#the fanfiction life of rantingfangirl

[rantingfangirl]

Body Talks

AN: Hey, guys! This was my submission for @usukustwiceperyear’s Alice and Amelia collection. ConCrit would be definitely appreciated, I hope you enjoy :)

Rating: T (There’s a bit of foul language in here)

Summary: Pale skin, dotted with freckles. Blonde hair, messy enough to look effortless, but sleek enough to look intentional. Sweeping black eyeliner. A wicked smile. Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

AO3     FanFiction

Since the moment Amelia could read, she knew that there would come a time, some day, somewhere, where she would fuck up.

Saying that the writing on her arm was beautiful was an understatement. The messy and uneven letters when she was young had turned into a looping cursive scrawl by college. She wouldn’t have known how to read it if she hadn’t poured over the words since birth, trying to figure out what they meant and what she had done.

As she grew older, Amelia became increasingly grateful that the American school systems had collectively agreed to stop teaching cursive in schools. It wasn’t because she was possessive of her tattoo, certainly not when nearly the entirety of the world was born with something similar. 

No, it was so her classmates— and then, her coworkers— wouldn’t be able to ask questions.

“Damn, I still can’t get over how weird that is. It’s so damn pretty, but the words on there are just foul.”

Julchen was one of those outside of the “nearly the entirety”. The tiny percentage of those born without anything on their arms. It was one of the first things she told Amelia on their first day as college roommates, so she wouldn’t, in Julchen’s own words, annoy her to hell and back about it.

Her lack of ink, along with the fact that there was no one in the universe decidedly meant for her, didn’t bother Julchen. Or so she told everyone. And if it did, her friend wasn’t the type to talk about it.

“So, that’s all you get. Just a generic sentence in some cursive?”

“Yeah, I guess. No timer or anything.” Some would argue that it wasn’t just a tattoo, those who believed in the validity of it. Nevertheless, Julchen never asked about her tattoo. Said she didn’t care whenever Amelia tried to bring it up. Perhaps tonight was different.

Julchen snorted, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to the side. The glitter on her chest reflected in the light of the street. It was freezing outside, but it was probably nothing compared to the blazing heat inside.

“Well, that’s a load of horse shit.”

There was no denying that. Not when no amount of concealer hid what was branded into her skin. Not when years of Christmas cards and potlucks failed to quell the fiery judgment in the eyes of the old women at her church.

Not that she would ever tell Julchen that. Amelia was at peace that her soulmate probably wouldn’t love her. It was uncommon, but not unheard of.

Julchen whistling brought her out of her brood, a tune with consecutively descending notes, as if a bomb were dropping. Amelia followed her gaze.

Her heart stopped.

Pale skin, dotted with freckles. Blonde hair, messy enough to look effortless, but sleek enough to look intentional. Sweeping black eyeliner. A wicked smile. Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Amelia didn’t realize that she had said that last part aloud until Julchen spoke. “She isn’t that hot, a good lay, at best. I would call her a solid six.”

Amelia couldn’t help it. She punched her roommate in the arm— harder than she should have, ignoring the groans of pain and glares from the surrounding clubbers in line with them. Ignored them in favor of her, who walked through the club doors as if she owned them, without any regard to those in line.

A few seconds felt like only a fraction of one. Amelia knew that she had to see her again.

She turned to Julchen, putting her hands on her shoulders and running them up and down her arms. That would serve as an apology enough. “How long do you think until we get in?”

Julchen glared at her, not budging until Amelia offered her a smile as payment. Sighing, Julchen shifted her focus to the front of the line. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops? We’re not too far from the front.”

Amelia nodded. It was too long, far too long, but she would have to deal with it. “You think I have a chance?”

“What? Pfft. Of course you do. Look at you.” Julchen nudged her with her elbow, a sly grin slowly shaping her lips. “Look, I’ll tell you what. You get her number and I’ll pick up tonight’s tab.”

“And if I don’t?”

The smile told her enough.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be a slice of cake for you.” Julchen rolled her shoulders back, smirking at Amelia with the unbreakable confidence of a homewrecker. “You’ve got time to kill, why would you need to wait for that soulmate of yours?”

As if it were that easy.

A quarter of an hour later, and they were in. The music that pounded against the walls grew tenfold as they stepped inside. She would have a headache by the end of the night, if not one by morning.

With a firm pat on the back, Julchen was gone, disappearing into the thick crowd. To rack up the tab, no doubt. She was counting on her to lose. Good. It would make the victory even sweeter.

Amelia pushed her way through from the entrance, drawing the stranger’s face to mind. Blonde hair. Green eyes. The prettiest smile she had ever seen.

Fuck. She didn’t even know her name and she was in deep. She wanted to run her fingers through that hair— it must be unbelievably soft, it had to be. She wanted to see that smile directed—

She hit someone square in the chest, an apology on the tip of her tongue. As Amelia looked up, she caught sight of her, the beautiful stranger, sitting alone at the bar beyond. Fate, if it really existed, was on her side, it seemed.

She forgot about the apology, sliding past whoever she bumped into, paying no mind to the obscenities that followed after her. There was no time, not when she was there. Alone. Unbothered. Open for conversation.

Unable to help herself, Amelia stepped into the bar, sliding onto the nearest vacant seat. Several feet away from where she wanted to be. From where she needed to be.

Amelia watched her for a moment or two, the bartender off tending to other customers. It was a busy night, they should have had more than one on the clock, but it was perfect. She was almost out of her drink, running a pale, delicate finger around the mouth of the glass. A move hoping to gain the attention of the bartender, perhaps an unconscious habit?

She couldn’t help it anymore.

Amelia waved down the bartender, who had just finished serving another person. He gave her an unimpressed glare as she smiled, pointing to the woman. “I’ll take two of what she’s having.” She winked at him, hopefully driving the point home. The bartender nodded, and in a few moments, Amelia had her drinks in hand.

As she approached, she wracked through her head for something to say, anything. Clever pickup lines from previous dates, ideas to steal from her exes. Nothing.

Maybe she was taken, waiting for someone. She came in with two other people, but they were nowhere to be found. Open, open, open.

She stood in front of the stranger, the cold of the drinks biting into her fingers. A pickup line formed. And then she looked at her.

All thoughts left her head when those eyes settled on her. They were green, if the dark lighting held true. It felt as if she was seeing right through her, into her very being. A tiny little voice said something in her head, but Amelia couldn’t hear it through the music.

And so she said the stupidest thing that would probably ever come out of her mouth. “Damn, girl, you’re like, dummy thick.” The words felt sour as she spoke them.

Those beautiful green eyes widened in shock. Amelia felt her shot fly into the void as they settled into anger— no, worse— seething rage, full lips curling into a sneer. “What the fuck did you just call say to me, cunt?”

If all thoughts left her mind when the woman looked at her, then the word silenced when she spoke. Her entire life, Amelia imagined what tone would be used. She decided in middle school that it would be pure hate. That she would commit a crime so heinous, that it was justified. And that, perhaps afterwards, a punch to the face would follow.

But never this. Not a quiet, faint resentment that seemed to be boiling for years. Not something the same as she felt as a teen.  Not the pure nothingness that came from years of doubt and wondering. Perhaps soulmates were more similar than Amelia gave them credit for.

Amelia set the drinks down on the wooden counter, watching for a split of a second the condensation drip down the side. Holding her arm out, not looking her— her soulmate— in the eyes, Amelia pulled her sleeve up to her elbow, showing the sentence she poured over for more than two decades. There was a brief pause, as if she, too, was realizing what had just happened. Amelia shivered as a cold set of fingers ran along her forearm, glancing just enough to see a delicate paleness in contrast with tan skin forged from a childhood on the beach.

An eternal question, answered with a simple, single answer. There was no doubt about it; she deserved what she got.

The grip on her forearm tightened.

Amelia knocked back one of the drinks she bought as she was pulled away from the bar, setting the glass on the counter. Julchen would bitch if she bought booze without drinking it, especially when she was the one who would be buying it. Not that she wanted to think about her at the moment.

Amelia followed her soulmate— she just realized that she didn’t know her name— away from the bar and into a black door covered in faded pink stickers. The bathroom.

The first thing she wanted to ask her— her soulmate, the one the heavens destined to be with— was her name. She opened her mouth, hundreds of questions swarming her head—

“Hi.”

Heat immediately rose to her cheeks. She mentally cursed herself, the heat burning hotter when those eyes settled on her. They were definitely green. The raise of a thick, dark eyebrow.

She was gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

“Hi.” Her voice was wrapped in a thick accent, and Amelia was surprised that she had not heard it earlier.

She was already falling, hard and fast.

Her heart pounded in time with the bass of the music, which was still loud and clear despite the wall separating them from the main room. Even with the noise surrounding them, the bathroom seemed quiet, as if it were surrounded by a thick bubble.

“I’m Amelia.” She sounded like she was back in high school, caught in a crush that never came to fruition.

“Alice.” Alice tugged at her sleeve as she spoke, frowning when the fabric refused to go any further than a quarter of her forearm.

Alice, Alice, Alice. Amelia went through her process of memorizing names, but there was no point. It was burned into her memory, never to be forgotten.

