Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
Fresh past-part fills post HERE
Comments and Suggestions go here
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index over here.
Remember though that you need not post your updates unless you posted in a new part
Keep yourself up to date -- check out the NEWS HERE
Also, I thought I’d take this time to correct a continuity error that another anon pointed out to me. Matthew’s eyes were blue in the story, because I didn’t get a chance to see any official colored art of Canada by Himayura and thus thought his eyes were blue. In this story, they’ve been readjusted to their canon purple.
Finally, I ask you trust me, and that you enjoy this.
___
Ivan is walking back to his room when he nearly bumps into a bolting Alfred.
He manages to step aside in time, but not before he sees the look in those blue eyes.
Terror. Entrapment. The need to get away.
Ivan feels his body jolt and jerk as he remembers a dirty lead pipe, green eyes and tangled brunette hair, and tears.
“I-Ivan, please…please don’t hit me I promise I didn’t mean it I’ll work harder!”
Ivan shivers and feels his spirit curl in on itself. He opens his mouth to call out to Alfred, to stop him and try as best he can to quell the scared little animal flitting about behind that body.
But just like before - just like when he wasn’t just Russia - no sound will come out from his parted lips as his vocal cords double in on themselves. And then it’s too late, anyway, as Alfred whirls around a corner, knocking a glass of water from Feliciano’s hands, and dodges out of sight.
Ivan shuts his mouth and tries not to tremble. He turns away and walks down the hall, turns and walks into another.
He does not go back to his room.
___
“Ivan.”
I van does not jerk back into awareness. He slides into it, resurfaces in one slow movement to find that night has fallen, and he’s standing in the hotel’s lobby with a Styrofoam cup in hand. He turns, slow and careful, and finds himself staring into vivid, electric blue eyes.
Not Alfred, no. Alfred’s eyes are a beautiful and bright sky that hurts to look at.
“Francis,” he replies with a nod. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, you can. Have you seen Alfred?”
Ivan thinks for a moment. “I saw him earlier this afternoon, actually, a little bit after the meeting was dismissed. I almost ran into him in the hallway -”
“- when he was running away,” Francis finishes. “A few other nations said that as well. Have you seen him more recently?”
“No.”
Ivan does not say that he doesn’t think he’d remember, anyway, because he’s lost in his own memories and sadness.
“I see.” Francis bites his lip, sighs, and runs his long fingers through his hair. “Mon Dieu, Alfred, you can be so reckless at times….”
Francis looks up, and Ivan must look curious. “He…ran out of the hotel,” Francis murmurs. “He’s alone in a city he barely knows, if he knows it at all. Judging from his lack of direction, he probably doesn’t. I’m going to go ask around and look for him. I can only hope he didn’t go far.”
“Do you need help?” Ivan asks, following Francis out of the hotel.
“Ah - non, non,” Francis says, a bit too quickly, with a too-wide smile. “I am sure I shall be all right on my own.”
Ivan just stops and stares at that smile. It’s wide and easy, so obviously fake, and it hurts him.
“I see. If you are sure, then.” He takes a seat on the bench outside. “Then I think I will rest out here for now. Good luck in your search, Francis.”
“Thank you, Ivan.” Francis’ smile fades into something a bit softer and more genuine; that, too, fades when Francis sees the empty-sad look in Ivan’s eyes. He opens his mouth as if to say something more to him. “…Please don’t call the police,” is all he says. “I want to speak to Alfred alone.”
He turns and walks away down Munich’s streets when Ivan nods, and he does not look back.
Ivan looks away from Francis’ retreating form to the bushes. He shuts his eyes and sighs when he sees that saccharine smile etched on the back of his eyelids.
No. It’s not even necessarily Francis’ smile. It’s the smile of all his fellow Nations.
It’s Toris’ old smile.
And most of all, it’s what he deserves.
He remembers green eyes, furrowed brows, and a bitter sneer. He amends his thoughts.
“Perhaps this is what we deserve, Arthur,” he murmurs.
___
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When Ivan opens his eyes again, Matthew is sitting beside him and the sky has turned dark. Even in the wan light from the lamps, Ivan can see how bloodshot Matthew’s kind purple eyes are, how tired his smile seems.
“Matthew,” Ivan says, and starts to relax. Matthew won’t look at him with those fake, terrified smiles. Matthew will only give him friendship, and all the brutal, split-open honesty that comes with it.
