Re: Haunting You (5a/?)
anonymous
August 22 2009, 02:49:45 UTC
France was very lucky he was a Nation.
After the abuse that America had put him through, France had been left with a broken arm and bruised organs. England also suspected a cracked spine and internal bleeding, but he didn't bother to fully investigate his rival's injures. As a Nation, France would be up and about in half a month regardless of what England did or didn't do. Frankly, England wouldn't be surprised if France was fine in a week, just to annoy the Briton.
As for his own abused neck, England wrapped some linen bandages to cover the bruises. They probably would have disappeared soon, but England took some comfort in the warmth the cloth provided. Even though the attack had been a day ago, the green-eyed man could still feel phantom fingers digging into his flesh, choking his air. Ah, the cold...
No, cold wasn't the term England would use. More like an absence of heat (of life) as if America had been gobbling up England's own warmth (his very existence) leaving the island Nation hollow and freezing.
England's fingertips brushed his bandaged neck.
France was currently sleeping in the spare room. England even added a circle of salt around the frog's bed. Out of a sense of guilt, England had set the Frenchman's arm to speed the healing process. (And then, out of pride and old rivalry, he had cut France's wavy hair until the blond locks barely brushed the tops of his ears.)
As it was, England was in his own room, re-wrapping the bandages around his neck using a mirror as a guide. When the damaged skin was revealed, England frowned. Odd...those bruises should have been gone by now.
It was then that England spotted the stuffed bunny sitting innocently on his bedspread. He let out a shaky breath. Really, he should have anticipated this.
“Come out, America,” England ordered clearly, willing the fear out of his voice stubbornly.
“Don't you want to get your salt first?” America asked quietly as he slowly faded into view on the bed.
He had chosen his older form right away this time, but he had left behind the blue military coat, looking thinner without it.
England felt his fists tighten, “I thought you did not like salt.”
“I don't,” America shrugged, his form shimmering slightly with the motion, “But it will keep you safe.”
England's mouth flattened into a grim line. This had to be a trick. But he procured a container of salt from the kitchen and returned to the room. Rather than spreading it around himself, he sprinkled a ring of the white grains around America and the bed, effectively trapping the spirit. Both Nations looked rather surprised at his actions...or perhaps they were both really surprised that America let England do it.
“What do you want, America?” England growled out tightly, leaning against the wall. His former colony looked away, but England still caught the flash of pain that flickered over the ghost's face.
“I-I'm sorry.”
“'Sorry'?” England laughed bitterly, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile, “I must have heard wrongly. You're sorry! Dear God...You think that is going to fix everything, America?”
“Of course not!” America snapped, causing the shadows to writhe. He calmed down as soon as he saw England flinch.
“I-I think there's something wrong with me,” the younger Nation confessed, fear skating across his blue eyes, “I...I didn't want to hurt you. Or France. Not really. But then I did. I really wanted to! So badly! I wanted to reach inside and pull out your heart to see if it still moved as you screamed yourself raw...I wanted to feel your blood on my hands, on my face. Would you cry? I wondered how it would-Damn it! Even now...What's wrong with me?!”
Tears began to slide down the ghost's face.
“I'm scared, Iggy,” America whimpered in a small voice, his blue eyes imploring the older Nation, “I'm so scared.”
England felt his heart start hammering wildly in his chest. He didn't know what to say. He was rather terrified himself.
“Damn it, I'm scared of myself!” America snarled, dark shadows instantly exploding around him, only to be hampered by the ring of salt. They curled at the edge of the circle, viciously stabbing at the air in an attempt to claw at England.
Re: Haunting You (5b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2009, 02:50:23 UTC
“I...I can't control myself!” America gasped, his hands burrowing into his hair in distress, “God...I'm some sort of monster!”
“America...” England started. America hissed at him, a cruel, animalistic sound.
“Don't!” America snapped hotly, even as the temperature plummeted, “I heard your heart speed up! I can see it in your eyes too! I'm dangerous!”
“Bloody hell, America!” England cursed, pushing off from the wall, “We all are dangerous! We're Nations!”
