APH// The Art of Poetry & Tis' the Season for Giving // USUK
Title: The Art of Poetry
Rating: G
Genre: Humour/Fluff
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: Contains bad haikus / It would cause Japan much woe / If he ever saw.
Written for the hetalia_contest ; theme: art
America had been bored. This caused his mind to wander and which usually led to all sorts of brilliant tactics to save the world. Instead, this time he had managed to figure out that he was sort of maybe a little in love with England. Maybe.
The next obstacle had been how to confess. Luckily, he had his good friend Japan on hand. He was pretty sure England appreciated Japan's stuff and he was positive that he England liked poetry. It was boring after all. The only problem was that he had no idea how to write poetry. That was easily solved when Japan introduced him somewhat reluctantly to haikus. They were simple, easy, and poetry-like!
And so, instead of doing paperwork, he stared thoughtfully at the text message he had just typed up. The last line sounded too unheroic and needy so he replaced the ‘please’ with ‘lol’.
I am a hero
Hamburgers are delicious
Go out with me, please lol
He beamed. It was perfect! Sending it, he did not wait eagerly for a response. After a few minutes, the ring-tone went off and he did not eagerly leap for the phone.
What on earth is ‘lol’?
Stop butchering my language
It hurts to look at
He frowned. It figured England wouldn't know what 'lol' meant. He also noticed that his request was ignored. Perhaps he hadn't been direct enough? He wracked his brain for a better haiku.
Your eyebrows are cute
We look awesome together
I want in your pants
Satisfied, he sent it. However, the resulting response was less than satisfactory.
Congratulations
You made me choke on my tea
Are you satisfied?
He rolled his eyes at that before quickly punching out his reply.
England, you bastard
I thought you liked this weird stuff
Answer the question
No more than thirty second later, he received another insulting haiku
Lifeless winter days
The outlook dark, cold and bleak
Like your poetry
America let out a snarl of frustration. England was definitely being difficult on purpose. Poetry was stupid anyway. Grabbing his jacket, he decided to go back to his original plan of kissing England senseless.
---
A/N: Across the pond, England was calmly sipping his tea though the smirk on his face effectively ruined the gentlemanly picture he was most likely going for. Or something like that. Anyway, haikus are poems that follow a 5 - 7 - 5 syllable pattern to put it simply.
Title: Tis' the Season for Giving
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: England gets drunk and is inspired to confess his love in an unorthodox manner.
England woke up to a throbbing headache and the sound of incessant ringing. He groaned as he clutched his head, details of how he ended up as he was were all fuzzy. Groggily, he tried to get up from his place on the floor as he blinked around to check his surroundings. At least he had made it back to his house, if not into his bed.
Finally, the phone stopped ringing though before he could have the chance to feel relief, it started up again. He cursed whoever was on the other side of the phone. It seemed that they were quite persistent and wouldn't take the hint to leave him alone.
Grudgingly, he got up from his position on the floor and stormed over towards the phone. Picking it up, he groused, "What do you want?"
"Merry Christmas to you too!" an obnoxious cheery voice chirped, as though basking in his pain, "Thanks for the tree and bird by the way."
He winced at that. Of course it was America that called. Normally, he wouldn't have minded hearing that voice, not that he would ever admit that out loud but no one else would be daft enough to call this early, knowing England's habits of drinking and wait, what?
"What?"
"You sent me a tree," America said. At the nonplussed silence, he clarified, "A pear tree with a pigeon in it."
"Partridge," England absentmindedly corrected as he struggled to remember the events of the previous night, "and I gave you no such thing." Or if he did, he was pretty sure he would have remembered it. Probably.
"Uh huh. It came with a note. 'To that ungrateful little sod," America recited, making England wince at the phoney British accent he put on, "No one else uses your weird English."
"I invented the bloody language," England snapped back, "You're the one that butchered it."
"Silly England, I perfected it," was the annoying response he got, "This is the weirdest thing you've gotten me yet."
At about this time, England had managed to piece together several events from last night’s events. There had been a lot of beer, laughter and singing involved as he had decided to mingle with his people this year's Christmas Eve. Wracking his brain, he vaguely remembered the talk of confessing coming up, with all of his drinking buddies discussing how they got together with their current flames, lovers and what-not. Along with a certain Christmas carol, a not-so-brilliant idea had occurred to him. How to confess to America.
It had seemed like a good idea to his alcohol addled brain. He half-wondered where the hell he had even managed to get the pear tree and partridge from in the first place but then decided that wasn't important at the moment, especially with America talking his ear off and only accentuating his current headache.
"Well, if you don't want it, just mail it better or get rid of it. I don't give a toss," England grounded out, cutting off whatever ramblings the other was on, before slamming the phone down. He knew it was a horrible idea and it was way too early in the day to be putting up with that idiot. At least, not until he either downed more alcohol or had taken pain killers. Preferably both.
---
The next day, when England woke up and went downstairs, he would be half-mortified and half-elated to find a note from America along with two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree.
