(no subject)
Fill for Hetalia Kink Meme - "France/Canada, daddy kink"
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20123088#t20123088
Matthew thought he must have one of the prettiest views in the entire countryside from up here. He didn’t have a huge house, just a modest two story number with nice, spacious rooms and windows wherever a window could be put without looking ridiculous. That was his favorite part, the windows. If he wanted to leave the sitting room and head up to bed, he could get up there just in time to curl up on the big bench seat along the wall under [i]that[/i] window and watch the sun set. What he saw through those transparent panes was a meadow overgrown with wild flowers rustling in a gentle breeze, miles of countryside stretching out beyond, and bright blue skies above. It really was beautiful out here, away from the town’s noise and traffic.
No one bothered him; no neighbors for miles, and Al was almost guaranteed to forget where he lived without two maps, a print out from that MapQuest website, and a GPS device to guide him. Even then he’d probably end up in Russia, and served him right if he did.
Matt sniffed a little and curled deeper into his armchair. This morning, the soothing view out the bay window his chair sat in front of wasn’t anything special and did nothing to settle his nerves. He and Alfred were supposed to be close. So maybe they looked a little bit alike, and maybe their countries were right next door to each other. He and Al weren’t anything alike at all! America was loud and boisterous, prone to boasting about himself and his accomplishments to anyone who had a pair of ears. Canada kept to himself for the most part, smiled politely when addressed, and always remembered his manners during the meeting. Unfortunately, that just ensured the other nations would overlook him again. But that was a damn sight better than being mistaken for his obnoxious brother!
How did they all keep doing that? Italy could tell them apart, and he was the one prone to shouting dinner suggestions in the middle of meetings. Russia almost sat on him once. The Germans had both done it - Germany constantly berated him, thinking he was Alfred; and Prussia did it once, noticed it bothered the younger nation, and kept doing it, even going so far as to call him on the fourth of July last year to wish him a happy birthday. Stupid sausage-eating jerk…
Warmth pricked the corners of his eyes, lower lip beginning to tremble a little until Matthew sucked it back between his teeth and bit down. The meeting this morning was what did this to him. He got there early enough to exchange a few words with both of the Italians and intended to pull his brother aside before the meeting started, to ask if he was still planning on coming over for dinner later. But when he touched Al’s shoulder, the man rounded on him and stared, slack-jawed, stared right through his own brother without a hint of recognition in his face. Oh, Matthew', he’d said, once the other nation cleared his throat pointedly, 'Forgot you were coming today.'
Of course you did, never mind that I’m at every meeting, Matt thought bitterly. You forgot to come pick me up. I waited on you for two hours. Still got there before you, you selfish prick.
Was this how he would live out the rest of his immortal life? Constantly in America’s shadow, never recognized for anything but his resemblance to Alfred, uncanny ability to become as transparent as one of his window panes, and leniency with pot? What a fucking awful life. Prussia liked being alone and shouted about it all the time. Matt..didn’t. Matt wanted to feel close to someone for once, wanted to feel solid, real, and grounded to something besides his people. He just wanted to…to fucking feel like a person instead of a window pane people were always looking through in search of Alfred.
Letting himself cry a bit couldn’t hurt. Just this once. Maybe…maybe it would make him feel better to give all that pent up bitterness a good outlet, one he could see and feel. He tried so often to put on a smile and please his brother and the other nations. They never noticed, and it hurt deeper than he could have imagined. Wasn’t that proof that he was real, that he could feel that kind of heartsick pain?
Ten minutes later, when the doorbell sounded, Matt’s cheeks were still dry. His eyes were a little red at the corners and his face a bit too pale and drawn, but his path to the front door was steady and even, socked feet padding without a sound across the carpet.
"Bonjour, Mathieu."
When he found Francis smiling on the other side of the door, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his immaculate, pressed pants, Matthew flushed with sudden shame, as though he'd really been caught sobbing into his shirt sleeves. But really..it was more embarrassment for his oversized sweatshirt and jeans.
