#aph fic

He was going to go to a cooking class.

I haven’t been active in this fandom in awhile, but I wanted to share my latest story that I am working on. It’s a different take on the soulmate watch AU. 

Summary Oneshot 1:  The Netherlands revolted and Spain has gone to war. Belgium, Romano and Luxembourg stay behind in Spain's house and a children's game brings up the painful subject.

Summary Oneshot 2:  The time has come for Belgium to decide. Will she follow her brother in his war for independence? Or will she stay in Spain's restricted but secure home?

Author’s Note: A long time ago, when I was an avid Hetalia-fan, I fell in love with the Tomato Family. Partly because of the new season and partly because I always loved to portray history through these characters, I revisited these stories that I published only on ff.net. I still liked them, a lot. So after some revising (it’s been 9 years after all, gosh) I re-uploaded them on AO3. Thus far there are two oneshots, but I hope to write some more in the future.

as the bamboo grows old, young shoots spring up. As the old generations die, there will always be the young who replace them, who will carry on, who will finish what they left behind. It promises renewal, and she thinks it is fitting; with all the times she has had to rebuild, regenerate, reinvent herself into something new,

(she counts the invasions, conquests, wars, all the times she has had to get up again,)

So I finally finished my longest project of this year! It’s an EstFin fic with miscommunication, mutual pining, and fluff—what more could you need?

Summary: Estonia and Finland are friends in real life, and unbeknownst to them, online as well. When Estonia expresses affection for his online friend, Finland begins to feel a bit jealous.

Pairing: Estonia/Finland (background Lithuania/Poland)

Title: you were right here all the time (i was blind)Pairing: USUKWords: 3,114AU: Human/SoulmateGenre: Romance/AngstSummary: Arthur grows up believing he has no soulmate. Then he runs into him in a grocery store.A/N: Wow! I can’t believe it’s been over a month since my last post! I changed the prompt a little, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Title taken from OK GO’s Skyscrapers. !!! TW for mentions of self harm and alcoholism !!!

Arthur was six years old the first time he saw his father’s neat handwriting appear seemingly by magic upon the back of his mother’s pale, freckled hand.

“Mum, what’s that?” He asked, forest green eyes peering curiously at her hand.

Alice’s eyes–the same sparkling green as Arthur’s–flitted downward and a soft, fond smile stretched across her slim face. “Your father’s making a grocery list,” she said gently, watching as the words appeared letter-by-letter upon the milky white skin of her hand.

Milk, tomatoes, butter, tea, spaghetti noodles.

Alice smiled and reached into her pocket, extracting a pen. Don’t forget bread, she added in her loopy cursive script. Arthur watched in wide-eyed fascination as more words appeared below hers, again in his father’s handwriting. Right. Love you. 

I love you too, wrote Alice in return before raising her eyes to her son’s face and giggling at the starstruck expression he wore. 

“Mum, are you and dad magic?!” Asked Arthur excitedly. 

Alice’s giggle turned into a full-on laugh. She reached out, resting her ink-covered hand over Arthur’s shoulder and smiling broadly at him. “No, sweetheart, although I believe there’s a certain magic about your father and I share. We’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” Arthur echoed curiously. He’d heard the word more times than he could count, but he’d never fully understood its meaning.

“Yes. When people are meant to be together, they can communicate in a way they can’t with others. Whatever your soulmate writes on themselves will appear on you, and vice versa. Your father and I are soulmates, which is why we can write back and forth to each other.”

“When can you start writing to your soulmate?”

“Well, you have to know how to write first. Your father wrote to me for the first time when I was only two–he’s six years older than me, so it took me a while before I could write back. But once I could we wrote to each other every day.”

Arthur peered down at his mother’s other hand, which was empty of words, and then down to his own pale palm. “Do I have a soulmate?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone does, either platonic or romantic.”

“Can I write to them?”

“Yes, if you want,” she said, smiling gently. 

Arthur reached for the pen and put it to his arm, writing the words Hello soulmate in the messy script of a six-year-old. His mother grinned and moved her hand from his shoulder to his head, ruffling his pale blond hair affectionately. 

“We’ll have to wait for them to respond now.”

“How long will it take?” Arthur questioned. 

“That’s up to them,” Alice replied gently. 

Arthur never got a response. 

As the years wore on, Arthur wrote to his soulmate daily. When he was nine and still hadn’t received a response, his mother assured him that there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps he was older than his his soulmate, she suggested, like she and his father. His soulmate may not have been able to write back yet; or, perhaps, they weren’t even born yet. 

When Arthur was twelve and still hadn’t received a response, his father patted him on the back and told him that sometimes people got nervous about responding. He had felt strange about replying to Arthur’s mother at times, he said, because she was so much younger than him and wanted to talk about their relationship. Perhaps Arthur’s soulmate could tell that he was much younger and felt uncomfortable writing back, too. 

