At The End Of All Things [15/?]
Mar. 1st, 2010 06:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: At The End Of All Things
Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance/Humour(in places)
Pairing/s: (in this chapter) USxUK
Characters: (in this chapter) UK, US, Poland, France (mentioned), Iceland, Switzerland, Canada.
Rating/Warnings: Overall NC-17. This chapter PG.
Summary: The year is 2438. A little over one hundred years ago, Russia finally cracked and nuclear warheads were sent flying to every corner of the world. No one had time to react. Some countries were wounded, some lost forever. The smaller nations suffered the most. Russia disappeared, never to be heard of again. Finally, the world is beginning to piece itself back together, and there is movement in the irradiated lands of Old Russia. Something is stirring, and only the rag-tag group of remaining nations can discover what it is. Ivan Braginski, or something far worse...
A/N: From now on, chapters will be posted in my journal as very soon it will reach a point where I will no longer be able to justify putting this up on the usxuk comm. I don't want to have to start forcing the pairing into every chapter just to make it fit. You can watch my journal if you wish, or, if you ask, I'll add your name to a list and notify you of each new chapter as it comes. Thanks, everyone!
‘At first we were in shock. We walked around like zombies, only half alive, barely functioning in the wreckage of the world. Those of us who came back to ourselves sooner helped the others, but some, like Zdislav, either couldn’t be or refused to be helped. On some level, I could understand it. We were so few, and the time when we might have been able to rally our people behind us was long past. Now, we were more likely to be shot than revered for revealing what we truly were. It was depressing, at first, to think of it... more so for some of us than others. I worried, for a time, that those of us like Feliks, Vash, and Feliciano, who had lost so much, wouldn’t make it through, but we began to forge new bonds.
Some of us, the older ones, seemed to act like parental figures. It was odd at first, but yet another change that we had to get used to. After all, it offered us some kind of organisation, even stability, and that could hardly be a bad thing.
Right?’
***
“I smell like petrol,” Arthur muttered as he screwed the cap on a third steel barrel. Matthew wrinkled his nose, gave Arthur a look, then laughed. After a moment, Arthur cracked a smile, shaking his head. “Come on, you sodding Mountie, help me with this.”
“Limey,” a voice piped up behind them, a grin on the American’s face as the two men looked at him.
“Yank,” Arthur shot back.
“Pirate,” Alfred said, moving closer and standing in front of the Englishman, a mischievous glint in his eyes to match the one in the green gaze directed up at him.
“Cowboy.”
“Short-ass.”
“Cack-handed pillock.”
“Scruffy nerf-herder,” Alfred quipped with a snicker, glancing down as Arthur curled his fingers into the top of his pants.
“Columbia,” he purred, tugging the taller man closer.
“Britannia,” was the low voiced response.
“Jones...”
“Kirkland...”
“Guys!” Matthew spluttered, startling the two of them so abruptly that they sprang apart as if electrocuted, both blushing furiously. “Now is not the time!”
“Right! Um...” Arthur made a show of brushing himself off and straightening his clothes, watching the Canadian as he pulled the heavy cover back over the hole in the cracked tarmac under their feet. The Englishman looked up, his gaze falling on the faint outline of where the ‘LUKOIL’ sign had once been. Matthew picked up his crowbar, and eyed the three barrels as he tapped the tool idly against his shoulder.
“Do you think we have enough?” he asked, a slightly anxious tone in his voice. They had been lucky to find that there was still a store of petrol beneath the burned-out station, and although Francis had assured them that the electric battery would probably hold out, it never hurt to be too careful.
“We should have. Francis may be useless at a lot of things but I can’t fault his knowledge when it comes to cars.”
“Chill out, bro,” Alfred said cheerfully, putting one arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all that worrying.”