“Were you asleep this entire time?”
“Ah…no. I was just thinking. What brings you out here so late at night, my friend?”
Ivan regrets his question when he sees Matthew’s shoulders slump.
“Have you seen Al at all, Ivan?”
“Just once, this afternoon a little after the meeting. He was running away from something, I think.”
Ah, there he goes. Ivan watches as Matthew slumps and debates putting an arm over his friend’s shoulder. Matthew may not want the contact, especially not with -
“I fucked up, Ivan.” Matthew’s voice is raw all around, hurt. “I was irresponsible, I did things with Al before he was ready, and now….”
Ivan slings an arm over Matthew’s shoulder; it’s not that Matthew wants the contact, but rather needs it. Even if he stiffens and shivers at the contact.
But Matthew doesn’t shy away from his touch or his arm, pressing back against it in gratitude. Ivan feels his own heart warm a little at the contact, a silent thank you to one of the few people unafraid of him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks. Matthew shakes his head. “All right. You don’t have to.”
Matthew sniffles, and one hand comes up to rub at his purple eyes as he sits up. “Actually, Ivan, I’m - I’m going to sound so hypocritical for this, but I’m curious about something.”
“Feel free to ask, Matthew. I’ve nothing to hide. We are friends, da?”
“Yeah…yeah we are.” Matthew sits up, leans back against the bench. “Listen, Ivan…I’ve been keeping in touch with Molly ever since she took over Arthur’s diplomatic duties. She mentioned in passing that you went to visit Arthur at one point. Is this true?”
Ivan feels his body go stock-still.
“Ivan, please. Be honest with me.”
So he is. Ivan feels his honesty fall from numb lips. “Da. I did go to visit Arthur shortly after he was imprisoned.” He looks down at Matthew, searches that open and honest face for any sign of fear or reproach. There is nothing except an open, honest sort of curiosity and neutrality.
“Ivan…what did you do to him?”
Ivan turns away from Matthew, looks at the fancy cobblestones leading to the hotel’s sliding doors, the strip of carpet that almost completely covers it.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Ivan shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I did say that I would be honest with you. That I have nothing to hide.
“If you want to know what I did that day in the prison, then I shall tell you.”
Ivan sinks deep within himself as he begins to remember.
___
“It’s very nice of Arthur’s sister to let me see him face-to-face!” Ivan swings his arms back and forth as he walks a little to the side of Molly, giving her his widest and most cheerful of smiles. “Plexiglass can be so impersonal, da?”
“Y…yeah. Righto,” she mutters, looking at him and smiling as well.
Ivan knows better. He sees the way her smile shakes and quavers, threatens to fall away in sheer terror; her green eyes are not on his face, but rather on the lead pipe that swings back and forth, back and forth in his fist.
Normally, he’d feel some soft and delicate sort of guilt. But he remembers why he is here, and his stomach steels as rage courses through his blood.
“Will we be there soon?”
“A - ah! How funny, here - here we are!” Molly stammers, stopping in front of the door. “R…righ’ then, just…knock on the door when yer ready t’ leave!”
Ivan tightens his grip on his pipe and nods, watching as Molly sputters and nearly drops her keys. She rights her hand, but it still takes a few more long moments before the door swings open.
Ivan takes a deep breath and steps in, feeling the breeze as the door swings shut behind him. Only then does his smile fade a little, fixing on the curled-up figure in the corner of the room.
“And how have you been doing, Arthur Kirkland?”
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“This certainly is a change from your posh office, da?” he asks, holding his hands behind his back and striding forward. As he looks around. “Very white and pristine - it almost hurts to look at. And the lighting isn’t so good, and I can’t imagine your cot is all that comfortable -”
“Shut. The bloody fuck. Up.”
Ivan lets it startle him into silence as he blinks down. Arthur’s watching him with one eye, green apple-bitter and maybe filled with something Russia can understand. But he’s not close enough to see it.
“Arthur, that is rude! It is polite to have small conversation, yes? I do not understand why I am being yelled at for doing something you all encouraged me for years to do.”
A cruel, stiff sound fills the cell. It takes Ivan a moment to connect the sound with Arthur’s jerking movements and realize that he’s laughing.
“Small talk? You insult me, you wanker.” Arthur uncurls, some poisonous and beautiful flower; one foot plants itself on the floor while the other curls up towards his chest. Arthur’s face is thinner than the last time he saw him, the hint of cheekbones more prominent on his face. “You think I’m so stupid as to fall for something like that?”
