England knew the end was coming. He felt it in his bones. The aches of old were fading, just like he himself was. It couldn’t be the end though! It just can’t! He had this feeling before, he’d known he was going to die but he didn’t. So maybe… maybe this time things would work like they did before. He tried to bring himself to believe it. A little nagging voice in his head chided him for the thought. You know the damage is done already and this time there is no getting out of it. He always gets what he wants.
England sighed and looked down at the test he bought. This was so much easier than the last time, only knowing when you got fat and irritable and… England shook his head. No. He didn’t want to think about last time. This time was the real focus. All this talk about becoming a part of the United States had him worried. That was all this was. Worry! Not the end! England laughed to himself in hysteria, trying to pretend he was right. But, one look at the test made his laughter catch in his throat. No!
England ran his hands through his hair desperately. What was there to do? There was absolutely nothing that could fix this besides a miracle. He placed his hand on his stomach, still firm and fit, hiding the terror lying within. Why did this have to happen again? He prayed he wouldn’t end up like his brother, Wales.
England claimed he had no regrets in his body’s miscarriage of what would’ve ended him back in the fourteenth century. Scotland’s child, the child that would’ve been all of Great Britain had Edward II not lost control his father gathered, would have killed him. But Wales, oh poor Wales, had not been so lucky. His oldest brother, his dearest, the one who knelt before him, praying to be spared from a fate that was unavoidable, had died from being conquered. England could never look the girl who called herself ‘Cymru’ in the eye, especially not when she’d look back at him with his same emerald ones.
“Oh god… how am I supposed to tell America this?” He asked himself. He knew America’s hero complex would make him try and find a way to fix what was irreversible and he couldn’t bear to see him go through with that. But yet, America deserved to know the truth.
“Tell me what?” America peeked into the bathroom, smiling oblivious to the situation at hand.
“Don’t you know to knock?” England scowled. Why was he expecting time to gather his thoughts in this situation? Of course America had to be bothering him. He should’ve waited until he went home to take the test.
“You were in here for a long time! Thought you fell and couldn’t get up like in those commercials!” America laughed. At any other time England would’ve thrown the nearest object at him and cursed at him, but he was still in a bit of a stupor. So instead he gripped the test on the counter and looked up at America.
“America, I… I’m pregnant.” England sighed. America stared at him as if he had grown a second head and England was expecting him to rush to his side to assure him, but instead America just looked confused as could be.
“Wait, nations can do that?”
“Well yes, on the rare occas-” England was cut off by America letting out a delighted laugh and rushing to pull him into a hug.
“I’m gonna be a daddy! This is awesome!” America was absolutely beaming with happiness. England swore he could feel his heart break. Oh, there was no way he could tell America what this meant for him. Not when he was this happy.
“Y-yes… this is ‘awesome’.” England gripped onto America’s shirt tightly and cried softly. He couldn’t break America’s heart like this. Maybe someone could say there was an accident when he would die and America could continue to live in ignorant bliss. He only hoped for his lover’s sake. His days were numbered, but that didn’t mean he had to put a damper in his happiness. Only now he had to inform the whole freaking world he was going to die and to not tell America what was going to happen. Oh great, it was going to be a long night on the phones.
I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [2/?]
anonymous
April 1 2010, 17:10:44 UTC
England called every last damned nation on the planet and told about what was coming. Then he threatened them with their very lives that if they told America he would haunt them as a ghost for the rest of their pitiful existence. Everyone understood and almost everyone gave their condolences. Lot of good that’d be doing him when he was going to be six feet under in about eight months.
“So what are we gonna do, England? Is it gonna be a girl or a boy? How are you going to even have a kid? I mean I’ve seen every inch of you!” England sighed and rubbed his temples. America was absolutely persistent with questions since he told him about his current state.
“What are we going to do? Well common sense would imply we’ll set up a nursery. And you expect me to know what gender they will be? You don’t just know or anything like that. And I haven’t the faintest idea how they’ll come into the world, America.” England tapped his fingers on his desk, hoping the questions would end. It hadn’t even been a full day yet and America was on his case like mad.
