Rosa Prologue/?
anonymous
September 7 2010, 20:34:54 UTC
It was no secret among the nations that North American was just odd. Not only were the three nations of North America so closely tied together, that to hit one, was to make the other two bleed in sympathy, but they had ideas.
Strange ideas.
Ideas that sometimes gave their old colonial masters hives and nightmares.
North America had given the world flight, telephones, fried Cola, Maple Syrup, the Rocket Belt and modern democracy. For the most part, this was all accepted with good natured cheer - except the fried Cola, as everyone else in the world agreed that such things were better left alone in fear of death. Alfred had simply looked bewildered at the retching noise coming from France. Matthew and Cara had shrugged at each other and stolen the rest of his Fried Cola**.
For all that, perhaps the oddest, and most outlandish thing about the North Americans was their lack of Pleasure Houses. That wasn't to say that there weren't any Houses in America, Canada or Mexico, but rather none of them had a national house. Mexicans were more often than not trained by the Royal Pleasure House of Spain - as a sign of respect towards the colonizing nation, as Cara had told Alfred. Canada held the Imperial British Pleasure House as equal to the National House of France. America held no house above another, allowing all of the world's pleasure houses to come and train his citizens. For the most part this worked well enough. The people of North America may not have followed the traditional routes of life as any European might know them, and they were truly a bit off in the head, but no one could accuse them of being ill-prepared for the ways of love.
Except for one, glaring exception.
Alfred's lack of experience had come to light, when France had called up England to brag about Canada's gaining of his Mastery from the National House of France. England responded that he'd made sure his colonies had been well trained before they'd left the nest instead of waiting a few hundred years. France shot back with an example of how painfully inexperienced Alfred had been during his revolution. England had demanded to know how France had come about this information. France then threw Prussia to the wolves (or in this case, an infuriated Englishman) and hung up the phone.
Germany had not been happy when England had stormed into his home and interrupted his time with Italy. As Germany had been in the middle of testing out some new ropes he'd gotten from Japan, he felt the anger was justified. He also felt he was fully justified in throwing both his brother and England into the basement with the order to "Fuck or kill each other, I don't care, just leave me out of it." While his mood had improved with the squirming of a bound (and silent) Italian at his side, it had plummeted back down the next night when Prussia had swaggered out of the basement long enough to steal the last of the lube and his new rope before vanishing back down to the basement. No one saw the either Prussia or England for another week.
Regardless, everyone could agree that the North Americans were odd and that was all there was to it.
**France and both Italies both lived in fear of Fall time, when North America had something called 'Fair Season'. The one held in Texas was especially terrifying. The last thing to come out of that fair had been something called "Bacon Explosion". The Italies had gotten drunk and had to be bailed out of jail by their respective Doms. France too had drowned his sorrow in wine, but instead simply called up England and demanded to know what he had done to his precious little ones so that they thought such evil and grease laden foods were 'good eats.' The resulting fight ended up with England screaming obscenities in old Anglo-Saxon, while France yelled back in Ancient Gaulish.
The United Nations had many secrets. One of the best kept from the general public was the personification of every nation on the planet. However, one of the worst kept secrets in the United Nations was the United States of America's unrequited lust (or love) for one United Kingdom.
Or at least, Matthew reflected, that's what it seemed like. Alfred Jones's (rather pathetic) attempts at wooing Arthur Kirkland had become so bad, that it had spawned a new form of entertainment for the assembled nations. Namely, that of betting on the pair. According to Switzerland's latest memo, the Pot had now reached a half million Euros.
Matthew felt it was immensely unfair he wasn't allowed to place any bets. After all, who was it that had to clean up the mess every time Arthur unknowingly shot Alfred's attempts down? Who was it who had to listen to Arthur rant about Alfred's stupidity?
He did.
And damnit he deserved that half a million Euros.
And the last time Arthur had called, frothing mad and ranting, he'd been in the middle of finally getting his hands back on Francis and Gilbert for the first time in months. Matthew was rarely, if ever, rude to his former Colonial Master, but that had been one of the rare times that Matthew lost his temper and yelled at Arthur. Arthur had been left speechless, and he had gone on to have a rather pleasent weekend, even if Francis and Gilbert would occasionally start snickering in the middle of sex and hadn't that been humiliating enough?
(Matthew made a mental note to buy more lube, and maybe purchase some more rope because nothing burned a little like hearing your lovers start snickering while you were buried balls deep in one of them. He was going to make them regret it. He figured with enough rope, lube and maple syrup he could take over the world.)
Matthew watched as around him, the gathered nations of the world eagerly awaited the next installment of "America Tries and Fails to Get England to Notice Him." Today's episode it appeared would involve tea and scones; perhaps Alfred could be taught. On second thought, the tea was in a bag form, and both it and the scones were from Starbucks. Lovely. It seemed like, once again, Alfred would be shot down, wind up drunk and surly at his house, and he'd be fielding drunken phone calls from England.
Did the Gods just hate him in particular or was it something he'd done?
Prussia leaned over. "Ten bucks says England goes on a rant about how stale the tea is."
France predictably shook his head. "Non, it will be about the scones. L'angterree has no taste left."
"Dude! Tea! Stale tea - the Brit's going to pop!"
"Scones!"
"You're both wrong you know," Matthew muttered into the desk. Odd. He could have sworn there hadn't been a pair of thick leather gloves there a moment ago.
Alfred eyed the cup of tea with a sense of foreboding. This had to work - he'd gotten the tea fresh that morning, it was Earl Grey, the scones were fresh, and he'd made sure to get to the meeting early enough to beat Arthur.
Surely this would be it was enough to get a smile out of his cranky counterpart? Alfred would have gone to Matthew for help...But the last time he'd asked Matthew for his advice on his Arthur Issue(s) had been shortly after 1812, and the resulting conversation had been less then thrilling.
"Are you insane," Matthew had yelled at his twin over the crackling fire and sounds of battle. "You broke from England, from Arthur! And you want to do what to him now?! Have you lost your mind, eh?"
"No.” Alfred had yelled back, “I just..," Alfred had said," I just want Arthur to smile again! I want to see him happy and relaxed like he used to be!"
"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you broke his heart. And really? Leave me out of it eh!"
After decades of him begging for help, it had finally been an amused Francis who'd offered a few words of advice. "Woo him, mon ami," Francis confided. "Our l'angeterre, he is, how do you say, oh yes, stubborn. Woo him, show him you can be his pillar without chaining him." Thus, with a few more helpful hints on how one woos a cranky Englishman, Alfred had commenced his campaign.
Two hundred years later, it still wasn’t going very well.
