Little White Lie: De-Anon
Title: Little White Lies
Rating: PG13, will turn R for language in later parts
Genre: General, Angst
Characters/Pairings: America, OC! American, England, eventually China, Italy and Canada with cameos from Germany, Korea, Turkey and blink-you'll-miss-her Liechtenstein.
Summary: America starts seeing a human girl as his escape from life. Shit hits the fan nearly immediately.
Words: 6, 948 (will be separated into parts)
Notes: My first de-anoning from the kink_meme. I have another one up, but won't de-anon until I finish it or get bored with it. About this piece though? Shit...well, um...this is probably one of the more angsty pieces I've done. And I play a lot with style in this one, exploring the dichotomy that is Nation-self and person-self. Alfred's got jungle fever. Just saying. Recommended to be read with a side of Al Green.
Prompt/Request:
Nation A is going out with a 'normal human' from their own country (or another's! :D) and that 'normal human' doesn't know about the nation-tans nor that their beloved is one. OP anon has insane amounts of love for Prussia any German nation, Canada, Sweden, and Romano. Hint. Hint. Wink. Wink.
Bonus One: Include the ordinary person getting suspicious that they're being cheated on (because of Nation's 'secret life')
Bonus Two: Make the ordinary person's nationality that of the nation that Nation A loves, but can't be with. (ex. Nation A loves Nation B, but can't be with them so is dating Human from Nation B). Ordinary person could be a fill in, or Nation A could already be over Nation B. Whatever anon chooses.
Every once and a while, he just wanted to be Alfred Jones.
Not the United States.
Not America.
Just Alfred. A nineteen year old college student with poor vision and an odd knack for geeky math stuff.
That’s what Emily made him feel like.
And you know what?
It was nice.
He met her in the most ordinary of ordinary places in the most ordinary of times: a McDonald’s in April. She had ordered a Fillet o’ Fish and he sang the commercial’s jingle, moving his hands like the singing tuna’s mouth. She laughed. He introduced himself as Alfred Jones, NASA intern extraordinaire. Her name was Emily Jayson. She was from Nebraska, in DC for school and aspiring chemical engineer extraordinaire.
They ate their respected burgers (his, the giant Angus burger, the size of his bicep) and talked about nothing and everything. She had three older brothers and used to play ice hockey when the lake froze over in the winter. She loved science and made the most outrageous nerdy jokes. Her father worked in town and her mother was a teacher. There wasn’t much in Nebraska, but she loved the town and state for what it was, had moved to DC to educate herself.
She’d always wanted to go to Paris, like so many Americans, and with a grin and a Coke sip, Alfred said it wasn’t as great as it sounded. Amazed, Emily asked him to tell her everything about the city. He laughed and indulged her, extended his tale from France to Britain, Greece, Italy and some Poland. She thought she had him pegged as a military brat. Alfred smiled and shrugged his shoulders and told a harmless little white lie.
They talked until the janitor, mop sloshing on the ceramic tiles, told them it was time to go.
Alfred offered to drive her back, but felt rather foolish for taking The Truck. The Truck was an old ’87 Chevrolet with the letters rusted off, a hole in the bender, manual windows and a cardboard pine air freshener that hardly covered the stank of life. Emily laughed and suggested that the weary world traveler should invest his money in a better car. You know, to attract the ladies. Outside the university, Emily said she could walk the rest of the way. Alfred asked for her number. She gave the number and a good night to him.
America killed the engine of his Lincoln and double checked his appearance. He gave himself a quick look in the rearview mirror. His wheat colored hair combed and styled, every strand in its correct place, except the oddly placed cowlick. His glasses free of residue or glare, Mississippi Delta blue eyes glinting behind. His suit blacker than night and his tie a striking red. His shoes polished to a mirror. He was ready to take on the world.
He didn’t run through the United Nations building, just walked really, really quickly. He was late. Like always. The world’s delegates met in the General Assembly to argue legislation and agree to meet again at a later time. Its Nations met in a board room on the 22nd floor with stale donuts and old coffee to argue legislation and agree to meet again at a later time.
