❝one way or another i just wish i had known to go out walking in the sun❞
Title: International Cuisine
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,100+
Characters: United States ;; England ;; Canada ;; France ;; Belgium ;; Sealand
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff? Cookies?
Summary: Request for lickyita. At Alfred’s birthday party, he and Arthur end up baking cookies together.
International Cuisine
“Alfred? What are you doing?”
The United States turned to see his brother walking towards him, a covered Tupperware in his hands. Smiling, Alfred lowered the heat on the grill and turned back around, wiping his hands on a rough towel.
“Matt! You’re early!” He hurried to take the dish from Canada, eyeing it suspiciously. “Hey, this isn’t something weird, like elk, or something, is it?”
Matthew laughed. “No, no-it’s good old fashioned Alberta steak, Alfred.”
“I was just finishing up the ribs,” Alfred explained, gesturing back at the barbeque. He had dispensed with his usual bomber jacket and boots, and looked comfortable in jeans and a loose red t-shirt. Matthew was a bit more formally dressed, in a pale button-down and slacks. The United States smiled affectionately at his brother as he led him towards his house.
“So, is anyone else here yet?”
“Well,” Alfred began, “I wanted to keep it small. Just the family, you know? So Peter got her awhile ago, but he’s running around in the backyard somewhere…Francis is in the kitchen with Emma-they’re making desert…I think all we’re missing is Arthur, now.”
Canada chuckled. “Maybe the idea of a potluck intimidated him.”
Now it was Alfred’s turn to laugh. “Or maybe he knew that we’d be intimidated by the idea of him at a potluck.”
“Frightened half to death is more like it,” Matthew amended, “remember what happened last year?”
“How could I forget?”
July Forth, 2008, began like any of the United States’ many birthdays. His “family” had been invited to come celebrate with a barbeque, picnic, and fireworks, all held in Alfred’s hometown in Washington, D.C. And, true to tradition, the picnic was held as a family potluck.
Peter Kirkland, as always, had brought seafood-lovingly prepared ship, lobster, and cod. Emma Dubois-the Belgian woman was invited solely for her skill with chocolate, not being “related” to Alfred, per say-was always in charge of desert, and she had yet to disappoint. Francis, whom Alfred considered something of an uncle, consistently came up with more and more elaborate birthday cakes. It was Matthew’s job to help Alfred with his famous Texan barbeque. As for Arthur…
The United Kingdom tended to fluctuate between the desire to be as useful as everyone else, and the knowledge that everyone only ate his contributions to be polite.
“Alfred,” Francis had warned with a cheeky smile last July, “if I have to eat one more batch of burned scones, you’re not getting a cake next year.”
And so Alfred made a point to watch Arthur very, very closely-he wasn’t about to give up his raspberry black forest chocolate confections. So when he lost track of him that day, the United States was more than a little worried. He searched his house from top to toe, wondering where his erstwhile big brother could have gone.
“Al,” Canada called out, catching up with him, “your boss said he was in the kitchen.”
Francis’ threat hanging over him, Alfred ran to the kitchen. Flinging open the door, he winced, expecting the worst.
He heard no noise, except for Arthur’s “Damn it.” Opening his eyes, Alfred looked into the kitchen.
Arthur was by the stove, his back turned to Alfred. He was stirring something very intently, and bits of pale-colored dough were flying out of the bowl-some already decorated the counter and floor.
“Arthur,” Alfred began, only to have Arthur ignore him. “Hey, what’re you doing?” his voice rose a bit-after all, it was his birthday, and he didn’t like being ignored even under regular circumstances.
Coming up behind him, Alfred looked quizzically into the bowl. It didn’t look noxious, though with Arthur that was no guarantee. Still, the only problem he could see was…
“You’re stirring wrong.” Alfred’s strong hands gripped Arthur’s over the spoon and bowl, changing the direction of his stirring. “See? You were jabbing at it, where you’re supposed to be circling through.”
To say that Arthur was displeased may have been a bit of an understatement. The older nation froze, his spine stiffening like an angry cat. He flung Alfred’s hands away, jumping back himself. The bowl of dough was knocked aside, landing upside-down on the floor and spilling all of its contents.
“Look what you made me do, you git! Now I have to start all over!”