“Well you’ll have to excuse me if being stranded in the middle of Russia isn’t my idea of a good time,” The Canadian muttered. Francis had, after making a long examination of the truck, come to the conclusion that they would be able to run it on the power of the battery alone, but just in case, they had to look for some fuel. The only person who hadn’t been seen, since his somewhat harsh outburst, was Vash, who seemed to have taken to obsessively checking and re-checking the guns he had repaired.
***
Alfred didn’t often have nightmares. At first he had – they all had – but his had not lasted long and it had been months of waking to calm Arthur down before the two of them had been able to get a good night of sleep. Perhaps it was being where they were, or what they were trying so hard to get to, or the ever-present throbbing wound eating deeper into his shoulder but that night, Alfred was thrown back to the day that had turned everything upside down.
It had been a normal day, as far as normal went back then. The constant threat of Russia was a real one, and even the normally reckless America hadn’t been foolhardy enough to believe that sending troops in would help the situation. Ivan had his finger on the metaphorical big red button, and all that anyone could do was hope that he would see sense, or at least back down. Alfred had just ordered take-out, and he could hear Arthur singing to himself as he pottered about in the kitchen. Russia aside... everything was perfect.
Then, the phone rang. Alfred answered it, barely able to hear the voice on the other end for all the panic around it. The words ‘Russia’, ‘nuclear’, and ‘launched’ worked their way through the mayhem and Alfred felt his blood run cold. He dropped the phone, not even bothering to hang up as he dashed to the kitchen and saw for a brief moment the expression of happy contentment on Arthur’s face before the man’s green eyes clouded with concern.
“What-?”
“We have to go downstairs. Now!” Alfred grabbed Arthur’s hand and the two of them ran to the basement, the American only hesitating for a moment then barrelling down the stairs and through the reinforced steel door at the bottom. He shoved it closed, and turned to Arthur. The Englishman was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes – he knew what was happening without even being told. They sat on the floor and held each other tightly, and Alfred knew the instant that the first bomb dropped on Great Britain.
Arthur stiffened and pitched forwards, a half-strangled noise catching in his throat as he clutched his chest. He choked, crimson blossoming over the front of his shirt, pooling on the floor and all Alfred could do was hold him as the first waves of pain began to storm through him. He gritted his teeth against it but Arthur was already screaming, clinging to Alfred as if he was the last thing on Earth. The ground shook, Arthur passed out but Alfred stayed conscious through it all, feeling every bomb as a fresh stab through his body. His glasses cracked, and somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
It could have been hours before it finally stopped, and the sharp agony reduced to a dull, painful throb that burned at every nerve and tightened his chest at each attempt to breathe. His lover, his husband was limp against him, and he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of his blonde head, slowly and laboriously moving to lie the man down on the dusty floor.
“Arthur...” he whispered, his voice sounding strange, rough. “Arthur... Wake up...” He touched the Englishman’s cheek and brushed his hair back from his forehead, unbuttoned his shirt and did his best to dress the deep, angry, still bleeding wound slashed across his lover’s chest. At least, he thought, if it was still bleeding, then Arthur was still alive. He felt the faintest of heartbeats at the man’s throat and clasped his hand, squeezing it and holding it to his lips, kissing the backs of his fingers. Alfred shut his eyes, feeling a hot, uncomfortable lump rise in his throat.
“Come on, Arthur, we need to go,” he murmured eventually, slipping one arm beneath Arthur’s knees and another under his shoulders and carefully picking him up, hearing a quiet moan of complaint. The house, amazingly, was intact when he left the basement but for the glass from every window scattered over the floor. He left Arthur on the sofa as he ran to collect anything they might need, before he carried the man to the garage where his truck was parked.
