

He hated hanging up the lights out in the cold, fiddling with knotted cables as his fingers slowly but surely turned into popsicles. Hated poking himself on holly leaves and other needlessly prickly evergreens in the process of making a wreath for his front door, all because the ones at the store were either too expensive or too flashy for his taste.

The thing Arthur Kirkland hated most of all about decorating, however, was not his electricity bill, the flashiness of it all or even the various cuts all over his hands in the aftermath. No, it was a man - Alfred F. Jones.

Jones inhabited the other half of the duplex Arthur lived in. It should have been simple, a good neighbour relationship, some small-talk across the stupid little fence between their halves of the tiny spot of grass that had been advertised as a garden, and perhaps even sharing recipes for Christmas cookies.

It wasn't simple, though.

Jones, who'd moved to England for reasons unbeknownst to his neighbour, was not only the personification of the stereotypical loudmouthed American, he also loved Christmas decorations with all his heart. And so, the exact same way it had been for the four years they'd spent living in this arrangement, on the first of December he'd pulled out box upon box of lights, inflatables, garlands, wreaths, anything and everything that was even vaguely related to Christmas.

And just like every year since Jones had first moved here four years ago, Arthur had put his hatred for all things tacky and decoration-y aside and decided that, no matter the popsicle fingers and bandaid usage, he couldn't let Jones succeed in making Arthur's half of the duplex seem unfestive, not to mention making the rest of the street think neither of them had class in decorating.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 4 - Second Advent

They were only four days into December and Jones was already in full Christmas mode. It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas was blasting from speakers that Arthur would have paid millions to locate, just so he could throw them out of the nearest window. Three more weeks until Christmas, and already Arthur's chronic hate for the voice of a certain Canadian four-time Grammy-winner had resurfaced.

Cheerful, off-key whistling sounded from outside, no matter the fact it was 7 am on a Sunday. Through bleary eyes and half-closed curtains Arthur looked outside, only to find Jones busily hanging all sorts of rainbow lights of the poor shrubbery on his half of the garden. Tiredness be damned, it took Arthur all of four minutes to get dressed and grab his own crate of holiday lights.

Outside he was awaited by frosty air, a grey sky and a neighbour that might as well have been a paid actor to advertise for some string-light company. Arthur had misjudged the amount of work Jones had already done: not only his shrubs but also the wall of his half of the house as well as the fence were decorated with all sorts of lights; a net across the wall, a garland at the edge of the small awning over the door, small light-arches all along the edge of his garden.

"Mornin', Kirkland!" he called. "Finally made it out to decorate? I gotta say, your half's gonna look like the home of the Grinch if you don't do something!"

Arthur didn't reply, simply returned a muttered, "Morning," as he pulled on the end of the first string of lights he could reach. Curse Jones and his stupid, over the top decorations, his loudness, his music, his everything. With furrowed brows and both hands in a huge, tangled ball of cables and lights he glanced out from beneath his messy bangs.

His neighbour was currently bent over some small reindeer figurine, fiddling with cables and antlers and whatever else got in his way. It was almost involuntarily that Arthur let his gaze wander across the other's body - entirely Jones' fault too, how dare he bend over and stick his ass out in Arthur's direction. Clad in only one of what had been proven to be a full collection of ugly Christmas sweaters (this one saying "It's the most wonderful time for a beer") Jones looked like the perfect fusion of a holiday card and a frat boy.

"Need some help back there, Arthur?" he asked at that moment. "I know getting festive is hard for you, considering how much of a Scrooge you are!"

Arthur grit his teeth and tried to keep from replying. If he just ignored Jones and concentrated on his decorations instead, the other might stop bothering him. If he was Scrooge, Jones must have been the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, for he was clearly showing Arthur how he'd suffer for the next 3 weeks.

"Lest you forget, Ebenezer Scrooge is just as festive as anybody else after the arrival of the three ghosts," Arthur retorted. "Then again, Americans aren't exactly known for their literacy, are they?"

The words passed his lips before he could stop himself, and with a small curse Arthur tugged on what had to be the end of a third string of lights, given how he was already holding the ends of two different ones. He knew it was stupid to get into this with Jones, simply because the other was as stubborn as he was prideful as he was loud.

"Pff, so you're telling me all I have to do to get you to be likeable is keep you up all night?" Jones gave him a bright grin and wiggling eyebrows, and as though his violation of Dickens' novel had not been bad enough, the fact that he had somehow managed to turn it into an atrocious pick-up line was somehow far worse.

"I- Uh! I'm gay!" Arthur blurted out, and even Bublé shut up. Mostly because the song was over, but probably also because of how sudden a confession that had been.

Arthur's cheeks were about as red as the stripes on a candy cane, and as George Michael took up the place that had opened up in the absence of Michael Bublé, Arthur decided he'd have to become a hermit somewhere in Antarctica.

Not only could his words not have been any further from the matter at hand - how his sexuality related to Dickens, he'd never know - but also he had just proclaimed his gayness to Alfred Jones of all people.

Jones burst into bright, bell-like laughter, but perhaps that was just the Christmas mood speaking from Arthur's brain.

With a frown Arthur returned his attention to the bundle of cables and small lightbulbs before him, somehow producing yet another end, but still not one string of detangled fairy lights. Had he packed those damn things by cutting them up?

Alfred turned around to face Arthur - a pity, really, his ass had been a welcome view considering how annoying that mouth of his was - and looked at him with a raised brow. "Trust me dude, I know. You're wearing skinny jeans, eyeliner and black nail polish. I know."

"You're confusing punk and gay, Jones," he commented wryly, before focusing on the stupid lights once more. Finally, he produced the end of the first string. With a steady hand and attention to detail, Arthur began wrapping the string all around the two pillars seaming his entryway, making sure the lights were both evenly spaced and well-fixed to the columns.

After about fifteen more minutes of various Christmas songs and even more sleigh bells, Arthur's entryway had begun looking at least partially festive. The only thing missing was the evergreen garland to go around the top and hide any cable mess he might have left behind. He glanced over at the neighbouring garden, coming to find Alfred had placed not one or two, but eleven more reindeer next to and behind the first one.

Of course. In true Jones fashion he wasn't just putting up a single one, but a whole sleigh setup.

"What, jealous of my reindeer, Kirkland?" Alfred asked with a grin, as he connected the individual figures with smaller cables. "I can give you a carrot, too."

"I'm not jealous of anything," Arthur retorted, not even addressing the "joke". Great. All of twenty minutes had passed, and already Jones was belittling him for his sexuality. "And even if I was, it sure as hell wouldn't be some tacky reindeer decorations."

"Oh, you're totally jealous."

Arthur let out a small huff and turned back to his garland, pulling out a small roll of twine. With the plastic greenery looped over his shoulder and the twine in his right hand, he began cutting off small pieces of string, careful to leave them long enough to fix the stupid garland. This would have been easier with a helping hand or two, but not only did Arthur live alone, he'd also rather fall off the chair he was standing on than ask Jones for help.

With the power of spite and a general disdain towards appearing weak, especially in front of Jones, Arthur made it eventually. The garland hung from perfectly spaced hooks in small arcs, little lamps glowing amongst its faux foliage. As it was, only the entrance to his half of the duplex was decorated, not the entirety of the garden and house.

Arthur would yet have to prepare the wreath for his front door, not to mention the various decorations for his windows and front lawn, but at least he'd gotten part of the work done, without injury no less. On the other half of the property, however, it appeared as though Santa Claus himself had thrown up all over the garden.

A small sleigh complete with twelve reindeer and a Santa sat diagonally across the lawn, multicoloured fairy lights wrapped all around shrubs and trees and whatever else Jones had been able to reach. A net of lights hung all along his wall, each and every square inch of surface was adorned with lights and glitter.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His neighbour asked at that moment. "I just can't wait for the other stuff to arrive, this is going to be so cool!"

"The... The other stuff?"

Jones turned to face him, gleaming just as much as his garden. It looked as though he had tried to put up landing lights for Santa - too bad the old man's parking spot was already occupied by the glowing sleigh. At this rate he'd only need to elongate his driveway a little more and he could put Heathrow Airport out of business.

"Of course! Did you seriously think I was done?"

Did Arthur think that? No. Had he hoped? Yes.

Jones began counting on his fingers as he listed off what was apparently missing, as Arthur struggled to imagine even one of the decorations finding a free spot on the lawn. "I'm still waiting for the inflatable Santa, the Santa for the window, the glowing ladder, the third Santa, the 6-foot candy canes, and about 100 more feet of lights! Oh, wait, I forgot about the-"

Arthur slowly tuned out as his mind was instead occupied by the entirely horrific picture of what the house would look like once Jones was done decorating his half. And as Bing Crosby sang about a white Christmas, he began silently making a list of what he'd have to buy by next weekend.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 11 - Third Advent

The packages had arrived on time, in both halves of Holyoake Road number 32. The morning of the third out of four advent Sundays began the same way the last had: a Christmas playlist in 32B, a cheerful neighbour, and Arthur almost falling out of his bed to the blared tunes of Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.

With a rather un-Christmas-like wish to commit homicide, Arthur crawled out of bed and, after a quick wash, began gathering what decorations had amassed over the past week. A whole Saturday's worth of work still sat on his kitchen table - a wreath of holly and noble fir, yet another amazingly prickly evergreen, as Arthur had come to discover.

Hands still covered in bandaids (at least he wouldn't need gloves this week), he tore his coat off the hook on the door and exchanged loafers for some worn out winter boots that had seen better days. Twelve packages and another wave of curses later, Arthur was outside in the biting cold, already regretting his decision of not putting on gloves.

"Hey neighbour! Finally dropped out of bed?"

Jones was already at work, not that Arthur hadn't known that before. The sleigh and reindeer had been joined by a snowman at the centre of what little lawn the suburban home offered. Against what Alfred had previously promised, the snowman was not a product of plastic and air pump, but rather real snow, as attested by the thick covering of white powder snow sticking to Jones' gloves.

"Ain't little Frosty over here amazing? He's almost as cold and grumpy as you!" Jones exclaimed with another wave of bright laughter, only countered with an eye roll from Arthur.

"Little Frosty" was only about fifteen centimetres shorter than Arthur, which was to say he was just under 160 cm tall. The snowman was huge, and the thought of how long it must have taken and, by extension, how early Jones must have gotten up to make it, was horrifying.

"At least he's silent," Arthur retorted as he hung the greenery-turned-murder-instrument from his door. "Can't say that about you."

"Well, he's also not as much of a party-pooper as you, so that's a plus! And he can glow!"

"I... What?"

There was some rummaging and the sound of what had to be Jones digging through some snow, then the other man produced a small remote with a cheerful, “A-Ha!” and yet another one of those one thousand megawatt smiles. With furrowed brows Arthur watched on as Jones pressed a button on the remote and the snowman came to life.

Well, not literally, but all of a sudden the body of the snow-giant began glowing in bright red and green, pulsing to the rhythm of the current song - Jingle Bell Rock. He didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified that Jones had taken such amounts of effort onto himself, all for a craft that would quite literally melt away. In the end Arthur decided on a mix of the two.

"Isn't he cool?" Jones beamed.

Arthur stifled a groan before replying, "That's the way snow is, Alfred. He's cool by definition."

Jones didn't reply and instead picked up what Arthur recognised as a super-sized candy cane only far too late. He hadn't been joking the week before, the damn thing truly was six feet tall. The fact alone that half of his neighbour's decorations were either as tall or taller than him horrified Arthur more than he'd like to admit. Was this how all Americans behaved?

As Arthur busied himself with the strings of lights for the conifer on his front lawn, carefully wrapping the thin cables all around the tree, he watched on from the corner of his eye how Jones put up cane after cane. The sound of his rubber mallet echoed through the street, and Arthur was somewhat impressed that he actually stuck to the beat of the song as he hammered each cane down into the thick blanket of snow.

"Dude, you totally missed a spot!"

The call came from much closer than he'd have liked, and when Arthur turned to see what Jones was talking about now, he found his neighbour leaning on the low fence separating their gardens.

"Are you going to explain where, or is that about as helpful as you're going to be?" Arthur asked, caught by surprise when Jones simply leapt across the fence and came to stand beside him at the bottom of the tree.

He pointed at some area vaguely to Arthur's right. "Over here, look! There's no lights there at all!"

Arthur leant over slightly on his step stool, stretching to reach the area Jones was pointing at. He saw it now, too, but somehow he couldn't quite reach it. With renewed effort he stretched some more as he tried to get the string of lights around one of the empty branches, but he was always a couple of inches short.

That was the moment it went south. Jones reached for the cable that Arthur was still holding on to and simply pulled it over some more. He did get the job done and got lights onto the barren part of the tree, but he also succeeded in making Arthur lose his balance.

