Fill #2: "Phases" [4a/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 03:03:48 UTC
Back again with one hilariously untimely chapter! --- Phase 3: Mission Conflicts
“You don't seem to understand the... severity of the things I forgot thanks to my case of pregnancy brain,” America had said, eyes slightly wild as he busied about setting out various gaudy decorations. “I need salted cod! I have to make lutefisk! Do you have any idea what Minnesota will do if he gets here and that vile garbage isn't here to great him? There will be a reckoning. I think I've got some lye under the sink... oh God, it takes over a week to make that stuff. I have to get started today on that nightmare food for it to be ready in time...”
Russia had opted to simply nod and take down a list of things America needed from the store as he buzzed around in his flurry of activity. A few minutes later, he was ushered out the door with a grateful kiss and was sent on his way.
On the return trip, eyes fixed on the gray, cold clouds high in the December sky, Russia had found himself lost in thought. He was slightly baffled by the way America's moods had begun to sway between 'yuletide exuberance' and 'panicked stress' only days after his Thanksgiving celebration. Perhaps this confusion stemmed from the fact that Russia felt Christmas was coming a full two weeks too early.
He stopped and watched as fat snowflakes began to fall, sticking to the ground and the bare limbs of trees. His contemplation was interrupted when he heard a peal of high, excited laughter nearby. Looking back, he noticed that the joyous noise was coming from a small child exiting a nearby store with his mother.
“Mama! Snow!” the little boy cried, tugging at his mother's coat with one mitten-covered hand while waving the other excitedly in the air. Russia smiled fondly as the two made their way down the street, with the little boy babbling about making a snowman and his mother chiming in once or twice during her toddler's monologue.
Russia glanced at the store they had left. It was a bookstore, and he found himself looking at the stacks of books displayed in its storefront window. His eyes widened as he read the title of a book in a stack labeled 'Practical Presents'.
Several minutes later, Russia stood at the counter, handing the book to the check-out clerk. The young woman scanned the book and smiled at him as she looked at its cover. “So, do you need a gift receipt?” she asked cheerfully.
“Nye-ah, no. This is for me.”
“Aw, congratulations!” the clerk exclaimed. “How far along is your wife?”
Russia had to muster nearly all of his impressive will to keep himself from bursting into laughter. Good thing America wasn't there to hear that. “Ame-ahem, excuse me. Slight cold,” Russia said as he covered up a giggle with a cough. “Amelia is almost six months pregnant.”
He was congratulated again, and soon Russia left the store. As he continued the walk back to America and his bustling Christmas plans, he flipped through the pages of his acquisition: a book titled “Expectation Without Exhaustion: 101 Tips for the Panicking Parent”.
Fill #2: "Phases" [4b/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 03:08:45 UTC
-
Seven days and the creation of one horrific-looking vat of lutefisk later, Christmas Eve had descended upon America's house along with his states. They had trickled in over the course of the week, and as the crowd grew larger and larger by the day, Russia was finding it harder and harder to have quality alone time with America. Every time they'd get caught under mistletoe, America would be whisked away by a gaggle of boisterous states to settle some inane argument like how to properly pronounce 'pecan'. Or America would proclaim that the baby was kicking, and before Russia could get his hand on the rounding stomach and feel the little bumps that had made him almost deliriously giddy for the last couple of weeks, he'd be crowded out by a flock of cooing half-siblings. Even mornings held no snuggling guarantees, as Russia had woken up five times this week to find America out of bed well before himself, greeting early-arriving states, covertly wrapping presents, or making fine adjustments to the placement of decorations on the enormous Christmas tree.
As a result, Russia had lost count of the number of times he'd seen America's face pout in sympathy for their situation this week. He had poured himself into reading the book he had picked up in order to nurse the bruise of having America's attention divided among his 50 visitors. And, for whatever reason, he couldn't seem to bring himself to tell America that he had bought the book. He worried that America might take it as a betrayal or as a distrust in his knowledge of baby lore.
But even only read in paranoid secrecy, the book had been interesting so far. Curiously, nearly all of the advice was identical in tone and content to what America had been telling him over the last few months. Although he had heard much of this advice before, it was nice to have it all down in writing.
However, there was one chapter that addressed a problem he had not considered, but now seemed to constantly hover in his mind like a troublesome fly. And that was chapter 7, “A House Divided: When Your First Bundle of Joy Becomes a Bundle of Jealousy”.
Given that Alaska and Hawaii, America's youngest states, now physically looked like they were in their mid-teens, Russia hadn't even considered adding sibling rivalry to his seemingly miles-long list of things to worry about. But over the course of the week, Russia had seen plenty of little squabbles amongst the states. Coupled with his own... troubled... relationship with Belarus, he felt a fool for forgetting that sibling dysfunction wasn't just a childhood problem.
“Are you guys sure? You've got it all under control?” Russia's attention perked up when he heard America ask these questions from the large kitchen, followed by several voices chiming in that it wasn't a problem. America and some of his more culinary-talented states had bustled into the kitchen around an hour earlier to begin the arduous task of cooking Christmas Eve dinner for fifty states, two nations, and one unborn lunar colony.
“Okay, then. If you're sure you can handle making dinner, I'm going to the living room. I want to get off my feet for a while.”
Russia quickly looked around before shoving the book under the sofa cushion he was sitting on. A few seconds later, America entered, looking quite tired. Russia quickly stood, mouth opening with the intention to say something about how he was happy that they had some time to be alone together at last.
“What are you wearing?” was what came out instead.
America frowned and put his hands on his hips. “Nice to see you too, buddy,” he said.
“I'm sorry,” Russia said, waving his hands apologetically in front of him. “It's just... I was overwhelmed.”