When Arthur was fourteen, Arthur shed the first of many tears over his absent soulmate. His best friend, Francis, rested his ink-covered palm over Arthur’s blank one and promised Arthur that his soulmate was out there. That night, Arthur put a pen to his arm and wrote please, please be out there. 

When Arthur was seventeen, he accepted the fact that he had no perfect match. That night he took something much sharper than a pen to his wrist. 

When Arthur was twenty-eight, he started writing to his soulmate again. He knew, realistically, that he didn’t have one; he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was one of those extraordinarily rare individuals who had no ideally-suited match. In his teenage years, the knowledge that he was destined to be alone had resulted in more nights with his fingers clasped around a bottle or a blade than he could count, but he’d long since cleaned up his act. Knowing that he would never have something 99% of the population had–especially when that something was so beautiful–was painful, of course, but he wasn’t entirely alone. 

There were people with awful soulmates, people whose soulmates were abusers. There were people whose soulmates were dead or dying. There were people who disliked their soulmates or had fallen out of love with them; it wasn’t uncommon for married soulmates to get divorced and re-marry someone outside of their match these days, although some still considered it taboo. 

Arthur could accept that, he thought. He could be happy falling in love with someone outside of a match, if he ever found them. After all, love was what one made it; if two people really loved each other, they could make it work no matter the odds. At least, that was what his friends and family had told him. Arthur didn’t know if he was totally sold on the idea of “true love” yet. How could he be, when the universe was clearly trying to tell him that it couldn’t happen for him? 

Nonetheless, he’d started to write on himself again as a way to cope. It was nice to write to his soulmate, even if he knew that he was writing to a person who didn’t exist. He covered himself from elbow to wrist, thigh to ankle, in ink. He wrote about his hopes and dreams, his fears, his day, anything and everything that came to him. He liked the idea of his soulmate reading his words and being comforted by them, although he knew it was impossible. 

Today, Arthur jotted a grocery list down on the heel of his palm the way he’d seen his father do all those years ago. He even signed it with an I love you, and imagined his soulmate taking up a pen the way his mother had and writing a soft, I love you too in return.  

The walk to the supermarket was a calm and easy one. The sun was low in the sky, the world awash with its golden light. It was warm enough that Arthur didn’t even bother with a jacket, and he’d rolled his jumper up to the elbows. It used to embarrass him, having all of the ink he covered himself in on display, but now he rather enjoyed how normal it made him feel. People would walk by and smile, complimenting him on how sweet he and his soulmate were for writing so much to each other, and Arthur would get to pretend, if only for a moment, that there was someone out there writing back to him. 

Arthur entered the supermarket, scooping up a basket on his way in. He walked slowly through the aisles, taking his time to find what he needed. He’d stopped and was reaching out to grab some tea when an older woman approached with a smile, patting his shoulder. “You and your soulmate are so sweet, writing to each other like that,” she said, eyes glittering with sincere happiness.

Arthur smiled softly down at her, “thank you, miss.”

“It’s adorable that you write to each other even though you’re together now, too. People must compliment the two of you all the time!” 

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed and he blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you mean. I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” he lied, because it was easier than explaining that he was pathetic enough to write to someone who didn’t exist. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear. I saw a man with arms covered like yours in the next aisle over and assumed he was with you because the handwriting looked similar. I’m sorry to bother you, then!” She chuckled, patting his shoulder lightly before turning and walking off. 

Arthur paused, watching her leave with widened eyes. There couldn’t… She couldn’t have seen… No. It was impossible. Arthur didn’t have a soulmate; it was just a coincidence, surely. There were other people who wrote a lot to each other; it wasn’t as if he was the only one with ink-covered arms. There was no use getting his hopes over nothing. 

And yet, Arthur felt his heart beating faster in his chest, and a feeling eh couldn’t place had settled over him. It was something like longing, something urging him to investigate, to seek out this man. But why? Surely he had no soulmate, so why work himself up? His soulmate wouldn’t had gone all these years without ever writing back to him… Would they? 

Before Arthur could stop himself, he was turning on his heel and rushing into the next aisle. It was empty, aside from two tall, blond men standing side-by-side at the opposite end. They were nearly identical in appearance; twins, most likely. One had a pair of round glasses and was scanning the shelf while the other had his back to Arthur and was speaking animatedly, arms moving wildly as he spoke. Sure enough, in his sky blue t-shirt, his ink-covered arms were clearly visible. Arthur was standing too far away to make out any of the words or the handwriting, but something about the sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Self-conscious, Arthur rolled down the sleeves of his deep green jumper to hide his writing. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter what was written on the man’s arms because he had no soulmate, but he couldn’t make himself walk away. In fact, his feet began to carry him forward, toward the two pair of men, until he was approaching the one with his back turned. 

