wynn's hideaway

they/them • asks/requests open • a depository for any and all of my hetalia related writings, aus, headcanons, the works

[fickle-rocket]

Cardverse Unravelled: New Masks Donned and Old Rivalries Forgotten

Few manmade wonders could rival the splendour of the Kingdom of Diamonds on an average day, but seeing the castle truly shine in all of its glittering glory was a rare joy. Even the harshest critics had to lay down their quills in dumbstruck admiration. For all the extravagance that bled from Diamonds, no citizen was made to go without their due means of survival. What good was being the kingdom of excess if the everyday layman went without?

Not that any expense had been spared tonight, heavens no. If there was one skill that King Francis possessed, it was how to show flagrant disregard for the budget presented to him when it came to recreational affairs. In fact, the effervescent king even had the presence of mind to accept full responsibility and personally ensured that all in his court were aware that he personally hand-picked most of the decorations. 

Ordinarily, the ballroom would be decorated from top to bottom in shades ranging from the palest of golds to the deepest of russets. Such warm tones were the trademark of the Kingdom of Diamonds. 

But to host such an ordinary ball necessitated ordinary protocol. Meaning that it would simply be another night of painful small talk on anything but politics and none of the invited guests from other nations would truly relax and make themselves at home. Far too many of the other rulers were overly conservative when it came to proper etiquette and tradition. That was precisely why tonight would be anything but an ordinary ball. 

The colour that King Francis had chosen to decorate the ballroom in proved it, or rather, the lack of colour. Black, white, and every shade of grey. The colour of the Jokers, and Francis so desperately wished they would be in attendance. They always knew how to have such fun.

An extraordinary ball meant that unusual guests, much like the Jokers, could partake in the festivities without fear of inviting disaster. The pair of exiled princes deserved to join in at least once. All the other cards would be coming after all, and not all of the other cards were royalty by birth. It was only fair. 

Ah, but this whole event would only work if the attendants adhered to the strict dress code: leave the usual formal attire at home. Wear instead a disguise, cloaking both your face and your kingdom. None should be able to recognise you. 

To solidify the rules outlined in the formal invitations he sent out months ago, Francis traded his preferred light oranges and rich golds for blues and teals that would make the deep ocean jealous. Colours fit for the Kingdom of Spades, which dresses itself in the complete opposite of the colours of Diamonds. Instead of gilded accents, those dark tones were broken up by silver and white, all topped off with a white mask that concealed only the upper half of his face. 

He could have blended in perfectly with the monarchs of those illuminated Spadian annals were he less attractive. 

That was much too harsh. The Jack of Spades, whom Francis had known the longest, was a dear friend and ally. The King of Spades and his brother were wholly incapable of growing up in Francis' mind, the duo boasting the same cuteness as they did years ago when they would look up at their self-proclaimed Diamant big brother with near identical grins. It wasn't fair how the brothers had grown up to the point that they now looked down on the King of Diamonds with such juvenile mirth. 

No, all that he detested about the Kingdom of Spades (which was not very much overall, given the size of an entire nation) was neatly contained in one insufferable man: the Queen of Spades himself. 

Francis had the inkling that Queen Arthur would not be so willing to disregard propriety and shed his traditional navy blue attire. The least that the King of Diamonds could do was beat him at his own game by outdressing his old friend and rival in the Queen's own colours.

With the sounds in his ballroom growing louder, it was time to find out. Francis had been hiding in a secret corridor for some time; few would have to wonder about his true identity if he was the first to arrive. In his own palace. Being one of two men who lived in the castle proper, and the only man there who was not born with a stick firmly lodged in his rectum.

Was that too harsh to say of poor Basch? Probably; after all, his Jack of Diamonds did put together an acceptable budget for the festivities after weeks of Francis' begging. Never mind that Francis would have to be an idiot to claim that he ruled the kingdom all by himself. Basch was better at the legal and administrative duties, while Francis flirted with legal and civic liberties and much preferred appealing directly to the people.

Once laughter filled the great room and music danced in the evening air, the King stepped out of his hiding place and closed the door behind him. About two dozen people had arrived so far. Good. It was just shy of half of the "primary" deck, though there was no telling how many of the "secondary" cards may show up, those that bore a title but held no true power. Tonight, they were just as welcome as any of their "official" counterparts. 

His queen was the first and only that Francis readily recognised. Dressed in a pale pink, the masked girl cowered away from everyone who was taller than her. 

Which was to say, nearly everyone in attendance. 

"I heard you won't have to be lonely for long," Francis whispered to her as he passed. He turned around to add, "There should be plenty of other children here soon. Do you remember that boy from Clubs I told you about?"

"I remember," Lili, the Queen of Diamonds replied shakily, her hand on her chest as she took a timid step forward. Her whole body rose up and fell as she took a deep breath, then said, "Before you go... Before you go find your friends, can you dance with me? Just once?"

Even though her face was obscured by a cute bunny mask they had bought just days earlier, Francis knew well the soft pout that Lili would wear after making such a request. The girl seldom asked for anything much and well- Basch claimed he never gave in to his little sister. He was often proven wrong and teased by Francis, who made no such claims himself. The king knew full well that he was putty in Lili's hands. 

Francis chuckled and reached out to take her hand. "Only as long as you don't step on my toes."

But Lili did, and Francis never made a move to correct her. In fact, she stepped on top of his feet and gladly had him dance for the both of them. 

This was so much easier when she barely came up to his waist, Francis decided as he struggled to twirl with the extra weight on him. Didn't she know she was getting too big to do these kinds of things? Or that Francis would soon be getting too old? But the soft giggles that came from behind the bunny mask made all the strain worth it, and the King of Diamonds buried his complaints and danced more vigourously than before. 

Lili was growing up too fast as it was. Best to indulge her now before she went and became a proper woman altogether.

She may have been shy and groomed for the royal lifestyle, but Lili was still a girl. And by girl, he meant child. Meaning that the moment the pair of dancers caught sight of an equally small figure entering the room, the Queen of Diamonds leapt off of Francis and bolted for the unknown child. A few cracks in his feet resounded from the final parting gift and the king groaned.

Maybe she wasn't growing up at all and he was just growing old. 

And to think that his good friend and trusted advisor, the Ace of Diamonds, had once blatantly lied to Francis' face by insisting that he had imagined the silver hairs so innocuously blended in with his natural ashy blond.

Well, he was not yet so old that letting go of his sobriety would fail to fix most, if not all, of his complaints. Francis watched long enough to see Lili shaking hands and then linking arms with the other child, then he strode over to one of many tables full of refreshments. In many ways, the girl was still the painfully shy shadow of her older brother, but more and more she was learning to come out of her shell. Surely Francis could let hid guard down and trust that Lili could navigate such a massive party all on her own.

Just because he had a little sister to look after, it didn't mean he couldn't make friends of his own. This was his party, after all.

He had hardly been at the table for half a minute before he was joined by another. If clothing was any indicator, Francis would have assumed the figure was Clovian in origin. They wore a long, emerald overcoat, a chartreuse vest, and their breeches and the large bow that proudly adorned their chest was a crisp white. Francis might have mistaken the individual for the Jack of Clubs if not for their wheaten hair so meticulously combed back, a stark contrast from Roderich's tousled hickory hair. 

Alas, it was too hard to tell who the stranger was under that black, gold, and green mask that obscured all but a cheek and their pursed lips. Francis did have to concede that it was the point of the whole affair, even if knowing was more fun. Not knowing was enticing in its own way.

He tucked a rogue strand of hair behind his ear and reached for a glass of champagne. Becoming inebriated at the start of the party would inhibit his memory and probably turn him into a terrible host. On the other hand, he could hardly refuse a bubbly lift to facilitate social interaction. Even the charming King of Diamonds had to survive the night somehow. 

"Is she yours?" The stranger cut in. Male, but his Diamant was so refined that even Francis couldn't pick up much of an accent. Were any members of his court this intriguing without an elaborately gilded mask?

He sipped his champagne and scanned the growing crowd for Lili. No sight of her.

No bother. Tonight was for both of them.

"Sorry?" Francis replied, his attention focused once again on the man standing before him.

If he weren't keeping his head down, Francis would have assumed the other was rolling his eyes. To his point, the man crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg. 

