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get-it-sweet:

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Arthur did normally have all the ingredients.. but he was running low, and besides, with Alfred gone he would have no trouble at all in slipping in a few things to the other’s food! Nothing poison, of course, Alfred had done nothing to piss him off in a while. 

Gathering some vegetables for the other’s salad, Arthur whistled a small tune,  shifting around the dirt in his garden (the disembodied fingers were beginning to poke through the topsoil). Walking back inside, Arthur quickly chopped up the vegetables, opening his cabinets once more. Eyes roaming from the ingredient shelf to his poison shelf, Arthur trailed down to simple knockout drugs. Picking up a small brown bottle, Arthur smirked.. this one would do~

Alfred strode to the door, grabbing the blood-splattered baseball bat out of habit. It was second nature to him by now. He hated going anywhere without it, but sometimes, in the ‘other world’, the world where his ‘other’ self was, the kinder version, he sometimes forgot and had to remind himself that carrying around a bloody bat was seen as something quite frowned upon, and that he would even be sent to jail for such an act. Silly, that ‘other world’ was, but no matter.

Shutting the door behind him, he made his way along the front walkway of the house and out into the sidewalk, passing the different houses as he went along. The neighbors didn’t really like to talk to them, seeing as, on a particularly horrible night, you could be found hearing screams and cries from Al and Artie’s house. In this world, screams were normal, and cries were heard every day, but they happened too often in their house, and everyone knew the reputation Arthur had. No one liked to mess with him. Get on his wrong side and you were dead meat.

Finally arriving at the nearby secondhand store, he waltzed in like he owned the place, carrying the bat over his shoulder, glaring at the male cashiers and sending a wink towards to woman, who scoffed and turned the other way. Everyone knew Alfred’s reputation too. Alfred quickly found the salad dressing he needed, located the cream only because Arthur frequently sent him out for sugar runs, payed for his stuff, and walked out, shaking his head. He had noticed everyone in line had tensed up. Yep, Alfred had a reputation. If you messed with him, then you messed with Arthur. If you messed with Arthur, then you messed with Alfred. And you wouldn’t even know what hit you.

Alfred arrived home a few moments later, and upon opening the door, he caught a blast of warm, sugary, sweet air, right in his face. He did a double-take, coughing, feeling like his head was swimming and was about the throw up.

“G-…God damn, Awtie…Fuggin’ tryin’ t’ kill me soon’s I walk in d’ door…?” Alfred placed down his bat and put a free arm around his mouth and nose, still hacking. He quickly shoved the grocery bag at Arthur, hoping he would take it so he could quickly get out of the kitchen, although it would be futile. The whole house would smell like a giant bakery, but it would be especially bad in the kitchen.

Arthur whistled a merry tune as he chopped the vegetables in front of him, moving the knife as though it were a mere extension of his arm. The blade moved quickly, and with a sweep, all the vegetables found themselves in a rather large salad bowl. The Briton smiled as he began to get into a rhythm, one hand sweeping chopped vegetables into the bowl, as the other flashed up to grab salt or pepper, or other such things that went flying into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients. 

Turning on his heels, the Englishman pulled on an oven mitt, stretching his fingers into the thick, pink material, before opening the oven to pull out a small cake pan— exactly half a second before the timer went off. Reaching up with his other hand, he turned the beeping timer off, and closed the oven door with his hip. It was when he set the cake onto the counter, that he heard the front door open, signaling (hopefully) the return of the other. (Of course, it was rarely often that a thief tried to sneak into the pair’s house.. and especially not when they had an inkling that Arthur, or Alfred for that matter, maybe be alert).

As the other handed him the newly bought groceries, Arthur smiled, taking them in his arms to the counter. “No trouble, I presume?” He spoke, as he opened the bag, pulling out both the cream and the salad dressing. He folded the paper bag, tucking it into a drawer, before uncapping the salad dressing. Holding the bowl up, he poured in the dressing with a flourish, before tossing the salad by hand. 

