AN: Thank you guys for reading!
Okay, second story time
Insert Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or the band Say Anything or any of their songs. I again do not McDonald's. I also do not own any Oscar Wilde quotes. (That is why they are Oscar Wilde quotes, not TechnicallyLex quotes).
The A's are:
About Falling by Say Anything (check)
Admit It! By Say Anything
All We've Ever Done by Lex Land
Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy
…And Then the Liver Screamed "Help!" by Chiodos
Animal by Neon Trees
Apologize by OneRepublic
Après Moi by Regina Spektor
The Art of Suicide by Emilie Autumn (geez. My A's are depressing)
As Smart As A Geek Is Chic Right Now by Say Hi to Your Mom
Second one is here! (Can you catch The Kooks reference?)
Thank you guys so much!
xxx
TechnicallyLex
Admit It
Warnings: naughty language, OOC from America
(In this story, Arthur and Alfred are already dating) (Also, this is in Arthur's POV, and so I tried to use words he word, sorry if I failed)
"Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance
That your vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs
You know nothing about art or sex
That you couldn't read in any trendy
New York underground fashion magazine"
I, Arthur Kirkland, have had it up to here with the 'new' America.
"Hey, my name is Alfred F. Jones, the F stands for forgotten," he wheezed in a melancholy tone.
His country was changing into a new direction of 'hipsters and scene kids' and Alfred was changing with them.
He now trimmed the back of his hair short, and let his fringe fall over his eyes in a dramatic way. Funnily enough, Nantucket still defiantly stood up.
"You aren't forgotten Alfred," I pulled him away from the swarm of eager girls nodding their heads to every word he said. "I just got a new art piece, beautifully contrast in the coolers, the artist is new but I know one day he'll go big time," he said as the girls waved goodbye.
He smiled shamelessly.
"Getting jealous?" His eyebrows wiggled seductively.
I snorted, "More like tired of you embarrassing yourself."
"Prototypical non-conformist
You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo
You adhere to a set of standards and taste
That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges
(Bullshit!)"
I shoved him into my 'practical car'.
"Man, this is vintage right here! Love the condition," he patted the seats.
"You poor, mindless git," I mummer and turn on the engine to drive home.
We enter, and I pick up a needle to sew my frustration's away
"Iggy, still embroidering your own material? How…homely." He smiled wide and fake.
Smack.
My hand hurt like a mother, but he cried like a baby.
"Giving the thumbs up and thumbs down
To incoming and outgoing
Trends and styles of music and art"
Don't ask me why I thought this was a good idea.
He'd been pestering me for about a week:
"Oh Artie, the art show is in town."
"Hey Ig-ster (a horrid new nickname) I found a great new thrift store near here."
"Man, the writer of Corporations Killed the Individualism is in town."
And so after an hour long drive we reached the art show, because that was the less evil of all the choices.
It sounded nice in the paper, with a mix of pastel paintings and metal sculptures.
Alfred did look cute in his tight plaid trousers, long grey sweater, and red high-tops.
However, his nerdy, thick framed black glasses that replaced Texas and the bandana-ish material tied around his head made him look like a twat.
Thank the gods he'd only be here for another week.
As soon as we walked in, he narrowed his eyes and glanced around as though he was expert the fine arts.
"Ew," he stomped out, leaving me to fume alone.
"Go analog baby
You're so post-modern
You're diving face forward into an antiquated path
It's disgusting, it's offensive
Don't stick your nose up at me"
Alfred moved up the 'retro' ladder and began to think he was better than me.
"Babe, sweater vest? No posh."
What. The. Hell?
"Love, aerodynamic trousers? Last year."
I mimicked his voice as he came down the stairs. With his new attitude we had been sleeping in different rooms.
"Look, let's not argue. I'll turn on the television, pop some popcorn, and we can have a nice indoor date. We haven't done that in a while," he sat down on the couch by me, and slowly rubbed circles on my back, his rough hands feeling divine.
'I missed you' I thought to myself.
The moment was ruined when he leaned over coughing. In between gasps of breath a suspicious sounding phrase of "Don't diss the pants" escape from his lips.
"Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?"
The week ended, and I breathed a sigh of relief after getting home from seeing him off at the airport.
I had gone on for two weeks without killing him.
That at least deserved enough alcohol to forget the experience.
