#everyone in russia kinda lost their mind in the 90s | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gospacegay · 7 years

Text

Dreams and Possibilities

So... This thing started out as a rusame short and grew like crazy! There is swearing. Get over it. There is mentions of suicide but It’s a very fluffy piece otherwise. Kinda smutty. Enjoy the alternate universe cuteness!

----------------------------------------------------------------

The argument during the world meeting had spiraled out of control so fast. Alfred had something, or possibly lack of things that were wrong. Then Russia was on his case, completely angry beyond reason. Totally surprised, the always armed American whipped out a pistol. That was when Ivan took out his pistol, whispering “Nothing but broken promises.” Shocking everyone, he shot himself through the mouth. He then fell to the ground, limp and dead.

Alfred ran over but he knew it was far too late. The angle of the bullet was just too good. It ripped out so much brain matter on the way out, the guy would be retarded as all hell when he inevitably recovered. The living nations were not invulnerable, after all. “He killed himself because of me.” the freckled blond grieved, Ivan's blood still staining the carpet. “I thought you'd be happy, boy.” England replied coldly, having the nerve to kick the corpse on the floor of the meeting room. Everyone gasped at his rude behavior.

“Why would I be happy a defining part of my culture is dead?” America hissed, training the gun on his terrible father figure. “It's just Russia, lad. No need to do anything regrettable...” the English man begged, backing up from the lifeless body. “He taught me how to skate, and ice fish, and sail a boat, and cook pies. He visited me all the time when I was a lonely colony. He was a better role model than you. He knew how to make love, not rut like a sick goat. He was mine.” Alfred spat, advancing with the gun safety off. “But you said, but he just...” The emerald eyed Brit sputtered, crumpling as he was shot between the eyes.

Despair and loss shredded his rational mind. His long time crush and former nemesis had killed himself. Alfred had been so sure they could be friends again. It was nothing like being lovers, but it was better than total deprivation. Then Ivan killed himself. This was all Alfred's fault. The arguments, the bloody cold war, the bombs, the deaths of children in gulags... it was all indirectly Alfred's fault. He always had to be so stubborn and proud. A world without Russia was meaningless, no one to rival Alfred's light with shadow. There was only one solution now.

Not waiting to be stopped, Alfred put the gun to his own temple. Pulling the trigger, everything faded painfully to black. Death was a funny thing. Before this point, dying had been like falling asleep painfully. This death was different. For one thing, it hurt way less on the way out. He had never seen anyone after the fact. Even recovering and waking up, there had been no one there. He was always alone forever.

Yet Alfred was wearing white, in a bright white room, with Tony seated beside him. The short red eyed alien just stared at him. It was hard to tell if he was disappointed due to lack of eyebrows or notable mouth. “Hey cool space buddy. I haven't seen you since the 90's.” Alfred greeted. “So you had to fucking kill yourself. I stop paying attention for two decades and you fuckin' kill yourself.” Tony cursed, clearly not impressed. “You, don't understand... he killed himself because of me, and... I thought... were...” Alfred attempted to explain with watery eyes, the event still overwhelming. “The Russian dumb shit killed himself too.” Tony summarized sourly between Alfred manly not-sobs. Giving the distraught nation a pat on the back. “Don't worry about it idiot. Your space buddy will fix this. Don't fuck it up.”

“What?” Alfred squeaked, confused and distressed.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred sat up sharply in bed, heart racing. He instinctively reached for a reading lamp he couldn't recall owning. God, what a horrible dream. There was guns... and some kind of court room... and Russia died? The details were falling apart the more he recalled them. Everything felt super surreal right now.

He was Alfred Foster Jones. But that wasn't accurate either. His mind kept pronouncing Alfret, then a very unfamiliar jumble. It was just the fog from waking up, confusing him. It was time to get dressed quietly and make breakfast. He didn't want to wake people so soon. What people was he edging around again? Stretching his arms a little, an elbow bumped one of said people.

It was a big sleeping somebody all cuddled under warm morning blanket. The covered up somebody was taking up slightly over half the bed, sharing the blanket Alfred was trapped in. The freckled blond was terrified to look under. The physical urge to squeeze and tickle the half asleep bundle was stronger, and Alfred had always been impulsive. He gave the mystery person a big morning hug. Hearing a happy sigh, the nation was pulled back under all the blanket. Alfred nearly had a heart attack.

It was Ivan, sleep tousled in sleeping pants. He had been shot, he had been dead in the memory. He killed himself because of Alfred. Maybe it was a dream. It had to be, otherwise life was even more terrible than ever. With trembling hands, Alfred grabbed the Russian’s face and peppered it with kisses. That big nose, that brow, that sexy jawline, nothing was missed.

He was stopped mid neck. “Dearest, calm down. It's a Sunday.” Ivan grumbled in Russian, draping an arm over Alfred to pin him lazily. “I can't help it. I saw you kill yourself, and I don't know if it was a dream or real. Maybe it was a prophecy, it was so bad.” Alfred rambled, scared. Ivan freed the tanned blond's hair from it's scrunchy prison. Alfred eventually calmed, allowing his surprisingly long hair to be disentangled. He had never had it long at all, yet it had been long for over a century. The conflicting memories were both right.

