[fan fiction] The Truth About Unicorns
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Title: The Truth About Unicorns
Author: Er, me!
Rating: T
Character(s)/Pairing(s): AmericaxEngland but mostly ENGLAND
Warnings: Swearing, rudeness, minor violence, and raping of your childhood; especially that last one. OH AND IT IS PURE CRACK.
Summary: England awakens with a hangover and a sore bum. It only gets worse from there.
Disclaimer: OBVIOUSLY the characters in this are based on Hidekaz Himaruya's webcomic. Opinions in it are not mine. Unicorns in real life are nothing like this one.
The morning sun brought with it a stifling humidity...and everything hurt.
Disoriented and grumpy, England rolled over to the side of the bed he'd usually get up on, only to throw his arm across something surprisingly warm.
Warm and sweaty.
Eurgh.
England withdrew immediately, repulsed all at once by the naked America in his bed, the stale moistness of said America's skin...and the vague, yet unmistakable recollection of some horrible, unspeakable occurences of the past night. Oh, God...England froze. They hadn't. No. They had. Damn it. And, of course, that idiot was still there; he'd never been one to rise early.
Clumsily shifting himself closer to America to get a good look at him, a stabbing pain wracked the inside of England's head. Ooooooof. He was in no way a stranger to drinking himself stupid, but a hangover is a hangover.
The younger nation, on the other hand, appeared quite peaceful in his slumber. Unconscious attempts to cool himself off had resulted in the bedsheets twisting awkwardly around his middle, pulling them partway off of his bed partner. Smiling slightly to himself, America's lips moved as if speaking aloud, prompting England to lean over and take a closer look. Really, anyone who looks that smug in his sleep, especially after...well, doing awful things all night to the man who'd practically raised him had to be an oaf of the first degree.
Even so, America's sleeping face was a rather attractive one; he was still every bit the cheery, overgrown boy who'd fought so adamantly for his sovereignty, after all. Whatever catastrophe or war the future held, that child would always be a soft spot in Britain's heart.
It was right then that England's stomach turned over. With a whimper, he dragged himself out of bed and, quite naked, wobbled right into his lavatory and was spectacularly sick.
-----
Another gulp of ice water, and a deep sigh. The silence of England's kitchen was worse than the humidity, and did nothing to get his mind off of his predicament; he'd already showered and dressed, yet somehow that idiot America was still out cold. Not to mention the fact his head, stomach, and arse ached like all hell.
Times like this when England felt lonely, he'd often go for a walk in his garden to visit the faeries and other spirits that dwelt there. He'd quite a history with the fair folk that inhabited his home, and they all loved him very much. His favorite of them all was the unicorn, pale and bright as the moon with its silky-soft mane and a beautiful spiral horn at the center of its forehead. In times of peace, England would spend whole afternoons sometimes petting the unicorn, hugging the unicorn, brushing the unicorn, napping with the unicorn, and generally doing all manner of very cute things with the unicorn that he'd probably be mocked for without mercy if France or America ever found out.
England had been about to open the back door to the garden when a horrible thought crossed his mind.
The unicorn...
Was it true, what they said about unicorns? All of a sudden, England's heart was pounding. Legend had it that only the innocent and pure could see a unicorn. Did having it off with America mean he wouldn't be able to see his adorable white unicorn ever again?! Damn it...stupid United States! It was all that guy's fault!
England burst out the door, frantically looking around.
"Good morning, Mr. England!" A little golden sprite flew up to him and waved, wings humming as she hovered in midair. "Come out and play with us!"
"Unicorn! Where's the unicorn?!"
"You're looking for the unicorn? He's over by the petunia bed, in the shade."
"Ah, thank you."
The walkways of England's garden were twisting and varied, but he knew his way around. The same couldn't be said for his visitors, who would lose themselves from time to time in the maze of blooms...especially America, the bastard. Just thinking of him made England's head start hurting again.
"Unicorn! I'm sorry! I..."
Rounding a large planter of pink trollius, England reached the petunia bed, and...
...There was the unicorn! Along with a good many of England's other bizarre friends, who appeared to all be sharing a big pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. A chorus of cheers, chirps, and squeaks rose at the sight of their favorite country, whose eyes were now full of tears.
"Y...Y...All of you...."
Falling to his knees, England threw his arms around his unicorn, sobbing loudly.
"U-Unicorn! It's all that bastard America's fault! He put his hands on my bum, and he did all these disgusting things to me, and it hurt, and he didn't even wake up, and I thought I would never see you again...!"
He continued to bawl, burying his face in the beast's coat while a Greek chorus of mythical creatures fell silent in concern.