“Papa. C'est un plaisir de vous avoir ici.”
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20123088#t20123088
Matthew thought he must have one of the prettiest views in the entire countryside from up here. He didn’t have a huge house, just a modest two story number with nice, spacious rooms and windows wherever a window could be put without looking ridiculous. That was his favorite part, the windows. If he wanted to leave the sitting room and head up to bed, he could get up there just in time to curl up on the big bench seat along the wall under [i]that[/i] window and watch the sun set. What he saw through those transparent panes was a meadow overgrown with wild flowers rustling in a gentle breeze, miles of countryside stretching out beyond, and bright blue skies above. It really was beautiful out here, away from the town’s noise and traffic.
No one bothered him; no neighbors for miles, and Al was almost guaranteed to forget where he lived without two maps, a print out from that MapQuest website, and a GPS device to guide him. Even then he’d probably end up in Russia, and served him right if he did.
Matt sniffed a little and curled deeper into his armchair. This morning, the soothing view out the bay window his chair sat in front of wasn’t anything special and did nothing to settle his nerves. He and Alfred were supposed to be close. So maybe they looked a little bit alike, and maybe their countries were right next door to each other. He and Al weren’t anything alike at all! America was loud and boisterous, prone to boasting about himself and his accomplishments to anyone who had a pair of ears. Canada kept to himself for the most part, smiled politely when addressed, and always remembered his manners during the meeting. Unfortunately, that just ensured the other nations would overlook him again. But that was a damn sight better than being mistaken for his obnoxious brother!
How did they all keep doing that? Italy could tell them apart, and he was the one prone to shouting dinner suggestions in the middle of meetings. Russia almost sat on him once. The Germans had both done it - Germany constantly berated him, thinking he was Alfred; and Prussia did it once, noticed it bothered the younger nation, and kept doing it, even going so far as to call him on the fourth of July last year to wish him a happy birthday. Stupid sausage-eating jerk…
Warmth pricked the corners of his eyes, lower lip beginning to tremble a little until Matthew sucked it back between his teeth and bit down. The meeting this morning was what did this to him. He got there early enough to exchange a few words with both of the Italians and intended to pull his brother aside before the meeting started, to ask if he was still planning on coming over for dinner later. But when he touched Al’s shoulder, the man rounded on him and stared, slack-jawed, stared right through his own brother without a hint of recognition in his face. Oh, Matthew', he’d said, once the other nation cleared his throat pointedly, 'Forgot you were coming today.'
Of course you did, never mind that I’m at every meeting, Matt thought bitterly. You forgot to come pick me up. I waited on you for two hours. Still got there before you, you selfish prick.
Was this how he would live out the rest of his immortal life? Constantly in America’s shadow, never recognized for anything but his resemblance to Alfred, uncanny ability to become as transparent as one of his window panes, and leniency with pot? What a fucking awful life. Prussia liked being alone and shouted about it all the time. Matt..didn’t. Matt wanted to feel close to someone for once, wanted to feel solid, real, and grounded to something besides his people. He just wanted to…to fucking feel like a person instead of a window pane people were always looking through in search of Alfred.
Letting himself cry a bit couldn’t hurt. Just this once. Maybe…maybe it would make him feel better to give all that pent up bitterness a good outlet, one he could see and feel. He tried so often to put on a smile and please his brother and the other nations. They never noticed, and it hurt deeper than he could have imagined. Wasn’t that proof that he was real, that he could feel that kind of heartsick pain?
Ten minutes later, when the doorbell sounded, Matt’s cheeks were still dry. His eyes were a little red at the corners and his face a bit too pale and drawn, but his path to the front door was steady and even, socked feet padding without a sound across the carpet.
"Bonjour, Mathieu."
When he found Francis smiling on the other side of the door, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his immaculate, pressed pants, Matthew flushed with sudden shame, as though he'd really been caught sobbing into his shirt sleeves. But really..it was more embarrassment for his oversized sweatshirt and jeans.
“Papa. C'est un plaisir de vous avoir ici.”