Alfred coughed and hacked, but Arthur was oblivious to this all. He was used to this sort of acts whenever he was making sweets, as Alfred couldn’t stand being in the same room with the sugary delights (or ‘crapola’, as Alfred liked to call them) and frequently reminded Arthur of this. When he was younger, Arthur would force these baked products down him, one after another. After a while, Alfred started getting sick, and then physically ill as soon as he knew Arthur was baking. He didn’t know how that man could stand it. Such sweet things, rotting your teeth. And yet, Arthur had perfect teeth. It was ridiculous.

“N…Nope, no problem…jus’ take d’ damn bag…” Alfred managed to get out, and once Arthur had taken the bag, he was about to high-tail it out of there and try to get to some fresher air, when he noticed the large salad bowl on the counter. “Woaaahhhhh…hold it ri’te der, Awtie…is dat a good lookin’ salad or aw’re my eyes deceivin’ me…?” Alfred eyed the salad, and was already drooling. Gawd, it looked so good. “M’ boyfrien’ makes d’ best salads, hands down…!” Alfred looked over at Arthur and grinned, making an approving nod. The salad would make up for the disgusting smell in the kitchen. Aah…he was already looking forward to dinner.

“Why, that it is, love~ There now, aren’t you glad that you went out to buy salad dressing and cream?” Arthur smiled fondly as he finished tossing the salad, turning to wash and dry his hands in the sink, before he opened the cream. Alfred’s salad was done, but he still had to finish up his marvelous cream cake! Waving the other out of the kitchen with the click of his tongue at the other’s manners— Drooling! Honestly!— Arthur nudged the salad bowl to the back of the counter, before placing the cool cake on a plate, and pouring a bit of the cream into a bowl (along with other, sweeter, ingredients), and got to stirring his own homemade icing. 

After all, just because the American in his dining room didn’t care for sweets anymore (Although, Arthur could never see why… he absolutely adored them when he was younger! …or so the Briton thought), it didn’t mean that the sugar crazed Arthur had to give them up! After all, the Englishman practically lived off of sugary products, insisting that they kept him…. “sane”.

Spreading the cool, vanilla icing over the top of the cake (and sneaking a tidbit, here or there), Arthur smiled at his handiwork. It looked marvelous, if he could be so bold as to say so himself. Putting all of the used utensils and bowls into the sink, for cleanup later, Arthur balanced both dishes in his arms as he took them to the table. Setting the salad bowl in the middle, and a plate down for Alfred.. he quickly dished out silverware (from God knows where), and placed his own dish down in front of his chair. Sitting with a smug, wide looking smile on his face.. he wrapped a pink (manly) looking napkin around his neck, twirling a fork in his hand.

torulethewaves:

get-it-sweet:

Arthur could tell that this other.. that Guinevere seemed to be rather nervous around him, although, he had not a clue as to why! After all, he was near docile! Not once, had he even made a motion to suggest that he was carrying a pocketknife (although, he was.. always, he carried some sort of weapon). The other, was very withdrawn, almost.. so that, Arthur wasn’t really sure what to make of her. Did she wish to attack him once she got his guard down?

Smiling towards her, still on his toes (but ever curious), he answered, “Well I.. I’m from England, of course! Only.. it seems to be a different England altogether, I should assume!” This was an odd predicament.. how to explain…

“In my home, it is a lot….. dirtier… ah.. I only wish there was a better word!” The Briton put a hand to his chin, “It’s outright dreary, compared to even whot I’ve seen of this world… the people here, more colourful…. more emotional…. less violent, and ignorant as a whole! Ah.. they are so interesting….

But I get distracted! In my home, you can barely walk the streets without running into the filth and scum of the cities, or the decomposing homeless or robbed decorating each of your steps over dull, hard concrete… In my home, the skies are gray, the people, dull, and yet how wonderful they can be, if only you know how to work them! Ah, if you see whot I’m saying.” Arthur gave a polite smile, “As to where I’m going.. I suppose, as of now, I’m testing out the waters, so to speak.. I got here, purely by accident, you see! I do believe there are many paths between this world, and mine.”

