America stopped, mid-game when he came to a conclusion.
The conclusion being that Tony was actually quite good looking. Well, you know, if you were into the non-human kind of look. And so America (and France) said himself, there was nothing wrong with that! Rumour had it France had done... unmentionable things with a gazebo, and even, when England was particularly drunk, the rumour changed to include a rock. At least America hadn't, yet, checked out an inanimate object.
But really, America was trying to justify that finding an alien attractive was normal.
Which it wasn't. Probably why his reasoning wasn't working terribly well. (France didn't come under the category of normal; he was about a lightyear away categorized in the one person category of France. Hell, France was in another galaxy of categories sometimes. But enough of that.)
So after trying to normalize a weird thought, and failing, he shrugged, swearing once he realised he'd been shot. By Canada none the less. Bitch.
Tony had just looked at him strangely during his zone-out.
But after that incident (he shot Canada twice, one for revenge and one so Prussia had a heart attack laughing as Canada screamed like a girl about his kill count.), he quietly noticed weird things happening.
Although quietly for America meant that he went and screamed about it some place private, like Canada's back yard. Just to wake him up.
For a start, the blushing. He wasn't some goddamn teenaged girl (even if some would dispute that, particularly after a horror film), so it made no sense that Tony would walk in the room while he made coffee, and his face would be alight, akin to a red balloon. Tony would then point at his face and laugh, constantly saying something like 'fucking idiot!' in what America somehow knew as a humourous tone. He hoped. But the teasing only made his face go even more red, if it were possible.
The cycle would continue until America dared Tony to try and beat him at a Disney game, which would promptly shut him up. (Tony wasn't very good at those, he couldn't get why some person would want to go save an ugly looking princess who sang too much. Human ethics, particularly heroic ethics, were not Tony's strong point, to say the least - he'd rather blow their head up with a rifle.) As Tony was both competitive and knew he couldn't win those games, he would give up, slinking back to the Xbox to swear at any nation who came on Xbox Live. (England, unfortunately, didn't play Call of Duty, or many games for that matter.) But only after stealing America's coffee.
"Fuck you, Tony!" was the common end to these interactions.
Secondly, the bastard in his chest known as the heart. America was positive it grinned at him like the Trollface, to which his response was usually the 'FUUUUUUUUUUUUU' face, often in Canada's yard again. (For the record, Canada's face was usually like that as well as he realised America was standing on his tulips, but America usually left the exchange without an ear for a month, being on the receiving end of a well-aimed rifle. Note to America: never let Finland and Canada meet, they'd pawn COD.)
But anyway. He was sure his heart was Trollfaceing at him because whenever Tony complimented him, in that weird swearing non-complimentary way of the alien's, his heart beat faster, and he swore he was having a heart attack. (Which was semi-fine at home, but at McDonalds, after Tony had texted him, rolling around on the floor like an idiot constituted being an idiot, and consequently being thrown out. On the up side, he managed to cling onto his burger. SCORE.)
The other thing was the pain. Whenever America wished Tony would look his way, or spend more time with him off Halo, his Trollface heart would shrivel, and hurt, as if someone was playing guitar on his heart strings. (and since the only person he knew could play guitar was Antonio, he swore to shoot him twice as much for evoking this pain) His face would drop, and he felt like staring into the rain or something typically moody.
So he did, once.
It just felt weird, even weirder than what his heart was doing.
Therefore, in a moment of eternal wisdom, he did the only thing he could do. He took a pilgrimage to see the (self proclaimed) master of love. Well, he said pilgrimage. He meant a flight. And he said master of love. He meant France. Who, really, was the self-proclaimed master of sex. France, the one who didn't need porn because he got so much. But there were worse sources of information - like England. Although America had secretly observed him snogging Spain like he wanted to eat his face, with Romano also watching, but more in a dreamy happiness, as he himself sat in Germany's lap, with Italy skipping around the meeting room with Liechtenstein, by Italian powers of escapism avoiding being shot at at all. Privately, America felt a little left out of all the weirdness his peers were showing towards one other nation, but he could not pinpoint what they were doing.
He hesitantly rang the doorbell.
France answered, looking slightly haggard and definitely underdressed, and had America not been in such a hurry, he would have heard the mewling calls for France. But America was panicked, so he ignored all the signals of it being a bad time (like a true oblivious twat) and got on with his enquiry.
"France, you have to help me, my heart's turned into a Trollface! It won't stop grinning at me, and going faster or hurting or making me blush and what the fuck is going on, France!" By this point, he was shaking the poor nation so hard his minimal clothing was falling. Luckily, France stopped him before sanity was lost (if it wasn't already).