Ivan feels his smile starting to actually split his face, it hurts so much to maintain. “Well then,” he says, leaning against the wall across from the cot, “I suppose I should not insult your intelligence any further and get right down to it, da?”
Arthur snorts. “What could you possibly have to ask me?”
And here Ivan drops the smile completely. Arthur smirks at the challenge.
Fool, something dark and hot whispers inside of him.
“Why did you do it?” Ivan asks, ignoring the velvet spread of a deadly calm in his bloodstream.
“Why did I do what?”
“Now you insult my intelligence, Arthur. I never took you for a hypocrite.”
Bright green eyes narrow into his as the smirk crooks back onto Arthur’s face. “Fair enough. I s’pose you’re talking about that prat? Alfred?”
That prat. As though Alfred, his former charge he raised from a child, means nothing more to him now than a casual mention, not even introduced by name. Ivan feels his fingers tighten on the leather.
“Why did I do it?” Arthur asks, rubbing his fingers together and watching with a sort of detached interest. There’s something wrong about those movements, about the way he’s being so casual with his actions when he was the one who -
Ivan gets vivid flashes of memory - his own fingers tightening around his pipe, even now, the way he sat as Toris slept against him, the way his boss gave him the lash and told him to whip the Baltics, make them work harder.
Ivan bites his cheek and fights his bile down.
“You don’t understand,” Arthur says, eyes sliding back over to where Ivan is frozen. “Nobody would. They don’t understand how much we need each other, how that ungrateful little brat has never done anything for me beyond -”
“Beyond sneaking out of his country during World War II to aid you during the Luftwaffe, beyond lending you more money than he lent anyone else with his Marshall Plan?” Ivan’s eyes narrow. “He did so much for you in the past decades, he shared a special relationship with you, and you abused that.”
Arthur leans forward, his knees hanging over the edge of the cot, his fingers curled over them. “And do you know that he wanted to end that?” Arthur asks, his voice all quiet and soft, as though the two of them are sharing a sort of secret. “Alfred, my dear Alfred, was going to spit straight in my bloody face and make our relationship less special. His words, not mine.”
“You abused and raped him because of that,” Russia says, not quite believing what he’s hearing.
“It kept him with me,” Arthur says, and Ivan strains to hear the desperate note of madness in Arthur’s rising tone. “It kept him by my side, just like I wanted. Just like we’re supposed to be. And Alfred was happy there, he said so!”
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For a moment, something different flickers in Arthur’s eyes - confusion, consideration, something a bit more whole than before - but it fades before Ivan can get a handle on it. “And who are you to speak to me?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Am I to forget your Iron Curtain, Ivan, your Baltics?”
Ivan jerks and stiffens. Arthur misinterprets the motion and chuckles.
“Yes, Ivan, I do not think that we are very diff -”
The red breaks in and creeps around the edges of his eyes. Ivan crosses the cell in three steps and has Arthur pinned up against the wall by his throat before he realizes what he’s doing.
Arthur claws and wheezes in breath, hands coming up to claw at Ivan’s fingers. He might as well try to break the permafrost of Ivan’s homeland, the vast, endless stretches of frozen earth.
Ivan pauses for a moment, coming back to himself, and looks into Arthur’s eyes, searching for the madness that plagued him for so long.
He thinks he sees it - but no, it’s just - there it is - no, wait -
He can’t tell -
He can’t fucking tell -
“Arthur Kirkland,” he snarls, “you had the willing trust and love of Alfred Jones. You spat on something that I would kill to have a second chance at. You have no idea what you gave up when you hurt him.”
“Y’…” Ivan loosens his grip enough for Arthur to wheeze out a few desperate laughs. “Y’ came all this way t’ tell me that?”
Ivan shakes his head and reaches into his trench coat. “No, Arthur. I did not.”
When his hand comes out of his coat, Arthur sees the pistol, and his green eyes widen in realization of what Ivan has for him. “That’s…you were supposed to leave that at s-security -”
“It’s funny what you can get away with when you bribe certain people.” Ivan clicks off the safety.
“Iv-Ivan -”
“I am here to take revenge,” he says, “so that Matthew and Alfred will not.” He raises the gun and presses it to Arthur’s forehead. Arthur is speechless with fear now, eyes wide and bulging - and he feels a bit of himself bleed back in through his anger.