With an inherent delicateness to it, the name was perfect. It made a fitting contrast with the sharpness of her features.

She was just about to ask her last name, wanting to know everything there was to Alice— Alice, when she took her shirt off.

Her cheeks must have been a fiery red by then, they had to be. She looked away, sucking in her lips and closing her eyes.

“Amelia?” The question was expectant, soft fingers wrapping around her elbow.

“Look, Alice, I think you seem nice and all, but I don’t think that we’re really at the point where—”

“What—”

“And don’t get me wrong, you’re super duper pretty and all—”

“Oh, don’t be daft.” Her words carried a tone of amusement in them, making Amelia open her eyes. Alice smirked, a devilish grin Amelia never wanted to stop seeing. “Here.”

She patted her left arm with her right hand, bringing Amelia’s attention to the black ink. Alice was left-handed. The tattoos were always on the dominant hand.

Alice lifted her arm further into the light, the telltale chicken scratch that was Amelia’s handwriting coming to full view. She suddenly regretted not taking the penmanship classes her mother pushed in high school. Perhaps all the nagging was right.

“Amelia, I have a question for you, one that I’ve been wondering about my entire life.” The amusement was gone, replaced with a quiet severity. “What does this even mean?”

She never paid attention to the individual words on Alice’s arm, too distracted by her own handwriting and freckles. There, in writing that may as well have been in a different language—

Damn, girl, you’re like, dummy thick.

Amelia burst into laughter. As soon as she thought she would stop, she started up again. She was an idiot, a fucking idiot for ever thinking that that was a marginally acceptable pickup line. Even when thought of at the last second. Her friends would never let her down.

Alice was still staring at her. The laughter died, replaced with a tingling feeling that stirred in her chest. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Um.” She scratched behind her ear. Explaining it was worse than saying it. “It’s like, you know—“ Alice did not know, she told herself, or else she wouldn’t be asking. “— when someone is really curvy or something.”

Amelia used her hands to trace out the shape of a figure, feeling like the idiot she was. Alice looked as if she were holding back a smile, the corners of her lips tilted upwards. It looked cute as hell, but it probably wouldn’t help the situation if she told her so.

“So, you were calling me, a pole, curvy.”

The heat in her face was almost unbearable.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you thought that that was the most appropriate pickup line?” Alice spoke as she began to pull her shirt over her head. The amusement was back, the smile full grown. So they were joking around now.

“I dunno, you’re kinda hot and I got distracted. They get better, I promise.”

Alice laughed, a sound that left her reeling. She never wanted to stop hearing it.

“I thought that you were calling me stupid.” Her accent added an H to the final word. Amelia smiled at the sound. “That’s what thick means in the UK, you know.”

“Really, you’re British. And here I thought you were Australian.”

Alice looked up as she tugged the hem of her shirt down. “Why would you— oh. Oh.” A sheepish grin. “Sorry for calling you a cunt. Kind of took me by surprise.”

“It’s all good, sweetheart.” Amelia took Alice’s hands in her own, squeezing tight when the latter let her do so. Finally using the term of endearment she always wanted. “I have a feeling we’re gonna have a lot of surprises.”

And when Alice smiled back at her, Amelia wanted to forget all those years of shame.

[liluwrites]

Ask Game

Thanks @rantingfangirl for tagging me!!

Name: Lily

Height: 5’2’’ (I think?)

Zodiac: Pisces

Middle Name: Jean

Put Music on Shuffle, First Four Songs:

Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen

Someone Like You - Adele

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) - Mamma Mia Soundtrack :)

Mr Brightside - The Killers

Grab the Closest Book and Open to Page 23. Read Line 17:

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward

“His ears set straight away from his head like leaves coming off a branch, and his eyes was big in his face.”

Have You Ever Had Someone Write a Song/Poem About You: Nope, pretty sure I haven’t!

Celebrity Crush: I don’t really get crushes? But Buildabear Cucumberbath is pretty damn perfect

A Sound You Hate: Babies crying. It makes me sad :((

A Sound You Love: The birds singing in the morning. It sounds super cheesy, but they always sing a specific pattern at exactly the same time every day outside my house, so it feels really odd when I’m staying somewhere else and I don’t hear them. They kinda sound like home to me

Do You Believe in Ghosts? Noo. But they still terrify me, so I will never watch a horror movie about them

Do You Believe in Aliens? Hmm. Not in the typical ‘highly advanced species planning world domination’ kind of way, but I think there must be some form of life out there. Maybe just like boring little bacteria or something

Do You Drive? Have You Ever Had a Car Accident? Nope and nope. I’m technically old enough to drive, but the idea of it scares me, so I’m going to hold off for a few years

Last Book Read: ‘Noonday’ by Pat Barker. It’s the third in the ‘Life Class’ trilogy, which centres around three artists during WW1 and WW2. The novels are super interesting because they’re really honest about all aspects of the wars and how they affected relationships and life in general. Also, the characters are amazingly well-developed; they are all flawed and conflicted, but you end up rooting for them anyway. Definitely worth a read! this turned into a book review oops. my year five teacher would’ve been so proud

Do You Like the Smell of Gasoline? Noo no no no. I absolutely hate it

Last Movie Scene (Haha, get it?): Uh...I don’t watch many movies, but probably the most recent was a short animated film called ‘Five Centimeters per Second’. It’s basically a 60-minute Japanese animation about the life of a teenage boy growing up and losing the innocence of his youth and first love. It sounds kinda depressing, but the graphics are really beautiful and it’s very poetic

Current Obsession: I really love creative writing, especially fanfiction. I spend a lot of time writing Hetalia human AUs, and I love reading fanfiction too! (I love reading in general tbh)

Do You Hold Grudges? Generally no, because it’s just too much effort to remember petty stuff that happened years ago. There are a few stupid incidents from primary school that I’m still salty about, though

Are You in a Relationship? No, I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never even had a crush 😂

.

I’m new to this site so I don’t have anyone to tag, but literally anyone who sees this and wants to do it, go ahead!! :))

[rusame]

Fusion

Fusion by rantingfangirl

Id: 1129906962 - Fandoms: Unknown Fandom - Rated: N/A - hetalia/I love you Sue!!!!/aph america/hetalia america/aph rusame/hetalia russia/I'm sorry that this is so late/I hope you like it!!!/aph russia/The Fanfiction Life of RantingFangirl/sue stuff/aph amerus - Chapters: 1 - Ongoing

So..I don't really share the sentiment about the violent aspects in it since it is set in canonverse. But I love the resolution in the end and also the unstable emotion in Alfred is intriguing. Basically if you love hate to love rusame and fusion, you're gonna love this one.

[rantingfangirl]

Drabble: Running

This is my first prompt for @creatorsofhetalia‘s Prompt Weekend!

Pair: UsUk

Prompt: Running

Words: 360~

The floorboards creaked as he stumbled across them, his lungs burning. In and out, in and out. He willed himself to breathe, faster and faster, pushing it out before he could take it in.

Arthur turned the corner, almost running into it as his socks slid on the hardwood floor. No time to let himself register the pain. No time to slow down.

The surroundings of the house passed in a blur. Arthur dodged the corners of the coffee table, kicking his foot back to slow down his perpetrator, even if it were just for a split of a second. 

Faster, faster.

He ran through the kitchen and out the door, barely paying any mind to the mess that he had made prior. Arthur would half to clean it later, but now was the time for his escape.

Cold water sunk into the fabric of his socks, the soft crunch of the grass providing little comfort. A little further, and he would be out through the gate and into the street. A little further and—

Alfred pounced.

Arthur slammed into the grass, his shoulder bearing the brunt of the fall. The air knocked out of his lungs, what little he had left, leaving him gasping for breath.

Alfred crawled on top of him, his hands on either side of his head. He began to speak several times, only to stop, the red on his cheeks bringing Arthur’s attention to the heat of his own. Alfred’s shirt was covered in flour, which Arthur knew that he would have to wash out later that evening. Damn him for starting this.

“I got you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Alfred grinned, the warmth of hit sending sparks down Arthur’s back despite the chill of the morning. Even after years of being together, of knowing each other, he was never able to get over it.

Lowering himself, slower and slower by the second, just barely touching Arthur’s chest, Alfred puckered his lips. Arthur reached up, going for the kiss, only to have Alfred pull away at the very last second. “Tag, you’re it.”

Arthur gave him a five second headstart before starting his chase.

[rantingfangirl]

I’m Tickled Pink

Summary: An attempt to bring some spice into Alfred F. Jones's life leads to a prank war of epic proportions.

Pairing: UsUk

You can also find this on AO3 and Fanfiction. I’ll reblog with the links :)

Arthur Kirkland was boring.

Alfred had walked into their arrangement knowing this, but he hadn’t thought that it would be such an issue. Having moved into the shared apartment three months before, he figured that he would’ve pulled Arthur out of his dull, monotonous tendencies and into the light. That, by now, Arthur would be tagging along to the club three blocks away from their university or maybe a bar, at the very least.

Except, it hadn’t happened.