He headed north, every now and then casting worried looks to the unconscious man in the passenger seat. Arthur was still losing blood, his skin paper-white, and all Alfred could do was pray that he’d make it. Getting through the roads was hell - people had abandoned their cars, wandering aimlessly, shellshocked. Once or twice somebody would snap out of their daze and run towards the only moving vehicle on the road, and it pained Alfred to ignore them, the desperation on their faces and the hope that someone - anyone - could tell them what had just happened. He turned on the radio to find static and silence on every station, the confusion and fear that his people felt welling up in his mind as a barely-controlled panic. The truck gave up more than ten hours later, a few hours’ drive away from Kelowna, and Alfred did the only thing he could think of – he pulled Arthur out of the truck and started carrying him.
The radiation tingled over his skin like an itch, but he ignored it, and hours later, when he saw something moving towards him on the horizon, he was sure that he was hallucinating, and even more certain of it when the car skidded to a stop not far from him and somebody who looked very much like Matthew got out, shouting his name as he ran towards him.
“Alfred! Alfred?!”
Alfred dropped to his knees, cradling his lover close to his chest as Matthew dropped down beside him and pulled him into a tender, warm embrace. Something inside the American snapped in that moment, and finally he began to cry, leaning against his brother as he sobbed brokenly.
“It’s alright, now,” Matthew was saying. “I’m here, Alfred. I’ve got you...”
“Alfred...”
“Alfred? Come on, Alfred, time to wake up.”
“H-huh?” Alfred woke with a start, sitting up quickly and hissing, clutching his shoulder. Beside him, Matthew was looking at him, his violet eyes large and worried. He was holding out a pair of glasses, his glasses, and Alfred took them, hesitating for just a moment before he put them on. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s time to go, Al. Everything’s ready,” the Canadian told him, helping him up. Alfred saw how his brother’s eyes strayed to his shoulder and he managed a smile, gently ruffling the younger man’s hair.
“Don’t worry about me, Mattie. I’m alright,” he assured him, putting one arm around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”
“Arthur said you could use the rest... then glared at us until we agreed.” Matthew let out an awkward little chuckle. “You should have seen the look he gave us... it was like...” The Canadian made an attempt to mimic whatever expression had been on the Englishman’s face, and even though it was miles off, Alfred recognised it right away.
“I call that the ‘Empire Glare’,” he said.
“Oh, is that what it was...” The two of them left the room, heading out to where the truck was parked and several of the locals were milling about admiring Arthur and Francis’ handiwork and asking Feliks questions. “It was absolutely terrifying. Even Francis cringed, and I thought I was going to faint.”
“Ayup, that’s the Empire Glare. He uses it on me when I won’t do as I’m told.”
Matthew shot his brother a look, a quizzical frown on his face. “Does it work?”
“Every damn time.”
***
A little over an hour later they were on the road once again, and waving goodbye to the humans who had taken them in so willingly. They had been given ample supplies of food and water, and a couple of the guns that Vash had so carefully mended, yet Feliks was still troubled, a small frown on his face as he sat in the rear of the truck, sheltering as best he could from the wind. Arthur, Alfred and Francis were in the cab, the rest of them huddled together in the back, between the steel barrels of petrol and the bundles of supplies. It was almost cosy with the four of them, and Óskar had quickly fallen asleep.
“What’s the matter with you, Feliks?” Vash asked, nudging the man after a moment when he seemed to have not heard them.
“Eh? Oh, nothing,” the Pole replied, though that same small frown quickly returned. “I just have this feeling, you know? Like we’re being followed.”
“You’ve said that before,” was the response, accompanied by a scowl. “We’re not being followed, you’re just being paranoid.”
-------------------------------
<| Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Sixteen |>
Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance/Humour(in places)
Pairing/s: (in this chapter) USxUK
Characters: (in this chapter) UK, US, Poland, France (mentioned), Iceland, Switzerland, Canada.
Rating/Warnings: Overall NC-17. This chapter PG.
Summary: The year is 2438. A little over one hundred years ago, Russia finally cracked and nuclear warheads were sent flying to every corner of the world. No one had time to react. Some countries were wounded, some lost forever. The smaller nations suffered the most. Russia disappeared, never to be heard of again. Finally, the world is beginning to piece itself back together, and there is movement in the irradiated lands of Old Russia. Something is stirring, and only the rag-tag group of remaining nations can discover what it is. Ivan Braginski, or something far worse...
