#aph brussels
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Took a break from coloring my next request to work on this instead because i got bored. I just noticed I used the wrong watermark too…. oof…
#bringbackhetalia2k19#spabel#spabel kids#aph madrid#aph spain#aph belgium#aph barcelona#aph brussels#antonio fernandez carriedo#emma maes#carlos fernandez carriedo#gracia fernandez maes#Lucas Fernandez Maes
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1945 (Brussels)
Characters: America, Belgium
It was sickening to watch. Maybe it was just because she was thin to the point that her ribs were showing, maybe it was genuine disgust to the way Alfred was stuffing with one serving of chips after the other. Belgium suspected it was a combination of both. At first, she had thought that the change he had displayed once reuniting after not seeing each other since the 20s was restricted to his personality, but this new development was disturbing.
Beatrix had already eaten as much as she could stomach, which was only a handful of her own helping. After a long and oppressive occupation that included strict rations, she found that she couldn’t bring much down her throat without becoming nauseous. It was already a mistake to have prepared something so fatty, but she had wanted to be polite and serve her guest something other than dry bread and watery soup. For herself it was something akin to a minor celebration to take out the treasure potatoes and oil without having to worry about how she'd get by without the risk of going hungry.
"This is fantastic! You just have to give me the recipe to this", America praised between mouthfuls of food.
"Sure. Thank you…. I'm glad you enjoy it", she responded somewhat wooded, leaving unsaid that maybe he enjoyed the chips a bit too much.
Sure he was a man, one with an evident appetite as well, but this was going a bit to far. Such behaviour was more expected from a growing boy than a responsible adult. She rasped her throat to gain his attention and tried carefully: "Shouldn't you slow down just a little bit?"
"Nah, I'm good", he waved off, scrapping that last bits of brown fried crumbs out of the napkin they had been served on. He wasn't even finished chewing when he began eyeing her unfinished meal gluttonously.
Swallowing, he then pointed a finger at the object of his desire, his tanned skin glistening with grease. Before he could utter his request, she wordlessly relinquished her portion to him and watched him wolf it down with gusto.
"If you keep up at that pace you might suffocate on your food", she warned him which he just shrugged off. At this point she was putting a lot of effort to prevent he eyebrows from disappearing beyond her hairline.
"It's not like they have been starving you", she pointed out, trying to stay polite while simultaneously indicating that his behaviour was inappropriate.
"Not really, it's the constant conferences and negotiations that make me hungry now that the fighting is over."
He was already finished with what he had gotten from her and was licking his finger. In between he asked: "Can I have some more?"
"I'm terribly sorry but you've finished my stock and potatoes are being rationed."
To that Alfred pouted and Beatrix made a mental note not to invite him over to any kind of meal in the foreseeable future. Arthur had had the courtesy to warn her over the telephone and she had believed he had been overexaggerating. Now she had payed dearly.
#aph america#aph brussels#my writing#hetalia#historical hetalia#post-WW2#alfred and his eating habits#chips aren't french - they orgininated from Belgium and it was American soldriers that didn't know geography that led to the misconception
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Happy Belgian National Day!
The 21st of July is the day commemorating the day King Leopold first took the throne in Belgium’s newly-established constitutional monarchy. It’s one of ten national holidays observed throughout Belgium. Large festivities are held in Brussels, while some smaller towns can have their own, smaller celebrations.
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A small Pepjin/APH Brussels doodle for @askbelgie!
[Palette]
#haven’t drawn this boy uet#APH#hetalia#aph fanart#nyotalia#APH Belgium#hetalia belgium#nyo belgium#aph brussels#solo#my art#color palette
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50% wallon, 50% flamand. 100% lovable.
- Here is Bruxelles ! I found this post from one of my favorite ask-blog and mun ( @ask–gerbelg ) and … My hand slipped.
Picture : Galerie des Rois, Brussels.
