#demotif

AUTHOR: demotif

23rd of October, 2014 

Arthur tapped away at his keyboard, mindlessly adding bits of embellishment into the political science paper he probably should have finished hours ago. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to write up his thoughts on Marxist ideologies, of course (though he wouldn’t describe the process as his ideal way of spending a Saturday afternoon). No, rather, his progress had been hindered thus far by the constant stream of texts coming in from one Alfred Jones, who apparently was spending his Saturday exploring a city he’d travelled to with his “football” team. Last he heard, Alfred and his mates had been romping around some sort of a field museum in the few hours they had left before their evening match. 

It was only a few more moments before a small “ping!” came from Arthur’s mobile and he quickly abandoned his essay and opened his latest message: 

“Omg dude we just found a giant sloth” 

Followed quickly by: 

“Pics coming soon” 

Arthur’s eyebrow quirked up and he felt himself smirk softly. He hadn’t imagined Alfred as the type to get so excited by a museum. Needless to say, Arthur’s curiosity had been piqued. He carefully replied, “I await them with baited breath.” 

After another minute of adding more rubbish into his essay another message came, this time with a picture attached with the caption, “Look at the size of this guy! Friggin crazy” And, indeed, the skeleton was quite large. Alfred and a few others Arthur vaguely recognized had squeezed into the corner of the picture, looking rather small in comparison to the monstrous sloth-creature beside them.

Arthur’s attention quickly left the giant skeleton and rested upon Alfred’s stupid grin and the arms he had wrapped around the shoulders of the young men beside him. In spite of himself, Arthur felt himself frown, and he bit down on his lip to make it stop. He most certainly did not feel small stabs of jealousy poking at his innards whenever he received pictures like this, with Alfred draped all over people these people who got to spend so much time with him while Arthur was cooped up in his student flat hundreds of miles away writing a shitty paper. No. That would be childish, and Arthur Kirkland was never “childish.”

Leaving that idiotic train of thought behind, Arthur turned back to his conversation with Alfred and replied, “Yes, crazy indeed.” With a moment’s pause and a small chuckle, Arthur sent another message, saying, “It reminds me of you.” 

He didn’t even bother turning back to his paper now. Instead, he kept his eyes on the screen, waiting for just a bit longer than usual before seeing a message saying, “I can’t see that comparison going well” 

With a laugh, Arthur quickly wrote and sent, “You’d be right about that.” 

A few moments passed, and then Alfred messaged: 

“I wish I could see you saying that in person” 

“You’re just smirking at all this aren’t you?” 

Arthur smiled knowingly and tapped out his reply. 

“Did you even need to ask?”

 Moments later: 

“Not really :D” 

Arthur smiled idiotically down at those little words. This boy was going to be the end of him. 

He wasn’t sure if he should start a new line of the conversation or wait for Alfred to start going off about something else, but before he got the chance to make a decision a new message from Al appeared: “Hang on a sec” 

Arthur let out an impatient sigh, twirled his mobile around in his hand for a minute, and then decided that the smart thing to do would be to go back to working on his paper. Granted, it was more than a bit difficult to focus on the task at hand when most of Arthur’s mental energy was spent on listening for that stupid “ping!” that would put his mind at rest. Nevertheless, he was able to get in a good few sentences before the next message came, this one looking, strangely, quite wordy at first glance. 

“Hello Alfred’s boyfriend, this is Antonio letting you know that Al got us kicked out of the exhibit because he wouldn’t stop texting so we confiscated his phone, lo siento”

There was just a beat of silence before Arthur let out a deep laugh and scoffed at Alfred’s adorable yet frustrating mindlessness. Was he surprised by this turn of events? No, no he was not. It was almost charming to think that Alfred had wanted to keep up their conversation so much that he would blatantly disregard museum policy. Almost. 

Still, Arthur felt a bit guilty about having a hand in getting Alfred’s mates kicked out of the museum as well. He had no idea who this Antonio person was, but Arthur figured the poor boy deserved a reply: 

“Good on you lad, I’m sure he deserved it.” 

Arthur waited for a little while to see if he might get a reply, and sure enough one soon came: 

“You are much more british than I expected” 

“Also I should probably stop texting you as it seems to visibly upset Mr. Jones, although his cheeks are a delightful shade of red atm”

For what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes, Arthur let out a hearty laugh at the news of this turn of events. The thought of a jealous, red-faced Alfred was admittedly tantalizing. He quickly replied, “No, you should definitely send me updates on this apparent spiral into madness, it sounds entertaining.”

