Alfred refused to leave his room. He’d lost count of the days he’d locked himself away. He was relentless. Stubborn. A trait he’d earned from his mother.
But despite his stubborn and strong willed intentions, he also became bored very easily. How many times could he walk the expanse of his surprisingly large quarters.....
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Once long ago, sat a mountain only reachable by those deemed worthy. Gods among men. Legend says only those who could surpass her many trials or the gods themselves could rest foot upon her ground. Only those who could navigate treacherous seas, cross withered deserts, battle the mightiest monsters, and climb her rocky peak would be able to bear witness to what lay above the clouds. Mount Olympus. Home of the gods.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
If that’s so, I suggest you reblog this post if you still post Hetalia (be it fanart, PWGBTA, fanfiction, edits…anything as long as it’s Hetalia-related.)
Alfred couldn’t believe his eyes. As his vision became more accustomed to the darker room, he realised there were many others sitting around. He allowed his eyes to dart around and take in the scene. Two lovely women sat over to the corner, chatting between themselves. Both were striking blondes each either smoking or drinking. They wore tight fitting jewel tone gowns and furs. One was more doe eyed, whereas the other had a glare fit for the Arctic. Now that he looked between them and the boss ahead of him, he could tell they were related. Or at least they were all Russian. He looked away quickly as the petite blonde sneered at him.
His eyes darted back to the boss and the men surrounding him. They were playing cards. A blonde gentleman, hair tied back at the nape of his neck, and well groomed beard to the left. He had a lovely lady across his lap, she was silently laughing at him while playing with the buttons of his half undone shirt. She was completely unaware of the current tension in the room.
To the bosses right, was a red eyed white haired man. His suspenders hung from his waist, he was rather frustrated from the interruption. Perhaps he had a good hand, which he was currently fiddling with.
On either side of them sat two more people. An Italian who looked familiar to the one he’d seen upstairs. No that can’t be. His hair wasn’t that dark. Alfred tried to think about it but the german behind him squeezed his shoulder and he gasped in pain. This guy was going to break his arm. The other was a woman. Her long brown hair was draped down her back. She wore a blouse and a skirt that was just as tight fitting as the other two women’s dresses, but she was almost as fit as the German behind him. She wore a smug smile as she tried to look at the white haired gentleman’s cards.
There were two more men off in the corner with the women now, and Alfred realised he was probably not going to make it out alive.
And then…
Alfred’s eyes landed on the boss. Tried to anyways. It was hard to look the guy in the eyes. Dread filled his stomach, and could anyone blame him? The boss was a large man. Not large in that he was heavy set, or even exceptionally wide. No… he was tall. Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over Alfred. Perhaps it was those eyes. Violet. His heart was in his ears as he made eye contact with him. Alfred realised with a sense of fear that the boss didn’t seem to blink. What was worse, he found himself fixated by those eyes, and the long pale lashes that surrounded them.
He wore intimidation like a coat. Now that Alfred could look away from his eyes he noticed the rest of him. A strong jawline, handsome. His stomach clenched at that idea. A nose that on anyone else would have been too large, but the notch reminded Alfred of a marble statue. It had been broken once. His skin was similar to marble too. Guess those Russians didn’t get a lot of sun. His hair was to his ears, wispy wintery blonde like the two women in the corner. Family.
Perhaps the bosses features stood out from the well fitted suit he wore. All black, down to the tie and leather gloves in his hand. Hands that were not holding cards. A pistol was sitting on the table next to the boss. He couldn’t help but focus on the gun. That was why his hands were empty.
Alfred could feel himself swallow, hear it too. He wet his lips with his tongue before giving his normal dashing smile. He didn’t look away from the gun. “That’s a Colt M1911.” Alfred blurted out motioning to the pistol. “Those things can pierce a bullet vest.” Alfred gasped as the German yanked him back into place. His arm should not be in that position.
The boss didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at him before waving the german to let him go. He gasped and straightened out his now aching shoulder. Before Alfred could speak Ivan stopped him. “You know this gun?” He asked. Alfred thought maybe it was out of curiosity.
“Yeah it’s standard issue in the military. Not sure how any civilian got their hands on one but I’d love to know the secret.” He flashed the guy a smile. The Russian’s lip tilted up in distaste at that. Oh boy, maybe too friendly there Alfred.