Fill #2: "Phases" [4c/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 03:11:07 UTC
“Well... I guess you weren't awake when I got dressed this morning. And I did forget to warn you about the Ugly Sweater family tradition,” America muttered. And it certainly was an ugly sweater. It was a bright, take-no-prisoners red color with several green bows, a Santa face with cotton ball beard at chest level, and 'ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS TO SEE MY FEET' in yellow letters across his swollen belly. He smiled fondly as he fingered the stitched letters. “I found it laid out on the edge of the bed when I woke up this morning. None of the states have admitted to making it, though.”
“I really am sorry about what I said. I'm very glad to see you,” Russia said as he moved to join America's side and helped him to the sofa. America sighed with appreciation as he sat down, leaning heavily against Russia. He wriggled for a moment before laying down entirely, his head resting on Russia's lap and his feet propped up by the arm of the sofa. “The holidays are tiring, da?”
“And then some,” America groaned, closing his eyes. “But I've had worse. There were a few times where I was terribly close to being due during Christmas. Hell, Iowa's birthday is in three days. I'll let that sink in for a minute.”
“If it's any consolation,” Russia said softly as he began to weave his fingers through America's hair. “My Christmas is on January 7th, and I would like nothing more than a quiet celebration with you.” He paused for a moment, moving his hand from America's head to his belly. “And you, of course.”
America hummed happily. “Sounds nice.”
They basked in silence for a few minutes before the sounds of a slamming door and heavy footsteps stomping downstairs broke their peaceful bubble. Russia turned his head towards the noise to see Alaska steadily heading down the stairs, his violet eyes slitted in anger and a very sour expression on his face. If Russia had doubted America's claim that ugly sweaters afflicted the whole family at Christmas, Alaska's outfit would have been confirmation in and of itself. The boy was wearing a dark blue sweater which prominently featured an incredibly lopsided, grinning caribou with tinsel wrapped around its horns.
Alaska finally finished moodily descending the stairs and proceeded towards the back door.
“Where are you going, Alek?” America asked.
“Out,” Alaska replied, gloved hand on the knob.
“For?”
“Hockey.”
“With?”
“Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, and... one of the Dakotas. Probably North.”
“Then why is it just you?”
Alaska sighed heavily and growled, “Because when we were deciding to play hockey, they pulled seniority on me and said that the youngest has to get the pool ready to serve as a rink and gather up the supplies.”
Russia and America exchanged glances. The older nation tilted his head towards their son, as if asking a question. America smiled and nodded, curling up slightly with a grunt to allow Russia to stand up. “I shall help you, da?”
America stretched out further and wiggled around on the sofa in an effort to find the most comfortable position. “Okay, have fun. I'm going to have a bit of a rest before dinner. It should be ready in around 2 hours, so don't forget!”
Russia and Alaska nodded, and as the two moved out to the backyard, Russia failed to notice the confused look on America's face as his hand dipped between the cushions and landed on something unusual.
Fill #2: "Phases" [4d/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 03:13:10 UTC
--
For several minutes, Russia helped his son remove the large protective tarp from the swimming pool in the yard and test out the thickness of the ice while they engaged in idle talk. Following that, they made their way to the nearby storage shed to acquire hockey sticks, a puck, and the small portable nets which would serve as goals.
As they began to pile the items outside the shed, Russia asked, “Are you upset about the new baby?”
“Huh?” Alaska asked, turning to give Russia a confused look. “Why would I be?”
“Your older brothers bossing you around seemed to bother you, and I was reading a book which said children may resent becoming older siblings...”
“Ha. Don't worry about that. I have 48 older siblings and one younger sister. Not only that, I was just shy of nine months old when Dad had Hawaii. I have literally no recollection of not being surrounded by siblings.”
“Does that... bother you?”
Alaska was silent for a moment as a look of concentration settled on his face. “It's... complex,” he began. “I'd be lying if I said I'm always okay with it. My brothers and sisters can be huge jerks sometimes, but I'm sure I'm a jerk to them just as often. And it's kind of nice to know that, even though we don't always get along, they'll always help out if something goes wrong.”
Russia's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if an unseen weight had been lifted from them. “So, you won't be upset when it's born?”
“Only if I get stuck on diaper duty,” Alaska said, grunting as a soccer ball rolled off an upper shelf and bounced off his head.
“Even if it's a boy? You wouldn't be the youngest boy anymore...”
“Good! I hope it IS a boy! Maybe then the other guys will stop making fun of me for being the 'baby', even though I'm taller than all of them. Especially Rhode Island. He comes up to here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the area of his sternum. “Here! And that inaccurately-named, bushy-browed jerk calls me 'Li'l A-last-a',” Alaska said. Partway through his tirade, he had picked up a hockey stick and had begun to grip it in a way Russia found quite familiar. Funny how inheritance works.
Just as they were finishing setting the nets on the ice, they heard the loud, laughing voices of hockey-eager states entering the yard. A dangerous glint lit up in Russia's eye. “Wait here a moment,” Russia said to Alaska. “I would like to have a word with your brothers.” Alaska shrugged in confusion and continued to wrap up the preparations.
The happy din coming from Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, and North Dakota died away as they watched Russia approach them with a wide, welcoming smile on his face.
“Privyet!” Russia called as he continued to approach. “My son has informed me that you shall be playing hockey with him. How fun!”
The young men looked nervously at each other.
Russia finally stopped alarmingly close, and managed to loom over the now nervous Midwestern states despite the fact that they were all strong and tall themselves. “However, I have gathered that you may have been... less than brotherly today.”
“We just-”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Russia chastised, waving is index finger in a scolding motion. “I believe I was talking. Now, you may have noticed that Alaska resembles me in some ways. He has my eyes. He has my nose. He has my height, my build.”