Just like...

But that man would never in a thousand years surrender his misplaced pride by speaking in the noble Diamant tongue.

"Your sister. Or your daughter. The girl you were dancing with," the other replied, his gloved hand delicately grabbing a deviled egg. He then proceeded to take a modest bite of it, his other hand covering his mouth, but his eyes still failing to meet Francis'.

Clearly it was because he was too flustered. They had to know each other. Now Francis was fully determined to solve the puzzle without being figured out himself.

"I don't know," replied the King of Diamonds as a slow smile crossed his face, "Doesn't that defeat the whole point of the mystery?"

An impatient huff. A bottom lip protruding in an uptight pout. His face reddening slightly and his forehead wrinkling as he thought. His weight shifting from leg to leg once more. Finally, the gentleman dressed in green gave a defeated sigh and shook his head. 

"I suppose," he muttered in concession.

Francis smiled.

"I wouldn't mind a dance if you are available," he offered, extending a hand to his new acquaintance. Of course, he likely wasn't really all that new, but the joy of the evening came from its make believe and the temporary suspension of reality. 

All the same, the man in green accepted after finishing his snack and the pair strode to a more open space where they could dance freely. The celebration was even more spectacular in such rapid motion, shades of grey spinning amid ribbons of colours that so rarely decorated the kingdoms on any other night. And his mystery friend was impossibly light on his feet as if he was gliding across the floor, the two dance partners effortlessly switching between leading and following as the whim caught them. They might as well have been flying.

Now, as much fun as it was to dance with his precious Lili, neither she nor her brother could dance like that. Francis looked to his dance partner with a fond smile, noting those green eyes were still more interested in focusing on anything but the King of Diamonds. Not that it mattered, he came to expect as much. This was far closer than the two would ever be allowed to be were it not for the masks covering their faces.

"May I ask which kingdom is your home?" Francis asked as the two slowed their pace to be in time with the music. Vague details never hurt anyone. 

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the mystery?" His dance partner shot back, smug grin on his face. 

Touché.

But then the man shook his head, his proud expression eroding into a soft smile, as he added, "Not Clubs. You?"

"Not Spades," Francis replied as if it held any bearing at all.

"Hmph."

This business of getting to know someone without really knowing them was a bigger pain than the King of Diamonds originally realised. What superficial questions could he ask without immediately giving himself or his partner away? He hummed as he thought, then decided to voice one he figured would be innocent enough. 

"May I ask your ranking? Even a rough range of numbers?" 

The gentleman in green pursed his lips, his head turned away. His head tilted this way and that until finally he said, "Best not."

Actually, was it so fair to ask? If the question had been posed to Francis, he would have given a similar answer. Being king, he didn't exactly have a number assigned to him. If his partner declined for a similar reason...

Francis ran through the numbers in his head. There were eighteen cards without numbers assigned to their ranks, but everyone from the Diamant Court and the Jokers could be safely eliminated. That made twelve. If he wasn't Clovian like he said, that left eight. Of that eight, only five were blond. But he was by far the shortest of that bunch, standing roughly at Francis' height, which could only mean that if this man truly had no number tied to his rank, then he was the Queen of Spades. 

Not that Francis minded. All his public outcry aside, Queen Arthur moved with a certain grace whenever he had the good sense to keep his mouth closed. He could have even been seen as attractive under the right circumstances, mostly if he didn't spend so much of his time glaring at this and that and bickering at whatever or whomever annoyed him so. 

But as long as the Queen of Spades never caught on to Francis' identity, or if he continued to act like he hadn't, the two had a fighting chance at an unforgettable night. So Francis, who most certainly wasn't going to spoil the magic of the night, chuckled softly and slowed their dancing just long enough for him to kiss the back of his partner's hand. He of all people could keep a secret, and he knew the man before him could do the same. 

"I take it you understand?" Queen Arthur asked.

The King of Diamonds did not in fact understand, not truly, but he nodded as if he did. He understood that the Kingdom of Spades was the most deeply rooted in archaic tradition and this was one of the few ways to bend that tradition. He understood that no matter how enrobed in their veil of fun and fantasy they were, when the façade faded away, they both had their own responsibilities to see to. Responsibilities which only tangentially involved the other. 

"I daresay this is one of your better ideas," the Queen of Spades observed as he took the lead in their dance without a modicum of objection from his partner. "I grow weary of the strict formality of our usual functions. Although I hear the King of Diamonds is known for his whimsical, nigh outlandish fantasies."

"Don't tease," Francis warned, though the elation in the circumstance left his tongue rendered quite numb. Clearly he was out of practice in handling his old friend and rival. Diamonds and Spades ought to conduct more business if he wanted to keep his wits sharp.

Queen Arthur snorted, impish grin peeking out from beneath the mask. This was his dangerous smile, the one he wore moments before landing them in some sort of trouble. It had been that way ever since they were small. Francis couldn't wait to see the mischief that would befall them now.

"Very well," the queen replied airily. "In any case, I propose we take our leave of dancing and go elsewhere."

"And what sort of elsewhere do you have in mind, hm?"

"Patience, love."

But as Queen Arthur whisked Francis away from the ballroom, the king could not say that he was surprised by the secret passageways that allowed them to move unseen. He had shown them to Arthur when they were boys running free throughout the castle. Just as they did then, both men failed to hide their smiles as they snuck about, all their inhibitions gone thanks to the informality of the evening.

[frukmerunning]

i…..

[fickle-rocket]

Prussia Headcanons

Gil is definitely one of those guys who lies about his height to comfort his ego.

In his mind, he is convinced that he's about the same height as America.

In reality, he's damn near the shortest of his family and he is the shortest of his usual crowds (Spain and France, America and Denmark).

Doesn't mean he can't and won't throw down with anyone who beefs with him, even if he's not as good at fighting as he used to be.

He's the kind of dudebro who will wear shorts in winter to prove his fortitude.

It backfires when his fragile (aka dead) body shuts down in protest and he's bedridden from a fever that takes a week to break.

Oftentimes, he forgets or refuses to believe that he's not as strong as he used to be, so he's always getting himself into fixes and binds.

It gets him into trouble with Germany and the two argue about it, only for Prussia to shut up the moment his kid brother gives him those damn eyes.

Seriously, even now he can't refuse giving into whatever his brother wants.

He can't let go of the past, always calling Germany his little brother or his baby brother.

And it always comes as a shock to those who don't know them because hey who's this beefcake who's twice your size and why do you keep calling him little?

Because he has maintained the oath of chastity that he swore in his youth as a Teutonic Knight, he had no idea that he was asexual until the modern era.

As in like, twenty-first century kind of modern.

He isn't sure he's not aromantic too, a weird revelation for someone who's been around as long as he has and has had girlfriends and boyfriends and casual flings.

Anyway, he doesn't like to dwell on it. It's better to have the friends that he does than worry about a partner.

Besides, he's got a full time job already and doesn't want to make more work for himself.

This full time job? Finding new ways to make Germany have a fit over him.

Not that he's blatantly, stupidly reckless, but with his brother taking care of all national obligation, he suddenly has much more free time on his hands.

What else should he fill it with besides impulsive weekend getaways, skydiving, ziplining, swimming with sharks, and other novel experiences?

He has always been a man of many skills thanks to a rigid discipline and a firm belief in bettering oneself.

Don't tell Austria, but he has been interested in music for a long time, and not just the metal that he and his brother have come to be known for.

In centuries past, he would experiment with compositions while refining his swordfighting, humming melodies while beating the shit out of his target.

While he claimed it was because it's a popular instrument, the main reason he learned to play the violin was to irk Austria since that and the piano are his thing.

Much of why he has ever done anything has been to spite Austria. And Hungary, and Russia, and England, and everyone else who is so fun to annoy.

It has become less noticeable as he has gotten older, but when he was little he had the most prominent lisp.

If you ask him, he is Germania's favorite by far. In reality, he's the sole reason the man got grey hair (because Germania wasn't about to let Rome do that to him).

The quickest way to get him to do something? Tell him that he can't or that he's lousy at it.

His favorite pastime is showing others how wrong they are and how right he is.

