Chapter 12. I think. Yay?

Anywho, for those of you who are looking for a good rant, I can promise you that there will be an utterly fantastic one at the bottom, so if you would please read my bottom comments at the end of this, you're hankering will no doubt be fulfilled.

Now that I have that missive out of the way, we're moving on to shoutouts and answers and stuff.

Guest- In response to your question on Chapter 9, some spats are things that can be forgiven but not really addressed. Arthur and Alfred are the type to blow a small fight into such ginormous proportions that it is almost comical. So yes, eventually all of that passed over resentment and self-righteousness will eventually come to a boiling head, but they're going to try and enjoy the dance for all it's worth, you know what I mean?

Meep- Aw, I'm sorry. Well, life isn't all about grades, so don't stress too much about it. Don't forget to have fun, right? I know, Alfher could seriously use a stress ball. But things are about to come to light about him in this chapter. So we'll see how opinions change then, yes? As a parting sentence, I give you this: don't stress too much either.

Shoutouts to the following people for reviewing- BlackWitchesCat, Kyubi4Hokage, sovaleika, vellymymare, Sam King, Sweetiepie13, and GEMFaerie. Thank you all for commenting! Each and every one of your opinions means so much to me, y'all have no idea.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hetalia franchise. Otherwise all of my OTPs would totally be canon.

Intricacies of Love

"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own."

―Robert , Stranger in a Strange Land

Gilbert had fought with his father before, it was hardly an unnatural phenomenon. But he'd never fought with him with such an intense desire to inflict permanent injury. He didn't want to kill him, certainly not that, but he wanted to give the man a scar that would make him remember not to screw with Gilbert and his mate ever again.

As their swords rang and clashed and shrieked with the deadly ferocity that was feeding into them through the hands of their wieldesr, the medical staff rushed forward. No one knew how to stop the situation—no one was willing to put themselves between the two fighting Alphas after all—and so one of the only solutions to the problem was tranquilizers.

But they weren't in that side of the hospital, as a particularly upset Alpha who had just found out about the death of his mate had required a good amount of them before the staff could take him down. So they had nothing better to do than sit and wait for the nurse who had been sent off to find them to return.

His mother's sobbing voice, cracking with her pathetic efforts to get her two men to calm down was a dull throbbing in the back of Gilbert's mind. He knew that his father was probably more attuned to the distress of his mate, and was surprised that the man didn't immediately turn to take care of her, as his Alpha instincts would urge him to otherwise.

Elizaveta, perhaps unsurprisingly, wasn't making a sound. She wasn't one to protest violence, after all, but Gilbert had thought that she'd attempt to throw herself into the fray.

He could only assume that Etel was holding her daughter back, as the other Alpha had lunged at the same time he did.

Perhaps it was ironic that he was fighting with his father in the guise of the Teutonic Knights, who had a moral code that was above fighting with kin. But Gilbert couldn't stand to hear his father call his future mate such names.

No one was allowed to insult Elizaveta like that, and he would be there to make sure that they refrained from doing so.

Before the tranquilizers could arrive, however, Gilbert was eventually bested by his father. It wasn't a surprise, really, considering that the man had at least five years of training on his son. And Gilbert hadn't even graduated high school yet.

Gilbert was backed up against the wall, his father's sword pressing dangerously close to his throat. His Adam's apple rose and fell with the force of his nervous swallow, though he fought to hold his father's gaze, reluctant to show fear in the face of such a threat.

Alfher's lips knit up into a sneer. "What do you say, son? Give up Eliza? Or shall I take something a bit more precious?" as if he were going to follow through on his threat, he pulled a dagger from his boot quickly and easily, as if he'd had practice in these kinds of situations. And for all Gil knew, he probably had. The dagger was lifted to Gilbert's face, hovering dangerously close to his skin as if it were ready to pierce through and leave as nasty a scar as what Alfher seemed to be implying.

Gilbert eventually chose to break eye contact with the older man, his red eyes shifting to where Eliza stood behind Alfher. She knew without even really having to speak with Gilbert—could see the desperation in his eyes—and immediately her own flicked to where his sword was lying feet behind Alfher, who had been careless in his haste to disarm his son.

She stepped silently forward—light-footed as a sword fighter—and expertly took the sword in her hand. Her dagger wouldn't be of much use in this situation, but a sword could pack a wallop behind it if necessary.