“This is so cool though! I hope it’s a boy. Don’t you? He’ll be an awesome kid!”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” I’ll never live to see them anyways. England mentally added. It stung knowing that you were going to have a child and never see them grow. He wondered if that was how Wales had felt back then. He seemed so calm and collected, accepting his fate without a word. Perhaps he was just as scared as England felt now.
“Awww, c’mon! It’s our baby, England! How do you not care?” America pouted, resting his elbows on England’s desk. England looked him over with a look of apprehension. This was something special to him, even though he didn’t know what it meant. He should’ve gathered as much.
“I only hope they’ll be healthy.” England lied. The healthier the child was the sooner he’d die. It was a matter of survival. Having a child or staying alive yourself was not an easy choice, but he’d much rather live as long as he could. This child was just going to be his murderer or murderess. But to America it was going to be another one of those adventures he loved so much. Unfortunately in varying opinions there is only one answer in the end. And America’s was the destined one.
“Well yeah, that’s understood, isn’t it? Everyone wants their kids to be healthy!”
Not I. “Of course, America.”
“This is just so cool~” America grinned, reaching over the desk to prod England’s stomach. England groaned in response.
“Are you going to do that every chance you get?”
“Of course! Especially once you get a cute little baby bump!” England felt his patience wearing incredibly thin. Leave it to America to be enthralled with every part of his misfortune.
“I’ll have to remember to stay clear of you then.”
“Aww come on, England. You’ll like it, I’m sure~” England looked at America skeptically and pinched his side where the small bit of fat he had lay.
“Just like you would like this noticed constantly?”
“Ack! England let go. It hurts!” England complied and glared at America.
“That’s how annoying it is when you’re going to be hovering around me.” America pouted but seemed to understand, assuring England he’d give him his space but still fawn over him day and night, assuring him that everything was going to go great during his pregnancy. England would much rather have been left alone to handle himself. It’d be much easier to die that way. Not relying on the nation that was causing his impending death. But why would he be that lucky? America was sure to be beside him every day from now until his deathbed.
I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 1 2010, 17:34:51 UTC
“Dwi'n feichiog.” Wales whispers, cradling England’s face tenderly. England looks at him in stupor. That can’t be possible. When a nation is pregnant they…
“W-what?! That means you’re going to-”
“Die? Ie.” Wales says softly, trailing his thumbs across England’s cheeks to wipe away the forming tears. “It’s your child, brawd. I’m sorry. Are you alright yourself? I heard Scotland gave you a beating. And he took you. I swear, brawd, if he put you in the same position as me I’d give him something to be afraid of.”
“You wouldn’t though.” England reminds him, looking into his brother’s eyes, eyes as blue as the waterfalls scattered across his county. Wales laughs quietly and smiles, leaning down to give England a soft kiss on the lips.
“No, I wouldn’t. You know me well, brawd.” England smiles slightly in return before casting his gaze aside, fear overcoming him once more.
“I don’t want you to die like Albion, Wales. Why is this happening?” Wales sighs, pressing a kiss to England’s forehead.
“Hush, brawd. This is how things happen in the world.” England bites his lip and hugs Wales tight. He's going to lose his brother and his lover. It isn’t fair. Why did life happen like this? But yet, Wales should be the least of his concern. Growing inside of him is Scotland’s spawn, the full embodiment of Great Britain. He hasn’t realized it yet, but soon he’ll be unable to avoid this fact of life.
England bolted awake in bed, shaking slightly. Oh lord, why was he remembering that day now? Wales was about three and a half months along by then and England was just a few weeks. Haunting memories of a time he’d rather have forgotten for sure. He prayed he wouldn’t have anymore dreams like this again, but knowing his luck, they were doomed to be a regular occurrence.
America snored beside him, mumbling nonsensically like always. It was endearing sometimes, but now it only seemed to stir his ire. It wasn't fair America could sleep peacefully without memories of a time gone by of nightmares and despair. But that was all his lummox did and there was absolutely no hope of changing it for either of them. Angrily, England took his pillow and hit America with it, hard. The American merely grunted in discomfort and rolled over, beginning to snore loudly. England groaned. From one annoyance to another.
England curled back up under the blankets and glared at the back of America's head, making out his plan. He gave a hard kick to America's back, knocking him off of the bed and onto the hard wood floor with a loud 'thump'. America began to whine but England paid no heed. Instead he let himself fall back asleep with a satisfied smirk across his face.
