Hey guys! Cosmic here! So I've always been a huge supporter of AO3 ever since I began writing fanfiction, and then I realized that there aren't enough Hetalia readers on AO3, and I was really getting tired of not having any responses/comments to my fics that I write as if my life depended on them. Hence why I am reposting them here!
I live for reviews/comments. I will get emotional if you leave any sort of response at all. Seriously.
Without further ado, here are the original notes and fic below!
This fic was originally written and published on July 24th, 2016, on AO3. You can find it here: (/) works/7502718
Arthur awoke with a start. The first thing he could even consciously register was the fact that his head was pounding with what must have been one of the most hangover-induced headaches he had ever had to deal with, which meant that last night must have been really, really bad. So, logically, he struggled to remember exactly what he had been doing last night. It was hard, to say the least. At first, the only things Arthur could recall was exactly what he had expected to be able to recall - a lot of bottles of alcohol, spanning everything from beer to scotch. Needless to say, remembering the varieties of alcohol he had consumed didn't help him in his quest to understand why he had been drinking.
He instead chose to change his approach. Perhaps looking around the room would help him remember, provided he didn't collapse from the pain from his headache first.
Arthur had woken up in a bed, in a room that seemed familiar but was too out of reach for his hangover-affected mind to remember in the moment. The bed was surprisingly clean; maybe he was in a hotel. But he knew that if he had gotten drunk off his arse yesterday he wouldn't have been able to bring himself safely to a hotel. And it didn't look like the hotel he normally used when he stayed at America either…
The realization hit him the way a bucket of cold water poured directly on his head would.
He remembered now.
Arthur Kirkland, also known as England, or the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, had been at Alfred's house yesterday. For a party. A glance at the calendar positioned helpfully on the side table by the bed told Arthur that today was the first of November. Therefore yesterday was the thirty-first of October. It may not seem like much deducing, but Arthur knew his mind was way too headachey to really figure out anything better.
So he knew that he was in America, at Alfred's house, for a Halloween party. And with that realization he suddenly remembered other things, as a great epiphany of embarrassment, drinking, and skintight costumes flooded back to him.
All the nations had been at Alfred's house for their annual Halloween party, which existed, for some reason. Arthur thought to himself that that needed to be changed. But anyway, they were all at Alfred's house, for the Halloween party. One of the biggest events at that Halloween party was the costume party. The only reason Arthur remembered this was because he knew he had shown up dressed as Sherlock Holmes. Obviously. Who else could he have been dressed up as?
He hadn't even been invited as formally as he hoped, either. But he showed up anyway, just to spite and maybe comfort Alfred. Hazy images that must have been less important happenings at the party flashed through Arthur's mind. And then Arthur's face began to warm when he remembered the last part. He had been called up on stage by Alfred Jones himself for a favor. And then Alfred told him that the reason that he chose Arthur as the one to come up on stage was because he was the first one to follow him on twitter. At this point in his flashback, Arthur couldn't contain the blushing anymore. It was so embarrassing, he knew. He awkwardly placed a hand over his face.
Because after the whole twitter thing, Alfred was on stage in a batman costume, and Arthur was next to him, in a robin costume. Not only had Arthur been forced up on stage, in front of all the other nations against his will, but he had been forced to do so in a skintight outfit from one of Alfred's own comic series. In fact, now that he really got time to mull over the event, he realized that it must have been done to fuel Alfred's crazy superhero complex, which, strangely enough, involved a great need for a sidekick.
I'm supposed to be his sidekick? As if.
How was being the first person to follow him on twitter even a valid reason to put someone to such embarrassment and shame? Arthur would never understand the convoluted logic Alfred possessed, if he even possessed any at all. Which was unlikely. That definitely explained why he always threw himself into the other nations' affairs without even bothering to figure out what exactly was going on first, the meddlesome brat. Arthur himself had many accounts of these events, ones he would rather forget.
Arthur then remembered that after the whole costume mishap, all of the nations had gone out drinking, himself included. And that was the sole reason he had such an awful pounding headache at the moment, besides Alfred's incompetency, which had helped worsen it.
But right now, he was still in a room - Alfred's room, he reminded himself, and blushed again - and he probably needed to do something to get all the pent up stress and embarrassment out of his system. In fact, it seemed like a generally good idea to maybe go confront Alfred about what happened yesterday. And by confrontation, Arthur was heavily considering punching Alfred in the face. Though he knew that if it really came down to it, he wasn't sure he would be able to actually hurt Alfred. So the most he could do was probably only lightly smack Alfred on the cheek, like he had done so many times in the past.
Arthur slowly maneuvered his legs to the edge of the bed, and braced himself for more pain, which hit him fully in the noggin as soon as he stood up. Arthur berated himself for standing up so quickly. The urge to fall back into bed and pass out fought with the determination to scold and/or get vengeance on Alfred.
Determination won out over the urge to fall back into bed and pass out.
