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[armadaderaj]

Carved Conch Shell

Date: 11th century or earlier. Pala period. India. H. 6 in. (15.2 cm); W. 4 1/8 in. (10.5 cm); D. 3 5/8 in. (9.2 cm)

(via The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

[armadaderaj]

fruk but its when they first meet and arthur cannot for the life of him remember what franciss name is and their entire second date is just him awkwardly fumbling and trying to get francis to say what his name is without outright admitting he forgot

....So I wrote a thing....Uh....Enjoy???

Now he’s gonna and done it. This was just his damn luck! He gets someone’s number...And can’t remember his name.

Arthur had been going to the same sandwich shop for the past few months, the same blonde frog made his sandwich every time. Ham and cheese, extra cheese, toasted. Three times a week, Arthur requested such a sandwich and the same guy made it. A week ago, when Arthur took his sandwich to his car to eat, he found a phone number scribbled on the sandwich wrapper...The frog.

Arthur had seen this man multiple times a week for months and yet he didn’t know his name. He wore a name tag for God’s sake! Was he really so oblivious? That he couldn’t spare a glance to the other man’s name tag?? Apparently so. And now, he was doing the unthinkable...Taking the tube downtown to meet with this man. In the meantime, he scrolled through a ‘French baby name’ website, trying in vain to find a name that sounded familiar...Jean? No...Bernard? Definitely not...Vincent? That didn’t sound very French- The train came to a stop and everyone pushed past each other on their way out

The walk to the fountains was agonizing. His heart was racing, his hands were clammy...He felt like he was about to give a high school presentation. Of course, Arthur wasn’t worried about the date! He could go on six dates blindfolded without a hitch! What he was nervous about was getting caught! Oh god...Maybe he could just turn around and go back home, it wasn’t too late for that! He could pretend to throw up maybe

“Oh! Arthur! Is that you?” He turned to where he heard his name. The sandwich worker was sat on a bench not too far away, grinning as he waved him over. Arthur put his hands in his pockets and trudged over

“Oh, hey...Pal...I was looking for you” He said awkwardly, sitting beside his date. The sandwich maker certainly looked different. His hair was down, he was wearing a plum colored shirt instead of green and yellow. It suited him well but alas, he wasn’t wearing a name tag.

“Well I’m glad we found each other, I got us a lunch reservation! Don’t worry, we won’t be having grilled cheese” he teased, taking his arm to lead him down the street...This was going to be the longest lunch of his life

•*•*•*•*•

“-And I had to scrape all of that avocado out of the toaster! Isn’t that ridiculous?” Arthur nodded along as his date talked, smiling as he ate chicken salad. “Then she kept handing me her drivers license instead of her credit card as if that could pay for it!”

“Some people are truly too stupid for this world” ...Drivers license...Drivers license! Aha! Arthur pulled his wallet out of his pocket, far more enthusiastically than he’d meant, and practically ripped his license out it “That reminds me! Do you have one of these stars on yours? I have no clue what it means” he showed his date the license, the blonde nodding along

“Ouais, mine has that too” His date didnt even make a move to pull his ID out, smiling awkwardly at him as he turned to his wine. Well...That hasn’t gone as planned...Dammit!

“Are you sure..? Don’t you want to check?” Arthur regretted saying that as it came out of his mouth

“Eh...Yeah, I’m quite positive that I have a star on mine..” His date’s lip curled a little, very obviously weirded out. Great...Just great! The universe finally allows him to have a date and its being ruined!

At the table beside them, a couple comes in with a baby, the Mum putting it in a highchair next to the table. The baby shrieks until it gets its bottle

“Isn’t he so adorable? I love kids” His date smiles fondly at the baby

“You do?”

“Oh yes! I used to babysit all the time back home, I’d watch four or five kids at once! They could be a pain in the ass sometimes but I loved it-“

Arthur stopped paying attention to his date’s story to listen to the parents talk. The mum took the baby’s bottle away o de it was empty, kissing its forehead “Aw, Francis you must have been so hungry” she giggled and picked the baby up to burp it.

“Francis? Isn’t that a bit of a pompous name for a baby?” Arthur asked his date “If I ever have a kid I’m naming it something nice like...Alfred or Amelia”

His date’s eyes narrowed “Whats wrong with that name?”

“I dunno, seems like a name brats would have” Arthur shrugged and pushed a tomato around his plate, looking up to see his date glaring now

“Oh? So you think I’m ‘pompous’ or a brat because of my name?” Francis crosses his arms and sits back in his seat

Francis...FRANCIS

“Francis?!” Arthur wheezes in disbelief “Your name is FRANCIS!?”

[armadaderaj]

🌹🌹I couldn’t think of a pun or cute saying here but just know that we ((and mun of course)) love you so much!! 🌹🌹 @armadaderaj ✨

[armadaderaj]

Home is where the heart is

@armadaderaj @syrupyyy @englandtheundefeated ;) ((This is the second part!!))

- - -

Francis didn’t even pay his husband a glance as he moved into their house, dragging his and Matthews bags behind him. Matthew was whooping and bouncing around, so happy to be home, unlike his papa.

Arthur was in his work clothes, freshly showered, shoes polished. Francis didn’t even have to look at him to know that. The boys hugged Arthur’s legs and laughed when he ruffled their hair

“Alright, I have to go now. Be good, okay? Feed the fish and Adeline”

“We will! Go catch some bad guys!” Alfred punched the air, making little sound effects as he did, earning a laugh from his father. Arthur kissed the boys goodbye, pausing in the doorway before exiting. The twins ran to the window, waving furiously as Arthur pulled out of the driveway, giggling when he honked at them on his way down the street.

Francis took the bags upstairs, groaning as he unpacked their things, throwing his hair into a messy ponytail and taking his contacts out, they were irritating his eyes, to replace them with his Versace glasses. He remembered how Arthur nagged him about them ‘You don’t need frames that expensive Francis, be practical!’ So he went and bought them out of spite.

He folded his clothes, putting in them in their respective drawers and on his side of the closet, finding his wedding ring from the night before on the nightstand. He stared at that gold band for a minute or so, picking it up to roll it in his hand.

Francis had not taken that ring off in seven years, his ring finger had a small indent in it since his ring had been in so long. It felt surprisingly odd to not have it there on his hand…So he slipped it back on before going back downstairs.

“Boys! I’ll make you lunch in an hour! Decide what you want!” Francis called as he made his way to the guest bedroom that had been recently turned into a little art studio. The Frenchman plopped himself down into his stool, humming sadly as he looked over his unfinished scene. It was supposed to be a snowy, London day but it looked more like rain…Rain seemed rather fitting for his mood so he decided to go with it, opening little paint tins to mix the correct greys and whites and blueish-black he needed before getting to work.

‘You’re pretty good, you know…You could always be a sketch artist for the police station’ Arthur joked ‘Or maybe a mediocre street artist’

‘Oh please! I’m far better than you could be. I’ve been painting as long as I can remember! I’ve just never put it to good use’ Francis blew smoke up at his boyfriend who made a face, waving it away ‘Yeah? Well I’ll have you know that my horse picture won an art contest once! In grade four!’ The two laughed and Francis put his brushes in a plastic Burger King cup to dry, sitting back against the couch cushions, nudging his canvas to the side to put his feet up on the coffee table

‘Do you think you’ll pass your exam next week?’ Arthur fiddled with one of his many metal rings, leaning against Francis’ side

‘Probably. Writing has always come easy to me’

‘You still make errors, english isn’t your first language’ ‘So? That does not mean that I cannot teach it! English grammar is easy, your spelling is just horrible. You all add letters everywhere and have six words all spelled the same!’ Francis moved his books off of the coffee table to put his feet up on it

‘Fair enough, but you French have words where there are seven letters and you only pronounce three! And not to mention-‘ Francis rolled his eyes and kissed him to shut him up, grabbing his hand to hold, laughing softly when they parted

Those were the good ol’ days, the times where they lived in an old apartment together just outside of London. One bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen, a small living area. That was it. That was their life and…It was wonderful. They made so many memories in that apartment. They celebrated three Christmases there, seven birthdays, came home to embrace eachother after hard days, huddled together when the power went out, almost pissed themselves watching scary movies, got a dog…Francis missed those times but of course, they had kids now. He would not trade them for anything of course, he just liked to reminisce. He found himself painting their old apartment building. The one with the pale red doors and fancy railings which used to be nice years back but were left bent and dull with age. He painted the bike rack where his own bike would stay over night and would eventually be stolen…He painted the graffiti on the wall and he painted the mysterious stains on the sidewalk near the stairs. He and Arthur would think up elaborate stories about how those stains came to be…They had most likely been paint or oil, hopefully not blood like they thought. He painted their fire escape with the plants in their pretty pots, the very plants that they brought with them to their current house though they didn’t survive the most recent winter, much to Matthew’s dissapointmet

Francis sighed and sat back, cleaning his brushes off. The painting was personal but no one would know the significance of those plants or those red doors so it didn’t matter. He hauled himself back up, cracking his knuckles as he headed back to the living room. The boys were sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by LEGO blocks with cartoons providing background noise for them while they played together

“Papa! I’ve got the best idea!” Alfred exclaimed, jumping up and running over, tugging at Francis’ sweater “We should have cake for lunch!”

“Cake for lunch? Cher, that is hardly healthy” he picked Alfred up, kissing his cheek “A growing boy like you needs a sandwich or something of the sort! Soon enough, you will be taller than me!”

“Taller than daddy too? He’s taller than you!”

“He is not taller than me! He just wears fancy shoes but yes, I’m sure you will end up taller than him too” Francis promised, setting him on the counter. Matthew came bouncing in, squinting up at Francis until he put him on the counter too

The boys decided on soup and garlic bread for lunch, Francis didn’t argue. Comfort food was nice after everything anyways.

- - -

The evening was extremely tense. Francis had purposefully made coq au vin for himself and Arthur, making sure to give Arthur mushrooms on his plate…Arthur hates mushrooms. He made macaroni and cheese for the kids, the noodles shaped like Lightning McQueen really made their kiddie hearts soar. 

