Warnings: Blood, Violence, smut, it's a Hannibal AU so yeah cannibalism.
Pairing: America/Russia/China
Summary: Alfred is the new investigator in the small town of Adelfa, his days will turn into a spiral of sleepless nights and bloody murder scenes as he has to look for a serial killer whose work exceeds the years of training he's had.
Chapter Preview:
The cold wind was getting harsher, rustling the tree's leaves as it passed. the red lights blinked, turning green as the cars started their run again. Yao frowned, not very keen on walking around with his colleagues, he resorted to pettily slowing down his steps beside them, either to show a slight discomfort or to cause it himself. Unluckily for him, Mathew was attentive enough to slow down his pace as well.
“The quarry stopped working, who knows for how long,” A cigarrete’s butt lit bright red as Carlos mused, running a hand through his hair. "I think that's rather troubling,"
“Perhaps it is for the better, with that place closed the mayor can focus on solving other kinds of problems here,” Matthew said, taking off his glasses. "These last few days the rain has been merciless and I'm just so tired of the traffic jam by the highway, the trees’ branches by the roadside keep falling over and blocking it, every single day. That is something the mayor should be more aware of, having to drive on those side paths to get home so late is beginning to take a toll on my poor car but guess which road is well pavemented and has no blockades? The one to the quarry."
Warnings: Blood, Violence, smut, it's a Hannibal AU so yeah cannibalism.
Pairing: America/Russia/China
Summary: Alfred is the new investigator in the small town of Adelfa, his days will turn into a spiral of sleepless nights and bloody murder scenes as he has to look for a serial killer whose work exceeds the years of training he's had.
Chapter Preview:
Driving to the quarry isn’t how Ivan wanted to start his day but he couldn’t just disobey the chief’s orders for the sake of getting more sleep, though he did take his time to finish the breakfast Yao prepared for him. The crowd of workers at the entrance made him uneasy, if the quarry wasn’t operating as normal, Mayor Zwingli was sure to be there.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, he noticed Ludwig speaking with the Zwingli siblings, a dreadful feeling overtaking him as they began to approach him. A preliminary report was handed to him and Ivan arched his brow. If Ludwig was backing them up, Alfred must have shown him a convincing tread.
Warnings: Blood, Violence, smut, it's a Hannibal AU so yeah cannibalism.
Pairing: America/Russia/China
Summary: Alfred is the new investigator in the small town of Adelfa, his days will turn into a spiral of sleepless nights and bloody murder scenes as he has to look for a serial killer whose work exceeds the years of training he's had.
Chapter Preview:
“Are you suggesting that someone is following your steps, trespassing your house or going through your personal information? I wonder if that’s a habit picked up in the police department.”
“It might have to do with my work." Ivan took a hold of Yao's hand, stopping him from placing the ice back as it was tingling his skin. He raised a brow as he saw the cuff of Yao’s sleeve, it seemed to be stained with… blood. "Dr. Wang, you of all people must understand that I enjoy observing others, but I do not wish to do them any harm, I wouldn’t.” Ivan said, meeting his gaze, the satisfied smile the other wore made him doubt, perhaps he was making it worse.
“I will let this slip off my record.” The words made Ivan sigh in relief, Yao retrieved his hand and patted his shoulder. “Tell me, why did you really come here?”
Happy New year @erismor-iok ! I was your secret santa for the rusame exchange 2022. I chose your historical prompt and went a bit overboard with the cold war antics. I hope you like it!
London, 1964.
High ceilings, white walls and minuscule frames made sure to enhance the artworks' presence on the exhibition, vibrant colors and intricate forms guiding the eyes through a journey of styles, techniques, but above all, artistic freedom. A smile made its way into Alfred's face, months, even years of work allowed him, as well as everyone present, to marvel at the creations of an ambitious generation of artists.
He had wandered away from Arthur, or perhaps it had been the other way around, the Englishman seemed to be postponing the well deserved praise for his efforts, a bit of cooperation could go a long way with the right amount of resources and the right justification for such an investment.
Alfred's eyes narrow as he caughts sight of a familiar tall figure, it's impossible not to notice him, though the rest of the public seems dazed with the artworks.