With a small yelp Arthur slipped off the edge of his stool, and with his hands still clenched around the fairy lights, he tumbled onto the ground. Or well, he would have, if not for something warm, squishy, and groaning beneath him.

He'd landed right on top of Jones. Lord have mercy.

Arthur struggled to push himself up, however, both because of the arm that had been slung protectively around his waist and because of the way the lights had managed to wrap around them. He'd always thought that was just a trope in Hallmark Christmas movies, but apparently Arthur was just as able as the busy businesswoman coming home to her small town for the holidays. Lucky him.

"Damn, are you ok?" Alfred groaned from somewhere far too close to him. When Arthur finally opened his eyes, which he didn't know he'd clenched shut in the first place, he came to discover just how close they were.

He could have counted Jones' eyelashes, if he felt like it, and even without doing that Arthur was close enough to smell the soft scent of chocolate, peppermint and coffee that surrounded him. As if he hadn't been able to be any more clichéd.

Arthur was probably bright red, but between the cables and Alfred's arm there was little to no room for him to escape. "I, uh... Yes. Are you alright?"

"With you in my arms? Always."

Jones gave him a saucy wink, and though Arthur had to admit he was actually surprisingly comfortable like this (with the thick jacket to cushion him even his neighbour could make for a nice pillow), that single comment was enough to make him renew his efforts to escape their entanglement.

"Stop it," he complained, one arm twisted behind himself in an attempt to undo whatever knot they'd managed to get into the string of lights upon falling. Just like Jones' discovery of the remote before, his success was accompanied by a small, “A-Ha!”

Arthur was quick to jump off of Jones after that, eager to escape his hold. At least the cold gave him plausible deniability as for the bright red flush of his cheeks. "Thank you," he muttered, then he returned his attention to the string of lights, newly tangled and most definitely plotting to make his life worse.

With a chuckle Jones swung a leg back over the fence and returned to his half of the property and the half-erected candy canes. "Well, happy to help! Can't have your tree looking as one-sided as British cuisine, can I?"

"Pretty sure an American shouldn't comment about cuisine, considering you don't have any of your own," Arthur commented wryly. Right back to the usual business, good. Just don’t address what happened just now... "Unless diabetes counts as cuisine now?"

Alfred laughed, but didn't reply.

Arthur was still wrapping the cables-turned-matchmaker/murder-weapon around the rows of branches, careful to weave them so they'd withstand the wind, when Jones pulled out what had to be the twentieth string of fairy lights in his garden alone. In his mind Arthur thanked the Lord that this wasn't his electricity bill to pay.

A new box, a new string of lights, a new decoration, a new power strip.

"Do you just live like the Amish all year so you can afford your electricity bill in December, Jones?" he asked as he hung the first of all too many light brown baubles onto the tree. "Or is there government funding from the American embassy specifically for shenanigans like this?"

He glanced over to the other half of the property, absentmindedly noticing how ten human-sized candy canes now seamed the small path leading up to Jones' porch and front door. Two of the striped pillars were already wrapped in lights, the rest of the string still in his neighbour's hands.

"Man, I wish!" he laughed. "But don't worry, just living as old-timey as you is enough to keep my bills low."

Arthur's expression darkened, but he kept silent as he went on hanging ornaments on the branches of his tree. He remained that way, minding his business in an attempt at ignoring the Christmas faire that was his neighbour's lawn and house, but when Jones opened the last of the packages on his porch - most definitely large enough to fit Arthur - any attempts at goodwill ended.

"You cannot seriously plan to put that up," he said.

"Of course I can, dummy! Why else would I buy it?"

Alfred was as cheerful and innocent as he was grating Arthur's nerves, and for a second the Brit found himself contemplating whether he should just throw down his baubles and pick up snowballs instead. Perhaps some snow to the face would wake Jones up to how obnoxiously flashy and tasteless his half of the duplex looked.

In the end he didn't, but instead watched on in a state of powerlessness as Alfred Jones, menace to polite society and American extraordinaire, pulled a life-sized Santa, complete with a string-ladder and a huge sack of gifts, out of the package.

"You cannot be serious," he repeated, but Jones had already set up a ladder at the edge of his roof.

Three years of this, and each year he was horrified anew by the sheer amount of time and money Alfred was willing to spend on his Christmas decoration. Less than ten percent of the year, and yet he did enough to compete in some entirely unnecessary and likely American-dominated championship over the worst, most over-the-top decorations.

Arthur did not stick around to wait until he had fixed Santa, including his rope ladder, to his roof. Jesus had been crucified just before Easter, he did not need to watch Santa being hanged on Christmas.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 18 - Fourth Advent

The fourth advent had proven to be a deviation from the norm Alfred Frighteningly-Festive Jones had established over the past two weeks. Unlike the weekends before, he had not started his routine of decoration, Christmas playlist and bafflingly cheery attitude until late in the afternoon.

Arthur knew the reason for that too - considering how loud his neighbour's Christmas party the night before had been, it wouldn't surprise him if Jones had spent his morning and noon both cleaning and dealing with a splitting headache. He might have felt pity, had his head not also been screaming at him - going by the half empty bottle of scotch on his dining room table Arthur had made an attempt at helping himself fall asleep.

As it was, Bing Crosby only began singing at half past 5, in the light of Christmas decorations as the sun had already gone down - how Arthur hated winter. Headache be damned, he was not ready to give in to the fact he'd had to accustom to every year before this - that Jones had decorated his house more and that, no matter Arthur's classier decorations, the duplex still looked like a mess because of that fact.

Regardless, Arthur still gathered the last of his own decorations. Whether it truly made sense to put up decorations one week before Christmas, well, perhaps not, but he'd be damned if Jones outdid him. He might have done so already, but nonetheless Arthur was more than reluctant to give up. And so he left his part of the house once more, armed with gloves, the last 30 feet of fairy lights, and some small glowing arches to seam his own pathway.

Outside he was welcomed the same way as each of the past weeks. "Hey Arthur, welcome to the land of the living! And here I thought you'd slept in last week, damn!"

He didn't reply and instead crouched down right by his front door, getting out the first of the arches. They were small, and even now Arthur could envision himself kneeling here some time past nine, still hammering in the decorations. The influence Jones had over his actions was equally scary and annoying to Arthur.

Nonetheless he went to work, switching back and forth between red and green arches to place them in an alternating pattern. Whether that was just his own view of things or not, to Arthur it still looked more discreet and tasteful than the rainbow madness that was going on in 32B.

"So, tell me, Jones," he began eventually, figuring that after all the comments his neighbour had made about him in the past weeks, he owed Arthur one. "When are you going to put up the flashing lights warnings? At this point I wouldn't be surprised if your house gave somebody a seizure."

"Depends!" the chipper reply sounded from beyond the fence, where Jones was currently setting up a pile of glowing gifts next to the sleigh from two weeks before. "When are you going to set up the "No fun allowed" sign in front of your house? Wouldn't want your Grinch-complex to ruin too many people's moods, right?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and proceeded to add arch after arch to the melody of Little Saint Nick. Whoever had decided that the Beach Boys of all people should make a Christmas song had not only held too much power, but had also been wrong.

After the lights disaster from the week before, things went surprisingly smoothly this time around. Arthur was reluctant to admit that he still felt the weight of Alfred's arm wrapped around him, if he thought about that moment, but other than that it was almost as if he'd never fallen off that damn stool. A small jab here, a witty remark there, all was back to normal. All was good.

Until Alfred pulled it out.

"It" was a large package, as had been every other thing Jones had pulled out into his garden on the past Sundays. Arthur tried acting as though he was focussing on his own decorations, as he instead watched on in something akin to fear what Jones had ordered this time.

He saw red. Something large and red slowly but surely surfaced from amidst packing peanuts and cardboard, here a bit of white and there a bit of black. Arthur stared from behind the fence, not that Jones would have been able to tell, considering the amount of plastic he was holding.

There was some rummaging, the sound of what had to be the ninetieth plug Alfred had pushed into one or the other socket this month. Once more Arthur wondered just how high his neighbour's electric bill had to be. The sound of a switch, then the roar of a pump.

Oh Lord. Of course. Inflatables.

Thinking nothing more of it, Arthur went back to work by the shine of both of their decorations. One thing he had to admit, Alfred's half of the premise was brighter. Then again, unlike Arthur's side it flickered the entire time as each and every part of the garden flashed or changed colours, one bright, bothersome sludge of rainbow colours.

It was completely dark by the time Arthur had set up the last of his arches. With a small sense of pride he watched the decorations flicker to life upon plugging them in. By now Arthur was shivering. The winter cold had slowly seeped into him from the bottom up, starting at his feet and crawling up until he felt like a living popsicle. And he would have called it a night, he really would.

Had it not been for a certain something to his right, namely a more than life-sized Santa-inflatable. Arthur froze, not because of the cold, but simply because there was no way. He couldn't be serious. No. This was it.

Arthur had endured the sleigh, the candy canes, the window decorations, the miles upon miles of fairy lights, the Santa on the roof, hell, he'd endured Frosty, but this... This was too much.

"You can't... You can't seriously mean to put that up." He struggled finding the words as he stared up, emphasis on up, at the inflatable Father Christmas.

"Of course I can! Why else would I have bought it? It can even play Christmas songs, wait, I'll plug it in-"

"Don't. You. Dare."

Just three words, and yet Arthur swore he caught a challenging glint in Alfred's eyes from across the fence. He stepped a little closer, arms folded across his chest.

"What are you gonna do about it, Mr. Scrooge?" Alfred asked with a grin, plug already in hand. "All it takes is one little push and it'll be done!"

Arthur didn't even think, he simply leapt over the low fence between their gardens. Before he knew what he was doing, he was next to Jones, one hand reaching for the cable of that stupid monument to American hyperbole and hubris, the other clenched into a fist. He darted forward in an attempt to get a hold of the cord. "I swear to God, Jones, I'll-"

Before Arthur could finish that sentence or reach the cable, Alfred dodged to the side. While Arthur stumbled and fell into a pile of snow, he spun around with a smirk. "Well? What're you gonna do, Kirkland?"

Arthur growled, bare hands digging into snow as he pushed himself off the ground to lunge at Jones once more with a hoarse yell. They both fell, limbs tangled as they rolled across frozen ground in the battle for the cable. Arthur found himself clawing at whatever he could reach, clothes, hair, anything, hoping he'd somehow get a hold of the cord.

He was doing his best to pin Jones down, but even with all of Arthur's weight on top of him, Alfred began moving once more, dragging himself towards the closest power strip. With a stifled yell Arthur tried once more, finally catching Jones' leg and yanking him back with a harsh pull.

Alfred fell into the snow face first, sputtering and spitting out snow when he resurfaced at last. He was covered in snow from head to toe in much the same way Arthur was.

"It's over, Kirkland!" he exclaimed, and only then did Arthur recognise the power strip in his hand. With a triumphant grin Jones presented the multi socket. "I won!" Alfred yelled with an almost maniacal grin when pushed in the plug, laughing to himself as hundreds of lights flickered to life all at once.

Arthur could only watch on powerlessly as the inflatable came to life, a single glowing spot at the centre of a small front yard in Oxford.

Between the music, the air pump and Jones' laughter, he almost missed it. A brief burst of sorts, a single sound and all of a sudden everything was gone.

Nat King Cole fell mute, the candy canes lost their lustre. The noise from the air pump was gone, the sleigh on the lawn was dark once more. The music, the light, the noise, all was gone. All of a sudden, there was nothing but the dark, quiet cold of winter.

"What... What just happened..?"

Deep down, Arthur wanted to scream. Of course, of course Jones' festive frenzy had resulted in nothing but trouble. In the absence of motion he could feel the cold seep into his skin and bones, burrowing deeper and deeper in his body until he felt like he was about to freeze to death. He was wet and covered in snow all over.

"What do you think just happened?" Arthur snapped, struggling to contain the urge to yell at Jones. "You blew a fuse. We don't have power."

After a brief moment of silence Jones seemed to realise their position. He slowly crawled off of Arthur and got up, dusting himself off. "But we can just put it back in, right?" he asked, almost meekly. Arthur couldn't see his expression, even with the faint glow of the street lights on the other side of the road.

With a groan Arthur rose back to his feet. He could feel the dull ache of the oncoming bruises around his shoulders and hips where he'd hit the ground. And still he was pained more by Jones' sheer endless well of naiveté. Had he not known better, he would have sworn his neighbour was a child.

"We can't," he grit out. Arthur's teeth were chattering. "The fuse box is in the basement, so unless Mrs Smith gave you the key, we can't reach it."

Jones shook his head. Phenomenal.