#oc#ask--gerbelg#my art#aph brussels#brussels#he would totally go to the restaurant chez léon near the gallery with mama belgium#and eat waffles and chocolates in the streets#he is so pure#hetalia#claire
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{ all the belgians!! making one full happy belgium
featuring @belgisch }
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“This was a tough year. For all of us.”
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Brussels: my lunch consisted of four eclairs and some chocolate milk and I have never felt more alive!
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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Gracia sat in the waiting room starting at her phone. She was undecided on what to do next. She had already called Lucas and told him about what had happened with their brother. Should she call their father and tell him that his son was currently in surgery to remove his appendix.
He’d want to know, she was sure, but then he would ask why she had even been at Carlos’ office to begin with. She could lie and tell him it was just unlucky circumstance that she happened to be there, but Gracia was never able to convincingly lie to anyone, let alone their father.
She sighed, resting her chin against her hand as she waited. She definitely knew she needed to get a hold of Angelo at some point soon and get Abby’s number so she could tell her what was going on. She scrolled through her phone, hovering over the Italian’s contact when Lucas approached her.
“Hermana!” He stopped just short of where his sister was sitting, seemingly out of breath. “How is he?”
“I don’t know much else,” Gracia commented. “He’s still in surgery right now.”
Lucas nodded solemnly. “I called Papa on my way here....”
“What did he say?” She asks worriedly.
“He said he had to make a call to someone and that he would be here as soon as he could leave work...... he seemed worried.” He sat down beside her. “More worried than he usually sounds when one of us gets sick.....”
“Carlos is half-human, right......? Maybe that means the rules are different for him than they are for us..... I wonder, does that mean..... if he got sick enough..... Lucas, you don’t think something like this could kill him do you?” There was horror in her eyes at the thought of something like that.
“Gracia, I don’t think thats right..... besides you shouldn’t think like that. You’ll make yourself anxious. The city is what keeps him anchored, I think. As long as the city itself is fine then, Hermano will recover just fine.” He looks up and sees a doctor approaching them.
Both siblings stood fo greet the man as he approached them.
Part 4
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BELGIUM: This is my first time traveling outside of the U.S. and it has been an experience!! It’s great to learn about other cultures and realizing how blessed we really are back home!! . . . #belgium #brussels #europe #euro #europetravel #eurotrip #grandpalace #grandpalacebrussels #aph #aphofficial (at Grand Palace Brüksel'de) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5_yt26jxjC/?igshid=j58gx0bi6vbj
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[Fic] A River to Cross and No Boat to Get Me There
Pairings/Characters: America /& f!England
Rating: Teen
Summary: Brussels, Belgium, July 2018. Over drinks, England and America (do not) talk politics. Really.
Notes: Written for @aph-fanficchallenges’ Shipping & Platonic Week 2019, Day 1: Old-Fashioned. It’s late. orz The way I write these two always feels like it straddles a line somewhere between platonic and strangely romantic/sexual, and I think you can choose to read this as either shippy or not - either way, there’s a kind of (resigned, exasperated) love there.
Also on AO3.
July, 2018
A bar in Haren, City of Brussels, in the Kingdom of Belgium
The bar is all suits and badges, but, as long as a guy knows what he’s looking for, the woman sitting nursing her drink at the bar - smart, dark grey skirt suit, name and face on her badge hidden by being tucked away behind the lapel of her blazer - stands out from the other people in the room.
She’s the only Nation in the room.
Well, she’s the only Nation in the room until America sidles in, quite proud of himself for his tracking abilities in an urban landscape without the use of spy satellites. He takes himself to the bar beside his quarry and leans over its polished top to nab the bartender’s attention, body angled towards his colleague.
“An Old-Fashioned for me, sir, and -” he begins, and eyes up the drink in front of his companion: a tumbler about a third full of booze and ice, deep brown with shimmering tones of gold - someone is hitting the spirits early (earlier than him) -, “another one for the lady too, I think?”