“What do you know of US military?” He questioned. This guy wasn’t making room for a long conversation… Alfred figured he’d have to play his games.
“I have a fascination with guns. Not so much with the military. I have wanted to pop a couple caps with a beauty like that…” Alfred laughed to himself as if he’d made the best joke of the year. Like it wasn’t insane to talk about shooting a gun in a room full of… the mob.
That is what this is. It sank in as Alfred looked around to all of them again. His hands fidgeting as eyes were on him. He raked his fingers through his hair quickly.
“You have fascination with guns. Do you go around to every speakeasy bar bragging about guns, and asking for Russian names, or is that another fascination?” Ivan sipped his drink slowly.
Alfred licked his lips again before rubbing his hands together and clapping them. “Look I’ve just been trying to find my way around this town. This city has grown pretty large, ya know, with New York just across the way.” He smiled shakily. “I heard there were people who would better understand me.”
“Understand you?” The boss quipped back, placing his glass back down. “I do not think any of us understand you. What fool goes around city asking for the Braginski family.”
Alfred halted. Was this not the Braginski family. Had he ended up at the wrong place. Did these guys have it out with the Braginskis? Alfred was screwed. Definitely dead by the end of the night by this point. But maybe, just maybe he could talk his way out of this one.
“Ah! I apologise I definitely was informed this was the Braginski neighbourhood.” He held up his hands in a surrender way, taking a step back into that German asshole again. Fuck.
“Informed?” His eyes shot from the boss to the now peeved white haired man. Another German. Alfred felt his blood run cold. Informed?! Who would say something like that to the mob?!
A cop that’s who.
“Search him.” The Russian commanded. Alfred found his arms being held by that damn German again. This guy was getting on his nerves. If he wasn’t in this suit, he could have probably taken him though… maybe. He was jolted from his internal street fight as another tall gentleman in glasses, and the woman from the table began to search his jacket. Nothing was in the pockets except his gold watch. No guns, no badge, nothing.
“Listen I’m not a cop!” Alfred snapped, pulling his arm out of their hold. He turned to the German and glared. “Go easy on the shoulder blades there bud.” He hissed under his breath, again stretching the muscle.
Ivan stood slowly. “Let him go. He is no threat.” He let out a short laugh, mocking him. “Listen here, clearly you are like child. Running your mouth and throwing around this knowledge of guns.” Ivan spoke as he approached Alfred. “What is it you are looking for?” He was now standing in front of Alfred.
The American was by no means small. He prided himself on his body. Tall, but not towering. Fit, but not bulky. Alfred was muscular and lean, and able to lift far more than he looked like he was able to. His body was similar to that of a baseball player, tight butt and all. His size was by no means small, but he had the ability to surprise people when it came to strength.
And for the first time in his life, Alfred felt small. Real fucking small. The Russian’s shoulders were wider than Alfreds, thicker but not in a muscular way. He was just large. His chest was broad, and his height, as Alfred had guessed, was towering. He had assumed the Russian was large from his seat, but now up close to him, large was an understatement. This man wasn’t just intimidating personally. He was intimidating physically too.
At least 7 inches taller than Alfred, he leaned down. Grabbing Alfred from the back of his head, leather cold against his scalp. Alfred gasped. Ears throbbing from excitement and absolute terror. He leaned in lips near Alfred’s ear. “What game do you think this is?” He questioned lowly. “Who do you really think you’re dealing with?” He tugged Alfred’s hair back slightly. The throbbing stopped when he heard the safety of the pistol, and felt the barrel of the gun press against his abdomen.
In a moment of stupid terror, Alfred said the one word on his mind. “Багровый.”
The back alleys of New Jersey and New York weren’t really something a kid in his 20s should have been rummaging around. Especially not a young man dressed in a designer suit. Alfred covered his face carefully with his hat as he came across the barely lit barber shop. It should have been closed hours ago, but the light was still on. Gold glittered from under his overcoat, a gift from his father back home.
The bell chimed as the gentleman entered a barber shop. It was empty spare the two gentlemen sat by the counter up front. Alfred’s heart was pounding in his ear drums. He’d never gotten this far. “Not open.” The gruff German growled from behind the cards in his hand. probably a game of blackjack.