Rating: G
Genre: Humour/Fluff
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: Contains bad haikus / It would cause Japan much woe / If he ever saw.
Written for the hetalia_contest ; theme: art
America had been bored. This caused his mind to wander and which usually led to all sorts of brilliant tactics to save the world. Instead, this time he had managed to figure out that he was sort of maybe a little in love with England. Maybe.
The next obstacle had been how to confess. Luckily, he had his good friend Japan on hand. He was pretty sure England appreciated Japan's stuff and he was positive that he England liked poetry. It was boring after all. The only problem was that he had no idea how to write poetry. That was easily solved when Japan introduced him somewhat reluctantly to haikus. They were simple, easy, and poetry-like!
And so, instead of doing paperwork, he stared thoughtfully at the text message he had just typed up. The last line sounded too unheroic and needy so he replaced the ‘please’ with ‘lol’.
I am a hero
Hamburgers are delicious
Go out with me, please lol
He beamed. It was perfect! Sending it, he did not wait eagerly for a response. After a few minutes, the ring-tone went off and he did not eagerly leap for the phone.
What on earth is ‘lol’?
Stop butchering my language
It hurts to look at
He frowned. It figured England wouldn't know what 'lol' meant. He also noticed that his request was ignored. Perhaps he hadn't been direct enough? He wracked his brain for a better haiku.
Your eyebrows are cute
We look awesome together
I want in your pants
Satisfied, he sent it. However, the resulting response was less than satisfactory.
Congratulations
You made me choke on my tea
Are you satisfied?
He rolled his eyes at that before quickly punching out his reply.
England, you bastard
I thought you liked this weird stuff
Answer the question
No more than thirty second later, he received another insulting haiku
Lifeless winter days
The outlook dark, cold and bleak
Like your poetry
America let out a snarl of frustration. England was definitely being difficult on purpose. Poetry was stupid anyway. Grabbing his jacket, he decided to go back to his original plan of kissing England senseless.
---
A/N: Across the pond, England was calmly sipping his tea though the smirk on his face effectively ruined the gentlemanly picture he was most likely going for. Or something like that. Anyway, haikus are poems that follow a 5 - 7 - 5 syllable pattern to put it simply.
Title: Tis' the Season for Giving
Rating: G
Genre: Fluff/Humour
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: England gets drunk and is inspired to confess his love in an unorthodox manner.
England woke up to a throbbing headache and the sound of incessant ringing. He groaned as he clutched his head, details of how he ended up as he was were all fuzzy. Groggily, he tried to get up from his place on the floor as he blinked around to check his surroundings. At least he had made it back to his house, if not into his bed.
Finally, the phone stopped ringing though before he could have the chance to feel relief, it started up again. He cursed whoever was on the other side of the phone. It seemed that they were quite persistent and wouldn't take the hint to leave him alone.
Grudgingly, he got up from his position on the floor and stormed over towards the phone. Picking it up, he groused, "What do you want?"
"Merry Christmas to you too!" an obnoxious cheery voice chirped, as though basking in his pain, "Thanks for the tree and bird by the way."
He winced at that. Of course it was America that called. Normally, he wouldn't have minded hearing that voice, not that he would ever admit that out loud but no one else would be daft enough to call this early, knowing England's habits of drinking and wait, what?
"What?"
"You sent me a tree," America said. At the nonplussed silence, he clarified, "A pear tree with a pigeon in it."
"Partridge," England absentmindedly corrected as he struggled to remember the events of the previous night, "and I gave you no such thing." Or if he did, he was pretty sure he would have remembered it. Probably.
"Uh huh. It came with a note. 'To that ungrateful little sod," America recited, making England wince at the phoney British accent he put on, "No one else uses your weird English."
"I invented the bloody language," England snapped back, "You're the one that butchered it."
"Silly England, I perfected it," was the annoying response he got, "This is the weirdest thing you've gotten me yet."
At about this time, England had managed to piece together several events from last night’s events. There had been a lot of beer, laughter and singing involved as he had decided to mingle with his people this year's Christmas Eve. Wracking his brain, he vaguely remembered the talk of confessing coming up, with all of his drinking buddies discussing how they got together with their current flames, lovers and what-not. Along with a certain Christmas carol, a not-so-brilliant idea had occurred to him. How to confess to America.
It had seemed like a good idea to his alcohol addled brain. He half-wondered where the hell he had even managed to get the pear tree and partridge from in the first place but then decided that wasn't important at the moment, especially with America talking his ear off and only accentuating his current headache.
"Well, if you don't want it, just mail it better or get rid of it. I don't give a toss," England grounded out, cutting off whatever ramblings the other was on, before slamming the phone down. He knew it was a horrible idea and it was way too early in the day to be putting up with that idiot. At least, not until he either downed more alcohol or had taken pain killers. Preferably both.
---
The next day, when England woke up and went downstairs, he would be half-mortified and half-elated to find a note from America along with two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree.