Murr…sorry about the long wait guys, but I've been fighting off the flu as well as working nine-hour shifts in the blazing hot August sun. When I get home, all I want to do is sleep and eat…and maybe work up the energy to take a shower. But yay! Happy reviews! (I still miss Singular Poisonous Ashes though…sadness.) Side note, this is now officially the longest story I have ever written…hehe. *sheepish* Oh well, Hetalia has been surprisingly fun to write for. Especially with them psycho 2ps. :3 And speaking of psychos and 2ps (I know you won't be offended by that), my friend MonsterEnnui has written a side-story to the Trekker, it's a series of one-shots where Arya actually gets paired up with various Hetalia characters. (Most of them 2ps). I did give her permission for it, I'm actually beta-reading all her chapters before she posts them.

and I feel totally justified in calling her a psycho because of that.

August 19, 2015

Arya's POV:

I figured it was best to remain silent, given as England was silently fuming in the driver's seat, angry enough that he was literally steaming in true anime-fashion.

So this is what it feels like to deal with a hard-core tsundere. I thought contemplatively, wrapping my arms tighter around my apocalypse bag in my lap as I sighed wearily. It was slightly bulkier now, as I had gone shopping with the Axis a couple times in between running around and trying to kill/avoid being killed by the 2p!s.

England was muttering under his breath now, something along the lines of "stupid Frenchy frog" and "bratty American teenager", hanging a savage right as we began traveling down a familiar country road. I, rather wisely, did not respond, and remained silent out of principle, since I didn't want to piss off (even more) the guy who would be responsible for sending me back home.

I paled slightly as I realized, as his apprentice, I would not only have to endure his foul temper, but his cooking as well, which was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. (Pardon the pun.)

Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't have a problem with normal British cooking (My mom gone to England for a business trip when I was 13 and brought back some stuff), at least not the British cooking from my world. It wasn't all that different from what I ate at home. But the cooking that England himself made was another matter entirely: I foresaw either a lot of food poisoning or takeout in my near future.

But then again, it'd probably offend him even more if I refused to eat what he called cooking. I thought, a gloom cloud descending over me, before brightening. Besides, some small details have been different than what the anime and fanbase describe. His food might actually be edible. I thought with a slight smile, then my forehead thunked onto my bag as I let out a depressed whine.

And all the 2p!s might start sending me love notes and raising baby kittens…

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you now?!" England suddenly barked, another burst of steam escaping from him as I hurriedly rolled down the window so I wouldn't smother.

"Its, um, it's nothing." I said quickly, feeling that it would be best not to say I was worried about whether or not I would die via English food poisoning. He gave me a sharp glare from out of his hard green eyes.

"Let's get one thing straight Miss Aryana, I will not tolerate you word-mincing or dodging subjects as long as you live under my roof. If something is wrong, inform me of that fact." England said icily, then sighed and looked away, tapping a finger against the wheel as he continued with a scowl. "Whether I like it or not, you are now my responsibility, so I suggest you get used to that fact. You are to be staying under my roof, eating my food-"

IknewitshitfuckI'mgonnadiewhyIdon'twanttodiefromEnglishfoodpoisoning-

"-and learning my arcane knowledge: therefore you must respect me and my rules."

I gulped and looked at him as he finished: there was gonna be rules involved with this? Like the rules an asshole aunt or grandparent made up when you came to visit?

He caught the incredulous look and snorted. "What, you thought that I would let you run around willy-nilly like those irresponsible Axis?" he asked stiffly, seemingly in a –slightly– better mood now that he had insulted someone, and I refrained from pointing out that the "irresponsible Axis" had played a rather large role in getting him back in his original body. It seemed like I was going to have to be doing a lot of tongue-biting in the near-far future.

"Um, so, what rules are there?" I asked nervously, and he pursed his lips in thought, seemingly further mollified by my quiet demeanor.

"Well, for one, you will address me as Britain or Sir. You are not to touch or meddle with any magical or nonmagical objects in the basement where we will be conducting lessons-"

So he's gonna treat me like a three-year-old…asshole rules it is then.

"-do not leave the house without permission, do not complain about the food you are given-"

ShitfucknotthefoodagaingodalmightyI'mgonnadieavirgin-

"-bedtime is at 21.00, which in American hours-" Here he sniffed disdainfully. "-would be about 9.00, give or take. Lights out at 22.00, which means no electronics, no music, no entertainment or occupying objects of any kind. I will wake you up at 8.00 sharp, no excuses. If you're tired, then you're going to be bloody tired. You'll have an hour to prepare yourself for the day, meeting me downstairs for breakfast. Any questions?" he rattled off briskly, and I felt sorely tempted to ask "Can I have takeout for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?", but I felt that saying something like that might be hazardous to my health.

Although maybe not quite as hazardous as actually eating the damn food…

"Miss Thompson? I would appreciate it if you gave me an answer." Britain said sharply, and I hurriedly brought my train of thought to a screeching halt.

"I, um, I'm good." I hurriedly stammered, then squeezed my bag tighter. "So…awkward question, but about America…you holdin' a grudge or something?" I asked hesitantly, figuring that since I was gonna be living with the guy for the foreseeable future, I might as well figure out whether or not he was calling America and all his citizens fools and incompetents because the bespectacled blond acted so much like an idiot, or because the grouchy Brit just held a mega-grudge against his former colony.

Britain's fingers tightened hard enough on the wheel to cause it to bend and creak slightly, and he remained silent for a split second as the car rolled into his driveway. "No." he finally said through teeth that squeaked and cracked with anger, and I quickly unbuckled myself and pushed the door open.

"You're a terrible liar, FYI." I told him bluntly as I levered myself out, and I had just enough time to catch his angrily crimson visage before I had turned to face the building in which I would be residing for the next few weeks/months/hopefully-not-years.

My fingers tightened slightly on the bag, and I took in a few deep breathes as I stared up at the old, almost-mansion almost-house that Britain called home. I was trying very hard not to go into a lame and completely undignified episode of PTSD, but my knees felt decidedly trembly, and I wasn't altogether sure I could keep my lunch where it was supposed to be.

Mirrors. Mirrors everywhere.

Oliver sitting on a delicate garden chair, with a small tea table at his elbow. A pot of tea and a tray of cupcakes sat upon it, and he was just taking a sip of something suspicously crimson colored…

2p Romano's eyes, hidden behind their fuchsia glasses, gleamed predatorily as he flexed his hands and I began to back away. "Come here bambina. I would really rather get this done quickly so that I may go back to my home~" he cooed…

- I ducked under the ghostly swipe of 2p China's butcher knife. His blood-red eyes met mine as I skidded across the mirrored ground like a baseball player sliding for home, and there was nothing but hatred there-

"MISS THOMPSON!"

I screamed and jumped about six or seven feet in the air, panting hard as my bag slipped out of my hands and landed on the ground, my hands shaking as I looked everywhere at once, my nerves galvanized into a fight-or-flight response, leaning towards flight.

Britain stared at me for a few seconds, his angry expression rapidly becoming somewhat guilty as his eyes darted from me to his house, obviously making the connection. He coughed to hide it, then bent down and retrieved my bag from the muddy English earth, holding it out to me impatiently. "Here." he snapped as I quickly took it, his face flushed slightly in embarrassment. "As I was saying before you went into your little episode, you'll be sleeping on the same hallway as myself, just in case of mishaps. Any questions?"

I smiled queasily. "Nah…I'm good."

"You know, you're not much better at lying than I am."

"Shut up."

9.12 PM, USA Central Time