Author!Anon End + more
Title: Author!Anon
Author(s): my bunny co-worker and me; edits done by me
Genre: Humor
Characters/Pairing(s): England, America; US/UK
Rating: PG13/hard R; this chapter is PG-13
Warnings: may cause your head to explode, lots of Author's/Editor's notes
Summary: America has a secret. He's a fanfiction author for the Hetalia kink_meme. This is his story as he struggles with strange de-anons, writer's block, and real life...as told by England.
AKA, the fic that has utterly destroyed my reputation. Originally for the kink_meme, now with edits and extra bits.
~
CH 1: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/1916.html
CH 2: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2266.html
CH 3: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2467.html
CH 4: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2759.html
CH 5: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2917.html
CH 6: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/3391.html
Editor's Notes: Sorry for the late update. Thanksgiving was, to put it bluntly, a pain in the ass. Luckily, I got to see lots and lots of my bunny for the past couple of days (which probably didn't help with the timeliness of this chapter, but whatever. Sorry, guys, but screwing being with my BF = more important than my fics).
Uh, no commentary on the previous reviews today. I mean, I responded to them in the original chapter six and in the original version of the epilogue both Iggy and I did 'em. It would just be awkward to redo 'em.
~
Author's Notes: Taken from a audio recording via the magic mirror because the two authors kept fighting over who would write the epilogue.
“Iggy?”
“Yes?”
“You know, we're a fucked up family, couple...thing.”
“What makes you say that, America?”
*a pause*
“Sooooooo, you going to apologize?”
*sputtering* “Me?! What about you? Apologise first, git!”
“For what?!”
“For not asking my permission to write a porno about us!”
“There's no porn yet!”
“Yet. That's the key word.”
“Well...yeah...Whatever! You de-anoned me! On all my ongoing fills! Fucking limey.”
“Stupid yank! I didn't de-anon you on all your fills. Your especially heartfelt ones with the underlying 'sappy' messages are still anonymous. Well, besides 'Vital Regions.' Good Lord, you can be such a woman.”
“So what if those are hidden? You still de-anoned me!”
“And you took over my story and wrote about our night time activities! How embarrassing!”
“It was to save you from the rabid fangirls! They demanded porn!”
“And you did it to get back at Matthew and me.”
“Yeah, but you de-anoned me! Jerk.”
“Git.”
“Bastard.”
“Twat.”
“Cunt.”
“...This is bloody ridiculous!” *sigh* “We've both been rather idiotic.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Maybe we should both apologise? On three. One. Two. Three.”
“Sorry.”
*a pause*
“Sorry.”
*a yelp* “Hey! You waited a bit, Iggy!”
“Belt up! I said it didn't I?”
“I guess...You know we've got a lot of issues.”
“You don't say.”
“Maybe we should work on 'em. It'll be good for us to talk about it.”
*a snort* “You just don't want to go to a therapist. Very well, then. Where should we start?”
“Your denial of your cuteness.”
*a choked sound* “What?!”
“You heard me. You're fucking adorable!”
“Fuck you.”
“Right now?”
*sounds of a scuffle*
“Idiot! T-That's not what I meant!”
“Fine, fine. I'll behave for now.”
“Good.”
“You're still cute. And you punch like a girl.”
*more sounds of a fight*
“Belt up!”
“Don't believe me? Fine. Since we have to dress up anyway, I dare you to dress up in a green smock and red bow with fluffy bunny ears, just like that cute pic. Go to a meeting like that. I bet people will melt.”
“That's...that's embarrassing!”
“Well, if at least fifty percent of our co-workers don't go stupid for the cute, then I'll say you're right and you're not cute.”
“Dear Lord, the world must be ending. You'll actually admit you're wrong?”
“Sure! Not that I am, of course. I'm never wrong. I'm awesome.”
“You were wrong about France getting into Canada's knickers.”
“Only because that fucking Frenchie lied!! And you were wrong about Prussia, so suck on that, bitch! By the way, who do you think Canada's with? I hope it's not Russia, 'cause that would be creepy. I don't want that fucking commie as an in-law!”
*sigh* “Put me down for Ukraine. She's becoming a popular partner for Matthew in the stories.”
“God. If we went by the stories Mattie would be boning me all day long. Nah, got to be someone unexpected. What's a really weird rare pairing you've seen with Mattie? Weirdest one I've seen is him and Germany.”
“I've seen him and his bear.”
“...I already know the answer to that. No. Just...just no.”
“I didn't think so either.”
“I guess I'll go with Australia 'cause no one would expect it. Wait, Aussie's one of our brothers, fuck. No incest. Uh, Seychelles? Damn it, she's one of your kids too...Hmm. Hong Kong? Fuck! Damn you and your imperialism, Iggy!”
“The sun never sets on the British Empire.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ugh. Fine. I'll go with Belgium, 'cause not only is it out of the blue, but the two of them have a waffle-pancake obsession.”
“Whatever. Getting back to this whole 'talking over our issues' bit, what about you? You need to work on your obsession with killing your child self in your stories. That can't be healthy.”
“Hey, I killed other kiddie Nations! I mean, how many times did little you die in my fic, 'Fourth'?”
“...Not helping, America.”
“Sorry.”
