Fic: A Randomly Selected Excerpt from America and England’s Collaborative Diary
*******
Title: A Randomly Selected Excerpt from America and England’s Collaborative Diary
Author: slashy_lady
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America, England, mentions of Canada and France/AmericaxEngland
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Some Kind of Summary: This is an excerpt of America and England's diary between December 8th and December 9th that involved America eating England's scones (willingly, and without any food poisoning to follow), England calling France by his name (more than once, and not in a sarcastic manner), and Canada strangling his dear brother (with some punching thrown in).
Note: I'm experimenting with this fic. It's presented as an excerpt from a diary format--so there would be no real plot, no climax, no apparent resolution.
*******
Tuesday, December 8th, mid-morning-ish
Today is so cold! Seriously. It’s like fucking cold. Like COLD cold! What’s wrong with the weather lately, eh? I thought we’re having that global warming thing or whatever, but it’s seriously so cold here!
Or perhaps Canada’s weather is only that awful. I mean, if we’re going to have some meet up during winter, you’d expect that they would arrange for some place warmer where it’s not fucking snowing. Damn France. I think it’s only his tactic to get closer to Canada’s vital region so he suggested Canada’s place to hang out. Like I’d believe his words of this thing being ‘family bonding time’.
Yeah, right.
But… family bonding time means England would be here! I haven’t seen him, though. He told me he would come today yet I haven’t seen him so far. I’m getting a bit worried. I should phone him to make sure.
This diary has been with me for too long, it’s time to hand it over to him. He should write some entries too! This is a collab diary, after all…
Now, I have a boyfriend to call.
Signed,
U S of A!
Still Tuesday, nearing midday, I think
I ended up not having to make that phone call because England phoned Canada first. Talk about matching wavelength. Canada told me that England would come, perhaps later on the afternoon. He also said that England had promised to bring some of his home-baked scones with him.
One word: Yucks!
I love England but I simply don’t love his food. Oh, they’re bearable, to a certain extent, and can be pretty useful when I need some ready excuse to skip a meeting (really, no one has ever doubted me when I said I had a stomach poisoning due to eating England’s rice pudding). But… yeah…
YUCKS!
Terribly-afraid-of-scone,
America.
Tuesday, December 8th, 4:40 p.m.
Canada’s Guest Room
I swear that I need to teach that child a thing or two about manner, and while I’m at it, proper correspondence. I know I should have used more drastic approach when I taught him to write. Perhaps that way I would have saved the world from this atrocity he deems as handwriting while in my personal opinion, it’s closer to resemble some chicken’s scratch.
Finally I got a hold on this diary again. I see that America has filled so many pages already. It would be fun reading through them. He could write… some really interesting subjects at times.
That thing aside, I guess I should write about my day so far. I was cordially invited to spend a week or so at Canada’s place. The invitation, coming from Canada himself, only stated that we did not spend so much time together lately and as Christmas is coming near, some family time between us would be nice. I find no objection to the general idea. But when I arrived and realized that the stupid wine bastard would be here too, the first thing came to mind was: if only I remember to bring my little bottles of arsenic and laudanum.
Thankfully, he wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
Canada is such a perfect host, like always. He has grown to be a wonderful gentleman and it’s really endearing seeing him growing up beautifully. It’s surely my doing that had made him into this astute figure, despite whatever France might have said on the subject. I am ashamed to admit that I cannot say the same thing for America. That boy might have gotten really big and powerful, but he still has a thing or two to learn about manners. And he should also learn not to treat my cooking as if they are dangerous to his soul. I saw him wincing and hear him whining when I put my scones to Canada’s plate. That jerk. And to think I made them especially for him with rum butter and blueberry jam, the way he likes it.
Oh, and about those scones, or more precisely, those cream scones with rum butter and blueberry jam, the ones that I baked and America mocked. Isn’t it curious that after claiming that they were hazardous for his health, he still ate them? Five of them. And it seems he’s going to eat more.
So much for masochism.
Signed,
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Still Tuesday, nearly dinner time
Stolen from England for a moment to clarify things
I only ate those scones because England would force them to my plate no matter what. But… uh, seriously England, be honest. None of them is burnt or tastes funny. You’re lying, aren’t you? You bought them in some bakery, not baking them yourself, didn’t you?