She listened to him talk, this other Arthur, tried to take in everything that he was saying and synthesize it into a single conclusion. There was quite a lot of information there—somewhere dismal and dystopian, from his description, a place where one might hesitate to go outside without a weapon. Nowhere she would wish to live, certainly.

“It sounds like quite the interesting place. If not exactly my cup of tea, so to speak. Quite dreary from your description—what’s happened to make it so different, I wonder?” She was musing more to herself than to Arthur. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know—if it had been some strange divergence of time lines, a choice here that turned twisted and dark in some other universe.

And as for any paths—“I think it would be true of any world, that there would be a multitude of entries and exits. Should one care to look for them, anyways. And do you care to look, Arthur? Or have you made other plans, to stay perhaps?”

Guinevere didn’t trust this Arthur—she wasn’t one to trust much of anyone, up to and including the man she sometimes called brother. But this wasn’t the Arthur she knew, couldn’t be. And therefore, wasn’t trustworthy in the least. She’d rather be paranoid and alive. It certainly seemed like the best route at this point. “That’s the real question, isn’t it. If you’re here to stay.”

“Yes.. I do wonder that myself..” Arthur spoke, keeping his hand on his chin as he thought.. still quietly taking in his surroundings. From what it looked like, the people here were fearless… or at least, had nothing to fear. They walked the streets with careless smiles, or absorbed in small phones which they carried almost religiously everywhere that they went. What surprised him most… was that the streets were full! Cars, going here and there… people walking easily across crosswalks… not a shifty glance, or a cry coming from anywhere! It was terribly… terribly… orderly. 

The other’s question registered with Arthur, and yet he was so very absorbed in his surroundings, that it took a moment for him to answer. When he did, he attempted to seem politely interested, and yet his mind was still trying to process the happenings and going-ons of the city around him. “Here to stay! The thought! ..Ah, well, to be honest.. I hadn’t thought…” The Briton seemed to trail off for a moment, before putting on another smile, “I’d actually only thought about having a quick gander or two before finding the spot in which I came, and going home! It is whot I usually do— see, this has happened before, briefly— never, would I have thought to stay…”

And yet, the thought was interesting… to stay among these people, so confident that they walked the streets weapon-less, in a world where… where stealing and killing had consequences! Arthur could already feel the air of this new world doing odd things to his mind, and he wasn’t sure what exactly they were….

get-it-hot:

get-it-sweet:

Arthur did normally have all the ingredients.. but he was running low, and besides, with Alfred gone he would have no trouble at all in slipping in a few things to the other’s food! Nothing poison, of course, Alfred had done nothing to piss him off in a while. 

Gathering some vegetables for the other’s salad, Arthur whistled a small tune,  shifting around the dirt in his garden (the disembodied fingers were beginning to poke through the topsoil). Walking back inside, Arthur quickly chopped up the vegetables, opening his cabinets once more. Eyes roaming from the ingredient shelf to his poison shelf, Arthur trailed down to simple knockout drugs. Picking up a small brown bottle, Arthur smirked.. this one would do~

Alfred strode to the door, grabbing the blood-splattered baseball bat out of habit. It was second nature to him by now. He hated going anywhere without it, but sometimes, in the ‘other world’, the world where his ‘other’ self was, the kinder version, he sometimes forgot and had to remind himself that carrying around a bloody bat was seen as something quite frowned upon, and that he would even be sent to jail for such an act. Silly, that ‘other world’ was, but no matter.

Shutting the door behind him, he made his way along the front walkway of the house and out into the sidewalk, passing the different houses as he went along. The neighbors didn’t really like to talk to them, seeing as, on a particularly horrible night, you could be found hearing screams and cries from Al and Artie’s house. In this world, screams were normal, and cries were heard every day, but they happened too often in their house, and everyone knew the reputation Arthur had. No one liked to mess with him. Get on his wrong side and you were dead meat.