"Gosh, you are lucky I love you git."
After an hour of practically snogging the bottle, I was sloshed. I managed to crawl to the bedroom and sit down near the end of my bed, my head resting on the side.
It was only a short amount of time before my faeries showed up.
Hiccup. "'ello loves."
"Is Arthur sad about Mister Jones?"
"Yes I think Arthur's sad about Mister Jones." They quietly conversed with themselves.
"I can hear you! I'm drunk not deaf" I shouted blindly in their general directions, and then lost my energy and stared blankly ahead.
"They formed together and pulled my duvet down over me, and grabbed the bottle out of my hand.
I went to sleep dreaming about the America I feel in love with.
"You spend your time sitting in circles
With your friends
Pontificating with your friends
Forever competing for that one moment
Of self aggrandizing glory
In which you hog the intellectual spotlight
Holding dominion over the entire shallow
Pointless conversation,"
I hadn't seen America in a month. That was perfectly fine.
Talking on the phone got me worked up enough.
All his snide remarks.
I wonder how long he sat in his room thinking those up.
At the next world meeting he completely ignored me. Not even bothering to break up France's and my fights.
At break he sat by Japan and Canada, talking about something semi-intelligent.
Where was the old America?
I catch a witty quip as I walk by to go find my own table.
"I have nothing to declare except for my genius." Kiku chuckled and Mathew beamed up at his brother.
Christ! Those weren't even his words! It was a Wilde saying.
I couldn't stand it!
I walked over and grabbed the taller man by his broad shoulders and hissed, "What are you doing? Just what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
He gave me a cheeky grin.
"Darlin', I've met alotta hard boiled eggs in my time, but baby you are twenty minutes."
I dropped him and walked away, losing my appetite.
"Oh, we're not worthy
When you walk past a group of quote unquote normal people, you chuckle to yourself
Patting yourself on the back as you scoff
It's the same superiority complex shared by the
High school jocks who made your life a living hell"
America rang, re-confessing his undying love for me, apologizing, then begged for me to spend a month with him while he visited Seattle.
"Are you over your ridiculous phase?" I asked.
I hear swallowing over the line. "Yes."
"Fine, send me the details," I hang up already regretting my decision
I had a restless night, and caught up with my sleep on the bumpy plane ride.
I looked at the address I'd scribbled on my hand and went to go meet America.
He had changed…
for the worst.
He had a peacock feather tied around his head in an absurd fashion, his hair was slightly grown out with wavy wheat colored locks (Nantucket still hanging on), he wore a brindled jacket, baggy shirt, and black skinnies. And beat-up looking shoes though I was positive they were still new.
Horn rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.
"My god," I gasp.
"Hey, let's go on a walk Iggy." He grabs my hand and leads me outside again; my bags lay forgotten on the hotel floor.
Down the slightly crowded streets we pass a couple.
Newlywed by the looks of it.
The girl reached on her tippy toes and kissed her husbands nose. Sure, she was dressed horribly old fashion, and the man looked pretty plain James, but it was cute.
I look up at Alfred mimicking the girl and about to place a kiss on his nose, he sneered and turned his head away. That left me with a mouthful of air and a pitying glance from the happy couple.
"Makes you a slave to the competitive
Capitalist dogma
You spend every moment of your waking
Life bitching about"
After walking in silence for a while I ask," He Alfred, what happened to your phone." He had emailed me the details, normally he'd text them, and calls from him happened from varying numbers.
"Man, phone companies' out to get us, that's why. Government conspiracy," he whispered, looking around nervously.
What? He was the bleeding government!
"That's why I sold my car. Got a vintage bike now, great gas-"
I cut him off with hand shoved in his face.
"What did you say, you git?"
"I sold my-"again I cut him off.
"No, no, no. Don't repeat it. Just change, now." I grabbed his hand forcing him to stop walking.
He smiled. "Okay babe," he leaned down to kiss me, his lips mashing into mine. His tongue was desperately searching its nearly forgotten territory. But something felt wrong.
No, something smelt wrong.
Instead of his usual scent of grease, coffee grounds, grass, and a certain musk that came off his bomber jacket (don't ask me how he pulls that off), he smelt like newly purchased crayons, suntan lotion, and overly priced perfume (yes perfume, it smelt really fruity and I dare not call it cologne and risk the good name of men's scent).