"That, mon ami, I'll tell you once you put me down!" America replaced France on the doorstep. "That is l'amour."
"What?"
"Love! Joie de vivre, le raison d'être!" France said, exasperatedly, and ordered him to see Spain before slamming the door.
Yep, France was a category of his own - who wouldn't want to see America at two in the morning?
America ended up traipsing around most of Europe, and a decent chunk of Asia by his magic transportation skills. (All nations had them, it was called a taxi and a very large sum of money in numerous currencies. He'd spent several days on his pilgrimage, and was now happy to relax at home.)
He didn't really have an answer to his question, either. Most of them slammed the door in his face, and he slammed the door in Russia's face before he could finish his first sentence. (To be honest, if Russia's first answer was 'Would you like me to show you?', not only was it 'bad' English to reply with a question (that was the England within him), but he was quite sure that it implied pipes in places he didn't want them. Or Russians. Neither of which were at all desirable, hence the slammed door and hopefully broken nose. America grinned.)
The nearest thing he got was from Italy, who had enthusiastically invited him in, and sat him down.
"Love? Love can be when you like someone a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean, like... You want to spend time with them! You want to spend every day with them, and share your life..." Then he had trailed off, deep in thought, so America excused himself.
It did, however, lead to another conclusion of as much, or even more gravity than the revelation that had started this whole thing. He'd have to work out what love was by himself.
Why had he been looking for an answer for that anyway? He thought back to France and Tony, and still couldn't really remember. Oh well.
He slumped into the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen - a rare thing in his house. If he stared long and hard enough, patterns came alive, and there was an imprint left on his retina-
"What the fuck are you doing, you fucking weirdo."
(Let it be noted that America did not in fact jump half a mile and scream like a girl, instead he flinched but made no sound. Actually, who are we kidding? He fell off the sofa in his surprise and sounded more like a soprano singer, and it was fucking hilarious, especially if you were Canada. Or Tony.
Due to America's gymnastic abilities, he was now on the floor, and Tony had only just, after ten minutes, recovered from a side-splitting laughing fit. Back to the restart: )
"Hey! That's not fair, it wasn't that funny!" America mumbled, flaming red and quite hurt. Not to mention he'd have a bruised ass in the morning.
"It was fucking funny, America."
"Was not!" "Fucking was." "Was not not not! It's your fault for scaring me anyway." America pouted slightly, getting up and dusting himself, for some reason feeling genuinely hurt that Tony was laughing at him so much. Why couldn't he be less clumsy in front of the one he lov-
Love? And there went his heart again, Trollfaceing and FUUUUUing and god knows what else, and his face went pale. Love? It couldn't be love, only everybody else fell in love! America was too awesome for... Well, not really, but he'd never fallen in love before!
He smiled weakly at Tony then ran upstairs to his room, locking the door and throwing himself down on the bed. Surely though, love and sex were the same thing? If you loved someone, you had sex with them.
But wait - what about friends-with-benefits? They just had sex supposedly...
He didn't want sex. 400 years without looking at any girl or guy and getting any kind of... reaction to them, he was quite sure he didn't want any at all. (Indeed, America knew this made sense, since after 400 years, you would be one hell of a frustrated guy. France would probably implode.)
Everybody else seemed to think he was sexually dominating the whole meeting table. England was a typical, very embarrassing father (Once, he'd catcalled when he was too close to Romano, although England was still drunk from last night's party, the hangover having not kicked in) Nobody had actually done it with him, so he guessed that there was nothing to dispel myths - if only they went around and actually asked people, then they would find he was less of a tiger and more of a tree, not doing anything. He had never had any desire: he never woke up, looked at his dick and thought, 'I want to stick that somewhere.'. In fact, it was just there, a fact of anatomy.
So surely, if you could have friends-with-benefits... You could have love without sex!
But it didn't change the fact that he had no idea how to love someone.
He'd checked on the Internet, therefore it was law. The only thing to do when one was in love, was to ask the object of affections to a date! In America's case, dinner. It would have to work, how could Tony fail to fall for his awesome charm, and complete manliness?
He could see it now, Tony swooning as America carried him, bridal style, to the awaiting car that would take them to the highly prestigious McD's.
America beamed, pulled on his best gear - his neatest pair of jeans and a World of Warcraft t-shirt, and ran downstairs to the awaiting Tony.
Except he fell down the stairs, and Tony was in the kitchen making coffee, simply laughing when America tumbled over and over, extracting plenty of ows from him, and hurt pride when he reached the bottom. Then of course he stood, gracefully walked over to Tony with a rose in his mouth and asked him.