“And you seem to have an obsession with torturing me in your tales. I couldn't get past the first chapter of 'Haunting You' without feeling ill.”
“Aww...you know I love you! They're just fics.”
“And yet, on occasion, you add hidden messages in your tales.”
“Only sometimes...Besides, when I kill people in my stories, they usually don't stay dead. I love happy endings.”
“True. Is this why you're being so compliant? So that this story will have a happy ending?”
“Well, once this story ends, our story is still gonna continue right? Our real lives will still continue.”
“Yes, they will.”
“Well, while 'Author!Anon' can end happily, I don't want the stories of our lives to.”
*shock* “W-What?!”
*laughter* “I want our lives to go on happily forever~!”
*gently* “Nothing is forever, America. Not even Nations.”
*a snort* “Yeah, so? I can hope, right?”
*fondly* “You're such a woman.”
*a long pause*
“Hey, England?”
“Hmm?”
“Do ya think you can help me with my fills?”
“I suppose. I refuse to help with 'Haunting You,' though. It's disturbing.”
“I like it. It's my favorite of the ones I'm working on.”
“'Favourite'? You're deranged.”
*laughter* “I love you, old man.”
*a sigh* “...I love you too, you brat.”
“Hey, Iggy?”
“What?”
“You think Mattie will forgive me for the porn and the brain bleach?”
“Idiot! I haven't forgiven you for the porn.”
*laughter* “But it was good! Want me to prove it to you? Again?”
*sputtering* “I-idiot!”
~End
Editor's Notes: And that's the end of “Author!Anon”! Thanks for sticking by with us for all this time, hope you had an awesome time! In case anyone has been wondering about Iggy's “magic mirror” (Doesn't he give the weirdest code names to his spy equipment? Everyone knows magic's not real!) well, we don't have it now. It was waaaaaaaaay too tempting to use it for non-heroic things, so it's been given away. (What, you think we'd break it? Seven years bad luck, no thanks!) I won't tell you were it's gone or who has it now, but rest assured it's in a safe place. (No, I'm not using Iggy's play on words crap here. I'd at least put it in a more awesome place than a hotel safe!)
Dude, do you know how excited I am for the Secret Santa exchange?! XD More reading material FTW! Which reminds me, I need to finish my gift, which is going to be 100% AWESOME! *bounces* Damn, I love the holidays...
Aaaaaand, since people have been wondering who the fuck Canada's been fuckingdating, well...Here's a re-telling of Thanksgiving:
Summary: Canada has finally, finally agreed introduce America to the mysterious “significant other,” and on America's Thanksgiving too! But of course, things never turn out the way you expect. An Author!Anon side-story.
~
Time Stamp: November 26, 2009. 5:30AM
America was excited. Not just a little excited, fucking excited! It was Thanksgiving, but more than that, today was the day that he would get to meet his (almost) in-laws. After being sneaky and quiet about the whole affair for the past few months, Canada had finally agreed to bring his boy/girlfriend around to visit. It was like getting another family member and more since, according to Canada, his partner had siblings. And that was what Thanksgiving was all about, being with your family.
In order to make a good impression on his new (almost) in-laws, America had pulled out all the stops for the meal. He had been up since the crack of dawn to start all the preparations. He had waited until the perfect moment to put the turkey into the oven to roast until it was perfect and golden. The stuffing was perfectly seasoned, and the cranberry sauce was the best he had made this decade. Just in case his guests weren't really big turkey people, America had also prepared beef short-ribs on the grill. (He'd almost done a ham, but the grocery had been fresh out of them.) Corn and a salad had been prepared in case any of the guests were vegetarians, though he doubted it. The potatoes were hand-mashed, and the gravy was the real stuff, not the crap from a packet. He should know, he spent a good couple minutes constantly whisking the stuff into the perfect texture.
Knowing his brother's tastes, America opted for using maple syrup to candy the sweet potatoes instead of his usual marshmallows. But since he still had marshmallows anyway, America set up a small table with all the fixings for s'mores next to the roaring fireplace. Besides the awesome that was gram crackers, chocolate, and 'mallows, America had the choice of three different pies. To further impress his guests, America even pulled out his best china from the storage room, a handsome blue and white set that one of his former bosses had given him back in the day.
Meanwhile, secreted away in America's bedroom, was a large whiteboard. It was covered in doodles and writing listing out the bets people had placed on who was Canada's significant other. The list went something like this:
Possible GF/BF--Bettors:
Belgium--US
Ukraine--England, bittergreentea, (Poland), (starfoxx322)
Cuba--Poland
France--hetalia17, (autumnestuary), starfoxx322
Russia--autumnestuary
America shuddered at the idea of Russia and Canada together. Oh God, and the pics that had been sent...They made his eyes bleed, and not in the good way.
To take his mind off of the horrifying idea of Canada and Russia together (America shuddered again at the thought) the cheerful host went about putting the final touches on his meal. He was in the middle of trying to find his elusive melon baller when he heard a knock on his door.
Grinning like a loon, America threw open the door only to come face to face with...
“Bonjour, mon ami,” France greeted cheerfully as he handed America a wrapped box, “I brought some pastries from home.”
“F-France?” America gasped, suddenly seeing his dreams of winning the bet go down the drain, “You're Canada's boy toy?!”