“But not like this!” America shouted, waving at the shadows and England's bandaged neck, “Fuck, what have I done?! This isn't the first time I hurt you, is it?!”
England didn't answer. America swore.
“I don't-I don't want to hurt you!” America wailed, his voice coming out half strangled, “I never wanted that! Not really...”
England laughed bitterly, thinking back on America's Revolution, “Far too late for that, you git.”
“All I wanted was for you to be mine!” America cried. England yelped as an unnatural wind whipped about and the room was saturated with spiritual energy. Apparently, the ghost had gained enough power that the salt ring wasn't enough to fully contain him.
England winced as a sharp supernatural wind sliced through his cheek and sent warm blood running down his face. The sight of the crimson liquid seemed to whip America into a greater frenzy, a dark keening sound vibrating from the his throat.
“No, no, no...What have I done?”
“Damn it, you're falling to pieces,” England gasped as the chill in the room reached arctic levels. If he didn't do something soon, the damage America would wreak would be immense. And as the Briton glanced through the window at the streets outside, he knew that this time innocent people would be involved.
Against his better judgment, England found himself striding past the salt line, wrapping his arms around the mad spirit.
“No, no, no, no!” America gasped out, struggling slightly, but not phasing through England's arms, “You'll get hurt!”
“Idiot,” England mumbled into the ghost's shoulder, “Calm down.”
“I-I can't!” America replied, panicked, “What's wrong with me? I keep wanting...Oh God, the things I want!”
The former colony brought his mouth close to the bleeding cut on England's face and lapped at the red, red liquid, smearing it across the Briton's face. The ice on the ghost's breath made the wound burn in pain. When teeth bit into the slice on his cheek making more blood flow, England forced himself to ignore it, and pulled America closer.
“You can,” England murmured soothingly, petting blond locks, “Just...relax.”
“How?”
“Listen to my heartbeat,” England suggested, “You like the sound, don't you?”
America let out a shuddering breath, but leaned his head against England's torso. His hand instinctively reached into the island Nation's chest to grab at the beating organ within. England hissed at the invasion, but made no move to remove the intruding limb.
Gradually, the room warmed and the shadows shrunk. America removed his hand from England in favor of embracing his former colonizer, his face burying itself into England's collarbone. To his surprise, England found America's face and breath to be warm now, like sunshine.
“You...you feel good,” America sighed, closing his eyes peacefully and slumping in England's arms.
And suddenly, England found himself falling backwards as America's weight crashed into him unexpectedly.
“Ghosts don't weigh anything,” England whispered to himself.
But America's weight was warm and real against the Briton, his heartbeat joining England's own to break the silence when before there had only been the Briton's.
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
America...America was alive.
*gurgles* This chapter was difficult. I wrote one version days ago, but decided that while it was okay, it wasn't really what I wanted. So I tried redoing the whole thing. Then the redo wasn't what I wanted either so I ended up with this version...BTW, to the anon that offered, I like fanart very, very much and will probably go into SUPAR!fangirl mode. Cause evil!baby!America is totally my #1 kink...
Re: Haunting You (5b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2009, 06:03:18 UTC
*fistpumps* whoo, another update! may i ask what is the time period of this part? i was hoping for more jealous america when uk and japan forms an alliance and when the treaty entente cordiale is formed between uk, russia and france i suspect that this is coming to an end don't want! 8D. D:
this is the anon who offered fanart. it will be up in a few days, i suppose. and as i don't have a drawing tablet, i would probably do traditional and just scan it. :D
Re: Haunting You (5b/?)
anonymous
August 22 2009, 10:53:47 UTC
Author-Anon here. I put the time stamp in chapter 4. Both it and chapter 5 are set between 1820-1860, before the American Civil War, but after that Napoleon mess. At this time, the American-British relations are not great, but not bad either. (Basically, the two nations are keeping out of each others' hair, other than a couple of border disputes with Canada that are resolved without bloodshed)
Re: Haunting You (5b/?)
anonymous
August 23 2009, 05:58:26 UTC
Authornon, this fic is probably one of my favourites from the kink meme. (I'm pretty sure that it's this fic that made me love us/uk since I originally was not a fan of this pairing :D)
Thanks for the update! Random anon here will be looking forward to reading the next chapter cause honestly, that's an *evil* cliff-hanger you've got there >__>
Re: Haunting You (5b/?)
anonymous
September 1 2009, 03:18:55 UTC
Wow. Seriously awesome work with this fic. That last bit in Chapter 5 came out of nowhere and I'll be looking forward to see what else you have planned in the next chapter. :)
PS. I'll also be looking forward to your next update in Fairytale, Alfred. Yes, I know who you are. Ohohohohoho! 8D
You might also check to see if you're missing...someone important.
