A/N: Because I've had this plot bunny for a while that's loosely based on the premise of the TV show How I Met Your Mother but not exactly. (And I mean the PREMISE, which would be something along the lines of a group of friends in an urban setting with a main character that pretty much goes through a bunch of romantic adventures/misadventures while trying to find "The One", though it might get tweaked a little . . . you'll see. ^J^) Then I've had this plot bunny for a fic that involves Prussia' blog. Like, a lot. So I did the only reasonable thing I could in this situation:
I combined them. ^J^ And what better time to post this than on Valentine's Day?
I'd say more, but I would probably be giving away several spoilers if I did. But I will mention that this fic will probably also be a good way to cycle through multiple ships (yes, "cycle") when we follow them through some romantic adventures, though the shippiness doesn't really pick up in this chapter. (More notes at the bottom.) Now, without further ado, I present Hey, Have You Met Beer?
. . . Right after the summary.
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is your average renowned third wheel struggling with almost as many problems in his career as in his love life (which is already pretty lame and virtually nonexistent). Me? I'm your average, awesomer-than-average guy—awesome hair, awesome musical talents, awesome fluffy avian wingman—and I'm going to teach him how to live. Human AU
Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, nor IKEA.
Roderich and Elizabeta are NOT getting married, Alfred.
2016 February 14 (Sunday)
Because for some reason, Alfred seems convinced that they're engaged. PFFT. Yeah, right. As if they would ever become some lame married couple! Seriously, let me replay the conversation and you can totally see for yourself:
"Roderich and Elizabeta are not getting married," is what I told him right after he said it, leaning back against my barstool. (It was a really nice barstool, actually. I'm going to have to ask Carlos where he gets them from. Seriously, they're all soft and [A section of this text has been omitted due to it being dubbed "entirely unrelated to the topic of this post".]) Alfred raised his eyebrows dubiously.
"Is that so?" he asked, sounding not at all like he believed his best friend. Me. I'm his best friend.
"Well, yeah," I scoffed as I reached a hand forward to accept our drinks from the bartender, because clearly Alfred was in denial. Poor guy. "Elizabeta's too awesome to get married. Plus, we both know that Roderich would never grow the balls to propose to her."
"He told us what he was planning three months ago."
I handed over Alfred's drink and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Planning to."
Alfred rolled his eyes as he took the drink. His denial was worse than I thought. "He bought a ring for her and everything. And made us go with him to make sure he didn't get lost on his way back."
"It could've been for himself. He's stuffy enough for one."
"He made us clean the apartment and decorate it with rose petals and hang up weird yaoi posters on the walls and bring tissues in case she broke out in tears."
Roderich did. And it totally sucked.
I raised my drink to take a long sip. "He makes us clean the apartment all the time." And again, it totally sucked. Every. Single. Time. "And the tissues were probably there to stifle her nosebleed."
"Dude, we took a wine glass from the cupboard and stood outside the apartment door for fifteen minutes with it pressed up against the side so that we could hear him pop the question. And then half of it totally chipped off when she screamed 'yes' and the rest of it shattered when we dropped it because the force of her glomping him immediately after that caused the floor to shake. Then we had to borrow the neighbor's dustpan to clean it up."
Ha. Suuure.
"So what you're saying is you have no evidence," I said pointedly, setting down my empty cup.
Alfred raised his eyebrows, flicking his eyes at the glass. "Then why did you finish your drink so fast?"
"Because that's what you do when your best friends are getting married, Al!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air for emphasis. I mean, it looks dramatic when they do that in the movies, so why not all the time, right? Plus, my alternative for dramatic effect was to smash my drink against the counter, but that wouldn't work because a) Carlos would kill me if I broke it, b) I'd already set my drink down at this point because I can and I'm awesome like that, and c) Carlos would kill me if I broke it.
Speaking of Carlos, he hastily passed me another drink, and I was even quicker to fling the contents of it down my throat. When I turned back to Alfred, I was shaking my head in disapproval. "Man, Al, try to keep up with these things, will you?"
"If you say so, bro," he replied, taking a sip out of his own cup. I swear I saw him grin just then. Why the heck would he be grinning at a time like THIS?