Extremely curious,
America
Tuesday, December 8th, 10:15 p.m.
Bedroom
I did bake those scones myself, you sodding jerk!
Honestly, that boy, sneakily writing on this diary while I’m busy preparing dinner. During times like that I’m left wondering why I’m still together with him. Perhaps I should have put more thought on China when he told me all the bad things happening to me lately is the accumulation of bad karma I’ve collected throughout those centuries when I reigned over the world with terror.
I’m now comfortably settled in my bed, thinking of going to sleep early because honestly, that flight was somewhat tiresome. Perhaps I would be writing more tomorrow. For now, I think some rest is in order.
Signed,
Tired Me
Tuesday
…on second thought, it’s Wednesday!
The clock on the bedside table says it’s 1:08 a.m. so I guess it’s already Wednesday, eh? I’m sneaking into England’s bedroom. No, it’s not because I want to do some cheesy thing like watching him sleep and pining over his beauty. I’m just worried cuz he looked kinda tired. It seems he’s deep asleep now, which is good for him.
Though England does look cute when he’s asleep. Not that otherworldly-beautiful-kind-of-cute, but… a former Empire drooling on his pillows does look cute. He will kill me when he sees that sentence, I know. What’s with him, anyway? Most people would appreciate it if their boyfriend calls them cute.
I need to go to sleep now. Canada has forced me to accompany him watching some NHL game aired on TV earlier and boy, that guy is still able to strangle me real good.
With love,
America
Wednesday, December 9th, 7:27 a.m.
Bedroom
I woke up to a pleasant morning, feeling really energized and happy. A good night sleep can indeed do wonder to people.
I noticed it right away how this diary had moved from its original position on my bedside where I put it last night. Instead, I found it lying open on the pillow beside my head. America, If you want me to read your entry that badly (and, consequently, have me know how you have watched over my sleep like a creepy perverted stalker you are), surely you cannot do it any more blatant than that.
It’s silent in the house. I think both Canada and America are still sleeping. I know it’s still pretty early to wake up and it’s not like they have any work to do for the rest of the day. Let them sleep, I think, and perhaps I could cook up some breakfast to await them when they finally decide to wake up.
It’s a bit scary how I still could not really let go of my role as their guardian even after they have already grown up and left my charge.
So, I have promised myself for a long entry and now I shall do just that. Honestly, nothing much happened from the last time I wrote in this diary before I gave it to America twelve days ago. Workload has been pretty low now that the holiday season is coming near. I think the only thing that kept being mentioned around in the office for the last few days before I took my flight here was what kind of Christmas gift would be best to be given to one’s in-laws.
I haven’t actually thought about what gift I should give to my friends for Christmas. Christmas shopping is simply something that I wish I would never have to do. It taunts me, with a false cheerful voice, about whether being nation could really spare me the nasty fate of mortality.
The sun is up now, so I think it’s time for me to get up from bed. Perhaps I should make some soft pancakes or pineapple pudding for breakfast. America loves pineapple pudding. I might be spoiling him a bit too much-for, really, pineapple pudding for breakfast? But he’s injured and it’s enough reason to pamper him a bit. I know how Canada could strangle and punch someone real good when he puts his heart to it. And usually, ice hockey tournament is more than enough to make him ‘put his heart to it’ so to speak.
Signed,
England
Wednesday, December 9th, 10.20 a.m.
Kitchen
It has been a pleasant day so far, yes, before Canada reminded me about how that stupid wine freak is going to arrive today.
I can write a very long string of curse words until I take up a whole page but even that would not convey my bad mood. I’m not angry at Canada for inviting that frog. No. He was, after all, his guardian once and their relationship is quite close now. Though I think I would never warm up to the idea of them as a couple.
America said that France was merely bluffing when he told people how he and Canada are together. He said that at the moment, Canada is being involved with someone else, and that ‘someone else’ is apparently not France. Well, he is Canada’s brother, so perhaps I should believe him.
I can’t believe that I actually call that bastard with his real name. Twice. In a single paragraph.
There has to be something wrong with me. Being angry is not good for the soul.
Still annoyed,
England
End of Excerpt
(A/N: ...want more excerpt?)