Arthur got home a half an hour late, his dinner was cold by then and the kids were playing in the living room while Francis sat at the kitchen table with his books. Culinary school was kicking his ass but he had to pass, he had to cook the way his teachers wanted so he could pass and cook his own way once he did. 

“Good evening…” Arthur pushed the mushrooms to the side of his plate, tasting his cold chicken before taking it to the microwave. Francis stubbornly chose not to answer him, just reading his book, writing notes in French off to the side “I see you put your ring back on…” The Frenchman still didn’t answer, sighing softly to himself. 

Arthur huffed and sat across the table from him, seeming to shrivel up a little, whatever pep talk he’d given himself in the car hadn’t prepared him for a silent treatment, he’d been expecting snippy comments and cold eye contact. Not this. The couple sat awkwardly together, Francis refusing the urge to look at his husband while Arthur fidgeted with his napkin while he ate…uncharacteristically slow.

The boys pulled on Arthur’s legs once he was done with dinner, washing the dishes as he did every night

“Dad! Dad come on! We gotta watch TV together!” “Yeah! Survivor was on the other night and we didn’t watch it!” Arthur picked them both up and carried them to the living room, chuckling along the way

“You boys are getting so big, soon enough I won’t be able to carry you the way I used to”

Six years ago…That’s when Arthur and Francis had finally gotten their boys. They had found a surrogate, a very expensive one, but they found her. They paid her as they earned their money, send cash to her every week, constantly checked in on her to make sure she was eating right and sleeping and taking care of herself.

Six years ago, Francis and Arthur were at the hospital, just waiting to be let into the room, hearing the horrible groaning and pained shouts of their surrogate. She didn’t want them in the room with her, that didn’t bother them though. The couple held hands, tired smiles on their faces

“We’re going to be fathers…” Arthur murmured, resting his head on Francis’ shoulder. Francis kissed his forehead, setting his now cold coffee aside “Are you excited?”

“Oh of course I’m excited, I’m just tired too…I promise, there is nothing in this world I’ve wanted more than to start a family with you”

Arthur blushed his signature bright pink, the two laughing and joking quietly until they were let in. The twins’ sexes had been kept a secret, the nursery at home was yellow and duck themed. ‘You cannot go wrong with ducks!’ Francis had exclaimed as he painted a parade of ducklings on the wall just weeks before.

Their babies were small…They were born a week and a half early. Premature, the doctor explained, but still very healthy. Two healthy baby boys. The couple couldn’t have been happier. They got to hold their boys and cried over them, kissing their little heads and grinning when their tiny hands reached up for them…Their hearts melting when those eyes stared up at them. They chose the names ‘Alfred’, after Arthur’s war hero grandfather, and ‘Matthieu’, Which was changed to its English spelling much to Francis’ displeasure…And from that day forward, they knew they would do anything in their power to keep those baby boys happy, healthy and loved

- - -

Once the boys were put to bed, the house was painfully quiet. Francis was in his pajamas, sitting on his usual side of the sofa, the side closer to the kitchen, an indent in the couch cushion from him sitting there every night for nearly a decade.

Arthur was stiffly sitting in his leather recliner. He typically sat on the sofa too but not right now. He didn’t even recline his chair, just sitting there as if he was at the Queen’s dinner table, his eyebrows drawn slightly together in thought.

It was about an hour before either of them made a sound. Arthur coughed uncomfortably and Francis stood

“I’m tired so…I’m…Just going to bed”

“‘Night then…”

That was all. Francis trudged upstairs, stripping down to his boxers and sliding beneath the thick, red duvet once he had washed his face and brushed his teeth. He couldn’t sleep though…He just laid there, remembering all of the lovely times he had with his husband. Fighting was not rare…They had their times but he hated this. The silence, the atmosphere around the two, the stiffness in his husbands posture. He hated it.

Arthur came up a few minutes later, Francis could hear him pausing on the staircase, going back down then coming back up, finally making up his mind. He did the same as Francis did, stripping down and sliding under after a ten minute bathroom routine. Usually they did that together, talking about their day as they wound down for the night.

Arthur laid there for awhile before reaching up for Francis’ hand

“So…Are you going to talk to me..?” Francis grunted a bit in response, opening his eyes to look him over “I…I don’t know…Well- I know but…I think that you taking Matthew last night was a bit over the line. That was somewhat terrifying for me- Not knowing where you went or anything like that”

“Mhmm…Yeah…I regretted my actions later on but I did not really want to be alone” Francis sighed, giving Arthur’s hand a little squeeze “I think it was a bit unfair that you accused me of not working. You know that I’m trying, that I’m painting on the side and…and studying to get a better job than I had to provide for us…For our family”

They just gazed at eachother, Arthur biting his lip and Francis moving a bit closer

“Hm…I guess I could have been a bit more considerate”

“Mhmm…And I suppose I could have texted you or called you to assure you that we were okay…I didn’t mean to make you worry”

“That’s alright…What matters is that you’re here now”

Francis closed his eyes and rested his head on Arthur’s chest, running his hand up and down his side soothingly, sighing a bit “So you forgive me then?”

“Forgive you?”

“Yes…I’m the one that started getting snippy with you…I made those comments first and you got upset with me so…You forgive me, yes?”

Arthur played with Francis’ hair, shifting a bit to get comfortable “Yeah…As long as you forgive me too-“ “-There is nothing that you did-“ “-Shush. I’ve been working extra hours and…I don’t need to do that every day. I get why you were upset. You and the boys miss me and…I miss you too”

“I forgive you…” Francis pulled the sheets up over them, hugging his husband close “It was so weird not talking to you today, not kissing you goodbye or anything”

“Yeah…It was weird huh?”

“Mhmm…Can we let this go? I don’t think I can take another day of this..”

“Of course. I have tomorrow off, we can go somewhere all together” Arthur was starting to nod off, his eyes opening and closing

“Sleep then, lapin” Francis yawned and snuggled closer to him “We can take the kids to the park after school…And we can have a lazy day around the house, I can make macarons..”

“Yeah” Arthur wrapped his arms around him “That’s….nice”

“Je t’aime…Go to sleep” Francis didn’t have to tell him twice, his husband had already drifted off, leaving Francis to smile to himself, ever so thankful to have the life he had, even though it could be rough sometimes.

Sometimes have to have it a little rough to appreciate the good times, right?

((Ahhh I hope there aren’t too many errors!! I hope y’all like this!! Ah!!))

[armadaderaj]

Home is where..The heart is..?

A little something I just wanted to write @armadaderaj ;)

“Papa? Where are we going..?” Matthew asked tiredly from the back seat, stuffed bear squeezed against his chest. The back seat was crowded, two suitcases full of Matthews clothes and a few blankets back there with him, another Louis Vuitton suitcase in the trunk full of clothes and toiletries and whatever else that could be shoved in there. Francis was driving aimlessly around the streets, hiding his tears from his son in the dark.

“Somewhere…” the Frenchman tried to keep his voice steady “We will see if there are any hotels open” but Francis knew damn well that there would be no hotel rooms around here…London was always crowded. And at one in the morning? It would be even less likely.

“I wanna go home…I don’t wanna go on a vacation at nighttime”

“This is not a vacation, bebe, it’s just somewhere to stay” Francis pushed his hair back from his face, hands shakey

“Papa? Why were you and daddy yelling?” Matthew shifted around to rest his head on his suitcase, pulling his blanket over himself tightly “You shoulda been in bed..”

“Ce n’est pas grave…It’s just adult stuff” he tried to brush it off, to seem as if he was not upset. Francis hated that Alfred and Matthew had to hear all of that…It broke his heart

“Very loud adult stuff…” Matthew muttered half to himself “When are we gonna get there? You passed two hotels! Just now! Turn around!”

“Matthieu, don’t use that tone please…We can’t go to those hotels, the sign says they are full..” It took a half an hour for them to find one. It wasn’t fancy and it didn’t have a pool, much to Matthew’s dissapointment.

The two settled down in room 467 on the fourth floor, their stuff still in suitcases, Matthew in his pajamas still. “Papa…I wish you brought Alfred too”

“Your father has him…” Francis sighed, rubbing Matthews back soothingly “Go to sleep…I’m sorry we woke you”

“S’okay…Love you Papa…”

“I love you too” Francis whispered, waiting until he was sure that his son had fallen asleep to cry

—

Francis woke up earlier than he usually did. The curtains in the hotel were too thin, then didn’t block he light out at all. Matthew was still sound asleep, his face smushed into the pristine, white pillow case.

Francis’ phone had twenty notification. Sure some were games, candy crush was begging him to play, and a handful were from Gilbert and Antonio ‘Hey! So are we going out on Saturday or what?’ But the majority were from Arthur… Twelve missed calls with voice messages attatched, three texts

‘Bring back my fucking son’, received 1:30am, today

‘Dammit Francis, come back’, received 2:00am, today

‘I’m sorry’, received 3:45am, today

Francis couldn’t find the energy to respond, tossing his phone to the other side of the bed, curling back up with his son with a sad sigh.

It had all started for no real reason. They had just put the kids to bed, Arthur got a call from work. Francis had made a comment that admittedly sparked the whole thing but at the moment, he denied it. ‘I’m surprised they need you again, as if you haven’t been there for ten hours already. It’s almost as if that police station is your husband and not me’

Arthur’s temper was easy to ignite, they both knew it…

‘Oh yeah? At least I have a real damn job. How’s the artist business going? How many paintings have you sold as of late?’ Arthur stood and started to pace around 

‘You know I’m going to culinary school! Fuck off, I’m still bringing money in!’ Francis gestured to his stack of books on the coffee table, cook books and kitchen equipment manuals. He had an exam next week

‘Not as quick as you’re spending it on your frivolous ingredients and candles and conditioner! College isn’t cheap either, bastard!’

‘Well I’m sorry! I found a new passion, okay? I did not know that you were the fun police too!’ Francis was standing now, pointing a finger at him. Arthur snarled and grabbed his hand, holding it away

‘This isn’t about fun! You should have stuck to your teaching job instead of quitting the second you decided you were bored with it! Fuck, I’m working ten hours because of you!’

It was all a red, angry blur. Francis shoving Arthur’s hand off, the two yelling louder and louder, the subject as hand mattering less and less as they took their stress out on eachother. Francis had slapped his wedding ring into Arthur’s hand as he shoved clothes in his bag, stomping across the hall to get Matthew

‘You’re not taking my kid! Get back here!’ But Francis was a passionate man. When he was upset, he would let his husband know it. He scooped up his son, kissing his cheek ‘Lets go Matthieu, pick out some clothes, you and I are going on a little trip’

‘Francis I swear to god-‘ ‘Papa? Why are we leaving?-‘ ‘Just pack, bebe-‘ ‘Papa? Where are you taking Mattie?’

Francis carried Matthew to the car, buckling him in gently and kissing his forehead ‘Everything is going to be okay…’ Francis whispered, crying to reassure himself more than his son. Arthur stood on their porch, still in his work clothes, absolutely fuming as Francis pulled out of the driveway, his tires screeching as he sped down the street. They just drove…And drove…

And here they were 

“Papa? Papa get off of me…You’re makin me all sweaty..” Thats right. Matthew needs it to be practically freezing to be able to sleep peacefully

“My apologies, mon ange…”

Matthew sat up and stretched his stiff shoulders with a little yawn “So now that its the morning, does that mean we get to go home now?” He was only six, growing like a weed. Lord, he was taller than Alfred and everything “I wanna watch cartoons with Al…”

Francis sighed and reached over, grabbing the remote and turning on SpongeBob Squarepants. Matthew groaned and frowned at his father “Papa, I wanna watch with Al! You don’t know who anybody is and I gotta tell you all the time” He complained, crossing his arms and flopping back against his dog shaped pillow pet with a huff. 

Francis huffed a bit too. He knew this was all at his fault and his son’s anger was directed at him. But what was worse than anger? Tears…

Matthew was so much like Francis. He strived to speak basic French, only being six. He refused to cut his hairs he could look like his papa, through Francis would still trim it so it wouldn’t look unkept. Matthew acted a lot like Francis, they both laughed loudly and cried when they needed to. Apparently, this was Matthews time. They boy rolled over to turn his back to his father so he could cry but of course, Francis knew better. he pulled his son into his lap and kissed his forehead 

“Why are you crying, mon chou?”

“Cause!” Matthew sniffled and wiped his snot on his arm, which Francis hated “Cause you don’t love daddy anymore!”

“That…That isn’t true. You know that we love each other very much” 

“Yeah, well if you did, you wouldn’t have yelled at him like that” Francis sighed and jus chose to ignore that, staring ahead at the stupid, yellow, happy sponge on the screen. The squid man reminded him of Arthur…

—

Thirty missed calls. Thats how many he had. Francis chose to ignore them, scoffing softy each time his phone buzzed until a certain message caught his eye…So he opened it. 

‘Francis, I need you to come back. I have to go in to work’, received 9:30am today

Francis got up, his scoliosis ridden back aching, his eyes stingin. He stepped out onto the hotel room’s balcony, calling his husband back. Arthur picked up on the second ring.

“Francis…”

“What. What do you want?” Francis pushed his hair back, wishing he had. cigarette but he gave that up years ago 

“I…I have to go to work. Commander Lewis called, I cannot…We…Uh…”

“Get on with it”

“I can’t take Alfred to work with me. How far away are you?”

“Fuck…Arthur, why do I always have to stop what I’m doing to save your ass?” he huffed “I can be there in a half hour” 

“As if you’re doing anything! I don’t have a half an hour! I have to get there-”

“Is it an emergency, Arthur? Is someone dying, dead, crashing?”

“No, but-”

“Goodbye then. I will see you in a half hour or less” And with that, Francis hung up. It felt so strange to not tell Arthur he loved him before shoving his phone in his pocket…He always did

Just last week, he told his Englishman that he loved him nearly every hour, maybe more…The words slipped right off his tongue, easy to say since they were so true. He did love his husband. Since he had met Arthur in high school, Arthur has always wanted to work in law enforcement. Arthur’s father was a cop, his grandfather was a soldier and his great grandfather had fought in not one, but two wars. Arthur has always been proud to be English. he’s wanted to protect Englishmen,women and children from danger. It was in his blood. Francis remembers endless nights helping him study, going on tortuous jogs with him to encourage him to stay in shape, made him stay up late less and getting into the habit of waking a bit earlier. Francis has been by his side all of these years, even sitting in the crowd as Arthur graduated from the police academy, his heart swelling with pride as Arthur shook hands with his instructors for the last time. 

Francis has always told Arthur that he loved him. and every time, it was true. It hurt so much to fight with him. They are both so passionate, arguing isn’t uncommon my any means but disputes are usually settles by hugs and kisses, the rule of ‘no one goes to bed angry’ has held up for over a decade, as long as they have been dating or married…What happened? Francis’ heart felt like it was being squeezed, like someone was putting rubber bands around it. His whole test ached but he refused to apologize first. He always apologized first.

He gave himself a minute to compose himself before heading back into the hotel room “Matthieu…Put your shoes on, we are going home now” His son grinned and threw his covers off, dashing to the corner where their bags were, far more eager to go home than Francis was. 

((Uhhh I would love to finish this now but it would be easier to make it two parts ;) until next time~

[armadaderaj]

The Storm

Well, writing this took little more than a month, including world building et cetera. Probably my proudest work thus far and only a prologue to the rest of the story. Feel free to reblog, it would make my day and keep my motivation up! Send in asks if you have any questions about the world, and I’ll answer if I can without spoiling anything. I hope I will immerse you in the tragedy and adventure of this world, and take you on a journey of many feelings.

[4000 words] [APH France] [NCC (Non-Country Characters)] [Countryverse AU] [Post apocalyptic] [Warnings: mentions of starvation, death, loss. Coming chapters will contain more gruesome fragments, this is still tame and safe.]

Chapter 1: Zephyr

It had all happened long ago in the minds of the humans. The event was called The Storm by the people who survived. They never talked about the collapse of ecosystems it caused, destruction of houses and crops, technology and knowledge that went up in flames. The scarred humans, scared and traumatised they tried to carry on, saving what they could. The world before The Storm was doomed to be forgotten like ancient history, only parts of it discovered and still used for the humans living in the present day, even though it had happened less than a century ago. 

Keep reading

[armadaderaj]

A Kiss, Good Sir?

Day 2: Victorian au  @francisandtheworldweek

Pairing: (pre) Fruk

Characters: France, Canada, England

Rating: T for language

Word count: 1232

Summary: Francis does not enjoy visiting London, but he must say he wasn’t expecting to see caterpillars while there

Dreary. Utterly dreary. That was the only word that came to Francis’ mind when he thought of London. Or England in general. Cursed island and it’s stupid weather. And people for that matter. Did no one know not to get out of the way of a carriage? Thankfully, no one had been run over yet, but one of those little boys had almost gotten close! What did they teach their children here? The poor boy could have died! 

Francis sighed in relief as he watched the boys run off as if nothing happened. “Driver? ‘Ow much longer till we reach the Williams’ residence?”

“Just a bit, sir. The horses have to calm down.” Francis tapped his fingers against the top of his cane in exasperation. 

“Mon dieu. What a terrible city,” he grumbled, waiting as the horses settled down. 

“Sir, we have to make a stop off at the butchers, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Francis wrinkled his nose in disgust. Of course he minded! The stench of rotting meat and and the sight of blood was not something he wanted to see, and why was he being dragged along? This was something of a servant’s errand, not something a guest should be a part of! Although, Francis knew Matthew was not one to bear ill will. He sighed in defeat. “Very well.”

The horses began on their journey once more, the carriage jostling. Francis gazed out the window at the city surrounding him with its dull skies and even duller people. Francis truly wondered why Matthew had ever thought of moving here. It was terrible. Terrible and dreary. Francis frowned a bit, so lost in the complaints he harbored for the city that he didn’t even notice the carriage stopping. He glanced to the side to see the disgusting butcher shop. 

He grumbled softly and settled back against the seat as he felt the driver hop off from the front, heading to the little shop. Francis watched with passive interest, scanning the crowds once more for there was nothing better to do than to people watch.

“Oi! Hands off, gibface!”

Francis made a face at such indecent language, looking out the window to spot a man surrounded by two policemen. What did Matthew call them? Bobbies? Something like that. Francis turned his head away. There was nothing of interest there any- Good Lord what were those?! 

Upon the strange man’s face were the most hideous pair of caterpillars Francis had ever seen. Thick and bushy-who put bugs on the0r face?!- oh-mon dieu- were those eyebrows? 

Francis shuddered at the horror of the man’s unfortunate facial hair, trying to find something else to look at. Thankfully, he didn’t have to look far because right beneath those bushy brows were the most stunning pair of green eyes Francis had ever seen. They were gorgeous...Almost gorgeous enough to make him forget about those hideous eyebrows. Almost.

Francis continued to ogle the man until his voice cut through once more. 

“I wasn’t-the hell would I be kittynipping?!”

This man was not speaking English. But that didn’t stop Francis. He hopped right out of the carriage and strode over to the three men causing a scene in the middle of the street. Well a scene no one was really paying attention to. 

“Good day, gentlemen. What seems to be the problem today?” The policemen gave him a cursory glance while the green-eyed man turned his nose up slightly at hearing his accent. “Nothing, sir. This one’s just been causing trouble-” 

“Oi! I was not causin’ trouble! You lot are bloody accusin’ me!”

“Accusing you of what may I ask?” Francis interrupted. The manglanced over at Francis and seemed to roll his eyes. “That I been kittynipping.”

“Kittynipping?”

“Took the man’s spangle?”

“Pardon?”

He rolled his eyes once more. “Ya know? Stealing?”

“Oh...Why didn’t you say so?”

“I did, ya dotty!”

Francis assumed that was an insult but decided that since he didn’t know the meaning of it, it was not nearly as effective. 

“Mm alright. Well gentleman, do you have proof that the man stole?”

“Well I’m missing me money.”

“Have you checked your pockets?”

Yes sir I’ve checked me-” The policeman looked down in astonishment, pulling out a few half pennies and pennies from his pocket. “Oh well I suppose it was here...”

The accused man huffed although Francis could make out the slight glint in his eye. “Can I go now or you lot still bent on taking me to the Coldbath Jug?”

The policeman with the pennies in hand sent a glare in Arthur’s direction. “Fine, go. But if I see you around here again, I’ll beat you black and blue.” 

The man only smirked and tipped his hat,“Good Day, sirs,” before spinning on his heel and walking off. 

“Wait!” The man stopped to see who had called him, seeing that Francis was indeed still there. “What do you want?” He asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as Francis came up next to him. The Frenchman smiled his signature grin, making sure to lean a bit closer.

“Bonjour. Bonnefoy. Francis Bonnefoy.” The man in question blinked

“Don’t care.” He started walking off again, leaving Francis to follow. 

That always worked! “No wait! What’s you name?”

“Like I’d tell it to you!” At least the man was speaking understandable English now.

“Oh come now, cher! I helped you get out of trouble!”

“You did nothing!”

“Yes I did! Otherwise you never would have gotten the chance to do whatever it is that you do and somehow get the money back in his pocket.”

The man froze and turned around. “How did you know I out the money back, I’m innocent remember?”

“Ah but your eyes say differently,” Francis smirked, leaning a little on his decorative cane.

The man narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, you fucking frog?”

“Just your name, petit.”

He seemed to ponder it before giving Francis a curious look, eyeing him how a cat eyes a mouse. A slight smirk settled on his face as if he’s uncovered some great secret. He took a step closer, forcing Francis to take one back until he felt the side of a building pressed against his back. 

“Is that all you want?”

In his daze and confusion as to what was even going on, Francis gave his companion a most inept answer. “Huh?”

The man seemed to size Francis up before smirking at him. “Please, I know a molly when I see one...So tell me is that all you want?” the mystery man murmured, trapping Francis against the wall and leaning so close their faces were barely a few centimeters away. 

“M-Maybe not...” He had no idea what a molly was but if being one got in him in this situation he’d gladly be one.

“Didn’t think so,” he purred, smirking at Francis. He leaned ever so slowly in, and Francis slid his eyes closed in turn, waiting.

He felt warm breath by his ear. “Tom tug” He frowned and cracked an eyes open to see the man dashing off with- that was his pocket watch! 

“Come back here!”

The mystery man grinned at Francis from across the street. “Name’s Arthur, love!” he called before dashing off to God knows where before Francis could stop him.

The Frenchman could only sigh. Arthur...Lovely name but what a terrible man. His beloved pocket watch!

A fake kiss for a pocket watch. That English bastard.

Translation:

Gibface-ugly person

Kittynipping-stealing

Spangle-money

dotty-idiot

coldbath jug-prison

molly-derogatory term for a man who is homosexual

tom tug- fool

[armadaderaj]

The Sky in Your Eyes

Day 1: Photographer/Model au  @francisandtheworldweek

Pairing: (pre) Gerfra

Characters: France, Hungary, Germany, Prussia

Rating: T for language

Word count: 1219

Summary: Three years after the Great War, Germany is struggling to honor the Treaty of Versailles. France retaliates with military force. Stuck in the midst of the turbulent times are a particular German photographer and a French solider fresh from the front. 

Note: Not exactly a traditional photographer/model au. I decided to interpret and stretch the prompt a bit, hope I still did it justice

                                                                                                December 12, 1917

Lud,

     Congratulations on your new job, bud! Told you that newspaper would have to be crazy if they didn’t take you! When I get back you better be throwing an awesome party to celebrate. I expect lots of beer and women. Can’t forget the women, kiddo. And the wurst! The food here is trash but what can you expect I guess. Can’t wait to get home, but that’s gonna take a while. In the mean time, you take care of yourself, Lud. Work hard at your job and avoid the draft at all costs. The war is not all what is seems. Till next time little brother, and thanks for those cigarettes!

-Gil

                                                                                                       March 8, 1921 

It had only been four years, and the words were already fading. Not that it really mattered anymore. Ludwig had memorized them long back. 

His eyes traced along the curves of the horrendous writing, looking over the crumpled letter once more before folding it gingerly. He exhaled softly, tucking it inside his vest pocket before pulling his boots and coat on. A cursory glance around his shabby excuse for a room revealed he had forgotten his cap and his beloved camera. He scooped the two things up, placing the former upon his head before running out of the door. 

Taking the steps two at a time, he descended to the ground floor, rushing out the door and into the crisp morning air. Sadly, this morning he had no time to enjoy the weather. He had already spent too much time with his letter, and now he was going to be late for work. 

“Extra! Extra! Hear all about Germany’s failure to pay the Allied reparations!”

“This bread was not nearly so much last time!”

“Madam, I cannot control the value of the money! Now will you pay or will I have to make you leave?”

Ludwig kept his gaze averted from the lives surrounding him, each one with a sob story of their own, all alike due to one reason. The war.

It had ruined Germany. And continued to do so. As if the lives it had already took were not enough. Ludwig pulled his cap down further, quickening his pace, glancing up only when he knew he had made it to the publishing house. 

He had counted the steps. 

He slipped into the little building, immediately tackled by his partner. “Ludwig! You’re finally here!”

Prying the excited Hungarian off of him was a bit more difficult than he expected but he managed. “Yes. Sorry for being late, Eliz-Daniel” he quickly corrected. “Did the boss notice?” He glanced over the sharply dressed w- man in trousers and a button up, her feminine figure hidden under the larger clothing. 

“Oh he noticed awhile back!” Eliza snickered. “He said he’d fire you the moment you showed up!”

Ludwig cursed under his breath. Shit, right when he was going to be promoted too.

“But don’t worry Luddy! I just told him you were out on an assignment and he was okay with it,” Eliza chirped, smile so bright it could break her face probably. 

It took a few moments to understand what Eliza had stated, especially in Ludwig’s frazzled brain, but once he did he did not feel relieved. “What assignment did you tell him I was on?” he asked, afraid to know.

“Oh just that you were investigating some of the brothels in town.” Eliza flashed him an innocent smile.

Ludwig groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? It’s for your own good! You needed an excuse, and I gave you one! No need to thank me! That’s what friends do!” Eliza linked arms with Ludwig pulling him along out of the publishing house. Ludwig sighed in resignation.

“What’s the assignment today?”

“Oh just the usual. The economy’s terrible, the reparations are so hard to pay, the Republic is unstable, all that,” Eliza replied with a wave of her hand as she looked around at all the people. “It’s a bit boring don’t you think Ludwig? The same old thing always.” 

The same old miserable thing.

“Wonder when it’ll get better,” the Hungarian murmured.

Ludwig didn’t reply, looking ahead as the two roamed the streets, steps falling in sync. 

A strange tremor ran through the ground. At first Ludwig dismissed it at his imagination. But it only grew. The vibrations of footsteps quaked through the streets below them, and Ludwig stopped, moving neither foot. The footsteps continued despite his halt. He looked up only to see the same puzzled expression upon Eliza’s face. “Eli-”

Blue. Out of the corner of his eye he saw blue. Ludwig turned his head to be overwhelmed by the color. Clad in blue cloaks and red trousers, men marched down the streets of Düsseldorf, guns poised upon their backs and helmets gleaming in the sun. 

“The French...”

Ludwig turned back to see Eliza watching with wide eyes. He glanced around to see the rest of the native crowd ogling at the newcomers, some even hanging out of their windows to see what was the commotion. He soon enough directed his attention back to the men, walking down Germany’s streets...As if they owned them. Ludwig’s blood boiled in a rage, and he clenched his fists as Eliza nudged him. “Quick! Take pictures!” 

“You want me to take pictures of invaders?!” he hissed.

“They’re for the newspaper Ludwig!” Eliza insisted, nudging Ludwig. 

Ludwig grit his teeth and raised his camera. His finger lay poised on the button, the only thing stopping him was his own hesitation and anger. 

Bastards. Scum. As if he’d take a picture of those fucking sons of-

Click

No more hesitation perhaps. Certainly not as the German straightened, looking up from the lens to see the exact thing that had captured his hesitation and rendered him hopeless. 

Blue. But a better blue than those hideous uniforms. No this blue was more like that of the sky and the sea, free and spirited. And gold. Hidden beneath that cursed helmet, but Ludwig could still make it out. 

He was talking to the soldier next to him, laughing at something he said and shaking his head. And all Ludwig could do was stare as the man moved in front of him adjusting the strap of his gun slightly. 

He felt a sharp jab in his side and a hissed word of pictures. He brought the camera up again, but this time he didn’t hesitate. 

The sea of blue flowed through the streets and out of sight, taking the golden soldier with them, leaving Ludwig behind with a camera in hand and that dazzling smile in mind.

Ludwig didn’t know for how long he stared after that color but soon he was shaken back to reality. Literally.

“Earth to Lud! Are you functioning? Hello?” 

Ludwig blinked. “What?”

Eliza snorted. “Man, you’re really out of it. Come on, we have to get back to the publishing house to get this story down.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him back in the direction they came. “Process those pictures quick, Lud cause we’re going to need them.” 

Ludwig glanced down at his camera. Yes they certainly would be needing them. He needed to find him again. That Frenchman with the sky in his eyes.

