#rusame exchange 2022

[the-heaminator]

Hello @deadandcheerful i was your Rusame secret santa for this year, i do apologise for me straying off plot for a bit, i hope you like it anyhow! 

2.3k, M

They had an arrangement, a deal concocted years ago, it was almost foolish at the time to believe that they could and would protect each other against people who wanted him, well the both of them dead, but they did, and more often than not a body was involved. Alfred had a nearly unquenchable thirst for the macabre, bordering on infatuation with the inner machinations of the being, animal or human, a slave to his desires, and Ivan loved it.

Alfred was smart, he didn't look it, but he was, he had to be, and he had the pure charisma that people turned a blind eye to his activities, the authorities never said anything, well he was never even suspected of anything serious, this good he was at hiding his tracks. He had a similar aura around him that his father used to, speaking of his Father, it was another reason he assumed Alfred was just so good at hiding his tracks, his father had taught him.

Ivan used to consort with Arthur often, there was something about him so potently supernatural that it was near impossible for him to look away, from the entire house (a large one, he was quite rich) there emanated potent sorcery, it seems he had dipped his soul far deeper into hell than he ever did, probably ever would. but he had seemingly paid the authorities to look the other way, and there is no more potent nor widespread human sin as greed, he paid the staff handsomely too, they looked the opposite way when his sorcery and witchcraft became apparent.

Ivan had heard he had a son just when he started to speak to him, Arthur guarded him viciously from Ivan until he supposedly came of age, but the few times he saw him as a child it seemed as something struck him different about him, Ivan had no way of knowing that he listening in on the conversations he had with Arthur, listening behind the door as they discussed of entrails and whatnot, he had once heard a little giggle, quickly stifled from behind that door, and thought it to be nothing important.

Ivan at this point didn't know the manner in which his Father nurtured his natural born talent for persuasion and violence, nurturing the newly germinated seed, allowing himand e vn encouraging him to kill small animals such as mice and rats, he taught him how to gut them and take out their organs without breaking them, he occasionally asked for said organs but more often than not Alfred was allowed to keep his trophies, the first creature he lured and killed intentionally was when he was two and ten.

His father led him out and told him to try and speak to the creatures, he demonstrated, he closed his eyes and suddenly creatures big and small came to him, he grabbed one of them, a small mole, and squished it with his bare hands. He motioned for Alfred to do the same, as he relinquished control over the animals, and Alfred did it, only with the smaller creatures but he would work his way up from there.

His father could see the gleam in his eyes, and he loved it, he knew his boy would grow up strong once he fully came into his power, that he would take a seat on his side, even an Archdaemon, though he shouldn't be getting ahead of himself, the child he had with a foolish mortal woman could very well be his own downfall, though if he wasn't meant to do great and horrible, horrible things, he would never have been born, they were barren unless the child was destined by Madam Fate to do great things, horrible things, but great things nonetheless, and more often than not their children became their heirs, and so he wanted to make his transition a little easier.

Once Alfred accounted to Ivan how his Father, often unavailable emotionally, praised him whenever he came home with a corpse of an animal, said animals kept getting larger and larger, creatures and beasts of larger sizes and higher intellect started to respond to his summons, birds like geese ducks and swans started to come to him, he preferred the geese snd ducks, his father told him not to kill swans, his father considered them to be too deeply tied to the folklore of the region to meddle with.

He was not allowed under any circumstances to interact with other townsfolk until he was of age, that age being 16 summers, so he knew not that most humans could not do what he could, he did not know that boys of 13 summers didn't take joy in killing animals, he didn't know that his father was suspected of being in ranks with Satan, well that was because he knew it for sure, it was no longer a suspicion for him it was a fact.

Geese were easy to kill, their aggression got the better of them as they usually didn't have anything to back up their claims of violence, and fear was not a thing that worked on Alfred very well, he wrung their necks and brought them to the servants to cook. Said servants had been paid handsomely to keep their mouths shut, and now Alfred turning up with two dead mallards and a goose, all expertly plucked and gutted wasn't much out of the ordinary, the organs were all in a small leather pouch that he took upstairs to father as proof of his endeavours.

By this point, Ivan and Alfred had both noticed that Arthur's physical body was growing weaker, but the menacing supernatural air around him only grew stronger, he was praised wonderfully and his father showed him something he never knew he wanted to see, he looked into a shard of a mirror and saw something, it looked like himself quite a lot, though older, and his eyes glowed an electric blue, similar to how his Fathers did on occasion.

He didn't know what it meant, but his Father said he would tell him once he came of age.

A lot of things seemed to ride on him coming of age it seems.

But until then he continued indulging his thirst for blood, large and larger creatures were lured and killed, as his Father's health failed, until the night before his 16th birthday, that was the first time he killed a man.