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 1 2010, 18:18:48 UTC
O-oh... this is so sad already, I don't... poor Wales :< and poor poor England. Poor America! Poor... everyone. Holy crap. And England trying to hide it when so many other nations know what it means, America is going to find out eventually, right? *gets kleenex ready*
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 4 2010, 19:31:18 UTC
There's gonna be a lot more memories of Wales so keep that kleenex handy. And of course America's gonna find out. It'll be later though, when he's going to freak out wondering why England didn't tell him sooner. Have to decide who's going to do it though. Either Russia or Canada. Can't decide that yet.
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 4 2010, 19:33:44 UTC
America is gonna keep that up for awhile until he finally finds out. Then it's going to be sad on him.
Well, I'm only really going to get in-depth on Wales and England but there will be mentions of Scotland a lot, especially in the next memory flashback.
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 4 2010, 12:41:15 UTC
OMG...somehow in my head I saw a scene where America found out before it's too late and made a conscious decision to save England and sacrifice the baby instead...can I have that ending...pretty please? *teary eyed*
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [3/?]
anonymous
April 4 2010, 19:35:57 UTC
Awwww, he's going to find out before it's too late, but things are going to happen too fast then and he won't be able to fix it. He'll try to get his boss to prevent the annexation of England (which is what the new child is. Britannia Province, the American territory/state) but it won't work and so England will pass. Sorry! But he's going to get really serious once he learns England only has a short while to live.
I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [4/?]
anonymous
April 6 2010, 14:26:48 UTC
England glared at the plate of food set out for him. America had organized the eggs and bacon (today was the first time he could stomach the smell without running out of the kitchen to vomit) into an absolutely ridiculous smiling face. Typical of him. He’d been fawning over him since day one and hadn’t stopped for the last two months. He’d already cleared out one of England’s extra rooms to help set up for a nursery and had been watching England so intently that even a small sneeze sent him into a frenzy.
“Eat up, England! Our baby needs the nourishment you know!” America beamed, spatula in hand. England resisted the urge to scoff. The little… little parasite was getting all it needed. The first few weeks were the absolute worst so far, but he wasn’t surprised. They were the worst last time too. The feeling of your body’s life-force being drained, the flashes of white before your eyes making you think you were dying, oh it was too much. But he never said a word to America about it. He just dealt with it on his own.
“You don’t need to force the food under my nose, America. Aren’t you supposed to go back home?”
“My boss totally understands! This is more important!” America laughed with childlike wonder as he quickly moved to England’s side, slinking a hand under his shirt over the bump that wasn’t noticeable to those not looking for it. Unfortunately, America was doing just that since he was told. It was as if his stomach was America’s new favorite plaything.
“I see…” England grumbled, prodding at the eggs with his fork. Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry lately. Or tired. Or having some terrible mood swings. Looking back he could almost feel bad for the way he had screamed at America over absolutely nothing, feeling nothing but hate searing through his veins. Almost.
“C’mon, eat it! Not just play with it. He’s hungry!~” America ran his finger in circles across England’s small swell, causing the Brit’s ire to stir. Unfortunately before he could lie and say he didn’t want this garbage, his stomach rumbled loudly, betraying his stubborn charade. “See?!”
“Belt up, America.” England barked, reluctantly eating a piece of bacon. The smell luckily didn’t make him sick today, but the taste made him feel he’d be running soon. It was far too greasy. But after a few moments he realized that luckily (if you could call anything happening lately to be lucky) he wasn’t going to need to rush to the bathroom.
“Soon you’ll need to wear my clothes all the time, won’t you?” America grinned. England scowled. He had occasionally been wearing America’s clothes lately as he had noticed that his slacks were getting a little tighter than he was comfortable with. Soon he’d be stuck wearing America’s large sweatpants and t-shirts. The thought was far from one he enjoyed. He’d look like a mix-matched whale, he was sure of it. Of course, America had always loved to see him in his clothes so it was obvious he was excited for the day he’d get to see it always.
“I’d rather get my own clothes.”