“Excuse me,” he said. The man with his back turned jumped, startled, and whirled around. His twin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Al,” said the one with round glasses before meeting Arthur’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and smiling politely. “Hello,” he greeted, obviously confused by the stranger who had approached. 

“Hi,” Arthur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot and feeling incredibly foolish. “I couldn’t help but to notice your arms. I-I just think it’s so sweet, how much you and your soulmate write to each other,” he said, parroting the words of the woman from before. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and scan the man’s arms, nor could he bring himself to look up into the man’s face, so instead he settled for looking past him to his twin. 

“Oh,” said the man–Al, as his twin had called him–sheepishly. “Thanks! I guess they write to me a lot. I think it’s sweet too!” 

“They sure write a lot,” his twin added with a smile, “Alfred already had words on him when he was born.”

Arthur still hadn’t brought himself to look into the man’s face or at his arms. “Is that so? That must have been quite the surprise for your parents. Would you mind if I…?” Arthur trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing awkwardly.

“Oh! Sure!” The man exclaimed, raising an arm slightly. “I’m Alfred, by the way, and that’s Matthew.”

Arthur barely had the sense to give Alfred his name in return, already reaching out to take Alfred’s arm in his hand. He’d hardly taken a glance at his the man’s arm when he paled, his familiar script unmistakable to him. He glanced down and caught sight of the shopping list he’d written less than an hour ago on Alfred’s palm. The sight of his “I love you” on Alfred’s tan hand made his heart ache. 

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked, seeming to realize that something was off based on the ghost like paleness of Arthur’s face. 

“I-I…” Arthur trailed off and slowly released Alfred’s arm. He was still reeling from the shock of what was happening, but he managed to pull up one of his sleeves to reveal the identical writing along his arm. Not once had he looked into Alfred’s face, unable to meet the man’s eyes knowing what he knew. So he had a soulmate after all, and somehow it was still painful. Arthur had hoped and prayed for this for years, and yet now that it was happening all he could feel was pain. Obviously Alfred didn’t want him–why else would he have never responded? 

Matthew’s eyes flickered from Alfred’s arm to Arthur’s and back. His jaw fell open. “Oh my god,” he gasped. 

“What? Mattie, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked, as if he were entirely oblivious to the entire encounter. Arthur felt a bit of rage flare up within him at that; how could Alfred act so unaware? How could his soulmate be someone so cruel? 

“Al, you–This is–your arms match! This is your soulmate!” Matthew cried, still gaping.

“What?!” Alfred cried incredulously, his voice taking on a sweet, sing-song quality out of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you! You said it was Arthur, right? That’s such a cute name. I love your accent too! I-I can’t believe you’re here, oh my god, I wanna know everything! You’re from England, right? How old are you? What are your hobbies? What do you–”

“Al, give him a chance to breathe!” Matthew cut in hurriedly, seeming to note the distress written across Arthur’s handsome face. 

Despite Alfred’s obvious enthusiasm, Arthur was incredibly confused and more than a little angry. How could he act so excited and happy as if he hadn’t left Arthur alone and thinking he didn’t have a soulmate for most of his life? Rage was burning hot within him, forcing its way out of his body in the form of hot tears that gathered in the corner of his virescent eyes. Arthur finally gathered the courage to raise his head and look into his soulmate’s face for the first time, fixing him with a heated glare. 

Alfred was grinning widely, his smile by far the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. His eyes were a gorgeous, striking blue with flecks of gold and his thick lashes made them look even larger than they were. Excitement was clear in his expression, and yet there was something slightly off. Alfred wasn’t looking into Arthur’s face and rather at the top of his head, perhaps a little past him. 

“Why did you never write back?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his soulmate’s confusing behavior. “I spent all this time thinking I had no one! I wrote to you every single night for years, begging you to respond to me! I-I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and you let me! How could you?!” He asked, immediately turning on his heel and making to run. 

“Wait!” Matthew cried, pushing past Alfred to grab Arthur by the wrist. Arthur stopped, astonished, and whipped around to glare at him. 

“Why the hell are you defending him?! Let go of me!” Arthur yanked his wrist out of Matthew’s strong hand, punctuating his action with a string of loud curse words.

“I’m blind!” Alfred suddenly shouted over Arthur, taking a few steps forward until his shoulder bumped against Matthew’s. “I’m so sorry, I-I know I must have hurt you, but I swear I didn’t mean to! Sometimes Mattie read them to me, but I could never respond because I don’t write very well. Please, please don’t go,” he begged, and Arthur noted with rapidly growing horror that tears had appeared in the corners of Alfred’s eyes too. 

