1000 Themes - #610 - Hetalia - France, America, & Canada
Title: Pardon My French
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, set in [title to be decided]-verse, bit of language, fail!French
Words: 823
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Francis, Alfred, and Matthew
“C’mon, Francis! You know I’m better at Spanish! Why do I have to learn your girly language?”
Francis sighed. Alfred was whining again, face in a pillow as he groaned and complained. This tended to happen during their weekly lessons when Francis would try to teach the boy French, a language he personally found much more enjoyable and useful than Spanish. It wasn’t a part of Alfred’s curriculum at school, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to learn another language, he could handle it. It would keep him out of trouble with Ivan; that was for sure.
Rubbing his stubble thoughtfully and slapping Alfred’s thigh with the stack of vocabulary note cards they had been using, Francis considered bribing him with a gourmet burger from the restaurant. Perhaps that would make him pay attention.
“Alfred, you don’t want dear Mathieu to surpass you, do you?” he tried, smirking lazily as he watched Alfred stiffen, relax, and remove the pillow from his face. They stared at each other for a moment, the note cards now being tapped against Francis’ chin while the gears turned and cranked in Alfred’s head.
After a minute or so of staring, Francis frowned. He hoped all this thinking wasn’t because Alfred forgot who his own half-brother was again. The mix-ups upset him so; it wasn’t fair to the younger blonde, nor did it seem right that despite them being born a year apart they looked so similar, especially considering their paternal differences. “Alfred? Mon garçon, are you alri-”
“Matty wouldn’t really get better than me at French, right?”
Francis had to hold back from saying that Matthew probably knew far more French than most of the French II students at their school; he didn’t want to make Alfred cry just yet. So he cracked a little smile, convincing and friendly, and handed Alfred the note cards. “That is up to you. Will he?”
Alfred stared at the cards, pursing his lips, and snatched them with a flustered blush. “Pardon my French, but fuck no, he’s not!”
Francis couldn’t help but smile, even if Alfred’s phrasing was…off.
“After all! I’m the hero, and I’m gonna-”
“Alfred, shush. You’re going to give me a headache if you keep that up.” Francis interrupted. Sometimes Alfred’s voice was migraine inducing, he wasn’t entirely sure how Arthur handled it day after day.
Alfred pouted, slumping. “I was just…”
Francis scratched the boy’s head, being careful to mind the cowlick he was so proud of. “I know, I know. But the sooner you get this over with the sooner you can go parade around your father while speaking French, non?”
That made Alfred perk up, back straight and a grin spreading predictably across his face. “Yeah! Yeah, you’re right! Man, he’ll be so pissed!”
“C’est vrai! Now come, come, those note cards will do wonders for you.”
~*~
Matthew yawned as he dropped his dropped his backpack by the door. “Papa! I’m home! Hockey let out early, so I just came straight home.” he called, shedding his coat to hang on the coat hanger. When he received no answer, even as he locked the front door, he hesitantly ventured further into the apartment. “Papa? Are you here?”
He first went into the kitchen, small as it was, and found a note taped to the upper oven. Curious, Matthew plucked it off and read it. To no surprise, it was written in French, a method Francis had employed for his son to learn the language faster, so he read it aloud as he translated it. “There is food for both of you…I’ll be working late…something, something…Love you, Papa. ‘Both of you’? But Ivan’s visiting his family in Russia…”
Matthew shrugged, scratched his head and put the note in his pocket for future studying purposes. He was about to open the oven-wow, that food smelled good-when a loud, dinosaur-like roar of a snore sounded, causing him to nearly leap out of his skin. He stumbled back against the counter with his hand pressed to his chest.
“O-oh my-was that-?” And off he went, bustling into the living room, peeking over the back of the couch. With a groan he slumped forward against the couch, not pleased with Alfred’s presence there. He supposed he should have woken him up, that would have been the nice thing to do, but knowing Alfred, his own share of the food would become noticeably smaller than Francis had intended. So he figured it best to let sleeping food-vacuums lie.
Matthew sighed, reached down to remove Alfred’s glasses, and went back into the kitchen, setting the glasses on the counter. “Wonder why he’s here…maybe he and Papa were badmouthing Arthur or something.”