“If you truly are not in your right mind,” Ivan says, “then you will thank me for this when you come to. And you will know the true price you will pay for your actions.”
He pulls the trigger.
___
“And then?”
Ivan comes back to himself, to the hotel and the cobblestones and the carpet. “As you can probably guess….”
“It was a blank, wasn’t it?” Matthew asks, and there’s no judgment or anger in that voice.
“I did not want to kill him,” Ivan says. “And hurting him would have led to quick healing. I wanted him to understand the fear Alfred went through every single time Arthur lay his dirty hands all over him, the sheer terror of knowing what’s coming but being unable to stop it, or call for help.”
Matthew stays silent.
“I was probably wrong,” he continues. “But it’s what Arthur deserved, far more than being beaten or imprisoned.”
“Ivan…thank you.”
Ivan blinks, surprised, and looks over. Matthew stares up at him, purple eyes open and earnest. He senses someone walking by them, but does not see the wave.
“I wanted to wait until after the meeting,” he continues, “because I don’t want it going on the record that I told you this, Ivan, but…thank you. For whatever you did, thank you. For Alfred. For us.”
“Matthew?”
The voice that interrupts Ivan before he can respond is shy and small. Still, Ivan’s not as surprised as Matthew is that it’s Alfred’s voice. He looks so scared and alone in the streetlight’s beam.
Ivan stands and walks back into the hotel. His time with Matthew has ended, and what has begun belongs to Matthew and Alfred alone.
He smiles a little as he makes his way back to his room. Perhaps, if this is part of the price he must pay for his past sins, it’s not so bad as he’s often thought.
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Readers are welcome to pitch in with their own thoughts and opinions. I just want to make it clear that if Arthur is mentally unstable, and if he eventually recovers from said instability, that Arthur's condition will not serve as an excuse for what he did. Arthur will agree, I think, that he still must take responsibility for his own actions. Arthur's mental condition will serve as an explanation, nothing more.
Again, though, I really would value reader input on this. I'd like to challenge myself and write this as if Arthur's actions were from mental instability - but I don't want to cause undue pain or insult those who have been hurt. At any rate, I have a few other stories I'd like to get to before that.
Thank you for reading, everyone.
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Russia here was so well-portrayed, his actions and mindset so understandable and well-layed out. I can definitely see why he'd be upset with Arthur for more than just the obvious, and the breath of fresh air at his logic, as opposed to madness, is lovely. Especially, the fact that he did it so that Matthew and Alfred wouldn't, that he did it so they wouldn't dirty themselves with seeking revenge.
As for Arthur, I trust that you'll be able to pull it off either way, Writernon, but I suppose if I really wanted to see one, I think the mental instability would be more interesting, mainly because you are most definitely right: even if he recovers, he is still at fault for his actions. As such, it would be interesting to see how he deals with what he did.
But, again, either way you choose to go in the end, you definitely have the skill to pull it off beautifully. <3
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Ivan wakes the next morning, not to the sound of his alarm clock, but to soft, gentle knocks on his door. Tentative. Scared.
He waits. When the person knocks again, soft but still timid, Ivan sighs, sits up, and puts on his scarf over his nightclothes. He readies himself for the looks of terror and opens the door.
“Ah - Ivan. Hey. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
Ivan blinks.
Alfred is standing at his door, small smile on his face and two Styrofoam cups in his hands.
“I…it might be a bit late for this, but I think we can still catch a bit of the sunrise if we hurry.” He shifts a little, but flashes an awkward grin - not scared, not worried. Just awkward. “I thought it would be awesome if we could see it together.”
Ivan feels the edges of his mouth shake. His hands are steadier as he reaches up and takes a cup. He can’t speak, and so can’t tell Alfred that it’s too cloudy out, that they might not see anything.
When he can, he only says, “Yes, Alfred. That sounds wonderful indeed.”
___
Writernon realized her labeling fail, and so added one more part to fix it. She is duly embarrassed and apologizes for the formatting/writing failure.
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You have created something entirely different and wonderful. It's so healthy, so hopeful and so beautifully written. I love the way you write the characters and I am beyond delighted that you're still writing in this universe. Everything is so thoughtfully written, but sucks you in so very easily. The universe feels real and the character's actions (wonderfully!) make sense.
On that note, I'm personally leaning towards Arthur wanting to possess Alfred rather than mental derangement, since that's what makes more sense to me. Though I can see it working both ways, I've never really liked UK/US just because I can see it ending up like this rather too easily. Arthur has very complicated feelings towards Alfred and no really healthy way to express it.