“Awwww! I like seeing you in mine. It’s so hot, England~” England blushed slightly and looked aside. Leave it to America to have strange kinks. He couldn’t find anything remotely attractive about being in clothing two sizes too large but his counterpart easily could.
“There’s nothing even remotely ‘hot’ about pregnancy, America.” America pouted, still drawing circles on England’s stomach. England should’ve known he’d get that look. He hadn’t had sex with America since he found out and judging by his demeanors he was missing it badly. Well too bad. He wasn’t just America’s plaything, especially not now.
He found himself wondering what had happened to his once steel will as America carefully pinned him down to the bed later that night.
I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [5/?]
anonymous
April 6 2010, 14:55:35 UTC
Wales is watching England like a hawk as he gets larger. His brother is about five months gone now. England can’t help but feel terrible as Wales worries over him. He wonders why his brother isn’t caring more about himself in his condition. England recently came to the conclusion that yes, he was pregnant as well. Damn Scotland. Wales swore under his breath when they found out, holding his brother close and softly stroking his hair, speaking words of assurance.
“So we’re both going to die now.” England is clutching Wales’ shirt for dear life. He doesn’t want to think about this. First his brother will die and then he himself? This isn’t fair at all! Why did Scotland get to be the lucky one?!
“Shhh, brawd. It’s alright. We’ll be with mam again at least.”
“You mean you’ll be with mother. I don’t remember her. After all, I’m the one who killed her. And this,” England pokes his stomach gently, eyes filled with a hate he never even felt in war. “This child is going to do the same to me.”
“It’s a terrible shame we can never live to see our children grow.” Wales sighs, thinking their situation over. “I hope you’ll be a good father when I’m gone.”
“I will.” England promises. Of course he knows he doesn’t have much time for himself after Wales dies. He’ll be following him soon after. He wonders if Scotland will care for the children properly. He doubts it. Scotland was always a shit parent when he took it upon himself to raise England. Wales was always much better at taking care of him.
“Da.” Wales smiles. England loves that smile more than anything. His smile can always light up a room. England’s jealous that he can still smile despite all of this. Maybe he’ll get that sort of sage-like wisdom soon. The ability to grit your teeth and suck it up to bear it. He hopes so. Maybe then he won’t be so much of a stressor on Wales.
England’s eyes fluttered open in the sunlight getting in from the curtains. He yawned and rolled over, looking for Wales’ lithe form. Instead he was greeted with a muscular build. He looked up and realized it was all a dream again. He was with America now. He had to stop worrying about the past before it eats him alive. America was who he loved, even if lately those bright blue eyes were reminding him more and more of his old lover’s as well.
England shifted to avoid the dull pain in his back after last night. He had been dying for sex just as much as America, but he was stubborn. But after last night when everything felt better than normal because of his soaring sex drive, he figured it was time to stop playing hard to get. Might as well enjoy his time he had left while he still could. After all, he had every right to live like he was dying.
I am so glad I checked back on this! I'm liking England's new resolve! Although his whole flashback with Wales is wonderful and I love all the conflicting feelings that go through him!
Re: I ddim ond dweud y gair "Ffarwél". [5/?]
anonymous
April 12 2010, 21:08:43 UTC
Outstanding work Anon. Simply brilliant. I'm stalking this with a burning passion! Sometimes, after 5 days straight of crack and PWP, a good dramatic and sad fic like this is all you need. And a cup of tea. So:
F5!
reCAPTCHA: not favorable yes CAPTCHA, things don't look good for England.
Pairings here are USxUK and UKxWales. (Which is why the title is a Welsh song lyric. 'But one last time to say ‘farewell’)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
England knew the end was coming. He felt it in his bones. The aches of old were fading, just like he himself was. It couldn’t be the end though! It just can’t! He had this feeling before, he’d known he was going to die but he didn’t. So maybe… maybe this time things would work like they did before. He tried to bring himself to believe it. A little nagging voice in his head chided him for the thought. You know the damage is done already and this time there is no getting out of it. He always gets what he wants.
England sighed and looked down at the test he bought. This was so much easier than the last time, only knowing when you got fat and irritable and… England shook his head. No. He didn’t want to think about last time. This time was the real focus. All this talk about becoming a part of the United States had him worried. That was all this was. Worry! Not the end! England laughed to himself in hysteria, trying to pretend he was right. But, one look at the test made his laughter catch in his throat. No!