It wasn't his fault! He'd tried. Really hard, too! He sent Arthur flowers, wild flowers he'd picked from the prairies and fields of his farm lands and seen them returned with scathing notes. His attempt at musically wooing Arthur hadn't quite flopped, - it had led to the Beatles coming over. But the Beatles were kinda cool and whatever, so maybe that hadn't gone as badly as he'd thought? Arthur had been confused and then insulted when he'd built the man a McDonalds so he wouldn't have to cook. The sweet sun-tea had gotten tossed out the window and he'd gotten lectured on the proper method of making, and drinking, tea.
Alfred might have given up, except that giving up meant two things. One, Arthur would not be in his bed, wearing his collar, and having every single one of his desires, needs. and wants fulfilled by one true blue American hero. Two, all of that would be taking place, but there would be a Russian villain taking his place as the starring Dom. And really, that was unacceptable.
Even if Alfred on occasion found the interfering Russian villain rather alluring.
Alfred sighed as the object of his desires marched in and glared at this morning's offering, pushing it aside with a pen and a disgusted look.
Alls he wanted was to curl up around Arthur sometimes, drag a blanket over them and stay there, wrapped together in silence;, warmth and comfortable while the rest of the world went on around them. He wanted to stay there and let the smaller nation's smell permeate his senses; to touch, caress and sooth the pale skin. He wanted to lick it, kiss it. Would Arthur taste of tea? Or maybe it would be the tang of salt, from Arthur's beloved ocean.*
Other times the image of Arthur in black leather and shiny metal loops occupied his thoughts. Would he sneer even as he opened his mouth and sucked Alfred in? Would he close his eyes and moan as Alfred ran a flogger over the raised welts on his back? Or maybe he would shiver and arch into his hand as he turned the other man's ass a brilliant red - red to match his blush. How would the other react to wearing a plug, teasing and taunting, all the while denied the ability to come?
But most of all, Alfred wanted to see the blond Englishman beneath him, gasping and begging as Alfred licked and kissed and sucked and bit every piece of skin he could reach. He wanted to see the endless green eyes go dark with want and liquid with desire for him.
Alfred wanted to do bad, terrible, nasty things to Arthur. He wanted to do sweet and gentle things to him. He wanted to the right to his body. , He wanted to be able to proclaim to the world, that, while the United Kingdom stood proud and independent, Arthur Kirkland belonged to Alfred F Jones's.
A part of him was heart brokenheartbroken every time Arthur didn't get that;. d Didn't seeget that Alfred wanted him and was trying hard to win him. Alfred might be an untrained, inexperienced oaf, who didn't even have the right to so much as look at the Imperial British Hhouse's finest Rose, but he did anyways, and even dared to dream of putting his dirty rough hands on Arthur’s body., but damnit. It hurt. He knew that Arthur could have any nation he wanted, but he wanted to be that nation - the only nation Arthur wanted in his bed.
And oh hey, he was getting the Death Glare from Arthur now.
*(Alfred knew what Cara and Matthew tasted like from all the times they'd gotten drunk together, from the fights to the celebrations. Cara was the sun and heat of a hot Mexican day, tempered with the cool and bloody shock of her jungles' secrets. Matthew was the taste of the first true frost, sweetly laced with sugar and sharply harsh with the wind. He'd never quite worked up the nerve to ask his siblings what he tasted like, too afraid of what the answer might be. He'd asked Francis what he'd tasted like in all innocence during his Revolution.; He hadn't meant it to be a pick up line, but hey, a first time is a first time, right? For the record, Francis hadn't tasted of anything really - just sweat and blood and thinly veiled sex and violence.)
Alfred was glaring at him again. Nervously Arthur checked his notes, straightened his shirt, lifted his chin and glared right back. He had been the British Empire, thank you very much, and he would not be intimidated by an upstart nation. Except when he was in his dreams, but who could know about that?
What on earth did that lad want now? He was already supporting his foolish wars, sorry, ‘operations’, in the Middle East. Arthur had personally sat down with the head of BP and pointed out to the man that, while yes, profits are nice, one did not casually write off safety concerns. Especially when said safety concerns might affect one's nation's object of very distant affections. Might be bad for one's continued health and all that. He'd been rather pleased when the man had gone pale and stammered out an agreement. It was always nice to know he still had the old Imperial touch.
He groaned to himself when he saw Yao's latest scheme to get the Asian Houses declared international treasures. Really, hadn't they gone over this last time?
Alfred's fingers were drumming impatiently on the table. Arthur leaned back in his chair and eyed those fingers and hands. Strong fingers, long in the bone, connecting to large, lean and callused palms. A worker's hands, the hands of someone who knew what it was like to work and work hard for a living. Those hands had built a nation, tamed the wilds and sent men to the moon.
Those hands were some of the few Arthur had never felt on himself before.
In his dreams he hears Alfred drawling out in his slow, honey sweet southern voice, asking him, "What do you want?" even as those hands spark over his body, demanding responses from him. There are nights when he wakes in a cold sweat, all but desperate for the American, and the only thing that stops him is his pride.
He is the Imperial British House's finest Rose, its Most Favored, and the embodiment of the United Kingdom. Arthur cannot allow himself to beg for his former colony's physical affections. His pride, the pride of his nation and his House will not allow him to do so no matter how much he wants to curl up and bask in the warmth of that strong body.
It doesn't help that Alfred mocks him constantly. Sending him flowers? What was the boy thinking - had he even realized what the message of those flowers was? Somehow Arthur doubted it very much. And the music, by the Queen, the music! He'd kindly sent over some real musicians to show those Americans what music was meant to be. And he wasn't a bad cook either! Certainly he cooked better then that grease laden, heart attack inducing place. At least his food killed you out right, rather than giving you a slow lingering death. True, he'd been slightly touched by the offer of tea the other year, but the sugar laden, icy beverage he'd gotten had not been the dark, slightly bitter hot brew he'd been looking forwards to.
Even today, Alfred got his small digs in with what looked to be perfectly cooked scones and that wretched fast-food tea. How had he known that Arthur had burned his toast, spilled his tea and generally had a miserable morning?
Did Alfred realize how much those small, ridiculing little gestures hurt? The way each one tore at him, deep inside, in a place he’d thought no one could get to, but somehow the bloody Yankee had managed to find.
Yet he stayed by Alfred's side, supporting all of his foolish notions, especially the wars in the Middle East. He offered what he could, and sometimes what he shouldn't. His London had been attacked in return for the support he gave, he was openly ridiculed by his fellow nations, and yet for the life of him, he could not bear to break away.
