wshetalia

Alfred was glad to finally be home. Being a nation did have its benefits, sure, but being a nation also meant a butt load of traveling and although that could be exciting, it could also be a major pain in the ass. Honestly, all he wanted to do was kick off his shoes, swap is business suit for a t-shirt and boxers and lose himself in some mindless first-person shooter game. That would be nice, however, duty called and before he could do any of that he still had to attend a luncheon. Under normal circumstances he would relish in catching up with his own politicians after an extended business stay in China, but the long flight he had endured ma

Despite the fact that Arthur couldn’t cook to save himself, Francis had to admit that the man had a keen sense of taste and an appreciation of fine dining. That made him absolutely perfect to be the test subject of Francis’. “There’s far too much salt in this.” “You said it was lacking salt two minutes ago.” Francis supplied as he stirred a bubbling pot. “And now it’s overabundant with it.” Francis tutted Arthur’s comment and went to work on the dish in question. By combining Arthur’s acute sense of taste and Francis’ skill in the kitchen, the two of them manage

Alfred had heard many ridiculous requests in his two years of dating the personification of the United Kingdom, Arthur Kirkland. However, being called up in the middle of the night and being asked to come over to the Englishman’s home to bake was probably the most unique and ridiculous request Arthur had made of him thus far. “I’m sorry, Artie, what’d you say?” “Come over and bake with me.” His boyfriend patiently repeated. He could detect no amusement in the Briton’s voice, which meant that his request was not some weird practical joke, and there was no slur to his words either so that meant

“Please don’t tell anyone!” Francis half turned at the plea. Arthur Kirkland, his old time friend and enemy, and now his lover, had propped himself up on his elbows on the bed they had shared for the night. His eyes were wide, desperate. The events of last night came rushing back to Francis, the weight of the memories and the severity of their crime hitting him like a freight train. War had descended on Europe like a ravenous dog. Francis, fleeing the encroaching German army’s advances into French territory, had come to London, a city familiar to him in his younger schooling years. He had run into Arthur Kirkland of