He positioned his hands in such a way that it looked like he was clutching a long, invisible object. “However, just recently I noticed that he also has my grip,” he said, his voice lowering into an uneasy hush. The welcoming smile had never left his face, though now it was oddly sharp at its edges, and a strange shadow seemed to darken his eyes. “I could teach him how to fully exploit that grip if I continue to hear... how shall I put this... less than savory stories about his treatment. Are we clear?”
The five states nodded quickly in unison, clear fear written on their faces. “Good. Spread the word,” Russia said, leaning back. Immediately, the eerie atmosphere evaporated, and he made his way towards the door, waving cheerfully. “Have fun, boys!”
Fill #2: "Phases" [4e/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 03:17:00 UTC
--
“How'd it go?” America asked as Russia entered.
Russia, his back facing America as he closed the door, responded, “Quite well, I think,” He turned around and froze when he saw America lying on the sofa, a small grin on his face as he flipped through the book he had bought. “I...”
America turned his head toward Russia and pointed at the book. With a hearty laugh, he said, “Interesting!”
Russia hung his head slightly, shuffling his feet. “I know you wanted to be the one to teach me about babies,” he said. “I'm sorry I looked at outside sources.”
America laughed again. “No, no. I'm not mad. Get over here,” he said, beckoning. Russia obliged and joined America on the sofa, where they repositioned themselves with America's head on Russia's lap. “Mostly, I think it's funny that, of all the books in the world, you pick this one.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn't get any outside info at all,” America said. He closed the book and presented it, cover first, to Russia. “I wrote this!”
Violet eyes widened with shock as Russia pointed first at America, then at the book. “You...?”
“That's right, under a clever pseudonym,” America said, running his finger under the author's name. “Ulysses Simon Adams. Get it? Cute, huh?” He grinned. “Obviously I had to change pronouns around a bit, though. 'Names have been changed to protect the innocent', that sort of thing.”
“Ulysses?”
“Oh shut up, U-names are hard.”
“It is surprising,” Russia conceded. After a moment, a small, teasing smile began to appear on his face. “I do have one question, though.”
“What's that?”
“According to chapter 6, it's much healthier for the baby, so... do you intend to breastfeed?”
Meanwhile, halfway across the world, Yong-Soo suddenly glanced around wildly, feeling as if he had somehow just missed something of the utmost importance.
Head-canon funtime! 1) The state of Minnesota has really been dubbed “the lutefisk capital of the world”, and I think he embraces this to a truly alarming/embarrassing degree. 2) North and South Dakota are completely identical twins, and they freaking haaaate thaaaat shiiit. 3) It's pronounced pih-CAHN and anyone who says otherwise is a liar. A liar! 4) Oh Aleksey. You were such a cute little thing, and now you're a cranky pants teenager who can't catch a break. Sorry! D:
Actual fact funtime! 1) Christmas for the Russian Orthodox Church is January 7, in accordance with the Julian calendar. 2) 'Privyet' is 'hi!' in Russian
The last line made me laugh out loud, for real. And America writing a book for parents, that's too perfect! XD Well, he would have more experience than anyone.
Oh GOD XDD. The last line is classic. You have me doubled over laughing and actually replying to a fill. Let's make babies :'D. And yes Korea, I will breast feed.
Re: Fill #2: "Phases" [4e/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 04:48:24 UTC
Thank you! Every time I have Christmas with my relatives, it's pe-CAN this, pe-CAN that! Gah, northerners.
In other news, I adored this chapter. You seriously write one of the cutest Russias on this meme. And America's 'USA' thing was very clever. America's not just a good daddy, he's an expert daddy.
Re: Fill #2: "Phases" [4e/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 06:13:33 UTC
D'AWWWWWWWWWW. I love this chapter. Protective daddy!Russia, UGLY SWEATERS, cranky teenager!Alaska, ice hockey, scary vat of lutefish, author!America, slfjDFLJKDLFJDLKJF so much awesome in this chapter it makes me F5 forever.
Re: Fill #2: "Phases" [4e/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 06:25:04 UTC
I have to siagree with you're pronounciation of pecan. And that name you gave Alaska (same anon who made to comment about clicha Russian names) i associate with pure evil...
other than that good chapter, I jut love good daddy Russia. It's like a fetish of mine.
RC now Chickens Are they having chicken for dinner? I'm from VA so we have ham... but I like chicken too.
Re: Fill #2: "Phases" [4e/??]
anonymous
March 16 2010, 07:10:23 UTC
Argh I've been following this for a while now and it is soo cute!! I rejoice every time I see a new chapter. I especially liked the Russia and Alaska bonding time . . it was precious. XD
Fill #2: "Phases" [5a/??]
anonymous
March 20 2010, 01:36:54 UTC
This is my first time writing a lot of the characters you will see in this chapter, so consider yourselves duly warned! Please let me know if I screwed up too badly.
- Phase 5: Meteor Shower
Russia was in a terrible mood, which was not at all improved by the colorful confetti in his hair.
He had been leery of the idea from the start, when America had brought it up two weeks ago. “C'mon, please?” America had pleaded. “Matt came up with the idea, and it sounds super-fun! We can still have it here, what with how awkward it would be for me to travel right now, but Matt said he'd volunteer himself and the provinces to clean up any messes.”
Russia had still looked dubious as he squinted at the paper America had given him. “'Any' messes? You mean 'inevitable',” he grumbled. “Look at this guest list. I will be shocked if a pie fight doesn't break out.”
“Outside of my states and Canada's provinces, Ukraine, China, and South Korea, it's only the rest of the G8.”
“Most of that sentence proves my point exactly.”
“So we won't serve pie! Please, Ivan?” America had begged, clasping his hands together and turning weapons-grade baby blue eyes to Russia. “It'll be a ton of fun, and the good definitely outweighs the bad! Besides... even with all my kids, I've never had a baby shower. Please?”
Of course he had acquiesced with those puppy-dog eyes boring through his heart like a mining drill.
As the preparations for the baby shower commenced, he couldn't seem to properly express his concern that putting so many excitable nations under the same roof as an eight months pregnant America could only serve as a recipe for disaster. Worse still, he was worried that such a thing would attract the attention and ire of Belarus, who had been worryingly quiet and seemingly impossible to locate the last three-quarters of the year. It wasn't so much that Russia was worried for his sister's safety as much as he was concerned that she was currently digging a tunnel to America's backyard or something equally insane.
And now here he was covered in confetti and glitter, all because the footfalls of countless states and nations had caused the haphazardly-stored box of decorations on the shelf above them to dump all over his head. Worse yet, the applause that ensued clearly indicated that everyone in attendance saw this as a silly premeditated prank on the father-to-be. Russia thought he caught the sight of two hands high-fiving in the crowd, and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps it was just that. Russia tried to sear those hands into his memory, so he may find their owners at a more convenient, pipe-ready time.
“Are you okay?” America asked quietly, close enough to Russia's ear that it could be heard over the din. America smiled brightly before continuing, “Don't mind if I help myself to some of that sparkly embarrassment.” Russia's blood lust abated slightly when America scooped up a handful of confetti and rubbed it vigorously into his own hair.
It took a moment for things to settle into something vaguely resembling order, but soon several nations had approached with colorfully-wrapped gifts for the baby. The first in line was Japan.
Fill #2: "Phases" [5b/??]
anonymous
March 20 2010, 01:43:22 UTC
“In accordance with the American baby shower tradition, I have brought a gift for your new baby, America-san,” the Asian nation said politely. “It's little more than a trifle, so I would fully understand if you dislike it...”
America unwrapped the box, and his eyes lit up when they saw its contents. He laughed happily as he reached in and pulled out a white, fluffy toy rabbit. “Aw, a bunny! I love it, Japan!” America said, too exuberant to notice that China's face was beginning to turn beet red. He held the rabbit closer, admiring it more as a nostalgic look settled on his face. “I used to play with bunnies all the time when I was little. Granted, they were real. This one's less likely to poop everywhere.”
“According to my old legends, there is a rabbit which lives on the moon and pounds mochi. I thought the gift might be appropriate,” Japan replied. He left out the fact that his first gift idea had been a Sailor Moon figurine, but he had chosen to keep it for himself since the box warned of choking hazards for small children. Plus it looked so nice posed on his mantle next to the Gundam model.
China scoffed in disbelief before exclaiming, “Y-y-you copy-cat, aru! Those are my legends, and the rabbit pounds the elixir of life! That's much more important than mochi, aru!”
“You guys are both wrong, by the way,” Korea interrupted. “Everyone knows the moon rabbit pounds tteok, which is kind of like mochi, but better in every conceivable way. And was made first.”
China continued to glare at Japan, both Asian nations pointedly ignoring Korea. “Now what am I going to do about my gift, aru?!”
“Whoa, China, calm down! I'm totally glad to have two bunnies. It's impossible to have too many adorable bunnies. Proven scientific fact,” America said, accepting China's gift and beginning to unwrap it. It was another white rabbit, though it had a slightly different eye color.
“I got you something much more useful!” Korea cried, knocking both the rabbits off as he set his box on America's shrinking lap.
“Oh. Thank, uh... thank you, Korea,” America said, grinning awkwardly upon opening the gift. Russia scowled. “It's, uh... it's a breast pump.”
“Wow! How'd you know the name of my invention? And I will graciously accept pictures and/or video of it being used for its intended purpose in lieu of a thank you note,” Korea said. He grinned and lunged at Japan, who made shocked choking noises as Korea rubbed his chest. “Don't be jealous, I'm sure America's aren't as good as these. But we'll know for sure when I get photographic evidence!”
Without a word, Russia stood, lifted Korea by the collar of his jeogori with a single fist, and began to march out of the room. This was made all the more impressive by the fact that Korea's arms still had a struggling Japan locked in a vice grip. China followed, so angry that he couldn't seem to settle on any one dialect as he yelled in his native language.
The remaining states, nations, and provinces stared after them in a long, silent moment. Eventually, America called out, “Try not to kill anyone!” This seemed to break the thick layer of ice Russia had left behind, and the level of noise increased again.
Fill #2: "Phases" [5c/??]
anonymous
March 20 2010, 01:45:46 UTC
“America~...?”
“Hm?” America turned, looking in the direction of the voice. It was Feliciano, who was fidgeting excitedly in place and had a clear question in the curious, pleading expression on his face. His hands were a few inches from America's belly. America laughed and nodded. “Go ahead, you can touch it.”
A wide grin instantly materialized on Italy's face as he placed his hands on America's belly. “Ve! Wow, America!” he exclaimed. “I can't believe your baby is going to be a real, live alien!”
The room went silent again. Germany blanched in acute embarrassment, and his face found its usual place in the palm of his hand. “Italy, we already went over this on the trip here,” he muttered. “Repeatedly. The lunar colony will still be human-run. People will be living there.”
“But Germany~, everybody knows that aliens live on the moon! Oo! Oo! America! Do you think the baby will have antennae? Will it be green? Wah! It's kicking! Ve~~!” he said excitedly, face lighting up. He cooed in Italian for a moment before a nervous expression settled on his face. He turned to America “It... it won't burst out of your chest like in that movie, right?”
“No, Italy, I don't think it will.”
“Between you and me,” Italy said, wiggling closer to America and his voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I always suspected that Russia might be an alien. And now it's confirmed!”
