After World War Two (and after being pretty much shipped by good ol' Churchill) America decides it's time to let England know how he feels about him. It's a big mistake, because England turns him down. America keeps trying, England keeps refusing, but it's not because he outright doesn't like America- it's because every time America confesses it sounds like a joke, and part of England doesn't believe America because he doesn't think he's lovable. Happy ending not required, but it would be nice. <3
Bonus 1- America's innocent attempts to tell England how he feels turn into complete cracky disasters. Appearances of France trying to fix everything but just making it worse optional. Bonus 2- Not too much angst. 'Cause low self esteem is angsty enough!Anyway, please enjoy
( ... )
Re: Author anon here
anonymous
January 2 2012, 22:20:11 UTC
Just a quick note (Beauty and the Beast on tv tonight, gotta run&watch for the 256th time :D) to let you know this can't possibly disappoint! It's seriously amazing and does really justice to such a beautiful and complex carachter as England...I find him being made too simply from time to time...Just an old mannered guy with a temper, and still there' so much more than that :P
Re: Part IX (the second half ), notes
anonymous
January 1 2012, 05:52:15 UTC
Oh, well, he thinks as he doubles over and empties his stomach onto the ground. When in Rome.
Utterly heart wrenching. All the interactions between Francis and Arthur, every single one of them. Francis' disgust at war and his genuine desire to be friends with Arthur was so real and so painful since I knew it wasn't going to end well. I love the angry, reference filled dialogue between the two of them at Joan of Arc's burning. And of course as usual your Arthur is so perfect. Angry, determined, and so painfully insecure. I want to shake him and then give him a big long hug.
Author anon here
anonymous
January 10 2012, 03:05:08 UTC
Hello longcomment!anon, thank you for taking time out of your busy day to review this again. And, oh gosh, what a long review! I never thought I'd get more than maybe a handful when I started writing this story, let alone a long one. : ) Thank you again for your compliments.
This story was always and will continue to be USUK. I've had this story planned out pretty much from the beginning, so it sucks to hear someone say they felt the direction and main focus was lost along the way. 8( But I am very thankful for the honesty. I've wondered, though, if maybe the posting format is partly to blame? I've read fics where sometimes things felt disjointed due to a long break between chapters, but when I went back and read large parts of it in longer sittings, ideas and scenes seemed to flow and bounce off each other much more smoothly.
That could be part of it, but I won't deny some author failure on my part as well. >.I've focused so much on Arthur in this story because I felt the prompt called for it. There are so many stories where Arthur
( ... )
Re: Part IX (the second half ), notes
anonymous
January 16 2012, 03:38:41 UTC
You have rendered me speechless, A!Anon.
I just have to say that I love how Arthur and Francis' relationship here was portrayed. That the root of Arthur's animosity towards Francis was from the Norman Invasion, and how the person he trusted most and he had come to love like a brother had been one with the enemy all along.
It's just, understandable for Arthur's reaction and the grudge he planted in his heart. So beautiful. I think I will apply this to my headcanon. Thank you so much!
And also, I am very excited for the next chapter, to go back to the present, back to Alfred (yay I miss him so much!) and I'm having mixed feelings regarding the near closure of this fill. Please, de-anon and post this in the USUK Comm!
In the ensuing silence, Francis, as ever, imagines many things.
He sees Arthur falling prostrate before him, kissing his shoes. The orchestra will swell, the church bells will ring, spring will come early, and all will be well as Arthur races to declare his everlasting love for his darling Alfred. True love lives!
…But he looks at Arthur sitting on the steps beside him, immobile but for the deliberate manner in which he draws breath and the deliberate manner in which he clenches and unclenches his fists, and Francis’ imaginings turn more realistic: He vividly sees Arthur giving him the supreme thrashing of his life (“Not my face! Not my face!”) before hauling him by his hair, kicking and screaming, out of the church, that pirate’s mouth Arthur never learned (or bothered) to clean cursing him straight into the next century all the while
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 05:50:46 UTC
“I find that hard to believe,” Arthur says, and thinks: That anyone should form any sort of attachment to me is beyond ridiculous. There is nothing worth attaching oneself to.
Francis rubs his temples. “Mon Dieu, I am losing all patience with you!”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, I’m sure.”
Francis drops his hands. “Have you ever known him to be a liar?”
Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Something is whispering in the back of his mind, something is tapping a restless finger against his shoulder - another ghost from his past, perhaps? That’s the thing about ghosts, Arthur has realized: They are cowards who never dare show their face, never look you in the eye, yet you never can escape their hollow presence. The bastards linger, crying out over the moors and shivering across the centuries
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 05:54:51 UTC
“Honestly, I never saw what was so scandalous about that writer in the first place. But if he really did need a chaperone, you know you could have easily sent someone else. Your brother, perhaps - the writer technically belonged to him, after all. But the fact is you did not. And that’s…” Francis rests his cheek on his hand and smiles. “It’s sweet, is what it is.”
“I am not sweet,” Arthur grumbles, “and I am not kind. Do you just not believe me, or are you completely ignoring me at this point
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 05:59:18 UTC
My dear, dear people. I have done horrible things - things neither my past nor my status as a nation can justify. It all turned out to be nothing more than selfish, childish tantrums met with horrible consequences. I have been unworthy of you, and thought that if I held on tightly to the sins of my past, I could pay a kind of penance for them every day. But you have never demanded that of me, and perhaps I’ve been too proud, too presumptuous. Who am I to tell you what you want, what you are to believe? I have raised you to be intelligent and confident, but I have never taken you at your word, and for that I am most heartily sorry. I will never question you again.
That blasted ghost will not leave him be. What is it trying to tell him? What is it yearning to say?
Alfred, Alfred. Everyone else has always kept their distance, so why shouldn’t he? Who does he think he is? To come and barge in when everyone else has kept their distance…but is it time for me to start taking him at his word as well? What monstrous pride, for me to assume I
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:01:35 UTC
Two of the taller girls raise their arms and touch the tips of their fingers together.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,” they sing, the others running beneath the arch of their arms. “London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady…”
Arthur turns and looks behind him, his heart following the Thames as it courses downstream, flows under Westminster Bridge, the Hungerford, the Waterloo, the Blackfriars.
“Build it up,” the school girls sing. “Build it up…”
It’s too far away for his eyes to see it, but he knows with every fiber of his being London Bridge is out there, still standing for all this prattling on about falling down. Always, this talk of falling down! Do they not know it is the sturdiest, most dependable and resilient bridge in all the country - in all the world, even? And even if this most worthy, most excellent structure did fall, no one would leave it in such a state - it would most assuredly be built right back up again, exactly as the dear girls are singing, because -
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:04:14 UTC
“You shouldn’t sit like that,” he admonishes, motioning toward Alfred’s legs, crossed like a child’s. “You’ll ruin your suit and then no one will take what you have to say seriously at all.”
Alfred’s shoulders slouch and he gives Arthur a displeased look.
“Seriously?” he asks. “Look, I know I screwed up - I know I keep screwing up. I’m not doing this right at all. It’s the most cliché thing ever to corner someone in a broom closet, but - ”
“Here,” Arthur interrupts, thrusting one of two small objects wrapped with brown paper at him. “I - I picked this up for you.”
Alfred looks at the object, then up at Arthur, and quirks an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“It’s a sandwich, what else would it be?” Arthur says, but immediately feels the harshness of it and winces
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:07:25 UTC
He looks away, a slight pout on his face.
“But, I can’t force people to do something. And I can’t force you to feel that way about me. So…I won’t bring it up anymore. Just forget about it, alright? I mean, I won’t ever stop loving you - I haven’t stopped in, what? Like, three and half centuries? But I won’t bring it up anymore, so…you don’t have to worry. I’ll only be boring and professional from now on.”
Arthur’s hand jerks ever so slightly, unsure if he should reach out and touch Alfred or not.
“You needn’t apologize, Alfred,” he says, “it’s I who owe you an apology.”
“What?” Alfred exclaims. “No way! You haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, but I have.”
“No - ”
“Listen to me.” Arthur’s voice is gentle. “I’ve been a right cad, Alfred. I’ve pushed you away when all I really wanted was - was - well. Suffice it to say, you’re too generous to have put up with my behavior as long as you have
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:12:03 UTC
“I’m not a poet, Alfred, but if I were - ” he closes his eyes as he begins to recite, his fists clenched at his sides - “I would tell you that you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this
( ... )
Part X, cont.
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:13:37 UTC
Arthur pulls away first, putting a respectable distance between them.
“Look, everyone’s going back inside. The lunch break must be over.”
“Yeah, guess so. But - say, Artie?”
“Mmm?”
“When the meeting’s over and done with, and if you’re not busy, do you…well, do you wanna hang out? Spend the rest of the day together, I mean. We could go do something, but…it might be nice just to go back to your place and relax.”
“What, and have you be subjected to the dullness of all my old books and maps?”
Alfred smiles and takes Arthur’s hand.
“Pretty much.” He quickly turns and sneezes into his shoulder. “And your fireplace, too,” he sniffles.
