So I'll Catch You Off Guard With A Snazzy Picture
See that?
There are at least 5 more gears in there that I want.
But you know what sucks?
THAT TRIANGULAR PIECE ON THE TOP WON'T UNSCREW.
RAWRZ.
Anyway though.
Onto better things.
Like... really ancient sorts of fanfic that I've been staring at since the dawn of time.
[Ok, big exaggeration, eh...]
Title: Dear January, Oh So Long Ago [really has nothing to do with the fic, but more the circumstances around it...]
Author: Q~
Rating: PG? Well, I guess there's a bit of subtle innuendo in the end, so maybe 13?
Characters/Pairings: France/Canada
Warnings: Still have yet to take French [fall quarter, I see you~] so I may have messed something up.
Summary: "I've always loved the idea that colonial!Matthew took one look at the extravagant bow that Francis used to use to tie his hair into a ponytail and fell in love with it. Whenever Francis picked him up in his arm, he would go straight for the bow and play with it or tug at it."
o0litodreamer0o mentioned France/Canada and France’s ribbon like... eons ago.
[IN JANUARY. OH MAN, THAT IS ONCE UPON A TIME, ISN'T IT. I'VE HAD THIS SITTING AROUND FOR 3 MONTHS. YEESH.]
But... anyway...
I find this incredibly adorable.
And, given the amazing amount of Prussia/Canada, yet the [in comparison] lack of France/Canada, I attempted to level the field by adding more to the community.
I don’t own Hetalia, which is probably a good thing.
So here we go; nothing but cute fluff [and faking historic references.]
-----
“Aha! I’ve found you~”
With a laugh, Francis scooped the child into his arms and held the boy to his shoulder, heading off toward their cabin.
It was right there, right within his reach. Eagerly, Matthew pulled his arms above his head, stretching as far as his tiny body could. Chubby fingers brushed against the vivid red satin, barely grazing the bright ribbon. The boy whined in frustration, flailing about in hopes of pushing himself that extra few centimeters closer.
“Now now, ours blanc, if you don’t calm down I’ll end up dropping you!” Francis teased, tossing him gently in his arms. “We’ve only got another mile or so.”
The young boy stood before the door, peering with a silent intensity through the crack in the doorway. The man’s back was too him. He was wrapped under a thick layer of blankets, his body rising and falling at an even, gentle pace.
Timidly, the Canadian nudged the door open, wincing as it creaked quietly and echoed in the silence. He froze, violet eyes wide as he waited in fear at being caught sneaking about so late at night. Time seemed endless as the minutes ticked on into the darkness. The elder blonde didn’t move, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
Breathing a soft sigh of relief, Matthew tip-toed forward, treading at an agonizingly slow pace until the sheets of the bed grazed his knees. If he strained himself, grasping the cotton fabric before him in his small fists, balancing on the balls of his little feet, he could see the long golden tendrils of hair spread out over the pillows. Like the wings of an angel, spreading outwards - and stilled tied up in that beautiful scarlet bow.
Carefully, he reached out, wanting so badly just to be able to touch that sleek red ribbon, to release and bring freedom - if only, if only -
And suddenly he was being swept upward, raised into the air and then buried under the warm cave of blankets in the blink of an eye. Surprised, he gasped, head snapping upwards to find deep blue orbs smiling down at him.
“What brings you here, ours blanc?”
“I - I wanted - “ With a sniffle, the petite child curled up against the mans chest, burying his face into the smooth folds of the Frenchman’s nightshirt.
Arms wrapped around the Canadian, enveloping him in warmth and comfort as Francis ran a hand through his hair.
“There there, Mathieu. Did you have a nightmare?” No reply. The older blonde smiled, placing a tender kiss on the boys forehead. “It is alright, Mathieu. I won’t let anything hurt you - I’m right here, and I always shall be. I promise.”
It was snowing. Matthew bit his lip as he stared out the backyard window, worried. This would be the first year since the World Wars spending time with someone other than Kumakimchi for the winter season. Francis had promised to join him for the holidays this year, and was expected any moment now. But the young man knew very well that the older blonde wasn’t used to driving, much less in the snow. What if something bad happened? What if he hit a patch of ice? What if someone else did and crashed into him? What if -
A knock at the front door interrupted his spiraling train of thought, sending him stumbling down the stairwell of his house as he ran to answer. But what if it wasn’t Francis - what if it was a policeman, a harbinger of bad news? In his rushed whirlwind of panic, he tripped smack into the door, sliding to the floor in a daze.
“Mathieu? Mathieu - is everything all right, mon cher?” Scrambling to his feet as a surge of relief overcame him, the Canadian flung the door wide open, clinging to the handle in order to keep himself steady in a half-standing pose.
“Oh, Francis! You’re alright!” he cried with a joyous smile. The Frenchman returned the smile, albeit a bit uncertainly.
