Scarf Napped (Russia/America)
anonymous
October 26 2009, 23:31:38 UTC
Someone sneaks into Russia's house and steals his scarf. He flips out hardcore, destroys his entire house and no one can get anywhere near him. Finally he exhausts himself and the nations send in America, with his super strength, to try and deal with him. Russia comes around and sees America and imprints on him (like baby animals will do on the first thing they see). While America keeps an eye on him the others rush off to see if they can figure out who took the scar and to get it back. While they're gone Russia is completely out of it but docile and clingy and will follow America around like a puppy. As time progresses Russia becomes even more clingy until it becomes clear that he's after something more then just cuddling. America is determined to not give in while Russia's in this condition no matter how insistent Russia is about it. Eventually they find the scarf (the who and why is your choice) and Russia returns to "normal" when he gets it back.
Bonus: After he gets his scarf back Russia shows up at America's house determined to get what he was denied, America is more then happy to oblige.
Scarf Napped- Prologue.
anonymous
December 31 2010, 12:34:09 UTC
It hadn't been easy, it has been as risky as hell but it had been worth it.
Prussia fingered the material of the piece of clothing, a smug grin playing on his lips. It has been so worth it.
He'd always worn this goddamn scarf. In the days when Prussia had been under the violent and manic nation's rule, he would have been flogged for messing up the fabric, unable to help it because merely being touched by the taller man made him puke up blood, and it wasn't his fault if it so happened to go all over his clothes. (“Better on him than on the awesome me.”)
And also, it was pink. Pink. What kind of guy wore a pink fucking scarf? Prussia should have known the fatass was a queer, it was just too obvious, walking around, giggling like a little girl, despite the fact that he was six foot whatever and had a tendency to lash out with numerous sadistic tortures on his terrified underlings, especially if he was drunk on vodka.
Well, now that the Commie's most treasured possession was out of his...possession...the fun would begin. Braginski always laughed about how much he enjoyed watching other people squirm.
Now it was his turn.
-
(“he would have been flogged for messing up the fabric, unable to help it because merely being touched by the taller man made him puke up blood”- That's in reference to the newest Hetalia Christmas Special Comic. Prussia has a discussion with Finland where he tells him that he cannot help but do just that whenever Russia lays a finger on him.)
Scarf Napped- Part 1A
anonymous
December 31 2010, 13:11:49 UTC
Russia hadn't been seen at the last meeting. Or the one before that. In fact, since no one really bothered, or were to scared to ever approach the barren wasteland the man called his home, no one knew where he was or why he wasn't where he should have been.
On top of that no one really seemed to care all that much. In fact, the atmosphere was always a lot lighter without him around. Not that anything got done at the meetings as per usual, since there were still disputes between nations that would never die down, but the air was noticeably a lot less tense.
The Baltics seemed to be more lax, Poland was very pleased that there was no one bothering Lithuania, especially. In fact, most of Europe, and some parts of Asia (mostly China and Japan that had had dealings with the Russian in the past) seemed to be in a better mood.
No one spared a thought of going to check on him, to see if he would be attending the next meeting or not...
Until, that was, Belarus had her say in the matter. She came into the boardroom one morning, scowling at everyone and everything, giving those who so much as glanced in her direction the deadliest of glares. It would have been best if she had been left alone...
But, of course, Lithuania, being forever oblivious to the banshee that Belarus truly was, walked up to her, and pleasantly wished her a good morning.
It had seemed, that had been the straw that had broken the camels back, and she began her ranting, screeching at the top of her voice.
“WHY ISN'T BROTHER HERE?!”
Every nation in the room turned to her, looking shocked.
“Where is he? Where IS HE?! He hasn't been at a meeting, which are the only times I ever get to see him since he is always too busy with work to make time for his little sister!”
Latvia opened his mouth, probably to remark that this fact was untrue, that Russia was just terrified of her and was making excuses, but Estonia promptly covered his mouth to shut him up.