“I suppose this nightmare had England in it.” Ivan soothed sleepily, now the bigger spoon and holding Alfred close. “It did, I shot him in the face. But it didn't make you alive again.” the younger nation admitted. “When I killed England for mistreating you, I promised you he was dead. I made absolutely sure of it sunshine. I even crushed the bones into dust and put the dust in a jar.” Ivan promised casually, clearly having made this oath before. Alfred remembered such a thing. It had been a first year anniversary gift along with a nice boat ride.

“It just felt real.” the younger nation whispered, still uncertain of reality. Ivan kissed that last shred of doubt away, snuggling slightly closer. “My god, how can you be so handsome and rugged at the same time?” Alfred flirted blatantly. Ivan blushed the slightest shade of pink, giving Alfred a squeeze. “I'll dress the kids if you make breakfast.” the ash blond volunteered, clearly not fond of cooking.

Alfred seemed both reviled and joyful over having to cook. An angrier short haired version of himself wanted to tell Ivan to shove a frying up his arse. His kinder souled self was faster, answering “Of course. I was thinking fluffy western omelets.” The additional statement of children, as in more that one was a bonus. He had always wanted a son, or a daughter. He would even be fine with anything in the middle.

He forgot about words when Ivan dragged his lazy ass out of bed. The Russian was fit, like underwear model fit. He could probably punch a hole through concrete or scare physics into letting him walk to the moon. Alfred drooled, raking into those sexy back muscles with his eyes. Then Ivan dumped an ugly university sweater over a carved body of god's finest marble. A low whine came from the freckled blonde. Ivan swiveled to look, just noticing. “What?” he asked, adjusting the drawstrings on his hooded sweater. “It's a Sunday. We should have crazy sex.” Alfred ordered more than asked.

God could Ivan blush when he had the tan of a snow man. “They're down the hall! They'll hear everything!” he whispered hoarsely. “I'll be good and quiet, We can do anything!” Alfred tempted, already tugging at the sweater impatiently. Ivan looked at the door, then Alfred. Like any other sex deprived overworked parent, the Russian jumped at the opportunity.

Alfred was face first getting ground into the mattress, a moaning mess. “This... was.... good idea.” Ivan panted, thrusting deep like a wild man. “More! Don't stop for anything.” Alfred ordered lowly, a bruising grip on his hips. The rhythmic fucking was amazing but Alfred had already come. It was all about Ivan now, for he always took a while to push over the edge. The ash blonde was easily the more sexually frustrated of the couple because he couldn't get out a quick orgasm in the shower.

Ivan's breath hitched as his pace turned erratic and rough. Finally he gasped, thrust deep inside, and came loudly. “Oh fuck, oh, your my angel.” he uttered, both men turning into a pile of blissful nudity. Not even a second later, there was knocking on the door. “Mama, Papa. Are you practicing fighting bears again?” a small boy asked. “No.” Alfred lied sheepishly, blushing as well. Still inside Alfred, Ivan stammered “I'll be right down. Go brush your teeth with your sister.” “Okay Papa.” the boy cheerfully obeyed, heard skipping away.

Ivan was quick to shower and leave, making Alfred suspicious. After languishing in the heat of the bed a few more minutes, he felt his used hole. There was a pearl of cum on his finger. That bastard never put his condom on. If Ivan made him pregnant again, he was getting shot. The last child had been ten long months without coffee, chocolate, or rum. Alfred damn near lost his mind. Between all the former British colonies giving him bad medical advice and Ivan treating him like glass, it was a miracle no one was murdered.

After spermicide type products strong enough to kill, Alfred washed, and cleaned some more. Not a single Russian swimmer was getting anywhere near his uterus this time. Hastily dressing, Alfred stomped downstairs while loading his pistol. Ivan was hiding behind his daughter, Alaska, at the kitchen table. “Annika, my little darling, lay flat so I can get a clear shot at your father's throat.” Alfred asked sweetly. Obeying, the platinum blonde batted sky blue eyes at him while climbing off the chair. It was normal for her not to talk much, despite having the appearance of an 11 year old.

“Don't kill Papa! He didn't build the pool yet!” Oregon protested with a mouth full of cereal. Ivan looked at his son with a disapproving frown. “You tried to make me pregnant again you sneaky rat!” Alfred hissed, the pistol only a foot away from Ivan's handsome face. “Just one more child, maybe it'll be Moscow!” Ivan cheered, having been at gunpoint over this before.

“I will not live without coffee or chocolate for nine months. I need them.” the freckled blonde threatened, slowly holstering his weapon. After a sigh, he kissed Ivan on the nose and began cooking. “New plan babies. Mama's gonna make you chocolate chip pancakes. Papa was bad, so he's getting one plain pancake with no toppings.” Alfred announced. The children were quick to turn on their father. He put on a pout, replying “Now I will starve!” Alaska was back in her chair, leaning in to whisper “I'll feed you some of mine, Papa. I love you more than Nikolai does.” The younger Oregon, appearing seven years old by human standards, snorted. “You want the pool too.” he muttered. Such loving children.

