Love is a Thing Only to Become and Eternally Be [3b/?]
anonymous
March 29 2010, 14:30:00 UTC
Alfred, perhaps out of kindness or perhaps just because his Alfred, doesn't give him a chance to respond, “because, you tyrant,” is Alfred's frosty reply, “why would he want to stay with you, you don't even like him.” Matthew winces a bit at that, and Arthur looks so far beyond livid that the Canadian can't help but worry someone is going to die tonight.
“I assure you,” says a deceptively collected Arthur, “I like the boy just fine.”
Alfred sneers at that, and opens his mouth but Matthew beats him to it, “I know!” He cries, drawing their attention, “I know exactly how you both feel regarding me,” he's picking his words carefully, trying to be neutral, “but, but it is terribly late, can't, can't we discuss this later, over breakfast maybe.” Arthur's gaze is sharp, but he finally nods and exits the room.
Matthew almost sighs in relief, except for the fact that the minute they hear Arthur's door close Alfred has him pinned to the wall, furious. “Why do you keep doing that?” He hisses, blue eyes flashing with something which makes Matthew want to draw away or surge forward, he isn't sure. Either way, sensing the impending confrontation, he tries once again to head it off.
“I don't-” Alfred cuts him off with a painful squeeze of Matthew's wrists, pressing his nose against his brother's as he does so.
“Don't even try, Matthew, why the hell do you keep avoiding the question, I'm going to leave, and I'm going to become my own country, so why won't you just tell England you are too?” Alfred looses some of his aggression near the end, and that just makes this so much worse.
“Because I'm not Alfred.” The southern nation freezes, his eyes wide, jaw set.
“What?” He asks, and it's not flat, like Arthur would be, but strangled and high, almost a whimper. “Matt, how can you, I mean - I, you...” he can't even speak, so Matthew tries his best to explain.
“I want to,” he says, as sincerely as he's ever said anything in his life, “but...but they don't, Alfred, my people, they like England, so, I can't, I can't just-” Alfred cuts him off by bringing his unoccupied hand up to Matthew's throat.
“Why the fuck would you stay here,” he's hissing again, the hand around his brother's throat slowly tightening, and Matthew almost laughs because he knows Alfred probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. “Arthur doesn't care about you, and neither does England,” he notes Matthew's lack of protest and smirks, “you're too French and you know it. He can't love you, he's barely capable of it, and besides,” the hand is still tightening, and Matthew can't really breath anymore, “he loves me.”
Love is a Thing Only to Become and Eternally Be [3c/?]
anonymous
March 29 2010, 14:35:31 UTC
Matthew, more out of obligation than any real conviction tries to protest, which seems to fuel Alfred on, “honestly, though. I'm the only person who's ever going to fight for you. Arthur only took you from France because he wanted to upset Francis, but it didn't work.” This is where Matthew struggles, because he doesn't want to hear all those nasty little thoughts which come to him at night, or when he's alone given voice by the person he thought he could trust most in this world.
Alfred doesn't have to do much to stop his brother, Matthew is pinned against the wall, hands above his head and the lack of air is making him sluggish, so he continues on, “it didn't work, because, you're just a few hectares of snow, after all.” And there it is, it's worse than being chocked, or punched or hit, and Matthew's entire being tries to flinch away from the words. Alfred, who can flip through emotions with almost the same ease Arthur does, goes from harsh to calming in less than a second.
“But that's just them Matt,” he's cooing now, noes and mouth against Matthew's cheek, “I love you, I really I do, I think you're beautiful, so just come with me, okay?” His hands, in contrast to his voice, are still tightening, and Matthew can feel his larynx giving way and his wrist bones grinding together. Desperately, he tries to speak, and eventually gets a word out, even as his vision goes dark.
“No,” it's quiet and raspy, but Alfred hears it and suddenly lets go of the other male, letting him drop to the floor. Alfred doesn't say anything more, just turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the front door behind him. Matthew is too far gone to sit up, and just allows himself to lose consciousness, Alfred's voice in his head telling him just how unwanted he has made himself.
Arthur will come down stairs in the morning and make breakfast, and when he finds both boys bedrooms empty will feel a cold dread climb up his spine. He'll stew in thoughts of ingrates and traitors until he goes into the sitting room, and sees his second oldest colony crumpled on the floor, neck swollen and bruised, his wrists looking fractured if not broken.
Arthur is gentle with the boy, who doesn't wake as Arthur takes him up to his room or tends to his wrists and throat as best he can, Matthew won't wake until the next morning, so he misses the fight between Arthur and Alfred, where for once he's the centre of attention, Arthur screaming about how Alfred could have killed him, and Alfred screaming right back that he'd never do such a thing. He sleeps through the row, and through Arthur coming in to check up on him.
Matthew even sleeps through Alfred sneaking up one last time. Alfred smooths a hand over his brother's brow, blue eyes bright and so sorry, before he leaves one last time. Matthew wakes up alone, and doesn't even need to be told the Alfred is gone; he feels it.
God Al, why so creepy? Anon apologises for the schizo tenses, she's writing this at school in an attempt to post a little more before she's flooded with work. And yeah, anon is fond of her Canada being low in the self confidence arena, but not all wibbly and a big moeblob.
Re: Love is a Thing Only to Become and Eternally Be [3c/?]
anonymous
March 29 2010, 16:23:19 UTC
The intensity of this section is perfect. Alfred's possessiveness, and the ease with which he emotionally wounds Matthew, is honestly kind of breath-taking (and scary).
Love what you have so far, can't wait for the next part.
