...I don't even know how to state my greetings.
Soo... First Hetalia fanfic. And, wow... It... it's not all about my favorite character (Canada) or even America, whose history I probably won't butcher as badly as whatever this is.
All I know is that I adore this series, and I clicked on a FrUK MAD with the song 'No Logic' by Luka Megurine... Several comic skits and replays later, this thing was born. I don't even know, okay?
I've never even written a story like this and I don't know what to call it. Fluff, friendship, shounen ai? Well, it is fluffy... but also filled with fail.
Then again, I may be one of those rare fans who likes FrUK over USUK (which I honestly don't even care for in the slightest) so whatever. I figure if I'm going to contribute, I shall contribute... even with whatever-it-is like this.
Pairings: France and England... Kind of. I don't know. Feels like it. Other characters briefly mentioned here and here are America, Canada, and Jeanne d'arc.
Warnings: Butchering of history (I need to stick to just American history), some language, and my writing which is always strange to start with. Oh yeah, and pretty much everyone is out of character... especially France... because honestly, this was too childish and whimsical to stick any of his frog perverseness into it. Is it meant to be serious at some points? I don't know... but you clicked to read not to hear me rant. I apologize.
Disclaimer: Seeing as I still fail at gathering up my courage and asking Himaruya-sensei for it, I suppose it's safe to say that none of this is mine.
Their relationship, England thinks, is probably the most standard it can be as possible without requiring any logic.
Even in the times where the Holy Roman Empire was still around, the two of them were bickering and picking at one another and doing their absolute best to not be outdone by the other.
But in those times, the small island nation never admitted to anyone except for himself that he looked forward to some days where France would come up, laughing and mocking as always... even if that hope was only for a new chance to arise where he could once again 'beat' the older nation.
It was normal for nations like them to fight, but somehow it always felt as if their rivalry was taken to a whole new level... to the point where that was what the competition and revolutions and rebirths were all about.
And every so often, England would wonder 'is this really what I should be doing with my life?' and then look back at where France was smugly grinning... and instantly decided it was so.
"Unrefined!"
England flustered, tiny fists clenched and trembling as he watched the other nation run from him, always laughing with that damn handsome smile with bloody golden locks flying even in the wind. It was easy to mock him in silence, with the girlish clothes and girlish hair, and how, with the long blond hair and still wide blue eyes, France really could pass off as a girl.
A pretty one, a traitorous voice in his mind quipped, making England stuck between wanting to whine about how unfair it is, kick a stone or two until he broke something, or just tackle France next time he came close.
Though he knew the clothes on France were always pretty, like him in his girlish way. And Arthur hated it when insults got stuck on his tongue while his mind was murmuring idiotic compliments. Sometimes, he daydreamed about a girl that looked like France but was much kinder and much sweeter, scooping him up into her arms and nuzzling him close like any adoring older sister.
"I hate him," England finally huffed, fidgeting with his cloak and just sitting there with a hare at his feet, emerald green eyes stuck on the spot France had disappeared to him. "Stupid frog."
Someday, he'd show him. Someday.
"This is just my old hairstyle!"
"Well, it suits you!"
What the hell, France. Those are the only words running through as France is doing what France does best: running away and laughing all the way.
After staring in the lake at his usual reflection, where the long hair he spent so long to grow (thanks to France mocking him) was back to its usual short and unruly length... once again thanks to that wine bastard France.
"Well, it suits you!"
"What a waste of time," the small blond muttered. Telling me I look best the way I always do...
The next time France showed up again, and the next time England swore to himself that he'd somehow become more fashionable than that frog, and his clothing was even more girlishly dressed than before.
And poor England was so mortified that he could even form proper insults.
...Somehow, that didn't stop him from wearing the matching green outfit France had brought him and he was grumbling when the older nation scooped him up, cooing at how cute he was for once.
Face burning, England let himself be coddled for just a few moments before giving that frog a good right hook.
His soldier was a woman. England felt sorry for him (but that didn't stop him from mocking the other like always) and France was embarrassed... at first.
Jeanne may have been a woman, but she was clever and passionate and France's embarrassment faded into a clear admiration as she charged for victory with a complete loyalty that even England was envious of.
Then it became obvious that that frog's admiration was turning into something else: adoration and eventually love itself. The nation of love was falling in love with a simple girl.
"I'm doing this all for your sake!" she'd tell him and France would look touched while England felt sick to his stomach.
It wasn't jealousy and it most certainly wasn't concern, he'd tell himself. It was disgust and exasperation... even if she was killed in battle; human years didn't hold a prayer against the centuries and more for nation life.