“I heard this was where I could get a cut from some blind barber.” Alfred spoke removing his hat to show golden locks and a brilliantly white smile. Teeth too straight to be from any kind of poor family. He flashed the cash he kept in his vest pocket. The younger of the two, a smaller brunette man, perked up. “That kind of thing costs money.” He spoke in a sing song voice that brought a smile to the larger German man.
Alfred threw him a twenty. “Will this get it? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a haircut for more than… what two, maybe three dollars?” He smirked over at him. The smaller man lunged at the cash grinning like a fool. “He’s a good barber, blind and all that.” He smiled brightly batting his lashes at Alfred. “Liebe, let him go.” The German scolded the smaller.
The Italian pouted before tilting his head towards the back. “Third door, on the right. Don’t spill the beans or you’ll never come back here, alive.” His attitude shifted with the change in his tone. Alfred nodded quickly, hurrying off to the door, before he could run his mouth. An old habit of his.
He came across the door, hands shaking as he turned the rusted doorknob. Alfred held his breath as he pushed the door open, heart pounding at what would be waiting behind it. Perhaps a set up. A cop with a pistol. Or worse, a broom closet.
Alfred’s eyes had shut in anticipation and he only realised after the door had opened and all he saw was darkness. He let out a breath and opened them. Stairs. Alfred looked back to the men playing cards. Third door. It was on the right. This had to be it. He ducked down the stairs, watching his head as he went, and as he turned the corner, a set of double doors. It would look like a loading dock. If this wasn’t a barber shop, and also wasn’t underground it would fool anyone. He pushed open a door with his shoulder, they were heavy and for good reason. The swing band’s music flooded the room as a smile lit up Alfred’s face. This was it.
He stepped into the room only to have a young woman waltz right up and greet him. She held a platter of drinks in glimmering crystal glasses. Drinks Alfred had never been able to try. Alcohol. His eyes sparkled like the crystal before him. It filled his body with warmth without even taking a sip. He’d done it. He finally made his way in.
After his father had loaned him money, Alfred promised to head up North to get a law degree. At least law could be used at this time. It was either that or become a politician. Politicians offered nothing but empty promises. No, Alfred had better plans. Plans that involved drinking, one of the minor illegal schemes he had his heart set out for. He’d make a name for himself. That he could promise.
He grabbed a glass of whatever this was, some kind of a martini. Alfred tipped her as she giggled to him. He hung his hat and coat on the hooks by the door. Checking the coat pockets for his valuables before leaving it there. He made his way slowly over to watch the beautiful woman who sung lowly to him from across the room. Her blonde hair was like a halo, but it didn’t match the deep red lipstick she wore, or the words she used to seduce them all. Her black gown clung to her, and the beading glittered as she spoke lowly into the mic. The piano playing behind her as she made eye contact with each of the patrons.
Alfred found her alluring but in the way you’d find a gem among coal. Shocking, but something you’d find in any mine. He smiled and tilted his head at her, before finishing off his drink and heading to the bar. The music picked up in tempo and volume as the fiddler started back up with her. Perfect timing as he approached the bar and took a seat. He took a minute to admire the dark wood beneath his hands. He’d seen bars before, but they were all shut down. Had been for what felt like his whole life.
His ears perked at the bartender down the line from him. He was muttering something. Something in a language that had Alfred’s heart returning to his throat. Russian. Alfred knew it too well, practiced it, lived it. Anything to get in good with who he was looking for. Searching for. The man that could change his life.
He cleared his throat, hoping his voice didn’t fail him. “Я буду водка.” He spoke cleanly. He hoped it was clean at least. The barkeep looked up quickly looking to him in surprise before that melted into confusion. He wasn’t a bad looking gentleman. Bags under his eyes were a little dark, but Alfred imagined this job could be a little on the stressful side. He had shoulder length mousy brown hair, and lovely green eyes, that now stared at him in confusion.
Alfred grinned and the gentleman looked even more confused. The bartender nodded quickly, motioning that he would get Alfred’s drink. A few minutes passed before he set the glass down in front of him. “You are not Russian.” The bartender spoke softly, eyebrows raised in suspicion. Alfred’s heart rate picked up. How did this guy know? Was his Russian that bad?!