The bartender gives him a look and America is just about to repeat his order, a bit more clearly this time, when England sighs beside him, looking up from her one-woman stare-off with her drink and repeats his request for him. In French. (America assumes it’s French. There’s a L’Old-Fashioned in there anyway, rolling off England’s tongue in the way it never does in front of France, and a rather pointed s'il vous plaît.)
The bartender nods and gets to it, leaving England to give America her trademarked suspicious look. She’s foregone pretty hairclips today so has to sweep back some of the side-fall of her sharp bob to glower at him effectively, and that sort of effort usually means business.
“This place isn’t your usual. Why are you following me?”
Blunt.
“Everyone else was busy,” says America, and tries a charming smile that hopes England won’t point out how unlikely it is that all of the Nations involved in NATO apart from England and America have found something else to do with their lunchtimes. There’s always at least one Nation at loose ends for another to pounce upon.
England’s frown deepens and her eyebrows arch for the sky, so America lets his smile drop. There’s no real point lying, though the waste of his acting talents does make him pout. (In another life, Hollywood would be just eating this up. Begging for his time.)
“Alright , I came seeking refuge in audacity?”
“I’m audacity?” England asks, sounding undecided on whether she should be offended by that or not, only to swing her legs round hastily when America goes to pull out the barstool beside her and stomp down an unladylike heel on the foot rest, preventing its movement. “Oh - no, no, no, no, no, Jones. I think you’re a blithering idiot at the moment as well.”
“Oh, come on. ” America protests, and gives the barstool another halfhearted yank. (Not a serious yank, because if he did that he might break England’s ankle, and England and the British and Washington all of the rest of NATO would eviscerate him about him with their tongues and Russia would be a smug asshole about it again, and God, England would never let him forget it if he broke her leg. Ever. ) “I’m buying you a drink!”
“Caveat emptor,” says England snippily, and doesn’t let up on the barstool. Whoever said the English were civil, gracious and polite? “I came here for some peace and quiet, for a change.”
“Yeah, well, I came to join the club.”
America had figured England had someplace to go when she’d pretended she’d not noticed the way France was deliberately ignoring her and swanned out of the NATO headquarters like she had better things to do. Without talking to any of her own people either. It usually meant England was taking herself directly to the nearest source of both dimness and decent alcohol so she could bitch-text whoever wasn’t at the latest conference with her about how much she hated everything.
A drink and getting away from everyone glaring daggers into his back or offering gentle ‘suggestions’ about his boss had sounded pretty great to America, so he’d followed her. There isn’t enough time allotted for lunch for England to get totally wasted (something the world and certainly America must be very grateful for), but some mild inebriation for the both of them would probably make the afternoon’s meetings a lot easier to get through.
America toes one of the barstool’s feet, letting the dull thud shake up through England’s heel. “We can’t be social pariahs together?”
England still looks suspicious. “Alone, together?”
“With alcohol,” says America, right as the bartender slides their drinks over to them. The guy might hate English, but he has pretty good timing, so America digs out one of what he thinks is one of the more high-value pieces of rainbow paper most of Europe calls money out of his wallet and tells him to keep the change.
England huffs at him, but she withdraws her heel so America can finally pull the barstool out to sit, distracting herself by fishing the maraschino cherry out of her Old-Fashioned to pop it between her lips. “I swear: if you try to talk shop with me right now, I’ll stab you somewhere unpleasant.”
“Didn’t know there was somewhere pleasant to stab a guy,” America comments as he finally takes a seat, holding up both hands in the universal gesture for whoa there when England grins a grin that looks entirely too mean for an elaboration to be anything America wants to hear about in public. “I’ll take your word for it; I don’t wanna know!”
“Where did your spirit of adventure disappear to?” England teases him, and finishes her first drink in one long swallow before reaching out to her new cocktail.
America picks up his own, gesturing in the vague but not explicit of England beside him as his fingers slide in the condensation on the glass, “There’s adventure, and there’s…”
“Where angels fear to tread?” America takes a swallow of his Old-Fashioned so he doesn’t have to answer, the bitters heavy on his tongue under the whiskey burn, and England snorts at him. Flicks back her hair again, but thankfully doesn’t reach out to pat his cheek. “It’s been a long time since you were a cherub, darling.”