Re: Love is a Thing Only to Become and Eternally Be [3c/?]
anonymous
March 30 2010, 02:33:54 UTC
USA!anon here thinks that this type of psychotic, possessive behavior towards Canada is perfect regarding the revolutionary war. "We want you to rebel with us, so we're just going to take over. Be in Quebec around noon. Please serve our favorite cake! And none of that tea crap!!! <3 Benny Arnold & the Boys"
In short, I love what you've done here!
And don't ever get me started on 1812. We're still in denial that our nice, sweet Canadian neighbors could've ever burnt down our capital. They're just too darn likable! It was all the work of the British Empire's forces. Those bastards! *shakes fist*
“I assure you,” says a deceptively collected Arthur, “I like the boy just fine.”
Alfred sneers at that, and opens his mouth but Matthew beats him to it, “I know!” He cries, drawing their attention, “I know exactly how you both feel regarding me,” he's picking his words carefully, trying to be neutral, “but, but it is terribly late, can't, can't we discuss this later, over breakfast maybe.” Arthur's gaze is sharp, but he finally nods and exits the room.
Matthew almost sighs in relief, except for the fact that the minute they hear Arthur's door close Alfred has him pinned to the wall, furious. “Why do you keep doing that?” He hisses, blue eyes flashing with something which makes Matthew want to draw away or surge forward, he isn't sure. Either way, sensing the impending confrontation, he tries once again to head it off.
“I don't-” Alfred cuts him off with a painful squeeze of Matthew's wrists, pressing his nose against his brother's as he does so.
“Don't even try, Matthew, why the hell do you keep avoiding the question, I'm going to leave, and I'm going to become my own country, so why won't you just tell England you are too?” Alfred looses some of his aggression near the end, and that just makes this so much worse.
“Because I'm not Alfred.” The southern nation freezes, his eyes wide, jaw set.
“What?” He asks, and it's not flat, like Arthur would be, but strangled and high, almost a whimper. “Matt, how can you, I mean - I, you...” he can't even speak, so Matthew tries his best to explain.
“I want to,” he says, as sincerely as he's ever said anything in his life, “but...but they don't, Alfred, my people, they like England, so, I can't, I can't just-” Alfred cuts him off by bringing his unoccupied hand up to Matthew's throat.
“Why the fuck would you stay here,” he's hissing again, the hand around his brother's throat slowly tightening, and Matthew almost laughs because he knows Alfred probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. “Arthur doesn't care about you, and neither does England,” he notes Matthew's lack of protest and smirks, “you're too French and you know it. He can't love you, he's barely capable of it, and besides,” the hand is still tightening, and Matthew can't really breath anymore, “he loves me.”
Reply
Alfred doesn't have to do much to stop his brother, Matthew is pinned against the wall, hands above his head and the lack of air is making him sluggish, so he continues on, “it didn't work, because, you're just a few hectares of snow, after all.” And there it is, it's worse than being chocked, or punched or hit, and Matthew's entire being tries to flinch away from the words. Alfred, who can flip through emotions with almost the same ease Arthur does, goes from harsh to calming in less than a second.
“But that's just them Matt,” he's cooing now, noes and mouth against Matthew's cheek, “I love you, I really I do, I think you're beautiful, so just come with me, okay?” His hands, in contrast to his voice, are still tightening, and Matthew can feel his larynx giving way and his wrist bones grinding together. Desperately, he tries to speak, and eventually gets a word out, even as his vision goes dark.
“No,” it's quiet and raspy, but Alfred hears it and suddenly lets go of the other male, letting him drop to the floor. Alfred doesn't say anything more, just turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the front door behind him. Matthew is too far gone to sit up, and just allows himself to lose consciousness, Alfred's voice in his head telling him just how unwanted he has made himself.
Arthur will come down stairs in the morning and make breakfast, and when he finds both boys bedrooms empty will feel a cold dread climb up his spine. He'll stew in thoughts of ingrates and traitors until he goes into the sitting room, and sees his second oldest colony crumpled on the floor, neck swollen and bruised, his wrists looking fractured if not broken.
Arthur is gentle with the boy, who doesn't wake as Arthur takes him up to his room or tends to his wrists and throat as best he can, Matthew won't wake until the next morning, so he misses the fight between Arthur and Alfred, where for once he's the centre of attention, Arthur screaming about how Alfred could have killed him, and Alfred screaming right back that he'd never do such a thing. He sleeps through the row, and through Arthur coming in to check up on him.
Matthew even sleeps through Alfred sneaking up one last time. Alfred smooths a hand over his brother's brow, blue eyes bright and so sorry, before he leaves one last time. Matthew wakes up alone, and doesn't even need to be told the Alfred is gone; he feels it.
God Al, why so creepy? Anon apologises for the schizo tenses, she's writing this at school in an attempt to post a little more before she's flooded with work. And yeah, anon is fond of her Canada being low in the self confidence arena, but not all wibbly and a big moeblob.
Reply
Love what you have so far, can't wait for the next part.
Reply
Reply
Reply
And you still keep everyone in such good character! (I D'awwed at their first meeting.)
Loved this and can't wait to see where it goes from here!
Reply
"We want you to rebel with us, so we're just going to take over. Be in Quebec around noon. Please serve our favorite cake! And none of that tea crap!!! <3 Benny Arnold & the Boys"
In short, I love what you've done here!
And don't ever get me started on 1812. We're still in denial that our nice, sweet Canadian neighbors could've ever burnt down our capital. They're just too darn likable! It was all the work of the British Empire's forces. Those bastards! *shakes fist*
Reply
Leave a comment