A/N: Yes, another Gakuen!Hetalia AU *shoots* Long-ass author's note is important. Please read.
If you have not yet noticed (or have not seen this movie/read this play), this is a Hetalia spin on Ten Things I Hate About You, a fairly successful teenage romance film in the late nineties based on the William Shakespeare play of a different name (The Taming of the Shrew), and since I seem to be creatively bankrupt (or just incredibly lazy), I have opted to merely writing my own version of The Taming of the Shrew, which, god, if you read it while a Hetalia fan, the whole "good siblings, bad sibling" dynamic is pretty damn blatant, and often slaps you across the face (first Tsundere ever!). However, even with this, I'll try my hardest to deviate from the original movie/play format, and will attempt to bring my own rendition to life, in hopes of pleasing not only my inner squealing fangirl, but others as well.
Enjoy this trip through my unhinged fangirl mind, my luvies.
Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I do not own, so you do not sue. Oh, and SnowGirl999, and heavel, who asked me if this is Spamano or SpaIta…you'll have to keep reading to find out. If I keep this fic going, you'll find out. ;)
Ten Things Don't Even Cover It
If you are an attending student at the World Academy W. and you are in the slightest bit sane (or you are at least smart enough to keep your life and limbs intact), you know it would be in your best interest to avoid one Lovino Vargas at all and any costs. Actually, there are many people that you should know to keep away from, but the eldest Vargas brother is perhaps the most infamous example among students and staff alike. Not feared, per say, but disliked…by all. His constant gloom and volatile temper, a pair of eyes permanently set on ablaze with fury, a mouth so quick to scream verbal abuse at anyone within a mile radius; etcetera, etcetera.
After some bizarre popularity the Italian had received early on in high school, popularity that honestly lasted barely half of his first year, his outlook on the school, and, arguably, the entirety of humanity, has begun to slowly decrease as time went on. But while Lovino's terrible disposition is legendary among his peers, the true grounds of his fame is not necessarily his outcast-like temperament, but his violent contrast with his opposite; his younger brother, Feliciano. Ah, cute, loveable, endearing, clueless Feliciano, a fan favorite among the other students (to the point of him having his own fanclub at the academy), who is completely unaware of his brother's unconditional detestation of the human species.
The Shrew, as he was so kindly nicknamed over the years, has become something of a name for himself, but, due to his grandfather's possession, not many dared go after him aside from a snide remark here and there. The strange thing was, however, that no one really knew what had caused Lovino's eventually hatred of all that walked the halls of World Academy W. that was between the age of fourteen and nineteen. It has been and forever will be a mystery.
XxXxX
The inner office at W.A.W was far from deserted. The waiting chairs were all taken by students new and old, concerned about their schedules for the brand new school year, getting caught by the officers patrolling the borders of the campus for whichever rule they broke, or just simply confused and waiting for something to happen. Of that latter option, one student with wild brunette hair looked especially lost, not to mention out of place in his everyday street clothes. Recently getting released from a brief conference about school life by the academy's guidance counselor, Mr. Germa Beilschmidt (who was as intimidating as he was unemotional), the brunette was told to wait outside the office for another student in the same year to give him a tour of the school grounds, wearing a paper name tag labeled Hello, my name is: ANTONIO.
The green-eyed teen, Antonio, let out a sigh, not used to waking up so early, and rotated from watching passing students to reading his sloppily copied schedule.
Period 1- he told himself- English III with Miss…
"Bonjour!" The voice was so close to his ear that Antonio let out a light yelp, stepping back to see who it was who had interrupted his thoughts. What met him was another student standing beside him, a bit taller than himself, with curly golden locks, lively blue eyes and a slight bit of stubble on his chin. The blonde looked pleased by Antonio's shock, and his eyes narrowed slightly as his grin widened. "You must be our new student, non?"
It wasn't until Antonio had calmed down that he noticed that he had dropped his schedule. "Um, yeah," he said while bending to pick the scratch sheet of paper up. He stretched his hand, and the other did the same. The shake was loose and friendly. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. And you are?"
The French student took Antonio's hand, situated it in his own and brought it up to his mouth, giving his flesh a light peck. "Francis Bonnefoy, but please…" *wink* "…just call me Francis."
Antonio didn't recognize the gesture as much, and gave Francis a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you, Francis!"
The blonde sighed; another oblivious to his magic. "Well, shall we start ze tour? We 'ave a lot to see. But, uh…"
"What?"
