"Japan invited me out for tea tonight, so I'm heading out. I've got my mobile if you need anything."
Arthur's voice resonated off the walls of the classic Victorian. When it reached his ears, France looked up. He had been enraptured with a streak of inspiration as of late. The canvas before him displayed all his mustered artistic talent, and yet it was far from completion; now, with England calling up from the first story, France feared it would never reach its fullest potential. Another unfinished masterpiece. "D'accord," France called down, a bit of disappointment in his voice.
True, he had been distracted by his artwork for the past few
France had to take a cab to the airport after their fight, reschedule his flight, and returned to Paris. In those moments, it dawned upon him that the ring finger of his left hand felt incredibly bare. The frog's thumb brushed over the lighter shaded skin, finding no metal there. No. Of course he would find nothing there. He'd removed the engagement ring and returned it to Arthur; Arthur was the first to take off his ring. Only a measly hour had passed since the event and Francis already missed the little trinket. The entire taxi ride was filled with guilt and regret.
Once he had his plane ride arranged, no thanks to an irritating flight coo
There are some things that never leave a person. An image, an event, a partner, a story.
There is always at least one thing that will remain with a person to the end of their days.
Centuries ago, when France was still young, holding the name of Gaul at the impressionable age of six, he was given a book. It was a large book. Black. Thick. Heavy. Inside, handwritten on the precious pages were words. Many, many words. Important words. Words he was to take into himself with a passion so great, his people, as well as many others, would end up doing terrible things in the name of those words. The words told stories of the world. The beginning of
Nov. 11th, 2009 - 11:00 am
An instant before the hour changed, I took in the deepest of breathes.
Standing before the Arc of Triumph, basking in the glory of my flag,
I held in my breath. A gentle breeze caught the flag, causing it to sway.
But, a strange feeling crept over me, and I gazed out across the crowds.
Something, off in the distance, was coming.
Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps it was not real, but as it came closer,
I opened my mouth to speak, only to have the voice taken away from me
That was when a wave overtook the land washing the color from the world,
Leaving me in a black and white room of nothing; no longer in Pari
Agincourt
The clouds above us were black that day. Tall, dark, ominous. Rain poured without end. For days it had been doing so; drenching the land until it could take no more. Dirt had long since turned to thick mud. Although, despite the clouds, despite the rain, despite the lightning, I stood out on a battleground. The field was green; soon, it would be stained red. Tactically speaking, I was greatly disadvantaged, located at the bottom of an inclined plain. At the top, was the enemy. English scum lined with their great bows; no doubt, many were drunk or as unskilled as an infant. Even with the less than preferred starting point, I felt we
How do I know that this is me thinking these thoughts? I think, therefore I am; however, is this me that is thinking, or something else? At times, I contemplate whether or not I am alone in this body. I have seen all that I have done; felt all that has been done to me... but... is it really me in this mind? It may be nothing, or it may be something.
Why do I like what I do? Why do I love what I do? Why do I love others? Why do I do anything I do? What drives me? What pulls me one direction over the other? Mon Dieu... when I sit down to think about it, I can rarely come up with an answer.
Why do I like the wine, the flashy clothes, the atten
Romano. The attractive and fruitful bit of southern Italy. Romano. A tough, angry boy. Romano. The part of Italy both Spain and France were obsessed with for so long. Romano. Currently France's biggest pain in the side. For nearly an entire day, France found himself being stalked by the Italian; not that he minded, he'd been followed by far worse things. It was not the creepy sort of stalking either. Romano would constantly let his presence be known with a snide, mean comment aimed to cripple the fellow nation.
"Oi! Smelly Frenchman! Where's eyebrows? Not hanging around anymore? You're going to get eyebrows like him with how much he's around
"Japan invited me out for tea tonight, so I'm heading out. I've got my mobile if you need anything."
Arthur's voice resonated off the walls of the classic Victorian. When it reached his ears, France looked up. He had been enraptured with a streak of inspiration as of late. The canvas before him displayed all his mustered artistic talent, and yet it was far from completion; now, with England calling up from the first story, France feared it would never reach its fullest potential. Another unfinished masterpiece. "D'accord," France called down, a bit of disappointment in his voice.
True, he had been distracted by his artwork for the past few
France had to take a cab to the airport after their fight, reschedule his flight, and returned to Paris. In those moments, it dawned upon him that the ring finger of his left hand felt incredibly bare. The frog's thumb brushed over the lighter shaded skin, finding no metal there. No. Of course he would find nothing there. He'd removed the engagement ring and returned it to Arthur; Arthur was the first to take off his ring. Only a measly hour had passed since the event and Francis already missed the little trinket. The entire taxi ride was filled with guilt and regret.
Once he had his plane ride arranged, no thanks to an irritating flight coo
There are some things that never leave a person. An image, an event, a partner, a story.
