“Ah, sorry. It’s so strange to think you don’t see them.” “No, it’s fine. What was it?” He sits back down on the bed. “Just a pixie. Asleep under my bed, for some reason. Sometimes I don't understand the creatures myself.” “…huh.” "Oh, stop giving me that look. It's gone, now, anyway, and there are no monsters, so just go to sleep already," he grumbles. "I'd like to get at least two hours' rest tonight." "Sure. 'Kay." Alfred pulls his jeans off and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna lend me some jammies?" "Hm." England turns to one of his drawers. "I suppose you could borrow this." He pulls out a set that looks like it will fit him. "Oh, come on," America laughs. "Even your PJs are button-down?" He takes them (perfectly normal striped pajamas, nothing formal about them) and holds them up. "Jeez. You don't ever sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt or something? I could go to a meeting in this. Is that a crease in the leg?" "Look, I don't care what you sleep in," England growls, "as long as you do it quietly. For goodness' sake." "You're telling me. I'm seriously considering just sleeping Italy-style," he says, even as he's pulling them on. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not nearly so permissive as herr Ludwig." "Hah. Not even if I kiss you and call you amore?" "That's French, and no." He gives Alfred a wary look as he climbs into bed. "I'm not sure if Ludwig or I have it worse in terms of sleeping partner." "He does. At least I don't cling." "Yes you do. And you'd better not." "Fine." "Fine." England rolls over. "Go to sleep." "Fine." There are a few blissful minutes of near-quiet, interrupted only by Alfred shifting and rolling like he has Parkinson's. England doesn't want to give him an excuse to talk again, though, so he doesn't complain. America finally settles. He begins to fall asleep. "What was that." England jolts awake again. "Hm?" "I heard something." "Chrissakes. It was the house. It was a fairy. It was your bloody imagination." "Can it. I'm listening." Arthur listens too, just in case. Nothing. A small creak. Alfred tenses noticably. "'d you hear that?" he whispers. "Yes. It was nothing." "It was something. You don't have ghosts, do you?" "Of course I do. They're not dangerous." "…that'd better be fucking sarcasm, England, I swear to God…" "About there being ghosts, or that they're dangerous?" "Fuck." Alfred scoots closer to him. "You and your fuckin' occult bullshit. Tell me you're just making that up."
"Fine. I'm making it up." "You don't sound serious." "Listen, Alfred," Arthur says tiredly. "They're nothing to be afraid of. The worst thing that could possibly happen tonight is Gregory will hide your keys for a bit, or a sprite will sleep in your shoe or something." "Gregory?" "The ghost." "You are shitting me." America scoots closer. "You didn't tell me you had a ghost. You have got to be shitting me about the ghost." "He's perfectly harmless. He's less dangerous than a cat." "Don't talk about it like it's a cat it's gonna hear you." Alfred clutches his arm. "Oh fuck. Did you hear that?" Arthur did. He sighs. "Don't encourage him. He likes the attention." "Fuck." America (home of the brave!) is shaking. There is a thud and the sound of footsteps in the hall. "Do you fucking hear that." "He's just making noise. Ignore him and he'll stop it." For good measure, he sits up and calls, "Gregory, stop all that ruckus. Have you any idea what time it is?" "Don't make it angry." Alfred wraps his arms around Arthur's waist. "Oh, it's fine - now, stop that, you!" he adds at another (louder) bang. "You're not a bloody poltergeist, have some self-respect!" "Oh god oh god oh god." America sits up to press his face into England's shoulder. "This is not fucking happening." "Just hold on a minute, all right?" "Don't fucking leave me here - fuck - Arthur -" He follows England as he gets up and strides to the door. "Gregory, what in the Queen's name are you doing out here - put that down you bloody sod I will exorcise you from this house -" "Can you do that?" Alfred asks behind him. "Now, honestly," he says, ignoring the trembling git altogether. "I've got my chalk and my salt and my books all sitting in the other room, if you'd really like to make a fight of it." A crash. He rolls his eyes. "I'm going, Gregory," he warns. "On the count of three. One." Silence. "Good. Now," he says, turning back to Alfred. "Will you please get back in bed and stop giving me that look." "…yeah." He does not, however, cease looking at Arthur like… well, it's a look very similar to the one he used to get as a child, not quite admiration but close, sorely close.
