Fuck, I hope no one saw that de-anon I’m so sorry this took so long. I’m so, so SORRY. And just one part too. This has been an utter bitch to write (possibly the bitchiest EVER), England and America muses not cooperating and just wants to snog, snog, snog, and screw and they’re mad I won’t let them yet. *sobs*
Floriography 4.2a/?
“Crashing” was the word England chose to describe America’s entrance. Because that’s what he did - not stumble or walk, but crash.
Right into England.
Something in England’s brain must have addled by that crash, because even years from then, he cannot completely recall what exactly happened. One minute he was attempting to kiss Canada (remembering that part made England inwardly cringe and slam his head on the nearest hard surface every time. Dear God, what was he thinking then? Was he even thinking at all?), then there
( ... )
Re: Floriography: Language of Flowers [con't from Part 3] US x UK
anonymous
May 6 2009, 09:55:47 UTC
Floriography 4.2b/?
England’s hands curl to into fists, letting his nails bite into the soft flesh of his palms, the pain helping him focus. “America. I have a plane to catch. Kindly get off me and let me stand.” Or I will punch the living daylights out of you, you bloody wanker, he does not add, but instead conveys through his voice.
“What, not staying for Canada’s birthday party?” England suppresses a shiver when America ignores his unspoken warning and leans closer - fuck, fuck, FUCK - his stomach clenching at America’s tone. The idiot still had a cheerful expression on his face, but his voice has lost its pleasant ring, his words flat and without inflection. It also does not help England’s situation that, as he discovers from a quick glance around, France and Canada are no longer in the room with them, leaving England alone to deal with what promises to be a very unpleasant conversation with America. “Did you just drop off a gift and said happy birthday and then you’re off? You’re such a sucky father figure, you know that? Can’t
( ... )
Re: Floriography: Language of Flowers [con't from Part 3] US x UK
anonymous
May 6 2009, 13:29:27 UTC
Ahahah. Well, yes. I'm still continuing this. XD This part is pretty much the hardest one to write so far, so with luck, I'll be able to post quicker this time.
OP *with a rose for you*
anonymous
May 6 2009, 13:34:53 UTC
Uwah! I didn't think you were going to continue! But you did! And you brought Prussia! Gah! EPIC! Words cannot describe how much ILU right now! Entertain us with more flowery goodness soon, author!anon!
recaptcha say "required Incoming"...take that as you wish, but I suppose that means Prussia...
Re: OP *with a rose for you*
anonymous
May 6 2009, 13:55:04 UTC
Ahaha. Author!anon is sorry for making you guys wait and think I've given up. I had a serious block with this chapter, so it took long. >< I hope with this over, I'll be able to writer moar.
Re: Floriography: Language of Flowers [con't from Part 3] US x UK
anonymous
May 6 2009, 18:14:57 UTC
It's funny how Prussia's awesome is of such power that his mere presence could up the delight of this story by 300%. Oh dear, is my fangirl showing? I'm still enjoying this story immensly, not the least because of how subtly you weaved the unspoken longing into their feelings and contiune to do so here <3
Floriography: Language of Flowers 4.3a/?
anonymous
May 31 2009, 15:36:10 UTC
Author!Anon is back, and unfortunately, no Prussia yet. D: I probably made timezone mistakes last time, so please forgive me. m (_ _) m This one takes place just a few hours after England left Canada’s house.
Meanwhile, back in Canada’s house
Canada considers himself as someone reasonably intelligent. Perhaps not a genius like Japan or Estonia, but certainly his IQ is above that of, er, certain nations
( ... )
Floriography: Language of Flowers 4.3b/?
anonymous
May 31 2009, 15:38:18 UTC
The second situation is the one he was in right now. His birthday party had ended. Everyone had gone home (all of them moving as if the devil himself was on their heels, so eager they were to leave his house, Canada noted with bitterness) - except France, who had gone to the hospital (and no, he will not elaborate why; some things are better left unexplained and untouched - like little sisters with gun-totting older brothers).