“Miss Belarus...” Lithuania said quietly, not looking at all nervous, in fact, he looked sympathetic “Mr Russia is probably jus--”
“Do YOU know where he is?! Are you keeping him from me?! You're hiding him because you want him all to yourself, don't you?!” In a flash, she pulled a knife from under her dress, strapped to her leg by a garter, and pointed it at his throat. “I should have known...you were always his favourite.”
“Liet, like, come here...” Poland cut in, dragging Lithuania away from him since it seemed as though the nation was unlikely to move, not out of fear, but out of his stubborn belief that the poor girl just needed someone to listen to her woes.
“Hey, Belarus!”
She turned to the source of the voice, still looking half deranged, the effect enhanced by the sharp object in her hand.
“Can I ask'ya not to point knives at my friends?” America said, striking the most heroic (and totally not afraid of the crazy bitch with the knife) pose he could muster. “Now, tell the hero what's up with your brother and we'll sit you down...and maybe you could put the knife down, too.”
Her glare didn't leave her face. “Why should I tell you, you filthy Capitalist?”
“Because...!” He gave her a pearly white Hollywood grin “I'm the hero! And I'm gonna solve this whole problem out!”
Scarf Napped- Part 1B
anonymous
December 31 2010, 13:13:09 UTC
She didn't have time to deal with brats like this right now, her brother had practically fallen off the planet and she needed to know that her soon to be husband was alright. He hadn't been answering his phone, or replying to her letters she had sent him, or the emails, and she hadn't gotten the marriage licence back with his signature on that she had sent him for Christmas so there was defiantly something wrong. She would have gone to check on him herself, but her boss had forbidden her because her frequent visits were costing so much in travel money and she was missing out on work she needed to do. It was so frustrating that she couldn't just shut her boss up by stabbing him politely in response.
Maybe it was best that the American go and see him. Her brother loathed him, so the capitalist was most likely to get his much needed beating if he had the gall to even step on Russian soil, anyway. And there would be no chance that her brother being alone with him would develop into anything scandalous (like if she let that no good bastard Lithuania go and check on him.).
She turned to America, gave him the dirtiest look she could muster, before turning and waltzing out of the meeting room without another word.
America grinned. “Hey, guys, looks like I'm taking the next flight to Moscow. Say, ...where's Russia on a World Map?”
Scarf Napped- Part 2A
anonymous
December 31 2010, 15:29:42 UTC
When Alfred arrived at the gigantic manor in which Russia lived in, the first thing he noticed was that the house looked to be in a worse condition that he last remembered, from the outside. He knew the guy wasn't doing all too well with his economy, especially after the Cold War had ended, and he knew that the house that had once stood proudly was falling into states of disrepair...
But surely Russia would have mended a shattered window, even if he was low on cash, since the snow would fall into the room through the large breaks in the glass, and cause horrible draughts to blow through the house.
America felt even more apprehension when he realised that the front door also looked battered. It was closed, but Alfred noticed that it wasn't locked, nor were it's hinges looking sturdy enough to actually hold the door up properly, almost as if someone had smashed into it to get it open.
He walked down the corridor, winter wind blowing through the door that creaked as it swayed in the breeze; Alfred was definitely starting to get chills that weren't to do with the cold, now. Another point he noticed that there were no lights on and that the home was eerily quiet.
It had been a while since he had set foot in Russia's home, but he distinctly remembered his way to the sitting room, kitchen and dining room, but that was about it, never actually having explored upstairs or actually been a guest in his house for very long. He opened the door to what he recalled led into the sitting room, opening it slowly, peeking inside silently.
Alfred noticed that the floor was covered in shattered glass. A china cabinet had been thrown down, the frame smashing, along with the objects inside it. Furniture had been overturned, lamps lay on the ground, their broken bulbs adding to the mess, along with the shattered window Alfred had seen from outside.
He took a breath, and then took one cautious step inside, hearing a tinkle and the glass crunching under his shoes.