With long quick strides he approaches, until they're standing side by side, a Pollock's painting right before them. Alfred whispers as if that could offer them the slightest privacy in a place like this. "What are you doing here?"
Alfred holds his stare into the painting but he can imagine, he can hear that growing smile, Ivan's voice is just as soft as usual, even that tiny pitch of irony is there. "Isn't that what you wanted, for me to see how much cultural powerness you have?"
He can't help but smile, the same arrogant bright smile that Russia hates but Ivan likes. A small shrug and he answers. "Not everything is about me or you, this time, it's about Arthur, I'm not here to take the credit away from him."
There's a pause, Alfred tries to focus on the painting, on the vigorous strokes and the imposing colors but his heart is hammering on his chest out of anticipation. The counterattack comes swiftly, too soft for his own liking. "You've been busy with these events, Rome, Paris, though I heard the latter was rather disastrous, France can be ruthless with the critics, can't he?"
It's too easy, Ivan must know the answer but Alfred obligues by replying just as the members of the congress for cultural freedom have done for the last years. "You know how prideful they can be. Europe's economy is blossoming once again and it's only natural to revitalize the cultural scene."
"They said it looked superfluous. It's big, it's boisterous, electrifying," Ivan chuckles, motioning with his hand towards the painting, "Perhaps… too American for their liking. I admit, there's a certain merit to what you've achieved here but it's rather obvious for me, and probably for France, that you wanted to deliver a message with this."
Ah, there it is, the strike towards his ego, Alfred can feel his blood boiling, his body tensing and his voice becomes dainty, taunting the bear that sleeps inside the other. "You talk as if I had done this alone, as if Arthur would let me push him around as you do with your…friends. I am not the one with state sponsored art."
A chuckle escapes from Ivan. "Abstract expressionism prides itself in being apolitical, in enhancing the artists' freedom of action as if those statements didn't align with certain american values. That's why France is reluctant to follow up. Rejecting tradition, breaking the past structures, it all sounds so promising to young artists that are receiving your funding, but it's certainly hard to hide the way the concept of freedom has taken a political stance."
The statement leaves Alfred speechless, he didn't expect Ivan to speak so bluntly about it, he ponders on a counterargument, on a way to deny ulterior motives, but this is not the place or the time for a political debate, so he bites his tongue and lets out a laugh, neither accepting nor denying what he's been told.
Ivan seems to understand, joining him on that small laugh as the tension in the air dissipates. His heavy hand rests on Alfred's shoulder. "This exhibition is… refreshing, Arthur should be proud."
You should be proud. It's what Alfred wants to believe he meant. No matter how close they get to each other, the truth has to come in layers, veiled with empty compliments or bitterness.
The rest of the exhibit is a blur to Alfred, he's simply walking around, listening to the intricate words that come out of Ivan's mouth. Sophistication, refinement, those are the words used by the intelligence reports to describe the soviets and their cultural program, and Alfred can tell more or less the reason behind it.
It's not that he can't manage to act like that, it's that he refuses to fall in the same snobbish play. He knows that's a game he cannot win, not against Arthur, and even less so against Ivan. Plus it would be contradictory, to vouch for change while abiding to the old world's antics.
A slight tap on his arm and he's taken out of his thoughts, Ivan's face is curious as if wanting to pry the words away from his mind. The Russian leans closer and Alfred holds his breath. "You can tell me if I'm boring you,"
Alfred shakes his head, his hand resting on the red sculpture before them, a not so careless act even when he knows he shouldn't touch it. The steel is cold, it grounds him, reminds him that there's more more in this world than just the warmth of Ivan's hand resting on his shoulder.
Before he can retrieve his hand, there's a pause, a phantom touch on the base of his neck that makes him shiver. "You are awfully physical today,"
"Perhaps I'm trying to infect your pristine morals with my devious red claws."
Alfred chuckles, moving away from the sculpture and heading out. The cold air bites on his skin and he shivers, they stand beside each other, separated by a pillar, a godforsaken roman column, allowing themselves to be close, but not so much in case someone is watching.
Clothes rustle as the Russian fishes in his coat for a flask, taking a swig and offering him to drink. Ivan's features are probably carved out of the finest marble, he can't detect a single sign of malice or playfulness, nothing, and that's what sets all kinds of alarms in Alfred's head.
