A/N: Alright, so obviously this is my depiction of the cold war. Naturally, it's a RusAme fic. But I'm using femAmerica and male Russia. (Just to clarify again. I already said so in the summary) However, you can consider this fic slightly AU due to the fact that both the male and female counterparts coexist in the same world. In other words, Alfred F. Jones is present in this story alongside his twin sister, Emily F. Jones (nyotalia America). Together, they represent America. The same goes for all the other nations. Both take part in the cold war against Russia and his female counterpart, but the main characters are Ivan Braginski and Emily F. Jones. Alright. Clear clear? As much as I love yaoi, I just picture the story this way. Okay! Let's start!
Prologue:
June 16th, 2012
Alfred took another huge bite of his burger. The scalding hot greasy goodness that attacked his mouth resulted in a large moan to escape his mouth. He closed his eyes in ecstasy as he reveled in the amazing taste of his American "epic-as-hell" hero food.
"Dude! Did you just have a freaking foodgasm?" exclaimed Emily with an amused expression on her face, staring at her twin brother with a mixture of admiration and disturbance.
Alfred swallowed and announced, "Yes. Heroes have foodgasms when they eat amazing food."
Emily scoffed, flipping her medium length golden brown hair. She responded, "Nuh-uh. Heroes have foodgasms when they eat hot dogs!"
To emphasize her point, she took a huge bite out of the hot dog in her right hand. The mustard and ketchup oozed onto her fingers. Once she was done swallowing, she licked her fingers clean.
"Psshhh. Hot dogs? Burgers can beat the shit out of hot dogs any day," reprimanded Alfred as he finished off his burger, slightly saddened that he had managed to devour the whole thing in less than two minutes. He looked around the Italian street to see if there were any fast food joints nearby. He frowned as he realized that there were none that he could spot.
"Plus," he added, looking down at his considerably shorter sister. "Hot dogs are shaped like dicks."
Emily smirked. "Oh please, brah. We all know you like it up the ass. Arthur does you the favor all the time…"
"God, shut up! That was like…one time! And we were both fucked as shit!" he fumed, his face heating up at the mention of Arthur. Okay…maybe it wasn't just one time. Maybe it was twice. Or four times. Or ten…but who the hell is counting? Plus, he didn't even know what to make of his "relationship" with the island nation. It was definitely in the awkward stage.
"One time my ass. You totally dig him," Emily said as she took another bite of her hot dog.
"Whatever," Alfred pouted, desperately wishing that there was a burger joint somewhere. "And it WAS one time! All the other times, I'm the one who did HIM the favor."
Emily threw her head back and laughed. "Yeah. I heard he's small anyways. I don't know how any brother of mine can have such low standards. Come on, Alfred! Even our dear invisible brother Matthew did better! He's fucking Gilbert, dude! I know from personal experience that the albino is huge."
Alfred's eyes grew wide from behind his glasses. "P-Personal experience?"
Emily rolled her eyes and held a hand up. "Last year's Christmas Eve, Kiku's house, completely baked. End of story."
Alfred was still stunned at the revelation. He cringed as he imagined any one of the nations groping his sister. That's just…oh God, no! Bad mental image! Oh shit! What if she and Francis fooled around? EIW! EIW! That would result in some freaking kinky crap!
"Who else have you fooled around with?" Alfred asked, feeling slightly scarred. He didn't even know why he was asking. It's not like he actually wanted to know what went down between his sister and any of the other nations.
Emily raised an eyebrow at her brother and responded, "Well…there was that one night two years ago with Feliciano and Ludwig. Those two can be as horny as hell, let me tell you. Then that other time when we were in Athens, I got completely smashed with Heracles and we-"
"Okay, you can stop now."
"…oh and then that one time with Lovino and Antonio. I'm telling you...when you're part of a threesome with two guys that are totally into each other, it's pretty awesome. And also, last year, Natalia and I-"
"Um… Seriously. Stop. I don't want to hear my sister's sexual adventures," Alfred said, feeling as if someone had permanently scarred his brain with mental images of his sister screwing every single nation there was.
"Hey, you asked," she said nonchalantly as she finished off her hot dog.
Alfred groaned. "When did my sister become a whore? That's Francis's job!"