ARTIST: demotif

AUTHOR: towerofart

August 1st, 2014 - Thieves at the Manor

“Welcome to the Vargas Manor, Mr Rogers.”

Alfred nodded to the butler and continued inside the decadent house. Directly inside was a long hall. Paintings of the powerful men and women of the family lined the walls. Alfred glanced at a few as he walked. Too bad we can’t come back later to grab one of those paintings. They’d be worth a fortune.

At the end of the hall and through a set of large doors was the main ballroom. The polite chatter of rich people before they’ve had enough wine filled the room with constant noise.

It took effort not to look for his accomplice. He should be here already, milling about in the crowd. Had he got in? They’d had some trouble getting his name on the roster. Maybe—

His thoughts were halted as a voice asked from his right, “And who might you be?”

“Oh, hello,” he gracefully picked up one gloved hand of the lady standing next to him and kissing the knuckles, “My name is Steven Rogers. Who is the lovely lady that I have the privilege of talking to?”

The woman laughed at him before she answered. “Elizabeta. Elizabeta Hèderváry.”

Throughout the party Alfred and Elizabeta talked. Occasionally they would drift off to other people, but she would always come back to chat.

As per usual at large rich people’s parties, there was lots of wine and other alcohol. Though, if he ever were to take even a taste Arthur would have his head. They weren’t supposed to be drunk on the job. Everyone else however, was showing clear signs of having sipped at quite a few of the drinks that the waiters were carrying around the room.

Soon it was edging up to time. Alfred had been able to loose Elizabeta a few minutes ago, and it was closing in on his cue. 12:20...12:21...12:22! Show time.

It wasn’t difficult to slip out of the crowd unnoticed. He quietly exited to an empty hallway that had only been dimly lit. Not ten minutes later the door to the ballroom opened again, closing quietly. Someone walked up behind Alfred, glancing up at the statue that the American had taken to looking at.

“Very beautiful, but we can’t snatch it.”

Alfred smiled and turned to see the man behind him. Arthur Kirkland was dressed in a white shirt, black bowtie, and some very handsome tails. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire the sculpture’s skill, Mr Ford Prefect.”

“Oh hush. It’s a brilliant cover name.”

“Dude? You could have gone with ‘Bruce Wayne’ and it would have been less obvious.”

“Says the man who is using Steve Rodgers as a cover name.”

“Aw, but that’s different. I bet these people haven’t even picked up a comic book.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and kissed him, patting his cheek before starting to walk down the dark hallway. “Enough chit-chat; we don’t have much time.”

The two walked swiftly through the maze of corridors and rooms. A memorised map led them to their first destination: the maids’ silverware closet.

It didn’t take long for them to move on. They took a silver knife here, a spoon there, and made sure to make it all seem very random and hard to follow. The silverware was slipped in shoes or up sleeves within seconds and disappeared.

“Now the best stuff.” Alfred adopted a stereotypical evil smirk and he held his hands together, wiggling the fingers.

“Stop it! Now is not the time to fool around.” Arthur still smiled at his partner’s antics before walking off toward their next target.

A couple more twists and turns later they were at the doors to the Mistress’s Chambers. Until recently, no one had occupied the room in some time. However, recently a family friend of the Vargas family had moved in—thus the party that had covered their entrance—and there was now a lady of the house.

Alfred bent down and started picking the lock on one of the double doors. “You know, I met Hèderváry. She was rather nice…”

Arthur leaned against the other door into the room. “You need to stop getting attached to our targets’. It does you no good and makes you clumsy.”

The two stayed silent until the click of the lock opening. Alfred smiled and noted, “New record,” before he slipped inside.

They only had a few minutes before the guards would come around. The two thieves worked quickly and silently. Arthur went straight to the jewellery chest that sat on a vanity in one corner. Alfred focused on the furnishings of the room. A few candles, some golden nobs from the drawers, and a brush sitting on top of the large dresser were a couple among his pickings.

They exited the chambers as quickly as they had entered and started down the hallway again, heading toward the closest exit—a side door built for the maids’ and butlers’ use.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” called a gruff voice of one of the guards from behind them.