He extends his hand, their fingers touching for a brief moment before the cold silver erases the feeling. He can feel Ivan's eyes following his every move, but he is not one to shy away, so he smiles, accepts the flask and drinks. Slowly, because the alcohol is bitter, it feels like it burns him inside but the taste is familiar, soothing, and so is the warmth that spreads on his body, on his cheeks, he chuckles as the Russian averts his gaze.
There's a certain satisfaction in melting his cold heart, too bad he can't brag about it, at least not publicly. "You're not getting any favors from me, I can't promote everyone and your name is on the top of my blacklist."
"Ironic, we're not so different then," Ivan says, as if the comment didn't poke into an open wound. "Do you think that if I paint something like that, it would have a chance to be displayed in New York?"
"Yes, I would hang it on my living room but isn't this considered superfluous and vain?" Alfred asks sincerely, he wouldn't mind owning a painting done by the other, he is not sure if the other has an artistic strike at all. "Wouldn't you rather paint life as it is instead of these yankee doodles?"
"Ah but where would be the fun in painting your suburban neighborhoods? I prefer to trace your defense maps and send them via museum as a threat, or perhaps I can try to paint Lenin's face on the window of your penthouse, would that be better?"
The scene is absurd enough to break his act, to send him into a fit of laughter, he leans on the column. "You'd have to get there first,"
"If I set my mind on it, I will,"
"One day I'll invite you there," There's a pause after that and Alfred fears that he's made a mistake but the Russian gives him a small smile, soothing his nerves.
"One day…" Ivan says, hiding his hands in his pockets. "Until then, I hope you enjoy the praise. You've earned it."
"I'll be waiting for your painting," Alfred says, though he gets no reply.
Coldness is creeping on his bones as he returns to the gallery, the exhibition is a success, and he hopes his breath doesn't reek of alcohol when he approaches Arthur again, though he doesn't mind the lingering taste on his mouth. One day… his mind echoes, but he doesn't dare to finish that train of thought.
Notes
This story is set during the temporary exhibition of the Tate Gallery: 'Painting and sculpture of a Decade 54-64'. The exhibition – that attracted a big audience and showed more than 350 artworks- meant a crucial point in the artistic world of Britain, with its claim for artistic and cultural funding and parallel to it, the request of establishing a Museum of Modern Arts in London (following the same line as in Paris or New York) and finally to revert the deficit of the public galleries on the city that by the end of the 1950s was impossible to hide.
The Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF) was an anti-communist advocacy group founded in 1950. It was later revealed that the CIA was instrumental in the establishment and funding of the group. The Congress aimed to enlist intellectuals and opinion makers in a war of ideas against communism. It aimed to challenge the post-war sympathies with the USSR of many Western intellectuals, particularly among liberals and the non-Communist Left. That is not to say that the intellectuals (be it artists, writers, diplomats and so on) were explicitly in favor or aware of the CCF operations and goals. More than a direct course of action, the CCF took advantage of a tightly knit group of influence and unlimited funds to invest in several conferences, exhibits, newspapers and events in order to try and shape the public opinion towards a more sympathetic view of the United States influence on the cultural scene.
Western Europe's art scene wasn't exactly welcoming for the cultural agenda that the CCF with the help of institutions such as the Museum of modern arts of New York (MoMA) or sponsors such as the Rockefeller fund had in mind, some artists and critics argued about a subtle “Americanization” of art promoted by the American government, they saw this expansion as a cultural colonization, strengthened in artistic styles such as the abstract expressionism.
Abstract expressionism (as well as the artists inside that artistic movement) weren't explicitly opposing or rivaling the USSR, the social realism movement or the communist ideals. In fact, a great deal of artists were investigated and harassed by the public opinion for having "sympathy" with the leftist, socialist or communist political spectrum, which ironically ended up with a reticence inside the United States to display or promote abstract expressionism while continuously investing on artworks to "ship off" itinerant exhibits outside of the United States.
There were some unfounded accusations against the abstract expressionists for being "tools of the Kremlin" and for revealing the US defense maps or delivering secret messages through the paintings as well as for creating "decadent" artworks.