And I realized I was truly losing America.
"Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?"
America picked a little known restaurant that served whole grain food and properly treated their animals before the chopped them up and baked them.
The only good thing that came out of hipster America was not supporting corporations meant not going to McDonald's.
We sat down at a booth, letting the cool air brought on from the fan calm us down as we searched the menu.
"What happened to you America?" I ask concerned. And suddenly, the familiar glean is back.
"Help me Iggy, I'm so sorry just help-" he stops and contorts his face, and is back to the snobby, arrogant, but wrong America.
What the fuck just happened?
"Well let me tell you this,
I'm shamelessly self-involved
I spend hours in front of the mirror,
Making my hair elegantly disheveled I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to
Treat my extreme social anxiety"
About a week into the Washington state stay I snapped.
"Oh, look at me, I wear a beanie and am so cool.
I don't drive a car because I'm so retro.
I wipe my arse with recycled toilet paper," I mimic America, laughing hysterically at the end.
Blue eyes find mine, but they hold no amusement.
"Get out," he growled.
"Not cool man," I use my best druggie voice as I pack my suitcase again.
"I'm proud of my life
And the things that I have done
Proud of myself
And the loner I've become
You're free to whine
It will not get you far
I do just fine, my car and my guitar"
So America didn't need me.
That's cool.
He's the wanker if there was one.
I sit on a park bench, contemplating returning back home. True to the Seattle stereotype it starts raining. Not England rain but close enough. I press my head to my lap and think about what to do.
I'm fine by myself.
But America, he just makes me feel so much better.
I now know what to do.
"You are a faker (admit it!)
You are a fraud (admit it!)
You're living a lie (yeah) living a lie (yeah)
Your life is living a lie
You don't impress me (admit it!)
You don't intimidate me (admit it!)
Why don't you bow down, get on the ground
Walk this fucking plank"
I marched up to the hotel and pound my fist on Alfred's room door, demanding attention.
"You git! You daft fool! You annoying wanker! You selfish twat!" I yell through the door. That should get him to answer me.
He opens the door with an uncharacteristically sad frown.
"I want my America, and I want him now. I'm not leaving until I get him!" I angrily bellow at the hipster.
"You like McDonalds, you drive obnoxious gas guzzling cars, and you dress like you don't care, because you don't care! I hate all of that, but I wouldn't, no WON"T have it any other way" I look into his eyes demanding recognition.
I see that familiar gleam in his sky blue eyes and am pulled into a bone crushing hug, I smile against his shoulder.
"So you come to me
Made of these urgent unfulfilled
Oh no, no, no, no, no
I have
When I'm dead I'll rest
But that's away still
When I'm dead I'll rest, I'll rest"
We lay cuddled on the suite's couch, watching the news.
Alfred is giving me kisses all over my body.
Sweet, warm, and remorseful.
He stops and looks into my eyes.
"I'm sorry." He says, sincerity pouring out of his eyes.
"Well, it was better that your Twilight phase."
Because that's the truth.
AN: Ta-da. Not perfect but I am happy with it. Okay, it took me about one hour to write, but three hours to type! Weird huh?
Who is freaking out because…
The end is near.
Harry Potter! Ahhh…I found my cloak, purchased my tickets, changed my bed sheets to my HP ones.
It's happening.
Next time on: Approximately 205 (it should be up…soon? I'm still packing for an Epic Road trip so I'll try to post as much as I can until I am gone)
Song: All We've Ever Done
Plot: Star crossed lovers, Alfred and Arthur met before the whole mess started. Can their love survive a war?
Starring: Alfred Jones as the Patriot
Arthur Kirkland as the feminine British child
Francis Bonnefoy as the perverted Uncle
Appearances made by: Sealand, Wy, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales, and Ukraine.
Please Answer:
1. Didja like it?
2. Longer or shorter?
3. What do you want to see? Lime, fem!Arthur, OC's, AU's, rock stars, clubbing, mpreg, clown suits?
Have a good day!
Mine is sucking, but you know what would make me life better?
Arthur: Don't say it
Me: R-
Alfred: Not the word!
Arthur: Not the R word!
You: Rape?
Me: Reviews!
Also, I saw a UFO last night.
Don't worry I'm not crazy.
xxx
TechnicallyLex