After the abuse that America had put him through, France had been left with a broken arm and bruised organs. England also suspected a cracked spine and internal bleeding, but he didn't bother to fully investigate his rival's injures. As a Nation, France would be up and about in half a month regardless of what England did or didn't do. Frankly, England wouldn't be surprised if France was fine in a week, just to annoy the Briton.
As for his own abused neck, England wrapped some linen bandages to cover the bruises. They probably would have disappeared soon, but England took some comfort in the warmth the cloth provided. Even though the attack had been a day ago, the green-eyed man could still feel phantom fingers digging into his flesh, choking his air. Ah, the cold...
No, cold wasn't the term England would use. More like an absence of heat (of life) as if America had been gobbling up England's own warmth (his very existence) leaving the island Nation hollow and freezing.
England's fingertips brushed his bandaged neck.
France was currently sleeping in the spare room. England even added a circle of salt around the frog's bed. Out of a sense of guilt, England had set the Frenchman's arm to speed the healing process. (And then, out of pride and old rivalry, he had cut France's wavy hair until the blond locks barely brushed the tops of his ears.)
As it was, England was in his own room, re-wrapping the bandages around his neck using a mirror as a guide. When the damaged skin was revealed, England frowned. Odd...those bruises should have been gone by now.
It was then that England spotted the stuffed bunny sitting innocently on his bedspread. He let out a shaky breath. Really, he should have anticipated this.
“Come out, America,” England ordered clearly, willing the fear out of his voice stubbornly.
“Don't you want to get your salt first?” America asked quietly as he slowly faded into view on the bed.
He had chosen his older form right away this time, but he had left behind the blue military coat, looking thinner without it.
England felt his fists tighten, “I thought you did not like salt.”
“I don't,” America shrugged, his form shimmering slightly with the motion, “But it will keep you safe.”
England's mouth flattened into a grim line. This had to be a trick. But he procured a container of salt from the kitchen and returned to the room. Rather than spreading it around himself, he sprinkled a ring of the white grains around America and the bed, effectively trapping the spirit. Both Nations looked rather surprised at his actions...or perhaps they were both really surprised that America let England do it.
“What do you want, America?” England growled out tightly, leaning against the wall. His former colony looked away, but England still caught the flash of pain that flickered over the ghost's face.
“I-I'm sorry.”
“'Sorry'?” England laughed bitterly, his lips twisted in a sardonic smile, “I must have heard wrongly. You're sorry! Dear God...You think that is going to fix everything, America?”
“Of course not!” America snapped, causing the shadows to writhe. He calmed down as soon as he saw England flinch.
“I-I think there's something wrong with me,” the younger Nation confessed, fear skating across his blue eyes, “I...I didn't want to hurt you. Or France. Not really. But then I did. I really wanted to! So badly! I wanted to reach inside and pull out your heart to see if it still moved as you screamed yourself raw...I wanted to feel your blood on my hands, on my face. Would you cry? I wondered how it would-Damn it! Even now...What's wrong with me?!”
Tears began to slide down the ghost's face.
“I'm scared, Iggy,” America whimpered in a small voice, his blue eyes imploring the older Nation, “I'm so scared.”
England felt his heart start hammering wildly in his chest. He didn't know what to say. He was rather terrified himself.
“Damn it, I'm scared of myself!” America snarled, dark shadows instantly exploding around him, only to be hampered by the ring of salt. They curled at the edge of the circle, viciously stabbing at the air in an attempt to claw at England.
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“America...” England started. America hissed at him, a cruel, animalistic sound.
