The Trouble With Americans...: Chapter 1
Title: The Trouble With Americans...
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Alfred, Kiku
Rating: PG
Warnings: offensive stereotyping, racial humor, profanity, and generally Alfred just being an ignorant American.
Summary: Highschool AU. The exploration of the strange friendship between a studious Japanese boy and a rowdy, loud-mouthed blond American. Pre-slash. Eventual romance.
The Trouble With Americans...
::::
1. ethnicity: eth·nic·i·ty [eth-nis-i-tee]
Relating to the classification of mankind into groups, esp on the basis of racial characteristics, physical features, accent, and other common misconceptions, such as:
All Asians are Chinese.
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Generally, Kiku had always liked school. From a young age school was something his parents had taught him to take pride in. Doing well in school mattered; it was a social status, a sign of intelligence, and it would be a large part of his life and become a large part of his future. More than all of that, however, it was something that Kiku had always found terribly easy.
However, today, for the first time ever, Kiku was beginning to find concentrating on his schoolwork increasingly difficult.
The fluorescent lights were much too bright, and there were far too many of them. He was fairly certain he'd be able to see the board just fine-from the very back of the room no less-with half the lights and half the watts. He knew there wasn't anything he could do about it, but it was nonetheless irritating. He was fairly certain all of his frustration weren't even stemming from the lighting, but rather from the whole classroom environment in itself.
It was nothing like school in Japan. School in Japan was an environment suited for learning. This wasn't a classroom, it was chaos. It was a zoo. The students seemed to do everything but listen to the teacher: pass notes, talk to their neighbors (or people from across the room), doodle in the corners of their papers-several students had taken their shoes off, and three of them were blatantly sleeping!
Then there was the boy who sat in front of him. He had the brightest, blindingly yellow shade of blond hair Kiku had ever seen-and he constantly talked. Constantly. He talked to the boy on the right, he talked to the girl on the left, he talked to the boy in front of him. Occasionally, Kiku noted, he could even be caught talking to himself. Out loud. Thankfully, he hadn't yet turned around and attempted conversation with him.
And Kiku was grateful for it.
As loud as the boy was, as loud as the classroom was, in the end, it was all external, and therefor, it was all ignorable. He Kiku could block out the noise successfully if he tried hard enough. He was sure of it. Closing his eyes, he willed his body to relax; muscle by muscle. After a few moments, he could feel the tension draining from his head. All was well. He could do this. This inner-city public American highschool would not ruin his otherwise pristine school record, nor his chances to attend the University of his choice.
Reminding himself that life was not always easy, he took a deep breath, smoothed out the wrinkles in his khaki pants, and opened his eyes.
“Are you Chinese?” The blond asked, turning completely in his seat-arching and eyebrow and leaning far too much onto Kiku Honda's desk, and thus, leaning far too much into his very personal space. Weren't there rules in American schools? Rules about staying seated and not talking in class and paying attention to the teacher? Apparently not.
“Ah no, sorry.” It wasn't the first time Kiku had been asked. Who would have guessed that Americans-land of the immigrants-would be so interested in everyone's heritage? He shook his head, tucked a piece of coal black hair behind his ear, and attempted to resume his classwork.
“So, whaddayou, like, Korean or something?” The Japanese youth took a deep breath and shook his head. That was usually the second guess, although not always, sometimes the second guess was-
“Filipino?” He shook his head again. What was it with this guy? Why did he just keep talking-and right in front of the teacher? Not for the first time, Kiku found himself wishing that schools in America were a little more like schools in Japan. Westerners were far too lax about discipline, it seemed.
“No, I'm...uh...” Despite having lived in America for more than a year, the language still seemed elude him at the worst of times.
“Vietnamese?” The blond offered again, and it had Kiku wondering just exactly how recently the prescription on his glasses had been checked. Right on cue, the blond leaned in further, as if attempting to examine his face up close. For what reasons he wasn't quite sure. Perhaps the blond thought that if he squinted enough Kiku's ethnicity would reveal itself.
Uncomfortable, the Asian could feel himself leaning away, before managing a rather weak:
“Japanese.” He swallowed. “I'm, ah, Japanese, actually.”
“Japanese?!” The boy exclaimed loudly, turning several heads. The way he'd said it was so incredulous, as if what Kiku was saying was truly unbelievable. He'd said it as if Kiku had just told him that he was part half Yorkshire-Terrier, on his mother's side.
Kiku watched curiously as Alfred's eyes widened like saucers. “Like, right outta Japan?!” The last part wasn't even an exclamation, but a shout; a full-blown, mouth-wide-open, ear-splitting, shout.
The teacher threw him a rather curt look, but otherwise continued teaching. Kiku couldn't believe it. It was if the students ran the classroom instead of the teachers. His old school hadn't been like this-and not even his old school back in Japan-but the one he'd attended in America prior to moving to the city.
“So did you like, live in Japan?” To be quite honest, Kiku was a little taken aback. At his old school, people never accosted him about his ethnicity, and certainly never asked him if he was one “right outta Japan.” Grant it, inner-city Philadelphia was a lot different than the suburbs of Pennsylvania, but who knew it would be so different?
