Disclaimer: I do not own Ivan, fortunately, nor the series Axis Powers: Hetalia. I do not own the Ivan Braginski: User Guide and Manual, that's LolliDictator's. I do, however, own myself and this fanfic based off a cute little guide on how to care for your IVAN unit.
To say I'm interesting would be a lie. I'm average. In fact, I'm probably just as average as you get. I'm 5'3, on a good day, a little on the rounder side just because I'm small. My face is a weird mix of a square and a circle, my hair is short and choppy and very bed-head, my eyes are black even though I always wear colored contacts, and I'm very tan. Because, as much as I hate it, I'm Guyanese. Half, at least. And it sucks; I want to be white. I guess I try to "blend in", despite my … uh, otaku-y side. I practically live in American Eagle, skate by on my grades, and deny most affiliations to the "odd" people and anime nerds. Just. Average. But you know, that's only as far as being in public goes! I mean, I can't deny my weird friends I meet online that I love to death, or any anime obsessions since I eat, breath, and sleep internet.
And that's where my trouble starts, see? Fucking interweb.
Hetalia isn't an obsession, as far as I'm concerned; it's a fucking lifestyle. It's my addiction. And damn, it's worth it. So, like any other day, I'm hitting up any and all sites to get my fix (which reminds me that I need to watch the latest episodes!) when BAM. Pop-up, right on my screen. What the hell? Why wasn't my blocker working! Frustrated, I clicked the "x" and went back to my business and the, what do you know, it was back! Okay, I thought, I'll humor this stupid thing and just see what it wants.
"Do you want a free Axis Powers: Hetalia unit for yourself? Enter now for a chance to win!"
Oh. My. Fucking. God. This is a scam, really. It's a scam, it's gotta be a scam! Of course, that's what I'm telling myself as I fill it out frantically, because oh my God I'm going to win this! But you know, I'm expecting all that totally lame "To finish, please visit one of our sponsors!" things to pop up and deny me of my Hetalia fetish. Er…not a fetish, ignore that. Not. Even. Nothing popped up! In fact, my laptop fucking froze. So either Shwicky (my lovely Dell) was being a tard, or he just contracted an STD. Shut up, you're just jealous that my laptop has a definite gender.
"Congratulations! Your first unit will be shipped within 2-5 business days! Please look for a confirmation e-mail at the provided address."
Oh. My. Fucking. God. This is dope! I mean, I WON. Yeah! I mean, I totally wasn't bouncing around in my seat or anything, no wa- oh fuck. How was I supposed to explain THIS one to my mom! Just drop it casually? "Oh hey, mom. Just BY THE WAY, I entered this really cool nerdy contest and got free stuff and now A "MAN" WHO IS CONSIDERABLE OLDER THAN YOUR PRETTY DAUGHTER is living in your house and mooching off your stuff." Oh yeah, that'd go over SO well. Fuck it, I'd just bite the bullet if it came to that. Whatever. And so, as I immediately surfed over to my yahoo, I squirmed on my bed in glee, twisting this way and that way and oh my god what was on my back!
"Go away, Gizmo. Stop drooling your cat spit on me."
Time seemed to crawl, those next couple of days. I mean, I had no idea when my thing was coming and I didn't know what to expect (to be honest, I was expecting some lame figurine the size of my thumb) and lordy, I was just excited. I mean, it's not like I DO anything. Wake up, shower, drink coffee, go to school, come home, spend all night on the internet, go to sleep sometime after 1 in the morning, and repeat. That's really all I do. I'm home alone most of the time, so it's not like there's anyone to entertain me.
When I sit at home, I blast music. Like, really LOUD music. Annoying, American Pop and mainstream music. Plus, my doorbell's broken, so it's no wonder I didn't hear the knocking. At first. When I decided, "Hey, I'm hungry!" it didn't take me long to pick my way around my disaster area of a room and into the loft, which is when I saw it. The big truck with this little gr- oh my God was that Flying Mint Bunny! Needless to say, it didn't take me long to get down my stairs and to the door. Upon throwing it open, I came face to face with a rather clean-cut looking man in delivery uniform. He was cute; the F.M.B on his uniform only added. Damn, I'm shallow.
