Aph England And America - Tumblr Posts
Painted woman
It all started at his last birthday party when his boss had given him a birthday present. It had been huge and heavy, but nothing he couldn’t carry. Ripping of the wrapping, he looked upon a magnificent painting, old and beautiful. The frame on was carved with love and skill and the woman in the painting was at least as lovely to see as she must have been in life.
Such a gift had to be given a place where any and all visitors could see it. And such it was given in the home he resided in most often.
He had been wrong about the lady being lovely. The haunted feeling Alfred had felt while walking down the hall to this bedroom hadn’t left him for months now. Every time he walked to or left his bedroom, he walked past the newly acquired painting faster. He felt bad about it, and not in the sense of not liking a gift. Something was wrong with this painting.
Then it got worse, it had gotten to the point he ran past the painting when he had to go past it. Alfred nearly ran past the painting he looked at it and saw the woman’s eyes following him. He immediately stopped in his tracks and ran back into his bedroom, slapping the door shut. Unable to believe it himself, but to afraid to take another look for himself he called Arthur ignoring the differences in time between their respective homes to ask for help.
“The painting is cursed, Arthie. Please help me, I really think it’s haunted.” The American pleaded.
All that earned him were some swear words and snoring sounds. No help there, but he couldn’t stay here alone. He’d have to run past it.
Alfred steadied himself at his bedroom door, visualizing the way down the stairs and out of the front door. Counting to three, he almost threw the door of the room open and flew down the hall towards the stairs. Just as he took the first few steps he felt the need to take one last look at the painting. It was a need he couldn’t explain and one he didn’t want to feel. He stood still in front of the painting and saw it was empty except for the background. The woman had disappeared.
He froze in fear until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Swirling around, he only took good notice of the figure’s eyes before he knew no more.
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The first thing Alfred noticed when he regained consciences, was his inability to move. He found he wasn’t even able blink his eyes, but he could look around. What he could see was the hallway to his own bedroomand then he saw himself walking past. Or someone looking like him, the man held himself differently than Alfred did and he made sure to avoid eye contact with one specific painting. The painting that Alfred had been so afraid of.
The only thing left for Alfred F. Jones to do was look at anyone that might walk across his view or shed tears. The painting allowed him that much, if only to a small limit.
He had never been this hopeless or afraid.
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A few days later there was a frantic knocking on the front door. Someone went to open it and Alfred could hear the sound of a grumpy Englishman.
“Took you long enough to open the door, you git.”
The blond stepped aside to let to older man in.
“Why are you here?”
“You called me, in the middle of the night, about some painting! That’s why I’m here.”
The younger man’s eyes narrowed before they drifted upwards towards the painting.
Arthur followed his gaze and froze upon it’s sight. England had only ever seen eyes that bright blue.
There seemed to be tears the painting hadn’t included earlier.
“Milk?!” He heard behind him, making him turn around and face his former colony. His boy’s eyes should have been the brightest blue like in the painting. Not this dull shade of green, much unlike Arthur’s own emerald colour.
What kind of being was this creature?
“Excuse me?” Arthur asked distracted.
“Do you want milk in your tea?”
“No milk but a little sugar, please.”
He needed to get out of this house and away from this being to get Alfred out of that cursed painting.
If only he could have let his little brother know that he would come back for him soon.
To help Alfred, he needed to get out of that place without letting anyone know.
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Alfred was stuck inside the frame of his new home and saw the man he once looked up to, and really still did, leave without even noticing he was gone. Maybe if he had never said he wasn’t his little brother anymore, England would have cared enough to notice the difference.
As it was, Alfred could only shed more tears. The painting did not allow for enough tears for Al’s sorrows to feel any lighter.
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There were many noises inside the house, mostly outside his line of sight. Suddenly there was one cloaked figure moving towards his painting. That figure was a dragging another one towards his painting, a figure that was screaming and kicking. Then everything happened almost too quick to remember.
He was told to take hold of the man pressed against the painting. He didn’t know how to communicate that he was unable to move, but the cloaked man seemed to know this already and told him he could do it if he just believed in it.
And he did, he had to, it was his only chance to get out of the painting. He felt the woman from the painting being drawn into the frame and with his body free, he focused on that alone.
As he rolled into the hallway he knew so well, he looked up and saw Arthur pressed up against the painting. Getting up to help in any way he could, his former mentor yelled at him to get away. The painting wanted him and drew strength from Alfred. So he stayed away.
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The door rang and when Arthur opened the door, he was greeted by the young American holding a bunch of roses. “For you.” And the roses where pushed into his hands and the younger man evaded eye contact.
“Why the roses?” he repeated.
“I want to be siblings again.”
Arthur sighed. “Look me in the eye then.”
Alfred seemed afraid to do so.
“I didn’t want to be my little brother anymore, but you’re still my little brother.”
That made the younger looking nation look up, straight into…
…
…his big brother’s bright green eyes framed by those huge eyebrows.