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America’s just about to retort, but he can see Austria giving him a cross look from across the room, so he plops down in his chair, unhappy. Besides, America realizes they were doing one of those ‘PMSing sixteen-year-old girl against angry father in midlife crisis’ scenes people always see in TV shows, and America would rather die than have Sweden catch him acting like China on his male period.
England looks satisfied with himself once America sits down, so America reaches over, tears off a piece of England’s notepaper, crumples it into a ball, and throws it at the English nation. And that settles that.
During meetings, America has this weird thing where if he gets really, really, immensely bored, he’ll start chewing on the cap of his pen. The sounds he makes are loud and outright disturbing, but Mexico and Canada—who were America’s usual seat neighbors until England most likely gagged Mexico and shoved the poor guy in a closet that reeks of sex because time has proven that world conferences are apparently great places to get it on, and Canada has been missing for days—have learned to ignore it. England, not so much.
England continuously blocks America’s view of Sweden, so America has resorted to chewing on his pen.
Halfway through the meeting, right before lunch, a neatly folded piece of paper lands on America’s notepad, the thing he should be using to make an outline of Switzerland’s speech while not sucking on his pen.
Stop chewing on your pen cap. It’s disgusting. It may not seem like it at times, but I thought I raised a human being, not an animal.
-England
It’s just like England to write America a note instead of saying it to his face. Canada had to get the passive-aggressive attitude from someone, and America knows France is very... direct. America’s frequently ‘bad touched’ private spots can attest to that. Or maybe England is just terrified that Switzerland might stab him with a Swiss army knife if he gets caught talking.
America rolls his eyes and decides to write England a well thought out reply.
gtfo england nobody likes u
America wads up the paper and tosses it at England. A few seconds later, the paper is back on his notepad, refolded correctly. Jesus Christ, England is even as anal about passing notes as he is about his old people tea. And sex. America inwardly laughs at his own joke.
America, your penmanship is atrocious. It looks as if you were having a seizure while writing. Also, this is not a ‘text message’ or whatever you wish to call it, this is actual paper made from a tree—you know, the things you enjoy cutting down—and deserves to be written on in a proper fashion. And, contrary to popular belief, I do know some texting lingo. I know what ‘gtfo’ means, thank you very much.
-England
Before America can compose a response worthy of being made into a book, though everything he writes is, Switzerland’s voice stops and he glares at America.
“May I ask what’s so funny?” Switzerland questions, not amused.
“No,” America replies.
Switzerland raises an eyebrow, and America notices the guy has a gun.
A gun.
America’s razor was taken in security for the possibility of it being a lethal weapon, and they let Switzerland pass with a gun?
“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” America defends himself.
“Is it?” Switzerland asks.
“Swear.”
“Please give me the paper.”
“Dude, fuck no.”
Switzerland takes a deep breath and prepares to ask America again. Liechtenstein has been pushing him to act more civil and mannerly with people, and Switzerland is trying his best, but America is the one country that’s the most infuriating.
“I asked you politely the first time, and I will ask again. Please, America, give me the paper.”
“You’ll read it out loud!”
“Give me the paper, you—!”
England snatches the paper out of America’s hands before Switzerland can cuss in German, French, or whatever language the Swiss use, and leans across the table to hand it to the presenting nation. France whistles at the view, and England flips him off while saying a gentlemanly, “Fuck all you Frenchies.”
England looks satisfied with himself once America sits down, so America reaches over, tears off a piece of England’s notepaper, crumples it into a ball, and throws it at the English nation. And that settles that.
During meetings, America has this weird thing where if he gets really, really, immensely bored, he’ll start chewing on the cap of his pen. The sounds he makes are loud and outright disturbing, but Mexico and Canada—who were America’s usual seat neighbors until England most likely gagged Mexico and shoved the poor guy in a closet that reeks of sex because time has proven that world conferences are apparently great places to get it on, and Canada has been missing for days—have learned to ignore it. England, not so much.
England continuously blocks America’s view of Sweden, so America has resorted to chewing on his pen.
Halfway through the meeting, right before lunch, a neatly folded piece of paper lands on America’s notepad, the thing he should be using to make an outline of Switzerland’s speech while not sucking on his pen.
Stop chewing on your pen cap. It’s disgusting. It may not seem like it at times, but I thought I raised a human being, not an animal.
-England
It’s just like England to write America a note instead of saying it to his face. Canada had to get the passive-aggressive attitude from someone, and America knows France is very... direct. America’s frequently ‘bad touched’ private spots can attest to that. Or maybe England is just terrified that Switzerland might stab him with a Swiss army knife if he gets caught talking.
America rolls his eyes and decides to write England a well thought out reply.
gtfo england nobody likes u
America wads up the paper and tosses it at England. A few seconds later, the paper is back on his notepad, refolded correctly. Jesus Christ, England is even as anal about passing notes as he is about his old people tea. And sex. America inwardly laughs at his own joke.
America, your penmanship is atrocious. It looks as if you were having a seizure while writing. Also, this is not a ‘text message’ or whatever you wish to call it, this is actual paper made from a tree—you know, the things you enjoy cutting down—and deserves to be written on in a proper fashion. And, contrary to popular belief, I do know some texting lingo. I know what ‘gtfo’ means, thank you very much.
-England
Before America can compose a response worthy of being made into a book, though everything he writes is, Switzerland’s voice stops and he glares at America.
“May I ask what’s so funny?” Switzerland questions, not amused.
“No,” America replies.
Switzerland raises an eyebrow, and America notices the guy has a gun.
A gun.
America’s razor was taken in security for the possibility of it being a lethal weapon, and they let Switzerland pass with a gun?
“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” America defends himself.
“Is it?” Switzerland asks.
“Swear.”
“Please give me the paper.”
“Dude, fuck no.”
Switzerland takes a deep breath and prepares to ask America again. Liechtenstein has been pushing him to act more civil and mannerly with people, and Switzerland is trying his best, but America is the one country that’s the most infuriating.
“I asked you politely the first time, and I will ask again. Please, America, give me the paper.”
“You’ll read it out loud!”
“Give me the paper, you—!”
England snatches the paper out of America’s hands before Switzerland can cuss in German, French, or whatever language the Swiss use, and leans across the table to hand it to the presenting nation. France whistles at the view, and England flips him off while saying a gentlemanly, “Fuck all you Frenchies.”
France smirks, England shouts more, Spain laughs, Prussia grins, Germany smacks his forehead with his palm, Northern Italy makes his Italian ‘Ve’ noise, Switzerland’s gun goes off, and America is utterly embarrassed by and for his so-called ‘parents’.
In short, massive chaos ensues.
Once the disorder has gotten to a level in which America needs to deflect pencils and pens flying in all directions with his notepad, it’s clear to him that he needs to leave before he misses blocking a pencil and it jabs him in the eye. Well, glasses. Which would suck, because his glasses represent Texas, and if a pencil hits his glasses it might as well be kicking Texas right in the ouch zone. Then Texas would do something stupid, like try to secede.
Again.
And England thinks he’s the only one with child problems. Whatever, America’s not even his kid, so he should back off and stop being a whiny drunk.
As America tries to slip out the door, attempting to be unseen, a briefcase whizzes past his head and he all but high tails it out of the room. America would participate in the fighting, and kick some international ass, but his boss has been getting on his case lately. And maybe he wants to make a really good impression on Sweden by being totally peaceful and leaving. Sweden appreciates calm, cool, and collected. America can’t change his personality for the Swede, but he can try to be a better person.
His musing halts abruptly when America crashes into someone...
Someone...
Someone Canadian!
“Canada!” America hollers, grinning, and grabbing Canada’s shoulders. “I haven’t seen you at all, bro! Where have you been?”
“... The bathroom?” Canada replies, furrowing his eyebrows and trying to pry America’s touchy-feely hands off of him. Really, America has always had this thing with touching people, and Canada wouldn’t mind it so much if America’s grip didn’t have the same strength as steel. “S-Sorry. Was I gone long? I don’t want everybody to think I disappeared...”
“Oh, those geezers won’t notice,” America tells him. “Nobody ever has!”
Canada frowns. “Thanks.”
“But I meant where have you been this whole time? Sometimes I forgot you were even here!”
“I sit next to you, America. Right next to you. And my room is one down from yours.”
“Haha, go figure!”
“Indeed.” Canada adjusts his glasses and makes to sidestep America, but his brother obstructs his path. “Could you move?”
“Nope! So, whattaya say to ditching and chilling out?”
“I say that is a bad idea.”
“Great! Let’s go!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Sure you are! I said so, so it’s gotta be true.”
“America, seriously.”
“America, seriously.”
“I don’t sound like that...”
“Um, yeah. You do. Let’s gooo, Canada.”
“We’re in Germany, and neither of us speak German. Where are we supposed to go?”
“Places. And I know some Swedish!”
“Really.”
“Hej.”
“Very nice. And you learned that from Sweden?”
“Yes. We hung out last night!”
Canada shudders.
Ew.
Canada’s known about America’s crush on Sweden since forever, so the words ‘We hung out last night’ coming from America do not paint a pretty picture. Oh, for the love of maple, ew.
“Please keep your sexcapades to yourself,” Canada says.
“What are you talking about?” America asks. “We were just getting friendly.”
“Stop, stop!” Canada shakes his head. “I don’t want to know!”
“We talked about Star Wars for a while,” America admits.
“During... your ‘hanging out’?” Canada asks. America nods. Why is Canada not finding that shocking? “Wow. Only you.”
“What?”
“I don’t even... America. I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”
“Sex life?” America is confused. “What sex life?”
“The one you now have.”
“Uh.” America looks around to make sure no one else is in the hallway. “I don’t... have a sex life.”
Score one for Canada. He has an active sex life and America doesn’t! Things are going in the right direction.
“But...” Despite that, Canada is also puzzled. “You like Sweden and you said you ‘hung out’ with him in a ‘friendly’ way... Eh, I don’t get it.”
“I meant friendly as in just friendly, not friendly without pants.”
In short, massive chaos ensues.
Once the disorder has gotten to a level in which America needs to deflect pencils and pens flying in all directions with his notepad, it’s clear to him that he needs to leave before he misses blocking a pencil and it jabs him in the eye. Well, glasses. Which would suck, because his glasses represent Texas, and if a pencil hits his glasses it might as well be kicking Texas right in the ouch zone. Then Texas would do something stupid, like try to secede.
Again.
And England thinks he’s the only one with child problems. Whatever, America’s not even his kid, so he should back off and stop being a whiny drunk.
As America tries to slip out the door, attempting to be unseen, a briefcase whizzes past his head and he all but high tails it out of the room. America would participate in the fighting, and kick some international ass, but his boss has been getting on his case lately. And maybe he wants to make a really good impression on Sweden by being totally peaceful and leaving. Sweden appreciates calm, cool, and collected. America can’t change his personality for the Swede, but he can try to be a better person.
His musing halts abruptly when America crashes into someone...
Someone...
Someone Canadian!
“Canada!” America hollers, grinning, and grabbing Canada’s shoulders. “I haven’t seen you at all, bro! Where have you been?”
“... The bathroom?” Canada replies, furrowing his eyebrows and trying to pry America’s touchy-feely hands off of him. Really, America has always had this thing with touching people, and Canada wouldn’t mind it so much if America’s grip didn’t have the same strength as steel. “S-Sorry. Was I gone long? I don’t want everybody to think I disappeared...”
“Oh, those geezers won’t notice,” America tells him. “Nobody ever has!”
Canada frowns. “Thanks.”
“But I meant where have you been this whole time? Sometimes I forgot you were even here!”
“I sit next to you, America. Right next to you. And my room is one down from yours.”
“Haha, go figure!”
“Indeed.” Canada adjusts his glasses and makes to sidestep America, but his brother obstructs his path. “Could you move?”
“Nope! So, whattaya say to ditching and chilling out?”
“I say that is a bad idea.”
“Great! Let’s go!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Sure you are! I said so, so it’s gotta be true.”
“America, seriously.”
“America, seriously.”
“I don’t sound like that...”
“Um, yeah. You do. Let’s gooo, Canada.”
“We’re in Germany, and neither of us speak German. Where are we supposed to go?”
“Places. And I know some Swedish!”
“Really.”
“Hej.”
“Very nice. And you learned that from Sweden?”
“Yes. We hung out last night!”
Canada shudders.
Ew.
Canada’s known about America’s crush on Sweden since forever, so the words ‘We hung out last night’ coming from America do not paint a pretty picture. Oh, for the love of maple, ew.
“Please keep your sexcapades to yourself,” Canada says.
“What are you talking about?” America asks. “We were just getting friendly.”