Apparently, they weren’t as quick as they thought. The two knew they wouldn’t be able to talk their way out of this one.

“Ready to run, love?” Arthur asked as they came to a servants’ side door.

Alfred laughed, opening the door wide and ran outside. He called back to his partner running behind him, “Always.”

AUTHOR: demotif

July 8th, 2014

“Slow down a bit, will you?”

Alfred looked over his shoulder, saw Arthur just a few paces behind him, and flashed him a wide smile. “Don’t worry, we’re almost to the next one!” Alfred called back before turning to face forward as they made their way through the main road of the amusement park. Summer vacation was well underway, and Alfred had convinced his friend that they needed to come here at some point and try all of the most insane rides the park had to offer. It was a typical stupid teenaged-boy thing to do, Alfred had to admit, but he had his reasons.

And so there they were, walking up to the line for their latest thrill, the “Power Tower.” As its name suggested, it was indeed a tower, a few stories tall, that would lift up its riders to the very top and then, without warning, send them plummeting towards the ground. It was one of the most intense rides in the park, and hopefully it would be scary enough to get under Arthur’s skin so that Alfred could live out one of his heroic fantasies.

Alfred had always made a point out of being as brave and strong as possible throughout his daily life. But there was just something about Arthur that intensified these feelings and made Alfred want to just rush in one day and sweep him off his feet. Okay, granted, he may or may not have a big and totally manly crush on his British best friend, and he may or may not have set up this entire trip full of scary rides just to get the chance to maybe hold his hand or something. But those were just details. Right now, Alfred had his eye on the prize, and the first step to getting there was making sure Arthur was scared.

And sure enough, when he looked over at Arthur, there was a fear in his eyes that Alfred had never seen before, and at the sight of it his pace quickened—not out of concern for his friend, although that would have probably been a more appropriate reason. No, Alfred F. Jones was excited because, finally, this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for! But he had to play it cool. This wasn’t gonna work if it was obvious he was jumping at this chance. So he approached the subject slowly.

“…You know, you don’t have to go on this one if you don’t want to,” Alfred said slowly, turning towards Arthur with a serious look on his face. All he had to do now was put in the beginnings of a pitiful smile and he knew Arthur’s stubborn pride would kick in any sec—

“Of course I want to,” Arthur replied just a bit too haughtily. They took a few steps forward with the line, and Arthur shifted to rest against the guardrail behind him, looking tense and indignant. An abrupt chorus of screams came from the falling riders who were now just a dozen feet away and Alfred watched as Arthur’s fists clenched tighter around his sleeve.

At this, Alfred had to fight down a very strong urge to smile victoriously, so he just looked towards the tower with a gleeful expression. As scared as Arthur obviously was, there was no way he would back out of this now. And, sure enough, it wasn’t long until they were strapped into their seats, side by side, waiting for their lift.

Alfred’s harness blocked his view of Arthur’s face, but all he needed to see were the boy’s fingers tapping tersely on his own harness. He was still crazy nervous. This was Alfred’s chance.

“You scared?” Alfred asked, the taunt clear in his voice.

“Definitely not,” Arthur replied in a tone that could have probably convinced Alfred of this lie, if he hadn’t known better.

Alfred felt his heart pounding in his ears, but he forced out a carefully half-hearted chuckle and said, “Why don’t you hold my hand and prove it?”

There was a brief silence before Arthur’s voice returned, saying, “How the hell is that going to prove anything?”

“If you aren’t scared then you won’t be holding on very tightly, will you?” Alfred suggested. “And if you do get scared you gladly can take it out on my fingers instead of digging holes into the safety bar padding.” He shrugged. “Sounds like a fair deal to me.”

Suddenly, the ride shuddered and started to rise, which would have been shocking enough had Arthur not quickly taken Alfred’s hand in his own at the same time and muttered, “You idiot."

God, it was so cliché but he could feel his brain turning to mush. An ecstatic, terrified pile of mush whose crazy dreams have finally been realized. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they were plunging to their doom and he could finally let out a happy scream.

---

“See, that wasn’t so bad!” Alfred said with a laugh as they made their way back out to the midway.

Arthur chuckled and rolled his eyes in response. “If anything, your vice grip on my hand was more terrifying than the actual drop,” he said, giving Al a dry smile.

Those words made Alfred stop short. The hell was he going on about? “What?!” Alfred exclaimed. “No way, dude, you were squeezing my hand.”