Somewhere next to him Jones fidgeted. "W-Wait, so we don't have electricity? Like, at all?" Arthur didn't know whether it was just the cold or whether his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed like Jones was shaking.

"No," Arthur said curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me, unless you want to spend Christmas this way, I have a phone call to make."

With stiff limbs and numb fingers Arthur returned to the fence, past the torn remnants of a string-light and trampled snow. Now that the adrenaline from before had ebbed off, each and every movement Arthur made felt heavy and sluggish, but perhaps that was just the cold. He struggled getting back across the fence this time.

It was only when Arthur was fiddling with his keys, struggling to find the lock with only the light of his phone flashlight to guide him, that he felt the burn of Jones' stare on the back of his neck.

"What?" The word came out harsher than he'd meant it to, and Arthur could have sworn he caught the other flinching.

"I... Um..." Jones seemed lost, almost intimidated when he replied. He stood in silence, alone in the dark and cold of the last Sunday before Christmas. "Do you have a candle?"

Arthur turned back towards the fence, key stuck in the lock, unturned. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you maybe have a candle I could borrow?" The question felt almost too polite after their struggle in the snow, too silent to fit Jones. "I... Well, I don't have any, and I just really don't like the dark and my phone's almost out of power but I can't go to bed because it's only seven and you know, just..." He trailed off.

Arthur remained quiet for a moment. He already regretted what he was about to say, and yet he couldn't stop himself. "Just... Just come in, Alfred." At last he turned the key, and with a small creak his front door swung open. It took another moment or so, then Alfred began moving again, hurrying over onto Arthur's side and to where he stood.

"Leave your boots by the door," Arthur said. "I don't want melted snow all over my floors."

Guided only by what little light their phones provided, Arthur led Alfred inside. Even after shedding the snow-covered jackets and boots, he felt nothing but cold and wet. Apparently the "100% waterproof" jacket was about as water-resistant as tissue paper. A cold shiver ran down his back, and for a moment Arthur played with the thought of just taking a hot bath - until he remembered Alfred, at least.

He might as well have been glued to Arthur's heels, judging by the way he never left more than four feet between them. Without the thick winter jacket and his boisterous behaviour, he seemed only half as big and imposing as usual. The only thing that didn't fit that image was tonight's ugly Christmas sweater, decorated with the words "Jingle my bells."

For that crime against his eyes alone Arthur should have left him outside.

Nonetheless he guided Alfred into the living room. Arthur quickly began rummaging through one of his cabinets. With his phone in one hand and only one free to actually work through the contents of his drawer, it took Arthur quite a while to find at least one candle. He'd just discovered a second one when Jones bumped into him. With a small sound of surprise from Alfred and a curse from Arthur the candle dropped to the ground.

"Oh shi- I'm sorry Arthur, wait, I'll-"

He crouched down to get the candle, only to hit his head on the drawer on the way back up. With a hand pressed to the back of his head he stood, handing Arthur the candle.

"Are you ok?" Arthur asked, but Alfred only nodded. Well, he moved his head at least, Arthur couldn't see much more. Unless he pointed the flashlight right at him, that vague movement was all he got for a reply.

At last Arthur found a lighter amongst the clutter of his drawer. When the first wick finally caught fire, Alfred relaxed visibly next to him. He handed the other the first candle, already working on lighting a second one for himself.

"Thank you, Arthur," Alfred muttered, his hands clenched tightly around the small jar.

"You're welcome." Another flicker of his lighter, another small flame as Arthur lit the second candle. With another glance at the old, already half-burnt candle in his hand he set some extras out on the side.

He turned Alfred around by his shoulder, carefully directing him in the direction of his living room. Arthur made a point to ignore the way he flinched. This was awkward enough as it was.

"I'll call Mrs Smith, just wait here," he said eventually.

Without another glance Arthur retreated to the kitchen, already dialing his landlady's number.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

"She's in London."

Alfred tore his eyes away from the little flame dancing in the glass. "What was that?" he asked after a moment. "I'm so-sorry, I didn't notice you coming back in."

Arthur let out a small sigh, taking a seat opposite to Alfred at the dining room table. He carefully set down the candle he'd been holding.

"She's in London, visiting her family. With the snow and the traffic jam on the M25 it'll take her a good three hours, at the very least..."

"There's a traff-"

"There's always a traffic jam on the M25."

Even with nothing but the flickering candle flame to illuminate him, Arthur could see the way Alfred's expression fell. The faint light had helped him ease up somewhat, but he was still shivering. He'd wrapped his arms tightly around himself, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Arthur rose from his seat once more. Even now, back in the comfort of his own home, he was freezing. Arthur was cold enough to freeze to his chair. "Do you want me to light another candle?" he asked gently, hoping to coax some sort of reaction out of the other.

Annoying as he might've been, at that moment Alfred looked like a picture of misery. For a second he felt sorry for yelling at him earlier, but then the second passed and Arthur remembered that they wouldn't be in this situation without Alfred.

As though he'd read his mind Alfred spoke up. "I'm s-sorry, Arthur..." he muttered. "I really fucked up this t-time, huh?" He gave him a weak smile, but somehow that only made him look more pitiful. Somehow Arthur did feel sorry this time.

"You did," he replied eventually, earning him a startled glance from Alfred. "But you didn't mean to, right? I know that d-doesn't change the outcome, but..." He trailed off. But what?

Without the music or the sounds of Alfred working outside like on each of the past Sundays, the wordless silence between them became uncomfortably loud. Without the trouble of climbing ladders and falling off them, without the work of hammering in individual arches and decorating whatever else he could reach, the duplex half that had felt so cosy each of the past days suddenly felt ice cold. There was nothing. Nothing beyond that small island of light surrounding the two candles, just Alfred and him.

"I'll... Go get you something f-fresh to wear," he said eventually. "You're p-probably wet all over, too, right? I'll see whether I can-"

A hand closed around his wrist, gentle but cold. "Plea… Please don't leave me alone, Arthur."

Alfred hadn't turned to look at him, in fact he still stared ahead, at the flickering lights of the candles. For a moment Arthur remained still, unsure what to do. It wasn't fair. When those blue eyes met his own, they were soft and pleading in the way they looked at him.

They shouldn't belong to his neighbour with a love for flashing lights and rainbow colours. They shouldn't belong to somebody so loud, tall, bothersome.

It wasn't fair that Alfred looked at him this way.

"I'm sorry Alfred, but I have to-"

All words were gone. Before Arthur could as much as finish his sentence, it had dissolved in his mind. Everything was gone, as with a rough yank on Arthur's wrist, Alfred pulled him into a gentle kiss. The contact lasted a moment, a moment longer, a moment too long. With a gasp Arthur flinched back, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth as he brought some distance between them.

Alfred's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I can-"

"How dare you-" The words died on his lips. Lips Alfred had touched. They'd kissed. No, Alfred had kissed him. How could he just-

"Is this because of t-two weeks ago?" Arthur blurted out. "Is this all a joke to you?"

It took a moment until his words sunk in. Alfred stared at him with wide eyes, wide and open and so bright and blue they might have been the sky over Antarctica. He stared at him, as though it had been Arthur who'd kissed him. He stared at him as though he wasn't in the wrong, as though that stare alone was not infuriating in itself.

"I... What?"

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Arthur asked, and what had been shock seconds ago turned into anger, hurt. "Are you trying to make fun of me for being gay? Is that what this is, Jones?"

Alfred looked as though he'd been burnt. He flinched back with each of Arthur's words, mouth agape in wordless silence as he realised what Arthur meant. The way he stared at him was almost one of betrayal, and for just a moment Arthur would have loved nothing more than to wipe that stupid expression off his face.

"What? No! No, I didn't-" Alfred cut himself off. Arthur raised a brow, gesturing for him to proceed. "Look, I- I don't care whether you're gay! F-Fuck, I'm not straight either, ok? It's just-" He wrung his hands, wordless once more.

I'm not straight either.

Arthur shook his head, pushing aside the echo of that sentence. He didn't want to think about what it meant, what it could mean for what had just happened. He didn't want to think about what had happened just now, at all. He was too cold to think.

"T-Take off your sweater," he said eventually. Against his will, his ire had died down as quickly as it had come. He felt no more than resignation and tiredness. Resignation, tiredness, and the cold that had been seeping through his clothes and skin and down into his bones.

It was only when he noticed the way Alfred looked at him, that he realised what he'd just said. There he went again, staring at him with those stupidly innocent eyes, cheeks bright red. With a slight stammer Arthur added, "I- Shit, not like... I just don't want you to catch a cold, ok?"

Though his blush didn't fade, not that it could have this quickly, the baffled expression left Alfred's face. "O-Oh," was all he got out. He rose from his chair and reached for the hem of his jumper, and with Arthur's eyes still on him, he halted, let his arms sink once more.

Arthur raised a brow as he watched on for another moment. Alfred stayed still. "Is something the matter?" he asked at last.

"I... Um... Aren't you going to turn around?" The question was tentative. "I... I don't have anything on beneath the sweater, so- You d-don't have to lend me anything, just like-" That faint red colour had returned to Alfred's face stronger than ever, and this time Arthur was sure it wasn't just the cold.

"Ah, shi- Sorry, I should have thought of that. I'll see whether I can find something for you."

Somehow it felt like he was fleeing, when Arthur left. He knew he wasn't, knew that this was his own home, but the thought proved too persistent to push away just yet.

When he returned at last, armed with an old, positively gigantic hoodie, Arthur was still as cold as he'd been before. He'd changed, too; everything down to his socks had been wet. The fresh clothes were dry, but even with the thick, fluffy jumper and fuzzy socks he was shivering.

Back downstairs, he was awaited by nothing but the lonely flicker of the first candle. That, and the bare back it illuminated. Alfred must have heard him, too, because at that very moment he spun around. Somehow Arthur didn't mind too much, however, not with the way the candle highlighted his bare chest.

He couldn't help but trace along the even plains of Alfred's chest and farther down to his abdomen. With the faint, soft lighting of the candles and what little light streamed in through the cracks in his blinds, it almost seemed as though his chest was glistening. Maybe it was some of the water from his soaked jumper or maybe Arthur was simply starved for a view like this one. 2022 hadn't proven to be all that successful in terms of dating, at least not for him.

Whichever one it was, it took a moment for him to realise that Alfred had caught him staring, then his mind caught up at last. "I, um... I found a hoodie you can wear, I think that should fit. I also have a pair of sweats, but I'm not sure whether those will..." Arthur trailed off, perhaps because of the look Alfred gave him. Shock, yes, but also something that reminded Arthur of how he had to be staring at Alfred just then. "D-Didn't you- I thought you didn't want me to see-"

Somehow words had become hard. At last the tension snapped and Arthur regained control over himself, dropping the clothes and spinning around. This is just a guy's body, nothing you haven't seen before, he told himself, but somehow that proved to be rather uneffective.

There was some rustling, the sound of Alfred's soaked trousers hitting the floor, then more rustling. Another moment passed, then Alfred spoke up from behind him. "You can t-turn around now."

If he was honest, Arthur was almost disappointed when he did. Not only was Alfred’s chest covered once more, the hoodie and sweatpants were also loose enough to leave just about everything to the imagination. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to push that thought aside. What was even going on inside his mind?

At least Alfred saved him from having to say something first, a small comfort. "Damn dude, how c-come your half is so cold?" he asked between shuddering breaths, rubbing his hands together. "Was I the only one to g-g-get a heater?"

Arthur let out a small laugh, tried to behave as though he wasn't freezing his arse off just as much. "S-Sorry, I turned it down to reduce heating costs," he replied. He failed, he was stammering the same way Alfred was. He really should turn up the heat.

"Yeah, you're right, what's a few f-fingers, if you can reduce the c-c-cost..." Alfred replied, but with chattering teeth and trembling fingers the snark of his reply was lost. "J-Just listen to me! C-can't even make a joke effectively in this f-freezer of an apartment!"

"Guess that's a sign you shouldn't c-complain as much," Arthur joked, even as he reached for one of the blankets on his couch. "I've got some blankets, we can't do much like this, anyway."

He was halfway over to the small, two-seater couch at the centre of his living room when he turned around once more. "Oh, and Alfred? Watch out for the coffee-"

There was a thud, then a hissed curse as something dropped to the ground.

"...table." Arthur set his candle down on the offender, coming to find Alfred just behind him, a stream of various, none-too-festive curses on his lips as he clutched his shin. "Are you alright?" he asked, and though he tried, Arthur failed miserably at holding back his laughter.

"C-Can it, Kirkland," Alfred grit out between chattering teeth. "First you try to make me freeze to death, and now you try assassinating me!"

"I'd be a great assassin, wouldn't I," Arthur mused with a grin. "First one to have a confirmed kill with a coffee table."