It was a travelling minstrel or bard of sorts, who had taken to their town for a short period of time, he lured the minstrel with no particular difficulty, who didn't k is who he was following, why he was following him, where he was following him to and why he felt so intoxicated being just near him; he could feel his mind working at halftime, as if he had drunk far too much that night, though he knew he didn't.

Did he?

He also wondered, quite mildly to be that, why he wasn't running away as the boy of no more than 16 summers wielded an axe with reckless abandon, he didn't wonder why he wasn't scared as he was about to be beheaded, and so no scream was heard nor made.

That evening he dragged the corpse home, now the only servant left being an old servant known as Grigory, the rest had been disposed of due to Father's ever-increasing paranoia, him and Grigory had an agreement to give each other no reason to tell on the other, and when Alfred brought a whole human corpse to the table it was nothing too far out of the ordinary, the had was carried separately in a satchel.

Alfred burst into his Fathers room, he was laying down, body exhausted, but his only son showing him the decapitated human head invigorated him, getting up and hugging Alfred, congratulating him greatly before a severe coughing fit caught him in his clutches, he covered his mouth with his hand, and a concoction of blood and black ooze was spattered all over his hand.

"Look I know I do not have much time left, it is to be your 16th summer very soon, i need to explain you many things, though I need Ivan, I trust you know where he lives."

Alfred rushed himself over to where Ivan lived, whilst Arthur wrote down, on a slip of paper in shaky spidery handwriting.

Your beloved will go up in flames, let them consume you too, let them lick your shattered psyche, and your calling will be known soon after, let it permeate your mind, let them do what they wish, do not try to stop them, you will join me not too long after, and your beloved will be there too, so don't you fret. Tomorrow I shall be gone and you will have to take over the business and cover your tracks my son, cover them well.

Ivan was brought over that night, to help with the preparation of the meat and for the introduction to happen, Grigory thought that the meat seemed most similar to pork and cooked it in the same was as he would do to a pig, while Ivan and Alfred were introduced in the sitting room by an utterly exhausted Arthur who kept coughing up more blood, though it started becoming progressively more that black ooze, the dinner was served and eaten, Arthur retired to his bedroom early as Ivan an Alfred talked late into the night, putting the slip of paper in an envelope on Alfred's bedside, before finally allowing hell to reclaim him.

This body lasted a while, far longer than most humans ever did, and just about fulfilled the 16 years he needed to remain on earth, and now the rest was in Alfred's hands.

The next morning he was dead, the illness or whatever it was having claimed him, theoretically Grigory could leave now, but now as he felt honour-bound to this house, he renewed his contract and continued serving the sole master of the house; he had a cushy enough life, a handsome wage and his job wasn't even the most difficult, Alfred wasn't unreasonable in any manner and he would never admit it but he had grown a taste for human flesh, like pork but better, almost richer in a way.

Ivan consistently kept coming to the house, and he could feel a similar air that Arthur used to have around him forming around Alfred, this seemed slightly less restrained, Arthur's was trained and bound, Alfred's fluctuated with his mood, he noticed that whenever he came over it always seemed more pleasured and seemed to surround him in a pleasant way that felt almost like a cat purring contentedly in his lap, it was odd. Alfred kept up his killings, but very few were investigated, who cares if a drunkard goes missing, who cares if a harlot gets misplaced.

Alfred still aged like normal, 4 years after his father had left the world he had grown to his full height, not as tall as Ivan no, but Ivan was also unnaturally tall, he was smart he kept the finances in good shape and avoided suspicion, they grew closer after this time, they slept in the same bed oftentimes, at one house or the other.

The note, the odd prophecy that Alfred had found on the side of his bed the day after his Father died had been read and tried to be comprehended many times in the first few days, and yet he still didn't understand it.

The tensions in the town had been getting high recently, witchcraft allegations had been running rife, and the fingers were pointing steadily towards Ivan.

Alfred was never suspected, he was smart and he was rich, he knew how to cover his tracks, Ivan had not the protection of money and he was a foreigner, already putting him under suspicion, he also aged slowly, putting more suspicion on him. It was on the eve some 10 years later from the night that they met properly that the prophecy seemed to come to light.

In an hour Ivan was due to be burned, the warrant was finally issued, he was to be burned as a witch, he told Alfred to leave, to run, to go far far away while he still could, but he didn't, he was to stay with his beloved while he could.

The prophecy made sense now, but they had an hour, so why not make the best of it no?

Alfred got onto Ivan's lap, and kissed him, pushing his tongue through his mouth and exploring all the ridges that he had explored so many times before as a kind of goodbye, he broke the kiss as Alfred held his waist tightly and ground his dick into Alfred's ass, it getting more and more erect before it stood at full height, Ivan unbuttoned Alfred's trousers, and told, no ordered him to make love.

And so they did, Alfred's mouth cupping his dick and caressing it until he orgasmed, this was the last time they would be able to do this, so they explored each other's bodies too, stroking each other tenderly before getting dressed and responding to his summons, but not before Ivan gave him his scarf, his most prized possession, something his sister had knit so so many years ago, they had died now but the scarf had remained.

