Like walking on needles
anonymous
March 4 2011, 00:35:55 UTC
England always thought that Russia was a creepy bastard. His smile, his height, his much-too-sweet voice... everything about the hulking nation screamed 'creepy'. He wasn't the only one that thought that; that was a fact of life. It was like how France was a pervert, and how America was hero-obsessed. Every time England thought of Russia, it was followed up by "Creepy bastard." Then why on Earth was he fixing Russia's scarf? The preferred answer? England was simply a kind chap who did random good deeds to help his fellow men, no matter how creepy said man was. The correct answer? England valued his life way too much, and if fixing Russia's scarf meant that his life would be spared, then so be it. Okay, so Russia didn't really threatened him. It wasn't like he said, "Fix the scarf, or I'll gut you!" Instead, he said: "Please, England! That scarf is like a part of me, and I had it since I was a boy! Please fix it!" England agreed, mostly because the evil aura around Russia could've popped out if he refused. A tiny part of him agreed, because, well... Russia sounded so desperate when he said that. It was like he was begging England to reattach his hand, as gross as it might sound. Besides, England hated to turn down puppy dog eyes (and oh, how much America exploited that fact). "Thank you, England!" Russia had gave him a huge smile, and England could had sworn that it was genuine. "If you come drop it off, you can stay over for a while, da?" And for some reason, England just might.
Like walking on needles [2a/?]
anonymous
March 4 2011, 22:11:15 UTC
Russia grinned as he surveyed his living room. He had cleaned it thoroughly the day before, as well as stocking up on tea and vodka (which he actually had enough of beforehand, but one could never have enough vodka).
He even managed to get Belarus out of the house before she suspected anything. Of course, that was easier said then done.
Belarus looked up at him. Her eyes were narrowed.
"Big brother," she said slowly, "You know that I would do anything for you."
Russia nodded eagerly. "Of course I know that, Bela! That's why you're perfect for this mission!" He said, sounding just as eager.
Perhaps he was a bit too eager. His sister's eyes blinked in confusion.
"But Russia, you're asking me to find Rasputin's autopsy report! Hasn't it been gone for years?"
Russia knew that. He also knew what happened to the report, but that's a story for another day.
"I know, but just because it disappeared, that doesn't mean that it's gone for good!" He said.
It seemed like Belarus disagreed. Her expression darkened. Russia watched nervously.
Then Belarus' face relaxed. Her lips twitched upwards into a smile.
"Whatever you say, dear brother," She said sweetly.
Russia didn't liked how that sounded.
On second thought, he could had been a bit more subtle.
No matter, though. England would be at his house soon, and Russia would be the best host England ever saw. Russia was determined about that.
No wonder China liked having guests over! Russia always liked going over to China's house, drinking tea and eating rice as China chatted to him.
He missed those days... but no matter! What was important was that England was coming over!
(Author's note: If anyone can tell me how to re-edit the first chapter, I'll love you forever. Seriously, the paragraph spacing is bugging the crap out of me! Thanks for reading this chapter!)
Like walking on needles [2b/?]
anonymous
March 6 2011, 16:53:26 UTC
This is not a good idea...
England stood in front of Russia's house. He held the scarf out in front of him, almost like an offering.
Why did he think that it would be a good idea to actually visit Russia? He guessed that it was because he stayed up late, trying to make sure that the end result was satisfactory. It wasn't because the scarf was hard to fix, really, but because he really didn't want to get on Russia's bad side.
To add to England's uneasiness, it seemed that even Russia's house had the knack of intimidating people. England felt ant-sized next to the large house. He also felt like he was being watched, and he hoped that it wasn't General Winter or Belarus.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Russia peering out a large window. He saw Russia smiling when he saw his guest. In response, England forced out a smile.
Russia disappeared from the window. A second later, the door swung wide open.
"Hello, England! You came to visit me, da?" Russia still had that delighted grin on his face. His purple eyes shone with excitement.
"Er..." England glanced down at the scarf. Russia followed his gaze. His grin grew wider, if that was possible.
"You fixed it!" He exclaimed, gleeful.
Of course I fixed it, you git, what did you thin-kkk... oh, damn! England's angry inner monologue was interrupted when Russia grabbed his arm. The huge nation dragged England inside his house.
"I'm so glad!" Russia said happily. "And you'll stay for a while, da?"