"You may want to ditch ze nametag. It's, 'ow Alfred say, really tacky."
"Oh." He ripped the sticky paper off his chest and crumpled it up. "Got it."
"The buildings zat are now ze school were built in 1895, zen a government capital 'ouse until it was converted to a school. Now it 'as more then three-thousand students, all of which come from different countries all around ze world, fitting ze school's, um…theme, should we say." He turned to Antonio with a sly smile. "I 'ear you came from Spain, am I right."
"Yes, Toledo to be precise."
"Ah, ze country of passion. How magnificent."
"I'll miss my family, but I'm thankful that I was able to get admission to W.A.W. It's tough to get into."
"Yes, it iz. You are quite fortunate. I've been 'ere a few years, and I must say zat it is a fine school. Moving on…"
By now the two had reached the cafeteria, which was crowded with students hoping to get in a bit of social conversation before going to their first periods. While Antonio continued forward, Francis grabbed hold of the Spaniards arm and held him back and out of a moving crowd of students.
"Now iz a good time to point out ze cliques of ze school. Since you 'ave me, a person welcomed into any social grouping, zis won't matter to you much, but I might as well. Um…there, those are ze athletes, zen next to zem are ze
"Hey, who's that?" Francis stopped to find whatever had caught Antonio's fancy, and was amazed when he found himself so utterly unsurprised by what he saw. Feliciano Vargas, in all his adorable haircurl, closed-eyed glory, was walking side-by-side with a youthful blonde in a miniskirt, the textbooks in their hands looking slightly out of place for their, um, trains of thought. One unaware of the social standing amid the inhabitance of the school might have come to the conclusion that the blonde could have an equal chance of being the one to have capture the Spaniard's attention, but Francis, who was aware of everyone and everything, knew better. Maybe the rumor that Feliciano emitted attention hormones wasn't so ludicrous an idea after all.
"Oh, zat would be Feliciano Vargas. Adorable, no?"
Antonio nodded in agreement, unblinking eyes set on the Italian. He was practically drooling. "Yeah…"
Feeling an arm wrapping itself around his shoulders, Antonio let his gaze turn as Francis pulled him into a half-hug and patted him on the back. "I am sorry to tell you zis, my friend, but forget about 'im, okay? 'e is impossible, even for me, and zat is a rarity in itself. It will never work."
"What? Why?"
The Frenchman sighed, placing a hand on his hip. "Because zat gorgeous little Italian is ze 'eadmaster's beloved grandson, and it's well known around 'ere zat ze 'eadmaster 'as forbidden 'is grandsons from dating. Trust me when I tell you zat many 'ave tried to ask Feliciano out for a date, and all 'ave failed, mostly out of fear of being expelled from ze Academy. Principal Roma is very strict when it comes down to Feli and 'is brother."
By now the two were closer to Feliciano and his friend, and were able to make out parts of their conversation. "Do you think pasta tastes better with a buttery-garlic sauce, or tomato sauce? Or maybe something spicy, or how about tangy?" the redhead asked his companion.
"Like, I dunno. Maybe if we, like, put them together, that'd totally be the best option! Ooh, have you ever thought about dying the pizza dough some strange color? Wouldn't that be sooo awesome?"
Antonio found himself thrown off by the valley-girl dialect. "Is that a…boy?"
Francis nodded. "Feliks Łukasiewicz, W.A.W's resident cross dresser. Well, one of them, anyway."
Feliciano placed his fingers to his chin, physically making up for his lack of actual thought. "I've never thought of that before…"
The blonde, previously messing with a sparkly barrette in his hair, linked their arms together with as much enthusiasm as he could apparently muster. "You should so totally get into a cooking class, Feli! You'd, like, be amazing at it."
The Italian seemed to delight in the new idea. "You think? Maybe Ludwig would go with me, and we could make pizza and pasta together!"
By this point, the duo trailing the brainless two haulted as Feliciano and Feliks made their way outside. "Plus," Francis concluded, giving his friend a glance of pity, "'e's not ze, um, brightest zere is."
"Ah, c'mon, Francis," Antonio said, determined to defend the boy he'd been pining for since the moment he laid eyes on him, "Don't say that! I mean, look at him, I bet he's smart, and sweet and funny, and…"
His efforts were met with the shaking of a head and a shrug. "Don't get your 'opes up. You'll be expelled in two seconds if you even zink of asking 'im out."