Arthur sighs as, for the third time that night, he lays his head on his pillow. "Hey, that was really cool just now." "Compliment me in the morning when I've slept a little," England gripes, not feeling any of the annoyance in his voice. "It's not as if I did anything worth praising." "Are you kidding? You kicked some ghost ass. That was awesome. Like, hero-awesome." "Stop talking like you're impressed. You're not a child anymore." Arthur turns away from him some more to hide his happy blush. "And that ghost, I'll have you know, has lived here since this house was built, and we've always have a fairly pleasant rapport. He just got excited because you were reacting to him." "Yeah, well." America slides up close to him. "I still thought you were really cool." "Mm." He tries not to grin, not sure if Alfred will see him. "Thank you, I suppose. And I'll thank you to please -" "Go to sleep. Right. Okay." Alfred slings an arm over Arthur's waist. "'Night." "Goodnight." He waits until he is sure Alfred is asleep to take his hand. One-thirty a.m. He sleeps better than he has in years.
So cute! This was really enjoyable, I loved their bickering and the way their interaction eventually softened out. Don't worry about the html, it's still perfectly legible. Great job!
I lost count of how many times I burst into giggles and "awww"s, because your characterisation was just pitch perfect. And the ghost incident. XD I wanna sleep over at England's.
This was too much win. I loved EVERYTHING. The set up is awesome, their dialogues are hilarious and the random pixie under the bed was so great and clever and funny, and everything was perfect. I was trying to count my favorite lines but I lost the count after the third chapter. =D
“You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.” “Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.”
You know, I think this must be the best discussion about this matter that I´ve ever read.
(Amore is french? o.o I thought it was italian...)
“No, it’s fine. What was it?” He sits back down on the bed.
“Just a pixie. Asleep under my bed, for some reason. Sometimes I don't understand the creatures myself.”
“…huh.”
"Oh, stop giving me that look. It's gone, now, anyway, and there are no monsters, so just go to sleep already," he grumbles. "I'd like to get at least two hours' rest tonight."
"Sure. 'Kay." Alfred pulls his jeans off and sits on the edge of the bed. "You wanna lend me some jammies?"
"Hm." England turns to one of his drawers. "I suppose you could borrow this." He pulls out a set that looks like it will fit him.
"Oh, come on," America laughs. "Even your PJs are button-down?" He takes them (perfectly normal striped pajamas, nothing formal about them) and holds them up. "Jeez. You don't ever sleep in just boxers and a t-shirt or something? I could go to a meeting in this. Is that a crease in the leg?"
"Look, I don't care what you sleep in," England growls, "as long as you do it quietly. For goodness' sake."
"You're telling me. I'm seriously considering just sleeping Italy-style," he says, even as he's pulling them on.
"Unfortunately for you, I'm not nearly so permissive as herr Ludwig."
"Hah. Not even if I kiss you and call you amore?"
"That's French, and no." He gives Alfred a wary look as he climbs into bed. "I'm not sure if Ludwig or I have it worse in terms of sleeping partner."
"He does. At least I don't cling."
"Yes you do. And you'd better not."
"Fine."
"Fine." England rolls over. "Go to sleep."
"Fine."
There are a few blissful minutes of near-quiet, interrupted only by Alfred shifting and rolling like he has Parkinson's. England doesn't want to give him an excuse to talk again, though, so he doesn't complain. America finally settles. He begins to fall asleep.
"What was that."
England jolts awake again. "Hm?"
"I heard something."
"Chrissakes. It was the house. It was a fairy. It was your bloody imagination."
"Can it. I'm listening."
Arthur listens too, just in case.
Nothing.
A small creak. Alfred tenses noticably.
"'d you hear that?" he whispers.
"Yes. It was nothing."