He sat on their couch, a joint investment after Arthur’s had taken its final challenge—that is, Alfred’s ass—and collapsed two weeks after Alfred had moved in. Arthur sat in a wingback chair on the other side of their living room, cradling a book and a cup of tea— or at least that’s what he figured it was— a cat snoozing in his lap. Alfred stared, not as subtle as he should’ve been, softly tapping his thumb against his phone’s screen.

Arthur spoke as he flipped the page, “Yes, Alfred?” There was a hint of smugness in his voice, the same tone he got when he was about to roast Alfred into oblivion. Fuck him.

Alfred glanced down at his phone, clicking it open. He would keep him waiting, he decided, opening various social media apps and checking his timeline. It wasn’t until around five minutes later that he actually answered. “Nothing.”

He expected— hoped— for Arthur to get mad. To curse at him or tell him off. Anything that would give him something to do, to open up the possibility, no matter how small, for Alfred to have a little fun in his life.

Arthur did nothing, instead turning another page of his book. The pages were at this point yellow from use, Alfred only knowing that from a previous snooping session. How many times he had read it, Alfred had no clue, but the number had to be high. And how he managed, after all this time, to have never—

He had an idea.

Alfred had to wait for several hours for Arthur to go to bed. The latter always went early, waking up at the crack of dawn to do who-knows-what. It was then, after the rattling had gone silent, that his plan went into full motion.

If Arthur didn’t give him some mode of attention after this, then he supposed that he would call it quits. Alfred made sure to leave everything in the exact spot that it had been, not an inch out of place. He ended up going through about a quarter of the roll of paper towels, but Arthur wouldn’t notice. Probably.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he would be able to see the results.

Alfred woke up earlier than usual, sliding on a random t-shirt before walking out into the living room. Arthur sat in his usual chair, a book— a different one from the night before, strangely enough—in hand.

He sent Alfred a look, pure hate in his eyes. Alfred grinned, pushing his fingers through his hair, suddenly realizing that he forgot his glasses. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Rogers.”

Arthur reached for his tea and Alfred found his smile widening. Finally. Finally.

Arthur’s knuckles had gone white from clenching the mug, and though his face was calm, there was burning rage in his eyes. Oh, this would be fun. “Try this.”

Before Alfred had a chance to answer, the mug was all but shoved into his hands. It sloshed against the rim, missing his shirt only to spill onto his fingers. Alfred winced before looking up, suppressing the grin that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t drink hot tea.”

Arthur scoffed. “Well, you’re going to fucking drink it, whether you like it or not.” His eyebrows shot up when Alfred didn’t move to drink from the mug. Arthur’s hand lifted, waving him on. “Go on, take a sip.”

Alfred didn’t bother to keep in his cringe. On one hand, he knew what it was going to taste like, and by God, it would be bad. But on the other…

He sighed. Even though Arthur knew he did it, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a confession.

Fuck it.

In a split-second decision, Alfred knocked back half of the mug, an immediate gag coming up his throat. His eyes watered. Fuck.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much sugar Arthur normally put in his tea because god damn. It was ten times worse with salt.

Alfred handed the mug back to Arthur, not bothering to keep back the cringe wrinkling his nose. “Jesus Christ, man, no wonder you always look like you’re about to explode.” He scrubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, anything to get the taste out his mouth. “What the hell did you put that?” The glare Arthur sent his way was one of pure hate. As his roommate’s upper lip curled into a sneer, Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what this would pull him into.

Arthur would find someway to absolutely ruin him, he was sure of it. A man with that little friends, one who read that much, he had to have some tricks up his sleeve. Sure, Alfred had never seen any evidence that he could pull the stick out of his ass and have some fun, but he could dream.

Excitement welled within him, pushing and pulling at his insides. This would be good. It had to be. Maybe he would curse at him, roast him to his very core. Arthur, according to Gilbert, was a savage in middle school. He could pull it off.

The sneer on Arthur’s lips faded, replaced by a cool, trained frown. As his face deadpanned, Alfred could’ve sworn that there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I suppose I can live with it.” A beat later, Arthur picked up the mug, taking a long sip from it. No cringe. Nothing to indicate that there was anything in there other than normal tea.

Fuck. This guy had guts.

The feeling of failure followed him into the next morning, climaxing as Alfred made his first cup of coffee for the day. Arthur had already gone, leaving for his eight AM class without saying a single word. As if he’d forgotten the events of the day before.

Alfred leaned in towards the coffee maker, wafting in the scent as his cup slowly filled. He would have to try harder, at the very least do something different.

He glanced towards Arthur’s bookshelf before shaking his head. Arthur would kill him if he even dog-eared a book and made that clear his first day. If he did anything to them—Alfred shook the thought away before it could fully develop.

Grabbing his now-full cup of coffee, Alfred made his way to the pantry, taking a sip before setting it on the counter. He fished out a box of off-brand Oreos, pulling back the plastic film covering them.

Alfred reveled in the neat rows, exactly as he left them the day before. Taking a couple into his hand, Alfred dipped them one by one in his coffee. No matter what Arthur said, the result was addicting.

He took a bite out of the first one, ready to savor the pleasant mixture—

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Whereas he expected a light mixture chocolate and mocha, a surge of mint took over his senses. It overpowered everything in his mouth, tasting worse than the salted tea, worse than the sauerkraut his grandmother shoved down his throat as a child.

Toothpaste. Someone replaced the icing with toothpaste.

Alfred spat out the concoction into the sink, throwing out the other ones he had dipped but had not yet eaten. Even with it no longer in his mouth, the hellish taste remained. They hadn't been like that yesterday, so it must’ve—

A thought popped into his head.

Slowly, Alfred took a step towards the package of not-Oreos. And then another. His lower eyelid started twitching, an irritating habit from when he was a kid.

Alfred once again peeled back the plastic cover, choosing a random cookie from each row and taking a small bite. Every single one of them. Filled with toothpaste.

He huffed, sliding the entire package in the trash. At the very bottom, several piles of slightly off-white and broken discs lay in their final resting place.

Alfred stared at the piles, flexing his fingers before digging them into the meat of his palm. The bastard didn't even have the heart to save the icing.

He scoffed.

The taste still having remained, Alfred made his way to the bathroom. Perhaps this whole thing made them even—no. No use in thinking like that. Arthur fucked with his Oreos, packages of those costing much more than a cup of tea.

Alfred flicked the light switch, the inner cogs of his mind already turning with ideas for revenge. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste off the counter, only to find the tube empty.

 And from there, a prank war started. Grass seeds in Arthur’s keyboard, an air horn duct taped to the bedroom door, a couple hundred sticky notes stuck to his car.

No matter what he did, Arthur would retaliate, whether it was the next morning or a week later. A box of glazed donuts from Alfred’s favorite bakery, but instead of the usual grape filling, mayonnaise. Paper cut out into the shape of a bug and taped to the underside of the lampshade. Mentos frozen in ice cubes, just waiting for Alfred to pour a can of coke over the top.

Now, after a good six months of going back and forth, Alfred knew he was ready. He was going to touch the books.

He wouldn’t mark or cut them up, of course. Hell no, he wouldn’t. Alfred decided then and there that he liked living, especially with all his limbs attached and organs in the right place. No, Alfred would just use them for a few moments.

Arthur was at the store, had just left, so Alfred had time until he would notice the start.

The entire setup took around three hours to organize, Alfred’s backpack filled to the brim with delicately used hardcovers. He placed the first one on the kitchen counter, propped up against a teapot to catch Arthur’s eye, before ratting around and scribbling a quick message on a post-it note and attaching it on the cover.

He placed the next one on Arthur’s favorite chair, another sticky note on the cover. The next, on his dresser. Another one on Arthur’s pillow. One by one, a book and a post-it note, some in the most obvious places in the world, others in nooks and crannies that only Arthur knew about.

Some in gallon backs to keep away the elements, others set on the dining room tables and couches of Arthur’s friends and family.

Which led them both to here.

Arthur sat across from him at the coffee shop they frequented, arms crossed, an irritated gleam in his eye. Alfred took a quick sip from his coffee cup, the memory of the those terribly minty Oreos tapping its way into his head. He pushed it back down.

Arthur huffed, his frown deepening, arms crossed, an irritated gleam in his eyes. Tapping his fingers quietly against the honeycomb wood, the look he gave Alfred sent spiders crawling down his spine.

“Alright, what did you have me running all over town for?” Just hearing his voice set his head spinning.

Alfred sat forward, bopping his knee up and down, up and down. He grinned. “Did you find all of them?”

Arthur’s glare had slowly lost its bite these past short months, filled with something unrecognizable. Undiscovered.

It was a look that drove him crazy, that left him reeling to find an answer. To find the key to tell him what the hell it was, what the hell it meant. But so far, nothing.

“I suppose that I did.” Arthur took a sip from his tea, the koozie slipping down the side of the cup. Alfred watched as a tongue darted out from Arthur's lips, cutting short a small drop of tea.

Fuck. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“Except for one.”

Alfred grinned. “Oh?” The bastard never let anything go.

A deadpan. “You know which one I’m talking about.”

And indeed he did. There was no denying the that in his laptop bag sat the gem- the jewel, the prize?— of Arthur’s collection. No, he would see right through it if Alfred lied.