There is always at least one thing that will remain with a person to the end of their days.
Centuries ago, when France was still young, holding the name of Gaul at the impressionable age of six, he was given a book. It was a large book. Black. Thick. Heavy. Inside, handwritten on the precious pages were words. Many, many words. Important words. Words he was to take into himself with a passion so great, his people, as well as many others, would end up doing terrible things in the name of those words. The words told stories of the world. The beginning of
Nov. 11th, 2009 - 11:00 am
An instant before the hour changed, I took in the deepest of breathes.
Standing before the Arc of Triumph, basking in the glory of my flag,
I held in my breath. A gentle breeze caught the flag, causing it to sway.
But, a strange feeling crept over me, and I gazed out across the crowds.
Something, off in the distance, was coming.
Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps it was not real, but as it came closer,
I opened my mouth to speak, only to have the voice taken away from me
That was when a wave overtook the land washing the color from the world,
Leaving me in a black and white room of nothing; no longer in Pari
Agincourt
The clouds above us were black that day. Tall, dark, ominous. Rain poured without end. For days it had been doing so; drenching the land until it could take no more. Dirt had long since turned to thick mud. Although, despite the clouds, despite the rain, despite the lightning, I stood out on a battleground. The field was green; soon, it would be stained red. Tactically speaking, I was greatly disadvantaged, located at the bottom of an inclined plain. At the top, was the enemy. English scum lined with their great bows; no doubt, many were drunk or as unskilled as an infant. Even with the less than preferred starting point, I felt we
How do I know that this is me thinking these thoughts? I think, therefore I am; however, is this me that is thinking, or something else? At times, I contemplate whether or not I am alone in this body. I have seen all that I have done; felt all that has been done to me... but... is it really me in this mind? It may be nothing, or it may be something.
Why do I like what I do? Why do I love what I do? Why do I love others? Why do I do anything I do? What drives me? What pulls me one direction over the other? Mon Dieu... when I sit down to think about it, I can rarely come up with an answer.
Why do I like the wine, the flashy clothes, the atten
Romano. The attractive and fruitful bit of southern Italy. Romano. A tough, angry boy. Romano. The part of Italy both Spain and France were obsessed with for so long. Romano. Currently France's biggest pain in the side. For nearly an entire day, France found himself being stalked by the Italian; not that he minded, he'd been followed by far worse things. It was not the creepy sort of stalking either. Romano would constantly let his presence be known with a snide, mean comment aimed to cripple the fellow nation.
"Oi! Smelly Frenchman! Where's eyebrows? Not hanging around anymore? You're going to get eyebrows like him with how much he's around
Sorry that I do not come here nearly as much as I once did. I've been spending my time on Tumblr. That sight moves so quickly! mon Dieu!
Anyway, if you would like to follow me there, here is my address!
Asksassyfrance.tumblr.com
It was my birthday a few days ago, and Mon Dieu, I realized I had been abusing my poor darling Deviant art account. Such a travesty; however, I do have an excuse, my lovelies~
For one, I had moved, making accessing this place rather impossible for some time.
For two, I assisted Arthur into moving here as well. Hehehe. Oui. I managed to convince the closet francophile into moving to France~ >;3
He'll be quite cross with me when he reads this; if he happens to see. A honhonhonhon~
Last but not least, thirdly, Arthur happened to explode my past computer with his horrid technological skills. Le sob. He'd managed to blow up his modem at one p
All those questions you lovelies asked me way back when?
Do you remember those?
I swear I have not forgotten them! I... I don't always have time to work on answering
and get interrupted or someone comes in and pesters me!
Mon Dieu! Such a nuisance!
You are all so patient with me~ :heart: If you ever have more questions for me~ I enjoy receiving them~
http://francoistelesphore.tumblr.com/post/14722554961/answering-questions-from-my-da-account
.... France.... **coughs, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with fever, though he's shivering**
I really, really don't feel well... **rubs his arms, leaning against the wall because his legs feel weak** I th-think, I may go out to the garden awhile and rest out there...
**glances over and immediately grows concerned, rising from his place at his laptop and going to him** Dieu. I don't think so. It was raining earlier, things will be damp; it may worsen your condition. Come on, cher, you need your bed more than anything.
**swallows slightly, blinking before wobbling away from the wall and weakly hugging him, then coughs into his hand** ....Nnh. **shivers softly, murmuring** But... My flowers...
**holds Arthur as though he were made of glass, gently stroking his back** Cher, what about your flowers? They're fine. You're freezing and look white as a ghost. I don't like the sound of that cough, either.
Ah~ Merci beaucoups, mon petite~ ;3 I realize I am a bit late in thanking you, but I have been so incredibly busy lately! Plus, Angleterre blew up my computer with his horrid technological skills. Mais, all that aside, thank you~