Shifting it about in her palm until she got herself a comfortable hold, her eyes narrowed with a determination akin to that of ivy when it scaled a cottage. She was going to conquer this situation, and then she would protect Gilbert from his vile family for as long as they both lived.

She promised that much to him.

With the speed of a snake, she slid suddenly forward and rapped the flat of the blade harshly against Alfher's head before following through with a sharp snap of the butt of it to a tender area between his shoulder blades, effectively dropping the Alpha.

She threw the weapon to Gilbert, who caught it easily and flipped his father's sword into his other palm. He bent low, his knees crunching into his father's palms on the floor and his swords held in a threatening scissor formation on either side of Alfher's throat.

"What will it be, vater?" whispered Gilbert viciously, perhaps with a gleam of victory in those siren red eyes. "Let me have Eliza? Or shall I take something a bit more precious?" he shoved the man's words back to him with a malicious joy all of his own.

Alfher's eyes were tapered, and he kept his mouth sealed. Gilbert decided to press for an answer ,leaning forward on his swords so that they dug into the sides of Alfher's neck, leaving tiny lines that implied skin had been broken.

Little beads of blood sprung up around the shiny, smooth metal.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of Gilbert's eye let him know that Eliza had gone to retrieve his father's dagger, and was unsheathing her own from where it hung at her hip. She came up behind Gilbert, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her.

He could feel the coiled restraint in the tense atmosphere around her body, could understand that it was taking every ounce of will in her to not lunge forward and finish off Gilbert's father herself.

But she knew, and Gilbert knew, that to see him dead would be the end of the world for Gil. As much as he and his father clashed heads, he could still remember the man pressing a surprisingly affectionate kiss to his forehead as Gilbert came home crowing about how amazing he was at sword fighting, how he was one of the best in the school. He could remember the man's unwavering patience when it came to teaching him how to even hold a sword in the first place; the calm surety of him as he repeated to Gilbert just one more time that he was not a monster, an abomination. He was a beautiful creature, strong, and dangerous. A boy—an Alpha—who would be a forced to be reckoned with.

When he looked in those blank blue eyes he saw a little boy who had lost himself, a little boy who was treated with perhaps a little less love and affection than Gilbert had received as a child. He could see his father cowering back in the shadowy corner as his Omega mother stepped forward, an old, cracked leather belt coiled in her hand. He could see the boy struggling to hold a sword, forcing himself to gain muscle mass, and endurance, and skill.

He could see just how broken his father was inside.

Swallowing, Gilbert stood up, the swords clattering to the ground. "I'm not you, Vater. Take Mutter and go." He shook his head, feeling the confusion rolling off of Eliza and hoping to God that she didn't confront him on why he'd backed off when he so obviously had the upper hand.

He could see the rush of breath practically make his mother tumble to the floor, noticed the faint flicker of morose regret in his dad's eyes before Gilbert turned away and allowed Etel and Aranka to guide him out of the hospital.

It was a silent agreement that he would not be returning to the Beilschmidt home. Not for a good while anyway.

Eliza took the wheel on the way back to her house, once more surprising Gil with a skill that she shouldn't have had. But he didn't remark on it, though it irked him a little, his heart just wasn't in it. He took up the passenger seat and watched with emotionless eyes as the scenery rolled past. He wasn't sure why he wasn't crying—if it was a mixture of horror and anger or just an inability to understand what had just happened—but he knew that the tears weren't coming. That he couldn't feel anything.

In one night, he'd lost his family.

The headlights of the car splashed across the Hédérvary front yard before Eliza parked the car in the drive way, just after her parents had pulled into the garage. Their startling light was unforgiving in the blanket of darkness that was trying to push it back, glaring harshly out at the outline of the old, abandoned play set in the backyard and the fuzzy edge of a pot on the very outside of the lights radius.

Before them, the edge of the house was being caught at, the red brick and white wood of it illuminating unevenly.

The sound of Eliza hopping out of the car had Gilbert moving out as well, slamming it shut and not even waiting to hear the sound of her locking it.

Elizaveta kept behind him, for once not pressing him for answers. She knew that he needed space at the moment; that he'd come to her when he was ready. In the time between she could just make sure that she was always available.

Gilbert made his way through the house, feeling Aranka's concerned eyes crawl along his stoic face but not caring much as he sprinted immediately up the stairs and into Eliza's bedroom. He didn't know if he was still welcome to sleep in there, or if he would be re-allocated to a guest bedroom, but he wasn't willing to mull over it too much.

The faint murmuring of Hungarian curled its way up the stairs, sliding and wrapping about Gilbert's ears and gently, unwittingly, lulling the Prussian to sleep.

While Gilbert flew off like the famed Prussian eagle, Elizaveta stuck behind to talk to her parents. They were conversing in Hungarian—a norm in their household—and Etel was being surprisingly sympathetic about the situation.

"Oh the poor boy," said Aranka, her warm chocolate eyes following his heels up the stairs before he disappeared from sight. Eliza could feel the instinct in her mother to go up and comfort the Alpha she'd come to think of as her own child, and she knew how it felt to have to quell it. She was experiencing the same urge to comfort the Prussian she considered her mate at the very same moment.

Etel cleared her throat, snapping both concerned Omega's attention to her. "He will be fine, Aranka. Eliza, what happened at the dance?" she asked, curious to know what had made her daughter so strongly attached to the Prussian boy that she had been explosively cursing out earlier on in the school year.

Eliza's tanned face flushed and she leaned back against the smooth brown marble of the countertop behind her. She was standing by the stainless steel sink. The pantry was to her right, the doors painted a lovely dark brown. On the left side of the sink was where one would find the dishwasher, and on the other side of the island from where Eliza was standing, was the fridge, just next to the stove. The floors were hardwood, with a mahogany colored mat in front of the sink.

"If you're wondering what changed between us, apu, it's a complicated thing. He… Well, he did several things. And one of those things was apologizing for the way he is, even though it isn't entirely his fault. He promised that he's going to change for me," Etel's face softened at the look of complete and utter adoration and love in her beautiful daughter's eyes.

She doubted that any other Alpha would ever have been able to garner that expression, that reaction, from Elizaveta.

"He's so much humbler than he used to be. You saw what he asked me to do with his father. A week ago, pokol, even a night ago, he wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't have wanted to admit that I am as strong as him. He's a well-meaning person, and he is working so hard on changing."

"Do you love him?" asked Aranka then, startling both Etel and Eliza. Etel reacted by reaching her arm around her beautiful mate's waist and tugging her into her side. She was losing her daughter to Gilbert, that much was obvious, and she was taking a bit of guilty solace in the firm steadiness of her mate.

Eliza didn't wait a beat for her response. "Igen. Without a doubt."

Aranka's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, my baby girl," the woman murmured, her tongue rolling over the Hungarian words with such a tooth achingly fond tone that it made Eliza want to burst into tears.

Before Eliza knew it, she was pulled into hugs by both of her parents. She could feel her mother shaking against her, no doubt crying as silently as she could. She knew that her father was holding back the emotions—to be the rock for their family—but that after Elizaveta went up to bed, they would both find comfort in one another's arms.

She spent another good thirty minutes with her family, laughing and sniffling with them over memories that were a mixture of hilarious, embarrassing, and heartwrenchingly in the past.

"And do you remember that time that you fell off of the swing, Eliza? Oh, you were so young, and so indignant at that poor swing that you began to try to tear it off the tree branch." Aranka laughed breathlessly. "I had to call your father to come and calm you down, as you refused to listen to me then."

Etel was chuckling, as was Eliza. It was a moment that the girl could remember, but only faintly.

"Remember when you left the toast in the toaster too long, and the bread caught on fire?" said Eliza to her father, cracking up with her mother as Etel flushed a wonderful crimson.

"That was not my fault! The timer didn't go off!"

"It did, anu, it did!" gasped out Eliza from where she was doubled over cackling her head off.

Aranka was the next to be embarrassed, which was a punishment led out in due course.

"Oh yeah? Do I need to remind you both about that time your mother tried, and might I add failed, to change your diaper, Eliza? I was the only one who could change it. Aranka was an utter klutz when it came to you."

Aranka broke into hysterical laughter before slapping Etel's hand, which was resting on her hip. "Dirty diapers are nasty, what can I say," she shrugged, her eyes falling on the uncomfortable Eliza.

At her parents amused expressions, Liz rather childishly stuck her tongue out. "That is nasty, thank you very much."

And then she saw Aranka start to get emotional again—no doubt remembering child Elizaveta—and the Hungarian girl was eager to leave the room.

"Jó éjt anyu, apu Goodnight," she said before kissing them both on the cheek, giving a final hug, and disappearing up the stairs, after the same path that Gilbert had taken thirty minutes earlier.