At this Arthur snorted, though his smile had made its way to his eyes and Alfred’s brain almost shut down again at the sight of it. Arthur continued walking along, but not before he shrugged his shoulders, shot Alfred a teasing smile, and said, “Whatever puts your mind at rest.”

AUTHOR: demotif

May 30th, 2014

England entered the coffee shop quietly, making sure to push the sunglasses as far up as they could go in order to best conceal his gaze. He slipped into a table near the window and unfurled the newspaper he’d been handed on his way into the tube that morning. Carefully, he peered over the top of the page and set his sights on his target: a young, blonde male with glasses, a ratty sweatshirt, trainers that were a size too big and jeans that were a size too small. He was seated at a small table in the middle of the café with a mug in his hands and a soft look in his eyes as he stared out towards the window rather pensively.

Wait, all right, enough with this pretend espionage detailing—since when has America ever looked pensively at anything?

He had received word from national intelligence that America had been spotted wandering the streets of London. There were no records of any official business he could have been in town for, so they had wanted to check with England to see if he had come for a personal visit. Which, of course, he had not; the stupid boy had made it pretty clear in the past that if he had free time he wouldn’t want to spend it in such a dreary city. So why in the world had America shown up at a coffee shop in East London?

His first guess had been that America must have been up to some espionage of his own; it was becoming quite a nasty habit of his as of late, whether he spying on other countries or on his own citizens. But it certainly didn’t look like the lad was up to anything devious—he hadn’t made much of an attempt to subdue that “I’m an American!” vibe constantly emanating from him and he hadn’t even pulled out a laptop or a mobile so he wasn’t communicating with anyone and did he just sigh longingly at that bag of tea in his hands?

England’s thoughts stuttered as he connected that small sound with the normally loud and obnoxious man it had come from. That was no ordinary sigh of boredom or early morning sigh of defeat. That was the kind of sigh England let out whenever he would look through old photos of the two of them together, back during days past when they actually spent time together (even if it was for the sake of a global war). It was the kind of sigh that came after he would daydream of America showing up like this one day, completely unannounced, except he’d be at England’s front door with flowers rather than at a random café in the city holding a bag of tea and sighing like he was some fool in love.

Yes, England had been around for long enough to know what prompted that kind of a sigh. Of course, America certainly wasn’t thinking about him, that’d be preposterous, there was probably some other tea-loving bastard he fancied. Absolutely. Yet even with this definitely true fact in mind, England felt his face turning a telltale scarlet in response. He quickly raised his hands to cover the face that had betrayed him, felt his pulse beating rapidly under his cheeks, and let out a silent moan of defeat.

England slid his sunglasses off his face, tucked the paper under his arm, and backed out of his seat noisily enough to make the American jump. All eyes in the café turned to England for a moment, but only one pair widened in shock at the sight of him.

“Eng—” America stuttered, quickly lifting a hand to his face to cover his red cheeks—“er, Arthur!” England narrowed his eyes at the boy and America laughed awkwardly in response, moving the hand in front of his face to the back of his head as he tried to ruffle his hair nonchalantly. “Hey, uh, what’re you doing here?”

“I hardly think you should be the one asking that question, you bloody—” England replied haughtily, ending his statement by whapping America on the arm with his newspaper.

With a nervous chuckle, America rose up out of his seat and said, “I can explain.”

England rolled his eyes. “Yes, please, explain why you decided to take a holiday to this café in my city—”

“Your city? Are you the mayor now?”

“—so that you could stare at a bag of tea like it was your long lost love?”

England didn’t think it could be possible for America’s face to get any redder, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that he was wrong. “Oh,” America said quietly. “You… saw all that?”

What was this? Was America actually embarrassed for the first time in his existence? England felt his pulse race again with the fleeting thought of how cute he looked with beet red cheeks but, more importantly than that, he felt a smug grin stretching the corners of his mouth.

“I did indeed,” England answered, his eyes narrowing mischievously. With a shrug of his shoulders he added, “And if you don’t want the other nations hearing about your illicit tea love affair at the next World Summit, it might be in your best interest to buy me a drink.”

Now America was the one narrowing his eyes, though his gaze had taken a steely turn. “You suck, you know that?” He shook his head and started walking toward the barista. Over his shoulder he asked, “Still take it with milk?”