"Let go of me, you wanker!" England exclaimed. He wiggled his arm, attempting to free himself- really, Russia was gripping his arm a little too tightly. "Don't you want your scarf?"
At the mention of his beloved scarf, Russia let go of England's arm. England scowled and shook his arm, in order to get rid of the numbness. As he did so, Russia grabbed the scarf from England's hands.
"Thank you, England." Russia wrapped the scarf around his noticeably bare neck. "I have some tea in the kitchen. Would you like some?"
England sighed. It didn't really seem like Russia was going to let him leave. Besides, he did love his tea...
Maybe he could tolerate a short visit.
*****************************
The tea was the Earl Grey's brand. England made it himself; he felt a little suspicious about Russia's hospitality, and he didn't want Russia to put something funky in there.
It didn't seem like Russia was planning anything, anyway. He sat at the table, sipping vodka from a glass; he had declined England's offer to make some tea for him. After a few minutes of silence, Russia spoke.
"I was just wondering, what kind of stitch did you use?" He asked. He was staring at the stitches in the scarf. It was towards the end of the article of clothing. England had used white thread to sew the rip up. The stitches formed small, neat X's on the fabric.
"The cross-stitch," England said, pouring out some tea in a mug. He moved on to add a little bit of milk. "it wasn't so badly torn." It really wasn't. It was little more then a rip.
"I know." Russia shrugged his broad shoulders. England sat down with him, instinctively leaning away from him a bit.
"I never learned how to sew." Russia said after another pause.
"Is that so?" England wasn't too surprised. Most people didn't learn how; America didn't, for example, despite the fact that England would try to teach him.
"Yes," Russia nodded. "It always seemed hard."
"Not really, once you get the hang of it," England explained. "When you do, it's- OH, MY GOD!"
Earlier, neither of them were paying attention to the door. However, when a furious blond girl ran through the door while screaming russian swear words, the men did more then just pay attention.
To be more accurate, they abandoned their drinks and ran out of the kitchen, screaming all the way.
Re: Like walking on needles [2b/?]
anonymous
March 10 2011, 00:18:28 UTC
Wah, this is so cute~! Lol, they’re both running away from Belarus? Who wouldn’t, yeah? I’m such a sucker for unconventional friendships, so I am absolutely loving this so far~ Looking forward to more in the future! Near future? *hinthint*
Like walking on needles [3/?]
anonymous
March 12 2011, 02:55:45 UTC
England firmly believed that the visit couldn't get any worse.
After Russia and England escaped Russia's house, they jumped into Russia's truck and made the perilous journey to the motel England was staying at.
It actually was perilous. Russia drove like a maniac; England was nervous that they might crash into a tree or something (which they almost did. Three times, in fact). England kept his eyes on the road, screaming out warnings and obscenities at Russia.
Towards the end of the drive, England wanted to hand himself over to Belarus and face the consequences. It would had been a better way to die.
Before he did, Russia had pulled up to the motel. England had flung the door open, grateful that he had survived the Car Trip From Hell.
He had stepped out of the truck... and promptly slipped on a sheet of ice.
Russia had carried him inside the motel bridal-style, despite England's protests. They had both gotten a lot of weird looks from the patrons, although some people had snapped pictures with their phones.
Currently, England was laid out on his motel room's bed, covered with a thick blanket. Russia was in the bathroom, doing God knows what.
Bored, England stretched his hand out towards the nightstand and grabbed his cellphone. He opened it. He stared at the screen in disbelief for a few seconds, then groaning as he tilted his head back.
He got a lovely bump on his head, thanks to the headboard.
That's it, America needs a hobby...
"What's the matter?" Russia came out of bathroom, carrying a pipe. England was pretty sure that the ash-blond didn't have it in the truck with him. He decided to ignore it.
"Nothing, really." England shrugged. Russia walked over next to England. The smaller nation eyed the pipe nervously as Russia leaned down.
Russia raised his eyebrows. "America sent nineteen text messages?"
"I... guess." Really, why was America on his speed dial?
Because he asked, and you can't resist his puppy dog eyes...
That was probably the pain talking. England was sure about that.
"He must be worried about you," Russia glanced down at England. His purple eyes looked soft, almost innocent. How they were able to look like that next to a (possibly stolen) pipe was any ones guess. "Did you read them?"
"Not yet," England said. "it's probably filled with heroic rants about protecting the innocent, or something."
Still, it would be rude to not read them. Besides, they were from America.