America laughed again, but caught sight of Alaska near the refreshment table, talking with a smiling Ukraine. Given the hand gestures the female nation was making, America could guess that she was gushing over how much he had grown since she last saw him. “I know a way to prove the baby won't be an alien," he told Italy. "Hey, Alek! Come over here a sec!”
Alaska excused himself and awkwardly picked his way through the crowd until he was at America's side. “Yeah?”
“Italy, this is my son Aleksey E. Jones, otherwise known as the state of Alaska,” America said. “As you can probably tell, his other father is Russia. Does he look like a half-alien to you?” Alaska blinked in surprise.
“Wow, you're right. He doesn't at all!” Italy said, offering Alaska his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. I'm North Italy! I like your human disguise. It's very convincing.” Germany groaned again and looked like he wanted nothing more than to be able to vaporize through the floor.
“Uh. Thank... thank you? I guess?” Alaska said, looking deeply confused as Italy continued to stare at him with shining eyes. “Anyway... dad, I think I'm going to step outside for a while. All the crowds, you know...”
“He must need to get a clear signal from the mother ship to recharge his batteries,” Italy said to Germany, nodding his head in sympathetic understanding.
---
Phase 3: Mission Conflicts
“You don't seem to understand the... severity of the things I forgot thanks to my case of pregnancy brain,” America had said, eyes slightly wild as he busied about setting out various gaudy decorations. “I need salted cod! I have to make lutefisk! Do you have any idea what Minnesota will do if he gets here and that vile garbage isn't here to great him? There will be a reckoning. I think I've got some lye under the sink... oh God, it takes over a week to make that stuff. I have to get started today on that nightmare food for it to be ready in time...”
Russia had opted to simply nod and take down a list of things America needed from the store as he buzzed around in his flurry of activity. A few minutes later, he was ushered out the door with a grateful kiss and was sent on his way.
On the return trip, eyes fixed on the gray, cold clouds high in the December sky, Russia had found himself lost in thought. He was slightly baffled by the way America's moods had begun to sway between 'yuletide exuberance' and 'panicked stress' only days after his Thanksgiving celebration. Perhaps this confusion stemmed from the fact that Russia felt Christmas was coming a full two weeks too early.
He stopped and watched as fat snowflakes began to fall, sticking to the ground and the bare limbs of trees. His contemplation was interrupted when he heard a peal of high, excited laughter nearby. Looking back, he noticed that the joyous noise was coming from a small child exiting a nearby store with his mother.
“Mama! Snow!” the little boy cried, tugging at his mother's coat with one mitten-covered hand while waving the other excitedly in the air. Russia smiled fondly as the two made their way down the street, with the little boy babbling about making a snowman and his mother chiming in once or twice during her toddler's monologue.
Russia glanced at the store they had left. It was a bookstore, and he found himself looking at the stacks of books displayed in its storefront window. His eyes widened as he read the title of a book in a stack labeled 'Practical Presents'.
Several minutes later, Russia stood at the counter, handing the book to the check-out clerk. The young woman scanned the book and smiled at him as she looked at its cover. “So, do you need a gift receipt?” she asked cheerfully.
“Nye-ah, no. This is for me.”
“Aw, congratulations!” the clerk exclaimed. “How far along is your wife?”
Russia had to muster nearly all of his impressive will to keep himself from bursting into laughter. Good thing America wasn't there to hear that. “Ame-ahem, excuse me. Slight cold,” Russia said as he covered up a giggle with a cough. “Amelia is almost six months pregnant.”
He was congratulated again, and soon Russia left the store. As he continued the walk back to America and his bustling Christmas plans, he flipped through the pages of his acquisition: a book titled “Expectation Without Exhaustion: 101 Tips for the Panicking Parent”.
Reply
Seven days and the creation of one horrific-looking vat of lutefisk later, Christmas Eve had descended upon America's house along with his states. They had trickled in over the course of the week, and as the crowd grew larger and larger by the day, Russia was finding it harder and harder to have quality alone time with America. Every time they'd get caught under mistletoe, America would be whisked away by a gaggle of boisterous states to settle some inane argument like how to properly pronounce 'pecan'. Or America would proclaim that the baby was kicking, and before Russia could get his hand on the rounding stomach and feel the little bumps that had made him almost deliriously giddy for the last couple of weeks, he'd be crowded out by a flock of cooing half-siblings. Even mornings held no snuggling guarantees, as Russia had woken up five times this week to find America out of bed well before himself, greeting early-arriving states, covertly wrapping presents, or making fine adjustments to the placement of decorations on the enormous Christmas tree.
As a result, Russia had lost count of the number of times he'd seen America's face pout in sympathy for their situation this week. He had poured himself into reading the book he had picked up in order to nurse the bruise of having America's attention divided among his 50 visitors. And, for whatever reason, he couldn't seem to bring himself to tell America that he had bought the book. He worried that America might take it as a betrayal or as a distrust in his knowledge of baby lore.
But even only read in paranoid secrecy, the book had been interesting so far. Curiously, nearly all of the advice was identical in tone and content to what America had been telling him over the last few months. Although he had heard much of this advice before, it was nice to have it all down in writing.
However, there was one chapter that addressed a problem he had not considered, but now seemed to constantly hover in his mind like a troublesome fly. And that was chapter 7, “A House Divided: When Your First Bundle of Joy Becomes a Bundle of Jealousy”.
Given that Alaska and Hawaii, America's youngest states, now physically looked like they were in their mid-teens, Russia hadn't even considered adding sibling rivalry to his seemingly miles-long list of things to worry about. But over the course of the week, Russia had seen plenty of little squabbles amongst the states. Coupled with his own... troubled... relationship with Belarus, he felt a fool for forgetting that sibling dysfunction wasn't just a childhood problem.