However, your fic, your decision. I look forward to everything you write and thank you so much for updating so often!
(Also, Antonio is adorable. I love how he chooses to space out!)
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I just wrote some stuff about the "less special" motivation Arthur tells himself to justify his actions, but I don't know how you feel about the place of real-world politics in Hetalia fandom. Suffice to say, I think that was some smart storytelling.
Back to more emotional responses: Ivan. Thank you for this Ivan. You've teased out such wonderful layers and dimensions to his character; the words breathe. I don't know what else to say, except I hope you write in this 'verse for a long, long time to come.
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I'm only a student in psychology, though, so, like, I'd take my babbling with salt and all that. But there is no sort of disorder that causes that sort of behavior, just classifications to put that person under. Even if you say that the disorder wouldn't be an excuse... I'm trying to see how it wouldn't be, and not really grasping it. Because unbalanced chemicals can cause a lot of strange behavior (see: borderline!), but psychopathy is not one of them.
I really enjoy this fanfic, and I'm looking forward to what else you write in this verse. I'm sorry if I've overstepped my bounds or anything. I'd like to see where you go with everyone, including Arthur. Life is life: the world moves on. Arthur may one day be able to see what he did in a different light, and he may have to deal with that. He did something horrific. Can he forgive himself, can Alfred forgive him, can France/Canada/Russia/his sister forgive him, should anyone?- that's scary and ugly and probably would be a hard thing to write and to read. But considering how great and realistic the rest of the story was written, I think you could do it painfully well.
I'm sure whatever you write will be great. I just... yeah.
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...I will admit that I had the Nation's current economic states in mind when I thought of writing that. I remember reading in another fill that the UK will take the longest to recover from the economic crisis; I do not quite remember which one it was, though I could try to find it. It will take a lot of digging through the KM Archives, which I'm not quite up to doing at 3AM (my apologies).
My (admittedly very rough) theory was that Arthur's unstable economy was giving him an unstable mind as well, and his already-complicated relationship with Alfred just went out of control when Alfred wanted distance. Arthur would still serve full time, and it would not serve as an excuse for his actions - it would just be that over time, Arthur would come to his senses...and what comes after.
I still have not decided, anon, which way I want to go; I'd like the challenge, but I don't want to hurt anyone by being careless or stupid. Right now, that's why I'm mainly focusing on those who were left behind after Arthur's imprisonment. What's past is past. What's important now is how Alfred heals.
Thank you for your insight, anon. I hope you'll be well. Take care.
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As for the question of Arthur's mental state, I tend to agree with some of the previous anon commenters-- I'm not sure a mental illness could explain Arthur's extended abuse and mistreatment of Alfred, and it really seemed too calculated to be the behaviour of someone who's not sane. As another anon brought up, it doesn't seem too far-fetched to believe that the UK/US relationship could devolve along these lines.
Certainly Arthur's actions are the actions of a neurotic person, and a deeply troubled person, but I'm not sure that qualifies as mental instability. I kind of see him (in this universe you've created, not in Hetalia canon) as someone who's possessive and basically selfish, and can rationalize his bad behaviour, but sane enough in that he knows what he's doing. Hope that helps! These are just my thoughts, take with as many grains of salt as you like. I'm sure I'll enjoy it no matter what direction you decide to take!
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Thank you for your input, Anon! Glad you're enjoying this!
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I love your rendition of Russia. It's tragic, and so very like how I imagine him to really be; not just violence, as many make him, but hurting, and with an internal logic that makes his previous actions a discomfort. It's both lovely (in the way it is presented) and terribly sad to read about, how he just loses himself to old memories.
I'm interested in seeing the way his thoughts will continue to progress, and to also see more clarification as to just what happened between himself and Arthur. I never really thougth about it until Russia himself expressed the thought, but he and Arthur are in similiar postions in this verse. And "Serenity-verse" is such an accurate name, writernon
As always, I'm glad to see yet another piece to this lovely series <3
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I very much agree with your statement. Russia is such a difficult character to write, I'm so scared of getting it wrong. Because as terrifying as he is, he also has moments of vulnerability - and I like to think he's calmed down a bit after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Whether he and Arthur are in similar positions remains to be seen, but I think they might be.
Thank you for reading and commenting, OP~!
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