“But of course, mon amour. How else would I be?” Matthew flushed a light pink, embarrassed at his previous doomsday thoughts.
“Nevermind,” he insisted, waving the other inside. “Come in, come in. Would you like something to drink? I have tea, or coffee, or - or hot chocolate…”
Francis grinned, watching the young man’s face heat up once again.
“Sorry. That’s probably a bit childish of me. Here, I’ll go make - “
“It sounds delicious, Mathieu,” he assured soothingly, settling onto the chesterfield in the living room.
“Ah… alright. I won’t be more than a few minutes, then.” With that, the Canadian bounded off in a flustered flurry, disappearing behind the wall of the hallway. With that, the blonde Frenchman smirked, setting to work as he plotted to make this holiday the most enjoyable yet.
He was wearing that ribbon.
Matthew fumbled with the cups before him, forcing himself to take a deep breath and relax. It certainly wasn’t anything new. Francis was always wearing that ribbon. At least whenever he was around the Frenchman - though according to England, said nation of love hadn’t worn it since the fall of Napoleon.
Why was it so troublesome anyway? It didn’t matter how Francis wanted to deal with his hair.
The Canadian felt like slamming his head against the counter. Why did it bother him so much then?
“Mathieu, is everything alright? Do you need help?”
Yes, he thought pitifully, I’m losing my mind.
“No no, it’s fine - I’m coming!” he called back instead, placing the two mugs on a plate and carrying them back into the living room. Francis was sprawled against the arm of his couch, lounging regally without a care in the world.
“Ah, there you are, ours blanc. Why don’t you set those on the table and come sit with me - we have much to discuss.” Oblivious to the seductive purr edging the man’s voice, the Canadian did exactly that, carefully placing the tray on the mahogany tea stand and turning to face his guest.
Instead, he was caught up in a trap, entangled in Francis’ arms as he was whisked onto the mans lap and held close.
“Francis,” he started, turning to pout at the man. In retaliation, the Frenchman nuzzled against his neck, grinning as he pressed kisses beneath his jaw. Matthew sighed, contenting to wrap his arms around Francis’ neck and enjoy the attention.
His wrist brushed against something strange; curious, he tilted his head to peer around. It was the ribbon. Distracted, the young man squirmed, trying not to disturb Francis as he craned his head to get a better view. He carefully reached to grab the ends, attempting to be subtle as the bow came undone.
Matthew gazed at the scarlet band in his hands, completely enthralled with the beautiful satin ribbon. It was soft, just as Francis’ lips had been, gentle, just like the mans touch, smooth, just like his words - absolutely beautiful. He didn’t notice that the Frenchman was watching him, amused, until the man began to speak.
“Why so enraptured, mon amour? It is but a pretty scrap of cloth, after all.”
“I always wondered…” The Canadian paused, unsure of how to speak his thoughts without sounding obsessive. “I always wondered why you wore this. Why it’s so special to you.”
“It reminds me of you.” The younger nations head snapped up, violet orbs wide with surprise.
“Me?”
“When you were a tiny little colony - you would always try and tug it from my hair,” Francis reminisced with a smile. “That was how you came to like me - the first time you stopped spying and hiding behind that bear of yours was to ask how I came to have it. After that you would follow me, and in turn you let me stay by your side.”
Matthew closed his eyes, resting his head on the Frenchman’s shoulder. The scene was easy enough to bring from the depths of his memory, for it was a precious moment that he held close to his heart. As a young nation, he had been wary of strangers moving about his land - watching these men from across the ocean at a safe distance, making sure to keep Kumakimchi close by for protection.
He had been curled up on top of the large polar bear, studying the foreigners from a thicket of trees on a hill overlooking one of the popular inlets. That was when Francis had truly caught his eye, standing apart from the usual practical attire the other foreigners wore. Upon closer inspection, the boy noticed inescapable details of the other nation - hair like the warm summer sunshine, eyes like deep pools of water, and an aura just like himself; done up in rich, exotic clothes of vivid sky colours, lined in fish-scale silver, and a black hat with a flowing green feather of some fantastic creature of the imagination.
But it was the flash of red that caught his attention. Without thinking, the young child had hurtled himself down the snow drift, and within seconds was attempting to climb up the mans back in an attempt to touch the beautiful scarlet ribbon dangling at the Frenchman’s neck.
Since that moment, the Canadian had been trying in vain to capture the silken tie.
And here it was, in his hands at last. Yet… it seemed so very unimportant now, for after all, he had something much better than a pretty scrap of cloth. Still holding it in his hands, Matthew pressed a firm kiss against his lovers lips, smiling at the realization and saying as much.
“Ah, but you forget, mon amour,” Francis pointed out with a grin as he kissed back, his hands wrapping the ribbon around the Canadian’s wrists. “This ribbon can be used as more than a mere hair tie…”