"Uh, hey" I offered quietly, staring between him and the hugeass box beside him. "That mine?"
"Sign here," he gruffed as he shoved this weird pad thing I saw the Swans drivers with, once.
Rude much, I thought as I grabbed the pad, quickly scribbling (I can't write cursive, fuck you) my name and staring at the box. This thing…..was taller than me.
"…..ual. Hey. Are you listening? HEY."
"What?" I took me a minute to realize this guy was, in fact, talking to me. "Can I help you?"
He scowled at me- oooh, someone was cranky! "Here's your manual."
I nodded lamely, taking this manila folder (people used these, still? Awesome.) from him and tossing it onto my stairs. The guy looked at me funny, and I smiled back.
"Do you need me to get it inside?" he asked, right as my dog decided to shove his nose between my legs and the doorframe.
"Nah, it's cool. I can take care of it."
He looked at me like I was crazy (which I probably was since I was smaller than this crate!) but didn't ask any more questions and left.
I just grinned like an idiot and shut my door. Somebody just got a new toy.
Well, first things first- figure out what the hell was on my doorstep. Not overly concerned, I grabbed up the folder and none too carefully opened it, dumping the packet into my hands. And, what was so neatly typed in bold on the front cover?
"IVAN BRAGINSKI: USER GUIDE AND MANUAL."
Oh. My. Fucking. God. This was not happening. The manual was on the stairs (or perhaps the floor) within a matter of seconds, and I had thrown open my door and ran outside and nearly into the crate. But, alas, Mr. FMB Delivery dude was already gone. That meant I had no hopes of returning this thing. Shit.
So, of course, I trudged back inside my house in defeat, scooped up the manual, and gave a pitiful look to my dog.
"Love you, buppy. But it looks like I'm done for. I'm gonna miss you, Max."
I dragged my feet up the stairs, stepped on anything in my path in my room, and literally threw myself onto my bed. Then, I crawled towards my computer and immediately logging into one of my many (RP, since I'm that nerdy) MSN accounts to seek out the one person I thought could help me.
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*OMG ATTI DB
Matthew Williams says:
*WHAT
*OVO
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*ATTTIIIIIIIII
*DDDDDDDDDDDDB
Matthew Williams says:
*D-DIDSOMETHINGHAPPEN
*DDDB
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*SDKGSDFG
*IVAN
*;A;
*I'MDEAD
*TAKEITAWAY
*IDON'TWANTITTTTTT
Matthew Williams says:
*...I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND YOU
*;A;
*;A;
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*;A;
*HOW DO I FIX IT
*O3O
Matthew Williams says:
*FIX WHAT ATTI IS CONFUUUUSED ;A;
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*... ;A;
Matthew Williams says:
*IVAN, WHAT?
*RUSSIA, IVAN?
*;A;
LOVINO fuckingVARGAS says:
*I'LLTELLYOULATER
*IFILIVE
*BRB
Matthew Williams says:
*...FJSNKGDFBJHKN HB
I guess….I really did have to bite the bullet. Reluctantly, I grabbed the manual and sluggishly slid down my stairs. That's right, slid. I sat down and eased myself down the stairs to waste time. Once I got to the bottom, I went outside, moved around the box containing all of my fears in "human" form, and sat in the rocking chair beside it. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
"So, uh, how do I do this…" I mused. And no, dammit, I don't talk to myself. A lot. Whatever, shut up.
After some….not so thorough reading, I glared at the stupid crate on my doorstep. "Hate you, giant Ivan box." And thus, started a 2 minute staring contest with his crate. Because I'm that cool.
"Stupid commie," I muttered , toeing the concrete of my porch before going back to glaring at his box. And, trying repeatedly to pronounce …. that weird Russian word. I knew I succeed when, much to my delight, the faintest sobbing could be heard from inside the box. Because, you know, the manual said so. So, I opened the door and, surprise! The crying had been in my head. Dammit.
"You know what? America landed on the moon." And that, friends, is when I ran.
"So, uh, Ivan."
"Da?"