“Are you guys sure? You've got it all under control?” Russia's attention perked up when he heard
America ask these questions from the large kitchen, followed by several voices chiming in that it wasn't a problem. America and some of his more culinary-talented states had bustled into the kitchen around an hour earlier to begin the arduous task of cooking Christmas Eve dinner for fifty states, two nations, and one unborn lunar colony.
“Okay, then. If you're sure you can handle making dinner, I'm going to the living room. I want to get off my feet for a while.”
Russia quickly looked around before shoving the book under the sofa cushion he was sitting on. A few seconds later, America entered, looking quite tired. Russia quickly stood, mouth opening with the intention to say something about how he was happy that they had some time to be alone together at last.
“What are you wearing?” was what came out instead.
America frowned and put his hands on his hips. “Nice to see you too, buddy,” he said.
“I'm sorry,” Russia said, waving his hands apologetically in front of him. “It's just... I was overwhelmed.”
Reply
“I really am sorry about what I said. I'm very glad to see you,” Russia said as he moved to join America's side and helped him to the sofa. America sighed with appreciation as he sat down, leaning heavily against Russia. He wriggled for a moment before laying down entirely, his head resting on Russia's lap and his feet propped up by the arm of the sofa. “The holidays are tiring, da?”
“And then some,” America groaned, closing his eyes. “But I've had worse. There were a few times where I was terribly close to being due during Christmas. Hell, Iowa's birthday is in three days. I'll let that sink in for a minute.”
“If it's any consolation,” Russia said softly as he began to weave his fingers through America's hair. “My Christmas is on January 7th, and I would like nothing more than a quiet celebration with you.” He paused for a moment, moving his hand from America's head to his belly. “And you, of course.”
America hummed happily. “Sounds nice.”
They basked in silence for a few minutes before the sounds of a slamming door and heavy footsteps stomping downstairs broke their peaceful bubble. Russia turned his head towards the noise to see Alaska steadily heading down the stairs, his violet eyes slitted in anger and a very sour expression on his face. If Russia had doubted America's claim that ugly sweaters afflicted the whole family at Christmas, Alaska's outfit would have been confirmation in and of itself. The boy was wearing a dark blue sweater which prominently featured an incredibly lopsided, grinning caribou with tinsel wrapped around its horns.
Alaska finally finished moodily descending the stairs and proceeded towards the back door.
“Where are you going, Alek?” America asked.
“Out,” Alaska replied, gloved hand on the knob.
“For?”
“Hockey.”
“With?”
“Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, and... one of the Dakotas. Probably North.”
“Then why is it just you?”
Alaska sighed heavily and growled, “Because when we were deciding to play hockey, they pulled seniority on me and said that the youngest has to get the pool ready to serve as a rink and gather up the supplies.”
Russia and America exchanged glances. The older nation tilted his head towards their son, as if asking a question. America smiled and nodded, curling up slightly with a grunt to allow Russia to stand up. “I shall help you, da?”
America stretched out further and wiggled around on the sofa in an effort to find the most comfortable position. “Okay, have fun. I'm going to have a bit of a rest before dinner. It should be ready in around 2 hours, so don't forget!”
Russia and Alaska nodded, and as the two moved out to the backyard, Russia failed to notice the confused look on America's face as his hand dipped between the cushions and landed on something unusual.
Reply
For several minutes, Russia helped his son remove the large protective tarp from the swimming pool in the yard and test out the thickness of the ice while they engaged in idle talk. Following that, they made their way to the nearby storage shed to acquire hockey sticks, a puck, and the small portable nets which would serve as goals.
As they began to pile the items outside the shed, Russia asked, “Are you upset about the new baby?”
“Huh?” Alaska asked, turning to give Russia a confused look. “Why would I be?”
“Your older brothers bossing you around seemed to bother you, and I was reading a book which said children may resent becoming older siblings...”
“Ha. Don't worry about that. I have 48 older siblings and one younger sister. Not only that, I was just shy of nine months old when Dad had Hawaii. I have literally no recollection of not being surrounded by siblings.”
“Does that... bother you?”
Alaska was silent for a moment as a look of concentration settled on his face. “It's... complex,” he began. “I'd be lying if I said I'm always okay with it. My brothers and sisters can be huge jerks sometimes, but I'm sure I'm a jerk to them just as often. And it's kind of nice to know that, even though we don't always get along, they'll always help out if something goes wrong.”
Russia's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if an unseen weight had been lifted from them. “So, you won't be upset when it's born?”
“Only if I get stuck on diaper duty,” Alaska said, grunting as a soccer ball rolled off an upper shelf and bounced off his head.
“Even if it's a boy? You wouldn't be the youngest boy anymore...”
“Good! I hope it IS a boy! Maybe then the other guys will stop making fun of me for being the 'baby', even though I'm taller than all of them. Especially Rhode Island. He comes up to here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the area of his sternum. “Here! And that inaccurately-named, bushy-browed jerk calls me 'Li'l A-last-a',” Alaska said. Partway through his tirade, he had picked up a hockey stick and had begun to grip it in a way Russia found quite familiar. Funny how inheritance works.
Just as they were finishing setting the nets on the ice, they heard the loud, laughing voices of hockey-eager states entering the yard. A dangerous glint lit up in Russia's eye. “Wait here a moment,” Russia said to Alaska. “I would like to have a word with your brothers.” Alaska shrugged in confusion and continued to wrap up the preparations.
The happy din coming from Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, and North Dakota died away as they watched Russia approach them with a wide, welcoming smile on his face.
“Privyet!” Russia called as he continued to approach. “My son has informed me that you shall be playing hockey with him. How fun!”
The young men looked nervously at each other.