Arthur pivoted on one heel towards the door, stomped over to it, yanked the door open, then continued stomping down the hall and down the stairs and into the living room. He didn't even bother to check if his shirt was neatly buttoned, and he was pretty sure his shoes were somewhere under the bed, but he couldn't care. Just as he had expected, Alfred was in the kitchen, happily cooking something in a frying pan while humming. The smell alone told Arthur all he needed to know. Arthur made his way over to the counter, to the right of Alfred, and stood there, with his arms crossed, glaring at the younger man. He wouldn't say anything. No. He would wait, patiently, radiating vibes of annoyance, until the idiot had the decency to actually pay attention to what was happening around him and turned around.
It wasn't until Alfred actually finished with his scrambled eggs that he turned around - and promptly ran into Arthur. Alfred yelped and jumped a little, but managed to not drop his pan on his foot, which had happened once and would never again.
Nervously, Alfred deposited his frying pan and spatula thing on the counter, then glanced over to where Arthur was standing. It wasn't the first time Alfred had been on the receiving end of one of those intense glares, but every time, he still felt like he was burning alive. Seriously, it was unfair that Arthur got to have the ability to make people feel guilt with the power of his gaze alone.
"Uh…" Alfred said intelligently, "Is something wrong?"
"What do you think?!" Arthur practically screamed.
Alfred paused to inspect Arthur. Had he forgotten something when he dragged his drunk ass home the night before? Maybe Arthur had some important belonging he accidentally left at the bar last night, and Alfred didn't see it until it was too late. Arthur didn't seem to be hurt or anything. Despite the fact that his hair was more tousled than ever, he still looked as dashing as ever - and no, Alfred totally didn't blush at his thoughts. As always, Arthur's shirt and trousers outlined his lean figure perfectly… and Alfred was going to stop having those thoughts this instant!
"No?" Alfred tried to answer.
Arthur sighed dramatically.
"Do you retain any memories of the events that occurred yesterday?" Arthur said, slowly, enunciating each word like a parent would to a little kid who couldn't quite do the same yet.
"What? Of course! I hosted the party, after all!" Alfred put his hands on his hips and did a dramatic hero pose. "I'm surprised that you remembered, considering the fact that you knocked yourself out and I had to drag you back to my house like the hero I totally am-"
Arthur simply facepalmed and grit his teeth, before peeking out between his fingers at the massive pile of scrambled eggs lying in a steaming heap on the table he hadn't noticed before.
"Alfred, I swear, the only thing as big as your ego is your bottomless stomach. In fact, now that I'm thinking about it, I wonder which one would be dwarfed by the other," he said sincerely.
The younger man looked irritated, but in that childish manner he had always managed to achieve, before smiling brightly so that his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in that way Arthur always found adorable- nope, Arthur was supposed to be mad at Alfred, dammit!
"Anyways, since you can't seem to figure it out yourself, the thing that is blatantly wrong is that you forced me into a skintight outfit yesterday for no reason!" Arthur yelled, waving his arms around for emphasis.
"Pfff. The twitter thing was totally a valid reason!" Alfred countered smugly.
Arthur found that he really had no words to properly describe Alfred's ridiculousness, and it was all because of his hangover. He flailed his arms around wildly for a few minutes while no words came out of his open mouth, then decided that he really needed some water. As if on cue, Alfred disappeared behind a corner and came back with a cup of water, which he handed to Arthur.
The older man gratefully accepted the cup, and downed all of the water with a tilt of his head.
His next move was to angrily jab a finger into Alfred's chest, and to continue ranting as a waterfall of words finally came to him about how much idiocy the boy possessed, as well as how the whole being the first follower on twitter thing was not a value reason to torture anyone, and that it was unfair that Alfred dressed up in the movie version of his costume while Arthur got stuck with the comic book version, and that it had to all happen on stage, and that it was horribly embarrassing, not to mention ungentlemanly… and what was it with Alfred and his stupid skintight outfits?!
Alfred just giggled the whole time, before eventually silencing Arthur by effectively placing a hand on his bony shoulder.
"Are you worried that you didn't look good or something?" Alfred asked, a bit of genuine concern making its way into his tone.
"Well, no. Er, yes! Wait!" Arthur didn't seem to be able to think clearly.
"Relax, Arthur. Personally, I thought you looked just fine," Alfred laughed, then stopped, and backtracked to what he had just said. Uh.
Arthur was effectively blushing harder than before, and weakly punched Alfred in the stomach, though it was more like a gentle boop one would give the nose of a puppy than an actual punch.
"You twit," he started, then stopped. Arthur thought for a moment before continuing, "I think you owe me something in return for all of that. Don't think that you can just get away with inflicting such an embarrassing situation upon me."
Alfred tilted his head and wore a curious expression.
"Like what?"
"Maybe next time there's a large gathering of nations, I should force you into some non-conventional clothing," Arthur said slowly and ominously. Alfred gulped involuntarily as he saw hints of an evil smirk flicker across the elder nation's features.
"That, uh, m-maybe-"
"Well?" Arthur demanded, back to his usual grumpy look.