Dude, this looks so fantastic; this world feels so rich and well thought-out, and it's incredibly believable. And even knowing England's pessimism, obliviousness, and ability to accidentally crush America's overtures and affections, I seriously didn't expect his theory about America's actions to be so epically wrong. OTL I mean, maybe I should have, but DAMN! (Oblivious, mutually "unrequited" love has never been done better than by this pairing. OTL)
Ah, and all the teasing hints of amazing hotness; I'd complain that you were being a tease, but you're building tension too expertly for me to believe I'm going to be let down! <3 Also, characterization, hell yeah. :D
Oh dear, I forgot to ask: What wildflowers did America make the mistake of sending England? I'm terribly curious, now, but I don't know what wildflowers grow in America. *is ignorant*
The world you just introduced us to is so... beautiful? so rich! I'm really looking forward to knowing more about it.
And Mexican!anon here who normally doesn't like her country as a woman LOVES your characterization of her. And Cara? mm interesting name choice, specially because it's spelled with a "C" which is right don't get me wrong, but is far less common than with "K" *_*
Hmmm if Arthur doesnt want to beg...and America wants him no matter what perhaps they can switch positions? wouldnt that be a surprised XDD and dont we all love pirate england?
Re: Rosa Prologue 2/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 05:05:09 UTC
Ah, he could see it if he thought hard enough.
It would be in his room. The fire in the fire place lit and softly burning low after so long. Rather than throw harsh, hard light on to the scene, it would instead be lit by candle light from around the room. The light from the candles would give a soft, gentle glow to the polished wood floors and the frame of the bed. Nothing too harsh on his bed, no, but nothing too…decadent either. It would be the soft, worn linens and thick warm quilts of his younger days.
And, of course, there would be Arthur.
Arthur. Delicious, willful, imperial Arthur sprawled out on the fine, clean linens of his bed. Of course all that oh-so markable pale English skin would be on display, shifting over muscles that once had the strength to meet and destroy empires. Those fascinating muscles still held a sort of strength. How else could the United Kingdom continue to stand as a world power after the loss of its empire, if not for the inner strength of steel that Arthur Kirkland called his own? It made the willing submission of the nation all the sweeter; for all that strength and power to willingly be given over to another was intoxicating. Equally intoxicating was the play of the dark leather cuffs encircling the nation's limbs and neck. Thick, well made leather restraints that could hold back rampaging bulls. Play toys these were not. These were things meant to be used, meant to hold up to nearly anything.
He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs a little to relieve the sweet ache. Perhaps in a bit he might have those lips wrap around him, and watch the green eyes of the island nation grow dark and wild. But it was not quite time for that, no, it was still time to lean back and watch the show.
The same pale English skin he'd just been admiring was blossoming with red. Bite marks, kisses and pinched skin began to show, turning a lovely red color against the near white skin. (He'd always been fond of red.) He watched as the second nation's lighter blond head worked it’s way across that narrow chest.
"Please." Arthur was jerking at the restraints. Trying to get free? It would make sense, given that he'd been tied up and touched for hours without a release. Anyone, even an English Imperial Rose, might be willing to break training and beg after so long.
"Shhh. Soon." Ah ah ah., Do not make promises you cannot keep,. he thought to the nation currently teasing Arthur. Perhaps it was time to raise the stakes a bit and push both of the nations curled in the bed farther. Reaching towards the small desk near him and the lit candles on it, he. selected a tall, dark green one that gave off the scent of ocean and pine. How appropriate. He stood and walked towards the couple, holding the candle in one hand and sheltering the flame with the other. It would not do to let it blow out before it could be put to use.
A tanned hand would reach towards his, their fingers tangled and touching before he would surrender the candle to the blond nation. A smile would be his payment, a brighter and more brilliant one then any movie star could hope for. He would sit next to the pair, tangling his hand in the dirty blond English hair and wait.
"Take a breath Arthur," the order came," take a breath and scream for us."
He shivered as Arthur did as he was ordered, shrieking as the hot green wax dripped onto his chest. Lines and dots grew in random patterns, a green forest growing over the well used English landscape. As the tan nation kept it up, the urge to join in grew till he couldn't take it any longer.
"Please! Please oh god please, more!" Ragged pleas, desperate and unthinking, came out of Arthur's mouth, his hips bucking for contact, for release from the bindings, for anything that might push him over the edge. It felt empowering ... to be the one this Imperial Rose pleaded with, for rare was the Rose that begged for anything.
Re: Rosa Prologue 2b/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 05:06:55 UTC
"Do you need to use the safe word little one," he murmured into the sweat soaked hair. His hand traveled down Arthur's neck to the clamped nipple. "Or do you want more?"
A low laugh from the tanned blond nation. "I think he wants more."
Their eyes, pale violet and sky blue met, and without words they came to an understanding. His hand plucked and twisted the clamp free just as the other nation dripped a bit of wax on Arthur's most sensitive bits. The resulting shriek as they watched, greedy, as Arthur nearly bent in two despite the his restraints and a hard groan ripped itself from two throats as they watched the desperate Englishman.
"More, more, I need.."
The choked words did much to warm him up. It was always good to be appreciated. "Perhaps we should give our little one what he wants, da?" Ivan's smiled at his counterpart super power. "It isn't polite to tease so."
Re: Rosa Prologue 2c/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 05:07:56 UTC
BANG!
Ivan jerked back to reality with a grimace. It was Alfred slapping his hands on the (reinforced after the last two UN meetings) desk. The unpleasant look on his face made Ivan sigh to himself. Why was it that Alfred was only agreeable these days in his daydreams? For that matter, so was Arthur, what with his crankiness extended towards nearly every Dominant nation.
"Dude, giant mirrors in space will totally work!*"
"That is the dumbest idea to come out of your mouth ever, aru! And we have heard plenty," Yao yelled back. Predictably Alfred stiffened at the insult. "You never think, and you always leap in head first! Is it any wonder you cannot keep your debts in order?!"
Oh, excellent choice comrade. Bring up the debt issue again. Ivan rolled his eyes. For all that he was pleased another communist nation was becoming a world power, it displeased him that Yao forgot what his economy was based on.**
"Ve, maybe we should break for lunch and have pasta," Feliciano ventured softly. Little Feli joining in? The only reason for that could be, oh yes. Ludwig was starting to turn purple in the face in mute rage.
Perhaps Ivan should invite Ludwig to spend time in the quiet wilds of Kamtchaka - the fishing was excellent and it was far, far, far from anyone who might wish to intrude on his time. It would not do for the German to suffer from such frustration, and it would not do for little Feli to have to temper that frustration and then have his hard work undone.
"What we should do is discuss how I'm being repaid," Yao shrilled.