“Or more precisely he is mine,” the Frenchman purred, sweeping his hair aside in what was obviously a practiced move, “Who el-”
“Fuck off, frog,” a voice cut in from behind the European, “Stop spreading your poisonous lies.”
“Iggy!” America grinned, noticing who had just appeared, “I thought you said you couldn't make it!”
England shrugged as he too handed America a pastry box, “I made some arrangements. The frog here decided to follow me.”
“Oh...So France isn't Canada's bitch?” America clarified. England snorted.
“The frog is everyone's bitch, but he hasn't been in Canada's knickers.”
France made a noise of protest which was resolutely ignored by the two Anglophone Nations.
“Well, I'm glad you could make it!” America smiled, drawing England into a warm hug, “It'll be great! I recorded this year's Macy's parade so we can all watch it together~ Just help me set up two more places at the table.”
Since one of the pies hadn't been finished yet (America figured it could bake while they ate) France was instantly put to work in the kitchen while America did the smart thing and ran interference to keep England as far away from the kitchen as possible.
“So when is Canada supposed to be here?” England asked, as America settled the Brit in front of the TV to watch the parade.
“Soon,” America shrugged, completely unworried, “Sooo, you have any guesses who the significant other will be, or are you sticking with your original idea? Uh, whatshername...Ukraine.”
“Of course, I will, as you put it, 'stick to my guns,'” England snorted, “I think it's a brilliant choice.”
“I think you're fucking wrong,” America laughed easily, fiddling with the remote, “Come on, her boobs would suffocate Mattie to death.”
“That's what everyone said about your gut and myself, but I'm still alive,” England retorted, “Barely.”
“Hey!”
“Well, I for one am disappointed some one got to Matthieu before moi,” France sighed dramatically as he swept into the room from the kitchen. He was wearing one of America's aprons...and only the apron.
“Y-you bloody pervert!” England shrieked, springing up from his seat, “Put some clothes on, for God's sake! That is unhygienic!”
“Damn it, now I'm going to have to burn that!” America wailed, mourning the loss of his best apron, “It was a gift too!”
France laughed merrily, skipping away before either of the other Nations could grab him. “Put me down for Russia, Amerique,” France called over his shoulder, “I will even wager the photos from last Christmas. As the country of amour I can never be wrong~”
“Fuck you!” America yelped, shaking a fist in France's general direction, “No way in hell is my bro doing the nasty with that fucking commie!”
“Calm down, git,” England huffed, pulling the younger male back down onto the couch, “Watch as the frog looses his precious photographs. Let's just watch your parade and wait for Canada, shall we?”
“Fine,” America agreed petulantly, as he turned towards the TV, “But if I open that door and see Russia out there with his hands all over Canada, I'm not making any promises.”
Thirty minutes later, France, England, and America were sitting around the table, and there was still no sign of Canada or his guests.
“Do you think they got lost?” America asked, fretting a bit and toying with his folded napkin, “I mean, it's been foggy all day, and oh shit what if they crashed the car!”
“Oh, don't you dare start, you idiot!” England ordered, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis, “Rein in your blasted paranoia now or I'll do it for you!”
“I'm not paranoid,” America muttered under his breath just as France had the nerve to say, “Oh, Angleterre, how kinky...May I watch?”
“Belt up, both of you,” England growled, buttering a slice of bread to curb his hunger.
“Hey, don't start eating!” America protested, “We haven't said grace yet!”
England arched an eyebrow, “And who pray tell shall be performing the ritual? France? Myself? You? Do you want to pick a religion?”
America winced. England had to play the religion card.
“Exactly,” England smirked triumphantly, biting into the bread with relish.
“Don't be so harsh on the boy, Angleterre,” France scolded, even as he too grabbed some bread and began eating, “It's his holiday.”
“I am-”
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!*
“They're here!” America whooped, springing out of his seat to head towards the door, “Just watch, it's going to be Belgium, and the two of you losers can bow down to my awesomeness!”
With a wide grin on his face, America whipped open the door to greet...
“You look cheerful today, comrade. It must be because of your holiday, da?”
America slammed the door back closed, then bolted it for good measure.
“What's wrong, America?” England asked when America padded back into the dinning room with a bloodless face.
“Nothing!” America laughed in a miserable attempt at hiding his anxiety,“Absolutely nothing! Just some of the neighbor's kids playing a practical joke, hahahah...Now what what this about eating and not saying prayers? Sounds awesome, let's eat. Like right now. Then take a plane to California or something. Or better yet, a bomb shelter.”
“America?”
“Less talking, more eating!” the American demanded, piling food onto each of the plates, “We got 'bout five minutes before he breaks down the door. Gogogogo!”
“Amerique...” France began, only to have a fork full of potatoes shoved in his mouth.
“He had a package marked with the radioactive symbol!” America hissed, shoving another forkful of something (it looked like it had come from the box that England had brought) into France's mouth, “Eat quick, and let's go!”
England tried his hand at reasoning with the young Nation, “America, you're being bloody-”
This time the fork was shoved into England's mouth. As soon as the utensil was removed, England was sputtering and coughing into his napkin.
“Did you just feed me the frog's nasty mouth bacteria?!”