“Stop, stop!” Canada shakes his head. “I don’t want to know!”
“We talked about Star Wars for a while,” America admits.
“During... your ‘hanging out’?” Canada asks. America nods. Why is Canada not finding that shocking? “Wow. Only you.”
“What?”
“I don’t even... America. I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”
“Sex life?” America is confused. “What sex life?”
“The one you now have.”
“Uh.” America looks around to make sure no one else is in the hallway. “I don’t... have a sex life.”
Score one for Canada. He has an active sex life and America doesn’t! Things are going in the right direction.
“But...” Despite that, Canada is also puzzled. “You like Sweden and you said you ‘hung out’ with him in a ‘friendly’ way... Eh, I don’t get it.”
“I meant friendly as in just friendly, not friendly without pants.”
“A, thanks for the imagery.” Canada is blushing, and he knows it. “And B, sorry.”
“A, why were you picturing it, and B, it’s cool.” America pauses. “Wait. How did you know I like Sweden? Shit! You got that text from France, didn’t you?!”
“What text?”
“... So you didn’t get it.”
“He... He just must have to forgotten to send it to me.”
“Then how do you know?”
America’s fine with talking about his crush in the open with Canada, since Canada’s his brother and stuff and brothers keep secrets. Most of the time. America still feels kind of bad for accidentally letting it slip to Russia while they were doing that stuff that Canada used to like England (‘Like father like son’, America had said, referring to France, and then Canada had ‘accidentally’ kneed him where it hurts), but watching Russia’s reaction was funny and therefore worth it.
“Do you remember the Seventies?” Canada asks.
“Yes, Canada! I remember the Seventies. Stop bringing it up!”
“I don’t mean that part! No, no, no, no, no. Not that part. Do you remember the 46th Academy Awards?”
“Yeah...?”
“You called me, freaking out, because a Swedish film won Best Cinematography.”
“Did I?”
Just as Canada predicted, America can barely remember that. America’s pondering the Academy Awards, and so Canada formulates a plan. An amazing plan, if Canada may say so himself—and he does. If Canada comes to like Sweden, even though his face can make Canada cry, and helps America with the wooing, then America could return the favor by approving of Canada’s partner. It’s not like America, or anyone, knows Canada has a romantic relationship, but he will tell America once America’s happily doting on Sweden, satisfied, and less inclined to set off a nuclear bomb.
“So...” Canada says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“You won’t...” America hesitates, because he can suddenly recall that event. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time, and he even forgot he did that since his conversations with Canada are distressingly easy to forget, but thinking about it is... Well, it makes him feel like how Canada must feel on a daily basis. Blushing and sounding quiet to other people and secretly dying of bashfulness. “You won’t tell anyone I did that?”
“I won’t,” Canada promises. Nobody would bother to listen to him, anyway. “And France texted everybody?”
“He texted Poland, who texted everybody, so everybody knows.”
“Ah.”
“Yep.”
“Everybody, meaning...?”
“No, not him! Not. Sweden. Convenient, am I right? And it’s going to stay that way, yeah?”
“Why would I tell him you like him?”
“Revenge.”
“What have you done to me lately?”
Other than be the world’s biggest jackass, but Canada’s not going to say that out loud.
“Good point,” America concurs.
“You really like him...?”
“No. I don’t. I’m actually kidding.”
“But...”
“That was sarcasm. Yes, yes, I like him. I like him so much I want to skip off into the sunset with him. Or maybe through a field of flowers.”
“You like him. As in ‘like like’?”
“We’re in the middle of a hallway. How many times do you want me to go over this?”
“Just making sure. I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”
“Okay, for the record, I didn’t initiate that. And this whole thing is different. I like Sweden, and kind of totally have for a while, so.”
“All right, all right.” America sighs and Canada decides to introduce his plan to the American. “You know, I could help.”
“With?” America asks.
“Your getting into Sweden’s pants.”
“I don’t want your help if you’re going to call it that.”
“What else is it?” he asks.
“It’s called ‘starting a relationship’.”
Canada is stunned. As in stunned with a stun gun, stunned. America’s called it ‘getting into pants’ ever since he learned the saying.
“... God, how serious about this are you?”
“Canada.” America puts his hands on his hips mockingly and Canada is still going over the fact that America is not intending to just play around. “When am I not serious?”
“Well—“
“Don’t answer that. And what kind of ‘help’ do you mean? If you’re going to say you’re teaching me ‘French-Canadian’ kissing again to improve my kissing skills, then no thanks.”
“A, why were you picturing it, and B, it’s cool.” America pauses. “Wait. How did you know I like Sweden? Shit! You got that text from France, didn’t you?!”
“What text?”
“... So you didn’t get it.”
“He... He just must have to forgotten to send it to me.”
“Then how do you know?”
America’s fine with talking about his crush in the open with Canada, since Canada’s his brother and stuff and brothers keep secrets. Most of the time. America still feels kind of bad for accidentally letting it slip to Russia while they were doing that stuff that Canada used to like England (‘Like father like son’, America had said, referring to France, and then Canada had ‘accidentally’ kneed him where it hurts), but watching Russia’s reaction was funny and therefore worth it.
“Do you remember the Seventies?” Canada asks.
“Yes, Canada! I remember the Seventies. Stop bringing it up!”
“I don’t mean that part! No, no, no, no, no. Not that part. Do you remember the 46th Academy Awards?”
“Yeah...?”
“You called me, freaking out, because a Swedish film won Best Cinematography.”
“Did I?”
Just as Canada predicted, America can barely remember that. America’s pondering the Academy Awards, and so Canada formulates a plan. An amazing plan, if Canada may say so himself—and he does. If Canada comes to like Sweden, even though his face can make Canada cry, and helps America with the wooing, then America could return the favor by approving of Canada’s partner. It’s not like America, or anyone, knows Canada has a romantic relationship, but he will tell America once America’s happily doting on Sweden, satisfied, and less inclined to set off a nuclear bomb.
“So...” Canada says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“You won’t...” America hesitates, because he can suddenly recall that event. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time, and he even forgot he did that since his conversations with Canada are distressingly easy to forget, but thinking about it is... Well, it makes him feel like how Canada must feel on a daily basis. Blushing and sounding quiet to other people and secretly dying of bashfulness. “You won’t tell anyone I did that?”
“I won’t,” Canada promises. Nobody would bother to listen to him, anyway. “And France texted everybody?”