True, he would not be able to invite Alfred and Arthur to his cabin then, but he had other homes and other beds.
Around him, as he sat thinking, the room descended into the normal chaos of a UN meeting, as Alfred and Yao turned a meeting on fixing the global greenhouse effect into a pitched battle over global debts.
*There really is a plan to put mirrors in space to reflect the sun's rays and thus cool down the world's atmosphere as a way to combat the green house effect. However, the cost of such a venture would bankrupt every nation on earth 5x over - and there is no guarantee that the glass mirrors would make it to their target destination intact. And yes, it was proposed by a US scientist. Though, a British engineer has done some research on it and concluded the mirrors wouldn't likely make it out of the atmosphere.
* There is indeed a plan to put mirrors in space to reflect the sun's radiation away from the planet. Fun facts - the orginal idea was created by an American team, though a British team did a fair amount of testing on it. The major issue with the plan is that it would a) bankrupt the world fi
** According to this one's crazy professors (and this one assumes that those professors are smart and knowledgeable) most of the Chinese economy depends on a few things - foreign trade, & the manufacture of cheap goods, and foreign debt. If any of the major importers of Chinese goods were to stop and focus on making their own (such as the US) it would have a devastating effect on the economy. However, an even worse blow would be if the US (or any of the EU countries really) paid back their debts in full as China profits far more on collecting the interest then it would in ever collecting the full debt.
Re: Rosa Prologue 2c/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 05:09:01 UTC
Arthur twitched as his formerly ordered, neat, and functioning as planned meeting went to hell around him. Next to Francis and Matthew (for all that he sometimes forgot Matthew, but how could he forget his most loyal colony now?) sat Gilbert,. who was out right laughing and egging Alfred and Yao on.
Wasn't Yao over 5,000 years old? Didn't he know better by now? Couldn't he be the adult for once, since everyone knew that getting Alfred to act his age was impossible?. Why did Yao have to start in on Alfred just as they might actually get a useful idea out of the other nation?
(Stupid idea, yes. Oddly thought out, planned and articulate and actually potentially useful idea also yes. It just needed a bit of work. A bit more engineering and Arthur privately thought maybe it might have some potential uses. Certainly it made more sense than the previous umbrella idea.)
Personally he thought Yao kept antagonizing Alfred because Alfred was an unknown - neither Sub nor Dom nor Switch as far as the world knew. He'd never been trained by anyone, and other then a few rumored treaty-related handjobs early on his nationhood, had never bedded anyone. That a super power was wandering around like this, bumbling about in the world's ordered function must be like a thorn under the ancient man's skin. Either that or Yao had finally gotten sick of losing Ivan's attention to Alfred.
"At least I do not wear and tear at my allies, and force them into wars aru!"
"I didn't force anyone! They saw that something had to be done too!"
"And your stupid little wars have led to what? More killings!"
It irked him that Alfred had not been trained by the Imperial House. It almost hurt - Alfred had been destined for the Scottish branch, to be trained by Arthur's own brother as an Imperial Lion if he'd turned out to be a Dom, and if not then it was to Arthur's own English branch he would go to become a Rose. Either way, it had been intended for the then-young Alfred to serve Arthur as his Imperial Protectorate, to be his consort and serve Arthur in all ways.
(The idea of the golden Lion emblazoned on Alfred's bicep, the elegant Celtic knot work depicting his training master was a bit…thrilling to think of. The Lion would suit him well with his fierce and loving nature. He would effortlessly dominate in bed, to be sure, and he'd be able to put that freakish strength and stamina of his to good effect. Yet at the same time, Arthur could easily see him as a Rose, submitting without letting anyone in, sex on legs and with the ability to make anyone fall to him.)
That had been the plan, Arthur's cherished little plan. He'd set it up at much personal cost. Angus had agreed, a bit shockingly, to test the lad's mettle and determine where to send him. He'd had to agree to Angus having first pick of all his colonies for training, but he’d thought the potential pay off was worth it he'd thought at the time. If only Alfred had waited another ten years! One little decade was all he would have had to wait out before he could send Alfred to Scotland for his four years of training. And without Alfred being there, being physically present in the colonies, he could have easily put down the rebellion and kept Alfred by his side.
But it hadn't gone like that.
"I want my freedom, Arthur. You can't keep me chained up forever. You force me to do as you will and never think about what I want. Alls I am to you is a pet, a prize to be shown off to the world! Well I won't be your pet any longer!" The door had slammed as Alfred stormed out into the rain. Two days later, the colonies and their master nation were at war.
Arthur stood up and yelled. "Oi!"
Nothing happened. If anything the yelling got louder.
This called for drastic measures. Luckily, he'd come prepared.
Re: Rosa Prologue 2d/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 05:10:30 UTC
BANG.
The sound of a gun going off silenced every one of the quarreling nations. Almost as one a sea of heads turned towards the Englishman. He smiled. "Thank you all for shutting up. I'm calling a recess. Perhaps during the break you will all learn to grow up, so that when we return we can sit down and discuss the current issues like proper nations," he snapped.
"Excellent idea, eh," Matthew agreed hastily. "Seconded!"
Francis rolled his eyes, "Thirded."
"Smashing! Motion passed. Now piss off and don't come back till you can act your age!" Arthur snarled at the still frozen nations. After a moment of silence, countries began to drift out the door, some in pairs, some by themselves. Matthew looked to be deep in a quite whispered argument with Francis and Gilbert complete with motions towards Alfred. He supposed he should be a good host and find out why Yao had gone out of his way to antagonize Alfred today, but it looked like someone else was already speaking with the asian nation. Ivan had been practicing of late a more...kinder, gentler Russia policy towards other nations in an attempt to better his foreign relations. Well at least he wouldn't have to deal with Yao's passive aggressiveness today if he still needed to deal with that lad.
AnonWriter: /headdesk. Totally failing at the Copy & Paste duty tonight!
Have some eternal love? :D
anonymous
September 10 2010, 13:06:37 UTC
God, I love this world so much; it's amazing that you guys are spending this much time on world-building, back-story, and characterization, seriously. <3 I'm also loving all the tiny details, like the reinforced desk; I'd wonder why Himaruya doesn't have America break them in canon, but I guess that would take too much time for four-panel comics and five-minute episodes. Alas.