With a sigh, Alfred set the book on the table. Immediately, Arthur grabbed it, turning it and observing the front cover. Around thirty seconds later, he cracked open the first few pages, the final sticky note falling from the inner cover.

The sticky note that would either damn him or…

Alfred tightened his grip on his coffee cup as Arthur picked up the post-it, spiders crawling up and down his back. This was it.

“Page 231? You won’t be sending me to the next town over this time?” The joke was dry as hell, but Alfred couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nah, man.” He took a sip of his coffee. The bitter bite calmed his nerves, slowed the spiders down. But barely. He swallowed, pointing a finger towards the book. “I even dog-eared it for ya. So you didn’t have to look to hard.”

The way Arthur glared at him—oh, that made him mad. He had taken the bait. Good.

The glare morphed into a scowl as Arthur pulled at the dog-ear, one small enough that it could be easily smoothed out. He would’ve killed him if Alfred had done anything more, and he certainly didn’t have a death wish.

The scowl fell when Arthur stopped at the page. “Alfred—”

“Don’t.” The word left Alfred’s mouth before he could stop it. He quickly backtracked, holding his hands up in slight surrender before Arthur could bite back. “I mean—I didn’t do anything to it. Just read it. The fifth paragraph from the top. Aloud.”

Arthur blinked, glancing down down at the page. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how—

“Ardently I admire and love you.” Alfred joined in at the final line, the small speech he had been rehearsing the entire of the thirty minutes before Arthur arrived.

The latter had frozen, that unknown expression creeping up on his face. It hurt, in a way, to not know what he was thinking.

“Alfred?” Emotionless, as if he was distancing himself.

He swallowed, itching for his coffee, for something to hold. “Yes?”

“Is this what I think it is?”

He could say no, say that it was all a prank. That was their dynamic now, it wouldn’t be unexpected. Wouldn’t be a surprise.

But there was something about the look in Arthur’s eyes that made him hopeful. That gave him the inkling that maybe—maybe—this would work.

Alfred sighed, looking Arthur dead in the eyes.

For the man who could knock down three shots before Alfred could do one.

For the man whose eyes froze with rage when his boss called him on his day off, or when a professor cancelled class when he had already left.

For the man who could down a mug of tea mixed with salt without a trace of a cringe.

For the man who laughed at the dirtiest and darkest of Alfred’s jokes, no matter how far he went.

Fuck, Alfred was in deep.

He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. It is.”

Silence.

Alfred raised his head from his coffee, Arthur staring at him with that damn look.

And when he smiled, Alfred knew that Arthur Kirkland was never boring. He was.

[rantingfangirl]

Kissing Booth

So, uh, this barely follows the ask, but I really enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for the request!

Ridiculous. It was absolutely ridiculous that he had to be here. Arthur Kirkland sat  on a wooden stool, sweat dripping down his back, the goddamn sun lazily lounging on him as if he were some ratty college dorm sofa. Sighing out through his nose, he glared at the two who subjected him to this with what he hoped was clear disdain. They gave him what he imagined to be a similar look. It was Francis, unsurprisingly, who spoke first. “Arthur, if you don’t want to be here, then why did you come in the first place.” There was an infuriating matter-of-fact tone in his voice, almost as if he were scolding a child. He frowned. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, only for Michelle to cut him off. She wore her hair up in a ponytail today, several frizzes framing her face, sweat dripping from her forehead. She dabbed it away with her sleeve, a smile shaping her lips as she spoke. “It’s his stupid pride that’s keeping him here. Look at him.” Michelle waved her hand in Arthur’s direction, a look of mocking disdain flickering through her smile. 

“His shirt is three shades darker than it was an hour ago from all of that sweat—” she put an extra emphasis on that last word, as if its existence offended her. “— his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he looks like he’s about to keel over dead. And there’s the fact that he hasn’t gotten a single customer yet.” Michelle lightly tapped several manicured fingernails against an empty glass jar labeled with Arthur’s name. It had been a bet, one that he was desperately losing. Arthur snorted. “You don’t need to be attractive to work at a kissing booth.” His friends— no, colleagues— gave him a look. It had been Francis’ idea as a way to garner funds for the college’s newspaper. A stupid idea that would surely be turned down by the other members of the board, Arthur thought. At least, until everyone else liked it. The smug look in Francis’ eye was infuriating as he wrote down additional ideas and suggestions as to cost per kiss and who would consist of the staff. Why Francis put Arthur on the list, he would never know. Perhaps it was to prove a point, to humiliate him, to get back at him for shooting it down as it left his lips. Arthur could’ve said no, and, now that he’d been given a few hours under the sun to think about it, he should've. Francis shook his head, a tired grin shaping his lips. “Yes, of course, I should've known. And that’s why you’ve made precisely zero dollars in the past three hours. Because you’re so- attractive- and no one can stand to look at your beautiful face.” The poison dropped from his lips. Arthur smirked, crossing his legs at the knee. It barely hid the rage boiling inside of him. “Well, Francis, might you recall back in middle school that—” The bell rang. The three turned to face their customer, someone who Arthur knew quite well. With that caramel blond hair, blue framed glasses, it could only be— “Alfred F. Jones.” Francis leaned against the counter of the booth, propping his head up with the palm. He licked his lips. “What brings you here today?” Alfred held a coffee cup in his hand. He took a long sip from it, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Michelle subtly elbowed Arthur in the side for staring. “Well, Francis.” Alfred tucked in the corners of his mouth, staring at the booth’s banner with a deadpan expression.  “I heard that you were running a kissing booth and didn't bother to recruit me as an employee. I see why now, though.” Arthur could've sworn Alfred winked in his direction. Francis grinned. “Alfred, Alfred. If we had you, we would never be able to get rid of the line.” He wasn’t lying. The money they would’ve made if someone had the idea to recruit Alfred… Arthur didn’t even want to think about the lost opportunity at hand. Alfred smiled, his impossibly white teeth on display, waving his hand in dismissal of Francis’ compliment. He huffed, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “So how does this work?” Pushing himself off the counter, Francis gestured to the banner. “A dollar a kiss. Drop a dollar in the jar, choose someone, and then-” he puckered his lips, flickering his eyes open and shut. “Ok, fair enough.” Alfred fished out his wallet before pulling out a folded one. He popped it in Arthur’s jar, the first one in the hours they had been here. “I’ll take Arthur, then.” A small noise erupted from his mouth. Arthur felt the blood drain from his face, the paleness visible on Francis’ own. Michelle broke into a shit-eating grin. She put her hand to the small of Arthur's back, slowly pushing him forward. In seconds, Arthur was inches away from him. Alfred's warm breath squandered itself against his cheeks as he leaned forward. Closer, closer, closer, and- there. Alfred tasted like coffee. That was the first and only thought in his head before his mind went blank. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was gone in seconds. Arthur opened his eyes to Alfred grinning, their noses just barely touching. A slap against the counter. Arthur looked down to see a straight five dollar bill. “I’ll take a couple more, please.”

[rantingfangirl]

Phone Home

Summary: When Arthur’s friends get an idea for a way to find him a date, there’s no stopping them. 

Pairing: UsUk

Arthur prided himself on being one of the saner of the six Kirkland brothers, and would gladly give a three computer files’ worth of evidence should anyone try to question it. He could quickly de-escalate any of their shenanigans- which was the only way those stupid ideas could be labeled. The same, however, could not be said when it came to his friends. Vlad and Lukas were unpredictable, posing as supportive yet content to stay in the background. At least until they got an idea that they couldn't shake off. Which was exactly what was currently happening. The three of them stood on a beach, if you could call it that. Arthur looked down at the gray, muddy sand collapsing under his feet, cringing when it stuck to his shoe. Next to him, Vlad scoffed. “From the look on your face, you might as well have stepped in vomit.” 

