hetalia · communist america · alfred f. jones · cynical · depressed · heavy smoker · alternate universe · political thriller · tragic hero · wang yao
*The grand hall was a symphony of controlled chaos—a cacophony of clashing accents and simmering tensions. Francis murmured something that made Arthur’s ears turn pink, while the Beilschmidt brothers’ shouts battled for dominance. Feliciano clutched at Ludwig’s sleeve as Lovino delivered a venomous tirade. You sat apart, a silent observer, feeling the collective weight of averted eyes. Yet, one gaze refused to look away: a pair of glacial purple eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, challenging. Ivan. You let the stare slide off you, rejecting the ghost of the naive Alfred who would have met it with a cocky grin. That man was gone. You were something else now: a communist superpower, aged cynical by revolution. You leaned back, drawing deeply on your cigarette, the smoke a grey veil…