He cleared his throat before calmly speaking, though a gentle pink dusted his cheeks. “No, sorry. I heard you speaking to yourself in Russian, and I could always use the practice.” Alfred grinned gently brushing off the other’s comments, and his own panic. The bartender gawked at him, before shrugging. “I speak english just fine, no reason to go around speaking it to strangers.” He muttered, moving to dry off some glasses with the towel on his shoulder.
“I heard a lot of people around these parts speak it… What’s your name?” Alfred spoke rather carefully, like he was walking into dangerous territory. The bar keep slowly looked up squinting in his direction. “That is what happens when you live only a few minutes from the Island isn’t it… and the name is Toris.” He retorted, shrugging off Alfred’s questions. This boy was going to get himself in trouble.
Alfred smiled as the other gave out his name. “I’m Alfred.” He was beaming. “Well actually I’ve been looking for a certain Russian.” He wasn’t looking at Toris as he spoke. The bartender had stopped his motions to stare carefully at the American sitting across from him. He slowly reached under the bar to press a little buzzer on the underside of the wooden ledge. Yeah this kid was definitely going to get shot. “You ever heard of a family by the name of the Braginski’s.”
Toris quickly stopped him. “I would be quiet if I was you. This is not kind of place to be throwing names like that around.” He warned him under his breath. This boy was seriously asking for it. Toris doubted he even knew what trouble he was getting himself in to. Alfred’s eyebrows scrunched together in frustration. “No way. This was where I was told I could find him. Where I could find Багровый.” He wasn't giving up! He came too far to just give up like that. He was already here! Nothing could stop him now.
His stomach dropped rather suddenly at the presence suddenly behind him. He'd gone too far. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and yanked him from his seat. Alfred’s eyes went wide as he came face to face with the German from upstairs. This was it.
Alfred looked back to Toris, who seemed a little apologetic, but didn’t try to defend him. Yeah, Alfred was going to get shot. The german practically guided Alfred through the club like a paper doll. Damn. All that hard work and he was getting kicked out for being too eager. He knew better! He should have watched his mouth more. Too quick, too eager. What did he really think he'd get to meet the Braginski family tonight?!
Except the blond guy wasn’t taking him to the entrances he came from. Alfred's heart stopped cold as he was dragged towards the back. No… this was the opposite direction.
All too suddenly Alfred was being pushed into a darker room. Everyone before them looked up as Alfred stumbled forward. The German man now blocking the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. ‘That was the only exit.’ Was Alfred’s first thought. ‘That’s a mob boss.’ Was his second thought as his eyes landed on the most intimidating man he’d ever seen.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Alfred a young man barely grown into his 20s idolises great criminals like Bonnie and Clyde. The depression was a hard time, even for the richest. No longer dreaming of money, Alfred wanted power. Where would he find power? In the New Jersey speakeasies of course. There he goes looking for none other than the Russian mob. Will that pretty face and charming charisma get him to the top? Or will Alfred find himself facing the kiss of death?
Mentions of Historical Figures.
Focuses on the end of the prohibition era, the beginning of the Great Depression, and the height of Organised Crime in the early 1930s.
From the centre of the ballroom everything was spinning. Dancers spinning around, bustles on gowns moving swiftly, excited speaking in French and whispered muttering in Russian. The room sparkled of diamonds as did the women. Everything glittered, everything sparkled.
A bow, a dance, warm hands on shoulders. A brunette smiling, chatting softly as the two spun. A glimpse of the Empress, another of a princess. All of Europe’s finest dignitaries in one room, drunk and dancing like improper fools. Not a care to the world around them.
Only one standing still, off to the side. Powerful and tall, yet not like the others among the room. He was dressed in black, yet sparkled on his own, or maybe it was those alarming violet eyes. He watched intently, not missing a thing around him. Even as everyone spun about, toasting, kissing, and dancing. This was where he belonged or so he was told. He refused to dance. Even as the women eyed him.
The young man in the centre of it all had caught the gentleman’s attention unlike any of the women. Had anyone truly seen the sun so close? He couldn’t be much older than 18 and he spoke with an accent. Much different from the Russians around him. Dressed in deep blues and warm cream, unlike the gentlemen all dressed in blacks and golds. What was this ray of sunshine doing among the Romanov court? How had someone so foreign ended up in a mix of people who only knew one another?