Russia finally stopped alarmingly close, and managed to loom over the now nervous Midwestern states despite the fact that they were all strong and tall themselves. “However, I have gathered that you may have been... less than brotherly today.”
“We just-”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Russia chastised, waving is index finger in a scolding motion. “I believe I was talking. Now, you may have noticed that Alaska resembles me in some ways. He has my eyes. He has my nose. He has my height, my build.”
He positioned his hands in such a way that it looked like he was clutching a long, invisible object. “However, just recently I noticed that he also has my grip,” he said, his voice lowering into an uneasy hush. The welcoming smile had never left his face, though now it was oddly sharp at its edges, and a strange shadow seemed to darken his eyes. “I could teach him how to fully exploit that grip if I continue to hear... how shall I put this... less than savory stories about his treatment. Are we clear?”
The five states nodded quickly in unison, clear fear written on their faces. “Good. Spread the word,” Russia said, leaning back. Immediately, the eerie atmosphere evaporated, and he made his way towards the door, waving cheerfully. “Have fun, boys!”
Reply
“How'd it go?” America asked as Russia entered.
Russia, his back facing America as he closed the door, responded, “Quite well, I think,” He turned around and froze when he saw America lying on the sofa, a small grin on his face as he flipped through the book he had bought. “I...”
America turned his head toward Russia and pointed at the book. With a hearty laugh, he said, “Interesting!”
Russia hung his head slightly, shuffling his feet. “I know you wanted to be the one to teach me about babies,” he said. “I'm sorry I looked at outside sources.”
America laughed again. “No, no. I'm not mad. Get over here,” he said, beckoning. Russia obliged and joined America on the sofa, where they repositioned themselves with America's head on Russia's lap. “Mostly, I think it's funny that, of all the books in the world, you pick this one.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn't get any outside info at all,” America said. He closed the book and presented it, cover first, to Russia. “I wrote this!”
Violet eyes widened with shock as Russia pointed first at America, then at the book. “You...?”
“That's right, under a clever pseudonym,” America said, running his finger under the author's name. “Ulysses Simon Adams. Get it? Cute, huh?” He grinned. “Obviously I had to change pronouns around a bit, though. 'Names have been changed to protect the innocent', that sort of thing.”
“Ulysses?”
“Oh shut up, U-names are hard.”
“It is surprising,” Russia conceded. After a moment, a small, teasing smile began to appear on his face. “I do have one question, though.”
“What's that?”
“According to chapter 6, it's much healthier for the baby, so... do you intend to breastfeed?”
Meanwhile, halfway across the world, Yong-Soo suddenly glanced around wildly, feeling as if he had somehow just missed something of the utmost importance.
Head-canon funtime!
1) The state of Minnesota has really been dubbed “the lutefisk capital of the world”, and I think he embraces this to a truly alarming/embarrassing degree.
2) North and South Dakota are completely identical twins, and they freaking haaaate thaaaat shiiit.
3) It's pronounced pih-CAHN and anyone who says otherwise is a liar. A liar!
4) Oh Aleksey. You were such a cute little thing, and now you're a cranky pants teenager who can't catch a break. Sorry! D:
Actual fact funtime!
1) Christmas for the Russian Orthodox Church is January 7, in accordance with the Julian calendar.
2) 'Privyet' is 'hi!' in Russian
Reply
Reply
Reply
In other news, I adored this chapter. You seriously write one of the cutest Russias on this meme. And America's 'USA' thing was very clever. America's not just a good daddy, he's an expert daddy.
Reply
Reply
other than that good chapter, I jut love good daddy Russia. It's like a fetish of mine.
RC now Chickens
Are they having chicken for dinner? I'm from VA so we have ham... but I like chicken too.
Reply
I especially liked the Russia and Alaska bonding time . . it was precious. XD
Reply
I'm loving this, so much, Anon!
Reply
And thank you for naming lutefisk Nightmare Food. Because it is.
And I'm going to believe that Wisconsin gave Alfred that horrible sweater, because that's the sort of thing that people do here to be "funny."
Reply
-
Phase 5: Meteor Shower
Russia was in a terrible mood, which was not at all improved by the colorful confetti in his hair.
He had been leery of the idea from the start, when America had brought it up two weeks ago. “C'mon, please?” America had pleaded. “Matt came up with the idea, and it sounds super-fun! We can still have it here, what with how awkward it would be for me to travel right now, but Matt said he'd volunteer himself and the provinces to clean up any messes.”
Russia had still looked dubious as he squinted at the paper America had given him. “'Any' messes? You mean 'inevitable',” he grumbled. “Look at this guest list. I will be shocked if a pie fight doesn't break out.”
“Outside of my states and Canada's provinces, Ukraine, China, and South Korea, it's only the rest of the G8.”
“Most of that sentence proves my point exactly.”
“So we won't serve pie! Please, Ivan?” America had begged, clasping his hands together and turning weapons-grade baby blue eyes to Russia. “It'll be a ton of fun, and the good definitely outweighs the bad! Besides... even with all my kids, I've never had a baby shower. Please?”
Of course he had acquiesced with those puppy-dog eyes boring through his heart like a mining drill.
As the preparations for the baby shower commenced, he couldn't seem to properly express his concern that putting so many excitable nations under the same roof as an eight months pregnant America could only serve as a recipe for disaster. Worse still, he was worried that such a thing would attract the attention and ire of Belarus, who had been worryingly quiet and seemingly impossible to locate the last three-quarters of the year. It wasn't so much that Russia was worried for his sister's safety as much as he was concerned that she was currently digging a tunnel to America's backyard or something equally insane.