America squints at her, because he might have to recalculate just how quickly England can get herself shitfaced when the mood strikes. (He really needs to clean his glasses.) “How many drinks have you had? ”
“Not enough,” sighs England, which is a feeling America can definitely empathise with. At least as long as England isn’t sliding sideways off her barstool. “I keep hoping the alcohol will drown out all their squabbling.”
“S’it working?”
“Like fuck is it.” England toasts him idly, takes a sip of her drink, and then grumbles, “And you don’t help.”
“Thanks,” says America with the same amount of cheer. Maybe he can drown himself in whiskey.
“I’ve my own shit to deal with without my people harping on about your shit,” England continues unnecessarily, because America, of course, could not have possibly heard any of this same spiel from any of the other Nations or their people gathered in Brussels that day already. “If your tit of a boss could just not do what he did in Canada and leave one thing unfucked for the rest of us, that’d be smashing.”
“That’s the plan,” America sighs - and then hurries on before England can harangue him further, “but what’s your strategy?”
The element of surprise works - for once - in his favour, and England is distracted. “Hm?”
“For winning over Europe,” America clarifies - and then pauses with his glass against his mouth, sweet cherry bobbing against his lower lip, realising something. “Is that why you’re wearing a new suit?”
He’d thought England’s skirt suit had been smart: it’s all crisp lines with a nipped waist, dark grey herringbone blazer against the stiff white collar of her blouse, but the straight skirt is definitely showing off a lot of her legs.
America has heard far too many people compliment England’s legs in front of him over the years, and he groans at the mental images. “It is, ain’t it?”
England has the decency to blush - or at least allow all the booze she’s imbibed so far to do it on her behalf. The colour bleeds down her throat, and America groans again into his Old-Fashioned, taking a large swig from his tumbler and tucking the cherry into his cheek. “I -”
“I don’t wanna know,” America gripes, and hopes the whiskey will burn his revelation out of his head. Europe.
Still pink, England coughs, and takes another sip from her own cocktail. For a few moments, they have quiet.
“...Probably for the best,” England admits quietly, eventually, and then shifts enough over on her stool so she can nudge her knee up against America’s. “Thanks for the drink.”
The 2018 NATO summit was held in Brussels, Belgium, July 11-12. It took place in the (new) NATO headquarters found there, in a complex in Haren (part of the City of Brussels municipality). I don’t know if there are any good bars nearby the complex, but you’d think there would be with all the demand there must be.
The 44th G7 summit was held in La Malbaie, Quebec, Canada, in June 2018 - obviously, before the NATO summit. It received a lot of attention internationally because of (as others have more tactfully put it) ‘a significant decline of relations of members with the United States’, and was dubbed G6+1 by France and parts of the media as a result. The US withdrew in what seemed like a huff from several important international agreements, and was widely condemned by international politicians, climate change scientists, trade policy experts, foreign policy experts… etc. The US President left the summit early in order to travel to Singapore for the USA’s first summit with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, and was dubbed ‘the democratic world’s worst nightmare’ - all of which, of course, led to a rather fraught political atmosphere for all nations going to the NATO summit the following month.
...Do I really need to make a note about Brexit?
All the titles for this ‘verse come from poetry/literature created around the time the fic is set. This one is taken from a few lines from the poem Running, by Joy Harjo, which was published in July 2018 in The New Yorker:
Now I have to find my way, when there’s a river to cross and no
Boat to get me there, when there appears to be no home at all.
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((have this while I figure out what background I want to do for my next request))
Lucas may have been a bit of a mama’s boy when he was younger and as her only city and her capital, Emma may or may not have spoiled him when they were alone together. He was her youngest for about 434 years until Valencia (Mireia) was born so...
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Masterlist
Star Wars
Force technique – Force suggestion
Force technique – Battle meditation
Force technique – Telepathy & Emotion Detection
Force technique – Mind reading
On Padme Amidala’s death
My take on the Gods post
Hetalia
America’s & England’s Fashion
Part I – On the fashion attitudes of England and America
Part II – England: The early years (950 – 1400)
Part III – America: The early years (1600 – 1700)
Part IV - England - The Tudors (1400 - 1600)
Part V – America: Independence (1700 – 1800)
Part VI – England: The Stuarts (1600 – 1700)
Part VII – England: The Georgian Era (1700 – 1830)
Part VIII – America: The Civil War & The Gilded Age (1800 – 1900)
Part IX – England: The Victorian Era (1830 – 1901)
Part X – England & America – Edwardian Era to Roaring 20s (1900 – 1929)
Part XI – England & America – Great Depression to post-WWII (1930 – 1949)
Part XII – England & America: Cold War Part I (1950 – 60)
Historical Hetalia Week
Day 4 – Opulence / (1500 – 1800)
Day 5 – Novelty / (1800 – 1945)
Day 7 – Memento / (post-1945)
Hetalia Headcanons
A Brief Contemplation - Russia
America’s and England’s relationship
APH Austria I
APH Austria II
Charactersation of Hetalia Nations
Hetalia List Challenge
How Humans feel about Nations
Gilbert’s red eyes
The Coffee Club I
The Coffee Club II
The Tea Club TM
Relationship Study I
Singular Posts
Scheinheilig - China
Cupidity - England
Subterfuge – Monaco
Polarized – America
Adaptability - Russia
Cordiality – Japan
America, England - Fashion Make-over
Hetalia as Blackadder quotes
Hetalia as Allo Allo quotes
through the years
1800s
1812, Russia
1810, Vienna
1870s - Victoria
1907, St. Petersburg
1941, Finland
1941, Moscow
1943, Calcutta
1945, Brussels
1945 - Potsdam
1950s
1977 – Santiago
2010s, London
2010s, Peking
2010s, New York
AO3
Masterlist - Works on Ao3
[Art is not mine. Credit goes to the artists. DM for art removal.]
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{ And here’s a process gif of the Belgium Day drawing because I haven’t done one in a while! }
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Thank you for your submission, the mods have accepted your application into the ring. Please have your blog ready by 06/02!
Name: Laura Fontaine
Country: APH Belgium
Alias (Optional): Chrona
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 32
Species (Mutant/Human): Mutant
Group (X-Men/Brotherhood/Civilians/Government): X-Men
Appearance (1-2 Paras):
Laura stands at about five foot three inches or 160cm tall. She has green eyes and chin length blonde hair. Her build is fairly soft and graceful and she is a lot stronger than she appears to be at first. Although she is short and somewhat unintimidating at first, the Belgian woman is not afraid to let that lure people into a false sense of security. Laura enjoys tying her hair back when at her job or in costume. She has fair skin that freckles a bit in the sun.
Laura’s sense of style is feminine and practical. Even when she is not being active doing missions or hero work, she is running around after children or her son. She fully believes it is possible to have a functional wardrobe and also make it look good.
Face Claim (OCs must answer): Léa Seydoux
Personality ( 1-2 Paras with 3 Strengths and 3 Weaknesses ):
When one first meets Laura, the first impression that she usually gives off is someone who is bright and happy. Laura cares deeply for her family and loved ones and will rise up to protect them and innocent people who she perceives to be in danger. Laura is very good with children, and has been proven to be encouraging and patient when the time calls for it.
On the other side of the coin though, Laura can be incredibly stubborn and can hold a grudge for a while if someone really harms her family. She also has been known to be a bit bossy at times and rather nosy, sometimes asking questions that she really does not need the answer to. This has tempered some as she has grown up being a single mother for the most part but there are still times where old habits rear their ugly head. Laura also has the tendency to overthink decisions that need to be made, especially if they involve her powers, and will second guess herself.