England ran his hands through his hair desperately. What was there to do? There was absolutely nothing that could fix this besides a miracle. He placed his hand on his stomach, still firm and fit, hiding the terror lying within. Why did this have to happen again? He prayed he wouldn’t end up like his brother, Wales.
England claimed he had no regrets in his body’s miscarriage of what would’ve ended him back in the fourteenth century. Scotland’s child, the child that would’ve been all of Great Britain had Edward II not lost control his father gathered, would have killed him. But Wales, oh poor Wales, had not been so lucky. His oldest brother, his dearest, the one who knelt before him, praying to be spared from a fate that was unavoidable, had died from being conquered. England could never look the girl who called herself ‘Cymru’ in the eye, especially not when she’d look back at him with his same emerald ones.
“Oh god… how am I supposed to tell America this?” He asked himself. He knew America’s hero complex would make him try and find a way to fix what was irreversible and he couldn’t bear to see him go through with that. But yet, America deserved to know the truth.
“Tell me what?” America peeked into the bathroom, smiling oblivious to the situation at hand.
“Don’t you know to knock?” England scowled. Why was he expecting time to gather his thoughts in this situation? Of course America had to be bothering him. He should’ve waited until he went home to take the test.
“You were in here for a long time! Thought you fell and couldn’t get up like in those commercials!” America laughed. At any other time England would’ve thrown the nearest object at him and cursed at him, but he was still in a bit of a stupor. So instead he gripped the test on the counter and looked up at America.
“America, I… I’m pregnant.” England sighed. America stared at him as if he had grown a second head and England was expecting him to rush to his side to assure him, but instead America just looked confused as could be.
“Wait, nations can do that?”
“Well yes, on the rare occas-” England was cut off by America letting out a delighted laugh and rushing to pull him into a hug.
“I’m gonna be a daddy! This is awesome!” America was absolutely beaming with happiness. England swore he could feel his heart break. Oh, there was no way he could tell America what this meant for him. Not when he was this happy.
“Y-yes… this is ‘awesome’.” England gripped onto America’s shirt tightly and cried softly. He couldn’t break America’s heart like this. Maybe someone could say there was an accident when he would die and America could continue to live in ignorant bliss. He only hoped for his lover’s sake. His days were numbered, but that didn’t mean he had to put a damper in his happiness. Only now he had to inform the whole freaking world he was going to die and to not tell America what was going to happen. Oh great, it was going to be a long night on the phones.
Reply
“So what are we gonna do, England? Is it gonna be a girl or a boy? How are you going to even have a kid? I mean I’ve seen every inch of you!” England sighed and rubbed his temples. America was absolutely persistent with questions since he told him about his current state.
“What are we going to do? Well common sense would imply we’ll set up a nursery. And you expect me to know what gender they will be? You don’t just know or anything like that. And I haven’t the faintest idea how they’ll come into the world, America.” England tapped his fingers on his desk, hoping the questions would end. It hadn’t even been a full day yet and America was on his case like mad.
“This is so cool though! I hope it’s a boy. Don’t you? He’ll be an awesome kid!”
“It doesn’t matter to me.” I’ll never live to see them anyways. England mentally added. It stung knowing that you were going to have a child and never see them grow. He wondered if that was how Wales had felt back then. He seemed so calm and collected, accepting his fate without a word. Perhaps he was just as scared as England felt now.
“Awww, c’mon! It’s our baby, England! How do you not care?” America pouted, resting his elbows on England’s desk. England looked him over with a look of apprehension. This was something special to him, even though he didn’t know what it meant. He should’ve gathered as much.
“I only hope they’ll be healthy.” England lied. The healthier the child was the sooner he’d die. It was a matter of survival. Having a child or staying alive yourself was not an easy choice, but he’d much rather live as long as he could. This child was just going to be his murderer or murderess. But to America it was going to be another one of those adventures he loved so much. Unfortunately in varying opinions there is only one answer in the end. And America’s was the destined one.
“Well yeah, that’s understood, isn’t it? Everyone wants their kids to be healthy!”
Not I. “Of course, America.”
“This is just so cool~” America grinned, reaching over the desk to prod England’s stomach. England groaned in response.
“Are you going to do that every chance you get?”
“Of course! Especially once you get a cute little baby bump!” England felt his patience wearing incredibly thin. Leave it to America to be enthralled with every part of his misfortune.
“I’ll have to remember to stay clear of you then.”
“Aww come on, England. You’ll like it, I’m sure~” England looked at America skeptically and pinched his side where the small bit of fat he had lay.
“Just like you would like this noticed constantly?”
“Ack! England let go. It hurts!” England complied and glared at America.
“That’s how annoying it is when you’re going to be hovering around me.” America pouted but seemed to understand, assuring England he’d give him his space but still fawn over him day and night, assuring him that everything was going to go great during his pregnancy. England would much rather have been left alone to handle himself. It’d be much easier to die that way. Not relying on the nation that was causing his impending death. But why would he be that lucky? America was sure to be beside him every day from now until his deathbed.
Reply
“W-what?! That means you’re going to-”
“Die? Ie.” Wales says softly, trailing his thumbs across England’s cheeks to wipe away the forming tears. “It’s your child, brawd. I’m sorry. Are you alright yourself? I heard Scotland gave you a beating. And he took you. I swear, brawd, if he put you in the same position as me I’d give him something to be afraid of.”
“You wouldn’t though.” England reminds him, looking into his brother’s eyes, eyes as blue as the waterfalls scattered across his county. Wales laughs quietly and smiles, leaning down to give England a soft kiss on the lips.
“No, I wouldn’t. You know me well, brawd.” England smiles slightly in return before casting his gaze aside, fear overcoming him once more.
“I don’t want you to die like Albion, Wales. Why is this happening?” Wales sighs, pressing a kiss to England’s forehead.
“Hush, brawd. This is how things happen in the world.” England bites his lip and hugs Wales tight. He's going to lose his brother and his lover. It isn’t fair. Why did life happen like this? But yet, Wales should be the least of his concern. Growing inside of him is Scotland’s spawn, the full embodiment of Great Britain. He hasn’t realized it yet, but soon he’ll be unable to avoid this fact of life.
England bolted awake in bed, shaking slightly. Oh lord, why was he remembering that day now? Wales was about three and a half months along by then and England was just a few weeks. Haunting memories of a time he’d rather have forgotten for sure. He prayed he wouldn’t have anymore dreams like this again, but knowing his luck, they were doomed to be a regular occurrence.
America snored beside him, mumbling nonsensically like always. It was endearing sometimes, but now it only seemed to stir his ire. It wasn't fair America could sleep peacefully without memories of a time gone by of nightmares and despair. But that was all his lummox did and there was absolutely no hope of changing it for either of them. Angrily, England took his pillow and hit America with it, hard. The American merely grunted in discomfort and rolled over, beginning to snore loudly. England groaned. From one annoyance to another.
England curled back up under the blankets and glared at the back of America's head, making out his plan. He gave a hard kick to America's back, knocking him off of the bed and onto the hard wood floor with a loud 'thump'. America began to whine but England paid no heed. Instead he let himself fall back asleep with a satisfied smirk across his face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Got a feeling there's butchered Welsh in all of it. *sigh* Translations:
Dwi'n feichiog. - I'm pregnant.
Brawd - Brother
Ie - Yes
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
America being so happy and asking all the interesting questions is cool to read!
Plus I want to know more about your backstory for England and his brothers.
Reply
Well, I'm only really going to get in-depth on Wales and England but there will be mentions of Scotland a lot, especially in the next memory flashback.
Reply
Reply
Reply
“Eat up, England! Our baby needs the nourishment you know!” America beamed, spatula in hand. England resisted the urge to scoff. The little… little parasite was getting all it needed. The first few weeks were the absolute worst so far, but he wasn’t surprised. They were the worst last time too. The feeling of your body’s life-force being drained, the flashes of white before your eyes making you think you were dying, oh it was too much. But he never said a word to America about it. He just dealt with it on his own.
“You don’t need to force the food under my nose, America. Aren’t you supposed to go back home?”