A/N: From now on, chapters will be posted in my journal as very soon it will reach a point where I will no longer be able to justify putting this up on the usxuk comm. I don't want to have to start forcing the pairing into every chapter just to make it fit. You can watch my journal if you wish, or, if you ask, I'll add your name to a list and notify you of each new chapter as it comes. Thanks, everyone!
~ There is nothing good in war, except its ending. ~
****
‘At first we were in shock. We walked around like zombies, only half alive, barely functioning in the wreckage of the world. Those of us who came back to ourselves sooner helped the others, but some, like Zdislav, either couldn’t be or refused to be helped. On some level, I could understand it. We were so few, and the time when we might have been able to rally our people behind us was long past. Now, we were more likely to be shot than revered for revealing what we truly were. It was depressing, at first, to think of it... more so for some of us than others. I worried, for a time, that those of us like Feliks, Vash, and Feliciano, who had lost so much, wouldn’t make it through, but we began to forge new bonds.
Some of us, the older ones, seemed to act like parental figures. It was odd at first, but yet another change that we had to get used to. After all, it offered us some kind of organisation, even stability, and that could hardly be a bad thing.
Right?’
***
“I smell like petrol,” Arthur muttered as he screwed the cap on a third steel barrel. Matthew wrinkled his nose, gave Arthur a look, then laughed. After a moment, Arthur cracked a smile, shaking his head. “Come on, you sodding Mountie, help me with this.”
“Limey,” a voice piped up behind them, a grin on the American’s face as the two men looked at him.
“Yank,” Arthur shot back.
“Pirate,” Alfred said, moving closer and standing in front of the Englishman, a mischievous glint in his eyes to match the one in the green gaze directed up at him.
“Cowboy.”
“Short-ass.”
“Cack-handed pillock.”
“Scruffy nerf-herder,” Alfred quipped with a snicker, glancing down as Arthur curled his fingers into the top of his pants.
“Columbia,” he purred, tugging the taller man closer.
“Britannia,” was the low voiced response.
“Jones...”
“Kirkland...”
“Guys!” Matthew spluttered, startling the two of them so abruptly that they sprang apart as if electrocuted, both blushing furiously. “Now is not the time!”
“Right! Um...” Arthur made a show of brushing himself off and straightening his clothes, watching the Canadian as he pulled the heavy cover back over the hole in the cracked tarmac under their feet. The Englishman looked up, his gaze falling on the faint outline of where the ‘LUKOIL’ sign had once been. Matthew picked up his crowbar, and eyed the three barrels as he tapped the tool idly against his shoulder.
“Do you think we have enough?” he asked, a slightly anxious tone in his voice. They had been lucky to find that there was still a store of petrol beneath the burned-out station, and although Francis had assured them that the electric battery would probably hold out, it never hurt to be too careful.
“We should have. Francis may be useless at a lot of things but I can’t fault his knowledge when it comes to cars.”
“Chill out, bro,” Alfred said cheerfully, putting one arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all that worrying.”
“Well you’ll have to excuse me if being stranded in the middle of Russia isn’t my idea of a good time,” The Canadian muttered. Francis had, after making a long examination of the truck, come to the conclusion that they would be able to run it on the power of the battery alone, but just in case, they had to look for some fuel. The only person who hadn’t been seen, since his somewhat harsh outburst, was Vash, who seemed to have taken to obsessively checking and re-checking the guns he had repaired.
***
Alfred didn’t often have nightmares. At first he had – they all had – but his had not lasted long and it had been months of waking to calm Arthur down before the two of them had been able to get a good night of sleep. Perhaps it was being where they were, or what they were trying so hard to get to, or the ever-present throbbing wound eating deeper into his shoulder but that night, Alfred was thrown back to the day that had turned everything upside down.