"Nein, nein!" I waved him off with my free hand as I set down my second glass. "No, a true bro will be a good wingman and help his best friend pick up chicks."
"Ironically enough, you already have a chick to be your wingman," Alfred reminded me. He looked to where Gilbird—Wait, have I mentioned Gilbird on this blog yet? Huh, I don't think I have.
Okay, quick background on Gilbird: Gilbird is a fluffy yellow chick—but he's totally a bro—that I dubbed after myself because he's awesome enough to handle it. I don't know how we met, exactly, but one day I just looked up and noticed that there was some random-but-totally-awesome chick flying around my head. And, because he actually has wings and because he's totally adorable and it's really cute when he—POINT IS, chicks dig him, so he's my avian wingman.
At the moment, though, Gilbird appeared to be getting drunk off a mysterious clear liquid and was tottering around the counter and looked dangerously close to falling on his face. Claaassic Gilbird.
Alfred tapped the bartender on the shoulder. "Hey Carlos, dude, who got Gilbird drunk this time?"
Carlos followed Alfred's gaze and shrugged. "Don't know, man. That's just water."
Moving on from their brief exchange, I slung an arm around Alfred and said as I casually led him a few steps further along the counter with two beers in hand, "Oh, Freddy-boy, you know what you need to do?"
"Make sure Gilbird doesn't fall of the table?"
Right on cue (because I'm awesome like that), I snatched up my fuzzy little wingman as he teetered off the edge and set him back down in the middle of the counter. (But I'm not entirely sure how I managed to balance both beers at the same time. Ah, awesomeness can do that to you.) "There's that, but then again, there's the art of picking up other chicks. And I know just the way to do it."
"Dude, you don't mean—"
Having discreetly edged both of us close to an unfamiliar patron who was sitting alone at the counter, I put my awesome plan into motion. Tapping him twice on his shoulder, I slid one beer in front of the man and put the other in Alfred's hand and asked, "Hey, have you met beer?" and then vanished.
Well, that's how it should have gone. The "asked, 'Hey, have you met beer?' and then vanished" part didn't exactly happen. As in, the man turned to face with a super serious glare, pushed the beer away from him on the counter, and demanded, "How fun. Now what's the meaning of this?"
And you know, I totally didn't stutter and my finger totally didn't shake in the slightest when I pointed at the glass I'd stuck in Alfred's hand and said, "H-h-hey, have you m-met beer?"
Long story short, I'm totally not typing this up right now with a black eye. Happy Valentine's Day to me.
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Carlos Machado: Yo! Gilbert, I told you!
As for your wondering about where I get the stools, didn't I already tell you I get them from IKEA? I can show you where they are, if you want!
Carlos Machado 2016-02-14
Gilbert Beilschmidt: I'll pass
Yeah, you did. But they have that salesman that goes "hmm" all the time and gives these seriously freaky looks! ! Not that it freaks ME out or anything of course because I'm totally awesome
Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-14
Carlos Machado: Kay!
Remember, it's IKEA!
Just go there and get some already if you like the stools so much! Maybe you could get a sample!
Carlos Machado 2016-02-14
Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA
Thank you, Mr. Machado. You are a valued patron here at IKEA.
(But please don't associate our business with "stool samples".)
Gilbert Beilchmidt:
We at IKEA eagerly await your visit.
Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-14
Notes on this Chapter:
Prussia, Prussia, Prussia. All you wanted to do was be a wingman.
This is my first Hetalia human AU (originally I planned to keep them as nations, but then I realized that that might be a little too complicated for the plot *sweatdrops*) so I'll make a quick list of the characters so far. Austria: Roderich Edelstein. Hungary: Elizabeta Hedervary. America: Alfred F. Jones. Prussia: Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gilbird: Gilbird. Sweden: Berward Oxenstierna.
I made Cuba the bartender because there's a bartender named "Carl" in How I Met Your Mother and "Carlos" happened to be one of the human names suggested for Cuba. ^J^ "Machado" was apparently Cuba's suggested human surname, so that's what I used. I think it works out pretty well.
And more on the "cycling through ships" thing, well, you should probably expect some of the characters to go through multiple relationship statuses in this fic. *grins deviously*
Feedback is greatly appreciated! Oh, and guess whose shoulder Prussia tapped. ^J^