Once upon a time I updated within a week I think.
So I figure I'll do alternating. You know. TM one week and then Kornblumen-Krumen the other.
"BE YOURSELF, EVERYONE ELSE IS ALREADY TAKEN" - OSCAR WILDE
"QUOTATION IS A SERVICEABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR WIT" - ALSO OSCAR WILDE
I love you Ireland, thank you for Oscar Wilde 3 I honestly am a weirdo. THAT'S OKAY! Honestly though if you're bored look up author quotes particularly Oscar Wilde's, they are AMAZING.
Thanks for all the follows and favorites - you guys are amazing, too :D
Anyway...How are you all?
"Eat your potatoes, Peter," Tino urged.
The boy swung his legs under the table and shook his head. "I don't like potatoes."
"You like chips, don't you?"
"Yeah…"
"Chips are potatoes."
Peter stabbed a small golden potato with his fork and held it up. "It doesn't look like a chip to me." Oil dripped down his wrist and onto his plate. He licked his arm and made a face.
"Do you want me to slice it?"
"Yeah!"
Tino's nose twitched as he got up and took Peter's fork from his hands. Supper had been a strained event so far. Alfred sat picking at his plate next to Peter, while Arthur glared and Francis looked up every once in a while. Lovino had dumped all his potatoes on Gilbert's plate, which the latter ate obliviously. Antonio just enjoyed letting little flames spark on his fingers and burn his food.
"Peter," Arthur finally said.
"Yeh?" answered the boy around a mouthful of chicken.
"How did you meet Tino and Berwald?"
Tino swallowed and set down his fork. Berwald looked at him expectantly.
Peter's face just lit up. "Mum found me a really long time ago, like, before there was even any real color telly and I was really little but I had the timepiece I guess and he sensed me and he took me home and Daddy was so happy he cried that's how you know Daddy's happy because his eyes kind of crinkle up like this but he doesn't smile I tried doing it once but it was really hard Daddy is really good at it but they took me home and we live here and it's really nice we're waiting for my Counter and Daddy works at a butcher's and sometimes he brings me back cool things he found in fish bellies once there was a squid and Mum brought me in and it's eye was huge like bigger than my head huge and Mum doesn't work he stays home with me and sometimes we make butter cookies and sit on the heater Mum says it's our own personal sauna even though we can't afford one but it's nice it turns off a lot of the time but hot air comes out and it burns my feet but Mum is superhuman and could sit on it for hours and when my uncles came over Uncle Mathias nearly dropped me and Mum yelled at him and Uncle Lukas had to yank on Uncle Mathias' tie and Uncle Emil brought me my first pony even though I couldn't say her name yet but now I have lots of ponies and I know all their names and now we're here at the table." The boy beamed.
"Uh- ah," Arthur responded, clearing his throat. "That was…informative."
"He means 'thank you'," Francis added.
"Your welcome!" Peter slid out of his chair and went to go back into the living room. Tino stopped him.
"Peter?"
The boy halted, midstep. "Yesssss?"
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my room…Alfred and I were having a really good game."
"Did you ask if you could be excused?"
"Can I be excused?"
"Three more bites of chicken."
Peter groaned, clambering back up into his chair and giving Tino the evil eye, stabbing a piece of chicken and shuffling it around his plate. "There. Done!"
"Finished," Tino corrected. "And all you did was move your food around. Do you want me to make it four b-"
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Peter dashed from the room with an "I'll get it!"
Berwald got up to go after him.
"Uncle Emil!" they heard the boy shout gleefully. "You're early! Did you bring me any more ponies? I – Uncle Emil? D-daddy, Uncle Emil is getting sick in the r-rosebushes…"
Tino went white, and all of them got up from the table. Alfred was faster, leaping to see into the front entrance. Berwald stood in front of it, and Alfred went to his toes to see over his shoulder. He saw the top of Peter's head, the little traveler frozen on the front porch step. A few feet away, in the garden, a teenager was bent over hurling on the roses, hand braced against the side of the house.