As she climbed the steps, she thought over how different she had been as a child. Her parents worked hard to tame her—make her a good Omega—but they were an eccentric, odd couple anyway. Her two older brothers—long out of college now—were the ones who'd taught her to sword fight, yes, but it was at her father's insistence. And she had never heard of any other child, be they Omega or Alpha, who spoke of their Alpha parent changing their diapers instead of their Omega one.

When Elizaveta made it to her door, the first thing she noticed was that it was open. The second thing she saw, and this would be a memory that she would never forget, was Gilbert.

He looked carved out of marble as the moonlight cast its milky curtains over his eyelids. The pale light bleached his skin, and reflected artfully against his hair. His lips were curved into a natural expression of relaxation, a slight frown tugging at their edges as if he were having a dream that was nudging at him. He was still in the clothes he'd worn to the dance, and hadn't even had the time to get under Elizaveta's covers. His eyelids were closed, his browbone throwing little crescents of shadow over each divet where those cerise eyes were so often observing. The same shadows that played along his hollows carved along the lines and curves that made up his muscles, and cheekbones, sculpting out his nose from the perfection that could be described as his face.

Elizaveta realized that she didn't deserve this man. Though he was old-fashioned, she knew that he would change for her. He loved her (and she him) and she knew that of all the Alphas who were to be her intended, he was by far the best match for her.

She strode, light as a cat, across her room, her feet digging softly into the soft tan of her long-stranded carpet. Her bed sat on the left wall, a rather large window positioned with a bit of the bedpost peeking over it to the right and on the wall directly across from the door. When one looked to the right, they would find a beat-up wooden desk and a closet door.

On the walls were posters of bands, and taped on stickers of friends, and photos of things that Eliza found beautiful.

And as Eliza crawled into her bed, smiling as Gilbert, very much half-asleep, reached out for her and nuzzled his face into her shoulder, the new photos of her mate spoke of a happier time up on the wall, their sleepy eyes peering lazily out at a world that was in their future.

When Elizaveta woke up the next morning, it was to the sight of Gilbert sitting on her bed with his back against the soft blue wall, twiddling one of her daggers absently in his dexterous fingers.

He was gazing at the photos adorning the opposite side of the room, seeing but not processing.

Eliza took the time to just watch him, the figure he cut in the soft dawn colors of the morning, blurring the lines of his jaw and nose and lips. His eyes were as hard as they had been last night, however, as if he were forcing a part of him down so that she wouldn't have to see the pain that was tearing at him from inside.

"Guten Morgen, Engel," he said, his voice croaking the words out as if he were trying to speak through a frog in his throat.

Liz sat up slowly, still sluggish. "Jó reggelt, drágám," she knew that he wouldn't understand a lot of what she was saying past her 'good morning' but she hoped that he could feel the affection in that last word, in her 'darling.'

He didn't say anything after that, and she hesitated. What should she do? Should she approach him, or leave him be, as she'd promised herself she would just last night? But it was so hard to put those things into practise, and seeing him so torn apart was not easy.

In the end, he made it easy for her.

"I know why he hates Omegas so much," he murmured then, still not looking at her.

She didn't know that he couldn't bear to look at a woman he loved so wholeheartedly, for fear that she too would turn her back on him.

She waited patiently for him to continue, not making any movements toward him, though it took her a good deal of resoluteness.

"His mother beat him, Lizzie. With a belt, or whatever she had on hand. God, how could I have been so stupid?" he murmured, throwing the dagger so hard that when it twanged into the red circle of the bullseye, it vibrated there for a moment. He bowed his head so that he was gripping and pulling at his white hair with all the force of his anger.

Elizaveta snapped forward and wrapped her hands around Gilbert's, gently unwinding the fingers from his hair and pressing each to her lips for a kiss.

"Gilbert, it is not your fault," she murmured once she'd calmed him down, as every Alpha was apt to calm down when their Omega paid them so much attention.

"That doesn't excuse what he said to you, or what he said to me, or what he's taught you and your brother. He was the one who put Ludwig in that hospital bed." She knew that she was hurting Gilbert with each and every one of her words, but they were words that had to be said. A shattered past didn't pardon a horrendous present, or an even drearier future. She needed to make sure that Gilbert couldn't start just blowing off his father's actions as the angered retaliation of a lost childhood.

"He hates me now, doesn't he?"

"Oh, that's nonsense, Gil. A father can never hate their son, especially one as brilliant and amazing as you. He'll either come around or he won't, but he isn't everything. You have the ability to make a life of your own, don't throw it away because of your father's past. He chose his future, now it's time for you to choose yours."