America threw open the door. Germany stopped his speech and glared at the intruder. America walked around him and settled into his seat next to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, represented by a single entity, England.
“America, you are twenty minutes late,” Germany said, looking over his glasses like a stern Catholic school teacher.
“Yeah. And how’s that different than any other time?”
Germany didn’t say anything, but returned to his talking points.
“So…what’re we talkin’ about?” America whispered to England. He pulled from his attaché a yellow legal pad and a BIC ballpoint pen. His boss hadn’t upgraded him to a tablet laptop yet. He needed to address that next time he saw him.
“The economy, what else?” England responded gruffly, keeping his voice low. “It seems that Norway is just waiting for someone to ask for everyone’s financial figures.” He scoffed.
“How can you tell? Norway’s got like…three facial expressions,” America said.
“Point taken. How’s yours doing, by the way, lad?”
“Oh hell, I have no idea,” America said. “One day it’s ‘we’re out of the recession,’ the next day it’s ‘well, not quite, still got a bit to go.’ Or ‘unemployment’s looking like crap’ and the next day ‘oh wait, but we’re back to nine-point-eight percent rate!’”
“Make sure you drink lots of Vitamin C,” England said with a grin.
“Ha. Good one, old man.”
Alfred took Emily to the Smithsonian one cicada heavy day. She’d been there plenty of times, but she enjoyed going with him-or so she said. They ordered ice cream and talked about music and movies and celebrities and books. She liked to read. Mostly contemporary books though. “Classics” were hard to get her mind around because she hated translating “Ye Old English” to modern talk. Her weakness was Young Adult fiction though, even if she was nineteen years old. He told her that made her all the more cute. She asked if he really thought she was cute. He added smart and funny and way too nice for laughing at his Fillet o’ Fish impression. His cheeks flared scarlet, and it wasn’t because of the heat. And then, he leaned in and kissed her. Softly, on the lips. No tongue. He wasn’t Francis for Chrissakes. He apologized though because it was a bit bold. She bit her lip and said, no, no, it’s fine. And she kissed him back.
There was hardly a soul in the building, America so deeply engrossed in conversation with Korea, Germany and Liechtenstein (lovely girl, smart girl) that he’d lost track of the time. The sun descended, the sky candy orange, crickets humming a summer tune. America saw that horizon and wanted it, reached for the glass doors of the UN building. Instead of a triumphant ride into the sunset, a slender arm, clothed in the color America’s finances would never see again, closed the door for him.
“Good evening, America,” the silk voice of China and an amiable grin. “I have not seen you all day, and I’ve wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, hey China, what’s up?” America didn’t like talking to China. It made him…nervous.
“Nothing of much concern, my good friend,” China said, patting his shoulder, grin never leaving. “We simply need to talk. About your purchases and…almost purchases.”
“Oh. Ha, ha.” America ran his hand over the back of his neck, looking past China at that popsicle and poolside sky. “This is going to be another healthcare talk, isn’t it?”
“Yes, America, it is.”
A beat, and America exhaled, trying to remember the talking points his boss hand given him, but they seemed to have evaporated. Under that look, America was practically helpless.
China’s grin hadn’t changed.
A cloud shifted over the sun, still setting, enveloping them in deep shadows.
America was certain the janitor’s wouldn’t turn off the air conditioner in a DC summer heat wave.
“It’s something that’s been on the back burner for decades. My boss really wants to get something done. I haven’t really made up my mind if I want it or not but everything’s-”
China put up his hand, silencing America.
“Let me help you make your decision then,” he said. The grin crashed to the grown, black eyes smoldering. The ancient Nation stepped closer; they were but a hair’s length apart and four inches separated in height. He was unarmed, but China might as well have placed a barrel to America’s temple.
America flinched.
“You,” China said, just above a whisper. He jabbed America’s chest, right over his heart. “Owe me,” China pointed to himself. Held up two fingers, “two trillion dollars.” A beat. “Are you aware of…how many zeros that is to the right of one?”