Alfred hadn’t seen Arthur that angry in awhile. He smiled knowingly, his hands bracing against his hips. “What was so important?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow at his elder brother.
Arthur blushed and turned away-he wasn’t about to admit that actually wanted to make Alfred a good dish for his birthday. Alfred, sensing this, smiled more, a warm light coming to his face.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s start over-I’ll help.”
When Francis, Emma, and Matthew came looking for the pair two hours later, they found Alfred and Arthur in a very, very messy kitchen, both of them huddled over the oven. Alfred had his arm slung over Arthur’s shoulders, and both of them were smiling-rather stupidly-as they took a pan of chocolate-chip cookies out of the oven.
“We did it,” Arthur breathed, looking over at his little brother with pride. Alfred nodded enthusiastically. Neither nation noticed their audience.
Emma, with a meaningful smile, ushered Francis and Matthew quickly out the door. Her timing was a second or two off, however, as Francis’ laughter exploded from him scarcely a moment after the door swung shut behind them-and Arthur heard it.
Later that day, at the picnic, everyone but Francis partook from some passable cookies. The Frenchman didn’t mind; his laughing comments echoed into the night far louder than Alfred’s fireworks.
“He was so proud…of cookies…mon dieu, he’s pathetic…”
Recalling, Alfred and Matthew laughed in boyhood camaraderie.
“What are you two so happy about?” Arthur Kirkland had arrived, a scowl etched on his features.
“N-nothing,” Matthew chuckled, choking down the rest of his laughter. “Are you and Al going to make cookies again, Arthur?”
“No.” The Englishman’s reply was quick and succinct. “I learned my lesson last year.”
“So what’d you bring, then?” Alfred piped up. “No contribution to the potluck, no food-that’s the rule.”
“Here.” Arthur thrust a package into Alfred’s hands and walked away. Alfred, upon opening it, exploded into more good-natured laughter.
“What is it?” Matthew asked.
“We’ve finally found Arthur’s place at the picnic,” Alfred declared between chuckles. “He brought the paper goods.”
---
Footnotes:
* Arthur brought the plates, cups, ect. I always do that when I don’t want to cook for a potluck.
* Emma Dubois is my name for Belgium.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,100+
Characters: United States ;; England ;; Canada ;; France ;; Belgium ;; Sealand
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff? Cookies?
Summary: Request for lickyita. At Alfred’s birthday party, he and Arthur end up baking cookies together.
International Cuisine
“Alfred? What are you doing?”
The United States turned to see his brother walking towards him, a covered Tupperware in his hands. Smiling, Alfred lowered the heat on the grill and turned back around, wiping his hands on a rough towel.
“Matt! You’re early!” He hurried to take the dish from Canada, eyeing it suspiciously. “Hey, this isn’t something weird, like elk, or something, is it?”
Matthew laughed. “No, no-it’s good old fashioned Alberta steak, Alfred.”
“I was just finishing up the ribs,” Alfred explained, gesturing back at the barbeque. He had dispensed with his usual bomber jacket and boots, and looked comfortable in jeans and a loose red t-shirt. Matthew was a bit more formally dressed, in a pale button-down and slacks. The United States smiled affectionately at his brother as he led him towards his house.
“So, is anyone else here yet?”
“Well,” Alfred began, “I wanted to keep it small. Just the family, you know? So Peter got her awhile ago, but he’s running around in the backyard somewhere…Francis is in the kitchen with Emma-they’re making desert…I think all we’re missing is Arthur, now.”
Canada chuckled. “Maybe the idea of a potluck intimidated him.”
Now it was Alfred’s turn to laugh. “Or maybe he knew that we’d be intimidated by the idea of him at a potluck.”
“Frightened half to death is more like it,” Matthew amended, “remember what happened last year?”
“How could I forget?”
July Forth, 2008, began like any of the United States’ many birthdays. His “family” had been invited to come celebrate with a barbeque, picnic, and fireworks, all held in Alfred’s hometown in Washington, D.C. And, true to tradition, the picnic was held as a family potluck.