D-dammit, Ivan's fantasies are such a tease. *wipes away a tear of lust* Not that sharing Arthur with Ivan is anywhere near the top of Alfred's list, but damn would they be a formidable pair! Even with no apparent experience on Alfred's part. OTL
Around him, as he sat thinking, the room descended into the normal chaos of a UN meeting, as Alfred and Yao turned a meeting on fixing the global greenhouse effect into a pitched battle over global debts. This is only slightly less civilized than real UN meeting, you know, and possibly more useful. :'D
Ugh, Arthur's point-of-view keeps bringing up too many amazing possibilities; his plans for Alfred are kind of intriguing, although they ultimately wouldn't have ended well, considering Alfred's personality, the Revolution, etc. Just definitely not meant to be! And yeah, Alfred being an unknown really does have to be frustrating to Yao, doesn't it? Pfft, Arthur can't stop thinking about that strength and stamina, can he? XDDD
Now that I think about it, I've been in fandom or on this meme far too long, if the phrase "a few rumored treaty-related handjobs early on his nationhood" makes perfect sense to me! :'D
... 'Kay, I love your Arthur forever for firing off a shot to get everyone's attention, as well as for being cranky with all the Dominant nations. For that matter, I also love you guys for using the words "dominant" and "dominate" correctly! <3 I mean, they're different parts of speech, so it should be easy, but most people still fail at it. OTL
Re: Rosa Prologue 2d/4
anonymous
September 10 2010, 17:16:42 UTC
Excitement. I kind of really want America to be a switch now. And RussiaUSUK is my total OT3. So this is really awesome so far. Altho it seems a little odd that it was England with a gun as opposed to some of the more gun happy nations
Strange ideas.
Ideas that sometimes gave their old colonial masters hives and nightmares.
North America had given the world flight, telephones, fried Cola, Maple Syrup, the Rocket Belt and modern democracy. For the most part, this was all accepted with good natured cheer - except the fried Cola, as everyone else in the world agreed that such things were better left alone in fear of death. Alfred had simply looked bewildered at the retching noise coming from France. Matthew and Cara had shrugged at each other and stolen the rest of his Fried Cola**.
For all that, perhaps the oddest, and most outlandish thing about the North Americans was their lack of Pleasure Houses. That wasn't to say that there weren't any Houses in America, Canada or Mexico, but rather none of them had a national house. Mexicans were more often than not trained by the Royal Pleasure House of Spain - as a sign of respect towards the colonizing nation, as Cara had told Alfred. Canada held the Imperial British Pleasure House as equal to the National House of France. America held no house above another, allowing all of the world's pleasure houses to come and train his citizens. For the most part this worked well enough. The people of North America may not have followed the traditional routes of life as any European might know them, and they were truly a bit off in the head, but no one could accuse them of being ill-prepared for the ways of love.
Except for one, glaring exception.
Alfred's lack of experience had come to light, when France had called up England to brag about Canada's gaining of his Mastery from the National House of France. England responded that he'd made sure his colonies had been well trained before they'd left the nest instead of waiting a few hundred years. France shot back with an example of how painfully inexperienced Alfred had been during his revolution. England had demanded to know how France had come about this information. France then threw Prussia to the wolves (or in this case, an infuriated Englishman) and hung up the phone.
Germany had not been happy when England had stormed into his home and interrupted his time with Italy. As Germany had been in the middle of testing out some new ropes he'd gotten from Japan, he felt the anger was justified. He also felt he was fully justified in throwing both his brother and England into the basement with the order to "Fuck or kill each other, I don't care, just leave me out of it." While his mood had improved with the squirming of a bound (and silent) Italian at his side, it had plummeted back down the next night when Prussia had swaggered out of the basement long enough to steal the last of the lube and his new rope before vanishing back down to the basement. No one saw the either Prussia or England for another week.
Regardless, everyone could agree that the North Americans were odd and that was all there was to it.
**France and both Italies both lived in fear of Fall time, when North America had something called 'Fair Season'. The one held in Texas was especially terrifying. The last thing to come out of that fair had been something called "Bacon Explosion". The Italies had gotten drunk and had to be bailed out of jail by their respective Doms. France too had drowned his sorrow in wine, but instead simply called up England and demanded to know what he had done to his precious little ones so that they thought such evil and grease laden foods were 'good eats.' The resulting fight ended up with England screaming obscenities in old Anglo-Saxon, while France yelled back in Ancient Gaulish.
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Or at least, Matthew reflected, that's what it seemed like. Alfred Jones's (rather pathetic) attempts at wooing Arthur Kirkland had become so bad, that it had spawned a new form of entertainment for the assembled nations. Namely, that of betting on the pair. According to Switzerland's latest memo, the Pot had now reached a half million Euros.
Matthew felt it was immensely unfair he wasn't allowed to place any bets. After all, who was it that had to clean up the mess every time Arthur unknowingly shot Alfred's attempts down? Who was it who had to listen to Arthur rant about Alfred's stupidity?
He did.
And damnit he deserved that half a million Euros.
And the last time Arthur had called, frothing mad and ranting, he'd been in the middle of finally getting his hands back on Francis and Gilbert for the first time in months. Matthew was rarely, if ever, rude to his former Colonial Master, but that had been one of the rare times that Matthew lost his temper and yelled at Arthur. Arthur had been left speechless, and he had gone on to have a rather pleasent weekend, even if Francis and Gilbert would occasionally start snickering in the middle of sex and hadn't that been humiliating enough?
(Matthew made a mental note to buy more lube, and maybe purchase some more rope because nothing burned a little like hearing your lovers start snickering while you were buried balls deep in one of them. He was going to make them regret it. He figured with enough rope, lube and maple syrup he could take over the world.)
Matthew watched as around him, the gathered nations of the world eagerly awaited the next installment of "America Tries and Fails to Get England to Notice Him." Today's episode it appeared would involve tea and scones; perhaps Alfred could be taught. On second thought, the tea was in a bag form, and both it and the scones were from Starbucks. Lovely. It seemed like, once again, Alfred would be shot down, wind up drunk and surly at his house, and he'd be fielding drunken phone calls from England.
Did the Gods just hate him in particular or was it something he'd done?
Prussia leaned over. "Ten bucks says England goes on a rant about how stale the tea is."
France predictably shook his head. "Non, it will be about the scones. L'angterree has no taste left."
"Dude! Tea! Stale tea - the Brit's going to pop!"
"Scones!"
"You're both wrong you know," Matthew muttered into the desk. Odd. He could have sworn there hadn't been a pair of thick leather gloves there a moment ago.
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Surely this would be it was enough to get a smile out of his cranky counterpart? Alfred would have gone to Matthew for help...But the last time he'd asked Matthew for his advice on his Arthur Issue(s) had been shortly after 1812, and the resulting conversation had been less then thrilling.
"Are you insane," Matthew had yelled at his twin over the crackling fire and sounds of battle. "You broke from England, from Arthur! And you want to do what to him now?! Have you lost your mind, eh?"