Cold or not, Alfred made another attempt to glare at him. Too bad he failed in the face of Arthur's amusement, breaking out into bright laughter himself.

"Come here," Arthur said eventually. "Let's make sure I don't freeze you solid by accident."

Alfred grumbled more to himself as he placed his candle next to Arthur's, some muttered words that sounded suspiciously like "Is it really an accident at this point?" He slid into the big, worn out cushions, flinching when he sank into the cool fabric.

"Did you expect me to pre-heat my sofa?" Arthur joked as he shook out the small throw blanket he kept by the sofa. With a last shivering breath he crawled into the spot right next to Alfred, spreading the cuddly fleece blanket right over them.

Almost instantly Alfred scooted over, leaving an inch of distance between them. "Gah, why are you so cold!? Dude, just because I'm freezing doesn't mean you can make me even colder!"

With a rough yank Arthur pulled the blanket back towards himself, stealing back what Alfred had taken and then some. "I might be warmer, if you didn't steal the blanket," he hissed, but even so Arthur found himself inching back towards the other. Annoying or not, Alfred was still warmer than his couch and the blanket combined. After a moment's consideration he pulled his feet up onto the sofa, too, tucking them into the blanket. Way better.

"That doesn't justify stealing it from me!" Alfred whined, but he slid back over, until their hips and shoulders touched. "Stupid tiny blanket..." he muttered.

Arthur raised a brow but said nothing, simply giving the blanket the tiniest bit of slack, so Alfred could have a bit more. That's what he got for being so buff, Arthur thought, more surface area that needed to be covered by the blanket.

Buff or not, Alfred did the same as him and pulled his feet up onto the sofa, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs as they sat there in silence.

Arthur looked over for a moment, finding him watching the flame of his candle, the same way he'd done before. The way the candlelight danced across his face, softly illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and reflecting in his eyes, it drew him in in a way Arthur had never noticed before. He spotted the soft dusting of pink on Alfred's cheeks, the way the corner of his mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly.

"Are you just going to stare at me until Mrs Smith comes?"

Almost instantly Arthur turned away, but of course it was too late. Alfred had caught him staring, as though being this close wasn't bad enough. He could smell that stupid aroma of chocolate, peppermint and coffee once more; just like last week Alfred smelled of Christmas and comfort and stuff Arthur shouldn't know because he shouldn't know what his neighbour smelled like. But here he was.

Shit.

"Oh, uh, I-"

All his life people had told Arthur how quick-witted he was, but at that moment he was all out of ideas on how to get out of this. His eyes stuck to one of the two candles. That's right. As long as he just looked at the candle, Alfred wouldn't notice, he might even forget that he'd stared at hi-

"You know that's not a reply, right?" Alfred asked, and even without looking Arthur could just see the smirk playing around his lips.

"I was just... Um... Thinking about whether a different position might be warmer..?" Arthur hated the doubt in his voice, but at least he'd finally come up with a reply. A bad one, not to mention an excuse Alfred would never believe, but at least he'd tried.

"Oh?"

Of course he'd ask. Shit.

"Well, you know, if you... If we... cuddled, basically? It would save blanket space and-"

"Just say it, Arthur," Alfred said from somewhere beside him, far too close to him. He had to be smiling like that again, and some part of Arthur, most likely his pride, simply couldn't bear the way he was laughing at him. "You want to spoon, don't you?"

Arthur wanted to slap him, he really did. He would have loved to just spin around and slap him, or at least give him a piece of his mind or something, but no, he remained silent.

With a quick movement the blanket was gone, so was Alfred. He scooted back on the sofa, until his back was pressed against the armrest of the sofa. He spread his legs somewhat, leaving a free spot between them. A free spot for Arthur.

"So, wanna test your theory?" he asked with a grin.

Arthur surely was just as red as the stupid fleece blanket, but nonetheless he slid back on the cushions, until he was nestled in between Alfred's legs, his chest to Arthur's back and his arms around him. Alfred carefully draped the blanket around them once more, creating a fluffy cocoon and simultaneously trapping Arthur.

Awkward or not, he had been right - this was far warmer than it had been before. Nonetheless Arthur's face was burning, and even if Alfred hadn't noticed (yet), the thought that a bit of closeness could make him blush like this was humiliating in its own right. At least he could blame it on the cold.

They sat in silence for a little while. There was something calming about this, the gentle flicker of the candles and the way his body was slowly warming back up after being exposed to the winter cold for so long.

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

The words tore him from his thoughts, entirely out of nowhere. Arthur turned around as best he could with the way they sat, but he could only see part of Alfred's face. If he was honest, he saw even less because of the darkness. Eventually, after accepting that he wouldn't be able to meet Alfred's eyes without also breaking his neck in the process, he replied.

"I already told you, Alfred, you didn't know it would blow the fuse, and it's not like it's unfixable, so-"

"That's not what I meant." He was quiet, barely above a whisper. Alfred had tensed up ever so slightly as he spoke. The thought of being able to feel something as minute as this made some unknown feeling spread inside of Arthur, but nonetheless he was worried.

"What are you talking about, then?" Arthur asked, unsure what type of response he was expecting. What was he even hoping for?

"I'm sorry for kissing you."

Oh.

"I shouldn't have done it so suddenly, and I'm sorry for that. I just... Well..."

Arthur didn't know what to say. On one hand he could feel the anger from before returning, running hot and fast within his veins, but on the other hand the apology left him defenceless all the same.

"I... It's just... I've been crushing on you for a while."

Arthur's thoughts screeched to a grinding halt. "What?"

"I like you, Arthur. I know this sounds stupid, especially after what happened earlier, but-"

"Wait. Just wait a second-" Arthur pulled away the blanket and left his - admittedly very comfortable - spot between Alfred's legs to instead sit opposite of him, finally meeting his eyes. The blanket lay discarded between the both of them, leaving him exposed to the cold once more. But Arthur couldn't think, didn't even notice. He just barely caught the way Alfred reached out, as though to pull him back in, either. "You..." he started. "You like me?"

"I... That's what I'm trying to say, yes." Alfred looked almost apologetic. He looked at him with such gentle eyes, and though Arthur was still trying to gather his thoughts, just trying to regain his ability to think at all, those eyes occupied his mind all the same.

"How can you just... How long?"

Alfred was staring at his hands, almost as though he expected to find the answer to Arthur's question somewhere on the back of them. Maybe he had written it down somewhere on there and Arthur was just underestimating him.

At last Alfred broke the silence. "Just over two years now," he admitted. "I know it sounds stupid, but when I saw you just... mumbling to yourself in that fuzzy Grinch sweater and old man slippers as you put up the garland outside one Christmas, it just clicked I guess."

Arthur wanted to be serious, confused, shocked, all that, but he couldn't help but snort. "Out of all the times we've met," he laughed. "Out of all of that, you fell for me while I was cussing up a storm in an ugly sweater?"

"Not quite Hallmark-worthy, huh?" Alfred asked with a soft smile.

"Well, we did do the stringlight-tango, so if you reveal you're secretly the prince of some unknown magical kingdom in Central Europe we should be fine."

"Does central Virginia count?" Alfred asked, making both of them laugh.

Arthur tilted his head, feigning deep thought. "Well, depends on how you sell it. Maybe if you put on some strange accent..?"

Alfred gave him a gentle nudge, forcing him to focus on the topic once more. "Still," he insisted, "are you not going to, well, reply?" The silence returned, thick enough to cut as Alfred watched his every move. "I... I guess your response after the kiss was clear enough, but... I just want to hear you say it. Is that selfish?"

"Alfred..." The words got caught in Arthur's throat. He could only imagine what he looked like right then. Next to Alfred he had to look small, and with the way he looked at him, pleading almost... Arthur had to look nothing short of miserable. Pitiful.

"I guess that settles it..." Alfred's expression fell. Where Arthur had wondered whether he looked miserable, Alfred truly did. Any brightness from a moment ago was snuffed out like a candle's flame, total darkness in but a breath. "Shit. I really should have waited another two hours to ask, shouldn't I?"

"I just never knew..." Arthur tried once more. It felt like words were running from him, as though with every word he said, the others ran farther, slipping from his grasp and disappearing altogether. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Confusion - the way Alfred looked at him, furrowed brows and tight lips, as though to ask what he meant. "But... I've been trying to do that this whole time? I've been flirting so much over the past weeks! And I've tried to get your attention with the lights every year, and-"

"Oh God..."

The words were less than a whisper, almost inaudible as Arthur realised what Alfred was referring to. The stupid pick-up lines. The looks. The smiles. He'd been so incredibly dense.

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I should have realised you weren't..."

"Oh my God, I'm- I'm so sorry Alfred," Arthur said at last. "I... I thought you were making fun of me, I never- I'm so stupid, how..."

He buried his face in his hands, dropping back onto the sofa as his face burned in shame. Him and his brothers had always been joking about how dense Alistor was when it came to his partner, but it seemed that it ran in the family. Arthur wanted to scream.

"Wait, so you didn't reject me?"

Alfred had perked up almost immediately. He was leaning over Arthur, which was only slightly complicated by the fact that Arthur still had his legs kicked up onto the sofa, meaning he was more or less resting his stomach on Arthur's knees. Somewhere at the back of his mind Arthur noticed how firm his abdomen felt, not that this should have been his main interest just then.

"No," Arthur groaned from behind his hands. How could he ever have been so...? "I can't believe I never noticed..."

"So... What is it? What do you say?" He looked at him with those bright eyes again, excited, but also worried ever so slightly. It seemed like each and every one of Alfred's expressions was mirrored on his face the second he felt them, with no filter whatsoever.

Arthur bit his lip, trying to find the right words. He was interested, yes, but... "I think I'd need to know more about you, to say that," he admitted at last.

Almost instantly that expression of excitement dropped. Arthur hadn't rejected him, but even he knew that what he'd said wasn't much better than that. Still he asked, "What's your favourite Christmas movie?"

"Huh? What are you trying to do?"

"I want to know more about you," Arthur replied. With a small smile he insisted, "So, what is it?"

For a moment Alfred stared at him almost bewilderedly, then he chuckled. "Well, if you ask me like that..." he started. He tilted his head slightly in thought. "I'd have to say The Polar Express."

"Wait, isn't that the one with the strange animation?" Arthur asked between his laughs. "The kids looked so uncanny to me!"

Alfred crossed his arms, and with a small pout he retorted, "It's about the nostalgia, not the quality." He poked Arthur, but only succeeded in making him laugh harder. "If mine's so strange, what's your favourite, hm?" he questioned.

"Love Actually, always has been," he replied without another thought. Upon seeing Alfred's confused expression he added, "It's a romantic comedy, but it's just really sweet over all. Great actors, too."

"I don't think I know that one," Alfred admitted.

"Guess we'll have to watch it together some time," Arthur smiled. With Alfred back to sitting across from him, he sat back up, and crossed his legs. As he draped the blanket across both their laps once more, he asked: "Okay, next one. What's your favourite genre of music?"

This time Alfred was quicker with his reply, "Good ol' rock for sure. You can't beat Queen, and Led Zeppelin or Guns n' Roses are just classics. And that isn't even mentioning the Ramones!" Alfred seemed to glow when he replied; all of a sudden his excitement was back. It was nice to see him this happy again, after he'd been in various states of worry or doubt for half of the evening. "So? What's Mr "You're-confusing-punk-and-gay" listening to, when he isn't complaining about my choices in Christmas songs?"

"If you answer your own question, what am I meant to say?" Arthur laughed. "I'm into punk and alternative for the most part. The Sex Pistols and The Clash are unbeatable, but I can definitely get behind liking the Ramones. Recently I've been more into Muse though, their new album is simply incredible."

Alfred had been listening attentively, and though Arthur felt his eyes on him, he wasn't staring at him like before. It was gentler now, in a way he couldn't quite put into words. "You know," Alfred mused, "I already knew you like punk stuff, but there's something about you talking about it while wearing some fluffy sweater that's just really funny to me. Like a bunny with a knife."

"Better watch out, I have knives, too," Arthur retorted with furrowed brows, eliciting a wave of laughter from Alfred.

"Pff, if you say so..." he laughed. "Speaking of danger, though... My turn: if you could have any super power, what would you choose?"

Arthur took a moment to consider, one hand beneath his chin as he did. He wasn't into superheroes all that much, if he was honest, so it wasn't something he could answer right off the bat. Nonetheless, if he didn't want to go with some sort of magical power, what was there that he'd pick?

"Probability manipulation," he answered at last.

"What? That's so lame!" Alfred laughed. "Dude, you could pick flight! Or laser vision! Or super strength! I'd totally take super strength, if I had to choose. Way cooler, and I could help people! Save them from getting squished by a bus and stuff!"