Author’s Note(s): 

- According to the Treaty of Versailles, Germany was to pay hefty reparations to the Allies in both money and raw materials. Due to the heavy burden the reparations placed on the country, Germany repeatedly could not pay it’s dues, and according to the Treaty, the Allies were able to impose military sanctions should Germany default on the payments. So on March 8, 1921, the French sent in troops to the towns of Duisburg, Ruhrort and Düsseldorf. This would eventually expand into the full on occupation of the Ruhr by 1923, and while France managed to get the raw resources they needed from the occupation, it was Germany who gained sympathy from the world thanks to their passive resistance and the spread of news. But by 1923, the hyperinflation of German currency (the mark) that began in 1918 had reached ridiculous levels with one dollar being worth 4.2 trillion marks, making the situation even more grim. (Note-this is just a general overview of the occupation, there are far more details and complications than this, but this is a general overview that will hopefully help explain the background for this piece)

- I know there’s a lot of unanswered questions in here like what happened to Gil? Why’s Eliza dressed up as a man? Will Ludwig ever find the mysterious Frenchman? Well I’m planning on making this a multi chapter fic and continuing it past this event, but that really depends on how much time I’ll have. Should I is the question

- So I know the prompt was photographer/model au, but I wanted to tweak it a bit, so I guess Francis is a model? Just an unwitting one at the moment XD. Hope that’s alright. Remember kids, in modern day it’s just creepy if you take pictures of people and in some cases illegal

[armadaderaj]

Why are you so awesome?♥️Thanks for the shout-out!

👇👇👇

Why hello again, it’s about 3am as I’m typing this and I’m…in a really good mood?? This will be queued of course but in his very moment? I’m super happy so hey!! I’m gonna give shoutouts to some blogs that I just happen to love a lot <3

@armadaderaj -for great writing content!!

@ask-friendly-france -really cute artstyle oh jeez

@watchoutoprah -she’s a BIG sweetie and her art is adorable!

@snipertiino -they send in asks all the time so my blog doesn’t die lol

@fruk-de-lys -cause she’s been with my blog since the beginning?

@alabaster1223 -they’re in the game grumps the musical and they worked super hard and uh memes

@just-a-simple-starry-knight -their art is cuteeee and they’re really sweet!!

@askgerame -super cute art for the super cute boys

@sassypantsjaxon -reallllly good writing oh boy

@ask-aph-francis -amazing cosplay and a super sweet mun!!

@ask-the-na-brothers -suuuuuper cute are with a funny mun!!

@englandtheundefeated -I know we don’t talk but their cosplay is fantastic

@gevs-little-art-box -cause her art is cute and I love her nyos??

[armadaderaj]

The Necklace

The tale of how Francis’ beloved cross necklace became his, became damaged, became stolen and became repaired. This is a warm up but I hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Stunning blue eyes, soft hair, a pretty smile and a musical laugh. Those were Francis’ favorite things about Jeanne besides the fire of passion within her soul. Back in the day, when he met her, he had become enamored with her, Antonio said it was a phase, Gilbert only laughed but it was true…Francis had fallen for a human, one of the biggest mistakes a nation could make. He would walk her to church and put flowers in her hair, he’d listen intently to her stories- sometimes pretending he forgot a story so she would tell him again! Her voice and her way of storytelling both dragged you in and made you listen. The two became very good friends- but never lovers. Francis would kiss her cheeks in a friendly manner or hold her hands while listening to tales from her childhood but he never pushed what they had. He was bitter, it always hurt to know that he would outlive her by infinite lifetimes…He knew that she would never understand him, most humans didn’t…He knew that he should never have fallen in love but the heart does what it wants.

Jeanne gave Francis a beautiful cross necklace as a gift of friendship. It was a bit dull, a bit too long and a bit chunky but he loved it. He swapped out his old cross necklace for the new one Jeanne gave him and never took it off, even when it didn’t go with his outfits- that didn’t matter.

All good things eventually had to come to an end…Like Jeanne’s life. Francis was not there to see her go, to see her struggle against the flames. He wishes to this day that he could have been there to offer support or to fight for her but he could not have. He cursed the English, he clawed and scratched at Arthur when he dared to show his face around him again

“Demon! Scum! You killed her!” He had screamed “You killed her and you feel no remorse!”

“I do feel it, Francis! Did you think it was my decision? If it was up to me, it would not have been done! That woman would never have been killed!”

“She has a name! She had a life and you filthy English took it from her!” Francis had spat on Arthur’s shoes, shouting for his housestaff to get Arthur out while he retreated to his wine cellar to drown his sorrows in weak alcohol and tears. All he had left of her was that necklace.

He rarely took the necklace off from then on. When he did, he always put it somewhere safe for fear of someone messing with it. Slowly, his relationship with Arthur was repaired, he somewhat forgave him and his people for what they did…He was still grieving internally- through the stages of grief, even years later he never hit acceptance. Francis cannot see ghosts but he can sense them. When he’s feeling hopeless or lost, occasionally he’ll feel a hand on his shoulder or hear a soft whisper…It is her. He can never accept that she is gone since she continues to visit him in the afterlife.

Wearing that necklace got him through many rough years. Through his people hating him, through his royalty being beheaded, through debt and poverty, through the First World War even. He would keep that necklace close to his heart and just pray that his dear Jeanne would be there to protect him, to give him some sort of hope when all seemed lost.

When the Second World War came around, he was so tired. He was tired of the fighting, tired of his ears ringing, tired of the constant pain in his chest- the pain that signaled the mass murder of his people. He could feel each death, one could never get used to that feeling.

Francis himself was captured by the Germans, his country too but of course they stole him away from France, taking him to a place he didn’t recognize in Germany. He was chained up to a chair, unable to move since he was weak already, and interrogated

“I’m telling you, I do not know anything” he repeated over and over but the soldiers had none of it. They shouted and slapped him, shouted some more and when they didn’t get what they wanted, they left the room…It was eerily silent…It was dark too and the air itself smelled like dust…It felt like forever until Ludwig himself came into the room. That changed nothing. Francis refused to give that man a bit of information other than the fact that his shoe was untied- which it wasn’t.

Francis never had realized that his necklace was not on his person until Ludwig held it up for him to see…and his world came to a stop

“How did you get that?”

“That isn’t important. What are the British-“

“Ludwig, honestly! Give that back!”

“I will give it back if you tell me where-“

“I cannot tell you anything!”

“Then I cannot give this back” Ludwig stood angrily, leaving the room once again.

Francis’ heart was racing…He had never felt anxiety so strong in his hundreds of years of living. It sounded absolutely ridiculous! It was just a necklace! But it was so much more than just a necklace…

Ludwig returned with a metal pot…It was bright red with heat “This is your last chance, tell me what the British are plotting. I know you know their plan, you sleep with Arthur”

“Ludwig please…I am telling you the truth…I don’t know- Ludwig that is all I have left of her- I’ll do anything else! I-I’ll make food for your soldiers! I- I can…I can make uniforms!”

“That is not needed” Ludwig sighed and dropped the necklace into the pot, holding it out for Francis to watch “It did not have to come to this…”

“It did…I cannot betray my family over a necklace..” Francis’ hands shook, he could barely think as he watched his precious necklace melt. He was overcome with guilt, the fact that he had not protected that necklace the way he should have…And that he had contemplated giving information to get that necklace back.

The melted gold was turned into a Nazi coin and Francis was left in the dark once more.

Once the War was over and Francis had been released back to his own country, Arthur had bought his lover a replacement necklace. Of course, it was a wonderful gesture. It warmed his heart, really it did, but it could not replace the once Jeanne had given to him. He felt attached to that necklace as children do to stuffed animals or how the elderly feel attatched to objects from their past. Sure, nowadays there were artifacts from Jeanne’s house…Her picture was on display and so was her old house…But that necklace was his. Not a museum’s. It was something that was his and only his, nothing for a tourist or a journalist to write about. It was his little piece of her that he got to keep…It was a coin now, a coin that could be anywhere.

Francis eventually came to terms with the fact that it was gone and did his best to move on. He wore the necklace Arthur gave him instead, moving on in life. He painted quite a bit, re-did his kitchen, got a cat as well as a dove, worked in a hospital for a month or so…And eventually, he was proposed to by his beloved Englishman. It was quite the surprise, one he honestly had not expected!

Their wedding was months later. Their suits matched, they were married by Feliciano and Lovino, they had their first kiss as well as their first dance as husbands! They both cried a lot that day, out of pure joy, out of the fact that they were truly together to live out their long lives together as one…But tears were shed for another reason too

Towards the end of the night, Ludwig approached the hall couple, carrying a small box. Francis, of course, was apprehensive but he accepted the little gift to be polite. Arthur watched as the little box was popped open to reveal a Nazi coin

“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Arthur spat while Francis stared at the coin in shock

“Wait- Wait is this..? Is this my coin?” Francis asked and Ludwig nodded

“It was not mine to keep…I forgot that I even had it until I felt it in my coat pocket…”

“…Merci…”

That coin was melted down within four days. It was melted back into a lovely, new, cross necklace. Francis had it engraved with Jeanne’s name and the year of her death, honoring her in the best way he could.

Francis didn’t wear this new necklace every day. He swapped it out for Arthur’s occasionally so his British husband would see him wearing his gift too, but it felt so good to have that back. It didn’t look exactly the same- not at all really, it was smaller now- but it felt fantastic to have that piece of history back with him again in its rightful place…

[armadaderaj]

For Your Smile

As daunting a task it may seem to return to simply being Britain, a certain Republic is here to help Arthur get over the loss of his title of Empire. 

When Francis had offered an escape from the tedious drone of their meetings, Arthur had thought it would entail a very exhilarating, yet quick, trip to the broom closet across the hall. He needed that. 

After this last decade he really needed that. However, that was not what he got.

Needless to say he had not been expecting this. 

A hand had grabbed his wrist pulling him along as the break began, away from the ambassadors and diplomats and officials. Whispered words in his ear promised something fun, and he was rushed out to the Frenchman’s Citroen DS. The one without the roof. Of course Francis brought that one, and Arthur can barely contain the roll of his eyes at that. He’s been doing that a lot these days.

A puzzled look is thrown towards the Republic now who only shoots the Kingdom a mischievous smile, opening the door for him. Arthur isn’t one for surprises, but he finds himself climbing in anyway, Francis hopping in the other side with a Cheshire grin. He starts the engine and floors it, almost running over a pedestrian on the way, but what can Arthur expect. They’re horrible at driving on this side of the channel.

“Francis where are we going?” Arthur asks, watching as Francis heads out of city, passing women dressed in their polka dot swing dresses and men in their generic grey flannel suits. Everything is so reserved now. And so very subdued. He remembers when it wasn’t. He remembers when he wasn’t.