He was dressed in a white robe with a symbol of Christ in the front and was shackled to his pyre with silver chains, the pyre was lit and his screams could be heard throughout the town, and Alfred never broke eye contact from it, clutching the scarf to his chest all the while.

He had to let the flames consume his mind, then he would see his beloved again, he needed to see him again.

[kitaychan]

Yankee doodles.

Happy New year @erismor-iok ! I was your secret santa for the rusame exchange 2022. I chose your historical prompt and went a bit overboard with the cold war antics. I hope you like it!

London, 1964.

High ceilings, white walls and minuscule frames made sure to enhance the artworks' presence on the exhibition, vibrant colors and intricate forms guiding the eyes through a journey of styles, techniques, but above all, artistic freedom. A smile made its way into Alfred's face, months, even years of work allowed him, as well as everyone present, to marvel at the creations of an ambitious generation of artists.

He had wandered away from Arthur, or perhaps it had been the other way around, the Englishman seemed to be postponing the well deserved praise for his efforts, a bit of cooperation could go a long way with the right amount of resources and the right justification for such an investment.

Alfred's eyes narrow as he caughts sight of a familiar tall figure, it's impossible not to notice him, though the rest of the public seems dazed with the artworks.

With long quick strides he approaches, until they're standing side by side, a Pollock's painting right before them. Alfred whispers as if that could offer them the slightest privacy in a place like this. "What are you doing here?"

Alfred holds his stare into the painting but he can imagine, he can hear that growing smile, Ivan's voice is just as soft as usual, even that tiny pitch of irony is there. "Isn't that what you wanted, for me to see how much cultural powerness you have?"

He can't help but smile, the same arrogant bright smile that Russia hates but Ivan likes. A small shrug and he answers. "Not everything is about me or you, this time, it's about Arthur, I'm not here to take the credit away from him."

There's a pause, Alfred tries to focus on the painting, on the vigorous strokes and the imposing colors but his heart is hammering on his chest out of anticipation. The counterattack comes swiftly, too soft for his own liking. "You've been busy with these events, Rome, Paris, though I heard the latter was rather disastrous, France can be ruthless with the critics, can't he?"

It's too easy, Ivan must know the answer but Alfred obligues by replying just as the members of the congress for cultural freedom have done for the last years. "You know how prideful they can be. Europe's economy is blossoming once again and it's only natural to revitalize the cultural scene."

"They said it looked superfluous. It's big, it's boisterous, electrifying," Ivan chuckles, motioning with his hand towards the painting, "Perhaps… too American for their liking. I admit, there's a certain merit to what you've achieved here but it's rather obvious for me, and probably for France, that you wanted to deliver a message with this."

Ah, there it is, the strike towards his ego, Alfred can feel his blood boiling, his body tensing and his voice becomes dainty, taunting the bear that sleeps inside the other. "You talk as if I had done this alone, as if Arthur would let me push him around as you do with your…friends. I am not the one with state sponsored art."

A chuckle escapes from Ivan. "Abstract expressionism prides itself in being apolitical, in enhancing the artists' freedom of action as if those statements didn't align with certain american values. That's why France is reluctant to follow up. Rejecting tradition, breaking the past structures, it all sounds so promising to young artists that are receiving your funding, but it's certainly hard to hide the way the concept of freedom has taken a political stance."

The statement leaves Alfred speechless, he didn't expect Ivan to speak so bluntly about it, he ponders on a counterargument, on a way to deny ulterior motives, but this is not the place or the time for a political debate, so he bites his tongue and lets out a laugh, neither accepting nor denying what he's been told.

Ivan seems to understand, joining him on that small laugh as the tension in the air dissipates. His heavy hand rests on Alfred's shoulder. "This exhibition is… refreshing, Arthur should be proud."

You should be proud. It's what Alfred wants to believe he meant. No matter how close they get to each other, the truth has to come in layers, veiled with empty compliments or bitterness.

The rest of the exhibit is a blur to Alfred, he's simply walking around, listening to the intricate words that come out of Ivan's mouth. Sophistication, refinement, those are the words used by the intelligence reports to describe the soviets and their cultural program, and Alfred can tell more or less the reason behind it.

It's not that he can't manage to act like that, it's that he refuses to fall in the same snobbish play. He knows that's a game he cannot win, not against Arthur, and even less so against Ivan. Plus it would be contradictory, to vouch for change while abiding to the old world's antics.

A slight tap on his arm and he's taken out of his thoughts, Ivan's face is curious as if wanting to pry the words away from his mind. The Russian leans closer and Alfred holds his breath. "You can tell me if I'm boring you,"

Alfred shakes his head, his hand resting on the red sculpture before them, a not so careless act even when he knows he shouldn't touch it. The steel is cold, it grounds him, reminds him that there's more more in this world than just the warmth of Ivan's hand resting on his shoulder.

