Hey, I'm back (and alive). Had finally begun to rework and rehash the 'Alphabet' series, which are a string of oneshots that are somehow linked together that focuses on Germany and Canada. There's no order on how they'll appear time-wise, so relationship status will vary between these two.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and franchise and I don't have no claim to the "Jeepers, Creepers" song.
Rated T: shenanigans, use of alcohol and drunks, lack of clothes, partial gender-bending (Fem!Canada), profanity, and some OOC-ness (because alcohol does that!), slight hint of cross-dressing, awkward comfort
Extra: Just done some fixes, added things, and taken in advice. Hopefully it had smoothed out.
Affection
When Ludwig felt the mattress dipped as someone shuffled toward him around three in the morning, he asked the most important question at that point, "Matthew… where's your pants?"
"...Who?"
"You."
"Not Matthew. Maybe. God, I don't kno' anymore... People callin' 'Matthew' and 'Madeleine' and 'America' and 'Alfred'... I like do 'Birdie,' it's really nice. You kno' wha'? I'm gonna pretend I'm Italy." There was stifled laughter, a snort, and then a brief pause. "Veeeee."
He turned over and faced his bedmate, who sat on the edge the bed and was struggling with the last few buttons of her dress shirt. "Italy can't swear in several languages when he smacks against doors. I severely doubt he even knows what 'fuddle duddle' even means." He deadpanned.
"No humor, eh?" Matthew snorted and gave a triumphant 'Ha!' with the final button undone; she leaned back, hands bracing her, and head gently swaying to the tuneless song she was humming. "Trudeau had his moments."
"And your pants?"
"Pants? They're new, so no P.M. action. Oh, wait…Floor, I think. Hold on." She huffed; violet eyes lazily scanned the room. The shirt slipped off her right shoulder, he spied a partial view of her bare back and the faded remains of burn scars over the heart.
"I see… my bra. God, strapless just kills the chest. Pants? Nope. Not in here. The hallway? Most likely downstairs. I just 'member they're on the floor somewhere in this place, fo' sure. "
This time she flipped onto the bed, head nestled near his stomach, and arms stretched out. She traced the scars, absentmindedly. "I can feel your eyes, . Seriously." She turned halfway and said. "It's total creeper status..." Matthew then broke out a silly grin. "Jeepers, creepers. Where'd ya get those peepers? Jeepers, creepers. Where'd ya get those eyes? … Song matches you quite well, you perv~"
Taken back, he sat up, "I'm not a pervert!"
"Of course not!" Matthew snickered, smile wide. "You're a creeper!"
"Matthew…"
"Ludwig…"
He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes (or his mortification) off with his right hand. Ludwig stared down at her and muttered a warning, "I could kick you out…"
"Fine," she flipped over and pushed her legs onto the bed. Matthew lay next to him on her belly, an arm propped up to support her head as the other was folded. She was pouting. "Killjoy, but I'll still answer."
"He gave me that. America, I mean. A long time ago. Not to mention that people were pissed about the capital." Her eyes where unfocused and her lips were curled up in a not-smile laced with bitterness and the past. She murmured, "Just one more similarity between us..."
Matthew has a quiet nature and preferred to keep to herself, the exact opposite of Feliciano. It was odd seeing her like this, so open. But the moment passed, violet eye refocused, she grinned at him, scars and memories pushed aside, and said, "Feli was right. You look so much cuter without the hair-gel~"
A little red, a bit horrified -What the hell does Canada and Italy talk about? And why his appearance! -and wholly not amused, Matthew laughed loudly at his embarrassment as Ludwig tugged on her forearm and pulled her towards him, "Come here."
Before France colonized the Americas, she vaguely remembered her early childhood in the tundra, fragments of sights and sounds and an unbelievable coldness that seeped into the bones. She grew to appreciate the warmth from decent weather and body heat, and without hesitation she crawled over, shuffled under the blankets, curled up, and sighed happily at the close contact. It was just as he expected, he could smell alcohol.
There are several types of drunks, and Matthew fell under the categories of talkative and affectionate; the straightforward one that alternates between babbling and spacing out with little concern of what was said and people's personal space (But nobody would be sober at that point to be embarrassed or concerned or anything else for that matter).
Using the German's chest as a muffler, she griped his tank top; her laughter trailed to chuckles, and then to snickers. "Oh my God! Your face! So funny!" The snickers died off as she settled. "This is nice… cuddling… better than drinking… with Al... and Gil… and everyone else." Matthew trailed off, the feelings of tiredness, contentment, and warmth combined with the copious amount of liquor was lulling her to a lethargic state.
A comfortable silence was between them. Her hand slacken its grip and remained its place on Ludwig's side, and was about to drift off with her forehead resting on his collarbone.
"Matthew."
"Hmm," came her sleepy reply.
"Who's Madeleine?"
He felt than saw the shrug of her shoulders, she sighed tiredly. "It's a kid's show 'bout a little French girl." She chuckled and smiled wanly. "Some were singin' the theme song. Al' joked that I should change my name. Arthur and Francis actually agreed. Hosers... Something about appropriate gender and French culture? Can't tell, both of them started a bar fight after that."
The German scoffed. Even in agreement, England and France would trade blows for mere reasoning. And if Prussia managed to get entangled with this, Ludwig won't bail him out until after breakfast because some things are meant to be tackled with a full stomach. Especially if Gilbert regales just how did he and everyone else (Bad Touch Trio, indeed.) end up with naked and arrested.
She dug into him, her soft voice stifled by the tank top, she was muttering something about men and women and duty, but he managed to catch snippets, "But it's my name. Mine. Not theirs. Don't need to pretend, but it's mine."