[ashafox]

Alfred’s favourite holiday is Halloween, because he gets to see his little brother again

[fickle-rocket]

Russia Headcanons

Although he'll happily eat anything sweet, he prefers "tan" sweets (honey, butterscotch, caramel, treacle) over the rest.

That being said, he does have a soft spot for good vanilla as well as anything involving raspberries.

He much prefers tea and does NOT like coffee. He will however drink it if it's blended with so many other things you can hardly tell there was coffee in there to begin with.

He can handle the sourest of foods but has absolutely no spice tolerance.

On more than one occasion, he's drank straight up vinegar and boasted about how tasty it was so he could fool someone into trying it.

He's tried other similar gags, but they tend to fail since most of the others think it's just another quirk of his.

Francis was the first person he had any real friendly encounters with without some sort of underlying agenda, so Ivan's always been a little attached to him.

Especially growing up a little on the awkward side, it's nice to have a "big brother" that looks out for him from time to time.

You could say he's since taken a special interest in French culture which he tries to stay up to date on.

Francis is pretty sure he means well with this interest, but sometimes he doesn't know whether to be flattered or nervous.

His other main interests include dance, classic literature, needlework, architecture, and of course, astronomy.

Before he even knew of the proper science of "astronomy", he charted the stars and planets above since he always found it fascinating.

No one has let him go to space.

He's not happy about this.

During at least one point in his life, he's had those little glow in the dark sticky stars in his bedroom.

He won't admit it, but he likes creating scale models of famous buildings and sometimes cityscapes.

He's good at things that require a good deal of focus, to the point he can lose himself in a task for hours at a time.

Although he's friendly and cheerful enough with everyone, he's incredibly uncomfortable with the thought of truly opening up to anyone.

It exacerbates his loneliness, but he convinces himself it's for the best so he's not hurt.

His pseudo big brother has told him it won't do any good to keep himself completely locked away though, so he's learning to confide in inanimate objects.

While not much has changed outwardly, it is helping his confidence! He's also finding he can be quite the chatterbox once he gets going.

Extreme heat doesn't faze him as much as it might be expected to, given that he has some control over the situation.

For example, he's starting to get uncomfortable if it's hotter than 68°F/20°C outside, but he can sit in the banya or next to the fireplace all day if it pleases him.

It's not so much that he's sensitive to extreme cold so much as he is resigned to it. Every year, he begrudgingly accepts that it's wintertime.

It's getting better and better though. With gas/electric heating, hot water on demand, and other modern comforts, he can hardly complain!

Not to mention he's working to see more of the upsides of winter, like festivals and holidays, ice skating, hot drinks, an excuse to eat more sweets, and other positive things.

[fickle-rocket]

2p FrUK Headcanons

They'll happily have 'proper' dates and such like that, but most of the time they're just fine with a quiet night in.

It took absolute centuries for them to get to where they are now, but they seldom had the spats that Arthur and Francis have had.

Most of the time it's simple miscommunication that drives them apart for a time.

They've worked on it for a long time, and nowadays they would like to claim they understand each other well.

Sometimes Lilian can't handle too much touch, so in these times or when he's away, Oliver will instead cuddle the most raggedy stuffed animal he can find.

It's because he likes being reminded of Lilian's hair. Usually he's relied on a black stuffed cat, but recently a stuffed skunk has become the new favorite.

(Once Allen found out, he dubbed Lilian 'stinky' and it has, like countless other not-so-flattering nicknames, stuck.)

(Lilian doesn't care anymore because he can't actually remember the last time Allen referred to him by name.)

Oliver gets bored easily when watching television, so it's not uncommon for him to end up combing and brushing Lilian's hair or giving him a manicure (even if he isn't allowed to do anything besides an occasional clear coat as far as polish goes).

He will also do his very best to distract Lilian from whatever he's doing to get some attention, usually in the form of sneaking kisses or worming his way into his lap.

Lilian once thought it would be a good idea to do the same to Oliver when he was in the kitchen.

Once.

It ended with both of them choking on flour and a cake that Oliver forgot to put any sugar into.

Since then Lilian's learned to stick to his own gestures, which usually comprise of weeding and watering Oliver's plants, doing the not so fun chores, listening to whatever topics Oliver's currently interested in, and other subtleties that may or may not go unnoticed.

When they live together, their house is actually reasonably tidy. When they live on their own, their respective homes are complete disaster areas.

Oliver does much better when he has someone to fuss over, and so does Lilian when he has someone to keep him from going too far into his own head.

Things may have been different when they were younger, but they don't need much excitement anymore. They just want to be holed up and cozy in a cute cottage somewhere in the countryside.

And that's exactly what they do. Oliver can't really sustain the excitement he gets himself into and Lilian hates much of modern life, so they both prefer to live more simply.

So far, it's worked wonders for them. They're both amazingly content to live such small, comfortable lives.

[ironicorange-hetalia]

Never really know that vanya would ever on news

I just got back home and what the actual fuck

[fickle-rocket]

[fickle-rocket]

Austria Headcanons

Seeing as how his glasses are purely ornamental, he uses different pairs to pair with different outfits, though for the most part he picks fairly subtle frames.

His thrifting ability veers on supernatural, the way he can go into the most run down little secondhand shop and come out with a pristine 19th century coat that he got for 10€.

No one knows how he finds these things, and he's not about to give away his secrets. Maybe even he doesn't know.

France is trying to get him to start a fashion inspo account. Austria has always politely declined.

He says it's because he has neither the time nor the interest, when really it's because he's unable to navigate a smartphone.

Unrelated to technical skills, but he's the kind to hold a phone in one hand and use his opposite index finger to type.

In most conceivable ways, he is an old man in spirit.

He doesn't like going to new places by himself, for fear that he'll end up lost and in a totally unfamiliar area.

Goodness help him when the local grocery store rearranges its layout.

Back in the days where travel was mostly either on foot or on horseback and Austria was supposed to navigate by himself, he usually ended up in Rome.

Because you know what they say...

Now that there's buses he doesn't drive and high speed trains he most certainly doesn't conduct, he's better at getting from point A to point B.

Although he doesn't do it all the time, he still enjoys activities that involve horse riding.

He's quite fragile in comparison to the other nations, so he often doesn't participate in anything too strenuous if he can help it.

Sometimes he uses mobility aids to get around, his device of choice often being an ornate cane. Because style matters.

Since he's always had his setbacks, it was primarily Austria who helped the indomitable Prussia get used to whatever state he's in now, whether that's living, dead, or something in between.

He's nowhere near as tidy as his German cousins, but he doesn't like his things to be very messy either.

During the times that he can't have Hungary clean his mess clean by himself, he will begrudgingly hire someone to clean.

It's a known fact Germany cleans up after him when he cooks/bakes, but Austria shamelessly bribes him with sweets to get out of tidying up.

As much as he loves his capital, he also adores retreating to the countryside both in summer and in winter.

It's at his country residence that he often works on composing his own music or, once in a great while, tries his hand at painting.

He would like to spend more time entertaining there, only he seldom has any company.

In this day and age, he's maintained few enemies. His circle is small though, usually focused around Hungary, Prussia, Germany, and Spain.

He would have better relations with Switzerland now, if only Austria didn't claim his alpine neighbor was incapable of intelligent speech whenever the two speak German to each other.

He keeps a list of instances other nations have annoyed him and the significance of the incident.

As reserved and fairly subdued as he is, he loves participating in different festivals. He has also enjoyed coffee shop settings since their inception.

The venue has to be just right, but if he likes a certain coffee shop or bar, he'll occasionally perform as a live musician.

[fickle-rocket]

Metamorphosis AU: Installment 1.3

If you didn't listen too closely, the chittering all around them could have passed for human language. It did have all the right sounds. But if you really listened to what the voices said, you would note that they sounded less and less human with every iteration. 

At first, America could grit his teeth and say it was probably birds. Probably. A few bird species on Earth had the capacity to mimic the human vocal tract. Surely alien birds weren't much different.

Well that was all fine and good to tell himself, at least until the eyes appeared. They reflected the light of the bioluminescent forest, casting dots of various shades of orange, yellow, and green all around them. No matter where he looked, they were surrounded.

"What a welcome committee! I feel famous, don't you?" Russia exclaimed as he looked around them, tapping the dense metal shard he'd picked up against his hand.