"I… I guess," Alfred managed to utter out. He couldn't quite concentrate all of a sudden. Was Arthur really close to him or what?
To Alfred's steadily growing horror, Arthur leaned back with a satisfied smile on his face. It looked like he was plotting something utterly despicable. Alfred almost didn't want to know what the other was thinking.
"I think I have a nice idea. Why don't you come to the next world meeting in a dress? That ought to do," Arthur smiled sweetly in a manner that betrayed his dark and definitely very evil intentions.
"You want me to what!?" Alfred shrieked.
"Wear a dress. It's simple. Don't tell me you aren't brave enough to do something small like that," Arthur continued, stepping in closer again to give Alfred an innocent gaze which carried over unspoken words. Being a hero and all, you should really be able to do that.
Alfred stuttered and gestured wildly at Arthur before finally stopping and giving in.
"Alright, fine," he huffed.
"The deal is sealed, then. I guess I will go drop something off at your hotel room the morning of the meeting, so you don't have to go shopping yourself," Arthur mused, and chuckled quietly to himself all while Alfred stared on and lamented over how cruel people could be.
And that is how Alfred F. Jones ended up shuffling awkwardly into the meeting room as dozens of nations gaped, snickered, and scoffed at him, all while wearing an authentic frilly miniskirt with leggings to match. Except it wasn't really a miniskirt, because it was a dress, just with a short skirt part. Ugh. He didn't know how to explain this. He didn't even know who came up with fashion terminology. All he knew was that it probably looked awful on him and that his dignity was as good as ripped into tiny shreds.
The morning of the meeting, he had gotten a text from Arthur reminding him of his previous promise, as well as the dress/miniskirt/THING, which had mysteriously appeared on his bedside table overnight. Alfred had held up the dress, inspected it, blushed at the thought of wearing it, and wondered how in the world Arthur had managed to get a hold of something so… uh. Flattering for people who normally wore dresses? And then his mind had strayed a little farther and wondered if Arthur had either bought the dress or made it, because it seemed like Arthur was the type of person to make dresses since he made practically everything else, like quilts, seriously who even made their own quilts anymore, and then Alfred started wondering what Arthur would look like in a miniskirt... and he really needed to be getting to the meeting, which he couldn't miss, despite the fact that he really wanted to. He couldn't afford to get yelled at by his boss again. So he had donned the dress and tried not to look in the mirror as he grabbed his briefcase and ran out the door and towards the meeting room.
But as of the present moment, he knew what he had to do. He could spot his target location only about twenty feet away. Just twenty more feet, maybe twelve more steps, until he was safe from the wandering eyes of too many nations and seated in his chair. He took more awkwardly small steps forward, and had only gotten halfway to his seat when all of the catcalls began. Of course, most of them originated from France, but he was pretty sure he heard some from others. All of his remaining confidence immediately went down the drain as he felt what was probably the brightest blush ever consume all of his skin.
Meanwhile, Arthur was nodding in approval at Alfred's appearance. He really didn't stare. He definitely didn't notice how the small miniskirt showed off Alfred's form. He obviously didn't congratulate himself for getting a skirt that may have been too short. In his own defense, he hadn't gotten clothes for Alfred in a long time, so obviously there was no way to know the proper size. He could have called Alfred and asked, but he decided he didn't want to bother. The point was that the skirt itself was beautiful, but it was even more so with Alfred wearing it. All pink, frilly, and sparkly...
Speaking of Alfred, the poor boy did look a little red in the face, and he was practically frozen in the center of the room. Maybe it was a defensive mechanism, Arthur thought, like the one those lizards that froze up whenever anything that would eat them got close possessed. Arthur sighed. Perhaps Alfred needed some assistance getting to his seat. So Arthur quietly got up from his seat and made his way over to the younger nation, all while gracefully hiding a smirk under a delicately gloved hand. France was definitely saying something lewd, but the moment could not afford to be ruined. Arthur was having way too much fun enjoying the moment.
"Do you need me to escort you, lad?" Arthur asked, offering a bent elbow to Alfred.
Alfred hesitated for a second, before he hooked his arm through Arthur's, and followed him to their seats, which, ironically, were always next to one another. Meanwhile, everyone could tell that Germany was already seething, but too tired to start yelling. Surprisingly, though, Arthur and Alfred were both able to take their seats without much trouble, and the meeting started with close to no actual interruptions. Arthur figured it was because Alfred's miniskirt had put everyone into a state of shock and silence. As the meeting progressed, Arthur began to notice Alfred's eerie silence which bordered on despair. The older nation turned to face Alfred, in order to inspect him. The man had folded his arms and refused to look at his elder counterpart, and that adorable blush was still there.
Arthur rested a hand on the boy's arm, and whispered, "Are you alright?"
"Could I be alright?" Alfred whisper-shouted, "Wearing something like this?"
"You look better than 'alright,' for sure," Arthur commented, and decided to take it a step farther, as he gingerly brought Alfred's hand to his lips and kissed it.
Alfred was certain he died from overheating in that instant.