“Mon Dieu, that 'orrible Anglais cooking was in my beautiful mouth!”
“Why you...”
“Okay, dinner's done!” America declared, ignoring his guests' ire, “Time to go!”
“No!” England shouted, punching America square in the jaw and knocking the younger Nation to the ground, “Now calm the fuck down, you twat! What the bloody hell is going on?!”
America didn't have the chance to answer when suddenly, the front door was kicked open, causing the splintered wood to fall with a loud boom.
“America~” a cheerful voice sing-songed from outside, “That was not very kind of you, da? Is this how you treat all your guests?”
“Fuck you, commie!” America roared, springing back up from the ground and arming himself with a kitchen knife, “Don't go around breaking into people's houses!”
“Ah...I was right!” France crowed, rubbing his hands together as Russia's imposing form stalked into the dinning room. He was indeed carrying a box covered in yellow symbols, but France was too caught up in the joy of winning to care, “I do believe I will be collecting my winnings.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” England swore, as he grabbed a nearby wine bottle and popped it open. He took a long pull from it, not even bothering with a glass. Today was shaping up to be one of those days he didn't want to remember come morning.
“America~” Russia greeted with a wide smile, a dark aura trailing behind him like the fog outside, “What a lovely home, you have! It will be lovelier once it is one with me, da?”
America grinned right back, even as his face darkened with rage, “Yo, Russia! Anyone ever told you to stick your pipe where the sun don't shine?”
“Brother!” a soft feminine voice called out from behind Russia, as a hand pulled on the tall Nation's arm, “Please, that's enough!”
“You too, Al!” Canada ordered as his panicked form slid around Russia to place himself firmly between Russia and America, “Calm down, eh! It's okay!”
“Oh God, Mattie!” America choked, pulling his brother into a tight hug while glaring at Russia, “You...and Russia! Together! Oh my fucking God, bro, is he raping you?”
“Nyet,” Russia smiled cheerfully, taking one step closer to the brothers. America hissed and stepped back, jabbing the knife in Russia's general direction.
“Stay the fuck over there, you bastard red!”
“Uh, Al...” Canada choked, flailing slightly in his brother's arms, “My...ribs...”
“Whoops,” America laughed uneasily, letting his brother go. Canada shivered. It was kinda creepy how his brother could change moods like a flip of the switch.
“I, for one, am proud of you, mon filis,” France grinned, lifting his glass in a toast to his former colony, “You have just won your papa an untold treasure! What did dear Angleterre put in the betting pool, hmmm? Something to do with his nighttime activities, perhaps?”
England flipped the Frenchman a two-fingered salute, and drank more deeply from his bottle.
“I think there's been a misunderstanding. I am very sorry,” the female voice from earlier cut in. Everyone turned as Ukraine stepped out from behind her younger brother to flash the other Nations a soft smile.
“Matvey,” Ukraine murmured gently as she took hold of Canada's elbow, “We left my sister in the car. We should help her bring in the packages.”
“Right,” Canada nodded, as he allowed himself to be pulled away by the female Nation. Before they were out the door, Canada looked over his shoulder to the collected hostile Nations, “Please...don't kill each other.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Your brother best be taking care of my sister, da? It would be most unfortunate if he did not,” Russia finally stated as he handed America the box he was carrying. When America looked closer, he noticed the box was actually decorated in little yellow sunflowers, not radioactive symbols, and inside was an expensive bottle of vodka. America blinked up at his one-time greatest enemy, a dumb-founded expression on his face.
“Mattie's with Belarus?”
England took that opportunity to slap his former colony upside the head.
“No, you bloody idiot,” England berated him, with a slight hysterical edge to his voice, “He's with Ukraine! Ukraine! Oh dear Lord, I won...I won! Good God, yes, I won! Take that, you fucking frog! The photograph from last Christmas is mine, wino!”
“Merde,” France growled under his breath as he pulled out his wallet, slipped out a few bills and a picture, and handed them to England. The island Nation practically pounced on his winnings before holding the picture at arm's length to appreciate its image fully.
“Sooo....Canada and Ukraine?” America clarified, still slightly in shock as he slid back down into his chair, “Not Russia?”
“Da, my elder sister is with your brother, America,” Russia smiled pleasantly as he calmly seated himself at America's dinner table, “This looks good. Maybe you will cook again for us, America, since we will be almost in-laws~”
America almost choked on his own tongue, his hands curling into talons around the box of vodka, “I-In-laws?”
At first America thought it couldn't be any worse. And then he heard it.
“Brother!” Belarus cried as she burst into the dinning room, “Did I hear something about in-laws? As in marriage? For us? Let's get marriedmarriedmarriedmarried!”
It was going to be a looooong dinner.
Note From Iggy: For all you bettors out there that lost horribly, I will admit that I cheated a bit. I've known about Canada's livejournal for sometime and skimmed through it. He writes Canada/Ukraine stories. However, all's fair in love and war, and I do believe America owes me a day in a maid outfit.
Note From Al: ...Damn it. T~T And Russia can go fuck himself with his pipe. My Thanksgiving was ruined! Oh well, at least Ukraine is nice. *sigh* Here's hoping for a better X-mas. Oh and sorry for my fail!French. I'm doing most of this by ear.