“It’s a surprise, amour.”

Arthur is snapped out of his reverie. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

“You don’t like a lot of things, aime,” Francis replies with a chuckle. Arthur rolls his eyes in response in favor of looking back out at the people.

“When you offered to make me feel more alive, I was expecting something quite different.”

Francis rolls his eyes. “I’m not all about sex, rosbif. You should know that by now. Plus I could have been referring to making you more alive by taking you out into the sun because you’re as pale as a vampire.”

Arthur scoffs and throws a glare at the offending Frenchman. “I am not pale!”

“You reflect light, lapin,” Francis teases, sending a blinding smile over at Arthur that has his cheeks burning. And perhaps that’s true considering his aversion to sunny weather. Even now, as the sun peaks out from behind the clouds, he shields his eyes, beginning to feel warm. 

“Arse,” he huffs softly, looking out at the road from underneath his makeshift visor. Now empty of most other vehicles, their only companion is the wind whistling through their hair, causing blonde strands to be thrown out of meticulously placed hairstyles. “Are you planning to kidnap me and kill me in the woods?” Arthur quips sardonically still occupied by the surroundings instead of his sharply dressed companion.

“Oui, amour, that’s exactly what I want to do. It’ll be like Snow White. I’ll be the Huntsman who wants to kill you but then can’t because you’re too beautiful,” Francis replies sarcastically, only to throw Arthur a smile as he calls him beautiful. 

Arthur looks over and feels the tug on his lips, but manages to tame it with a roll of his eyes. “The Huntsman doesn’t kill Snow White because he feels sorry for her and thinks some wild beast will finish the job for him, not because she is beautiful.”

“I like my version better,” Francis replies with a grin. That cheeky bastard.

Arthur rolls his eyes once more. “Still haven’t answered my question. Where are we going?”

“Don’t be so impatient, Arthur! That’s my thing!”

“I wouldn’t be so impatient if you just told me!”

“You would be even more impatient if I told you so!” Francis replies as he speeds up a bit. 

Arthur huffs in frustration, leaning his head back against the head rest when he notices something in the distance. Swirling, vast, and blue, Arthur’s second love expands until she takes up the entire horizon, and his eyes are no longer narrowed in boredom and contemplation. 

The waves crest and crash against the white sands beach, and the breeze has the taste of salt on it. Arthur licks his lips slightly, savoring it, that freedom, as Francis pulls up a bit far from the coastline, hopping out to come over to Arthur’s side, leaning against the light blue hood. “Well?”

Arthur only glances up at Francis for a split second before tugging him down by his tie into a liplock. “You’re an idiot.”

“Rude,” Francis purrs against his lips, letting Arthur get out of the car first before pulling him in again. They separate at last, and Arthur looks over at the ocean, leaning against the side of the car with Francis right beside him. A breeze picks up again as the sun looks down upon them, casting short shadows onto the ground. Arthur’s eyes watch the waves intensely, unable to look away. And then they slip closed, and he’s allowed to simply reminisce. Not crave... “What’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to see you smile,” Francis replies, looking back at Arthur.

“Well looks like we have a winner today.” And Arthur’s lips tip upwards. 

[armadaderaj]

Fruk week day 7

Prompt: first kiss

Title: Spring dance

Every year at Garroway Middle School, the student council held a Spring dance. A little event so the school year would end on a happy note, so friends could dance together before parting in the summertime

Everyone always dressed up somewhat to get their pictures taken and almost every student had a date. Wether they were taking a friend, bringing a sibling along(though the students who did this were usually forced to by parents) or persuading their crush to go with them, nearly everyone had…someone

One would think that the exchange students would be everyone’s first picks! They were foreign after all! It is natural to gravitate towards people from other places out of curiosity! But…The albino German, the Spanish kid with his retainer and the French boy with the ‘girly’ hair were never picked to take to the dance. They still got tickets and went together but the three silently wished that someone has asked them. It seemed as if they were avoided. Even the boy from Holland, the one who barely talked at all, had a date to this event! The trio were embarrassed and let down…

But they came anyways. They had Arthur Kirkland tag along so he didn’t have to go to his brother’s soccer game and they had another boy who was supposed to join but he came down with a cold the day before. So it was just the four of them. They all arrived a few minutes apart, having their mums and dads drive them separately. Francis was the first one inside.

Arthur had shown up late in what were essentially his church clothes. A little sweater vest and a dress shirt that hung too loose on his awkward, seventh grade frame and a pair of black slacks with cat hair on them along with a pair of black sneakers. He thought he looked great! In fact, he’d spent a whole fifteen minutes in front of the mirror before arriving! He was most excited to show Francis, his annoying French friend, that he could be fashionable! But Francis was nowhere to be found

“Gilbert? Did you see where the frog went? I swear he got out of his mum’s car earlier..”

“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom. I dunno what he’s doing in there. Probably fixing his hair or something” Gilbert shrugged and moved past him, going straight for the snack table with Antonio on his heels. Those two had pretty much just come for the snacks…ridiculous

Arthur huffed and set off to the bathroom, prepared for it to reek of roses or perfume but he didn’t smell it at all. The bathroom was empty.

“Hello?” Arthur called, just to make sure, not hearing anything in return until he turned to leave. He swore on his fairies that he heard a sniffle “Hello..?” He tried again, moving past the urinals to the stalls in the back. He ducked down to see if there were feet beneath the stalls- it wasn’t weird! He was just making sure!- and sure enough, there were a pair of black and white brogue shoes there. Attatched to someone of course

“Go away…” Arthur knew that voice though he had never heard it sound so…defeated “Go, I said! Go have fun…I’m going to go home…”

“Francis, you’ve been talking about this dance for weeks. Why are you so upset all of this sudden?” Arthur leaned against the stall “You talked to me on the phone for an hour last night about shoe polish”

“I know…This just is not as fun as I thought it would be…”

“How so?”

“For starters, I was one of the first ones here. You and Antonio and Gilbert were all late….And then, when everyone else arrived, they laughed at me”

“I cannot help that there is traffic! And I highly doubt that anyone would laugh at you, they all like you” there was another sniffle from behind the stall door “What are you so upset about? Come out here and talk to me, I honestly don’t think that anyone would be laughing at you”

There was a frustrated sigh behind the door as well as rustling of fabric before Francis stepped out. He was wearing his new, face shoes that he had talked about so eagerly the night before, a nice sweater since the spring air was a bit chilly…And a red skirt. A skirt of all things! It went down a bit past his knees and had little pleats in it…But just as his voice had sounded, the French boy looked defeated

“Everyone laughed at me…And…And I just feel so silly now” he wiped his face “Why did I think that this was a good idea…”

“I don’t think it looks silly. My dad wears a kilt sometimes and so does my brother”

“But this isn’t a kilt, Arthur! It is a skirt! A skirt from the ladies section of the clothing store…And everyone knows…”

“Why did you get that in the first place?” Arthur asked, raising a thick eyebrow at him “Were you worried about it at all when you bought it?”

“No…I wasn’t worried. I was excited to wear it”

“So you got it because it made you happy then?”

“I suppose…But it’s silly…”

Arthur sighed and placed a hand on Francis’ shoulder “Everyone does silly things. I have a book about unicorns. I like them quite a lot, even if others may find them to be silly or strange…I like them. And if I can bring my book about unicorns to school…And if Gilbert can wear a tank top to this dance…And if Mrs. Wallace can wear cat sweaters…You can wear a skirt. Because you like it”

Francis stared at his friend, absorbing every word that came out of his mouth “You mean that…? You would not be embarrassed if you walked out of this bathroom with me..?”

“Not at all. Are you embarrassed by me?”

“No, I’ve never been embarrassed by you” Arthur couldn’t help but smile at that

“Come on frog, cheer up. The music will start soon and I have to find a spot on the bleachers to sit”

“To sit? You are not going to dance?”

Arthur shook his head “Did you forget? I don’t have a date” he looked in the mirror, fixing his hair again. The ride here had messed it up a little

“Dance with me then! Neither of us have dates! And to be honest with you, I don’t think there is anyone else in this gym that I would prefer to dance with” Both of them were now blushing like the dorky little kids they were, awkwardly linking arms before exiting the restroom

The music began to play, the two of them danced, laughing and joking the whole time, smiles never leaving their faces. They didn’t focus on the strange looks sent their way, how other students chuckled to eachother about the ‘weirdos’. The two of them were having a great time together and no one would ruin that.

Eventually, the night had to come to an end, as all good things did.

The dance was coming to an end, the couples flooding the dance floor for a slow song. Both Arthur and Francis were tired. They could barely keep their eyes open, they hadn’t taken a break from dancing all night. Now was their time.

They each had a little cup of punch in hand, which was really just lemonade with red food dye, and a cookie in the other. Francis’ head was resting on Arthur’s shoulder and in return, Arthur’s head was resting on top of his too. They watched the couples sway side to side as parents started to file in, calling or waving to their kids, making them leave the party

“You know…When I come back next year…I expect you to ask me to this dance”

“Oh my, you ‘expect’ me to?”

“I do…I’ve had a wonderful evening with you…Maybe you could come to my house and we can dance to the radio together”

“That would be nice…” Arthur agreed, setting his cookie on the seat beside him to take Francis’ warm hand “I think I like dancing with you”

“Me too” Francis murmured, watching the lights and the couples for a few minutes longer before he heard his mother calling to him. Sure enough she was there with his little sister on her him “I have to go…”

“Alright…Will you call me tomorrow?”

“I always call, even when you don’t want me to” Francis hopped off of his seat, smiling over his shoulder. He took a few steps forward, stopping and turning back around. He grabbed the front of Arthur’s ugly sweater vest and pulled him in for a kiss. It was quick, it was sloppy but it made his cheeks burn…His heart was racing when he pulled away, smiling at his friend “Uh- Have a wonderful night, cher” Francis hurried off back to his mother, not looking back since he was blushing up to his ears

Arthur was absolutely stunned. He could not even believe this! Francis had just kissed him? Who saw? Wait- he didn’t care who saw- but Francis had kissed him! Arthur’s face was beet red, his hand covering his mouth in shock. He’d never been kissed like that before- not even by a girl!