“You’re blind,” Arthur said, a stab of guilt cutting through him as he spoke. “Oh my god, you’re blind.” 

Alfred’s cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I promise I didn’t mean to make you feel alone, and I understand if you’re still angry, but… Please don’t go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Arthur asked, shaking his head rapidly. Tears were springing to his eyes again, but this time they were from relief. “Oh my god, I’m such an arse. I can’t believe I just yelled at you for being blind.”

“It’s okay,” Alfred said, a bit of laughter escaping him, “you’re kind of a hothead, aren’t you?” 

Arthur’s cheeks flooded with heat, still feeling extremely guilty for his outburst. “Again, I apologize. If you’d give me a chance, I’d love to make a better second impression,” he said, and flashed a sheepishly apologetic smile at Matthew, who was watching the scene unfold.

Alfred beamed, his eyes still looking a little past Arthur. “Dude, I’m just glad you still want me,” he laughed. “You sounded pretty angry there for a second.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to laugh a little, years of hurt seeming to melt away within seconds when faced with Alfred’s carefree smile. “Of course I do.” 

“In that case, would you mind if I felt your face? Nothing creepy, it’s just to get a sense of what you look like.” 

“Of course,” Arthur said. Alfred raised his hands and Arthur took them gently in his own, guiding them to his face. 

“You’re short,” Alfred said with a startled laugh. “Have I been looking past you this whole time?” 

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, flushing when the American’s warm palms came to rest on his cheeks. Slowly, gently, Alfred’s hands moved across his face; when his thumb brushed along Arthur’s lips, he let out a little hum of appreciation that had Arthur going cherry red. 

“You have soft skin,” Alfred mused. “What color?”

Arthur was half-tempted to lie, if only to make himself seem more attractive, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. “Pale as a ghost and covered in freckles,” he sighed, resigned to his fate. 

“Cute,” Alfred replied. “What color are your eyes?” He asked as he brushed his thumb gently along Arthur’s thick lashes.

“Green,” Arthur supplied. 

“You’re really handsome.”

Arthur flushed. “Thank you. You are, too.”

Alfred’s smile widened. “Really?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. “You’re gorgeous.”

Alfred’s cheeks went delightfully red and he opened his mouth to say something back, only to stall when his fingers ran across Arthur’s thick eyebrows. “Holy shit, your eyebrows are huge!” He exclaimed loudly, still with a happy smile stuck upon his face.

"Hey!"

Australia slowly turned around, not recognising the voice that called out. "Err, hi?"

A young blond stopped running just before he crashed into Australia. "You're new around here, huh? I'm America. Well, the United States of America. But you can call me Alfie if you want. Or Alfred works too, I guess. What's your name?"

"A-Australia." The young boy replied, pushing a stray bit of brown hair away from his matching eyes.

"Do you have a human name yet?" America asked, blue eyes burning with insatiable curiosity.

"Not an English one."

"Oh."

There was a moment of awkward silence before another young, blond boy appeared.

"Alfie! Why did you run off like that? You know Mr. England gets upset when you do that..." the stranger stopped chastising America when he noticed Australia.

"Hello. Who are you?"

"I'm-"

"Mattie, I found him! He's another country! Can we keep him? Pretty please?" America pleaded.

The air became chilled, though it was only America that didn't notice.

"Yes, John will be residing with us." The scary white man said. "But, Alfred, we do not 'keep' people... we train them. Matthew, take John to his room. Alfred. With me." Without so much as a hint of a welcome or smile, England turned on his hee and retreated down the hall.

Alfred rolled his eyes and sent after the grouchy old man; this left Australia alone with 'Mattie'.

"Who's John?" He asked the other boy timidly. Mattie offered him a sad, small smile.

"You, Australia. And I'm Canada. But you should get used to called me Matthew." He paused to let it sink in, deep sadness reflected in his ageless violet eyes. "Come along then. I'll show you your room."

They trudged up the stairs in silence. Australia was having such a difficult time with stairs and stuffy suits. He wanted to go home, back to the gums and beaches, the billabongs and vast desert. The air over here was toxic and he could feel the cries of his people already.

"Welcome to your new life." Canada's soft voice broke the silence. The two young colonies stood outside of a large oak door. Th elder of the two pushed the door open slowly and they both stepped in.

"My advice to you is to keep your room clean and do everything England says. It's less painful that way." Canada's voice was still incredibly gentle. "I know how hard it is, so I'll help you learn when I can. So will Alfred. If you ever need anyone to talk to we'll always be here."

Australia said nothing; gave no indication that be has heard or understood anything at all. The brunette stood, statue-like in the centre of the room. Canada smiled again, he understood completely.

He went to leave but paused halfway through the door. "Just don't freak out when you start to change, okay? The more colonies he makes, the more like him you'll become."