At the end of the day, Laura is a survivor. She faced a nearly impossible situation that broke her heart but still found the strength to keep going. And she didn’t just keep her head down and survive, she ended up thriving for the most part. She threw her all into caring for her son and her students and eventually everyone else when she finally answered the call and allied herself with the X-men.
Strengths: Kind hearted, Independent, Good with kids, Strong, Hard working, Intelligent
Weaknesses: Nosy, Stubborn, Overthinks things, Holds grudges, Bossy at times, Not very good at letting people know when something bothers her.
Backstory (2-3 Paras):
Laura was born on April 19th, 1985 to David and Annemarie Fontaine. She had a mostly normal childhood in Brussels, Belgium with a loving family. Her powers remained latent for the first decade or so of her life and only began revealing themselves when the Belgian reached puberty. Since her abilities are not super flashy, she remained mostly under the radar from the public until a young and impulsive Laura first tried suiting up and joined the number of mutants in Europe. The environment there was not as suspicious of mutants as United States but she still tried to keep her two lives separate.
Laura fell in love in secondary school with one Benjamin Vandroogenbroeck and they had a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, as young people in love can be, they were not as careful as they should have been and Laura ended up becoming pregnant at the age of 17 in her final year of secondary school. Laura was nothing but determined though and she didn’t let that stop her. She married Benjamin and on June 15th, 2003 they welcomed Henri, their son, into the world.
She started University that fall with Benjamin and her family helping her care for her son and balancing school at the same time. Having a son made Laura take a step back from hero work since she had to focus on her personal life.
Unfortunately, another tragedy was about to fall on their little family. Before Henri was even one year old, Benjamin was killed as collateral damage from a villain attacking Brussels. The villain was defeated by other mutants in the city but Laura’s family was forever changed. She began to rely even more heavily on the support of her family, ultimately going back to her maiden name but leaving Henri with his father’s last name in Benjamin’s honor. Her younger sister Iris was a rock during this time of her life. Laura continued on with school though since she had already started and even continued on to get her master’s degree and her teaching certifications.
Once she graduated from University she received a job offer from a civilian school in the States. Henri was just turning 6 and although it was difficult to leave her support system, she and Henri left for America in late summer of 2009. Henri began school and began thriving and Laura enjoyed working as a teacher. She quickly got the feeling that mutants were much more at risk in America and worked to keep her powers under wraps for the sake of her son maintaining a more normal life. Especially as it became apparent that he did not inherit the mutant gene.
The years passed and eventually Laura received an invitation to teach at Xavier’s School for Gifted Children to help the younger students there. She lives outside of the mansion with Henri but worked out an agreement that her son can stay in the mansion if she is ever called out on a mission with the X-Men. The two of them have reached a new normal and Henri is now 14, almost 15 while Laura is 32.
Mutant Questions
Ability: Time Manipulation
Her ability manifests in a few different ways as listed below:
Slowing or Stopping time to others while moving freely. Laura creates a “bubble” around herself with the affected time flow and it can expand to be about the size of a closed room. She can also bring another person with her into this bubble as well if she needs to. Occasionally this gives her the appearance of moving at accelerated speeds or even teleporting to nearby areas but really it is just her messing with time because the time around her is moving slower than how it seems to everyone else.
Temporal Rewind. Not to be confused with her acceleration or slowing of time. She is always very careful with this ability to go back in time and rarely uses it unless things are dire.
Temporal cognition and awareness. Laura knows exactly what time it is, even when she is messing with the flow of time, and she can identify time travelers and anomalies in the timeline. This is how she knows not to change things too drastically.
Drawbacks/Limits of the ability:
While Laura’s abilities seem vast, there are some major restrictions that she has to deal with that limits her abilities. Laura going back time works a lot like the time turners in Harry Potter where she cannot change events that she knows happened. Laura also has no way of going to the future at all or knowing what is to come. The past has already happened and is stable but the future has so many possibilities that there is no way she could jump ahead and return without altering the current timeline. She also cannot bring people back with her into the past at all and she can only go back a day at the most. Using this ability completely wipes her out and she cannot double up and go back to that time again. She just has one chance or else the timeline gets too unstable.