XxXxX
By the time he reached his English class for the semester, Lovino Vargas had come to the early conclusion that his day, no, the rest of his year, was going to suck major ass. This could be contributed to the fact that he hated the entirety of the school he attended and was forced to attend because his grandfather was the goddamned Headmaster, but the largest problem was the thing that was sitting next to the last empty seat in the room.
"You're late, Mister Vargas."
The voice of Mr. Díaz* shocked Lovino out of his train of thought, but he didn't move from the doorway. In the span of a few seconds, Lovino found himself in a furious internal battle between his desire to get the fuck out of there and to obey the teacher's demand. After a slight hesitation, he begrudgingly moved to seat himself next to the bane of his, no, all of mankind's existence: Gilbert Beilschmidt. The albino German bastard caught the brunette's eyes before giving off one of his most devious grins.
It hadn't even been three minutes before the teacher was interrupted in his lesson plan. It had taken three paper balls and one attempt to grab at the insane haircurl that flopped from Lovino's forehead. "Mr. Díaz," the Italian chimed with his hand in the air, "I want to switch seats."
Mr. Díaz turned from the whiteboard and looked at Lovino with such a look of distain, you would have suspected that he was as sick of Gilbert as Lovino was (which was probably fairly close to home). "Tough it out, Lovino, it's not the end of the world."
"Yeah, c'mon," Gilbert interrupted, toothy grin notwithstanding as his finger moved to poke the Italian in the cheek. "What's wrong with sitting next to the greatness that is me, Lovi?"
"Oh, let me count the ways. And don't call me that!"
Gilbert smirked just that much more. "Aw, Lovi, you hurt my feelings." The incessant poking was getting worse. "You should be thanking Díaz over there for letting you sit next to the Great Gilbert."
"Shove it up your ass, you German asshole!"
Gilbert turned to the front of the room, and, making his tone as sincere as possible, said, "Mr. Díaz, I think Lovi here needs to go home, he's a little sexually frustrated today."
The rest of the students, watching the act with either amusement or annoyance, all jumped as Mr. Díaz slammed his book down on his desk. "Goddamnit, Gilbert, just shut the hell up for one goddamn second! Don't come crying to my for help when someone you piss off wants you dead, 'cause I sure as hell won't help you. And Lovino, you know you're only encouraging him by insulting him. I'll separate you two, but for now just keep quiet and follow the lesson." He paused to breath. "Now," he continued as his rage calmed, "this year, we'll be studying and reviewing the themes of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. Does anyone have a basic idea of the themes of the play?"
The girl in the front, Taiwanese by the looks of it, raised her hand. "That you either need to be obedient and listen to whatever your husband says or else you'll die alone?"
Mr. Díaz looked far too drained and weary today. "Well, I suppose that was the belief at the time, but-"
"Hey, it's just like you, Lovi!" Gilbert interposed.
And before Mr. Díaz could do anything, the thick textbook crashed down onto the German's head.
XxXxX
"Let's hope you didn't give him a concussion. Oh, Lovino, what were you thinking, doing that to Mr. Beilschmidt like that…"
The perks of having your kin running the academy you're attending is that, if you're send to his office for a major offence, you most-likely won't get expelled. This was the second time that month that Lovino found himself suffering through another one of his grandfather's escapades on how he should apologize to whichever asshole had insulted him and, inevitably, wound up in the nurses station, and he was far from paying attention. Like hell he was going to make amends with the fuck-tards who'd offended him in the first place.
"He was being a jackass, so I hit him. It's not that big of a deal. If he gets a concussion, tell the doctors that it was his own damn fault."
Roma was frantic, fearing an impeding lawsuit against the academy more than anything. "This is the third fight you've gotten into this year, Lovi. If you weren't my grandson, you'd have been kicked out a long time ago. That one poor boy even needed a testicular retrieval operation."
Lovino smirked, thankful that his grandfather was looking away. "If we're talking "responsibility" in this matter, he practically kicked himself in the balls."
When the elder man turned around, eyes set to "serious-mode" and jaw locked, Lovino sat up straight and looked his grandfather in the eyes. "I'm warning you, Lovino," the Headmaster said with more sterness than he'd ever used that entire month, "one more incident like this and the academy might get sued. And we can't afford that right now. Look, I know like right now is real shitty, I had to live through the same thing, but the best thing for you to do now is to stay strong in the face of contempt."
Lovino simply stared up at his grandpa from his place on the office's sofa. What in hell's name was he supposed to say to that? Instead, he took to sighing, reaching for his bag, and promising to apologize before making his way to the exit. It was bad enough that he was in this shit-ball to begin with, but then Roma had to pull out that philosophy crap. He stood outside his grandfather's office, trying to shake off all feeling of guilt.