“He texted Poland, who texted everybody, so everybody knows.”
“Ah.”
“Yep.”
“Everybody, meaning...?”
“No, not him! Not. Sweden. Convenient, am I right? And it’s going to stay that way, yeah?”
“Why would I tell him you like him?”
“Revenge.”
“What have you done to me lately?”
Other than be the world’s biggest jackass, but Canada’s not going to say that out loud.
“Good point,” America concurs.
“You really like him...?”
“No. I don’t. I’m actually kidding.”
“But...”
“That was sarcasm. Yes, yes, I like him. I like him so much I want to skip off into the sunset with him. Or maybe through a field of flowers.”
“You like him. As in ‘like like’?”
“We’re in the middle of a hallway. How many times do you want me to go over this?”
“Just making sure. I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”
“Okay, for the record, I didn’t initiate that. And this whole thing is different. I like Sweden, and kind of totally have for a while, so.”
“All right, all right.” America sighs and Canada decides to introduce his plan to the American. “You know, I could help.”
“With?” America asks.
“Your getting into Sweden’s pants.”
“I don’t want your help if you’re going to call it that.”
“What else is it?” he asks.
“It’s called ‘starting a relationship’.”
Canada is stunned. As in stunned with a stun gun, stunned. America’s called it ‘getting into pants’ ever since he learned the saying.
“... God, how serious about this are you?”
“Canada.” America puts his hands on his hips mockingly and Canada is still going over the fact that America is not intending to just play around. “When am I not serious?”
“Well—“
“Don’t answer that. And what kind of ‘help’ do you mean? If you’re going to say you’re teaching me ‘French-Canadian’ kissing again to improve my kissing skills, then no thanks.”
“We were high.” French-Canadian kissing is real, so America doesn’t have to add those air quotes, and it’s way better than regular French kissing. America just doesn’t know anything. “And you just said to stop bringing up the Seventies.”
“I felt that needed to be pointed out.”
“It didn’t. I just meant that I could distract England for you. We don’t talk to each other much nowadays... It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone!”
“But I thought you liked birds?”
“It’s a figure of speech, and fine. I guess you don’t need me.”
“No, no, I do! That’s a good idea! I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to distract England. No doubt he’s going to get all up in my business and cramp my style.”
“I’m glad we’re seeing eye-to-eye.”
America looks down and smirks, and pardon Canada’s French, but America can go fuck himself. Height doesn’t matter. It’s brains and attractiveness and mannerisms and other things Canada has that America doesn’t that count. And there’s only, like, a one centimeter difference between them, but America doesn’t know how small that is since he’s not cool enough to be on the metric system.
“We should go inside,” Canada says. “But we’re all figured out?”
“Most def,” America agrees, and why can’t he just finish his sentences like a normal person? “Thanks, dude. You’re the best brother a guy could ever ask for.”
Canada smiles and says, “I know”, but in French so he can rub his foreign language skills in America’s face. Oh, the duties of being the best brother ever.
“I felt that needed to be pointed out.”
“It didn’t. I just meant that I could distract England for you. We don’t talk to each other much nowadays... It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone!”
“But I thought you liked birds?”
“It’s a figure of speech, and fine. I guess you don’t need me.”
“No, no, I do! That’s a good idea! I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to distract England. No doubt he’s going to get all up in my business and cramp my style.”
“I’m glad we’re seeing eye-to-eye.”
America looks down and smirks, and pardon Canada’s French, but America can go fuck himself. Height doesn’t matter. It’s brains and attractiveness and mannerisms and other things Canada has that America doesn’t that count. And there’s only, like, a one centimeter difference between them, but America doesn’t know how small that is since he’s not cool enough to be on the metric system.
“We should go inside,” Canada says. “But we’re all figured out?”
“Most def,” America agrees, and why can’t he just finish his sentences like a normal person? “Thanks, dude. You’re the best brother a guy could ever ask for.”
Canada smiles and says, “I know”, but in French so he can rub his foreign language skills in America’s face. Oh, the duties of being the best brother ever.
Another warning: blood and a heap of mass that was once a body. Also its a timeskip to a few hours later.
What Al said in the previous page definitely triggers the following scene.
Scroll down to read.
(Animal Instinct)
Its obvious its a bit rushed but there'll be more panels in the next update! :D
What Al said in the previous page definitely triggers the following scene.
Scroll down to read.
(Animal Instinct)Its obvious its a bit rushed but there'll be more panels in the next update! :D
Mozart’s “Requiem Mass in D minor” floated quietly throughout the ornate living room from two large speakers. Forest green walls surrounded high-backed, oak chairs, gold leaf inlaid at the edges of everything. An old portrait hung over the mantelpiece, depicting a blond couple. A woman with bright blue eyes, in a blue Revolutionary War uniform was holding a small boy in green. She looked tired, but happy and the boy was sleeping. There was a third figure, also in blue, who had a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
Vermont, wearing his characteristic green polo shirt, relaxed in his large, plush armchair, nodding off to the sound of the violins. He’d had a rather long day, helping around Burlington. He had to make sure that no one had gotten a stroke from the uncharacteristic heat wave (it was a blistering 92 degrees Fahrenheit, which was a deadly temperature no matter what the South and Western states said). Then he was helping Waggy pay for a new flag for his roof, and then there was all the paperwork he had to deal with as a personification of a political entity.
Generally, Vermont was pleased with his work, but tire. The Orchestra was coming to town soon, but not soon enough, so he had popped in a CD of his favorite classical tunes and relaxed. (And yes, “802” was a classic in his mind.)
Vermont was just about to doze off, his mind filled with forty-nine boys swimming in a large lake and a mom holding him close, when said classical “802” rang out from his pocket. Vermont jerked to wakefulness and fumbled for his phone.
“Hello?” He said in a polite tone, when he finally dislodged from his pocket.
“VEEEEEEERMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONT!!!” Said state jumped and pulled his phone away from his ear. “DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT GET TEXAS’S TEXT MESSAGE!!?”
Even three feet away, Florida’s deafening tones were crystal clear.
“SERIOUSLY, DUDE!!” Florida was practically screaming at him. Vermont could hear his brother panicking on the other side of the line. “IT’S TERRIBLE!!! IT’S HORRIBLE!!! IT’S A WHOLE SLEW OF OTHER WORDS THAT END IN –RRIBLE!! IT’S ALMOST AS BAD AS WHEN WILMA BLEW THROUGH!!!!”