He brushed the odd situation off; it was much more pleasant to look forward to enjoying dinner with his brother for once, even if said brother was fast asleep and would stay that way until Matthew had eaten his portion.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, set in [title to be decided]-verse, bit of language, fail!French
Words: 823
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Francis, Alfred, and Matthew
“C’mon, Francis! You know I’m better at Spanish! Why do I have to learn your girly language?”
Francis sighed. Alfred was whining again, face in a pillow as he groaned and complained. This tended to happen during their weekly lessons when Francis would try to teach the boy French, a language he personally found much more enjoyable and useful than Spanish. It wasn’t a part of Alfred’s curriculum at school, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to learn another language, he could handle it. It would keep him out of trouble with Ivan; that was for sure.
Rubbing his stubble thoughtfully and slapping Alfred’s thigh with the stack of vocabulary note cards they had been using, Francis considered bribing him with a gourmet burger from the restaurant. Perhaps that would make him pay attention.
“Alfred, you don’t want dear Mathieu to surpass you, do you?” he tried, smirking lazily as he watched Alfred stiffen, relax, and remove the pillow from his face. They stared at each other for a moment, the note cards now being tapped against Francis’ chin while the gears turned and cranked in Alfred’s head.
After a minute or so of staring, Francis frowned. He hoped all this thinking wasn’t because Alfred forgot who his own half-brother was again. The mix-ups upset him so; it wasn’t fair to the younger blonde, nor did it seem right that despite them being born a year apart they looked so similar, especially considering their paternal differences. “Alfred? Mon garçon, are you alri-”
“Matty wouldn’t really get better than me at French, right?”
Francis had to hold back from saying that Matthew probably knew far more French than most of the French II students at their school; he didn’t want to make Alfred cry just yet. So he cracked a little smile, convincing and friendly, and handed Alfred the note cards. “That is up to you. Will he?”
Alfred stared at the cards, pursing his lips, and snatched them with a flustered blush. “Pardon my French, but fuck no, he’s not!”
Francis couldn’t help but smile, even if Alfred’s phrasing was…off.
“After all! I’m the hero, and I’m gonna-”
“Alfred, shush. You’re going to give me a headache if you keep that up.” Francis interrupted. Sometimes Alfred’s voice was migraine inducing, he wasn’t entirely sure how Arthur handled it day after day.
Alfred pouted, slumping. “I was just…”
Francis scratched the boy’s head, being careful to mind the cowlick he was so proud of. “I know, I know. But the sooner you get this over with the sooner you can go parade around your father while speaking French, non?”
That made Alfred perk up, back straight and a grin spreading predictably across his face. “Yeah! Yeah, you’re right! Man, he’ll be so pissed!”
“C’est vrai! Now come, come, those note cards will do wonders for you.”
~*~
Matthew yawned as he dropped his dropped his backpack by the door. “Papa! I’m home! Hockey let out early, so I just came straight home.” he called, shedding his coat to hang on the coat hanger. When he received no answer, even as he locked the front door, he hesitantly ventured further into the apartment. “Papa? Are you here?”
He first went into the kitchen, small as it was, and found a note taped to the upper oven. Curious, Matthew plucked it off and read it. To no surprise, it was written in French, a method Francis had employed for his son to learn the language faster, so he read it aloud as he translated it. “There is food for both of you…I’ll be working late…something, something…Love you, Papa. ‘Both of you’? But Ivan’s visiting his family in Russia…”
Matthew shrugged, scratched his head and put the note in his pocket for future studying purposes. He was about to open the oven-wow, that food smelled good-when a loud, dinosaur-like roar of a snore sounded, causing him to nearly leap out of his skin. He stumbled back against the counter with his hand pressed to his chest.
“O-oh my-was that-?” And off he went, bustling into the living room, peeking over the back of the couch. With a groan he slumped forward against the couch, not pleased with Alfred’s presence there. He supposed he should have woken him up, that would have been the nice thing to do, but knowing Alfred, his own share of the food would become noticeably smaller than Francis had intended. So he figured it best to let sleeping food-vacuums lie.
Matthew sighed, reached down to remove Alfred’s glasses, and went back into the kitchen, setting the glasses on the counter. “Wonder why he’s here…maybe he and Papa were badmouthing Arthur or something.”
He brushed the odd situation off; it was much more pleasant to look forward to enjoying dinner with his brother for once, even if said brother was fast asleep and would stay that way until Matthew had eaten his portion.