“Don't!” America snapped hotly, even as the temperature plummeted, “I heard your heart speed up! I can see it in your eyes too! I'm dangerous!”
“Bloody hell, America!” England cursed, pushing off from the wall, “We all are dangerous! We're Nations!”
“But not like this!” America shouted, waving at the shadows and England's bandaged neck, “Fuck, what have I done?! This isn't the first time I hurt you, is it?!”
England didn't answer. America swore.
“I don't-I don't want to hurt you!” America wailed, his voice coming out half strangled, “I never wanted that! Not really...”
England laughed bitterly, thinking back on America's Revolution, “Far too late for that, you git.”
“All I wanted was for you to be mine!” America cried. England yelped as an unnatural wind whipped about and the room was saturated with spiritual energy. Apparently, the ghost had gained enough power that the salt ring wasn't enough to fully contain him.
England winced as a sharp supernatural wind sliced through his cheek and sent warm blood running down his face. The sight of the crimson liquid seemed to whip America into a greater frenzy, a dark keening sound vibrating from the his throat.
“No, no, no...What have I done?”
“Damn it, you're falling to pieces,” England gasped as the chill in the room reached arctic levels. If he didn't do something soon, the damage America would wreak would be immense. And as the Briton glanced through the window at the streets outside, he knew that this time innocent people would be involved.
Against his better judgment, England found himself striding past the salt line, wrapping his arms around the mad spirit.
“No, no, no, no!” America gasped out, struggling slightly, but not phasing through England's arms, “You'll get hurt!”
“Idiot,” England mumbled into the ghost's shoulder, “Calm down.”
“I-I can't!” America replied, panicked, “What's wrong with me? I keep wanting...Oh God, the things I want!”
The former colony brought his mouth close to the bleeding cut on England's face and lapped at the red, red liquid, smearing it across the Briton's face. The ice on the ghost's breath made the wound burn in pain. When teeth bit into the slice on his cheek making more blood flow, England forced himself to ignore it, and pulled America closer.
“You can,” England murmured soothingly, petting blond locks, “Just...relax.”
“How?”
“Listen to my heartbeat,” England suggested, “You like the sound, don't you?”
America let out a shuddering breath, but leaned his head against England's torso. His hand instinctively reached into the island Nation's chest to grab at the beating organ within. England hissed at the invasion, but made no move to remove the intruding limb.
Gradually, the room warmed and the shadows shrunk. America removed his hand from England in favor of embracing his former colonizer, his face burying itself into England's collarbone. To his surprise, England found America's face and breath to be warm now, like sunshine.
“You...you feel good,” America sighed, closing his eyes peacefully and slumping in England's arms.
And suddenly, England found himself falling backwards as America's weight crashed into him unexpectedly.
“Ghosts don't weigh anything,” England whispered to himself.
But America's weight was warm and real against the Briton, his heartbeat joining England's own to break the silence when before there had only been the Briton's.
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
America...America was alive.
*gurgles* This chapter was difficult. I wrote one version days ago, but decided that while it was okay, it wasn't really what I wanted. So I tried redoing the whole thing. Then the redo wasn't what I wanted either so I ended up with this version...BTW, to the anon that offered, I like fanart very, very much and will probably go into SUPAR!fangirl mode. Cause evil!baby!America is totally my #1 kink...
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this is the anon who offered fanart. it will be up in a few days, i suppose. and as i don't have a drawing tablet, i would probably do traditional and just scan it. :D
Reply
I put the time stamp in chapter 4. Both it and chapter 5 are set between 1820-1860, before the American Civil War, but after that Napoleon mess. At this time, the American-British relations are not great, but not bad either. (Basically, the two nations are keeping out of each others' hair, other than a couple of border disputes with Canada that are resolved without bloodshed)
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Thanks for the update! Random anon here will be looking forward to reading the next chapter cause honestly, that's an *evil* cliff-hanger you've got there >__>
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Poor England, you're really making him suffer and I love it.
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PS. I'll also be looking forward to your next update in Fairytale, Alfred. Yes, I know who you are. Ohohohohoho! 8D
You might also check to see if you're missing...someone important.
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