He looked at her, then, for the first time that morning.

There was something completely innocent in those red eyes, doe-eyed and childish. Pure and untouched.

"I miss them," he smothered a keen of pain low in his throat, but Eliza could still hear it. She knew that he was suffering.

And so she acted on instinct, every muscle of her body singing for her to pull him forward and tuck his head into her neck, her thighs moving to straddle both sides of his hips. She could smell the misery on him, felt it in the way he slackened against her, just falling into her arms and drowning in her scent.

She pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear before moving her cheek into his white hair and closing her eyes. Her heart ached for this boy, this confused Alpha who had no clue what to do now that he'd been practically expelled from his family.

She could feel his tears sliding, a comforting warmth, over her shoulder, down her back, and through her clothes. And she didn't move, just rested on top of him, the fingers of her left hand moving absently up and down his well-toned back.

It was a good ten minutes before he seemed to get it all out of his system. Pulling back from her shoulder, he peered up at her through eyes that were rimmed with a red reminiscent of the hue of his eyes.

"Thank you, meine Eliza," he murmured, before falling silent, his eyes sliding shut and his face scrunching a minute.

Then his muscles tensed beneath the skin, cording and twining. He was a statue of struggling control.

"Gilbert?" asked Eliza uncertainly, not entirely sure of what was happening. His arms were snugly around her now.

"Good Gott, Eliza, you smell…" he trailed off, ducking his head down to her and taking his time with his next inhale. "I think you're in heat, darling," his teeth were gritted, his eyes flicking from her to a spot on the wall behind her.

Eliza chuckled softly, teasingly shifting on his lap and being rewarded with a low growl in response. "Nope, just in preheat, Gil. I've still got a few hours. It gets more intense as I draw closer to the big shebang." She was pleased that he was temporarily distracted from his family situation.

"Let's go get some breakfast, yes?" she suggested, not really waiting for his reply before she was up and off the bed, with his hand in hers, and dragging him down the staircase.

"I saw my pictures on your wall," he purred in her ear as they came to a skidding halt at the foot of the staircase, his ego evidently back in full force. Gilbert was rewarded with the satisfying sight of the tips of Eliza's ears turning red.

"I am truly a gorgeous creature, aren't I?" he sighed, shaking his head. "My awesomeness is almost too much for your room."

Eliza slapped him lightly, noticing the way his eyes shifted a moment.

Oh yes, acceptance would be hard for him.

He was guided into the kitchen, where Etel was sitting with a newspaper and coffee and Aranka was reading over her shoulder, a coffee of her own cupped snugly in her hand.

"Jó reggelt, Gilbert and Eliza," said Etel without even glancing up from the text in front of her.

Aranka, however, snapped her head to stare at the two. "Since when did you two decide to spend Eliza's heat together?" she asked, causing Etel to very slowly and very intimidatingly set the paper down on the warm brown dinner table.

Gilbert swallowed and nervously wiped his hands on his outfit from yesterday.

Elizaveta spoke up before he could.

"Since I decided that I wanted to mate with him, anya," she said, an erratic tempo beating its painful way through her heart.

Etel frowned deeper, but said nothing. She had technically agreed to this with Gilbert. She'd just hoped that her daughter would be more willing to directly tell her that sort of thing. Or even for Gilbert to bring it up. But she wasn't going to take away either of their happiness over such a petty thing.

Aranka's face broke into a wide smile. "I'm going to have grandchildren!" she quipped, clapping her hands together excitedly before pointedly tweaking Etel's ear.

The Alpha took the hint and huffily swatted her mate's hand away. "Yes, yes, so be it." She paused a moment, looking over the two before a devilish smirk found its way to her lips. "These had better be some great looking grandchildren, Eliza, or I shall be disappointed in both your and Gilbert's genes."

Aranka and Etel snickered as the two teenagers before them flushed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, now that you've decided to mate with someone, I shall have to find some temporary accommodations for your mother and me. I have no interest in hearing your antics." Etel made a disgusted face before tucking her newspaper under her arm, taking her coffee with the same hand, and then successfully dragging her beautiful mate out of the room with the other empty one.

She left a very confused and very uncomfortable Gilbert and Elizaveta in her wake.

Gil eventually turned to Eliza a minute later, a smirk of his own on his face. "We would make some damn good-looking babies though, Lizzie."