Arthur looked at him, his nose starting to ache from being wrinkled. He shook his foot, his toes knocking back and forth between the sides of his boot. The goopy sand swung off his foot, the majority of it finding its way onto his pants. Vlad snickered. He ignored it, scoffing with disgust at the sand as he brushed it off. “What are we doing here, again?” If Vlad wanted him to- “You know why.” Lukas spoke for the first time since they'd arrived, scrawling with spider-like efficiency on college-ruled paper. He clicked the pen closed, sliding its clip in place with the edge of the clipboard. When he spoke again, his voice was matter of fact, and he didn't bother to even glance over to them, scanning over his work. “You know exactly why we're here.” Arthur ignored the first ominous tone in his words. He did, in fact, know why they were there, but he was going drag out the inevitable as much as possible. If only to save himself. “Yes, but-” Gently, ever so slowly, Arthur put his foot back down on the sand, watching as muck engulfed the outer sole of his shoe. “- there's a completely different way we could've done it. And not-” He paused, gesturing to the ocean in front of them. “-this.” Vlad flicked his eyes over to him, his words and smirk mocking. “Yes, but this is more creative.” “It’s more idiotic, that’s what it is.” Vlad feigned mock offense, gaping his mouth open and pressing an open palm to his chest. He knitted his eyebrows together, shaking his head. “And what else could we do? Is there anything you propose?” His voice was in a joking and posh tone, and Arthur couldn't help but smile at it. Arthur took a step back, putting his hands to his hips to stand akimbo. “Anything would've been better than this. Couldn't we have just gone with a dating site? You know, like normal people do?” Lukas paused, slowly turning his head over to Arthur. He frowned, shaking his head. “If we put you on a dating site, you wouldn't get a single match.” “Ouch.” Vlad winced. Then wince then broke into a shit-eating grin, Vlad cocking his head to the side. “Do you think that they would even let him keep his account? You actually have to look somewhat attractive on most of them, you know.” His words were infuriatingly cocky when he spoke, though Arthur made sure than any speck of anger he felt didn't show. Arthur knitted his eyebrows together, lowering his chin and frowning. “Vlad, you look like a Count Chocula Ken doll reject. I don't want to hear it.” Vlad practically squawked, his mouth gaping and his eyes narrowing. He put his hand over his heart, his shoulders caving in an attempt at mock offense. “Don't talk about Count Chocula like that.” “By that, do you mean comparing him to you or to Ken?” “Both.” Arthur couldn't help but smile, breathing out of his nose in a slight laugh. Vlad joined in, his shoulders and stomach shaking in tune with the huffs of breath escaping his mouth. The sight only succeeded in making Arthur laugh harder, even if he tried his best to resist. With the ocean around them, no matter how muddy it was, for a second, Arthur almost forgot about the matter at hand. The key word being “almost”. At that moment, Vlad slipped behind Arthur, sliding his arms to lock under his armpits. Arthur struggled against the grip, jerking his head and shoulders back. Vlad was stronger than he thought. He felt his friend lean in towards his ear, Arthur shoving down the urge to slam his temples into Vlad’s. “Calm down, we’re doing this for-” “Don’t tell me to calm down, you fucker.” A snicker filled his ear, Vlad’s warm breath squandering against the outer shell. “Just accept it, Arthur. The love of your life is waiting for you.” “And you think a message in a glass fucking bottle is going to do anything?” Vlad shrugged. “I saw it as a meme on Instagram. Sounded like a fun idea.” Arthur stilled. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head as best he could towards Vlad. Their cheeks just barely touched, Arthur’s eyes narrowing as Vlad’s gripped tightened. “Are you-” 

The scratching stopped. Arthur whipped his head over to Lukas as the latter clicked his pen, shoving it back into his pocket. After a quick proof-read, Lukas thinly rolled the paper, pulling out a glass bottle that looked as if it were straight from a children’s book. That, Arthur realized bitterly, the feeling pooling in his stomach, was what he should've— could've— gone for first. No, that wasn’t it. Arthur shouldn't have agreed to come in the first place. The thought alone snatched his attention, not releasing him until it was too late. Arthur watched as the bottle, a cork stuffed in its neck, flew in a spinning arch towards the ocean. It wasn’t until it slammed into the water with a soft plunk that Vlad’s gripped eased. Arthur ripped himself free, his shoes sinking into the muddy sand. He took several steps towards the water’s edge, stopping just feet away. Arthur sighed. “Go to hell, both of you.” 

Arthur had a headache. The chorus of telephones had yet to cease after several hours, much less quiet down, even with how close the time ticked further and further into the night. Every moment brought another call, each call carrying ten voicemails along with it. Curse those bastards for putting him at the front desk. Sighing, Arthur pulled his bag towards him, rustling around for— there. The bottle. One of the first things he had learned on the job was to carry around a bottle of ibuprofen. It came in handy in most situations, specifically ones he was required to listen in. Intern meetings, phone calls, everything. He popped the cap off, placing it on the edge of his desk as he fished out two pills. Within seconds, the taste of paper filled his mouth, the sourness of it drowning out the pounding in his head. Disgusting. Arthur swallowed with a grimace, sliding the lid back onto the bottle and dropping it in his bag. The roller chair he was sitting on creaked as he did so, the noise loud enough that he was unable to ignore it. In the distance, in the office behind him, a phone rang. Someone walked through the door. They lifted their hand in a reserved wave, not even bothering to look at Arthur, the sounds of their footsteps bouncing off the walls. It was all too much. He had a good thirty minutes before the ibuprofen kicked in, thirty minutes before any sort of relief. Another phone call, cut short and followed by a loud laugh. Fuck. Why did these people have to be so loud. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into the— Arthur’s phone buzzed. It rattled against the table, quieting everything around him. Slowly, oh so slowly, he picked it up. His phone lit as soon as he faced it, a green banner floating down to eye-level. It was an international number, that much was certain, but the message itself… that was an issue. It buzzed again as he clicked the message and unlocked his phone. Hey. I’m Alfred. :P Arthur paused, staring at the screen, re-reading the messages over and over again. And again. He went to type out a message before deleting it. It happened several times before he finally managed to type something, finally setting on: Who is this? His phone buzzed again. I told you. I’m Alfred. What’s your name? Arthur clicked his phone off, setting it down on his desk. There was no way. No way that he would give his name to Alfred, if that was really his name. Another buzz. In a spur of the moment action, Arthur grabbed his phone, haphazardly dropping it into his bag and zipping it up. Silence, even just for a few seconds. He returned to his work, checking emails and marking his calendar with upcoming meetings and other dates. Arthur went through email after email, either sending it to the trash or to the archives. All the while, his phone buzzed. Curiosity welled inside of him, clawing at him, gently tugging his attention towards the black messenger bag settled next to his ankles. Arthur pushed the urge away, kicking the bag away. He heard it tip over, his phone— along with some other things, the bottle of pills, pens, etc— tumbling out. Arthur cursed, pushing himself out of his chair, dropping to his knees. His phone flickered to life beside him, revealing the new set of texts waiting for him. Arthur stared at the phone before glancing at his tipped bag, going back and forth, back and forth, between the two. He sighed through his nose. Fuck it. Unlocking his phone, Arthur took no time to look through the messages, which had multiplied quickly in the past few minutes. Awwww, cmon. Dont do this Hiiiiiii Look, I know it sounds a bit creepy, but please!!! Ohhhh wait I know what your name is Hi Arthur :) Arthur froze upon seeing his name on the other side of the screen. He glanced up at the header of the screen, making sure that yes, this was a stranger who yes, had his name. For a split second, Arthur’s thumb grazed the keys before sending himself into action, his message typed out and sent before he had the chance to reread it. How did you get my name? A gray message floated to the top of the empty space. There you are :)) It was on your letter A ball dropped in Arthur’s stomach. There was no way. No way that that stupid little stunt Vlad pulled would have ever come to fruition. What do you mean, my letter? Pushing himself back up on his chair, Arthur kept his eyes glued to the screen, waiting for the three dancing dots to finish. They stopped for a split second before continuing, up and down in quick succession until— finally. It was a video. Arthur clicked on it, revealing a tanned man in a swimsuit. His caramel hair was plastered to his forehead, a cheeky smirk along with it. The video began, the man— who, now Arthur thought about it, was assumingly Alfred— moving his lips. No sound. Arthur groaned before restarting. “Now, Arthur, what we have here—” American, definitely American. If not a given by the accent, with its small twang and bluntness, then by the overall confidence the man— no, Alfred, displayed. “—is a glass bottle. Little sandy, little dirty, but it’s damn sure a bottle.” No. It couldn’t be. No way that thing resurfaced after six years. No way that something like that could’ve gone anywhere. “And, in the bottle, I found this.” Alfred held up the paper that Lukas had written years ago, it's edges set in a permanent roll. “You wanna know what it says?” Alfred unrolled the paper, holding it up as if he were a medieval town crier. “Looking for cute guys. Call me. My name is Arthur. And then there are several smiley faces along with your phone number. Pretty funny, aren’t ya?” Whoever was filming the video laughed, a loud, obnoxious noise that had Alfred joining in. Arthur paused the video. It would’ve been funny, if it weren’t for the fact that he was the one at the butt of the joke. Arthur clenched and unclenched his fists, in and out, counting up to ten and back down. Sick. Lukas and Vlad had sick tastes when it came to humor. His phone buzzed his once more in his hand, Arthur’s attention drifting down to the newest message, right under the video. Call me ;) Arthur saved the video before swiping out of the chat, his message menu displaying rows upon rows of others. He tapped on the group chat he shared with Vlad and Lukas and sent the video. You won’t believe what’s come up. It was something that his friends had forgotten about. For the first few months,they had constantly reminded him about it, but now… Like before, Arthur left the chat, returning to Alfred. He stared at the contact number, re-reading over and over again. Weighing. Balancing. He looked at the back arrow and then back at the number. Back, forth. Back, forth. The number. Arthur pressed the dial button.

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Given the choice to change his ways or face the consequences, Arthur is propelled from urban England to the American suburbs, putting up with all the drama, pettiness, and idiots that go with it.

Chapter Index

Read on AO3    Read on FF.Net

[rantingfangirl]

PB&JB

This was for @creatorsofhetalia ‘s prompt day. As a full disclaimer, I’ve never eaten one of these before, neither have most Americans. I promise, the majority of us are not tasteless monsters.

Prompt: “You ate what?”

Pairing: UsUk

Words: 363

“You ate what?”