There was something cute about Alfred's excitement, but nonetheless Arthur couldn't help but defend himself. "Well, if you think about it, probability manipulation is way stronger though! What's the probability I have super speed? Well, I could tweak it and do a quick trip over to Buckingham Palace!"

Alfred puffed out his cheeks. "That's cheating, though! Where's the limitations on that?" he asked.

Arthur laughed, giving the other a small nudge. With an overly dramatic flailing of his arms Alfred tumbled back into a pile of throw pillows at the corner of the sofa, pulling the blanket along with him.

"I totally thought your power would be invisibility. Or sneaking. Oh, or maybe illusions!" Alfred said as he pushed himself off the pillows to rest against the armrest of the sofa, half-leaning as he watched Arthur.

"Why that?" Arthur asked with furrowed brows.

Alfred gave him a brilliant smile. "Well, you stole my heart, so you have to have some sort of power, right?"

Against his will, Arthur felt his cheeks flush a bright red. He didn't want to admit it, but stupid as it was, the line had done wonders at making his heart stumble in its pace. Stupid sap.

"Idiot," he muttered, but he knew damn well that he couldn't sell the insult. Curses. "New question," Arthur said. "What's your ideal date?"

"You go first," Alfred retorted almost instantly.

Arthur didn't bother questioning him and instead answered his own question. "A trip to the city, walking around together and just talking, before ultimately having tea or dinner together. I want to get to know the other person. What about you, then?"

"My perfect date would be a trip to the city and just spending time with them, walking around and talking, before ultimately having tea or dinner together."

"You know, this isn't an exam, you don't have to copy my answer. You can tell me, if you don't have one," Arthur said with a small roll of his eyes, even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, but I had an answer!" Alfred defended himself. "My ideal date is whatever you want to do."

Arthur bit his lip, turned away as he tried to ignore just what Alfred's stupidly adorable replies did to his heartbeat. How dare he have such an easy time at making his heart skip?

He wanted payback.

"Alright, last question," Arthur said.

Their eyes met again, and somewhere at the back of his mind Arthur noticed the slight flush on Alfred's face. At least he wasn't entirely unbothered.

"Can I have another kiss?"

"I- uh..."

Got him.

With a soft smile Arthur leant in, and while Alfred still tried to save that almost suave façade he'd put up before, Arthur reached for the collar of his jumper, pulling him in just a little more, until their lips met.

Unlike before it was gentle and slow this time, and though Alfred had stiffened initially, he quickly melted into the touch of Arthur's lips. Strong arms came up to wrap around Arthur's back, keeping him close as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

They broke apart breathing heavily, clinging to one another as though only they could ground each other. When their eyes met, it felt almost magical. Alfred's pupils were dilated, his lips parted just barely as he looked at Arthur.

In the soft light of the candles his eyes gleamed like gems; the wetness of his lips glistened enticingly. "Another," Alfred said breathily, and instead of replying Arthur simply pulled him in once more.

He didn't allow for Alfred to kiss him so sweetly again, tilting his head almost immediately and deepening their kiss. Arthur shifted to wrap his arms around Alfred's neck loosely, tangling one hand in his hair as he forced him ever closer. He could feel Alfred's hands at the small of his back, and as their movements grew more eager, more greedy, the heat of his touch slowly burnt Arthur up.

With Alfred's hands to steady him, Arthur straddled him, hovering above his thighs as he pressed a small kiss to his jaw. The blanket they'd shared had long since fallen to the floor, but even without it Arthur felt a steady heat building up just underneath his skin wherever Alfred's skin touched his own.

Arthur smiled when he caught Alfred's eyes closing, leaving another kiss right below his last. Alfred's grip around him tightened just barely, just enough to dig into his skin. He traced a couple more kisses along Alfred's jawline, before ending his path with a small peck on the lips.

"Do you want more?" he whispered against Alfred's lips.

A low growl was all the reply Arthur got, then Alfred caught his chin in a tight grip as he recaptured his lips in a hungry kiss.

"Didn't you say..." Alfred rasped between uneven breaths, "that you wouldn't ask... any more questions?"

With Arthur's arms still around his neck Alfred shifted his focus to Arthur's neck, lavishing him with attention as he left a myriad of nips and bites all across the unblemished skin of his neck and collarbone. His hands roamed freely along Arthur's torso, across his back and along his sides until they finally reached the hem of his jumper.

Gentle fingers snuck underneath the folds of thick fabric, drawing a soft keen from Arthur's lips as they danced across his ribcage and along his spine. Each touch raised goosebumps all over his cold skin as newly warmed fingertips traced every inch of his skin. He could not help the silent moan that escaped him when Alfred's thumb grazed one of his nipples.

At last Alfred pulled off Arthur's jumper, baring him to not only the cool air surrounding them, but also to the burning heat of Alfred's gaze. It felt like cheating, to unwrap his present more than a week before Christmas day. Somehow Arthur didn't mind, though, not when his present was so lovely, so beautiful in every way.

For just a moment they remained like that - with him straddling Alfred, whose eyes raked across his skin as though to memorise each and every square inch. With gentle touches he caressed Arthur's chest, running his fingers down along his breast bone and farther yet, until he reached the hem of Arthur's sweatpants.

Alfred halted for a near eternal second, half-lidded eyes hungering after a half-naked man, tracing Arthur's every part. He felt the burn of those dark blues on his face and his chest, following the curves of his body as the flickering light of the candles outlined them in ever-changing schemes, unsteady spectres for Alfred to discover anew with every passing moment.

With his hands still on the waistband of Arthur's sweats, his lips on a small, sensitive spot just beneath his jaw, Alfred muttered but four words, "Do you want more?"

Arthur held on to Alfred's shoulders and lowered down farther onto his lap, to the point he could feel the bulge in Alfred's pants pressing against his own. With his head thrown back in a breathless moan Arthur ground his hips against Alfred's, as Alfred suckled on the spot he'd just kissed. A sharp hiss escaped the other, and Arthur replied, "No more questions."

His words didn't leave any room for discussion or question, not when he'd finally closed that pesky gap between them, bucking his hips at a fast, uneven pace. Neither of them cared for the lack of a rhythm - not when Alfred's hands tangled in his hair, when Arthur's hands clawed at whatever parts of Alfred's shoulders and back he could reach, when his every move drew a litany of those desperate, pleading sounds from the other.

"Take off your top," he said, ordered, and Alfred complied wordlessly. Neither of them minded the tone, the fire beneath their skin burnt to brightly to spare even a thought. Funny, Arthur thought to himself, first I get him clothes and now I make him undress him all over again.

It didn't matter either way. The instant the fabric fell Arthur's hands were roaming that bare, strong chest he'd only caught glimpses of before, feeling the frantic rise and fall with each deep, gasping breath, the frenzied beat of Alfred's heart, the smoothness of his skin.

Before Alfred could react, Arthur pushed him back onto the pillows with one hand on his chest, the other on Alfred's thigh as he rolled his hips in a particularly slow motion. A low, unconstrained groan broke from Alfred's lips, raw with need, emotion, hunger. "Hold still for me..." Arthur crooned, and as he found Alfred so willingly submitting to him, bare chest beneath his spread fingers, he could see a fraction of what Alfred must have seen staring at him.

Sharply cut muscles and soft, even skin fought a relentless battle across the expanse of his chest, from his sculpted pecs to the plains of his abdomen and farther down yet to the spot where a fine line of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear. On either side of Arthur's splayed fingers the other's nipples stood hard and sensitive in the cold air, pleading for his touch as much as Alfred himself.

He stared at Arthur with longing eyes, pupils blown wide and lips parted just barely. Sweat beaded on his forehead, condensation fogged up parts of his glasses. Carefully Arthur reached for the obtrusive frame, setting it down on the table beside them before leaning in for another kiss.

"More," Alfred gasped, demanded, and who was Arthur to deny him whatever he wanted? He claimed his lips in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and tension. With gentle nips and bites Arthur coaxed ever more of those sweet sounds from Alfred - music much nicer than any Christmas song. The soft whimpers and whines paid him back for every bit of painful pleasure that Arthur lavished upon him, sent spikes of white-hot arousal through his veins and to his groin.

Another languid roll of his hips, and Alfred was gasping for air. Hands grasped at nothing and everything, at skin and at clothing, as Arthur's slow yet rough, gentle yet hungry pace sent them spiralling ever closer to that edge. Each breath was a breath too much, a moment too long spent apart when they could have been kissing, touching, feeling one another.

Only the strength of Alfred's grip around his wrist tore Arthur back out of that haze of heat and hunger. "Arthur-" he gasped in between ragged breaths. "Need you t- Ah! touch me-"

Perhaps Arthur was teasing too much, perhaps his mind had been lost to the sudden delicious desire that filled his every breath, his entire body, his skin and bone. But at that moment, with Alfred so defenceless beneath him, greedy and at his mercy all the same, he only raked his fingers down his chest, trailing red lines in his wake.

Alfred's breath got caught in his throat, but Arthur simply traced his hand lower yet, across his abdomen and beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, and the hitch in his breath became a breathless moan. A single gasp of "Fuck-" passed Alfred's lips, but all words were lost when Arthur curled his fingers around his erection at last.

Alfred's cock burnt against his skin, hot and hard, just as much as him. He gave it a first, slow stroke, and as he swiped his thumb across the head of Alfred's cock Arthur could not help but marvel at the entirely reverent look on his face. Head thrown back in ecstasy and eyes clenched shut, lips parted and neck covered in the marks Arthur had left there.

Nary a thought passed Arthur's mind; the heat smouldering underneath his skin and throughout all of his body had become too much to bear. One hand around Alfred's cock, one on his shoulder, Arthur moved just an inch closer.

They closed that gap one more time, a heated tangle of lips and tongues. With every movement of Arthur's hand around that most sensitive part of Alfred, a new moan spilled from his lips. Arthur built his pace up gradually, coaxing all sorts of sweet sounds from Alfred.

"Beautiful," he muttered in between their kisses, "Just-"

All of a sudden he felt Alfred's hand moving down the front of his own pants. Whatever he'd meant to say turned into a sharp hiss, then a moan. Arthur tried to object, say something about how he wanted to give Alfred a gift first, but Alfred just pulled him closer and wrapped his hands around both of their cocks.

It was hot, tight, and for a moment Arthur couldn't tell whether he was in heaven or hell. The touch of Alfred's hand on his oversensitive flesh was torturous with the way it clenched around both of them, and yet it was so unbearably good, so blissful it made him see stars.

Each movement of Alfred's hand had him spiralling, and soon enough Arthur found himself clinging to the other as he lost himself to that feeling of utter bliss. He was close. The heady scent of sex and sweat filled his nostrils with every laboured breath he took and Arthur felt each frantic beat of his heart all throughout his body, from his chest to his fingertips and down to his feet.

"Alfred, I'm-" he gasped but no more could pass his lips when Alfred sealed them with his own so easily.

With his eyes clenched shut and his hips bucking against the rhythm of Alfred's hand Arthur knelt there, unable to form a coherent thought. His whole body was abuzz with those unbearable sensations, vibrating through his veins until all of him was humming with the electricity of their arousal.

Arthur was on fire as lust swept over him like a tsunami, sparking when all he needed to ground him was the tender feeling of Alfred's lips on his own. One last twist of Alfred's hand, and with a gasp and a soundless scream Arthur came, spilling over Alfred's hands as he followed shortly after.

He was little more than a boneless heap on top of Alfred. Arthur couldn't have cared less about how he was spreading their combined mess all over himself, he was too exhausted to care. His mind was sluggish, and he didn't mind.

After a moment an arm wrapped around him, a comforting weight on his back as Arthur rested against a broad, warm chest. With a small, displeased hum he scooted a tad closer, until he could feel that warmth all around him. Way better.

"You know…" Alfred began after a moment, "I didn't think I'd kiss you, be rejected, confess, kiss and then frot with you, all in that order and in a single day."

"Call it a Christmas miracle," Arthur muttered against his chest, eliciting a small laugh from Alfred. It was nice when he laughed, a soft sound from deep inside his chest. Arthur could feel it from where his head rested.

Another moment passed, and with a hand stroking his back and another carding through his ruffled hair, Arthur might have just fallen asleep, had Alfred not spoken up once more.

"Speaking of Christmas," he said. "I know we're a week early, but… Does this count as a white Christmas, Arthur?"

It took a moment for the question to sink in, another for Arthur to comprehend the sheer idiocy of the pun. He snapped back up, and with a small push against Alfred's chest and loud laughter from the offender, he exclaimed: "You unromantic oaf!"

Too bad that Arthur couldn't help but laugh himself.