Title: A Randomly Selected Excerpt from America and England’s Collaborative Diary
Author: slashy_lady
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Pairing(s): America, England, mentions of Canada and France/AmericaxEngland
Disclaimer: The characters involved in this story do not belong to me, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.
Some Kind of Summary: This is an excerpt of America and England's diary between December 8th and December 9th that involved America eating England's scones (willingly, and without any food poisoning to follow), England calling France by his name (more than once, and not in a sarcastic manner), and Canada strangling his dear brother (with some punching thrown in).
Note: I'm experimenting with this fic. It's presented as an excerpt from a diary format--so there would be no real plot, no climax, no apparent resolution.
*******
Tuesday, December 8th, mid-morning-ish
Today is so cold! Seriously. It’s like fucking cold. Like COLD cold! What’s wrong with the weather lately, eh? I thought we’re having that global warming thing or whatever, but it’s seriously so cold here!
Or perhaps Canada’s weather is only that awful. I mean, if we’re going to have some meet up during winter, you’d expect that they would arrange for some place warmer where it’s not fucking snowing. Damn France. I think it’s only his tactic to get closer to Canada’s vital region so he suggested Canada’s place to hang out. Like I’d believe his words of this thing being ‘family bonding time’.
Yeah, right.
But… family bonding time means England would be here! I haven’t seen him, though. He told me he would come today yet I haven’t seen him so far. I’m getting a bit worried. I should phone him to make sure.
This diary has been with me for too long, it’s time to hand it over to him. He should write some entries too! This is a collab diary, after all…
Now, I have a boyfriend to call.
Signed,
U S of A!
Still Tuesday, nearing midday, I think
I ended up not having to make that phone call because England phoned Canada first. Talk about matching wavelength. Canada told me that England would come, perhaps later on the afternoon. He also said that England had promised to bring some of his home-baked scones with him.
One word: Yucks!
I love England but I simply don’t love his food. Oh, they’re bearable, to a certain extent, and can be pretty useful when I need some ready excuse to skip a meeting (really, no one has ever doubted me when I said I had a stomach poisoning due to eating England’s rice pudding). But… yeah…
YUCKS!
Terribly-afraid-of-scone,
America.
Tuesday, December 8th, 4:40 p.m.
Canada’s Guest Room
I swear that I need to teach that child a thing or two about manner, and while I’m at it, proper correspondence. I know I should have used more drastic approach when I taught him to write. Perhaps that way I would have saved the world from this atrocity he deems as handwriting while in my personal opinion, it’s closer to resemble some chicken’s scratch.
Finally I got a hold on this diary again. I see that America has filled so many pages already. It would be fun reading through them. He could write… some really interesting subjects at times.
That thing aside, I guess I should write about my day so far. I was cordially invited to spend a week or so at Canada’s place. The invitation, coming from Canada himself, only stated that we did not spend so much time together lately and as Christmas is coming near, some family time between us would be nice. I find no objection to the general idea. But when I arrived and realized that the stupid wine bastard would be here too, the first thing came to mind was: if only I remember to bring my little bottles of arsenic and laudanum.
Thankfully, he wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
Canada is such a perfect host, like always. He has grown to be a wonderful gentleman and it’s really endearing seeing him growing up beautifully. It’s surely my doing that had made him into this astute figure, despite whatever France might have said on the subject. I am ashamed to admit that I cannot say the same thing for America. That boy might have gotten really big and powerful, but he still has a thing or two to learn about manners. And he should also learn not to treat my cooking as if they are dangerous to his soul. I saw him wincing and hear him whining when I put my scones to Canada’s plate. That jerk. And to think I made them especially for him with rum butter and blueberry jam, the way he likes it.
Oh, and about those scones, or more precisely, those cream scones with rum butter and blueberry jam, the ones that I baked and America mocked. Isn’t it curious that after claiming that they were hazardous for his health, he still ate them? Five of them. And it seems he’s going to eat more.
So much for masochism.
Signed,
The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Still Tuesday, nearly dinner time
Stolen from England for a moment to clarify things
I only ate those scones because England would force them to my plate no matter what. But… uh, seriously England, be honest. None of them is burnt or tastes funny. You’re lying, aren’t you? You bought them in some bakery, not baking them yourself, didn’t you?