"No.” Alfred had yelled back, “I just..," Alfred had said," I just want Arthur to smile again! I want to see him happy and relaxed like he used to be!"
"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you broke his heart. And really? Leave me out of it eh!"
After decades of him begging for help, it had finally been an amused Francis who'd offered a few words of advice. "Woo him, mon ami," Francis confided. "Our l'angeterre, he is, how do you say, oh yes, stubborn. Woo him, show him you can be his pillar without chaining him." Thus, with a few more helpful hints on how one woos a cranky Englishman, Alfred had commenced his campaign.
Two hundred years later, it still wasn’t going very well.
It wasn't his fault! He'd tried. Really hard, too! He sent Arthur flowers, wild flowers he'd picked from the prairies and fields of his farm lands and seen them returned with scathing notes. His attempt at musically wooing Arthur hadn't quite flopped, - it had led to the Beatles coming over. But the Beatles were kinda cool and whatever, so maybe that hadn't gone as badly as he'd thought? Arthur had been confused and then insulted when he'd built the man a McDonalds so he wouldn't have to cook. The sweet sun-tea had gotten tossed out the window and he'd gotten lectured on the proper method of making, and drinking, tea.
Alfred might have given up, except that giving up meant two things. One, Arthur would not be in his bed, wearing his collar, and having every single one of his desires, needs. and wants fulfilled by one true blue American hero. Two, all of that would be taking place, but there would be a Russian villain taking his place as the starring Dom. And really, that was unacceptable.
Even if Alfred on occasion found the interfering Russian villain rather alluring.
Alfred sighed as the object of his desires marched in and glared at this morning's offering, pushing it aside with a pen and a disgusted look.
Alls he wanted was to curl up around Arthur sometimes, drag a blanket over them and stay there, wrapped together in silence;, warmth and comfortable while the rest of the world went on around them. He wanted to stay there and let the smaller nation's smell permeate his senses; to touch, caress and sooth the pale skin. He wanted to lick it, kiss it. Would Arthur taste of tea? Or maybe it would be the tang of salt, from Arthur's beloved ocean.*
Other times the image of Arthur in black leather and shiny metal loops occupied his thoughts. Would he sneer even as he opened his mouth and sucked Alfred in? Would he close his eyes and moan as Alfred ran a flogger over the raised welts on his back? Or maybe he would shiver and arch into his hand as he turned the other man's ass a brilliant red - red to match his blush. How would the other react to wearing a plug, teasing and taunting, all the while denied the ability to come?
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But most of all, Alfred wanted to see the blond Englishman beneath him, gasping and begging as Alfred licked and kissed and sucked and bit every piece of skin he could reach. He wanted to see the endless green eyes go dark with want and liquid with desire for him.
Alfred wanted to do bad, terrible, nasty things to Arthur. He wanted to do sweet and gentle things to him. He wanted to the right to his body. , He wanted to be able to proclaim to the world, that, while the United Kingdom stood proud and independent, Arthur Kirkland belonged to Alfred F Jones's.
A part of him was heart brokenheartbroken every time Arthur didn't get that;. d Didn't seeget that Alfred wanted him and was trying hard to win him. Alfred might be an untrained, inexperienced oaf, who didn't even have the right to so much as look at the Imperial British Hhouse's finest Rose, but he did anyways, and even dared to dream of putting his dirty rough hands on Arthur’s body., but damnit. It hurt. He knew that Arthur could have any nation he wanted, but he wanted to be that nation - the only nation Arthur wanted in his bed.
And oh hey, he was getting the Death Glare from Arthur now.
*(Alfred knew what Cara and Matthew tasted like from all the times they'd gotten drunk together, from the fights to the celebrations. Cara was the sun and heat of a hot Mexican day, tempered with the cool and bloody shock of her jungles' secrets. Matthew was the taste of the first true frost, sweetly laced with sugar and sharply harsh with the wind. He'd never quite worked up the nerve to ask his siblings what he tasted like, too afraid of what the answer might be. He'd asked Francis what he'd tasted like in all innocence during his Revolution.; He hadn't meant it to be a pick up line, but hey, a first time is a first time, right? For the record, Francis hadn't tasted of anything really - just sweat and blood and thinly veiled sex and violence.)
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Alfred was glaring at him again. Nervously Arthur checked his notes, straightened his shirt, lifted his chin and glared right back. He had been the British Empire, thank you very much, and he would not be intimidated by an upstart nation. Except when he was in his dreams, but who could know about that?
What on earth did that lad want now? He was already supporting his foolish wars, sorry, ‘operations’, in the Middle East. Arthur had personally sat down with the head of BP and pointed out to the man that, while yes, profits are nice, one did not casually write off safety concerns. Especially when said safety concerns might affect one's nation's object of very distant affections. Might be bad for one's continued health and all that. He'd been rather pleased when the man had gone pale and stammered out an agreement. It was always nice to know he still had the old Imperial touch.
He groaned to himself when he saw Yao's latest scheme to get the Asian Houses declared international treasures. Really, hadn't they gone over this last time?
Alfred's fingers were drumming impatiently on the table. Arthur leaned back in his chair and eyed those fingers and hands. Strong fingers, long in the bone, connecting to large, lean and callused palms. A worker's hands, the hands of someone who knew what it was like to work and work hard for a living. Those hands had built a nation, tamed the wilds and sent men to the moon.
Those hands were some of the few Arthur had never felt on himself before.
In his dreams he hears Alfred drawling out in his slow, honey sweet southern voice, asking him, "What do you want?" even as those hands spark over his body, demanding responses from him. There are nights when he wakes in a cold sweat, all but desperate for the American, and the only thing that stops him is his pride.
He is the Imperial British House's finest Rose, its Most Favored, and the embodiment of the United Kingdom. Arthur cannot allow himself to beg for his former colony's physical affections. His pride, the pride of his nation and his House will not allow him to do so no matter how much he wants to curl up and bask in the warmth of that strong body.
It doesn't help that Alfred mocks him constantly. Sending him flowers? What was the boy thinking - had he even realized what the message of those flowers was? Somehow Arthur doubted it very much. And the music, by the Queen, the music! He'd kindly sent over some real musicians to show those Americans what music was meant to be. And he wasn't a bad cook either! Certainly he cooked better then that grease laden, heart attack inducing place. At least his food killed you out right, rather than giving you a slow lingering death. True, he'd been slightly touched by the offer of tea the other year, but the sugar laden, icy beverage he'd gotten had not been the dark, slightly bitter hot brew he'd been looking forwards to.
