Disclaimer: I don't own the countries of the world (I am not going to make a British Empire reference here), Hetalia, or the jokes featuring in this thing.

I've also only been to Ireland once quite a few years ago now and if you are Irish or have strong opinion about my wrongful stereotyping, please let me know in a civil fashion what I have done wrong alright? It'd be much appreciated, Cheers :)

(and if you happen to be French and I write French in this fic, you are allowed to tell me it sounds completely off and weirdly formal)

Also, Spoiler alert, at some point I give away the general ending of Shakespeare's Hamlet, and some Romeo and Juliet spoilers details. So, you know, if you still don't know it after being around for hundreds of years, and you don't want to spoil it now, just skip that part yeah?

I am sorry if Alfred is out of character or speaks funny. I have discovered that writing with American expressions doesn't come easy to me although I watch a lot of telly. In my defence it's sort of from Arthur's perspective, so you know, his brain might have filtered out the Americanness? I dunno. Just. Sorry, all right?

Here we go:

Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland has never been in a relationship with anyone. He has hardly even reflected properly on his sexuality, although he think he might be gay even though he had a crush on this girl back when he was 13. Bisexual maybe?

Gender never mattered anyway, the person did.

And Arthur is exactly 99.9% certain he will never meet such a person. If he had been anyone else he would have suggested 110% certain, but that would defeat the purpose of using "per cent", or per hundred if you like, so he refrains from it.

He had never really been picked on, with practise from 3 older brothers and the neighbour-kid he certainly didn't have a problem asserting his authority at school. People saw him as smart, bookish, and quiet, but would not dare to bully him.

Some would tell you he was stiff - "stick up his arse" as that wonderful French wanker Francis Bonnefoy would phrase it - but also that he was fair, hard working and incredibly shy.

Arthur wouldn't back away from a fight, and usually won, but would also try every means of diplomatic resolution first. Although he may have finally lost his last strand of patience with Francis.

However, he wasn't particularly tall or strong, just clever about it. Well, he had been strong for his age when he was younger, but then people caught up. Now he mostly depended on his words, which he was better at anyways.

Arthur was good at a few sports - football (soccer, not the American football atrocity), cricket, rugby, golf, tennis - but although he was good at them he prefered reading, writing and watching plays.

He would never admit it, but if a play or book was good enough he would cry, but his pride and general awkwardness would never let you know, so if you busted him you should probably be scared for your life, or memory. Or both.

The International School he went to was a very special one, priding itself of representing as many nationalities as possible, no class had two people from the same place. The location even changed every ten years or so, in order to not discriminate. It had started out in Austria many many years ago, right now it was located in Dublin, but had been in Dubai 5 years earlier. There were always rumours where they would move next.

Arthur rather liked Ireland, it was close to England, and quite similar. There were some slight differences, smaller population, the accent, the humour was slightly different, euros instead of pounds, and no "Queen and country" business, but the biggest for Arthur was probably how people would actually talk to you randomly.

He had experienced people picking up random conversations at bus stops, shop queues, and pubs, drunk or not, the Irish would chat with you. Being in a pub during England versus Ireland in football or rugby could be intense, well, England versus anyone really, but it was more of a friendly banter feeling between neighbours than hostility these days. Once a tour guide at made a refference to "those English bastards" when the school had taken them to a castle, and some of his classmates had singled him out. The guide was really nice though, it was all in the past he said.

All in all being in Dublin was brilliant, as he had been a bit worried of ending up in Chile or somewhere else ridiculously warm and far away. Arthur did not function in hot climates, to be perfectly honest. He was plain, blonde, had green eyes, and could predict accurately when to bring an umbrella with him or not. It was evident he was not built for anything other than cold and rain.

But back to the topic at hand: Arthur would be forever alone because there was nobody out there for him. Not even a sodding leprechaun, or bloody flying mint bunny!

On top of that he had problems making friends. He had people he liked more in class, who he would speak to about assignments and the subject material, particularly Kiku from Japan. They seemed to be on the same page a lot.

Then there was Francis, who loved poking fun at his "Britishness". He would try to touch Arthur as much as possible, deliberately sit behind him and poke his head or stroke his arm. Francis would even give Arthur hugs if he wasn't quick enough to get away. Anything to annoy and violate personal space. Bloody twat!