"Oh, bollocks. Don't tell me you really believed that shit?"
England sniffled, opening his eyes. He didn't recognize the voice he heard at all.
"Do quit that whimpering. You sound like a fucking girl."
Lifting his head, England found himself eye-to-eye with the unicorn.
"Bloody moron. Of course you can still see me. The sex thing's just a stupid old wives' story they tell their little sluts of daughters; bloody lot of good that does the little bints. Bugger."
England was dumbfounded.
"Unicorn? You talk!"
The shining white creature scowled. "Talk? Of course I fucking talk! It's buggering mortals like you who never listen! Fuck, I couldn't sleep a blooming wink last night for the racket you and that burger-eating prat were making all night. You were the fucking bottom, too, right? Damn nancy. I knew it. United Fucking Kingdom, taking it up the ass like a buggering cottager. That chav used to be a colony of yours, right? Di'n 'e?"
Amongst the petunias, a rabbit winced, its little paws clamped firmly over the base of his ears in an attempt to block out the onslaught. A few of the smaller fae had already fainted in shock. A small chipmunk chuckled aloud at the unfolding scene.
As for England, he was choking on his own tongue.
"Should've seen it coming, really. 'S far as Britannia's concerned, nobody gives a shit anymore. The weather's crap, food's crap, people're crap, no surprise really it took you over a thousand bloody years to get your poofin' end away. Shit!"
There was a silence as the unicorn took a big bite out of a cluster of white petunias.
An elder gnome shook his head in disgust. "Don't listen to that git, England. Unicorn's always been something of an arsehole. Only difference now is you can hear 'im."
Unicorn swallowed his treat, then snorted loudly. "Who asked you anyway, old sod? Oi, England, where you off to?"
"Oh, nowhere." England's voice was weak as he haltingly retreated to the house, looking a bit worse for wear. "Just...getting breakfast or something. Nice to see you all."
"England! Wait!" squeaked a tiny elf, but it was to no avail.
-----
"'Morning, Igi! Hot enough for you?"
On returning to the kitchen, England was greeted with the sight of America clad in no more than his glasses and a towel, perched on a stool and cheerily devouring the last strawberry popsicle. Seeing his former colony in such a state made it far too difficult to maintain eye contact, so England tied an apron on and made himself busy preparing a pot of tea.
"That all you've had to eat today?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Where're your trousers?"
"I was gonna put 'em on, but I got hungry."
Typical. England laid a few extra strips of bacon in the pan, intent on behaving as if nothing had happened; not last night, not in the garden that morning, not ever. This thought was interrupted by a chuckle from America.
England sighed, prickly as ever. "What is it now?"
"Just thinking how cute you were acting last night."
This stopped England cold, making him accidentally drop the teabag into the pot, tag and all. Cute? Him? His face burned hot at the very thought.
Whenever England heard the word "cute", the memories that came to mind were of the American colonies hundreds of years back, who would one day grow up to be the United States and Canada. In a cold and violent world, those boys' smiles had somehow made it all worthwhile. Now those young ones were fully grown nations of their own, and America was calling him...cute?
England turned around to face America, whose smile was as warm as the sun outside. The former empire felt oddly weak, yet...somehow, it was a good feeling.
"C...cute? How?"
Another laugh.
"Well...you remember a bunch of us were having a drink after the conference, and you got really loaded? I went to say goodnight to you and you asked me if I wanted you to poke me, and I was like, 'No, that'd hurt!'"
"Oh. Erm. Sorry about that." England focused hard on the linoleum flooring, deeply ashamed.
"It's okay, it's okay!" America continued, still beaming. "Then you stuck your hand down the front of my pants. You're so cute when you're drunk!"
What? Cute? That was...that was completely perverted! How many countries had been there to see him...? Oh, no.
"England? You okay?"
On what was becoming a day of horrifying revelations for England, that sensation of weakness wasn't feeling so good anymore. In fact, the pains of the early morning were returning worse than ever. He'd had it from the unicorn, he'd had it from America, and altogether he'd had quite enough, thank you very much.
Forcing himself to meet America's gaze, England knew right then that there was only one way to make things right.
"...You."
"Me?"
With what felt like the force of a speeding steam train, England's fist connected with America's naked diaphragm and knocked the wind out of him, making him curl up and sprawl ungracefully on the linoleum, struggling to take breath.
"You're the reason I can't see unicorns anymore."
Without another word, England took out a bag of peas from the freezer and dropped them on America's stomach (which only caused more coughing), and returned to his cooking, feeling a bit optimistic for the first time that day.
-----
So, what have we learned from this story? Simple:
Unicorns are just as bad as aliens.