"Can I read it too?" Russia asked. Without waiting for a response, he walked to the other side of the bed. He sat down on the mattress, almost breathing down England's neck.
"Uh..." England was about to refuse, but then he remembered the pipe that was still in Russia's hands. "Sure. Why not?"
(Author's notes: Thanks for your help and reviews, guys! Seriously, you're all awesome!)
Re: Like walking on needles [3/?]
anonymous
March 17 2011, 23:46:45 UTC
I like how they didn't become instant friends, and how England is so paranoid about Russia. Poor guy, though, his sister is terrible! Though he was innocently curious, I hope his rivalry with America shows up at some point.
Then why on Earth was he fixing Russia's scarf?
The preferred answer? England was simply a kind chap who did random good deeds to help his fellow men, no matter how creepy said man was.
The correct answer? England valued his life way too much, and if fixing Russia's scarf meant that his life would be spared, then so be it.
Okay, so Russia didn't really threatened him. It wasn't like he said, "Fix the scarf, or I'll gut you!"
Instead, he said:
"Please, England! That scarf is like a part of me, and I had it since I was a boy! Please fix it!"
England agreed, mostly because the evil aura around Russia could've popped out if he refused.
A tiny part of him agreed, because, well... Russia sounded so desperate when he said that. It was like he was begging England to reattach his hand, as gross as it might sound.
Besides, England hated to turn down puppy dog eyes (and oh, how much America exploited that fact).
"Thank you, England!" Russia had gave him a huge smile, and England could had sworn that it was genuine. "If you come drop it off, you can stay over for a while, da?"
And for some reason, England just might.
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Also, sorry about the cruddy paragraph spacing.
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Just make sure to remove the spaces before the 'i's. Just press preview before posting to ensure everything is alright. That's what I do :'D
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He even managed to get Belarus out of the house before she suspected anything. Of course, that was easier said then done.
Belarus looked up at him. Her eyes were narrowed.
"Big brother," she said slowly, "You know that I would do anything for you."
Russia nodded eagerly. "Of course I know that, Bela! That's why you're perfect for this mission!" He said, sounding just as eager.
Perhaps he was a bit too eager. His sister's eyes blinked in confusion.
"But Russia, you're asking me to find Rasputin's autopsy report! Hasn't it been gone for years?"
Russia knew that. He also knew what happened to the report, but that's a story for another day.
"I know, but just because it disappeared, that doesn't mean that it's gone for good!" He said.
It seemed like Belarus disagreed. Her expression darkened. Russia watched nervously.
Then Belarus' face relaxed. Her lips twitched upwards into a smile.
"Whatever you say, dear brother," She said sweetly.
Russia didn't liked how that sounded.
On second thought, he could had been a bit more subtle.
No matter, though. England would be at his house soon, and Russia would be the best host England ever saw. Russia was determined about that.
No wonder China liked having guests over! Russia always liked going over to China's house, drinking tea and eating rice as China chatted to him.
He missed those days... but no matter! What was important was that England was coming over!
(Author's note: If anyone can tell me how to re-edit the first chapter, I'll love you forever. Seriously, the paragraph spacing is bugging the crap out of me! Thanks for reading this chapter!)
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England stood in front of Russia's house. He held the scarf out in front of him, almost like an offering.
Why did he think that it would be a good idea to actually visit Russia? He guessed that it was because he stayed up late, trying to make sure that the end result was satisfactory. It wasn't because the scarf was hard to fix, really, but because he really didn't want to get on Russia's bad side.
To add to England's uneasiness, it seemed that even Russia's house had the knack of intimidating people. England felt ant-sized next to the large house. He also felt like he was being watched, and he hoped that it wasn't General Winter or Belarus.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Russia peering out a large window. He saw Russia smiling when he saw his guest. In response, England forced out a smile.
Russia disappeared from the window. A second later, the door swung wide open.
"Hello, England! You came to visit me, da?" Russia still had that delighted grin on his face. His purple eyes shone with excitement.
"Er..." England glanced down at the scarf. Russia followed his gaze. His grin grew wider, if that was possible.
"You fixed it!" He exclaimed, gleeful.
Of course I fixed it, you git, what did you thin-kkk... oh, damn! England's angry inner monologue was interrupted when Russia grabbed his arm. The huge nation dragged England inside his house.
"I'm so glad!" Russia said happily. "And you'll stay for a while, da?"