“Yes, I was born there. My family and I moved here two years ago.” Alfred gave him a very impressed look. The type of look you give someone when they tell you they just scored a twenty-four-hundred on the SATs.
“So you speak Japanese, right?” Kiku had definitely been asked more intelligent questions. Being born into a country and living there for several years usually meant you could at least speak the given language. Americans weren't exactly known for the academic skills, but this guy seemed to be particularly lacking in common sense as well.
Seemingly having realized his mistake, the blond quickly added, “Er, I mean, will you, like, say something in Japanese?”
“Ah...” All Kiku could kept thinking was why? Why was this guy talking to him? Why did he care if Kiku was Japanese or or Chinese? What did it matter if he knew Japanese? Just how was he supposed to placate this person?
“Ano...what would you like me to say?” Kiku glanced up at the chalkboard in dismay. He'd have to look the lesson over in his textbook when he got home; he'd completely fallen behind.
“I dunno! Um, how do you say this class sucks balls?” Despite his intentions, Kiku found himself chuckling softly. What an outgoing guy he was.
“I'm afraid I really don't think I could do that phrase justice in Japanese.” Translations weren't always that easy. Sure, he could say something that got the basic idea across, like, I don't like this class, or this class is no good, but it still wouldn't have quite the same meaning as it did in English, especially when someone so American said it.
“Aw man, really? Uh, well...you know any cuss words?” Of course he did. You can't live in a country your entire life and come out completely innocent. Kiku knew all kinds of inappropriate words and dirty phrases-that didn't mean he wanted to say them.
“I don't know, I really don't-” He was going to try to explain that things just weren't that simple, he was going to try to make up some excuse, any excuse, but then-
“How do you say I love you?” He suddenly blurted. Kiku really, really hoped he wasn't blushing. That just seemed a little undignified. I love you? Why would anyone need to say something as embarrassing and as private as that?
“No, it's not like that! I mean-there's this hot Asian chick I know, and like, if I ever get up her shirt or anything I wanna know what to say! You know, hit up Japan and sweep all the ladies off their feet!” Before Kiku could garner a moment to think anything-much less about how ridiculous this guy was being-the blond was in his face again, glasses oddly reflective under the too-bright fluorescent lights.
“I forgot to tell ya!” He started, then reached out a hand. It seemed oddly formal all of a sudden, but it wasn't like Kiku had any room to question formality.
“The name's Alfred!” He declared, grabbing Kiku's smaller hand and giving it a firm shake. “Alfred fuckin' Jones!”
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Chapter 2: Discipline
::::
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Alfred, Kiku
Rating: PG
Warnings: offensive stereotyping, racial humor, profanity, and generally Alfred just being an ignorant American.
Summary: Highschool AU. The exploration of the strange friendship between a studious Japanese boy and a rowdy, loud-mouthed blond American. Pre-slash. Eventual romance.
The Trouble With Americans...
::::
1. ethnicity: eth·nic·i·ty [eth-nis-i-tee]
Relating to the classification of mankind into groups, esp on the basis of racial characteristics, physical features, accent, and other common misconceptions, such as:
All Asians are Chinese.
::::
Generally, Kiku had always liked school. From a young age school was something his parents had taught him to take pride in. Doing well in school mattered; it was a social status, a sign of intelligence, and it would be a large part of his life and become a large part of his future. More than all of that, however, it was something that Kiku had always found terribly easy.
However, today, for the first time ever, Kiku was beginning to find concentrating on his schoolwork increasingly difficult.
The fluorescent lights were much too bright, and there were far too many of them. He was fairly certain he'd be able to see the board just fine-from the very back of the room no less-with half the lights and half the watts. He knew there wasn't anything he could do about it, but it was nonetheless irritating. He was fairly certain all of his frustration weren't even stemming from the lighting, but rather from the whole classroom environment in itself.
It was nothing like school in Japan. School in Japan was an environment suited for learning. This wasn't a classroom, it was chaos. It was a zoo. The students seemed to do everything but listen to the teacher: pass notes, talk to their neighbors (or people from across the room), doodle in the corners of their papers-several students had taken their shoes off, and three of them were blatantly sleeping!
Then there was the boy who sat in front of him. He had the brightest, blindingly yellow shade of blond hair Kiku had ever seen-and he constantly talked. Constantly. He talked to the boy on the right, he talked to the girl on the left, he talked to the boy in front of him. Occasionally, Kiku noted, he could even be caught talking to himself. Out loud. Thankfully, he hadn't yet turned around and attempted conversation with him.
And Kiku was grateful for it.
As loud as the boy was, as loud as the classroom was, in the end, it was all external, and therefor, it was all ignorable. He Kiku could block out the noise successfully if he tried hard enough. He was sure of it. Closing his eyes, he willed his body to relax; muscle by muscle. After a few moments, he could feel the tension draining from his head. All was well. He could do this. This inner-city public American highschool would not ruin his otherwise pristine school record, nor his chances to attend the University of his choice.
Reminding himself that life was not always easy, he took a deep breath, smoothed out the wrinkles in his khaki pants, and opened his eyes.