America rolled his eyes and carefully adjusted his broken arm so he could tuck his lumpy metal ball under it for safekeeping. Pretty well useless as a portal in its current state, but maybe while his arm kept him from sleeping, he could try to reassemble the door.

"Doesn't it creep you out to have so many…whatever-they-ares watching us?" He asked. Maybe he did come off grumpy, but there were plenty of other people he'd rather be stuck in an alternate dimension with. 

As if to give him extra credibility, whatever owned those glowing eyes latched onto his words and started repeating them until they turned into gibberish. Some of them started laughing and hissing.

Immediately Russia put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "The worst thing you can do is show the enemy fear, Fedya. Second worst is speaking loud enough to set them off like that," he said ever so cheerfully.

"You're being louder than I am," America hissed in response. 

The voices snickered and a few brave souls crept closer to them. The dim light shone just brightly enough to reveal their silhouettes and…they looked disturbingly human. 

Not all the way. One or more of their limbs would be contorted into a shape that wasn't quite right or what he could see of their faces was distorted ever so slightly. But they were bipedal and recognizable enough as human. 

America looked up at Russia, whose expression had hardened. The two moved closer to each other, their backs to each other so they hardly had a blind spot between them. 

"Do you think we should make a run for it instead?" America muttered, swiping in the direction of the humanoids whenever one got too close for comfort.

Russia clicked his tongue. "I think you should play your football and I should practice my swordfighting," he replied, a soft whooshing sound coming from his direction as he swung his makeshift metal club.

Would it kill him to be a little more straightforward? Ever? 

"Hey genius, my arm's busted, remember? And you can't even play football by yourself anyway," America countered as he tossed his ball up in the air a few times to keep his hand occupied. The humanoid figures surrounding him stopped creeping closer and instead watched his metal ball move up and down. 

America nudged Russia with his elbow, the Slavic nation looking over his shoulder to see what the fuss was all about. 

"I don't think they're hostile, just curious. But they don't seem as advanced as us either, look," America murmured, a few of the humanoids mimicking him in that same soft tone. Up close, he could see that many of their distorted limbs were covered in fur, though a few had feathers instead. 

The younger of the two looked up at the elder, who had since turned back around. Russia stopped swinging his makeshift baton around and smiled at the figure nearest him. 

"Hello," he started with a small wave of his hand, "We lost our friend. Can you help?"

Much to the duo's surprise, the humanoid- should they have called it a woman instead? -returned the wave and looked to her friends. They chittered amongst themselves for a few moments, then she looked up at Russia and tilted her head. 

"Vobis tou? Poison?" She announced with a proud smile, though her voice rose at the end as if asking a question. 

Russia looked to America, who shrugged. It was all nonsense. Aside from the obvious disfigurement and their eyes ranging from brown to red to violet and some of them bearing sharp teeth, they may have looked human, but they probably lacked intelligent speech of their own. They were awfully fond of repeating things though, that much was clear.

"Poison? Doesn't sound very friendly," Russia mused. 

The woman started giggling, and the boy beside her took the opportunity to speak up. He pointed behind them and shouted, "Ferdam a fokal!"

Wait a minute…

Ferdam a fokal. Verdammte Vogel. Vobis tou. Wo bist du?

Poison. Preußen.

Germany wasn't far from them, wherever he was. 

"Dude, it's German. These guys are speaking German to us," America explained. He laughed and clapped Russia on the shoulder.

Russia nodded and tapped his lip, the ends of his scarf lazily twisting and unfurling. Finally he broke into a large smile and returned the gesture, although he squeezed America's shoulder a hell of a lot harder than America did him.

"That's great, Fedya. Why don't you ask if they saw where our friends went? You should be able to speak with them just fine, hm?" He chirped, releasing the death grip on his shoulder so he could take to twirling his metal baton once more.

The humanoids around them took to giggling at this comment, taking Russia's words and twisting them until they were gibberish.

America growled at this and pinched the bridge of his nose, further annoyed by them imitating his growls and huffs in between fits of laughter. And then the laughing came to a stop, and only the growls remained.

"Nice going," Russia whispered in the tense quiet that followed.

"Wouldn't've happened if you didn't call me stupid," America whispered right back.

One of the humanlike creatures swiped at him, and so he gave them a firm shove. Not bad enough to hurt them, but enough to send them crashing into their friends. Russia tried to do the same and received a bite on the hand. Good riddance.

It was funny until he hit someone on the head with his metal baton. Again he wasn't aiming to hurt badly, but it did send the rest of them into action. Before America knew it, he was countering every manner of attacks, careful not to let his bad arm get caught in the fray.

"When there's a break, we run," America ordered. There was only so much he could do; if he did launch his ball at any attackers, he was sure to decapitate them. Even so, he was fighting his own strength on top of this world's inhabitants. 

He didn't announce it when the break came; there wasn't time. He just ran and hoped Russia had sense enough to follow after him. 

Branches broke and the lights in the forest flickered on and off again. There was something behind him. All he had to do was find a safe place and dive into it. But his arm was throbbing and he recognized none of the terrain around them. Both very bad things. 

So, upon seeing a low hanging branch on one of the trees, he threw himself at the trunk with full force, launching himself just high enough to hook his good arm around it. He swung his legs up and pulled himself onto the branch, then scanned the ground below with his good arm outstretched.

"Give me your hand!" He shouted the instant he caught sight of Russia. The two locked hands and America pulled him up, grateful Russia had the decency to help out by climbing up as soon as he could reach.

"Let's keep going, Fedya. I don't want them to catch up," Russia explained as he dusted himself off, then fixed his scarf and tucked his metal baton away. 

He gestured to a dent in the massive trunk way above them and resumed climbing. "Last one up is first one to go on guard duty tonight!"

Son of a bitch. America shuffled back as far as the branch would allow, then launched his metal ball. Predictably, it fell right into the spot where they were headed. With a satisfied hum, he tucked his bad arm safely against himself, then followed after Russia.

If they hadn't had such bad luck with the world just after falling in, it would have been so much fun to explore. The whole place was like one of those black light mini golf courses, the way so much light glowed against the otherwise black backdrop. 

And the air was perfect; it took America back to one of those late summer evenings where the sun had completely set, but the air was still warm. It was a shame the asshole life forms here didn't know how good they seemed to have it.

At least it came as a small relief that this world's humanoid species weren't more intelligent than his native Earthlings. It came as a further relief that the beings below them- which continued to scream and mimic and try to climb after them -weren't strangely British like the way movies tended to paint intelligent species.

"Fedya, I'm over here," Russia teased from somewhere below him. 

America saw movement in his peripheral vision and whipped his head around. Russia had already made himself comfortable in the hole in the trunk, laying back against the wood and waving with that annoyingly smug smile on his face. 

Russia chuckled and scooted over while his friend carefully clambered inside, adding, "Enjoy first watch tonight."

"Man, can't you cut an injured guy some slack?" America huffed, serving up the best pout he could as he slipped off his jacket and used it as a pillow to lay back on.

"Injured guy who still has immense strength? I don't think so," Russia hummed. He brushed some dust and loose twigs out of their space.

The whole experience must have been what it felt like to be a bird, though America shuddered at the thought of any such animal large enough to dwell in the space they were in. It was bigger than even a bald eagle's nest!

Just as he opened his mouth to utter some sort of protest about his arm or having to stay up late tonight, Russia put a finger to his lips, his eyes darting around in the dark. America closed his mouth and shuffled closer to the entrance of their hiding spot, then he could hear it too.

Something, or, more likely, someone paced around the tree trunk, edging closer and closer to the opening that the two hid inside. Seems like someone had come back for a second round.

[fickle-rocket]

In Absentia AU: Chance Encounter

At last, the vestiges of night were releasing its cold grip on the world, the starry sky above gradually shifting into a rich navy blue instead of unforgiving pitch blackness. Just a little bit longer, and he would be free, at least until the sun set again and he was made to relive this hell once more.

But in a cruel twist of fate, the waking world was just as unfriendly as its dim opposite. Lilian had to steel whatever was left of his mind in this monstrous state and find shelter. A safe place for the nightmare to come to its daily conclusion.

So, far from his home, far from anything that felt familiar, he padded through the dense forest in search of anything that could serve as a temporary sanctuary. And then, he found it.

An abandoned mine, one that looked sturdy enough to house him for the time being. It sure as hell wasn't anything fancy like he far preferred, but it would do. Oh how far he had fallen from the man he used to be.

Could he even call himself one anymore? When only about half of his time was spent in his original human body, it seemed a stretch to believe he was one at all.

Alas, he never cared much for philosophy.

He trotted inside the mine and laid down, his chin resting on his outstretched paws. It was nice to catch a break after a night of running around; it wasn't worth it to do much besides wait for the sun to rise.

What sort of mine did this used to be anyway? His nose had become far more sensitive after he had been afflicted with this lupine curse of his, meaning the traces of sulfur and coal in the stagnant air were far from welcome to his olfactory senses.

Lilian gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his front leg and huffed. It was hard to find silver linings anymore, but at least he wouldn't have to wait very long before he got his body back for the day and could leave the foul-smelling mine behind.

Yet, as the light of dawn crept across the mouth of the shaft, he found himself shrinking towards the darkness behind him. After all this time of living this hell, and he was still afraid of the pain associated with shifting back and forth.

So, with a deep breath, he edged towards the light and stretched a forelimb out until it was caught in the gentle glow of sunrise.

That was all he needed.

Immediately he pulled back and shrunk in on himself, whimpers and muffled howls giving way to pained groans and muttered obscenities as he shifted from his monstrous wolf form to his original (albeit dirty and worse for wear) human form.

"Fuck me," he grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, looking down to see that he had, much to his daily relief, become a man once more. His torment was gone for the day. If only he didn't have to feel so achy afterwards.

As the acrid smell of sulfur filled the entrance once more, he stepped out into the forest and narrowed his eyes. A sound had accompanied the odour this time, one he didn't like. Footsteps, maybe.

And what followed him outside was...another man? Lilian swore and shook his head, backing away slowly with his hands raised to show he was unarmed. There was no way he hadn't been caught, but he wasn't in the mood to run for his life.

The stranger tilted his head and smiled as he stepped ever closer, his eyes seemingly aglow with a burning intensity.

"I've never met a lycanthrope before," he admitted all too cheerfully, his hands folded behind his back. Charcoal dusted his face and his otherwise bright clothing, though the ends of his sleeves had been burnt. This man was the source of the sulfur smell.

A miner then? But the cobwebs and half sunken in entrance suggested no one had worked here in a few decades at least. Whoever this guy was, he appeared totally at ease here, eyes on Lilian as if he were nothing more than an interesting trinket of some sort.

It was time to leave.

As Lilian took a few more steps back, preparing to run after such as restless night, the strange man moved closer still, adding, "You're a shy one too, I see. Not to fret. I'm not after you. In fact, I'm one of you."

His breath hitched. One...of them? Never before had he met anyone in his predicament; he had always been left to piece together why he was cursed so.

"I don't believe you," he said reflexively, because he didn't. Not that he thought he was one of a kind, but whoever this man was, little about him besides his appearance resembled a human- or whatever Lilian himself was -by any measure his ordinary or extraordinary senses provided him.

"Cute, you sniff the air just like a dog too," the stranger noted, and Lilian had to bite back a growl as the other continued as if unaware of the insult he had dealt. "All you'll smell around me is smoke and no substance, that's why you're put off. I'm not a lycanthrope like you. Actually, I'm-"

The strange man frowned and cut himself off while scratching the top of his head, which appeared to have wispy smoke rising from his disheveled red hair. Okay, maybe he had to concede the guy wasn't human after all. At least not fully so. But he still wasn't like him.

He cleared his throat and continued, smiling once more as the smoke ceased to trail out of his hair. "I mean, I call myself a wraith, but only because I like the sound of it."

Damn it all, this guy would not shut up, and worse yet, he said and did just enough to pique his curiosity just before he did shut his mouth. He knew how to keep a conversation going no matter how unwilling the participant.

"Which means?" He begrudgingly asked the formerly smoking man while twisting a lock of long, wavy black hair.

"It means that I parted with my body a long time ago. Or it parted with me. It burnt up. And I became part of the fire instead," the other explained, holding out his hands. As he spoke, his hands melted away and turned to flame.

It explained why his sleeves were all burned to hell. And proved he was less likely to attack him on the principle of what he turned into when the sun set. It did not, however, explain what he was doing in the middle of nowhere.

Lilian groaned and gave up trying to tidy his dirty hair, settling for pushing it out of his have before shoving his hands in his pockets. The action burst a seam. A lifetime ago he would have replaced the worn-out coat without a second thought, but he could hardly afford the luxury now.

"Look, what do you want?" He snapped, positioning himself so he could take off running at a moment's notice.

He wasn't supposed to speak to others. Wasn't supposed to linger in civilisation for too long. Such was his penance.

"Honestly? Decent company. I'm not as fond of the living as I used to be. And neither are you, it seems," the stranger observed, containing his fire so he could straighten his tie and brush soot from his clothing.

"I'm not dead," Lilian replied, though after a moment's pause, he grumbled in concession. This sure as hell wasn't living either.

And so the all too loquacious man smirked and let out a triumphant huff. Best not to argue with that one. He rocked back and forth on his feet, then stated, "We can be friends anyway. I think it would do us some good. What do you say?"

He held out a hand to shake, and reluctantly, the unwilling shapeshifter took it and did just that. As far as he knew, neither of them could really hurt the other. They didn't have much to lose.

"Fine," Lilian agreed. He held onto the stranger's hand longer than strictly necessary- it was warm and his threadbare clothing didn't hold up against the chilly morning air -then released it and blew into his hands to warm himself up.

The stranger hummed and tapped his lip, then stepped out of the mine and guided Lilian back into it.

"You stay there," he ordered as he crouched down to lay kindling and leaf litter on the stone ground, then put his hand over the pile until it smouldered and caught fire, "I'm going to find something I can cook. You look like you haven't lived off of anything but carrion for months."

He wasn't totally wrong. Most of the time, Lilian had no clue how his other side kept itself fed, and when he was aware and could do nothing to stop it, it wasn't pretty. Anything, as long as it was cooked, seemed far better than being an unsavoury part of forest cleanup.

And just as Lilian was crouching down to absorb as much warmth from the fire as he could, the stranger jumped up and ran off into the tree cover. Before he knew it, he had a connection with someone else for the first time in a long time.

Who would it hurt to see how it went from here? Particularly if he got a free meal out of the experience. All both parties could do was benefit.

[fickle-rocket]

Character Playlist: Canada

Secrets - OneRepublic

Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos

Graveyard Whistling - Nothing But Thieves

Better Go - Mal Blum

The Only Happy Boy in Copenhagen - moi Caprice

Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious - The Amazing Devil

Don't Panic - Coldplay

The Anthem of Mr. Dark - The Arcadian Wild

Story Of An Immigrant - Civil Twilight

Runs in the Family - Amanda Palmer

White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes

Rain - Eivør

Dear Fellow Traveller - Sea Wolf

Lent - Autoheart

Coffee - Havelin

Inventor's Daughter - Branches

Rule #9 - Child of the Stars - Fish in a Birdcage

Willow Tree March - The Paper Kites

Jon's Window Pane Daydream - Jonas Bjerre

Accidental Thoughts - {Parentheses}

[fickle-rocket]

University AU: Italy, Japan, America, and Germany

It's all fine and well to have one close friend and another more casual friend, but one can never have too many. As Feliciano becomes more comfortable at his new school, he seeks more companions. Ones that share common interests with him might be nice.

It's in an art history class that he finds one. Reserved as ever, it becomes like a game to Feliciano to break this guy out of his shell. And, after weeks, he does.

His name is Kiku, and while Feli can't ever get a straight answer out of him about his studies, he suspects it's got something to do with art, like his own. He's always on the polite side and, refreshingly, never teases Feliciano about what's going on upstairs (or what isn't, more appropriately).

It's lots of fun to cook new meals with him too, though it's not long before he meets someone who likes eating their cooking as much as Feli himself does.

According to Kiku, this was a normal occurrence before Feliciano came along. But the guy was nice enough, so Kiku never thought to complain. In fact, the two even considered sharing living spaces next semester.

