THIS BE THE PLACE TO SPAM ME, MATES.
If you don't, you're all hosers. Try that on for size. :)
Really, this was just made so
pyro_o could spam me with roadtrip fic, but...srsly if anyone wants to throw fic prompts at me, or ask me questions, find out what song I'm listening to, rec me some music, capslock with me... :D whatever. I LIKE SPAM POSTS. I
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Comments 14
"Je m'appelle - "
"Juh my ... apple - "
"No, Al, it's je m'appelle, it's French for - "
"I know what it means!" Alfred says, looking wounded.
"No, you don't."
Beat.
"Yeah, you're right. I don't. But will it get me chicks?"
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As they wander together the halls and memorials, Arthur has vague flashes of memories; English immigrants slowly becoming Americanised, learning one culture and forgetting the other. The storms and the fear, before fading away to -
To nothing. They weren't his people anymore.
When they emerge again, the moon had risen as the stars burn in the sky. Alfred takes deep breaths, before leaping up on a rail and shouting -
"I'm king of the world!"
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Alfred pushes up aviator sunglasses, striking a pose - a few college girls giggle, snapping pictures on their phones.
They sit in lecture halls - Arthur grudgingly admits that it was, in a way, almost as good as Oxford or Cambridge, but only almost, you gormless bastard -
Alfred raises a hand and loudly challenges the teacher; Arthur sinks in his seat a little.
For the love of the Queen, Alfred, you didn't have to pick a history class.
Matthew grins, though, and Arthur gets the feeling that the footage he's taping will make very shortly its rounds on YouTube.
(It does. It was originally titled: HISTORY PROF PWNED BY RANDOM GUY IN LECTURE!)
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The latter, in Arthur's opinion, is the worst of them all.
"I spy ... Um. With my little eye - "
"Alfred, you can't play, you're driving - "
"Shut up, I can totally play and drive, I'm awesome at multitasking - "
"WATCH THE ROAD, YOU WANKER - "
Alfred swerves, nearly missing a tiny car blaring a shrill horn - he sticks his left arm out the window and (very naturally) flips him off.
Arthur and Matthew are both pale, shaking and staring at Alfred.
"Get out of the seat," Matthew says immediately.
"What, no - "
"Alfred," Arthur cuts in dangerously. "Get. Out. Of. The. Bloody. Seat."
Pouting, Alfred pulls over, vacating his seat. He exchanges places with Matthew, tossing the maps over one shoulder and crosses his arms.
"Git," Arthur snorts.
Alfred sulks for another fifteen minutes, before taking control of the radio.
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JIHYE WAS LIKE LET ME SPAM YOU WITH FIC SO I SAID OKAY
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