[fic] You can't go without a costume. It's just not right.
Title: You can't go without a costume. It's just not right.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: USUK
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff/General
Word Count: 672 This is clearly not going to be a good week in the way of badge-count.
Warning: --
Notes: For usxuk's Summer Camp event! Day 13: Sewing
Summary: Getting ready for the very last Harry Potter movie, America requires assistance from England in getting his costume ready.
Other Links: FF.net (Will be posted later.)
☽✩☾
"ENGLAND!"
A quick shout rang through America's house, as he called for his partner. He was in something of a bind, one might say, and it was becoming increasingly … difficult … to fabricate what he intended. Part of him wondered why he even had one of these things in the house before he remembered it was for England-who really needed to hurry up, already. He was no seamstress, and the meticulous patience required for this practice he could not muster. He was getting ready to deem the entire thing hopeless.
He would have to go to the premiere, robe-less. (Well, not to insinuate he would be naked; he just wouldn't have his Gryffindor robes. …America wasn't sure which would be worse.)
He took a deep breath, ready to yell again. "ENGLAN-!"
"I'm right here, you impatient man! What do you need?"
America turned, smile brightening up his face. "Finally! Gosh, what took you so long?"
England opened his mouth to say something, but America didn't give him any time to actually make any noise before brandishing the black and red fabrics in the other's face. "It's not cooperating with me! Make it cooperate!"
The huddled mass of fabric was swat away, but America made sure his most pathetic, 'I need your help but I'm not going to actually admit it out loud,' look was on his face. England glanced between America and the fabric, clicking things together, apparently.
"What happened to the official robes you ordered, America?" he asked. The fabric slowly slid from America's hands as England began … looping? … the fabric. (He was stretching, and gathering, and America-had-no-idea what-ing.)
At the question, America fixed an indignant scowl on his face. "Italy decided it would be an awesome idea to bring his cat along on his last visit, and guess what his cat thought would be awesome to shred up and nap on?"
"I would assume, then, that it was on the ground."
America went on explaining that it had been getting ready to go in the wash when Italy and Germany knocked at the door, then lay forgotten until … Italy had returned from that area of the house a little later, rather shaken up and frightened. They'd left with a hastily stuttered, "Arrivederci…!" and for good cause. America had not been happy. (And no, he hadn't cried-why would you think that?) As America had ranted on and on about, "Where am I supposed to find a robe anywhere close to the real one this fast?!" England was working. Sewing, pinning (this process caused many a yelp of pain from America), measuring, cutting; lather, rinse, repeat. As England appeared to be nearing the end of his work (it couldn't have been more than an hour later), America was instructed to go grab the rest of the outfit that had survived, namely everything else, and put it on. When America returned, decked out in the Gryffindor uniform sans robe, he had the Gryffindor patch in his hands, still surrounding fabric of the original robe still attached. England made quick work of it with a seam ripper-where had he found one of those?-and, by hand, sewn it on the new robe.
Grinning from his work, America let England slip it on him, fixing and inspecting it from all sides. "There you are. How does it fit?"
America shifted some, throwing his arms out a bit with a grin. "Real nice! It's just like the other one!"
England smirked at his handiwork. "Naturally. It is my own literature, and I am quite the tailor, after all." Then his gaze narrowed. "Never make fun of my hobbies again."
America, ecstatic, gave a quick hug and, "Thanks a ton!" to England, going off to start his marathon of the movies before leaving for the theater. England followed behind and when he sat down, America immediately pulled him into his lap. It was comfortable, and even fun when America wrapped the robe around both of them and pressed play.
--
END
--
Guys. I'm so psyched for tomorrow. *A*
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: USUK
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff/General
Word Count: 672 This is clearly not going to be a good week in the way of badge-count.
Warning: --
Notes: For usxuk's Summer Camp event! Day 13: Sewing
Summary: Getting ready for the very last Harry Potter movie, America requires assistance from England in getting his costume ready.
Other Links: FF.net (Will be posted later.)
☽✩☾
"ENGLAND!"
A quick shout rang through America's house, as he called for his partner. He was in something of a bind, one might say, and it was becoming increasingly … difficult … to fabricate what he intended. Part of him wondered why he even had one of these things in the house before he remembered it was for England-who really needed to hurry up, already. He was no seamstress, and the meticulous patience required for this practice he could not muster. He was getting ready to deem the entire thing hopeless.
He would have to go to the premiere, robe-less. (Well, not to insinuate he would be naked; he just wouldn't have his Gryffindor robes. …America wasn't sure which would be worse.)
He took a deep breath, ready to yell again. "ENGLAN-!"
"I'm right here, you impatient man! What do you need?"
America turned, smile brightening up his face. "Finally! Gosh, what took you so long?"
England opened his mouth to say something, but America didn't give him any time to actually make any noise before brandishing the black and red fabrics in the other's face. "It's not cooperating with me! Make it cooperate!"
The huddled mass of fabric was swat away, but America made sure his most pathetic, 'I need your help but I'm not going to actually admit it out loud,' look was on his face. England glanced between America and the fabric, clicking things together, apparently.
"What happened to the official robes you ordered, America?" he asked. The fabric slowly slid from America's hands as England began … looping? … the fabric. (He was stretching, and gathering, and America-had-no-idea what-ing.)
At the question, America fixed an indignant scowl on his face. "Italy decided it would be an awesome idea to bring his cat along on his last visit, and guess what his cat thought would be awesome to shred up and nap on?"
"I would assume, then, that it was on the ground."
America went on explaining that it had been getting ready to go in the wash when Italy and Germany knocked at the door, then lay forgotten until … Italy had returned from that area of the house a little later, rather shaken up and frightened. They'd left with a hastily stuttered, "Arrivederci…!" and for good cause. America had not been happy. (And no, he hadn't cried-why would you think that?) As America had ranted on and on about, "Where am I supposed to find a robe anywhere close to the real one this fast?!" England was working. Sewing, pinning (this process caused many a yelp of pain from America), measuring, cutting; lather, rinse, repeat. As England appeared to be nearing the end of his work (it couldn't have been more than an hour later), America was instructed to go grab the rest of the outfit that had survived, namely everything else, and put it on. When America returned, decked out in the Gryffindor uniform sans robe, he had the Gryffindor patch in his hands, still surrounding fabric of the original robe still attached. England made quick work of it with a seam ripper-where had he found one of those?-and, by hand, sewn it on the new robe.
Grinning from his work, America let England slip it on him, fixing and inspecting it from all sides. "There you are. How does it fit?"
America shifted some, throwing his arms out a bit with a grin. "Real nice! It's just like the other one!"
England smirked at his handiwork. "Naturally. It is my own literature, and I am quite the tailor, after all." Then his gaze narrowed. "Never make fun of my hobbies again."
America, ecstatic, gave a quick hug and, "Thanks a ton!" to England, going off to start his marathon of the movies before leaving for the theater. England followed behind and when he sat down, America immediately pulled him into his lap. It was comfortable, and even fun when America wrapped the robe around both of them and pressed play.
--
END
--
Guys. I'm so psyched for tomorrow. *A*