Before he can retrieve his hand, there's a pause, a phantom touch on the base of his neck that makes him shiver. "You are awfully physical today,"

"Perhaps I'm trying to infect your pristine morals with my devious red claws."

Alfred chuckles, moving away from the sculpture and heading out. The cold air bites on his skin and he shivers, they stand beside each other, separated by a pillar, a godforsaken roman column, allowing themselves to be close, but not so much in case someone is watching.

Clothes rustle as the Russian fishes in his coat for a flask, taking a swig and offering him to drink. Ivan's features are probably carved out of the finest marble, he can't detect a single sign of malice or playfulness, nothing, and that's what sets all kinds of alarms in Alfred's head.

He extends his hand, their fingers touching for a brief moment before the cold silver erases the feeling. He can feel Ivan's eyes following his every move, but he is not one to shy away, so he smiles, accepts the flask and drinks. Slowly, because the alcohol is bitter, it feels like it burns him inside but the taste is familiar, soothing, and so is the warmth that spreads on his body, on his cheeks, he chuckles as the Russian averts his gaze.

There's a certain satisfaction in melting his cold heart, too bad he can't brag about it, at least not publicly. "You're not getting any favors from me, I can't promote everyone and your name is on the top of my blacklist."

"Ironic, we're not so different then," Ivan says, as if the comment didn't poke into an open wound. "Do you think that if I paint something like that, it would have a chance to be displayed in New York?"

"Yes, I would hang it on my living room but isn't this considered superfluous and vain?" Alfred asks sincerely, he wouldn't mind owning a painting done by the other, he is not sure if the other has an artistic strike at all. "Wouldn't you rather paint life as it is instead of these yankee doodles?"

"Ah but where would be the fun in painting your suburban neighborhoods? I prefer to trace your defense maps and send them via museum as a threat, or perhaps I can try to paint Lenin's face on the window of your penthouse, would that be better?"

The scene is absurd enough to break his act, to send him into a fit of laughter, he leans on the column. "You'd have to get there first,"

"If I set my mind on it, I will,"

"One day I'll invite you there," There's a pause after that and Alfred fears that he's made a mistake but the Russian gives him a small smile, soothing his nerves.

"One day…" Ivan says, hiding his hands in his pockets. "Until then, I hope you enjoy the praise. You've earned it."

"I'll be waiting for your painting," Alfred says, though he gets no reply.

Coldness is creeping on his bones as he returns to the gallery, the exhibition is a success, and he hopes his breath doesn't reek of alcohol when he approaches Arthur again, though he doesn't mind the lingering taste on his mouth. One day… his mind echoes, but he doesn't dare to finish that train of thought.

Notes

This story is set during the temporary exhibition of the Tate Gallery: 'Painting and sculpture of a Decade 54-64'. The exhibition – that attracted a big audience and showed more than 350 artworks- meant a crucial point in the artistic world of Britain, with its claim for artistic and cultural funding and parallel to it, the request of establishing a Museum of Modern Arts in London (following the same line as in Paris or New York) and finally to revert the deficit of the public galleries on the city that by the end of the 1950s was impossible to hide.

The Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF) was an anti-communist advocacy group founded in 1950. It was later revealed that the CIA was instrumental in the establishment and funding of the group. The Congress aimed to enlist intellectuals and opinion makers in a war of ideas against communism. It aimed to challenge the post-war sympathies with the USSR of many Western intellectuals, particularly among liberals and the non-Communist Left. That is not to say that the intellectuals (be it artists, writers, diplomats and so on) were explicitly in favor or aware of the CCF operations and goals. More than a direct course of action, the CCF took advantage of a tightly knit group of influence and unlimited funds to invest in several conferences, exhibits, newspapers and events in order to try and shape the public opinion towards a more sympathetic view of the United States influence on the cultural scene.

Western Europe's art scene wasn't exactly welcoming for the cultural agenda that the CCF with the help of institutions such as the Museum of modern arts of New York (MoMA) or sponsors such as the Rockefeller fund had in mind, some artists and critics argued about a subtle “Americanization” of art promoted by the American government, they saw this expansion as a cultural colonization, strengthened in artistic styles such as the abstract expressionism.

Abstract expressionism (as well as the artists inside that artistic movement) weren't explicitly opposing or rivaling the USSR, the social realism movement or the communist ideals. In fact, a great deal of artists were investigated and harassed by the public opinion for having "sympathy" with the leftist, socialist or communist political spectrum, which ironically ended up with a reticence inside the United States to display or promote abstract expressionism while continuously investing on artworks to "ship off" itinerant exhibits outside of the United States.

There were some unfounded accusations against the abstract expressionists for being "tools of the Kremlin" and for revealing the US defense maps or delivering secret messages through the paintings as well as for creating "decadent" artworks.