“Yeah, China. I know, I know. I’m doing the best I can.”
“The last time I check, when one triples their debt in three years, that’s not ‘doing the best I can.’”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to kill that silly healthcare bill in Congress. You and I both know that you do not have the money-that you will never have the money-to pull off a stunt like that.” China pulled away and glanced at his fingernails. “My bosses may not be particularly…willing,” China looked up, “to give money next time you come.”
“Why not?” America felt his heart screaming for release from the chest cavity. “I-I’m trying to do something for my people, China. Something good.”
China cocked an eyebrow and brought steepled fingers to his lips. He smacked them, looked up at America over the tips.
“Perhaps I was not clear before. I forget sometimes that you are still a child. Let me put it into simple terms for you. You are the head of a family of five. Yes, five is a good number. You lived in a one bedroom apartment. You and your wife could barely afford the loan on your place, and the car, and your credit cards, and your children’s education, food.” China numbered his list on his fingers.
“You are in debt. Heavy debt. To your eyes in debt. But you decided to take a loan out to buy a bigger house, something good for the family right? What would your bank say?”
“Ok, China, I get it. I-”
“I don’t think you do America,” China corrected. “I want you to know, keep this in the back of your mind, that I am the bank and I will be collecting my dues.”
“Why don’t you collect it now then?” America could feel the New Jersey on his voice. “You need me as much as I need you, China. I buy all of your stuff, even the most ridiculous of it.”
China smiled again.
“You don’t think any other Nation or country would benefit from a surplus of cheap Chinese products? Do you think any other retail store would love to compete with Wal-Mart because it can finally buy in bulk size? Do you honestly believe you’re that good?”
America tried to swallow, but found that menial task progressively difficult.
“Think about that next time you and your boss sit for lunch. It’s been very good talking to you.” China patted America’s cheek three times, the third time stronger than the last. He pulled open the door for both of them. America waited until the taillights of his embassy’s limo had disappeared before he collapsed down the door’s length and shivered, though it was well over eighty-five outside.
Rating: PG13, will turn R for language in later parts
Genre: General, Angst
Characters/Pairings: America, OC! American, England, eventually China, Italy and Canada with cameos from Germany, Korea, Turkey and blink-you'll-miss-her Liechtenstein.
Summary: America starts seeing a human girl as his escape from life. Shit hits the fan nearly immediately.
Words: 6, 948 (will be separated into parts)
Notes: My first de-anoning from the kink_meme. I have another one up, but won't de-anon until I finish it or get bored with it. About this piece though? Shit...well, um...this is probably one of the more angsty pieces I've done. And I play a lot with style in this one, exploring the dichotomy that is Nation-self and person-self. Alfred's got jungle fever. Just saying. Recommended to be read with a side of Al Green.
Prompt/Request:
Nation A is going out with a 'normal human' from their own country (or another's! :D) and that 'normal human' doesn't know about the nation-tans nor that their beloved is one. OP anon has insane amounts of love for Prussia any German nation, Canada, Sweden, and Romano. Hint. Hint. Wink. Wink.
Bonus One: Include the ordinary person getting suspicious that they're being cheated on (because of Nation's 'secret life')
Bonus Two: Make the ordinary person's nationality that of the nation that Nation A loves, but can't be with. (ex. Nation A loves Nation B, but can't be with them so is dating Human from Nation B). Ordinary person could be a fill in, or Nation A could already be over Nation B. Whatever anon chooses.
Every once and a while, he just wanted to be Alfred Jones.
Not the United States.
Not America.
Just Alfred. A nineteen year old college student with poor vision and an odd knack for geeky math stuff.
That’s what Emily made him feel like.
And you know what?
It was nice.
He met her in the most ordinary of ordinary places in the most ordinary of times: a McDonald’s in April. She had ordered a Fillet o’ Fish and he sang the commercial’s jingle, moving his hands like the singing tuna’s mouth. She laughed. He introduced himself as Alfred Jones, NASA intern extraordinaire. Her name was Emily Jayson. She was from Nebraska, in DC for school and aspiring chemical engineer extraordinaire.