There was a scuffling sound from a corner of the room, and then the sound of a heavy figure getting to their feet alarmingly fast. Alfred jumped, backing out of the door slightly as he heard footsteps approaching him, not being able to see clearly what was happening in the semi darkness of the unlit room.
“Moĭ sharf!”
“Russia?!”
The tall man reached forward, grabbing America by the collar, looking him directly in the eyes. America noticed that his hair was a mess, his eyes, although their usual vivid violet were red and bloodshot. He looked rather pale and almost ill, as though he hadn't been taking proper care of himself. And he looked angry. Livid. Murderous, almost.
“Daĭte mne moĭ sharf!”
America was unsure of what to do. He could tell that Russia was angry about something but he was unsure what. He hardly spoke a word of Russian so he didn't know how to respond to the words that Russia was yelling at him.
“Russia! Hey...! Russia, snap out of it, dude!” He tried, trying not to sound too terrified. Seriously, he and his sister really knew how to look absolutely demented when they were pissed. Must run in the family.
“Sharf ... moĭ sharf ... moĭ ... Alʹfred?”
The last word Russia said sounded similar to his own name. “Yeah, dude! It's me, Alfred. America...!”
“Amerika...!” Russia blinked, the look he had worn before disappearing off his face in an instant. “You...w-what are you...?”
“Doing here? I've come to check on'ya! You haven't been at any meetings for a while, buddy.” He replied, relief flowing through him now that the man seemed to have calmed down. “What happened? Did someone trash the place?” He motioned to the wreckage.
“N-nyet...” He said, quietly. “I...I was looking for...” He motioned to his neck, grazing the back of his hand over the skin there.
It was then when America noticed. “Your scarf! You never take that thing off, where--?”
Russia began to sob, burying his face in his palms, muffling out his crying.
America blinked, taken aback, not having expected this reaction. “R-Russia? What's the matter...?”
Scarf Napped- Part 2B
anonymous
December 31 2010, 15:32:39 UTC
“I-I- d-do not know...! I-I...” He tried to speak, somewhat incoherent through his small gasps of anguish. “I-I h-have lo-lost...!”
“You lost your scarf...?”
“M-my d-dear s-sestra's...I...I-I lost it, Amerika!” Tears ran down the man's round face, although it looked as though this hadn't been the first time since loosing his possession that he had cried like this. His bloodshot eyes proved that much.
“Hey...hey...it'll be okay...” America tried to be as comforting as he could, gently patting Russia's shoulder. “I'm guessing you've checked...” He looked around the room “...everywhere, right? Is the whole house like this...?”
Ivan nodded. “I-I- p-panicked...a-and went i-into a k-kind of...f-frenzy, almost...”
“Ah....well...I guess there's no use checking here...where'd you last put it?”
“It i-is always a-around my neck Amerika, I s-sleep with it o-on...I woke up wi-with it the following d-day and it was gone...” He sniffled, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve.
America gave him a look. The maniac, he could suffocate if he did that...! But whatever, they had other things to worry about. “Maybe...maybe it was stolen...”
“I suppose i-it could be possible...” Russia agreed, fiddling with the end of America's jacket. He was so used to fiddling with the ends of his scarf in times where he was feeling nervous that he needed something as a replacement.
America paid no mind to this action. “It could have been anybody! Tons of people don't like you, after all!”
Russia blinked.
Wrong thing to probably have said. “Uh...what I mean is...well...I know it wasn't me, though...”
“Da...” Russia said. “You are too loud and too clumsy to be able to sneak in and steal something I keep so close to me, without being caught, do not worry about any accusations from me...”
“Hey!” America glared at him, tugging the jacket ends out of Russia's grip.
Ivan gave a small squeak, and his bottom lip trembled, looking dangerously like he was about to once again burst into tears. America sighed and let him resume his fiddling. Saying no to a look like that was all kinds of wrong. Like kicking a puppy or purposefully putting those kittens that always seemed to need rescuing from trees up there in the first place.
“Well...I'm sure it'll turn up...I mean, I really see that there's that much to gain from stealing a scarf...”
Russia looked up at him, cocking his head to the side. “Do you not, Amerika...? ...It is my most valued possession...being apart from it is causing me distress...maybe that was the intention of the thief?”
Jeez! Everyone knew that it was Russia's older sister, who Ivan hardly ever got to see who had given him that scarf in the first place! The person who took it must have been pure evil!
“You look angry.”
“I am kinda mad...how are someone do that...!” He looked at Russia. “I know we've had a lot of bullshit happen in our history, but I'd never do something that mean!”
Ivan blinked, his violet eyes staring at him, slightly owlishly. “You...would not...?”
“Hell no! That's just so un-heroic!” He folded his arms, looking irritated. “I'll find the person who stole your scarf and let 'em get what's coming to 'em!”
“Y-you will...?” Ivan stared at him.
“Yeah. Because I'm the he-OH!”
All the wind was knocked out of him at the impact of the man rushing at him, and then it was doubled by Ivan wrapping his arms around Alfred in a bone crushing hug.
“Oh! Amerika! You do not know what this means to me! Spasibo! Bolʹshoe vam spasibo!”
America couldn't respond except for making small movements with his mouth, looking uncannily like a goldfish.
Russia giggled at that, seeming much happier now, despite the situation.
When Alfred could breathe again, he turned to Russia. “Right, well...uh...” He looked around the messy room, hoping to be able to dash out of the house before Ivan would ask him to help clean up. “I'll see you at the next meeting, right?”
He turned to go, but found that he was unable to take a step away to leave. He turned to see that Russia was clinging tightly to America's jacket still.
Scarf Napped- Part 2C
anonymous
December 31 2010, 15:33:31 UTC
“Uh...Russia?”
Was Russia...whimpering? He tugged the American back slightly.
“Uh, dude...I gotta...” He motioned to the door.
Russia shook his head, tugging him again.
“But I have to go home...”
He shook his head more vigorously, pulling Alfred back into a hug, wrapping his arms around America's middle and resting his head on top of his. “Nyet...”
“Russia...come on, man...!” This was weird, dude! What was Russia doing, being all touchy feely all of a sudden?!
“Nyet...don't leave me...”
The tone and choice of words struck a chord with Alfred. The taller nation sounded so...frighted...
“Fine...but...I can't stay here...” He sighed “You'll have to come stay with me...”
Russia looked happy at that idea. This time he let America walk out, but refused to let go of his jacket the entire walk to a street to hail a cab, or, indeed, the trip to the airport in said cab.
It was when the nation gripped on to the material of the jacket the entire flight, even when he fell asleep (the guy looked exhausted, like had hadn't slept in at least a few days or so) that he wondered if this sort of behaviour was going to last...
-
TRANSLATIONS- (used Google Translate, so forgive me for inaccuracies).
This is cute author-anon! I'm really looking forward to the rest.
Did you link it to the fills list? I don't remember seeing it...I only stumbled on it b/c it's still listed as unfilled on the R/A community. I'm sure if you linked it the OP would loooove it.
Bonus: After he gets his scarf back Russia shows up at America's house determined to get what he was denied, America is more then happy to oblige.
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Prussia fingered the material of the piece of clothing, a smug grin playing on his lips. It has been so worth it.
He'd always worn this goddamn scarf. In the days when Prussia had been under the violent and manic nation's rule, he would have been flogged for messing up the fabric, unable to help it because merely being touched by the taller man made him puke up blood, and it wasn't his fault if it so happened to go all over his clothes. (“Better on him than on the awesome me.”)
And also, it was pink. Pink. What kind of guy wore a pink fucking scarf? Prussia should have known the fatass was a queer, it was just too obvious, walking around, giggling like a little girl, despite the fact that he was six foot whatever and had a tendency to lash out with numerous sadistic tortures on his terrified underlings, especially if he was drunk on vodka.