Rolling his eyes, he crawled off the sofa and off Alfred. With another look at the various stains on Alfred's and his own (or rather: just his own) clothes he grabbed the discarded hoodies and his own sweatpants, walking back towards the stairs.

"Undress," he said, "You've got stains, too. I'll be right back, I should still have something that fits you."

This time around Arthur took a bit longer to come back downstairs, maybe also because of a rather large stain on his abdomen that he had to clean off, but when he came back at last, he found something was off.

Namely, that Alfred stood by the (sadly fake) fireplace, naked as the day God had created him.

Or well, not naked, that was the issue. He was wearing a stocking, a single, bright green stocking far too large to fit him.

A Christmas stocking.

A stocking that said Arthur on it in elegant cursive.

Arthur's Christmas stocking.

He halted in his tracks.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" he asked, deadpanned, and somehow he found himself reminded of Frosty. This just had to be another stupid idea. He didn't even know the idea yet, but-

"Well, presents go into the stocking, right?" Alfred beamed. "I simply put yours in."

Against his will Arthur flushed, and unfortunately he didn't know whether Alfred had seen or not. His only solace was that the bundle of socks he threw at Alfred did hit its mark.

Served him right.

#writing #usukus #fanfiction #hws america #hws england #hws hetalia #usuk #nsft

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

BBQ at the Kent's

Clark invites his friends over for a quiet BBQ at Ma's farm. It just doesn't go quite how he expected.

Masterlist

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Clark had invited his closest friends and their underlings to a BBQ at Kent farm. So what if his closest friends, all happened to be from the Justice League. Kent Farm was a perfect location. It was out the way so if power mishaps it was unlikely to be observed by anyone passing by. It was a large space so could hold lots of people. Especially as his friends seemed to have a habit of collecting underlings like Pokémon, in particular Bruce. AND it wasn't Wayne manor which despite what Bruce says isn't always a relaxing place to be.

Ma was catching up with Alfred and Lois which was good, Alfred deserved a medal as well as the chance to relax. The teens and kids were mucking about/chilling in the house, and he could catch up with his colleague slash friends and relax.

What he may have miscalculated though was his little sister returning home to see Ma. She knew about him and his 'side job'. She had also, very early on, figured out his friends ‘side jobs’ too. Working it out was a breeze according to her, they weren’t particularly discrete in the beginning (according to her at least). She had covered for him and saved his bacon more times than he would willingly admit. Hell, she's covered for him to them and covered for them without them knowing. She’d provided so many alibis and removed evidence that they hadn’t thought about. The issue though, with his sister turning up, was more that THEY a) didn't know about her and b) didn't know that she knew and finally c) she could quite easily give them all a run for their money.

___________________________________

Walking into her family home she found a swarm of teens lounging around the living room. They were all chatting and talking over each other that they didn't notice her enter. Raising an eyebrow, she spotted Conner, who was currently wrapped around another boy with dark hair.

"Hey Mini Bale! Nice look you got going. Bet it's driving the old men mad and completely beats the plaid shirts and starched suits. Is Haybale out in the yard?"

Conner jumped, causing the others in the room to stop chatting, and looks to see his sort of aunt smirking at him across the room.

"Hey M, didn't know you were coming too? Yeah Clarks out back. Ummm….. why are you here?"

"This is my home too Mini Bale.” She deadpans him, “I was planning to surprise to see Ma as not visited in person for a while. I don’t need to tell Haybale every time I visit, he isn’t the boss of me.” Conner’s aunt pouted before gaining a glint in her eye, “What I wasn't expecting to see was Haybale having a "small gathering” here and not invite moi! But alas it is what it is."

The glint turning into a smug look with a dangerous edge as she took in the room.

"Auntie M!!!", the call distracted her from the room suddenly as Jon ran in from the kitchen and launched himself into a flying jump to hug with the women standing in the room. "Straw stack!! How are you doing sweetie? Made any new friends?"

While Jon dissolved into conversation with his Auntie, Tim took the opportunity to quickly assess the newly dubbed Em. She was well dressed, the sort you don't often see on farms and would be better placed in the city. Her clothes were expensive, the type he often could see board members wearing when relaxing. Even with Jon holding her attention she seemed to have clocked him studying her and nearly everyone else who was watching her interactions. Leaning into his boyfriend he queried.

"Em? Does she? Is she? Who???"

Conner chuckled at Tim's confusion, as well as the mystified faces of the others there.

"Tim, guys, I'd like to introduce you to Clark's sister, and my sorta aunt and Jon’s definite Auntie, Marinette. M for short. And before you ask Tim, no she isn’t like him. She *does* works with Max Kante in developing high tech material and gadgets since well she grew up with Clark and wanted to help him cope with his powers… She and Max created MiracuTech as a result. It’s her brainchild though really, M doesn’t really need Max."

"Mini Bale stop!! You’re dramatizing it. I need Max just as much as he needs me, our skill set complement each other. We couldn’t make half the stuff MiracuTech does without his input.” Marinette blushed, “Max says hi by the way and to tell you to pop by the office. He wants to test his new “creation” with you. Not that that offer will remain if you keep speaking of him like that. But it does remind me, how are you finding the glasses?"

It was Conner’s turn to smirk at his friends, and they could suddenly see the family resemblance in the pair.

"They're are awesome M. Like the play back function is brilliant. I've recorded so much blackmail."

His friends paused and a shiver went down their spines recalling all the incidents that have happened since Conner got his latest sunglasses.

"Fab feedback. I'll let Max know.” Taking as glance around the room, “I'm gonna take a wild guess as say Battle Barbie, Fishtails, Greedy Gonzales and Moody & Broody are out back with Haybale and Ma, Mini Bale?"

That again caused the room to freeze, being siblings with Clark kinda made sense that she would have known his identity, but for Clark to tell her about other identities was worrying. Conner tilted his head and looked at his sorta aunt as if trying to work out what she was planning.

"Yeeeeah, what are you up to M? I'm pretty sure you promised Clark you'd not cause mischief when you met everyone."

"I deny ever making that promise. I have evidence to back up that claim too. Plus, the amount of shit Haybale has caused me cos of his moral compass and lack of impulse control makes it fair game. Though I do support his altruism.” She paused debating what she would say next, “To set the record straight what I *actually* promised was that I would *consider* not causing *too much* mischief. And I have considered it and think that I'll survive this course of action. You’re not the only one with playback ability. Thanks for the info Mini Bale. Let's catch up more later!"

With that she ruffled his hair as she walked past him out to see her dear older brother.

"You've spent too much time as a cat M!" Conner called as he tried to sort out his hair. The room erupted as she left the room. Confusion, mild panic as to whether their identities were at risk and answers were demanded from Conner and Jon. Tim whined at Conner’s comment, "Cat?! We've got to keep B away from her!"

___________________________________

Out in the yard, Clark was relaxed surround by what he supposed was the founding JL members. He'd heard his sister turn up and cause subtle chaos amongst the teens in the house slowly dreading her announcing her arrival out here. Ma would be thrilled to see her. He was too, sort of. Just not in front of everyone. Kon-El was right with her spending too much time as a cat. And Tim was right as well. He'd have to keep Bruce away from her, she'd be just his latest type.

"HAY BALE! You're holding a party for little ol' me?! How delightful of you."

Clark cringed. He still hated her nickname for him.

"Lois! Ma! You both look lovely as ever! Oh, it’s been too long since I've seen you in person."

Marinette swooped past Clark to the ladies and gave them huge hugs before quickly falling into conversation to catching up with them, thankfully ignoring Clark allowing him some time to deal with his friends.

"Why is Marinette K from MiracuTech at your farm Clark?"

Barry quickly asked, staring at his sister with stars in his eyes. Ok maybe it wasn't just Bruce Clark had to worry about.

"Yes, why is the Guardian, Lady Fortune, at your home?" queried Arthur looking at Clark with confusion and slight apprehension.

"MiracuTech… Guardian," Diana quickly put together gasping, looking at Arthur who had cottoned on to her implications as well, then back at Marinette.

"Guys! Please! Cool it, M I hope," Clark quickly glared at his sister, who was grinning manically knowing the trouble she was causing for him, "can answer your questions and Barry, M, Marinette, is my sister. Why wouldn't she come here? Though this wasn't planned visit that I was aware of."

"You have a sister."

Bruce stated, as Diana and Arthur wondered off talking in hushed tones. Clark could hear that they had figured out one of her 'other' identities but was content that they wouldn't add drama for the moment he redirected his attention back to Bruce.

Clark sighed tiredly, "yes, I have a sister, Bruce. Who likes to keep her personal life private. Which is why you guys have just found out about her and not before."

"Is she Kryptonian?"

"Bruce!! you can't ask Clark that!!" Barry exclaimed, not really surprised by his bluntness but still Alfred was about, and he was ‘Bruce’ currently so social etiquettes, and all should be observed.

"What can't Moody & Broody ask Haybale, Greedy Gonzales?" Marinette enquired, a picture of planned innocence, as she snuck up on them. She gave Clark a side hug and a ‘knowing’ sibling smile.

"M… please… stop with that nickname. Bruce was just asking if you were adopted as well."

"Fine!" She rolled her eyes, "Boy Scout it is then. Moody & Broody I'm not adopted. Ma and Pa had me as a 'Surprise! you're pregnant’ a few years after they'd adopted Boy Scout here"

Bruce frowned at the names she'd been given them. While she just gave a facade of innocence, she held a glint in her eye that destroyed the illusion along with the names she was giving everyone.

Ignoring Clark and Bruce, Marinette turned to Barry to discuss his work at S.T.A.R labs and potential collaboration with MiracuTech. Clark internally groaned as he watched his sister get animated about some sort of tech project she wanted to discuss.

Bruce observed the interaction. It was clear that she knew more than she was letting on. Though he had done research on his peers to know their weaknesses and strengths, Clark having a younger sister never came up. How he had hidden her was impressive, unless it was herself who had hidden her existence from him… That was worrying causing Bruce to deepen his frown as he watched Barry and Marinette chat.

Clark joined in frowning at the pair, but because of how was Barry flirting with his BABY sister before he started to groan as it seemed to go completely over her head. She still seemed to be oblivious to those around her liking her slightly more than friendship.

"M! Ma's told you before no business talk at home."

Laughing back at him his sister nodded "We’ll have to continue this discussion another day maybe Greedy Gonzalez, when Boy Scout isn't being all boy scout-y and acting like a golden child."

Seeing an opportunity Diana butted in and 'subtly' tried to guide Marinette to where she was sitting with Arthur. "Lady Fortune, it's an honour to meet you in person. My mother has told many a tale of our mutual friends’ legacy"

"M is fine. Lady is much too formal for my liking right Ms Prince? Our friends have told me much about your mother as well Battle Barbie. But I must say I'd be more interested to hear about your curator work at the Louvre" Allowing herself to be led away.

___________________________________

Bruce gave Clark a patented batglare, "She knows." Clark rubbed his neck before back at Bruce.

"Yes. She knows. She's my sister. It's kinda hard to hide learning how to manage superpowers from family you know. It was her and Pa that helped find solutions to manage the powers. Lead glasses… her idea."

Growling at Clarks response. "She knows ours. You told her"

Taking a deep breath, "No Bruce.” Clark sighed out, praying to the god’s his sister cared for, for the patience to deal with his paranoid friend, “I didn't. She's smart. Ridiculously and stupidly smart but that's aside. She *knows* who I am. She follows my career, like I do hers. She knows who I work with, like I know who she works with. And who my friends are. The info is all there to work it out. She's also got me out of tight spots as an alibi way too often. I'm pretty sure this is opportunistic revenge for it. Especially for all she did before Lois *knew*"

"Oh god it was her calling you at the watch tower that made you pale. Not Ma Kent!!" Barry cackled, "She's the one you're scared of!!"

"Ssshhhhh Barry! Yes! She terrifies me. Much more than little sisters should. You do realise she has covered all your butts more than you think too. Remember she is a tech genius, she works *with other* tech genius’s and we, sometimes in a rush in the early days, forgot about cameras and visuals lining up."

Barry paled at that. Bruce on the other hand looked intrigued. Of course, her problem solving, and detective skills would attract him. "How long has she known?"

"Mine, since forever and never told anyone. Yours, as she has never said anything directly, I’m going to guess since we worked together the first times. I don’t really know for how long, but it’s been since the early days. You don’t need to worry though; she understands the need for secrets and how to keep them. This,” Clark says waving his hand around, “is her way to letting you know she knows without stating it. It’s definitely her subtle form of revenge on me for having to hack large corporations and delete footage or claiming that I was with her visiting so couldn’t get caught out.”

Clark turned to Bruce all serious, “Don’t antagonise or integrate her. Please Bruce! She can and will break into the Batcomputer and cause it to run slow and force your phones and alarms to only play baby shark.”

