Blame it on the Alcohol [4/5]
anonymous
March 7 2010, 20:43:07 UTC
Someone is slamming his head against the ground. They’re taking rocks and pounding them into his skull, with hammers and bullets and oh god it hurts…
England struggles out of bed and over to the bathroom, managing to make it to the toilet before he vomits up the contents of last night’s dinner.
Faintly, he hears someone chanting something over and over…
Stop, stop, stop.
He looks down and sees the now dried white, still on his stomach.
England, don’t-
His knuckles are white from gripping the edges of the toilet bowl.
England!
He vomits into the toilet again. What did he do? He vaguely remembers America, hands tied to the headboard, writhing and squirming under him, eyes confused and betrayed and-
He hunches over, dry-heaving. Oh God. Oh no, no, no…
The telephone. England stumbles up, grabbing his cell phone and punching in America’s number but hangs up before the first ring. No, he can’t call. America probably doesn’t want to see him, to talk to him, ever again…
England crawls back into bed, curling up under the dirty covers and clenching his hands around his head, the pounding in his head starting another, very different assault on his conscience.
For a long, long while, England is curled up under the covers, trying desperately to salvage any memories from last night and then trying just as hard to repress them once he starts to remember.
He feels horrible, terrible, worthless. He belongs with the scum of the earth, rotting in a cell somewhere.
The telephone rings, and the sharp notes cause England to groan audibly and curl up into an even tighter ball. “Go away,” he grits his teeth. Then he shoots up, out of bed. Maybe it’s America.
He picks up the receiver and tries not to sound too desperate when he answers “Hello?”
“England, is that you? You sound like hell.” It’s not America. It’s Canada. There is some faint muttering in the background, in French. He knows France is there and just made some cheeky comment. He wants to strangle the frog.
“Yes, yes it’s me you git. What do you want?”
There’s silence on the other end, and England knows Canada is biting his lip, worried. “Have you seen America?” he says, finally. “I know it’s probably nothing, but he isn’t picking up his cell, and you were the last one to see him…”
England’s stomach clenches and he fights off the urge to vomit. “No, I haven’t,” he says, a little too harshly. “What would make you think I knew where he was?”
“Oh, nothing, I just-”
“Well I don’t! Now if you would kindly go, I’m busy nursing a headache that has absolutely fucking nothing to do with alcohol, okay?” he hangs up.
Canada sighs, wondering if he should bother trying again later.
England tries to eat something but finds he just can't keep it down.
Blame it on the Alcohol [5/5]
anonymous
March 7 2010, 20:49:52 UTC
The next day, hangover gone and rational thought fully returned, England goes to visit America. He stands on the door step for a long time, staring at the bell as if it were the only thing in the world.
He should leave.
America doesn’t want to see him, he hates him, and after what he’s done, he deserves every cruel punishment thought up by man.
He’s so sorry. England just needs to say those words. He was drunk, he didn’t mean it...
His finger jerks forward on its own and rings the bell. There’s no turning back now, and he chews his bottom lip until it starts to bleed. He waits. And waits. And waits, and just as he’s about to leave, the door creaks open.
Good God, America is a mess. His hair is disheveled and he has bags under his eyes and it’s all England’s fault…
“England?” America manages after a moment or two. “H-hey. What brings you over here?”
“I, uh, you see, I was in the area and…” he takes a deep breath and ignores how America visibly pales when he asks “May I come in?”
He is allowed entry, and America vanishes into the kitchen, muttering something about making coffee.
England doesn’t have the heart to ask for tea.
They sit in silence, staring at the floor, the furniture, not meeting each other’s gaze. He shouldn’t have come, this was a bad idea, oh God why did he come? He did horrible things to someone who loved him, who trusted him…
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and takes a long sip of coffee, wincing at the bitter taste.
America looks up, eyes blank.
England takes a deep breath. “I truly am sorry, what I did was unforgivable. I don’t expect you to forgive me, in fact, I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness. However, know that I-”
“It’s okay.” America looks down, not meeting England’s eyes. “I-I think… I think it would be best for us both to just put it behind us. Y’know? It’s best for both of our countries… Don’t want to start any problems.”
England thinks his heart will tear in two right then and there. “Y-yeah. Sure, America, sure. I-”
“Well, glad that’s settled!” America flashes him one of those prize winning grins, but this time there are shadows hiding in it, obscuring the bright lights he usually radiates. “Sorry to rush you out, but you kinda arrived at a bad time, and I have some work to finish up…”
England nods, feeling the now-familiar bile rising in his throat. He reaches a hand out to America, to touch him, to be assured that America will let him.
He doesn’t. He flinches away, looking at the tile floor.
“I-I’ll see you later, then.” England forces out, grinning through clenched teeth.
America nods, a small smile on his face, like maybe if he pretends, everything will just go away.
And maybe, if England smiles back, he can do the same.
Well, that was fun. x_x Sorry about the fact that the ending failed. I tried to think about what I would do in that situation, but tbh I've never gotten drunk and raped anyone.
Oh and I've never written smut before. So sorry if that sucked, too.
OP-anon here~!
anonymous
March 8 2010, 04:53:10 UTC
OH MY LORD. I love you, dear Author!Anon. You may have my wonderful wifey. And my screwed up children. And my cute dog. And my evil cat. And my hawt porn. Which my wifey does not know of. So shhh. ;3; This OP is very, very happy you filled this, midear Author!anon, and she wishes that you would keep writing smut for the kink_meme, because you are DAMN good at it. <3 This just made my night. If my wifey were home right now, she'd be getting molested. *3* Just have to wait then, won't she, da? ^3^ But you, anon. You can take me. Right here. Right now. Just because of this fill. I will worship your body forever. *3* ...fff. Thank you for filling. <3
England struggles out of bed and over to the bathroom, managing to make it to the toilet before he vomits up the contents of last night’s dinner.