He’d had his first kiss stolen by a frog…And he liked it very much…Let’s just say that Arthur and Francis had a lot more fun at the dance than they thought they would

[armadaderaj]

Midnight in Paris

Great Gatsby + Midnight in Paris + history nerd = 20s affair. 20s affair + fruk= sleep deprivation as I try to get this terrible piece of writing down and yet refuse to proofread or reedit because non. For anyone who hasn’t read The Great Gatsby yet, brilliant book (I will gush about this book with whoever is willing to listen), brilliant movie with Leo DiCaprio (that party scene boi). And Midnight in Paris (haha title stolen, sorry not sorry, cause it’s a brilliant movie with an amazing story). Now back on track. So Roaring Twenties. In France it was actually called the Années folles or crazy years, and I can absolutely see that being the case.

It’s 1920s Paris, and a certain Frenchman cannot leave the war behind. 

Alight in a blazing display of luminescence, the mansion attracts the crowds akin to how a lamp attracts moths. They arrive in whatever vehicle they can grab, men and women of all social classes arriving at the glittering villa to be swept up in the welcoming tide.

Golden champagne pouring from every fixture to flood the crowd’s eager glasses.

Lights ablaze in every corner of the vast home, chasing away any lingering darkness.

Music loud enough to drown out thoughts let alone conversation.

And in the center of the whirlwind of foolish celebration is one man, holding a single champagne glass as he smiles over the chaos in his dwelling.

It’s loud. It’s unbecoming. And Francis loves it. He downs his champagne glass with a practiced air of grace before placing it on an empty silver platter passing by.

It only takes a few seconds before he’s down in the fray, dancing with one woman after another, buying a few men a drink and encouraging the musicians to start up another tune of that addicting music: jazz.

Drunken smiles all around and not a thought in sight. Only those basic desires-no needs. To drink, eat, have a good time. No time for thoughts here.

So Francis loses himself in the fervor of the party, the likes of which even America doesn’t see, and drinks and drinks and drinks.

It isn’t long before the world is spinning in more ways than one and the colors are losing their distinct boundaries to bleed into everything else. The ground’s falling out from underneath him like everything else always does when a hand catches him. The warm hold is all he can focus on as he is pulled away from the party, away from the crowd, away from the pleasure to a quiet secluded room in a dark corner of his house. Hadn’t he had all the lights lit?

Instead of turning on the lights, a candle is lit and placed by the desk. Francis frowns softly at this, remembering all those nights before electricity was invented. He huffs and watches the little flame flicker in the dark of the room, fighting desperately to fight off the dark that was consuming it. Francis averts his eyes to the struggle only to see the little ember’s light burning in two identical jade eyes.

“Arthur.”

“You just can’t restrain yourself can you?” the Brit asks, taking a seat next to Francis in the love seat and pulling out a cigarette. Arthur had an uncanny habit of producing cigarettes at all times, even back in those goddamn trenches.

The Brit lights the cigarette with the struggling candle’s flame, deaf to its protests, and takes a puff. “You have to throw all these lavish parties and have all this bloody wine. Your guests can barely keep it in their cups and instead spill it everywhere, and your butler is a bloody tosser, I’ll have you know. He wouldn’t even look at me when I asked him for another glass. And don’t even get me started on your maids.”

Francis isn’t really listening to the Englishman’s complains, too busy studying the little flame to pay attention to him.

“Are you even listening to me?” He turns around to see Arthur pinning him under a scrutinizing gaze. Francis fidgets lightly in his seat with a huff and pout. “Non. Why would I listen to such a boring conversation.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s not a conversation if only one person is talking, frog.”

“Well maybe if you ever talked about anything interesting, I would talk back, rosbif.”

“Oi, I’m plenty interesting!”

“Mais bien sûr, Angleterre,” Francis replies sarcastically, patting the Englishman’s shoulder before turning back to the flame.

A few moments of silence pass before Arthur breaks it with a sigh. “What are you hoping to accomplish with all this pointless extravagance?”

The flame warps as it almost dies, Francis reaching out and sheltering it with cupped palms. “Something you can’t hope to understand, Arthur.”

Arthur frowns at this, watching the light flicker in the Frenchman’s eyes. “Then help me understand.”

Francis turns back to give a wry smile to Arthur. “Oh mon lapin,” he murmurs softly, cupping Arthur’s cheek to look into those emerald eyes. “Always trying so hard to be my valiant knight in shining armour,” he teases softly.

Arthur’s face goes a brilliant red at those words, mouth opening and closing as he attempts to make a retort. “I-no! That’s absolutely not- at all-”

Francis cuts him off with a laugh, shaking his head at Arthur’s protests. “Tu es si mignon,” he teases once more just to see that brilliant blush again. Ah there it is. Francis would do anything to see it.

“I am not cute! I am-”

Francis cuts him off this time with a kiss, pulling back only when both their lungs are screaming. “Can’t you be quiet for one night, amour. And let me have this?” Francis asks softly, setting his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. The light of the candle dims as Arthur’s cigarette crumbles.

Arthur heaves a resigned sigh, placing a gentle hand over the small of Francis’ back. “And how many more nights will you buy my silence with kisses? You ruin yourself with all this, Francis.”

“Then let me ruin myself. Anything to forget the dark.”

“How many more midnights will you spend like this?”

“Until this candle can chase away the darkness in France,” he whispers back. He raises his head to look back at Arthur. His eyes dart from those emeralds back down to his parted lips. “So until then, mon cher,” his breath ghosting over the other’s lips, “won’t you spend another midnight in Paris with me?”

Arthur only hesitates for a moment before pressing his lips against Francis’ again in answer.

[armadaderaj]

We’re Allies

Awhile back, and I really mean a long time, @wherearemyglassesbro answered an ask for sad fruk headcanons, and one of the headcanon scenarios (the first one I believe about holding hands during ww1) stuck out to me, so here’s my shitty fic inspired by it, dedicated once again to you pal :)

Blood. That’s the first thing Arthur remembers. It stains the ground as if someone had tried to water the non existing sprouts with the red liquid from open wounds. 

The screams come next. No matter how loud the artillery is, the screams are always louder. At this point in time, Arthur can’t tell if the screams are his or someone else’s. 

His hands are clawing at the clothes around the bullet wounds, his vision fading. He’s falling, just like the rest of his men, left to die face down in the mud. Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

But fate always does like to be cruel. Hands are pulling at him, forcing him onto his feet and dragging him off of no man’s land. He struggles in their grasp. He should be back there. Abandoned, bleeding, and broken. But that is not what fate wants. Not at this particular moment. Funny that the one man who can’t really die is being saved from the German’s bullets and shells, transported back in one of those newfangled ambulances to a field hospital.

Although at this point it’s too late.

He’s bleeding a lake, and every bump and crevice the vehicle goes over and into rips pained gasps from the Brit’s throat. By the time they even reach the hospital, he’s long gone from the world of the conscious barely holding on to that of the living.

And after that it’s a blur. Arthur doesn’t remember what happened. There’s more pain then a voice and a hand clasped around his own, gently telling him to let go because it would be waiting when he came back. And Arthur did let go. The darkness consuming him is his last memory. The last memory needed for him to wake again.

He draws in a breath, his chest heaving as if he’s a drowning man struggling to stay afloat. His body feels too heavy; it’s difficult to control. As Arthur struggles, that same voice comes back. “Shh. Arthur, breath. Come on. Slow, slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Yes. Bien, lapin, just like that.” Arthur listens to the voice, following along as it imitated breathing, the encouragements blessings from above.

His eyes flutter open slightly, groaning at the lights when he hears the wry chuckle. “You can’t stay alive for even a week can you, sourcils?” Arthur groans again in reply, unable to voice anything back at the moment as his head reels. The pain that had felt like fire before is only a dull throb now, but it isn’t any less uncomfortable. He can only hope Francis has enough sense to know that comment was met with irritation on part of the Brit.

Francis knew him well enough, but chose to ignore Arthur’s displeasure. “Or was it that you missed me so much you just had to come back?”

“Sod off,” Arthur rasps at last, tossing his head to the side to look away from Francis and closing his eyes again.

Francis tuts. “Such rude language, rosbif. Especially after I fixed you all up. You looked like a train wreck, even worse than last week.”

“What do you expect. Bloody machine gun...” Arthur grumbles, going quiet in favor of cracking an eye open and turning his head back to look at his French savior.

He hasn’t changed much since the last time Arthur saw him, which, as Francis had so rightly stated, was only a few days ago. Francis is wearing a standard French field uniform, blue like those stupid eyes Arthur can’t forget. His hair is cut short, something Arthur knows he detests immensely, and he has bags under his eyes. If Arthur was any crueler, he would mention so to his longtime enemy, but he is not in the mood for a quarrel today. So instead he bites his tongue and scans that perfectly chiseled face that has grown haggard from the long nights and even longer nightmares, the eyes that seem to lose whatever light they had left with each passing day, and the faint tremor going through the hands of the great French Republic as he fixes the United Kingdom’s bandages.

It’s then that Arthur realizes, Francis was talking this entire time. He blinks up at the Frenchman who is looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to whatever his question was. Francis sighs and shakes his head. “You are hopeless, Angleterre.”

“Oi-”

 “You’re not going back onto the battlefield.”

Arthur blinks at this, trying to understand if he heard Francis correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not going back. You’re going to be switched out and sent back to England to recuperate-”

“Like bloody hell I am. Who the hell says I’m going?”

Francis looks him over, narrowing his eyes slightly. “/I/ say you’re going. I’ve already discussed the issue with your generals-” 

“Who gave you the right?” Arthur snarls.

Francis frowns deeply. “I don’t need the fucking right, connard. Because God knows if given the chance you will run yourself into the ground, dying like a forgotten animal in those godforsaken trenches.”

Arthur sets his jaw, glaring up at the Frenchman. “For my men, so be it.”