“Florida!” Vermont (all traces of sleepiness gone in the face of his brother’s panic) said in the general direction of his cellphone, stopping his brother before he lapsed into Hurricane-Panic mode. “Relax! Tell me what’s going on.”
“Right. Keep calm.” Florida half sighed, half gasped a breath of air. Vermont returned his cellphone back to his ear. “Okay, sorry, Monty. Lost my head for a moment. BUT IT’S DREADFUL!!”
Vermont winced.
“What’s dreadful?” he asked. He hoped that Florida would just tell him already.
“It’s SPAIN.” Florida snapped. “Texas just reported someone had hit on Mom, so California took the liberty of hacking Air France’s computers and seeing the flight records. Spain was at Texas’s house and he’s been hitting on Mom!”
“What!?” Vermont’s eyes went wide and his stood up in anger (not that it made much of a statement since Vermont was short and Florida couldn’t see what was going on in his house). That- That some-name-too-rude-for-society had the nerve to woo his mother!?
“Florida.” Vermont said in a deadly calm tone. “Location. Now.”
“Trust me, dude, if he was Stateside anymore, I’d be one of the first after him. He took a plane back to Madrid about an hour ago.” Florida replied. “Basically, we’re going meet up in West Yellowstone. Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho have everything arranged. You and Louisiana have a special assignment though, orders from New York.”
Vermont rushed out of the living room and headed upstairs and grabbed a duffel bag from a closet next to his bedroom. “How many days?” Vermont asked, throwing things into the bag almost haphazardly.
“‘Bout three days max.” Florida replied. “That’s all the time Texas can give us. After that, Nebraska’s asked Mom to spend some time with him, but he can’t guarantee that Mom will stay since there’s a world meeting coming up.”
“Got it.” Vermont said. “Oh, and since Spain is here, France isn’t far behind, right?”
“Right you are, bro.” Florida said. “That’s the main reason I called, by the way.”
“Took you forever to get to the point.” Vermont grumbled.
Vermont, wearing his characteristic green polo shirt, relaxed in his large, plush armchair, nodding off to the sound of the violins. He’d had a rather long day, helping around Burlington. He had to make sure that no one had gotten a stroke from the uncharacteristic heat wave (it was a blistering 92 degrees Fahrenheit, which was a deadly temperature no matter what the South and Western states said). Then he was helping Waggy pay for a new flag for his roof, and then there was all the paperwork he had to deal with as a personification of a political entity.
Generally, Vermont was pleased with his work, but tire. The Orchestra was coming to town soon, but not soon enough, so he had popped in a CD of his favorite classical tunes and relaxed. (And yes, “802” was a classic in his mind.)
Vermont was just about to doze off, his mind filled with forty-nine boys swimming in a large lake and a mom holding him close, when said classical “802” rang out from his pocket. Vermont jerked to wakefulness and fumbled for his phone.
“Hello?” He said in a polite tone, when he finally dislodged from his pocket.
“VEEEEEEERMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONT!!!” Said state jumped and pulled his phone away from his ear. “DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT GET TEXAS’S TEXT MESSAGE!!?”
Even three feet away, Florida’s deafening tones were crystal clear.
“SERIOUSLY, DUDE!!” Florida was practically screaming at him. Vermont could hear his brother panicking on the other side of the line. “IT’S TERRIBLE!!! IT’S HORRIBLE!!! IT’S A WHOLE SLEW OF OTHER WORDS THAT END IN –RRIBLE!! IT’S ALMOST AS BAD AS WHEN WILMA BLEW THROUGH!!!!”
“Florida!” Vermont (all traces of sleepiness gone in the face of his brother’s panic) said in the general direction of his cellphone, stopping his brother before he lapsed into Hurricane-Panic mode. “Relax! Tell me what’s going on.”
“Right. Keep calm.” Florida half sighed, half gasped a breath of air. Vermont returned his cellphone back to his ear. “Okay, sorry, Monty. Lost my head for a moment. BUT IT’S DREADFUL!!”
Vermont winced.
“What’s dreadful?” he asked. He hoped that Florida would just tell him already.
“It’s SPAIN.” Florida snapped. “Texas just reported someone had hit on Mom, so California took the liberty of hacking Air France’s computers and seeing the flight records. Spain was at Texas’s house and he’s been hitting on Mom!”
“What!?” Vermont’s eyes went wide and his stood up in anger (not that it made much of a statement since Vermont was short and Florida couldn’t see what was going on in his house). That- That some-name-too-rude-for-society had the nerve to woo his mother!?
“Florida.” Vermont said in a deadly calm tone. “Location. Now.”
“Trust me, dude, if he was Stateside anymore, I’d be one of the first after him. He took a plane back to Madrid about an hour ago.” Florida replied. “Basically, we’re going meet up in West Yellowstone. Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho have everything arranged. You and Louisiana have a special assignment though, orders from New York.”
Vermont rushed out of the living room and headed upstairs and grabbed a duffel bag from a closet next to his bedroom. “How many days?” Vermont asked, throwing things into the bag almost haphazardly.
“‘Bout three days max.” Florida replied. “That’s all the time Texas can give us. After that, Nebraska’s asked Mom to spend some time with him, but he can’t guarantee that Mom will stay since there’s a world meeting coming up.”
“Got it.” Vermont said. “Oh, and since Spain is here, France isn’t far behind, right?”
“Right you are, bro.” Florida said. “That’s the main reason I called, by the way.”
“Took you forever to get to the point.” Vermont grumbled.
“Hey, at least I got there!” Florida snapped. “Anyway, my extra special secret sources on Facebook have just informed be that France is meeting up with some important people in DC. You and Louisiana shall go pay him a little ‘visit.’”
Vermont smirked. “Gotcha. The usual ‘Dad we miss you so much’ crap followed by accidental pain of some kind?”
“I knew there was a reason why I loved my family so much.” Florida laughed. “Yes, and this is just came in from Missouri and, on second thought, me too. Make him sing highnotes.”
Vermont chuckled darkly. “Consider it done.”
“See ya, Monty!”
Vermont shut his cellphone and placed it back to his pocket. He spend the next twenty or so minutes tossing everything he would need for a several day trip to DC, and an extra toothbrush (because he always seemed to lose them whenever he went traveling.) He zipped the bag closed, tossed it over his shoulder and headed downstairs and out the door, already thinking about what he would say to the governor about his impromptu trip to DC.