“Are you Chinese?” The blond asked, turning completely in his seat-arching and eyebrow and leaning far too much onto Kiku Honda's desk, and thus, leaning far too much into his very personal space. Weren't there rules in American schools? Rules about staying seated and not talking in class and paying attention to the teacher? Apparently not.
“Ah no, sorry.” It wasn't the first time Kiku had been asked. Who would have guessed that Americans-land of the immigrants-would be so interested in everyone's heritage? He shook his head, tucked a piece of coal black hair behind his ear, and attempted to resume his classwork.
“So, whaddayou, like, Korean or something?” The Japanese youth took a deep breath and shook his head. That was usually the second guess, although not always, sometimes the second guess was-
“Filipino?” He shook his head again. What was it with this guy? Why did he just keep talking-and right in front of the teacher? Not for the first time, Kiku found himself wishing that schools in America were a little more like schools in Japan. Westerners were far too lax about discipline, it seemed.
“No, I'm...uh...” Despite having lived in America for more than a year, the language still seemed elude him at the worst of times.
“Vietnamese?” The blond offered again, and it had Kiku wondering just exactly how recently the prescription on his glasses had been checked. Right on cue, the blond leaned in further, as if attempting to examine his face up close. For what reasons he wasn't quite sure. Perhaps the blond thought that if he squinted enough Kiku's ethnicity would reveal itself.
Uncomfortable, the Asian could feel himself leaning away, before managing a rather weak:
“Japanese.” He swallowed. “I'm, ah, Japanese, actually.”
“Japanese?!” The boy exclaimed loudly, turning several heads. The way he'd said it was so incredulous, as if what Kiku was saying was truly unbelievable. He'd said it as if Kiku had just told him that he was part half Yorkshire-Terrier, on his mother's side.
Kiku watched curiously as Alfred's eyes widened like saucers. “Like, right outta Japan?!” The last part wasn't even an exclamation, but a shout; a full-blown, mouth-wide-open, ear-splitting, shout.
The teacher threw him a rather curt look, but otherwise continued teaching. Kiku couldn't believe it. It was if the students ran the classroom instead of the teachers. His old school hadn't been like this-and not even his old school back in Japan-but the one he'd attended in America prior to moving to the city.
“So did you like, live in Japan?” To be quite honest, Kiku was a little taken aback. At his old school, people never accosted him about his ethnicity, and certainly never asked him if he was one “right outta Japan.” Grant it, inner-city Philadelphia was a lot different than the suburbs of Pennsylvania, but who knew it would be so different?
“Yes, I was born there. My family and I moved here two years ago.” Alfred gave him a very impressed look. The type of look you give someone when they tell you they just scored a twenty-four-hundred on the SATs.
“So you speak Japanese, right?” Kiku had definitely been asked more intelligent questions. Being born into a country and living there for several years usually meant you could at least speak the given language. Americans weren't exactly known for the academic skills, but this guy seemed to be particularly lacking in common sense as well.
Seemingly having realized his mistake, the blond quickly added, “Er, I mean, will you, like, say something in Japanese?”
“Ah...” All Kiku could kept thinking was why? Why was this guy talking to him? Why did he care if Kiku was Japanese or or Chinese? What did it matter if he knew Japanese? Just how was he supposed to placate this person?
“Ano...what would you like me to say?” Kiku glanced up at the chalkboard in dismay. He'd have to look the lesson over in his textbook when he got home; he'd completely fallen behind.
“I dunno! Um, how do you say this class sucks balls?” Despite his intentions, Kiku found himself chuckling softly. What an outgoing guy he was.
“I'm afraid I really don't think I could do that phrase justice in Japanese.” Translations weren't always that easy. Sure, he could say something that got the basic idea across, like, I don't like this class, or this class is no good, but it still wouldn't have quite the same meaning as it did in English, especially when someone so American said it.
“Aw man, really? Uh, well...you know any cuss words?” Of course he did. You can't live in a country your entire life and come out completely innocent. Kiku knew all kinds of inappropriate words and dirty phrases-that didn't mean he wanted to say them.
“I don't know, I really don't-” He was going to try to explain that things just weren't that simple, he was going to try to make up some excuse, any excuse, but then-
“How do you say I love you?” He suddenly blurted. Kiku really, really hoped he wasn't blushing. That just seemed a little undignified. I love you? Why would anyone need to say something as embarrassing and as private as that?
“No, it's not like that! I mean-there's this hot Asian chick I know, and like, if I ever get up her shirt or anything I wanna know what to say! You know, hit up Japan and sweep all the ladies off their feet!” Before Kiku could garner a moment to think anything-much less about how ridiculous this guy was being-the blond was in his face again, glasses oddly reflective under the too-bright fluorescent lights.
“I forgot to tell ya!” He started, then reached out a hand. It seemed oddly formal all of a sudden, but it wasn't like Kiku had any room to question formality.
“The name's Alfred!” He declared, grabbing Kiku's smaller hand and giving it a firm shake. “Alfred fuckin' Jones!”
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Chapter 2: Discipline
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