Also fun fact, when Ivan talks about painting Lenin on Alfred's penthouse it's meant as a sort of silly reference to the "Man at the Crossroads" fiasco in New York city's Rockefeller's center.
There's a lot of bibliography regarding the Cold war but for the specific topic of the "Cultural Cold War" and the operations of the CCF, Frances Stonor Saunders' book "The CIA and the cultural cold war" offers plenty of information as well as more bibliography about it.
There's also the work of Eva Cockcroft, 'Pollock and after, the critical debate. Abstract Expressionism a Weapon of the Cold War.' that speaks about the MoMA's agenda of promoting abstract impressionism and the funding of the Rockefeller family on it.
England's economic, cultural and political period in which the Tate Gallery's exhibit was built and displayed is thoroughly explained by Andrew Stephenson in Painting and Sculpture of a Decade ’54–’64 Revisited.
Content warnings: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Graphic Description of Corpses, Corpse Desecration, Inspired by Frankenstein, Body Modification.
Summary: For extreme diseases, extreme methods of cure are most suitable, and Arthur is set on rekindling the spark of life.
This fic is part of the Hetalia dark collection
The synchronized melody of the machinery greeted him as he walked down the factory's building. The mechanical movements of the workers displayed a cascade of manpower and discipline. As a tingling on his throat grew stronger, Arthur headed outside.
Order was essential. Measurements, calculations and planning made sure to keep the industrial complex afloat.
A small smile settled on his face, this factory, alongside the others scattered on his territories, had shown the whole world what the future looked like. Mankind shaped the earth, shoved themselves into the era of progress and science, and traced the way for him to outshine the other nations with his deeds.
Sadly for him, not everyone followed this dynamic pace. Nature was slow, and even when excitement clouded his mind, the painful reminder that humans too, were part of nature, arised constantly in the form of resistance. Which is why men like him -the ones sensible enough to understand the need for order- had to watch over the stubborn masses of workers.
Warnings: Blood, Violence, smut, it's a Hannibal AU so yeah cannibalism.
Pairing: America/Russia/China
Summary: Alfred is the new investigator in the small town of Adelfa, his days will turn into a spiral of sleepless nights and bloody murder scenes as he has to look for a serial killer whose work exceeds the years of training he's had.
Chapter Preview:
Hidden behind the thick forest and an overly high spiky fence was the quarry, Alfred watched curiously as the dusty trail that wandered away from the highway turned into a freshly pavemented road, as the trees became less and the soil dried up, marked with the tires of the heavy machinery that transited the place.
The aridness of the ground caught him off guard, his nose protesting the dusty air with a sneeze as he stepped outside the car. Though not entirely natural, the sight had a certain beauty, harsh and imposing as it was, the places where excavations had already been done, showed proudly the exposed insides of the Adelfa´s foundations; without the green and moisty layers of vegetation, the soil was cracked up with apricot and burgundy tones denoting its richness in iron, quite allegorical seeing how many places of the town shared the same metallic smell lately.
Warnings: Major characters death, this doesn't have a happy ending so keep that on mind, there's mentions of blood but nothing gorey.
'Shoot for the moon even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.'
Alfred had been picked within a pack of equally skillful and ruthless contestants, trained under ridiculous circumstances and yet, he wasn't the only one. Two more had achieved what he did and they were going to launch.
Warnings: Blood, Violence, smut, it's a Hannibal AU so yeah
Pairing: America/Russia/China
Summary: Alfred is the new investigator in the small town of Adelfa, his days will turn into a spiral of sleepless nights and bloody murder scenes as he has to look for a serial killer whose work exceeds the years of training he's had.
Chapter Preview:
"There's something strange, I think the killer isn't exactly proud of this one. Why prioritize the closet? Why leave something that could potentially destroy everything?" Alfred asked, his wariness subduing ever so slightly. This is his work, this is what he'll be seeing in the future and he had to learn to silence the voice in his head that urged him to look away, to feel bad for Kirkland and to abandon Adelfa as soon as he could. As he got no response, he added. "Is this arranged like… a dinner?"
"Maybe,' Ivan hummed, approaching the corpse. "I don't see the food, apparently Kirkland wasn't savory enough,"