As Vermont walked out the door, he took a quick look at the portrait hanging above his fireplace.
The figure next to him and America had a giant tear where the head should have been.
---
Okay, now I’m worried I made the states too evil…
Vermont smirked. “Gotcha. The usual ‘Dad we miss you so much’ crap followed by accidental pain of some kind?”
“I knew there was a reason why I loved my family so much.” Florida laughed. “Yes, and this is just came in from Missouri and, on second thought, me too. Make him sing highnotes.”
Vermont chuckled darkly. “Consider it done.”
“See ya, Monty!”
Vermont shut his cellphone and placed it back to his pocket. He spend the next twenty or so minutes tossing everything he would need for a several day trip to DC, and an extra toothbrush (because he always seemed to lose them whenever he went traveling.) He zipped the bag closed, tossed it over his shoulder and headed downstairs and out the door, already thinking about what he would say to the governor about his impromptu trip to DC.
As Vermont walked out the door, he took a quick look at the portrait hanging above his fireplace.
The figure next to him and America had a giant tear where the head should have been.
---
Okay, now I’m worried I made the states too evil…
Before I forget, here's a quick author's note:
Sun Tea: It's tea (flavor is up to personal preference) but on a hot day, you leave the container (preferably closed) out in the sun. The sun warms it up, the tea leaves make it strong, and voila! Sun Tea. A nice common drink in the Southern states. http://www.wikihow.com/Make-Sun-Tea
Waggy: http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/article/20100902/NEWS02/100901024/1007/Waggy-s-wants-a-new-roof-flag
Orchestra: Vermont has a state funded orchestra that performs across the state. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vermont_Symphony_Orchestra
"802": A rap song about Vermont by three high school students. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/02/us/02vermont.html
Just in case people were wondering. ^^
Sun Tea: It's tea (flavor is up to personal preference) but on a hot day, you leave the container (preferably closed) out in the sun. The sun warms it up, the tea leaves make it strong, and voila! Sun Tea. A nice common drink in the Southern states. http://www.wikihow.com/Make-Sun-Tea
Waggy: http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/article/20100902/NEWS02/100901024/1007/Waggy-s-wants-a-new-roof-flag
Orchestra: Vermont has a state funded orchestra that performs across the state. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vermont_Symphony_Orchestra
"802": A rap song about Vermont by three high school students. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/02/us/02vermont.html
Just in case people were wondering. ^^
OP is finally free!
And... Mein Gott. I think I'm in love with you, anon ;o; ♥ ♥ ♥ !
Also, this:
“I’m looking for a tomato whose name I don’t know yet!”
... I'm loving you forever.
I love how this is going on and I can't keep being thankfully to you, darling!
Thanks again!
And... Mein Gott. I think I'm in love with you, anon ;o; ♥ ♥ ♥ !
Also, this:
“I’m looking for a tomato whose name I don’t know yet!”
... I'm loving you forever.
I love how this is going on and I can't keep being thankfully to you, darling!
Thanks again!
A Tomato Whose Name I Don’t Know Yet
Chapter 3
“Erghg,” A green eyed nation grumbled loudly, blocking his path.
“Bonjour Angleterre!” France greeted in the early evening light just outside his home. He adjusted the baguette underneath his arm and surreptitiously tried to circle around the other nation so he didn’t have to stop and chat.
For once the island nation looked genuinely disgruntled – with something other than France!
“Hold it. You’ve got to take some responsibility!”
France stared, and then blinked, remembering all the acts he’d committed that would require his responsibility. A dark smirk spread across his face. “For what in particular…?”
“You heard me!” The shorter nation launched himself at the long haired nation and grabbed him by the lapels. “You’ve created a monster!”
France’s head bobbed from side to side like a paddle ball. “Q-Quoi—?”
England dropped the country. “It’s Spain, you complete flake! He’s gone nutburgers!”
“Really?” France asked, waving away some of the cuckoo birds that had been flying around his head with his bread. “He was quite, quite fine the last time I saw him.” A ping of light sparkled at the corner of his eye.
The English speaking country wasn’t fooled. “Don’t make me laugh! Everyone knows you haven’t conquered some real vital region in ages.”
France turned his nose up. “Neither have you.”
England’s eyebrows danced up and down like angry popcorn kernels in a hot oven. “It’d do you well not to mind other people’s business!”
“What’s gotten into you?” France relented, and then tacked on: “Oh. Right. Nothing in ages.”
England scowled, taming the wild beasts above his eyes and pulled France down by his frilly collar. “Listen closely. I’m only going to tell you to this once. There’ll be no repeating it on my behalf, ever again!”
France blinked and leaned ever closer, enough to sneak his hand into the other nation’s back pocket.
England took the baguette and smashed it over France’s head.
As France lay prone on the ground, roses and little Britannia angels fluttering over him, England announced the most disturbing piece of news.
“Spain tried to accost me last night.”
France sat up. “Are you serious? He hasn’t had the power to do something like that in a rather long time.”
England’s face was red and severely pissed. “Not. That. Type of… accosting.”
“Sacre bleu,” France was shocked but also a bit impressed. “I stand corrected.”
“You bloody well do not. Emphasis on the ‘tried.’”
“Ah,” France stood and dusted the crumbs and dirt off his cashmere coat. He picked up the remnants of his dinner’s appetizer and placed them in a wastebasket.
“And you want me to do something about this? You’ve never been very bright,” He smirked and tossed a rose at the country’s head. “When Spain and I get together, things can become… quite… how do I put this? More than you can handle?”
“Look. You’re a bad influence on him.” England retorted with a strained smirk as he combed petals and thorns out of his hair. “I know you somehow got into that thick skull of his and fondued his brain. He thinks he can go about, purporting himself as the ‘Country of Passion,’ and bothering other countries about being his ‘precious tomato!’”
“Pfft, Fondu is such an uncultured form of cuisine…”
“He’s spewing cheese, France. Honest to goodness cheese about finding his true love or some tripe like that!
France backpedalled, trying to put some distance between himself and the raving nation known as the United Kingdom.
“Yes, run away France!” England shouted. “Just wait ‘till you see it with your own eyes!”
“What’s all the yelling about?” Belgium asked. She was walking by and carrying her own loaf of bread.
“Nothing. Everything.” England tersely clarified.