It had been a normal day, as far as normal went back then. The constant threat of Russia was a real one, and even the normally reckless America hadn’t been foolhardy enough to believe that sending troops in would help the situation. Ivan had his finger on the metaphorical big red button, and all that anyone could do was hope that he would see sense, or at least back down. Alfred had just ordered take-out, and he could hear Arthur singing to himself as he pottered about in the kitchen. Russia aside... everything was perfect.
Then, the phone rang. Alfred answered it, barely able to hear the voice on the other end for all the panic around it. The words ‘Russia’, ‘nuclear’, and ‘launched’ worked their way through the mayhem and Alfred felt his blood run cold. He dropped the phone, not even bothering to hang up as he dashed to the kitchen and saw for a brief moment the expression of happy contentment on Arthur’s face before the man’s green eyes clouded with concern.
“What-?”
“We have to go downstairs. Now!” Alfred grabbed Arthur’s hand and the two of them ran to the basement, the American only hesitating for a moment then barrelling down the stairs and through the reinforced steel door at the bottom. He shoved it closed, and turned to Arthur. The Englishman was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes – he knew what was happening without even being told. They sat on the floor and held each other tightly, and Alfred knew the instant that the first bomb dropped on Great Britain.
Arthur stiffened and pitched forwards, a half-strangled noise catching in his throat as he clutched his chest. He choked, crimson blossoming over the front of his shirt, pooling on the floor and all Alfred could do was hold him as the first waves of pain began to storm through him. He gritted his teeth against it but Arthur was already screaming, clinging to Alfred as if he was the last thing on Earth. The ground shook, Arthur passed out but Alfred stayed conscious through it all, feeling every bomb as a fresh stab through his body. His glasses cracked, and somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
It could have been hours before it finally stopped, and the sharp agony reduced to a dull, painful throb that burned at every nerve and tightened his chest at each attempt to breathe. His lover, his husband was limp against him, and he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of his blonde head, slowly and laboriously moving to lie the man down on the dusty floor.
“Arthur...” he whispered, his voice sounding strange, rough. “Arthur... Wake up...” He touched the Englishman’s cheek and brushed his hair back from his forehead, unbuttoned his shirt and did his best to dress the deep, angry, still bleeding wound slashed across his lover’s chest. At least, he thought, if it was still bleeding, then Arthur was still alive. He felt the faintest of heartbeats at the man’s throat and clasped his hand, squeezing it and holding it to his lips, kissing the backs of his fingers. Alfred shut his eyes, feeling a hot, uncomfortable lump rise in his throat.
“Come on, Arthur, we need to go,” he murmured eventually, slipping one arm beneath Arthur’s knees and another under his shoulders and carefully picking him up, hearing a quiet moan of complaint. The house, amazingly, was intact when he left the basement but for the glass from every window scattered over the floor. He left Arthur on the sofa as he ran to collect anything they might need, before he carried the man to the garage where his truck was parked.
He headed north, every now and then casting worried looks to the unconscious man in the passenger seat. Arthur was still losing blood, his skin paper-white, and all Alfred could do was pray that he’d make it. Getting through the roads was hell - people had abandoned their cars, wandering aimlessly, shellshocked. Once or twice somebody would snap out of their daze and run towards the only moving vehicle on the road, and it pained Alfred to ignore them, the desperation on their faces and the hope that someone - anyone - could tell them what had just happened. He turned on the radio to find static and silence on every station, the confusion and fear that his people felt welling up in his mind as a barely-controlled panic. The truck gave up more than ten hours later, a few hours’ drive away from Kelowna, and Alfred did the only thing he could think of – he pulled Arthur out of the truck and started carrying him.