Author(s): my bunny co-worker and me; edits done by me
Genre: Humor
Characters/Pairing(s): England, America; US/UK
Rating: PG13/hard R; this chapter is PG-13
Warnings: may cause your head to explode, lots of Author's/Editor's notes
Summary: America has a secret. He's a fanfiction author for the Hetalia kink_meme. This is his story as he struggles with strange de-anons, writer's block, and real life...as told by England.
AKA, the fic that has utterly destroyed my reputation. Originally for the kink_meme, now with edits and extra bits.
~
CH 1: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/1916.html
CH 2: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2266.html
CH 3: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2467.html
CH 4: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2759.html
CH 5: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/2917.html
CH 6: http://dreamslikeglass.livejournal.com/3391.html
Editor's Notes: Sorry for the late update. Thanksgiving was, to put it bluntly, a pain in the ass. Luckily, I got to see lots and lots of my bunny for the past couple of days (which probably didn't help with the timeliness of this chapter, but whatever. Sorry, guys, but screwing being with my BF = more important than my fics).
Uh, no commentary on the previous reviews today. I mean, I responded to them in the original chapter six and in the original version of the epilogue both Iggy and I did 'em. It would just be awkward to redo 'em.
~
Author's Notes: Taken from a audio recording via the magic mirror because the two authors kept fighting over who would write the epilogue.
“Iggy?”
“Yes?”
“You know, we're a fucked up family, couple...thing.”
“What makes you say that, America?”
*a pause*
“Sooooooo, you going to apologize?”
*sputtering* “Me?! What about you? Apologise first, git!”
“For what?!”
“For not asking my permission to write a porno about us!”
“There's no porn yet!”
“Yet. That's the key word.”
“Well...yeah...Whatever! You de-anoned me! On all my ongoing fills! Fucking limey.”
“Stupid yank! I didn't de-anon you on all your fills. Your especially heartfelt ones with the underlying 'sappy' messages are still anonymous. Well, besides 'Vital Regions.' Good Lord, you can be such a woman.”
“So what if those are hidden? You still de-anoned me!”
“And you took over my story and wrote about our night time activities! How embarrassing!”
“It was to save you from the rabid fangirls! They demanded porn!”
“And you did it to get back at Matthew and me.”
“Yeah, but you de-anoned me! Jerk.”
“Git.”
“Bastard.”
“Twat.”
“Cunt.”
“...This is bloody ridiculous!” *sigh* “We've both been rather idiotic.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Maybe we should both apologise? On three. One. Two. Three.”
“Sorry.”
*a pause*
“Sorry.”
*a yelp* “Hey! You waited a bit, Iggy!”
“Belt up! I said it didn't I?”
“I guess...You know we've got a lot of issues.”
“You don't say.”
“Maybe we should work on 'em. It'll be good for us to talk about it.”
*a snort* “You just don't want to go to a therapist. Very well, then. Where should we start?”
“Your denial of your cuteness.”
*a choked sound* “What?!”
“You heard me. You're fucking adorable!”
“Fuck you.”
“Right now?”
*sounds of a scuffle*
“Idiot! T-That's not what I meant!”
“Fine, fine. I'll behave for now.”
“Good.”
“You're still cute. And you punch like a girl.”
*more sounds of a fight*
“Belt up!”
“Don't believe me? Fine. Since we have to dress up anyway, I dare you to dress up in a green smock and red bow with fluffy bunny ears, just like that cute pic. Go to a meeting like that. I bet people will melt.”
“That's...that's embarrassing!”
“Well, if at least fifty percent of our co-workers don't go stupid for the cute, then I'll say you're right and you're not cute.”
“Dear Lord, the world must be ending. You'll actually admit you're wrong?”
“Sure! Not that I am, of course. I'm never wrong. I'm awesome.”
“You were wrong about France getting into Canada's knickers.”
“Only because that fucking Frenchie lied!! And you were wrong about Prussia, so suck on that, bitch! By the way, who do you think Canada's with? I hope it's not Russia, 'cause that would be creepy. I don't want that fucking commie as an in-law!”
*sigh* “Put me down for Ukraine. She's becoming a popular partner for Matthew in the stories.”
“God. If we went by the stories Mattie would be boning me all day long. Nah, got to be someone unexpected. What's a really weird rare pairing you've seen with Mattie? Weirdest one I've seen is him and Germany.”
“I've seen him and his bear.”
“...I already know the answer to that. No. Just...just no.”
“I didn't think so either.”
“I guess I'll go with Australia 'cause no one would expect it. Wait, Aussie's one of our brothers, fuck. No incest. Uh, Seychelles? Damn it, she's one of your kids too...Hmm. Hong Kong? Fuck! Damn you and your imperialism, Iggy!”
“The sun never sets on the British Empire.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ugh. Fine. I'll go with Belgium, 'cause not only is it out of the blue, but the two of them have a waffle-pancake obsession.”
“Whatever. Getting back to this whole 'talking over our issues' bit, what about you? You need to work on your obsession with killing your child self in your stories. That can't be healthy.”
“Hey, I killed other kiddie Nations! I mean, how many times did little you die in my fic, 'Fourth'?”
“...Not helping, America.”
“Sorry.”