“Oh, I do hope he finds what he’s looking for.” She smiled and scratched her cheek. “But Spain has never been good at seeing what’s right beside him.” She stuck her tongue out as if she was telling a joke. “And France can’t ever seem to look away.”
England gave her a blank stare. “You’re all a bit barmy, aren’t you? –Oh, Unicorn!” He laughed boyishly. “So good to see you again!”
Belgium sweatdropped.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 3b
Chapter 3
“Erghg,” A green eyed nation grumbled loudly, blocking his path.
“Bonjour Angleterre!” France greeted in the early evening light just outside his home. He adjusted the baguette underneath his arm and surreptitiously tried to circle around the other nation so he didn’t have to stop and chat.
For once the island nation looked genuinely disgruntled – with something other than France!
“Hold it. You’ve got to take some responsibility!”
France stared, and then blinked, remembering all the acts he’d committed that would require his responsibility. A dark smirk spread across his face. “For what in particular…?”
“You heard me!” The shorter nation launched himself at the long haired nation and grabbed him by the lapels. “You’ve created a monster!”
France’s head bobbed from side to side like a paddle ball. “Q-Quoi—?”
England dropped the country. “It’s Spain, you complete flake! He’s gone nutburgers!”
“Really?” France asked, waving away some of the cuckoo birds that had been flying around his head with his bread. “He was quite, quite fine the last time I saw him.” A ping of light sparkled at the corner of his eye.
The English speaking country wasn’t fooled. “Don’t make me laugh! Everyone knows you haven’t conquered some real vital region in ages.”
France turned his nose up. “Neither have you.”
England’s eyebrows danced up and down like angry popcorn kernels in a hot oven. “It’d do you well not to mind other people’s business!”
“What’s gotten into you?” France relented, and then tacked on: “Oh. Right. Nothing in ages.”
England scowled, taming the wild beasts above his eyes and pulled France down by his frilly collar. “Listen closely. I’m only going to tell you to this once. There’ll be no repeating it on my behalf, ever again!”
France blinked and leaned ever closer, enough to sneak his hand into the other nation’s back pocket.
England took the baguette and smashed it over France’s head.
As France lay prone on the ground, roses and little Britannia angels fluttering over him, England announced the most disturbing piece of news.
“Spain tried to accost me last night.”
France sat up. “Are you serious? He hasn’t had the power to do something like that in a rather long time.”
England’s face was red and severely pissed. “Not. That. Type of… accosting.”
“Sacre bleu,” France was shocked but also a bit impressed. “I stand corrected.”
“You bloody well do not. Emphasis on the ‘tried.’”
“Ah,” France stood and dusted the crumbs and dirt off his cashmere coat. He picked up the remnants of his dinner’s appetizer and placed them in a wastebasket.
“And you want me to do something about this? You’ve never been very bright,” He smirked and tossed a rose at the country’s head. “When Spain and I get together, things can become… quite… how do I put this? More than you can handle?”
“Look. You’re a bad influence on him.” England retorted with a strained smirk as he combed petals and thorns out of his hair. “I know you somehow got into that thick skull of his and fondued his brain. He thinks he can go about, purporting himself as the ‘Country of Passion,’ and bothering other countries about being his ‘precious tomato!’”
“Pfft, Fondu is such an uncultured form of cuisine…”
“He’s spewing cheese, France. Honest to goodness cheese about finding his true love or some tripe like that!
France backpedalled, trying to put some distance between himself and the raving nation known as the United Kingdom.
“Yes, run away France!” England shouted. “Just wait ‘till you see it with your own eyes!”
“What’s all the yelling about?” Belgium asked. She was walking by and carrying her own loaf of bread.
“Nothing. Everything.” England tersely clarified.
“Oh, I do hope he finds what he’s looking for.” She smiled and scratched her cheek. “But Spain has never been good at seeing what’s right beside him.” She stuck her tongue out as if she was telling a joke. “And France can’t ever seem to look away.”
England gave her a blank stare. “You’re all a bit barmy, aren’t you? –Oh, Unicorn!” He laughed boyishly. “So good to see you again!”
Belgium sweatdropped.
~~~
Con’t in Chapter 3b
Ahh I'm so glad!! I know my writing can seem a little bizarre and over-the-top ridiculous sometimes, but please stick with me. XD;;~
omg ilu so much anon <3 <3
oblivious!Spain is awesome, I love your little comments about how France was groping him and he didn't notice
And your "Spain gets over Romano" was very excellently done too!
Can't wait for the next part!
oblivious!Spain is awesome, I love your little comments about how France was groping him and he didn't notice
And your "Spain gets over Romano" was very excellently done too!
Can't wait for the next part!
EVERYTHING he says is hypocrisy isnt it? If he had more self control he wouldnt eat people! This ex. why his brother doesnt. I like how you make it obvious that he contradicts his actions but doesnt realize it. And that smile ...it will haunt me forever..wth do I find it amazingly hot esp. when he has a turtle neck on?
Can I just say that I love this fill, an all the states involved? Because I totally do. This is adorable, and hillarious and awsome all rolled into one happy package of joy and grins. For some reason, I love the fact that Vermont's torn France out of the picture with him and his mom; and the way they're all plotting to take the Bad Friends down is fantastic.
(Also, yea for Yellowstone appearance! I practically grew up there and it's near-and-dear to my heart. <3)
Totally can't wait for more!
(Also, yea for Yellowstone appearance! I practically grew up there and it's near-and-dear to my heart. <3)
Totally can't wait for more!
;-; I had a really terrible day and things were aweful and then you updated! Things are much better now. You're fabulous. I love this, and you, and especially Canada.
Bwahaha, I'd love to see the all 50 states go up against their fathers. America might be heading towards isolation if her kids have anything to say about it. Are you going to make a list of all the states fathers?
When Toris walked into the living room of the apartment the next morning he found a surprise in the form of his roommate Alfred sprawled out on the couch still in his new work cloths. Toris just grinned and stepped past him for the time being. He'd wake up soon enough.
That soon enough came when Toris turned to coffee pot on in their tiny kitchen.
Alfred's eyes shot open and an electric pulse jumped up his spine at the scent of hot caffeine. He jumped off of the couch and dove for the kitchen. Once he had his coffee cup in hand and filled to the brim he sighed and sunk himself down into one of the two chairs at the small kitchen table.
Toris was still amused by his roommates morning antics no matter how often they occurred. He sat down at the last empty chair and sat his own glass of juice down in front of him on the table. "So, I suppose it's safe to say that you got that job. Did you have a good first day?"