"Um….welcome to my house?" I made this weird face, quite normal for me, where I purse my lips (kissy lips!) and move them waaay to the right; sometimes, I scrunch up my nose, too.
"Thank you," he cooed…which really, really freaked me out. Just saying.
"Um, you've gotta stay in the basement. You should like it; it's dark and cold down there. Uh, it's a little messy, sorry, but there's a bed? And a nice big window. No sunflowers, I can't grow plants without killing them except for last year when I kinda grew some marigolds in science, but uh, not important. Vodka is in the freezer. There's only two bottles, so let them thaw or something and then make them last. I can't get you anymore, got it? Ok. Umm," I started to loose track of what I was saying as I stared at this manual. T-The hell was with this guy! Get him out of my house!
"Da?"
"Oh, uh, that box is yours. Do whatever with it. Don't hurt my cats. Or the dog. Behave. And, uh, don't freak my mom out. And I can't cook Russian, sorry. I can make chicken….or uh, spaghetti or fetticuine, or I can make hamburg-"
"Kolkolkolkolkolkolkol…"
"Um, yeah. Right."
The two of us stood awkwardly for a minute or so. At least, it was awkward for me. He…just stood there. And stared at me. Oh my God, someone save me. I'd, uh, offer him to Atti later. Or Chalti. Someone.
"So like, this way. Down here. Throooough the door," I directed as I lead tall, bright, and yandere into my deep, dark basement. And no, the way his feet was thudding against my wooden stairs didn't scare me. I always run down them. Always.
"This is it. Uh, don't mess with the shit over there. It's heating and water boiler and stuff and I don't really know. There's a TV if you want it, but I don't know if it works. Um….that's about it."
Ivan, who had picked up his box at sometime I wasn't aware of, wandered over to the bed, to do God only knows what.
I hauled my ass up those steps.
It didn't take long for me to forget Ivan was even there. He stayed in the basement, content with something not destructive, I hoped, and I locked myself in my room and prayed to God to forgive me for being a horrible person and to make Ivan disappear from my house. And then, I fell into a fitful sleep and napped for a good hour or two.
Waking up, I realized that it was all just a vivid nightmare. I mean, no way Ivan would REALLY show up in a box at my door. That thing was just a scam. I yawned and muttered nonsense, making my face again as I sat up to go make dinner or something. That was when I realized Ivan was very real, and very much in my doorway watching me sleep. Oddly enough, this reminded my of something my friend did….watching me sleep. Anyway, besides the point! This was Ivan; the creepy Russian!
"Shiiiiiit," I whined as I pouted. Ivan just smiled at me, that creepy fucker.
"Uh, you hungry? Or something?"
"Da."
"…Right, then. Let me get up, and I'll make haaaaaaa…..wt …. food? I'll make hot food." Oh yeah, me, real smooth save. Awesome. I did my best to watch Ivan while I crawled off my bed and tiptoed around my room, and then just kind of stared up at him. He seemed more than content to just follow me and watch me without saying a word. Scary.
"…..I can make you a sandwich." I took the lack of words to continue listing options.
"I can make you pasta. Or, uh, coffee." I tried not to spazz when I heard him chuckle.
"Nyet. Comrade, coffee is not food," the creepy Commie giggled at me.
"Oh, right. Uh. Right." I was honestly at a loss of words.
Dear God in heaven….please, help me not die at the hands of this crazy Communist who was living in my house.
"Comrade, everything ok?" I stared at Ivan, then pointed to the stove.
"How about I just make some soup, and you can spike it with your vodka or something, and we all just go to sleep. Or something."
Ivan seemed to think this over for a moment, and then smiled his happy, creepy Commie smile at me. "Da," he cooed, "sounds like a plan."
Why yes, I am derpy. Thank you for noticing. I don't know, I had way too much fun with this. But, because it was fun, I kind of want to continue on with the rest of the Hetalia units, in order. Of course, that could change if I get lazy and (supposedly) my other fanfic takes priority over this!
Sorry if Russie seems OOC. I'm not too familiar with him as a character.
In fact, I don't even like him, much. -SHOTHARD-