France was only hurting himself. But that was fine; he hated France anyway and wanted him to suffer.
Bloody hell, why was he so damn concerned?
"You brought this on yourself, frog." England felt sick as he stared at where Jeanne had been burned alive earlier. Honestly, he didn't want the girl to burn, but if she was a witch...
France was frozen in his spot and for once, he choked back a sob, curling in on himself. No snide remarks, no laughs, no bragging about how God was on his side when his angel was burned right in front of him.
"...Francis...?" The slip of his human name made Arthur feel more self-conscious than possible and he reached for the French nation's shoulder only to have his hand slapped away.
"Please get away from me, Arthur." His voice was dark and he wasn't joking around this time. This wasn't his rival; this was a heartbroken and angry man that made his own heart ache.
"I-I'm sorry, frog," he spat out shakily as if it made any difference before turning around and running away.
England didn't dare to look back. France was suffering, and he wanted that before...
But never under these circumstances.
One of his spoils from the war was France's former colony, Canada. Canada looked between the two of them helplessly and France wasn't looking at anything as he scooped the small colony up and dropped him into England's hands.
"France...?" Canada's small whispery voice was almost hysterical and he reached out for his former caretaker desperately. "France?"
He looked like America but he wasn't nearly spirited enough. England looked at France just as desperately as he turned and left the room. The second the door was closed, Canada burst into tears while England's grip on him tightened.
Aren't you going to say anything?
Canada was mostly calm by the time the island nation had him meet America, but he was still too shy to keep his exuberant neighbor's attention for long and as a result, he just settled down and played with his bear.
Does France even miss you...? England wondered as he watched Canada talk and whisper to Kumajirou, giggling softly and patting the white bear's head. Does France even think about every single day that he can't see you?
When he tried teaching Canada English, it ended with bite marks and French curses, along with more wails and pleads for France to come back.
But France hadn't inquired his former colony's condition once. England felt sorry for the child but America had a habit of taking his attention away in order to properly care for him.
Eventually, Canada faded into the background. From him.
Amazingly, America found interest in his northern counterpart and the two became inseparable.
"What the bloody hell, France."
It was wet and it was dirty and America was gone. France smirked and shrugged, to his annoyance. England's face was still flushed and his eyes were red-rimmed from all the tears. France looked more like himself.
"We're finally even... mostly. You killed Jeanne and took away Canada, England. You brought this on yourself."
America was gone. His cute little colony was gone.
And France was rubbing it in his face.
"You know, America's quite passionate when he wants to be... He's definitely louder than Canada ever was."
Canada, kept safe from the war and his brother's rebellion and grasp, was still out somewhere worrying up a storm over England.
"France..."
"He earned his freedom, England," And he was so smug, so damn smug. "I've always wondered what it'd be like with you on your knees."
And England remembered that one year where the world was supposed end, where he let France conquer him... that one time where the frog held him close and instead of protesting and cursing, the island nation couldn't help but smile.
"It's alright to stay like this until the world ends, right?"
"Are you going to sit there all day? You're getting dirty and it's so unrefined..." France then huffed and offered him a hand, smirking. "Come on, let big brother take care of you."
"Oh shut the hell up," he shot back, though he didn't hesitate for a second to take the other nation's hand before adding in an irritated mutter, "This is your entire fault, anyway,"
It's alright to stay like this, right?
"Nice fight, nice fight!"
"America, stop them from fighting before they really hurt each other!"
"No way, bro!"
England wasn't even sure what started this one, all he knew is that somehow, they were fencing and America cheered them on while Canada looked like he was at a complete loss of what to do.
Eventually they were pulled apart and France was left huffing and indignant, stomping away while England glared at him.
But when everyone else was gone, he laughed.
"Mister England? Are you alright?"
Oh. Canada was still there and confused. England shook his head, waving him off.
"Oh, don't mind me, lad. Now be off before that git America notices."
True to his words, America's voice soon rang out, him calling for Matthew and the northern nation looked at his former father figure uncertainly before rushing off into the direction of his brother's calls.
"Not like that frog at all..." England remarks with a smirk before shaking his head. But I needed that.
Oh yes, even now things had not changed between him and France even with the lack of wars between the two of them and just everything spiraling downhill... the two of them still got in a decent and well-needed (for England) fight and argument every now and then.
Their relationship, England thinks as he seats himself and chuckles, is probably the most standard it can be as possible without requiring any logic.
And that's just the way he likes it, with him and France arguing and getting under each other's skin, but the arguments all just fun and games ending with (at worst) economic troubles... no broken hearts.
Making sense was for idiots anyway.