"Let go of me, you wanker!" England exclaimed. He wiggled his arm, attempting to free himself- really, Russia was gripping his arm a little too tightly. "Don't you want your scarf?"
At the mention of his beloved scarf, Russia let go of England's arm. England scowled and shook his arm, in order to get rid of the numbness. As he did so, Russia grabbed the scarf from England's hands.
"Thank you, England." Russia wrapped the scarf around his noticeably bare neck. "I have some tea in the kitchen. Would you like some?"
England sighed. It didn't really seem like Russia was going to let him leave. Besides, he did love his tea...
Maybe he could tolerate a short visit.
*****************************
The tea was the Earl Grey's brand. England made it himself; he felt a little suspicious about Russia's hospitality, and he didn't want Russia to put something funky in there.
It didn't seem like Russia was planning anything, anyway. He sat at the table, sipping vodka from a glass; he had declined England's offer to make some tea for him. After a few minutes of silence, Russia spoke.
"I was just wondering, what kind of stitch did you use?" He asked. He was staring at the stitches in the scarf. It was towards the end of the article of clothing. England had used white thread to sew the rip up. The stitches formed small, neat X's on the fabric.
"The cross-stitch," England said, pouring out some tea in a mug. He moved on to add a little bit of milk.
"it wasn't so badly torn." It really wasn't. It was little more then a rip.
"I know." Russia shrugged his broad shoulders. England sat down with him, instinctively leaning away from him a bit.
"I never learned how to sew." Russia said after another pause.
"Is that so?" England wasn't too surprised. Most people didn't learn how; America didn't, for example, despite the fact that England would try to teach him.
"Yes," Russia nodded. "It always seemed hard."
"Not really, once you get the hang of it," England explained. "When you do, it's- OH, MY GOD!"
Earlier, neither of them were paying attention to the door. However, when a furious blond girl ran through the door while screaming russian swear words, the men did more then just pay attention.
To be more accurate, they abandoned their drinks and ran out of the kitchen, screaming all the way.
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Anyway, great story!
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After Russia and England escaped Russia's house, they jumped into Russia's truck and made the perilous journey to the motel England was staying at.
It actually was perilous. Russia drove like a maniac; England was nervous that they might crash into a tree or something (which they almost did. Three times, in fact). England kept his eyes on the road, screaming out warnings and obscenities at Russia.
Towards the end of the drive, England wanted to hand himself over to Belarus and face the consequences. It would had been a better way to die.
Before he did, Russia had pulled up to the motel. England had flung the door open, grateful that he had survived the Car Trip From Hell.
He had stepped out of the truck... and promptly slipped on a sheet of ice.
Russia had carried him inside the motel bridal-style, despite England's protests. They had both gotten a lot of weird looks from the patrons, although some people had snapped pictures with their phones.
Currently, England was laid out on his motel room's bed, covered with a thick blanket. Russia was in the bathroom, doing God knows what.
Bored, England stretched his hand out towards the nightstand and grabbed his cellphone. He opened it. He stared at the screen in disbelief for a few seconds, then groaning as he tilted his head back.
He got a lovely bump on his head, thanks to the headboard.
That's it, America needs a hobby...
"What's the matter?" Russia came out of bathroom, carrying a pipe. England was pretty sure that the ash-blond didn't have it in the truck with him. He decided to ignore it.
"Nothing, really." England shrugged. Russia walked over next to England. The smaller nation eyed the pipe nervously as Russia leaned down.
Russia raised his eyebrows. "America sent nineteen text messages?"
"I... guess." Really, why was America on his speed dial?
Because he asked, and you can't resist his puppy dog eyes...
That was probably the pain talking. England was sure about that.
"He must be worried about you," Russia glanced down at England. His purple eyes looked soft, almost innocent. How they were able to look like that next to a (possibly stolen) pipe was any ones guess. "Did you read them?"
"Not yet," England said. "it's probably filled with heroic rants about protecting the innocent, or something."
Still, it would be rude to not read them. Besides, they were from America.
"Can I read it too?" Russia asked. Without waiting for a response, he walked to the other side of the bed. He sat down on the mattress, almost breathing down England's neck.
"Uh..." England was about to refuse, but then he remembered the pipe that was still in Russia's hands. "Sure. Why not?"
(Author's notes: Thanks for your help and reviews, guys! Seriously, you're all awesome!)
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Lol at England slipping on ice and having Russia carry him inside. I'd totally would have taken a picture as well o3o
Looking forward for more~
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