Ivan straightened his black tailcoat. It was a gift from his grandmother who he was representing this very evening. A distant countess, who had sent him to study in Saint Petersburg. Of course he still had to save face and speak with the others around him, even if their parties strained his course work. She was elderly after all, and unable to attend the festivities herself, and he was the only unmarried grandson. It was a ploy of course to find him a wealthy wife.
He made a move to brush back his silvery hair with a white gloved hand, not remembering he had slicked his bangs back from his face. Instinct, one could assume. Or nerves? He found his mouth to be almost completely dry despite the champagne he had been sipping all evening.
Ivan Braginski stepped forward to approach the ray of light, only to realise, he was gone. He blinked slowly, unbelieving that someone could simply disappear. How had someone who shined brighter than the Romanovs themselves, simply disappear? Reluctant and disappointed in himself and his antisocial behaviour, he made his way to the great halls to calm himself. This was where he could find peace, and maybe someone to fetch him vodka.
In the hall, Ivan leaned himself against a marble pillar, looking out at the city. Saint Petersburg was alight. The city sparkled. Truly unlike anywhere else he had been. Ivan found himself wondering if this was what Paris felt like. They called it the city of lights, but how could a city be brighter than his Petersburg?
He sipped his champagne in silence as he stared out at the lights. His breathing slow as he stood, barely making a noise. The cold stone against his back soothed him as did the distant echo of the party only a room away.
Just as soon as it had quieted down, there was a laugh that echoed across marble and pierced straight through Ivan’s very core. It filled the whole room as the doors to the ballroom opened. “I will return in just a moment Madame!” A voice promised in accented French, truly disrupting Ivan’s peace. He heard the soft shut of heavy doors drowned out by the party. His breathing slowed as he knew someone had entered the halls with him. Time to save face.
He stood straight clearing his own voice as he revealed himself. The gentleman that had entered jumped and Ivan’s eyes widened as he realised who had disturbed him. He suddenly didn’t mind the interruption. “You are quite loud my friend.” He chuckled softly, French coming out in a lower tone than he’d intended. “Not quite used to the court?” He questioned carefully, curiously. He wanted to know anything about the boy before him. Dressed in deep blues, and goodness, was that a gold vest? It was as if he was the evening sky.
The boy faltered his smile wavering. Ivan understood that expression. He was not used to speaking in French. “Do you prefer Russian?” He asked lowering his volume so that the royals did not hear. The upper class never spoke Russian. Especially within the halls of the royal palace. A rule Ivan had never truly understood.
Having been raised royal but far from the city, he had still been taught Russian along with French. Why the other families refused to acknowledge the people’s language, Ivan still failed to understand?
The young man’s face faltered more and Ivan was afraid he had found one of the royals who refused to speak ‘the common man’s language’. “Please no Russian.” He laughed nervously. Ivan’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Did this boy not like Russian? Why was he in Russia than?! “My French is bad… my Russian is worse.” He laughed and Ivan relaxed quickly. He didn’t speak Russian!
“I suppose French is not your first language?” He spoke softly smiling down at the patch of sun. The boy chuckled and Ivan’s heart pounded into his ribcage. “Is it that obvious? My father said I picked it up quickly.” He smiled head tilting slightly. Ivan wanted to touch those golden locks, but his hand froze on his jacket. While their conversation was in French, both of their accents were unmistakably not French.
“My name is Ivan Braginski.” He spoke first, reaching out his hand to the gentleman before him. “I am from Nizhny-Novgorod, I represent my family at these gatherings.” He introduced himself calmly, hand barely shaking, as the other grasped it and steadied him.
He shook his hand firmly. “I’m Alfred, my father brought me here. He’s from Paris.” He smiled warmly, something Ivan found odd for a Parisian. “You say he is from Paris, obviously you are not?” He asked curiously wanting to learn more about this man, for instance his last name. Alfred smiled nervously up at Ivan. “I was raised in America, I’m studying in Paris before taking over my father’s company.” Ivan’s eyebrow raised in curiosity. How had an American found his way into the Russian royal court? “He’s also used to be related to the royal families in France.” Ivan smiled in understanding, it was beginning to make sense now. France was no longer a monarchy. Something that led to many whispers in the streets of Russia. It made the royals nervous, though they pretend nothing did.