With slowing and stopping time there are not as many drawbacks and it is easier for her since time is still moving forward or just pauses briefly. It drains her to stop time completely and when she brings others with her it drains her even more. Laura has an easier time messing with the flow of time in enclosed spaces like a single room without a lot of people in it than anywhere else. Her other abilities don’t drain her energy at all although it can be a bit annoying knowing exactly what time it is no matter when.
Non-mutant Question
Why would a mutant care about your existence? (Important if you’re grouped with the X-Men or Magneto): N/A
Lit Writing Sample:
Someone close to you has just discovered you are a mutant, how does your muse react before the other can reveal their feelings?
The evening began normally enough. Laura had finished her teaching for the day and had picked her son up from his after school childcare on her way home. While she always felt a bit guilty about not picking Henri up herself, the seven year old understood and seemed to enjoy his time with his friends that he had made there. Once the two of them had arrived home she began preparing their dinner while Henri worked on his homework at the kitchen table. She was always there if he had questions to help point him in the right direction.
Today though, something was bothering her son. She could tell. He was not focusing on his school work at all really and kept sneaking glances towards her as if he was thinking hard about something.
“Hey, Maman?” the boy asked, finally setting down his pencil. It seemed that he had decided it was time to bring up what was on his mind.
“Yes? Is something the matter, Bud?” she replied, turning to face Henri and giving him a reassuring smile.
“Um… well, today at school… we started learning about mutants and some of their history… and… it made me start doing some thinking.” Henri continued, trying to put his thoughts into words. “It made me think about some of the times where you seemed to move more quickly than normal or when you were suddenly just there. And… I just was curious if you were one of them? One of the mutants?”
Laura stilled at the question. She had not really thought that Henri would bring up this topic quite yet. Mutants were not really talked about as openly back in Europe as they were here so maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her son’s face betrayed nothing about his thoughts on the matter except curiosity and she realized she was going to have to be honest with him and try to explain it the best that she could. Although she had tried not to use her abilities around Henri as often, her son was still smarter than most people gave him credit for with his somewhat goofy personality.
“Well, yes. Yes I suppose I am a mutant.” Laura explained carefully, “I was born with some abilities involving time although I don’t use them as much anymore. After your Papa died I was too focused on caring for you and going to school and I began only really using them to protect you if you were in danger. But I am still the same person as I have always been. I just have some extra abilities that you now know about that we need to keep secret, okay?”
Henri was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, okay. A lot of what they told us about in school were about mutants who did bad things but there were some good ones too. You are one of the good ones, right?” he asked, tilting his head.
Laura laughed quietly and went over to ruffle her son’s hair. “Yes, of course I was when I was still active. And maybe one day I will be active again but right now I just want to do my most important job yet. Being a good mom to you. But in order for me to continue keeping you safe we have to keep this quiet, okay? The other kids may make trouble if they knew that and we could be in danger.”
Henri pulled an annoyed face and tried to duck out from under her hand before laughing. “Yeah, okay. I won’t tell them. It can be a secret! Almost like a spy!”
Laura grinned and nodded before she went to go back to check on their dinner. “I suppose that is close enough. And you don’t want to blow my cover too early, right?”
“Right!” Henri exclaimed before picking up his pencil and started working on his school work once more. He seemed more at ease now that he had finally asked the question that had been bothering him.
Laura let out an internal sigh of relief. That had gone about as well as she could have expected and she counted her blessings that the two of them had a close bond already. It would take more than this to shake the two of them. It certainly helped that Henri was still young and had not grown up to fear mutants like a lot of his classmates. Perhaps it was for the best that he found out now so she could continue to help him as he learned more, both about the good and the bad.
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{ Ah, yes. Pepijn Vermeulen. The good boy. The prodigal son. }
#aph belgium#nyotalia#nyo belgium#and by my headcanon he also represents Brussels!#the goodest of boys#pepijn
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