Well, now that the Commie's most treasured possession was out of his...possession...the fun would begin. Braginski always laughed about how much he enjoyed watching other people squirm.
Now it was his turn.
-
(“he would have been flogged for messing up the fabric, unable to help it because merely being touched by the taller man made him puke up blood”- That's in reference to the newest Hetalia Christmas Special Comic. Prussia has a discussion with Finland where he tells him that he cannot help but do just that whenever Russia lays a finger on him.)
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On top of that no one really seemed to care all that much. In fact, the atmosphere was always a lot lighter without him around. Not that anything got done at the meetings as per usual, since there were still disputes between nations that would never die down, but the air was noticeably a lot less tense.
The Baltics seemed to be more lax, Poland was very pleased that there was no one bothering Lithuania, especially. In fact, most of Europe, and some parts of Asia (mostly China and Japan that had had dealings with the Russian in the past) seemed to be in a better mood.
No one spared a thought of going to check on him, to see if he would be attending the next meeting or not...
Until, that was, Belarus had her say in the matter. She came into the boardroom one morning, scowling at everyone and everything, giving those who so much as glanced in her direction the deadliest of glares. It would have been best if she had been left alone...
But, of course, Lithuania, being forever oblivious to the banshee that Belarus truly was, walked up to her, and pleasantly wished her a good morning.
It had seemed, that had been the straw that had broken the camels back, and she began her ranting, screeching at the top of her voice.
“WHY ISN'T BROTHER HERE?!”
Every nation in the room turned to her, looking shocked.
“Where is he? Where IS HE?! He hasn't been at a meeting, which are the only times I ever get to see him since he is always too busy with work to make time for his little sister!”
Latvia opened his mouth, probably to remark that this fact was untrue, that Russia was just terrified of her and was making excuses, but Estonia promptly covered his mouth to shut him up.
“Miss Belarus...” Lithuania said quietly, not looking at all nervous, in fact, he looked sympathetic “Mr Russia is probably jus--”
“Do YOU know where he is?! Are you keeping him from me?! You're hiding him because you want him all to yourself, don't you?!” In a flash, she pulled a knife from under her dress, strapped to her leg by a garter, and pointed it at his throat. “I should have known...you were always his favourite.”
“Liet, like, come here...” Poland cut in, dragging Lithuania away from him since it seemed as though the nation was unlikely to move, not out of fear, but out of his stubborn belief that the poor girl just needed someone to listen to her woes.
“Hey, Belarus!”
She turned to the source of the voice, still looking half deranged, the effect enhanced by the sharp object in her hand.
“Can I ask'ya not to point knives at my friends?” America said, striking the most heroic (and totally not afraid of the crazy bitch with the knife) pose he could muster. “Now, tell the hero what's up with your brother and we'll sit you down...and maybe you could put the knife down, too.”
Her glare didn't leave her face. “Why should I tell you, you filthy Capitalist?”
“Because...!” He gave her a pearly white Hollywood grin “I'm the hero! And I'm gonna solve this whole problem out!”
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Maybe it was best that the American go and see him. Her brother loathed him, so the capitalist was most likely to get his much needed beating if he had the gall to even step on Russian soil, anyway. And there would be no chance that her brother being alone with him would develop into anything scandalous (like if she let that no good bastard Lithuania go and check on him.).
She turned to America, gave him the dirtiest look she could muster, before turning and waltzing out of the meeting room without another word.
America grinned. “Hey, guys, looks like I'm taking the next flight to Moscow. Say, ...where's Russia on a World Map?”
-
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But surely Russia would have mended a shattered window, even if he was low on cash, since the snow would fall into the room through the large breaks in the glass, and cause horrible draughts to blow through the house.
America felt even more apprehension when he realised that the front door also looked battered. It was closed, but Alfred noticed that it wasn't locked, nor were it's hinges looking sturdy enough to actually hold the door up properly, almost as if someone had smashed into it to get it open.