“And you seem to have an obsession with torturing me in your tales. I couldn't get past the first chapter of 'Haunting You' without feeling ill.”
“Aww...you know I love you! They're just fics.”
“And yet, on occasion, you add hidden messages in your tales.”
“Only sometimes...Besides, when I kill people in my stories, they usually don't stay dead. I love happy endings.”
“True. Is this why you're being so compliant? So that this story will have a happy ending?”
“Well, once this story ends, our story is still gonna continue right? Our real lives will still continue.”
“Yes, they will.”
“Well, while 'Author!Anon' can end happily, I don't want the stories of our lives to.”
*shock* “W-What?!”
*laughter* “I want our lives to go on happily forever~!”
*gently* “Nothing is forever, America. Not even Nations.”
*a snort* “Yeah, so? I can hope, right?”
*fondly* “You're such a woman.”
*a long pause*
“Hey, England?”
“Hmm?”
“Do ya think you can help me with my fills?”
“I suppose. I refuse to help with 'Haunting You,' though. It's disturbing.”
“I like it. It's my favorite of the ones I'm working on.”
“'Favourite'? You're deranged.”
*laughter* “I love you, old man.”
*a sigh* “...I love you too, you brat.”
“Hey, Iggy?”
“What?”
“You think Mattie will forgive me for the porn and the brain bleach?”
“Idiot! I haven't forgiven you for the porn.”
*laughter* “But it was good! Want me to prove it to you? Again?”
*sputtering* “I-idiot!”
~End
Editor's Notes: And that's the end of “Author!Anon”! Thanks for sticking by with us for all this time, hope you had an awesome time! In case anyone has been wondering about Iggy's “magic mirror” (Doesn't he give the weirdest code names to his spy equipment? Everyone knows magic's not real!) well, we don't have it now. It was waaaaaaaaay too tempting to use it for non-heroic things, so it's been given away. (What, you think we'd break it? Seven years bad luck, no thanks!) I won't tell you were it's gone or who has it now, but rest assured it's in a safe place. (No, I'm not using Iggy's play on words crap here. I'd at least put it in a more awesome place than a hotel safe!)
Dude, do you know how excited I am for the Secret Santa exchange?! XD More reading material FTW! Which reminds me, I need to finish my gift, which is going to be 100% AWESOME! *bounces* Damn, I love the holidays...
Aaaaaand, since people have been wondering who the fuck Canada's been fuckingdating, well...Here's a re-telling of Thanksgiving:
Summary: Canada has finally, finally agreed introduce America to the mysterious “significant other,” and on America's Thanksgiving too! But of course, things never turn out the way you expect. An Author!Anon side-story.
~
Time Stamp: November 26, 2009. 5:30AM
America was excited. Not just a little excited, fucking excited! It was Thanksgiving, but more than that, today was the day that he would get to meet his (almost) in-laws. After being sneaky and quiet about the whole affair for the past few months, Canada had finally agreed to bring his boy/girlfriend around to visit. It was like getting another family member and more since, according to Canada, his partner had siblings. And that was what Thanksgiving was all about, being with your family.
In order to make a good impression on his new (almost) in-laws, America had pulled out all the stops for the meal. He had been up since the crack of dawn to start all the preparations. He had waited until the perfect moment to put the turkey into the oven to roast until it was perfect and golden. The stuffing was perfectly seasoned, and the cranberry sauce was the best he had made this decade. Just in case his guests weren't really big turkey people, America had also prepared beef short-ribs on the grill. (He'd almost done a ham, but the grocery had been fresh out of them.) Corn and a salad had been prepared in case any of the guests were vegetarians, though he doubted it. The potatoes were hand-mashed, and the gravy was the real stuff, not the crap from a packet. He should know, he spent a good couple minutes constantly whisking the stuff into the perfect texture.
Knowing his brother's tastes, America opted for using maple syrup to candy the sweet potatoes instead of his usual marshmallows. But since he still had marshmallows anyway, America set up a small table with all the fixings for s'mores next to the roaring fireplace. Besides the awesome that was gram crackers, chocolate, and 'mallows, America had the choice of three different pies. To further impress his guests, America even pulled out his best china from the storage room, a handsome blue and white set that one of his former bosses had given him back in the day.
Meanwhile, secreted away in America's bedroom, was a large whiteboard. It was covered in doodles and writing listing out the bets people had placed on who was Canada's significant other. The list went something like this:
Possible GF/BF--Bettors:
Belgium--US
Ukraine--England, bittergreentea, (Poland), (starfoxx322)
Cuba--Poland
France--hetalia17, (autumnestuary), starfoxx322
Russia--autumnestuary
America shuddered at the idea of Russia and Canada together. Oh God, and the pics that had been sent...They made his eyes bleed, and not in the good way.
To take his mind off of the horrifying idea of Canada and Russia together (America shuddered again at the thought) the cheerful host went about putting the final touches on his meal. He was in the middle of trying to find his elusive melon baller when he heard a knock on his door.
Grinning like a loon, America threw open the door only to come face to face with...
“Bonjour, mon ami,” France greeted cheerfully as he handed America a wrapped box, “I brought some pastries from home.”
“F-France?” America gasped, suddenly seeing his dreams of winning the bet go down the drain, “You're Canada's boy toy?!”