“So, she’s the one who helped you hack LexCorp to get the evidence required for your latest article”

“That’s what you got from that?! That my genius *baby* sister sometimes, might, maybe, help gather evidence to take down corrupt businessmen and politicians?! Not the fact that you shouldn’t wind her up!!”

“Well I know your tech skills aren’t up to scratch and though there was potential for Lois, it doesn’t really fit her MO so its nice to know how you truly do it. Do you think she would tell us how she hacked into JL main computer and the bat computer? Or be willing to assist in building better protection.”

Clark stared at Bruce, and was about to respond, but before he could Diana caught his eye as she knelt before M holding her hand. Stars in Diana’s eyes while Arthur looked like he was going to faint.

He groaned. Now, Diana!

His baby sister was really trying to stress him out with all the potential shovel talks he would need to make. The shimmer in her eyes when she briefly caught him looking at her suggested that she may be more aware that she was letting on. With the headache she was causing him, he would need a drink after all this.

Thankfully, before Marinette could cause more chaos with the Atlantean and Amazonian, her phone went off resulting in her slinking off to deal with what sounded like guardian issues from his eaves dropping giving what he thought was breathing room.

“Are you ok Arthur? Do I need to talk to M?” Clark enquired to his friend, hoping his sister hadn’t caused too much trauma for his friend.

“She can hold both sides of the balance and not succumb to the pressure or temptation. A true soul and so young. You let this all happen to your younger sister?”

Ok so she had caused some trauma for the Atlantean after all. He was certain it was related to the cat as well as the bug.

“Let is a strong word, Arthur. Forced is more appropriate. M is more stubborn than Bruce at times. And at 14... yeah hormonal teenage younger sister in Paris. My hand was forced.”

Diana and Arthur choked looking at Clark in horror, “14!?!?!”

Both Bruce and Barry raised an eye at him in judgement. Like they’re ones to talk with how young they let their mentees join the field.

“It is decided. She will be traveling with me to Themyscira and to Atlantis when Arthur puts on his ‘big boy pants’. She requires extra support in this matter.”

“14? Extra support? Diana, what are you talking about? She is in her 20’s not 14. You can’t kidnap Clark’s sister, Can she?”

Barry looked perplexed by the situation. Unsure on what they are talking about. She seemed to be fine and had survived years without assistance and knowing about their identities. Going to Themyscira and Atlantis would not help with that.

Staring at Clark with an unnerving intensity, Bruce answered Barry’s questions.

“She was one of the Parisian heroes. Their leader from what Diana and Arthur are suggesting. She started her extracurricular activities before even we officially did, much younger than we were and Clark didn’t stop her.”

“Oh.... Wait?! You didn’t stop her!!”

Clark was really regretting this BBQ. It was starting to feel more like an interrogation on his big brother skills, a judgement on his mentoring capability NOT a relaxing escape with friends.

“It would explain why Clark was so insistent of a some of the support protocols now,” Bruce mused. “She didn’t let you help and forced you stay away, didn’t she? Your powers, if you got akumatised, had the potential to cause a global disaster and the magic could have hurt you out of costume.”

“If you knew this, why are you giving me grief! And Diana, you can’t kidnap M. She has a support network already.”

“I didn’t. You just confirmed it. And more support can never hurt.”

Damn bat with his detective trickery and throwing his own arguments back in his face. Groaning in response Clark looked at his friends,

“Fine. You can ask but it’s HER choice no forcing it ok.”

After some grumbled agreements they all agreed.

___________________________________

“I hate you,”

“I love you too, Hay Bale.”

Marinette grinned at her brother with a cup of tea in hand. His friends had finally departed more than one had managed to get him to convince her to exchange numbers. She’d agreed to visit Diana when back in Paris to arrange a visit to Themyscira. It scared him how quickly after the initial interrogation and worry they all accepted her. She was bound to provide them so much blackmail on him. Clark was dreading his next JL meeting.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Not really. Ma knew I was visiting her this month. The fact you were here with everyone was just a perfect opportunity which I took up.”

Clark stared at his sister. None of her nervous tells were showing so wasn’t lying to him, not that she would. She hated secrets, and she carried so many with so many implications if they were revealed. As a result, she hated liars if there was not true reason for them.

“Fine. You do realise I have so many shovel talks now to dish out?”

“What?”

“Did you not see the heart eye’s Barry was giving? Or how Diana was constantly trying to get close? And once Bruce had assessed that you weren’t a threat, kept trying to engage you in conversation about detective stuff?”

“Oh, So, errr, they aren’t like that normally to friends?” A faint blush was making its way across Marinette’s cheeks. “I like wasn’t aware. Can I blame miraculous side effects?”

Clark laughed at his baby sister, yeah as clever as she was, she remained her wonderful blissfully ignorant self on flirting which he adored.

“Nah, they aren’t normally that friendly. Didn’t think you noticed and sure let’s blame the kwami, they caused some of this drama any way. I vote for Plagg and Trixx for being at fault.”

#maribat #maribat au #ml x dc #mlb x dc #dc x ml #dc x mlb #marinette x clark #siblings #platonic #marinette x superfam

[kallulovesu]

Heyooo :) can you do headcannons for a platonic yandere allies ?? Am aroace so that's the kind that floats my boat, also do you ever feel tired of writing ?? Like .. ur so productive, it's awsome but like .. I hope ur doing it cuz u have energy not cuz you have followers waiting 😬 take care Plz ❤❤🥺

For the anon that asked that yandere reader ask, thx u inspired this ask ur idea is rad :3

(A/N:) ahh thank you for the worry anon, but it’s no problem really!💞 I wouldn’t be making as much content if I wasn’t having any fun, since it’ll probably end up feeling more like chore...and I hate doing chores 😭

That one protective friend that makes sure to check up on you every second (but it’s turned up to the extreme and downright becomes unhealthy in some cases)™

It was ironic to him. Out everyone that he had gotten to know over all these years— hell, perhaps even Arthur; you were the only one he felt like understood him the most. Not many seemed to notice what was going on beneath the surface of his facade, which was why he appreciated you being there. You still liked him despite the many flaws that he had, and tried your best being with him even if it became downright tiring. Alfred would be heavily dependent on you because of this, often going to you to cheer him up— or before he was going to make a rash choice.

So it was only natural that he couldn’t see himself being without you.

You were like a best friend to him; Alfred would even go as far as to say that he felt a familial connection between the two of you. So the deep desire to protect you was normal, wasn’t it? Even when he felt himself worrying for your well-being at even the slightest approach of a stranger, it was just his instinct telling him that there was something wrong. It wasn’t anything unhealthy. Thus, would usually drag you away from anyone that he found to be suspicious; even those he was already familiar with. This would probably result in a lot of arguments, with him trying to say what was ‘best for you’ and with you denying that you needed this much...protection. You swore that it almost felt like he was just isolating you from the others, to have you purely depend on him for whatever reason you couldn’t make up.

Alfred can’t handle being apart from you— nonetheless the idea of you being angry with him, or even hating him . It truly didn’t matter if the reason was rather ridiculous or not, the idea of you hating him just...made his stomach churn uncomfortably. You were his best buddy, and basically one of the only ones he could trust with his inner worries; and the risk of it all being taken away from him because of a silly, childish mistake was all it took to send the poor boy into a state of panic. Please don’t leave him, he’d do anything to keep you there with him. Begging, gifting— you name it.

Arthur didn’t completely seem to realize his feelings at first, confusing it with romantic attraction for a little while— before quickly seeming to realize that it was all purely platonic. He did feel a bit protective of you, maybe even possessive...but it had nothing to do with romance, nor lust. It was just him wanting to have someone beside him, someone that he could call a friend. And someone that would never leave his side.

It won’t be hard to notice how...bad his communication skills were; with him often saying things that he didn’t really mean and slightly setting you off. Arthur is stubborn, so it may take some time (and slight teasing at how much he hesitated) for him to actually apologize. You’ll probably get used to it after a while, since he’s one big tsundere.

Saying this out loud was an absolute no-no for this man— but you being around Arthur was often enough to make him the slightest bit happier. It felt a bit lonely at times, especially with less and less people being around him these past few years. So having you as a friend almost felt like a breath of fresh air.

He’s very critical of those you choose to be around with, often analyzing even the smallest of things so he can determine if they’re actually worth being around you. Which more often than not ends up... not being the case. Arthur will tell you to stay away from them; saying that they were suspicious, and probably had something bad in mind. He’ll resort to isolating you if you were to disobey him, trying to take as much of your attention— and perhaps even kidnapping you if the extreme were to happen. You were his one and only best friend, and he had to make sure you were safe. Always.

Totally the big brother type...well, he usually proclaims himself as being one, so it isn’t that much of a surprise.

Francis will make sure to absolutely pamper you with his attention; hanging out with you, sending letters whenever he was too busy...and simply sending gifts from France. He simply couldn’t let you go off feeling unloved!

He adores talking about you; usually going off on a mindless ramble whenever someone even mentions your name, like a proud father showing off his child. Others will usually compare him to one due to how much he adores talking about you— or simply the way that he treats you. Which would quickly be disregarded with a: “oh, I’m no father! They’re just such a nice little friend to have around, who wouldn’t want to praise such a delicate person?”

On a second note....he actually did feel like a father figure to you. Huh.

Francis will often suggest helping you out with your love life, perhaps even gushing over cute guys together that you found on a random dating app— before quickly realizing that he didn’t really want this. Those silly moments were fun and all, but having you talk with someone that could just be out to use you made him a bit angry...and paranoid, mainly the latter. He will make sure that anyone that even so much dares to get close you first gets his approval first. The feeling of a broken heart was all too familiar to him, and he didn’t want you to experience such a thing.

This may result in him checking up on you...an awful lot, making sure that those around you were only the best of the best and wouldn’t end up being bad influence to you. Yes, he truly was like a father.

A sibling-like person in his life that he didn’t feel insecure against and acknowledged him as his own person? Fuck yes!!

Jokes aside— Matthew really does care deeply for you. Perhaps it was due to the Canadian barely having those that he could...truly call close friends, so having you around almost felt like a blessing. Unlike Francis, he won’t really show you off or talk about you much, especially around his brother. The American had already stolen enough from him, so why would he let something like that happen again?

He’s extremely wary of anyone that even so much tries to make a move on you. It’s just...you were someone that he held extremely dear; and having you potentially getting hurt due to some lowlife that managed to slip into your life would absolutely break his heart. Matthew didn’t want to fail in protecting you, he would never forgive himself if something like that were to happen.

Losing you is something that he wishes to avoid completely. He’ll even go as far as kidnapping you if it came down to it, Matthew just couldn’t see himself living happily without you by his side.

Yao likes cute things...and you’re a cute friend, so it’s a perfect match!

But seriously, he thinks that you’re absolutely adorable. Whether it be because of your personality— or your appearance, it really doesn’t end up mattering in the end. You’re his cute little friend, and that’s all that matters!

He’ll often treat you with more, yet gentler care than most of the others around him. He knew that you were well capable of taking care of yourself; but he just couldn’t help but see you as something fragile, something that he had to protect. So you can already imagine how frustrated he gets when someone treats you with even the slightest bit of disrespect— Yao will often confront them immediately, while you awkwardly have to sit back and watch it all. Almost feeling pity for the person that had to endure your friend’s seemingly never-ending complaints.

Oh, he probably doesn’t quite realize how he comes off as a father at times; seeing how much he’ll scold you for the smallest mistakes (while making sure to correct you of course!) and how he usually made decisions for you, making it hard to refuse his gestures due to his pushy nature. But it’ll probably become a normal thing for the two of you as time progresses, since it’s just...how Yao was, you assumed.

His controlling behavior will also reflect on how he treats your personal life. Yao is very selective of who he lets you be around with, so he’ll often look at your acquaintances and friends with a very critical eye, immediately expressing his distaste in them if they were even to do the smallest thing wrong. “Such a brute isn’t worth being around, (y/n).” Yao will warn you to stay away from them, but won’t bring it up any further if you decide to do what he says. If you don’t then...well, he had special friends to help him out with his dirtier work.

Yao might consider kidnapping you if this behavior keeps on repeating, but won’t feel compelled to actually do it unless something bad were to happen.

Ivan will always try his best to be there for you! While it most likely won’t quite work with him being a rather busy person; a country, nonetheless, but he’ll do his upmost best. It was extremely hard for Ivan to make friends that...weren’t scared of him or secretly disliked him, so having you was such a relief!