As breakfast progressed, Alfred sipped his coffee while watching his babies eat. “So, what are you all doing today?” he asked. “Papa said we're gonna play with Catalonia while he's working. Spain's house is huge, Mama. Catalonia has an air hockey table!” Oregon explained excitedly, making a mess of his breakfast. “Work on a Sunday?” Alfred asked with a pout.

Ivan shrugged, then rubbed his temples. “A very big problem has not been solved.” he said flatly, not keen on going himself. “I'll come. Maybe I can help, motherly wisdom and all.” the freckled blonde replied. With a tired smile, the paler nation nodded in silent agreement. The adult topic of politics was never discussed in front of their precious young states.

After breakfast clean up, Alfred combed and braided his hair into one large rope. Putting on his best Russomerican colored Hello Kitty sweater, the braid was made to match with a navy blue ribbon. He took the time to admire the silly shirt. A white eagle with red wing feathers was on Hello Kitty's clothes, while all 136 stars of the Russomerican flag were displayed in layered rings. The rings were centered around the cute kitten's silly dance. The sweater was a birthday gift from the Japanese Empire, a good friend of the couple and old wartime ally.

Once the children were picked up by Spain, Alfred and Ivan departed. The drive was not very long, since it was hosted not far from their Washington home. Since the Russomerican Republic was so huge and powerful, most nations had regular places to stay for the monthly meetings. They would never dare complain how far Washington was from their actual homes.

------------------------------------------------------------

Alfred was already not impressed as soon at the couple arrived at the meeting building. “What?” Ivan asked, knowing every look of his partner. “This is a dump.” the tanned nation muttered. “No, its cheap and efficient.” Ivan countered stubbornly. It was a dump, an old brick building with a lazy government sign at the front. Not a single flower bed or wall mural spiced the place up. They could have easily taken a wrong turn and ended up at a mortuary.

The inside was just as bad, with whitewash walls and scratched up wooden floors. The long meeting table was dimly lit, due to one light being burnt out. “How much time until people arrive, dear?” Alfred asked, running a finger over the table. It came back thick with dust. “Twenty minutes, maybe.” Ivan answered absently, pouring over papers in his briefcase.

Accepting the impossible challenge, Alfred tackled the dinghy meeting room. After changing the dead light bulb, The table had a soft white cloth cover. Snacks and potted flowers were stolen from another meeting in progress down the hall. Alfred longed to dust and mop the large space, but nations were already beginning to show up early. Resigned to living in dusty filth, the north American dropped next to his husband. Ivan was still brooding over a peace treaty proposal for Syria and Turkey, putting a grouchy expression on.

“If you frown too long, your face will get stuck.” Alfred teased, edging his chair closer. He gave a few kisses, nothing graphic. It was enough to make Ivan's cold mood melt to a dopey expression. An unfamiliar chuckle was heard as a stranger approached. Alfred tensed until he recognized the long wavy locks and flirtatious blue eyes. The nation was an old one, suspected to be Alfred's illegitimate father by most. They shared too many physical qualities for it to be a coincidence.

“France, long time!” Alfred greeted with traditional kisses on each cheek. Welcomes aside, the french man looked over Alfred's currently strong but trim figure. “You look great. I haven't seen you in years.” the man complimented, his pronunciations butchering the Russian language. “You still strangle my language like a boa, dear Francis. You always look so good in your suits as well.” Alfred replied in kind. Ivan glanced up at the overtly friendly chatter, jealously threatening “Alfred is mine.”

“Of course, sunshine, and you are mine.” Alfred finished the possessive sentiment with a smile. “Forever.” Ivan whispered lovingly, losing his dark edge again. France grinned and took several pictures with his phone. Several others were arriving, sitting at the table. France bid Alfred farewell with a kiss on the hand, then took his seat at the far end of the table. The second the last nation sat his bottom to a chair, the low chatter began.

“Thank you for coming to this... emergency meeting...” Ivan faltered despite his loud introduction, completely unheard. Alfred analyzed the seating arrangements quickly, years of raising tempestuous young honing his instincts. Ivan was about to start again, when he was hushed by kisses. Alfred then stood, and whistled so sharply it made the whole room twist to look at the source. Without a word, he forcibly picked up each guest and shuffled the entire table.

The result was a mildly confused group of nations that had nothing to say. Several nations murmured while snacking on the stolen plates of cookies. Admittedly, Alfred had been overly sheltered in his colony days, only picking up Russian and English. A happy brunet nation directly addressed Alfred. “We are wondering who you are.” the cute nation said in decent Russian, heavy Italian accent coloring each vowel.

Relieved to understand, the freckled blonde replied “I'm Russomerica, or part of it.” “I don't understand. He's supposed to be Russomerica.” another Slavic nation protested, gesturing to Ivan. Flashing the simple wedding band on his right hand, Alfred silently answered the question. “He's my beloved. We share the responsibility of monitoring all 136 states and territories.” Ivan added seriously.

“Think of little brother as Russ, and his wife as Merica.” Ukraine said, loving to dote on Ivan in public and make him squirm. Alfred personally didn't care if he was called a wife, for he did many wifely things. A few chuckled at the joke, and the meeting finally began. Due to the odd new seating arrangements, no one felt comfortable enough to talk over Ivan.