“Or more precisely he is mine,” the Frenchman purred, sweeping his hair aside in what was obviously a practiced move, “Who el-”
“Fuck off, frog,” a voice cut in from behind the European, “Stop spreading your poisonous lies.”
“Iggy!” America grinned, noticing who had just appeared, “I thought you said you couldn't make it!”
England shrugged as he too handed America a pastry box, “I made some arrangements. The frog here decided to follow me.”
“Oh...So France isn't Canada's bitch?” America clarified. England snorted.
“The frog is everyone's bitch, but he hasn't been in Canada's knickers.”
France made a noise of protest which was resolutely ignored by the two Anglophone Nations.
“Well, I'm glad you could make it!” America smiled, drawing England into a warm hug, “It'll be great! I recorded this year's Macy's parade so we can all watch it together~ Just help me set up two more places at the table.”
Since one of the pies hadn't been finished yet (America figured it could bake while they ate) France was instantly put to work in the kitchen while America did the smart thing and ran interference to keep England as far away from the kitchen as possible.
“So when is Canada supposed to be here?” England asked, as America settled the Brit in front of the TV to watch the parade.
“Soon,” America shrugged, completely unworried, “Sooo, you have any guesses who the significant other will be, or are you sticking with your original idea? Uh, whatshername...Ukraine.”
“Of course, I will, as you put it, 'stick to my guns,'” England snorted, “I think it's a brilliant choice.”
“I think you're fucking wrong,” America laughed easily, fiddling with the remote, “Come on, her boobs would suffocate Mattie to death.”
“That's what everyone said about your gut and myself, but I'm still alive,” England retorted, “Barely.”
“Hey!”
“Well, I for one am disappointed some one got to Matthieu before moi,” France sighed dramatically as he swept into the room from the kitchen. He was wearing one of America's aprons...and only the apron.
“Y-you bloody pervert!” England shrieked, springing up from his seat, “Put some clothes on, for God's sake! That is unhygienic!”
“Damn it, now I'm going to have to burn that!” America wailed, mourning the loss of his best apron, “It was a gift too!”
France laughed merrily, skipping away before either of the other Nations could grab him. “Put me down for Russia, Amerique,” France called over his shoulder, “I will even wager the photos from last Christmas. As the country of amour I can never be wrong~”
“Fuck you!” America yelped, shaking a fist in France's general direction, “No way in hell is my bro doing the nasty with that fucking commie!”
“Calm down, git,” England huffed, pulling the younger male back down onto the couch, “Watch as the frog looses his precious photographs. Let's just watch your parade and wait for Canada, shall we?”
“Fine,” America agreed petulantly, as he turned towards the TV, “But if I open that door and see Russia out there with his hands all over Canada, I'm not making any promises.”
Thirty minutes later, France, England, and America were sitting around the table, and there was still no sign of Canada or his guests.
“Do you think they got lost?” America asked, fretting a bit and toying with his folded napkin, “I mean, it's been foggy all day, and oh shit what if they crashed the car!”
“Oh, don't you dare start, you idiot!” England ordered, slamming his fist down on the table for emphasis, “Rein in your blasted paranoia now or I'll do it for you!”
“I'm not paranoid,” America muttered under his breath just as France had the nerve to say, “Oh, Angleterre, how kinky...May I watch?”
“Belt up, both of you,” England growled, buttering a slice of bread to curb his hunger.
“Hey, don't start eating!” America protested, “We haven't said grace yet!”
England arched an eyebrow, “And who pray tell shall be performing the ritual? France? Myself? You? Do you want to pick a religion?”
America winced. England had to play the religion card.
“Exactly,” England smirked triumphantly, biting into the bread with relish.
“Don't be so harsh on the boy, Angleterre,” France scolded, even as he too grabbed some bread and began eating, “It's his holiday.”
“I am-”
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!*
“They're here!” America whooped, springing out of his seat to head towards the door, “Just watch, it's going to be Belgium, and the two of you losers can bow down to my awesomeness!”
With a wide grin on his face, America whipped open the door to greet...
“You look cheerful today, comrade. It must be because of your holiday, da?”
America slammed the door back closed, then bolted it for good measure.
“What's wrong, America?” England asked when America padded back into the dinning room with a bloodless face.
“Nothing!” America laughed in a miserable attempt at hiding his anxiety,“Absolutely nothing! Just some of the neighbor's kids playing a practical joke, hahahah...Now what what this about eating and not saying prayers? Sounds awesome, let's eat. Like right now. Then take a plane to California or something. Or better yet, a bomb shelter.”
“America?”
“Less talking, more eating!” the American demanded, piling food onto each of the plates, “We got 'bout five minutes before he breaks down the door. Gogogogo!”
“Amerique...” France began, only to have a fork full of potatoes shoved in his mouth.
“He had a package marked with the radioactive symbol!” America hissed, shoving another forkful of something (it looked like it had come from the box that England had brought) into France's mouth, “Eat quick, and let's go!”
England tried his hand at reasoning with the young Nation, “America, you're being bloody-”
This time the fork was shoved into England's mouth. As soon as the utensil was removed, England was sputtering and coughing into his napkin.
“Did you just feed me the frog's nasty mouth bacteria?!”