Faintly, he hears someone chanting something over and over…
Stop, stop, stop.
He looks down and sees the now dried white, still on his stomach.
England, don’t-
His knuckles are white from gripping the edges of the toilet bowl.
England!
He vomits into the toilet again. What did he do? He vaguely remembers America, hands tied to the headboard, writhing and squirming under him, eyes confused and betrayed and-
He hunches over, dry-heaving. Oh God. Oh no, no, no…
The telephone. England stumbles up, grabbing his cell phone and punching in America’s number but hangs up before the first ring. No, he can’t call. America probably doesn’t want to see him, to talk to him, ever again…
England crawls back into bed, curling up under the dirty covers and clenching his hands around his head, the pounding in his head starting another, very different assault on his conscience.
For a long, long while, England is curled up under the covers, trying desperately to salvage any memories from last night and then trying just as hard to repress them once he starts to remember.
He feels horrible, terrible, worthless. He belongs with the scum of the earth, rotting in a cell somewhere.
The telephone rings, and the sharp notes cause England to groan audibly and curl up into an even tighter ball. “Go away,” he grits his teeth. Then he shoots up, out of bed. Maybe it’s America.
He picks up the receiver and tries not to sound too desperate when he answers “Hello?”
“England, is that you? You sound like hell.” It’s not America. It’s Canada. There is some faint muttering in the background, in French. He knows France is there and just made some cheeky comment. He wants to strangle the frog.
“Yes, yes it’s me you git. What do you want?”
There’s silence on the other end, and England knows Canada is biting his lip, worried. “Have you seen America?” he says, finally. “I know it’s probably nothing, but he isn’t picking up his cell, and you were the last one to see him…”
England’s stomach clenches and he fights off the urge to vomit. “No, I haven’t,” he says, a little too harshly. “What would make you think I knew where he was?”
“Oh, nothing, I just-”
“Well I don’t! Now if you would kindly go, I’m busy nursing a headache that has absolutely fucking nothing to do with alcohol, okay?” he hangs up.
Canada sighs, wondering if he should bother trying again later.
England tries to eat something but finds he just can't keep it down.
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He should leave.
America doesn’t want to see him, he hates him, and after what he’s done, he deserves every cruel punishment thought up by man.
He’s so sorry. England just needs to say those words. He was drunk, he didn’t mean it...
His finger jerks forward on its own and rings the bell. There’s no turning back now, and he chews his bottom lip until it starts to bleed.
He waits. And waits. And waits, and just as he’s about to leave, the door creaks open.
Good God, America is a mess. His hair is disheveled and he has bags under his eyes and it’s all England’s fault…
“England?” America manages after a moment or two. “H-hey. What brings you over here?”
“I, uh, you see, I was in the area and…” he takes a deep breath and ignores how America visibly pales when he asks “May I come in?”
He is allowed entry, and America vanishes into the kitchen, muttering something about making coffee.
England doesn’t have the heart to ask for tea.
They sit in silence, staring at the floor, the furniture, not meeting each other’s gaze. He shouldn’t have come, this was a bad idea, oh God why did he come? He did horrible things to someone who loved him, who trusted him…
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and takes a long sip of coffee, wincing at the bitter taste.
America looks up, eyes blank.
England takes a deep breath. “I truly am sorry, what I did was unforgivable. I don’t expect you to forgive me, in fact, I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness. However, know that I-”
“It’s okay.” America looks down, not meeting England’s eyes. “I-I think… I think it would be best for us both to just put it behind us. Y’know? It’s best for both of our countries… Don’t want to start any problems.”
England thinks his heart will tear in two right then and there. “Y-yeah. Sure, America, sure. I-”
“Well, glad that’s settled!” America flashes him one of those prize winning grins, but this time there are shadows hiding in it, obscuring the bright lights he usually radiates. “Sorry to rush you out, but you kinda arrived at a bad time, and I have some work to finish up…”
England nods, feeling the now-familiar bile rising in his throat. He reaches a hand out to America, to touch him, to be assured that America will let him.
He doesn’t. He flinches away, looking at the tile floor.
“I-I’ll see you later, then.” England forces out, grinning through clenched teeth.
America nods, a small smile on his face, like maybe if he pretends, everything will just go away.
And maybe, if England smiles back, he can do the same.
Well, that was fun. x_x Sorry about the fact that the ending failed. I tried to think about what I would do in that situation, but tbh I've never gotten drunk and raped anyone.
Oh and I've never written smut before. So sorry if that sucked, too.
Constructive crit wantedappreciated.
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The end made me really sad, but oddly in a good way. It all seemed well done. Have an internet cookie!
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-noms on cookie-
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(It's the last paragraph, you see. You used it in something else, I remember. ^^ That was a good fill too.)
Oh this fill is dirty and I'm going to HELL, but I loved it. xD <3
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dammit.
On another note, thank you! ^^
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I love you, dear Author!Anon.
You may have my wonderful wifey. And my screwed up children. And my cute dog. And my evil cat. And my hawt porn. Which my wifey does not know of. So shhh.
;3;
This OP is very, very happy you filled this, midear Author!anon, and she wishes that you would keep writing smut for the kink_meme, because you are DAMN good at it. <3
This just made my night. If my wifey were home right now, she'd be getting molested. *3*
Just have to wait then, won't she, da? ^3^
But you, anon. You can take me. Right here. Right now. Just because of this fill. I will worship your body forever. *3*
...fff. Thank you for filling. <3
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But very realistic, IC, and even like this, those two are still so adorable. :) I feel a little bad for both of them though.
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