“My boss totally understands! This is more important!” America laughed with childlike wonder as he quickly moved to England’s side, slinking a hand under his shirt over the bump that wasn’t noticeable to those not looking for it. Unfortunately, America was doing just that since he was told. It was as if his stomach was America’s new favorite plaything.
“I see…” England grumbled, prodding at the eggs with his fork. Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry lately. Or tired. Or having some terrible mood swings. Looking back he could almost feel bad for the way he had screamed at America over absolutely nothing, feeling nothing but hate searing through his veins. Almost.
“C’mon, eat it! Not just play with it. He’s hungry!~” America ran his finger in circles across England’s small swell, causing the Brit’s ire to stir. Unfortunately before he could lie and say he didn’t want this garbage, his stomach rumbled loudly, betraying his stubborn charade. “See?!”
“Belt up, America.” England barked, reluctantly eating a piece of bacon. The smell luckily didn’t make him sick today, but the taste made him feel he’d be running soon. It was far too greasy. But after a few moments he realized that luckily (if you could call anything happening lately to be lucky) he wasn’t going to need to rush to the bathroom.
“Soon you’ll need to wear my clothes all the time, won’t you?” America grinned. England scowled. He had occasionally been wearing America’s clothes lately as he had noticed that his slacks were getting a little tighter than he was comfortable with. Soon he’d be stuck wearing America’s large sweatpants and t-shirts. The thought was far from one he enjoyed. He’d look like a mix-matched whale, he was sure of it. Of course, America had always loved to see him in his clothes so it was obvious he was excited for the day he’d get to see it always.
“I’d rather get my own clothes.”
“Awwww! I like seeing you in mine. It’s so hot, England~” England blushed slightly and looked aside. Leave it to America to have strange kinks. He couldn’t find anything remotely attractive about being in clothing two sizes too large but his counterpart easily could.
“There’s nothing even remotely ‘hot’ about pregnancy, America.” America pouted, still drawing circles on England’s stomach. England should’ve known he’d get that look. He hadn’t had sex with America since he found out and judging by his demeanors he was missing it badly. Well too bad. He wasn’t just America’s plaything, especially not now.
He found himself wondering what had happened to his once steel will as America carefully pinned him down to the bed later that night.
Reply
“So we’re both going to die now.” England is clutching Wales’ shirt for dear life. He doesn’t want to think about this. First his brother will die and then he himself? This isn’t fair at all! Why did Scotland get to be the lucky one?!
“Shhh, brawd. It’s alright. We’ll be with mam again at least.”
“You mean you’ll be with mother. I don’t remember her. After all, I’m the one who killed her. And this,” England pokes his stomach gently, eyes filled with a hate he never even felt in war. “This child is going to do the same to me.”
“It’s a terrible shame we can never live to see our children grow.” Wales sighs, thinking their situation over. “I hope you’ll be a good father when I’m gone.”
“I will.” England promises. Of course he knows he doesn’t have much time for himself after Wales dies. He’ll be following him soon after. He wonders if Scotland will care for the children properly. He doubts it. Scotland was always a shit parent when he took it upon himself to raise England. Wales was always much better at taking care of him.
“Da.” Wales smiles. England loves that smile more than anything. His smile can always light up a room. England’s jealous that he can still smile despite all of this. Maybe he’ll get that sort of sage-like wisdom soon. The ability to grit your teeth and suck it up to bear it. He hopes so. Maybe then he won’t be so much of a stressor on Wales.
England’s eyes fluttered open in the sunlight getting in from the curtains. He yawned and rolled over, looking for Wales’ lithe form. Instead he was greeted with a muscular build. He looked up and realized it was all a dream again. He was with America now. He had to stop worrying about the past before it eats him alive. America was who he loved, even if lately those bright blue eyes were reminding him more and more of his old lover’s as well.
England shifted to avoid the dull pain in his back after last night. He had been dying for sex just as much as America, but he was stubborn. But after last night when everything felt better than normal because of his soaring sex drive, he figured it was time to stop playing hard to get. Might as well enjoy his time he had left while he still could. After all, he had every right to live like he was dying.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
More Welsh translations:
Mam = Mother
Da = Good
Reply
Reply
Please post more soon!
Reply
F5!
reCAPTCHA: not favorable
yes CAPTCHA, things don't look good for England.
Reply
Leave a comment