The Brit rather liked the German, but he was always surrounded by the boy from Italy, Feliciano, who Arthur really couldn't stand after a few minutes. Also, Ludwig could be so intimidating at times with his stoic German organisational skills.

Arthur was organised, Ludwig was a whole new level. Although Ludwig had not wanted to be the student council president, so the task fell to Arthur.

Sometimes he would talk to Roderich, from Austria, about music, which Ludwig also knew a great deal about. But once the German entered the conversation, Italian opera from Feliciano would soon follow.

Arthur had decided to completely stay away from the east block European countries. Frankly, Ivan scared the living daylight out of him, and he didn't dare approach Ivan's friends from that fact alone. Although some of them seemed jolly nice.

The Englishman wasn't scared of fights, but nor did he want to provoke them. He had fallen out with an Indian boy in his street when he was really small, and once he was beat up by an American boy at school. Not to mention Ivan was really tall and had proven in PE to be freakishly strong. And he had this creepy smile...

Lukas, the boy from Norway, was nice. And they would sometimes chat for a while about common interests. Their countries had surprisingly much in common, with being marine nations with strong folklore and a suspiciousness of the rest of Europe.

Arthur could actually see them becoming friends, but the Danish boy was taking on the role as Lukas' own Francis, and he often hung out with the other Nordics, the Scandinavians spoke similar languages which easily alienated Arthur from the clique.

Apparently Icelandic kids learnt Danish at school, and the Finnish learnt Swedish so all five of them could hang out without a problem. If only Finland didn't speak Swedish, Arthur would've had a much easier job joining the click. But he didn't want to force them to speak English constantly, as they probably liked speaking in their native tongues in breaks. And there was just no sodding way Arthur would be able to pick up Swedish or Norwegian anytime soon.

The Brit didn't really fit in with any of the few girls in class, and the boy from Greece slept all the time, didn't show up, or smelt like cat. Arthur couldn't even remember his name properly, let alone pronounce it. And Sadiq from Turkey was someone Arthur would just not be friends with. Detention was as far away from his cup of tea you could get.

Then there were the other native English speakers. The Australian was much too wild for him, all adventurous and brave. Matthew was really nice, but easy to overlook, and Arthur didn't even know if they had anything in common. He knew little about Canada in general, they were part of the Commonwealth and had been part of the British empire, but that was about it. Lots of wild nature? Maple syrup? Something like that. Also, some of them spoke French.

Alfred was from the US, and frankly he could be so ignorant about things. He was also stupidly strong, sometimes all muscles no brains. Geography and history were certainly his weaker points.

Arthur had a particular dislike of the American as he had caught him trying to cheat over his shoulder the first week, and that Alfred liked to make jokes about "the funny accent, and stupid words". Gosh! Rubber, trousers, and pavement are all perfectly normal words. Arthur had asked to borrow Alfred's rubber once and would never heard the end of it since. Nor would he start saying "eraser" either. It was his language and the American had no right ruining it. There is a reason it is called English.

Where Arthur was the serious student president, Alfred was the class clown and American football player.

Right now the Brit was finding his way to class early as usual. He read his book, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, as the rest of the class appeared one by one making the room noisier. Some said good morning to him, others simply ignored him.

The morning was relaxed, a history lesson covering the European, particularly British and French colonial management. Francis was poking the Englishman at every other point the teacher made, which nearly made Arthur shout out, but he did have some self-control.

In the next lesson, maths, the teacher had told them to work on their own for half an hour, saying she would be back then to take any questions if they had any issues. And what happened? As soon as she left the room Alfred ran up to the front, drew out his phone and started reading jokes he had found while not paying attention in class:

"I've gathered some nation-lightbulb jokes. The first one's totally a bit long, but so very Canada!" America laughed and started reading:

"Q: How many Canadians does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Twelve. Four to form a Parliamentary study committee to decide how to solve the problem, one Francophone to complain that I didn't translate this joke into French, one Native Canadian to protest that the interests of Native Canadians have been overlooked, one woman from the National Action Committee On the Status Of Women to say that women have been underrepresented in the process, one to go over the border to the Niagara Falls Factory Outlet Mall and buy a new bulb and not pay duty on it on the way back, one to actually screw it in, one to collect taxes on the whole procedure so the government can afford it, one to buy a case of Molson for everybody to drink, and one to drop the puck."