"Oh! I almost forgot! When we took that trip to Paris a few years back, Francis and I totally f-"
Alfred covered his sister's mouth. He was already scarred enough…but add Francis Bonnefoy to the mix, along with his sister….that's just a big fat no.
After a few more moments of bickering, the two stopped in front of a tall intricate building that seemed to tower up to the blue Italian sky. Alfred allowed himself to actually admire the majesty of it. Feliciano may be a pussy, but he sure knew how to decorate his shit.
"I think this is it," Emily said as she walked forward toward the ancient looking wooden door. She rapped on it three times before placing her hand on her hip and cocking it to the side.
"Dammit, I wish I had a hot dog," she stated rather frustratingly.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open and the head of Feliciano popped out. He was grinning his squinty-eyed smile, his cheeks glowing and his copper curl as curly as ever. Alfred always wondered what would happen if he just cut it off one day…
"Ve! Bonjourno Emily…Alfred. You got here just in time for the pasta! I even made a pizza!" he announced enthusiastically.
"Wassup, Feli," Emily greeted, reaching up on her tip toes to ruffle the top of the Italian's hair. Feliciano looked slightly taken aback at the gesture, but quickly recovered with a smile as he beckoned them in.
The immediate sound of Italian style guitar music mixed with mumbled conversations swam down the narrow stone hall with towering ceilings and soaring beams. Alfred and Emily both followed Feliciano, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor. The two Americans were gaping unashamedly at the castle-like intricacies that enveloped the three of them.
Dude! I need to make a place like this! It would be totally sick!
As they approached the end of the hall, the voices got more and more distinct.
"Just go avay, Gilbert!"
"Kesesese. You can't tell me to go away, West. I'm too awesome for that."
"Why do you make it a priority to be so obnoxious?"
"Was I talking to you eyebrows? I don't think so. Don't taint my awesomeness, please."
"Just shut up you fucking bastards! I'm trying to enjoy my damn pasta here!"
"Oh! And don't forget the tomatoes!"
"I wasn't talking to you, tomato bastard."
"You're so cute when you blush."
"ARGHHH!"
Feliciano's facial expression became more and more flustered as the voices grew louder. Finally, he led them to a large room with large glass windows and a domed ceiling, which featured a rather renaissance styled painting.
And gathered in this room were all of the nations, engaged in some sort of activity. Alfred realized that even some of his own states had made it. That just shows that tonight was gonna be banging. Maybe he'd be able to get it in with Arthur again…
Speaking of Arthur…
The English man looked extremely flustered and red faced as he took another drink of his scotch. He was surrounded by a very tipsy Gilbert, a very aggravated Ludwig, and a pissed off looking Lovino (who was trying desperately to eat his pasta, but failing to do so because Antonio hovered over him, making sexual remarks involving tomatoes.)
"I'm going to check on the pizza! Help yourself to some pasta!" Feliciano piped up enthusiastically before scampering off toward a wooden door at the other end of the room.
"Yo, I'm in desperate need of some booze," Emily remarked as she walked further into the room. Her brother followed after her, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur, who seemed to become redder…and sexier by the second. Alfred felt his lips curl up slightly in a smirk. Maybe a drink wouldn't be so bad either…
Emily rolled her eyes. "Stop making googly eyes at him. Just drink some shit and get it in. Stop being a pussy and hurry along."
Alfred glared at his sister and said, "Heroes aren't pussies!"
"Since when were you a hero?"
"Low hit, sis."
Emily ignored this and turned back around, searching the room for any booze. There had to be some somewhere…if only this room wasn't so damn big. Seriously! Fucking Europeans and their huge ass castles. Their houses and hotels just happen to be pint sized, but they blow their castles out of proportion. It doesn't make sense!
What she really wanted right now was a hot dog with a Miller's Light to wash it down. She also wanted to either be lying on her ass in front of the television right now, or getting it in. From the current situation she was in, she was obviously going to opt for the second option.
Plus, she was pretty sure that there would be no Miller's Light anywhere here.
Emily saw Daisy Vargas, already pretty tipsy, as she performed a rather epic motorboat on Louise Beilschmeidt's breasts. Seriously, what is up with the Germany and North Italy siblings? They like…all have a thing for each other. Plus, if Emily were to motorboat someone's boobs, it would be Yekaterina's. Seriously, those things are freaking huge!
