Let’s face it, America is sexy. It is exciting, dangerous, crass, brash and violent.
The problem is not that America is screwing us daily - which they are - but that they never send flowers or call afterwards.They barely remember our name. “See you around, doll. Here,” as they toss us a coin, “buy yourself something nice.” It is intercourse without foreplay, when all we needed was a little respect. (Cue the sobbing, chest-beating litany of “I hate you’s”).” —
Why I Hate Canadians by Will Ferguson (via souslelys)
re: Americans <—> Canadians
Why I Hate Canadians by Will Ferguson
Re: American entertainment/tv shows
An agonized shriek pierces the silence of the night and marks the beginning of a hellish nightmare.
The room is pitch black save for a single light bulb that hangs in the middle, swaying slightly with soft creaks of the rusty chain. It illuminates a single piece of furniture: a long metal table. And on that metal table lies Matthew Williams - frightened, throat raw from screaming, bound eagle-spread with no hope of escaping.
Despite the poor lighting, he knows one thing: his captor is standing in the very same room with several tools at hand.
One is a candle with hot wax that drips down its side in slow drips.
Another is a whip.
The third is a blade.
But it’s no good to start in the middle of the story; let’s start from the very beginning, to the very first event that set off this disastrous domino effect.
This story begins with a note: I’d die just to hear you say my name.
oh lookie here more dark!Alfred.
There’s something wrong with me.
Maple candies! /grabby hands
And yes, it indeed is. I try to write during free periods at school, but there’s always someone hanging around me and I can’t write my yaoi without my face going completely red, haha.
I’d never ditch USCan despite UKCan being equally as adorable; those two are much too interesting for me to leave, haha. But I ship Matt with every guy in Hetalia basically. I’ve yet to find an OTP, so until then I’ll keep experimenting with different Canada pairings. /shot
I’ll try to update soon love, but homework’s like the brick wall that magically pops up in my road of writing.
/very tempted by cookies
A-Are they maple flavoured? ; u ;
Alfred stares guiltily at the prone figure on the bed. His anger had gotten the best of him - he regrets it now. Matthew looks so…dead.
With a sigh, he turns to the maid standing expectantly in the doorway. “Fetch him some clothes,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Matthew. “One of my old outfits will do.”
The maid gives a short nod before scampering off to follow orders.
Alfred runs a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t Matthew have just apologized? Better yet, why didn’t he just go to the bathroom, strip, then wash away all of the dirt and grime and God-knows-what-else off?
And now his bed is probably covered in millions of germs.
(On the bright side, though, maybe it means that he’ll get to shower Matthew himself.)
And who the fuck was Gil?
Slave markets generally had high security and it was rare for slaves to escape. Arthur would never be as stupid as to buy from a market that isn’t trustworthy, and if this Gil was some fellow slave, there was a rather slim chance that he’d be any real threat.
Matthew shifts on the bed, groaning softly. Alfred expects him to wake up, but the blond only stirs for a few more seconds before nestling back into slumber, smiling contentedly.
Alfred tilts his head curiously at the smile. “Must be some happy dream,” he muses out loud.
He can’t help the feeling of envy that tugs at his heart. Matthew’s admittedly cute and okay, so maybe Alfred might have a bit of a soft spot-
Don’t you dare start thinking like that, a voice berates. It sounds like his brother, for some unfathomable reason. Bloody git, quit while you’re ahead. He’s a slave, for the Queen’s sake.
“Wh-What was that, sir?” The maid is standing in the doorway with an armful of clothes. Alfred dismisses the question with a shake of his head and takes the clothes.
A mischievous grin of his own spreads across his face - this will be fun.
“What’d he do this time?” Long fingers combed through his hair, carefully smoothing out the knots. Concerned ruby orbs stared down at him.
“S’wasn’t as bad as last time,” Matthew mumbled. He winced a little when Gilbert ghosted a finger over his bruising eye. He would have a nice shiner by the morning, no doubt.
“You’ve got a black eye, a missing tooth, and don’t think that I didn’t see the hickey on your neck,” Gilbert deadpanned.
Matthew chuckled weakly. “No broken bones this time?” he offered, trying in vain to look on the bright side. He wouldn’t tell Gilbert, but his bottom was aching too.
“Fuck, Birdie.” Gilbert looked cross. “I swear, I’m gonna get you out of here soon. We won’t have these damning collars around our necks like we’re a bunch of dogs-“
“I thought you liked this kind of stuff, Gil?”
“Shut up. As I was saying, we’re getting out soon.” When he finished, he sounded more dejected. “I…I promise, okay, Matt? We’ll change our names and go buy a house and go domestic and shit. We’ll even buy a dog.”
“Mhm.” Matthew closed his eyes. He smiled dazedly. “That’d be nice.”
It would never happen in a hundred years, of course. But it was still nice to hear.
It made things seems almost all right.
When Matthew wakes up, he finds himself in an abnormally large bed with equally as abnormally fluffy sheets. His hand flies up to cover his chest - something he does whenever he tries to calm himself - and he discovers that he’s not wearing his own clothes.
He also discovers that he feels freshened, there’s no trace of dirt on him, and his skin is smelling suspiciously like strawberries.
“G-Gilbert?” the name falls from his lips without him meaning to. He supposes that it’s become something akin to instinct now.
“Hm, you keep mentioning this man,” says a voice, and that’s when he sees Alfred standing beside the bed. “I bet you were dreaming about him, too.”
Matthew feels himself go rigid. He presses his lips together hard and doesn’t answer, afraid of another blow.
Alfred smirks. “I’m kind of jealous,” he admits. “But that doesn’t matter; you’ll forget him within the next hour.”
With that said, he produced a satin tie from behind his back and set to work on tying his toy up.