Title: The Truth About Unicorns
Author: Er, me!
Rating: T
Character(s)/Pairing(s): AmericaxEngland but mostly ENGLAND
Warnings: Swearing, rudeness, minor violence, and raping of your childhood; especially that last one. OH AND IT IS PURE CRACK.
Summary: England awakens with a hangover and a sore bum. It only gets worse from there.
Disclaimer: OBVIOUSLY the characters in this are based on Hidekaz Himaruya's webcomic. Opinions in it are not mine. Unicorns in real life are nothing like this one.
The morning sun brought with it a stifling humidity...and everything hurt.
Disoriented and grumpy, England rolled over to the side of the bed he'd usually get up on, only to throw his arm across something surprisingly warm.
Warm and sweaty.
Eurgh.
England withdrew immediately, repulsed all at once by the naked America in his bed, the stale moistness of said America's skin...and the vague, yet unmistakable recollection of some horrible, unspeakable occurences of the past night. Oh, God...England froze. They hadn't. No. They had. Damn it. And, of course, that idiot was still there; he'd never been one to rise early.
Clumsily shifting himself closer to America to get a good look at him, a stabbing pain wracked the inside of England's head. Ooooooof. He was in no way a stranger to drinking himself stupid, but a hangover is a hangover.
The younger nation, on the other hand, appeared quite peaceful in his slumber. Unconscious attempts to cool himself off had resulted in the bedsheets twisting awkwardly around his middle, pulling them partway off of his bed partner. Smiling slightly to himself, America's lips moved as if speaking aloud, prompting England to lean over and take a closer look. Really, anyone who looks that smug in his sleep, especially after...well, doing awful things all night to the man who'd practically raised him had to be an oaf of the first degree.
Even so, America's sleeping face was a rather attractive one; he was still every bit the cheery, overgrown boy who'd fought so adamantly for his sovereignty, after all. Whatever catastrophe or war the future held, that child would always be a soft spot in Britain's heart.
It was right then that England's stomach turned over. With a whimper, he dragged himself out of bed and, quite naked, wobbled right into his lavatory and was spectacularly sick.
-----
Another gulp of ice water, and a deep sigh. The silence of England's kitchen was worse than the humidity, and did nothing to get his mind off of his predicament; he'd already showered and dressed, yet somehow that idiot America was still out cold. Not to mention the fact his head, stomach, and arse ached like all hell.
Times like this when England felt lonely, he'd often go for a walk in his garden to visit the faeries and other spirits that dwelt there. He'd quite a history with the fair folk that inhabited his home, and they all loved him very much. His favorite of them all was the unicorn, pale and bright as the moon with its silky-soft mane and a beautiful spiral horn at the center of its forehead. In times of peace, England would spend whole afternoons sometimes petting the unicorn, hugging the unicorn, brushing the unicorn, napping with the unicorn, and generally doing all manner of very cute things with the unicorn that he'd probably be mocked for without mercy if France or America ever found out.
England had been about to open the back door to the garden when a horrible thought crossed his mind.
The unicorn...
Was it true, what they said about unicorns? All of a sudden, England's heart was pounding. Legend had it that only the innocent and pure could see a unicorn. Did having it off with America mean he wouldn't be able to see his adorable white unicorn ever again?! Damn it...stupid United States! It was all that guy's fault!
England burst out the door, frantically looking around.
"Good morning, Mr. England!" A little golden sprite flew up to him and waved, wings humming as she hovered in midair. "Come out and play with us!"
"Unicorn! Where's the unicorn?!"
"You're looking for the unicorn? He's over by the petunia bed, in the shade."
"Ah, thank you."
The walkways of England's garden were twisting and varied, but he knew his way around. The same couldn't be said for his visitors, who would lose themselves from time to time in the maze of blooms...especially America, the bastard. Just thinking of him made England's head start hurting again.
"Unicorn! I'm sorry! I..."
Rounding a large planter of pink trollius, England reached the petunia bed, and...
...There was the unicorn! Along with a good many of England's other bizarre friends, who appeared to all be sharing a big pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. A chorus of cheers, chirps, and squeaks rose at the sight of their favorite country, whose eyes were now full of tears.
"Y...Y...All of you...."
Falling to his knees, England threw his arms around his unicorn, sobbing loudly.
"U-Unicorn! It's all that bastard America's fault! He put his hands on my bum, and he did all these disgusting things to me, and it hurt, and he didn't even wake up, and I thought I would never see you again...!"
He continued to bawl, burying his face in the beast's coat while a Greek chorus of mythical creatures fell silent in concern.