Still, others eyed the docile Alfred fearfully. A few were unlucky to know Alfred as the bloody Valkyrie of Russomerica, always alongside Ivan in battle. He was no stranger to war and death. Alfred had only lost a few battles since the Russomerican Republic had initially formed. That was almost three hundred years ago.

After watching Syria and Turkey bicker with Ivan over border reassignments, Alfred felt tense. Being so close to his husband, the freckled blonde could almost feel Ivan's internal anger as it built. “Accept these new terms or we will enforce them. Everyone is tired of your petty war.” Alfred ordered. Both warring nations looked at him dubiously with his Hello Kitty sweater and adorable blonde braid. Syria laughed mockingly, having to adjust her partial hijab. Turkey smirked, asking “Does your whore wife speak for you now?”

Instinctively, Alfred rose in anger. “Take that back.” he growled, glaring holes in the man. “I would take that back unless you want to die.” Ivan warned lightly. The fool laughed at Alfred, laughed. Upset, the freckled blonde slammed his face into the table hard. “I'm loyal and cute, and I look good in sweaters. You don't know anything about me!” Alfred roared, slamming Turkey's face two more times. Letting the nation go, Alfred retreated to his husband's side. A consoling arm was draped around his shoulders.

Syria paled, quickly signing the peace treaty and returning to her chair. Spitting out several broken teeth, the bloodied Turkey grudgingly added his own signature. “I'm not a whore.” Alfred whispered softly, upset. “Of course you aren't darling. You're perfect.” Ivan assured with a chaste kiss. With that little war out of the way, there was still a lot of time left. A few constructive dialogues managed to play out. Global relations seemed improved by the end, with several trades proposed between the forty nations attending.

The meeting ended, with a few stragglers the last to leave. Alfred could hear a conversation in rapid fire English down the hall as he cleaned up. “Wales, you can't. You were my ride home!” a young voice whined. “I don't care. I can barely afford to attend as it is.” an older male voice dismissed. “But, I need you!” the younger appealed, no avail. There was a slamming of doors, then stifled crying. Unable to ignore a child in distress, Alfred peeked into the hall. A boy, almost a teenager was slumped against the wall.

Clearing his throat, Alfred attempted conversation in English. Due to not using it everyday, it was quite rusty. “Hello child. Why you cry?” he asked kindly, Russian accent thick. “Oh, oh, Mr. Russomerica. I'll leave now. I didn't mean to be so upset.” the boy answered quickly, fiercely wiping tears with his ragged looking shirt. The child was too thin for Alfred's liking, arms like twigs. “Nyet, you come with me.” the taller nation insisted.

“Um, that's nice. But I still need to find a way to get home. I live really far away.” the child noted. Alfred ignored this, scooping the child off the ground. He was a light little thing, almost too light. “You see, I'm Sealand. I'm the best little country ever, but it's really hard.” the boy prattled on. “Child of England, da?” Alfred asked, seeing the same sandy blonde hair as his own abusive mother. Sealand shrugged, shivering and snuggling into Alfred's fluffy sweater. “I don't know. I've always been alone.”

“I alone too, once. Was very unhappy, until I meet Russia. Ivan, good man, best comrade. We will talk with him.” Alfred conversed awkwardly, wishing the child knew Russian. A minute later, Ivan returned to the meeting room. Coats in hand, he clearly wasn't expecting a rail thin child clinging to Alfred's leg as it ate cookies.

“Honey, no.” Ivan refused prematurely in Russian. “But, he's stranded here, and he's so cute and little. Can I please take him as a state?” Alfred begged. “He's a principality at best, off the shore of Wales. Wales. It's too far away.” Ivan reasoned. “He is so skinny and sad. You said our navy didn't have enough influence there.” Alfred argued back. Ivan rolled his eyes, retorting “He doesn't even speak Russian. He's just another mouth to feed.” “Hey. You keep trying to get me pregnant every chance you have. I though you would want another state.” Alfred bristled verbally, still mad about the early morning sex.

“I suppose he would be a suitable navy base. Ask him then.” Ivan sighed, giving up. “Sealand, you hungry and poor, da?” Alfred asked in clumsy English. “Maybe. What's it to you?” the boy stammered defensively. “I wish keeping you for my own. Little son.” Alfred said proudly, realizing after just how fucking creepy he was being. Ivan was right after all.

Sealand was being surprisingly positive about all this. “Like you're the mom and he's the dad?” he asked, pointing at Ivan across the room. Alfred nodded, explaining “Da, but many rules. Must learn Russian like other little ones.”

“You can't get bored of me and return me to the sea. And you can't beat me or tell me I'm worthless. And... you can't touch me... down there.” Sealand grew more quiet at he continued, shielding his groin fearfully from sight. Poor child of the sea, what trials and tribulation had he already faced? Likely many since he was English offspring. The late nation had a habit of abandoning his children in fields, or in this case, at sea. “Nyet, malchik. I love my children. Fight for them, da.” Alfred assured, offering another stolen cookie. After eating the treat ravenously, the boy smiled. “Okay. I'll be your kid. I've never had parents before.” he replied casually.