The radiation tingled over his skin like an itch, but he ignored it, and hours later, when he saw something moving towards him on the horizon, he was sure that he was hallucinating, and even more certain of it when the car skidded to a stop not far from him and somebody who looked very much like Matthew got out, shouting his name as he ran towards him.
“Alfred! Alfred?!”
Alfred dropped to his knees, cradling his lover close to his chest as Matthew dropped down beside him and pulled him into a tender, warm embrace. Something inside the American snapped in that moment, and finally he began to cry, leaning against his brother as he sobbed brokenly.
“It’s alright, now,” Matthew was saying. “I’m here, Alfred. I’ve got you...”
“Alfred...”
“Alfred? Come on, Alfred, time to wake up.”
“H-huh?” Alfred woke with a start, sitting up quickly and hissing, clutching his shoulder. Beside him, Matthew was looking at him, his violet eyes large and worried. He was holding out a pair of glasses, his glasses, and Alfred took them, hesitating for just a moment before he put them on. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s time to go, Al. Everything’s ready,” the Canadian told him, helping him up. Alfred saw how his brother’s eyes strayed to his shoulder and he managed a smile, gently ruffling the younger man’s hair.
“Don’t worry about me, Mattie. I’m alright,” he assured him, putting one arm around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”
“Arthur said you could use the rest... then glared at us until we agreed.” Matthew let out an awkward little chuckle. “You should have seen the look he gave us... it was like...” The Canadian made an attempt to mimic whatever expression had been on the Englishman’s face, and even though it was miles off, Alfred recognised it right away.
“I call that the ‘Empire Glare’,” he said.
“Oh, is that what it was...” The two of them left the room, heading out to where the truck was parked and several of the locals were milling about admiring Arthur and Francis’ handiwork and asking Feliks questions. “It was absolutely terrifying. Even Francis cringed, and I thought I was going to faint.”
“Ayup, that’s the Empire Glare. He uses it on me when I won’t do as I’m told.”
Matthew shot his brother a look, a quizzical frown on his face. “Does it work?”
“Every damn time.”
***
A little over an hour later they were on the road once again, and waving goodbye to the humans who had taken them in so willingly. They had been given ample supplies of food and water, and a couple of the guns that Vash had so carefully mended, yet Feliks was still troubled, a small frown on his face as he sat in the rear of the truck, sheltering as best he could from the wind. Arthur, Alfred and Francis were in the cab, the rest of them huddled together in the back, between the steel barrels of petrol and the bundles of supplies. It was almost cosy with the four of them, and Óskar had quickly fallen asleep.
“What’s the matter with you, Feliks?” Vash asked, nudging the man after a moment when he seemed to have not heard them.
“Eh? Oh, nothing,” the Pole replied, though that same small frown quickly returned. “I just have this feeling, you know? Like we’re being followed.”
“You’ve said that before,” was the response, accompanied by a scowl. “We’re not being followed, you’re just being paranoid.”
-------------------------------
<| Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Sixteen |>
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:30 am (UTC)Too bad I gotta head to work now D: Will read this later, but HECK I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS!! <3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:48 am (UTC)Also, does this mean I can friend you?
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:48 am (UTC)And yes, you may! >w<;
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:51 am (UTC)awesome /adds
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:18 am (UTC)ALSO PLEASE DEFINE CACK-HANDED PILLOK
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:19 am (UTC)'Cack-handed' means clumsy. A pillock is an idiot, in layman's terms =P
-hands you a tissue, just in case-
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:23 am (UTC)*wipes eyes* ;___;
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:38 am (UTC)YOU!!!! That flashback nearly broke my heart in half. Poor Alfred. It must have been horrible for him to go through all that.
YOU!Oh man, I got a bad feeling about Felik's 'supposed' paranoia....
I hope you update soon, woman. ....
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:40 am (UTC)You love iiiiiiiiiit~
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 09:19 am (UTC)I really love how you managed to create a balance between the sadness of the flashback with the bits of humor scattered throughout the chapter. Empire glare for the win.