But he didn't, really. He wobbled over, still disorientated and now completely red due to his humiliation, and stuttered his request.
"W-w-would you like t-to go out for dinner?"
"No." Internally, America sighed with relief. He hadn't really wanted to go out, but he had to try since the Internet told him so.
"Want take-out?"
So here, chronicled, began the most unromantic evening of a random movie on TV, arguing over the remote when My Little Pony came up and America really wanted to watch it and Tony didn't, (ensuing a small debate on whether America was a 'brony' or not: Tony distinctly decided he was.) which resulting in Tony leaving and scaring the pizza delivery guy by answering the door, and sleeping early on the couch because they couldn't be bothered.
The next morning, America awoke to find himself holding Tony somehow, and decided things were dire.
It was time.
They were cruising at a nice speed, the sea breeze relaxing on America's tanned face, and the view into the ocean was fantastic.
He was, obviously, surfing the waves on Mississippi's back. (That's his whale, by the way, don't bother asking about the name) Because his whale was actually a good source of decent advice. Unlike France, or England.
"Hey Missi, what do you do when you love someone but they don't appear to like you back and you're hopeless at showing you care...?"
-Don't call me that. Who? England? France? Romano?-
"What do you want me to call you, Ippi? And no way! Dating England would be like dating my father... Which he kind of is. France did it with a gazebo, and Romano is 'taken'," America enthusiastically gestured, complete with quotation marks once he'd sat up. He folded his arms, sulking at the prospect of England even being a possibility.
-Pippi will be fine. Why the heck did you call me such a stupid name? Then... Oh whatever, just tell me.-
"It's, um... Tony. Yes I'm in love with something that isn't even fucking human! I'm insane! Oh my God, what will I do? This is the scandal of, like, the millenia!?! They're all gonna hate me! What a-AAAAAAAAHHHHH OW THAT FUCKING HURT!"
-I politely request that when you go insane, you do not start on my back. Else that's what you get.-
America had lain down, and started beating his hands against Pippi like a five-year-old, so the whale had reacted with a jet of water right on America's stomach. Therefore, he had wailed, flailing from 50 feet in the air and then belly-flopped on the sea, and only just crawled onto the whale's back once more, curled up in pain.
"Why'd'ya have ta do that!? A guy's gotta eat!"
-You were being silly. It isn't as if I haven't ever looked at, say, a shark and thought it was nice before. Why don't you just tell him?- Pippi sounded almost flippant while America baulked.
"But it's different, humans have ethics-" He could feel the mental glare from the whale. "Not that animals don't! But like, what would my boss say? Not to mention anyone else!"
-Perhaps you should wait until you are actually together (or not) before worrying about other's thoughts? Just tell him! He isn't as small minded or focused as you believe.- Pippi chuckled privately, thinking of various conversations with Tony.
"But you can't just tell someone, that's... That's... That's genius! Amazing! Thanks Pippi!" America faltered, thinking back to his epic European quest and the huge Access bill a month later. (The boss had lectured him like, well, A BOSS. He should have seen it coming.) "But I... I don't even know what love is..." America's tone quietened to an extent that Pippi strained to hear.
-You seem pretty sure what your feelings are, I would go for it and you can work it out later.-
"I'll try it, thanks! Oh, and ~Pippi~? Could you carry me to shore?"
For that, he got a whack of the tail to fly him part way to shore, also ensuring he got very wet. The cheek of him, thought Pippi.
Breath. Just breath, open the door, and tell him. There's alcohol in the fridge if it goes wrong, America thought to himself. He was shivering like mad, although he couldn't tell if it was because he was cold or nervous, but it was probably a mixture of the two. (Coldous? Nervold? They sounded more like odd medication than describing words...)
Finally, he fumbled with his key and managed to open the door, sighing with relief at the blast of warm air.
"Bu?" Tony stood, hands on hips, looking up at him in expectation. Although what he was expecting, America had no idea - it was getting quite late, perhaps he was hungry?
"Argh! Oh, hey Tony, I'm home!"
"What were you doing?" Tony demanded to know, causing America to furrow his eyebrows - Tony was rarely interested in his day. It was probably that he'd missed an event on CoD or something, so America grinned.
"Nothing much!"
"Then why do you look like that?" America looked at his state of dress, and suddenly understood. His t-shirt was crumpled and slightly ripped in places, and there were many odd white marks all over his clothing.
"I was accosted by a gangster mob of pigeons." America replied sheepishly, while Tony raised a non-existent eyebrow, turning to go into the lounge again. Then, America re-remembered his quest.