The freeloader's name was Alfred, and while he was every bit as nice and cheerful as Kiku said he was, he was also a little bit of a weirdo. Feliciano didn't mind; it was a good kind of weird. He knew lots of random things.

All the same, it wasn't normal how the man flipped between talking about sports and engineering with equal amounts of gusto. Did he know Gilbert and Ludwig? If not, he should be introduced. He was like both of them rolled into one.

Feliciano and Kiku spent a lot of their free time making and eating delicious meals together. Sometimes Alfred joined them, sometimes he didn't. Until one day, where Feli asked if he could bring a friend next time.

Of course Kiku obliged, and soon he became fast friends with Ludwig. Turns out the three of them made a good team in the kitchen, and although he wouldn't say as much, Kiku was relieved to find someone who seemed to enjoy cleaning up after Feliciano. He was a sweet kid, but the mess he left in the kitchen was unbelievable!

Eventually the trio learned to branch out of the kitchen and although they still like to cook and bake together, they've come to enjoy a variety of other activities. And Ludwig, full to the brim with school pride, always makes sure they don't miss out on the best school-led events.

[fickle-rocket]

2ptalia: North American Brothers Headcanons

They fight, a lot, but when it comes down to it they're each fiercely protective of the other.

They're more similar than they want to admit, but to a point they recognize their similarities.

Unlike their 1p counterparts, others can consistently tell them apart. They haven't quite had to develop the near resentment for looking alike.

Now the adults around them were in trouble when they were little, as their hair was closer in color back then.

That was until Allen spoke up anyway; they were both a little shy but James was nonverbal until he was physically about eight or nine.

Now that James is semiverbal, Allen likes to tease him for his Quebecois accent.

...And James responds by putting on his "American" accent. It's a very bad country/southern imitation and it usually has both of them fighting back a smile.

Both have an extreme soft spot for animals, and Oliver has a soft spot for them, so when they were little, his house was basically a menagerie for sick/injured animals.

James is still known to take in hurt animals, so in extreme cases where he can't find anyone else, Allen will drive all the way to his house to drop one off.

Allen won't take care of anything crazy anymore (wild animals obviously above his pay grade, et cetera), but he happily fosters cats and dogs.

Although James isn't much into the performing arts scene, he and Allen enjoy going out and seeing new movies together.

They can be absolutely terrible; it's the experience that counts.

They're both big fans of horror movies, though sometimes the ones James picks out are a little too intense, even for Allen.

James never did have much of a fear response. It was useful when they were kids; he was the one who took care of any creepy crawlies.

Not just for Allen, mind you.

Oliver hates anything bigger than what he can find at home, which, given his climate, is a lot. Lilian isn't (too) afraid of squishing bugs, but James prefers a catch and release tactic.

When they were little, both brothers adored staying out late and camping.

Foraging presented a fun challenge; Allen has always hated animal products, so he was in charge of finding and cooking things for them.

He's not usually into the whole fanciness of gastronomy (once in a while he gets a wild hair), but this is where he got his culinary creativity from.

As they've grown, their interests have changed, but they try to plan things they'll both be interested in.

For the most part, as long as they can spend mornings exploring the local nature (for James), then spend the afternoon in the city (for Allen), they're as happy as can be.

They don't have to spend their time talking; actually, they're often most comfortable in an understanding silence.

[fickle-rocket]

2ptalia Headcanons

While the 2ps aren't inherently evil or anything like that, most of them are, regrettably, massive edgelords.

As a whole, they're every bit as smooth brained as their 1p counterparts once they get each other all riled up.

They just tend to get a more creative with the insults and threats they throw back at one another North Italy.

Unlike their counterparts, they don't have anyone who can reliably keep order in a meeting, so they tend to be chaotic and full of screaming.

That was until the ugliest, most lopsided stuffed frog mysteriously made it into a meeting room one day.

Officially, they blame 2p England for the appearance of the unfortunate creature, but while he does love it, he denies any responsibility towards it.

(2p Finland made it and subsequently disowned it, but you're never getting that information out of him.)

With no better ideas, the 2p nations collectively adopted the stuffed animal and implemented a new rule: no speaking unless you're holding the frog.

The only exception being that it is perfectly acceptable to tell someone some version of "shut up" (usually with an expletive) if they interrupt The One Holding The Frog.

Their meetings are still far from smooth, but this new rule has greatly benefitted them.

All in all, there's not a great deal of difference between the 1ps and the 2ps.

Like, of course they're completely different on an individual basis, but as a group, they're just another kind of silly national personification.

Because the 1p and 2p nations tend to be so different as individuals, it only makes sense that so many of them get on impossibly well. Opposites attract and all that.

1p and 2p France are noted examples of that rule; they get along far better than most would think.

Besides temperament, the biggest difference is eye color, though no one's quite sure why.

The 1p world tends to follow the brown/hazel/green/blue scheme (with minor exceptions), but the 2p world tends to follow a red/pink/violet/lilac scheme (with more major exceptions).

The 2p world has more flexibility than the 1p world when it comes to eye color, so in theory you could find someone for every color of the rainbow.

Hair color is also a little more varied, but not exceptionally so. Darker hair may take on a reddish or violet appearance.

Geographically, the countries are largely the same, though here and there are little differences. Even if the two worlds looked 99.5% alike, that remaining 0.5% is not insignificant.

Because so many of the 2ps rely on sarcasm and deadpan humor, they amuse themselves by trying to convince the 1ps that they're no good.

Much to their amusement, many of the more gullible 1ps eat it up. And those that aren't gullible don't ruin the fun.

It's mostly 2p America and 2p Japan, who both love (harmless) pranks and teasing others just to get a rise out of them.

[fickle-rocket]

Memento Mori AU: Genesis

It would have been arrogant for any man to assume he could build the entirety of Rome in only one day, but Arthur wouldn't consider himself vain for being so chuffed with the miniature world he created in the span of a few hours. Even then, he had to retain some humility; his world was but a reimagining of the one he had called home so long ago. 

The vast majority of it was covered by wild, untamed lands yet to be used or occupied. Still, he was proudest of his manifested castle, his magnum opus in a world yet to be filled. The chequered marble tiles beneath his feet were visually striking, and while the sky above was covered by dense clouds, there was enough daylight so he could see how the effect of his flora-inspired stained glass windows turned out. 

Green wasn't the traditional colour of lavish palaces, but he quite liked it. Shades of royal violet had never suited him like a simple verdant green had, and it was such a versatile colour that paired beautifully with gold or silver. 

He had been in the mood for gold accents in his palace when he started building it a few hours ago. But as he strode down the halls, the gold faded into silver which better suited the mood he had now. More refined, less gaudy. Or so he figured.

The only thing left to see to now was the royal dress. 

Despite having the power to create castles from dust and worlds from nothing at all, Arthur was never one to indulge in expensive clothes. The idea was wholly foreign to him, evidenced by the fact that he had worn his old tunic and hose for so long that they had become tattered beyond repair. In fact, in some places on his tunic the once pitch black fabric had become a sort of filthy grey colour that rather resembled ditch water. 

If he was to be the king of his new castle, this worn, outdated clothing of his simply wouldn't do. He would have to scrap everything and dress himself in attire more becoming of his new position. 

There wasn't a mirror nearby that Arthur had remembered seeing, so he created a new one and stood before it. Indeed, he looked like he had been forcibly acquainted with the underside of a carriage and the pair of horses that drew it. Maybe it was high time to treat himself to a new outfit after all, one that he could have some fun with.

After a moment of thought as to what to dress himself in, his loose fitting tunic made of black linen morphed into a viridescent silk coat which fell to his knees. Underneath that, a brighter chartreuse vest and a simple white shirt appeared, both form fitting against his slender frame, a look which Arthur topped off with a white neck bow. 

Now all that was left was the hole ridden hose and his shoddy leather shoes. At his mental command, the hose changed into a snug pair of light brown trousers that tucked themselves inside a pair of umber coloured boots that came up to Arthur's knees. The boots were heeled- meaning he took great pleasure in the sound they made as they clicked against the marble floor.

His new look was much better than the rags he was running around in previously, but still a lingering issue had to be remedied before he brought anyone to his new abode. Arthur leaned in close to the mirror and scratched at a faint patch of scales on his cheek, his lips pursed. 