Now he was alone with America. A very pissed America.
Those cowardly fucks! Canada silently rages at the other, absent, nations as he watches his twin brother lounge around his sofa, unnervingly quiet and subdued as he flips through the channels. His stomach is heavy with dread, but he tamps down the urge to grab his hockey stick that he always kept at the nearby closet just in case
( ... )
Floriography: Language of Flowers 4.3c/?
anonymous
May 31 2009, 15:44:39 UTC
“He whacked me in the head in private,” America said sulkily. Not to mention nearly bit my head off with his rant about proper gift-giving. He didn’t get what Arthur’s problem was. Hey, his movies were awesome (and those DVDs had many cool features and extras), and besides, it was the thought that counts, right?
“I rather doubt any thought was given to this at all,” Arthur had replied icily before stomping out of America’s office, chin held up high and an obstinate expression on his face. He didn’t speak to him the whole visit after that, except when need be or for show.
America pouted like a little child at the memory of that. Trust England to be such a snob.Glaring at his twin, America adds, “And I do wear the stuff he gives me, just…not when he could see them
( ... )
Fuck, I hope no one saw that de-anon
I’m so sorry this took so long. I’m so, so SORRY. And just one part too. This has been an utter bitch to write (possibly the bitchiest EVER), England and America muses not cooperating and just wants to snog, snog, snog, and screw and they’re mad I won’t let them yet. *sobs*
Floriography 4.2a/?
“Crashing” was the word England chose to describe America’s entrance. Because that’s what he did - not stumble or walk, but crash.
Right into England.
Something in England’s brain must have addled by that crash, because even years from then, he cannot completely recall what exactly happened. One minute he was attempting to kiss Canada (remembering that part made England inwardly cringe and slam his head on the nearest hard surface every time. Dear God, what was he thinking then? Was he even thinking at all?), then there ( ... )
Reply
England’s hands curl to into fists, letting his nails bite into the soft flesh of his palms, the pain helping him focus. “America. I have a plane to catch. Kindly get off me and let me stand.” Or I will punch the living daylights out of you, you bloody wanker, he does not add, but instead conveys through his voice.
“What, not staying for Canada’s birthday party?” England suppresses a shiver when America ignores his unspoken warning and leans closer - fuck, fuck, FUCK - his stomach clenching at America’s tone. The idiot still had a cheerful expression on his face, but his voice has lost its pleasant ring, his words flat and without inflection. It also does not help England’s situation that, as he discovers from a quick glance around, France and Canada are no longer in the room with them, leaving England alone to deal with what promises to be a very unpleasant conversation with America. “Did you just drop off a gift and said happy birthday and then you’re off? You’re such a sucky father figure, you know that? Can’t ( ... )
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Prussia is >) next chapter. XD
Reply
recaptcha say "required Incoming"...take that as you wish, but I suppose that means Prussia...
Reply
♥
(ahahaha. incoming 5 meters, perhaps)
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Meanwhile, back in Canada’s house
Canada considers himself as someone reasonably intelligent. Perhaps not a genius like Japan or Estonia, but certainly his IQ is above that of, er, certain nations ( ... )
Reply
Now he was alone with America. A very pissed America.
Those cowardly fucks! Canada silently rages at the other, absent, nations as he watches his twin brother lounge around his sofa, unnervingly quiet and subdued as he flips through the channels. His stomach is heavy with dread, but he tamps down the urge to grab his hockey stick that he always kept at the nearby closet just in case ( ... )
Reply
“I rather doubt any thought was given to this at all,” Arthur had replied icily before stomping out of America’s office, chin held up high and an obstinate expression on his face. He didn’t speak to him the whole visit after that, except when need be or for show.
America pouted like a little child at the memory of that. Trust England to be such a snob.Glaring at his twin, America adds, “And I do wear the stuff he gives me, just…not when he could see them ( ... )
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