"It was something. You don't have ghosts, do you?"
"Of course I do. They're not dangerous."
"…that'd better be fucking sarcasm, England, I swear to God…"
"About there being ghosts, or that they're dangerous?"
"Fuck." Alfred scoots closer to him. "You and your fuckin' occult bullshit. Tell me you're just making that up."
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"You don't sound serious."
"Listen, Alfred," Arthur says tiredly. "They're nothing to be afraid of. The worst thing that could possibly happen tonight is Gregory will hide your keys for a bit, or a sprite will sleep in your shoe or something."
"Gregory?"
"The ghost."
"You are shitting me." America scoots closer. "You didn't tell me you had a ghost. You have got to be shitting me about the ghost."
"He's perfectly harmless. He's less dangerous than a cat."
"Don't talk about it like it's a cat it's gonna hear you." Alfred clutches his arm. "Oh fuck. Did you hear that?"
Arthur did. He sighs. "Don't encourage him. He likes the attention."
"Fuck." America (home of the brave!) is shaking. There is a thud and the sound of footsteps in the hall. "Do you fucking hear that."
"He's just making noise. Ignore him and he'll stop it." For good measure, he sits up and calls, "Gregory, stop all that ruckus. Have you any idea what time it is?"
"Don't make it angry." Alfred wraps his arms around Arthur's waist.
"Oh, it's fine - now, stop that, you!" he adds at another (louder) bang. "You're not a bloody poltergeist, have some self-respect!"
"Oh god oh god oh god." America sits up to press his face into England's shoulder. "This is not fucking happening."
"Just hold on a minute, all right?"
"Don't fucking leave me here - fuck - Arthur -" He follows England as he gets up and strides to the door.
"Gregory, what in the Queen's name are you doing out here - put that down you bloody sod I will exorcise you from this house -"
"Can you do that?" Alfred asks behind him.
"Now, honestly," he says, ignoring the trembling git altogether. "I've got my chalk and my salt and my books all sitting in the other room, if you'd really like to make a fight of it." A crash. He rolls his eyes. "I'm going, Gregory," he warns. "On the count of three. One." Silence. "Good. Now," he says, turning back to Alfred. "Will you please get back in bed and stop giving me that look."
"…yeah." He does not, however, cease looking at Arthur like… well, it's a look very similar to the one he used to get as a child, not quite admiration but close, sorely close.
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"Hey, that was really cool just now."
"Compliment me in the morning when I've slept a little," England gripes, not feeling any of the annoyance in his voice. "It's not as if I did anything worth praising."
"Are you kidding? You kicked some ghost ass. That was awesome. Like, hero-awesome."
"Stop talking like you're impressed. You're not a child anymore." Arthur turns away from him some more to hide his happy blush. "And that ghost, I'll have you know, has lived here since this house was built, and we've always have a fairly pleasant rapport. He just got excited because you were reacting to him."
"Yeah, well." America slides up close to him. "I still thought you were really cool."
"Mm." He tries not to grin, not sure if Alfred will see him. "Thank you, I suppose. And I'll thank you to please -"
"Go to sleep. Right. Okay." Alfred slings an arm over Arthur's waist. "'Night."
"Goodnight."
He waits until he is sure Alfred is asleep to take his hand.
One-thirty a.m.
He sleeps better than he has in years.
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Land of the brave, eh?
That was wonderful author!anon. Thanks for sharing this with us.
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I lost count of how many times I burst into giggles and "awww"s, because your characterisation was just pitch perfect. And the ghost incident. XD I wanna sleep over at England's.
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This was too much win. I loved EVERYTHING. The set up is awesome, their dialogues are hilarious and the random pixie under the bed was so great and clever and funny, and everything was perfect. I was trying to count my favorite lines but I lost the count after the third chapter. =D
“You said your days of needing me were over," Arthur says softly. "A long time ago.”
“Well, fuck,” Alfred mutters. “I’m always saying stupid shit.”
You know, I think this must be the best discussion about this matter that I´ve ever read.
(Amore is french? o.o I thought it was italian...)
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