Arthur looks down at their hands, and wonders how much of their shared trembling is strictly from the cold. “That sounds brilliant.”
It’s not much, but Arthur gives Alfred’s hand a gentle squeeze. Alfred can tell Arthur is happy; for once, it shows on his face plain as day, and that is more than enough.
Part X, notes
anonymous
February 21 2012, 06:22:13 UTC
There’s an epilogue coming! ; )
First, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I suddenly became very unmotivated. I think some of it has to do with the pressure to finish the story in a satisfying way, but also, I happened upon some very good fanfics that were so great they made me doubt my own writing skills (or lack thereof). So I tried walking away and distancing myself from the story, but that didn’t help (duuuuumb idea, anon), and neither did taking a break to write another fill for the meme in an effort to boost my confidence. The only thing that worked was me finally sitting my dumb ass down and forcing myself to write, and here we are. I hope it was at least an okay ending. But it’s about dang time we stopped wanting to hug Arthur and finally get to cheer him on! After putting him through the ringer, it was fun to write something happy. 8D
*Bizet’s opera Carmen
*The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas (fils), sometimes shortened to Camille*The “Miracle at Dunkirk” wasn’t so much the battle itself -
( ... )
Original request and previous chapters here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20749.html?thread=82831117#t82831117
After World War Two (and after being pretty much shipped by good ol' Churchill) America decides it's time to let England know how he feels about him. It's a big mistake, because England turns him down. America keeps trying, England keeps refusing, but it's not because he outright doesn't like America- it's because every time America confesses it sounds like a joke, and part of England doesn't believe America because he doesn't think he's lovable. Happy ending not required, but it would be nice. <3
Bonus 1- America's innocent attempts to tell England how he feels turn into complete cracky disasters. Appearances of France trying to fix everything but just making it worse optional.
Bonus 2- Not too much angst. 'Cause low self esteem is angsty enough!Anyway, please enjoy ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Utterly heart wrenching. All the interactions between Francis and Arthur, every single one of them. Francis' disgust at war and his genuine desire to be friends with Arthur was so real and so painful since I knew it wasn't going to end well. I love the angry, reference filled dialogue between the two of them at Joan of Arc's burning. And of course as usual your Arthur is so perfect. Angry, determined, and so painfully insecure. I want to shake him and then give him a big long hug.
So happy to see you've updated.
Reply
Reply
This story was always and will continue to be USUK. I've had this story planned out pretty much from the beginning, so it sucks to hear someone say they felt the direction and main focus was lost along the way. 8( But I am very thankful for the honesty. I've wondered, though, if maybe the posting format is partly to blame? I've read fics where sometimes things felt disjointed due to a long break between chapters, but when I went back and read large parts of it in longer sittings, ideas and scenes seemed to flow and bounce off each other much more smoothly.
That could be part of it, but I won't deny some author failure on my part as well. >.I've focused so much on Arthur in this story because I felt the prompt called for it. There are so many stories where Arthur ( ... )
Reply
I just have to say that I love how Arthur and Francis' relationship here was portrayed. That the root of Arthur's animosity towards Francis was from the Norman Invasion, and how the person he trusted most and he had come to love like a brother had been one with the enemy all along.
It's just, understandable for Arthur's reaction and the grudge he planted in his heart. So beautiful. I think I will apply this to my headcanon. Thank you so much!
And also, I am very excited for the next chapter, to go back to the present, back to Alfred (yay I miss him so much!) and I'm having mixed feelings regarding the near closure of this fill. Please, de-anon and post this in the USUK Comm!
Thank you for this beautiful fill.
Reply
In the ensuing silence, Francis, as ever, imagines many things.
He sees Arthur falling prostrate before him, kissing his shoes. The orchestra will swell, the church bells will ring, spring will come early, and all will be well as Arthur races to declare his everlasting love for his darling Alfred. True love lives!
…But he looks at Arthur sitting on the steps beside him, immobile but for the deliberate manner in which he draws breath and the deliberate manner in which he clenches and unclenches his fists, and Francis’ imaginings turn more realistic: He vividly sees Arthur giving him the supreme thrashing of his life (“Not my face! Not my face!”) before hauling him by his hair, kicking and screaming, out of the church, that pirate’s mouth Arthur never learned (or bothered) to clean cursing him straight into the next century all the while ( ... )
Reply
Francis rubs his temples. “Mon Dieu, I am losing all patience with you!”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, I’m sure.”
Francis drops his hands. “Have you ever known him to be a liar?”
Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Something is whispering in the back of his mind, something is tapping a restless finger against his shoulder - another ghost from his past, perhaps? That’s the thing about ghosts, Arthur has realized: They are cowards who never dare show their face, never look you in the eye, yet you never can escape their hollow presence. The bastards linger, crying out over the moors and shivering across the centuries ( ... )
Reply
“I am not sweet,” Arthur grumbles, “and I am not kind. Do you just not believe me, or are you completely ignoring me at this point ( ... )
Reply
That blasted ghost will not leave him be. What is it trying to tell him? What is it yearning to say?
Alfred, Alfred. Everyone else has always kept their distance, so why shouldn’t he? Who does he think he is? To come and barge in when everyone else has kept their distance…but is it time for me to start taking him at his word as well? What monstrous pride, for me to assume I ( ... )
Reply
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,” they sing, the others running beneath the arch of their arms. “London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady…”
Arthur turns and looks behind him, his heart following the Thames as it courses downstream, flows under Westminster Bridge, the Hungerford, the Waterloo, the Blackfriars.
“Build it up,” the school girls sing. “Build it up…”
It’s too far away for his eyes to see it, but he knows with every fiber of his being London Bridge is out there, still standing for all this prattling on about falling down. Always, this talk of falling down! Do they not know it is the sturdiest, most dependable and resilient bridge in all the country - in all the world, even? And even if this most worthy, most excellent structure did fall, no one would leave it in such a state - it would most assuredly be built right back up again, exactly as the dear girls are singing, because -
Because -
My sun sets to ( ... )
Reply
Alfred’s shoulders slouch and he gives Arthur a displeased look.
“Seriously?” he asks. “Look, I know I screwed up - I know I keep screwing up. I’m not doing this right at all. It’s the most cliché thing ever to corner someone in a broom closet, but - ”
“Here,” Arthur interrupts, thrusting one of two small objects wrapped with brown paper at him. “I - I picked this up for you.”
Alfred looks at the object, then up at Arthur, and quirks an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“It’s a sandwich, what else would it be?” Arthur says, but immediately feels the harshness of it and winces ( ... )
Reply
“But, I can’t force people to do something. And I can’t force you to feel that way about me. So…I won’t bring it up anymore. Just forget about it, alright? I mean, I won’t ever stop loving you - I haven’t stopped in, what? Like, three and half centuries? But I won’t bring it up anymore, so…you don’t have to worry. I’ll only be boring and professional from now on.”
Arthur’s hand jerks ever so slightly, unsure if he should reach out and touch Alfred or not.
“You needn’t apologize, Alfred,” he says, “it’s I who owe you an apology.”
“What?” Alfred exclaims. “No way! You haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, but I have.”
“No - ”
“Listen to me.” Arthur’s voice is gentle. “I’ve been a right cad, Alfred. I’ve pushed you away when all I really wanted was - was - well. Suffice it to say, you’re too generous to have put up with my behavior as long as you have ( ... )
Reply
Reply
“Look, everyone’s going back inside. The lunch break must be over.”
“Yeah, guess so. But - say, Artie?”
“Mmm?”
“When the meeting’s over and done with, and if you’re not busy, do you…well, do you wanna hang out? Spend the rest of the day together, I mean. We could go do something, but…it might be nice just to go back to your place and relax.”
“What, and have you be subjected to the dullness of all my old books and maps?”
Alfred smiles and takes Arthur’s hand.
“Pretty much.” He quickly turns and sneezes into his shoulder. “And your fireplace, too,” he sniffles.
Arthur looks down at their hands, and wonders how much of their shared trembling is strictly from the cold. “That sounds brilliant.”
It’s not much, but Arthur gives Alfred’s hand a gentle squeeze. Alfred can tell Arthur is happy; for once, it shows on his face plain as day, and that is more than enough.
It is a beginning.
Reply
First, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I suddenly became very unmotivated. I think some of it has to do with the pressure to finish the story in a satisfying way, but also, I happened upon some very good fanfics that were so great they made me doubt my own writing skills (or lack thereof). So I tried walking away and distancing myself from the story, but that didn’t help (duuuuumb idea, anon), and neither did taking a break to write another fill for the meme in an effort to boost my confidence. The only thing that worked was me finally sitting my dumb ass down and forcing myself to write, and here we are. I hope it was at least an okay ending. But it’s about dang time we stopped wanting to hug Arthur and finally get to cheer him on! After putting him through the ringer, it was fun to write something happy. 8D
*Bizet’s opera Carmen
*The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas (fils), sometimes shortened to Camille*The “Miracle at Dunkirk” wasn’t so much the battle itself - ( ... )
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