She passed by a few chattering US states and rolled her eyes. Jesus! They were so annoying! Especially that bitch, Ashley Richardson-Jones.(California) She was always flashing her ass and flipping her oh-so-blonde hair so that she could get some. Then there was that hippie bitch Mckenzie Creek-Jones. (Oregon). She may smell like weed and say the weirdest things ever, but for some reason, both her brother and Arthur fawned over her for the longest time.
Finally, FINALLY…Emily saw the liquor. Holy shit…there was a lot. All the nations probably brought their unique shit from their home.
The American girl started to make her way to the table, but then she tripped over something on the ground. She gave a yelp of surprise as she stumbled forward. She cursed and looked down to see a sleeping Heracles Karpusi, his limbs stretched at odd angles, and his head turned to the side, where his shaggy brown hair spilled all over his face.
Damn Greeks and their random siestas.
Right now…she had her eyes on that vodka…
She managed to close her hand around the vodka bottle, but faltered when she realized that the inscription on the label was Russian.
Emily started to debate with herself. She really really wanted the vodka…but she vowed herself to never EVER drink or eat anything that has any sort of Russian acrylic shit on it. That's just how much she hated him. Alfred may have embraced the "forgive and forget" thing, but Emily sure as hell didn't. After all, SHE was the one who took her brother's place as sole personification of the United States as a nation during the Cold War. Her brother wasn't calling the shots.
The ONE time that she acts as the dominant "America" just HAD to be when that fucking commie was involved.
She would've rather led The United States during both the World Wars. Of course her brother would hand over the reins to his cute twin sister so that he wouldn't have to directly deal with the sociopathic nation.
And she had no clue how painful it would all be in the end. Despite the fact that no shots were fired or real damage was done…the real pain came from the endless waiting and tension and emotion…and…fuck! Both she and her brother don't DEAL with that crap well! She remembered how torn up her brother was after the American Revolution, despite his victory. He kept crying about Arthur for freaking ever. Then there was that disastrous civil war. That was the ONE time she ever fought against her brother…and she lost. That was some of the greatest pain that she had ever experienced and it took her forever to actually acknowledge her brother with any sort of decency…especially after all of the harsh measures he imposed on her just for requirement to rejoin the damn union.
Pshhh….screw it.
She took a swig of the vodka and cringed at the burning sensation.
"Vodka is good, da?"
Emily choked.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
He was RIGHT THERE! She could literally feel his presence about a foot away from her. He was literally shitting bitter ice at her direction.
Her body stiffened as her heart started to beat and the chills erupted down her spine. Her skin started to pucker into goosebumps and her stomach was turning unpleasantly.
Maybe she shouldn't have eaten that damn hot dog.
Yes.
She will admit it.
Even though she won back in 1989, Ivan Braginski still terrified the living SHIT out of her.
He always had.
She didn't know what it was that was so unnerving about the Russian. Maybe it was his dark innocence. Maybe it was his hidden, yet intense plethora of emotions. Maybe it was his smile.
Emily slowly turned her head to look at him. She mentally cowered under his dominant presence. She had forgotten how tall he is. He wore his usual thick coat and scarf. His shockingly light colored hair was ruffled and fell into big eerie amethyst eyes, which contrasted vibrantly with his snow white skin.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking forward at nothing in particular, his eyes glowing and his lips curled into a gentle smile.
That smile turned her dreams into nightmares for many years during and after the Cold War.
Emily twitched.
She bit her lip and attempted to lock her limbs to prevent herself from trembling.
Dammit! She felt like one of the Baltics!
She felt sorry for them. Even though, thanks partly to her, they had gained their independence, those three still lived under the great shadow of Russia.
Emily took another swig of the vodka, but instantly regretted it. It made her feel absolutely nauseous. It didn't help that the damn commie was just STANDING there.
And she couldn't find the power to remove herself from the scene. It was like her whole body was set in deadlock mode.
She only ever felt this way around the Russian bastard. And it's been a long time since she had last seen him. In fact, the last time she saw him in person was when the Berlin Wall fell. That was when she gave up. That was when she couldn't take anymore. She didn't care if she won. She didn't care if she managed to cause the Soviet Union to collapse. She didn't care that she had bragging rights.
She was just done. She couldn't stand to see the fucker's face anymore…not after so many years of high tension. So she handed the reins back to her brother and stayed deep in the recesses of her home for a while.
That's when she realized why Ivan Braginski unnerved her.
He had seen her at her most vulnerable.
He was the ONLY one who saw her at her most vulnerable. Not even Alfred, Matthew, or Meg had ever seen her breaking point.
As far as she's aware, only the commie bastard has seen it. Because that was the only time she had ever fallen apart.
And as ice cold as he was, she did see the many conflicting emotions behind that eerie smile and those glowing purple eyes. And it scared her because he never let anyone in.
Except for one time.
He had let her in.
It was an unspoken secret of theirs.
"Long time, no see," spat Emily through gritted teeth. Her voice was shaking and her fingers were tightening violently around the vodka bottle. Her palms were becoming sweaty.
He stood there, as calm as ever. Finally, he turned his head to look down at her. His creepy smile was still in place and his violet eyes were flickering. A strange shadow seemed to cast over his face and Emily flinched.
She found it hard to breathe as she looked into the face that haunted her and brought back so many unwanted and personal memories. It has been twenty two years since she last saw him.
She did not understand how the other nations can talk to and face him on a daily basis. She didn't understand how her own counterpart BROTHER could deal with him after all that shit.
The Russian gave a tiny little chuckle and answered, "Indeed."
Emily just stood there, enclosed in the awkward silence. No…no no. This wasn't awkward silence at all. She could feel the dangerous tension that resonated in the air. It wasn't innocent awkwardness at all.
This was the air of murder.
She needed to move. But she wasn't in control of her muscles. Why can't the stupid commie just leave? Why can't he go chat up China or his sister? They can all live in their blissful commie world.
"Stupid commie," Emily muttered under her breath, trying to prevent herself from shaking.
"What was that?" The Russian asked innocently, his eyes trained on her. She could hear the dark undertone that laced his otherwise friendly voice. Emily cursed herself inwardly, keeping her eyes forward.
"N-Nothing. Just…um…not feeling to good," she responded.
"If you don't feel good, you shouldn't be drinking vodka, da?" Russia remarked. Emily broke. She turned her face to look straight at him, narrowing her eyes at the sight of his glowing eyes. She shivered, but didn't break her resolve.
"Maybe I want to drink the damn vodka," she spat.
Russia just kept smiling, but the air seemed to grow extremely bitter. Emily started to hyperventilate as she looked up at the towering figure of the commie. She felt extremely exposed and helpless. Everything came flooding back to her in a torrential storm. She kept her eyes trained on Russia's amethyst colored ones, which seemed to flash dangerously.
She remembered the meetings, screaming at him over the Berlin Blockade, crying at his feet in 1961 during the Berlin Crisis, tearing poor Im Young Soo and his brother apart in the Korean war…his pity, his anger, his continuous bipolar attitude, the collapse of his mental state…
Russia suddenly reached out and started to pat Emily on the head gently with a pseudo-good natured expression on his face. She let herself tremble. Her heart was jumping out of her chest and her breathing was uneven. The air around her was extremely cold and a surprising instinct to reach up and kiss his icy lips overwhelmed her.
This wouldn't be the first time.
"Vse v poryadke," he said softly. "You do what you want. Don't let me stop you."
Suddenly, his fingers dropped from the top of her head to her neck. Emily squeaked as his cold, yet electrifying fingers, wrapped around the flesh of her neck. He squeezed lightly and Emily gritted her teeth. Her shoulders tensed as she trained her eyes on the continuously flashing eyes of the Russian.
Was he going to choke her in front of everyone here?
The air was icy and the goosebumps were uncontrollable. Her heart was going to explode from the amount of beating it was engaging in.
"Just like old times, da?" Russia said with his eerie smile. Yet, his tone was bittersweet. It was laced with poison.
Emily didn't say a word. The Russian gave a tiny chuckle before releasing her neck slowly. His lips curled up into a smirk as he said in a deadly voice, "I'll never forget."
With that, he turned around and left her at the table, still clutching the bottle of vodka with trembling hands.
She cursed violently under her breath, her limbs feeling like they would snap from pure panic.
Emily never let anyone have the last word when they walk away from me. It's just not right.
There is always the exception though.
A/N: So, what do you think? :D. This is the prologue and the only scene that will take place in modern day. The rest of the story is set during the Cold War era and it will describe all the shit that went down between the sexy, yet deadly and icy Russia and our feisty nyotalia America.