He walked down the corridor, winter wind blowing through the door that creaked as it swayed in the breeze; Alfred was definitely starting to get chills that weren't to do with the cold, now. Another point he noticed that there were no lights on and that the home was eerily quiet.
It had been a while since he had set foot in Russia's home, but he distinctly remembered his way to the sitting room, kitchen and dining room, but that was about it, never actually having explored upstairs or actually been a guest in his house for very long. He opened the door to what he recalled led into the sitting room, opening it slowly, peeking inside silently.
Alfred noticed that the floor was covered in shattered glass. A china cabinet had been thrown down, the frame smashing, along with the objects inside it. Furniture had been overturned, lamps lay on the ground, their broken bulbs adding to the mess, along with the shattered window Alfred had seen from outside.
He took a breath, and then took one cautious step inside, hearing a tinkle and the glass crunching under his shoes.
There was a scuffling sound from a corner of the room, and then the sound of a heavy figure getting to their feet alarmingly fast. Alfred jumped, backing out of the door slightly as he heard footsteps approaching him, not being able to see clearly what was happening in the semi darkness of the unlit room.
“Moĭ sharf!”
“Russia?!”
The tall man reached forward, grabbing America by the collar, looking him directly in the eyes. America noticed that his hair was a mess, his eyes, although their usual vivid violet were red and bloodshot. He looked rather pale and almost ill, as though he hadn't been taking proper care of himself. And he looked angry. Livid. Murderous, almost.
“Daĭte mne moĭ sharf!”
America was unsure of what to do. He could tell that Russia was angry about something but he was unsure what. He hardly spoke a word of Russian so he didn't know how to respond to the words that Russia was yelling at him.
“Russia! Hey...! Russia, snap out of it, dude!” He tried, trying not to sound too terrified. Seriously, he and his sister really knew how to look absolutely demented when they were pissed. Must run in the family.
“Sharf ... moĭ sharf ... moĭ ... Alʹfred?”
The last word Russia said sounded similar to his own name. “Yeah, dude! It's me, Alfred. America...!”
“Amerika...!” Russia blinked, the look he had worn before disappearing off his face in an instant. “You...w-what are you...?”
“Doing here? I've come to check on'ya! You haven't been at any meetings for a while, buddy.” He replied, relief flowing through him now that the man seemed to have calmed down. “What happened? Did someone trash the place?” He motioned to the wreckage.
“N-nyet...” He said, quietly. “I...I was looking for...” He motioned to his neck, grazing the back of his hand over the skin there.
It was then when America noticed. “Your scarf! You never take that thing off, where--?”
Russia began to sob, burying his face in his palms, muffling out his crying.
America blinked, taken aback, not having expected this reaction. “R-Russia? What's the matter...?”
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“You lost your scarf...?”
“M-my d-dear s-sestra's...I...I-I lost it, Amerika!” Tears ran down the man's round face, although it looked as though this hadn't been the first time since loosing his possession that he had cried like this. His bloodshot eyes proved that much.
“Hey...hey...it'll be okay...” America tried to be as comforting as he could, gently patting Russia's shoulder. “I'm guessing you've checked...” He looked around the room “...everywhere, right? Is the whole house like this...?”
Ivan nodded. “I-I- p-panicked...a-and went i-into a k-kind of...f-frenzy, almost...”
“Ah....well...I guess there's no use checking here...where'd you last put it?”
“It i-is always a-around my neck Amerika, I s-sleep with it o-on...I woke up wi-with it the following d-day and it was gone...” He sniffled, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve.
America gave him a look. The maniac, he could suffocate if he did that...! But whatever, they had other things to worry about. “Maybe...maybe it was stolen...”
“I suppose i-it could be possible...” Russia agreed, fiddling with the end of America's jacket. He was so used to fiddling with the ends of his scarf in times where he was feeling nervous that he needed something as a replacement.
America paid no mind to this action. “It could have been anybody! Tons of people don't like you, after all!”
Russia blinked.
Wrong thing to probably have said. “Uh...what I mean is...well...I know it wasn't me, though...”