Matthew gave a nervous laugh along with everyone else, but turned a slight shade of red. Arthur doubted anyone else noticed.

"Alfred, will you please sit down?" Arthur asked, but was ignored.

"Q: How many Frenchmen does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Three. #1 goes away and gets a new light bulb. #2 notices that it has been imported from Britain and so have to throw it away, #1 then has to go and get another one, and then #3 changes it."

Francis blew a kiss at Arthur and laughed loudly along with the class.

The Frenchman then moved forward to ruffle the Brit's hair, Arthur moved away from the hand while trying to speak up, "Alfred, I'm sorry, but could you just..", but was interrupted again.

"Q: How many Germans does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Ve are asking ze qvestions here!"

Alfred put on a strong fake German accent as he read that and people laughed, Arthur noticed the German only shrugged.

"Stop, or I will confiscate the phone. Will you please...?"

"Q: How many Italians does it take to change a lightbulb ?

A: Two. One to change it and one to sprinkle it with Parmesan."

Feliciano laughed and agreed loudly that he, indeed, had 'parmigiano' on his breakfast.

"Alfred Jones, would you please listen to.."

"Q: How many Russians does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: That's a military secret.!"

Ivan smiled his creepy smile.

The Brit was giving up on speaking and getting to his feet, crossing the few steps over to the American.

"Q: How many Englishmen does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: What do you mean change it? It's a perfectly good bloody bulb! We have had it for a thousand years and it has worked just *fine*."

Alfred said with a really bad British accent, and everyone laughed, Arthur only rolled his eyes.

Arthur tried to snatch the mobile out of Alfred's hand, but the American was a head taller than him and the Englishman was not willing to give away too much of his pride. "Please sit down now and work, or I will have to report you, Alfred," he said calmly.

"Oh, England you are no fun!" Alfred pouted, and kept the phone out of reach. The American had this weird thing of calling Arthur 'England', as if he was a sort of personification of his country. He might fit into some stereotypes, but certainly not all.

"I might not be 'fun' Alfred, but we are in class. Now would everyone please work quietly?" he turned to the class. Some actually found their books, the Scandinavians and Matthew were quick to comply. The Swede had been working all the time anyway.

However, Francis looked like he was expecting a fight or a sort of showdown. His blue eyes seemed to be asking the devil to humiliate Arthur, he would probably sell his soul for it.

"Right, Alfred I am taking you to the headmaster's office, come with me," Arthur sighed and started walking towards the door, but a strong hand gripped his wrist and kept him from reaching the door.

"Come on Artie, it is only a bit of fun. Don't take everything personal. Your joke wasn't even that offensive and math is boring stuff! Dude, let the class have some fun, and don't blame me for you being a spoilsport," the American was finally becoming serious. But not in a good way.

"Alfred, will you kindly let go of my arm and let me do my duty as the person in charge of the class?" Arthur asked with a strong tint of venom to his politeness that is an art that can only be perfected through living many years in Britain.

The Englishman tried to reclaim his hand by force when the American seemed to refuse to humour him. "Bloody hell, just let go will you!?" he was nearly shouting now. Alfred only seemed amused, as he was obviously stronger and sure the Brit wouldn't dare get violent.

However, something in Arthur suddenly snapped like a twig. Years of fighting older brothers, having Scot grab his arm and taunt him just like the American was doing right now, got the better of him.

Arthur instinctively punched Alfred right in the face, and the confused American stumbled over and dragged the English with him. As they stumbled to the floor the classroom door opened and the teacher from the nextdoor classroom entered. "What the devil is...?" he yelled, as he entered before taking in the drama.

Alfred was bleeding from his nose, and Arthur was lying on the floor clutching his wrist which had landed really awkwardly as the American hadn't let go even when they fell.

"You two, come with me, now!" he yelled, in a strong, angry Irish accent. The two boys followed, and the classroom went silent as the grave staring after them.

Right. What do you think? Hetalia can be difficult with the stereotyping and all, so I hope nobody got offended by anything.

The next chapter should be up pretty soon. I just need to tweak it a bit :)