Alfred crowed with joy, twirling the child around. “I Mama, or Alfret Arturovich Braginski. He your Papa, or Ivan Zimavich Braginski.” he instructed, letting Sealand down. “I'm Peter Lawrence Kirkland.” the boy introduced. Alfred pinched the sandy blonde sharply, correcting him “Nyet. You are son, Peter Arturovich Braginski.” “Ow! Fine I'm Peter art pants Braginski.” he grumbled, rubbing his sore cheek. And so the family grew a little larger.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A few years passed by, and the strange white dream never returned. Peter quickly learned Russian, becoming one of the family. Meanwhile Sealand's actual infrastructure was repaired and improved. The former principality with a population of four was transformed. It was now a notable Russomerican navy base, with twenty people living there full time to maintain machinery. Oregon was pleased to have a big brother he could play games with. Even Ivan tentatively bonded with Peter, taking him fishing and taking time to help with homework. The boy would never be blood, but he was just as close.

After making Alfred heavily pregnant, Ivan managed to avoid getting beat to death in the hospital. Still, California was a cute little baby. She had her mother's deep tan and freckles. It took a year, but the baby aged enough to sleep normally. After a month of being horrible to everyone, Alaska realized she wouldn't be ignored forever. A few trips to the mall later, the girl's head seemed screwed on straight. Alfred's crazy life finally started calming down.

That was until he woke up one night, discovering himself propped up and thoroughly mounted. Ivan was thrusting in frenzied fashion, panting hard. Enjoying the motions, Alfred could feel his own sticky excitement spilled beneath him. Suddenly Ivan pushed deeply and came with a cry. Hot release filled Alfred's hungry insides, his ass forcefully tilted so none could escape. Riding out the bliss, something came to mind in the groggy nation's head. If the cum wasn't going out, it could only go his... no.

“You worthless bastard! Get out of me! I don't want to be pregnant again!” Alfred growled angrily, bucking and trying to roll. “Oh just... oh, a minute.” Ivan whimpered, his still hard cock giving a mighty throb inside that stuffed passage. Oh hell no, he was still pumping seed inside. It wasn't much, but even one little swimmer was enough to ruin the rest of the year. Resisting, Alfred rocked violently and clenched his anus for all it was worth. He only succeeded in fucking thick seed deeper into himself.

Crying hot tears, Alfred felt the cock swell slightly. “I thought you loved me. I thought you respected me. All you want to do is use me.” the mounted nation wept in frustration. Ivan paused, panting as he rode out the last shots of cum. Alfred could feel every bit of it, his insides swelled with the stuff.

“That's not true. I care for you more than anything else. I love you so much I need to touch you constantly. You fixed my heart, and you're raising four perfect states. You're eyes, your hair, your cheerful optimism. Everything about you is so perfect. It makes me want to make you so full of our children, make the world a better place. We could save the world, with our happy perfect children. We'd love everyone of them.” Ivan gasped between thrusts, clearly starting another round.

The love behind every word was palpable. Heart fluttering, Alfred asked timidly “Do you really mean that? You don't think I look hideous when I'm pregnant?” Ivan started roughly fucking the filled anus, making Alfred melt into a puddle. “I want you more pregnant. I want so many children we need a van.” he ground out, hips rutting rhythmically. Alfred's body rocked in sync, so completely in love. Ivan did love him, even as a whale bloated with unborn young. Ivan loved him in his grouchy day pajamas and wild hair. He even loved Alfred during his Japanese cartoon obsession phase. To give another child didn't seem like a high cost if this cosmic love was the prize.

Six. The agreed limit was six children including Peter. Until the limit was reached, Alfred gladly let himself be filled and stretched. After rigorous secret midnight sex, he agreed to butt plugs that would keep every seed inside. Eerily enough, seed from that first night vanished before the plug was removed. There was absolutely no doubt he would be pregnant. Even so, Ivan wanted to keep up the act until the womb had completely sealed. Taking vacation time, the couple visited Saint Petersburg. Visiting was a loose term, since they were locked together in lovemaking usually. That few days turned into a week. Alfred was so delirious from all the mind blowing sex, he didn't much care what the excuse was.

They only stopped so Alfred could clean out over a week for his doctor's visit. The poor children were probably tired of hearing them “practise fighting bears” at unusual hours as well. Alfred had a very special doctor, one that had helped him through all the other pregnancies and troubles. There was so few doctors trained to deal with nations in the world. Admittedly Alfred only shared the talented physician's existence with former British colonies. Lord knew there was enough of them. If the European union got hold of the man, Alfred would never get medical care again.

Sitting in the stark waiting room, Alfred felt confident everything would be fine. With Alaska, Alfred had discovered he was pregnant while drunk off his ass at a New Years party. The girl turned out alright, if quite nonverbal. Oregon's pregnancy had been a nightmare of nutritionists and nurses. He didn't eat a single drop of anything tasty for ten painful months. It basically ruined child rearing forever. California had been okay to birth, but Alfred dodged food specialists like they were assassins.