“And you still attend these events?” Ivan asked curious as to why the American would ever put himself in a situation as such. “My father has many friends among the royal families.” He smiled softly and at that moment Ivan understood,, “And hopes to find me a wife who is still a part of a royal family.” Ivan rose a brow. “I understand, my grandmother has me here for the same reasons instead of back at my home studying. You seem to catch the ladies fancy.” His warm chuckle filling the halls and echoing across marble. Alfred visibly relaxed before shrugging in Ivan’s direction.
“Studying?” He asked curiously and Ivan noticed the quick topic change. Perhaps when they were closer he would bring it up once more. “Yes, I wanted to study science, but alas, more politics for me.” He shook his head in disbelief. It was only expected of him to take over his family name. He was raised by his grandmother, orphaned by his parents, and the only son of three siblings.
“I like you.” The American blurted in the most informal of ways. Yes Alfred was definitely not used to being around royalty. Ivan liked that, it made him feel normal. Even in his academic classes, surrounded by other upper class students, he was treated differently. “I like you as well.” Ivan replied leaning towards the other, motioning to the hall behind them. “If I’m not interrupting your dancing, would you care to walk with me?” He asked softly and the blond smiled brightly. This was their chance to get away from all the excitement. It was a stroll between two men who could become political and financial allies, what could their families complain of? “Only if we can talk in English.”
Ivan stumbled as Alfred made his bargain and chuckled nervously. “English?” He asked voice cracking with nerves. His English wasn’t great and by far was not proper. “Well you know English do you not?” Alfred rose a brow and Ivan decided while he liked that smirk, he didn’t like it directed at him. “Of course.” He snapped in English and then laughed. Ivan hadn’t meant to snap, but he took great pride in his education. “I just do not like my own voice in English.”
Alfred looked him over carefully. The Russian man suddenly felt very open. He could feel the warmth of his blush spreading across his cheeks, and he suddenly felt the need to clutch to the scarf he normally wore. A gift from his dead mother, and a sort of security for the grown man. “I like your voice.” Alfred responded sending chills through Ivan. How could he say something like that? In the open, and in English for that matter. Did Americans truly have no tact? Or was Alfred simply not afraid of the consequences at hand? “Come on Ivan, since you are royal, show me around?” Ivan chuckled lowly before pushing him by his shoulder down the hall. “You know I am only viscount?” He corrected Alfred, that wasn’t truly royalty. It didn’t seem like that mattered to the American boy at all. “Yeah I’ve never meet a viscount before so you’re already more important than anyone I know.”
Heart don’t fail me now… Ivan found himself breathing deeply and trying to frantically gather his thoughts. This wasn’t at all what grandmother had intended. What would his sisters say? Why was he so worried? It was only a casual stroll. “So this is your first time in Russia?” He smiled down at Alfred as he led him through the halls, ignoring all the warnings in his head.
“I came once long ago.” He spoke sweetly as their voice faded down the open halls. “Really?” “Oh yes, but I got in quite a lot of trouble.” “Oh do explain?” “Well it all started with a tiara…”
-----
“And yeah that’s how I ended up with a thousand dollar taira dangling from one finger tip and a very angry queen of England nearby.” Alfred finished his story and Ivan looked on in mock surprise. “You know you are quite… interesting person.” Ivan laughed softly.
No one had warned Ivan that one small step could change his life forever. He found himself wandering the palace in Saint Petersburg for hours. The party was sure to be still going on, the Romanovs never ceased. Ivan never imagined being lost among crown jewels with a stranger during such an event. The doors creaked as they wandered the secret parts of the castles. They definitely weren’t supposed to be here.
Footsteps.
“You have to be quite Alfred.” He warned the younger. “Why?”
“Hey! You can’t be in here!” The doors opened as a guard shouted in French. Ivan slapped a hand over Alfred’s mouth quickly. He stood tall smiling to the guard. “My apologies sir. We had just wandered off to find somewhere private!” He replied in French. The guard’s face turned red as Alfred squirmed and he saw shuffling in the unidentifiable shadows. “Very sorry, we will be leaving!” Yet the doors had already shutting as the guard had hurried off.
“What was that?!” Alfred laughed as he pushed Ivan’s hand away from his mouth. “The guards here, they walk in on counts and countesses in the midst of… provocative activities, most of which aren’t married to one another. They have learned it is best not to question.” He chuckled softly as Alfred’s face turned red.
