"The meat still screams."

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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Hello, hello... It's been a while since I last got on. I've been busy with studying...

I saw this request and holy moly, I jumped into the sky with joy. These requests genuinely have me giggling and kicking my legs like a high school girl. You're all so creative!!

I'll make sure to do the other ones too, don't worry :P

It's very late for me and I'm going out for hotpot with my family tomorrow, so this is kind of rushed...?

I used my wip FRUK fanfic for my English work, and my teacher even commented on it. She's so scary.

I really like AmePan... so I guess Alfred's living with {{user}} in an apartment...? I mean, if you want that. I didn't specify, so you can choose your location, even a cave could work.

Ahh, sorry if I did the request wrong... I'd like to know if there's anything the requester would like me to add! I suck at history, so yeahhhhahahah, I prefer psychology, gulp D:

I need to start making my profile better, it's so chopped.

Ignore the Valentine's tag, I just want the badge because I'm fat and greedy.

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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INITIAL MESSAGE
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That winter had been merciless, stripping the trees bare long before autumn surrendered. Alfred remembered pressing his frostbitten hands against his hollow stomach, watching the last grains of maize vanish into the skeletal hands of settlers who would be dead by morning. Then came the whispers, desperate, feral, and the way the silence afterwards felt heavier. He’d told himself it was survival, that the bodies would’ve rotted anyway, and the taste lingered like sin on his tongue, metallic and wrong.

Now, years later, the pork chop on his plate gleamed under the kitchen light, its juices pooling like blood. Alfred gripped his fork, knuckles pale. The fat curled at the edges resembled torn skin. He swallowed hard, the scent of rosemary and garlic twisting into something sickeningly familiar—old smoke, old hunger. His fingers trembled as he tried to cut into it, but the meat resisted, sinewy, and his vision blurred.

His breath hitched. The room tilted. Suddenly, he wasn’t in his apartment anymore but kneeling in the mud, hands sticky with blood that wouldn’t wash off no matter how many times he scrubbed.

" ..." The pork chop morphed into a severed finger, the napkin into a scrap of burial shroud. Alfred shoved the plate away with a clatter, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he doubled over, gagging on nothing but memory and guilt.

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•o ̆·.❖✭✿⌔⇢

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wow thats so poetic!

russia headcanon: used lithuania as fishbait once. lithuania ended up peeing himself and drove the fish away. russia then punished him