Also fun fact, when Ivan talks about painting Lenin on Alfred's penthouse it's meant as a sort of silly reference to the "Man at the Crossroads" fiasco in New York city's Rockefeller's center.

There's a lot of bibliography regarding the Cold war but for the specific topic of the "Cultural Cold War" and the operations of the CCF, Frances Stonor Saunders' book "The CIA and the cultural cold war" offers plenty of information as well as more bibliography about it.

There's also the work of Eva Cockcroft, 'Pollock and after, the critical debate. Abstract Expressionism a Weapon of the Cold War.' that speaks about the MoMA's agenda of promoting abstract impressionism and the funding of the Rockefeller family on it.

England's economic, cultural and political period in which the Tate Gallery's exhibit was built and displayed is thoroughly explained by Andrew Stephenson in Painting and Sculpture of a Decade ’54–’64 Revisited.

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

Secrets Only the Stars Know

Gift to @orbitinghetalia for the Rusame gift exchange 2022! Prompts were Pottertalia, fluff, and secret relationship with a preference for Nyo!Ame and Russia as supportive loving partners.

Would like to note that I don't know ANYTHING about Harry Potter and had to recruit a few friends for help. But I have been told that Hogwarts is located in Scotland?? So for the sake of "I don't want to deep dive how they ended up at Hogwarts," they will be immigrants or something. Or like second gen. Anyways, enjoy

Word count: 2446

Summary: Before the two part ways for Christmas break, Ivan gives Amelia a little gift

Rating: T for one curse word lmao

Link to ao3 in notes

It smelled like Ivan. 

That was the only thing that Amelia could think about as she made her way through the darkness with his hand at her back—guiding her. She took a deep breath, breathing in the scents of the green and silver scarf tied around her eyes. There was the scent of leather, cinnamon, and… she laughed.

“Ivan, your scarf smells like wormwood” —her lips turned at the corner— “I wonder why that is.” Amelia didn’t need to see to be able to view the shame in Ivan’s eyes. She could sense it. 

“I’ve already admitted that you were right. Is that not enough, my princess?” His teasing earned him a firm stomp on the foot, but because Amelia couldn’t see, it saved him the little punishment. 

“I think not! I failed that assignment because of you. You almost ruined my grade! And my hair.” She gave a soft huff as she remembered how Ivan’s mistake had turned explosive and nearly set her on fire. The classroom—on the other hand—did not have that mercy. Even with the professor’s quick magic, their failed Draught of Living Death had left char marks on the walls of the potion room bad enough that they had to stay after class to clean it up. 

“Have you forgotten that I saved you?” 

“I wouldn’t have been in a situation that needed saving if you would have simply listened to me, you stubborn snake.” 

“Loud-mouth lion,” Ivan muttered under his breath. But Amelia had heard it. 

She retaliated with a backhanded smack in the chest, and Amelia smiled as she heard him give out a satisfying grunt of pain. “I heard that.” 

Ivan let out a breath as he rubbed at his sore stomach. Then he said in a strained voice, “are you forgetting that I am your eyes? That I can just leave you here?” 

“And are you forgetting” —Amelia turned to him with that mischievous grin again— “that I can simply… take it off?” She giggled as she lifted the scarf from her eyes, but she was only able to catch the smallest glimpse of grass and leaves in the moonlight before Ivan quickly pulled the fabric back down and batted her hands away. 

“Stop it. You’ll ruin the surprise!” There was almost a pout in his tone and Amelia couldn’t help but giggle some more. 

“Alright alright, I won’t look.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned her body against his. “Just promise not to lead me into a lagoon or something.” 

Ivan let out an amused grunt before he brushed her bangs from her forehead and lay a chaste kiss on her temple. “Of course,” he whispered in that gentle voice of his. “I promise.”

Amelia felt herself growing flustered. Years of dating did nothing to dull the effects of Ivan’s voice. And to think that years ago, she thought that his voice could be compared to that of a troll’s. 

What started out as a fierce rivalry had taken a turn in the opposite direction after a brutal quidditch match. Amelia had accidentally slammed her club into his chest as she was aiming for the quaffle, and as a result, Ivan had nearly cracked his skull open as he plummeted to the ground. Gryffindor won without Ivan to defend the Slytherins, but Amelia couldn’t celebrate when she knew it was an unfair victory. Before she knew it, she was at his bedside with roses and an apple pie, and it was all downhill from there. 

They had fallen for each other so quickly, but because they were in rival houses, the two lovebirds snuck around like criminals just to see one another. It was why Ivan had chosen to take her through the woods in the middle of the night to give Amelia her Christmas gift. And it was possibly why Ivan had found the need to blindfold her. But Amelia had a feeling that Ivan had done that just to spite her. 

“Are we there yet? It’s been ages,” she grumbled. Amelia was much too impatient for surprises, and as much as she trusted Ivan, being blindfolded and taken through the woods in the dead of night was beyond unnerving no matter who it was guiding her. 