“Mon Dieu, that 'orrible Anglais cooking was in my beautiful mouth!”
“Why you...”
“Okay, dinner's done!” America declared, ignoring his guests' ire, “Time to go!”
“No!” England shouted, punching America square in the jaw and knocking the younger Nation to the ground, “Now calm the fuck down, you twat! What the bloody hell is going on?!”
America didn't have the chance to answer when suddenly, the front door was kicked open, causing the splintered wood to fall with a loud boom.
“America~” a cheerful voice sing-songed from outside, “That was not very kind of you, da? Is this how you treat all your guests?”
“Fuck you, commie!” America roared, springing back up from the ground and arming himself with a kitchen knife, “Don't go around breaking into people's houses!”
“Ah...I was right!” France crowed, rubbing his hands together as Russia's imposing form stalked into the dinning room. He was indeed carrying a box covered in yellow symbols, but France was too caught up in the joy of winning to care, “I do believe I will be collecting my winnings.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” England swore, as he grabbed a nearby wine bottle and popped it open. He took a long pull from it, not even bothering with a glass. Today was shaping up to be one of those days he didn't want to remember come morning.
“America~” Russia greeted with a wide smile, a dark aura trailing behind him like the fog outside, “What a lovely home, you have! It will be lovelier once it is one with me, da?”
America grinned right back, even as his face darkened with rage, “Yo, Russia! Anyone ever told you to stick your pipe where the sun don't shine?”
“Brother!” a soft feminine voice called out from behind Russia, as a hand pulled on the tall Nation's arm, “Please, that's enough!”
“You too, Al!” Canada ordered as his panicked form slid around Russia to place himself firmly between Russia and America, “Calm down, eh! It's okay!”
“Oh God, Mattie!” America choked, pulling his brother into a tight hug while glaring at Russia, “You...and Russia! Together! Oh my fucking God, bro, is he raping you?”
“Nyet,” Russia smiled cheerfully, taking one step closer to the brothers. America hissed and stepped back, jabbing the knife in Russia's general direction.
“Stay the fuck over there, you bastard red!”
“Uh, Al...” Canada choked, flailing slightly in his brother's arms, “My...ribs...”
“Whoops,” America laughed uneasily, letting his brother go. Canada shivered. It was kinda creepy how his brother could change moods like a flip of the switch.
“I, for one, am proud of you, mon filis,” France grinned, lifting his glass in a toast to his former colony, “You have just won your papa an untold treasure! What did dear Angleterre put in the betting pool, hmmm? Something to do with his nighttime activities, perhaps?”
England flipped the Frenchman a two-fingered salute, and drank more deeply from his bottle.
“I think there's been a misunderstanding. I am very sorry,” the female voice from earlier cut in. Everyone turned as Ukraine stepped out from behind her younger brother to flash the other Nations a soft smile.
“Matvey,” Ukraine murmured gently as she took hold of Canada's elbow, “We left my sister in the car. We should help her bring in the packages.”
“Right,” Canada nodded, as he allowed himself to be pulled away by the female Nation. Before they were out the door, Canada looked over his shoulder to the collected hostile Nations, “Please...don't kill each other.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Your brother best be taking care of my sister, da? It would be most unfortunate if he did not,” Russia finally stated as he handed America the box he was carrying. When America looked closer, he noticed the box was actually decorated in little yellow sunflowers, not radioactive symbols, and inside was an expensive bottle of vodka. America blinked up at his one-time greatest enemy, a dumb-founded expression on his face.
“Mattie's with Belarus?”
England took that opportunity to slap his former colony upside the head.
“No, you bloody idiot,” England berated him, with a slight hysterical edge to his voice, “He's with Ukraine! Ukraine! Oh dear Lord, I won...I won! Good God, yes, I won! Take that, you fucking frog! The photograph from last Christmas is mine, wino!”
“Merde,” France growled under his breath as he pulled out his wallet, slipped out a few bills and a picture, and handed them to England. The island Nation practically pounced on his winnings before holding the picture at arm's length to appreciate its image fully.
“Sooo....Canada and Ukraine?” America clarified, still slightly in shock as he slid back down into his chair, “Not Russia?”
“Da, my elder sister is with your brother, America,” Russia smiled pleasantly as he calmly seated himself at America's dinner table, “This looks good. Maybe you will cook again for us, America, since we will be almost in-laws~”
America almost choked on his own tongue, his hands curling into talons around the box of vodka, “I-In-laws?”
At first America thought it couldn't be any worse. And then he heard it.
“Brother!” Belarus cried as she burst into the dinning room, “Did I hear something about in-laws? As in marriage? For us? Let's get marriedmarriedmarriedmarried!”
It was going to be a looooong dinner.
Note From Iggy: For all you bettors out there that lost horribly, I will admit that I cheated a bit. I've known about Canada's livejournal for sometime and skimmed through it. He writes Canada/Ukraine stories. However, all's fair in love and war, and I do believe America owes me a day in a maid outfit.
Note From Al: ...Damn it. T~T And Russia can go fuck himself with his pipe. My Thanksgiving was ruined! Oh well, at least Ukraine is nice. *sigh* Here's hoping for a better X-mas. Oh and sorry for my fail!French. I'm doing most of this by ear.