“Braginski?” A nurse called out from an open door. The couple stood, escorted to a small office. The doctor was an ageing human, followed by a woman in a lab coat. “Doctor Varkins. A pleasure as always.” Ivan greeted warmly, for the doctor was one of the few he trusted. He eyed the young protege acting as the old human's shadow. “Why is she here?” Alfred asked, holding himself and clenching his legs closed.

“Relax, this is my replacement in training. Her name's Tiffany, or doctor Kinley.” the older man introduced. “But I just got you. Annika just shed her last baby tooth. What if she needs braces?” Alfred protested. “It's been forty years. I have a family of my own, and I want to enjoy my golden years.” the doctor explained patiently. Alfred nodded uncomfortably, sorely reminded of human fragility. It had taken Alaska forty five years to physically age to preteens. Oregon grew slightly faster, taking fifteen years to reach his current state. California would likely grew at the same rate, representing a warm state.

“Tell me about your kids, they looked cute.” the younger doctor said kindly, her Russian carrying a distant Irish tinge. Alfred nervously glanced at Ivan while Doctor Varkins checked his vitals. With a nod, the pale ash blonde put a comforting hand on his husband's leg. “Well Annika, she's my little snow princess. Then there's Peter. I adopted him. He's my little sailor. Nikolai is second youngest. He wants to be a farmer when he grows up. California is just a babe, but I knew she'll do great things.” Alfred rambled, proud of his offspring.

“California... like the state?” the woman asked dubiously. “Well, for now. We can't seemed to agree on a first name. Ivan wants Katyusha, but I want Nadia. It's fine. We have five more months before she figures out things beyond pooping and sleeping.” Alfred explained casually. “I told you. Nations. States. All that.” the older doctor mentioned while listening to Alfred's insides with a stethoscope.

“Well your vitals are good, why visit so soon?” doctor Varkins asked curiously. Blushing, Alfred revealed the good news. “Well, we're trying again for another little one. I wanted to make sure things were alright. And Ivan needs a check up. He keeps coughing.”

Ivan looked shocked that he had been tricked into the doctor's office. When he tried to flee, Alfred's steel strength kept him trapped by the arm. The stubborn Russ was inhumanly strong, but his husband had always been able to match him. “I'm fine. I don't need help.” Ivan hissed stubbornly. His heart beat, blood pressure and other lesser things were measured and noted.

“Well there's your problem.” Dr. Varkins said confidently, pulling out a series of stock market charts. The dips in Ivan's health were still too closely linked to the price of oil. “You need to diversify your exports, so you stop getting these coughs. And you haven't been eating enough vegetables.” The ancient nation pouted as he was scolded like a child. Alfred grinned, with a pleased 'I told you so' attitude.

“Does this mean these folks are Russomerica?” the trainee asked. “He's the Russo, and I'm the Merica. But yes, we are Russomerica.” Alfred patiently explained, remembering when Dr, Varkins first freaked out over this. “Oh wow! I worked with Ireland, but I never though I'd meet my own nation.” the girl gushed. Alfred shied away from the attention, nervous around humans that could recognize and extort him. Playing nervously with a braid, Alfred's fidgeting was stilled by Ivan's arms. “He's shy, you can't be so direct with him.” Varkins corrected, approaching Alfred slowly. “Do you need anything else checked?” he asked courteously. Alfred shook his head, unnerved by how the younger doctor stared at him intently. They fled the office soon after.

-------------------------------------------------------

Officially two months pregnant, Alfred was feeling exhausted on the living room couch. Ivan and Alaska were enthralled in a show about big game hunters. Sealand and Oregon were on the floor, designing amphibious cars. Baby California was finally sleeping upstairs after wailing like a siren for an hour. Lazily dragging a couch quilt over his tired form, Alfred could afford to close his eyes for a second.

The dream was vivid and white. It was a white room with white tile and white benches. It was all so white and painfully familiar. Three gunshots, and one wrist cutting. Suddenly Alfred could recall being red haired, having killed himself in a bath tub by cutting his wrists. Blonde and shooting himself in the temple many times. Long haired and jumping to his death. It all felt frighteningly real. A short grey figure entered the room, using some sort of hologram device ripped right out of a movie.

Knowing and not knowing, Alfred had five confusing memories over lapping of this creature. It was safe, it was his space buddy, his confidant. Excited, he scooped the short figure up and swung it around the room. Despite never having met this creature, Alfred felt relieved to be reunited with it. It squabbled at him in a language he couldn't comprehend, until it was sharply changed to Russian.

“-ing Christ. What language is this time line in anyway?” the grey man cursed. “Who are you?” Alfred asked, refusing to let go. “You understand now?” the grey figure asked, resisting being cuddled. “Yes, little space buddy.” Alfred confirmed, the affection slipping out of him. “God fucking christ, you're going to ooze sugar if you keep this up. So, how's my favourite US of A?” the grey man asked, giving up on escaping Alfred's hugs and snuggles.

“I don't understand. Who is yuss of ah?” Alfred wondered, head cocked. Browsing alien symbols on his device, the short figure shook his head. “Wow, okay. Forget whatever I said. This line is damn confusing. What happened after 1776?” he asked bluntly. Absently petting the bald bulbous head of his friend, Alfred felt a name spring to mind.