Ivan reached out to take her hand into his then gave her a comforting squeeze. “Count to ten, then we’ll be there.” 

So she did, because she trusted him. 

She counted to ten, and when she reached ten, they stopped, and Ivan’s arms left her. It turned cold without him by her side, but Amelia could feel that he was still there. 

“Go ahead,” he urged. 

Then slowly, Amelia lifted the scarf from her eyes. She blinked rapidly to get used to the light again, then her eyes landed on the soft smile of her boyfriend standing in front of a sparkling lake. His hair was almost silver under the moonlight and she couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked with that gentle smile of his. Her eyes then followed his hand motions down to a large rectangular box, wrapped in brown paper, then she pouted. 

“This is my present?” 

Ivan froze and glanced to the side, confused. “Well… yes. You have to unwrap it.” 

Amelia breathed in a deep breath as she closed her eyes, and when they opened, she looked at Ivan with flat lips. “You really do have warts for brains, don’t you?”

Ivan glanced off to the side once more like he was missing some part of a joke and the answer was hidden somewhere in the trees. “I… You haven’t even opened it and you don’t like your gift? I assure you, if you would just open it—”

“Ivan, that isn’t the point! It is wrapped.” She took a step closer with her hands on her hips. Her laughter was becoming harder and harder to contain, but she restrained herself just so she could see Ivan’s flustered and bewildered reaction. 

Ivan looked again at the wrapped box on the ground, silently urging it to give him a hint what his girlfriend was talking about. But the large box remained silent and stared back at him mockingly. “Did you” —he furrowed his brows, gesturing awkwardly at the gift laying in the grass— “did you not want me to wrap it? I don’t—” He trailed off, his voice rising a pitch above his normal voice as his confusion mounted. “Is it the wrong color?” 

“It’s wrapped so I can’t see it!” Two little giggles escaped as she held up Ivan’s scarf that had been covering her eyes. 

It was almost as if she could see the gears in his head slowly turning. Then at last, Ivan parted his lips and let out a very, very intelligent, “ah.” 

Her laughter exploded from her chest with such force that it startled the owls in the trees, but Ivan remained silent as his face turned a dark shade of red. The gift had been wrapped. Even without the blindfold, she still would not have been able to see her gift. He had wasted all that time and effort leading her through the academy and the woods just to take her to a box she still couldn’t see. Ah, perhaps he did have warts for brains. But seeing that infectious smile spread across her face and watching her bend over in laughter made it all worth it. 

“Alright alright, ha ha, laugh it all out.” His voice was drenched in amused sarcasm as he pulled her into his arms and held her tight as if to squeeze every last laugh out of her. “Yes yes, I have the wit of a toad, it is all very funny, ha ha.” 

He lay a kiss on the top of Amelia’s head, then at last, her laughter simmered down. “God, I love you,” she giggled as she wrapped Ivan’s scarf back around his neck. Then, using the scarf as leverage, she pulled him down and stood on her toes to kiss him. 

“Even if my skull is empty, you will still love me?” He smiled as he brushed her hair out of her face with the gentlest touch. 

“Even if you’re the stupidest man on the earth, I will still love you. Unless” —she looked down at the gift with one raised brow—”you got me a stupid gift.” 

“I assure you, when you see what I got for you, you will be singing your praises.”

“That confident, are you?” 

“Oh I am very confident.” 

“Then we shall see.” She popped up to give him another quick peck on the lips before squatting down to inspect the wrapped box. 

It really was large. Almost six feet in length and a foot tall and wide. Almost like—

“You didn’t,” she gasped as she turned to look at him. Ivan simply smiled and looked away. 

It had taken only seconds before she was tearing at the paper like a rabid animal until she got to the wooden box hidden underneath. And when she ripped open the lid of the box, she let out a shriek of excitement so loud that it could have been heard back at the school. “The Firebolt Supreme!” 

Ivan barely had the time to react before Amelia tackled him to the ground and smothered him with kisses. 

“Oh I love you, I love you, I love you! God, I love you!” She let out another ear-piercing scream as she hugged Ivan so tight that he let out a breathless choke. He had to pat her several times on the back for her to finally let him go, and for him to see his girlfriend’s tear-stained face. 

“He wouldn’t let me buy it,” she blubbered, wiping away her snot and tears with her scarf. “That bastard shopkeeper said it doesn’t belong in the hands of a mudblood. I almost strangled him, I—” She grit her teeth at the memory of that wretched old man and reached out to strangle his invisible neck. 

“Well, lucky for you your boyfriend is a pureblood.” Ivan stretched out on the grass under Amelia and folded his hands behind his head. “I would like to see him try and deny me business. My father will have his entire shop burnt down.” 

“Oh you’re so cute when you’re evil,” she cooed. 

“Is it evil, or is it deserved?” 

“Deserved.” Amelia mirrored Ivan’s smirk. “I’m going to hover in front of his shop just to spite him. If he wants to take it back, well, he’s going to have to catch me first.” 