"Ah, Tony! I have something to-to tell you..." And as the alien set huge, curious red orbs on him, he gulped. This was going to be a lot harder than Pippi had made out...
"I, er, um- well, I lo- I lo- I er, I love McDonald's!" Tony facepalmed and continued into the lounge, shaking his head. America shook, then ran to grab the alcohol (piss-weak beer really, and he knew it - the least alcohol tolerant person could drink two gallons and not feel vaguely drunk. But it made him feel better) and upstairs.
Why was his voicebox betraying him? He swore, it was working in collaboration with his heart to make him look as stupid as possible.
He could see it, his voicebox on the edge of a small cliff overlooking moorland and it was stormy, wind whipping around his hair as America looked on, implored his voicebox (he named it Bob) to make the right decision.
"Why, Bob? Why did you go to the dark side? That trollface heart has no good intentions you know!"
"Because- I'm sorry America, he offered me cookies. The dark side has cookies, and you only have work and a too loud voice. I won't come back, you'll never make me!" and with that, Bob ran past him, America stretching his arm out in a feeble attempt, but it was too late. Bob was gone, and so too was his voice. </i>
The nation sat up very jerkily, almost hitting his head on something, but he was more pre-occupied with his lack of voice. He couldn't speak! So he started screaming, like you do, surprising himself by the sound of if and so finally came to the conclusion that it was a dream. Whoa, he thought, that was one weird dream/nightmare thingymajig.
Somehow, America could tell that it wouldn't be easy to tell Tony, not one iota. (What was an iota anyway? What did it have to do with anything?)
Months later, and three particular words had not been uttered (but three others had been repeated beyond count: why so impossible?), his heart an voicebox's collaboration was doing a fine job of messing up his life and Tony was very amused.
So he decided that he needed some practice. In the lounge. With the door open. Fully in the knowledge that Tony was in the house, even if he was asleep.
He was begging for something bad to happen. In retrospect, he shouldn't have, but the worry and short nights due to it was making him think real strange.
"What am I supposed to say, 'Hey Tony, oh and btw, I love you'? That doesn't work! Or I could do over-the-top-France-special-with-a-cherry-on-top, 'I've loved you since I knew who you were, and your beauty surpasses the most beautiful rose'. But that sounds stupid..." (he only knew that because France had said it to England (as a joke?! He hoped). The reaction was a punch in the face, which indicated to America that it wasn't a brilliant route. Don't worry, he didn't have the romantic bone in his body to come up with that)
He sighed, slumping on the sofa, watching his vague reflection in the blank TV. It was hopeless. He could say everything but not that. What was the point - he might as well just cope with what he had now, not bother ever telling him and just... not have love. What was so great about it anyway, apart from that everyone searched for it and wanted it and everyone who appeared to be in it were truly happy and there was always a pairing in every show and...
"Oh forget it, self! You can't say 'I love you' to one alien who doesn't even care so stop trying to convince me I need it! I coped this far!"
"Bu?" America's eyes snapped open so violently he was sure he'd gotten whiplash in his eyelids. Slowly turning his head he checked that it was true, and immediately wanted to wail and cry and run and escape.
"Fuck." His life was ruined! Accidental confessions were the worst, he could now testify. It left him with no mental preparation at all, and he might have wished that he had got some of England's cooking, so he had an excuse to die or throw up and leave apart from you could taste it for weeks after, like some disgusting form of taste regurgitation. Nice.
"What is this you speak of?" He looked at the alien. Practically a refusal. He slumped even further, feeling his spine bend half in two. Any moment, he'd be sprung into outer orbit and have no troubles. Apart from, like asphyxiation.
"Love. I don't know what it is, but I think I'm in it."
"Is it bad?"
"Supposedly not."
"We could research it. It could make a fucking interesting report to the mothership."
"Really? You mean it?" Tony nodded, looking smug. "Yay!" America threw his arms around the alien and, standing, spun around the room.
He still didn't know what love was though. But then again, as France would say, America is plain thick when it comes to matters of the heart.
Omg, never let me near humour writing, I will kill it dead. And the ending, facepalm. I hope you liked it anyway...?
Oh yeah: Canada sent the pigeon mob. It's like France has Pierre, but more badass. Characterization? What characterization? France invaded this way more than I expected, I honestly don't hate him.
D'awww. :D Trollface!heart is oddly awesome for Alfred. I love the random asides, like Canada's tulips and the background rarepairs(!) - it's scattered, but in a way that really suits the way you write Alfred. This is the inside of his head after all, and not the part people see.