Even today, Alfred got his small digs in with what looked to be perfectly cooked scones and that wretched fast-food tea. How had he known that Arthur had burned his toast, spilled his tea and generally had a miserable morning?
Did Alfred realize how much those small, ridiculing little gestures hurt? The way each one tore at him, deep inside, in a place he’d thought no one could get to, but somehow the bloody Yankee had managed to find.
Yet he stayed by Alfred's side, supporting all of his foolish notions, especially the wars in the Middle East. He offered what he could, and sometimes what he shouldn't. His London had been attacked in return for the support he gave, he was openly ridiculed by his fellow nations, and yet for the life of him, he could not bear to break away.
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Ah, and all the teasing hints of amazing hotness; I'd complain that you were being a tease, but you're building tension too expertly for me to believe I'm going to be let down! <3 Also, characterization, hell yeah. :D
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The world you just introduced us to is so... beautiful? so rich! I'm really looking forward to knowing more about it.
And Mexican!anon here who normally doesn't like her country as a woman LOVES your characterization of her. And Cara? mm interesting name choice, specially because it's spelled with a "C" which is right don't get me wrong, but is far less common than with "K" *_*
Will wait patiently till you update <3
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It would be in his room. The fire in the fire place lit and softly burning low after so long. Rather than throw harsh, hard light on to the scene, it would instead be lit by candle light from around the room. The light from the candles would give a soft, gentle glow to the polished wood floors and the frame of the bed. Nothing too harsh on his bed, no, but nothing too…decadent either. It would be the soft, worn linens and thick warm quilts of his younger days.
And, of course, there would be Arthur.
Arthur. Delicious, willful, imperial Arthur sprawled out on the fine, clean linens of his bed. Of course all that oh-so markable pale English skin would be on display, shifting over muscles that once had the strength to meet and destroy empires. Those fascinating muscles still held a sort of strength. How else could the United Kingdom continue to stand as a world power after the loss of its empire, if not for the inner strength of steel that Arthur Kirkland called his own? It made the willing submission of the nation all the sweeter; for all that strength and power to willingly be given over to another was intoxicating. Equally intoxicating was the play of the dark leather cuffs encircling the nation's limbs and neck. Thick, well made leather restraints that could hold back rampaging bulls. Play toys these were not. These were things meant to be used, meant to hold up to nearly anything.
He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs a little to relieve the sweet ache. Perhaps in a bit he might have those lips wrap around him, and watch the green eyes of the island nation grow dark and wild. But it was not quite time for that, no, it was still time to lean back and watch the show.
The same pale English skin he'd just been admiring was blossoming with red. Bite marks, kisses and pinched skin began to show, turning a lovely red color against the near white skin. (He'd always been fond of red.) He watched as the second nation's lighter blond head worked it’s way across that narrow chest.
"Please." Arthur was jerking at the restraints. Trying to get free? It would make sense, given that he'd been tied up and touched for hours without a release. Anyone, even an English Imperial Rose, might be willing to break training and beg after so long.
"Shhh. Soon." Ah ah ah., Do not make promises you cannot keep,. he thought to the nation currently teasing Arthur. Perhaps it was time to raise the stakes a bit and push both of the nations curled in the bed farther. Reaching towards the small desk near him and the lit candles on it, he. selected a tall, dark green one that gave off the scent of ocean and pine. How appropriate. He stood and walked towards the couple, holding the candle in one hand and sheltering the flame with the other. It would not do to let it blow out before it could be put to use.
A tanned hand would reach towards his, their fingers tangled and touching before he would surrender the candle to the blond nation. A smile would be his payment, a brighter and more brilliant one then any movie star could hope for. He would sit next to the pair, tangling his hand in the dirty blond English hair and wait.
"Take a breath Arthur," the order came," take a breath and scream for us."
He shivered as Arthur did as he was ordered, shrieking as the hot green wax dripped onto his chest. Lines and dots grew in random patterns, a green forest growing over the well used English landscape. As the tan nation kept it up, the urge to join in grew till he couldn't take it any longer.
"Please! Please oh god please, more!" Ragged pleas, desperate and unthinking, came out of Arthur's mouth, his hips bucking for contact, for release from the bindings, for anything that might push him over the edge. It felt empowering ... to be the one this Imperial Rose pleaded with, for rare was the Rose that begged for anything.
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A low laugh from the tanned blond nation. "I think he wants more."
Their eyes, pale violet and sky blue met, and without words they came to an understanding. His hand plucked and twisted the clamp free just as the other nation dripped a bit of wax on Arthur's most sensitive bits. The resulting shriek as they watched, greedy, as Arthur nearly bent in two despite the his restraints and a hard groan ripped itself from two throats as they watched the desperate Englishman.
"More, more, I need.."
The choked words did much to warm him up. It was always good to be appreciated. "Perhaps we should give our little one what he wants, da?" Ivan's smiled at his counterpart super power. "It isn't polite to tease so."
Alfred's blinding grin showed as -
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BANG!
Ivan jerked back to reality with a grimace. It was Alfred slapping his hands on the (reinforced after the last two UN meetings) desk. The unpleasant look on his face made Ivan sigh to himself. Why was it that Alfred was only agreeable these days in his daydreams? For that matter, so was Arthur, what with his
crankiness extended towards nearly every Dominant nation.
"Dude, giant mirrors in space will totally work!*"
"That is the dumbest idea to come out of your mouth ever, aru! And we have heard plenty," Yao yelled back. Predictably Alfred stiffened at the insult. "You never think, and you always leap in head first! Is it any wonder you cannot keep your debts in order?!"
Oh, excellent choice comrade. Bring up the debt issue again. Ivan rolled his eyes. For all that he was pleased another communist nation was becoming a world power, it displeased him that Yao forgot what his economy was based on.**
"Ve, maybe we should break for lunch and have pasta," Feliciano ventured softly. Little Feli joining in? The only reason for that could be, oh yes. Ludwig was starting to turn purple in the face in mute rage.
Perhaps Ivan should invite Ludwig to spend time in the quiet wilds of Kamtchaka - the fishing was excellent and it was far, far, far from anyone who might wish to intrude on his time. It would not do for the German to suffer from such frustration, and it would not do for little Feli to have to temper that frustration and then have his hard work undone.
"What we should do is discuss how I'm being repaid," Yao shrilled.
True, he would not be able to invite Alfred and Arthur to his cabin then, but he had other homes and other beds.
Around him, as he sat thinking, the room descended into the normal chaos of a UN meeting, as Alfred and Yao turned a meeting on fixing the global greenhouse effect into a pitched battle over global debts.