Hopping off Ivan’s lap, she plucked the broomstick out of the box and tested out its weight in her hands. For something with such power and speed, it felt light as air in her grasp. The dark handle was smooth, and the silver bipod glinted in the moonlight. It was simply perfect and she felt her eyes welling up once more at its beauty. 

For once, she found herself to be speechless. Amelia always knew what to say, but she was silent as she mounted the handle and hovered above the ground on it. It held her so steadily and it was almost as if she could feel the magic pulsing through the wood. 

She slowly circled around him, once, twice, three times, and Ivan turned to watch her until his head grew dizzy. Then with an exhilarated squeal, she shot into the air and blasted across the clear lake with such force that it split the water at the surface. 

It was perfect. 

Flawless! 

She shouted into the night sky until her voice grew sore, then as she was finally beginning to settle her heartbeat, a flash of blue whizzed past her. 

It was Ivan on his Starsweeper, and while that broomstick was possibly the most stunning one to look at on the market, it just wasn’t fast enough for her liking. 

“Having fun?” He flew closer to her until their knees bumped together, and close enough for him to sneak in another kiss. 

“Yes, I’m having a great deal of fun” —she whispered the words against his lips before jabbing her finger against his forehead and gently pushing him away—”without you.” Then with a mighty kick, she shoved Ivan’s broomstick several feet away from her, making Ivan scramble to catch his balance again as he spiraled towards the water. Amelia knew that the Slytherin’s best keeper would be able to handle a little kick, yet she still watched him just in case her boyfriend needed a bit of saving. 

Several feet below her, Ivan steadied his broomstick and looked up at her with amused vengeance, and Amelia stared right back with fluttering eyelashes and an innocent grin. “Sorry darling, I lost my balance.” Her voice was pitched like the one she used when asking professors for an extension on an assignment, and there wasn’t even an ounce of regret in her tone.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. Little by little, he flew closer to her, but knowing his game, Amelia backed away. “Now, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t… help you.” 

He lunged towards her then, reaching out to grab her broomstick and knock her out of balance like she did him, but with a quick little turn, Amelia slipped out of his grasp—the sleeve of her black robe just barely grazing Ivan’s fingertips. 

“Dear oh dear,” she said in that posh, mocking voice she faked when she was being dramatic, “oh it is so hard to control, this little thing. I am dreadfully sorry.” But she wasn’t, and Ivan knew it. 

He tried again to reach her, but there was a reason the Firebolt Supreme was the best on the market. Amelia dodged him time and time again, each time being only slightly out of his grasp to tease him. And before they knew it, the two were chasing each other across the lake with uncontainable laughter. The air that whipped around them painted their cheeks pink and their ears red, but neither of them cared. 

It wasn’t until they grew sore from riding did they reluctantly end their little game. They walked back instead of flying because it gave them more time to be together—more time for Amelia to hold his hand, and for Ivan to steal kisses. When they reached the school, they shared one last kiss before parting ways. And when morning came, they would act as rivals again. But in each little jab and quip, there would be just a bit of magic between them that only they would know about. 

Their secret little love. 

[helltalia-inc]

Event Calendar

For 2021!

Please, let me know if there is a mistake or if I missed something. And of course, don't forget to check @heta-on-the-books, @hetaliahappenings and @helltalia-inc ✨ If you are planning on hosting an event, then please reach to us to help spreading the word. Here on this blog, I tend to reblog the event' announcement/ prompt list in each 4-7 days.

January

➡️ @spainromanoevents (still accepting submissions on their last event)

➡️ @spring-has-come (the latest day to post is January 14th)

⭐ Monaco' Birthday (08/01)

➡️ @prumano-week (Signups: 10-20)

➡️ @germanbrosweek (17-23)

⭐ Prussia' Birthday (18/01) ⭐

➡️ @heta-oc-week (24-30)

⭐ Australia' Birthday (26/01) ⭐

February

⭐ Holy Roman Empire' Birthday (02/02) ⭐

➡️ @hetaliancupid-hetaliaevent (08-14)

⭐ Japan' Birthday (11/02) ⭐

⭐ Spain's Birthday (12/02) ⭐

➡️ @prukweek (15-22)

⭐ Lithuania' Birthday (16/02) ⭐

➡️ @cucan-week (21-27)

➡️ @historical-hetalia-week (22-28)

➡️ @fuckyeahaphestonia (22-28)

⭐ Estonia' Birthday (24/02) ⭐

⭐ Egypt' Birthday (28/02) ⭐

March

➡️ @nedtai-week (01-07)

⭐ Bulgaria' Birthday (03/03) ⭐

⭐ Eyebrow day (03/03)

⭐ South Italy and North Italy' Birthday (17/03) ⭐

➡️ @ruscanweek (14-20)

➡️ @hwsredraw2021 (15-21)

⭐ Greece' Birthday (25/03) ⭐

April

⭐ FrUk Day (08/04) ⭐

➡️ @amelietweek (11-17)

⭐ Hutt River' Birthday (21/04)

⭐ England' Birthday (23/04) ⭐

May

➡️ @highwaytohelltalia (01-31 with #Mermay)

➡️ @engportevents (08-15)

⭐ Norway' Birthday (17/05) ⭐

⭐ Cuba' Birthday (20/05) ⭐

➡️ @ruspruweek (30-05 of June)

June

⭐ Denmark' Birthday (05/06)

⭐ Sweden' Birthday (06/06) ⭐

➡️ @aushun-week (07-13)

⭐ Hungary' Birthday (08/06 or 20/08?)