Such was the cost of having so much power at his disposal, but it was a problem that solved itself. He placed his equally scaly hands over his face so that all of he could see of his visage were his own sharp eyes scowling back at him, and when he uncovered himself, the accursed blemishes had all but vanished save for a few patches of acne that had taken the place of some of the thicker clusters of scales.

It was his own damn world and still things never went completely his way. At least the issue had a much more convenient solution when it came to his hands and forearms. He snapped his fingers and a pair of pristine white gloves covered the scales. Out of sight, out of mind. He looked more or less like a king now, and nary a soul would be the wiser. 

The Kingdom of Leaves was complete. 

Of course, there were three other kingdoms left to see to if he wanted to consider the rest of his world well and truly finished. But for now, he didn't need them. The Kingdoms of Acorns, Hearts, and Bells were fine to keep existing only in nebular form.

That is, unless the world's sole other inhabitant, his dreaded elder brother, would rather live in one of those other kingdoms over his own Kingdom of Leaves. It would be a pity; Arthur looked forward to having more acquaintances in a closer circle. Still, it would have been typical of Alastair to want to move to the other end of the world to avoid seeing Arthur. He did know how to hold a grudge.

Regrettably, all Arthur could do was visit him and ask him directly. Fortunately, he did have a way of exploiting one of Alastair's greatest weaknesses.

Arthur started down the vast hallway, his quick footfalls echoing. He walked faster and faster until the halls passed by him in a blur and the marble tiles gave way to a cobblestone street. It was a helpful trick to travel great lengths in mere seconds, meaning he now found himself in a quaint town square not far from where the grand palace stood.

Luckily for him, it hadn't started raining yet. Perfect, all was going to plan. 

The mountebank king strode over to the fountain at the very centre of the square and took a seat on the cool stone wall that contained the water display. He started to whistle as the fountain rose up from the ground and twisted itself into a leaden dragon.

Wyvern, he heard the whisper of another older brother echoing in his ear. Wyvern, not dragon. Admittedly, Arthur knew there was a difference between the two regarding the number of legs each reptile had, but dragon was a correct enough collective term that Dylan would just have to forgive the oversimplification. Besides, the wyvern looked ferocious no matter what its proper name was.

Just as Arthur finished whistling his song, a tinkling sound of a little bell grew louder as its source started towards him. Not having time to look, a meow was the only other warning he received before four small paws landed on his lap. Arthur scratched the cat's ears and chuckled, then cradled the animal in his arms. His fatal weapon in hand, he was ready to visit Alastair.

The cat didn't much approve of Arthur's near-instantaneous travelling to the highlands, judging by the way that it mewled so pathetically and buried its small face into his elbow. It only resurfaced once Arthur slowed his pace. The cat then wriggled out of his arms and climbed up so it could stand on his shoulder and look out at the expansive wilderness, its tail whipping back and forth excitedly as its gaze darted from one new thing to the next.

It was beautiful country, even Arthur had to admit. Heather dotted the rugged mountains, the peaks of which disappeared into the clouds above as if the boundaries between heaven and earth were blurred. He clambered up a grassy hill and stopped so both he and the cat could take a moment to admire the scenery below- before Alastair inevitably ruined the mood by opening his mouth.

Honestly it was no wonder his elder brother seldom left home anymore. It was a charming two-storeyed place that was overgrown with ivy on one side, resting beside a tranquil lake with a dock. Mountains stood proudly on almost all sides of the stead, meaning Alastair often preserved his privacy. 

If Arthur's wasted potential hadn't left him feeling so guilty, he would have liked the idea of a cottage of his own somewhere in the countryside with wildflowers growing all around. A quiet life with no obligations and no one to bother him. Even so, the striking scenery before him would have been hard to outdo, even for someone with his ability.

There wasn't any merit in pontificating about such frivolous fantasies. To do so was nothing less than irresponsible. The cost of acquiring his nearly limitless power left his family split and his body marred. The least he could do was master it and no longer consider it a form of divine punishment sent to torment the Kirkland bloodline.

He could convince himself faster than he could convince Alastair. His older brother was not inside on such a dreary day, but instead sat at the very edge of the dock with a fishing reel and his bare legs dangling over and resting in the water. Arthur rolled his eyes and started for the dock. If it so suited him, Alastair would stand outside in a blizzard without clothes and proceed to declare how warm he was. 

"Oi, it's set to rain any minute! Is staying inside too sensible for you?" Arthur called out, the cat on his shoulder staring at the sky with narrowed eyes.

Arthur only had just enough time to duck when hook and line flew towards him, hissing as the hook cut his eyelid and embedded itself in his cheek. Thank providence the cat was unscathed. He removed the hook from his cheek and threw it back towards the lake, gratified to see it land somewhere at the opposite end. Alastair then made a rude hand gesture and Arthur made a face before putting his hand on his cheek to heal it.

The cat took the opportunity to hop down from Arthur's shoulder and trot towards Alastair. It sniffed and began nibbling at a small fish the elder brother had caught, but he didn't shoo it away. Instead, he pet it while he wedged his reel in between two wooden planks to keep it upright. 

"What's the story of this one?" Alastair asked, failing to look up at Arthur even once. And he always sounded so suspicious, damn him. Some way to show gratitude. 

"I found her hurt and abandoned, figured the best thing I could do was to bring her here," Arthur mumbled in response as he shifted his weight between his feet. No matter how much time passed, Alastair always had a way of making him feel like a guilty child awaiting punishment. He cleared his throat and added, "I need to ask a favour."

Alastair froze, his hand hovering just above the cat. Discontented with the lack of attention, the cat flicked its tail and rubbed its head against Alastair's hand, but still he didn't move. Not until he sighed and gazed out at the lake while slowly swinging his legs back and forth in the water. 

"Bit late to ask for favours from me, don'tcha think?" He said finally, then resumed petting the cat. It had, by this point, forced itself into his lap while still licking bits of fish from the corners of its mouth. 

The elder brother chuckled and shook his head. "Go ask that boyfriend of yours. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to bend over backwards for you. Literally and figuratively."

Arthur's nose wrinkled and a rising warmth flooded his cheeks. "Don't be vulgar. It's a small favour. You hardly have to do anything."

"Sure. Whatever. What is it? Want to use your family as your personal stepping stone? Blindside us for your own gain? Wouldn't be the first time," Alastair scoffed, and Arthur could only roll his eyes. 

This was why he didn't want to come. A misunderstanding that was well in the past yet continued to haunt him. Not to mention Al was so damn stubborn that he refused to listen to any explanations of how the past truly happened! 

It would have been much easier if it was Dylan sitting before him, or Connor. Those two were so much easier to get along with. 

But they weren't there. 

It wasn't possible for them to be, and it wasn't profitable to pretend it was. 

Arthur stared at Alastair's back until his expression softened, wrapping his arms around himself. When he decided to make his new world, it was under the firmest conviction that the past would not be repeated. That was something he would use every ounce of his power to ensure. No more heartbreak, all would have a happy ending.

"It's a royal setting," he mumbled weakly. It felt so foolish talking about it now, under the scorn of his elder brother. He shut his eyes and continued, his hands balled into fists. 

"Just like the cats, I'll bring someone here who needs- Don't interrupt," he hissed upon hearing Alastair open his mouth to interject. Alastair dutifully remained silent, so Arthur was free to explain further. "I mentioned it's royal. Based on playing cards. Two kings, a knave, the leaves suit. I figured it might be beneficial to everyone involved if you were there."

Arthur could hear Alastair smirking. 

"You need me there 'cause you need the court filled! You're not as opaque as you think you are, Artie. Of course you'll make yourself king… Fuck it, I'll be the knave," he announced whilst picking up his fishing rod and reeling in the line. 

His back still turned, he wagged his finger in Arthur's general direction. "Only in title, you can run the affairs yourself for all I care. One thing though, change the name. No one wants to be King of Leaves, 'cept you maybe. But you always were an odd one."

Now the suits weren't good enough? Arthur thought it was a clever idea! And anyway, he had spent hours creating the Kingdom of Leaves. As if Alastair could do any better. 