Finally arriving at the nearby secondhand store, he waltzed in like he owned the place, carrying the bat over his shoulder, glaring at the male cashiers and sending a wink towards to woman, who scoffed and turned the other way. Everyone knew Alfred’s reputation too. Alfred quickly found the salad dressing he needed, located the cream only because Arthur frequently sent him out for sugar runs, payed for his stuff, and walked out, shaking his head. He had noticed everyone in line had tensed up. Yep, Alfred had a reputation. If you messed with him, then you messed with Arthur. If you messed with Arthur, then you messed with Alfred. And you wouldn’t even know what hit you.

Alfred arrived home a few moments later, and upon opening the door, he caught a blast of warm, sugary, sweet air, right in his face. He did a double-take, coughing, feeling like his head was swimming and was about the throw up.

“G-…God damn, Awtie…Fuggin’ tryin’ t’ kill me soon’s I walk in d’ door…?” Alfred placed down his bat and put a free arm around his mouth and nose, still hacking. He quickly shoved the grocery bag at Arthur, hoping he would take it so he could quickly get out of the kitchen, although it would be futile. The whole house would smell like a giant bakery, but it would be especially bad in the kitchen.

Arthur whistled a merry tune as he chopped the vegetables in front of him, moving the knife as though it were a mere extension of his arm. The blade moved quickly, and with a sweep, all the vegetables found themselves in a rather large salad bowl. The Briton smiled as he began to get into a rhythm, one hand sweeping chopped vegetables into the bowl, as the other flashed up to grab salt or pepper, or other such things that went flying into the bowl with the rest of the ingredients. 

Turning on his heels, the Englishman pulled on an oven mitt, stretching his fingers into the thick, pink material, before opening the oven to pull out a small cake pan— exactly half a second before the timer went off. Reaching up with his other hand, he turned the beeping timer off, and closed the oven door with his hip. It was when he set the cake onto the counter, that he heard the front door open, signaling (hopefully) the return of the other. (Of course, it was rarely often that a thief tried to sneak into the pair’s house.. and especially not when they had an inkling that Arthur, or Alfred for that matter, maybe be alert).

As the other handed him the newly bought groceries, Arthur smiled, taking them in his arms to the counter. “No trouble, I presume?” He spoke, as he opened the bag, pulling out both the cream and the salad dressing. He folded the paper bag, tucking it into a drawer, before uncapping the salad dressing. Holding the bowl up, he poured in the dressing with a flourish, before tossing the salad by hand. 

miss-marmalade:

This was actually supposed to be 2P!world but idk.

(Source: wandertrot)

((I gotta go for tonight guys!))

get-it-hot:

get-it-sweet:

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Alfred looks confused for a moment, wondering what caused the sudden laughter from Arthur, and then he finally catches, as he was somewhat slow to Arthur’s mockery. He opened his mouth, eyes glaring at the other, slightly insulted. ” ‘Ey! I can help too, y’ know! I ain’t doin’ some pansy job like settin’ d’ table! Lemme help!” Alfred looked slightly hurt, still glaring at Arthur.

Opening his wooden cabinets, and bringing down a couple of large bowls, Arthur cast a glance and a smile towards the other. “But love, that’s an important job! Ah.. well, if you don’t want to do that, you could always go grab me some cream from the supermarket down the street~ I’d go myself, but I really should get this dinner started!”

Staring at the other for a few seconds, Alfred rolled his eyes, sighing. Like he wanted to get his boyfriend cream. Gawd, he was so gay sometimes. Couldn’t he have asked for something else? “…And what, may I awsk, do y’ need cream fo’?” Alfred stared at him like he was expecting a serious answer, daring him to say something otherwise. “Tha’s gonna be one hellava trip. Cream and salad dressin’. Whotevah will the cashie’ah think…”

Bringing down ingredients that one normally used to bake a cake (flour, sugar, and the like), Arthur balanced them on one arm.. as he reached up to retrieve ingredients for the other’s salad as well. He rolled his own eyes at the other, placing the ingredients on the kitchen counter. “Honestly, my boy, whotever else would I use to make dinner!”

Turning to head towards the back door, the Briton slipped on his slippers, turning his head back to glance at the other before he walked into his garden to gather ingredients. “If you’re so worried about whot they will think, then simply steal some!” Arthur clicked his tongue, disappearing through the door. “It’s really not that hard, sweetheart.”