Peter Kirkland, as always, had brought seafood-lovingly prepared ship, lobster, and cod. Emma Dubois-the Belgian woman was invited solely for her skill with chocolate, not being “related” to Alfred, per say-was always in charge of desert, and she had yet to disappoint. Francis, whom Alfred considered something of an uncle, consistently came up with more and more elaborate birthday cakes. It was Matthew’s job to help Alfred with his famous Texan barbeque. As for Arthur…
The United Kingdom tended to fluctuate between the desire to be as useful as everyone else, and the knowledge that everyone only ate his contributions to be polite.
“Alfred,” Francis had warned with a cheeky smile last July, “if I have to eat one more batch of burned scones, you’re not getting a cake next year.”
And so Alfred made a point to watch Arthur very, very closely-he wasn’t about to give up his raspberry black forest chocolate confections. So when he lost track of him that day, the United States was more than a little worried. He searched his house from top to toe, wondering where his erstwhile big brother could have gone.
“Al,” Canada called out, catching up with him, “your boss said he was in the kitchen.”
Francis’ threat hanging over him, Alfred ran to the kitchen. Flinging open the door, he winced, expecting the worst.
He heard no noise, except for Arthur’s “Damn it.” Opening his eyes, Alfred looked into the kitchen.
Arthur was by the stove, his back turned to Alfred. He was stirring something very intently, and bits of pale-colored dough were flying out of the bowl-some already decorated the counter and floor.
“Arthur,” Alfred began, only to have Arthur ignore him. “Hey, what’re you doing?” his voice rose a bit-after all, it was his birthday, and he didn’t like being ignored even under regular circumstances.
Coming up behind him, Alfred looked quizzically into the bowl. It didn’t look noxious, though with Arthur that was no guarantee. Still, the only problem he could see was…
“You’re stirring wrong.” Alfred’s strong hands gripped Arthur’s over the spoon and bowl, changing the direction of his stirring. “See? You were jabbing at it, where you’re supposed to be circling through.”
To say that Arthur was displeased may have been a bit of an understatement. The older nation froze, his spine stiffening like an angry cat. He flung Alfred’s hands away, jumping back himself. The bowl of dough was knocked aside, landing upside-down on the floor and spilling all of its contents.
“Look what you made me do, you git! Now I have to start all over!”
Alfred hadn’t seen Arthur that angry in awhile. He smiled knowingly, his hands bracing against his hips. “What was so important?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow at his elder brother.
Arthur blushed and turned away-he wasn’t about to admit that actually wanted to make Alfred a good dish for his birthday. Alfred, sensing this, smiled more, a warm light coming to his face.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s start over-I’ll help.”
When Francis, Emma, and Matthew came looking for the pair two hours later, they found Alfred and Arthur in a very, very messy kitchen, both of them huddled over the oven. Alfred had his arm slung over Arthur’s shoulders, and both of them were smiling-rather stupidly-as they took a pan of chocolate-chip cookies out of the oven.
“We did it,” Arthur breathed, looking over at his little brother with pride. Alfred nodded enthusiastically. Neither nation noticed their audience.
Emma, with a meaningful smile, ushered Francis and Matthew quickly out the door. Her timing was a second or two off, however, as Francis’ laughter exploded from him scarcely a moment after the door swung shut behind them-and Arthur heard it.
Later that day, at the picnic, everyone but Francis partook from some passable cookies. The Frenchman didn’t mind; his laughing comments echoed into the night far louder than Alfred’s fireworks.
“He was so proud…of cookies…mon dieu, he’s pathetic…”
Recalling, Alfred and Matthew laughed in boyhood camaraderie.
“What are you two so happy about?” Arthur Kirkland had arrived, a scowl etched on his features.
“N-nothing,” Matthew chuckled, choking down the rest of his laughter. “Are you and Al going to make cookies again, Arthur?”
“No.” The Englishman’s reply was quick and succinct. “I learned my lesson last year.”
“So what’d you bring, then?” Alfred piped up. “No contribution to the potluck, no food-that’s the rule.”
“Here.” Arthur thrust a package into Alfred’s hands and walked away. Alfred, upon opening it, exploded into more good-natured laughter.
“What is it?” Matthew asked.
“We’ve finally found Arthur’s place at the picnic,” Alfred declared between chuckles. “He brought the paper goods.”
---
Footnotes:
* Arthur brought the plates, cups, ect. I always do that when I don’t want to cook for a potluck.
* Emma Dubois is my name for Belgium.