"That's what the suits are called, dimwit. Leaves, hearts, bells, and acorns. Unless you fancy yourself some sort of expert now?" The self-proclaimed king snapped, feeling that same embarrassing warmth in his cheeks. He caught himself hissing as he became agitated and all he could do was hope Alastair didn't mock him for it. 

The few seconds that he spent waiting for a response may well have been a small eternity. But, finally, Alastair shook his head and shuffled to one side of the dock, then patted the other. Arthur took the cue and sat beside him, his knees pulled to his chest. 

A few raindrops hit his head so he waved his hand to create an invisible barrier around them. He did it just in time too; no sooner had he replaced his hand than the sprinkling turned into a full shower.

"Thanks," Alastair muttered, as if he didn't want to be caught saying the word too loudly. He picked up his fishing rod and reeled in the line, then laid it down between them and looked up to watch the rain roll off the barrier surrounding them.

He shook his head, then resumed petting the sleeping cat as he added, "Just don't let it get to your head, Artie. You're never going to save everyone and sometimes they're worse off with your interference. It's not always up to you to decide."

"I'm keenly aware of that, thank you very much," Arthur hissed, then turned his back to his brother. So much for daring to think Al was over his grudge. He still wouldn't even look at Arthur! He scoffed and said, "If you're going to keep holding the past against me when I can't change what happened any more than you can, then I don't want your company. God knows I don't need help punishing myself."

"It wasn't a dig. Relax, will you?" Alastair grumbled before letting out a quiet chuckle. "All the magic in the world and not an ounce of wisdom to go with it."

Right. If it wasn't a dig, then what was it? It's what happened when the two most acidic Kirklands were left together without Dylan or Connor to break them up. He had no hopes of ever getting along well with Alastair. Especially with…He ran his gloved fingers over where the scales on his face would have been and sighed.

Such was the cost of nigh limitless magic, he reminded himself. Alastair would never understand what he had endured.

"I'm going to leave now," Arthur announced glumly. He would sooner return to solitude than endure any more of Alastair's refusal to let an old argument die. It was hard to sound at all convincing when he added, "Hope to see you there. You'll find a new door in your house for if and when you want to come over."

It was best to act now and not wait around for his elder brother's retaliation. His tongue was fast dulling on him and he didn't need Alastair to believe he'd won their puerile spat.

So Arthur took a deep breath, and by the time he had fully exhaled, he was standing in his castle once again. Specifically, in the room that he had made his own. It was so high up off the ground that he could have seen outside for miles had it not been for the torrential rain lashing against the windows.

Good, it suited his mood. He neither wanted to see nor be seen. And as the rain turned into a storm that drowned out the worst of his thoughts, Arthur was content to stay up in that castle tower for the rest of his life. 

Solitude was predictable. The fact that he always ended up alone should have been a sign. It wasn't all the way to comfortable, but the aching of loneliness didn't hurt nearly as terribly as the sting of rejection did.

As tempting as it was to stay locked up forever, he would emerge as soon as the storm let up. Meeting others was always uncomfortable, but occasionally growing pains were necessary. Besides, his abilities had undergone enough squandering. After enough denial, it only became an insult to everything and everyone he lost.

But for now, the outside world could wait. Arthur sat on the thick windowsill just big enough for a person to fit in, summoned a book, and blithely read about fairytales and far off adventures.

[fickle-rocket]

1p and 2p Canada: Arboreal Getaway

They don't meet very often. It's owing to a chronic inability to keep track of time rather than any sort of mutual disregard for the other.

In fact, they're always saying they need to meet up more often. But then there's a meeting. Or personal matters. Or anything that keeps the two from meeting. More often than not, it's simple forgetfulness.

It all started because they're more alike than most anyone else they know. Because it's nice to get away from the stress of modern life and modern obligations every so often.

And because there's times they don't have anyone else to turn to.

Neither knows who first suggested it. Sometimes Matthew takes the initiative, sometimes James does. It doesn't really matter, so long as they remember to keep the tradition going.

The first time they went, it was a temperate overcast day. The kind where autumn teases its debut with crisp mornings and cool winds that are ever so invigorating after the lull of a hot summer.

Matthew even wore his first flannel of the season to celebrate the occasion. It was overly hopeful on his part, but it didn't make his morning coffee any less enjoyable. After all, the sun wasn't even up yet.

James was a few minutes late then. When he reached over and pushed open the passenger door of his rickety old pickup, Matthew wondered if there was a reason behind the scowl he wore. But as his counterpart gave a polite enough greeting, he assumed it was nothing more than James not being the most expressive man.

He must have gotten that from France, Matthew could hear someone say- and immediately dismissed it. Felt like they couldn't do much without someone saying how the personifications reminded them of someone else.

Today, they were free to be their own person. Each similar, but each crucially different.

"Did you have anywhere in mind, or-?" Matthew asked. It wasn't to fill the silence. James was sensible in that he didn't need the silence filled.

"I know a place," his counterpart responded before driving on wordlessly. Alfred would have made a bad joke. He always did. But Alfred wasn't there.

The quiet was nice. Matthew was just finishing his coffee when they completely left the city behind, entering a place full first of grassland, then of trees. The sun was up, but the trees kept any excessive heat at bay.

They probably drove for another hour after that. It was hard to say for sure. Just how lost did James have to get to find this place? Somehow it never felt like the right time to ask him.

Matthew intended to speak up once they arrived, but the moment they parked, James started off into the trees with all their supplies. He had no choice but to follow, the birdsong and rustling leaves causing him to forget his question.

Idle curiosities never mattered here anyway.

Eventually James came to a stop on a patch of grass not too far from a lake and Matthew, legs aching, gladly followed his example. In no time at all, the two had set up camp and got everything else properly stowed away.

It was nice to relax. To watch the tranquil water and everything around it. Still few words were shared between them, but there was the occasional smile. Mutual understanding. And a disconnect from the things that didn't matter.

The busy nature of modern life, the obligation to be available at every hour, every day of the week, it didn't exist there in their woodland retreat. For days at a time, it was like years past where going on a trip meant you were unavailable and it was just too darn bad for anyone trying to reach you.

Their trips never seemed to last long enough, the days filled with hiking, fishing, whatever they wanted, really. All the same, Matthew always returned to society refreshed, one or both of them always ready to say, "We should do this again soon."

And the other invariably replied with a nod and a "Yeah, let's."

[fickle-rocket]

ItaCan Headcanons

They like visiting each other's houses because in spite of their countries sharing some features, they also have their key differences.

Normally Feliciano isn't much for winter sports, much preferring the summer, but Matthew can occasionally pull him into skiing trips.

They also like visiting skiing towns in the summer, where the mountains are green and the days are warm, but not too hot.

It doesn't matter what time of the year it is, they love ice cream.

Except Feli kinda accidentally ruined Matthew's standards and now he shamelessly prefers gelato.

And man do they like their coffee.

Caffeine has no effect on Feliciano, but he thinks it's hilarious when Matthew has a little too much and becomes chatty.

Sure they can be a little nervous from time to time, but their strengths balance each other out.

For example, Matthew won't have the nerve to speak up if someone gives him the wrong order or calls him the wrong name, so in these situations it's Feli to the rescue.

Conversely Feliciano doesn't always do so well in new situations where he's not sure what to do or say, so Matthew's there to help him go with the flow.

They're both a little prone overthinking, but since they relate to each other so well they can pull the other out of it.

One of the quickest ways to tell how excited Feli is is to see how quickly he's tapping Matthew (or anyone else, really) on the arm.

Seriously, the poor guy can't catch a break.

He doesn't mind it though, and he's content enough to give Feliciano's hand a squeeze whenever he's excited.

Sometimes they don't need or want to do anything extraordinary at all, perfectly content just to enjoy each other's company.

They are big fans of watching uplifting movies and cuddling on the couch.

At least one always ends up falling asleep like that.

They are also big fans of naps in general.

And of quiet moments where they hold hands and whisper little affirmations to one another.

In general, Matthew isn't a big artist, but there are times he likes to doodle on Feli's arm.

Feliciano thinks it's adorable, and he wants to give him proper lessons once he's up to it.

Though they've had so many birthdays it's hard to celebrate in a new way, they always try to do something special for the other.

As they both like to eat, Matthew enjoys finding a new restaurant to take him to every year, and Feliciano always, without fail, makes him pizza by hand.