Alfred grinned, Toris's positive attitude was always welcome after a hectic night, especially one that involved cleaning. "Yeah, it was all right." he replied sipping his coffee and avoiding looking down at his horribly wrinkled uniform. The scrunched up material matched the way his back felt after sleeping on the cheap living room furniture.
For class he had changed out of his uniform, hanging it up in hopes of some gravity de-wrinkling, and put on some comfy cloths. A red, white and blue stripped hoodie and a pair of old worn out jeans.
It was a mistake, he ended up being too comfortable and slept through most of his classes. Head on the desk, he dreamed of serving hamburgers to the school staff.
By the time school ended and he was on his way to the restaurant again, he was fully rested thanks to his naps. He strode as confidently as he could into the restraint. His uniform looking pleasant thanks to Toris ironing it for him during lunch and he had remembered to wear dress shoes, double knotting them for good measure. He had even attempted to beat his messy hair into submission with a comb, but that one spot that always stuck up was unwilling to be conquered despite his efforts.
As soon as he walked into the kitchen he was greeted by a demand," Can you get me some Salmon from the freezer, aru?" asked a short man with his long hair tired back behind him who was busy juggling two woks over the stove.
Jeez, he hadn't even gotten a hello before being put to work, but he didn't mind. This was his job after all. Still he didn't think it would be a bad thing to be friendly.
He did as he was told, and whirled his way around the kitchen until he found the freezer. A big steel doorway in the wall with a temperature gage beside it. The door was heavier then it looked, and it looked pretty heavy to begin with. Leaving the door open behind him, he was fascinated. The freezer was like a walk-in closet full of ice. Meat hung from hooks in the ceiling and the shelves where lines with the finest food, all of it obviously fresh, none of that instant stuff he had so much of back home.
He found the salmon on a shelf near the door, looking like it was straight out of the water, only frozen, eyes staring back at him ominously. It kinda gave him the creeps. He decided he preferred not seeing his own food before it was made.
EVERYONE IS GOING TO SHIT THEIR PANTS WHENEVER AL SMILES AT THE NEXT MEETING
He turned to exit the freezer with an armful of fish only to nearly dropped it all at the person who had snuck up behind him. There he was again, that angry Brit.
"What are you doing? Why aren't you out there taking orders like a good waiter boy?"
Alfred found his grip on the fish loosening, melting ice wasn't the easiest thing to hold onto. "Well, someone asked me for help. Was I supposed to say no?" he asked rather innocently.
Arthur seemed slightly ruffled at his response. He crossed his arms again, it seemed to be a habit of his, though it didn't make him look as manly as he probably thought it did. " I'll overlook it this time."
Arthur continued to stand in his way however, inspecting him for any further faults all the while Alfred's arms were growing frostbite he was sure, as the icy melting of the fish began dripping down his arms. They slipped further down until he was using his knee to keep them in place. He was sure the Englishman was continuing to block his way on purpose now.
"Sir, unless you want your floor messy again..." Alfred trailed off leaving the implications of his statement unspoken.
"Don't you dare drop anything! I'll take it straight out of your paycheck!" At this Arthur turned on his heel and let Alfred go about his business. Just in time too as he hobbled over to the Asian cook who had a basket waiting for him to drop the fish into.
Glad to be relieved of his fishy burden he whipped his hands on his apron, which was equal soggy at this point and did little to help.
That was when a towel was thrown over his head momentarily blocking his vision. There was a suspiciously french sounding laugh though that he wasn't all that surprised to hear. "Francis? Is that you?" he asked pulling the towel off and whipping his hands with it.
"Looks like you needed a hand, Si?"
Ok, that sounded Spanish. Just how many people with accents worked here? He finally turned around and saw the head chef and the worker that was always seemed to have tomatoes in hand. They seemed chummy together, like old pals.
"Good to see you came back, I almost thought our little Arthur scared you off." Francis said patting him on the shoulder.
"He doesn't scare me", Alfred said setting the used towel down on the counter beside him. His hero instincts wouldn't let him admit fear even if that was the case. No, it wasn't fear he felt when Arthur confronted him, but he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was either. He decided not to think about it, after all it was only his second day, Maybe the Brit just didn't like new people.
Best. fanart. ever.
I am not even kidding, this is amazing, WHO ARE YOU TALENTED PERSON?!
I am not even kidding, this is amazing, WHO ARE YOU TALENTED PERSON?!
Anon's nose is now bleeding all over her desk from the hawtness of this fic. Great job author!anon! *runs off to clean up the bloodstains*
Oh you're back and yay for more freq. update.
Ok, that sounded Spanish. Just how many people with accents worked here?
Major LOL at this. Most writers don't touch on the fact that all the character are different race and ethnicity which would seem a bit different in RL, seeing as how we (or at least just the U.S) tend to associate with members of the same group. Ah well, thanks for updating.
p.s, I hope Ludwig also makes appearance too. ^_^
Ok, that sounded Spanish. Just how many people with accents worked here?
Major LOL at this. Most writers don't touch on the fact that all the character are different race and ethnicity which would seem a bit different in RL, seeing as how we (or at least just the U.S) tend to associate with members of the same group. Ah well, thanks for updating.
p.s, I hope Ludwig also makes appearance too. ^_^
... That makes Prussia make so much more sense, actually. Now and in canon. OTL
No, fem!Portugal would be amazing, actually! *_* And now that I think about it, I never see England anywhere near a chick in fic. Except if he's, like, embroidering with Liechtenstein or getting advice from Belgium or something. (I wish that was an exaggeration, but ...) Fandom England is the gayest character in the series, usually, possibly because of his things with America, France, Spain, etc. Although I already like to picture him as married to fem!Portugal, whether or not it's anything more than an alliance, so I'm a bad fangirl or something! XD But seriously, more chicks please. ♥♥♥
No, fem!Portugal would be amazing, actually! *_* And now that I think about it, I never see England anywhere near a chick in fic. Except if he's, like, embroidering with Liechtenstein or getting advice from Belgium or something. (I wish that was an exaggeration, but ...) Fandom England is the gayest character in the series, usually, possibly because of his things with America, France, Spain, etc. Although I already like to picture him as married to fem!Portugal, whether or not it's anything more than an alliance, so I'm a bad fangirl or something! XD But seriously, more chicks please. ♥♥♥
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