Also? You have convinced me of the sheer potential for whale!fic. Meme needs more whale!fic now. ♥
ohshit you referenced the gazebo and rock fills, oldfics are old XDDDDD
Laughing forever, anon! This was the funniest thing I've read in a while! Everyone was so in character, and I think I'm going to refer to Ameriwhale as Mississippi from now on XD The ending was great too, with the two of them trying to figure out what love is together.
hetalia_kink
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1a/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 09:42 pm (UTC) (Link)
The conclusion being that Tony was actually quite good looking.
Well, you know, if you were into the non-human kind of look. And so America (and France) said himself, there was nothing wrong with that! Rumour had it France had done... unmentionable things with a gazebo, and even, when England was particularly drunk, the rumour changed to include a rock. At least America hadn't, yet, checked out an inanimate object.
But really, America was trying to justify that finding an alien attractive was normal.
Which it wasn't.
Probably why his reasoning wasn't working terribly well. (France didn't come under the category of normal; he was about a lightyear away categorized in the one person category of France. Hell, France was in another galaxy of categories sometimes. But enough of that.)
So after trying to normalize a weird thought, and failing, he shrugged, swearing once he realised he'd been shot. By Canada none the less.
Bitch.
Tony had just looked at him strangely during his zone-out.
But after that incident (he shot Canada twice, one for revenge and one so Prussia had a heart attack laughing as Canada screamed like a girl about his kill count.), he quietly noticed weird things happening.
Although quietly for America meant that he went and screamed about it some place private, like Canada's back yard. Just to wake him up.
For a start, the blushing. He wasn't some goddamn teenaged girl (even if some would dispute that, particularly after a horror film), so it made no sense that Tony would walk in the room while he made coffee, and his face would be alight, akin to a red balloon. Tony would then point at his face and laugh, constantly saying something like 'fucking idiot!' in what America somehow knew as a humourous tone. He hoped. But the teasing only made his face go even more red, if it were possible.
The cycle would continue until America dared Tony to try and beat him at a Disney game, which would promptly shut him up. (Tony wasn't very good at those, he couldn't get why some person would want to go save an ugly looking princess who sang too much. Human ethics, particularly heroic ethics, were not Tony's strong point, to say the least - he'd rather blow their head up with a rifle.)
As Tony was both competitive and knew he couldn't win those games, he would give up, slinking back to the Xbox to swear at any nation who came on Xbox Live. (England, unfortunately, didn't play Call of Duty, or many games for that matter.) But only after stealing America's coffee.
"Fuck you, Tony!" was the common end to these interactions.
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1b/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 09:54 pm (UTC) (Link)
But anyway. He was sure his heart was Trollfaceing at him because whenever Tony complimented him, in that weird swearing non-complimentary way of the alien's, his heart beat faster, and he swore he was having a heart attack. (Which was semi-fine at home, but at McDonalds, after Tony had texted him, rolling around on the floor like an idiot constituted being an idiot, and consequently being thrown out.
On the up side, he managed to cling onto his burger. SCORE.)
The other thing was the pain. Whenever America wished Tony would look his way, or spend more time with him off Halo, his Trollface heart would shrivel, and hurt, as if someone was playing guitar on his heart strings. (and since the only person he knew could play guitar was Antonio, he swore to shoot him twice as much for evoking this pain) His face would drop, and he felt like staring into the rain or something typically moody.
So he did, once.
It just felt weird, even weirder than what his heart was doing.
Therefore, in a moment of eternal wisdom, he did the only thing he could do.
He took a pilgrimage to see the (self proclaimed) master of love.
Well, he said pilgrimage. He meant a flight.
And he said master of love. He meant France. Who, really, was the self-proclaimed master of sex. France, the one who didn't need porn because he got so much.
But there were worse sources of information - like England. Although America had secretly observed him snogging Spain like he wanted to eat his face, with Romano also watching, but more in a dreamy happiness, as he himself sat in Germany's lap, with Italy skipping around the meeting room with Liechtenstein, by Italian powers of escapism avoiding being shot at at all. Privately, America felt a little left out of all the weirdness his peers were showing towards one other nation, but he could not pinpoint what they were doing.
He hesitantly rang the doorbell.
France answered, looking slightly haggard and definitely underdressed, and had America not been in such a hurry, he would have heard the mewling calls for France. But America was panicked, so he ignored all the signals of it being a bad time (like a true oblivious twat) and got on with his enquiry.