Behind Alfred, Berwald took Peter by the shoulders and steered him away, taking them both into the living room. Alfred squeezed through the doorway just as Tino came crashing out.
"Emil!" His hands went up, hesitant, before being set down on the boy's back. "Where's Lukas and Mathias? What's happened?"
There was a strangled cough of an answer, nothing Alfred understood. "Tími ferðamenn."
"What's the matter?" Antonio asked from inside the house. Arthur was struggling to see, Francis jostling him.
Tino tried to tear Emil away, but the boy swung out an arm, a trembling finger pointed at Alfred. "Get him out!"
Alfred blinked. "Me?"
Gilbert yanked him by the back of his shirt. "Fucking hell. You're making him sick."
"What? Why? Hey – let go – I was gonna help –" he was dragged back into the living room and slung down at the hall entrance.
"Stay there," Gilbert ordered before disappearing. It was the most serious Alfred had seen him in a while.
He backed up into the hall, wondering how much the Counter actually meant the order, but heard a muffled sob from Peter's room. The door was slightly ajar, and he peeked inside.
Berwald had Peter on the bed, the boy's legs hanging over the mattress. He clutched a generous amount of My Little Ponies in his arms and was kissing all their noses, tears and snot streaming down his face.
"Onkel 's s'ck," Berwald was trying to explain.
"He was crying," Peter sniffled. "Why was he crying? Why aren't Uncle Mathias and Uncle Lukas with him? Did something bad happen?"
"M'ybe. We don't kn'w."
A terrible feeling settled in Alfred's stomach. His hand went to his chest, feeling the steady ticking coming from under his shirt.
He drew back and sneaked towards the front of the wall again, careful to avoid the light dangling above his head, and studied the scene in the living room.
Gilbert and Tino where helping a shaky teen to the couch. The boy had legs of jelly.
Alfred had to flatten himself up against the wall as Lovino came by, leaning on the wall. One of his elbows was only a few inches from him.
"Emil," Tino repeated over and over. "Emil, what's happened? Oh, no, his eyes are rolling up in his head – Emil – stay with us, please, you've already frightened Peter –"
Francis swore. "Bordel de merde – Arthur, his watch."
The terrible feeling in Alfred's stomach grew. Reached up from his gut into his chest, its pale fingers tight on his throat.
Tino let out a horrible cry. "The Axis? The Axis?"
"It's the only possibility," Arthur confirmed.
Gilbert threw a glass at the wall. "Fucking hell! What do they want from us? What did we ever do to them?"
Emil murmured something, and the room hushed.
"Emil?"
"He killed him," Emil gasped.
"Maybe not," Antonio supplied hopefully. "There's a lot more out there than we know –"
"I was three meters away. One more step, and I could have reached him. It was the nineteenth century line, Hong Kong – I was so close –" There was strangled sound. "It was a bullet, right to the head –" Another heavy gasp, and then nothing more.
The room dropped twenty degrees as Tino let out an agonized wail. "What did they want with him? Why didn't the General intervene? They'll get Peter next. They'll come for Peter and try to kill him, too. I don't- I don't –"
Some irrational, insane, absolutely idiotic part of Alfred's mind took the reins, yelled "Fuck it all the hell!", and drove the car right off the cliff. The terrible feeling inside him disappeared under the banging of his heart in his chest.
The first battle cry he could think of – "SIE SIND DAS ESSEN UND WIR SIND DIE JÄGER!" in an awful German accent- ripped out of his throat. His timepiece slid on its chain. The world erupted in streaks of silver.
Arthur was going to kill him.
Tími ferðamenn: time travelers (Icelandic WOAH I WANNA LEARN ICELANDIC LOOK HOW COOL IT LOOKS.)
Okay so I was feeling real AOT when I wrote this alright. So don't mind the reference, lol.
Ha who thinks shit just hit the fan
lolololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololololol
"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months." -Oscar Wilde