“Da...” Russia said. “You are too loud and too clumsy to be able to sneak in and steal something I keep so close to me, without being caught, do not worry about any accusations from me...”
“Hey!” America glared at him, tugging the jacket ends out of Russia's grip.
Ivan gave a small squeak, and his bottom lip trembled, looking dangerously like he was about to once again burst into tears. America sighed and let him resume his fiddling. Saying no to a look like that was all kinds of wrong. Like kicking a puppy or purposefully putting those kittens that always seemed to need rescuing from trees up there in the first place.
“Well...I'm sure it'll turn up...I mean, I really see that there's that much to gain from stealing a scarf...”
Russia looked up at him, cocking his head to the side. “Do you not, Amerika...? ...It is my most valued possession...being apart from it is causing me distress...maybe that was the intention of the thief?”
Jeez! Everyone knew that it was Russia's older sister, who Ivan hardly ever got to see who had given him that scarf in the first place! The person who took it must have been pure evil!
“You look angry.”
“I am kinda mad...how are someone do that...!” He looked at Russia. “I know we've had a lot of bullshit happen in our history, but I'd never do something that mean!”
Ivan blinked, his violet eyes staring at him, slightly owlishly. “You...would not...?”
“Hell no! That's just so un-heroic!” He folded his arms, looking irritated. “I'll find the person who stole your scarf and let 'em get what's coming to 'em!”
“Y-you will...?” Ivan stared at him.
“Yeah. Because I'm the he-OH!”
All the wind was knocked out of him at the impact of the man rushing at him, and then it was doubled by Ivan wrapping his arms around Alfred in a bone crushing hug.
“Oh! Amerika! You do not know what this means to me! Spasibo! Bolʹshoe vam spasibo!”
America couldn't respond except for making small movements with his mouth, looking uncannily like a goldfish.
Russia giggled at that, seeming much happier now, despite the situation.
When Alfred could breathe again, he turned to Russia. “Right, well...uh...” He looked around the messy room, hoping to be able to dash out of the house before Ivan would ask him to help clean up. “I'll see you at the next meeting, right?”
He turned to go, but found that he was unable to take a step away to leave. He turned to see that Russia was clinging tightly to America's jacket still.
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Was Russia...whimpering? He tugged the American back slightly.
“Uh, dude...I gotta...” He motioned to the door.
Russia shook his head, tugging him again.
“But I have to go home...”
He shook his head more vigorously, pulling Alfred back into a hug, wrapping his arms around America's middle and resting his head on top of his. “Nyet...”
“Russia...come on, man...!” This was weird, dude! What was Russia doing, being all touchy feely all of a sudden?!
“Nyet...don't leave me...”
The tone and choice of words struck a chord with Alfred. The taller nation sounded so...frighted...
“Fine...but...I can't stay here...” He sighed “You'll have to come stay with me...”
Russia looked happy at that idea. This time he let America walk out, but refused to let go of his jacket the entire walk to a street to hail a cab, or, indeed, the trip to the airport in said cab.
It was when the nation gripped on to the material of the jacket the entire flight, even when he fell asleep (the guy looked exhausted, like had hadn't slept in at least a few days or so) that he wondered if this sort of behaviour was going to last...
-
TRANSLATIONS- (used Google Translate, so forgive me for inaccuracies).
“Moĭ sharf!”- “My Scarf!”
“Daĭte mne moĭ sharf” - “Give me my scarf!”
“Sharf ... moĭ sharf ... moĭ ... Alʹfred?”- “Scarf...my scarf...my...Alfred?”
“Nyet”- “No.”
“Da.” - “Yes.”
“Sestra”- “Sister.”
“Spasibo! Bolʹshoe vam spasibo!” - “Thank you! Thank you very much!”
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Did you link it to the fills list? I don't remember seeing it...I only stumbled on it b/c it's still listed as unfilled on the R/A community. I'm sure if you linked it the OP would loooove it.
:)
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