And now here he was covered in confetti and glitter, all because the footfalls of countless states and nations had caused the haphazardly-stored box of decorations on the shelf above them to dump all over his head. Worse yet, the applause that ensued clearly indicated that everyone in attendance saw this as a silly premeditated prank on the father-to-be. Russia thought he caught the sight of two hands high-fiving in the crowd, and his eyes narrowed. Perhaps it was just that. Russia tried to sear those hands into his memory, so he may find their owners at a more convenient, pipe-ready time.
“Are you okay?” America asked quietly, close enough to Russia's ear that it could be heard over the din. America smiled brightly before continuing, “Don't mind if I help myself to some of that sparkly embarrassment.” Russia's blood lust abated slightly when America scooped up a handful of confetti and rubbed it vigorously into his own hair.
It took a moment for things to settle into something vaguely resembling order, but soon several nations had approached with colorfully-wrapped gifts for the baby. The first in line was Japan.
Reply
America unwrapped the box, and his eyes lit up when they saw its contents. He laughed happily as he reached in and pulled out a white, fluffy toy rabbit. “Aw, a bunny! I love it, Japan!” America said, too exuberant to notice that China's face was beginning to turn beet red. He held the rabbit closer, admiring it more as a nostalgic look settled on his face. “I used to play with bunnies all the time when I was little. Granted, they were real. This one's less likely to poop everywhere.”
“According to my old legends, there is a rabbit which lives on the moon and pounds mochi. I thought the gift might be appropriate,” Japan replied. He left out the fact that his first gift idea had been a Sailor Moon figurine, but he had chosen to keep it for himself since the box warned of choking hazards for small children. Plus it looked so nice posed on his mantle next to the Gundam model.
China scoffed in disbelief before exclaiming, “Y-y-you copy-cat, aru! Those are my legends, and the rabbit pounds the elixir of life! That's much more important than mochi, aru!”
“You guys are both wrong, by the way,” Korea interrupted. “Everyone knows the moon rabbit pounds tteok, which is kind of like mochi, but better in every conceivable way. And was made first.”
China continued to glare at Japan, both Asian nations pointedly ignoring Korea. “Now what am I going to do about my gift, aru?!”
“Whoa, China, calm down! I'm totally glad to have two bunnies. It's impossible to have too many adorable bunnies. Proven scientific fact,” America said, accepting China's gift and beginning to unwrap it. It was another white rabbit, though it had a slightly different eye color.
“I got you something much more useful!” Korea cried, knocking both the rabbits off as he set his box on America's shrinking lap.
“Oh. Thank, uh... thank you, Korea,” America said, grinning awkwardly upon opening the gift. Russia scowled. “It's, uh... it's a breast pump.”
“Wow! How'd you know the name of my invention? And I will graciously accept pictures and/or video of it being used for its intended purpose in lieu of a thank you note,” Korea said. He grinned and lunged at Japan, who made shocked choking noises as Korea rubbed his chest. “Don't be jealous, I'm sure America's aren't as good as these. But we'll know for sure when I get photographic evidence!”
Without a word, Russia stood, lifted Korea by the collar of his jeogori with a single fist, and began to march out of the room. This was made all the more impressive by the fact that Korea's arms still had a struggling Japan locked in a vice grip. China followed, so angry that he couldn't seem to settle on any one dialect as he yelled in his native language.
The remaining states, nations, and provinces stared after them in a long, silent moment. Eventually, America called out, “Try not to kill anyone!” This seemed to break the thick layer of ice Russia had left behind, and the level of noise increased again.
Reply
“Hm?” America turned, looking in the direction of the voice. It was Feliciano, who was fidgeting excitedly in place and had a clear question in the curious, pleading expression on his face. His hands were a few inches from America's belly. America laughed and nodded. “Go ahead, you can touch it.”
A wide grin instantly materialized on Italy's face as he placed his hands on America's belly. “Ve! Wow, America!” he exclaimed. “I can't believe your baby is going to be a real, live alien!”
The room went silent again. Germany blanched in acute embarrassment, and his face found its usual place in the palm of his hand. “Italy, we already went over this on the trip here,” he muttered. “Repeatedly. The lunar colony will still be human-run. People will be living there.”
“But Germany~, everybody knows that aliens live on the moon! Oo! Oo! America! Do you think the baby will have antennae? Will it be green? Wah! It's kicking! Ve~~!” he said excitedly, face lighting up. He cooed in Italian for a moment before a nervous expression settled on his face. He turned to America “It... it won't burst out of your chest like in that movie, right?”
“No, Italy, I don't think it will.”
“Between you and me,” Italy said, wiggling closer to America and his voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I always suspected that Russia might be an alien. And now it's confirmed!”
America laughed again, but caught sight of Alaska near the refreshment table, talking with a smiling Ukraine. Given the hand gestures the female nation was making, America could guess that she was gushing over how much he had grown since she last saw him. “I know a way to prove the baby won't be an alien," he told Italy. "Hey, Alek! Come over here a sec!”
Alaska excused himself and awkwardly picked his way through the crowd until he was at America's side. “Yeah?”
“Italy, this is my son Aleksey E. Jones, otherwise known as the state of Alaska,” America said. “As you can probably tell, his other father is Russia. Does he look like a half-alien to you?” Alaska blinked in surprise.
“Wow, you're right. He doesn't at all!” Italy said, offering Alaska his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. I'm North Italy! I like your human disguise. It's very convincing.” Germany groaned again and looked like he wanted nothing more than to be able to vaporize through the floor.
“Uh. Thank... thank you? I guess?” Alaska said, looking deeply confused as Italy continued to stare at him with shining eyes. “Anyway... dad, I think I'm going to step outside for a while. All the crowds, you know...”
“He must need to get a clear signal from the mother ship to recharge his batteries,” Italy said to Germany, nodding his head in sympathetic understanding.
Reply
Leave a comment