“Does it work?”
“Every damn time.”
Ouch. Al is totally whipped. You know, most guys just have to deal with the "You're sleeping on the couch" punishment. Poor guy probably has to deal with both. Rule Britannia. <3
Anyway, please add me to your update list. I'll be looking forward to seeing the next chapters soon. Keep up the great work.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 03:02 pm (UTC)Rule Britannia~
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 09:24 am (UTC)I have to say my favourite part was the spat part- oh no, that was the second. My absolute favourite part in this chapter was the flashback. Definitely. That was lovely and bittersweet and it gave me an amazing mental image of the world ending around Arthur and Alfred but with them just holding on to each other. XD <3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 03:06 pm (UTC)Of course you can friend me! xD
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 10:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 03:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 12:07 pm (UTC)This chappie is awesome, and... I get this feeling that Poland's feeling is right. But who follows them? Someone unexpected? Or Someone completely different? Dundundun... 8D
And I absolutely love the Empire Glare... I wonder what Iggy make America do with that Glare. XD -Glomps all of them + you since you are awesome-
Can I friend you? =u=(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 03:08 pm (UTC)Dundundun~ indeed 8D
Bahahaha, he can make Alfred do anything with that glare. -is glomped- Oof!
Yes you may =u=
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 12:16 pm (UTC)the flashback was great but very terrifying as well ;3; poor Alfred... and poor Arthur as well
and LOL empire glare... you are brilliant 8lxD I love youuu
new chapter 8l<3 finally
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 03:09 pm (UTC)<3<3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 04:41 pm (UTC)excuse me while i reread the whole story again and restart my brain. *sighs happily* gotta love a good story.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 04:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 05:21 pm (UTC)"...being stranded in the middle of Russia " <-- Am I the only one who had the wrong mental image when I first read this? -laughs-
Wondering, do/would you specify which part of UK and US are being bombed in the flashback? I think it could've been better if you put a bit word about what Alfred sees (aside from paying attention to Arthur) while driving north. I mean, surely there must be news everywhere and people spazzing =O Would've been great to put in how Alfred felt to see his own people in that state... /end-rant
Else, it's a real exciting chapter! As usual, I sooo looking forward to next update! You have no idea how many times I stalked your fanfic list and sees nothing new xP
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 05:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 05:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:33 pm (UTC)Yeah it's gotten much cooler now (at least in my opinion xD ). Since America's a nation after all, he's got to have his people in mind than Arthur alone even though Arthur's his everything xD -Cheesy-
Btw, thanks for the friend add :D Been wanting that for long, but doesn't want you to feel "random ppl are adding me again because I write fics" so I resisted the temptation *-*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:48 pm (UTC)You may give ya msn to me by msg, so I won't delete your invitation by mistake when I log on x3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 06:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 05:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 05:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:03 pm (UTC)Matt was cute in this chap :) And the idea of them being followed scares me x.x *shudders*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-01 07:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-02 12:27 am (UTC)Alright, whatever. I'm over it.
Freakin' awesome, doodett. Started off with some sexy name calling, got in an emotional flashback, some humor and then baaaah! Is that foreshadowing I see there? 8D
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-02 12:32 am (UTC)It's okay, you can get first comment next time =P
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Date: 2010-03-02 03:07 am (UTC)de-lurking to say this, btw. But I should have commented long ago. This fic is awesome~ I just love post-apocalyptic stuff XD
the flashback was awesome!
And the thing about beiing followed, and that only Poland can feel it... I've been wishing since the first time you mentionned it that it might be Liet that reincarnated or something (since there's still people living there)... But I'm not gonna hope too hard, I'll just wait and see~
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Date: 2010-03-02 03:08 am (UTC)Indeed.. just wait and see =P
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Date: 2010-03-02 03:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-03 04:21 pm (UTC)*glares at chapter 16*
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Date: 2010-03-03 04:21 pm (UTC)