"France, you have to help me, my heart's turned into a Trollface! It won't stop grinning at me, and going faster or hurting or making me blush and what the fuck is going on, France!" By this point, he was shaking the poor nation so hard his minimal clothing was falling. Luckily, France stopped him before sanity was lost (if it wasn't already).
"That, mon ami, I'll tell you once you put me down!" America replaced France on the doorstep. "That is l'amour."
"What?"
"Love! Joie de vivre, le raison d'être!" France said, exasperatedly, and ordered him to see Spain before slamming the door.
Yep, France was a category of his own - who wouldn't want to see America at two in the morning?
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1c/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:00 pm (UTC) (Link)
America ended up traipsing around most of Europe, and a decent chunk of Asia by his magic transportation skills. (All nations had them, it was called a taxi and a very large sum of money in numerous currencies. He'd spent several days on his pilgrimage, and was now happy to relax at home.)
He didn't really have an answer to his question, either. Most of them slammed the door in his face, and he slammed the door in Russia's face before he could finish his first sentence. (To be honest, if Russia's first answer was 'Would you like me to show you?', not only was it 'bad' English to reply with a question (that was the England within him), but he was quite sure that it implied pipes in places he didn't want them. Or Russians. Neither of which were at all desirable, hence the slammed door and hopefully broken nose. America grinned.)
The nearest thing he got was from Italy, who had enthusiastically invited him in, and sat him down.
"Love? Love can be when you like someone a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean, like... You want to spend time with them! You want to spend every day with them, and share your life..." Then he had trailed off, deep in thought, so America excused himself.
It did, however, lead to another conclusion of as much, or even more gravity than the revelation that had started this whole thing.
He'd have to work out what love was by himself.
Why had he been looking for an answer for that anyway?
He thought back to France and Tony, and still couldn't really remember. Oh well.
He slumped into the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen - a rare thing in his house. If he stared long and hard enough, patterns came alive, and there was an imprint left on his retina-
"What the fuck are you doing, you fucking weirdo."
(Let it be noted that America did not in fact jump half a mile and scream like a girl, instead he flinched but made no sound. Actually, who are we kidding? He fell off the sofa in his surprise and sounded more like a soprano singer, and it was fucking hilarious, especially if you were Canada. Or Tony.
Due to America's gymnastic abilities, he was now on the floor, and Tony had only just, after ten minutes, recovered from a side-splitting laughing fit. Back to the restart: )
"Hey! That's not fair, it wasn't that funny!" America mumbled, flaming red and quite hurt. Not to mention he'd have a bruised ass in the morning.
"It was fucking funny, America."
"Was not!"
"Fucking was."
"Was not not not! It's your fault for scaring me anyway." America pouted slightly, getting up and dusting himself, for some reason feeling genuinely hurt that Tony was laughing at him so much. Why couldn't he be less clumsy in front of the one he lov-
Love?
And there went his heart again, Trollfaceing and FUUUUUing and god knows what else, and his face went pale.
Love? It couldn't be love, only everybody else fell in love! America was too awesome for... Well, not really, but he'd never fallen in love before!
He smiled weakly at Tony then ran upstairs to his room, locking the door and throwing himself down on the bed.
Surely though, love and sex were the same thing? If you loved someone, you had sex with them.
But wait - what about friends-with-benefits? They just had sex supposedly...
He didn't want sex. 400 years without looking at any girl or guy and getting any kind of... reaction to them, he was quite sure he didn't want any at all. (Indeed, America knew this made sense, since after 400 years, you would be one hell of a frustrated guy. France would probably implode.)
Everybody else seemed to think he was sexually dominating the whole meeting table. England was a typical, very embarrassing father (Once, he'd catcalled when he was too close to Romano, although England was still drunk from last night's party, the hangover having not kicked in) Nobody had actually done it with him, so he guessed that there was nothing to dispel myths - if only they went around and actually asked people, then they would find he was less of a tiger and more of a tree, not doing anything.
He had never had any desire: he never woke up, looked at his dick and thought, 'I want to stick that somewhere.'. In fact, it was just there, a fact of anatomy.
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1d/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:07 pm (UTC) (Link)
But it didn't change the fact that he had no idea how to love someone.
He'd checked on the Internet, therefore it was law. The only thing to do when one was in love, was to ask the object of affections to a date! In America's case, dinner. It would have to work, how could Tony fail to fall for his awesome charm, and complete manliness?
He could see it now, Tony swooning as America carried him, bridal style, to the awaiting car that would take them to the highly prestigious McD's.
America beamed, pulled on his best gear - his neatest pair of jeans and a World of Warcraft t-shirt, and ran downstairs to the awaiting Tony.