Alfred watched him in amazement as Arthur started balancing all of the ingredients on one arm, and scoffed as Arthur started to grab more things for the salad. Show off. That was quite unnecessary, thank you very much, he didn’t need to be a showoff. Alfred could do that quite easily if he tried. Didn’t look hard.

“Weh. It’s jus’ strange that y’ don’ already have cream in y’ storage. Of all d’ things y’ don’ have, it’s cream. Seems we hardly run outta dat damn stuff.” Alfred turned around and was head towards the door when he heard the rest of what Arthur was saying. Alfred smirked, shaking his head. “I ain’ stealin’ it, I have d’ money…It’s jus’ cream an’ dressin’.”

Arthur did normally have all the ingredients.. but he was running low, and besides, with Alfred gone he would have no trouble at all in slipping in a few things to the other’s food! Nothing poison, of course, Alfred had done nothing to piss him off in a while. 

Gathering some vegetables for the other’s salad, Arthur whistled a small tune,  shifting around the dirt in his garden (the disembodied fingers were beginning to poke through the topsoil). Walking back inside, Arthur quickly chopped up the vegetables, opening his cabinets once more. Eyes roaming from the ingredient shelf to his poison shelf, Arthur trailed down to simple knockout drugs. Picking up a small brown bottle, Arthur smirked.. this one would do~

torulethewaves:

get-it-sweet:

torulethewaves:

get-it-sweet:

Arthur couldn’t help but watch this other… other… ah, well bother it! This sister, from another world, so it seemed. After all, she was quite different from his own sister, although he didn’t honestly consider her such. She was reserved, so very reserved! And while it was interesting, it was rather disconcerting, in a way… 

Well, as long as it remained interesting!

Ah, so there was another England…. He would like to meet this one, he thought! Storing away the information, he gave a polite smile, “Be that as it were, I don’t believe I have yet had the honour of receiving your name, love! Might I..?” He tilted his head, waiting for her to continue.

“Ah, my mistake.” It wouldn’t do to be impolite, certainly, at least not until she had a better idea of how this Arthur acted. “I go by Guinevere.”

How did it work then, his world, wherever it was he was from? It followed, logically, that she should have a counterpart of her own—or perhaps not. She’d not cared to meddle in the worlds of others in ages. Too much hassle, too little reward. Besides, whoever this other Arthur was, he was in this world now, the one she’d known for all her life. And even if she wasn’t quite familiar with where he was from, she knew the rules of this place inside and out. 

She cleared her throat, deciding that polite civility was certainly the right way to go for the moment. “How are you then? Doing well? Adjusting?”

Arthur’s eyes lit up, as the other seemed to be rather polite, which suited his tastes perfectly (after all, it was something that he valued greatly). Keeping his arms folded behind his back, he gave Guinevere a smile, “Oh, I don’t know about all of that, dear heart.. this world is interesting, but I would say that I was adjusting.. no… “ 

For a moment, the Briton’s eyes seemed to flash.. an odd, almost pinkish colour tinting the iris (if one dared to look close enough), but it was gone in less than an instant. His smile never lessened, as he answered, “It is more so, that I am observing! For this world intrigues me! ..Other than that, I cannot say much about it….”

She swallowed the noise about to come from her throat, a gasp perhaps, some expression of surprise. If this Arthur were not quite right in the head, that would be his business, and far from hers. Or perhaps she was the one not quite sane, seeing things. But such a small thing was hardly going to make her doubt her eyes, or her sanity. Such shenanigans and fiascoes as this—other Arthurs, other worlds—were generally best left alone—she’d learned by now not to involve herself in the business of others.  

Guinevere cleared her throat, once, and asked, “Intrigues? What, if I may ask, is so intriguing? Perhaps it’s only that I’ve been here all my life, but I fail to find anything quite as interesting as you seem to have found. Though…I really do wonder where you’re from, Arthur, and where you’re going.”