“Well Tony, I was my own country of Americana. But it was really hard. England kept blockading my ports to starve me. Spain kept pressuring me. Ivan was courting me at the time, and became really mad. He fought off England so I could focus on Spain. After a while Ivan proposed to become a republic with me. Oh, it was so romantic. You should have seen the roses and the moonlight. I couldn't say no to that charmer. We've been married as the Russomerican Republic since 1889.” Alfred explained warmly.

“Was just checking. Normally I leave you idiots alone twenty years and you both end up killing yourselves. My boss wasn't happy about that.” Tony replied, still browsing his miniature projector. “Oh cute. Congrats on the twins. Fuck you have a lot of children. Breed like goddamn rabbits in this time line don't you?” he continued, browsing pictures of things that looked unfamiliar.

“Twins?” Alfred asked, confused. “Those things in you right now. Yeah. Fraternal twins.” Tony explained. “Why we would kill ourselves? I love Ivan too much to kill myself.” the freckled blonde protested, nothing cleared up at all. “Don't worry about it. I'm just happy that you're happy. Oh and by the way... The twins are Moscow and Washington, so Ivan can stop riding you like a used dirt bike.” Tony informed dryly.

“What?” the blonde sputtered, surprised.

----------------------------------------------

Alfred woke sharply, aware he was holding a napping Oregon and not a grey alien man. Ivan too had passed out on the opposing couch, the wildlife show still playing. Alaska and Sealand were long gone, but that was normal. The older states were becoming teenagers and highly independent. Looking fondly at his husband, five gruesome memories flashed by.

Ivan, throat cut and bleeding onto the cushions. More memories, his head with a variety of gun shot wounds. Another, his eyes lolled back in death, mouth foaming from poison overdose. Panic gripping Alfred's heart, the snoozing Oregon was nearly dropped on the floor. The anxious nation scampered over Ivan's still form. Checking for a pulse, he went giddy with relief when one was found. Clinging to the splayed man, Alfred kissed that pale skin, licked it, cried with joy to touch it. Ivan wasn't dead. Thank God Ivan wasn't dead. Sealand and Alaska strolled in on the odd scene, both eating three ice cream bars at the same time.

“Sex on the couch? Really?” Alaska snorted derisively. “Your papa isn't dead. I touched him. He's alive.” Alfred whispered loudly, still sobbing as he squeezed Ivan's rib cage. The older nation woke with a cough, surprised. “What?” he gasped, lacking air to make real volume. “Mama's losing her marbles.” Peter replied, in no rush to rescue his adoptive father. Finally taking a breath, Ivan forced himself to sit up. After Ivan rubbed Alfred's back and fed him the rest of the ice cream bars, the grieving nation calmed down.

“It's the hormones, Alik. Nothing bad happened to me, and nothing will.” Ivan promised, wiping a mess of melted ice cream off Alfred as he sniffled. “It felt real, and there was a white room. I died, you died. It was terrifying, Vanya.” the upset nation whimpered, clinging to his muscular husband. “It was just a dream.” the ash blonde soothed with a kiss.

Alaska and Sealand were gone again, probably off to play video games. Oregon was still sleeping like a rock on the couch. In the rare moment privacy, Alfred relaxed and sagged into the soft touches. “Marrying you was the best decision of my life. I can't even imagine the madness the world would suffer if we hadn't.” he murmured, lacing Ivan's collar bone with gentle kisses. Ivan returned the kisses with one of his own, reducing both of them to lovesick lumps on the furniture.

It was true. Alfred was so lucky fate hadn't dealt him a worse hand. He would continue to cherish his blessed life, and his happy family. No matter what war or ecological disaster befell him, Alfred would always be thankful for true love.

#rusame #hetalia #fluffy #russia #america

25 notes · View notes

terminalpolitics · 8 years

Text

A Short History of My Blog

I made this blog a few years back so that I could talk to various friends from an MMO after the game forums got overmoderated and complaining about racist behavior by a player earned you a ban.

In the beginning, I mostly used it to discuss things about that video game and to socialize or reblog pictures of charming cats. My friends would always cheer me on when I defended Obama or talked about how morally reprehensible Republicans were. They were also very happy with my call-out posts in which I archived evidence of sexual predation or bigotry by members of our small MMo community.

I noticed then, though, that when the creeper in our community was popular –or worse, one of their buddies– they suddenly took a much more “tolerant” veiw of when things like racial slurs were really in bad taste.

While posting more politics in defense of Obama and against Republican obstruction, I ran into Tumblr’s white supremacist and neo-Nazi community. Now, I had been antifascist for years and I have warned for a long time against the rise of the far-right and the dangers of rightwing extremism – in person as well as online.

So, I got into a lot of fights with Naziblr, and I got a lot of notes from folks (mostly anonymous) who thought I was being “unfair” or who wished my blog “went back to how it used to be”. And because I did feel bad springing Naziism on people’s dash, I made up a special tag for my anti-Nazi posts so that folks could filter it out and just enjoy MMO talk and cat photos.