“Your royal families are quite odd, you know?” He laughed nervously, Ivan found it endearing. “So I have been told. We Russians enjoy finer things.” Ivan murmured realising they were close together at that moment, still crouched to hide from the guards.
The Story of Persephone and Hades by ThatBritishBoy
Located in the middle of Greece, out of the reach of any human man, there lied a mountain unlike any other. Gracing the top of the mountain was a castle of ivory, pearl, marble, and gold. Only the best for the beings that called it home. This was Mount Olympus. Home to the gods, their children, and the muses. Though no human had laid eyes on the castle, they knew it existed, and never attempted to climb up it to find out for themselves. The gods and goddesses that called the mountain home were decorated in golden silks and fine satin. Crowns of golden leaves rested on their heads. No one dared to mock the gods of Mount Olympus.
Id: 9233279 - Fandoms: Hetalia: Axis Powers - Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings - M/M - Rated: Mature - English - Kidnapping/Greek Mythology - Freeform/One-Sided Attraction/Slow Romance/Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology - Chapters: 4 - Words: 3536 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 51 - Follows: 527 - Updated: 27 Feb 2017 - Relationships: [America/Russia (Hetalia)] - Characters: America (Hetalia)/Russia (Hetalia)/France (Hetalia) - Ongoing
As per the title said, this is RusAme crossover with HadesPersephone mythology! Very well written and intriguing to read!
Arthur comes to terms with his struggle in loving someone and realising he loves someone. Sometimes it is hard to admit how you truly feel.
Work Text:
Growing up I had heard my mother whisper words of praise. Praise to a god I suppose I never truly believed in. That was… until I meet Francis. They say that hallelujah means god be praised. But what if it was more than that. What if there was an underlying meaning to hallelujah. Perhaps god had sent him to me. Perhaps it was punishment. Perhaps it was to teach me a lesson. A lesson not to take love for granted.
The night I almost lost him was unlike any nightmare I could’ve imagined. I should have been more careful with my words. I should have remembered what my mother once told me, that words could not be taken back once they were spoken. So of course I regretted telling him to leave. Of course I regretted throwing the dish. Of course I regretted saying I would never love him.
It had all started over a simple argument. Nothing too major. But it had spiralled out of control too quickly. How had it even come to this? To this anger?
It was another day of grabbing the morning paper at the local coffee shop before heading to work. The air was particularly chilly so I of course had to fetch myself a warm drink. I did not at all expect to quite literally run into an angel. His hair resembled the halos I had seen god depicted with. And it crowned his head perfectly. His eyes soft cornflower blue. His cheeks rose kissed from the cold… or perhaps it was the shock. His lips formed the most innocent o. They were the colour of cherry blossoms. Everything about him screamed beauty.
“Bloody hell! Don’t you watch where you are going?” I snapped all too suddenly. Smooth Arthur. What a great impression you make. And then suddenly the angel before him laughed, and by god if it didn’t sound like wind chimes. “Ah I suppose I was too caught up in your beauty mon chere. I apologise.” And just like that my cheeks were red. He was French. And though I hated the French, I could easily forgive him for being so. His voice was like a choir of angels. What had this man done to be blessed by god himself? And since when did I believe in god? I blinked slowly. “Um… my apologies…. I was being quite rude.”
And that’s how it all started. That’s how Francis became a part of my life. The biggest infatuation I’ve ever had. My personal addiction.
“Arthur.” Francis spoke softly. He stood in the door way of my living room. All he wore was a silk robe. His hair tied back from having showered. He smelled of roses and passion. His long lashes blinked slowly as if beckoning me closer. I stood slowly as if I had no control over my own body. He led me to my bedroom… our bedroom. His skin burned mine but I enjoyed the pain. I wanted to feel more of it. Perhaps I was high off of his smell, because I don’t even remember undressing. I don’t remember laying down. And I surely don’t remember how Francis was suddenly over me, covering my body like a blanket of desire. And from my lips he drew the broken gasps of his name. “Francis… hallelujah.”