Except he fell down the stairs, and Tony was in the kitchen making coffee, simply laughing when America tumbled over and over, extracting plenty of ows from him, and hurt pride when he reached the bottom. Then of course he stood, gracefully walked over to Tony with a rose in his mouth and asked him.
But he didn't, really. He wobbled over, still disorientated and now completely red due to his humiliation, and stuttered his request.
"W-w-would you like t-to go out for dinner?"
"No." Internally, America sighed with relief. He hadn't really wanted to go out, but he had to try since the Internet told him so.
"Want take-out?"
So here, chronicled, began the most unromantic evening of a random movie on TV, arguing over the remote when My Little Pony came up and America really wanted to watch it and Tony didn't, (ensuing a small debate on whether America was a 'brony' or not: Tony distinctly decided he was.) which resulting in Tony leaving and scaring the pizza delivery guy by answering the door, and sleeping early on the couch because they couldn't be bothered.
The next morning, America awoke to find himself holding Tony somehow, and decided things were dire.
It was time.
They were cruising at a nice speed, the sea breeze relaxing on America's tanned face, and the view into the ocean was fantastic.
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1e/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
"Hey Missi, what do you do when you love someone but they don't appear to like you back and you're hopeless at showing you care...?"
-Don't call me that. Who? England? France? Romano?-
"What do you want me to call you, Ippi? And no way! Dating England would be like dating my father... Which he kind of is. France did it with a gazebo, and Romano is 'taken'," America enthusiastically gestured, complete with quotation marks once he'd sat up. He folded his arms, sulking at the prospect of England even being a possibility.
-Pippi will be fine. Why the heck did you call me such a stupid name? Then... Oh whatever, just tell me.-
"It's, um... Tony. Yes I'm in love with something that isn't even fucking human! I'm insane! Oh my God, what will I do? This is the scandal of, like, the millenia!?! They're all gonna hate me! What a-AAAAAAAAHHHHH OW THAT FUCKING HURT!"
-I politely request that when you go insane, you do not start on my back. Else that's what you get.-
America had lain down, and started beating his hands against Pippi like a five-year-old, so the whale had reacted with a jet of water right on America's stomach. Therefore, he had wailed, flailing from 50 feet in the air and then belly-flopped on the sea, and only just crawled onto the whale's back once more, curled up in pain.
"Why'd'ya have ta do that!? A guy's gotta eat!"
-You were being silly. It isn't as if I haven't ever looked at, say, a shark and thought it was nice before. Why don't you just tell him?- Pippi sounded almost flippant while America baulked.
"But it's different, humans have ethics-" He could feel the mental glare from the whale. "Not that animals don't! But like, what would my boss say? Not to mention anyone else!"
-Perhaps you should wait until you are actually together (or not) before worrying about other's thoughts? Just tell him! He isn't as small minded or focused as you believe.- Pippi chuckled privately, thinking of various conversations with Tony.
"But you can't just tell someone, that's... That's... That's genius! Amazing! Thanks Pippi!" America faltered, thinking back to his epic European quest and the huge Access bill a month later. (The boss had lectured him like, well, A BOSS. He should have seen it coming.)
"But I... I don't even know what love is..." America's tone quietened to an extent that Pippi strained to hear.
-You seem pretty sure what your feelings are, I would go for it and you can work it out later.-
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1f/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:20 pm (UTC) (Link)
For that, he got a whack of the tail to fly him part way to shore, also ensuring he got very wet. The cheek of him, thought Pippi.
Breath. Just breath, open the door, and tell him. There's alcohol in the fridge if it goes wrong, America thought to himself. He was shivering like mad, although he couldn't tell if it was because he was cold or nervous, but it was probably a mixture of the two. (Coldous? Nervold? They sounded more like odd medication than describing words...)
Finally, he fumbled with his key and managed to open the door, sighing with relief at the blast of warm air.
"Bu?" Tony stood, hands on hips, looking up at him in expectation. Although what he was expecting, America had no idea - it was getting quite late, perhaps he was hungry?
"Argh! Oh, hey Tony, I'm home!"
"What were you doing?" Tony demanded to know, causing America to furrow his eyebrows - Tony was rarely interested in his day. It was probably that he'd missed an event on CoD or something, so America grinned.
"Nothing much!"
"Then why do you look like that?" America looked at his state of dress, and suddenly understood. His t-shirt was crumpled and slightly ripped in places, and there were many odd white marks all over his clothing.
"I was accosted by a gangster mob of pigeons." America replied sheepishly, while Tony raised a non-existent eyebrow, turning to go into the lounge again. Then, America re-remembered his quest.