Extremely curious,
America
Tuesday, December 8th, 10:15 p.m.
Bedroom
I did bake those scones myself, you sodding jerk!
Honestly, that boy, sneakily writing on this diary while I’m busy preparing dinner. During times like that I’m left wondering why I’m still together with him. Perhaps I should have put more thought on China when he told me all the bad things happening to me lately is the accumulation of bad karma I’ve collected throughout those centuries when I reigned over the world with terror.
I’m now comfortably settled in my bed, thinking of going to sleep early because honestly, that flight was somewhat tiresome. Perhaps I would be writing more tomorrow. For now, I think some rest is in order.
Signed,
Tired Me
Tuesday
…on second thought, it’s Wednesday!
The clock on the bedside table says it’s 1:08 a.m. so I guess it’s already Wednesday, eh? I’m sneaking into England’s bedroom. No, it’s not because I want to do some cheesy thing like watching him sleep and pining over his beauty. I’m just worried cuz he looked kinda tired. It seems he’s deep asleep now, which is good for him.
Though England does look cute when he’s asleep. Not that otherworldly-beautiful-kind-of-cute, but… a former Empire drooling on his pillows does look cute. He will kill me when he sees that sentence, I know. What’s with him, anyway? Most people would appreciate it if their boyfriend calls them cute.
I need to go to sleep now. Canada has forced me to accompany him watching some NHL game aired on TV earlier and boy, that guy is still able to strangle me real good.
With love,
America
Wednesday, December 9th, 7:27 a.m.
Bedroom
I woke up to a pleasant morning, feeling really energized and happy. A good night sleep can indeed do wonder to people.
I noticed it right away how this diary had moved from its original position on my bedside where I put it last night. Instead, I found it lying open on the pillow beside my head. America, If you want me to read your entry that badly (and, consequently, have me know how you have watched over my sleep like a creepy perverted stalker you are), surely you cannot do it any more blatant than that.
It’s silent in the house. I think both Canada and America are still sleeping. I know it’s still pretty early to wake up and it’s not like they have any work to do for the rest of the day. Let them sleep, I think, and perhaps I could cook up some breakfast to await them when they finally decide to wake up.
It’s a bit scary how I still could not really let go of my role as their guardian even after they have already grown up and left my charge.
So, I have promised myself for a long entry and now I shall do just that. Honestly, nothing much happened from the last time I wrote in this diary before I gave it to America twelve days ago. Workload has been pretty low now that the holiday season is coming near. I think the only thing that kept being mentioned around in the office for the last few days before I took my flight here was what kind of Christmas gift would be best to be given to one’s in-laws.
I haven’t actually thought about what gift I should give to my friends for Christmas. Christmas shopping is simply something that I wish I would never have to do. It taunts me, with a false cheerful voice, about whether being nation could really spare me the nasty fate of mortality.
The sun is up now, so I think it’s time for me to get up from bed. Perhaps I should make some soft pancakes or pineapple pudding for breakfast. America loves pineapple pudding. I might be spoiling him a bit too much-for, really, pineapple pudding for breakfast? But he’s injured and it’s enough reason to pamper him a bit. I know how Canada could strangle and punch someone real good when he puts his heart to it. And usually, ice hockey tournament is more than enough to make him ‘put his heart to it’ so to speak.
Signed,
England
Wednesday, December 9th, 10.20 a.m.
Kitchen
It has been a pleasant day so far, yes, before Canada reminded me about how that stupid wine freak is going to arrive today.
I can write a very long string of curse words until I take up a whole page but even that would not convey my bad mood. I’m not angry at Canada for inviting that frog. No. He was, after all, his guardian once and their relationship is quite close now. Though I think I would never warm up to the idea of them as a couple.
America said that France was merely bluffing when he told people how he and Canada are together. He said that at the moment, Canada is being involved with someone else, and that ‘someone else’ is apparently not France. Well, he is Canada’s brother, so perhaps I should believe him.
I can’t believe that I actually call that bastard with his real name. Twice. In a single paragraph.
There has to be something wrong with me. Being angry is not good for the soul.
Still annoyed,
England
End of Excerpt
(A/N: ...want more excerpt?)