“I’m sorry, you ate what?”

Arthur Kirkland watched as Alfred F. Jones licked the melted peanut butter off of his fingers, a cringe making its way up his face, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

Alfred grinned, a short little thing that had the oomph of a tomcat. “I told you.” He gestured to the styrofoam container sitting on his lap, bits of jam and bright orange cheese globbing onto its edges. “It’s a PB&J burger.”

He said it as if it were a matter of fact. As if such a monstrosity was commonplace. As if putting crunchy peanut butter and sugary jam on top of a dressed cheeseburger would be the most natural and-

“Try it.”

Arthur blinked, glancing to see a second burger in Alfred’s hand. The latter slowly inched it closer and closer towards him, making Arthur put his hands up in a halt. “Where did you get that?”

“I had another one in the box.”

He blinked again, thinning his lips into a fine line. “No. I will not.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I will-”

“Just fucking try it.”

Tentatively, Arthur took burger from Alfred’s hands. The toasted bun was slightly squishy under his fingers, a trail of peanut butter oozing from under the top one and slowly making its way down the side of the sandwich. Disgusting, utterly and wholly disgusting. He looked up. “Did you bring something to drink?”

Alfred lifted up a styrofoam cup and shook it, the ice inside audibly rattling. That was as much as a response he was going to get.

Arthur looked back at the burger, before glancing at Alfred. Back and forth, back and forth. He sighed.

“Fuck it.”

He took a small bite out of it, immediately tasting the peanut butter and jam. It slid down his chin, the feeling warm and sticky. And damn it all, it wasn’t too bad.

When he finally swallowed, he deadpanned, glaring at Alfred, trying to project as much malice as he could manage. “Alfred?”

His boyfriend glanced up to him, curiosity filling his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I hate you so so much.” And with that, Arthur took another, much larger, mouthful.

[rantingfangirl]

The Kiss

Hey, guys! This is for @creatorsofhetalia  ‘s Back to School Exchange. @how-does-one-username is my partner and she requested a Theater AU. This is my first time writing FrUk (I usually write UsUk), so if I need to work on anything, be sure to tell me!

Pairings: Established FrUk, UsUk

Summary: When Arthur Kirkland finds himself in a once-in-a-lifetime theater role, he finds himself juggling the strain on his relationship and his duties as an actor. After all, the show must go on.

The hard metal seat was cold as Arthur Kirkland slid onto it, the unpleasant bite sinking into his thighs. He softly hissed through his teeth, wincing and rolling his shoulders back.

Next to him, Francis silently chuckled, shaking his head. Arthur glared at him, making sure that it lacked any of his normal venom- which, he admitted to himself, he oh-so-desperately wanted to give. He knew from the grin sent his way that Francis was waiting for it. A challenge, then.

He twisted in his seat, scanning the relatively empty auditorium. Their drama director was nowhere in sight, the booth in the very far back of the room dark and silent. The rows of seats- red upon migraine-inducing red- were empty as well.

Good.

Arthur turned back towards Francis, crossing his right knee over his left, gifting him with a two-finger salute. He then brought his index finger down. Francis grinned.

Francis opened his mouth to speak, something probably something that would turn out to be equally infuriating, only for the thumping sound of footsteps to interrupt him. The chair next to him creaked as Alfred F. Jones flipped it in the other direction. He winked at Arthur as he plopped down, hunching over the chair’s back, crossing his arms together and grinning.

“Careful, Alfred. Any longer and the chair’ll collapse from under you.”

Arthur didn’t bother to turn his head at Francis’ words, instead keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred. Alfred’s smile slightly faltered, as if Francis had managed to strike a cord, only for it to be back up in a fraction of a second.

Francis didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he had, though, with that smug smirk gracing his lips and a look in his eyes that had nothing but malice stewing in them. Arthur glanced over at him, cocking his head to the side. Perhaps Francis added being an asshole to his list of achievements.

He rolled his eyes. Uncrossing his foot, Arthur slightly tapped Francis in the ankle before recrossing. Arthur grinned, turning back to Alfred.

“Well, Francis.” Alfred leaned back from his seat. He dipped his chin, looking down directly at his stomach. He softly patted it, using both hands. He looked back up at them, his wicked smile growing wider. “I supposed that I’ve gained a couple pounds. You know, eating your boyfriend out six times a week is definitely delicious, but it’s not the most nutritious.” He gave his stomach an extra pat.

Arthur couldn’t help it. His lips burst open into a laugh, his stomach shaking and the corners of his mouth beginning to ache.

Several of their fellow cast members shot glares over in their direction, some almost amused-looking, but Arthur ignored it. Alfred ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth, wiggling his eyebrows with a silent promise in his eyes.

From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Francis sneer. “Fuck you, Alfred.” Alfred winked again, lightly clicking his tongue. “You? No. But Arthur-” He let his voice quietly trail.

An echo sounded on the stage as Francis’ ankle hit the metal leg of the chair. His wince was negated by his wrathful glare. He opened his mouth, no doubt to positively destroy Alfred, but was interrupted by the sound of the theater teacher breezing in.

Mrs. Karpusi slid into one of the blue plastic chairs, a large binder overflowing with notes held in her arms. She set it on her lap with a large thump, crossing her right leg over her knee.

She looked up, slinking observing eyes around the circle, pausing for a fraction of a second on each cast member before moving on. Stopping at the three of them, Mrs. Karpusi looked back and forth between them. She only spoke after she had continued on. “I hope that you’ve all had a nice break. I know that you three have, especially. I could hear your entire conversation, word for word, out in the lobby.”

Arthur sighed, ignoring the light burn on his cheeks. Alfred leaned forward, his chair creaking from under him. “Sorry, ma’am, we were just having a bit of fun, that’s all.” Francis said nothing, staring at Alfred as if he were imagining strangling him.

“That’s fine, Alfred.” She opened up her binder, steadying it with her left hand, licking her thumb and flipping through a few pages before stopping. “Just watch the language next time. I’ll just assume that you and Mr. Kirkland were talking about regularly going to a restaurant.”

“Oh, yes, we definitely were.” Several snickers filled the room, along with a couple groans.

Her smile tightened as she continued to flip through her binder. “If you haven’t gotten your scripts out yet- like you’re supposed to, by the way- do so now. Also, get out a pencil. If I see a pen in anyone’s hand, I’ll blow a gasket.”

Arthur smirked as he leaned to the side. He ghosted his fingertips over the surface of the stage floor, moving around until he could feel the smooth texture of paper.

He felt a slight fuzz spreading through his head as he pulled himself upright, but ignored it after shaking his head. Patting around his pants, he realized that his pockets were empty. Arthur scowled.

“Francis, dear, do you happen to have a spare pencil?” He only looked towards Francis when his words were just about finished, keeping his voice in a hushed tone as to not disturb the other cast members. No need to show off.

Arthur held out his hand expectantly, flexing his fingers, and within a few seconds, he had a pencil. He flipped it over, the grip in between his fingers, swiftly inspecting it. Mechanical, and one of the good ones, too.

He debated the prospects of pocketing it- it wasn’t as if Francis wouldn’t get it back, eventually- when Mrs. Karpusi began reading, the words spilling from her mouth at a mile a minute.

“Before the break, we finished up on the first act. Flip to the prelude of the second, page seventy-six.” The sounds of turning pages filled the room. From his peripheral, Arthur saw Alfred reach his destination on his first try, a triumphant grin spreading across his cheeks. Arthur lightly chuckled as Alfred tried and failed to discreetly pump his fist at his side.

“The same person from Act One will read the prelude for this one. I still haven’t decided who, exactly, that’ll be yet, but I’ll get back to you all on that next week. Now-”

Arthur allowed himself to ease into autopilot as she continued on, lightly tapping his pencil against the plastic cover of the script book. He crossed out parts of the script that were deemed “distasteful”, writing above it what was deemed better. By the time they finished the page, he could barely read the printed words, the scene almost completely different.

He scanned over the page, turning back and forth to glance between his current and previous work. Arthur cringed. He would have to write it all out by hand to be able to understand it later.

They continued like that for another ten minutes, page after page, sentence after sentence being revised until Act Two was finished. It wasn’t until Mrs. Karpusi mentioned his character’s name that Arthur snapped back into attention.

“Now, after Alex and Jared-” She nodded to Alfred and Arthur as she mentioned their parts- “finish up ‘This is Us’, Jared and Arlene are supposed to kiss. With the context of the song, that’s ridiculous.”

Arthur pushed his thumb against the eraser of his pencil before flipping it up-right, marking out “Arlene” from the top of the page. He looked up expectantly at Mrs. Karpusi.

She paused for a moment. They made brief eye contact before she shifted her eyes away and over to Francis. She bit her bottom lip, scraping it with her teeth, sighing and looking away. Arthur knew what she was going to say before she even said it, and by the way Francis’ eyebrows began to knit together, it was obvious that he did, as well.

“So, what I think we’re going to do-” She trailed off, her words already slow. “I think we’re going to have Alex and Jared in the kiss scene instead of Jared and Arlene.” Mrs. Karpusi put an extra emphasis on ‘Arlene’.