Being his only friend, he’ll make sure to be absolutely devoted to you— perhaps in a way that wasn’t too healthy in a friendship, and would often be looked down upon by those looking at your relationship from an outsider’s perspective. But could one truly blame him? Ever since he was born it felt like everyone around him were either toying with him, or were utterly terrified of the boy expect for his two sisters. It was lonely...so it isn’t hard to imagine how overjoyed he was once having you in his life; someone that didn’t display the usual fright whenever he approached them, nor did you look like you were out to hurt him.

Ivan appreciated you a lot.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that you’d most likely become the target of a few other countries, your connection with Ivan wasn’t extremely hidden from the outside world... (from how much he’d senselessly mutter things about you when daydreaming, and the many times he stuck by your side) and so, others would take it to their advantage. Those like Alfred will probably try convince you to leave Ivan’s side, spewing terrifying stories of the man to try and stir up something inside of you so you could leave him. It was mainly for your own safety, yes. But it was also to make the Russian weaker. It was obvious that he was depending on you heavily, and losing you would...god forbid if that would ever happen. Ivan would completely lose himself, perhaps even snapping completely.

So don’t hesitate to tell Ivan if someone was bothering you! Ivan will make sure to get rid of the little parasite from your life in an instant, giving them a short warning whenever the two come across each other...and making sure that he got his point across! It’s better to ignore their sudden disappearance after that day, since someone like them wasn’t worth lingering in your mind.

#help me why do I always write america this dramatically #dilf France? 😲 #CANADAS PART IS SO SHORT IM SORRYYYY #yandere #Yandere hetalia #hetalia x reader #Yandere allies #Yandere aph america #Yandere aph france #Yandere aph england #Yandere aph canada #Yandere aph China #yandere aph Russia #platonic yandere #platonic Yandere hetalia

[theunderneath]

How would the allies (1p) from hetalia react if they found out their s/o is a complete and utter yandere for someone completely different?

--

Good ask, just the whole concept of the idea is great. Unrequited love on a whole new level (I did not reread this nor grammar check, ENJOY!)

--

America/Alfred F.Jones

“W-WHY THEM! AND NOT ME!!!”

- Pure childish rage. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He feels so much even rage he can just about crack someone's neck. Oh and he will. He just needs to find out who. And probably in front of you, so you know who really loves you.

China/Yào Wáng

“I am going to ruin you.”

- He is going to ruin this person every way he can. Yào wants to show you how worthless and pitiful this person is. How much better you could do. How much better he would be for you. He’d probably also lock you in a room so you can do your yandere shit while he’s doing his.

England/Arthur Kirkland

“Is that so?”

- He's going to plan out every second of this person death. Every agonizing moment. And he is going to make you watch. How DARE you go falling for someone else. HOW DARE YOU! He shall make you break and you realize how stupid you are.

France/Francis Bonnefoy

“....... I see.”

- He feels so betrayed. Hasn’t he been good to you? Why do you love this man so? Why do you hate him? Doesn't he deserve something for all he's done for you? It just isn’t fair. Why DO YOU LOVE THAT PERSON SO MUCH AND NOT HIM? He just breaks down.

Russia/Ivan Braginsky

“...”

- Silent rage courses through his veins like his blood is on fire. He is going to kill this person and it will be painful. He will make it look like a accident so you fall into despair thinking your loved one left you on accident. Than he will swoop in and comfort you hoping that you fall for him next.

Canada/Matthew Williams

“...... I think you need to get some help.”

- He snaps. He turns cold and wants to get you help. Help you to see that this is wrong, that you doing this is WRONG! He gonna get you help and he’s gonna make sure you fall for him afterwords. Even if you relapse into your yandere state again, if it’s for him. He’s fine with it.

#male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere hetalia #yandere america #yandere Alfred F.Jones #yandere China #yandere Yào Wáng #yandere England #yandere #yandere Arthur Kirkland #yandere Francis Bonnefoy #yandere France #yandere Ivan Braginsky #yandere Russia #yandere Matthew Williams #yandere Canada

[mandelene]

≣: hand holding — a 17 year old Alfred is a pedestrian in a bad hit-and-run accident and is brought into Arthur’s ER. Arthur doesn’t find out until they’re wheeling him into the OR.

Love and Rage

Word Count: 1243

“Seventeen-year-old male en route to trauma – should be arriving any minute now. Hit and run on the corner of Lexington and East 39th Street. Patient was walking to the subway after getting food with friends at Shake Shack. EMS says vitals are stable but the patient was briefly unconscious and there’s suspected head trauma – bleeding along his hairline from when he hit the concrete. Patient was also complaining of shortness of breath and feeling dizzy. Bruising and swelling around his left side where he was struck, including his hip, thigh, and knee. Ribs tender to touch on the left side as well.”

Arthur sucks in a breath through his teeth as he overhears the trauma team receive report. Seventeen—that’s the same age as his boys. How devastating for the teen and his family. How could someone hit a child and then drive off? The thought makes him shudder.

He continues his charting, turning his attention back to his own patients. They have a level one trauma center—the boy is in good hands at least and has an entire team of doctors waiting for his arrival.

He doesn’t pay it any more mind…

Until he sees the bruised boy being brought in on a stretcher.

Arthur’s body goes cold and stiff. His knees weaken. He thinks he might vomit or faint, or both. He stands up from his chair on wobbly legs and grips the edge of the counter of the nurses’ station, trying to confirm if his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

The boy on the stretcher is Alfred.

He is reminded of the conversation he had with Alfred two nights ago—he had asked if he could go to the city with friends after school...

For three entire seconds—the longest seconds of his life—Arthur is paralyzed. He watches helplessly as Alfred is rushed into the trauma bay.

And then, he drops everything and runs.

“Alfred,” he gasps as he reaches the trauma team and pushes past them. “Alfred!”

His son’s blue eyes are glassy as they shift over to him. Splotches of red and purple hematomas are scattered across his face and chest, the left side of his forehead is dirty with sticky, dried blood, and he appears dazed and confused.

He takes Alfred’s hand and squeezes it. It suddenly feels so small and fragile—so easily breakable. “Oh, Alfred…It’s going to be all right, love. I-It’s going to be just fine,” he manages to say despite the sudden incredible ache in his heart.

One of the emergency medicine doctors on the team touches his shoulder and says, “We’re going to need you to wait outside. I’ll find you as soon as I can, okay?”

Arthur swallows against the lump of grief in his throat. Of course…He’s just going to be a distraction—too overwrought to be of any use to Alfred right now anyway. Treatment first, emotions later.

He gives Alfred’s hand one more warm squeeze and kisses his forehead before excusing himself from the trauma bay. When he exits, everyone at the nurses’ station is staring at him but trying their hardest to seem discreet about it.

He retreats to the doctors’ lounge and calls Francis.

That’s all he can do right now.

And he hates himself for it.

--------------------------------------

They wait an agonizing four hours before they’re given the full list of damage. Three fractured ribs, a concussion—but no bleeding in the brain, which is a huge relief—fractures to both his patella and tibia with displacement (requiring surgery), a dislocated hip (also surgically treated), and a collapsed lung.

But he should be fine with rest, monitoring, and supplemental oxygen.

It takes all of Arthur’s strength not to break down when he gets the news. He hugs Francis tightly outside of the pediatric ICU, shaking.

“We can go in and see him,” Arthur rasps in a hoarse voice, glancing over at Matthew, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area and looks so pale he’s matching the shade of the wall behind him.

Francis murmurs, “I’ll stay here with Mathieu for another few minutes. It’s…It’s going to be difficult to see him, and I think we both need a moment to prepare ourselves.”

“Okay, I’ll go then. Only two visitors at a time are allowed anyway,” Arthur says, steeling himself. He knows he’s seen worse in the past, but seeing his own child suffering is a different beast entirely.

He alerts Alfred’s nurse of his presence and then enters the boy’s room, inwardly pleading with himself to hold back the intense sorrow washing over him when he sees the oxygen mask on Alfred’s face and the chest tube creeping out from under his hospital gown.

He knows the boy has been through a great deal of pain, and he hopes the painkillers he’s getting are strong enough to at least grant him some reprieve.

Alfred’s eyes are closed at first, but he opens them halfway when he hears his footsteps. He’s still a bit woozy from anesthesia and the cocktail of pain medication—that much is clear.

“…Dad…?” Alfred asks very quietly. A few tears roll down his bruised face.

“I’m here, love,” Arthur replies, hastily taking up the chair by the bedside and grabbing hold of Alfred’s right hand. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through…But you’re going to be all right, and that’s all that matters right now…Don’t cry, poppet. Shhh…”

Arthur carefully pets the boy’s head and wipes away his tears. “I know, darling. I know…”

Alfred rolls his head to the side wearily, and Arthur holds him against his chest very gently, doing his best to console him without causing him any additional pain.

“You’re going to be all better with time,” Arthur promises. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and I wish I could have protected you today…I’m so sorry.”

Alfred sniffles and bites back a sob so as to not irritate his ribs and his lungs. “I’m so tired…And scared.”

“Close your eyes and try to rest. Don’t be scared—I’ll be here should anything else happen.”

“It hurts…”

Arthur can feel his heart being torn in half, straight down the middle. “I know, love,” he sighs, placing a hand against Alfred’s forehead and holding it there—a steady warmth to calm him. “Your Papa and Matthew are going to come in soon. They’re very worried about you. We all are. But we’re also going to do whatever we can to help you get well soon.”

“Are you gonna leave later?” Alfred asks, voice quavering.

“No, no. Of course not. One parent is always allowed to stay. I’ll be here all night. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise,” Arthur replies without hesitation, combing a hand through the boy’s hair. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving. Do you think I’d be able to sit at home without you? Worrying sick about you? Never,” he assures.

That’s the thing about children—they never understand how much you love them. How you would give up your entire world for them. How everything falls apart when something happens to them…How you can’t imagine yourself living on without them…

If he could find the driver who did this, he would kill them. Would wrap his bare hands around their neck and make them feel the same pain.

The rage inside of him—it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

When Francis and Matthew take his place by Alfred's bedside, he goes to the men’s restroom and cries.

#hetalia #hws face family #hws america #hws england #hws france #hws canada #drabbles #hurt comfort #hit and run

[koolkat9]

Good day! Woke up and instantly got F.A.C.E. Family vibes, today it’s all about the zoo because why not (and cause I love the zoo where I live)

-every Saturday they have something planned as a fun day, it can be a day they spend time together as a family or go out with friends

-this Saturday is Matthew’s turn and he suggests the zoo because he loves to see the animals and take pictures for his blog

-immediately Alfred gets excited and suggested they get a move on but Arthur and Francis have to tell him to slow down and that they have to eat breakfast first which of course Alfred eats his in a hurry

-after breakfast, they head to the zoo and the whole ride is Alfred singing a hundred of bottles of beer on the wall, Matthew having his headphones in and reading his favorite manga, Francis is driving and probably losing brain cells cause of Alfred’s singing and Arthur is in the passenger seat and is losing brain cells too and kinda wishing he brought headphones or something to drown out Alfred’s singing

-eventually they get there and get in, instantly Alfred gets excited like “OH MY GOD WE ARE ACTUALLY HERE!” (and like a kid in a candy store or a kid at Disneyland) Arthur wonders at times like these if he should trade Alfred in for another quieter kid like Matthew

-mostly when he goes to the zoo, Matthew likes get a lot of pictures of the polar bears and likes to hang around them that sometimes Francis has to remind him that they still need to move onto the next location

-after seeing Matthew hanging around the polar bears a lot every time they come to the zoo, Alfred bought Matthew a polar bear plush from the zoo’s gift shop

(This is all I could come up with so if you have any ideas I’ll look forward to seeing them)

Aww how sweet. I'm sorry I didn't answer this yesterday, I completely forgot.

Both of the boys love animals and wildlife so this is the perfect outing!

Okay some of my own ideas...

- Alfred loves bald eagles and he's excited to see them on the trip

- Unfortunately, Alfred's a little too excited and impatient and he wanders off more than once much to Arthur and Francis's dismay

- Matthew is most interested in the polar bears, but he also has a fascination with artic creatures in general as well as bears

- Alfred on the other hand enjoys the monkeys and birds of prey

- There is an insect section and Francis has to stay outside because he hates bugs-> Matthew tries to show him pictures after, but Francis refuses to see them-> Arthur teases him about it the whole time

- There is also a petting zoo and both boys are excited about that, but Arthur has to remind Al to be gentle with animals since Alfred is a little too rough sometimes

- Just before they go home, they get some ice cream

And that's what I got lol.

#hetalia #hws #face family #hws england #hws france #hws america #hws canada #headcanons #hetalia headcanons

[cutesilyo]

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night. 

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

#hws #hws america #hws philippines #usph #amephil #hetalia philippines #hetalia america #aph philippines #aph america #historical hetalia #mine