Francis doesn’t reply to this, not at first. He turns away to fidget with Arthur’s bandages, running his hand none to gently over a wound. Arthur hisses slightly in turn, arching away from the touch. “Always so stubborn...and so terribly loyal...Where has that gotten you now, Angleterre?”

“Bedridden with a frog at my side. I see your point now,” Arthur replies dryly, his usual sarcasm hidden under. 

Francis lets out a laugh at that. It wasn’t like his usual laugh, for it was cold, hopeless and sent shivers down Arthur’s back. He didn’t like it but couldn’t help being drawn to it, wanting more. “Considering how many times you return, I can’t help but think you’re a masochist, rosbif.”

“Then you must be a sadist since you’re always the one taking care of me,” he mumbles back. “These bandages are too tight.”

Francis hums softly. “Not as tight as they should be~”

“Shut up.”

Francis smiles softly, and Arthur can’t breath. Francis slowly rests his hand on Arthur’s, taking it and looking over it as if he was studying some exotic creature

“You’re going to go back out there...?”

“You know I have to...”

“You don’t /have/ to...” Francis locks eyes with him. “We could run away...”

Arthur gives him a wry smile. “Francis...”

“Run far far away from all this...We’ll leave all this stupid propaganda behind...” Francis’ brow furrows as he speaks, the pain raw in his dull eyes, in a way Arthur hasn’t seen for a long time. “ The false promises and the endless blood..”

Arthur shakes his head. “And leave them to suffer in our stead?” 

The Frenchman shakes his head. “And what do we accomplish by being here? Becoming machines meant to follow their orders blindly?”

“And what do we do by leaving? You know we can’t escape this blasted war no matter where we go. It will follow us in more than just nightmares and scars.”

This time Arthur has managed to silence the Frenchman. Francis exhales, clasping Arthur’s hand in both of his and bowing his head.

“We can’t leave...”

“So we stay...And do what?”

“We wait...Wait until it’s over, and we’re free.”

“And what if we never are?”

“Then we face this together.” Arthur squeezes his hand, looking up into those blue eyes. “Until we are.”

Francis’ lips part. “And after?” he asks softly, breathlessly as if his vocal chords are going to fail. “After we’re free?”

“We face after together too. Because believe it or not frog, we’re bloody allies now, and there’s no getting out of that.” 

Francis’ smile returns. “No there isn’t.”

[armadaderaj]

Even Pirates Have Weaknesses

Ah! My really good friend @armadaderaj and I have been rping for a year! Ah! It’s been so much fun! And I hope this next year brings more ❤️❤️😂

It was a hot day out on the ocean, the Spanish waters were choppy, the sun was beating down…And the French and the English had decided they wanted to raid the same small town. Arthur Kirkland, the captain of the rickety ‘Queen’s Greed’, was royally pissed. He has been planning to raid this certain Spanish town for a good two months. The citizens there were mostly old with riches they couldn’t spend within their remaining days but of course, stupid Francis had dragged his ship out there just to spite him. The second he’d seen that French flag waving, he knew he would have to fight for what he believed to be rightfully his. There were so many places Francis could take out! Why did he follow him around? To be a bother? Certainly that was the reason. 

“Get out of here! This town is mine, you bastard!” Arthur shouted. Francis only laughed, resting his elbows on the side of his ship

“Why on earth would I go away? Do you know how rich this place is?”

“I sure as hell do! That’s why I planned on taking it! Sod off!” But of course, the French were stubborn. They wouldn’t leave just because they were told to. They turned their ship and headed right for Arthur’s “Shite- No no no! Turn us left!” Arthur yelled “Quick! Turn us left- they’ll hit us!” His crew all screamed orders at each other, shoving each other out of the way to save themselves as ‘le bateau de l'ange’ rammed itself into their ship. Arthur was sent backwards, his head hitting the deck rather hard though not enough to cause a concussion. Francis’ crew hopped off of their ship and onto Arthur’s, brandishing their swords. Arthur hauled himself up, hurriedly ripping his sword from its holster as Francis approached him. How dare he! How dare he come here in his ridiculous fancy coat! How dare he show up with a clean crew and new ship just to ram into Arthur’s old one! How DARE he show his face on this ship in the first place!

“Bonnefoy…” Arthur growled, holding his sword up towards Francis’ neck

“Arthur” Francis knocked his sword away with his own, the sound of metal on metal piercing their ears. The two glared at each other, neither making the first move. It was strange…Usually they were always willing to slice each other’s throat open…But there was a bit of hesitation this time. Arthur shook that away and lunged for his well dressed opponent only for him to dodge and cut Arthur’s bloodstained coat with his blade

“You might as well get rid of that horrendous jacket, it serves you nothing!”

“I’ll get myself a new one once I get the gold from this town! And I have your head hanging above my fireplace back at home!” Arthur snarled, the two lunging at each other once more. They were a near perfect match. Francis was graceful with his movements, fluid in his sword-swinging but Arthur found counter by playing dirty as he so often did. He ducked past another one of the Frenchman’s swings, slashing the blonde’s knees. Francis cursed and stumbled back

“Excuse you?! That is not proper swordsmanship!” He exclaimed

“I may have the best table manners in all of Europe but I do not play fair when it comes to fighting!” Arthur smirked widely, rather smug about the wounds he brought to his long time frenemy. Blood stained Francis’ white trousers, and anger turned his sly blue eyes the color of the ocean

“Fine then! We will fight your way, connard!” He pushed his hair out of his face and stomped forward, grabbing the back of Arthur’s hair and bringing their noses together. Arthur froze and stared at him in shock, unable to get his sword to move- unable to just move in general as Francis pressed their lips together. This was it, this was their first proper kiss….Sure as kids they’d kissed but those were friendly kisses- this was their first legitimate kiss. Arthur began to kiss back only to feel a horrid pain in his chest. Francis smirked and backed up, letting Arthur fall to the ground, a sword shoved up his stomach and through his chest

“You…You cheated” Arthur groaned out as Francis knelt beside him

“No I did not! I fought the British way” he took Arthur’s hand, refusing to let him bleed out alone. He had to stay there, despite wanting to raid Arthur’s ship, because letting the Englishman die by himself would just be too rude

“You are such an arse…You know that, right? You’re an arse and I hate you…” Arthur coughed up blood, fighting to stay conscious

“Mhmm, I know you do. But I must say, your lips are softer than I thought they’d be” Francis teased. Arthur narrowed his eyes before they rolled back, going limp on his ship’s deck. The Frenchman took his blade from a Arthur’s stomach, calling his crew members over to go take Arthur back to their ship

“He’ll be alive again in a few hours, tie him up nice and tight! We cannot have him getting away!”

Francis smiled as he looked out over the town he was to raid. Was it worth it? Of course it was! It was just payback for the way Arthur had beheaded him a few weeks before over a box of emeralds…

[armadaderaj]

It’s Cold Out, My Love

I know there's absolutely no content on this blog, but I decided that I might as well start posting stuff, and what better way to launch it then this.

This is for my awesome rp partner @wherearemyglassesbro, for our first year anniversary. Here's to a successful year of tears and smiles and many more to come. Love you man and stay awesome ♥️♥️♥️🤗

December in London was not a time to be out and about. Cold and rainy like it is the rest of the year, the city was especially gloomy this fine day. So what did Arthur do? He went out. Not that he had much of a choice on the matter. There was paperwork to complete and meetings to be held, but the Brit couldn’t help the foul mood he was in that day courtesy of the weather and his work.

As Arthur walked through the dreary streets of his beloved city, the little digital contraption in his pocket began to ring. He sighed in slight frustration as he fished his cell phone out, attempting to answer the call with his gloved fingers. “Bloody hell...” He bit the tip of his glove and pulled it off with his teeth finally pressing the cold surface to slide the little green call button. “ ‘Ello?”

“Angleterre!” A decidedly French voice answered.

Arthur rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh even though the corners of his lips were tugging upward. “What do you want, frog? I’m busy”

He could practically see the pout and dramatic hand over the heart. “Arthur! I call so lovingly and you are so rude! You wound me, amour!”

That earned another eyeroll from the Brit but also a smile. “Francis, just tell me what you want.”

In response, the Frenchman huffed. “Fine. Where are you right now?”

“I’m on my way home. Why?”

“Go to your bridge.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. Why was he being sent to London Bridge? Before he could ask Francis continued. ‘Don’t ask why, just go. There’s a surprise waiting for you there~”

“A surprise? Whatever may it be?” Arthur asked with fake annoyance to conceal his amusement. As he spoke, he headed toward his bridge, moving past pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas.

“I can’t tell you~ Then it wouldn’t be a surprise!”

Arthur scoffed lightly. “Then you shouldn’t have told me in the first place!”

“Non! It’s much more fun to make you wonder!”

Arthur sighed once more. He was doing a lot of that today. “Fine. I’m here,” he told him as he arrived. looking across the water as cars passed behind him.

“Turn around. Towards the right.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, cher!”

Arthur grumbled but did as he was told. “I don’t see the point of all this. What could possibly-” He was cut off when two warm hands pressed themselves over his eyes from behind.

“The point, mon petit lapin, is it’s a surprise~” The warm breath fanned over Arthur’s ear causing him to still before a smile grew across his lips. He pushed the hands down and turned around to be greeted by a brilliant yet familiar azure gaze. “Bonjour, amour~”

Arthur simply stared, taking in the presence of his Frenchman before him. He looked him up and down before focusing on his face again. “Bloody frog, you’re not supposed to be here till next week-” he started, moving closer.

“Oh but amour, I missed you-” Francis took a step closer.

“You should have called! I could have picked you up from the airport-”

“And risk ruining my surprise? Absolutely not!”

A few centimeters separated them as the two nations simply took each other in but soon even that space was gone. Francis slowly reached forward to cup Arthur’s face, and Arthur gently rested his hands on Francis’ sides, the two closing the gap between them.

As the two lovers expressed their affection through tender touches and kisses, Arthur couldn’t help but think, maybe December in London wasn’t so bad. As long as one had a frog by their side.