A band rang out through the stage, Arthur turning to find Alfred sitting there, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. His lips split into a triumphant smile, revealing rows of shiny white teeth. He lightly patted the metal seat as he cackled, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

Arthur could only think that he sounded as if he were dying.

He rolled his eyes as Alfred struggled to speak, the latter’s face growing red from lack of breath.

He glanced over to Francis, who looked as if he was struggling to hold back a sneer.

Arthur slumped down in his chair, his shoulders rolling back and his chin almost touching his chest. He huffed.

Fuck.

Arthur knew that Francis was behind him from the moment they left the auditorium. He chose to take the back way this time, if only to prevent any listening ears from prying into the upcoming fight. And it would surely happen. That was the way they worked.

The sound of the heels of his boots echoed against the bone-white halls, mixing with the sounds of Francis’ own. Arthur started to walk faster, shoving his hands into his pockets to feign a chill composure. The blood in his veins boiled.

Francis matched his pace and Arthur knew that he was going to try and grab him. From the sounds of light squeaking against the tile, Arthur gave them an arms’ worth of space. At the very most.

“Arthur.” He kept walking, ignore the desperation, the barely contained anger in Francis’ voice.

“Arthur, please.”

He didn’t bother to turn around and look at Francis, didn’t want to see that hurt face of his. It was cruel and childish, he knew, and something small inside of him screamed for him to stop.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. Fine.

Backing up to the wall, Arthur let Francis catch up to him. They were facing each other within seconds, Francis stepping forward, their chests just barely touching. His warm breath squandered against Arthur’s cheeks.

Francis smiled slowly, a small glint of his slightly crooked teeth showing. He went in for a kiss and Arthur met him halfway, bracing his hands against Francis’ shoulders and squeezing tight. Arthur swiped his tongue along the seam of Francis’ bottom lip, slightly snickering as he did so, the laugh sounding like several huffs of air more than anything.

He pulled away, hands moving down and to the sides to grip the collar of Francis’ shirt. Arthur opened his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he glanced Francis up and down. He debated kissing him again before going in without a second thought, this time as a small peck on the cheek. And then the nose. And then, finally, back to Francis’ mouth.

It was Francis who pulled back, a small, somber grin on his face. Arthur could only think that it looked like a wince. “Arthur?”

“Hm?” Arthur took another step forward. Their chests were flush against each other, Francis wrapping his arms around the small of Arthur’s back. Arthur grinned, lightly shaking his head.

Francis leaned in, his nose breathing in a fraction of an inch away from Arthur’s hair. Arthur wrinkled his nose at the sound, but otherwise ignored it, allowing himself to savor the moment, any audience be damned.

Francis’ breath turned shaky, his shoulders tensing under Arthur’s touch. “Arthur, I want you to go to Mrs. Karpusi and ask her for a different role in the play.”

Arthur pushed himself away from Francis, stepping back and hitting the wall with a soft thump.

He frowned, letting it turn into a sneer, cocking his head to the side. “What?”

Francis sighed, shaking his head, strands of his hair lightly brushing against Arthur’s cheeks.

“Arthur, please, don’t get into it with me over-”

“And what the fuck do you mean by that? Do you know how lucky I am to get one of the leading roles? Are you not happy for me?”

Francis threw his hands up in the air, scoffing. A dismissal. “Of course I’m happy for you. It’s just that-”

“Then you would just suck it up and deal with it. Are you-” A stray thought ran through Arthur’s mind. He tried to will it away, only for it to linger. He narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke, he made sure it was as slow and as accusing as he could make it. “Are you jealous? That I have to kiss Alfred?”

The look on Francis’ face only confirmed his suspicions. He sneered. “Are you fucking kidding me? You honestly think-”

“Ok, so what if I am jealous. Is that not alright?” Francis’ hair bobbed with his head as he spoke, the bracelets encircling his wrists flicking and clattering in tune with his words. “So what if I’m-”

“Me? With that sorry excuse of a-”

“Goddamnit, Arthur, will you let me finish?”

“No, I won’t. Because if you think for one fucking second that I am so untrustworthy that I would-”

“I never said that-”

“Well, you fucking implied it.” Arthur crossed his arms, careful to hide his clenched fists. He paused, dropping them to his sides. Let Francis see them.

Francis sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair, his shoulders deflating in a way that signaled defeat. Arthur began to prepare himself for the guilt trip that was almost sure to come, racking through his mind for replies that would shut it down before he could start. ���Arthur.” He let Francis move closer, trying his best to prevent his shoulders from tensing under his touch. Francis gently gripped the sides of his chin, slowly running his thumb up and down Arthur’s jaw. “Why must you be so difficult?”

Arthur gritted his teeth as he stilled, Francis’ eyes widening as he realized the mistake he made.

Good, let him wallow over it. Let him stew in it.

He quickly pushed Francis away, using all the strength he could muster. Arthur watched as he stumbled back a few steps, his back hitting the wall on the other side. Francis didn’t make a move to close the distance, a frown gracing his face. Arthur didn’t want to think about what he would do if he had.

Arthur clenched his fingers together. Perhaps he should punch him. None of the security guards ever checked this particular hallway, making it their preferred meeting place. Rumor claimed that the cameras in the corners were just for show. He could make it look like-

Francis shifted his eyes down to Arthur’s fist. Pinned them there, a questioning- no, a daring- look on his face. He wanted him to do it. To do it and reap the consequences.

Arthur huffed. “You can go fuck yourself, Francis.” He spat out his name as if it were the filthiest curse he knew.

He turned and stalked down the hallway, his blood boiling in his veins as a million thoughts buzzed through his head. Arthur didn’t turn to see if Francis followed.

Arthur took in a deep breath as the piano started the first few notes of the song’s introduction. He took in more and more, not stopping until his lungs started to ache and sting.

The piano swelled into a crescendo, minor keys ringing in his ears. He turned to Alfred, putting on a serene smile, the clip of the microphone attached to his collar slightly scratching his neck.

Arthur shoved down a wince.

Five seconds, at the very most.

Alfred met his stare, his eyes widening, lips splitting into a smile. Arthur could only think about how white and straight his teeth looked under the spotlight.

Four seconds.

He could feel Francis’ eyes raking up and down his back. Arthur tried not to think about how slimy it felt. Or that, for once, he felt almost tempted to turn around and ask him to stop.

Three seconds.

The pain in his stomach was almost unbearable, like two snakes coiling into a knot, yet Arthur forced himself to take in more air. He couldn’t afford to fall flat. Not with a starting note of eighteen beats.

Two seconds.

Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what Alfred was thinking. Wonder if he was prepared, if he felt the spiders and worms crawling through his veins. If his heart was pounding to a beat of a drum similar to Arthur’s.

One second.

He scanned the crowd, staring straight at their expectant faces, at the looks of wonder in their eyes.

The piano hit the final note of the into, and Arthur sang. Alfred joined him, his voice shooting up several notes, their voices weaving with each other. A couple measures later, the rest of the ensemble joined in.

Arthur once again looked to Alfred, taking both of the latter’s hands within his own, gripping as tight as he could. Alfred’s palms were clammy, his fingers slightly fidgeting.

He broke his left hand away, sliding it up to grip Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred mirrored him, raising Arthur’s right hand to face the crowd.

Arthur smirked up at Alfred, slowly shaking his head as the starting note came to an end, trying his best to stay in character. It wasn’t as difficult as he originally thought it to be, not with how close they were, with the way Alfred seemed to effortlessly smile back.

“I cannot imagine a time.” They began their waltz, a million thoughts running through Arthur’s head, desperately trying to remember the order of the steps. Right foot to the side, left foot following. Right foot down, left foot down and to the side. Right foot follows. Left foot up. Repeat.

“When you weren’t in my life.” Alfred finished the sentence, tossing his voice up and managing to hit a note at least half an octave higher than Arthur’s max range. The fact that he managed to make it look so careless and easy while doing it was-

Arthur resisted the urge to shake his head. No need to think about it.

They flowed through several verses, Arthur waiting several measures before starting to echo Alfred. The ensemble paused, but Arthur easily ignored their loss.

He realized then that with each verse behind them, the problem that had been plaguing him for months drew closer. They hadn’t practiced, not even a single peck, despite Alfred’s cheeky insisting. He might have rolled with it, had kissed him as many times as he could, if only to spite Francis, but the guilt of it brought him away.

They rose into a crescendo, their voices starting soft and growing to match the volume of the piano and drums pounding along with them. Arthur guided them towards the upper middle of the stage, an icy blue spotlight following them with each and every step.

Arthur stopped in his designated place, covering a black X on the stage with his boot. Alfred stepped over to his own position, marked by another X parallel to Arthur’s. The final verse had arrived.

Arthur quickly drew in another breath, making it as silent as possible. “And I- will- never let you-”

They paused for a split of a second. “Go.” They pulled on the final word as if it were a rope of salt water taffy on a hook, the piano softly playing its final notes alongside the quiet clinking of a triangle.

He squeezed Alfred’s shoulder. This was it.

Turning his head slightly to the right, towards the audience, Arthur focused his eyes on a small groove in the floor of the stage. “Alex?” Arthur looked back at Alfred, scraping his teeth against his bottom lip.