Arthur could tell that this other.. that Guinevere seemed to be rather nervous around him, although, he had not a clue as to why! After all, he was near docile! Not once, had he even made a motion to suggest that he was carrying a pocketknife (although, he was.. always, he carried some sort of weapon). The other, was very withdrawn, almost.. so that, Arthur wasn’t really sure what to make of her. Did she wish to attack him once she got his guard down?

Smiling towards her, still on his toes (but ever curious), he answered, “Well I.. I’m from England, of course! Only.. it seems to be a different England altogether, I should assume!” This was an odd predicament.. how to explain…

“In my home, it is a lot….. dirtier… ah.. I only wish there was a better word!” The Briton put a hand to his chin, “It’s outright dreary, compared to even whot I’ve seen of this world… the people here, more colourful…. more emotional…. less violent, and ignorant as a whole! Ah.. they are so interesting….

But I get distracted! In my home, you can barely walk the streets without running into the filth and scum of the cities, or the decomposing homeless or robbed decorating each of your steps over dull, hard concrete… In my home, the skies are gray, the people, dull, and yet how wonderful they can be, if only you know how to work them! Ah, if you see whot I’m saying.” Arthur gave a polite smile, “As to where I’m going.. I suppose, as of now, I’m testing out the waters, so to speak.. I got here, purely by accident, you see! I do believe there are many paths between this world, and mine.”

lavieestlejeu:

get-it-sweet:

Arthur looked the other over, from her stance, to her very appearance.. it was.. well, it was mad! She was absolutely different, from the crass, loud Charlotte of his own home! For a moment, he was amazed, and then, he laughed. Putting his hands together, he smiled, “Ohh, but you are an absolute treat, you are~!” His eyes seemed almost greedy for a moment, as he reached out to tug on her cheeks, softly, “Look at you! You’re just a child, you are, just a child, ahaha~!”

 She frowned at his actions and words, gently pushing his hands away. “A child, hardly. I am over two thousand two hundred years old— unless that was a jab at my height, which I will state would be very unappreciated.” She eyed him over her lenses, thinking how hypocritical it was for him to be calling her a child.

“Oh, I’m sorry love, I truly am.” His face actually did hold a sincere apologetic look.. as it must have been quite rude, to be so familiar to her! Obviously, they did not know one another. “It is only that you are so very different, that I couldn’t help myself! You see, I have always wanted to do that to Charlotte— well, my world’s Charlotte, you see.. but she never would have let me without a good fight!” The Englishman laughed.

(Source: unedameavecrienmaislaclasse)

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Alfred looks confused for a moment, wondering what caused the sudden laughter from Arthur, and then he finally catches, as he was somewhat slow to Arthur’s mockery. He opened his mouth, eyes glaring at the other, slightly insulted. ” ‘Ey! I can help too, y’ know! I ain’t doin’ some pansy job like settin’ d’ table! Lemme help!” Alfred looked slightly hurt, still glaring at Arthur.

Opening his wooden cabinets, and bringing down a couple of large bowls, Arthur cast a glance and a smile towards the other. “But love, that’s an important job! Ah.. well, if you don’t want to do that, you could always go grab me some cream from the supermarket down the street~ I’d go myself, but I really should get this dinner started!”

Staring at the other for a few seconds, Alfred rolled his eyes, sighing. Like he wanted to get his boyfriend cream. Gawd, he was so gay sometimes. Couldn’t he have asked for something else? “…And what, may I awsk, do y’ need cream fo’?” Alfred stared at him like he was expecting a serious answer, daring him to say something otherwise. “Tha’s gonna be one hellava trip. Cream and salad dressin’. Whotevah will the cashie’ah think…”

Bringing down ingredients that one normally used to bake a cake (flour, sugar, and the like), Arthur balanced them on one arm.. as he reached up to retrieve ingredients for the other’s salad as well. He rolled his own eyes at the other, placing the ingredients on the kitchen counter. “Honestly, my boy, whotever else would I use to make dinner!”

Turning to head towards the back door, the Briton slipped on his slippers, turning his head back to glance at the other before he walked into his garden to gather ingredients. “If you’re so worried about whot they will think, then simply steal some!” Arthur clicked his tongue, disappearing through the door. “It’s really not that hard, sweetheart.”