Elizaveta blinked owlishly at him a moment before laughing. "I think so, Gilbert," she murmured before swaying past him, instincts telling her to be as seductive as possible, towards the freezer where the Eggo Waffles could be found.

She had a bit of an obsession when it came to the frozen breakfast treats, and she could totally feel Gilbert's eyes on her butt. She knew she was playing dirty, but it was hardly her fault when she couldn't quite fight nature so close to her heat.

Though, she didn't hear a peep of complaint from the Prussian Alpha.

By the time the waffles were done, she could feel her pheromones strengthening in the air, and she saw Gilbert's hands reach out to grip the countertop. It was endearing, how he was trying so desperately to keep himself in check. No doubt he'd never even considered it before, but now that she'd gotten so close with him, he respected her enough to let her initiate first contact.

They ate their breakfast in a very loaded silence.

At 11:00 AM they returned to Eliza's room.

At 11:30, her parents left.

At 12:00, she was hit with the full force of her heat. It made her thoughts blend together until she could only think of one thing, one person, one Alpha.

"Gilbert," she moaned, her world a shifting array of colors and warmth and a desperate sensation curling low in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't had time to make a nest, what with Gilbert's drama, and so she began eagerly reaching out for the Alpha who was now staring at her with all the hunger and desire that was to be expected in this situation.

She didn't have to ask again before he was hovering above her, his head dipping to run his teeth and tongue along her neck, feeling her sigh and press her skin against him.

She wanted him to mark her, was waiting for those teeth to sink into her neck and claim her as his. She wanted him to be possessive, and demanding, and unforgiving.

She wanted an Alpha who would take what was essentially his property and make no apologies about it, a far cry from how she was in her normal day-to-day life.

But then again, heat's didn't necessarily make you sensible, or even remotely sane.

And so, as he began to slide her clothes from her hot skin, she returned the favor, her eyes and fingers feasting hungrily on every inch of him that was exposed to her, the strength of his body beneath her hands, the padded skin over the unforgiving muscles beneath.

And as her world melted into heated kisses and tender movements, the passion of desperation and the teeth and delicious pain of nips along her neck, she fell blithely into Gilbert's arms and for perhaps the first time in her life let an Alpha rule her.

There was a conscious part of her in the back of her mind that knew this was only a temporary distraction, that eventually they would have to return to the real world where abused children turned into possessive parents, where Civil Rights was a near impossibility, and where Gilbert would return to an existence that didn't have Ludwig, Amelina, or Alfher in it.

But there was a time to think about those sorts of things, and as Gilbert's teeth sank deliciously into her neck, rightfully marking her as his, she knew that now was not that time.

Yay! The end to Chapter 12.

Rant Time Guys

Right-o. So here we go. Now, if you haven't seen one of my newest stories, than that's totally cool. But an anonymous reviewer posted on my story, Eyes and Lips, that he doesn't understand why people ship USUK/UKUS because they're brothers, and though I'm taking a bit of artistic license with tacking this on, that he considers the ship disgusting.

Now, on that story's description I specifically put "UKUS oneshot." So this reviewer can't have claimed that he was mislead into believing that there would be pairings between France and England or America and other countries. And this reviewer was completely childish in his complaints. If you don't like the ship, than don't read the fanfiction, and don't waste the author's time with stupid comments saying "this ship is so ridiculous. They're both brothers."

Because I will have you know that in Hetalia England and America are not referred to as brothers. It's highly unlikely that England had any time for America, and if one were to look into the history of the United States, one would find points in its period as colony where England had a hands-off policy when it came to the United States colonies. In fact, it was the loss of the hands-off policy that had the Revolutionary War erupting. Do you really think that England had all the time in the world to devote to America? Hell to the no. He had other colonies, other places of the world to conquer. He had his own country of England to worry about, as revolutions were rising up there as well. How stupid do you have to be to read a fucking fanfiction that has UKUS on it and complain about the stupidity of the ship. If you don't like the ship than don't fucking read it and I will say it time and time again. Don't. Fucking. Read. It.

Also, if you don't like the ship, don't piss other people, particularly shippers of it, off by stating that it's "weird," or "unnatural," or "disgusting." Because it's ridiculous. Does what they like affect you in any way? No? Well then leave it alone and move your sorry ass along. There are better things to concern yourself over than whether this random stranger on the internet cares for the same OTP that you have. If they didn't initiate the argument over whether or not FrUK or USUK/UKUS is better than just leave it fucking be and move on with your day.

Jesus Christ, is it that hard?

End of rant.

Have a lovely day!