Alfred lightly shook his head, tsking in tune. He took a small step forward, and then another.

Their chests were touching, the tips of their boots sliding against one another. Arthur could feel light puffs of warm breath from Alfred.

A ball dropped in Arthur’s stomach.

Gently cupping Arthur’s face in his hands, Alfred moved forward, his eyes fluttering shut.

Arthur’s heart sped up to a mile a minute as he met Alfred halfway. It was supposed to be closed, a tiny connection, and then they would quickly pull away.

That’s what it should’ve been, but it wasn’t. The cheer of the audience was nothing less than a roar, but Arthur tuned it out, only thinking how soft Alfred’s lips were.

He pulled away when he felt a flick of a tongue against the seam of his lower lip. Alfred slyly grinned, an out of character wink following after.

“Do that again.” His voice was breathless, the line not entirely found in the script.

Alfred smiled and obliged him.

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Sixteen: The Strangling of the Snake

Summary: Given the choice to change his ways or face the consequences, Arthur is propelled from urban England to the American suburbs, putting up with all the drama, pettiness, and idiots that go with it.

Chapter Index

Read on AO3      Read on FF.Net

[rantingfangirl]

Drabble- #62 and #9

9: “You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!”

62: “If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?”

Arthur knew Alfred was awake, what with the constant fidgeting and shuffling. A soft glow filled their otherwise dark bedroom, and he blinked in an attempt to shut it out.

He groaned, shuffling in his place.  Alfred switched his phone off, turning towards him so their noses almost touched. 

“Babe?”

Arthur cringed at Alfred’s morning breath, but didn’t say anything else on the topic. He wrapped his leg around Alfred’s, running his socked foot back and forth over his ankle. “Yeah?”

“Can’t  sleep?”

Arthur nodded, the room falling silent. He almost felt tempted to push himself up and go ahead and get ready, but decided against it at the very last minute. Smiling as Alfred weaved his fingers through his own, Arthur buried his head into his pillow, breathing out a soft breath and stilling himself. 

“So, uh, if you can’t sleep-”

“Hm?”

“Could we have sex?”

Arthur’s smile fell. He pushed himself up, laying against the headboard of the bed. Not particularly caring how bright it was, Arthur reached over and clicked the lamp on, causing a grown from Alfred.

He looked straight into his husband’s eyes, who smiled a toothy grin and slowly batted his eyelashes. “Get out.”

Alfred gasped, shaking his head and sliding his glasses on. “What?”

“You heard me. Go.”

“Oh, hell no.” Alfred’s arms encircled Arthur as he brought him close. Warm breath fluttered against Arthur’s ear, a kiss landing on his neck. When Alfred spoke, it was in a soft and loving whisper. “Baby, don’t. You can’t banish me, this is my bed, too.”

“Get out.”

“No,” Alfred whined before pouting. His hug grew even tighter, Alfred burying his nose into the crook of Arthur’s neck. “Please?”

Arthur sighed. “Fine.”

“Thanks babe. So no sex?”

“Try anything and you’re dead.” 

Even without looking at him, Arthur could tell that there was a smile on Alfred’s face. “I wouldn’t risk it for the world.”

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Fourteen: The Shedding of the Snake

Summary: Given the choice to change his ways or face the consequences, Arthur is propelled from urban England to the American suburbs, putting up with all the drama, pettiness, and idiots that go with it

Chapter Index 

Read it on Fanfiction!     Read it on Ao3!

[rantingfangirl]

Cross Life Chapter Thirteen: Blue Light

Summary: Given the choice to change his ways or face the consequences, Arthur is propelled from urban England to the American suburbs, putting up with all the drama, pettiness, and idiots that go with it

Chapter Index

Read it on AO3!      Read it on FF.Net!

[rantingfangirl]

For all of my Cross Life pals, DM me if you want a surprise ;)

[rantingfangirl]

Ugh, so, I’m not really happy with this, but I hope you all enjoy!!

“I want you. Only you.” 

The cold rain hit Arthur’s forehead, trailing down his nose, and he supposed that it was his fault. 

Even as he stepped forward, Arthur wouldn’t- no, couldn’t- take his eyes off the body in front of him. A husk of what he used to be, the light and laughter and happiness faded from his eyes, replaced with dull shock. Dull betrayal.

As if Arthur hadn’t told him what might happen should they continue their relationship. As if Francis hadn’t nodded in agreement, and said that he understood and still wanted to be with him. 

Alfred put his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and it took all of his will, all of his power not to flinch. Not to shove him away and run from this mess, run until his legs turn to jelly and lungs dissolved into dust. Not to sprint to the nearest police station, then buy a plane ticket to Europe and cancel his credit cards afterwards. Not to disappear without a trace, to go somewhere where even Alfred, the psycho, wouldn’t find him.

But Alfred would, he knew. Arthur could have two, three years of happiness at the most, think that he was safe, that he was finally free. 

Only to find him on his doorstep.

And if he really thought about it, that’s where he went wrong. Thinking that he could escape him, that he could actually forget about this chapter in his life. What a fool he’d been.

Tightening his grip on Arthur’s shoulder, Alfred leaned in, his breath warm when everything around them was so cold. His voice as smooth as caramel, cutting through the noise of the hard rain. “Adultery is a sin, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his bottom lip, keeping his expression cool and collected. Disinterested. “Murder is too, is it not?”

Alfred hummed a favorite of his, one that Arthur hated with every fiber of his being. He shook his head, the tune fading, replaced by a carefree chuckle. “I always considered that up to interpretation, y’know?”

He did not.

“I mean, that’s one of the Ten Commandments, but then God just went up and killed- what? Millions? It’s kinda weird that he didn’t practice what he preached, innit?” 

It was not, as Alfred did the same thing. 

“And, ya see, Francis here was trying to take what’s mine. He was trying to take you away from me.” Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him close, burying his nose into the latter’s hair and breathing in deep. “We can’t let that happen, can we?”

He could not.

Arthur pulled away slightly, tilting his head up to meet Alfred’s eyes. Their noses almost touched. “Why.”

Alfred cocked his head to the side, the silent question clear.

It was a wonder how he had not started crying, had not even felt a tiny bit of pressure build up behind his eyes. "Why can't you let me be happy?”

Alfred’s nose scrunched, his brow wrinkling, as if he truly did not understand what he had done. As if everything that had happened in the past handful of hours had escaped him. “But you’re happy with me.”

Arthur shook his head, rolling his fingers into fists. “No, I’m-”

“Yes, you are, Arthur. Because you love me.” The color leeched from Arthur’s cheeks as he felt the tip of the knife press against the small of his back, and the only thought that he could process was that it was covered in Francis’ blood.

Alfred’s eyes softened as Arthur started to shake, even though the latter tried his best to keep it contained. “You love me, too, don’t you?”

Arthur swallowed, pursing his lips into a fine line. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, knew what could be the consequences for it, but he couldn’t help it.

Slowly, trying to suppress the heaving of his chest, Arthur turned to face Francis. He laid on the ground, a puddle of his own blood surrounding him. Arthur lifted his foot to take a step forward-

He flinched as Alfred grabbed his chin, fingers digging into his cheeks. Arthur met his eyes, and immediately looked away, biting his lower lip as Alfred yelled. “Francis didn’t love you, Arthur. He didn’t love you like I do.”

Arthur showed nothing, felt nothing when Alfred started crying, had no urge to wipe away the tears like he used to. A silent, dead, but at the same time, loud and deafening noise screamed through his ears, and he reached up, putting a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

“You love me, Arthur? Right?” Arthur didn’t respond, just squeezed tighter. Eventually, after a few minutes of silence, he nodded.

Alfred’s back straightened, and he smiled, and when he spoke, it was in a hushed, disbelieving whisper. “You really do?”

Another nod.

Alfred’s face contorted at that, and Arthur groaned as he was backhanded, pinprick pains stabbing into his cheek. The offending hand grabbed onto his wrist, holding it up as Alfred yelled. “Fucking tell me!”

Closing his eyes, Arthur breathed a shallow breath. “I love you.”

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

“No one else.”

“I want you. Only you.”

“Only me.” Alfred nodded, his angry sneer turning into a small, toothy grin. He giggled, clapping his hands excitedly. 

Arthur didn’t bother to try and figure out why- no, how, exactly- Alfred had managed to go from crying to murderous to the like of a toddler earning praise at just a few, monotone words. Didn’t want to figure it out.

He just wanted to go. Where, he didn’t know.

Alfred ran his fingers through his hair, his bangs, having been stuck to his forehead, pried off bit by bit. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

So many questions ran through Arthur’s head as Alfred put his arm against his back, leading him out of the alley. But a thick, opaque fog engulfed them, smothering them until all that was left were simple, “What if?”s. 

But even those were unnecessary now, as the damage had been done. The knife had slid in, stabbing and stabbing, leaving nothing behind. 

Even as they walked away, Arthur didn’t dare look back at Francis’ lifeless body. He just stared at Alfred, earning a giddy smile as a reward, and then, it happened. After a few, painful seconds, Arthur smiled back.