XxXxX
Antonio stood alone in the parking lot after the final dismissal bell had been rung next to his beat down car, watching the beauty that was Feliciano from afar. The Italian was with Feliks again, the two strolling carelessly past him as if he were nonexistent.
"You know, zis may be coming from ze wrong person, but what you are doing is slightly creepy."
The Spaniard let out a shriek, jumping and finding Francis next to him, smiling in such a friendly manor, one who knew him better may find it slimy. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" the brunette cried. "You'll give me a heart attack at this rate."
As if it didn't matter, Francis merely shrugged. "I'm telling you, my friend, just do yourself a favor and give up on 'im before it is too late."
It was at this moment that a tall, white haired male interrupted the path of Feli and his friend, smirking as if his life depended on it. For some reason, Antonio, witnessing this, felt perturbed. "Who's that guy?"
Francis, too, noticed the albino strike up a vapid conversation with the school's favorite Italian. "Zat zere would be Gilbert Beilschmidt, a friend of mine, actually. Not a bad guy once you get past 'is conceit. 'e may be a complete idiot, zough. It takes balls to get zat close to Feliciano like that. 'e's lucky Sir Roma is not 'ere."
As it stands, Antonio had lost all means of constraint at that very moment. Gilbert Beilschmidt was attempting to court the boy he'd sworn himself and his devotion to, and backing down was not an option.
XxXxX
Not too far away, Lovino, sporting a strong aura of dread, walked out of the academy's courtyard up to his parked Toyota, painfully aware of the masses of his so-called peers purposely keeping their distance.
"You look like shit. Bad day?" The voice shocked Lovino, and he stopped to see who had spoken to him. Yao Wang, arms full of art supplies, stood before him, looking disheveled and dreary-eyed, but that didn't stop him from partaking in friendly conversation. Usually, whenever someone dared speak to him, Lovino would either ignore them entirely or, if worst came to worst, they would end up like Gilbert. But Yao was an okay guy, even if he did gush about Hello-freaking-Kitty just a bit too much.
"What tipped you off?"
The Chinese teen released a small smile, long ponytail flipped over his shoulder blade. "You're normal glower of doom has been replaced with one of despair. Easy to spot on someone who's known for engaging in the two wide-ranged emotions of indifferent and enraged." The cardboard storing Yao's supplies began to slip in his grasp, and he propped it back into place as he began to move again. "I've gotta get this to the art room. Don't kill anyone."
"I make no promises," the Italian called after him.
While the short conversation seemed insignificant at the outset, Lovino now regretted it, as now he'd missed his opportunity of easy escape now that the parking lot was filled with a scattered alignment of gossiping teenagers. He got to his car after making his way though the crowds, and started up the engine, motivated by the hope of returning to an empty home; no grandpa, no annoying brother, and a refrigerator full of pasta. In other words, perfection. Steering his way though the parking lot, Lovino was forced to hault his progress to wait for passers-by, and, upon a first year running blindly in front of his path, he snapped, stuck his head out the window, and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Get outta the way, goddamn jackass, you're blocking traffic!"
Antonio and Francis, standing on the sidewalk nearby, watched the scene, Antonio with shock, and Francis, with humor.
"You see, Antonio? Zat zere is Feli's elder brother, ze infamous Lovino Vargas. Charming, yes?"
Antonio's gaze followed the Italian-controlled car (driving rather recklessly for a school campus) in doubtful wonder. "That's Feliciano's older brother? No way." Francis' eyebrows twitched, and his eyes narrowed, so Antonio gave up.
"Okay, so maybe they look alike, with the haircurl and all, but they can't be related, they're way too different."
The blonde shifted his weight as he gave up all hope on saving the Spaniard from progressing into one messed up romantic voyage. "Well, believe it. If you want to go out with Feliciano, you've gotta get through Lovino."
XxXxX
*: Mr. Díaz is Cuba. Why? Who knows.
Fuck, I'm tired. Thanks for reading, I look forward to your reviews and favorites and all that good stuff. Sorry for that shit ending, by the way, I'll fix it when it's not so early in the morning.
What madness will ensue on this journey of love and drama? Find out soon, in the continuation of this fanfiction. Love you, and goodnight.
Oh, by the way, I love the idea of Romano, England and China being friends that hate each other. I have no idea why, but I do. Be prepared for a lot of that later on.