They ate their respected burgers (his, the giant Angus burger, the size of his bicep) and talked about nothing and everything. She had three older brothers and used to play ice hockey when the lake froze over in the winter. She loved science and made the most outrageous nerdy jokes. Her father worked in town and her mother was a teacher. There wasn’t much in Nebraska, but she loved the town and state for what it was, had moved to DC to educate herself.
She’d always wanted to go to Paris, like so many Americans, and with a grin and a Coke sip, Alfred said it wasn’t as great as it sounded. Amazed, Emily asked him to tell her everything about the city. He laughed and indulged her, extended his tale from France to Britain, Greece, Italy and some Poland. She thought she had him pegged as a military brat. Alfred smiled and shrugged his shoulders and told a harmless little white lie.
They talked until the janitor, mop sloshing on the ceramic tiles, told them it was time to go.
Alfred offered to drive her back, but felt rather foolish for taking The Truck. The Truck was an old ’87 Chevrolet with the letters rusted off, a hole in the bender, manual windows and a cardboard pine air freshener that hardly covered the stank of life. Emily laughed and suggested that the weary world traveler should invest his money in a better car. You know, to attract the ladies. Outside the university, Emily said she could walk the rest of the way. Alfred asked for her number. She gave the number and a good night to him.
America killed the engine of his Lincoln and double checked his appearance. He gave himself a quick look in the rearview mirror. His wheat colored hair combed and styled, every strand in its correct place, except the oddly placed cowlick. His glasses free of residue or glare, Mississippi Delta blue eyes glinting behind. His suit blacker than night and his tie a striking red. His shoes polished to a mirror. He was ready to take on the world.
He didn’t run through the United Nations building, just walked really, really quickly. He was late. Like always. The world’s delegates met in the General Assembly to argue legislation and agree to meet again at a later time. Its Nations met in a board room on the 22nd floor with stale donuts and old coffee to argue legislation and agree to meet again at a later time.
America threw open the door. Germany stopped his speech and glared at the intruder. America walked around him and settled into his seat next to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, represented by a single entity, England.
“America, you are twenty minutes late,” Germany said, looking over his glasses like a stern Catholic school teacher.
“Yeah. And how’s that different than any other time?”
Germany didn’t say anything, but returned to his talking points.
“So…what’re we talkin’ about?” America whispered to England. He pulled from his attaché a yellow legal pad and a BIC ballpoint pen. His boss hadn’t upgraded him to a tablet laptop yet. He needed to address that next time he saw him.
“The economy, what else?” England responded gruffly, keeping his voice low. “It seems that Norway is just waiting for someone to ask for everyone’s financial figures.” He scoffed.
“How can you tell? Norway’s got like…three facial expressions,” America said.
“Point taken. How’s yours doing, by the way, lad?”
“Oh hell, I have no idea,” America said. “One day it’s ‘we’re out of the recession,’ the next day it’s ‘well, not quite, still got a bit to go.’ Or ‘unemployment’s looking like crap’ and the next day ‘oh wait, but we’re back to nine-point-eight percent rate!’”
“Make sure you drink lots of Vitamin C,” England said with a grin.
“Ha. Good one, old man.”
Alfred took Emily to the Smithsonian one cicada heavy day. She’d been there plenty of times, but she enjoyed going with him-or so she said. They ordered ice cream and talked about music and movies and celebrities and books. She liked to read. Mostly contemporary books though. “Classics” were hard to get her mind around because she hated translating “Ye Old English” to modern talk. Her weakness was Young Adult fiction though, even if she was nineteen years old. He told her that made her all the more cute. She asked if he really thought she was cute. He added smart and funny and way too nice for laughing at his Fillet o’ Fish impression. His cheeks flared scarlet, and it wasn’t because of the heat. And then, he leaned in and kissed her. Softly, on the lips. No tongue. He wasn’t Francis for Chrissakes. He apologized though because it was a bit bold. She bit her lip and said, no, no, it’s fine. And she kissed him back.