"Oh, bollocks. Don't tell me you really believed that shit?"
England sniffled, opening his eyes. He didn't recognize the voice he heard at all.
"Do quit that whimpering. You sound like a fucking girl."
Lifting his head, England found himself eye-to-eye with the unicorn.
"Bloody moron. Of course you can still see me. The sex thing's just a stupid old wives' story they tell their little sluts of daughters; bloody lot of good that does the little bints. Bugger."
England was dumbfounded.
"Unicorn? You talk!"
The shining white creature scowled. "Talk? Of course I fucking talk! It's buggering mortals like you who never listen! Fuck, I couldn't sleep a blooming wink last night for the racket you and that burger-eating prat were making all night. You were the fucking bottom, too, right? Damn nancy. I knew it. United Fucking Kingdom, taking it up the ass like a buggering cottager. That chav used to be a colony of yours, right? Di'n 'e?"
Amongst the petunias, a rabbit winced, its little paws clamped firmly over the base of his ears in an attempt to block out the onslaught. A few of the smaller fae had already fainted in shock. A small chipmunk chuckled aloud at the unfolding scene.
As for England, he was choking on his own tongue.
"Should've seen it coming, really. 'S far as Britannia's concerned, nobody gives a shit anymore. The weather's crap, food's crap, people're crap, no surprise really it took you over a thousand bloody years to get your poofin' end away. Shit!"
There was a silence as the unicorn took a big bite out of a cluster of white petunias.
An elder gnome shook his head in disgust. "Don't listen to that git, England. Unicorn's always been something of an arsehole. Only difference now is you can hear 'im."
Unicorn swallowed his treat, then snorted loudly. "Who asked you anyway, old sod? Oi, England, where you off to?"
"Oh, nowhere." England's voice was weak as he haltingly retreated to the house, looking a bit worse for wear. "Just...getting breakfast or something. Nice to see you all."
"England! Wait!" squeaked a tiny elf, but it was to no avail.
-----
"'Morning, Igi! Hot enough for you?"
On returning to the kitchen, England was greeted with the sight of America clad in no more than his glasses and a towel, perched on a stool and cheerily devouring the last strawberry popsicle. Seeing his former colony in such a state made it far too difficult to maintain eye contact, so England tied an apron on and made himself busy preparing a pot of tea.
"That all you've had to eat today?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Where're your trousers?"
"I was gonna put 'em on, but I got hungry."
Typical. England laid a few extra strips of bacon in the pan, intent on behaving as if nothing had happened; not last night, not in the garden that morning, not ever. This thought was interrupted by a chuckle from America.
England sighed, prickly as ever. "What is it now?"
"Just thinking how cute you were acting last night."
This stopped England cold, making him accidentally drop the teabag into the pot, tag and all. Cute? Him? His face burned hot at the very thought.
Whenever England heard the word "cute", the memories that came to mind were of the American colonies hundreds of years back, who would one day grow up to be the United States and Canada. In a cold and violent world, those boys' smiles had somehow made it all worthwhile. Now those young ones were fully grown nations of their own, and America was calling him...cute?
England turned around to face America, whose smile was as warm as the sun outside. The former empire felt oddly weak, yet...somehow, it was a good feeling.
"C...cute? How?"
Another laugh.
"Well...you remember a bunch of us were having a drink after the conference, and you got really loaded? I went to say goodnight to you and you asked me if I wanted you to poke me, and I was like, 'No, that'd hurt!'"
"Oh. Erm. Sorry about that." England focused hard on the linoleum flooring, deeply ashamed.
"It's okay, it's okay!" America continued, still beaming. "Then you stuck your hand down the front of my pants. You're so cute when you're drunk!"
What? Cute? That was...that was completely perverted! How many countries had been there to see him...? Oh, no.
"England? You okay?"
On what was becoming a day of horrifying revelations for England, that sensation of weakness wasn't feeling so good anymore. In fact, the pains of the early morning were returning worse than ever. He'd had it from the unicorn, he'd had it from America, and altogether he'd had quite enough, thank you very much.
Forcing himself to meet America's gaze, England knew right then that there was only one way to make things right.
"...You."
"Me?"
With what felt like the force of a speeding steam train, England's fist connected with America's naked diaphragm and knocked the wind out of him, making him curl up and sprawl ungracefully on the linoleum, struggling to take breath.
"You're the reason I can't see unicorns anymore."
Without another word, England took out a bag of peas from the freezer and dropped them on America's stomach (which only caused more coughing), and returned to his cooking, feeling a bit optimistic for the first time that day.
-----
So, what have we learned from this story? Simple:
Unicorns are just as bad as aliens.