"Ah, Tony! I have something to-to tell you..." And as the alien set huge, curious red orbs on him, he gulped. This was going to be a lot harder than Pippi had made out...
"I, er, um- well, I lo- I lo- I er, I love McDonald's!" Tony facepalmed and continued into the lounge, shaking his head. America shook, then ran to grab the alcohol (piss-weak beer really, and he knew it - the least alcohol tolerant person could drink two gallons and not feel vaguely drunk. But it made him feel better) and upstairs.
Why was his voicebox betraying him? He swore, it was working in collaboration with his heart to make him look as stupid as possible.
He could see it, his voicebox on the edge of a small cliff overlooking moorland and it was stormy, wind whipping around his hair as America looked on, implored his voicebox (he named it Bob) to make the right decision.
"Why, Bob? Why did you go to the dark side? That trollface heart has no good intentions you know!"
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1g/1]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:25 pm (UTC) (Link)
The nation sat up very jerkily, almost hitting his head on something, but he was more pre-occupied with his lack of voice. He couldn't speak! So he started screaming, like you do, surprising himself by the sound of if and so finally came to the conclusion that it was a dream. Whoa, he thought, that was one weird dream/nightmare thingymajig.
Somehow, America could tell that it wouldn't be easy to tell Tony, not one iota. (What was an iota anyway? What did it have to do with anything?)
Months later, and three particular words had not been uttered (but three others had been repeated beyond count: why so impossible?), his heart an voicebox's collaboration was doing a fine job of messing up his life and Tony was very amused.
So he decided that he needed some practice.
In the lounge.
With the door open.
Fully in the knowledge that Tony was in the house, even if he was asleep.
He was begging for something bad to happen. In retrospect, he shouldn't have, but the worry and short nights due to it was making him think real strange.
"What am I supposed to say, 'Hey Tony, oh and btw, I love you'? That doesn't work! Or I could do over-the-top-France-special-with-a-cherr
He sighed, slumping on the sofa, watching his vague reflection in the blank TV. It was hopeless. He could say everything but not that. What was the point - he might as well just cope with what he had now, not bother ever telling him and just... not have love. What was so great about it anyway, apart from that everyone searched for it and wanted it and everyone who appeared to be in it were truly happy and there was always a pairing in every show and...
"Oh forget it, self! You can't say 'I love you' to one alien who doesn't even care so stop trying to convince me I need it! I coped this far!"
The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-18 10:32 pm (UTC) (Link)
"Fuck." His life was ruined! Accidental confessions were the worst, he could now testify. It left him with no mental preparation at all, and he might have wished that he had got some of England's cooking, so he had an excuse to die or throw up and leave apart from you could taste it for weeks after, like some disgusting form of taste regurgitation. Nice.
"What is this you speak of?" He looked at the alien. Practically a refusal. He slumped even further, feeling his spine bend half in two. Any moment, he'd be sprung into outer orbit and have no troubles. Apart from, like asphyxiation.
"Love. I don't know what it is, but I think I'm in it."
"Is it bad?"
"Supposedly not."
"We could research it. It could make a fucking interesting report to the mothership."
"Really? You mean it?" Tony nodded, looking smug. "Yay!" America threw his arms around the alien and, standing, spun around the room.
He still didn't know what love was though. But then again, as France would say, America is plain thick when it comes to matters of the heart.
Omg, never let me near humour writing, I will kill it dead. And the ending, facepalm.
I hope you liked it anyway...?
Oh yeah: Canada sent the pigeon mob. It's like France has Pierre, but more badass.
Characterization? What characterization? France invaded this way more than I expected, I honestly don't hate him.
This is also longer than I thought...
Re: The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-19 04:59 am (UTC) (Link)
Because your writing for that kind of crack pairing is AMAZING.
Authornon!
(Anonymous)
2011-04-20 08:31 pm (UTC) (Link)
I'm flattered!Re: The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-19 05:49 am (UTC) (Link)
Great fill, hilalrious, and so not creepy at all! 8D
Re: The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-19 09:20 am (UTC) (Link)
Also? You have convinced me of the sheer potential for whale!fic. Meme needs more whale!fic now. ♥
ohshit you referenced the gazebo and rock fills, oldfics are old XDDDDD*bookmarks*
Re: The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-19 04:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
So hilarious. America was so incharacter. Thank you. THANK YOU!
Re: The Weirdest, Most Unromantic Derpy Courting You Will Ever See [1h/1h]
(Anonymous)
2011-04-21 07:43 pm (UTC) (Link)
Bookmarking for future reference!