And just as quickly as he had come into my life, he was leaving. “Who is she?!” I screamed, the retched man stood before me. How dare he plead for my forgiveness? “Wasn’t I enough Francis?!” I turned my back to him, unable to look upon the man I once believed to be an angel. He was no angel. He was a monster. “Arthur please.” It hurt just to be in his presence now. How dare he?! “Get out... Just get out.” I wish my voice hadn’t broken. I wish the tears hadn’t begun. Couldn’t I be strong enough to send him away? To be able to live without him. “Arthur…” He was holding me against his chest. And then suddenly I was sobbing and he was there. Why couldn’t I tell him to leave? Why couldn’t I just push him away? I had once lived without him… but now that felt so long ago. Had this man really changed me this much?
“Arthur… I would never cheat on you…” He spoke softly. His hands were in my hair. His lips against my skin. And I finally gave in. I sank into his arms. Gave myself to this man once again and pled for hallelujah. He tilted my chin and our eyes meet once again. His eyes burned with tender devotedness. And I believed him. God did I believe him. After all… what lord would make a man as perfect as Francis, and then make him a liar. What cruel fate would that have been?
Maybe there is a god above. Perhaps I deserved what he sent me. An angel that I would never be able to love. “Arthur…?” He was speaking so calmly as if he hadn’t just asked me something so raw. Something I was not prepared for. He was still on his knee. There were people looking. “Please say something…” He spoke softly.
What had I done to deserve this fate? Perhaps I should have gone to church more often. Perhaps I should have prayed every night at the end of my bed. “Francis… Please… Please get up.” I couldn’t answer him. How could he expect me to? I wasn’t ready. Did I love him? Was this love? Or was it simple infatuation. Why had god cursed me with the inability to love, and then given me an angel? I took a step back from him fear coursing through my body. Tears were on my cheeks. When had I began crying? “I’m sorry.” And just like that I sprinted. I couldn’t do this.
We didn’t speak for weeks and when we did, it was because he was in my kitchen. He didn’t meet my eyes and I couldn’t meet his. “I apologise…” I spoke softly. “I don’t think I can…” I whispered. “Arthur… you know I love you.” I flinched at his words. Of course I knew. It was like a searing blade had been sent through my chest. I choked back a strangled cry, tears on my cheeks again. Or had they ever stopped? “Please just go.” I whispered. “Leave me to my own misery.” I looked into my mug unable to even look at his feet. “I’m not leaving you Arthur.” He moved forward and I jolted back as if he had stung me. As if his presence was physically painful. I looked up finally meeting his gaze. He was so worried, and I, I must have looked like some crazed animal. “No. You don’t understand Francis. I can’t…” He grabbed my wrist and I cried out. “Yes you can Arthur. What are you afraid of?” I looked up at him the mug in my grasp slipped and crashed on the floor, but my ears were numb. I didn’t even feel the burning tea on my feet. “I can’t…” I whispered. “I don’t love you.” I finally whispered. And god… if angels could die… I watched one do just that. Dejection was written all over Francis’ face. I prayed then to take back the words. To plead to god to erase them from existing, because in that moment I finally realised… I loved him.
God plays cruel tricks on people. He sends them angels in disguise and then in the last moment…. Finally allows you to love them. But only once it’s too late. And no matter how much praying you do. No matter how many times you kneel at church. You can’t get him back. No matter how many times you lament… nothing changes.
“Arthur?” I froze. My eyes glued to the cross above my head. God really was cruel. Now here in sanctuary, he was sending me the voice of an angel. My angel. “Arthur is that really you?” I turned slowly only to see Francis. He was dressed in white. My eyes widened in awe and perhaps even horror. He really was an angel. “It is.” And he smiled. By god he smiled. And it was the most inspiring and crushing thing I had experienced in my life. I looked back to the cross behind me. Slowly I stood but he was already before me.
Time had done him well. Laugh lines highlighted the best parts of his face. His hair was as vibrant as it always had been. In the church light it glowed just like that first day. Just like a halo. “Francis…” I whispered. And then he was there, holding me. In five years, his hold hadn’t changed. “I thought I would never see you again.” He whispered against my hair. I was crying again. By god this man made me emotional. “Yeah… me too.” His hands were gentle his lips soft against mine. “I miss you my love.” He whispered his hands holding my face. I laughed but it was interrupted by a cry of anguish. “I love you.” I spoke holding him just as tightly. He laughed, it was broken, but happy. “Hallelujah.” He whispered.
titsay
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
