Past-Part Fills Part 7
!!! Discussion about moving the kink meme to Dreamwidth!!!
Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20026.html?thread=74724410#t74724410
Parts 1-7
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20706.html?thread=87494882#t87494882
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Why it isn’t insignificant.
But he feels insignificant presently, as he takes his first step into his bedroom that day, deciding to throw his caution to the wind - to the wind outside, no doubt, because the raging gale is starting to make tree branches knock heatedly with gnarled knuckles against the nearest window ( ... )
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“Your friend Gilbert dropped by to look for you,” Bonnefoy explains. “I told him you weren’t here, but-”
The rest of Bonnefoy’s sentence goes unheard. Alfred directs all of his attention to the object in Bonnefoy’s hold.
Gilbert.
The name bounces around inside Alfred’s head and his fingers quiver with anticipation; the urge to rip open the letter, to eagerly devour the first contact he’s had from his friend in weeks, is nearly overwhelming.
But there is always the matter of Bonnefoy. The nausea in Alfred’s stomach intensifies.
“Non,” Bonnefoy snaps, and the sudden frustration in his tone shocks Alfred into staring. “Before you accuse me of going through your private mail, I didn’t open it. I have not read the contents, for I am not the untrustworthy Robespierre you believe me to be ( ... )
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He is strangely relieved at knowing his fit of temper solved nothing.
“I can tell you are frustrated.” Bonnefoy starts to slowly tap his foot as he speaks, and it’s almost soothing. “I can tell you want to know why Arthur can’t remember anything - who I am, or the purpose you wish you could attribute to me - even my motivation behind involving my son ( ... )
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It’s barely half-a-page long, and the spelling is atrocious - it could be because English is Gilbert’s second language, but Alfred knows that isn’t the case. Gilbert’s younger brother, Ludwig, is far more attentive to grammar and correct punctuation than Gilbert is; Gilbert’s just lazy.
Arthur continues to stare at Alfred expectantly, but Alfred doesn’t read aloud.
Sup, the dispatch eloquently begins, This is GILBERT. Long time no see. If you are readin this, we have not hung out with each other four a LONG TIME and that is UNGOOD. I wonted to see you today but you WERENT IN. So this is a notice of RE-SCHEDUAL. I will be at your house on TEUSDAY and you better be their or else. This was GILBERT.To think, it’s the first letter Alfred has ever received ( ... )
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Their purpose should be clear. They are hired to fulfil domestic service, their main duties involving organisation and housekeeping. However, unlike Emma, maids are not usually supposed to take care of children, nor supervise them, unless they’ve been assigned that particular task by the man or woman of the house.
The state of being a ‘maid’ is simply the state of being employed, so Alfred simply cannot work out why they’re so organised when it comes to annoying the living crap out of him.
As far as he knows, no maid has been told to constantly keep an eye on him. And yet, as he sits on the steps outside the manor’s front door, watching eagerly for Gilbert’s arrival, any maid that happens to walk through the hall insists on asking him a question or two. They are repetitive in their queries, as though they’ve held a meeting and have decided to keep firing off the same things - what are you doing and why are you sat there and are you feeling sick or something, dear?He blames his grandparents, at the centre of it. They ( ... )
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Gilbert shrugs again. “So?”
The display of fury on Bonnefoy’s face strengthens, and Alfred tries not to laugh at the sight of it. He’s never seen the Frenchman so livid before.
“So? So, now you’re going to have to clean this up.”
“You can’t make me do chores,” Gilbert scoffs. “I’m the guest.”
Bonnefoy waggles a finger. “But you are not the guest, because you happily invited yourself into this house!”
“Liar, I’m Alfred’s guest,” Gilbert says, turning to hook an arm around Alfred’s shoulders. “And we are trying to have a confidential conversation.”
Bonnefoy fumes further but doesn’t say anything, and Alfred is in awe. Gilbert’s so smart. He knows how to silence Bonnefoy successfully and he knows way bigger words than Alfred does ( ... )
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“Not until you apologise.”
It’s almost fascinating, how easily those four words instil sheer rage.
“Why the fuck should I be the one to apologise? I’m the one offering an olive branch!”
“I just wanted to make you happy,” Alfred sniffs, adjusting his awful glasses. “You didn’t-”
“Oh, here come the waterworks,” Arthur says. Alfred tries to speak, but Arthur gets in first. “You effectively ignore me all weekend and then think blubbering will fix things?”
“I didn’t wanna talk to you!”
“There’s a surprise. Mess everything up and then walk away- ”
“You didn’t hafta make me look silly in front of everyone!”
“Nobody knows anything about what happened in the attic except that French chap,” Arthur scoffs. “And if you really didn’t want him to know about it...”
“But... I didn’t want him to! I don’t know how he found out!”
“Well, I’m certainly not the one leaking him information ( ... )
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The nausea diffuses, and Alfred realises that this is why he’s been feeling sick. Not the prospect of leaving, but the prospect of this, and he suspected so but couldn’t let the notion overwhelm him. Gilbert’s tissue still feels heavy in his pocket, but he’s too tired to cry ( ... )
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