A similar thing happened when I wanted to talk about Putin, Russia’s anti-LGBT bigotry, and the resurgence of the far-right globally. It got to be a bit much for my followers so I had to make a special tag again.

As I became more and more disgusted and realized that Obama was not the progressive we had voted for, and I began to criticize the United States more – attacking fuck-ups like the thankfully-late Chris Kyle, I got less and less “^^this”s from my friends.

When the Democratic primary happened and I started posting in support of Bernie Sanders, my friends (who were largely with her) started vague-posting anti-Sanders responses to my posts, but acted all “I don’t know what you mean” when I tried to discuss it directly. So, I (you may have guessed it) made a unique tag for my pro-Bernie Sanders posts so that people could block them. I also made a separate unique tag for my criticism of Hillary Clinton, and used #politics so if somebody wanted to ignore the whole election, they could block that too.

Then, having not really been connected to my MMO community in awhile and being bored of blogging in general. I shutdown my blog for a couple of months.

When I restarted it, I changed the name and informed everyone that it was 100% political from there on out. Bernie had lost the rigged Democratic Primary and I was now supporting Jill Stein and the Green Party as they were the only progressive act in town.

Well, that was completely unacceptable.

Though they knew I was planning on voting third party, my friends repeatedly reblogged memes and shitposts insulting third party voters. When I responded to these posts, they usually gaslit me and said I was actually attacking them by objecting to their post that insulted me.

And because I was voting for the wrong white women, they smeared me as being racist and sexist – in vague-posts or MMO chats of course.

At the same time, they posted ridiculous and objectively sexist things about Jill Stein. When I responded negatively, they lamented what I had “turned into” and called Jill Stein a “cunt” and “bitch” and added that I was a “pussy.” Yet, somehow I was the person being sexist here.

When I called out the clique who were responsible for the trolling, my friends again tried to gaslight me and acted like it was a coincidence or something that they all frequently dogpiled my posts.

In some cases, I asked people who obviously hated me to unfollow me and they refused because “Um, I kinda read some of the news you post even though I think you are a scumfuck.” So I blocked them.

Then, I just blocked everyone who liked the “Jill Stein is a cunt” post and suddenly about 90% of the trolling that my admittedly controversial blog received dropped off.

While blocked, whenever I made a post about something like Clinton’s complicity in the right-wing coup in Honduras and subsequent assassination of activists, there would be a spate of mirror-posts arguing that Rightwing coups were actually progressive. And I’d be told about it by our mutual friends.

When I didn’t respond, a “friend of a friend” made a parody of my tumblr called @terminallystupidpolitics that’s profile read something like “hurr durr Jill Stein mah white privilege.” I was told about that by another mutual friend.

And of course when Trump won it was my mostly my fault according to my friends. But I had blocked them, so I only heard echoes of it when mutual friends reblogged their sentiments.

I don’t tell you this because “Oh, I’ve had it so rough!” I haven’t. A few appleheads hating on you over politics comes with the territory. Even losing friends over politics is completely normal – especially when the politics reveals that your friend was only ever concern-trolling when it came to social justice.

The reason I tell you this is because I tried to self-censorship and I tried not to rock the boat, but that wasn’t enough. It isn’t enough that you hide your position or just keep your social justice on the downlow.

The very fact that you are committed to social justice is a threat to people who secretly feel that your committment makes theirs look bad. They can’t allow you to exist even on the margins because if someone says “I won’t compromise on this issue” and they will compromise, they suddenly feel bad about themselves.

And when people feel bad about themselves, the easy option is for them to take it out on someone else.

Rather than recommitting to social justice which is hard, they can just discredit the person who is more real than they are – you see this done constantly by the Democratic Party on a much larger level.

Self-censorship gets you nowhere and just stifles your message. Your friends don’t want your civility, they want your conformity. Only when you stop having opinions outside the party line will you be allowed back into the fold. “Agree-to-disagree” is just shit they say when they are losing the argument and smearing you instead behind your back.

You can only be true to your own beliefs. You gain nothing by moderating your beliefs so that your friends will be more accepting of your difference – it is not your difference they value, it is your likemindedness. They want their biases and values confirmed and justified. They don’t want you to fuck up the bubble by offering an alternative.

These days I feel much happier being able to post what I want without pulling any punches. I like to think that I am expressing myself openly and honestly and people can either take it or leave it.

I do still see comments reblogged by mutuals from folks that gaslit and smeared me, but it seems pretty distant now – like we were all different people. Or maybe we just got a better look at each other.

I value the work that people are doing on tumblr in spreading truly progressive and antifascist messages. I think that a lot of good can come from that. If you think to yourself, hey, maybe I should start a political blog, my advice is to not worry about what your friends think – if they can’t handle you talking about social justice then they were pretty shitty friends to start.

As Trump consolidates power and the press and political system normalize his bigotry, it is more important than ever that we speak our minds. We cannot hold back because of society’s centrist propagnda, or because it might upset our friends, or because the Democratic Party tells us we aren’t allowed to criticize them.

We need to be real, and that is what I aim to do with this blog for the rest of my time here and I hope you will join me.

#social justice #politics #self censorship #respectability politics #green party #not proofread #but fuck it #archive

30 notes · View notes