There was a sniffle and he awkwardly patted her back. Feliciano was better at comforting, the Italian knew just what and what not to say and do. But he wasn't here, he was somewhere with Romano and Spain. Ludwig then switched to rubbing, small, gentle circles because he remembered his friend doing that to others.
"That feels nice…"
"Good. We should go to bed now. It will be busy later."
"Yeah, good idea…"
She drifted off eventually, breathing evened, limbs slack, and still pressed against him. He stopped rubbing. Her skin was colder than normal and her hair felt damp and smelled oddly like vanilla. Matthew somehow managed to shower before crashing here. He sighed and settled to get some sleep.
Canada's birthday party dragged out for far too long.
0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0
When Alfred drinks, he dreams the weirdest things. In this case, his break-dancing burgers were in fierce competition against Russia's high-jumping sunflowers and France's twirling ballet troupe of roses. England and his high-society scones -complete with monocles, mustaches, and top-hats -were the judges. The Brit stood stone-faced in front of all the competitors with that god-awful tweed suit and the winner's name on the card. He opened his mouth and announced, "Get up, you blasted twit!"
Alfred yelped when Arthur ripped the blanket from his body. The American turned and groaned into the couch, facing away from the island nation's ire. He was so close. So close! His victory and delicious burgers were cruelly snatched from him.
"Go away," his words muffled by the cushion. His mouth and throat parched and head was pounding to the horrendous beat of a drummer newbie, or worse, a kid smacking keys on a piano. Actually, he could hear the distant laughter of 'Kolkolkol' and 'Honhonhon' mocking him. "Fuck… I'm hangover."
"It's 'I have a hangover,' and I don't care." Arthur was unsympathetic to his former colony. "What the hell you and Matthew were thinking challenging Denmark to a beer contest? Out of the people there, you two take on the drunkard of the North!"
"Don't go that hard on the brat," Gilbert interrupted, and then cackled. "Not his fault that he's a damn light weight."
They were both assholes, Alfred groaned.
"Not everyone can guzzle three barrels of hard stuff in one go." Alfred tried to sit up, failed, and rolled onto his side facing the couch cushions, again. There was too much noise, too much head pounding, and too much everything else. All he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, cocoon himself into the blankets, and either get better eventually or die a semi-dignified way, but burying his head into Germany's leather couch would have to do at the moment.
The Prussian snorted, "Looks like your Nordic genes diluted over time."
"Nordic? Bah! This idiot claims to be one hundred percent all-American blood. Now get up before I open the window." England drawled as he eyed the sunlight peaking out the closed curtains.
Correction; they were major assholes with bad livers and sadistic to boot.
"… I hope your livers implode at the next drink."
Gilbert enjoyed the moment. It was far too entertaining to watch Arthur's bad mood snipe at people, especially at America. Alas, the day must continue and there was work to be done. "Quit bitchin' and go eat. Birdie made pancakes."
Alfred faced his early tormentors and squinted at the albino. "Holy shit! Mattie's up?"
"Yes! She made breakfast and is currently moping on the table." Arthur snapped back.
"Fine…" Alfred staggered to his feet and made his way to the kitchen table. Yep, Canada's pancakes were that damn worth it.
True to the Brit's word, there lied Matthew Williams, face down with arms folded beneath her as a cushion. Germany sat next to her eating breakfast as he tried to convince her to eat the untouched plate of pancakes in front of the comatose-like Canadian.
"We'll look for them later. Just eat a something and you'll feel better." The German lifted a forkful of salami to his mouth.
"Expensive." She muttered. "Expensive and brand new."
Alfred sat down and asked his neighbor, "Dude… where's your pants?"
With no response from Matthew, he eyed her untouched stack of pancakes, and then asked, "Are you goin' ta eat that?" No answer. "Just so we're clear... I'm going to take that as a 'yes.'" He swiped the pancakes much to Ludwig's annoyance. Alfred shrugged. "I asked and warned. I'm not to blame here." He moaned when the first bite of syrup covered fluffy goodness hit his tongue. "Ughh… so good."
"Oi, Birdie! I found them in the garage!" Gilbert tossed the missing pants and Matthew caught them without getting up. She huffed on the table and pushed herself up.
She proceeded to steal a couple slices of salami from Ludwig's plate by fork stabbing. "Hey, I'm hungry and Al stole my food."
"So you steal mine?"
"All's fair in hunger."
"No truer words have ever been spoken in the morning~" Alfred grinned, and then winced.
"Serves you right, you ass." Matthew chewed and commented to Ludwig, "You're right. Schlackwurst is good."
"I know." He took a bite of pancakes.
Rolling her eyes, Matthew pushed herself to her feet and started to the kitchen. She called out, "I'm making more! Who wants some?!"
"Hell yeah!"
"Don't make a mess."
Smiling, far too happily and cheery than normal, she began to sing a certain song as went to the kitchen. The lyrics trailed loudly for them to hear.
"Jeepers, creepers... Where'd you get those peepers?"
They both choked on their breakfast for vastly different reasons. Ludwig was flushed with embarrassment as Alfred was white with shock.
"Mattie! Not cool, man! Not cool!"
Yep, Mattie's definitely more open with alcohol. A lot of alcohol in the system.
How did Matthew get up with a wicked hangover to cook? Mainly out of habit and people hounding her door no matter the time or her mood to get deliciousness. Why moping over pants? Because they were damn well expensive and were just worn once XD
Why the name 'Matthew' even though Canada is female because of early gender confusion by France (He found out but Matthew wouldn't respond to any other name by that point.) and in male-dominated society, she found it easier to masquerade as a male than a lady. Usually.
Hope you enjoyed! Please review because that's the only I'll know what's good, bad, and mush.
~Witch of the Souls