(I somehow thought that writing mercenary America at three in the morning was a good idea. Then I forgot to publish it. Then I was like, what the hell, I'm rolling with it. Prepare for America like you've never seen him... OOC out of his mind.)
While various countries attempted to bring England back to the land of the living, America gathered his things and left.
On the road, he thought about what would be revealed. Major things first, like his magic, and then maybe the little things, like how good he is at guitar.
Or maybe how ripped he was, and the fact he wasn't fat.
That was important, right?
Alfred grinned. Speeding home, he rushed into his house, threw his bloodied clothes in the laundry, and waited.
He needed a camera.
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England slowly opened his eyes to see many concerned his looking over him.
...and someone groping him.
"Bloody hell, frog!" England yelled, shooting up. The signature laugh wafted through the air, grinding on England's ears.
"Ah, but Angleterre-" France was cut off with a bang as the doors hit the halls.
There stood America, grin on his face and- was he wearing a muscle shirt?
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America drunk in the attention he's getting. He was pretty sure some of the countries were drooling.
America walked over to his seat, sat, propped his legs on the table, and said, "'Sup?"
England fainted.
(233 words. Wow. That's pathetic. This piece was rushed. Sorry.)
YOU ARE READING
The Secrets of America
FanfictionHe should have cleaned that wound better. Now he has to share all his secrets. Get ready world, you're about to see the real America.