There was hardly a soul in the building, America so deeply engrossed in conversation with Korea, Germany and Liechtenstein (lovely girl, smart girl) that he’d lost track of the time. The sun descended, the sky candy orange, crickets humming a summer tune. America saw that horizon and wanted it, reached for the glass doors of the UN building. Instead of a triumphant ride into the sunset, a slender arm, clothed in the color America’s finances would never see again, closed the door for him.
“Good evening, America,” the silk voice of China and an amiable grin. “I have not seen you all day, and I’ve wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, hey China, what’s up?” America didn’t like talking to China. It made him…nervous.
“Nothing of much concern, my good friend,” China said, patting his shoulder, grin never leaving. “We simply need to talk. About your purchases and…almost purchases.”
“Oh. Ha, ha.” America ran his hand over the back of his neck, looking past China at that popsicle and poolside sky. “This is going to be another healthcare talk, isn’t it?”
“Yes, America, it is.”
A beat, and America exhaled, trying to remember the talking points his boss hand given him, but they seemed to have evaporated. Under that look, America was practically helpless.
China’s grin hadn’t changed.
A cloud shifted over the sun, still setting, enveloping them in deep shadows.
America was certain the janitor’s wouldn’t turn off the air conditioner in a DC summer heat wave.
“It’s something that’s been on the back burner for decades. My boss really wants to get something done. I haven’t really made up my mind if I want it or not but everything’s-”
China put up his hand, silencing America.
“Let me help you make your decision then,” he said. The grin crashed to the grown, black eyes smoldering. The ancient Nation stepped closer; they were but a hair’s length apart and four inches separated in height. He was unarmed, but China might as well have placed a barrel to America’s temple.
America flinched.
“You,” China said, just above a whisper. He jabbed America’s chest, right over his heart. “Owe me,” China pointed to himself. Held up two fingers, “two trillion dollars.” A beat. “Are you aware of…how many zeros that is to the right of one?”
“Yeah, China. I know, I know. I’m doing the best I can.”
“The last time I check, when one triples their debt in three years, that’s not ‘doing the best I can.’”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to kill that silly healthcare bill in Congress. You and I both know that you do not have the money-that you will never have the money-to pull off a stunt like that.” China pulled away and glanced at his fingernails. “My bosses may not be particularly…willing,” China looked up, “to give money next time you come.”
“Why not?” America felt his heart screaming for release from the chest cavity. “I-I’m trying to do something for my people, China. Something good.”
China cocked an eyebrow and brought steepled fingers to his lips. He smacked them, looked up at America over the tips.
“Perhaps I was not clear before. I forget sometimes that you are still a child. Let me put it into simple terms for you. You are the head of a family of five. Yes, five is a good number. You lived in a one bedroom apartment. You and your wife could barely afford the loan on your place, and the car, and your credit cards, and your children’s education, food.” China numbered his list on his fingers.
“You are in debt. Heavy debt. To your eyes in debt. But you decided to take a loan out to buy a bigger house, something good for the family right? What would your bank say?”
“Ok, China, I get it. I-”
“I don’t think you do America,” China corrected. “I want you to know, keep this in the back of your mind, that I am the bank and I will be collecting my dues.”
“Why don’t you collect it now then?” America could feel the New Jersey on his voice. “You need me as much as I need you, China. I buy all of your stuff, even the most ridiculous of it.”
China smiled again.
“You don’t think any other Nation or country would benefit from a surplus of cheap Chinese products? Do you think any other retail store would love to compete with Wal-Mart because it can finally buy in bulk size? Do you honestly believe you’re that good?”
America tried to swallow, but found that menial task progressively difficult.
“Think about that next time you and your boss sit for lunch. It’s been very good talking to you.” China patted America’s cheek three times, the third time stronger than the last. He pulled open the door for both of them. America waited until the taillights of his embassy’s limo had disappeared before he collapsed down the door’s length and shivered, though it was well over eighty-five outside.