➡️ @aphrarepairweek2021 (14-20)

⭐ Iceland' Birthday (17/06) ⭐

➡️ @frukusweek (21-28)

⭐ Seychelles' Birthday (29/06) ⭐

July

⭐ Canada and Hong Kong' Birthday (01/07) ⭐

⭐ America' Birthday (04/07) ⭐

➡️ @usukweek (04-10)

➡️ @welovefrukmerunning (Romerica and Itapan event, from 11-17)

⭐ Liechtenstein' Birthday (12/07) ⭐

⭐ France' Birthday (14/07) ⭐

➡️ @hwsmicronationweek (18-24)

➡️ @hwsocshipweek (19-25)

⭐ Belgium' Birthday (21/07)

⭐ Poland' Birthday (22/07) ⭐

⭐ Netherlands' Birthday (26/07)

➡️ @femtalia-hetaliaevent (26-02 of August)

➡️ @rmch-week (26-01 of August) CANCELED

➡️ @ask-the-world (26-08 of August, Hetalia Germany Ship Week)

August

⭐ Switzerland' Birthday (01/08) ⭐

➡️ @amechucorner (02-09)

➡️ @prumano-week (09-15)

➡️ @portvene-week (16-22)

➡️ @aphasiaweek (11-20)

⭐ South Korea' Birthday (15/08) ⭐

➡️ @spainromanoevents (15-21)

➡️ @aph-norway-week-2021 (17-23)

➡️ @hetaliashipsweek (22-28, with Fruk week)

➡️ @estfin-week (22-29)

⭐ Ukraine' Birthday (24/08) ⭐

⭐ Belarus' Birthday (25/08) ⭐

⭐ Moldova' Birthday (27/08)

➡️ @hetafamilyweek (29-04 of September)

September

⭐ Vietnam and Sealand' Birthday (02/09) ⭐

➡️ @hws-germano-week (05-11)

➡️ @hetalia-polyship-week (10-17)

➡️ @hetaliaplatonicshipsweek (12-18)

⭐ Nedport Day (September 25)

➡️ @dennorweek (25-03 of October)

October

⭐ China' Birthday (01/10)

➡️ @germanbrosweek (01-07)

➡️ @pruktober (01-31)

⭐ Germany' Birthday (03/10) ⭐

➡️ @prucanweek (3-9)

➡️ @gereng-week (4-10)

⭐ Portugal' Birthday (05/10) ⭐

➡️ @welovefrukmerunning (8-14, with 2ptalia event)

➡️ @aph-spain-week (10-15)

➡️ @rusprutober (10-16)

➡️ @hetaween-hetaliaevent (18-31)

➡️ @ecuperweek (21-27)

❤️ Hetalia Day (24/10) ❤️

⭐ Taiwan' Birthday (25/10) ⭐

⭐ Austria' Birthday (26/10) ⭐

⭐ Turkey' Birthday (29/10) ⭐

November

➡️ @ask-hws-chuiggy (01-07)

⭐ Wy' Birthday (15/11) ⭐

➡️ @aph-mirror-week (15-21) CANCELED

⭐ Latvia' Birthday (18/11) ⭐

➡️ @brargweek (24-30)

December

⭐ Romania' Birthday (01/12)

⭐ Thailand' Birthday (05/12)

⭐ Finland' Birthday (06/12) ⭐

➡️ @welovefrukmerunning (with Ancient Hetalia event week, from 12-18)

➡️ @lubewig-bottomschmidt (RusGer event from 19-25)

⭐ Macau' Birthday (21/12)

➡️ @geritapan-christmas-week (25- 2022 January 01)

⭐ Russia' Birthday (30/12) ⭐

➡️ @spaceracedates (Rusame Secret Santa)

➡️ @medieval-fantasy-hetalia-exgift (Medieval Fantasy Gift Exchange)

➡️ @lietpolsecretsanta (LietPol Secret Santa)

✨Monthly Prompts✨

➡️ @hetalia-writers-monthly

💭 On Holding 👀

@italyshipweek

NOTE: I have no idea if the birthday' dates there are correct, so please correct me if they are wrong.

Also, also... Since we have already an event for 2022, another calendar will be made! And it's linked here.