*There really is a plan to put mirrors in space to reflect the sun's rays and thus cool down the world's atmosphere as a way to combat the green house effect. However, the cost of such a venture would bankrupt every nation on earth 5x over - and there is no guarantee that the glass mirrors would make it to their target destination intact. And yes, it was proposed by a US scientist. Though, a British engineer has done some research on it and concluded the mirrors wouldn't likely make it out of the atmosphere.
* There is indeed a plan to put mirrors in space to reflect the sun's radiation away from the planet. Fun facts - the orginal idea was created by an American team, though a British team did a fair amount of testing on it. The major issue with the plan is that it would a) bankrupt the world fi
** According to this one's crazy professors (and this one assumes that those professors are smart and knowledgeable) most of the Chinese economy depends on a few things - foreign trade, & the manufacture of cheap goods, and foreign debt. If any of the major importers of Chinese goods were to stop and focus on making their own (such as the US) it would have a devastating effect on the economy. However, an even worse blow would be if the US (or any of the EU countries really) paid back their debts in full as China profits far more on collecting the interest then it would in ever collecting the full debt.
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Wasn't Yao over 5,000 years old? Didn't he know better by now? Couldn't he be the adult for once, since everyone knew that getting Alfred to act his age was impossible?. Why did Yao have to start in on Alfred just as they might actually get a useful idea out of the other nation?
(Stupid idea, yes. Oddly thought out, planned and articulate and actually potentially useful idea also yes. It just needed a bit of work. A bit more engineering and Arthur privately thought maybe it might have some potential uses. Certainly it made more sense than the previous umbrella idea.)
Personally he thought Yao kept antagonizing Alfred because Alfred was an unknown - neither Sub nor Dom nor Switch as far as the world knew. He'd never been trained by anyone, and other then a few rumored treaty-related handjobs early on his nationhood, had never bedded anyone. That a super power was wandering around like this, bumbling about in the world's ordered function must be like a thorn under the ancient man's skin. Either that or Yao had finally gotten sick of losing Ivan's attention to Alfred.
"At least I do not wear and tear at my allies, and force them into wars aru!"
"I didn't force anyone! They saw that something had to be done too!"
"And your stupid little wars have led to what? More killings!"
It irked him that Alfred had not been trained by the Imperial House. It almost hurt - Alfred had been destined for the Scottish branch, to be trained by Arthur's own brother as an Imperial Lion if he'd turned out to be a Dom, and if not then it was to Arthur's own English branch he would go to become a Rose. Either way, it had been intended for the then-young Alfred to serve Arthur as his Imperial Protectorate, to be his consort and serve Arthur in all ways.
(The idea of the golden Lion emblazoned on Alfred's bicep, the elegant Celtic knot work depicting his training master was a bit…thrilling to think of. The Lion would suit him well with his fierce and loving nature. He would effortlessly dominate in bed, to be sure, and he'd be able to put that freakish strength and stamina of his to good effect. Yet at the same time, Arthur could easily see him as a Rose, submitting without letting anyone in, sex on legs and with the ability to make anyone fall to him.)
That had been the plan, Arthur's cherished little plan. He'd set it up at much personal cost. Angus had agreed, a bit shockingly, to test the lad's mettle and determine where to send him. He'd had to agree to Angus having first pick of all his colonies for training, but he’d thought the potential pay off was worth it he'd thought at the time. If only Alfred had waited another ten years! One little decade was all he would have had to wait out before he could send Alfred to Scotland for his four years of training. And without Alfred being there, being physically present in the colonies, he could have easily put down the rebellion and kept Alfred by his side.
But it hadn't gone like that.
"I want my freedom, Arthur. You can't keep me chained up forever. You force me to do as you will and never think about what I want. Alls I am to you is a pet, a prize to be shown off to the world! Well I won't be your pet any longer!" The door had slammed as Alfred stormed out into the rain. Two days later, the colonies and their master nation were at war.
Arthur stood up and yelled. "Oi!"
Nothing happened. If anything the yelling got louder.
This called for drastic measures. Luckily, he'd come prepared.
BANG.
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The sound of a gun going off silenced every one of the quarreling nations. Almost as one a sea of heads turned towards the Englishman. He smiled. "Thank you all for shutting up. I'm calling a recess. Perhaps during the break you will all learn to grow up, so that when we return we can sit down and discuss the current issues like proper nations," he snapped.
"Excellent idea, eh," Matthew agreed hastily. "Seconded!"
Francis rolled his eyes, "Thirded."
"Smashing! Motion passed. Now piss off and don't come back till you can act your age!" Arthur snarled at the still frozen nations. After a moment of silence, countries began to drift out the door, some in pairs, some by themselves. Matthew looked to be deep in a quite whispered argument with Francis and Gilbert complete with motions towards Alfred. He supposed he should be a good host and find out why Yao had gone out of his way to antagonize Alfred today, but it looked like someone else was already speaking with the asian nation. Ivan had been practicing of late a more...kinder, gentler Russia policy towards other nations in an attempt to better his foreign relations. Well at least he wouldn't have to deal with Yao's passive aggressiveness today if he still needed to deal with that lad.
AnonWriter: /headdesk. Totally failing at the Copy & Paste duty tonight!
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D-dammit, Ivan's fantasies are such a tease. *wipes away a tear of lust* Not that sharing Arthur with Ivan is anywhere near the top of Alfred's list, but damn would they be a formidable pair! Even with no apparent experience on Alfred's part. OTL
Around him, as he sat thinking, the room descended into the normal chaos of a UN meeting, as Alfred and Yao turned a meeting on fixing the global greenhouse effect into a pitched battle over global debts. This is only slightly less civilized than real UN meeting, you know, and possibly more useful. :'D
Ugh, Arthur's point-of-view keeps bringing up too many amazing possibilities; his plans for Alfred are kind of intriguing, although they ultimately wouldn't have ended well, considering Alfred's personality, the Revolution, etc. Just definitely not meant to be! And yeah, Alfred being an unknown really does have to be frustrating to Yao, doesn't it? Pfft, Arthur can't stop thinking about that strength and stamina, can he? XDDD
Now that I think about it, I've been in fandom or on this meme far too long, if the phrase "a few rumored treaty-related handjobs early on his nationhood" makes perfect sense to me! :'D
... 'Kay, I love your Arthur forever for firing off a shot to get everyone's attention, as well as for being cranky with all the Dominant nations. For that matter, I also love you guys for using the words "dominant" and "dominate" correctly! <3 I mean, they're different parts of speech, so it should be easy, but most people still fail at it. OTL
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So this is really awesome so far. Altho it seems a little odd that it was England with a gun as opposed to some of the more gun happy nations
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